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yournameyn · 3 years ago

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Feeling Deeply Chapter 5

Genre: Arranged Marriage Fic. Fluff turning into angst?

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Summary: The story of two deeply feeling nerds who find themselves in an arranged marriage. (Details here). Our OC is called Brishti. It’s a Bengali name meaning rain. Namjoon calls her Rim (short for her pet name, RimJhim which means the pitter-patter of rain). She calls him Joon.

Warnings: NOT THE NAMJOON OF OUR DREAMS. Argument. Fight over tiny discrepancies that turn out to be a huge problem. Domestic violence. Not a happy chapter.

A/N: Have you ever felt this, reader? When you watch something and realise exactly what you need to realise in that moment? I’ve had that so many times - seeing my feelings mirrored in a show. That’s something that I’ve tried to have Brishti feel here. Also, this is how I see the natural progression of this Namjoon, the one who obliged to duty rather than his dreams. It took me a long time to write this but I love what’s come out. Let me know what you think!

Current Chapter: London, late 1963. Love fully blooms between Namjoon and Brishti. And yet, something’s not right. A visit to the ballet and a conversation brings forth realisations. The inklings that Brishti was trying to avoid transform into writing on the wall.

Previously in Feeling Deeply: Preface Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The magic about new love isn’t really in romance or even in true intimacy. It’s in how violent new love is… and just how much time it takes us to feel it’s impact.

In the new love between Namjoon and Brishti, everything had been roses and honey, overflowing, swaying in a gentle breeze. They spent every second possible in each other’s arms. They had to tear themselves away from each other when they had to leave home. And even then, it hurt as though they were part of the same cloth.

Brishti had thought about how they had become woven, their souls an ornate tapestry. Namjoon had told her then about a Japanese tradition of weaving that was a sort of meditation and a kind of worship to a god called ‘Musubi’. The disciples say it is like being part of the cosmic tapestry. Being tied to each other.

“Just like we are… I felt a pull toward you and I followed it. I was scared… so full of doubts about who you were and how this was all going to go… I had promised myself that I would fulfil my duty… whatever happened ” Namjoon had said, petting Brishti’s hand gently, “And I… I still can’t believe it… It… you make me feel like I can… trust myself.” Brishti had looked at her genius then and wondered what a strange world it must be that made a man like Namjoon doubt himself, “Always, always trust yourself, Namjoon-ah.” and settled into the crook of his neck.

It was indeed a strange world that caused Namjoon to build an armour around himself. Because ‘London’ and ‘Lonely’ sounded just the same to him. His years alone in this strange place had been unkind, unrelenting. Brishti had been the only softness he had felt in a long long time. Armours built over years can break in an instant, though. For him, it was the moment when he and his wife had crossed the threshold to becoming lovers. High on the magic of new love, he had not realised it.

Sitting across from each other after that fateful evening, Namjoon and Brishti were both wide awake in the early hours of the next morning. Brishti buttoned up the shirt they never fully took off. Namjoon had tickled her with his toes. They propped their feet against the other’s to see just how vast the difference was (he melted seeing how small her feet were and hadn’t stopped playing with them since). Caressing each toe, he remembered something he wanted to ask -

“How did you know what Saranghae is?”

“Mm…” she stretched her arms, “I know what it means…” Brishti said.

“I know you know… from the way you… after I said it… You asked Yoongi about it?” Namjoon cautiously asked about the only other Korean Brishti knew. To his surprise, she nodded no, still denying him any information. Namjoon had to tickle her foot for the answer.

“Okay! Okay! Wait! Pleeeease!” Namjoon stopped and Brishti bent down to the bureau next to her bed and pulled out a textbook - LEARN HANGUL THROUGH ENGLISH. Namjoon looked more shocked than she had expected. “I asked Yoongi about the book-”

“You don’t need to Rim… I’m not learning Bangla, am I?” Namjoon said. He was touched but he didn’t want his love to do anything he couldn’t reciprocate.

“I would have asked you to learn it… if I wrote poetry in my mothertongue...” Brishti said. Namjoon was shocked. She went on, “You really think I didn’t know?”

Namjoon blushed and smiled and flopped over in Brishti’s lap. She brushed his hair as she explained, “You light up at the mention of lyrics and poetry, you keep a notebook by your side at all times, you’re moved by the things that people usually don’t pay attention to… I know you’re a poet, Joonie.”

Namjoon looked up at her and said, “No one has ever called me that…”

Brishti leaned down and kissed her gorgeous husband. “You are... From what I know, I bet all my books that you are a great one... And… I… I would love nothing more than to be part of your world of words, Joonie… It must be strange… to be understood but in a foreign language. If you would let me, I want to understand you in your language… Do you think that’s something maybe--”

He got up and all but jumped on Brishti, pinning her down to the bed with the cutest puppy-yell she had ever heard. “Yes! Of course, yes!”

They both understood that this was a proposal. The truest kind - a gentle request to explore Namjoon’s universe. They would later joke about how she proposed to him after a month of being married. Namjoon was completely delighted by this person with him, his person… one who really saw him.

He pulled her to him saying, “You’re the best part of my world, Rim...” and kissed her.

Each moment of love flowed through the next. When they had to be separated, they couldn’t wait for the next one, their moment again. On weekends they would visit museums and find their favourite paintings and sculpture or their favourite prehistoric relic and animal. Brishti hated the fact that Namjoon had to work overtime to compensate for these weekends and she often voiced how unfair it was.

In response Namjoon would just give her a peck and say, “As long as I have you, I’m happy.” This pricked her but she was too taken by the man before her to pay heed to it.

Namjoon was just about able to keep a straight face at work but everyone around Brishti was acutely aware of how much she loved Namjoon.

At one point, her colleague and best friend, Min Yoongi had yelled at her, “Yhaaaaa! Stop blushing?! It’s just a clock… what could be romantic about a clock?!” Sayuri-san, and she were hanging around Yoongi’s table when Brishti looked at his new flip clock and started blushing.

Brishti laughed along with everyone else but explained, “It’s involuntary… that’s what happens when you’re married to a poet.”

Sayuri-san corrected, “I know too many wives of poets to know that’s not necessarily true… It is true though, when you’re in love with a poet… Go on… tell us how exactly poet Namjoon makes you blush about a clock...”

Brishti blushed even more at that. Yoongi rubbed his arms and demanded, “Tell us because there’s some really weird things coming to my mind… like you guys have an exact time when...”

Brishti stopped his imagination, “No no no… it’s nothing like that… he loves digital clocks... because he loves to watch the time turn to 00:00… zero o’clock he calls it… and on days he feels sad, it’s like zero o’clock is always there to comfort him… like it’s a point when the whole world holds its breath and he can feel happy again… but these days… with me… he said he wants the clock to keep going after 23:59… he wishes time would stretch on… beyond 24:01…”

Yoongi sighed and sat back down, “You’re making me fall in love with Namjoon… ahhh that is beautiful. He should be published...”

“Imagine him saying this directly to you and you might know how I feel… I can’t stop talking about him...”

“Oh, we know. But honestly none of us care… your poet-librarian romance is getting us through our single-ness.” Yoongi reassured her.

The three of them continued to talk about the ways in which Brishti could repay Namjoon’s wordsmithing in graphic ways.

It was that evening, wasn’t it, when Namjoon had enveloped her back in the warmest hug as soon as he’d entered their flat. Brishti was in the kitchen when she heard him enter but hadn’t expected this. He kissed her neck while telling her the good news, “We got our first Korean client today… because of me… Mmmm… Why do you always smell so amazing?”

Brishti turned around and hugged him again, “That’s amazing! Namjoon-ssi! I’m so proud of you!”

“He’s from a wealthy family… so he can actually afford our firm… its not exactly the work I wanted to do--”

“It is a step toward that idea, right? It’s still good work, fighting for justice?” Brishti asked, stopping him from undermining his own work.

Namjoon nodded, “Yeah… He’s a dancer… Park Jimin. All the posh types know him as one of the best dancers in the Royal Ballet. They call him Jim… as if it’s too difficult to say Jimin?” Namjoon shook his head in disapproval. He began helping Brishti with the chopping and continued, “He was born in the UK and trained since he was 5... He got into the Royal Ballet but he’s been passed up to be a principal over and over even though everyone who has seen him dance apparently knows that he’s far far better… So recently he spoke to the director there... and of course the director made a racist slur and asked not to bother him with this again. He can’t even quit and work at another company because of the contract they have him on. There’s a non compete clause… meaning he won’t be able to dance with any other company. That’s all he wants… to be able to get out of that contract… I’m hoping to convince him to press charges on racial discrimination too. We’re not in the 20s anymore.”

When Brishti didn’t respond, Namjoon looked up at her. “That’s horrible… I’m so so glad you’re taking up the case. But please tell me what you ate when you were alone?” He looked down at the carrot he’d been failing to cut.

Namjoon scrunched his nose and admitted, “Canned food mostly.”

Brishti said, “I’m really really glad you’re getting to do work that you are passionate about, Joonie, you deserve it. Now, you should know how to cut a carrot.”

Namjoon pressed up against Brishti’s back. She reached back up to the nape of his neck and made him moan into her. Then… then Namjoon made her forget how to cut carrots.

He had these ways… Namjoon, with his touch, his voice, his languages both spoken and soundless. He was lighting new paths into her self. She loved learning him. Paths she didn’t know existed, that she’d been longing for.

The scars of the loneliness, emptiness that Namjoon had experienced had turned his longings into a kind of starvation. He needed to be nourished and also devoured. Brishti was just the creature to do it. He could feel her warm fingers trace rows of pleasure onto his skin. He felt them bear down and singe when the two of them had to move away from each other. He felt those ropes tug at him as the end of his workday neared. Namjoon closed his eyes each night at her touch, the feeling and fragrance of her body. He felt blooms of intimacy spring up like seedlings out of the soil of his skin. And deeper. In the earth of his soul. So he did the only thing he could. Reciprocate. Namjoon sowed his love, his desire, his need onto her, into her every night.

There were times, though, when she would feel his absence in the middle of the night and see him working in the dim light of a lamp. She knew he had to work hard to do what he wanted but she also saw he had to continually prove himself to people who weren’t even paying attention. The reason they weren’t paying attention was painfully clear to Brishti but she was yet to experience it’s full stab.

Namjoon wanted to shield her from it. He was counting on an armour that didn’t exist anymore to protect himself and his wife… the reason he liked his life again. Whenever she came out and switched on a brighter light, reprimanding him for straining his gorgeous eyes, he saw that it did prick her - this world and the unfairness he had to endure. She would say something small, an almost-complaint that alerted him… against her for some strange reason. She would say something that would be easy to ignore and yet would prick him, like - “I don’t know why they haven’t promoted you yet.” or “Why haven’t they taken up Jimin’s case yet? You’ve worked so hard on it.” Everytime she did that, he would have to pacify himself.

‘I’ve told her so much about the Jimin case… she’s just really invested’ Namjoon thought to himself. Just so he would avoid thinking, ‘I shouldn’t have told her.’

He would have to calm himself, give her a peck and try to convince her to stop worrying. “As long as I have you, I’m happy.” Namjoon would always say.

Then, Brishti smiled as she always did. While trying to understand why that sentence bothered her so much. After almost five months of exploring this wonderful man, some part of him still felt unfamiliar… like it didn’t fit in with the rest. Still, these things take time, she had heard from so many women over the years. Besides, she was blessed with a man far far above the norms. So, how could she prod? These are things Brishti had told herself - until the night she couldn’t stay silent.

The couple was coming up on their fifth month together and Park Jimin had gifted Namjoon a ticket to the final show of the season as a token of gratitude, for having heard his story.

Brishti was nervous about going to this kind of a gathering and had told her husband to meet her there.

She had enlisted the help of Sayuri-san to look appropriate for the event. Her slightly longer hair was clipped and her eyes were kohled. She wore a burgundy knee length fringe-ended dress that she had received from her gracious host, stylist and make-up artist - an inheritance of her brilliant life tucked into the black pearl beading and deco design. It was a big departure from the usual tie-die or band tees and jeans with her baggy coat. She had carried the coat but felt this strange sort of compulsion to stand in the cold air in the noodle strap dress, for him to see her.

She felt butterflies in her stomach and kept fiddling with the coat she had draped over her arm. It was electric when she saw him.

Namjoon looked gorgeous in a tux. All of Brishti’s nerves were soothed just by looking at him. He had brushed his hair back. Tall and dashing - better than any heathcliffe could ever be. And with his reading glasses, he looked like the lead of a romance novella that would make all the women swoon. Indeed she was swooning. Brishti was suddenly warm in the chilly, windy night. And when Namjoon saw her, blood rushed to her cheeks. Everything inside her was running helter skelter in a panic. Brishti felt everything drop in the few moments it took for Namjoon to reach the top of the stairs. Dolled up like this, outside of her element, she felt like an imposter. Some angel needed to be standing in her place. For the first time, feigning beauty, Brishti felt like she wasn’t worthy of her husband.

She was finally able to keep her feelings aside when he reached her.

Namjoon kissed her palm like a gentleman and whispered in her ear, “Let’s go home… I need a private kind of dance…” Brishti blushed. Namjoon put his arm around her and felt the chill that had settled on her skin. “Aren’t you cold? Why didn’t you wear the coat?” Namjoon asked. Brishti just shook her head no and the two of them walked in.

Brishti assumed that the ballet would be a welcome distraction from the storm that brewed within her. She had read up about the show, the piece they were going to perform -

Tchaikovsky’s venerated Swan Lake. The story of a young girl who falls in love with a prince who promises to save her but fails. Ofcourse there were finer nuances to the story but this was the basic plot. As the lights dimmed, Brishti felt pulled in by the music, the eerie beauty of it’s melody played in perfectly with the questions that were swirling around in Brishti’s mind -

Why do I feel wrong?

Is this what Yoongi was talking about? Anxiety…?

Why does Namjoon look so... different?

Why is he so quiet, so… distant…It’s like he’s keeping himself away from me despite being right next to me, arm in arm, like the true Namjoon is somewhere in a glass case? Deep deep beneath whatever this creature is who is next to me?

I’m thinking too much. No. What is this? Why am I feeling this way?

It’s the music… no its not just the music… something is fucking wrong because all I feel like doing is breaking that glass case that’s locked away My Namjoon and presented this fucking imposter. What the hell is going on?!

Brishti barely managed to keep it together. She kept her eyes on stage…

It was like seeing a moving painting being created by invisible hands and the music was the sound of the brushstrokes, amplified. Park Jimin was playing Rothbart, the owl-like magician who curses Odette into a swan until she finds someone who would promise to love her forever. The questions in her mind and the power of the spectacle before her forced her tears to keep flowing.

Namjoon saw Brishti cry and held on to her. But the more he tried to comfort her, the more uneasy she became, the more she coudln’t contain the tears in her eyes.

The curtain fell at the end of Act three when the prince realises he has been tricked. Brishti, somehow, mirrored his grief. The prince was cheated by Rothbart into believing that his daughter, Odile, was Odette. Rothbart relished his plan so despicably it made Brishti’s stomach turn. The prince had already declared to the ballroom full of people his vow to love and marry the maiden by his side - Odile, not Odette. Park Jimin played Rothbart so skillfully, so beautifully that despite being the villain, despite being covered from head to toe, he was the star. Rothbart giggled delightfully as he revealed to the prince that the girl in his arms wasn’t Odette at all. That Odette was waiting for her prince by the lake. The curtain fell as the prince felt the stab of betrayal and rushed to Odette.

Brishti rushed to where she did not know. She wanted to get away from Namjoon, from this feeling that she couldn’t understand, couldn’t explain. She was angry. She wanted to break something. Tears still flowing down her face, she found a corner that was hidden away in darkness. She went in. Brishti sat on the couch there, for what seemed like eternity, breathing heavily. Nothing made sense. It felt like her insides were twisting into each other. Suddenly, though, a door creaked open and out came an angel. A man, glowing, having just freshened up. He saw her, saw her fear and instead of pulling back in shock, approached with a strange kindness. He held her wrist and stayed silent for a moment.

His beauty was also a kindness to her. In that moment, Brishti could breathe a little bit better. He sat down by her knees, on the floor and when he spoke, his voice flowed like a tonic, “First time at the ballet? It’s overwhelming… I know. You’re okay. You are safe. Rothbart is not here. Talk to me… what are you feeling?”

The tears kept flowing. This man was different, she knew he understood what she was feeling like. She felt safe, but not as if she was with a saviour, rather as though she was with another victim.

“What are you feeling…” Park Jimin repeated. The pieces were falling into place in her head. This is Park Jimin, the man who danced as Rothbart. The man who should have danced the Prince. Who should have played Odette and Odile.

“I feel… rage.” Brishti trembled as she spoke. She could breathe again.

“Yes… Rothbart is… evil… I’m sorry-”

Brishti nodded her head no. “At the prince.”

Jimin was surprised. “Let it out. You can scream in here and no one would know.”

Brishti didn’t need another invitation, but her rage wasn’t a scream, it was a whisper - “I want to hit the prince. How could he not now? He couldn’t see that that girl was not Odette? Is he blind? The way she moved, the way she danced… which only means… it means that the prince knew… somewhere he felt doubt but he… He couldn’t fucking trust himself enough?! I don’t know why this is breaking my heart… Why can’t people trust in themselves?! It’s a pathetic fucking excuse and I can’t buy it… I just can’t. Why did the prince...” Her hands covered her face as she wiped her tears. She composed herself.

Jimin pulled out a kerchief. “May I?” Brishti nodded and he dabbed her face with care.

“The prince trusted his sight more than his soul. And now, Odette will die because of it. As always, the woman pays the price.”

“He dies too, you know.”

“What a waste…”

Jimin smiled, “Thank you… for watching the show, for feeling it so much.”

Brishti managed a weak smile, “Thank you.” Jimin stepped away and sat next to her, at a respectable distance. “I’m being lied to.”

Jimin nodded, “I know what that’s like. I feel that rage against the prince too. And still, we must be kind to our liars.”

Brishti clenched her teeth, “Why? Where’s the fairness in that?”

Jimin moves away, in a dejected kind of daze and pours himself a drink, “That’s the biggest lie, fairness. Cruel joke.”

Brishti walked toward the door. “I should go… Thank you.”

Jimin raised his glass to her.

Brishti wore her coat and walked toward the exit. She found Namjoon in a panic and suddenly felt like she could reach him. He looked so relieved to see her. She couldn’t help but feel awash with love as he crashed into her in the warmest hug. It was as if he was the one who was lost.

“Are you okay? Why were you crying?” Namjoon asked her as he stroked her head and held her in the hug for as long as she needed.

“I need to ask you something.” Brishti whispered as she pulled away. They began walking down the stairs of the theatre.

“Änything.” Namjoon replied.

“Your firm… they refused the Jimin case, right?”

Namjoon froze. His jaw locked up. “Let’s go home.”

The rest of the way, neither of them spoke a word. They entered their home in a cold silence. They washed the night off themselves and entered their bedroom, which was completely devoid of the heat and desire that usually filled it right up to the ceiling. What used to feel like an ocean, now felt like a vacuum.

When Namjoon walked in, Brishti reminded him, as kindly as she could,“I said I need to ask you something. You said, ‘anything’.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about it.” Namjoon was cold again. Unfeeling. Unreachable.

Brishti tried her best to be calm… “When would you want to talk about it?”

Namjoon breathed in - “Why? Am I answerable to you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we disagree. I don’t think I am answerable to you. What would you have done if I wouldn’t have told you about it in the first place?”

“I would still be feeling what I’m feeling… I would be even more furious though.”

“Fu- why would you be furious? I have to work there, I lost the account. I’m feeling hurt and disappointed in myself and instead of helping me, you’re angry?! What the hell could you be angry at?!”

“I’m being lied to. I’m being tricked.”

“What?!” the contempt on Namjoon’s face made her head throb. He was angry now.

“There are two Namjoons here. I’m being told there’s only one and--”

“That is some philosophical trash that you learned from one of your books. Real life doesn’t work that way. But how would you know?! You don’t have a real job. You have a hobby. A hobby of stacking books in order. You’re just plain lucky that someone is paying you for your hobby. That’s not a job. You of all people cannot tell me about the things I have to do to keep my job. I have tried my best to be as honest as I can be--”

“As honest as you can --”

“Listen to me!” Namjoon thundered. His loud voice might as well have been a punch. It rang through her body and rattled her bones. She had tears in her eyes but clenched them down as Namjoon continued yelling, “Enough… enough with the fucking tears. What the fuck are you so sad about?! I don’t need you to pity me. I don’t need anyone to feel sad for me. I have tried to be a good man - do you even know how much other men don’t even mention to their wives?! I told you everything. EVERYTHING. And now I’m being punished for it. Time and time again I tried to console you… even though I was the one hurting… I tried to be there for you and tell you… as long as I have --”

Brishti couldn’t take it anymore “Don’t. Say that.” She didn’t yell. Her voice was just above a whisper and yet it sent a chill down Namjoon’s spine. She wiped her tears. “I didn’t ask to be consoled. I was just… curious. If a few questions from me hurt so much maybe you should ask yourself why. I’m not lucky that someone decided to pay me for my hobby. It’s nice to know what you really think of my job. But whatever you think, I created my job. I created my life. I fought to come to london. I fought for the right to earn--”

“Oh please... spare me the feminist lecture...” scoffed Namjoon.

“Sure. Take up Jimin’s case.”

Namjoon felt the burn of white hot rage. He wanted to strangle her. He was so used to touching her… and she was his… in this bedroom, he had made her his. He wasn’t thinking. Namjoon strode toward her and held one massive palm over her mouth and the other on her neck and pinned her to the wall. “YOU WOULDN’T HAVE KNOWN ABOUT THAT IF I DIDN’T TELL YOU.”

It took him a few moments to realise what he was doing. Brishti was shocked and tried to scream but no voice came out. She was trying to get him out of his daze when he finally saw her, saw his Rim, horrified… by him. Namjoon pulled his hands back instantly. He saw a red bruise bloom where his hands were - on her face and on her neck.

“This is how you make your conscience shut up?” Brishti’s voice was hoarse. “You think this has nothing to do with your conscience? With the best part of you? The part that you made me fall in love with? Are you really telling me you don’t know that this is why you can’t write the way you used to… You’re killing my Joon and asking me to stay silent. I can’t.”

The searing anger still hadn’t died and it burst out of him, “Why are we fighting like this… over Jimin… why don’t you take up his case if you fucking love him so much?”

“What do you think I’m doing right now?”

“You… Why are you fighting for him against me?!” It was here that Namjoon realised his armour was gone. The idea of who he is... suddenly vanished. And the one thing that had made him feel safe, like his true self, was slipping away. “You’re saying… just tell me… you’re saying what I think you’re saying.”

Brishti did him the only kindness she had left in her, she explained, “Jimin wants to leave but can’t. He stays because he needs to dance. He stays because he cannot get out of his contract. You say you want to help people like Jimin, you roll your eyes at white people who can’t pronounce our names, you feel guilty for asians who have much less than we do… but then you also don’t raise an issue when your boss holds meetings in clubs where people of other races and dogs and women are not allowed. You work overtime for the privilege of weekends… You say you are trying but… as far as I know… you don’t have a non-compete clause in your contract, Namjoon.”

That hit him like an iceberg. Namjoon’s legs gave way and he just sat on the bed.

He watched as Brishti put on her coat and left, covering her bruises with a scarf.

