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artaefact · 4 years ago

Text

bakery 1995.

—wordcount: 14.7k+

—genre: angst, fluff, romance, baker!jimin, bakery cafe au, childhood friends-to-lovers au

—pairing: park jimin x f reader ft. bestfriend!jungkook

—rating: pg-15

—warnings: age gap (jimin is 4-5 years older), brief mention of physical assault, memory loss, overprotective parents, some intended grammatical mistakes, swearings, y/n is dragged into jungkook’s shenanigans

—summary: After returning from college for summer break, you got yourself a part time job to keep yourself busy. However, things go way too unexpectedly and you find yourself unraveling your forgotten past.

author’s note: this is for @btswritingcafe promptly yours event !! i tweaked the prompt a bit, so hopefully no one would get confused! happy reading ♡

Prompt: “Person A once had a major childhood crush on Person B. Fast forward to college where Person A is convinced it was nothing but temporary, that is until they return home for summer break to find Person B back after being gone for several years. Turns out, they weren’t such temporary feelings.”

It’s nice to know that no matter how judgemental the world can be, pigeons would never judge you. Despite the clear contrast between yourself and the asphalt pathway, they would not hesitate to excrete waste on either of them and can’t even be bothered by the possible consequences.

Staring at the dropping on your jacket sleeve, you exhale loudly while rummaging your pocket for a kleenex.

‘Out of all the places where their shit could have landed on, it had to be MY jacket,’ you grumble to yourself.

Reaching towards the bakery in the area, you hope they still have some cinnamon rolls you have been craving for. You can already imagine yourself humming in delight as the sweetness spreads across your taste buds and—

“You have got to be kidding me.”

The cashier attendee bows apologetically at you. “We’re so sorry, all the cinnamon rolls are sold out for today.”

Today must be the worst day to date in your entire years of existence. How on earth can a bakery run out of cinnamon rolls?

Groaning internally, you trudge out of the, now, third bakery that has sold out their cinnamon rolls.

Bad luck seems to follow you throughout the day. Is it because you went out of the house while your parents were in the middle of nagging you? For the last few days after you came back home for summer break, they have been constantly nagging you and you would kill to have an hour of peace and quiet.

Mindlessly, you whip up your phone and search up on Google while you walk to the nearby bus station, typing in the search bar — is it bad luck if a bird pooped on you?

Biting your lower lip, you press on the first link that appears on the screen.

Bird poop may be a sign of hope in disguise, you read. Snorting in incredulity, you scroll through the webpage.

It can’t be good luck.

You are not the type to believe in superstitions, however, besides getting pooped on, you dropped your phone on the pavement of the sidewalk just before you reached the first bakery, an hour ago. This resulted in the annoying crack of the screen right in the middle of it. Not only that, the sole of your right tennis shoes came off halfway which hindered you from walking properly and made you look like someone who hurt their leg.

Having had enough for today, you decide to go back home. Until a pastel pink store, right across the street, catches your attention with its aesthetic-looking door.

What’s this? A new—

A dramatic gasp escapes your lips after reading the name of the store, earning confused stares from nearby people. But you couldn’t care less.

Maybe Lady Luck does still care about you.

As soon as the pedestrian light turns green, you excitedly run, no, shuffle through the zebra-cross, reaching the newly-opened bakery.

My last hope is here. Please, let there be—

The interior of the bakery exudes a welcoming vibe, with the color of pale pink being the dominant over the whole place. Basically, it's a place where those Instagram models would kill to take their pictures at. However, it’s not the interior itself that your focus locks on. When the smell of freshly baked goods wafts into your nose, your eyes zero themselves on the various types of pastries that line the display counter, covered in glass domes. And there it is.

“Yes!” You squeal, grabbing the bakery tray to fill it as much as you’d like.

When you place the filled tray in the cash register counter, the cashier comments, “Woah, that’s a lot.”

If it is a normal day, you would have waved it off. However, unfortunately for the guy, it isn’t a normal day for you, after the constant annoying incidents that happened to you earlier. The comment snaps the last thread of patience you have for the day and sadly, targets the person in front of you. “I think you should mind your own—”

You take your thoughts back. Lady Luck is not on your side nor is the universe. They must be having fun, playing pranks on you so much today.

Your words cease immediately at his sheepish yet attractive smile.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer. “Just having a really bad day and I—”

“No! That’s okay.” The guy grins at you, eyes turning into crescent moons. “I’m the one who should be sorry, I just said the first thing that came up in my mind.”

“Ah...”

“I suck at starting conversations,” he says, sheepishly. “It’s a skill I’m planning to improve.”

Blinking twice, you manage to smile back at him, most probably just a cringed expression. “Well, um, good luck with that.”

As soon as he hands you the paper bag, you dash out of the bakery, not once looking back.

Your cheeks feel hot during the whole trip back home, every time you remember what happened, you would mentally kick yourself.

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Eating the warm cinnamon rolls is a blessing and a curse.

You have never tasted such heavenly flavour before, all your worries and exhaustion seem to fade away. This brings you to freeze in the realisation that you’ll want, no, need to go back to that bakery to buy those delicious rolls again. Meaning, you’ll see that cute guy whom you snapped at earlier, again.

His friendly eye-smile burns deep in your mind. But you can’t shrug off the sense of familiarity of his face and his voice…

Have I met him before?

Once you reach home, body aching and tired, you take a quick shower before digging into the rolls. Clicking your tongue, you continue to munch on the rolls in your room while your thoughts pull you in deep.

The sudden knock on your door, however, brings you back to the present. Groaning loudly, you stand up from your padded window seat.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Jungkook.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Your mouth agape at the sudden visit from your best friend. “Didn’t you say you won’t see me at all until break is over?”

“I might have changed my mind. I was very bored at home.” He enters your room, plopping on your beanbag. “So, now I am bored as hell and— Did you buy food without telling me?”

You met him during freshman year and you both hit it off quite quickly, you might add. After constantly pairing up together in projects, college project meetups gradually turned into hangouts.

“Says the one who claims to see my face every day makes him sick.” You roll your eyes at his dramatic ass, you go back to the window seat, crossing your legs. “It wasn’t planned, okay? I just got back home like thirty minutes ago.”

“But still you nearly finished everything without leaving me much!” He bit your last half-finished roll, letting out a noise of approval. “Which bakery did you buy it from?”

“It’s a new one. I never saw it before we went to college.”

“You should bring me there soon.”

“Nu-uh,” you refuse. “You can go yourself. I am not stepping a foot inside that place any longer.”

“What? Why not?”

“I may have embarrassed myself in front of the worker there.” Then you tell him what happened earlier.

Jungkook shakes his head in pity. “My poor Y/N, how do you always embarrass yourself when I’m not around? How would you survive in this world without me?”

Snorting at his words, you lean against the pillows on your back. “You’re the lucky one to have someone like me as his best friend. Anyways, how about that job I’m looking for?”

“Oh!” Jungkook’s eyes lit up. “Right, I was about to tell you! My friend is looking for a part-timer for his cafe.”

“Hmm, that sounds…”

Jungkook answers, “Boring? I know you’re looking for something much more exciting and—”

Narrowing your stare at Jungkook’s obvious judgmental face, you cut him off. “It sounds perfect, actually.”

Sighing, Jungkook whips up his phone. “You better bring me leftovers every time you get off work. I’ll bring you to his cafe tomorrow.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“What? Why?”

“You little shit—” You smack his arm.

“Ow! Stop that, woman! I thought you said—”

“This is a fucking bakery, dumbass!” You hiss at him.

Jungkook gapes at you. “It’s a bakery cafe, what’s the difference?”

“It’s different! I can’t go back in there!” You whine in embarrassment.

“Wait— So this is the bakery where you embarrassed yourself?”

Nodding wordlessly, you exhale before catching Jungkook failing to stifle his laughter. “Shouldn’t be too big of a problem. He’s nice, Y/N.”

“But—”

“And I told him you were coming…” Jungkook scratches the back of his head.

After contemplating for a while, you decided to gather your courage and enter the sweet-smelling bakery with Jungkook.

Too late to go back now. It was either this or staying bored at home for the rest of the summer break, facing your parents’ look of disapproval at your lack of daily activities, or to be more exact productivity.

The cute guy just finished placing cakes inside the glass displays on the counter, then his gaze shifts to where you and Jungkook are standing.

“Jungkook!” The cute guy’s brown hair is slicked back as he takes off his baker’s hat, approaching your best friend.

“It’s been so long, Hyung!” Jungkook greets back with a hug, smiling from ear to ear. “And wow—” His eyes skim through the pastel-themed cafe. “You finally opened your own cafe.”

Watching them interacting is a foreign sight to you. It’s a rare right to see Jungkook, the usually shy one, so friendly and comfortable around the cute guy.

If you’re lucky enough, maybe the cute guy won’t remember you and—

“Ah! Miss Cinnamon Rolls!”

Scratch that. Of course, he still remembers you.

“I didn’t know you were looking for a job.” His eye smile lands on you finally and your throat dries up.

Jungkook fails to hold back his laughter. “Miss Cinnamon Rolls? Just how much did you buy last time?”

After sending a brief glare at your best friend, you introduce yourself to the cute guy, “Y/N.”

As soon as your name slips past your lips, the cute guy freezes momentarily, eyes widening a fraction. “Y/N?”

You nod slowly.

“Uh,” He fumbles. “Jimin. Park Jimin.”

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“So, this is the kitchen area. We need to get the place ready by 8:30. Can you come by at 6 the latest?”

You nod at his question.

“We have a different menu each day. It will take some time for you to learn everything. But don’t worry I’ll teach everything you need to know.” He shoots you a smile, sending your heart to slightly flutter as you fiddle with your fingers.

Thank goodness Jungkook has left. Or else you’d never hear the end of his teasing or knowing smirk.

“I’m starting with bread and cakes these past few days before I open up the cafe section.”

For the rest of the day, Jimin spends his time letting you know everything about how the bakery runs whenever there are no customers. Even gracing you with two pieces of freshly-baked cinnamon rolls which made your cheeks burn in embarrassment at the memory of your first encounter.

“Go ahead, enjoy it,” Jimin shoots you a knowing grin.

Muttering a quiet ‘okay’, you take the first bite — holding a delighted groan at the sweetness that bursts through your tastebuds.

Propping his chin on his hand, he stares at you in amusement. “You must really like cinnamon rolls, huh?”

“They’re my comfort food,” you admit after swallowing down a piece. “My late grandmother used to make a lot of rolls at home.”

“I see… Well, have you ever baked before, Y/N?”

“The basic stuff like chocolate chip cookies…”

“Oh, that’s great—”

You added quickly, “But I nearly burned down Jungkook’s kitchen, though. He banned me from the kitchen ever since.”

A surprised laugh escapes the man’s lips which you don’t mind hearing more often, especially if you are the one behind it.

“At least the cookies still turned out great. It was a bit on the burnt side but still good… Crispy and crunchy.” You nervously chuckle. “But I swear, I’m not that bad if you provide a clear recipe!”

Still giggling, Jimin leans forward on his seat. “I can teach you everything you need to know. The basic stuff on baking and then there would be clear recipes I can provide you.”

Your eyes lighten up at that. “Yes! I’ll try my best.”

Arriving at the bakery at 6 am sharp, the next day — your official first day at work — Jimin can be seen moving back and forth from the small window opening connecting the kitchen and the bakery itself, already busy in the kitchen.

The smell of his work wafts through the entire bakery, indicating that he has been there for quite some time. Once you enter the kitchen, your mouth waters instinctively at the smell and sight of freshly-baked breads on the counter.

“How can I help?” From observing the finished baked goods, your eyes shift curiously at some ingredients — eggs, chocolate chips, sugar, flour — on the kitchen counter while you tighten the knot of your apron.

“You’re going to bake some chocolate chip cookies.” Jimin places a tray full of another different set of bread near the first one through the window. “So, go ahead, preheat the oven first.”

Following his instruction, you move towards one of the ovens. “Um…”

The corner of his lips quirks up at your obvious confusion before he chimes on how hot the oven should be set on.

With a brief nod, you turn on the oven. “Is this a test to see how far my baking skills go?” When you take a glimpse of the honey-haired man, he returns it with an amused grin of his own.

“Bingo.” Jimin’s smile is boyish and carefree and his eyes become crescent moons.

In other words, it made your heart race. However, you dismiss such unprofessional thoughts quickly before blood rises to your cheeks.

Clearing your throat, you move to the counter and start mixing the necessary ingredients altogether and set the dough on the baking tray. When the oven is preheated, you bring the tray towards it only to realise your mistake too late: not opening the oven first.

“Let me help,” Jimin says softly, opening the oven deftly.

“T-Thanks...” you mumble, concentrating on the task at hand.

Time passes quickly, before you know it, the oven makes a soft ‘ting’ sound. Opening it, the sweet smell wafts through the kitchen.

“I did it!” you say, excitedly placing the hot tray on the marble counter.

“But the final test is how the cookies taste.”

You watch in nervous anticipation as Jimin pops one of the cookies into his mouth. Not a moment later, he lets out a surprised sound.

“This is really good, Y/N. You do have the talent to bake.”

You beam at his words.

“Since that’s all set, I believe we still have other kinds of pastries to prepare for the day. I have all the recipes prepared for you here.” He motions to the notebook on the counter — you flip through it, astonished at all the recipes.

“Are these your own personalised recipes?”

Nodding, Jimin shoots you a grin. “I’ve always loved baking and there are some ways to make things with their own unique taste.”

The rest of the upcoming hour, you and Jimin were busy baking with Jimin instructing and giving you pointers. At some point, you even talked about anything and everything, as if you both have known each other all your life while you both work.

You have to admit, you find it really enjoyable. When the bakery closes, you sit quietly on one of the empty tables near the cashier after Jimin tells you to wait.

Mindlessly flipping through his recipe notebook, your attention soon shifts to Jimin himself with a steaming cup in his hold.

“Here.” He sets the cup in front of you.

You look at him quizzically before he motions for you to try.

“I’m opening the cafe part next week,” Jimin says. “Thought you can be the first to judge my caramel macchiato.”

“That’s a lot of caramel in one drink…” For a few moments, you observe the steaming coffee, froth decorates the top of it with drizzles of caramel in patterns of criss-cross nearly covering most of the foam itself. “Why caramel macchiato, though?”

“I thought you’d—” He clears his throat. “So many people really love caramel macchiato. So, I thought I’d go with this one for you to try first.”

Bringing the cup carefully to your lips, you take a sip of the beverage. The texture of the coffee is so smooth and the slight bitterness spreads through your taste buds and down your throat. Then you taste the caramel, letting out a delighted surprise when you find caramel bits inside the beverage.

Jimin keeps his stare on you, one hand supporting his chin and his eyes unreadable.

“What is it?” You ask, after downing the drink.

He blinks as if he was lost in his own thoughts. “Uh, how is it?”

“It’s very good.”

“Do you like coffee?” He asks.

Nodding, you tell him you loved to steal your mom’s coffee when you were younger. “There used to be a cafe near my place. I used to go there frequently during my high school years.”

Jimin briefly stills at yours words. “Do you... Still go there?”

You shake your head. “It was closed two years ago unfortunately.”

“Hmm, that’s a shame. I would’ve wanted to try the coffee there.”

Chuckling at his words, your mind takes you back to your high school days. “It was really good.”

Humming to yourself, you continue to flip through the pages of Jimin’s recipe notebook. “What’s this?” You stop at one page, pointing at a child’s drawing on his recipe notebook. “Did you draw it when you were younger?”

“It’s a shooting star.” Jimin answers. “And, no. I didn’t.”

“Oh? Sister? Brother?”

“I don’t have a sister and my brother just does not have the artistic skill to draw that,” he laughs. “It was someone from my past. Someone who is precious to me.”

“Oh…” Noticing his faraway gaze on the notebook, you sense it is a sensitive topic. “Why a shooting star though?”

“It represents hopes and wishes, according to her.” His smile turns nostalgic. “I was having a hard time back then. But this girl,” he chuckles as if in disbelief. “— just straight up grabbed my notebook and drew a shooting star on it, saying I should wish on this star since seeing a shooting star is not that common here.”

There’s something sad but warm in Jimin’s tone as he talks about this girl. You can only assume that this girl is not in his life anymore. Or even in this world.

“I see…”

“As ridiculous as it sounds, I actually did it. Very frequently in all honesty. Whenever I’m having a hard time, I’d wish upon that star.”

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A week passes quickly and just like a normal day, you arrive back home just a quarter past eight. Tugging off your shoes near the doorway, you hear your dad calling from the living room.

“Yes?” Mindlessly, you step into the living room only to meet the stern glare from him.

“Where were you?” Your dad asks. “Do you have any idea what time it is now?”

“It’s around eight...”

“And your curfew?”

Furrowing your brows, you gape, “I thought that was back in high school.”

“That still applies until now. I expect you to come back before seven.” Then he repeats his question, “Where were you?”

“From my new part-time place.” You answer. “I thought I told you about it.”

“If you want a job, you can intern in the company for the summer,” your dad sighs. “There’s no need for part-time jobs.”

You should have known it would last just three days before you are missing your university life, or to be more specific living alone. With the constant nagging from your parents, you crave for silence for a period of time. One thing you have been missing quite badly you have to admit, which is why you took the job in the bakery. Away from the scrutinising stares of your parents.

Here it goes again.

“I don’t think I’m ready to start there, Dad,” you exhale. “I want to do other things while I can.”

The same topic, the same debate you’d try to avoid as much as possible ever since you arrived back home for the summer. That was why you’d try to find something else to do. You always wanted to try a new hobby over the holidays. Now, with the excess amount of time in your hands, you are able to try.

That is why you opt for the part time job Jungkook found — working in the bakery.

“This isn’t going to work if you get home after your curfew, Y/N. You know how dangerous it is if you come home late.”

“I’m an adult now,” you reply, exasperatedly. “I can take care—”

“Things can get unpredictable, Y/N. It’s better that you’re safe than sorry.”

“Dad, when will you stop reminding me of that?” You groan in annoyance. “I don’t even remember how the accident happened.”

“The more reason for you to be cautious!”

Exasperated, you storm up to your room and carelessly throw your bag on the side of your bed. Laying on your back, you stare at the ceiling as your thoughts muddle when you try to think of what happened.

All you remember back then is that you woke up in the hospital, met with the worried gaze of your parents as soon as you got your consciousness back. However, they never tell or fill you in on what happened.

Gradually, your eyelids grow heavier — exhausted from the day and the burst of negative emotions over the argument you had earlier. Thus, you succumb to sleep. However, your mind takes you elsewhere.

Everything is dark.

With your own ragged breathing, you struggle to keep yourself as quiet as possible, biting down a hiss from the sting of your scraped knees. Tears pool in your eyes as you wait, hidden behind one of the playground’s slides and out of sight of any possible passerby.

There are no memories of what happened beforehand. All you know is to stay there and wait.

“Y/N?”

Peeking out of your hiding place, the figure draws closer calling your name in another hushed whisper.

But you knew this voice. So, you whispered back, “Here...” As soon as you get out of your hiding place, a warm embrace envelops your small frame.

“We’re okay, everything’s okay. I’ve lost them. We’re safe now,” he whispers, stroking your head softly while your fists clench on his shirt.

Not a moment later, your tears start to fall and you sob into his shirt. He tightens his hold on you, one hand on the back of your head as he repeatedly whispers, “It’s okay, I’m here.”

“I’m here...” His voice then seems to echo and your surrounding becomes a blur.

When you open your eyes, you realise you’re back in your room yet there are stray tears in your eyes. Sitting up on your bed, you take a few deep breaths to calm yourself.

Was that a memory…?

“Have a good day.” You bid the last customer of the day farewell and once they leave, your cheeks droop into a frown. With a sigh, you walk out of the cashier register place towards the front door, turning the ‘Open’ plate to ‘Close’.

The dream you had last night still felt so vivid that you considered it was a flashback of your memory loss. You wanted to ask your parents about it. However, yesterday’s conflict was still fresh. You were sure they would dismiss it.

After cleaning up the counters of the bakery café and mopping the floors, you trudge into the break room, sitting down on one of its chairs as you wait for Jimin’s return from his “errand”.

Your mind takes you back to the dream where someone was hugging you tight.

Who was it? you wonder. In the back of your mind, somehow you never felt his warmth among your high school friends. The guy who was holding you is just different.

You are so deep in your thoughts that you didn’t realise Jimin entering until he brings something right in front of your face. “What—”

“Hot chocolate,” he answers, softly. “You seem distracted today, I thought this might cheer you up.”

Taking the steaming cup from him, you mutter your thanks before breathing in the sweet smell, blowing softly on the beverage. “That was fast.”

“Hmm?”

“Wait, did you go out to buy this?” You lift the warm cup of hot chocolate.

Jimin lets out an embarrassed chuckle. “I wanted to make you one. Until I realised that the ingredients are finished. So, I had to run out.”

“You didn’t have to, you know…”

“I know. But I wanted to anyway.”

Your eyes look down, can’t help feeling touched by his sweet gesture as you fight back to keep yourself from blushing.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He must have noticed the change of your expression before he says quickly, “Only if you’re comfortable, of course! I just thought talking about what’s on your mind can ease you. At least a bit.”

Blinking your eyes twice, a chuckle escapes your lips. “I guess so.”

“That’s your first smile today.”

You raise a brow at him.

“Your first real smile, I mean. Your cheekbones do not have much tension if you’re genuinely happy whereas if you fake a smile, it seems more like you’re cringing. Like our first encounter.” He chuckles, meaningfully.

“I’m sorry...” you mumble, eyes glancing down at the steaming hot chocolate on your lap.

“That’s fine,” he says easily. “Everyone has their bad days.”

You smile slightly at his words. “Had a fight with my parents last night.”

Jimin stays quiet, still listening to you.

“They are always so protective when it comes to me. Maybe a bit too much at times. I’m a grown adult for fuck’s sake.” Another sigh escapes your lips before taking a sip of the hot chocolate. “My dad especially. He made it sound like a big deal when I came home around eight. I’m just frustrated at this.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

You nod in response.

“Was there something that made your dad feel that way?”

“I...” You blink. “I guess it’s because that one time I ended up in the hospital?”

“You did?”

You nod. “A few years ago, I had an accident.”

Jimin stiffens at your words. “Oh?”

“But it was nothing. I didn’t even remember what happened in all honesty.”

He stutters, “W-What?”

“I lost my memories. I had no recall of the accident at all.” Eyes training blankly on your front, focusing on nothing as you dive back into your memories. “My parents told me there is nothing to worry about and my memories would come back gradually. They never filled me in on what happened too.”

The corner of his lips soon quirks up slightly, his expression wistful. “Maybe they wouldn’t want you to be traumatised by what happened. It’s already fortunate enough for you to be able to recover from your head injury.”

“Yeah... I guess so,” you mumble.

However, since that incident you can’t deny the feeling of something missing since a chunk of your life has been cut off. No memories of the accident have returned even after years. Recovering from the head injury—

“Wait—” Head snapping to face Jimin. “How did you know I had a head injury?”

Jimin blinks repeatedly, as if your words just sink in. “Ah! I mean isn’t it a head injury? You lost your memories after all.” An awkward laugh escapes his lips. “Usually, people who lost their memories have head injuries, right?”

“Well, yeah...”

“Anyways, finish the hot chocolate and you should head home before your parents—”

Suddenly, a wave of deja vu washes over you. Snapping your gaze from the hot chocolate in your hands, you look at Jimin as your brain starts to grow fuzzy at the familiarity of Jimin’s words.

“Jimin...” you begin.

“Huh?”

“Have we ever met before I started working here?”

“You mean the first time you came into this bakery?”

You shake your head. “No, even before that. Did we know each other?”

A surprised glint appears in his eyes before it dissipates as quick as it appears. “I don’t think so…?”

Oh.

“Maybe we’ve just ran into each other at some point in town. But I don’t think we ever knew each other.”

“I see...” Disappointment floods through you at his words.

Right, you thought to yourself. If he was a close friend he would have recognised you instantly when you came to his bakery.

“Oh, look at the time.” Jimin stands up. “You need to be home before dark, right?”

“It’s not a big deal—”

He shakes his head. “It’s alright. You’ve finished cleaning today. I just need to close up and check the supplies.”

“But—” Your words die in your throat when Jimin pats your head.

“You’ve worked hard today,” he grins at you.

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“I’m home,” you call out to no one in particular before you hear your mother from the kitchen.

Once you reach the kitchen, your mother turns her head to see you. “Help me set the table, dinner’s almost ready.”

Nodding, you follow suit. “Where’s Dad?”

“Your father is still caught in a meeting. He’ll be home late.”

“I see,” you mutter, placing the silverwares on the table.

“How’s work?” your mother asks. “You’re home earlier than usual.”

“It’s great,” you answer. “The boss lets me off early.”

And you continue to talk about your day. From helping Jimin bake cakes and bread early in the morning, serving customers coffee and desserts, cleaning up the whole place, and enjoying the hot chocolate Jimin bought you earlier.

“He sounds like a nice guy,” your mom muses when you both sit at the dinner table.

“He is.” A smile appears on your face, remembering his sweet gesture and warm presence. Then your mind shifts to the conversation you had earlier, and what has been bothering you lately. “Mom?”

“Hmm…?”

“Five years ago, how did I end up in the hospital?”

Your mother noticeably stiffens at your question, ceases digging through her plate of food.

“You and Dad never filled me in. You both kept on saying that my memories will return eventually… Until now actually.” You let out a breath. “I think I’m old enough to know what really happened.”

Letting out a deep breath herself, your mother puts down her fork. “What do you remember?”

“I was at a playground and hiding… Then there’s someone who came to find me.” Met with silence from your mother, you continue, “Was it one of my friends?”

Shaking her head, your mother answers, “It wasn’t any of your high school friends.”

“Then who…?”

“You never mentioned his name. But you’d always talk about him back then.” Your mother sighs. “Go through the attic when you’re having a day off. You’ll find some of your old stuff I hid there. Make sure your father is not home.”

Standing up, you want to go there at once. However, your mother stops you. “Y/N, listen to me. Whatever you find there, if you… If anything hurts or feels just too much, I want you to stop, alright? You’re a grown adult and I trust you’ll prioritise your own health.”

Nodding wordlessly, you finish the remaining food on your plate.

[ when you were fifteen years old: after the incident ]

When the dismissal bell rings, some students instantly scramble from their desks, some stretch lazily on their seats and have conversations with others.

“Hey, Y/N.” One of your classmates calls you, a smile etched on her face. “So glad to have you back.”

“Yeah! This sem has been a pain in the ass. You’ll get through it in a breeze!” Another classmate adds.

You respond with a grateful smile of your own before packing up your things.

It hasn’t been that long since you were released from the hospital. You have persistently insisted your parents to let you go back to school and they finally relented after you promised them that you’ll go straight back home and to not strain yourself after dismissing your parents’ idea of hiring a driver.

Today is your first day back. Your friends greeted you excitedly when you stepped into the classroom. Even those who you recall never talked much with you greeted you with a ‘Hi’.

Walking mindlessly through the streets of your neighbourhood, your legs take you to a cafe as you recognise the familiar scent of coffee.

Tilting your head in confusion, you stare at the cafe building in shades of black and brown.

What exactly are you doing here?

There were no planned meetups with your friends, yet, your body seems to find its way here. Fishing out your phone, you scan through the past messages to double check any planned hangouts.

It’s a Wednesday.

But…

With the curiosity nagging inside you, you search for Beomgyu’s contact.

[ 4:05 PM ] You: beomie, do you know the cafe near my place?

[ 4:05 PM ] Beomgyu: i guess?? Every wednesday you'd always go there for no apparent reason at all. When i wanted to tag along you’d always give me the devil eye :(

[ 4:05 PM ] You: oh… that’s… well, sorry lol. Do u wanna come here?

[ 4:06 PM ] Beomgyu: wait, r u srs ???

[ 4:06 PM ] You: i mean if u’re not busy and i think getting coffee and hanging in the cafe would be good.

[ 4:07 PM ] Beomgyu: i'd never thought this day would come :’) i’ll be there in 10.

Chuckling at your friend’s response, you place your phone back into your pocket. Exhaling, you enter the cafe and make your way towards the cashier register.

“Welcome, what would you like for today?” The person smiles at you.

“Caramel macchiato, please.”

She nods, typing in your order. “That will be four dollars.”

After exchanging your payment with a receipt, you wait at an empty table for two near the window. Something about this familiar place, however, feels off. Like there is something missing that you can’t seem to put your finger on.

Your thoughts are cut off when someone takes the seat across from you. “Why are you so deep in thought?”

Beomgyu stares at you quizzically as you blink in realisation. “Uh…”

He narrows his stare at you suspiciously before shifting his gaze around the cafe. “So, what is it that kept you going here?”

You shake your head in response. “I have no idea either. Honestly, I have this gut feeling to come here when I passed by earlier.”

“Hmm, maybe the coffee?” Beomgyu watches one of the waitresses bringing your orders, placing it on your table.

Sighing, you stare at the steaming cup with caramel drizzles on the foam for a few moments. Then you bring the cup to your lips to take a sip.

“Argh, why is this bitter?” Scrunching your nose, you motion towards the waitress for extra caramel.

“Did… Your taste buds change too? You said the caramel macchiato here is perfect.”

A snort escapes you as you drizzle more caramel into the coffee. “I got hit in the damn head, Beomie. It doesn’t change my taste buds.”

He shrugs. “Well, who knows. I never knew you like caramel that much.”

You freeze momentarily.

“Y/N? You okay?” Beomgyu waves a hand in front of your face.

“Y-yeah, I just…”

“You just…?”

Shaking your head once more, you whisper, “It’s nothing…” But your eyes scan through the busy workers in the cafe.

Deep inside, you had an inkling that the coffee here isn’t your sole reason for coming here.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

Turns out you were right.

Once when you came into the cafe on another Wednesday, you sat at your usual place after ordering your usual drink.

“Oh, my dear, you’re finally back,” someone says.

Blinking, your gaze snaps to the elder woman — maybe around her mid fifties — and you give her a small smile before asking, “Do I know you...?”

It was her turn to look confused at your words.

“I’m really sorry for not recognising!” You grow flustered at your words. “I lost my memory in an accident a few months ago...”

“Oh, that’s awful!” The lady — a regular customer, you assume — gasps. “So that’s why you don’t frequent this cafe anymore. The young man looked so heartbroken before he quit his job—”

“Young man?”

“The barista, dear,” the lady replies. “You used to come here and meet him. I had to shush the both of you every time to not disturb the other customers.”

“I... Was he from my school?”

The lady shakes her head. “I don’t think so. He never wore a uniform like yours.”

“Do you know his name?”

The lady shakes her head once more. “His name was Park. Probably that’s his last name. At least that’s what is written on his name tag.”

