#the tree fic is pain (compliment)

[eightmakesonebraincell]

the essence of youth is summers with you

genre: poly!surfers!ateez x fem!reader, childhood best friend!san, sort of college!au, slice of life and coming of age, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 38.7k

c/w: surfer!ateez (deserves a warning), explicit profanity, hella angst, mentions of alcohol, themes of sexuality and homophobia, arguments, implied toxicity (not the boys), miscommunication, kissing, m x m interactions

synopsis: when you move away from your hometown at the age of six, you discover that summer in namhae takes the form of a skinny, dimpled boy who loves the sea and holding hands– choi san. but as the summers go past and he goes to seoul for college, bringing back new friends each year, you start to develop feelings that run deeper than just friendship. will your summers of youth become ones of love and dreams, or will they end in pain and heartbreak?

a/n: i owe the biggest thank you to yumi @sorryimananti-romantic for making this fic possible and for all the support she's given me in the last three months. this fic has quickly become one that i hold dearly in my heart because of how healing it has been to write, so i hope this is also healing to read ♡

it’s the first day of summer when you move to namhae.

the houses and trees flicker past and eventually peter out into vaster fields, mudflats and stretches of beach as your father drives through the countryside from yeosu to namhae. you idly wonder if summer in namhae will be like what it is back in your hometown.

it isn’t very comfortable wedged between your parents in the middle seat of the mini-truck, especially when some of the roads become unpaved as you arrive closer to the village. but you’re wearing your cute, yellow sundress with bumble bees across the front pocket, which is your big-girl dress, so you can deal with the bumpiness a little longer without complaining. the truck sounds like it’s going to give out as it groans and sputters to a stop in front of what will be your new home.

tentatively, you hop out and look around. it’s a quaint beach house that rests along a modest coastal embankment. when you walk closer to the edge of the port, you see that there’s a stretch of sand that leads to the ocean, and a little further down the coast is another beach house– your new neighbours.

the rattle of your truck must have alerted them to your arrival, because they come out with warm smiles and even warmer greetings. they exchange handshakes and hugs with your parents, then the attention falls to you. there’s a boy who peers out from behind his mother’s legs as she compliments your dress, his round eyes brimming with curiosity at the sight of a potential playmate other than his sister. you cling onto the side of your mother’s dress and the adults share a laugh.

the boy’s mother gently nudges him forward. “go on, sweetie. say hi.”

with another nod of encouragement, the boy shuffles closer to you with an impish grin. you realise he’s shorter than you are. “hi, i’m san. i’m six years old and i like the sea!”

the grip you have on your mother’s dress loosens a little as you mumble shyly in return, “i’m y/n. i’m six and i like the sea too.”

his smile grows impossibly wider, and his eyes and remaining reservations disappear at your words. reaching out, he grabs your hand in a physical declaration of friendship. your other hand falls away from your mother’s dress.

“we’re going to go play at the beach,” he announces, because you’re his friend now and friends play together.

on your first day of summer in namhae, you find that summer takes the form of a skinny, dimpled boy who loves the sea and holding hands.

“sannie!” you skid across the wooden floorboards of his living room in your sock-clad feet, startling his father who is sitting on the couch with a newspaper.

he peers at you from above his glasses with the smile that stays consistently warm, be it from him or his son. he chuckles, “hello, sweetheart, here to play with san again?”

you bow slightly in greeting and nod before you whiz off once more in the direction of san’s room. summer vacation has only just started and you and san have already spent seven summers together, but there are crabs to chase and waves to splash and sandcastles to build so there’s not a day to be wasted.

“choi san!” you holler again, thundering up to his door. you’re about to yank it open when san opens it from the opposite side, excitement already plastered across his face as he starts to yell your name too.

the moment he appears, you hurtle into his chest for a hug that ends up knocking you both off-balance. he stumbles backwards with you in his arms and rebounds off the edge of his bed, sending you both sprawling onto the floor in a fit of laughter. you’ve become familiar with the way his bedroom floor feels from these exact moments, and you’ve also become familiar with the way san’s arms feel around you from being wrapped up in his tight cuddles. you may love the sea, but you love being with san just a little more.

“do you have your bucket?” you ask, still tangled together on the floor in a mess of limbs and untamed hair.

san props himself up on an elbow and reaches behind you to reveal a large, plastic bucket. it’s purple with a white handle and it matches yours; blue with a white handle and still lying on its side from when you dropped it in favour of hugging san.

you sweep up your bucket with a cheeky grin, “race you to the beach!” using san’s chest as leverage to stand up, then pushing him onto his back again by his shoulders for good measure, you take off for the door.

“that’s cheating!” he yells after you.

you sprint with glee back through the living room, barely managing to brake in time to avoid running headfirst into his mother. you greet and farewell her in a single breath before you’re off again, forgoing your sandals when you hear the thundering of san’s footsteps and a warbled bye mum! bye dad! catching up behind you.

the pavement is hot under the bare soles of your feet but soon enough you leap off the sidewalk, bucket clattering in your hand, and the ground turns cool and soft as you run across the sinking sand. san jumps after you with a battlecry of his own and you scream when you feel him right on your tail. he catches up as you near the waves and with a final burst of energy, he grabs your hand and tugs you along with him.

your grip on your bucket is lost once more when you yelp and focus on keeping up instead– san’s only got an inch on you now but why is he so much faster than you? the wet sand starts to grow colder, salty water splashing everywhere the further you sprint. neither of you slow down– not that you could with san dragging you along right into the thick of the crashing waves as he whoops.

you dread the day san will actually be tall enough to pick you up and toss you into the water, but for now, you give him the satisfaction of pretending. you wait for him to bend down a little, then you kick the water right into his face. he splutters indignantly and blinks the sting away until he can see the wide smirk on your face. his tongue pokes his cheek as he gives you a scandalised smile, before he cocks his head and sniggers, “your turn.”

you take that as your cue to run. san dips his bucket into the water, scooping it up full to the brim, then starts chasing you with faux anger that makes you shriek in delight. you yell breathless apologies over your shoulder in between giggles but they all fall upon deaf ears as he continues streaking after you, bucket held high like a madman with an axe.

you end up slowing down because it’s hard to run through water, and you’re met with the icy downpour of water over your head. san laughs triumphantly when you look at him with the ferocity of a soaked kitten. you eye his bucket and weigh up the odds of snatching it out of his hands versus dunking him headfirst underwater through sheer force. realistically, you have no chances of doing either. plus, san knows you too well.

“use your own bucket, you loser,” he banters as he hides his. and yet, he walks back to retrieve your bucket for you before it’s swept out by the waves.

“are you cold?” san asks whilst passing it to you.

there’s vigour and liveliness thrumming through your every vein. “no,” you answer, “‘m not cold.” never with you.

he nods, “let me know if you do get cold, okay? i’ll grab you a jacket or something.”

“my house is literally next to yours. i can get one if i need to,” you chuckle.

“i know, but it’s the principle of it. just shut up and let me have my chivalrous moment.” san sits with the characteristic huffiness of a teenager who thinks he’s all grown up now that he’s in high school. but it’s not very convincing when he immediately starts to shovel sand into his bucket with the enthusiasm of a puppy.

“okay, thank you, sannie. i’ll let you know if i so much as shiver,” you dotingly appease him.

he nods diligently, then pats the sand next to him for you to sit down too. you join him in filling up the buckets with sand so that you two can make your thirty second attempt to build a five-tiered sandcastle pyramid. so far, you’ve only ever gotten to the third layer before it starts to crumble apart.

“what’s wrong?” you ask when san stops packing the sand into his bucket.

you realise he’s distracted by something in the distance and you follow his line of sight to find a lone surfer riding a wave in the horizon. san watches as the man’s body becomes an extension of the ocean– a dancing duet with the rolling waves as he stands steadily on his board with powerful elegance. when the board glides towards the shore, the man spreads his arms like an eagle’s wings and lets himself fall backwards into the sway of the water.

san is suddenly filled with yearning to learn of the sea’s choreography. he declares, “i want to become a surfer.”

“what happened to becoming a dancer?” you raise an eyebrow. because if there’s one thing that san loves just as much as the sea, then it’s dancing.

“becoming a dancer is still my dream. i meant surfing as an interest,” he breathes out. “just look at him. he looks so…free.”

you can see it in the way san’s eyes follow the surfer’s movements and sparkle with wonder– the moment he falls utterly and hopelessly in love. “then try it,” you encourage, “what’s stopping you?”

san tears his gaze away from the ocean to look at you instead. the same, loving gaze stays on his face. “nothing,” he proclaims with a growing smile. “absolutely nothing.”

san has all the summers in the world to surf. and you’ll be there with him for every single one.

you watch as san fixes his surfboard to the top of his black jeep– the last of his luggage to be loaded.

“i don’t get why you’re taking that with you. there’s probably nowhere to even surf in seoul.” you know you sound like a snobby six-year-old and not the eighteen-year-old that you are, but you don’t really care right now. not when san is leaving and you won’t be able to attend college together like you thought you would be.

tugging on the straps once more to check that they’re secure, he chuckles, “doesn’t hurt to take it just in case.” when he sees the forlorn look on your face he adds, “i’ll be back every summer, yeah?”

“it won’t be the same. who am i going to hang out with every day?” you grumble.

san laughs endearingly, “it’s only until i graduate.”

“or you find a job or a girlfriend and then you’ll stay in seoul forever.” you cross your arms defiantly as san steps closer and reaches out to ruffle your hair. where you had stopped growing at fifteen, san is still growing and he now towers almost half a head over you.

“just four years–no job, no girlfriend–and then i’ll be back. i promise.” he opens his arms a little, “now, do i get my goodbye hug or do i need to tickle it out of you instead?”

you huff before uncrossing your arms and sinking into his warm embrace. he folds you into his chest as your arms wrap around his waist. closing your eyes, you memorise the feeling of his back muscles flexing under your hands while he gently rocks you side to side. you soak in his body heat that swaddles your entire being in safety and home. you breathe him in one last time when you bury your face in the crook of his neck, nuzzling the steady pulse that beats there.

“i’ll miss you,” you whisper, because you don’t trust your voice not to crack if you speak any louder.

san presses a soft kiss against your hairline and admits, “i’ll miss you more.”

you bite back the urge to respond with ‘then stay’, cherishing the moment for a little longer instead, before you step away so that he can say his goodbyes to his family. he hugs them one by one; his father, his sister, haneul, and lastly, his mother. she’s discreetly wiping at her tears and you have to look away so that you don’t start crying too. because if you start crying, everything will become blurry, and you can’t afford that when this is the last time you’ll see san until next summer.

you all gather around the driver’s window that’s rolled down to the very bottom when san is finally seated. seeing him buckle his seatbelt ready to leave overwhelms you with a sense of finality and your eyes well up before you can blink the hotness away. san stretches a hand out to thumb away your tears and makes a sad noise, “don’t cry, please? we can call whenever you want.”

you sniffle, “call me when you arrive?”

he nods with that dimpled smile you are already starting to miss. and then just like that, your best friend is gone. you stand outside his house for a stretch of time, even after the outline of his jeep has long since disappeared into the distance. it may be the last week of summer, but it feels like it’s the middle of winter today.

san’s eyes flick upwards to look in the rearview mirror, even though he hasn’t been able to see your reflection the last three times he’s looked. he had tried to appear as collected as he could to avoid making it any harder for you, but now he regrets not holding your hand a little longer; a little tighter. and if san tears up a little as he starts the four-hour drive up to seoul, then that’s between him, the car, and the playlist you made just for him.

you absentmindedly tug on a crease in your bed sheets as you laze on your bed, phone on speaker so you don’t have to hold it. “what was that?” you pull your device closer to your ear. “are you going somewhere?”

there it is again– the beeping sound of a car in reverse. the warning signal stops as san answers vaguely, “home.”

you jolt up into a sitting position, a growing sense of excitement making its way across your face as you dare to ask, “home?”

“yeah, home,” san confirms, and you can hear the smile in his voice this time. “i told you i’d see you soon, didn’t i?”

“i didn’t think you meant in five literal minutes,” you almost trip over your own feet in your hurry to slip some shoes on. “oh my god, is that why you said you couldn’t facetime me?”

you can hear his answer this time– not the scratchy voice that comes from your speaker, no– the smooth deepness of san’s voice close by. and there he is. after almost a year of freezing days, absent dimples and longing calls, choi san is finally back in namhae for the summer.

in quick succession, you notice three things. one, san has returned from seoul with triple the number of surfboards that he left with, strapped to the top of his black jeep. two, said man is now almost a whole head taller than you as he watches you with a smirk and disconnects your call. and three, he’s not alone.

if you think that san is tall, then the two guys that hop out of the jeep after him are even taller. one of them runs a veiny hand through his dark brown locks, which fall back down to softly frame his face. the other turns in your direction after closing his door and you realise you’ve seen him before– both of them, actually.

on top of your spontaneous calls with san, you facetime him every friday afternoon after your own classes have finished. he’s usually in one of the university’s dance studios because, as a dance major at kq university, the studio is basically his second home. san mentions his friends every now and then and they’ll appear behind him to say hello to you or you’ll be able to hear them in the background of the call.

quite frankly, the crusty quality of san’s front camera hardly does them justice because wow. they’re hot. and tall. they’re not letting you forget that fact when the three of them step away from the jeep and closer to where you and san’s family are waiting to welcome them.

san greets his parents with a hug before he gestures to his friends one by one, “yunho, mingi. the friends i was telling you about.”

yunho and mingi thank san’s parents for letting them stay the summer and apologise in advance for the inconvenience. but from the way they’re immediately told that their extended stay is more than welcome and that hopefully the drive down from seoul wasn’t too tiring, you know san’s parents have already adopted the two well-mannered boys as their own sons.

“hey, pipsqueak,” san sidles up to your side whilst his parents fuss over his friends.

you look at him, appalled by the sudden nickname, and even more so as you swat his hand away when he playfully ruffles your hair to tease, “looks like you’ve been busy doing everything but growing.”

“on second thoughts, maybe i don’t really miss you.”

san laughs, the tinkle of the sound like the crisp smell of the ocean during sunrise. he pulls you into him and that’s all it takes for you to melt in his embrace. despite your earlier quip, you’ve missed san terribly. it finally feels like namhae now that his familiar arms are around you again.

the rumble of san’s chest is soothing as he says, “well, i miss you. it’s good to be back home.”

you pull back a little to look up at him and god, he’s gotten so much taller. “it’s good to have you back home, choi san.”

the sound of approaching footsteps breaks your hug apart and you give the two boys a friendly smile as san roughly introduces your names, “but you all already know that, considering you guys basically see each other every week.”

“on top of the fact that san doesn’t shut up about you,” mingi jokes.

san punches him in the arm and mingi amends himself with a laugh, “namhae! he doesn’t shut up about namhae!”

yunho snorts, then offers you a small hug as he properly introduces himself. he leaves enough space between your bodies for the holy spirit to boogie when his arms encircle you, and you honestly find his courtesy extremely endearing.

“are you two also dance majors?” you ask.

“yeah, so we share some classes together,” yunho explains. “mingi and san are in the department of dance performance though, whereas i’m in choreo, so they have all their classes together and i only share the core ones with them.”

“good thing, too,” mingi joins the conversation and rests an arm around the other’s shoulder. “i’ve known him since high school and i was honestly starting to get a little sick of his face.”

he earns himself a jab to the side and he keels over with a dramatic groan. both san and yunho ignore him in favour of stepping back towards the jeep to unload their surfboards. you eye the boards with curiosity, recognising the white deck with the yellow and blue tail to be san’s. the design is simple, but san had used his own money to purchase it as his first transition board after the beginner-level mini malibu his parents had gifted him, so it’s his baby.

“are these all yours?” you question as san rests the tail of his board on the ground.

he shakes his head with a flustered laugh, “the guys brought theirs along too.”

mingi reaches for his board after yunho takes his and your jaw drops to the ground. “you all surf? wait, so you can surf in seoul?!”

“no, you were right. you can’t,” san chortles in embarrassment. “but there are a couple of indoor surfing places that we can go to.”

mingi hikes his surfboard against his hip, “doesn’t beat the real thing, though.”

“nope, which is exactly why we’re crashing. sorry, by the way–we probably should’ve asked you whether we could come,” yunho scratches the back of his neck.

you frown, “of course you can. it’s not like i’m the town head of namhae or anything.”

“but they know we spend our summers together,” san lightly bumps you with the side of his hip.

“oh,” you can feel heat creeping across your cheeks, so you force it away by jumping on the opportunity to tease, “you know what? mingi was right. you don’t shut up about me, do you.”

mingi hollers at the ammunition you have just given him for future use and even yunho slaps his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. it’s amusing to see san flustering so easily now that there’s a new dynamic of friendship between you and the other two boys, and san resorts to giving both of his friends’ asses a good-natured kick in the direction of the beach.

as they lumber off with their boards sniggering, san effortlessly hoists his own board up and sideways and beckons, “let’s go.”

“you know i can’t surf, san.”

he flicks your nose fondly with his free hand, “not to surf, silly. let’s go get our buckets.”

your eyes widen and you stand on your tiptoes with excitement, “buckets?”

“of course,” san waggles his eyebrows up and down with his dual dimples. “we’ve got some serious sandcastle-building to show off.”

half an hour later, all three surfboards are tossed to one side in the wet sand as you share the buckets for an intense showdown between the ‘namhae ninjas’ and the ‘highschool homies’. san had shot down your suggestion to alliterate your team name with the word ‘neighbours’, claiming it was an insult to the bestfriendshipness between you two, but hadn’t been able to come up with a much better alternative himself.

san holds his breath as you upturn another moulded bucket of sand onto the third tier of your sandcastle pyramid. with little surprise, the foundation starts to crumble and triggers a chain reaction that topples it all over. as always, some things just don’t change, even over time.

mingi laughs at your sandy ruins with an awful lot of audacity for someone who had watched yunho build most of their sandcastle, only to then add a little stick at the very top as a finishing touch. he grabs his phone from where he had left it on the safety of his discarded towel and holds up the front camera to take a photo of you all.

where there used to be two sandcastles between two friends, there are now two sandcastles between four. mingi snaps the photo, eternalising the moment. some things do change over time, and sometimes, change is just the beginning of a new chapter.

“which one do you think looks better?”

your mother takes a step back to scrutinise yunho’s pick. “this one,” she points, “the other colour palette clashes too much.”

san nods solemnly in agreement and mingi squints at his own choice from beside. with the seriousness of their expressions, one would think that they’re discussing investment properties. in reality, you’re watching your trio of friends and your mother earnestly matching and colour-coordinating the floral prints of your father’s flowy farming pants to their button-up shirts.

noticing the dubious frown on mingi’s face, your mother nonchalantly skims her fingertips over the pants he’s holding. “this is one of my favourites because it has little leaves on it,” she remarks, before dropping her voice to a whisper so that only mingi can hear her next words. “it matches your shirt. i think you’ll look the best in it.”

he immediately perks up and you can’t help but compare him to a sunflower that thrives the most under a loving hand. it’s incredibly cute and you can also tell that your mother feels the same, if not obvious from the way she has been giving him extra hugs and compliments all summer.

you rejoin the boys after you have all changed into your pants. it takes a lot of self control not to laugh when you see how seriously they are taking their get-up; rubber boots hiked up to their knees over their floral pants, and their straw hats secured snugly with the chin straps. even as disinterested as your father originally was when the trio had first arrived at the beginning of summer, he now lingers behind the sliding glass doors to watch you and san attempt to teach the tall boys how to plant rice seedlings in the paddy field.

yunho grabs a small, prepared bed of seedlings and turns to look at you cheekily. “want to be a rice friend and show me how to plant these?”

you level him with a stare that makes him chuckle and apologise, “sorry, i won’t say that a-grain.”

he looks awfully pleased with himself, so you turn on your heels in pretence to ditch him for mingi instead. you let out an involuntary yelp when yunho prevents your escape by quite literally manhandling you back next to him. he dares to up his charm by using his wide, sparkling eyes on you as he thrusts the seedlings into your hands, like a child waiting for you to open a bag of snacks– how could anybody say no?

you talk him through your demonstration, separating a small cluster of seedlings from the seedbed before transplanting it into the field. once he seems confident, you let him take over. it’s mesmerising to watch yunho’s hands as he deftly carries out each step– the way his long and slender fingers move with coordination and grace. despite it being his first time, he works skillfully like someone with years of experience. you’ve come to realise that yunho’s good at doing things that involve physicality, like dancing, surfing, and now farming.

“how did you start surfing?” you wonder.

yunho stills momentarily, before he separates another cluster of seedlings and runs his fingers through its green shoots. “i actually started surfing because mingi wanted to try,” his voice is fond. “it’s been four or five years now.”

“that’s really sweet of you.”

he ducks his head bashfully, then asks, “what about you? how come you don’t surf?”

“san roped me into his first few lessons, but i never got the hang of it so i stopped,” you reveal. “i prefer watching, anyway.”

“maybe you just didn’t have a good teacher. i could teach you one day?”

you don’t doubt that he would make a good teacher, but you would most definitely be a terrible student. the shirt and board shorts that leave very little to imagination when he’s soaked, and the water that drips from the ends of his hair down his jawline and neck are distracting enough as they are from a distance.

you chuckle, “you’re going to need a lot longer than just a few days to turn me into a surfer. you guys leave this weekend, don’t you?”

“that’s true,” he hums. “but there’s always next summer…if you’d like that?”

at his words, you suddenly don’t know where to look. the rosiness that starts to colour your cheeks makes a small part of you hope that there is an underlying hint of flirting in his question. before you can answer though, you’re interrupted by san peering over your shoulder to look at yunho’s progress. “of course you’re good at this too.”

you crane your neck to look around san, where you find mingi squatting and planting seedlings in the rows that are within arm’s reach.

“how’s he going?”

san glances back, “he’s, uh–well. he’s trying.”

“my hardest!” mingi yells across the field.

with a laugh, you stand up and slowly make your way towards him, leaving san and yunho to lay down the rules to see who can plant the most seedlings in the next half an hour. because apparently, everything needs to be a competition between them.

the seedlings that mingi has planted don’t look that bad, honestly. they’re a little lopsided, the spacing and height of each seedling a little inconsistent, but for his first time it really isn’t all too bad. you tell him such and squat down beside him. “here, let me show you.”

you gently remove one of the seedlings from the watery mud whilst talking, “they may just be plants, but they’re like people, too. if you treat them with love and care, you can see the same reflected in them.” you neaten the sides of the hole as you add, “you know, it’s kind of like how yunho loves and cares for you.”

having spent all summer with the pair, you notice all the times yunho subtly perks his head up to locate where the other boy is. all the times yunho brings him into conversation or back into the little huddle you’re all standing in. all the times yunho will wait for mingi to say what he wants or thinks before saying the same thing himself.

your fingers ease the seedling into the hole, then you fill it with soil and pat it down firmly to give the shoot the support it needs. “yunho told me he started surfing because you wanted to.”

at your words, mingi nods with a wistful smile; completely different from his characteristic cheerfulness. even the brightest of stars have moments where their twinkle dulls. “i was going through a rough time at home and i wanted something to distract myself…give myself a reason to get out of the house, even if just for a few hours,” he reveals. “sometimes, yunho and i skipped our morning classes and he would take me on long trips to the beach just so that we could surf.”

“i’m glad you had him to help you through that.”

“yeah, he’s helped me a lot,” mingi agrees. “he still does. sannie too.” as he talks, mingi attempts to plant another seedling the way you have shown him, and this time, it stands tall and proud amongst the other shoots beside the one you have planted.

“how are things at home now?” you ask.

he shrugs aloofly, an indirect answer that tells you everything you need to know. his gaze settles on the other half of your little summer quartet, who are now in heated debate over the winner of the planting competition. “both of them knew that i didn’t want to go back to my hometown over summer. that’s why san asked if we wanted to come here with him. thanks for letting us stay this summer, y/n. it’s meant a lot to me.”

your heart breaks a little at his words and you nudge him playfully, “stop treating me like i’m the head of namhae. there’ll always be a place here for the both of you.”

he lets out a laugh, a glimpse of his usual self. “we just know how much summers mean to you and san.”

“and meanings can always change for the better,” you counter with a smile.

mingi feels warm from the very inside. for a moment, only you and him exist in this bubble of comfort as you simply gaze at each other. and it doesn’t go unnoticed. yunho stretches his back with a satisfied exhale at san’s admittance of defeat before glancing at the two of you looking nice and cosy in the exact same corner of the paddy field you were working on half an hour ago.

“have you two just been sitting there this whole time?” yunho narrows his eyes as his words draw san’s attention.

“no?” you flimsily say, at the same time mingi confidently declares, “yes.”

the man beside you is back to his usual antics as he giddily fans the fire by gloating, “what are you going to do about it?”

yunho and san glance at each other and you start rising to your feet at the foreboding of danger. they nod.

that’s all the warning you get before they lunge in your direction. as dorky and harmless as the two of them look in their styled outfit of farming pants and straw hats, they are anything but that as yunho and san take frighteningly large steps through the rice paddy with their long legs. and just as your luck would have it, yunho is the one who is closest to you out of the two predators. you hardly think that it’s a fair chase between the tallest and the shortest.

“yun, we can talk this out like adults,” you try to distract him.

whilst you’re struggling for your life to pull your boots out of the squelching mud as fast as you can, yunho easily moves towards you with a devilish grin. you see his outstretched hands, covered in mud, and you decide right there and then that you’re not above begging.

“don’t come any closer! please, i’m sorry! i’m–” your pleads are cut off when he grabs you by the waist and hauls you over his shoulder.

for a brief second, you almost slip right over him face-first into the mud from the momentum and your life flashes before your eyes. but then yunho’s arms flex as he steadily grips your thighs and readjusts your weight, and you resign your fate to his shoulder and his pretty– but grubby– hands.

you twist your head to the side when a husky screech alerts you to victim number two and you find mingi at the mercy of san’s headlock. he rapidly taps the latter’s forearm, yelling mercy as you all burst out into laughter. very soon, the field turns into a playground of childish liveliness as all intentions of farming are tossed to the wind.

mingi was right in saying that summers mean a lot to you and san. but as you all chase and run away from one another around the muddy field, smearing loving handprints of dirt over each other’s faces and clothes, sounds of happiness loud enough that your parents can hear it from back inside the house, summer takes on a new meaning in the shape of you four.

in hindsight, it makes a lot of sense now why san’s parents had knocked on your door earlier this morning, entrusting you with the spare key to their house and waving goodbye as they drove away in their rented campervan. they had let you know that they would be going on a road trip along the coast this summer so that san and his friends could have the house to themselves.

you hadn’t thought much of it– just excitedly counted down the hours until the reunion of your little quartet. yunho had been texting you updates as he, san and mingi finally made the four-hour trip down to namhae now that they were on summer vacation. one of the last texts you had received had been a picture of mingi in the backseat, head lolling and mouth open in deep slumber, with the caption, ‘gonna need to wake sleeping beauty up soon XD we’ll be there in about twenty’.

this time, you had opted to wait for their arrival by sitting on the embankment outside your houses. your legs had dangled off the ledge as you looked out towards the beach, and at the telltale noise of their arrival, you had excitedly hopped up to your feet, only to be met with a sight that had your steps halting in fluster. and oh, this is why san’s parents had decided to yield the house. because this time, not only have the number of surfboards doubled, but so have the number of cars and boys that are suddenly in front of you.

as san turns off the ignition to his jeep, you’re dazedly swept up into a sandwich of hugs between yunho and mingi as they greet you eagerly. it’s good to see them again in the flesh instead of their measly five-inch-tall selves over facetime, and you’d be a little overwhelmed by their height on either side of you– having forgotten just how tall they really are– if your attention isn’t distracted by the opening doors of the banged-up ute behind san’s jeep.

either seoul has water that’s doped with something, or birds of a feather flock together, because each of the three boys that step out are equally as good-looking. you’d be lying if your heart didn’t skip a beat at the sight of them. you’re a simple girl with hormones weak for eye candy, after all.

yunho slings an arm around you and walks you a little closer as the new faces turn to look at you with friendly smiles. “this is y/n,” yunho introduces. “and these are our friends, jongho and yeosang.”

you notice that he skips over one of the boys, who starts to open his mouth in complaint, but then yunho continues on, “and this short one is hongjoong. we keep him as our mascot.”

hongjoong gives the taller his middle finger with practised ease and counters, “and we keep you as our tall circus freak.”

the way everyone snickers, yunho and hongjoong included, tells you that this is just about as average an interaction can be. after the boys properly greet themselves and pleasantries are exchanged with you, they decide to unload all their luggage so that they can rest for the afternoon. you walk over to the open boot of the black jeep, reaching for the last duffel and hoisting it into your hands.

before you can so much as take two steps, there’s a hand carefully taking the bag from yours. when you tilt your head up, it’s san’s kind eyes that are gazing back at you. “here, let me do it,” he casually tells you and then he walks towards the open doors of his house.

left with the outline of his back, you have a clear view of his shoulders flexing under his white shirt and you wonder when he started to fill out his clothes with muscle. you become conscious of the way you’re subtly ogling at your best friend, so you shake your head and walk over to the back of the ute instead where there are still a few bags left in the open bed.

there’s a small duffel that looks relatively light. as you drag it closer, you quickly realise it’s heavier than it looks. “what the hell is in this? weights?” you mutter to yourself.

there’s a giggle beside you, “sorry, that’s probably yeosang’s bag. he brings his supplements with him everywhere.”

it’s jongho this time, with his gummy smile and crescent eyes, who takes the bag handles out of your hands. he extends a brown paper bag out to you instead. “we can trade. this is much lighter.”

he easily picks up the bag of supplements and then reaches for a second bag to sling over his shoulder. for the amount of adorableness he exudes from his smile and laugh, the strength that he seems to have is on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. as he walks away, there’s the crunch of approaching footsteps and you see that it’s the short boy, hongjoong. he’s only short relative to his friends, because when he comes to stand beside you he’s still easily taller than you.

“maybe you could help me hold this, too.” he’s holding his closed fist out, making it impossible to discern what’s in his hands.

“what is it?” you ask as you open your hand, palm upturned for him to drop whatever he is holding into yours.

except he simply uncurls his fingers and intertwines them with yours, shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. a laugh erupts from your throat, only growing in volume when yeosang appears and interrupts by stepping between the two of you, forcing his friend to let go of your hand.

as yeosang grabs the last suitcase and closes the tailgate, he deadpans to the other, “san’s going to chop your hand off when he sees,” then he slings his free arm around hongjoong and ushers the both of you back into the house.

“it’s okay, i wouldn’t let san do that to you,” you reassure.

hongjoong smirks triumphantly at yeosang, only for you to wipe the expression off his face when you finish, “because that’d be animal abuse.”

“it’s been five minutes and you’ve already picked your side,” he laments dramatically, before nodding. “i see how you play. i like you.”

“it’s a shame i don’t,” you quip back immediately.

“fuck, did i just get rejected?”

yeosang shoves his friend through the doorway, “stop digging yourself a deeper hole.”

you all laugh as you shut the front door behind you to stop the cold of the air conditioner that san has turned on from escaping. you’re definitely starting to see the appeal hongjoong’s friends have in teasing him.

you take the bag of snacks still in your hand to the kitchen and you set it on the counter where san is drinking a glass of water. he’s watching the rest of the boys play ‘scissors, paper, rock’ over room allocations now that all their luggage has been piled up in the living room. he raises an arm and you easily slot yourself into his side and slide an arm around his waist. relaxing into the touch of his hand slowly rubbing up and down your arm, you also watch as the boys grow increasingly rowdy with each emerging winner.

you’ve had the fleeting thought before, but now that you’re seeing all the boys together, you realise just how attractive they all well and truly are. even san, you’re slowly starting to notice, does not lack in the face or body department.

“do you guys have a rule where you have to be attractive to be friends or something?” you ask, only half-jokingly. even though you had directed the question at san, it’s not him who answers you.

“aww, stop. you think we’re attractive?” of course hongjoong would be the one to overhear.

immediately, the feistiness in you appears. “yeah, and i’m wondering why they made an exception for you.”

he takes on the jest easily, “god, you’re obsessed with me.”

“you’re right, i’m a little crazy for dogs,” you shoot back, and you can feel the shake of san’s chuckles from next to you.

“good thing i’d bark for you, then.”

“what the fuck, guys?” mingi interrupts, “get a room.”

at that, san steps forward protectively and shoos his friends away, “hurry up and put your bags in the rooms so we can go surfing.”

yunho and yeosang take their bags towards the small guest room down the hall, whilst the remaining three head for san’s room. you turn to san incredulously, “you’re fitting four people in your room?”

he shakes his head, “of course not. i’m going to sleep in haneul’s room. she’s on a trip with her friends for most of the summer.”

“she can stay at mine when she comes back. until you guys have to go back to seoul,” you suggest.

“oh, that’s right. your parents are in yeosu now, aren’t they?”

you nod. you had told san a couple of weeks ago that your parents had moved back to your grandparent’s house for the meantime. they’re not sure how long they will be staying in your hometown for, but considering the deteriorating health of your grandparents and the fact that you are independent enough to take care of yourself, it’ll likely be for a while.

san doesn’t tell you, but that’s part of the reason why he has brought so many of his friends back this summer. he knows that you’re silently struggling to adjust– even if his parents take care of you like their own daughter– so he hopes that he and his friends can fill in some of the silence, even if just for the summer. he wishes it didn’t just have to be summer.

“do you need to change into something else before we go?” he asks you.

you look down at the t-shirt and shorts that you’re wearing. you don’t mind getting them wet, but you can’t say the same about your underclothes. “yeah, i’ll quickly go and change first.”

he nods and watches as you head towards the door to toe on your sandals. when you pull the door open, he gently calls after you, “it’s good to see you again, pipsqueak. i’ve missed you.”

you smile, “i’ve missed you more.”

even after the door closes behind you, san’s smile stays on his face. “i’ve missed you the most.”

no matter how many times you experience the thrill of getting tossed into the ocean, you still cannot fathom the fact that the once short, skinny boy who used to pretend to pick you up is now tall and strong enough to actually do it.

“you cheater!” you screech when you feel san’s arms snake around your waist from behind, lifting you up off your feet. “you said you’d give me a ten-second head start!”

his gleeful laugh rings in your ears as he ignores your flailing limbs and teases, “i did! your little legs are just too slow.”

you start to feel the coolness of waves splashing your ankles and toes the further san carries you out away from shore and your grip on his forearm tightens in anticipation. with a slight swing, he lets go of your waist and tosses you into the water. the next thing you know when you regain your balance and wipe the water from your face is the sound of san’s yelp as he disappears underwater. jongho grins from above, having leapt onto the older’s back, who in turn has crumpled under the unsuspecting weight.

san emerges with a hulk-like roar absolutely soaked to the bone, his black t-shirt clinging to his torso. the clear outlines of his chest and broad shoulders set off an unfamiliar skip in your heart yet again, and san lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his face– revealing his abs in all of their wonder– does the complete opposite of calming you down.

you're fucked. there's no way you're attracted to san like that. in the form of petty revenge, said man brings his hands down to slap the surface of the water, splashing it right in your face and jongho’s and…yeah, that flutter of butterflies is gone.

san is caught right in the middle of the crossfire as you and jongho splash him, drowning his figure in torrential rain. the sounds of his choked laughter draw the attention of everyone else too, who have no idea why san is the target but are more than willing to join in. but with the plethora of water being splashed and the chaos of hands coming from every possible direction, the three of you end up drowning under the attacks.

hongjoong quickly loses motivation when his arms grow tired from doggy-paddling the water and yunho and yeosang’s attempts also slow down. they snicker at the aftermath– your trio absolutely drenched– and then rapidly skitter away before any of you decide to retaliate in vengeance.

at their cowardice, san bites the bait and goes hollering after them, leaving you with the youngest of your group of friends. jongho beckons towards the shore with his head and you’re momentarily distracted by his wet bangs falling over his forehead and eyebrows.

“up for more surfing?” he grins at you. and if there’s one thing you’ve learnt over the summer, it’s that you would kill for jongho if he asked you with his gummy smile.

jongho is a surprisingly good surfer. as the only one in the group who grew up in seoul with limited exposure to the beach, you can hardly tell that he’s a relative beginner in comparison to the rest of the boys unless you were a surfer yourself.

once they had become their close-knit group and they realised that most of them had a shared love for surfing, they had colloquially formed their own little surfer’s club, knighting jongho as their honorary member. he learnt to surf in indoor centres, during the occasional beach road trips they would make and through the experienced guidance of his friends.

of all six surfboards they had brought to namhae, jongho’s softboard is the one that is the most ideal for you to learn with. true to his words, yunho had attempted to teach you how to surf but on his own board– a shortboard great for experienced surfers to catch steep and aggressive waves, but terribly hard for a beginner to control. jongho had offered his board and so under his and yunho’s careful hands, you had spent your summer practising on the beach before slowly transitioning into the water.

which is where you find yourself now, on your stomach as you slowly paddle out. jongho stands close by and waist-deep in the shallow waters of the spot that he has led you to where the waves are few and calm. just a couple of metres away, yeosang idly straddles his longboard as he watches in support.

“you remember how to push through the waves?” jongho checks and you nod, gripping the rails of the surfboard and straightening your arms to lift your torso upwards.

“yeah, hang on,” he says, moving closer. jongho rests his hand gently on the small of your back to steady your body and you have to focus on what he’s telling you instead of the feeling of his warm hand. he taps the sides of the board a few inches in front of where your grip currently is.

“hold it here, otherwise your centre of gravity is too far back,” he explains as you shift your hands forward. “the board might end up tipping backwards when you go through the wave.”

you retry the movement with the new positioning and jongho nods in satisfaction, removing his hand and stepping back again.

“there’s a wave coming in we could try,” yeosang suggests.

the slight swell of a forming wave starts to appear in the horizon. it doesn’t increase much in size the closer it gets, but as it reaches its peak height, the top breaks and turns into a whitewater wave. yeosang is out a little further and so he demonstrates how to push through first, lifting his torso above the break as his surfboard cuts through the wave.

“okay, ready? hold steady, steady,” jongho encourages, helping you time the movement, “and push up!”

you follow his call and straighten your arms to lift your upper body out of the wave’s trajectory, guiding the nose of your surfboard through at the same time that jongho dives under the wave. although your face still gets splashed with some water and your board trembles slightly in your grasp, you make it through the wave without tipping over.

