#this is a 20k+ word party and it is almost over thank god

[sarahlizziewrites]

the funny thing about writing a novel all in one go is that I'VE BEEN AT THIS DAMN PARTY FOR A MONTH

[chimcess]

Bittersweet || myg (2)

Pairing: Yoongi x ReaderOther Tags: Grad Student!Yoongi, Undergrad!Reader, Grad Student!Hoseok, Uncle!Namjoon, Doctor!Namjoon, Grad Student!Jimin, Fuckboy!Jungkook, GradStudent!Jungkook, Boss!Seokjin, Yoongi POV Genre: College!AU, Strangers to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, kinda Student/Teacher but not really, Older!Yoongi, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut Word Count: 19.9k+ Summary: When a cynical graduate student meets an overly enthusiastic undergraduate, the air crackles with tension—though not all of it is good. Warnings: Mean!Yoongi, bitter grad student to the max, strong language, Jimin is still a snitch, possible wrong science information (i'm sorry i'm not perfect), sexual tension, Yoongi pining and being in love for almost 20k words, kissing at work, almost caught, graphic s*x scenes, non-descriptive smut as well, Jealous!Yoongi, i'm sorry but this JK is kind of a slime ball, Reader knows what she's doing, they're adorable, lots of bickering, drunk Yoon, drunk texting, they're both the biggest dorks on the planet, reader sleep talks, multiple sex scenes, oral (m&f receiveing), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, handjobs, all things considered these two are very vanilla, some dirty talk, reader mostly takes charge, public sex, sex at work, shower sex, again they're still dorks even when they're in bed, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: Here's the second (and final) installment of this little two-shot. Thanks for reading!

Prev

I decided not to make a fuss about the stupid recruitment party. It was just a way for them to shove fresh-faced recruits down our throats, anyway. Instead of hitching a ride with Hoseok and Serena, I opted to walk alone, letting the cool night air wash over me. The campus felt both familiar and alien in the twilight, the shadows stretching long and eerie across the cracked pavement. Walking had always been my way of clearing my head, but tonight it felt like a futile exercise.

As soon as I stepped inside the venue, the noise slammed into me—laughter, chatter, and the clinking of glasses mingling into a chaotic symphony of youthful energy. I scanned the room, and when my eyes landed on her, I couldn’t help but groan. Y/N was there, and she was wearing those jeans—God, they looked painted on, hugging her curves in a way that sent my pulse racing. Her legs stretched endlessly, accentuated by those unforgiving black heels that screamed danger. My throat tightened with the realization: she was wearing fuck-me heels.

Fuck me indeed…

I shook my head, forcing myself to look away, as if her mere presence was some twisted magnet pulling me closer. I made my way to the bar at the back, seeking refuge against the wall while I nursed a drink, pretending to be absorbed in the chaos around me. But it didn’t take long before my eyes betrayed me, drawn back to her like a moth to a flame. She was laughing with a group of kids—probably this year’s recruits—her smile radiant and infectious.

Then, like a bad omen, Jungkook sauntered in, drink in hand, striding over to her with that cocky grin of his.

“Yoongi’s here! Let the party begin!” Serena’s voice cut through my thoughts, grating like nails on a chalkboard. I grimaced.

“What took you so long? Had trouble matching that sweater?” Hoseok appeared behind her, donning a tie that screamed ‘pretentious.’

I shot Serena a look, raising an eyebrow, and she responded with a smirk, clearly reveling in my discomfort.

“Yeah… not all of us have the privilege of being dressed by our girlfriends,” I muttered, bitterness creeping into my tone.

“Come on… I kid, I kid,” Hoseok laughed, draping an arm over my shoulder.

“I’ll leave you two to your bromance,” Serena rolled her eyes, tossing her hair back. “I better go suck up to my P.I.”

“How are you?” Hoseok’s tone shifted, sensing the dark cloud hanging over me.

“I’m peachy,” I replied, sarcasm dripping from my voice.

“I see…” He glanced in Y/N’s direction. “Oh… I see.”

“Yeah, well, Jungkook’s trying to get her drunk,” I hissed through clenched teeth, watching as he leaned in closer.

“Right. Jeon’s all over your zygote’s business,” he replied, a knowing smirk on his lips.

I groaned into my beer, bitterness churning in my stomach.

“C’mon! More drinking, less brooding!” He smacked my back playfully, but it only deepened the pit of resentment growing inside me.

An hour later, I was still a wallflower, slouched against my corner, shamelessly staring at Y/N as she flitted around the room. Jungkook kept swooping in like a hawk, but she brushed him off, her laughter echoing like a melody in the air. That was a relief, at least. Yet, reality settled in like a thick fog: she hadn’t even noticed me yet.

Then, our eyes locked. Time seemed to freeze, and I swear I involuntarily smiled. She walked toward me, a small grin dancing on her lips, and I was struck by how her hair flowed over her shoulders, the softness of it almost intoxicating. “Is that a new sweater?” she asked, her voice sweet and melodic.

“Are you making fun of me?” I shot back lightly.

“No…” she chuckled, her eyes sparkling. “You look good.”

“You look good too,” I replied, the words feeling flat against the brilliance of her presence. Well, that was an understatement—she looked stunning.

“You shouldn’t be drinking,” I said, gesturing to the beer in her hand, feeling an unexpected rush of protectiveness.

“Why not?” She brought the bottle to her mouth, her lips wrapping around it like an invitation.

Focus, Min!

“Are you twenty-one yet?” I blurted out, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Are you the party police?”

“Very funny,” I deadpanned, annoyance creeping in as I waited for her answer.

“If you must know, I am twenty-one already, thank you very much.”

“You are?” I was genuinely surprised. She didn’t seem old enough to be a senior, not with that wide-eyed enthusiasm.

“Yep, I missed a year in junior high. No biggie.” She shrugged, casual as ever.

“Oh…” The admission surprised me, stirring questions in my mind. What could have caused someone as smart and driven as her to miss a year?

My distraction drifted away as my gaze returned to her shoulders, delicate freckles dusting her skin, catching the fading light.

“Oh! I haven’t met that one!” Y/N quipped, spotting another recruit. “Be right back.”

I was entranced, eyes glued to her as she walked away, her hips swaying like a pendulum, counting down the moments until she returned. I was royally screwed. Somewhere along the way, I’d transformed from oblivious to hyper-aware, every single action of hers magnified under the microscope of my attention. How could I go back to not seeing her when each new thing I noticed sent heat flooding through me?

Y/N returned, all smiles, clutching another beer bottle that she’d snatched from Jungkook. “Why are you so angry?” she asked, leaning against the wall next to me.

“Y/N, I’m not angry. I’m having fun.” I tried to sound calm, but my voice cracked like thin ice.

“This is you having fun?” she countered, gesturing to my slumped posture with her beer.

“Yes,” I insisted, though my gaze lingered on the constellation of freckles scattered across her nose.

“Standing in the corner, looking at everyone like you’re a bodyguard, or an undercover cop—that’s you having fun?”

“Yes.” I shrugged, clinging to some semblance of composure.

“You’re angry.” She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in playful challenge.

“I’m not angry!” But deep down, the heat was rising inside me.

She laughed, the sound bubbling up like a mountain spring. “You’re frowning.”

“Because you’re driving me insane!” I inhaled deeply, trying to relax, but she was intoxicating.

“Why?” She stepped closer, her presence an electric charge in the air.

“Because you’re too happy.” And adorable…

“What’s wrong with being happy?” she retorted, her hand perched on her hip, radiating defiance.

My eyes drifted back to her, tracing the curve of her hip accentuated by those devilish pants. I closed my eyes, taking another deep breath to steady myself. “It’s extremely annoying.”

“Well, I’m sorry.” Her smile morphed into a giggle, and I groaned, feeling the weight of my frustration. “Do I really annoy you so much?”

She peered at me, eyebrows knitting together, a small frown blossoming on her face. I resisted the urge to look at her lips, afraid that if I did, I might just pull her in and kiss her right there.

“Yes,” I groaned, hoping my eyes conveyed that my answer was really “no.”

She held my gaze, and it felt like we were suspended in time, the world around us fading into insignificance. My fingers tightened around the neck of my beer bottle, anxiety coiling in my stomach. With a sigh, she shook her head and walked away again, leaving me alone with my turbulent thoughts.

Honestly, Y/N’s unyielding happiness, her enthusiasm, and all that radiance—it wasn’t annoying at all. It was refreshing, endearing, and it inspired me in ways I hadn’t felt in years. I couldn’t help but remember the excitement I once felt about starting this journey, how my heart raced at the thought of diving into research. What had changed? What did success even mean if there was no one to share it with?

So yes, Y/N’s happiness was far from annoying.

What was truly infuriating was that she made it impossible for me to keep my hands to myself.

“Jungkook offered to walk me home,” Y/N said, her voice slicing through the murmur of the crowd like a knife. I kept my gaze fixed on the throng, avoiding her bright eyes, filled with something I couldn’t quite decipher. “But I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

When I finally turned to look at her, a smile tugged at her lips, a spark of mischief lighting her features. “I think you might be right about him—he is kind of a tool.”

A snort escaped me, the tension in my chest easing just a fraction. “Plus I don’t trust him.”

“I don’t trust him either, Y/N,” I admitted, feeling the weight of my own words. It was the only reason I was here, shadowing her like a ghost.

“Can I lie and tell him you’re walking me home instead?”

Her gaze catches mine, and I’m momentarily swept away in the depths of her beautiful eyes, glowing softly under the dim lights, as if they’re hiding secrets just waiting to be uncovered. 

“You don’t have to lie, Y/N. I’ll walk you home myself,” I say, my voice dripping with sincerity I didn’t know I had. She looks down, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, an unintentional cue for me to look away.

When she finally says she’s ready to leave, we exchange goodbyes, and she pauses at the door, rummaging through her bag. I can’t help but smile when she pulls out a pair of black Chucks. As she grips my arm to slide off her high heels, I catch a flicker of discomfort flash across her face.

“Are you okay?” I ask, concern bubbling up.

“Yeah, my feet are killing me,” she replies, a hint of laughter in her voice.

“I could go get my car.”

“Nonsense. It’s just ten minutes away,” she insists, slipping her shoes back on, and we begin our trek.

As we walk toward her building, she animatedly recounts stories about prospective students, her voice weaving a vibrant tapestry that pulls us closer together. It’s no wonder she’s so well-liked; anyone would be a fool not to adore her. 

“Can you hold these?” she asks, passing me her heels as we reach her building. A twinge of envy strikes me at the sight of those dainty straps that had just hugged her ankles.

She digs through her purse, clearly on a mission. 

“Shit…” Frustration laces her voice. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have my keys… I must have left them inside, in my other bag.”

“Oh…” I glance at the time. It’s past two in the morning. 

Should I offer her a place to stay? That’s what any decent person would do, right? But what if… what if I couldn’t keep my hands to myself?

“I’m so stupid!” she exclaims, smacking her forehead with the heel of her hand.

“Hey, relax… um… I have a bed. I mean, a couch.” 

She looks up at me, skepticism dancing across her features.

“Really, it’s no problem.” I shrug, trying to keep my tone casual, as if it’s just a simple offer rather than an opportunity for something more.

Her expression remains doubtful.

“That’s what graduate student mentors are for, right?”

A small grin appears on her lips, and I can’t help but smile back. If all else fails, maybe I could find a way to make her smile like that—nothing would make me happier.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah… it’s not like it’d be awkward or anything,” I tease, and her laughter lifts the tension in the air.

It takes us about twenty minutes to reach my apartment. Y/N talks a mile a minute, and I barely manage to squeeze a word in, but I don’t mind; her voice wraps around me like a warm blanket on a chilly night.

As we climb the steps of my building, I notice her wince again, gripping the railing for support.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Worry creeps in; she looks genuinely pained.

She takes a deep breath, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Y/N, please, just tell me what’s wrong.” I reach for her hand, desperate to ease whatever discomfort she’s feeling.

“Can we just go inside?” She clutches my hand tighter. “I’ll tell you, I promise.”

I help her inside and guide her to the couch. She collapses onto it with a shaky breath, extending her legs and rubbing her thighs—a gesture that sends a pang of concern through me.

“It’s not a big deal,” she begins, trying to sound lighthearted. “Sometimes I get pain in my legs from an old injury.”

“Oh… can I get you something for it?”

“Just water is fine.” She digs through her bag and pulls out a bottle of ibuprofen, shaking it at me with a smile.

As I rush to the kitchen, unease coils in my stomach. She had been walking the whole time, and I hadn’t even noticed she was in pain. I pour two glasses of water, my hands trembling slightly as I hand one to her and settle down beside her.

“You should’ve told me you were hurting, Y/N. I would have gotten the car.”

“I’m all right.” She gives me a soft smile, glancing around my sparsely decorated apartment. “Your place is nice.”

Nice? It’s barren—like a forgotten room in an old house where laughter used to echo. I turn the glass of water in my hands, my mind racing. “Y/N, can I ask you something?”

She meets my gaze as I take a sip. “If you’re wondering if I’m a virgin, the answer is no.”

I choke on the water, caught off guard by her sudden candor. “Jesus Christ, woman, how drunk are you?”

“I’m not drunk at all. I’m just messing with you. What were you going to ask?”

I look at her, heat rising in my cheeks as the tension coils between us. “I was just curious about how you got injured,” I admit, my thoughts drifting to the whirlwind of emotions churning inside me.

“Oh, well… My mom and I were in a car accident. I broke my hip and both my legs.” She says it so casually, as if she’s recounting a minor scrape.

“What?”

“Yeah… it was okay, though. After rehab, I was as good as new!” She beams, her enthusiasm a stark contrast to the weight of her words.

“How long was rehab?”

“Long enough.” 

I remember something she mentioned earlier. “Long enough to make you miss a year in school?”

She responds with a grin and a nonchalant shrug. “Shit, Y/N. That sucks. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s all right. I’m actually glad it happened.” Her gaze drifts down to her legs, fingers tracing an invisible path over her thighs. “It brought my parents back together, just as they were meant to be.”

Her eyes return to mine, and the intensity of her words fills the air. “My parents got divorced when I was little, and my mom and I moved to Florida. But after the accident, my dad came to help, and they just… clicked, I guess. They’ve been together ever since.” She smiles proudly, and I sit there, stunned.

A strand of hair falls across her face, and I can’t resist the urge to tuck it behind her ear—an excuse to bridge the distance between us. With every detail she shares, I feel myself drawn closer, tangled in her life, as if I’m getting lost in her depths.

“Okay…” I set my glass down on the coffee table, the clink echoing like a heartbeat in the stillness. “I think you deserve the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“Why?”

“Because I just made you walk—”

“It’s not your fault. I locked myself out.”

“Y/N, please…”

“Okay, okay… don’t get all grumpy on me.” She stands, and I hover over her, uncertain how to help, torn between the urge to support her and the instinct to maintain some distance.

“Hey, stop it.” She steadies herself with a hand on my arm. “I’m fine. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

I lead her to my bedroom, showing her where the bathroom is. I offer her some of my clothes to change into, but she declines, insisting it wouldn’t be the first time she slept in jeans.

She sits on the bed, and just as I’m about to leave, she calls out, “Yoongi?”

I turn, and she gestures for me to sit beside her, lying back on the comforter, vulnerability etched into her features.

I swallow hard as I lower myself next to her, the proximity amplifying the tension crackling in the air.

“I’m glad you don’t hate me anymore.”

I stare awkwardly at her, afraid to move and wake her up. Leaning back against the headboard, I let the silence linger, my mind racing with all the things I want to say. I want to know her—really know her—not just as the emotionally unavailable guy I’ve been until now.

Hoseok was right—I've got it bad for Y/N Y/L/N.

I think I preferred it when Y/N was just a blurry thought in my mind, hidden behind a blindfold I’d created to shield my heart. Back then, I didn’t have to wrestle with the urge to kiss her or feel the tempting softness of her hair against my fingers. But now, the blindfold has slipped away, and so has my common sense. Here I am, a hopeless observer, lurking in the shadows as she sleeps, feeling like a total creep.

Her face is peaceful, like a canvas painted with serenity, only occasionally disturbed by the flutter of her lashes. Her lips form a perfect little "o," and the way her bangs fall delicately over her forehead sends my heart racing. I long to reach out, to push them aside, to bury my hands in her hair like I did before. Slowly, I lift my hand, inching it closer to her face, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

“Jack!” Y/N suddenly cries out, her voice slicing through the silence like glass. My heart jumps. “There’s a boat, Jack!” The frown that creases her brow twists her serene expression into something frantic, as if she’s caught in a storm of dreams.

What is happening? Is she having a nightmare? Who’s Jack? 

Just as quickly, her face smooths over again, tranquility restored as if the storm has passed, leaving only a gentle breeze behind.

Isn’t it just my luck? Y/N talks in her sleep, and apparently, she’s got a soft spot for someone named Jack—maybe a sailor too. 

I could rent a boat. We could go sailing if she wanted. Maybe I could learn to sail. If Jack can do it, how hard could it be? Does she even like sailing? I’ll ask her tomorrow.

What am I even thinking? No, I’m not going to ask her tomorrow, because we aren’t going sailing. She can go with Jack for all I care.

I groan, burying my face in my hands, frustration and disbelief washing over me. I’ve seriously lost it. This is ridiculous.

“Fucking Jess ate my Chobani again,” Y/N mutters, jolting me from my thoughts. Jess? Who the hell is that? And what even is a Chobani?

I should go. I shouldn’t be here, lurking in the shadows, eavesdropping on this craziness.

“Jonah Rodgers thinks I’m sexy…” 

For the love of God! Is she trying to drive me mad?

Jonah Rodgers? The name sounds familiar. Do I know him? Is he that jerk who used to stalk her? 

The stalker. Damn it. If I were still T.A.-ing, I’d fail him for disrespecting Y/N in this way.

I can’t take this anymore. If she mentions another guy, I swear I’m going to lose it. I sit at the edge of the bed, ready to leave, but before I can move, Y/N speaks again.

“Does Yoongi think I’m sexy?” 

I do, I do, I do…

“Hmm… my Grumpy.” 

Her soft moan sends a jolt of electricity coursing through me, and I’m utterly unprepared—shredded, breathless, completely undone. 

Does she mean me? She called me Grumpy once, right? Said I was the only Grumpy she knew. Am I her Grumpy?

Shit, shit, shit!

I slump back against the headboard, the realization both thrilling and terrifying. 

Is Y/N dreaming about me? Is it wrong that this feels so right? That my heart is swelling with excitement at the thought of being part of her dreams?

I turn to look at her again. She’s frowning now, exaggerated and cute, her lips pouting in a way that tugs at my heart.

“Do not touch my samples, Becca!” Her voice is low and raspy. “Don’t be so happy, Becca!” And then she smiles, as if a hidden joke just crossed her mind. “Run, Becca! Run!” 

Oh, she’s definitely dreaming about me, just not in the way I had hoped.

She’s making fun of me—in her dreams.

Wonderful.

I groan, letting my head thud back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling as disappointment settles over me like a heavy shroud. I shouldn’t be wishing for Y/N to dream about me; it would only complicate things. We can’t be together; this will never work.

In a year, I’ll graduate, and then it’ll be New York City, and Estelle all over again. Estelle and I had been together for four years when we graduated from Cornell. She wanted me to get a “real” job, to move with her to New York. She wanted me to abandon the chance for grad school at UW, to work at one of the top cancer research centers in the country. She made me choose, and I chose research.

And you know what? I have no regrets. Even though she didn’t know everything about my parents, she knew it mattered to me—she shouldn’t have made me choose. So when she said, “If you leave, we’re done,” I left. I figured I was better off alone, or as she put it, “end up alone and rot in lab hell.” It didn’t seem like such a sacrifice then—my relationship with Estelle was mediocre at best.

So, I dove headfirst into grad school and landed in one of the best labs in the program. I didn’t let any woman get in my way. I was focused, determined—until I woke up four years later, an angry, bitter shell of a man, nursing my bruised pride.

What a wake-up call that was! Suddenly, I started noticing everything—the things I fought so hard to ignore. I had worn blinders for so long, and I missed so much.

Honestly, I never expected to feel so unfulfilled.

Isn’t this what I wanted when I chose to leave Estelle? What am I missing? Why am I not enjoying my work anymore?

I glance at Y/N again. Her expression is peaceful once more, an angelic mask that makes me ache with longing. I can see myself falling for her easily—if I’m lucky, she might fall for me too. But then what? 

Then I’ll have to choose: my work, my life, what I owe to my parents, over her. She’ll make me choose, and I’ll choose science—cancer research—and it will shatter us both. This time, it would be the greatest sacrifice I’d ever have to make. And honestly, I’m not even sure I’d be strong enough to make that decision. If Y/N were to love me back, how could I hurt her like that?

I sigh, dragging a hand down my face, the weight of my thoughts pressing heavily on my chest.

Y/N is smiling now, giggling softly, her laughter a haunting melody in the quiet room. How someone can giggle in her sleep is beyond me. After a while, she calms, her breathing slowing even more. With a sigh, I close my eyes and wait, holding my breath for what she might say next.

I wake with a start, my neck and back screaming in protest from the unforgiving embrace of the headboard. I must’ve slept in the same awkward position all night, unmoving. Stretching my arms, I blink against the morning light, squinting at my watch. Seven o’clock. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut—Y/N is gone.

Rubbing my sore neck, I drag myself out of bed and around the apartment, searching for any sign of her. Her bag and heels are missing. An uneasy feeling churns in my stomach as I plod back to the bed, my mind racing with questions about where she could have gone so early. That’s when I notice the slip of paper on the nightstand.

Morning, Grumpy!   I had to leave to get my keys from the landlord.   Thanks for letting me crash last night.   Sorry for your sore neck.   Y/N. :)

I face-plant onto the bed with a groan, trying to drown out the hollow emptiness she left behind. Her scent lingers on the pillows, sweet and intoxicating, wrapping around me like a vise. I inhale deeply, the fragrance filling my lungs, but instead of comfort, it brings a gnawing ache. Grumpy... I’m her Grumpy. The thought claws at me, relentless and unyielding.

Monday drags in like a slow, inevitable doom. I sit silently in the lunchroom with Hoseok, who prattles on about the success of the recruitment party. His voice is background noise, barely penetrating my thoughts. Thankfully, he hasn’t asked about Y/N yet.

“So, is Yoonji coming this weekend?” he asks, mid-chew of his sandwich.

“Yes. Friday,” I mutter, my mind elsewhere.

“Awesome! Oh man…” He swallows, excitement clear in his voice. “I can’t wait for next week! Spring Break: no undergrads, the gyms and bars all to ourselves!”

“Is it Spring Break next week?” My voice cracks, surprise jolting me back to reality. I had completely forgotten.

“Yeah!”

Great. My stomach twists with dread. Is Y/N leaving for Spring Break? She probably is, isn’t she? The uneasy feeling intensifies, so I shove a forkful of macaroni into my mouth, trying to silence it.

“What’s up your ass?” Hoseok asks suddenly, narrowing his eyes at me.

I shake my head, dismissing him

. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Seriously?” His disbelief is palpable. “You look like you just downed a bottle of aspirin. Come on, tell me what’s wrong.” 

His eyes are kind, but they only intensify the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. 

I stare down at my plate, willing the irritation to simmer down. He’s my best friend—he deserves to know. But how can I explain this mess? The whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me? 

“Y/N…” I finally murmur, the name tasting foreign on my tongue. 

“Y/N? The girl you were with at the party? What about her?”

“Uh…she crashed here last night. She left this morning to get her keys from the landlord.” I avoid his gaze, my cheeks warming at the admission.

“Dude, that’s awesome!” he grins, elbowing me lightly. “So, you guys are getting serious?”

I scoff, shaking my head. “I don’t know about that.”

Hoseok’s smile falters. “What do you mean? You like her, right?”

“Of course I do!” The admission bursts out before I can stop myself, surprising both of us. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the tide of emotions swelling within me. “But it can’t go anywhere. She’s leaving, Hoseok. She’s probably going to some fancy college or… some fancy job.”

“So? You guys can make it work! Do you want to make it work?”

“I don’t know! I don’t want to hurt her. I can’t…” I trail off, frustration bubbling back to the surface. “I can’t let myself get caught up in this. I’ve worked too hard for my future to throw it all away for her.”

“Wait, what? Throw it all away? You really think you can’t have both? That you can’t just have fun while also focusing on your studies?”

I’m silent, my insides twisting again, a potent mix of anger and sadness at the thought of losing Y/N. “It’s not that simple,” I finally reply.

“Why not? You just told me she crashed here last night! You can’t pretend this doesn’t matter! You can’t keep running from it forever, Yoongi!” His voice rises, frustration spilling over.

“Why are you getting so worked up over this?” I snap, staring at him with incredulity.

“Because I’m sick of seeing you sulk, man!” His hands fly up in exasperation. “You can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t matter! Just tell her how you feel, for fuck’s sake!”

I shake my head, the weight of his words crashing down around me, the walls closing in. I feel suffocated, cornered. “What if she’s not interested? What if I scare her away?”

“Then at least you’ll know! At least you’ll have closure, and you can move on!” 

His voice rings in my ears, echoing through the tangled web of my thoughts. I look down, realizing he’s right. 

I take a deep breath, steadiness creeping back in. “You’re right.” I want to scream. “You’re so right.” But the truth sits heavy on my chest. 

But what if I’m not strong enough to risk everything again? What if I lose her before I ever get to really have her? 

When I get back to the lab, my phone beeps with a new email.

From: Y/N Y/L/N, ynyln(at)u(.)washington(.)edu   Sent: Monday, March 21, 2024, 1:18 PM   To: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu

Hey Yoongi,

Is it okay if I miss lab on Tuesday and Wednesday? I have midterms this week before Spring Break, but I promise I’ll make up for the lost time afterward.

Y/N

She’s leaving.

The thought crashes over me like a tidal wave, pulling me under, swirling with anxiety and dread. She won’t even be here this week. The uncertainty gnaws at my insides, promising nothing but torture ahead.

From: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu   Sent: Monday, March 21, 2024, 1:20 PM   To: Y/N Y/L/N, ynyln(at)u(.)washington(.)edu

Fine.

Yoongi Min   PhD Candidate   Kim Lab   Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center   1100 Fairview Avenue North   Seattle, WA 98109-1024

It’s official: I fucking hate Spring Break.

As soon as I get home, desperation drives me to call Yoonji. I tell myself it’s to find out when Y/N will be back, but really, I need to spill everything—the kiss, the night Y/N slept in my bed, the haunting thought of her heading to Cabo for Spring Break.

“Yoongi, I just don’t understand,” Yoonji says, her voice cutting through the fog in my mind. I’m sprawled on the couch, head tilted back, an arm draped over my eyes like a shield against reality.

“To be honest, I think what you’re doing is stupid,” she continues, her frustration palpable. “You’re miserable. I can feel it. Why won’t you give yourself a chance to—”

“To what, Yoonji? You remember what happened with Estelle.”

“Please, Estelle was an unsupportive bitch.”

“I don’t even know Y/N that well!” I blurt out, my voice sharper than I intended. The fear of history repeating itself looms over me like a dark cloud.

“Y/N won’t make you choose, Yoongi.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You said she’s incredibly determined, that she loves research even more than you used to. That doesn’t sound like someone who would oppose you continuing on this path.”

“I don’t know, Yoonji.” I sigh, running my hands over my face, feeling the weight of her words settle heavily on my shoulders.

“Give yourself the opportunity to get to know her. Don’t deny yourself the chance to be with her just because you’re afraid to feel something.”

“I’m not afraid of feeling anything,” I snap, though the truth is, I’m drowning in emotions already. “But I’ll be done with the program in a year.”

“So what? A lot can happen in a year. You know that better than anyone.”

I groan, conceding. She’s right. She’s always right.

“You’re hurting. You care about her, Yoongi. Why do you have to be so blind?” Yoonji’s frustration seeps through the phone, and I can almost picture her pacing, running a hand through her hair.

“What do you suggest I do? Ask her out?” I retort, the idea weighing heavily on my mind. “She’s my undergrad! I don’t even know if she’s interested in me.”

“Didn’t you say she kissed you back?”

“Yes. But she also said she didn’t want to jeopardize her experience in the lab.”

“That means she’s smart. You shouldn’t let your feelings affect your work, especially if she’s under you. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a relationship outside of lab.”

The thought of being with Y/N outside those sterile walls sends my heart racing. I lean back against the couch, releasing a shaky breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Have you talked about it again? Have you told her how you feel?” Yoonji presses, her voice softening.

“No. I decided to pretend it never happened.”

“Geez, Yoongi. For such a smart guy, you can be so dense.” Her exasperated sigh echoes in my ears, and I remain silent, letting her words sink in. “You need to talk to her, tell her what’s going on. See what she wants. Tell her what you want.”

Staring at the ceiling, I weigh the possibility of confessing my feelings to Y/N. The prospect terrifies me, yet the urge to be honest gnaws at my insides.

“Yoongi, do you know what you want?” she asks gently.

“Yes. I want to go to sleep.” 

Her frustrated sigh tells me she senses I’m closing off again.

“Do you want to be with her?” she probes softly.

“I’ve never wanted anyone more.”

The truth spills out, raw and unfiltered. Her squeal of excitement on the other end makes me rub my hands on my thighs, trying to contain my nerves.

“Then do yourself a favor and talk to her. I’d bet good money she’s already crazy about you.” Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I find myself considering it more seriously.

We end the call, but sleep eludes me. Images of Y/N in a bikini invade my mind, and there’s no chance of me sleeping tonight.

When I step back into the lab on Thursday after lunch, I’m completely unprepared for the sight of Y/N. She’s there, smiling, and it catches me off guard, my heart racing like it’s just run a marathon. I thought she’d be gone by now, off to live her Spring Break fantasies. My mind has been a battlefield all week, flooded with images of her carefree adventures. Googling “Spring Break activities” had been a catastrophic mistake.

She’s not in her usual lab coat today; instead, she’s wearing a fitted sweater that hugs her figure just right, the V-neck revealing a tantalizing hint of her collarbones. The dark fabric contrasts beautifully with her pale skin, and my imagination betrays me, picturing that skin in a bikini. All I can see is red.

Thankfully, Jimin is nowhere in sight.

“I thought you had better things to do this week,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended as I walk past her, heading toward my desk.

“What do you mean?” Her smile vanishes, replaced by confusion.

“I didn’t know you were coming today. I don’t have time for this.” I wave my hand dismissively, trying to suppress the storm brewing inside me.

“For what? I—I don’t understand.”

These lies spill from my mouth uncontrollably. “Honestly, Y/N, sometimes I think you’re just here for the credits. This isn’t how science works. You need to be consistent.” My voice rises, and I see her flinch.

“Why are you yelling at me? Is this because I missed two days? I’m sorry, Yoongi. I had to study. I promise I’ll make up for it.”

I rub my forehead, frustration clawing at my insides. I know this isn’t her fault, but the anger bubbles over. “Have fun on Spring Break,” I grit out as I storm past her, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Yoongi?” she calls after me, but I keep walking, desperate for fresh air. The cool spring breeze feels like a lifeline, and I gulp it in, trying to calm the chaos inside me. I can’t keep doing this. This is madness.

I don’t get far before I hear Y/N’s voice again, breathless and firm. “Yoongi, what’s the matter with you?” I hadn’t realized she’d followed me. I turn around, and there she is—confused, hurt, and heartbreakingly beautiful.

There’s no point in pretending anymore. I can’t keep up the facade. “I don’t think you really want to know, Y/N.” I run a hand down my face, trying to keep my composure.

She crosses her arms, waiting, an expectant look in her eyes.

“I fucking hate Spring Break, okay? I hate the thought of you parading around with some frat losers, being young, drunk, and reckless. I hate it. I hate all of it.”

Her expression shifts from confusion to understanding, and she relaxes, placing her hands on her hips. A corner of her mouth quirks up. “What are you talking about?”

Is she seriously smirking?

“I’m talking about you going to Cabo San Lucas for Spring Break.”

“Who said I was going to Cabo?” Now she’s fully smiling.

“I don’t know, I just assumed… aren’t you all?” I mumble, embarrassed.

“You have some serious misconceptions about undergrads, Yoongi. We’re not all the same. And that’s not me at all.”

“So you’re not going away for Spring Break?” I ask, still staring at my feet, not wanting to look her in the eye.

“No, I’m not. I was actually looking forward to spending more time in the lab, making up for this week.”

Relief floods through me, but it’s tangled with a crushing sense of shame. “You’re not going away? You’re staying here?” My voice is barely a whisper.

“Yes. That’s what I said.”

I stagger back, feeling like an idiot. I can’t believe I snapped at her like that. As my anger fades, embarrassment rushes in, making my knees feel weak. I might seriously pass out.

“Yoongi? Are you all right?”

I let out a humorless laugh. No, I’m not all right. This is too much.

She steps closer, and I know I won’t be able to resist kissing her if she comes any nearer. I lift my hand in warning and take another step back.

“Yoongi?” Ignoring my gesture, she moves closer and stands right in front of me.

I close my eyes, the truth spilling out uncontrollably. “All I could think about was some punk with his shirt off, a baseball cap on backward, shoving beer down your throat... and it made me want to murder someone.” My hand clutches my chest, heart racing.

She giggles—at my agony? My eyes snap open, and her smile fades under my intense stare. “These past few days have been torture,” I continue. “I can’t get you out of my mind. All I can think about is you—your lips on mine, your legs around my waist. You drive me insane, Y/N. I can’t think straight.”

Y/N’s eyes shine with emotion, and she closes the distance between us, resting her head against my chest. My hand instinctively finds its way to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. She pulls away slightly, and I lift her chin with two fingers, forcing her to meet my gaze. Her eyes glisten, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, cheeks flushed a delicate pink.

When our lips touch, the electric current between us is undeniable. I close my eyes, exhaling through my nose, and cup her face, my thumb brushing her ear, fingers caressing her neck. Y/N grips my shirt, pulling herself closer. When my tongue slips into her mouth, a moan escapes me at the sweetness of her taste.

I can’t stay away from her anymore. I’m not strong enough.

Y/N wraps a hand around my neck, pulling me even closer. My hand travels down her back, wrapping tightly around her waist. I know she can feel my arousal pressing against her, but I don’t care. When she whimpers against my mouth, I know she feels the same.

Is it possible she’s been yearning for this as much as I have? 

Tell her what you want, Min.

“Y/N, wait.” I gently push her back, keeping one hand on her face. She stumbles slightly, holding onto my arm, looking dazed. “I don’t want this to be another kiss you regret. I don’t want you to be swept away by the moment. I want… I want more.”

She gapes at me, panting.

“I’m sorry I’m being so blunt, but I can’t hide this anymore.” I drop my hands to my sides and step back.

“What are you trying to say, Yoongi?” Her confusion is evident.

“What I’m trying to say is that I want to see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? I-I think I can come in the afternoon between classes.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N! Would you listen to me? I don’t need you to come to the lab. I want to see you outside of the lab.”

I pinch my nose, trying to calm down, afraid my intensity will scare her away.

“Oh…”

“My cousin is coming to visit. We’re all going out for drinks. Do you want to come with me?”

She looks at me, and then she nods. “Okay.”

Okay… she said yes. Oh my god, she said yes.

I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry I snapped at you like that.”

“I know,” she replies, giving me a small grin that weakens my knees. My hand reaches for her face again, addicted to the softness of her skin as I brush her hair behind her ear and stroke her cheek. She stares into my eyes, cheeks burning, and I’m debating whether to kiss her again when I see Jin’s car pull into the parking lot, and I drop my hand immediately.

Shit…

Y/N glances back and sees Jin getting out of his car.

“I should go study, then…” She looks back at me, and I nod, feeling a mix of regret and anticipation. “I’ll catch you later. Call me about tomorrow.” She brushes a timid finger down my arm before turning to leave.

I stay outside for a few more minutes, gathering my thoughts and waiting for my heart to calm down. 

I did it. I asked Y/N out... sort of.

Now what?

Yoonji had turned into a shadow in my apartment, trailing me as I prepared for what felt like the most important night of my life. “Have you been using that stubble trimmer I got you?” she asked, her fingers grazing my jaw as if she were assessing a work of art. 

I nodded, feeling uneasy under her watchful gaze. Deep down, I was already regretting the group date we had planned. The thought of going out with Y/N sent my heart racing; adding my cousin and a few friends into the mix felt like a cosmic joke, and I was definitely the punchline. 

As I rifled through my chaotic closet, I tried to tune her out, running my fingers through my damp hair in a futile attempt to calm my nerves. 

“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” Leave it to Yoonji to treat every moment like a Broadway performance. I shot her a glare, barely suppressing my frustration as I swept past her in search of my jacket. 

“You’re wearing a polo shirt?” she challenged, disbelief lacing her tone. 

“What’s wrong with a polo shirt?” I snapped, slapping my hands against my thighs in exasperation. The anxiety gnawed at me, and her judgment only fueled the fire. 

Yoonji stepped closer, her expression softening. “Yoongi, my oblivious cousin, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that polo shirt. As long as it doesn’t have holes in it.” 

Relief washed over me like a tide, momentarily pushing my worries aside. I had never cared much for her opinion on my wardrobe; that had never mattered before. But tonight? It wasn’t Yoonji’s approval I craved—it was Y/N’s. I wanted to be more than the cynical grad student she saw in class.

“You look great,” Yoonji said, her smile coaxing a small, reluctant grin from me in return. “If just thinking about her has you acting like this nervous mess, I already know I’m going to love her.”

Yoonji had made it clear she’d ride with Hoseok and Serena so I could pick up Y/N alone. Now, I found myself parked outside her building, panic clawing at my insides. My palms felt clammy as I smoothed them over my thighs, my heart thumping violently against my ribs, and my mouth was desert-dry. It had been ages since I’d done anything like this. Estelle and I had never ventured out much together; I had buried myself in my studies while she lived her own life, leaving me utterly out of practice.

Despite the storm of anxiety raging within me, excitement bubbled up as I thought of Yoonji, Hoseok, and even Serena meeting Y/N. They needed to see how extraordinary she was—smart, caring, and hilariously funny. What thrilled me most was the prospect of spending time with Y/N outside the sterile confines of our lab, engaging with her as something more than just colleagues.

I banged my head against the steering wheel a few times, trying to settle my frayed nerves. My heart leaped when a knock on the window broke through my spiraling thoughts. There she was—Y/N, standing outside with that bright smile and a wave. I quickly unlocked the door, feeling like an utter fool. 

“Hey…” she said as she slid into the car. 

“I’m sorry. I was going to get you. Just… got distracted,” I admitted, feeling like an idiot for letting her down.

“It’s okay.” She shrugged. “Better this way anyway. I didn’t want Jess to see us.”

“Jess?” The name floated through my mind, familiar yet vague—wasn’t she the one from Y/N’s sleep ramblings? The one with the boat?

“Jessica, my roommate,” she explained. “She was in your class last year, and she knows I’m working in your lab… so I don’t want any rumors spreading, you know?”

“My class?” I felt disbelief surge within me. How could this be?

“Intro to Micro. Last Fall. You were our T.A.,” she said matter-of-factly.

“What?” 

“We were both in your class,” she added, unfazed by my shock.

“I was your T.A. last year?”

“Yes.” 

“Are you sure it was me?” I grasped at straws. How could I have overlooked her?

She turned toward me, eyebrow raised in that cute way she had. “Oh, I’m sure.” 

“I’m so sorry,” I blurted out. How could I have forgotten her? 

“It’s okay. You keep to yourself. I get it.” 

“Do we know each other from anywhere else?” My worry twisted into a knot. Had I brushed past her countless times, completely blind to her presence? 

So much time wasted. How incredibly foolish of me.

“Just that class in the fall. Unless you count all the times I waved at you at the gym or smiled at you every Saturday as you passed by my table at the library after getting your coffee.” 

She had been right there all along, and I had missed her completely.

“Shit, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I’ve been such an idiot!” I pounded the heel of my hand against my forehead a few times, embarrassment crashing over me.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Y/N reached for my hand, gently pulling it away from my face.

“No, it’s not. I was completely blind… and I feel like I’ve wasted so much time.” 

“Well, I’m here now…” She smiled, releasing my hand.

“You are.” 

“And you can see me now, right?” 

“You’re all I see now…” The truth swelled in my chest, echoing through me. Y/N was all that mattered, the only one who could unravel this tangled mess of a heart I had. 

“You see?” she said, clasping her hands over her lap. “When you say stuff like that, it makes it really hard to believe you can be such a grump.” She smiled, a shy yet bold thing, and my instinct was to lean in and kiss her, but I tamped down my urge for the sake of the group date.

“Well, no need to worry. I’m still very much a grump.” I offered a wry smile, taking a deep breath. “Shall we do this?” 

Y/N nodded, and I started the car. 

I didn’t mind being a grump, as long as I could be her grump.

When we pulled up to the bar, I rushed to open Y/N's door, but of course, she was already climbing out by the time I reached her side. My gaze landed on the exposed skin of her collarbones, the freckles scattered across her chest—how had I missed them in the car?

Her white top hung loosely on her frame, the neckline dipping low enough to reveal just a hint too much. Luckily, she wore something underneath, but the sheer fabric let me catch glimpses of her silhouette. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who noticed—some guy outside was staring at her like she was the last meal on earth. My hand found her lower back as I guided her inside, urgency propelling me forward.

Hoseok, Yoonji, and Serena were already at a table, and when Yoonji spotted us, her face lit up like it was Christmas morning. I half-expected her to pull out a camera.

“Y/N, this is my cousin, Yoonji. Yoonji, this is Y/N.” Before I could finish my introduction, Yoonji sprang to her feet.

“Y/N!” she exclaimed, pulling Y/N into an enthusiastic embrace. Her eyes sparkled with joy as she cast me a cheeky grin. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

“Yoonji, calm down,” I thought, but I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement. 

“Nice to meet you too, Yoonji,” Y/N replied, her sweetness radiating like a warm glow.

“And you’ve already met Hoseok and Serena.” I gestured to the other two goofballs, who were now staring at Y/N like she was some kind of celestial being.

“Hi, Y/N! How’s life in the undergraduate world?” Hoseok teased as I pulled out a chair for her.

“Lotta drinking, lotta partying… you know, same old, same old.” Y/N shrugged, grinning, and I could see she had already charmed Hoseok.

“So… let’s get to the important stuff.” Hoseok waved a hand at me, a smirk growing on his face. I knew it wouldn’t take long for the teasing to kick in. I rolled my eyes.

“Oh! I know! Yoongi is wearing a polo shirt,” Serena piped up.

“I guess hell froze over, baby,” Hoseok snorted.

“I completely approve, by the way,” Yoonji chimed in, not even bothering to glance my way.

Here we go. I was about to shoot them all a glare when Y/N’s gentle touch on my thigh sent my heart soaring. My eyes darted to hers—she wore a smile that made everything else fade away.

“The cologne… maybe a tad too much?” I heard Serena say.

“Hey, I suggested that!” Yoonji shot back.

The banter continued, but I was lost in Y/N’s gaze, enchanted by the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled at me. The world around us dimmed; it was just her fingers entwined with mine, brushing softly against my palm, the gentle caress of her thumb sending shivers down my spine.

A moment too soon, Y/N turned to address the others. “Why do you guys talk about him like he’s not in the room?” Her words hung in the air, stunning everyone into silence.

I couldn’t believe it. In less than an hour, she had managed to charm my friends while cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

“Well, you’re with him now,” Yoonji finally said, a sly smile creeping across her face. “It’s our job to protect you.”

I would have preferred they protect me from their embarrassing stories, but Y/N seemed to revel in it.

“Protect me from what?” she asked, laughter bubbling in her voice.

“His awful sense of humor,” Serena said, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“Okay, I’m warning you,” I said, grinning back. “You may want to turn around and leave right now.”

Y/N giggled, clearly enjoying herself.

“Hey, if you leave me now, I’m going to assume you’re all crazy,” she said, her smile wide and infectious. 

I couldn’t help but smile back, knowing this night was going to be unforgettable.

As night settled over us, the world transformed into a playground of laughter and playful banter, wrapped in a soft, velvety blanket. The drinks flowed like a tide, and my heart raced with the electric thrill of the evening. I watched Y/N mingle with my friends, and in that moment, something inside me sparked to life, hinting at possibilities I had yet to explore.

I leaned closer, our shoulders brushing, a daring move that sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach. “What are you doing to me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Just being me,” she replied, her tone light, but the glimmer in her eyes suggested deeper currents.

“Can I hold your hand?” The request slipped from my lips, fragile as a moth's wing.

Surprise flickered across her face as she weighed my words. “Yes.”

The moment our fingers intertwined, warmth rushed through me, narrowing my focus to the electric connection between us. In the distance, Hoseok's teasing banter continued, and Yoonji was lost in conversation with Serena, but they faded into the background. All that mattered was Y/N and the magnetic pull that bound us together.

Yoonji’s voice broke through my reverie. "I'm staying with Em and Serena tonight," she whispered in my ear.

“Yoonji, you don’t need to—”

“Nonsense!” she insisted, her grin stretching wide. “I love her,” she mouthed as she walked away, and I couldn’t help but smile, glancing down at Y/N.

“Oh, you’re not coming with us?” Y/N asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Nope! I need to help Serena pick an outfit for tomorrow. It was really nice to meet you, Y/N. I hope to see you soon!” Yoonji hugged her again, whispering something I couldn’t catch.

Before long, Y/N and I were walking toward my car. I opened the door for her, and she smiled as she slid in. As I drove to her apartment, she asked about Yoonji and our bond. I shared how I moved in with them when I was thirteen, how we’d become like siblings, grateful she didn’t pry into the reasons behind it. Tonight wasn’t the time for shadows of my past.

A comfortable silence fell between us, an unspoken acknowledgment of the fleeting moments we shared. Soon, we arrived in front of her building, and reality crashed in—I was running out of time.

“Can I be honest?” she asked, her voice breaking the silence like a warm breeze.

“Please… always.”

“I don’t want to go home just yet.” She looked at me through her lashes, and my heart raced, a wild beat echoing in my chest.

“Can I be honest too?” I asked, inching closer.

She nodded, biting her lip.

“I really want to kiss you right now.” I leaned in slightly.

Her breath hitched, and she let out a soft sigh. “Can I? Kiss you?” My voice was barely audible, filled with anticipation.

She nodded once, a small smile lighting up her face. I reached for her, brushing her hair back before gently cupping the nape of her neck and pulling her closer.

Our kiss started softly, exploring each other with tentative tenderness. But it quickly grew desperate, fueled by a hunger we could no longer deny. Her hand gripped my shirt, pulling me closer—just as eager. I let my hands roam, one resting on her thigh while the other tangled in her hair, my heart racing with every heartbeat.

“Y/N…” I breathed against her neck, fighting to maintain control. “You need to go inside now, or I don’t think I’ll be able to let you go.”

“Why don’t you come inside with me?” She pulled my face from her neck, her eyes shimmering with mischief and warmth. “Jessica should be gone by now. It’s Spring Break, remember? I might be the only undergrad left.”

The invitation hung in the air, electric and intoxicating. She wanted me to come home with her. Alone. My mind raced as I followed her into her cozy apartment, a space filled with personal touches and the inviting scent of vanilla.

“Welcome to Casa de Jess and Y/N!” she announced, her excitement infectious. “Do you want a tour, Mister?”

I grinned at her playful spirit. “If you’d be so kind, Madam.”

With exaggerated politeness, she led me through her apartment, showing off each room like a proud hostess. “And this is my bedroom.” When she opened the door, my breath caught. It looked like a whimsical explosion of color—pink and feathers everywhere, a bright pink comforter proclaiming “Little Princess” in white letters.

“Oh dear God…” I muttered, glancing around.

“What do you think?” she asked, a hint of seriousness in her tone.

I scratched my neck, searching for the right words. “Um… well… interesting choice of colors, Y/N.”

She burst into laughter, the sound bright and carefree, and I looked at her, puzzled.

“Oh my God! Your face! Priceless!” she exclaimed, doubling over in giggles. “This is Jessica's room!” She laughed so hard she had to lean against the doorframe for support.

“Oh thank God…” I exhaled in relief. “I don’t think I could sleep in here without having nightmares.” I leaned against the doorframe, smiling at the chaos.

But then, her expression shifted from playful to serious as she stepped closer. “Do you expect to be sleeping in my bed anytime soon, Mr. Min?”

“Shit… no… I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.” I ran a hand through my hair, mortified.

“Hey…” She stepped between my legs, her hand resting on my chest. “I was joking.” She smiled up at me, and my heart raced. I wanted her, needed her, craved her.

I traced her lip with my thumb. “You know what’s the first thing I noticed about you, Y/N?” She shook her head, her gaze locked on mine. “Your smile… It’s beautiful.”

Her smile widened. “When you smile, you get all gummy and your face softens. Your teeth are small, too. It’s adorable.”

“Adorable? Here I am, telling you I love your smile, and you tell me mine is imperfect. I’m hurt,” I joked, placing a hand over my heart.

“It’s not imperfect. It’s crooked and mind-blowingly sexy.” She giggled, and I couldn’t help but snort.

“See? There it is.” She framed my face with her hands and pulled me into a kiss. Her lips were soft, and I tried to crouch down to level us, but it felt awkward. Instead, I lifted her by the waist, her legs wrapping around my hips. Y/N’s arms encircled my neck as she deepened the kiss. When her tongue slipped into my mouth, I moaned, pressing her against the doorframe where laughter had just echoed.

My breath came in desperate gasps as I pulled away, kissing along her neck, but the fire ignited within me burned too bright to resist. Her whimpers drove me wild, and there was only so much I could take.

“Next door to the left,” she whispered in my ear.

Holy shit…

I carried her to her bedroom, still wrapped around me. As soon as I opened the door, her scent enveloped me, divine and overwhelming. Trying to stay composed, I ended up slumping onto the bed with her. She squealed and giggled, pulling off my polo shirt. Her hand traced patterns on my chest, making me shudder.

Every cell in my body was on high alert, every touch amplified.

"Y/N…" I groaned when her fingers traced the button-fly of my jeans. "You make me feel like a fucking teenager."

She giggled as my lips found hers. Her hand slipped into my boxers, and when she grasped me, I groaned loudly into her lips. She stroked me tentatively, softly but firmly. After a few strokes, it was too much.

"Y/N, stop… please," I begged, panting into her neck. "I’m going to cum in your hand. I need to slow down."

"Sorry." She released me, sighing. "Too much… too soon?"

"Yes… No… I-I just need a minute." I pressed my forehead into her neck, trying to regain control.

"Okay," she whispered, her hand returning to my hair.

My hands found their way under her shirt, pulling it off. The sight of her, arms stretched above her head, devilish smile on her lips, took my breath away.

"Polkadots?" I teased as her hands flew to my neck, pulling me back into a kiss. Her kisses were eager, biting and pulling at my lip, straining my self-control.

I kissed her neck, my hand slipping under her back. "God, you are so beautiful…" I whispered, unclasping her bra.

Her bra off, I trailed kisses from her neck to her chest, my hands cupping her breasts. Y/N squirmed under me, her moans driving me crazy.

"Can I touch you now?" Her voice was raspy with desire.

"Not yet," I whispered, unbuttoning her jeans.

"Not fair…" she moaned as my fingers dipped into her panties.

My fingers found nothing but wetness, silkiness, and smoothness, a tantalizing blend that drove me wild with anticipation. My dick throbbed painfully as I ground against her leg, barely able to contain myself any longer.

“God, Y/N…” I murmured, my voice a strained whisper.

She whimpered beneath me, her body trembling as my fingers traced circles to pleasure her. I slipped one finger inside, then another, and her scream of my name filled the room, echoing in my ears like a symphony of ecstasy. The sheer joy of her response made me want to cry into her neck.

“Yoongi, please…” she panted, her hands pulling at my hair, desperate. “I want to touch you… please… I need to feel you.”

God…

In one swift move, I had Y/N completely naked beneath me, her chest heaving with gasps. I fumbled for the condom in my wallet, and in mere seconds, I was naked too, hovering over her. Wrapping her wrist in my hand, I guided her to touch me—every inch of me.

Her hand clasped around me, guiding me to her entrance, spreading her wetness. I kept one hand on her breast, the other gripping the blanket next to her face, my control slipping with every passing second. Our eyes locked, the intensity between us palpable.

“Yoongi, what are we doing?” Her hand still gripped me, her voice a mix of wonder and worry.

“God… I don’t know…” I panted, my forehead resting on her neck.

“Is this wrong?”

“Feels right to me.” I groaned into her shoulder as she increased the pressure with her hand.

“I mean… isn’t this against the rules?”

How could she be coherent right now? I was on the brink of losing it, and I wasn’t even inside her yet!

“I-I don’t know, Y/N… Honestly, the rules are very blurry right now.”

“I want you,” she whispered huskily into my ear.

“God, Y/N. I want you too… so fucking much.”

“Would we get in trouble for this?” Her voice held a clear note of worry.

I lifted my head to meet her gaze. “I don’t know… I don’t care… Do you?”

Please, please, please, don’t ask me to stop now. Please…

She shook her head, pulling my face closer to hers in a kiss, positioning herself for me to enter her.

Thank you, God.

Our eyes stayed locked as our bodies connected, the sensation of being surrounded by her utterly mind-blowing. I needed a moment to adjust, Y/N’s moans and the arch of her back driving me insane as I slowly reached the deepest part of her.

I pulled out as slowly as I could manage, then pushed back in. My eyes rolled back, hands gripping her hips, a moan escaping through my clenched jaw. Nothing in my life had ever compared to this, to being with her. No one came even close.

Our bodies moved in sync, and a new terror gripped me: the fear of not lasting long enough to satisfy her. I sought distractions in her breasts, her neck, her lips, but every part of her only turned me on more.

So, I distracted myself mentally, reciting the first thing that came to mind:

There’s antimony, arsenic, aluminum, selenium… And hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen and rhenium... And nickel, neodymium, neptunium, germanium… And iron, americium, ruthenium, uranium…

The words spun through my mind, a desperate attempt to hold onto control, as I plunged deeper into the intoxicating feeling of her.

It's Tuesday morning, and the sun hasn't even thought about rising yet. The lab calls out to me with its endless list of tasks, each one promising that today won't be long enough to tackle them all. I feel exhausted, bone-deep weary from days that have been both draining and, honestly, the best of my life.

Y/N and I spent the weekend wrapped up in each other, mostly on her bed or the couch. It’s a novel experience for me—taking a break from work on a weekend—but I still managed to squeeze in some research: exploring every inch of Y/N’s body, learning her curves, her soft spots, and the way she sighs when she’s lost in the moment. I’m hopelessly addicted, and I doubt I’ll ever get enough.

In between those moments of passion, she opened up about her family, her childhood, and the accident that changed everything. I kept my past hidden, deflecting the conversation back to her with more questions. I learned that I influenced her decision to join Jin’s lab; she remembered me from my time as her oblivious T.A. I teased her about being a little stalker, but the truth is, I loved hearing her talk.

Y/N could chatter for hours, and more surprisingly, I found that I could listen willingly and happily. She’s an amazing cook, and with each passing day, she feels more and more like a miracle. I kept adding to my mental list of quirky Y/N facts: her underwear is never a solid color—always striped or patterned, like the bra with little pineapples. She re-watches movies until she knows the dialogue by heart. When she made me watch a film about the Titanic, I laughed when I thought it was a documentary. After that, I decided against any sailing plans.

But Monday brought a harsh return to reality. Seeing her in the lab, just out of reach, was torture—pun intended. She wanted to dive into her experiments, and since I skipped the lab all weekend, I had a mountain of work to tackle. We managed to keep things professional, but the tension in the air was thick. Monday nights were reserved for her family’s Skype calls, leaving me alone, tossing and turning in my bed, missing her like crazy.

As I trudged through the hallways, still groggy, I spotted Y/N sitting by the lab door. With her earphones in, she was bobbing her head, lost in her own world. The moment she saw me, she pulled them out, a broad smile lighting up her face.

I swear I’ll never tire of that smile…

“God, Y/N. What are you doing here so early?” I grumble, struggling to match her morning cheer.

“I couldn’t sleep! I’m dying to see if the experiment worked!” she exclaims, bouncing on her toes.

Of course…

“Mhm” I mumble, fumbling for the keys. 

“It’s nerve-racking! A whole day of work, then waiting sixteen hours—sixteen hours!—to see the results?” 

The key sticks in the lock, and I jiggle it impatiently. 

“C’mon, c’mon…” she chants, practically bouncing.

“Y/N…” I groan, turning to her. “I haven’t had coffee yet. Would you calm down?”

Finally, the door clicks open, and she bolts inside, nearly tripping over me. She rushes straight to the incubator, while I drag myself to my desk, her excited chants of “YES! YES! YES!” echoing behind me.

I can’t help but snort. I guess her experiment worked.

She sets the petri dishes on the bench, and her squeal of delight fills the room. “They worked!” she cries, launching herself at me. I barely catch her as she wraps her legs around my waist.

How does she have this much energy? It’s not even eight yet!

“Jesus Christ, woman! What are you on this morning?” 

Her arms encircle my neck, and she beams at me, making my own lips twitch upward.

“Hi, Grumpy.” She runs a hand through my hair.

“Hi…”

“Good morning.”

“Morning, Y/N.”

Her lips find mine, and I’m a goner. I moan into her mouth as she tugs at my hair, ready to take her right there on the bench, on the floor—anywhere. But we’re in the lab.

“Y/N…” I whisper, kissing her neck.

“Hmmm?”

“Someone might come in.” I nibble her earlobe, making her squirm.

“It’s early,” she whispers, her voice husky as she pulls at my hair. 

God…

I set her down on the bench, clumsily knocking over some plates. “Shit... sorry.” I try to pick them up, but she’s pulling at my jeans, pressing herself against me, and I make a bigger mess.

“Did you touch my samples?” she asks, feigning anger, echoing my words from when I snapped at her earlier.

I smile, but the way she bites her lip and the hooded look in her eyes snaps my resolve. My lips crash into hers, and my hands slide under her shirt as I press her back onto the bench, scattering more plates.

Fuck, I’m going to ruin her experiment.

I lift her, her legs locking around my waist. I mean to move her to the unused bench behind me, but her grinding against me messes with my balance. I knock over a chair, slamming my back against the corner of the bench. Groaning in pain, I secure her in my arms.

“Are you okay?” 

The pain clears my head. Reality rushes back, and I realize what we’re about to do—in the lab, on a Tuesday morning, when anyone could walk in.

Just then, I hear rattling keys from the hallway.

Fuck…

I set Y/N down, and she stumbles. I steady her, stepping back just as Jimin walks in.

Y/N smooths her shirt, picking up plates, her face a vivid crimson. I run a hand through my hair, rubbing my sore back with the other. The pain is nothing compared to the throbbing in my pants, but there’s no fixing that now.

Jimin looks at us, eyebrows raised, then heads to his desk. I let out a sigh, glancing at Y/N—she’s still picking up plates, cheeks burning.

Could we be any more obvious?

Y/N and I were deep in conversation about her results, our voices low enough that Jimin, across the lab, pretended not to be listening. Y/N’s work was nothing short of exceptional, and while pride swelled within me, I needed to keep it grounded in reality. Success like this was rare; she needed to understand its value, to cherish it, but also to brace for the inevitable setbacks.

“Are you familiar with Murphy’s Law?” I asked as she finished jotting down her notes.

“Of course,” she replied, turning to face me, her eyes sparkling. “Did you know his first name was Edward?”

“What? No.” Murphy, as far as I was concerned, was just Murphy.

“Yep. Edward Murphy,” she said, her face serious as she began tidying up her workspace.

“You’re kidding,” I said, moving closer, disbelief evident in my voice.

“Nope.”

“How do you know that?”

“I watch Jeopardy a lot.” A small, embarrassed smile tugged at her lips as our eyes met.

“Why am I not surprised?” I muttered, watching her shrug off her lab coat. Her movements were effortlessly captivating.

“Were you going to say something about Murphy?” she asked, snapping me out of my daze.

“Yeah, right,” I said, shaking off the distraction. “Murphy’s Law applies to the lab too.”

“Oh, I know. ‘Everything that can go wrong will go wrong,’” she recited, her tone matter-of-fact.

“Exactly.” I nodded, impressed.

“But I don’t believe in that,” she said firmly, a spark of defiance lighting her features.

“Of course you don’t.” I had inched closer, almost beside her now.

She gestured toward her successful experiment, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. “Murphy was just a pessimist.”

“And you’re a glass-half-full kind of person?” I probed, towering over her with a teasing grin.

“Technically, the glass is always full. Half with water, half with air.” Her eyes crinkled with mischief.

“Are you trying to be a smart ass?” I leaned my elbow on the bench, bringing us face to face.

“That depends,” she said, her voice dropping, locking her gaze onto mine. 

“On what?”

“Do you like smart asses?” She traced a finger along my forearm, sending an electric jolt through my body.

I staggered back, giving her a warning look. She couldn’t be doing this to me—not now.

“Anyway,” she continued, taking a deep breath, “how many of Murphy’s laws do you know?”

Classic Y/N—always one step ahead. I sighed, admitting, “Just the one.”

“That’s it?” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Enlighten me, then.”

“‘Left to themselves, things tend to go from bad to worse,’” she recited proudly, and I found her knowledge oddly attractive.

A glance at the clock reminded me of the work ahead. How inconvenient.

“That’s a good one. And it’s true,” I said.

“‘Matter will be damaged in direct proportion to its value,’” she continued.

I chuckled. “Also true.”

“Yoongi, you’re one of the grumpiest, most pessimistic people I know, and you don’t know any of these?” She placed her hands on her hips, teasing me with that playful spark in her eyes.

That was it. I straightened from the bench, glaring at her. She was provoking me, and God, did I want her.

“Last one, I promise,” she said with a smile. “’Hot glass looks exactly the same as cold glass.’ Learned that one the hard way.”

Our laughter mingled until Jimin cleared his throat behind us. “Can you keep it down? I’m trying to do science here.”

I rolled my eyes at Jimin, then turned back to Y/N, who was smoothing her ponytail, giggles subsiding. Her happiness was infectious, and I got lost in her eyes.

“Y/N,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even, “we should check on that gel.”

“What gel?” she asked, puzzled.

“The gel, Y/N.” I stared at her, hoping she’d understand.

“Oh… right,” she said, her smile turning knowing.

I followed her to the dark room, anticipation thrumming in my veins. Once inside, I switched off the lights, activating the IN USE signal. Y/N took a sharp breath, her excitement palpable.

“Are you trying to drive me mad?” I whispered, reaching for her face in the darkness.

“Maybe,” she whispered back, her breath warm against my skin.

My hands traveled to her neck, fingers sliding under her ponytail to release her hair. “Y/N… this isn’t smart. We could get caught.” I lifted her onto the counter, the cold bench pressing into my back.

“Not smart,” she agreed, her breath hitching against my neck.

“Do you know how hard it is to keep my hands off you when you provoke me?” My hand slipped under her shirt, cupping her breast. She gasped, and I pressed myself closer, making my point clear.

“Oh, it’s hard all right,” she giggled, wrapping her legs around me.

“You drive me insane, Y/N,” I murmured, biting her lip. She moaned softly, fisting my hair. “Please… can I?”

“Oh God, yes… Yoongi, please.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. I lifted her with one hand, fumbling with the buttons of her jeans with the other. In seconds, I was inside her, stifling my moans into her shoulder.

God bless a dark room.

The weeks drift by in a blur of lab work and secret rendezvous. Y/N is a constant distraction—she teases me, contradicts me, drives me mad, excites me, motivates me, and challenges me all at once. I’ve never felt happier. Having her in my life has transformed my days from monotonous routines into a whirlwind of laughter and unexpected joy. I catch myself cracking jokes that aren’t laced with sarcasm, and I genuinely enjoy explaining new techniques to her, savoring our discussions and her insightful challenges. I never imagined mentoring could be so thrilling—or so fulfilling. Y/N pushes me to be better, to be happier, to have fun.

The lab buzzes with the unspoken tension of our secret. I’m sure everyone suspects something, but we maintain a facade of professionalism. Our attempts to date outside the lab are constantly thwarted by inconvenient encounters with colleagues. It’s frustrating as hell. I don’t care what people think, but the risk of getting into trouble with Jin or Y/N losing her chance to work in the lab keeps us cautious. So, we play the game, keeping up appearances, even though we’ve stolen away to the dark room eight times… not that I’m counting.

As the semester winds down, it becomes harder to heed Yoonji’s advice not to overthink the future. Y/N hopes to land a summer internship in the lab, but I haven’t had the heart to tell her how unlikely that is. Jin has never offered an internship after just one semester. I could vouch for her, but she’s adamant about not wanting special treatment. The thought of her securing an internship elsewhere, leaving for the summer, gnaws at me. The impending separation looms like a dark cloud, promising a long and miserable summer.

Tonight, Jin is hosting the department's end-of-semester party. I sit in my car, ready to drive Y/N there, trying to suppress my annoyance at having to pretend all night. We’re picking up Hoseok and Serena too, a cover to avoid suspicion. Waiting in the car like some kind of creep, I watch the building's entrance.

Then I see her, and all my irritation dissipates. Thank God for May weather—Y/N is wearing a skirt. She smiles at me through the window, and as she gets in, her lips meet mine, her hands finding their way to my neck. I encircle her waist, breathing in deeply, savoring her scent. Even after two months, my need for her is as urgent as ever.

“Hi…” she breathes as she pulls back, her fingers tracing patterns in my hair. I close my eyes, enjoying her touch.

“Hi…” I murmur, resting my forehead against hers. “You’re wearing a skirt.” I groan, my hand sliding down from her waist, over her thigh, and under the soft fabric.

“I am,” she says, her lips brushing my neck. I tease her inner thigh, each stroke inching closer to where I want my fingers to be. “What are you doing?” she whispers in my ear.

“I don’t want to go to this thing.” I nibble her earlobe. “Can we just stay here?” My fingers hover over her panties, but she traps my hand between her thighs.

“No…” she breathes, her voice shaky. “You promised we’d go. Jin invited me personally. Please.”

Her plea makes me relent, and I move back, our foreheads still touching. “But you’re wearing a skirt. You know what that does to me?” I caress her thigh again, unable to resist.

“I have an idea,” she giggles.

“I’m going to be hard and uncomfortable the whole time,” I say, trying to keep my tone light.

“I’ll take care of it afterward,” she promises. I groan again, starting the car.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

As I drive, Y/N fumbles with the radio, displeased with the music.

“Oh, I know!” She reaches for the glove box. “Can we listen to this?” She holds up my mom’s Carpenters CD.

My chest tightens, but I try to smile. I haven’t told her about my parents, and while she knows I moved in with my aunt and uncle as a kid, she hasn’t pried. She’s giving me time, waiting for me to open up.

“Not a chance,” I snap, slipping into our usual banter.

“C’mon, I want to listen to it.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Why have a Carpenters CD if you don’t like them?”

“Y/N…”

I really don’t want to get into it tonight.

“Just one song, please?” Her eager eyes and smile make it impossible to refuse. I nod, focusing on the road. She opens the case and sees my mom’s note, and my chest tightens again.

“Oh…” she says softly. “You didn’t want me to see this.” She closes the case. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. Just put the CD on. It’s fine.”

“No, Yoongi. This obviously has sentimental value. I’m sorry.” Concern etches her features.

“Hey, don’t be upset.” I reach for her face, my thumb brushing her cheek. “Let’s forget it. I’ll tell you about the note another time. Okay?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, eyes locked on mine.

“It’s fine.” I smile, pushing thoughts of my parents away. I grab my iPod, knowing exactly what will cheer her up. When The Police starts playing, her smile returns, and all feels right in the world.

I place my hand over hers on her thigh, the sensation of the skirt fabric under our intertwined fingers reminding me of the night ahead.

Oh God, the skirt, the party… this is going to be hell.

“Hey, Y/N! Ready to mingle with the senior citizens?” Hoseok’s voice cuts through the chatter as he hops into the car and settles behind me.

“So, what’s the plan?” Serena chimes in, sliding into the backseat beside Y/N.

