#to relish in ciel's singing

[anneesfollesrpg]

                                     「ODETTE ALARIE」

                   34  •  PERFORMER  •  TAKEN BY EVE

DIRECT FROM LE PETIT JOURNAL:

The lady Odette Alarie may be less of an angel than she likes to make herself seem. Though her clothes and airs might have you thinking she’s of the highest class, rumors are buzzing about that the dances she performs at Le Ciel are far from what you might see at Palais Garnier - especially in the costumes she chooses to wear while performing. And, even more shocking, there’s even talk that her company isn’t earned by title or connections, but instead what you might be willing to offer for a private performance. Despite such talk circulating, Mme Alarie seems far from shamed - instead, she carries on with her head held high through the streets of Paris and is often seen in the company of the likewise scandalous John Reuel Kerr Lambton. Perhaps they’re a match made in le ciel itself?

ABOUT:

It was always so dependent on control. Her mother wanted her to be the perfect daughter, to curtsey just so, to know exactly the right thing to say, to be able to remember the smallest detail in order to bring it up in a later conversation, to follow every little thing her instructors showed. Show she’d been paying attention, that she cared. Her father, on the other hand, wanted a sweet and obedient daughter to be able to show off. A living and breathing doll, filled with kind words, pretty songs, or perfect dancing if needed.

The moment she was released from them, however, Odette loved the freedom - loved to test her own limits, to climb trees simply because her parents told her that ladies didn’t do such things. She was always very careful, however, not to let any trace of her little freedoms ever be noticeable - if a rip was torn into her skirt from the climb, well, sometimes the maids were kind enough to sew it quickly or provide another dress. Kindness, Odette learned, often allowed for kindness in return - so she would learn each of their names, the names of their family, what treats they liked, etc.

As she got older, the kinds of boundaries she pushed grew along with her - dirty songs were a particular favorite to learn, trips to a bar in town, dancing that was decidedly unladylike, books that had to be stashed away under a loose floorboard that no one knew about, kisses from the stable boy… rebellions that continued to grow and escalate, especially with her partner in crime. Her childhood friend was a companion in her escapades, as often as they were brought together - something Odette always appreciated, having someone else to help provide cover and excuses, while enjoying these glimpses of freedom from the tops of trees or in less rich clothing at a bar in town. It peaked in the one time Odette was decidedly less than careful with her partner in crime, being caught in the arms of one Jack Reuel with her legs around his waist and her undergarments about a foot away.

She didn’t hold any illusions of everlasting love or marriage - which, really, seemed to only cement the disappointment from her parents. In truth, Odette was very curious to experience some of the things her books described, or that the barmaids in town whispered about to her. So far as she was concerned, there was no need to tell her parents about the fact that it was far from the first time they’d been together. Might very well give her poor father a heart attack.

Her parents considered her a disgrace, a failure, despite the fact that she was still that perfectly poised woman they’d managed to mould. Just a little more… flawed, perhaps, than they’d intended in her. More human than doll, she liked to think. But with her parents paying such close attention, it was hard to slip from their grasp and do what she wanted - she was kept close, instead. Which worked well enough for Odette, as being close just meant it would be easier to play at being that perfect doll long enough to regain their trust.

And slip back through the bars of the cage they liked to keep their prize in as soon as she had the opportunity. As soon as she managed to convince them that of course her indiscretions had long since been forgotten - and really, it was Paris! She would be far from the only woman there who had such rumors floating about in her past.

Once in Paris, the letters could simply… taper off. Certain details she thought they couldn’t possibly need to know, as Odette pushed her boundaries further and further, attending salons and clubs and dancing, the dancing here was even better than what she’d learned. She fell headlong into the nightlife of Paris, entranced by everything she saw. Especially the women - those who were so much of what she longed to be, who seemed in control of who they were and what they wanted. Who demanded respect, especially from all the men who couldn’t take their eyes off of them. There was freedom in that, there was power in it.

The bigger surprise, really, was how happily the nightlife of Paris embraced Odette in return. And she relished in it, stepping into one of the headline acts of Le Ciel for her singing and the dances she would perform. She earned money for herself, enough so that when her parents inevitably found out about her profession, Odette could still keep herself afloat with the gifts from her patrons and the money she made.

Perhaps some of the whispers were right, that she had long since fallen from grace and should feel nothing but shame. But Odette preferred to think of it in less narrow terms - she liked to think she was flying unfettered, exactly where she chose to be.

CONNECTIONS:

The Ballerina: You knew her back in your younger years, sharing an obsession with dance. You were shocked to see her come into Le Ciel, and as much as it fills you with nostalgia to see an old friend, you’re slightly ambivalent about your past and present colliding like this.

The Austere: You have sympathy for someone like them, who fell from grace so suddenly and unexpectedly - after all, you took time to prepare for your fall, to build yourself wings. You have less sympathy for their attitude, the unwillingness to look beyond what they’ve lost to see what they have the potential to gain, to see everything that Paris could offer. But you're willing to at least try to lend a sympathetic ear.

The Sycophant: Something about them gets to you - perhaps the fact that they’ve attempted to surround themselves with so much attention, with no apparent talent. You’ve been brought along to many of their parties recently, and you can’t help catching a look, wondering how all that spark works, and what may – or may not – lie beneath it.

Faceclaim & Pronouns: Gemma Chan, she/her

The Angel is taken by Eve, she/her.

[joonsgalaxy]

The Dark Side of the Moon | 2

Part:  1  2  3  Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Genre: romance/fluff, angst, soulmate AU, bestfriend!Yoongi Word count: 9 k Summary:  You’re destined to be with one particular man for the rest of your life, but what happens when your trust in fate crumbles, when the doubts slowly float to the surface of your mind and when your heart starts longing for another man? You can try to ignore all of that, but it’s there, just like the dark side of the moon.

‘Are you ready yet?’ The voice of your father snakes its way from downstairs up to your room.