“i did it!” you yell, shakily sliding yourself further up your board so that you can straddle it.

“you did it!” the boys respond excitedly.

jongho jumps up and down beside your board, prompting yeosang to slide into the water to join your side. you laugh brightly at the sense of achievement and at the sight of the two boys bobbing around you in a merry-go-round of exuberance.

“just a little more practice and you’ll be taking on the monster swells in no time,” yeosang declares. you know he’s exaggerating, but it makes pride bloom in your chest regardless.

somebody calls out your names and you all turn to look. it’s san standing near the waters, gesturing behind him as he yells, “we’re going to walk to the mart to get some ice cream. do you guys want to come?”

“yes!” you shout back, “wait for me!”

ungraciously tumbling off your surfboard in a hurry so that you can pull it back to shore, the boys chuckle at your eagerness. jongho grabs his board from out of your grasp so that he can carry it instead and the boys all trail behind you as you bound past san towards the pile of your belongings on the sand. while you sift through the heap for your sandals, your other hand subconsciously peels your clinging shirt away from your body. you feel the presence of someone coming up behind you and assuming it’s san, you straighten your back with a phone in your hand.

“san, you left your ph–” you start, except it’s yeosang, who bends down to pick up his towel and drapes it around you. it’s warm from the hours it’s spent in the sun and you can’t help the pleasant shiver that runs through your body. yeosang tugs it snugly over your shoulders and then takes the phone from your hand.

“here,” he tosses it to its owner, who falls into step behind you.

san nods his head in thanks and rummages under a towel where your sandals have been hiding before placing your shoes by your feet. “the ground’s pretty hot,” he says as he offers you his forearm to steady yourself with, patiently waiting for you to do up the buckles around your ankle.

“wait, i forgot my wallet,” you tell him once jongho and yeosang rejoin you after putting their surfboards away.

“don’t worry about it,” san reassures, “hongjoong’s buying.”

your ears perk up and he laughs because he knows exactly what you’re thinking. “yes, y/n. bleed him dry and order whatever you want."

"even a double–no, even a triple scoop?" you exclaim scandalously.

san's eyes drip adoration, "yes, even a triple scoop."

you run ahead with a cheer, blabbering jongho’s ear off about how if you get three different flavours and he also gets three different flavours, then you guys get to share six flavours, before yeosang joins in with excited chatter about how you guys can make it nine flavours if he does the same. you catch up with the rest of your friends and somehow, like a devilish cult, you all start to chant, “bleed hongjoong dry! bleed hongjoong dry!”

the oldest jokes that he only offered to pay for yours, not everybody’s, so mingi starts to tell you what he wants so that you can order in his stead, setting off a chain reaction as everyone else places their orders through you. they surround you, happy jostles and raucous snickers as you disappear in the middle of the group.

from behind, as san watches you grow closer and closer with his friends each summer, he can’t help but feel like he’s going to burst from affection and pride. he knows it will be a while until your parents move back to namhae, as is the same for himself until he graduates. but between his group of six– which will hopefully become the full eight next summer– and the group chat that you all made within hours of meeting each other, san is confident that you’ll never feel alone.

“if only wooyoung was here, then we’d have someone to grill the meat properly,” yeosang muses as he watches jongho flip and examine the packaging of the beef. “he’s the best cook out of us.”

“trust him to be a good cook, too,” you comment.

when you had first met yeosang, jongho and hongjoong, they had told you that there were two other friends who weren’t able to make it to namhae with the rest of them this summer. one of them was wooyoung, who naturally became part of the group after attending the same dance club as yunho, mingi and san. wooyoung had then been paired up with jongho during an inter-department project between the department of film & multimedia and the department of drama, growing close to the younger and by extension, to hongjoong, a senior in jongho’s drama society.

their other friend was seonghwa, they had told you; the oldest in their group and also in the year above like hongjoong. however, seonghwa attends a completely different university along with yeosang, the both of them undertaking a degree in education at seoul national university. they share some senior classes together, as yeosang had transferred from a law degree and had some of the credit prerequisites to jump ahead. and since yeosang is a close family friend of wooyoung’s, the three of them gradually became well-acquainted with each other.

it’s a running joke that you don’t need to remember how everybody knows each other– you just need to know that wooyoung is the common factor between them all, the person who decided that all of his friends should be friends with each other. so not only is wooyoung a social butterfly, seemingly charming and witty with good looks– should the boys’ track record stay true– but apparently he’s a good cook too. some people really just have it all.

“what else do we need?” jongho asks, haphazardly placing a few packets of the meat into the shopping cart he’s pushing.

“mingi said it would be good to make smores at the end of the night,” you answer.

last summer, during the final week that mingi, yunho and san were in namhae, you had all decided to have a barbeque feast and then spend the rest of the night huddled around a small campfire on the shores of the beach. it had been one of your favourite memories, simply basking in the peaceful buzz of summer and slowing your lives down just for one night to do nothing. you had suggested turning it into a tradition, and now that the final week of this summer has arrived, you’re all at one of the few grocery stores in namhae to stock up on food, snacks and drinks for the night.

“let’s see if they have marshmallows, then,” jongho makes a move to walk away.

hongjoong suddenly interrupts the conversation, appearing with an empty trolley in front of him. “get in,” he tells you.

yeosang helpfully points out, “that sounds like something a man with a tinted white van would say,” at the same time you question, “are we even allowed to do that?”

he beams, “i like to think that until somebody tells us we’re not allowed to do something, we are allowed to do it.”

“i can think of fifteen different reasons right now why that’s terrible life advice.”

the man simply nudges your side with the end of his trolley and you half-heartedly frown, “i’m really hoping this seonghwa friend is more responsible than you are, seeing as he’s older.”

“i hate to break it to you, but seonghwa’s worse,” jongho grimaces. “maturity ages backwards in this group, unfortunately.”

at jongho’s words, you turn to look for yunho, hoping that as the next oldest down the line he can talk some sense into hongjoong. only you’re met with the sight of the overgrown man pushing his own shopping cart with a very cramped but happy mingi sitting inside.

you sense defeat when hongjoong nudges you once more. “i can’t believe i’m doing this,” you mutter to yourself as he holds it steady for you to climb into. after all, you think, what’s life without breaking a few rules?

except nothing prepares you for the absolute madness that unfolds the moment your bottom touches the cold, metal gridding of the trolley. hongjoong quite literally revs the handlebar with engine sound effects, before charging through the aisle at full speed in an apparent race against yunho and his passenger princess. you hold on to for dear life, thinking that this will be over once you reach the end of the aisle. but both racers show no signs of stopping, instead drifting with sharp cornering into the next aisle as you screech. half of you is terrified, but the other half of you is starting to seek the thrill.

“faster, joong! faster!” you goad when you can see san standing at the end of the frozen section, waving an imaginary chequered flag.

both carts rattle past him in a close match, and as opposed as you were to the idea at first, you argue passionately against the honorary referee and the rival team over who won first place. even jongho and yeosang pick a side and claim that their eyes– from three aisles over– are as trustworthy as VAR playback.

it’s no surprise when the ruckus you’re all making gets a store manager sent your way. but by some saving grace, most likely the begrudging understanding that everyone has done this exact thing at one point or another growing up, the store does not kick you out. they let you finish shopping for the supplies you need, but not without the glares of the retail workers following you and your friends regardless of which aisle you try to duck and disappear behind.

with hushed giggles and not-so-subtle elbows in each other’s sides, your group hurriedly pays and places the multitude of plastic bags back into the trolley. san and jongho take one of the trolleys each and you all walk back to the cars to load the shopping. you would think that a scolding would deter any further misbehaviour, but when you all see the relatively empty parking lot, there’s only shared smiles of deviousness and glints of mischief.

if anyone were to look at the parking lot outside the grocery store that tuesday morning, they would see a group of seven friends, clad in an eyesore disarray of sweatpants, shorts, pajama tops and slippers, pushing each other around in shopping carts like bumper cars with shrieks of joy, circling around the dusty jeep and banged-up ute that has become an enabler of their connection and happiness.

you may all be doing the very things that your older selves will look back on with exasperated smiles and disapproving head shakes in ten years. but in the moment, you are unafraid; uncaring of what others think, because you have your friends by your side. and this, you think to yourself, is the essence of youth and summer.

you wish you were older. because being older means that you’ll have graduated, and being graduated means that you won’t have to fucking study for your fucking exams. you let out a groan and drop your head onto the table, making an audible thump when your forehead misses the thick textbooks and scattered notes, and hits the solid surface instead.

“hey, you need those brain cells,” someone gently chides. haneul stands at the doorway to your bedroom, watching your misery with a fond smile.

“can’t lose what i don’t have,” you mumble back.

“take a break,” she suggests. “do you want me to get you something from the bakery?”

haneul laughs when your head immediately turns to look at her, your left cheek pressed against the table by the cheeky smile that adorns your face. she chuckles again, “got it. i’ll be back.”

you absent-mindedly listen as the lock of your front door clicks shut and then let out a deep sigh at the silence that follows. it’s been a few hours since you first sat down and started studying but it feels like you’ve been reading the same sentence over and over again with no progress. pressing your forehead into the table again, you groan in frustration.

your ringtone goes off and your hand blindly fumbles around for your phone, sliding what you’re relatively sure is the answer button. “yeah?” you say into the receiver.

“someone’s a little grumpy today,” a teasing voice sounds.

“hwa?” you sit up instantly, looking at your phone properly.

it is him, not only blessing you with the deep richness of his voice but also the visual of him in a black tank top as he looks amusedly at the facetime you have answered. “are you still studying?” he asks.

you deflate a little, reminded of why you’ve been creating a crater in your table with your head for the past ten minutes. “mhm,” you hum affirmatively. “except nothing’s going into my brain anymore.”

“sounds like you need a break.”

“that’s exactly what haneul said,” you grumble, although you’re not entirely sure why you’re so opposed to their suggestions to stop studying.

“because we’re right,” he quirks his eyebrow. “what’s haneul doing at yours, anyway?”

“taking advantage of my netflix while i slave away to pass my exams. but she’s forgiven since she’s buying me snacks.”

“then take a break until she gets back and you finish eating. it’ll only be an hour, tops,” seonghwa convinces. “i’ll even set an alarm to let us know when time is up and i’ll keep you company when you study.”

you sag a little into your chair, shoulders relieving of their tension as you concede, which makes him smile sympathetically, “just a few more weeks to go until summer and then you’ll be free.”

“are you taking up summer school again?” you ask.

after san had added you and all the boys into a combined group chat, you had made friends with the two that you didn’t get to meet. you discovered seonghwa hadn’t been able to make the trip to namhae last year because he had chosen to take summer school instead. he had wanted to complete some of his degree requirements earlier in hopes of working part-time during his final year to gain practical experience. wooyoung, on the other hand, had had a portfolio due for his film class that required the majority of his summer if he wanted to complete it in time.

seonghwa grimaces at the memory, “no, not this time. it was a mistake, honestly. i burnt out so fast the first semester back that i didn’t even end up applying for any jobs.” he points a stern finger at you and warns, “don’t ever think about doing summer school.”

“trust me,” you laugh, “i have no intentions of ever doing that.”

you appreciate his advice regardless, because as immature as the other boys had made him out to be, seonghwa really does look out for all of you as the oldest of the group. and more often than not, you find yourself gravitating towards him when you need comfort or reassurance. “does that mean i’ll finally get to meet you?”

seonghwa nods, “woo as well.”

the screen of your phone suddenly splits to make room for an additional video as somebody joins the call. you hear his voice before his video even buffers. speak of the devil.

“oi! why are you all calling without me?” wooyoung complains.

contrary to the roll of your eyes, a smile makes its way across your face as you respond, “we’re literally calling from the group chat. no one’s leaving you out of anything.”

and as if his appearance is some sort of talisman, more of the boys start to join the call one by one. even hongjoong’s profile picture appears, camera off and on mute, wanting to feel included even if he’s in the middle of class. yunho and mingi pop up from behind wooyoung, so you’re guessing they’re busy practising in the studio. you wonder where san is.

someone asks you a question about how your exams are going, but you’re momentarily distracted by the buzzing notification of a text. “hang on,” you mumble, “let me just…reply to this.”

it’s one of your classmates, johnny, asking whether you’re home right now. you had accidentally slept through one of the review lectures earlier in the week and he had offered to give you a copy of his notes. from his text message, it appears he’s close by and able to drop them off now. you reply an affirmative and then click back into the video call, asking, “sorry, what were you saying?”

the drone of shared chatter about exams and the upcoming break fills the silence of your bedroom, like the fluttering breeze of a pleasant spring day. if they were not already so closely correlated to the warm, golden rays and salty spray of the summer ocean, your friends would be spring– the season of fresh air, blooming flowers and thriving vitality.

“someone looks happier. who are you talking to?” haneul emerges in your bedroom having come back from the bakery, holding a pastry box.

you didn’t even realise you were subconsciously smiling. “i’m facetiming the boys.”

she smirks, eyes glinting with mischief as she waggles her eyebrows suggestively and drags out her words, “i see. so who is it that you like? or is it all of them?”

“quit it!” you pretend to shove her. “want to say hi?” you turn the screen of your phone in her direction and there’s a chorus of obedient hi haneul’s as you turn up the volume.

she waves and peers at wooyoung’s video. “where’s the baby brat?”

from somewhere within the call, san yells out indignantly, “stop calling me that!” there’s a slight rustle as he walks closer to take the phone out of wooyoung’s grasp and when you peer to have a look, you can see that he’s sweaty and red-faced from finishing up a routine.

“you still respond to it, so,” haneul shrugs.

she disregards her brother’s continued complaints to drop the box onto your table along with a neatly-stapled stack of handwritten notes. “i bumped into johnny outside and he said this was for you,” she explains as you take it gratefully.

at the mention of a boy’s name, wooyoung shoves his nose towards his front camera. he rapidly asks, “who’s johnny? is he haneul’s boyfriend or what? why’s he giving you something?”

even hongjoong flicks a message into the group chat to ask, ‘who tf is jonny’.

you hold up the paper to show the boys and laugh, “he’s my classmate, guys. and he gave me notes because i missed the lecture.”

wooyoung frowns at your answer, clearly dissatisfied as he complains, “why is he giving you notes. and–what the fuck? did he hand write them? what a pretentious prick.”

you ignore him in favour of opening the pastry box to see what else haneul brought back for you. “how did you know i love these?” you exclaim.

she gives you that same, mischievous look from earlier and as she starts to exit your bedroom to leave you to your call and sweet treat, she vaguely answers, “how do you think?”

from over your phone, the others start to ask what you’ve got in the box, allowing a certain boy to easily slip unnoticed into the background. but it doesn’t take a detective to work out how– or perhaps you should say, who– told haneul about your recent cravings.

because if there’s one person who knows you the best, one person who takes notice of even the littlest of things, then it would be him.

hongjoong lightly slaps your thigh in retaliation as your laughter jostles his head that’s resting on your stomach, which only serves to make you laugh even harder. he lifts his head to grumble, “stop encouraging him, y/n. he’s going to think he’s actually funny or something.”

with a shaky exhale, you wipe a stray tear away, because you don’t think you’ve ever laughed this hard in your entire life. now that you see their whole group dynamic in action with the complete eight of them, it’s like watching a live sitcom.

wooyoung looks at him with a smug expression…then proceeds to yank the older’s sock right off his foot before throwing it into oblivion. hongjoong jolts up and dives for him and they immediately tussle about on the floor of san’s living room. amidst all of the commotion, san sneakily goes for seonghwa’s socks and you’re glad that you had peeled yours off the moment you had walked through the front door because suddenly everyone’s socks are a target.

the successful harvests that are tossed away are immediately snatched up by mingi, who hurls them under the table, behind the couch and on top of the television. you think you can see one dangling off the lights too, but you’re not about to snitch. jongho joins the corner you have taken refuge in and yeosang follows soon after, content to stay far away from the havoc that has quickly turned into wrestling. unfortunately, wooyoung is unable to let the three of you watch the world burn peacefully. he yells at the boys, who choose this to be the time to actually listen to him for once, and you’re all left scrabbling in different directions when they dive for you three.

it’s only the first day of summer and the second hour of officially meeting the boys as their full group of eight, but you can already tell that the next few months are going to be filled with absolute chaos and mayhem. and so the summer that marks san’s third visit back to namhae passes by quickly as you and the eight boys fall into an easy routine. hours turn into days, days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months. summer revolves around each other and there is never a moment spent apart.

you join the boys at dawn every day, clad in only a pair of shorts, a tank top and a light cardigan to shoulder because there’s still a slight nip of the early morning before the sun appears. you watch contentedly as they dance with the ocean on their surfboards– a duet of paddling out into the deeper waters and catching the breaks of the swells back towards shore.

the more you watch them surf, the more you start to realise just how much san has improved. you still recall the day san had fallen in love with the way the surfer used his own body and surfboard as an extension of the ocean, and you still have early memories of san’s lanky limbs flailing as he lost his balance over and over again, trying to replicate the same gracefulness. now, san is not just a dancer– he is the choreographer; the one who controls the ocean under his board.

as the early morning wears on, the serene crash of waves and intermittent squawk of the soaring seagulls are gradually interspersed with the boys’ rings of joy as they become more interested in pushing each other off their boards and splashing each other, rather than surfing itself. the strongest trio easily overpower everyone else and you shake your head fondly when the others don’t learn their lesson regardless of how many times they are suplexed underwater.

when the sun starts to wake up, they join you on the sandy shores, surfboards placed in a rough row so that you can all share them like seats. you lean against whoever is sitting beside you and watch the sunrise until your stomachs start to growl for attention.

greasy takeaway is always the foolproof solution. you share hearty burgers that are too tall to bite into and salty fries that are slathered in dipping sauce, sprawled out on the cool floorboards at san’s or yours, soaking in the refreshing coldness of the air conditioner on high without a care in the world for the electricity bill that is racking up.

afternoons are for the second round of the meal; bingsoo from the cafe, pastries from the nearby bakery or cheap ice cream from the mart. and after all the food, the best way to digest before you go out again at dusk to catch some of the waves is to take a nap.

the giant puppy pile of tangled limbs and human pillows is arguably your favourite part of the day. even if the ends of jongho’s hair tickles your nose and your arm goes a little numb from the way san hugs it and your neck feels cramped from resting on seonghwa’s shoulder, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

sometimes, when you’re all feeling rejuvenated, you’ll clamber into their three cars or happily pack yourselves into two and drive down the coast to one of the other beaches. the drive there is music blasting and scratchy singing at the top of your lungs with the windows rolled down, your flyaway hairs caressing the cheeks of the boys beside you. it’s rest stops to fill up on drinks and dessert– any excuse for more ice cream and a chance to make hongjoong’s wallet cry.

the trip back, on the other hand, is quiet, the designated drivers pressing softly on the pedals and turning with care so as not to jostle the sleeping passengers. you’re all exhausted and passed out against one another, faces pressed against a shoulder or the crown of someone’s head. slow music plays lowly in the background as the streetlights start to turn on like a warm greeting to welcome your group home.

and just as yeosang had once said, wooyoung is a good cook. dinner time becomes a bonding activity– as if every second of summer isn’t already a bonding moment– where you all experiment with different and increasingly complicated recipes. it usually ends up with him and seonghwa actually doing the cooking whilst everyone else eats the ingredients and tries not to accidentally stab someone with the knives, and dinner doesn’t usually actually become dinner until eight or nine o’clock.

but it doesn’t really matter when, half the time, the post-meal conversations turn into a slumber party after time slips away. if you retire early, you’ll sometimes be joined by haneul in your bedroom, who has stayed in namhae this summer. she’ll spill her workplace tea and you’ll gossip about your college peers late until the stars have long started to twinkle in the sky.

there are no scheduled bedtimes, no proper mealtimes, no time limits to complete things nor niggling guilt not to complete things– there is no formal routine. but when spontaneity and carefreeness become the everyday occurrence, that becomes the routine.

and as with any sort of routine comes the familiarity. familiarity finds itself in the way san sing-songs wake up, sleepyhead whenever you accidentally sleep in, and instead of shying under the covers at the sight of him in your bedroom, you whine for five more minutes. familiarity finds itself in the way yunho’s hands hover around the small of your back whenever you’re all walking to the mart for snacks and in the way wooyoung immediately reaches for the flavours he knows you like.

familiarity finds itself in the way you and hongjoong will bare puppy teeth at each other one moment then naturally use the other as a human pillow the next. it’s in the way jongho hides you when san tries to throw you into the water; the way mingi tucks your head into his shoulder when he spins you around in a hug; when seonghwa reminds you to reapply sunscreen whilst dotting the lotion along your cheeks and when yeosang quietly drapes you in his jackets after you get out of the water.

but the thing with familiarity, though, is that it’s easy for it to overshadow other things. rather than realising that there is a shift in dynamic or a change in heart, other growing feelings can be mistaken for familiarity instead. and you don’t understand this until you least expect it.

your hands fumble to catch the bottle of sunscreen that yunho has thrown in your direction before it ends up landing on yeosang’s face. he’s taking a nap on the towel next to you, disputing against everyone else’s remarks that he should take the opportunity to surf considering you’ve all made the two-hour trip to dadaepo beach.

you adjust the small umbrella that he brought along so that it covers his upper body, then uncap the bottle and lather the sunscreen over your arms and legs. it’s when you get to your back that you realise you won’t be able to reach all of your skin. san or seonghwa are usually around to help if you decide to forgo a cropped shirt over your bikini top, but they’re already running far along the shore and you can’t be troubled to yell out for one of them.

you’re starting to wonder whether you can get away with not applying sunscreen on your back if you just make sure you lie on it the whole time when hongjoong spots your plight in the form of a blank stare and squeezed lotion in the palm of your hand.

“your short arms can’t reach your back, can they?”

you imitate his laughter with an exaggerated tone, “who was it that needed my help yesterday putting sunscreen on his back?”

“maybe i just didn’t want you to feel too bad about yourself,” he shrugs and walks over to swipe the glob of sunscreen out of your hands. you roll your eyes, knowing fully well he’s incapable of taking care of you without pretending to cover it up with an insult.

“stop squirming,” he chides. the contrasting cold of the lotion and warmth of his hand sends a shiver down your spine and you try not to dwell on his gentle rubs for too long. he’s meticulous in making sure he doesn’t miss a spot, but he’s also careful and deliberate with his touch around the knotted strings of your top so that you don’t feel uncomfortable. hongjoong and the word ‘uncomfortable’ could never be in the same sentence though. but he doesn’t need to know that.

“there,” he pats your back twice like a mechanic would with the hood of a fucking car to signal that he’s finished his job and then callously walks away.

you decide to let him off the hook and settle down on your stomach to rest your eyes for a bit. yeosang knows what he’s doing, because the combined warmth of the sand beneath your towel and from the overhead rays makes you drowsy almost immediately.

you’re flicking your salt-crusted hair out of your face when a voice interrupts, “hi, i’m sorry to bother you.”

lifting your head up to look, you’re met with the sight of a girl around your age, timidly fiddling with the popsocket on her phone. you sit up and give her a polite smile, “that’s okay. can i help you?”

“um, i was just hoping to ask if he has a girlfriend?”

the boys are all scattered along the length of the beach, save for yeosang next to you, so you’re not entirely sure who the girl is referring to until you follow her finger. she’s pointing in the direction of hongjoong, who’s joined some of the others along the shore.

“the short one?” you clarify, smile fading a little as you shrug, “i’m not too sure, sorry.”

the girl shakes her head, “oh, no. i meant the boy on his left.”

choi san. you now fight to keep the smile on your face friendly when you reply, “not that i know of.”

the girl thanks you excitedly, walking off back to her group of friends who immediately huddle around her to hear your answer. you look away.

you don’t realise you’re staring at san until he turns in the distance and makes eye contact with you. his entire face lights up, eyes disappearing and shadowed dimples revealing themselves under the gleaming sun. wooyoung takes the opportunity whilst san is distracted to swing a handful of limp seaweed straight into san’s face and a laugh escapes you before you can hold it in. your best friend looks more betrayed by your laughter than by wooyoung’s antics.

the younger turns to look at you with pride and when he sees that you’re laughing, he blows you an exaggerated kiss and sends it flying in your direction with a teasing flurry of his hand. yunho charges in from out of absolutely nowhere and pretends to tackle the kiss mid-air, throwing the imaginary show of affection into the sand where hongjoong immediately joins in and stomps on it with his foot, before sending you a flying kiss of his own instead.

chaos ensues and both hongjoong and yunho run for their lives as wooyoung chases them with his deadly seaweed whip. he quickly realises that the taller of the two will be impossible to catch, so he locks in on the easier target and hongjoong screeches in fear.

you can’t help but shake your head adoringly as you continue to watch, eyes landing on san once more when the cat and mouse go tearing past him in a whirlwind of sand. san holds your gaze with a fond smile of his own and you have to remind yourself that it’s normal for the boys to have suitors.

you’re not dating san. you’re not dating hongjoong. you’re not dating any of the boys, and they’re certainly not yours. so then, why does it feel like they are? but most of all, why does your heart feel equally bitter at the thought of someone asking about any of the boys…not just your best friend?

the sight of the tube of aloe vera gel in the fridge– likely placed there by seonghwa– is a welcome sight. you had diligently reapplied sunscreen to your body with the boys’ constant reminders to reapply but you had carelessly forgotten about your face. you’re paying the price of your mistake now and the red skin across the apples of your cheeks and forehead is tight with a constant, dull throb.

grabbing the tube, you walk into the bathroom where hongjoong is currently blow-drying his hair, having callen dibs on the shower after the beach trip.

“hey, lil’ tomato,” he jests before he gets a good look at your face. “woah, that looks worse than it was an hour ago.”

you hum as you peer closer into the mirror, “this is probably the worst sunburn i’ve ever gotten before.”

hongjoong ruffles the back of his hair one last time under the dryer before unplugging it and setting it on the rack. he slips the tube of ointment out of your hands and then turns you by the shoulders to face him. that’s how you find yourself between hongjoong’s front and the porcelain sink, the edge of the countertop digging slightly into your lower back as you watch him squeeze a generous amount of aloe vera onto the tip of his finger.

he murmurs, “hold still.” with a light touch, he tilts your chin up so that he can see the angry skin of your face. the stark contrast between the characteristic roughness of his edges and the tenderness with which he applies the soothing gel on your face right now has you itching to tease him.

“admit it. you like taking care of me, don’t you.”

he rolls his eyes, “and you like being taken care of, don’t you. like when you needed your notes handwritten by johnny.”

ever since that one incident, the boys have never let you hear the end of it. they may not realise it themselves either, but really, they’re just trying to keep low tabs on this…classmate. even if the way they go about it reflects the emotional maturity of somebody half their actual age.

“i admit it’s nice to be taken care of. what about you, huh?” you challenge, poking his side testingly. “you like taking care of me, don’t you?”

you giggle when he squirms and you try it again to elicit another response, until he suddenly grabs your hand by the wrist.

“and so what if i do?” his words come out easily, but unlike the usual cockiness and flirtatiousness that he jokes around with, his tone is low and serious.

you don’t respond because you don’t know what to respond; you’re suddenly walking in uncharted territory– both in regards to his feelings and your own.

when his fingertips brush the area of your cheeks just below your under-eyes, you can’t help the instinctive flutter of your lashes. his eyes stare into yours and you swallow, noticing the way his gaze flickers down to follow the movement. there’s hunger in his pupils and longing in your chest. you don’t move away when he moves closer in.

your eyelids flutter closed once again, except this time in anticipation. his hands still cup your cheek and hold your wrist and when he brings his face down towards yours, you can feel the warmth of his body surrounding and intoxicating you. but as his nose starts to nudge the softness of your cheeks, hongjoong pulls away.

“sorry, i–this was a mistake. i shouldn’t be doing this,” he stutters. and just like that, the moment shatters.

“th–that’s okay,” you awkwardly smile. “this never happened.”

he nods without looking at you, “this never happened.”

you’re glad your face is sunburnt because you’re certain your face would be glowing from the embarrassment and shame you are overwhelmed with. hongjoong turns around before you can say anything else and leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaving you alone.

quickly, you lock the door and then stand there stunned into a stupor. because his…whatever the fuck that was, has given you startling clarity that he is right. you shouldn’t be doing this. you shouldn’t be kissing him when you want san and your six other friends equally as much.

and most of all, it was foolish of you to assume that he actually wanted something more than friendship. if hongjoong, the most flirtatious of them all, doesn’t have any romantic interest in you– or at the very least enough to want to pursue something more– then what makes you think you have a chance with any of the boys? what makes you think that any of them– much less all of them– would want you in the same way that you have now realised you want them?

in a way, your heart feels more at ease now. knowing that your feelings for the boys will be unfruitful one way or another, it’s much easier to ignore the now obvious lurch in your heart whenever they pull you into an easy hug or tell you that you look pretty. it’s easier to repress the longing you have for them when they help you put on sunscreen or surround your house with mischief and laughter.

you can’t tell whether hongjoong is actively avoiding you or whether he is conveniently busy with the other boys, but you suppose time apart right now is good for the both of you. after all, time is supposed to heal everything. and so even as the end of summer approaches and the much anticipated night of the barbeque and campfire tradition arrives, you keep your distance from hongjoong and he keeps his. simply two friends coexisting within the larger group of friends; nothing more, nothing less.

you’re all sitting on a patchwork of picnic blankets and beach towels spread around the small fire that san has constructed, now experienced from having made one three years in a row. haneul shares the towel with you on one side and yunho on your other.

dinner had been greasy meat grilled by wooyoung’s skilled hands paired with cheap alcohol that made you all wince when it went down. it had been finished off with skewered marshmallows– the most vital part of the night, as mingi had fervently reminded everyone.

someone had then suggested a round of ‘truth or dare’, which most definitely did not stop at one round. the flushed cheeks and tipsy slurs not only made the dares increasingly bizarre, but it made everyone daring enough to actually do them. as the night had continued on, the outlandish dares slowly trickled off and more of you picked to answer truth questions. with the mellowing ambience of the campfire and the clearing buzz of alcohol in your systems, it was only a matter of time before the night fizzled into calm.

“mingi,” haneul directs her question at the taller, “ if you were to date one of us excluding me, who would it be?”

his eyes dart from her to you and then to every single one of his friends. “i’d date you all,” he shrugs. “but if i had to pick one person, then probably yunho, since he’s been there for me from day one.”

yunho knocks shoulders with him appreciatively whilst joking, “your parents would love to hear that answer.”

you spot san and wooyoung cringing at the thought and you’re reminded of snippets of a conversation about surfing as a distraction and escape from home.

moving the game on, mingi asks seonghwa when he picks truth, “if you had to pick between love and friendship, which one would it be?”

seonghwa hums for a while, watching the dancing lick of flames. “i think it depends on the situation, because in the end, they’re not that much different from each other. in love there is friendship, and in friendship there is love. it’s impossible to say that one is more important than the other.”

there’s a collective boo as he skirts around the question, but you all understand where he’s coming from. it still doesn’t stop san from retorting, “the whole point is to pick one.”

seonghwa chuckles and downs half a shot to appease the other of his apparent half answer, then tosses the same question at him. “what about you, then?”

much to his disappointment, san actually has an answer.

“i would probably choose love. i think you’re right in saying you can’t separate love and friendship, but the thing that sets a romantic relationship apart is being in love,” he muses. “it’s hard to find friends you love, but it’s even harder to find a friend you fall in love with, so i would probably hold onto that no matter what.”

a few of you subconsciously nod along, words resonating with yourselves. haneul nudges you curiously, “what do you think?”

you relax into her side as you slowly formulate a cohesive answer from your thoughts. “i think i would choose love, too. i’ll admit it’s a much more difficult relationship than friendship and it often requires sacrifices to be made…it can even mean having to let go of somebody completely.”

hongjoong glances at you, guilt pricking at his chest.

“but at the same time,” you continue, “when you love somebody that much, sacrifice becomes something you want to give and are willing to offer to the other person, and you develop a depth of understanding, connection and intimacy strong enough to overcome anything that isn’t always possible with friendship.”

“you and san are both such gross romantics,” haneul pretends to gag.

“yeah, shoot us for it,” you poke her in the side. “wooyoung, truth or dare?”

“since everyone’s picking truth…truth.”

“who’s someone you’re sorry towards or thankful for?”

he whines indignantly, “why are we suddenly getting so personal,” but proceeds to think about his answer seriously. “if i’m honest, i’m sorry towards everyone. i know there are times i fall short as a friend and make mistakes, but you all always forgive me and embrace my imperfections so graciously. sometimes it makes me wonder if i even deserve you guys.”

there are immediate noises of protest and wooyoung smiles, waving away their words of objection because he knows that he’s wrong. it’s just that knowing doesn’t always stop him from feeling a certain way. “and of course, what i’m sorry for goes hand in hand with what i’m thankful for. but i’m also especially thankful for y/n,” he reveals.

your body reacts instantly to his unexpected answer, blood rushing towards your cheeks and ears as he looks at you appreciatively.

“i haven’t known you for as long as most of the other boys, but i’ve seen how happy and vibrant they are whenever they return to seoul or whenever they talk about you. and i can definitely see why, now. you make them happy–you make us happy.”

mingi clears his throat, jumping in to add to the younger’s answer, “when i’m here in namhae with you, with everybody, it feels like home.”

a home that he’s never really had until yunho, san, you, and the rest of the boys came along.

“so thank you for giving me a home here,” mingi looks at you earnestly.

if he were sitting closer, you would reach over and squeeze his hand reassuringly. instead, you tell him, “no matter how many years go by, you’ll always have a home here.”

“and the rest of us?” yunho jokes, lightly slapping your knee where your legs have slowly made their way into his lap over the night.

“you all have a home here,” you amend. because namhae is not the same without san, and namhae is not the same without the rest of your friends, either.

you continue asking each other questions, even after midnight has long ticked past and haneul has retired back to the beach house for some sleep. nobody wants the night to end, because despite already having been attached to each other’s hips all summer, the time you are spending now around the campfire is different. life slows down and the nine of you are the only ones to exist along with the stars and the ocean waves.

“you know what we should do?” wooyoung pipes up when you are all quietly watching the fire. he grins, “we should do that thing where we shout at the ocean.”

“just…straight up scream?” hongjoong frowns.

a smile starts to spread across san’s face as he understands wooyoung’s vision. “no, like our dreams. regrets. confessions,” san elaborates, making a move to stand and brushing the sand off his shorts.

seonghwa questions, “are we really doing this?” and yet he stands up as well.

“when will we ever get a chance to do this again?”

one by one, you all get up on your feet and wander down the beach closer towards the water. it’s silent, save for the crash of waves, while you eye each other and wait for somebody to start it off.

yunho clears his throat, then yells his next words from the very depths of his chest, “i want to become a famous choreographer!”

there are shared giggles at the striking contrast in volume after hours of low, heartfelt conversation, but it’s enough to fill the rest of you with courage and desire to do the same.

“i want my parents to accept that i won’t be a lawyer like they wanted me to be!” yeosang calls out.

mingi takes a huge breath with his entire body, “i hope i’ll win the lottery one day!”

you all break out into laughter, happiness and vigour running high through your veins. it definitely feels a little silly and a little childish, but is that not the charm of living in the prime years of your youth and spending it with your friends?

reservations now completely thrown to the wind, the boys holler and yell both serious and unserious aspirations with their entire soul, cupping the sides of their mouths with their hands to carry their voices further out across the waters. you watch them with deep affection and tenderness and your eyes suddenly start to well up with the intensity of your emotions.

thank you for showing me what love feels like. you can continue to love them as friends, and that is already more than you could ever ask for.

taking a deep inhale of the chill of emerging dawn and blinking away the blur in your eyes, you join the boys and yell your heart out to the ocean. your screams blend together into a symphony of dreams and hopes; the swell of the chorus and the pinnacle of the movie.

and even though you’re all half-delirious from the lack of sleep, hair ruffled and mismatched pajamas wrinkled, it feels like anything and everything is possible in this moment. from here on, it’s the nine of you against the world and whatever it may bring.

you’ve known johnny since you started attending namhae’s provincial college. being from a relatively small cohort and the same degree no less, you share most of your classes together. there’ll be a few times throughout the month that you’ll find yourselves sitting in the seat beside each other and maybe once a semester that you’ll complete a group task together.

he’s easy enough to get along with, conversation sprinkled with terrible jokes and random puns that remind you of yunho’s silly humour. you know for a fact as well that they’re the same height too, which sort of makes you wonder whether being tall has something to do with the way their funny bone develops, considering mingi’s humour is just as questionable.

you and johnny aren’t exactly distant enough to only be classified as classmates, but you’re not exactly close either. so it’s a surprise when, after summer ends and it marks a new semester, johnny asks you out on a coffee date on the weekend. (except the more you think about it afterwards, the more your seemingly random interactions make sense. why he asks for your number even after the group project is over. why he offers to drop off handwritten notes for you. why he sometimes favours sitting with you as opposed to with his own friends.)

initially, you tell him that you’re not interested, any potential awkwardness dissipating the moment he dramatically wails that he’s been rejected, much like hongjoong had when you had first met him. but then a week later, johnny coolly slaps an envelope onto the surface of your lecture table and struts off without looking back. when you open it, you realise it’s a three-page handwritten essay detailing his pros and cons in an attempt to try and win you over.

it reminds you of wooyoung, when he had made a whole presentation on his laptop complete with photographic and videographic evidence to try and convince you that he was the best dancer out of himself, san, yunho and mingi. like your friend, johnny’s efforts are honestly a little too hilarious and a little too endearing to reject for a second time, and it’s not like johnny has done anything to suggest that he’s a creep or murderer. so you let him take you out on the date.

he chooses to go to the small, quaint cafe that’s about a fifteen-minute walk from campus. coincidentally, it’s the one that you and san used to frequent before he moved away to seoul. johnny tells you to try the chocolate hazelnut dacquoise slices, which you do even though you know you prefer the strawberry ones more. the sweet mouthful makes you think of san, always offering you the first bite of his chocolate dacquoise in hopes of converting you to the flavour.

johnny pays for your dessert and drink and you two end up sitting in the cafe long after your plates have been cleared and mugs emptied to their bottoms. it turns out he likes spending time at the beach just as much as you do and he tells you of his summer trip to the maldives for his casual modelling gig. you’re not entirely surprised to learn of his part-time endeavours, considering you’ve never seen him dressed in anything less than loafers, chino shorts and a neatly-pressed button-up shirt. plus, johnny is objectively very attractive with his strong brows, chiselled jawline and dark locks of hair.

he offers to walk you home after your date, shrugging off his white button-up and passing it to you when you exit the cafe. it’s still warm enough in the afternoon to not need the extra layer, but you’re reminded of yeosang’s quiet yet perceptive gestures and it makes you smile nonetheless.

the weekend leads to a second date, followed by more time spent together. he finds reasons to see you throughout the weeks– the sun’s out which means you two should take a walk along the beach; he fell asleep during yesterday’s lecture which means you two should study at the cafe; he has a basketball match on the weekend which means you two should practise shooting hoops together.

and when you’re not physically spending time together, johnny likes to facetime you just so that he can ‘see your pretty face’. the frequency with which he compliments you randomly throughout the call is almost on par with seonghwa, who always sweetly observes when you're wearing a new lip tint or different hairstyle.

johnny’s laugh, be it in person or over video call, never fails to make you laugh with him. it’s boisterous when he doubles over with laughter and his eyes disappear when he chuckles. you can’t help but see jongho’s own adorable giggles in him.

after several months of courting advances, johnny asks to make it official. you say yes, because you have fallen for him.

and so, like the dwindling campfire that had marked the end of summer, you snuff out the remains of the fire in your heart that has been burning for san, hongjoong and the six other boys, leaving the last of the embers to their fate. left alone, they will slowly die out, completely extinguishing the flames and leaving only ashen remnants behind…or the sparks will continue to fight unnoticed; until they rekindle and turn into an uncontainable inferno.