“Can we please keep this low-key? We’re just giving Y/N a ride, nothing more,” I say, trying to keep the irritation from seeping into my tone. Of course, they ignore me.

“Y/N, how about you and I walk in first? The boys can follow behind us,” Serena suggests, leaning forward to prop herself between our seats like a self-appointed traffic cop.

“Or… I could stroll in with Y/N, my arm around her shoulders. You know, start some fun rumors,” Hoseok pipes up, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Ow!” He yelps as Serena gives him a swift elbow to the ribs. “Come on, babe! I was just joking!”

“Seriously, Hoseok. That dog act is getting old,” I mutter, catching Serena’s annoyed glare in the rearview mirror.

“How is this not a big deal?” I groan under my breath.

“How about we all walk in holding hands? All four of us!” Y/N suggests, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

I turn to scowl at her. “You too?” She flashes me a grin, scrunching her nose playfully.

We finally pull up to Jin's house, and as we pile out of the car, I notice Y/N walking ahead, chatting with Serena. I fall back next to Hoseok, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. 

Inside, Y/N glances back at me, then disappears into the crowd. I greet Jin and grab a drink, then find a spot by the back wall. Familiar faces from the lab are scattered around, some with their families. I find myself chatting with a few of them, even playing with a little kid in a sweater that says “Future Scientist.” I snort at the irony—here's hoping he grows up to be an engineer instead.

To my surprise, I’m not hating this night. I lean against the wall, stealing glances at Y/N as she lights up while talking to Prof. Tanner, one of the few female professors in our department. I’ve heard she can be a total nightmare, but she’s all smiles for Y/N. What gives? 

As Y/N mingles, I can’t help but wonder if there’s anyone who wouldn’t be drawn to her charm. Just then, Jungkook appears out of nowhere, planting a quick kiss on her cheek. My heart races, and I shoot up from my chair.

“She’s got it under control,” Serena whispers, her grip firm on my elbow as we watch Y/N step away from Jungkook, saying something before he wanders off. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, sinking back down in my seat. Y/N glances my way, her eyes briefly meeting mine before she moves on.

“Yoongi, you need to get it together. You’re staring at her like some creepy stalker,” Serena says, finally releasing my elbow.

I sigh, knowing she’s right. We bicker a lot, but beneath her icy exterior, she really does look out for me.

Hoseok appears, holding another round of drinks, and I begin to feel a little lighter. But when I find Y/N again, she’s deep in conversation with Jin. I can see the passion in her gestures, the way she lights up as she talks about her project. It fills me with pride to see how far she’s come this semester, how confident she is now.

Jin glances at me a couple of times during their conversation. I try to focus on my drink, but the curiosity gnaws at me. Is he proud of her? Does he see what I see?

“Dude, Jimin is giving you a death stare,” Hoseok whispers, snapping me out of my thoughts. I follow his gaze and meet Jimin’s dark brown eyes. He quickly looks away, a slight frown on his face.

I shrug, trying to shake off the feeling of unease. “He has a weird stare. You think he suspects something?”

“Probably,” Hoseok says. “I don’t know how much longer you can keep this charade up. It’s torture.” I rub my chest, where a tightness has been growing since Y/N walked away.

“Jeon can’t take a hint, huh?” Hoseok mutters, and I see Y/N accepting a drink from Jungkook.

Are you kidding me?

My hand tightens into a fist on my thigh as I down the rest of my drink, a wave of frustration crashing over me. Y/N smiles at Jungkook, and while I’m somewhat relieved to see it doesn’t reach her eyes like when she smiles at me, it still makes my blood boil. I want her by my side, to claim her as mine. I want Jungkook to back off.

“Dude, calm down,” Hoseok says, placing a hand on my shoulder. I turn to him, exhaling sharply through my nose.

My night is crumbling, and I feel on the verge of snapping.

“I can’t, okay? I’m going to take a breather.” I stand abruptly, forcing myself not to look for Y/N again. I know if I see her with him, I might lose it and drag her away like some caveman.

“Want me to come with you?” Hoseok asks, his concern evident.

“No, I’m fine,” I reply, but my tone lacks conviction.

I storm into Jin’s sprawling backyard, seeking solace in the shadows. I need to figure out what’s happening inside my head. Why does this pressure in my chest hurt so much? It’s ridiculous—I shouldn’t be feeling like this over someone. I should be rational. 

Sinking onto a bench, I rest my head in my hands. 

God, I’m losing my mind. Or maybe I’m turning into a hypochondriac… or both.

I just want Y/N. I need her. I miss her. I love her.

My head falls back against the bench. 

Is this what love feels like? 

Suddenly, I hear a soft voice. “Hey… what’s wrong?” 

I didn’t even notice Y/N coming outside. I lift my head and lean back, letting out a deep sigh.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” I say, but the anger slips through despite my best efforts.

“Yoongi…” She sits beside me and takes my hand in hers.

“This party sucks!” I snap, but she doesn’t flinch. She never does. Y/N knows me too well, understands my rough edges. I never want to take my frustration out on her.

“What sucks?” Her voice is steady, soothing. How does she do it?

“This stupid party…” I trail off, staring at our hands.

She laughs lightly. “Are you drunk?”

“No! I’m not!” Realizing I raised my voice again, I groan and try to regain my composure. “I want you beside me. I want to tell Jungkook to back off because you’re mine. I want to hold your hand, put my arm around you, keep you warm. I don’t want to hide this anymore.”

“I know…” Y/N reaches for my face, her fingers brushing my hair behind my ear. I lean into her touch, closing my eyes as her words unravel me. “I want to be beside you too,” she whispers, and it feels like the world has shifted. “But right now, it’s not smart for us. The semester is almost over. I’ll find an internship in a different lab, and then we won’t have to hide anymore.”

So I’m screwed either way. If she finds a different lab, we won’t have to keep this secret, but I won’t get to see her every day. And if she stays, we’ll be stuck in this limbo.

“Can we go soon?” I plead, my frustration boiling over. I want to escape this place, take Y/N somewhere safe where I can finally let myself be with her.

“We just got here,” she giggles, trying to lighten the mood. “Stop being so grumpy and let’s get back inside.” She rises, but I grip her hand tightly.

“You know I hate when you call me grumpy.”

“No, you don’t. You love it,” she counters with a bright smile.

I do love it. And I love you.

The words sit heavy on my tongue, burning to be spoken, but I hold them back.

I pulled her gently between my legs, my hand finding its way to her cheek as I brought our lips together. She kissed me back, soft and tentative, but then, with a push against my chest, she pulled away.

I groaned, rising from the bench. “I’ll go in first. You follow in a few minutes, okay?” I needed a moment to gather my thoughts, and the warmth of her fingers lingering on my chest felt like a whisper of reassurance.

“Yeah…” I breathed out, almost a whine.

“And try to have some fun.” She shot me a playful smile that sent a flutter through my chest.

“Yeeees…” I groaned again, turning to walk away.

“You’re being a big baby, you know that, right?” Her teasing tone made me roll my eyes.

“Y/N, don’t provoke me,” I sighed, tugging at the hair on the back of my neck.

“Okay, okay.” She giggled, her laughter lightening the air between us. “I promise to sit by you for a bit.” With that, she let me head inside alone.

I lingered outside for a few more moments, trying to cool off and collect my thoughts before re-entering the fray.

Just as I was about to step back in, Jimin stumbled outside, looking a bit worse for wear. “Yoongi! There you are,” he said, plopping down on the bench next to me.

“Jimin,” I greeted, not really in the mood for small talk.

“So… are you like social now?” he asked, his words slurred from the alcohol he’d consumed.

“What do you mean?” I feigned interest, though I really didn’t care.

“You never used to come to these things,” he pointed out, sounding suspicious, as if I’d committed some sort of crime.

I shrugged and stood up, feeling the urge to escape. “Are you sleeping with your undergrad?” he blurted, trying to whisper but failing miserably.

A glare shot across my face as I realized he suspected something. Jimin was definitely too drunk for this conversation. “Jimin, I think you should stop drinking,” I advised, and when he just stared blankly, I added, “I better get back inside before Hoseok thinks I left without him.” I didn’t wait for his reply as I headed back in.

Y/N was sitting with Hoseok and Serena when I walked over, and the moment she smiled at me, my chest tightened with a mix of longing and pride. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch her hand or leg, but I managed to sit back, trying to play it cool. 

I was surprisingly glad I’d come. I’d anticipated a dull evening, but it turned out to be quite enjoyable. Watching Y/N all dolled up, chatting with everyone, filled me with a sense of pride. 

Then, as Jin started playing Nelly, the atmosphere shifted. Seeing Dr. Amun-Kebi, bow tie and all, dancing to “Hot in Here” was an image that would be burned in my memory forever.

Later, Y/N paced nervously through my room in her underwear, her damp hair leaving a faint mist in the air. I watched her, my heart pounding at the sight of her anxious movements as she rummaged through her bag. The tension felt heavy, almost suffocating.

“Y/N, you’re going to do great,” I said, my voice still laced with sleep as I tried to offer her some comfort.

“You don’t know that,” she replied tightly, finally finding what she was looking for. 

“You know this stuff better than anyone else in that room,” I said, propping myself up on my elbows to catch her gaze.

“That’s not true. You’ll be there too.” She faced me, comb in hand, her worry evident as she began to untangle her wet hair.

“Exactly! So, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” I flashed her a reassuring smile, but it felt weak against her rising anxiety.

“I stutter when I’m nervous,” she admitted, her voice wavering as she pulled out her clothes and bent over, her vulnerability stark against the backdrop of my cluttered room.

“Then try to relax,” I said, taking a deep breath. “You’ve put in so much work, and you know your project inside and out. You’ll do amazing, Y/N.”

“What if Jin asks me something I don’t know?” Panic danced in her eyes as she placed her hands on her hips.

“You don’t have to know everything. I’ll be there too—this is my project too. Remember, it’s not a test. The point is to discuss the results together, nothing more.”

Slowly, her frown faded, replaced by a tentative grin. She climbed back onto the bed, straddling me, her wet hair dripping onto my shoulder. The scent of her filled the air, intoxicating, as she leaned in to kiss me softly.

I lay back, tracing the strap of her bra with my finger. “I know how to get you to relax,” I teased.

“Not a chance, Grumpy. We’d be late,” she shot back, rubbing against me just enough to send a bolt of desire through my body.

“Y/N, you’re such a tease,” I groaned, dropping my head back in exasperation.

“And you have a foul mouth, Min,” she replied, disappearing into the bathroom, her voice echoing playfully.

“Which, coincidentally, you love,” I called after her.

She poked her head out, toothbrush in her mouth. “That… I do.”

With a lazy stretch, I got up from the bed, dragging my feet toward the bathroom. She stood by the sink, brushing her teeth in her adorable smiley-face underwear, making me ache with need. “You’re going to pay for my blue balls tonight,” I murmured into her neck, eliciting a giggle as my stubble brushed against her soft skin. 

She bent over to rinse her mouth, pressing her behind into the growing bulge in my boxers, causing a deep groan to escape my lips. I playfully smacked her ass as she squealed, darting out of the bathroom.

“Don’t take forever, Grumpy. I want to be early to set things up!”

Y/N and I stood in the seminar room, preparing everything for the presentation. The space was cozy, just big enough for the nine of us in our group, including Jin. After confirming that all the slides displayed correctly, I shot Y/N an encouraging smile and took a seat toward the back, keeping a close eye on her.

I could see the nerves bubbling beneath her composed exterior. We had gone over every detail last night, and I knew she was ready for this moment.

Jin kicked things off with some lab business, and then it was Y/N’s turn to shine. As she started her talk, she stumbled over her words just once at the beginning, but quickly found her rhythm, her confidence blossoming with every passing second. My heart swelled with pride as I watched her speak; she was absolutely incredible.

Jin seemed impressed too, prompting her to elaborate on a few points, which she handled flawlessly. But then Jimin jumped in with questions that felt a bit off-base, probing into unrelated techniques and approaches. Y/N stumbled over a couple of his inquiries, but she made educated guesses, maintaining her poise. Still, I could feel my irritation rising. What the hell was Jimin’s problem?

“That was all nice… uh… Y/N?” Jimin hesitated, clearly relishing the moment as he mispronounced her name. My blood boiled at his deliberate slight. 

“I just don’t see the point.”

“The p-point?” Y/N stuttered again, and it took everything in me to keep my temper in check. I wanted to tear Jimin apart for being such a jerk.

“Yeah, I mean… so you found two new toxin genes. How is that going to help anything?” Jimin shrugged dismissively, and I could feel my frustration reaching a boiling point.

Before Y/N could respond, I jumped in, my voice sharper than I intended. “Oh, I’m sorry, Jimin. Are you questioning the impact of my research?”

Jimin turned to face me, a smug expression creeping across his face.

“Yoongi…” Jin’s warning gaze made it clear I needed to rein it in.

“No, seriously. Please, tell me if you are,” I shot back, my eyes locking onto Jimin's, daring him to continue.

“Actually,” Y/N interjected softly from the front of the room, pulling our attention back to her. “I think I might be able to answer that question.” She glanced at me for permission, and I nodded, stepping back to let her take the spotlight.

“Please, go ahead,” Jin encouraged her, his tone supportive.

“Well… if these two toxins are, as we’ve shown, involved in the cancerous growth of stomach epithelium cells, then studying their protein structure and interaction will provide insight into the anomalous stomach pathology caused by H. pylori… and its possible cure.”

I couldn’t have put it better myself. My heart swelled with pride and something deeper. Marry me?

“Marvelous!” Jin exclaimed, while Jimin huffed, sinking into his chair in defeat. My annoyance at Jimin evaporated, replaced by overwhelming joy. I couldn’t take my eyes off Y/N as she smiled, tucking her hair behind her ears. I wanted to run to her, scoop her up in my arms, and kiss her senseless, but I managed to stay seated, a wide grin plastered on my face.

As the room emptied, I lingered behind with Y/N, pretending to help pack up the projector and laptop. It was just an excuse to stay close to her, to contain the waves of emotions crashing inside me. Jin congratulated her one last time before leaving, and I counted his steps, waiting until he was far enough away. My heart raced, and when I could wait no longer, I dropped everything and rushed to Y/N, cupping her face in my hands and kissing her desperately.

“You did amazing!” I said, my voice breathless with excitement.

“I was so nervous!” she admitted, her eyes wide.

“I know, but you nailed it!” I kissed her again, unable to get enough of her.

Still holding her face, I searched her eyes. “Geez, Y/N… you’re incredible. I—” I leaned closer, resting my hands on the table behind her, my lips trying to convey everything words couldn’t. It was more than just her success or my pride as a scientist; it was so much deeper than that.

“I want to cook you dinner tonight,” I said, pulling her into a tight embrace.

She smiled up at me. “You do?”

“Yes. We’re having a celebration date at my place.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” I kissed the top of her head, reluctantly letting her go as we gathered our things to head back to the lab. My heart was full, my mind racing with excitement and a twinge of fear. I’d never been happier in my life.

Now the only question was: what on earth was I going to cook for Y/N?

We returned to the lab, the earlier tension between Y/N and me fading as we wrapped up our tasks. Her eyes sparkled with determination as she headed off for her final exam, and we agreed to meet at my apartment for dinner later. Just as I was about to slip out early to prepare, an email notification pinged in my inbox.

From: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org   Sent: Friday, May 13, 2024, 4:27 PM   To: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu  

Yoongi,

We need to talk about your undergrad. Please stop by my office.

Jin

-

Dr. Seokjin Kim   Member, Division of Basic Sciences   Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center   1100 Fairview Avenue North   Seattle, WA 98109-1024  

Shit. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Jin had never summoned me to his office like this before. He usually came down to the lab if he wanted to talk. The email's terse tone sent a chill racing down my spine. There was only one reason he’d call me in like this—he knew about Y/N and me. 

That jerk, Jimin, must have said something. 

No point speculating now; I had to face Jin. My heart raced as I imagined the worst. He’d tell me Y/N and I couldn’t be together, that she wouldn’t be able to work in the lab anymore. The thought twisted my gut with regret. I should have been more careful, kept my feelings in check.

Shit.

I knocked on Jin’s door and stepped inside. He was facing his computer, barely glancing at me as I sank into the chair across from him. 

“Hello, Yoongi. Take a seat,” he said, his voice calm but layered with an undercurrent I couldn’t quite place. “Let me just finish this email.”

I watched him type, the sound of the keys echoing like a death knell. Finally, he turned, a smile dancing on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. I nodded, trying to mask my nerves, my hands gripping the chair arms.

“I have to say, I was very impressed with Y/N’s seminar. She showed a broad knowledge of the project, answered questions confidently, and gathered an impressive amount of data for just one semester.”

“She is incredible,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Nice, Yoongi. Way to keep it cool.

Jin raised an eyebrow, nodding. “She does seem very mature, dedicated, and hardworking.”

“She is.” I couldn’t help but think of all the moments we’d shared, both in the lab and out.

“So, I called you in here for two things. First, I want to offer Y/N a position as a summer intern. What do you think?” 

My heart leaped. Jin had never offered an undergrad a position after just one semester. This was amazing! Y/N was going to be thrilled. 

“That’s… um… that’s great! She completely deserves it, and it would be an incredible opportunity for her. She wants to apply to grad school next fall, so summer research would be really beneficial.”

“I see… so you approve?” Jin asked, tilting his head.

The way he looked at me made my blood run cold. He didn’t need my approval. Something was off.

“O-of course,” I stammered, my instincts telling me there was more to this conversation.

“Well, that leads to the second thing I wanted to discuss.” He shifted in his chair, crossing his legs as if he were settling in for a serious talk. 

Here we go…

“It seems you have a very close relationship with Y/N. You seem very… protective of her.”

I knew it! Jimin must have spilled the beans. My fists clenched at the thought.

“Now, I understand it’s in your nature—her being under your care and all—to be protective. But there’s something else,” Jin continued, tapping his finger against his lips thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed the change she’s brought about in you. It’s fascinating.”

Geez… Jin and his fascination.

Before I could respond, he went on. “Of course, I would never ask if there’s something unprofessional going on because that would be tactless. However, you should know that involving yourself in a romantic relationship with an undergrad—especially if she’ll be getting paid for the summer—is completely unacceptable.”

Fucking shit.

My hands gripped the chair so tightly that my knuckles turned white. I couldn’t do this. Hiding my feelings for Y/N felt impossible, but I’d have to—for her sake. This was an incredible opportunity. We’d have to keep it up until she graduated. Damn, that was a whole year! Maybe I could graduate sooner, find a job in another lab…

Jin was staring at me, eyebrows raised, when suddenly he burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the small office.

“I’m just messing with you, kid.” He slapped his thighs as his laughter subsided. “Your personal life outside this lab is none of my business. As long as it doesn’t affect your work or hers, I have no problem with it.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Did he just say what I thought he said?

“You know, when I met Mrs. Kim, she was a post-doc in this lab.”

“I didn’t know that…” I exhaled, the tension draining from my body.

“Well, now that this is settled, I’ll offer Y/N the position.”

“O-okay.”

Still in shock, I left Jin’s office. Before I even reached the lab, my phone rang—Y/N, squealing about Jin’s offer. I didn’t mention my conversation with him; I’d save that for tonight during our celebration dinner.

Our celebration dinner… Oh God. What was I thinking? I couldn’t cook!

I definitely needed to stop at the grocery store unless I wanted to serve Y/N mac and cheese for dinner. Sighing, I realized I had no idea what to prepare. Time to turn to my all-knowing best friend: Google.

Search: What to cook for your girlfriend? Search Results: 5 Easy Meals To Cook For Her – AskMen.com

AskMen.com? Seriously? 

Chipotle Shrimp Kabobs…

What the actual fuck?

Sautéed Lemon Garlic Chicken…

Really, AskMen? Really? 

I groaned, frustration bubbling up. This was not going well. Maybe I should try again.

Search: Easy dinner for two Search Results: Cooking for Two Recipes – Allrecipes.com

Allrecipes.com? I think I’ve heard Yoonji mention this site before. 

Salmon with Raspberry Ginger Glaze…

Holy shit! And these are the easy ones?

I slammed my forehead against the desk repeatedly. Okay, maybe I should stick to something I already knew how to make… like grilled cheese. Or pasta! I could whip up some pasta sauce.

Search: Easy Pasta Sauce Search Results: Easy Vodka Sauce – Allrecipes.com

Now we’re talking. 

I jotted down all the ingredients and headed to the store, feeling a flicker of hope.

I was chopping onions into tiny squares when my phone buzzed with a text from Y/N.

Undergrad: I’m done with the semester! Woot! Woot! Do you want me to come early to help with dinner?

Yes… please… no!

C’mon, I can handle this. How hard could it be? Just follow the protocol, Min.

Me: What? No faith in me, Y/L/N?

I typed quickly, trying not to let the onion juice splatter all over my cell. 

Shit…

Undergrad: I would prefer not to get food poisoning. I have an internship this summer! :)”

I couldn’t help but smile at the screen.

Me: You’re distracting me. See you here at 7. P.S. Smiley faces are lame.”

Undergrad: And you, my Grumpy, are adorable!

I chuckled, my heart racing with excitement. Maybe I could do this after all. Just as long as I didn’t burn the kitchen down.

When Y/N knocked at the door, it was only a quarter to seven. I had the garlic bread in the oven, and the sauce still needed another thirty minutes to simmer. I’d hoped to squeeze in a quick shower before she arrived, but clearly, that plan was a bust.

I opened the door to find Y/N standing there, a bright smile lighting up her face. “Did you wrestle the tomatoes?” she giggled, tiptoeing in for a quick kiss. “Hi…”

I wanted nothing more than to pull her close, but I was covered in tomato juice and splatters from head to toe. “Give me a sec,” I said, retreating to my bedroom to change.

When I returned, she was by the sink, eyes wide as she surveyed the chaos I’d created. “Geez, Yoongi. How many things are you making?” She gestured dramatically to the pile of pots and utensils stacked high.

“Just the one dish, Y/N,” I replied, trying to sound casual while stirring the bubbling sauce.

“Did you feel the need to use every pot in the kitchen? Were you trying them all out?” She raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile on her lips.

“Okay, Y/L/N. You’re getting on my nerves. I’m trying to cook here.” I continued mixing, trying to ignore her playful jabs.

“You should use a wooden spoon,” she advised, inching closer with a wooden spoon in hand. “The metal one makes the sauce acidic. The metal reacts with the pH of the tomatoes—”

I shot her a glare. “I didn’t even know I owned a wooden spoon,” I grumbled, taking it from her. “I almost have a PhD, you know.”

“Okay… okay… Mr. PhD.” She waved her hands in mock surrender. “Can I play some music?” She reached for my laptop on the counter and gasped, laughter bubbling out. “Oh my gosh… you googled the meaning of sautéed?”

“Okay, that’s it, Y/L/N.” I pretended to drop the wooden spoon over the counter dramatically. “No dinner for you.” I pointed a finger at her, struggling to keep a straight face.

“I’m sorry!” she laughed, and I stepped closer, cornering her against the counter. “It does smell delicious,” she whispered, running a finger down my chest.

“And I haven’t even showered yet.” I dropped kisses along her neck, my hand sliding beneath the hem of her shirt.

“You do smell delicious too,” she said in a husky whisper.

“Liar. I stink of onions.”

“Only a little bit.” She giggled into my neck as I lifted her up onto the counter. “Thanks for making me dinner.”

“My pleasure,” I murmured, nuzzling her neck. She smelled amazing—like warmth and sunshine. I pulled back to look into her eyes. “Congratulations on your internship, Y/N. You absolutely earned it.”

“Yeah… about that,” she said, a nervous giggle escaping her lips. “I haven’t said yes yet.”

“Why not?” I asked, confusion painting my features.

“Well, I have to think about it.”

“Y/N, it’s an incredible opportunity. Jin has never offered an internship to a student after only one semester of work.”

“I know… but…” She bit her lip, trailing off.

“What is it?” I cupped her cheek with my hand, rubbing my thumb along her skin.

“Well… are we going to be okay if I join the lab for the summer? We’ll have to keep hiding this, and I know it’s been getting… um… difficult… for both of us.”

I sighed in relief, a smile creeping onto my face. It was sweet of her to include herself, especially when I’d been the one making everything complicated. The thought of her giving up this chance for us made my heart swell. “Yeah… about that…” I echoed her earlier words. She looked at me expectantly. “I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult about the whole thing… but it turns out, we don’t need to hide anymore. I mean, we should still keep things professional in the lab and all, but… Jin sort of knows.”

“WHAT?” She pushed me back with a hand on my chest, her eyes wide.

“I think it was becoming obvious, Y/N. He didn’t ask me directly, but he said our personal life had nothing to do with our work. As long as it didn’t affect our performance, he didn’t care.”

“He doesn’t care?” Her voice was still high-pitched with surprise.

“Apparently, his wife worked for him once too…” I shrugged, returning my attention to dinner. I stirred the sauce and tossed a pinch of salt into the boiling water before adding the spaghetti.

“That… that changes things,” she said slowly, her brow furrowed.

I stepped back between her legs, looking into her eyes. “What is it?”

“So, um… do you want me to take the internship? You won’t get tired of me?”

“What kind of question is that, Y/N?” I shook my head, feeling a pang in my chest. “I’ve been aching, physically hurting, thinking about you taking an internship somewhere else and leaving me for the whole summer.”

Her smile was radiant, brightening the dim kitchen. “You have?”

“Yes…”

“Well, it looks like I won’t be going anywhere,” she declared.

“Good. Because I have a lot of work to do, and I could really use an overachieving undergrad with some pretty amazing skills at the bench.”

“I’d say my skills go beyond the bench. Wouldn’t you agree?” she asked, a teasing smirk playing on her lips.

“I would…” I pointed the wooden spoon at her playfully. “But don’t distract me now, or I’ll burn your dinner.”

Dinner turned out surprisingly well. We ate as she excitedly recounted her classes, finals, classmates, and professors. I sat back, just soaking in the sight of her—how her eyes lit up when she spoke, how her mouth curved into a smile, the way her eyebrows danced with every emotion. Watching her enjoy life, so passionate and full of energy, felt like a precious gift I never wanted to take for granted.

Y/N was drying the last few dishes, the rhythmic swish of the towel against porcelain filling the quiet kitchen with a comforting cadence. I approached her from behind, the warmth of her body radiating toward me as I leaned in to kiss her neck. The familiar flutter of anticipation twisted in my stomach. “You want to show off some of those non-bench skills of yours?”

She turned to me, a playful smile on her lips. As I leaned on the counter, I caught a whiff of my own odor wafting up. “God, I stink…”

Her laughter bubbled up, light and teasing. “It’s fine.”

“Do you mind if I take a quick shower?” I asked, a hopeful lilt creeping into my voice.

“Can I join you?” 

A grin broke across my face, and I took her hand, leading us toward the bathroom. The air between us crackled with a tension that felt electric, urging me to shed my shirt and pants before we even reached the shower.

She kicked off her shoes, her fingers deftly unbuttoning her jeans while I turned the water on, steam swirling like ethereal ghosts in the dim light. “May I?” I asked, wrapping my fingers around her wrist. She nodded, her eyes shimmering with mischief.

With practiced ease, I unbuttoned her jeans, sliding them down to her ankles. As I knelt to kiss her calves, then her knees, and finally her thighs, her giggles rang out like music, lifting the weight of the world off my shoulders. “Your scruff tickles,” she said, her voice bright and breathy.

I lifted her shirt over her head, tracing my fingers along the delicate straps of her bra. Once our underwear was discarded like forgotten memories, I pulled her close, feeling her warmth envelop me as her legs wrapped around my waist. Our differing heights made this an all-too-familiar arrangement, a perfect fit for everything we were about to share.

She squealed as I jumped into the shower, icy water hitting us both and sending shockwaves of heat through my body. Her lips found mine, soft and insistent, and I pressed her back against the cool tiles, the world outside fading away.

“Put me down,” she murmured hoarsely into my ear.

I obliged, feeling the rush of her kisses trailing down my chest as she sank to her knees, a wicked smile playing on her lips. 

“Y/N…” I breathed, leaning against the slick wall for support, knowing what was coming. This was one of her non-bench skills—a skill I’d come to appreciate in ways I couldn’t quite articulate. The water cascaded over us, hot and cold, our bodies entwined in a dance as old as time.

She began slowly, teasing, her hands wrapping around me, her tongue swirling around my tip, and I groaned, the sound swallowed by the rushing water. My instincts told me to hold back, but the pleasure was too sweet, too intoxicating. 

“Y/N…” I rasped, the words spilling out like a confession, “I’m… shit…”

But she didn’t relent. No, she tightened her grip and quickened her pace, and as my knees weakened beneath me, I surrendered to the waves of ecstasy crashing over me. I grabbed at the shower curtain rod, but it shook under my weight. I couldn’t hold on anymore.

With a final, desperate groan, I let go, surrendering to the moment, the pleasure consuming me entirely. She rose from her knees, licking her lips, that look in her eyes making my heart race. “You are one talented woman,” I murmured against her neck, panting.

Still wrapped around me, I stumbled into the bedroom, a tangle of limbs and laughter. I collapsed onto the bed, her body beneath me, and kissed her everywhere, exploring the soft curves that felt like home.

I knelt beside the bed, pulling her legs over my shoulders, my hands wandering over her hips as I feasted on the sweetness before me. The taste of her was electric, sending jolts of desire straight to my core. 

“God, Y/N, you taste even better than you smell,” I groaned, losing myself in her as she writhed beneath my touch, her moans filling the air like a siren’s song. 

It was then that I realized bringing her pleasure was no longer just a thrill; it was my favorite pastime, a dance of intimacy that bound us closer than any words could express. I placed soft kisses along her body, the world outside fading into obscurity, leaving only us—lost in our own private paradise. 

“Mmmmmm… Yoongi…” she sighed, fingers tangling in my hair. “Very… talented… yourself.”

I chuckled, planting another kiss on her lips, affection bubbling up like a tide. I love you, I love you, I love you…

“Inside… now,” she commanded, breathless and eager.

“Yes, ma’am,” I grinned, knowing this night would linger in our memories long after the water had dried.

“Y/N?” I gently comb my fingers through her damp hair, the strands clinging to my chest like the remnants of a storm.

“Hmm?” Her voice is soft, almost dreamy, as if she’s still wrapped up in the warmth of the moment.

“I… I want to tell you about my parents.” As I speak, she lifts her head, folding her arms over my chest, resting her chin there like it’s a pillow—a sanctuary amid the chaos of my memories.

A tiny grin dances on her lips, and she nods, encouraging me to continue.

“You probably guessed that they’re dead, right?”

She nods again, her gaze steady. “I know they’re not part of your life now… I figured something must have happened.”

“My dad died when I was four,” I say, the words tumbling out bluntly, like the beginning of a ghost story. 

“I’m sorry…” Her voice is small, fragile.

“I don’t remember him, except for pictures.” I shrug, trying to shake off the weight of the past. “He had pretty aggressive colon cancer—killed him in two months.”

“Oh my God, Yoongi… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I attempt a smile, but it probably comes out crooked and imperfect, like an old photograph faded by time. “So it was just my mom and me for a while… but when I was eleven, she was diagnosed with breast cancer.”

Her eyes widen, a shadow of understanding crossing her face as she starts rubbing gentle circles on my chest with her fingers, an attempt to soothe the pain I’m dredging up.

“She was so strong, though. She fought it for almost two years, with the most eager and positive attitude you can imagine. Kind of like you, in a way.” I flash her another smile, hoping to lighten the moment, but Y/N’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, and she remains silent, letting me spill my heart.

“When she started getting worse, we moved in with my aunt, uncle, and Yoonji. My dad’s brother, Namjoon, is one of the best oncologists on the West Coast. But after metastasis, there was pretty much nothing else he could do.” 

“And that’s why you do cancer research,” she says, piecing it all together.

“It was Namjoon’s idea, really. He talked about how frustrating it was, being an oncologist, waiting for new therapies, new drugs, and discoveries. I figured it made sense to devote my life to that.”

“It does…” she replies, her tone soft but firm, a steady anchor in my turbulent sea of memories.

“I know it’s not a very profitable career…” I pause, the weight of Estelle’s words echoing in my mind, the sting of her judgment lingering like a bad dream—wasting my time.

“Profitable?” Her disbelief catches me off guard, pulling me from my thoughts. “What do you need so much money for anyway? You’re doing something you love. Something meaningful. That’s so much more important.”

Y/N renders me speechless with her insight, her understanding washing over me like a wave, leaving me breathless. I kiss the top of her head, the moment stretching between us until I decide to share the last piece of my story, the promise I made her before.

“My mom… um… she loved The Carpenters. She would make me sing their songs to her all the time. At the end—when she was breathing through a tube and couldn’t speak anymore—she wrote that note you saw on the CD.”

“‘I’ll be with Daddy soon’?” Y/N remembers, her voice barely a whisper, the words hanging heavy in the air.

“Yes…” I run a hand through my hair, staring at the ceiling as if the white paint might offer me some solace. I try to breathe through the lump in my throat. “I still miss her… so much.” I keep my eyes fixed on the ceiling, willing them not to fill with tears, blaming the onions and their cruel sulfenic acids when they finally betray me.

After a few deep breaths, I turn to face Y/N, who is sniffling, her hands trembling slightly.

“Y/N, don’t cry. Please.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just so sad. I’m so sorry.” She cries over my chest, and I run my hand over her hair, creating a soothing rhythm in the storm of emotions.

“I know. But I’m okay. I’m happy now.”

“You are?”

“Yes, because of you.”

Her sniffles dissolve into giggles, a beautiful mix of laughter and tears, and she never ceases to amaze me with her resilience.

“I love you, Y/N.” The words burn in my throat, raw and true, echoing in the empty spaces of my heart.

She lifts her head, staring at me through her wet eyelashes, and I know she can feel how my heart pounds beneath her. I’m overwhelmed by emotions, but I’ve never spoken truer words. After a moment, Y/N’s hand reaches behind my neck, and her lips collide with mine in a passionate kiss, her tears mingling with mine.

“And I love you…” she breathes in between kisses, her voice trembling with sincerity. “So… so… so much.”

We fall asleep like that, her warm body over my chest, the world fading away. I feel a profound relief, a weight lifting as she gets to know me in ways no one ever has. And even though shadows of uncertainty linger about our future, I realize I don’t have to solve everything right now. Like Y/N said, I would savor my time—my time with her, my time in school. As long as she was by my side, nothing else mattered. I was doing what I loved, and the person I loved was right there with me. It couldn’t possibly get any better than this.

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[antimony-medusa]

If you're doing the fanfic asks: 5, 11, 24?

I am indeed doing the fanfic asks!

5. most popular fic this year

Okay so if you count by subscriptions, bookmarks or hits, that would be my Syndicate Heist Of Las Nevadas (But Everybody Has Superpowers), The Totem Of Undying Job. Put almost four months and 62k of writing into that one and re-learned how to write and finished a long-form story for the first time in *cough* ten *cough* many years.

If you count by kudos, that would be the 700-word sickfic I wrote while the kettle boiled to deal with canon betrayals in someone else's fic (shoutout to knifetrick), that is the only thing I wrote this year that can be described as "fluffy" and also had nine people subscribe to it (?). This Is My Pity Party I do not understand you and how people keep finding you, but I'm— glad you enjoyed? Thank you for the kudos?

11. fandom you enjoyed writing for the most this year

Uh. This is obvious to anyone who takes a gander at my page, but that would be DSMP, my angsty hilarious broken mans writing betrayals and drama into block game. Or wait, that's not a fandom tag, so *clears throat* my favourite fandom is Video Blogging RPF.

24. favorite fic you read this year

Please ask me something easier, like "when is the world going to get better". I refuse to drop it down to only one so you're gonna get a couple answers. Oh god I went through my bookmarks and you're gonna get a COUPLE answers.

(Readmore to save your dash.)

oh dear, can you see me? by findingkairos, for being the first serious longfic that I'd read in the fandom and making me think about minecraft mechanics as informing story, and about dehumanization and coming back from that, and about inherent dignity, and for like, blowing my mind. This is the first writing of any kind that I went back to re-read in years and it changed my relationship with reading right at about the same time as I was starting to be unable to concentrate on original fiction of any kind and panicking over that. Something about reading on my computer still worked though, and so I did not lose my mind, and instead I went "I am going to google how to be a good commenter on fic and emulate that because I need to do something to express my love here". Pronoun shift my beloved.

Orphan's Path, by @aenor-llelo, Alderous, Anarchy-Schmanarchy (Murder_Schmurder), BattleBlaze, ConcoctionsFromHell, Falrisesi, fluxphage, Otakuforlife19, Rocket999. (it takes a village to write an orphan's path.) Right, so, I am aro/ace. Known that for a good like, six/four years now. Yes I was slow to figure it out, shush, literally no one told me it was an option for the first twenty some-odd years of my life. This is the first time I read a depiction of a QPR, presented as equal to romantic relationship, or in main characters, or in adults, and it undid me. The idea? That you could not be so irreparably broken that you could be enough for someone even if you couldn't give them romance? That you didn't have to play third-string behind the real important family and romance relationship? That you weren't inherently tragic? That you weren't inherently lesser? That you weren't inherently broken? Was a lot? Also it was funny?

Don't Hang Up Now, I'm Not Done, by teahound (@tea-with-veth). The first tubbo-centric fic I read and then I was deeply disappointed to find how difficult it was to find anything that even remotely measures up. But I loved the relationships in this so much, it basically punted me into beeduo fandom. Now I have 20k+ channel points with both tubbo and ranboo (and tubbo alt), and whenever they show up in fic I cheer for my boys.

Hush Now (You Were Lost but Now You’re Found), by @corpse-art. You know when you read something and you're like "oh, this is what everyone else is trying to do with the genre". So absolutely beautifully written and conceived and plotted, sent me down a rabbit hole of superhero AUs which mostly did not measure up, I adore it. The reveal of information is so obviously intentional and crafted? We have learned so much and still actually know so little? It's a masterwork? The intentionality of it all?

the trinkets and the treasures we brought back from the crusades, by Odaigahara (@droidofmay). Absolutely beautifully-done world-building and characterization in a one-shot where one character is only there via an ancient diary and the other person is dying. What one-shots want to be. I try to rec this and I lose my words and I am just grabbing people by the front of the shirt and yelling READ IT.

Bad Beat, by Bee_4 (@theminecraftbee). I do not understand how to play card games. I don't understand bluffing or card counting or the rules. But this managed to keep me absolutely on the edge of my seat for 10k words and then it sucker-punched me. HOW TO TENSION LIKE THIS I DO NOT KNOW.

Whatever Remains, However Improbable, by @7cxrhye. It is a fantastic mystery that made me forget to eat or get up from the computer for an afternoon (I was walking around making tea carrying my laptop with me), and also the author invited me to her discord server and I timidly joined and then I learned that fic discord servers are the best place on the internet, so it was noteworthy both ways. (This is just such a good mystery, you guys.)

Cataclysm, by thanotaphobia (blue000jay) (@thanotaphobia). Cataclysm my beloved, the reason I eagerly check the calendar to see if it's friday and sadly droop throughout the week. This is my favourite because it is an astonishingly good fantasy AU with politics where everyone is an unreliable narrator and so much is happening behind the scenes, and it is my favourite because it made me absolutely lose my mind in my desire to know what is going on and literally start a thirteen-page document titled "conspiracy document" tracking facts and alliances and theories, and it is my favourite because I actually got in on the ground floor and got to read this one from chapter one (I was the eleventh comment) and I was recommending it around from chapter one onwards because I knew it was going to be amazing and I was fucking correct, motherfuckers. Read Cataclysm.

mangoball, for being so hilarious that I actually sent it to my non-dsmp friends and went "okay I think this still makes sense outside the fandom, this is so funny, read it, I need you to understand the washing machine joke".

Yeah thanks for asking such an easy question to answer.

fanfic end of the year asks

[gukyi]

the courtship chronicles | ksj

summary: dating has never been anywhere near your list of priorities, but kim seokjin is nothing if not determined. and when he comes to the rescue and accompanies you to your friend’s wedding, he decides to request only one thing in return: for you to let him take you out on fake dates and shower you in fake affection, and show you how much fun dating can be. he just needs to remember to keep the part where he’s been in love with you under wraps.

{friends to lovers!au, fake dating!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, and emotional hurt/comfort! word count: 20k a/n: big, big, big thanks to @aurawatercolor for commissioning me for this piece!! i honestly am so happy with this fic and even happier to give my main man kim seokjin the love and attention he deserves!!! this fic is pretty much slow burn from start to finish, so enjoy!

check out the post-script drabble here!

“You’re bringing a plus one, right?” Cynthia demands on the other end of the line, voice frazzled and breaths quick. “You better, because I already factored it into the wedding budget. There will be food meant for a plus one for you which I already paid for so you better bring one. I paid for it already.” She’s running in circles, trying to make her point. It’s clear she’s got an awful lot on her plate as it is. 

“Can’t I just eat their serving myself? You know I’m a growing woman,” you plead. Cynthia and the rest of her bridesmaids have been on your back about bringing a plus one ever since she got engaged. 

“No, you have to bring a plus one. Even if it’s your mom, Y/N, I don’t care,” Cynthia says. She makes to say something else, but then pauses. “Actually, I do care. Can it please be a date? Even like, someone you met off of Hinge. I don’t know. Not your mom. Don’t bring her. That would be only a little weird,” she corrects herself. 

“Weirder than some stranger I met off Hinge?” You ask pointedly. 

“No. At least they’re around your age. I want to see you applying yourself, Y/N!” Cynthia scolds. “Go out there and find a man! Pick him up off of the street if you have to! Anything!” She rallies. “Being single is cool and everything but being in love is just as fulfilling!”

“Of course you would think that, you’re getting married tomorrow,” you tell her, sighing. Can’t she just accept that you aren’t really looking for a relationship right now? And haven’t been looking for one since you graduated college three years ago?

“I love my future husband, thank you very much. We plan on leading a very full and extraordinary life with our fifteen dogs and eighteen geckos.”

“Okay, Miss We Bought A Zoo,” you tease. 

Cynthia laughs. “Pretty soon it’ll be Mrs. We Bought A Zoo, thank you very much!”

You hear a knock on the door, turning to check the kitschy cuckoo clock you had found at a flea market for five dollars for the time. It’s six on the dot.

“I have to go, Cynthia, Seokjin’s here,” you tell her, already making to hang up the phone as you head towards the door, using your shoulder and ear to hold it in place. “We’re making a family dinner for two, tonight.”

“Bring Seokjin! He’ll charm the shit out of my mom, I just know it,” Cynthia tells you. “Bring him! Tell him to clear his fucking calendar for tomorrow.”

“Bye, Cynthia,” you say as you reach out for the doorknob, twisting it to reveal your grinning best friend with a bag full of goodies on the other side. “I have to go.”

“Send Seokjin my love! I don’t even expect a wedding gift from him! His presence is enough!” Cynthia shouts, loud enough for Seokjin to hear everything despite the phone not even being on speaker. You hang up before Cynthia can say anything else to goad Seokjin into accompanying you to her wedding, sending an apologetic smile his way. 

“Sorry, that was—”

“Cynthia?” Seokjin finishes with a grin. You usher him into your apartment, letting him place his bag on your kitchen countertop as he pulls out two wine glasses to get the party started. You sigh, helpless. “Yeah, I figured. She’s getting married tomorrow, isn’t she?”

“She’s uber stressed, if that’s what you mean to say,” you correct, joining him in your kitchen as you start to unpack what he brought, countless tupperware containers filled with vegetables, meats, pastas. There’s even an entire bag of rice. Does Seokjin really think you have no rice in your apartment? Seriously? 

“I can imagine,” Seokjin agrees with a laugh. “Thank god you and I aren’t getting married anytime soon, right?” With a flourish, he produces a bottle of red wine you had been saving in your fridge for this very occasion, filling up half of each wine glass. 

“I’ll toast to that,” you say, smiling as you hold up your glass. Seokjin swirls the wine around in his own before holding it out. 

“Here’s to not being romantically involved whatsoever!” Seokjin hurrahs, and you laugh at his honesty as your glasses clink together, the sound echoing around your kitchen. “Who says you need to be married to prepare a kickass meal together.”

“You’re in charge of the meat,” you immediately tell him. You’ve never been the biggest fan of handling it. Vegetables are much more your speed. They also don’t get angry at you when you make a mistake cooking them. Besides, Seokjin’s always been the better food mediator between the two of you. 

“Like always,” he teases, giving you a nudge as he pulls the pots and pans from the cupboard beneath the counter and hands you one of the seventeen different cutting boards you have in random places in your kitchen. You don’t know what it is about them, but every single month you find yourself buying a brand new cutting board. They may as well be drugs. “You should really branch out and try cooking beef sometimes. I’ll teach you, hey? So you don’t have to be scared of it.”

“I am not scared of cooking beef,” you tell him sternly, flinching when Seokjin places the meat in the oil-slick pan and it begins to sizzle and pop. 

“If you say so, Y/N,” Seokjin singsongs. “You know, I’d make a pretty good teacher. I reckon I could show you a thing or two about cooking.”

“Okay, Mr. Cooking Is My Passion,” you say, scrunching up your nose. “Just because I can’t make a damn filet mignon does not make me a bad cook,” you tell him, “whose soup do you ask for when you’re sick and in bed with a cold? That’s right, mine!” You poke his chest for good measure, making him put his hands up in surrender. 

“Alright, alright, I concede,” he says with a laugh. “Your soup is delicious.”

“Thank you,” you say, proudly. “How about I make a couple of servings while you cook the meat?”

Seokjin blows a kiss your way. “Y/N, You know just the way to my heart.”

An hour later, you and Seokjin have whipped up an impressive set of dishes, from your homemade vegetable soup to his traditional bulgogi bibimbap, a small bowl of kimchi in the middle of the table accompanied by some sauteed vegetables and a serving of glass noodles. There’s enough to feed a family of four (one of whom could be a ravenous high-school football player) on your table, and yet, you and Seokjin never fail to finish it all. 

Seokjin takes one bite out of his bulgogi bibimbap and moans in delight, tossing his head back as he holds out two thumbs up, chopsticks clanging onto the side of the bowl as he drops them. “Wow,” he says loudly, patting himself on the back. “I’m amazing. Gordon Ramsey wants what I have.”

“There’s no way it’s that good,” you tease, even though it most definitely is that good. Seokjin is, without a doubt, the best chef you have ever met, the best chef whose food you have ever had the pleasure of eating. If he weren’t employed by a publicity company he would almost certainly be the owner of the best restaurant in the city. The New York Times would visit his restaurant and write a five-star review to be published in the paper the next morning. You take a bite of it yourself, chewing it slowly and pretending to ponder its flavor. It’s delicious. It’s never not delicious. “Hmm… it’s alright.”

“‘Alright’?” Seokjin shouts, slandered. “Just ‘alright’?” He slams a fist onto the table in anger. “This is blasphemy! It’s amazing!” Grabbing the knife beside his plate, he holds it under your chin dramatically, glaring into your eyes. “You better retract that statement, or else!”

“Or else what, Mr. Kim?” You say, desperately resisting the urge not to burst into laughter. Seokjin’s not doing much better, lips pursed tight in an effort not to cackle aloud. 

“Or else I’ll have no choice but to eat all of your bulgogi bibimbap for you!” He cries, reaching over with grabby hands to take your plate away from you. 

Just as he suspected, you hold on tight to your plate, refusing to let such good food go into the mouth of someone who has his own plate. It’s then, as you’re playing tug-of-war with your food, that Seokjin finally breaks into chuckles, hiccuping out his laugh as he concedes and lets you eat your food in peace. 

“Just as I suspected, peasant!” He says proudly. “It’s delicious!”

You put a heaping chopstick-ful into your mouth. “It really is, Seokjin. You always do such a great job.”

“I’m honored,” he says, bowing slightly. “Food is what brings people together.” He holds out a piece of kimchi in front of your mouth, and you eat it obligingly. “Speaking of bringing people together, what was Cynthia shouting about on the phone?”

“Oh, just her wedding, you know,” you tell him with a shrug. “The usual. She’s desperate for me to bring a plus one,” you say. Marriage is disillusioning her. She thinks everybody around her should have a love like her own. And while it is a wonderful, fairytale-esque thought, you just aren’t really on the same wavelength. You never have been. “She even factored it into the budget to guilt-trip me into doing it.”

“Why don’t you?” Seokjin asks, downing a spoonful of soup. “Going to a wedding alone can’t be too much fun.”

“I won’t be alone,” you protest. “I’m one of her closest friends. I’ll know a bunch of people there.”

“Yeah, but you won’t have brought someone who, by way of how plus-one’s work, will be obligated to be by your side the entire night. Who are you gonna dance with when Crazy in Love comes on, huh?” Seokjin points out. 

You frown. “I can dance by myself.”

“Yeah, but a plus-one would make it more fun! You guys can dougie, or whatever it is the cool kids do these days. Is dabbing still a thing?” He dabs, just to make a point. It’s cringey and awful and hilarious, all at once. 

“Stop, stop, you’re embarrassing yourself and I’m the only other person here,” you plead. “You and Cynthia are so on my ass about bringing a date, God. I just—I’m not really interested in anybody right now. Dating just isn’t my thing.”

“Has dating ever been your thing, Y/N?” Seokjin asks, even though he clearly knows the answer already. “I don’t think you’ve been on a date since sophomore year of college. Do you even know what dating is, anymore? Love?”

You roll your eyes. If there’s one person who’s a bigger hopeless romantic than Cynthia, it’s Seokjin. The man has an entire bookshelf of romance novels in his bedroom. He waxes poetic about falling in love every other day, about coming home to a significant other, a family, to cook for, to spend time with. He’s been on more Bumble dates in the past year than you can count on both hands and feet. 

“I know what it is,” you defend yourself, “I’m just—I don’t really believe in that, for me. I don’t ever see myself having it. I have friends. My family. That’s good enough. I don’t need romantic love.”

Seokjin scoffs. “What? You mean to tell me you don’t ever want to fall in love? Never ever? Come on, Y/N. Love is great! It makes you feel warm and happy, like one of those giant Costco teddy bears. Those are the material equivalent of love. Haven’t you always wanted a giant Costco teddy bear?”

“When I was five, yeah,” you tell him. “Listen, Seokjin, I get it. Love is great and amazing, I’m just not that interested. You and Cynthia have been trying to get me to go on a date for years and it doesn’t appeal to me whatsoever.”

“What about dating is unappealing?” Seokjin inquires. He’s determined. And you, the best friend, are weak. 

“I don’t know, having to meet new people, talk about yourself, try to see a future with them. It seems so tiring,” you say, sighing. Seokjin looks positively bewildered, because of course he enjoys dating—he’s so charismatic, charming, and outgoing. Even if a date goes poorly he still ends up with a new friend. “I’m just not that into doing that stuff.”

“Psh,” Seokjin says casually, skeptical. “I bet that if you just gave the whole dating thing a try, you might actually like it. You haven’t gone out on one in so long—maybe it’s different than what you remember. The last time you did it, we were all just college students.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you groan. “How exactly do you expect me to ‘give the whole dating thing a try’, then? Last time I checked, I wasn’t particularly interested in anybody.”

Seokjin pauses, pondering for a moment as he taps his chin with his pointer finger. Then, like a smack to the face, it hits him all at once, and in his excitement, he pounds his fist right onto the prongs of the fork by his plate. “Ow, holy shit!” He shouts, excited nonetheless.

“Oh my God, are you alright?” You ask, a little concerned and a lot amused.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assures you, rubbing the side of his palm. “But what I was about to say, is why don’t we go out?”

You sputter, choking on the soup you had just taken a sip of. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

“Why don’t we date? It’ll be fun!” He says happily. 

“Seokjin, we’re friends,” you say. 

He shrugs, carefree. “Yeah, sure we are. But think about it: since we’re already so close, you won’t have to worry about introducing yourself to someone new. You won’t have to go through the whole tell me about yourself thing, we can just jump right into the dating part! It’ll be fun and you’ll get to see what dating is like past the introductions. How about it?” He asks. 

He thinks it’s brilliant. 

You think it’s ludicrous. 

“But, Seokjin, are we actually going to date? Like, be a couple? Because I don’t know if that’s what I was really aiming for with our friendship today,” you say hesitantly. You love Seokjin, sure, but you aren’t in love with Seokjin. You’ve been best friends since college. Won’t it be weird if you suddenly start dating? And doing other couple-y things?

Seokjin waves a hand around like a nonchalant businessman. “No, we won’t actually be boyfriend and girlfriend, or anything,” he promises. “It’ll just be fake. Make believe! Think of it as a dating test-run. What do you say?”

“You sound too enthusiastic for me not to be worried,” you tell him tentatively. He’s like an energetic salesman. It’s a little frightening. There must be some fine print you aren’t looking at. Something that you’re missing. “Are you sure about this? Like, do you want anything in return?”

“Anything in return to help my best friend find love?” He asks, scandalized. “Of course not!”

You frown. 

“Okay,” he gives in, “maybe some more soup. I’m about to visit my mom and she loves it.”

“Why don’t I just come with?” You suggest. Seokjin’s mom is the second-best chef you’ve ever met. Somewhere along the line, Seokjin took what he learned from her and improved it ten-fold. 

“Even better! Mom’s been begging me to bring you around sometime. How about it, do we have a deal?” He asks, holding his hand out. 

You sigh. He’s your best friend, and all he wants in return is for you to visit his mom with him. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

“Sure,” you say, conceding. “Why not?”

Seokjin’s first order of business as your self-appointed brand new not-real boyfriend, is to accompany you to Cynthia’s wedding as your plus-one. He does actually find a wedding gift on such short notice—a fairly new cookbook from which he had memorized the recipes already, so it was no longer of use to him. Because of course, Kim Seokjin is the only person on Earth who memorizes the one hundred recipes in a book just because he wants to. Where does he find the time?

[May 18th, 3:18PM]

Seokjin: Are we wearing matching colors? Seokjin: Or is that too senior prom?

You: As long as you don’t show up wearing white you should be fine

Seokjin: >_> Seokjin: You know that if I wore white the groom would drop everything and marry me instead ;-)

You: Only because of your charm You: I’m wearing pastel pink! I don’t suppose you have anything in your closet to go with that, do you?

[Seokjin is typing…]

[May 18th, 3:20PM]

Seokjin: Oh, Y/N, you don’t even need to ask twice

An hour later, Seokjin pulls up to the curb outside of your apartment complex in his Volkswagen, which is every bit as charismatic as he is, right as you’re scrambling to tug on your most comfortable heels (as if such a thing could exist!), running late, as per usual. The ceremony begins at 5:30 and you and Seokjin were meant to leave for the venue at four. 

It is 4:19. 

Frazzled, you rush around your apartment movie-montage style, tweaking strands of your hair in the mirror in the hallway and nabbing your bottomless bag on the coffee table. It’s not even really summer yet, but your apartment doesn’t have air conditioning and it’s becoming more and more of a curse as the globe slowly warms multiple degrees over the years. The true loser of climate change, rather than the polar bears, the bees, and coastal cities, is you, who thought renting a place with no air conditioning would be just fine. 

Desperate not to open the door to Seokjin with your forehead dripping, you dab off the beads of sweat gathered by your hairline with the skirt of your dress—whatever, you were going to sweat in it at some point—right as you hear the first knock. 

Seokjin’s fashion choices are usually rather conservative. He does work a somewhat menial half-office job, so he can’t roll up to his desk wearing the exceedingly stylish and exceedingly adventurous clothing that Namjoon and Taehyung wear, which, in turn, limits his closet. Lots of plain or argyle sweaters pulled over dress shirts with the collars peeking out, lots of navy jeans, lots of white sneakers and loafers. The only clothing item Seokjin does experiment with is socks, of which he has an impressive collection, ranging anywhere from corgi butts to Santa Claus. 

You didn’t really know what you were expecting when Seokjin said you didn’t need to ask twice after mentioning that you were wearing a pastel pink dress. He does own a couple of pink things, but as far as you’re aware (and you’re pretty aware, considering you’ve been best friends with him since the beginning of college), it amounts mostly to his sock stash and a couple of sweaters, which he most often wears under denim jackets or over dress shirts. 

What you most certainly aren’t expecting when you open the door is to see Seokjin standing on the other side in a full-on suit, a light grey color that complements the peach in his skin tone perfectly. More so, however, you hadn’t at all anticipated for him to be wearing a perfectly-matching pastel pink dress shirt underneath, complemented by a rather obnoxious bow tie with red hairs littered all over it. 

“Wow, okay,” you say, blinking just to make sure that your eyes are working perfectly. “It’s May, why do you look like Valentine’s Day threw up on you?”

Seokjin opens his mouth to send a witty response back to you, but the moment he lays his eyes on you, it’s as if all of the words have fallen from his lips. He swallows, hands fumbling with the bouquet in his hand. “Don’t say that to me like you aren’t also wearing the most Valentine’s Day dress I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s a pastel pink midi dress,” you tell him, frowning. “At least I’m not wearing something that has cartoon-y red hearts all over it,” you accuse, pointing to his bow tie. 

Seokjin gasps, offended. “Hey! This is my lucky bow tie. It’s never steered me wrong when it comes to love.”

You scoff. “I don’t think Cynthia and her fiancé need your bow tie’s help today. Have you ever seen someone more in love with another person than they are with each other?”

Seokjin pauses. He sighs a little bit, like there’s something weighing on his mind he refuses to divulge. You won’t press. You may be best friends, but you aren’t mind-readers, and sometimes, there are some secrets that have to be kept even from each other. Yours is that when you guys were juniors in college and Seokjin was running late for class because he was desperate to find the last Pop-Tart in his apartment, you had actually eaten it the night before when he was in the bathroom. 

You wonder what his is. 

“You never know,” he finally says, “we could always use the extra luck, don’t you think?”

You nod, “I suppose. What’s with the flowers? You know you aren’t supposed to bring them to a wedding. They probably have enough flowers as it is.”

As if caught off guard by the flowers held in his very own hand, Seokjin turns his gaze down to look at the bouquet, a collection of baby’s breath, tulips, and carnations. “Oh,” he says, speechless. “Well, I was dropping by the flower shop anyway to bother Hoseok, and he said that they had some leftover stock that nobody wanted because they were a little smaller than the other flowers, so he gave them to me at a discount. They’re for you, I guess.” Like a nervous high schooler going on his very first date, he shoves them towards you, making you step back to avoid getting punched in the chest. 

“Seriously? You didn’t have to do that, Seokjin,” you say happily, pleasantly surprised at the bouquet. Sure, some of them are a little wilted, a little dehydrated, but you get flowers so infrequently (in fact, you don’t think you’ve gotten any since Seokjin sent you one of those singular rose grams during your first Valentine’s Day at college), that the gesture is as good as gold. 

“Eh,” he says, shrugging casually. “I don’t really have anybody else I would want to give them to.”

Gleefully, you take them from his outstretched hand and immediately rush to put them in some sort of vase. You, like the piece of millennial trash that you are, end up using a random empty mason jar you find in one of your kitchen cabinets. 

“What time is it?” Seokjin asks, looking around for a clock. 

“Late, we have to go,” you instantly respond, shooing him out of the door and darting down the stairs because the elevator in your apartment building is about four hundred years old and doesn’t even have a light bulb inside of it. You cram into Seokjin’s tiny white Volkswagen, which just screams hipster-mom-in-her-forties, and he speeds off at a velocity that tiny Volkswagen beetles were not meant to go at. 

Surprisingly enough, you make it to the wedding venue with a few minutes to spare, which you largely attribute to the fact that Seokjin was driving faster than some of the SUVs on the highway on the way over. He isn’t a bad or reckless driver. He’s just a driver with certain priorities that rank higher than the act of driving itself. 

“Ah, the smell of nervousness and love,” Seokjin says as you step out of the car, inhaling dramatically. “Smells like a wedding.”

“Smells like the ceremony is about to begin,” you say, and you both rush over the pebbled path to the entrance, giggling like a bunch of high schoolers as you stumble through the front doors very ungracefully. 

“Wow,” Seokjin says, impressed at the extent of decoration. Cynthia had been raving on and on about how she was aiming to have a sort of romantic, Impressionist art painting vibe to the wedding, lots of pastels, flowers, twinkling lights. “This is very impressive. One hundred out of ten.”

“Cynthia’s been planning this for months, so I’m sure she’ll be pleased to hear it,” you say, ushering yourselves into the main wedding hall as the rest of the guests file in from chatting outside as the clock ticks down. There are two seats close to the front that Cynthia’s saved for you and your plus-one, which she most certainly will be very happy to see you have brought with you, in the form of your best friend, Seokjin, of course. 

“Aren’t you excited?” Seokjin whispers as everyone settles down. “Can’t you feel the love in the air?”

“It’s not in my genetics to feel that sort of thing,” you retort back, earning a pout from your best friend in return. 

“Well, it’s in mine, and let me tell you, Y/N, it feels like love!” He exclaims happily. “You should be basking in it.”

“Are you?” You round on him. No point in not practicing what you preach. 

“Always,” Seokjin says, gazing at you happily. He seems so content, in this very moment, about to watch a ceremony that will bond two people together for the rest of their lives, devote themselves to each other, wholly and completely. “I’m always basking in it.”

Then, the officiant steps up to the microphone at the front of the room. Seokjin reaches his hand over to grab yours, letting it rest in his palm on his lap, and the ceremony begins. 

Going to weddings as a child, even as an adult to a fairly distant coworker, they’ve always felt so detached from you as a guest. Sure, the ceremonies are wonderful and you’re happy for the newly-married couple, but it’s almost as if you’re watching a movie and instead of being another character, you’re part of the audience. When you leave the wedding venue, when all of the dancing and eating and celebrating is over, you forget all about it, and you move on with your life. 

But knowing the two people standing up at the altar as more than just coworkers, or a distant relative, knowing them as friends, as near family, tints everything in a rosy pink. It’s the most beautiful wedding ceremony you’ve ever had the pleasure of attending. It’s humbling and real and unrehearsed, romantic and funny and meaningful all at once. It makes you feel warm inside, truly, truly happy for your friend and for what is to come in the next chapter of her life. 

Crying was pretty much unavoidable. It was mostly on Seokjin’s end—he’s not as close with either of them as you are, but he certainly loves love much more than you do—but some tears were shed on your end, as well. This is the sort of thing you’d want to talk about for years to come, even after you walk out, in the hopes that a constant reminder will prevent it from ever fading from your memory. 

As weddings go, the next part is the best part: free food. You get to your tables and Cynthia’s fancy (and expensive) caterers come whooshing around with bottles of wine and pitchers of water, filling up the glasses on your tables as the wedding party prepares to enter. You’re seated next to some other old friends from college, ones you recognize and ones you don’t, and ones that Seokjin is very happy to start chatting up the moment you take your seats. 

“Are you here together?” One of the men—you think his name is Nathan(?)—asks, pointing to the two of you. 

“No,” you say. 

“Yes,” Seokjin says. 

You both turn to glare at each other as Nathan—no, maybe Noah—furrows his brows, clearly having not received the response he was aiming for. Seokjin makes a bunch of aggressive and dramatic facial gestures to remind you that you two are fucking dating, remember? Even though it’s not actually real, and that was the part you were focusing on. The not real part. 

“We are,” you correct awkwardly, even though Whatshisface seems to have moved on from the topic. “He’s my plus-one.”

“I’m not as tight with the bride as I am with one of her closest friends,” Seokjin says jokingly, even though you’re the only one who laughs. 

“Yeah,” one of the girls chimes in. “You guys were best friends in college.”

“Still are,” you say, grinning. At least you don’t have to lie about that. 

“So cute,” the same girl says romantically. “I wish I could fall in love with my best friend,” she turns to the man she’s with who clearly doesn’t want to be here whatsoever. “You guys must be so happy.”

“It’s not always a walk in the park,” Seokjin warns, and you don’t have time to smack him in the chest and ask him what the hell he means by that, as the officiant taps onto the microphone to begin to announce the entrance of the wedding party. 

As each couple, each bridesmaid and groomsman, walk through the door, you can’t help but wonder why Seokjin said it wasn’t always a walk in the park to be together. Are you that awful to fake date? 

“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” Cynthia’s father asks, tapping his teaspoon against the wine glass in his hand. “I’d just like to make a toast.” He turns to where Cynthia and her fiancé are seated, and he looks on the verge of tears. “For as long as I’ve lived, I’ve never seen two people love each other so selflessly. When they’re together, they make grey skies turn blue, turn night into day. All I can wish for you both is that you will forever be each other’s best friend, each other’s rock. There is no greater joy in life than to get to spend the entirety of it with your best friend. Congratulations, Cynthia and James. We are so lucky to know you both.”

Everybody begins to clap. 

Everybody, except Seokjin. 

You notice that his hands are resting in his lap, and when you turn to look at him, you see his eyes welling up, his smile soft and wistful. 

“You alright?” You ask quietly, giving him a nudge with your shoulder. 

Seokjin looks back at you like you’ve caught him off guard. “Me? Yeah.”

“You’re crying,” you point out. 

He shrugs, blinking to let the tears roll down his cheeks. “I just love that,” he explains. “Love knowing that some of us can be so lucky to spend the rest of our lives with our best friends by our sides.”

 According to the ancient law of weddings, the reception is where all guests are mandated to get out of their seats and boogie-oogie-oogie. At least, that’s what Seokjin says, when the food gets whisked away and the space morphs into a dance floor, tables in the center cleared as the bride goes to change in her mandated second dress, because one just isn’t expensive enough as it is. Seokjin just seems to know everything about weddings. It’s almost as if he’s planned one himself. 

“Just wait until all of the stuffy, traditional dances are over,” Seokjin whispers into your ear as Cynthia and her father share a dance. Seokjin looks like he’s about to jump out of his seat, desperate to get onto the dance floor. “You’ve never seen me dance at a wedding.”

“I’ve never seen you dance at all,” you correct, excluding all of the dabbing he did in 2016 when it was still a cool thing to dab. 

“Then you’re in for a real treat,” he says smugly. 

Sure enough, the moment the rest of the guests are invited onto the dance floor to drop it low, Seokjin is the first one out of his chair, and you, the second, begrudgingly dragged to the center by your over-enthusiastic best friend. He’s always been absolutely shameless in everything he does, which makes for high confidence and low embarrassment, two things you are certainly not the strongest in. Which is exactly why you end up side-stepping awkwardly like a geek at senior prom, while he uses every single one of his limbs to express his passion for whatever generic pop song is blasting through the speakers. 

Cynthia’s never been one for niche, hipster music.

“Come on, Y/N, have a little fun!” Seokjin encourages, grabbing onto your wrist and rapidly waving it up and down, making you shake. 

“You can have enough fun for the both of us,” you tell him, still just as aware of everybody else’s opinion of you as you were in high school. Some things really never change. 

“Impossible! Come on!” He says, and you have no idea what dance move he’s about to break into from his positioning, and then you suppose you’ll never know, because the song immediately switches to an acoustic one by Ed Sheeran, which is the most generic type of slow song you could possibly think of. 

“Grab your boys and girls, everyone,” the DJ says, a random white guy who definitely would prefer to make mixtapes in his basement than do this shit. “This one’s for love!”

You don’t even have time to take another step before Seokjin is grabbing your hand with his own and pulling you in close to him. He holds your one hand out and places his other on your waist, and instinctively, you rest your hand on his shoulder. 

When you went to senior prom in high school, your date was this terribly nervous friend of a friend, who asked you because you both didn’t have a real date to go with, and you figured it would be better to go with an acquaintance than nobody at all. And it was sort of fun, because you sat at a table with all of your friends and ate decent senior prom food, and it wasn’t in your stinky high school gymnasium but a fairly nice country club. But when the only slow song of the night came on, thus ensued the most awkward three minutes of your entire high school career. 

This is by no means an exact science, but you figure that the people you are closest to are the people you can slow dance with without it being terrible and awkward and awful. You did it with your parents when you were a little girl in the living room of your family home. You did it with Cynthia at two in the morning one night when she had just gotten dumped by this absolutely rotten boy. 