Ugh is the only thing floating in your mind at the moment. A sound of frustration, annoyance, vexation-ugh. You don‘t like to rush, at all. Not only the necessity of going to the event is making you feel a nervous fluttering in your belly, but now you have to shout back coming!, glance quickly at the mirror for the last time before leaving and then run downstairs to messily put on your shoes in the hallway. This is most definitely not healthy, you think.

‘Your mother said people are already gathering,’ you hear your father speaking to you as you crouch down to put your shoes on.

‘We don’t have to be the first ones to arrive there, you know.’

‘We worked hard on this, especially your mom. She’ll be glad to see us before it gets too crowded to even notice us.’

//

Your father hands the car keys to the parking valet once you arrive at the place. The massive white mansion comes into view as you walk past the gates surrounded by flawlessly groomed trees. The fountain in front of the mansion has some fine details which only can be seen here, in this protected territory. The decorative features so delicate, so fascinating, nothing you could find outside this park. The splendid art on the mansion itself makes the air around it magical. It takes you by your hand, sings to you as it welcomes you to the bright days when it was first built; must be at least three hundred years ago. As you walk on a wide path that curls its way around the mansion and goes on behind it into the charm of the park you can't help but imagine what life looked like back then, what clothes people wore, how they talked to each other, what kind of worries tormented them.

When the weather lets to have the party outside (and today the weather is just lovely), all the guests gather up in that very area behind the mansion. The paths there loop themselves around the trees and some open lawns with perfectly cut grass.

 ‘I’m going to say hello to some people,’ your father says, ‘Try to have some fun, okay?’ His expectant eyes urge you and your sister to utter an okay in unison, although, as he walks away you wonder if that’ll be possible to do.

‘Do you want to go look for mom?’ As you finish uttering the question your sister is already waving at someone in front of you two, and when your eyes register that someone-her best friend-among the other people, not to sound dramatic, but the same dispiriting feeling of frustration drains your bones of any hope to have a good, decent time here.

‘I’m gonna hang out with Kyoo Ri,’ your sister gleefully shouts to you, basically bouncing away.

Fair enough.

Looks like you're alone in this.

A sigh leaves you, your legs starting to move slowly, eyes roaming around. People, standing in groups of two or three, briefly glance your way with disinterested looks; women and men wearing jewellery that most certainly cost more than your entire outfit, but that doesn’t bother you one bit, you just couldn’t care less about that kind of stuff.

A cute dress, some make up and neatly brushed hair is all you need to feel comfortable in this kind of event.

The youngest person here must be thirteen or something; you guess nobody's got time to actually take care of small children here, so they just leave them at home with nannies.

‘Hello,’ a low voice right beside your ear startles you.

You swing around to find Yoongi smiling down at you.

You haven’t seen him-or Jaehoon-in a few weeks because of the exams. It’s the first time meeting him since that thunderstorm and you’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t start to race a little.

You utter an oh, hi and he grabs a bite snack from a tray which is gracefully carried by a waitress working here for the party.

‘Having fun?’ he questions.

“Yeah, so much fun,’ you make sure he catches the sarcasm in your tone as he throws the snack into his mouth.

‘Mm-hmm,’ he hums chewing, and time seems to come to a halt for a while, until you notice a small smirk forming on his lips and you realize you’ve been staring a moment too long. The gentle warmth in your cheeks makes you drop your eyes to the ground.

‘You survived your exams,’ he says nonchalantly.

‘Ah, barely, but yeah.’

‘That’s good enough.’ He glances briefly back over his shoulder, ‘Seems the band is going to perform, wanna go to the stage?’ He holds his thumb gesturing behind him.

‘Sure.’

You feel warm as you two walk beside one another, although just minutes ago the cool evening breeze played on your skin causing the goosebumps to appear on your bare arms.

There are some people already gathered in front of the stage, though most of them are behind you, not paying much attention to the musicians who are now saying their hellos. Majority of the guests are here to make connections; some see this kind of events as opportunity to share their business ideas and what not. You guess, they’re feeling more relaxed here than inside some corporate building, more likely to share their honest thoughts with each other.

As Yoongi stands beside you with his eyes focused on the band, you’re able to properly observe his looks, the black suit fitting him perfectly as if it’s made particularly just for him, white shirt, black tie and dark shoes complimenting each other in a way that makes him look classy, sophisticated.

And for the first time this night you wonder if you chose the right outfit for yourself, like he managed to do.

‘They’re kinda good, huh?’ He asks loudly enough for you to hear him through the music and you realize you weren’t paying any attention to the music or anything at all but Yoongi.

‘Um, I guess,’ you shrug, trying to play it cool, because there’s nothing else to do, really. ‘Well, at least one good thing here, right?’

‘Oh,’ a somewhat smug smile twitches the corners of his lips, ‘Actually I could think of more than one.’

Before you can answer him, there’s a hand on your back urging you to turn around.

‘Glad I found you, dear,’ your mother greets you, eyes-done with professional makeup-gazing at you lovingly. ‘Hello, Min Yoongi,’ her face lights up with a smile, ‘nice to see you here.’

‘Like every year,’ Yoongi answers, a grin on his face, corresponding politeness in his tone.

Actually it’s his third time being here. You’re here for the seventh time if you recall correctly. Your parents started attending these kind of events about ten years ago, right after they joined the City Council, which some like to call The Exclusive Circle, the place for the richest, the smartest. That can only make you giggle-it's so unnecessary and pretty odd, to call it like that, because your parents are neither rich nor exceptionally smart. Though apparently what people mean by referring to The Exclusive Circle is mostly the people who are basically born with the ticket in their hands, a ticket to the perfectly polished hall with leather chairs waiting patiently just for them. Most often their families were in the Original Council, a bunch of scientists who created the whole sorting out soulmates system hundreds of years ago, to make life easier for everyone. It makes you rather proud that people from your city managed to create something the whole world is using now. So, those with the ticket from their birth are in the highest authority; important people taking care of important stuff, seems only fair to you.