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Chapter 6 - to be posted.

#bts kim namjoon #kim namjoon #forever rain #fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon arranged marriage #namjoon x oc #arranged marriage #slow burn #slow burn fic #fluff fic #bts fanfic #bts #indian oc #red thread fics

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immacaria · 4 years ago

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Box of Memories

Happy belated birthday, A-Sang! Wish you all the joy and love life has reserved for you!

Almost three weeks after the actual birthday I've finally finished this thanks to my dear school (grinds teeth angrily). Anyway, this is a bit short, like almost 4k or something, and I took this insanely amount of time because of school, but it's alright I finished it now. So I hope you guys enjoy this and I can make your day a little brighter with it. As always, stay safe and healthy!

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It was Nie Huaisang’s birthday and Jiang Cheng was more anxious than when he had to survive Nie Mingjue, Lan Xichen and Meng Yao’s shove talk one after the other. For the heavens and all above, they had been dating for four years now and met each since they were five and six! There was no reason for him to be so nervous! They passed so many birthdays, with so many presents exchanged and Jiang Cheng was still nervous. And just because he made the present with his own hands and it turned out horrible!

Like not the ‘you can’t even look at’ type of horrible, but the ‘didn’t meet my expectations exactly what immediately makes it horrible’ type of horrible. He started doing it exactly two days later after Nie Huaisang said he wanted it and guaranteed that nobody would buy it for him, exactly nine months and eight days before his birthday. He had seen it on Pinterest, in a video where a girl was making a “box of memories” (as Jiang Cheng came to call it) for her younger sister.

She had chosen their favourite memory and made something like a box of shadows to show it. There was a light bulb in the middle with various metal plates cut in the shape of the memories. When turned on, the metal plates started to revolve around the light bulb and create images on the wall, recreating the memory with the shadows. Nie Huaisang loved it and showed it to every person who he knew could give one for him or make one. Thankfully, none of them could give it right away which gave Jiang Cheng enough time to plan how he would do it.

It all began with him asking what memory he would use of all his favorites and asked what happened there, memorizing them to the heart and writing everything down the second he saw himself alone. His drawing skills weren’t as good as Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen’s, but as long as they remained a sketch, they would do. After sketching it all, he went to Nie Mingjue and asked him to teach him how to cut the metal plates and arrange them properly in the other metal pieces. Apparently, there was a machine that did that for them, the only thing they needed to do was insert the images and the sizes of the plates and let it do what it needed to do. Which led Jiang Cheng to ask for some draw lessons from Lan Xichen and digital design from Lan Wangji, which cost several years of his life but he guessed he was bound to do everything needed for his boyfriend.

He planned everything on the little planner he bought (if it was specifically brought for that no one needed to know) and every day he ticked something off. Besides the box of memories, he wrote a letter everyday to him and hid it in the last drawer of his wardrobe under piles and piles of clothes. From Open it now to Open it when you are sixty years old and Open it when you are in doubt about us, everyday a letter for 281 days and too much ink, paper and ideas, too much feelings engraved in those. But should he regret it, knowing that it would make Nie Huaisang happy? The boy loved this kind of old, romantic things like handwritten letters, so why shouldn’t he give it to him too? Handwritten letters with little doodles on the edges of the paper and little trinkets.

At the beginning of May, Jiang Cheng started putting it all together, doing the last reviews and adjustments. Once the plates were done, he called Wei Wuxian to help with the electric part of the thing, the shameless idiot being graduated in electrical engineering somehow. He had to endure his little ramble about how he had become so romantic and how considerate of somebody else’s feelings, how he was going miles out of what everyone said was normal. It would be a lie if Jiang Cheng ever said that he wasn’t slightly proud and happy upon hearing that.

They made slow progress but the present was ready six days before the due date, which gave Jiang Cheng enough anxiety and stress for the rest of his life (good thing he took on his mother’s side of genetics and wasn’t getting any white hairs until a very, very old age). Would Nie Huaisang find out the present before his birthday? Would he hate it or love it? Would he simply be neutral about all the gifts? Would he fake liking it? What could possibly happen once he gives it to him? Would it destroy their relationship?

On March 20, Jiang Cheng was about to have a stroke or an aneurysm or both of them probably. Just some more hours and they would see if Nie Huaisang liked the present or not. Since it had been ready, the poor present had been tested countless times to see if it worked properly (it did, thank gods), changed locations incessantly while he wrote every single letter by hand before making a wooden box and putting all he had made in there. The memory box, the 281 letters and some fans he bought in the Yunmeng market that reminded him of Nie Huaisang.

Early on, he had promised Nie Huaisang that he would help him with the birthday’s decorations and preparations for everything . After that, he made a quick run to his house to take a bath and try to calm himself because he couldn’t throw up in the party, he even got time to test it again, watching as Nie Huaisang’s favourite memory of all time played on his bedroom wall. It was practically memorized by now, the way the images followed one by one in quick succession, recreating a story that he could tell even if he had amnesia.

Nie Huaisang, Nie Mingjue and their parents were the main characters in the memory. Nie Huaisang was maybe four or five years old while Nie Mingjue was something like sixteen or seventeen years old and they were travelling to the small cabin they passed the holidays. He always said that that weekend was the best one of his life, one where his entire family was together and happy, complete. This memory in particular was one where Nie Huaisang was being thrown in the air by his father to land in the arms of one of his mothers while Nie Mingjue and their second mother were suffering a heart attack. Even though there was some melancholy in his eyes, he always spoke fondly and laughed about the face his brother made when he landed on their mother’s arms and passed the rest of the weekend guaranteeing that their father wouldn’t do another one of those again.

Jiang Cheng would die as a happy man if he could make him as happy as he was on that day, even if for one day. Well, not die, he was still too young to die, but he would feel fulfilled and satisfied. So, he tried to focus on that when he stepped inside the party, clutching to the wooden box and breathing deep. He’s going to like it, he’s not going to hate me, he’s going to smile because of the present, everything is going to be fine, we are not breaking up. Okay, maybe he was a little bit paranoid and afraid of what was going to happen, but he was fine, he was going to be fine. He just needed to loosen up and enjoy the party until it was time to open the presents.

“A-Cheng!” Nie Huaisang said, throwing his arms around his neck and hiding his face in his neck. Jiang Cheng only had time to pull the box to the side to prevent him from getting hurt before putting an arm around his waist and kissing his temple. “Tell your brother to stop being mean to me on my birthday.”

“If Lan Wangji can’t control him, what makes you think I can?” He said, still holding him. “Happy birthday, Huaisang, many years of life and happiness for you.” He kissed his temple again before stepping away and showing him the present. “For you.”

“Oh, A-Cheng! You didn’t need to! You are already present enough.” He gasped, taking the box of his hands while Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes at him. He always said that but he remembered very well what he did to Jin Zixuan when the man showed up without his present. He didn’t want to be in the same ending of his fury, thank you very much.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” He rolled his eyes again, bending a little to let Nie Huaisang kiss his cheek.

“I don’t know what you gave me, but I already love it.” He smiled brightly at him, walking to the kitchen and carefully choosing a place to put it. The kitchen was loaded with presents, some big, others small, colorful wraps or black and white with an interesting pattern on it, some didn’t even had proper wraps around it. There were a lot of presents and for a moment Jiang Cheng’s brain simply went blank and decided that, for sure, there was one that topped his present. Which was nonsense, but still served to increase his stress and anxiety (once again he thanked his genetics for not getting white hairs early). “C’mon, let’s go to the living room. Da-ge is telling some story from when we were children.”

“Is he telling the green incident? Because if he is, I would rather stay in the kitchen.” And check if the other presents are better than mine so I can throw them out the window.

“Of course not! Da-ge doesn’t remember that story anymore.” He waved him off, entering the room in the exact moment Nie Mingjue said:

“Then a bucket of green paint fell into his head.” His thunderous laugh filled the room as he started to tell the amazing story of how Nie Huaisang managed to dye himself green after he dumped a whole bucket of paint on his head when he was seven years old.

“Da-ge!” He screamed, going red instantly. “What are you doing?!” He yelped, high-pitched, as he threw a cushion at him. “Shut up!”

“What? I was just talking about the green dye you did on your skin.” He laughed again, dodging the cushion and showing his tongue to him. It was strange to see a man of his size acting like that, but sincerely Jiang Cheng sometimes forgot that he too was human and (kind of) young. “Hey, Wanyin, do you want to sit here?”

“Hey, hey, hey. No stealing boyfriends on my birthday or ever, Da-ge. You already have two.” He wrapped himself around his arm, glaring at his brother. “Stop being so selfish, Da-ge.”

“Selfish? Take that back, brat, before I break your legs.” He narrowed his eyes at him, pointing a finger at him.

“It’s his birthday and you don’t get to threaten the birthday boy, Jue-ge.” Lan Xichen sighed, pulling his hand down. He was beside Nie Mingjue and sitting next to Lan Wangji, talking quietly between the two of them before the threats started rolling out.

“Stop covering him, Lan Xichen.” He turned to him as Nie Huaisang pulled him to the bench next to the window and between two high bookshelves full of sketchbooks, some completed, others completely blank.

“So, what’s your present?” He suddenly asked, playing with Jiang Cheng’s fingers.

“What? It’s a fucking surprise, A-Sang, I can’t tell you.” He spurred, furrowing his eyebrows at him.

“But, A-Cheng, yours were the heaviest of it all. What is it?” He shook his arm, doing the puppy eyes. The fucking puppy eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that. Stop, A-Sang.” He growled, avoiding looking at him. “You know I can’t take the puppy eyes.”

“A-Cheng~.” He laid ahead, searching for his eyes. And, heavens, who taught that boy that? Nie Mingjue for sure was not. Maybe Meng Yao. Yeah, definitely Meng Yao. Jiang Cheng was going to kill Meng Yao for teaching Nie Huaisang that. “Please~. I want to know.”

“Ok, ok, ok. Just one part, okay?” Jiang Cheng pushed him away, feeling the back of his neck heating up.

“From how many parts?” His eyes were shining and attentive which meant that he was probably making a million combinations on his head, comparing and guessing what he could possibly ever get him.

“I’m not going to tell you.” He scowled, taking a deep breath. “One part of your presents is fans, okay? I got you some fans.”

“Really?!” His eyebrows shot up, disappearing under his bangs. “I love fans.”

“I know, A-Sang.” He breathed out, kissing his fingers.

“But I love you more.” He smiled, leaning to kiss him lightly on the lips. “I love you so much more than the fans.” He murmured against them, hands on his neck.

“Idiot.” He chuckled, kissing him back while smiling. He always seemed to smile easily when he was near him, breath was easier too. Sincerely, Nie Huaisang just made things easier just by being near him, just his presence and, maybe, it was the reason why he wanted to do everything in his power to make him happy as he could be. “I love you too.”

“More than dogs and A-Ling?” He sat between his legs, back against his chest.

“Don’t push your luck.” He may love A-Sang, but dogs and his nephew were more important, they always brought instant happiness with them. Next to him, Nie Huaisang was chuckling quietly, pulling both of Jiang Cheng’s arms around his waist and putting his hands above before starting to talk with Meng Yao about some new exposition of them and all the technicalities involving it.

Jiang Cheng let himself fall back into the security of all the conversations around him that didn’t involve him and the warmth of Nie Huaisang on his arms and against his chest. Slowly his panic disappeared from his mind as the time passed and the presents weren’t mentioned not even once. Almost everyone was there, the only ones missing being Jin Zixuan, Jiang Yanli and their newborn Jin Ling, Jiang Cheng’s little sweetheart, who were overseas to look over the inauguration of Jiang Yanli’s new restaurant in Las Vegas (To say that Jiang Cheng was crazely proud of her would be an understatement).

Either way, no amount of time would be enough to prepare him for when Wei Wuxian and MianMian appeared in the kitchen bringing the cake and the tray of sweets. The candle was already lit up and displaying the number 23, as if nobody knew how old Nie Huaisang was. He dislocated his hands enough to clap but not remove his arm from around his waist. Nie Huaisang laughed, clapping according to the music, but sunken further on his chest, refusing to move another millimeter as his ears went adorably red.

“Happy birthday, Nie Huaisang!” Everyone screamed when the song ended, blowing confetti over them. The screams and whistles became a cacophony as Nie Huaisang blew out the candle and laughed out loud, putting both of his hands over his mouth.

“Happy birthday, Nie-xiong!” MianMian hugged him after Wen Qing, her girlfriend, took the cake from her. “Many, many years of happiness and fulfillment to you, my dear. Hope you enjoy mine and A-Qing’s present.” She winked, mischievously.

“What have you given me, MianMian?” Nie Huaisang said, eyes wide.

“Nothing you can open in front of Da-ge.” She laughed, absolutely delighted at his terrified face and Jiang Cheng’s groan. He had noticed that everyone had a tendency of calling Nie Mingjue ‘Da-ge’.

“No! You stole my idea!” Wei Wuxian complained, giving him a half-hug and equilibrating the tray of sweets on the other arm. “Many years of love and laughter, Nie-xiong, may time and life treat you well.” He fully hugged him once MianMian came back to take the tray away from him, calming Jiang Cheng’s anxiety.

“I want to see what those two gave you. No excuses.” Nie Mingjue said, serious, before crushing him in a tight hug. “Happy anniversary, didi. I’m very proud of you and what you have become. Ma, Baba and Mother would be so, so proud of you and happy for all the friends and people you have around you.” He may or may not have sniffed on that part, hiding his face on his brother’s neck.

“Thank you, Da-ge. They would be very proud of you too.” Nie Huaisang whispered back and Jiang Cheng saw him blink repeatedly to avoid the tears from falling out.

“He grew up so fast.” He mourned, resting his head on Lan Xichen’s shoulder while Meng Yao hugged and wished him a happy birthday and life. Once he was done and it was Lan Xichen’s turn, Nie Mingjue wrapped himself over him, sniffing loudly. After that, the other guests did a quick succession of ‘Happy Birthday’ and wishes for a good and long life. Not for a moment Nie Huaisang stepped away from Jiang Cheng, always at arm’s reach of his hands. Not that he had tried to pull him back when he stepped away, Jiang Cheng would never do that.

“So, A-Sang, now that all the wishes have been given and Wangji-ge and I have cut the cake. For whom is the first piece?” MianMian asked, holding a plate with a piece of cake to him.

“A-Cheng!” He quickly answered, turning to him. “For being the best boyfriend a man could ask. And not being too scared of Da-ge.”

“I’m not that scared of Mingjue-ge, but thank you, I guess.” Jiang Cheng said, taking the plate from his hands and completely refusing to look over where Nie Mingjue was.

“Woah, he didn’t even hesitate.” Wei Wuxian said, surprised. “I could swear he was going to give it to Da-ge.” That was it, Jiang Cheng was now certain that everyone, except for maybe Wen Qing, saw Nie Mingjue as an older brother. But, well, were they wrong?

“Da-ge has received many first pieces in his life. It’s A-Cheng’s time.” Nie Huaisang scrunched his nose at him before jogging to the kitchen. “C’mon people! Eat, eat! I want to open my presents!”

Jiang Cheng chuckled, starting to eat the cake as the others were doing a line to receive their own piece and, fucking hell, he understood why they wanted one. The cake was divine! It was fluffy and tasty, exploding in the mouth the moment you bite it and it wasn’t too sweet. It was possibly the best cake he ever had the pleasure to eat and by the look of the other’s face, they thought that too.

“Nie-xiong, who made the cake? I want their number.” Wei Wuxian said, pleasure written all over his face. “It’s so good!”

“Oh, it was Wangji and Da-ge.” Nie Huaisang said, pointing at them. Everyone turned their heads to them, looking in awe.

“Lan Zhan?! But he never did one of me.” Wei Wuxian complained, pouting.

“Mingjue-ge made the dough and I did the frosting and the decorations.” Lan Wangji passed a piece of cake to Wen Ning.

“And the sweets. He did the sweets too.” Nie Mingjue said, throwing one of the sweets in his mouth.

“Which are fucking marvellous!” MianMian exclaimed, doing a thumbs up for him.

“No speaking while eating.” He and Lan Xichen said in unison, without looking at her. After that everyone focused on eating the cake and the sweets. Nie Huaisang came back to sit beside Jiang Cheng, taking the sweets he didn’t like to his own plate. Most of them got a second piece and more sweets because those things were really fucking good.

“Now, the presents!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, excited and sending Jiang Cheng’s heartbeat to space. “I’m excited.” He was jumping on his seat.

“Whose present will you open first?” Lan Xichen said, getting up and going to the kitchen.

“A-Cheng’s.” He smiled as he started to bring the presents from the kitchen. Jiang Cheng prayed that his panic weren’t showing on his face nor his anxiety because his mind was running a mile per hour.

He was going to open the present and see how horrible it was that box of memories and they would break up. Maybe not now because of the fans, but once he started reading the letters and seeing how messed up he was, it would be an endgame. No one, being in their right mind, would stay after reading those letters. Before he could be totally swallowed by his traitorous mind, he heard a scream and someone throwing themselves at him, arms around his neck.

“Thank you!” Nie Huaisang screamed in his ear, pulling him against himself. “Thank you so much!” He sounded happy, but he was crying too.

��What the fuck, Huaisang? Are you crying?” He said, trying to look at his face where it was hidden on his neck. “Why are you-...” He started, before seeing the box sitting on his lap. “Oh.”

“A-Cheng.” He whined, looking up. “Look what you did to me. I’m crying like a baby.” The tears were falling two by two, big fat tears that he did not like to see on his face. “When did you buy it?”

“I made it.” He blurted out, focused on wiping the tears.

“What?” He blinked, sniffing loudly.

“I made it. I made most of the things in the box, including the box. The only things I bought were the fans, I still don’t know how to make fans like you.” He kept wiping the tears, putting his sleeve over his nose for him to blow. “You know I’m not good with handcrafted gifts but since it’s your birthday I tried.”

“I love you so much.” Nie Huaisang hugged him again while Wei Wuxian took the box from his legs and turned it on.

“What memory did you use?” He asked and, oh yeah, Jiang Cheng never told any of them what memory he was planning to use. He instructed MianMian to turn the light off, rearranging it on the small coffee table in the center.

“One from when me and Da-ge were younger.” Nie Huaisang answered as Nie Mingjue’s eyes filled with tears at recognition. “Best present ever.” He whispered, leaning on him with a small smile on his lips and watching as the memory came to life again. Jiang Cheng smiled down at him, passing an arm over his shoulders and watching as he told the story about how Nie Mingjue, who had many comments on how it was being told, almost had a heart attack when he was seventeen.

It was, indeed, the best present ever.

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charlthotte · 4 years ago

Text

Breaking Through the Iron Wall - Aone Takanobu x Reader

Chapter 13

I tried to brace myself for my mother's inherent rage as soon as the door parted from its frame - almost shivering with fear, I shuffled back into my own house - which was something the average person wasn't afraid of. I was close to cowering away.

But, of course - she wasn't there - she'd probably left for work without giving me a second thought, as usual. Normally, a child's closest bond is with their mother, but not me. I couldn't fully remember a time where she had actually been there for me. It was almost as if my dad was a single parent - single-handedly raising me where she took every opportunity to leave the house; alienating herself from myself and Dad.

However, just as he always was - Dad was sat at the dining table, ready with a humble breakfast - but the gesture of it making it seem like a decadent banquet. A bright, warm smile plastered itself upon his face when he saw me, like a dog seeing their owner for the first time in the while. "Hey, kiddo," he beamed, "how was last night?"

Taking the seat next to him at the table, I turned to him, ready to converse and partially unwind with him. "It was... Complicated to say the least. But I think that I helped someone yesterday." I stretched my arms out, looking up to the ceiling, releasing a large sigh as I did so.

"Oooh, do tell me more..." He jested, jiggling his eyebrows playfully.

"Well," I hesitated for a while, "you've probably guessed where I was, so I'll just say it straight. Aone came here yesterday and told me that his dog was sick. Then, I went to the vet's with him and they said that his dog had around a week to live. And... I feel absolutely terrible for him: he thinks that it's all his fault. I'm just so worried about him." I looked down at my lap, tears pricking my eyes.

"Come here, kiddo." Dad suspired, holding his arms out for a hug. I almost fell into him, letting my tears fall. "(Y/N), don't cry, you've been a great friend, a truly amazing friend. I'm really proud of you, kiddo." Clinging onto him tighter, I started sobbing much harder - to the point that I could hardly form sentences. "You should eat something, okay? Then, you can go to bed and lay there all day. You deserve some rest." Feebly, I nodded, unlatched myself from our hug, wiped my eyes and began to eat. I hadn't eaten since dinner the day before. And as always, Dad's cooking was immaculate.

---

After having my fill, I slowly slumped up the stairs. In the adjacent few minutes I'd changed into my pyjamas before flopping straight onto my bed, burying myself in the covers. Drifting off to sleep in a matter of minutes. The sleep was dreamless yet peaceful, and also rather refreshing.

Arising as I heard a knock on my door, I rubbed my eyes - yawning as I did so. "Yeah?" I asked lethargically.

"Hey, kiddo. Can I come in?" Dad poked his head through the crack in the doorway, his face entertaining a warm yet goofy smile on his face.

"Mhm..." I hummed, sitting myself upright.

He sauntered into my room, plopping himself on the foot of my bed, "Are you feeling any better?" he inquired, letting his eyes wander around the posters and paintings on my walls.

"Just about," I replied, "I probably just needed some sleep." I too, let my eyes wander around my room, until they fell upon a photo frame of my parents and I - looking happy - a rare sight to see now. Dad seemed to notice me staring dejectedly at the picture, he piped up...

"About earlier..." rubbing his chin, he began to hesitate, "About your mum... I'm sorry that she left before you could even greet her."

"It doesn't matter," I acquiesced, "I'm used to it all by now."

"Oh kiddo, she's your mother, she should at least hold some conversation with you, let alone acknowledge your presence."

"I guess all families are different..." Flopping back onto my mattress - sighing.

"Maybe you should try and organise a little get together with her, once she gets out of work." He suggested, taking notice to my apparent apathy towards that conversation.

"But she's never not at work, though. She probably wouldn't even agree to it." Feeling alienated from my own mother, I sighed once again.

"Well... I'll see what I can do." He chirped, a mischievous grin rising on his cheeks, he had always had a certain penchant for scheming. Jumping up from my bed, he headed out of my room. But I didn't move until the pitter-patter of his feet on the stairs came to a halt.

I didn't care to move - only in a mood to lay on my bed, bundling myself in the covers again.

---

I awoke again in the late afternoon, having seemingly fallen asleep yet again. But that time, I made the gut-wrenching decision to leave my room - for the downstairs.

Not bothering to change from my pyjamas, I slumped down the stairs and plonked my body straight onto the sofa, flicking on the television without caring to flick through the channels. Dinner went by as usual, just myself and Dad, sticking to the status quo. So did the night, sleeping a dreamless slumber, until it was time for school on Monday morning. Two days until the fated Tokyo trip.

I wasn't exactly excited for school that day, and surprisingly, neither was I excited for my overnight stay in the capital. As I trundled down to the station with my feet close to dragging behind me, a looming grey was cast over the sky - thrusting the atmosphere into a dreary aura of despondentness.

Drab air hung low, stagnant - the clouds threatened to release their lamentation - hurling it upon the earth. I walked as fast as I possibly could towards the station, holding a certain desire to shelter myself from the heavy weather before me. Once under the station shelter, the skies opened, pouring their woes onto the world before me, emptying their sorrows into the atmosphere.