And you internally groan. There are thousands of people with that last name.

“Do you know where he’s gone?”

“I’m afraid no, my dear. I heard he quit the job suddenly.”

Sighing, you thanked the lady before heading out of the cafe with your shoulders dropping in defeat.

The trapdoor makes a loud creaking sound when you lift it up, indicating that it hasn’t been used for a very long time. Slipping the key back to your back pocket, you step up further on the ladder with the trap door laying on another side as you go through it while the floorboards creak underneath your weight.

It didn’t take you long to locate your old things. Scanning through the boxes, you find one doodled in various flowers and rainbows with your name written on it as well.

With a grunt, you lift up the dusty box, bringing it down to the floor with a thud which causes you to cough at the flying dust. In an attempt to swat the dust away, you wave your hand in front of you. Still coughing uncontrollably with your eyes watering. After your cough ceases, you crouch and open the box. A few notebooks can be found inside along with some old dolls from your childhood.

You vaguely remember the locked diary you liked to write in about your day and its pale pink cover which was covered in sparkling stickers you used to be obsessed with.

Digging further through the books, you finally found it — the possible answer to your lost memories — with a small key dangling on the lock.

Climbing down from the attic, you made your way to your room while fumbling with the lock and key of your old diary. After successfully unlocking it, you take a seat on your padded window sill, flipping through the yellowing pages.

The first page was clearly written by you. Your old handwriting and your name. The first entry you wrote dates back to a decade ago.

Your fingers twitch at how cringe-y most of the entries are. Yet, at the same time you find it endearing how you used to write about your day. The good, the bad, and the normal things — appreciating just to be able to experience and get through them.

The last of your entries date back to months before the incident when you were fifteen. Probably because you decided that you were too old to write diaries any longer.

Recalling how you’d always visit the cafe every Wednesday, you skim through Wednesday entries. However one particular name seems to stand out in those entries.

“Mochi?” You flip from one entry to another. Who the hell is that?

Deciding to get to the bottom of this, you search for the earliest entry that you can find — nine years ago.

I met the hot choco guy again, today. I’m feeling so happy!!! He is so nice. why can’t any of the boys in my school be like him????

Hot... Choco? Furrowing your brows, you skip to the next Wednesday entry.

i am feeling so happy that mama brought me to the cafe last last week!!! she do not let me drink the coffee drink, so Mochi give me hot choco! i think it’s the best BEST drink EVER!!!

“How the hell did hot choco guy turn into Mochi?” you mumble to yourself, flipping through your diary to the next Wednesday entry.

Mochi teached me how to do math!!! It was so fun! But when Teacher Lee teaches me, it’s always boring. How did Mochi make math fun??? I wish he go to my school instead and teach me math :(

You internally cringe at your younger self. Exhaling, you press your temple in disbelief.

This whole diary of your younger self is basically gushing over this hot-choco-turned-Mochi guy as you flip through other pages. However, you stop at a certain entry.

Today… Is a very bad day. But Mochi suddenly makes it better.

Glancing at the date — it was the day your grandmother passed away.

He promises to make me cinnamon rolls whenever i tell him to! Just like Grannie… I’m sorry, Diary. I don’t think i can write more today. I just hope tomorrow will be a better day.

“Mochi…” you mumble repeatedly with furrowing brows and the name seems to trigger your brain to relive some memories.

“I’m calling you Mochi!” You hear your own twelve-year old voice. Yelping, your diary lands on the floor with a small thud.

“No!” Another voice rings in your head — familiar and warm. “That’s a really uncool nickname.”

“But you look like a mochi! And it’s not uncool! I think it’s really cute!”

Blinking, your mind brings you back to reality. Reaching down for your diary, you freeze momentarily before clutching your head. For a moment, your heart stops when your gaze lands on your diary’s open page — a drawing of a familiar shooting star.

Mochi is… Jimin?

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

[ when you were twelve ]

When another sigh escaped his lips, you glanced up from your math workbook — his face can only be described as perturbed. With no hesitance, you quietly pushed the last cookie on your plate to him, earning his glassy stare as it shifted from his notebook that’s lying open on the table.

He blinked a few times before clearing his throat. “Why didn’t you finish that? Do you want to bring it home?”

You shook your head, heat tinging your cheeks. “It’s for you. You look like you need it.”

“It’s caramel cookies.”

Nodding, you mumbled, “You said eating it can comfort people.”

The boy stared at you for a moment longer — recalling the time when you had a bad day and he gave you that, then he chuckled. “I guess I did.”

Pursing your lips, you nodded again. “I can order hot chocolate for you too.”

He reached for the last cookie, finally a small smile you have awaited appearing on his face. “This is enough, Y/N. I really appreciate it. Thanks.”

You beamed at his words, then you extended one hand to take his notebook and draw a shooting star on the page it was opened on.

“We can’t really see shooting stars in here,” you explain, pushing his notebook back to him. “So, whenever you’re having a hard time, wish on this shooting star! It represents hopes and wishes!”

“What that’s—” He stopped himself. Letting out a sigh, he found himself nodding despite how ridiculously endearing the idea was. “Alright. I will.”

The blare of your alarm jolts you awake. Groaning, you grab your phone, turning off the alarm when you realise you have to go to work. You can’t find it in yourself to see Jimin today. Not after finding out that he was, is, part of your missing childhood memories.

Your gaze lands on the diary, laying open on your window sill. As you read more and more of your diary entries, Mochi being Jimin just makes sense. You remember how he went out of his way just to buy you hot chocolate when you were having a bad day — just like in the past.

After all this time, Jimin is actually part of, no, in most of your childhood life.

And he denied it.

Why?

You continuously drift back to that one question. Why did he deny it when you asked him? Don’t people usually love to get reacquainted with their childhood friends?

Sighing, you message Jimin listlessly, telling him you aren’t feeling well before you turn off your phone completely. You don’t think you can handle interacting more with him.

Hours passed, when someone barges in your room. “Y/N!”

Peeking out from your blanket, you glare at your best friend. “What the fuck, Kook?”

“Jimin told me you aren’t feeling well. So, I came to check up on you.”

“Okay, you did. Now, go back home.”

Without responding, he opens the curtain in your room, letting in the piercing sunlight and you let out an annoyed ‘tsk’.

Should have known your best friend isn’t going to let this go easily.

“What’s wrong with you? You’ve been off the whole weekend. You may be able to trick Jimin but you can’t trick me.”

Still burying yourself under your blanket, the bed dips on your friend’s weight as he waits for your response. But you keep your silence, trying your best to even your breathing. You’ve cried enough after all.

“Hmm?” Jungkook stands up. “What’s this? Your diary?”

Abruptly, you fling yourself off the bed and grab your diary from his clutches.

“Go home, Jungkook. I’m not in the mood to deal with this.”

“You know I won’t until you tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m just...” Your shoulders droop in defeat. “Why?”

“Why what?”

You hate crying in front of anyone. But it’s as if a dam broke, your tears do not stop falling while you babble, “Why did he pretend to not know me? Why did he deny? Why—”

Jungkook blinks repeatedly at your sudden change. “W-wait! Why are you crying? I don’t under—”

“Park Jimin!” Your sudden outburst flusters him further. “The guy who you’re friends with and who you recommended for me to work with! That’s who!”

“But—”

“He‘s Mochi.”

Jungkook looks dumbfounded for a moment before your words register inside his head. “M-Mochi?”

Like a petulant child, you climb on your bed once more and hide your diary beneath your pillow. “Leave me alone, Kook.”

With a defeated sigh, Jungkook trudges out of your room, leaving you once again drowning in your thoughts.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

Jimin has always loved mornings, especially when he is able to quietly bake on what most people would call ungodly hours. There is something enjoyable about being fully awake during this time when no sounds of passing vehicles can distract him, making him feel at ease.

He had started appreciating the little things in life when you — who once stared up at him with curious eyes, expression lightening up when he made a cup of hot chocolate for you — taught him to.

Chuckling to himself, his mind drifts back to the time you first entered his bakery. Gods, he should have known it was you. But you were so different, he could hardly comprehend how much you had grown.

Gone was your happy-go-lucky self. He was stunned when you suddenly snapped at him. Your younger self would probably respond with a smile and drone on about how much you love cinnamon rolls. For a second, his heart had hoped. Maybe you remembered him after all these years?

Yet that hope dissipated in an instant when you merely apologised and ran out. Moreover, you didn’t return to his bakery after buying the cinnamon rolls, he thought he had screwed things up by attempting to start a conversation with you. Or maybe that person wasn’t really you. Just someone who looks a lot like you. He still had his suspicions after all.

However, his suspicions were gone the moment you introduced yourself, leaving him speechless. Jimin would be lying if he said he didn’t hope — at least for a bit — that you would remember him when he mentioned his name.

That was why the moment you appeared once more to work as a part-timer, he was ecstatic. No words can explain it.

He started to look forward to work every day — coming to his own bakery to see you even when you didn’t remember him, but he would still gladly take whatever he can to be around you.

Once he sets the tray of unbaked cinnamon rolls into the oven, his phone buzzes. As soon as he reads the text, his heart drops a little.

[ 7:08 AM ] You: Sorry, I cant come to work today. Not feeling well.

He types, ‘That’s okay. get well soon, y/n :)’

But it left undelivered. Did your phone die? He wonders.

Jimin can’t help shake the weird feeling bubbling inside. So, he messages Jungkook.

[ 7:15 AM ] Jimin: y/n isn’t feeling well today. do u mind checking up on her ???

But of course, Jungkook didn’t read the message until a few hours later. That boy enjoys gaming all night.

[ 12:03 PM ] Jungkook: what?

[ 12:03 PM ] Jungkook: for real ?? since when does she get sick? that girl has a fucking high immunity. she never even once got a cold during the semester

Jimin furrowed his brows at that.

[ 12:04 PM ] Jimin: still, go check up on her pls. she’s ur friend too

[ 12:04 PM ] Jungkook: yeah, omw

It hasn’t even been an hour later when Jungkook rushes into the bakery — earning surprised and curious glances from the customers who were chattering among themselves. “Hyung—“ he catches his breath as he stands in front of the counter. “I think you need to fix—“ Huff. “—I mean go to Y/N’s house yourself.

Jimin blinks in confusion.

“You... You’re Mochi, aren’t you?”

At the mention of that name, blood drains from Jimin’s face instantly.

She remembers...?

“How did you—”

“What matters is, you need to fix it, hyung. You’re the only one who can. She’s not herself, right now. I've known her for a few years and it takes a lot for her to react like this. So, please, you should talk about it.”

“Okay,” Jimin breathes out. “Do you mind closing the cafe once the customers are all done?”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, just go to her, hyung. I’ll handle everything here.”

[ when you were fifteen: before the accident ]

“I wish you can teach me math all the time, Mochi,” you giggle, leaning back on the cafe chair. “Everything is easier when you explain it.”

Jimin chuckles at that. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one not paying attention in class.”

Shaking your head rapidly, you deny, “Of course I paid attention! It’s just... I don’t know… It was really boring when my teacher was teaching. He just drones on and on without stopping.”

With an amused hum, Jimin stands up. “I’ll get ready to leave. I’ll walk you home.”

After a few minutes, you head out of the cafe with Jimin behind you. Shivering against the cool night air, you draw closer to the boy. Instinctively, Jimin offers you his open hand which you accepted with no hesitance.

Little did he know, every time he does this, it makes your heart beat a little faster at the way your hand fits well in his. And you savour it.

The build up of feelings has been going on for a while now. Maybe a few months. You’ve developed a crush on him. Like, how can you not? Jimin possesses charming qualities that no one else has. Not to mention how kind and warm of a person he is.

Meetings in the cafe had you wishing they were dates instead. And you had to let him know.

And tell him you did.

He blinks at first, words sinking into him. Mochi, I think I like you. Like, really, really like you.

His cheeks are pink, you weren’t sure if it's from the cold or his embarrassment.

“I’m sorry.”

Of course. What were you expecting? He only sees you as a little sister.

“No, that’s okay,” you reply quickly, but your heart drops. “It’s just… You know, I wanted to tell you know because you’re really cool, Mochi.”

“Y/N… Listen, this is not a good time—” Abruptly, he stops, catching your wrist on his. “I want you to hide in the playground.”

“What?”

“Hide, please. I will explain everything later.”

You want to run away from him. But the pleading look on his face makes you listen.

“There he is!” You hear an unfamiliar shout.

Cursing under his breath, Jimin quickly pushes you under the slide. “Wait here.”

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

[ Present time ]

Jimin reaches your house, his heart beating fast against his chest with a box of cinnamon rolls in hand.

You are home alone and Jungkook has left the door unlocked.

Letting himself in, Jimin glances around. Everything still looks the same as back then. He went to your house once to tutor you. And he still can remember that day clearly.

Climbing up the stairs, he reaches your room. With shaking hands, he knocks on the door.

Silence.

A moment or two passes then your door opens. Jimin braces for the anger you’d throw at him.

But nothing comes.

You merely stand there, eyes glassy as they lock on his.

“Y/N...” He mutters, torn between to reach out or not. But you leave the door open as you sit on your bed. Jimin enters your familiar room, still surprised at how it still looks the same. And his eyes fall on a notebook — the notebook you never let him read — on the table.

“Why are you here?” you ask, voice trembling.

“I wanted to check up on you—”

“Why?”

Jimin knows at once what you are asking.

He approaches you sitting on the edge of the bed. He kneels down, peering up with those chocolate eyes of his to meet your downcast stare — like those times when he wants to talk to you and you refuse to look at him.

“Do… Do you still remember me?” Your voice barely comes out as a whisper.

“Y/N…” The lack of surprise in his voice answers it. He still remembers you as you recall the once shocked expression on his face when you first introduce yourself. Now, it all made sense.

“W-Why didn’t you tell me?” A sob escapes your lips. “Do you not want me to remember—”

He shakes his head, denying it quickly. “No! Of course not. I just… I was ecstatic actually when it was you who came to work for me.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?” Voice cracking. “You knew me—”

Clearly in conflict, he sighs, “I don’t want you to remember your traumatic memories… Remembering me might cause you more pain.”

“But it didn’t. Those memories, from what I can remember there’s nothing—”

“That’s what your parents told me, Y/N.”

Eyes widening, you gape at him as tears cascade down your face.

“You were seriously injured back then. The doctor said it will be best for you to let your own memories come to you in their own time. And I had to leave this place... I came by after your operation and... I wanted to say goodbye but I was told it was best to not see you any longer to prevent anymore distress—”

“But you are important to me!” You cut him off. Then turning quieter, “You are important to me…” You say between sobs.

Covering your eyes with your hand, you whimper when Jimin engulfs you in a hug. “I’m sorry…” He murmurs, caressing your head. “I’m so sorry…”

His heart breaks at your current state, tightening his hold on you, who’s crying into his chest. Years of buried regret and longing resurface. He had envisioned many times on how you would remember him. But he fails to realise how much it can hurt you when your memories return. If only he can turn back time, he will take that chance to save you from the misery of your memory loss.

Yet, all he can do now is to hold you close, begging you for forgiveness and hope that you’d let him stay by your side.

“So, let me get this straight, you—” Jungkook points his straw at you. “—and Jimin hyung were childhood friends—” He pierces the plastic cover of his milk tea. “—and he used to tutor you in a cafe.”

Nodding, you purse your lips and enjoy your own drink.

You had taken a few days off after the reconciliation to collect your thoughts and confront your parents about what had happened. They have come into terms with their protectiveness of you staying out very late. And you have managed to convince them to let you stay out late as long as you let them know.

You were planning to stay in bed all day if it wasn’t for Jungkook who barged into your room like he owns the place, after he claimed that Jimin lets him off from work early — which you doubt honestly, it’s more of Jungkook escaping from work — and decided to drag you to the nearest milk tea shop.

“Is something weird?” you blurt out.

“Did you by any chance, I don’t know...” Jungkook mutters. “Have feelings for each other?”

You nearly choke on your tapioca pearl and rapidly you shake your head. “No! That’s—”

Jungkook narrows his stare at you, sipping his drink as you continue to blabber, “I mean, I knew him since I was like, what? Twelve? He never sees me that way.”

“Maybe he didn’t back then.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean both of you are adults now. Aren’t things different?”

You snort at his words. “He always sees the little girl in me, Jungkook. So, please, don’t make things weird, alright? I can literally see your head gearing.”

Jungkook lets out a sigh. “Alright, if you say so. But how about you?”

Sipping your drink, you lift a brow at him.

“Do you like him?”

“Of course, I do.”

“I meant like, like him.”

“Kookie, what are you? Five?”

He snorts at your response. “Five heads taller than you—” Your glare shuts him up. “Okay, but do you see him as someone special?”

An exasperated sigh escapes your lips. “Why are we discussing this? We’re just friends. Who coincidentally are childhood friends as well.”

“You sure?”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh once more. “What are you expecting me to say?”

“What do you think of him?”

Almost at once, the words flow easily out of your mouth. “He’s a caring person and he knows how to comfort someone when they’re having a bad day.”

“You mean, he knows how to comfort you when you’re having a bad day yourself,” Jungkook chuckles.

You blink at that.

“Look, I’m not implying anything but he was worried as hell when I told him about you the other day. Even nearly left his bakery without supervision. That’s when yours truly—” He points at himself. “—came in.”

And the question that swims in the back of your mind disappears. “So, it is you, you overgrown rabbit. You told him about me—”

“Well, you can’t blame me. You should be thanking me instead. It’s because of me you both finally reconciled. Admit it, you’re happy — happier, in fact.”

And you can’t deny it. Jungkook has been one of those people who’d look out for you. Yes, even when he can be a pain in the ass sometimes, or just loves to hear the “piping hot” tea of what’s happening in your life.

Sighing in defeat, you murmur, “Even if I do like him...” You shake your head. “No, it shouldn’t even matter in the first place.”

Noticing your shuttering expression, Jungkook thankfully does not press the subject further. Nor does he question why. And you are grateful for him.

“Interesting. So, you do like him.”

Scratch that, your best friend is still a pain in the ass.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

Standing in front of the bakery cafe, you released a deep breath.

Through the glass door, Jungkook is helping out at the cashier counter, serving beverages and desserts to dine-in customers. However, Jimin is nowhere in sight.

Releasing a deep breath, the bell of the door rings which signals your entrance. Jungkook notices you at once before he points to the kitchen.

You rush inside — stopping abruptly a few steps away from him — now, regarding the man differently. He was the boy who has been your comfort for so many occasions after all.

Jimin is icing cupcakes, his eyes focusing on his task and you can’t help but smile at the sight.

With your memories — of kindness, warmth, and friendship — now fully returned, you remember how you were always enamoured watching Jimin work. You’d watch him make drinks in the cafe when you had no homework to do. You’d sit at the bar, munching on cookies-of-the-day as your eyes followed Jimin’s movements.

A few moments pass, Jimin’s gaze shifts to you briefly and double-takes. He curses under his breath, cupcake slipping from his grip — icing spilling on the marble counter. “Hey, you’re back—” He quickly grabs a cloth and wipes off the cream before he turns to face you properly, grinning from ear-to-ear. “—you didn’t tell me you’re coming in today.”

He opens his arms and your legs move of its own accord, following your instinct as you close the distance between you and him — wrapping your arms around his waist.

You weren’t surprised at how your younger self used to have a big fat crush on him. He was and always will still be your Mochi. The guy who treated you to your favourite sweets, who knows how you like your caramel macchiato the best, and who never fails to put butterflies in your stomach.

Breathing his sweet scent, you remember the time you’d ask him for hugs whenever you were down and your younger self had even claimed once that his hugs were magical as it was written in your diary. To quote it, “Mochi gives the BEST BEST hugs in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD”.

“Your hugs…” you mumble, eyes closed. “They’re still the best…”

Jimin merely tightens his hold on you. That is until a force — appearing in the form of Jeon Jungkook — shatters the serene atmosphere, bringing you back to reality. “Hyung! Oh—”

Abruptly, you both pull away from each other. Jungkook stands awkwardly, shifting his weight from one leg to another.

“What is it?” Jimin breaks the silence, composed as ever.

“Uh, need more cupcakes. The ones on the display are finished…”

“Right,” Jimin turns to you. “Y/N, can you help me ice the rest of the cupcakes?”

Nodding, you turn to the employee’s room, putting your things in the locker and grabbing an apron.

Hugging Jimin seems so natural that you fail to consider how weird it looks to the people around you. Jungkook’s awkward silence proves that.

Your thoughts are swimming in confusion. And once again those butterflies appear in your stomach. Fanning your heated cheeks with your hands, you take a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm your racing heart.

Your childhood crush is gone. You’re just happy to have Mochi back in your life. That’s all. That should be all.

One afternoon, you mindlessly clean up the kitchen. Due to the public holiday, the bakery is closing earlier, and your thoughts have drifted back to the past.

You remember the night of the incident when Jimin walked you home after he had lost those men who chased after him. He stopped you for a moment, breaking the silence. “You okay?” Warm concern lacing his tone.

Jaw clenching, you mumbled. “Just a scratch.” Reluctant to give him any longer response.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have shoved you harshly before.” He crouched, inspecting your knees before he peered up to meet your stare.

“It’s fine.”

When you were just a few blocks away from home, Jimin broke the silence. “Listen Y/N—” His footsteps faltered as he reached to touch your shoulder. “—about earlier, I think you shouldn’t have feelings for me, I—”

Abruptly, you pulled your hand away from his, hurt consuming you. “I shouldn’t have feelings for you?”

You wished Jimin had forgotten your spontaneous confession as he nodded, hesitantly.

“Well, I can’t control my feelings. So, just let it be. It’ll be fine.” You glanced at him before walking faster.

The rest of the trip home was tense, full of unanswered questions. Who were those men? Why did they chase after Jimin? Is it really that bad to have feelings for him? Who gave him the right to dictate your feelings?

You felt so childish back then. Recalling the memories makes you cringe at your younger self for overreacting. But you suppose it’s normal for a fifteen year-old girl. And you were able to sense that Jimin wanted to ease the tense atmosphere. But you were too hurt to even give him a chance. You needed time to process what happened that day.

However, one minute Jimin had stopped you again, desperate to appease you. And the next minute, someone ran towards him with a bat in hand. It’s as if time slowed down, you moved before a harsh impact landed on you.

Your mind brings you back to reality, and instinctively you touch the part where your head was struck with your free hand.

“Y/N? Are you done cleaning up?”

Jimin’s voice startles you and you nearly drop the mop’s handle from your grasp.

“Yes,” you manage to say. And somehow you can’t look at him in the eye.

“What’s wrong?” Out of instinct, he cups your face to look at you in the eye. And hell, your heartbeat gradually increases as you can smell the sweet scent of bread from him along with a tinge of his cinnamon scent.

Mind blanking out at the close proximity, the only intelligible response you can say is, uhhh. Your grip on the mop handle tightens as your palm grows clammy.

He’s gorgeous. That’s one thing for sure.

“Hey, why are you blushing?”

Blinking rapidly, you watch his eyes turn into those crescent moons and a giggle escapes his lips as he pulls away, grabbing the mop from your hold.

“I’ll put this back. You nearly snapped it in half, you know.”

“Yeah,” you nod, mind whirling and you blabber the first thing in your mind. “I have a pet fish.”

“Huh?”

Realising how random you sounded, you clear your throat. “I just remember I had to come home early today, since Mr. Goldy is waiting for me.”

“Ooh, that’s—”

But you’ve run for the lockers, quickly changing out of your work attire.

“Thanks for today, Mochi. See you tomorrow!” You say and run out of the bakery without sparing him another glance.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

“What are you exactly doing here?”

Unflinching, you answer your best friend monotonously, “Buying a fish.”

“You don’t have a tank at home.”

“Exactly, that’s why I’m looking for one now.”

“But why?”

“Why not?”

Jungkook lets out a sigh. “You’ve been acting weird all week, Y/N.”

You ignore his words, eyes scanning through the fishes of different colours and kinds.

“Oh! These ones are pretty.” Jungkook comments, earning your attention.

“Excuse me?” You call one of the workers there. “I was wondering if this fish is suitable for beginners.”

The worker nods, smiling. “Yes, these are what we call the Betta fish. Their scales are beautiful and they are also easy to take care of. Would you like to purchase them?”

You respond with a brief ‘yes’.

“Now, all you need is a tank,” Jungkook says.

“We provide delivery services for the tank. I’d recommend buying this one.” The worker points at one of the tanks. “In the meantime, you can purchase the fishbowl for now.”

And with that you have a new pet fish and a brand new fish bowl in hand — specifically Jungkook’s, because you gotta put those muscles into good use — and you head back home. On the way back, Jungkook suddenly clears his throat. “So… What’s up with you?”

“What?”

“Let me summarise what just happened,” he says. “I had the day off today, and suddenly you called me to meet you in a fish store, and you have been acting all weird and somehow out of all the nice shades of blue fishes in the tank, you chose the ugly yellow—”

You kick his shin in retaliation. “It’s not yellow, it’s gold, dumbass. How dare you say that in front of Lady Goldilocks.”

“Oh, wow, now it even has a name.” Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I seriously can’t believe you chose this one out of all the other colours. It reminds me of Jimin hyung—” And he gapes at you. “No way. Is it because he likes this colour?”

You blink in realisation. Jimin does like this colour.

“Okay, ‘fess up. What’s up with you?”

You let out a defeated sigh. “I like him.”

Jungkook looks unamused.

“I mean like, like him. And I need to get over him.”

Jungkook furrows his brows. “Why would Hyung want that?””

“I shouldn’t like him, Kook. He told me once and, I don’t know, I just can’t control my feelings. I don’t want to lose him again and I’m scared that he’ll be gone if he knows—”

“Wait, wait, wait—” Jungkook grasps your shoulder with his free hand. “—I can understand what you’re feeling, Y/N. How about let me prove to you that Jimin won’t be gone even when you have feelings for him?”

“I swear, Jeon Jungkook, if you utter a single word about this conversation—”

“No!” He denies repeatedly. “I won’t. Promise. I can prove it to you another way. Don’t worry.”

“Okay, then. How?”

“I have a plan. To take the title as your number one best friend once and for all—”

“Who says you are even at the top?”

“Aren’t I? You told me once.” Jungkook fishes his phone out of his jacket, taps a few times on his screen before he shows you a video of your drunk self a few months ago after exam week.

“Kookieee, I think you’re my number one best friend! So proud to have someone like you in my life—”

You try to reach for his phone, cheeks burning in embarrassment, as you shoot him the nastiest glare you can muster. However, Jungkook being Jungkook merely cackles at that. Your voice from the video still continues, “—you’re like Mochi—” Your present self tenses at that.

“Who’s Mochi?” Jungkook asked curiously in the video.

“Shhhhh… We don’t speak of that name here, m’kay? Mochi is gone. So you are best friend number one!”

Jungkook stops the video, tucking his phone back to his pocket. “I asked you once who Mochi was when you were sober. But you didn’t remember back then. So I never asked again until you mentioned the name ‘Mochi’ once more a few days ago.”

Gaping, you stop walking as the stunned silence falls over you.

“I think your subconscious had always known about him. And it shows how special he is to you.” When you’re about to deny that, Jungkook shushes you. “Don’t try to deny, Y/N. Even before you knew he was Mochi you already liked him.”

“I hate that you’re starting to look like a rooster. Were you always this cocky?”

Your best friend merely shrugs. “So, here’s the plan. As I was saying, with my ‘number one best friend’ title under threat, we’re going to demote Jimin as your boyfriend! It’s a win-win situation!”

“What? I never even asked for him to be my boyfriend but wait— Don’t you mean promote?”

“Y/N, as much as I love your dumb ass, you tend to be quite demanding with people. Hopefully, he knows how to handle your present self.”

“Jeon Jungkook, please don’t make me regret this.”

A few days after the conversation with Jungkook, the boy gets to work as fast as possible, and by work, it means work to get on Jimin’s nerves instead of actually being helpful in the cafe.

Jungkook has become noticeably clingy, or overall, just more touchy with you. It’s not like it’s anything new in all honesty. Throughout college, the relationship between the both of you is purely platonic. Your other college friends knew this and seeing the both of you cuddle wouldn’t be a strange sight. Jimin, however, isn’t one of your college friends and Jungkook seems to have taken advantage of this. Thus, he begins to work in the bakery almost every day, claiming just to see you.

At first Jimin showed no reaction since Jungkook is a good friend of his. But he has grown visibly irritated lately while Jungkook revels in pressing the older one’s buttons further.

“Jungkook…”

“Hmm?”

“Can you please stop invading my personal space?”

“But it’s not going to work if I don’t— Oof!” You shove him away before going back to your task — placing the cupcakes on the display tray — annoyance building up at Jungkook’s disruptions.

“I’m going to file a restraining order on you at this rate.”

He huffs, moving towards you once more. “Don’t you want to prove that Jimin is going to be pissed if he sees me being affectionate to you?”

You shake your head. “I just want to work in peace.”

“Hmph. You’re no fun.”

“Cuz you’re the one not working.”

“Hey, I’m helping here voluntarily.”

You ignore his words, focusing on your task while Jungkook starts whining for you to give him attention. “Kook, I fucking swear if you don’t get your hands off—”

Jimin’s voice rings “Y/N, are the cupcakes...” He trails as soon as he enters the kitchen, freezing at the sight of Jungkook wrapping his arms around your waist, snuggling his dumb head on the crook of your neck.

“He’s going to rage,” Jungkook whispers, laughing softly.

“Uh, Jungkook can I talk to you?” Jimin asks, eyes noticeably narrowing as his tone tenses.

“Finally,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, before he lets go of you and faces Jimin. “Sure, Hyung.”

You take that cue to leave, bringing the freshly iced cupcakes to the display counter, leaving Jungkook and Jimin alone in the kitchen.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

“What’s been going on with you lately? You come here to work everyday but all I can see is you busy flirting with Y/N.” Jimin throws the younger one an unamused glare.

Jungkook answers easily, “I do my job, Hyung. And so what if I do flirt with Y/N?”

“You can’t,” Jimin blurts out, earning a questioning look from Jungkook. “You just can’t.”

“Why can’t I?”

“Do you like Y/N?”

“Of course, she’s my best friend.”

Jimin shoots Jungkook another unamused look at his answer.

“I’m going to tell her how I feel in three days,” Jungkook continues.

Jimin’s stomach drops at that statement. However, at the same time the urge to let you know how he truly feels increases. But the thought of the impending rejection after hurting you and causing your memory loss makes him think twice.

Maybe Jungkook deserves you more than him — he can protect and support you while Jimin has failed.

With a shaky breath, Jimin mutters, “Take care of her, alright?”

Obviously, his response catches Jungkook off guard. “What?”

“Take good care of Y/N, JK. I’m seriously counting on you.”

