#this pen was not v kind to my wrist so i at least know NOT to use her again HEJEODHKDHD

[angelofacidx]

Mine

((@bunnyreaper V day exchange for @literatecowboy . I do not write fluff but here’s my crack at it, enjoy))

Ghost x reader fluff.

Valentine’s Day is a stupid Hallmark holiday meant to put pressure on couples to over perform and shower each other with gifts so that they may forget about how they treat each other the other 364 days of the year, or to make people feel isolated and lonely for not having a partner in their life. At least, that’s what you’d told yourself for most of your adult life. A self soothing consultation? Maybe. Valid? You’d like to think so. This view was swayed however, when Simon slipped his way past the iron gates of your heart and made himself a home there, rent free, the bastard.

A poorly folded note sat on top of your endless pile of risk assessment paperwork to go over before the end of the week, looking sorely out of place on your otherwise tidy desk. The note found itself clutched between your hands and splayed open as your curiosity surged. The handwriting itself was harsh, pen pressed too hard, angrily or nervously, and akin to what you’d expect a serial killer’s penmanship to be.

‘Be my valentine? -S’

Good lord, this was cheesy for anyone but especially for Simon. Regardless you felt the heat rise to your cheeks and your lips half quirk up involuntarily and awkwardly. Tucking the note away into your desk drawer, you headed to the rec room in pursuit of it’s sender. Thankfully, he was hunkered down on the peeling leather couch, tea in hand as he scrolled through an article on his phone. Probably about WWII. Men love WWII.

“You know you didn’t have to ask right?” You speak up, causing Simon’s gaze to tear away from his phone and fall onto you.

“Pardon?”

“The note. You didn’t have to ask. It’s kinda like…implied since we’ve been uhm..” You cough, clearing your throat and hoping he understands the implication.

“Is that a yes?” He asked, an eyebrow raised, and not bothering to humor you.

“…Yes, but no corny stuff.”

“So a string quartet to your office. Got it.” He says, turning his attention back to whatever he was reading.

When you wake, Simon is out of your bed and gone, his side neatly made with the corners of the sheets and duvet hospital tucked and the pillow fluffed. This wasn’t unusual for the two of you by any means. He’d come over after work, get fed, rearrange your internal organs in a way he saw fit, retire with you for the night, and then be out before his conditioning regimen started.

You sit up in bed, arching your back like a cat and stretching your body out with a content moan, shrugging off the sleepy feeling that ran bone deep. Your phone lit up on your bed side then, calling your attention to the string of ‘happy Valentine’s Day!’ texts from your friends. Cute. No text from Simon though, as you suspected. You wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot about the whole ordeal and the note was just a manipulation tactic, hoping you’d fawn over the gesture and suck the soul out of him harder than you had before.

Your morning routine went by without issue. Shower, brush your teeth, get dressed and apply makeup, a small spritz of perfume to your wrist. Making your way to the dining room, the usual resting spot for your keys, you’d noticed an iced coffee from your favorite cafe sitting on the table. It was a kind gesture, although the cup was sweaty and the ice was slightly melted, it was sweet of him nonetheless.

Your day at work dragged on as usual. Typing, filing, placing new recruits in their respective units and then completing the paperwork that went with it. Although you were just a desk jockey, you were the backbone of every goddamn task force on this base. Nature called you out of your office to relieve yourself and upon returning, your eyes mimicked an owl’s; huge pupils the size of saucers. Your desk was overtaken by a flower arrangement. Two dozen roses, babies breath, carnations, and eucalyptus all bunched together with a big silky black bow and overflowing the poor glass vase.

This was too much and beyond embarrassing. Your face heated, palms gathering sweat, and heart hammered somewhere deep in your chest. You mentally cringed at the image of carrying this home, the walk of shame off base and the sure to follow childish “ooo”’s from your colleagues. You had to admit though, it was a beautiful arrangement. He had to have picked it out and put some thought and consideration into it, which meant a lot to you even if you didn’t want to admit it.

With a determined pace you left your office, aiming to find Simon. After checking every nook and cranny of the base and leaving no stone unturned, you came up blank. He definitely knew you were looking for him, and saw you before you could see him. Though he was massive, he was able to be elusive and slip right through your fingers like sand. You admired the ability and wished you could do the same, but in the moment you hated him for it. Feeling defeated you headed back to your office, hat in hand, to see another note on your desk.

‘I’ll see you at home. -S’

Home. The word echoed in your mind. Though he stayed over at your place most nights during the week he’d never called it your home. The word itself sent you reeling, a giddy chuckle escaping you before you could stop it. Jesus, get a grip. He’s a guy you’re monogamously hooking up with who just so happens to return to your house every night like a stray cat, not your boyfriend. Totally not.

The end of your shift could not come faster. You sped walked to your car with your arms around the comically large vase, careful not to spill any water as it sloshed around and threatened to soak you. The vase ended up in your passenger seat, buckled in like a person as you made the trek back home.

Entering and kicking off your shoes, the smell of garlic, basil, and onion hit you. Simon sat at the table, two plates of pasta on either side and two glasses of wine. Carefully, you set the vase down as a centerpiece and ruffled a hand through his hair.

“You didn’t need to do all that Si. I appreciate it but you totally could have gotten away with a card or something.” You said, placing a kiss on his forehead before taking a seat at the table. Everything looked amazing.

“You’re better than a card darlin’ M’ almost offended for you. Have some standards will ya?”

“If I had standards you wouldn’t be sitting across from me.” You teased, which pulled a chuckle from his chest and the shake of his head. Your hand found his, giving him a reassuring squeeze that you were joking before letting it fall to your side.

“Did you cook this?” You questioned, stabbing a fork into the pasta and swirling it to gather some on the fork.

“…No. But I plated it so that counts for somethin’ right?”

“It does.” You assured, digging into your food.

The dinner and wine was delicious but silent, how the both of you liked it. Life and work was so busy it was nice to just sit together and exist without noise sometimes.

After you’d both finished you attempted to stand and clear the dishes but he stopped you with a hand to your chest, taking the duty on himself.

“They are beautiful, really. The flowers I mean. I appreciate them and I appreciate you, you really didn’t have to—.”

He cut you off with a wave of his hand, drying them on the dish towel after he finished cleaning up.

“You’re goin’ all soft on me and haven’t even opened the best part.”

“The best part? What is it?” You questioned too fast, mentally scolding yourself for sounding eager.

He fished a small box out of his pocket, placing it on the table in front of you and nodding his head, a silent tell to open it. Your hands found the box, opening it at its hinges carefully. Inside and sitting on the plush black velvet of the box laid a small silver chain necklace with the initial ‘S’.

Your eyes once again widened in awe as he moved to grab it from you carefully.

“Hold up your hair.” He said barely above a whisper.

With your hair out of the way he clasped the necklace around you, adjusting it to his liking before letting your hair fall back to its resting place.

“I uhm.. This.. What does this..?” You trailed off, anxiety twisting in your stomach.

“It means you’re mine, yeah?” He said in a hushed tone, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“..Yeah.” You agreed, breathily and hugging him to your chest.

You were his.

[sunflowershouto]

crisis - shouto todoroki x fem!reader

a/n: enjoy! my requests are open, so if you liked this fic, please feel free to drop me an ask -leo

warnings: marital issues, mentions of parental neglect and abuse (in relation to todoroki's backstory), mild angst

because i write from a third person point of view, i recommend using the interactivefics extension! it replaces y/n, l/n, etc, with whatever you insert into the extension, and helps to make fics super immersive! it's a chrome extension, and you can find it in the chrome store.

[the song that inspired this fic is Crisis by Annie Eve]

𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒈 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒚. . . 𝑰'𝒎 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖. . . 𝑰'𝒎 𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏, 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖. . .

𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐒

Y/N's keys chimed together softly as she dug them out of her coat pocket, her gloved hands struggling for a moment to take hold of the cool metal. Her face still stung from the cold of the snow outside, and she hurried to unlock the door to the apartment, stepping inside and letting her shoulders slump as soon as the door was shut behind her.

The place was silent, but a glance towards the kitchen, where a light shone dimly through the doorway, told her that Shouto was home.

Without announcing her presence, she slid her coat off, then removed her boots and placed them on the shoe rack, where they stood alone. The coat hanger in the entryway was the same way—her coat was the only one there, looking lonely as it hung in solitude from the rack.

"I'm hom—I'm here," Y/N called tentatively, catching herself before she could say the word 'home.' She lingered awkwardly by the front door, as though afraid to enter. "I'll get started on dinner soon."

There was a long silence as she crossed the hall into the living room, which was pristinely clean, but looked more like a picture from a catalogue than anywhere actually inhabited. The sofa cushions were uncreased, the table spotless and uncluttered. She stared at the room blankly, and realized that she felt like a stranger.

"I've already eaten."

There was no surprise, only a dull sting as she let out a soft sigh, pressing her eyes shut. "Alright. That's fine."

It had been a month of this already, and Y/N knew that most husbands, most couples, would have already worked a way around something like this—at the very least, they would have found a way to sweep it under the rug for a few more months, pretend that it didn't exist. But Shouto wasn't most husbands, and they were not most couples.

When Shouto wanted to hold onto something, he could take it to his grave; how else could he have gone for years without using an entire half of his quirk? She had always loved his stubbornness, admired him for his tenacity, but now when she looked at him, all she could see was a wall that she didn't know how to scale.

It was her fault, this whole argument. She had been the one to bring up the idea of having kids, she had been the one to press him on it, to try to have the conversation before he was ready.

They had been happy. If she had just left well enough alone. . .

Another long sigh drew itself from her chest, and she turned towards the kitchen, footsteps soft against polished hardwood. "Sho. . . Can we at least talk? Please?"

He was sitting at the kitchen table, staring down at an untouched mug of tea that Y/N could only assume had already gone cold. His dual-toned gaze flickered up towards hers for just an instant, and for a moment she thought she saw a spark of progress. Then the ice took over again, and he cast his gaze back down, his mouth bent into an uncomfortable grimace.

Y/N wasn't used to not knowing what to say to him; part of the reason that they had worked so well as a couple was their ability to practice utter candor with one another. This feeling of words being stuck on her tongue. . . It was foreign to her, daunting. Temptation to indulge in her anger sparked in her chest; it would be so easy to snap at him, to remind him with vicious fervor how badly he was hurting her, but those sparks died down as she took another look at his face. She knew that he was hurting too, that he was just as lost for words as she was. "Shou," she tried again, leaning against the doorway, her voice gentle. "We can't do this forever."

His grimace settled deeper into his features, and she saw his shoulders tense, his hands tightening around the ceramic mug. "What can we do?" he finally asked, brow creasing.

"We can talk about this. I know what you're scared of, Shou." Y/N crossed the kitchen to be at his side, her hand coming carefully up to the side of his face, fingertips skimming the red, rough skin over his scar. "You won't be like him. You won't be like your fath—"

"Don't."

Her breath caught in her throat at the feeling of his grip around her wrist, pulling her hand away from his face. His eyes were burning with something that rested in the valley between grief and rage.

His grip tightened again before he let her go, his chair wailing as he shoved it away from the table, his gait hurried as he rushed away from her.

Y/N could only watch as he left the kitchen and disappeared up the stairs like a ghost, drifting farther and farther away. Her eyes stung and a lump burned in her throat, and she fell into the seat that he had been occupying just a moment ago, burying her face in her arms.

She sat in silence under the dim kitchen light until her joints began to ache and her eyelids felt heavy. Eventually, she pulled herself up and padded slowly up the stairs, careful not to walk too loudly. The door to the bedroom felt heavier than usual, and the sight of Shouto lying with his back to her brought her pause. She didn't know if he was awake, if he knew that she was there or not, and part of her didn't care. He didn't move as she retrieved her pillow from her side of the bed and left the room, heading back down the stairs and finding a restless sleep on their barely-used sofa.

The events of that night had alienated her even further, and if there had been a wedge between them before, it now felt like a chasm.

Weeks passed with little change, and though they shared a space, Y/N could hardly say that it felt like they lived together. After the first few nights, Shouto had told her that she could have their bedroom—he would sleep on the couch.

Part of her was angry with him for it; even when he was being infuriating, he still found a way to remind her why she loved him. One kind gesture, however, wasn't enough to make up for almost two months of dysfunction. Y/N realized that she couldn't take this. Not for much longer, at any rate. She got home from work one cold evening, and found him as she usually did, sitting at his desk, handling paperwork for the agency.

"Shouto." Her voice was even, steady because she'd rehearsed this conversation in all its permutations before she'd even made it to their front door. She needed to be ready, or else she knew that she would break.

His hand tightened around his pen, and he froze for a moment, before setting it down and turning in his chair, not quite meeting her eyes. "Yes?"

"Look. . . I love you, but I can't do this. I can't stay here if you're going to act like I don't exist. If avoiding one conversation is worth our marriage, then fine. I'll accept that, but I won't stay. Do you understand?"

His eyes snapped to hers, widening ever so slightly. In that moment, he looked more attentive, more alert than he had in months. "Y/N. . ." His eyes fell shut and he leaned forward against the desk, raking his hands through his hair and drawing in a shaking breath. "I just- I need time. Don't go."

"I've given you time, Shouto," she shot back quickly, raising her voice slightly. "I need you to give me answers."

He fell silent again, staring down at the desk, his hands still tangled in his hair as he realized that he was stuck within an ultimatum.

She was deafened by his silence, and she looked to the side, jaw tightening before she began to step away and out of the room. "I'm going, Shouto." "Y/N—" "Don't."

As soon as she had packed her things, she left the apartment without sparing him another glance.

A week passed, and Y/N quickly realized how accustomed she had grown to living with Shouto; even when they had been sleeping in different rooms for weeks, it felt odd to live somewhere where he wasn't. She found it difficult to sleep in her friend's apartment, and even more difficult to eat with the growing uncertainty that was gnawing a pit in her stomach.

She knew that forgetting her notebook was a weak excuse to go back to the apartment, but she didn't have a better one, and part of her was too prideful to admit that she had simply missed him, that she was starting to feel like it was better to struggle with him than to try to move on without him. At the very least, she wanted to see him again, and maybe there was a little part of her that was hoping that he wanted to see her too.

It was late on a Friday night when Y/N drove back to their apartment, hoping that maybe he'd be asleep, and that she could sneak past him and he'd never have to know that she was thinking about coming back to him.

She tried to muffle the sound of her keys, but they rang loudly as she unlocked the door, trying to remain silent as she slipped back into the apartment. In her absence it had hardly changed; the furniture still looked unused, the kitchen was still perfectly clean. Shouto had never been the type to let his internal turmoil leak out into his surroundings, and Y/N didn't suppose that he was spending much time outside of his office.

She slipped off her shoes, then crept up the stairs without turning on the lights, navigating the dark apartment by memory as she made her way to the bedroom. The door was shut and the light was out, and a feeling of relief washed over her as she realized that he must have been asleep. Slowly, she pushed the door open, and stepped into their room.

Even in the dark, the room was achingly familiar; the colors that she and Shouto had picked out together stood out vaguely in the darkness, and it was all she could do not to succumb to the lump in her throat. She pressed forward, moving towards her nightstand and trying to ignore Shouto, who seemed restless as he slept alone.

When she realized that he was whimpering, she stopped dead in her tracks, her gut twisting. Nightmares were rare for him, but Y/N had always been the one who was there to pull him out of them; now he had no one, and guilt burned at her chest at the idea of leaving him there like that, forsaking him to the demons in his head.

Against her better judgment, she reached forward and flipped the switch on her nightstand lamp, washing the room in a dull, warm glow. In the light, she could see the sheen of sweat on his face, the way his muscles tensed and his face twisted in discomfort. Her heart ached, and she stepped toward him, her own heart pounding in her chest as she did.

This was a bad idea.

He wouldn't want to see her.

She should turn around and let him think that she had never been there.

God, if it wasn't hard to remember why she'd left him at all.

"Shouto," Y/N whispered, moving to his side of the bed and placing her hand lightly on his shoulder. "Shou, wake up. Please, wake up."

The way he started awake made her heart ache—his eyes were wild, ringed with dark circles, his face drained of all color. He searched the room frantically until his eyes fell on her, and his face softened immediately, his hand coming up to her face as though against his will. "Y/N. . ."

She gave him a bittersweet smile, compassion glimmering in her gaze. "You're okay, love. I'm here now." Tears welled up in her eyes as she took him in, took in how exhausted he looked, took in how much he was revealing as he stared at her.

He looked dazed by his swell of emotion, and he didn't hesitate to pull her into his arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck as the tension went out of his shoulders, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps. "I'm sorry, Y/N," Shouto whispered, his arms tightening around her. "All of this. . . All of this was because I was scared. I didn't think I could give you what you wanted, and you payed the price. And- And my mother-"

"It's okay, Shou," Y/N murmured, running a gentle hand through his hair. "You don't have to explain."

"No, Y/N. Listen. Please." He drew in another breath before he continued. "After you asked me about having kids, my father came to mind. I didn't—don't—ever want to be like him. But my mother. . . I would go to see her, Y/N, after we had that talk. And when I looked at her, and thought about what my father did. . . All I could see when I looked at her was you. You don't—you don't understand how badly that scared me, Y/N. And I felt, stupidly, that if I said anything about it, that it would make it real. I was too scared to take that risk." His voice was trembling now, vulnerable in a way you'd never heard from him. "Do you understand? I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"God, Shou," Y/N choked out, tears spilling freely down the sides of her face as she clung to him. "You should have told me. I could have- I could have helped you."

"I know, love," he murmured, and Y/N remembered for the first time in months how good it felt to hear him call her 'love.' "I'm still just. . . Learning."

"I'm sorry too. Walking out on you like that, I. . ."

"No, Y/N." He pulled back to stare at her intently, meeting her eyes directly. "You did what you had to do. You were right. You gave me every chance to talk, and I didn't take it. That's on me. I won't let you blame yourself for my mistakes—that's what he would have done."

She knew better than to argue with him, so she merely nodded before burying her face in his shoulder again, relishing in the feeling of having his arms back around her, of finally having broken through the walls that had been built between them.

Shouto was lying on his back with her draped over his chest, dancing on the verge of sleep when her voice broke the silence.

"For what it's worth. . . You would make an amazing father."

He didn't reply, but Y/N could feel his hold on her tighten, could hear his breath catching in her throat—and if she really listened closely, she could hear quiet sniffles as she drifted off to sleep, happy again in her husband's arms.

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

The Morning After - Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia

A/N: This is the second part of the smut prompt: Did we fu*k last night? I was really excited to continue this story and I hope you like it too. Thank you for reading, reblogging, commenting, and liking. 

You can read the first part HERE. :) 

Pairing: Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x F! Reader 

Warnings: 18 + NSFW Explicit (language, lingerie, kissing, oral (F! receiving), multiple orgasms, p in v sex, fluff) 

Word Count: 3.1K 

My Masterlist 

The Morning After 

Last Time...

You look at the text message again. The perfect night of passion with Santiago, and he doesn't even remember if you…The phone chimes again. 

Santiago Garcia: I'm a moron. I don't know why I said that. I know that we did. It was one of the most incredible moments of my life. 

You: Then what the fuck, Santiago?

Santiago Garcia: I want to take you to breakfast, on a date. It's the least you could do after bailing on me last night. 

You: Well, I'm not sure I want to. 

Santiago Garcia: Well, that makes this awkward. 

You: What? 

Knock Knock 

*******

You throw yourself off the bed, almost tripping as you run into the bathroom and squeeze toothpaste all over the brush and furiously start brushing your teeth. Throwing off your shirt and shorts, you trip over the edge of the mattress, reaching into the drawer and pulling out a new bra and panties in black lace. You didn't know if it would lead to a repeat of last night, but a good soldier is always prepared before they go into battle. 

Tossing a black silk robe around your shoulders and cinching the waist, you run to the door. Taking a few moments to collect yourself before reaching towards the handle. On the other side, Santiago leans against the door jam, arms crossed over his chest. Jeans hugging him closer than a glove, navy blue t-shirt tight across his chest, and that damn hat low on his forehead. He looks up at you through the veil of his lashes, and you feel yourself burn under his gaze. 

"Can I help you?" you feel a surge of confidence, and his smile falters for a moment before he leans down and picks up a white box tied with a pink string and a drink carrier with four cups. "What's all this?" you point to the items, and his smile grows. 

"I told you last night I wanted to see you again," he lifts up the items, "I brought breakfast. I thought we could talk unless I royally fucked everything up with that text." Part of you wants to slam the door in his face, but the deeper part of you thinks about the way he ran back to kiss you. The way his lips felt warm and soft against your own as he asked you not to run away. 

"Come in," you say quietly, and he smiles, passing the threshold and following you to the dining room. He opens the box, and your mouth waters; pastries and sweets of all kinds, almost bursting out of the box. "My god, how many people are you planning to feed?" 

He blushes, looking away and uncapping the cups. "I didn't know what you'd want most, so I got one of everything they had in the case. I also got a latte, cappuccino, black coffee, and apple cider. I'm not sure what you wanted." 

You pause, "Apple cider? How did you know I-" 

"You really think last night was the first time I noticed you, baby?" He steps closer, and your eyes widen, "I've noticed everything about you. How much you love apple cider, your favorite color, and how you like all your pens in a nice row at the top of your desk." His hand glides up to your waist and hovers over the string tied around your waist. "I also know you're not wearing any clothes under this sheer thing." 

You quickly look down and curse. "Fuck," you didn't mean to put on the sheer robe, just the silk one. You quickly turn and walk away from him towards your bedroom, but his whistle catches your attention, and you turn. 

He saunters over slowly, one hand running over his mouth, his eyes rake over your body. Each sound of his boot on the hardwoods, making you shiver as he gets closer and closer. "Where are you running off too?" His tone surprises you; the softness not expected compared to the heat in his eyes. 

"I need to change; I didn't mean for...I didn't mean to wear the sheer." His eyes look at you, and you bite your lip as he reaches a handout and strokes it over your ass, closing the last bit of difference. 

"Do you want me to go?" he whispers, and his lips are but a ghost upon your own. "I came here to have breakfast with you, to talk," he leans over and kisses your cheek, "to get to know you," he goes to the other cheek and places his soft, warm lips upon it. Leaning down towards your ear, "Tell me you haven't thought about last night. Because it's all, I've been thinking about since I finished my speech and realized you were gone." 

He pulls back, and you see a flash of hurt in his eyes before it's gone. Years of hiding his emotions from others building up his defenses. "Why did you leave?" The question hangs in the air for a moment, neither of you moving. 

"I- I didn't want to see how little I meant to you," there the words are out—the truth of why you had to leave him after that perfect moment. "I'd gone back in to grab my bag and coat, and you were talking to that other woman at the bar. I may have acted confident last night, but I don't do one-night stands." 

His hands cup your cheeks, and you let out a small sniffle begging yourself not to cry. "I guess I didn't help the situation with my text this morning." 

You let out a watery chuckle, "no, it most certainly did not. Did you...did you go home with her?"

"Do you think I would go home with another woman and then show up at your house bringing you breakfast?" He wipes the traitor tears that have begun to streak down your cheeks. "Baby, it's you. It's been you for months, ever since Frankie introduced us. I just...shit, I don't know how to date. I did this whole thing backward; I'd been working up the courage to ask you out, and then we had fucking mind-blowing sex in an alley, and now I'm telling you my feelings." 

"You really are hopeless." He stops and looks at you, his face drooping like you stepped on his favorite toy. "But I like you too." 

He's frozen, and you reach up and wave a hand in front of his face to get his attention. "Santiago?" He grabs your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing each pad of your fingertips gently. The heat slowly rising as he finishes with your fingers and moves to your hand, your wrist, and up your arm until he finds your collarbone and places wet open mouth kisses. You whimper as he works higher to your neck and his hands drop down to the tie at your waist. "Can I take this off, baby?" You nod, and he moves to remove the tie pulling it apart at the waist and slipping it down your shoulders. 

He pulls away to look down, and his eyes turn darker as he drops the sheer robe to the ground. He circles you like a hawk, his hand creating a blazing path as it follows the curves of your body. Till he comes to stand before you, "Fuck, your so beautiful." You take his hat off his head and put it on your own. 

"Since we've already screwed up the order of things, why not just say what the hell and do it again?" His eyes are alight with mischief, and he pulls you close hands, kneading the flesh of your ass, your thong not leaving much to the imagination. Santi's an ass man, good to know. 

"On one condition," he's but a breath away from kissing you, and you just want him to finally kiss you. 

"What's that?" 

"The hat stays on." He crashes his lips onto your own, and you reciprocate tenfold. Both of you wound up tighter than a top as he slowly walks you backward until you hit the wall, hard. You whimper, and he pulls away, looking down at you in concern. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" 

"No," fuck this is embarrassing, "My back is just sore from…" His face splits into a shit eating grin, and you curse at how self-satisfied he looks. 

"From when I fucked my baby so good she came twice in the alley of a brewery on the night of my best friend's bachelor party?" 

You scoff, "No, from when some guy fucked me so good, he dug my back into the wall and made it sore." 

"How about I give you a massage?" His voice drops an octave as he pulls on your wrist, and you direct him to the bedroom. "Lay down on the bed, face down. Do you have any lotion or oil?" You go over to your little treasure trove of sexual delights, and he follows eagerly, pulling out a variety of items, including the warming oil. "Perfect, now strip." 

You turn and push him onto the bed, and he looks confused at you for a moment before his mouth drops open. You stand in the middle of the bedroom, moving your hips to a slow sensual rhythm in your head as you reach for the clasp on the bra, unsnapping it and giggling your chest forward to bring the straps down. His Adam's apple bobs as he watches your breasts sway as you step out of your panties bare before him. Approaching the bed, you move like your going to kiss him before you flop onto your stomach, giggling onto the bed. 

He laughs before his hand comes down to smack and knead your butt, leaning down and placing a kiss. You hear him squeeze the bottle of oil into his hands and rub them together to activate the warmth. Moaning as he finally touches the skin of your back and rubs them firmly down your spine. Fuck, he is good at giving massages; this might need to become a regular thing. You whimper as he works out a painful knot, and his breathing gets heavier as the slick begins to pool between your legs. 

"Shit, baby, those noises you make may become the death of me." You turn over, and he freezes hands poised above you as you look at him with lust ridden eyes. "Can I touch you here?" He hovers over your breasts, and you nod, biting your lip as he massages your breasts. The rough, calloused hands graze over your nipple before he leans down and captures one in his mouth. His eyes never leaving yours as he moves to the other, enveloping the hard nub into his mouth and sucking. 

He kisses his way back between the hollow of your breasts and then lower down your stomach. "Santi, you did that last night; let me taste you," you whine, and he tsks with his tongue coming back up to kiss your lips. 

"I love eating your sweet pussy; please don't deprive me of that. I want to see those beautiful lips wrapped around my cock but not right now. Let me taste you, baby, that's all I want." He licks your lips, and you open for him as you dance for dominance. "Up," he slaps the side of your ass, "I want you to ride my face, let me bury my tongue deep and taste you cum all over my tongue." Oh...fuck… "Plus my knees," he pauses and almost looks ashamed, "my knees can't take any more after last night." 

You sit up and cup his cheek, "My back and your knees, we make quite the pair, don't we?" He lets out a laugh, nodding, "Lay down, I will give you anything you want," he smiles, "within reason." 

He lays down on the bed, and you shift your knees to lay on either side of his head, holding onto the headboard to steady yourself, but he can't wait to pull you down. You let out a gasp as his tongue plunges inside you and licks broad stripes up and down your soaked cunt. "Santi," you whimper, and his fingers dig into your hips so you can't get away as he wrecks you with his mouth. You've always been vocal as you whimper, and moan, fingers digging into the headboard as he moves you forward and inserts a finger inside. "Oh my fuck," he adds a second and starts pumping into you, his other hand keeping you down. 

The pleasure is blinding as he works you faster, his tongue latching onto your clit and sucking hard. You cum all over his face as his tongue licks up every single drop, and you scream out his name. His palm holding tight to you to keep you down on him, lapping up every drop. He never stops, and you pant out his name and tap his hand holding you. "I want you inside me, fuck, for the love of god Santi," he lets go of your clit with a pop. 

"You can do it again, cum again for me, Querida," the smooth Spanish husky and deep as he gulps air before diving back in has you cumming again in no time flat. Your knuckles hurting from how hard you're digging into the headboard. 

He finally pulls his mouth away, and you tremble, hesitant to move, so you don't collapse and smother him in pussy. Although with Santiago, that would probably be a preferable way to go. You tremble as he takes one more wide lick of your pussy before shuffling out from under you, allowing you to collapse to the bed. You look up at him over the brim of his hat still on your head, and he smiles down at you before kissing you. You taste yourself on his tongue and moan into his mouth. "I want you to ride my cock baby, do you think you can do that?" 

"But Santi," you whine, "I want to suck your cock." He kisses your pouty lips softly and chuckles. 

"I plan to be around for a long time baby, there will be plenty of time for that. I want you to cum all over my cock, let me fill you so full you will be thinking of me every day for the next week." You bite your lip, running your hands through his hair and down his neck, cupping it. You feel a small line at the back of his neck, and you turn his head to see a scar. 

"What's this?" you ask, and his smile drops. 

"It's nothing," he tries to kiss you again, but you stop pulling away. 

"No more secrets," you cup his cheek, "Nothing will change the way I feel about you." 

"I had surgery about two years ago, my knees were already shot, but this surgery...it made everything worse. I'm worried that you are going to realize how broken I truly am and-" you cut him off with a kiss. 

"Nothing," you kiss him softly and push him down on the bed, "Absolutely nothing will change the way I feel about you. I'm choosing you. If your knees are shot, then you will have to lie there as I ride your cock, and your face, and suck your dick." 

The tears pool in his eyes, and you unbuckle his jeans and work them and his boxers down his legs and tossing them to the floor. "Take off your shirt," he lifts his arms and pulls off the navy t-shirt. The eye contact is intense, almost like you can see into his soul as you kiss each of his knees, his thighs, and the tip of his cock. 

"Get up here," he crooks one finger at you, and you crawl up his body, kissing him as you line him up with your entrance. Rubbing him through your slick. "Fuck, querida, you're so wet for me, aren't you? Such a good girl." The last word cracks as you impale yourself on him. 

Both of you moaning together as you take him deeper and deeper inside you. Until you are entirely seated on him, feeling that wonderful full feeling from the night before. You start slowly rocking your hips back and forth, each time hitting your clit deliciously. You begin to build up speed until your bouncing on his cock, tits bouncing in time with each thrust. "You look so goddamn beautiful wearing my hat and bouncing on my cock." 

"That's it. Be a good girl and ride me, baby," his hand comes and slaps the skin of your ass, and you groan, feeling the pleasure building. His other hand coming around to circle your clit. "Come on, coat my coat in all those delicious juices, baby. I want you to cum all over my cock." He plants his feet on the bed and starts fucking up into you, pounding your pussy. 

"Fuck, Santi, I'm gonna cum," you scream and clench around his cock as he praises you in English and Spanish cumming inside you almost instantly. He fills you so wholly, ropes of cum pouring inside you.

"Shit baby, I'm so sorry," he looks at you alarmed, "I didn't, I di-" 

"I have an IUD," you say him kissing him softly, and he returns it, letting out a breath. 

You pull off him, both of you groaning and collapse in his arms. "You know I really loved what we did in the alley last night, but this is better. I love just holding you like this." You sigh and giggle as your stomach grumbles. He laughs, "It looks like breakfast was a good idea. How about we bring that box in here and have some coffee and then do that again?" 

"I think that's a fantastic idea," you kiss him again and go grab the box, putting on the correct robe this time. 

************ 

Later 

Danger Zone rings throughout the room, and Santi reaches over your shoulder to his jeans on the floor, pulling out his phone. "Who's that?" you stretch and yawn, Santi keeping his other arm around you as he answers the phone. 

"Hello?" You hear the shouting on the other end and look at Santi, who looks just as alarmed. 

"FUCK, SHIT, I'M COMING! FUCK, I know! My tux is in the truck, don't worry, I will be there soon!" He hangs up the phone and stands up, reaching for his jeans. 

"Baby, we got to go," you sit up and watch him run around. 

"What's going on?" 

"It's two o'clock weddings in forty-five minutes! Frankie may really shoot me this time if I miss his wedding. I'm going to go get my tux, get dressed!" He runs out of the room, shirtless with his jeans unbuttoned. You sit there shocked before he is running back in, kneeling before you on the bed, "Will you be my date to the wedding?" 

"Of course," you shout, and he's kissing you again and running out the door. Life with Santiago will never be boring. 

 Should I make a part 3 where they go to the wedding together? Let me know. :)

Taglist: @oldstuffnewstuff​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @heythere-mel​ @justanotherblonde23​ @artsymaddie​ @anetteaneta​ @lunarthoughts​ @aellynera​ @lucifer-​ @houseofthirst​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @chicken-ona-stick​ @agirllovespancakes​ @letoartreiides​ @revolution-starter​ @josepedropascal​ 

 Others who might be interested: @mrsparknuts​ @neverlandlibrarian​ @the-purity-pen​ @thestreamergirl​ 

[sayonarasanity]

Reverberation

Chapter V

link to AO3

Chapter 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

notes: the song that will be mentioned in this chapter is She's a Rainbow by Lola Marsh and also here is the Spotify link. I highly recommend you to listen to it especially while reading that part. it's truly an incredible song

The first year of high school passed by in the blink of an eye. Between the adjustment of classes, advanced math, and literature, teachers of idiosyncratic character treats and a variety of teens in the class he didn’t even understand the period between September and June. If he was being honest there wasn’t much noteworthy difference between middle school and high school except for the lessons and maybe some physical changes among his peers as well as himself. Save for the height part. Apparently, he wasn’t gifted like that giant Mike or the very sophisticated Erwin Smith.

There was nothing much to do during the summer break. He worked alongside his uncle in the market to at least gain some money and not spend his whole time lying on his bed, sweaty and gasping for a breath while a single leaf on a tree begged for a tiny breeze to make it wiggle. He read some books, watched some TV shows, played soccer with the other boys in class; Mike, Erwin, Oluo, Guther, Eld and even Moblit when or if they were around. Went to the beach with the same squad in addition to girls like Petra, Nifa, Nanaba and Hanji.

Most of his time was spent with Hanji, of course. On the roof, in the attic, in each other’s rooms, sometimes at the library—because the heat didn’t stop Hanji from being a complete nerd—and sometimes she helped him in the market while stuffing his mind with countless  mind-blowing  topics.

And so came the second year of high school.

And it took Hanji only two weeks to be late for the first class in the morning.

“I can’t believe you actually slept in,” Levi told her after she came inside the class during the break, gasping, her face flushed red possibly from running, hair dishevelled and absolutely not  combed,  and sat down on her desk in front of him.

She was trying to adjust her breaths as she turned over to face him. The dispersed, brown strands were covering her face, some of them had stuck on her reddened cheek and forehead. After the not so successful haircut, Levi had given her, she had also gotten bangs. Courtesy of her mother. “I was reading a book last night.”

“And?” He raised a brow.

She pushed the glasses up, and leaned in closer, putting an elbow on top of his desk. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“What kind of book could possibly make you stay awake all night?”

“It’s called The Blind Owl.” She shivered as if a chill had gone through her body. “It was the most disturbing thing I’ve ever read. And the thing is I couldn’t stop reading it because it was also ridiculously intriguing,” she sighed and rubbed her eyes under her glasses. “It cost me my sleep though.”

“That bad, huh?” Levi asked, but it was obvious from the dark circles under her eyes.

“I mean, it wasn’t that bad actually. It was masterfully written for sure. It was just—”

“Disturbing.”

“Yes. There is no other word to explain it.” She ran a hand through her dispersed hair, but her fingers got stuck between the knots. Then she looked at her wrist and groaned frustrated. “I forgot my hair tie.”