Little before the scheduled time for the train's arrival - it came, chugging along the tracks steadily yet rapidly - coming to a stop right before my feet. Unusual for a Monday morning - the train had little to no passengers - as if our little town had morphed into one for ghosts. But to no surprise of mine, Aone sat in his usual seat - gazing out of the foggy window - casting a void glance to the pavement outside. His eyes were hollow, accompanied by hefty bags underneath them. Pallor more gaunt than normal, offering a truly despondent image to whoever let their gaze fall upon to that poor wreck.

He barely smiled as I seated myself beside him.

There was nothing.

He was truly empty.

Needing to distract him, I brought up a topic for conversation - it wasn't exactly light, though, "Did something happen?" I questioned, my voice close to breaking. However, he didn't respond - he simply shook his head, refusing to make eye contact with me. Burying his head further into his shoulders. I sighed, "Hey, I'm here now, you can tell me whatever is on your mind," Pausing, I gazed at the floor, "You do know that don't you?" Once again, rather than responding - he hummed in affirmation.

That boy was a wreck, I needed him to talk to me - I needed to let him breathe freely for once, "Please, talk to me, Takanobu. Please just tell me how you're doing" He simply sunk his head further down, as if he wished to dematerialise on the spot.

In between the cloth of his collar, he hummed a simple response, "Not good." He softly yet bluntly spoke. However, he finally turned towards me - his eyes beginning to prick with the spirits of tears - nothing fell down his cheeks. Offering me a 'grin' that was really a pained grimace. Succeeding that action, he swiftly brought my hand inside of his - endeavouring to find himself the smallest amount of comfort that he could muster.

Suddenly, I froze - my body perplexed by his abrupt action. I wasn't flustered - I was simply shocked.

Taking myself out of that reverie, I began another conversation, squeezing his palm lightly, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I left you yesterday. I shouldn't have done that - just look at you now - this could have all been avoided." Beginning to ramble and panic - my heart rate rose. Takanobu seemed to take notice of that and gave my digits a warm squeeze in return, before completely letting it go, letting the drab, coarse air run along my skin.

"No..." He averred, almost breathlessly, "Don't say that."

Subsequently, I too, hummed in affirmation, giving only the word 'Okay' as a reciprocation. But further after that, following several moments of comfortable silence, I enounced, "Don't be afraid of asking me for help, Takanobu. You know I'll always be there for you." Saying that was usually a promise which I never made, simply in trepidation of being unable to follow through with it. What if one day I wasn't present - and someone really needed me?

Just like every other time, he stayed silent - a comfortable silence - telling me that he had comprehended my assurances.

For the rest of the journey, we remained marinating in the serene silence, not feeling a need for a soliloquy or verse. And during that time - Takanobu's eyes became warmer and fuller with life's essence than they were when I had first laid eyes on him that day. Even the leaden bags under his eyes had considerably lessened in their protuberance.

Something about what I had avowed during those short and sweet moments of conversation seemed to have lit a miniscule spark in his soul, reminding him of the tiny rays of light that still shone upon this world. Maybe there was hope for that wreck of a human.

All remained in that sense until we entered the gates to the school, only to be bombarded by the all too familiar presence of Futakuchi sauntering towards me. Before either of us could greet him, he spoke up, "Sorry to bother the both of you, but may I steal their royal highness for a moment or two?" Bearing his infamous smirk, turning me away from Takanobu before I could object or comply. Leading me a mediocre distance away, before stopping completely, "Sooooo..." He began, "I heard about what you did at the weekend and I just want to tell you about my absolute gratitude about that. Your majesty, you truly treat your royal subjects stupendously." Turning me back around swiftly, he offered me no chance to reply - as if he had planned the entire conversation word for word. I began strolling back towards Takanobu, ready to start the day as soon as possible. "Now then, get back to your royal duties, your majesty." He really was idiosyncratic.

Every scheduled situation went by as passably as it should have been, each lesson bearing no differences or defining qualities compared to any other. Hiroko and Rea were as distinct as always, each of them the Ying to the other's Yang. An excitable puppy with a rather aloof feline. Even the weather beheld nothing remarkable.

The train ride and walk home also held no similarities, but not until a request materialised inside my mind, and unlike me - I released it unto the outside world immediately. "Hey, Takanobu - would you mind if I gave Shiro a visit?"

As usual he gave no demur, simply nodding in ratification - letting me follow him towards his home, towards his best friend whom had been fated to leave everyone earlier than he should have.

Once the door stood ajar, a four-legged creature bounded towards us - his face scrunching up in pure delight, unaware of his dwindling clock. In an instant, Takanobu's face lit up considerably, the bags under his eyes completely disappearing - as if a miracle had arisen right in front of his eyes. Shiro howled, also enamoured with the sight of being reunited with his best friend. However, beside Shiro stood another figure, a woman - tall and plump - streaks of white running along her raven hair. Even though she had the traces of age running along her face, a youthful glow still exuded from her. Her mouth trailed from side to side in a permanent smile. Upon seeing me, her smile seemed to grow even wider. "Ah, hello. It's very nice to meet you, I'm Ejiri Aone, Takanobu's Aunt. My, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, my dear?" The effervescent woman beamed - striking her arms out for a hug, and without a warning - she scooped me up into the warmest hug I had felt for the longest of times.

"It's nice to meet you too, I'm (Y/N) (L/N) - you could call me a friend of Takanobu's." I giggled, demurely - as it took her several eons for her to release me from her vice.

"Nonsense!" Chuckling vigorously, she motioned for us to step inside, "Anyone that my Takanobu can trust is instantly a member of our family! So, would you like anything to drink, my dear?" Honestly, it surprised me that someone so outwardly convivial could be so closely related to Takanobu - someone whose insides were bound by his exterior. So much so, that he had somewhat lost jurisdiction over many aspects of his life.

"Just water if I may." I replied - heading over to the sofa where Shiro sat, wagging his tail in diluted ecstasy. His fur appeared to be more scarce than it was when I had last laid eyes on him - even if that was less than forty-eight hours before. That simply delineated how quickly he was falling in a downwards spiral. Not a single thing could stop him from doing so.

In less that a minute, Ejiri had brought me a glass of water, sitting down nest to me after she did so. “(Y/N), would you care to tell me about yourself?" She questioned, a genuine smile of reassurance stretched across her cheeks.

Taken aback, I answered, "Well... I used to live in a little town in Northern Hokkaido until recently. At first, Miyagi seemed strange and alien to me, but it's a welcoming place now. I can’t say that my life's interesting - I'm an only child and live with my Mother and Father. I'm the manager for the school's volleyball team, and other than that - there's nothing much to me." Expressing that was made me truly uncomfortable - talking about myself always seemed rather bizarre to me - especially to someone with whom I had recently met. However, there was something about Ejiri's aura that made her exude a sense of welcoming and enticement - calming those who were gifted with her presence.

Beaming back at me, her eyes softened, glazing over with a sheen of humanity and compassion, "You know, (Y/N) - I only moved back to Miyagi recently after spending just over thirty years abroad in Denmark - Ærøskøbing specifically. During that time - I've fostered close to fifteen children; each from a different side of the world. I wanted nothing more than to benefit them entirely - each one of them deserved the world. But, after moving back to Japan, I had to put that entire life behind me, for the sake of my family. And now, I am almost always at the hospital, working. It's not often that I can spend time with Takanobu, so it's consoling to know that there's someone there for him. You're a good kid, my dear." Her words took me by shock - how she had laid her life's discrepancies bare to me - even within an hour of meeting me. It was like she knew exactly what to say.

While I sat, playing with Shiro - Ejiri and I carried on conversation - simply chatting about whatever subject she could dream up, and it made me realise - how much I craved a loving mother figure. Ejiri worked tirelessly to provide for her nephew, still managing to scrape enough free time to spend time with him. Whereas, my mother worked relentlessly - never letting herself rest - but even when nothing occupied her - it seemed that she would go out of her way to avoid even looking at me. It hurt, terribly.

As soon as I knew it, nearly two hours had passed and I bid the three farewell. Meeting Ejiri certainly wasn't expected, however I couldn't complain about that escapade - in that little amount of time, her influence had cast an almost enlightening shadow over my life, as her welcomed me into hers completely. Takanobu was truly fortunate to have an Aunt like her, perhaps too fortunate...

#aone #aone takanobu #aone x reader #aone takanobu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader

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subasekabang · 4 years ago

Text

One Blank Concrete Wall, Primed

Title: One Blank Concrete Wall, Primed Rating: T/PG-13 for swearing and bloodless violence Word Count: 13,700 Pairings/Characters: No ships/Genfic. Neku, Joshua, Hanekoma as main characters. Appearances by most everyone else from TWEWY including Beat, Rhyme, Shiki, the reapers Warnings: brief mentions of past trauma/death (some of the Reapers discuss why they died), angelic/eldritch body horror (no blood or gore), imprisonment Summary: Neku’s in college now, and other than passing through Shibuya’s subway station to get to other parts of the city, he doesn’t really stop by much anymore. But when he gets a serious case of artist’s block before a gallery show, he decided to go back to his old stomping grounds to get inspired. Partner: @soundofez and @songsummoner Author’s Note: This was a fun, super weird piece. I also did some art for it on top of my partner’s work; all the art from me and my partners will appear in the correct parts of the fic on my AO3 link, which will go up Oct. 2. I’ll link in reply to this post with it when that’s up so you can see some really weird stuff (my own art is included below, though!!). Special thanks to Fez for designing college-age Neku’s clothes.

Also, Neku fights (and apologizes to) a building.

Enjoy!

XXX

Neku sighed. Squinting, he rolled up the blinds on his studio apartment a little, taking in the view. One window, the Skytree. The other, he could glimpse the top part of Sensouji’s pagoda. Asakusa was no Shibuya, but it had lots of car free pathways, quirky art stalls, and lots of tourists to draw. And it was a heck of a lot cheaper than living in Ueno.

He could walk to campus in about half an hour on a good day or take the subway just one stop to Tokyo University of the Arts on a bad one. It was convenient and, while a touristy area, surprisingly quiet.

Too quiet today, though. Neku fired up his tablet, pinging his friends. They always called everyone in a big group chat, though there was no obligation to answer.

“Sup, Phones?” Beat grinned into the camera, a giggle heard in the background.

“Beat, are you ever going to actually use his name?”

“I am though!” Best objected. “Neku’s tag is a pair of headphones. It’s practically his name at this point.”

“You’re not going to win on a technicality,” Rhyme chirped, turning the camera so she was in frame. “We’re between takes, anyway. What’s up, Neku?”

“Shit, did I interrupt a shoot?” Neku hovered over the hang-up button.

“I just said we were on break!” Rhyme reiterated, flailing her hands in front of her. “But Beat is shooting with your deck!”

His friend, who had only grown more muscular with the past five years, hefted up his skateboard, showing off the art of a flying squirrel on the undercarriage. “It’s still the sickest one I’ve got. You’d better have another one in the wings when it gets decommissaried, yo!”

“Decommissioned.”

“Whatever.”

“It’s not whatever, Beat,” another voice popped in, the newcomer’s eyebrow quirked in a hint of static as the visual flickered on.

“Sup, Shiki!” Beat said, waving wildly.

“Meet me for drinks when you’re done shooting? I can hop on the subway. It’s only a stop.”

“How’d you know where we are?”

“Beat, you always skate in Ikebukuro,” Shiki said matter-of-factly. “And I’m at school, so I’m only a stop away from you.”

“Oh. Right. Sometimes I wish we kept our mind reading powers,” Beat said with a pout.

“Noooooo thank you,” Shiki said with a grin. “Anyway, what’s all this about? I’ve got ten minutes ‘til my Fashion Sales class.”

Neku scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepishly at the camera. “I… er. Kinda needed some advice. I’ve got a gallery class where my one assignment is supposed to take the whole semester and I’m a bit stuck. I need to hand my draft proposition in by the end of next week.”

“What’s the topic?” Rhyme asked.

“That’s the thing. The art—even the medium—is up to me. Every fine art track has to take this thing. So, it doesn’t need to be painting, but I have to secure a space and create a work to match it. Like, get permission to paint a building, or something like that. Private or public property, just no vandalism. Street paste or yarn bombing is OK in public spaces. Basically, as long as it’s non-destructive; otherwise we need permission from the owner.”

“So, you need to scout out a place and make something that compliments it?” Rhyme asked.

“Yeah. And we can work together if we want. I don’t know my classmates well enough to know if our styles clash though.”

“Sounds tough.”

“That’s why it’s my whole assignment.”

Beat frowned. “I’ve got a good sponsorship going with Wild Boar. Could see if you could tag one of their shops.”

“Maybe,” Neku said. “But I want to step out of my comfort zone a little if I can. It’s a good backup.”

Shiki bit her lip. “Maybe you just need a little inspiration.”

“Little is an understatement.”

“What about that tag mural in Shibuya? Would that be fair game?”

The chat went silent. That wall in question was public property. It was absolutely not game—not for this assignment at least.

“Why?” Neku almost whispered, hoarse. “Why’d you even bring it up?”

“Because it’s been five years, Neku, and you haven’t gone back. CAT did what you’ve been assigned; he was a street artist who also did all these kinds of hired art too.”

“Hanekoma’s gone,” Neku reminded her. “I stopped trying. The shop was destroyed. If he ever came back, he’s not in Shibuya.”

“Then… ignore my bad idea,” Shiki said, not meeting eyes with the camera. “Sorry I brought it up.”

“No! No,” Neku reassured her, forcefully, then quiet, as if he were a deflating balloon. “Sorry if I snapped.”

“You didn’t snap,” Rhyme offered, before changing the subject. “I’ll think on it though; there’s gotta be some struggling coffee shop that could use some art, or something. Anyway… we need to get back to work, now.”

“And I have class. Neku, let’s chat tonight, after dinner? I can swing by your place. We can go get conveyor belt sushi over by Nakamise.”

“That… sounds pretty good, actually. Yeah. Let’s.”

“Later, alligator!” Rhyme said, chipper.

“Yeah! Later!” Shiki added.

“Let’s bounce!” Beat snuck in as Rhyme ended the call.

Neku was left alone to his thoughts.

Shibuya.

He and his friends romped through the city almost every weekend after they were all brought back—at least at first. Eventually exams took over for Shiki and Neku, both hell-bent on getting in Bunka Fashion College and Tokyo Arts respectively. Beat slowly got more and more skate sponsorships with Rhyme as his videographer, making her new dream to shoot the world’s best skater: her brother.

Neku closed his eyes, imagining the gleaming, ad-drenched skyscrapers, a far cry from the view from his apartment window.

Maybe.

Maybe it was time to finally go back; maybe Shiki wasn’t wrong. It was his old stomping grounds, his old home. And it was only a few hundred yens’ ride away.

Neku pinched his forearm once to ground himself, grabbed his wallet and a scarf (courtesy of Shiki’s weaving class, in a sturdy textured purple crepe) and headed out the door.

Xxx

Neku’s palm touched plaster and concrete. Slowly, he slid his hand along the wall, breathing out an exhale. Even in his high school years, when his friends would regularly bum around Shibuya after school and on weekends, he avoided the mural. It wasn’t that he stopped liking it; just… He felt he didn’t need it anymore. He had plenty of CAT’s art to keep him company, from the pins in his pocket to the billboards throughout the city.

Maybe he was young and naïve back then, but looking at the faded piece, partially obscured by other, less impressive tags… well, it didn’t seem very impressive anymore.

“‘Course it isn’t, you brain-dead binomial,” a familiar voice sneered from behind him. Neku whipped around to see Sho Minamimoto, cat whiskers and all, grinning with fanged teeth.

Sho put up his hands as a peace offering, sensing Neku’s hackles rising. “I’m not attacking the living; don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’d really rather not get divided by zero. Again.”

Neku relaxed his shoulders a little but said nothing.

“You’re a leaky faucet, you single-digit integer,” Sho explained, as he pointed to a vending machine, sending a pair of CC Lemon bottles flying out of it and at the two of them. He leaned against the mural, back to it, sliding down to sit and sighing with his drink. “I miss CAT, too, you know. Been the square-root of 25 years since anyone’s seen a new piece of his. Some of the reapers actually thought it might’ve been you.”

Neku laughed, wiping tears from his eyes. “Me?” he asked, plopping down next to his former enemy, accepting the citrus-flavored peace offering. “I was fifteen. And CAT had been active way before I was born.”

“Thought it was a title, you dumb fractal. Like Pope or Emperor.”

“Expert street artists are called Kings and Queens, you know.”

“And dead ones are Angels,” Sho added with a sage nod. “Trying to one-up a Reaper on art is like trying to find the cube root of i.”

Neku stared down at his soft drink, thinking of Hanekoma. The title suited him in more ways than one, thanks to a little packet he’d found in Mr. H’s shop back when he and Beat snuck in to see if there was anything they could save. Since Hanekoma was CAT, there had been a pretty strong likelihood some of his art was still in the ruined café, but sadly there wasn’t any evidence in there at all. Neku saw faded marks where canvases and an easel had once been stacked in a curious empty back room; someone had beaten them to clearing it out.

Sho pulled Neku out of his thoughts eventually, after one intrepid skater ate pavement attempting to grind the Cyco Records railing.

“What’s eating you, pain-in-my-vector? Well, former.”

“You don’t hold a grudge?” Neku asked curiously.

“It’s a long afterlife. Grudges are useless.”

The two sat in silence for a while, watching the skaters try their new decks outside the Wild Boar at the midpoint of the T section.

“You gonna ask me why I’m here?”

“I know why you’re here,” Sho replied testily, tapping his temple. “Was waiting to see if you’d give me the proof out of your mouth.”

“Right. Mind reading.”

“I can’t see every piece of the equation; that’s not how it works and you know it. But I can solve for x and fill in the blanks.”

Neku sighed. “What can you see?”

“That you’re stuck on a hard problem and you’ve been staring at your homework too long.”

“And by problem you mean—”

“I can’t tell—just some big project is eating you up. At least it’s not Higashizawa. That hectopascal can eat a man whole. I’ve seen it.” Minamimoto slung back his drink. “So, what’s eating you?”

“I mean, other than you being alive again?” Neku asked, eyebrow raised.

“Still dead as I was last you saw me.”

“Last I saw you, you were crushed under a vending machine.”

“Eh, I’ve had worse days.” Minamimoto shrugged. “That infinite asshole of a Composer fixed me back up and sent me right back to work. Now stop stalling, you obtuse angle. Out with it.”

“Artist’s block,” Neku admitted sheepishly. “I’ve got a big project coming up and I just can’t think of the right thing to do.”

Sho laughed, his head flung back and whole body shaking with the action. “Artist’s block, you dithering digit. You don’t think we Reapers never deal with that shit? At least for you, it’s not fatal.”

“F-fatal?” Neku asked, almost dropping his bottle.

“We run on Imagination,” Sho said, chucking his emptied-out drink with force, sending it flying halfway down the alley into a recycling bin attached to a vending machine. “No Imagination, no power. No power long enough and poof, divide by zero. Crunch. Drop a vending machine on me? I’ll walk it off. Go too long without making something…”

Sho went uncharacteristically quiet, running his fingers through a hole in his jeans.

“So, what do you do when you’re stuck?” Neku finally asked.

“I raid the trash. Something always finds its way to me.” Sho pulled a loose thread and threw it to the wind. “I don’t just mean the garbage; I mean the rest of us. Talkin’ it out’s helped. I used to think I didn’t need anybody else. But then I got subtracted out so many times by you ‘n Prisspants, well. Don’t want to admit it but dividing up the work’s helped solve the harder equations.”

Neku smiled, offering a hand. “I can leave you my number if you ever want to talk shop.”

Sho blinked twice, confused. “You’d… help me? I was an irrational digit.”

“So? I was an asshole teenager. I pass through often enough. It’s not much trouble, especially if you’re feeding me,” Neku admitted, shaking his now empty bottle. “You try keeping on weight on a college art student’s budget.”

“Yeah, all right,” Sho said, standing up, swiping Neku’s empty bottle to shove in one of his myriad pockets. “A balanced equation—I dig it. I’m using this in my next piece,” he added, tapping the bottle with a hollow thud. “Thanks… Neku.”

Before Neku had a chance to even realize it was the first time Sho called him by name, the Reaper had vanished back to the Underground, out of Neku’s reach.

Xxx

Neku stood at the mural a few minutes longer, rolling the plastic bottle cap in his fingers. If Sho was alive, well, less dead, then Joshua was still haunting Shibuya from somewhere—Hanekoma, too.

So why was the mural so worn out? Had Mr. H run out of new inspiration himself? Neku sighed, no more ready to tackle the assignment as he hoofed it back to the station, tossing the bottle-cap into the recycling as he passed.

The CC Lemon Sho had expertly pitched was mysteriously absent from the top of the pile.

“If Sho went dumpster diving to make recycled friendship bracelets, I think I’ll actually bust a rib laughing,” Neku muttered to himself.

“Honestly? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Neku whipped his head around to see a Reaper in a basic hoodie. A faceless grunt, one of at least tens, if not hundreds, patrolling the city. No visible wings, so at least Neku could remind himself he hadn’t gone sliding into the UG. Just another Reaper coming up to the RG for air. Or to pester him.

Or both.

“Do I know you?” Neku asked, eyeing the teenage-looking apparition in oversized clothing.

The boy huffed. “The Reaper Review remembers you.”

Neku laughed and relaxed a little. “At least you’re not the Reaper who made me show up in all Mus Rattus to break their barrier. Or the other one who made me get them a chili dog.”

“When you’re a minor officer, you’re allowed to send Players on wild goose chases,” the Reaper said with a shrug. “I’m just happy I was allowed to block mine with trivia. I hate fighting.”

“You and me both,” Neku grumbled.

The reaper tipped his hood back slightly, enough to show Neku his ethereal looking eyes. “I overheard you had artist’s block. Er, sorry. Didn’t mean to pry. It’s the worst.”

“Great. Is my mind safe from any of you?” Neku groaned, though it wasn’t in anger. He couldn’t complain. Hearing the livings’ thoughts just happened when you were dead.

“Actually, I was guarding the mural and overheard your chat with the Lieutenant.”

“Oof. Minamimoto got a demotion?”

“He seems happier in the field, anyway,” the Reaper replied with a shrug. “More time for his sculptures and harassing players.”

Neku looked at the Reaper curiously. “Sho mentioned you all do art. Have to keep your Imagination up.”

“That’s… not entirely true. I mean yeah, gotta keep the creative juices going or we stop existing. But it doesn’t have to be through art. Cooking, dance, whatever goes. When I’m stuck, I usually learn from another Reaper. Gives me some perspective.”

Neku’s smile widened. “You’re right, you know. I need to broaden my horizons. What do you do?”

“Me? Uh… I design puzzles. The player traps and stuff.”

“Ugh,” Neku groaned.

“You paint, right? I remember seeing some of your tags under the Miyashita Park underpass a few years ago. You’re pretty good. Maybe… try heading over near Shibu-Q? The Reapers that dance usually practice that way—sidewalk is wide enough. Loosen up with some life drawing or something.”

Neku smiled. “I have to do an installation project, but you know what? That’s not a terrible idea. Thanks.” He looked to the corner where Shibu-Q stood and then back at his nameless friend, but the Reaper was already gone.