“Wait—“ Jungkook looks downright flustered at the unexpected response. “Hyung, wait.”

“What?” Now it’s Jimin’s turn to be confused.

Jungkook clears his throat. “Just give me an honest answer, hyung. No lies.”

A pause.

“Do you like Y/N? As in more than friends?”

Jimin nods without hesitance.

Jungkook mumbles something under his breath that Jimin is sure it sounds like, freaking idiots.

“Go tell her how you feel, Hyung. And tell her as soon as possible.”

“But you—”

“It’s to push you to confess to her. I don’t see Y/N that way.” Jungkook sighs. “Honestly, what would the both of you be without me?”

Jimin stands in the kitchen, speechless, as Jungkook continues to ramble how significant his role is in between your relationship and how you and Jimin owe him so much.

“So, yes, go tell her how you feel, hyung. She’ll listen to whatever you’ll say.”

With a newfound resolve, hope sparks in Jimin’s heart. “I will.”

To say that Jimin is nervous would be an understatement. He had barely slept a wink last night, thinking of all the words and how he would explain why he had left so suddenly and confess his feelings to you. Jungkook has been a supportive friend, even if he does push Jimin’s buttons along the way. However, Jimin knows that it was his own way of showing encouragement.

You are cleaning the rest of the tables of the cafe and Jimin can’t take his eyes off you, staring at you through the small window opening between the kitchen and the counter area.

“Are we done for today, Mochi?” Your voice snaps him out of his daydream.

“Yeah!” Jimin continues to wipe the kitchen counter quickly, replying almost too enthusiastically before he clears his throat. “Do you have plans tonight, Y/N?”

You enter the kitchen and once again Jimin’s heartbeat rises. “Nope. I’m going straight back home after this. Lady Goldilocks is waiting for me.”

Lady Goldilocks. Jimin chuckles at the mention of your fish’s name. He wonders if one day he’s able to see the pet fish for himself. He had asked what happened to Mr Goldy and you had become flustered at that since you didn’t know the fish was female. So, now, you have changed the fish’s name. Yet, somehow Jimin got an inkling that there is more to the story. He had asked Jungkook — to which the boy had valiantly refused to utter a word about it and had babbled, “Huh? Fish? What fish? Is that for dinner?”

Once the both of you finished closing up the bakery cafe, Jimin taps on your shoulder before you had the chance to go back home.

“May I walk you home?”

You blink, processing his words then nodding rapidly. “S-Sure.”

Jimin smiles warmly at you. It’s easy in fact. Just being in your presence always brings happiness into his heart. You had grown into an amazing person and even more attractive.

Something about you had always captivated Jimin since the first time you met him in the cafe where he used to do his part time work. Your curious eyes were always following him as he took the customers’ orders and honestly, it was very endearing.

Comfortable silence falls upon you both, walking through the asphalt pathway and naturally, Jimin opens his palms, extending it towards you.

You stare at that for a moment and clasp his hand with yours. Jimin weaves your fingers together, bringing you closer to him as you continue to walk back home.

“Do you mind if we take a little detour?”

You nod at his words.

Once Jimin reaches the destination, he can sense your eyes glance curiously at the empty hill. He pulls you up onto the top of the hill, sitting down on the grass while he pats the space next to him and you follow suit.

“Look up,” Jimin whispers, and you did.

A quiet gasp escapes your lips at the sight of twinkling stars that scatters across the dark sky.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Jimin voices out. “Someone made me realise how beautiful the stars are…” He falters. “A-And she had never left my mind all those years. One of my deepest regrets is that I wasn’t able to say goodbye when I had to leave.”

You hear his words, yet you stay silent — an encouragement for him to continue to speak what’s on his mind.

“My family was in a difficult financial position back then and my dad had done things I wasn’t proud of…” Jimin’s eyes turn glassy and faraway, even when he sets his gaze up. “And one of them is that he had made a deal with loan sharks without the guarantee of paying them back… And of course, they were angry.”

He pauses, taking a deep breath.

“I once thought that probably I could still stay here back then. Even more so when I met you. But I was wrong. Those men started to chase after me and because of that, you—” He shudders. “—got injured. And that night my parents had made plans to leave without me and my brother knowing.”

He turns to look at you. “I never got to apologise to you for causing that. I should be the one to protect you but… I failed. For that, I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“Jimin…” You say softly. “It’s not your fault. I was the one who jumped in front of you when the man came after you. It’s my own choice because you are special to me.”

“But I could have—”

You shush him with a pointer finger in front of his lips for a few moments. “You don’t have to be sorry anymore, Mochi. It’s not your fault. And what matters now is to focus on the present and look to the future, right?”

He nods, emotions swimming inside his chocolate eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I thought—”

“For telling you that you shouldn’t have feelings for me.”

And you lapse into silence. He remembers…?

“I hate that that has hurt you. I shouldn’t have said that. But I was happy but desperate too since my family—”

“Jimin.”

“Y-Yeah?”

“What do you see me as, now?”

He blinks. All the practiced words on how he would tell you his feelings dissipate from his mind as he blankly stares at you. “I… I like you.” His voice grows quieter. “More than friends…”

“And if I said you shouldn’t have feelings for me?”

A flash of hurt crosses his eyes briefly. But he answers, nonetheless, “I would do what you want.”

“So, you reciprocate my feelings now?”

“H-huh?”

“I like you too. More than friends. In fact, I think my feelings have grown for you ever since I found out you’re Mochi.”

It takes a few moments for Jimin to process your words. He gapes, mouth opening and closing.

“You are resembling Lady Goldilocks right now.”

“What?”

Your cheeks flush. “Lady Goldilocks is a Betta fish. She was the golden one in a tank full of her blue siblings. Jungkook tried persuading me to choose the blue ones since they were more attractive to look at. But all I could see is the gold one since it reminded me of you.”

“I like golden colours…” Jimin mumbles in realisation.

“Exactly,” you let out a sheepish laugh, eyes turning to look back up into the sky. Before Jimin can respond, your eyes brighten up. “Look! A shooting star!”

Jimin snaps his gaze up as well.

“Hurry, make a wish!” You then close your eyes, smiling from ear-to-ear. Jimin follows suit, making his own wish.

As soon as you both finish making your wishes, you turn to face him once more.

“Are you still sorry for saying that to me?”

Jimin nods, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. Hell, he thinks he would always regret hurting you that time.

“I know how you can make it up to me then.”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

“W-What?” He splutters.

“Unless you don’t want—“ Yet, your words die on your throat as Jimin moves closer to you, eliminating the distance between you both as he cups your face just like that time in the bakery.

Without another word, he leans down, pressing his lips on yours softly while you place your hands on top of his before he presses further, brows furrowing as he kisses you fervently. For the time being, all that matters is just you and him. He caresses your cheeks and you run your hands down to wrap around his waist until you can feel his heart beating against his chest.

After pulling away — both of you catching your breaths — Jimin presses his forehead against yours, running his thumb over your lips while you were unable to open your eyes for a few moments at the burst of emotions that is coursing through you.

“I’ve imagined this moment so many times,” he admits. “My wish finally came true.” And you smile at that.

“My wish also came true because of you, Mochi...”

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

Sitting on one of the tables, your eyes can’t take themselves off Jimin as he serves customers. Today is your day off and you decided to pay him a visit in the bakery.

“You’re drooling.”

Your gaze snaps up to your best friend who sits across you after placing a cinnamon roll on the table for you. Jungkook continues, “I swear I’m going to vomit one of these days if I see you or Jimin hyung throwing each other— what was that called? It’s an old term— Oh! Goo-goo eyes one more time.”

“Shut up, Jeon. I’m not.” You reach for the roll, taking a bite.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah right, you basically either stare at him like he placed stars in the sky or like you want to tear off his clothes—”

You choke on the roll, quickly reaching for your glass of water before you throw your napkin at his face. Jungkook cackles at that before he resumes his act, sighing. “This is a mistake. I shouldn’t have intervened. I didn’t know you’d be like this. My best friend is so uncool now.”

“Y/N is what?” You perk up at Jimin’s voice.

“Whipped,” Jungkook mutters before he takes his cue to leave. He stands up, passing by Jimin after shooting the older one a teasing glance.

Jimin sits across from you, and he instinctively reaches for your hand on the table. “How was your day?” And you swear you can hear Jungkook making a gagging sound amidst the chatter of the customers.

“Good. I finished my chores at home earlier today. So, I thought I would come visit.”

Minutes pass by quickly as you chatter with Jimin. He had almost forgotten to go back to work until Jungkook reminded him. When it is time to close up the bakery, you watch him wash the remaining mixing bowls while perching on one of the cleaned counters of the kitchen.

“You know, I could use some help,” Jimin teases, drying his hands on his apron.

A smile curls up on the corner of your lips, eyes following his movements — drawing closer to where you are. “Well, I think you got it all handled, Mochi.”

Once he reaches you, he pulls you to wrap your legs around his waist while your arms rest on his shoulders — encircling around his neck. You both stare at each other and he pushes a strand of stray hair away from your face, tucking it behind an ear while his other hand settles on your waist.

“Sometimes, I still can’t believe that you’re really here with me,” You admit. “Just like a sweet dream.”

Jimin shakes his head. “It’s not, Y/N...” He leans to give you a chaste kiss. “... we’ll make up for the lost time we didn’t spend together.”

“Promise?”

He softly smiles at you. “Promise.”

author’s note: this was originally intended to be posted on jimin’s birthday but well i decided to add more stuff in it. thus, i am late alskflsdda so yes, i hope you guys enjoy this fic and feedbacks are always appreciated !! thank you for reading ♡

#btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #magicshopnet #bangtanidx #bangtanuniversity #btsghostie #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #jimin angst #jimin x reader #jimin x you #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts x reader #jimin scenarios #park jimin #bangtan scenarios #promptlyyourscafe #amourville series

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wonniexy · 4 years ago

Text

# MISSING PUZZLE PIECES NEED TO BE FOUND | yang jungwon.

— 8784 HOURS: OUCH, I FELL FOR YOU

words: 2k

pairing: JUNGWON x reader x jay (mentioned)

genre: angst.

spirit!jungwon, fantasy!au, boyfriend!jay

cw/tw: language, mention of death, angst, lost love

notes: I wasn't planning on making this into a angst chapter :((( + it is not proofread! Beware of grammatical errors!

prompt: 70. "Stop visiting me! It's getting pretty annoying..." "Shut up, you love it when you get to see my face."

Sleep.

How beautiful is it to lay your head on the pillow, after a day of those that feel way too though, close your eyes and immediately go on a journey into one of the parallel worlds that your mind can create every time Morpheus takes you in his arms?

It's beautiful, for you. Almost magical.

Except for those nights when the dear son of Ipno and Nyx decides not to turn into a dream, but into something you've started to hate since a few months ago. And the fact that, each time, you manage to wake up but the thing doesn't seem to want to go away, is making you, simply put, freak out. Completely.

Or, at least, that is what you tell yourself.

You sigh heavily as you manage to open your eyes and stare at the figure sitting comfortably cross-legged at the end of your twin bed. He's smiling, the bastard, you think.

"Could you please stop, what do you call it? Visiting me? It's getting pretty annoying."

"Oh, shut up." He replies, with his usual giggle that, though you'd never admit it, always manages to make you smile internally. "You love it when you get to see my face."

"I'd have to argue with that." You say, crinkling your tired eyes. You yawn. "What do you want now, Jungwon? What do I get this time? What did I do?"

"Oh," the boy, or he who, long ago, had been a boy, begins, settling in closer to you and shaking his head so that his thick brown hair becomes more shaggy, "I'm not here by anyone's will but my own. I have the night off." He shrugs.

You look at him, gripped by an innate desire to choke him with your own hands, and clench your hands into fists. "If you have the night off, why the fuck are you here?"

"To talk?"

"At three in the morning?"

"It's the only time I can interact with anyone - you, so yes. At three in the morning."

"Jungwon..."

"Y/n..."

"Fuck you! Go back to wherever you came from and leave me alone!" You yell, grabbing the pillow from behind your back and throwing it in Jungwon's direction.

"You're looking pretty aggressive tonight." Jungwon scoffs, promptly grabbing the pillow before it can even think of having a chance to hit him. "Did something happen?"

You roll your eyes, only to sit up and hit the covers furiously. "Jay." You say. "Jay happened."

"Why am I not surprised at all?" Jungwon laughs a little. "What did he do this time?"

You scoff. "What he does every time: he doesn't listen to me." You close your eyes and sigh, only to bring your hands to your face and scream, or something purportedly similar, all your anger into them.

"He left me, again. Meaning, we broke up. I guess. He says he loves me, then he suddenly doesn't anymore. Then he loves me again. And I... I try to explain everything to him, Jungwon." You look at your friend (the one you tell yourself you can't stand), sitting next to you but still too far away to be touched. You start to cry in frustration and close your eyes again.

"I try. I always try to tell him that whatever happens can be fixed and it can be fixed if we work together."

If only your eyes were open and looking in front of you, you might see Jungwon's face sadden. It's not the first time he's seen you in this condition: desperate, crying, scared. All because of what you call your boyfriend three times a week and four times not.

Jungwon might lie, now. Lie, again. Lie like he has been doing for the past seven month and a half when he visited you every night, without missing one: despite the fact that you were asleep and couldn't feel his presence. Lie like he has done in his previous life, even if this isn't his second one.

This time, though, lying doesn't seem to make sense to him anymore. It's wearing him down. It reminds him of the time when he was alive and telling lies led him to survive one more day, until there were no more days and he couldn't help it anymore.

You don't really cry; you've never really been able to. Not for Jay and your entire relationship (if that'swhat it can be called), at least. You have your hands clenched tightly on the blankets and you open your eyes almost with difficulty, as your slight sobs subside in the warmth of Jungwon's hand on your covered by a faint layer of cloth shoulder.

Never before had you felt his touch.

He told you he couldn't touch you, or he would have had to leave. Forever.

He told you it was one of the rules he had to follow to make himself earn a new life to live to the fullest, this time.

But now his hand is on your shoulder, and you seem to panic, because even though you can't stand his nocturnal visits, you love him. You love him like he was your long lost brother. He listened to you, all this time. You know a lot about him, as well. You hit it off, as he would normally say.

You don't want him to leave.

"Why did you do that?" You ask, your eyes wide and trembling and your gaze leaping from his hand to his face." You had... You said you weren't allowed to...why- are you fucking out of your mind?" Tears threaten to fall down and you try raising one of your hand to grab his arm and move it away from you before it's too late, even if you don't know when too late is.

"Oh, shut up." Jungwon says, almost laughing – his usual, playful laugh, despite the tone of his voice hinting at unspeakable sadness. "I don't have much time, now, so you're going to listen to me, okay?"

You nod, slowly, in rhythm with what you wish were your own beats.

"I have loved in the past. In my only life." Jungwon begins. "Maybe even too much. And I've lost. Not by my own will, but by the will of something that, even if I fought hard against, I could not bring down. I never let go, or threw down the sword of my love, because that person...oh, y/n, that person was my person. The one. The missing piece of my personal puzzle."

His hand burns on your shoulder, and each sounding word pierces your heart. Ij between tears, you begin to wonder if Jay is the missing piece of your puzzle, if you are the one of his own, or if both of you are the missing piece of someone else's puzzle, lost and hidden among a thousand other pieces and a thousand other boxes.

"And it was like that. That person completed the puzzle perfectly. We could have been framed, placed in plain sight on the largest wall of a luxury home, but the whole thing we had got lost. My ultimate puzzle piece was ripped away from me; it was stolen from me, and there was nothing I could do about it. Lying was my job; lying was what I was trained and supposed to do. Lie about who you really love. Marry the one who will help you grow: not growing up, but growing money and success. But I did not want it and, at some point, I messed up. I was no longer able to hide my forbidden love, my real love. I didn't want to. I thought it wasn't fair. And I ended up paying the consequences of my actions. One by one."

Since you've been knowing him, you never saw Jungwon cry: cheerful, carefree, bastard. The spirit, as he called himself (or as you wanted him to call himself), always showed up in your room with mirth etched on his face. You had asked him how his life had ended, he had answered, but it wasn't tragic and it wasn't sadder than any other death.

He just died, peacefully, his children all grown up and his family by his side.

He never talked about his feelings.

This time, however, the story is different and the tears are not only seen: they are felt deep inside. Each of his tears holds sadness, grief, anguish and repentance.

They all flow and flow and flow profusely, without stopping for a single moment and without letting you see Jungwon's languid dark eyes clearly again.

Your tears seem to follow what Jungwon's ones do.

"I come to see you to make sure you don't follow my steps, because we may have a different story, a different way on how we should handle things, but the moral is the same: don't do what can lead you to live unhappily."

Jungwon cries, but he still manages to speak clearly as he always does.

You want to hug him, hold him and apologize for everything, even though you are not to blame. And neither is him.

"You don't have to lie to anyone. You don't have to. Just stop. Stop. Stop." His voice breaks from sobs. "You're only hurting yourself. And I, after tonight, will no longer be here: there will only be a faded memory of me left in your teenage mind, and that memory will fade and fade and fade again, until it becomes a haze. So, do the right thing, okay? For yourself.

I stopped lying, and I lost, because it wasn't what I was meant to do. If you stop lying now, you will win. Because you are free. And you'll be even freer later, and you'll find your missing puzzle piece. You will be able to live with that missing piece, making it into a found one."

Jungwon's presence bothered you, the first few times. Then, it became pleasant, but to him you never admitted it. Now, as you watch his body dressed as a normal 17-year-old in these years (which aren't his, but which he's tried to get used to) slowly fade until it looks like nothing but dust fluttering around your bedroom, you realize you don't want him to leave.

"You're my best friend, Jungwon." You find yourself saying, crying hard and then harder. "You're my best friend, and I hate to tell you this just now. And I want to hug you, tell you that whatever happened in your previous life you didn't deserve it and that I will never forget you. And I'm so fucking sorry, because you're not going to live a second life because you wanted to help me."

He keeps on fading, but his tears don't stop scrolling. Neither do yours.

"I'm going to stop lying, I'm going to listen to you, and I'm not going to forget your eyes, or your deceptive smiles or your laughter and your inappropriate jokes."

You hear him laugh and mutter a few words you could swear by are "I would do this for you again. Give you a chance."

Then, you just know he can't answer you anymore, because he keeps fading, flying, going away, but you hear everything he would like to keep saying to you, and once again, you close your eyes.

This time, to not see him disappear from your life. Forever.

"I will not forget you. I will find my missing piece. I will complete my puzzle. I will always have you as my ally."

"I love you."

What if I told you that Jungwon is smiling, looking at you and hearing your words, wherever he is now?

#enhypenwriters #enhypennetwork #enhypen jungwon #enhypen #jungwon x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen angst

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sisterssafespace · 3 years ago

Note

السلام عليكم ورحمة الله وبركاته

recently i’ve been struggling a lot. i was diagnosed with depression, anxiety and bpd not too long ago now. but, i have been struggling so much with bearing it all? i haven’t told my family anything as i’ve told a few close friends. so, i cannot blame my family for the fact i’m very emotionally volatile. even though, i know i’m struggling i keep pushing people away & maybe it’s the embarrassment? the shame? that my anxiety attacks are coming back & they’re more frequent, more painful & so much easier to trigger now. i feel like i have this huge secret that i’m carrying around & it fills me with shame. i know mental health isn’t something to be ashamed of but, in a way i’m the one in my family who can do it all? so, the fact i’m struggling so much that i cry in my room a lot of the time whilst they all are chatting away fills me with sadness? i’ve never been close to my family so, it’s been this way for a long time. i’m very independent but to a fault even when i need help i won’t reach out to anyone. i know i have Allāh swt who will help me through anything & everything. but, i don’t know i feel overwhelmed i feel horrible every moment i’m alone my eyes tear up and i begin to cry because i’m hurting so much. sometimes the world feels so unbearable like i cannot go on any longer but then i remember [2:286]. sometimes, i feel as though i’m not cut of for this world it brings me so much pain & suffering. do not me wrong, i am blessed with so much but in my heart there is a lot of sadness & pain. i feel so weak the days are passing by & with each other my resolve to carry on gets weaker too. i have been referred to therapy & to take some medication but i have no time to go i have no will power to get up & seek treatment. it feels like i’m watching myself slowly wither away with each passing day. i try to make dhikr to distract myself but i end up having an anxiety attack because all i can think about is how i’m a bad muslim. that Allāh swt loves me so much He is putting me through these battles to strengthen me but, i cannot even handle them. i honestly see myself wishing that i could just disappear sometimes. - 🌊

بسم الله الرحمان الرحيم،

قال الله تعالى في سورة القصص :

وَأَ��ْحَيْنَا إِلَىٰ أُمِّ مُوسَىٰ أَنْ أَرْضِعِيهِ ۖ فَإِذَا خِفْتِ عَلَيْهِ فَأَلْقِيهِ فِي الْيَمِّ وَلَا تَخَافِي وَلَا تَحْزَنِي ۖ إِنَّا رَادُّوهُ إِلَيْكِ وَجَاعِلُوهُ مِنَ الْمُرْسَلِينَ

We revealed this to Moses' mother: 'Suckle him, but when you fear for him cast him into the water. Neither fear, nor sorrow because We shall restore him to you and make him among the Messengers.'

[ Qur'an 28:7 ]

و عليكم السلام و رحمة الله و بركاته 🌸

My dear sister, I started my answer with an ayah about one of my favorite stories in the Quran that is the story of how Musa (as)'s mother had to let him go as a newborn and throw him into the river (to save his life) because Allah swt told her (inspired her to do) so. This story is also mentioned in surat Ta Ha (20) - the surah that I love to call my anti-anxiety pill - but I chose this ayah from surat Al-Qasas for the precise words that Allah swt orders to Musa's mother :

ولا تخافي و لا تحزني | Do not fear nor sorrow (grieve)

The grammatical structure for these phrases is : Prohibition "النهي" which means that Allah swt orders you against doing that thing, it is not a request, it is not a piece of advice, it is actually stronger than that. It is prohibited that you give into your fear (i.e. anxiety) or fall into sorrow, saddness (i.e. depression). The same structure is used when Allah swt spoke to sayyidah Maryam (Mary as), when she was in labor and she was all alone, scared, confused, in pain, she even wished for death,

فَنَادَاهَا مِنْ تَحْتِهَا أَلَّا تَحْزَنِي

But (a voice) cried to her from beneath the (palm-tree): "Grieve not!"

[Quran 19:24]

I personally support and adapt the tafaseer that explain this as that Allah swt loves, appreciates and cares for the women and the girls of the believers so much that He swt prohibits them to feel sad or anxious. - But we will get back to this later in the answer, in shaa Allah.

Now let's go back to the beginning. I have 3 main ideas, let me bullet them not to forget anything:

1) The diagnosis: You said, my beautiful sister, that you were diagnosed not too long ago, with 3 mental health issues. So I take it a shrink/ psychiatrist diagnosed you. And then what? it is not enough to have a diagnosis, what is more important is to have a plan, i.e. therapy. It is important to identify the issue but it is more important to figure out how to deal with that issue. Sis, you need professional help. That ache in your heart and those worries, those thoughts in your mind they won't just disappear on their own. You need therapy. 🥺🥺. Which brings me to point number 2:

2) Asking for help: There is a story that I heard somewhere, a long time ago, but is so iconic that it stayed with me. One time this man's boat drowned. And he was fighting for his life in the middle of the ocean, and he asked God to save him, after a while a boat passed by and stopped for him, they wanted to rescue him but he said " no I don't need you, I have God, He will save me", so the boat moved on. And the man made duāa again and asked God to rescue him. After another while, another boat approach him, and they wanted to rescue him. Again, he declined and said " I have God, He will save me " so they went away. Eventually, the man got tired and couldn't do it anymore. He drowned. After he died, he asked God why didn't you save me? I was waiting for you to rescue you me.. and God said " who do you think was sending you the boats? " ..

Why am I telling you this story? I feel like you are doing the same as this man.

Sometimes people are a means that Allah swt puts in our way to save us! Yes, you are being all toughened up and 'strong' by trying to retrieve from people - even your own family - and not bother anyone with your issues, but you are actually doing more damage and more harm to yourself and to your loved ones this way. No good ever comes from passively sitting in a corner and isolating ourselves in our pain and suffering, especially to us girls, we are very social creatures who thrive and heal with compassionate, empathy, sharing, co-dependence (not in a negative sense), and solidarity. Half of the problem goes away just by talking about it. We immediately feel so much lighter after we have a good talk/ crying session with someone we love. By isolating yourself and drowning in your misery, you are going against your nature and that only amplifies your pain 💔🥺 So I am begging you, to take a step towards your support system, be it family, a cousin, friends, a teacher, a therapist.. you need help and you can't do this alone. Asking another human being to be there for you never means you trust Allah swt less or that Allah swt is not enough for you! On the contrary, maybe that person is fulfilling a purpose for the sake of Allah swt by being there for you. Allah swt has created us this way, there is no shame in asking for help I promise.

⚠️ ALSO OMG HIGHLY IMPORTANT THERE IS NO SHAME IN HAVING MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE I HAVE TO SAY THIS!

I don't know how much we have to deconstruct, how many walls we have to break down to set ourselves free from all the negative feelings that culture and the patriarchy installed in us since a very tender age, like shame, guilt, self-loathing.. it is A LOT, but we have to. There is no other way around it to free ourselves. And one last thing, my sweet sweet sweet sister, even if you think you can do it all, you can keep it all inside and put on a brave face and go on about your day while there is a battlefield in your head and a fire burning in your heart, you don't have to. Have mercy on yourself. Allah swt would never approve of this, you putting yourself through so much pain by refusing to seek help. And you wonder why your anxiety attacks are back! 💔🥺 which brings me to point 3:

3) Anxiety attacks: Are you sure they are anxiety attacks not panic attacks? How do you identify them? What are your symptoms? And how do you deal with them? How do you cope? See, beautiful sister, this is very very serious! You can't keep going like this and think " oh Allah swt is putting me thru this to make me stronger. " Umm actually, no, Allah swt is not putting you through this. He gave you this at the beginning yes, but He showed you the way, and you stubbornly refused! So now, you are putting yourself through this, my dear, and you do not deserve it!

Please do not take this with a rough note, I am using a very very soft tone, I promise. And also, lots of hugs and caresses 🥺❤️

I want you to promise me that you are going to consider my words, and seriously think of asking for help. For the sake of Allah, for the sake of yourself and your sanity. Remember, you do not own yourself, you do not own your soul, you do not own your body. It is all an amanah that we are responsible for keeping safe and sane until we return to Allah swt, and we are going to be held accountable for what we did with it. Allahu al'mustaān.

Looking forward to getting your updates!

May Allah swt sooth your pain and give you thr courage you need to ask for help. Ameen.

Fi Aman Allah.

- A. Z. 🍃

#sisterssafespace #tw depression #tw anxiety #mention of bpd #mental health

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meaty4spicedbuns · 3 years ago

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I dunno if your accepting request but I was listening to music I had in my old phone and “eyes closed by rosé” came up and I thought of Suguru Geto right away. I can imagine his singer s/o singing this song thinking about him. After Geto died she no longer wanted to do anything with being a sorcerer and became a singer. I dunno if I made sense but in my mind it does and I’m crying like a baby.

Yes! I do accepted request! And especially about our beloved Suguru Getou because he deserve all the love 🛐💖✨

I can see Suguru and his s/o lying on the grass, chilling. He got his head on they laps while they pass they hand into his hairs. And before they could realize they are singing for him, making him humming the song from time to time if he know it

I,,, love,, your,, idea,,, THE LYRICS!!! Why you must hurt me like that?? (joking, I'm loving it eheh)

Anyway! Your requested inspired me! I put my grain of salt into it tho so I hope you'll like it!

PS : Sorry for any grammatical mistake!

" I would have gave it all for you, been there for you. So tell me where I went wrong.."

It's three in the afternoon when Suguru finish his day. And this guy's is like a puppy when it's about you.

Everytime he could have some free time, he would head up directly to you to have some company.

And today is not an exception.

"Would gave it all for you, and care for you, my lover-"

You couldn't finish your sentences that you heard a whistle. When you turn back you discover Suguru laying against the doorframe, waving at you with a big smile. Messy buns, jogging, you could see he is tired, coming back from a shower after a long day.

"Excuse me sir, did I invite you?, you say with a chicky smile.

"You think I'm a kind of vampire of something?" he answer while getting closer. "Why did I never heard you singing before? Your voice is like velveted honey.

"Because my voice is, like you say, 'velveted honey' and needa be train before I'll let myself sing for other. And better keep it away from rat like you" you stick out your tongue with a smile.

Suguru stick his tong too with a childish expression. Once he is close enough, he wrapped his arm around your waist as he lean closer to put his forehaed against yours. You are on the tips of your feet before he left you so you can put your legs around his waist.

"Would you accept to sing it again for a rat like me then? I think I know this song.

"Um .." You brush your chin, playing as if you are thinking. "I could do you this favor yes."

...

The headphone cup your ears so softly. You can see someone lifting they thumb behind a glassy windows. When you get out the gave you a big smile :

"it will be a hit."

"Yes, what?

You nod. Without even realizing it, you were grabbing your shirt so tightly, tears at the corner of your eyes. You thought for a second seeing his silhouette on the other side of the glass, but it was just your colleague.

You lift your hand and decided to get your stuff quickly go away. You are suffocating right now.

Once you are out in the street, you grab out a phone from your bag. And instantly you turn it on, it immediately began to ring in your hand. You read the name : "Satoru Gojo" and decide to answer :

"It's been a while" his voice seems serious. "You didn't rethink my proposition? "

"It took me too much."

Only thinking of it hurt you. The dark, the blood, the smile, the stitches. You put your hand in your bag, sneaking inside until your finger felt a soft tissus. It's here and still will be. You don't feel like taking it out, but just the though of it being by your side is enough.

"I know.

Maybe one day you'll be strong enought.

"How can you continue?" A silent follow your question so you push it away and say : "My next song, if your heart still hurt, don't listen to it.

"It's about him?" He let a second for you to answer, but you can't. "Wanna came sing it to me as a private concert?

"I'd.. I'd rather.. Not."

"I mean.., you talk again. You know what, I think I can."

You can't see it, but he nod behind his phone.

Tears began to roll down your cheek. You need to accept. This song is you redemption. This song is the container for all the feels you have. This song must contain everything so you can choose to put it on the side. It's your charm. Your exorcism of his jinx. His love.

"Tonight?" you can mumble between two aching breath.