One of the things the almost six years of friendship with Hanji had thought him was to collect the items she had a habit of forgetting, mostly in his room. He had a drawer full of her lost, black hair ties. He kept a few on his pencil case or sometimes, like today, he carried one of them on his wrist. “Here,” he said extending it to her.

“What would do without you?” she whined as she took the tie from him.

“You wouldn’t survive a day,” Levi pointed out. It wasn’t even half-joke.

“Agreed,” she nodded. She had finished tying up her hair. Now her face was more on display, the flush on her cheeks was nearly gone. Levi realized that her nape was not covered with the too-short strands that couldn’t make it into her sloppy, little ponytail.

His hand moved instinctively, naturally even. “Your hair has grown long again,” he told her with a frown. And when his fingers touched her bare nape, she winced quite clearly for his frown to get deeper. He retreated his hand upon her reaction.

Her hand held the place he had barely touched seconds ago and when she noticed his expression she laughed. “God, your fingers are cold.”

Levi folded his hand as a fist, pressing his fingertips on his palm to see if his fingers were indeed cold as she had said. His body temperature was low, it was no news to him but at the moment his fingertips was not that cold for her to give such a reaction. Maybe because she had run here it was her body which was unnaturally hot, he reasoned, not really satisfied but he would accept it for the time being.

“Do you want me to cut it?”

“No,” she objected, avoiding his stare. “I’ll use it like this for a while.”

Her hand went on rubbing her neck, it seemed like an almost unintentional, absent-minded motion at this point.

“I made some research,” Hanji said when the silence got a little awkward for their standards. She then looked through her bag with both hands and slammed a wrinkled piece of paper on his desk.

“What’s this?” He examined her inelaborate handwriting but couldn’t understand the overall concept of what was written. Meanwhile, Hanji brought a pen over the page and underlined two words that were written in capital letters.

ROSE and SINA.

“These two are the best universities of the country,” she started to explain. “Both in terms of education and in terms of different opportunities for students. Student clubs are very much active also the campuses are huge.”

Levi had heard of the universities of course. They were named after the cities they were located in. Sina was almost three hours away from their town and Rose was even further in the opposite direction. But they had to leave the town at some point if they wanted to receive a good education. As Hanji had told the two of them were probably their best options and if they manage to keep their grades high enough there was a chance for both of them to make it into the same university. But, which one?

“But?”

“But” she carried the pen over the word Sina and drew a circle around it. “Since Sina is a technical university, I think it is a far better option for us considering the departments we want to study.”

Levi hummed thoughtfully. She did have a point.

“Also,” she continued, eyes glittering. “Great professors like Keith Shadis, Theo Magath and Darius Zackly are teaching there. Imagine the lectures…” she shrieked with excitement and wiggled in her seat. “It’s gonna be so fun!”

Levi shook his head at her quite early thrill and snatched the pencil out of her hand. He drew an arrow to the word Sina and wrote elegantly above: GOAL. “Sina it is then.”

Hanji took the pencil back and while nodding she scratched the word he had just written and instead, bringing the pencil a little to the crosswise she wrote: DREAM.

She looked at him then as if to confirm, with a bright smile on her lips and eyes full of the glitter of the dream she held so close to her heart. It was contagious. Levi felt his lips curling up, and maybe a tiny bit of that lustre in her eyes had reached out to his own. And he thought that maybe it wasn’t that hard after all.

How naïve, a sly, foreign voice whispered in the back of his mind. Little boy, how naïve.

-

“So, what’s going on between you two?”

Hanji lifted her eyebrows upon Nifa’s question and moved her stare to whom the question was directed. Nanaba gulped her bite with seemingly a little more force than necessary and blinked innocently at Nifa. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” Nifa wiggled her brows, smirking mischievously at their suffering friend. “You and Mike.”

Petra hid a chuckle behind her hand as Hanji bit her cheek inside to stop her smile from shaping so obviously. They were sitting in the backyard of the school on an arbour for lunch. There was still for about half an hour until their next class and from the looks of it, Nifa had decided to use it for some gossip.

“Nothing,” Nanaba answered nonchalantly then she brought the straw of her peach juice to her mouth and took a very long sip. Hanji didn’t miss the faint blush on her cheekbones. “We’re friends.”

“You’re a little too close for being friends, don’t you think?” Nifa asked with a sweet voice, dropping her chin on top of her intertwined fingers, smiling.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Nanaba brushed her off, taking another bite from her sandwich.

“Stop tormenting her, Nifa,” Hanji interrupted just as Nifa was about to say something else. “She can tell us when she feels like it.” Hanji then smirked at a very pissed Nanaba, who was glaring at her so hard Hanji thought she could catch flames just by responding to her stare.

Suddenly, someone dropped something in front of her with a loud “pat” and Hanji looked down, startled, to a packet of chocolate milk, then looked up to a frowning Levi.

“Did you eat?”

“Yep!” Hanji rested her chin on her palm and smiled at him. “Did you?”

He nodded silently and gestured at the milk standing on the wooden table. “You’re gonna pay me back for that later.”

“Stingy,” she murmured as he turned his back to her. Hanji saw the other boys gathered up around a bench a little away from where she and the girls sat. And before Levi went too far away, she shouted behind him, “When shall we meet again?”

He glanced at her above his shoulder. “After school,” he said, flatly.

“Come on, Levi!” She lifted her chin from her palm, disappointed. “You should’ve said “when the hurly-burly is done”, I thought you were better than that!”

He turned his whole body to her this time, walking backwards. A smirk played on one corner of his lips, midday sun caught his eyes, and her heart skipped a beat. “And you should’ve asked, “in thunder, lightning or in rain?” I thought you were better than  that , genius.”

Take him and cut him out in the little stars.

Levi was beautiful. Hanji recalled the day she had first realized it, the faint yellow leaves and the crackling sound of fire. The realization had hit hard, and she couldn’t have understood the reason why right away. It was startling that was for sure but after some thorough and logical consideration, she had decided that it was all about being a teenager.

It was that simple. Thinking a boy was beautiful was natural. Besides, it wasn’t just Levi. Erwin, for instance, was attractive. With a sharp chin, bright, blue eyes and that shiny yellow hair that always looked so soft like cotton. He wasn’t necessarily beautiful though but attractive still, handsome even.

And he will make the face of Heaven so fine.

Levi turned his back to her again and Hanji snorted, opening the straw of her chocolate milk. “He got me bad.”

When she put the straw between her lips for a long sip, she realized the silence that has settled on the table and when she took a glance above her glasses, she saw the three other girls looking at her.

“What?” she asked after gulping.

“What’s with you two?”

“Huh?”

It was Nifa again and this time the question was directed at her. “You and Levi?”

Hanji blinked, trying to reason her question. “What about us?”

“You seem close,” Petra added instead of Nifa. Her hazel eyes curious as she observed Hanji. “Like real close.”

Hanji frowned and pushed her glasses back to their proper place. “We are best friends.” They seriously hadn’t understood it for a year?

“I bet everyone thinks you’re dating,” Nifa said laughing.

Oh? “That’s ridiculous,” Hanji said, shaking her head. “Why would I date my best friend?”

Nifa shrugged, and Petra looked thoughtful. “How long have you been friends?”

Hanji didn’t know why but she felt her stomach curl. “Since we were eleven.”

Petra hummed and the conversation seemed to be over like that. Hanji chewed the plastic stick thoughtfully and with distress, she couldn’t find the reason why. The curl stayed solid in her stomach, sharp and insistent. Absently she noticed that Petra was staring somewhere with a strange expression in her eyes and when Hanji followed her stare, she saw Levi standing in front of the bench the other boys were sitting. Mike who was standing next to him had wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and he looked content, his features relaxed, his black hair looked smooth touching his forehead.

That all the world will be in love with the night.

Goddamn Juliet, she thought bitterly, frowning she took her eyes away from him. Goddamn Shakespeare.

*

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

It was Wednesday afternoon on a nice autumn day. Near them was a tree slowly getting peeled off its leaves, and the clouds were reflecting the orange light the sun created. It was also reflecting on her ginger hair, making it shine almost yellow.

“I, uh…” Petra cleared her throat, squeezed her hair behind her ear as the blush that had appeared on her cheeks gradually became more visible. “This is harder than I expected.”

Levi raised his brows. He had been wondering what Petra wanted to talk to him ever since she asked him if they could meet after school in the backyard this morning. He had found it a little awkward because it had felt like she wanted to talk to him in private and he couldn’t have thought of any reason why she would wish for that.

“You look nervous,” he told her.

“Well, of course, I am,” Petra laughed, not a cheerful one. “I am trying to…”

She let out a sharp breath as if she was angry at herself and she wasn’t looking at him too. Her eyes were scanning their feet, her fingers were fidgeting, brows furrowed.

And Levi was quietly getting an idea about why she wanted to talk to him.

“Just tell me,” He tried to encourage her, feeling his own heartbeat getting faster abruptly.  

Finally, she looked up at him, her cheeks painted crimson and she took a long, deep breath before she said, “Would you like to go to the cinema with me?”

“Oh,” he said.

Not the kind of reaction he should’ve given apparently. Petra bit her lower lip anxiously at first, searching his eyes. He must be pretty shocked for she looked a little discouraged upon his reaction. But within seconds she gathered herself up, her shoulders held high.

“I… liked you since the seventh grade,” she said, the blush spread from her cheeks to her neck, but she continued to be resolute without looking anywhere else than him. “And I thought that there is nothing wrong with asking a boy out if that boy doesn’t seem to be doing it anytime close.”

Levi felt his own cheeks heating up. Admittedly, he had never realized Petra had such feelings for him. “Sorry.”

Petra laughed, somewhat forcefully. “It’s okay,” she gulped, and a weak smile vibrated on her lips. “Just don’t be harsh if you’re gonna say no.”

Levi considered her offer quietly. Petra had always been a good friend and she was a nice person too. Kind, tidy and even funny. She loved painting and drawing and was pretty gifted at them as well. And she smelled fresh, Levi guessed it was because of the softener she used on her clothes, her hair was soft, and her eyes were pretty.

“When do you want to go?”

Said pretty eyes glittered as she beamed at him. For a second, in the back of his mind, he saw a very similar image belonging to another girl with auburn hair and hazel-brown eyes who had a smile that reminded him of the rainbow after rain and sun.

“What about this Friday after school?” Petra asked, excitedly.

“Sure,” Levi responded, trying to smile and ignore the weird feeling in his stomach.

*

When he stepped into the roof, the night was chilly, the sky was full of transparent, quietly moving clouds, the stars were shining behind them, the Wanning Gibbous was hanging low on the horizon, and Hanji was standing on the edge of the roof, her head laid backwards.

Levi didn’t even know if he breathed, his heart jumped to his throat as he threw his schoolbag to the ground and walked closer to her from behind cautiously. “Hanji, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Watching the sky,” she replied, smiling.

Levi felt a muscle move on his jaw; his heart was beating so loud it almost hurt his ears. He focused on adjusting his breaths. In and out. “Don’t be ridiculous. Get back down.”

Hanji shrugged and Levi nearly had a heart attack right then and there. He felt his eyes widen, and his breath hitched. “I feel closer to the clouds like this.”

“Hanji,” he took slow, careful steps towards her. The night breeze was toying with her dispersed hair, her face was tranquil, her eyes never left the sight of the clouds. The smile that was drawn on her lips was unmoving like it was craved there by the hands of a masterful sculptor. And he watched her, his heart still beating fast and loud, his breaths irregular, and his eyes wide, and he thought about—

Stars

how free she looked at that moment like she belonged to the sky, the stars and the moon. As if they shone for her only.

hide your fires.  

Brown hair and brown eyes but Hanji was luminous. She kept the colours hidden, had a brush and a palette ready in her hand. The murky night did nothing but to contrast the light, she had a way with the world which made her stood out among the dullest of sounds and faces. Even on top of a derelict building, she was—

Let not light see—

the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He grabbed her wrist, inhaling hard and thick then he drew her back with a quick move of his arm. Her body turned and crashed against him, and he stumbled backwards a few steps, but he kept his balance, wrapping his arms around her waist securely, without any intention of letting go. He vaguely heard the surprised shriek Hanji made upon his unexpected move. And he half-expected her to push him back, to laugh it off and to say that he was being dramatic again. That nothing was going to happen anyway, it wasn’t like she was going to jump.

Yet instead, her arms circled his neck as she rested her cheek on his head and at that very moment Levi realized that he had never thought of losing her, of what would happen if she were to leave his life. Just like he had never imagined a day without the sun rising. The thought was uninvited and unwelcomed, and it cropped a fear in his heart so profound, he drew a shivering breath in before he buried his face on her neck. Then he pushed that thought deep down to the dungeon in his head never to see daylight again.

“I’m okay, you know,” Hanji spoke after seconds.

“Stupid,” he said, holding her tighter. “Stupid four-eyes.”

“Mm,” she muttered, amused. Then she started to move left and right making him follow her movements as if they were dancing. “I’m going to let all the world know that Levi Ackerman cares for me.”

Levi placed his forehead on her shoulder, pressing hard. “Someone needs to care for your sorry ass, or you’ll drop it down a goddamn building.”

She laughed, and it felt so good to hear it he immediately craved the sound soon as it faded away. Hanji stopped moving afterwards, then put her hands on his shoulder to push him slightly back. He withdrew reluctantly but kept his hands on either side of her waist not ready to let go just yet.

Her eyes were somewhat misty as she watched him, as the sharp peak of a mountain lost behind a grey fog. Levi frowned at her, searching for a sturdy branch to hold and to obtain some kind of a clue about what she was thinking. He came back empty-handed, and Hanji snapped out of it soon after, smiling at him brightly and warm. Her hair was all over her face, her glasses were askew, and he brought a hand up to fix them.

Then he flicked her forehead instead.

“Ouch!” She exclaimed, touching the slightly damaged skin.

“That was for almost giving me a heart attack,” Levi said nonchalantly and walked past her to grab his schoolbag. Then he sat down, bag between his legs as he searched for the snacks he bought after school.

“Geez, I’m sorry,” Hanji muttered as she placed herself next to him. “But you were just being dramatic. I wasn’t going to jump anyway.”

*

So, here was the thing, he needed to tell Hanji.

But he didn’t know how. Through all those years they had been friends, there had never been a secret among them. He knew everything about her. From the fact that she had fed a frog in her room when she was only seven without telling neither of her parents and how she accidentally killed the poor animal by forgetting to feed it properly. And to the very first crush, she secretly had on a boy who didn’t even know who she was when she was ten. Each and every detail in between had been craved in his head, everything about her was a book he had learnt by heart, and he knew that for her it was the same.

He didn’t understand why he was so unwilling now about telling her about Petra. Frankly, he was going to tell her yesterday but when he saw her standing on the edge of the goddamn roof, he had forgotten all about it in a second. Thursday, which was today, he couldn’t have found a chance to talk to her alone and tomorrow was Friday. And he had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do.

Levi traced the shadows on the ceiling with his eyes, lying on his bed. It was near eleven pm but he didn’t have any sleep. Should he call Hanji? But no. It wasn’t something he could tell on the phone. It would be absurd and out of nowhere—

His phone started to vibrate on the bedside table.

He jumped a little, surprised at hearing a sound other than the voices in his head then stared at the phone for a while until he decided that it was going to ring till he opened it. And so, he did.

“I thought you had fallen asleep,” Hanji spoke before him as he lied back down, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“I was trying to,” he lied.

“Oh, sorry,” she apologized without sounding a bit sincere. “But this is more important than your sleep so…”

He raised a brow. “What did you learn again?”

“A lot of things. But that is not the reason why I called.” Levi heard some clatter he guessed it was the pressing of the computer keys. “I found a new song.”

He exhaled, wearily. “Seriously?”

“Wait before you judge,” she said. “Do you remember the time when you said, this is going to sound weird but, I was a rainbow?”

“No.”

“I hate you,” she said, darkly. “It was our first time in the attic. I had told you about –”

“I know, Hanji.” He rolled his eyes. “Of course, I remember.”

She grunted and said some things he couldn’t quite pick clearly under her breath. “You don’t really deserve this but since I’m a nice person I’ll let you listen to it.”

He snorted, lips curling on the corners, and he waited for the song to start. And not long after, he heard the first notes, then a soft voice of a woman followed. He also heard Hanji accompanying quietly behind, murmuring the lyrics alongside. Then he closed his eyes to focus on the song properly.

Dearest, I'm broken

My body is unspoken

How could I be loved?

Wake up in the morning

Feeling uncertain

Like a burning old scar

For I remember

The joy I’ve had as a child

Various colours I’m hiding inside

She’s a rainbow

And I am

A difficult man

It was as if the song, the lyrics, the notes, the singer’s voice were each had little hooks, they captured his soul relentlessly. He felt captive, unable to move. The song made him feel way too many things, with an intensity that nearly choke him as he lied there. His throat felt tight, even after the song ended, notes faded, and all he could hear was Hanji’s regular breaths a complete opposite of how his heart pounded at the moment.

“So?” She asked when he was unable to speak. “What do you think?”

Levi cleared his throat, he needed to talk dammit. “It was nice.”

“Just nice?” She didn’t sound pleased at his response. “But you have to listen to it every day Levi so that you wouldn’t forget me.”

“Forget you?” Was she kidding?

“We don’t know where life would take us,” Hanji told him, her voice calm now. “It’s the reality of the world. I’m just guarantying myself.”

Oh, so she didn’t know? That no matter where life carried him, no matter how high and wild the waves would be it would change nothing. The sun would rise from the west, and all the world would crumble, melt and disappear. But he wouldn’t forget her.

“What if you forget me?” Levi redirected the question to her, wondering her answer.

“I wouldn’t,” she said, not hesitating.

“How do you know?”

“If I’m a rainbow then that would make you the sky, remember?” Some distinct shuffling came to his ears, and he imagined her lying on her side, the phone still on speaker resting on top of her pillow. “Whenever I look up at the sky, I will think about you.”

“Sappy,” he whispered, ignoring the aftershock her words caused.

She chuckled in response and yawned loudly. “Only for you, clean-freak.”

*

Friday after the last class ended Hanji gathered up her things quickly. It had been an incredibly long and tiring week. She couldn’t wait to spend some time with Levi on the roof, just talking about things that didn’t matter, things that were easy to speak of because they were still young and had years ahead to take them seriously.

She waited for Levi outside, leaning against the school building as he went to the bathroom. She busied herself with observing the exhausted students leaving the school borders, chattering between themselves. It was getting chilly and the black denim jacket she was wearing didn’t do a good job at protecting her. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater to her palms to at least cover her hands. She spotted Petra a few inches away from where she was standing. She was walking back and forth, fiddling with a piece of paper she held in her hands. Hanji found it a little strange but shrugged, deciding it wasn’t her business.

Finally, among the rain of students that walked through the school gate, Levi appeared. His face and some parts of his hair damp, indicating that he had just washed his face.

“Feeling refreshed enough?” Hanji asked, smirking.

“Yeah,” Levi murmured, and he looked around briefly.

“Come on,” Hanji pushed herself up from the wall. “Let’s go. We better grab something to eat on the way. I’m starving.”

She had taken only a few steps when she heard Levi calling out to her quietly. “Hanji.”

“Mm?”

He appeared to be uneasy as he looked at her, brows knitted, and lips pressed. Curiosity rose within her swiftly as she expected the words he was about to say.

“I can’t come to the roof with you today.”

Of all the things she thought about that was the least, she had expected to hear. Her stomach started to burn again, and she imagined a cauldron inside. Burning so fiercely and it never promised anything good. “Why?” Hanji asked, sounding just as surprised as she possibly looked.

Levi’s eyes moved to somewhere above her shoulder. She wanted to trace his stare but was too busy observing his expression, a little anxious, tense and what? Embarrassed? But why?

“Levi?”

“I… am going to the cinema,” he blurted eventually, his eyes finding her again. “With Petra.”

Cinema… with Petra?

“As a date?” She sounded bewildered again as if she couldn’t believe her ears. It wasn’t something to be that surprised about considering their age, hormones and everything. But it was Levi. Levi… It had always been the two of them, now imagining him spending time alone with someone else—she hadn’t prepared herself for that.

“I guess,” Levi rubbed his neck. Oh, he was shy about it too? Was he excited, was he looking forward to it? Was he going to hold her hand as he held hers? Did he even  like  her? When had this thing happened anyway?

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

He seemed guilty, and he should be too. They were best friends for a reason. If she wasn’t going to be the first one to know about his first  date, what was the point to it?

“It happened just this Wednesday. I couldn’t find a proper time—”

“This Wednesday?” She tried not to reflect her disappointment in her voice. “It was two days ago, mind you. You had plenty of time.”

“Hanji—”

“Did you ask her out?” Hanji went on, not giving him any chance to speak. “How long have you liked her?”

“It’s not—” He frowned, his jaw tightened, and a blaze came to life in his eyes. “She asked me.”

“Oh? How brave!” She felt like laughing and somewhere deep inside she knew that she was exaggerating, that she should be happy for him instead. Yet the disappointment was much heavier, and it stood out so blatantly, so arrogantly that it didn’t give her any time to think reasonably.  

“Hanji, don’t.” He stepped forward but she withdrew in an instant.

“Have a nice date,” she said, and she failed at hiding the sarcasm behind. And she thought she saw a flickering of hurt in his eyes but didn’t stay long enough to acknowledge it. With a final look she gave to a confused Petra, she walked out of school. And the cauldron bubbled, bubbled and it burned, and it hurt. Then Hanji wished it would turn the wildflower to ashes to its roots so that it wouldn’t spring again. Wishful thinking it was because the wildflower was already the reason why the flames come alive in the first place.

*

Hanji didn’t quite remember when or how but she was sitting on the swing on the park near Levi’s house, the park they had buried the dead bird all those years ago. Strange how the years passed. She felt old for some reason despite the fact that she was only sixteen and life hadn’t even started for her yet. But she yearned for that little girl now, playing snowball fight with a boy who drank a little too much tea and swore a little too much for their age. Then she cursed at herself for being so frail, for letting her emotions draw the road she would walk.

The streetlamp near the park had a weak light. It trembled from time to time, squeaking as if it was at death’s door. She pondered it was a good metaphor as to how she felt now. Exaggerating? Maybe. But Levi had become such a constant in her life, it felt like the time Jack had crashed her glasses. She remembered how blurry everything seemed and how dizzy she had felt.

“Hanji?”

She blinked and following the voice she lifted her eyes up from the ground. It was Erwin, standing in front of her, with a curious expression painted on his face. What was he doing here?

“Are you okay?”

“Huh?” Hanji shook her head, realizing that she had been blinking at Erwin absently. Then nodded, voicing a half-hearted chuckle. “Yeah, I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

He sat down on the swing next to her, dropping his school bag on the ground. It was a funny sight. A boy of Erwin’s age and height sitting on a child swing. His legs were much too long for that, but he used them to move back and forth slowly.

“I was just passing by,” he said, shrugging. “What are you doing here alone? Where’s Levi?”

She didn’t need to be reminded of the fact that whenever someone saw one of them alone, they immediately wondered where the other was.  I am acting like a child.  Then she started to move back and forth herself, holding the chains on either side. “He is on a date,” she informed Erwin. “With Petra.”

Then the movements of her legs fastened to the point where she had to curl them so that they wouldn’t slow her down. She used her body against the wind, it ruffled her hair, and her hair blocked her vision. And she thought about Levi who was with Petra and Petra who was kind and pretty. Petra who had shiny hair which was always combed and tidy. Petra who was funny and nice and—

“Hanji!”

Ah, her vision was blurry. Had she dropped her glasses again?

“Hey, slow down!”

She couldn’t slow down but someone, Erwin, she remembered, made her. He was holding the sides of the swing, kneeling down in front of her, he looked into her eyes. Hanji noticed his eyes were a different kind of blue not so fierce like the winter ocean, but kind and worried at the moment. Yellow, thick eyebrows knitted, “Are you okay?” Erwin asked.

It was the second time he had asked the same question and it confused her a bit. Did she look that bad? “Yeah,” she confirmed. Her voice came out cracked.

Then Erwin reached out with his hand. Hanji waited silently as he wiped her cheek with his thumb and under her chin with his knuckles. His hand shone under the shrieking light of the streetlamp when he withdrew it, with tears, she realized with a startle. She lifted her hand then, her eyes wide and touched her damp cheek.

“I can walk you home if you’d like,” Erwin offered with a voice so gentle Hanji thought she hated it. Hated because she didn’t want pity when she was the one that had brought this upon herself.

She blinked at her wet fingers, her sight getting blurry again and used her other hand to adjust her glasses.  She could walk herself home, and she opened her mouth to say that much to Erwin. But words betrayed her half-way and what came out was, “I’d appreciate that,” instead, as she accepted, silently. “Thank you.”

[babyspiderling]

Up To Interpretation Michael Jackson x reader

(Victory Tour)

I stand on the corner of the stage, the arena dead silent around me. I hear a radio playing softly from somewhere backstage and I sign along, closing my eyes and letting my hands dance and tell the story the singer weaves. I hear the click of hard souls on the concrete, their clacks drawing closer to me. The squeak of sneakers, or some kind of rubber soled shoe follows behind the first set. I don't stop signing through the interruption, focused on keeping up with the speed and the intent behind it. I hear both feet whispering to each other, but I don't pay them any mind. I have to be perfect for the first performance of the tour. The rubber soles squeak away as the click clack of the other pair grows closer. A hand is placed on my shoulder and I turn to the hard soled feet. I am met with one of the singers I am interpreting tonight. I concentrate on his eyes, signalling him to go on. Behind him, I see one of his brothers run up behind him, his rubber sneakers squeaking across the stage, a notebook and pen in hand. He shouts "I got what you asked for Mike!" Mr. Hard Shoes glances over his shoulder and accepts the items. Opening the book, he scribbled down on the paper. He quickly shoves the book into my hands and gestures to me to read what he had written. "Hello, my name is Michael Jackson. Who are you and what are you doing here?" His handwriting is a bit difficult to read, random capitalization's here and there, and the words scribbled quickly and carelessly. I guess I was taking too long to read the note, sneakers huffing out a "Great, not only is she deaf, but illiterate." I swallow and hand the book back to Michael, turning to sneakers. I stare him in the face as I sign. "Me not deaf. Me hearing. Me don't speak. Me sign. Me sign for you."

A/N: This is ASL Gloss, The sentence structure for ASL is a bit different than regular English. ASL is quick and to the point, since there are no signs for words like "and" "the" "or" etc. Deaf People are not cavemen, they can express the same thoughts, feelings, and ideas we can, they just do it a little differently.

His mouth drops open a little bit in confusion, his eyes locked on mine as he says to Michael, "What is she saying and why is she staring at me?" I roll my eyes and turn back to Michael. I sign "Your book, you give me? Please?" Michael gets the picture, the sign for book clueing him in. "Oh! You want my notebook? Here." He hands me the notebook and pen and I write carefully and legibly. "I'm not deaf. I'm actually hearing. I'm mute, so I sign. I'm your interpreter for the U.S leg of the tour." I hand the book back and patiently wait for him to read it. He playfully smacks sneakers upside the head, laughing out a "You idiot, she's not a crazy fan. She's our interpreter for the show! And she heard everything you said." I smile, seeing the relationship the two have.

Sneaker's eyes widen comically as he realizes how far he stuck his foot in his mouth. He walks up to me, holding out his hand for me to shake. "Sorry 'bout that. I'm Jackie. We just saw some girl standing on stage waving her hands around like a crazy person, and didn't know what to think." I shake his hand, signing book again so I can properly introduce myself. Under my previous message I write "I'm Y/N, I understand the confusion. I'm mute, meaning I can't talk, but I can hear everything just as well as you can. For some reason, the fact that I can't talk made them hire me on the spot. I was actually about to ask for the set list so I can rehearse, or at least be a little prepared for tonight." I hand the notebook to Jackie and keep the pen to myself, writing on my wrist to purchase a few notebooks myself. He nods and leads me to the backstage area, Michael following close behind. "I'll introduce you to the guys and get you the set list, alright?" I nod my head, memorizing the path since I probably won't be able to ask for directions if I got lost.

Jackie leads me to a dressing room filled with four other guys and two girls. Michael introduces me to the group, "Guys, this is Y/N, she's our interpreter for the U.S leg of the tour. Y/N, this is Jermaine, Marlon, Randy and Tito. These are our sisters La Toya and Janet." I wave to them, staying silent. Marlon says "Cool, signing even when off the clock, nice gimmick." I look back to Michael and sign "They read book." He stutters out "Oh right. Here guys, this should explain some." He takes the notebook from his pocket and tosses it to Jermaine, who then passes it around. La Toya walked up to me with this glint in her eye. "Oh! You're so pretty! If we were going anywhere else, I wouldn't do a thing, but those stage lights will completely wash you out, even the guys have to wear makeup. Can I get you ready?" I think about it, and nod. I hold up a finger, and write down. "It has to be simple. Nothing flashy. Rules of the game. No jewelry, no distracting clothes, no sparkle eye makeup. Not up to me, just comes with being an interpreter." She reads it quickly and sags her shoulders a bit. "Fine, I get it. Nothing too flashy. But I promise, we're going to have some fun." She drags me to a second dressing room, one with lit up mirrors and vanities. She sits me down and pulls out a giant makeup case. I relax my face and let her do her thing, trusting her to not go overboard. She plugs in a curling iron as she finishes up my makeup. Without any paper around, I try my best to communicate. I pull my hair back, off my face, another rule of interpreting. Luckily, La Toya got the message. "Oh! Hair back, got it." She curls my hair, completely covering it in hairspray, and gives me a beautiful bun on the top of my head, leaving the second half of my hair down. I inspect myself in the mirror, never feeling this beautiful in my life. I turn to La Toya and sign "Thank you", hoping that if she doesn't understand my hands, she can understand the look in my eyes.

I walk out into the hallways, now hustling and bustling as it gets closer to show time. I was given the set list and lyric sheet for the night while I was made over. I run the entire show at least 5 times before being called to take my place, the instructional prologue getting ready to play.

By the end of the show, my wrists and fingers ached from the fast movements to stay on pace with the band. Walking backstage, I just want to take my makeup off and stretch out my aching joints. Michael stops me in the hall and asks me, "Hey, you want to fly with us? I'd love to get to know you more, plus give you the set list for the next show to let you practice." I nod, wanting to answer his questions. He lights up. "Maybe, you can teach me some sign language? Don't get me wrong, I love writing back and forth, but it'd be cool to sign to each other" He leads me to the limo that is taking him to the hotel and then the airport in the morning. "I'm not sure where your room is, but I can have your stuff sent to mine and we can talk some. If you'd like." I shrug my shoulders, I didn't know either. He makes a quick phone call and I watch the lights move past. "Hey, Y/N, you were really cool there. It was like you were singing and dancing with your hands at the same time. Why don't you talk? If you don't mind me asking. You don't have to answer." I hold out my hand for the notebook and try my best to write on the bumpy road. "Long story. I'll tell you at the hotel, roads too rough to write it out on the way." He reads my writing and nods in understanding. "I get it." We fall into a comfortable silence as we drive to his hotel.

I follow Michael through the lobby, up the elevators and to his suite. My bags are placed in the main room, and Michael stretches his arms above his head. "Hey, Y/N, I'm going to go take a shower. If your story really is as long as you're saying, go ahead and start writing it down. I can read it while you shower." I nod and he hands me a legal pad, much better than the little hand notebook Michael carried around at all times. I sit down and start writing.

"I've been mute since I was 6 years old. My dad and I were going to the record store to listen to some and take others home to add to our collection. The light turned green, and we went, but someone else swerved into our lane, causing a head on collision. My dad died on impact, but they said he didn't feel any pain. Pieces of glass got caught in and cut my throat. I woke up in the hospital with no vocal chords, no voice. The damage done was too much for them to take and they had to be removed. I don't want your pity, I've gotten nothing but pity since I was 6. I'm not fragile and you do not need to treat me as such." I put the pen down just as Michael finished up in the bathroom. I gestured to the pad, and grabbed clothes for the shower. When I came out Michael was just staring at the paper, some areas warped with his spilled tears. He looked up at me with glossy eyes and enveloped me in his arms. "Oh, Y/N, I am so sorry. We don't have to talk about it or anything. We can just go to bed right now if you want." I shake my head. I break away reluctantly and go back to the paper. "No, it's ok. If you have any questions I will do my best to answer them." He thinks for a moment and asks, "Can you make any sounds? If you don't have vocal chords, how can you be vocal?" I hum a little tune, and make a couple of noises. We sit down, and he asks me to teach him to sign. We start with finger spelling.

"What's your favorite candy?" "(F-A-V-O-R-I-T-E C-A-N-D-Y)" "Wow! I love those! I like S-K-I-T-T-L-E-S. Oh! And P-E-A-N-U-T M-N-M-S!" I smile at him. He's a really fast learner. I yawn and glance at the clock. I sign "time" and point at the clock. He follows my finger and reads the time. "Oh wow, 1:30. We should probably get to bed. I'll take the couch and see you in the morning." I reach for the pen to protest but he snatches it before I can lay a finger on it. "No Ifs ands or buts. I'm taking the couch." I roll my eyes, signing "Silly boy" and making my way to the bed. I fall into a blissful sleep easily.

The next morning Michael and I are on our way to the plane, the next stop being Irving. We sit across from each other, Michael signing what he can, and writing what he can't. I teach him little words and phrases as we go, and specific ones at his request. Sooner than expected we touch down and make our way to the venue. The entire tour goes by in a flash, performing every night with the boys, only watching from the wings our eight shows in Canada. On our last night in LA and my last night on the job, Michael drops a bomb on everyone around the world. That this was the last show for the tour. I translated what he said for the audience, a look of complete confusion on my face. I struggled to focus on the task at hand, translating for those Deaf at the show, unable to comprehend what had just happened. The show had ended finally and it was chaos backstage. People yelling at Mike for his cancellation, calling it selfish, immature. I couldn't help but feel a little hurt. I knew that this was my last show, and that I would no longer be working with the band, but I thought he would at least tell me since I thought we were close. I pushed through the throngs of angry managers and crew members back to my little corner.

I gathered my things, coming across one of the notebooks that Michael and I had practically filled. The others full of writing were in my suitcase back at the hotel. In my heartache, I accidentally dropped the notebook, its pages falling open on impact. A page filled with shading and lines caught my attention, its place in the back making it invisible to me. Examining it closely, I realize it's an incredibly done sketch of me, done by Michael. I was asleep when he did this. I think it was on the plane to Denver. I gently closed the pages, and placed it into my bag.

I turned my gaze to the sound of the door opening, revealing none other than the artist himself. With creased eyebrows, I simply sign "Why?", not understanding why he did it a bit. He sagged, as if all the air had been let out of him. "Because, Y/N, I couldn't stand being under their thumb anymore. I couldn't work with Joseph anymore, I need to be the one in control. I want to make my own music, send my own message, without anyone telling me otherwise." I nod, understanding where he was coming from, but sad to see him go. I wiped at my tears and signed "I'll miss you Applehead." This made him chuckle and pull me in for a long, large hug. "I'll miss you too." He kissed the top of my head and took a step back. He signed "You always in my heart." something I had taught him, but fragmented. He picked up the notebook laying in the top of my bag and tore out an empty page, as well as a pen. He handed both to me. "Write down your address and I promise I will write to you practically everyday. And if I ever go on tour, I know just who I'll hire to be my interpreter." With one final tearful hug goodbye, it was time for us to go our separate ways. I would miss him, but I knew I would always be in his heart, and he in mine.