Actually, it's not that complicated to get into the Council, if a person is determined to do so. They wouldn't need to make such strenuous efforts as one may think. The only catch is, they stay at the lower level committees than those belonging there from young age, which is totally fine, what with all the advantages that come with joining the Council. Being able to create different projects in your favour can come really handy. Also, you get to set up these kind of parties, which your mother enjoys immensely, for she always had relish in organizing any kind of social gatherings; she's managing a catering company, after all.

When Yoongi and his parents moved to your street, they instantly became friends with your family. That's when your mother coaxed them into joining the Council.  

‘Since I found you guys,’ a more serious expression paints her face, ‘I really would use some help from you. There’s, uh,’ she looks behind her, ‘a little situation that needs to be taken care of.’

‘What kind of situation?’ You question.

‘Nothing serious, but I need a couple of people to help me out, so will you?’ She looks at both of you with hopeful eyes and you just can’t say no.

‘Sure, mom. Lead the way.’

And that’s exactly what she does, marching toward the mansion.

‘So what happened?’ You ask on the way there.

‘One of my employees,’ she momentarily glances at you, ‘O Ha Sang, you remember her, don’t you?’ When she receives a nod from you, she continues, ‘Well, her kid ate some crayons or something and she had to rush home. Also, Chi Tohyon slipped on the floor, probably broke his finger. Ugh, I don’t know what is it about tonight, but there’s no time to wonder.’

As you reach the back entrance of the mansion one of the waiters rushes out through the doorway with a tray in his hands.

Inside, the hall looks as fancy as one would expect. The crystal chandelier hanging from the high cieling above screams extravagancy, the bright walls giving an illusion of an even bigger space than it already is.

The narrow hallway to your left has at least three wooden doors on either side. The delicately carved art on them-fragments of flowers and leafs-and the white paint, chipped at some spots imply the long years they've been rather untouched, save for the swinging back and forth to let people in and out.

The first door on the left reveals a room somewhat similar to a kitchen, partly because of the tables and counters placed there, but mostly because of the amount of food scattered upon the surfaces. A few employees of your mother's company lay out the snacks onto the trays in precise measures as they were taught, one of them taking care of the champagne and wine, pouring the liquids into a bunch of fragile glasses.

After a few words are shared between your mother and her team, she urges you to step through another door in the hallway. The stairs behind these doors seem to lead into some kind of basement, but once your feet land on the last step you come to realization the room is the actual kitchen of the mansion, the interior design of it indicating it was last renovated in 1950s, or around that. A counter on the left with some glasses on top, a few sinks by the wall right in front of you across the room, a few arbitrarily placed chairs and boxes on the right.

'I think I need you two to simply wash the glasses,’ your mother wonders out loud, tilting her head to the side. ‘Yeah, you guys do that and I’ll take care of the food upstairs.’

‘Okay,' you agree, happy that she won't order you to do something more complicated on this already rather stressful night.

‘They will bring the ones that need to be washed and take the ones you already washed. It’s simple, right?’

‘Yup,’ Yoongi answers her, stepping near the sinks to inspect them.                                                

‘Wonderful. Good luck, then’ she grins on her way out.

You walk up to Yoongi, who's now taking his suit jacket off and glance at the sinks briefly, ‘You can go if you want,’ you suggest him, ‘I can manage this by myself.’

‘Go and do what?' He questions, tossing the jacket over one of the chairs. 'At least I’ll be useful here.'

‘Fine. Be useful, then,’ you motion toward the dirty glasses on the counter.

His fingers undo the buttons on the sleeves of his dress shirt, rolling up the fabric, relieving his veiny arms, ‘Of course.’

Washing the first bach goes quite well, if finishing the job without sounds of shattering glass is anything to go by.

The chairs in the room appear useful when you have to wait for one of the employees to bring in another huge tray of used glasses.

After the third time of finishing with the glasses you plop down on the chair, stretching your muscles and watching Yoongi stroll to one of the boxes, peaking inside; the way his eyebrow rises and his lips tilt into a smirk has you interested in the box's content more then ever.

‘We should have some fun too,’ he hints and pulls his hand out of the box, his fingers clutching a bottle of wine.

You roll your eyes heavenward and announce, ‘We have a job to do.'

It only makes him grin. ‘Nothing that we couldn’t do even being a little tipsy.’

You sigh, pondering the question of whether to drink or not to drink all the while Yoongi walks out of the room with the bottle still in his hand and comes back with thuds of his shoes on the stairs, the bottle no longer sealed with a cork.

He stands beside you, lifts the bottle to his mouth and sips as you watch him wide eyed; one, two gulps before he lowers the bottle for you to take it. You pull your lip between your teeth averting your eyes to glance at the counter, where the freshly washed glasses stand and for some reason drinking straight from the bottle excites you more, so you decide to reach up for it.

‘Oh,’ he hastily moves his hand away before you can even touch the bottle. ‘I have a better idea,’ he smirks, ‘Why don’t we play a game?’

A confussion paints your whole face, ‘A game? What kind of game?’

He steps to one of the chairs, drags it across the floor to position it right in front of you, leaving a few feet distance between you two and plops down on it.

‘Truth or drink,’ he grins at you, and when you stay silent for a moment he realizes that you might not know the exact rules of the mentioned game, so he continues, ‘I ask you a question and you either answer honestly or drink.’

‘Well I’d rather just drink,’ you state.

‘And where’s fun in that, huh?’ he cocks his head to the side.

‘I don’t wanna play. Just give me the bottle,’ you hold up your hand only to see him swing the bottle behind himself and place it on the floor.

‘What, do you have something to hide from me?’

‘No.’

He leans forward, resting his elbows upon his thighs, propping his chin onto his hands, a smug smile plastering on his face. ‘What are you then, a chicken?

‘Am not.'

He chuckles, ‘So how’s it gonna be? You playing or not?’

‘Okay, okay, let’s play that stupid game.’

He nods briefly, ‘Ask me something.’

You breath in, breath out. Blank. What could you ask him?