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internalsealpanic · 4 years ago

Text

I Will be Your Tim Drake for Tonight (3) (Jason Todd/ Reader)

Summary: Preferring to do anything but your physics project, you decide to accepts Tim’s proposal. It’s simple. He does your project, you try to figure out whether Jason Sionis is criminal. Easy, right?

masterlist

A/n: This takes place in a world where Jason is adopted by Black Mask. Inspired by Building Interest by Zoeleo.The events and characterization in this story are very heavily based on Zoeleo's Long Term Investment series. It is fantastic and I really highly recommend all of her fics.

a/n: For clarification, Reader does have psychic powers but it only lets her sense people's emotions physically. No mind-reading. Her power is more like an overactive sense of empathy which may force her to dissociate into someone else.

There will be violence and mentions of alcoholism (used as coping mechanism for physical pain) and chronic pain.

As for the additional warning, an animal is harmed but it is barely described. I could not bring myself to actual describe it but the aftermath is described.

I also just converted this from an OC so I apologize for any grammatical mistakes.

Without further a do:

Your stomach drops.

Fuck.

Of course, Damian just had to be the one to pick up.

"Hey baby bro, could you pass the phone to dad?"

"I'm sorry who is this?"

This little shit.

"You're such a kidder! Dami, it's me, Tim. "

“Ah yes, Drake-” You can hear Tim choke in the background. “What do you want?”

“Please Dami just pass the phone to dad, I- I really need to talk to him”

“Very well,”

“Tim?” The voice sounded like Bruce’s but the intonation was all wrong. The voice changer Tim and Babs were working on seems to have made progress.

“Hey dad, I- uh. I might have gotten kidnapped.”

Tim makes another choking noise. “Might have?”

“I was at the party. I think I had around 13 drinks. 13 ! Can you believe it? I felt like a right sailor after that, like the harbor workers, y’know? Anyway, I was taking a smoke-”

“Enough!” The large man roared, snatching the phone from you. “Send us $100 million by tomorrow or your kid’ll be shark bait!” Who says that anymore?

“Of course! Of course! I’ll have the money sometime this evening. Please don’t hurt him.”

Tim, God bless him, does not laugh. Tim’s acting needs some work but he sure does know how to act worried.

The line dies and they tie you back up to the post.

“What the hell?!”

“We have to make sure you don’t just runoff.” The large man says tightening your bonds. Truthfully, you’ve felt far worse. After all, corsets exist. However, this was still a close second.

“Do I look like I could outrun a snail?”

“He’s got a point boss. He looks like he hasn’t even seen the sun in ages.”

This, you decide, is true for Tim. When was the last time he went out before dark? Maybe he got sunlight when he stayed over at Eddie’s place.

The large man grabs Jason by the collar and throws him to his men.

The 3 men kick and curse at him. They mock him and beat him down. They wail on him with their fists, their steel-toed shoes, and sometimes brick. Jason takes it all with a crooked grin and a sharp tongue. You watched in awe. Even on the floor, Jason looked sturdy, ferocious, and indomitable.

"They all break, sweet girl."

Jason is on a tiled floor. No, he should be on concrete. His blood is on the tile. They’re hitting him. They’re hitting him with a bat. No. They aren’t supposed to be holding a bat. They were kicking him but now they’re holding a bat. No, She’s holding a bat. There's supposed to be three of them, three men, but their forms coalesce into her . You can hear his ribs cracking. Next are his legs. His legs are always next. Then his arm. She'll break each bone in his arms and his hands. He’s wheezing. His voice sounds hoarse. His voice is too hoarse. He sounds like he’s been starved and dehydrated for at least a day. They’ve only been here for an hour. That isn’t right. Oh God! Now she had a cleaver in her hands.

No!

He doesn’t need to die. She can’t.

no.

No.

No!

The scene crescendos as the tall, dark, sinewy silhouette towering over Jason raises the butcher's knife above her head.

“Harder, daddy!”

“Son?”

The scene of the kitchen fades and the shit-eating grin on Jason melts into view which shifts from amusement to confusion then back to amusement.

You blink seeing his stupid grin far too clearly.

You let a bark of gut-busting laughter out as you strain against the rope. Your brow pinches with concern but based on the scowls you’re receiving they're more focused on the fact that you were laughing like a mad man.

Jason looks like he’s about to laugh from the absurdity as well when the man in charge picks him up again tossing him into a chair. The other men tie him down binding his wrists and ankles.

"I've had worse." He spits out.

The phone rings again, the dial tone echoing. Jason looks like hell with his face swollen and bruises beginning to bloom on every surface but he still looked like he was 5 seconds from starting a fight.

The large man punches Jason hard in the gut knocking the air out of his lungs as the dial tone cuts off. “Hear that, Sionis? Your little bitch is pretty soft.”

Oh God, are they serious?

“Who is this? Nevermind. You ok there, sweetheart?” Roman Sionis’ ‘concerned’ voice carries over the line.

They are.

“Nothing I can't handle, daddy.” Jason chuckles with the utmost casualness. You, on the other hand, instantly want to disinfect your brain. Thankfully, before your mind could wander somewhere it can't return from, the big man growls into the phone.

“Don't you recognize the voice of the man whose life you've ruined?!”

“You've gotta be more specific than that. I've ruined quite a few lives but I would like to know whose brain I need to put a bullet in.”

“IT'S ME BRUNO HARDIN!”

“Doesn't ring any bells.” Roman deadpans almost sounding completely disinterested. “Sweetheart, you remember anyone like that?”

“Nope,” Jason replies letting the p pop. It seemed like a strange sort of triumph before it all crashes down with another swift punch to the ribs.

You stare at the strange scene torn between amusement and horror.

“Take this seriously!” Bruno roars.

"I'm taking this about as seriously as it deserves."

A part of you thought 'yeah this is ridiculous enough to warrant nonchalance' while the other part wanted to scream. On one hand, even you found his identity anticlimactic. Doesn’t he know just how many small-time businesses Roman has ruined? He’d be lucky to get into the top 50. It’s not like he was running a pretty ethical establishment either. On the other hand, your freaking kid is getting the shit kicked out of him. Emote damn it.

“Jason. Don’t you worry. Daddy’s going to take care of this. Your Uncle D happens to be in town. He’s on his way to pick you up. Love you, baby. See you soon.”

The line dies. Your stomach sinks further somehow. You don’t know if the nausea is due to the fact that the line died, the threat, or the number of times the word ‘daddy’ came up. Who the hell is Uncle D? How is he supposed to help? Your gaze trails to Jason who is now lowering his head to the floor seemingly tired. Maybe that last punch finally drained the fight from him.

“You're all so fucked.” Jason barks out in a fit of laughter. The men around him, jumping from the volume of his voice.

Bruno grabs Jason by the collar and begins to shake him as if the “Shut the fuck up you little bitch! Whoever your Uncle D is he's-”

“Deathstroke”

You feel like someone kicked you in the chest. First of all, Uncle D? Really? You guess that there are worse hills to die on. This was somehow weirder than hearing Faust and her siblings call him pops. Second of all, Fuck. You'd never gotten your asshanded to you by Deathstroke but based on how banged up the Titans looked after fighting him this wasn't gonna be pretty. All you could hope for was that you wouldn't get caught in the crossfire. Although, the image of Deathstroke grudgingly letting a kid call him Uncle D lightens your mood a bit.

Bruno throws Jason on the floor hard enough for his body to bounce. Like Jason earlier, Bruno is radiating murder.

Just run, you thick motherfucker.

You, being the ‘nice’ Wayne kid that you are, try to tell him as much but sadly that was halted by shattering glass. A flurry of black, orange, and metal crash through the glass and cut through the crowd of men.

They fire at him, panic making their faces even paler. They hit him, bullets sinking into his flesh, blood splatters but none of it fazes him. He skewers and cuts them down with ease. His swords and suit are liberally decorated with their blood when it’s all done.

He steps over Bruno’s body. From the grunt that comes out, Bruno is still alive. Dumb bastard doesn’t know how to play dead. He’ll die from blood loss anyway.

“Hey, kid-” Deathstroke greets tersely, picking up Jason’s nearly limp body. “We’re gonna get you home.” He slings Jason’s arm over his shoulder.

“Wait!”

Deathstroke stops sounding slightly annoyed.

Jason turns to you, who’s still unhappily tied to a post. “We gotta get him out.” He rasps.

“Kid, you’re the only one I’m getting paid to rescue.” Deathstroke helpfully informs as he carefully adjusts his hold on the struggling young man. You blow out a breath somehow more irritable than scared. “Just cut me out. I can make my way back just fine.”

“Walk in Gotham, are you stupid?” Jason hisses. The concern bleeding through.

“Which one of us charged at their captors while they were armed?”

Jason scowls at you with a petulant twist in his lips. “Yanno what, Leave ‘im.”

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry and yeah I’ll be fine. I know where to avoid. Just please don’t leave me with them” you plead, throwing away any pride you held as you glance at the most likely dead bodies. Deathstroke cuts you out. Your skin feels raw but you’re otherwise unharmed.

You walk out of the warehouse and Dick practically throws himself at you. “Oh thank god, they didn’t shoot you in the head.” He mumbles into your wig.

"Why would you think they would shoot me in the head?"

Dick pulls back and frowns at you through the domino mask. “You aren’t exactly the most pleasant-”

“ We were model hostages.” you squawk.

Jason snorts far too loudly to be helpful.

You glare at him but you weren’t about to say fuck off to him while he has one of the world’s deadliest assassins right next to him.

Deathstroke coughs. “Well if you don’t mind we’ll be taking our leave.”

Dick holding you protectively, glares but says nothing. Maybe he does but you faint before you can hear it.

A/n: Thanks for reading!

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x oc #dick grayson #damian wayne #deathstroke #nightwing #slade wilson #roman sionis #black mask #batfamily x reader #batfam #false face au #crime au #my writing #dc fanfiction #dc comics

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soveryanon · 4 years ago

Text

Reviewing time for MAG176!

- The statement felt so short! Well, it was, admittedly, very short, and not much was technically happening (someone is being hunted by what used to be their pack, is got, is torn to shreds, and someone else from the pack is arbitrarily designated as the next victim).

It’s very funny how I had felt that The Stranger’s statement had a biiiig Hunt-vibe, and these elements also appeared here but were definitely more Hunt-y… while also displaying the poetry aspect of The Stranger:

(MAG165) ARCHIVIST: “So dance. Dance to the beat of the thump of the chase of the still and plastic horse hooves, which cannot break from where they are secured by bolts and glue and eggshell-thin reality that paints a visage of sense almost enough to tell you that the nausea that swells and pushes at the limits of your mind is incorrect. […] Just – keep – running…! Your feet – or are they just the shoes with emptiness within? – will pound upon the creaking wood of carousel top, or perhaps the only ground there’s ever been, so struggle not to look behind […] You tire of the chase of course, the fire of an all-relentless pace of competition, reaching for a name, identity and face that has long since worn through all reserves of hard, enduring vigour in you.”

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: “Feet pound, silent whisper, silent blood on lips, blood on teeth, blood-scent of hated prey flows through veins and into feet pound silent in pursuit. […] The prey turns and runs, all grace of The Hunt forgotten as they stumble, crashing through undergrowth and dirt. Behind them, feet pound silent.”

Very fitting for a neverending chase that the statement opened and closed with the same words, just as the chase began anew.

- Small things in the dynamic of the episode: the fact that the people trapped in the chase were often not treated as identified subjects nor even grammatical subjects. The pack was first described as “teeth smile” and through various threatening elements of their bodies (“The spaces between the trees are filled with eyes that hate and hands that hold the promise of a life ended on the rotting leaves of the forest floor”), the people of the pack were “the pack”, “the killers”, there were “no names amongst the pack”; their victim was “the one who deserves to be hunted”, “their quarry”, “the prey”.

The absolute absence of name or detail allowing to give one of them an identifying detail was already a big red flag when Trevor appeared as Trevor: he had a name, he was singled-out… but in the statement, even the prey didn’t have a name. So, as Jon pointed out: he was lower than that (and bait).

- The pack’s logic was really reminiscent of Hunters that we knew, uh? It being motivated by “the need to tear and rend and coat their faces slick with the blood of the guilty” was already something we witnessed with Daisy, Julia and Trevor. They had felt, at first, maybe less bad than other avatars because they were targeting monsters/avatars/manifestations of the Fears… but were fundamentally just ruled by the will to hurt others, as Daisy acknowledged. We saw Trevor fall deeper into The Hunt through his statements, but here, we directly saw how the hunters are absolutely monsters (needing a victim only to serve their own purposes, regardless of facts or rationality). It’s interesting that in this domain, the Fear was both of being the prey and chased by the others, and of potentially becoming the next one? Nobody could ever win. Interesting, also, that this Hunt-domain felt a bit Slaughter-flavoured: it reminds me of MAG112, with the same ambiguity, the purpose being the chase, the friends turning against you… but also with the revelling in the butchery.

(As usual with the Fears twisting something that could have been positive, but taken to another extreme: the feeling of a “pack”, of individuals sharing a cause and being united by it. But here, this “unity” is intrinsically linked to the desire and the need to exclude, to punish, to hurt someone (“it is the need to tear and rend and coat their faces slick with the blood of the guilty that pulses through every fibre of them”), and that motivator turns the whole situation into the monstrosity that we witness. Really reminiscent of cult-like organisations, uh?)

(- I’m aware that the statement was apparently a reference/homage to Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery”, but since I’m not familiar with it, I don’t have anything to add about that except that it joined my to-read list!)

- Jooon, CHILL OUT:

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: “They can each smell it wafting from the others, but who will it be…? Who is the most afraid? Which of them held back? Which of them… [CRACK] There. You. [GRASS RUSTLING] Blood on your hands, no doubt; blood on your lips; but not much.”

I feared for a moment that he was pointing at MARTIN in that moment.

- It’s not the first time that we heard sounds related to the statements while it happened, but it’s been pushed through the roof in this episode, sounding as though we were running with the prey:

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: “Feet pound, silent whisper, silent blood on lips, blood on teeth, blood-scent of hated prey flows through veins and into feet pound silent in pursuit. [IN THE BACKGROUND, CONSTANT SOUND OF A CHASE IN THE FOREST: FEET RUNNING, PANTING, SHUFFLING OF LEAVES AND BRANCHES] Teeth smile. Ready to kill. [SHUFFLING OF BRANCHES] The lashing branches reach and claw and try to hold back the charging vengeance of the pack.”

And. I wonder what these sound effects are. Jonny had said, back in the season 1 Q&A, that all the sounds we were hearing were canon in-universe (background atmospheric music excluded). How come we’re hearing these sounds of pursuit as if we were participants in the chase (while Jon was staying where he is)? Could Martin hear them too? Are they somehow “created” on the tapes through dream-logic?

- A super nice touch was the two different kind of birds that we could hear during Jon&Martin’s exchanges, the trill and the squawk – as if already announcing that there were two people following them. And Basira arrived right after another squawk!

(MAG176) MARTIN: What aren’t you telling me? [LONG TRILL OF A BIRD] ARCHIVIST: Martin, please. I’m trying to find our way to Basira. MARTIN: Talk to me, Jon. ARCHIVIST: I’m fine! [SILENCE] MARTIN: … Glad to hear. [TRILL OF A BIRD] And the fact that we’re hunting our friend, in a domain of The Hunt isn’t getting to you at all? Not even a little bit? [TRILL OF A BIRD] Hm? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] I don’t like betraying someone’s trust like this. […] Besides, the chase isn’t… really the point of this particular place. [SQUAWKING OF A BIRD] MARTIN: Oh, no?

(Which also helped to prepare myself to the gunshot at the end of the episode: I had tensed up a bit at the squawk shortly before, since it was a disruption, so the gunshot wasn’t as violent and surprising as it could have been.)

- Jon was walking slowly, and later mentioned that he had hoped to be the one targeted by Trevor:

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Hold on. Take it easy. MARTIN: … What? I’m going at a normal pace, you’re the one that’s slowing down! ARCHIVIST: I am not. MARTIN: You are! You’re dragging your feet. … What’s up? […] ARCHIVIST: Then, it’s very– Listen, look at me. The next couple of minutes are going to be quite unpleasant for one of us, and I’m sorry. MARTIN: Uh– Wh– Sorry, what? ARCHIVIST: You need to remain very calm, and don’t make any sudden movements. […] For putting us all in this situation. I had hoped you’d go for me, but… Well.

… So was Jon stalling, staying behind Martin in the hope that he would be identified as an easier target to improve the chance of Trevor going after him rather than Martin? ;_;

- Mmm, it was speculated that Jon might be influenced by the domains he was going through on an emotional level (extremely uneasy in The Dark, chirpier in The Vast), and in this one, the fact that they were hunting Basira (/preparing a trap) in the domain of The Hunt was directly called out by Martin:

(MAG176) MARTIN: Talk to me, Jon. ARCHIVIST: I’m fine! [SILENCE] MARTIN: … Glad to hear. [TRILL OF A BIRD] And the fact that we’re hunting our friend, in a domain of The Hunt isn’t getting to you at all? Not even a little bit? [TRILL OF A BIRD] Hm? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] I don’t like betraying someone’s trust like this. MARTIN: It’s not a betrayal if you’re doing it to help.

So mmmm. (Big, biiiig worry if it’s the case… for when they’d reach the Panopstitute, which Jon already presented as his domain. Would he get overwhelmed by Beholding’s voyeuristic tendencies…?)

- … Alright, BigWorryTM about Jon giving us an insight into how this world operates:

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: I’m glad. [INHALE] Because this place focuses on that worry, that fear of your own pack turning their claws on you. MARTIN: Hm! [TRILL OF A BIRD] Is that… really a Hunt thing? ARCHIVIST: It can be! The old divisions don’t mean as much these days. Maybe they never did. The domains are… smaller, [TRILL OF A BIRD] more… personal than the Powers. They don’t just feed on the worst fears of the people trapped there, they’re… shaped by them too. It’s enough to fear the domain itself – if not the entire Power behind it.

Because, alright, it explains something that Jonny had already explained on twitter – that what is happening to victims this season is mostly tied to their subjectivity, to their own personal fears. But it also doesn’t bode well at all when remembering what Jon said about the faint hope of removing the Fears:

(MAG164) MARTIN: Okay, okay, just one more, but… it’s a big one. ARCHIVIST: [SMALL] Okay. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Can we turn the world back? [STATIC RISES, STRONG] ARCHIVIST: Wow! Hum… I–if the Fears are removed, yes; but they–they can’t be destroyed while there are still… people to fear them; th–then they can’t be banished back to the space where they came from, it’s not… there anymore, I… Oh! Uh… MARTIN: J–J–Jon, what’s wrong? ARCHIVIST: Uh, it’s, uh… I’m sorry, trying to know things about them directly, i–i–it’s like… [STATIC DECREASES] [EXHALE] God, it’s like looking into the Sun…!

It’s not that the Fears are inflicted on people: it’s that, in this new organisation of the world, they’re not only parasitic – humans & Fears, in the domains, live in symbiosis. If the Fears are subjective, how do you remove them without killing the hosts (humans)? Jon has sounded way less optimistic about a chance of making things “better” since they began their journey, and I wonder if he has reached that conclusion, too… (Which doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s the endgame conclusion, but we’ve yet to see other ideas.)

- We! Want! The! Forbidden! Hunt! Merch!

(MAG176) MARTIN: [HUFF] You should get that on a mug. [SQUAWKING OF A BIRD] “You don’t have to fear The Hunt to be trapped here…” ARCHIVIST: “… but it helps!”

Also, pretty sexy of Jon&Martin to have reached the “we finish each other’s sentences” level in their relationship.

- Martin is observant!! He noticed twice that something was going after them:

(MAG176) MARTIN: Look, though, so can we just… move on? ARCHIVIST: Soon. MARTIN: Look. Jon, I–I didn’t want to say this, but we either need to move on or you need to tell me what’s going on, because… [PAUSE] I think we’re being followed. ARCHIVIST: We are. MARTIN: Oh. ‘Kay. That’s not what I wanted to actually hear…! ARCHIVIST: I know! That’s why I didn’t mention it before. […] ARCHIVIST: You alright? MARTIN: Just peachy. I don’t, I don’t know, I f–feel like I saw something in the trees… ARCHIVIST: You did. MARTIN: Oh, fantastic! [TRILL OF A BIRD] You’re very reassuring, you know that? Is it that… “pack”-thing you were talking about? ARCHIVIST: No, they’d have… They’d have no interest in us. We’re not one of them. MARTIN: Look, Jon, if, if you know what it is, then why don’t you just tell me– ARCHIVIST: Hold on. MARTIN: –so… ARCHIVIST: Shh.

(And it might doubly sting that Jon was all “Yeah, I know” about it – Martin doesn’t have all-knowing powers to help him.)

(That’s. A lot of “Look” coming from Martin this episode? Very Beholding of him.)

- I’ve been laughing for six weeks over Martin’s barely audible “Oh-my-god”:

(MAG176) MARTIN: Oh. ‘Kay. That’s not what I wanted to actually hear…! ARCHIVIST: I know! That’s why I didn’t mention it before. MARTIN: [BARELY A WHISPER] Oh-my-god… But we’re safe, right?

Martin was feeling speechless, uh.

I wonder why Jon kept him in the dark like this, though? Was it because he came up with that plan when they were already being followed, and didn’t want to risk Trevor or Basira overhearing? Was it because he needed Martin to reek some fear (but not too much)? Was it because he thought that Martin would try to talk him out of that plan, since it relied on Trevor’s death and on Basira killing someone? Since the Change, Jon has been forgetting or not managing to express what he felt or knew often; there is still a risk that it could backfire if a bigger threat arises…

Jon did need him to remain calm:

(MAG176) MARTIN: [BARELY A WHISPER] Oh-my-god… But we’re safe, right? ARCHIVIST: As long as you remain calm, yes. Absolutely. […] Right. Martin, do you trust me. MARTIN: Uh, what? … Oh, Christ, this can’t be good. “Y–y–yes”? ARCHIVIST: Then, it’s very– Listen, look at me. The next couple of minutes are going to be quite unpleasant for one of us, and I’m sorry. MARTIN: Uh– Wh– Sorry, what? ARCHIVIST: You need to remain very calm, and don’t make any sudden movements. [FOOTSTEPS] MARTIN: Oh, okay, now I’m worried. [SHUFFLING] What d’you– Oh, AH! [METALLIC HISS] […] ARCHIVIST: It’s okay. …Trust me. MARTIN: O~kay. TREVOR: It’s not okay! Stop fucking smiling! [GRUNT] MARTIN: [HIGH-PITCHED AND SLOW] Jon? I know you keep saying we’re safe, and I am feeling very calm. But just so I know, can he… Can he kill me?

Was it because being afraid would feed the Hunters / Basira / Trevor? Because allowing them to fear Trevor would have (through dream-logic) given Trevor his power back, and turn him back into a Hunter? Or was it “just” because Jon needed Martin to act according to his plan? I had felt like MAG167’s statement had erased some of Martin’s doubts regarding Jon’s feelings for him (with Jon admitting that Martin was his “reason” and why Jon was able to keep going, in a situation where Gertrude would have crumbled), but Annabelle had angled her venom at whether Jon needed Martin: it’s a complicated situation overall, but. I worry a bit that Jon knowing what needs to be done and only needing Martin’s participation as a passive tool might directly feed into Martin’s insecurities and lead him to try something reckless in the future…?

- Cough, Martin’s obsession with knowing about the PLAN? Martin being frustrated to not know about the PLAN?

(MAG176) MARTIN: S–so are you… going to tell me what’s going on? What the plan is? ARCHIVIST: We’re going to find Basira. MARTIN: [HUFF] No, Jon, that’s the goal! What I want is the plan, the steps in-between that need us to be hunted through the woods. [THROUGH GRITTED TEETH] I’m flying blind here! ARCHIVIST: I– [TRILL OF A BIRD] [INHALE, EXHALE] … Yeah. I’m sorry. I do know what I’m doing. MARTIN: How nice for you, but I don’t, unless you tell me! […] [HIGH-PITCHED WHIMPERS] Oh, oh… Oh, Christ, you– This’s– He just… ARCHIVIST: Relax, Martin. MARTIN: I–I–I–I’m, I’m not gonna, I’m not gonna relax! I’m sick of never knowing what’s going on, and then…!

This is how Web!Martin can still w–

- I’m both ;_; and glad that Jon told Martin that no, their situation has not been as bad as Basira’s:

(MAG175) ARCHIVIST: Basira and Daisy. We’re close. MARTIN: Wait, what? Wait, really? B– Th–that’s brilliant! What are we waiting for, let’s go! ARCHIVIST: Uh, y–yeah, i–it’s… It’s not… it’s not going to be easy, things aren’t… good. MARTIN: Oh my goodness, really? And here was me thinking the apocalypse was going oh-so-swimmingly! ARCHIVIST: Yes, alright, I just meant… MARTIN: I–I know what you meant! I can still be keen to see our friends! ARCHIVIST: … True.

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: It’s tricky. She’s… [INHALE] She’s had a bad time. MARTIN: [HUFF] I mean… Haven’t we all? ARCHIVIST: No. [TRILL OF A BIRD] No, we haven’t. [SILENCE] MARTIN: … Right.

… Because, yeah. Jon never wanted this new world. Jon has to bear the guilt of what Jonah made him do (of what Jonah did through him). But it’s also true that Jon and Martin are not currently stuck in a domain like the other victims, tortured by their worst fears. (… Although the new world is, in some way, Jon’s Personal Hell since he knows he contributed, unwillingly, to birthing it, and has to witness the pain and anguish it causes to everyone and has to deal with the fact that some part of himself is enjoying it.)

I wonder if we’ll get a full statement from Basira, or about what she’s been doing since the Change happened? Was her personal hell to pursue Daisy through domains, not fully sure whether she would kill her or not (and subsequently break the last promise she had made to her), or is there… even worse?

- I have the mentality of a child, but I’m still snickering so hard that lately, Jon’s need to pour out his statement has been portrayed like needing a bathroom break (down to the little detail of Martin keeping watch around them):

(MAG172) ARCHIVIST: Ah… Hold up, I–I need to, uh… [RUSTLING OF CLOTHES] MARTIN: Now, seriously? We’re almost out of here. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] I’m sorry…! Not really up to me…! MARTIN: Fine. [SIGH]

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: Ah– MARTIN: … What? ARCHIVIST: Uh… [AWKWARD HUMOURLESS AMUSEMENT] Hold on…! MARTIN: Oh my god, are you actually serious? Right now? ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry! MARTIN: [SIGH] Fine, just… I’ll keep a lookout, be quick. ARCHIVIST: I’ll do my best! […] Hold on. MARTIN: –so… ARCHIVIST: Shh. MARTIN: Wh– No! [BAG JOSTLING] No, Jon, you just did a statement, I don’t care if you want another one�� ARCHIVIST: Martin! MARTIN: –we’ve gotta mo–

Jon sounded almost amused at the ridiculousness of the situation, this time! And Martin dealt with it faster, too.

- I LOVE how we could tell, through Jon’s voice, that he had at least a hand on Martin’s face with his “Listen, look at me”:

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: … Right. Martin, do you trust me. MARTIN: Uh, what? … Oh, Christ, this can’t be good. “Y–y–yes”? ARCHIVIST: Then, it’s very– Listen, look at me. The next couple of minutes are going to be quite unpleasant for one of us, and I’m sorry. MARTIN: Uh– Wh– Sorry, what? ARCHIVIST: You need to remain very calm, and don’t make any sudden movements.

It was so natural and intimate at the same time ;w;

- ! There was a bit of a novelty, because Trevor knew about Jon’s compulsion:

Did Jon tell him&Julia off-tape, back in America? Jon hadn’t used it with them (or on Max Mustermann in the exchange we had heard), hadn’t talked about it, and they didn’t reference it in MAG153 either. Or did Trevor&Julia connect the dots after Jon took their statements in MAG109?

- And that’s two pennies for the swear jar!

(MAG176) TREVOR: [BESTIAL GRUNTS] Don’t move! Don’t you fucking move! […] It’s not okay! Stop fucking smiling! [GRUNT]

(And another example of “‘swears’ means ‘there is also gun violence in this episode’” x”))

- The scene was altogether aesthetically pleasing, super funny, and heart-breaking with the contrast between Jon, Martin and Trevor:

(MAG176) TREVOR: And don’t you say a word, or I’ll cut him open! I know what that voice of yours can do, so shut it! ARCHIVIST: Mm-hmm. TREVOR: [HEAVY BREATHING, SLOWLY CALMING DOWN] … Okay. You can talk. But slow-like. You try and do any of that… “word”-magic, and he’s dead! [GROWLS] ARCHIVIST: [UNIMPRESSED] Understood. MARTIN: [SHAKY BREATHING] ARCHIVIST: Hello, Trevor. MARTIN: … Jon? What’s going on? ARCHIVIST: It’s okay. …Trust me. MARTIN: O~kay. TREVOR: It’s not okay! Stop fucking smiling! [GRUNT] MARTIN: [HIGH-PITCHED AND SLOW] Jon? I know you keep saying we’re safe, and I am feeling very calm. But just so I know, can he… Can he kill me? ARCHIVIST: … He could, yes– MARTIN: Right… ARCHIVIST: –if he were still a Hunter. TREVOR: … Shut it! ‘Course I’m still a Hunter! MARTIN: [GRUNT] Mm-mm-mm! TREVOR: [BESTIAL PANTS] MARTIN: Gotta go with Trevor on that one, Jon! ARCHIVIST: … No. [HUFF] Right now, he’s prey.

Trevor, clearly erratic. Jon, ABSOLUTELY MONSTERY, confident, a bit cocky. Martin, forcing himself to remain slow and calm, but also absolutely losing it and terrified (and Jon barely reacting to his “Jon?”).

- ;___; I’m sad for Juliaaaaaa!

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: How long have you been running now, Trevor? [CREAKING SOUNDS] TREVOR: [PANTING] Don’t know… Too long…! ARCHIVIST: And Julia? [SILENCE] TREVOR: Dead. ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry. TREVOR: Shut it! Should’ve been me. [TRILL OF A BIRD] I’m old… slow… It’s not fair, outliving her…! But that dog of yours, that rabid bitch, she…! Killed her first, so she could see me limp away! [PANTS] It’s a game to her. ARCHIVIST: If you’re looking for my pity, I’m afraid you’re too late. MARTIN: Jon…? TREVOR: What I want is to make you feel the same loss!

I wasn’t expecting Trevor&Julia to fare for long after MAG158, given that… they had acted as terrorists, hurting (definitely traumatising, maybe hurting physically) members of Institute staff. They had fallen into The Hunt for real, and it was already so sad, given their lives and experiences? But they were also a duo and a small reconstituted family:

(MAG109) ARCHIVIST: What about you, Julia? Following in your dad’s footsteps? JULIA: Mm, it’s a legacy I’ve learned to be proud of. There are people who’d sell us all out to things you can’t even imagine. […] TREVOR: I just knew then I never had to explain anything to her. She just gave me back the knife, and we left together. Wasn’t any question as to what I was, or whatever I was doing. We just… clicked. JULIA: Hm. And we’ve been hunting together, going on seven years now.

