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jawllines · 4 years

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“You’re really gonna go in there?” Y/N queries gently, and Harry only nods his head in response, reaching for the door handle. An urgent, delicate touch of Y/N’s hand startles him, looping around his wrist and dragging his attention toward her, “Shouldn’t we have a game plan if something is behind the door?” She asks, her hold on him tightening just a little, and Harry notes how soft her palm feels against his skin, “Like, let’s say we open the door and a behemoth is standing there, what do we do?”

“The only behemoth that could fit in this tiny room is the band from Poland, Babe, and I reckon they have better things to do on a Thursday night,” he retorts, clenching around the knob and tilting it down, “Now unless you want to hold hands in there. . .”

She lets go before he can finish, and he doesn’t have to look back at her face to know she’s irate. A small smile quirks at his mouth as he pushes his shoulder against the heavy door to aid him opening it, bracing himself to see something potentially horrid. . .

And there’s nothing.

Harry and Y/N are witches, they hate each other, and something’s coming

19K+ words

(A/N: Hiii!! So, I’ll be honest I know absolutely nothing about real witches at all, so what is in this story is not fact! it’s just an AU and doesn’t speak toward any of my real witches out there unless i accidentally got some things right. Happy reading, I really liked writing these guys I hope you like them just as much!!)

It was dark.

Both in the state of the sky and the feeling that slithered through Y/N’s body while she tended to the Brugmansia finally flowering in her garden. The shift in the air could have easily been inculpated by the cool breeze that blew past her face, shepherding clouds thick and heavy with autumn rain, but Y/N knew better than that. Those feelings typically bring her peace; the rattle of thunder soothes her aching bones while fat drops paint the pavement, wet the dirt to mud, and feed the drying grass.

This feeling made her bones rattle. It crawled beneath her skin like billions of tiny beetles unearthed within her vessels; her stomach churned, her shoulders were weighed down, there was a gnawing pain at her temples, so fierce she held her hand to them. The cold brass of her ring cools her heated skin. This feeling was vile, it was awful, for fuck sake what was causing it?

She stood from her crouched position and slid back into her store. Technically, she’d closed about three hours prior so she should have been home well by now, but when she’d finally gathered her things in her duffle at 12, she looked out the back window and noticed some of her moonflowers had begun to bloom. There was a small part of her that had been reluctant to step outside at all, but she needed to greet them and water them, no matter the odd, unfamiliar troubling sense that had initially confused her. She ignored it -- she thought maybe she was just nervous to say hi to them, sometimes she was.

(Flowers and plants hold a special connection with their caretaker, from a tiny seed to a flourishing garden, they place their lives in the care of the earth or a human. If not properly nursed, their wilted petals appear so quickly, a silent plea for water, or sun, or even a little attention -- Y/N found that plants liked a little attention. That’s why she spoke to them, she cooed and gave them well-wishes when she left them alone. They felt just a part of her family as any blood relative had, from the moment she had sliced the tip of her finger in a torn brush and the petal she’d touched afterward fused together her tiny wound. Her nan had always told her that maybe she was a bit closer to plants than others were, so she probably shouldn’t share this with kids in her class because they might be jealous of her (Y/N knows now her nan just didn’t want her getting picked on.)

It was clear to her now that this feeling was a bit more than that when her goose pimples sunk back into her skin after stepping into the warmth of her store. Though it was not just because she had been keeping her shop pleasantly warm as the nights grow colder and longer; she kept herself protected in here. In between these walls lied a sanctitude that kept all evil out, in all manners, of all species, besides two.

One of which is her bunny, Thumper, who in all ways but emotionally was her familiar. He was a ghostly white Holland lop, with big dopey ears that she slid her fingers beneath and flipped up and down in spare moments. She accuses him of being evil because he’s always nipping at her fingertips, demanding food with a stomp of his foot, and gives the silent threat that he’ll nibble on her plants if she really pisses him off (he stands by them, twitches his little nose and shows his two front teeth until she gives him what he wants -- it’s usually more hay). He’s nothing but a little, greedy nuisance that showed up on her step one day and hadn’t left since.