Taglist: @accio-boys​

[taelme]

Dance major!Sicheng

genre: school!au,  dance major!sicheng (slight angst, fluff, slow burn) 

pairing/s: Sicheng / Reader (ft Xiaojun, Ten and Renjun n some of the 127 boys!) 

word count: 18k+ 

tw: mentions of alcohol use, like tension between Sicheng and his parents...(this is fictional of course pls keep this in mind Sicheng’s relationship with his parents that I portrayed in this is in not real and this is just based off of personal experience pls) 

a/n: only now am I realizing how many of my works include substance use lmao I need to calm down.. anyway this is just something I wanted to do for Sicheng inspired by his ‘lovely’ dance with Ten for ‘Rainbow V’ as well as by the videos of him dancing Chinese traditional dance in general!! believe me,... the amount of videos and compilations I've watched of him doing traditional dance is....a lot more than I'm proud to disclose HAHHA .. also there are some mandarin words mentioned here that I referenced from things sicheng has said before so yes that's all anyway enjoy!!

“We’re gonna have to start closing up soon,” you murmured, leaning down to massage your calf, beginning to feel sore after what felt like a whole day of standing.

It was your faculty’s turn to raise money for underprivileged students in your school to start the second half of the semester, the classes in your department setting up various booths ranging from food and beverage to booths like yours, selling customized handmade bracelets.

“You look tired,” one of your friends told you, earning a wholehearted nod from you.

“Very.”

Laughing, she shook her head at you, handing you the file containing your money collected from your sales, “D’you mind helping us collate this? We’ll go grab the rest of our bags and stuff from the lounge.”

You nodded, getting your phone out and kneeling at the table, dividing the money by quantity and starting to key in your phone calculator, your train of thought getting interrupted when you’d received a text from your friend Xiaojun, finishing your calculations before checking his message.

xiaojun 5:07pm -i can come to ur booth now !-

You huffed, your knees starting to hurt from the rough surface of the floor, typing out your reply to him with your pen still clasped in your hand.

5:09pm -we’re already almost closing ure a little late-

xiaojun 5:09pm -its ok i have friends with money they can donate even if they dont buy anything! where is ur booth-

5:09pm -@ the entrance of the design and performing arts school- xiaojun

Xiaojun 5:09pm - perfect -

“Y/N!” you heard the echo of someone whose voice was so distinctively Xiaojun it gave you goosebumps, looking up from your phone and spotting the boy himself walking alongside two other boys. 

You first noticed they were very well dressed, giving you the vibe that they were from the design and arts department, possessing a different sort of charisma that was made even more obvious when they were walking next to a bouncy smiley Xiaojun.

You gave him a grimace, looking back at the list of ibanking transactions, adding up the total of that with what you’d calculated for physical money, eyebrows raised in surprise at the total, not expecting to have raised so much more than your class had initially expected.

“Y/N, this is Ten and Sicheng,” Xiaojun gestured to the two boys next to him, identifying the shorter of the two with short cropped hair with multiple piercings adorning his ear to be Ten, and the other taller boy with dark brown hair to be Sicheng, who simply gave you a nod in greeting.

“Nice to meet you,” Ten had smiled at you, instantly brightening his demeanour as he gravitated towards the beads and string. “Can I make one?” he was already starting to pick up the roll of thread, measuring it around his wrist.

“You didn’t even wait for her to say yes,” Sicheng pointed out with a sigh despite being busy with his phone, causing Ten to give you a sheepish smile.

You nodded reassuringly, gesturing to the materials, “sure, go ahead, we’re already done for the day, anyway,” you smiled.

Xiaojun had made his way around the table, making a loud displeased sound when he saw that you were kneeling on the floor. “Can’t you at least sit on a chair or something?” he clucked his tongue, making you roll your eyes. Your bickering had unknowingly caught Sicheng’s attention, the boy silently observing the way you and Xiaojun interacted as he typed out a reply to Renjun who was currently asking where on earth he was.

“I would if there was any chairs here,” you scoffed.

Xiaojun was about to retort when his gaze flickered to the numbers you were so busy writing down, “Wow! You guys made this money just selling bracelets?!” You shushed him quickly, not wanting to attract unwanted attention, but at the mention of money, Sicheng visibly perked up, making his way away from Ten to the table you and Xiaojun were at, curious to see the amount.

His eyes widened upon seeing the number, glancing quickly at the rates you sold each bracelet for. 

“Wow,” he drawled, his eyebrows raising in surprise, “have you guys done this before?”

You were startled to find how different his voice sounded from what you’d expected, low and holding a certain thickness to the sound. Watching him pull the sleeves of his sweater to his elbows, he’d picked up the sheet of paper, analysing it before placing it back down on the table with a nod, looking back at you for your reply.

You knew you thought he was pretty when you first saw him, but your breath hitched at the discovery that he was even prettier up close. Sicheng. Even his name was pretty. You thought Xiaojun took care of his appearance, but Sicheng was on a whole other level.

Realising he was still waiting for your reply, you quickly shook your head, watching how his lips curved into a small smirk, nodding with an impressed pout on his lips.

“Well you should, you wouldn’t even need to get part-time jobs if you just promoted these,” he proposed casually. This earned him an obnoxious snicker from Ten, whose neck was still craned as he made his bracelet, struggling with a particularly small one.

“Saying it like that isn’t gonna make them give you any of the profit, you know,” Ten’s teasing tone did nothing to deter Sicheng, who simply shrugged.

Xiaojun chimed in quickly, waving his finger at Sicheng as he laughed with Ten, “This guy’s like that. He’ll propose the idea and make you do everything else,” he told you, making Sicheng scoff, a small smile of embarrassment on his face at his friends’ teasing.

“That’s called doing business. It’s so troublesome to do all of it yourself, might as well get people to help you carry it out,” Sicheng gestured as he spoke, waving his friends off. You scrunched your nose in amusement, shoving Xiaojun aside so you could straighten up, putting the paper with the calculations into the file with the money and setting it aside.

Sicheng tried not to make it too obvious that he kept looking at you, deciding to pretend to be interested in what Ten was doing so you wouldn’t notice his furtive glances. “Who are you making that for?” he nudged Ten.

“Not you.”

A sharp tut of the tongue left Sicheng’s mouth.

“Yeah, I know. I wasn’t��never mind forget I asked,” he laughed, taking his phone out to act busy with it.

You spotted the teacher-in-charge of the event gesturing for you to start packing up. 

“Do you guys need help cleaning up?” Xiaojun gestured at the tables.

You’d started by squatting next to the table, picking up the multitude of beads that had fallen down throughout the day. Sicheng had gone over to help you since Xiaojun had chosen to hurry Ten into making his bracelet so you could pack up. He’d noticed how poorly you were balancing, wanting to tell you you could let him do it but he was interrupted by the buzzing of his phone, getting a phone call from somebody but simply tucking his phone between his ear and shoulder as he continued picking up the beads.

“Y/N,” you heard your friend’s voice, turning around a little too quickly and almost stumbling, anticipating the impact on your bum when you felt a hand on your arm, pulling you steady. Eyes widening, you regained your balance quickly, Sicheng still talking to whoever was on the phone in what you could decipher to be rushed chinese, casually removing his hand from your arm.

“What are you doing?” Renjun’s tone was exasperated, “You said you’d be here 10 minutes ago!”

Sicheng straightened up once your friend had approached you, “I got held back, I’m helping Xiaojun’s friend with something,” he emptied his handful of beads into their respective sections.

“I’m hanging up, I’ll be there in 5 minutes,” he told Renjun, hanging up promptly after.

“Guys, I have to leave, i’m gonna go find Renjun,” he spoke, Ten and Xiaojun both turning around and bidding him goodbye as he left.

You’d gotten up a little too late, your conversation with your classmate having distracted you into not noticing Sicheng leaving.

You’d gone to help your classmates bring back the tables to the storeroom, “So...” your friend drawled, mischief laced in her tone, “Xiaojun’s friends, huh?” she smirked, making you roll your eyes, a flustered scoff escaping your lips.

“What about them?” you raised an eyebrow at her, already skeptical about what she was about to say.

She shot you a look of disbelief, her smile widening, “I saw what happened just now, when the tall cutie saved you before you could fall on your ass,” she shrugged in mock nonchalance.

“He kind of scares me...” you admitted, making her burst into laughter, the obnoxious sound echoing in the empty corridor you were walking through.

“Didn’t seem like that just now when he grabbed you,” she sing-songed.

You shot her a glare, dismissing her accusations with a shake of your head. “Can you stack the tables properly,” you gestured to the haphazard stack of tables placed in an empty area of the room in her haste to get it over with, not being able to help yourself from laughing at her sheer excitement.

“Don’t try to avoid my question!” she waggled a finger at you, urging you out of the room so she could continue her interrogation.

“I’m not avoiding it, there’s literally nothing to say! I barely spoke a sentence to him,” you defended.

“What’s his name?”

“Sicheng,” you replied a little too quickly, making her squeal, “I think,” you added, just to make it seem like you totally weren’t sounding out his name in your head just moments before.

"What?" you snapped, hating how embarrassed her cheeky grin was making you, especially with her shrugging her shoulders suggestively, quirking an eyebrow and smirking at you as you returned to where Xiaojun and Ten were, seeing that your other friends had left already.

“Are you going home after this?” Xiaojun came over to you and asked once he'd noticed you were back. You nodded your head, earning a frown from Ten.

“We’re gonna stay to hang with Sicheng and Renjun, see you on Monday, then?”

Nodding, you waved goodbye to the both of them, endeared when you saw that Ten was already proudly wearing the bracelet he made, “Alright, see you.”

Glad to have made new friends, but strangely curious about Sicheng, feeling like you’d just been left hanging.

===

Thankfully for you, you had friends like Xiaojun. Though times like this you weren’t so sure whether you were so thankful for the boy sitting next to you whining about how late his friend was to meet him.

“Maybe he’s busy or something,” you shrugged, adjusting your legs so you were sitting cross legged, your laptop perched on your lap as you continued doing research for your essay.

“If he’s so busy he shouldn’t have started teaching Ren—oh my god, finally!” your head shot up from your laptop, turning to him with a confused gaze before seeing him frowning at something in front of him, turning your head to spot Xiaojun’s friend from that day at the charity event.

“Oh?” you’d accidentally blurted, catching Sicheng’s attention, making him look at you in surprise, giving you a small close-lipped smile in greeting, shoving his hand into his pocket as his other hand fiddled with his phone.

“Where did you go?” Xiaojun asked, genuine confusion laced in his tone, switching to Mandarin while he was talking to Sicheng. Not because he didn’t want you to understand, of course, but more because he was more comfortable this way. (And plus, you liked to think you had sufficient mandarin knowledge).

“What are you talking about? I told you I was outside helping Renjun this whole time,” Sicheng furrowed his eyebrows, a hint of amusement on his features. You understood the part about him being outside, somehow finding Sicheng’s personality to be rather strong, especially showcased when he was speaking mandarin.

Xiaojun’s mouth closed shut, looking slightly embarrassed, ignoring the knowing look you were giving him at how quick he was to scold Sicheng for being late.

“Oh, okay.” Xiaojun bid you goodbye quickly, Sicheng helping him off the floor and leaving promptly.

You found it strange, how he’d spent so much time in your faculty building when he wasn’t even from this faculty, only realizing why when you’d gone to help your groupmates who were spray painting their crafts outside the lounge, seeing the area usually occupied by students from the dance club practicing now taken over by Sicheng and a petite boy that you recognized to be from your faculty.

You heard the petite boy whine sulkily, looking at Sicheng with an exasperated look on his face, simply receiving a shrug and a smile from Sicheng.

“I never said this was easy to do,” he sighed deeply, looking towards the mirror to observe Renjun, catching a glimpse of you in the background.

You held the collar of your shirt over your nose, regretting not having better protection against the fumes of the spray paint, feeling a little bad for the people around you in case the fumes were too strong that it disrupted them as well.

“This one’s done, I’ll bring it aside,” you told your group members, seeing their nods of acknowledgement before using one hand to drag the long and heavy piece of cardboard to the more airy part of the area.

Sighing, you let go of your shirt, dabbing at your sweat with the back of your hand and looking around to see if anyone had been annoyed by the spray paint fumes, accidentally making eye contact with Sicheng through the large mirrors. Something made you feel prompted to say hello, but you decided against it, looking away quickly and continuing with what you were doing.

You tried not to let yourself get too distracted by seeing his demonstrations of the dance he was teaching to Renjun, trying to focus on finishing your task as fast you could so you could go back into the student lounge where there wouldn’t be a Sicheng to distract you.

Settling for just nodding in greeting to him, exchanging small smiles, you carried on seeing him and bumping into him in your faculty. Each time trying to ignore the way your mind was starting to create scenarios in your head about how you would approach Sicheng and start a conversation in another universe where you were confident enough to approach someone as pretty as him.

Sicheng too had been going through a similar dilemma in his head, debating on whether he would send the wrong message if he were to ask too many questions about you. He wasn’t usually the type to put himself out there or pursue potential love interests, it was just something about seeing you around so often and his unceasing curiosity that was starting to get the better of him.

“Your friend is my age, right?” he asked as casually as he could once when he was teaching Renjun at the mirrored area outside the student lounge, curious after seeing the multitude of things it seemed that you had to do (or maybe, just curious about you in general)

Xiaojun shot him a look of confusion, shaking his head rapidly.

“Oh my god, no, she’s my age,” he laughed, finding it weird that Sicheng would think you were his age, wondering momentarily if you looked that old.

“Oh,” Sicheng said, not realizing Xiaojun wasn’t listening to him anymore, too busy deciding whether you looked like a solid 20 year old or barely 19.

“Why’d you ask?” Xiaojun snapped out of his thoughts, turning to Sicheng with a questioning look on his face.

Sicheng shrugged casually, commenting that Renjun had done well before replying Xiaojun, “Nothing. Just…didn’t know why they looked so busy when I look at how free you are,” he grinned cheekily at the end of his statement, letting out a relieved sigh when Xiaojun had bought his excuse.

It wasn’t like Sicheng wasn’t telling the truth, because you did have a lot of things to do. Making Sicheng just the least of your worries at this point. You’d been so busy trying to churn out assignment after assignment that it was starting to take a toll on you. You hadn’t gotten a proper sleep in what was probably weeks, too busy thinking and planning time for all the things that were yet to be done, the constant worrying ridding you of a guilt-free sleep.

It wasn’t any better that you and your friends had all started spending long hours cooped up in the student lounge doing work; going home later and later as a result. And though many people would probably see that as a normal part of school life, you weren’t one for hustle culture, and you definitely weren’t used to experiencing it to such an extent, the stress from it all making you increasingly sensitive.

You’d been with your friend in the student lounge, with her trying her best to help you think of ideas that you could do for your assignment. (You didn’t think of yourself as the most creative person in the world). Hugging your jacket closer to yourself, you sighed, looking at your computer as you wracked your brains to think of a possible solution.

“I'm sorry, writing really isn't my strong suit, but I’ll try my best," she told you, tilting the computer slightly more in her direction, eyes rapidly scanning through what you had typed so far to see if she could get any inspiration for the other aspects of your assignment you had yet to think of.

You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach when you saw that her mom was calling her, asking—or demanding, it was a very fine line these days—her to come home since it was getting late. From the way she'd ended the call and looked at you, a certain reluctance mixed with sympathy in her expression, you already anticipated what she would say next.

"Y/N—" she started hesitantly.

"It's fine, really, your mom's gonna be pissed if you stay. I'll just..." you glanced at your work, trying to ignore the headache building at your temples, "...figure something out."

“—I’m really sorry,” your friend murmured, picking up her bags and shooting you one last sympathetic expression before leaving.

And now that your friend was gone, that left you sitting on the floor of the student lounge, your back against one of the pillars near the corner of the room. At this point, you'd managed to finalize your ideas, desperately wanting to get this over with, but the more you tried to think the more your ideas just weren't making sense.

Sicheng had just finished teaching Renjun for the day, strolling into the student lounge with his water bottle in hand, spotting Xiaojun sitting at the sofas using his phone.

"Renjun went home already?" Xiaojun asked, earning a nod from Sicheng, who flopped down on the sofa next to Xiaojun, a tired sigh leaving his lips.

"Do you have the stuff I needed help printing?" Sicheng felt a wave of relief upon seeing the clear plastic folder Xiaojun had taken out from his bag, handing it to Sicheng. In the process of leaning over to get his bag from where it was next to Xiaojun, Sicheng had caught a glimpse of someone that reminded him of you with your head resting on your folded arms placed on the table.

"You would not believe what I went through this morning..." Xiaojun began, not realizing he may as well have been talking to the wall due to Sicheng clearly being preoccupied with staring at your direction in concern.

Wondering if it was you, he'd glanced at the time on his watch, confirming the first bit about it possibly being you since he'd noticed you tended to stay in the student lounge later during this period.

"Yeah, and to make it even worse they're making us go to the farm!..." Xiaojun went on.

Sicheng’s suspicions were confirmed even more when he'd recognized the jacket you were wearing, having seen you wear it earlier on in the day when you'd greeted him on your way to the washroom.

She seems really tired, maybe I should tell Xiaojun? she is his friend after all...Sicheng contemplated, coming back from his thoughts to look at Xiaojun blankly.

"What did you say?" he asked Xiaojun, seeing the boy look up from his phone.

"Oh. No, I just said I needed to get going, I’m meeting my parents for dinner outside," he said simply, not seeming to have noticed that Sicheng hadn't caught a single word of his that came prior to that.

Nodding slowly, "Oh," Sicheng dragged his gaze away from you. "Okay, I think I’ll just stay here a little longer, I’m kind of lazy to leave.”

Xiaojun wasn't stupid, he'd caught Sicheng staring at your direction the moment he'd grabbed his bag, figuring he would let things flow and wait for the (much expected) updates he was likely to get from you the next day. Eyeing Sicheng suspiciously, he nodded, "Bye, see you," he waved, slinging his bag over his shoulder and leaving.

Sicheng frowned when he'd looked back at you, a part of him growing slightly hopeful when he saw you finally lift your head from the table top, rubbing at your forehead where there was now a red mark, your other hand coming up to wipe your tears roughly.

Seeing as no one else was there, and something was compelling Sicheng to check on you, he did exactly that. Making his way over to you, he crouched down next to where you sat in a squat, the feeling of a presence next to you making you turn, startled when you'd spotted Sicheng there.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Your hands flew to your face in your hurry to wipe the tears threatening to spill, turning your face away from him quickly, pretending to be busy and picking up your drink that had been neglected for God knows how long to take a sip. Ignoring the way the drink tasted diluted now from all your ice having melted, you turned back to him, holding a thumbs up with a small smile.

"Yeah, fine," you managed to muster out, trying to even out your breathing and calm yourself down.

“Uhhh...” he glanced at your face, searching your expression, noticing how your eyes got teary when you looked back at what was on your laptop screen, “hold on,” he murmured, and you tried not to let yourself get too nervous at his proximity.

Sicheng let his legs fold under him, resting his hands on his thighs as he inspected what was on your computer, receiving a pleasant surprise when he’d realized he’d done this module before.

“Do u need help? I did this module last year,” he told you, making your eyes widen, wondering just what you did in your life to warrant you such kindness from a stranger (or acquaintance, if you were being generous).  

You shot him a hesitant look, feeling embarrassed if you were to ask someone you barely knew to help with your assignment.

“Honestly, I just need to know if my ideas make sense, because I’m really rushing for time right now and every time I look at them again it just feels like I’m talking a whole lot of bullshit so I’m literally stuck because I can’t think of anything else,” you rambled, out of breath when you were done.

Not that Sicheng minded your rambling, since the boy was more focused on reading whatever you had on your computer screen, his eyes squinting as he concentrated.

In your assumption that he was squinting because he couldn’t see the words well, you’d made the words a lot bigger, making him let out a small huff of laughter.

“Thanks,” he whispered, continuing to read.

“Okay,” he turned to you with a small huff, “it’s really not as bad as you’re making it sound,” you frowned at his wording.

“So it’s bad?” your lips parted in dismay.

He giggled softly, shaking his head, “No, it’s not. After reading it, I can see that you’ve sort of got all your points here, you just need to find a way to pitch them, like...sell it, you know?”

You nodded slowly, looking back at what you’d written. Sicheng figured he’d better guide you through it since your expression remained lost as your hands hovered over your keyboard, not quite knowing how to start.

“Okay, how about, you just try to follow this structure while writing and I’ll guide you as you go, how does that sound?”

You nodded, thoughts wandering to how surreal all of this seemed to you. You already had an interest in Sicheng from all your previous encounters in school, and to have him here now offering to help you with your work just seemed a little too good to be true, like what you’d imagined would only happen to you in another universe but you figured since it was already happening you should put it to full use, nodding at him (it was clear your priorities were a little mixed up now that Sicheng was in the picture).

Sicheng gave you a sweet smile, relieved that you hadn’t rejected his offer. Not wanting to get carried away, he’d immediately started giving you prompts for your first idea. Doing as he told you to, you were surprised at how quickly you were able to get your assignment done. This was of course aside from the time you spent being distracted by his proximity while he pointed at your screen once in a while to tell you what you could do while you were ‘stuck’.

Attributing your success to him having done this subject before, you’d finished way earlier than you expected. However, just glancing at the clock you felt the dread creeping up on you as you thought of what other assignments you had left to do, your long-awaited rest just seeming to grow further and further away from you.

Sicheng leaned back in his seat, resting his elbow on his knee as he looked at you, a small smile playing at his lips as he saw the way you let out a relieved sigh as you hurriedly saved your work.

“Satisfied?” he’d asked once you finished saving your work and closing your laptop.

You couldn’t help yourself from nodding vigorously, immensely thankful for his timely appearance.

“I really can’t be assed to think any more about this stupid assignment,” you admitted, making him laugh, shaking his head.

Glancing at his watch, Sicheng looked back at you with an expectant gaze.

“Do you live nearby?”

You sighed, shaking your head as you stretched your arms out, “Takes me about a half hour bus ride? to get back?” you yawned, hands going to cover your mouth quickly.

His eyebrows raised in surprise, “You should probably be getting back, then, it’s pretty late..” He stood up with a grunt, extending a hand for you to take.

Accepting it, and standing up, you let him go grab his things as you slung your bag over your shoulder, glancing at the other people in the student lounge who were starting to leave as well, knowing for a fact that if Sicheng hadn’t offered to help you, you would be still here looking at them leave in envy.

Walking out of the student lounge with Sicheng, you’d realized just how empty the school was at this time of the day, something about the mood of the sky and the breeze you felt walking out adding to your confusing mix of feelings.

“What bus do you take?” Sicheng asked you.

Replying him quickly, you were confused as to why he’d asked when he’d just continued using his phone after that, frowning as the conversation went silent.

“The next one’s coming in 8 minutes,” Sicheng told you casually, shoving his phone into his pocket.

You never knew Xiaojun had such considerate friends.

“What bus are you taking?” you’d asked, seeing him turn to you briefly before looking back ahead.

“The same one, goes to my house as well,” he told you with a shrug, though obviously he didn’t include the part about it being like 20 minutes longer than his usual bus, but he felt like you could use the company, with the way he could practically hear you stressing from beside him.

“You look really stressed—" he cut himself off at the sound of his ringtone, seeing the caller ID had read that it was his sister, “—wait, hold on.”

He held a hand up in a gesture to stop, picking up the call and switching to mandarin to talk to his sister.

“Where are you? what are you out so late for?” she questioned.

“I’m already on my way back, don’t worry. Don’t call me, I’m hanging up.”

Ending the call quickly, you looked at him in fascination, finding the way he spoke enough to put you in a trance.

“Okay, where were we?” he said, his tone a lot more gentle than it was to whoever he was speaking to on his phone. “Right, I was gonna ask you why you looked so stressed,” he tilted his head at you, spotting the bus driving towards the bus stop.

You huffed in half-hearted laughter, gripping the strap of your bag tighter.

“I mean like...you know, with submissions and everything...it’s kind of hard for me to not think about the rest of the stuff I have left to do,” you murmured.

“Do you have a lot left?” he asked, earning a shrug from you.

You narrowed your eyes in thought before shaking your head, “It’s only a few assignments, but the problem is not really the quantity more than the tedious....ness of the assignment,” you hesitated, unsure if you were speaking actual words, but you were glad that Sicheng didn’t seem to mind, nodding patiently as you spoke.

Getting onto the bus, you’d taken a seat between the window and Sicheng, hugging your bag to your chest, Sicheng fiddling with his phone in his hands.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way through it. I mean, if Xiaojun can do it, you definitely can,” you laughed at his consolation, something in Sicheng feeling triumphant at how he’d been successful in making you smile.

“I sure hope so,” you huffed, letting a silence fall between you both.

"Thank you so much for helping me, by the way," you murmured, seeing him shake his head dismissively.

"It's okay, you don't have to thank me," he laughed.

"No, I do! What are you talking about? You didn't have to help me but you did, so you have to know that I'm really really thankful for that, okay? I like....basically owe you," you frowned.

"Look," he turned to you with a soft smile, "you can worry about repaying me another time, yeah? For now, just focus on getting a good rest at home and getting the rest of your work done."

You hummed, shooting him a reluctant look but nodding anyway, looking out the window at the passing buildings, less clearly visible due to the time of day.

“Which stop are you stopping at?” he asked you after a moment, telling him the location, murmuring that you were about to get off the bus soon, “That’s fast,” he murmured, starting to regret and wonder if he should've used the chance to make more conversation with you during the bus ride.

“How many stops do you have left?” you asked him, seeing him shrug, knowing he had at least nine more.

“About five-ish?” he shrugged, not wanting you to feel bad for him when you were already so stressed from school.

You nodded, “Alright," you frowned at the bus nearing your stop, a part of you wanting to talk more with Sicheng especially since this whole situation made you kind of forget that you had work to do for a moment.

Turning to get out of your seat, he'd given you a shy smile as you tapped out, stopping at the bus stop to wave at him through the window, making him smile at you, waving back but not without mouthing a "dont stress!" to you, holding his fist up in a gesture to cheer you on.

Nodding, you left before your smile could grow any shyer.

===

"Y/N," you heard someone call you while you were in the queue to buy coffee, turning a full circle before realizing Sicheng was standing behind you in the queue, dressed in a plain black shirt, tucked into black jeans, hands fiddling with his phone and wallet in hand.

"Oh, hi!" you said, shock evident in your tone, you noticed the petite boy who you figured was Renjun, standing next to Sicheng, eyeing him suspiciously, before turning to you and giving you a small smile in greeting.

His hair was more messy today, but not the i-just-woke-up kind of messy, but more of the I've-just-been-dancing-and-pushed-my-hair-back kind of messy.

In short, you thought he looked hot.

Brushing the thought away, you thought on your feet, hoping you could find some way to repay him for what he did.

“Believe it or not, I still feel bad about how you stayed behind to help me the other day, can I like...buy you a drink or something? for the sake of my conscience?" you laughed, seeing him tilt his head at you in amusement.

He hummed in thought, "I guess you can make it up to me by getting something to eat with me after your assignments are all over," he shrugged casually.

Renjun looking at him, clearly scandalized, his mouth falling open as if Sicheng had just transformed into another person.

You nodded, collecting your drink, turning back to him with a grin, "I'll take you up on that, see you.”

You tried your best to remain calm, before practically running back into the student lounge and almost tackling your friend with how excited you were.

"What does it mean if a guy you barely know stays back to help you with your work and accompanies you home and then asks you out for a meal after hell week is over?!" your words came out a mile a minute, almost spilling your drink with how she had writhed when you touched her calf, forgetting momentarily how ticklish she was.

"Is it the tall chinese-speaking cutie?!" she asked, earning a vigorous nod from you.

"Yeah! I saw him when I was getting coffee just now, and i was saying like hey, you know, why don't i buy you a drink cause like you know, I felt like I owed him for being so nice to me," you started, your friend nodding along as she listened intently to your story.

You took a sip of your drink halfway, constantly glancing around to check if anyone was within earshot, suddenly embarrassed about telling her what happened.

"Okay, so then, he suddenly says like..." you dropped the tone of your voice to a much lower one in a poor imitation of his voice, "'i guess you can make it up to me by getting something to eat with me after hell week,' and I'm like," you raised your eyebrows, eyes widening and a strangled sound of excitement escaping your lips, not being able to find a word to describe what you were feeling.

"Oh my god....so what did you say?" she asked, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

"I said yes, duh!" you scoffed, groaning at how she'd hit you repeatedly on the thigh after that.

"Do you think I should have, though? I mean, he's like Xiaojun's friend and all, but like still....I don't really understand why he would go out of his way to do that for me?" you frowned, taking a long sip of your coffee.

"I mean, yeah, why not? You could be missing out on a pretty good opportunity here if you say 'no'," she told you matter-of-factly.

You frowned, picking up your laptop and placing it onto one of the stools near you, scrolling to find your work.

"I know, but it's just weird, I mean. No one's ever approached me like that, especially when I don't even know them that well," you made a face of uncertainty to her.

"Maybe you should like interrogate Xiaojun or something, see what kind of person Sicheng is," she shrugged.

You had to say, there were pros and cons to that plan, but you figured it would probably be a good move to do that.

Little did you know Xiaojun was conducting his own interrogation outside the lounge.

"You should've seen him, he was actually initiating an outing with this girl!" Renjun scoffed, looking at Xiaojun in exasperation.

Sicheng rolled his eyes, focusing on stretching before him and Ten started practicing.

"Yeah why don’t you just announce it over the PA system while you’re at it," Sicheng commented, bending down sit on the floor, stretching his leg out and reaching for his foot, grasping it easily.

Ten shot Sicheng a look, "what's your plan?" he questioned, narrowing his eyes at Sicheng.

"I don't know," Sicheng shrugged, Xiaojun didn't seem to be buying any of it.

"Do you like her?" Xiaojun asked, finding it amusing to see how much Sicheng was trying to divert the topic.

"Ten, are you done stretching?" he avoided Xiaojun's question, giving a pointed look to Ten who simply smirked at his friend.

"I'll be done when you answer Xiaojun's question," he shrugged.

Sighing, Sicheng stood up, directing an annoyed look at his friends.

"I wanna get to know her first, okay?"

Ten made a face, trying to stifle his laughter. Renjun simply sighed loudly, "he's gone, just you wait, he's gonna fall in love by next week.” Ten stared wistfully into the distance, causing Xiaojun to erupt in a fit of giggles.

"You know it's true," Xiaojun gave Sicheng a knowing look, simply receiving a shake of the head in response.

"Whatever," he nudged Ten with his shoe, "let's just start."

===

Soon enough (and very fortunately) you were done with your assignments, and though Sicheng still had one major assignment left, the moment Xiaojun had given his contact to you, you had taken the liberty of texting him to let him know you were done with your assignments.

sicheng 7:53pm -congrats, r u taking me up on my offer now, then?-

He had happened to reply you when you were talking to Xiaojun over the phone.

"What do I say?"

Xiaojun groaned, "Why are you asking me?"

"Because you're his friend! You're supposed to tell me how to approach this!" you frowned, though you knew he couldn't see you.

Xiaojun scoffed, "Sicheng is the least romantic person I know, don't get your hopes up.”

You frowned.

“Then do you think i'm getting ahead of myself with this?" Xiaojun could sense the excitement leaving your tone, making him regret saying that, not intending to have upset you, but at the same time not knowing what to tell you since Sicheng wasn't one to show his affection very freely.

"No, i mean like, Sicheng's just kind of weird in how he expresses how he feels," Xiaojun explained.

"So do you think he's just being friendly by asking me out?"

"I don't know, that really depends on how he acts around you from here on, but i've never seen what he's like when he likes someone so I really wouldn't know. But trust me, he's.....interested," he chuckled, making you gasp.

"Don't lie, are you sure?"

"I mean, forget it. It's not my place to say, i'm not him so I really wouldn't know, he's kind of hard to read if you haven't noticed." The thought lingered with you as you typed out a reply to Sicheng.

8:12pm -only if u want ofc-

sicheng 8:15pm - r u free this week? -

You typed out your reply quickly. 

8:15pm -i'm free for dinner on wednesday- 8:15pm -i end classes at like 5 that day-

sicheng 8:16pm -sure thing, but i have dance practice until like 6? u ok w meeting at 7?-

You refrained from squealing out of excitement. 

8:17pm -sure, see u then! :)-

sicheng 8:17pm - :) -

That was what ended you up in a popular hotpot restaurant at 7, reaching earlier than Sicheng who had texted you saying that he was on the way.

You definitely weren't expecting that he would walk in with the staff greeting him as if he owned the restaurant. Dressed in a casual grey hoodie and dark checkered patterned sweatpants, smoothing his hair down and adjusting his cap as he slid into the booth you were sat at.

"Sorry I'm late, did you have to wait long?" you shook your head. He wouldn't tell you, of course, that the reason he was late being that Ten was busy briefing him on how and how not to act while on a date.

"These soups are really nice, the rest are kind of weird," he admitted, gesturing to a few on the menu.

"Is there anything you don't eat?" he asked, already writing down on the menu, making orders of a considerable amount of dishes.

"Nope, go ahead," you smiled, looking at the menu and making your requests, seeing how he'd called the waiter over and ordered quickly, as if he'd done this a thousand times.

"You seem to be pretty familiar with the place, are you like a regular here?" you asked, seeing him rest his elbows on the table, covering his mouth with his hands as he smiled shyly.

Nodding with a small shrug, Sicheng glanced around at the interior of the restaurant.

"Used to come here a lot back when it wasn't so expensive, now it's kind of like a once in a while kind of thing, but the food here is great," he told you with conviction, his phone lighting up with notifications but he'd simply pushed it aside on the table.

"What did you do today?" he asked.

"Nothing interesting, if that's what you're wondering," you laughed, "just lessons, we haven't gotten any of our assignments back yet, Imean, not that I want to but-yeah." You stopped yourself, realizing you were rambling and trying your best to ignore the way Sicheng was looking at you, his blank expression making you feel like you were boring him.

Little did you know Sicheng was busy distracted by the way your lips moved when you talked, accompanied with the sweet tone of your voice making him almost forget he was part of the conversation.

"That's pretty much it, what about you?" you pressed your lips together, seeing him look up, trying to remember where you stopped.

"Right, okay. I just had a meeting with Ten to practice for our showcase, which is basically our last assignment but it's not due for another few weeks."

Your eyes widened, nodding at him, "That's pretty cool, do you guys get to choose what you dance to?"

Nodding, he moved back in his seat as a waiter came to deliver your food, giving her a nod in thanks.

"To put it simply we get to choose the song ourselves and choreograph a routine, design the set blah blah blah the whole production has to be designed by us basically, on top of the write up and the oral presentation," he told you after the waiter had left.

"That sounds tough," you murmured, reaching for the plate of meat but Sicheng had gotten to it before you could, "It's okay, don't worry. I'll do the work," he told you, the tip of his tongue peeking out from his lips in his concentration as he placed the different items you ordered into the soup.

"I guess it is tough but you know, it's worth it when you get on stage and feel everything come together and just....you know, dance," he shrugged, glaring at the meat as if it would make it cook quicker.

"So—" you were startled when you saw one of the staff of the place, seeming to be one of the managers, approach Sicheng with a loud squeal, draping her hand over his shoulder as he beamed at her, greeting her before she'd started speaking to him in mandarin.

"Si si! It's been so long since I've seen you! How are you?"

He nodded politely, "I've been good, just busy with school. You guys look like business has been pretty good here?”

She nodded at him with a proud smile.

"Of course! you were right, word of mouth does wonders," she told him, nudging him and looking at you with a smirk. "Are you not gonna introduce us to each other?"

Sicheng smiled shyly getting your attention in english, introducing you to her, seeing her smile after you greeted her.

"Are you sure she's just your friend?"

Sicheng scoffed, "Don't talk nonsense," he laughed, making her let out a sound of disbelief.  