(MAG153) DAISY: … I’d enjoy it. Start with the old bastard – he’s slower, doesn’t guard his neck. And you worry about him too much, don’t you? I go for him, you get sloppy, predictable. JULIA: Sure. Or: I slit your little bookworm’s throat…! DAISY: Do it. That give me a chance to finish off your dad. TREVOR: I’m not her father…! ARCHIVIST: Not by blood, maybe…! JULIA: Shut. it. ARCHIVIST: [GROAN OF PAIN]

So ;_; I was sad that Julia met that end, and that Trevor had to witness this without being able to die at the same time as her. And at the same time… it’s also realising exactly how Julia had mentioned her possible end:

(MAG109) JULIA: You think if you walk out of this cabin, you just keep going? Something gets you, even if it’s just time…! Mostly, though, life on this planet ends violently. It’s the most natural thing in the world. And sometimes, it makes the world a better place. ARCHIVIST: And… when something comes for you? [SILENCE] JULIA: Then I die. ARCHIVIST: That… that–that doesn’t… scare you? JULIA: Every second.

Big aouch for the parallel creeping up between Trevor&Julia and Daisy&Basira as Hunters duos. Given how Julia’s loss clearly impacted Trevor, can Basira even last for long if Daisy were to die-for-real…?

(Personal opinion, but I also prefer that it was this way around, rather than Trevor getting killed first and Julia appearing in this episode? The way Jon dealt with Trevor was awful and humiliating, which he acknowledged (reducing him as “bait”); it evened out the ratios of male vs female characters killed onscreen this season + as Trevor pointed out, it was “unfair” that he had survived longer.)

- … Technically, Trevor didn’t say outright that Daisy killed Julia. He used a vocabulary usually thrown at Daisy:

(MAG092) ELIAS: You think you’re the only police officer eager to do violence and call it justice? No, there are plenty of other rabid dogs out there, mad with the Hunt.

(MAG118) MARTIN: Oh. That’s it, isn’t it! Martin’s just acting out! I mean, Daisy’s a rabid dog, and Melanie’s a potential killer; Tim’s a… a, a rogue element, but Martin?

(MAG153) TREVOR: What’s this…? You got yourself a watchdog? JULIA: Well, more of a lapdog…! Scrawny, isn’t she?

(MAG176) TREVOR: But that dog of yours, that rabid bitch, she…! Killed her first, so she could see me limp away! [PANTS] It’s a game to her.

And Daisy indeed turned into a beast since MAG158. But since Basira was after him… there is still a possibility that it was actually Basira who butchered Julia.

- SUPERWORRIEDABOUTJON.JPG because, alright, it’s super pleasing to hear him confident and in control and avatar-y, but. Also. Big big red flag when he sounds like a ruthless Beholding avatar who has a power of life and death over people:

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: If you’re looking for my pity, I’m afraid you’re too late. […] Maybe I spoke too soon. Perhaps I do have some pity for you…! After all, I know you, Trevor, you’ve had a tough life. Hardship from beginning to… this strange and twisted end. TREVOR: … Never complained. ARCHIVIST: No. You haven’t, have you? And maybe that’s the greatest tragedy of all this…! I’m… sorry, Trevor. TREVOR: [PANTS] For what?! ARCHIVIST: For putting us all in this situation. I had hoped you’d go for me, but… Well. [SQUAWKING OF A BIRD] I’m sorry I’ve reduced you lower even than prey! MARTIN: Jon…? TREVOR: [SNARLS] No! ARCHIVIST: To bait. MARTIN: I don’t kn– [GUNSHOT]

With the additional fact, here, that he refused to give Trevor his pity. It wasn’t that surprising after Trevor&Julia’s attack on the Institute, but he sympathised with Oliver (MAG168: “No. I don’t want to destroy Oliver Banks. It wouldn’t do any good. I know that, and he never asked for this any more than I did.”) despite Oliver’s own actions. Trevor, currently, was already in despair and grieving, and not ruling over his domain – just a “prey” (before being reduced to “bait”). It really felt like kicking a wounded animal…?

(And Jon’s whole spiel felt… very much like taunting and mocking. There is a strong likelihood that Jon was mostly posing, needed Trevor to feel insecure and afraid of him for his plan to work (because the contrary would have allowed Trevor to become a Hunter again), but Jon very easily went into a role, came up with that the-end-justifies-the-means plan in the first place and quickly moved on afterwards… So hum. That level of scheming sounds potentially worrisome?)

- ;; Worried for Basira, too obviously. Jon had warned that she had been having a rough time, and we indeed met her as quite ruthless:

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: [DISTINCTLY] Hello, Basira. MARTIN: [INCOHERENT SPUTTERING] Basira?! BASIRA: Don’t move. Either of you. MARTIN: H–hey, whoa! Whoa, Basira, it’s us…! BASIRA: I said don’t move. This place plays tricks. ARCHIVIST: It is us, Basira. BASIRA: Mm–mm, sure. And you just happen to wander into Trevor’s path while I was tracking him. What a fun coincidence for everybody!

She reminded me of how we discovered her at the beginning of season 4, cutting and firm because she thought she was holding everything together (as Melanie had put it in MAG131: “Basira is… hum. Basira deals in ‘intel’, these days, in usable data; assets. Not “feelings”, not… ‘people’.”) She had opened up in undirect ways during the season (staying with Daisy to allow Jon to go after Martin, giving Jon&Martin information about the Institute and sending Jon a few statements… even if that one backfired badly) so I really wonder what will happen between them, now.

(Slight negative point re: audio quality, I could hear veeeery well that Frank’s equipment was not up to the same standards as the others, I hope that RQ has managed to fix that for the following episodes! >w< Technically, in the ep itself, it gave the impression that Basira was not exactly in the same dimension as the others, which could fit if she’s a Hunter in a Hunt domain vs. Martin&Jon being outsiders.)

- M… Martin…

(MAG176) MARTIN: C… [TRILL OF A BIRD] Can I at least put my hands down? M–my arms are kind of getting tired. […] S–s–so, can I…? BASIRA: Yeah, put them down, Martin. It’s fine. You’re you. MARTIN: Ooooh…! O–o–o–oh…

He sounded on the verge of tears. Did he have his arms raised all through being threatened by Trevor, too? (To be fair, if he was carrying his backpack: keeping your arms raised with heavy shit on your back hurts like fuck.)

- … Okay, I got worried for Jon, but also he was hilarious in the WORST WAYS:

(MAG176) BASIRA: Prove you’re really Martin Blackwood. MARTIN: How?! ARCHIVIST: You could do a poem! BASIRA: Shut up. MARTIN: [HISSING] Jon, this is serious! […] BASIRA: … What about you? ARCHIVIST: I mean… I can know literally anything, so…! Ask away, I guess. BASIRA: … You understand how unhelpful that is for proving identities. ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry to be an inconvenience!

You little SHIT, Jon! (Was it retaliation at the worst moment ever, for the fact that Martin had tried to make him talk about poetry in MAG165?)

- OOOOOH MARTIN… I was squinting(/crying) a bit about him being adamant that he had “friends” and qualifying Basira&Daisy as such, but I’m ezifsdjnred that he had to admit that:

(MAG170) MARTIN: I am Martin Blackwood, and I am not lonely anymore, I am not lonely anymore! [SHAKY BREATHING] I want to have friends, I… no, I have friends.

(MAG175) MARTIN: I–I know what you meant! I can still be keen to see our friends! ARCHIVIST: … True. MARTIN: Besides, we can help them now.

(MAG176) BASIRA: What’s something only Martin would know? MARTIN: … What?! I don’t know! BASIRA: Fine! Then… [COCKED GUN] MARTIN: No–no–no–no–no–no, wait–wait, uh, I, God, I don’t know, we’ve never hung out much! I’ve no idea what you know about me!

… Yeah, they don’t have a deep connection, uh. There were blurbs here and there of teamwork and something that could have turned into a friendship (the assistants’ plan to take down Elias in season 3, Basira understanding from afar how the death of Martin’s mother had hit him badly, Martin&Daisy talking about Jon&Basira and Martin rejecting her to protect her from Peter two episodes later), but we didn’t really see much of it.

(I would still be VERY interested in seeing Martin trying to ask if they can consider themselves friends. Totally out of place given the circumstances but, eh, at this point, everything is out of place.)

- I’m trying to get ready for the tragedy and Daisy’s likely soon death, but also, I’ll be laughing forever at the fact that:

(MAG176) BASIRA: … What about you? ARCHIVIST: I mean… I can know literally anything, so…! Ask away, I guess. BASIRA: … You understand how unhelpful that is for proving identities. ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry to be an inconvenience! BASIRA: Well, you better think of something, or… [COCKED GUN] ARCHIVIST: Basira, I know you’re not going to shoot us. There’s already too much doubt in your mind. [SILENCE] BASIRA: I told you before not to look into my head. ARCHIVIST: So you do believe it’s me, then. [SILENCE] BASIRA: … Know-it-all prick. […] It’s fine. You’re you. MARTIN: Ooooh…! O–o–o–oh… ARCHIVIST: You’re sure? BASIRA: If you were monsters, that would mean I’d get to finally kill something with your smug face. No way am I that lucky. ARCHIVIST: Can’t fault your logic…!

… Jon and Martin ANNOYED Basira into proving that they were really themselves.

And!! It’s dry and mean, but Jon&Basira felt… a bit on the same wavelength, here? Back to sharing a weird, cutting sense of humour without feeling hurt by the other’s comment?

- Martin didn’t have a great time, at all, and had good reasons for it, with Jon hiding his plans and then not really allowing Martin a moment to calm down:

(MAG176) MARTIN: [HIGH-PITCHED WHIMPERS] Oh, oh… Oh, Christ, you– This’s– He just… ARCHIVIST: Relax, Martin. MARTIN: I–I–I–I’m, I’m not gonna, I’m not gonna relax! I’m sick of never knowing what’s going on, and then…! [FOOTSTEPS] ARCHIVIST: [DISTINCTLY] Hello, Basira. MARTIN: [INCOHERENT SPUTTERING] Basira?! […] Wh… [INCOHERENT SPUTTERING] Hey, wait! BASIRA: I said come on! MARTIN: Wha…! Jon? ARCHIVIST: … After you! MARTIN: C… [SIGH]

… I wonder if he&Jon will talk it over next episode? About the fact that… Martin was put in an extraordinarily unpleasant situation (bait for the bait), without knowing what was happening, without any guarantee that he could come out of it fine? On the one hand, Jon was in control of the situation, he knew what was likely to happen and when, knew that Basira wouldn’t hurt them either; on the other hand, Martin had no clue, and Jon’s chirpiness felt dismissive of Martin’s worries. So, I could picture Martin being still a bit peeved and/or them needing to debrief about it. (They’ve been good at communicating about small issues and misunderstandings so far!)

Also: how long will Martin be covered in Trevor’s gore. Will Jon help him to get cleaned up?

- I am REALLY curious about Basira’s status. Has she gone full Hunter? Jon said that she was “faster” than them, and that Trevor couldn’t kill Martin since he wasn’t a Hunter anymore… but Basira managed to kill Trevor:

(MAG176) MARTIN: But just so I know, can he… Can he kill me? ARCHIVIST: … He could, yes– MARTIN: Right… ARCHIVIST: –if he were still a Hunter. […] BASIRA: Mm–mm, sure. And you just happen to wander into Trevor’s path while I was tracking him. What a fun coincidence for everybody!

And had been hunting him. Did she become a Hunter while pursuing Daisy? Or by getting touched by this domain? (SOB about the concept that Basira turned into a Hunter while pursuing Daisy: it’s probably the worst thing imaginable for Daisy?)

- … What is the status of “death” and “dead people” in the domains? Oliver seemed to say that only The End was interested in delivering a true death, and Jon’s ability to kill avatars looked like a special thing. We’ve seen a victim respawn in MAG163, people trapped in a neverending chase in MAG165, Francis’s puppet show going on and on in MAG172… Are Julia and Trevor truly dead-dead, or would they ultimately respawn to feed the domain? If they’re truly dead… once again, it feels like this apocalypse will depopulate extremely fast…

- ;; for the fact that Basira was reintroduced… by killing someone, and didn’t seem too concerned by it. (I mean. Yes, Trevor wasn’t a pure innocent victim; but he was already “prey” and had lost his Hunter status. Same thing as with Jon, it felt like picking on the weak one?)

I wonder what fundamentally motivated Basira to track Trevor: is it revenge because Julia&Trevor’s attack on the Institute caused Daisy to give in to The Hunt again, and Basira deemed them responsible for her loss? Is it because Daisy was initially chasing him, so Basira was trying to interrupt her hunt by removing him from the equation? What was Basira trying to achieve there…? Jon had warned Martin that Basira had it rough and that things wouldn’t be easy, so I wonder what she did, exactly, before coming here, and what is her current status (is she partially ruling this domain?).

- Sob about the fact that when Jon explained how the domain operates:

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: … Have you ever had your friends… turn on you? People you thought you could count on? MARTIN: … [SIGH] I mean… I–I’d worry about it, but… A–actually, no? [TRILL OF A BIRD] Not like a full-blown betrayal or anything. ARCHIVIST: I’m glad. [INHALE] Because this place focuses on that worry, that fear of your own pack turning their claws on you. MARTIN: Hm! [TRILL OF A BIRD] Is that… really a Hunt thing? ARCHIVIST: It can be!

… It worked on various aspects. It’s more or less what Jon experienced (and inflicted on Tim&Martin) in season 2, culminating with the discovery of Elias’s crimes and the overall betrayal of trust. It’s what Jon&Martin were doing to Basira. The break of trust is also… what Jon did to Martin in this episode (by hiding his plan from him and putting him in an unpleasant situation) and also, potentially, what Basira has been doing against Daisy, by not (yet?) honouring her promise to kill her.

- Where is Basira leading Jon&Martin? To where Daisy is? Does she need Jon’s help to handle (or find) Daisy?

… Is there a tiny tiny tiny chance to get Daisy back for a few episodes, or is her next appearance meant to be her execution…? (I want to hope that Jon’s powers could do something, whether by compelling her into remembering who she is (like he did with Tim during The Unknowing), or making her look at Basira to ground her back (like he did with Martin in The Lonely), or being able to reach her to invite her to “don’t listen to the blood, listen to the quiet”, or using a variation of the Ceaseless Watcher’s powers that he used in season 5… but ;; Very little hope, since Daisy already came back from the Coffin, and she had made her goodbyes in MAG158 ;; The “best” we can hope for her is probably for Basira to fulfil her promise and free her from doing monstrous things ever again…)

- They’re three now!! Holy shit!! Took them 16 episodes!! Welcome back, Basira!

… And there’s potentially only one domain left (The Spiral) before Jon&Martin would be able to reach the Panopticon…

I wonder how Basira knows/has understood about the apocalypse: unless twist, she didn’t know that Jonah had put his statement in the stash that she had sent to Jon&Martin and I’m… curious about her reaction regarding this.

Alright. So, things ongoing or established after the Change, in Arc I:

- The tapes that Martin had brought back alongside the statements in MAG160 contained exchanges from a distant past: Jon’s first birthday since he was promoted Head Archivist (celebrated by Tim, Martin, Sasha and Elias); Gertrude addressing a small testament and warning to her potential successor, whom she assumed to be Sasha, before trying to burn the Archives down (also starring Jurgen Leitner); Gertrude and Gerry discussing a hypothetical apocalyptic world and whether there would be a chance of turning it back; Tim and Sasha commenting on Jon’s first steps as Head Archivist.

The sender of the tapes is still unknown: Martin suggested that it was Jonah, as “gloating”, but we still don’t know for sure who was behind them (Annabelle?). The four sequences notably shared mentions of fire; Gertrude asked Leitner to redirect a gas main to run directly under the Institute (and it had been spotted by Jon in MAG068 after he had changed route because he had encountered spiders). It tells us that Gertrude might have planned for a big explosion rather than the fire-in-the-Archives-as-a-decoy-while-she-would-have-gone-after-Jonah’s-body that she claimed in MAG158, and that the gas main hasn’t served its purpose (yet?).

- We learned that The Web had been veeeery close to Gertrude and operating in the Archives themselves, through Emma Harvey, back during Gertrude’s tenure – Emma being the last of her assistants to die.

- Jon was hit hard by getting manipulated by Jonah to launch his apocalyptic ritual, and has expressed guilt multiple times (about it, and about the fact that his monsterhood is pushing him to enjoy it). Right now, Jon and Martin are on their way towards the Panopticon/Institute. They need to “go through everything in-between” to be able to reach it, experiencing Fear-domains where people are trapped and tortured by their worst fears.

- Jon told Martin that “[they] all have a domain here”, and that Jon’s own is the Panopstitute. It’s not absolutely clear (or left open to interpretation) whether Martin’s is indeed the Lonely house he was temporarily stuck in in MAG170, or whether another domain is waiting for him, since he managed to shake off this one. We don’t know for sure, either, why Martin is able to travel between the domains alongside Jon (benefitting from Jon’s protection? because he is an Archival Assistant and has his own connection to Beholding?).

- Beholding wanted Jon to leave the cabin:

(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: “This place wishes to be our tomb. But The Eye does not wish that. No. [STATIC INCREASES] The Eye wishes instead that it be my chrysalis. It is time that I emerge…” [STATIC REACHING A PEAK]

We still don’t know whether Beholding seeks something else through Jon.

- As an avatar, Jon used to feed from the fear contained in written or direct statements for his own survival/maintenance. Season 5 kept the “statement” format, but it now differs slightly, as Jon described in its first manifestations:

(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: This cabin. [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] It’s not right. And, when I thought that, I–I felt… It, it all poured out of me down… into the tape.

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: I… I’m sorry, I– There’s just so much! There’s so much, Martin, and I know all of it, I can see all of it, and I– It’s filling me up, I need to let it out! […] I–I’ll use the tape recorder…! [PLASTIC OF A TAPE] I just… [INHALE] You probably want to wait outside.

“Statements” now appear as an excess; Jon has to tell them and is only able to delay the moment he would give them for a little bit; Jon seems to now require an audience, in some shape or form (as Jon offered the tape recorder as an alternative to Martin being forced to listen).

- Jon has been acknowledged by various avatars and monsters as the bringer of the apocalypse, as “a very important part” of Beholding (Helen), as The Eye’s “Archive, which draws knowledge of this suffering unto itself” (Oliver), “the great and powerful Archivist, harbinger of this new world” (Jude), “the Eye guy” (Callum), “the famous Archivist, Herald of the Ceaseless Watcher, Harbinger of the New Age, etcetera.” (Simon). Aside from Jon and Martin themselves, nobody else has mentioned Jonah nor Elias so far.

- Jon has the ascendancy over all the monsters and avatars they’ve encountered: in a world divided, as Helen put it, between “the watcher and the watched”, “subject and object”, “those who are feared and those who are afraid”, Jon can “turn the one into the other” – annihilating those whose “very existence relies on being feared”. Jon destroyed the Not!Them, Jude and Jared and sounded… extremely avatar-y while doing so (“Ceaseless Watcher, turn your gaze upon this wretched thing”), feeding The Eye in the process. He eventually expressed discomfort at the idea of doing it, since it doesn’t change anything for the victims in the domains and is directly affecting him (“I don’t think it makes anything better. I think it just makes me worse.”). We haven’t, so far, seen Jon turn one who is “afraid” into one who is “feared” (unless he has done it to Martin, and that is why Martin is free to roam the world with him?).

Amongst the other avatars/rulers of domains still around, we heard about or met: Helen, Annabelle Cane, Oliver Banks (who avoided Jon on purpose, and whom Jon decided to spare), Arthur Nolan, Callum Brodie, Simon Fairchild. Trevor&Julia were killed, Daisy was mentioned to be running wild.

- The Extinction probably didn’t even need to be “born” as Peter Lukas was conceiving it: it was already there and potentially strong since people feared it.

- The domains from the new world tend to be labelable following the Smirke division, but also tend to be a mix of various fears overlapping. As Jon reiterated in MAG176, “the old divisions don’t mean as much these days”; the domains are more personal, more specific than the Smirke categories. However, structurally, Jon&Martin have gone through domains following the Smirke taxonomy (+ The Extinction), even sometimes namedropping the Fear’s name. The Spiral and The Eye being the only ones missing so far. Do Jon&Martin really need to go through the Fourteen Other Fears before reaching the Panopticon, or was it a nice coincidence to meet a domain representing each one of them? Is the new world (and the necessary steps in their journey) influenced by Jon’s own perception of the Fears, based on that 14+1 division?

- Jon&Martin haven’t travelled through a Spiral-flavoured domain yet, but Helen has been extremely present around them. She tried to encourage Jon to keep carrying on with his killing spree, and expressed disappointment when he made the decision to stop. We don’t know if Helen is just hanging around for fun, if it’s because confusing The Eye’s precious avatar is exceptionally tasty, or if she’s hiding something (someone?) and/or a more coherent agenda.

(Note: she was hanging around a lot in the tunnels, back in season 4, had explained that she had gotten a good understanding of the place, and claimed that she “suspected” what would ultimately happen. It’s possible that, since her Door was in the tunnels around the Panopticon, she got a special treatment during the apocalypse because she was directly tied to the place?)

- According to Oliver, the apocalyptic world won’t stay eternally frozen in this state of terror: although it’s in the best interest of other Fears to not kill their victims definitely (and we saw some of them “respawn”, such as in MAG163), The End needs to deliver on its promise, and thus will end up draining the victims from its own domain and then go steal the ones from other domains’, thus slowly depopulating the world and draining the Fears (and itself). At least, that’s Oliver’s interpretation; we don’t know if it’s the truth.

- The goal of Jon&Martin’s quest is to reach the Panopticon. Jon initially wanted to go back to the Archives to confront Elias and to find out whether there was a way to turn the world back (MAG162). He has got a bit more nuanced then, Knowing that they would need to remove the Fears from their world to do so, but that the world they came from doesn’t exist anymore and that they couldn’t be destroyed as long as people feared them (MAG164). Jon has been shown less and less confident about managing to do something good, while Martin is still clinging to the hope that they might find something if they manage to reach the Archives.

- Nothing about Hill Top Road as of now, although it’s still a Big Thread Left Hanging since MAG147.

- Jonah’s status is unclear: Jon was able to tell that he was still in the Panopticon, but couldn’t know more about it (“An eye can’t… see inside itself.”). (Personal speculation is that he now is the building, since his powers were a direct illustration of the Panopticon’s purpose: the prison was meant to give a feeling of constant surveillance and allows it, therefore Jonah was blessed with a power of constant surveillance. In dream-logic, it could mean… that he has merged with the building sharing that function.)

- Melanie&Georgie’s status is unclear: Jon doesn’t think they’re dead, speculated that they could be in London, but can’t really “see” them or know about them. Are they in the Panopticon? At Hill Top Road? In Helen’s corridors? Are they immune to Beholding because Georgie can’t feel fear and Melanie cut her connection to it?

(The Admiral’s status is also unclear, and Jon didn’t try to Know about him ;w;)

- Jon knew that Daisy was “Bestial. Brutal. Carving her way through the domains of other Powers, following the scent of blood”, with Basira on her trail. He… wasn’t super optimistic about them. They just reunited with Basira, who might have turned into a Hunter herself?, and we might find out what is meant to happen to Daisy… very soon.

- Amongst the possible Chekhov’s Guns:

* Martin packed tea and a rope when they left the cabin, has yet to use them.

* It was explained that The Distortion could find again anyone who had visited its corridors: which means Jon, Martin, and, although not mentioned, Basira as well, since she used the corridors to return from Ny-Ålesund at the end of MAG143. We learned that Jon is now too powerful to go through The Distortion and that it would not be good for Helen, but that Martin could in theory use the Door – opening up the possibility that Jon&Martin might get separated this way, and/or that Jon might end Helen by going through her Door at some point.

* As usual, Annabelle.

- Martin had risen as a deuteragonist in season 3&4: he was the Assistant reading the most statements, he got episodes focusing solely on him, he even interviewed an avatar to better understand how the Fears functioned (Simon giving him an understanding that paralleled Gerry’s infodumping to Jon a season prior), he got his own plot and quest with Peter. Season 5 went further and elevated him to audience surrogate: the position used to be provided by Jon since season 1… but Jon, in season 5, is almost all-knowing and has stopped sharing every piece of information he’s aware of, every deduction he made. We, as the audience, scramble along with Martin to understand what is happening and how this world works. Interestingly: Martin is also going through the domains, across this journey. He’s not blurting out statements like Jon, but Jon included him when he explained that they needed to “experience” the domains. (So as far as I’m concerned: Martin’s chances of lasting a tiny bit longer than Jon at the end of the series are improving.)

- We heard Annabelle directly for the first time ever! And she contacted Martin. She offered “help”, which was declined, and tried to play with Martin’s confidence issues (whether Jon needed him), but we still don’t know her intentions, what she’s doing, and whether she’s targeting Martin for himself or to hit Jon through him. Jon, meanwhile, can’t feel her, can’t know where she is, can’t even know whether she’s still alive.

The possibility that Martin is currently influenced by The Web was discussed by Jon and him in MAG172, leading to Martin’s decision (and Jon’s agreement) that Jon would not check whether or not it was the case. But they’re both aware that The Web and Annabelle have been suspicious around Martin specifically.

Tl;dr WHAT A SUPER FUN AND HOPEFUL SEASON SO FAR, INNIT.

(Personal notes: the thing squicking me the most at the beginning of the season was the intra-personal violence by victims to victims in the domains, because it’s the thing I find the most thematically harsh, and because I had the Big Worry that… the bottom line of the show was meant to be that human nature is fundamentally bad and cowardly etc. etc. The season worked better for me when it sank in that, alright, I’m still in a story I can trust: it’s still an exploration of people reacting over duress, but the story is also extremely clear on the fact that the system, crushing people and putting them in that situation in the first place, is to blame first and foremost. It’s not a story contemptuous of humanity. I’m still crossing fingers, though, that Martin’s “I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever.” won’t just apply to our main characters by the end of Arc III!)

MAG177’s title feels absolutely appropriate for both Helen and Daisy, so mmmmmmm. It’s amazing how some titles manage to instil a big “Oh No” within the context of the series, while the word(s) used would be perfectly fine (and even positive!) otherwise.

(It might be a bit too coherent for The Distortion to purposely mess up with Jon as retaliation for his disappointing Helen by not providing entertainment back in MAG174, but “I don’t trust The Distortion” feels like the safest bet, and we know that Helen has kept an eye on Jon&Martin throughout the season: Big Fear that Helen would try to make things worse on purpose when it comes to Daisy and/or Basira… ;;)

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #long post/#tma liveblog #mag176 #tma season 5 #tma spoilers/#the magnus archives

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dreamcatcherfication · 5 years ago

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The Girl Who Cried Wolf

Another requested fic! Anon asked “Anne loves her fun/carefree/’gremlin’ reputation - but what happens when people just stop taking her seriously?” I feel like this is awfully accurate for a April Fools Post... I’m not sure what happened with this one, but I hope it has a coherent plot, my brain feels like scrambled eggs right now. Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors my brain feels like - well - scrambled eggs right now.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas (now featuring random asks). If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Random Asks

Trigger Warnings: Blood, vomit, hospitals, stomach sicknesses

“AGH! Help me!” Anne called, clutching her stomach in pain. “I’m - I’m -”

Kat was immediately at Anne’s side, holding the prone girl in her arms. “Annie, Annie what’s wrong!” she cried, clearly in distress by Anne’s pain.

Anne wailed and rolled into a ball. The other queens circled her, all of them silent and terrified of whatever was hurting Anne. “You have to help me,” Anne gasped, grabbing Kat’s hand.

“I will Annie!” Kat promised her cousin, pulling her closer.

Mumbling, Anne motioned for Kat to come closer. When she was close enough, Anne whispered, “My stomach.”

Frantically moving her attention down to Anne’s stomach, Kat bit her lip. Anne had her hands covering her stomach, making it impossible for Kat to see what was wrong. Leaning forward, she noticed a tinge of red around Anne’s hand. Gasping, Kat lifted Anne’s hands to see the wound.

Squeaking in surprise, Kat jerked back when Anne threw her hands forward and splashed blood all over Kat. The blood went everywhere and Anne started laughing at Kat’s shocked face. Sitting up, Anne wiped her bloody hands on her shirt, perfectly fine. “Oh, you should’ve seen your face,” she continued to laugh.

Kat’s head was down as she tried to hide tears in her eyes. “Annie?”

“What the hell was that, Anne?” Aragon demanded from behind the girl.

“Paint!” Anne held up her red hands. “Totally worth it too.”

Frowning, Jane disappointingly shook her head. “That was uncalled for, Anne.”

“Whaddya mean?” Anne smirked, standing up and going to the kitchen sink to wash off the paint.

“You scared Kat half to death,” Anna accused, kneeling down next to her best friend.

Anne didn’t quite grasp why they were all so upset. To her it was just a prank, not a big deal. “You guys aren’t actually mad, are you?” Anne gestured about incredulously.

“Yes, Anne.” The beheaded queen could almost swear Cathy looked disgusted with her. “I would think you of all people would know not to go too far, especially with blood.”

There was a moment of silence before Anne realized what she had done. “Oh, KitKat, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“It’s fine Anne,” the girl mumbled, still staring at the floor.

Part of Anne wanted to continue and try to apologize to her cousin, but the unimpressed glares of all the other queens kept her from it. “Alright. I’ll um, I’ll be in my room.” Bolting away from the scene, Anne ran up to her room in the attic. Shutting the door, she flopped onto her bed. God, had she ruined another good thing? Would the others ever forgive her? Sure, they had forgiven her in the past, but what if she’d pushed it too far?

Unable to find the courage to reconcile with them, Anne stayed in her room for the rest of the night and the following day. She snuck down at midnight to eat some dinner (frozen cookie dough is fine, right?) before returning to her room silently. That’s the way it continued for the next few days, none of the queens willing to talk to Anne after her poorly planned prank.

It seemed to be working pretty well until Anne woke up with a serious pain in her stomach. There was a churning that made her feel absolutely terrible and nauseous. She knew period and gas cramps, but this was neither. She felt like irons were stabbing into her stomach at every movement. Laying in bed, Anne stared at the ceiling, trying to distract herself. But the pain was so overwhelming that there was no way to even fathom thinking of anything else.

Debating her options, Anne decided it was best to go and get help. Even if the other queens were mad at her, they had always been caring, sometimes overly so. Stumbling down the stairs, Anne had a hand on the railing and another clutching her stomach. “Anne?” Jane called, seeing the pale girl. Then her eyes fell upon the hand covering Anne’s stomach, and her expression dropped. “Really? Again so soon? Didn’t you learn your lesson last time.”