The other. . .well, the other was Harry Styles.

Y/N liked most witches, no matter their point of interest. She knew that there could be a certain level of distrust amongst the syndicate -- hexes, and curses placed upon one another, but she tried to stay out of that -- she held no disfavor toward most of the others either. Everyone connected with things very differently, what she may connect with might not be that of what her neighbor connected with and that was okay. Her nan’s emotions had been in accord with the sea, and even though Y/N spent most of her life fearing water, she bore no judgment.

What she does is done in the mind of good favor, of bettering oneself with the world around them in a way that would beneficial to not only them but the people in their lives. Open up otherwise closed eyes to the beauty of the spirit and soul they possess, and the beauty and soul that the world around them held. The town she had moved to at 20 was so rich in natural beauty, ponderosa pine and hemlock trees grew tall in an extensive, juniper green forest almost always clouded with thick fog, the soil was soft and fertile, the air was crisp and clean. She felt happy here and wanted the others around her to recognize how lucky they were to be in an area so free of sordidity.

There was an empty shop up the brick road of the older part of town, that had been crowded in cobwebs, leaves that had blown in from the broken window, and animal droppings. Her nan came to help her clean it up (her mum had too, but she was dog tired after her workweek so spent most of the visit asleep on Y/N’s couch), and did something short of absolving the land so that she could grow a garden behind the store, in the clearing of 200 or so meters before it meets the mouth of the forest. She sold herbs, people came to her for intricate, meaningful bouquets with flowers that could not be found in just any store (and she was good to her plants, so if she asked very kindly, and sent them with a packet that produced a very special brew when dumped in the water, they would live very, very, suspiciously long), plants that would liberate people of their aches and pains so long as they tended to them, journals of reused paper, scrubs, oils. . .there were many things. She offered classes too, to help people learn how to better cater to their flowers.

That had been a year ago, so she was still finding her footing, but not six months into this happy reality she had created for herself, Harry Styles had come to town. It took nothing but a few minutes of coming to contact with him that he was a bad apple, and when the once sweet-tempered town had begun mottling with dark splotches, she knew for sure. Harry was like her, but his book of shadows had pages filled with wicked words of revenge, conjuring demons and letting them wreak havoc. His business was more under the cuff -- he posed as a writer who needed a scenery change for his work, but Y/N knew it had to be more than that -- but he did his bidding in the night, seeding through clubs, in alleyways, in the forest. . .if someone knew about Harry, it was because they knew a guy who knows a guy.

And for some reason, unbeknownst to her, he refused to leave her be.

This is why it almost makes sense that the bell of her store would jingle brightly no matter the fact she’d locked the doors hours ago, and her attention would be brought to the pest himself. He wore a sweater that threatened to swallow him whole, and baggy, holey jeans he rolled at the cuff showing off his bat printed socks, stuffed into grandpa-Esque loafers. The necklace he always wears around his neck (a small pendant that she had never gotten close enough to make out) is sat atop of his sweater today rather than hidden beneath it as it usually is. His hair is getting longer, more unruly with his warm brown curls than it had been when she first met him -- she really hadn’t known he’d had curly hair until the more recent months when it had started growing out.

His eyes were always the same soft, crystal green that matched his character none, and a pawky smirk on his mouth as he dragged his fingers along the lavender jars placed on her shelves, “Shouldn’t you be home by now? I figure it’s past your bedtime.” He leans down like he is about to pick something up, and when Y/N peers over the counter, she sees him slide his hand beneath Thumper’s soft white belly and pull him up to his chest. That was another indicator that Harry was just no good -- he was the only human that he liked, and the little creatine didn’t even like her.

“Shouldn’t you?” She flips it, continuing to gather her things so she could head home for the night.