Xxx

Neku didn’t know what he was expecting to find outside Shibu-Q, but a pair of Harrier Reapers doing acrobatic dancing was not it. Neku smirked as he watched the reaper woman with electric purple lipstick—Uzuki, if he remembered correctly—pirouetting before using her friend as a vaulting block to spin up and over his back.

The two continued their routine, the man—Kariya, Neku remembered after a few embarrassed moments of mental fumbling—seeming lazy and unmoving but carefully and precisely supporting his partner’s flashy moves. The two continued for another ten minutes or so, then each held out a hat for change.

Neku patted himself down for his wallet before dumping three 500-yen coins in Uzuki’s hat as it passed around. She glared at him a moment, then pushed the coins back in his face.

“Not taking money from you,” she snipped. “I already owe you enough. Shoo.”

Kariya looked over his shoulder at Neku, momentarily confused. After all, the two of them hadn’t aged a day while Neku was now a lanky, slightly scruffy young adult. Realization crossed the Reaper’s features slowly, eventually tugging his mouth into a half grin. Kariya offered Neku a backwards half-salute and went back to waving his hat around for change.

Eventually the crowd dispersed. Kariya loped over to Neku and Uzuki, clapping Neku on the shoulder. “Hey, kiddo. You’re as tall as I am now. Good on you. How’s life treating you?”

Neku couldn’t help but laugh at the double meaning behind the words. “Busy. College.”

“You know, I wondered when I would stop seeing you run around the RG so much over here.”

“Never mind me,” Neku said, sloughing off Kariya’s friendly gesture and looking at the two of them. “How are you holding up?”

“How do you think?” Uzuki spat. “There weren’t many powerful Reapers left after that mess—at least for a while. So, some ass went and got themselves promoted to Conductor.”

Kariya looked down at his feet, blush going all the way across his face. “It’s not like I asked for it; I wasn’t given a choice. At least I negotiated that I could do things my way. Uzuki’s my GM.”

Neku frowned. “So… then you know the Composer.”

Kariya’s eyes went uncharacteristically fierce. “That’s on a need to know basis and—”

“Read my mind then,” Neku countered. “There’s something I do need to know.”

Neku closed his eyes and thought of Joshua. What he really wanted was to talk to Mr. Hanekoma, but the only way he was going to be able to do that would be going to Joshua first.

Kariya whistled low. “Okay. Fine. Kid, come here a sec.”

“Kariya, come on. Why are you even telling this kid anything? He’s alive. And—”

“He knows about Josh, Uzuki, I’m not giving him anything new. Just… maybe pointing him in the right direction.”

Uzuki pushed a loose strand of burgundy hair from her eyes. “Fiiiiine, whatever. You’re the boss.”

“You’ve seen him?” Neku asked quietly.

“’Course I have. He’s my boss,” Kariya said with a sigh. “Though he only comes to speak if he feels like it. I’ve caught him sulking over past the Miyashita Park underpass though. No clue why. Out there is just a bunch of sporting goods stores and Josh and physical activity mix like oil and vinegar. Hope that helps. What do you need him for, anyway? You’re alive.”

“It’s not him I’m even looking for,” Neku admitted. “I want him to tell me what happened to an old friend.”

Kariya relaxed a bit. “If said old friend has anything to do with the UG, might as well ask me.”

“I’m looking for CAT.”

Kariya frowned, scratching the back of his head in contemplation. “CAT was a Reaper? He— or she, I guess— stopped doing anything new after I became Conductor. Yeah. You’d have to speak to Josh. That’s before my time and below my pay grade.”

“Thanks anyway, Kariya,” Neku said, genuinely appreciative. “It’s better than nothing.”

“Anytime. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Neku closed his eyes a moment, sighing quietly. “Hope so too,” he muttered, opening them to an empty sidewalk.

Xxx

Neku headed eastbound towards Cat Street, passing Stride on the left. Gone were the Tin Pin banners, long since replaced with whatever new plastic toy battling fad that had taken hold of the local kids.

“You know, I heard a commotion from some of the older guard that a carrot was running around Udagawa.”

Neku had whiplash. Poised behind him with a cigarette loosely held in between his middle and ring finger was a face Neku couldn’t believe he was seeing.

“Seven?” Neku asked incredulously. He reached out his hand for the bleach-blonde, swaggering musician’s to find it cold as ice. Neku frowned. “Smoking kills, you know.”

777 played with the cigarette between his fingers. “How d’you think I died?” He gave a cocky grin. “Actually, I fell off a roof rigging an abandoned warehouse party. This is why you do safety checks. Tenho still gives me grief about it.”

Neku smiled weakly. “That bites.”

“The dust? Oof. Yeah. But hey, all three of us went down at once. The party scattered and when we showed up to play a new set a few weeks later nobody realized we weren’t exactly alive. They probably thought we broke a bone or two at worst and hid to lick our wounds—not cracked our skulls on the sidewalk.” Neku winced. “Er, sorry, Orange. Didn’t mean to dredge up anything bad on your end. Just odd, seeing you back.”

“Looking for someone,” Neku admitted. “The owner of the café that used to be on Cat Street.”

“Hanekoma? Stopped in there for coffee sometimes. Bit odd. His shop didn’t have the Player decal, yet he definitely served stiffs. Reapers as customers is one thing—we can go to the RG��but… hell. What do I know?”

Neku flocked his eyes up and down the street. Not that it mattered; Reapers could be in the UG right next to him and he wouldn’t know. “Yeah, he could see the dead.”

“ESPer or something?” Seven asked, blowing out a smoke ring that looked like a bat. Now he was just showing off.

“Something like that.”

“Well, fat lot that did him. Shop’s been MIA ever since I got recommissioned—maybe earlier. All I remember is, I had a double shot espresso there the night before that gig you helped me with, got blown up like two weeks later, and when I’m back to my good old dead self, the shop looks like it got exploded too. What the hell went on in this city that week?”

“War,” Neku said grimly.

“And you won, didn’t you?” Seven elbowed him in the shoulder. “You’d be one of my types now if you hadn’t.”

“Yeah, I did,” Neku said, throat dry. “Thanks for the chat.”

“You come to our next gig, you hear? You’ve gotta be old enough to drink now. VIP for you ‘n the cute chick you were with. Or, uh, anyone else. Don’t know if asking her would be awkward. She made it out, didn’t she? Please say yes.”

Neku smiled. “She did, and we’re still friends. I’ll ask. She won’t look like how you’re expecting though.”

“Neither do you, not-so-short stack. Now get outta here. I’m gonna finish my drag and get back to setup before Beej screams me out. Later.” Seven snapped his fingers and the cigarette exploded in a puff of blue fiery smoke. “Open invite, Orange, just tell the bouncer ‘golden bat’ at the door.”

Xxx

Neku inhaled. He knew past here was Cadoi, then Miyashita.

Then Cat Street.

Neku passed a small spot under the park underpass where Beat and Rhyme’s flowers had once been placed, leaving behind a tiny finger skateboard. Beat would probably punch him; Rhyme would find it hilarious. He did it to honor his once dead friend. Some kid would probably see it, and abscond with it, and play with it till it broke. Beat’s skateboard, in the hands of some kid passing by—it was fitting.

Neku let his memory walk him the rest of the way to WildKat. It stood as it had since the incident: a broken front window, a door barely hanging on its hinges. How it remained like this almost half a decade without developer intervention was shocking, honestly. Or maybe not, if divine intervention was involved.

Neku inhaled and took a step forward.

Again.

He carefully swung the door, afraid the whole thing would come off the frame in his hands. It squeaked something awful but hung by a thread.

The inside was worse. Neku should have brought one of his paint masks with him. The place was a fire trap of chipped plaster, dust, and mold. An old safe in the back corner was open on its hinges. The only things that looked clean were the sink, two sealed jars of whole coffee beans, and a single drip carafe, the rest of the row shattered beyond recognition.

Neku’s sketchbook and a mechanical pencil set still sat atop the dust-crusted counter. He’d left them there when he and Beat had returned— the only time Neku stepped foot in the shop when he was alive—to check on the shop.

To check on its owner.

Leaving the sketchbook behind seemed fitting. It was half full of random crap, and half empty, nothing but open promises in the end.

Maybe Neku didn’t need Hanekoma, or CAT, or the old shop. Carefully, he made his way around a splintered bar stool, sidestepped a broken glass pitcher, and hauled himself up on the only stool left in sittable condition.

Reverently, he opened the book. He almost laughed at his fifteen-year-old self’s sketches. The first three pages were ideas for tags around the city. He actually cringed at one.

Then a page of Shiki—a quick sketch, half likely from stolen glances and half from memory, because it was her as herself on the left, and as Eri on the right.

Ideas for Beat’s skateboards.

Architecture sketches

An entire six pages of circles and cubes, shaded with hatching or a blending stump.

Neku turned to the next page.

In handwriting that wasn’t his, scrawled in large block print…

TURN AROUND, DEAR.

Xxx

Neku screamed. It wasn’t one of fear, but frustration. “You slimy, little—” he shrieked, as he spun around in the stool expecting to see a smarmy, fifteen-year-old-looking blonde, if the agelessness of the other UG residents was anything to go by.

Instead, a softly frowning man in his mid-thirties stood behind him.

With blonde fly-away hair.

And strange purple eyes.

And a blue-purple button down with white accents and charcoal slacks.

Neku bit his lower lip, holding back a fury he hadn’t had in years.

“You.”

“I come in peace,” Joshua offered, hands up defensively, glowing slightly. “I wrote that years ago. Now I kind of regret it.” Neku relaxed a little. Joshua would be dramatic enough to do that and scare him when he entered the shop, wouldn’t he?

“Only kind of, though,” Joshua added, pulling a broken chair from the rubble, fixing it with a shake and sitting down beside Neku. “It’s still Imprinted. I’m not in the RG. The note left a bit of me in it. You see it, you see me, too.”

“You been tailing me all day, too?”

“I felt you in the city, but no. Only when I got a text about it.”

Kariya. Of course.

“Your conductor rat me out?”

“He did say you were looking for me. So, might have imprinted on you a bit to push you here.”

“You could have come and—”

“—said hello? No, actually, I can’t. I’m on probation. Can’t enter the RG for a decade. Not the biggest deal for me, mind, but… humans don’t live near as long as things like I do. I needed you to come to me. Glad that thing still works.” He tapped the notebook, his hand clipping through a page or two like he wasn’t all there.

Neku exhaled. “I trust you, you know. Still don’t forgive you, but I do trust you.”

“I know. I appreciate you said it aloud, but I know.”

“You look better when your clothes actually fit.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve gotten better at keeping up with me,” Joshua said with a bit of a grin.

“You’ve slowed down in your age, you old fart.”

“Old? Fart?” Joshua pouted, and where there had been a well-put-together adult sat a petulant teenager in the same attire, now oversized to the point of baggy. He looked as the Reapers did—unaged.

“At least now you fit in with the rest of your underlings,” Neku huffed.

Joshua frowned. “I wish I did, honestly.” Quietly, he stared off, past Neku to the empty kitchen.

“Miss him too?”

“More than you,” Joshua shot back.

“Didn’t have many friends?”

“Comes with the job.”

Neku rolled a pencil between his fingers. He’d caught the proverbial tail and didn’t know what to do with it. Joshua was here and clearly knew just as much as Neku did about his former idol’s whereabouts. They sat in silence as Joshua’s likely million-yen watch ticked away.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Neku replied flatly.

“You’re no fun, Neku,” Joshua needled. “Fine. Look, Sanae liked you, more than just the fact that you were my Proxy. Hell, I’m surprised he helped you at all, knowing what you represented in my Game. You were the bad guy.”

Joshua slunk in the only-until-recently broken bar seat, kicking at a shattered tile with an awfully expensive sneaker. When he couldn’t quite reach, his form shifted back to that of an adult, flinging the chipped tile aside like a petulant child. “Neku, I need you.”

“Like you needed me to destroy Shibuya.”

Joshua exhaled, wisps of golden hair fluttering as he stared at anything but Neku. “I’ve been trying to find Hanekoma for years. Every moment I’m not here keeping the city together, I’m traveling to find him. You wouldn’t understand, but I need you to get a lock on him.”

“You’re dimension hopping.”

Joshua sat straight up, his too-long legs hitting the café bar as he did so. “Fuck,” he hissed, rubbing at his knee. “Too tall for my own good. But how? How could you even know that?”

Neku pointed to the safe at the back corner of the café, still just as ajar as he left it when he found the key pin with Beat back in the game. “Mr. H. left me a book of notes: on the game, on angels, all of it.” Neku scrolled through his phone. “I used to keep it on me, thinking it would help me somehow, someday. Eventually, I just scanned it all.”

“Gimme,” Joshua demanded, and the phone was in his hands. Neku watched in awe at the Composer’s speed reading. “I know he kept notes for the Angels, but this wasn’t for them—it was for you. Where’s the real deal?”

“My apartment.”

“Address. Specific location. I’m talking ‘fourth floor, third bedroom, under the red futon next to my stack of- ‘”

Neku cut him off quickly, rattling off his exact address and where he hid the book. Joshua held out a free hand, and in a moment, it materialized with the softest of thunks, pages fluttering in Joshua’s fingertips. “Be glad I’m on good terms with the Composer of Taito Ward,” Joshua admonished, pointing with the small hand-bound journal. “Otherwise I would have sent you home to go get it yourself.”

“What, are you going to track down Hanekoma with this?”

“No, of course not,” Joshua snorted, standing upright, shaking himself once to completely dissipate any plaster shavings or broken chips from his clothing.

“You are.”

Xxx

Neku watched in awe as Joshua’s back bloomed with light, a pair of massive swan-like silver-white wings settling on his back, iridescent with hints of lavender as he shook them loose. Before Neku could think, Hanekoma’s journal was thrust into his hands, and Joshua had him in a position he’d later call The Little Spoon of Death. With a jerk backwards, the two fell through and landed precisely where they’d been before, except the shop was in clean, working order, jazz playing on the radio, and a familiar voice humming tunelessly along with the guitar.

“Heya, Josh. Back so soon?”

Neku blinked and almost cried when he saw the man behind the counter. “H-Hanekoma?!? Mr. H?”

“One of,” Hanekoma said with a shrug. “Not the one you’re looking for though.”

Neku tried to surge forward to give the man (angel?) a hug but was held firmly in place by Joshua’s murderous grip around his waist. “Let go,” Neku whined through gritted teeth.

“Not a good idea, Boss,” Hanekoma chided. “You don’t want to get stuck in the wrong place.”

Neku let himself slacken. “I can get stuck?”

“Sure as the rain ruining my day,” Hanekoma agreed. “When you’re in the right place, you’ll know.”

“Can you help?”

“Can I? Sure. Will I? No. He’s a hellion. You’re never going to find him anyway.”

“Isn’t he another you?”

“You wouldn’t say the same thing if you met you from this world,” Joshua said, exasperated. “I wonder why the book sent us here.”

“This is where you hid after Minamimoto tried to erase you, isn’t it?” Neku asked. He flipped through the journal. “He hid somewhere high to wait for you. Because he thought this Hanekoma would turn him into the Angel Police or something.”

“I did,” Hanekoma said proudly. “Can’t have me ruining my good name.”

“Fuck off,” Neku spat at the barista. “You’re not Hanekoma.”

“I’m the part of Hanekoma that actually follows our rules.”

Joshua squeezed Neku tighter. “Hold on and keep thinking of that.”

“What—whyyyyyyyyyy?!” Neku screamed as sound escaped him. The whole universe lurched underneath as Joshua resumed pinging around between alternate realities, barely stopping to breathe.

“Focus!” Joshua ordered him through the din of dizzying WildKat cafes, Shibuya skylines, and for a brief moment, possibly the cold depths of space.

“THERE IS NOTHING TO FOCUS ON YOU DAFT ZOMBIE!” Neku shouted back, feeling his insides out and outsides in before the two bounced off a massive plate of glass and went rolling out to nowhere. Joshua pulled his wings around them, breaking the fall as they bounced a few times to the sounds of shattering glass.

They stilled. Neku could hear his own breathing and feel his heart jumping in his chest. Disquietingly, Joshua had neither breath nor a heartbeat, his torso flat against Neku’s back without any noticeable sign of life. Neku quietly filed that part under “disgusting, do not remind” and wiggled a little to loosen Joshua’s grip on his midsection.

“Hang on,” Joshua hissed out. “Easy does it.”

“That was easy?”

“You should see hard,” Joshua said, smirking as he raised an eyebrow. “And it might surprise you but… I think we’re here.”

Joshua rocked on the shoulders of his wings, pushing them both upright and parting a crack for them to see from.

The world consisted of a single, stained-glass building in a shattered-glass sky. The ground crunched with hardened paint beneath them.

“Somewhere high, following the rules… and nothing to focus on. Neku, sometimes, only sometimes, am I reminded of your genius.”

“I am in elbow-to-face range,” Neku reminded him.

“Yes, dear, and you’d best stay that way unless you want to swallow glass,” Joshua pointed out. “I’m too concerned about flying through that with a passenger, let alone someone alive, so we’re going to walk in tandem to the entrance and pray there’s no tricks along the way.”

Neku wanted to argue he wasn’t much for prayer but being cocooned in angel wings wasn’t doing him any favors in that department.

“Well at least I’m getting the inspiration I was looking for,” Neku muttered as he marveled through the tiniest of openings in between Joshua’s feathers. They both shuddered as pellets of colored glass dogged them like rain, Neku grimacing with each step.

“I think that is this world’s rain,” Joshua said aloud. “What? You’re thinking too loud. Either shut up or I’ll nitpick your thoughts. Last you want to do is swallow glass talking out loud, anyway.”

They walked in silence for what felt like eternity, roughly matching steps so their wing-cocoon tank didn’t topple. Peppered by the shards of rain, Neku was slowly getting a better view of the world outside his feathered umbrella.

The tower reminded him of Pork City, though it stretched upwards through molten clouds that burned red hot like liquid glass being worked at a forge. The whole thing was stained glass of infinite color—giant, angular panes crossed and reinforced by black, wrought iron-like supports, with sharp points sticking out at odd angles from the structure.

“I think so too,” Joshua agreed with Neku’s wandering thoughts. “That’s Pork City, all right—made from Reaper wings. It looks like a gorgeous prison. A prison all the same, though,” he added, sighing.

Soon enough, the entrance loomed overhead, its maw of black webbing haphazardly stuffed with angular pastel glass. The tinkle of the rain bounced off the overhang as Joshua ever-so-slowly folded his wings behind him.

“I think you’re safe, for now,” he said, with the authoritativeness betraying his true age. “I promise, I’m not going to let you die here—you’re still holding Sanae’s book.”

“Because that’s all you care about,” Neku grumbled, to Joshua’s pout. “Oh, come off. I’m going to make up for all the teasing you did to me. Now let’s hope there’s an elevator in there or you’ll be flying us up the stairs.”

Xxx

“Lights are on; nobody’s home,” Joshua said, looking around as the two shuffled inside. “Okay, I’m letting go.”

“You’re what!” Neku shrieked, breathing heavy as Joshua smirked, unhooking his hands from around Neku’s waist. “Didn’t that other Hanekoma say it was a bad idea?”

“Oh, it’s a cataclysmically terrible idea. You’ll be trapped here forever now.”

“Joshua–I—you’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

“I mean, of course. I’m an ass, but nobody’s that heartless.”

“You murdered me. Twice.”

“I also brought you back to life, so no complaints,” Joshua snipped back. “Now, what have we here?”

Neku sighed, reminded of exactly how aggravating the little god could be. He looked around the entry foyer. The walls inside the building were a blinding white, almost piercing in their contrast to the stained glass on the outer walls of the monstrous tower. “I think this thing is alive,” Neku muttered.

“It’s not,” Joshua said, almost too quickly. “Or, rather, it’s as alive as Sanae or I am.”

“So it’s, what, an angel?”

Joshua kneeled down to touch the floor, a soft white abalone with a pearlescent sheen. “Yes. And we just entered the mouth.” Neku shuddered. “Oh, it’s not really that big a deal, Neku,” Joshua said, standing up and tsk-ing him with a finger. “This building is no more going to digest you than a wooden one; though I’m sure you’ve seen trees grow around and consume cars and houses.”

“Not helping,” Neku grumbled. “Hey, I’m not sure if it’s the retina damage, but are the walls bleeding paint?”

Joshua tucked his massive wings up high on his back, where they still trailed behind him like a couture dress, and shimmy-hopped over to the interior wall. “Oh, it’s probably retina damage,” he said cheerily, “you’re looking at pure light after all. But you’re not wrong.” Joshua swiped his hand along the wall, coming off it with a smear of mustard yellow acrylic paint. He blew on it, drying it immediately, and peeled it off like a face mask. “Must be the elevator hidden in the wall and… here we go.”

With a squelching sound like wrenching a tooth out of its socket—Neku wondering with a shudder that if that actually was a tooth—Joshua dislodged the panel, revealing a plush, red-velvet-lined elevator speckled with flecks of paint.

“If that’s a tongue, I’m out of here,” Neku complained.

“It’s not a tongue,” Josh said with a suspicious grin, stuffing himself inside with his wings still exposed. Neku shuffled and squeezed in, a massive feather poking him in the backside. The doors closed. “It’s the esophagus, Neku.”

Xxx

“Can’t you put those away?” Neku asked, after what felt like an eternity of being smothered by a giant chicken.

Joshua sighed, looking more serious than Neku was ever used to. “Yes, but I won’t.”

Neku expected him to elaborate, but Joshua merely went silent, hands out and open and feathers fluffed up.

Quickly, Neku understood why. It started quietly, a ping and a plop and a hiss, and became louder and more intense with each passing second. A few moments later, Neku was positive he wasn’t hearing things; it sounded like rain pouring from a gutter except… the rain was a stream of fire-engine red and the gutter was the walls of the elevator. The liquid pooled in the velvet flooring like blood matting the fur on a wounded, furry animal.

“Neku, move in before I make you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice as Joshua threw his wings up around them again, reaching a hand out of the fluffy shield to pull the emergency stop on the elevator panel. Neku didn’t even realize how fast they’d been ascending until they screeched to a halt.

“The walls are bleeding.”

“Paint,” Joshua replied. “It’s just paint.”

“You also said the building was an angel,” Neku reminded him testily. “What’s to say that this isn’t—”

“Angel blood melts like acid,” Joshua replied flatly. Neku didn’t know if he were telling the truth or not, but the soles of his shoes, now caked in it, weren’t dissolving.

Joshua pulled him close, wrapping his left arm around his shoulders and left wing over that like a shield. Neku couldn’t see anything but white, but he felt a jolt of exertion and heard Joshua swear low.

“Neku, dear, stay close and don’t scream.”

In the time it took him to blink, the Joshua that Neku was familiar with vanished. Every pore of the elevator was leaking paint in gushes now; thankfully blues and greens and hot pinks, to put Neku slightly more at ease, balanced evenly with the remainder of the free space taken up by living, swirling paint.

Noise.

One giant one.

It was silent and snake-like, and it dug its claws into the elevator door, wrenching it open without a sound save the rushing air.

The elevator had stopped between two floors, and the Noise slipped out the bottom to slide down to the floor below.

Move, it demanded of him. Drowning in paint doesn’t belong in your obituary.

Neku more or less knew the beast had been Joshua, but the voice in his head finally cemented it.

“I’ll break my legs.”

“I’ll catch you.”

Neku didn’t even register the response said aloud, slipping down the paint-soaked velvet and landing in a nest of color-streaked feathers.