And now, you’re doing it with Seokjin. And it isn’t terrible or awkward or awful at all. You sway to the soft strums of the guitar and it feels just right. The feeling of his hand in yours, on your waist, of yours on his shoulder. There’s less than a six inches of distance and you feel as close as you have always been. Seokjin feels so natural. He always has, and you know that he always will. There’s no doubt when it comes to him, no regret. 

“Isn’t this nice?” Seokjin asks, grinning at you. 

“Only because it’s with you,” you say back with a smile. Seokjin beams. 

Later, when the slow dance is over and you make your way back to your table so you can watch your best friend make a fool of himself from a distance. Cynthia drops by, blissful. 

“I knew you’d bring Seokjin! He’s charming the pants off of my mom as we speak,” Cynthia says happily. You both crane your neck to see him teaching Cynthia’s mom the floss, outdated as per usual. 

“Yeah, I mean,” you say with a shrug, “who else was I going to bring?”

“He makes you happy, doesn’t he?” Cynthia asks. She looks proud. She deserves it. 

You turn back to look at Seokjin, on the verge of tears of laughter as Cynthia’s mom successfully flosses for the first time. He’s so wonderful. The light of your damn life. “Yeah. He does.”

When the fair comes to town, you don’t find out from posters stapled to utility posts and taped to traffic lights. Nor do you find out from word of mouth, from the two strangers in your favorite (slightly overpriced) coffee shop ahead of you in line. It’s not even your coworkers who mention it to you in passing one day because their eight-year-old has been begging them to go but they can’t because they have a dentist appointment.

It is, because who else would it be, of course, Seokjin, who texts you at 4:18PM on that Saturday and says:

[May 27th, 4:18PM]

Seokjin: I’m on my way over to your apartment to pick you up Seokjin: Don’t ask questions

And it is, in every possible way, the scariest thing you have ever received on your phone. Seokjin’s always been one for spontaneity, but ever since the two of you graduated and stopped feeling the urge to go out to McDonald’s at three in the morning, random activities have become less of a rule and more of an exception. But it’s a Saturday, which means you don’t have to go to work, and it’s near-evening, which means you’ve been sitting at home doing absolutely nothing all day as it is. And it’s May, which means that the sun only sets at seven at night and there is so much to be done in this wonderful weather. 

So, Seokjin’s on his way. 

You spend the next seven minutes (Seokjin lives approximately eight minutes by car from where you live, not that you’re counting, or anything) changing out of the yoga pants you’ve been wearing since you returned from work Friday evening and trying to make yourself look as presentable as possible. You don’t know where he’s taking you. He could be bringing you to an alley to murder you for your inheritance. He’s definitely on your will, that’s for sure. You want to look nice. 

Seven minutes later, you see his tiny white Volkswagen pull up outside your apartment complex as you’re slipping on some sandals. He hops out of the driver’s seat and scurries into the lobby, which signals to you that he is a man on a mission, and you are simply the best friend who gets roped along for the ride. He knocks on your door thirty seconds after that, and you linger for a few moments so as not to seem like you’ve been anxiously awaiting his arrival. 

“Let’s go,” Seokjin declares in lieu of a hello. He reaches out to grab onto your wrist, pulling you out of the door as you frantically make sure you have your bag with you, otherwise you’ll be phone-less, key-less, and lip-balm-less. Three equally terrible fates. 

“What? Now? No explanation, nothing?”

“I parked in the no parking fire lane with my blinkers on, which means we have to go right now. We also have to go because I am very excited about where we are going,” Seokjin elaborates, though it does nothing to clarify the situation at hand. Other than the fact that if you don’t get into his car right now, he’s got a ticket to pay. 

“But where are we going?” You ask again, as Seokjin and you scramble down the stairs to make it to his Volkswagen before the security guard in the lobby starts shouting at him for his illegal parking job. 

“The fair!” Seokjin says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Did you see it was in town?”

“No,” you say dumbly. 

“Oh,” Seokjin says awkwardly. “Well, it is, and I feel like we haven’t seen each other in a while—”

“It’s been three days.”

“—and we haven’t gone out on a real date yet, you and me.” Seokjin explains as you get to his car. Luckily, there is no angry security guard nor a ticket underneath his windshield wiper, so you slide into the passenger seat and he drives off. 

“Yes, we have,” you object. “Cynthia’s wedding counts as a real date.” He was literally your plus-one. What more could define the word ‘date’?

Seokjin scrunches his nose up in clear disagreement. “No, it doesn’t,” he argues back. “Cynthia was going to tear your arm off if you didn’t bring me with. That was a date out of obligation.”

“Aren’t all of these dates out of obligation?”

You expect some sort of witty response, but instead, you’re met with silence as Seokjin opens the driver’s side door, the two of you looking over the top of his Volkswagen wordlessly, each waiting for something. 

What? It’s not like you’re wrong. Seokjin is taking you out on dates to get a feel for what a real, blossoming relationship is like. Except this isn’t real, and your relationship is far from blossoming. It’s bloomed, already. Into an irreplaceable friendship. 

“Yeah, well,” Seokjin sputters, for once in his life, speechless. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, sitting roughly in the driver’s seat as you get into the passenger side, watch as he fumbles to put the keys into the ignition. “Don’t you want to know what a first date is supposed to be like?”

“You don’t have to take me on a fake first date just to spend time with me,” you tell him, the two of you facing forward, staring at the road in front of you as he drives. The radio is playing, some generic alternative rock song that neither of you are familiar enough to warrant turning up the volume for. Seokjin’s always preferred listening to the radio over his own music. Something about ambience while he drives. “We can spend time together wherever. Even if we’re just in my apartment.”

Seokjin’s wonderful and the best and one of the (if not the) greatest people you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, but he doesn’t need to do all of this for you. It’s enough for him to text you in the morning to remind you to drink a glass of water before you eat anything to wake your body up. Enough for him to leave leftovers from your dinner nights in your fridge, so you can savor the taste of his food after he’s gone home. Enough for the two of you to be as you used to be, as you always have been and always will be. 

Seokjin scoffs, honking at a driver who sped through a red light. “Those aren’t dates, Y/N,” he explains like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “They’re just ways that we spend time with each other.”

“So then what makes this a date? What’s the difference?” You demand. Seokjin’s not making any sense. Sure, you aren’t nearly as well-versed in the dating scene as he is, certainly haven’t been on as many as he has, but from your limited knowledge, you’d always thought that what makes a date is not the setting, not the time or location, but the person you spend it with. 

Arguably, that would mean that all of the nights and days you’ve spent with Seokjin could, by that definition, be dates, but that’s obviously not the case. You’ve always just been friends. 

“It’s a date because I say it is,” Seokjin declares. “You wanna know what makes a date? It’s when the two people—or more, depending on how you swing—decide that it is a date. It’s just a label.”

“If it’s just a label, then why are you making such a big deal out of it?” You ask. You know you’re being a bit annoying with all of the questions at this point, but who’s to say you couldn’t have spent the evening curled up in your apartment and called that a date as well? 

“Because,” Seokjin begins, sighing. His hands are gripping the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles are turning white. “Because,” he repeats, “if someone really wants to impress you, then they will make a big deal out of it. Because you deserve it.”

Eventually, Seokjin pulls into the giant open field designated for parked cars, and expertly squeezes into this tiny space between two absolutely massive SUVs, likely once filled with five children and two very, very tired parents. Sure, you both only have about six inches of space to shimmy out of his car, but it was a good parking job nonetheless. 

“Get you a boyfriend who can park as well as I can,” Seokjin says, patting himself on the back as you head towards the entrance. 

“Why would I need a boyfriend when I have you?” You tease back.

You wait for a cheeky response from Seokjin, turning to look at him when he delivers the blow, but it never arrives. Instead, Seokjin reaches a hand down to grab onto yours, and you walk hand in hand towards the entrance, wordless. He pays, which makes you angry, but he tells you that you can buy a funnel cake for you to share to make up for it, and that’s good enough. 

In movies and books, a fair is a very high-school event for people to attend. Lots of bright flashes of color, loud noises, and junk food, which are three things that society believes deters anyone over the age of nineteen from attending. You can’t name a single piece of pop culture that features two fully-grown adults eating cotton candy and sitting in a ferris wheel carriage. Because the moment you turn twenty, your back starts to permanently ache and noises louder than the sound of your refrigerator making ice give you a headache, of course. 

Seokjin, of course, has never been one to let the media define him. 

He lights up like New Year’s Eve the moment you walk through the gates. Like a child on Christmas day. 

There’s a difference between being immature and being youthful that people often fail to realize, confusing the two, or worse, thinking they’re the same thing. But there are sixteen-year-olds out there who are more mature than middle-aged adults, and there are middle-aged adults who still act like they’re going through puberty. Seokjin was immature when you first met him, the same way all college freshmen are, but over the years lost that mindset while still never parting with the youthful part of himself, the part filled with childlike wonder, with innocence and hopefulness. It has always been part of him. 

When Seokjin looks at the world, he sees it bathed in light, in color. He sees people in their most wonderful form. Sees every day, every moment, as something worth remembering. Sees the future as something worth looking forward to. 

You’ve always envied that about him. Perhaps it’s just in your nature, but you’ve always been jaded, a little cynical. 

A realist and a dreamer. 

And they always say that opposites don’t really attract. 

Here at the fair, Seokjin is more than prepared and willing to have enough fun for the both of you, even as you pull up to one of those impossible-to-win water-squirter games. He’s already pulling out his wallet to hand a couple of bills to the angsty-looking teenager behind the booth. 

“You know that these are totally rigged, right?” You ask, chuckling to yourself as Seokjin rubs his hands together with a wide-eyed excitement. 

“Just because they’re rigged doesn’t mean winning is impossible,” Seojin says confidently, taking a seat and gearing up to begin. You stand to the side, arms crossed, waiting to be sufficiently unimpressed. “What are you doing standing there? I paid for both of us.”

Before you know it, Seokjin is pulling you down into the seat next to him as the teen counts down, giving you a very monotonous three seconds before the bell rings and you have to aim weakly-pressurized water into the mouth of a faded plastic clown. 

You’ve never had the best hand-eye coordination. On multiple occasions, Seokjin has tossed you a fruit, a bag of rice, something non-dangerous and relatively large, and on multiple occasions, you fumble to grab it and it eventually ends up on your kitchen floor. It takes you about half of the minute you’re given to blow up the balloon to get your aim straight, and by then, Seokjin’s balloon could eat yours for lunch. 

“Pick up the pace, Y/N!” Seokjin teases, relishing in his lead. This is embarrassing, and you’re better than this. And yet.

“It’s working against me and you know it!” You defend yourself. Because their unfairness is the reason Seokjin’s about to win and you’re about to lose. 

“How can you say that when I’m doing so well?” Seokjin laughs, and his balloon pops the moment that the sixty-second countdown ends, an underwhelming blare of celebratory music playing through the speakers at the corners of the tent. 

A sad little “Better luck next time!” echoes from the clown in front of you, and you slam your water gun on the table as Seokjin gloats in your face, the teenager coming over to hand Seokjin his prize, looking dead on his feet. 

“What should I get, hmm?” Seokjin asks. 

The selection is pretty weak. A lot of Frozen merchandise, two-dollar stuffed Olafs and capes with Anna and Elsa’s faces on the back. A couple of nondescript stuffed animals, from glittery lizards to pastel teddy bears. What looks like a generic-brand Whoopee cushion. 

“You don’t want a stuffed Olaf?” You ask innocently. The design is a little off, so it looks like Olaf is staring into your soul, Mona Lisa-style. 

“Hmm,” Seokjin says, pretending to think about it. The poor kid looks like he’s about to faint from boredom, desperate for two fully-grown adults to stop acting like they don’t know what prize to pick from an amusement park booth. “How about the pink teddy bear?”

Very on-brand for him. The teen hands it to Seokjin and the two of you go on your merry way, Seokjin demanding the two of you go to stuff your faces with funnel cake before rounding out the night on the ferris wheel. 

“For you,” Seokjin says, holding the teddy bear out to you as the two of you stand in the surprisingly-long line for funnel cake. 

“Me?” You ask, eyebrows raised in disbelief as your fingers curl around the fluffy fabric. It’s softer than you thought it would be. 

“Yeah,” Seokjin says, certain. “To remind you of me.”

You grin, holding the bear close to you. Sure, it’s a little bit kindergarten, like the cute boy on the playground placing a quick kiss on your lips before the teacher calls everybody in after recess ends, but the gesture is more than enough. To know that Seokjin won something, even something as plain and inexpensive as a prize from a fair, and his first and only thought was to give it to you, well, that makes you happy. “I don’t need a bear to be reminded of you,” you muse. Not when there are pieces of your friendship lingering everywhere you walk, from your apartment to your old university to your mind. 

“Can’t hurt to know you’re always thinking about me,” Seokjin says, and it’s not greasy or smug or weird. It’s honest.

You laugh. “When am I not?”

Funnel cake starts with a black t-shirt and the two of you arguing over who’s going to foot the ten dollar bill, much to your dismay. Even though Seokjin had explicitly said that you could pay, since he covered your entrance ticket, he still makes a big deal about doing it himself in front of the poor funnel cake girl, who definitely doesn’t get paid nearly enough to watch two grown adults fight over a ten dollar funnel cake. Eventually, you get your way and successfully hand the girl a ten dollar bill and she hands you a paper plate piled high with funnel cake as you begin to search for an open place to sit. 

“Just because I said that you could pay for the funnel cake doesn’t mean I actually meant it,” Seokjin says with a frown as you scope out a place to sit. At evening’s peak, it’s nearly impossible, which leads the both of you to a curb next to a recycling bin piled high with plastic cups, stained with Coca Cola and Fanta, knees up to your chin as you crouch over a single plate of funnel cake.

“Isn’t this cozy,” Seokjin says with a grin as a burly middle-aged dad steps on Seokjin’s clean white sneakers to throw something away. 

“We’ve been in more cramped quarters before,” you say. One of the many instances that immediately comes to mind is when the two of you were trapped in a closet in a frat house for nearly two hours because two people on the other side were having sex, the entire time. It was a good bonding experience. The two of you got very acquainted with each other’s scents. 

Seokjin’s hasn’t changed. Still sweet, sugary and vanilla from all of the baking he does, and a little bit like raindrops.

You wonder if Seokjin thinks the same about yours. 

“You know I don’t mind where we are and what we’re doing when I’m with you,” Seokjin says, and it sounds like a line straight out of a Hallmark movie, cheesy and cliche and rehearsed. But it’s none of those things. Seokjin says it and it’s real. And it’s the sort of thing that makes you wonder if you’re ever as true with him as he is with you. 

“Even when we’re sitting on the ground and eating funnel cake next to a recycling bin in a fair filled with messy children and their deadbeat parents?” You ask. 

Seokjin nods, taking an enormous bite of funnel cake. “Yes, even then.”

“True love,” you muse. Very few people would you do this for. Seokjin is one of them. 

Seokjin coughs at the words, his whole body shaking, and the powdered sugar from the piece in his hands goes flying, like a tiny little blizzard, falling onto his skin, his shirt, his lips, and everywhere in between. Snowflakes. 

Funnel cake ends with Seokjin trying to wipe the white dust on the front of his pitch black t-shirt away with a napkin, and only smearing it further into the fabric, cotton turning sticky from the sugar. It looks like a cocaine bust gone wrong. It looks only slightly not-kid-friendly. 

“Am I addicted to cocaine or did I just spill powdered sugar on myself?” Seokjin jokes, much to the horror of a family passing by, the mom giving you and Seokjin an alarmed expression as she picks up the pace. “It was powdered sugar!” Seokjin calls after them, making the two of you laugh. “Or it was cocaine. Whatever you want to believe.”

“You’re too soft to do cocaine,” you tell Seokjin, a very strange sort of compliment. 

“Maybe powdered sugar, though,” Seokjin says with a laugh as you heave yourselves off of the curb, tossing out the paper plate and dusting off your hands, flakes of powdered sugar falling to the ground. “Ferris wheel?”

“Anything you want,” you tell him, letting him lead you towards the ride, lit up like a Christmas tree. 

It’s as if every possible holiday threw up on the damn thing, a jumble of rainbow flights flashing erratically as a generic carnival tune plays in the background, sluggishly moving on its axis. It couldn’t have been built before this century. 

You squeeze into the carriage, clearly built to fit a child and their father at most, let alone two adults who both don’t have a regular exercise schedule. In order to fit, you have to stretch a leg over Seokjin’s lap and lean so that part of your shoulder is against his chest. It’s… cozy. It’s most definitely not the most cramped either of you have ever felt. 

“This is the part where I pretend to yawn and then stretch my arm over you,” Seokjin says matter-of-factly, as if that particular action is a mandatory part of the date.

“Oh, is that proper first-date etiquette?” You tease. 

“Only for me,” Seokjin says, cheeky, and it’s the greasiest thing you’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing. Even so, you let him fake yawn, melodramatic and totally contrived, feel as his arm comes to rest on your shoulder, hand swinging down over your side. Instinctively, you reach up to grab it with your arm, letting the two of you sit like this as the ferris wheel creaks, slowly moving you upwards. “Aren’t you having the best first date ever?”

“It’s the only one I can remember,” you admit, especially since it’s still in progress. 

“That means it’s the best.” Seokjin grins. 

“And the worst,” you add on, making Seokjin laugh. 

Finally, finally, finally, you reach the top, overlooking the entire fair, lit up in the night in a warm pink and yellow haze. At this hour, only the teenagers are left, families having gone home for the night, and you can hear the cheers even from up here, hear the laughter and jokes and chatter. it’s a sort of ambience you’ve never had the pleasure of listening to before. One of an active night, filled with people, and you, far away enough to be out of the action but close enough to enjoy it nonetheless. 

“Isn’t this nice, Y/N?” Seokjin asks, the two of you looking out into the distance, wishing you could stay like this forever. “When we’re up here, it feels like I can forget about everything and just think about now.” If only you could stay like this forever.

“And what are you thinking about, right now?” You ask, head resting on his shoulders. 

Instinctively, his arm moves from your shoulder to your waist, tugging you into his side, letting you rest your legs on top of his own. Seokjin’s never needed to be more honest than he already is. He says what he means, and he means what he says.

It’s always been so easy when it comes to him. 

He lets out a breath, and you can feel his chest rising beneath your hand on his torso, feel the subtle beat of his heart beneath your fingers. 

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

He rests his head atop yours. “You,” he says.

Seokjin, a man of his word, holds up his end of the deal like he does everything else: honestly and fully. Little has really changed about your relationship dynamic—he still sends you good morning texts and reminds you that you need to drink your eight glasses of water (which you never do, and he consistently does because he’s an organized man with perfect skin). Still randomly comes to your apartment with two brown bags filled with groceries to last you the next two weeks. Still makes time for you.

But now, it’s all being done under the guise of courtship. Of what it’s like to have someone romantically interested in you. 

Of course, Seokjin’s not actually romantically interested in you, but he does a damn good job of pretending to be. For the sake of this whole thing. Seokjin still has one objective in mind: get you to believe in love again, and that all of these things he’s been doing, from taking you to the fair to dancing with you at Cynthia’s wedding, are means to accomplish an end. 

(The stuff in between, the texts, the calls, the visits, those are just part of your routine.)

It feels completely normal and totally unnatural, all at once. Like a new kind of relationship neither of you have really ever delved in before, toeing the line between friendship and this other feeling, one without a name. Seokjin will do something that you and he have always done, long before any of this was in motion, like ordering Indian takeout to your place unprompted, and then he will say that that’s what people are supposed to do when they’re courting someone. As if he is the end-all be-all of chivalry. 

Truth be told, you can’t wait for this to end, for things to go back to the way they were. You never did set an official fake breakup date (if that’s what it’s even called), but you suppose that that means that you can just call it off whenever you’d like. You don’t feel as though anything he’s doing is working. He treats you just the same. What is there to fall in love with, other than familiarity?

But Seokjin’s diligence makes you diligent, too, which is why you’re standing in your kitchen, outnumbered by vegetables (ten to one, which means they could definitely kill you if given the chance—and opposable thumbs), a gigantic pot on your creaky gas stove, boiling soup swirling inside. Even though your kitchen is nowhere near the level of organized and systematic as the Chopped set, it certainly smells like it. Your cooking can hardly compare to Seokjin’s (you roughly chopped vegetables and put them in broth, he makes kimbap for fun), but, like all other aspects of your life, he rubs off on you, one way or another. 

Seokjin seems to think that this transference of his personality will apply to how he feels about love, too. But time can only work so much magic, and ever since freshman year of college, for the seven years you’ve known him, it’s always been like this. 

You let the soup simmer on your stove as you begin to pack up the food scattered on your counter, unsure when next you’re going to use it, especially since your daily meals usually consist of leftovers and, if you’re feeling exotic, stir-fry. It’s then that you hear the knock on your door, and you don’t even need to think before you’re scurrying over to pull it open, revealing Seokjin leaning over to peek happily into your peephole.  

“Look who it is, for a change,” you say sarcastically.

“You mean your favorite human being in the entire world who is about to take you to see his mom and enjoy a nice home-cooked mom meal?” Seokjin corrects obnoxiously, making you laugh as you let him inside. 

“You blackmailed me into this,” you remind him, pointing an accusing metal soup ladle his way. “You convinced me that you’re doing me a favor by treating me like someone you’d want to court, and tricked me into making an enormous pot of soup for your mother!” A lose-lose situation. 

“I am doing you a favor,” Seokjin defends. “Don’t you love having a doting, attractive young professional taking you out to fairs and ordering you take-out? This is what the beginning of a relationship is supposed to look like.” Emphasis on supposed to. “Also, I accompanied you to Cynthia’s wedding after she had been talking your ear off trying to get you to bring a plus-one, so…”

A dirty, dirty play. 

“Fine, you win,” you concede. You did really appreciate him coming, especially so last minute. “I better hear nothing but pure, unadulterated praise coming from your lips when you eat my soup, or else.”

“I would have showered compliments on your soup even if you hadn’t sent me a thinly-veiled threat,” Seokjin says proudly. “What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Perhaps one that confused you a little less. 

You spend the entire car ride to Seokjin’s mom’s house (who lives forty-minutes out of the city) listening to him ramble on about how desperately his mother wants him to get married, settle down and have kids or a dog or two. The two of you still have half of your twenties to go, but the moment he graduated, Seokjin got a steady job and a nice apartment in the city, which immediately equates to marriage material. 

At least, that’s what his mom thinks. 

But those aren’t the sort of things that make Seokjin marriage material. You’ve known him for years. Ever since he first spoke to you, it was immediately obvious he was always the sort of perfect, dreamboat husband material that teenage girls fawn over, that characters in anime fantasize about. 

At the most basic level, Seokjin is goddamn attractive, and even if you’ve seen him in nothing but tighty-whities as a nervous eighteen-year-old, seen him with tomato sauce in his hair, seen him sick with a cold and strep throat, you can’t deny him that. He’d got the sort of looks that make people on the street take photos of him, thinking he’s a celebrity. 

But not only is Seokjin undoubtedly gorgeous, he’s an entire package. He’s an excellent cook, capable of impressing any and all parents, hilarious, charming and charismatic. Professional but never dull. He does his part in group projects, studies for his exams, listens to the music recommendations you give him even if they aren’t his style. The girls he dated in college knew exactly what they were doing when they went out with him. They were attempting to secure their future. It’s a shame none of them stuck, not like you, Elmer’s glue on his skin. 

Seokjin’s mom, the lovely woman she is, is under the impression that Seokjin became husband material when he graduated, got a job and moved to the city. But you know better than anyone—Seokjin’s always been husband material. Now, he’s just old enough that he knows he could be looking for himself. 

When you pull into Seokjin’s mom’s driveway, a little suburban home with a freshly-mowed font lawn and flowers by the mailbox, she’s already opening the front door and scurrying out, still wearing her slippers. 

“Eomma!” Seokjin says happily, getting out of the driver’s seat as she bounds towards him, the two of them wearing the same smiles on their faces. Like mother, like son. “It’s been a while.”

“Too long!” She chides, smacking him slightly. “You have to come and visit me more often. I don’t live that far away from you.”

“I’m busy, Ma,” Seokjin says with a roll of his eyes. “I have a job.”

“A job and no wife!” She exclaims, though her attitude immediately changes the moment you exit the car, pot of soup still warm in your hands. “Y/N!” 

She rushes over to give you a hug as well, albeit a much more careful one. She looks positively thrilled to see you. Seokjin’s mom has always liked you, even when you were an insufferable eighteen-year-old. They would invite you over for their Chuseok celebrations every year, and sometimes to their New Year’s Eve parties, if you were in the area over winter break. 

“No wife yet, Eomma,” Seokjin says. 

“You look so pretty, Y/N,” Seokjin’s mother tells you. She takes the pot from your hands wordlessly, refusing to listen to your protests as she shoos you both inside. 

The house smells of a home-cooked meal, savory and salty and sweet all at once, and you can see several dishes already laid out on the table. It’s both a familiar sight and scent, something you all too frequently experience whenever you barge into Seokjin’s apartment around mealtime. Seokjin immediately joins his mother in the kitchen, scrambling around to help her finish cooking, as you wait awkwardly by the table, easily the most inexperienced of the three of you. 

“Is this your soup?” His mother asks. 

“Yes, I thought to make some to bring tonight,” you say with a smile. Seokjin’s mother beams. 

“Delicious! Seokjinie always tells me how much he loves having it when he’s sick. You take care of him very well,” his mother grins. She places it on the stove, turning on the heat to warm it up. 

“Only because he does the same for me,” you say, sending a grin Seokjin’s way, one he returns instantly. 

The rest of the meal preparation (which doesn’t take long, especially with an extra pair of equally-gifted hands) goes by like this, Seokjin’s mother heaping compliments onto you as you stand there, helpless, watching as the two add the final dishes to the dining table. Seokjin dodges every question about his lack of engagement, always deflecting and shifting the topic to something you’ve done. Maybe this is why he wanted you around…

Finally, when dinner is ready, the three of you sit down, eager to pick up your chopsticks and dive in. 

“Seokjin’s father is away on business,” his mother explains after you note the empty place setting. “He sends his love!”

“I knew I was missing the dad jokes,” Seokjin says with a shake of his head. “Luckily, I can make up for them with my own.”

Seokjin’s mother laughs. “You must get a lot of this, don’t you?” She shoves an extra serving of fish onto your plate, letting it plop on top of the kimchi she had previously spooned onto the dish. “Eat, eat. I made it for you.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say with a smile. You’ll probably walk out of this house with a food baby the size of Jupiter. You always do. “And yes, but it’s nice. I like spending time with him.”

“Oh, thank God,” Seokjin says dramatically, a hand to his chest. “I was worried about that, for a second.”

“You two have always been inseparable,” his mother comments. “Don’t tell me this is why you haven’t married yet, Seokjin-ah.”

“What do you mean, Ma?” He asks over a mouthful of naengmyeon. “You know that I’m waiting to get married.”

Seokjin’s mother scoffs, shocked. “What? But Y/N’s right here! You two make an excellent couple.”

“Eomma!” Seokjin admonishes, even a little taken aback himself. You had no idea this was the secret plan his mother’s been plotting, all this time. It seems both you and him were just operating under the assumption that she was doing what all mothers do when their children are adults—dreaming out loud for grandchildren. 

“I’m sorry, did I misread something? You two are a couple, aren’t you?” His mother asks, positively bewildered. No wonder she’s been grilling Seokjin so hard about getting married. She had thought he was halfway there, already. 

You open your mouth to correct her, but your mind gets the best of you. Isn’t this what Seokjin wants? For people to think you’re a couple? For the true dating experience—are they, aren’t they? 

“No, Eomma,” Seokjin says, interrupting your thoughts. You turn to him, brows furrowed in confusion. “We’re just friends.”

Nobody mentions marriage, dating, or love for the rest of the meal. 

You excuse yourself to the bathroom once everyone is finished, Seokjin’s mother shooing you away from the kitchen sink, refusing to let you partake in any sort of clean up as the honorary guest. You’re glad to get away, the tension palpable and thick, looming over your heads, a reminder to all three of you that friends is all you have been, and friends is all you will ever be. Strangely enough, Seokjin had seemed the most disappointed out of all of you, even more so than his mother, whose dreams of grandchildren were crushed before her eyes. 

You wonder why. 

If Seokjin had been so adamant about the two of you calling yourselves a couple at the wedding, then why did he backtrack here? Was it his mother? Was it you? What could have made him change his mind?

As you walk back to the kitchen, you can hear the two of them having a conversation, hushed voices so as not to alert you. You take a step back from the entryway, hiding behind the wall to eavesdrop. 

“You must see the way she looks at you, Seokjin-ah,” his mother says. 

“No, Ma, that doesn’t mean anything,” Seokjin says, voice cold. 

“Yes it does, my boy,” she says. “Can’t you see it? The way she cares for you.”

“That’s just how it’s always been.”

“Seokjin-ah, please. You’re being stubborn.”

“Eomma, believe me, I know better than anyone else that we’re only ever going to be friends.”

“You don’t see it, then?” His mother’s voice is sad, helpless. “The way she loves you.”

You hear Seokjin suck in a breath, a deep, heavy inhale, weighed down by his thoughts. At that moment, you decide to round the corner, pretending like you haven’t hear a thing. 

“Y/N!” Seokjin’s mother exclaims happily. “Your soup was delicious. You’ll have to come over more often so I can keep having it.”

“I’ll have Seokjin send home a thermos with it,” you joke, lightening the tension you can still feel lingering in the air. 

“Ah, you’re too kind!” She says, sending you a warm smile. Seokjin hasn’t turned around from where he’s facing the sink, yellow rubber gloves up to his elbows as he scrubs the dishes clean. “Seokjin-ah, you must remember to bring Y/N more often. I love seeing her.”

“Yes, Eomma,” Seokjin says dutifully. When he finishes, he packs up the leftovers his mother is sending him home with, placing tupperware after tupperware into a plain brown bag. “Y/N, ready to go?”

“Yes, it’s getting late,” you say, the words stiff on your tongue. Seokjin seems closed off, bottled up. There’s something he’s not saying, and you can feel it weighing on his tongue. “it was lovely to see you again.”

“Of course!” Seokjin’s mother grins. “You must visit me again soon. I’ll be waiting!”

“Bye, Eomma,” Seokjin says as you head to the front door, pulling on your shoes as he opens the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Remember what I said, alright, Seokjin-ah?” His mother says, pulling him in for a hug. “You mustn't ignore what’s right in front of you.” You can’t help but wonder if maybe, you had overheard something you weren’t supposed to. 

In the car, you ask, “What was your mom talking about? When we were saying goodbye?”

Seokjin shrugs, nonchalant and calm. It’s so plain that it’s uncharacteristic of him. “Oh, nothing.” You hate not knowing what really lingers in his thoughts, rests deep in the pit of his heart. You want nothing more than to reach over and promise him that, no matter what, you’ll always be by his side. “She just wants me to look out for myself.”

Even on this clear night, the moon and stars visible above your heads, your mind (and heart) couldn’t be foggier. 

In your freshman year of college, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 had just been released on DVD, digital, and Blu-ray. Seokjin, the eighteen-year-old genius he was, had brought a projector to school that year, and so, one chilly November weekend, you and him set up in an empty lounge with a perfectly white wall and watched (spoiler alert) Voldemort get Avada Kedavra-ed at one in the morning. 

Ever since, monthly movie nights have been ingrained into your routine, even when Seokjin was in London for a semester in your junior year and you used a shady website so you could stream Netflix movies together. You think, that semester, you watched every Certified Rotten movie on Netflix possible, relishing in being able to joke about how terrible the films you were watching with your best friend. You almost thought you would break your tradition, just because of how difficult it was to organize. 

But still, you persisted. 

Of course, now, in the age of platform subscriptions and renting on YouTube, it’s a lot easier. Seokjin has a subscription to every movie-streaming platform under the sun, which means that by default, so do you. One of the many perks of having Seokjin as your best friend. 

As two mostly-functioning adults in the real world, this is how your movie nights typically go: you will alternate apartments as the designated living room of the weekend, the host is in charge of arranging a pre-show dinner, and the guest is in charge of bringing a bottle of wine as a gift. You eat dinner, drink wine, and watch a movie together, either on the couch, or, in emergencies, in bed. The host always chooses. Three years out of college and running, neither of you have been able to come up with a system more foolproof than this. 

Tonight, it is Seokjin’s turn to host, which you always prefer because he cooks dinner on his own instead of giving up and ordering takeout like you always do, and because his couch and bed are much more comfortable than your own. Not that you frequent his bed. Because you don’t. You just know that from your limited experience, it’s much more comfortable than your own bed. It’s probably his mattress. 

When you arrive at his apartment, his door is already cracked open, resting on the door frame as you can hear him whistling a tune you don’t recognize. Almost like he’s been expecting you, or something. 

“If you leave your door open like this, you’re gonna get robbed,” you announce, forgoing a hello as you barge inside, the apartment smelling of smokiness. “Whoa, what the hell are you cooking? Lava?”

“I accidentally set off the fire alarm,” Seokjin explains, back turned towards you as he bends down to pull something out of the oven. “That’s why the door’s open.”

“Oh, not because you were expecting a guest?” You tease, placing the bottle of wine on the counter as you join him in the kitchen. 

Seokjin turns around to reveal a baking dish with four chicken legs, drenched in a sauce that smells of spice and flavor, charred on the skin. Gourmet restaurants couldn’t even compare. 

“No,” he jokes. “I was gonna eat all of this food and drink this wine by myself.”

“Hey, that is my wine!” You shout, making grabby hands towards the neck of the bottle. Seokjin raises a single eyebrow, unimpressed, as he dishes up the food, two chicken legs a piece on some luxurious paper plates. “Fine, I guess we can share.”

“You know you can’t resist me,” Seokjin tells you, and you hate it, because it’s true. 

 As you finish up, washing the pots and pans as Seokjin puts away the various bottles of seasoning on his counter, some of which you can’t even name, he asks, “Couch or bed?”

You turn, scandalized, swatting him with a fork lathered with soap, “So forward!”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Ugh, you know what I mean. You know I don’t mind where we watch our movie.”

(So long as he’s with you.)

You give the two options not another second worth of thought. You’re in the mood to lounge around on Seokjin’s terribly comfortable mattress tonight. You’ve had a rough past week at work, and sometimes, if you complain enough, Seokjin will massage your shoulders as you watch the movie. 

“Hmm… bed, please!” You say like a child, wrapping up the dishwashing as Seokjin grabs his laptop from the coffee table by the couch. You skip into his bedroom, giddy and only the tiniest bit wine-drunk, Seokjin following like the heavyweight best friend he is. 

Seokjin’s bedroom space has always felt so familiar to you. Plants along the windowsill, shelves with photos of his family, an enormous full-length mirror for gratuitous outfit-of-the-day pictures. Even in college, it felt this warm, this cozy. When you knocked on the wooden door of his dormitory at midnight to go out and get McDonald’s, coming back and gorging out on your McNuggets, it felt like this. 

People always say that your bedroom should be your little sanctuary, a home within a house. But instead of your own bedroom giving you that comfort, it’s Seokjin’s. Here, more so than anywhere else, you feel safe. Warm. Loved. There’s something magical to it. 

“What are we watching?” You ask happily, jumping onto his bed and grabbing the nearest plushie to hold onto. Seokjin plugs his laptop charger into the nearest outlet and sets it up on a couple of pillows for optimal viewing pleasure, the two of you leaning against a mountain of pillows as he pulls up Netflix. 

“To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, have you heard of it?” Seokjin asks, clicking play on the movie. 

You furrow your brows as you curl into him, letting your head rest on his chest. “Really? I thought you were gonna pick something cool, like Interstellar, or something. Not something my fifteen-year-old cousin loves.”

“First of all, your fifteen-year-old cousin has great taste,” Seokjin tells you, offended. “Secondly, just because this is a teenage romantic comedy doesn’t mean it’s any less cool than Matthew McConaughey in a spacesuit, okay?”

You’re still skeptical. The New York Times gave To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before a pretty decent review, but you have long outgrown your teenage coming-of-age romantic-comedy movie phase, even if you still quote Clueless regularly. As you’ve gotten older, your movie nights have transitioned away from young adult books turned into movies and more towards films that people like Lupita Nyong’o star in, movies with sad endings on purpose. So this is very out of character, especially for a movie junkie like Seokjin, who sends you weekly movie reviews of the latest indie divorce drama.

You snuggle in closer, accepting defeat. It is Seokjin’s turn to choose, after all. And you suppose, that after a long week of unforgiving work, you could use this time to unwind, mindlessly watch a movie geared towards high-schoolers instead of analyzing some unknown French historical drama. “Alright then,” you tell him. “I trust you.”

Famous last words. 

You always have a habit of putting your trust into your best friend at the absolute worst times. Example One: In junior year, when he swore that the new salad place on campus was delicious until you got food poisoning from their chicken. Example Two: The summer after you graduated, when he promised you that roller skating was “easy” and “fun”. Example Three: Two months ago, when he blackmailed you into letting him take you out on dates after promising to go with you to Cynthia’s wedding. 

Example Four: Right now, as you’re snuggled up together like two birds of a feather, watching two sixteen-year-olds agree to fake date for personal gain. And even though they’re high schoolers, and even though he’s going through with it to get back at an ex-girlfriend and she’s trying to recover from her disastrously-mailed love letters, it feels too similar to be something that Seokjin just happened to stumble upon. 

You turn to look up at Seokjin, the movie a distant hum in the background, hardly at the forefront of your mind, but he doesn’t spare you a second glance. Instead, he pulls you in closer, wrapping an arm around your torso as his fingers dance across your own, mindless. He doesn’t have a damn thing to say, a rarity in your relationship, letting the movie do the talking. 

I think it’s funny, the boy says as the two main characters sit in this absolutely ancient diner, you say that you’re scared of commitment and relationships, but you don’t seem to be afraid to be with me. 

Well, there’s no reason to be, the girl responds casually. Unbothered. 

Why’s that? He asks. 

She shrugs, nonchalant. Because we’re just pretending. 

You feel Seokjin’s grip tighten, feel his skin pressing against your own, the exposed part of your stomach where your shirt has ridden up. It’s almost like he’s afraid to lose you. The mere sensation, one you have felt hundreds, if not thousands of times before, sends shivers down your spine. 

“You cold?” He asks softly, pulling up the blanket that’s crumpled up by your feet, placing it gently over your bodies. 

You couldn’t care less about the movie playing in front of you. Not when Seokjin’s this close, not when he’s got his arms wrapped around you, not as you feel his soft breaths against your forehead, as he tucks you underneath a blanket. You’re frozen still next to him. You think that even your heart has stopped. 

Dozens of movie nights, but never one like this. Dozens of cuddle sessions, dozens of nights in. But this one feels brand new. 

Seokjin adjusts himself, turning in towards you. You can’t even feel yourself breathing. 

When did this start happening? You ask yourself. Why do your palms feel clammy? Why does his touch leave little embers along your skin? 

Traitorously, your mind responds, a question to a question. 

Hasn’t it always been like this?

Tuesdays have always been your least favorite day, because they’re Monday’s shitty cousin. They’re far enough into the week to have you not complain about it being the beginning of the week, but they’re too soon into the week to warrant any excitement about it ending. At least, when you wake up to go to work on a Monday, you know it’s a Monday. When you wake up to go to work on a Tuesday, you think it’s a Wednesday. Tuesday is the day of the week that wears a mask and tries to make you think it’s something else. 

After the printer jamming, salad dressing getting spilled on your pants, and your coworker losing his cool in the break room and breaking a cabinet door off of its hinges, you think that, when you get called into your boss’s office in the middle of the afternoon, there could be nothing worse for him to tell you. 

Instead, you walk out of his office with a brand new job title and a salary increase to match, positively ecstatic as you bounce all the way to your desk, whipping out your phone to text, well, who else?

[June 16, 2:43PM]

You: I GOT IT!!!

Seokjin: OMG SERIOUSLY?? Seokjin: CONGRATS YOU DESERVE IT !!!!

You: thank u jinie 8) now i can buy us more expensive wine for our movie nights

Seokjin: :D Seokjin: I’m so proud of you, you’re amazing!

And it’s the sort of text exchange that makes your heart soar, even more so than the promotion itself, because there is truly nothing more fulfilling than sharing your accomplishments with the people closest to you. 

You pack up later than usual that day, sitting at your desk for a little bit longer as you wrap up some emails and reorganize the space, determined to make it suitable for someone who just got a kick-ass raise. You’re leaning underneath your desk to gather your belongings, plopping your phone charger and a couple of nice blue pens into your bag, when you feel a sudden tap on your shoulder, scaring the absolute bejeezus out of you.

“Ow!” You shout as you bang the back of your head on the underside of your desk. Angry and in pain, you turn to face the asshole that’s just given you a bump on your scalp for the next week, only to find your expression lightening the moment you lay eyes on Seokjin, fresh from work with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Shocked and pleasantly surprised, you say, “Oh.”

“Don’t sound so excited to see me,” Seokjin jokes, rolling his eyes as he reaches a hand out to help you up. “You alright? I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

Rubbing the nape of your neck, you shake your head. “No, no, I’m alright. You just caught me by surprise. What’s all this?” You ask as Seokjin reaches his hand towards you, the flowery scent permeating the air around you. The bouquet in his hand is a collection of various pastel-colored flowers, baby’s breath and lilies, carnations and hydrangeas. 

“A congratulations,” Seokjin says in lieu of any other sort of explanation. “You deserve it.”

“You make it sound like I’m pregnant,” you tell him, grabbing your bag as you double-check your desk, making sure you haven’t left anything behind. 

“Oh my God, are you?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide. 

You laugh, shaking your head as you accept the flowers graciously, immediately holding them up to your nose. “No, I’m not, Seokjin. You’d be the first to know. But this is so sweet of you, you didn’t have to come to my work like this.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to pick you up for dinner?” 

Stopping in your tracks, you knit your brows together in confusion. “Dinner?”

“The reservation is at 5:45 so we’re already cutting it close,” Seokjin informs you, offering no explanation. “Come on. I had to pull a few strings to get this, so over my dead body will we arrive late.”

Seokjin reaches down to take your hand in his own, giving you no time to ask any more questions as he tugs you out of your office and into his little white Volkswagen, the scent of the flowers filling the air in between the two of you. 

When Seokjin somehow manages to get a parking spot a block away from the restaurant in question, your mouth practically drops open. 

It’s a cozy Lebanese place, complete with more plants you could ever dream of owning, and an outdoor patio decorated with warm fairy lights, lanterns hanging from strings above your head. It’s been ranked one of the best restaurants in the city for years now, and it is practically impossible to get a table (that is, unless you book a year in advance). 

“Seriously?” You ask, in awe, as Seokjin leads you towards the restaurant, the flowers resting safely on the passenger seat. 

“Of course,” Seokjin says like it’s nothing. “You deserve it.”

You aren’t a moment too late, the hostess happily seating the both of you at a corner table on the outside patio, the evening breeze sending flutters through your napkins as she hands you your menus and the wine list. 

“How did you swing this?” You ask, blown away as Seokjin grins. 

“Well, you know my friend, Yoongi?” He asks. You remember him, having met him a couple of times at Seokjin’s few-and-far-between house gatherings. He’s a dainty man with colorful hair who’s got the biggest alcohol tolerance you’ve ever seen. “He’s a food critic, so I had him do me a favor…”

“You didn’t have to do all of that for me,” you say. Seokjin probably owes Yoongi his first-born child, now. 

“But I wanted to,” Seokjin says firmly. “What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t celebrate something like this with you?”

Seokjin must know, after all of these years, that you aren’t one to make a big deal out of things. That you vastly prefer staying inside, curled up with a good book or an even better best friend, over going out and getting wasted, over eating at a too-expensive restaurant with portions the size of your fingernail, because that’s who you are. And still, he insists, because that’s who he is. Someone who thinks that everybody deserves a little celebration in their lives, a little love from the people closest to them. 

“You’d be my best friend no matter what,” you tell him, because it’s true. Because Seokjin has always been and will always be that person: the one you’ll never second-guess. “Even if you had gone home after work and passed out on your couch, you’d still be my most favorite person.”

Seokjin grins. “I’m your favorite person?”

“Well, other than Yoongi,” you tease. “After all, he did get us this reservation.”

“Can’t believe that I’m second best to a friend you’ve met like, twice,” Seokjin says, mock-offended. “How am I supposed to compete with that?”

“You’ll find a way,” you muse. He always does. It’s incredible—ever since you met Seokjin, you don’t think anyone’s ever quite stacked up to him. Nobody has ever compared. 

“I’m really proud of you, Y/N,” Seokjin says, the two of you clinking your wine glasses together to celebrate your promotion, celebrate the night, celebrate being together. “You deserved that position more than anybody else.”

“You don’t even know half of my coworkers,” you joke. 

“But I know you,” Seokjin reminds you. “And I know that you’re the most hardworking, determined, focused person I’ve ever met. When you want something, you get it.”

“What?” You ask, a hand reaching out over the table to caress his own, thumb rubbing against the back of his hand. “You’re like that, too. You’re honest and real and certain.” They’re traits you’ve always admired about him, things that you wish you could be but know that you’ll never compare to him. 

“No,” Seokjin says, with a shake of his head. “I’m really not. I wish, though.”

Seokjin’s the truest person you know. What secret could he be keeping? Why hasn’t he told you? Doesn’t he know that you’d care for him, stay by his side no matter what? Not a damn thing in the world could ever make you leave him. 

Your waiter comes around to take your order, and you and Seokjin order a variety of appetizers that you fully intend on sharing with each other. You’ve never really been able to keep to your own plates. There is something so genuinely wonderful about sharing. Afterwards, Seokjin launches into this hilarious story about some old college friends that he had recently heard back from, ones that you’d met once or twice during university but never cemented a real friendship with, unlike Seokjin. 

Quite honestly, you couldn’t care less for them or what they’re doing, but Seokjin is so animated, so vivacious and excited to be telling you about them, that his words are music to your ears. Nothing makes you quite as happy as Seokjin when he smiles, when he laughs, when he’s fucking effervescent. His joy brings you joy, and you suppose that that’s really what it means to care for someone. To love them. When even something as simple as being in their presence makes your heart feel lighter. 

In the evening light, illuminated by the warm flame of the lanterns littering the sky above you, the fairy lights along the fence that encloses the patio, the house lights from the building next door, Seokjin glows. The way his body bounces as he speaks makes it look like a yellow halo surrounds him, his gold jewelry glinting when it catches the light, shimmering. He looks straight out of a movie, straight off of a red carpet, warm brown eyes and an honest smile to match, charismatic and golden and real. 

The craziest part is that he’s always looked like this. Always outshined everybody, no matter his surroundings. Every day, you wonder how on Earth you could have gotten so lucky to have been able to meet him. How blessed you are to be his best friend. How fortunate you are to love him. 

When your meal arrives, the two of you take a break from laughing aloud in this ambient, cozy restaurant, likely bothering all of the people within a twenty-feet radius of your table, and dig in, only emitting the occasional groan of pleasure. It’s no wonder this restaurant has been ranked the best in the city for years on end. Every bite explodes on your tongue, decorates your taste buds. You won’t be surprised if, next time you go over, Seokjin’s recreating every dish you have tonight. He’s always had a knack for it, anyway. 

“You know,” he says over a mouthful of zucchini, “you’re my favorite person, too.”

Normally you’d say something cheesy and dramatic, something along the lines of a sarcastic I’m touched or even a self-deprecating At least I’m number one at something, but instead, you smile softly to yourself. You always knew you and Seokjin were entwined with each other, but it makes your heart flutter to hear him say it for himself. 

“I know,” you murmur. “I’ll never forget that.”

“I don’t know, I just—” Seokjin begins, pausing. It’s not the sort of stop where he’s trying to figure out what words to say. He already knows. He’s just waiting to see if they’re the right ones. “You know, it’s always been you, Y/N. A lot of my life has always been uncertain, but you—you’re the only thing I’m always sure of.”

Afterwards, Seokjin walks you to the door of your apartment, the two of you lingering in the doorway, him refusing to leave and you refusing to say goodbye. 

“Don’t forget these,” Seokjin says, handing you the brown paper bag filled with your leftovers, various to-go boxes filled with treats. 

“What? I thought you wanted them,” you say, eyes wide. “Don’t you want them as reference for a recipe?”

“No, it’s alright,” Seokjin tells you with a shake of his head. “I’ll remember.” 

“Are you sure?” You ask. Seokjin nods, certain. He’s got a steely expression to him, one filled with determination. There’s something he’s not saying, and you’re almost positive it’ll come out tonight. Maybe he knows that you ate that Pop-Tart in junior year. Maybe he’s about to get his revenge. To protect yourself, you smile, telling him, “I had a really nice time tonight, Seokjin. You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

“I wanted to,” Seokjin repeats. He need offer no other explanation. “Any excuse to spend time with you, I’ll take.”

You laugh. “I suppose that that’s what this whole pretend-dating thing is about, right?” 

Seokjin’s face goes blank.

“What?”

“Well,” you say, shrugging as you reach out to grab his hand. “Dinner tonight, isn’t that the sort of thing you’d do on a date? That’s why you took me out to celebrate instead of just bringing over some wine and takeout. I have to admit, you’re pretty good at this whole dating thing. Must be why you offered, right?”

“Y/N, I—”

“All of those romantic things you said, us playing footsie underneath the table, getting the reservation from Yoongi, I mean. You’ve always loved pulling out all of the stops. You’re giving me such unrealistic expectations for dating, you know?” You chide, grinning as you toy with Seokjin’s fingers amongst your own. Looking up at him, he looks frozen solid, gazing at you with an unreadable expression. “Hey, is everything alright?” Your hand trails up to his shoulder, forcing him to meet your eyes with his own. 

They’re swirling in ink. 

And then, he leans down, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in, and presses his lips against your own. Shocked, you gasp into his mouth, feel the heat of his lips on yours as he kisses you, fervent and desperate, like he’s got something to prove. You feel your heart race, dropping the brown paper bag by your side on your hardwood floor as he presses in closer, insistent. It’s as if your entire body shuts down at his touch, at the feeling of him against you, on you, surrounding you. 

Eventually, your mind comes to, flickering back to life after being entirely short-circuited, and you pull out of his grasp, pushing him away with your palms against his chest, gasping for air. 

“Seokjin, what the—”

“I’ve wanted to do that since I met you,” Seokjin tells you, and no longer does what he say sound like a line straight out of the Dating 101 Handbook. It sounds honest, and what once was something you treasured about him has morphed into fear, into words you dread coming from in between his lips. 

“No, that’s not—”

“What do you mean?” He asks, insistent. He takes a step towards you, and it makes you take a bigger step back. Being far away from him makes you ache, but being close to him is absolutely unbearable. It’s impossible to know which one your heart would prefer. “That’s how I feel. That’s how I’ve always felt.”

“I can’t—I need—” You stumble over your words, backing up into your living room, hand reaching out to the doorknob. You don’t know what you can’t do. You don’t know what you need. All you know is that your heart hasn’t stopped racing the moment his lips met yours, and that you aren’t sure what will happen if Seokjin stands outside your apartment any longer. “I just—”

“I know,” Seokjin says with a nod. His face is beet red and he looks just as breathless, sending your way a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know that you don’t feel the same. But I just—I wanted you to know.”

“I don’t know what I feel,” you whisper to yourself, eyes boring holes into your shoes. “How could I?”

“Y/N,” Seokjin says, reaching a hand out. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” you interrupt. “Don’t apologize. Just—please, just go. Please.”

Seokjin doesn’t protest. Not as you shoo him away, not as you begin to close the door in front of him. 

The door is nearly shut, barely inches away from the door frame, when you hear him call your name. “Y/N,” he says. If you were any more heartless, you’d shut the door, let the last thing you hear from him be your own name. But you aren’t, and not once have you ever closed the door on Seokjin. Not now. Not ever. 

“Yes?” You whisper, terrified of what he might say but too desperate to avoid it altogether. 

You hear him hiccup. You don’t want to see him cry. 

“You’re my best friend.”

(Kim Seokjin prides himself for being a man of few mistakes. He has good time-management skills, triple checks his entire apartment every time he leaves, and only illegally parks in the fire lane when he knows he won’t get a ticket. He’s got great foresight, makes educated decisions, and generally feels as though everything he does will benefit somebody, in the long run. 

You always tell him that you envy how put-together his life is, how picture perfect it seems—stable job, nice apartment, meals prepped and ready to go in his fridge. And even if you aren’t nearly as obsessed with falling in love as he is (and he’s willing to admit that, at least), you tell him that it’s admirable that he has all of this time to go on dates with women he’s met off of Bumble or through a friend of a friend, making an effort to go out into the world and do something with his love life. 

The truth is, Seokjin has been on more dates in the past year than to work events in the evenings and on weekends, but he’s never seen the same person twice. Sometimes, he ends up with a phone number punched into his contacts and a promise to meet again as friends, but most of the time they pat him on the back after it’s over and tell him that they hope he’ll get over his ex soon. 

Seokjin hasn’t had a real ex, a real breakup, since sophomore year of college, when his long-distance girlfriend from high school told him she couldn’t bear to listen to him how much he loves his new best friend any longer. 

It doesn’t take a genius to guess who that best friend is. 

Seokjin’s always been sort of foolish, a little too forward at the best of times and terribly obvious at the worst of times. Always holding out hope that maybe one day you’ll pick up on all of his slip-ups, and he’ll stop acting like a bumbling idiot around you. 

Admittedly, he had gotten pretty fed-up by the time he invited you to dinner to celebrate your promotion. He rolled up to your office in a silk button down and a bouquet of the nicest flowers Hoseok could find, brought you to a restaurant you had been dying to go to ever since you moved to the city, and told you that you were the one constant in his life. And he thought that maybe, just maybe, you would realize. And he wouldn’t have to do everything by himself. 

It’s a wonder that you hadn’t figured it out. 

At least, not until you said goodbye to him, standing underneath the wooden door frame to your apartment, and he leaned down and kissed you. 

Seokjin is a man of few mistakes, but he’s almost positive that that one was the most costly. He had been psyching himself up in his head the entire ride home, telling himself I can do it, I’m gonna tell her, what’s the worst you could do? 

As it turns out, the worst you could do is reject him. 

Seokjin knows you don’t feel the same way. He doesn’t need to go on any dates, doesn’t need to read any more novels or watch any more movies to know that. Maybe you had known all along, you just never knew how to let him down easy. Maybe you were just hoping that if you never acknowledged it, it would go away, age like fine wine, bottled up for an eternity. 

But when he was standing in the flower shop, lingering behind the counter as Hoseok insisted he knew the perfect bouquet to make, there was a little spark in his heart that thought, maybe. Just maybe. 

“Think she’ll like it?” Seokjin had asked hesitantly, fingers curling around one of the petals of the lilies in the bouquet as Hoseok rang him up. 

“What do mean, of course she will!” Hoseok says. He has long been witness to Seokjin’s fruitless efforts to get you to see how he feels. “She’d be a fool not to realize.”

Seokjin’s never been sure if you were the fool, or if he has been, all along. 

“I don’t know, Hoseok,” he had said with a sigh, handing over his credit card. “I feel like telling her might be the wrong move.”

“Why? From what it sounds like, you two are really close,” Hoseok had asked innocently. He even shimmied in a tulip, squeezing it into the middle of the bouquet with nimble fingers. “Are you afraid she’ll say no?”

“I’m afraid I’ll ruin everything,” Seokjin had told him. He’d rather keep you close as a best friend than lose you entirely in the hopes of confessing. That has always been his priority. It always will be. 

Hoseok had laughed, disbelieving. Seokjin had bitterly assumed that he’s never been in love with a best friend. It sucks hard, but Seokjin was in no position to ruin Hoseok’s day by telling him that. “You won’t ruin everything, Jin. You’re a wonderful guy with a great personality. I think it’s worth telling her, you know?” Seokjin did not know. “Like, if you don’t, you’ll never know what could have been.”

And perhaps that was the reason that he leaned down to press his lips against yours. On the off chance, the miniscule possibility that you might feel the same way. His mother had been absolutely insistent that you were in love with him, and while he trusts his mother’s instincts, Seokjin’s known you much longer and much closer than she ever will. And you were never in love with him. Friends is all you have ever known with him. It’s all that the two of you will ever be. 

You’re lucky, Seokjin thinks as he sulks around in his apartment, having decided to give your relationship some space after he completely annihilated it the Tuesday prior. Unrequited love isn’t something he’d wish on his worst enemy. It’s a ray of sunshine surrounded by clouds. It’s the constant reminder that even though what you already have will never be enough, losing it entirely is a fate much worse. 

On the bright side, at least you still tag him in Facebook memes.

Seokjin gets a phone call from an unknown number that Saturday evening, as he cooks a meal for one and pretends that his apartment doesn’t feel bone-crushingly empty without you to fill up the space. He lets the phone ring all the way through the first time—he’s not in the mood to bait those scammy telemarketers tonight, and gets back to cooking. And then his phone rings a second time, same number, and suddenly Seokjin feels as though it might be something urgent. What if it’s a coworker whose number he doesn’t have? Oh God, what if it’s his boss?

“Hello?” Seokjin asks, picking up the call and holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder. 

“Seokjin?”

It’s Cynthia.

“Cynthia?” Seokjin asks, just to make sure he’s not wrong. “How did you get my number?”

“I looked you up on the White Pages,” Cynthia tells him. Oh, yes. He forgot that that existed. “I would have asked Y/N, but she would have gotten suspicious.”

“Oh, uh…” Seokjin hesitates, chuckling nervously. “Y/N? Have you, uh, spoken to her recently?”

Cynthia lets out a deep sigh on the other end, what sounds like a billion thoughts weighing her down. “Yeah, she and I had a girls’ night last night. My husband’s away on business.”

“Oh, how are you both doing?” Seokjin asks. He has the decency to pretend that he hasn’t been positively miserable the past few days.

“Wonderful, thanks,” Cynthia said. “Seokjin, did you kiss Y/N?”

“It was a mistake,” Seokjin immediately says. He shouldn’t have done it and now he’s paying the price. He has no idea how long it will take to repair your relationship, or, even worse, if you’ll just go back to the way it was before and pretend it never happened in the first place. “I wanted to tell her that, but I haven’t seen her recently.”

“Don’t,” Cynthia says harshly, making Seokjin jump a bit, wincing as some hot steam hits his bare skin. “Don’t tell her it was a mistake.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin frowns. Isn’t that what you want? It’s blatantly obvious that you don’t really want a relationship at all, let alone with him. Seokjin doesn’t know what he was thinking when he thought he could change your mind. He was just being selfish. The chance to get to date you under the guise of guidance, and he snatched it up at the first opportunity. 

Well, look at him now. 

“She’ll be heartbroken if you tell her that,” Cynthia tells him, and Seokjin nearly pours boiling hot water all over his arm at the words. “You can’t.”

“What do you mean, heartbroken? She doesn’t want to date me. I’m the one in love with her. I’m the one who should be suffering,” Seokjin says into the phone, his heart starting to race. He wills himself to calm down, to act like everything is normal, but he can’t stop thinking about you. About what Cynthia had said. 

“No, you’re wrong,” Cynthia says. “You couldn’t be more wrong even if you tried. You might be in love with her but she loves you back. She does, I swear.”

Seokjin’s brain nearly short-circuits, the power sparking. “What?” He asks, too hopeful for his own good. “She can’t. I’ve loved her for so long, but we’ve always just been friends. That’s what she wanted.”

“She wants you, Seokjin,” Cynthia says firmly, almost as if she’s reaching through the phone to knock some sense into him. “She didn’t realize that she loved you until you kissed her. And then everything fell into place.”

“You’re lying,” Seokjin says, even though he knows that Cynthia isn’t. 

“Want to know why she hasn’t really dated anyone since midway through college?”

Is it the same reason Seokjin hasn’t, either?

“She was waiting for you,” Cynthia tells you. “She just didn’t know it.”

Seokjin’s about to faint. 

He can hear Cynthia smiling through the phone. “She’s always been waiting for you.”)

[June 21st, 1:22PM]

Seokjin: I’m on my way over to your apartment Seokjin: Don’t ask questions

You’ve long learned by now to listen to Seokjin, to never question his methods. And for once, when you receive a suspicious text out of the blue that says Don’t ask questions, you aren’t scared. You’re thrilled. 

The last time you went this long without contacting each other was when you were just starting to become friends in college, during orientation week where you met five hundred people a day and forgot all of them by the next morning. You and Seokjin eventually caught up with each other when you started seeing each other in the halls of your dorm, living onto a few doors down from each other. 

You didn’t want to be the one to initiate contact. Seokjin had kissed you and then instantly looked like he regretted the entire thing. He had been sitting on his feelings long before you knew that yours even existed. He deserved the space. 

You, well. Cynthia, the wise, wedded woman she is, seems to think that communication is key. Perhaps that’s why she’s been so successful in her love life. 

There’s a knock on your door six minutes after you received the text, the fastest he’s ever gotten to your apartment. 

When you open it, you find a familiar sight: Seokjin, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and a nervous grin on his face, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet like a teenager about to ask his crush to the school dance. 

“Long time no see,” you tell him. 

“I missed you,” Seokjin says honestly. “I really, really did.”

“I did, too,” you tell him. It’s impossible to be away from him. You figured that out briefly when he went abroad in junior year, but were brutally reminded this past week what life is like without him to light it up. And it’s dull. Empty. Missing something. 

“These are for you,” Seokjin says. It’s an entire bouquet of tulips, red and yellow and orange and pink. The scent immediately wafts through the air, brightening up your sullen apartment. 

“They’re beautiful, Seokjin,” you tell him, pressing your nose against the petals as you take in the aroma. The flowers are gorgeous, but Seokjin, as always, steals the show. 

“I was going to bring takeout, but then I thought that you might have already eaten lunch,” Seokjin tells you. 

“Then we can do takeout for dinner,” you suggest as an alternative, fishing through your kitchen cabinets for a vase to put out on your countertop, filled with the tulips and carnations and lilies and hydrangeas. The bouquet he had given you on Tuesday is sitting in your bedroom, and you’re giving it all the plant food you can get your hands on, determined to make them last. 

“You want me to stay for dinner?” Seokjin asks, an eyebrow raised. 

It’s high time you were honest, too. 

“I want you to stay forever,” you admit, and it feels as though the dam has broken, like the first droplet has been spilled and the rest is soon to follow. “I can’t tell you how much I hated being away from you like this. Everything in my life revolves around you.”

“I think about you, every day,” Seokjin says as he comes up to you, joining you in the kitchen as you fill an oversized mason jar with water. “Scratch that. Every hour. Every minute, every second. You’re always on my mind.”

“I thought that was just how you were best friends with someone,” you tell him, feeling the warmth of his body as he stands next to you. “I thought that all of the kind gestures, the traditions, the words, that was what being best friends was. And it is. But I never realized that that was what being in love was like, as well.”

“I thought you’d never figure it out,” Seokjin muses, and it sounds so sad but he looks so happy. “I was ready to never tell you. I was too nervous, every time I’m near you I get all sweaty.”

“You were just going to be in love with me forever?” You ask, turning to him. The thought devastates you, the idea that he was willing to never tell you, to love you silently, for the rest of time. He would have never known what could have been, would have never allowed himself that luxury. And he was okay with it.

“I would rather love you on my own than lose you,” Seokjin tells you firmly. “You’re my best friend. That will never change.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Seokjin interrupts. “I had made that decision. I was willing to live with it.”

“That’s what people do, isn’t it?” You ask, reaching out to hold his hand in your own, as you have done so many times before, and will do so many times more. The feeling never gets old. The spark never fades. “When they’re in love.”

“I don’t know how you never noticed,” Seokjin jokes, laughing more at himself than you. “I thought I was being so goddamn obvious. Any time I said or did anything that even slightly alluded to the fact that I was in love with you, I started panicking because I thought you’d figure me out. And you never did.”

“I think I just needed a bit of coaxing,” you tell him, hand reaching up to turn his face towards you, palms resting on your cheek. “I would have loved you, forever. I just needed you to tell me that you’d love me, forever, too.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Seokjin promises with a grin. “I’ll love you forever and a day.”

Seokjin leans down, big palms resting on your waist as he finally, fucking finally, presses his lips against yours. It’s soft and warm and cozy, the heat enveloping you as you hold his cheeks in your hands, let him push closer and closer, refusing to let you go. The feeling sends warmth through your veins, sparks a fire in your body that you wouldn’t will away even if you wanted to. Seokjin kisses you, and you kiss back, and it feels like a promise. With your lips against his, and his against yours, you tell each other, that you were meant to be together, and that you always will be. 

You had always wondered why you were never really interested in dating anyone. Never wanted to find someone new, a relationship filled with love and laughter and joy, never wanted to go out on fancy dates and tiptoe around each other, a nervous confession on the tips of your tongues. But now, as Seokjin giggles into another kiss he presses against your lips, you know: you already had exactly what you were looking for. 

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

↳ check out the post-script drabble here!

[harryswatermelonsegment]

Pool Party

Pairing: Reader/Harry Styles

Rating: R, text book smut

Word Count: 5k 😳

Warnings: Slight sub/dom tones I guess? & alcohol consumption

A/N: Sorry this is late, life somewhat resuming here in the UK so it means I’m back at my job. I managed to fall asleep mid edit folks 😳, this is my entry for the @helladirections Summer Feeling Fic Challenge, with the prompt “pool party” click the link for the masterlist. I’m still writing two more, one for @berrynarrybanana ‘s Sex Bucketlist Challenge but it’s turning out to be a 20k slow burn I wasn’t expecting 😬.Oops. But enjoy this one, I’m proud of her. My one other blatant thirst fic can be found here. Reblogs get free gratitude for the next 5 years 🍉💕

You'd been friends with Jeff since your teens, when his parents (despite their wealth), wanted him to get a job at the restaurant you worked at. In their rightful thinking, they wanted him to learn you had to work from the ground up.

Despite your clearly different class background you found a ton of common interests making the whole thing immaterial. He was a caring, down to earth guy and you were both people who really enjoyed sarcastically taunting each other every shift. You'd got used to visiting his house in the hills even though you'd been scared to get lost at first around his parents large house. Becoming solid friends quickly, you'd managed to keep in touch, as much as adult life would now allow anyway.

You knew his main role was managing a pop star but you'd not caught up in a minute and when you did, you kept your job chat out of the conversation where you could. This is why, as you barge through the kitchen, to the pool outside, you're shocked to nearly knock a stunned Harry Styles onto his behind.

"Fuck, shit I'm so sorry" you clutch your chest looking at the red wine on his tank top and his now empty glass. The soiled garment was tucked into some dressy shorts and partly covered by a loud hawaiian patterned shirt. Oh god what had you done?

You were quite honestly mortified. You'd never actually met the man himself, usually meeting Jeff at his for a few drinks or at a restaurant. You'd heard him mentioned in stories about travelling or how his campaigns were running Jeff into the ground with meetings. So, although you weren't a massive fan of his per se, in the way you didn't ask Jeff for updates or info, the way you'd hope you'd meet the attractive pop star was definitely not this.

He looked down at the offending stain then back up into your eyes, keeping his head angled down and blinking through his lashes. You couldn't read his blank expression and it put you on edge.

Maybe it was the heat trapped in the doorway, but as your eyes stayed locked you suddenly felt a fire spread from your navel up to your cheeks, and then from your center down to your toes. Your lower stomach clenched as you stared back at the guy covered in a good 2007 French rouge.

Fuck me he's pretty, you thought.

A rapid film reel of moments; sweaty bodies, those large biceps holding you against the nearest wall, smacking of lips against skin and moans of release flashed in your brain.

It had definitely been a while since you had got laid in your defense, your mood and pent up sexual frustration getting worse by the day as you tried and failed at the L. A. dating scene. Maybe you were picky, but horny and picky was an awful place to be.

However, the reality of the embarrassing scene you were currently a star of, flipped you back into the present.

Seemingly over the initial incident and hopefully not a mind reader to your thirsty brain, he takes you in and smirks.