‘Um, how long did it take you to get ready for this party?’

He raises a brow, ‘That’s the question?’ He laughs. ‘Okay, ten minutes or so. What about you?’

‘Forty minutes maybe.’

‘Oh.' He looks you up and down. 'Makes sense.’

‘What does that mean?’ You exclaim.

‘Is that the next question?’ He asks, with a certain teasing tone in his voice, and you barely manage to keep yourself from reaching his face with a slap to smack the smirk off his lips.

‘Wait. No.’

As you try to figure out whose turn it is, a waitress comes in with a tray of dirty glasses, placing them down on the counter and picking up the freshly washed ones.

‘Seems we have some work to do,’ he jumps to his feet, saunters to the sinks and you follow behind him.

‘Think of something interesting to ask me,' he says flicking one of the glasses downward, pouring the remnant of champagne down the sink.

You bite your lip, going through the different drawers in your mind, searching for questions to ask him when one in particular catches your attention.

‘What’s the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you?

‘That’s seems more like it. Hmm…’ He puts the glass on the bottom of the sink and squints his eyes in thought, looking straight in front of him at the wall.

'This one's from my childhood,' he begins. 'I really wanted to learn how to ride horses when I was a kid, so my parents eventually brought me to this riding academy and I was so freaking excited, all hyped up about it. My dream was about to come true, y’know. So there was this stunning horse that they helped me to get on and um, let's just say it wasn't as fun as I imagined. When I got off of it, uh, well, I got sick and puked all over myself.' He waves a hand over his upper body.

You laugh like crazy, imagining little Yoongi being so excited and happy, only to puke himself right after his wish came true. ‘Oh my god, that is quite embarrassing.’

‘Yeah, I never came back to that place after.’

'Would you consider trying to learn it now?'

'Hey, it's my turn to ask.'

'Aw come on, can't you just answer a simple question without thinking about the game?'

'Okay, okay,' he chuckles, patting his hands on a towel. 'No, I wouldn't. That dream is long forgotten.'

'Ah, I see,' you nod, placing a freshly washed glass on the tray beside the sink. 'Your turn.'

'Okay,' he chirps, turning to face you. ‘What’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told someone?’

‘Hmm,’ you squint your eyes in thought, fingertips lightly tapping the edge of the sink. ‘This one time I was being careless playing with a ball in the living room and I accidentally hit my mom’s favourite vase,' you sigh, the rather unpleasant memory coming back to you. 'It fell to the ground and shattered. I was freaking out so much and when my parents got home I blamed my sister for the broken vase.’

‘Aw, that’s cute,' he grins.

‘Cute?’

‘If that’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told, you’re really innocent,' he quips, patting you on the shoulder.

‘What?’ You exclaim. ‘My parents believed me and my sister was grounded for weeks! It still haunts me.’

‘Okay, okay.’ He holds his hands up as a peace making gesture. ‘You’re the wickedest person I know.’

‘Stop making fun of me.’

‘Oh, I would never!' He gasps. 'You think I’m dumb enough to mock the Devil herself?’

‘Jesus… Will you stop?’

‘Doesn’t it hurt to say the holy name?’ He taunts, arching a brow at you.

‘Yoongi!’ You groan in frustration, and he laughs, reaching up to push his hair from his eyes. You sigh. ‘I would ask you what’s the biggest lie you have told someone, but honestly I don’t wanna now.’ Must be something bad, you think to yourself.

‘Well then,’ he chuckles, shuffling back to take a seat. ‘Think of something else. It’s your turn now.'

You saunter back to the seat across from him, thinking what question to ask. What could you not know about him?

‘What’s the biggest secret you’re keeping from everyone?’

He sits back, inhales deeply squinting his eyes and finally parts his lips to utter a nope. You watch him reach behind his back for the bottle.

‘You’re drinking?’ You ask rather surprised.

‘It’s a drinking game after all, somebody has to.’

'Right.'

Finally, you think to yourself, you managed to think of a question he doesn’t dare to answer. Though, it’s not that fun when you realize he’s keeping something from you. Ugh, he definitely evoked the napping curiosity in you.

Yoongi sips the wine for three times and puts the bottle between you two on the floor.

He leans back, readjusting his sleeve higher up his arm; you notice his tongue lightly brushing over his top lip and his expression becomes one of a man who’s just about to ask something damn serious.

‘Are you in love with Jaehoon?’ His voice echoes through the room and you freeze.

Something tugs at your heart and you look away. This question is like a thousand knives shoved to your back, making your heart thump in your chest twice the speed.

The simple utter of a no would be enough, but there’s one thing to admit it to yourself, and it’s different to say it out loud.

There’s something holding firmly onto your throat, grabbing your vocal cords and twisting them in an agonizingly slow movement, taking away any possibility of you answering.

Your hand reaches for the bottle, your eyes avoiding Yoongi’s as he watches you press your lips to the thick glass and gulp the liquid, drowning anything that is mistreating your dry throat.

‘Two more,’ he commands as you lower the bottle, feeling the warmth trickle down to your belly. You sip willingly two more times, happy that he doesn't question you further about it.

His gaze feels heavy now, awkwardness enveloping you, making you squirm on the chair uncomfortably, nevertheless you try your best not to show him the agitation coursing through your body. You cough subtly, clearing your throat, preparing your voice for another question. You hope it won't quiver, or at least that he won't notice.

You brush off any other thoughts about Jaehoon or Yoongi's scrutinizing eyes and open your mouth to calmly, steadily utter, ‘What would you do right now, if from this precise second for some horrendous reason you had only one minute left to live?’

‘Hmm,’ he crosses his arms against his chest, thinking carefully, with his eyes focused on nothing in particular. Then in a matter of seconds his hands drop to the sides of his thighs grasping tightly the edges of the wooden chair and dragging it toward you until your knees are between his. You wonder what kind of thing it is that he’s about to tell you, most likely something absolutely embarrassing if he has to be that close.