You'd managed to pick up on what they were saying, understanding this part since you heard Xiaojun say it pretty often.

"Whatever you say, Si si. Okay, okay. I won't interrupt you two any longer," she drawled, smirking.

Sicheng shooed her away promptly, and you swore his cheeks started tinting pink as he turned back to you and apologized.

"Well she seems nice," you smiled, starting to eat after Sicheng had deemed the meat to be cooked enough.

“How is it?” he asked, eyes widening and an eager smile on his face as he gripped his chopsticks in anticipation.

Upon tasting the meat, your eyebrows lifted, Sicheng mirroring your wide-eyed expression as his smile grew bigger.

“Wow, it’s really good,” you hummed.

Sicheng clasped his hands together triumphantly, nodding his head at you with an overconfident smirk, “Of course it’s good! Since I was the one that recommended this place,” he held his arms up in a shrug.

You rolled your eyes, giggling at his demeanour as he put more food into the pot.

"Did you understand what she was saying?" he asked you.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, seeing him gesture with his thumb over his shoulder and you realized he was referring to the staff. You raised a hand, tilting it in a 'somewhat' gesture.

"Roughly, I used to learn mandarin when i was younger but it's been pretty long since then and I lost most of my knowledge, I only understand bits and pieces that i've heard from Xiaojun before," you laughed, the way he looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eye making you feel a certain type of way.

"So you don't understand what I'm saying now?" he asked you in mandarin, making you narrow your eyes at him.

"I feel like you're asking me if I understand what you're saying...." you guessed, eyebrow raising in the hope that you were correct. Your heart practically jumping at the way his lips curved into a smile, nodding.

He'd set his chopsticks down, holding his head up with his hand, elbow resting on the table as he looked at you curiously.

"What if i said you were a rice bucket (饭桶)?" you didn't catch what he said, the way he pronounced words being rather rushed, tending to mesh and mumble his words together, unlike Xiaojun who tended to enunciate his words strongly.

You frowned at him, chewing your food as you thought, piecing together the words you'd managed to catch, "I eat rice?" you asked.

You weren't expecting the burst of laughter Sicheng had erupted in, his deep laugh sounding throughout the booth you were in, making your eyes widen and look over to see if anyone was looking, thankfully seeing none.

"What's so funny about that?" you asked, genuinely concerned, meanwhile Sicheng seemed to find it the funniest thing ever that you didn't understand him, shaking his head at you.

"Nothing, you're correct," he said, calming down and sipping his drink, his cheeks red from how hard he'd laughed, scrunching his eyes shut in a failed attempt to stop laughing.

You'd let a silence fall between you two as you ate, Sicheng was almost done with his food, forgetting what Ten had told him about his bad habit of eating quickly so no one could take his food.

Glancing at the pot of soup, he'd picked up pieces of meat with his chopsticks, placing it into your bowl, something that he'd never done before other than for his parents, his behaviour shocking even himself.

Nodding gratefully but hoping you could hide how flustered you were, you broke the silence, asking, "anyway, are other people allowed to go for the showcase?" you asked, seeing his eyebrows raise.

"Uh-huh.”

You felt your anxiousness increase, having expected him to ask if you'd wanted to go, now making you wonder if it'd be weird if you asked if you could go watch.

"Can I uh...watch?" you asked, diverting your gaze to your food immediately after you asked, missing the way he scrunched his nose up with a smile, pressing his lips together to contain it before replying to you.

"No," he joked, making your head shoot up.

Sicheng giggling at your reaction, "I'm kidding, of course you can. I'll let you know the details closer to the date." he told you.

"You're not from my faculty, right? I was wondering cause you're in our building so much you could actually pass off as a student there," you laughed, seeing him give you a sheepish look.

"Well, I mean, i'm from the dance department but I've spent a lot of time in your faculty building recently ‘cause one of my juniors Renjun asked me for help for one of his routines and it was a good meeting space for us, since it had that area with the mirrors and all," he gestured with his hand as he spoke, picking his chopsticks back up and shoveling the noodles into his mouth.

You made a 'o' shape with your mouth in understanding.

"Which year are you in?" you asked him.

"I'm in my last year, actually. the showcase is kind of part of our graduating project," your eyes widened, realizing this made him your senior.

"Oh," you murmured. Seeing your phone light up in your lap with a text from Xiaojun.

xiaojun 7:40pm - hows ur date going -

You saw Sicheng move as if getting ready to stand, "Where are you going?"

"Bathroom, be back soon," he murmured. You simply nodded, too preoccupied with replying Xiaojun to pay attention to anything else.

7:40pm - pretty good, kinda weird. he told me in chinese that i ate rice for some reason -

xiaojun 7:41pm - r u sure he didnt just call u a fan tong -

You frowned. 

7:41pm - he did....but isn't that what it means???-

xiaojun 7:42pm - no omg can u just... google what it means -

You did as he had instructed, understanding why Sicheng was laughing so much when you'd seen what it meant, and just as you'd found out, he'd come back to the table, hands resting in the front pocket of his hoodie.

"Ready to go?" you nodded.

"Also, you're a rice bucket!" you told him, seeing him laugh, realizing you'd found out what it meant. But you were momentarily distracted when he'd walked right past the cashier.

"Hey hey, wait aren't we gonna pay?" you grabbed his arm, seeing him shake his head and continue walking, dragging you out with him.

"I paid already," he nodded goodbye at the cashier, leaving you to fumble for words as he waved the receipt at you as proof.

"What the heck, when?"

Sicheng shrugged, "when you were busy finding out what a rice bucket meant."

"Well, then how much do I owe you?" you asked, trying to get the receipt from him, seeing him shove his hands back into his front pocket.

Sicheng pointed at a nearby convenience store, "wanna get ice cream?"

"Sicheng," you frowned, reaching over in an attempt to pull his hands out of his pocket to get the receipt, seeing him pull out the receipt quickly, tearing it into pieces and throwing it into the next trashcan you walked past.

"What did you do that for?!" you whined, letting him lead you across the street to the same line as the convenience store he was pointing at earlier.

He turned to you with a blank expression.

"Look, I said you could repay me by coming to eat with me, not paying for my meal," he gave you a calm shrug, "plus, i chose the place, wouldn't be nice to make you pay ‘cause its so expensive."

"And it's fair for you to pay?" he gave you a tired look.

"This isn't about being fair, Y/N. It's about me paying because i wanted to, alright?" you scrunched up your nose in distaste, but chose to accept your fate anyway since he was so insistent about it.

"I take it back, you're not a rice bucket," you huffed.

He'd led you into the convenience store, grinning at the wide variety of ice cream, Sicheng choosing his quickly, glancing at the aisle of candy and sweets.

"Do you want any of that?" you asked, watching him drag his gaze away from the colourful array of snacks to look at you with an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"Are you offering to get it for me?" you shrugged, pulling the ice cream bar you wanted out of the cooler and shutting it tightly.

"I want to," you said, emphasizing your tone to make it similar to his when he'd explained the whole paying situation to you.

Sicheng grinned, moving to the aisle and picking out a packet of cookies, handing it to you together with his ice cream with a childlike smile on his face.

After paying, you'd walked out of the convenience store, Sicheng ripping open the packet of his ice cream quickly, taking a bite out of it and waving his arms happily.

Dear God, please help me not make it too obvious that I think Sicheng’s absolutely adorable.

"Is it far from here to your house?" Sicheng asked, and only then did you look at your surroundings, realizing you may be closer to your house than he thinks.

"There's actually a way to walk from here to my house," you said, seeing him nod.

"Alright, let's go."

"Huh?" your eyes widened, biting your ice-cream in your shock and shivering as a result.

"I'll walk you home." He said, gesturing for you to lead the way and so you did, wondering what about you was warranting such niceness from him.

You let him follow you anyway, shoving your hands into your pockets as you walked so you wouldn’t awkwardly brush hands with his.

Figuring you might as well take advantage of the time you had, you let your curiosity fuel your conversation.

"So, what are your plans after you graduate?"

Sicheng grimaced, not expecting you to have asked him that. At the thought of university, Sicheng couldn’t help but think of his dad, the overload of emotions and information that he desperately wanted to tell you making him eventually shrug at the question, not wanting to overwhelm you with the sheer weight of his emotions.

"I actually wanna go to this acting academy, but of course that's all dependent on how well I do,” he huffed.

You pursed your lips at the implication of his words, "Is it hard to get in?"

He nodded vigorously.

"They only accept a handful of students each year...but it'd be a dream if I actually got in," his voice dropped to a murmur, finishing his ice cream and tossing the packaging into a trash bin you walked past.

"Who knows, maybe you will," you shrugged confidently, not knowing just how much comfort the statement gave him.

Sicheng looked at you blankly, a certain warmth spreading in his chest. You turned to look at him, watching as a small smile gracing his features.

"Maybe I will," he murmured.

“Have you spoken to your parents about it? I know it took Xiaojun ages to convince his parents to let him do his course,” you mentioned, noticing the way Sicheng seemed to have tensed at that.

Sicheng pressed his lips together firmly before letting them part slightly, looking as though he wanted to say something.

Eventually, he nodded, “they know I want to pursue acting and dance.”

You raised your eyebrows slightly, craning your neck slightly to get a better look at his expression, “you can tell me if you don’t want to talk about it, but.. something tells me they’re not happy with it.”

Sicheng let out a deep breath through his nose, nodding at you.

“Yeah, they’re not. They never really…were keen on me pursuing arts. I mean like my mom sort of gave up trying to change my mind but my dad is um…” he paused, a huff of bitter laughter leaving his lips, “how do I say this in a nice way..”

Sicheng shook his head, “He’s just very… traditional.”

Sicheng expected to hear what he usually heard at this point, that his parents only mean well and that they’re just worried for him, but your response was something he hadn’t seen coming.

“So how does that make you feel?” You asked. And sure, it was a simple question but for some reason, it was making Sicheng feel as though he was being wrapped in a blanket and soothed like a child.

Sicheng couldn’t help but huff as he shook his head, “I mean, at the end of the day they’re my parents and I know that, but it still makes me feel.. hurt, I guess. That they don’t want to support me to do what makes me happy and what I’m actually passionate about, you know?”

You nodded, “I get where you’re coming from, and I know I’m not in any position to help you make any changes but…I hope you don’t let that stop you.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

You shrugged, unsure where your wisdom had stemmed from, but you figured it was from all those sleepovers with Xiaojun where you two could rant for hours.

“It’s easy to let yourself sacrifice things for people you care about, but I hope you never sacrifice your happiness.”

Sicheng looked away, trying to suppress the smile from his face as he nodded, glancing at you quickly before looking away, knowing it would do him no help in trying to conceal his smile.

You'd talked more about whatever you could think of, growing to enjoy Sicheng's company the more you spoke with him, not noticing how fast time passed until you were rounding the corner to the street you lived.

"I had a nice time with you tonight," you said, Sicheng able to sense that you were slowing down, having reached your driveway.

"Me too," he smiled, "thank you, for....your time." Sicheng internally cursed, thankful Ten wasn’t here to hear whatever bullshit he just said.

Your lower lip jut out slightly in a pout.

“Well, I mean, it doesn't have to be the last time we go out....you know, we can still hang," you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, seeing him nod, diverting his gaze elsewhere and fidgeting with his cap.

"Absolutely, you know, I'm basically free other than practices with Ten, just uh....let me know if you're ever like....bored and you wanna hang out or something," he mumbled, looking up from the floor to tilt his head at you with a smile, your heart nearly exploding with how cute the gesture was to you.

"Goodnight." You waved, seeing him nod at you, waving as you entered your house.

===

You were currently sitting in the library trying to do some readings for class.

Sicheng had just finished his practice for the day and was going to find you in the library, wearing a yellow hoodie and jeans, his hair (courtesy of Ten) was curlier today, since they'd gotten carried away with thinking of possible ways to style themselves for the performance.  But you thought it wasn't such a bad thing. Because after it was messed up from the movements of the dance you had to say he was hard to look away from.

Spotting you at your desk in the library, he'd felt almost endeared looking at how concentrated you were, a part of him feeling overwhelmed with the urge to pinch your cheeks with how serious you looked. This left Sicheng with no other option than to resort to his only method of coping with it: teasing you.

"What are you doing?" he asked you in mandarin once he had reached your table, flopping onto the seat next to you, making you furrow your eyebrows at your computer screen.

"Readings for class," you murmured, using your pen to follow where you were.

“Okay, let me see your pretty face," he teased, making you huff, not understanding what he was saying.

"What does 'pretty face' mean?" you asked him distractedly, scribbling something on your notes.

"Your face," he said smoothly, so smooth you didn't even realize it wasn't what the word meant.

"That's how you say it in chinese?" he nodded.

"Learn something new everyday," you commented, turning back to face Sicheng only to see he'd already whipped out his phone and pressed on his game app, leaning his head on his arm that was resting on the back of the chair, looking at you with a lazy smile as it loaded.

"Aren't you tired from practice? and why is your hair curly?"

He nodded, pouting at you, "I'm tired, but never too tired to win," he said with an exaggerated amount of confidence, making you scoff.

“But do you like it?" he asked, taking a lock of his hair between his fingers, pulling on it before messing it up a little, you had to remind yourself not to stare.

"It's.....nice," you shrugged, turning back to your computer as Sicheng simply smiled, logging into his game.

By the time you were done with one reading, Sicheng had finished his game as well, the both of you getting ready to leave when you saw a girl that looked younger than you approach your table. You were sure you haven’t seen her before, looking at her in very prominent confusion before you realized she was looking for Sicheng.

The first thing that stood out to you was that she'd called him her older brother (哥哥), a term you knew held certain meaning to some guys as you'd learnt from Xiaojun, but not like you were in any position to be jealous or anything.

"I was hoping I'd run into you, do you know where I can find this teacher?" you heard her say, your gaze hardening from the way Sicheng smiled at her, nodding and giving her directions, a part of you wishing he would act colder towards her, but knowing it wasn't in Sicheng's nature to behave that way towards juniors.

"Thank you so much!" she said, beaming at him shyly before she left.

"Who's that, huh?" you asked, smirking at Sicheng.

"Just a junior," he shrugged, the both of you walking into the lift, squeezed at the back behind a crowd of students.

You pretended to be deep in thought, "Didn't seem like it though, did it, older brother?" you mocked, repeating the words of his junior.

Sicheng almost immediately replied, "Oh my god, shut up that was so gross, don't ever say that again," he shivered, trying to hide the fact that he was absolutely endeared to you and secretly wished you would say it again, but knowing he wouldn't be able to contain his happiness if you did.

You gasped, slightly offended at his outburst as you walked out of the lift.

"What?! What's so different about me saying it and her saying it!" you scoffed, seeing him shake his head, giving you a patronizing smile.

"It's really gross when you say it cause you're my friend!" he told you, making you scoff, at a loss for words.

Was this....him friendzoning you?

"Let's just go home." you shook your head, pushing the conversation behind you.

===

"Do you think this means he doesn't like me?" you sighed, seeing your friend shrug, you and Sicheng had developed a routine of seeing each other after classes or practice, even if it meant just hanging out and watching movies, or just him coming over to your house but ending up falling asleep on your couch because he was so tired from practice, but what bothered you wasn't the routine, but incidents like those in the library that made you confused over how he saw you.

Sure, he did nice gestures for you, but anyone could be nice to you with unromantic intentions. Xiaojun was nice to you, but he had no intention of dating you, so how could you be sure about the fact that he was interested in you?

"You can't be sure....i mean, from what I'm seeing he does a lot of nice things for you..but he doesn't necessarily...outrightly tell you things that can make you sure that he likes you?"

You sighed, waiting for your food to be ready. You'd planned on surprising Sicheng and bringing some food to him since you told him you'd meet him in his practice room.

"Don't overthink it," your friend gave you a sympathetic look, "Maybe he's just not that great at expressing how he feels?" she shrugged, making you shrug with her, collecting your food.

"You're going to see him now, aren't you?" you nodded, giving her a grim look. "All the best," she laughed, waving you goodbye as you left in the direction of the practice room.

What you didn't expect to find was to see Sicheng lying on the floor of the dance studio, sprawled on his back, wearing the same checkered sweatpants and a plain white shirt. He looked as though he was sleeping, not making a single move even when you entered the room loudly.

"Sicheng?" you called, not seeing him move, finding his demeanour similar to when you'd seen him the previous week, sleeping off his stress when he was supposed to be fine-tuning the report with Ten.

You set your bag down next to his, bringing the packets of food as you made your way next to him, not wanting to disrupt his sleep but at the same time knowing he had to eat.

You decided to text Ten first, in the hope that it would give you some insight as to how Sicheng was feeling.

6:23pm - hey, how was Sicheng during practice today? -

ten 6:23pm -???? we didn't meet today we said today would be a rest day-6:23pm - why?? did smth happen? is he ok? -

Frowning, you checked the date, it was only a matter of days before Sicheng and Ten's showcase, and you could tell that Sicheng was nervous, especially judging from his behaviour today.

"Hey, Sicheng, wake up," you murmured seeing him frown, his eyes opening slowly to see you sitting next to him, blinking at you before letting out a deep sigh.

Sicheng felt as though he was in some sort of hazy dream, the sight of you and the smell of food making his head spin, not being able to quite remember how he ended up asleep on the floor.

"What were you doing here the whole day?" you worried, seeing him push himself off the floor to sit with his knees up, resting his folded arms on his knees.

"Practicing....I guess," he shrugged, his gaze travelling to the bag containing food that sat next to you.

Realizing what he was staring at, you started emptying out the bag, laying the food in front of the both of you.

"Here, eat," he nodded at you wordlessly, starting to open the packets to eat.

You felt a little concerned at his lack of a response, not knowing if your presence here was welcomed or not, but Sicheng was thankful, even if it was hard for you to see that.

"Ten told me you guys were supposed to have a rest day today," he looked at you and nodded, confirming it.

"And?" you asked. "What part about 'rest' in 'rest day' do you not understand?" your eyebrows knit together in a frown, unsure what Sicheng's take on this was.

"I had to practice, Y/N." he swallowed his food with a wince, and looking down you realized he was almost done with his food. "I needed to just shut myself in here and concentrate. I know myself best and I know that I wasn't putting my all into this the past few practices," he told you, making your frown deepen.

"What makes you think that?" you murmured, looking down at your food, poking at it for lack of appetite, your worry for him getting the better of you.

Sicheng looked at you with a nervous expression, looking as if he was withholding something. What was he supposed to answer to that? oh, because I couldn't stop thinking about you? or oh, because I keep wanting to get it over with so I can meet you after? or oh, because I'm so stressed about how I can't bring myself to tell you how much I like you?

His expression was blank, shrugging as he mumbled, "just a feeling."

"Look, I know, you're stressed, but you have to trust me when I say that I've seen your rehearsals and you and Ten are doing so well!" you murmured, not missing the way he sighed as he reached for the plastic bag, dumping his empty packaging into the bag and leaning back to rest his weight on his hands.

"That's different, Y/N. You're you, and the teachers are the teachers. Not to mention my parents."

You raised your eyebrows in confusion, prompting him to elaborate.

“You're a lot nicer to me than they are," he murmured.

You felt something in you hurt when you heard how defeated he sounded, giving him a reassuring smile, "Hey, when did that ever stop you?" you asked, seeing him look at you, a tiny glimmer of hope in his eyes, shaking his head.

"Stop running away from your problems, man, face them head on! Sleep's not gonna perfect your dance for you," you held your fists up in a gesture to cheer him on, seeing him shake his head with a smile, rolling his eyes as he got up from the floor, nodding.

"Can you help me?" he asked, telling you what he wanted you to look out for, and to help him find ways to improve his expression from an audience's perspective.

You nodded, finishing your food and setting it aside, jogging over to a space in front of the mirrors and sitting down in front of it, opening your packet drink as he passed you his phone, with the song on the screen already.

"Ready?" You asked with a smile, seeing him cast you a unsure glance, leaning his head back with a groan.

You'd pressed play to the song, seeing him start his routine, only when he'd gotten to the part where he had to do a one-handed cartwheel had he stopped after that, wanting to restart.

You paused the music, "What's wrong?"

He shook his head, looking at you with an expression you couldn't place the feeling of.

"Just calm down, relax. You know this routine by heart, just don't think about anything else.." you

saw him nod at you, getting back into his starting position.

"Ready?" he nodded again, and when you played the music this time, you could see how much more in his element he was, letting his movements flow, performing tricks with ease, not to mention the intensity with which he performed, almost like an upgrade from the past rehearsals you've seen.

Once the song ended, he looked at you with a shy smile, smiling widely even as he caught his breath, and you couldn't help yourself from cheering and clapping.

"That was great! Best I've seen from you by far," he gave you a look.

"Why were you so nervous about it anyway? You danced it so well!" you said, seeing him shake his head at you.

"You know contemporary dance isn't my specialty, right?" Your eyebrows raised, making him laugh his deep bubbly laugh, covering his head with his hands. The way he looked at you now was the mischievous kind of look he gave you whenever he knew something you didn’t.

"It isn't? Then what is your specialization?" you wondered, sipping on your drink as he did a small turn.

"Chinese traditional dance," you gasped, almost being able to imagine Sicheng dancing that style of dance, and how mesmerising he would look while doing so.

"Oh my god...can you show me?"

Sicheng laughed, "huh?" his tone was embarrassed, as if he was suddenly too shy to dance for you.

You nodded vigorously, "please, I really wanna see," you clasped your hands together, rubbing them together in a pleading gesture.

He nodded. 

"Anything for you," he told you in mandarin, you being to excited to fully process what he was saying.

"Can you reach in my bag and take out the fan?" he pointed to his bag, and you'd rolled over, reaching his bag and taking out a fan that was considerably bigger than you'd expected, handing it to him.

"This is really short, but just something I choreographed a while ago," he murmured, and you swore you saw a tint of pink shading his cheeks as he scrolled his phone for the song, pressing play and proceeding to dance the most enchanting thing you'd ever seen him dance.

You knew he was talented when you saw how he danced with Ten, but seeing him dancing something that he had so much skill in, so much technique and control over, it was like you'd fallen for him even more while watching him.

"Wow..." was all you could muster when he was done, turning back to you and hiding his face with the opened fan as he laughed, the way his tone would rise as he laughed serving to endear you even more to him if that was possible.

"What?" he asked you, making you shake your head, a giddy awestruck look on your face.

"I don't know how to describe it, but all Iknow is that I loved it," you told him, seeing him raise his hands dramatically, bowing dramatically in all directions.

"Thank you everybody!" he said in mandarin, sounding similar to those actors you would see at award shows.

You scoffed playfully, feigning hurt, stomping up to him, with your hands on your hips.

"Why are you thanking everyone! I'm the one who was encouraging you," you laughed, seeing his eyes widen.

Grinning at you, he blew a flying kiss to you with his fan.

"Oh, right, thank you, kiss kiss (么么哒)," he said, making you laugh.

"I don't know what that means but...i'll take it," you murmured, seeing him close the fan, looking at you with a tired smile. The kind of smile you would see in movies when the protagonist realizes he's in love, but in this case, Sicheng was the protagonist, and he was currently kicking himself on the inside because what are you doing!!! now is the perfect time to tell her you like her!!

But all Sicheng could do was smile, his words failing him at the worst of times, leaving an awful big load of tension between you two as you secretly hoped this movie-protagonist-in-love look would mean you would receive a slow-mo worthy confession now, only to get a shock when Sicheng had broken the silence.

"The tickets are with Xiaojun," he blurted, your potential movie-moment slipping away just as fast as Sicheng snapped his fan open, walking over to your bags and wrapping the plastic bag of your trash as a way for him to hide how frustrated he was with himself, scrunching his eyes up with an annoyed tilt of his head.

You were busy trying to hide your disappointment as well, using the time he was preoccupied with clearing the empty food packets to take deep breaths, calming your racing heart every time it remembered how close you came to revealing your feelings for him.

"Ready to go home?" he murmured, standing up and turning to face you, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Recovering from your shock you nodded, "Yep, yeah. Let's go."

===

"Okay, let's do it again, just pretend I'm Y/N," Xiaojun said, not bothering to adjust his sitting posture, making it very hard for Sicheng to imagine the skinny boy in front of him chewing loudly on his lunch to be you.

Sicheng shot Renjun a helpless look, "save me, please."

Renjun shaking his head at the same time as Ten chimed in, "Me, me! I'd do it a lot better than Xiaojun," he claimed confidently, crossing his legs and straightening his posture, giving Sicheng a sensual look.

Sicheng shoved Ten, groaning, "None of you are actually helping, you know."

Renjun shook his head in disapproval at Xiaojun and Ten, pulling Ten out of his seat so he could sit in front of Sicheng, looking at the older boy with a neutral expression.

"Okay, pretend I'm Y/N, and just try to tell me something you've wanted to tell me for a while now," Renjun said simply, as if it should be second-nature for Sicheng to do.

"For someone who wants to go to an acting school, you really suck at this roleplay thing," Ten commented, arms folded over his chest as he watched Sicheng and Renjun.

"It's not as easy as you think, okay?" Sicheng groaned, “I regret asking you guys for help.”

Sicheng knew he’d only ended up in this situation after he told them what had happened in the dance studio the other day, the boys immediately initiating a plan to help their friend gain the courage to express his feelings to her.

“Focus!” Renjun clapped his hands in front of Sicheng, who had managed to get his expression to be neutral, his leg starting to bounce anxiously as he thought of what to say.

“Y/N,” he started, “well...you know...we’ve been friends for a...substantial amount of time now...”

“Cut!” Renjun yelled, making Sicheng frown, wondering what he said to make Renjun stop him so fast.

“Firstly, you’re not gonna confess to her in mandarin, are you? And second of all, that was the most unromantic starting sentence I've ever heard.” Sicheng sighed, switching to english.

“Okay, rewind.Y/N, I....” Sicheng felt himself start to second guess the sentences he had planned, suddenly feeling like for every way he could think of to confess to you, there would be a nicer way to do it that he would think of immediately after, making him stop himself, sighing again.

“You know maybe his saving grace will be that she still likes him even though he’s not very good with his words,” Xiaojun shrugged, making Sicheng shoot him a look.

“In all honesty, I feel like i’m okay expressing my feelings to her, just that I didn't know how she’d react, like, what if she wasn’t looking for a relationship-”  Xiaojun practically burst out laughing at that, shaking his head at Sicheng as the three of them looked at him in curiosity (and a little bit of concern).

“Believe me, you’re way off if you think that,” he laughed.

Sicheng gave him a look, “What do you mean?”

Xiaojun raised his hands in defence, “I mean, i’m not gonna out her, but all I’m gonna say is that the last thing you should be afraid of is that she isn’t looking for a relationship.”

Sicheng hummed thoughtfully at what Xiaojun was implying.

This thought lingered with Sicheng until the day of the showcase, when Sicheng had been greeted with the news that his teacher had invited his family to watch the showcase, and as if that wasn’t horrifying enough, they actually agreed.

“Dude,” Ten called at the jittery boy who was currently squatting behind the stage curtains, peeking out to search for his parents in the crowd, and silently hoping to God that he wouldn’t spot them.

When Sicheng hadn’t answered, Ten tried again, “Dude!” he called, louder this time.

Ten sighed when Sicheng’s head whipped around quickly, his expression panic-stricken.

Walking over to where Sicheng was squatting, he cast the boy a sympathetic look.

“I heard about the um...parents thing,” he told Sicheng, the mere reminder of it making Sicheng let out a deep breath he wasn’t aware that he was holding.

Sicheng felt suffocated, the murmuring of the crowd only seeming to grow in volume.

“I’m gonna go get some air,” Sicheng sighed, Ten letting him walk out, hoping the air would do his dance partner some good as well.

You had just reached the performance venue with Xiaojun, you were already seated with Xiaojun when you’d started to feel a little thirsty, wanting to step outside to find something you could drink. Already having bought your drink, you were about to make your way back, opening your phone because you’d wanted to send an encouraging message to Sicheng, almost groaning when you saw a text come in from Xiaojun.

Xiaojun 5:37pm - can you get me a water too pls ?? renjun wants a coke -

Sighing, you made your way back to the vending machine, about to take your wallet out again when you’d spotted someone seated at one of the benches near you, head buried in their hands.

Frowning, you wondered if they were alright, pushing the coins absentmindedly into the vending machine as you tried to lean back as much as you could to get a better view of the boy.

The boy had looked up, making eye contact with you and looking away quickly, his hands going up to wipe at his eyes, and you realized only then that that was Sicheng.

Frowning, you carried the drinks in your hand as you walked over to where he was sitting, taking as seat next to him on the bench, looking at him in concern.

“Hey, are you okay?” you frowned.

Sicheng had avoided your gaze, fidgeting with his hands as he shrugged. “My parents are here,” he finally sighed, making your eyes widen, knowing the implications behind that.

“It’s my first time actually performing in front of them...like, ever.”

You weren’t sure what came over you when you reached a hand out to grasp his gently, surprised when he’d fidgeted with your hand instead, letting you grasp his hand and you squeezed his gently, hearing a shaky sigh leave him.

“I want to make them proud. I really do. But I just feel like I’m not ready yet, I don't know why my teacher invited them without telling me I wasn’t prepared for this at all and I’m so-” he stopped abruptly, a sigh leaving his lips as he looked up, blinking rapidly to stop his tears from spilling out.

“So worried that they won’t have a reason to be proud of me after watching me.” he mumbled, his words muffled by his hand that reached up to dab at the tear that had rolled down his cheek.

“Hey,” you started, seeing him look towards you, inhaling deeply as he tried to regulate his breathing, “I know I won’t understand exactly how you feel, but I can tell you that if you really want to make them proud, your job is to go out there and show them just why you love performing so much. You’ve worked so hard up ‘til this point, there’s nothing else left for you to do other than to just show them the result of this hard work,” you told him, hoping your words made sense as you tried to console him.

“Xiaojun and Renjun are already inside. We know what you’re capable of, and we’ll be supporting you,” you flushed, suddenly feeling shy to be telling him this but going out on a limb and telling him anyway in your desperation to make him feel less anxious.

“I’ll be rooting for you,” you mumbled, looking away in your embarrassment, not noticing the way Sicheng’s lips had trembled, his eyes not welling up in tears but his throat feeling as though it was closing up on itself, his chest feeling like it was almost burning with warmth, wishing you hadn’t stood up so quickly.

“You should probably be going in, the showcase is gonna start soon,” you gestured to the entrance, picking up the drinks in your hands and turning to bid Sicheng goodbye, the boy contemplating whether or not to hug you, realizing his contemplating had made him miss his chance when he saw you walking away from him.

Later on, you felt yourself growing nervous as you saw Sicheng and Ten step onto the stage, the announcer introducing them and giving a small background about the piece they would be performing. Sicheng felt it too, shutting his eyes after he got into position and breathing slowly. Opening his eyes again, he’d made eye contact with Ten, who gave him a reassuring smile.

And you were glad to say he had danced more beautifully than you had ever seen before.

After the performance, he and Ten had gone outside the venue after it was over to take pictures with friends who had shown up, seeing you and Xiaojun waiting there, you nervously clutching a bouquet of flowers in your hand that Xiaojun basically forced you to buy.

Tugging at the sleeve of your sweater, you waited impatiently for Sicheng to finish taking pictures with his teachers and other friends—Renjun would joke and say your flowers would be dead by the time they were done— and Xiaojun had eventually gotten sick of waiting and dragged you by the arm to where Sicheng and Ten were, with Renjun following close behind.

“Hey guys,” Ten drawled when he saw you, Xiaojun and Renjun approaching, looking at Sicheng with a pointed look, nudging his head in your direction, to which Sicheng furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“What?” he said in mandarin, eyes widening when he saw you holding out the bouquet of flowers for him, trying to distract yourself from the fact that the leather jacket he’d put over his performance outfit was distracting you greatly, having already given one bouquet to Ten while he was distracted.

“You guys wanna take a picture together?” you heard Renjun yell, and Xiaojun took that as his queue and pushed you towards Sicheng. You winced as you lost your balance with a yelp, only steadying yourself when Sicheng grabbed your arm, taking the flowers from you with a grateful nod.

“Stop being awkward,” Renjun mouthed with a glare, and you’d fixed your hair, suddenly feeling shy about your proximity to Sicheng, not knowing how to arrange your hands, but thankfully for the both of you, you had Ten on your side.

Sicheng had started simple, by placing his hand over your shoulder, his other hand holding the bouquet, tilting his head towards yours for the picture.

Meanwhile Renjun was hard at work bending down to find better angles to capture you both in.

“Okay..okayy,” you laughed, hoping you would hear that Renjun was done taking photos, but instead hearing Ten’s commentary as he watched Renjun taking photos of you.

“Okay, change pose,” he said, making you and Sicheng flustered, not knowing what other pose you could possibly do, Sicheng with his arm around your shoulder, looking at you with a tilt of the head as if to ask you what pose to do next, making you shrug.

“Should we just end it now?” he leaned closer to whisper, making you nod with a small wince.

Sicheng waved his hand dismissively, letting go of your shoulder and telling them that photo taking was over, Renjun putting his phone down with a huff and you swore he was muttering something about you guys being unappreciative.

They were all preoccupied with airdrop-ing the photos to each other, giving you a chance to properly congratulate Sicheng for successfully getting through his showcase, pulling him down for a hug to congratulate him, your heart jumping for joy at the comfort you felt when he hugged you back.

It felt like you hugged him for the longest time, and Sicheng knew this too, his free hand going up to cradle your head before pulling away, embarrassed that you’d hugged him in front of Ten, Renjun and Xiaojun.

You glanced at Sicheng, searching his expression and noticing how his eyes looked a little teary and bloodshot.

“Thanks for coming,” he murmured, his voice sounding slightly shaky which made him clear his throat quickly, making Renjun scoff.

“Did we have a choice? Ten would’ve killed us if we didn’t show up,” Renjun rolled his eyes.

“Did you tell her about the party yet?” you heard Ten ask, seeing you frown in confusion.

“What party?” you asked him.

His eyes widened in realisation, “Oh, right.  I'm having a christmas party kind of thing, and i was wondering if you wanna come?”

You thought about it, Christmas wasn’t until next week, so you were pretty sure you would have enough time to prepare something to wear for the party.

“When is it?”

“Uh..we wanted it to kind of happen early because Ten’s flying home for Christmas, and I’m flying to China to go see my grandparents for christmas as well, so we were thinking of having it this Saturday?” he asked, and you’d glanced at your phone for confirmation.

This meant you had 3 days to prepare gifts for them and figure out what you were gonna wear.

“Oh.....well, alright then, that’d be nice,” you nodded, slowly recovering from your shock to give him a smile.

“Should I be anticipating your gift?” he asked, making you shake your head firmly.

“God, please don’t. I suck at giving gifts,” you laughed, “should i be anticipating yours?” you asked, just for the fun of it, both of you not expecting the way Sicheng had simply nodded.

“Yes, I'd like you to.”

===

That very statement was what left Sicheng a whining mess up until the day of the party, trying to figure out what the hell had compelled him to say that when he didn’t even have a proper gift in mind yet, almost contemplating asking his mom for advice when he heard her loudly packing in her bedroom.

“Ma,” he’d burst her bedroom door open, realizing with a disappointed sigh that it was his dad and not his mom.

“Your mom’s downstairs,” he told Sicheng, who had then promptly ran down the stairs of his house, finding his mother in the living room wrapping apples for the people she’d planned on giving them to on Christmas.

That’s when it hit him, he knew what he was going to give you for Christmas.

You on the other hand, weren’t having such luck in the gift department. You wanted to get Sicheng something meaningful and nice, but for lack of better ideas you decided on buying Sicheng a new set of headphones. You were familiar with Sicheng’s complaints about his parents nagging him for staying up late whenever he was gaming his parents since he didn’t use headphones, being too lazy to buy them, so you figured you’d do both him and his parents a favour with this gift.