“See?”

“I’m drenched,” Neku grumped, and then realized he wasn’t. His and Joshua’s clothes were pristine again, though the wild streaks of paint still covered Neku’s arms and Joshua’s feathers.

“Not getting rid of it all. I don’t know if the building is trying to attack us and I’d rather we still smell like it.”

“You think?” Neku asked sarcastically. He looked around the room. Paint had pooled in oil-slick puddles on the floor and was leaking out cracks in the walls. Neku heard dripping from overhead, looking up to see globs of color slowly plopping from the ceiling. The acrylic paint’s own drying-to-plastic properties were likely the only thing preventing a flood of multicolored rain on them.

Carefully, Neku hot-footed around the deepest puddles and made his way to the stained glass on the perimeter.

“We are really high up,” he breathed out, looking at the world below.

Joshua fluttered, and landed gracefully next to him. “We are. Care not to break the glass.”

“I’m not that—”

“—without me,” Joshua continued, barreling for the window, grabbing Neku as he shattered an entire pane.

For a moment, time stood still, not that it mattered much in this place to begin with. The triangular pastel shards exploded out with them on the side of the building and Neku swore he heard it scream. The shards from the broken window floated around them, glittering against the glass rain pelting them from above. Joshua pulled Neku in tighter, wings curled.

“Duck.” That was Neku’s only warning as Joshua opened his wings to propel them up against the pellets of crystalline rain before hurling himself sideways, crashing into another exterior wall.

“Human bodies are too frail,” Joshua tsk’ed at him once they finished rolling in a 20 centimeters deep pool of paint. With a hand wave, Neku found himself as clean as he could be, and free of scratches.

Paint sluiced down from their entry hole, likely streaking the outside of the building as the room began to drain. Neku shook the stars from his eyes as Joshua flicked his fingers across his button-down shirt, sending the liquid colors away as he did so.

His wings were still streaked with neon.

The room had no stairs, no elevator shaft, from what Neku could see. It was just glass around the outside and a concrete floor and ceiling. Scattered about the room were pillars and flat concrete pieces, some wall-to-ceiling, but most about half height—like an art gallery.

The entire room, save the glass, was completely covered in art.

Graffiti.

Classical.

Renaissance.

Ukiyo-e

Cubist.

It was one step short of being an eyesore. And as the paint drained out, pouring down the exterior side of the building, Neku could see the floor, too, covered with incredible works of art. He felt almost embarrassed when he moved his foot, leaving behind a hot-pink footprint on impressionist lilies.

“They’re just copies,” Joshua said sternly, looking around. “Technically precise, but nothing original except in how it’s all mashed together.”

Neku nodded. “I just stepped in Monet.”

“Well, a good copy. Poor Sanae. Stay on your guard, Neku; he’s up here somewhere. And he’s probably not going to look like what you’re used to.”

“Like how you were a dragon?” Neku asked.

“His street art handle isn’t CAT for nothing.”

“I’m assuming it’s not a housecat, then,” Neku hissed back, suddenly concerned. Both of them winced on hearing a howl.

Quiet, Joshua ordered inside his head. And stay behind me.

Neku nodded and the two wove their way through the gallery, following the sound of growls and irritated hisses. Joshua slowly peeled around a corner, motioning for Neku to follow.

A great graffiti-winged panther that Neku could only assume was Mr. Hanekoma glared back through acid-paint eyes.

Xxx

Joshua shoved Neku roughly aside, striding confidently to the massive graffiti beast.

“Hello, old friend,” Joshua said, tired and aged himself.

The creature screamed. The concrete half-wall Neku had been cowering behind exploded into fragments of color and shrapnel.

The beast froze, sniffed. It took one step, then another, leaning its gargantuan head over the broken divider to look down at Neku.

Neku had never been terrified before. Even in the Game, he’d had periods when he was scared, adrenaline coursing through him like the drug it was. But this abject fear to witness a man he trusted—who he might even consider a friend—be reduced to a mindless abomination drooling tempera paint overhead was sobering.

The beast opened its maw wide. Joshua jumped to his side in a flash, throwing up a wing to protect him.

Hanekoma tilted his head a little, reminiscent of a puppy. “Ne….ku?”

Xxx

Neku and Joshua watched over the next…however long it took. Hanekoma paced, occasionally knocking over a bucket of paint or, in one case, slamming into one of the concrete half-wall dividers with his flank as his graffiti form jittered and convulsed.

He’s coming back around, Joshua hissed in Neku’s head. At this point, we just need to wait.

Neku nodded. Joshua still held a wing up and an iron grip on the other’s arm and waist, but it was with good reason. Hanekoma screamed again, rupturing the concrete and Neku’s eardrums. For a few moments, Neku saw nothing but static, before the searing pain faded.

“—Sanae, Sanae, come back to us,” Joshua pleaded in croaking whispers as Neku’s hearing returned. “Please. Your attacks are only hurting him, see? I just had to completely repair his eardrums.”

The cat-beast howled again, knocking Neku utterly unconscious this time.

Xxx

Neku came to on the floor of the gallery, slowly taking stock of the room around him through hazy peripheral vision. Most of the dividers were at least punched through, if not entirely destroyed. A cold hand covered most of his forward vision, however.

“Neku, can you hear me?” Hanekoma’s gruff voice was twanged with concern.

“He should; I fixed his eardrums twice in one eternity,” Joshua grumped.

“Mister….H?” Neku croaked.

“J, make him some water.”

Slowly, a sturdy arm pulled Neku to sitting, leaning his body back into something warm, but lacking breath and a pulse. It was too broad to be Joshua, confirmed when the other hand slipped away to take an offered bowl of water.

Hanekoma was in human form again. Human-ish, at least.

“Drink, kiddo.”

“I’m twenty,” Neku protested before coughing up a little blood, realizing that was the first full sentence out of his mouth to the former barista.

“Hey, all humans are kids to me,” Hanekoma laughed. “J, he needs his throat patched up too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joshua whined, leaning forward to place three fingers against Neku’s neck. Immediately, Neku felt a wave of calm wash over, and his throat felt clear. “Now drink, before I whip you up an IV. I can patch you up, but I’m not magically refilling you with lost fluids. I don’t have the brainspace right now for that.”

Neku slowly downed the water, leaning heavily into Hanekoma. “I don’t have the brainspace to brain for at least a week.”

“I don’t think any of us do,” Hanekoma added. “I’m not even sure how I’m back to any kind of sanity as it is.”

Joshua rolled his eyes and refilled the water bowl with a gesture. “Enough of you was sane enough to be worried.”

“You brought a living human as bait, J! Of course I was worried.”

“It worked.”

“That doesn’t make it—” Hanekoma hissed, squeezing Neku’s shoulders a little too hard.

“I missed you,” Neku cut in. “It looked like all of Shibuya did, even though they never knew who you were.”

“Of course they knew,” Hanekoma said gently. “I was the local barista, ready with a good cup ‘o joe. I was the artist that painted the town red.”

“All the Reapers I spoke to had nothing but praise for you,” Neku continued. “I ran all over the city today finding that out.”

Neku felt the single loud thump of a heartbeat from the ethereal body keeping him upright. “Really now?”

“None of them knew you had a connection to the game either,” Neku continued, getting a second wind. “They just praised CAT’s art and WildKat’s coffee.”

“Hmph.”

“Won’t you come back, Sanae?” Joshua asked, a pleading smile on his lips. “It’s been too long.”

“I wish I could, J.”

“What do you mean you wish? You’re an Angel, for Someone’s sake!”

“Er, about that,” Hanekoma said, scratching the back of his head. “I’m… well. I’m not not an angel, I guess. But this is my punishment.”

“You’re definitely under supervision,” Joshua said testily. “Your warden was more annoying than anything else.”

“I take offense to that,” Hanekoma’s voice reverberated through all three of them.

Joshua nearly growled. “You know, you could have skipped the theatrics. If you wanted us gone, you could have Erased us, or just booted us out.”

Neku blinked the last of the daze away. “Hold on. I’m missing something here.”

“Remember how we passed a million billion WildKats and Sanaes and Shibuyas trying to find this place?” Joshua grumbled. “And how Sanae knew what we were doing? Angels have a singular hive mind. Mostly. I’m not actually an Angel, mind you—sort of just a hatchling, an infant. But he’s a real-deal Higher Plane beastie.”

Neku frowned, putting up a finger, lost in thought. Hanekoma went to speak, only for Joshua to shush him.

“Neku’s smart enough to put the pieces together. Give him a moment.”

“I gave him at least a concussion, if not brain damage, J.”

“Which I fixed.”

“The building.” Neku’s face sharpened into a frown.

Joshua and Hanekoma turned their heads to Neku, now sitting upright unassisted as he bopped his finger to his own internal music, slotting what he knew in place. “You said the building was an angel. This building, this whole thing, is this dimension’s Mr. H. All of the other yous are mad at you, aren’t they?”

Hanekoma nodded, exhaling a sigh. “I’m… sort of still an angel. But they cut me off from the Hive and took my inspiration. I can’t leave until I have them back.”

“I’m going to have a word with Management.” Joshua hoisted himself off the shrapnel-pocked floor, stomping a foot. “Elevator, if you please.”

“J, you’re crazy.”

“Aware. So?”

The three heard a ding as a concrete cube rose from the floor, the elevator with it. It opened with a smooth motion, the door already fixed but the interior still caked in paint.

“Am I the hostage negotiator, or can all of us go?” Joshua asked the elevator, irritated, arms crossed and wing-feathers fluffed in annoyance. In response, the elevator ballooned sideways, expanding the interior to accommodate three adults and one massive pair of wings.

“All right,” Joshua sighed out. “Everybody in.”

Xxx

The elevator hummed pleasantly and dinged, opening back up to the pearly-white entryway. The large front doors—triangular shards of crisscrossing stained glass—were blocked off by an aggressive black chain and padlock. A gleaming solid front desk sat at the entryway with a bored Hanekoma flipping lazily through a completely blank magazine. He shot them a grin; Neku noticed he was missing a tooth.

“Ah, hello. Thanks for giving me one heck of a sore throat, J.”

“Can it. I’m busting him out,” Joshua snapped, straight to the point.

Hanekoma put down the magazine, all high-gloss and solid-white pages. “Oh? How?”

Joshua pointed at the door, the chain and lock melting like acid under his gaze. “The front door, how else? Unless you want a few more teeth popped out.”

“That isn’t what I meant, J,” Hanekoma-behind-the-counter said simply. “Your me isn’t an angel right now. You take him out of here and he’s a mortal. I give him a few decades, tops. Stay and he’ll pay his price eventually; won’t you, you sorry excuse for a me?”

Joshua’s Sanae wrung his hands. “I’ll head back up. I did say you didn’t need to come for me, J.”

“If you leave before your sentence is up… you’re mortal?” Joshua asked, his voice cracking a little.

“Yeah, sorry Boss. I’ll take the long way ‘round.”

Neku frowned, scratching at some dried paint on his cheek. “Hang on. What is his sentence exactly? Josh, you said yours was being banned from the RG, but nothing stopped you from letting me see the UG.”

Joshua broke out into a nasty grin. “Ohhhhhhhh Neku, dear. I need to have you get brain damage more often.”

“No,” Neku interjected flatly.

“Aw, it was only a temporary inconvenience. Anyway, Sanae—either of you—what is his exact punishment from the Higher Plane? I want the full contract.”

The glass world’s Sanae slid him the blank magazine. “They were pretty thorough.”

Xxx

When Neku turned his back on the front desk, a couch, two chairs, and a coffee table, all in different shades of blinding alabaster, existed under the overhang just to the side of the entryway. The tinkle of stained-glass-shard rain peppered the overhang roof and a rainbow of garish light streaked in between the storm clouds outside. Joshua lifted his wings, draped them over the back of the sofa, and got to reading.

The only sounds were the tinkling of the rain, Joshua’s ever-ticking watch, and the occasional turn of a page.

Neku tapped his fingers on his jeans. “Can I do anything?”

“No,” muttered Joshua, half in thought flipping through the plain pages.

“Haven’t you done enough?” asked the bored warden, slouching at his desk.

“I could… clean the elevator,” Neku offered, trying to figure out something to do. He was definitely caught in some sort of celestial war, played out in miniature. Everything was over his head right now as he looked sideways to the glass-world Hanekoma. He looked the same as all the others—rolled-up button down, slacks, waistcoat, watch, sandals, sunglasses, messy hair—though he did seem a bit more… shiny, like light was reflecting off of him. Neku didn’t want to consider what it meant for him to both be standing at the front counter as well as being the entire building.

“You’d do that?” the glass angel questioned, confused.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m just standing here. And it’s partially my fault that happened. More so if it’s hurting you.”

“Angels aren’t people, Neku,” he replied, handing him a bucket of soapy water from nowhere. “We don’t feel pain.”

“You’re clearly in pain,” Neku shot back in a whisper after Joshua rustled the magazine loudly, clearing his throat in a way reminding Neku to not disturb him. “Let me help.”

“Help, huh?” The glass Hanekoma smiled, the missing tooth returning to its space after a moment of static. “That’s a new thought.”

“Nobody’s ever helped you before?” Neku asked, concerned, as the elevator dinged and opened. He walked to it, both Sanaes following. One handed the other another bucket, then made one for himself. The three went inside and Neku took to the floor, carefully washing down the carpeting. The door slid closed and the three worked in silence.

“Not me, no,” the glass one admitted. “Not most of us. Angels don’t interact with your kind, or they really aren’t supposed to. I think some of us are jealous of the us from your world.” Another beat of silence. “I know I am.”

“Then why don’t you leave?” Neku asked.

“The other mes would make me a traitor, same as that one.” He jabbed his thumb at his duplicate. “In all honesty, I think it’s better than wasting away with only our own thoughts for company. All of us know it too—only that one said the quiet part out loud. There’s a small and finite number of angels, but an infinite number of each of us. One broken hive is a massive blow to the higher plane—kind of contradictory when you realize we run on Imagination. Think about it for five seconds and—”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Neku cut in, satisfied with the state of the floor, moving on to an aggressive teal spot on the wall. “If you run on Imagination but you’re made up as a ton of fragments that all have to think alike, any dissent and your own self turns on you. Seems a bit counterintuitive to have it that way.”

“The only possible outcome is to break apart from within,” Hanekoma agreed, but Neku wasn’t sure which one of them said it. Inside the elevator, the glass one didn’t have the odd shine he’d had in the foyer. At this point, he wasn’t sure it mattered.

Xxx

Neku and both Hanekoma exited the elevator, Joshua still pouring over the magazine. “They really did try and close every possible loophole,” he muttered. “I can’t see a way out… shy of killing you,” he added, looking up at the two angels. “And now I can’t even tell you apart.”

One of them smiled. “Neku just opened one up for you.”

“Oh?”

“Clause 16b.2.”

“Yes, ‘should the warden be unfit for service, Hanekoma is to serve the remainder of the sentence under a new warden.’ I was going to kill you and claim myself warden.”

“There’s no way the Higher Power would allow that. He’d just be transferred,” the other one said. Joshua raised an eyebrow to the first one—his Hanekoma. He slid his eyes between the two of them and the glass one scratched the back of his neck.

“Sit. I’ll get us something to drink.”

Neku shrugged and practically threw himself into one of the chairs, sighing as he sank into it. It was soft and warm and the light pinging of the rain overhead was lulling him to sleep.

“Stay awake,” Hanekoma ordered, pinching his elbow. “You started going see-through when you passed out last time—it’s what jolted me to consciousness. You aren’t coming all this way just for me to see you fade to nothing, Neku.”

Neku jolted upright, just as a steaming cup of coffee was placed in his hands. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” the glass Hanekoma said, determined. A third settee appeared between the other two; their captor-slash-host sat in it, placing a tray of coffee, tea, and snacks on the table between them. “And anyway, I’m unfit to be Hanekoma’s warden now. The Higher Plane may come for me soon. Though, soon here could be eons off. I know my time doesn’t run at the same pace as most of the other dimensions; that’s why I was picked to watch him. Joshua, they would never accept you under probation, but… Neku—you seem to be a favorite of upper management. Transferring to you shouldn’t be a problem. Hand him the contract, J.”

Neku blinked a bit of the daze from his eyes, downing the beverage. It felt like more than mere coffee, a solid glass of liquid courage, emboldening him.

Joshua hesitated, but passed the blank, glossy magazine sideways to Neku. He then stared down at the tray of offered snacks and carefully picked out a chessboard cookie, frowning at it, before biting the head off the knight’s horse.

Words swirled on the paper in Neku’s peripheral vision before he could see them straight off. “Can I get a translation?” he asked meekly, looking at the mess of block print before him.

“Did I not write it in Japanese?” Glass-Hanekoma asked.

“That’s not what I meant,” Neku sulked. “I can’t read lawyer.”

Joshua craned his neck sideways. “It’s a transferal of ownership contract. Standard language, except… hm. Neku, would you want to be an angel?”

Neku scrunched up his face. “Seeing what you deal with? No. I have enough trouble with artist’s block as it is. I’d rather it not be fatal.”

“Take out paragraphs eight and twenty, then.”

“Wait, this would have…”

“Made you one of us, yeah,” Joshua cut Neku off. “It does mean that if Hanekoma didn’t finish his sentence before you died, he would be mortal; so some sort of transferal clause needs to be added.”

Hanekoma snatched up the magazine, flicking it. “Consider it done. Sign and get out of here before I’m taken away too.” He grinned slyly. “Maybe I can keep the domino chain going. Wouldn’t the upper management just love that?”

Neku flicked his eyes to Joshua. “I still trust you, Josh. How’s it look?”

“We can take him with us. You’re his warden ‘til you die or his sentence is done, then you can renegotiate angelhood if you want.”

“But… what is his sentence?” Neku asked, looking between the now indistinguishable Hanekoma.

“I have to re-earn my Imagination: the human way.”

“No magic?”

“Some magic. About as much as Josh has. Which is a lot compared to you. Very little compared to before. And none at all when I’m not near my warden… though I’m not sure how near near is.”

“Don’t worry about that,” the second Hanekoma said, squeezing the first’s shoulder. “I’ve given you a little extra juice on your way. I’m sure they’ll take mine from me anyway. It’s enough to manifest your wings again, at least. Now get out of here, before there’s bigger problems. All of us is already tattling.”

“Bunch of assholes,” Hanekoma hissed under his breath.

“We both were, too. Well, me at least. Think you were always the black sheep. Now, sign and get.”

Joshua plucked a pen from nowhere, handing it to Neku who turned to the angelic twins. “You trust me?”

“With your life,” both Hanekoma said with a nod.

Neku signed with a flick of his wrist, the pull of slumber taking him again. He could barely hear Hanekoma and Joshua shout something as they hauled him upright at the torso.

With a jerk that felt like someone had tied a rope around his waist and then yanked on it from behind, Neku blinked his eyes open to Hanekoma’s shop, as destroyed as it was when they’d left it. He gasped for breath, completely winded and woozy, the world spinning around him until he succumbed, sliding out of Hanekoma and Joshua’s shared grip to bounce on the cracked tile floor.

Xxx

Hanekoma frowned, flapping feathered wings he forgot he’d missed. “J, you know you can’t throw yourself around the mortals—not like that. Not even to someone like him.” Carefully, Hanekoma pulled Neku out of the rubble, flinging his body over a shoulder. “Be glad he’s just passed out. If he stayed a moment longer in that dimension, he would have been gone. You could have killed him or worse.”

“But I didn’t,” Joshua insisted. “I needed him.”

“Did he know the risks?” Hanekoma asked roughly, finally free to yell at his former boss-and-ward without Neku overhearing. “He didn’t. You never told him.”

“You said in your notes that I’d be a strain on him. He had to know what that meant.”

“There’s a difference in knowing what your toned-down presence would do over a week versus what the full force of your power would do to him in a few hours,” Hanekoma chided. “He may have known the former, but you certainly didn’t tell him the latter.”

“What’s your point?” Joshua asked, watching Hanekoma shift Neku’s unconscious form into a more comfortable carry.

“My point is, stop breaking things, J. Stop treating everything like a broken bone that’s healing the wrong way. Not everything has to be shattered even more to fix it.”

“You were imprisoned by the Angels! All for trying to protect this city!” Joshua protested.

“I would have finished my sentence eventually,” Sanae countered in a calm and even tone. “I may have been in that place for eons, but it was—what? Three years here, maybe?”

“Five,” Joshua whimpered with a pout.

Hanekoma’s eyes flicked up and down Joshua, seemingly searching for something. “I’m putting Neku down in a room and warding it. He needs to recoup.”

Hanekoma turned on his heel to the shop backrooms, leaving Joshua standing confused in the mound of rubble.

Xxx

Whatever Hanekoma was doing, he was taking his sweet time. But Joshua heeded the barista’s words and waited, rolling his shoulders and slowly ratcheting his own wings back into the ether. Bored, he made himself a broom from Imagination and began idly sweeping up the chipped plaster and shattered tile. Eventually, Hanekoma returned to the shop portion of the building, eyeing Joshua.

“Physical labor? That’s a first.”

“I… I feel,” Joshua said, stopping to roll the broom handle in his fingertips. “I feel responsible.”

Hanekoma lowered his shades, peering over them. “Responsible. Who are you and what have you done with J?”

“I grew up, Sanae. Someone had to. You weren’t here. I have a new Conductor and Producer now.”

“What, so I’m outta a job?”

“I’m not kicking you out,” Joshua said, almost pleading. “You just don’t have any obligations. Other than your sentence, I guess.”

“With Neku as my warden,” Hanekoma sighed out. “You didn’t need to plan a jailbreak, J. You’ve waited longer than five years for things before. It’s hardly an eye-blink to people like us.”

Joshua slunk to the floor, defeated and boneless as he slid down the broom handle. A small cloud of debris puffed up around him as he went.

“Drama queen,” Hanekoma tsk’ed as he joined his former colleague on the floor, nesting his wings around himself. “I can’t say this isn’t nice though. Missed ya, J. Being honest, I don’t remember much at all from that place, anyway. Could’ve been a long time there before I became myself again without your little stunt.”

Joshua didn’t answer.

They sat in silence a few moments, then Hanekoma choked back a cry as his coworker—his friend—grabbed him from behind, wrapping his arms around him just under his wings. Hanekoma flapped them in surprise as Joshua buried his head in the down.

Angel and Reaper wings were their Soul; one didn’t just touch them—not without explicit permission. To touch someone’s wings meant someone else could feel what they did. Feel their joy, their disgust, their pain, or all at once.

Hanekoma didn’t pull away. He could hear—just barely, but it was there—Joshua sobbing silently into his back. Joshua was, for the first time in his so-called-life, showing Hanekoma a vulnerability he didn’t know the other even possessed. Slowly, the barista relaxed both sets of shoulders, taking on more and more of Joshua’s weight until his Composer was literally leaning on him as much as metaphorically.

Seconds ticked away from Joshua’s Pegasso crystal-quartz watch, which turned to minutes, then a solid half hour. Slowly, Hanekoma felt the weight lift.

“You let me,” Joshua said, a bit hoarse, patting the down where wing phased through clothes.

“You needed it, J. Pain shared is pain halved. I was happy to listen.”

“You didn’t want to be saved,” Joshua said sharply. “Forgive me for feeling like you were ungrateful. But… you weren’t. You were protecting me from the angels and a sentence like yours. You were a fall guy.”