“You know these are my typical hours, Babe -- everyone wants to curse someone at 1 AM, there was a study done in the east end.” He pets between Thumper’s ears as he sets him down on the counter beside the cash register, before he reaches out for the wooden crafted incense burners, “Have these cheap little things been selling any?”

“Piss off,” she stuffs her phone into her purse, then flips through her things to make sure her wallet was tucked in there as well, “What do you want, Harry? I’m about to go home, if you wanted to come around to bother me you should have hours ago.”

Harry feigns a gasp like he does any time she curses, “Thought good little witches didn’t have such foul tongues?” He flicks the candle jar on her counter, an apple scent had been melting around the wick for the better half of the day, “I don’t want anything in particular, just passing through. You know you’re right in the way of the forest, don’t you? S’kinda of obnoxious when you’re trying to summon imps at the cave -- they hate the bloody “stench” of the flowers.”

“Good,” she retorts, “You shouldn’t be summoning around here anyway, this area’s off-limits.”

It was barely an agreement but still an agreement nonetheless -- if Harry left her be, she would leave him be because Y/N wasn’t an idiot. If he wanted a fight, Harry could start one and he would fight dirty. All she asks him is to stay away from her store and her flat, and to keep away from certain areas of the forest where the soil was always soft -- in return, he would do his activities, sometimes he would need her flowers for different spells and she would turn a blind eye to what he was doing. She does a few gentle protection spells here and there but otherwise, he’s a free man to do as he pleases, just so long as he respects her request. He’d seemed perturbed by the conditions none -- had even chuckled and said as long as he let her keep her “pretty little flowers” he could get away with murder.

A heavy, weary sigh leaves him, “Yes, I’m well aware,” he rolled his eyes before crossing his arms on top of the counter and tucking his face in his elbow, “Gimme a moment though, it’s warm in here and I was freezing outside.” He muffles into his sweater.

Y/N had almost forgotten what she had felt prior to coming back inside, but his words bring it clearly to the forefront of her mind once more. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, hearing the floorboards creak beneath her as she wondered if he’d felt it too. It couldn’t have been him -- no, he was powerful but by no means powerful enough to conjure up something like that. And she’d like to ask him, but Harry has never been someone who took her seriously -- he would just make a joke of it, probably, or tease her. It wouldn’t be worth asking.

But the feeling that she’d gotten is chewing on her memory, so she asks anyway, “Hey,” she began and the only indication that he was listening to her is the fact his fingers stopped tapping against the wood beneath them, “Did you. . .when you were outside, did you feel that?”

He picks his head up from the crevice of his arm, “You’re gonna have to be a bit more descriptive than ‘that’,” his brows are raised as he continues, “Are you talking about the new pleasant but cold breeze we’ve gained for autumn, or the gut-twisting odious one?”

Y/N looks at him impassively, “The latter, idiot.”

“Yeah, I felt it,” he ignores her insult, “What about it?”

The skin between her brows pinches, “Are you not concerned? It felt. . .bad,” she couldn’t think of a better word to describe it, “I didn’t like it at all.”

“Are you scared?” There is delight swimming in Harry’s gaze as he stands up straighter, “Don’t tell me Glinda the Good Witch herself is scared of a little frightening feeling? I thought you were tough as nails and all that, hm?”

“Never mind, forget I even brought it up,” she tried to dismiss it, as she slings her purse over her shoulder and plucks Thumper up to sit him in the cradle of her arms -- she knew better than to ask him like she might get any comfort at all from his words.

He steps up and in front of her before she could start toward the door, “Oi, listen scaredy-cat, I don’t know if you’re aware but I deal with shite like this all the time, which means I’ve got a few banishments spells up my sleeve. If it’s really something that awful, I’ll cast it back to hell, easy as that.” Harry follows close behind her as she exits the door, feeling the same shiver of fear slither through her body, “I do want to see what it wants first though.”

“Of course you do,” she utters in disappointment, “Just keep it away from my garden, please.”