Harry knew from the way your breathing hitched looking at his torso that you were at least a bit interested. He had clocked you the second you walked in through the big glass doors. A shirt of a band he liked and a natural beauty he wanted to spend some times with you he pondered. Ideally naked.

Zig zagging across the world promoting the album and had left little time to enjoy another person. Status and obligation to his job making it hard to just go out and meet someone. But here you were, dressed unlike anyone else, looking absolutely adorable in your embarrassment. You must be trustworthy if you're in Jeff's home,he wasn't a "bring your friends too" kind of host with his clients usually around.

This could be a fun evening for you both, he thought. Something unspoken, almost magnetic, drawing you both to one another. Surely that wasn't all his side right?

"I was told it was a good year, but I wasn't planning on consuming it quite this way?" inwardly he rolled his eyes at the barely there quip. But you laughed anyway.

"I am so, so awfully sorry, look, let's see if there's some dish liquid or something, possibly some of my next months rent in there too if I have to replace it" you let out a nervous laugh as you walked towards the kitchen. But in all honesty you weren't kidding.

Harry laughed at your sarcastic remark, impressed by your confidence in owning the situation and getting on with things. He casually watched your hips sway past a few people in to the open plan kitchen with as much subtlety as he could, you were confidentially locating all the parts needed to try and remove the offending stain.

"You seem to know your way around 'ere. I'm er…I'm Harry by the way" awkwardly waving as you mixed some solution in the sink drenching a sponge in it.

"Yeah" you smiled turning from the sink with the damp rag "known Jeff a good while, have definitely spilt red wine here before. I'm Y/N" you giggle. The beam from his own mouth matching.

"Ah! Y/N, of course, I've heard him mention you, didn't you once hide rotting mackerel in a unpleasant guys blazer?" he chuckled

"Heyyyy. Only after he spanked my ass getting him the check. Deserved a hot plate to the crotch too" you shot back.

You weren't sure where to go from here the thought of wetting down the white tank yourself definitely appealed but also seemed far too forward.

"Um…" you began gesturing with the sponge in your hand. You expected him to take it from you to sort himself out but..

"Oh yeah sorry" he replied shimmying his shirt off, dumping it on the back of a bar stool, then, crossing his arms across his stomach and lifting the tank top over his head you were slack jawed and frozen taking in the lean muscles and tattoos littered intermittently across his abdomen. He spread the top across the islands worktop flat, then grabbing the sponge with a simple "thanks" and knitting his eyebrows together in concentration as he tried to rid the dull red mark from it's center.

You still hadn't moved. A pink twinge to your cheeks as you watched his shoulder blades and back muscles scrubbing. Dirty thoughts circling your brain still.

"I would have helped you but I didn't want to start a wet tshirt contest in such a high end establishment yknow?" you thought out loud.

"Oh yeah, good call. I'm fiercely competitive Y/N so would probably be under that fancy waterfall thing by now showing off m'moves in my pants" he wiggles his hips trying to suggestively show you his "moves" but you can't help but smirk at just how endearing this man is. Dammit.

When he's finished with his shirt he drapes it over another barstool before handing you the sponge back.

If anyone asks him if he blatantly and deliberately got naked to gauge if you were into him he'd definitely deny it. But the truth is, he definitely did. Luckily for him, with the way you bite your lip and drag your eyes down his flesh as he brushes past your side to get back to the sink, he's right.

"Speaking of getting in the water in your" you use air quotes "'pants' I'm off to get out of mine" you declare, pushing yourself from the counter and keeping eye contact a second as you stroll back to the sliding doors leading to the pool.

"I… What??"

" The pool Harry?.... What did you think I meant?" you narrow your eyes and press your lips together before shutting the glass door again and turning once more to smirk at the opened mouthed man still by the sink.

--------------------------------

You'd been schmoozing in the water for a few hours now. There were probably only 20 or so people still here and the 3rd frozen marg had got you buzzed. You were in the small hot tub type pool, attached at the top of the main one on a slightly higher level. You hadn't seen Harry for a while but the last few times you caught his eye he'd been surrounded by at least 3 other people fighting for his attention, so you banked your flirtations to soothe your own ego, grabbed another marg and tried to forget about how he had started a tornado inside you, yearning for his hands on your thighs and head peering up at you from where they met in the middle. The strong pull of lust was clearly in your head then. What a shame.

You put it to the back of your mind as you finished catching up with Glenne. Both flushed and giggly as usual, she was the perfect match for Jeff and their chemistry unmatchable. You always enjoyed hanging out with the both of them, if anything, they gave you hope your own match may be out there. She left you in the tub alone, as she went to grab herself another drink and check on her host duties boyfriend.

"Don't you find drinking whilst already in water the weirdest thing?" you look up to find Harry standing over your right shoulder as you sit with your back against the pool wall and your elbows propping you up behind you, drink in one hand. His eyes unsubtley slip down to where your breasts lay pushed together in your halter neck bikini. You definitely weren't imagining it then. Fucking fantastic, you think.

"I mean drowning yourself on the inside from the alcohol and being in more than 4 inches of water really adds a danger element to my life if I'm honest" you reply sipping your drink.

And there goes those dimples again.

He's just in a pair of yellow swimming shorts now which doesn't help the alcohol flush at all. Sitting by your right side, putting his short glass full of amber liquid and ice, on the side of the pool and sliding in to join you. He leaves a small gap, as to not appear a total letch but your smart mouth has him hooked.

Taking a sip of his drink with the water up to his collar bones he hums.

"I do feel incredibly dangerous now, you've got a point"

"I mean if you think that's danger" you edge closer, not drunk but buzzed enough to take your chances you whisper into the shell of his ear. "You should see what thrills are in the guest bathroom. 1st floor on the right? " he chokes on his drink as your suggestive whispers make his dick twitch. He definitely couldn't get out of the pool for a while.

You're gone before you get a verbal reaction. If this all goes badly then you can just hide in there and slip out to an Uber and never see Jeff again right? Right. Cool.

With a soft white towel around you and your heart rate high as you reach the main guest bedroom you enter the room, you notice a large weekend bag in there and freeze. Shit. Someone's staying over, you hadn't factored that in, but a glance to the tag and the embossed H. E. S tells you you're good. Well, if not you'll just be a creep hiding in someone's bathroom but let's not think about it too much. Your faux confidence was working well so far and what other chance was going to arise like this one? Hot celebrities need fun with strangers too right?

Entering the bathroom you rub the towel over you, leaving mostly dry skin. You'd peel away your bikini if you were definite you wouldn't need to peel it back up your limbs should this plan backfire. You move to the mirror to adjust the black flecks from your minimal makeup dispersing under your eye and just as you're about to smooth down the stray baby hairs that humidity has got to around your face, you see Harry appear in the mirror behind you. Your belly flipping over and over with the thrill he'd took the bait.

Wasting no time he smirks and holds your gaze, wrapping his hands around your waist whilst his lips attach to the junction of your neck and collarbone. His tongue drags over your soft skin and he licks and softly sucks swirls onto it with his plush lips.

"Hm. You're right. This is a more fun type of danger" he says between kisses but before he's even finished his sentence you've spun around in his arms.

The bottom of your spine cold against the marble countertop, arms around his neck as you smash your lips into one another's with urgency. Tongues and wet noises as you get to know one another through your bodies alone.

He runs his hands down your back and presses his hard length against your thigh. He's definitely packing you think as you lift up a little rub your pubic bone against his front, panting out a little moan as the sweet friction of your bodies colliding sends you into overdrive. Catching the noise through your parted lips he gently tugs on the bottom one, teeth grazing the supple flesh. This combined with his large palms kneading your ass and pulling you further, tighter, into the roll of his hips. Only two layers of damp clothing separate you,forcing your lips to break from his mouth and fully moan, not caring who may be around. You could not remember the last time a perfect stranger knew your body quite this well.

His own grunts were speeding up when he suddenly grabs the back of your thighs and hoists you up beside the sink, you gasp in shock but it was more the way the lean man thrusted you up there like it was nothing. What else could he do? You expect him to go back to kissing you but instead he pulls back with his rock hard erection outlined in the wet shorts he still has on. Looking at you dead in the eyes both raging with lust and concern. Whilst you try not to worry how you were going to accommodate him inside your tight walls.

"Is this…? I mean, you want this too right?" his hands are resting at either side of your parted thighs. You nod. "Need you to say it Y/N" he steps forward, lips wet and brushes the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip that was now puffy and pink from the earlier biting. He knew you were down to fuck, but now he wanted to test your preferences. What kind of fun you were about to have shall we say. So when you lick his thumb tip, holding his fist still and grazing your wet tongue up and down from knuckle to tip before closing your eyes and humming around the entire digit, he knew you were both in for a good time.

Removing the thumb he whispers a barely audible "fuck me" before smashing your lips back together, tongues massaging together as he peels your underwear to the side with his hand swiftly and presses digit you'd lubricated with your mouth against your clit, moving it fast from side to side with just the right amount of pressure to make your head spin. Gasping, you throw your head back, hands clasped around his neck as you lean back and feel yourself start to leak a little with arousal. The few spots dripping down on to the counter.

You could say it had been a while but really this guy was moving his way round your body in the same way you tune a guitar in key. Calloused fingers applying the right amount of pressure as you felt yourself start to get to the edge already. He was kissing down the front if your chest, between your breasts, not missing a beat when he pushed both triangles of your bikini aside and you moaned loudly as he kissed and sucked hard around your nipple, tentatively pulling it between his teeth firmly, the sound you let out made him clamp a little harder before sucking in the whole nipple again, soothing the skin his tongue. Most likely leaving a mark behind, but you kind of liked the idea of proof he'd been devouring you in all honesty.

You were becoming blissed out from all the stimulation. Clenching and moving your hips around nothing but this magical thumb working your clit up and down hard. You were overcome with this whole situation playing out the way it had. You broke away from his mouth again.

"Oh fuck.. Harry, I'm… FuckFuck I'm going to come, I'm gonna fucking… Ahhh" he pulled back one arm steadying you as your head hit the mirror behind you in your release. He just watched you and slowed his thumb down watching as the liquid cascaded onto the counter.

After you'd come down you open your eyes and shyly smiled before kissing him passionately, his hands moving around your waist tightly. You moved your hand to his shorts, teasingly grazing the outline of his cock between your fingers in hopes of repaying the favour. He does a single throaty laugh and removes your hand, holding himself against his thigh. You look at him in confusion when he splutters,

"Sorry, sorry its just I'm going t'blow my load if you touch me." then he's back on your lips "Too. Fucking. Sexy" he says between wet kisses to your jaw, neck and clavicle. "Wanted to do this since I first set eyes on you" one hand is on the back of his neck twisting nape curls between your fist whilst the other rests behind you, stopping you from hitting your head on the mirror again.

"Oh yeah? Before or after I ruined your clothes?" you laugh teasingly as he slides his hands around your back to finally remove the bikini top properly, lifting it up over your head and tossing it aside somewhere on the floor. He let's a laugh out himself completely entranced still by how natural you are around him, it was often hard to connect with strangers in his position.

"I'd spotted you walking in, was trying to open the door for you m'love" he says before sucking a red mark into your breast and massaging and pulling the other nipple slightly with his hand.

You struggle through sharp intakes of breath for a reply.

"Well….ah...that's what chivalry.. Oh.. Get's you these days I guess" and you're both laughing a little.

"Hmm. Have to try harder with my manners then won't I? I mean, I've got to clear up the mess I've made here" he cups his hand against your pussy rubbing it up and down a little with his palm. You let out a guttural noise at the friction. "Ladies first and all'tha too right?" he giggles again at himself.

You're practically cumming right then, you couldn't remember the last time someone actually went down on you. Your previous boyfriend not particularly into offering you foreplay. A main point of why he didn't stick around too long.

Harry kisses down your abdomen now, soft sloppy, sensual pecks, humming into your skin every so often in appreciation as he works at removing your soaked bikini bottoms with his hands, pushing them down to your knees before you help, letting them fall from the remaining ankle to the ground.

Harry is moving far too slow for you, kissing across each hip down to the top of your slit, breathing over where you desperately need him before paying the other side the same attention. Then he's licking up each crease where your thigh meets your pelvis.

"Y/N, just.. Just turn, that's it and lean back as far as you can there, shuffle forward until can't balance anymore" you shift your ass as forward as possible on the lip of the sink and prop yourself up on your elbows trying to be as flat as possible on the cold counter as you could, your toes behind the sink with one foot the other dangling over the edge. You keep you thighs open as Harry hunches over the counter where you now lay diagonal. He places his arms under your thighs and bends your legs flat out as he can stretch you, you're expecting some more teasing but he just looks down at your pussy licking over his lips and almost whining before burying his tongue inside you immediately. The force of his tongue lapping up your previous climax causes you once again to knock the side of your head against the mirrored wall. You turn and watch the scene almost as a spectator, witnessing yourself bare to this beautiful man, curly brown hair between your fists and making sounds like he's savouring every taste. He catches you watching before taking his mouth off you, immediately, you're whining in protest.

"Watch my eyes not my reflection baby, I'm right here"

His authoritative tone eclipsing every thought you had about the casual nickname, you stared down at the wonderful site of him lapping and suckling on your clit. Pointed tongue and firm laps against the swollen button. He then starts lapping up at your glistening hole,unhooking an arm to spread your lips open between his fingers and licking right from the bottom to the top with all the sloppy wet noises involved. He was feeling you contract as he locked faster and faster over you. His tongue deserved an award never mind his music. You couldn't believe you were on the brink of a second orgasm so quickly but when he sunk his middle finger into you at the same pace his tongue was working at, you were screaming his name into the extractor fan above before you knew it. You felt waves of liquid cascade from your pussy as he gently lapped up the produce of his work from you. You flinched in overstimulation but he cleaned up every last drop tenderly before carefully closing your legs and pivoting you round to your previous sitting up position on the counter. Neither of you had spoken a word since you came but as he leads your arms to drape over your shoulders, holding your fucked out body against his chest whilst peppering your temple with soft pecks . Then he kisses you intensely, letting you taste the sweet juices of yourself on his lips. You hummed in approval of the sweet taste as you came round.

A few minutes of carnal making out and things were heating up again. Your hands cupping his jaw then sliding to graze fingernails up and down his back, digging them in a little harder now and again and causing goosebumps to pierce through the skin rapidly under your touch.

You could feel him swallowing down grunts from the friction he was getting from his shorts covered cock brushing up and down between your slick folds.

He'd made you cum twice. Hard. He always got off of making his partners cum of course, so he was feeling beyond turned on and the slight heat of your glistening folds against his length was almostvsending him over the edge.

"I want you inside me" you whispered against his lips desperately.

No sooner had you said the words, his left hand was frantically searching through the vanities top drawer in hope. Finding a packet, checking the date quickly then tearing it between his teeth, spitting the seal onto the floor and pushing his shorts to his ankles, stepping out of them at speed before kicking them away.

He smirked when he caught your eyes bulge at his cock. He knew it was above average but the reaction was always a further compliment he thought.

Stepping forward he put on a show of putting the condom on, first rubbing the drops of sticky pre cum at the head and down his length keeping his eyes locked to yours as you wriggled on the counter with anticipation. He whined a little as it squeezed him rolling it on, so red and over sensitive from turning you on. So that's why, when you grabbed for it, he stilled your hand. Dimples appearing back in his cheeks as you looked again in confusion. He kisses you, languishing the moment before grabbing you forward from the countertop to the floor again, still keeping your lips attached. He lightly grips at your hips and turns you round to face the mirror once more.

Harry lightly grabs your throat, and the way you whimper and push your ass back against him, makes him mentally bank that idea for later perhaps. He runs his left hand up the column of your neck lightly holding your jaw between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him with his hand on your face and the other already working up and down your folds.

"I want you to watch us. Want you to watch yourself come apart. Want to watch you cum around my cock yeah? " he whispers in your ear. You noticeably shiver with excitement of what's to come.

"Please Harry, please, need it, need you."

You watch yourself babble and beg for his cock. The pathetic whimper from yourself as you try and circle your ass into his crotch again to encourage it happening. You were never patient and he's driving you insane here.

Bringing two fingers infront of your lips as you watch yourself in the mirror he looks you dead in the eye through the reflection.

"Spit" so you do, "good girl" he says kissing your cheek. His saliva lubed fingers are back rubbing your clit quickly whilst his knee nudges the back of yours to spread your feet wider as he kisses the back of your neck and shoulders. When he pauses next you're not expecting the hard thrust of him entering you entirely, sure you were dripping wet with the result of two orgasms but you cry out in a mix of stretch and pleasure as he pounds into you at a furious pace. His spare hand not on your clit is holding the bottom of your spine down as he keeps up his rhythm. His pace was that of a man desperate for release after watching you fall apart on his fingers and tongue. The build up meant he was already close as you tight walls fluttered around him. He pleads with you to stop tightening your walls around him or he's not going to last he whimpers.

You were already close again, you'd never cum this many times or this quickly in your life but you were ready for another round and by the sounds of him and the stutter his pace kept slipping you knew he was close too.

You quickly removed his hand, sucking your own fingers into your mouth to replace his own at your clit.

"M'gonna cum, but… OhOh fuck.. But need you harder. Deeper" you manage to get out.

He grunts a curse before squeezing your hips at a pressure that will leave marks tomorrow but the delight in the speed he was now able to snap his hips against the swells of your ass, was well worth it. It only took a few more seconds with the fingers that knew you best, for you to gush against his cock. Feeling absolutely exhausted you slump your sweaty chest onto the cold counter.

His orgasm taking him by surprise when you clenched up to milk him dry. He all but shouts your name as his hips stutter and you feel the warmth of his cum fill the one barrier between you.

His lips were back on your sweaty neck for a second whilst he disposed of the used condom. He ran the walk in shower and wordlessly you took his offered hand to join him under the hot spray. You'd never had an encounter end like this before not that you were a seasoned professional but after 3 orgasms the way his hands moved round your body under the water, washing away your antics with sweet strawberry-banana smelling suds on the flannel, left you with a warm floaty feeling the worn off alcohol never had.

He gently wipes your makeup from under your eyes then, smiling at the cute way your nose wrinkles slightly as he rubs at each eyebrow.

"I don't even have words" you finally laugh out blushing, not able to stand his gauge as you say it.

"Oh. So that's how to make that smart mouth o'yours stop is it? " he grins, you gasp in mock offense and go to say something but going under your chin with his thumb with his forefinger to connect your lips under the warm water spray he kisses you when you pull away you can't help but ask.

"So does this make us even on one ruined fancy vest then?"

"Hmmmm" he ponders with both hands on your face looking at the ceiling out if the falling water. " I'm not sure, I mean it was a custom, pretty high going rate those yeah"

"Yeahhhh you're right, you're right. Better factor in the cost of the custom job then hadn't I huh?"

You hurriedly sink to your knees on the tiled floor.

[yehet-me-up]

Writing Tag 📝

Tagged by @yeoldontknow @kyungseokie @ninibears-erigom @xiubaek-13 thank you!! 😄💕🌟I loved reading everyone’s and getting a peek into your writing process/faves!

1. what is your ideal setting for focusing on your writing?

Definitely Panera Bread (a cozy restaurant chain that has the BEST cinnamon bagels and mac & cheese, for anyone not familiar). I’m praying that by next year COVID is to a point where I can write there again. Other than that usually at home at my desk is best for focus.

2. what is your favorite genre to write?

I’m down for anything as long as it has at least a little bit of romance 😂I think on here I’ve written rom coms, sci fi, fantasy, angst, horror, thriller, etc. and I definitely plan to continue being a wide and varied writer but with that constant romance bent, as I am a diehard romance hoe 💕I was thinking about this recently and I think the universal vibe for my work is /longing/ since that’s a reflection on who I am as a person lmaooooo

3. do you prefer to write on paper, or digitally?

Oh my god digitally. I used to have atrocious handwriting as a kid, but it’s gotten better. I have a persistent ache in my wrist/thumb on my dominant hand (i think because of carpal tunnel due to spending five years growing up working at a theater and constantly using my wrist to sweep up popcorn lmao) so I could never be a longhand/paper writer.

4. it’s the middle of the night and you suddenly wake up with an idea. what do you do?

I used to just type it into an email to myself or into the search bar on my phone or on random pieces of paper but now I just have a ‘misc’ google doc that I can pull up on my phone and jot things down. The virgo energy that thrives in my chart is SO happy to have this organized 😂

5. who is your favorite person to write about?

hmmmm I actually had to think about this. I think I’m in the minority here in the fandom since I have only written one (?) story about my ult bias Kim Junmyeon. I’m not sure why that is necessarily but I think it’s since I keep my thoughts about him so close to myself I usually spend my time and creative energy writing for other people??? My favorite person is probably Kyungsoo or Baekhyun. Baek because he’s so !!! I feel like his stories are very fun to write and Soo because he’s a bit quieter/more introverted so the fics I seem to write for him are very internal and full of longing which I vibe with on the daily, so it feels like writing myself almost lmaoooo

6. do you like making your own characters, or do you usually write about real people?

I’d say both? I really enjoy writing my own characters but I also enjoy writing fanfic, since there’s already a universal knowledge of the ‘characters.’ I always write AUs vs. RPF (real person fiction) about the IRL people I’m writing about, so it’s easier to just jump into the idea vs. spending a whole lot of time establishing the appearance/general personality of characters. While writing my book I’ve been dipping back into writing fics since it’s a nice break from having to create every aspect of the world/characters myself, so I’d say I like both equally!

7. have you ever written a book, or a story with more than 15 chapters (or 100k words)?

PLS PRAY FOR ME LMAOOOO god I’m like uhhh at about 85k on my book and just shy of 100k is the target word count for a book in the age group/genre i’m writing for so I’m aaaallllmmooossttt done. Other than that I think EXO mall is over 100k??? it’s not all one series but I sometimes consider it one. Other than that I think if I do end up writing Regency Husbands aka A Truth Universally Acknowledged here on tumblr itself I think that will probably be in the ballpark of 100k since I plotted it out as an entire book lololoollol.

8. how often do you get ideas?

fuckin hell, just - all the time. I have a few fics/books plotted out and I’m dying to get around to them and then I have a ‘misc’ google doc that holds lines, images, snippets of things that I’d love to throw together into a story at some point. I talk about this below, but now that I’m taking on trying to write books/be traditionally published (and since I’m a virgo... rising/mercury/mars/etc. I get VERY stressed by loose ends/unfinished things ughhhgghgh) I’ve had to be really clear/strict with myself when something comes up. 

Like is this new thing 1. a fic/book i want to write and 2. do I want to prioritize that over things I’ve planned already. So for now my plan on tumblr is to finish EXO mall and then re-evaluate the overflowing folder of ideas to see what’s next lmaooooo. One thing at a time seems to work best for me so that’s what I try to do, OR possibly see if it’s something I can work into an already in-process fic to try to kill two birds with one stone :)

9. do you ever get an idea that you really like, but just can’t seem to finish?

GOD YES. So many. The EXO x Italian Job series that almost was. The Jongin fae story that was supposed to be a drabble and almost became a friggin book. A lot of the things I did for drabble parties came from snippets of things I planned to write as full on fics and just didn’t feel like I could do it justice.

It’s so hard because I work full time and life is busy and I can only write SO much, so as I’ve gotten more uhh experienced? Idk if that’s the right word, but as I’ve come to know myself better as a writer I get more adept at figuring out which ideas will actually sustain me through an entire series or a 20k+ oneshot and which ones will just be drabbles/brief flashes of an idea but ones that I can’t fully ‘finish’ and explore, if that makes sense? 

I’ve come to just enjoy the idea and write a short little thing for it and be done and happy with it vs. spending ages feeling guilty/beating myself up that I just don’t feel like writing that idea. And who knows? Maybe it’s something I’ll come back to later and ‘finish’ but it’s just not the right time!

10. what is your least favorite plot?

Hmmmm I’d say anything with romantic on-the-page abuse (that’s supposed to be romantic??)/dubious consent/verbal humiliation/etc etc. I’ve found a ton of books feature this lately under the guise of an ‘alpha’ male character and I just 🙃it’s not my thing, personally. I am usually still down for like age difference fics (as long as both parties are legal adults ofc), sub/dom vibes in smut, some teasing/jokes etc. but anything with the specific intent to demean/degrade/etc. another person I’m like that gif of the mouse walking in a door and then walking right back out.

11. tag 5 or more people

Tagging @jeonocho @kpopchangedme @jinterlude @yixingminseokjongdae @kpopimagi @strawberrybobohu @simplesanitys @julietsoddeye 🥳

[marlahey]

we stumbled in the dark; I knew we’d be alright (part fourteen)

a shawn mendes rpf ratings/warnings: language, a few moments to get you warm under the collar, some general fandom roasting. notes: here it is, finally. official word count is just under 20k, so buckle up. grab some snacks. taking all questions and comments for this and any other parts forever in my ask, so don’t be shy! sorry for saying this would go up at 7 – editing took way longer than expected and I was dragged out for family bubble tea. shout out to that anon waiting to read at work.  thank you for never giving up on me.  (previously; start at part one here; find all parts here) new york; now “I don’t–I don’t understand.”

In another dark backseat, Shawn slides his hand into yours. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Call me when you can.” Ava had just waved goodbye as the driver reversed out of the alley. Taylor had pulled her hood up, and you were suddenly hyper-aware of the scuffs on your boots. For the next several minutes, New York blurred past out the dark tinted windows.

“Shawn told me you guys were gonna be in town,” Taylor says now, turning around to smile at you as if all of this were perfectly normal. “We wanted to surprise you with a dinner out or something, and then I…” She fixes Shawn with a soft look, full of understanding. “I heard about all that stuff going down at your hotel. Thought I’d call and see if you guys needed a place to crash tonight.” For the first time since you landed, you can see the veneers of both angry and comforting peel back, leaving someone almost shaken behind. He swallows. “Taylor…” “You already thanked me,” she interrupts gently. “It’s what friends do, okay? We help each other out. No questions asked.” Her piercing gaze turns back to you. “I’m really happy to see you, Ellie.” “Me too,” you manage, at least half an octave too high. ”Um, thank you.” Apparently satisfied, Taylor turns back in her seat. “You guys hungry? We can stop at Shake Shack or something if you want?” She glances at her driver. “Eric, do you remember if I got that frozen pizza last time I went grocery shopping?” “Think you ended up with two, Taylor.” Shawn exhales a laugh next to you. “Oh god, sorry guys. Eric, you’ve met Shawn right?” “Hey man,” Shawn says politely. “Good to see you again. Thanks for coming to get us.” “Of course,” Eric replies, glancing back in his blind spot to change lanes. “And this is Ellie.” Warm, dark eyes find yours; you’re reminded of Paul. He nods at you. You smile back tentatively. “Miss.” You have to swallow before you can speak. “Hi.” Shawn squeezes your hand. “Pizza or burgers, Ellie?” The older woman prompts. “Or anything else you want, really. We can order whatever.”

“Um.” Now doesn’t seem like a good time to bring up the fact that you were throwing up twenty minutes ago. You glance at your companion, who just tilts his head in a whatever you want sort of gesture. That’s helpful. “Pizza, I guess?” you say finally, wincing at the sound of your own uncertainty. It has nothing to do with the fact that the last thing you want is to go back out in a public space, but if anyone in the car can read that thought, no one gives it voice.   “Great.” Taylor smiles at you in the rearview, so sincerely it crinkles around her eyes. “Bet you guys are either exhausted or keyed up, huh?” “Bit of both,” Shawn admits. “Well, you’ll have the place to yourselves for the rest of the night so you can relax and sleep. I’m supposed to be at a birthday party later and who knows how late I’ll be out.” She pauses. “Not that late, Eric.” Her driver just clears his throat. “It’s no problem.” “You’re not allergic to cats, are you Ellie?” You shake your head. “Nope.” “Perfect.” Silence descends over the car. You exhale slowly, shifting to lean against Shawn. He slouches to meet you, turning so his mouth touches your temple. It’s not a kiss so much as it is a grounding, a reminder. I’m here. Your knotted, tense shoulders finally relax a little. “We’re okay,” he murmurs softly. “It’s alright.” You don’t trust yourself to say anymore without crying so you just squeeze his hand. No one else speaks. You just keep breathing. * “So these are the guest rooms. Feel free to drop your stuff in whichever ones and the bathroom is just back there, bath and shower. Or both, if you want. There are spare toothbrushes in top drawer and all the towels are clean, too!” Taylor points down the hall. “There’s security and someone at the front desk all night if you need to pop out…” You hope Shawn’s listening because you can’t focus on anything besides the fact that you’re standing in Taylor Swift’s house. Well, one of her houses, at least. Or is this still an apartment? In any case, it was hard not to gawk at everything from the enormous kitchen to the sleek grand piano in the living room as you walked up the stairs and followed her to the left; now you’re just standing between two rooms as if your body is not your own.  Shawn, as if he can sense your momentary paralysis, gently pries your backpack from your grip and heads into the one on the right. You wonder fleetingly if his bag and guitar are in there too, if Taylor’s noticed one way or the other, or if it even matters. By the time you turn your head, she’s already on the far side of the stairs, pointing at another set of doors. I’ll be here, she mouths, and you nod as Shawn reappears. “D’you wanna take a shower?” he asks, leaning on the doorframe. “Get all the airplane off?” “You go first.” You fish your phone from your pocket, awash with texts from Ava, Parker, and Kristin. “I’m just gonna text Ava quick. You take fast showers anyway.” And because there’s no one around to judge or photograph you, you lean up on your toes to kiss Shawn at the corner of his mouth. Before you can pull away, he winds himself around you and presses his face into your neck. Shawn sighs. The angle’s sharp in such a way that you have to lean into him so you don’t fall. Not that he’s ever let you. “It’s okay,” you murmur, curling your fingers into the back of his sweater. If you pretend long enough it might become true; if you use his words you might start to believe them. “We’re okay.” Shawn just holds you tighter. “It’s not your fault.” Pulling back means letting go, but you have to see his face. You reach out to cup Shawn’s cheek. “Hear me?” He nods against your palm, folding over your knuckles with his own hand. Shawn swallows and blinks rapidly, his eyes suddenly very bright. He turns his mouth towards your wrist before clearing his throat and looking down at his feet. Shawn pulls away. Your hand falls; your heart squeezes. “You should go meet Meredith and Olivia,” he says, not quite keeping your gaze. “They’re great.” “Shawn–” you start, then stop as he smiles briefly, leaning down to kiss your forehead before disappearing back into the guest room. Shawn doesn’t close the door, but you don’t move. The sound of bags shuffling is just loud enough that you pull yourself out of your stupor and turn right as fast as you can; something irrational in you hates the thought of Shawn seeing you walk away from him.

You We’re okay, we’re at Taylor’s. She has like seven spare bedrooms.

Ava Good. Try to get some rest okay? I know it’s hard but try not to worry. Honestly, enjoy a night off together. Neither of you have anywhere to be in the morning either.

Ava Pretend I didn’t just accidentally encourage you to have sex.

You Oh very much pretending. Let’s never talk about it ever again. I love you.

Ava I love you. Taylor’s door is ajar. Through the crack you can see her sitting in front of a beautiful vanity, frowning just slightly at her reflection. She meets your stare in the mirror and you flush, caught. “Hey!” Taylor makes a come in gesture with her chin. “C’mon, hang with me a bit. How’s Shawn?” I don’t know. “He’s taking a shower.” You step slowly into the room. Her bedspread is visible now, plush and inviting, on which perch two cats. You pause at the long bench at the foot of the bed; they both eye you. Can cats look suspicious? “Don’t mind Meredith,” Taylor says with a rueful roll of her eyes as the cat closest to you rises abruptly and leaps down, stalking past your feet without so much as a backwards glance. “She’s not always one for new people.” The remaining cat (Olivia you presume) just flicks her tail when you sit down gingerly on the bench, careful not to spread yourself out too much and risk disturbing her space at the edge of the bed frame. You extend your hand in offering; Olivia’s whiskers tickle your palm. When she turns to stroke her soft cheek against your fingers, it feels like a blessing. “I know it probably doesn’t feel like it…” Taylor holds up two different earrings to her ear and turns so you can see them better – you point at the delicate golden spiral, which she twists in without having to look. Her whole body opens up to yours; it seems imperative that you meet her eye. “But what happened out there, it won’t always be like that, with you two.” You open your mouth, but suddenly you have no idea how to respond. If anyone knows the truth of a situation like this it would be her. But admitting that you take comfort in Taylor’s words means admitting – well, admitting that what everyone already suspects is true. “I feel like such a kid,” you say instead. “Like I couldn’t even handle a few photographers. That’s pretty pathetic.” “Not at all,” Taylor replies firmly. “No one’s equipped to handle that the first time it happens.” Your stomach lurches unpleasantly at the idea of a next time. “I didn’t overstep, did I?” When you look up again, her head is tilted in a sort of serious curiosity. “I didn’t want to assume you guys would share a room or–” “No.” It comes out an almost shout of sudden horror. “No, you’re wonderful and two rooms is fine.” You almost say, we’ll probably end up sharing anyway, but manage to pull the truth back. Taylor’s lips twitch, just a little. “Good.” Blushing this much in front of anyone besides Shawn always makes you feel like a child. It certainly gives you away. But Taylor doesn’t say anything else, just offers you that same warm, understanding look she’d given him in the car. She wanders into her closet next, extending tops for consideration as a disembodied arm sticking out the door. Taylor talks comfortably as if she’s not really concerned whether you’re actually listening or not, perhaps under the guise of getting to you just relax a little Ellie, geez. (Though that’s your own inner admonishment, not hers.) She doesn’t mention Shawn again, only to say on the topic of your newfound hobby, “He’s been telling me which photos are yours! They’re amazing,” as she emerges with a boot in one hand and the other on her foot. “Have you thought about pursuing it professionally?” Olivia hops down from the bed and steps into your lap, purring gently as you mull over the question. “I mean it’s just a few amateur photos. Kelsey does most of the work in editing.” Taylor raises her eyebrows. You just shrug at her. “I don’t know. I guess I have no idea what I want to do, or be. Is that bad?” Not all of us can be Shawn, you think with a small twist of envy. Or you. She smiles as if she can read your mind; maybe the thought had crossed your face a little too visibly. And as if he’d also heard you– “El?” Shawn’s voice floats down the hall; both cat and owner’s heads swivel in almost eerie unison. “Taylor?” “In here!” Taylor calls with a wink at you. Shawn appears moments later in sweats and a t shirt, cradling Meredith in his arms. Of course she loves him. “Feel better?” He nods with a smile; Shawn’s hair is a little damp still, half-curling over his forehead already. “All yours, El. Did you get ahold of Ava?” Don’t blush. “Yeah,” you reply evenly. “We’re all good.” “Why don’t I show you how the oven works before I go?” Taylor is already steering Shawn out the door by the shoulders, casting you one last smile. “See you later Ellie!” You’re so grateful to her suddenly, for allowing you one last opportunity to gather yourself before you and Shawn are left alone – genuinely entirely alone – for what feels like the first time ever, actually. You can only lift a hand goodbye. As their steps recede down the stairs, you duck into the room where he’d left your backpack, which contains an emergency set of pjs to ward off Ava’s constant fear that an airline would eventually lose all your luggage. Does this qualify as an emergency, you wonder, being chased from our hotel by rabid stalker fans? Just as you close the bathroom door, you hear the tinkling of piano keys, Taylor’s murmuring voice and Shawn’s laughter. *

You’ve never heard him play this on anything but guitar, but thanks to Charlie you’d know it anywhere, the melodic phrases familiar even though the key isn’t, even though Shawn’s not playing every note or singing every line, the way he does sometimes when he thinks no one’s watching him and his mind is elsewhere. Well Meredith is, lounging regally on top of the piano, but you’re not sure she counts. “I don’t care what they say about you baby. They don’t know what you’ve been through.” It’s like someone’s punched the air from your lungs. He probably doesn’t even notice you from your perch halfway down the stairs, leaning with your forehead pressed between the bannisters. But then Shawn turns his head and you have to purposefully unfurl your grip covering a handful of the cities he’d written out so carefully on your tour sweats. “Hey,” he says gently, even though his hands keep moving. You think, nobody knows her the way I know her and wonder exactly when that became true. Shawn abandons the bridge for a different song that you can’t place right away, while you tiptoe down the rest of the stairs. “I want to live in Taylor’s bathroom,” you announce as he slides over on the bench to offer you space. Shawn chuckles; you give yourself several seconds to admire the strength of his hands moving across ivory and ebony keys. “I’m serious! Remind me to ask her what kind of shower head she has.” He just hums. “What?” “Nothing!” Shawn flashes a vaguely teasing smile, a familiar I’m trying not to laugh at you. You make a face and get up just to spite him, crossing the living room to look curiously at the bookshelf laid into the wall. As varied and interesting as the books are and as stylish as the decor is, Taylor’s grand piano is definitely the focal point of the room. Musical instruments are hardly your forte, but you know instinctively that it’s far from average; every note seems to be calling to somewhere deep inside you. It feels like you figure it out too late. “I didn’t know you played this on piano.” “I don’t, really.” He stumbles a little as if to prove his point. Meredith casts a seemingly judgemental look from beside the music stand. “Not since Instagram years ago. I don’t think I’ve ever performed it, like this.” It occurs to you that while you’ve heard Shawn rehearse, practice, and meticulously train his voice, there’s never quite been a moment of, I’m alone in a room with Shawn Mendes and he’s really, actually singing. Until now. “Do you, do you think about me?” You can’t decide whether to keep his gaze or look away but it’s too late. His eyes flick down to the keys and back up. The reprieve doesn’t help; you stopped breathing two measures ago. “And do you, do you feel the same way?” There’s a true, genuine question in the tender curve of his smile. You couldn’t even answer if you wanted to, struck by a sudden urge to flee that you haven’t felt in a long time. But you stay, because he’s still looking at you as if he really wants to know, “Do you, do you remember how it felt?” slower and softer than you’ve ever heard him sing, which makes your stomach drop to your feet. “Cause I do, so listen to me now.” Shawn draws you in like he did months ago with Dive, as if the room, the apartment, and the city have all narrowed all the way down to the four feet between you. You don’t have Charlie – or anyone – as a buffer this time. You’re too afraid of what you might be admitting by looking away. So you have to look Shawn right in the eye when he alters the way you feel about this song for the rest of your life. “I’m not trying to ruin your happiness, but darling don’t you know that I’m the only one, for ‘ya?” You’d be mad if you weren’t already so stupidly in love with him. To your surprise, Shawn skips forward to the bridge. “Do I ever cross your mind?” he half-sings, half-asks, then waits. Oh. It feels like a joke and a challenge both at once. When you just look at him, that teasing smile tugs up one side of Shawn’s mouth. “C’mon, I know you love this part.” Finally, an excuse to get yourself together. “You also know I can’t sing.” He’s not deterred. “Everyone can sing. Some are just better than others.” He says it so casually you snort. “Okay popstar, you know I don’t sing.” Shawn rolls his eyes. “It’s just me, El. And you know you sing under your breath when you’re studying, right?” “I–” you start, gaping like a fish, your face hot. “I do not.” “Where do you think I got In The Heights from?” “From Lin-Manuel Miranda’s genius brain, obviously?” He laughs again, shaking his head. “It is amazing though, eh? We’ll have to try to see it for real sometime.” Just when you think you’ve gotten away scot-free, Ruin’s bridge begins again and Shawn beckons you closer with a tilt of his chin. Your traitorous feet move without permission. You sit back down, gingerly, as though you’re in danger of blurting the truth out at any moment. “Just me,” he says again, so gently you shiver. He’s right, after all. That’s the scariest part. “Do I ever cross your mind?”   It’s your turn to roll your eyes – for show if nothing else. Something flutters in your stomach when you finally give in, although with not nearly as much confidence. “Do I ever cross your mind?” Shawn’s smile is wider than you’ve seen in days. Back and forth you go, until the timer beeps on the oven like a blessing from the universe. You leap to your feet so fast that he trips up on the final chorus; Shawn seems momentarily disappointed that your little karaoke session is over. “I got it,” you say as he moves to rise with you, leaning down to drop a kiss above the scar on his cheek in silent apology. “Don’t get up just yet, it’ll have to cool down a minute anyway.” He doesn’t protest – maybe he can see the sudden, frantic need for distance in your face – but you can feel Shawn’s gaze tracking your progress across the living room and through to the open plan kitchen. He keeps playing – a bit of Frank Ocean here, a bit of Coldplay there – settling on Like To Be You which makes your heart skip. You pick up the cat oven mitts that Taylor left for you alongside two plates and glasses. The heat warming your face is a welcome reminder that all of this is real and you haven’t in fact been stuck in a dream all evening. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself when you sit back down at the piano. It’s actually  incredibly soothing when you take it in properly, the warmth of him and the gentle melody of your favourite new tour arrangement, especially when Shawn abandons proper posture to press against you from hip to shoulder. He turns to prop his chin on top of your head, and even more quietly than just a minute ago, half sings, half says, “I’m so sorry, that we’re still stuck in the middle. I’m so sorry, cause in the moment I–” Shawn’s voice breaks off; the note fades; your breath catches. “Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat. It’s like a bubble’s popped. “Lost it.” He drops a kiss into your hair. “Wanna eat?” It takes effort to sound normal after that. “Yeah, sure.” You have to reach for Shawn before he can get up, before you can lose your nerve. “Just…” He looks at you, something raw and vulnerable in his eyes, and you haul the words out. “Tell me what’s inside of your head.” If you were braver you’d finish the line. Shawn smiles, but it fades quickly. Your gut instinct was right. “What’s wrong?” Shawn pauses a long time; roots of dread curl up from the pit of your stomach. You wrap your hand around the meditative man that reminds him how to be still.  “If this is about the paparazzi, you know that wasn’t–” “It’s not.” He scrubs his free hand through his hair, a shadow of frustration hollowing his face as he replaces the cover for the keys, as if he can’t be angry while looking right at you. “I mean, sort of? And it’s not you, it’s…” Shawn trails off. His jaw sets and your grip on his wrist tightens almost involuntarily. “It’s okay,” you say, going for soothing and ignoring the part of you that wants to insist that he explain himself immediately. “Why don’t we talk about it after? Let’s eat some real food first.” Once again, Shawn doesn’t object and you’re grateful. He lets you pull him from the piano to the kitchen. The dining room was way too intimidating, so you left the plates in a breakfast nook so cosy that your legs have no choice but to slot together beneath the tabletop. Shawn presses his knee into your thigh, between your legs, and the way he smiles when you blush only makes you face hotter. In a flash of brazen courage, you push back in your seat and slide the inside of your foot up his calf; Shawn stops chewing immediately and his smug look disappears. His Adam’s apple bobs and you can’t help but stare, too slow to react when Shawn reaches under the table with his free hand to grab at your foot, easing it into his lap. You could pull away if you wanted to. You don’t pull away. Shawn finishes his crust with his left hand wrapped around your ankle, stroking his thumb up and down the stretch of bare skin between your low cut socks and the rolled up cuff of your jeans. For a minute his gaze seems far away, and you wonder if he can see Oslo in his mind’s eye, just as you do. Afterwards, Shawn insists on doing all the cleaning, (“You cooked.” “I took it out of the oven and put it on plates, Shawn. That’s hardly cooking.” “Still. House rules.”) which leaves you perched on the centre island, swinging your legs back and forth while you nurse a glass of apple juice. Shawn finishes drying and turns back to you with a conspiratorial smile. “Taylor bought me a really nice tequila for the end of tour.” “Even though you’re still underage here?” Shawn shrugs, a boyish, excited gleam in his eye. “What were you gonna do with it?” “Give it to Andrew to hang onto,” he says, as though it’s obvious. “Or Ava, even. Till we got back.” But we’re not going back, you want to protest suddenly, feeling petulant and childish. “What about now?” Shawn tilts his head. “Do a shot with me? I missed out the other night.” “Shawn Mendes,” you start, fighting back a smile. “Are you trying to corrupt me with illegal behaviour?” “Only if you’re up for being corrupted, El.” He reaches into a cabinet for the bottle, glimmering faintly in the warm kitchen light. You know even less about alcohol than musical instruments, but it seems fancy, special, like it belongs on the top shelf of a high end bar. You jokingly offer him your glass before you take your next sip, which he accepts with a smile. “No pressure.” Shawn looks as though he’d happily drink apple juice with you forever, which is why you say, “Okay. I’ll do a shot with you.” His eyes light up. “Yeah?” You can’t stop an affectionate laugh. “Yeah. Show me those bartending skills, rockstar.” Shawn snorts, but his concentration while he procures two shot glasses, digs a lime out of Taylor’s fridge, and offers you the salt shaker is adorable nonetheless. You lick the divot beside your thumb and pour a copious amount of salt; loose grains sprinkle onto the countertop like snow, or sand. Could you do this, you wonder, on a mountainside or a beach at the edge of the world? Would the tang of salt, tequila and lime feel the same without the way Shawn’s looking at you right now, sparking a flame in your stomach that you’re desperate to keep alive? “Ready?” he asks, stepping closer once you have the lime in one hand and the shot glass held precariously in the other, so close that your knee brushes his hip. “To you,” you say. “It really was an amazing first leg.” Shawn opens his mouth as if he wants to object. “Nope, too late. I already made the toast.” “Fine,” he replies, rolling his eyes, but you can see the humble pride in his smile. “Just don’t forget to look.” Challenge accepted. So you’re staring at him when you drag your tongue over your hand, when you tap your glass on the marble and lift it to your lips, and by the time your chin tilts back down in time with his, Shawn’s eyes are there, watching as you wince around the wedge of lime. He’s still holding his piece when you drop the rind into your glass. “What, you don’t like lime anymore?” His gaze flicks from your eyes to your lips. “Shawn?” Shawn barely has to take a step forward before he’s sealing your mouth with his own. He kisses you and it tastes heady and bitter and sour all at once. He kisses you and tilts your head back with fingertips that are tacky with tequila and lime. He kisses you and heat that has nothing to do with the alcohol blooms inside you, that flame stoked higher and higher. Before you’ve even finished winding your arms around his neck, Shawn’s hands slide down your sides, familiarly huge and warm; he drags you forward on the island until your hips bang together, so only the firm strength of him keeps you from slipping off the edge. You should get off the counter, you think. The kitchen is hardly the best place to make out. But as you pull back to say this out loud, Shawn just tightens his hold. “Shawn–” “Trust me,” he says, breathing the words into your mouth. “Don’t let go.” And then his hands slip under your knees, your thighs, and he’s lifting you up off the island. You hear yourself squeak in surprise; Shawn laughs into the next kiss and you wrap your legs instinctively around him. He turns and suddenly you’re being carried, weightless. His mouth finds the juncture between your neck and shoulder and keeps you from twisting to see where he’s going. You didn’t know it was possible to feel like you were burning, even with all these clothes still between you; you didn’t know Shawn could make a noise like that until you rock your hips a little into him to keep leverage. “D’you know where–” The rest of your question drops off in a sharp breath as he drops backwards onto a couch, sitting upright and still gripping you tight against him so you fall forward into his smile. ”Oh.” You’re not in the piano room anymore, but a second living room; it’s cozy and warm even without the fireplace burning, and the tv is bigger than both yours and Ava’s combined. “Taylor’s birthday,” Shawn murmurs. “God, I was so scared I’d make an idiot of myself.” I know the feeling. Even though your knees landed on either side of his hips, your foot is caught awkwardly beneath you. Wiggling yourself into a more comfortable position would require effectively sitting in Shawn’s lap; in your hesitation, the fingers twisting around your hair pause. “Okay?” he asks, leaning back to catch your eye. Shawn’s pupils are wide and dark. Even his lazy eye seems more eager tonight, like there was a little something extra in that tequila that’s making both of you want more than usual. It’s there, in his face. But there’s care too, and caution. You take a breath. It’s just Shawn. “Yeah,” you reply, “Just–” With a little leverage on his shoulder you manage to free your foot, your hips slotting together again like puzzle pieces snapping into place. Shawn makes that noise again, a barely-there groan. Your stomach flips. “Is this...okay? Like this?” “Very okay, El.” Shawn says it like he’s trying not to laugh. He sits up, bringing his hand to your cheek and cradling your neck. Your foreheads touch and it strikes you, how safe you feel underneath the blood roaring in your ears. “Amazing, actually.” To your surprise, Shawn kisses you soft and slow, like some of the urgency from just a minute ago has faded; he barely pulls back, tipping his forehead into yours again like he can’t bear to be further away. For a minute you just breathe together, your fingers going lax against his neck, and for once it doesn’t feel like you’re just stealing time. Then: “Would you believe me if I told you I was being selfish?” “Selfish?” you echo. “What do you mean?” “With us. About us.” Though you’re finally at eye level, Shawn drops his gaze and looks up through his eyelashes. “And you.” Your stomach jumps. “I normally tell my fans that I’m super open with them all the time, but when we– I just..” He shrugs, almost helplessly. “I dunno, I guess I just wanted to keep it between us. I wanted to keep it ours.” There’s definitely a Taylor joke in there, but before you can think about lightening the mood, he’s looking away, as though he’s ashamed. Oh. “Is that why you bought that photo off of Scott?” He still won’t look at you, despite your perch against him, despite the way his other hand anchors you warm and low on your back. You’d had a thought about rocking into him again, to see if you could produce that little groan on command, but now the heat has settled into an ember. You slide your hand up Shawn’s neck, taking his chin gently to coax him into meeting your eye. “Hey.” It’ll always feel strange to be the sure one. “It’s just me, Shawn.” His jaw tightens, just a fraction, but you don’t move and wait for him to speak. “It was irresponsible of me to want to just...like, pretend that all that other stuff wasn’t happening. That people weren’t saying stupid shit online–” you try not to flinch but you know he can feel it– “or getting in your face just because they started to see us together. It was naive of me to think by not like, acknowledging it, we wouldn’t have to deal with it.” “I don’t think not being able to talk and not acknowledging it are the same thing,” you protest. “Still.” “Shawn, I–” “I should’ve known better,” he says, cutting you off in a rare moment of real anger. Not at you, it’s clear, but himself. “We should’ve talked about it, I should’ve prepared you. I–” “Shawn. Shawn.” You reach for his face with both hands, taking advantage of the fact that you’re literally on top of him and therefore, momentarily inescapable. Shawn’s own hand on your back fists in your shirt, but otherwise he doesn’t move. Part of you wants to say, we’ve talked about this, but as Shawn’s body shifts beneath you, solid, present, here, you realize that it’s not just one conversation. It’s not that you have to talk, but that you want to. It’s not that you’ve talked, but that you have to keep talking. If any of this is going to work, you have to keep having this conversation – if for no other reason than to remind Shawn that you understand what you’re getting into. Because that’s a relationship. “You had no way of knowing there was gonna be a crazy horde tonight.” His jaw flexes. Surprising, slumbering desire stirs unhelpfully in the pit of your stomach. “You can’t prepare for something you have no idea’s coming, right? But now we know that it’s…” You stroke your thumb over a little sparse gap in his eyebrow as you try to find the right word; Shawn’s grip on your back loosens a little. “A thing that can happen now, we can…you know, be more ready next time. And the one after that.” “I should’ve held your hand,” Shawn says softly. “I’m glad Parker was there, but I–” Regret is equally so rare in his face that it’s unmistakable. “I wanted to.” “Me too.” It feels less daunting to admit it to each other, like something shared rather than something shameful. “I just didn’t want to put you in a situation that…that you didn’t choose yourself. That you weren’t ready for.” His fingers find yours, against his cheek. You wonder if it will ever stop making your heart flutter. “I’m sorry I didn’t.” “I understand, okay? You don’t have to be sorry about that.” You also wonder who would win in a bet of ‘Most Canadian.’ “Thank you for wanting to protect me, as probably impossible as that is.” Shawn sighs, turning his face so he can brush his lips across your fingers. “Thank you for wanting me at all.” I always want you. You nearly blurt it out right then and there. You just kiss him instead, and pour the thought in. “As if that’s hard,” you murmur, pretend annoyed. Shawn breathes his laugh into you and winds his arm tighter around your back. You’re very tempted to let that spark flare back to life, but before you give in, you pull back to look at Shawn carefully. “Is there anything else you wanna talk about? I mean, paparazzi lesson learned for sure, but besides that?” He swallows. “I think I’m gonna take a social media break for a bit.” As you nod, Shawn brushes your hair back with warm fingers. “And I need you to know that it’s not just about you. I need the distance, and it’s probably better that neither of us is actively looking for…whatever the fuck they’re gonna say.” He pauses. “And–”   You brace yourself instinctively. “And I’m meeting Andrew, tomorrow morning for coffee. To talk. He texted while you were in the shower.” The thought doesn’t scare you as much as it once did. “Okay. That’s good, right?” Shawn nods, as if he’s reassured by your calm. “Yeah. Should be fine.” “So I get to sleep in tomorrow?” you ask. He rolls his eyes. “Amazing.” “Yeah yeah, rub it in El.” “Nothing saying we can’t go to bed early,” you retort, only half joking. You’re suddenly very aware again of how you’re sitting. Shawn tilts his head, reminding you of a curious puppy, and smiles up at you as you realize your slip and blush hot. “You know what I mean.” “We could,” he agrees slowly. He brings his hand down to your knee, up your leg, over your hip.“If you want.” You pretend to mull it over, before leaning down to brace your arms on either side of Shawn’s head. His smile fades into wanting, lighting his eyes like a sunrise. You hover over him and  tease a little deliberately, but your stomach jumps all the same when he strains his neck trying to reach you. “Is that what you want?” you murmur, threading your fingers up into the hair curling behind his ears. Shawn’s head tilts back even further; you can feel his long exhale against your face. “To sleep?” His jaw flexes. You don’t think about pressing a little harder into him, a gentle grind of the place where your hips meet. It just happens, and then before you can say or do anything else, Shawn surges upward, so fast that you gasp, kissing you so hard that your teeth nearly clack together. The arm around you holds you fast, pulling you in even tighter. Shawn’s other hand snakes beneath your thigh, hooking your knee over his hip; your stomach pitfalls as he twists to press you onto your back, all the air in your lungs coming out in a gasping rush that he just swallows in another kiss. “Okay?” he asks, his voice low and rough. You just tug him down. * You lay on that couch until your lips feel tingly and numb. You discover that tracing gentle S’s over his bare skin produces an interesting reaction – S for shudder, S for shiver, S for shake – and that the tiny groan you’d heard earlier can, in fact, be heard almost perfectly on command. Time moves so strangely when you don’t have to cobble minutes together and listen for the sound of someone outside the door; the weight of Shawn on top of you is now as thrilling as it is grounding, the press of his arousal something real instead of an almost, a maybe. (You agree not to have sex under Taylor Swift’s roof, but the desire nearly drags you under.) * “Shawn?” “Hmm?” “Did you– did you give me a hickey?” “…Maybe. Yes. Sorry.” “No you’re not.” “No. I’m not.” * It’s 2:24 am. You’re wide awake. Shawn, of course, is fast asleep. His fingers are still curled into the edges of your t-shirt and the part of you that isn’t annoyed at his peaceful slumber aches a little at the innocence of the gesture. Just a boy. You toy with the idea of just laying here a while longer, but now that you’ve thought about it a trip to the bathroom is in order and it’s not as if you’re going to fall back asleep anytime soon. Stupid jetlag. So you get up. You reach for Shawn’s Harvard hoodie tossed to the end of the bed (because it’s closer than yours, obviously, not because it smells like him) and pad as softly as you can to the door. From the bathroom you head down the stairs, following a wash of light into the kitchen. Taylor whirls around from the open freezer, holding a pint of ice cream and looking guilty. “Oh god, I woke you up, didn’t I? I’m so sorry.” “No,” you reply quickly. “I was already up, you’re fine.” Her shoulders relax and Taylor grins a little sheepishly, as though this isn’t her house and she’d be caught doing something illicit. “Can’t sleep?” You shake your head. “I don’t get how he’s just...out like a light. So annoying.” The unspoken intimacy is already out before you can even think to take it back, but she just laughs lightly. “His body’s used to it.” Taylor reaches into a drawer for a spoon. “Want some? Mint chocolate chip.” It’s probably a bad idea, but you shrug and accept the utensil as Taylor gathers another spoon, two shallow bowls and an ice cream scoop. “How was your party?” Taylor scoops you just enough for a couple bites and you smile gratefully. “It was fine. I mean, good. But I haven’t been out in a while and it’s kinda draining being really social for a long time, you know?” You think of all the times Shawn’s opted to sit in companionable silence with you instead of a last round or a second after party. “Yeah, sure.” “I’ll make you a warm turmeric milk,” Taylor offers. Even the way she twists her wrist to pick up ice cream seems graceful. “Worse case, I have melatonin somewhere.” “You’re not tired?” “Not yet. Takes me a while to wind down. How was your night? You guys have fun?” It’s an innocent question, but a flush crawls up your neck all the same. You shove a spoonful of ice cream in your mouth and “Mhmm!” Taylor’s smile crinkles around her eyes; she doesn’t press you. “Tell me about tour,” she says instead. “What’s been your favourite place? Your favourite show?” It takes a moment of consideration. You tell her about Paris and its glittering lights and birthday sparklers and candles. You tell her about Manchester and Youth. You tell her about Morgan on the barricade in London. You hardly mention Shawn by name and yet he’s there, lingering at the edges of all your sentences and inside your pauses. Taylor makes you a warm golden milk with turmeric and you drink while you talk. When you yawn, surprising somehow like you’d forgotten how, she presses melatonin into your hand. “Get some sleep,” she says. “I’ll see you in the morning.” So up you go. Equally surprising is the strip of light at the bottom of Taylor’s guest bedroom door. Shawn’s slouched against the headboard, the blue light of his phone illuminating his face while the bedside lamp casts a long, warm veil over the rest of the room. “Hey,” you say softly, closing the door behind you. “Did I wake you?” He shakes his head. “Woke up and you were gone.” Something about the edge of sleep still in his voice makes it sound oddly vulnerable. “You okay? Is Taylor back? I thought I could hear you talking.” “Yeah, I am. And she is. I couldn’t sleep and she was getting ice cream.” He’s staring a little as you put down the mug of warm milk on the bedside table. “What?” Shawn blinks. “Nothing.” His eyes linger on the place where his hoodie meets your shorts and you flush. “Sorry,” you blurt, suddenly self-conscious. “It was just closer, I–” “El.” He drags your gaze back up. “I don’t mind. It looks good on you.” Shawn’s smile is tilted in that familiar, teasing way; you roll your eyes, but you let him reach across the bed and pull you closer to him until you sit up facing each other. You let him help you tug the sweater over your head and you let his eyes catch on your stomach, your ribs, the shadowed curve of your breast before your t-shirt falls back down. Shawn effectively encircles you with his legs when presses his face into the slope of your neck and breathes deeply. “Loonie for your thoughts,”  you murmur, carding your fingers through his hair, kneading gently over his neck with your fingertips until he groans. Shawn’s so quiet at first that you think he may have fallen back asleep sitting up. “Can I ask you something?” In the moonlight he’s more pale than ever. You hum in reply. The hand pressing tiny circles against the small of your back goes still. “About Hannah?” You don’t mean to flinch; Shawn’s grip tightens, just a little. You swallow and speak before he can take it back. “What about her?” Shawn straightens to look you in the eye, equal parts calm and unsure. “You get this look on your face when you talk to her, or about her. Even way back in Ottawa.” The realization that Shawn’s apparently been looking at you since the night you met is disarming, to put it mildly. It’s suddenly hard to focus on the conversation. “I know you guys haven’t–” he pauses– “talked in a while, but...” Shawn reaches forward with his free hand and thumbs gently at an unconscious furrow between your eyebrows. “I still see that look.” Something like shame burns in your throat. You look down at the bedspread. Shawn waits patiently as you reach for his swallow, tracing its wings. “I don’t have that big of an ego to think this is all about me,” he continues wryly. “And if you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to. I just...” You’re expecting him to tilt your chin up, to force you to look at him, but Shawn ducks his head a little and doesn’t look hurt when you can barely meet his gaze. “I was just wondering where you go when you look so far away.” You’re genuinely stunned into silence.  Shawn seems to be able to see the blank panic in your expression, because he just leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “Never mind,” he says gently. “Just forget I asked.” You can feel him about to lean back, to give you space, to seek silent permission before he tugs you back beneath the covers so you can actually try to sleep. No disappointment, no malice, no distrust. You think, I am truly and deeply in love with you. You say, “She gave me a marker.” Shawn doesn’t say anything. He just curls his fingers a little closer to yours. “When my parents died the therapist said that routines were good, so I went back to school but everyone was like, weird, you know? And then one day we were supposed to make Mother’s Day gifts but I didn’t know what to do. My teacher said I could make something for my sister, but I’d left my colours at home.” You haven’t thought about that day in a long time. Shawn’s left hand touches your wrist; you follow the lines of his right palm. Comfort; comforted. “Hannah gave me her purple marker. And then everyone just stopped looking at me and we all coloured flowers. The next day I helped her learn long division and we’ve been best friends ever since.” You try to smile but you’re fairly certain the curve isn’t quite right. Shawn brushes your hair back as it falls forward. The gesture is so familiar now that it feels strange to remember he hasn’t always been doing it, that his touch hasn’t always been a tender, thrilling reminder: you’re here. this is real. you’re alive. His own smile is a little better formed, encouraging instead of patronizing. “Sometimes she’s awful,” you continue. “She can get petty and jealous.” You don’t mean to say what comes out next. “The week before Ava brought me to Ottawa, we’d gone to a party and she made out with my one and only real ex-boyfriend.” Shawn’s eyes widen, but still he stays quiet. It’s the only way you’re able to keep talking. “She was drunk, and she says she doesn’t even remember. He says she tried to take his clothes off, but he’s also a piece of shit, so…” You let out a tiny, bitter laugh. “And I forgave her, because what else was I supposed to do? And then Ava sent those tickets and you–“ Shawn’s fingers freeze, just for a breath, behind your ear. You try to smile again and it’s like lifting a weight you can only just barely get off the floor. “You were so wonderful and part of me was still so mad at her.” That earlier shame presses a knot in your throat. “And I knew I had to keep the secret but part of me was awful, too. I wanted to. It was something that was just mine, that I never had to share or have her judge or want for herself.” “I don’t think that’s awful,” he says softly. You shrug. Tears slide past your nose. He thumbs them away but doesn’t otherwise move. “I know she didn’t leak the news about us.” Now that you’ve gotten this far you’re determined to finish. “But I don’t know if I can forgive her for the way she made me feel about it. Or if I can forgive myself for letting her make me feel that way.” Shawn’s edges are a little blurry when you finally lift your chin. “I still love her, isn’t that fucked up? What kind of person does that make me?” He doesn’t speak for a long time. You have no idea how one drags themselves out of the emotional hole you’ve dug. Before you can let Shawn off the hook, or apologize for dumping seven years of emotional baggage onto him, he pulls you forward and folds you into his arms. “Do you want me to say something,” he asks, pressing his chin against the top of your head. “Or do you just want this?” The weight of this confession is so heavy that no longer having to carry it alone pulls you off balance. You slip your hand underneath his collar to pull Saint Christopher out. When you can speak without a sob swallowing your words, you let go of the chain. “You can say something.”

Shawn kisses the crown of your hair. “You can feel however you want, whenever you want. You shouldn’t have to hide it. And you don’t have to, not from me. Okay?” You can’t reply. You just sniff into the collar of his t-shirt. His hand smooths up and down your spine. “I don’t think that forgiveness is a bad thing, El. Especially for yourself.” You’re shuddering with the effort of breathing normally instead of hiccuping. Shawn just gathers you closer. He doesn’t shush you, but just murmurs softly in your ear, “It’s okay. I’m here. I got you.” You’re still clinging to him when you fall asleep.