‘I would prob-’ he pauses to correct himself, ‘I would definitely…’

You gaze at him in confusion whereas he exudes confidence and certainty, he looks almost excited.

You’re in utter surprise when his hand rises to cup your cheek in a featherlight touch.

‘I would do this,’ his murmur sends shivers down your spine and there is no possible way you could miss the eagerness in his eyes. If there was a spark in his dark orbs last time you saw him, now it’s a fire, craving to burn all of the borders between you two.

He leans toward you.  This kind of proximity makes your heart thump so fast that you can hear it tattooing in your ears; your breathing stalls. There’s something about this moment so eminently entrancing, yet terribly hazardous. It fills you up with fear of inhaling the thick air around you that holds the palpable tension, you feel the fear of drowning in his closeness with no way out.

Your head becomes dizzy and your heart’s just about to burst when you hear a call of your name and a thunderous stomping on the stairs.

It whacks you back to reality.

Yoongi drifts backward. You jump to your feet as your heart pounds in your chest at the speed of impossible.

You can’t wrap your mind around of what just happened, your thoughts awfully hazy as if you were jolted awake from a nap.

When your sister steps into the room stating ‘Dad's going home. You staying?’ you think you’re blessed, because with the emberrasament creeping up your warm cheeks the idea of getting far away from here, from Yoongi, allures you big time. Just before you rush out of the cursed room you glance briefly at Yoongi, uttering a hardly discernible bye.

There are still quite a few people outside as you march through the territory toward where the parking lot is. The warmth in your cheeks makes you pat the skin lightly, as if your hands could extract the mortification that guzzles you whole. You glance around the place, the stunning fountain, the majestic mansion behind you, which-you're sure-will hold the momery of this night for years to come. You rake your fingers through your hair, trying to muster all the dignity that you still have left, breathing heavily, the puffs of air coming out your lungs in nearly painful ways from the speed of your legs carrying you and from the weight of what just happened pressing you down to the ground.

You wonder what people living here hundreds of years ago would think about you, about the little incident in their kitchen. Would they be repelled by Yoongi's actions? Would they simply laugh at you, or pity you?

You feel like a freaking Cinderella, getting lost in some kind of fake, dream world and being pulled back into reality. Except she was running from her soulmate, not her best friend, and the fate ended up bringing them back together against all odds, which for you… well, it seems the fate should keep you guys strictly apart, you think to yourself.

As buildings and trees, and the dim light from the streetlamps melt into one blur outside the car window you let your mind wander back to the moment that still has your limbs numb and your head dizzy. It must be the alcohol. It doesn’t matter it was only three gulps, it still could have affected you, right? The damn liquid not letting you think straight, not letting you come to your senses when he was so absurdly close to you, when his plump lips were mere centimetres away from yours, when you got a glimpse of the overwhelmingly enchanting fire in his eyes.

Would he have kissed you if your sister hadn’t interrupted? Would you know now how his lips would feel against yours? Would you know what he tastes like? Sweet and sour like the wine on your tongue with its subtle fruit and floral notes, or hot and spicy like the alcohol itself, burning its way to your stomach.

Something malicious reaches your heart and clutches it. Either because of the fact that he almost kissed you, or because he didn’t.

Your eyes roam around the car. Your father’s humming some kind of melody behind the steering wheel and your sister’s staring at her phone with a yawn. The sight only has your heart squeezed and twisted in all the more harrowing ways-you can’t be thinking about Yoongi and his lips right now, or ever, really.

There are soulmates, and there a friends. There is Jaehoon, and there is Yoongi.

//

He texts you the next day, nothing significant, though, just asking what you’re up to; you don’t text back.

There’s a certain uneasiness making your heart pound and your hands quiver even at the thought of him, not to mention the images of the night before. Seeing his name on your phone screen definitely doesn’t help, so what you do is turn on your laptop and immerse yourself in a marathon of random vlogs on Youtube for hours on end.

A knock on your door slightly startles you and you pause the video to turn around in your desk chair, wiping off the tiny crumbles of bread from your shirt, only to find your sister stepping into the room.

‘I saw you two,’ she simply states, with no expression on her face what so ever.

She couldn’t be possibly talking about-

‘What do you mean?’ You ask, feeling your pulse accelerate.

‘Don’t play the fool, you know exactly what I mean,’ she narrows her eyes at you. ‘He was about to kiss you.’

Your heart sinks. She saw that. She saw Yoongi and you being definitely closer to each other than friends should be. She got a glimpse of the moment that made you curse yourself for being so delirious. And she knows what could’ve happened if she didn’t call out your name. Come to think of it, did she do that on purpose? Did she walk in and realized the inapropriatiness of the moment and walked out of the room, then warned you from afar letting you both know she was coming?

You shift in your seat, turning your side profile to her. You say nothing.

‘If I hadn’t interrupted, would you… would you have let him kiss you?’

Now that not only you and Yoongi know about it, but also somebody else, your sister, it becomes all the more evident and the realization hits you even harder than before. You would have. You would undeniably have let him kiss you. The guilt washes over you like a cold shower.

When your sister doesn’t receive a response from you, she sighs, ‘Unbelievable. You do know it’s wrong?’

‘I know it’s wrong,’ you exclaim.

‘Then why would you do that?’ She almost yells, ‘And why he would do that? You’re not his soulmate. And he’s not yours.’

Then why does it somehow feel like he is?

Yet again, you stay silent.

‘Will you tell Jaehoon about it?’ She asks softly, hesitantly, contrary to just a moment ago.

‘What? No,’ you blurt out, dread coursing throughout your body. You can't even imagine how he would react, what shade of anger would his face get.

She strolls deeper into the room. You take a deep breath, trying to appear calmer. ‘It’s nothing. It was nothing. It was stupid. It won’t happen again. I don’t have to tell him anything.’

She sighs, taking a seat on the edge of your bed. ‘Fine,’ she states. ‘Do as you wish. But I sure do hope you’re not lying when you say it won’t happen again.’