“I’ll try,” he tells her just as she reaches her car before he dips into his pocket and reveals that he’d stolen a baggy of chamomile, “If I didn’t keep your precious garden safe, then I wouldn’t have anywhere to get enchanted chamomile, and it works lovely in a sleepy time tea, I’ll tell you that -- your lavender is shit though. Never puts me to sleep like it ought to.”

She pops open her car door, “Stop taking stuff from the store, or I’ll start lacing it with laxatives.”

“While you’re doing that, won’t you plant them Clathrus mushrooms? I reckon the imps would prefer them way more than the mums.” He looks serious -- not a trace of a joke laced in his features and somehow that leaves Y/N more irritated than if he were laughing at her as he spoke.

Her response is blunt, “No.”

“Listen --”

“Harry, I’m not going to plant mushrooms for the damn imps!”

. . .

When Y/N had met Harry, she was angry.

She had never been a very angry person. Seldom has someone or something truly has gotten so deeply beneath her skin that she felt the need to yell or grump about it -- mild irritation was never off the table, but true, unadulterated wrath and resentment? It was rare she ever felt the need to even make a snide comment. And that wasn’t to say she was better than anyone else, she was just mild-tempered and forbearing. . .it took a little more than a remark or two to make her angry.

But when she was angry, she was an amalgamation of vexation and fire, and there was no surer way to disrupt her peaceful demeanor than to compromise her flowers.

The day had been uneventful up to that point. It’d been a week since Harry had moved into town and Y/N was surely feeling the negativity that followed in his wake, but she was focusing on maintaining the tranquil, idyllic environment that she had around her previous. As much as she would have loved to seek him out, ready to squabble, tell him off for bringing any dark energy into such a calm place -- she had to come at it pragmatically. She and her friend Niall (who wasn’t a witch but knew about her) had both agreed that while it was aggravating, they didn’t know him. They did not understand the depth of his power, or what he was here for, nor had they understood wholly what he was capable of. Y/N had felt his presence, but Niall had confirmed it after hearing the underground chatter of a dark witch who made promises to turn glitter to gold.

She was on her way to her store. Though she was closed on weekends, she always went by to check on the flowers, water them, tell them about her day, and with her was Thumper who would be hopping around the grassy field and gnawing on the blades. It was very peaceful -- the time she spent with her plants -- so she always looked forward to it, but that day she was filled with trepidation as she parked her car. Something was off. . .not in the air, but with her flowers -- she could feel it deep in her marrow that they were in pain.

So she huffed it to the back of the store, and there she found Harry, two of her purple vervains nestled against his palm. He noticed her before she could even think to say anything, and something short of relief had flushed through him, “Oh thank fuck, you’re here,” he sighs, referencing her garden with a wave of his hands, “I cannot for the life of me remember what hazel looks like.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Y/N demanded, stomping toward him, but instead of shoving him to the ground like she wanted to, she dropped to her knees and caressed the remaining vervain, “Why would you pluck them like that? They aren’t ready!”

“Ready? They’ve flowered haven’t they?” His brows had been tilted while his mouth dipped in a frown, “I need them for an incantation, figured you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed these two. Aren’t we meant to help each other out?”

“You should have asked, you prick,” she pointed up at him, “And even if you had, I would have said no. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’re really disturbing an otherwise pleasant place. I wish you would leave.’

Harry feigned hurt, placing a hand to his chest, “You wound me,” he mocks her, “Listen Glinda Good Witch, we all gotta get by somehow, yeah? Not all of us talk to plants or whatever it is you do. So do you want me to pay or --”

“Those won’t work for whatever it is you’re trying to do,” she cut him off, “If it’s something with cruel intent, it won’t happen -- they were grown to do good.”

“Which is exactly why I needed them from you,” he wiggles them in her direction, “Well, I need to get going. You’re awful in particular about a garden that is subpar at best. Wish you well, see you later.”