*

There’s an honest to god note on the pillow the next morning instead of a boy. Hey El, I’m headed out to meet Andrew.  And before you say anything about last night, don’t say sorry. I’m not. I’m glad you told me. Taylor has just about every breakfast drink you could ever want and she says she wants to take us to lunch later. Don’t eat anything, okay? I’ll bring you bagels for breakfast. S *

maybemaisy: Can you believe Shawn’s been in NYC since yesterday and we haven’t gotten a single post about it? I thought he loved it there! perfectlymendes13: Maybe people should not create screaming mobs everywhere he goes? shawwnmendess: How do you know that?? He loves meeting his fans – who do you think you are? They waited forever to see him. jess_: How would you feel if like 400 people just showed up where you’re staying after a long haul flight and screamed at you? Why does choosing to wait meant they should get to see him? pwlive2k19: I bet this is about Ellie. She’s probably manipulating him into not posting to she can have him for herself. jess_: …I wonder if people can hear themselves talking sometimes or if it’s just that noise adults make in Charlie Brown. * “I thought you played an instrument, Sinclair.” “Yeah, the trumpet.” You cast Parker a somewhat affronted look. “In middle school. How exactly is that supposed to help me now?” “It’s in the bones,” he insists, undeterred. Parker taps your knee. “The beat’s here. And relax, would you? You’re not using these to poke someone’s eye out.”  “That’s what you think.” But you relax your grip on the fake drumsticks anyway. The real drummer carries on fixing your awful form, swiveling your hips in the small stool and lifting your elbows with sure hands. You know you should probably be paying attention – for the sake of your friendship and respect for Parker’s instrument – but your eyes keep wandering across the living room where Shawn sits with Matty and the plastic Band Hero guitar. Shawn’s essentially holding the guitar aloft for his godson, the strap wound around one hand so it doesn’t swing into Matty’s face, who insisted on wearing it over his shoulder “like Daddy and Uncle Shawn.” Ava had admitted to you once that while she’s never been sure about wanting kids herself, but there was something deeply attractive – practically primal, Lenny (which had made you wrinkle your nose) – about a man who was good with children. You’d nodded, before. Now though, you truly get it. Sophie, sitting just beside Shawn with her legs drawn up beneath her, winks at you over her wine glass. You nearly drop your sticks, mortified. “Everybody ready?” Geoff asks. “Ready Matty?” “Ready Daddy!” the boy chirps. Shawn nods too. He catches your eye and it’s all you can do to just smile at him, as if the axis of your life isn’t currently tilting drastically – again. Thankfully, the game pulls your focus; after fumbling through the initial bars, you settle into your seat and manage not to miss every other note. “Not bad!” Parker exclaims. You exhale a nervous laugh. You can still see Shawn in the corner of your eye, helping Matty press down on the bar with his thumb while the boy’s tiny fingers are wrapped around his. It’s just a game of course, but when the song ends and you’re predictably caught staring, Shawn’s gaze seems deeper somehow – as if this one activity matters more than any other you’ve shared so far. He glances down at his godson with truly naked love and you realize with a lurch that it just might be. This is Shawn’s family. “You’re up, Jones.” Parker grins widely when Kristin just looks at him over the rim of her glass. “Let’s see what you got.” “Not if you paid me.” “Pretty sure I don’t need money to convince you.” The drummer winks; the adults in the room groan collectively. “Keep it PG in front of my kid,” Geoff orders. Shawn snorts. Neither Parker nor Kristin even blush, but she relents with a roll of her eyes so you give up your seat. “Again, Daddy!” Matty’s obliviously bright smile shows off two incomplete rows of tiny teeth. “Can we do colours too?” He points to the five buttons on the neck of the plastic guitar that are meant to replace its strings. “Why don’t you ask Aunty Ellie to help you guys?” Sophie suggests, casting you another wink. “Please, Aunty Ellie?” Matty seems a little shy, but emboldened by his mother. You resist a sudden urge to coo at him. “Let’s do it!” His unbridled enthusiasm isn’t easy to turn down. Matty bounces a little in his seat and Shawn just grins at you over his head when you settle on the child’s other side, accepting Shawn’s careful redistribution of the guitar so you’re responsible for the middle bar while he and Matty assume command over the coloured strings. “Green’s all yours,” Shawn says. He helps Matty position three fingers over the button. “I’ll help you with the rest.” “Okay!” It’s hard to tell if Kristin’s seemingly entire lack of energy is for Matty’s benefit or to annoy Parker – probably both – but your, Shawn, and the boy’s combined efforts manage the high score. Geoff gamely celebrates his son’s victory, lifting him high and swinging him around. “Alright?” Shawn murmurs, leaning over the space Matty had just occupied and touching the small of your back. You just nod, smiling faintly. You feel oddly fragile right now, even in the company of your closest friends. He ducks his head to meet your eye; it’s hard to tell if he’s satisfied, but Shawn just turns and puts his mouth against your temple. It’s the same, grounding, not-quite-kiss from the backseat of Taylor’s car. “Okay little man,” Sophie says, rising from her seat. “Time for a bath, then bedtime. Say goodnight to everyone, okay?” To your surprise and delight, Matty proceeds to toddle around the room and offer everyone hugs and kisses. Kristin looks like this might be the one thing to tip her over into drunk tears. Shawn wraps up his godson with both arms, hugging tight. “I’ll come tuck you in,” Geoff adds, last to have his turn. He gives his son a smacking kiss on the cheek for good measure. “Go with Mommy now.” As Sophie and Matty disappear up the stairs, Kelsey lets out a long, audible breath. “I need more alcohol to deal with how cute that just was.” * Ten minutes into a particularly vicious final round of Super Smash later, Sophie reappears. “Shawn?” He looks up from a sad attempt at knocking Kristin’s Kirby off the ledge of Hyrule. “You’ve been specially requested for the song portion of bedtime.” “Oooh,” Parker laughs. “Geoff you’ve been replaced, man!” “I have never been more offended in my life,” Geoff says, mock wounded. “Remind me to hold this over our child forever.” “You better let me take over.” You reach for the controller in Shawn’s hand, but he drops it and offers you his palm instead. “Come with me?” “Oh Shawn, I shouldn’t–” “Please.” You can only look at Sophie, who just smiles. “He’d love it if you read to him, Ellie.” Shawn’s giving you that trust me look, the one you saw months ago when he hauled you up onstage in an empty Lisbon arena. You take his hand and offer Kelsey the controller. “I guess we’ll be right back.” He doesn’t let go as he leads you across the basement and up the stairs. You give in to a strange urge to look back, only to find all your tour mates already newly engrossed in the video game. It feels strangely as though you’ve passed some sort of test, although you have no idea what the rules are or who’s judging: them or yourself. Matty’s room is painted in soft shades of green. He looks delighted and adorable in Pokémon themed pyjamas patterned with the three original starters and Pikachu. You attempt to linger in the doorway with Sophie, but Shawn tugs you gently into the room, lit softly with a bedside lamp and a night light that throws constellations onto the ceiling. “Why don’t you show Auntie Ellie what you want to read tonight, sweetie?” Sophie gestures at a knee-high bookcase full to bursting. The one Matty pulls out features a very dapper bunny, which he offers to you before crawling into your lap at the edge of his bed. Matty curls up against you, his cheek warm on your collarbone and his skin smelling of lavender. Shawn, already holding an acoustic guitar from the corner of the room, sits down on the floor and leans against your legs. Your eyes get momentarily stuck on the curls at the nape of his neck. "Hello, my name is Marlon Bundo,” you begin. “I live with Mom, Grandma and Grampa in old, stuffy house on the grounds of the U.S Naval Observatory. That’s because my Grampa is the Vice President. His name is Mike Pence. But this story isn’t going to be about him, because he isn’t very fun. This story is about me, because I’m very, very fun." Everyone is quiet as you read, though Matty likes to touch his hand to the pictures before you turn the page, tracing the shape of Marlon’s bowtie and the watercolour detail as he hops  through his special day. When the story is over, Matty snuggles into your neck and you feel inexplicably like crying. Maybe you’ve also had enough to drink tonight. Geoff appears in the doorframe. “C’mere little monster,” he says, lifting his son out of your lap. You slide off the bed while the guitarist tucks Matty in, murmuring softly to him. “Song, Daddy. Can Uncle Shawn?” “I’m right here,” Shawn says. He puts one hand over the boy’s tiny feet. “What song do you want, Matty?” “The dance song!” “Dance song?” You both turn to Sophie and Geoff, sharing a private smile. “We showed him our wedding video last week,” she explains. “He saw you and now he’s obsessed with our first dance song.” “Did you…” Okay maybe you’re a little drunk because now you’re grinning like an idiot. “Did you perform at their wedding?” Shawn hasn’t blushed like this in front of you in a while. “Sort of. Just the one song. It was their wedding present.” “Sing the dance song, please Uncle Shawn!” That particular soft expression passed over Shawn’s face, the one that’s usually accompanied by I’m melting when he meets young kids on tour. He clears his throat, strums experimentally on the guitar, and a familiar melody fills the room. “Wise men say only fools rush in.” The room is suddenly extremely small. “But I can’t help falling in love with you.” Oh no. Abort abort abort. You have no idea where to look; Matty blinks sleepily while his parents lean against each other in the doorway. Orion and the Big Dipper offer little comfort to one of the most popular love songs ever, sung in close quarters by a boy who insists on looking at you. Somehow it’s too much and not enough at the same time. “Won’t you please just take my hand. Take my whole life too. Cause I can’t help falling in love, in love with you.” For the first time in a long time, you can’t quite read Shawn’s expression. “Cause I can’t help falling in love with you.” His voice fades out. You survived the flood of feeling, if only just. Shawn leans over the bed to kiss Matty’s forehead. “Love you, buddy.” “Love you Uncle Shawn,” comes the sleepy, soft reply. Two tiny hands wind around Shawn’s neck. He presses his face into the boy’s dark hair and looks almost pained, before you blink and it’s gone. You can’t ask because Matty’s eyes are closed and you’re already tiptoeing out of the room. You also can’t ask because you have no idea how to articulate such a question. “How d’you feel about Netflix and some facemasks?” Sophie asks at the top of the stairs. “Give the boys a chance to hang out.” “I’d love that.” The universe seems to know when you’re about to lose it. “I’ll grab the girls.” She and Geoff leave you there. Shawn is already a few steps ahead when you reach for his shoulder. “Hey.” He turns back – is that nerves? – expectantly. You find yourself momentarily speechless, so you just lean forward and kiss him. The stairs give you equal height for once, which is nice. It’s just one press of your mouth against his, but you draw it out long enough that Shawn seems a little stunned when you pull back. “Hi,” he says around a small, breathless laugh. Shawn tips his forehead into yours. “What was that for?” You manage to unstick your voice. “Thanks for sharing that with me.” Shawn cups your face in both hands, kissing you so tenderly that your throat tightens. He looks so certain, suddenly.  “I wanna share everything with you, El.” Your stomach drops all the way to your feet; Shawn’s turning away before you can pick it back up. You can only watch him turn the corner of the landing and vanish with a smile. “Ellie?” Kelsey’s voice rises from the first floor. “Where’d you go?” It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been standing there. “I’m here.” You drag your feet down the stairs, to the kitchen where Sophie and Kristin are pulling another bottle of wine from the fridge while Kelsey considers the fine print of a mask. “I’m here.” * A mask, a movie, and a lot of water later, it’s time to call it a night. “We better collect the boys,” Kristin says. “No telling what state they’re in since we have nowhere to be in the morning.” “We were gonna take Matty to Central Park tomorrow.” Sophie shoos your attempts to help her tidy up the living room. “Maybe the Met. It’s supposed to be nice out. Want me to text you guys?” There’s collective agreement. You troop down the stairs only to find Shawn, Geoff, and Parker sprawled across the couches while the title screen for FIFA 19 plays endlessly on the tv. “How many consoles do you have?” Kelsey asks. “More than my parents understand how to turn on,” Sophie replies, rolling her eyes. “My brother’s a bit of a collector.” Shawn’s leaning on his arm stretched alongside the back of the couch, head lolling just a bit. He blinks awake when you touch his cheek; his eyes are a little unfocused. “Hi,” you say, failing to contain a teasing laugh. “Ready to go?” “Yep.” It sounds more like Yeeeep. Shawn picks up your hand and kisses the centre of your palm. “Have I told you how much I love your hands?” “Once or twice.” Even inebriated, he’s annoyingly agile, standing with apparently no effort. He hugs you tight, breathing into your hair. “We a bit drunk, Shawn?” “A bit,” comes the mumbled reply. “You’re the best, you know that? You’re like, so chill.” You tug him forward. “You’re very sweet. C’mon, Kels is calling an Uber for us.” “Night,” he says to Geoff, apparently unwilling to let go of you and waving instead of the usually clasp, hug that the boys usually do. “This was super fun.” “Goodnight sweetie.” Sophie kisses his cheek at the door. “We might see each other tomorrow, yeah?”   “Isn’t Ellie amazing?” he asks, so earnestly that you have to press your lips together to keep from laughing. “And like, the prettiest?” “The most amazing and the prettiest,” she agrees seriously. Sophie pulls you into a one-armed hug. “I’ll text you, alright? Let me know when you guys are awake.” “Thank you for tonight.” You squeeze her back as tightly as you can. “See you tomorrow!” Outside, with your hand still firmly grasped in his, Shawn tilts his face towards the sky like he’s waiting for rain. You’ve never seen him this drunk before. He’s usually also annoyingly articulate as well as dexterous; though there’s no issue getting in the car, he’s oddly quiet. “Okay?” you ask gently. Shawn nods, slouching down to lean his head on your shoulder. “Have you ever been so happy that you like, can’t handle it? Like you don’t wanna close your eyes unless you wake up and it’s all a dream?” Parker catches your eye in the rearview mirror. You feel strangely exposed in the backseat of the dark van, with Shawn tucked against the window with you in the last row and Kelsey and Kristin sitting just ahead. “Of course,” you reply. He’s gone quiet again. “Are you happy, Shawn?” His smile blooms over your collar. * You take a stupid amount of pictures of Balto’s statue while Shawn laughs. At the Central Park carousel, Matty insists on rides with his parents then his godfather, which predictably evolves into a series of silly photos of seven adults on a children’s attraction with only one child between them. “I’m gonna call Scott,” Shawn announces afterwards as you stroll. “Better to get ahead of paps if we can – I don’t wanna scare Matty.” He glances at Sophie and Geoff as if asking for permission. They exchange a look; Geoff just shrugs, like they’ve had this conversation before. “One is better than twelve,” she admits, though your stomach is in knots already. “I’ll ask him if he’s okay with it. Worse case, we can just meet you guys inside the Met.” “What’s a pap, Mommy?” As Sophie picks up her son to explain, Shawn looks over to you. By some small miracle no one’s stopped you yet this morning, but the moment any photos of him surface in the park, all bets are off. “You don’t have to–” Shawn starts, and then starts again. “You can walk with the girls, if you want.” His hand brushes yours in a way that could just be incidental. It’s not. You want him to take it but you know he won’t unless you reach first. “Nothing’s happening here if you don’t want it to.” It’s that same, deeply serious look from so many weeks ago. You’ve stopped at the Alice in Wonderland statues and you’re grateful for something to focus on besides this burst of anxiety.

“I wanna be in pictures!”

Shawn suddenly finds himself with armfuls of toddler, saving you from having to reply. He hauls Matty up onto his shoulders and it’s a little more adorable than you can handle right now. Shawn’s hands are now both occupied, but you stay there at his side. It feels like a silent compromise; his smile dimples around his mouth. “That was surprisingly easy,” Geoff comments. “I’ve never met a kid as vain as mine.” “You say vain,” Sophie counters, “I say so easy going that all the other preschool parents are jealous of us.” “I’ll take that.” The guitarist slings his arm over her shoulders. “He definitely gets that from me.” “Give me your phone,” Kelsey says to Shawn. “I’ll text your pap. You’re sure he’s just gonna take a few pics and leave us alone?” “He did yesterday.” Shawn re-adjusts his grip on Matt’s ankles. “Outside a meeting with Andrew. There and gone in ten minutes, and by the time anyone saw them I was already halfway back to Taylor’s.” Everyone exchanges looks. There’s no arguing with that. Kristin takes her sister’s camera and pretends to be paparazzi, which makes Matty laugh. You wish you could be so cheerful at the thought of your photo being taken. “Okay, so he’ll meet us by the Met,” Kelsey reports. “We’re walking towards the back of it right now. We can get these done and we’ll be in the museum while all your fans are trying to stalk the green.” “Alright, Sinclair?” Parker asks, falling into step on your other side. You tear your eyes away from Matty touching the White Rabbit’s ears at Shawn’s gentle encouragement. “Yeah.” You loop your arm around Parker’s elbow, pulling yourself closer to him; the drummer just squeezes you gently. He doesn’t say anything, but you’re comforted anyway. Sooner than you’d like, the long shadow of the Met cools your feet and a familiar blonde head is turning towards you on the path ahead. Shawn makes rocket ship noises as he pulls Matty from around his neck. “D’you wanna walk with your mum, buddy?” he asks once the boy’s safely on the ground again. “Or stay with us?” “One two three?” Geoff’s son touches your hand. “Hmm?” Matty tugs a little. “Can we one two three, Aunty Ellie?” Shawn catches your eye. He mimes walking and a swinging motion with two fingers – a childhood memory tugs.   “Sure Matty,” you reply, “But I’m gonna need help! Who do you think can help us?” The boy giggles as he looks up at his godfather, who turns away in exaggerated confusion, staring around the park. “Uncle Shawn!” Matty calls, barely able to speak over his laughter at Shawn’s silly pantomime. “Can you one two three, please Uncle Shawn?” “Who, me?” You can tell that Shawn’s doing this for you just as much as his godson; it’s something welcome to focus on. He takes Matty’s other hand; you tighten your grip. “Ready?” “Ready!” He nods at you. “One...two…” “Three!” The hole in your heart where your parents used to be gapes open. Matty’s laughter drowns out a ringing panic in your ears as you and Shawn swing him up once and twice more.

“There’s my friend Scott,” Shawn says once the boy is back on his feet, pointing. “He’s here to take my picture.” “Me too?” Matty asks. “If you want. Mommy said it was okay?” The boy nods, peering up. Before you can say anything reassuring or even smile, he reaches for you. “I’ll hold your hand, Aunty Ellie.”

Do not break down in front of the four year old. You fold Matty’s fingers in your own. Shawn tucks his own hands into his pockets, but his smile could light the sun. As you approach, Scott’s eyes consider you, the toddler, and the group in a quick, calculating sweep. He’s paid to observe, you remind yourself. Shawn reaches forward to shake Scott’s hand; you look anywhere but at the enormous camera. “Hey buddy,” Scott says, crouching down to meet Matty’s eye. “I’m Scott. What’s your name?” “Matty!” “Are your mom and dad okay with me taking some pictures of you with–” he glances up, but Matty supplies, “Uncle Shawn!” helpfully, which makes Geoff huff with laughter. Scott straightens and reaches out his hand. “Hi. Geoff, right?” Introductions are quick and perfunctory; Kelsey shakes, Kristin doesn’t – Parker nods his head. Your ears are ringing again. Scott smiles at you. It’s probably meant to be friendly or reassuring. You drag the corners of your mouth up. Your hand wants to tighten around Matty’s but you’re afraid to hurt him. “I’ll be quick,” Scott says, like a promise. “You don’t have to do– just you know, act natural yeah? Try and pretend I’m not even here.” Parker has to touch your back to remind you to walk. Matty’s Miles Morales shoes light up in red as he sings something softly to himself. It sounds like a Blue’s Clues song, though you’re pretty certain email comes up at one point and well – that’s a trip. Your head won’t turn to look at Shawn, despite the way his gaze passes over you like a lighthouse beam. “That’s great,” Scott says. He drops his camera and it feels like you can finally exhale. Matty turns around to reach for his father, who calls, “Great job, bud!” as he lifts him off his feet. Now that there’s no longer a child dividing you, Shawn’s hand brushes yours again – incidental. “I’m all good if you are, dude.” “Yeah, thanks. Have a good one.” Scott waves. Your feet don’t sway until he’s turned the corner of the Met, out of sight, but suddenly Parker’s grabbing at your elbow. “Woah, Sinclair. You good?” “Um.” You can’t say anything else. “Let’s go into the Met, huh?” Kelsey suggests quickly. She takes Shawn’s arm and all but drags him along. Inside the museum, Kristin makes a beeline for the nearest security guard, who points somewhere, before she grabs your hand and leads you through the crowd. “We’ll be right back!” Bodies, stairway, hall, door. The bathroom is shockingly quiet. Perhaps this is what she’d asked of the guard. You stumble up to the sink, gripping the edges with both hands. You think about Shawn and your knees shake harder. “I’m okay,” you blurt. The Jones sisters exchange a look in the mirror. “I just...need a second.” “Take a hundred, if you need them,” Kristin replies. “No rush. It’s fine. You’re fine.” You close your eyes and lean your head down, breathing deeply. It’s fine. It’s over. You did it. Your body stills. Your heart slows. “Can we–” Shame coats the request in acid. “Can we not tell them that I…” “Lady issues,” Kelsey says easily. “Of course.”? It’s doubtful Shawn would buy that, but you nod anyway. (He doesn’t. But he doesn’t say so. In the third gallery, somehow completely empty, you let your hands brush. Shawn hangs on.) * @SMUpdates: Shawn, Ellie, and the crew were spotted in Central Park! We’ll never be over how cute Geoff’s son is! [retweets: 325; likes: 1350] @shawnruin: omg can you believe her? We’re supposed to believe they’re in a relationship?? @lunamendes: it’s PR I know it there’s a whole timeline thread that doesn’t add up. @_bananahhannah: he deserves better. @stylesshawwn: does he think we’re blind or something? She’s so fake. @tpwkbieber: imagine being next to Shawn Mendes and not looking at him the entire time. @fallinallinruin: she’s so ugly like we been knew sis you’re just using him. * In an event that would seem like the end of the world given how profusely she apologizes to you, Ava is out of Advil. “God calm down, there’s a CVS like three minutes away.” You show her your maps app just to make your point. “I’m not a Psyduck, my head isn’t going to explode before I get there.” “I literally have no idea what that means.” You just wave your keycard at her from the doorway. The evening has cooled the temperature, but the pace of New York City is just as manic as you’ve ever experienced. It’s a little daunting without the safe bubble of Taylor’s car or the gang, but there’s something equally comforting about just being a faceless girl in a crowded street. CVS’ harsh fluorescent light isn’t exactly kind to the bags beneath your eyes; you wince a little as you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the concave mirror at the end of the aisle. Something else flashes there: a blur of colour – pink and orange – and a hushed whisper that sounds a bit like, “Ohmygod!” But when you turn around there’s no one else seemingly in search of painkillers. It’s probably just your headache. You snag a bottle on sale and make you way up to the register. Ava objects to self-checkout so you get in line behind a man who frowns down at the package of tampons in his basket. The lady currently paying waves a flurry of coupons in the face of the harried looking cashier; you let your eyes wander across the candy offerings and magazines. A chorus of giggles raises the hair on the back of your neck. Pink and orange appear again in the corner of your eye – you chance a glance backwards – it’s a tour hoodie. It’s two girls, clutching a magazine as though they’d just grabbed it to cover their faces. But it’s not their foreheads, or even Shawn’s merch that really grabs your attention. It’s you, there in the top corner. Holding Matty’s hand. On the cover of the magazine. Your Advil clatters to the ground. You’re almost too slow to catch it with your foot as it rolls towards the candy stand, nearly lost to the gap between the stand and the floor forever. Your heart slams up into your throat. You don’t dare look at the girls again, facing forward even when more hushed giggles rise. “Have a nice day,” the cashier says, in such a way you can tell he hasn’t had one. You can only offer him a fleeting smile. Don’t freak out, you tell yourself sternly, turning back the way you came outside the store. But when you arrive at the corner, there they are again. Trailing behind you. Your hand shakes; you misdial. “El, hey. What’s up?” Fuck. You cross the opposite way. “Hey!” You’ve pitched your voice a little too high. “Wanna hear something crazy?” “Sure,” Shawn says slowly. “Remember that dog at the corner by our house that used to follow me home all the time? I just saw one that looked just like him. Like, exactly. Isn’t that funny? I almost called it Arthur.” The pause on the line is so deep that you’re terrified the call’s dropped. “El.” Your stomach jumps at his tone. “Is someone following you?” You can only “Mhmm!” as you dodge a man in a suit power-walking in your direction. “Where are you? I’ll–” “No you’re not! Oh my god, stop that.” You force yourself to laugh and drag your eyes up to at least look where you’ve ended up. “You know I’d spot you from a mile away. Oh shit, I almost forgot I wanted to look for that top at the Gap. Good thing I literally just walked past it.” “Hang on–” There’s a rustle, and the way Shawn shouts, “Ava!” steals your breath. The door to the Gap sticks when you try to open it. Calm down. Air conditioning blasts; goosebumps ripple up and down your arms. The city roars in your ears before the door swings shut. “Mel’s coming,” Shawn says, like he’s repeating himself. “El? Are you still there?” “Yeah.” You haven’t seen Shawn’s publicist since before her new baby was born. Mel has a step-daughter close to your age, though you’ve only met briefly once or twice back in Toronto. For just a second you squeeze your eyes closed and take yourself back home, to that first call, when your fear was just for feelings you were afraid to face and not for whatever these girls – or anyone else – might do if they actually approached and thrust that cover in your face. “Are they?” Laugh? Accost you? Take a selfie? You’re never going to be able to look at that tour hoodie the same way. “Yes.” There’s a rack of soft, warm cardigans in the centre of the store. You have this wild urge to hurtle yourself between them, a cozy place to hide like you’re Matty’s age. “Mel was on her way back here to see us,” Shawn’s saying now. He sounds calm and reassuring, but you can feel it somehow – the edge of panic. You may be projecting a little. “She’ll be there in like, three minutes tops. She said she’s wearing her running shoes, you know how much of a power-walker Mel is.” A faint laugh wheezes out. If you had your head, you’d ask Shawn what Mel was doing in New York. She’s supposed to be off for this entire tour. “Are you okay?” More rustling reaches your ears, as though he’s pacing. “Tell me you’re okay.” He’d normally never ask something like that of you; sometimes Shawn’s more protective of your feelings than you are. Maybe you’re not projecting. You shrug automatically, already prepared to lie. “I’m not even sure it was actually him. I didn’t like, go up to them or anything. It should be fine, I think.” “Is that a yes?” “Maybe.” Zipper detailing on the shoulder of a jacket is cold against your fingertips. The girls who followed you into the store are thankfully keeping a respectable distance, half-pretending to browse just as you are, but you can feel their eyes on you. “I’m not sure.” “Just don’t let me go. Please.” “I won’t.” You pick up a top that you’re supposedly buying. Just be normal. “How’s your day so far?” “Well I just did a press interview, had breakfast with this beautiful girl this morning, you might know her. Name’s Eleanor.” Shawn’s never said your full first name before. It gives you genuine butterflies. “Oh yeah?” “Yep. People should write songs about her.” He disarms you so easily. “I think they already have. Beatles ring a bell? I hear it’s a classic.” “Remind me I want to take you to that movie where everyone forgets them. It looks so good.” “Okay.” A beat. “Is this helping?” I love you. “Yeah. Very much.” “So they haven’t come up to you? You can’t tell if they know it’s you for sure?” “Yeah.” Your anxiety jumps back to life like a shot of adrenaline. Thank god he’s paying attention. “Something about a magazine.” Shawn says, “Fuck,” very quietly, like he doesn’t want you to hear. But you’re clinging to even his steady breathing on the line to keep you grounded. You’d know the sound of his voice anywhere, like a beacon through the fog. “El?” “Hmm?” Shawn’s quiet for what seems like a long time. “I’m sorry this is happening. I know what you’re going to say, but I’m still sorry.” You don’t say it. You say, “I know. I know you are. It’s okay.” “I know it’s not my fault.” “Cause it isn’t.” “I know. I just...still.” You can feel yourself starting to say, Shawn. You swallow his name back at the last second. When had it started to feel like something dangerous in your mouth? “I’ll be home soon,” you say instead. “We can talk about it more when I get back.” Shawn starts to say something else, but you’re distracted by a familiar voice. “Hey there, sweet pea!” Your knees nearly buckle when you turn to find Mel making a beeline for you. “Hey, can I call you back?” “She’s there?” “Yeah.” Shawn exhales audibly over the line. “Good. Text me when you get back okay? Or just come straight up to my room. I’ll be here.” You say, “Okay,” and hang up before he can hear your breath catching. Mel’s hands smooth up your arms, squeezing as she leans in and kisses you gently on the forehead. It’s such a motherly gesture that you have to swallow a sudden lump in your throat. “Ready to go?” she asks, loping an arm around your shoulders to steer you out. Mel squeezes again gently, as though she can feel you shaking. “Did you find what you were looking for?” You just shake your head. Mel guides you right past the two girls, half shielding you and not even sparing them a glance while you keep your eyes trained on the door. You’re fine. Nothing happened. “I’m gonna hail a cab, okay?” she says once you’re outside. Her arm is already raised. You should protest, probably. The hotel is maybe ten minutes walk away at the very most. But there’s no way you’ll be followed in a yellow cab in a sea of other yellow cabs, so you just nod, relieved. In the backseat, you have no idea what to say other than, “Thank you.” Mel shakes her head. “Oh you don’t need to thank me, sweetie.” You almost forget to ask until the hotel rises up from behind the rows of perfect trees along the street. “Not that I’m not super happy to see you Mel, but what are you doing here?” Your sister’s closest confidante smiles thinly. Nerves pinch suddenly at the base of your spine. “Anna and I are here for a little girl’s trip. I wanted to see how you and Ava and Shawn were doing. And she has something to tell you.” * @SMendesUpdates: Our King of avoiding! [The interviewer leans forward conspiratorially. “So Shawn. I’d probably be fired if I didn’t ask you the one question that everyone’s been dying to ask for weeks now.” His smile creases, just a little. “Well I’d never want you to lose your job, so go ahead.” “Could you tell me about Ellie?” Her voice is kind. “She’s your assistant’s sister, right? She’s on tour with you?” “She’s currently interning with our tour photographer, yes. She’s great.” “Rumour has it that you two are very close.” “It’s really nice having someone on tour close to my age.” Shawn’s jaw flexes almost imperceptibly. “I love Ava to death and getting to meet Ellie a few years ago was really special. I’m super close with my little sister too so their bond is definitely something I understand. Everyone on the team gets along really well and we hang out together a lot. That feeling of family is really special when I don’t get to see mine that often while I’m away.” The interviewer just looks at him for a moment, before she seems to admit defeat. “That sounds wonderful. I’m really happy for you.”] [likes: 640; retweets: 353] * Anna can’t look at either of you when she says, “It was me.” Shawn’s clearly just as confused as you are. “What do you mean?” he asks gently. “What was you?” The teen – she’s only fourteen, you remember now – looks at her mother, the only person over the age of twenty in the room. Mel had requested they speak to you and Shawn privately, and now you can see why. The memory of meeting Shawn and Andrew for the first time almost feels like it happened to another person, but you’d never been more nervous in your life. And that was just a hello. “Go on, Anna,” Mel says firmly, though not unkind. “This is what being grown up is all about. I’m not going to do the hard part for you.” Dawning pricks up the back of your neck. Shawn glances at you again, the same lightning strike of understanding in his face, but neither of you speak. Anna’s shoulders tremble as she takes a deep breath and lifts her chin. Her gaze darts to Shawn first and then away, like she can’t bear to look at him. So she looks right in your eyes when she confesses. “I told everyone who you were. It was me.” Hearing it out loud still makes you feel as though someone’s pushed you from a ledge. The silence seems to suck the air from the room, until you realize everyone is waiting for you to speak. “Oh.” “I didn’t mean–” Anna begins, and seems to catch herself. Her eyes are beseeching. “I wasn’t thinking. I was so mad at my mom for not taking me on this tour like she promised and you–” You flinch. “I was so jealous. Everyone at school was just talking about who this amazing girl who’d...who’d gotten Shawn because she was on his tour and hung out with him all the time…” Something inside you feels undone. “I told my friends I knew you and then it just…” Anna’s face crumples into misery. “God Ellie, I’m so sorry. I had no idea any of this would happen.” You have to ease yourself down onto Ava’s hotel bed. Shawn doesn’t move but you can tell he wants to. The set of his jaw betrays his anger but he doesn’t say anything, either. You can’t decide what you’d rather him do. Anna still can’t look at him, but says, “I’m so sorry,” again before covering her mouth and fleeing from the room. Shawn has a question in his eyes, but Mel just holds up a hotel key identical to yours. It’s quiet for a long time. “We…” You have to wrap your head around the rest of the sentence. “We barely even know each other.” “I can’t tell you two how sorry I am,” Mel says finally. “Andrew asked us to try and figure out where the leak came from. She left her phone open one night in the living room and I saw all these texts she’d been sending. I normally don’t snoop, but I opened her twitter and it was just…” The woman shrugs helplessly. “She must have been eavesdropping on me talking to your sister while you guys have been gone. I had no idea Anna was that upset about missing out on tour, since I told her we’d still go to a few shows. She’s grounded until she gets grey hair, but I know that can’t make up for everything she’s put you both through because she was so thoughtless.” Mel turns to Shawn, her eyes shining with tears. “I’m going to tell Andrew that I’m resigning as your publicist, effective immediately.” You lurch back up to your feet. “Mel, no! You can’t–” “I don’t accept.” Shawn doesn’t use his ‘big boss voice’ – as Brian calls it – very often. At least, not in front of you, when he’s so mindful of keeping an even footing in your relationship. It’s always a jarring thrill to hear Shawn exert his power and authority with such confidence. “I don’t accept your resignation,” he says. “You’re an amazing publicist and none of this is your fault. Anna...” Shawn lets out a long breath and drags his hand through his hair. “She made a mistake. That’s not on you.” “But Andrew–“ “Doesn’t make the final decision,” Shawn cuts in gently. “I do. If you want to quit because of something your step-daughter did and owned up to, I don’t accept. But if you want to go for any other reason, well I love you and I only want you to be happy.” You watch Mel take one deep, steadying breath. “Please reconsider,” you say, imploring. “We can’t do this without you.” Mel smiles in a familiar, you kids are crazy but I love you sort of way. “At least let’s have a real meeting, huh? Say Friday before the show?” “Done.” Shawn pulls his publicist into a hug and you have to look away when Mel blinks rapidly over his shoulder. “Can I talk to her?” you ask, mustering your courage. Anna’s step-mother seems surprised, but covers quickly. “I feel like one of us should.” “Of course, sweetie. I’ll take you down to our room and leave you guys alone.” Shawn’s asking, do you want me to come? with the tilt of his head, but you just shake yours. It had taken a lot of talking to convince him you were alright after this morning – as it stands now, you’re barely holding it together. Any longer in his company and he’ll be able to see that. If you break down in front of the girl who’s at least responsible for starting all this, that’ll make things even worse. “I’ll come find you later, okay?” you say. Shawn just nods. “I’m sure she’d rather you not see her crying and upset.” “Is it bad that I’m still mad?” he asks quietly. “I can’t help it.” You shake your head and lean up to kiss him gently at the corner of his mouth before you can overthink the gesture too much. Mel presses her lips together like she’s trying not to smile as you follow her out. “How’s Elliot?” you ask in the elevator, desperate for a change of subject. Mel beams and immediately pulls out her phone. The elephant onesie nearly does you in. “He’s the best baby ever. It’s been agony being away from him, but Max and I agreed that a bit of father son bonding while he’s this young is going to be good in the long run. Lucas is being a very precious big brother, too. We were dreading what would happen when Luke wasn’t the baby of the house anymore, but it’s going a lot better than we thought.” “Plus I’m sure it’s nice getting some girl time in,” you say. “With Anna.” “Well now that the hard part’s over, I hope you’re right.” She sighs as you stop on the 5th floor. “I’m just worried she’ll never really understand the consequences of what she did.” “If it wasn’t Anna, it could’ve been anyone else I know.” The truth of that is hard to face. “It was bound to happen eventually. I guess I’m just glad it was now and not after tour when I was alone back home.” Mel frowns deeply, but doesn’t disagree. You finally stop in front of another hotel room door and she sighs. “Here we are. I’ll be back in half an hour, is that enough time?” “Yeah, that’s great.” She reaches forward and gives your arm a squeeze. “I’m really happy for you sweetheart, have I said? I’ve been secretly hoping you guys might figure out your feelings for ages.” You don’t mind blushing in front of the woman who helped raise you after you lost your parents. “Thanks.” It takes a moment of psyching yourself up, but you knock and let Mel open the door. “Anna?” you call into the room. “It’s Ellie.”   You hear sniffling. She’s curled up on her bed in a Taylor Swift sweater that all but swallows her frame. Anna drags her sleeve over her eyes, smearing her mascara. When you smile gently at her, her expression doesn’t change. But she doesn’t turn away or scream at you to leave, so that’s probably a good sign. “Hey,” you start gently. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m not here to like, yell at you or anything, I promise.” It’s quiet as Anna just stares at some nondescript point across the room. “You must hate me.” “I really don’t.” You’re a little surprised by how true it is. “Honestly, it took a minute to get over the like, shock of it but…” What are you supposed to say? “I don’t hate you. You said you’re sorry and I know you meant it.” Anna sniffs again. “What about Shawn?” “He doesn’t hate you either. I didn’t want you to feel weird in front of him. I know how intimidating he can be, sometimes.” “He looked mad,” she protests. “I’ve never seen him look like that before.”

Because you don’t actually know him. It’s a petty thought but you have it anyway. “He’s upset. But we both knew this was going to happen sooner or later. Shawn just…” You try to smile but shrug instead. “He just wants to protect me. And, you know, us. That’s all. He has a lot more experience with this sort of thing and didn’t want me to get hurt. I think it just made him crazy that he couldn’t stop this from happening.” This is a lot of sharing for someone you don’t really know, but Anna seems so miserable that it just comes flooding out. She digs around a backpack for a tiny packet of tissues; you look away when she blows her nose and tosses the kleenex. “What now?” Anna asks, her voice cracking just a little. Good question. “I guess we...try to move on? I mean, assuming you’re not going to keep posting about me?” She shakes her head so vigorously you’re afraid her braid will come undone. “Okay. Thank you.” A sort of ridiculous laugh almost bursts out but you swallow it. “I just don’t want you to carry this around forever,” you continue. Shawn’s words from Taylor’s apartment echo in your ears. “It’s too much. It’s too heavy. And it’s not like my life is ruined, okay? Whatever happens between Shawn and me…” Anna’s face betrays her, a strange mix of curiosity and awe you don’t know what to do with. “I forgive you. So it’s okay to forgive yourself.” She’s crying again. You nearly start. You just pull her into a hug and hope it’s enough. Is this supposed to be closure? It doesn’t feel quite right. * “Sinclair? Hey, Earth to Sinclair? Ellie.” You start when Parker has to shake your elbow a little to get your attention. “I’m sorry what?” “I said, ready to go? You said you and Shawn have dinner plans, right?” The drummer casts you a bemused look just in front of the gigantic moose inside the Natural History Museum, where you’d insisted on going after the Jones sisters denied you in London. It’s your last free night; tour resumes officially tomorrow. “Yeah.” You let him steer you out of the Canadian mammals exhibit, the weight of his arm warm and familiar around your shoulders. “You alright, kid?” It’s almost closing time, so it takes ages for you to make it out of the throng of other tourists and you can’t escape Parker’s gentle probing.  “I’m okay.” It’s not a lie, exactly. “Okay like you’re fine and nothing particularly exciting going’s on, or okay like you’re not good and it’s is the easiest answer that doesn’t involve you having to explain yourself?” You just look at him. “Fine, fair enough. I know it’s been a rough stretch for you lately, but you know that we’re all here for you, right? No matter what happens between you or what you two say or do to–” Parker makes an expansive gesture at the bustling street outside the museum– “Deal with the masses.” You lean against his neck; Parker drops a surprisingly tender kiss into your hair. “I know. Thank you.” “And you know he can handle it, right? Shawn.” “Handle what?” The drummer returns your silent, long look. “Whatever it is that’s eating at you.” You’re struck with the fear that it’s written all over your face, but you just breathe deeply instead of replying. Parker wraps his arm around your waist and squeezes.   * Parker Hey, it’s Ellie from Parker’s phone cause mine’s dead again. Typical. We’re on our way back to the hotel. Traffic’s a bit nuts but according to Google I should be back in time to make our reservation. Can’t wait to hear about the fancy pop up. Parker And I need to talk to you about something. But it can wait till tonight. Parker I’m sorry to be that cryptic text person. I told myself I never would. I just had to get it out before I chickened out. Shawn It’s okay! You’re fine. I’ll see you soon. We should definitely talk. I always want to talk to you. *

Shawn’s waiting for you in the hotel lobby. It would be sweet considering you haven’t seen each other all day, but you’re out of breath from a mad dash across the street and there’s no telling what state your hair is in since your ‘Honey’ cap with a bee on the back was knocked off by a tall elbow and you almost lost it. Not to mention the group of girls loitering across the street who you refused to acknowledge even when they shouted your name. “Hi,” you gasp, careening to a halt. “I’m sorry I’m basically late. I should not be surprised that rush hour in New York is like, fifty times any normal city...” You trail off at the look on Shawn’s face. “What?” “If you hate me forever after this,” he begins, “I understand. I understand if you never want to see or talk to me again.” “You’re freaking me out. What’s going–” “Hannah’s here.” You can feel the blood drain from your face. The question – or many questions, actually – won’t form, which is clear when Shawn just forges ahead, pulling you gently into an alcove by the hand. “She DM’d me. Well, Ava first. I guess her mom had called Ava saying she’d surprised Hannah with tickets to tomorrow, and wouldn’t this be a great chance for you to patch things up–” Shawn rolls his eyes, which is arguably one of the meanest things you’ve ever seen him do; he’s never made his feelings towards Hannah plain, but you see it now – the anger that’s apparently been simmering for weeks now. “And Ava was going to talk to you about it, but because of the surprise pop up thing and your phone–” “She DM’d you?” Seemingly unsurprised that you’re stuck on that detail, Shawn just unlocks his phone and hands it to you. _hannahbananah: hi Shawn, it’s Hannah. Ellie’s friend. I’m sure she’s probably said really horrible things about me so I understand if you never reply to this message, but my mom just told me we’re going to NYC this morning instead of school for my 18th birthday, to see you. _hannahbananah: I just want to talk to Ellie. I tried Ava but I’m worried she won’t see it in time. She won’t answer my calls which I can’t really blame her for but I just need to talk to her. The timestamps are indeed from this morning, but as you know Shawn’s inundated with DMs from all over the world every day. It’s not unbelievable that these would get lost in the shuffle, nor that Shawn would go looking for them if Ava had mentioned it to him while you were gone with your dead phone. And his response, from an hour ago:  shawnmendes: She’s out for the day. I’ll ask her. shawnmendes: If you post this conversation online, I will ban you from all my future shows. “You threatened her,” you say, stunned. He winces. “I did. I’m not proud of it. I didn’t want to ruin your day,” Shawn goes on. “I figured we could talk about it tonight, and we’d set the meeting for tomorrow, if you wanted to see her. I wanted you to feel like you had a choice.” “But you talked to her without telling me about it.” His face falls. “I did. I’m sorry. I guess…I was just hoping you’d be ready to like, deal with this, and that you just needed the opportunity, or something.” It’s a fair assessment, and more true than you’re willing to admit right now. It stings a little – an inexplicable yet terrifying feeling – that he knows you this well. Or that he’d do this to you anyway. “El…” You can tell when Shawn’s steeling himself, and then he spits it out. “She’s already here. In the lobby. She–” There’s that flash of deep anger again– “She found out where we’re staying and told her mom that Ava told her.”   He points over your shoulder to the lounge area across the lobby; the dread you’ve been carrying since you left the museum earlier morphs into something that lifts the hair from the back of your neck. Your body turns and there she is, sitting awkwardly on a loveseat in front of the bar and staring at you. Some part of your brain had tried to forget what she looks like. But of course that’s ridiculous – her enormous curls, her layers of mascara, her triple pierced ears, the beauty mark on her cheek that she hates – Hannah’s as familiar as your own reflection. “If you don’t want to talk to her, I’ll tell her to leave.” Shawn tightens his grip on your hand, swinging your gaze back to him with that ever-present magnetism. “But for the record, I think you should talk to her. Even if it’s just to tell her to go to hell.” Something like a laugh leaps from your mouth. “Well,” you concede, “I’d really be a bitch if I left her over there now.” Shawn’s lips twitch – he doesn’t hear you swear very often – before that deep seriousness that always thrills somewhere low in your stomach takes over. “I can stay down here, if you want. Or I can go.” “She’ll just stare at you the whole time, you know that right?” “Good.” Shawn’s expression darkens. “She can really take in how much I really don’t like her.” You struggle to contain another laugh, which eases the tension around his eyes. “I’ll text you when I’m done?” you offer. He plucks his hotel key card from his wallet and hands it to you. “I’ll meet you upstairs.” Now you’d never peg Shawn as a particularly petty or vindictive person, but there’s a distinctly gleeful edge in his otherwise soft eyes when he lifts your still joined hands and brushes his mouth over your knuckles. “She’s still watching us, isn’t she?” One side of his smile lifts a little higher. “No idea what you’re talking about.” You feel a bit like Chihiro from Spirited Away when you turn to head towards Hannah; Shawn’s fingers cling to yours until the last possible moment, and you can tell as you approach your childhood friend that he’s still standing there, her eyes caught on him instead of you. You sink down into an opposite chair. “Hi, Hannah.” She gives you a sort of half-smile. “Hey.” “I heard you wanted to talk to me?” “You’d know if you ever answered your phone.” You take a deep breath. Don’t bother. At your silence, Hannah’s lips purse briefly before she continues, “So you know it wasn’t me, right? Who ratted you out?” Her oddly demanding tone is jarring. “Yeah,” you reply slowly. “I do.” “So you can stop like, bad-mouthing me to Shawn now?” You just stare at her. “What?” “Like, I’m sorry if you were mad that I found out about you guys. But I didn’t tell anyone who you were, so you should really be apologizing to me if you think about it.” “Han,” you say, trying to reign in your confusion that’s quickly being replaced with anger, “What exactly do you want from me here? I am sorry again for lying and that I didn’t pick up the phone, but it honestly didn’t really feel like we had much to say to each other after the last time. I mean, you basically just accused me of sleeping with Shawn all over the world.” She sneers a little. That’s familiar, too. “Well, aren’t you?” Heat rushes your cheeks despite your best efforts. “No, I’m not. Look, I really am thankful to you for not...exposing us, or whatever, but it doesn’t sound like–”  “Is it even real then?” You had half a mind to just get up and leave, but that half of your mind is now too stunned to move. Hannah leans forward and you think about all the times in your life she’s done it just to tell you something strange or cruel about another person that you could never judge to be true at first glance. It’s honestly hard to decide what’s a worse accusation: clout chaser or PR stunt. Perhaps being labeled as Shawn’s beard, but that at least is the one rumour you know Hannah’s always ignored. Apparently the thought of another gender having any chance with him better than her own is just unthinkable. “Did you really come all this way just to ask me that?” you demand. “Because if you did then you’ve clearly made up your mind about it. I don’t know what I could possibly tell you that would convince you.” “It looks pretty suspicious from the outside,” Hannah insists. You roll your eyes. “Yeah because Twitter and Tumblr are just a wealth of rational people who can’t imagine him being remotely happy with a real person instead of a fictional girl with no real identity.” Your legs work this time and you push to your feet. “I’m sorry, Hannah but–” “My mom bought me Gold VIP,” Hannah interjects. She looks momentarily like the same girl who’d desperately tried to convince you that making out with Aaron had been a complete misunderstanding. “And she won’t let me have the tickets until I talk to you.” You’d thought for sure this conversation would be longer. You thought there would be tears and forgiveness and that maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to put that mint chocolate chip cone back on your keychain. But clearly you were wrong. “You’ve talked to me,” you say. “You can tell her that I’m not mad at you anymore. And you can tell her that we’re just not really friends anymore, either. Or you can lie, I don’t really care.” Hannah’s mouth falls open. “But Shawn–” “He’s not going to throw you out of meet and greet.” Though the idea is hilarious. “Just go, take your photo with him. He’ll smile, if that’s what worries you.” You double check you have Shawn’s room key in your pocket. “Happy Birthday, Hannah. Enjoy the city.” You don’t look back. At least, not until the elevator doors are closing. Hannah is still sitting where you left her. She looks smaller than you’ve ever seen before. Maybe you’re just not afraid of her anymore. You didn’t know you’d ever been scared until just now.  * You’re just staring at a black tv screen when Shawn opens the door. “She gone?” he asks quietly. You nod. “Did you guys…” You shake your head. You’ve never seen Shawn look quite so stricken, before. But he covers quickly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and touching the bend of your knee where you’ve pulled your legs up on the covers. “I’m sorry.” You’re not even sure you can speak to him right now, so you just shrug. “Do you want me to go?” Shawn asks, so gently it’s a little heartbreaking. You shake your head again. “I just remembered our reservation.” “Oh god don’t worry about that, I called them. It’s fine. I’m still really sorry about tonight,” he continues. “It was unfair of me to assume to know what you needed. And I shouldn’t have threatened her like that. It was mean and I was just being an asshole.” “She deserved it.” It comes out a little more forcefully than you’d intended, but you don’t care. You feel oddly liberated. “She only cared about trying to make up with me because her mom is holding VIP tickets over her head. She doesn’t really care what’s happening or that what she said was hurtful…” A bitter laugh escapes. “She said I should have apologized to her.” “Holy fuck,” Shawn says. “Okay, I take that part back.” You want to laugh again but knowing your luck it would come out like a sob. Shawn strokes his thumb around your knee, over and over again until you shiver.   “You know, I think about the night we met a lot.” He tilts his head and smiles and you can see it too, that moment you first laid eyes on each other. “I was really nervous, can you believe that?” “Shut up, you were not.” “I really was.” Shawn coaxes a disbelieving smile from your lips. “The more Ava talked about you, the more I knew that if I wasn’t careful, I’d definitely make an absolute idiot of myself and ruin any chance I had of actually getting to know you properly.” “You were so hot,” you complain. “It was annoying. How the hell was I supposed to talk like a normal person when you looked like that?” Shawn just laughs and pulls his own legs up so you sit half inside the open circle of his body. “You’re beautiful, El. Fair’s fair.” You shake your head. “You are. You’re funny and smart and you’re the nicest person ever. All I wanted was to make you feel safe around me, like you could be yourself.” Shawn turns away, like he’s ashamed. “You don’t deserve any of the things that happened to you, and especially any of the things that’ve happened since you met me. I should have done a better job protecting you from that and I’m sorry.”  “But why’s that your job?” you demand. “Shawn, that’s not your responsibility.” “But it should be,” he insists. “Because I love you and you deserve to– to be...” Whatever Shawn was about to say seems to vanish when he looks at you. You wonder if he sees more joy or terror in your face. “What?” “What was that?” You can barely get the words out. “You deserve to be happy,” he says firmly. “No, please. God Shawn, I can’t deal with you sometimes.” He’s laughing silently, his shoulders shaking; you have to press your palms into your eyes. You can’t even say anymore, forced to wait until Shawn stops and pulls your hands away from your face. “I love you, El.” He shakes his head, like he’s laughing at himself. “God, I’ve been wanting to say that to you forever.” Shawn’s cheeks and ears are pink, despite his confidence. It’s painfully endearing. “Dunno why I waited so long–” You snuff out his next words in a kiss so fierce you nearly push him over, like you might actually die if you don’t pass this feeling on. You kiss and kiss and Shawn’s hands drag you forward into his lap. You rock your hips; he groans, unselfconscious and deep. A familiar ache between your legs pulses. Your ears roar and roar and your fingers tremble as they work the buttons of his shirt – one, two three (Shawn’s teeth scrape the curve of you neck and you falter) – you’ve never felt the heat of his body as keenly as you do when the garment’s finally gone. “Can I–” he mutters, his thumb hooked along your ribs. You just lean back and drag your own sweater and shirt up with both arms, dropping them behind you. Shawn goes entirely silent; you freeze. He looks even more wild-eyed than he had at Taylor’s, his gaze tracing every curve of you all the way up to your face. It’s like reading a neon sign: his desire is so bright that you have to look away. When you lift your eyes again, Shawn’s still staring. You want to ask him what’s wrong, but he reaches for your hand, holding it against his thundering heart while his other tangles in your hair to pull your lips back together. “Not to sound like a creep, but I’ve dreamed about you a couple times,” he says against your mouth. You shiver all the way down to your toes. Shawn tightens his grip. “But fuck, El. My brain doesn’t know shit.” You laugh and then kiss him until your lungs and your eyes burn. “Hey.” Shawn leans back to thumb at your suddenly spilling tears. “Shh, it’s okay. Do you want to stop?” You try to shake your head, but more tears splash down. He tries to pull away, but you tighten your grip on his hand until he stops. Shawn keeps his forehead against yours, his other hand sliding up and down your bare spine. “Just don’t say sorry,” he murmurs. “Cause that was like, stupidly hot and you should never feel bad about it.”

“I don’t…” Talking around a sob is annoyingly difficult. “It’s not this. I want this.” Calm down. You force your voice to be level and clear and your gaze to be steady. “I want you. It’s important to me that you know that.”

Shawn nods. “I do.” He pauses. “It’s not cause of what I said, is it? Because you don’t have to–”  “Shawn. No!” You’re red, you can tell. His lips twitch with a faint smile, but then his brow furrows as though he’s weighing the cost of whatever is about to come next. “You wanted to talk to me about something today, before. Right?” You can’t even nod. “You can tell me, El.”  His eyes are so soft that they feel like they could break you. “It’s okay.” “I…” Just don’t look away. You owe him that, at least. Your voice finally cracks. “I think I should go home.” Shawn doesn’t seem surprised, which is somehow the worst reaction of all. You want to apologize. You want to kiss him again. You want to go back in time to any other hotel bed than this. He smiles very gently and twists your hair back in his fingers. “Okay.”

[umbraastaff]

I’ve just been thinking--it’s about time I make a proper index for my TAZ fics, huh? Also contains: mini-series, ficlets, goof posts, and lyric comics.

(All of the fics are rated G, or T at most for McElroy-appropriate language.)

FICS

I Saw Seven Bounties | Canon Compliant, Enemies to Friends, Complete | Mostly lighthearted, episodic recounting of Kravitz and Barry’s rivalry throughout those first twelve years on Faerun. 24K. -->Extras: Lich Eyes, Fantasy Starbucks, Alt POV for Chapter 1 & Chapter 5, Sorry

They Say Fire Took Phandalin | Small-town supernatural/sorta-haunted-house AU |  Fresh out of grad school, Barry Bluejeans takes a job and a house in the rural nowhere-town of Phandalin. And it’s not like he thought fitting in would be a walk in the park, but the people there all act really weird, and it’s almost like they’re expecting something of him, too. 11K/~20K.

What Can’t Be Done Alone (Detective Squad) | Canon Divergent, Found Family, Fluff | AU where the voidfish works a little better, and Angus never finds the Bureau. Instead, he finds a strange lich in a cave, and he most certainly continues to work this case and not gradually get adopted instead. 18K/~22K. -->Extras: Drangus AU Oneshot

If I Wanted to be Funny I’d Name This Fic “The Time Belt” | Futuristic sci-fi AU feat. time travel | Taako meets the only people in years who recognize the Institute’s name. Known time criminal Barry Bluejeans continues to evade law enforcement. 2K/??.

Overgrowth / Undercurrent | Roleswap AU, Johnchurch, Pining, Twoshot, Happy ending optional | Overgrowth is a oneshot that follows John, the Starblaster’s chief diplomat, through a series of parleys with Merle, the center of the plane-consuming mass of plants that’s been chasing his crew. Undercurrent is a sequel about their post-canon reunion. 4K + 6K. --> Extras: PLAYLIST by @merle-casts-zone-of-truth

Davenport Remembers | Post-canon, Oneshot | Davenport meets with his crew members to try to reconcile his anger with Lucretia, or to decide whether he should. 1.5K.

MINI-SERIES

AU Where Taako is a Lich - Pretty much what it says on the tin here, folks!

Baritz (ask series) - A fusion of Barry and Kravitz, who took over my blog and answered asks for a while. (He originated in the Gallows/S&S lyric comic.)

Good Adventures (Good Omens crossover) - The Antichrist’s wishes summon the wrong boatful of aliens. Thankfully, it seems they’re apocalypse experts. [with plot-ideas help from @avijohann​.]

Omen Zone (Good Omens crossover 2) - Barry is a demon. Kravitz is an angel. Kravitz probably won’t ever admit that they’re friends.

Pokémon: Century Version (Pokémon crossover) - Stolen Century AU where they’re all pokémon trainers. Faerun spin-off: Double Trouble

Till Death, Don’t Let’s Start - Barry fucks up. Kravitz is present.

Very Normal Blog Posts (ask series) - In which Garfield is not at all dangerous, and I am perfectly fine. <alt: chronological link - desktop only>

COMICS & ART

Gallows/Steady and Stronger (Double lyric comic) - Canon-divergent AU where, as the world is ending, Barry gives up to Kravitz. [Image description version]

[Lyric Comics] - Other, shorter lyric comics based on single verses of songs.

Dear Scientist’s Log (series) - Illustrated ship logs from Barry J. Bluejeans.

Movie Madness (Comic) - Barry obsesses over the unforgivable.

Palette Prompts (Arts) - Art from art meme prompts.

Pregananant (goof comic) - You know the one.

REAPER (Comic) - Baritz fuses with Lup.

These Jeans? (Animatic) - Barry advertises jeans.

They’re Both Tessa Thompson (Comic) - Lucretia has a nightmare. Barry reassures her.

War (Goof comic) - prompt: "taakitz with CAT”

What’s bigger than this? - The Red Robe.

FICLETS

Back Soon - Kravitz leaves a note with unfortunate wording.

Bodyswap: Barry & Davenport - During Wonderland.

Casual - AU where the red robe talks like a normal person.

Command - Barry misuses his magic.

Davenport - There’s something unsettling about that butler.

Hangin’ Out - Lup and Magnus.

Harvest - Roleswap AU: Barry is the Hunger.

Healing Necromancy - Merle tries to teach Barry some tricks.

Hope - Barry knows she’s still out there.

How Long? - Taako is frustrated.

In Pieces - The staff.

Liches Forget Too - AU.

Lucretia Forgets - In which there was a mistake with the voidfish ichor.

Lup’s Robe - Gifts from Taako.

Mourning Glories - The flowers in Merle’s beard.

New Years - Celebrations and fears.

Parole - Barry and Kravitz bonding hours.

Phone a Friend - Baritz (the fusion from Gallows/S&S) meets Angus.

Raising the Dead - Barry has to use his crew members’ corpses. [sequel]

Robbie...? - Magnus breaks into the brig immediately after Petals to the Metal.

Second Apocalypse - Based on that one party liveshow. What was the rest of the crew doing, again?

3 Sentence Fics - Pairing + AU prompts.

Smartstone - Lup gets stuck in a Stone of Far Speech, instead.

Stir Crazy - Barry waiting for a new body to grow. Thoughts of Lucretia.

Writing Things Down - In case you forget (again).

You Remember - Taako remembers.

PROMINENT GOOFS

Barry’s Dead - But he’s fine! Calm down!

Character Development - Joke’s on you, DM!

Crystal Kingdom - An absolutely bonkers arc.

Dealer - Merle pun.

Decapitate Me - for making this post

Don’t Care - Taako during the finale. [bonus]

Epilogue - Bracer struggles. [bonus: 1, 2]

Explain the Hunger (Good Omens crossover) - Magnus explains the hunger to Aziraphale and Crowley. They react in varying ways. [with cursed art contributions from @avijohann and @mspainttaz]

Fifteen Dollars - Plus interest. [Bonus]

Fullmetal Kingdom - They’re the same, right?

Gender - And lack of roles.

Gnomes Don’t Exist - They’re all aliens, actually.

Hot Diggity Shit - Been a while.

Icon Confusion - The saga of people thinking my icon is a carrot. [chrono link - desktop only]

Incomprehensible Denim - Jeff Angel’s illegal pants.

In Case it Changes Anything - Taako, Kravitz, and lies.

Irresponsible Teens - Magnus and Lucretia get into trouble.

I Saw Seven Nerds - That’s the post.

Gogurt - Taako’s crimes.

Learning to Drive - i.e. Barry & Davenport Bonding(?) Hours.

Live Shows - The general mood.

Lucretia’s Efforts - A proper meme? On my TAZ blog?

Lup Said No Thanks - That time Magnus was in a tree.

Magnus’ Death - So many close calls.

Nearest Middle-Aged Woman - Clint’s characters’ friends.

Necromancy? - You must be mistaken!

Ned’s Aliases - The Truth.

Pirate Debt - Davenport during that one liveshow.

Punch Squad - SQUAD!

Reaper Cloak - Thoughts.

Relic Names - She probably changed them.

Responsible Necromancy - Good and bad ideas.

Resume - It’s not like they thought it would be relevant.

Schools of Magic - And the Sash was what, again?

Self Care - Respect the dead, please.

Server Shenaniganry (art) - TAAKO THE CAT, NO!

Soulmate AU - Where your soulmate’s greatest enemy is on your wrist. [alt]

Stern’s Truth - You Know.

Taako’s Last Name - Taako’s last name.

Team Composition - The post where everyone wants to argue with me about what qualifies as a wizard.

Third Option - Taako saves the day.

You’re Laughing - End of Suffering Game.

THEORIES/MECHANICS/THOUGHTS

Aloof - Holes Taako refuses to fill.

Barry’s Lucky Possessee - Graphic novel theory hopes & dreams.

Catpiling - Stolen Century thought.

Davenport’s Deaths - Sucks when you always wake up driving.

Death Leaves a Mark - Stolen Century AU concept.

Everyone Else - Some people didn’t get perfect endings.

Fantasy Nonsense - lore about the word “fantasy,” as in “Jesus Fantasy Christ.”

Fragments - Magnus’ memory.

Forgiveness - Old post about the crew’s thoughts on Lucretia’s actions.

Forgot to Erase - Lucretia’s errors.

FULL TIMELINE POST - the Balance timeline.

Gauntlet - (disproven!) Theory about the final relic, from before it was confirmed in the show.

Gnome Nicknames - Thoughts on Cap’nport.

High School AU - Some old headcanons.

Home World Names - The pattern in surnames (or lack thereof) on the IPRE’s homeworld.

Hour - This isn’t a thought so much as an Actual Thing That Magnus Said before the time loops had started, which is absurd.

Idiots in Love - The IPRE’s collective braincell was lost for all of Legato. [2]

Liches, Alone - Being stuck as raw emotion for an awfully long time.

Losing Julia - And subsequent developments.

Love - What was remembered and forgotten.

Love Without Fear - Thoughts on bonds during the Stolen Century.

Memory - Barry actually shouldn’t have remembered anything.

Nickname - Memory of Lup.

Paladin Barry Theory - Converging evidence on Barry’s multiclassing.

Paradox AU - blueprint for 8th, 9th, 10th, etc. Bird AU of your choice(s). (Extra)

Phylactery Mechanics - How liches differ.

Produce Flame - Mechanics of John killing Merle.

Recklessness - THB’s actions recontextualized.

Relic Schools of Magic - They don’t have them!!!

Relicswap AU - Where all the birds get swapped out.

Seven Birds as Gods - Ask-prompt thoughts.

Staring at the Sun - The birds and their light sensitivity.

Story, Song, & Sorcery - Effects on the young population.

Sword Tornado - Magnus Mechanics. [bonus: Time Warlock]

The Good Place AU - A series of crossover thoughts.

Tree Climbing - Davenport shenanigans.

Unique Magic Types - [and combo styles]

What Killed Maureen - hint: it wasn’t Fisher.

[trojansblr]

#FightOn! (05) | OT7 Halloween edition!

Summary: The University of Southern California is a prestigious school - only the best or the richest can attend. That means there will be a lot of spoiled brats. Two groups start colliding and the entire college shift alongside them. What will happen when sparks starts to flow between them? Drama will certainly be there.

Pairing: BTS with -eventually- female characters

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut (in the future), College!au, Interactive!au, Halloween!au

Word Count: 20k UNEDITED

A/N: First things first thank you so much to everyone who patiently waited and sent me nice messages. You guys helped my not so confident ass going hehe :’) also, thank you Ali and Lily for being and unconditional support, even if this piece is a mess. You guys make me feel embraced and secure! Like I said, it’s not perfect and it’s more like a comedy based on the sad life of emo Jungkook  or something than a proper halloween/suspense story, but I tried and had fun in the process! That’s what counts to me. I hope you all like it and also, I’ll be waiting for asks and conspiracy theories on the discord chat hehehe Happy -first part of- Halloween, fam! Love you all very very much. 🖤🎃

P/S: It was hard to insert so many people into one chapter but! to the one’s that didn’t show that much, don’t worry, part 2 coming out soon and you will definitely show more there hehehe and I can assure you guys part two will be even more chaotic. 

The Characters • Day 3 • Day 4 • Day 5

1

USC’s haunting night, which came to an end with a shocking reveal, began with nothing more than an exciting buzz that hovered in the air.

The students were now filling up the campus streets with contagious laughter and thrill. A few lamp poles were shining through this dark afternoon in the fall of 2019, orange pumpkins adorning the entrances of the old buildings, three leaves and skeletons that happened to be hanged around were dancing in the howling wind. It was Halloween night, it was time to trick and be tricked, it was time to pretend to be someone you were not while dancing the night away… you could tell by the way all houses were being left in the dark, that every student residing here waited anxiously for this chance of playing pretend.

A built up silhouette wrapped up in a tight red suit, walked in a fast pace towards the Fluor Tower, nobody to be seen down the gloomy streets since the party was located in the opposite direction. The unforgiving wind made walking a little worse for the boy, his breathing against the mask he was wearing began to feel heavier and warmer but there was no way he would take it off now. His friends needed to see him in full costume, he kept thinking. The boy beneath the mask was Jungkook Jeon. His friends, known to most of the university as the Y Group, were all gathered at Deo and Hyori’s dorm room, waiting for him.

Hyori was the one suggesting the disguise Jungkook was now wearing. A week before this, the boy was still indecisive about what to wear and in one rainy afternoon, while they all ate a cheesy pizza and the rain tumbled endlessly against the window, she suggested him to dress like Spiderman with an obvious glance sent through the other end of the table.

Once he was almost reaching the girls building, he started hearing euphoric chattering close by. Hoseok’s laughter impossible to mistake by somebody else’s.

“I can’t believe he actually did it!” Jungkook heard Hoseok say and immediately the idea of hiding behind a tree and pulling a prank on his friends crossed his mind. That was exactly what he did “That guy is crazy to say at least!” laughter filled the chilly air.

“I never doubted he wasn’t” Hyori added sharply.

“Where’s Jungkook though? Didn’t he say he was like- 5 minutes from here?” The boy’s attention was now fully focused on Deo “I’m going to die if we stay here any longer waiting” the sound of her shoe tapping nervously onto the floor didn’t go unnoticed by the hidden spidey.

“Want my jacket?” Jimin offered “He did say he was a few minutes away? Maybe he met someone?”

“Jungkook is more anti social than I am, I doubt he stopped by with someone-” Hyori started but was quickly interrupted.

“HEY! No I’m not!” he let out by impulse making the group snap their heads towards the direction of the sound. Hoseok’s hands fled to grab Deo’s arm who was near him, his eyes almost popping out. Both girls unable to form a sound, too caught up in the moment.

“Fuck-” Jungkook cursed under his breath once he realized what he did.

“Aaaaish!” Jimin said out loud; adrenaline running through his veins, although he would never admit he got a little scared for a second there.

“Are you serious dude??” Deo said once she saw someone coming from behind a tree, ready to throw some hands at whoever it was. She was dressed like Cher Horowitz from Clueless, the movie, one that Jungkook himself had seen countless times once he was younger. He remember turning on the tv on Sunday afternoons and seeing the actress face over and over again. Deo did a great job, he thought.

“It’s spider man now” he started walking towards his friends, arms coming to the front of him to mimic the superhero spider web shooting action “How do I look?”

“Ya, this guy will never change” Hoseok laughed it out “I was really scared, you- you dumbass” he finished making the younger laugh. Hoseok wasn’t far behind, and the character he had chosen a month before, was on everyone’s opinion, the perfect choice for him. Ace Ventura was spirited and loud in every way Hoseok could be. His clothes were probably arranged by his sister, she loved to dress up her younger brother and Hoseok didn’t mind at all, and his hair… Wow, his hair!

“Imagine if it went like I had planned it to” Jungkook chuckled and reached back to tug into his mask and pull it off. His heavy huff louder now, hair completely messy.

“I could punch you in the face I swear to God!” Deo started but the corners of her mouth were already pulling up.

“Can we go now? After this I feel like somebody else will be lurking in the dark-”

“Eyyyy- It’s halloween but we’re not in a horror movie” Jimin glanced at Hyori feeling creeped out. Of course Jimin wouldn’t waste the opportunity to look cool and laid back this Halloween, and Deo excelled herself making his hair look like Johnny Depp’s in Cry Baby. Hyori on the other hand, decided her costume by fumbling through her whole closet. I’ll go with the easiest but still remarkably costume, she said, and that’s how Ashley Spinelli turned out to be her choice.

“She has a point. Everybody will try to scare us tonight and I’m not ready”

“Let’s just go!” Jimin said pulling Deo and Hyori’s arm at the same time and Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh at how much of scaredy-cats his friends were.

“Wait!!!” Hyori heard Hoseok saying loudly right behind her, and once she turned around to smile at him, vision a little blocked by her mustard beanie, she couldn’t help the goosebumps that went through her body. Something feels eerie, maybe it’s just the fact that we are alone in a dark street, she thought. And shrugging off that feeling, she marched alongside her friends to the party she put most effort so far.

2

Doing his best to keep his posture straight while sitting in bed, Yoongi was feeling rather sleepy having Carolina toy with his hair, the girl trying her best to style it just like Naruto’s. He had been feeling a little lazy the past few weeks but he knew there was zero to no chance of him escaping halloween night, specially because his friends digged the fact they could just dress like some weirdos and pull pranks all night long. If he said he wasn’t going, for sure they would do something stupid and hey, he wasn’t one for refusing free liquor either.

“Why is your hair so damn straight?!” he heard Carolina complain for the thousand time. He said nothing, just kept his eyes closed and opened a cheeky smile. A month before his group started talking about this night - mostly the girl and Taehyung who were already fantasizing about what to wear. Namjoon and Jin quickly followed the lead making jokes on who was similar to what character and what not. Once they inquired him on who would he be for this night he just said the first thing that came to his mind. First because it was an easy costume since it was basically one piece of clothing and also because he wasn’t creative enough to remember anything else, as far as he knew Naruto was the only other guy he would like to be if he had to choose.

“Are you still doing his hair?” Jin came into Carolina’s bedroom with an indignant tone and before she could even answer he was already adding more to his little playful rant “Ya, you need to help me out with the makeup! Namjoon made it look like I had a hole instead of an eye-”

“I’m sorry if I’m no make up artist!!!” they all heard Namjoon say out loud; Yoongi could perfectly picture him sat down on the couch too entertained with his cellphone to even glance up while responding Jin’s comment about his poor artistic abilities.

“Ya” Jin turned around to look at Namjoon; voice deep but in a playful tone “You don’t need to be a makeup artist to know this looks terrible”

“Take those baby wipes over there” Carolina pointed a little package over her desk “And go clean that mess! I’ll do your makeup once I finish Yoongs” she continued spraying hairspray non stop while combing the hair of a now intoxicated boy, who kept coughing like he was really dying.

“I told you not to open your mouth!!” she said more laughing than scolding Yoongi.

“Im- Argh- Impossible!” the taste on his mouth was horrible and for a second he panicked over dying the most ridiculous death. It didn’t help the fact that Jin passed by laughing hysterically only to cough the same way he did once he got closer to the dangerous cloud of spray hovering over Yoongi’s head.