“Yes,” Hanekoma said slowly. “I didn’t want you to suffer, too. Not being visible to the RG is hardly a penalty compared to what I have.”

“Pain shared is pain halved,” Joshua threw back at him, wiping snot off his face. If he’d been in his teenage form, he would have looked like just another kid. But Joshua was an ugly crier, and as an adult, he just looked silly—more so with a few errant feathers from Hanekoma’s back stuck to his dripping snot and hair.

“Wash up—the backroom sink works,” Hanekoma insisted, flapping his wings a few times to get rid of any other loose feathers. “I need to do some tidying, anyway.”

Joshua reverently ran his fingers through the shoulder of Hanekoma’s left wing. “Clean the shop all you want; you know all about me and dirt. But leave this part to me.”

Xxx

“I kinda expected more, Sanae.” Joshua leaned in the doorframe, pristine as her always presented himself to the public.

“I’m not exactly going to waste my magic, Boss.” Hanekoma went back to wiping down the countertops with a wet rag. The only change Joshua could see was all the broken furniture piled in a corner, with the floor debris in an equally uncoordinated pile.

“The human way?” Joshua asked with a smirk.

“If I’m not your Producer, I need a little art project to keep me busy.”

“Wouldn’t really call fixing a coffee shop art,” Joshua scoffed.

“It’s not not art, though,” Hanekoma countered, flinging the wet rag on a shoulder and smiling at the dented, but still functional, kettle on the burner, whistling away. “Tea?”

“Mm,” Joshua hummed with a nod. “Also, Neku’s phone was ringing nonstop.” He pulled his own from a pocket. “Oh. It’s past ten PM. Someone’s probably been wondering what happened to him. Least it’s still the same day we left.” Joshua cracked a small smile. “Gone for a week and the mortals think you’re dead or something.”

Hanekoma threw the rag square in Joshua’s face, storming past him to go retrieve the offending cell phone.

Xxx

Hanekoma sat on one of the two useable stools, Joshua behind him on the other, sipping tea from one hand while using the other to pull out stuck feathers. The barista unlocked Neku’s phone, scrolling through twenty missed calls. “Shiki. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”

“You planning to call?”

“I should. Neku’s probably going to need a day or more to recuperate. And then you’re going to call his mother and let her know he’s sick with a fever.”

“Can’t. RG people can’t perceive me for another few years, remember? Phone calls included.” He grinned toothily. “You’ll just have to clean up the mess for me.”

Hanekoma sighed, stretching out his wings a little so Joshua could pull out all the powder down stuck from his eons of not taking care of himself, and pressed a familiar name in the missed calls history. “Hello? Shiki?”

“Oh my god, is this the police? Where’s Neku?”

“Shiki,” Hanekoma smiled a little, glad for a familiar voice. “It’s… Hanekoma Sanae—the café shop owner on Cat Street.”

Hanekoma waited patiently as Shiki processed what that meant. “If Neku is dead, I’m wringing a long line of necks. Joshua’s first; something tells me this is his fault.”

Joshua laughed hard enough to slam forward into the angel’s back; Sanae shot him a glare. “Neku is alive, but he’s taken a massive hit of Imagination. He’s probably going to sleep a day or two.”

“But he’s alive.”

“Alive and in no pain, with no injury. Mortals just can’t handle being around a city Composer too long.” Hanekoma glared over his shoulder at a snickering young-looking man in a lilac button down.

“I’m coming over there,” Shiki insisted. “And Joshua better be ready to take a knee to the balls.”

“Unfortunately, you won’t be able to see or hear him, but hang on,” Hanekoma said, pushing back on the deadweight behind him with his wings. “I’m putting you on speaker. Feel free to yell at him—I already have.”

Hanekoma clicked to speakerphone, maximizing the volume and holding the phone out behind him.

“Go ahead, Shiki. He can hear you.”

Shiki took in a deep breath, expelling a gasp of colorfully laced expletives so pointed Joshua’s hair began to catch fire. The moment she was out of breath, she slammed the end-call button with enough force that Joshua’s wings twitched, even within their aether.

“Josh, you’d better be out of my shop before she gets here or you’re going to be in deep shit.”

“I didn’t realize someone who played the Game before could deal that much splash damage,” Joshua complained, patting out the embers on the edges of his loose curls.

“You were human once yourself, J. Now bolt before she sets all of you on fire.”

“Good night to you too,” Joshua grumped, crossing his arms as he slid off the seat, leaving Hanekoma’s wings in a worse looking state than when he’d started. He saluted awkwardly to the sighing barista, disappearing out into the night.

Xxx

“How are you holding up, kiddo?”

Neku rubbed the crust out of his eyes. “What year is it?”

“Same one you were in before this mess.” Hanekoma smiled. “You slept away three days, though. I impersonated you on the phone to your mom and college—hope that’s alright.”

“So it’s…”

“Monday night. Six PM. Josh’s going to stay away from you for a while.”

“That why I feel like shit?”

“Mhmm. You want me to bring you in some food?”

“Bathroom,” Neku complained.

“Think mine still works.”

“You think?”

“Neku, I’m not human. I’ve never needed it.”

Xxx

“So now what?” Neku bit into his burger; nothing Hanekoma made, but then again, his kitchen was mostly still in shambles.

“I guess I rebuild. Maybe I take some art classes at community college.”

“Then I’m helping.”

“No, you’re-”

Neku glared up from his dinner. “That’s not up for debate. I’m your prison warden, remember? I help and in return, you let me paint in here.”

Hanekoma laughed. “You don’t even need to ask permission for that.”

“Oh, so I can tag every wall, floor, and ceiling in this bombed out husk of a deserted island?”

The barista frowned, leaning forward on the counter. “That didn’t get me any closer to having any inspiration, you know.”

“And I think that’s a lie,” Neku replied, crossing his arms. “Josh didn’t see it either. Maybe the individual components were copies, but that space you made in that other place was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Incredible doesn’t even begin to describe it. Nothing we do is truly unique anyway; we’re always working off the backs of those who came before us. It’s what voice we add to that conversation that makes our art what it is and… I should really be following my own advice. Hang on. I’m making a few calls, and you’re not stopping me.”

Neku pulled out his phone and rolled through his contacts list. “Hey, Sho. I’ve got a destroyed café here ripe for a giant-ass chandelier. You in?”

“Neku,” the other end of the line sounded annoyed. “I don’t do electrical.”

“So? You do the sculpture; I’ll get someone else to wire.”

“It’s going to be made of trash.”

“Why do you think I called your ass? Take notes; here’s the address.”

Xxx

“I haven’t done heavy lifting in… forever,” Hanekoma said, wiping actual sweat off his brow. It was a weird feeling, being sort-of human, but he couldn’t say he didn’t like it. The past six weeks had been a whirlwind with Neku in charge, directing a steady stream of ethereal beings— self included— into a massive renovation of his shop. The place was an explosion of color and life, an irony in real time to contrast the lack of both on the owner.

“Quit complaining,” Uzuki demanded, hauling the other end of the new bar counter. “If I can get Kariya to lift your tables in, you can help with your own damn high-top.”

“The one you danced on,” Hanekoma said with a grin, looking down at the hot purple and neon orange footprints crisscrossing the acrylic-sealed bar counter. The two had tangoed across a plank, then encased it for eternity in enough two-stage resin that it would never fade—Neku was particularly proud of that collaboration. Uzuki pushed the shop door with her shoulder, so both of them could bring the counter inside.

“—and you don’t need to hold that ladder, Neku.”

“I don’t want you falling,” Neku snapped back, looking up at the Reaper wiring in the shop’s new light fixture. It looked like a vending machine had exploded on the ceiling, and Hanekoma loved it.

“Neku, I can fly,” Triple Seven replied, waving a pair of wire strippers. He was flapping his wings to show those off as well, not that Neku could see them from the RG.

“My masterpiece can’t,” Sho grumbled from the corner, looking on in a mix of horror and awe as Seven worked his stage rigging magic to get the recycled-bottle chandelier hooked into the building’s wiring.

“Look, it’s way easier for me to do this if I’m not trying to balance,” Seven sighed out. “Sho, get up here and hold it in place, so I can finish. Neku, go help do something that doesn’t involve a ceiling or frying yourself on open electricals.”

Sho sighed, stood up, and vanished back into the UG, flapping up to hold the sculpture as Seven jumped off the ladder. Neku winced, unable to see either of them.

“If you can hear me, I’m going to check on Shiki and her friends making chair cushions.” Sho rattled the ladder with his foot, and Neku smiled. “Hey, Mr. H, your shop’s haunted.”

“I’d be more worried if it wasn’t.”

Xxx

“So?” Hanekoma slid a ceramic cup down the acrylic to Neku. “Get your grade back yet?”

“Semester ends in January, Mr. H; it’s gonna be a while yet. How about your magic?”

“While this helped, no. It’ll be a while yet for me too. Can’t complain about the décor, though.”

Hanekoma and Neku grinned, taking in the space. Except for one section of wall painted with chalkboard paint for patrons to go wild doodling on, every square inch of the shop was covered in art altogether dizzying and explosively contrast in design.

“Opens tomorrow, right? My teacher is coming around again to see it.”

“Soft open today though.”

“Sign said closed,” Neku pointed out with his teaspoon.

“Maybe for the living.”

“Ah, a few reapers pass by?” Neku asked with a smile. “Hey, make a bet with you.”

“What?”

“How many days the shop’s open before a paying customer draws a dick on your wall.”

“Zero.”

Neku looked sideways as a handful of change bounced across the counter, Sho coming into view. He downed his already half-drunk coffee and loped to the chalkboard to vandalize it. Neku flicked his eyes at the empty tables and chairs, a massive grin breaking out on his face as every single one was filled in with a Reaper, raising glasses in toast.

“We all needed someplace to stay,” Hanekoma said on the room’s behalf. “Thanks for giving us a home. It’s still pretty broken and lopsided, but I promise we’ll keep the lights on.”

“Mr. H, this was already your home.”

He shook his head. “No, Neku. It was only a shop.”

“If its home, does that mean the drinks are free?” A few reapers turned to the furthest corner of the room—Joshua grinned, sitting backwards in his chair.

“J, what did I say about coming ‘round when Neku’s here?” Hanekoma scolded.

“…Don’t?”

“Short bursts only, lest you want to clean up the exploding brains on the wall.”

Neku shrugged. “It’ll probably add to the ambiance.”

#TWEWY #The World Ends With You #TWEWY Bang 2020 #Subarashiki Kono Sekai #divisionten #submission

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pbandjesse · 4 years ago

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Day number 3 at this new job. Again I have mixed feelings!! It wasnt bad but I was pretty uncomfortable and that made it harder. But it wasnt a bad day overall.

I didnt sleep as well last night. Waking up was a lot harder. I did wake up at 8 like I wanted but I didnt get out of bed until almost 9. And really I only got up because James made crepes and I was excited about that.

I got dressed, but just in leggings and a sweater. I would change into my overall dress later. I had my crepes and felt pretty good. I worked on some drawing. I chilled. I wandered around the apartment. I had lunch. It was a nice morning. James went for a bike ride so I was alone for a while. Did some cleaning. Need to do more. But It was a nice morning. I felt productive. I also just skated around the living room for a few minutes. But not very long. Im trying to skate at least a few minutes every day. Im getting more and more comfortable. I hope to go outside in them this weekend. Well see how the weather is.

I left for work a little after James got back. I got changed into my work shirt, that I hate, and my skirtoveralls. Felt cute.

But apparently not everyone thought so. Because when I got to work the supervisor made a comment asking if I had something I could change into. Because she felt like my dress was to short. I was really surprised. Like I have worn this to work for a long time. Never had a problem before. And I said as much. But I was embarrassed. Everyone else in the room said I was fine because I had leggings on. But I was super uncomfortable for the rest of the day. Like I felt like a spot light was on me. And even though that probably wasnt true, I just felt really bad. I honestly think that its because Im chubby. That it just looked like I had my thighs out? I dont know. The dress was only slightly shorter than my fingertips. When I got home James said he didnt think it was to short and that I was alright. But it wasnt fun feelings so self conscious all day.

But being with the actual kids was great. I was with 2nd graders today and that class was bigger with 8 kids. But they were sweet. I sat at a desk and watched them. Had to keep reminding them about focusing on class and not on me. I know I'm fascinating but you got class. Its funny though because this class understood who I was the least. It was all good.

I spent a lot of their class time drawing. I did help them with some work but mostly I just drew. I am really excited about how my drawing came out today. I figured out I can zoom in when I draw! A game changer. And Im getting better with coloring in so its not so flat! Im really excited with how it came out but now I feel like I have to go back over the other drawings. But I think thats just how its going to go. Working on those drawing muscles that I dont use all that much.

Around 3 we all went out to the lunch area to hang out. Its a weird system to me but its alright. I set up a table for drawing and for painting and the kids were so pumped!!! That was nice to see. I was very popular. And it was a lot of fun seeing what they drew. A lot for Valentines day, because they are having a door decoration contest. 3rd grade really wants me to be in their class tomorrow to help with that so Im going to see what supplies I could bring to help make stuff for that. Im thinking my poster board markers? Well see.

I was there until 545 again. Letting kids draw on my tablet. Its fun to show them how to draw digitally. It reminds me of me playing with MS paint back in the day. Its a lot of fun.

I was happy to go home though. I left there and was happy to see my James when I got here. He was making us falafel. I was bummed because he had wheat pita but then he had regular ones and I was super happy.

It was a good dinner. And then I spent the next hour retooling my drawings from yesterday. Im excited to see how this drawing comes out. I hope to have more ideas for drawings. Because I want to get better at this and it feels good to learn a new thing.

I had breadpudding and then James made us cookies. I had one, saved the rest for tomorrow. And then I took an excellent bath.

Now I am in bed. Hanging out. Waiting for my hair to dry. And soon I will sleep.

I hope tomorrow is good. Its the kids half day and Im not sure what the rest of their day looks like. So wish me luck. I dont know anything about the day! But I just gotta hope that its just a good time. Goodnight everyone. Sleep good! Be happy!

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komahinasecretexchange · 5 years ago

Text

Title: Traditions

Author: @dailyservingofhope

For: @hiddenkamukuraproject

Rating/Warnings: PG-13 (A few vague sexual references, Nagito joking about death, alcohol mention)

Prompt: Going out on Halloween and having fun

Author’s notes: AU where the tragedy didn’t happen. 100% pure organic fluff.

“You’ve never been trick-or-treating?!” Nagito smiled and raised his hands in a placating gesture, “Sorry, I had no one to take me when I was a kid. But it’s fine! It ended up being good luck!” “‘Good’?” Hajime asked pointedly as he rested his coffee mug on their kitchen counter. Nagito had a way of twisting things to fit his strange worldview. “I gave out candy instead. Since I could afford full bars of chocolate for all the other kids, I became sort of popular for a little while… at least until they got to know me better.” “That’s not the point,” Hajime said, “I just get upset when I think about your childhood. It’s not fair that you missed out on so much.” He felt robe-cloaked arms wrap around his waist and a soft peck on his forehead. “Don’t worry. I’m fine, promise,” Nagito reassured him. Hajime grumbled in response, wondering if it was okay to be annoyed at his partner’s cute attempt at deflecting. Sometimes Hajime felt that he was more bothered by Nagito’s troubles than Nagito himself. 'Fine’ to him often meant 'Not in the hospital’. How much disappointment and grief did he suffer in his youth before the bar lowered that much? This wasn’t about some silly holiday tradition, this was about making him feel included, and giving him access to experiences that most people took for granted. “You shouldn’t feel sorry for me, you know,” Nagito gently chided him. “I don’t,” Hajime said, worried that Nagito noticed his increasingly pitying expression during their conversation. “Good. Because I secretly switched your coffee with decaf.” “What?! Nagito!” “I’m just kidding. You always look at me like I’m a kicked puppy when I tell you about my past. I prefer it when you’re annoyed with me. Your voice gets this adorable lilt to it.” “No, it doesn’t! I… think?” Nagito chuckled. “Look, it’s not pity,” Hajime sighed, “I’m just worried you feel like an outsider because you had such a different childhood experience than many of us. It’s important to me that you feel welcome and have lots of happy memories. And if I have to take you trick-or-treating this weekend to make that happen, then I’ll do it.” Nagito’s face lit up, “You want to go trick-or-treating with me?” Aware that he just invited Nagito on a date involving an activity generally enjoyed by children still in the single digits of age, Hajime backpedaled, “Wait! I-It’s okay if you don’t want to! I know we’re too old for it, and we told Ibuki we’d be at her Halloween party, so we’ll get to dress up, anyway. There’s no pressure-” “I would love to! We can pick out costumes this afternoon!” Fear of embarrassment ranked high on Hajime’s list of top motivators, but it was nothing compared to Nagito’s sweet face. He couldn’t back out now. “O-okay! Sounds great!” ___ Hajime pulled a scarf around his mouth to warm the crisp, fall air flowing into his lungs. Yellowed leaves danced on the sidewalk with every breeze as he and Nagito strolled through the city. Their destination was a costume shop located in a quaint, less-trafficked district, popular among the dating crowd for its restaurants and shopping. They found it nestled between a cafe and a boutique clothing store. Walls painted black and covered in wheatpasted underground band adverts gave an eccentric touch that made it stand out from the conservatism of the surrounding businesses. Through the windows, there was a display of the typical bats and pumpkins, along with more unnerving props like costumed mannequins covered in fake blood and gaping wounds. Cosplayers and street fashionistas were the store’s year-round clientele, but nearing the holiday, they widened their selection to include Halloween costumes. Hajime pulled open the door for Nagito, “Have any ideas about what you want to be?” “Dead?” Nagito offered. “I really wish you wouldn’t joke about that.” “Aren’t ghosts popular this time of the year?” With a deadpan expression, Hajime poked Nagito in the belly. He then turned his attention to the racks and shelves, not wanting to take the bait. As they perused the aisles together, Nagito suddenly snatched a large package off a rack and hid it behind his back, “I’m going to try something on. No peeking!” Hajime continued to browse while his partner thrashed around in the fitting room. A rather seductive vampire costume caught his attention, and he briefly lost himself in a daydream involving Nagito and lots of sexy nibbling all over his body until he heard someone walk up behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. The glance turned into a double take. To say that Nagito was dressed up as a dog was about as true as saying The Big Bang Theory was a comedy. There was an element of objective truth to it, but it failed spectacularly to articulate that everything else about it was an abomination. The costume was like a long fuzzy tube, white on the belly and black and tan along the back, indicating it was probably intended to be a corgi. The head perched on top of Nagito’s head, its mouth gaping around his face as if it were a python swallowing its prey whole. His feet, which were only just visible from the bottom of the tube, were adorned with paw slippers. The hand-paws were so padded and fluffy that they appeared useless for any practical purpose other than being cute. “How do I look? Wanna be my owner for Halloween? I’ll let you walk me on a leash and give me commands! I know how to beg and lay down!” Nagito said as he shook his rear to make the stubby tail wag. Hajime blushed, looking around to see if anyone overheard, “Shhh! There will be kids around, so nothing… kinky!” “I would never do something I thought was weird around impressionable youth!” “That’s the problem, what you think is weird is a whole world away from what everyone else thinks is weird…” Hajime looked him up and down, “So why this, of all things?” “Most of these costumes aren’t really appropriate around children. What did you think I’d be? A sexy demon? A sexy cat boy? A sexy werewolf? A sexy…” “I get the point… they are a bit provocative, aren’t they?” “Don’t use big words like 'provocative’. I’m just a silly little dog!” he whined, covering his face with his paws in mock shame. “God, Nagito, can you be normal for like one second?” Hajime said, turning away to hide his laughter. Nagito closed the distance, picking up his hand and kissing it. He looked down into his eyes with a charming smile and whispered, “But this is what you like about me, right? There’s no way someone would ever go out with me for any rational reason. Doesn’t that make you abnormal too?” Hajime shivered at his touch. Even dressed in the most absurd getup he’d ever seen, Nagito was still hot, and when he cranked up the charm, he had a terrifying ability to render Hajime as helpless as a fawn. He pushed Nagito away, hoping he didn’t notice, “I-I guess I just don’t know how you do it. You can be so confident sometimes. I’d be afraid of wearing that in public.” “There’s a difference between confidence and being so resigned to loss that you stop feeling anxiety over the little things,” he said, a bit sadly. “Besides, it’s fun!” He waved his paws comically to accentuate the point. “Now we have to find something fun for you to wear.” “Okay, but let’s go by MY definition of fun.” “Whatever you say, Hajime,” Nagito beamed. His eyes darted around, then settled on a mustache and beard set which he handed to Hajime, “How about this? You can go as a grumpy old man. Bonus! You won’t have to be seen with me.” “Oh, come on.” Hajime said, snatching it from him. He looked it over then held it up to his face in front of a mirror. “Hey, I could go as Izuru Kamukura,” he joked, referencing their old high school’s founder. Nagito folded his arms and side-eyed him, “Don’t get all full of yourself now, Hajime.” He then backed away as Hajime approached him with a toy sword taken from a rack. “Wait! What do you plan on doing with that?!” ___ “Happy Halloween!” Hajime, who had been sleeping quite peacefully until then, would have fallen out of bed in fright if a heavy weight had not subsequently landed on him. He opened his eyes to find Nagito sprawled out over his lap. “Sorry, I missed you. I couldn’t wait any longer,” Nagito said. Hajime slammed Nagito on the back of the head with his pillow, “Being cute won’t save you this time.” “Noooo, don’t kill me! I’ve never been kissed!” “Yes, you have.” “Could you remind me?” Nagito said, puckering his lips. Hajime played along and kissed him, “There, now I can kill you.” Moments later, Nagito flew through the air from a good whack from the pillow. Their day went on with the two enjoying horror movies playing in the background as they enjoyed a peaceful afternoon together. After the sun set, they prepared themselves for the night ahead. Hajime had settled on being a black cat, largely because it worked as a couple’s costume, but also just looking at Nagito’s cumbersome outfit made a simple and light costume seem more appealing. The set consisted only of ears and a tail, with a fluffy black sweater and black jeans from his closet to complement it. There was also ancient makeup in the back of a drawer from his scene kid phase which was totally just an ironic experiment and definitely not anything he ever took seriously. He leaned over their bathroom sink to get a better look in the mirror as he used an old eye pencil to draw whiskers, a nose, and thick eyeliner with wings that swept out half an inch. “Who said scene was dead?” Nagito said, as he smirked at him in the mirror. “Hey, I can’t help it that I can do a perfect cat-eye.” “Can you do my makeup sometime?” “Oh please, Nagito, you don’t need it. People would kill for your lashes.” “You know, you’re starting to sound a little… catty.” Hajime groaned at the pun. He reached an arm behind him to blindly swat at his partner, only succeeding in stirring the air around as Nagito dodged the attack, “Is being sarcastic the only thing you’re good for? Why aren’t you dressed yet?” “I will, it’s just hard to move very well in it and I wanted to bother you more effectively.” Nagito draped his arms over Hajime’s shoulders and leaned in. “Actually, I’d like to thank you. I know you get scared of embarrassing situations, so for you to take someone like me out doing something meant for kids, knowing people will look at us funny… It’s sweet of you.” “Why do you think I’m putting on makeup? If all goes well, I won’t even recognize myself.” He chuckled, “But in all seriousness, you know I’d do anything for you.” Nagito buried his face into Hajime’s neck and said nothing. ___ “Everyone looks so happy!” Nagito said, gazing at the lively scene. Costumed kids flocked together at doors or ran around screaming and laughing in excitement. With jack-o’-lanterns on every porch and fake spider webbing drooping from trees, the neighborhood oozed Halloween spirit. Hajime caught himself staring at his adorable partner, “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. Are you ready for some trick-or-treating?” “Tell me what to do! I’ve never done this before!” “Come on, you know what to do. Here, try this house.” “What if they yell at me because I’m too old?” “In that case, we threaten to egg their house, then run away.” He responded, hoping Nagito wouldn’t take it as a serious suggestion. Nagito’s eyes swirled. “I wonder if we’ll get chased. That would be exciting,” he said breathily. “You seem a little too excited by that…” Nagito wasn’t listening, he was already halfway up the driveway of a house. Hajime remained by the street to watch while Nagito knocked on the door. An old woman appeared. She looked him up and down as his outstretched arms presented her with a wicker basket ready for filling. “Trick-or-treat!” She gave a tactful, patient smile, “You’re so cute, but aren’t you too old for this?” “My boyfriend is forcing me to do this,” Nagito said, “He’ll be angry if I don’t come back with anything.” “Oh my… well, here…” She dropped a few pieces of candy into his basket, “You look like a sweet boy, you should get away from that awful man. Good luck, dear.” “Yes ma'am! Thank you!” Nagito chirped as he skipped back to the street, somehow managing not to trip over his slippers. “I couldn’t hear you guys, but it seemed to go well?” Hajime asked. “She wasn’t going to give me a treat, so I tricked her.” “Nagito, she was like… 80.” “It’s the Halloween code. I don’t make the rules.” “What did you say to her?” “Nothing to worry about. Let’s go on to the next house!” ___ “Really? You’re trick-or-treating at this age?” “I’m dying of lymphoma, it’s my final wish to trick-or-treat one last time.” “Oh my goodness, of course! Have as much candy as you want!” “Thanks!” Nagito said graciously as he took a few pieces. Hajime looked at him askance when he returned. “Wow, you’re getting a lot of candy. I… honestly wasn’t expecting this…” he said, gesturing at Nagito’s nearly overflowing basket. It seemed like every house in the neighborhood was eager to give him everything they had. “Yeah! Everyone has been so nice!” “I’m glad you’re having a good time, but what are we going to do with all this candy? You don’t even like sweets.” “I had no intention of keeping the candy, Hajime, this was all just for fun.” Nagito’s smile transformed into a grin. “But now that you’ve brought it up, there’s something I’ve wanted to do all night.” Hajime watched as Nagito trotted towards a group of teenagers. Sneaking up behind them, he reached into his basket and tossed a chocolate bar over their heads. They jerked back in surprise, and as they turned to see where it had come from, they were immediately pelted with handful after handful of candy. The next minute was pure pandemonium. Children ran from across the street to join in the fun, grabbing as much candy as they could while it rained down on them. And somehow in that moment, with the kids cheering and Nagito laughing joyfully among that beautiful chaos, Hajime swore his boyfriend never looked so handsome. Yeah, even despite the costume. ___ Ibuki’s Halloween party was well underway by the time Hajime and Nagito arrived. Blaring music greeted them at the door before she did. “You made it! Look at Nagito, so cuuuute! And Hajime, Ibuki loves your makeup! Meowwwww!” Being a world-famous musician, she could afford the finer things. Her house, which better resembled goth night at a club than a habitable dwelling, boasted enough space to host a party with room to spare for dancing. Witch-house played from an expensive sound system that cost more than Hajime and Nagito’s annual rent. It went without saying, Ibuki threw the best parties. Hajime hardly had a minute to take in the surroundings before Nekomaru had him and Nagito locked in a crushing hug. “Hahaha! We’re all here now!” Nekomaru beamed. “You made it, I am so happy!” Sonia said. “Yay.” Chiaki added in her trademark 'not sure if sincere or not’ tone of voice. “Look at you losers wearing a couple’s costume.” Saionji sneered as she eyed them up and down. Mahiru cleared her throat, “We are too, Hiyoko,” remarking on their Sailor Moon outfits. Saionji pouted, “But it’s cute when we do it!” “It’s too bad Teruteru died in that freak accident involving the helicopter tour over that active volcano, he would have liked to be here right now.” Souda said, idly scratching his head. Tsumiki dropped a piece of food on the floor and bent over to pick it up, showing her rear to everyone, “I’m sorry I’m so clumsy! I’m ruining everyone’s good time! Don’t worry about me!” “It’s okay, no one is worrying about you. No one is thinking about you at all!” Saionji cheered. “Waaaaaaaaah!!” Byakuya shook his head in disdain at Hajime and Nagito. “You’re late for the party, you missed out on donuts. Where are your priorities?” Akane’s mouth was too stuffed to respond, so she waved the last donut at them in greeting instead. Gundham held out his arms, letting his hamsters crawl up into his hands. “My Four Dark Devas are enraged at your tardiness for the most evil night of the year. Now the ritual can begin in earnest. Count yourself lucky that they have chosen not to kill you where you stand.” Peko had the eyes of a predator fixed on Nagito’s fluffy animal costume, while Fuyuhiko grinned and raised a shot glass containing an orange liquid, “Hey guys, come drink up! I brought juice!” Ibuki squealed, “Baby gangster is so adorable, only drinking mixer!” “I don’t need to drink alcohol to be cool!!” Amid all the shouting and arguing, Nagito turned to Hajime, “You know, this might be the best Halloween I’ve ever had.” “Same here. And I think you actually taught me a thing or two about the spirit of giving. Wrong holiday though.” “Yeah, too bad it doesn’t count.” Nagito grinned. “I’ll just have to fill up a stocking for you when Christmas comes around.” “I’d love that, Hajime! I’ve never had a stocking for Christmas before!”