“with all due disrespect, his parents don’t fucking deserve to be parents,” wooyoung spits out.

yunho tucks the blotchy aftermath of mingi’s heartbreak a little tighter into the crook of his own neck, other hand softly tousling the ends of the younger’s hair. the boys have only just managed to settle mingi into one of the beds in their shared dorm rooms after he had shown up at the dance studio barely holding it together by his last thread.

“i don’t think any of us had high hopes for them, considering the things he’s told us about them over the last few years,” seonghwa sighs as he pulls the blanket over mingi’s shoulders.

“but for them to just fucking disown him like that? do they even realise how much it took for him to come clean about us?”

san gently pulls wooyoung away from the bed, lest he wake up the boy in question, and massages his clenched fist open. yeosang sidles up to the pair, “do you think we could go down to namhae a few days earlier this summer?”

“that actually might be possible,” san chews on his bottom lip and takes out his phone to text his parents. “it’ll be a nice surprise for y/n, too.”

“she’s in for a few surprises,” jongho comments before nudging the boy next to him. “hopefully you didn’t scare her off after what you did.”

hongjoong scratches the nape of his neck at the jab, “yeah, i hope i didn’t fuck things up for all of us.”

“you still haven’t talked it out with her?” san looks up from his phone.

hongjoong grimaces, “no, but how could i? she said to pretend that it didn’t happen.”

“and you just took her word for it? god, that’s literally the universal response anyone would automatically give in a situation that’s utterly and mortifyingly embarrassing,” wooyoung throws his arms up into the air. “i wouldn’t be surprised if she says no to us after all.”

“look, i’ll talk to her when we see her again. the semester’s nearly over, anyway.”

san nods, “my parents are fine with us going down a weekend earlier. and i agree with hongjoong on this one–it’s probably something they should talk about in person, not over the phone. let’s just hope we haven’t missed our timing with this.”

there’s only a few more weeks left until summer, minus one week now that they have decided to make the trip down to namhae earlier for mingi’s sake. and regardless of what your answer will be to the question that they’ll ask you– be it yes or no– it still won’t change the fact that everything will be okay once they get to namhae. because everything is okay as long as you are by their side.

there’s a man standing by your side, and it’s not one of them.

it’s strange to see you holding hands with someone that they don’t know. of course, it’s inevitable that you would have your own friends in namhae and from college, and of course it’s inevitable that you would have friends of both genders. but the way you have your fingers interlocked with his looks anything but platonic.

the boys are familiar with the way their own hands feel with yours nestled in theirs; from when you squeeze yourself between two of them and happily swing your intertwined hands back and forth; when a large wave threatens to topple you over and you instinctively reach for them for support; when you’re curled up against them and absentmindedly fiddling with their fingers whilst watching a cheesy summer romcom. but right now, their own hands feel unfamiliar– oddly empty and unable to make up its mind as to whether it wants to relax or tighten into a fist, even more so when you make eye contact with them standing outside san’s house and freeze.

you haven’t told the boys about johnny yet, only that you had news you wanted to tell them in person once they came for the summer. but now that they are here, standing right in front of you and your boyfriend, you suddenly feel a prick of guilt that you hadn’t given them a heads up of some kind.

you slip your hand out of johnny’s grasp under the guise of tidying your hair. if johnny notices, he doesn’t comment on it. instead, he asks, “you know them?” and settles his arm heavily over your shoulders. the action probably looks as territorial as it feels.

“yeah, they’re my closest friends,” you answer louder than you need to, because you feel like you have to defend them– or yourself. “san’s from namhae, too, and the others are from different provinces. they go to college together in seoul.”

“oh,” your boyfriend makes a noise, “it’s them.”

hongjoong feels awfully smug at that comment, because it means that you’ve talked about them before. he feels even more pleased when you slightly step out from under the man’s arm. but then your next words have his expression darkening again.

“i was going to officially introduce him to you guys on your first day…i just wasn’t expecting it to be today,” you gently place your hand on johnny’s forearm. “this is johnny, my boyfriend.”

immediately, the boys recognise his name– how could they forget, when the name has never once left their subconscious since the moment he was mentioned. a fleeting thought enters hongjoong’s mind. if he had not pulled away that night– if he had kissed you instead of being a coward– would it be him standing by your side as your boyfriend right now?

and hongjoong is not alone in his thoughts. wooyoung’s teeth grit together as he wonders how different things may have turned out if only the older or he himself had been bolder with their feelings. if only any of them had plucked up the courage to make the first move. because you dating any of them would automatically put their heart infinitely more at ease than the literal fucking stranger who is standing by your side.

you’re about to tell your boyfriend the names of the eight boys in front of you when he raises an eyebrow at you, “you didn’t tell me your friends were all guys.” his tone isn’t accusatory, per se, but it’s definitely not cordial, either. this side of johnny is completely new to you.

seeing the flustered look on your face irks wooyoung in every way possible so he interrupts, “and why does it matter to you?”

johnny levels him with a look for several seconds before smiling placatingly. “you’ll understand when you get a girlfriend,” he dismisses.

immediately, there’s a palpable spike in tension. “sorry?” wooyoung scoffs.

san sets a firm hand on the back of wooyoung’s neck and you lowly murmur your boyfriend’s name– respectively scruffing the two men. you didn’t know what to expect introducing your friends and boyfriend to each other. but the start of what looks like it has the potential to turn into a fight was definitely not on the list.

in a lame attempt to change the topic, you comment, “you guys are here early this year.”

there’s a beat of silence that’s a split second longer than you deem comfortable and yunho clears his throat, “yeah…things ended up this way.”

the vague comment and pointed look in your boyfriend’s direction tells you that there’s more to it than they are letting you onto right now. you make a mental note to talk to them once johnny leaves…if he ends up leaving. but the heavy weight that is still draped around your shoulder shows no intention of removing itself.

even though your instinct is to run up to the boys and receive all the hugs you have missed, and their instinct is to pull you away from the unfamiliar man and back into the intimacy of their group, the arm around you is a stark reminder to everyone that you’re not single anymore– that there are now boundaries to respect. instead, your friends are left to shuffle awkwardly on the spot with wavering gazes as if they have caught you doing something they weren’t supposed to see.

“do you have classes today?” san dares to ask.

“not today. we were just…out,” you reply. on a date, it goes unsaid.

“well, we’re headed for the beach,” san hates the fact that he even has to ask his next sentence, “do you want to join us?”

looking at johnny, you hate the fact that your immediate answer isn’t to say yes. he glances at you and then answers on your behalf, “we’ll join. it’ll be nice for us to get to know each other, since it seems like we’ll be seeing each other often this summer.”

“not if you don’t show up,” wooyoung mutters under his breath, but he’s not really trying to be quiet about his disdain.

you fake a smile and push your boyfriend towards the entrance to your house. “we’ll get changed and then meet you guys down at the beach.” you don’t wait for an answer before shoving the front door open and shut again in quick succession behind you.

“wait here,” you tell johnny, “i’ll get you a spare pair of shorts,” then you disappear into your bedroom and let out a deep exhale, closing your eyes to clear your head.

you had spent the last few years embracing the changes in your relationship with san. every summer marked a change in your friendship group– a new chapter each year as you rewrote the group dynamics with additional people to love and be loved by.

this summer, like the others, also marks a change and beginning of a new chapter, but now you’re realising that not all chapters in a story will always be happy. instead, some chapters will mark the beginning of the complication.

it feels like an unusual mix between deja vu and an out-of-body experience as san straps the leash of his surfboard around his ankle. his gaze follows your form and he watches silently when you’re picked by the waist and tossed into the ocean. it looks all too familiar– except instead of him being the one who brings the laughter out of your squeals, it’s that annoyingly tall and irritatingly jacked dude that is your boyfriend.

san can’t help the sigh that escapes his lips as he peels his eyes away. if johnny makes you happy, then objectively, san wants nothing more for you. but he cannot help but feel that you are undeserving of anything less than the entire world; something he and his boys are willing to give to you. but life is all about timing and it seems like they’ve missed theirs.

he’s distracted by the sight of you and johnny in his peripheral vision, even as he paddles out into the deeper waters with yunho. the taller is uncharacteristically quiet, his eyes repeatedly flickering back and forth between you and mingi. mingi needed this trip more than any of them combined, but there’s an uneasy feeling in the pit of yunho’s stomach that’s telling him the appearance of your boyfriend is only just the beginning of a rocky summer.

regardless of their combined years of surfing experience, both yunho and san seem to continuously lose their balance on their boards today. and despite the saltiness of the sea water that flows into san’s mouth each time he falls– no longer the graceful choreographer of the sea– there’s a bitter taste on his tongue that he cannot get rid of no matter how many bottles of water he drinks over the rest of the day.

it follows him even when the sweet fragrance of fresh pastries and syrupy drinks permeates the air the moment he walks into the bakery you so adore after your group walks from the beach. san pulls the glass door open for you, wind chime tinkling softly overhead, and he has to resist the urge to let go of the door handle when your boyfriend also walks through without so much as a word or glance of gratitude.

before san walks up to the counter, he instinctively turns around to check your order before he adds it to his own like he has always done. “strawberry dacquoise and grapefruit ade?”

you’re about to nod when johnny steps into place beside you and asserts, “she likes the chocolate ones.”

san keeps his voice as even as he can and refutes, “no, y/n prefers the strawberry ones. i would know, considering we’ve been going to this cafe together since we were twelve.” he emphasises the last word, clearly telling the other that he is the one who has known you since you were young and therefore knows you the best out of anyone, boyfriend be damned.

not backing down, johnny turns to ask, “is that true, babe?”

you swallow uncomfortably, mouth suddenly dry. “i like both,” you evade.

but your lack of denial says more than enough and johnny’s frown deepens almost immediately. at his expression, you rush to amend, “i know you like the chocolate ones more. it makes me happy sharing them with you.”

“you should’ve told me,” johnny fusses. but opposed to disappointment at not having known your preference for strawberry, he seems more displeased at having discovered this fact through your male friend.

san notices how apologetic you start to feel and he absolutely despises how unfamiliar it looks on your face. if this is the type of boyfriend that he is giving you up to, then san is not prepared to let go of you at all.

“or maybe you should’ve noticed,” he shrugs nonchalantly in your boyfriend’s direction before smiling tenderly at you. “i’ll order your food. go find a seat with seong–”

johnny’s voice is heated when he interjects, “no, you won’t. i’ll pay for my girlfriend’s food.”

you’ve never heard him talk with this tone before, much less seen him act this way, but his words suddenly strike you with clarity and reasoning. with a relationship comes adherence to mutual boundaries and expectations, and although san is used to doting on you, the reality now is that johnny currently fulfills that role as your boyfriend.

“it’s alright, san. thank you,” you give your friend a soft smile. “johnny’s got it for me.”

san nods, defeated. your boyfriend gently nudges you in the direction of the tables, “go sit down. i’ll bring our order over when it’s ready.”

on edge, you walk to where some of the boys are already seated and slide in beside seonghwa, who has been watching the entire exchange silently. “y/n,” he starts.

you plaster on a smile, “it’s okay.”

seonghwa studies you carefully for a moment, then appears to make up his mind about something and returns your smile. except anybody can see that it doesn’t reach his eyes. “do you want to swap seats with me? that way you and johnny can sit on the same side.”

grateful for his thoughtfulness, you change seats and sit on his left just as wooyoung joins the table with an iced americano in his hand. he sets it down to drag a spare chair beside him, offhandedly commenting, “why are you even dating him? i don’t get what you see in him.”

he hisses when seonghwa kicks his shin from under the table, shaking his head, and you just give the younger a tight-lipped smile in response. you’re distracted by the buzz of your phone in your pocket. a quick glance downwards tells you that it’s a text from san.

sorry for putting you between your bf and i

you look up in surprise and find that he’s already gazing at you from where he’s waiting at the counter. his eyebrows knit together in apology and you shake your head, mouthing that it’s okay. san has always been the bigger person in any situation– with you, with friends and family, and even with people he doesn’t necessarily see eye to eye with.

your phone buzzes again, twice in succession, but this time the notifications aren’t from him. it’s johnny.

what’s his problem, god wants to get into your pants or sth

your boyfriend continues to tap away at his phone, expression marred with poorly concealed irritation. but he doesn’t seem to be referring to your texting exchange with san– you don’t think he’s even noticed. instead, he’s still hooked on the ordering incident.

slipping the phone back into your pocket and pretending you have not noticed the messages yet, you simply wait for johnny to grab the tray with your pastries and drinks before he slides into the chair next to you. and for the first time since dating, you find yourself comparing your boyfriend not to san, but against him.

it feels like you have spent the last two months treading carefully on eggshells. there are days you spend with both johnny and the boys and it becomes clear to everyone pretty quickly that they’re not warming up to each other. despite your best efforts to bring them closer, there is unmistakable tension that underlies every interaction that they have and don’t have with one another.

then there are the days you spend with just your boyfriend. he doesn’t mention your friends and neither do you, but you notice the way his gaze flickers to your phone whenever it lights up with a notification. like a mutual taboo, he simply continues the conversation after a pause and you don’t point it out.

and then there are the rarer days that you spend with just the eight of your friends, like today– the ones that feel like the old summers that you have started to yearn. and yet, even with the familiar essence of the past, you start to notice them. the subtle differences.

it’s not obvious at first. the casual displays of affection that have extended beyond habitual touches and have just become who they are are still there. but there’s something about the attentiveness with which seonghwa dusts the powdered sugar off of yeosang’s cheeks when he’s eating. or in the naturalness with which wooyoung moulds himself into san’s side when they sit on the couch. something in the way mingi’s entire body relaxes whenever yunho gently thumbs the nape of his neck, and in the softening of hongjoong’s eyes when jongho speaks up in conversation.

maybe it’s because you find yourself no longer a part of their shared love, regardless of how platonic it may be between you and the boys. ultimately, it’s easier to notice things when you’re watching on as what feels like an outsider. and it makes sense that the dynamics of your friendship would change, considering how deeply embedded physical affection is within your group and the fact that you now have a boyfriend, but there’s something more to their interactions– you’re sure of it. you just can’t put your finger on what exactly.

it’s that thought that reminds you of yunho’s words when he and the rest of your friends had turned up a week before the start of summer. “what did you mean about things having ended up this way when you guys came down to namhae early?” you suddenly ask, eyes looking away from the television screen where the round of their game has just ended. “and wasn’t there something else you guys had wanted to tell me about?”

clearly not having expected your questions, yunho blinks as he formulates a response, “yeah, there is. just–maybe talk to mingi first. you’ll probably want to hear it directly from him.”

and hongjoong needs to talk to you first, too, yunho thinks to himself. except, he wonders whether there is even a point to it anymore.

your heart sinks at yunho’s words because you have a feeling it has to do with mingi’s parents. and his parents are never good news. right at that moment, mingi emerges through the doorway after his shower, a towel draped over his shoulders as he uses its ends to roughly dry his hair. he stops in his tracks when he notices you and yunho staring at him.

“i know i’m hot but you don’t have to make it that obvious,” he jokes.

you snort and shake your head, getting up to your feet and walking over to him as yunho watches knowingly. “come sit outside with me for a bit?” you ask mingi.

he agrees, pulling the towel off and tossing it onto the back of a chair to dry. you catch a whiff of san’s shampoo when he moves, the fragrance of cedarwood and bergamot that all the boys end up being scented with each summer filling your nose.

the two of you sit on the embankment just outside san’s house, legs dangling off the edge of the port. you can just barely toe the start of the sand but mingi easily shuffles his feet in it, drawing lazy patterns in your company. after a few minutes of peaceful silence, he nudges you gently albeit playfully, “did you want to ask me something?”

you chuckle at having been exposed and nudge him back in response. he never budges, torso bigger and more muscular than you can move, but it doesn’t stop you from trying and him from laughing endearingly.

“i asked yunho why you guys came down earlier this summer and he said to ask you,” you peer at him, treading carefully with your next words, “is everything okay?”

he takes a breath, exhaling long and slow. “i came out to my parents,” he reveals. “told them i’m bi and…they didn’t take it well.”

mingi doesn’t need to elaborate for you to understand that his parents didn’t just ‘not take it well’. you can only imagine the hell that broke loose. “oh, mingi,” you sigh, eyebrows knitting together with hurt.

“i also told them that i’m dati–”

the sound of the door opening and the call of your name stops mingi from finishing his sentence. it’s yunho with a ringing phone in his hand. “you might want to take this call,” he alerts you.

frowning, you make a stand to reach for your phone, asking, “who is it?”

he glances down awkwardly at the screen that is still on. “your boyfriend.”

you’re just about to slide the answer button when the call disconnects and you see that including the one that has just ended, you have four missed calls.

“oh, shit,” you can’t help the curse that slips out of your mouth. four missed calls is never a good sign from anybody, much less your boyfriend, who has also sent you several texts asking where you are.

seeing the darkening of your expression, yunho misses the girl whose biggest worry was the number of ice cream scoops to scam hongjoong out of. he misses the girl whose smile was brighter than the reflected sun on san’s surfboard. most of all, yunho misses the girl he has fallen in love with.

“y/n, i’m going to be honest with you,” he hesitates slightly. “i don’t think he’s the right one for you.”

you know that yunho’s looking out for you and his heart is in the right place, but it’s not what you want to– or need to hear right now. and perhaps, there’s an inkling of you that already knows. still, you try to keep your voice even when you reply, “i’d know if he’s not.”

you turn to mingi next and shoot him an apologetic look, “i’m sorry but i should probably call him back. we’ll talk later, yeah?”

mingi doesn’t know when later will be and neither do you. but he simply nods and lets you go, watching dejectedly as your form disappears back into your house at the same time san steps out of his. he had been carefully observing from the window the moment yunho had walked out with your incessantly ringing phone in his hand.

“guess he takes priority over us now,” mingi sighs.

san looks at him bittersweetly, “that’s what happens when you find somebody you love. like johnny is her priority, you are my priority and yunho’s. in fact, you’re the priority of five other people as well.” despite the fact that he is shorter, san still reaches up to flick mingi’s nose affectionately as he fondly states, “aren’t you lucky.”

mingi scrunches his nose in retaliation and san diverts the topic, “now come on, are you going to just stand back and let yunho win the game again?”

the younger grins, light returning to his eyes as he cheekily suggests, “you distract him while i cheat?”

“i’m right here,” yunho protests, but he’s shaking his head dotingly. together, he and mingi make their way back into the house, hands finding each other as they pass through the threshold.

san lingers behind and stares at the closed door of your house. for the longest time, you have been one of san’s priorities, if not the priority. over the last few years, the number of his priorities have steadily grown and you now share the top of the list in his heart with seven other boys. your happiness is san’s priority, as is the happiness of the others.

but what happens when interests start to conflict and your boyfriend– and by association, you– becomes a reason for unhappiness amongst the people he cares so dearly for? what happens if there comes a day where he must choose between his priorities and push somebody down the list, or worse…completely out of his heart?

you’re just as troubled when, half an hour after his missed calls and your subsequent response asking to meet up, you and johnny aimlessly wander the streets of the neighbourhood. the air is tense and despite the cry of cicadas, the silence from the lack of conversation is the only sound that you can hear. you can tell that he’s displeased by the fact that you had been with your friends, but you’re not exactly happy with him right now either.

you know an argument’s brewing– one that has been long coming, perhaps since the start of summer. you could have chosen to take the night to cool down, but it will eventually boil over one day, be it him or yourself. better to address it now than wait until it’s too late, and perhaps you can salvage it before it does boil over.

“why did you call me so many times?”

johnny knows you’re not only asking about tonight, and definitely not only about his phone calls. and yet, your tone is not accusatory, only genuinely curious and open to understanding his reasoning and emotions. solely because he feels guilt starting to prick his insides at your question does he make an attempt to reign in his childish jealousy that has reared its head so many times in the last two months.

“i didn’t know where you were,” he halfheartedly answers. “i thought something had happened.”

you both know it’s a lie– a pretty bad one at that. you had texted him just mere hours ago telling him that you would be at san’s. at his excuse, you raise an eyebrow.

“i don’t like the way they look at you,” johnny finally admits, partially showing his true colours. “especially san.”

you had guessed just as much and you can see why he might feel that way, but you want him to see where you’re coming from, too. “we grew up together, johnny. we’re each other’s best friend and he doesn’t like me like that.”

warm breath ghosting over your lips and then disappearing just as fast flits across your memory. “none of them do,” you emphasise. “and i’ve been transparent about hanging out with them when you’re not there, haven’t i? i literally texted you a few hours ago.”

he hesitates, “i was busy playing basketball with my friends. i missed your text and then you didn’t reply or answer my calls…” the way his voice drops off the more he talks is a good indicator that he knows the patheticness of his justification.

“and i was busy with my friends, too,” you reason. “you’re not glued to your phone, and neither am i.”

you continue when he stays silent, “you’re my boyfriend and i understand that it can make you feel uneasy when i hang out with so many guys, but you have to understand that they’re my friends, and my closest ones too. i would appreciate it if you give me more space when i’m with them, but i’ll also try to make sure i’m reachable on my phone so you have a piece of mind.”

you look at him and search his eyes for any indicators that he has more to say. from the way his jaw clenches subtly, you know that he’s disgruntled at best. but to your surprise he does not protest, instead nodding and walking you back to your house. you can’t tell whether the silence this time is slightly better or just as suffocating.

when you reach your front door, the lights are still on in the neighbouring house and you can hear the muted ruckus of laughter. as you unlock your door and pull it open, your boyfriend surprises you once more by calling out, “i love you.”

you learn a lot about a person simply from the things that they say, and sometimes–

“i know,” you reply gently, before shutting the door.

–you learn even more about a person simply from the things that they don’t say.

it’s two weeks after your conversation with johnny when he runs into some of the boys at one of the beachside cafes without your presence.

with autumn just around the corner, you’re spending the day transitioning the rice seedlings, now almost at the height of your thighs, from the wet paddies to the drier fields since your parents aren’t in namhae to do it. only mingi, yunho and jongho are helping you out; you had discovered the hard way last summer that letting all eight of them help you was, in fact, counterproductive when there were more plants being trampled on than safely moved.

and so while the four of you are working in the rice paddy, the remaining boys sit on the cafe terrace that overlooks the beach about a ten-minute drive from your and san’s houses. a hush suddenly falls over their conversation, elbows inconspicuously nudging one another and shoulders tensing when they spot your boyfriend making his way towards the cafe with a small group of his own friends.

a smirk graces johnny’s lips when his gaze falls upon the five of your friends, ignoring the courteous nod of acknowledgement that seonghwa attempts to make on their behalf and instead walking closer onto the cafe’s terrace. it’s not clearly audible, but it’s definitely direct enough for the boys to make out the words when johnny walks past and mutters, “fuckin’ pussies.”

wooyoung immediately reacts. “what the fuck did you just say?” he growls threateningly as seonghwa squeezes his thigh in anticipation of him standing up.

johnny pauses to look at them with faux innocence, “i wasn’t talking to you guys, but i guess if you’re offended–”

it’s hongjoong who rises to his feet first, chair screeching as it slides out from under his knees along the wooden deck. “you say one more fucking word,” he starts, eyes thunderous and fists turning white at his sides.

“and you’ll what,” johnny sneers, “run to my girlfriend crying? ask her to have a little talk with me?”

at the mention of you, both san and wooyoung join hongjoong on their feet. “watch what you say,” san looks at him dangerously. “don’t bring y/n into this.”

the commotion is starting to attract the attention of the staff and other customers in the cafe. seonghwa slowly stands, preparing to step in before it can escalate into something physical as yeosang grips the seat of his chair.

johnny steps closer and scoffs, “that’s bullshit. you guys can’t even take care of your own feelings so you have to hide behind my girlfriend like a bunch of pathetic losers. it makes no fucking sense for her to ask me to leave her alone when she’s with you guys.”

“and i bet it’s never fucking crossed your mind that maybe it’s an issue with something you’re doing–not us,” wooyoung reciprocates with his own bold step closer.

he’s suddenly jerked forward when johnny fists the front of his shirt and instantly everyone moves in towards the two. seonghwa wedges his arms against their chests to prevent wooyoung from getting dragged further forward, though the younger is fiercely standing his ground, teeth bared and eyes murderous. save for yeosang, who comes to stand protectively behind him, the remaining two boys are swept up into the beginnings of a scuffle as johnny’s friends step in as well.

“look at you, all riled up,” johnny goads, ignoring the hands that are trying to keep him subdued. “and she tells me that you don’t all want to fuck her?”

seonghwa inhales sharply as he attempts to overpower both wooyoung and hongjoong, who is now extremely determined to connect his fist with your boyfriend’s face. but to many of their infuriation, the fist doesn’t get a chance to hit its well-deserved target when there’s a firm shout over the commotion.

the cafe manager harshly warns, “we’re going to have to ask you all to leave the premises, otherwise we’re going to call the police.”

“wooyoung! hongjoong!” seonghwa hisses. “it’s not worth the trouble. stop!”

there are a few tense seconds of heaving chests and grinding jaws before johnny lets wooyoung go with a shove and hongjoong begrudgingly and slowly lowers his raised fist.

“you bitches got lucky this time,” johnny glowers. he beckons to his friends with a jerk of his head, still glaring at wooyoung, then kicks a chair out of his way as he leaves the cafe. in the wake of the confrontation, seonghwa turns to look at the manager and creases his eyebrows in apology, bowing multiple times to the other employees and customers too.

the manager nods wryly, “you and your friends are still going to have to leave.”

“we understand,” seonghwa replies, beginning to usher hongjoong and wooyoung towards the exit. “we’re truly sorry.”

as the five of them walk out, his eyes dart around anxiously in case your boyfriend and his friends are still lingering around. muscles taut and on edge, seonghwa makes a decision as the oldest. “let’s go home,” he declares, “we can wait there.”

they pile into the jeep wordlessly and san turns on the ignition, pulling out of the small car park and heading back to his. they’re only a few minutes away when wooyoung breaks the silence, “so who’s gonna tell y/n that her boyfriend’s a fucking asshole and that she needs to break up with his sorry ass?” he fumes. “because if no one’s going to do it, then i’m going to tell her the moment we get home.”

“wooyoung,” seonghwa starts.

“no, don’t wooyoung me,” he snaps. “he’s a fucking pretentious dickhead and she needs to know that. i don’t even care if we don’t ever get to talk about that other thing with her anymore. all i care is that he never gets to show his face in front of her ever again.”

seonghwa rubs his temples in frustration. he argues, “look, i agree with you and i’m not saying we shouldn’t tell y/n. but we need to put our feelings aside and think about this rationally, otherwise we could end up hurting her.”

“i think she’s going to get hurt regardless of how we approach it,” hongjoong snarks as the other levels him with a look.

“the campfire night is only a few days away,” yeosang points out. “maybe we should wait until that’s over…you know how excited she and mingi get about it each year.”

hongjoong protests, “and wait for her to bring johnny along on the day? sorry, but not even seonghwa is going to be able to stop me from sucker-punching him to the ground.”

“surely she’s not going to bring him. it’s a day just for us,” yeosang frowns.

san feels their questioning gazes settling on him and he glances in the rearview mirror to confirm his hunch. “i don’t know, probably not?” he answers whilst shrugging, turning into the small street that leads to your house. “but honestly? i think we should wait until after that day to talk to her. i don’t see the point in ruining it for any more of us.”

seonghwa agrees and adds on, “and only one of us should have the conversation with her. san, you’re probably the best person out of us.”

san hums in agreement, slowly braking the car to a stop before he turns in his seat to look at the rest of them. “i’ll find a time to talk to her and in the meantime,” he looks at wooyoung and hongjoong gently, knowing how frustrated they must be feeling, “we wait.”

there’s only a few more days until the campfire– they only need to hold out for a little longer until then. what could possibly go wrong?

“are you sure it’s a good idea to leave hongjoong and y/n to get the snacks together?”

seonghwa tenderly thumbs yeosang’s lips from out of his teeth, where he has been biting the corner of his lips in worry, and answers, “he’s hopeless at buying all the other things and she knows what snacks we like the best.” seonghwa knows hongjoong’s way of being confrontational is stark and direct, but he also has faith in the other that he won’t prematurely bring up your boyfriend and risk hurting you with the conversation.

you make your way down the snack aisles of the grocery store with hongjoong and it feels both familiar and foreign. there are no shopping cart races or invisible finish flags this time– only the two of you and the baskets in his hands as he carries whatever you pluck off the shelves. it’s been a while since you’ve had time alone with hongjoong; not since the incident last summer.

looking down at the shopping baskets, you put another packet of banana crisps in before commenting, “let’s get some sweet things and then that should be enough for the ten of us.”

hongjoong cocks his head, “haneul’s coming?”

“...no,” you look at him carefully, “johnny is.”

“johnny? you’re joking.”

you frown at the sudden coldness in his tone, “he’s my boyfriend, hongjoong.” johnny had been strangely adamant about going today and you had also noticed he seemed to be irritated about something. so quite frankly, you weren’t about to tell him no.

“and he’s also an asshole, you know that? why are you even dating him?”

you know your boyfriend and your friends still aren’t on amicable terms, but you’re honestly getting tired of feeling like you have to justify yourself and your dating life. and considering you have just had a talk with johnny to try and make things better for everyone, you can’t help but feel like you are being pushed into a corner yet again.

“asshole or not, at least he’s honest about his feelings for me,” you retort pointedly.

“oh?” hongjoong scoffs in disbelief, “is that what this is about?”

you challenge him with a glare, “what do you think i’m implying?”

“so i’m the bad guy now? i thought you liked me. since when did you stoop so low as to throw yourself at any guy who makes a move on you?”

your jaw drops. “you know what? what the fuck is your problem?” you shove his chest in anger. “let’s not forget that you were the one who tried to kiss me first and you were the one who also stopped. yeah, i did like you, but at least i’m willing to admit it.”

you step in closer, breathing heavy as you continue heatedly, “what about you? what the fuck have you done that makes you think you have any right to say that my decisions are wrong.”

hongjoong grits his teeth, “you’re making a mistake dating him.”

“yeah, you would know something about mistakes,” you throw back sarcastically. “but then again, you were probably happy to pretend it never happened and forget about it.”

“don’t fucking put words into my mouth,” he warns.

“it seems to be the only way i can get you to talk about us. you have no issues giving me shit about my relationship with my boyfriend, but when it comes to our relationship it’s radio silence for a year.”

hongjoong at least has the decency to look guilty when he declares, “i was going to talk to you about it face to face.”

“whatever, hongjoong. it’s too late,” you brush him off.

you snatch the baskets out his hands and walk away, no longer concerned over what snacks the boys will have for the campfire later tonight. you just want to get away from hongjoong, so you do exactly that. you leave him alone in the aisle to stare at the view of your back walking further away from him. life is all about timing and hongjoong has long missed his.

hours later, mingi scans the room from where he’s perched on a stool at the kitchen island in your house. everyone is either lounging around, preparing the meat and cutlery or setting up the grill and table outside– everyone except for one.

“where’s hongjoong?” he asks nobody in particular. he doesn’t think he’s seen the other since they’ve all come back from the grocery store.

“he’s resting in my room,” san answers. “said he wasn’t feeling too well but he’ll join us later.”

you roll your eyes at the knives you’re counting out, opting to keep your mouth shut. what san doesn’t say either, though, is that he knows something is off– hongjoong was completely fine this morning and you were definitely in higher spirits.

there’s an abrupt knock at your front door and you put the cutlery down, saying, “i’ll get it.” you know it’s probably johnny so you don’t bother squinting through the peephole before pulling the door open and blinking, “you look nice today.”

your boyfriend has styled his hair so that it slicks back from his forehead, parted down the right side of his scalp. he’s dressed in his usual smart casual fit but has chosen to pair it with accessories to accentuate his collarbones and wrists. he shrugs, “wanted to look good.”

you lead him to the open kitchen and immediately, you notice the shift in the air. a few of the boys give a tight-lipped smile in acknowledgement, but the expressions on wooyoung and san, and even yeosang and seonghwa go blank or two shades darker. hongjoong’s uncharacteristic cold feet suddenly makes a lot of sense to san now.

“you invited johnny?” san’s question is eerily monotone. a blunt knife may not be able to cut through rope, but with continuous abrasion and chafing, even the thickest of ropes will eventually sever.

your voice is not entirely friendly when you reply, “yes, san. i invited my boyfriend.”

“and why the fuck did you do that?”

san’s swearing has you reeling in surprise, but it’s quickly replaced by pent-up stress and anger that has been lingering for weeks and exacerbated by your argument with hongjoong mere hours ago. your entire body starts to heat up when san continues to criticise, “we’ve put up with him for long enough, don’t you think? it’s one thing for you to date him of all people, but it’s another thing to bring him to this.”

you laugh bitingly, no longer concerned about trying to deal with this maturely. all you can think about is how san is hurting you and how you want to hurt him back too. “so you can bring whoever the fuck you want each year, but i can’t bring my own boyfriend?” you retort.

the silence is deafening. nobody moves as they try to process the words that have just been thrown at them. yunho’s eyes are wide with confusion more than hurt at how quickly this argument has escalated, and he slowly raises his arms out in front of him, “okay, i think we all need to–”

“whoever the fuck–are we just ‘whoever’ to you?” wooyoung harshly interrupts. “we’ve been trying to look out for you and this is what we fucking get in return?”

you know that you won’t be able to take your words back after you say them, but they slip out anyway as you counter, “i didn’t ask any of you to look out for me.”

yunho’s arms fall limply to his sides and seonghwa looks away. wooyoung’s words are resigned and stony when he stares at you dead in the eye and says, “you know, y/n. we needed this trip this summer…more than anything. but thanks for ruining it for all of us.” then he brushes past your shoulder and slams the front door on his way out.

one by one, the boys follow him out of your house– first yeosang, then seonghwa, neither of them able to look you in the eye. when yunho and jongho hesitantly walk past you as well, they give you a small, apologetic wince. 

mingi still stands in the room. he has been quiet throughout the entire argument but his eyes tell a story of a million words. he’s filled with hurt and sorrow if not obvious by the wetness that starts to well in his eyes. “i guess you were just saying it when you told me i have a home here with you in namhae,” he chokes out.

your own eyes grow hot as you shake your head, “mingi, that’s not–”

but he leaves before you can say anything else. turning back towards the interior of your house– now looking far too spacious and vast without one of your friends occupying every available surface– you are left alone with just san and johnny. the heat of the fight is quickly slipping away, instead rushing all towards your eyes, and you call out san’s name. what for, you don’t know, but your cry is timid and desperate.

as much as it pains san to make a decision, mingi needs him– his boys need him, and they are his priority now. right there and then, san discovers for himself his final answer when it comes to choosing between love and friendship. he walks out of your house, turning his back on you.

you jolt awake feeling disorientated. your head feels clouded, eyes blurry from swelling and you’re still in the clothes from last night that you don’t recall falling asleep in. reaching for your phone, you wonder whether it has already ticked past noon for you to have woken up on your own, except you find that its dead. you roll over with a groan and plug your phone into its charger, then haul yourself upwards.

you rinse the stale taste out of your mouth before walking out to the living room and immediately, you’re hit with the memories and intense emotions of last night. there are packets of raw meat still unopened and bottles of soju still littering the table that you hadn’t tidied up. in the aftermath of the argument, you had told johnny to give you some space and to go home. you had then gone straight to your bedroom, covering yourself with the blankets in an attempt to hide yourself from the world and cried out your sorrows until you exhausted yourself to sleep.

you let out a long and heavy sigh, soul still exhausted to the very core, so you turn back towards your bedroom. you’ll clean everything up when you’re feeling a little more confident to face the consequences of last night. sitting on the edge of your bed, you reach for your phone. there are a few texts from johnny that you scroll past when something else catches your eye.

it’s a text from jongho, timestamped for 1:17 am. you and the boys rarely have a reason to message each other individually, preferring to use the group chat since there are no secrets shared. although, you suppose, none of you will be using the group chat for a while…

you tap on jongho’s notification. instantly, your heart drops all the way to the bottom of your stomach and past it. you think your heart is down in the fucking ground, because–

hey, wasn’t sure if you’d want to know or not but i think we’re going back to seoul in the morning

the numbers in the corner of your phone tell you that it’s already eleven thirty, and that’s when you hear it– the noise that had woken you up earlier. the distinct slam of a car boot closing shut. you jolt up to your feet, panic coursing through your veins as blood rushes to your ears and drowns out all rational thoughts. you forgo any shoes and throw your front door open to run outside, uncaring of the grit that digs painfully into the soles of your feet.

a brief flash of relief flickers across jongho’s face at your appearance but you miss it in your frenzy to make sense of what you are seeing. all three of their cars are parked in a line, their surfboards already strapped and secured to the car hoods or in the bed of the ute. the last of their luggage and duffel bags are being loaded and san is locking his front door.

every summer, the boys wait until the last possible second to leave, to the point where you have to forcibly push them towards their cars with fond laughter. it’s only thursday today and summer doesn’t end for another three days, and yet–

“you guys are leaving?” you ask apprehensively.

nobody answers you immediately. the only sound that punctuates the silence is the forceful slam of a door as wooyoung enters the car. hongjoong accidentally makes eye contact with you and his eyes narrow before he opens the door to his ute and also disappears.

jongho clears his throat awkwardly, “yeah, we’re heading back early.”