Aragon looked up from her newspaper and glared at Anne. “No, it’s for real this time,” Anne grunted.

“Sure, like it was real last time,” Aragon spit and turned back to her paper.

Shocked, Anne stopped on her way down the stairs. They didn’t believe her? Why wouldn’t they believe her? Couldn’t they see she was in pain? “What?” Anne groaned out.

Neither Jane nor Aragon were convinced, and they refused to pay Anne any attention. Feeling someone pass her on the stairs, Anne turned and made eye contact with Cathy. “Cathy, you’ll help me, right?”

Raising an eyebrow, Cathy glanced down at Anne’s hand cautiously. “And get what, fake vomit all over me? I think I’ll pass, Anne.”

Reaching a hand out, the beheaded queen tried to stop Cathy before she joined the other two queens downstairs. Apparently, Anne was out of luck, and she was ignored by her fellow queens. Grunting, Anne turned around and made her way back up the stairs. If they wouldn’t help her, she would help herself. Starting with some rest. Anne was feeling very, very tired.

So very tired, now that she thought about it. Barely making it to her room, Anne fumbled with the doorknob. She pushed her body weight against the door and collapsed on the ground. Slowly, everything around her started to fade to black as the world spun and spun and spun. The last thing she heard was her door clicking closed behind her.

Downstairs, Kat had just come out of the bathroom and was surprised to see the disgruntled faces of all the other queens. Anna was laying on the couch, mindlessly flipping through television channels, but Aragon, Jane, and Cathy kept sharing annoyed faces with each other. “What’s wrong?” Kat asked, making her way over to the kitchen table.

“Nothing to worry about, dear,” Jane covered up, pretending as if she had been smiling.

Unconvinced, Kat turned to Cathy. “What’s wrong?” she asked again.

“Anne came down asking for help while holding her stomach,” Cathy deadpanned.

Kat bit her lip and anxiously scuffed her foot on the ground. “We should check up on her.”

“And risk what happened last time?” Aragon scoffed. “No way.”

Anna called from over on the couch, “It’s not worth it liebling. She’ll realize sooner or later that her pranks aren’t funny.”

Still, Kat couldn’t help but worry that maybe, just maybe her cousin wasn’t lying this time. Even if she was constantly the target of Anne’s pranks, Kat knew it was because she was the easiest to trick. But her conscience wouldn’t let her rest until she knew Anne was safe, even if it meant getting pranked again. Kat ignored the calls of the other queens as she made her way up to Anne’s room.

Knocking on the door, Kat received no response. Of course she knew this was the start to every horror movie, and she was the ditzy cheerleader about to get murdered, but Kat pushed open Anne’s door anyway. Yelping when she almost tripped over something, Kat screamed for help when she saw what it was.

Unconscious on the floor was Anne, bloody vomit dribbling out of her mouth. Kat dropped down next to her, checking to see if Anne was breathing. A nagging in the back of her mind that sounded vaguely like the other queens told her it was an elaborate prank, but Kat’s own mind didn’t agree. Anne looked terribly pale and sick, her skin sweaty and her body shivering.

Anna burst through the door first, expecting to find more blood on Kat, but was instead surprised to see Anne actually sick. “I’ll call an ambulance,” Anna mumbled out, embarrassed that she had allowed Anne’s pain to be dismissed.

The last three queens came up together, standing at the door in guilty shock. “What did we do?” Jane asked quietly, her eyes wide as saucers.

“Anne will be okay,” Aragon assured her, putting a hand on her back. She held out her other arm and pulled Cathy into her hug, the final queen unable to speak as she watched Kat huddle with her cousin.

Rushing back into the room with a phone in her hand, Anna nodded at the others. “Ambulance is outside. They’re gonna take care of her.”

The ride to the hospital was grueling for Kat who had to watch her cousin fade in and out of consciousness. Anne seemed to have no coherent sense of what was happening, her fever running high and her mind delirious. As soon as they reached the hospital, Anne was carted off to some doctor while Kat met up with the other queens who had driven behind the ambulance. “Do you have any idea what’s wrong with her?” Jane asked as soon as Kat was within earshot.

Shrugging, Kat crossed her arms around her chest. “They said it was probably a stomach illness. Something she ate.”

The queens all shared knowing looks. “Of course if she’s left alone to eat, Anne’s going to choose something that’ll get her sick,” Aragon rolled her eyes, covering up the panic she felt when thinking about Anne’s safety.

In one big huddle, they sat together in the waiting area, hoping to get any news on Anne soon. It didn’t take long, and one of the white-jacket doctors came out. “Family of Anne Boleyn?”

“That’s us!” Cathy claimed, sticking her hand in the air.

The doctor frowned but made his way over to them. “You’re all related to her?” he asked in disbelief.

“I’m her cousin,” Kat explained.

“But we’re all her family,” Anna insisted.

The doctor shrugged but didn’t push any further. “Well she’s right down the hall if you want to visit her. One at a time,” he made sure they were clear. “She’ll be fine. Just a really bad cause of the stomach flu it seems. Miss Boleyn will be released within the next couple days.” Almost in unison, all the queens let out a sigh of relief. Anne was okay.

Anne was going to be okay.

Silently, it was agreed upon that Kat would be the one to visit Anne first. She followed the doctor to Anne’s room and thanked him when he left her alone with her cousin. “Hey Anne,” Kat greeted quietly from the doorway. “Can I come in?”

Anne was still a little bit woozy, but she nodded, wanting Kat with her. “Yeah, you can come in. Although I hear the chairs are really uncomfortable.”

Standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, Kat fiddled with her hands. “I’m sorry we didn’t believe you,” she blurted out. “You needed help and we didn’t help you.”

Chuckling humorlessly, Anne did her best to ease her cousin’s worries. “It’s fine. It’s my fault you didn’t believe me, and it’s my fault I got sick. Besides, you found me and called for help.”

Still unsure, Kat took a step closer to Anne’s bed. “I was so worried. I almost didn’t check on you because I thought it was another prank -”

“I don’t blame you,” Anne sighed. She patted her bed, urging Kat to sit with her. The younger girl complied, sitting at Anne’s feet. “I pulled a really insensitive prank, and I took it too far. Believe it or not, but I get it. If I were you, I wouldn’t take me seriously either. So don’t even think about blaming yourself for any of this.”

There was hesitation on Kat’s face, but she nodded. “If I don’t blame myself, then you have to promise me one thing.”

“Sure, Kat.”

“You can’t blame yourself either.” Kat grabbed Anne’s hand and pleaded with her. “It’s no one’s fault but that stupid virus.”

Laughing, Anne agreed. “Things must really suck for us then, huh KitKat?”

“Yeah, we do have a pretty bad history with luck.” The two cousins shared a grin. “But are you going to pull another prank like that?”

Mulling it over, Anne let out a noncommittal noise. “I can’t make promises for future Anne,” she offered cheekily.

“Fair, fair,” Kat put her hands up in surrender.

The two cousins shared a look and smiled softly, just glad they could be in each others’ company. “It’s no one’s fault,” Anne repeated, squeezing Kat’s hand. “And that goes for you too!” She shouted, peeking around Kat. “I know you’re listening.”

Shamefully, the other four queens revealed themselves in the doorway after their failed attempt at spying. “We’re glad you’re okay Anne,” Jane smiled, worry draining from her features.

“I’m glad I’m okay too.” And they all laughed together.

-----------------------------

@annabanana2401

@boleynhowards

#six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fic #six fanfiction #six fanfic #sixfic #anon request #anne boleyn centric #katherine howard is pretty big too #beheaded cousins #the others are there too #tw: blood #but not that much #tw: vomit #tw: stomach sickness #anne goes too far #i am so sleep deprived it's not even funny #the bags under my eyes are the size of my eyes

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harleenfleck · 5 years ago

Text

“His darkest day”

Arthur Fleck x Reader Fic

Summary: You are with Arthur in a beauty relationship for a long time, you’re in love with him, remember warmly all those beautiful moments that lived together, until you see in your mailbox a terrible farewell and heartbreaker letter, causing you to run to save your Arthur.

Warning: Angst (looooooots and looooooots of angst), hurt/comfort, mentions of suicide, mentions of self-harm, and a little bit of fluff (Just a little).

Words: 3.4k

Notes: Well my clownies! Last night I had a really angst dream, becoming nightmare. I’m thinking about this strange dream, and my two neurons made synapsis and I said “Why not?”

So, this is my first fic in English for this fandom (And in general, omg). I want to say thank you to my two neurons, my weird mind for having that weird dreams and the Collins Translate for help me to translate some things I don’t how to write in English HAHAHAH

There will be some misspellings on purpose but cause it's something Arthur wrote.

I'm sorry if I make some grammatical, spelling or writing mistakes, English is not my native language, and I may translate this fic into my native language (Omg will be fun to do)

Hope you like!

...

Another long day came to the end.

You’re so tired, really was a long and heavy day in the work. But that does not really matter, because your mind was in another place. A happy place.

You’re in the subway, thinking about in the only human to whom your heart belonged. Arthur and you were dating for 1 year and 2 months, you knew him perfectly, and honestly, was the best year of their’s life’s.

You closed your eyes and your mind traveled to the day you and he met.

It was a little funny because that night you were dating another guy, which you thought might he will be a good couple. But things were not so, that idiot had leave you standing at the place of the date, in Pogo's Club.

Angry and disappointed,you feeling like a fool, the place was full of people, full of couples. You wanted to disappear. The owner of the club announced the list of comedians who would show that night. While you were drinking a glass of wine, you thought it best to leave the place, why keep humiliating yourself like that?

“H-hello” A shy voice you heard, you look up and see an emeralds eyes into a gentle face.

“Hello” You replied his greeting respectfully, and why not? smiled at him too.

The man seemed to be debating to tell something or not. In the end, he did, stuttering by the way. “I-I’m sorry, I-I just arrived here and all the tables are full, and I w-was wondering... I’m asking me if y-you don't mind, if...”

“Sit here? Of course not! you can sit with me”

He, more confident, took one chair and sat next to you. You looked at him well, looked at his curly hair, the shine on his eyes, his blue sweater, his hands, and again, you looked his face. You blushed a little when you realized he is was attractive. “Have you come here before?” You asked to him, and he took a little while to respond, because he didn't think you were really speaking him.

“Eh, yes, once a week” he responded, shy again, you smiled for that.

“Oh, I see. This is my first time here”

“Really? It’s a great place here”

“Well, I hope so, I want to have a good memory from this place. My date never came”

“What? Somebody stood you up?”

“Yes, a stupid idiot, but I don't want to talk about it, it makes me angry, better will be to enjoy the moment” Seeming to understand, he stopped asking questions about it. "My name is y/n" You introduced yourself, and he blinked. His gaze got confused, but in the end, he did what you did." Arthur, my name is Arthur"

You smiled at him again, you looked at a notebook was in his hands. "What is that?"

“Oh, it is, it's a journal, I use to make annotations and observations... It's just..." Grieving, he wasn't so sure to complete the sentence, fearing it would be ridiculous "…I want to be a comedian, and I need to learn things…"

He bowed his head, waiting for a rejection from you.

But that was so interesting to you the fact he studied whatever was necessary for his training. You found it fascinating the way he prepared for his dream.

"Seriously? That's great!”

He raised his head, a little incredulous, were your words really true?

"Do you really think that?"

“Yeah! I mean, there are people who are getting ready, but you're putting dedication! And that must be recognized"

Arthur was surprised, it was the first time he told anyone about his dream and they didn't laugh or mock it. Hours passed, even though the stand-up shows ended, you two kept talking about a lot of things, until almost the owners of Pogo's kicked him and you out there.

Definitely the best thing that could happen to you was to be stood up.

It didn't take long for you two to start dating, you had to be the one on the initiative because you knew Arthur could be very shy, but that something you understood perfectly. He didn't used to relate with others because when he did, he got rejection, taunts and punches.

You learned everything from him, even the smallest details, the little scar on the top of his lips, the scent of his hair, his favorite cigarette brand, his dark yellow jacket, his little cards.

You learned his weaknesses, his strengths. His scars in his soul. You learned his illnesses, his condition, his medication.

Anyone would have advised you "No, with him no y/n, just look at him, he goes to psychiatrist, he was locked on Arkham, he uses seven different medications, that relationship will be difficult and problematic for both, more for you" and you would have completely ignored it.

It was something you already knew, something Arthur actually warned you at the beginning of the relationship "I don't want you to feel obligated to be with me, I know I'm a mess, and I don't want you to carry my demons".

But everyone deserves to be loved, Arthur should not be the exception to that rule.

And you love him, and you were willing to give him all the love he deserved and needed.

You blinked and returned to the present, the subway reached your destination. You went down and walked a couple of blocks to get to your apartment.

While you were arriving in your mailbox, you were thinking of making a call to Arthur, he should have gotten home in that hour. Days earlier, you noticed him down and depressed. You knew that's what he meant when Arthur warned you about him. But you were by his side, supporting him. You couldn't change it, you couldn't fix it, you couldn't do better, it would be amazing if it was that easy, if your love fixed all his problems, but it wasn't so.

When you opened the mailbox there was only one letter. You didn't pay much attention; you took it and closed the mailbox.

Once in your apartment, you dropped your bag on the couch and took off your jacket, you headed to the phone and called Arthur, on the other side he was just on standby. He didn't answer the phone. "Maybe it hasn't home" you thought, and you worried for a moment.

Arthur was so helpless, the wicked people of Gotham used to take advantage of that and attack him. Many times, you've had to heal his lesions. You're afraid that was the case.

You wanted to distract yourself from that terrible thought, so you looked at the white letter and realized that letter was from his. It had your name written, you recognized his handwriting.

You opened it instantly, and you regretted not to open it before.

“My dearest, y/n

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm really sorry to hurt you…

You're the most amasing and purest perzon I’ve eber met, I don't know why you were with me, I don't know why you did it, maybe I'll neber know, you're beautiful, you're special

And I’m really sorry to tell you in thiz letter

But I can't do it anymore, my dear, I can't do it anymore. So much darknes inside me, so many negative thoughts. I'm tryin to fight all that awful feelings, I tried to just think of you, cause you're the only one who bringz me peace and love.

You're my one and only one, y/n

But I can't, I can't fight with the pain. My only exit is to give up.

Forgive me for makin you know in this letter, it's so cowardly, but I don't want you to find any other way and hurt you more...

What the fuck am I sayin? Shit, I'm really sorry, my y/n

Please don't stop libing for me, don't let this stop you. I love you, and whereber I am, I'll take care of you, I'll alwayz take care of you. I promise.

Arthur”

You got paralyzed, you were in shock. Tears came out of your eyes and ran down your cheeks.

It couldn't be possible.

"No... Arthur no..."

You ran to the phone back, typed the keys and waited for me to response it. Silence again.

“No, no, no, no, Arthur no, you can’t!”

And to your mind came the worst thought you could have. Maybe he wasn't responding because he wasn't here anymore, maybe he wasn't responding because he was gone.

“NO!”

You took your bag and ran away.

You ran down the stairs and left your building. You got to the bus stop, and fortunately it was coming. You got on the bus and sat down. crying in front of people, and they were staring at you. Judging you. Feel pity for you.

You still had the letter in your hand, you read it, looking for something, anything damned that told you something, that made sense. The pain in your chest is agonizing.

You thought about the last days of him and you together, looking for some sign that would warn you about what he was going to do. Some sign that said “I'm going to commit suicide”.

Crying, you only remembered that he was sad, you remembered that you hugged him for hours, stroking his hair and giving him small kisses on different parts of his face. You remember when he had a laugh attack you took his hand, hugged him again, and told him everything was going to be okay.

Really you wanted to promise.

You thought you should have done more; you should have made him understand that you'd always be with him. You should have told him more you loved him.

"Shit, no, please don't" you cried again on the bus, you were so afraid.

Stay with me Arthur, stay with me, stay with me, stay with me. It was the only thing you could think.

After an eternal trip, the bus arrived at that stop bus you knew so well. "STOP THE BUS! STOP THE BUS!" You screamed hysterically; people turn over to see you again. The bus stopped and you only can say “Thanks” and get off the bus so quickly.

You ran and ran and ran to those that eternal stairs. You remembered how funny It was to Arthur that you couldn't climb them fast, that you always got tired before you got to the top, and how much you envied him for putting up with all that workout.

Every memory was as if a knife stuck your heart in.

This time you had to tell your body that it shouldn't stop, no matter if you hadn’t a physical condition, you shouldn't have stopped. You ran up, with all the energy you had.

Stay with me Artie, don’t leave me, please don’t leave Art, don’t leave

It was the only thing you could think of, the only thing that gave you hope, it must have been alive, it still had to be. You stumbled and fall, hurting your knee. No, it wasn't time to check your own injuries, you had to get to Arthur, you had to save him.

You got up and went back up the stairs until you reached the end. You ran again to the address of his building. You looked at the building from afar, the lights in his apartment were on. Could that mean a good thing?

You walked into his building, and you got the idea again that you had to run into the stairs, you couldn't risk using the junk elevator in his building.

In that elevator that when stopped Arthur and you took advantage to give himself long and charming kisses.

Please Arthur, don’t leave me

You went up the stairs until you got to the eighth floor. You ran to his apartment door.

And you stopped abruptly.

A cold shiver you felt, paralyzed. That torment was so horrible. You were afraid to come in, you were afraid to open the door and find Arthur lifeless.

As soon as you thought about it, you wanted to die with him, you didn't want to see his dead body, you didn't want to be at his funeral, crying in his coffin, you didn't want to bury him in a cemetery.

He are your whole life; he are the love you always dreamed. You didn't want to lose him.

With more fear than you could stand, you took the doorknob and turned it. You pushed the door slowly and you came in the same way, you were so afraid to find his body.

There was nothing in the living room, there was nothing in the kitchen either, or at least what you could get to see from the kitchen. You looked down the hall, empty.

He'd probably be in his room or in the bathroom. And you didn't have the courage to get to the room or the bathroom.

You looked down and, on the floor, you found his jacket. Your feelings were overflowing in your eyes. Seeing his jacket on the floor for you was the meaning he was already gone. You crouched down and took her jacket, hugged it, it had his scent.

Everything was so quiet, everything around you was clouded. Everything stopped makes sense. You cried with sorrow. You felt lonely, so lonely. Your heart broke.

And in the midst of your crying, you moaned his name.

“Arthur”.

You were hoping that just saying his name, give you the strength you needed in that moment.

You hugged his jacket harder. You didn't want to live without him, you didn't want to do all your plans without him. You felted you are nothing without him.

“y/n?”

Your breathing was cut into a deep drowning and you regained the air your lungs needed. And somehow, your soul returned to your body.

He was there. He was still there.

The voice came from the room, without thinking and while hugging his jacket, you went there.

You walked to him, and you saw him.

Arthur was sitting there, sitting on his bed, without his shirt, his eyes were swollen, and you could see a few small cuts on his wrists. Your heart broke again, but you tried to hold on.

“What are you doing here?” He asks so confusedly and fearful.

“What you think?”

And you couldn't hold it anymore. You went to him and you hugged him. He hugged you tight, too. You both cried.

"I’m so sorry, y/n" Arthur cried "It wasn't my intention, it wasn't my intention to worry you"

“Art…”

You couldn't even talk. And as weird as it was heard, you were happy, happy that you could hug him one more time.

You looked at him and without losing the opportunity, you kissed him deeply. He needed love at the time, he really needed it, and you'd give it to him.

“Art, sorry”

“What? Why?”

“I'm sorry if I haven't shown you all my love. Arthur, I was so scared, I was so afraid to lose you…"

You couldn't help crying in front of him. Just moments ago, you thought he wouldn't be with you anymore, that still hurt, even when he was in front of you. And Arthur couldn't help feel so guilty when he saw you cry.

“Please forgive me, y/n, forgive me…” Feeling embarrassed, Arthur tried to explain himself “I couldn't stop feeling bad, I couldn't. I just wanted to stop feeling so bad. I'm sorry if you're worried, y/n, I’m sorry”

And without his body warning him, his condition came afloat. You knew that when those attacks happened, he needed you more than ever. You cuddled his hair, gently put his face between your neck and your shoulder. He laughed for a long time; it was the first time he laughed too long with you. You waited patiently, caressing his back.

“I…I tried" He was finally able to talk "I made me a few cuts... But I thought of you, I thought of us, and I couldn't go on..." You felt his warm tears fall on your neck, and yours came out of your eyes again "I didn't know if I kept going, I couldn't after I thought of you. And you came, y/n. You came here and saved me…”.

He raised his head a little and saw you in your eyes again. "If you're angry with me, I understand. If you want to leave me, that's fine, you don't have to stay with me, not after I put you through on this”

You gasped. You couldn't believe what Arthur was telling you.

“Art, what the fuck are you...? No! I'm not leaving you for this "

“But y/n, I don't... Just look at me, I'm a fucking mess. I worried you, I made you cry, you don't deserve this, I definitely don't deserve you"

You took his face with both hands and looked him in his eyes. "Arthur, I wouldn't be angry with you for this, I'm not going to leave you too. Stop believing in that”

“But y/n”

“But nothing, Arthur… I love you; I really love you…”

“Y-y-you, are you sure y/n? are you sure about…?”

“Yes, Arthur, you know I take love seriously; I'll take ours seriously too"

A couple of tears fell from Arthur's eyes, he looked down again "Do you really love me? Even when I'm a... A freak?”

Arthur looked at the wounds on his wrists. Did you really love him despite that?

“My darling, you’re not a freak. I love every part of you, even those that others consider bad”

Arthur felt he was going to die of love. He hugged you back. "I’m sorry y/n"

"I forgive you, my Arthur. I'll always be with you, never doubt that"

As he hugged you, Arthur felt safe, felt like he was in home. Only you could make him feel that way. He had been so alone in his life that as a result of that attempt to attack his own life he feared losing the only good thing he had left: you.

You went to the bathroom for a medicine cabinet, you healed those cuts that he made himself.

“y/n?” Arthur asked, still embarrassed.

“Yes, darling?” You responded calmly.

“C-can you stay with me tonight?”

You couldn't help smile at him

"Of course I do, my Artie" And you saw him smile. The smile that melted your heart. You took off your shoes and uncomfortable clothes, staying in your underwear. Arthur asked about the injury to your knee, you told him it was an accident at the work, you didn't want to make him feel bad. And oddly enough you started to feel your body tired and hurt after running all over Gotham.

Both went into bed, you hugged him and he hugged you again, and returned to give him little kisses all over his face. “y/n?”

“Yes?”

“I love you too”

Both smiled, you kiss his lips, kissing him deeply again. You still kissing his face until he could sleep.

You knew it was going to be hard, you'd been warned, but with Arthur you weren't going to give up, you weren't going to leave him alone.

You remembered that everyone deserved to be loved, even him. You would love him, despite the difficulties, even though he might fall into pieces from time to time, you would always be there for him, to heal his wounds, to help him get up, to love him in his darkest days.

#Joker #Joker 2019 #joker fandom #joker fanfiction #arthur x reader #Arthur x you #Angst #Hurt/comfort #love #Joker 2019 fanfic #Artie #omg this is my first fanfic in english #I'm so proud to translate it #maybe gonna translate to my mother tought

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what-even-is-thiss · 6 years ago

Text

I wrote a creative essay about my least favorite aunt. Yeet.

Read it if you’d like. I’m just happy to finally get the damage she caused me mostly dealt with to the point where I feel comfortable writing about it.

Language Barrier

Whenever I speak in German my expressions and hand gestures suddenly become ridiculously animated, like I’m trying to make up for my lack of vocabulary with a sign language that hasn’t been invented yet. One that only I know the meaning of. I flap my hands around like a maniac and point to things I don’t know the words for and make broken sentences that sound like a caveman made them as I misgender inanimate objects left and right.

Das. Das. That. That. This. This.

I can physically feel my brain rewiring itself. I speak like fool. Wrong order spoken are words. Sometimes anxiety make cry me. Social kind.

However, I speak much more German than my uncle’s mother and stepfather speak of English so I’m forced to use what I can and hope they can understand my thick American accent as we stay with them in Southern Germany. Everyone keeps trying to reassure me that my German is very good, but I can’t stop out of order speaking.

Kann ich habe Brot mehr bitte? Can I having bread more please?

I want to crawl into a hole and die.

My grandmother warned me that a person can grow tired of the amount of bread that Germans eat and according to that Bible thing that we both read man cannot live by bread alone. I’m starting to understand both of those things, eating bread and jam for breakfast yet again because I don’t like butter with marmalade and there’s no cheese left.

The weather, unlike my breakfast or Deutsche Grammatik, is perfect. Slightly cold, sunny and overcast at the same time. The neighborhood that my uncle’s parents live in is beautiful, suburban, on the edge of Schwartzwald, known in English as the Black Forest. I can’t remember the name of the town but I do know that we tried to get a brewery tour and my aunt, her twins, and I waited in the van as my uncle talked loudly at somebody in a local dialect until he got out of them that they don’t do tours anymore.

We went to a rope climbing course instead. My uncle, tall and skinny, balding, fit, took the twins, boy and girl, skinny like their dad, not taking after their mother, my mother’s sister, and went rope climbing in Schwartzwald.

I’m stuck talking with my aunt as we stand below the ropes course and I’m tired of speaking in German so we both take time to find comfort in each other’s distinctly Californian manner of speaking.

My aunt is a character. That’s a polite way to describe her if you don’t want to speak ill of someone that’s not in the room. She wears no makeup except for when she’s getting her picture taken or going somewhere important and she always looks stressed and tired with her eyes just a little too wide open. She’s maybe four inches shorter than me but she has the ability to make me feel like I only come up to her waist. In my mind she’s always wearing a knee length beige skirt and a green t-shirt even though she owns other articles of clothing than that, including more than 20 pairs of shoes. Her eyes are wide and her hands move in an animated fashion even when she speaks English. When she speaks German she becomes an exaggerated version of herself, perhaps to make up for her thick American accent and occasionally sketchy grammar. She has lived in Switzerland since the 90s and spoken German since the 80s. I once asked her how to tell what a noun’s grammatical gender is. She told me that she had no idea.

I didn’t know my mother for very long before she died but my grandmother tells me that when my mom was young, to describe her sister, she quoted a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. The one about the little girl with the little curl who when she was good she was very good and when she was bad she was horrid.

My aunt’s hair is straight, but other than that the poem describes her very well. Today would be a day she was horrid.

I don’t claim to be a perfect human being. I can be a bitch sometimes just like anybody else. The thing is though, my aunt never let me know when I was doing something bitchy like a normal person would. Instead she let me keep on doing it until she was ready to explode. And then she exploded.

Or, no. Not exactly being bitchy. Just doing something that she didn’t understand or like. She’s a very animated person and her voice goes like

And

Up.

Down.

All the time.

She’s very expressive. I, on the other hand, am not that excitable. I smile, yes, I cry, yes, but I try to be stoic. I like being stoic. It feels natural. I don’t want to express to everyone around me every time I am excited or upset. In my opinion it’s none of their business. I also tend to express gratitude through actions and gift giving rather than hurting my face and voice smiling and screaming all of the time.

I had thought bringing gifts from America, delivering onto my aunt’s family the ever elusive box of grits and Bakersfield candy and trinkets from Disneyland Anaheim would show gratitude. I was under the impression that helping to cook dinner, pack the van, refill the ice trays, take care of the twins, carry the groceries, clean the house, would show how much I loved her. I learned though, in a firestorm under the canopy of dark trees and children riding on zip lines that our love languages didn’t translate properly and she thought that my lack of expressiveness meant that I hated her. She was hysterical about it. I then expressed myself by changing into a lovely shade of red and producing saltwater from my eyes.

Climbing hills is a thing you get used to when you spend time in Central Europe. Walking for three or four kilometers isn’t such a feat in a valley, where the ground is flat and rarely changes, but in hilly terrain you quickly learn just how long that distance is and how much walking can hurt. Locals take no pity on you because they expect that everyone has those muscles built up in their legs when you’ve never had to use your legs like that for long stretches of time before.

Navigating emotion and expectations at home is easy. There is one language being spoken and everyone uses it to tell each other what’s wrong. When staying with my aunt for long periods of time, however, you start to understand emotional exhaustion. Something that would take half a minute to communicate takes up ten minutes of screaming because she expected you to know everything. A flat crowded city turns into a hilly countryside with no help for miles. You quickly learn how to swear in German because she pushes her husband to screaming as well.

Scheiße.

Eventually my uncle finished with the ropes course and pulled me away from her. He gently explained to me in English what we were going to be doing for the next few days. I stopped leaking water from my eyes and tried to remember what had prompted her to start yelling at me but I couldn’t figure it out. Another talent she has. Distracting you from linear events.

While I was in Germany there was a terrorist attack in Münich. Brexit was fresh in everyone’s minds. My first presidential election would be happening in November. I only understood about half of what was said on the news. My little cousins and their dad took turns translating for me. I had the feeling that I still wasn’t getting the whole story.

My aunt and uncle have twins. Test Tube Babies. The girl is the older twin but strangely enough doesn’t hold it over her brother’s head, which would fit perfectly with her personality. The boy takes after his mother in some respects, namely her loud voice.

When we went to Prague we stayed in a campground because that’s a lot cheaper than a hotel and that family affords a second house because they’re stingy. Almost every morning it was a struggle to get the boy out of bed. He and his sister were almost ten and he screamed and refused to move. He cried. He was loud. No amount of discipline worked. His sister stood around quietly going about her business, as did I. We did the same thing when her parents got into screaming matches.

Prague is an old city. A busy city. I loved it, even with all of the pay toilets and Czech bluntness. Even when an angry Czech lady smoking a cigarette yelled at me in broken English for not knowing that I had to pay for the restroom. The old castles and cathedrals and statues and just the right amount of dirtiness in the subway more than made up for it.

My aunt payed for me to go look at a museum that she didn’t want to look at. She told me to take all the time I wanted as the rest of the family waited outside. I didn’t sense any passive aggressiveness that time, so I did. It was a complex that was part of the Prague art museum, a system spread out around the city. The section I walked through by myself was a collection of medieval Roman Catholic art. Stained glass windows, paintings, tapestries. I’m a Lutheran that lives with atheists, so my experience with Catholic art is mostly non existent. Atheists don’t have religious figures to draw and Lutherans are extremely stingy with their images, worried about crossing into the realm of idolatry.

One thing I noticed was that Mary appeared everywhere, even in stories I thought she didn’t belong. In some images she stood equal with Jesus, reminding me of a female God. She seemed mature, different from the outcasted teenage mother I had told children about in Sunday School classes. Different from the refugee that had been painted for me in sermons. I wondered what kind of mother this Mary was. I wondered what her Hebrew sounded like. Or, maybe this Mary spoke Czech and the Mary in Germany spoke German and the Mary in the Vatican spoke Latin and the Mary my Catholic friends at home looked to spoke Spanish. Maybe if I prayed to Mary she would speak English. Maybe she would turn out to speak German and would look down at the frantic dancing of my hands, trying to find meaning in it.