Whereas for Ten, Xiaojun and Renjun (the only ones you actually knew who were going for this party) you’d already settled their gifts. So to any other person, you would have seemed to have everything under control, except, you had no idea what to wear.

Ten had tried helping you, suggesting you should wear something comfortable since it was cold out, but you weren’t necessarily sure how to impress Sicheng with your comfortable clothes, eventually letting Ten pick out for you a simple outfit, even forcing you to wear a scarf over it because he claimed Sicheng would think you looked cute.

So you trusted him (whether this was a good choice or a bad choice is up to you, really), and had brought your gifts, specially and individually wrapped, along with your own little handwritten note to Sicheng, and followed Ten to the party.

Only upon reaching were you truly thankful that he’d made you wear a scarf, it was cold out, and you were thankful that Sicheng’s house had pretty good heating. Not that you didn’t like being in the cold, you were just pretty sure you wouldn’t have liked it as much if you’d gone with your previous outfit choice.

Walking into the party, you’d spotted Xiaojun quickly, walking over to where he was in the kitchen, Ten having left you to greet the other guys Sicheng invited that you weren’t familiar with.

“Hey,” he waved, the sleeve of his oversized sweater engulfing his arm, making him look even smaller than usual.

Your greeting came out muffled as you loosened your scarf, hanging it around your neck loosely instead, “Have you seen Sicheng?” you asked, seeing him shake his head.

Feeling a little more than disappointed, you’d taken a drink from him before looking around the house, realizing that maybe Sicheng was a little more well-off than he’d let on, impressed by the warm lighting accompanying the chandeliers and very comfortable looking sofas, you’d been dragged by Renjun to join their movie session in the living room, only then realizing that Sicheng was there, engrossed in the Narnia movie that was playing on his (big) television set.

“Y/N’s finally here,” Ten’s voice had captured Sicheng’s attention, the boy turning around in his seat to look at you, and only then did you realize how good he looked.

Wearing a thick dark green sweater and jeans that were folded up at the bottom, not to mention his hair was styled up, he turned to you with a wave, patting the seat next to him as an invitation to sit there. In your attempt to get over your shock over his outfit, you took your time in placing the gifts at the Christmas tree, bringing his gift to where he sat, tucking it between your legs and the sofa as you sat down, realizing the space was tighter than you’d expected, making you have to squeeze shoulder to shoulder with Sicheng- almost spilling your drink in the process.

“Are those glasses real?” you whispered, not wanting to interrupt the rest of the guys who were watching the movie, the younger looking one sitting next to Renjun with bright orange hair eyeing you and Sicheng with a knowing look.

Sicheng shook his head.

“Nope, they were a gift from Jaehyun,” he pointed at one of the guys sitting on the floor next to the coffee table, wearing a black sweater and very ripped jeans.

“I’m wearing them because he was so insistent that I didn't like them,” he explained, and you desperately wished he would whisper because the way his hushed tone sounded so near to you wasn’t doing anything in calming you down.

“When did you get here?” he asked, making you shrug, not really wishing to disclose the time you spent in the kitchen hiding from the crowd.

“Not long ago, I was just in the kitchen with Xiaojun,” you told him, the mention of the kitchen directing his attention to the cup in your hand, leaning over to sniff it, his proximity to your face making you lean back.

Leaning back after sniffing your drink, he raised an eyebrow at you, “You drink this stuff?” his voice was surprised to say the least, relief washing over him when you shook his head.

“I don’t even know what it is, I just took it from Xiaojun but it smells like the hospital,” you made a face of disgust, hearing him let out a huff of laughter, grabbing your arm that was holding the drink and bringing it up to his face, downing it in one go before taking the cup from your hands and leaning forward to place it on the coffee table, returning to his original position and giving you a small smile.

“One less thing to worry about,” he shrugged, and you went back to watching the movie, seeing that it was only at the part where Edmund meets the witch.

The more you watched, you felt your head start to loll back, not realizing the movie had ended and the guys were now trying to decide whether to play 2 truths and 1 lie.

Sicheng had purposely shifted around in his seat more to wake you up before you could fall asleep, your head shooting up quickly, catching the attention of a few of them who turned to look at you curiously.

“Y/N, you wanna play 2 truths and 1 lie?” Renjun asked, making you frown.

“I really suck at that game though..”

Sicheng gave you a reassuring look, about to say something when he was interrupted.

“C’mon, in the spirit of christmas!” Xiaojun had chimed in to encourage you, earning nods and cheers of agreement from the rest of them scattered around the room.

Hearing the sound of them putting on a christmas playlist, you’d felt encouraged for some reason, giving a small shrug of agreement. You figured it wouldn’t be that bad.

That was until it was Sicheng’s turn and you found yourself panicked beyond belief, growing more nervous to see what he would say.

“Hmmm...okay, got it, I have someone I'm interested in, I have mistletoe hanging in here, and I’m afraid of heights.”

The boys had immediately chimed in with their various opinions, Ten shooting Xiaojun an impressive look at Sicheng for being so bold with his choice of truths, being the only ones that knew of Sicheng’s...character development. Though they weren’t sure if it was because of the drinks he had prior to that or whether he was simply feeling confident today.

“This one’s easy!” a guy with short brown hair had raised his hand, “The lie is obviously that he’s interested in someone, he hasn’t been interested in anyone for ages,” he’d said confidently, making Sicheng smile, just as another boy had chimed in.

“I feel like he had mistletoe here somewhere at the last party, though,” a younger-looking boy said, earning a, “You wish, Mark.” from another boy with a sharper pitched voice and very pretty tan skin.

“The lie is.....” Sicheng made a cute sound that he’d always done before announcing things, “I have mistletoe in here,” he said, the crowd of boys erupting in shouts and protests at the answer before moving on to the next person, who had seemed to capture their attention for long enough.

“Wanna go upstairs? I wanted to like..give you your present...and stuff,” Sicheng leaned over to ask you softly, making you nod, grabbing his present and following him upstairs, the boys noticing but choosing not to say anything.

Once you’d gotten upstairs, he stopped you for a while so he could go into his room, coming out with a small paper bag and continuing to lead you upstairs, glad you hadn’t taken off your scarf when he’d opened a door to the rooftop, revealing different plants and even a stone walkway leading up to a sheltered wooden planked area where you sat down with him, looking through the transparent glass of the balcony at the buildings of his neighbourhood, finding it cute how he had little lights hanging from the shelter.

You’d sat in silence initially, enjoying the feeling of the cold breeze against your cheeks, shutting your eyes instinctively in your attempt to savour the feeling.

“Thank you, by the way.”

You opened your eyes, eyebrows raising at Sicheng, “Oh, it’s no big deal, I didn’t have anything planned for today so-”

“No, not for coming today. I mean, that too but...I sort of meant for like..comforting me the other day,” Sicheng looked at you, a small shy smile playing at his lips, “I really needed that.”

Your lips parted, wondering what made him suddenly want to thank you for that. Choosing to give him a nod, you shook your head, “I really did mean what I said.”

Sicheng nodded, “I know.” He smiled, letting his gaze travel elsewhere as he stretched his legs out in front of him, swaying them side to side as he tried to contain his smile.

“Can I go first? My gift is pretty underwhelming,” you said, seeing him let out a tiny giggle but nod nonetheless, taking that as your queue to take out your gift from the bag, giving him the wrapped package of the headphones, watching him rip the packaging open casually, his eyes widening when he realized what it was. He’d placed the envelope containing your christmas letter for him gingerly back into the bag.

“Oh my god.... thank you so much,” he said, his eyes practically sparkling with how much he’d liked the present, making you shake your head.

“Use them well, okay?” you murmured, seeing him hesitantly reach over to pick up the bag containing his present for you, only serving to heighten your curiosity for what could’ve been in that bag.

“Okay, oh my god, why am i so shy,” you heard him whisper, making you laugh, “Hold your hands out and close your eyes,” he instructed, making you do as you were told, anticipating your present, shocking you when you’d felt something cold in your hands, opening your eyes to see....an apple?

“Is this another one of your jokes,” you pouted, seeing him shake his head, staring at the apple as if looking for answers.

“My family, uh...we have this like..tradition thing, where we give apples to people for christmas... like....to the people we care about,” he murmured, a shy smile gracing his features, looking up at you to see your reaction, wanting to reach over and pinch your cheeks when he saw your wide eyed expression, gripping the apple tightly in your hands.

Sicheng shivered at how cringeworthy he felt his words were, his hands going up to cup his neck, and for a moment you were distracted by his actions, concern for him taking over your shock.

“Are you cold? Do you want my scarf?” you asked, genuinely concerned for him only having a sweater to protect him from the cold.

Sicheng burst into laughter, looking at you with a raised eyebrow, “Isn’t that usually the other way around?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, only realizing then the context of what you’d said, making you hide your face with the apple in embarrassment, feeling him pull the apple away from your face, tilting his head at you in amusement.

“As I was saying....i would give you a thousand apples if i could, but that was impractical and sounded like a lot of work, but I just want you to know that if I could, I would have. But okay back to the point, the point is that, I care about you...like, a lot,” he paused, pressing his lips together and taking in a deep breath, “and not just as a friend.”

You pressed your lips together in a firm line, biting down on your lower lip trying to keep your composure, shyness taking over you at how close you were to Sicheng, not to mention what he was saying, especially given the context of the situation.

“Was that what you meant? When..you said just now during the game that you were uh... interested in someone?” you plucked up your courage to ask, seeing him bite the inside of his cheek, nodding wordlessly at you.

“Just kinda wanna know if this person’s interested in me too,” he murmured, making your cheeks heat up, wishing he hadn’t taken the apple from your hands so you had something to hold onto.

You nodded, “She is-i mean, yeah. I am,” you blurted, fumbling with your words like an idiot (a very love struck idiot, in fact).

Sicheng nodded, his smile growing wider, and just like that, it was like everything was more obvious to you, the sound of the christmas songs playing echoing up through the open door of the rooftop, to the sound of the guys fooling around downstairs, down to the sound of the cold breeze bristling your faces, and the warm lighting around you both. Sicheng felt it too, and now it was his turn to feel like the protagonist of the movie, now having to find something smooth to say that would make his love interest kiss him and then the story can end happily.

But Sicheng being Sicheng, just blurted out the next thing that came to his head, “Oh, look, how convenient, mistletoe,” he commented, glancing up at the mistletoe hanging from the ceiling of the shelter, dangling over your heads mockingly.

You gasped, “You totally lied just now, that was 2 lies,” you laughed, seeing him shake his head.

“In my defense, I told them ‘in here’, they just happened to interpret that as the living room,” he shrugged, your laughter dying down as he looked at you, fiddling with the apple in his hands.

“Can I..kiss you?”

You smiled, pretending to hesitate, “Let me consider.”

In his offence, he’d reacted quickly in rushed mandarin, “You still need to consider?! Isn’t it just agreeing!”

Nodding at him, he’d leaned forward, removing his glasses and setting it aside with your apple, bringing up a hand to hold it under your chin, tilting your head up as he connected your lips, smiling at how you could feel his hand slide under your scarf, placing at your neck gently, his hand doing a lot better at warming your neck than your scarf did, following his lead in the kiss.

You almost frowned when you felt Sicheng pull away slowly, but he didn’t give you a reason to. Sicheng’s other hand came up to rest gently against your cheek as he pressed soft kisses to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, letting out an amused huff before he pressed a final soft kiss to your forehead, suddenly feeling like you were indoors, warmth enveloping you despite being outside in the cold.

You’d leaned over to rest your head against his shoulder, “Can we stay like this for a while before going back down?” you murmured softly, practically being able to hear him smile.

He continued in mandarin, his voice not making you shiver this time, but instead, comforting you beyond belief.

“Anything you say is fine by me.”

===

You’d gotten a video call from Sicheng on New Years Eve, celebrations had ended and you were already tucked into bed, slightly buzzed from the drinks you had at your house with Xiaojun and Renjun earlier when they’d come over for dinner, claiming you didn't have Sicheng here to drink your drinks for you so you might as well enjoy it.

“Hey,” he murmured, lying on his bed in his checkered pajamas, resting his head on his arm as he gave you a smile.

“Hi,” you said, giving him a lazy smile, making him raise an eyebrow in amusement at your buzzed-looking state.

“I see you’ve had more than a couple drinks with Xiaojun and Renjun just now?” you laughed, nodding, prompting him to continue, “I know it’s a little late, but...I just read your christmas note you gave me,” he told you.

“You’re only reading it now?”

He scoffed, nodding as if you should’ve known that, “Yeah, of course, I was saving it so I could read it on Christmas day itself...but I didn’t have the time and then the only good time I had was now and now...after reading it, it made me wanna call you because...I missed you,” he murmured, changing his position so he was resting his chin on his arm.

You scrunched your nose up out of shyness.

“Since when did you get so bold?” you laughed, seeing him shake his head.

“Anyway,  I just wanted to check in on you. Had a good day today?” you nodded, telling him all the minor details about your day as he nodded, smiling and laughing and commenting every so often.

You’d listened to the details of his day as well.

“We just finished dinner, thought i would call you now before they all gather in the living room to watch movies,” he told you.

Nodding in understanding, you yawned, blinking tiredly, making him huff. “You should go to sleep now, i’ll talk to you more tomorrow....” he murmured, seeing you give him a tired yet reluctant nod.

“I’m really sorry, I wanna talk to you more because you’re spending New Year’s over there but the sleep is starting to creep up on me,” you pouted.

Shaking his head, he simply looked at you with that same relieved smile he gave you, realizing just how much he liked you, the extent threatening to tip over the line dividing like and love.

“Happy New Year, cheng cheng,” you teased, recalling what you heard his grandma call him, seeing him bury his head in his arm, his laugh muffled but no less cute.

“Happy New Year, Y/N.”

You’d ended the call, and his mother had walked into the room, a knowing look on her face, “Done with your sappy phone call yet?” she teased.

Sicheng simply sighed, flopping onto his back with a giddy smile on his face.

“Ma, I think I'm in love.”

[irwinkitten]

lessons | a.i

notes: so y’all have @nicoleshieru​ to blame for this one. we were brainstorming and then the beautiful concept of ashton being a lead guitarist who teaches cme up and with permission, i took the idea and fuckin’ ran with it. thus we have some v soft ashton. enjoy warnings: none word count: 2k

donate to my ko-fi here

-

Making the decision to learn guitar had been something you’d not really been sure about until you’d wanted to play for yourself more than anything. 

It’d been easy to look up at the adverts online, and you’d gone to a few different instructors, but none of them seemed to want to teach. They were bored or uninterested with your constant questions and it was slowly putting you off from really learning.

“If this next one is a bust, just use Youtube.” You muttered to yourself as you made your way to the final instructor you’d found.

His prices for lessons were cheap, but also you noted that he was only having a handful of slots for availability. So you booked in immediately and found yourself prepared to be disappointed.

Reaching the local studio that he’d booked out for the session, you felt somewhat intimidated by the imposing building, but when you reached the receptionist who eyed your guitar warily, you smiled, handing your ID over to him.

“I’ve got a guitar lesson at three.” His shoulders relaxed as he checked your ID against whatever list he had and passed it back to you.

“Room 204, second floor, up the stairs and to your right.” You thanked him before making your way up.

Knocking on the door, a soft “come in” had you pushing the heavy door open and you paused before stepping in completely.

Ashton Irwin stood before you, a smile on his face as he held out his hand to you.

“So you’re my three o’clock? It’s nice to meet you, I’m Ashton.” And so you took his hand, following his direction, shaking it whilst giving your name. 

“So have you played before?” The question was easy and open and you could feel yourself hesitating.

“I had a few other lessons, but honestly they weren’t teaching, or at least they didn’t want to teach.” You finally admitted and he grinned which made you relax.

“Yeah that doesn’t surprise me. It’s why I wanted to do these lessons because curiosity is such a beautiful thing and I wanted to help cultivate that.” He motioned to the comfortable looking seat just opposite him. Once you were seated, he motioned to your case.

“C’mon then, let’s measure the so called teaching capabilities of the other tutors.” This made you laugh as you pulled out the guitar and let it rest on your lap as your fingers wrapped around the neck of the instrument.

“It feels bulky and awkward for me.” You admitted and Ashton sighed. 

“Because those people you went to didn’t even recognise the basic need of their students.” Without hesitating, he knelt in front of you. “Gonna ask this now, are you okay for me to touch you to make it less awkward for you to hold or do you want me to show you?” 

You felt so stunned by the question. 

The previous ones hadn’t even considered your feelings when they’d grasped your wrist and jerked your hand forward so that it was in the right place.

“I’m fine with that.” You admitted quietly and he smiled in return. 

His fingers were a lot gentler than expected. 

“Here, so I’m moving your arm so you’re not cradling the guitar. Maybe if you had a smaller one, you would be able to get away with it , however I need to at least show you the easier ways before we start making life easy for you by changing the problem entirely.” The tease was in jest, but his grin made you laugh.

“Wait, so instead of my wrist hurting because of the motion, I’m gonna get a ripped arm?” That was when you heard him laugh with eae and your mind immediately thought it sounded beautiful.

“The way you held it was entirely wrong for the strumming, so you would’ve sprained or long term-damaged your wrist which is a bitch to recover from.” 

“Especially on tour?” Your question was almost shy like and he grinned.

“Especially on tour. Despite the physicians specific interests, I had to keep playing which fucked my wrist up for like six months out of it.” This stunned you for a moment before he readjusted your hands so that your fingers were situated on the fretboard.

“Hardcore.” You muttered, causing him to laugh. His fingers were easy and gentle as they guided yours up and down the board, passionately. You realised that this seemed almost as natural as breathing for him, especially when you fucked up but he was patient and re-worded a lot of the explanations so you understood them.

As you went over the different chords and how each could be blended, he patiently answered your questions. Part of you was almost itching to learn about the lead guitarist for a band that you were a fan of, but you kept yourself in check.

“My turn to ask a question.” He finally spoke up with five minutes of the lesson left. 

“Hm?” 

“You clearly recognised who I was, out of curiosity, why did you decide to stick it out?” You hadn’t expected that question and paused whilst you were packing away the guitar.

“I guess because I was more intent on learning the instrument. I was more in the mindset of, if you can teach me, I’ll take it. I was honestly very close to just watching youtube videos and googling my questions, but I enjoyed the idea of human interaction. I don’t get out much outside of work and this is something I want to enjoy. Feeling overwhelmed because of who you are isn’t what I wanted to necessarily deal with.” 

You could see that your answer had caught him off guard and glancing at the time, you smiled kindly to Ashton.

“It was lovely to meet you Ashton, same time next week?” This prompted him to glance at the small diary on his desk and he grabbed a pen, noting your name and the time down. 

“Definitely. Enjoy your week.” He returned with a bright smile and you matched it with one of your own before leaving. 

You were glad you’d decided to not go down the youtube route once you got home and decided to go over the chords again.

—

Five weeks had easily slipped by. 

Whilst Ashton was on a break from recording or touring, the once a week sessions turned into three times a week. Two of the other clients had dropped out from the lessons, so he offered the extra lessons at no extra cost to you.

When you questioned him about it on the first extra lesson, he just shrugged.

“I’ve got more than enough money. Why do you think I put them so cheap? I don’t need the money and I have the time. And you’re really willing to learn. You even ask me questions that I don’t know the answers to, so you’re making me learn to look further afield. I’m learning too and I love that.” 

But as the weeks slipped by and you spent more time with him, you were determined to not allow yourself to be taken in by this kind soul who answered every single question you had, who had made you stop playing when you’d shown up distracted and tired and let you voice what was on your mind. He was certainly something else, he asked about your job, asked you questions to work on being able to split your attention.  

It’d been five weeks of learning about a wonderful man who seemingly had a heart of gold. 

The flirting between the two of you was subtle, but it was enough that even you caught on, the first time when you realised, you got entirely flustered and missed the chord entirely, making him laugh. 

But you were observant too, studying him when he wasn’t looking, and even though as a teacher he needed to watch your hands to see where you were going wrong if you were, but quite a few times, you’d caught him watching your face, going flustered when he realised you were watching him.

“If you want, we can start looking at the stuff that isn’t quite beginners but doesn’t throw you into the deep end?” This made you pause and you nodded. 

So he knelt in front of you, his fingers gentle as he readjusted your grip and you watched what he was doing as he began to explain what he was doing and why. 

But it took you a moment to register that he’d fallen silent.

When you looked up, you realised how close you’d actually gotten. You could see the soft pink dusting on his cheeks, hazel eyes studying you before dropping to your lips. Without realising, your teeth pulled your bottom lip in and he closed the distance, his lips soft and gentle on yours.

Before you could fully respond to the kiss, he’d pulled away, the worry and concern clear as daylight but you weren’t about to have that.

The hand that had been resting on the body of the guitar reached out to grasp his shirt, pulling him back towards you, lips colliding once more and this time you were able to enjoy the feeling that swept through your body before a noise had you jumping apart.

It took you both a second before you realised that he’d gone to lift his hand, but had strummed the guitar and you shared a look before giggling together.

Taking the neck of the guitar, Ashton sets it as gently as he can away from the two of you, kneeling up and his hands cupping your face, pulling you in for another kiss. It takes you a second to let your lips part under his touch, but you feel a shiver roll down your spine as he pulls away, his head resting against yours. Your eyes are closed but you can’t stop the smile from spreading across your lips as the two of you catch your breath.

“I wasn’t entirely sure, but I was fully prepared for you to slap me if I’d misread the signs.” 

You weren’t too sure what set off your giggles, but his laughter joined yours as you opened your eyes, a grin etched into your lips, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips.

“You can read music no issue, but unable to judge our flirting? I was getting ready to ask you out on a date if you didn’t kiss me by next week.” You admitted and he laughed, his hands resting on your thighs, gently rubbing them up and down over your denim jeans. 

“I wasn’t sure, sue me. But I definitely want to take you out on that date one day if you’ve got time?” 

“For you? Absolutely. Maybe we can talk about something that isn’t me learning guitar.” And he laughed, leaning in for another kiss which you obliged with.

It took a few moments before you both registered the time and he pulled away regretfully. 

“I’ve got one lesson, but do you want to come back and I could maybe take you out on that date?” You hesitated for a second before a smile bloomed across your lips.

“I guess I can do that. See you at five?” His lips met yours once more and you were beginning to think that kissing him was going to get addictive for you.

“It’s a date.” 

-

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[vegetasleftsock]

A Devil’s Smile (Chapter 6)

Read the entire work on AO3 here -> A Devil’s Smile

Catch up on previous chapters:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |

Authors note: This chapter is particularly meaningful.. lots of great angst and more background about Milla.

Thank you to @minyapaws​ for helping me with concepts and editing. I feel like my work really transformed after our conversation. Please go read her story, "Ox Queen" if you haven't already. It is FANTASTICALLY written and so well thought out.

If you've read this far, thanks for sticking with the story! Find me on AO3 @vegetasleftsock​. Leave your feedback and thoughts in the comments! I love to read them :)

Here’s the link to the song mentioned in the chapter  “Amarillo By Morning” - George Strait  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IZBf16B5vhs 

Chapter 6 - Promises and Pride

A tall, thin waitress with curly red hair and a bright smile approached the high top table where Milla and Vegeta sat. She was wearing a tight, navy blue, v-neck t-shirt and ripped skinny jeans with a black apron tied around her tiny waist. 

The attractive waitress shone her blindingly white smile at the pair and handed them each a menu and a set of silverware. 

“Hi, guys! Welcome to Umai Ramen! My name is Amy and I’ll be your server today.” She glanced back and forth between Vegeta and Milla before clapping her hands together. “Can I get you two started with something to drink? We have soda, beer on tap, and sake.”

Milla stared at her intently as she spoke and gave her an earnest smile before starting to order. “We’ll both have whatever craft beer you’re into at the moment,” Milla said, batting her eyelashes and still smiling softly at the redhead with her cheek in her palm. 

Vegeta glanced up from his menu and watched the interaction silently. He raised an eyebrow and questioned to himself why Milla seemed to be laying it on thick with this waitress. 

“Actually,” Vegeta started, causing the waitress to stop the scribbles she was making on her notepad and look up towards his voice. “You can get me a water.”

The woman awkwardly smiled and nodded her head. “You got it. I’m going to go ahead and put these in for you guys while you take a look at the menu. Be right back!” The waitress said with a polite grin before striding away.

“She’s so pretty,” Milla said nonchalantly while her eyes glazed over the long, creme colored, laminated menu. 

Vegeta scoffed and looked mildly disgusted. “She looks like she could be crushed with a gust of wind.” 

“If you don’t think she’s hot, you’ve got some fucked up taste.” Milla shrugged while still glancing over the menu. 

“Ha!” Vegeta laughed, setting his menu down on the wooden table to cross his arms across his chest in a gesture of confidence. “What does that say about yourself-”

In the middle of speaking, Vegeta had realized what he just admitted to, but it was too late to take the words back. 

Milla sat in silence, staring, burning a hole through her menu. Without moving her face, she glanced to the side and then looked up to meet Vegeta’s gaze. 

She analyzed his face and saw him trying to play it off, but the color in his face was a dead giveaway. It was the same face he had made the night they had met, when Milla had used her finger to lift his face towards her while she performed. 

Milla rolled her lips in, trying to hide her smile and spare his pride but she couldn’t contain herself any longer. She burst out into laughter at the sight of him. His wide-eyed reaction sent her even further into her laughing fit until she buckled over from the cramps in her side. 

She was flattered, but the look he gave her after he slipped was what made her lose it. Had Vegeta not acted like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Milla might have entertained the conversation in a different way. 

“Hoo!” Milla breathed while wiping a tear from her eye. “That was fucking hilarious.” She said, still slightly chuckling. 

Before Vegeta could respond, the waitress reappeared and started to set cardboard coasters on the table, followed by their drinks. 

“Alrighty, guys. Are we ready to order?” The waitress said, pen and pad ready. 

“Yes,” Milla said, regathering herself. “Can I please get a black tonkotsu with the thicker noodles?”

“Sure can. And for you?” The waitress asked, looking to Vegeta.

“Uh- I’ll have the same thing,” Vegeta said, realizing he hadn’t finished looking at the menu.

“Awesome! We’ll get that right out for you.”

“Thank you,” Milla beamed. “By the way, your hair is just so gorgeous.”

Vegeta rolled his eyes and looked away, refusing to watch as Milla flirted with the taller female.

“Well, thank you! That’s so sweet,” the woman said, shining her big, bright smile and happy eyes at Milla. “Let me know if you guys need anything else!” She nodded towards them before walking away.

“So, I’ve never asked,” Milla said, trying to revive the conversation. “What do you do? Bulma told me that you like, fight and protect the Earth and shit, but is that all you do?” She said before taking a sip of her beer. 

“Is that all I do,” Vegeta derided her question, almost mocking her. “Saiyans are warriors meant to pursue greater power. It’s not some silly little Earth duty. In fact, I’ve neglected my training by being here.” 

Milla pursed her lips and nodded. “Not a silly little Earth duty. Noted.”

“I can’t imagine what kind of dull positions Earthlings hold anyways.” Vegeta stated plainly.

“For your information, not all of them happen to be dull,” Milla said, rolling her head to the side a little bit, her eyes looking up and appearing to question her own words. “My day job just so happens to be kind of bland, but it makes ends meet.”

“My point.” Vegeta said.

“Guess you got me there.” Milla laughed, her arms crossing on the table. Her sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, leaving her tattoos on display.

“What’s the reason for these?” Vegeta asked, his eyes set on her body art.

Milla looked at him, eyebrows raised. “My tattoos? I’m guessing that’s not something people have where you’re from. They’re all stories, things I find beautiful, or am attached to.”

“This one is a date,” she said pointing to a roman numeral on the side of her wrist. “My mom and dad shared a birthday. My mom passed not too long after I was born and my dad, Leo, would honor her memory every year on that day by continuing to celebrate as if she was there. It helped me feel connected to her, even though I never really met her.”

Vegeta sat, quietly listening as Milla continued to explain the story behind each of her bigger pieces.

Milla pointed to another tattoo, the one on her forearm. She laid her arm flat on the table to show him. 

“This one is my childhood dog, Pinto. I grew up with him and he’s easily one of nicest dogs I’ve ever known. It was hard to lose him, but I got this tattooed so I could always see his sweet face wherever I go.” She admitted, a small smile crossing her lips as she remembered her black and tan Labrador. 

“Have you ever had a pet? You don’t seem much like an animal person.”

The first thing that came to Vegeta’s mind was Nappa. Having to babysit him was the only thing he could relate to in terms of having that kind of responsibility. He just shook his head in response. 

The waitress returned to their table with two large ceramic bowls. “Okie dokie, we have two black tonkatsu with udon noodles. Is there anything else I can grab you? Everything looks good?”

“Looks fantastic. Thank you.” Milla said.

Vegeta and Milla continued to learn more about each other over dinner. There were even a few moments where both of them shared small laughs. Milla liked being able to make Vegeta smile, even if it was just for a quick moment and even if it was only because she said something sarcastic about someone he disliked.

After they paid the bill and left a substantial tip, Milla convinced Vegeta to follow her back to her apartment despite his resistance. 

He was spending a lot of time away from his training- too much time. He feared he was becoming too comfortable in his situation and that it would put him behind in his progress. The thought itself was unacceptable, but he pushed the feeling into the back of his mind - at least long enough that he could enjoy the events that ensued once they returned. 

Vegeta tested her limits, and she tested his patience in a way that only further motivated his lust towards her. They ended only when they were both completely spent, which is a state that landed upon Milla long before Vegeta - but not something she was going to willingly admit or display. 

The pair stayed where they were at to sleep for no reason other than pure exhaustion, but it’s not something that either of them were upset about.

 Milla enjoyed having his warm presence in her bed and felt herself starting to let her walls down just slightly. Her chest clenched when she thought about it. Lust was one thing, friends with benefits was another thing, but commitment was not something she was ready for or even consciously interested in. 

She thought about one of the values that her father always drilled into her.

Milla’s father, Leo, sat in the driver’s seat of the car. His blue eyes remained on the road ahead as he spoke to her. He was average height and build, wearing a black t-shirt, loose fitting jeans and motorcycle boots. His hair and goatee were silver and it had been that way since she was a little girl. He told her once that he started graying at 18 and that he was completely gray by 20. He was heavily tattooed, with almost his entire torso filled with art. Leo left his hands, neck, and face empty so that he could still look professional at work, but now, on his day off, his tattoos laid freely on the parts of his skin that his t-shirt left exposed. A single tattoo adorned the pinky side of his fist, a squashed insect, which represented a story from his childhood. 

“You have your whole life to settle down, have kids, and do domestic shit,” Leo said. “Travel. See the world. Pursue your biggest dreams. And if you’re still dissatisfied after that, THEN find a partner. It’s not worth it before that point.”

Milla pouted her lip out. As a young girl, she always wanted to date like her friends did. At this time, she was 12 and in middle school and Leo still forbade it. 

“I don’t understand why I can’t find someone I love and travel the world WITH them,” Milla said, looking at her father who frowned at her response. “Wouldn’t that make it more fun?”

“It’s hard to understand this now, but when you meet someone you love, your world stops. It starts to focus around them and you don’t feel the need to put your effort into other things. That is until that initial bond fades and you’re left with regrets.” Leo said, gaze unmoving from what was in front of him. “You fall in love, you get married, you settle down and before you know it you have bills and kids who need and deserve all of your time and attention. It’s not fair to them to be selfish.”

Milla looked down at her hands as she twiddled her thumbs. She didn’t want to believe her dad. She wanted to love and to be loved by someone so bad. 

“Milla,” Leo said, glancing over at her. “If nothing else, promise me you’ll see the world. I know I’m asking a lot of you, but there’s so much out there past this little town. All the foods you and I try, you’ll love them more in person. I want you to feel whole whenever you do find your partner and I know this is the best way to do it. Promise me, Milla.” 

Milla looked up towards her father, her only family in the whole world, and saw him as a parent, pleading with his only child to not make the same mistakes he made. As it often did, her heart hurt for him.

“Okay, dad. I promise.” Milla said, running her father’s words through her head, almost as if she was recording them for safe keeping. 

“What if i’m afraid?”

“It’s okay to be afraid, but remember. You have to let your confidence win over that fear. Never let it overpower you, never let it win.” Leo said.

Milla clenched her fists, battling a list of fears in her head: the fear of being alone, the fear of not fulfilling her father’s promises, the fear of failure, the fear of being hurt.

She looked down at her hands again, nails digging into her palms. “I won’t dad. I won’t ever let it win.”

Milla heaved a deep sigh after replaying the memory in her mind and thumbed over the date on the side of her wrist. Her mom’s date. Her dad’s date. 

Her heart felt like it caved into her stomach. It had been five years since she heard her father’s voice. The father that made her who she is. The reason why she performs, the reason why she lives outside of the norm. He was also the father who broke her heart and her spirit. She kept this brokenness shoved deep inside where no one could ever see. No one was ever going to see her hurt, her fear- especially not her father. Not after what happened between them. 

She looked over to Vegeta laying next to her. He was either asleep or pretending to be. His face usually looks so angry, but now she thought he looked strangely relaxed. 

Milla stared at the ceiling and wondered what exactly she had gotten herself into. Regardless of what she felt for Vegeta, and regardless of how her father hurt her, she was never going to give up that promise that she made him. 

~ 

Early morning came and Milla carefully lifted herself out of bed, doing her best not to awake Vegeta from his sleep.

 She brushed her teeth and washed her face before going out to the kitchen. She decided she probably couldn’t keep as quiet as was necessary while cooking, so she crept back into her bedroom, grabbed her headphones and closed the door slowly until there was a soft, ‘click’. 

Milla started to pull pans and ingredients out from her cupboard and put an earbud in each ear. She switched to her dirty pleasure playlist- country music. It reminded her of home and though she would rather die than admit she had an affinity for the genre, it was her favorite music to cook and do chores to. 

Milla started by mixing the dry ingredients: flour, sugar, baking powder, salt.

Then the wet ingredients: eggs, milk, and melted butter. 

As she combined the wet and dry ingredients into a batter, she sang along to the music softly. 

“Amarillo by morning, up from San Antone. Everything that I’ve got- is just what I’ve got on…”

She turned on the stove and pulled a cup of chocolate chips out of a container. 

“When that sun is high in that Texas sky, I’ll be buckin’ at the country fair…” 

The lyrics reminded Milla of small town dances, sunsets rising over fields of endless corn, the smell of morning dew and rich soil. 

Milla was always the odd one out. She remembered an incident her freshman year of high school. Her basketball team told everyone to wear boots, but the only boots Milla owned were knee-high Doc Martens. She had assumed it would be okay since it was all she had. When she showed up, everyone was wearing western boots except for her. The seniors on the team zeroed in on her and made sure she knew that she was the black sheep of the team. This was just the start of a long line of incidents that occurred through her time in her tiny Texas town. 

It took years of separation and a strong sense of nostalgia to bring her back to listening to country music. Now, she was confident that she could push those who alienated her to the back of her mind and focus on the good memories that the music was a soundtrack to. 

“Amarillo by mornin’, Amarillo, I’ll be there.” 

Milla grabbed a pat of butter from the fridge and tossed it in the pan. The heated pan sizzled on contact with the butter, and she rotated the pan to coat it. 

“They took my saddle in Houston, broke my legs in Santa Fe. Lost my wife and a girlfriend, somewhere along the way.” 

She remembered cooking these same pancakes with her father on Sunday mornings.

 It was her grandmother’s recipe- the same one who gifted her the emerald earrings she wore every workday. 

Leo was an amazing cook. Before Milla’s mom passed, he had aspired to become a chef and go to culinary school. Although taking care of Milla became a full-time job as a single father, it never stopped him from experimenting with new dishes and teaching Milla as much about the culinary arts as he could. 