“oh…” you’re at a loss for words, unsure of how to react to this situation. “drive safe.”

like a parallel of last night, the boys enter their respective cars one by one, jongho giving you a subtle wave. guilt stifles you for the things you have said to the boys and you’re also consumed by hurt from the things they have said to you. but you know for certain that you cannot just let this friendship fall through the cracks like this.

as san makes his way to his jeep, which is parked at the front of the line as the lead driver, you watch carefully for any sign that things are still salvageable for your friendship. a smile, a glance, a nod– anything. but he simply pulls his jeep door open like you are invisible.

you hesitantly ask him, “i’ll see you next summer?”

san is expressionless but he may as well be glaring at you when he replies, “don’t count on it,” and for the second time of your life, he turns his back on you.

as san buckles his seatbelt in, trying his goddamn hardest to pretend he doesn’t see the tears now beginning to fall from your eyes, he tells himself that you’ve made your decision and he’s made his. he has chosen his priorities and will give you up, and yet, still he hopes that one day you’ll realise you deserve better and break up with johnny. san hopes that you’ll come across somebody more than better, even if it cannot be him.

before yunho also gets into the jeep, he pauses in front of you. he fists the sides of his pants to stop himself from reaching out to wipe your tears away. instead, he consoles, “i think we all just need a little bit of time, yeah?”

you nod numbly at his words. you’re forced to take several steps back out of the way after yunho also shuts his door closed and the engines hum to life in succession. unable to do anything, you can only watch helplessly as san’s jeep starts to pull away and the other two cars also follow.

“they’re finally leaving, huh.”

there’s only one person who would have amusement laced into those words. refusing to turn around in your state, you exhale shakily, “not now, johnny.”

“you honestly need better friends. everyone has a stick up their ass in that group,” he comments.

“i said not now,” you warn again, blinking the rest of your tears away when you feel anger creeping up in its stead.

“i should’ve just punched them when i had the chance to.”

you whip around to face him and yell, absolutely appalled, “johnny!”

“what?” he scowls. “they were the ones who started it.”

you grow deathly still. “started what?” you interrogate, and when he doesn’t let up, you step in closer. “johnny?”

“look, i ran into some of them the other day. that little fucker–wooyoung? he was basically asking to be punched. he’s lucky i let him off the hook,” he sneers.

you’ve known wooyoung longer than you have known johnny and you honestly find your boyfriend’s recount hard to believe. yes, wooyoung is hot-headed and rash, but he never reacts unless he has been provoked. or in other cases, his loved ones have been provoked.

“don’t you fucking dare call my friends fuckers,” you growl. is this who your boyfriend truly is? is this the person who your friends have been able to see through all this time?

“are you fucking serious right now?” johnny spits in your face, “you’re defending them? you always take their fucking side even though i’m your boyfriend.”

you spit right back, “and you know what? that was my biggest mistake. i should have never made you my boyfriend.”

johnny’s expression drops entirely. “are you breaking up with me right now?”

“yes, i am.” you confirm. “we’re over.”

you turn on your heel and for once, you are glad that he has shown up at your house, because it means you are a mere ten feet away from shutting your now-ex out of your life. you fumble with the door, vision rapidly blurring, then walk through and close it behind you. slowly, you lean back against the door. with nothing grounding you anymore, the tears escape your eyes once more and you don’t bother trying to hold back your cries.

all too fast, everything has come to a full circle of hurt. johnny turned his back on your friends, your friends turned their backs on you, and you have now turned your back on johnny. your chest shudders and heaves at the realisation, wondering where it all went wrong.

you want to seek out one of the boys for comfort– seonghwa or san– but you only end up dropping to your hands and knees, head dizzy from how hard you begin to sob, when you realise that that’s no longer an option. you all need time apart, both yourself and the boys. you know. but it’s much easier for them because they are going back to seoul together as their group of eight. they still have each other to lean on for comfort, whereas you are left behind to nurse your own wounds by yourself.

in the quiet of your house with the end of summer approaching in namhae, for the first time since meeting san, you are truly alone. it no longer feels like the nine of you against the world and whatever it may bring. instead, it’s you against the world…and the eight of them.

haneul takes all but one look at you before she’s making herself comfortable on your couch, tugging a cushion into her lap and patting the space beside her with a commanding air of authority. her expression tells you that there’s no room for argument, so you sink into the couch next to her.

the bewilderment must be obvious on your face when she asks you to spill what happened with san, because she simply reveals, “san messaged the family chat when he arrived back in seoul. and we all know he would give up surfing before voluntarily leaving namhae early.”

you slouch in on yourself, “we fought.”

as surprising as it is to hear, since she’s never seen you and san argue before, haneul had an inkling that that was the case after her little brother’s vague reasons. she probes, “about what?”

you tell her about everything. how you started dating johnny, how the boys came early for the summer and how you tried to get them on friendly terms. how your friends were constantly telling you to break up with him and how your boyfriend was always unhappy about you spending time with them. you tell her about the near-kiss with hongjoong last summer and the confrontation you had with him this summer. the argument you had with all the boys and the break up with johnny. everything.

haneul’s quiet for a while as she tries to piece together your story and her own thoughts. “did they ever tell you why they were so against you dating him?” she finally questions.

you shake your head and she asks, “then did you try talking to them about it?”

you slowly shake your head again, slightly ashamed by your own answer. you had been so focused on finding fault in the different ways the boys could have expressed their disapproval regarding your boyfriend that you didn’t think of the multiple opportunities you had to work out why those opinions existed in the first place.

“what do you think of it all, then? obviously, you would have broken up with johnny for a reason–or did the criticism from the boys just become too much?

fiddling with the hem of your shirt, you look down at your lap. “he was a decent guy…up until summer and the boys came over. that’s when he started acting differently and,” you pause, trying to find a nicer phrase before giving up and settling on, “became an asshole.”

she nods, waiting as you elaborate, “he became more overbearing and possessive, especially when i was hanging out with them when he wasn’t present. and he was just always so pissed. he was dead serious about getting into a physical fight with wooyoung. and we both know that none of the boys would ever start a fight for no reason, much less a fistfight, so johnny had to be the instigator.”

the way that you are solely picking out the faults of your ex does not go unnoticed by haneul. “y/n,” she stares at you seriously. “are you upset about your break up, or your argument with the boys?”

her question stuns you because it’s quite obviously both, but she stops your reflexive response with the instruction, “think about it before you answer me.”

you close your mouth and look at your lap again to actually process your own thoughts and feelings. what are you thinking and feeling? johnny…you had sort of known already that he would not be a constant in your life for much longer. from the moment you had started comparing him against the other boys, it was already the beginning of the end.

but san and the others? they are and have been the sun to your solar system for years; your providers of vitality, warmth and summer who you cannot live without. there’s a constant, gravitational pull that keeps you all together, except the balance has now been thrown off entirely. you realise what the answer was all along and you quietly admit, “the argument.”

she places a hand over yours, comfortingly stroking your knuckles as she sympathises, “i think so too.”

promptly, you feel your eyes pricking with the sting of tears and in a moment of fragile vulnerability, you plead to haneul in a shaky voice, “what am i going to do without them?”

“come here,” she whispers.

she pulls you into her, your body immediately going slack in her embrace. you cling onto her like a lifeline, afraid that you are going to drown in your cries of anguish. you don’t know how long you stay buried in her chest grieving for the friendships you have lost, but your neck and back are sore with stiffness by the time you calm down. still, she doesn’t let go of you– not until you make the first move to pull away.

haneul continues to stroke your hair, soft shushing noises as she rocks you back and forth with her. when your shuddering breaths have resided and steadied out, she breaks the silence softly, “y/n, i think there’s more to your heartache and regret than just feeling like you’ve lost your closest friends.”

your throat is scratchy when you mumble, “what do you mean?”

“i can’t tell you because that’s something that you’re going to have to work out for yourself. but after you figure out your own feelings, talk to them. communication is the first step to solving any problem, and i think you’ve realised just how much miscommunication could have been avoided leading up to the argument.”

you know she’s right, but your chest shrivels up on itself in fear. “what if they don’t answer my messages or calls? what if they really don’t come back next summer?” what if they hate me forever?

haneul rests her cheek on the crown of her head, “if they take a step back, then why don’t you take two steps forward?”

her words slowly sink in and when they do, you inch out of her embrace. haneul cannot help the smile that adorns her own face in tandem with the one that starts to peek out along your lips. your face is still red and blotchy but there is now a ray of emerging hope as your voice trails off, “you mean…”

“yes, y/n,” haneul nods. you feel goosebumps spreading across your body when she affirms your thoughts.

“go to seoul and talk to them.”

summer passes and autumn comes. the days grow shorter as the nights become longer and the weeks blur into a haze of monochrome darkness. the leaves and flowers fall off the trees, nature gradually stagnating and waning into nonexistence, much like the groupchat you share with the boys that has remained untouched since summer.

in a feverish state of resolution the very same day you had cried in haneul’s arms, you had booked an express bus trip that would take you directly from namhae to seoul. yet, despite telling yourself every weekend that you’ll make the trip, the ticket remains unused. whenever you see your last message to san– a meek question asking if he had arrived back in seoul fine– that continues to stay unread, your courage crumples and you reschedule the date for the following weekend.

the cycle repeats itself well into autumn. that is, until he breaks it.

you’ve spent the last few days thinking about this very moment. there are only a few minutes left until midnight, which will mark the end of jongho’s birthday. you’re unable to count the number of times you have opened his chat, typed out a message, then exited without actually sending it.

currently, the text cursor in jongho’s chat blinks back at you like your own indecisiveness wavering back and forth between messaging him and not. the minute ticks over once more– it’s now or never. you let your thumbs skim across the surface of your phone before you can contemplate any further. it’s a simple message; only reading two lines.

happy birthday jongho how have you been?

really, you mean ‘how have you all been?’ because you cannot care about one of them without also caring about the others.

you lock the screen and toss your phone to the side, pretending you don’t care whether he replies or not, as if your phone is capable of sensing anxiousness and will sabotage his incoming messages– that is, if any come at all. but jongho’s last messages to you had been the ones alerting you that he and the boys would be leaving namhae prematurely. surely an indicator that this friendship isn’t entirely lost.

the lecture slides on your laptop may as well be written in a foreign language as you restlessly eye your phone, wondering if he has seen your messages. you know it will be fruitless to continue studying, so you steel yourself for disappointment and reach for your phone. to your surprise, there’s a reply waiting for you.

thanks y/n, i’ve been good

it’s simple and only five words, but that in itself speaks volumes to your relationship. your heart skips a beat when the messages in his chat shift upwards once more as a new text comes in like an afterthought.

i miss you

really, jongho means ‘we all miss you’ because you can be angry at someone, feel hurt by them, yet still love them all the same.

his confession stuns you frozen, your fingers hovering in place over your keyboard. it fills you with longing for more and hope for what may come, but also fear for what could happen. jongho has taken a small step to meet you halfway and you are absolutely terrified of messing things up once more. with your heart pounding in your chest, you carefully type out your next message, send it and then hold your breath.

can we call?

your fingers repetitively trace the rim of your phone case back and forth as you wait for a reply. there’s a rising swell of panic that continues to grow when nothing comes and you even exit and reopen the app. what you don’t know is that jongho almost trips onto his face in his hurry to untangle his legs from out of his blanket so that he can lock himself in the bathroom to call you without waking the others.

the phone nearly falls out of your grasp when the screen suddenly lights up not with a message but a call. you let it ring for a few seconds to gather your own composure before sliding the button to nervously answer, “hello?”

“hello?” comes jongho’s reply.

your voices overlap as you both simultaneously talk, “can you hear me–” “hi–yes, can you hear me?”

“yeah, i can hear you too, hi,” you breathe out, face breaking out into a smile.

the exchange has jongho letting out a giggle and the sound immediately releases all the tension that has built up in your body. your eyes start to mist over as you let out your own bashful laughter, because it is so much more than just missing the sound of jongho’s happiness. you’re reminded of crashing waves and windswept fringes; heavy surfboards and helping hands– the summer days when everything was happier and simpler. how did everything end up the way it has?

“thank you for replying to my message, jongho,” your voice is unsteady.

he must hear the way your throat threatens to close in on itself, because his voice is warm-hearted when he tells you, “no, thank you for reaching out first.” and as much as he finds it difficult to express himself, his next words spill out easily. “sorry i didn’t do it first…it must have been hard for you all this time.”

and just like that, so comes the first of many owed apologies. it doesn’t matter that you have to be awake in five hours to make it to your first lecture, nor that you don’t have a perfected script for all the things you want to apologise for. and it doesn’t matter that jongho is starting to feel cold sitting on the bathroom floor, nor that he can’t hold you like he wants to do. what does matter is that you’re both talking again.

as the night grows older, the conversation eventually flows away from raw confessions of your hearts to familiar topics of your mundane lives. it feels like the normal phone calls you used to have with the boys, except this time it’s only with jongho.

“what about you? have you been busy?”

you nod, even though he can’t see you over the call, “i’m trying to keep up with classes but it’s hard with all the assignments due soon.”

“yeah, i have another huge film project and it’s taking up all of my time, too,” he exhales, then tentatively asks, “what about…how’re things with johnny?”

it’s strangely exciting to clarify, “we actually broke up a few months ago.”

you can hear jongho’s sharp inhale even from over the phone. the conspiratorial tone of his voice painfully reminds you of wooyoung’s nosiness as jongho asks, “please tell me you broke up with him and not the other way round.”

“yes, i broke up with him,” you chuckle. “he talked shit about you guys the moment you all left, so i dumped him.”

“he deserved it,” he gleefully states.

“only i get to mess with my friends…literally.”

the joke is at the expense of yourself, but it feels uplifting to be able to start laughing about it now that you have started making amends, even if it is only with one person so far. knowing you have somebody on your side makes all the difference in the world.

“it’s actually sort of funny you say that,” jongho muses over the phone. “remember that truth or dare question? the one about choosing between love and friendship?”

you hum in affirmation, “san and i picked love.”

“and look at you, picking us over johnny,” he teases.

huffily, you banter, “picked you guys even though you all left me.”

there’s the tinkle of laughter from over the receiver, but it’s cut short by a faint knock. you hear jongho murmuring to somebody before his voice becomes audible again, “hey, sorry, i need to go now. someone needs to use the bathroom.”

you resist the urge to ask why he’s even there in the first place, but you just tell him that it’s okay, considering how late the time is anyway.

“i’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“yeah, tomorrow,” you affirm. the wide smile on your face makes your cheeks ache as you grip the phone to your ear and wait for him to hang up. you hear the sound of rustling as he stands up and turns the doorknob, then there’s a voice in the background asking, “is that y/n?”

but before you can try to discern who the voice belongs to, the call ends. you don’t let the slight disappointment dampen your spirits though and you fall back to lie on top of your bed. jongho’s last words to you have made you feel like a giddy teenager– tomorrow feels too far away.

but his words before his last words also make you feel like a teenager. only it’s not giddiness but the uncertainty and confusion that comes with adolescence as you try to navigate and understand your own feelings about something. in the face of the situation, had you truly chosen friendship over love contrary to your own expectations?

it makes sense at first to think that’s what has happened, but you’re suddenly reminded of haneul’s words– that there is more to your heartache and regret than just feeling like you have lost your closest friends, and that you need to figure out your own feelings before talking to the boys. if you have stood by your own values and chosen love over friendship, then that means…the heartbreak that you feel is grief not for lost friendship, but loss of your first loves– because you are in love with all of them.

that spark of feelings that had remained for the boys had never become fully extinguished. when you agreed to date johnny, perhaps it was only because he had reminded you of them and you had mistaken the flutters in your stomach for romantic attraction to him. and so, left unattended, that very spark has now flourished into a wildfire that can no longer be controlled, neither can it be contained– it’s time for you to talk to them.

you pick up your phone again and send out a message, this time with no hesitation. it reads, ‘i need your help’.

and the reply is immediate.

anything you need

it’s the first day of winter when you arrive in seoul.

you get off the express bus at the terminal with both hands empty and only the bag on your back; you don’t plan on staying for long so you didn’t bring much with you. immediately, your breath fogs up in the frigid air and you nestle more snugly into the warmth of your coat. there’s a reasonable crowd of people at the terminal, so you crane your neck in search of jongho’s familiar tuft of brown hair, who had offered to pick you up knowing that this was your first time travelling up to seoul.

the last text he had sent told you that he had arrived and was waiting for you at terminal six. as you make your way closer, eyes squinting to discern whether you are seeing things correctly, you think you’re able to make out jongho’s side profile leaning against a brick wall.

except, he’s not alone. your footsteps start to falter because seonghwa is also there. ironically, he’s the one who spots you from afar. he pushes himself away from the wall and turns his body towards you as jongho questions whether he has spotted you.

ever since the night he had overheard the younger on a phone call with you, seonghwa has been aching to make things right with you again. he had been afraid that you would want nothing to do with them anymore and that you would slip away from their fingers just like that. but here you are in seoul, just a mere distance away from him.

seonghwa’s eyes start to water and your expression crumples almost immediately with his when he opens his arms with an offer of an embrace. his feet rush to close the distance when you throw yourself into his chest, the cashmere of his coat rubbing softly against your cheek.

“i’m sorry, hwa” you murmur.

“i know,” he whispers, stroking the back of your head, “me too.”

jongho silently watches with a small smile and allows you both to have your moment of reconciliation with each other. as you breathe in the comfortingly familiar scent of seonghwa’s cologne, you gesture for the other to come closer so that you can pull him into a group hug. and here, surrounded by both of them, despite there being several other things you want to say– poems of apologies and ballads of confessions– for now, this is more than enough.

seonghwa is the first to pull away suddenly as if he has been electrocuted. “hang on, are you and johnny still…” he trails off.

despite the snort of amusement that leaves you, you’re touched by his thoughtfulness to maintain respectful boundaries. “don’t worry, we broke up,” you reassure him, then you jokingly turn to jongho with an incredulous look. “you told him i was coming up to seoul, but didn’t tell him that johnny’s my ex now?”

he rolls his eyes good-naturedly, “that wasn’t in my place to reveal. plus, seonghwa was the one who looked over my shoulder and saw your text asking for my help.”

said man pretends to walk away innocently. you and jongho laugh, trailing after him towards the carpark as you ask, “what was he doing in your dorm anyway?”

“he crashed for the night. our dorm’s close to his workplace.”

when you reach their parked car, seonghwa tugs the passenger door open, but instead of hopping in he gestures for you to go first. you indulge in his chivalry with a chuckle, even more so when he places a hand along the top of the door frame in case you bump into it.

“thanks, hwa,” you say sweetly, shuffling in further when he scoots in after you and leaves jongho alone to sit at the front of the car.

“great, not even ten minutes of making up with each other and i’ve already become the third wheel,” jongho grumbles as he turns the ignition on.

despite the huffiness in his voice, jongho’s heart sings with happiness to see you and seonghwa already getting along like normal. he is willing to be the third wheel– even the ninth wheel– if it means that you and his boys can shine together every day. but for that to happen, it all rests on how the next hour unfolds.

“ready to go?” jongho asks, eyeing you from the rearview mirror.

are you? are you ready to talk to all of the boys at the same time? seonghwa gives your hand a gentle squeeze, and jongho nods at you reassuringly from the front; you’re not going into this alone anymore. you nod, “i’m ready.”

the drive takes less than thirty minutes and before you know it, you’re standing right outside the door to jongho’s shared dorm with wooyoung and hongjoong. jongho swipes and unlocks the door with his access card, however makes no move to push the door open. the fact that neither of the boys say anything to rush you spurs you on with enough determination to enter the dorm. the volume of their chatter increases immediately without the barrier of the door, and you take slow, hesitant steps along the short hallway towards the direction of the sound.

you appreciate when jongho takes the lead to subtly show you where to go but it still feels like you are intruding– which, you technically are, considering two out of three people who live here don’t know that you’re in the dorm right now. rounding the corner of the hallway, you discover that it leads straight to the living room where all of the boys currently are. so it’s fucking awkward when the sight of you emerging completely kills the conversation and a collective hush settles over the room.

you have to fight everything within you not to turn on your heel and just flee, because nothing has prepared you for their initial reaction. you hate the fact that you cannot tell whether the shocked expressions on yunho and yeosang’s faces are ones of delight or displeasure. you hate the way that wooyoung and hongjoong’s bodies tense and become guarded, ready to tell you to leave their dorm. but more than anything, you hate the way that san and mingi cannot even look at you.

“holy shit,” yunho whispers.

that’s enough to set off the others and hongjoong angrily questions, “what the fuck is she doing here?”

wooyoung looks at jongho, “is this why you told everyone to come over?”

you defend, “i was the one who asked jongho for help.”

“i wasn’t talking to you–”

you cut wooyoung off, contrary to your next words, “can you just shut the fuck up for once? i’m not here to start another fight. just–hear me out, please. i’ll leave as soon as i say what i need to.”

he glares at you and everybody holds their breath as they steel themselves for another full-blown argument. but wooyoung does as you ask and folds his arms angrily. nobody speaks, waiting for you to talk as you finally put your bag down and sit a safe distance away.

you close your eyes and take a breath to compose yourself. you refuse to let yourself cry this time. you’ve done plenty of that in the last few months and you have finally come to terms with your own feelings. “i…i’m sorry,” you start.

somebody scoffs, but you ignore it and let the words from your heart take over. “i’m sorry for being such an asshole over the summer–for letting my ex get in between us and for ignoring all the times you told me he wasn’t a good guy. i shouldn’t have assumed that you were all okay with me bringing him along whenever we hung out and i should have asked before inviting him to the campfire. that was something special for us and it was selfish of me to do that.

“in particular, i’m sorry for how that night went down. i know it doesn’t excuse what i did, but i had an argument with hongjoong earlier that day and i was feeling strung tight. i wish i had handled the situation better when i felt confronted about bringing johnny along, and i acknowledge that the words i said can’t be taken back, even if i didn’t mean them.”

nobody needs reminding of the words that you are referring to, because it has sat just as heavily in their hearts as it has your own. the sight of mingi ducking his head down even further has your heart clenching painfully.

even if he isn’t looking, you apologise to him directly, “mingi, i’m sorry we never got to finish our talk. i know that you were going through a hard time and that that trip was meant to be something healing for you–for all of you. namhae was meant to be an escape, but it probably didn’t feel that way…because of me. i mean it when i say you’ll always have a home in namhae and i hope that one day, you’ll be able to trust me on that. in fact, i hope that you all know that namhae is not the same without either one of you boys.”

you hesitate, because not even jongho knows about what you’re going to say next. you avert your gaze to focus on the carpet just in front of you so that you don’t have to see their expressions. “it’s taken this fight–almost losing all of you–and breaking up with my ex to realise just how stupid and blind i am to my own feelings. i always thought i would be happy with just being friends…but you are all so, so much more to me than just friends and ‘whoever’. i think i’m in love with all of you and i know it’s unconventional, but…i guess love has no limits.

“but i’m also going to be honest. i’m still hurt by the things some of you said or did. it hurt that some of you criticised my decisions without thinking about how that might have made me feel. and i know it wasn’t your intention to, but i felt like i was being backed into a corner multiple times when you kept repeating the same things over and over again about my ex without any real constructiveness to your words.

“i don’t expect you to apologise right now, nor accept my apology, and i don’t expect any of you to respond to my confession. i want you all to have enough time to work out your own feelings…if you want to. if you find it in your heart to forgive me and if you want to apologise, pursue friendship again or…maybe something more, then come to namhae and tell me in person.”

there’s half a year left until summer, and as much as things can change in six months, you also hope that this gives you and the boys time to work out what you all truly want from one another– be it friendship or love. nobody moves or says anything, trying to process everything you have said so you decide to leave them to it, having done your part. you make a move to stand and sling your bag onto your back.

“you’re leaving already? where are you going?” yeosang abruptly asks, standing as well.

“back to namhae,” you explain. “i booked a return ticket for the same day.”

san frowns and for the first time since you arrived, he looks at you. “you came all the way here…just to talk to us for half an hour?”

you give him a bittersweet smile, “that’s how important this is to me–how important you all are to me.”

he looks away, unable to hold your gaze. you turn to jongho to ask if he is still happy to drop you back off at the terminal, who nods and begins to pull on his puffer jacket.

“wait,” yeosang calls out. he skitters off down the corridor, socked feet pattering against the floor as he grabs something from his bedroom and hurries back in front of you. “here.”

he has a thick scarf that he holds out for you to take, but as you start to reach for it, he changes his mind. you hold your breath as yeosang carefully reaches over your head to drape the scarf around you. with tender hands, he wraps it around your neck before securing it with a knot. he continues to fiddle with the ends of the scarf and you’re starting to wonder why he is hesitating when he looks at you shyly and mumbles something under his breath. before you can make a noise of confusion, he darts off once again back into his room. seonghwa cannot help but smile fondly, because even if he is unable to hear what the other said either, he knows what yeosang means purely by his actions.

you’re accompanied out of the door by jongho minutes later, carrying a plastic bag of snacks and drinks from their dorm that seonghwa has rushed to put together for you to have on your way back. when you’re in the car, you also find a pair of black gloves in the pocket of your coat. you have no idea who put it there, but the sentiment of one of the boys trying to ensure you are not cold is enough to fill your entire body with warmth.

you may have arrived in seoul with both hands empty and only the bag on your back, but you leave seoul with their quiet acts of apologies and forgiveness on your hands, neck, and in the plastic bag sitting on your lap as your bus pulls away back to namhae.

a lot can change in six months, but a lot can also stay the same. it all balances on the peak of the fulcrum, waiting to teeter either way as summer arrives.

you’ve kept in touch with jongho and seonghwa, so you haven’t been left in the dark anxiously wondering whether they will be returning to namhae or not. but even with their arrival, the uncertainty remains as to which way the scale has– or will tip.

so you don’t walk out to greet them when you hear the resounding slam of shutting doors and the low hum of exchanged conversation, because you don't know whether the other boys want to see you or not. plus, there’s something embarrassing about seeing them for the first time after apologising, much less confessing to them without any certainty as to their feelings, and much much less to eight people at once. you’re doing a pretty good job at hiding and pretending you are completely oblivious to their arrival in namhae.

that is, until mingi knocks on your door. mingi feels like he’s fourteen again, knocking on yunho’s door and crossing his fingers hoping to god that it’s his friend who opens it and not his parents, because mingi feels embarrassed asking them every day if yunho can come out to play. this time, though, mingi’s nervous because it’s you and he’s nervous because six months is a long time where feelings can change. he hopes that yours are still the same.

you’re greeted by a shock of platinum white hair when you open your door and you realise it’s mingi with freshly bleached hair. it looks good– a little too good– and you have to force yourself to peel your eyes away. except your eyes travel down involuntarily to the contrasting black of his tank top, which is at least two sizes too large and dips down dangerously to reveal the shadows of his chest. you’re down bad, and it’s only been ten seconds since you’ve laid eyes on him since seoul.

mingi is looking at you amusedly when you finally lock eyes with him and he seems to stand a little straighter with confidence. he beckons with a gentle tilt of his head, “come surf with us?”

the casualness of his invite throws you off and you wonder if you’ve somehow missed the memo that he’s forgiven you. “you’re all okay with me coming?” you blink confusedly.

“the others can speak for themselves,” he puts it plainly, but then smiles, “i want you to come, though. it’s not the same without you. plus,” his voice mellows out earnestly, “someone’s gotta welcome me home, don’t you think?”

home. home is where the heart is, and for mingi, regardless of the arguments and fights, his heart will always be with the boys and you. because in anger, hurt and love, there is always forgiveness, and mingi has forgiven you.

shyly, you return his smile, “i’ll go get changed, then?”

“is that an invite inside?” mingi leans against the doorframe with faux coyness that manages to make the rounds of your cheeks heat up. you shove him back lightly with a laugh, trying to ignore the firmness of his chest under your touch.

he grins boyishly, utterly pleased with himself, but steps back so you can close the door. “take your time,” he reassures. “i’ll wait for you.”

and he does, just so that you don’t have to walk alone to join the rest of the group. even after you have thrown on a swimsuit and slathered yourself with sunscreen as best as you can, mingi is still outside and yunho has also joined him– you know because you can hear them talking as you search for your house keys in the hallway.

“what if it’s too late?” yunho asks.

“you don’t know that, not until you try,” mingi replies. “here, a kiss for good luck.”

you have no idea what the context for this conversation is, but it suddenly strikes you that apart from mingi, you’ve never discussed sexual orientation with the boys. you may have asked them to consider you romantically, but you can’t say for sure if they even like girls. from what you know, none of them have dated before, and now you’re suddenly wondering whether any of the boys are dating within the group. mingi and yunho are certainly a possibility.

but regardless, you realise this is probably not something you should be discovering by overhearing a conversation, so you deliberately drop your keys to alert them of your presence and wait a couple more seconds before you open your front door.

for the second time of the day, you’re absolutely floored. yunho has dyed his hair an ash grey and it falls over his forehead and down the nape of his neck in messy locks. there must have been a fucking enticing buy-one-get-one-free deal, because he’s also wearing a black tank top much like mingi’s, except his is form-fitting and putting every damned muscle of his upper body on glorified display.

not that you’re complaining. but it’s also very distracting when you’re trying to focus on what mingi is saying as you all make your way down the beach towards the shore, their surfboards hiked against their hips.

“you guys go ahead, i think jongho’s calling for me,” mingi suddenly announces before darting off.

you’re left alone with yunho, and from the back of jongho’s head who most definitely doesn’t even know you three have joined the group, mingi’s plan to slip away has succeeded.

“um,” yunho hesitantly starts, “do you want to try paddling out on my board? i’ll stay close.”

the last time you had attempted anything on his shortboard, you had flipped over and swallowed several mouthfuls of salt water. although you’re not particularly keen on repeating the experience, some things don’t need to be spelt out– the reason for his offer. only one foot is needed to push a bicycle into motion, but two feet are needed to keep it in motion. so you nod and let him drag his surfboard towards the shallow waters for you.

as you trail beside him, seonghwa and jongho greet you enthusiastically on their own boards out in the horizon. yeosang waves too from further down the shore and you lose some of the tension in your shoulders when you know that the intention behind his scarf was not misinterpreted. only san and wooyoung do not directly acknowledge your presence, but unbeknownst to you, the younger is carefully observing your interactions with the others.

“here,” yunho says, garnering your attention.

he holds the surfboard steady in the water, waiting for you to lie on top. his hands stay even after you gingerly shift and balance your weight onto your front. with his guidance, you slowly paddle out past the rush of whitewater waves. yunho is barely waist-deep in the water so he easily manoeuvres you and the board as you try to recall the familiar motion of paddling against incoming swells. but both of you know that you’re not really trying to paddle and he’s not really watching for mistakes.

eventually, you languidly let the waters caress your body as you still, letting the slight waves gently rock your surfboard. one of yunho’s arms have shifted over your back to support the opposite side of the surfboard and your body tingles whenever his forearm brushes over you. his other hand rests near your own, your fingers grazing together whenever the board dances over a swell.

it is within the serenity and solitude of the ocean, and the warmth and proximity of each other’s presence that the conversation happens. yunho apologises and you forgive. it occurs as simply as that, because actions speak louder than words and you have already shared a library of novels with your bodies.

from afar, wooyoung’s internal debate continues to teeter on its fulcrum as he watches the moment you share with yunho. wooyoung may be fast to talk, but he is also keen to observe. he sees the glow of relief and happiness returning to the faces of the boys. what he said to you summers ago still stands true– you make the boys happy and it’s obvious they make you happy too. and all wooyoung has ever wanted is to protect the smile of his loved ones, including you.

the radiance of the smile you give when yunho pretends to flip your surfboard over reminds wooyoung of his failure to do just that. in his blindness for the others, he had sacrificed your smile. the scale teeters over the fulcrum and he follows the momentum of his heart to wade out into the waters where you two still are, his apology ready to spill out.

and so you discover that a lot can change in six months, but a lot can also change in one day. with each relationship that stitches back together, rips now reinforced and sturdier than before, namhae almost feels the same again– summer almost feels the same again. you may still have the two hardest conversations left to be resolved, but if more time is what they need, then you are willing to wait for san and–

yunho and wooyoung scramble to steady your surfboard before you actually tip over when you suddenly move to kneel, head whipping around to confirm your fears. you hadn’t initially noticed as the boys had been scattered, intermittently ducking back into the house, but your heart sinks as you count the number of heads again. you’re unable to fight off the dread in your voice when you dare to ask, “where’s hongjoong?”

yunho’s eyes don’t meet yours and wooyoung’s mouth thins out tightly before he cautiously answers you, “he didn’t come.”

san likes to think that he’s patient. ever since he was young, his father had made sure to raise him to wait. wait for elders to eat before picking up his own chopsticks; wait for others to walk through the door before he enters; wait for others to choose their preference before he picks his. and san likes to think that he has diligently applied this principle to his relationships too. wait to understand someone before criticising; wait for his own anger to subside before talking; wait to reflect on his own wrongs before expecting an apology.

but right now, san is impatient. he catches glimpses of the sweet messages you send jongho and seonghwa and the joyous cackles you share with wooyoung when you prank yeosang. he notices the way yunho and mingi are attached to your hips, and san wants all of that and more. he wants to tell you he’s forgiven you and that he’s sorry too; he wants to cup your cheeks and thumb away the phantom tears he caused; he wants to love you.

but his body is acting as if it’s an entirely separate entity from his heart. he’s unable to approach you, even as he watches everyone else do what he wants to and it frustrates him to no end. and it’s as if the gods themselves also became impatient with his pathetic attempts– or lack thereof– because they drop the perfect opportunity right in front of him.

a quick look at his phone tells san that he’s been tossing on the couch for the last two hours. sleep fails to take over, so he hauls himself up and pads softly towards the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. he stares out of the window above the sink, where he can just see the stretch of beach towards the right. the moon shines brightly tonight and the rays decorate the sand and sea foam with dreamy tranquillity.

there’s a quiet rustle above the stillness of the night. when san turns around, his heart immediately clenches at the sight. you’re sleepily rubbing the bleariness out of your eye as you shuffle your way into the kitchen. there’s a stray tuft of hair that san wants to reach out and smooth down for you, but he opts to grip his glass of water tighter.

you startle, not having expected someone to be awake and most definitely not san. you had stayed over late into the night watching a movie marathon with the boys, and despite your protests, they had convinced you to crash in haneul’s room. tension doesn’t exist between you and the boys anymore, only awkwardness with san and…avoidance with hongjoong.

“couldn’t sleep?” you murmur, voice unguarded and still thick with sleep.

san shakes his head, “you?”

“got thirsty,” you explain, grabbing a glass from under the counter.

he hums at your answer and then it grows silent again. it’s only after you drowsily blink at him that he realises why you’re not making a move to get water– he’s still standing in front of the sink. san starts to step out of the way but thinks better of it. reaching out to grab your glass, he fills it up with water and then returns it to you.

“thanks, sannie.”

it doesn’t register in your head that the nickname has slipped out. for him, though, it echoes and ricochets in the very caverns of his ribcage. hesitantly, he mutters, “you’re welcome, pipsqueak.”

it tugs a smile out of your lips. “haven’t heard that in a while,” you muse. “kind of miss it.”

and i miss you. san is impatient, and he finally decides that he cannot take it anymore. “i’m sorry, y/n,” he whispers. “i know how badly i hurt you.”

the haze in your eyes immediately fades away at his words and he takes it as a good sign to continue. “i’ll be honest. i hated that the person next to you as your boyfriend wasn’t one of us–wasn’t me, because it didn’t look like he was making you happy at all. and that day you were out working in the field? some of us actually ran into johnny.”

you acknowledge sadly, “seonghwa told me what happened. i’m sorry he was like that.”

“that’s not on you to apologise,” san refutes. “i was the one who asked the boys to keep it from you until we could properly talk after the campfire night, but along with everything that had led up to that point, all my frustrations accumulated without even realising it.”

“i guess that makes the two of us, then. there were arguments you and i both weren’t aware of, and we ended up being the last straw for each other,” you chuckle wryly.

his voice wavers, “i’m meant to be the one person who is always there for you, but i made it feel like you were pitted against the eight of us instead and i’m so sorry for doing that. it should never have been me against you, nor us boys against you. it should have been all nine of us against the problem.”

you can’t help but take the opportunity to tease lightly, “are you calling my ex the problem?”

“exactly that,” he deadpans. “we all did.”

you nod, “thank you for trying to let me know, even when i didn’t listen.”

“no, i’m sorry we didn’t explain ourselves more clearly–or earlier.”

“but you have now, and i understand,” you reassure.

he nods gratefully before hesitating, “there’s something else behind all this that i can’t tell you yet, not without the others here. but when things are…okay with hongjoong again, that’s when we’ll tell you.”

something about his promise tells you that it has to do with the other part of the conversation everyone has been skirting around so far– your confession. faint memories of the interactions observed between the boys last summer and the brief exchange you overheard between yunho and mingi flicker across your mind.

perhaps you should steel yourself for rejection. you don’t dwell on it, though. this may have been the first time your friendship with san had been so close to shattering, but you know that it will take more than the entire universe to completely break you apart; you still trust him– because before it was the nine of you, it was you and san against the world.

“then are we okay now?” you ask, needing the confirmation.

“yeah,” he smiles breathlessly, “more than okay.”

the caverns of san’s dimples– the ones you love so much– shyly peek out to greet you in the faint glow of the moonlight coming in from the window. he reaches out silently and you understand immediately. you intertwine your fingers together.

san wants to ask you to go to bed with him. not to do anything sexual, but to simply hold you against his chest; trace the curve of your nose; wake up to your sleepy smile in the morning. but he can’t, not yet. not until you’ve worked things out with hongjoong, and not until you’ve had a talk together– all nine of you.

he settles for tugging you in the direction of haneul’s bedroom, hand never letting go of yours as he softly ushers, “let me tuck you back into bed.”

and so fifteen years after your first day of summer in namhae, you find that summer still takes the form of a sweet, dimpled boy who loves the sea and holding hands.

your instinctive reaction is to shut the door in hongjoong’s face.

when seonghwa had texted you asking you to open your front door, you had been expecting said man for obvious reasons. so when you pull the door open and see kim fucking hongjoong at your doorstep in fucking namhae instead, of course you slam the door shut. because why the fuck is he here?