Then he left. No guilt, no apology -- he just up and left, and Y/N was livid.

(Later that night when she had explained the situation to Niall, he was nothing short of outraged, so they had tried to find out more about Harry. Anything about him, really, but he leaves a very little paper trail in his endeavors -- from public records they find that he’s 25 and from Holmes Chapel, and from a google search they find he has two books out, published online, and doing decently well. There was nothing else apart from that, he kept his socials pretty dry, and what he did post was nonsensical drivel.)

Y/N thinks about this, as she sinks into her tub, the burning water scalding against her skin. Harry had always driven her mad but he has never seemed half as angry as she was -- hell if anything he always seemed like he enjoyed it.

He was just absolutely rotten.

. . .

Harry thinks Y/N is just absolutely rotten.

There were many reasons that he had classified her as such, but namely what he was concerned about now was how she kept her shop closed on the weekends.

Who kept their store closed the entire bloody weekend?

It wasn’t so much that he wanted to see her -- Harry actually found the girl quite plaguy. Her opinions on his practice were priggish, not unlike the others like them he had met in the past. There has always been an unfaltering stigma that was carried with what he did, one that was quite hard to shake within the factions of other witches that are sprinkled across the world. He’s seen as careless, cruel, greedy, and selfish -- he doesn’t practice magic for the love of the world around him, to feel a deeper, spiritual connection with the fecund soil that covered the earth, or with the water gently slipping past rocks along a stream bank. They look at him and see someone who shakes hands with the devil and ruins lives for a cookie.

Harry lets them think as they wish, he has no patience to attempt correcting them. If they’d bothered to learn an inch about him at all before passing their judgment then they would have a clue about his true character, but the jury had already made the decision before Harry even realized he was on trial. They never really wanted to give Harry a chance, so he knew he would be hated no matter where he decided to reside. The pack mentality that they carry is the reason he has to move around so often though (more than any 25 years old was typically doing) he gets run out of a lot of areas because a group of soft witches decides he’s no good.

That’s what drew him to this place -- there was practically nobody. He could sense when there were more like him loitering around an area, and made an effort to keep a decently low profile so that he could stay around longer (but they always managed to find him), but here, he only sensed one. That had been good enough for him to know this was the right move -- the beautiful scenery surrounding them; the soft bed of dirt that Harry’s feet would sink into easily; the dense, damp fog that covered the forest floor in the early mornings; the lush, green trees and how life seemed to remain there when it was meant to be waning in the colder months -- all of that, had only been a plus.

When he’d met Y/N, he knew that she disliked him, but Harry had expected as much so it disturbed him none. If anything, he was delighted to have a purer witch than himself around, all things considered. There were no others that she could develop a hive mind with to drive him out of town, but she was no competition to the businesses that he provided, and when a decoction called for an obscure plant or an unsullied petal -- well, a Garden witch was not the worst kind to have nearby. She may be devout in her notions that Harry was a disagreeable, repugnant being, but she was good at what she did. Anything done with her plants was twice as effective as any other person’s flowers he’d used in the past, so it was necessary he bothered her often.

She refused to sell to him -- something about her doing business with a demon, or whatever she’d said -- but so long as he doesn’t go and cut them from the stem himself, she helps him out. Will give him the plants he needs, and in return, he doesn’t taint certain areas of the town and the forest that she declared were off-limits. It was a spoken commercial agreement that both of them went by and because of it, their lives near to one another were comparatively peaceful to any other situation Harry has found him in prior.

That didn’t come without its faults. They butt heads often, their bickering is nonstop, and Harry could think of many things he would rather do than have to stay in a room with her for longer than the ten minutes it takes him to get what he needs. It was fun to fluster her -- getting beneath her skin was an easy feat that he found a lot of joy in, and sometimes she gave him a run for his money. He always kind of liked making a normally mild-tempered person grump at him a little, if not for his impish ways, then so he could get to know them as their full self.