#komahina #komahina secret exchange #fanfiction

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frogsandfries · 4 years ago

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Shit's just been weird

Finally got ahold of my diamond painting that I ordered. It's Bakery by Baelee Jae

And it's really lovely. The only reason I'm making insane progress on it is:

A: I'm entirely burned out. I'm having trouble adjusting to the shift from autumn into winter as told by the sun. Plainly, I hate that from ten until four, it could now be noon or ten or two or anybody's guess.

B: I'm excited about having something pretty on my wall. Finally. This is fairly simple to put together, just follow the clearly delineated process.

C: I desperately needed a three-day weekend for once. I'm so burned out, I feel like I don't even have any sticker ideas. I'm so burned out, I don't know what to do with myself.

Just the last couple days, I got a text from the "friend" in Oregon who caused my partner and myself to be homeless. It was another mewling, worthless post about trying to be better. Apparently, according to the cop here who came out, there's nothing that can be done since it was done on Facebook and why didn't you just block him. I didn't see any point in blocking him, since he'll just create a new account. But whatever. We have a case on file where we are.

According to the sergeant in Oregon, even though at one point we did pretend to play ball, mostly the repeated, unsolicited communications are considered digital/ telecommunicated harassment. So there may be a case there. Especially because this small-town officer probably knows this "friend" and his antics.

What's really..... idk, I'll just say it, the dude's engaged to a fat girl who looks vaguely like me and she wears plastic wigs??? When I left Oregon in early March, there wasn't a whisper that this dude even had any real friends, let alone any kind of love interest???? And now the dude is engaged????? Gross, honestly. I haven't spoken to this girl yet; apparently now it would be criminal to do so, according to a local cop there who is repeatedly, self-professedly a friend to this guy.

I'd like to confirm for myself that this dude is probably doing the same thing he's done with every previous person: All of these previous people who he was just trying to help, they really hurt him and they took from him and he's the real victim here!! So now I'm probably some horrible, awful person, or who knows, maybe my partner is the awful person and one day I'll come to my senses and go back to Oregon to be with my Knight in Shining Armor that I'll realize he truly is, but I'll be disappointed because he'll have someone who's So Much Better than me!!

I just feel sorry for her. But better her than me. This dude didn't even respect my wishes to be alone and wanted to use my emotions to manipulate me into ending my brand new relationship.

So anyway, diamond painting. Not really sure how I feel about it. I'm not sure there will be many designs/illustrations to come that will compel me to buy them and diamond paint them, but I guess they're are going to be times when I'm just utterly burned out and don't want to work on anything else? So maybe I should buy a couple more?

I actually have my eye on a couple more from Diamond Art Club. I haven't really looked much further, but if you happen to read this and know about any Harry Potter, Dr Who, or Ghibli themed diamond paintings, do let me know. I don't think I'll go entirely crazy, but I would love to have some posters or something that aren't entirely tacky or cheap-feeling, and I guess I just don't make time like I could or should for my actual cross-stitch projects. I have two cross-stitch posters in progress right now, one I'm actively working on and the other just waiting at the moment. By actively, I do mean, it's in a drawer, ready to be pulled out and worked on at any moment, but at this point, probably waiting for me to finish Bakery.

Honestly, some full-on painting/ illustrations, or really buckling down on the graphic novel, at this point, is probably the target goal. I have a brand new tablet and it's just waiting to help me make this graphic novel more than just a side project. I just look at some of these diamond paintings and think about the kinds of diamond paintings or posters I would like to have. These, for the most part, aren't it.

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lovemesomesurveys · 5 years ago

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What would you call your body type? Stick thin? *shrug*

Are you a morning person? Nooo, I sleep in late. I’m still crabby regardless of when I get up; though, and still feel tired and unrested and in serious need of coffee.

Have you ever been to Target? Countless times. I love Target.

Do you like iced tea? Sure. I couldn’t tell you the last time I had any, though.

When is the next time you’ll be at work? I don’t have a job.

Do you have a savings account? No.

Has anyone ever hacked your accounts before? Yes.

What color bedsheets are currently on your bed? They’re like an off white color.

Have you ever been to Disney World? If so, how many times have you been? Nope. I’ve been to Disneyland several times, though.

Does grammar and capitalization mean anything to you? It absolutely does.

Are you good at wrapping gifts for others? I’m not the best wrapper ever, but I do enjoy doing it.

Do you have a dirty clothes hamper in your room? Yes.

What would you say is your favorite television show? I have several.

Do you enjoy big holiday dinners? My family’s big holiday dinners got a lot smaller over the years, sadly. Now it’s just my parents, brother, and I. I love that, too, but I miss when more of my family was able to get together. Is your vision good? With my glasses on, yeah. ha.

Is there any piece of jewelry you’re constantly wearing? Nope.

What is one thing you desire as of now? To be able to fast forward through summer and also get back to some normalcy. I know things will be different now, but it’d be nice to get to a place where we didn’t have the fear of catching a highly contagious virus looming over our heads. Will it ever get to that point?

What kind of phone do you have? An iPhone XR.

If you could move anywhere, where would you choose? Somewhere with cooler weather year round. A place where you experience actual autumns and winters and not long, miserable summers.

Do you blog a lot, if at all? This is my blog.

Is your present hair color, natural? No.

What makes you the most angry when it comes to people? There’s a few things that come to mind, but I don’t want to get into that.

Describe your current outfit? Black leggings and a black shirt. My usual attire.

What was the last thing you ordered online? A couple of shirts for my mom and I. I want to order some of Bath & Body Works’ beachy scented hand soaps and body sprays as well. At least I can smell like the beach since I can’t go to one. :(

Have you ever felt as though you were drifting apart from a best friend? Yeah, and I did.

What color are your eyes? Brown.

Have you ever worn color contacts? Nope. I haven’t worn any contacts, just the idea of putting them in my eye and taking them out freaks me out.

What’s the best thing about a hug? They can be nice and comforting. They can also be awkward. It just depends.

Biggest fear? Losing my loved ones, death, never getting better/getting worse, never doing anything with my life....

If you have a significant other, how long have you been together? I’m single.

Do you know any genuinely friendly people? Yes.

Do you buy your friends gifts? I bought them birthday and Christmas gifts. What was the last thing you plugged in? My phone to the charger.

How old are you? 30.

What color headphones do you own? They’re black.

Have you ever shopped on Urban Outfitters? Yeah, just a couple of times. They’re way overpriced.

Where do you buy the majority of your clothing? BoxLunch, Hot Topic, and Kohl’s.

Would you rather wear necklaces or earrings? Earrings.

Do you consider yourself fortunate? I am in some ways.

Do you enjoy watching fights? Nooo.

Have you ever been in a physical fight? No.

Do you tend to talk badly about people? If I do it’s usually about people that have done stupid or ridiculous things that I hear or read about in the news.

Where are your parents as of now? They’re in bed asleep.

Does your computer cooperate most of the time? Yeah, I haven’t had any problems. It’s only about 3 years old.

Does your family have any cheesy traditions? Sure, but I love ‘em.

When did you last go to a book store? Sometime last year.

What’s the closest book store where you live? Barnes & Noble. How much money do you have on you right now? None.

Favorite personal feature? I like my hair sometimes like after it’s been recently colored and styled.

Are you wearing make up at the moment? Nope.

Favorite television channel? MTV, E!, The Hallmark Channel, ID.

Describe any piercings or tattoos you might have? I just have my earlobes pierced. No tattoos.

Have you ever been fired from a job? I’ve never had a job.

Are you currently losing a best friend? No.

Describe the worst day of your life: Let’s not.

Do you play any video games? Yeah. Currently, I’ve been super into Animal Crossing: New Horizons.

Would you say you hate anyone? Apart from myself, no.

Do you think freckles are cute? Sure.

Last time you went to the mall? Back in early February.

Name something that’s your favorite color: One of my favorite colors is rose gold and I have a really soft throw blanket that I love in that color.

Have you been to Red Lobster before? Yeah, several times. Haven’t been there in years, though. I’m not a seafood fan at all, but they had a delicious creamy cajun pasta.

Do you judge by appearances? >> Judge what, exactly? There is some information I process through appearance, yeah – like, I assume that a person wearing a Behemoth t-shirt and black jeans with a chain wallet is probably a metalhead. Or that a person with impeccable hair and nails and makeup is probably really fussy about their appearance. The thing is, these are still things that I could possibly be wrong about, but it’d be harmless. <<<

Do you follow a certain religion? Yes, Christianity.

Who is your role model, if you had to choose? My mom.

Would you rather have nice hair or lips? Hair.

What are you most self conscious about? A lot of things.

Do you have any family members who live out of town? Yeah.

Do you consider yourself short? Yes.

What room are you in? Mine.

Hoodies or jackets? Hoodies.

Are you outside a lot? Ha, no. I’ve been a hermit crab years before the quarantine/lockdown this year, but that definitely has made it worse.

Have you ever been dumped via text message? Yes.

Do you like dreamcatchers? They’re pretty to look at, but I don’t believe they do anything.

What is your favorite letter of the alphabet? I don’t have one.

Do you hate repetitive people and things? >> Er… like, not as a rule, I guess. But there are some repetitive things I hate, like certain sounds. <<< Yeah, same. And my life is also very repetitive.

Do you think autocorrect is a blessing or curse? It can helpful and annoying at times.

Do you believe in any particular curses? No.

Ever play a Ouija board? No. I don’t mess with stuff like that.

What movie scares you the most? There really isn’t one anymore. I love horror films. Some do still creep me out, but there isn’t one that has messed me up or anything. There’s no lasting effect after I watch them.

What was your bedtime as a child? Probably like 8 and then probably 9 and 10 as I got older.

Reason why your favorite holiday is your favorite: I just love Christmastime.

Do you work with any close friends? I don’t have a job.

Do you consider yourself spoiled? You could say that. I hate that word, though. I feel it has such a negative connotation to it, like a spoiled brat. I was never Veruca Salt or something. My parents didn’t give me whatever wanted, but they always made sure I had what I needed and went above and beyond when they could. My brother and I were good kids and they rewarded us with nice things. I’m very fortunate that they still provide for me and I’m very, very appreciative.

Do you listen to any country music? Yeah.

Favorite high school teacher: My sophomore history teacher was really cool. He reminded me of Rob Dyrdek a lot looks and personality wise. I also remember that he was a huge fan of RHCP and had them playing everyday before class.

Do you ever get drunk? Not anymore, but I have many times back when I used to drink.

Have you ever had highlights before? I had them for several years.

Favorite number: 8.

Do you still sleep with any stuffed animals? I have 4 that sit on my bed. What is your biggest regret in life? I don’t want to get into that stuff.

Would you say you think you have a mental disorder of some kind? I do have a some mental disorders.

Are you normally an independent person? I used to be more independent than I have been these past few years. I’ve been very dependent these past few years.

Do you have any paintings? I do.

What is one clothing fad you wish never existed? I don’t care.

Do you like to be organized? Yes and I used to be pretty organized, but that’s changed these past few years as well.

Have you ever failed a class before? I had to retake a math course one in community college. Funny how I took it with a different professor and actually did really well.

Ever been judged because of your weight? I’m underweight and people have their own assumptions about it. What is your favorite breakfast cereal? The sugary bad ones, ha.

Ever had a wish come true? I don’t believe in wishes.

Do you regret meeting any of your exes? No.

Do you own any coloring books? Yes. Adult coloring books became a big thing a few years ago and I got really into it.

What’s the meanest thing someone’s called you? I’ve said the meanest, cruelest things to myself.

Have you ever bullied someone? No.

Do you ever watch Lifetime? Growing up my mom and I used to love watching Lifetime movies. We’d binge watch ‘em every weekend. Now we’ll catch a movie every once in awhile and kind of get hooked again, but not very often.

Ever tried to intentionally sabotage someone’s grade? Wow, no.

Do you own any brown clothing? I have a brown pair of leggings.

What color are your walls painted? White.

Last thing you drank: Starbucks Doubleshot energy drink.

Have you ever seen a tornado in person? Noooo.

Do you have an inground pool at your house? No.

What is the first digit of your phone number? What’s the prettiest town you’ve been to? There’s been a few.

Do you tend to sleep a lot? When I do sleep, yes. I have a messed up sleep schedule and it’s hard for me to fall asleep, but when I do I’ve been sleeping a lot. I’d nap a lot everyday, too, if I allowed myself to, but for some reason I rarely do.

Silver or gold jewelry? I like both.

Do you sometimes celebrate holidays early? Well, for Christmas we’ve done something the day or so before with family.

Have you ever been in love? Yes.

What’s the best gift you’ve ever received? Everything my family has given and done for me.

When was the last time you showered? A couple days ago.

Would you consider yourself attractive? No.

Has anyone made you mad today? Not as of now.

Favorite smell: Sigh, I’ve listed this too many times.

Are you afraid of insects? YES. ALL of them.

Do you have any children? Nooo.

If so, what are their names?

Would ever consider having children in the future? I don’t want to have children.

Have you ever lived on a farm? No.

Ever played any sports? No.

Do both of your parents have jobs? Yes.

Where is the best place you’ve been on vacation to? I love all the vacations I’ve been on.

Are you afraid people won’t accept you? That’s not something I’m concerned about right now. Haven’t been the last few years. And that’s not at all because I’m confident or something... very much the opposite.

Are you, for the most part, an honest person? Yes.

Did you make prank phone calls as a child? My friends and I did that sometimes in middle school. :X So dumb.

Do you like to make donations? Yeah.

What is your current ringtone? One of the ones that came with the phone.

Meet anyone from your past lately? No.

Have you ever called a teen suicide line? No.

Have you ever caught something on fire? Yes. Food in the microwave and in the oven. Also the tips of my hair once when blowing out birthday candles...

Ever been obsessed with a show? Yeah. That’s what tends to happen when I’m into a show.

What type of perfume or cologne do you use? A body spray from Bath & Body Works called Into the Night. I want to get some of their beachy scents now.

What’s the last book you read? I’m currently reading, The Girl and the Hunt by AJ Rivers.

Dream career: I have no idea.

Have you ever climbed a mountain before? No.

At what age do you plan to get married? I don’t.

Ever been in a car accident? No.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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upthenorthmountain · 6 years ago

Text

Something Just Like This - Epilogue

So Charis started reblogging all this stuff and I said I had part of an epilogue and then I had a bit of spare time so I pulled it together, I think, and here it is

Previous Chapters

Epilogue - Two Weeks Later

The village hall was filling up. Kristoff’s mother was supervising the arrangement of the buffet table; his brother was setting up the bar; a group of children in their best party clothes were running around kicking balloons and squealing; Sven was in the corner trying to get his phone and a set of speakers to talk to each other while Ben hung off his arm. There was a huge hand-painted banner saying ‘CONGRATULATIONS KRISTOFF AND ANNA’ along one entire wall and confetti everywhere.

Anna paused just inside the door to take in the scene.

“Sorry,” Kristoff said behind her, “I know they’re a bit much, en masse.”

“It’s wonderful!” Anna said. “So many people! I couldn’t muster more than one family member without serious planning. I can’t believe your mother organised all this in a fortnight.”

“She is the queen of delegation, and as you say, she’s got so many people to delegate to. Did your sister say what time she was getting here?”

“No. But I told her the times and she said she’d make it.” Anna sighed. “I wish she’d flown out yesterday and stayed the night.”

“She’ll be here.”

-----

“You know,” said Sven to Kristoff, a baby on his hip and a glass of lemonade in his other hand, “I was talking with Jess the other night, as is a habit of mine, and I said. I said, I’m happy for him - you - I’m happy for him but I just worry about him, you know? After last time. And she said, I’m fairly sure he’s considered that, and if he thinks it’s worth it, surely he would know best. And I realised she was right, you know? You’re the only one who can decide if it’s worth it, and obviously you do think so, so.”

“I do.”

“And I mean,” Sven continued, “I guess I was thinking, he barely knows her! Then I realised what I meant was, I barely know her. And that’s not your fault, that’s my fault. I’ve hardly seen you recently -”

“That’s not your fault, Sven. You had a new baby, Jess and the kids are your priority right now, that’s how it should be.”

“Yeah, I know, but all the same. I feel like I’ve let you down a bit.”

“It’s not like five, ten years ago when we were all down the pub every weekend. Things move on.”

“Aye, I suppose.”

“Personally, as soon as we have a baby I’m going to drop you like a hot brick,” Kristoff said.

“Fair enough. Hang on, what’s that, Daisy?” Sven said to the baby. “You want to go and see Uncle Kris while Daddy gets some food? There you go,” and he handed her over, then laughed. “Oh, god, I just remembered something.”

“What?”

“You remember that night after Leanne left and I came round with that whisky and we got hammered.”

“Not really, which I thought was the point of it.”

“Well, one thing I remember, was you being upset about - you were complaining, about being Uncle Kris. Always Uncle Kris. You said, I don’t want any more people calling me Uncle Kris, I want someone to call me Daddy, and I said, I said I think there are websites for people like that -”

“Suddenly, it’s coming back to me. I don’t remember finding it funny at the time.”

“No, you really didn’t, you thought I was taking the piss.”

“Well, you were.”

“Only a little bit.”

Kristoff followed Sven over to the buffet table, carrying the baby. “Thank you for sorting the music, anyway.”

“No problem. Jess vetoed some of my song choices, I’m afraid to say.”

“Really?”

“Mmm. Apparently ‘You Can’t Hurry Love’ was not appropriate.”

“Sven.”

“Or ‘Relight My Fire’. I didn’t even ask about ‘Oops I Did It Again’.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are, you know.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.”

-----

“Anna, can I get you a drink, ah, I see you have one. Two.”

“I’m going to carry this glass of wine all night,” Anna said to Sven. “It was that or get a t-shirt printed that said ‘NOT PREGNANT’. And the other one is for Elsa, wherever she’s got to.”