“oh shit,” you curse, when it registers in your brain.

hongjoong is here and you’ve just shut the door in his face. if you had even an ounce of collectedness in you, you would realise that the boys’ initial and very much candid reaction of shock to seeing you randomly show up at their dorm in seoul is suddenly very relatable. you yank the door open again.

“sure, why don’t you just go ahead and punch me in the fucking face too,” hongjoong scowls.

immediately, you furrow your eyebrows, “well, if you’re offering…”

“oh, fuck off,” he raises his middle finger at you.

you raise both middle fingers in retaliation, “yeah, back into my house that you’re standing in front of.”

“for god’s sake–kim hongjoong!” seonghwa hisses in exasperation, head poking out of san’s door as he eavesdrops to make sure this exact thing doesn’t happen. “you’re here to apologise!”

hongjoong appears rightfully berated, then he looks at anything but you as he huffs, “can i come in?”

“depends,” you cross your arms defiantly. “are you going to try and kick me out?”

despite the prickliness of the conversation, it almost feels right in a sense. as if there’s no real heat behind your words and you two are back to the easy banter you used to have– before your near-kiss with him. this time, though, seonghwa hisses your name in frustration.

“geez! okay!” you fluster as you step back and open the door wider, letting hongjoong in and away from the prying ears of the older.

you sit tentatively on your couch and he mirrors you, scratching the back of his neck as he perches himself on the edge. it’s awkward and tense when it becomes apparent to the both of you that you’re alone. “i didn’t think you would come,” you break the silence.

he hums softly, “me neither.”

you don’t know how to respond so you don’t, allowing the quiet to settle over your living room once more. eventually, hongjong opens his mouth quietly, “i was–am ashamed of myself.”

you’ve been there before– on the other side of the conversation as the one doing the apologising. you know how difficult it is to be honest about your own emotions, particularly the negative ones, so you wait patiently for him to find the right words.

“i’ve been ashamed ever since the night i tried to kiss you. i was a coward and i did nothing to change it. i only ended up hurting you and i’ve regretted it every single day. i think about why i didn’t talk to you afterwards, why i said those things about you and your ex…why i didn’t just kiss you.”

you can’t help but inhale sharply at his confession, because that can only mean one thing.

hongjoong gathers the courage to look at you as he admits, “i did like you. i still do. but i was an idiot and thought that i was doing the best thing for everybody. i shouldn’t have made that choice for you nor tried to have a say in your love life. i was jealous and i know now how toxic i was being, which is why i was so stubborn about not coming to namhae because i didn’t think my apology would be good enough. so i’m sorry for all the things i said and did, but i’m also sorry that it took me this long to talk to you.”

he looks so uncharacteristically unsure of himself as he timidly asks, “will you forgive me?”

there’s not a moment of hesitation before you’re closing the gap between the two of you on the couch so that you can wrap your arms around him. and in a rare display of vulnerability, he tucks his face into the crook of your neck. you comfort, “i forgive you. there are a lot of things i’m ashamed of doing too. but we all make mistakes and that’s what helps us to grow.”

“you still like me?” he mumbles into your neck.

you laugh at the ticklish feeling, “very much so, hongjoong.” because in forgiveness there is love, and you have years of owed love to show the boys.

only when your sides become cramped and your necks become stiff do you finally pull away from each other. as you make eye contact with him though, you’re suddenly reminded of his confession. you know that you will need to have another talk with hongjoong about it, and you still don’t know where the other boys stand in terms of pursuing something romantic with you, but that will be for later. right now, you are content and at peace– the nine of you against the world once more.

“let’s go find the rest of the boys?” you ask.

he grins, holding a hand out to pull you up with him as he answers, “let’s go.”

just as hongjoong puts on his shoes by the doorway, he distractedly questions, “why are these here?”

you frown and follow his line of sight, settling on the top of the cabinet in your hallway where a pair of gloves sit– the ones you had discovered in your coat on your way back to namhae. “you know who they belong to?”

“yeah,” he nods, absentmindedly touching them before walking out the door. “i bought them last year, but they were too big so i gave them to san.”

it was san who hid them in your coat.

you numbly follow his steps outside where the boys have gathered in waiting and are sitting side by side on the embankment, facing the ocean. they are simply living in the moment, basking in the golden rays of sunlight and the warm touch of the person by their side– an arm around a waist; a head on a shoulder. you almost don’t want to disturb them, but you know the seven of them are not complete. not without hongjoong, and not without you.

and as your gaze meets san who smiles at the both of you, his chest swelling with relief, pride and love, you realise that san had bared his heart out to you long before you even knew.

once you fall back into routine with them, it starts to become obvious. the way the boys naturally gravitate towards one another with doting gazes and lingering touches; the casual use of a pet name or flirtatious joke; the shifts in dynamic you had noticed before that seem to extend beyond friendship. it starts to make sense when you realise that that’s exactly the reason– no longer are their relationships purely based on platonic love, but romantic love.

it’s why yunho knocks his forehead against mingi’s just to see him smile, and why san pretends to grumble when wooyoung kisses his cheeks, only to give the younger a proper kiss mere seconds later. it’s why jongho never lets yeosang carry his own surfboard even if he’s just as strong, and it’s why seonghwa and hongjoong like to disappear into the shower together.

but the longer you mull over these interactions for, the more you realise that they don’t seem to be simply ‘paired off’. you notice how jongho refuses to be cuddled but will nestle against seonghwa when he’s tired, and how yunho and yeosang seek out each other’s company before bedtime. you notice how wooyoung squeezes hongjoong’s ass underwater to make him yelp, and how san and mingi are content to just sit together on their surfboards on the sand.

rather than a question of who is with who, it becomes a question of who isn’t with who, and this time, you also find yourself mixed into the equation. but it confuses you whenever they treat you the same and you find yourself holding back despite your feelings, because it’s much harder to tell what kind of love they’re giving you when you yourself yearn for the intimate type.

san notices the change in your demeanour, as small as it may be, and decides it’s time for the talk. so here the nine of you sit on the beach that stretches in front of your houses. the sand is still warm from the sun even as it starts to dip towards the horizon of the sea. yeosang’s jacket lays over your bare legs and a slight breeze tugs delicately at your clothes.

“okay, so who’s telling her?” yunho elbows wooyoung as soon as the words leave the latter’s lips.

“what? how else are we meant to start the conversation?” wooyoung complains before mocking, “the reason i have gathered you all here today–”

rolling your eyes, you cut to the chase, “are you all dating each other?”

wooyoung chokes on his own words and everybody else looks at you with wide eyes.

“how’d you know?” yeosang startles.

seonghwa agrees, “i didn’t think we were that obvious,” but when you simply raise an eyebrow in response, he’s quick to amend, “okay, maybe we were.”

san eyes the others to see if anyone wants to step in and lead the conversation, but when nobody does, he speaks up to explain, “we’ve been dating each other for just over a year now–so before last summer. it took a bit of time to work everything out, establish boundaries and communicate what we wanted from one another, but we’re happy like this.”

“once our relationship had settled down a little, that’s when i came out to my parents,” mingi adds, “which didn’t go down well. we wanted to tell you last summer too, but…other things happened and it all fell through before we could talk about it.”

yeosang meekly scratches the back of his neck as he says, “it’s long overdue, but we’re telling you now.”

the chuckle that comes out of you is light and carefree. “i’m happy for you guys,” you affirm sincerely. “i don’t think there’s anybody else who is more perfect for you guys than each other.”

you truly do. you’re thankful that they have one another and you finally understand how hard it must’ve been for san during your argument to pick a side. his boys were and are his priority and you cannot fault him for putting them first. but then you’re reminded of hongjoong and his confession. are the others aware of his feelings?

said man has the audacity to frown at you in confusion. “why does it sound like you’re just wishing us well?”

“am i not allowed to do that as your friend?” you mirror his expression.

“god,” hongjoong exhales. “do you think we’re telling you this just to reject you?”

“of all people to say that–rub it in my face, why don’t you,” you grumble.

he starts to grasp the situation as he looks at the rest of the boys, “wait, did nobody fucking confess to her apart from me?”

the explosion of responses to his question is immediate.

“you confessed–” “–i thought we agreed to confess together–” “–trust you to cut in line! that’s not fair!”

your eyes dart wildly from side to side, unsure of who to focus on as they all start to passionately talk over one another. at one point, someone tries to chuck a handful of sand in hongjoong’s direction, but it scatters innocuously before it can even get close.

“hold the fuck up,” you yell over the commotion. “confess what?”

“how did you figure out that we’re in a polyamorous relationship but not that the feelings extend to you as well?” yeosang judges you.

“i didn’t want to project my own feelings and misconstrue anything. plus, none of you have actually mentioned liking or dating girls before, so i just…”

“assumed we didn’t have feelings for you,” seonghwa concludes as you laugh awkwardly.

wooyoung deadpans, “we may have wanted to punch your ex in the face for his shitty-ass personality because we were your friends, but we were also jealous as fuck.”

“all of you?” you ask in disbelief.

“all of us. some of us were just better at hiding it,” mingi looks pointedly at the boy sitting on his left.

“you’re one to talk about hiding your feelings,” hongjoong counters before turning to you to expose, “mingi wouldn’t shut up about you after he met you.”

mingi immediately shoves him backwards into the sand.

“look,” jongho cuts in, “what we’re trying to say is that we’ve all liked you for a while now, and if you still feel the same way about us, then we’d like to take our relationship with you to the next step.”

how many times have you wanted this moment– for all of them to return your confession. but now that it’s actually becoming a reality, it’s honestly a little daunting. “you’re all serious about this?”

a lot will change over the next year. most of you will join hongjoong and seonghwa as postgraduates and start full-time work. san will move back to namhae, but whether the others will follow or stay in seoul is unknown. there are a lot of uncertainties regarding the future and the relationship will only work if everyone is serious about making it work.

yunho answers on everyone’s behalf, “we’re very serious.”

you take a moment to look at all of them one by one, only to find the same promise within their gazes– that even if things become difficult, they want to face it with you by their side.

it feels right when san is the one to officially ask the question, “y/n, will you be our girlfriend?”

like san once said, it’s hard to find friends you love, but it’s even harder to find a friend you fall in love with, and you’ve been blessed with not only one, but eight of these people. between friendship and love, you already know from experience what you will decide– so you make your choice.

“i forgot, are hongjoong and wooyoung coming down this weekend?” san pokes his head in through the doorway.

you eye him from the mirror, face void of expression to reply, “don’t count on it.”

san’s pout is immediate and you laugh, shuffling over to console your boyfriend from where you had been getting ready in your shared bathroom. he grumbles, “you’re never going to let me hear the end of that, are you?” but he can’t hide the way his lips pull upwards the moment you press a chaste kiss against his cheek in apology.

“hongjoong said that there were a couple of delays with filming, so he and wooyoung can’t step away just yet. but they’ll come back next saturday if they can wrap things up by then.”

as you talk, san takes the halter straps out of your grasp so that he can help secure your top around your neck. “it’s so hard to align everyone’s schedules together. i miss the long holiday breaks we got in college,” you absently complain, body relaxing under the ministrations of san’s hands as he gently squeezes the nape of your neck.

“me too, love,” another voice joins the conversation. seonghwa walks up to tenderly ruffle san’s hair and nuzzles your temple with his nose. “but we have to work hard to pay off this house and to spoil you with whatever you want.”

seonghwa has grown out his hair and has kept it long since, and you love running your fingers through his silken waves before he goes to work every morning. he always looks so soft and cosy with his round glasses and fluffy sweaters that you know his school kids adore just as much as you do. but right now, his face bare of makeup and hair pulled back into a messy updo, wearing nothing but a pair of board shorts to show off his upper build, he looks the complete opposite of what you’re used to seeing and you feel your stomach doing flips in response.

you lean into both of their touches as you giggle, “we could have bought a smaller house. nobody sleeps in their own bedroom anyway.”

“well can you really blame us for being madly in love,” seonghwa grins, stealing a kiss from you that only serves to elicit more giggling.

“that’s true. your beds are always warmer than mine,” you agree.

“exactly. now come on, are you ready to go?”

the three of you walk downstairs to the living room, where the rest of the boys are waiting around in various mismatches of shirts, tank tops or only shorts. after two weeks of attempting to keep everybody’s clothes separate once you’d all moved in together, they had simply given up and made their wardrobes communal.

as you drop a spare bottle of sunscreen into your tote bag, a pair of arms snake themselves around your waist. you turn around, sweet smile ready to greet whoever it is. your jaw drops, “wooyoung?”

his eyes sparkle with mischief, even more so when your eyes grow even wider at the sight of hongjoong perched on the edge of the couch in the background and you exclaim, “hongjoong? i thought you two weren’t coming until next week?”

wooyoung takes the opportunity of your dazed compliance to pull you into a bone-crushing hug. “we caught up with the schedule,” he exclaims happily. “you should’ve seen hongjoong though. director kim made sure to work us hard.”

you playfully wriggle yourself out of the vice-like hug you’re in to bound over to the older, who automatically opens his arms to welcome you. you slot easily between his legs and his hands rub the sides of your back fondly as he looks up to ask, “did you miss me?”

forgoing an answer, you lean down to kiss him. wooyoung immediately complains, “why didn’t i get a kiss?” so san pulls him in for one to appease him. you’d never be able to leave the house otherwise, because then everyone would start demanding your kisses. and considering that it has been a few long months since you last had quality time with all eight of them at the same time, there would be too many wanted kisses to count.

one thing you had all agreed on prior to buying a house in namhae was to ensure it had a beach front, just like your and san’s old home. so it doesn’t take long to carry your surfboards– save for you; the boys like it when you use theirs– and towels down to the shore.

you close your eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of salt and subtle feeling of ocean spray on your skin. it’s a bittersweet emotion, knowing that it’s already the last day of summer, but only today have the nine of you been able to align your schedules this year. it makes you appreciate these fleeting moments of rest though, and you learn to find rest in each other too.

some of the boys start slipping off their tops, dropping them onto the sand to keep them dry as they surf. you’ve found that the greatest perk of dating them is that you’re allowed to openly and unashamedly ogle at them. the rigid shadows of their muscles reveal the discipline and hard work they put into maintaining their bodies despite their busy jobs.

san had also been monitoring his protein intake leading up to his recent dance showcase, so it’s very hard to look at the expanse of his broad chest and prominent dip of abs down his hips without feeling a rush of heat in your lower stomach. if the boys know that you offer to help them reapply sunscreen just to get a little handsy with them, then nobody says anything. (they offer to help you reapply your sunscreen as well.)

you’re content to just lie down on your towel and watch the boys, yeosang in his usual place by your side as he presses lazy kisses to your shoulder and traces the names of his lovers onto the skin of your stomach. mingi starts dragging his surfboard into the water, but when wooyoung attempts to push him in instead– and fails miserably– all thoughts of surfing are quickly forgotten. it becomes an absolute shitshow when hongjoong gets mistaken for the culprit and mingi picks him up. 

“it wasn’t me!” the older shrieks, but mingi has no ears for reasoning and prepares to drop him into the water. unwilling to go down by himself, hongjoong grips mingi’s neck at the last second and successfully drags him underwater with his weight. as wooyoung runs away absolutely delighted by the outcome, his trajectory unfortunately runs into jongho, who cuts off his cackles with a giggle, a simple shove sideways and a resultant splash.

not even bystanders can catch a break, and seonghwa screams for mercy as san and yunho suddenly grab his arms and legs. they sway him from side to side before letting him go with the momentum of the last swing to fling him into the ocean. everyone erupts into a united clamour of glee at the dunking of the eldest and you find yourself shaking your head at their unchanging antics.

you don’t think you can ever get tired of watching their radiant smiles of happiness and shared touches of sun-kissed skin, nor can you ever get tired of hearing their tinkling chimes of laughter and rowdy shouts of mischief. you may all grow older and there may not be as much time or luxury to simply bask in the joys of summer any longer; these golden hours that you are living in right now may forever remain as your sole memories when you reflect back on the essence of your youth.

on this day– the last day of summer in namhae– you find that summer takes the form of shared ice cream with sticky kisses, long showers with warm touches, and hushed pillow talk with synchronous heartbeats. but it doesn’t matter to you, not anymore.

the seasons will change and the years will pass, but so long as you are with your boys, every day will be summer.

[grandeoatmilklatte]

A Year In Love 💚 - Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

Happy one year anniversary to Hogwarts Legacy! I can't believe it's been a whole year since the game has been released! (I can't believe it's been a whole year since I descended into madness over these boys either!)

A few of us in one of the HL Discord servers decided to all write a one year related fic, so here is my contribution to that. Enjoy!

Warnings - None! All Fluff! || 1.5k words

Ominis stopped walking as he felt his wand begin to rapidly pulsate in his hand - a sign that he had reached his destination. He sat on the grassy ground, using his wand to guide him again as he placed a small bouquet of flowers on his aunt’s grave, which was marked by a large rock, with various smaller colorful rocks and seashells surrounding it.  

Today marked one year since the night that Ominis, Sebastian, and the new fifth year ventured into Salazar Slytherin’s Scriptorium, where his aunt Noctua’s remains had been found. She was the only member of his family to show him any compassion, and the only member of his family not obsessed with blood status. She was the only family Ominis felt like he had. Although the night brought back painful memories for Ominis, it also changed the course of his life forever, in the most positive way possible. It was also the night Ominis realized he was in love. 

The evening started with Sebastian begging Ominis to join him in venturing into the Scriptorium, eager to see what secrets it held. Ominis didn’t want to go, well aware that the room likely held terrible things. But Sebastian wasn’t about to let it go, enlisting the help of his secret weapon against Ominis - the new fifth year, who Ominis had been harboring a small crush on. 

“Please, Ominis?” His name sounded so lovely on her lips, he couldn’t bring himself to say no to her. She was far too convincing. His heart even skipped a beat when she complimented him on his rare ability of being able to speak Parseltongue. 

 As the trio descended into the tunnel leading to the Scriptorium; however, Ominis cursed himself for allowing his crush on the girl to cloud his better judgment. The tunnel radiated dark magic, and was full of various puzzles which opened the way to more, deeper tunnels. What started as a nerve-wracking endeavor quickly turned into anguish as they reached the entrance to the scriptorium, guarded by a door that required a Cruciatus curse to be cast. In front of the door lay his Aunt Noctua’s long forgotten skeleton, her journal pages around her body confirming it was indeed her.

While Sebastian explored the Scriptorium, thrilled by their discovery, the new fifth year was by Ominis’s side, her arms around him as he sobbed into her shoulder. Ominis felt guilty, knowing that he should have been the one comforting her after she had endured the painful Cruciatus curse from Sebastian. Ominis could feel the way her hands shook as she held him, but despite the pain she was in, she had put his needs before her own. No one had ever put Ominis first, or shown him this level of care, not even his own blood. Her kindness changed him, and it was at this moment that he fell in love with her. 

Ominis awoke the next morning deep in denial, He convinced himself that he was just clinging to her because of the compassion she showed him, and he absolutely was not in love with her. That  is, until he received her owl asking to meet outside the castle. When he found her, she explained that she had gone back in the morning and retrieved his aunt’s remains so they could give her a proper burial. Ominis fought the urge to get down on one knee and ask for her hand in marriage at that moment. 

With her help, Ominis decided on a secluded spot across the Black Lake in a little clearing for her final resting place. The area was surrounded by trees and overlooked Hogwarts - the place Ominis called home. 

As the year went on, and the two became closer as friends, Ominis fell deeper in love with her each day. They supported each other when Sebastian strayed further and further away from them, and Ominis showed her the same level of compassion she had shown him in the scriptorium after the battle against Ranrok, when she broke down in his arms after losing Professor Fig - the closest thing she had to a father. Despite the clear connection they shared, Ominis still hadn’t confessed his true feelings, fearful that she only saw him as a friend. That fear was extinguished for good on a random night, after she crashed her lips into his and confessed her own feelings for him after an after hours meeting in The Undercroft. From that moment on they were inseparable.

Ominis was broken out of his thoughts as he heard footsteps approaching. His heart raced when the footsteps got closer and a familiar scent hit his nose - her scent. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Ominis! Professor Weasley needed me for something after class. I hope you’re not mad!”

Ominis let out a soft chuckle at her words, knowing he could never be mad at her. He stood to greet her, placing his hands on her waist to pull her into a gentle kiss. Once she pulled away, he heard her begin to dig through what sounded like a bag, followed by the sound of a blanket being fluffed out. As if she could read his mind, she explained herself. 

“I brought us lunch, the weather is lovely, I thought we could have a picnic!” 

As they sat in front of Aunt Noctua’s grave, enjoying the weather and food, Ominis’s mind began to wander again. This time, he thought about their future together. He thought about their graduation, and how he hoped she’d say yes to his elopement proposal he had planned for right after. He thought about what it would be like to have a home of their own, far away from the Gaunts. He even let his mind wander to children. Although he was still uncertain if he wanted to bring more Gaunts into the world, if they did have a daughter, he hoped his future wife would be open to naming her Noctua. 

As he said his aunt’s name in his head, he felt a tingle of pain in his heart. She would never get the chance to see him as a married man or a father. She would never get to meet the girl who had stolen his heart and made him so happy. He hoped that she was proud of him for finding someone who loved him and treated him right, unlike the rest of his family. He hoped that she was proud of him for making a new legacy for the Gaunts.

“Are you alright, darling?” Her sweet voice laced with concern flooded his ears and broke him out of his train of thought once again. 

“I miss her…” Ominis choked out as tears began to form in his eyes. 

His fingertips registered the softness of her hands as she gave his hands a gentle squeeze. “Oh darling, I’m so sorry. I know you do. But she’s not truly gone. The ones who love us never really leave us. They’re always in our hearts and watching over us.”

Ominis squeezed her hands back, his tears freely flowing now. “I wish she could have met you. She would have loved you. I…I hope she’s proud of me.”

Ominis’s heart fluttered as he felt her lips press against his cheek. “She is proud of you. I know she is. So proud of you for doing the Gaunt name justice. She helped make you into the amazing person you are and will grow to be. She’s extremely proud of you, and so am I.”

Releasing her hands to cup her face, Ominis pulled her into a gentle, but passionate kiss. Their lips remained locked for several seconds, Ominis savoring the way her lips felt against his own. Over the course of the past year, he had kissed her many times, never once getting sick of it. He didn’t think he could ever get sick of her.  

The couple spent the next hour in the same spot, talking, laughing, and updating Aunt Noctua on things that had happened throughout the year. They stayed until it got dark, Ominis feeling the change in temperature.

“We should probably make our way back, make sure we’re prepared for the potions exam tomorrow. Thank you for joining me today.”

“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world, Ominis.”

She stood up, pulling Ominis to his feet with her. He wished Noctua a good night and assured her that he’d visit again soon before taking his lover’s hand as they made their way back towards the castle.

When they had just reached the Hogwarts grounds, Ominis felt his girlfriend stop walking, but before he could ask her what was wrong, he felt her arms wrap around his neck as she planted a soft kiss to his lips. 

“I love you, Ominis Gaunt.” she said softly. He could hear the smile on her face through her voice.

“And I love you.” he said back with a smile. And he did - he had loved her for a year, and planned to love her for many more years to come.

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Human Reader x Angel!Lucifer: First Preview

Hello friends, I'm alive!!! I am posting this as proof I am working on this fic! I know it's been a hot minute and I have pretty much the entire story laid out in my head, it's just getting it all down that's the hardest part. I hope this preview satiates you guys for just a little bit; I love all of you and thank you for being so patient! <3

Also no active warnings for this part!

"Fine! Go ahead and run! See how far that fucking gets you!" you heard Adam shout after you as you took off into the dense forest.

You couldn’t stand to be around him anymore. The person who you were made for, the one who you were supposed to be equal with, was a vile and despicable human. Always trying to tell you what to do, how to act, what to say, it was too much to handle anymore. You pushed through the thick foliage of the garden, unaware of how long you’ve been running. After some time, you came to an opening. A beautiful crystal lake stretched across the land surrounded by large trees filled with all different sorts of fruits. It looked like a paradise, but in your sorrow you couldn’t find the beauty in any of it. You collapsed, sitting on top of a nearby rock, and you sobbed. You buried your face in your hands and brought your legs to your chest. You were alone and you felt like there was no escaping the life given to you.

But you weren’t alone for long.

“Beautiful creature, why do you cry?” a soothing voice said.

Your breath caught in your thought at the sound of this voice. It wasn’t Adam’s. You lifted your head but saw no one around you. Until you noticed you had somehow been enveloped in shadow. You raised your head further and some something, or rather someone, floating just above you, their enormous wings stretched out, shading you from the bright sun. You gasped; your body screamed at you to run but your mind refused to move a muscle.

“Do not be afraid,” the being spoke softly, “I mean you no harm.”

You gulped, clutching your legs to your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible. “Who…who are you?”

The spirit landed on the grass below and smiled brightly. “I am the light bringer, the morning star for the heavens above,” he answered, outstretching his hand. “But you can call me Lucifer.”

An angel, you thought to yourself. You gazed at his hand hesitantly and wiped the remaining tears from your face in an attempt to gain composer. “Did Heaven send you here, Lucifer?”

“Well, not exactly,” he admitted, pulling his hand away and rubbing the back of his neck. “In all honesty, I shouldn’t even be here.”

You tilted your head in confusion. “Then why are you?”

Lucifer sighed and looked away from you. “I…I’m not sure. This place, this garden, it’s enchanting! But I was denied any say in how it should be…” You saw how resigned the angel was as he spoke to you. A pang of sadness stung your chest. “Heaven was not happy with any of the ideas I provided them. They never are. I just…wanted to see it for myself. But then, I saw you running, and I saw you crying. I couldn’t stand to see you filled with such pain.” He held out his hand once more. “Please, tell me what troubles you. Perhaps I could help.”

You took a closer look at the angel. His sapphire eyes were enchanting, it seemed almost impossible to look away. And his pale complexion very much stood out in the garden overrun with an abundance of different colors. You glanced at his enormous wings, white and gold in color, and how they perfectly complimented the rays of the sun that shows through the tree branches.

He was the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

Tentatively, you took a hold of his hand as he helped you up from the rock you were perched on. You were about to speak, but then Lucifer quickly let go of your hand.

"A-AH!" the angel squeaked as he stumbled backwards, tripping in the process and landing on the soft grass below. He quickly covered his face and shifted his body so he was no longer facing you.

"Lucifer, what's the matter?" you asked as you stood there puzzled.

"Oh! Umm...nothing! Nothing's wrong!" he answered quickly. "I...I forgot that when heaven created you, they left you...bare."

You tilted your head in confusion. "Bare? I don't understand." Without answering, you watched as Lucifer flicked his wrist, his eyes still avoiding yours. All of a sudden, you felt your body becoming wrapped in whatever Lucifer had just summoned for you. You looked down and realized that most of your skin had been covered in a foreign material that you have not encountered before. A part of it hung over your shoulder while the other was left untouched. It was draped down just past your knees. "What is this?" you questioned as you reached down to feel the white cloth. It was unbelievably soft and light, almost as if you didn't have anything on your body at all.

Lucifer peaked through his hands; you heard him sign in relief. He stood up and brushed the dirt of his robe before returning to your side. "Forgive me," he started, "that was a bit of an...overreaction. I'm sorry if I startled you!"

"It's alright, Lucifer," you smiled at him. "I'm still a bit confused though, what is this for? Was there something wrong with my appearance?"

Lucifer's eyes widened. "Oh gosh, no no no! Of course not! You're perfect! WAIT! I mean you look perfect! GAH NO! I uhh...it's...it's a gift! Yeah, that's it! It's a gift for you!"

"A gift?" You couldn't help but smile. "Adam has never given me a gift..."

You saw Lucifer frown as he took ahold of your hand once more. "I'm sorry to hear that, my flower. Here, follow me." Lucifer guided you to the lake's edge and knelt down, signaling you to join him. You did as he asked and fell to your knees in front of him. "Now tell me, why had you run away?"

[bonuscatart]

How Intreeguing by Datawyrms (Verl)

When Undergrowth attempts to take over the city, things go poorly for their hybrid defender. He can't reach the portal in time. The results are unpleasant for Amity Park.

Me, Myself and I by Pokeshadow55 (Blacknovelist)

She would know that red hair, the specific shade of teal in her eyes, the familiar black shirts and lithe frame. It's impossible to really forget who you used to be after all, isn't it?

Daydreams by Marsalias (also on FFN)

Nocturne has discovered Danny's Obsession with space. It would be remiss of him not to use that to his advantage.

"All Ghosts Are Evil" by BedheadAries (also on FFN)

All ghosts are evil, and it isn't a flawed bias. Danny realizes what the absences, the missing hours of the day and nights, the scars and wounds meant for him.

if it looks like you and snarls like you by faedemon (also on FFN)

There is a ghost living in Danny's mirror, and it is not him, no matter how it wears his face, or bears the same crawling scars.

Someone send me some Danny Phantom angst

Art or fanfics, I don’t care. I wanna be in pain

[rooksamoris]

Hi, there! :D

I saw that orders are open so I want to try to make my shot.

Romantic headcanons about the Scarabia duo with a reader (fem or neutral) who loves to sing and usually sings love songs to her/them respective boyfriend as a sign of her/them devotion and love🩷💕

Your Jamil and Kalim fics have made me gain a deep affection for those two characters and I love when you include Arabs in said fics, it seems beautiful to me. If my order does not convince you, you can discard it but if not, take your time and without pressure, thank you 🌌🌠🩷💕💐✨❤️Someday I will make some fan arts of your fics :D

💞 — in which they love the sound of your voice.

💞 — kalim al-asim, jamil viper (separately)

💞 — warnings: none, this is pure fluff and romance

💞 — 940 words. i hope i did your request justice!! also, that comment about making fanart made me squeal. i genuinely think that is the best compliment someone can get <333

KALIM AL-ASIM.

🩷 — Listen, the moment you are singing, he is joining you.

🩷 — It reminds him of the festivals in the Scalding Sands, where people sang for everything—pride for their homeland, love for their darlings, the taste of the cuisine—nearly everything was taken and made into a song.

🩷 — But the moment you start singing about love to him, sevens he feels so special. It motivates him to do just about everything. Music is such a perfect love language, and he could just die happily hearing you weave lyrics about romance to him. It makes him feel like your muse.

🩷 — Whenever he is sitting on a divan pillow, staring down at the work he does not want to complete, he glances over to you, carmine eyes all pleading. He just wants you to sing something so he can feel motivated to do his work again.

🩷 — The songs in his homeland are played more classically, with the oud (middle eastern lute) and the tablah (hand drums), and he loves that, but he is more pulled in by experimental sounds.

🩷 — His pure love for music causes him to introduce you to a lot of his favorite artists and he asks if he can play for you while you sing. Overall, it is a match made in heaven.

🩷 — He invites you to the Light Music Club’s meetings and he is constantly trying to get you to join the club. If you join, he will be extremely happy. Cater would post you guys on his social media with some sort of caption like ‘if he wanted to…’ and the comments are filled with single people talking about how they want to lay down in the middle of the highway—

🩷 — Kalim’s favorite thing is when you sing exclusively for him.

🩷 — Sure, he thinks that music should be shared with everyone, but sometimes he just wants to lock away those moments for just the two of you. Nothing is as romantic as him resting at your side, listening to the smooth melodies that would spill from your lips like the morning dew slipping off the leaves of palm trees.

“Can you sing another song?” Kalim asked, his head resting in your lap. It was just the two of you on this balcony of the Scarabia dorm. Your fingers were weaved into his hair and his golden coined headband was discarded off to the side to give you the perfect access to the white tresses. You laughed, smiling down at him as your hand trailed from his hair to his cheek, caressing his pretty and plump brown skin, “I already sang three songs for you, Kalim,” He pouted. “You, my love, are too spoiled,” you said, light-heartedly. His pouting did work since you began to sing another love song, weaving him the songs of romance that he yearned for so much.

JAMIL VIPER.

🩷 — Jamil, like Kalim, has emotional attachments to music. Nostalgia is the easiest way into anyone’s heart, and he was no different.

🩷 — Sometimes when he walked through the halls of Kalim’s estate, he could hear the other servants singing songs to keep them company. It helped them ignore any of the pains of labor and the reality of their servitude. He used to think it was stupid, but now he hums those songs as he cooks alone in the vast kitchen of Scarabia.

🩷 — If you sing for him, he only wants it to be in private.

🩷 — He never really got to have anything for himself, so whenever you are dedicating songs of romance to him, he prefers it to be in a place where it is just you two. He likes it especially when you are undoing the braids in his hair and brushing through the long dark brown strands for him.

🩷 — Soon enough, he catches onto the melodies you sing and they become the tunes he hums while cooking and cleaning. It especially happens when he knows you are not going to be joining him for a meal. Your songs make him feel close to you, even when you are not around.

🩷 — You once caught him sweeping the halls humming one of the romantic songs you sang to him. His head even swayed slightly to the beat, but the moment he saw you, he blushed and tugged his hood down, mumbling something about how he should make you wear anklets so that he could hear you before you catch him like this.

🩷 — He always had a love for music and dancing, but it always reminded him of having to dull his talents for Kalim’s take. 

🩷 — Your singing strengthens that bygone love that he had for his music. It is the one thing that not a single person can take from him and claim he was too lowly to deserve it because you gave it to him willingly. 

🩷 — Jamil is so in love. Your voice is like mango nectar on a hot summer day—sweet and healing.

He always loved it when you brewed him tea, singing whatever song came to your mind. It always made him just want to grab you, which he did. Jamil’s arms slipped around your waist and he sighed, stuffing his face in the crook of your neck. He was exhausted after all the work. You stopped singing and patted his head, “Tired?”  He nodded and he let out a few curses in his native language, before kissing your collar, “Keep singing,” he muttered. All he wanted to do was fall asleep to the sound of your voice while he waited for the tea to be finished. You obliged.

[telleroftime]

Bloom ||| Bowser x Reader

You're on a walk with Bowser in the woods of the Mushroom Kingdom when you end up falling down into a bunch of flowers.

———————————————

Pairing: Bowser x Gender Neutral ! Reader

Relationship: Romantic

Tone: Fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

Bowser Masterlist

A/N: Someone complimented my writing and that inflated my ego so it's time for more Bowser fics.

———————————————

You didn’t know how you managed to convince Bowser to allow you to tag along on one of his expeditions into what was pretty much enemy territory, nor how you managed to convince the mighty King of the Koopas to go on a walk with you through the forests south of the camp, but you wore a bright and proud smile as you wandered down the worn, muddy path.

You've been to the Mushroom Kingdom before in passing, representing the koopas in any political squabble the royals decided to partake in, but you never took the time to actually see or experience it. You heard plenty of gossip from the castle staff. They always described the beautiful nature of the land. The flora that grew thick in the forests. The streams of water that rushed faster than lava could ever hope to achieve. Not only that, but you managed to eavesdrop on some scouts' talk, whispering about an opening somewhere within the woods. It was a clearing you wanted to see with your own eyes.

And now, as you walked ahead of your lover, the landscape was greener and more lush than you were used to.

Vivid grass sprouted from every corner, peaking between berry-clad bushes and tall, brown trees, fighting over the crust of the earth. Dots of red and blue and green mushrooms were scattered across the distance of the forest. Some formed tiny visible circles, no doubt highlighting the spread of mycelium below. In some places the mushrooms grew larger, competing with the size of the trees. Those reminded you of the decorated plazas of Toad Town, where the citizens of the Mushroom Kingdom showed off the largest growths like trophies.

You also wanted to argue that it was warmer than in the area surrounding the Dark Lands. Sunlight was bright on your skin as it filtered through the leafy canopy, heat seeping through the fabric of your royal clothes like the warmth of hot sand. It was smooth and felt like nothing less of a loving hug. It was a pleasant change to the lava's heat of the molten land you were used to, and it was different to the flicker of firelight that lit the pylons leading up to Bowser's Castle. The wind was fresh, not humid at all, and the air was breathable and ash-free.

You'd say that the moment rivalled the safety of the gold-lined walls of his kingdom.

Humming to yourself, your attention turned back to Bowser when you heard him release a low grunt. You had to cover your face to hold back your chuckle.

He was swatting his large paws at two bright blue butterflies. They dodged him with ease, though each swipe of his claws caused them to be pushed into disarray. They tumbled in the air, flapping their tiny wings wildly, before they returned to their assault. When one butterfly was pushed away, the other took its place in the fight. Whenever that one was hit, the previous came back, all the while Bowser grunted and growled in annoyance. It was almost like they were teasing the large koopa who was struggling against them and, against your better judgement, you let out a snort.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get to bask in the moment for too long as the ground below your feet turned into a pillow of soft mush, causing your leg to roll and shoot a sharp pain through you and causing you to lose your balance.

In the moment that followed, you saw Bowser’s boiled gaze soften as it turned to you then widen with horror. His body bounded towards you, a sudden disregard to the butterflies, however his paws didn't quite reach you.

You tumbled down the mossy growth, rolling and falling and bouncing off the soft hill. Your eyes were tightly closed shut, your hands around your head until you let out a final oof. Your body's motion came to a stop right in the middle of rustling blooms.

You were dizzy as you unravelled yourself, a dull ache all around your body. You could taste grass on your tongue. You could feel the dirt and moss push against the palm of your hand. You could smell a variety of scents, but for a moment the most prominent one was mud.

Breathing in and slowly breathing out, shaking yourself out of your spinning head, you opened your eyes and looked around. A smile grew on your face.

You were surrounded by flowers. Hundreds of them at least.

It was the clearing.

They were growing in the pocket of light that you were lying in, white and yellow petals with golden centres staring you down as if they themselves came alive in the moment. They swayed gently in the warm breeze, performing their little enticing dance that called forth multiple insects. Bees were humming their sweet melodies and promises of honey, orange and pink butterflies were hovering like colourful fairies. None dared to entertain you.