‘It won’t,’ you look straight into her eyes, ‘It won’t, I promise.’

She nods lightly, her expression softening. ‘If he’s coaxing you into doing something you don-

‘He’s not,’ you hastily interrupt her wonderings and she holds her hands up defensively.

‘Okay, okay. I’m just worried.'

‘Yeah, I know,’ you let out a sigh.

‘I always thought he was a rebel, you know, but I was taken aback by what I saw, even people like him surprise me by disobeying the world’s order like that, and…’ She takes a deep breath, fidgeting with the hem of your sheets, keeping her head lowered. 'If you do something like that, it can influence not only your life but mine as well. Imagine what would people say.’

Oh, they would definitely have some material to talk about. Two best friends, the children of the respectful members of the City Council basically ignoring the fundamental rule that is dictated by the fate itself giving you and your soulmate all the personality traits that compliment each other.

She stands up from the bed and starts strolling toward the door. ‘You can’t act recklessly, when your actions have an effect on us all.'

‘Wait,’ you call out when she reaches the door frame. ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’

She looks over her shoulder toward you, eyes then roaming around as if she’s deep in thought. You’re eager to hear her answer, every nerve in your body tensing up. What if she tells your parents? She certainly isn’t under any obligation to stay silent. She could tell anyone she wanted. She could tell Jaehoon. Obviously, she wants all the best for you, but maybe it’s the very reason to let people know about it. If she’s not absolutely convinced that it was only a stupid slip into the wrong path, she might try to help you by telling your parents what’s going on. If she doesn’t believe it won’t keep happening, she might let Jaehoon know what his soulmate is doing when he’s not around.

She turns toward the hallway. ‘At least not yet.’

//

When the next day comes, neither the thoughts about it all leave your mind, nor withers away the ache in your heart. It becomes all the more conspicuous when your phone buzzes against the sheets of your bed when you’re watching yet another random vlog on Youtube. You reach for your phone already knowing it’s a call, but when your eyes transfix on the name of the caller your heart drops.

Should you answer it? What does he even want? Maybe you should just decline his call and text him you’re busy, or maybe you shouldn’t text him anything at all, letting him know you’re not really up to conversing with him, letting him know you a want to take a break from… being his friend?

The screen of your phone goes black. The buzzing finally stopped. It doesn’t help with the ache, though. A huge part of you wanted to answer his call. A huge part of you wants to talk to him, to keep being his friend. Any way you slice it, he’s one of the most precious people in your life and trying to keep a distance from him is terribly hurtful.

You exhale a heavy breath and bring your attention back to your laptop screen.

It only takes a few moments when your phone is buzzing again and you pause the video to quickly swipe the screen of your phone and answer his call. If he’s that persistent, you might as well just listen to what he has to say to you.

After a moment of silence you murmur, ‘Hello?’

‘Are you ignoring me?’ He cuts right to the chase.

You shift on the bed, placing the laptop on the sheets beside you. ‘Uh, no, I’m not.’

You don’t expect him to actually believe you, because what people call not answering to someone’s text messages for couple of days when usually they get an answer no later than an hour later? Yes, ignoring.

He sighs, ‘Okay.’

Okay? You don’t have a mirror in front of you right now, but you’re sure you look perplexed as hell.

‘Well,’ he continues, ‘How about that movie then?’

A movie? Is he testing you or you’re just back to the usual, back to acting like nothing peculiar is happening between you two?

Well, maybe it’s for the best. At least it seems like it. Whatever is happening between you, it can’t progress in any way or form, it can’t go further, go anywhere. It has to cease and the fire in his eyes should be put out.

‘I-I don’t know,’ you mumble, still trying to sort your thoughts out.

‘You finished your exams. We can go see it now, right?’ He asks and it truly seems like everything could get back to normal. ‘Hey,’ his voice reaches your ear again after a few seconds of you not uttering a word. ‘You said you’re not ignoring me,’ he basically whines.

You chuckle at that, ‘Um, okay, we can go see it.’

That should help to get everything completely back to normal. Friends go to see movies all the time.

‘Tonight?’ He questions hopefully.

After another few seconds of silence, you answer, ‘Mm-hmm, why not.’ You have nothing to lose and the movie’s definitely better than any of those vlogs.

‘I’ll pick you up at seven, yeah?’

And just like that your heart starts racing frantically again. Why does he have such an effect on you?

//

He’s already approaching the spot in the street right in front of your house with his old Ford as you step outside. He has one of his windows down and when you’re close enough you lean down a little to ask him, ‘Should I sit in the back?’

He answers with, ‘Hop into the front. I fixed the seatbelt.’

It’s absurdly hot in his car, but since he bought it with his own money – you’re not about to comment on that, because he’s already aware it’s basically a sauna here. The seatbelt, on the other hand, doesn’t fucking work no matter how tightly your fingers wrap around it and how gently or harshly you’re pulling on it, it just won’t budge.

‘Apparently you’re not that good at fixing seatbelts,’ you complain when he’s already driving away from your house. He glances at you and groans in frustration, slamming on the breaks and pulling over on the side of the street.

He leans toward the seatbelt, toward you and you instantly stiffen in your seat when the scent of his fabric softener-that you could only describe as being sweet and tempting-hits your senses, your heart fluttering as a rather pleasant warmth develops within your chest, surging through your arms, tickling at your fingertips. Your eyes meet his for a quick second and then he’s pulling away with a click of your seatbelt being secured.

‘Or you’re just not good at fastening seatbelts,’ he quips with a shrug of his shoulders.

You clear your throat, ‘Whatever.’

This shouldn’t make you feel any sort of way, but it does. And all you can do is just try to push it away.

‘Uh, when does the movie start?’ You ask.

‘Seven thirty,’ he checks the watch on his wrist, ‘We should make it just on time, with all the ticket buying and stuff.’

He parks the car at a random parking lot a few minutes by foot away from the cinema. The parking lot in front of the movie theatre is usually packed with cars, and you don’t mind the short walk there anyway.