But I don’t pray to Mary, and neither do my aunt or uncle. I report to them what I saw and my observations about Mary. Namely that she seems to be everywhere. My aunt doesn’t quite pick up on the fact that I simply find it interesting and takes it as an invitation to rant about Catholics. I squint at her as we walk back to the subway. I’m trying to figure out if I’d somehow been speaking another language. She certainly seems to be. Maybe it’s a generational gap. Maybe it’s just her, but I try to turn the conversation back to a tone of tolerance rather than complaint. A battle I quickly lose.

Later, in a public park in that busy city, my aunt yelled at me and cried because I had been calling her by her first name rather than Aunt. I nearly start leaking again. I shake. I think she’s speaking English but I don’t understand it. I physically step away from her as she accuses me of not seeing her as family. At the bottom of the hill we’re standing on a dog plays fetch with his owner. Neither of them take notice of the screaming middle aged American woman throwing accusations her deceased sister’s child as her own children zone out and wait for it to be over. No help comes. Nobody translates for me and Google Translate doesn’t have a setting for this.

Twenty minutes later she jokes with me as we find a rare but welcome burrito shop. I buy a mango soda imported from Mexico and it softens my homesickness. We eat on the steps of a light rail station. I laugh. The twins laugh and bounce around, talking to each other in a mixture of English, Swiss-German, and high German. The boy takes a bite out of my burrito and thinks the fact I can eat something that spicy makes me the coolest person in the world. My aunt laughs with me. We make plans for when we go to Southern Germany and visit her husband's parents. That’s where his dentist is. He needs a bit of work done. We’ll have fun, she promises. We had a good time in Prague. I put the bad times in a shoebox for later and then agree with her.

After she yells at me in Schwartzwald for not showing emotion I go quiet. I put more things in the shoebox I’ve made in my mind to deal with later. I learn that all of them have been eavesdropping on the phone calls I’ve been making to my dad and friends back home. My aunt approaches me about how I complained about the yelling. I’m suddenly paranoid and wonder if she read some of the postcards I sent out. I watch my words now and put the ones that might set off her fuse in the box. The little house outside of Zurich has started to feel like home when I return to it and I’m slightly disgusted at that realization. The flowers all make my eyes water and I’m not given nearly enough allergy pills. I still don’t understand what language she’s speaking. Her words are in English or German, as are mine, but we still don’t understand each other.

Currants, especially the red ones, are beautiful fruit. Not easy to find in stores, even in Europe, so you’ve gotta pick them yourself. My aunt and uncle have a small city of currant bushes living in their backyard that hugs the bank of the stream that runs through the neighborhood. They’re beautiful and inviting, asking you to eat them please, but when you do your face scrunches up at the tartness. I never did care for sour tastes, so I found my own way to make the currants sweet by baking them into scones. At first my aunt was sceptical of my scones but after some reassurance from her kids that they didn’t taste like cinnamon she tried them and agreed that I did a good job. They were sweet and went really well with milk or tea. We all enjoyed them very much. Nobody had to translate anything.

Every member of that family gives excellent hugs when you can get them. They share drinks and food with each other, a concept that shocked me at first, but I quickly fell into the rhythm of it with them. They bought me my first beer and took me to Worms, Germany. I loved that place. I got to see one of the first print versions of Luther’s German translation of the bible. I ate pastries and tea with them at an outdoor cafe. It was cold and wet in the middle of the summer and the cobblestones made it even gloomier. The moving feet on the sidewalk seemed to have a language of its own and the new architecture standing by the old had no words to be translated but told a story nonetheless.

My experience in Europe was like Europe itself. Americans expect it to be shiny and beautiful, and it is, but you also have to pay to use the restroom which leads people to piss in the street. You will also find cigarette machines on almost every corner. There is one right outside my aunt and uncle’s second house. The packages of cigarettes have pictures of black lungs and diseased gums on them. The people smoke anyways. Europeans are people. They have drama, they worry about money, they cry, they abuse, they kick, they scream, they love. All the problems you had in America won’t disappear over there, and in fact you might find some new problems you didn’t expect. Like not finding salsa or not knowing how to deal with carnival rides that have no line and are boarded like a much more violent version of musical chairs. And don’t expect to practice your target language there either. The people will hear your accent and excitedly try and use you to practice English. And even if you do speak the language, don’t expect to understand with everyone. Hand gestures can only go so far.

When I got home I left the German language behind me for the most part. I also slowly cut off most contact with my aunt’s family. Six weeks spent putting things in a shoebox and not speaking whatever language my aunt was speaking with English and German words was enough for me. By the time I opened my shoebox a few months later it was rotten, smelly, and leaking. It took over a year to clean it out and it’s still warped and stained, containing whispers of my own desperate language that would never penetrate my aunt’s skull or jump over the barrier we had built together.

My rotten shoebox is revolting to look at, and while I was cleaning it parts of the mess got onto the happy memories but thankfully they’re still there. The cathedrals, the warm hugs, the new foods, and comforting rain are all there. Late nights and early mornings, potato pancakes and beer, museums and trees and the times I could honestly say; Ja, ich bin glücklich. Yes, I am happy. And thankfully that sentence is easy to translate.

#roman wrote a thing #religion mention #roman said a thing

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eccacia · 7 years ago

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wonderful you came by [part 16]

Summary: Caitlin’s a no-nonsense science major. Barry’s the quintessential charming star athlete. When they’re paired off and forced to interact in class, Caitlin’s determined to resist his charms, but Barry’s also pretty determined to get under her skin… It all boils down to a battle between head and heart, and Caitlin’s not one to give in to her heart so easily. [College AU]

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, or read on ff.net

Rating: T

Notes: I know it’s been five months, but… Look! An update! Sorry I’ve been gone awhile. This chapter was tough, life’s been tough, being newly unemployed is tough, etc. etc. Anyway, I miss you all. This is more of a friendship chapter, since I want to wrap up all the loose ends and lay the groundwork for the last plot point. After this, I’m estimating we have 1-2 more chapters to go and then an epilogue (AAAAH! Can you believe it?!) so I hope you’ll stick around. :)

Some shout-outs: To Gaby, as always, for the encouragement, and in celebration of our three-year long friendship on this site. To @panalegs27, for the unwavering enthusiastic support and the messages that make me smile. To @purpleyin, who, to my great surprise and delight, left a review on all my stories and on every chapter in this fic (!!!). To Random Lurker, for leaving such a sweet review; it made my terrible day better. And, last but not the least, to Of Pencils and Penguins (formerly The Pickle System), who beta-read this chapter in a flash (pun fully intended)—he fixed all the pesky grammatical errors, cleaned up my dialogue, and pointed out the scenes that needed tweaking or rewriting. I can’t thank you enough. This chapter won’t be what it is without your help. :)

Disclaimer: Nope, I don’t own The Flash.

Barry parted ways with her outside of her dorm, and as she moved from the open, starry night to the closed, fluorescent-lit hallways of the building to her dark, unoccupied room, unease replaced the earlier sense of lightness she’d felt. She’d been harboring this sense of unease since her fight with Felicity yesterday, but her anxiety about the orals and about Barry had dominated such a large portion of her emotional landscape that this unease had receded into the background.

But now, faced with a Felicity-less room, which had been voided of the sounds of their easy companionship—the scrape of the wheels of her chair against the floor, the quick, light tapping of her fingers on her laptop, the rip of Swiss Miss packets at the end of a long day—Caitlin felt the unease return with a vengeance.

She slumped into her chair. How was it that she managed to push two people who were important to her away in the space of a week? For someone who’d always thought of herself as self-sufficient and fiercely independent, she was realizing how emotionally affected she could be when the relationships in her life went awry.

Well, at least she knew Felicity better than she did Barry. She knew, for instance, that her friend dealt with her hurt by avoiding its cause, and that while she was in this avoidance phase, it was best to give her space. But she also knew that approaching her first was already winning half the battle. So it boiled down to timing—intuiting when enough time had passed since the avoidance started, and intuiting when the best time was to approach her.

It was, she supposed, the same way Felicity would tiptoe around her when she was deep in work mode, hazarding guesses at the best time to disturb her. She had guessed wrong yesterday—had prodded her at the wrong time, in the wrong way—and much to her shame, she had exploded.

She grimaced. She could call Oliver right now to ask if he’d seen her, but she was already so tired. There’d been more emotions packed into this day than she’d had in her entire twenty-something years of existence, and even if some of those emotions were pleasant, she still felt incredibly drained.

Tomorrow, then, she thought, crawling into her bed. She’d apologize tomorrow.

The next day, Caitlin set about to look for her friend in all her usual haunts, but as expected, she couldn’t find her in any of them. She texted Cisco on the off-chance that he’d seen her, but he merely replied with, “? u can call her? and aren’t u roommates” and, a few seconds later, “OH wait r u fighting :( idk where she is bt i hope u make up soon”.

So she had no choice but to give Oliver a call, which, in the first place, had been the most logical thing to do.

…But also the most awkward, because she and Oliver weren’t exactly on calling terms. There was also the fact that she had been staunchly against them when Felicity had really started liking him. Sure, she’d been the one to dare her to talk to him, but she’d done it because she’d believed that her friend had more common sense than to fall for the shallowest rich boy on campus, and because she didn’t think that Felicity was Oliver’s type.

Needless to say, Felicity did not have as much common sense as she’d expected, and Oliver turned out to be decent under his party-boy exterior. While she was right in guessing that Felicity wasn’t his type, she hadn’t guessed that he’d fall for her anyway. He’d liked Felicity so much that, upon sensing Caitlin’s unspoken antagonism, sought to prove all her previous notions of him wrong—he cleaned up his act, stopped flirting with every leggy girl he came across, and stopped hanging out with the shadier cliques in the popular crowd—until she finally came to accept them together.

Still, that didn’t mean they would be besties, or that they’d take to each other the same way Felicity had taken to Digg and Barry and Tommy and the rest of Oliver’s friends. They were content to regard each other with civility.

Which brought her back to her current dilemma: She and Oliver were civil, but not on calling terms.

She sighed. Well, it wasn’t like she had much of a choice. They would have to be on calling terms now if they both cared about Felicity.

Having decided on her course of action, she sent him a short text to ask when he was free to take a call. His answer was immediate: “Now is good.” He picked up on the first ring.

“Hey. You’re looking for Felicity?” he said.

Well, if there was one thing Caitlin respected him for, it was his propensity for cutting right to the chase.

“Yes,” she said. “Did she stay over at your place?”

“Yeah,” he said. “But she left for class this morning, and she hasn’t been back yet. I thought she’d headed to the dorm.”

Caitlin frowned. “Well… she’s definitely not here.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “She’s… been really down the past few days,” he ventured tentatively. “Said something about this being a replay of sophomore year, but didn’t go into the specifics.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Care to elaborate?” His tone was careful. “I mean, when my girlfriend and one of my best friends share a bottle of Smirnoff from my bar because of the same person, I feel like I deserve an explanation from the said person.”

Caitlin winced. “Can said person just buy you another bottle of Smirnoff instead?”

“Nice try,” he said wryly. “Spare me the details with Barry, I know way too much already. I just want to hear about the whole… sophomore year thing. If… that’s okay. She—she usually tells me everything, and I can’t—I don’t know how to talk to her if she doesn’t—talk. To me.”

When he said those last two sentences, Oliver sounded as if he was having a nail extracted for every word he spoke. She could almost see his grimace deepening the more he talked. Strangely enough, it comforted her, because this was something she could identify with. He was nearly as emotionally stunted as she was, stripped of that glamorous façade, and she imagined that she had the same expression that he had now whenever she talked about her feelings. Granted, this was the same reason they couldn’t be friends, and were instead friends with people like Felicity and Barry who were so open about their feelings that they were practically begging to be taken advantage of, but still. This kind of kinship was also comforting. Painfully awkward, but comforting.

So Caitlin took a deep breath and proceeded to tell him about sophomore year—the year they had their first real fight as friends.

It happened towards the end of their first term as sophomores. She’d been swamped with so many requirements and had been putting so much pressure on herself that she’d turned down all of Felicity’s invitations to parties, dinners, and even their hallowed Sunday lunches. Sometimes she didn’t even bother to acknowledge her in the room, because she didn’t want a break in her concentration. This went on for a month, until Felicity gave up trying to talk to her altogether. She avoided all their usual haunts and materialized in their room only to sleep. It was a miserable few months for both of them (and for Cisco, who’d shuttled back and forth between them), and it went on for as long as it did because, ironically, it had been easier to keep snubbing each other than to break their deadlock.

“Eventually, I just swallowed my pride and just went up to her during lunch. And even before I said anything, she burst out crying and hugged me,” Caitlin said.

He chuckled. “That sounds like her.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” she said. She decided to leave out the embarrassingly sappy things they told each other that time, like when Felicity told her, in between hiccups, You know, real talk—I’d get over a breakup with a guy faster than a breakup with you. Like, a friend break-up. Because guys are so… replaceable, you know? And there’s only one of you, and… where’ll I ever find another Caitlin Snow?

She didn’t think Oliver would respond favorably to that.

After their tearful reunion, though, they’d implicitly agreed never to talk about that time again. It seemed they both knew that the smooth continuation of their friendship hinged on completely burying that hatchet. So Felicity continued to tiptoe around her when she was busy, and continued to clam up when she was hurt. Maybe that was why she thought that her recent blow-up was an echo of sophomore year.

“She’s in Jitters, by the way,” Oliver said. “She told me not to tell you, but I don’t like seeing her miserable, and I don’t think I’m the person to cheer her up.”

“Oh,” she said. “Um, thanks.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Just… go talk to her. And make sure that she doesn’t steal too many drinks from my bar.”

Her lips lifted into a small smile. “The former, I can promise. The latter, not so much.”

. . .

In a way, it made sense that Felicity was at Jitters. Since she knew that Caitlin was avoiding Barry, and that Barry frequented Jitters, then she must have thought that there was a good chance that Caitlin would also avoid Jitters.

It didn’t take long to spot Felicity’s messy high ponytail in the crowd, and she was so deeply absorbed in her work that she didn’t even feel her approach.

“Hey,” Caitlin said, touching her shoulder, and Felicity immediately startled in her seat.

“Oh my God! Don’t scare me like th—”

When she saw it was her, though, she schooled her expression into a neutral one. The change was so dramatic that it unnerved her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” God, she was terrible at this. “Can I… Is this seat taken?”

“No.”

This was agonizing. Any dim hope she’d harbored of this being like their first make-up was quashed.

“Felicity,” she said. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

Silence. And then, “Okay.”

“Okay as in…?”

She shrugged. “It’s fine.”

It was decidedly not fine. Felicity was not as adept at hiding her emotions as she thought, because Caitlin could see her trying to hide them. “Felicity…”

Silence. And then, softly, “I’ve been tiptoeing around you for years, did you know that?” she said. “No, wait—you probably never noticed, but I’ve been doing it since we started rooming together. Since our first year. When things would get busy—for both of us, not just for you—you would transform into this ticking time bomb. One wrong move on my part, and you’d explode.”

Caitlin sat very still. “I… never knew,” she said. “It’s just…”

She trailed off. She was about to say that it was a bad habit she’d picked up from her father, who’d regarded disturbances—a category which even his young, too-inquisitive daughter and his flaky wife fell into—with murderous intent, so everyone had always adjusted to him without question or complaint. But this sounded like an excuse, and in a rare flash of human insight, Caitlin saw that an excuse wouldn’t save their friendship.

So she held her tongue.

Felicity continued, “Every time you get like that, I have to worry about how to get you to eat and function like a normal human being without risking our friendship. Do you know how tiring that gets?”

Caitlin exhaled. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I never meant you to feel like…” She paused to gather the right words. “Like I’d only be friends with you if you never made me mad.”

“Yeah, but that’s how you come off sometimes,” Felicity said. “Would it hurt to say, ‘Hey, Felicity, I’m really stressed and I don’t want to talk about it now’? It’s not hard. I mean, I let you know when I’m about to binge-code so you’d know better than to expect me to clean my part of the room for the rest of the week.”

“Or shower, for that matter,” Caitlin couldn’t help saying. When she realized her misstep she quickly amended it with, “Sorry—”

“God, not relevant, Cait,” Felicity said.

“Sorry,” Caitlin said. She’d unknowingly slipped back into their usual easy banter at the worst possible time. “Sorry.”

Her friend’s expression was now shuttered, and Caitlin had the sinking feeling that she’d blown her attempt at reconciliation.

The silence stretched between them.

“Felicity,” she finally said, unable to bear it, “I’m sorry, I really am. Please don’t shut me out.”

“Oh, you mean like what you do to me?”

Caitlin winced. The accusation rang so true that it hurt. The silence grew more and more tense the longer those words hung in the air, and she frantically reached for something appropriate to say.

“I… It… was wrong of me… to do that to you,” she said quietly. “You didn’t deserve any of it.” A pause. “I’ve been an asshole friend. I’m sorry.”

Felicity fiddled with the keys of her laptop. She gave no indication of having heard her.

A crazy sense of desperation seized her. She felt like she would do anything—anything—to get Felicity to talk to her, anything to draw her out of that damning silence… It made her more painfully aware that this was the same emotional distress she put Felicity (and Barry, for that matter) through whenever she gave her the cold shoulder. She would never do this again, she thought vehemently. She would never make her friends—her best friend—feel this shitty ever again, if said best friend would still care to talk to her. No wonder Felicity had burst out crying last time the moment she approached… Any move to break this kind of silence would have brought on waves of delirious relief.

Felicity continued fiddling with her keys. She uncrossed her legs. She leaned back against her chair. She let out a breath, and since it was so quiet between them, Caitlin could tell that this breath was a beat longer than was normal.

Felicity seemed to be on the verge of speaking. Caitlin braced herself.

“You’re not an asshole friend,” she finally said. She still wasn’t looking at her, but at least she was talking to her. She was talking to her. “You just… revert to assholic behavior when stressed.”

Caitlin held her breath. That was it. That was Felicity’s olive branch. She would have sagged in her seat from sheer relief, but she had to play this right.

“Assholic behavior,” she said carefully.

“What, you’re not used to Feliciticisms yet?” her friend said, finally looking at her. A small smile stretched across her face.

Caitlin blinked. She smiled. Definitely a good sign. Definitely a sign to play along, to ease back into the usual banter of their friendship. “I still can’t figure out how you say that,” she said. “Felicisms would have been a lot easier on the tongue.”

“Yes, but I’m a Felicity, not a Felici,” she said. “Although, come to think of it, Felici sounds a lot chicer.”

“True.” Caitlin paused and took a risk. “Probably why it doesn’t suit you.”

“Hey. You were the one who proposed Felicism.”

She tried to contain her smile. “Because it would be easier to pronounce, not because you look like a Felici.”

“Same banana.”

“No, they’re not. And for the record, there are more than 1,000 discovered varieties of bananas in the world.”

“Okay, just, no,” Felicity said. “How do you even know stuff like that?”

“The same way you know who invented ramen.”

“Technically, Momofuku Ando invented instant noodles, not…” She trailed off. “…Right. Point taken.”

Caitlin nodded. “The internet is a dark place.”

“Ah, yes. Two young, impressionable women frequenting websites with lurid pictures of bananas and noodles—positively scandalous.”

They shared a smile.

“Just… give me that heads-up, okay?” Felicity said, sobering. “So I know how to help you. Like how you fix my bed and buy me takeout when I’m binge-coding, or how you let me interrupt you to whine about how hard troubleshooting a faulty segment is. Even if you have zero idea of what I’m talking about.”

“Okay,” Caitlin said. She would’ve agreed to anything at this point. “I can’t promise I’ll always be able to do it, but I’ll try. I’ll really try.”

“You better,” Felicity said, grinning. “We’ve been friends for almost seven years. I’d say it merits some amount of trying.”

“Well, seven years is only slightly longer than some marriages, after all. I can manage more than some amount of trying.”

Felicity’s smile softened. “So. Friends?”

“Friends,” she affirmed. “Seven years and counting.” She paused. “I think we’re supposed to hug at this point, but can I just give you a mental hug? I’ve reached my sappiness limit for the day.”

Felicity laughed. “Mental hug accepted. I knew there was something weird about you today.”

“Well, I was apologizing to you. I had to summon the appropriate amount of sappiness.”

“Have you been manipulating me with sappiness?”

“I wouldn’t call it manipulation,” Caitlin said primly. “It’s more like scheduling sappiness usage for a rainy day.”

“By scheduling sappiness,” Felicity said, her smile turning wicked, “do you also mean the Saturday night you spent with a certain Bartholomew Henry Allen under the stars?”

“That was an unscheduled and unintentional leakage of sappiness,” Caitlin said. “And how much do you already know, anyway?”

“Only that you kissed,” Felicity said with feigned nonchalance. “No big deal. It was only your first kiss, after all, which you kept a secret for almost a week from your best friend, your companion since girlhood, the sister of your heart—”

“Are you done with the melodramatics?” she said dryly.

“—oh, wait, I’ll have to call Cisco and Jax,” Felicity said, pulling her phone out. “They need to hear this. It’s more time-efficient, too, since you’ll only have to tell the story once.”

“Time-efficient,” Caitlin repeated. “You’re talking to me about time efficiency.”

“Yeah. What, think I haven’t learned a thing or two about your reasoning after seven years of being the foremost Caitlin Snow scholar? Although,” she mused, “it looks like I’ll soon have to relinquish that title soon, since a certain Barry Allen is proving to be a quick study—”

“Felicity, you’re rambling,” Caitlin said.

“That was hardly—oh, fine, calling them…”

“Can you tell them that we’ll meet in front of the library instead?” Caitlin said, casting a furtive glance around them. “Jitters is kind of—”

“His turf, right,” Felicity said. “Got it.” She tucked her phone between her ear and shoulder, and slipped her laptop into her bag. “Hey Cisco, any chance you’re free now…?”

. . .

“Ola, ladies,” Cisco said, making his way to their table with his usual grin. Even from afar, they heard him coming by the tinkle of the many keychains he’d hung all over his backpack. “Glad to see you two have reconciled. I thought I’d have to be your messenger again or something.”

“Yeah, well,” Felicity said. “Signs of maturity, I guess.”

“Boring,” Cisco said. “In a good way, I mean. No one needs drama all the time, am I right?”

“You sure? Because Caitlin has a lot of drama to tell.”

“Oooh, saucy. You sure are getting a lot of drama lately, come to think of it,” Cisco said. “Where was all this in high school? And in the last, I don’t know, two years in college—”

“I don’t know, Cisco, I don’t think one can space out the dramatic events in one’s life—”

“Rhetorical question, chica,” he said breezily, waving a hand. “I’m sure you know what that is—”

“What’s up, guys?” Jax said, sliding into the seat beside Cisco. He pocketed his phone and dropped his duffel bag to the ground. “Is this an update on Barry or what?”

“Well,” Caitlin said, “somewhat.”

“I am so excited,” Felicity said. “I can’t wait to hear your version of the kiss.”

“THE KISS?!” Cisco gaped. “Whoa, okay, slow down, this is too much—”

“I… haven’t even started yet…”

“Her version?” Jax interjected, looking at Felicity. “What other version is there?”

“Dude,” Cisco said. “I can’t believe that’s what you fixated on.”

“I heard it first from Barry,” Felicity said, waving a hand. “Anyway, long story, and not exactly relevant—”

“Not exactly rele—Felicity, what was his version?” Caitlin said suddenly. “What did he tell you?”

“Oh, pretty vague stuff,” she said. “Mostly it was about you breaking his heart.”

Cisco blinked. “Is it just me, or are things moving way too fast?”

“Last I heard you weren’t even sure if he liked you,” Jax said, also confused, “and now you already broke up? And if you”—he gestured to Felicity—“and Barry’re tight, why didn’t you just ask him for advice, instead of asking us?”

“Well,” Felicity mused, “a little Smirnoff goes a long way in solidifying friendships…”

“She and Barry shared a bottle of vodka between them the other night,” Caitlin clarified. “Well, technically, it was Oliver’s vodka, but anyway.”

“Dang,” Jax said. “Any chance I can get an invite to one of those in the future?”

“Yeah, it’d be nice to hang out at Oliver’s pad again,” Cisco said wistfully. “That sound system is to die for…”

“Wait,” Felicity said suddenly, turning to her, “that’s how you knew where to find me—you called Oliver and Oliver told you, that traitor—”

“Yes?” Caitlin said. “You thought I just guessed?”

“Well, I didn’t really—okay, never mind, we’re getting way off topic. So, Cait, tell us what happened last Saturday.”

“We all saw the sing-off,” Cisco said smugly. “And boy, you owe me big time for that—”

“It would’ve been better if you’d given me more drinks,” she muttered. “No chance kissing him if I’d passed out.”

Cisco ignored her. “—and we saw you slow-dancing to that weird Despacito remix,” he said. “Well, Felicity and I did. Jax probably didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, to fill you in, they slow-danced to a Despacito remix.”

He gave Cisco a withering look. “Yeah, I grasped the concept, thanks.”

“You’re caught up, then,” Caitlin said, pleased. “So after the slow-dancing, we went up to the balcony—”

“The one for VIPs?” Jax said.

“Yes, the one for VIPs,” she said. “Anyway, I was slightly tipsy. As a result of faulty judgment, I leaned in to kiss him. I quickly realized it was a mistake, so I left and ignored him for a week. But we made up again just yesterday, so everything’s fine now.”

Silence.

“You know, you gotta brush up on your storytelling skills,” Cisco said.

“For a moment there I thought I was listening to a weather report,” Jax said.

“Well,” Caitlin bristled, “it’s not exactly something I want to recount in detail, so—”

“How did it happen? How did you let it happen? What did you feel?” Cisco insisted, accompanying his words with hand gestures. “What did he do? What did he say? What did you say? What were you thinking?”

“As I’ve already mentioned, I wasn’t thinking—”

“Okay, I think we’re overwhelming her,” Felicity said. “Cisco, ask her something again, only one question at a time.”

“Oh! Oh! I’ll start with this one,” Cisco said. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret asking this, but I am way curious, so here goes.” He took a deep breath. “Was there tongue?”

Caitlin squirmed. “Oh my God—”

“OH MY GOD,” Cisco said. “OH MY GOD, THERE WAS, WASN’T THERE?”

“OH MY GOD,” Felicity said. “THERE WAS, CISCO, THERE WAS—”

“…The hell is going on?” Jax said. “She hasn’t answered the question yet—”

“If you’re fluent in Caitlin,” Felicity explained, “you’d know that if it isn’t a direct no, then it’s a definite yes.”

“Huh,” Jax said.

“Damn,” Cisco said to Caitlin admiringly. “So you’ve finally lost your tongue-ginity. Welcome to the club.”

Jax scrunched his brow. “I never signed up for that.”

“Did we ever make that a thing?” Felicity said. “I don’t think we ever made that a thing…”

“We totally did. We made it a thing in high school, when I was with Kendra, remember? After we made out in the—”

“Okay, stop,” Felicity said. “I vaguely remember you breaking down that make-out scene, and I don’t want to remember more.”

“I second the motion,” Caitlin said.

“Third,” Jax piped up.

“Fine, this is Caitlin’s show anyway,” Cisco said good-naturedly. “It’s your turn to give us details.”

“No.”

They were all unfazed. “Did he lean in first?” Felicity said. “Or did you?”

Caitlin paused to consider it. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I think we—it was done at the same time.”

“And it lasted for some time,” Cisco prompted, “since there was tongue.”

“Well, it wasn’t unpleasant,” she hedged, “so we were there for some time, but I was the one who put an end to it.”

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Jax said. “You guys made out and you were really into it, but for some reason, you walked away and ignored him after that.”

“…It doesn’t sound very nice if you put it that way, but yes, basically…”

“What made you ignore him?” Felicity said. Caitlin recognized this voice—it was the one her friend used when she wanted to steer the discussion into a more serious direction. “I’d always assumed that he said something stupid, but…”

“Well,” Caitlin said, “he mentioned that we’ve only known each other two weeks.”

“Which is true,” Cisco said.

“Yes, I know,” she said. “Still, I lost it. I just didn’t think that it was possible—for me, at least—to like someone in such a short time. I was scared of it, of myself, so… I ran away. Ignored him. Pretended like ignoring him could reset me to before I met him.”

There was a pause as the statement hung in the air. It was perhaps the most honest she’d been since last week’s debacle, and they seemed to feel it, too.

“Okay, since things are getting serious,” Cisco said, standing up, “anyone want some food? Nachos, maybe?”

“Dude,” Jax said. “Way to ruin a moment—”

“No, I’m pretty sure Cait doesn’t want to talk about her feelings on an empty stomach,” he said, grinning at her. “Just like how you won’t study chemistry on an empty stomach.”

Caitlin smiled. “It’s fine, Jax. Nachos with beef and bacon bits please.”

“And extra cheese,” Felicity piped in.

“And Diet Coke with no ice,” Caitlin said.

“Same, but with ice and no straw for me,” Felicity said. “Save the environment and all.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” Cisco said. “Hey, man, how about you?”

Jax looked at them. “You guys are hella weird.”

“But?” Cisco prompted cheekily.

He shrugged. “You’re not bad.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Barry does this thing where I’m not sure if he’s complimenting or insulting me,” Caitlin said. “Is that an athlete thing?”

“Way to stereotype us,” Jax said. “And I’m pretty sure that’s called a backhanded compliment.”

Caitlin snapped her fingers. “I knew there was a word for it…”

Cisco went to buy their snacks, and when he came back, the conversation—even with nachos and the best of intentions (particularly Felicity’s)—didn’t quite stay on track. It was, as usual, one-part insight and three-parts insanity, but Caitlin didn’t mind. It was good to be in their company again.

When Monday came around, Caitlin had the uncanny feeling, as she walked out of her dorm, that she was being stared at.

It wasn’t something she realized right away. After all, she’d spent most of her formative years in a state of near-invisibility. The only exception to that was when teachers announced the highest score in class (which, in science subjects, would almost invariably be her) and she would, for a few minutes, be the spotlight of the everyone’s awe and envy. But after class, she drew no more stares, elicited no more whispers. Smart wasn’t as valuable a currency as pretty or sporty was in high school, and she was perfectly content with that, as she never had to expend energy with the sort of self-conscious thinking that came with assuming that her peers were interested in her.

But today, something strange happened. As she walked down the near-deserted hallway of her dorm—it was still early, and the lone souls who were already awake walked around like zombies in their bubbles of half-sleep—she registered the sound of voices in the early morning hush. Out of idle curiosity, she looked around until she found the source of the whisperings—a group of five freshmen, two of whom quickly turned away when her gaze settled on them.