“You should be given permission of the state to use something as toxic as this” Jin said getting out quickly making Carolina laugh and shush him with her famous ‘Go away’. He directed himself to their bathroom to try and remove the damage Namjoon had made on his eye. Jin usually liked a lot what he saw on the mirror, and today wasn’t any different. His hair was combed with gel, he had a nice suit on and personally he thought he did a nice job on gluing Thing - family addams member, or hand, into his suit right shoulder. Gomez Addams was who he chose to be tonight, a classy and fun character, very appropriate for him as Namjoon had pointed out.

“Tcharamm! Howl arrived!”

“Woaah Taehyung, nice job!”

“You like it??”

“What’s going on with that cape?”

“Leave his cape alone, Yoongi, he did good”

“Thank you!”

Jin let out a chuckle, his friends were always nagging one another, not that he wouldn’t do the same with them but normally he would play the mom figure and try do ease the situations.

He looked at himself in the mirror one more time after throwing the used baby wipe in the trash and pushing the bathroom door he made his way to the living room.

“Lady Joker I hope you’re ready for me cause I’m all clean and I’m impatient as well” heads turned to Jin, Taehyung’s previous pout face becoming an excited one now after seeing him.

“Woah!!! Jin! You look just like him!!!”

“You mean handsome?” Jin stated the obvious with his hands on his hips.

“Yes…?” Taehyung replied with a weird confused face making them laugh.

“Lady Joker here is ready, so is everyone else now…” Carolina spared a glance to everyone in the room “… I think. It’s just you now, c’mon” she started pushing Jin back to the bathroom.

“That’s cause he has the easiest character of all” Jin went backwards while Carolina still pushed him; his finger pointed out to Namjoon.

“Being Milo Thatcher requires great effort, like having a brain for example” Namjoon concluded.

“I hope that’s not you calling me dumb” Jin answered back, the sound of it a little muffled since Carolina was closing the bathroom door to avoid any bickering.

“Yeap. He was” Yoongi said quietly; he was sat on the arm of the couch Namjoon was in, his arms crossed and his hair was fully up.

“So! Do you guys think I look good with long hair??” Taehyung said after a minute of entire silence making both boys look at him while he wiggled his head to make his fake hair flow.

After the bathroom door was closed, Jin sat on the faucet while Carolina opened every drawer looking after her black eye shadow and that’s when she heard Jin say “He was calling me dumb wasn’t he? He’ll see. Just- Wow the disrespect” and the way he said it was more than enough for the girl to crack a laughter right on his face.

3

Differently from the chilly outside, the party at Tau Kappa Epsilon was burning hot. The frat committee had pulled a great amount of money and effort this year and everyone that had been to the Halloween party last year could say so the minute they set foot on the entrance. For starters, this year for you to get inside you needed to know the password, which was strategically leaked on the USC gossip blog a week before this.

“Did you find it yet?” Holly asked; she had her arms crossed, the wind too harsh and although she was wearing a red hoodie and a pair of yellow trousers because she was dressed as Winnie the Pooh she couldn’t help but feel cold since she and her group were still outside.

“God, why in all days today had to be this windy?!” Tori said with frustration, tightening her grip on the coat she was wearing “If I hadn’t brought this coat I would be hard as ice right now, I’m telling you” she chuckled, her chin trembling a little since she was feeling cold, the coat doing nothing for her uncovered legs. She had decided with Deo they would go as iconic characters from the 90’s, and of course she chose Vivian Ward from Pretty Woman.  

“Ok I think I got it!”

“You did??” Holly that was a little distracted looking around exclaimed in surprise and quickly scooched up towards Silvia who had been glued on her phone scrolling through USC gossip page to find the code.

“Yeah, I think I did! Look-” Silvia showed them the phone; she was dressed as Simon of Alvin and the chipmunks, her glasses sliding on her nose bridge non-stop while she looked down too focused.

“Nice job, Silvy!”

“Now I only need to wait for Esme and Tessa… I’m sure they are almost here, I mean I called them half an hour ago and they were already on their way” Silvia said looking at her phone again, checking if she had any unread messages.

“I’m sure we can go inside and they meet us there? We could send them a text with the-”

“HEY GIRLS!!” the three of them heard and their attention flew to the newcomers.

“Nina!” Holly exclaimed excited.

“You look amazing guys! Oh my God, I’m so excited for tonight!” Nina said making Cecilia laugh besides her; Nina was dressed as Poison Ivy, her new red hair contrasting greatly with her green outfit. She had some ivy plants complementing her costume and it looked absolutely stunning.

“That’s actually right, she came all the way here talking about it” Cecilia joked; she had chosen to dress up like a sexy racer this year, keeping it simple but hot.

“And you look a bomb as well!” Tori said, giving both girls a quick hug. “Now chop chop girls! Otherwise we’ll get all ruined in this bad wind”

“I’ll send Tessa and Esme a text with the code then- Let’s get going, I’m kind of freezing as well and regretting being a chipmunk without proper pants” Silvia said making them laugh.

The decoration this year was incredibly well done, full of big killer statues, things hanged and detailed paintings on the wall, most probably TKE (Tau Kappa Epsilon) had once again contacted the art students to help with that. Hoseok had already jumped out of his feet ten times at least, too scared of the large Pennywise face he had come across a few times and the many spider webs hanging above everyone’s heads.

“I thought it was you!” Amber laughed when she came besides Hoseok and he jumped in fear… Again. “How are you doing Mister…?”

“Ace Ventura! And ooof- Amber!” He gasped first because he had been scared and now because she was looking really good.

“Hey! You came! Are you alright love? You seem a little startled.” Amber was so happy to see the boy that she talked way too fast making him stare at her with endearing eyes “It’s been a while.”

“Of course! I wouldn’t miss this party for the world! But that Pennywise…” he said pointing at the wall painting, a frown crossing his face “Not cool at all.” he chuckled while turning to her again, his glance lowering a bit now to see her costume more attentively. Amber was wearing a playboy bunny costume, a dress like version of it.

“It’s ok, it’s just a painting. Besides if it wasn’t just a painting, I’d always protect you. Well… I would try.” she giggled making him follow “And tonight will be so much fun, I haven’t really celebrated Halloween in years!”

“I see you already have a drink so now just enjoy the night!” Hoseok said cheekly.

“I do!” she stated quickly looking down, where she had a drink in hands “You should grab one soon too.”

“Jimin went to grab some drinks for us. I’m waiting for mine.” he winked “But what are you most afraid of then? If not Pennywise”

“Probably just… Uh… Spirits” she said finally with a tiny shivering “The unknown too. Maybe just being alone. My fears are very strange.”

“Oh spirits are a no for me too! I try not to believe they exist but I have a fertile imagination!” he said with a panicked face and Amber made a quick note on how cute he could be.

“You look really good by the way… Like I know you aren’t in a sexy outfit, but you look happy and just… You know… You just look great.”

“Thanks Amber! I tried hard to find the clothes to match the movie! But you look great too…“ he offered his heart smile, his eyes genuinely matching his soft expressions.

While Hoseok kept talking to Amber, his friends were close by still waiting for Jimin to come back with something to drink. They had arrived for a while now, but since the place wasn’t that crowded yet, Jungkook managed to find a spot for Deo to sit a little. The girl had been complaining about her shoes choice for some time now but he himself felt like sitting, so that’s what he did. He sat and kept fumbling with his phone while Deo rambled with him (things that he was certainly not listening) and Hyori kept scanning the place after Jimin.

“I hope this party doesn’t suck.” Deo commented a little bored while looking the ambience.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s no one here. My feet already hurt. Jungkook took the only seat available and is staring at his phone with a grin on his dumb face.”

“We got here super early, relax! And just take the damn shoes off, you’re going to in a couple of hours so might as well do it now.” Hyori grinned at her “Is Jack coming?”

“I think so? I didn’t talk to him today yet but he should be here. We bought his costume like- last week so…” Deo wondered; she was answering Hyori but her head was turned at Jungkook’s direction, trying to pry on what he was doing.

“The love birds that text all day didn’t talk today?”

“He texted me this morning but we were dealing with the outfits so I… kinda forgot to text him back? He’s probably just making one of his ‘imma take longer to answer’ games” Deo looked back at her again to roll her eyes.

“Don’t sweat it, he’ll be around.” the older girl patted her shoulder with a warm smile to wrap that convo up.

“So… you’re just gonna ignore the fact that JK is laughing at his phone?”

“We teased him enough about him wanting to be spiderman…” Hyori bit down a smile, exchanging her glance to the boy in question, still entertained and completely absented of what was going on around him.

“True…” Deo concluded but then turned around to do exactly the opposite with what she had just agreed with “Hey dork.” she called and poked him, making him lift his head towards them “Yeah you. What are you doing?”

“Texting.” he said simply.

“Who?” Hyori questioned.

“Have you ever heard of neighbor number?”

“No…?”

“You have one?!” Deo asked the boy while coming closer and feeling a lot more excited.

“Everyone has one.” he rolled his eyes.

“What is that?!”

“It’s the person whose phone number is either the before or after yours. Like, your’s 55 and their’s 56.” Jungkook explained to Hyori but he locked his phone trying to hide his previous conversation.

“Oh… and that’s cool because?”

“Because!!!” Deo exclaimed turning around to look at Hyori.

“It’s just like meeting someone online guys.”

“Oh don’t be an old lady. You’re a recess punk tonight!” Deo retorted making Hyori do a funny face as a response while trying to pry at Jungkook’s phone as well.

“You’re not looking at my texts.” he said defensively while hiding the phone against his chest once more.

“Oh c'mon JK.”

“No.”

“I’m not keeping your phone in my bag then. Good luck spidey.” Deo teased.

“Fine!”

A while ago Jimin had departed quickly from his friends to go fetch something to drink, but on his way he stopped by with many people. He got used to being popular in some way, he didn’t mind the attention at all… What he did mind was the constant people who tried to fake being friends with him just to get “famous”. He was now walking furiously towards the bar, the last conversation with some random guy he thought that was being genuinely nice to him stuck on his head. A small bump followed, his mind too distracted to actually pay attention at his surroundings and the frown that was before on his face quickly disappeared.

“Wow Jean! Sick costume!” he said once the girl in question turned around surprised to see the one that bumped on her was actually a familiar face.

“Really Jimin? Thank you” Jean was dressed as Mikasa from Attack on Titan, an anime Jimin had seen and liked a lot. “I think you look handsome in your costume” she finished with a cute smile while blushing a little.

“I tried my best to look like Cry Baby but Johnny Depp will always win.” he showed his cute laughter while saying it and Jean quickly retorted.

“Don’t say things like that. I think you just being yourself is handsome and a win for everyone including you” as soon as she said it and he was about to smile at her again thankful, the bartender came by and Jimin was quick to tell him his orders. He looked back to see if Jean wanted something but he noticed she was already served. The guy that was attending him, poured a glass of whiskey to Jimin and went to fetch some beers. While he went inside to fetch it Jimin turned again to Jean.

"You came with friends?”

“I did! I’m meeting Holly here!”

“Oh~ she’s Deo’s friend! I didn’t know you two knew each other! Small world huh?” he winked and raised his glass to take a sip of it making Jean laugh.

“Yes, we do. We talk time to time whenever I have time. She is really nice.” she said and Jimin hummed in agreement.

"So, who or what scares you most?”

“What scares me most is bugs especially cockroaches… oh yeah also rats. What about you? Are you scared of anyone or something?”

“I’m trying to keep a brave face tonight so I can’t tell you!” he cutely joked putting his finger to his lips and doing a slight ‘shush’ motion “But it was nice seeing you Jean~ I have to bring these drinks to the sober ones before they fall asleep” he said while pointing with his head towards the beer bottles the bartender had just brought.

“Have fun at the party. Don’t be reckless or get yourself in trouble!” she said loudly when Jimin started walking away with all those drinks in hands, trying to make way, only to turn back again and smile foolish at her and then winking again.

On his way towards his group he spotted Hoseok a little closer than the rest and he moved fast to get the help of the older boy. Jimin was hardly managing to hold all those bottles plus his cup.

“So do I! I overthink way too much.” he heard Amber say enthusiastically to Hoseok and for a moment he felt really sorry to be barging into the conversation.

“Hey guys! Sorry! Help me-” he said quickly and Hoseok took two bottles off his hands. “Oof! I thought I was going to let everything fall” he laughed at his own moment of clumsiness.

“It’s alright! I’ll help you take this to them” Hoseok trailed off and then looked at Amber once again, she still had a smile on her face, their talk before being way too cheerful for her to lose it. “It was really good seeing you!”

“It was good seeing you too. I hope we can hang out again soon, I’ve missed seeing you.”

“Keep that beautiful smile on your face Amber~ I’ll see you around tonight yeah?”

“I will! Thank you! You enjoy it too, and keep safe, ok? Don’t drink too much and drink plenty of water. I’ll see you later on in the party. I’ll probably stay until pretty late.”

“Can’t promise I won’t drink much but I’ll try to stay away from the zombies! Be safe sweetheart~” and there he went, him and Jimin towards their group of friends.

4

“Where’s Yoongi?” Carolina questioned while looking over Jin’s shoulders; her voice louder than expected as the raging song played in the party.

“I don’t know?” Jin looked around too trying to spot Yoongi’s hair among all those costumes “He left quite a while ago… And I doubt he will be able to bring us all something to drink”

The five of them had arrived and the party was already hectic. Yoongi had offered to go to the bar fetch something to drink since he was in the need of something to keep him relaxed and more loose in the middle of all those people. The rest of them stayed in a corner next to the entrance, the less crowded space they could find, but now a lot of time had passed and Carolina was starting to feel anxious.

“Ok, you guys stay here and I’ll go help him out”

“You’re going alone in this sea of people??” Taehyung asked her, whom was already ready to walk away.

“I’ll be fine Tae, just stay here with Nam and Jin. If anything happens I have my phone with me and I can call you. Yoongi is the one without his”

“We’ll wait here. Namjoon won’t be leaving anyways since he’s socializing for what it feels like an hour now” Jin joked looking at the other boy talking enthusiastically to some people from his book club. Carolina spared a glance and smiled at him, and then in a blink of an eye she was already being engulfed by the many costumed students.

She tried her best to make space and go towards the bar, where she was hoping to find Yoongi, but the task was getting complicated. It didn’t help that people were already tipsy and some really drunk. Carolina was starting to feel a little claustrophobic and way too pissed at the people who were pushing and also pulling her. When she was about to shout at some random guy that was trying to make her dance with him, she felt her arm being pulled and her head snapped quickly thinking she had finally reached Yoongi, but no. Someone in an all black costume and a weird baby face mask was pulling her out of there.

At first she offered no resistance, glad she was going to get out of that tumultuous crowd. But after a few seconds of the mysterious person pulling her towards what it seemed like the bathroom area, she pulled back her arm making the person look back.

“Who are you?!” She questioned seeing that the person went for her arm again but she was quick to flinch it’s grasp. “This is not funny!” still, no reaction. She analysed the person standing in front of her; someone taller than her, definitely a male but not a short one. “Ben?” she tried “Dude this is getting creepier.” the man did nothing but to offer his hand to her gently. And although Carolina was feeling a little creeped out she was also starting to get curious about who the costumed guy in front of her might be. So she took his hand, and he took her to the bathroom area.

“Ben if this is you I swear-“ she started but the man she thought was Ben just opened the bathroom door and pushed her inside, locking the door quickly. He himself never entering the space with her.

Carolina bumped hard against something “FUCKING ASSHOLE!!” she exclaimed mad.

“I said the same but he didn’t opened the door… Until now that is” Yoongi’s voice now filling her ears and she turned back in a snap. Turns out the thing she went against was Yoongi and not a wall like she was expecting.

“Yoongs? What are you doing here?”

“I myself don’t know…” he answered returning the hug she gave him.

“Ok! I think I have a plan!” someone said making both of them get out of their transe.

“Oh yeah, Carol this is Sarah. She was already here when I got… here” Yoongi explained simply.

“Umm… I would say nice to meet you but due to the circumstances I think-“

“I perfectly understand and share the feeling!” Sarah quickly interrupted the other girl “Also either we wait for him to open the door again and I don’t know put our foot in the middle of the breach or we stay stuck here”

“Doesn’t seem like a bad plan but I won’t volunteer my foot for the cause”

“Why the hell are we even here???” Carolina questioned “Is it the new trend locking people in the bathroom to socialise or something?” and as soon as she finished it a cell phone started ringing. They all exchanged glances.

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t even bring my phone” Yoongi said.

“Well it’s not mine!”

“I think…” Sarah trailed off while going towards the faucet, there was something behind it “Oh” and she retrieved a bag. The sound of the ringtone died and she looked at Yoongi and Carolina who were focused on the paper bag. Not even a second passed and the cell phone started to ring again.

“Oh just give me this” Carolina snatched the bag from Sarah’s hands and quickly opened it, a burner phone now visible and she picked it up. “Who’s this? What? Why would I be enjoying being locked inside a bathroom you weirdo??”

“Who is it?!” Sarah questioned and Carolina lifted a hand for her to wait.

“What game? What are you talking about?” Carolina questioned further “A paper?”

“What is this? This is a stupid prank” Yoongi rambled.

“What- Hey!!!” Carolina exclaimed taking the phone out of her ear and looking at it extremely angry “Asshole!!!”

“What happened?”

“This motherfucker said that the rules were on a paper inside this bathroom and then hanged up!”

“Are you serious now? I just wanted a drink” Yoongi sighed and started pacing around.

“What now?”

“Oh! I have my cellphone!!!” Carolina realised quickly reaching for her pocket of her nurse suit “I’ll call Jin and he can come here an- Fuck.”

“What?!” Sarah exclaimed again and Yoongi glanced at them.

“No reception” Carolina said blankly “I fucking hate this party.” she placed her phone inside her pocket once again and crouched down near the bathroom wall, her hand fast to pick up her pen kept inside the same pocket and started doodling on the wall. The neon light in the bathroom making her feel nauseous.

“I’ll start searching then!” Sarah sighed; the girl was dressed as comfortably as she could. Her costume being Violet Beauregard from Charlie and the chocolate fabric and she mentally thanked herself for choosing something so comfy.

“Are you seriously vandalising the bathroom?” Yoongi asked Carolina; he was leaned against the sink, his arms crossed.

“Yeah”

“I don’t think writing on the wall ‘Babyface sucks’ is going to solve the problem”

“Well I’m unsatisfied with Babyface service! He just pushed me and locked me inside the bathroom! Ugh- I bet it was that fucking asshole…” Carolina started doodling near the words she had just written.

“What asshole? Everyone for you is an asshole”

“Well- That’s a good point. But Jimin. I bet it was Jimin. He must be trying to pay me back ever since-“

“You mean Jimin Park?!” Sarah asked while fumbling through the cabinets that the bathroom had.

“Yeah he-“

“I FOUND IT!!!!” Sarah exclaimed excited and showing them the paper.

“Umm… I guess we are a team?” Sarah looked at them expectantly “And I didn’t brought my phone so…”

“I was going to say no but then I saw the 6.000 cash prize so”

“2000 each Yoongi, not 6000!” Sarah corrected him.

“Still. Carolina?” he looked at the girl in question “I could really use the money to-“

“I know.” she said serious “So we better win this. And I guess I’m the only one with a phone which only unlocks with my fingerprint so I guess it’s fine to leave it behind…” she reluctantly put her phone inside the bag “Also Sarah, if we’re doing this-“

“Yeah?” the girl asked.

“Yoongi already knows me but um… I’m kind of extremely competitive so if I happen to loose my shit-“

“Oh it’s ok! Totally get it!”

“She will lose it. Just saying” Yoongi brushed it off.

“I will”

“OK PLAYERS HERE WE COME!” Sarah instantly became another person and both Yoongi and Carolina exchanged glances a little surprised “OPEN THE DOOR!”

5

“I can’t actually believe we got stuck in a tiny broom closet for 15 minutes just to find a damn paper!” Tori let out laughing; her breathing heavy.

“In my defense my moves were restricted to just being able to lift my arms up” Jason retorted, his face a little red from the lack of air in the confinement.

“That’s true! I was feeling trapped between you-“

“Guys shut up!” Jungkook finally said something; the paper with the rules still in his hands “We have to focus now, I ain’t losing this game”

“Jeez! Ok, ok! We’ll focus” Jason put his hands up in defeat.

“I could really use those speakers bro, I want this prize” Jungkook sighed trying to apologise.

Somehow in the middle of the party Jungkook realised he was left behind with Hyori, both of them clueless of where their friends had gone to. So he eased her mind by saying he was going to look after them quickly. Hyori at the time nodded and kept looking around without leaving their previous spot.

Jungkook went to the bar hopping to find Jimin there but his friend was nowhere to be found. He wandered off to the bathrooms but two of them were locked and the other one was empty. He tried to scream Deo and Hoseok names in hopes that one of them were inside but due to the loud music it was useless. Not shortly after a person passed by and seeing he was fumbling with the door lock, that same person approached him and asked what he was doing. “I’m looking for my friends” was what he simply answered so the mysterious being asked what were they dressed like and after a brief description of their costumes Jungkook was pointed towards a long and gloomy corridor. He didn’t hesitate on going and that’s how he ended up opening the dark broom closet and being pushed inside. To his surprise, Tori and Jason were already there, their breathing too heavy and Jungkook kept thinking he had interrupted something else, but his thoughts were quickly brushed away when a cell phone started ringing.

“To get those speakers you first need to win the prize, Kook, and to do that you’ll need to find those damn three hidden bags” Tori pointed out making him come back to the moment; her arms crossed over her chest.

“Things that scare me most…” Jason wondered.

“AH! The decorations!!!” Jungkook’s face lit up “They must be near the decorations!”

-

Most of the teams were already out of their confinements by now. Some a little hazy and confused, some fully determined to win the prize. What student wouldn’t want to win 2.000 dollars in a night just by playing a Halloween game? It was easy money! And that was exactly what Aashna kept thinking.

When she left her dorm to go to the party that night she would have never expected to be going home again with that large amount of money, and there was nothing that she loved more than to play games, in fact she liked to think that she was good at them.

She got a little confused at first, when she lost herself from Sana and Cara, especially because she had left her phone back into the dorms and due to that she had no way to contact the girls. While she kept waiting for Sana to get ready hours ago, she used it so much that it discharged and it was totally useless to take it. But now, here she was, running around with two other girls she had never seen before trying to get to those bags before anyone else would.

“Guys look!” Nina pointed towards three dark things on the floor near a tree in the backyard of TKE. A few people transiting from one house to the other were passing by but none of them were paying attention to the girls.

“Are those the bags??” Esme asked a little behind from the other two. She was dressed like Theodore from Alvin and the chipmunks and although she was looking adorable her legs were freezing.

The backyard was the last place any rational person would want to go. It was windy today, and not the kind that feels like a nice summer breeze, it was the kind that made you feel the presence of a storm coming. The fact that the place wasn’t illuminated properly didn’t help either. Team 6 could barely see if those things on the floor were the bags they needed or not.

“I can’t believe we found them!” Aashna said coming closer and once she grabbed a loop of one of the bags a grotesque nun showed up behind the tree. Slowly it made it’s way towards the girls. “Holy-“ Aashna took a step back startled, the bag she had taken was now dropped onto the grassy floor.

“OH MY GOD!!!” Esme that had just being able to catch up with both of them sprinted back the moment she saw the dark presence, going back to where she had came. She didn’t even took a second glance.

The nun kept slowly walking forward. Aashna at the same time walked back. It’s yellow eyes focused on her and her breathing started to match her heart race. Her chest going up and down really fast.

“Push it, Khaleesi!!!” Nina shouted at her making her snap out of the transe. Both of them could hear a faint scream in the back but it was being blocked by their own heartbeats drumming on their ears. Adrenaline kicking in. Nina kept shouting ‘Khaleesi’ at Aashna, the fearful creature making her forget her teammate’s real name.

On the confusion of it, Aashna did in fact push back the nun, but the result wasn’t the expected. It didn’t move. Not even an inch.

“I GOT IT!! RUN!!!!” Nina passed by her with one bag on her back and two on her hands; her costume making it easier for her to sprint, contrary to Aashna’s.

The girl didn’t think twice. The moment the scary image before her started to lurk forward again, she stumbled two steps back and turned around to run. A hand grabbed her arm making her come to a halt. Aashna screamed and yanked her arm back. Free at last she ran towards Nina and Esme. Her mind not functioning properly. She could see her teammates shouting and making exaggerated moves for her to go to them but she could hear nothing. It was like a slow motion scene of her worst nightmare.

-

Hoseok thought he had been scared enough since he got to the party but now he was more than terrified. He was walking with Cole and Asa, two guys he had just met due to a bad joke and he couldn’t help being alert all the time. Cole was leading both him and Asa and they were looking for the so called bags inside the TKE frat house.

“I’m sure they hid it here, I mean- it’s just the perfect place, not a lot of people will come inside the house when there’s an actual party going on” he heard Cole’s voice more clearly now, the loud music sounded distant; the boy was still facing forward, leading them into a big hallway.

“Yeah but it said it was near what we fear most?” Asa pondered while looking attentive to a photo hanged on the wall “I don’t know about you guys but I’m not afraid of a frat house… As much gross as they can be” he frowned seeing one guy almost naked on that same photo.

The corridor they were now in was narrow so they lined up, Cole going in the front and Asa in the back. The wall on their left had some pictures of the boys of TKE while the wall on their right was mainly filled with big windows. That didn’t mean the place was lighten up, the whole house was dark. Things were visible due to the windows, the boys could see each other’s figures and what surrounded them because of the moonlight, but other than that there was no other form of light.

“Uoooh uoh what was that?!” Hoseok freaked out and fumbled back making Cole giggle.

“It’s just a glimpse of a light dude” Asa calmed him down while catching him and pulling him forward gently.

“I- I think I’m afraid of the dark” Hoseok admitted.

“It’s ok”

“And I’m afraid of being alone” Cole said sarcastically “So that’s why this is the perfect place to hide the bags because it’s both dark and has zero people in it. Genius ain’t I?” and he turned back to face the other two.

Hoseok’s face went pale. Asa’s blue eyes became big. Cole felt a puff of air into his neck and he tensed.

“For the first time in my life I just hope I’m ugly and that’s the reason you guys are doing those faces” he said; his body frozen and his mind in denial, he didn’t want to turn back.

“Boo” something grunted right behind him making his body tremble. Hoseok screamed and fell back into Asa who screamed as well and fumbled backwards, his eyes never leaving the amorphous creature upon them. His big hands clumsily trying to find support on the walls. Hoseok that fell on his butt quickly got up only to turn around just to stumble onto Asa once again.

Cole finally turned back and for a second he wished he didn’t. His voice stuck on his throat, eyes fixed on the sinister scarecrow right in front of him.

“G-Givee meee yourrr heeaaart” the creature grunted once more. Cole finally got a grip of himself and pushed the haunting scarecrow back, running right past him.

“ASA!! THE BAGS!” he screamt after stumbling on something and realising it was what they were looking for.

“FORGET THE BAAAAGS! AAAAH” Asa’s voice was trembling and between trying to help Hoseok who kept falling and running away from the creature who was going after the two he managed to scream back at Cole “FUCK YOU GO AWAY!!!”

“WOOOAHHH!!! WOAA”

“I got this, I got this” Cole kept mumbling to himself while scanning the place. He had very few options. The scarecrow had it’s back turned to him but the corridor was too narrow for him to pass by it without something happening. So he looked at the window right onto his left and let his body take the lead.

Cole’s hands were shaking a bit due to the heat of the moment. He fiddled with the window lock for a little but once he unlocked it a huge smile opened on his face.

“COLEEE?”

“I- Wait a sec! I got this!!!!” he answered while quickly glancing at his teammates and then back at the task in front of him. The window was a little rusty but he managed to open it fully so he threw both bags down. “GUYS! JUST RUN! MEET ME DOWN ON THE LAWN”

“COLE WHAT?!” Asa who was pushing continually the scarecrow back asked. Hoseok was glued to the wall screaming nonstop.

“JUST RUN AWAY! I’LL JUMP” Once he said this the scarecrow turned back. Cole was already sitting in the window. “GO! NOW!” he reassured his teammates again and Asa took the lead grabbing Hoseok by his shirt and running as fast as he could. The dreadful creature fastened it’s pace towards Cole. The boy smiled before jumping.

-

“Did we really need to choose the dark basement as our place to search?” Jin asked while he looked to the stairs that led to the dim place over Sana’s shoulders. His hands were gripping her arms and keeping her in place as a shield. “I feel like there’s definitely something there but it’s not the bags.” he laughed nervously.

“Yeah… I don’t feel like this is a good idea, Jeremy” Sana pondered, her eyes on the same spot Jin’s were.

“Fine then, you two stay here and I’ll go.”

“Great plan!” Jin offered him a quick thumbs up and his hands were back on Sana’s arm making the girl sigh but also let out a small giggle.

“It’s not a great plan” she said making Jeremy retrieve his foot of the first step to look back at her “If something happens to you, it’s only me and Jin”

“Not offended”

“Guys this is a Halloween game” Jeremy said laughing at their faces “The scariest shit that can happen is someone yelling at our ears and that’s it”

“Fine then, go” she brushed off. Jeremy rolled his eyes and turned front again, the darkened stairs making everything creepier. A second passed and he didn’t move. Another one and nothing. “So… Are you going or…?” Sana looked from him to the stairs again.

“I’m going! I’m going! It’s just- dark that’s all. I have no flashlight and I was trying to get my eyes used to it and-”

“You know there’s a light switch right there right?” Jin pointed to the wall next to them.

“Wha- Jin!!!!” Sana turned back giving him a soft slap “You could’ve told us that sooner!”

“Well sorry! I didn’t think he would go into the dark!”

While both of them kept quirreling Jeremy flicked the light switch in a flash tired of losing time, after all he had a game to win. But as soon as the lights were turned on two things came on focus, the bags near the third step and Freddy Krueger right at the bottom starting to climb up to get to them.

“Run-” Jeremy said lowly still paralysed watching the killer move himself “RUN!!!” that’s when Jin and Sana stopped arguing and looked back at him and what was going on. As soon as Freddy entered Jin’s vision, the boy screamt and started running backwards, looking every direction he could too afraid that more frightening creatures would appear. His loud voice echoing without coming to a stop.

Jeremy quickly pulled the bags towards him and turned around to run, passing one bag fast to Sana who was even faster to turn around and run towards the first floor as well but not before taking a box of washing powder left near the washing machine she passed by and throwing it back to hit the burnt face that tormented her so much.

-

Acute clinking sounds filled the air along with tree leaves dancing in the maddening wind. Jungkook and his team were sat on the porch of a neighbour house of TKE, the bags already retrieved and now alight right in front of each of them.

Tori kept trying to align her hair strands that kept swinging in front of her face while Jason kept fumbling with a walkie talkie he had just found on his own backpack. Inside each backpack they found a piece of paper with the same clue written on it, a little flashlight, a map of the campus, a walkie talkie and an almost realistic human finger with a tag on it that said one point for you player!

“This wind is making me stressed!” Tori let out with a sigh. Jason spared her a glance but kept pushing the buttons without really knowing what they did.

“That guy dressed as Chucky was pretty heavy” Jason mused “Don’t you think, bro?” he looked over Jungkook who was really quiet while reading over and over again the clue he found inside the backpack with furrowed eyebrows, deep in thoughts.

“Don’t you think bro??” Jason tried again.

“Uh?”

“Lost much, Kook?” Tori laughed.

“What are we supposed to do with this information?” Jungkook asked frustrated to his team “Wet blue? What is that?? There’s no such color”

“I’m sure we still have time, man, don’t stress it” Jason tried to cheer him up “I’m sure we were the first ones finding the bags plus we each have one point finger” he laughed while holding his gifted finger up.

“Yeah” he sighed “You’re probably right” Jungkook swept his bangs back. By now he was sure his hair was a mess, but he didn’t care much.

“Umm..” Tori began, her eyes following the movement of something way ahead of them “Not trying to break the lovely moment but I guess we are second place”

“We what?” Jungkook lifted his eyes from the paper he wouldn’t stop reading to see where Tori’s eyes were focused at and to his despair Yoongi and Carolina, alongside some blonde girl, were walking in a fast pace towards somewhere. They all had a backpack and the blonde girl was explaining something to them in a enthusiastic way. Jungkook tried his best to overhear what they were talking about, shushing Jason when he tried to say something along the lines of ‘don’t worry bro, we still got this’.

“Are you sure that’s the place?” he heard Yoongi ask lazily “I ain’t walking all the way over there for nothing”

“It’s there Yoongs, just stop being a grandpa, do you want the two thousand or not?” Carolina joked and Jungkook instantly got up.

“HEY!” Jungkook shouted “YOONGI”

“Kook what are you doing?” Tori asked alarmed.

“You heard this?”

“I think it was someone calling your name” the blonde girl said to Yoongi while looking around.

“YOONGI!! HERE!” Jungkook stepped forward.

“Who’s there?” Jungkook saw Yoongi stop and squint his eyes in his direction, he knew the older guy had a bad vision. “Ya, who’s that?” Yoongi asked Carolina who had the same expression on her face.

“It’s spiderman” the blonde one said and Carolina immediately commented “Uh nice butt” since the boy was turned to the side trying to fetch his walkie talkie to talk to Yoongi, and as soon as he heard the comment he turned around and walked forward a little further.

“IT’S JUNGKOOK!! YOONGI, IT’S ME!”

“Nevermind” Carolina said again and crossed her arms “WHAT DO YOU WANT VIRGIN BOY?!”

“It’s Jungkook?”

“Yeah”

“BRO ARE YOU PLAYING THE GAME?” Jungkook shouted trying to ignore Carolina. A hard gust of wind hit them suddenly, the boy’s hands coming up to protect his eyes.

“YES WE ARE”

“DO- DO YOU KNOW WHERE THE PLACE IS?”

“WE DO VIRGIN BOY BUT WE AIN’T TELLING” he saw Carolina shut Yoongi’s mouth without need with one of her hands and answered for him while laughing. Jungkook knew this because although he was trying to ask Yoongi the answer, he lived with the guy and knew him well enough to know that he could be a snake sometimes. “GO FIND YOUR BRAIN QUICKLY BEFORE YOU RUN OUT OF TIME”

“YOU- YOU’RE A BITCH!” Jungkook grunted in frustration.

“AND MUCH MORE!” her laughter echoing in the silent street and she coldly turned around with the blonde girl, both of them walking away. Yoongi did the same but before he shouted an apology “SORRY JUNGKOOKIE, GOOD LUCK!”

“Well that sucks” Jason stated bluntly coming near Jungkook, Tori right behind him.

Jungkook kept staring at their figures slowly disappearing in the distance, and something inside of him started boiling. His body was starting to get cold and his brain was completely blank due to his frustration.

A static noise broke the tension and Jason got startled by his own walkie talkie, Tori came rushed towards him as well as Jungkook - who spared one last glance at the horizon, Yoongi long gone.

“Hello players, this is your game master” a modified voice came out of the piece of machinery Jason was holding.

“Thank God! We need a hint!” Tori exclaimed, her right hand coming to her chest in a sign of relief.

“Beware of who may be watching you…” the voice said and as quick as it came it went away. The three of them still looking at the walkie talkie in hopes to hear anything else but nothing. Nothing came. Just the howling wind that was serving as a background song for their night.

“It’s.. It’s that it?” Jungkook asked indignant.

“It sounded like that guy- What’s the name?” Jason asked Tori rather excited “The Scream dude! The voice was exactly the same”

“TKE is definitely excelling themselves this year”

6

Hours ago Silvia thought she was up for a hell of a good night with her friends, even if the weather wasn’t helping at all, and now here she was, chasing the correct number painted on a tree located on the McCarthy Quad park. At least that was what Hyori and Namjoon had concluded from the clue they had been given to and she didn’t dare to refute.

Silvia was running fast but Hyori was running faster and the wind was pushing them back, difficulting their bodies movements. She heard someone shout a little further and coming to a halt she turned to see Namjoon pointing towards a big sycamore tree.

“Hyori!!!” she looked back to shout at the girl that went ahead “Hyori!!! He found it!” Silvia’s hair was all over her face and for a moment she could hardly see one foot ahead.

Something cold touched her skin while she tried to tame her wild curls, and when she looked up startled she saw Hyori’s smile. Both girls ran towards Namjoon who currently fought a battle with the zipper of his backpack trying to put away the clue inside it.

“What are you doing?” Hyori questioned him chuckling once they approached the spot. The boy glanced at them with a furious expression.

“I broke the zipper of my bag”

“Let me see it” Silvia took the still light bag only to conclude he indeed had broken it. She started then to try and find a solution to his problem.

“Ok so this is it” Hyori said looking around; the lantern she had in her right hand illuminating the red number painted on the tree. “And I’m guessing we’ll have to digg now” she pointed then her flashlight to the shovels pilled next to it.

“I’ll start then” Namjoon took one in his hands and started digging; he had no clue of what he was doing.

“Ok, let’s do this-” Silvia was going to put Namjoon’s backpack on the side but the other girl interrupted her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Let’s take turns!” Hyori said with a gentle smile; her small voice a little louder now to be heard in such a terrible weather. “Me and Namjoon will digg while you come up with a solution to that” she chuckled.

“Got it!”

The boy wasn’t paying much attention now, his eyes strained onto the ground and he tried his best to not make a mess out of it. He could be clumsy at times - most of the times if he had to be honest, but he was trying his best to do the job properly and not disappoint both of his teammates. Hyori on the other hand got a little distracted once she saw another group of three a little further away from them. They seemed to be looking at a map. The only thing she could see was their flashlight pointed to the piece of paper and their silhouettes.

Hyori normally wasn’t that great at distinguishing people, she was bad with faces and all, but she would be damned if she didn’t recognize her own best friend even if she was from far away.

While her gaze was upon Deo and what her group might be, one of the tall silhouettes turned it’s head to the side, right at her direction. The flashlight wasn’t illuminating properly, but Hyori could see it was two boys that surrounded her friend.

“Are you going to digg too or…?” Namjoon asked huffing.

“Yeah… Just a sec…” she answered still too focused on Deo’s group. When her roommate illuminated the higher corner of a map she had in hands, the ray of light flashed Jack’s face and she could see his squinted eyes trying to look at her as well. “Jack!” Hyori said out loud but the howling wind muffled her voice.

The next thing she saw was Jack pointing towards his back and leading both Deo and the other tall guy further away from her. Is he really that competitive? Hyori thought. She held her glance at them for a few more seconds before Namjoon say something.  

“I- I think” he gasped “I think we have the wrong spot”

“It’s still shallow Namjoon” Silvia pointed out laughing.

“Oh? Yeah… Sorry. I think I’m not doing a very good job” he said with both hands resting on his shovel, admiring the work he had done so far.

-

“Jack I’m pretty sure is that way” Deo pointed towards her back but her eyes were still trailed on the map she was carrying around. Jack’s hands never leaving her shoulder, pushing her forward. The girl was a little out of focus since her worst fear (clowns or just pennywise) got to chase after her earlier, that resulted on her eye mascara being smudged a little under her eyes due to crying. 

“It’s not baby, look” he pointed with his own flashlight to a trail marked on the map. “We were here and we need to go this way”

“He’s right… I think” Taehyung admitted against his will. From the second he met Jack he hated the guy. He was the typical jock that made stupid jokes and spoke nothing more than about himself. The guy was cocky and basically the complete opposite of Taehyung. And to say it wasn’t being hard to control the facial expressions he felt the need to do every time Jack spoke was a complete lie.

“You can’t even read the GPS on your car and you’re asking me to trust you with a map?” she looked over her boyfriend.

“Hold on a second-”

“Sorry to interrupt the love quarrel but the guy is right” Taehyung interrupted; he was walking behind the couple and that made Deo stop on her tracks to look back at him, Jack being obliged to stop as well. “We passed by those trees back there” Taehyung said carefree while pointing back “and their numbers were 4, 7, 9… If we are assuming this is like a house address numbers thing, then our tree is on that way” he finished his thinking pointing frontwards.

“Thank God someone that backs me up” Jack said with a bright smile and going back to push Deo forward and gently once again.

“Fine then, let’s see” the girl rolled her eyes but offered no resistance at being guided.

Somewhere near, in the chilly park that was already filled with autumn leaves everywhere, you could hear the sound of a shovel insistently hitting the earth while a heated chattering followed. Team 3 was finding hard to reach to an agreement. Emma kept digging by herself, it had been fifteen minutes since they found their tree but Jennifer refused to touch a single nail on a shovel. V alongside Emma had picked a shovel to dig as well but seeing Jennifer did nothing she stopped her work and started arguing with her.

“We are a team Jennifer!” V was now almost yelling; the vein on her neck popping due to such frustration. “You gotta help as well!”

“I’ll help in the next one” Jennifer rolled her eyes and kept playing with her nails. Her expression not even alterated.

“That’s what you said when me and Emma were trying to catch the bags, yours included! And when we were trying to figure out this riddle”  

“Stop being a dramatic bitch” Jennifer retorted now looking at Victoria’s eyes. “I said I will help on the next task”

“Leave her be, Victoria” Emma said with a huff. “I can do it, it’s-” another puff of air leaving her mouth “It’s alright”

Victoria grunted in frustration, her eyes never leaving Jennifer stare. “Forget it” she ended up saying and then went back to help Emma. “How deep do you think we have to dig?” she asked throwing the dirt she had just digged to the side.

“To be honest-” Emma started and stopped to kick her shovel deep into the soil “I hope not much more”

“Well I think you two will have to dig a whole more and faster if you want to finish this game until tonight”

“Shut up!” V snapped at Jennifer “No one asked your opinion, oh my God”

Jennifer just laughed in amusement, scenes like this were a regular thing on the volley practices. Both girls were from the same team although it didn’t look like not even a little not even at all.

“Did you felt that?” Emma asked V, trying to ignore the profound want and need of hitting Jennifer with her own shovel. The girl was just being too much ever since they got trapped together.

“Felt what?”

“That” Emma said again hitting her shovel on something harder than what it felt when digging earth and hearing a clink noise in return.

“Shit- We found it” Victoria exclaimed and quickly let her shovel fall by her side to start brushing the dirt aside with her own hands.

7

“Told ya’” Jack said. They had just found the tree marked as 22, the bright red impossible not to spot from a certain distance. They had been walking for ten minutes non-stop trying to check every tree they found on the way, to make sure they weren’t missing theirs. And turned out Taehyung was right about the whole address thing.

“Told ya” Deo mocked “Just grab the freaking shovel jock. Let’s put those muscles up to good use” she cheekily put her tongue out making Jack blow a kiss with a cocky smile. Taehyung decided not to stand by watching the scene so with a roll of his eyes he grabbed the first shovel he could see and started digging.

-

Dylan was completely stretched on the dirty floor of McCarthy Quad, although he was feeling his clothes getting damped due to the temperature he was just too exhausted to get up.

“So what do we do now?” Lindsay questioned; in one hand she had the little paper with their new clue and the other was resting on her hip. “You guys have any idea of where this might lead us?”

“I have no clue” Ali who was dressed in a renaissance garb sat down next to Dylan; the air she huffed and puffed visible in the air due to the temperature drop. She and Dylan digged until they found a metal box, inside it another finger with the same tag one point for you player! and the clue.

For a few seconds the only thing hearable was the sound of Lindsay wiggling the pearls she was wearing around her neck to complete her flapper costume and the tapping of her impatient foot.

“Ok” Dylan said while shuffling himself to a sitting position. “As soon as we figure the place, cause I’m really assuming that note leads us to another location, I have a plan for us to go faster”

“Please do tell” Ali turned her face gently to the side to see him.

“No, no, first we need to find what is up with that location”

“Isn’t this talking about books though?” Lindsay said, her eyes trailed on the little note and her mind paying no attention to her teammates.

“Books?”

“Let me see it” Dylan asked with an extended hand to her and she handed him the clue. “Umm… You guys know we are right in the middle of two libraries right?” he asked looking from one to another.

Ali immediately looked at Lindsay with huge eyes. “Oh my God we are!”

“So, what was your plan to get us there quickly?” Lindsay asked excited.

“Oh nevermind, the buildings are right here, we don’t need that old bike over there” Dylan shrugged off.

“Were you seriously thinking on riding that thing?” Lindsay laughed. The old bike leant on a bench near where they were was rusty and seemed to be missing some pieces.

“You probably failed calculus because we are three and there’s no way you could ride a bike taken other two people in it”

“I said I had a plan, not that I had a good one!” he said jokingly while getting up and cleaning his hands on the side of his trousers. A static sound interrupted the girls laughter.

“Hey players, if I were you I’d run…”

“Bro the Halloween game this year is getting hella’ artistic” Dylan commented.

“Yeah, tell me about it! That horrendous version of Slash was really artistic”

“I spy with my little eyes…”

Lindsay glanced around a little spooked out, she didn’t know if it was her head painting scenarios over what she had just heard the so called game master saying or if she could really feel someone watching them. “Guys let’s just get out of here”

-

The third challenge was indeed in the libraries that surrounded the park the players had gone to like Dylan suspected. As soon as the teams got to the entrance they could spot the door open and everyone knew that it wasn’t supposed to be open at night. Most of them in fact hesitated to enter the dark place… Hyori for example went over the little clue a few more minutes before coming to terms that she would have really to trespass the property.

Screeching noises could be heard the moment you passed through the door, the aged wooden floor not helping to keep the secrecy of someone being there. The only thing team 10 could see was what their flashlight was illuminating.

“Oh my God what is that?!” Jae whispered alarmed, her body frozed up near a huge shelf full of books.

“Is that another player or…”

“If you say it’s that weirdo dressed as Scream again, Cecilia, I swear to God” Tessa was crouched near them, her hands on her head. When the girls were searching for their bags they encountered Scream. He looked like a statue, one of the many that were decorating the party that night, and they would never think it was actually a real person. Tessa that was in the front got a tremendous jumpscare and ended up falling.

“It doesn’t seem him” Jae that was still looking at the lurking presence a little forward said after looking back at them. “It’s mask is different”

“That one is a…” Cecilia tried to figure out. “A phantom of the opera?”

“Oh then we are ok” Tessa got up and started walking towards the person. “Hey! Psssst”

“Tessa!” both girls whispered in a loud manner.

“Hey you! I’m sorry-“

The costumed guy, dressed as what it seemed like phantom of the opera, said nothing but pointed her towards a door.

“Guys” Tessa called looking back. “I think we have to go that way!”

“Really?” Jae approached her, looking from the clue she had pointed with a flashlight and then the door. “Between poets and suspense…” she looked to the sides of the door. There were a two shelves next to it, one that said poetry and the other said suspense/thriller.

“Yeah, definitely here” she concluded.

“Let’s go then… I guess” Cecilia went to open the door, and once her hand was on the doorknob it opened up without her doing anything. “Jesu-“

“For some people Naruto is indeed Jesus” Yoongi chuckled opening the door fully now and walking past Cecilia and the other girls from team 10.

“TESSA!” Carolina exclaimed once the girl entered her sight. “You’re here too?”

“Just got here!” she went for a hug. “What did you do there?” Tessa pointed the door that was now being closed by a girl dressed as Violet from the charlie and the chocolate fabric.

“Friends are friends, business is business, Tess! Sorry!” Carolina smiled apologetic. “And good luck!!” she wished truly.

“Fiiiine” Tessa sighed. “Happy Halloween!” she smiled to her friend. “Let’s go, girls” and she opened the door again, this time going through it with Cecilia and Jae right behind her.

“I didn’t know you could make friends” Yoongi pointed out in a tone of joke; his arms crossed.

“I befriended you, after that everything else is super duper easy” she sticked her tongue out.

Yoongi laughed and then took out the little card he had hidden inside his pocket. “Tchaa!” he sighed “Another one for you two, I’m tired of thinking”

“That sounds like a fun place to go” Sarah chuckled nervously.

8

Cara, Jimin and Holly had just entered a dark room they had been pointed out inside the library. Jimin mustered the courage he didn’t have and put on a brave face to go first while Cara and Holly followed, both of them tightening the grip on his leather jacket. The room was pitch dark and before going in they saw a sign saying they needed to leave their backpacks behind.

“Just stay close” Jimin whispered without a need while going inside. Not a peep could be heard.

“This room is freezing!” Cara commented while getting even closer to Jimin. “And my outfit isn’t helping”

“It’s ok, girl, I got your back” Holly immediately crouched to grab part of Cara’s dress to help her walk more freely. Her chosen outfit for tonight was Feyre from A court of thorns and roses and although she was looking beautiful until now her dress was making everything seem harder for her, specially running. Before she could thank Holly, the door they had just walked through which was also the only remaining source of light for them was shut close with a loud bang. The three of them jumping with the loud noise and an uncomfortable silence followed.

Jimin’s eyes were trying to adjust to the somber room, he blinked and tried his best to focus on some spot and try to see at least some silhouettes but he failed.

“Hello players, I hope you are up to play a game because I have some questions for you” a grotesque laughter came right after, the voice deep and clearly altered.

“Who’s there??” Jimin asked and chuckled nervously after he did it. He brought Holly and Cara closer to him, his hands firmly placed on the small of their backs.

“Who directed the film Halloween from 1978?” the grotesque voice asked them.

“Eeey- That isn’t fair!” Jimin complained. “How are we even supposed to know that?!” 

“Oh God, I don’t really know that one!” Holly said anxious. Cara just kept holding for dear life onto Jimin. 

A loud error noise was able to be hear making the three of them jump in fear, no one expecting the loud noise so close and loud. 

“Which film has as its main characters, Morticia and Gomez?”

“Oh! Oh! That’s easy!” Holly exclaimed. “It’s The Addams Family!”

“Nice!”

“Thank God we have Holly” Cara said in relief. 

“WOUSH!! What was that?!” Jimin fumbled back taking the girls with him. 

“What?!” 

“There was something touching my feet!”

“What is the word Hallowe’en an abbreviation of?”

“All Hallow’s Eve!!” Jimin and Holly yelled at the same time. Cara unable to form coherent thoughts on her head, the dark room was freaking her out. 

- 

On a blacked out room right next to group 9, three girls were kneeled on the ground together. As soon as group 6 entered the room they started getting uncomfortable with not being able to see things and also about the lack of sound. 

Esme started crouching down, her defense mechanism being turn herself into a little ball, and of course Nina followed. Aashna stood up for a little while, she kept feeling the other two getting closer to her legs, but once a loud bang echoed the room she dropped to her knees in a matter of seconds.

“What was Dr. Frankenstein first name?”

“Victor! It was Victor!!!” Nina yelled, she wasn’t afraid but she would admit the room was getting weirder and weirder. 

“Yes!!” Esme celebrated when a xylophone acute sound soared on the room, they knew the answer was right. 

“Name all the killers that embodied Ghostface from Scream.”

“Oh fuck! That one is hard” Nina said more to herself than anything. 

“You know it?” Esme asked turning to Aashna. 

“Uh… Roman Bridger is one of them…?” Aashna started not feeling very secure of her answer. “Loomis? Ugh I don’t know!!” 

“It’s ok-” 

A loud error sound echoed startling them, that probably meant the answer was wrong, they thought. 

-

“Who were the targets of Jack the Ripper?”

“Prostitutes!” Dylan said. “That’s for sure!”

“You sure?” Ali questioned him, but he didn’t need to answer because the xylophone sound was heard. 

“Thank God! I just want to leave here!!!!” Lindsay was feeling agitated on this room, it was too eerie. 

“It’s ok, Linds! I’m sure it will be over soon” Dylan said softly trying to pull her closer. They had just met but he knew she was having a hard time being scared. 

“For what is Ted Bundy known?”

“Killing over 35 women!” Ali and Dylan said at the same time. 

“It was 35 right?” he questioned.

“Yes, I’m sure!” 

Another xylophone sound was heard. 

“Please tell me this was the last!!” 

“It’s almost babeee” Ali tried to cheer her up, her hand coming to Lindsay’s squeezing it a bit. 

“It’s dare time players” the game master finally said freaking them out. 

9

After answering the last question, there was a loud bang again and Deo immediately held the closest thing she found as some sort of comfort. She knew this was just a game but she couldn’t help feeling scared being in the dark.

“Lights on”

The girl had her eyes closed shut. Jack opened his and rubbed them. When he looked back he saw his girlfriend holding tight Taehyung who was standing still like nothing was happening while scanning the room. That was enough to make Jack insanely mad. 

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!” he exclaimed loudly making Taehyung look at him confused and Deo just opened her eyes surprised. 

“I-I thought it was you!” the girl said after looking at Taehyung’s face and realizing it was not her boyfriend there. Taehyung immediately let out a tsk. 

“ME?! I look nothing like that guy!” Jack pointed at the other boy furious. “Why are you still holding him?!” he asked when his girlfriend did nothing to move away. His anger making him explode and stride quickly until he could reach her arm to pull her away. 

“Hey!” Taehyung exclaimed; his eyebrows furrowed. “You’re going to hurt her” 

“I was not! And how could I see?! It was pitch black!” Deo defended herself. 

“You were with me in the dark before. You should know damn well how I feel to the touch”

A snort sound coming from Taehyung was heard. “Now that’s just pathetic”

“What?! That doesn’t even make sense!”

“You know what?!” Jack exclaimed furious “I don’t want to talk about this shit anymore” he went towards the left wall; hands placed on his hips. An awkward moment of tension followed.

“Oook” Taehyung said breaking the silence. “What’s up with this thing?” he approached a locker standing in the middle of the room. 

“Are you seriously going to be like that? Whatever..” Deo said, Jack having his back to her. And then looking over the locker where Taehyung now was she asked “How many digits?”

“Four” 

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? Are you really pretend nothing happened??” Jack looked back at both at them but his frustration clearly directed at Deo. 

“Jack what the fuck! You said you didn’t want to talk about it, let’s not!” she answered, looking everywhere but him. 

“Not to be indelicate but- 2:31 minutes left according to that timer over there”

“Fuck off dude!!!” Jack yelled at him. 

“Yeah, same” he answered back. 

“Jack!” Deo reprehended him but he did nothing but to ignore her still pacing around the room. "Do you want me to just tell you the words on the walls?“ the girl asked Taehyung. 

“Could we maybe exchange? I’m not very good with this but I have big eyes so I can tell you the words!” Tae smiled cutely to her and she immediately walked over the locker. 

"Yup, sounds good to me." 

“I have big eyes so I can tell you the words” Jack mocked in a stupid tone. “Did I just disappeared is that it??”

"Fucking wish Pennywise was here” Deo said almost in a whisper way. Jack didn’t hear but Taehyung certainly did which made him chuckle loudly. 

“What is so funny, jackass?!”

“You’re the one named Jack not me” Tae scoffed; his eyes briefly on Jack before returning to the written walls again. 

“Guys the time!!!”

“Sorry!” Taehyung apologized and quickly read a few words before finding one with four digits. “Try rack” he said looking back at Deo.

“Oh shit!!”

“What?!” Taehyung asked nervous and Jack just stopped pacing to look at Deo expectant. 

“It’s right!”

“IT IS???!” Taehyung just couldn’t believe he found the word at his first attempt. A huge smile taking over his face. “My eyes worked!!!!”

“What does it has inside?” Jack asked without patience. 

Taking over a piece of paper from inside Deo said “A clue I think”

-

Aashna kept blinking trying to adjust her now recovered vision to the intense light. Nina and Esme seemed more recomposed than her since both of them were standing in the middle of the room inspecting a big and solitair red locker that also stood there. She observed that the walls were full of words and letters painted in red, her hand trailing slowly the gory word that gained her attention the most. Somber.

“I think we need to find the word that opens this” she heard Nina say but her eyes still on the marked walls.

“Yeah and we need to find it fast, look” Esme said and she turned around to see what the girl was talking about. Esme was pointing towards a timer placed on the top of the door they came in by. 2:40 it marked. And after blinking Aashna got to see one number less, the timer was decreasing.

“How are we supposed to know which word is it???” Aashna panicked.

“For starters I think it’s a four letter word since there’s only four spaces here” Nina pointed out going to the nearest wall to try and find something.

“I’ll insert every word I know then!”

“Try dark” Aashna said when she spotted the word right next to where her hand was leaning and then looked expectant at Esme to see the result.

Esme fumbled with the padlock a little and then looked back at Aashna “Nope, not that one”

“Lost!” Nina shouted from across the room.

2:03.

The clicking sound of Esme fumbling with the locker could be heard, nothing else. It was followed by a long sigh. “Still a no!”

“Bone?” Aashna asked.

1:40.

And when the answer was once again a no, Nina shouted again “Shot!”

“I’m starting to get really frustrated at this” Esme grunted. “No, still nothing” she sighed.

“Are we going to stay stuck here?”

“Just keep looking!”

“Ok, what about blue? It’s written there” Nina suggested. “There’s not even a clue or something?”

“I guess not…” Esme answered her while inserting the word on the padlock. “And it’s not blue either.

1:01.

“This sucks!!!”

“I don’t see anymore words here with four letters only” Aashna said while reading everything she could. “Are you sure it’s a four letter word??”

“Pretty sure!” Esme answered leaving the locker and going to check the walls herself. “There’s only four spaces there.”

“I’ll try words I know then” Nina said walking towards the big red locker. “We still have time right?” she looked over the timer to see 0:43 marked on it. “Shit. Ok, what about home?” she said more to herself than anything else fumbling with the lock.

“Ghost”

“That’s a five letter word” Esme chuckled making Aashna chuckle too.

0:27.

“Love isn’t the answer after all…” Nina sighed moving onto the wall on her right. “Let me see if there’s something here”

“And the only door here is locked” Esme said turning the knob of the door and stating it didn’t open. “So yeah, we are probably screwed”

“What happens when the timer reaches zero though?” Nina questioned.

“ZERO! That’s it!” Aashna said excited looking from the timer to Esme who was quick to run towards the center of the room and insert the word on the padlock.

0:09.

“Please, please” Aashna mumbled.

“IS IT?”

And with a heavy sigh Esme said “No”.

A loud and screeching sound of a siren echoed in the entire room making the girls press their hands to their ears to somehow muffle the noise. Nina even crouched on the floor and they got even more horrified when the door finally opened and a tall figure dressed like an intimidating and gory doctor entered with a catering trolly, three cups on top of it.

The siren stopped and the abrupt change made the girls head combust. “I guess it’s going to be trick instead of treat” the guttural voice echoed on the room once again and the girls knew right then they would have to drink from the cups.

“Choose your cup wisely players” a wicked laughter followed along with Aashna, Esme and Nina exchanging glances before picking up their glasses and gulping everything down.

-

On the room next door the timer was running fast but still no sign of the locker opening up.

“I still can’t believe Jungkook managed to open this thing” Jennifer kicked the locker lightly. Group 3 had previously met Group 2 on the entrance of the library, Jungkook, Tori and Jason were just leaving the place when the girls happened to be entering. They exchanged a few words since both V and Jennifer knew Jungkook and Jason from volley, and of course, Jungkook knew Jennifer from much more than volley but it was a brief meeting nonetheless.

“You don’t know if he actually did it” V retorted.

“Try the word host!” Emma said to Jennifer who rolled her eyes and fumbled grudgingly with the padlock.

“I’m guessing he did since he was walking away from here differently from us” Jennifer answered while doing the task she was in charged with.

1:04.

“And it’s not host”

“What about Hope?” V asked.

“I’m sure it’s not going to be a cutesy word, hello? We are in a halloween game!” Jennifer answered without moving to do what V had asked her.

“Girl I swear-”

“Just try it out, Jennifer” Emma let out a long sigh.

“Fine” with another roll of eyes she turned around to fumble once more with the padlock.

0:38.

V and Emma waited expectant. “Not Hope, as I clearly explained before, the answer is clearly nothing like a cute word.”

“Let me see then” Emma said walking slowly around the room again and reading carefully every word she could find.

“Dark?”

“We tried that one already, pay attention bitch” Jennifer chuckled acidly.

“Girl you better watch out your back starting from tomorrow I swear, if I see you on the street-”

“Four? Try four” Emma ignored the heated argument, by now she was more than used to it.

0:17.

“That would be such a stupid passcode” Jennifer said while inserting the word. “I will be so disappointed if that is actually- It isn’t! Thank God” she snorted.

“This bitch is dumb as hell.” V chuckled while nodding her head and turning around to check the walls once again. “She is actually thanking the lord for not being able to get out of here.”

“It’s what they say, aesthetics first” Emma let out almost in a whisper and it was totally unintended but V managed to hear and she cracked hard.

0:02.

“Oh great, the time is up and you two are laughing like best-” Jennifer was saying but the loud siren interrupted her. She instantly fell backwards, bumping into the locker and slowly sliding down with her hands pressed firmly against the sides of her head.

Emma did the same, trying to protect herself from the madding noise while V stayed up trying to open the door by twisting the knob furiously. Until the door opened and she stumbled backwards seeing the eerie doctor coming in with a trolley and the three cups.

10

Carolina could feel her heartbeat drumming in her ears due to such excitement and thrill. Yoongi was the one decoding the clue they managed to get from inside the locker placed in the challenge of the library and they quickly came to the nearest graveyard around USC. Arriving there none of the three could see a single soul walking or completing the next challenge and both Carolina and Yoongi weren’t very keen on risking when they didn’t know the outcome. So thinking fast the girl suggested the other two for them to hide near the graveyard and wait for the next team, that way they could see what were they up to or at least know what they should and should not do.

Sarah was bundled up on her tracksuit just looking out with her lince eyes towards the foggy graveyard. Yoongi was crouched down right next to her looking comfortably, his hands near his mouth for warmth. If there was a thing he really hated was the cold. Carolina on the other hand had no coat, she was wearing only a nurse dress, her arms and legs were so numb that she stopped paying some mind to the harsh and cold wind.

“You look like a lunatic with that makeup” Yoongi whispered to her chuckling softly. His breathing creating a considerable breath vapor every time he talked or chuckled.

“Even when you’re serious you look like you’re laughing wickedly” Sarah whispered too with a satisfacted smile making Carolina open one herself.

“Why so serious?!” she looked at them jokingly with one eyebrow up and a creepy smile.

“Ya” Yoongi pushed her and she stumbled back since she was crouching to stay hidden. “That was creepy as fuck” he finished making Sarah laugh again.

“I almost fell and got dirt and mud on my white nurse… thing. What is this called?”

“It’s just a dress” Sarah laughed even more.

“This way we are going to ruin our plan, everyone can hear us”

“We got here first???” they heard someone exclaim from a distance. The three of them silent now and vigilant.

“Bro what did I tell you??? We didn’t open that stupid locker but we still got here first than anyone else!!”

“Who are those?” Yoongi whispered, his eyes squinted but he couldn’t see anything.

“I think… Jason?” Sarah whispered back.

“Not surprised he didn’t open the locker then” Carolina chuckled lowly.

“What do we do now? There’s nothing here”

“And that’s virgin boy”  Carolina added.

“How do you even know?”

“Confirmed, it’s him” Sarah answered her.

“His voice is annoying”

“Shit there’s more people coming”

“Where?”

As soon as team 8 heard that, they looked towards the direction the girl that was with Jungkook was looking to. Sarah, the only one with falcon eye vision in that group was reporting what she saw. To what she could see, there was not only one other group approaching but two. The first one she described as being three girls and Carolina quickly recognized one of them being Esme, her new front door neighbour. The other group as Sarah described had two girls and a guy. She tried her best to explain who Silvia was, saying she worked on the library and everything but Yoongi and Carolina never really paid much attention to their surroundings. Now, the guy… That one as soon as he came to both friends vision they recognized as their clumsy friend. He approached Jungkook and while doing so he stumbled on a grave and if it weren’t for the spidey senses that Jungkook conveniently had Namjoon would probably be on the floor right now.

The so familiar static sound surprised team 8 that was focused on the other groups interacting. “Should I take someone else to serve as company to your friend, players?” They heard the voice say followed by a muffled scream that left them in shock.

Sarah chuckled nervously. “They- They are really taking this game seriously” she let out a few more spaced laughter, her eyes going from Yoongi to Carolina, hoping that one of them could ease her mind that the pained scream she heard was nothing but a dumb joke of halloween.

Yoongi pressed the button to respond on the walkie talkie and a little beep could be heard. “Is this another riddle or clue? Over” and as soon as he said it he could hear himself faintly, the message being emitted from Carolina’s and Sarah’s walkie talkies still kept inside their own backpacks.

“Why are we receiving the message as well?” Sarah asked.

Another muffled and pained grunt could be heard again and their attention fell over the walkie talkie on Yoongi’s hand “Tik Tok players… Your friend doesn’t have much time, that I can guarantee you” Carolina looked from the piece of machinery in Yoongi’s hand to his eyes “Mhhmmm” someone screamed uncomfortably and visibly gagged. “Tik tok” and the beep sound made them know the message had come to an end.

“What is happening?” Sarah asked visibly disturbed. Carolina didn’t answer but her eyes moved towards the graveyard again, Namjoon was there looking at a map together with his team and her heart tightened. Where is Taehyung and Jin? she thought to herself.

“Yoongi there’s something wrong”

“What do you mean?” both him and Sarah said at the same time, their expressions worried.

“There’s only Namjoon there.” Carolina pointed out. “Where’s the other two?”

“Which two? What are we talking about?”

“I’m sure this is all a prank Carolina” Yoongi tried to ease her mind. “It’s halloween after all”

“I’m telling you-”

“Too slow” there it was the static noise again. “Happy haunting, players”

A loud scream was heard, Yoongi’s head snapped towards the sound and Sarah gasped at the vision. A bunch of grotesque and gross zombies appeared on the graveyard, and if they didn’t know zombies didn’t exist they would definitely think they were just now meeting the creatures.

Tori was being dragged towards a tiny grove behind the graveyard, she screamed and struggled to get away but the fetid creature had a tight grip on her. Jungkook tried to help but two of them came towards him and he had no choice but to run and on it’s way of doing so he took one down that was trying to catch Aashna. He grabbed her arm and forced her to run with him, dodging the grunting beasts but there were many of it. Aashna eventually couldn’t keep up with his pace and was grabbed by the waist being dragged away from the boy.

“I FOUND ONE!” they heard Jason scream, his arm up trying to show Jungkook the finger they had been receiving with every clue so far. “IT’S THE POINTS RIGHT??”

“KEEP LOOKING FOR THEM!!” the boy answered dodging another zombie.

Esme and Nina were running together, they were trying to leave the graveyard when Nina spotted a piece of paper tied to a finger. She swiftly snatched the finger and looked back to check on Esme, they had what they needed, now they just had to run as fast as they could to the front gates, Aashna already had been taken, they couldn’t afford being catched as well.

“Nina run!!!” Esme’s voice could be heard louder now after a little scream. Nina looked back to see the girl being held by two of the ill looking beings. “GO NINA!”

“We have to help” Sarah whispered to her teammates, they were still hiding.

“No no no, let’s wait” Yoongi tried.

“Yoongi something is not right here, why would they take people?”

“And this game master person said our friend needed company and our friend seemed in pain. I don’t think this is a bad joke guys…” Sarah was trembling.

The boy sighed and then looked front, he could see Namjoon hiding with both girls of his team, just like he was. But something definitely felt wrong. “We need to evaluate this better”

“There’s nothing to evaluate Yoongi. We have zero ways of communication right now” Carolina looked at him with pleading eyes. “We don’t have our phones, we only have walkie talkies that don’t let us talk to others apart from this fucking psycho and that was not a sick prank.” she paused offegant. “I know how editing works and so do you. That didn’t sound like a sound effect he browsed online, that sounded like a real fucking person and it’s either Jin or Tae”

“I- I think she’s right… I didn’t come with friends tonight so he was probably talking to you two. And it’s pretty weird that one of your close friends it’s there but the other two aren’t-”

“We don’t even know if they are in the game! As far as we know they can perfectly be partying right now” Yoongi reasoned.

“And why the hell did he choose me and you instead of Jin and Tae? No offense but those two are walking gamers. Me and you are just grandpas that do nothing but complain” she pleaded tugging his arm. “This thing is looking like the fucking Saw movie, Yoongs”

“Carolina-” he was going to say but Namjoon’s voice was heard loud and clear making the three of them look again at the chaotic scenery at their front.