//

When you’re walking back to the car after the movie has ended the streets are already drowned in darkness and silence, with just a few cars passing by here and there. The velvety layer of clouds blocks the view of the moon and threatens with rain;  you’re about to mention something about it to Yoongi when he warns you, ‘Careful.’

And suddenly you’re startled by his arm on your waist. He’s pulling you close to him, pressing you to his side; and  he’s so warm. The closeness seems so familiar, the intoxicating scent that emanates from his clothes makes your senses explode and you can’t deny how safe you feel next to him, especially when his arm is wrapped around you in such a protective way. It doesn’t matter if it’s just because of two kids going past you on their tiny bicycles, it certainly does not change the fact that you’d trust him to protect you from everything and anything.

When the kids are gone and you’re safe not to be scraped by them, he slowly and gently spins you around so you could focus on his dark eyes and your back would face the building behind you. You stare up at him in awe and confusion at the same time, mumbling ‘Ah, thanks.'

He says nothing, only tightens his grip on your arms almost imperceptibly, just enough for him to back you up until you can feel the bricks of some store touching your spine.

Something about his expression’s telling you he’s not here to play any games; he looks like a man on a mission, and the confusion in you only grows bigger. Still, you manage to catch some kind of desperation in his eyes as he stares down at you and murmurs lowly, ‘Don’t run away from me this time, please.’

‘Yoongi,’ you whisper, but your voice fades as all the words of protest bounce out of your head into the darkness of the night and stays unsaid, unheard.

You feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins and every jittery cell of your body desiring him to finally do it, to finally let you know the taste of him.

He's the sweetest forbidden fruit and you're too weak to fight the temptation.

As he lets go of one of your arms and hooks a finger under your chin every single cell in your body bursts into billions of sparks, fireworks exploding in your fizzy mind. He wastes no time in muting any discord that could leave your mouth by placing his lips onto yours.

They are as soft and as warm as you thought they would be, and he tastes like heaven.

It’s just the two of you now in a tiny world under the dim street lamp where no rules exist, no laws are relevant, there are no envelopes with names scribbled on a piece of paper inside, no names engraved into your fate for the whole eternity.

The gliterry stars dance around you in the rythm that your hearts provide and even the Moon peeks through the thick clouds to witness such magic.

When his hand tenderly strokes your cheek your heart stutters, tingles of electricity coursing across your skin. He's an invigorating rain pouring down upon the exhausted desert's ground and you're the rose right in the middle of it, bathing in the refreshing mizzle, feeling your bones revive with every drop dribbling down your skin. He heaves a soft sigh as though it all were the other way around, as though he's the one finding solace in you.

It's just you and him now; there’s no other people around, there’s no thunderstorm to blame, no alcohol to accuse for your delirious state. No one to hold responsible for your quivering heart and the weakness in your knees, just…Yoongi.

You break the kiss by pulling away from him, slipping from his grip and stepping into the real world, your back facing him.

‘__,’ you hear him whisper.

Oh fuck.

Fuck.

Your chest tightens, dread and embarrassment flooding your whole being. You heave out a shaky breath, feeling your body heavy and numb as though it were cemented into the pavement, unable to move.

‘__,’ he repeats, this time louder.

His voice reverberates in your mind, slamming itself back and forth against your skull until there's an urge for you to press your palms to your head and squeeze it relentessly to get rid of the agonizing echo.

The anxiety and anger bubbles up in you when he tries to utter something else.

'Hey-

‘What?’ You snap turning to face him, the word being nothing but a quick bite that has him wincing.

He takes a deep breath, steps forward and watches you take a step back.

‘You’re running away again.' His sigh mingles with the cricket chirps and constant buzzing roars of the cars in the distance.

‘Yeah, well. What did you expect?’ You exclaim. Your cheeks are flaming, you feel the flesh pulsating in them, and your legs can barely hold you.

‘I know you think it’s wrong-

‘It is wrong,’ you hiss.

He purses his lips into a thin line, gathering up his next words. ‘I kinda wish I could say I'm sorry, but the truth is I'm not.'

Your brows knit in confusion; he's not sorry? He knows you think it's wrong and he still had the audacity to do it, and now apparently he's not even feeling repentant about it.

He licks his lips before continuing, 'I was holding back for what felt like centuries, and I tried to be patient, you know.' He sounds determined to be heard, his words coming out in a rush as if they were imprisoned inside him for such a long time the cage itself started to rust and fracture at the most fragile spots, letting the emotions leak and spill out. 'I was waiting for it to go away, I honestly thought it would, I hoped it would, especially after we both found out-

‘Cut that off.’

Whatever he has to say doesn't make sense in this world, and you’re sure you don’t want to hear it. There’s no place here for friends kissing each other, for talking or even thinking about the chance that there might be something different than a friendship between you two. Anything beyond that is simply not realistic, absolutely inappropriate.

You watch him drop his head low, running fingers through his hair, then looking to the side as if trying to figure his next move.

There's a tiny voice whispering to you to get out of here, to leave before anything else infelicitous occurs, before he can continue explaining himself. ‘I need to go,’ you breath out.

He sighs, frustration written all over his face, but he doesn’t argue with you, he simply nods and offers to take you home.

You shake your head lightly, the thought of going home with him in his car making your pulse race unpleasantly. 'I'll take a cab.'

He looks hurt, maybe slightly embarrassed. His actions got you both in this situation and now you wouldn’t even let him take you home.

He reaches into his pocket for his phone, ‘I’ll call it for you.’

The gesture tugs at your heart.

It all feels like a dream, some kind of stupid, agonizing nightmare that you’ll soon wake up from and get back to the way things were. You actually pinch yourself at your arm, hoping to stretch the skin to the Moon and realize that this is just a dream. But the skin doesn’t extend that much, and you can’t lift off the ground and fly away. This is no dream, and you’re both in too deep for things to stay the same.

‘They should be here in five,’ he states plunging the phone back into his pocket.