“Look Milla,” Leo said. “It’s all in the wrist.” He grinned widely before flipping a pancake up into the air and back into the pan.  

“Wow!” Milla cheered, clapping for her father. “I wish I could do that.” 

“Practice makes perfect.” Her father said, tearing a piece of the pancake off and feeding it to Pinto, who was wagging his tail happily at the offering.

 Milla turned the volume up on her headphones, hoping to drown out the thoughts that made her miss everything she used to have. 

She grabbed a spoonful of batter and poured it carefully into the pan before methodically placing chocolate chips into the raw, gooey pancake.

 “But I’ll be looking for eight when they pull that gate- and I hope that judge ain’t blind.” 

Vegeta woke up in an unfamiliar place. He realized he was still in Milla’s bedroom. He had stayed the night. Fallen asleep. Trespassed his boundaries for himself and everyone else. The discomfort with his current situation swelled inside of his chest. He needed to leave - now. 

Vegeta hastily put his clothes back on, looking around and trying to figure out where Milla had gone. He was hoping that she had already left for work. The last thing he needed was Milla looking at him with those dark brown eyes and questioning why he was rushing. It would only be a greater waste of his already poorly spent time. He heard her singing from outside the door and came to terms with the fact that she was fully awake and home. This was not going to be easy, but Vegeta was not going to play a coward’s game. He had his pride. 

He walked out the door and stood a couple of feet behind her and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He listened to her sing for a moment, allowing the peace to remain for a few seconds more. As she sang each word, her accent was more and more apparent. He thought that it must be a quality that she chose to suppress. 

 “Amarillo by mornin’, Amarillo’s on my mind.” 

Milla placed the golden brown pancake on top of the stack that was growing on a plate next to her and turned to grab another pat of butter from the fridge. 

When she saw Vegeta out the corner of her eye she jumped, startled. Her face turned bright red while she wondered how long he had been standing there. 

“You just love to sneak up on me, don’t you? Take a seat,” she gestured at the kitchen table with her spatula. “There’s enough ready that you can at least have a first serving.” 

“That won’t be necessary,” Vegeta stated plainly.

 “Oh yea?” Milla said, plucking an earbud out of her ear. Her heart sunk a little at the thought of being left alone with her feelings. She didn’t want to address how she felt about Vegeta, but his presence was still comforting. “Got somewhere you have to be?”

 She held her confidence in her throat, knowing at any moment if she took a deep breath, it would come tumbling out and break her facade. 

“Yes,” he said, looking towards the window where the sun was peeking out into the dark night sky, creating the tip of a sunrise. “This is the last time we can do this.” 

He turned his face towards her and their eyes met. He watched as her face contorted with confusion and what he recognized as a hint of anger. 

“Do what, exactly?” Milla asked, her tone sharpening. Her eyebrows furrowed and she blinked like it would somehow correct the words she was hearing. 

“Be around each other in this situation. I know you’ve grown close to some of those inside of the small web of people I know, so I don’t expect to not see you. But never again in private.” 

If looks could kill, Vegeta would be long gone.

Milla sat the spatula down and turned the stove off. 

“What the actual fuck, Vegeta?” She growled under her breath while clenching her hands into her fists like she would every time she was scared as a little girl. Her fingernails dug further into her palms as she seethed.

“This has been a waste of my time.” Vegeta said, his stare matching her intensity.

Milla’s forehead bunched up and she threw her head back and laughed. 

In the back of Vegeta’s mind, the laugh reminded him of unsettling memories from his past. Her laugh was fueled by pure rage - he was sure of it. 

“A waste of your time, huh?” She said with one hand on the kitchen chair, tapping her foot in rhythm with her racing heartbeat. 

She walked up to him and shoved him back by the shoulder. He barely moved, but the action made him stumble slightly out of surprise. 

He glared at her, hoping she’d let it go, but it seemed to only fuel Milla further. 

“Since we’re sharing our feelings, do you want to know what’s a waste of MY time?” Milla snapped. “YOU. Thinking you can literally barge your way into my fucking life like some rouge bulldozer. Honestly Vegeta, what kind of fucked up are you that you literally had me thinking for EVEN A SPLIT SECOND that I might have cared about you? You took care of me, took interest in me, LITERALLY admitted your attraction to me and led me on to think you cared and now you’re just going to act like I don’t exist? Because why, Vegeta?” 

She pushed her chest against his brick wall of a body shoving him back slightly, looking up at him as he looked straight past her. 

“HUH? Look at me.” She demanded in a low tone. 

He flipped his glare down to look her in the eye. The more time he spent here, the more damage would be created and he was well aware of that. 

“Because why, Vegeta?” she repeated, getting close to his face. “Because it’s too much for you? Is the brave Prince Vegeta too afraid to face his own fucking feelings?” Each word she spoke was like venom. “Just as I thought initially. Fucking. Pathetic.” 

She held eye contact with him for another full moment before shoving herself away from him. She turned around and started walking towards her bedroom. 

“Get the fuck out, Vegeta.” She said. 

Vegeta stood where she left him, his blood boiling at the brim of each insult that cut into his pride. 

He didn’t have his father, he didn’t have his people, but he had his pride. 

“And you think that you can get off acting like some little spoiled brat?” He laughed, smirking at her as though her words left him unaffected. 

“Vegeta. Shut the fuck up and get the fuck out!” Milla yelled. 

“How could you be so dense as to think that I would be interested in commitment with a dirty little Earth brat like you? I wouldn’t dare destroy my royal bloodline by choosing someone like you as my mate.” Vegeta said, lying through his teeth. 

“Dude, you are seriously fucked up! Get the FUCK out of my house, Vegeta!” Milla shouted, pointing at the door.

He took a couple of steps towards Milla and locked eyes with her, their staring contest commencing once again. 

“I expected more from you, Milla.” Vegeta said, cupping her chin. Her eyes went wide when she heard those words, and a shock went bellowing through her entire body. He was saying things out of pure spite at this point, choosing anything he could say that would hurt her. He scoffed and left without another word. 

Milla stood motionless, eyes still wide as saucers. Her facade crumbled and her knees gave out beneath her as tears streamed down her face. She didn’t feel like she was crying, but the warmth of the little droplets running down her cheeks told her that she was. 

Her body was frozen, those words echoing in her head. 

“I expected more from you, Milla.” Vegeta said.

 “I expected more from you, Milla.” Leo said. 

[lumosinlove]

Sweater Weather

part v

Remus woke up to light between the curtains he forgot to close all the way and a heavy, warm weight around him. He was hot with his sweatshirt and sweatpants on and the weight, and he tried briefly to kick it off, only it held him tighter. He opened his eyes, starting a little, and his lips brushed skin. He held very still.

Sirius made a noise in his sleep and shifted, rolling onto his back a little and pulling Remus with him. Remus found himself with his head resting on Sirius’ shoulder and his nose pressed into his neck. One of Sirius’ hands had fallen on Remus’ waist, the other by Remus’ head, fingers in his hair and brushing his neck. Remus was sure he was never going to breath properly again.

His eyes found the clock on the hotel bedside table. It read six twenty-four in the morning. The team bus would leave for the airport at eight thirty. They had—time. Remus let out a quiet breath. They had a lot of time. The light was soft and Remus felt in a haze, like he was in a different world and it was just the two of them. He could close his eyes right now, pretend to be asleep, and do whatever he wanted.

He shut his eyes and pressed into Sirius’ neck, letting his lips brush there. Just a little. Just once. It felt like it was now or never. Never. He slowly, and what he hoped looked sleepily, slid his hand to rest on top of Sirius’ chest.

Sirius made another noise and Remus froze, keeping his breath even.

Sirius’ breathing stopped, held for a few moments, and then re-started.

Remus could feel, beneath his palm, as Sirius’ heart went from sleepy beats to faster, rabbit ones.

Like he was scared, or nervous, or—

Remus squeezed his eyes shut and pretended Sirius’ heart was beating so hard because he was like Remus, because he wanted. Because he wanted Remus, too.

Remus expected to be woken up any minute, any second. He breathed Sirius in, the morning mussed warmth of him, the slight sweat on his skin from his own thick sweatshirt, and prepared to remember it. Prepared to cherish it. Prepared for Sirius to maybe never look him in the eye ever again.

He’d invited Sirius in last night to fix everything, not to make it worse.

And then Sirius’ hand tightened in his hair, just a little, his fingers brushing softly, almost reverently, disbelievingly, through the sandy strands. His palm cupped Remus’ hip and held there, like he was trying to keep Remus from rolling away. All the while, Sirius’ heart beat hard beneath Remus’ palm.

Remus opened his eyes where Sirius couldn’t see. Remus couldn’t even see past the pillow and the dark curls of Sirius’ hair, but he didn’t need to see any of it. He could feel it. He closed his eyes again, determined to stay put. Now or never. Sirius could be half asleep, he could think Remus was someone else, he could not have a clue what he was doing—

Remus wanted this to last. So, he breathed in and let Sirius surround him.

They slept until the alarm woke them up an hour later. It would have felt like a dream, only neither of them had moved and Remus felt Sirius’ chest shift as he reached towards the nightstand to turn off Remus’ phone. They both lay there for a few minutes, not moving apart. Sirius barely let go.

“Hey.” Sirius said, and Remus had to close his eyes again for a second, cheek pressed to Sirius’ chest. That was what Sirius’ voice sounded like in the morning. Scratchy from sleep.

Remus’ blinks felt heavy. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept that well.

“Hi,” he replied. They were awake now. He should get up. He picked his head up and looked at Sirius, “Um. I guess I—I sort of—gravitate towards…”

Sirius was rubbing one of his eyes and sent Remus a little smile. “How do you know I don’t, too?”

“I—yeah,” Remus nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. I’ll just—yeah. Sorry.” Remus sat up, instantly feeling such a cool contrast between the air and Sirius’ body that he shivered. He hoped Sirius hadn’t seen.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Sirius said, and stretched—obscenely. His toes curled and he  raised his arms way over his head so his sweatshirt rode up even more, nearly exposing his entire chest. His sweatpants were low, stretched across his hips and Remus didn’t think—well, he didn’t see underwear anywhere in sight. Fuck.

“I’m fucking starving.” Sirius said and groaned as he sat up. His hair was wavy and fluffing out around his ears. He cracked his back once and then winced, turning around to look at Remus. “Sorry,” he said. “Some people don’t like that.”

Remus blinked at him, still kneeling on the bed. It was like Sirius wasn’t even fazed, like everything was perfectly fine. Like they hadn’t just fucking snuggled all night. Remus was busy making a list in his head. Sirius sounds like this in the morning. Sirius is hungry in the morning. He stretches, he cracks his back, does he want coffee or tea—

“Re?”

Remus looked up, “What? Oh, sorry. No, that’s fine.” He pushed himself off the bed, then hovered in the middle of the room. “Um. Do you…Are you rooming with James? I mean, you can shower here, too, I just…”

Sirius shrugged. “I’ll shower when we’re home. Not worth it if I’m just going to have to do it after the plane and stuff,” he shook his head. “Hate flying.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “You chose a pretty flying-heavy profession.”

Sirius laughed. “A sacrifice I’m willing to make for hockey.” He cleared his throat, looking down a little. “One of many, I guess.”

Remus nodded, even though Sirius wasn’t looking at him.

Sirius stood, patting his pocket, making sure he had his phone and keycard. “Well. See you on the bus?”

“Yeah,” Remus said, at a loss. “Yeah.”

Sirius hovered for a minute, eyes on Remus and lip between his teeth, before he nodded and took a few steps towards the door. “Okay.” He smiled, sort of sweetly, or as sweet as a tall, broad shouldered hockey player could look, with a hand on the doorknob. “Bye.”

“Bye,” Remus said faintly.

Once the door clicked shut behind him, Remus more or less fell back down on the bed, staring at the carpet between his feet.

He didn’t know what just happened, but if he was taking any cues from Sirius, they weren’t suppose to acknowledge it.

~

They were playing the Snakes.

It was a Saturday game, in just two days, and the energy that surrounded it—the press, the players, the fans—felt like the Playoffs. It was almost agonizing to watch the boys bear it—especially Sirius, who, as Remus expected, was taking the brute of it on his own shoulders. Not that the media gave him a choice. To the world, it was captain against captain. It was as if they were two kings, age old rivals, and this was the deciding battle.

“I’m just saying that its bullshit,” Remus said to Moody as they were having their daily morning meeting. Here, they went through each of the guys with updates or strategies to get them back on the ice, or better them any way they could. “It’s not how it works. This whole rivalry thing is just—it’s bullshit.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you, kid,” Moody grumbled, “stop yelling at me like I am.”

Remus took a breath. “Sorry. Sorry, I just—I don’t know. I’m nervous.”

“We’re all nervous.”

“Yeah,” Remus tapped his pen against his notepad, staring down at the scribbled notes he’d taken so far. “At least everyone is looking good.”

“Don’t fucking jinx that!” Moody reached over and scuffed him lightly on the head.

Remus laughed, “Fine, fine.”

Remus thought that it wasn’t really fair of him to be as nervous as he was. After all, he wasn’t even playing. He wasn’t Sirius, with every eye on him, every spotlight, every hope and expectation.

“I’m just bummed it’s an away game. I wish it was on our turf first, you know?”

Moody grunted. “Hate when they throw those fucking things on the ice.”

Remus groaned in agreement. The Slytherin fans had a habit of throwing those fake, rubber snakes on the ice, the kind that spooked horses. It was only during Playoffs, but they did it enough to make an impression. It was unnerving, sure, with the way the bouncing rubber on the ice seemed to writhe, but even more so it made Remus angry. If a blade hit that thing at the speed that players skated, Remus didn’t want to see how bad that wipeout would be. It had happened before, sure, but never to his team while he was with them.

“If I see one of those snakes I’m going to toss it back into the fucking crowd,” Remus said, and there was a delighted laugh from behind him.

“Oh, will you now?” Hands clapped down on his shoulders, “That’s the kind of attitude I like to hear.”

Remus grinned before he even turned to see Pascal Dumais. He was one of the older players and a so much of a father to the entire team that, if they weren’t calling him “Dumo,” they were calling him “Dad.”

“Hey, welcome back, Dumo. How’s the wrist?”

Dumo flexed it for him as if to prove it worked. “Still second line material, mon ami.”

“Are you sure about that? Looking a little rickety there.”

They all looked as Logan entered the room, tan skin flushed from the slowly dropping temperatures outside.

“Hey,” Dumo grabbed Tremzy by his shoulder and pulled him into a headlock. “Mon fils, le connard!”

“Oh, good,” Moody sighed as he got up to give Pascal a friendly slap on the shoulder, “father and son are reunited.”

Pascal laughed. “Are you kidding? He lives in my basement, I get no peace.”

Remus laughed. Logan Tremblay was partially famous among the team because he’d billeted with Pascal and his wife and three kids his rookie season, about three years ago now, and just never left. He wasn’t their son, but he might as well be.

“My built in babysitter, eh?” Dumo said.

“Tu ne me paye pas!” Logan laughed, escaping.

Pascal pinched Logan’s cheek. “I pay you. I pass to you, you score, you get paid, non?”

Remus looked on, amused, as their conversation devolved into rapid-fire French, as it often did. Some of it was too fast for him to follow, but he caught the stray insult or endearment—an oddly familiar contrast between the two of them.

It had been two weeks since that road trip with Sirius—the one they didn’t speak of, apparently—and the boys were started to contemplate Halloween. In the locker room after practice that day, the debates of costumes and party hosts were a relieving change from the strained nervous talk of the upcoming game against the Snakes.

“I vote the Captain’s house.” Logan said, throwing a balled up piece of stick tape at Sirius in his stall.

Sirius grimaced. “Okay, but I can’t make any of the food. Unless I’m ordering something.” He pointed to the tape with raised eyebrows. “Pick that up, I can’t stand tape on the ground.”

Pascal quickly volunteered his wife, and James, Lily, and Leo piped up that he himself would make something.

“What?” he said. “I like to cook.”

Finn gave him a sweaty pet on the head. “Of course you do, Knutty.”

Leo rolled his eyes at the nickname and swatted at him with his goalie blocker.

Remus was looking at the plays Coach had drawn on one of the many whiteboards that occupied the room when a voice said from just behind him, “You’ll come to the party, won’t you?”

Remus turned and Sirius was there, in a soft gray t-shirt with his number twelve on it and his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. He had a cardinal red Lions hat keeping his hair out of his face, backwards.

“Yeah, sure. I mean—if I’m invited, yeah.” Remus shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

Sirius took a step forward. “You’re always invited.”

Remus laughed a little, maybe from nerves, maybe from the earnest look in Sirius’ eyes.

Sirius smiled then, too, and after a moment, gave him a little punch on the shoulder and took an awkwardly large step back. Remus looked at him, bewildered.

“Um. Cool. See you there.” Sirius began to turn, but turned back again, taking his hat off, pushing his hair back, and putting it back on again. “Or, not—like, I’ll see you before, obviously. But…”

Remus laughed again, a little freer this time. “Sure thing, Pads.”

Sirius cleared his throat, and his smile looked a little pained, but he just retreated from the room.

Remus stared after him, even when Sirius glanced back right before he turned the corner.

He was pretty sure—well.

He was pretty sure that felt like flirting. Nervous flirting. Very nervous flirting.

He looked back at the whiteboards, but he didn’t comprehend a thing this time.

If Sirius Black was flirting with him, he was done for.

~

Remus didn’t have any time to test out his theory, not with the Dog Calendar shoot going on and them leaving for Slytherin tomorrow. It was chaotic, trying to get players in from whatever they were doing—practice, workout, eating—and behind the camera where they would be paired with a dog or, in this year’s case, a rabbit.

It was one thing to briefly think that Sirius Black was flirting with you.

It was an entirely other thing to do something about it while he was standing there grinning at you and holding two sleeping beagle puppies. But Remus could try.

“Loops, look,” Sirius whispered, even though no one else was whispering.

Remus smiled, took a breath, and and stepped forward into Sirius’ space—with the excuse of petting one puppy carefully on its tiny head.

Sirius didn’t tell him to go, but leaned in more until Remus could feel the warmth of—maybe it was the puppies, but Remus let himself pretend it was all Sirius.

“Look at their little faces,” Sirius said softly. “Listen, they’re snoring. Très mignon.”

Remus was trying to listen but all he could hear was his own heart and Sirius breathing. Their heads were bent so they were almost touching.

“They are cute.” Remus glanced up at Sirius, eyes flicking over his dark eyelashes and the faint scar at the top of one of his cheekbones, another on the top of his lip. It was similar to the one that Remus knew ran faintly across the bridge of his nose. All hockey related, he was sure.

“You want to hold one.” Sirius said it like it wasn’t even a question and, really, it wasn’t.

Remus held out his hands. “Just until you’re up to get your picture taken.”

Sirius nodded and carefully transferred one of the sleeping pups into Remus’ waiting arms. “This one’s name is Pierrot, and that one’s name is…Puck.”

Remus laughed, cradling the small furry bundle close to his chest. “Did you just make those up?”

“Oui. Mais, c’est bon, non?”

Remus nodded, “c’est bon. Hi, Puck.”

“He likes you,” Sirius said after a moment.

Remus looked up. Sirius was looking back. Remus wondered if he was just looking for signs now or if that was maybe something.

“Does he?” he asked quietly.

Sirius opened his mouth to respond, gray eyes intent, when someone called his name. It was his turn to shoot.

Sirius’ mouth remained open, like the interruption had caused the words to stick in his throat. His eyes looked more frantic now and Remus smiled at him. He knew that feeling. It didn’t matter if he was right about Sirius, or if he was wrong. Remus didn’t want him to be worried about it.

“Here,” Remus said instead, then, after a breath, after he’d pressed the puppy back against Sirius’ chest with careful hands, “he likes you, too.”

~

The Slytherin stadium was teaming with green and silver and white. The crowd, amped and ferocious, frequently broke out in fits of hissing cheers that could be heard from the visitor locker room.

“No one’s even on the fucking ice yet,” Kasey said from his squat on the floor. “Jesus fuck. I hate these guys, I hate everyone in this city. Fucking dirty fuckers, fuck.”

“Alright, Kase, not the attitude we’re going on the ice with.” Sirius scuffed him lightly on the head as he walked by.

Remus felt quietly proud of Sirius about that, but he wanted to see how long it lasted. Sirius was an incredible player, he was an incredible person, but he wasn’t exactly known for being level-headed on the ice.

Kasey voiced his thoughts for him, scoffing. “I love you, Black, but we’ll see how long that lasts.”

Sirius shrugged as he sat in his temporary stall, legs spread wide and looking smug. Remus looked, eyes tracking down Sirius’ bare, broad shoulders and his strong thighs, every muscle defined in his tight underarmour. His mouth felt dry. When he raised his eyes, Sirius was looking back and a flush had appeared at the hollows of his cheeks. Remus watched Sirius let out a breath and look down at himself briefly, then back at Remus. Remus should have taken that opportunity to look away, probably, but he didn’t. There was a reason Sirius had the most marriage proposals at the glass. There was a reason he got so much attention, why he had jerked away at the mere thought of Remus’ touch. Sirius wasn’t just talented, he was gorgeous. And as shallow as it was, that was what the media liked. People were susceptible to that, they either loved him, or they hated him so much that they would do anything to bring him down.

And if Remus was right, if Sirius felt like he did…Remus didn’t want to be the one to bring him down. He didn’t want to have to think like that.

Sirius finally had to look away to one of the equipment managers, and Remus had to look away to Logan who was asking about his skate, but a few minutes later there was a tap on his shoulder and Remus turned to see Sirius, this time with a sweatshirt.

“I need to make my sandwich,” was all he said.

Remus nodded, “right.”

Sirius pressed his lips together, hesitating, then jerked his chin towards the door. “Let’s go?”

Remus followed Sirius down the hallway and into the visitor’s lounge silently until they reached the empty kitchen.

“You suddenly decided you wanted company for this?”

Sirius looked back at Remus from where he was taking the honey and bread out. “So?”

“So, I didn’t know you could change anything.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and Remus laughed, glad Sirius had caught the joke.

“I can change things.”

Remus raised an eyebrow and nodded at the bread in Sirius’ hands. “Don’t toast that.”

Sirius’ chest puffed out a little, he stared Remus down, and then finally, like the word was being pulled out of him, he grimaced. “No. Nope.”

Remus laughed, taking a seat on one of the tall stools on the counter and leaning his chin on his hand. “Told you.”

“I can,” Sirius protested, “just not before a Snakes game.”

Remus couldn’t argue with that. “Makes sense. The question still stands though.”

The bread popped out of the toaster and Sirius took it out before dropping it onto his plate and shaking his hand out. It was adorable.

“Hot,” Sirius said, then, “what question?”

“Why am I suddenly here?”

Sirius smiled a little. “I can’t want your company?”

Remus looked at him, narrowing his eyes. “You’re nervous.”

Sirius laughed. “Of course I am. Tell me what you’re going to be for Halloween.”

Remus blinked at the change in subject. “What? I don’t know.”

“You’re coming to my party, you better have a good idea.”

Remus shrugged helplessly. “It’s not your party. And I haven’t thought about it yet. I was—what was I last year…”

“You were a werewolf.”

Remus snorted. “Oh, yeah, you’re right. You and James were, what, knights?”

Sirius squeezed some honey out on his buttered toast and then came to sit next to Remus. “In shining armor.” Sirius held out one half of one of the two pieces of toasts. “Want?”

Remus looked at the toast, then at Sirius, whose eyes were soft and he held the food out a little more firmly.

“Oh. Sure, I mean…is that—”

“Maybe it’s a new tradition. Or it can be.”

Remus narrowed his eyes at him, just a little, but takes the toast and takes a bite. “You’re full of surprises today.”

“Just today?” Sirius smiles.

Apparently not, Remus thinks.

~

Remus leaned against the locker room wall as coach Weasley talked to the team, pacing around in a circle to look at them all, the first line card in his hand.

“Now,” Arthur was saying, “I know there’s a lot of pressure in this room right now. A lot of nervous energy. I’d expect nothing less but, here’s the thing, boys. Let’s use that energy. Let’s use that energy to our advantage, leave it all out there on the ice. We’ve been through the tape, we know these Snakes better than they know themselves at this point, right?”

There was a few claps from around the room, agreement.

“Don’t let them get into your head. Relax and play the game. We’re just going to relax and play the game.” Arthur looked around at them all before handing the card to Logan. “Tremzy, your read.”

“Alright boys,” Logan said, “First liners, you ready?”

James whooped loudly, banging his hand against his stall.

Logan cleared his throat, resting his elbows on his knees. “We’ve got Kaner.”

The boys clapped, as they did between each name.

“We’ve got Halla. We’ve got Pots, and Harzy. We’ve got Black. And in the cage, we’ve got the Blizzard.”

There was more banging, more hollering, the boys psyching themselves up, before everyone was standing, reading to file out onto the ice for warmups. It was crazy-loud now. Remus was already flinching to think about what it was going to be like on the ice.

In the hallway they listened to the Snakes be announced to their home stadium. They listened to the Slytherin fans cheer and hiss, screaming for their team.

It all turned to booing once the Lions were given their cue to skate on. The crowd was a menacing glitter of silver and green. Remus watched Kasey make it to the goal and start digging his skates in, going back and forth, marking up the crease for friction and easy-stops. He watched James go through his stretches. Sirius usually did on-ice stretching, too—and boy did Remus love to watch that—but not for Snake games. Here, he’d done all he needed to do in the safety of the locker room.

Then, Remus turned his eyes to the Snakes’ side of the practice rink. Snape was easy to spot. He didn’t warm up with his helmet on and his dark, chin-length hair glinted greasily in the greenish light of the Snakes’ lazar show, meant to get the crowd going. Remus’ skin prickled at the sight of him. He was being fed pucks for his one-timer, shot just from the left circle of the goal. It was lethal and Remus was not looking forward to watching him use it in game.

They had Riddle in the goal—of course. Tom Riddle was notoriously vicious and aggressive. Besides Snape, he was practically the face of the Snakes, so much so that Crabbe, the back up goalie, barely got an ice time. When they say that goalies are crazy—which they are, even Kasey’s a little manic about stuff—they had Riddle specifically in mind. The guy taunted players to no end with a sneering smile and dark, pupil-less eyes.

Riddle turned from where he was blocking his teammate’s practice shots for some water, and the coiled skin of a snake that was painted on the front of his helmet morphed into the strange, yellow eyes of the animal on the back. Remus hated it. He got the joke, eyes in the back of his head and all, but he hated it. He hated Riddle even more because he was good. He was really good. They called him the Sphinx. Impossible to figure out Riddle, nearly impossible to get past.

But so was Kasey. The Blizzard.

Malfoy was glued to Snape’s side, as usual. They were, at large, thought to be the sort of equivalent to Sirius and James, but Remus didn’t see it. Snape was constantly sneering at Malfoy, yelling and correcting. They meshed, sure, but only through their coach’s pure force.

Coach Karkaroff was brutal with his methods and fought dirty whenever he could. Last season, Remus had seem him tell Carrow, their enforcer, their biggest hitter, to slash Dumo right in the wrist, resulting in his injury. The bone had jutted out on the ice. It had been terrible, blood everywhere. Remus wasn’t even sure how Carrow had managed it so quickly. He didn’t like to think about it.

And then there was Regulus.

Regulus Black.

The biggest story this summer, nearly overtaking Sirius’ ankle and Snape’s dirty hit.

Regulus Black, younger brother of Gryffindor Lions’ captain Sirius Black, gets drafted first over-all, just like his older brother. But, this time, it was to the Snakes. Remus had watched the draft at home with his parents and Julian, and even Julian had known how big of a deal this was. Sirius’ parents had been there, stiff but approving as the younger version of Sirius had walked onto the stage, shook hands with Karkaroff, with the team’s general manager, Delores Umridge, and slipped on a green and silver jersey. Sirius was there, too, to give his younger brother a tight hug before he descended to the stage. Regulus had shaken him off. They denied it, but all the cameras caught it.

Rivalry was there in an instant, plastered across every blog, every paper, every screen. But Regulus was just a rookie, and people far favored the old fan-favorite competition of the captains.

Remus saw Sirius glance over at his baby brother a few times. He even braved a few strides towards center ice before giving up. Regulus hadn’t even spared him a glance. Instead, he was on one knee with Snape, who was talking quickly.

Remus ached for Sirius. He didn’t know what he’d do if Julian decided he hated him.

The two teams steered well clear of each other during warm ups until they both finally lined lined up at center ice, Kasey coming a little ways out of his goal, and the lights dimmed. The anthem was a blur. All Remus could focus on was Sirius’ bowed head, dark hair falling into his eyes, helmet pressed against his chest. The soft slope of his nose and his parted lips. Remus licked his lips and thought of the honey from earlier. He didn’t think Sirius was religious, and Remus wasn’t either, but they both were praying to something.

The lights came up and the Snakes’ announcer riled the crowd.

Sirius, number twelve, skated to center ice. Snape, thirteen, did the same for the first face off of the game.

The referee dropped the puck, and they were off.

[chickensarentcheap]

I Found - Chapter 20

Warnings: strong language. That’s about it.

@valkyrie-of-the-light  I put in some soft and fluffy Tyler just for you ;)

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @alievans007 @hemmyworthy

He arrives at Mumbai Central Prison just shy of ten am.  The weather is already unbearable;  hot and sticky; sweat dampening the neck of his simple army green t-shirt, the thin fabric sticking to the small of his back.  He checks in at the main office. Using the fake law enforcement credentials Nik had sent him to register as a visitor, turning in his gun and the knife that he keeps in his back pocket.

“Long way from home,” the desk clerk comments, as he holds up the identification next to Tyler's face, verifying that the man in the photo is the same as the one who now stands in front of him. “Australia? The land down under?”

“That's what it says,” Tyler shoves the ID into his wallet and slips the latter back into the side pocket of his tan cargo pants.

“What brings you here? All the way to Mumbai.”

“Business. I'm here to see Mahajan.”

The clerk's eyes widen; the drug lord doesn't get many visits, aside from his team of lawyers.  The kid had stopped coming to visit a long time ago, and they haven't seen the man servant in at least a year. He'd been the last one to come and see the old man.

“Check the book,” Tyler nods at the thick ledger sitting on the desk. It's an old school system; pen and paper when the old and weathered computers decide they've had enough for the day. “I'm in there.”

He taps the toe of his boot against the crack and faded tiles, watching as the other man flips through the thick leather bound book, and locates the proper page; a long, thin fingers trailing through every written word until he comes up with the one he wants.

“What do you want with him?” the clerk inquires. “A cop all the way from Australia?”

“Like I said, it's business. And I'm not a cop. That's not what I do.”

The man arches an eyebrow, cocks his head to the side. Unsure of what to make of the stranger across from him. Tall and broad shouldered; strong and intimidating.  “What is it you do?”

A slow grin.  “A lot of things.”

****

He's led to a waiting area. A long, narrow corridor with faded tiles and peeling wallpaper that reveals the original brick underneath.  No air conditioning.  The temperature unbearably hot.  And he uses the front of his t-shirt to clear the sweat away from his face and his forehead.  A young woman with a baby sits in a chair in the corner, watching him warily.  He's big and scary, as far as she's concerned. A stranger in their country. And as he leans back against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest, he gives her a small smile in hopes of easing some of her discomfort.

Several minutes tick by before the opens once again. An armed guard ordering the woman to stay where she is before giving Tyler a nod and jerking his head towards the main body of the prison.  No formalities or mindless chit chat are exchanged as he is led through the central office and back out into the blazing sun. Feeling the curious eyes and hearing the chatter as he follows the guard.  Sunglasses on, hiding his eyes as they survey the surroundings and the throngs of prisoners out in the yard. Always on alert. A stranger like him showing up causes a lot of speculation. And with speculation came worry. Which quickly turns into fear. If they felt threatened or spooked, there was no telling what kind of situation could explode.

“Out,” the guard orders all the visitors and prisoners currently in the visitation area.  “Hurry up and get out. Move.”

He waits as guests scurry past him and the other prisoners file out, then allows himself to be led down to the very end of the room. Nothing more than a simple metal chair and metal bars separating him from the other side. And he is still standing when Mahajan is led in; heavily armed guards on either side of him, their hands on his upper arms as they guide him, handcuffs securely fastened to his wrists. Tyler is surprised. Unimpressed. Not nearly the intimidating figure that he'd been lead to believe.  The years have not been kind to the old man; streaks of gray in his hair and beard, numerous pounds of weight lost. Maybe when he was younger he cut an imposing figure. But now he was nothing more than a pathetic old man who'd spend the rest of his life locked up.  

He sits only after Mahajan has done so and the guards depart; waiting and watching from the door.  Several minutes pass before anyone speaks; he only sounds in the room the ticking of the clock and the low hum of a window air conditioner.  Neither man looks away from the other, Tyler's hands clasped and resting on the ledge in front of him, Mahajan tapping his fingers against the bottom of the frame that holds the bars

“So you're the one,” Mahajan finally speaks.  His tone is unimpressed. Tyler supposes he doesn't fit the old man's bill of what a mercenary should look like.  He's probably younger than he expected. Not as beat up and harried as most.

“Yeah...” he nods. “...I guess I am.”

“That stupid sonofabitch was supposed to take care of you. You shouldn't even be sitting here right now. Had he done his job properly...”

“He died helping save your son. And I should have died.”

“But here you are. Sitting in front of me. Thinking you have some right to come here and demand my presence? Looking for some kind of thank you? Some kind of respect? So you can gloat about what you've done?”

“That's far from the reason I'm here.  You don't have to like me or respect me. I'm far past giving a shit about what others think of me.”

“So it's money you want then? You feel you weren't fairly compensated for the work you done. The one I hired you to do. You work for me. You don't come here in and walk in as if you own the place. As if I owe you something.”

“I don't work for you. And I don't give a shit about your money, mate. I'm here about your son.”

His eyes widen, jaw clenching.  “The trouble has gotten worse? Why are you here then? Talking to me? You should be there. At my home. Protecting my son. Not here talking to me and wasting my time.”

“I've got six armed guards always watching the place. Two that follow him to school. I've been handling things. Taking care of your kid. Because apparently you don't give a shit about him enough to keep your head on straight and stay out trouble. What kind of father does that shit? Chooses the life you had over taking care of their own flesh and blood.”

“How dare you talk to me like that!” Mahajan fumes. “How dare you come and here and question my love and loyalty to my son!”

“A year ago I had to put my ass on the line to save your son. You caused that. Because you couldn't get your shit together and just be a father. So yeah. I'm questioning your love and your loyalty to your son. The fact that you have none.”

“You have a family?”

“A wife.,” he confirms “And a baby. A daughter.”

“Are you telling me you wouldn't do anything to care for them? Provide for them?”

“There's nothing I wouldn't do for them.  I'd lay down my life for them. No questions asked. But I wouldn't do what you do.  Get rich by hurting other people.  Put drugs in the hands of kids.  Sit back counting my money while people around me die.”

“Are we really that different, you and I? Hmm? Do you not kill people for money? Hurt them? Is that not how I found you in the first place?”

“We're nothing alike, mate. We never will be.”

“Killing comes with your job, does it not? When you were rescuing my son, did you not have to kill people?” Mahajan challenges.

“It's not the same thing,” Tyler insists.

“Killing is the same no matter how it is  done. Or who does it. I bet you have taken far more lives than I have.  You have the blood of hundreds of men on your hands. You say you kill them because they deserve it. Who are you to judge them? These people that are just trying to live by any means necessary.”