A group of zombies were trying to take Hyori away but Namjoon pushed two of them freeing the girl. She quickly ran to stay behind him and everything seemed ok until the got to the other girl that was with him. He grabbed Silvia’s hand to pull her towards him, but two built up gory zombies dragged her in a flash.

“Silvia!!!” he yelled. Another one was coming towards him and Hyori again, but he took her hand in his and they both sprinted towards the entrance of the graveyard.

“Fuck.” Carolina said and before she could think properly she was getting up. “Stay here and when I say so you two sprint out of here, understood?” she looked back at Yoongi and Sarah.

“Hell no. What are you doing now?”

“I- I can come as well” Sarah offered.

“I said stay put.” she glanced at them with warning eyes and sprinted towards Namjoon.

11

A lot of the dead creatures had been gone by now, there was only ten of them remaining and most were focused on trying to catch both Jungkook and Jason. The fogg was making everything feel creepier and Carolina couldn’t help the goosebumps and bad feeling she was having even if her skin was already burning hot from the sprint she suddenly took.

“Namjoon!!” She screamed over the top of her lungs and her friend came to a halt, he was almost near the gates to leave, Hyori right behind him.

“Carolina?”

“You have the clue right??” she asked still sprinting; she could see three creatures walking fast to approach Namjoon and the girl.

“Yes! Are you alone?? What are you doing here??” he asked in a hurry while looking to his sides to see if there were any threats near.

“I’m with Yoongi!” Carolina was almost reaching him “There’s something wrong-” right at that moment she felt something grabbing her arm and she yanked it back, running faster. “There’s something wrong!!! Namjoon run!! The walkie talkies- We can’t communicate”

Two grunting creatures appeared behind Namjoon and Hyori, the girl screamed and stumbled back. “Hyori run!” he said grabbing the grimy arm of one of them and pushing the other with all his might.

“I won’t leave you!!”

“Mother-” Carolina came fast pushing hard one of the creatures due to the speed she was in. “Go you two! Find Jin and Tae!!!”

“What’s going on Carolina???” he asked in panic.

“Try the walkie talkies, Nam, there’s something wrong!!”

They started to aglomerate near the three of them and Namjoon just nodded and ran, taking Hyori’s hand once again and disappearing into the fog.

“WATCH OUT!” Carolina heard Jungkook’s voice near, he came running and pushing a zombie that was hunting down after her but he tripped and fell, the clue he had just found falling from his grip. The girl saw the opportunity and took it. She quickly grabbed the finger tied up with a clue that Jungkook just lost and started running, the object entering swiftly her pocket.

“HEY! CAROLINA” he yelled after her, still on his knees.

“I’M SORRY!” she shouted back but he was being left behind. “YOU AND JASON CAN MANAGE FINDING ONE MORE!! I’M SORRY”

“AAAAH” she heard his scream and turned back to see two morbid silhouettes dragging him by his arms. “GET OFF OF ME”

“Ah shit” she cursed under her breath and sprinted towards Jungkook.

-

Group 5 had roamed for a while now trying to figure out what the next place could be. Deo kept saying it could only be the graveyard and none of the boys said the contrary, even if Jack kept saying he was convinced it was some place else. 

“Do you think this is the right place?” Deo shrugged, eyes shifting from one boy to the other, their eyes clued to their maps. The graveyard seemed empty. 

“Yup, seems right to me.” Taehyung said, nonchalant.

“And what now?” She asked again, the apprehensiveness tone in her voice visible.

“Nice! Seems like we are the firsts so let’s not waste more time and look for the next clue.”

“This is huge… It’s going to take us forever specially with this fog.” Taehyung sighed, squinting his eyes to try and see over the deep white cloak pairing in the air. Before Deo could open her mouth to complain about how creepy the game had become Jack pulled her to him, grabbing her hand and running backwards. 

“Watch out! Zombie!!”

Taehyung ran right besides them, the wet grass making it slippery for them to keep balance. They heard a scream not so far away and Taehyung’s supersonic ability of recognizing every sound possible made him look attentively towards his right while still running. 

“JIMINAH!!” He yelled; his voice sounding deep and hoarse, the wind carrying it away. 

“TAEHYUNGIE!!!” he heard back but he had no sight on Jimin. More screams could be heard and in one second of distraction Taehyung bumped into one Zombie. He fell back harshly but quickly getting up. That’s when he saw the piece of paper tied onto a finger and he thought no more, he clumsily ran towards it and grabbed it. 

“TAEHYUNGIE! THE ZOMBIES! BE CAREFUL” he heard Jimin’s voice once again and he looked towards the direction of it. 

“JIMINAH! LET’S DO THIS!!!!” 

“Jack!!!!” Deo’s voice sounded close to him. “Get awaaaaay!!” 

Taehyung ran as fast as he could and when he got near the girl she was trying to set herself free from the disgusting creature holding her by her waist. The boy glanced over to see Jack dodging two of them and he wasted no time in pushing the zombie that fought Deo. The creature stumbled back and Taehyung pulled her with him towards the entrance once again. 

“JACK!” she kept screaming back. 

“I GOT THE CLUE!!! RUN FASTER BRO” Taehyung yelled in hope the other guy could hear it. 

“FUCK YOU!!”

-

The desert streets of USC campus that normally had a peacefulness to them were now feeling intimidating. The big and old buildings had a menacing look to them now. Silvia had her arms crossed tight over her chest, the trees making noises that were scaring her and her body was trembling from head to toe. Her Simon glasses were long gone, she lost them while trying to get away from those zombies, her backpack still secure on her back though.

On her hands she had only her walkie talkie that seemed useless since she tried over and over again to talk to someone but obtained no answer in return. She wasn’t liking the feeling of having to wander around USC at night and alone…

Suddenly a screeching sound. “It’s easier to hunt a prey if it is found alone” and a sinister laughter followed. Silvia looked around, the feeling of being watched creeping her out. She fastened her pace and tried again.

Beep. “Hyori? Namjoon? It’s me Silvia! Please Answer! Over” she kept looking around and walking as fast as she could trying her best to stay in the middle of the street where some lamp posts were still on. The leaves being swayed away by the wind.

“Silvia???” she heard Hyori’s voice and quickly brought the walkie talkie towards her mouth.

“YES!!! IT’S ME”

“Where are you right now?? Over” Hyori asked, her voice seemed hurried.

“I’m-” Silvia looked around. “Near Webb Tower! Over”

“Ok, listen to me very carefully” Hyori started, her voice difficult to be heard due to the noises the machinery kept doing. “Me and Namjoon think there’s something wrong. Be careful! We are currently on our way to the cinema department, the next clue sends us there. We’ll wait for you in the entrance ok? Over”

“What do you mean something is wrong? But ok, I’ll be there! Over”

“We’ll explain once you’re with us again.” Hyori said. “But please be careful. Keep talking to us from five to five. Over!”

“Ok! On my way. Over” Silvia answered before tightening her grip on the walkie talkie and running down the street.

12

Holly had been separated from her group quite a while ago. The last thing she remembers being Jimin trying to protect her and Cara from some scary zombies who were trying to catch them. It all felt like a fun game of catch until one of them dragged her away towards the grove and tied her up, her eyesight being compromised since they put a sack on her head. She felt like she was being taken somewhere since she could feel she was inside of a car, she could also feel there were other people inside it with her but she didn’t know who since she had a gag on her mouth keeping her from asking questions.

When the car came to a halt for the third time, she was dragged again, this time they removed the rope she had on her hands and then all she could hear was the sound of the tires burning in the asphalt. She waited for a few seconds and since nothing happened she slowly took off the sack that was still on her head. Holly felt a little scared while doing so, she was afraid of what she might see, but it turned out to be nothing more than an empty and dark street.

Now here she was running towards the cinematic department since she was able to contact Jimin and Cara with the walkie talkie that she kept inside her backpack, and although she was feeling a little dizzy due to the alcoholic beverages she was forced to gulp down on the library (her team didn’t manage to open the locker up) and Jimin kindly offered to go pick her up, she was feeling more alive than ever, a little spooked too, but that was halloween and nothing could stop her now.

“It has been quite a while since she said she was on her way” Jimin said pacing around with his hands in his hips; eyes trailed onto the horizon, hoping Holly would emerge there somehow.

Jimin and Cara had arrived on the cinematic building half an hour ago. A big sign glued on the wall saying for the next challenge they needed all three present, and ever since he saw Holly being taken he started worrying over the girl.

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon, Holly is a brave girl, she’s fine” Cara was sat on the steps of the front stair. The wind softly blowing on her face.

“Yeah but it’s dark and-”

“Are you actually afraid of the dark Jimin Park?” Cara chuckled trying to release the tension the boy was feeling somehow. She knew he was feeling guilty over the fact he let Holly unguarded somehow because a group of people passed by him and he got distracted. And Cara was still curious about why he did such a surprised face but that was a question for another time.

“No but she might be!”

“I think she isn’t” Cara offered a smile. “Once she arrives here we ask her about it and see who wins, what do you think?”

“Yeah sure” he answered but his eyes were still full of worries; his lips caught up by his teeth and his body never facing anything but the horizon.

-

Inside the cinematic department the air was hazy and there was also an unintelligible sound echoing the halls. Group 7 was wandering the halls, Cole once again in the lead since he was a frequent passenger of this department. The lights were out, the three boys were finding their way while following the bloody arrows painted on the floor with their flashlights and as Cole was starting to think it was leading them towards the basement or the archive room as the cinema students would call it.

He wasn’t wrong. He came to a halt right at the door of it, the whole way there Hoseok standing really close to Asa both of them a little spooked out.

“Is this it?” Asa asked. “I was expecting something scarier, I have to be honest”

“I can’t handle anything scarier than this”

“Well, I guess it is a little scarier” Cole pointed the flashlight towards a paper glued on the door. “Look” his flashlight now illuminating the big black letters. “One stays here and the other two go down… in the dark. Wow, what a fun activity!” he looked at his teammates with a sarcastic smile.

“I’m not going down- No oh. Not a chance” Hoseok said, his eyes flickering with fear.

“Then you just have to go there” Cole pointed towards an open space full of small screens twitching and showing different perspectives of a long corridor. Asa kept looking from one to another, he himself wasn’t finding the decision an easy one to make.

“No way I’m staying over there alone! The place looks like a scenery of a horror movie”

“It’s either that or the dark”

“If you stay up you will have to lead us with the walkie talkie, that’s what the rules say… At least it’s a rather backlit place!” Asa presented him the options. “But if you’re scared of staying alone, you can always go down, you’ll be with one of us… but in the dark”

Hoseok’s eyes kept going from the glitching tv screens and the iron made door with the intimidating keep out sign on it.

“Hey guys!!” all of them looked back pointing their flashlights towards the newcomers. Hoseok letting out a few weird sounds, he was definitely the scaredy cat of the group.

“Wow!” Tessa chuckled; her hands serving as shield for her now blinding eyes. “Keep pointing that at me and I might actually become the moon”

“Sorry! We thought it was someone else” Asa clumsily apologised making the girls laugh.

“Ok so I think one of us has to stay outside guiding the other two since down there is basically pitch black and we can’t enter with our flashlights?” Cecilia said, she was reading the rules until now.

“Alone here??” Jae exclaimed. “Not a chance!”

“I’ll do it it’s ok, you guys go” Cecilia reassured them and moved towards the screens. Pressing the button speak of her walkie talkie she tested if it was working. “One, two, one two” beep.

“It’s working!” Tessa gave her a thumbs up.

“Ok, I’ll stay here! It’s ok, I’ll stay with her” Hoseok pointed towards Cecilia.

“Alright! Let’s move then” Cole replied and opened the heavy metal door with a screech.

-

Somewhere in the way team 7 and team 10 went separate ways, both Hoseok and Cecilia guiding their teams to opposite directions. The humid and pitch black corridors giving everyone the chills, and if that wasn’t scary enough the sound of water droplets falling into what seemed like buckets with water inside was the cherry on top of the cake.

Jae and Tessa were holding hands both of them completely blind in the dense and darkened place, they walked slowly, each with a walkie talkie in hands.

Beep. “Guys turn to your right” Cecilia voice was heard through the static noise. “Not now! Walk about four steps straight and then turn”

“Can you see something inside here with us???” Jae asked her; her voice quivering a little.

“I don’t think so. Over”

“Did we take four steps yet?” Tessa asked coming to a stop. Through the little screen upstairs, Cecilia could see them stopping, they were talking but she couldn’t hear them.

“I don’t think so… Did we?”

Beep. “Girls what are you doing? Turn right now” Cecilia ordered.

“Turn left or right? Over” Tessa asked completely lost. Not being able to see was messing with her sense of direction.

Beep. “Left! Over” and they immediately turned left but what came after was chaos.

Tessa screamed once she felt something going against her. And that something screamed even louder. Fearing something was happening Jae crouched on the floor, the only command her mind was able to give her body with the jumpscare.

“It’s us! Calm down, it’s ok!!” the girls heard a deep voice say making them even more scared. A continuous scream still echoing.

“US WHO???” Tessa shouted putting her hands close to her chest as a defense mechanism. “Don’t touch me!!” she let out in surprise when a hand brushed hers.

“It’s Jeremy! Jeremy from the volley team! And Jin!” the owner of the deep voice said trying to calm them down.

Beep. “Girls are you ok?” Cecilia asked worried. She saw the whole scene without a sound.

“YEAH AND JIN!!” Jin shouted; his hands kept wiggling, in his mind if he kept doing that no one would approach him and scare him. “WoOAh”

“Jin? Jin Kim?” Tessa asked, her hand coming to her heart to calm herself down.

“Who’s asking?” Jin answered turning abruptly to his side and then to the other. Eventually Jeremy had to place a hand on his shoulder to make him stop.

“It’s Tessa! From the cinema!”

“Tessa?”

“Who- What is happening?” Jae was still crouched down.

“Carolina’s friend! She was asking for you!!” Tessa answered Jin.

“She was?” Both Jin and Jeremy asked at the same time.

“When we were arriving here she and Yoongi were leaving and she asked me if I saw you! She looked very worried. She asked for Taehyung as well”

“I-I’ll try to catch up with her” Jin said. “Let’s go Jeremy, we already have the thing”

Beep. “Girls?” Cecilia asked again.

“We’re here!” Jae quickly answered. “Everything’s ok, we just bumped on Jeremy”

“Hey! And Jin!!!” Jin scolded.

Beep. “And Jin”

Beep. “You got it?” Sana’s voice was heard and that made Jeremy remember what he had come for.

“Tell her yes!”

Beep. “We got it! On our way. Over” Jeremy said.

Beep. “Let’s go then! We have a game to win people!!” Sana finished the message with a cute chuckle.

“Best of luck, girls” Jeremy said pulling Jin with him.

“The clue is on the floor!” Jin said quickly and winked and then laughed like a mad man over his own stupidity of winking if no one could actually see his face.

Beep. “Keep moving forward now! I see some things on the floor. Over” Cecilia told them and both of them quickly said their goodbyes to the boys and went on walking slowly and tugging at each other’s arms.

Jin and Jeremy kept walking forward this time, the latter on the front since Jin was a total basket case when it came to feeling scared.

“I think we’re almost out” Jeremy said lowly.

“Ya, how do you even know?!” Jin chuckled. “I can’t even see you!”

“I just know man”

“Back there I was so blind and afraid that it felt like I lost you for a second. I was screaming your name but I don’t even know if it was something decipherable”

Jeremy was about to answer, he turned back as if to face Jin to do so but the static noise of the walkie talkie interrupted him. “Boys! To your left now!” Sana said.

Beep. “Right now?”

Beep. “Yes, turn left Jer! Jin, place your hands into his shoulders, like a train that way I will guide him better and you will follow. Over”

“Ya how do I even know where he is…” Jin thought out loud; his hands coming forward to try and find Jeremy.

Beep. “A little forward!” Sana chuckled. “Up! Up! There you go!”

A few minutes had passed, the boys following Sana’s instructions until they reached the metal door once again. She was already there waiting for them but her voice sounded nothing like before.

“G-Guys we need to go” Sana said almost in tears. Jeremy quickly went towards her and gave her a side hug. Jin approaching her too but without knowing what to say or do.

“What happened?”

“The g-game master” she said pointing towards the screen room now completely empty, team 7 and 10 most probably long gone.

“What did he say?” Jeremy asked concerned. Jin’s face going from worried to confused in a small fraction of time.

“I-I” Sana tried but she was really struggling to say out loud what was bothering and disturbing her mind.

“Easy! Is ok” Jin gently rubbed her back. “Just tell us what is happening”

“The game master he- I think he is keeping someone captive” she blurted it out. Jeremy glanced over Jin who chuckled unsure about the whole situation.

“He probably has… It’s supposed to be a fun game after all” he told her gently. “We have a serial killer like Freddy chasing us and then we had the zombies… I mean, it’s scary but it’s the game-”

“No!” Sana interrupted him. “You guys are not understanding!!” she gasped and looked at them a little distressed. “He contacted me saying there was a traitor inside and I thought it was just another riddle but then- then I heard someone screaming for help!”

“Ya… That was just him trying to scary you” Jin shrugged and then looked at Jeremy who was lost in thoughts. “Right Jeremy?” Jin poked him.

“Yeah! Right”

“I’m telling you guys! It wasn’t for pretend, I swear!” Sana pleaded once again.

“Ok let’s do this” Jeremy paused; both Jin and Sana looking at him attentively. “Let’s go to wherever this next clue takes us and try to find other people? Let’s just finish this and see where this whole thing leads us, ok? It’s probably like Jin said, only a prank to scare you.” he finished. Sana wasn’t very convinced, she knew what she had heard, but she nodded and followed the two guys out of the cinematic department.

13

It took a good hour for Cole to find a way of getting out a room where someone trapped him, completely in the dark. Once he managed to break in the door he desperately yelled Asa’s name, his clothes were damped and he had to hold one of his arms (he injured it while trying to break the wooden door trapping him from the outside world). Asa who was almost losing hope, absolutely terrified, was quick to get up on his feet and yell back. It was a trick thing to try and find the other person in the dark, specially inside of what it felt like a cold and infinite labyrinth.

Asa pushed the metal door while offering some support to Cole that was visibly hurt and even the half light hurt their eyes when they passed through the way out.

“Hoseok??” Cole shouted. “Our walkie talkies jammed, man! Someone trapped us inside” they both walked towards the little screen room Hoseok was left in.

“Hobi?” Asa called.

The room was completely empty. No note, no walkie talkie, no backpack, no Hoseok.

“What the fuck?” Cole let out in a breathy way.

“He’s probably outside waiting for us dude, let’s just go there” Asa said and both turned around to get out.

“Oh! Asa!” Hyori’s voice shouted. Namjoon and Silvia right behind her as it seemed they had just arrived to complete the challenge.

“Hyo! Again!” Asa chuckled.

“Where’s Hobi?” she asked glancing over his shoulder.

“He’s probably outside!”

“What…?” Hyori asked weakly.

“What happened dude?” Namjoon pointed Cole’s arm with his chin.

“Me and Asa here were the one’s going down but we got trapped. I had to take a door down to get us out of there…” Cole answered. “Hoseok was supposed to be here but he’s probably outside”

“But there’s no one outside” Silvia stated confused.

“Where’s- Where’s Hobi?” Hyori was starting to panic. The way to the cinematic departement was spent by her and Namjoon talking about Carolina’s weird comments on the graveyard. They got genuinely spooked out and tried the walkie talkies, stating indeed there was something wrong with them. Now she was starting to think that wasn’t the only thing that was wrong.

The static noise that by now freaked everyone out interrupted Asa from saying whatever he was trying to say, his mouth opening and closing at Hyori’s question. “Tik tok players, find the last clue to save your buddy here- MHHnMPHHH HEL-” the beep cut the rest, but by the look on everyone’s faces, they knew it was help.

“Hobi-” Hyori gasped.

To be continued…

[pumpkinofthedale]

hi, i just want to say that your cronus takes?? *chefs kiss* your cronus art???? *chefs kiss* thAT SNIPPET OF THE CRONUS FIC YOURE WRITING?????? *CHEFS KISS!!!!!!!!* youre the only person who ive seen put out good cronus takes on a regular basis and i want to thank you for that!!!! ps. speaking of that cronus fic, PLEASE tell me its almost finished. im starving for quality cronus fics

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

aodufij[0ot4[oqieg’oklheg[982afkjadf;klaslfehi

I uh... i love you??? Very much anon

it’s about halfway done (The first chapter at least) (I plan for it to be two chapters) (It’s... it’s over 8000 words rn.... it’ll probably end up like 20k because I haven’t seen any good reader inserts for cronus in like... almost ever. People tend to either write him as an extreme asshole or like a wooby romantic without finding a good balance or addressing some of the serious psychological issues that come from extreme feelings of isolation)

ANYWAYS!

Here have another excerpt ;3c

(bc i love you)

“That’s very nice, Eridan. I’m glad you’re so passionate about your rivalry, but we still gotta make sure you finish up your homework.” You patiently replied.

He just groaned in response.

“Can’t you just do it for me or somefin?”

“Nope.” You made the mistake of looking up, catching sight of Cronus watching you both from the sofa in the other room. He smirked at you, and you rolled your eyes, turning back to look at the almost blank sheet of paper. “C’mon, these proofs aren’t going to do themselves.”

But it was almost useless as your pupil just stared off into space, drumming his fingers on the table with a determined little smile on his face.

“I can think of a couple things I wouldn’t mind watching do themselves.” Cronus said from his position on the couch. You glared at him. “If you know what-”

“Everyone knows what you mean, Cronus. You’re as subtle as a cannon.”

He just grinned, sharp teeth gleaming in the light. “I’ll show you my cannon anytime, kitten.”

You’re pretty sure you might actually end up murdering him.

“Don’t you have like… actual things to do? Like anywhere else? Ever?”

“And miss this view?” He gave you an overly suggestive wink. “You coming to the Crisp-mas party, kitten? It’s not just gonna be Danny-boy and his wiggler friends. There’s gonna be other adults and booze and stuff. It’ll be fun. Some of my other friends’ll be there too.”

You had to admit it did sound a lot better than sitting alone in your apartment getting sad drunk and crying yourself to sleep to the backdrop of hallmark movies.

“You could even bring your boyfriend that you talk about so much.” That sent a pang through your chest that you did your best to ignore. “Maybe even have a threesome because you know I’m down for that. Like not even just a little down, like super down. Damn, babe, that sounds hot. You’ve convinced me. You, me, him, let’s make a fucking Cronus sandwich. Damn that’s a good line, I gotta write that down. That’s so going into my next song.”

He hopped over the couch to the table to snag a pencil and piece of stationary, writing his lyrical masterpiece down.

“That’s going to be a hard pass. Phil and I are not looking for a unicorn and if we were you definitely would not meet the criteria.” You snorted, looking over to see Eridan just doodling a picture of him and who you guessed was John, kissing under some mistletoe but also somehow looking incredibly mad while doing it. God was romance the only thing this entire household thought about?

“I guess that’s what a guy gets for trying to be inclusive and sex positive in this world.” Cronus pouted. “I go ahead and put myself out there over and over again and everyone just steps all over my poor little pump biscuit. Every single time…. And all I ever want to do is be sensitive and listen and write poetry about them. But no, no one wants a sweet, nice guy.” He hurled himself dramatically onto the couch. “It’s like I have to broken to get some attention,” (You were at least ninety five percent sure at least part of him was broken). “No one understands the soul of a tortured artist. Being deep is hard. It’s hard and nobody understands.”

“You’re not deep, you’re just desperate. Get over yourself.”

You’re pretty sure you heard him mutter, “no one understands” into one of the many nautically themed couch pillows, but he had stopped bothering you, and it was clear that Eridan was not in the right head space for proofs. Maybe it would be best if you were to cut the session short…. You had a lot of lab journals to grade anyway.

But as you stood up, Eridan turned to you, a thoughtful look on his face as though doing some sort of mental calculation. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and his internal monologues were pretty easy to decipher just by watching his face. Finally he came to rest at a pout, cheeks sort of puffed out while he looked to the side, his hands clenching and unclenching. “Teach me how to make those cookies… so I can rub John’s stupid face in how talented I am.”

[daniactuallysnuffledthatpopcorn]

Home for Christmas (Part 1 of 4)

Summary: Every year Dan goes to a ballet performance of the Nutcracker around Christmas (he even starts to enjoy it after a while), but what he’s really waiting for is the nights he gets to spend with one of the lead dancers after the show.

Rating: M

Word count: 4K

[A/N] This is going to be over 20K words long, so be prepared. Hope you enjoy my Christmas mini-series!

part two -->

Schools looked weird in the evening.

The hallways were dark, lit up only by Ms Collins’ flashlight as she led the group of teenagers to her classroom. On top of it being close to seven pm, it was also December 23, the day before Christmas Eve. Twenty-two teenagers had dragged themselves out of their warm and comfortable house for the night to go watch some ballet performance of the Nutcracker with their drama teacher; something they’d signed up for back in September when it was warm out and they were optimistic and excited for Christmas.

At the back of the line Dan Howell was looking at Snapchats of a party he’d been invited to that night. Eleanor Prince was dragging him along by his arm, occasionally looking over his shoulder at his phone screen. “Hold up, is that Sophie? She said she couldn’t come to the Nutcracker because she’s sick. The bitch.”

“No offense, but if my mum hadn’t literally walked us to the doors I would have done the same thing.”

“Is it too late to say I’m sick now?”

“You’re not leaving me here alone, El. Tough it out.” He didn’t need to look over to her to know she was rolling her eyes at him.

At the end of the hallway the Emergency Exit sign lit up green and dimly illuminated the door below it. They took a left into a classroom just before it, piling onto tables and chatting quietly. The dark and silent school demanded a sort of respect that no one could explain. It felt almost ominous. Ms Collins had apparently not received this memo, as she slammed the door so hard every student in the room flinched. “Before we go to the show, I’d like to discuss the themes and story of the Nutcracker with you guys. Have any of you been to a performance before?”

If teenagers weren’t eager to speak up during actual classes, they sure as hell weren’t on Christmas break. Twenty-two sets of eyes wandered purposelessly around the room, avoiding Ms Collins’ stare at every cost. “Daniel?” She tried.

“Nope.” He responded curtly.

“Do you have any idea what it might be about?”

“No.”

She moved on to the next person with a hint of desperation, “Katie?”

With his hand shielding the screen from being spotted by the teacher Dan showed Eleanor a string of pictures one of their friends had sent him. From their group, the two of them were the only ones who’d been dumb enough to sign up for the trip. Eleanor had even been mildly excited at first, carrying her enthusiasm over to Dan who’d agreed to sign up with her. She was a fervent hip-hop dancer and had thought that watching a performance of a different type of dance would be cool. That was, however, before she’d learnt that Tia Samson was throwing a party for the entirety of their college that exact night. Tia Samson, whose parents owned a record company and who lived in a penthouse in St John’s Wood. Whom Eleanor had been trying desperately to befriend all year.

Unfortunately, Eleanor’s parents had entrusted her to the care of Dan’s mum, who had insisted on driving them and even walking them to the building to ‘make sure they would get inside safe’ because it was dark and she was overprotective.

In the twenty-five minutes it took Ms Collins to get all the answers she wanted from her unwilling students Dan caught up with exactly what had happened at the party so far. It had started around six with a large pizza buffet orchestrated by the Samsons’ ‘help’ -which was another word for ‘butler’, really- and as they were finishing up the pizzas Tia was letting people add songs to the playlist for the night and ice cream was being brought out. Dan and Eleanor had quickly eaten some pasta before leaving for school and really, life was unfair.

By the time the group made their way back to the doors through the dark hallways of Quenten Secondary School Dan was stuffing a Mars bar in his mouth that he’d found in his pocket. A sort of silent protest against Tia’s dumb party and her dumb pizza.

The school hadn’t even gotten them a bus or anything; they had to walk fifteen minutes to the theatre in the freezing cold. Eleanor hopped from one leg to the other as they waited for Ms Collins to lock the gates behind them.

At the front of the group were a couple of kids who seemed genuinely excited to be going to the ballet performance, but most them were just angry with themselves for signing up for the thing in the first place. They trotted along the pavement in the dark, hugging themselves for warmth or shoving their hands as deep into their pockets as they would go.

Dan was grumbling to himself but Eleanor paid him no mind. She pulled her woolly hat over her ears and quietly followed the crowd.

The theatre was beautifully decorated with colourful fairy lights and a huge Christmas tree in the front lobby. Dan distractedly ran his fingers over the wreath on the front desk while they were being briefed on proper behaviour during the show. He was going through the motions without listening- following his classmates to the cloakroom, hanging up his coat, and wandering after them to their seats.

He sensed that now that they were inside and warm Eleanor was starting to get excited again. She upright, slightly leaning over the chair in front of her to get a better view of the stage. Dan himself was slouched in his chair, eyes still trained on his phone. “Okay, this is kind of cool.” Eleanor said after a few minutes, grabbing Dan’s arm and shaking him slightly. “Put your phone away, it’ll start soon.”

He groaned but did as she asked. Truth be told, apart from the fact that it was making him miss Tia Samson’s party, Dan didn’t actually hate being there that much. He would never admit that much though, preferring to keep his image intact.

The lights went down. The bottom left of the curtain moved slightly, catching Dan’s eye and keeping his gaze there as the stage became visible and the dancers appeared. A boy about his own age with dark hair and a beautiful red blazer stood in the place that had caught Dan’s attention. Dan watched him as he danced for a little while before letting his gaze shift to the other dancers. He didn’t actually know the story of the Nutcracker and maybe he should’ve listened to Ms Collins’ explanation, but it was a little late for that now.  

The performance was beautiful, but Dan kept that to himself. Eleanor was clearly enjoying it too, keeping a tight grasp on his arm and shaking him every time one of the dancers did a particularly difficult move. The fact that this was making her so happy was in turn making Dan happy. He grinned and shook his head as she squealed quietly, “Did you see that?”

When the break started and the lights went on Dan was almost disappointed. Almost. He dug his phone out of his pocket and caught up with the party on snapchat.

“I’m going to get a drink. Do you want something?”

“Yeah, a coke please.”

“Sure thing.”

Dan pulled his legs under his chair so Eleanor could shuffle past him, and he quickly glanced at their classmates around him before returning to his screen. They all seemed to have gotten over their initial annoyance with being there, as he and Eleanor had. Ms Collins was engaging a couple of students in a conversation, and for once her subjects did not seem to be completely loathing their existence in that moment.

At Tia’s party the karaoke machine had been broken out and Dan watched a shaky recording of his friend Alex singing Africa by Toto. He was holding a beer bottle and clearly already tipsy. By the time Dan would be home from the ballet performance he might just have enough time to get changed and head over there too. He’d missed the dinner and ice cream, but he wasn’t too late to get drunk and sing karaoke.

Eleanor returned after ten minutes with two bottles of coke and a mischievous grin plastered on her face. Dan couldn’t help but raise his eyebrow at her, “What are you smiling at?”

“I got invited to a party by one of the cute dancers.”

“A party? When?”

“Tonight. They’re having an afterparty at their hotel. Want to come?”

Dan hesitated, glancing back at his phone screen where a new snap from Sophie had just come in. A Tia Samson party was epic, but he’d never been to a hotel party before, and this might be the only chance he’d get. Plus, there’d be loads of cute girls. Worth it. “Alright.”

“I’m meeting Phil at the backdoors about an hour after the show, so that gives us enough time to go home and change. I could even do some eyeliner.”

“Phil, huh?” Dan laughed, he pulled a face at her and she stuck out her tongue.

“You’re just jealous because I’m getting laid tonight.”

“I’ll hook up with someone.” Dan huffed.

“Sure.” Eleanor said, theatrically flipping her hair over her shoulder and taking a sip of her coke.

“Shut up, you’re such a bully.”

--

Dan’s mum picked the two of them back up after the show. At the theatre, thank God, so they didn’t have to walk the fifteen minutes back to school in the freezing cold.

“How was it?” She asked as they got in the car.

“So good, Mrs Howell,” Eleanor beamed, “We’ve been invited to go hang out with the dancers for a bit actually. They’re really lovely.”

“Really? That sounds fun. Will there be alcohol?”

“A couple of the dancers are of age so they might be drinking, but we won’t, of course.”

Mrs Howell nodded contently. She had a sweet spot for Eleanor, and the teenagers loved to use that to their advantage. By the time they got home she had even agreed to pay for an Uber.

Eleanor slept over so often that she kept a little collection of makeup and clothes in the bottom drawer of Dan’s wardrobe. She was the only girl Dan’s parents would let sleep in his room with him, and although they probably hoped the two of them would end up together, Dan and Eleanor shuddered at the thought. They had been friends for as long as Dan could remember and kissing her would be like making out with his twin.

She sat at his desk as she applied a new layer of mascara. Dan, long done putting on a clean shirt and running a hand through his hair, was seated on the table beside her makeup, feet propped up on the chair. “What time are you coming over tomorrow?” He asked.

“Before lunch.” She responded. She blinked a few times and held the pocket mirror closer to her eye. “It’s not Christmas Eve if I miss your mum’s pigs in blankets.”

On the day of Christmas Eve Eleanor always came over to eat pigs in blankets and make Christmas ornaments with Dan and his mum. They’d started the tradition back when doing crafts with your mum was still cool, but by the time they’d grown out of crafts in general, they had also grown attached to their tradition. And so the Howells’ tree was filled with homemade ornaments, and the mantle over the fireplace featured a line-up of clay figurines.

--

Just after eleven the Uber dropped them off at the hotel. One of the dancers, Mia Bright picked them up in the lobby and took them upstairs to the hallway all their rooms were on. The main party was taking place in the room of the boy who danced the part of the Nutcracker and one of the background dancers. At first glance it looked pretty chilled; teens lounging around with drinks and some music playing in the background, but on top of the mini fridge were three bottles of liquor. The night was young and the cards were open.

Eleanor sat down on the floor with some boys and was immediately handed a drink. Just as Dan was looking around the room to see where the most girls were gathered, he was invited to join the people on the bed. Half boys, half girls. Could be worse. He picked up a beer and leaned back against the headboard.

He chatted to them for a while, complimenting them on their performance and asking about their tour. One of the girls did some dance moves for him, putting on a show and obviously flirting. She was pretty, with long blonde hair and a lowcut top, and Dan didn’t mind in the slightest.

The emptier the bottles of liquor got, the looser the group. Some other people squeezed themselves between the teens on the bed and they started playing a half-hearted game of Truth or Dare. Dan was tipsy, grinning widely as two girls kissed each other on a dare. The boys cheered, apart from one who shushed them and told the boy next to Dan, “I dare you to kiss him.” He pointed at Dan, who shrugged.

“Fine,” The boy turned to him, “But I’m a gentleman. I don’t kiss people whose names I don’t know.”

“I’m Dan.”

“Hi, Dan. My name is Phil.”

For a second Dan thought about the fact that this boy in front of him was probably the one Eleanor had her eye on. Then his thoughts were interrupted by his lips.

Phil put his hand on the back of Dan’s neck and pulled him in. He kept him close for a good few seconds, and when they finally pulled apart they grinned at each other. Kissing boys was very different from kissing girls, but not in a bad way. Over Phil’s shoulder Dan saw Eleanor watching them. He mouthed a ‘sorry’ at her, but as a response she pointed to the boy next to her and shrugged. She’d moved on.

Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through his veins, but for the next fifteen minutes Dan was awfully aware of the fact that his leg was touching Phil’s. He kept glancing over to him, and his dumb intoxicated brain was noticing things he usually only noticed in girls. Like the wrinkles by his eyes when he laughed, and the way he bit the inside of his cheek absentmindedly.

“We’re out of booze.” A bottle was chucked at the bed and some of the teenagers ducked to dodge it.

“There’s more in mine and Cal’s room. Dan and I will go get it.” Phil didn’t give Dan the chance to speak for himself, simply getting off the bed and expecting him to follow. He did.

“You good?” Phil pulled a keycard out of his pocket and led them into a room.

“Yeah, man.”

The room was messy, clothes strewn about the place and an open suitcase lying on one of the beds.

“You into guys?”

It was a sudden question to which the answer should’ve been a decisive ‘no’, but Dan found himself shrugging, not able to get the negation over his lips after he’d just had those thoughts about this boy’s features.

“I am.” Phil took some bottles out from under a bed and put them on top of the duvet. “You, included.”

Dan was flustered but didn’t let it show, “I tend to have that kind of effect on people.”

“You’re not sure if you like guys, are you?”

Another shrug.

“Want to find out?”

“Suppose that wouldn’t hurt.”

Before he knew it he was backed against the bathroom door with hands on his waist and Phil’s forehead pressed against his own. “I feel like you might be.” Phil said softly, pushing his hips forward.

Dan’s breath caught in his throat. “Convince me.”

Phil kissed him. Messily and aggressively, with Dan struggling to keep up.

Fingers teased at the hem of his jumper and caught bits of exposed skin here and there. Goosebumps rose up on his abdomen as a familiar warmth tugged at the bottom of his stomach. He finally regathered his own agency, lifting his hands and experimentally putting them on Phil’s shoulders first. He wasn’t sure where you were supposed to touch a boy when kissing them. Girls were easy: you just touched their boobs. He racked his brain in an attempt to remember where girls usually touched him, and eventually just settled for running his hands down from Phil’s shoulders to his chest, and then down to his belly. He was toned, a dancer’s body, muscles hard under Dan’s fingertips.

Phil easily took control over him. He’d never expected that he would be so eager to give it up, especially to another boy.

There was a knock on the door that scared them both out of their excited daze. Phil backed away, straightening his shirt before checking the peephole, “Friends.” He said.

Dan picked up the bottles as the other opened the door. A few of the dancers tumbled into the room, grumbling about the lack of alcohol in the party room. “Seriously, what’s taking you guys so long?”

But the girl at the back of the group grinned and winked knowingly at Dan when he handed her the liquor. His cheeks turned pink, quickly turning away. “You’re not coming with us?” A boy asked.

“No thanks.” Phil said, a mischievous smile decorating his pretty features. He closed the door behind his friends and turned back to Dan, “So, where were we?”

The interruption had given Dan time to think. A moment for his brain to catch up with what his body had been doing. “Eh, maybe we should get back to the party?”

“Really?” Phil didn’t seem disappointed as much as genuinely surprised.

Dan tugged at the hem of his jumper, “They’ll think we hooked up.”

“Do you mind that?”

He shrugged.

“We can go back if you want. I’ll deny anything happened between us.”

It was the Out Dan thought he wanted, but now that it was on the table it didn’t feel right. He glanced at the door. He could leave if he wanted; Phil wasn’t keeping him here. But passing up the opportunity to mess around with this hot person who was literally offering himself to him, even though that hot person was a guy, felt like a wholly irresponsible decision. And so he made a dismissive gesture with his hand and said, “Well, they already think we hooked up. Might as well actually do it.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“Have you seen yourself? Rejecting you would be a crime.”

Phil grinned, “You’re not so bad yourself.” He stepped closer and reached up, fingers brushing the side of Dan’s neck. That alone was enough to make Dan feel like the whole interruption had never happened. He was as wound up and desperate as he’d been just a few minutes before, and he grabbed Phil’s hips and pulled him close as he started kissing him.

This time it didn’t take long for them to stumble towards the bed. Dan fell onto his back, Phil leaning over him on his elbows. They were both more confident now, and Dan slipped his hands under Phil’s shirt without hesitating. Guys’ bodies were so different from girls’ bodies and his fingers explored the new landscape. Phil dropped his hips, his lower body now fully leaning on Dan’s, and the latter could feel his cock twitch against his own through their jeans. A shiver went up his spine as he pulled him closer.

Phil rolled off him, and Dan was about to protest when the other’s hands moved to his jeans and made quick work of his belt. They were both impatient, pulling at each other’s clothes until they decided to just do it themselves. Dan kicked off his jeans and pulled his shirt over his head. When he looked back to Phil the latter had just pulled a bottle of lube out of one of the suitcases on the floor. “Move to that bed,” he instructed, “making out on Ryan’s bed is something, but taking off trousers is a whole other thing.”

They kissed for a few seconds but then Phil was tired of waiting and wrapped his fingers around Dan’s cock. Dan shivered and followed his lead after a moment. He may not know where to put his hands on a boy’s torso, but he definitely knew what to do with his hands near a penis. He moved slowly, slower than he would for himself, and softly brushed his thumb over the tip. Phil made a sound that echoed through Dan’s body and made his abdomen tighten.

Their foreheads touched, breaths mixing together in the air between them as they touched each other. Both were too out of breath to kiss, but that didn’t stop them from trying a few times, exchanging sloppy kisses and moaning into them.

When Dan’s hand started stuttering, Phil pushed him onto his back and kissed his way down the boy’s torso as he sped up his hand.

Dan’s head fell back as he came onto his own stomach, panting and grabbing at the sheets. Phil worked him through it until the boy under him relaxed. He took a second to collect himself, then turned his attention back to Phil.

He made quick work of him, leaning over him and moving fast. Phil’s hands traced the muscles on his back, and when he got close his nails dug into Dan’s skin. Dan didn’t mind, biting his lip and resting his forehead in the nook of Phil’s shoulder. He didn’t raise his head until Phil came, and he watched the pleasure wash over him, his jaw slacking and eyes closing.

Dan rolled off him and for a few minutes they quietly lied on their backs next to each other.

“That was good.” Dan broke the silence.

“Yeah?” Phil laughed. He reached out and brushed the back of Dan’s hand with his fingertips.

“Yeah. Maybe I’m kind of into guys.”

“I’m irresistible.” Phil said.

They pushed themselves up off the bed and headed into the bathroom to clean themselves up. They moved slowly, lazily splashing water on themselves and brushing arms whenever they moved by each other.

--

When they walked back into the main party room all eyes were on them, knowing looks being cast their way. Eleanor, now sat on the bed with some girls, grinned at Dan, who returned her grin but averted his gaze quickly.

“D’you have a good night, Lester?” One of the boys shouted. Some others cheered and Dan felt his cheeks go red.

“Yeah man, when’s the last time you had a night as fun as mine?”

That shut him right up. There was laughter around the room as everything settled down. Dan sat with Eleanor, somehow comforted by her familiarity. He felt a bit uneasy with the notion that everyone in the room knew that he’d just messed around with another guy, even though no one really seemed to care that much. Not even Eleanor, surprisingly.

When he was handed some sort of vodka-and-coke-combination he loosened up, downing it quickly and getting another glass right after. Who even cared about whom he had sex with?

He fell asleep on the bathroom floor at four thirty in the morning.

[michaelina520imvu-blog]

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[raspberry-starship]

Man on the Moon

PLOT: AU~ Mon-El Matthews is an author who hates his book. Kara Danvers is a reporter who also hates his book. They meet for coffee to discuss it, and eventually, a small interview becomes a relationship that means a lot more to both of them.

WARNINGS: So, there's a lot about Mon-El's parents in here, and in this, they say things that are very hurtful and could be upsetting to some people, as well as in-depth conversations about suicide. Sorry guys, I just want you all to know that it gets a bit rough at times.

A/N: THIS IS THE LONGEST ONE SHOT I’VE EVER WRITTEN SEND HELP I HAVE PROBLEMS. This is almost 20k works I think I don’t even know. Wtf Ros?Also: GIF ISN’T MINE!

Mon-El was a writer. His published novel was simplistic, and stuck to textbook structures and tones. Basically: the world saw his work as unimportant and shallow.

He wrote under the pseudonym “Mike Matthews” and was rather unknown for a long time. His story was about a great man who went on wild adventures across the stars--places he dreamed one day he’d be able to see.

He’d gone to college and flunked out. Not because he wasn’t smart enough, but because he didn’t care--he’d only gone to please his parents. They were rich, and liked to consider themselves aristocrats who lived in a high-rise apartment buildings and hardly spoke. They’d never been the strongest of role-models.

In fact, they hadn’t so much as asked him about anything he’d been up to for four years, when he was suddenly offered a book deal, which lead to his success. Unfortunately, the story that brought him into the publishing world was one he wrote on a whim. He’d put it up, chapter by chapter, on the internet, and a company had contacted him.

Seeking someone who knew him for who he really was--not “Mike Matthews” or some one-night stand--he’d picked up the phone and called his parents. They hadn’t picked up, probably because they were out doing something like pretending he hadn’t totally embarrassed them in front of all their friends and tarnished their name. But never-the-less, he left them a voicemail, telling them he’d gotten a book deal. He didn’t know if they ever even acknowledged the fact that he was an author before this--when it actually became of something.

Being a writer had never gotten him many girls, but his flashing gray eyes and sharp jawline certainly caught their attention. He didn’t mind; he quite liked being admired for his symmetrical face and dark hair. He never thought deeply about being in a relationship--all the women he was attracted to would want him gone in the morning. He didn’t mind that either though; unlike most writers, he prided himself on never knowing the highs and lows of an epic romance, or even a little one. He thought the tropes and the prose and the language were all overused and frankly, he found them all repetitive--or so he told himself.

So, here he was, in a loud bar--a classic setting for him--that smelled of smoke and scotch. There were so many people packed inside the dive that it felt like when you were on the subway and you think no one else can get on, and then at the next stop, five more people cram inside. He had barely enough room to lift his arm to get his bottle to his mouth. He glanced around, forcing the roar down in his head, watching people.

He put his empty beer down on the counter next to him, and looked over as the bartender pulled it away and replaced it, an easy smile on his lips.

“Another for the now, published and less struggling writer?” He smirked.

Mon-El laughed, “Thanks, Winn.”

“Sure.” He leaned on the bar across from his friend, “I’m proud of you man.”

Mon-El smiled, taking a sip, “Really?”

“Yeah, I haven’t seen this big of a rager since your last birthday.” He said, and they both chuckled, “Who knew that so many people would be so happy that your book is such a success.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure that seventy-five percent of them don’t even know who I am, let alone what book I wrote.” He said.

“They’re better off.” Winn teased and Mon-El rolled his eyes.

“Shut up, Winn.”

Winn glanced over Mon-El’s shoulder and his brows raised. “Huh.”

“What?” Mon-El frowned.

“There’s a girl over there who’s looking right at you.”

“Oh yeah?” Mon-El turned, “I think she’s looking at you, man.”

“No way, not while I’m standing next to you, she isn’t.”

Mon-El turned, “You should talk to her.”

“You talk to her!” Winn replied quickly.

Mon-El raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry man, women are just--”

“--Scary, I know.” Mon-El nodded, knowing the bartender’s words from all the many times he’d spoken them.

Suddenly, an arm bumped into his, making him spill his beer on the guy standing next to him, who didn’t seem to notice at all.

“Oh my god!” The woman said, “I am so sorry, I just--”

“--No,” Mon-El said, shaking his hand dry, “I get it, there are a lot of people…”

His voice suddenly drifted off. Staring up at him were beautiful blue eyes, behind simple, but cute, frames. Her blonde hair was curled back at the top, the rest cascading down her shoulders. She held out a napkin for him, and he took it slowly.

He cleared his throat, “...Uh, in here--thanks.”

She smiled and watched as he cleaned his hand.

“Can I get you something?” Winn asked.

“Oh, a club soda please, on the rocks.” She said quickly, pushing up her glasses from the right-hand corner.

“Coming up.” Winn smiled, turning away to get her the drink.

“A club soda, really?” Mon-El said, turning to her.

“What’s wrong with that?” She asked, and he shrugged.

“Oh, well nothing I guess.” He faced forwards but then had another thought, “I just thought you’d want to drink something a bit stronger--I mean, it is a party.”

“What’re we celebrating?” She asked.

Winn put her glass in front of her, “Some guy got his first book published.”

“Huh.” She said, taking a sip.

Winn looked at Mon-El, who shrugged.

“No, I mean, that’s good for him--that’s great--just I don’t know, I told someone I was going to meet them here but now I think it seems a bit too crazy.” She finished.

Mon-El smiled, “Who’re you meeting?”

She looked up at him, raising one golden brow.

“Maybe I can convince you to postpone?” He slid closer to her and watched as her face hardened.

“I’ll pass.” She said firmly, turning away from him and pulling out her phone, walking to the edge of the crowd and disappearing.

Winn grimaced as they watched her go, “Yikes.”

Mon-El smiled, “The night is still young, my friend.” He said, reaching across the bar and smacking Winn’s shoulder. “I’ll see you.”

“Sure, bye, Mon-El,” Winn nodded good-naturedly as Mon-El disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

Kara Danvers would like to note--on the record--that she did not want to be here. She touched her glasses nervously and put down her mug, scribbling something down on her notepad. She crossed her legs under the coffee shop’s faux wooden table and sighed.

She glanced up at the door, as a couple walked in, holding hands and smiling up at each other. She tilted her head slightly and watched them. They looked like they were so in love, something she couldn’t say with complete certainty she’d ever felt.

“Hey, are you, are you the reporter?” A voice said next to her.

Her head jerked up, her eyes meeting those of a tall man with dark hair. He looked vaguely familiar.

“Mike Matthews?” She adjusted her glasses and he nodded.

“Thank god,” he sighed, sliding into the seat across from her, “you’re like the third woman I’ve introduced myself to--but I got a few numbers along the way so I guess, no harm, no foul, right?”

She swallowed. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Have we met before?” He asked, and she looked up from where she was flipping through her notes to the questions she’d been assigned to ask him.

“I don’t think so…” She said, “I’m Kara, Kara Danvers.”

“Hmm…” He took a sip of his coffee, “I’ll remember it eventually.”

She smiled and straightened. “So,” she placed her phone in the center of the table, recording their conversation, “Mike Matthews.”

“Kara Danvers.” He replied.

“I’m doing a piece for CATCO magazine about your newfound success after writing the novel ‘The Well of Stars.’ If you were to talk about this book to say, someone who’d never heard of it, how would you describe it?”

“Do I have a word limit?” He smirked.

“No.” She said, smiling in spite of herself.

“It’s a book about adventure,” he said, “about travelling across the stars to fulfill your destiny.”

She nodded, looking down at her notepad.

“I’m--I’m sorry, do you think differently?” He asked, noticing her face.

“What?” She lifted her eyes.

“You just--you just made a face.” He pointed at her brow.

“I did not.” Kara replied indignantly.

“You’re making one right now.” He said.

“I am not!”

“Are too.”

“Whatever.” She shook her head, “Do you plan on continuing this series? If so, where do you think your gallant hero Lar Gand will travel next? And if not, then what do you have in store for your ‘avid readers?’”

“I haven’t quite decided, actually. I think that often times stories get dragged out for much longer than they ought to be.” He said, “So, unless I can think of a realistic way to continue his story then yeah, but I’m also looking for other inspiration.”

She smiled, “I agree. About the, uh, dragging it out, thing.”

He smirked as he watched her write something down on her notepad. “I can’t--you look so familiar, you’re sure you don’t remember us meeting before?”

She looked up at him, and frowned. “No, sorry.” She said earnestly.

He nodded, and she went to write something down. He watched her, “Have you read it?”

“What?” She asked.

“The book--the one I wrote.” He clarified. “I just--we might get a better conversation if you weren’t so objective--not that you’re doing anything wrong at all, I just mean--”

“--No, no,” She laughed, touching her glasses, “I understood. Uh, yeah I read it.”

He waited for a moment. “So, uh, what did you think?”

“It was, uh, good.” She pursed her lips and looked down again, a small crease forming between her eyebrows.

“I’m sensing you have some critiques.” He smiled easily.

“No, nothing too major.” She said, “I just thought maybe your main character was a bit lonely.”

“Oh, why, because he didn’t have a love interest?” He sat back and rolled his eyes.

“No, I just think he was leading a very sad existence.” She shrugged, “He had these parents who were never really around and he didn’t really have too many friends--”

“--Lar Gand has friends!” He said, smiling at her assessment.

“Not ones he deems to be his equals.” She countered and he nodded.

“And you see that as something that doesn’t make him a hero.” He guessed.

“Well, maybe.” She said thoughtfully, “But I mean, when you came up with the plot, were you really thinking about Lar Gand as a hero? Because, lots of times it seems like he’s exactly the opposite.”

“When?” He smiled bemusedly.

“I mean, I don’t know, he just does sometimes.” She laughed nervously, touching her glasses and looking down again.

He watched her, a fascinated smirk on his face. “In any case, I was pretty hammered when I wrote the first chapter--I was pretty hammered the whole time I wrote it actually.”

She raised her eyebrows and nodded awkwardly, looking down again. He didn’t seem to notice. Had he though, he might not have been so surprised by the outcome of this interview.

* * *

Mon-El awoke later that August week, and rolled over. He looked blearily up at the one window in his apartment, and squinted. It was mid-day already. Huh.

He sat up and stretched his arms high above his head, arching his back. He tugged at the neck of his gray t-shirt and stood, yawning. He shuffled into his kitchen and filled up his coffee pot, scratching his bed head blearily. He marched over to his desk after brushing his teeth, a cinnamon bagel in one hand and a mug in his other. He opened his laptop and took a large bite of his breakfast.

He picked up the glasses that hung on his desk lamp, and slid them on. He clicked on his first tab, refreshing his email. He was extremely bored. He only checked his email when he had nothing else to do.

The first thing in his inbox was a message from his publisher and editor, Snapper Carr. It was simple, reading:

Mon-El-

I try to be patient with you, but this is ridiculous. Have you gotten an idea for your next book? If not, then you’d better figure it out soon, or else you’re going to not like me too much.

On another note; Kara Danvers (that reporter from CATCO) finished her article about you. Her boss, Cat Grant is an old colleague of mine. She sent me the article ahead of time to rub it in my face. I’ve attached it below. I don’t know what you said, but whatever it was, this Danvers girl didn’t like it.

What the hell is wrong with you?

- Snapper

Mon-El’s brow furrowed, and he put his bagel down. He quickly scrolled to the bottom of the email, and clicked the PDF.

Mike Matthews: An Exposé on National City’s New Thriving Author

By Kara Danvers

Mike Matthews is a young man--probably in his mid-twenties--with dark hair and piercing gray eyes. He takes his coffee black, and doesn’t look like he should be a writer. In fact, he looks like he should be in college, still deciding on his major. He wears simple clothes, and didn’t seem like he dressed up at all to meet with a reporter for his first exposé, but never-the-less, he offered much for me to write about.

He grew up right here, in National City, to parents of some kind (he wouldn’t talk much about them), and went to school at Yale. He let slip though, that during his sophomore year, he dropped out. For many years, he floated around from job to job, never quite finding anything that fulfilled the urge inside of him to be ‘something more.’

One evening, he happened upon an idea, whilst sitting on a barstool after being fired from yet another job. He stumbled home and whipped out his laptop, and just wrote it all down. He said that it took him all of twenty minutes to figure out all the logistics of his extremely complicated novel, ‘The Well of Stars’ which has now become an international best-seller.

After writing a short version of the soon-to-be hit, he ‘fell asleep in a heap’ on his couch. He awoke later the next day to a raging headache and a bad temper. He went and re-read the first chapter. ‘I absolutely hated it.’ He said, a smug smile on his face, ‘But I couldn’t think of any way to change it for the better, so I put it up online. I immediately got a good amount of hits--more than anything else I’d ever written had got--so I decided to stretch it out into a multi-chapter thing. I had no clue it was going to go anywhere.’

While speaking to this young author, one couldn’t help but notice how comfortable he seemed. He leaned back in his chair, and spoke easily. He was very confident in himself as both a writer and a man. The way he speaks is much the opposite of how he writes. His tone is easy and free, while his prose is often lengthy and tighter than a corset--as in, very basic and often so old-fashioned it should be in a museum. He, as a person, couldn’t seem to care less about how his writing will affect young readers, let alone the writing process. He seems to solely focus on how this novel has brought him into the national spotlight. But, I guess, whatever pays for your next typewriter, right?

He blinked. He tried to scroll down, but he realized that was the end of it. His face morphed into such a deep scowl, his eyebrows began to ache. He didn’t know what to think. For some reason, her words affected him in a way no other criticism had before. He stood and got dressed, printing the article out, all the while his brows furrowed, his hurt turning to anger as he stormed out of his apartment and to the bus.

He stormed into CATCO, marching past security without so much as an introduction. He slipped into an elevator just as the doors closed, and stomped down the hall to a small office at the end of the corridor, without any windows and a sign that read simply: Kara Danvers, Reporter.

He burst in, making her jump.

“I cannot believe you wrote that about me!” He smacked the article down on her desk.

“Wrote what?” She picked up the papers and looked at them.

“This--this--this whole thing!” He said.

“How did you get this?” She said, “I just sent it to--oh. I see. Your publisher is Snapper Carr, correct?”

“Yes!” He said.

She sighed, “Oh, Miss Grant what have you done?” She muttered to the ceiling, putting it back down on her table and looking up at him. “Well, I don’t know what you want me to say, Mike.”

“I want you to explain what the hell made you talk about me like that?”

“I’m sorry?” She said, standing up and resting her hands on her hips.

“You should be! You made me sound like some--some--egotistical asshole who doesn’t care at all about what he does for a living!”

“I’m sorry, did I miss something?” She replied.

He blinked, looking very taken aback. “I do care about my writing--”

“--You said that when you wrote the first chapter of the first draft of The Well of Stars, you were drunk.”

“As I often am!” He said, “Doesn’t mean I don’t care!”

She shook her head and laughed humorlessly, touching her glasses.

“And besides, what--what would you know about writing?!” He snapped.

She raised her eyebrows, “You’re kidding me right?”

“No! You come from a family of scientists, don’t you? That’s what you said the other day!”

“My adoptive parents and sister are all scientists.” She corrected.

“That doesn’t matter!” He cried, “Why do you think it’s okay to traipse around like you know a damn thing about being a writer?!”

“My job.” She said, leaning on her desk, “I literally write for a living.”

“What did you really think of my book?” He said.

“Excuse me?” She said disbelievingly.

“What did you really think of The Well of Stars?” He repeated in a frustrated tone.

“Is this what this is all about?” She said, “You can’t believe that there’s a woman in the world who isn’t ready to admire your fantastic struggle as a male writer who doesn’t even need to try to become famous?”

“I did try!” He said.

“You said you didn’t even like your first draft of the book!” She replied, and he bit his lip angrily.

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t grow to enjoy it--!”

“--No, but it does show that all you care about is the popularity of writing things by making them unemotional and detached--making yourself unlike everyone else! It shows you don’t care about your own voice, that all you really want is to be known! To be famous!

Your voice, and tone and ideas are all vital parts of your writing! And what makes me upset is that you don’t seem to notice--or care--that your writing is so lonely and hollow!”

“That’s not--ugh! I tried to--I tried really fucking hard, to use my own voice, but apparently people like my drunk one much better! Why do you have to make that seem like a bad thing and not a charming anecdote about how I came to be?”

“Because, I wrote it, and I get to have an opinion. I understand that’s a new concept to you.” She said smugly, stepping away from her desk and sitting down again.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” She smiled. “I just know--from reading your novel--that you only think of women as objects at the least and minor sub-characters at the most. Probably why the only ones we met were the two he had a threesom with on Star Haven.”

“That was just a--a--minor plot point, why would you--”

“--My point exactly!” She cried, standing and walking around the table to face him. “You don’t know how to write about things you’ve never experienced--emotional things. You’d be a perfectly fantastic writer if words were all that mattered, but that’s not all that people should think about! Stories are about people, and therefore an author should have the character make emotional appeals to his audience!”

“The same ones that every other book out there makes, right?” He yelled and she nodded.

“The good ones, yes!”

“Well, I’m sorry that I’d like to try something new for a change.” He snapped.

He took a breath, and she stared up at him evenly. They looked away from each other, and she bit the inside of her cheek. Their eyes flickered back together, and his nose twitched.

“Goodbye, Kara.” He said.

“Goodbye, Mike.” She replied.

She watched him as he left her office pausing in the doorway to give her one last glance. It was short and concise, and after he disappeared from her line of sight, she touched her glasses, and somewhere, she felt guilty. He obviously didn’t know what he was doing with his life.

* * *

Suffice to say, Mon-El complained profusely to Winn that night, and many nights after that. To Winn, his life was a never-ending source of entertainment (no matter how bad it made him feel to say it). He pitied and liked the guy for sure, it just… didn’t outweigh the amusement that came from hearing about his travels.

Tonight, Mon-El stood in front of the cracked and stained glass over his bathroom sink. This was the only mirror in his tiny apartment, and now, he was tying a bow tie securely about his collar. He finished and stared at it. He felt like a kid again, and he wasn’t sure why.

He grabbed his jacket off the arm of his desk chair, and switched off the small, elegant lamp from which his spectacles hung. He walked out of his flat, and locked the door behind him. He stepped outside of the building, and looked around, waiting to call a cab.

He stepped outside, after watching the streets of the city pass by his window, looking up into the face of The NMA, or National City’s most prized art museum. He buttoned his jacket and walked up the steps, signing in at the front table. He stepped under an archway, with simple writing, entitled: ‘The New Wing.’ He rolled his eyes and came into a room where people in black suits and prim dresses milled around with champagne flutes in their hands.

“Mon-El,” A woman said, walking towards him, “you’re late.”

He sighed as she fussed with his tie, “I came as fast as I could, mother.”

“This is very important for your father and I, and I can’t have you mucking it all up again.” She said, as a man walked up behind her.

“Hello, father.” Mon-El nodded.

The man simply raised an eyebrow, and turned away, taking a sip of his wine. Mon-El cocked his head and smiled dryly. Same old, same old, he thought.

“Is there any particular thing I should do here?” He asked tiredly, already knowing the answer.

“You’re our son.” His mother said, “Act like it.”

“Copy that.” Mon-El said.

He turned away and grabbed a flute as a waiter passed by. He waltzed into the next room, looking around at the black and white photos on the wall casually. His eyes moved around the space, against the grain. Suddenly, he spotted a woman standing in front of a large photo of a rusted out town.

Her golden hair was up in a bun, and she wore a little green dress, simple and elegant. He couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that she was here. He tilted his head and walked slowly to her side, stopping and taking another hit from his glass.

“So we meet again.” He sighed.

She jumped slightly and looked up at him. She seemed rather flustered.

“Mike?”

“Hi, Kara.” He said flatly.

“I--what’re you doing here?” She asked in a hushed voice.

“What do you mean?” He frowned.

“I mean,” She glanced around as if to see if anyone had noticed them, touching her glasses as she went, “since when do you attend new wing openings in art museums? I thought you--”

“--Were shallow and uncultured?” He guessed and she rolled her eyes.

“No, of course not.” She said, “Just--nevermind.” She shook her head, moving to the next photo.

“So tell me,” He asked, sipping his champagne, “what brings a writer from CATCO down here? Don’t tell me you donated to the New Wing fund.”

“I write for the Arts & Culture section of CATCO,” She said matter-of-factly, “and this counts as both art and National City’s ever-growing culture.”

“Oh.” He said, to which she turned away. She moved to the next piece and he watched her.

“I, uh, I’d like to apologize.” He said suddenly, making her turn.

“For what?” She frowned.

“The way I talked to you--before.” He looked down at the last of his drink, “I guess I just wasn’t used to the whole interview thing.” He laughed awkwardly.

“Or someone not liking your work.” She said.

He laughed, “No, I’m pretty sure my editor hates it too.”

“I never said I hated it!” She replied indignantly, making him chuckle again.

“Well, you came pretty close.”

She smiled abashedly, “Yeah, I guess I did.”

They began to move to the next piece in silence. Together, they took a deep breath, both thinking about how abominably bored they were to be here.

She turned back to him suddenly. “You know, I think you’re deluding yourself into thinking that that’s the only reason you got upset.”

“About?” He arched a brow.

“The article.” She answered.

“Ah.” He nodded, “Why do you think I got upset?” He said, a bewildered smile slipping onto his face.

“I think what I said struck a nerve.” She said slowly, “And that’s, uh, that’s the real reason why the article never made it to print. I acted like I knew everything about you when the truth is I don’t know you at all.”

He looked back and forth between those beautiful blue eyes, and saw nothing but sincerity.

“Can we start again?” She asked, “Not that--not that anything is starting or anything just, uh, I know I’d feel a lot better.”

He beamed down at her and offered his hand, “I’m Mon-El.”

“Mon-El?” She asked, taking his hand slowly, “That’s beautiful.”

“Well, my parents certainly think so.” He said.

She smiled, “You don’t?”

“It’s an old family name.” He replied simply. “Kara is much nicer.”

She laughed, blushing nervously and adjusting her glasses. He watched her, a soft smile gracing his features. They spent most of the rest of that evening in separate corners, glancing over at each other.

* * *

Mon-El slouched at the counter and spun his almost empty glass around in lazy circles. It had been three weeks since he’d seen Kara. He didn’t think about her too much, usually, just sometimes, he’d come across her name floating around in the back of his mind and he’d wonder what she was doing; what she was thinking about.

This morning, he’d put another one of Snapper’s emails into his trash, ignoring the subject line which said: “If you ignore this one too, Matthews than I’m going to come over there.” He was very focused on the task at hand--if the task was nursing his beer and not writing his next novel.

Winn wasn’t on shift, so here he was; sitting like a bum on a barstool by himself. He pulled his phone clumsily out of his pocket and saw that his mother had called him an hour ago, and left a message. He pressed the device to his ear and took another sip of his drink.

“Mon-El, it’s your mother.” She said firmly, as if he were an idiot and didn’t know who was calling. “Your father and I are hosting a fundraiser for the New Wing of the National Museum of Art, so we can exhibit more expensive, multi-media pieces. You must come. It’s non-negotiable. Wear something nice, and I’ll send you the venue's address later.”

He let his head fall against the bar’s dark surface. He suddenly wished for the days of solitude and shame that followed his dropping out of Yale. At least when his parents had considered him an embarrassment, he didn’t have to make appearances for them. Nevertheless, he would go, and he’d be grateful for once that he did.

The first thing his mother said to him when he walked into the open-air, high-rise, restaurant was: “Is that the same tux you wore to the gallery opening?”

“Mom, I only have one tux.” He replied, “Plus, they all look the same, who’s going to notice?”

“I just did.” She said pointedly, glancing around like anyone else in the room was going to notice such a minute detail. “Try not to drink too much.”

“Or embarrass you and dad, got it.” He nodded, “I mean, if you’re so concerned about me screwing this up for you, then why do you even bother inviting me to these things--?”

“--Miss Matthews,” A voice said, making them both turn before Mon-El could answer.

“Adam!” She smiled, walking over to him and pulling the young man into a cordial hug. For some reason, Mon-El found it comforting that she was able to show some affection to someone, even if it was a guy almost exactly his age that wasn’t her son.

“How are you?” She smiled.

“Oh, I’m great.” He grinned, “We’ve certainly gotten a good turn out, huh?”

“Well, I’d say so.” She joked, and Mon-El frowned, “Adam, this is my son, Mon-El. Mon-El, this is Adam, one of the curators for the New Wing.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mon-El shook his hand.

“And you. You have an amazing mother, Mon-El.” Adam said kindly.

“Don’t I know it.” Mon-El said, forcing a smile, and failing to hide all the sarcasm.

His mother sighed and quickly changed the subject, “Mon-El is a writer.”

“Oh, really?” Adam raised his eyebrows as though he were impressed, “What do you write?”

“Uh, all sorts of stuff, really.” He said, scratching the back of his head.

“Anything I might have heard of?”

“Well--” His mother began but she was interrupted.

“--Adam, here, sorry it took me so long…” The woman holding out a glass to Adam looked up and suddenly mirrored Mon-El’s surprised stare. “...Mon-El,” She blinked.

“Kara, uh, hi, what’re you--” he cleared his throat, “--what’re you doing here?”

“I, uh, well, Adam invited me.” She said, glancing at the curator who smiled happily.

“Uh, Kara, this is my mother.” He motioned toward the woman who looked Kara up and down, “She uh, orchestrated this whole thing.”

Kara had a strange expression on her face when she took his mother’s hand. She almost seemed suspicious of her, or perhaps it was just Mon-El’s perception of the woman he barely knew.

For a long time, Mon-El stood skulking at the other side of the room, every so often looking up from his drink to find Kara. This usually lead to Kara looking up from standing silently with her beau, and meeting his eyes. He shook his head and walked out onto the balcony. He leaned on the railing, looking out at National City. It reminded him why he chose to come back after his failed attempt at college.