She blinked, wondering if she’d imagined it, and then concluded that she must have. Freshmen, she thought, were especially prone to sticking in groups like that and over-sharing noisily, in hopes that it might translate into friendship.

But then it happened again. When she passed by two more groups of girls outside the dorm and sensed the tickle of whispers in her wake, she wondered if maybe her intuition was right. It was disturbing to suspect that one was the topic of someone else’s conversation without knowing what, exactly, was being said, and without having the means to confront them about it.

So it was when, upon reaching the foyer and seeing Eliza and Bette deep in conversation before abruptly falling quiet when she approached, she narrowed her eyes and said, “Not you, too.”

Bette raised a brow. “Hi, Caitlin.”

Eliza said, “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Caitlin sighed and took her seat across them. With a cursory look, she ascertained that three of the boys from her block were there—no sign of Hartley yet—along with two other people from Applied Chemistry (or was it Chemical Engineering? She could never really keep track). Most of them were half-asleep, using their backpacks to pillow their faces from the cool granite surface of the tables.

“Sorry,” she sighed. “I’ve been having this strange sensation this morning that people have been talking about me. Paranoid, I know—”

Eliza and Bette exchanged glances. Like she and Felicity, the two had been friends for so long that they seemed to be able to communicate just by looking at each other.

Caitlin was immediately suspicious. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Eliza said innocently.

“That look you just shared. It’s suspicious.”

Bette, who was usually quiet and stoic—even more than she was, probably because she was always with the animated Eliza—said, amused, “Aren’t we allowed to look at each other?”

“I think we’re allowed to a few secrets,” Eliza added with a sly smile, “since you’ve obviously been keeping yours.”

Caitlin paused. She knew that these girls meant well—they had a pleasant relationship formed on the basis of their being stranded together in a testosterone-dominated course—but she wasn’t comfortable divulging her feelings to them in the way she had with Felicity, Cisco, and Jax. They were the kind of friends she’d complain on coursework with, not the ones she’d have a heart-to-heart with.

She said cautiously, “If this was about the sing-off…”

“Oh, the sing-off was last week’s news,” Eliza said.

“It’s already been dissected to death while you weren’t around,” Bette said, with an apologetic smile. “It’s common knowledge now that you’re Barry Allen’s new girl.”

Caitlin blinked, feeling strangely violated—or rather erased—by the term. “Okay, no,” she said. “First of all, I am not ‘Barry Allen’s new girl.’ I’m me. I’m still the same Caitlin Snow majoring in Molecular Biology with you.”

“Right, of course,” Eliza said, smiling at her while propping her face up in cupped hands. “But it’s already pretty obvious to everyone that you two are a thing.”

“We’re not…” Caitlin trailed off when she realized she didn’t have anything to say to that, because what were they? They hadn’t gone out on a date yet, so they weren’t dating, but they weren’t a thing, either. Or… were they? In the first place, why in the world did people invent a term as vague as ‘a thing’ anyway? What spectrum of togetherness did ‘a thing’ encompass? And why was it that even before she and Barry had defined what they were to themselves, other people were already clamoring to define their relationship with nosy collective authority? Couldn’t they just mind their own business and leave a budding romantic relationship unlabeled?

Caitlin resisted the urge to press a hand to her temple. She couldn’t deal with this. It was too early in the morning to puzzle out the confusing semantics of human romantic entanglements.

Instead, she said, “Never mind. Second of all, last week’s news? Was there news this week involving him and me that I, of all people, wouldn’t know of?”

“Oh, I’m sure you know this,” Eliza said, giving her an enigmatic look. Caitlin felt like that look was her cue to spill what she apparently knew, but since she didn’t know anything, she remained quiet.

“If you’ll remember,” Eliza went on, when her pause became awkward, “there was a commotion last night at the dorm. Specifically, outside our wing.”

“What commotion?” Caitlin said, furrowing her brow.

Now, Eliza and Bette exchanged looks that were as bewildered as hers.

“You mean you really didn’t hear the commotion?” Bette said.

“No,” Caitlin said. “Should I have?”

“Oh my God, she has no idea,” Eliza said. “One of the hottest guys on campus is courting her—”

“Courting—of all the sheer nonsense—”

“—and she doesn’t have a clue,” Eliza finished.

“That is ridiculous,” she said. “I don’t know what commotion you’re talking about, but he’s not courting me. All I know is that he left a note on my window with ‘Good morning’ written on it.”

That was the abbreviated version. The full version was as follows:

Good morning :) I know, I know, when I walked you back, you said one week of no texts or calls or voicemails, but I’m pretty sure you didn’t say anything about sticky notes on windows. I’m kind of a pain in the ass, as you can see, aside from being a mildly annoying campus cutie and an insatiable hug monster (only for your hugs, though). Just so you know what you might be getting into. Anyway, I lost my main point for this note sometime after the smiley. I think I was supposed to write a poem, but I got sidetracked, and now I don’t have enough space. Well, I’ll find my main point tomorrow. In the meantime, ‘I miss you’ is probably enough. Can’t wait for Saturday. – Barry

“Mmm,” Bette said. “So you’re telling me that clambering up two floors of the girls’ dorms in the middle of the night, with a bouquet of flowers, a gift, and a note in hand, doesn’t qualify as courting?”

“A bouquet of flowers? How is that even—”

“At first I thought it was Cisco,” Eliza said, “because he visits your room sometimes, right, and he always makes so much noise. But when I opened my window to tell him to tone it down, guess who I saw instead?”

“Oh, by the way, here you go,” Bette said, pulling a single, long-stemmed rose from her backpack and handing it to a dazed Caitlin. “Half of the flowers were crushed during his climb,” she added, by way of explanation. “The others that weren’t crushed lost too many petals. This was the only proper rose left.” She pushed a box towards her. “Also, a gift from him. Said it was fragile.”

“He was supposed to sneak the stuff into your room,” Eliza said, “but he didn’t know that your window would be locked. Obviously he didn’t think things through.”

“Yeah, he also wrote his note on the wrong side of the post-it. We had to give him tape so he could stick the written portion against the glass facing your bed,” Bette said.

“Oh, and to clarify, we”—Eliza said, gesturing to the two of them—“weren’t the ones who gave him tape. Someone from the room below did.”

“It became a sort of group effort,” Bette said.

“Although his best friend—can’t remember her name, the one who wrote that article about sexism on campus—”

“Iris West,” Bette said.

“Right, her. She clearly didn’t support it,” Eliza said. “Stormed out of the dorm when she caught wind of what was happening just to tell him that he was an idiot.”

“She wasn’t yelling, but it was so quiet out there that people could hear what she was saying, anyway.”

“Good thing our dorm mom sleeps like a log.”

“Yeah, and good thing everyone loves Barry, so no one’ll tell on him…”

“It’s really strange that you didn’t hear anything,” Bette said, looking puzzled. “He made so much noise.”

It wasn’t all that strange. She and Felicity slept through the commotion courtesy of the remaining contents of the Smirnoff that she’d brought back from her drinking session with Barry.

“Hello, ladies,” came a voice that Caitlin knew all too well. “Finally got to interrogate her, huh? Do I finally get my—is that a rose? Why the hell do you have a rose?”

“Language, Hartley,” Bette said. “As you can see, the subject is still in shock.”

“The rose is from Allen, isn’t it?” Hartley said, scoffing. “Jesus, how predictable. Even I can tell you aren’t the roses kind.”

“Thank you for your valuable input, Hartley,” Eliza said. “Why don’t you run along now and compare notes with Barry, since you’re such an expert on Caitlin’s botanical preferences?”

“Dial down the bitchiness, sweetheart,” Hartley said. “It’s not even nine yet.”

“The rose isn’t the worst of it, really,” Bette said.

“Oh?” Hartley said gleefully, smirking and pulling up a chair from the other table, seeing as Caitlin’s backpack was still occupying the space beside her. “Do tell. Does the worst of it have something to do with this box?”

Caitlin finally snapped out of the daze she was in. She was having difficulty processing all… this. She needed another coffee. Maybe three. “I’m having difficulty imagining how he moved from the staircase to the window holding all this…”

“He had the bouquet in his mouth,” Eliza said.

Hartley’s brows shot up. “What,” he said, “the fuck?”

“What he said,” Caitlin muttered.

“She was kidding,” Bette said, giving Eliza a stern look. “He had a canvas bag.”

Eliza laughed. “Fine, but you have to admit you can totally imagine it.”

Hartley rolled his eyes. “I actually find it more unlikely that he had the foresight to bring a bag.”

“Well, are you going to open it?” Eliza said, gesturing to the box. “Bette and I have been dying to see what’s inside.”

Caitlin gave them a look, and Eliza said, “Hey, you can’t blame us. We’ve been safekeeping it for the last seven hours.”

“This really is beneath me,” Hartley said casually, “but I am curious to see what sort of disgustingly sentimental gift he got you. Gifts are a reflection of the giver, as someone once said. Can’t remember who it was, though…”

“You know, you can admit you’re curious without having to insult anyone,” Caitlin said.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he smirked. “Well? Are you opening it or not? We don’t have all day, Frosty.”

Caitlin sighed and relented, if only out of weariness. She opened the box without ceremony—there was no wrapper so she simply had to lift the flap—and peered inside. Three other heads neared to peer in, too.

It was a cactus.

On the flap, it said, I already got the roses when I saw this, but this is way better. You’re more of a cactus person, I think. ;) – Barry

Hartley barked a laugh. “I take it back. Allen is a fucking genius.”

“I don’t know,” Bette said dubiously. “It sounds like an insult.”

“It’s definitely an insult,” Eliza said. “You’re more of a cactus person—does that mean you have the qualities of a cactus?”

“He’s not wrong,” Hartley said. “Caitlin’s botanical identity aside, though,” he added, “everyone still owes me money, because she obviously accepted his advances…”

Caitlin, on her part, had already tuned them out. Barry Allen was a hopeless romantic and a complete idiot, and he also possibly had a screw or two loose, but he meant well, and he really and truly seemed to like her, and he was…

He was hers to like back.

Still, he had to stop climbing walls in the middle of the night to give her… whatever else he was planning on giving her. She had no clue about what courtship entailed, but she was sure that it didn’t have to be as life-threatening as he made it seem.

Caitlin didn’t think to approach him right away about this, though, because she didn’t think he’d be sending any more gifts her way. She thought he would have desisted with the flowers and the cacti, opting to leave only sticky notes instead.

She was wrong.

Well, not exactly. The next day, she did receive another note on her window, but she also received a heart-shaped box of chocolates and another cactus (both delivered by Cisco). This was puzzling, because she had no use whatsoever for a heart-shaped box, and she had no strong feelings about chocolates. Not that she didn’t like chocolates, per se; she’d just never particularly craved for them or sought them out. She didn’t want them to go to waste, though, so she ate two or three pieces before welcoming Cisco and Jax to finish up the rest.

This, surely, she thought, would be the end of it. Surely he knew that giving her gifts every single day until Saturday, for no particular reason and with no particular occasion, was an absurd and costly enterprise.

But she was wrong again. On Wednesday, she received the requisite note on her window and a teddy bear named Beary—See what I did there? ;) he’d said in his note—sporting a cactus pin. (She must’ve forgotten to lock her window last night after Cisco and Jax had left, so he was able to slip them onto her bedside table.) Now, if the chocolates were mildly puzzling, the teddy bear was downright bewildering, because she had given up stuffed animals altogether at the age of five, when her father had introduced her to illustrated encyclopedias. If she had no use for a teddy bear back at five years old, she had even less use of it now at twenty-one. She was aware that it was common for other couples to give each other stuffed animals, but that was other couples. For some reason, other couples found it cute to give their significant others a reminder of a more infantile period in their lives. Or perhaps the intention was for the recipient to endow the inanimate object with some of the partner’s qualities, so that it could serve as a reminder of the partner when he or she was away…

This was all just conjecture, of course. She’d never quite understood it. Even now that she herself was the recipient of a stuffed animal, she still didn’t understand what she was supposed to do with it.

To be fair, Barry didn’t know that she didn’t particularly care for chocolates or for stuffed animals. But perhaps that was the point—he didn’t know what she liked, and had simply assumed she would enjoy this standard romantic fanfare.

This brought to mind something Hartley had said the other day, about gifts being a reflection of the giver. Irritating as he was, she had to agree with his assessment: These gifts were less a reflection of her than they were a reflection of Barry. They conveyed the sincerity of his intentions well enough, but they also conveyed a startling lack of knowledge of who she was.

Well, not exactly. She did enjoy the sticky notes, and the cactus symbolized an inside joke that only the two of them shared and understood. Everything else, though, puzzled her.

She didn’t want to discard them, because that would mean discarding Barry’s feelings, too. (And, on an aside, Beary seemed to grow cuter the longer she looked at it [him?], which made her more reluctant to discard it [him?]. She made a mental note to Google the evolutionary value of cuteness even in lifeless objects.) But at the same time, the sole function of the rose, the chocolates, and the bear was to convey Barry’s intentions, which had been fulfilled the moment she’d received the gifts. Ergo, she no longer had any use for them. Was she obliged to keep these things around as relics of his affection for her? Then again, she knew that he liked her anyway, so why did she need all these things to remind her of it?

She frowned. She was trapped in a symbolic deadlock. Clearly when she confessed to him she didn’t foresee that things would become this complicated—and this when they weren’t even ‘a thing’ yet…

She sat back to view the gifts on her now-crowded bedside table and considered her situation. The most obvious course of action was to tell him to stop giving her gifts, but she could already tell that it would hurt him. But she also couldn’t think of a nice way to say it. The truth—“Please stop giving me gifts, I appreciate the sentiment but I find them useless” was too harsh, while a white lie like “I don’t have space to put them anymore” was too unconvincing. She could give him a list of what she liked, but she didn’t want to make it seem like she was asking for more gifts. Then again, she could inform him that she simply didn’t make a fuss about gifts, but clearly he made a fuss about gifts, so…

Great, she was back to her earlier deadlock.

Maybe it was time to call a friend. Felicity might know what to do. And, even if she didn’t, she might know how to soften a sentence like “Please stop giving me gifts, I appreciate the sentiment but I find them useless.”

Right, talk to Felicity it was, then.

. . .

On her way out of her room, though, something unusual happened: She bumped into Iris West.

The fact that Iris was here on her floor was already unusual in itself. Iris lived two or three floors above her, and she didn’t seem to have close friends residing on the second floor, so Caitlin had never actually seen her in this hallway.

The second unusual thing was that Iris was alone. Caitlin may have only glimpsed her on campus a few times, but she had no recollection of Iris being alone—she was always either surrounded by her friends from the school paper, or she was with a tall, clean-looking guy—her boyfriend, presumably.

The third unusual thing was that Iris was walking towards her now. Caitlin resisted the urge to look behind her to see if Iris was walking towards someone else, and instead she pasted on a tentative smile, the sort she reserved for people with whom she knew only vaguely, and so wasn’t sure if she should greet or not. If the person noticed the smile and greeted her, she’d return the greeting with relief. But if the person didn’t notice the smile, then she’d look like an idiot, but not as big an idiot as she would have had she uttered an ignored ‘Hi’.

Iris, as it turned out, returned her smile. “Hi, Caitlin,” she said, slowing when she reached her.

A greeting and a slowing down. Clearly she was about to engage her in conversation, but what did Iris have to talk with her about? Did Barry send her to deliver a package, or to do some reconnaissance? But if she was going to do reconnaissance, wouldn’t it be wiser to approach someone closer to her, like Felicity?

“Hi?” Caitlin said.

“I’m glad I caught you on your way out,” she said. “I would’ve messaged you first, but Facebook says you haven’t been online in three days, so…”

“Sorry,” Caitlin said. “I don’t go online often.”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” she said. “I mean, I’m the one asking for your time. Not because I’m spying on you for Barry or anything,” she added hastily. “I just wanted to talk, that’s all. If you’re busy, though, I could—”

“I’m not,” Caitlin said. Her curiosity was sufficiently peaked. “My next class is in two hours. What did you want to talk about?”

“Great,” Iris said. “Could we… talk somewhere more private, like your room? Or my room’s fine, too. Gossip spreads pretty fast around here.”

“My room’s nearer,” Caitlin said. “It’s a bit of a mess, though. Well, Felicity’s side is a bit of a mess, so we could stay on my side…”

They both headed back to her room, and while Caitlin felt like the silence was awkward, Iris seemed completely at ease. She did look out of place in the shabby dorm room—with her red chiffon top, black leather skirt, and knee-high black boots, she looked like she’d stepped out of the pages of Vogue rather than a classroom—but she carried herself with the relaxed confidence of a person who made and followed her own rules.

“I know this is weird,” Iris said, “but Barry has also been acting weird lately, so I felt like I had to do something.”

“Weird, how?” Caitlin said, silently asking Felicity’s permission to borrow her chair. She pulled it up beside hers in front of her desk. She gestured for Iris to sit. “I haven’t known him long, but this”—she pointed to the items on her bedside table—“doesn’t seem too uncharacteristic of him.”

“Yeah, well, that’s true,” Iris said, sitting. From the direction of her gaze, Caitlin noticed the way Iris catalogued details carefully with her gaze: She scanned the usual school supplies on Caitlin’s desk (a plain white mug for writing materials, another one for highlighters, and a tray for bond paper), glanced at the stack of printed journal articles with notes and post-its, and lingered on the books on her shelf—The Double Helix by James Watson, Rosalind Franklin: The Dark Lady of DNA by Brenda Maddox, What Is Life? by Erwin Schrödinger, Einstein’s Dreams by Alan Lightman, and The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales by Oliver Sacks—all with yellowed pages. Those books were the only memorabilia she kept on her desk.

“Why do I feel,” Caitlin ventured when Iris reached the end of her quick survey, “that you’re already mentally writing profile of me?”

She was aiming to sound amused, and she supposed it succeeded, because Iris gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” she said. “Guilty as charged. Had to convince myself that I’m doing the right thing, and after seeing this”—she gestured to her Spartan desk and the books on display—“and that”—she gestured to her cluttered bedside table—“I’m pretty convinced. I’m guessing—no, I’m one hundred percent sure that you’re not the romantic type.”

“Not at all,” Caitlin said. And then, upon realizing that Iris might report all this to Barry, she added, “I do appreciate the sentiment, though.”

“Right,” Iris said, “but not the gifts.”

“Well…”

“Here’s the thing,” Iris said, sensing her hesitation. “I thought about talking to you back when he pulled that crazy stunt in the middle of the night, but for once, I stopped myself from meddling. Which is difficult for me, since I meddle in other people’s business for a living,” she added with a self-deprecating smile. “But I managed. ‘How bad can it be?’ I thought. ‘Who knows, maybe she likes flowers.’ When he gave you the chocolates, I thought, ‘Okay, fine, maybe she likes chocolates, too. Flowers are tricky, but chocolates are pretty safe. A lot of people are nuts for chocolates.’”

Caitlin was about to say that was nuts for neither flowers nor chocolates, but Iris seemed to be on a roll, so she let her continue.

“But when he gave you that teddy bear”—she gave the poor innocent Beary a dirty look—“and named it after him, that was the last straw. I said to him”—she made the phone gesture with her hand and brought it to her ear—“‘You gave her a teddy bear? Are you crazy? Do you even know if she likes teddy bears?’ and he was like, ‘But teddy bears are cute! Who doesn’t like teddy bears?’ and I was like, ‘Barry, if Eddie’—Eddie’s my boyfriend—‘gave me a teddy bear, I’d either donate it to charity or tell him to return it to the fricking store. Honestly, how old do you think she is? Five?’”

At this, Caitlin couldn’t help smiling. She was starting to like Iris. Iris made sense. “My sentiments, exactly.”

“Shit, I knew it,” Iris sighed. “I should’ve stopped him earlier, but it’s too late now. There’s no stopping him once he gets into planning. Although if it’s any consolation, he hasn’t gone this all-out since… Well, since. And there isn’t even any occasion. Can you imagine what sort of production number he’ll come up with if there is an occasion?”

“I’d really rather not,” Caitlin said, wincing. “If it’s going to involve a grand public display of affection, it’s going to be a nightmare.”

“Not a fan of PDA, huh?” Iris said. “This must be really uncomfortable for you. I mean, people have been talking nonstop about what he’s doing. I’ve lost count of how many times someone came up to me to ask about”—here she made quotation marks in the air—“‘Barry’s new girl.’”

Caitlin must have made a face, because Iris nodded sympathetically and said, “Yeah, I know. I was ‘Eddie’s new girl’ for some time, too, although for some reason he was never ‘Iris’s new guy.’ Ingrained sexism, that’s what it is. Really subtle, too, and harder to root out, but since women empowerment is having a moment—right, I’m ranting. Sorry. Bad habit.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m used to ramblers.”

“Ranters,” Iris corrected with a smile. “Wouldn’t want to be lumped in the same category as Barry. At least I don’t lose my main point while talking.”

Caitlin smiled. “He is prone to that.”

“Don’t I know it. Sometimes I just tune out until like, three hundred words later, when he finds it again. Come to think of it, I shouldn’t have tuned him out when he was spouting all those nonsense ideas… I might’ve been able to stop him from doing all this…”

“Is there really no way to ask him to stop with the gifts?” Caitlin said tentatively. “The sticky notes are okay, just not… this production number, as you called it.”

Iris paused. “I could try to talk to him again,” she said. “And anyway, isn’t he supposed to be giving you space?”

“Yes, well. Obviously he failed. I even have less literal space in my room now.”

Iris laughed. “That’s true.”

They fell into a brief, comfortable silence.

“Hey, Caitlin,” Iris eventually said, “thanks for being honest. I know it sounds like I’m selling my best friend out, but it’s just, he really likes you, and I don’t want him to screw himself over. He can be really eager, you know? When he’s excited he just jumps into things without thinking. Loses all sense of timing and subtlety, too.”

Iris paused as if debating whether or not to continue, but before Caitlin could come up with a response to fill in the silence, she went on. “His mom and dad were also really big on romance,” she said. “We grew up watching them trying to out-surprise each other on their anniversary and on Valentine’s Day. It was crazy, the things his dad did. Once, he decorated their whole house with flowers, because his mom absolutely adored flowers. This other time, he ordered chocolates from France, Sweden, Belgium—you know, places where those fancy chocolates come from—and made it look like a chocolate buffet from around the world. His mom was like that, too. She used to throw him these themed surprise parties. There was one party where she invited everyone—his former patients, his students, his colleagues from the hospital, his colleagues from whatever medical association he was part of—and she had someone from each group give him a toast. He was so teary-eyed at the end that he couldn’t give a proper thank-you speech.” Iris sighed. “His parents had something really special, you know? Even my dad thought so. Everyone who knew them thought so. The happiest couple in the world, people would call them.”

Caitlin absorbed all this in silence. “He does look like someone who grew up surrounded by that kind of love,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” Iris said, smiling. “He was such a happy kid. Still is, actually. And I think—and this is pure speculation,” she added, “but I think that more than having a great career, more than being rich or famous or successful, more than anything, really, Barry wants what his parents had. I’m not telling you should fulfil that,” she added quickly. “I just want you to understand where he’s coming from.”

“I understand,” she said slowly. “This is a lot to take in, though. I’m the antithesis of that picture of his parents you just described, as you can see.”

Iris laughed. “Yeah, that’s pretty clear to me. And honestly, I don’t think he’ll want you any other way. Just give him time to adjust.”

“Alright,” she said. “Thank you for… talking to me. To be honest, I wasn’t sure how to proceed with all this.”

“Oh, no problem,” Iris said, waving a hand. “If you need help with Barry—or anything, really—you can message me any time.” She stood up. “Anyway, I should go. You have class, right?”

“In an hour, yes,” Caitlin said, accompanying her to the door.

“Hey, maybe in the future, we could do a double date or something,” Iris said. “You and Barry and me and Eddie. I’ll take you to all the best hole-in-the-wall places. A lot of the owners know me already, so I get discounts, too. It’ll be fun. What do you think?”

Caitlin blinked. “Okay,” she said.

“Great,” Iris smiled and squeezed her arm. Caitlin tried not to shy away from it. “I’ll go talk to Barry before he brews tomorrow’s disaster. See you around, Caitlin.”

When she left, Caitlin returned to her desk. Well. That was strange, but not entirely unwelcome, especially since Iris herself had offered to talk to Barry. She also found herself relieved that she could get along with Iris. She wasn’t exactly the friendliest of people, but Iris had enough friendly in her for the two of them.

“Now,” Caitlin muttered, staring at Beary’s placid smiling face, “what to do with you? You’re going to want to stick around, huh? A real nuisance you are, just like your namesake…”

She stopped abruptly when she realized that she was talking to an inanimate object, and then squinted warily at Beary. She was beginning to be gripped by this whole stuffed-animal craze, and she wasn’t sure what she felt about that…

. . .

“Cait? Hey Cait, bananas!”

Caitlin looked up from her laptop. “What? What’s happening?”

“Ha, got you to look!” Felicity grinned triumphantly. “You ready to sleep? I’m going to kill the lights now.”

Caitlin gave her friend an odd look, but, being used to such antics (or Felicitisms), she merely saved her file and slipped her laptop onto her table. “Yeah, sure.”

The lights went out. Felicity shuffled to her bed, and Caitlin heard her fold her glasses and place them on her bedside table with a soft thunk.

A few moments later, Caitlin ventured, “Hey. Are you sleepy?”

“No, not really.” Felicity turned to face her. Her face was blurry in the moonlight. “Are you?”

“No.” She paused. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, okay. Shoot.”

“Remember that story I told you, the one Iris told about Barry’s parents?”

“Mmm. What about it?”

“It bothers me.”

“Why?”

Caitlin curled further into her side. Had she been talking to Felicity during the day, with Cisco and Jax with them, she might not have said this out loud. But now, wrapped up in her blanket and enveloped by the warm, inviting darkness of their room, filled with the well-worn and well-loved things they had shared for over two years, Caitlin felt brave enough to be vulnerable.

“He wants a happy ending,” she said. “I’m clearly not his happy ending. He needs someone who can match his… exuberance, I guess. His generosity. Someone who’ll give him what his parents had. I don’t think I can. I don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“You don’t know that,” Felicity said. “You haven’t even started dating yet.”

“I think that’s the point. We haven’t started dating yet and we’re already incompatible,” she said. “At first, I thought admitting my feelings was a bad idea because I didn’t want to get hurt, but now I think it’s a bad idea because I don’t want him to get hurt. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“Ah,” Felicity said. “So you don’t think you’re good enough for him?”

“Well,” Caitlin exhaled, “more like I’m not right enough for him.”

“Yeah, I get that. I still feel that way with Oliver sometimes, you know.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Well, we haven’t been together for long, but still. I was terrified, remember? And you were terrified for me, too. Told me that if I had any common sense, I’d walk away from him right this instant, before things got too serious.”

Caitlin smiled. “Fortunately for Oliver, you had zero common sense.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Sometimes, when I’m with him and I’m feeling really happy, I get hit by sheer panic. Like, I start thinking, It’s impossible for anyone to be this happy. He’s going to cheat on me one day, or else he’ll get bored with me and break up with me… Oh my God, if he does, I’ll never find someone like him again, I’ll never be this happy again… and so on.”

“You still think about that?” Caitlin said, incredulous. “Have you seen the way Oliver looks at you? When you’re in the room he literally cannot focus on anything else.”

“Yeah,” Felicity said, with a modest shrug, “but I guess sometimes we sabotage our own happiness.”

Caitlin moved to lie on her back. “I think I’ve felt what you’ve felt with Oliver,” she said quietly. “I just feel… so light with Barry. Or happy, I suppose. I’m not sure. But I know that when I’m with him, I don’t want the moment to end. And when I saw him with Patty—I told you about that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“When I saw him with Patty, I was devastated. But there was this small part of me that was almost… gleeful about it. It’s hard to explain, but that part of me seemed to be saying, You knew this would happen. You were right, he’ll never like you. Good thing you didn’t get too attached.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Felicity said. “Sometimes I hear that voice in my head, too.”

“Why does it do that?” Caitlin said, confusion and frustration seeping into her tone. “Why does our mind do that? Why is it that when we’re happy, our first instinct is to be skeptical of happiness?”

Felicity was quiet for a moment. “Maybe our mind is trying to protect us from getting hurt,” she said. “Maybe we only open a little part of ourselves up to happiness so that when it leaves, it doesn’t take all of us with it.”

Her words sank into the darkness of the room.

“Or, wait, no,” Felicity said. “If Oliver… breaks up with me, yeah, I’ll be devastated, and I’ll probably cry for days, and the part of me that was only me around him will be gone. But I don’t think that means I’m less of a person if he leaves. I won’t be left with like, only a few pieces of my heart or something. Pretty sure I’m stronger than that.”

“You definitely are.”

“Thanks,” her friend said, smiling. “So I guess what I’m trying to say is... we try to protect ourselves from that one painful moment we think we won’t be strong enough to withstand. For me it’s Oliver breaking up with me for whatever reason. For you it’s disappointing Barry. And we sort of obsess over it, that painful moment, because we want to do anything to prevent it. And when we do that we forget to enjoy whatever’s happening now. Or that even if that moment does happen, we can and will survive it.”

“Like having tunnel vision,” Caitlin murmured. “Being scared of the pain is like having tunnel vision. You stop seeing possibilities around you.”

“Yeah,” Felicity said. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You’re saying that I should give this thing with Barry a real chance, aren’t you?”

Felicity grinned. “I’m saying that, or you are?”

“Touché.”

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” she said. “You guys have a lot to talk about. I mean, flowers and chocolates and teddy bears are sweet, but they’re just not your thing.”

“So I heard. Apparently it’s common knowledge for everyone besides him.”

“You’ll think of something,” Felicity said. “I think he’s just excited now so he can’t think straight, but he means well. He really wants to make you happy.”

“I suppose so.”

“And if he can’t see you behind all those romantic notions of his, believe me, I’ll be the first one to tell you to stop trying.”

Caitlin gave her friend a smile. “Thanks.”

There was a lull in the conversation.

“Think we should go to sleep now?”

“Yeah, we probably should,” Felicity said, pulling her blankets to her chin. “Oh, before I forget, Oliver says thanks for the Smirnoff.”

“Tell him he’s welcome.”

“You traitors,” Felicity yawned. “Scheming behind my back.”

“Good night to you too, Felicity.”

Her friend smiled and buried her face in her pillow. “Good night, Cait.”

#snowbarry #snowbarry fic #snowbarry fanfiction #barry x caitlin #wonderful you came by #my fic #barry allen #caitlin snow #felicity smoak #iris west #cisco ramon #hartley rathaway #jefferson jackson #oliver queen

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