“By hurting innocent people,” Tyler argues. He keeps his tone low, unaffected. Refusing to let the man get to him. “That's the difference. I help the ones who need it and I hurt the ones who don't. They aren't innocent. They hurt people. People who are weaker than them. Who can't defend themselves. We aren't the same, mate. Not by a long shot.”

“We both have blood on our hands. You say that yours is justified. In the same way I do.”

“You put drugs into the hands of kids. You made people into addicts. You ripped families apart.  I'm nothing like you.”

Mahajan smirks, leans back in his chair, eyes cold and calculated.  “Did the men you kill not have families? Children? Hmm? Were there not innocent people connected to them? You sit here, thinking you're better than me. A white man who thinks he is somewhat superior because of the colour of skin.  You walk in here with your God complex, judging me? Does your wife and your child know what you do?”

“My wife and my child have nothing to do with this.”

“You put them in harms way, do you not? You preach to me about my son and you do the same with your child. Do you think it would stop people? People that want to hurt you? You think it would stop them from hurting her because she is a baby? That won't matter to the people that hate you. The ones that want revenge.”

“Let's get one thing straight...” Tyler leans forward in his chair, trying to ignore how his blood runs cold at the man's words. A chill that starts at the roots of his hair and travels his entire body.  “...my daughter is innocent. In the same way your son is.  We are not the same. I help people. Like your son. And I bring them back to their families. Without guys like me, your son would be dead.  Without guys like you, a lot of innocent people would still be alive. We are not same.”

The older man finally relents. Holding his hands up in surrender.  “You say you're here for my son yet there's been no trouble. So why are you here? Hmm? Wasting my time?”

“I'm here because your son deserves a better life. One where he's not looking over his shoulder all the time. Where he's not constantly paying for his father's mistakes.  He shouldn't have to live like this. Alone.”

'He has everything he could possibly want. A beautiful house to live in, food on the table, an expensive school.”

“He doesn't have a family. And that's what he wants the most. He wants a family. People who love him. Who will take care of him. Who want more for his future than this bullshit existence he has now.  He has no one. All those things surrounding him, yet he's very much alone. Even you must be able to see that.”

Mahajan nods slowly, considering his words.

“My wife and I want to take him. When we leave here. We want to...”

“Take my son away from me?”  he laughs. “You come here with a request like that? My only son? My blood? Hand him to you? A stranger?”

“A stranger that already laid down his life once for him. Who'd do it again. In a heartbeat.”

“For money,” he reminds Tyler.  “You did it for money.”

“That's how it started out, yeah. But it became much more when you decided to fuck me. There was never any money. Not enough to afford me, anyway. That's why you had Saju try to kill me and steal him back. How'd that work out for you?”

Mahajan inhales sharply.

“I could have easily left your kid in the street. When I knew there was no money. I could have handed him  right over to Asif. I had the chance. My part of ten million dollars if I just handed him over. But I didn't. I kept your son alive. And for what? This shitty fucking existence? Always looking over his shoulder, waiting for the next threat? Even you must be able to see it. That he has nothing. He doesn't even have a father.”

“I'm his father!” the other man roars, and leaps to his feet.

Tyler waves the guards off when he sees them attempt to make a move towards them. “You're not his father, mate. You're just the guy who helped make him. There's a lot more to being a father like that. Swallow your fucking pride and think about your son for once. Think about the kind of life he has compared to the one he deserves.”

“You think I can't hurt you from here? That I can't take away everything and everyone you love? That you...”

“I think you need to sit down and shut up.  Don't threaten me. Or my family. Because you're not the only one who knows how to get shit done.”

The older man blinks.  His chest heaving with fury.

“Sit down,” Tyler repeats. “Or you'll see just how far I'm willing to go to protect my family.”

Mahajan sighs heavily, then reluctantly sinks back into his seat.

“We want to take Ovi with us,” Tyler continues. “When we leave here. We want to give him a proper life. The kind of life that he deserves and he wants.  You must have at least one shred of humanity left. Especially when it comes to your own son.”

“I would do anything for him. In the same way you'd do anything for your child.”

“Then do this for him. Let us take him. Let us give him a life.  One where he isn't constantly looking over his shoulder in fear. He deserves that much, doesn't he? We're fathers. You and I.  And don't we want the same thing? Don't we want to give our kids the world?”

The drug lord's face finally softens.  “Of course. I wouldn't be a father if I didn't want that.”

“Then do the right thing,” Tyler implores.  “Give us guardianship. Give us the chance to take care of the kid.  To love him.”

“And you promise to take care of him? That you would lay down your life for him if need be?”

“I've already done it once. And I'd do it again, no questions asked.”

Mahajan gives a firm nod, then waves to the guards signalling that their visit is over.  “I'll talk to my lawyer.”

***

TOMORROW. 1PM. ON THE BRIDGE.

It is a simple text that packs a powerful punch.

She's been waiting for this since the moment Jason left for Dhaka. She was tense. Impatient. Tired of the way Nik seemed to be dragging her heels despite the deal they had made.  Leary that perhaps her friend had never had any intention of actually helping her. Just leading her on and feeding her hope, only to never follow through.  Jason had been anxious to help. He wanted something more than security detail. A chance to prove that he was far more capable of bigger and better things.  The time had seemed to drag since he left; she was constantly checking her cell phone for mixed texts or emails.  But in the end, he had gotten exactly what she wanted.

She hastily makes arrangements. Plotting a way out of the house in the wee hours of the morning. Sneaking the keys to the rented SUV and making her way to the airport. If all went well, she'd be in the air and on her way to Dhaka before anyone even realized she was gone. Securing the help of an old contact that could get her a last minute seat on a small charter flying out of Mumbai.   It was the moment that she'd been waiting for. Longing for. When she would come face to face with the person that had nearly taken everything away from her.

In lieu of text she sends an email in return. Texts were too easily soon and she still had an email address under an account she she hasn't used in years.  Detailing her plans. That she'll be in Dhaka well before noon and will meet him on the bridge. With the kid.

She watches as Tyler steps into the court. That familiar lick of desire that fills her body; the heat and the pressure that builds between her legs.  It's always been that way; the powerful sexual connection between them,  the lust and want and desperate need that consumes her. It was the first time in her life that a man had had that kind of effect on her. Where her breath hitched and her raced. Where a simple touch could send her body into a frenzy. Not even her ex husband had made her feel that way. As handsome and charming that he'd been at the start.  It had taken time for those feelings to develop. Weeks. Even months.  With Tyler it had been near instantaneous. The moment those blue eyes had watched her walk into his little shack in the outback.  Those five days in that Dhaka hotel room had been unlike anything she'd ever experienced.  Completely succumbing to a man that took his time exploring every inch of her body; unselfishly concentrating solely on her and pleasuring her in ways and to heights she never thought possible.

Walking sex. She had called him that once.  And he'd just laughed, a slight blush creeping into his cheeks and the tips of his ears. But it was true. That is exactly what he is.  Broad shouldered and muscular and just so goddamn attractive.  Even in a simple t-shirt and cargo pants.

“How'd it go?” she asks, as she sits on the edge of the pool with her feet submersed, holding Amelia securely around the waist, occasionally dipping those tiny toes into the water.  Laughing every time the baby's bright blue eyes widen when her feet make contact with the cold liquid. There's real smiles now.  Wide, beaming ones that crinkle the corners of her eyes. Her father's smile.  His clone, from head to toe.

“Alright, I guess,” he pulls at the laces of his boots and toes them off, then removes his socks and rolls his pants up past the shins. “Here...” he hands her a small brown paper bag from a pharmacy he'd stopped at in Mumbai. “...for later...”

Tyler sits down alongside of her, placing his own feet in the water. Then leans over and presses a kiss to her ear.  “Hi, by the way.”

“Hi,” she smiles and kisses him. Short and sweet.  “Look who it is, Millie,” she speaks to the baby in the soft, melodic tone that she seems to enjoy the most. “Who is that guy, huh? Who is that handsome man? Is that your daddy?”  She notices the way her husband's entire face lights up;  the smile spreading from ear to ear, his features softening. A big man with an even bigger heart. “Look at the way she looks at you. The way she smiles at you. I do all the hard work and heavy lifting and all that matters is you.”

“She's a daddy's girl. Nothing wrong with that.”

She could see him years down the road. Those hands that can -and have- inflicted so much pain and suffering on those who deserved it, braiding hair or putting it in pig tails.  Maybe even indulging in playing with dolls and being a guest at tea parties. There was something both adorable and amusing at that thought; a man like Tyler Rake allowing a little girl to subject him to such things.  This was a side of him that so few got to see. That she was blessed to witness.  

“Here,” he holds his hands out towards her. “Give her to me. I'm all that matters now. You're just the one who feeds her from here on out.”

“Traitor,” Esme gives her daughter a dramatic pout and places her in those large, capable hands.  Watches the way he leans down to press a kiss to their daughter's cheek, that smile never leaving his face as he fixes the tiny sunhat and then lowers Amelia towards the pool, letting those tiny feet disappear beneath the surface.  “She's definitely yours. She loves being outside.”

“She would have loved living in the shack,” he muses. “Out there with nothing else around.”

“With a dog and a chicken for siblings,” Esme adds with a grin.

“Yeah...” he nods.  “...she would have loved bathroom chicken.”

His friend Koen lives there now. Spending the time on the repairs that needed to be, even adding on an extra room.  Taking care of the chicken and the dog.  He'd stepped up when Tyler had been incapacitated. .  Moving in without hesitation and making sure everything was being taken care of. He would visit the hospital every so often; sitting on the edge of the bed and teasing the shit out of him for being so 'bent out of shape over a flesh wound' and talking about old times. Like their booze filled camping trips and hikes  day he'd scared the shit out of their buddy Raka with a nonchalant plunge off a thirty meter cliff. Koen never asked for anything in return. Just thankful for a place to live and the feeling of doing something good and right.

“I would have made you keep bathroom chicken out of her room,” Esme says.  “That's the last place we would need all kind of chicken shit. And I wonder if he ate her yet. Koen. If bathroom chicken has met her demise.”

“Bite your bloody tongue. That's my child you're talking about.”

She rolls her eyes.  “Sometimes I think you love bathroom chicken more than me.”

“I definitely love you more. You don't shit everywhere.”

“Well that's a hell of a standard to live up to,” she laughs, and pinches his side playfully.  Opening the paper bag he'd given her, she can't help but grin. “Two tests? Are you taking one too? That's not how this works, baby.”

“Just in case the first one gets fucked up.”

“All I have to do is pee on it. It's honestly not that hard.”

“Better to be safe than sorry,” he reasons.  “I'm kind of excited.”

“About me peeing on a stick? You have weird things you enjoy as foreplay.”

“I didn't get to be there with the first one.  I didn't even know that you thought you were pregnant the first time around.”

“Well in all fairness, you had a lot on your mind. You were going through a lot. I didn't want to add something else to the plate that you had to worry about.”

He understood it. Her reason for keeping it a secret for as long as she'd had.  But part of him wishes he could have known. That he could have actually been there when she took the test.

“Well this time I get to be there,” he says. “Sounds stupid, I know. Being excited over something like that.”

“I think it sounds beautiful,” she admits, and presses a kiss to his cheek. Beard rough against her lips. And she curls an arm around his waist and uses her free hand to rub his stomach. “Tyler Rake, you big softie.”

“Easy now. Don't say that too loud. I have a reputation to uphold.”

She rests her head against his arm, feet swinging back and forth in the water.  Watching as he dotes over their tiny daughter; speaking to her in unbelievably soft and sweet tones, those huge hands so tender and careful, the smile never leaving his face. “So it went okay? With Ovi's dad?”

“He was a hard nut to crack.”

“But you did? Crack him?”

He grins. “Are you seriously questioning my nut cracking skills, right now?”

“You're more of a ass kicker than a nut cracker But go off.”

“He was pretty pissed. That I had the balls to even show up to see him. I definitely was not what he expected.  I don't think I fit the picture he had in his mind of the guy who rescued his kid.”

“Well, in all fairness, you are devastatingly handsome,” she muses. “So I can't fault him there.”

“He gave me a hard time. Kept insisting that we're the same. That we do the same things. Hurt people. Kill them.”

She frowns. “You know that's not true right?”

“Well it is what I do, right? I do hurt people. I do kill them. My hands aren't  exactly clean.”

“What you do and what he does is entirely different. You do what you do to help people. To keep them safe. He does what he does because an evil asshole. You are nothing alike. Far from it. Don't let him get into your head. His son is alive because of you. You almost died because he's a major fuck up of a father. You are not like him at all, Tyler. Did you tell him? About us wanting to take Ovi?”

“He didn't want to hear anything about it at first. But you were right. There was an ounce of humanity left.  He says he's going to talk to his lawyer. Who knows what will happen after that. But at least it's a step in the right direction, yeah?”

She nods in agreement, then falls silent. Her legs swinging back and forth, eyes riveted on the ripples in the water. She wants to tell him. About going to Dhaka.  Knowing that if he'd just listen to her reasoning and consider what she needed to do to finally heal and move on, he'd agree it was a good idea. Not a great one. But acceptable. Maybe he'd even offer to come along. Just to keep an eye on her. That city was dangerous. Unpredictable. Which had been all too clear during their first foray into city limits.

But she stays silent. The situation is under control. Jason will be there, after all.  

Besides, how much damage could one street kid do?

****

Tyler stands on the threshold of the master's en-suite bathroom; leaning against the door jamb with his arms over his chest. Watching his wife as she sits on the edge of the tub, her eyes riveted on that plastic stick across the room, as it rests on the sink ledge.  She's nervous; chewing absentmindedly on her bottom lip, palms continuously running along her thighs.

“How long does this take?” he inquires. “It's been like half an hour.”

“It's been a minute and half,” she replies.  “Two more minutes at least. There's quicker ones you could have gotten. Those digital things that pretty much give the results right away.”

“This is the first time I've ever had to buy something like this. I'm a rookie here.”

“A rookie with extremely strong and determined swimmers, apparently,” she retorts.  “Where's the baby?”

“Ovi took her downstairs.  He's playing the piano for her. He swears she likes it.”

“Another male she has wrapped around her little finger. Maybe I won't have to worry about her bringing boys home. With you two around. I can just see you. Sitting on the front porch with a shot gun on your lap.”

“I was thinking more a fully automatic. Or a grenade launcher. Or maybe even flamethrower. Maybe all three. Depending on my mood.”

“You can't keep the boys away forever. You can't keep her locked in the house.”

“You just watch me.”

She laughs at that. More nervous than amused.

“I don't know what you're so freaked out. This isn't your first rodeo.”

“It's scary,” she says. “The thought of having another human being inside of you. That relies on you for everything. I have to actually keep a tiny person alive.”

“Well you did amazing the first time,” he points out. “And considering everything else you were dealing with at the time, I'd say that makes you pretty fucking awesome.”

She smiles at him. And he shoots her a wink before wandering into the room and taking a seat on the ledge of the tub beside her.

“I'm nervous too,” he confesses, as he takes on her hands in both of his own. Her hands are soft, impossibly small within his.  “And scared.”

She looks at him. “You are?”

He nods.  “Not just because this is an awful shitty time to be going through all of this. We can get through all of that. I don't doubt that for a second. I worry about being a dad.”

“You're already a dad. And you've been one for over ten years. If we count Austin.”  And they do. Despite his suffering and his unfortunate passing, his son is still very much a part of their family.  “And you're a great dad, Tyler. An amazing dad. So don't ever doubt that. You see the way she looks at you. The way her entire face just lights up when she hears your voice. She adores you.  No one else in the world matters as much as her daddy.”

“Sorry about that by the way,” he grins. “That she loves me more than you,”

“That's harsh, Tyler. First I spend nine months getting fat and gross and puking all the time and then you go and say something like that.  I do know divorce lawyers, you know.”

“You'd never get rid of me.  And you weren't fat and gross by the way. You were beautiful. You always are. But even more beautiful when you were having her. Knowing that I was the one who helped but her there. That that was my baby inside of you.”

She leans into him, placing a kiss on his shoulder. “I like this side of you. The sappy one.”

“Just don't tell anyone, okay? I'd never live it down. I need people to think I'm a bad ass.”

“I don't think anyone could ever say you aren't a bad ass. You killed a man with a garden rake.”

“Two,” he corrects. “With the same garden rake. I'm just saying.”

She settles against him; head against his shoulder, her hand tightly clenched between his.

“What if it happens again?” he inquires.

“Having to kill a man with a garden rake?”

“No,” he can't help but chuckle. “Although that is always a possibility. Anything can happen. I mean Austin. And his cancer. What if that happens again?”

“The chances of that happening are slim to none.”

“But there's still a chance.”

“There's a chance we could walk out of the house tomorrow and get hit by a bus,” she gently argues. “His cancer wasn't genetic. It just happened, Tyler. It was nothing you or your ex caused. It just happened.”

“I just worry about it. I can't help it. Sometimes I'll watch Millie sleeping and think about it. What I'd do if she got sick. How I don't think I'd be able to handle it. Seeing her suffer. I'm worried I'm going to make the same mistake. Run away like I did. Because I'm a fucking coward.”

“You are many things, Tyler. But a coward is not one of them. It's fight or flight. Your flight drive was stronger than your fight. It happens.”

“But it shouldn't have happened. That's the point.”

She rubs his back; palm moving in slow, smooth, comforting circles. “Think of it this way, if things hadn't have have happened the way they did, we probably wouldn't be here right now.  We probably would have never even met. You would have been on an entirely different path and our lives probably never would have connected. And that's worth something, right? You and I? Millie? What happened was horrible and you didn't deserve that. And Austin definitely didn't deserve it. But we're here. Millie and I. And that has to make up for everything else somehow right?”

“Of course it does.”  If someone had have told him a year ago that he'd end up a husband and father again, he would have told them that they were insane. He had been struggling to find a way to keep on living when all he wanted to do was die. And he'd found a reason to keep on, keeping on. Something...someone...that gave him a purpose.  Now he couldn't imagine his life without them. That feeling of completeness that comes with knowing you matter to someone. That they rely on you.

“You are way too hard on yourself,” she says, and tousles his hair. “Try seeing yourself through my eyes. Just once.”

“I'll try,” he promises, and she smiles and a lays a hand against his cheek, covering his lips with hers in a long, soft kiss. “I think it's time. You ready?”

“As I'll ever be, I guess. You?”

“Not really, no. But I guess we have to find out.”

“You do it.  I got to do it the first time. This one is all yours.”

“That's it, put all the pressure on me,” he teases, and gives her hand one last squeeze and a kiss to the forehead before standing up and approaching the sink.

“Well?” her voice is shaky. Perhaps a mixture of both nerves and anticipation.  “What does it say?”

“I'm not sure.  What does two pink lines mean?”

The tears prick her eyes. Her lower lip quivers.

“It means we're having a baby.”

[every1studio]

“UNIVERSITY OF KQ” [ateez]

genre: reverse harem + fluff + fem reader

ficstyle: bullepoints + oneshot + long

prompt: You just moved back to Korea to enroll in the University of KQ.. Little did you know, that you attracted some attention from some of the most popular guys on campus.. (YOU ARE V OBLIVIOUS/CLUMSY)

note: did a high school one for SKZ so I thought I would draw inspiration and do a college one for ATEEZ

You got into the most hard-to-get-in art university in South Korea and since it was your first choice; you gladly took the offer and moved there. You wanted to find some sort of hobby or interest since you’ve been so focused on school up until now. You wondered how was your life going to be here at University of KQ when....

WOOYOUNG

“you’re blocking the stairway..”

you turned to see a well-built guy wearing a black tank top, gray sweatpants and a duffel, leaning on the railings waiting for you to move

he looked like he just came from the gym or something

not gonna lie, you took a while to register that he was talking to you

he smirked at you by your flustered actions as you moved out of the way

he walked up to you so that he was standing in front of you 

“checking me out?” he asked as he leaned in closer to you

“n-no, I was just-”

you were taken back by his actions, you stumbled back; almost falling down the stairs

but he swooped his arm in around your waist in time and pulled you in close to his sweaty body

“you’re the cute and clumsy type huh..” he chuckled as he detaches himself from you

he points to the door next to yours, “that’s my place”

then he points to himself, “and I’m Wooyoung”

Wooyoung pinches your cheeks then waves to you as he makes his way to his apartment

“see you around, Y/N~”

you furrowed your brows, “how do you know my name?”

Wooyoung was known to be a playboy; a heartthrob

but he seemed to have broken his character after seeing how innocent and oblivious you were

he snorts as he looks at the ground for a bit, “it’s on your school ID that you’re wearing on your lanyard..”

before you could open your mouth to say something, your alarm went off

you were late for class

“oops sorry! see ya, Wooyoung!!” you dashed down the stairs as he watched you crossing the street

he liked how his named rolled off your tongue

(she’s interesting... and cute) Wooyoung would think as he ruffles his hair 

MINGI

you were trying to make it to your first class of the term; philosophy 

Mingi was munching on his burger as he saw you running

he saw the whole incident

it was like a scene out of a movie

you had tripped on flat ground and fell quite comically

he never put down his burger so fast; he ran to you

“you good??”

as you looked up, his heart skipped a beat

the sun was shining on your face and you brushed off the pain 

“oh yeah, this is no big deal” you jumped up and straightened yourself up

“I gotta go, I’m late. thank you!”

but he felt an urge to make a move and he did

he held you back by your wrist

“what class are you going to? how are you gonna go to class all bloodied up?”

you looked down to see both of your knees covered in bloody skid marks 

“I can’t walk into philosophy like this...”

his eyes lit up, “you have it with Dr. C. Williams?”

you nodded as you found a classmate, “yeah! I’m Y/N!”

“I’m Mingi”

“...aren’t we going to be late?”

he realized that he was holding onto your wrist a little too long so he embarrassingly shook his hand off of you 

he seemed like a cold person, but if he, a stranger, helped you out.. that would mean he wasn’t a bad person, right?

you looked at your phone 

“class is in 1 minute and I still don’t know where it is..” you sulked, you didn’t want late to your first class on your first day

“didn’t you check the email last night? class is cancelled..”

you frantically checked your email and he was right

you slapped yourself on your forehead, “are you fricking kidding me??”

he gave a small smile as he led you back to his table “at least you have time to clean yourself up”

you watched him take out some Hello Kitty band-aids; they were the opposite from his tough-boy exterior so you chuckled under your breath

he notices it and tries to clarify with you as he cleaned your wounds and patched you up, “I needed some band-aids the other day and these were the only ones they had left okay!”

“HEY MINGI, CAN I GET A BAND-AID TOO!!”

both you and Mingi turned to see..

SAN

you both saw a smiley-eyed boy dashing towards the table

but was stopped by a couple of what seemed like high schoolers visiting the campus

you heard them asking him for directions and squealed as he helped them out with a smile

they thanked him and loudly whispered some things on the line of “omg I cannot believed we talked to him”

San was known in the area for busking by himself on Friday nights

when he looked back at you and Mingi, he became a little shy

“oh I didn’t know you were with sucha pretty friend, Mingi.. sorry for intruding” 

he was about to walk away until you spoke up, “didn’t you say you needed a band-aid?”

you reached out for his visibly-cut hand, “what happened?”

“I was trying to pet a cat but it obviously didn’t like me..”

he watched as you were cleaning his cuts; he hissed in pain

you looked up at him and back down at his cuts as you whispered, “sorry..”

you continued as you blew on the area as you wiped it over with sanitizing wipes so that it wouldn’t hurt as much

he couldn’t help but smile as he watched you put band-aids on him so lovingly and with care

he felt the jealous glares from Mingi and he spoke up

“so how do you know Mingi?”

you looked at him after you finished tending his wounds, “I just met him, didn’t know I had philosophy with him.. oh! I’m Y/N!” 

“oh yeah?”

you reached out your hand for him to shake

but to your surprised, he looped his arms through yours

“I’m San, guess we’ll all be best friends since I have that class with him too~”

he was excited to be friends with someone as pretty and loving as you

maybe.. you could be even more than a friend to him one day...

SEONGHWA

you had to split ways with Mingi and San since they had another class to head to 

with nothing else to do that day, you decided to go onto your online classes for the term to see what you can work on so that you won’t have to worry about them later

you are the type of person to get things done as early as possible; which got you ahead of classes so that you can have more time for other things

the grumbling of your stomach made it hard to focus on anything than your hunger so you went over to the campus map to find out where was the closest eatery was

you sighed as you scratched your head; your stomach grumbled again but this time, it was louder than the first one

there was a little chuckle as you closed your eyes in embarrassment before turning around

you saw the literal statue of a Greek God

“I assume you’re hungry.. this cafe has a stacked menu and it has good wifi too..”

you thanked him and bowed as you went back to the maps to take a picture of the cafe so that you won’t get lost

you missed a couple of turns and blocks but you finally arrived at the cafe

it was pretty big; there were 2 stories and it had a veranda seating area

you walked in to the comforting smell of roasted coffee beans

there was a long line; with females taking up 89% of the cafe

(I wonder why there were so many girls here at this cafe..)

that was when you got to the counter and you finally understood

that Greek God guy was behind the counter giving you a smiled widely as he saw you; you felt the glares of the other girls on you since he only gave them a retail-worker smile

but you didn’t know that

“oh! I was wondering what was taking you so long to get here..” he continued to smile at you as you were trying to fiddle with your phone case

“I got lost...”

he bursts out in a kind laugh, “at least you’re here now, what can I get you?”

you bit your lips as you scanned the menu, “honestly I don’t know what to get, I’m not picky and I’m indecisive...”

“you look like you’d be into something simple... how about a taro latte and a hearty chicken avocado sandwich?”

you laughed, “that’s a simple order? I’ll take it”

that was when Seonghwa wanted to see more of that smile

“can I get a name with that order?”

you looked down at his nametag before answering, “Y/N”

you went to go get your wallet from your bag but he spoke up, “my treat!”

“Seonghwa, you don’t have t-”

but he slid his employee’s card already

“I’ll get your order ready for you,” he winks at you

YEOSANG

after you got your order from Seonghwa

you walked up to the veranda seating area

there were outlet on the tables so you didn’t have to worry about sitting near a wall or anything

you sat down and saw a boy sitting on the table across from you

he was munching down on a big slice of chocolate cake 

he looked so cute and happy to be eating 

but then he looked up to you smiling at him; he quickly looked down in embarrassment

but so did you

(I probably looked like a lunatic eating such a big piece like that)

(I probably looked like a creep watching him eat like that)

for some reason you both looked up at each other and nodded at one another in acknowledgement

you went back to working from your laptop and eating

Yeosang looked up at you again; you were focus on your work as you used your electric pen to scribble across your screen 

he too took out his art materials; the typical sketchbook, #2 pencil and a trusty eraser 

you both were in the moment; enjoying the sunshine on your skins and the refreshing breeze tingle through your hair

after a while, Yeosang had to get up to leave

he was contemplating on giving you a drawing of you; was it creepy or was it romantic?

he signed his name and number after he finished but he didn’t want to actually give it to you because he wasn’t that confident in himself yet

so he purposely left it on his table and packed up

he nodded at you once again before dashing downstairs

you noticed there was a piece of paper on the table

“wait! you left this!” but he was long gone

you flipped the paper and saw a stunning sketch of yourself

you didn’t think you were pretty or anything special but the drawing gave you a sense of confidence

“Yeosang..” you read out loud as you smiled at his artwork 

JONGHO

you packed up a while after that

you were planning to explore the campus even more

to find out where your other classes were so that you didn’t have to struggle trying to find them later on

you went to the closest bus stop

when you walked around to find a seating area, you saw a young lad wearing headphones

he was totally in his own world; jamming out to his music

seeing how he was into his music made you want to listen to music too

you sat down next to him and opened your bag to try to find your headphones

but OF COURSE, you probably left them at home

around that time was when another guy appeared; it seemed like he was a music major or something because he was trying his best to woo you or something 

you smiled at the ground with wide eyes because you were overwhelmed by his “swag”

the guy sitting next to you finally realized that you were sitting next to him and you looked super uncomfortable by this obnoxious rapper

you were probably one of the prettiest girls he’s ever seen and he wanted to do anything to help you out

he took of one of his earbuds out and nudged it to you

he nods at you for to you take it and you do

BLESS HIM; you rather block one ear off than to have both of your ears bleed from bad rapping

you listened to the music a little bit more before turning to the guy sitting next to you, “hey I listen to this artist too!! I’m obsessed with them!”

he smiled at you as he tried to keep eye contact; the way you just looked at him without blinking much made his heart flutter

“they give me inspiration..” he comments

the bus catches his attention but he doesn’t want this conversation to go to waste

“OH THE BUS IS HERE!” you got up, forgetting that you were sharing earbuds with him; causing his phone to drop out of his hands

“OH GOSH I’M SO SORRY!”

“it’s oka-”

you both reached down for his phone as your smooth fingers grazed his guitar-calloused fingers; he pulled away first

“here ya go~” 

you both saw the rapper get on the bus first and you quickly grabbed the guy’s hand 

“let’s find a good spot on the bus.. uh..” you weren’t sure if you guys introduced yourselves yet and you had already forgotten

“Jongho..” he beamed at your contact

“Y/N~”

YUNHO

you and Jongho separated ways after getting off the bus

he was headed to the studios and you were heading over to the performance arts building

you’ve always been interested in dancing and you had intro to hip hop the next day so you wanted to prepare yourself 

maybe even bust some moves to be hyped for the next day

you heard the muffled sounds of music playing in one of the dancing studios

the sounds of footsteps and floor scuffings became prominent

you found yourself became immersed with the dancer in the room

he had strong movements yet they were fluid?

he probably had one of the best facial expressions ever

right when he was done, you quietly clapped as your jaws were still on the floor

he looked through into the mirror at you standing at the doorway in awe

you probably couldn’t tell but he was getting even more red from blushing

“you’re probably the BEST dancer I’ve ever seen!!”

he ruffled the back of his sweaty hair, “no way.. I definitely have room to improve..”

you blinked furiously at him, “room to improve? if that’s the case, I need one whole building to improve. you’re seriously amazing, I was totally captivated”

captivated is what Yunho felt when he saw you for the first time 

“wait, you dance too??” he felt a light surge of excitement knowing that you dance as well

you scrunched your face as you shrugged, “I like to dance but I’m not good or anything.. just a little hobby..”

“if you’d like, I have a class tomorrow here in this room if you wanna swoop in and dance!”

you cocked your head in confusion, “wait, you have a class here tomorrow? are you Jung Yunho?”

he broke out into a smile as he nodded, “yeah, that’s me!”

“I didn’t think they would have young and good-looking teachers here..” you mumbled as you looked over your classes again; double-checking what time you were going to be in his class tomorrow

but Yunho was caught up with the fact that you called him good-looking

“what’s your name?” he manages to ask

“Y/N-”

“excuse me~ we’re gonna clean this room soon so if you could pack your things, I would be grateful~” the tired custodian announced

you looked back at Yunho, “I’ll see you tomorrow.. teacher~”

he smiles into his fist as he picks up his duffel, “well, you can say your goodbyes after I walk you out..”

HONGJOONG

Yunho only walked you out to the entrance of the building

“where are you heading off to now?” Yunho wanted to walk you back to your apartment but he had work to do 

“I wanna check out the campus a bit more...”

“alright I’ll see you tomorrow~”

“see ya, teacher~”

you both waved until you swiveled around to make your way to the recording studios

it was golden hour; the sun shined against the windows making it look like mirrors

the performance arts building was sitting on top of the slope; giving you full access to the whole campus

you were admiring the view as Hongjoong was also on his way to the recording studio

he was frustrated

he had no inspirations; no muse

and that was when he was walking behind you; he didn’t notice you until you turned around and ran into him

you were literally so sick of how many times your clumsiness caused problems for other people, “I”M SO SORRY!! I’m the clumsiest person ever...”

“it’s okay, it was my fault too..”

you bent down to collect the guy’s notebook and mp3 player

“I haven’t seen these bad boys in a long time,” held up the mp3 player to him

you were just squatting there, basking in the golden sunlight

Hongjoong finally found a muse and it wasn’t just any muse; it was you

“o-oh yeah... if I record songs, I rather not have distractions like games and social media..” 

you got up and you nodded in agreement, “that’s pretty smart”

he smiles as he walks over to the doors to the recording studios and waits for you, “are you coming to the studios too?”

you nodded as you waddled on over

he couldn’t help but smile at your cute little actions

“what brings you over here?” he asks as he sees your backside looking around the building

you look back at him as you answered, “I’m just exploring. seeing if anything sparks my interest.. wondering if I should pick up a new hobby.. finding a new routine for myself here at the University of KQ.. you know?”

he was already so in love with you

was this what it was like to fall in love at first sight?

“I’m Hongjoong, by the way..”

“I’m-”

“HEY Y/N!!” you heard a group say in unison

You looked over to see Wooyoung, Mingi, San, Seonghwa, Yeosang, Jongho and Yunho walk over to you and Hongjoong. You thought it was weird that everyone who you ever interacted with today was all gathered here in one area. They were all confused, “wait how do you know Y/N?” 

You furrowed your brows, “y-you all know each other?” 

Hongjoong nodded, “yeah, we’re called the KQ Fellaz. Just a little group we made for ourselves.”

Yunho chimed in, “we make our own songs and choreography.”

“Would you like to be our manager? Since you already know all of us, we don’t even have to do an interview to look for one!” San asked as he looped his arms around yours. You looked around the group and they all had puppy eyes, “guess I know what to do on my free time now..” 

~end

[cylonbarnes]

hero richie villian eddie bc i’m a ducking slut for this shit. love you baby

“What made you this way?” Richie asked, his arms held back by the wall cuffs in the villain’s lair. He wondered why villains always had these bondage items just scattered throughout their bases. Why not just kill people instead of capturing them and talking for hours? It would probably be less painful, at least for him.

The villain laughed. “Oh, you know, tragic childhood and all.” He ran a finger up Richie’s chest, across the symbol emblazoned there. “What does this even mean?”

Richie glanced down at it, though he knew what it was. A large letter S crossed with a red V, the symbol his superhero team all wore.

“You wouldn’t understand.” 

“Try me,” the villain smirked. 

Richie was a low-level superhero, if he was being honest. He was a mimic, best with voices but damn convincing as a shapeshifter, too. His usual help to the team was through distractions and diversions. There was only so much someone who can only change into other humans, without gaining any other strengths or powers, could do.

Of course he was the one who got captured. Richie didn’t even know who this villain was, what his powers were. 

The only thing he knew was that the guy was pretty attractive. He shouldn’t be thinking that, of course. 

“What do they call you, anyway?” the villain asked. Even he didn’t know - that made Richie feel much better… not.

“Uh,” Richie started. Fuck, this was dumb. this was so dumb. “It’s uh…”

The villain laughed. “What, do you think I’m Rumpelstiltskin? Spit it out!”

“They… I’m called Trashmouth.” His cheeks were bright pink; he hung his head in embarrassment. He had run through options with the group, but nothing was better than that joke suggestion.

“Oh, so they hate you.”

“No they don’t!”

“No, they definitely hate you. Ugh, I picked the one member of the team that they wouldn’t even bother saving, didn’t I?” 

Alright, that wasn’t cool. If Richie could use his arms, he would have crossed them. Probably not, though, as they had approximately no blood left.

“Well, you’re obviously not that good of a villain, either. I don’t even know your name.”

“Asthman,” he said, puffing out his chest. 

“Ass Man?”

Ass Man went bright red. “Not Ass Man! Asthman! Like, uh…” he trailed off, looking around. “Here, I’ll just…”

He targeted his fist at Richie’s throat, not actually touching it. He looked like Darth Vader. And, oh, fuck. Ass Man squeezed the air, and Richie finally knew what a force choke felt like. 

Ass Man released after a few seconds. “So I basically like, fuck up your breathing. Like asthma.”

Richie coughed. “You should really change your name.”

“What?”

“Like, seriously, bro.”