Sitting there, your clothes spoiled with patches of green pigments, you were surprised that you didn’t sneeze. Your body wasn't used to the flora after living so long in the Dark Lands, and yet you felt not even a smidge of irritation. You didn’t want to sneeze. You didn't want to cough. Maybe it was a coincidence, or maybe it was the truth the rays of light revealed as they filtered through the large gaps in the canopy. There was little to no pollen in the air. There was no dust and no seeds. The air was completely clear.

Knocked out of your thoughts, you felt the ground shake beneath you and heard Bowser roar your name. He thudded next to you, crunching the flowers under his body, large hands cupping your significantly smaller head with such delicate tenderness that even you thought you'd break at his touch.

"Are ya hurt?" He said, a growl masked through his concern, "tell me where it hurts."

You let him squish your face for a little while, nodding in his hands every time he growled and huffed in worry. His red eyes never left your body as he scanned over you. From your face to your arms to your chest to your legs. He checked you at least three times, and after he was done, he sat back with a loud thump, his hands dropping to the sides, grumbling under his breath.

A grumbling that stopped when you blindly picked a flower, leaned up as best as you could and put it between his horn and his flame-like hair.

"White suits you," you complimented, toying with a stray strand of red that fell from the rest of the heap.

You looked into his eyes only for him to huff in return, moving his head to look away.

Your smile widened.

There was a moment of comfortable silence that passed between the two of you as you sat amongst the blooms, your hand caressing the side of his snout. You heard the buzz of pollinators, seeing a few fly close with curiosity from the corner of your eye. You could hear the birds squawk melodiously in the trees above you. A tweet here and a tweet there in tune with the rustling leaves.

Most importantly, you could hear Bowser breathing.

In and out.

In and out.

Only to pause when you leaned into his chest, your hand dropping to your lap. Now you could also hear his heart hammer in his chest. You could feel it strum and you could feel him swallow as he wrapped his large arms around you, mindful of the rough scales and the metal bracelets around his wrists. You sat like that for a moment longer.

"I'll be honest," you started, looking up at him from the safety he provided, cupping his snout in your hands again as your back rested against his chest, "I rolled my ankle when I fell. You'll have to carry me back."

You smiled, your brows furrowing before relaxing when you heard him muster a laugh. It was like a roar, though you felt the strain behind it. He didn’t want to be too loud with how close you were to him.

"How 'bout we continue with our walk?"

You felt his snout morph with his grin, Bowser being as emotived as ever. His arms moved, twitching with light anticipation, and you leaned to the side to place a soft kiss on his bicep. "Only if it's no trouble."

"If it's my consort then it's ne'er any trouble."

His arms moved then, effortlessly lifting you from the ground as he stood up. Patting himself off the flowers that stuck to his scales, he adjusted you in his grip. Carefully, he made sure you were comfortable and secure in the crook of his large arm, nuzzling into you before he trooped forward with a wide grin.

The butterflies from before had returned, fluttering around the two of you.

———————————————

Bowser Masterlist

[cheralith]

a dedicated tenderness — 「 knives (nai) x reader 」

content warnings ; none

contains ; college!au, modern!au, secret relationship, just plain fluff with hundred spoons, polygun being sillies

notes ; could be read as a continuation of the previous nai fic, could not! still has the same aspects of it tho :3

You had met the Saverems when they moved across the street just barely diagonally from your house when you were just shy of six years old. Vash had caught you staring at their moving truck from behind the tall oak tree that provided a shaded sanctuary amidst the blazing summer heat. He remembers waving hello to the eyes that peeked out from the trunk of it before they flinched and ducked behind the sturdy wood again, slowly creeping back up to see if the pair of bright turquoise eyes were still staring at yours.

And when they were, Vash, being the more friendly and lively one of the two twins, decided to take it upon himself and drag his brother to go greet their new neighbor.

"Hi!" A sauntering young Vash had called cheerily to you, who was still hiding shyly behind the oak tree. "Are you our new neighbor? We just moved here!"

The young twins had managed to circle the trunk of the tree and before them stood a child around their age adorned in a colorful striped t-shirt and dirt-dusted overalls. Vash remembers you stepping back from the eager youngster, a less enthusiastic and distant version of him trailing not that far behind. You nodded, kicking at the dirt and not wanting to make eye contact with the sparkled-eye boy.

"My name is Valentinez, but you can call me Vash," he had said to you with a bright smile. He gestured to his lighter blonde and much more aloof counterpart. "This is Knives, you can call him Nai."

Your shy demeanor had suddenly faltered for a swift moment, your eyebrows getting all scrunched up in confusion at the odd names given to the two boys that little did you know, would set a place in your heart for the rest of your life. And it's returned back to the Saverem brothers. Your existence has stained each brother in such a unique way, and both Vash and Nai don't think they'll ever be able to forget you, not when your first words to them were,

"You guys kinda have weird names."

Such a sentence had lead a divide of two contrasting relationships involving the brothers—on one hand, Vash had taken it lightly to heart and merely laughed it off, easing himself into a breezy and steady friendship with you. On the other, Knives, or Nai as (only) you and Vash refer to him, had jutted out his lower lip in offense and insulted your dirty overalls, not taking into account that children still didn't have a filter before the age of ten. It forced you and him down a winding and tangling path, one that was devoid of flowery compliments and fresh smiles and laughs like the path of friendship you and Vash walked down together.

Oh no, the road you took with Nai was much more rocky, much more dwindling, and much more confusing. Insults jabbed at you and him like thorns as you'd trip over nonsensicality like sprouted tree roots waiting for you to stumble over them. The weather is never consisted as you travel down with him (never hand in hand, he'd so much as hiss out in faux pain whenever you'd brush against him). It could be stormy one day—the clouds heavy with misunderstandings, arguments and tears. It could be partly sunny—a ray of light peeking over the dismal clouds, similar to the nature of kindness that rarely shone through sometimes. Or it could just stay cloudy, as it has always been since the dawn of your "friend"ship with Nai.

Regardless of relationship status, there was certainly one thing that Vash had always knew of—that his brother had always had a quiet admiration for you. He just never seemed to act on it as much as other suitors of yours did. He isn't actually sure when Nai began to see you in a different light, but Vash can confirm that the longer he waits for something miraculous to happen, the more time will eat him alive.

He's seen it on his brother's face before. When you began your first relationship back in the more tender days of high school beginnings, Vash's eyes behind his glasses had flickered to a pair of similar ones across from him as you had introduced your then-boyfriend and he remembers the heaviness and ruddy ache that flittered across Nai's cavernous eyes. They contrasted your glowing ones, eyes filled with life and hope for the better future as you showed him off to everyone.

It was almost ritualistic, Vash thinks. Nai never seemed to care for romance unless it came to you. Vash thinks Nai would break all pairs of his glasses if he were to ever to say anything of a sort to his face, but he knew Nai was saving that blank space in his heart for you to fill, whether he realized it or not.

Nai Saverem is picky with people. He doesn't befriend those as easily as his younger brother, preferring to stay alone and distant with people that could easily take up his time so carelessly. It's why he shoos away any of his admirers with a cold glance that tells them they have zero chance with him and why there seems to be a certain thickness in the air whenever he's around that creates an invisible bubble around him. It's a thick barrier that refuses to let unknown others in and lets them know they won't be welcomed anytime soon. Introverted as he is, his energy is only so small, so there's a certain brand of people that wastes his time and therefore, he only uses his energy on people that he thinks are worth using it for.

And so Vash can't necessarily say he's too surprised like the others when Milly makes a separate groupchat that contains a series of images involving the two people excluded from it. The first is of Nai waiting outside the science building where your final class is held during Fridays. It was an odd place for him to be considering he only had one class on Fridays and would usually be home by mid-afternoon, so it was strange that Milly had caught him during the peeking hours of twilight still on campus.

The second is an image of you walking out the building and waving a hello to him, followed by the third of you and Nai's blurry figures connected via your hands in a sunset-inked sky making your way to Nai's car. The fourth of the photo sequence is a video. With a soft tenderness from Milly's hands, you get into the passenger seat with ease, the normal conversation of hostility and teasings between you and him seemingly devoid because there's no snooty faces or rolling of eyes. But it's when Nai properly starts the car that things take a turn. Its engines revving to life, he takes the time to pause and properly cradle the back of your head with his hand and properly give you a brief but soft kiss before pulling back with a dust of pink on his cheeks at the sight of your giddy, miniscule smile.

Behind the camera Milly gasps and drops her phone out of surprise on the concrete, and the video echoes the crack of the screen's phone before Milly's whine of "Oh no... it broke!" ends the video.

As buildings and nature of all arrays pass by, Vash replays the video over and over again in Wolfwood's car, examining it and the other images in full and wondering how Nai's daydreams finally came to life. Vash rubs his eyes behind his glasses, still attempting to process if what he’s seeing is real—that his icy older brother was truly thawing his resolve at the sight of you visibly and blooming a foreign affectionate that even Vash rarely sees nowadays.

Wolfwood groans when he hears the sound of the beginning of the video play again, grip tightening on the steering wheel as his knuckles whitening out of annoyance. "Would ya cut that out already! I get it, they're datin'!"

Vash flinches at his boyfriend's irritated tone. He tucks away his phone with a hasty laugh and apology. "Sorry, I'm just a little baffled that they're finally together after all these years."

The brunette makes a sort of scoffing noise. "I didn't lose all hope that your brother would never find love, but in all my years, I didn't expect it to be (Y/N) out of all people," he mutters, a cigarette dangling from his hand that sits on the edge of the window, its peppery scent lingering softly in the car. "How long do ya reckon they'll last?" he asks everyone in the car. "My bets on three months, their bickerin' is gonna put an end to it 'fore somethin' else does."

"That's mean, Wolfwood," Meryl scolds and flicks him on the back of his head, earning a yelp from him. "I'll admit myself I don't know how those two came to be, but I only wish them well and if they're happy with each other, that's all that matters."

Milly chimes in with a positive cheer. "Agreed! I'm just happy that Mr. Knives has finally found someone!" she chirps. "I really didn't want him to end up as a sad old grandpa alone."

"I wasn't insultin' them," Wolfwood huffs, "I was just merely statin' the reality. Y'all saw it earlier today too—both of 'em playin' musical chairs with the seat Knives stole in the lounge when (Y/N) got up to go get water."

Meryl shakes her head. "It's still really mean to assume their relationship won't last. I don't know about you guys, but I can see them—hey! You missed the turn!"

"Shit!"

Wolfwood swears aloud, hissing as he realizes he's passed the entrance to a vast park on the busy street. He makes a swift and hasty U-turn on the road that makes everyone grip onto the nearest object for dear life before zooming into an entrance that lead to a hidden field in the woods. The car slowly drives by it, where everyone can see a a lone picnic blanket atop a small hill with a laptop playing Miss Congeniality sits on a picnic basket. The back of two people face the parking lot, and it doesn't take long for everyone in the car to assume who they were.

On Fridays, it was a ritual to go to someone's house for a relaxing movie night and just wind down with everyone's presence for the evening. Today, however, you and Nai had excused yourselves from it with what seemed to be valid excuses until Milly's paparazzi work had jumbled in hours later.

“Can’t,” Nai droned, his eyes still glued on his laptop. “I’ve some papers to grade for one of my classes before the midterm ends.”

“And I’ve got a lab report to write up with my lab mates later,” you mentioned. “I can catch next week’s if that’s okay.”

It clicked to them that it was secretly code for you and Nai to actually attend a secret picnic movie date, which Wolfwood took mild offense to as Miss Congeniality was one of his favorite movies, disliking that it was being used for a date out of all things.

"They can't be serious," Wolfwood sneers as he pulls into a coveted shady area of the parking lot, safe from yours and Nai's view but still able to provide the gang with proper sights. "What screams romantic about Sandra Bullock having to attend a pageant? There's literally so much better romcoms out—"

"Shut up!" Everyone scolds.

"You'll give away our cover!" Meryl hisses. "The point is to be subtle and quiet, you idiot!"

Wolfwood snides and rolls his eyes, his hands throwing up in surrender.

On the other side of the hill, you gently press another strawberry to Nai's lips. His teeth gently bite into it, the juices of it slowly seeping out from the corner of his lips for your thumb to scrape away, a feather-like touch grazing his lips as it does so. You go to stare at the red-stained tint on them for a moment unconsciously, the natural gloss the fruit left off almost hypnotizing you.

It goes unnoticed by Nai, however.

"If you wanted a kiss, just say so," Nai says, plucking the greenery of the strawberry out your hand to put it into the trash pile.

You break out of your trance with a stunned shiver going up your spine at the sound of Nai's casualty. It was still somewhat unnerving for him to be saying such things, especially considering how he used to be before you two began dating. Words conveying such warmth were still unusual to hear, but it wasn't like you didn't like it.

A warmth creeps on your cheeks and you blink. "What? No, I was just simply... going to fix your collar, that's all!" you lie hastily. Your hand goes to fidget with an already-neat shirt collar before your wrist is grabbed by Nai's own. It pulls you into him and Nai's lisps peck your own quickly before his attention returns to the movie like nothing had ever happened.

You swear you can feel some steam coming out of your head. While you were usually the one that began the small touches of affections, it always felt different and much more intimate when Nai would return them or replicate them in his own fervor. Maybe it was due to the lack of intimacy he displayed to anyone else, or perhaps because they were from Nai himself that they felt more personal—the man who barely showed any emotion to anyone other than distaste and apathy—and so for such an individual to be sharing such liaison with you just felt more close to heart because he chose you to share it with.

"I thought you weren't one for PDA..." you mutter, fighting the urge the lick your lips as the acidity of the strawberry leftover lingers on them.

Nai shrugs. "We're the only ones around here, so the 'P' aspect of PDA doesn't necessarily apply right now."

"That's what you think," you interject. "There could be some weirdo prodding around the bushes as we speak, spying on us, y'know!"

He lets out a soft snort as the ending scene begins to play out, where Sandra Bullock begins to give her speech about friendship in the banquet hall starts to seal up the ending ropes of the movie. "And what weirdo would want to spend their time spying on two college students on a picnic?"

"A weirdo who tends to enjoy movies and real-life romance."

"Those people don't exist."

"To you they might not, but to me anything is possible."

"Shut up before I kiss you again."

You snort aloud, fighting the urge to react to his declaration like a schoolgirl. "You're acting as if I don't want th—"

Milly gasps loudly as she watches Nai dips his face to yours to once again, kiss you, but with more ardor than the last, this one lasting much more soundly than the previous one. She can sense there's true passion and dare she say, genuine love, in it and she melts at the sight of it fondly.

Vash himself watches the scene unfold with wide eyes, pausing his munching on his sandwich as he hogs the binoculars from a protesting Meryl. It takes all the fight in him to not proudly cheer aloud at his brother making a move and he gags on his sandwich when he witnesses Nai tuck a lock of hair behind your ear after the kiss. His lips still tell nothing of a sort, still a stiff downward line like they usually were, but the rest of his radiates a sort of fluster when you giggle softly at his antics. Confidence looks good on his brother, Vash thinks.

"Shit, they're on the move!" Wolfwood exclaims after a while of spying. Everyone hastily packs their things and duck as an ignorant you and Nai make your way down the hill and back into his creme white car, where Wolfwood's doesn't trail too far behind. The four of them spend the rest of the evening not watching a romantic movie as planned, but instead fending for the real life soap opera that enacts in front of them, tailing you and Nai as you travel around town and into various shops.

"Who do you think made the first move?" Meryl asks with her eyes peering behind the binoculars, peeking behind the window of the car that sits parallel on the same street a record shop was. "I'm placing bets that it was—oh no, everyone duck!" They shift under the seats when you two walk out with small bags in hand holding sorts of records and CDs, still talking aimlessly and the beat-up grey-black Camry still unnoticed in the background.

"Never really took Knives for a music-type of guy..." Wolfwood mutters. They slowly rise up from their spots and beginning to tail the car again.

Nai's eyes go to flicker to the rearview mirror. "Are they still following us?"

You give a chuckle and glance at the side mirror, where a familiar car of sorts drives only a car behind you. You had realized back at the ice cream parlor that four pairs of watchful eyes had their sights on you and Nai awhile back, but figured it'd be awkward to confront them and ruin the date. Instead, you let them have their fun being pretend James Bonds and went on with the date like usual, attempting to ignore them as much as possible (it was quite hard, however, when you could see Vash and Wolfwood almost start wrestling in the front seats for aux).

You knew that you and Nai had to come clean sooner or later, but he had admitted that he wasn't ready to state publicly that he was in a committed relationship. You still weren't sure whether it was because of his own pride of being frustratingly independent or it was nervousness of entering a new era that was holding him, but you respected his wishes and continued to play the part of a bickering old couple stuck in the bodies of college students like how you were beforehand. You think you were still just as nervous as you were in the first few weeks.

But when Nai's voice echoes the words he promised to you when he officially asked you out with sweaty palms and palpitating heartbeats, a warmth in your chest unfolds in comfort, reminding you to look on the brighter, warmer side of things, even if you weren't too confident.

"I... really want to make this work... so I promise to do all that I can if you'll do the same."

You give a soft smile at his promise he made awhile back to a particular no one. Nai raises a brow at your mysterious grinning.

"What are you smiling about?" he inquires as he leads you to the entrance of your apartment building.

"Oh, nothing..." you shrug off, leaving Nai in the dust of confusion.

Nai narrows his eyes for a bit in suspicion before sighing out aloud. His eyes go to hover on the sight of that dumb Camry again, its shaded windows concealing who its passengers was from view but Nai has seen it too many times to count to know whose car it was and only who could be inside of it. The smoke that wisps from behind the driver's window does nothing more that confirm his suspicions as he picks up the scent of familiar menthol cigarettes that doesn't take him long to guess who it belongs to.

"Do you think we should confront them?" you ask.

Nai shakes his head, "Just let them be for now. I'll deal with them later," he murmurs when he leads you safely into your apartment building. "Text me when you get up to your apartment," he directs before brushing his lips against your cheek as a goodbye.

You nod, affirmative. "I will, thank you for today, too," you praise fondly and give his hand one last squeeze before you let go. You watch as Nai makes his way back to the entrance before you call his name out again.

"Hey, Nai?"

His head turns back to you, raising a brow. You take this time to fully embody him before your own eyes, from the tufts of his hair to each freckle on his body.

Nai before your relationship and Nai in a relationship you think are two vastly different people, and you still can't place your finger on who the real one was. A part of you thinks he's putting up a front in the eye of the public for his own self-preservation, but another part tells you that he's merely just showing a newer, more refined side of him that you've never seen before—a more tender and protective version of Nai that you think only Vash has seen before a handful of times. Sometimes, you pride yourself in confirming that this side of Nai, whether it was real or not, was only shown to you as a sign of trust from his desolate self.

However, there were other times that made you think this honeymoon era might not last and you and him will go back to how things used to be, altering the fate of your relationship for the worst. A petal of guilt would bloom every time that thought crosses your mind due to the unsettling feeling that perhaps you didn't confide in Nai enough, that maybe you just didn't earn enough of him to lock your feelings into place.

But when he waits patiently for your response, blinking slowly, you realize that perhaps it was indeed the latter—a slow exposure to a new side of Nai Saverem—that was yours for the taking.

"I love you," you declare in the foyer, your voice echoing and forcing your message to repeat itself to him for a few seconds.

Your eyes scan for a reaction from him and you earn a flustered, non-verbal one as a response, one that makes his lips thin and makes him thickly swallow and cheeks flush. A grin teeters on the corners of your mouth as you watch him attempt to utter out a reply. It falls short on his tongue, however, and you're only given a nod and wave before Nai (almost hurriedly) exits the building, the tips of his ears pink.

A giggle slips its way out of you as you enter the elevator, fondly thinking on his lasting image. Baby steps, you think.

On the floors below, Nai groans and drags a hand down his face at the memory of your declaration to him. It's more difficult than he thought to ignore the loud thundering of his heartbeat, and he doesn't quite enjoy how it twists his chest so... tightly. He feels foolish for not even gathering up courage to just say a mere "Me too." back to you, but his embarrassment suddenly dissipates upon seeing the same car still in its place. Nai suddenly remembers the last errand he has to take care as his feet carry him to it, the scent of a cigarette growing stronger each step.

"Wolfwood, can you at least take that outside?" Meryl complains as the the black haired man lights up his fourth cigarette of the night. It's a miracle how his car seats don't reek from the stench.

He shakes his head, jutting it towards the building. "No can do, sweetheart. Our cover will be blown if Knives sees m—what the hell?!"

A loud bang rumbles through the car from the roof and the familiar figure of Nai Saverem looms over the car before he ducks his head down and gestures for a nervous Vash to roll down the window. Vash, fear-stricken, obeys his command almost automatically, leaving Nai to stare boredly back at everyone's pale faces. Wolfwood thinks Nai's fist had created an indent on the top of his car, but his words fail him when he goes to stare at Nai's icy face.

"So did you guys have fun spying on us?"

a/n ; this was just kind of a fluff blurb to help me write something that was the next chapter of if the shoe fits because i kind of needed something fresh and new to work on. writer's block? i'm not too sure! i hope you enjoyed either way!

thank you for reading once more and as always, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <;3!

[suuuupernovaaa]

meyp

meyp [mɛjp̚] adj. weak

Anonymous Request: Lo'ak is in love with reader but she's a great warrior and he's too shy to even talk to her and he convinces himself that he's too weak for her, but one day after going on a hunt with a group which reader leads he ends up being wounded and Jake can't even shout at him because reader immediately takes Lo'ak to treat him and praise him that he's so strong and he did well, they have this talk where Lo'ak tells her how she sees himself which she denies and they end up confessing to each other.

Reminder: Everyone is aged up in my fics to be 19/20.

From our day of work, there is much to take back to our clan, enough for a small feast. I smile at N'mor, my dearest friend, and pat her on the back.

"A successful hunt. We should return. Will you gather everyone?"

Five or six young men have joined us on our hunt today, and they are nearby, all exhausted. I was told not to push them too hard, but I'm afraid I may have crossed the line. I feel it was worth it, though, for all we will be bringing back.

We load up the sled and three of the young men pull it back, with some effort, but we aren't too far now.

"Are you tired?" I ask N'mor, and she rolls her eyes at me.

"Do you care?"

I throw my head back and laugh. "Of course I do! What kind of leader would I be?"

She bumps her shoulder into mine. "I'm fine, Y/N. We're all a little tired, but we had a good hunt."

Looking to my right, I see Lo'ak coming up to walk alongside me. He's part of the reason that I pushed us so hard - you can't take it easy when you have the chief's son on the hunt with you.

"It was a good day, Lo'ak," I say, smiling at him. He is dirty and sweaty, just like me, but he smiles in return; a wide, handsome smile.

"You're a good leader," he replies, and I try to compose myself and keep from blushing.

--

Lo'ak had insisted on joining the hunt today, when he found out Y/N would be leading it. He had been trying to steal moments with her, here and there, but she was much in demand.

She was one of the fiercest warriors of their clan, and surely the best hunter of all the female Na'vi - and was thus busy, from sun up til sun down, nearly every day.

He knew this hunt might afford them a chance to speak, so he let those other three guys pull the heavy sled, and jogged up to walk with Y/N and her friend, N'mor.

He compliments her a little nervously, and when she smiles at him, he's nearly blinded by the sight of it; there's never been a more beautiful Na'vi than this woman before him, and his knees feel a little weak. In fact, Lo'ak always feels a little weak around Y/N - everything about her screams power and strength. It's intimidating.

"Watch out!" someone hollers, and Lo'ak turns just in time to feel the arrow sink into his arm. The pain is only beginning to register when he sees the sturmbeast charging his way, and more arrows fly.

--

Lo'ak begins to sink to the ground, so I kneel down, and hoist him over my shoulders.

"Come!" I say to N'mor. The men have thwarted the rough sturmbeast, and Lo'ak needs medical attention. The two of us run the distance back, and I try to go as fast as I can with Lo'ak as dead weight on my shoulders.

"Help!" I scream as we make it back to Home Tree, and many rush forward to help. On the verge of collapsing, Lo'ak is lifted off my shoulders. "This way," I say, and we take off, running for Tsahik's healing tent.

Lo'ak is beginning to moan just as we arrive, and the men lay him on Tsahik's floor, then run out - presumably to alert Taruk Makto.

"Lo'ak, can you hear me?" I ask, as Tsahik leans over him.

"Snap the arrow," she tells me, and Lo'ak's eyes fly open. I reach over, gripping the blood-drenched arrow, and snap the end off. Lo'ak groans, eyes wide, staring up at me, and Tsahik removes the arrow in one swift motion - which elicits another shout from Lo'ak - and gets to work.

"He will live," Tsahik reassures me, and I wonder if my face looks as panicked as I feel on the inside.

I am sweating, shaking from head to toe, and I can't seem to break gaze with Lo'ak. The tent feels small and crowded, even though it's just the three of us; I can tell from all the chatter that many have gathered outside to see what has happened to the son of Olo'eyektan.

I feel responsible. It was my hunt, I was in charge, and Lo'ak has been injured. I should have been paying attention.

"You're going to be okay, Lo'ak. Remain strong." The words come tumbling out of my mouth, and I can't seem to stop them. "You are the strongest man I know, Lo'ak Sully. I was honored you joined my hunt today, and I am so sorry you've been hurt. I'll never forgive myself. I admire you greatly. Your... your skill, your spirit, your strength. You will get through this."

Lo'ak closes his eyes for one moment as his grandmother pours something on his wound. I can't tell from his expression whether it's soothing or painful, until he lets out a hiss and opens his eyes again.

I reach down, taking his free hand into both of mine, holding it tight.

--

Though it doesn't take his grandmother all that long to clean and close the wound, it feels like eternity to Lo'ak.

His focus is split. The burning pain in his arm is very demanding, but Y/N is holding his hand in his, and telling him he's strong, and she admires him... and he can't deny, that definitely helps.

His grandmother gives him something to take for the pain, and he goes to deny it, but Y/N insists.

He'd probably do anything she asked for, so he throws it back.

"I must go talk to your parents. Do not use this arm until I tell you to," his grandmother says, gesturing to his injured arm, and he nods.

As she leaves, he tries to sit up, having difficulty with just one arm until Y/N reaches out, pulling him up right, and he sees the panic on her face and tears in her eyes.

"This wasn't your fault, Y/N. Something was wrong with that beast - and Rafi shot me. He's a moron."

Finally, a small smile paints her face, and Lo'ak revels in it. He would get shot all over again if it meant Y/N would smile at him, and speak kind words over him.

"I meant what I said, Lo'ak. I do admire you. And I'm sorry you got hurt today."

Lo'ak reaches out, brushing her hair from off her cheek, and tucking the braids behind her ear. She looks to his hand, a soft blush on her cheeks, and he realizes in this moment that though she is fierce and formidable, she is also delicate, beautiful and soft.

"I wish to court you, Y/N," he blurts out, and her eyes snap back to his, wider than he's ever see them.

"Lo'ak!" The tent flaps open up, and his parents appear, just at the perfect moment.

--

I excuse myself, allowing Lo'ak's parents to ensure he's okay, only stopping to apologize for allowing this on my watch and ensuring them it is my fault and no one else's. I don't want Rafi to get any heat for this, even if he is partially to blame. I'll speak to him about practicing with his bow later.

My head is spinning as I make my way back home. I think of grabbing N'mor to talk to her about what just happened, but I'm not sure what I would say... or that I need to talk it through.

I have always liked Lo'ak. I've admired his free spirit, his stubbornness, and his strength. On more than one occasion, I've thought that he would make a fine mate. I just never considered it would be a possibility for him to be my mate.

Having never been one to over-analyze of over-complicate things, I want to say yes to Lo'ak's proposal, but we've been interrupted. I bite my lip, considering how I might pry him away from his family.

"Y/N!" I hear Lo'ak hollering, and turn to see him exiting the healing tent. Many eyes are on us, as Tsahik works at the center of Home Tree. I see his parents exit the tent behind us, watching with confused eyes as he runs up to me, holding his bad arm. "You didn't answer me," he says when he arrives, standing in front of me, panting.

"I didn't get a chance to," I reply with a smile. "You should be resting."

"Later. What do you say?"

His persistence makes me laugh, and it makes me feel so loved and desired, it's nearly overwhelming.

"Of course, Lo'ak. I would be honored. I... watching you today, worrying for you, I've never felt like that for anyone. I care for you, very much."

--

Lo'ak's heart swells in his chest. He feels tired, and sore, and he wants to lay down and sleep for hours, but her words are invigorating.

He wants to shout that he loves her, but he knows he needs to wait.

Instead, he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. When he pulls away, she steps forward, bringing her mouth up to his again, and putting a hand firmly on his cheek, holding him in place.

His lips curl up in a smile against hers.

He knows this woman will be his mate - he will make sure of it.

[soobnny]

the things we define as love — kim seungmin.

trope. strangers to lovers. college au. just fluff and a rly shy side of seungmin.

synopsis. a study of love through the lens of a tired photography student who has long given up on romance

word count. 2.4k words

warnings. none

note. i thought of this idea during one of my art classes n the stars aligned cuz when i opened pinterest .. low and behold a photo of seungmin with a camera. that’s what birthed this fic basically

What are the things most thought of when asked about love?

Is it the colors you use to paint its beauty in your head? Is it the taste of old chapstick you don’t quite remember the brand of anymore? Is it the reminder of something more painful that left you in resentment?

There are many things Kim Seungmin associates with love – oranges and strawberries freshly picked from the market, the way autumn leaves fall after having held on its tree for so long, the sunrise that greets him when he wakes up, lingering just long enough for him to finish his morning routine, and the way sand falls beneath his feet when he visits the beach.

There are other things too, like photography and its ability to capture moments that otherwise would’ve been gone forever, and like the old couple in front of him.

Seungmin feels a spark in his fingertips, aching to snap a photo of the purest, unadulterated definition of love right before his eyes. He thinks it would be a lovely addition to the project he’s working on for his major subject in photography.

Clearing his throat, he approaches the couple sitting peacefully together by the bench.

They smile up at him, and Seungmin scrunches his face at the thought that he had disturbed their time together.

“Hi. I wanted to… ask permission to take a photo of you two? It’s for a project in my class, we’re supposed to take photographs of the things we define as love, so I was… yeah, I was hoping, if that was alright?”

Seungmin brings a hand at the back of his neck, scratching shyly at his request to which the old woman just smiles fondly at.

“Of course! Honey, did you hear that? This lovely young boy says he wants to take a photo of us.”

She turns to her husband, and Seungmin bites back the urge to take a photo right now – of their excitement, of their sparkling eyes, and of the way they try to fix up the wrinkles of their shirts. The old woman sets her purse down, posture straightening as she loops an arm around her partner. He has a matching grin on his face, actions slightly delayed as they move to angle themselves better.

“Is this alright?” A smile paints their lips and Seungmin nods, sending a thumbs up before grabbing the camera hanging from his neck.

The click of the camera sounds, and Seungmin sneaks in a few shots of them eagerly waiting at a view of the photo.

When he steps forward, they’re already making space for him in between them, and he takes the seat politely. With his camera out to show the picture, he can’t help the way his heart squeezes at their sweet mumbling and the way they thank him for such a lovely photograph.

“This is for your project?” Seungmin nods abashedly at the question, growing even more shy when they ask to see the photos he had taken so far.

While Seungmin has been fairly confident in his skills, he’s suffered through quite a bit of burnout recently. He’s not quite sure he’s escaped it yet which is why he had urged himself to come out today, willed himself to work on his project. He bites down at his lower lip while skimming through the photos on his camera.

There are some of his friend’s pets, the tranquility of the ocean, the stars littering the night sky accompanied by the moon. They shower him in compliments at the sheer beauty of how the images are captured.

“No partner?” A blush sports the boy’s cheeks with the question asked, shaking his head and staring down at the camera in his hands.

In all honesty, Seungmin has long given up on the idea of romantic love for himself. He had the urge of wanting to fall in love years ago – back when he had so much love to give. This had stemmed from the stories and movies where he had caught a glimpse of the love he wished that he had. However, longing and patience can only go so far together, and with years of no one by his side, he’s bound to lose a little bit of hope.

So, he busied himself in his studies.

He finds comfort in believing that someday he’ll know of love that way, but he had long given up on it at present.

As if having read his mind, the old lady places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it too much. You’ll know when you meet them. It will sound like… a train whistle.”

Seungmin is a little lost, a puzzled smile on his lips as he nods his head to urge her to continue.

“There’s this old story by Haruki Murakami of a train whistle in the night. Imagine waking up completely alone in the darkness, and you can’t hear anything, and you don’t know the time. It’s like… like having sunk at the very bottom of the ocean. Have you felt this way before?”

While the old lady speaks in riddles, this is a feeling Seungmin is far too familiar with. He knows all too well the claws of loneliness and the heavy weight of aching hearts and drowning lungs. It has forced its fingers down his throat far too many times, making him believe that if he disappeared right now, no one would even notice.

“But you hear the sound of a train whistle, even if it’s far away in the distance. The clock starts ticking again, and you fall back on the ground. It brings you back to reality, makes you feel heard.”

Seungmin’s fingers pause from fiddling with the shutter, turning to look at the lady. There’s something in her expression… of understanding that he’s never quite fallen into contact with before. Like she’s so sure of it.

He looks back down at his camera, but he makes no move to take another photo.

“It’ll come.” With that, she stands from her seat, flattening down her dress. Her hand comes in contact with her husband’s almost immediately, and they turn on their step to walk back to where they came from.

With a final wave and bright smiles, they disappear into the distance. Huh, how strange.

He emerges back to reality with the sound of his ringtone, and he fishes for his phone tucked in the pocket of his jeans.

“Hey, I have that film you need to develop your photos. I’m at the Soul Cup cafe right now, maybe you can drop by to get them?”

“Ah, thanks Hyunjin. I’ll be right there!”

He gets up from the bench himself, having already forgotten of his earlier interactions as he trots back to his university. With his camera safely packed in his camera bag, Seungmin hurries his steps to catch Hyunjin before he leaves.

The sun hasn’t gone yet by the time Seungmin arrives, and he quickly walks into the cafe in search of his friend.

It isn’t difficult to find the silhouette of a man with long pink hair, especially when the coffee shop he liked to frequent wasn’t the most popular among the campus. Although, it seems that someone is with his friend, sitting at the same table with papers strewn around.

“Seungmin, my photographer, you made it!” Hyunjin gets up from his seat, greeting him with a smile and a side hug before directing his attention to you. “Ah, this is (name). (Name), this is Seungmin.”

Seungmin’s breath gets caught in his throat the moment you turn around to exchange pleasantries. His eyes travel around your face, studying your features.

Seungmin isn’t dense, never judges anyone for their looks, but he finds your beauty to be the type subjected to photographs in art galleries. It’s one someone can spend forever admiring and analyzing and never get tired of.

Really pretty, he thinks as he extends a hand to shake yours.

A certain warmth envelopes him when he meets your hand.

“Here’s your film.” A bag is shoved in his general direction, and he grabs it and hugs it by his chest. And then, he’s forced to say his goodbye’s when Hyunjin’s attention shifts back to his own project.

Kim Seungmin sees you again a few weeks after your first encounter.

You’re crouched down on the sidewalk, paint smeared on your hands and clothes. You must be in the art department with Hyunjin, and something about that makes so much sense as Seungmin looks at you. You’re just the type of person to attract art, whether it’s because you create it or because you inspire it.

A closer look at you reveals your messy hair, blown-out by the wind, and a lopsided grin on your face as you call out to the small puppy just by the distance.

He feels the familiar twitch in his fingertips to take a photo. The sight he’s subjected to is too beautiful to not capture. If he took one quick enough, maybe you wouldn’t notice at all.

Seungmin seems to underestimate the actual distance between you and the loud shutter of his camera when he takes the photo. It’s not one of his best moments, and in the moment, he wishes the ground would just swallow him up so he didn’t have to deal with the consequences of his stupid behavior.

His face is already flush with embarrassment the moment you turn around to catch whatever had made that sound.

“Seungmin?” You remember his name, you actually remember his name, and god it couldn’t have sounded any sweeter. Does honey usually drip down the tone of your voice?

When you walk towards him with confusion etched in your face, Seungmin double backs. In the moment, he seriously considers standing in the middle of the road to meet his death instead of facing the embarrassment of explaining to you that he had just taken a photo of you because he thought the moment looked too pretty not to last forever.

He is all nervous laughter when you stop to stand in front of him, head tilted as you stare down at his camera. “Did you just take a photo of me?”

His own words tumble out of his mouth as he tries to explain himself. “Yes, and I’m sorry, I know I should’ve asked for per—“

“Can I see?”

“What?”

“The photo! Can I see it?” You look up at him with a smile, hands behind your back as you sway back and forth while waiting for his response. Only now does he notice the paint on your cheek and the flutter of your eyelashes and the specs of light in your eyes.

Oh god, his stomach doesn’t feel so great, having you look at him like that.

“Uh, sure. Of course!” He fumbles with his camera, clicking on a few buttons before pushing the camera towards you so you can see better. You nod your head, studying the photo before lifting your head back to look at him curiously.

“What’s this for?”

He gulps. “A project… for my class. I’m… I’m in the Photography Department.”

Nodding your head, you flash him another lopsided smile. “You take really pretty pictures. Photography suits you.”

He sends his own boyish, shy smile directed to you at your compliment, bowing slightly in thanks. You simply giggle, shaking your head and telling him you were just telling the truth.

“Can you take another one? I wasn’t aware you were gonna take one so my hair looked a little funny.” You point out, immediately flashing him a grin and a show of a peace sign as if waiting for him to snap a photo in that moment.

He does.

And since then, he has taken multiple photographs of you.

When you would see each other around, you would jokingly strike a pose, and he would take a photo. It’s one of the moments Seungmin treasures and looks forward to.

Usually, he would simply float through the days, unable to feel the ground beneath him, unable to quite tell the time. However, while his days were usually downcast, he finds a little ray of silver lining in the way you smile at him goofily while you readily pose for the camera.

The habit remains even when you meet each other at the Soul Cafe again, Hyunjin as the common friend.

He takes multiple photos of you and Hyunjin that day, some candid and some planned – but when you laugh with your head pulled back and your eyes tearing up just a little at a stupid joke, Seungmin has his camera down.

This sight, of you laughing wholeheartedly, is something he has to see with his own two eyes. He doesn’t think any lens or any photo could do the sight justice.

Hyunjin asks him to walk you home since your dorms are closer to each other, and he happily obliges.