It seems it’ll be the longest five minutes in your entire life.

You turn away from him and he steps from the sidewalk to sit on it. He rests his elbows on his knees and buries his face into his palms.

The silence settling itself between you two is terribly heavy, weighing you down with its uneasy thickness, making you start slowly pacing back and forth, hands fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

The Moon is wholly shielded by the mystical clouds, its gaze concealed; all the sparkles that spun gleefully around you is hiding behind the woolly billows now, avoiding your company.

He's your best friend, for fuck's sake, how did he dare to do that? And what was he expecting from you? That you would just forget the simple rule of soulmates? Or is he just playing with you, being a rebel, proving your sister's words?

You stop abruptly, facing his side profile and drop your hands in one swift motion uttering, ‘Why did you have to…’

He lifts his head from his palms and turns to you, ‘Why did I have to what?’

‘Why did you have to do that? Why did you ki-

You wince at the fact you don’t even manage to say the word.

‘I tried to explain it to you,' he says, sounding slightly annoyed. 'But you demanded I keep my mouth shut so that’s exactly what I did.’

His confession from minutes ago pops up into your mind, piercing through your heart and making you sigh deeply.

This friendship means so much to you, and no matter how persuasive the voice whispering to him and coaxing him into finally kissing you was, it shouldn't have won, it shouldn't have affected him that way.

Everything was great; everything could still be just fine, if only he didn’t cross the line, if only he hadn’t kissed you.

You take a deep breath, mustering the courage to continue speaking to him, questioning him, because a huge part of you still wants the answers.

'Why did you have to ruin it?’

He snorts, 'Don't you think it was already ruined?'

Your eyes grow wide at that, your mind going into overdrive trying to figure his statement out. It wasn't. How could it be? 'No, I don't.'

He shakes his head, puffs out a small, bitter laugh.

You gnaw at your lip, averting your eyes, staring down at the pavement you’re standing on. The cool air hugs you tightly and you wrap your arms around yourself to prevent the shiver possessing your body.

‘Look at me, __.’

Your eyes shoot up to lock with his.

‘Tell me you didn’t want me to kiss you.’

At that you heart threatens to leap right out of your chest. Focusing your eyes on him is out of the question when he stares at you that intensely. His words echo in your head and your hands grow clammy with anxiety.

You did want him to kiss you, and the recognition of that is brutal as a slap-you can't blame only him for what happened, it would be undeniably unfair. But it still doesn't mean it was already a lost cause. If he was waiting for this urge to go away, he could've waited for a little longer, so could you.

He pushes himself up from the concrete, steps toward you which makes your eyes focus on the tips of your shoes.

‘Lift your head up,’ he directs, ‘and tell me you weren't thinking about it for a while now.'

You can hear the slight impatience and irritation lacing his words. He halts his steps right in front of you, and he’s so damn close you feel tremendously tiny under his sharp gaze.

He sees right through you; he knows you more than you’ll admit.

You keep staring at the tips of your shoes, the ground beneath you cracking open, the cold hands of shame and guilt dragging you into the deepest layers of the Earth, underground waters smothering you with nothing but self-loathing as Yoongi's blazing eyes watch you from above.

‘Can you do that, __?’ He questions, dropping his head a little to get to your eye level, making you want to squirm away. ‘Can you tell me you’re not feeling anything for me?’

You wish you could tell him something, perhaps even that you are feeling something, just to push that torturing weight off your shoulders and maybe figure something out together, some kind of a solution, a way out of this barely comprehensible situation, but your hands are trembling and you can’t find your voice.

Your sister and your parents are right. Whatever you’re feeling is wrong, probably temporary, most likely not even real.

‘Mm?’ He hums reaching for your chin and lifting it up like he did before. Just a brief glimpse of his scrutinizing gaze has your heart skipping a beat.

‘Stop that,’ you murmur, words barely above a whisper.

‘Stop what?’ He scowls.

You order your body to move, your legs to step backward, but they barely manage to do that, as if the world is spinning around you and the ground is exceedingly unstable.

His tongue pokes into his cheek. ‘Are you really gonna pretend like I’m the only one losing my mind here?’

You’re entirely sure he’s not the only one, but what can you tell him? What could make all of this better, what words or actions could make all of this mess to just disappear? That's what you want, that's what you both need to get back to the way things were, to the way things are supposed to be.

He pushes his hair off his forehead, his skin glowing from the way it’s illuminated by the car’s lights from behind you. You swear you could stare at him forever, but he looks so utterly broken, completely hopeless, and you avert your eyes.

‘Your ride’s here.' He motions toward the vehicle, the tone in his voice flat.

The car comes to a halt beside you and your body hesitates for a moment to do any effort to move toward it. You don't want to leave, not really.

Sure you feel embarrassed and angry, a part of you wanting to get as far from here as possible, but it's your best friend standing in front of you, the boy who used to pout whenever he got bored of solving math problems, your partner in crime when you would sneak into places where no tresspasing was alowed just to snap some photos, the boy who composed you a song that still earns a silly, content smile from you.

If you get into that car, there's no going back. This will change you both, and in a way this feels like a goodbye.

Yes, maybe you'll still manage to be friends, maybe you'll even keep on hanging out at one another's house, but it feels like something intangible is dying here, losing its liveliness. In you. Between you.

A ghostly string connecting your spirits is disintegrating slowly, woundingly.

You'll certainly start analyzing every memory you have of him, trying to find some kind of signs amongst every look and touch that held something unrighteous within itself, inaudible screams between the lines.

You step toward the car reluctantly and get in without uttering another word.

You hardly manage to tell the driver your home address, still feeling your throat dry as if it were full of sand.

Right when the car starts moving, you turn your head to catch a glimpse of him staring blankly at you, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly slumped forward, his face inscrutable.

A/N: if you read the whole thing and want another part, pleaseee let me know. send me an ask on anon or whatever so i would know i’m not the only one interested in what happens next lmao I need motivation to write the next part, pls :)))