“Sounds fair, sounds fair.”

“I never thanked you,” Anna said.

“For what?”

“You know. Ringing me. When…”

“Oh, that. Don’t worry about that. He’d have got there by himself, in the end, he just needed a kick.”

Anna smiled and sipped her drink.

“Although,” Sven added, “I was intending more to kick him into buying you dinner, maybe, or just having an honest conversation. The elopement took me a little by surprise. Just when you think you know a person.”

“I’m sure you know him better than I do.”

“In some ways, maybe - I hope you know him better than I do in others. Whatever he tells you about our trip to Amsterdam is a lie. That was a joke,” he added hurriedly.

Anna laughed. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I got it.”

Sven smiled. “I like you,” he said, “I’m glad you’re sticking around.”

“Definitely.” She smiled and went to take her sister her drink.

-----

“So you must be Anna!”

Anna turned, and saw it was Jessica. She laughed. “I’m tempted to start answering that with a no.”

“I’ve heard at least three people say it to you, and I’m sure that’s not all.”

“No, it’s definitely in the double digits.”

“At least you’re getting it all over with in one go, though.”

“Yes, that’s something. And it’s nice to meet everyone! I just can’t get over suddenly having a big family.”

Jessica smiled. “They’re lovely, Kristoff’s family. Ben calls Kris’s parents Nanny and Grandad, which we should probably stop, but no one seems to mind - where did your sister go? I haven’t had a chance to speak to her yet.”

“To get some ice - and she needed a break from everyone, I think. She’ll be back.”

“Oh, that reminds me, my sister set a date for Ruby’s Christening, you and Kris are invited, I’ll text you the details, do I have your number? Give me your number. OK. It’s not a big do but I think my dad is going to do a barbecue.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“Sorry, is it weird to be invited to your husband’s friend’s wife’s sister’s baby’s Christening? But I always think of Kristoff as being like Sven’s brother - the more the merrier, right, with family?”

“Absolutely,” Anna said firmly.

-----

Sven was standing on a chair, tinging his wedding ring against a glass. “Can I have everyone’s attention? I’m going to make a speech. Yes I am,” he said when Jessica rolled her eyes at him, “because I didn’t get to be Best Man, so you have to listen to me now. Now then.” He paused to gather his thoughts.

“For those who don’t know me, hello, I’m Sven McAllister, and I’ve been Kristoff’s best friend for - nineteen years? Lord above. Nineteen years. Anyway. Right. Now. Those of us who know Kristoff,” he continued, “have noticed, over the last few months, a new spring in his step. A new smile on his face, a new name on his lips. A name I heard many times, and after a while I started to think, is this a Thing? Or does he want it to be a Thing but she doesn’t? Once I met her - I have, unlike many in this room, had the opportunity to see how delightful Anna is before today - I knew it was definitely a Thing, a reciprocal Thing, and I can’t say I’m surprised this is where we’ve ended up but I think I’m not the only one surprised by the speed of it. I think this is the fastest I’ve ever known Kristoff make a decision.”

The assembled company laughed, and Sven winked at Kristoff and raised his glass. “Which can only mean it was the right one, if he was that sure about it. To the happy couple.”

“The happy couple,” everyone chorused.

-----

Anna was just taking another tiny piece of cake when an arm slipped round her waist. “Hey,” she said, and turned to kiss her husband. “I’ve hardly seen you.”

“Every time I look round you’re talking to someone different. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine! Really.”

“Usually when we have a family party it’s not quite this many people - well, maybe half - we can escape in half an hour or so, anyway.” He kissed her again, then suddenly leant back and put his head on one side, listening. “Bloody Sven,” he said. “I’m going to kill him.”

“What?”

“The song.”

Anna listened, then burst out laughing.

(it’s a beautiful night, we’re looking for something dumb to do)

(hey baby, I think I wanna marry you)

#something just like this #kristanna #modern au #fanfic #fanfiction

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mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl · 7 years ago

Text

NOW 2~G-Dragon Pt.2

Genre:Angst/SMUT

Rated:NSFW

Pairing: GD X Reader

wordcount:4,397 (sorry for any mistakes of names i might overlooked some)

Masterlist

DISCLAIMER!:remember this is just an edit of an original book called after by anna todd i do not own this book!

I utterly shrink. I’ve never felt so naked and small. I didn’t want Ken and Karen to know . . . but it may not make much of a difference, since after tonight they surely won’t really want to see me again.

“Do you want to go with him?” Ken asks, interrupting my downward spiral.

I shake my head meekly.

“Well, I’m not leaving here without you,” Jiyong snaps. He steps toward me, but I cringe away.

“I think you need to go, Jiyong,” Ken surprises me by saying.

“Excuse me?” Jiyong’s face is a deep shade of red that expresses what I can only describe as rage. “You’re lucky I even come here to your house—and you dare to kick me out?”

“I’ve been very happy with how our relationship has grown, son, but tonight you have to go.”

Jiyong throws his hands into the air. “This is bullshit, who is she to you?”

Ken turns to me, then back to his son. “Whatever you did to her, I hope it was worth losing the only good thing you had going for you,” he says and then drops his head.

I don’t know if it was the shock of Ken’s words, or just that he’d hit a point where all the rage peaked and flowed out of him, but Jiyong just stills, looks at me briefly, and marches out of the room. We all remain quiet while we listen to him walk down the stairs at a steady pace.

When the sound of the front door slamming cuts through the now-quiet house, I turn to Ken and sob, “I’m so sorry. I’ll go. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“No, you stay as long as you need. You’re always welcome here,” Ken says, and both he and Karen hug me.

“I didn’t mean to come between you,” I say, feeling terrible for the way Ken had to kick his son out.

Karen grabs hold of my hand and gives it a squeeze. Ken looks at me with exasperation and weariness. “Y/N, I love Jiyong, but I think we both know that without you, there isn’t anything to come between,” he says.

I stayed in as long as I could, letting the water roll over me. I wanted it to clean me, reassure me somehow. But the hot shower didn’t help me relax like I had hoped. I can’t think of anything that’s going to calm the ache inside of me. It feels infinite. Permanent. Like an organism that’s come to live within me, but also like a hole growing steadily larger.

“I feel terrible about the wall. I offered to pay for it, but Ken refuses to let me,” I tell Tae as I brush out my wet hair.

“Don’t worry about that. You have a lot going on.” Tae frowns and rubs his hand across my back.

“I can’t comprehend how my life came to this, how I ever got to this point.” I stare ahead, not wanting to meet my best friend’s eyes. “Three months ago, everything made sense. I had Hoseok, who would never do something like this. I was close with my mother and I had this idea of how my life would be. And now I have nothing. Literally nothing. I don’t even know if I should go to my internship anymore because Jiyong will either go there, or he’ll convince Christian Vance to fire me just because he can.” I grab the pillow on the bed and grip the material hard in my fist. “He had nothing to lose, but I did. I let him take everything from me. My life before him was so simple and decided. Now . . . after him . . . it’s just . . . after.”

Tae looks at me with wide eyes. “Y/N, you can’t give up your internship; he’s taken enough from you. Don’t let him take that, please,” he practically pleads. “The good thing about this afterlife without him is that you can make it whatever you please, you can start all over.”

I know he’s right, but it isn’t that simple. Everything in my life is tied to Jiyong now, even the paint on my damn car. He somehow became the string that held everything in my life together, and in his absence I’m left with the rubble that once was my life.

When I relent and give Tae a halfhearted nod, he smiles a little and says, “I’ll let you get some rest.” He hugs me and starts to leave.

“Do you think this will ever stop?” I ask, and he turns around.

“What?”

My voice almost a whisper: “The pain?”

“I don’t know . . . I’d like to think it will, though. Time heals . . . most wounds,” he answers and gives me his most comforting half smile, half frown.

I don’t know if time will heal me or not. But I do know that if it doesn’t, I won’t survive.

WITH HEAVY-HANDED INTENT, yet enacted with his unfailing politeness, Tae forces me out of bed the next morning to make sure I don’t miss my internship. I take a moment to leave a note of thanks to Ken and Karen, and to apologize again for the hole Jiyong put in their wall. Tae is quiet, and keeps looking over at me as he drives, trying to give me encouraging smiles and little slogans to remember. But I still feel terrible.

Memories begin to creep into my mind as we pull into the parking lot. Jiyong on his knees in the snow. Seungri’s explanation of the bet. I quickly unlock my car, jumping inside to get away from the cold air. When I get into my car, I cringe at my reflection in the rearview. My eyes are still bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. Bags have swollen up under them, completing the horror-movie look. I will definitely need more makeup than I thought.

Going to Walmart, the only nearby store open at this hour, I buy everything I need to mask my feelings. But I don’t have the strength or the energy to make a real effort on my appearance, so I’m not sure I look much better.

Case in point: I arrive at Vance, and Kimberly gasps when she sees me. I try to muster a smile for her, but she jumps up from her desk.

“Y/N, dear, are you okay?” she asks frantically.

“Do I look that bad?” I shrug weakly.

“No, of course not,” she lies. “You just look . . .”

“Exhausted. Because I am. Finals took a lot out of me,” I tell her.

She nods and smiles warmly, but I can feel her eyes on my back the entire walk down the hall to my office. After that, my day drags on, no end in sight, it seems, until late morning, when Mr. Vance knocks at my door.

“Good afternoon, Y/N,” he says with a smile.

“Good afternoon,” I manage.

“I just wanted to touch base with you and let you know how impressed I am with your work so far.” He chuckles. “You’re doing a better and more detailed job than many of my actual employees.”

“Thank you, that means a lot to me,” I say, and immediately the voice in my head reminds me that I only have this internship because of Jiyong.

“That being the case, I would like to invite you to the Seoul conference this coming weekend. Often these things are pretty boring, but it’s all about digital publishing, the ‘wave of the future’ and all that. You’ll meet a lot of people, learn some things. I’m opening a second branch in Seoul in a few months, and I need to meet a few people myself.” He laughs. “So what do you say? All expenses would be paid and we’ll leave Friday afternoon; Jiyong is more than welcome to come along. Not to the conference but to Seoul,” he explains with a knowing smile.

If only he really knew what was going on.

“Of course I would love to go. I really appreciate your invitation!” I tell him, unable to contain my enthusiasm and the immediate relief that, finally, something decent is happening to me.

“Great! I’ll have Kimberly give you all the details, and explain how to expense things . . .” He rambles on, but I wander off while he does.

The idea of going to the conference soothes my ache slightly. I will be farther away from Jiyong, but on the other hand, Seoul now reminds me of when Jiyong wanted to take me there. He has tainted every aspect of my life, including the entire state of Gangnam. I feel my office getting smaller, the air in the room getting thicker.

“Are you feeling okay?” Mr. Vance asks, his brow lowers in concern.

“Uh, yeah, I just . . . I haven’t eaten today and I didn’t sleep much last night,” I tell him.

“Go ahead and go home, then, you can finish what you’re doing at home,” he says.

“It’s okay—”

“No, go on home. There are no ambulances in publishing. We’ll manage without you,” he assures me with a wave, then strolls off.

I gather my things, check my appearance in the bathroom mirror—yup, still pretty horrible—and am about to step into the elevator when Kimberly calls my name.

“Going home?” she asks and I nod. “Well, Jiyong’s in a bad mood, so beware.”

“What? How do you know?”

“Because he just cussed me out for not transferring him to you.” She smiles. “Not even the tenth time he called. I figured if you wanted to talk to him, you would have on your cell.”

“Thank you,” I say, silently grateful she’s as observant as she is. Hearing Jiyong’s voice on the line would have made the aching hole in me grow that much more quickly.

I manage to make it to my car before breaking down again. The pain only seems to get worse when there are no distractions, when I’m left alone with my thoughts and memories. And, of course, when I see the fifteen missed calls from Jiyong on my phone and a notice that I have ten new messages, which I won’t read.

After pulling myself together enough to drive, I do what I’ve been dreading to do: call my mother.

She answers on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Mom,” I sob. The word feels odd coming out of my mouth, but I need the comfort of my mom right now.

“What did he do?”

That this has been everyone’s reaction shows me just how obvious the danger of Jiyong was to everyone, and how oblivious I’ve been.

“I . . . he . . .” I can’t form a sentence. “Can I come home, just for today?” I ask her.

“Of course, Y/N. I’ll see you in two hours,” she says and hangs up.

Better than I thought, but not as warm as I had hoped for. I wish she were more like Karen, loving and accepting of any flaw. I wish she could just soften up, just long enough for me to feel the solace of having a mother, a loving and comforting one.

Pulling onto the highway, I shut my phone off before I do something stupid, like read any of those messages from Jiyong.

The drive to my childhood home is familiar and easy, requiring little thought on my part. I force myself to let out every scream—literally, as in screaming as loud as I possibly can and until my throat is sore—before I arrive in my hometown. I find this is actually much harder to do than I thought it would be, especially since I don’t feel like yelling. I feel like crying and disappearing. I would give anything to rewind my life to my first day of college; I would have taken my mother’s advice and changed rooms. My mother had worried about Hyuna being a bad influence; if only we’d realized it would be the rude, curly-haired boy that would be the problem. That he would take everything in me and spin it around, tearing me into tiny pieces before blowing on the pile and scattering me across the sky and beneath his friends’ heels.

I have only been two hours away from home this whole time, but with everything that’s happened, it feels so much farther. I haven’t been home since I started school. If I hadn’t broken up with Hoseok, I would have been back many times. I force my eyes to stay focused on the road as I pass his house.

I pull into our driveway and practically jump out of my car. But when I get to the door, I’m not sure if I should knock. It feels strange to do so, but I don’t feel comfortable just walking inside either. How can so much have changed since I left for college?

I decide to just walk inside, and I find my mother standing by the brown leather couch in full makeup, a dress, and heels. Everything looks the same: clean and perfectly organized. The only difference is that it seems smaller, maybe because of my time at Ken’s house. Well, my mother’s house is definitely small and unappealing from the outside, but the inside is decorated nicely, and my mother always did her best to mask the chaos of her marriage with attractive paint and flowers and attention to cleanliness. A decorating strategy she continued after my dad left, because I guess it had become habit by that point. The house is warm and the familiar smell of cinnamon fills my nostrils. My mother has always obsessed over wax burners and has one in every room. I take my shoes off at the door, knowing that she won’t want snow on her polished hardwood floors.

“Would you like some coffee,Y/N?” she asks before hugging me.

I get my coffee addiction from my mother, and this connection brings a small smile to my lips. “Yes, please.”

I follow her into the kitchen and sit at the small table, unsure how to begin the conversation.

“So are you going to tell me what happened?” she asks bluntly.

I take a deep breath and a sip of my coffee before answering. “Jiyong and I broke up.”

Her expression is neutral. “Why?”

“Well, he didn’t turn out to be who I thought he was,” I say. I wrap my hands around the scalding-hot cup of coffee in an attempt to distract myself from the pain and prepare myself for my mother’s response.

“And who did you think he was?”

“Someone who loved me.” I’m not sure who I thought Jiyong was other than that, on his own, as a person.

“And now you don’t think he does?”

“No, I know he doesn’t.”

“What makes you so sure?” she asks coolly.

“Because I trusted him and he betrayed me, in a terrible way.” I know I’m leaving out the details, but I still feel the strange need to protect Jiyong from my mother’s judgment. I scold myself for being so stupid, for even considering him, when he clearly wouldn’t do the same for me.

“Don’t you think you should have thought about this possibility before deciding to live with him?”

“Yes, I know. Go ahead and tell me how stupid I am, tell me that you told me so,” I say.

“I did tell you, I warned you about guys like him. Men like him and your father are best to stay away from. I’m just glad it’s over with before it really even began. People make mistakes, Y/N.” She takes a drink from her mug, leaving a pink lipstick ring. “I’m sure he’ll forgive you.”

“Who?”

“Hoseok, of course.”

How does she not get this? I just need to talk to her, to have her comfort me—not push me to be with Hoseok again. I stand up, looking at her, then around the room. Is she serious? She can’t be. “Just because things didn’t work out with Jiyong doesn’t mean I’m going to date Hoseok again!” I snap.

“Why doesn’t it? Y/N, you should be grateful that he’s willing to give you another chance.”

“What? Why can’t you just stop? I don’t need to be with anyone right now, especially not Hoseok.” I want to rip my hair out. Or hers.

“What do you mean, especially not Hoseok? How can you say that about him? He’s been nothing but great to you since you were kids.”

I sigh and sit back down. “I know, Mother, I care about Hoseok so much. Just not in that way.”

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about.” She stands up and pours her coffee down the drain. “It’s not always about love, Y/N; it’s about stability and security.”

“I’m only eighteen,” I tell her. I don’t want to think that I’d be with someone without loving them just for the stability. I want to be my own stability and security. I want someone to love, and someone to love me.

“Almost nineteen. And if you aren’t careful now, no one will want you. Now go fix your makeup, because Hoseok will be here any minute,” she announces and walks out of the kitchen.

I should have known better than to come here for comfort. I would have been better off sleeping in my car all day.

AS PROMISED, Hoseok ARRIVES five minutes later, not that I’ve bothered to fix my appearance. Seeing him walk into the small kitchen makes me feel even lower than I have so far, which I didn’t think was possible.

He smiles his warm perfect smile. “Hey.”

“Hey, Hoseok,” I respond.

He walks closer and I stand up to hug him. He feels warm, and his sweatshirt smells so good, just like I remember. “Your mom called me,” he says.

“I know.” I try to smile. “I’m sorry that she keeps bringing you into this. I don’t know what her problem is.”

“I do. She wants you to be happy,” he says, defending her.

“Hoseok . . .” I warn.

“She just doesn’t know what really makes you happy. She wants it to be me, even though it’s not.” He gives a little shrug.

“I’m sorry.”

“Y/N, stop apologizing. I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he assures me and hugs me again.

“I’m not,” I admit.

“I can tell. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know . . . are you sure that’s okay?” I can’t bear to hurt him again by talking about the guy I left him for.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he says and pours himself a glass of water before sitting across from me at the table.

“Okay . . .” I say and tell him basically everything. I leave out the sex details, since those are private.

Well, they aren’t. But to me they are. I still can’t believe that Jiyong told his friends everything that we did . . . that’s the worst part. Even worse than showing the sheets is the fact that after telling me that he loved me, and making love, he could apparently turn around and make a mockery of what had happened between us in front of everyone.

“I knew he was going to hurt you, I just had no idea how bad,” Hoseok says. I can tell how angry he is; it’s strange to see this emotion on his face, given how calm and collected he normally is. “You’re too good for him Y/N; he’s scum.”

“I can’t believe how stupid I was—I gave up everything for him. But the worst feeling in the world is loving someone who doesn’t love you.”

Hoseok grabs his glass and twists it in his hands. “Tell me about it,” he says softly.

I want to smack myself for saying what I just said, saying it to him. I open my mouth, but he cuts me off before I can apologize.

“It’s okay,” he says and reaches out to rub his thumb over my hand.

God, I wish I did love Hoseok. I would be much happier with him, and he would never do something like Hardin did to me.

Noah catches me up on everything I’ve missed since I left, which isn’t much. He’s going to go San Francisco for college instead of SCU, which I find I’m grateful for. At least one good thing came out of my hurting him: it gave him the push he needed to get out of Seoul. He tells me about what he’s researched on California, and by the time he leaves, the sun has fallen, and I realize that my mom has stayed in her room during his whole visit.

Stepping out to the backyard, I wander to the greenhouse where I spent most of my childhood. As I stare through my reflection in the glass and into the little structure, I see that all its plants and flowers are dead, and it’s generally a mess, which feels fitting at the moment.

I have so many things to do, to figure out. I need to find somewhere to live and find a way to get all of my stuff from Jiyong’s apartment. I was seriously considering just leaving everything there, but I can’t. I have no clothes except the ones I’ve been keeping there and, most importantly, I need my textbooks.

Reaching into my pocket, I turn my phone on, and within seconds my inbox is full and the voicemail symbol appears. I ignore the voicemails and quickly scan the messages, only looking at the sender. All except one are from Jiyong.

Kimberly wrote me: Christian said to tell you to stay home tomorrow, everyone will be leaving at noon anyway since the first floor needs to be repainted, so stay home. Let me know if you need anything. xx.

Having the day off tomorrow is a huge relief. I love my internship, but I’m beginning to think I should transfer out of WCU, maybe even leave Washington. The campus isn’t big enough for me to be able to avoid Jiyong and all of his friends, and I don’t want the constant reminder of what I had with Jiyong. Well, what I thought I had.

By the time I go back inside the house, my hands and face are numb from the cold. My mother is sitting in a chair reading a magazine.

“Can I stay tonight?” I ask her.

She looks at me briefly. “Yes. And tomorrow we’ll figure out how to get you back into the dorms,” she says and goes back to her magazine.

Figuring I’ll get no more from my mother tonight, I go up to my old room, which is exactly the way that I left it. She hasn’t changed a thing. I don’t bother removing my makeup before bed. It’s hard, but I force myself to sleep, dreaming of when my life was much better. Before I met Jiyong.

My phone rings in the middle of the night, waking me. But I ignore it, briefly wondering if Jiyong’s able to sleep at all.

THE NEXT MORNING all my mother says to me before leaving for work is that she’ll call the school and force them to let me back into the dorms, in a different building far from my old one. I leave, intending to head to campus, but then decide to go to the apartment, taking the exit to the road that leads there and driving quickly to keep from changing my mind.

At the complex, I scan the parking lot for Jiyong’s car, twice. Once I’m sure he isn’t around, I park and hurry across the snowy lot to the door. By the time I get to the lobby, the bottoms of my jeans are soaked and I’m freezing. I try to think of anything except Jiyong, but it’s impossible.

Jiyong must have really hated me to go to this extreme to ruin my life and then to move me into an apartment far from anyone I know. He must be pretty proud of himself right now for causing me this much pain.

As I fumble with my keys before unlocking the door to our place a tidal wave of panic crashes over me, nearly knocking me the ground.

When will it stop? Or at least decrease?

I go straight to the bedroom and grab my bags from the closet, roughly shoving all my clothes in them without care. My eyes flicker to the bedside table, where a small frame stands, displaying the picture of Jiyong and me smiling together before Ken’s wedding.

Too bad it was all fake. Leaning across the bed, I grab it and throw it against the concrete floor. It shatters into pieces and I jump over the bed, grab the photo, and rip it into as many pieces as I can, not realizing that I’m sobbing until I choke on my own breath.

I grab my books, piling them into an empty box, and, instinctively, Jiyong’s copy of Wuthering Heights; he won’t miss it, and, honestly, I’m owed it, after what he’s taken from me.

My throat is sore, so I go into the kitchen and grab a glass of water. I sit down at the table and allow myself a few minutes to pretend that none of this has happened. To pretend that instead of my having to face the future days alone, Jiyong will be home from class shortly, and will smile at me and tell me he loves me, that he missed me all day. That he will lift me onto the counter and kiss me with longing and love—

The clicking of the door startles me out of my pathetic daydream. I jump to my feet as Jiyong walks through the door. He doesn’t see me, since he’s looking over his shoulder.

At a brunette in a black sweater dress.

“So this is it . . .” he begins, and then stops when he notices my bags on the ground.

I’m frozen as his eyes travel around the apartment and then over to the kitchen, where they widen in shock at seeing me.

“Y/N?” he says, as if he’s not sure that I actually exist.

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