The walk back is short, but it’s still time together, and that was enough for Seungmin.

“Goodnight, Seungmin. Let’s meet each other again!”

Seungmin blinks, unmoving from his position with his hand still lifted in the air from waving at you prior. Your words echo in his head again and again.

Let’s meet each other again.

You want to see him again soon, intentionally this time. You genuinely enjoy his company that you would like to meet him again. Somehow, it’s something Seungmin can’t fathom.

And then you laugh, and it’s a sound that cuts through years of loneliness.

Blood rushes to the tip of his ears, heat engulfing his entire being – a warmth similar to that when he had first met you. He can’t help but stare at you, unable to do or say anything by how dumbfounded he was at such simple words.

When you smile at him one last time, Seungmin can’t help but think that, of all the things that can be associated with love in this world, he thinks none of them quite does it justice like you do.

Seungmin ponders over your words and your shared interactions for the past few weeks on his way home. A gentle smile sits on his face, all because of you and your pretty smile and the brilliance that encompasses the entirety of you.

And then he hears it – quiet, and from a distance. The sound of a train whistle in the night, one so faint he can barely hear it. The clock starts ticking again, and he feels the ground he’s walking on beneath him.

“Oh.” Realization dawns on him, the nudge in his heart visible in his face.

“I see what the old lady means now.”

[linka-from-captain-planet]

Rating BG3 Ladies Stroke Game

My brain won't let me write my fics so have this shit instead.

Ratings based on vibes and also facts opinions (controversial: not everyone can be a sex god)

all the main and supporting women + my background babes: Florrick, Talli, Alfira, Lakrissa, Araj, Nocturne, Skoona, Adrielle, Z'rell, (ETA:) Nine-Fingers, and special guest star Philomeen

*Anyone can be trans and straps are for everyone regardless, so take your pic on homegrown vs store-bought and/or magical strap*

*Also sex is like pizza, so average results are in fact still pretty good. Only 2, 1, and 0/10 are truly trash dick. So a 5 or 6 is still a compliment!*

Lae'zel: 10/10. She pulls hair, she spanks ass. She has the experience, the athleticism, the drive, the romantic heart. Also the greatest switch to ever live as a simultaneous 10/10 bottom.

Shadowheart: 5/10. Her experience is mostly hand/mouth activities due to lack of privacy/places to hide supplies or apparati in the cloister. She has better ways of making a lover fall apart, but her stroke game is perfectly serviceable.

Karlach: 6/10. LISTEN. I see the vision as a tongue god, but she needs some work to hone her stroke game (too eager = painful, and a possible classic Bigger Is Always Better fallacy waiting to happen), and like SH, she's also not very experienced. She can and will ascend the ranks, but give her a minute to get there!!

Minthara: 10/10. We all know this. She has like 200 years of experience as well as the drive, focus, precision, athleticism, and heart. She gets RESULTS, but also is surprisingly emotionally available, so she covers all the physical, emotional, and psychological bases.

Jaheira: 4/10. Not her favorite, or her forte. CAN she strap? Yes, and it's satisfying, but nothing to write home about. A queen of the accessibility strap (thigh/hand harness GOATed... iykyk) due to her knees/lumbar hurting.

Isobel: 5/10. Perfectly serviceable, likes to tease, knows the technique and executes it well. However, being 5'2" with lung issues holds her back when it comes to higher intensity activities. Also an accessibility harness queen.

Aylin: 12/10. Has been at it since before anyone else on this list was even born. Once she connects emotionally to her partner, there's no going back to anyone else. Perfect balance of brutality and gentleness; she knows how to use her weight, and her aftercare is literal god tier.

Mizora: 0/10. Would probably be pretty good if she deigned to do it, but let's be so for real, pup!

Orin: ??/10. Either a 0 or a 10, no inbetween. A freak bitch for the daring sort who are willing to gamble on what she meant when she said she wanted to 'get all up in your guts'.

Florrick: 3/10. A perfect example of how a dominant personality doesn't always translate to an ability to top. Will do it, but focuses too much on technique and zones out and starts thinking about work. Definitely would rather be on the bottom being ridden VS putting the stroke effort in herself.

Talli: 7/10. A humble, ego-free, service top for all who enjoy a gentler lover. Hesitant to get too rough or nasty with it; she's got that +3 STR and she knows how to use it, but she doesn't want to hurt or disrespect her sweetie!

Alfira: 1/10. Sweet Alfie has many good and sexy qualities but she is never taking anyone to pound town ever. She will do it, and it might be fun and playful, but never "good" by any objective measure. Absolute demon on a slower, more sensual grind, but anything approaching "stroke game"? You're barking up the wrong tree.

Lakrissa: 10/10. Technically an 8 but gets 2 bonus points for being a random girl off the streets and not an alien, centuries-old elf, or demigod. Great dick does walk among us mortals!! She's athletic, she's flirty, she's fun, she's a known giver. She will work extra shifts at her bitch ass job to buy you a house, she will smash you through the floor of said house, she will fix the floor. The total package!

Araj: 4/10. Wears some kind of weird strap regardless of her own equipment because she loves the flair and drama of it, but isn't particularly skilled. Gets distracted. Bad top etiquette. Never shuts up. Still, she gets the job done.

Nocturne: 6/10. Like Shadowheart, her experience is limited by the lack of opportunity in the cloister; but as quartermaster, she would have a greater ability to obtain and hide supplies/equipment, so potentially more experience. Also, maybe as an officer, she was involved in more prestigious orgies?

Skoona: 7/10. Would rather be on the bottom getting pampered, but is an above average top due to always being expected to top. Also a very tender lover (not necessarily "stroke game").

Adrielle: 8/10. She has no choice but to break backs because otherwise, the weight of expectations she places on her own shoulders would break hers. Meticulous. Thorough. Is she enjoying herself? She doesn't know the meaning of the word, but being of service makes her feel whole, and that's what matters, RIGHT?

Z'rell: You Can't Handle It/10. Don't worry about it, maggot. It's not for YOU.

Nine-Fingers: 10/10. Your fingers will quake such that you sign over the deed to your house in her name and you won't even be mad about it. She knows how to work People- what makes them tick. What makes them BOOM. An unforgettable experience.

Philomeen: 20/10. It's the toxicity, I fear. If she can and will blow you up, she can and will blow your back out. It's science. It doesn't matter if she's 1/3 your size, she is FUCKING. You WILL hate yourself after.

[spicymushroomz]

Mess Ups

Leander Prewett x Reader

Summary: Reader works up the courage to ask Leander Prewett out after 2 years of liking him.

Word Count: 978

Warnings: None

*NOT PROOFREAD

Authors Note: this is my first fic! Please enjoy

You had been going to Hogwarts for only 2 years, and a lot has certainly happened. But the most confusing thing of them all had to be the boy you found yourself in love with.

Leander Prewett. A tall, freckled, red-headed boy in Gryffindor. He was the prefect, and had a tendency to brag. The catch was that he messed up quite a lot. You found it quite endearing.

Your first time seeing him had been in DADA where he and Sebastian Sallow had started dueling. Leander had almost gotten a giant skull dropped on him. If not for Professor Hecat. Your first official meeting however, was in Herbology where he had volunteered to show you the chinese chomping cabbages.

He walked behind you, letting you lead the way as he complimented your dueling against Sebastian in DADA.

“That was quite the duel. It’s nice that somebody finally put Sallow in his place. I would’ve done it myself if not for Professor Hecat.” At his compliment you felt your cheeks flush.

“Thank you Leander. It was actually my first time dueling.” You replied, unable to look him in the eye.

“That’s quite impressive. I hope to see more of your dueling feats.” He said, unaware of the way your heart seemed to leap out of your chest.

That day changed many things for you. As you found yourself catching feelings and constantly seeking out Leander. You thought he was charming. You thought he was charming. His smile, his laugh. You especially loved how even if he failed he still tried again.

Your friends did not share this sentiment.

“Prewett? Really?” Asked Natty in disbelief.

Imelda nodded her head. “I have to agree with Natty. He’s a bumbling idiot, and a fool. He probably puts his shoes on the wrong foot.”

You argued back. “I think he’s dashing. So what if he messes up, don’t you think he’s just adorable?”

They simply looked at you.

You sighed. “He’s very brave. Even though he messes up, even if he’s teased, he still tries. That makes him so very valuable to me.”

You reminisced on a time in your 6th year, when a group of Gryffindors laughed at you for messing up a simple wiggenweld potion.

“What kind of idiot messes that up?” One asked.

“How can the ‘Hero of Hogwarts’ be such a dud?” said another.

You thought it was stupid that it bothered you, it shouldn’t have. You’ve fought trolls and hordes of goblins. You didn’t need the approval of some jealous Gryffindors, and yet you still found yourself crying under a tree afterwards.

Their scrutiny hurt. After all you had done for this school people still didn’t like you. It pained you.

As you sat with your knees against your chest looking at the ground, you felt someone sit next to you. It was Leander. You quickly wiped your tears, embarrassed he had found you in such a state.

“O-Oh Hello Leander.” you said nervously, glancing at him. He looked at you with furrowed brows. “What are you doing here?”

“Garreth told me what happened in potions. Don’t listen to those twats.” He said, looking at the ground in frustration.

“It’s okay. It doesn’t really matter.” You told him. Your heart fluttered at the fact he came to find you.

. “It’s not okay. How could they say that to you?” He turned to look at you. “After everything you’ve done for this school, tf they made fun of you for something as simple as a failed wiggenweld potion then there’s no hope for the rest of us.” he chuckled sadly.

“You’re very sweet.” You told him. Your mind felt lighter at his reassurance.

“I’m jealous of you, you know.” He told you candidly, cracking a cocky grin. “You took everything at Hogwarts like a fish to water. I’ve been using magic my whole life and yet I can never do anything correctly.” He smiled as he said this, but you could see his sadness. “If there’s one thing I learned, It’s that you can’t let people get to you easily.”

He patted your shoulder. “We need to get back to the castle before curfew.”

He stood up, and pulled you to your feet.

You smiled at him. “Thank you for your encouraging words, Leander. For the record, I think you’re a wonderful person.” You saw his face turn fuschia, and you let out a giggle.

Now in your 7th year, you decided you would finally work up the courage to ask him out to Hogsmeade.

It was breakfast, and you made your way over to where Leander sat at the Gryffindor table.

“Hello Leander.” You said, as you nervously fiddled with your fingers. He turned to look at you, face stuffed with toast. You giggled at the sight.

“Yes?” he said, looking at you curiously.

“Well, I-um, I’ve been in love with you since 5th year, and I just was wondering if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with me later?” You waited a beat.

Leander paused.His face turning fuschia once more. It felt like the entire breakfast hall had gone quiet at this confession.

“You want to go to Hogsmeade…with me?” He asked in disbelief. You nodded your head. He stared at you blankly, unable to comprehend how anybody would want to go out with him. You started to falter. He wasn’t responding, you clearly had embarrassed him. Just as you were going to turn away he finally answered. “Yes!” he answered, a little too enthusiastically. He cleared his throat. “Ah- I mean, of course. I would have to be a fool to say no, and I am no fool.”

You felt elated. “So would 3 o’clock be okay?” You asked happily.

“That would be wonderful.” He said, still bright red.

You gleefully went back to your table, feeling this was the start of something beautiful.

——————————————————————————

I Hope you enjoyed this! It’s a bit short but I think I might do a part 2 where they go to Hogsmeade.

[jolalibrary]

Hi Jo!

How did you get into writing fanfic?

I’m sorry I’ve sat on this for so long, but I wanted to make sure I answered it with the full attention it deserves. I apologise for the length 😂.

I began this as to how, but then also why? and it got long.

warnings for: jo being overly open, sharing things she doesn’t usually, mentions of mental health, mention but not discussion of sexual trauma poor sleep, and again, oversharing. I don’t think I’ve been this open ever, so be gentle with me.

so, I began writing fanfic in 2015. I discovered it on accident, I was doom scrolling on Pinterest, trying to see if I could make some tree decorations in an insomnia bout (because I’d already completed TLOU - irony I know) and discovered a fanfic.

and I was lost in it, 200k deep and then I read another, and another, and I don’t know why I had an idea to attempt to write my own, but I did, and I poured all of my pain into it. (I eventually took this fic down because it was so freaking personal and painful to have up - and it’s still shared now by several people which irks me a lot). but god at the time? it healed me. and it brought me two people who I still talk to to this day, even if we don’t live in the same timezone.

I stayed in that fandom until 2018 when I left and continued only writing for daredevil (which id joined in like 2016).

and then in 2019 I stopped all together due to bad mental health, and just personal things in my life (I really wasn’t doing that well and wanted a bit of a reset).

it was then I began writing an original story. working on it obsessively, eventually shaping it to show some agents at a writing festival in 2020 (virtually, cause of the rona). and it was good, I met with three and two of them loved it. i had amazing feedback, including requests, and I should have been happy, right?

well, I FREAKED out. my little romcom could be something? I sobbed, I broke down, I couldn’t get out of bed for two days and I was a mess.

now, the reasons as to why, is still fuzzy to me. but I assume it’s because all of my life I’d truly believed that Im not good at anything. and writing was this one thing I had to myself, that I shared but never expected anything. and then, suddenly there was expectations, and the reality that people had read it—people who could do things with it, terrified me.

their nice words had weight, meaning? and yet they felt like iron pokers against my skin. even through therapy I don’t like delving into the why’s the what’s, but I assume it’s a combination of lack of self belief and the foundation I’m built on (and why I struggle with compliments) but also the fact it went from a hobby to something that could be something. and I think I freaked at it.

from here, my mental health took a big hit, I was so anxious I couldn’t leave the house and by the end of that year I was back to where I was in 2019, but if anything, much worse?

I didn’t know who I was. all the trauma i thought I’d healed from, rose up inside of me and it took me ages to finally be able to even think about writing again. I was broken. reset to more than factory settings because I couldn’t even recall what I liked? what I loved (outside of my husband and dog). I was a shadow wandering around, going from appointment to appointment.

and then, because he’s an amazing soul, my husband suggested I write fanfic again. start again, try. and I did. I potted around under a different name and then in 2022 i grabbed mvtthewmurdvck back, and I came back through call of duty.

by the end of that year, I found narcos 💁‍♀️ (javi supremacy) and here we are, 2024.

I say a lot that writing saved me, and it literally did.

and I rarely share all of this, but I’m not ashamed of my story, but sometimes I feel I should have been stronger?

but actually, I’m strong for getting up even when I was knocked down. I rebuilt, I reshaped and I discovered threads in myself I’d never known was there. and that took guts.

I was able to discover my sex drive, a thing I’ve struggled with (even in my loving and brilliant relationship) after some trauma when I was 15 with my boyfriend at the time (iykyk). I was able to write scenarios that I could then bring into my own life, and I wrote an entire fic (ILTWY) that helped me discover that I actually love sex. that I love pleasure in all its forms.

I was able to find my heart again, and write a romcom that made me find people I couldn’t be without now, but also, show myself that I can still write a romcom, and that thing in 2020 was just a blip, it wasn’t a sign and it wasn’t a thing that would define me.

and, even now, while I’m struggling to even smile, and I cried putting my eyebrows on this morning, I wrote my feelings out into a Drabble I’m not sure if I’ll share, that made me feel like I could go to work today and cope.

I say that notes and things aren’t my focus here, but never really explained why, but this, all above, is why. writing is there for me, it’s a crutch, it’s a saviour when the world feels too much. it was a thing that I lived without for a short period, but when I came back to it, it was like returning home.

and the best part? I get to share my words with you, I get to think “maybe this will resonate with people” and find that sometimes, it does. I get to be a comfort, to make someone smile, to make you laugh or even make you feel a little horny hahahah. and that means MORE to me, because when I was lost, afraid and terrified of the voice in my head, someone else’s words did that for me. they held me close, they helped me stop and pause and take a breath.

and that’s how I got into writing fanfic, and why it will forever be something special to me.

an: I haven’t edited this, and I’m shaking, so if there’s spelling mistakes, ignore.

[vagabond-umlaut]

THE LOVE CONFESSION THAT NEVER HAPPENED

▸ TEEN!GOJO SATORU X TEEN!FEM!READER; FLUFF WITH A PINCH OF ANGST; THIS FIC IS NOT CANON TO THE SERIES WE'RE THE SUMMER TO OUR WINTER RAIN!!!!; READER MIGHT BE A BIT OOC!!!! ▸ READER'S CLAN NAME & CURSED TECHNIQUE ARE REVEALED IN THIS. ANY & ALL SIMILARITIES TO ANOTHER'S READER/OC IS PURELY UNINTENTIONAL AND COINCIDENTAL. I SWEAR I DIDN'T PLAGIARIZE IT. ALSO, I'M UTTERLY AWFUL AT FINDING JAPANESE TERMS OF ENDEARMENT, DESPITE GOOGLING. SORRY :((

▸ THIS IS FOR THE AWESOME @heresan WHO NEVER FAILS TO SPOIL ME WITH HER ASK. ILYSM TINA! <333 ▸ WARNING: BRIEF MENTION OF A HIT-AND-RUN CASE & INFIDELITY IN ONE LINE [SATORU & READER ARE NOT INVOLVED, DW] ▸ AS ALWAYS, THE GIF, DIVIDER & CHARACTERS USED AIN'T MINE. PLS DON'T PLAGIARIZE, TRANSLATE OR REPOST THIS. ENJOY READING! ❤️

The stars are but mere fireflies to the sun that is the Kojima household tonight. 

Bedecked in bright lights and a thousand and one paper lanterns, the palatial grounds of the property exude a brilliance, the likes of which the guests claim to have never been seen before, their awestruck voices drawing a polite smile from your grandmother (though the pride in her ancient eyes is unmistakable, you note). 

You move your eyes away from your clan matriarch and let them rove over those around you – and their glowing selves – rendered more luminous by their expensive fabrics, sparkling jewels, and gleaming smiles. 

Oh, what a couple of scraps of paper can do to one’s self, you muse silently, glancing at the woman batting her eyelashes at your cousin – the former the same one who was convicted in a hit-and-run case a year or two back, though now, with a Louis Vuitton dress hanging off her frame, no one, except you, perhaps, remembers on seeing her the innocent blood she wiped off her hands, all thanks to her wealth. 

Not wanting to mar this celebratory evening with such dark thoughts, you shift your gaze to tonight’s centre of attention: the older of your two brothers, Takeshi and his fiancée Sara, your lips turning upwards into a small smile on seeing how dazzling they look beside each other – how beautiful, how well-suited, how happy, how… very artificial they look beside each other. 

As artificial as the thousand and one paper lanterns your grandmother’s so proud of. 

As artificial as your guests’ smiles - too-white, too-wide, too-thin. 

As artificial as the compliments you can hear that woman shower upon the wife of the man she was attempting to seduce not too long ago. 

Your smile disappears to give way to a frown, as you take in the falsity around you. 

And a leaden weight lodges itself in your chest, right where your heart should be, when your eyes again meet the sight of your brother and your childhood friend smiling at the photographer – while your ears hear the wails of anguish, the snarls of contempt and the sighs of wistfulness –a cacophony of abandoned dreams and stifled desires emanating from the two souls soon to be joined in holy matrimony, two weeks from today. 

Your mother says marriage is one of, if not the happiest event in a person’s life. 

Oh Mom! If only you could hear what I can now… 

Placing your empty glass of mojito mocktail on the grass near you, you lean back against a tree and close your eyes to soothe the throbbing pain in your temples – one which always happens after you’ve been amid too many people for too long a time, much to your great discomfort. 

Sighing loudly, you move to lie down on the grass when the sounds of an approaching pair of footsteps reach you, soon joined by a boisterous yell of “Aha! There’s the woman of my dreams I’ve been searching for so long!” 

“Hello to you too, Satoru,” You say, turning to the side and propping yourself up on an elbow, your eyes now open. “Didn’t think you would make it to the party.” 

Gojo flops down beside you with an exaggerated pout. 

“Oh, come on, Momo-chan. Think a bit higher of me, will you? Of course, I would make it to the party. My best friend’s brother’s getting engaged today. How on earth could I ever miss it?” 

“And since when have you and Takeshi been on such good terms, hm? That you’re willing to leave your comfortable life at school to attend a party filled with clan elders for an entire evening?” You ask him, an eyebrow raised, unwilling to buy into his rubbish explanation. 

Gojo chuckles. “Oh, it’s not Takeshi I’m here for today,” He says softly, shuffling closer to you until your sides are almost touching, “It’s you.” 

You open your mouth, ready with a snarky reply, when his expression makes you stop – the words you were planning to say, now lost in your throat, as you look at his unusually earnest face. 

“Satoru?” Your voice comes out as a shaky whisper, reasons behind which you cannot fathom for the love of your life. 

(It’s ’cause he’s so close to you, silly! A part of your brain whispers – the same one which had made you call Gojo handsome, out of all the damned things you could say to him – that day you first saw him in his Jujutsu Tech uniform – much to your utter bewilderment and embarrassment.) 

You clear your throat and repeat yourself loudly, “Hey, Satoru?” 

“Hm?” Gojo moves even closer to you when you call his name and places a hand on your cheek, the warmth of it making a wonderful contrast with your cold skin that chilly autumn night. 

“Do-” You hesitate, as an odd (warm? bubbly?) feeling creeps into your chest, but ultimately your concern for the eerie way his eyes seem to shine at you outweighs that weird feeling, and you ask, “Do you have a fever, Satoru? You don’t really look okay there.” 

Gojo blinks, his unusual expression soon overtaken by a stupefied one as you continue to peer up at him, frowning. 

“Satoru,” You shake him gently, after a few seconds of him staring at you. “Hey! Gojo!” 

That seems to shake him out of his stupor, as he quickly removes his hand away from your cheek and scoots away, his face reddening with each passing moment. 

“N-no, no. I’m okay. Totally okay,” He mumbles, “There’s no need to worry. I’m perfectly fine.” 

But you know the white-haired shaman way better than that. 

You sit up and move closer to him and place your palm on his forehead, the other palm on your own forehead. “Now, lie still and let me check your temperature.” 

“Your skin’s warm… But not so warm for you to have a fever,” You say after a while, still frowning down at your friend whose head you have now placed in your lap, “But your face looks awfully red. And your eyes too seem weird. And,” Pausing, you place your hand on the kimono over his heart, remembering a person’s pulse rate is said to speak volumes about their health, and gasp. 

“My goodness, Toru! What the hell happened to you? Your heart is beating really fast! Are you-” 

A finger to your lips stops your outburst, and within the next moment, you find yourself crushed to his chest, his arms holding you in a vice-like grip and his nose muzzling into your hair. 

“Toru, you’re not really okay, are you?” You ask, tilting your head up at him, the slight tremor in your voice inaudible to all except you – and Gojo too, perhaps, judging by the way you notice him smirk a little at you, before it slips into an indecipherable twitch of his lips. 

“No, I’m not okay,” He answers above you, his arms around you tightening a touch. “I’m really, really not okay.” 

You crane your neck upwards to fully look at him and brush the pads of your thumbs over the skin under his eyes. “Then why did you come here tonight, you idiot? You should have stayed back in your dorms and taken rest,” You scold him, concerned eyes sweeping over his appearance. 

Gently removing your hand from his face to intertwine his fingers with yours, Gojo leans closer to your face and whispers, every breath he exhales hitting your face like a little puff of smoke in the cold, “But I couldn’t stay back in my dorms tonight, Momo-chan – Not when I know the medicine to my treatment is here.” 

It takes a while for his words to register themselves in your brain. 

And when they do, you can’t help but let out a small gasp (the same time as that portion of your brain lets out a small squeal in joy). 

“Are you-” You begin but stop yourself from speaking any further, your trust in your oratory skills having plummeted to an all-time low, and choose instead to focus on his electric blue eyes as the slew of nervous mutterings, which had been lost in the background of your mind until now, slowly turns intelligible. 

Was that too much for her? 

Am I going to get rejected? 

Well, shit, she’s going to reject me. 

Oh wait – did she even understand me? 

My Momo-chan can be really dense at times – though she’s cute too then – like really, really cute! 

But no, seriously – was I too roundabout for her? Or should I have confessed to her directly? 

Oh no, she’s looking at me right now. Is she angry? Is she disappointed? Is she horrified? 

Oh no, that’d be the worst – if she’s horrified. 

Calm down, Satoru. Calm down. Take a breath in and think straight. Panicking won’t help you now. 

But I’m too much in love with Momo-chan to even think straight. 

Damn it, damn it, just damn it. 

I should have just listened to Suguru and written her a love letter or something. 

“Love letters are really beautiful, Toru-chan,” Reaching up a hand, you tuck some of his unkempt hair behind his ear – while a giggle erupts from you at the way his face changes from being lovestruck (and not fever-stricken, you realise, relieved) to horrified to the most apprehensive you’ve ever seen him – and you add with a grin, “But this confession is the most beautiful of them all. I love it.” 

Gojo blinks. “So does that mean…” He trails off, an unsure yet hopeful look in his eyes. 

Sliding your hand down to his cheek and keeping it there, you reply, “Yeah, I guess it does mean so, Toru-chan.” 

A moment passes in pin drop silence between the two – the only sounds being the distant chatter of the party and the occasional wind blowing through the trees – before a wide grin breaks out across Gojo’s face, its absolute natural radiance banishing the darkness around you in a way a billion suns could never do – your grandmother’s flimsy paper lanterns or your vain guests’ mountains of gold and gems nothing but tiny specks of dust to the constellation of stars his joy reveals to you. 

And in that instant, as Gojo presses a sweet kiss to your forehead and wraps his arms around you, excitedly describing the new dessert café he discovered on his last mission and the matcha eclairs you just can’t not try – you swear to yourself that you will do anything to keep that blinding beauty of his smile unharmed – even throw away your life, if that’s what it takes. 

[I'M LOW-KEY ASHAMED OF THIS LMAOOO]

▸ MASTERLIST

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / a Javier Peña fic.

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY:   After being transferred back to the States from Colombia, Javier Peña is relocated to a small town in the middle Texas as the new Deputy Sheriff to help solve a string of murders that have been occurring in this more rural part of the state. Rumors of a sacrilegious group plague the community which has its citizens on edge. Along the way, he enters a convoluted relationship with the sheriff’s daughter, Paloma. Entranced not only by her beauty but also by her captivating and enticing artistry as she preforms at a local bar on weekend nights. The once DEA agent soon begins to realize that there’s a lot more at play here than initially thought. Heavily influenced by Ethel Cain’s Preacher’s Daughter album.

RATING:   18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. More specific tags will be listed on chapter posts.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS:   The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized, including the usage of the song(s) that Paloma will perform throughout the story.

A/N:   hey y’all! just wanna say that this was an idea that popped in my head as i was rewatching narcos for the dozenth time while simultaneously discovering ethel cain’s work (i know i’m late, cut me some slack pls) but i’ve genuinely never been so inspired to… write. so with that, i give you all a small prologue of sorts to see if there’s any interest in continuing this. it’s my first time publicly posting any of my works so i’m so fuckin’ nervous but oh well i’m just diving head first!

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

The sounds of twigs snapping beneath her feet echo throughout the forest, her frantic breaths making her chest burn as she continues to run aimlessly in attempts to escape her captors. Nina had gotten lucky, her wrist burned from constantly rubbing against her rope confinements until eventually she was able to undo the tight knot and free herself from her imminent death. She wasted no time in booking it out of whatever tattered building they were in; being met with nothing but surrounding darkness.

It didn’t take long before those who had taken her realized she was missing, but it was enough to put some distance between herself and them. Her bare feet ache from the unforgiving woodsy ground, legs slashed from the various twigs and thorns that she had run through in order to make her escape. But that pain was only temporary, and currently her body was focused on survival. She had to make it back to civilization; even if she didn’t know where she was.

A few more minutes of running before the girl finds some kind of solace behind a towering oak tree, her back pressed against its ridges as she allows herself a moment to catch her breath.

To regroup.

One hand travels up to her collarbone where a delicate cross necklace sits against her skin, she grips it tightly and begins to utter a soft yet frantic prayer hoping that the God she’s devoted her life to would spare her from the horrors and fate she’s currently facing. Her eyes snap open at the sound of a twig snapping loudly and before Nina has any time to react to the sudden presence, she’s being yanked by her forearm out of the shadows and roughly thrown onto the ground.

She’s been caught.

“Please let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone.” Nina pleads and it’s nothing this trio has not heard before.

“Oh sweet child…” The smooth yet dangerous voice of the leader of this tormenting group crouches down until he’s at her level, brushing a strand of tawny hair away from her face as he gazes deep into her eyes.

Deep into her soul.

“You cannot keep the inevitable from occurring.” Enter the other man, a heavy two barreled shotgun in his hands pointed directly at her. Nina’s lips curl into a pout as tears begin to pour down her supple cheeks. This gets a scoff out of the third person that makes up the trio, a girl that was around her age.

“Oh poor baby is cryin’. this coulda been so much easier if you hadn’t ran, doll face.” Her tone is patronizing as she watches Nina intently, a smirk sprawled across her own lips. “C’mon August, we need to deal with her before we miss our window of opportunity. Again.” she looks down at the antique watch that adorns her left hand. Only a few minutes until three in the morning.

August takes a few more moments to study the weeping girl before him, just as a predator would its prey. However, there’s a softness in his eyes that she isn’t able to fully register. He eventually stands to his full height. “It will have to be done here. There is not enough time to bring her back to the house.” He snaps his fingers at the man with the shotgun and he immediately lowers it, silent as ever and reaching into his back pocket to pull out a large, silver dagger that glistens as the moonlight from the full moon shines down upon it. Nina’s eyes widen at the sight of the blade and she begins to scramble backwards but August reaches down to grasp her ankle to keep her from moving. 

“Hold her down.” He orders and the other two wordlessly comply, the dagger now in August’s possession as the guy takes hold of her wrists and the girl of her ankles. Nina begins to thrash around violently to no avail. They’ve got a strong hold on her.

“Please, A-August please I’ll d-do whatever you want. I w-won’t tell anyone just p-please don’t kill me.” The helpless girl cries, tears and snot mixing as violent sobs rack throughout her entire body.

The earnest begging for her life falls on deaf ears, instead August plants one foot on either side of her body, now towering over her completely with the dagger firmly in his grasp. Between her hysteric crying and overwhelming emotions, Nina doesn’t understand the words that fall past the man’s lips but she knows for certain that he isn’t speaking English.

She attempts to save herself one final time but is ignored once more. Just as August finishes his prayer-like uttering, the wind begins to pick up around them, sending leaves and dirt to swirl around as if they had conjured up their own, mini tornado. 

Nina’s eyes widen as the dagger raises itself over his head.

“ I am no good nor evil, simply I am And I have come to take what is mine. ”

And with those final words, the dagger plunges down deep into her chest, right where her heart lies. A piercing scream shoots out of her throat, damn near destroying her vocal chords as August continues to stab the sharp blade into her flesh over and over again.

Until eventually, the life drains from Nina’s eyes.

[kira1vsl]

don't ask the gods to help you because they're afraid of me || Death Note fic

So I've been getting really into writing my Death Note fic recently, it's at about 18000 words, so I decided I'd post some moodboards! Right now I've just done them of the main love triangle: Light, L and Mikami. But I'm hoping later in the fic other characters will be just as prominent, such as Sayu, Misa (I haven't decided how she'll come in but I love her too much to forget her), Light’s parents, the Wammy kids. I'm even hoping to include B at one point! Here are the moodboards, and I'll explain a bit about the fic below them:

Light Yagami

Light Yagami cares about nothing but his work (except perhaps his sister). Despite this, he's recently engaged to his boyfriend of three years, Teru Mikami, not because he loves him, but because it fit his five year plan.

Not long after his engagement began, Light meets a man who goes by Ryuuzaki, but turns out to be world-famous detective, L. L hires Light on the spot, straight out of university, for reasons unknown to Light, who is willing to grasp any opportunity who comes his way, no matter how strange; and he knows he's not going to get a much better offer than L.

(Other moodboards under "read more")

Teru Mikami

Teru Mikami is a lawyer who lives to be with Light. Deeply in love, he's willing to overlook the fact that it's unrequited, although deep down he is aware of it. He's upset when Light announces that he's taking a job which will require constant travelling, but knows that Light is far too difficult to argue with. He has to sit by and plan his wedding while his fiancé drifts even further away than he already was.

L Lawliet

L Lawliet is tortured by memories of a past life. Although he chose his own fate, he has spent 30 painful years waiting for the day when it would be reasonable to seek out his lost love, Light Yagami.

When he finally finds and approaches him, L discovers that Light is recently engaged to somebody else; but this doesn't stop L from trying to get Light back. Offering Light a job, L ensures that they work out of the country, keeping Light away from his fiancé.

This story is in Light’s first person P.O.V.! I'm going to put an excerpt of the beginning just below and a link to the AO3 page ♡

As Teru leads me to an outside table at this very luxurious Italian restaurant in Tokyo, I immediately get a terrible feeling. Don’t get me wrong; I like the finer things in life, within reason, and Teru knows this, although he’s naturally a more modest type of person. It isn’t the restaurant which bothers me, because I deserve to be somewhere this beautiful and expensive. It’s why Teru would spontaneously decide to take me somewhere this nice with no particular occasion that bothers me. Usually he would say this kind of thing is excessive, gluttonous, greedy, that it’s a road to us becoming a couple of Elon Musks and fucking up Twitter. As he helps me into my seat because his manners are second to none, I offer him a charming smile and admire the scenery. There are white curtains falling between each table; we’re in a patio of sorts with a roof above our heads, and little stairs leading up to us covered in lanterns. There are trees all around, and potted plants. It is atmospheric. I belong in places like these; they compliment my elegance. I’m avoiding looking at Teru as he sits down. “Do you like it?” he asks me. He’s wearing a very nice suit. He always looks handsome but tonight an extra effort has been put in, I can tell. I think I might be feeling sick. I’m hoping to send appropriate signals that stop the terrible event from happening. “It’s beautiful,” I answer, gently fingering the side of my menu. I just had a manicure, and my hands look perfect in this light; just like the rest of me I imagine. Oh my God, I think I look too good. I should have tried less hard but I didn’t realise what was happening until I’d already dressed and then caught sight of him looking like a very muscular Tom Ford catwalk model. I’m sending signals I don’t want to send by way of my resplendent beauty. “Just like you,” he says, smiling. I knew it. He’s such a sap, he’s always been that way, I’ve always put up with it. We make sense together but I don’t want to go too far with it. “I know how I look, Teru,” I say with a deep breath, and begin to read the menu. I am going to need alcohol. Wine feels appropriate but would also only worsen this situation. As I read the menu I really wine is definitely where this is headed. “We’ll get the seven courses with wine,” Teru says like he’s in charge in this relationship. Yes. We will get that because it’s one of the few options on offer. I hate how delicious it all sounds. Oh, crayfish. I don’t get to have that often. I can’t believe I’m letting this happen. I should fake a sudden illness and run. “We’ll ask the sommelier what wine he suggests and go for it.”

“OK,” I say. He’s not even popped the question yet but this has turned into one of those situations where you marry a man and then he thinks he can tell you what to do. I think I have better taste in wine than the sommelier. I know my own tastes. Why are we asking the sommelier? What’s wrong with me tonight?

AO3 link:

None of the images in the moodboards are mine, and neither are the lyrics written on them!

[starlightandsouls]

Fallen Hearts

Warnings: accusations of treason, torture, death, suicide, betrayal, blood (this is kind of dark so read with caution)

18+ MINORS DON'T INTERACT

A/N: Well I finally got done with this piece. Honestly it just might be my favorite thing that I have ever written, so here it is: my magnum opus. I truly hope anyone reading it feels at least a part of the emotion I tried pouring into this and if you like it please do let me know what you think! This fic soo much effort and emotion from my end so your comments really make it all worth it)

(Inspired by the song Eleanor Rigby- Cody Fry Although I don't believe I could do justice to the song, this fic is not nearly as emotional or dramatic as I wanted it to be. But then again how do you live up to this masterpiece of a song?)

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Azriel had never been one for afternoon picnics or eating apple pie under its own apple tree or relationships at all, come to think of it. But as it turns out, having a mate does change a person. Your personality, your very soul starts shifting; learning, becoming better acclimated to its lost twin. You begin doing things you would never have imagined just to make them happy. And that is how he ended up here; sprawled across a blanket, his back to the vast apple tree with his mate in his arms, munching on her hand made pies. Then again, Azriel would eat anything his mate blessed him with, just because he knew how happy it made her when he complimented her cooking.

The air was not stifling, despite the fact that they were well into the summer months. Summers here weren’t that long. Mostly because of the towering mountains surrounding the city that blessed them with good weather. But the two months that they did have summer were the worst out of the entire year. Velaris was usually boiling this time of year. However it seemed like the Mother had blessed them with good weather this time.

So they were lounging outside their sea side home, basking in the summer sun before it became insufferable. A few months later Azriel would reminisce this exact moment, try to relish in the meagre happiness its fading memory would provide and beat himself up for taking it for granted. But then again it wasn’t his fault. How could they have known they were happy? That this was all the happiness they would get?

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Azriel and Selene had been mated for well over three centuries, the other two you had been the closest of friends. That simple fact always brought her joy; that in their five centuries of life, she had always had Azriel. It was as if you were twin souls, meant to find and love each other.

The love you two shared was known all across Prythian. Everyone knew of the Shadowsinger and his mate, sister to the Heir of Night, closest to the High Lord Rhysand. Just as this fact was second nature to many, everyone knew not to get between the two of them, knowing they would gladly burn the world down, if just to keep the other warm. So deep and unconditional was their love. A force as constant, as eternal as the sun and the moon. Or at least they had thought it to be.

The war with Hybern had been won over half a decade ago and peace had settled. A hard won peace that had cost everyone a little too much. While all the courts were trying to rebuild, themselves and their diplomatic relationships with each other, they had remained blissfully unaware of a new threat lurking in their shadows, bidding its time to show its hand.

Rhysand, however, had begun to feel uneasy. Maybe it was instinct or just the unfamiliarity with peace after so so many years of pain, that something began unsettling him. He tried to hide it, if only for his family’s sake. They had all sacrificed too much for him to bother them with his unreasonable fears. But soon they began to notice his off putting behaviour. Azriel, of course, was first.