The villain found a chair at a desk on the other side of the room, setting it up in front of Richie. He ran back to the desk, grabbing a pen and paper. It wasn’t a very confident run, kind of like a baby deer.

Settling into the chair, he looked up at Richie. “Okay, let’s brainstorm this.”

At that moment, the door to the lair burst open. In a flash of colors, BirdBoy, Grimoire, The Architect, and Mother Nature were pushing Ass Man out of the chair, searching the lair for information, and getting Richie out of his cuffs. 

Their leader, Big Bill, walked in a few seconds later, throwing one of Ass Man’s cronies over his shoulder. “You made this too easy, dude.”

“Hey, don’t break my henchman! I only have three!” He looked small, now, smaller even then when Richie had been looking down at him. He was fully contained by the rocks Ben had manipulated to surround every part of his body but the head.

Richie rubbed at his wrists. “Really, Ass Man, you underestimated my team. I may just be a Trashmouth, but once a Loser, always a Loser.”

Ass Man’s eyes, already large like a puppy dog, looked sadder than ever. Lonely. “Always?” He asked. 

“Of course,” Big Bill said, putting his foot up on the stone. He didn’t look like much, but his super-strength was enough to lift a building.

Ass Man ditched the sad eyes in favor of a classic villain laugh. “Always? You guys really are losers.” He turned to look at Richie.

“You really don’t recognize me? None of you?” he panned through each of their faces, confusion evident on each. 

“They say time heals all wounds… guess it only takes twenty-seven years to forget someone, huh?”

Richie stared at him, lips parting as tears welled in his eyes. “E…Eddie?”

[juminsmysticmc]

Rfa + Sarean + V. with suicidal MC and they had a bad fight then MC has bad thoughts.

Rfa + Minor Duo have a fight with a suicidal MC who has bad thoughts afterwards and tries to act on them but gets caught before she could do anything (TRIGGER WARNINGS, MENTION OF: Self harm, death, depression, suicide

Hiii! I hope I didn’t misunderstand you and wrote it the way you wanted. Please stay allert, trigger warnings! And please guys don’t give any hate, this is fictional and shows only a scene of the request! Now enjoy! 

Jumin 

You looked down as Jumin slipped angrily at his wine. 

You were honestly sorry for what you did. 

It wasn’t your purpose to embarrass him like that. 

He muffled as he took a slip of his wine once again. 

,,J-Jumin….I‘m sorry, it wasn’t my purpose to soak the best investor for C&R with wine….I simply….didn’t look.“ you tried to explain once again. 

,,It’s humanly to make mistakes.“ he snapped. 

Even through he said that, it seemed that he still couldn’t forgive you. 

Your lips began to tremble….you tried to bite on them to stop the trembling, to not begin to sob in front of him. 

None needs me. What’s the meaning of living if none loves me? 

You questioned yourself as you observed your trembling hands. 

Out of the blue you were interested if someone would cry over you. 

Since Jumin decided to not talk to you, you decided to go away. 

Forever. 

You couldn’t bear it anymore, the man you loved would be better without you.

You opened the faucet as warm water filled the tub. 

While the tub was getting filled you searched a for a blade and striped your clothes. 

Your ugly shape made you remember that you never fitted for Jumin. 

When the tub was full with enough water, you entered the warm paradise and turned it into hell. 

You scratched your wrist as deep as possible as you grinned your teeth, it was more painful than you thought. 

Because of the warm water you quickly lost conscious. 

,,She‘s moving….“ a man‘s voice sobbed as he was holding your hands. 

Somehow you were sure that Jumin was the one besides you. 

And you were right, he was right by your side.  

,,Jumin…what happened?“ you questioned him as you tried to get up a bit just to fail.  

,,You…you tried to kill yourself, Mc….After almost two hours I wanted to use the bathroom and when I opened the door I found your bloody figure in the bath tub. It’s good that you never close yourself in……but why did you do it….?’’ he asked you, stroking your pale face. 

,,I….I hated myself for arguing with you. I just wanted to die, to feel missed….’’ you told him and looked away. 

Jumin however took your chin ans kissed your lips softly. 

,,My love, you realize that we need help, right?’’ he asked you as his tears fell on your cheeks. 

You nodded. 

Zen 

,,I WON’T FORGIVE YOU IF YOU DO IT!’’ you yelled at the white haired man as he signed a contract at your home. 

,,THEN DON’T FORGIVE ME!’’ he yelled back and threw the pen away and glared at you. 

His glare seemed to leave scars behind, your body began to tremble as your tears dripped on the floor. 

,,HOW?! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!’’ you asked him while you looked at the contract. 

Zen just signed a contract for a new manager and a trip to L.A for a year. 

,,BECAUSE I NEED A NEW MANAGER IF I WANT TO GET FAMOUS IN L.A!! I WILL TAKE YOU WITH ME!’’ he yelled. 

He was angry at you. 

He thought that you would support him but it seemed that you were just interested in your own feelings. 

You however felt the same as you saw him with the contract. 

He was selling you out just to get to go to L.A. 

,,I hate you.’’ you snapped in a silent voice, showing your boyfriend that you were disappointed. 

You rushed on his balcony to keep crying at the fresh air. 

Bad thoughts haunted you as you kept crying harder and harder. 

,,I’m not worth it! I’m no good for him, I’m holding him back! Mc you’re such a bitch!’’ you sobbed and began to slapp yourself. 

Your biggest wish right now was just to die. 

You hated yourself more then ever and when you realized that the place was pretty high you got up. 

As if you were in trace you climbed on the grid to stand a bit higher. 

,,Good bye my love….’’ you mumbled to yourself while you tried to lean your body over the grid. 

You were sure that you would die, fall down and crash on the place below you but Zen destroyed your plan. 

With a strong pull you were between his arms on the cold floor. 

His strong arms made it impossible for you to free yourself from his embrace. 

His head was laying on your neck while you felt his warm tears. 

,,Why…..?’’ he asked you and cried harder. 

,,BECAUSE YOU WANTED TO LEAVE ME AND I THOUGHT I WAS HOLDING YOU BACK! I JUST WANTED TO DISAPPEAR!’’ you yelled as your tears soaked your own shirt. 

,,DON’T DARE I LOVE YOU….!’’ Zen responded. 

When the two of you finally calmed down and rushed in to not disturb the neighbors. 

Zen destroyed his contract while he talked to your doctor. 

He first wanted to make sure that you would get better. 

Yoosung 

,,RIKA RIKA RIKA! ARE YOU FUCKING BROKEN DISK?!’’ you yelled at your husband as you glared at him. 

,,YOU’RE THE SAME BY THE WAY! YOU’RE ALWAYS REPEATING THAT I TALK ABOUT MY DEAD COUSIN!’’ he yelled back from a big distance. 

You immediately stepped closer to him. 

,,Don’t dare!’’ you snapped. 

,,Oh please, don’t give me this kind of look! You will probably say that I never did anything for you. Don’t lie, Mc. Because we both know that in this marriage I’m the only one who’s in love!’’ 

,,WHAT?! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO YOURSELF?!’’ you asked him after you heard his idiotic words. 

,,Come on! I even hurt myself for you!’’ he responded. 

This was enough for you. 

You couldn’t bear this anymore. 

You could already imagine why he was thinking like this. You were out a lot these days. 

But it wasn’t because you weren’t in love anymore but because you had regular check ups with your doctor. 

You simply didn’t want to worry him but it seemed that this act of you made him loose his faith for you. 

You decided to stop the play here and escaped the hell. 

You just wanted to show him how much you loved him. 

Behind your back you still heard him yelling to stay here but you ignored him. 

Instead you wrote him a letter and decided to just shallow the whole ten portions of sleeping pills the doctor gave you. 

You really hoped that these sleeping pills would bring the wished effect. 

And your wish became real, or at least it felt so. 

A few seconds later you woke up in a completely withe room with Yoosung by your side who was holding a pink paper in his hands, your letter. 

,,Why are you crying?’’ you asked him. 

His perplexed red eyes scared you a bit. 

,,You know that if your cry a lot your eyes turn out red….’’ you mumbled and in the next moment you felt his warmth. 

,,You slept for almost two days…..I was so worried that you would die on me, Mc….’’ he sobbed harder. 

,,I’m sorry for what I did and said, it’s my fault, please don’t do this again….don’t try to kill yourself…..please!’’ 

Of course you realized that you had your faults too and that’s why you could become better, together with Yoosung and professional help. 

Jaehee 

You smelled the metallic odor as the razor cut your flesh. 

Tears streamed down your face as you remembered the discussion you just had with your girlfriend. 

It all happened because of a customer who was simply unhappy. 

You knew that you still did your best but Jaehee and you kept on with your discussion until the both of you were yelling at each other. 

,,I DON‘T UNDERSTAND HOW JUMIN COULD BE SAD BY LOSING YOU!“ you yelled and immediately regretted your words. 

But not only you caused pain with your sharp words. 

Jaehee made you feel unloved in that very moment and so it came that you decided to hurt yourself just to decide to die a few minutes later. 

Although you couldn’t go on with your plan. 

The young woman stopped you before you could cut your wrist. 

Her tears dropped on your hands and got mixed with your blood while you soaked her hands. 

Her sobbing noises was the only thing which filled the room. 

With her trembling hands she tried to stop the blood. 

,,I‘m sorry.“ she repeated over and over. 

,,Me too…“ you mumbled before your head collapsed on her chest, resting on it for quite a while. 

A few months later your suicidal thoughts almost completely disappeared. 

Jaehee was still afraid leaving you on your own but you did your best to gain her trust back while undergoing treatment. 

Saeyoung 

,,I SWEAR TO GOD SAEYOUNG IT WASN’T ME!’’ you yelled as Saeyoung looked at his scratched car. 

,,Are you kidding me? You’re the only one who’s allowed to drive my favorite car AND IT WASN’T ME SO IT’S YOU!’’ Saeyoung kept accusing you. 

Your face turned red from the anger as your boyfriend kept accusing you. 

,,It…wasn’t….me!’’ you repeated and turned away. 

,,YES, JUST GO!’’ he yelled behind your back. 

You slammed your door behind your back as you sat on your chair and began to cry loudly. 

It really wasn’t you but your boyfriend wouldn’t trust you. 

It made you so sad, none had really faith in you, right? 

,,Why is it always me who get’s the pain and accusations?!’’ you groaned as you tried to stop sobbing. 

You remembered about your past and realized that you were always the source of all problems. 

Everyone kept blaming things on you.  

With your boyfriend now nothing changed and so you came to a hurtful conclusion. 

,,It’s my fault, so I will take the consequences.’’ 

It didn’t take long until you knotted a rope around the lamp. 

While your trembling legs climbed on the chair you tried to knot the rope around your throat to finally stop this crazy circle. 

Your boyfriend instead tried to find out if you were really lying. 

While looking at the hidden videos in his garage he found out that Zen scratched the car while carrying his beer when he visited you guys. 

,,Shit…I need to say sorry….’’ he mumbled and looked at the closed door. 

Saeyoung waited a bit until he heard a thud. 

An odd feeling overcame him as he approached the still closed door. 

He pressed down the handle and looked at your shaking body. 

Your body was hanging on a rope while your eyes flacked a while. 

Saeyoung reacted in seconds, grabbing your legs to pick you up so that you could breath but everything seemed too late. 

Support took incredebily long as Saeyoung cried for your life. 

,,I’m sorry, I love you, I was wrong, forgive me…..please please please wake up and don’t die on me, please….’’ 

Saeran 

Your relationship was wonderful, almost creepy if you look at the perfection. 

The perfect couple, that’s what everyone else called you. 

But you weren’t that perfect. 

You weren’t that happy although with Saeran by your side this feeling got surpressed. 

Just today your depression was hitting you a bit more. 

And out of all days Saeran and you had to argue today. 

By now you already forgot why you were angry at him. 

Everything what you knew was that you were currently approaching the storming sea. 

Your last strength let you go on as your feet touched the cold water. 

Nothing mattered to you anymore, you just wanted to die. 

Die, die alone, just to leave. 

,,Ufff…’’ you gasped as you couldn’t feel the sand anymore. 

Your legs gave up, you just couldn’t swim anymore as your body got heavy. 

Your head slowly dissapeared and your lungs got filled with the salty water. 

So, this is your end, isn’t it? You thought as you closed your eyes. 

,,MC! MC! MMMMMCCCC!’’ someone called you. 

You however were unable to response to this voice. 

,,HAAAAAAAAHUUUUU!’’ you puked as your head was exposed to the cold air. 

Someone dragged you out of the water as you kept throwing up salty water. 

,,MC! OI MC!’’ someone called you over and over as you tried to breath. 

The sand got all over your body as you tried to open your eyes. 

,,Don’t  die here….’’ Saeran cried as he massaged your heart. 

,,I…want to….die….’’ you chocked again before he breaked down on your chest. 

Jihyun 

,,Are you kidding me?’’ you asked him as he calmly looked at you. 

,,No, I’m not.’’ he answered as he looked at the chats. 

,,You were simply wrong that’s why I defended Yoosung instead of you.’’ your husband explained. 

,,Are you sure that you were definding Yoosung and not Rika?!’’ you snapped at him as you tried to read out his expression. 

,,Yes, I’m sure. Why are you always talking about Rika?’’ he answered and asked you at the same time. 

,,Because you still love her after everything she did?!’’ you responded and looked away. 

,,That’s not true-‚‘’ he tried to explain but you stopped him. 

,,Ah, then please explain to me what Yoosung said that he deserves your acknowledge.’’ you laughed. 

Just like you expected he was unable to answer you, making you leave. 

He didn’t even call you. 

You slammed the door and began to curse everything. 

,,DAMN YOU!’’ you yelled. 

You weren’t like this. 

You actually decided to forgive Rika for everything but this time Jihyun just crossed the line. 

He left your heart broken, your eyes looked at the outsied in trance as you thought about your relationship. 

It wasn’t that great like you imagined. 

It wasn’t what you thought it would be like. 

Maybe you should just end everything? 

Everything….. 

You didn’t think that you were actually that brave to just stab yourself with the knife you found. 

Bad thought haunted you as you closed your eyes and tried to kill yourself just to feel a strong hindrance. 

When you opened your eyes Jihyun was holding the blade. 

His scared eyes made you shriek back. 

His blood was dripping on the floor as he let go of the knife. 

,,Mc…..’’ he mumbled, approached you and began to painfully cry with you. 

MASTERLIST 1MASTERLIST 2

12.05.’19// 23:03 (yes stayed up late for you on a Sunday) MEST

Tagged:

@foreversunshine-love @giulia2372 @milkyxstrawberry

@widya345 @remiliadacalde @sailormoonrocks666 @r-f-a-journalists

[vminni]

Coffee Shops and Clichés

“What do you think is a bigger fanfic cliché?” Jisung burst into Woojin’s room, ignoring his friend’s groan of protest at his loud voice. “Falling in love with a barista at a coffee shop or a florist?”

“I think I told you not to come into my room without knocking,” Woojin spun around in his desk chair and threw a pen at Jisung’s head, which the younger boy easily avoided. “Barista. Why?”

“It’s for my final paper for my research writing class.” Jisung dramatically spread his hands, “Fanfic Cliché: Possibility or Pure Fantasy?”

“I don’t think that’s the kind of research you’re supposed to be doing.”

Jisung waved him off with a flick of his wrist, “I talked to my professor already. She said it sounded interesting and told me it was fine. I just need to find a test subject. Hyunjin would probably know someone.”

“Great,” Woojin got out of his chair and crossed the room to his friend, nudging him towards the door. “Go bother him and leave me alone.”

“Rude,” Jisung huffed, but he allowed himself to be ushered out of Woojin’s room. He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed Hyunjin, flopping down on the couch as it rang.

“Sup?”

“What coffee shop near campus has the hottest barista?”

“The Beanery,” Hyunjin answered immediately. “It’s two blocks off campus. Right by the record store Chan works at.” “Thank you so much for your contribution to my project. I’m citing you as a source in the final paper.”

“What are you talki…” Jisung hung up the phone in the middle of Hyunjin’s sentence, choosing instead of pull up ao3. Time to do some more research.

-

Jisung had decided that this paper was more important than anything else currently going on in his life, and therefore had made the decision to skip all of his classes and go sit in the coffee shop that Hyunjin had recommended for the entire day.

“I need you to know that I don’t support this,” Woojin muttered, rolling his eyes as Jisung preened in front of the mirror. “I also don’t think it’s going to work.”

Jisung ignored him, “How do I look? Leather jacket is super cliché, right?”

The younger boy was sporting torn black skinny jeans, a low cut white v neck and a distressed leather jacket paired with high top black Converse. Two chains dangled from his left ear and a hoop from his right, his hair mussed just enough to look sexy without looking like any effort had been wasted.

“Do you think I should put on some eyeliner?”

“I think you should go to class and not be an idiot, but you’re not going to listen to me anyway. You look fine, don’t bother with the eyeliner.”

“If I bring you back a pastry from the coffee shop, will that help your attitude?” Jisung huffed, opening the door to their shared apartment and letting Woojin step out first. “As my best friend, you should be more supportive.”

“I’m not your best friend,” Woojin rolled his eyes. “Felix is.”

“Well, Felix went back to Australia for a few months, so you are my stand-in best friend and I need you to be nicer to me.”

“You’re gorgeous, the barista is going to take one look at you and instantly fall in love. He’ll write his number and a cliché little message on your coffee cup and not only will your paper be a huge success, but you’ll also have a hot boyfriend,” Woojin deadpanned. “How’s that?”

“Better, thank you,” Jisung pulled up the directions to the coffee shop on his phone as they stepped outside. “I’ll keep you updated.”

Woojin sighed as they parted ways, “For the love of god, please don’t.”

-

When Jisung arrived at the small coffee shop, he took a peek in through the window and noted that the barista behind the counter was a girl. A pretty girl, but not what he was looking for.

“It’s eight in the morning, why are you calling me?” Hyunjin’s groggy voice crackled through the phone. “You know I don’t have class until two on Mondays.”

“The hot barista. Boy or girl?” “Boy. I know you’re gay, Jisung. I wouldn’t have sent you to stare at a girl.”

“Just making sure,” Jisung hitched a foot up against the wall of the building and leaned back. “Do you happen to know if he’s single? And likes boys?” “I don’t know anything about him.” Jisung could practically hear Hyunjin scrubbing his face in frustration, “I just know he’s hot. I thought that’s all you wanted.”

“Well, I’m trying to fall in love. So I do kinda need him to be hot, single and ready to mingle. With me.”

“I would ask what’s going on, but it’s too early to deal with you. Please call me back at a more reasonable hour and explain.”

“Useless,” Jisung muttered as Hyunjin hung up. He shoved his phone back into his pocket and wandered away from the coffee shop’s storefront, stopping when he reached the record shop where Chan worked.

It didn’t open until nine, but he could see his friend inside, a stack of records in his arms. Jisung banged on the door until Chan stomped over and cracked it.

“We aren’t open.”

“I know,” Jisung tried to slip inside anyway, but Chan was too strong. He couldn’t get the door open enough to pass through. He let his lips droop down into a pout, “Fine, if you won’t let me in, can you at least answer a question for me?”

“What’s up?” “The coffee shop over there,” Jisung gestured vaguely behind him. “Do you know anything about the baristas that work there? Specifically a hot male barista?” Chan rolled his eyes, “Dude, you know I don’t drink coffee.”

“Coffee shops don’t just sell coffee,” Jisung huffed. “I don’t know, maybe you’ve bought a scone from them or something? Or maybe the baristas shop here?” “Fine, there’s one guy that works there that comes over here a lot. I imagine that’s who you’re asking about. His name is Minho. He occasionally buys some Lady Gaga stuff.”

“This is why you’re my favorite,” Jisung chirped, pressing up onto his toes so he could smack a loud kiss off Chan’s cheek. “Thank you!”

Chan scrubbed at his cheek, his grip on the door relaxing,  “Was that helpful information?” “Very helpful!” Jisung bounced in place, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the coffee shop. “One more question, do you know when he normally works?”

“Not until later. He usually comes over here on his break, around two. He probably starts at eleven or twelve.”

Jisung grinned and took advantage of Chan’s relaxed state to push inside, ducking under the other boy’s outstretched arm, “Looks like you’re stuck with me until then.”

-

Jisung entered the coffee shop at a quarter after twelve, running a hand through his hair as he casually sauntered his way up to the counter. He offered a smirk to the pretty boy stationed there, a smirk that said ‘yes, I am hot and yes, I do know it.’

The barista just rolled his eyes, “Hi, what can I get for you today?”

Jisung tilted his head to the side as he surveyed the menu, feeling the chains that dangled from his ear graze his jawline. He’d spent the last half hour practicing that move in the bathroom of the record shop after Chan had locked him in there for being too annoying. He had it down to an art.

“I’ll take a medium caramel macchiato and your number.”

Minho huffed out a laugh and keyed the order into the register, “The coffee will be 2.50. My number is gonna cost you a lot more than that.”

“That’s a price I’m willing to pay, baby,” Jisung winked, handing over the cash and making sure his fingers brushed against Minho’s as he did so.

The older boy just rolled his eyes again and grabbed a cup, marker hovering over the cardboard, “And what’s your name?”

“Just describe me,” Jisung dropped a few bills into the tip jar on the counter and winked for a second time. “I”ll know who you mean.”

Jisung wandered over to the front window as he waited for his order, making sure to stand at an angle that offered Minho the best view of his profile. Just in case he was looking. “I have one caramel macchiato for ‘the baby playing dress up in his dad’s leather jacket.’”

Jisung stomped back up to the front of the shop and glared at Minho as he took the coffee from his hand, “Rude.”

Minho laughed, a bright happy sound that shot straight to Jisung’s heart, “You said to describe you. I’m just calling it like I see it.”

-

Jisung was sitting on the counter of the record shop, sucking on a lollipop that Chan had given him to shut him up, when Minho entered a few hours later.

Jisung smirked around the stick in his mouth and quirked an eyebrow at the older boy, “Fancy seeing you here, babe.”

Minho ignored him, choosing instead to flip through a bin of records as if Jisung hadn’t spoken. Jisung pouted slightly, then hopped off the counter and crossed over to the other boy. He draped an arm over Minho’s shoulder and leaned in, looking at the records the boy was browsing, “Looking for anything in particular?”

Minho pinched the sleeve of Jisung’s jacket with two fingers and lifted his arm off him, as if it was a dirty tissue, “Don’t you have a kindergarten class to be attending? Or is it bring your five year old to work day today?” Chan poked his head out of the back room, “Jisung, stop harassing customers. Minho, be nice to Jisung, he’s sensitive.”

“I am not sensitive,” Jisung huffed, stepping away from the barista so he could flip Chan off.

Minho stifled a laugh in the sleeve of his shirt, turning away from the bin, “Definitely sensitive.”

“I’d be less sensitive if you’d give me your number,” Jisung swirled the lollipop around his mouth before pulling it out with a loud pop and drawing Minho’s eyes to his lips. “What do you say?” “I say you aren’t my type,” Minho’s gaze dropped to Jisung’s chest and he reached out to poke him lightly. “Prefer a little more something there, if you get what I mean.”

Jisung’s eyes widened in horror and he stepped back, red creeping its way into his cheeks, “I’m really sorry. Chan said you liked Lady Gaga and I just thought…”

“Stereotyping me, huh?” Minho grinned, “I’m just messing with you. I am gay. But you still aren’t my type.”

Jisung’s pout returned, “Why not?” Minho backed towards the door and offered the younger boy a wink and a teasing grin, “I don’t date boys who are prettier than me.”

-

Now that he knew Minho’s schedule, Jisung was able to attend his classes and still work on winning over the other boy. He showed up at the coffee shop a little after noon, once again rocking the leather jacket Minho had made fun of. He figured that could be their thing, Minho’s joking and his jacket.

After gathering opinions from all his friends on Minho’s parting words from the day before Jisung had decided that Minho was most definitely flirting with him and would be delighted to see him again.

Jisung bit down on his bottom lip a few times as he pushed into the coffee shop, hoping to make his mouth look that much more kissable. Minho was leaning on the counter when he entered, and the older boy straightened for a second before recognizing Jisung and relaxing once again.

“Afternoon, babe,” Jisung drawled, snatching a coffee stirrer from the basket on the counter and perching it between his lips. “Same as yesterday please.”

“What makes you think I remember what you got yesterday?” Minho reached over and grabbed the stirrer from Jisung’s mouth, tossing it in the trash behind him. “Also stop trying to be sexy, it’s not working.”

“Medium caramel macchiato,” Jisung drummed his ring covered fingers on top of the counter as Minho punched it into the register. “So if you don’t like pretty boys, what kind of boys do you like? Because I can totally be that.”

“Boys who aren’t using me as a test subject for a school paper, for starters.”

A flush spread up Jisung’s cheeks from his neck and he avoided Minho’s gaze, flicking at a few stray grains of sugar that littered the countertop, “Who told you that?”

“Chan.”

“But I didn’t even tell Chan about the paper.” A look of realization crossed his face, “Woojin probably told him. But I can’t believe he told you. What a traitor. Why did he tell you anyway?”

It was Minho’s turn to blush and he averted his attention back to the register, randomly punching at some keys, “No reason.”

“You went back and asked him about me,” Jisung crooned, leaning over so he could poke a finger to Minho’s flushed cheeks. “You are interested.”

Minho slapped his hand away, “Not anymore, I’m not. You were just going to use me.”

“Forget the paper. The paper is in the trash. I’ll fail research writing, it’s fine.”

Minho laughed softly, his fingers falling to play with the hem of his shirt. He looked up a Jisung from under lowered lashes, his cheeks still dusted a pretty pink, “You’re actually interested in me?” “Well, yeah,” Jisung furrowed his brow, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I’d like to,” Jisung fished his phone out of his pocket and held it out to Minho with puppy dog eyes. “May I please have your phone number?”

Minho took it with a sigh, “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

-

“So what did you end up writing your paper on anyway?” Minho asked, carding his fingers through Jisung’s dark hair. They were lying tangled on Jisung’s couch, a movie playing softly in the background.

“What paper?” Jisung twisted around to brush a few kisses along the underside of his boyfriend’s jaw, enjoying the way the older boy’s skin heated under his touch.

“You know, the fanfic paper. For your researching writing class. The reason we met a month ago.”

Jisung bolted up, detangling himself from Minho and dropping unceremoniously to the ground, “Oh my god, I totally forgot about it. Shit, that’s due tomorrow.” “You’re an absolute idiot,” Minho sighed fondly as Jisung snatched his laptop off the table and flipped it open, panic written all over his face. “Write it about me, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Jisung gnawed on his bottom lip and opened word, fingers hovering over the keys. “I promised you I wouldn’t.” “Yeah, well, that was before. It’s fine.”

“Before what?” Jisung had already begun to type, but he turned back to look at his boyfriend with a question in his eyes.

“Before we proved it true,” Minho wrapped his arms around the younger boy’s shoulder and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “It is possible to fall in love in a coffee shop.”

[poor-baby-bangtan]

a little note to the emetephobics

**contains one trigger word that is censored**

hey so i know there’s a surprising amount of emetephobics in this community, which is kind of surprising in and of itself, so i thought i’d make a little note about this 

as someone who suffers from this phobia, i think about stuff like this a lot. eating out is one of the things that makes me a little nervous. i recently started working somewhere where food is served and it’s helped me out a lot just knowing how everything’s done. it’s not a restaurant but something similar i suppose. 

just know that everything, i mean EVERYTHING has to be clean. even though i don’t work with the food, don’t even touch it for that matter, i took a six-hour long course to know how to handle it just in case. the people who work in kitchens are very trained in what they do. where i work, everything has to be scrubbed clean with water and soaked in two types of disinfectant before it can be used again. raw meats CANNOT touch each other or they are unusable, so it makes it really hard for salmonella to transfer to other foods. you can’t have any ‘contaminated’ objects such as drinking cups or pens near or on the same surface as where the food is being prepared or displayed. 

there are also really strict rules about temperature. although 38 degrees F is the safe temperature for food, most places keep it under 40. this makes it very, very hard for things to go bad or for bacteria to spread. deep freezers are usually around -10 to -20 degrees F and all freezers go between these ranges. food that has already been cooked and needs to be kept hot must be kept over 140 degrees F, and is usually kept above that since 140 is the minimum. again, this makes it hard for the food to go bad or for bacteria to spread. if food is not in this range of temperature for over 30 minutes to an hour, it has to be thrown out.

you are legally required to report if you are sick OR if a family member/someone you live with is sick, including symptoms of v****ing, salmonella, norovirus, etc. it’s something that you could get in serious trouble for if you don’t report it. 

the kitchen where i work is probably cleaner than my own house. they pull out this huge hose and spray the floor with disinfectant/cleaner and scrub the floors clean at least once a day. they are cleaning utensils after each use and constantly cleaning surfaces, not just countertops but actually everywhere you can think of. the kitchen staff stays and cleans for an hour after closing and then leave around 10-10:30. 

they also have a log book for temperatures and foods to keep track of everything and make sure it’s safe. 

also, you CANNOT touch stuff without gloves. if you have a wound or cut on your hands/wrists/arms you must have the appropriate protection and cover for it (not just a bandaid) in order to be able to cook. 

you also have a specific regimen for washing your hands. hot (not warm or cold) water with soap, up to your elbows, in between fingers (where you usually miss), etc. 

food that has been opened or cooked can only be kept for a certain number of days. for example, milk has 6-7 days after opening and lemons have three days after cutting before they must be thrown away. so nothing is going to be old. almost everything has a date on it and instructions to how long it can be kept. 

people who work in kitchens don’t mess around. they really do their best to keep things clean and to make it safe for the customers. 

this has significantly helped me and my anxiety with eating out. simply knowing the process and how strict they are with everything has been so beneficial for me, so i hope it will be for you, too. 

[love-and-socialism]

Roasted veg, boiled meat

A friend wrote a story about their main character and asked me to look it over. After giving my edits and comments, they asked me to write about the scenario from the point of view of the throwaway character in this part.

So here it is;

Roasted veg, boiled meat

“Navid, your next appointment is ready.”

“Thanks, Josephine. Send them on through.” I said, finishing transferring the notes from paper to the computer of my last appointment, an eczema patient. She’d been getting better, but her skin had been flaking off during the course of our meeting and the floor looked like someone had bitten into a coconut cream cake and left a sprinkling of powdered frosting. My stomach grumbled, it knew that it was time for elevenses. But it would have to wait until after the next patient… a Mr Royce.

I heard a knock at the door and told them to come in, which they duly did, shuffling gingerly onto my seat. “Hello there, I’m Dr Singh” and I offered my hand for him to shake, which he did albeit using it as some kind of leverage to help him sit down on the chair. “Can you just confirm your name and address for me please?”

“It’s Stephen Rice.” he said.

“Oh, I have you down as Royce here.”

“Yes, that’s roight.”

Ah, a west country lad. We had one of them in medical school. Of course, he had the unfortunate luck to have the surname Farmer. In grad school, the joke went ‘Doctor Farmer? Well which one is it?’ This meant that their nickname was changed to ‘two jobs’ at the university hospital. This was all good fun, unlike some of the cruel nicknames that plagued me.

He told me his address and his date of birth and I checked them off my sheet. “Now then, what seems to be the trouble today?”

There was a long pause, which made me look up from the papers in front of me to notice him finally blurt out “I burnt the top of the end of my knob.”

Well I didn’t think I’d be hearing that particular word today. Do I still have my patient bingo card? I could probably cross the ‘phallic’ square off. Okay, be calm. Let’s not say anything. Remember your poker skills. Let him continue.

Except, he didn’t continue.

I stared at him, trying to use the powers of my mind to get him to elaborate, but I was going to have to use other cues to get him to open up. Maybe if I cough and write down some lines on the paper that might do the trick. I wrote down my name in indecipherable scribblings. Is he talking yet? No?

“And how did it happen?” I could see out the corner of my eye as he squirmed delicately in his seat. He stumbled over a couple of ‘err’s’ and ‘well’s’ before rapidly firing off a breathless monologue; “I was taking a wee at the urinal at this cafe near my flat the other day ’cause it was the only time I’d be able to before TA’ing a discussion section for a class that morning. I’d not found a table to leave my things at, so I brought in a book and my coffee so I could review my notes and drink at the same time.”

I wrote down ‘urinating’ as the legible word and put a question mark next to a squiggled ‘coffee burn?’. I’d give myself five points if that was the case. Oh, he’s stopped talking? Better prompt him again.

“I was carefully turning the pages with my chin, but the book must not’ve been secure enough in the crook of my arm, cause after I got through a couple of pages, it fell in the urinal.”

“So, you dropped it.”

He was adamant that he didn’t. Very adamant. He insisted that it fell. And while my understanding of physics is somewhat lesser compared with biology, I admit that he was correct. Technically correct, which, as everyone knows, is the best kind of correct. I asked about how and when he would normally carry the books like that and he sheepishly admitted that he doesn’t usually do it, unless he’s holding something else “like a pencil.”

I wasn’t sure if he was referring to a writing implement or it was another reference to his appendage. He went onto explain how he attempted to retrieve the presumably urine-soaked book, and  “..hot coffee spilt all over my knobhead.”

Knobhead.

There it was. The nickname from school. The one that made him strive to improve on his Hindi accent. He wasn’t ashamed of having Indian parents, they’d worked hard to give him a better start in life. But his youthful shyness coupled with deviations in his speech using a soft ‘v’ in his name and introducing himself on the school playground as ‘Na-bhed’. One of the more coarser and rougher boys, who would have been a quick-witted urchin in any Dickensian novel, picked up on it immediately and labelled him ‘Knobhead’. And so it stuck. Cruelly, for twelve years.

When he moved away to college, he left the nickname as well as the churlish contemporaries. If they could see him now, he’d like to think he’d be treated with respect and held in high esteem of him working hard to become a medical professional. Ah, who was he kidding, he’d end up being called Doctor Knobhead by those philistines. I slammed my pen down onto the clipboard, awaking us both from my daydream, before I had to clear my throat to shake off these lingering thoughts of childhood trauma, and get back to the current situation of manhood trauma. I wrote down the circumstances of the burn and asked more questions about the full extent of the injury. Naturally, I would have to prepare him for physical examination and I asked him to undress and lie down. I turned away on my chair towards the sink to wash my hands. He protested that the blisters weren’t that big, and I nodded, continuing the scrubbing of my fingers with sterile soap, before he relented and started undressing behind me. I pulled the rubber gloves on, accidentally letting the elastic snap against my wrist, the sound puncturing the air of awkwardness.

I tenderly moved his thighs, furrowing my brow when he instinctively clenched. This seemed to embarrass him slightly, and I felt bad for making him feel that way. “I’m sorry that you’re going through this situation.” The poor lamb.

He asked if it was the worst I’d ever seen, while I was gingerly looking at the underside of him. If only he knew about some of the videos I’d seen in medical school. At least he still had a penis. One such instructional showed a man who had it burnt off completely, his crotch looking like the one of Jeff Goldblum’s character in ‘The Fly’. Normally one wouldn’t associate having the body of Goldblum as a downside, but in this particular film, it would be rather unfortunate. So I reassured him that it wasn’t. “How long have you been caring for it?” Albeit, his care had somewhat lapsed in concentration.

He told me about his use of frozen peas and I had to stifle a laugh thinking about them pairing quite nicely with his boiled meat and roasted veg. He should heal up fine with some more modern treatments.

I told him to get dressed and turned around, tossing my gloves into the bin and washing my hands once more. I wrote him a prescription for some ointment in my best scrawl, and told him to wear loose-fitting clothes, and dress the area in bandages and that he should be better in a couple of weeks. I had to hurry because all this talk about urinating and coffee had pressed home the urge for me to do both of those things. But, unlike Stephen, not at the same time.