“Hey.” A soft voice said behind him.

He turned, and there she was, standing in that little black dress and holding a glass gingerly in her hands. She stopped next to him and stared at the view as well, the wind whipping the loose strands of hair around her head.

“Hey,” He said, leaned back down onto the railing and smiling at her profile. “So I see you’re not having too much fun either, huh?” He smirked, facing forwards again.

She glanced at him, “It’s nice.” She replied weakly, making him laugh.

“It’s stuffy and boring, why would you ever agree to go on a date to something like this?” He snorted and she shrugged.

“He asked, and I said yes.”

He looked at her. “How long have you two been a, uh, thing.”

“I wouldn’t say we’re ‘a thing,’” Kara said, making a face as she said the phrase, “but uh, we’ve gone out a couple of times.”

“But you’re not all that into him.”

“Well, no, it’s not that--” She began, obviously trying to think of some excuse for why she didn’t like him.

“...Then what is it?” He asked gently.

“I have no idea.” She sighed helplessly, falling against the railing in a dramatic fashion.

He laughed and watched her for a moment. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

She snorted, “And go where?”

“I know a place.” He smiled.

She cocked her head slightly and shook it, “No… I can’t--”

“--Oh come on, Kara.” He sighed exasperatedly, “You really think anything interesting is going to happen? They aren’t even dancing at this party.”

She snorted, “It’s funny that that’s what you object to.”

“Please, Kara, it’ll be fun!” He said, making her smile.

“I’m sorry, but I think I’ll have to pass.”

It was in that moment, that he remembered where he’d seen her; at the dive bar near the end of his street, the night of his party. He’d tried to flirt with her and she’d totally blown him off.

He watched her for a moment, and waited as she turned back to him.

“I should probably go find a way to sneak out.” He smiled, “The party’s in full swing I doubt she’ll notice me leaving now.”

Kara laughed, “Good luck!”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” He said, beginning to walk backwards away from her.

She shook her head, beaming at him,

“Alright well,” He shrugged, “Your loss. If you, uh, ever want to, I don’t know, go get a drink or need anything, you’ve got all of my info.”

She smiled, “Alright.”

“See you around, Kara Danvers.” He said, making her tilt her head slightly and grin.

“Bye, Mon-El.” She said softly.

He swiveled on his heel and strode back in through the double doors as Adam walked past, towards the reporter. He glanced over at them, watching Kara’s face as Adam smiled down at her. Something inside the pit of his stomach seemed to ache a bit. He looked down at it and frowned, turning to go drink some water to see if that would make it subside. It didn’t.

* * *

Kara walked quickly, stepping off the bus and glancing down at her phone. She looked up at the buildings around her, obviously searching for one in particular. This was a shabby neighborhood, right next to skyscrapers that stood high above the city streets. She turned to her screen again, following the directions.

She came to a small building with brick walls and wrought iron gates chained open. She pushed one of the front doors, catching her eye in the window’s reflection. She swallowed and began to look at the mailboxes, trying to find a specific one.

A person came through the door and offered it to her. She gratefully--if not a bit awkwardly--accepted it and walked in. The place was dirty and the floor was tarnished with dust and the reminisce of the streets outside; brought in, no doubt, on the shoes of people who’d come here before her.

She turned to the elevator, and it was out of order. She sighed and rolled her eyes, looking at the large staircase at the end of the lobby. She trudged over and walked up, checking her phone again to make sure she was in the right place. She came to the third floor landing and looked around. There was a small hallway leading deeper into the building, and she took a careful step, looking at the gold numbers on the dark green doors.

She stopped in front of one and lifted her fist, about to knock gently. She paused, swallowing and putting her hand down. She touched her glasses and looked down at her phone, checking one last time just to make sure she had the right address.

The door opened abruptly. Kara jumped, and looked up into the face of a tall, beautiful, dark haired woman. She looked Kara up and down like a vulture, making the reporter swallow nervously. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, and walked past her, leaving the door open as an invitation for Kara to go in. Kara blinked, watching the woman saunter down the hall, walking down the staircase with grace and poise.

She turned back to the apartment and stepped over the threshold, closing the door softly behind her. “Hello…?”

She walked down a small hallway that lead into a cramped living space. She looked about, frowning. It seemed like it could be his place, but she wasn’t sure, since he was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, behind her a door opened, the sound of a toilet flushing. Mon-El looked up, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, hair mussed and towel hanging on his hips.

“Uh, hi.” He said slowly, his voice a bit muddled because of the toothpaste.

“The uh--the woman who--she just--she let me--oh god,” Kara turned her back to him, “I am so sorry--”

“--No, no, it’s fine--” He ran back into the bathroom to rinse his mouth, as she pressed her palm against her forehead.

“I just--” She swallowed, “--I have to ask for a favor--I was trying to call but, uh, you weren’t answering.”

He came out of the bathroom then, having replaced the towel with boxers whilst yanking a shirt over his head. “Yeah,”

“I guess I, uh,” She cleared her throat, “I guess I know why now.”

“Oh, well, I, uh, lost my phone.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” He chuckled, “it’s been nice though, easier to avoid Snapper’s calls.”

They shared a nervous laugh, then began to stand awkwardly. He sighed anxiously and began.

“So, uh, what can I, uh, do for you?” He asked.

“Oh! Right!” She nodded, “So uh, it’s about your mom.”

His face hardened, and he walked past her to his bureau. “What about her.” He asked flatly.

Kara blinked, “Uh, well, see, she’s, uh, having this gala, and there’s going to be all these artists there--there’s, uh, going to be this, auction thing--and I really, really need to be there.”

He nodded, pulling on some jeans. “Do you really need to be there?”

“Yes!” She said, “It’s going to be so interesting to talk to all of those--those--creators!”

“Okay,” He buttoned his pants, “what do you need me for?”

“I need you to let me be your date, obviously.” She sighed exasperatedly.

“I--uh--what?” He spluttered, “Kara trust me it won’t be fun--”

“--Please, Mon-El.” She begged

He sighed, resting his hands on his hips, “Why not ask that--that Adam guy?”

“We had a bit of a… falling out.” She said, “Nothing too major,” she added quickly, “we just decided we weren’t good for each other--I’m sorry, was that your girlfriend leaving earlier?”

“I--what?” He blinked, unprepared for her line of inquiry, “No, no, I don’t--I don’t have a, uh, girlfriend.”

“Oh, right, okay.” She looked down and touched her glasses and he looked out the window, his shoulders lifting nervously as he crossed his arms across his chest. They stood in tense silence for a long moment.

“So, uh, what do you say?” She said, forcing optimism into her voice.

He eyed her for a long moment, a new spark in his eye and a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.

“Okay.” He said, making her face brighten.

She swallowed, “Okay…” She touched the rim of her glasses and rolled her shoulders, “Well, I should be going--I’ll, uh, see you Saturday?”

“Saturday.” He nodded, and with that, she showed herself out, practically running to the door.

* * *

Mon-El stood in front of the mirror, fidgeting with his tie. He loosened it all the way and threw it angrily into the sink bed. He pressed his palms against the porcelain lip, closing his eyes and heaving a sigh. He looked up, meeting his gaze. He straightened, and picked up the two ends, beginning again.

Suddenly, there came a knock. He popped his head out of the bathroom, brow furrowing. He glanced down at his watch, and his frown deepened. He walked over and opened the front door, looking out to find Kara standing out there, wearing the same green dress she’d worn for the opening of The New Wing.

“Oh,” He said, his face falling slightly.

“Is there something wrong?” She asked pointedly, scowling at him.

“No, it’s just--” He swallowed, “--nothing, nevermind. You look beautiful.”

“Are you sure it’s nothing?” She said, walking past him into the flat, never breaking eye-contact.

“My mom just--” He scratched behind his ear, letting the door fall shut as he followed her. She stopped, crossing her arms and looking up at him pointedly. “--She might say something to you.”

“About what?” She asked, gentler this time, knowing it wasn’t his problem.

“It’s nothing but she’s a bit, uh, judgemental?” He pursed his lips, “You probably don’t have to worry but, you know, just in case.”

She nodded, and her eyes fell to his collar. “You still haven’t finished getting ready?”

“No, my tie is refusing to listen--” He began, cutting himself off as she moved forwards and began to try it. “--To me…”

He watched her small pout as she worked. He was suddenly struck again by just how beautiful her face was. There was nothing quite specific about it that made it stand out; it was just cute.

“There.” She sighed proudly, adjusting the lapels of his jacket. “You look all professional now.”

He snorted, “Congratulations on being the first woman--correction: person; man or woman--to ever accomplish that.”

She laughed, beaming up at him. They stood for a moment then, suddenly lost in a heavy silence. He bit his lip, and she swallowed. They both turned away abruptly, her adjusting her glasses, him scratching his cheek whilst clearing his throat.

“So--”

“--Yeah.” he nodded, walking quickly to the door and holding it open for her.

They stood awkwardly next to each other in the elevator, as Kara commented on how it was now fixed. They went outside, and around a corner and down a side street to get to a main avenue. Kara hailed a cab on her first try, sliding inside and watching as he did the same. He accidentally knocked his head against the doorway, and they both laughed. From then on, the night seemed to move much more smoothly.

The car pulled up outside his parents’ apartment building. He took a moment, looking up at it anxiously. Swallowing, he got out and held out a hand to help Kara. She laughed, taking it and thanking him with a goofy smile on her face. He beamed at her and they walked into the lobby.

They rode up the lift, standing in the back behind a bunch of other people. She glanced up at him, and he looked down at her. They exchanged a happy glance, and then turned back forwards. They stepped out directly into the apartment, and he watched as her eyes widened.

“Oh wow,” she breathed.

He sighed, “Yeap.”

She looped her arm through his, and he looked down at her bewilderedly. She didn’t seem to notice--she was too busy taking in the scene. He could almost see the gears moving around in her head; words she could use, phrases she could craft, adjectives she could implement to describe the high ceilings and ornate chandeliers.

He leaned down, whispering to her, “They come from old money.”

She turned, “You don’t include yourself?”

“Well, I haven’t received a penny of help since I flunked out of Yale.” He smirked humorlessly.

“I thought you said you dropped out?” She asked.

“I might have wanted to save a bit of face.” He replied.

“Well that is a much better anecdote than ‘I got drunk and wrote this book.’” She teased, making him chuckle.

She smiled proudly, biting her lip and turning forwards, impressed at her own ability to make him laugh. They followed the crowd, walking into the large dining room, where he could see his mother greeting people. Mon-El pulled away from Kara, grabbing two champagne flutes and, handing her one gingerly. She nodded thanks and took a careful sip, as did he.

“I had no idea that an apartment could be this big.” She said, still in awe of the decor.

He smiled, sliding his free hand around her waist absent-mindedly. Together, they both took another hit, feeling oddly out of place.

“Mon-El!” His mother said, moving towards him, a surprised look on her face. “And… You.”

“Nice to see you again, Miss Matthews.” Kara said politely, ignoring the judgemental look his mother was giving ther reporter’s dress.

“And you.” She replied, turning back to her son. “You’re on time.” She remarked.

“Indeed.” He said, “It’s a miracle.”

“Come, come,” She ushered them forwards, “your father will be so glad you’re here.”

Mon-El swallowed the last of his champagne, handing it to a waiter. Kara looked up at him with a worried expression on her face, but he said nothing, only thought: I sincerely doubt that.

An hour into the night, and Kara was already on her third glass. This had been a mistake. No one ever wants to do a piece on donors to the arts. She’d taken this article because she had a good idea of how to get invited to the party, and also because there wasn’t anyone else offering. And now… well let’s just say she knew why.

They stood in a circle with a group of other members of the fȇte, trying not to fall asleep as they spoke of their trials and tribulations. Mon-El shifted closer to her, and she glanced up at his face. He seemed so guarded, his doting mother standing across from him and putting on a good show. Kara didn’t know why she got the feeling his mother was pretending--she didn’t even know why such a horrible thought would cross her mind--but she couldn’t help the way her investigative mind worked.

“...My son, Mon-El,” His mother pointed to him from across the group, “is a published author.”

“Oh really?” One or more people remarked.

“The critics are raving about his individuality and one even said his words ‘breathe life into a story that takes it’s audience across the universe.’” His mother bragged proudly. “His book just hit over ten million copies sold.”

“And I’m guessing that yours is among them?” Kara asked suddenly, making everyone turn, including Mon-El, who looked up from his glass to her defiantly arched brow.

“What?” His mother blinked, trying to hold her composure.

“I’m just wondering if you’ve actually read his book, that’s all.” Kara replied, continuing after a pause, “You just… you keep talking about what all the critics are saying, but you’re not talking about what you thought of it.”

“Of course I’ve read it!” His mother snapped indignantly, “How dare you--”

“--What’s it about?” Kara cocked her head slightly, stepping closer. Mon-El grabbed at her hand, trying to tell her to stop but she shrugged him off. “Come on, tell me, what’s the book about?”

His mother’s breath hitched in her throat, her cheeks growing red. “I--”

“--Fine,” Kara sighed, “what’s the genre of the book?”

“I cannot believe that you--” His mother began, but was interrupted again.

“--Okay,” Mon-El laughed nervously, stepping in front of Kara, “that’s enough you guys.”

“Mon-El--”

“--Come on, Kara.” He said, leading her away.

They practically ran into the next room, Mon-El gripping her hand tightly and looking back every so often. They turned and moved down a narrow hall, and up a short staircase.

“Mon-El, what--” She yanked her hand out of his, “--what’re you doing?”

“What am I--What am I doing?!” He cried, looking behind her nervously to see if there was anyone following them. “What are you doing?!” He hissed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” She snapped, putting her hands on her hips.

“Why were you--”

Suddenly the door to his left opened and a man stepped out of the bathroom. He paused and looked up at the pair standing frozen in the corridor. He frowned slightly and continued walking, glancing over his shoulder as he turned the corner. Kara turned back and touched her glasses, grimacing.

Mon-El blinked, remembering that he was upset, “--Why were you talking to my mom like that?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what I did wrong?” She replied, scowling up at him.

“You were--you were embarrassing her in front of everyone--drawing attention to us!” He said urgently, “You can’t--you can’t do stuff like that!”

She didn’t answer. Instead, her expression melted, and her shoulders relaxed. He was thrown by this response.

“What?!” He whispered harshly.

She shook her head, looking down and adjusting her spectacles, “Nothing, I’m--I’m sorry.”

She began to turn away and he stepped in front of her, “Wait, Kara, what’s--what’s--”

“--Mon-El!” Someone bellowed.

Mon-El swiveled around to find his father, his mother on his heels. Instinctively, he put his hands out, as if to shield Kara. Her jaw dropped confusedly and she watched as his heart began to race.

“You no good piece of shit!” He stomped over to his son, wagging a finger in his face. “You are just bent on ruining the reputation your mother and I have built!”

“No, I--”

“--Shut up!” he snapped, “You should be thankful we even want to talk to you at all, let alone mention you to our peers!”

“I know, I’m sorry--”

“--Be quiet!” He snapped, making both Mon-El and Kara flinch. “How dare you, come in here with this--this--woman, and act like anyone gives a damn what your stupid book is about!”

Mon-El leaned away as his father took a step closer to him.

“You may have women out there throwing themselves at you over that stupid thing, but I can tell you it’s going to be nothing in ten years!” He said, “You will be forgotten, and you’ll never--never--become anything but a stupid, rotten, child, who can write pretty verses.”

Mon-El swallowed and Kara covered her gaping mouth.

“Finally someone tells you the truth.” His father continued, “Get over it, and get a real job, you idiot.”

Mon-El’s hands shook and his face hardened.

“Now get out of my sight and off my property.” His father said, turning around and walking back to his wife. She only shot Mon-El a veiled glance before they both disappeared.

Mon-El’s breath hitched in his throat and he looked down. He clenched and unclenched his fists, swallowing hard. After a long moment, Kara finally got herself to move. She walked around him so they were facing each other, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“--You wanna get out of here?” She asked gently.

He blinked, looking up at her.

“Yes.”

* * *

He’d originally thought about taking her to the bar, but he didn’t feel like sitting in a crowd anymore. He’d asked her if it was okay that they just go back to his apartment and have a drink. She’d agreed, a soft, sympathetic smile on her face.

They were walking up the stairs when suddenly, Kara stopped. He paused, and then when she didn’t move, he turned back to her.

“Kara?” he stepped down to meet her.

She took a deep breath and looked up at him, “I am--I am so sorry.”

He laughed, “About what?”

“You’re kidding right?” She said, “I should’ve never--I should never have said all those things to you--I didn’t know anything about you! I just assumed--”

“--Kara,” he put his hands on her shoulders, “you have nothing to be sorry about.”

He shrugged, smiling amicably, “Come on, let’s go.”

She sighed, following him to his apartment. As they walked inside, he offered her an arm. She took it gratefully, using her free hand to yank of her heels one by one as he held her steady, kicking the door closed with his foot. He slipped out of his shoes as well, yanking his tie loose as she straightened.

They walked into the living room--which she now noticed also housed his bed, desk and laptop--and he walked into the kitchen, pulling the last two beers out of his fridge.

“Here,” he said gently.

“Thanks.” She smiled.

They opened them in tandem, taking sips as they sat down across from each other; he on the end of the bed, she on the edge of the couch. She looked down at her bottle as it rested against her knees and he glanced over at his desk. His eyes slid slowly back, just as hers lifted carefully. They shared an anxious smile and then both turned back away.

“Hey so,” He cleared his throat, “I’ve been, uh, working on this--this thing, and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to take a look at it.”

She blinked, her face brightening. “I’d love to.” She beamed.

He blushed slightly, standing and opening a drawer in his desk, pulling out a small, leather journal. She watched him, an adoring smile gracing her lips. He flipped through the pages quickly, and finding the right part, he handed it to her.

She took it eagerly, putting her beer down on the coffee table, looking up at him. “A short story?” She asked, and he nodded, pressing his lips together.

Her eyes traced the handwritten verses carefully, and he watched, enraptured and wanting to memorize every moment. Her brow twitched sometimes when she particularly liked something. He looked at her soft expression, wondering how she could be so many things and yet only one person; fierce and confident and also sensitive and smart.

She looked up at him, her lips parted slightly.

“Was it that bad?” He asked, smirking.

She shook her head, “It was beautiful.”

He blinked, letting out a nervous chuckle, “Really?”

“Yes, really.” She got up and walked over, sitting down next to him. “This is exactly the kind of writing I thought you could do.”

His breath hitched in his throat and he watched her as she flipped back, finding a particular section.

“This--this kind of emotion that you’re talking about it’s--it’s so real, so--so--” She looked up at him, “--you appeal to your audience and you--wow, I just--I have so many things to say about it.”

He tossed his head back, laughing heartily, “Really?”

“Yes!” She said, “Give me a pen!”

“Yes ma’am.” He giggled, pulling one out of his suit jacket.

She yanked it away from him and opened it, touching her glasses and putting the cap in between her teeth. She suddenly paused, “Is it--is it okay if I--?”

“--Oh, yeah, go ahead.” He nodded.

She began to read the story back to him, telling him line by line what she liked and what she thought he should change. Occasionally, they’d disagree, and get into a heated discussion about the use of an adverb or a clause she thought was too long. Sometimes, he could hold his own, but oftentimes, she’d win him over. She’d scribble the things down in the green ink, and he watched. Her handwriting was so much nicer than his; it made him a bit embarrassed but she didn’t seem to notice at all.

Eventually, he ended up laying down on the bed as she paced around, holding the notebook close to her chest. He ran his hands through his hair. She stopped, closing the book.

“Do you have any more stories like this?” She asked.

He sat up slightly, looking at her blearily. “Yeah, why?”

“Can I read them?”

He blinked, “You--you want to read more of it?”

“Yes.” She nodded firmly, taking a seat on the couch once more.

He laughed, “Well, I mean, okay, if you really want to.”

She raised her brows, telling him that yes, she did.

“Your funeral,” He smiled, jumping up and walking over to his desk, pulling a folder out of the shelf above it. He held out the portfolio to her, “They’re all kind of, uh, crappy, so, uh, be warned.”

She rolled her eyes, “I’m sure that’s not true.”

He watched from above as she began to flip through the loose-leaf papers. Her phone buzzed on the coffee table and they both glanced over, seeing a text from someone named Alex and a clock that read 11:48.

“Oh gosh!” She said, closing the folder, “I have to go home!”

She stood, holding it out to him. He scratched his neck anxiously, “I mean, you could, um, keep it for a while--only if you want to though--”

“--Oh, really?”

“Yeah--yeah, I mean, I don’t want to make you feel like you have to but if you, uh, have the time and if you want to then you can, uh, for sure, do that.” He stumbled.

She beamed, clutching it close to her chest. “I’d love to.”

He smiled, his skin burning a bit. “Do you want me to walk you to where you can get a cab, or--”

“--Oh, no, no, I’ll be fine.” She said, walking over to her shoes and gripping his shoulder as she yanked them on, a firm hand holding her elbow. “Thank you, though.”

He nodded, “Of course--thank you, I, uh, hope it’s not too inconvenient.”

“No! I haven’t had anything to read in a while; I’m really excited.” She said earnestly, looking at the folder hungrily.

“Okay.” He smiled gently.

She turned to him as she opened the door, waving slowly as it fell closed, her face disappearing as the crack became smaller and smaller.

* * *

Mon-El didn't really know how or why, but three days later, just as he was leaving for a Friday night drink (or four), Kara came barreling into his apartment building. Now, they were in his flat, lying amongst a carpet of paper. She leaned against the back of the couch and he came in, offering her a mug of coffee.

“Thank you!” She said excitedly, finishing her last pile.

His lips parted, looking at all the post-it notes and highlights she’d made. “Wow, Kara, you didn't have to--”

She shook her head, putting her drink down and touching her glasses. “Once I started, I couldn't stop.”

She turned away, trying to pick which story she wanted to start with. He blinked, watching her. “I can’t--I can’t believe--”

She looked up at him, and he knew it didn’t need saying.

“Thanks.”

A warm smile spread across her face, “Of course.”

She leaned over to pick up a pile, and he cleared his throat, “So, uh, how’s your, um, article about the party going?”

She rolled her eyes, her face hardening, “It’s not.”

“Oh,” He said, “uh, why?”

“My editor told me that it was too biased.” She shrugged.

“Well, didn’t he let you rewrite it?”

“Yes. Three times.” She said nonchalantly, flipping through a packet and biting the inside of her cheek. “That was just what she said about the third one.”

He raised his eyebrows, gaping slightly. “What could you have possibly wrote that was so biased.”

“She particularly liked the line ‘Donors to the arts are vapid, life-sucking people who understand nothing but their own squabbles and stature; they will never know what it is like to be the people they trod on.’”

“Oh my god,” he said, covering his mouth and trying to stifle a laugh.

She looked up then, and smiled. “Alright, shall we?”

“Sure,” he nodded, scooting closer so he could look at the piece over her shoulder.

It really was a shame that he was made known for The Well of Stars. Kara had spent a long time the other night while she was trying to sleep thinking about why she liked him so much better after reading everything else he wrote. She came to the conclusion that the real reason why neither of them really liked the novel was because Lar Gand was everything he hated about himself. Lar Gand was lonely, he was high and mighty, he had no one who knew him deeply. And again and again, he was rewarded for being the person Mon-El didn’t want to be; the person his youth had formed him into.

“…I just… I don’t quite understand why you wrote this one,” She said, handing it to him.

He took it gingerly from her palm, adjusting the frames resting on the bridge of his nose and pulling his knee up close to his chest. He’d changed awhile back into flannel pjs and a white t-shirt, coming out of the bathroom wearing those adorable glasses that seemed so unlike him.

“Yeah, you’re right, I have no idea--it’s--it’s crap anyways--”

“--No, no!” She took it back, “It’s really good, it’s just, I don’t know, what made you want to sit down and write this?”

He looked back and forth between her eyes and then turned away, fiddling with the end of his sock.

“I--I don’t know.” He laughed anxiously.

“You--” She glanced down at the papers, pushing her spectacles up by the corner. He watched her, unable to pull away as she spoke next, “--you wrote this story, about this man. Every day, he sits in this--this place, and he--he almost meditates. The reader, they have no idea why he sits there every day, no idea why the room he’s in is so small and why he can see himself in all of the walls.

That’s--that’s the beauty of it: the mystery.” She continued, “He--he spends so much of his time in there, thinking about how time is running out and how he--how he wishes he were somewhere else, but… he stays there. Sitting in front of all of those mirrors trying not to look at himself.”

Mon-El shrugged, yanking his eyes away from hers. “I guess I just… have a thing for lonely protagonists.” He laughed.

She smiled, “I guess so; but can you really call him a protagonist if it’s only a chapter long? It’s really just about his introspection.”

“Well, that’s true but, it doesn’t specifically say he’s an antagonist--”

“--Doesn’t make him a protagonist.” She pointed out.

He grinned, “Well what else is there other than a protagonist or an antagonist?”

She shrugged, smirking, “A bystander.”

“Well the definition of a bystander is someone who is present at an event that he or she does not take part of.” He countered, scooting slightly closer to her, “What would he be the bystander of?”

“His own destruction.” She replied evenly, “He just wastes all the time he has sitting there in that room, thinking about how he’s wasting all his time and that he should do something about it.”

“How do you know he has any choice?” He cocked his head and she smiled.

“Any choice in what?”

“His being there.” He said, “You have no idea whether or not he wants to be there--”

“--All you know is that he feels like he does.” She finished, leaning against the backside of the couch, stretching her legs out against the carpet.

“Exactly.” He nodded, running a hand through his hair and avoiding her stare.

“Come on,” she nudged his leg, “tell me--tell me more.”

He looked up at her. She could see the conflict in his eyes; tell her or tell her not?

“I can’t help but notice you only have one mirror in the house--I have quite a few in mine, and so does my sister and so does the house we grew up in.” She leaned closer to him, “You hardly clean yours.”

“I think you read a little too far into fiction, Kara.” He replied, an easy smile on his face.

* * *

Hands curled into cotton sheets, fingers practically tearing holes in the fabric. Nails scratched at palms, eyelids squeezed shut, eyelashes brushing against cheeks. Sweat clung to his skin;

He couldn’t move.

Like falling up out of a dark lake, he arose, flying out of his covers and sitting stock-straight at the end of his bed. He blinked, taking a slow breath, pressing his elbows to his knees and holding his head in his hands. Suddenly, he heard an unflattering snort.

He looked up, finding a woman laying on the couch across from him. She sat up, spluttering, glasses askew. “Mon-El?”

He blinked, unable to believe she was still here.

“Are you okay?” She asked, standing up and quickly walking over to the bed. She sat down slowly, looking at him with a concerned brow. “Mon-El? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, standing, “everything’s fine, I just--I need some water.”

She nodded, watching as he walked away. She touched her glasses and folded her hands in her lap. He came back and she looked up at him. He put his empty glass gently down on the coffee table and sat on the couch.

“If you’re going to stay then you can have the bed,” He said, “I didn’t realize--if I had, I’d have given it to you in the first place--”

“--I’m fine on the couch, Mon-El, really--”

“--Please, I insist.” He responded, laying down. “Night, Kara.”

He crossed his arms underneath the crown of his head, staring up at the ceiling. She looked at him pensively, not making any move to lay down or try and sleep again.

“Mon-El,” she began, “does you dad… does he always talk to you like that?”

“Talk like what?” He frowned.

“Like how he talked to you at the, uh,” She swallowed, “at the party.”

“He only ever speaks the truth.” He snorted humorlessly, scratching his cheek.

“What?” She asked incredulously, surprised by his nonchalant answer.

He shrugged, “He’s always pushed me, always wanted me to be better than I ever will be.”

“How can you--” She stuttered, suddenly so passionate she couldn’t even think of words, “--how can you say something like that?”

“I mean, he was right, so was my mom, it doesn’t matter--”

“--No, no,” She cried, standing up and making him blink. “No!”

“Kara, you don’t need to--” He began, a surprised look on his face.

“--Stop.” She said, “Just… Just listen to me.”

Mon-El looked down, letting her continue.

“I can’t believe that you’re just going to internalize that.” She said.

“Internalize what?” He frowned.

“You’re kidding, right?” She said, “That--those--those things he said to you--they--they were terrible--awful things, Mon-El!”

“Doesn’t mean they’re not true.” He said softly, “Everyone thinks so; the only reason why people read my book is because it’s different than everything else and eloquent, not because it’s inspiring in any way--”

“--Stop letting them control the way you think about yourself!” She said, gripping her hair frustratedly, “I--I--I can’t--they didn’t even read your novel! How could they possibly know what kind of writer you are?!”

“They know me.” He said.

“No!” She yelled, “They obviously don’t!”

He stood as well, “They’ve known me my whole life--they’re the only people who know me--who I really am.”

“So you think that Mon-El and Mike Matthews are two different people?” She raised a brow.

“Yes, they are!” He said.

“You’re wrong.” She said, “There’s no difference between who I am and who writes my articles.”

“It’s--it’s different.” He shook his head.

“No, it’s not.” She said, and he turned away.

He rubbed his forehead, unable to come up with a response.

“They don’t mean anything.” She said suddenly, “They’re the ones who are going to be forgotten--they’re the ones who aren’t going to matter in ten years.”

He looked over at her for the first time, surprised she’d say something like that.

“What does it matter to you? You hated my book!” He said, sitting up, “I’m just a story to you, right? Why do you care--?”

“--You’re not just a story, Mon-El.” She said, “You’re not just some frat boy who got famous by luck, either. You’re a really good writer, and that does count for something.”

He wanted to say something back; something painful and harsh. He couldn’t think of a damn thing to parallel the blow she’d just managed to stick on him.

“You have talent, Mon-El,” she continued, “you just need to start writing again.”

“Again?”

She swallowed, “I couldn’t help but notice that the dates on all those stories were from before you released The Well of Stars.”

“Seems like you can’t help but notice a lot of things.” He said, laying back down.

She looked down, and sighed, shaking her head. She stood, walking over to him.

“Get up.” She said.

“What?”

“I’m not sleeping in your bed, Mon-El.” She put her hands on her hips, “You are. I’m perfectly fine on the couch.”

He looked back and forth between her eyes and knew that neither of them were going to get any sleep unless he moved. He stood begrudgingly, offering her a blanket off the foot of his bed. She took it and put her glasses down next to his cup, turning to face the back of the couch. He sighed, shuffling over to his bed and plopping down, and letting sleep hit him like a sack of bricks.

* * *

Mon-El shoveled pancakes into his mouth as he watched Kara read across the table from him. She sat sideways in her chair, making the arm the back and the back a place to rest the hand she held her mug in. In the other palm, she held a packet, her eyes tracing the lines with a furrowed brow.

He swallowed as she turned towards him, putting the paper down. He looked at her expectantly. “So?”

She pursed her lips. “It was… good.”

He sighed dramatically, throwing himself back in the chair, “It was terrible, wasn’t it?”

“No! No, it wasn’t, really--”

“--Oh god, I should’ve known.” He shook his head, “I am so sorry, this--this was the best thing I’ve written recently, I thought it was good--I mean, I convinced myself it was good.”

“Mon-El!” She said, reaching across the table and putting a hand on his arm, “Calm down, okay?”

He nodded, swallowing the last bit of pancake he’d stuffed into his mouth.

“Deep breath,” she said, watching as he took one. “Okay, what I meant was: the story just doesn’t have the same feeling as your other ones.”

“What does that mean?” He asked, slightly panicked.

“It just… it doesn’t have the same emotions attached to it, you know?” She said slowly. He tilted his head, indicating for her to continue. “It was boring.” She finished quickly.

He sighed and looked away.

“Sorry…” she said gently, “I really didn’t mean to be, uh, you know.”

“No, I know you didn’t.” He said, “I just… I can’t find anything to write about anymore.”

“Why?”

He shrugged helplessly, “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“Well,” She thought for a moment, “how did you get yourself to write before?”

“I don’t know!” He cried and she made a face that said ‘chill.’ “I just sort of… got an idea and went with it, I never really had to plan ahead.”

She nodded slowly, and they sat in silence for a minute, thinking of what they could do. He looked up at her and smiled,

“Okay, for the next week, would you mind texting me any small thing that you notice.”

“What?” She frowned.

“Like the way something smells, or a habit that people tend to have,” He said.

“Like… like anything?” She blinked.

“Mhm,” he nodded.

“That’s so broad,” she breathed, “what if I don’t have anything interesting to say?”

“Doubt that.” He said, making her smile.

“Okay fine,” she said after a moment, “but only if you text me some too; I might need some idea of what to say.”

He grinned, “Deal.”

He offered her a hand across the table and she laughed in spite of herself, taking it gently. They sat back and smiled at each other over their coffees.

He was walking around in the city about a half an hour after that, when he got her first text.

K: There’s an elderly woman on train across from me, who has got this huge potted plant in her hands and it’s touching the ceiling.

The message was followed by a stealthily taken photo of said woman, featuring Kara’s knee in the corner. He laughed, sending her a smiley face.

K: Was that okay?

I wasn’t sure what exactly you’d want me to say XD

M: Stuff like that is perfect, but don’t just limit it to people; you can talk about anything

K: Only you would use a semicolon over text

M: Haha true

There was a short pause, and she texted again.

K: What are you doing?

M: Well right now, I'm walking in this little park that's completely empty.

K: Oh no! You have to go sit in it so it’s not lonely!

He laughed, surprised that she'd say that. She would have definitely stayed--it was too nice of a day not to--but he was restless. He had to keep moving, find inspiration elsewhere.

* * *

Mon-El stared at his laptop, a new, blank document open. She’d written him a lot of things. At first, they’d just been small things she noticed, but then, she started asking deeper questions.

K: Do you think that it’s really possible to love someone the most in the whole world? Like, how would you measure that? How could you decided between say, your sister and your lover? Your father and your child?

K: I just noticed the other night that every time I strain pasta, it makes me think of the early Spring, when my adoptive family would take me east and we’d make maple syrup. I should tell you all about it.

K: When my boss dislikes something, she tucks her two front teeth behind his lower ones. (I know this because she does it around me a lot)

K: Every five minutes or so, my shower gets cold, and then it takes like two minutes for it to get warm again.

K: Do you really think of Mon-El Matthews and Mike Matthews as two different people?

M: I guess, sometimes. Why?

K: I was just thinking.

He stared at that last one for a long moment. There came then, a sort of hollow ache in his chest. He didn’t know why, but for some strange reason, she made him feel… He shook his head and sat forwards again.

* * *

Mon-El couldn’t believe this was happening. Here he was, in his parents’ loft, sitting around a table decorated with a feast fit for royalty, and Kara was right next to him, wearing the same gray sweater--the one with the pulls sticking up from the shoulders and the hole in the right sleeve--that she wore to work. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. It didn’t work.

He’d asked her a couple days before if she would be able to join him so he wouldn’t have to be alone at the shareholder’s dinner, and she’d agreed, showing up to his house as though they were going to stay up working together.

“...Mon-El’s novel is actually about a dashing hero travelling across the galaxy in search of the treasure his ancestors had been looking for, for decades.” His mother said, making the men around the table nod vaguely.

Kara leaned closer to him, putting her elbow on the table and covering her mouth with the fist in which she held her fork. A hardened expression gracing her face, she whispered, “How much longer?”

“You want to get out of here?” He asked, glancing over at her worriedly.

She swallowed and sighed, shaking her head, “No,” she said, covering his hand gently as it rested on his leg under the table, “not until you’re ready.”

He nodded, and turned forwards again. He suddenly caught the eye of his father, who seemed to be trying really hard to hold back a sneer. Not breaking away from his father’s judgemental stare, he turned his palm up and squeezed her back. She smiled into the glass of white wine she was drinking, as he picked up his own of red, sipping carefully and looking away from his father.

A half an hour later, he followed his father outside onto one of the balconies. He’d been preparing a speech for about a week, thinking of how to apologize for the party. He stepped outside into the air, hit with the sudden stench of stale cigarettes on the evening breeze. He coughed slightly, catching his father’s attention.

“Dad, I, uh, I wanted to apologize for the party the other week, it wasn’t our place.” He said softly.

HIs father turned out to look at the city, waiting for him to continue.

“I know--I know that you and mom have a lot of things to do, and I’m sorry that we embarrassed you two.” Mon-El swallowed, “It won’t happen again.”

His father nodded slowly, not answering him but obviously accepting his apology. Mon-El bit the inside of his cheek and then began to turn, walking back to the party.

“You know she’s not going to stick around.” His father said suddenly, not looking at his son.

“Who?”

“Your reporter friend.” He replied, pausing for a long moment to take a hit off the cigarette, “She isn’t going to stick around much longer.”

“What makes you say that?” Mon-El said, trying to hide the anxiety creeping into his voice.

“Women like her,” His father said, “they don’t want to be with people like you. They want someone well-educated and interesting. You are neither.”

Mon-El swallowed hard, “Kara and I are just friends--”

“--Don’t bullshit me, Mon-El.” His father snapped, “You like her, but you’re just another guy--a passing fancy.”

Mon-El’s toes curled inside his shoes and he nodded, turning away and biting his tongue angrily. He walked briskly back into the house and passed Kara as she poured herself another drink.

“Mon-El?” She asked gently, and he stormed out the front door.

Dropping her glass onto the table, she jogged after him. She followed him outside into night air, finding him sitting on the front steps. She sat slowly down next to him, staring out at the street. Cars pass by; people and dogs and the whole city seems to just keep moving on, and on, as they stay still.

“What happened?” She asked softly after a long moment.

He took a deep breath, lifting his eyes from the ground. “Nothing.”

She nodded slowly, turning to him, “You know, you can always talk to me, right?”

He looked at her, “I know.”

She swallowed, turning to look at the street again.

Standing, she offering him a hand, “Do you wanna get out of here?”

He grinned, playing along, “And go where?”

“I know a place.”

* * *

Mon-El didn’t know how long he’d been sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen. They’d gone to his house after that dinner, and he felt like he was comatose. He couldn’t feel his limbs, couldn’t feel his heart, couldn’t feel his brain or his lungs. This was, by far, the most numb he’d ever felt in his life. He didn’t know why; he just sat in it.

He sighed, looking away from where he’d been glancing out the window. He turned, stopping dead in his tracks. The covers of his bed were disturbed by a sleeping form. Her soft hands were tucked under her pillow, her glasses askew, sitting at a strange angle on her face. Her blonde curls were fanned out over the bed, her toes sticking out of the bottom blanket.

There was something about it--seeing her in between his dark, gray sheets. He didn’t know what, but it was… filling? That wasn’t the word. God, he had no clue.

She snored softly, turning onto her back. She tucked one arm under the pillow and the other rested on her stomach. Her head rested just on the edge of the cushion, so part of it was on the mattress. She was frowning.

He smiled, leaning over and gently pulling the glasses off her nose. He folded them, hanging them off the desk lamp. He turned back to his laptop, and then suddenly realized something. He looked up at her glasses, and saw his hanging right next to them. He glanced to his right and there she was, occupying his bed.

She had food in his fridge, writing on his prose, sweaters in his closet, an umbrella she’d forgotten one day next to his front door. She’d brought a red blanket over for his couch, and it sat folded neatly--by her--on the back to this day, almost two months later.

She had a toothbrush in his bathroom, her lemon tea and cocoa mix in his sparse cabinets. She’d stolen a flannel shirt from him one night after she’d ruined the blouse she’d been wearing. He was under the impression that either she forgot about it, or she thought he’d forgotten about it and therefore had decided to forgo the whole “return” process. She has highlighted his work, spoken to him about things he’d never told anyone before--she’d listened to him.

He trusted her. His trust in her was, just now, in this moment, made so very clear to him. She was a huge part of his life; how had he not realized earlier?

She commanded respect, being stronger than anyone he’d ever met. He didn’t understand how someone could be so sensitive and sympathetic and still want to be around him. She had touched almost everything in his life, claiming it as her own. It wasn’t bad, at least, it wouldn’t be until she left and everything reminded him of how he can’t have a meaningful relationship with anyone.

* * *

She’d taken to doing that. Every morning when she’d wake up, she’d apologize and tell him that he should wake her up, were she ever to do it again. He would only smile, promising her that he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Today, was much the same, but a bit different.

He was running around, grabbing clothes and trying not to make much noise. She sat up, blinking blearily, “What’s going on?”

“I, uh, I have to go do something.” He said vaguely, pausing to look around, trying to find his coat.

“What do you have to do?” She looked down at her watch, lifting it to show him the time, “It’s seven o’clock in the morning on a Saturday.”

“Your point?” He raised a brow.

“Since when do you get up before twelve?” She said, “And, while we’re on the subject,” she scooted to the end of the bed, picking up his jacket and holding it out for him, “since when do you wake me up before twelve?”

He smiled, taking the coat off her hands, “I didn’t mean to, sorry.”

She nodded, sitting back down at the end of the bed as he began to search for socks. “So, where are you going, anyways?”

“My mom,” He yanked on one shoe, “she said she needs me.”

“She called?”

“Yeah,”

“When?”

He frowned, looking up at her, “About a half an hour ago.”

“And when does she want you to be there?” Kara asked pointedly.

He put his hands on his hips, looking at her suspiciously. “Immediately. Why?”

She only sighed, touching her glasses and shaking her head. “Nothing.”

“Come on, Kara, you obviously have something you want to say.” He said.

“I just--” She swallowed, “--I just think that’s a bit short-notice you know?”

“Okay?”

“Doesn’t she ever consider that you have friends?” She asked, clearly trying to be gentle, “I mean, what if you had plans or something?”

“Well, I don’t really have friends, so.”

“Is that what you think or is that what they say?” She replied in quick succession. Her eyes widened; she couldn’t believe she’d just said that.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He snapped.

She looked at him as though she couldn’t believe he’d just uttered those words. Standing and tugging at the sleeves of her shirt, she walked over to him.

“Mon-El,” She said, “you’re parents are…”

“What?” He stepped closer to her, “You have a problem with my parents?”

“My problem is that you don’t have a problem with them!” She cried, “They say terrible, horrible things to you! Things that make you upset and feel hurt!”

“The truth hurts, Kara! Doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be said--”

“--What they say is not the truth.” She said, her voice getting deeper and more powerful. “Every time you see them, you come home and you’re a wreck. They have wormed their way into your head, and over the course of your entire existence, they’ve just tried to warp and carve you so that you’ll be just who they want! But you’re not the person they want you to be!”

“Yes, but I am trying to be better--be a better writer, a better son!” He yelled back.

“You’re not listening to me!” She said, her face flushing, “All they ever do is hurt you, Mon-El.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about my family.” He shook his head, turning away from her.

“Oh don’t I?” She crossed her arms. “I’ve watched your father call you horrible names and criticise your every move. I’ve watched him put you down; watched the way you tense up whenever your mother is around like you’re just waiting for her say something terrible.

They run their lives like dictators, and that kind of--of totalitarian form of parenting never works! They keep stepping on you because it makes them feel powerful! They aren’t giving you advice! They’re trying to keep you dependant on them and their money and their success and their name, Mon-El!

Why can’t you just see that? I’ve been waiting for you to see this for months, Mon-El--why won’t you accept the truth?”

“It’s not true!” He snapped, “They love me! They’re my parents!”

“Who’re you trying to convince?” She asked, “Me, or yourself?”

His breath hitched in his throat and he swallowed, stepping back and running a hand through his hair.

“I’ve read almost everything you’ve ever written, Mon-El, I’d say I know a great deal about you and your parents.”

He laughed humorlessly, rubbing his brow. “Like what?”

“All of your characters are just copies of you.” She said, “After all; it’s much easier to talk about yourself through someone else’s mouth.”

“You have--you have no idea what you’re--”

“--Mon-El,” she interrupted, walking closer to him, “I’ve been inside your head. I know exactly what kind of person you are--who they are--and the person you want to be.”

He met her gaze, “And what person is that, oh wise one?”

“Mon-El. You don’t want to be Mike, you don’t want to be the son of the Matthews.” She spoke the other two names disdainfully, “You want to be your own man--a good man. You don’t want to be around those--those toxic people who hurt you and pull you down. You want to be happy, and you’re never, never, going to be if you don’t get them out of your life and their voices out of your head.”

He looked back and forth between her eyes, and shook his head. He turned away, “Whatever, Kara--”

“--What did your father say after you apologized for me last week?” She questioned, “Did he say, ‘Mon-El, I accept your apology.’ Or, did he say something about me?”

He turned, “What?”

She cocked her head, “Do you think I’m an idiot? All this stuff about ‘I don’t have any friends,’ the subtle distance you’ve been putting between us--and don’t tell me you haven’t been doing it because I know what it looks like when people are trying to push me away.”

He had no idea what she was talking about, but he couldn’t form the words.

“I guarantee that when you go to meet them wherever you’re meeting them today, they’ll tell you something else that will hurt you, and that will make you scared when there’s nothing to be afraid of.

Your father said something to you that made you doubt me.” Her voice softened, “Parents aren’t supposed to say things like that, Mon-El.”

“What would you know about it?” He snapped.

“My parents may have died when I was thirteen, but I was adopted by a very kind, and nurturing family, Mon-El.” She replied evenly, “They never, never, told me what life to lead, what job to do, what passions I should be--passionate about!”

He stood there, frozen with a glare on his face. He just turned, walking out of the apartment angrily.

* * *

“Mon-El,” His mother folded her napkin daintily, “there’s something that your father and I would like to discuss with you.”

“I assumed that.” He replied flatly.

His parents shared a look as people moved their dishes out of the way. They were all sat around a circular table on a warm paddio, sunlight dappling their skin through the leaves.

“It’s about your,” his mother made a face that looked mildly like the next word she was about to say was dirty or somehow improper, “reporter friend.”

“Kara.” He supplied.

His father leaned back in his chair. “We don’t want you seeing her anymore.”

“Excuse me?” Mon-El frowned incredulously.

“She isn’t good for you.” His mother said.

“What the hell would either of you know about me and Kara?” He asked, “And since when do you care?”

“She’s only after you for your money.” His mother shrugged, “That much is clear.”

“What?” Mon-El gaped.

“Goddamn it, Mon-El, get your head out of your ass; it’s not a hat.” His father sighed suddenly, “Traipsing around with that woman is going to get this family into a huge mess that no one here is going to want to clean up.”

“How could you possibly know--?”

“--Because I am the parent, and you are the child!” He snapped suddenly, making Mon-El flinch slightly. “You know nothing, and we’re always going to need to do everything for you, aren’t we?”

It was then, in that exact moment that everything Kara had bellowed at him came flowing back. Mon-El could hear her voice, telling him exactly everything she’d observed about his entire life over the course of these past six months.

Over these past weeks, he’d been trying figure out just how she saw the world; he wanted to get inside her head just like she’d gotten into his, but it wasn’t as simple as reading her journal (since she didn’t have one). It was in that one millisecond, that he saw the way she did:

He saw the truth.

“I, uh, I have to go.” Mon-El pushed back in his chair, a dazed look on his features.

“Mon-El!” His mother snapped, “You can’t go, we’re still eating.”

“Oh my god,” He breathed, the realization still washing over him in waves. He suddenly let out a chuckle, and then another one, until he was just full-out laughing his ass off. “Oh my god!”

“What’s so funny--?” His mother began but he put up a hand to stop her.

“I’m sorry, I just,” He said, pausing to catch his breath, “I had to take a moment and think about that.”

His father opened his authoritarian mouth to speak again, but Mon-El interrupted him before he even began.

“You know what, guys?” He smiled, “I’m twenty-six. I have supported myself for the past six years of my life, not you. In fact, now that I think of it, I’ve supported myself my whole life.”

“Wha--?”

“--Not money-wise, of course.” He explained, “But my whole life I was the only one that kept myself going. The only reason I kept writing was because it was the only thing in life that made me feel something--anything.”

He stood, “You’re not in charge of me anymore. In fact, if you contact me again to tell me that I have to go to one of those stupid, meaningless events you two call important; I will come in a t-shirt in jeans and get drunk off my ass in front of all your friends.”

His mother gasped and his father rolled his eyes.

“Sit down, Mon-El, you’re making a scene.”

“You know what, dad?” Mon-El’s voice rose, “Fuck you.”

His mother grabbed his father’s arm, “Mon-El!”

“No.” Mon-El said, never breaking eye-contact with his dad, “You want someone to tell you the truth for a change?”

His father didn’t answer but Mon-El took it as an invitation to continue.

“You’re a terrible, sociopathic, son of a bitch, who should’ve never had a kid. You’re never going to mean anything because I am not going to carry on your legacy, no matter what you say to me about my writing being pointless. I am, an amazing author, you bastard, and I don’t give a damn what you say.” He began to walk away, “How would you even know, anyways? You’ve never even read my book, so how could you possibly know what caliber of a man I am? You don’t know me at all, and I’m done pretending you do.”

He turned and began to march towards the door. His father stood, clenching his fists at his sides.

“Mon-El! Mon-El! Get back here!” He bellowed, “You cannot just walk away from me--”

Mon-El looked over his shoulder and gave him the finger, opening the restaurant’s front door with his hip.

* * *

Kara bit the inside of her cheek and looked down at the folder in her hands. She bounced her leg as she waited in Cat Grant’s office for her to come back from going to yell at the investigative team personally and in public--her favorite kind of punishment.

“Kara, you look like you’re going to pop something.” Cat said in a bored tone of voice as she walked behind her desk, “If so, please do it somewhere else, the carpets just got cleaned.”

“Nope, Miss Grant, I’m not going to pop anything, just wanted to run an article by you, if that’s okay.” She offered it to her boss.

Cat raised her eyebrows, looking at the reporter pointedly over her glasses.

“What?” Kara frowned.

“Why are you actually here, Kara.” She stood, pouring herself a drink. Kara let the article fall slowly back into her lap.

“I don’t understand--”

“--I’m not an idiot, Kara; I’m the most powerful woman in National City.” Cat replied, “But even Miss Tessmacher would be able to see how your mood has shifted today.”

Kara frowned. “What do you mean?”

Cat sat back down, giving Kara her signature ‘are you kidding me’ face.

“For the past couple weeks you’ve been insufferable. Always happy, and upbeat, and occupied. Today you are annoyed and callous; obviously a man has disappointed you. I could’ve told you that was going to happen ages ago, Kara, but of course you didn’t come to me for advice.”

“It’s not like that, Miss Grant--” Kara laughed nervously, touching her glasses and looking down.

“Then what is it like?”

Kara swallowed, and decided that she was going to tell her. “A friend of mine--”

“--A man.”

“--Yes,” Kara nodded, “He has these… these terrible parents. They’re just--they’re awful to him; they say all these mean and hurtful things to him and he doesn’t seem to realize what they’ve done to him.”

“Okay.” Cat said.

“He won’t listen to me. I’ve tried being gentle and I’ve tried waiting for him to talk to me about it but this morning I just, ugh, I lost my cool!”

“So he’s got baggage?”

“Yes--well, he does but he doesn’t think he does! He refuses to deal with the truth! Or--or listen to reason!”

“It’s obviously because he’s scared you’re right.” Cat stated plainly, taking a sip of her drink.

“What?” Kara blinked.

“He’s worried that you’re right and that he’s wasted all of this time with these people who don’t care about him, when he could’ve been rid of them and found people like you sooner.” Cat replied, “People who are kind.”

“Well, I doubt he thinks that of me now.” Kara said, her shoulders slumping.

“Don’t give up, Kara.” Cat stood, walking over to the door, holding it open for her employee. “He’ll come around someday. Hopefully. If not though, you probably shouldn’t waste too much energy on it.”

“Right,” Kara nodded.

“Besides, you never know if he has hidden depths,” Cat said a bit menacingly, “ones that aren’t as pretty as his visible ones.”

“You’re saying you think he could turn out just like his parents?” Kara said incredulously, “No, no way. Mon-El is a--he’s a good man.”

“Mm.” Cat said skeptically. “In any case, this is a place of work; try and get some done, won’t you?”

“Oh, yes Miss Grant.” Kara nodded, scuttling away.

* * *

There was a knock at the door. Mon-El looked up from his laptop screen. He frowned, walking over and opening it, finding Kara dripping on his doorstep.

“Kara?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, walking past him and into the apartment, wiping some drops of rain off her forehead, “I couldn’t take it any longer.”

“Take what?”

“This!” She indicated vaguely.

“First off--” Mon-El shook his head slightly to clear it, “--why’re you so wet?”

“It’s raining!” She said.

“Don’t you have an umbrella?”

“No,” she said, pointing behind him, “you have my umbrella.”

“Oh.” He turned back, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine--listen,” she clasped her hands in front of her, “I know that you’re upset with me, Mon-El.”

“Kara, I’m--”

“--Just, please,” Kara stopped him, “let me just say something.”

He looked back and forth between her eyes. He took a breath, nodding.

“Thank you,” She said softly. “Last week, I said a lot of things to you all at once. Believe me, that was not my plan--yes, I had a plan.”

He smiled at her and she continued.

“I wasn’t being very sensitive,” She said, “but that doesn’t mean that what I said wasn’t true.”

He looked down and she pursed her lips; upset at his expression.

“I know you can’t see it, Mon-El. I know that you want to believe that they care about you but even if they do they’re not going about it the right way--not even close.” She paused slightly, “I shouldn’t have talked in the tone I did but I can’t--can’t just sit by and watched someone I care about get hurt over and over. You deserve so much more than that, Mon-El.”

His breath hitched in his throat and he tried to stare more intensely at their shoes; as if that would keep him from tearing up.

“I just… I wanted you to know that.” She said. After a moment of silence, she swallowed, rolling her shoulders slightly, “Well, I’ll, uh, get out of your hair.”

She walked past him and he suddenly straightened, beginning to talk.

“You were right!” He called, making her stop. His voice softened, “You were right.”

She turned, looking at him sympathetically.

“I, uh,” He wiped his cheek and let out a watery chuckle, “I gave my dad the finger last week.”

She gasped, covering her mouth. She began to laugh, and he beamed through his tears.

“I told him he was a sociopathic son of a bitch.” Mon-El said, and she ran over to where he stood, yanking him down into a hug.

She stroked his hair, and he buried his face into the crook of her neck.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, “I’m so sorry that you had to do that.”

He nodded, “I think he, uh, had it coming.”

They pulled apart and she cupped his cheeks. She rubbed them with her thumbs and he felt his hands begin to quiver ever so slightly at his sides.

“What matters is whether you’re happy and you’re safe,” She said, “do you feel that way?”

He took a moment, looking down at her. She stared right back at him. While he was marvelling at her beauty and strength, she was thinking that he was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen.

“I feel safe with you.”

She smiled, “Well, I’m glad.”

He grinned, and she mirrored him.

“Here,” he walked back, “I think I have some food in the fridge, you can take off your coat and--”

“--Mon-El,” she said suddenly, making him stop. He turned, looking at her carefully. When she spoke next, her could barely hear her it was so soft; “wait.”

He stepped closer, looking at her with a concerned expression. “Are you alright?”

“I have to tell you something.” She said.

“Okay,” He said, his anxiety growing.

“The other night I… I spent a lot of time thinking about this--this thing we have.” She swallowed, and his mouth went dry. “It hit me all again; just how much I’d assumed about you during that interview--just how unfair I’d been to you.”

“Kara, you don’t have to apologize again--”

“--But I want to.” She replied, “I want to because I was so, so, wrong, Mon-El.”

He blinked, knowing she was going to continue.

“At first I envied you; all you had to do was get drunk and you were famous. I thought you were a cheat. And then, I thought you were just a sad, lonely guy, and I decided to let my envy go. Then, I went to that party with you. I saw your father yell at you and say those things to you and I--I began to pity you. And then that night, it was like I’d suddenly been shoved right into you life, and you accepted me without question, showing me your writing immediately like you just needed someone--anyone--to see you. The real you.

I read that story in your journal about the boy in the darkroom, printing the same photo over and over again, finding that nothing changed no matter what he did, and I saw you. Suddenly, there was depth and emotion and hurt to this man I’d chalked up to be some kind of rip-off, con-artist.

I felt terrible; like a total--terrible--person.” She stumbled, searching for words, “And I couldn’t live with the idea that I’d written someone off just like everyone else when all they needed was one person--just one--to believe in them. So I took that folder home, and I just… I couldn’t believe that you were able to capture such a variety of emotions--some that I, myself, had never felt--and make me feel them like they were my own.

Each hour I spent with you, I just… I began to feel like a hole that had been in my life for so long I’d stopped noticing it was beginning to be filled.”

His lips parted, and in his eyes, a smile lurked.

“I--” He swallowed, “--Kara, I--”

She stood on her tiptoes, cupping his neck and pulling his lips down onto hers. His eyes fell closed, hands immediately reacting to her. He gripped her waist, and she stepped closer, pressing her body against his.

She pulled off her coat, and he took off his shirt--much to her satisfaction. Nails scratched at his chest, tracing lines like rivers in his skin. They came tumbling back together, as she slipped out of her sweater.

She lead him, gently nudging him backwards towards the bed. His knees buckled and he laid back. She stood above him, watching with a sly smile on her face, pulling off her shoes and socks one by one. He could stare at her for hours.

She clambered on top of him, tucking her sopping hair behind her ear and giving him a gentle peck on the lips. He closed his eyes once more, revelling in the feeling he’d only ever dreamt about. Then the heat and passion returned.

Suddenly, they were a tangle of limbs. He leaned up, kissing her throat as she let her head fall back. She tucking her face into his shoulder, wrapping her arms tightly around him. He turned his head, his lips just barely touching her cheek. He could stay here, in this moment, with her in his lap, her breath in his ear and in his bed forever. Coincidentally; she was thinking the same thing too.

* * *

The city sounds drifted through the crack in his window pane. She laid next to him, on her stomach, hugging the pillow for dear life as he sat next to her. The pads of his fingers brushed the top of her shoulder carefully, watching the content smile on her face, wondering if it would ever leave. For some strange reason, he started to think about those two stories she’d mentioned.

“Kara,” he breathed.

“Mm…” She hummed, turning to face him and lifting her eyelids.

“You asked me once,” he took a shaky breath, “why there was only one mirror in my apartment.”

She sat up and leaned against the headboard next to him.

“I, uh, didn’t really think too much about the deeper meaning behind that story about the mirrors when I wrote it but, when you said those things about my parents, I couldn’t stop reliving my childhood; suddenly connecting all these dots I’d never thought about before. You planted this seed inside my head and it grew rampant, taking over everything.” He swallowed, “The sent me in there when I’d upset them in some way--looking back now, I know I usually had no reason to feel guilty about what I’d done but it was hard to see that at the time.

It was this little place right between their closets; all the walls were filled with these full-length mirrors, and there was this sterile, cream-colored carpet. My father would drag me in there and make me sit, cross-legged in the middle. He’d say, ‘sit in here, and look at that reflection and think about who you are.’ It was a strange concept.”

She rubbed his shoulder, and he swallowed, continuing.

“That one about the boy in the darkroom, the one where he’s printing the photos and they just keep coming out wrong and he can’t fix them, no matter what he tries to do, no matter how he adjusts the enlarger?” He closed his eyes. “That’s loosely based on when I was a teenager.”

“How?” She asked.

“My family always had a lot of money, so therefore I did. One day, I bought a bottle of sleeping pills and I went into that room, and stared at myself. I sat cross-legged on that awful, scratchy carpet, and I looked at those reflections, and all I could see was a coward. I couldn’t even kill myself, I was so useless.

And that was the first attempt at ‘printing the photo’ so to speak. I couldn’t feel anything, I was so numb. I thought that I could finally make myself feel something--anything--but every time I just froze. I stood at the top of my building one day and, I found myself thinking about that room, and hating myself. I could do it--I could. All I needed was to move one foot, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it and I hated myself even more than I thought I possibly could.

I felt so useless, so disappointed in myself. I tried to rationalize it to my brain; telling it that my parents would be better off, that I didn’t have any close friends that would miss me. But in the end… I guess I was so scared of what would come after. I wasn’t brave enough to jump into the unknown--or to drown myself or to put myself to sleep or to cut myself.

I couldn’t kill myself and so therefore, I was that much more of a failure. I built myself this prison; running around and around in circles, hoping that one day I’d make some sort of choice.”

She cupped his cheek, turning his face so that he was looking at her.

“Mon-El,” She breathed, “you are so beautiful, and you don’t ever, ever, need to tell yourself that you’re anything less than the man you want to be.”

He smiled, kissing her deeply. She pulled him down, enveloping him in her arms. He could definitely get used to this.

* * *

Mon-El’s leg bounced anxiously, and a gentle hand moved quickly to quiet it. He looked up at her profile as she stared evenly at the stage. He sat back, sighing nervously. The man to his right smiled, leaning over.

“Mon-El,” He said easily, “everything’s going to be fine.”

“You don’t know that, James.” Mon-El bit the tip of his thumb, as James only chuckled.

“Your book is going to win.” He said.

“You sound very sure.” Mon-El replied.

“I am sure.” James looked at him again, “After all, I’m the one who edited it.”

Kara leaned forwards, “I edited it first.”

James grinned, “Alright, that’s fair.”

“...I am proud to present the award for the most influential author of the year to Mon-El Matthews, for his book of short stories entitled, ‘Welcome to Earth.’”

The crowd erupted around him, but he couldn’t move. He suddenly jumped up, running down the aisle, as Kara beamed proudly after him. He accepted the award from the man and turned to wave to the people. He stepped up to the podium.

“Oh wow,” he said breathlessly, and the audience laughed. He wiped his forehead, “I, uh, I am so grateful to receive this award. My, uh, my first book didn’t take as much out of me as this one did, and I am just so amazed by how many people it touched.

This book was, uh, mostly autobiographical, but I decided to use other people to tell it because, as a wise woman once said to me, ‘it’s much easier to talk about yourself through someone else’s mouth.’

She saw straight through me, almost from day one. Without her guidance and support, I don’t think I would’ve ever realized exactly what kind of life I was living. She helped me find the courage that had always been inside me; the courage to keep going, and to believe in myself.

My only hope for this book is that people out there think about the relationships they’ve kept and the ones they’ve let go; and to make sure that those were the right decisions. I want everyone who reads it to take a good look at themselves, and find the true power and strength they have inside them.”

He swallowed, glancing down at the award, voice cracking as he spoke next. “Thank you.”

She clasped her hands in front of her face, and their eyes met. She gave him this goofy smile, and he returned it back to her. He looked out into the audience, and although she and James were the only people he could see, he had a feeling that everyone could see him now. 

[sassafrasx]

2016 Writing Year Review

Thanks @notbrogues for tagging me! Upon looking at my AO3 stats this year this is almost embarrassing but, haaaaaaaaahahahaha, let’s do it anyway.

Total Number of Stories Completed: 5 fics, 4 completed. All for gift exchanges.

Total Word Count: 19,355 *hysterical laughter in the distance*

Fandoms Written In: Kingsman, Merlin, Captive Prince, Genghis Khan - Miike Snow (Music Video)

Looking Back, Did You Expect To Write More Fic Than You Thought You Would This Year, Less, Or About What You’d Expected? MORE, SO MUCH MORE. It’s not even funny how much less I wrote than what I’d planned. But with the craziness that was this year, I’m happy I was able to write anything really. The first half of the year S.O. had multiple surgeries and even more hospital stays and then I’ve lived in a construction zone for the past 5 months or so and gone through 3 different contractors and we both nearly lost our sanity (such as it is >.>) in the process, so, all in all, I suppose I shouldn’t complain and just be happy that things are finally finally settling down and looking a hell of a lot better going forward for the first time in years. (Which means so much more writing time, once we’re finished unpacking.)

But I am going to go put my head under a blanket because omg I didn’t even break 20k of published fic this year. Gahhh. /o\

What’s Your Own Favorite Story Of The Year? Oooooooh, I don’t know. Maybe my Yuletide fic this year, Refraction, Redress, which was for the Miike Snow music video -- so many of my favorite themes: queer themes, found family, bamf ladies, and a happy poly ending -- and my Kingsman fics were also a lot of fun.

(P.S. If you haven’t seen that music video, DO IT. Soooooo much fun, I loved being able to play with it. :D https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_SlAzsXa7E )

Did You Take Any Writing Risks This Year? Ummm, not particularly I don’t think? Every fic was very different in terms of setting and themes, different styles of writing as well, so that was good, but I don’t know if any of them were risks, per se.

Do You Have Any Fanfic Or Profic Goals For The New Year? Wriiiiiiiiiite. And finish things! I have so many WIPs gathering dust at this point and I’m rather attached to them all and I really want them to see the light of day. I also realized I haven’t written fic that wasn’t for an exchange fest in over a year, so I need to start doing that again. Also put the finishing touches on a bunch of Merlin fic I have lingering on my hard drive and fucking post it already. Finish the Kingsman Big Bang, which I’m super excited for! Everyone is so great, I can’t wait for everyone’s finished stuff.

But, yeah, mostly just write. Anything. Doesn’t really matter, I just need to get back in the rhythm of it all.

Best Story Of The Year? No clue, you tell me XD

Most Popular Story Of The Year? This isn’t even close to a competition: The World Will Follow After my 5+1 Merlin fic from the very beginning of the year full of accidental soulbonding and all that tropey goodness hahahaha

Story of Mine Most Under-appreciated By The Universe, IMO: Well tiny fandom fic is always relatively underappreciated by virtue of being what it is, so Refraction, Redress again for last year. The tiniest of tiny fandoms!

Most Fun Story To Write: Ooooooh, probably Follow Me Out, Across the Stars -- space! and sassy gentlemen in suits! and pining and flirting and all the fun stuff.

Story With The Single Sexiest Moment: Maybe the rimming scene in The World Will Follow After? Or, actually, I’ll go with the wanking scene in Follow Me Out, Across the Stars. Idk, depends on your preferences I guess.

Most Sweet Story: Errrr. Probably the same two, take your pick. I wouldn’t really describe any of the others as sweet, but people keep saying The World Will Follow After is sweet, so?

“Holy Crap, That’s Wrong, Even For You!” Story:  Nothing last year, although I currently have a fic planned out that is definitely, absolutely wrong even for me and I cackle with glee every time I think about it and it is all @alamerysl ‘s fault. I CANNOT BE BLAMED.

(this what I get for joking around about surprise plot twists lolol)

Story That Shifted My Own Perceptions Of The Characters: Ummm, I know it’s not finished (oh god /o\), but Accidental Destinations was a huge process for me and I don’t think I’ve ever generated so many notes for any one fic before, but it also allowed me to get into a lot of nitty gritty details and such for all the characters, really fully flesh them out in a way a lot of my short fluffy stuff that, while fun, doesn’t have as much room to delve into. And I really really really need to finish it, because I genuinely adore a lot of the stuff I have planned for it, and I just need to connect the pieces.

Most Unintentionally Telling Story: Probably Refraction, Redress, although Accidental Destinations may well end up being so in the future.

Hardest Story To Write: God, I don’t know. Almost all of these ended up being a fight. The World Will Follow After was beyond uncooperative and it was not originally a 5+1 thing, but a much longer thing that just would not work, so I eventually hacked it into 6 parts and completely changed up the format to make it flow as a cohesive thing, and at least judging by the response I assume it did. My smutswap fic, Mine, was originally a completely different fic which I ended up just having to trash at the last minute and write a quick pwp with as many kinks as I could stuff to make up for it instead. Follow Me Out, Across the Stars also fought me although I was able to wrangle it more or less by the end, but not without an all-nighter (and really I’m way too old to still be doing that.... :’D).

Biggest Disappointment: Having so little time to write and, frankly, not having the energy to do much with the time I did. Large parts of this year wiped me emotionally, but I was still able to come here and zone out and make my little corner of fandom my happy, away-from-the-world place and that meant a lot, so I’m not really hung up over it. You win some you lose some XD

Biggest Surprise: Not dropping out of any of the things I did sign up for and ending the year on a good note, writing and all!

Tagging @morganasand @eatingmoonflowers and anyone else who hasn’t been tagged and would like to do it (I can’t tell who’s been tagged and who hasn’t at this point, but I’m way late to the party, so), I’d love to hear about it :D