The two were playing chess in his office, as they often did. Cassian had gone to Illyria with Nesta to monitor the training camps, to ensure that no female was being mistreated despite the new laws. They had been vigilantly cracking down om anyone who toed the line. Rhysand had sworn to his mother that he would change the centuries old, misogynistic customs of the Illyrians. And now that he had the power to rule without any threats, he would do anything to ensure it.

But it seemed that his silence didn’t go unnoticed by his brother. Perhaps he was taken aback by Rhysand’s unusually quiet manner, given that that was usually Azriel’s job.

“What’s on your mind brother,” Azriel asked nonchalantly without looking up from the chess board, where he was getting closer and closer to besting Rhysand.

Rhysand didn’t reply, simply because he didn’t notice. His thoughts were too consuming, too rampant.

“Rhysand,” Azriel repeated, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. Everything’s alright,” Rhysand said. What’s the harm in trying? Azriel quirked an eyebrow, telling that he wasn’t going to fall for this lame response.

Sighing, he replied, knowing he could lie to anyone, put up a facade for anyone. But not Azriel. His brother had always been the one to see through his mask that had fooled countless others so easily.

“Honestly, I don’t know either. And that’s actually exactly the problem. Everything is fine. But for some reason I’ve been feeling so uneasy, like something is going to go wrong.”

Azriel listened carefully without any interruptions. This was one thing he loved about Azriel; he was a great listener. He never judged him or gave him false reassurances, never tried to dismiss his concerns.

“Is something in particular bothering you?” Azriel inquired, seamlessly taking on the role of Spymaster, always ready to fulfil his duty.

“That’s the problem. There is no specific threat or danger that’s worrying me. I just can’t shake this feeling of dread. I swear Azriel this paranoia is going to drive me crazy. Such small things start bothering me these days. Like how Beron was acting in the last meeting. I mean he was an asshole as usual, but nothing other than that,” Rhysand started rambling. All his concerns and worries started bubbling to the surface, knowing Azriel was the one person he could vent to without any repercussions.

“Okay, so Beron’s acting strange. If you want I can go do some recon in Autumn. Figure out if those foxes are upto something,” Azriel offered. Rhysand could see the cogs turning in his head, already planning how he would go about it. Rhysand rushed to refuse before Azriel could formulate a plan.

“No, its fine. There's no point in going to that hellhole and riling up Eris. Plus my sister would skin me alive if I put you in danger without any reason.”

At the mention of Selene, a small smile bloomed on Azriel’s face, and seeing him made Rhysand do so as well. Azriel had gone through so much in his childhood and then when they had grown up as well. No family, no siblings. Sure Rhysand and Cassian were his sworn brothers but it was that feeling of having someone that was yours, truly and only yours, was more blissful than anything. And Azriel had found that in Rhysand’s sister. While it had been a bit off-putting at first, if only because it was his job as a big brother, later he had felt nothing but joy at the thought of the two people he loved most in his life, finding their happiness with each other. And both of them deserved it. After everything, if there was anyone who deserved it, it was Azriel and Selene.

After the game finished, which Azriel so gleefully won, he got up to leave, but not before adding,

“Hey, if you need anything, I’m here. Just say the word.”

Rhysand had only smiled and nodded, knowing his brother would almost put his duty first and foremost, sometimes even before his life. If only he had remembered this simple fact.

.................................................................................

Azriel’s POV...

Leaving Rhysand’s office, Azriel made a beeline towards Selene. His shadows had informed him that she was in the training ring. Of course. Despite there not even being a bare hint of a conflict let alone a war, you and Cassian insisted on training everyone everyday. The two of them claimed that should the need arise, they all needed to be ready. Azriel prayed to the Mother that it never did.

However, it appeared she was alone right now. Perhaps getting in some extra work out. Hypocrite. Sel was were always chastising him for working too hard, always forcing him to take one too many breaks. While she herself often toiled away in the training arena for hours and hours on end. Like he had said: hypocrite.

Walking in, he saw her slashing away at the dummy with her sword. Each strike was precise and lethal, the picture of perfection. For a moment, Azriel simply stood their quietly, waiting a second to take in the sight before him. Even covered in sweat and your leathers, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Night embodied in the form of a heavenly angel, a gift from the Mother to show mere mortals what true beauty looked like. Each day Azriel thanked the Gods for blessing him with this brilliant female for a mate but he knew deep down, even if he were to worship Selene for a thousand years more, it would never be enough to show even a trickle of his devotion. She was his muse, his reason for life, the one who held the keys to his soul and heart.

Despite his chosen silence, Azriel knew she had noticed him. If not because of his shadows, maybe because of the love pouring in openly through the bond. Selene always tried to feign annoyance at his ‘cheesiness’ as she called it, but he knew from the blush that adorned her cheeks and the blinding smile that lit up her face, that deep down Selene adored it. So he kept doing it every single day; reminding her how much she meant to him. He only hoped it was enough.

Finally putting down her sword, Selene turned to him with that smile of hers. She walked right over to him and instantly put her arms around him.

“Well hello there, handsome. How did you find your way to our humble abode,” she mocked as Azriel had honestly been scarce in the training arena these days. He had been occupied with either spying or some other task which, for once, left no time for training. A fact that his mate often loved to tease him about; that if he didn’t start training sooner or later, he was going to become an old crone.

“I was told there was a rather pretty female here who was getting quite lonely. I thought maybe I should go offer her some company?” he joked right back. Only with Selene did he ever leave his guard down like this, only with her did he let this side of him show.

“You’re shameless, you know that?” she said, laughing her melodious laugh that would make the sweetest nightingales shy away.

“You love me anyways,” he whispered back.

“That I do. I love you Azriel, more than anything else in the world. You’re my everything.”

Azriel only leaned forward and kissed her forehead and both of her closed eyes. It was the softer moments like this that brought Azriel the most joy. Not that he wasn’t thankful for each second he got to spend with Selene. But something about when it was just the two of them, surrounded by silence, quietly expressing their love for each other that touched his heart the most. Even when she simply held his hand, he felt powerful enough to conquer the world. That loneliness he had felt ever since he was a child disappeared when he had first befriended her and had not reared its ugly head towards him ever since. Such was her power, and he has been in awe of it for just as long.

....................................................................

Three months had passed ever since, when it began. Disappearances, murders. People going missing left and right in all seven courts. And these were no ordinary people; nobles, court officials, warriors. Panic had begun to spread. No one had the slightest idea who was doing it or what their intentions could be. As the summer heat reached its peak, stifling everyone’s breaths, so did the uncertainty, the anxiety of the current events.

All seven courts were scrambling to find the reason behind these disappearances, a culprit, a reason. Something that would at least give them a hint as to what to expect, how to prepare. Azriel, himself, hadn’t slept in almost two weeks or if he had, it had been for an hour only at best. He had gone longer without rest, but the stress of everything was starting to get to him. Well that and the fact that he had come up with no answers. He was supposed to be good at this, it was literally his job. His entire family was looking to him for answers, when he had absolutely none to give. And the feeling of letting them down, risking putting them in danger because of his incompetence scared him more than anything.

Selene had been the only one to notice; how he was so tense all the time, how the bags under his eyes had become deeper everyday, how even his beautifully carved face had become gaunt, pale, because she knew he hadn’t been eating properly. She saw it perhaps because she was the only one he let see through his mask. Everyone needed him right now. He couldn’t afford to break down. But around her... he could take a second to breathe, to not put up a facade. She constantly reassured him that he didn’t have to do this alone, that he didn’t have to bear this burden alone. But what could he do? Centuries of experience had ingrained into his very being this sense of duty that he couldn’t shake off no matter what.

However, at the last meeting where Azriel had all but collapsed as he gave Rhysand his report, Selene had finally put her foot down. Despite everyone’s protest she had dragged him home, saying he needed rest, that everyone else could survive without him for a couple of hours. Now Azriel himself had also opposed this decision, albeit half heartedly. Because no matter how much he wanted to work, Azriel knew he had to be honest with himself. With how exhausted he was right now, if he tried to winnow somewhere Azriel knew it would end in a disaster. Selene had quickly shut up everyone’s arguments with a swift reprimanding and has dragged him home.

Which was how they ended up here; in their room, where Azriel sat in an armchair while Selene prepared the bed. In all honesty, Azriel knew he should help but he realised he would probably faint and increase her work even more. So he stayed still. While Selene fluffed up the pillows, Azriel gazed out the window to their garden. Only some time ago, the two of them had been having a picnic under their apple tree, blissfully unaware of what awaited them. The same, luscious tree that had held ripe apples for them just some time ago was now bare. The leaves were sparse, the branches lightning every day. The leaves were turning a pale yellow, losing that healthy green. Perhaps it was a sign of winter. Although it was still far off, the thought still unsettled him for some reason.

“Azriel.”

Selene’s voice calling out to him broke Azriel out of his reverie. Turning to her, he saw she was holding out a hand to him, signalling him to join. Each step felt like he dragging mountains as he walked across the room to her.

As he lay down with her, Azriel suddenly felt a strange sense of peace, of silence, wash over him. Selene began running her fingers through his hair, which really made him melt. Closing his eyes, he took in her scent. It never failed to soothe him, always grounding him.

“You know you can relax right. Not everything is your responsibility. Let others help you out as well,” she whispered into his hair. He knew she purposely kept her voice low for him, knowing when he was this exhausted, this overwhelmed, loudness always made it worse.

“I know but... I just feel so guilty. I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me. And I am trying, I really am. I just...”

“Shhh. Its okay Azriel. I know how hard you work, how dedicated you are to this court. And so does everyone else. You don’t need to prove it. You’re overworking yourself, my love. And until and unless you get some proper rest, I’m not letting you go out there. Cauldron knows what’s going on. And if you’re putting yourself in harms way, you need to be prepared. I... I can’t lose you, Azriel,” Selene cried out, her fears finally coming out.

“You’re not going to, my love. I promise. I always do don’t I? I’ll always come back to you,” he reassured her.

“You better, you big bat.”

The two of them got around four hours of sleep before someone came knocking on their door. While Selene was grumbling about it not being enough, Azriel knew with the current circumstances even that was a luxury.

It turns out Rhysand needed both of them for different tasks. Azriel was to go to Winter court to check on a lead that Kallias had apparently found. Selene was going to Day, to help out Helion with his forces. Rhysand had commented that he didn’t want to split the two of them up, but right now he needed all the hands he could get.

They had begrudgingly agreed and had left for their respecting missions, not before a hearty goodbye. Not a single soul in Prythian could have predicted what was about to happen as the two lovers went their separate ways. If only they had known this was the last time they would ever see each other again. Maybe they would relished in the moment more, maybe they would have spent more time together. Maybe, maybe, maybe. In the end everyone was left dreaming of how, maybe, they could have stopped what was about to happen.

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Feyre POV...

The last few weeks had been difficult for everyone, but Feyre thought it was even worse for herself and Rhysand. They were supposed to be the leaders of their court, supposed to assure them and provide all the answers, tell them that everything would be okay. But with every disappearance, she felt like she was failing her people. Helpless and aimless, the two of them were struggling to keep the court together, to stop the panic from turning into pure hysteria and chaos.

Right now, she was the only one in Velaris. Everyone else had gone somewhere or the other to try to figure out something about this new threat. Feyre had gone on the last round to Dawn Court whose villages had just been attacked, to see if they could perhaps find some semblance of an idea as to what the hell has been going on. While she had come back empty handed, it was her turn to stay with Nyx as Rhysand left this time.

Feyre was alone in the House of Wind, save for Nyx and Elain. After crying his throat soar, Nyx had finally gone to sleep. Elain had gone to put him to bed while Feyre read some of Azriel’s reports, desperate to find anything they could have missed the first time round.

She had just put the last of the papers down, her eyes heavy from all the reading, when a scream pierced the stagnant silence that had settled over the House. Instantly Feyre was on her feet. Had someone infiltrated the House, despite all the wards around it. She was all alone as well. No matter, Feyre was enough for whatever coward had dared to intrude her home. Nyx... Oh gods Nyx... no no no

Feyre ran through the halls, dread filling her as she prayed to whatever deities that listened, that the intruder was nowhere near her son. If something happened to him, she would raze the whole world down.

She had just turned a corner, when she slammed into Elain, who was clutching a crying Nyx in her arms. Thank the Cauldron. It was only did she realise that Elain was crying too, with a bleeding gash down her face.

“Elain, what happened? Elain, where are they? Elain!” she yelled at him, shaking her shoulders, trying to will her into speaking. But Elain kept on sobbing, shaking her head, she started hyperventilating. Only a second later, Elain’s gaze zeroed in on something behind Feyre’s back, and she screamed.

Pushing Elain and Nyx behind her, she yelled at them to run as she turned to meet the invader head on. Whoever it was, had laid a hand on her sister, and for that they would die a most gruesome death.

A hooded figure stood on the other end of the hallway, knives in both hands. Only, one of them was dripping in blood. Elain’s blood. Blood that could have easily been her son’s. The thought enraged her beyond reason, as she charged at the male.

The male was on her before she could reach him. His knives lashing out, each strike intending to kill. Feyre barely missed some of them. Shit. He was really, really good. All of her hits went amiss. Whether those be from her dagger or her power. The male evaded her in every way.

A kick to the ribs knocked the air from her lungs as Feyre collapsed on the floor. In front of her, the male reached for another weapon. Closing her eyes, she tried reaching Rhysand. She had forgotten where he had gone, but only hoped that he could feel her distress.

Feyre felt her assailant get closer and closer until she opened her eyes. Before she could give in to her fate, the glint of the dagger in his hands caught her eye. It couldn’t be.... Perhaps the blood loss had made her delusional. There was no way what she was seeing could be true. For the dagger in the male's hand, the one against her neck... was Truth Teller.

Summoning what last strength she had left, Feyre pushed herself off the ground and reached up to the man’s head. As she pulled down his hood, a cry of anguish escaped her. At that moment Feyre wished it had been someone else, anyone else. That it was some other pair of eyes sneering back at her, that it wasn’t the friendly hazel one’s she had grown accustomed to. That it wasn’t Azriel glaring down at her.

“Why?” was all she could croak out with his knife pressed against her throat.

Azriel said nothing and only pressed the blade closer, presumably to finish her off. Just as she has resigned her fate, a cry sounded out,

“Feyre!”

Rhysand. He had heard her. He was here. Thank the Cauldron. At the sound of his voice, Azriel got off of her and disappeared into the shadows.

That was how Rhys found her, crumpled on the ground, tears of her own making their way down her face. She understood now why Elain had been crying the way she was. This betrayal was so unfathomable, she couldn’t wrap her head around it despite seeing it with her own two eyes. It just wasn’t possible...

Rhysand skidded to a halt as he crouched down next to her,

“Feyre are you alright? Are you hurt?” and just like Elain, Feyre was now speechless. How could anyone expect her to put to words what she had just witnessed.

“Feyre, what happened? Where’s Nyx?” Rhysand cried out as he shook her again, probably scared out of his mind.

Given the situation, Feyre did what she could do in the moment. She tapped against his mental shields, asking to be let in, then showed Rhysand the memory of just a few moments ago.

The only sign Feyre had to tell her that he had seen it, was Rhysand going wholly still. The colour drained from his face as it became ghost white. He too crumpled on the floor. Eyes empty, staring at the wall before him, not looking at anything in particular. The hurricane of emotions going through him right now was unimaginable to Feyre. Azriel was his brother... to expect this from him....

Rhysand POV..

After the shock had lessened, but still not gone, he had called back everyone in his family. He had then proceeded to show them the same memory Feyre had shown him. Not Selene. His poor, innocent sister. To be subjected to such pain was something he would never wish for his darling sister. He would deal with her later. Right now he needed to deal with a traitor.

The emotions of everyone were varied, as expected. Cassian had protested the most, blowing up within an instant of seeing the memory.

“Rhysand, tell me you’re not falling for this. Tell me you don’t think our brother is a traitor,” Cassian roared at him, questioning him like Rhysand was in the wrong. The audacity of it surprised him.

“Are you suggesting my mate is lying? That your High Lady is lying!” Rhysand yelled right back.

“It could be a mistake. Maybe... she didn’t know what she saw. It...it can be a trap. Maybe someone’s trying to set him up... He would never... Azriel would never do this.”

“For Cauldron’s sake, Cassian! Feyre SAW him! What else do you want? What more proof that you want that that bastard is a traitor! That treacherous son of a bitch laid his filthy hands on my mate. And for that I’ll cut his head off. If any of you try to intervene, you can die right along with him!” Rhysand threatened, ensuring that everyone understood how serious he was being.

He had barely finished his sentence when the door to his office was opened. For the second time that night, Rhysand found himself speechless. For before them, stood none other than Azriel. Relaxed and unabashed. As if he hadn’t committed treason. As if he hadn’t betrayed the only family he had ever known. That pathetic son of a bitch...

Azriel walked in coolly, not showing any signs of the suiting emotions whatsoever. As he felt everyone’s gaze on him, the bastard had the audacity to ask,

“What’s going on here? Is everything alright?”

The one simple statement broke whatever fragment of reverse Rhysand had left. Whatever patience, uncertainty there was left went out the door. Instead it was replaced with white hot rage.

All Rhysand saw was red. His fury gone beyond any bounds, any and all sense of reason gone with it. He wanted Azriel’s blood. And he wanted it now.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he moved across the room and punched Azriel right in the face. And he did it again and again and again until Azriel’s face was nothing but a bloody pulp. Eventually, Azriel pushed him off long enough to ask,

“Rhysand, what... why are you doing this? What are you doing?”

The question was answered only by a kick to the ribs. Azriel groaned and rolled to the side, coughing up blood. The sight brought him more pleasure than it should have. At that moment Rhysand felt like a crazed animal. The sight of spilled blood exciting him to shed even more.

Rhysand hauled up Azriel and slammed him against the wall, he then spat at him,

“You thankless son of a bitch, after everything I’ve done for you! Five hundred years, Azriel! Five centuries together... I thought you were my brother... and you go and stab me in the back?”

Rhysand then showed him Feyre's memory, hoping that maybe it would quell this bastard’s stubbornness. Azriel’s eyes widened as he took it in.

“That’s not me! Rhysand... how can you even think of believing that. I would never... I was in Winter! You sent me to Winter!” Azriel croaked out, still making excuses.

“You lying bastard. But don’t worry. I know just how to make you talk.”

Rhysand then grabbed Azriel by the collar and winnowed to the one place traitors like him deserved to dwell. The Court of Nightmares. It had been Azriel’s area of expertise and now the same place Rhysand would use to break him.

Dragging him to the cells in the bottom most pits of this miserable place, Rhysand threw all concern as to who was watching, or what they might think out the window. The only thing on his mind was vengeance. The pain of this betrayal only fanned the flames even more.

Throwing Azriel in one of the cells, Rhysand himself walked in and locked the door behind him.

“Now, tell me. Who are you working with? And what have you told them?,” Rhysand demanded, perhaps if Azriel was compliant he could be granted an easy death.

“Rhysand, are you out of your fucking mind? Why would I do this? Go ask Kallias if you want. I was with him in Winter,” Azriel exclaimed.

“Who’s to say you didn’t trick him too?”

“Rhysand, please. You have to believe me. I would never do this. Feyre’s my sister. I would never hurt her!”

His mate’s name only enraged Rhysand even more. How dare this son of a bitch do what he had done and then proceed to act innocent? Like he could be forgiven his crime?

Rhysand called on his daemati powers and tore his talons into Azriel’s mind, tearing it apart from within, trying to find some clues as to who he had been conspiring with. Beneath him, Azriel screamed as he felt he his mind being violated, each passing second feeling like knives being repeatedly stabbed in his head. Good. Rhysand wanted him to feel pain, if only an ounce of what his betrayal had made Rhysand go through.

“Rhysand! Please! I didn’t do anything! Please!”

Rhysand withheld his mental attacks, only for a moment. He wanted to give Azriel one last chance to confess, if only for the sake of the five centuries they had spent as brothers. Perhaps it was easy for Azriel to throw them away like they didn’t mean anything, but not for him. He wasn’t shameless enough.

“I’m giving you one more chance Azriel. Tell me who you’re working with. And perhaps I’ll make your passing easier.”

Azriel only sobbed below him, hands in his hair, he only sobbed,

“I didn’t do anything Rhys. Please! Please believe me, you’re all my family... I would never hurt you...”

Rhysand grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head against the wall repeatedly before letting him crumple to the floor once more.

“Do not speak to me of family. You lost the right to do so when you turned your back on us! I gave you a chance to confess. Now don’t say I didn’t give you a chance. You raised a hand against my mate, your High Lady! If I hadn’t gotten there on time, you were going to kill her weren’t you? You were going to rob me of the most precious thing in my life. Now, it’s your turn.”

Realisation dawned on Azriel’s face as a long, dark blade of pure ebony materialised in Rhysand’s hand. He tried to retreat, to cower back but Azriel’s broken body only allowed so much.

“No no no. Rhysand please! I didn’t do anything! Please! Please don’t do this... think of Selene!”

“Don’t you dare take my sister’s name, you bastard. She didn’t deserve a filthy low life like you for a mate! She loved you with everything she had and this is what you gave her in return... But not anymore. I’m not going to let even your shadows get close to her. You’re going to pay Azriel. For hurting my mate, my sister... you’re going to pay for all of it,” Rhysand threw back at him.

And then...Rhysand raised the sword and brought it down on Azriel’s back, cleaving his wings right off his body. Azriel screamed a scream of pure agony. Blood trickled down his back as the membrane of his wings gave way to the blade.

Rhysand had exacted his revenge in the most fitting way he could think of. Wings were not only fragile but also extremely important to Illyrians. And now Azriel’s were gone. Despite the fact that he despised his parentage, his wings were what marked him as an Illyrian. Now he was nothing.

Azriel’s cries died down to nothing as his throat became parched because of the screams. Now he lay collapsed in a corner, body still shivering and shaking, perhaps from the pain, perhaps from Azriel’s sobbing.

Despite it all, Rhysand felt no pity, no sympathy. Azriel deserved it. Rhysand would not let some crocodile tears break his resolve. Before he left, he said one more time,

“I hope the next time I come here, you’re a little more compliant. Do think about what has already happened. If you don’t give me answers next time... well you know better than anyone else, there are many fates worse than death.”

Azriel POV...

Even after the High Lord had left, the Shadowsinger kept on crying, shaking. He tried and failed to come up with a reason for what was happening. His brothers couldn’t do this to him. Not Rhysand and Cassian. They weren’t like his step brothers. They weren’t.... This was all a bad dream. Yes, a nightmare. He would wake up and he will be in Selene’s arms, and all will be right.

The pain from Rhysand’s mental attack and the severing of his wings had driven Azriel beyond the point of sanity, his hold on reality slipping with each passing minute. Crazed with pain and fever, he kept on whispering into the dark, just like he had when he had been a child,

“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything. It’s just a bad dream. Its just a bad dream.”

..........................................................................

Rhysand POV...

When he returned to Velaris to the House of Wind, he was met the piercing sound of a female screaming. Instantly his heart stopped. Was there another intruder? Was Feyre alright? It was only when he reached the room the sounds were coming from, did he realise that the screams weren’t Feyre’s. They were Selene’s.

When he reached her room, he found her slumped on the floor, hair strewn everywhere, with her hand clutching her chest, beating at her heart. Feyre and Morrigan were by his side, trying but failing to calm her down.

“Selene, what’s wrong?”

Her gaze fell on him shakily, she stared at him got a moment as if trying to reassure herself that he was really there, before she started sobbing,

“Rhysand. Its Az... something is wrong. He’s hurt. I could feel it. It hurt so bad, Rhys. And now... I can’t feel him! I can’t feel him, Rhysand. You have to find him! You have to... he needs our help.”

“We will, we will. Don’t worry, my raven. But I need you to calm down first okay?” he said calmly. Selene only stared at him incredulously before pulling back from him.

“How can you ask me to calm down? I’m telling you my mate is hurt and you’re telling me to calm down?” his sister spat at him. He didn’t blame her. Not one bit. What she was going through right now was unimaginable. So Rhysand did what he could in the moment. He reached into her mind and put his sister to sleep.

Selene slumped into his arms as he picked her up from the floor. Laying her down, he ushered everyone outside.

Once they were all a safe distance away from her room, Cassian exploded,

“You can’t keep this from her forever Rhysand. You need to tell Selene. She deserves to know!”

The gravity of the situation finally started to weigh on him as his legs gave way from under him. Rhysand collapsed on a sofa and put his head into his hands.

“It’ll kill her. Knowing what that son of a bitch did... she won’t be able to survive it...” Rhysand whispered softly.

Cassian and Rhysand sat there for hours on end, trying to figure out what had led them there, trying to remember if there were any signs of Azriel acting strange in the last few months. But both of them came up empty. In the end they were both left with heavy heads, and even heavier hearts.

.................................................................................

Selene awoke only an hour later, once again in pain. The damned mating bond. It ensured that she felt every ounce of pain he conflicted on Azriel. That was one technicality that Rhysand had not thought of while exacting Azriel’s punishment.

This time it was Cassian who was in the room when Selene awoke, beside herself with pain and desperation. The feeling of the mating bond slowly withering away was enough to drive anyone insane. Rhysand would know; he had felt Feyre die once. He also knew how that it broke a person’s very soul in two.

When Selene awoke, she jumped straight out of bed and made to leave when Cassian stopped her,

“Sel, wait! Wait! Where are you going?”

Rhysand was truly beginning to worry for his sister. Her eyes were half crazed as she tried to fight off Cassian.

“Azriel! I need to find Azriel, he needs me!” Selene cried.

“He’s not here, Sel. We’ll find him. I promise. But you need to stay here, alright? It's not safe out there,” Cassian tried to reason with her, “Why don’t you sit down here? I’ll go get Rhysand. And then we can figure out how to find Azriel together alright?”

That was when Rhysand had walked in, going to his sister’s side the second he walked in. Selene took him by the arm and asked,

“Rhys, where’s Az? Where’s my Azriel? I can’t feel him. Why can’t I feel him?”

“I don’t know...”

“He knows I love him right? He knows I need him?”

“Of course he does,” Rhysand answered.

“THEN WHY ISNT HE COMING BACK? HE KNOWS I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT HIM! WHY DID HE LEAVE ME ALONE!” Selene screamed at the top of her lungs.

Rhysand then put her to sleep again with tears in his eyes. Realistically, Rhysand knew they couldn’t do this forever. But seeing his sister in such a state tore his heart apart everything all over again. Glancing at Cassian, he saw in his expression that he felt the same. Their sister had always been shielded, protected. And to see her suffer in such a way, was more than either could bear.

.................................................................................

Two weeks passed like this; Selene waking up in a panic and then Rhysand or Feyre putting her to sleep. Each time they tried telling her, her broken state would deter them. Who would be the one brave enough to share her mate’s fate? Who would be the one to ring the toll bells for their love?

It was only when the second week ended when everything came crashing down. Selene was once again sleeping a restless sleep, Elain with her in her room.

The rest of the Inner Circle were in the Town House when Rhysand felt a disturbance. Someone had broken through the wards of the city. Instantly they were at their feet. Before any of them could react, there was a flurry of swirling darkness and before them stood a man.

The invader was tall, lean. Despite what he was undertaking, the man bore no armour. As if he expected no attack, no resistance. As if he could just walk out of here unscathed after barging in to his home.

“Who the hell are you?” Feyre demanded.

“Ah, Lady Feyre. Always so impatient. Lord Koschei sends you his regards. As for my name, we’ll that’s irrelevant really,” the man sneered.

Rhysand’s heart dropped. Koschei. It was impossible. He wasn’t... he wasn’t alive. How has risen again?

“That’s not...”

“Possible? Well i can assure you it very much is. Who do you think is behind all these people disappearing?” Then after adding a sick smirk the man added, “Behind the fate of your Shadowsinger?”

“Go tell your master, we’ve caught his lap dog. He won’t have any of our secrets anymore,” Rhysand spat at the man, still shocked at his audacity.

“Tsk, tsk. Rhysand. I honestly gave you more credit than you deserve. My master thought you all would never fall for this trap. But then again he did always underestimate my ingenuity. You see, we knew with Azriel by your side, we would never have been able to infiltrate your court. It was too well guarded. So we knew we had to get rid of him somehow, but we couldn’t figure out how. He was too secure here, with all of you. But then I thought: why do we go through all of that trouble when you can just do it for us?”

“What? I... I didn’t do anything. Azriel was working with you people. He got what he deserved,” Rhysand answered.

“Was he? Because I do not recall any such thing. And that is not something you forget. After all having the Shadowsinger by our side would have been such an advantage,” the man explained.

“Do not attempt to lie to me! I saw him.. Feyre saw him. He attacked her...” Rhysand began, perplexed. What game were these people playing now.

“Did he?”

The repeated questions caught him off guard. He glanced at Cassian who had a similar expression.

“Yes, we saw the memory. It was Azriel who attacked Feyre. He...” Cassian began.

“Really? Because I could have sworn Azriel was in Winter Court when I came here,” the man jeered.

“No, Azriel wasn’t....” It was then that the man’s words sunk in, “Wait, what did you just say?”

“Oh yes. It was me who attacked the House of Wind that oh so fateful night.”

“No.. it was Azriel... he..” Cassian started, too confused for words.

The man smirked smugly once again and raised an eyebrow. Then, the man snapped his fingers and in an instant, disappeared. In his place, now sitting before them... was Azriel.

A gasp from everyone sounded through the room. It was Feyre who exclaimed,

“What devilry is this?”

Despite looking like his brother, when he spoke the voice was the man’s own,

“Yes. There it is people. The grand reveal. It was I. Honestly it was so easy to fool you people. When Azriel left for Winter, I made my way here. I did the crime and poor Azriel paid the price. How sad.”

No no no no no no no no no

Before he could process what had just occurred, a soft voice echoed through the room,

“It was you. You took my Azriel from me.”

Selene. No.

“Yup. And he’s been torturing him loads as well,” the man added, mocking all of them.

“You son of a bitch! After everything you still have the audacity to stand before me so shamelessly?” Rhysand roared at him.

“Well if you ask me, I was just getting bored. I was expecting you lot to figure it out sooner but you are all so slow. So I thought why not come reveal myself? There’s no point in committing all these brilliant crimes when no one gives you its credit.”

The man disappeared before Rhysand could reach him to cut his measly head off.

“How could you?” Selene asked again, “How could you?!”

Rhysand tried making his way over to her but she retreated, getting as far away from him as possible.

“All this time... you’ve been lying to me. You lied to my face. How could you Rhysand?”

“Sel... it wasn’t my fault. I had no idea... we all thought it was Azriel... He..” Rhysand scrambled to come up with an answer, something to explain why he had done what he had. But deep down he knew, nothing could ever absolve him of this heinous sin.

“Where is he? WHERE IS HE?” his sister demanded.

“The Court of Nightmares.”

And Selene winnowed away.

...........................................................................

Selene POV..

The hurricane of agony and anguish that was ravaging her very soul right now made her want to curl into a ball and cry. But she didn’t have time. She had to find Azriel. She had to get to him.

Winnowing in to the Court of Nightmares, she willed the faint mating bond she could still feel to find him, to lead her to him. Cauldron knows what that monster had done to her mate. She would never forgive him. All of them would pay.

Pushing her fury aside, Selene skidded to a halt in front of a cell in the bottom most pit of this wretched place. Damn you Rhysand. She unleashed her power and the door before her crumbled to nothing. Walking in, she saw nothing at first. The darkness so absolute, no amount of light could ever lessen it in this place.

After grasping at nothing but the dark, she finally spotted a figure in the far corner of the cell. Azriel.

Running over, Selene felt like throwing up at the sight before her. Her mate's back was covered in blood and blisters. Open wounds, half clotted, half fresh. His majestic, awe inspiring wings were... gone. Rhysand couldn’t have done this. He was cruel but not this... this was unimaginable. He wouldn’t do this to his brother... would he?

Turning him over, she tried to shake him awake. He’s okay. He had to be.

“Azriel. My love. I’m here.” No response.

“Az. Please.”

With a shaky breath, Azriel’s eyes opened, only slightly. And her violent eyes were met with his beautiful hazel ones. Eyes that once held nothing but adoration. Eyes that had always looked at her like she had hung the stars. Eyes... that were now empty and hollow.

Azriel looked at her for a second, and recognition lighted up his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something but just as quick it closes. His hand slipped from hers and his chest stopped rising.

Selene was frozen in place, refusing to accept what had just transpired. Azriel’s now empty, unblinking eyes stared at her coldly.

“No no no. Azriel. Azriel. Wake up. It’s me. Its your Selene. I’m going to take you home. We’re going to go home,” she whispered, willing him to wake through some miracle.

Her hands felt the wounds on his back as she held him. They had been too deep, too lethal to be left as he had been. And those same wounds had led to his passing. Now that was what Selene would have realised if she had been rational, if she had been sane at the moment. But she was long gone past that point.

“My lion mate. What did they do to you? My brave Azriel... how could they do this to you?”

Running her hands through his hair, she moved it from his eyes. His empty gaze, his still chest mocking her.

“Azriel, my love. How could they do this to you? Azriel. Wake up. Come on, we’re going home. Azriel wake up. Please. For the love of God please wake up,” she cried softly once before panic began to settle in her chest.

Selene felt the mating bond stretch and stretch, until it shattered. The bond cleaving felt like someone had ripped her very soul apart. Her heart felt like it was om fire. The world fell away. The only thing Selene knew was her lost love.

“AZRIEL!” Selene screamed, finally letting out her anguish, “AZRIEL WAKE UP! PLEASE! MY DARLING! PLEASE WAKE UP”

She let out a wail that was heard all across the wretched court. She dragged her nails down her face as she screamed. At one point, she even stopped saying his name and just screamed in pain.

Her ragged screams were what led Rhysand and the others to the cell. Where they found her, holding on to her dead mate, pounding on his chest, begging him to wake up. The screaming did not subside or lessen with their arrival. The entire court of Nightmares stood witness that day as the Daughter of Night cried and pleaded for her mate, witnesses how the two lovers were torn apart.

Cassian fell to his knees at the sight of his dead brother. A wail of affliction tore free from him but Selene paid him no mind, she was too far gone beyond the point of salvation, as she still shook Azriel, as if expecting him to awoke any second.

Rhysand was frozen. Body, mind, both numb. His hands were shaking as he took in the sight before him. No no no. This couldn’t be happening. Azriel couldn’t be... dead. He couldn’t be. Rhysand was going to take him home, was going to apologise. He would have paid with his own life if he had to, to Selene and Azriel. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen...

Selene turned on him, rushing over to where he stood. He realised too late, she was holding Truth Teller. She must have grabbed it before winnowing here. Feyre, however, did and she moved to stop her. But Rhysand held her back. No. He would take whatever punishment his sister would deem him worthy of. His wings. His life. All were offered.

But despite screaming only a few seconds ago, which Rhysand also expected her to do, Selene only cried out softly, as if she was too tired to raise her voice anymore,

"How could you do this to me Rhysand? You put out the light of my heart. You killed the one who held my soul. You know, when you took him from me and then lied to me about it, when you took my love from me, my entire being was plunged into darkness. I was drowning in my soul's agony. The hope that I could find him again, kept me alive. I took refuge in that hope. But you took even that away from me. And who knows... if he had been alive.. maybe I could have forgiven you. Maybe we could have moved past this a century or two later. If he had been alive, there could be hope for another spring. Light could have lit up our lives again, flowers would have blossomed again. Your court would have been covered in the red of roses rather than the tainted blood of my innocent mate! You have forever changed the fate of this court Rhysand. You have summoned such a winter, whose icy winds will never stop.Everything will surrender to it. Everyone will meet their end because of it . My suffering, my pain is over Rhysand. But yours... yours has just begun."

Selene raised Truth Teller. Behind him, Feyre and Mor cried out his name, assuming the knife was meant to him. Beside him Cassian moved as well to get Rhysand out of Selene’s way. But Selene... Selene gave her brother one last whisper of a smile before moving Truth Teller to her own throat. It was then that the Shadowsinger's legendary blade spilt its last drop of blood. It was then that it took one last life, the life of someone who no one could have ever imagined being subjected to the blade.

Rhysand was frozen in place as he watched his sister, his darling baby sister slit her own throat in front of him. As she fell, he did too.

Kneeling, he held her lifeless body as blood flowed freely from her. The same blood that drawing from Azriel had given him so much pleasure only some time back. And now... his sister, his only family was gone. Gone...because of him.

The High Lord’s agonised roar could have been heard all across Velaris as he cried for his sister, for his brother who he had murdered with his own two hands. How... how could he have been so foolish? How had they come to this? How could Rhysand, the High Lord who believed himself smarter, stronger than any, had fallen for this heinous trap?

And his sister... she had died alone, without her love. So did Azriel. How.... How? How could Rhysand have done this? To think Azriel's childhood, his first steps, his first memories had been of the dark, cold cellar his so called father had locked him in. To think he had gone through all of that, had survived, found happiness only to meet his end in the same way...it was too cruel. Almost a slap to the face, like fate was mocking his brother; look, you tried to escape but what happened? Once again you return to this lonely darkness. People like you don't deserve happiness. No. Rhysand couldn't have been this cruel. Why hadn't he waited, why hadn't he questioned his own sinful eyes?

And Azriel... he was gone. His brother, the one person he could always rely on was gone, the one person who had always protected him was gone. To think of the fate he had subjected the two of them to; dying alone, in pain, without their mate by their side. Rhysand couldn't save them...

Cauldron. What had he done?

..................................................................................

The last vestiges of summer left the Night Court. And along with it, it took the last bits of warmth, of plenty... of happiness. The city of starlight now submerged in an unforgiving, relentless winter. As it would be for as long as it shall stand. For the cries of the Daughter of Night had not gone unheard by the Gods.

At the edge of the city, in a small garden by the seaside, the signs of winter first started showing. The home that had always been basked in light and warmth, now stood derelict. Doors have been thrown open, windows too. As the icy wind made its way inside the house, taking over what was once the haven of two lovers, a silence settled. It was the overbearing, suffocating silence. One that made its presence known, that couldn't help but make you think of a lost time, where this silence did not reign. Now... it only mocked the house's desolation. Look, what you used to be? How you have fallen.

Outside, the apple tree in the garden, in whose shade the Shadowsinger and his beloved had once laid, was now barren. As the last leaf of the tree fell, it was joined by the first snow of this eternal winter. Snow that would not stop, that would take all who stood before it.

Oh how they had fallen.... in the end, no one was saved.