So he wasn’t mad that she was closed because he particularly wanted to see her, no, he was mad because he was exhausted. Absolutely drained. The business was incredible when you’re the only dark witch willing to do some questionable, immoral things, but that also meant long nights and incredible emotional toil -- it wasn’t a walk in the park to conjure up a bloody demon!

Ever since Harry had started this path, he’d had immense trouble sleeping at appropriate times, if he could fall asleep at all. He guesses this was what he gets in return for what he practices, and it could be worse so he doesn’t mind it too much, but it was still a hassle. It had been a good four years since Harry just had a good, peaceful night of sleep.

Up until he had moved here, of course, because the same little garden witch that thought he was the devil incarnate, made a tea he could brew that set him right to sleep. Kept him asleep the entire night too, which had always been an impossible endeavor spanning back to when he was a child, but there was something about her chamomile -- hell, it really knocked him out.

He tested his theory -- part of him thought that maybe chamomile was suddenly working for him, but no matter the brand that he tried, or the amount of tea he drank, none of it could compare to what Y/N’s did. When he visited her store, he took what he could to hold him off to the next time he came by. He hadn’t realized how low he was though when he had seen her last and she threatened to lace it with laxatives -- he should have taken two because he used his last bit the night prior to the one he’s suffering through right now.

And he could have gotten more this morning if she didn’t close her stupid shop on weekends!

If Harry were not positive that he needed to rest, he wouldn’t bother to be trying. There was nothing worse to him than the laying in his bed and waiting for sleep that refused to come...it felt like he was being stood up by a date. It hasn’t happened often, but enough that Harry could match the feeling low in his stomach, indicative of discontent and sadness while he waited. . . . .and waited. . . .and waited. . . .and waited.

It was useless -- the universe’s retribution for summoning spirits to the living world left him with what a doctor might diagnose as chronic insomnia, but none of the treatments did him any good. No mortal medicinal could soothe him of this ailment. So one would think he would be smarter about keeping a hearty stock of it at his disposal rather than one at a time, but Harry never claimed to be the best at planning ahead.

And now here he was, staring at his ceiling fan whirl, his cat at his side while he contemplated if breaking and entering her shop was against his morals (he had a few left, surprisingly).

God, she was so rotten!

. . .

“Have you felt weird lately?”

“Hm?” Niall’s face scrunches up in confusion, his mouth stuffed full of noodles he just slurpped into his mouth, “Wha’ d’ya mean?” He muffles out, reaching over to her side of the table for a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth.

The record store that Niall worked at wasn’t too far from Y/N’s shop so if her day wasn’t too busy, she would step away from the store for her lunch break and seek him out. It was never a planned ordeal; Y/N would stop off somewhere to get them something to eat and appear at his storefront, the sharp ding of the bell knotted on the door alerted him of her presence. He was always one of two places: in the back, tuning the old guitars the owner would bid on different websites, or he was in the front thumbing through the record baskets, organizing and reorganizing them by name. Sometimes he would be sat behind the counter, with his feet kicked up just beside the register but Y/N scolds him for that (he’s always wearing a dingy, scuffed pair of shoes that have no business seeing the light of day, let alone be shown off to others).

His head would perk up, he would look toward the door, and his face would bloom into one of sheer delight as he would call over to her, “Oh, thank fuck! Thought I would go crazy if I had to listen to myself think for one more second.”

Today was no different. She brought him ramen from the place three buildings down from his own, where she bends down a street that feels more like an alleyway and the door is hidden beneath a brassy fire escape. The owners were always very kind to her, and since she came often and tipped well, they would give her free bowls if they were in the mood. Y/N never liked the idea of a one-sided relationship with a business, so she always brought them herbs, and gardenias to plant at home (they were the husband’s favorite). She takes their fliers and posts them up in high traffic areas too, and when they have their business cards made and an extra hundred or so, she slips them in the paper baggies that she gathers her customer’s things in before sending them on their way.

Niall was grateful. He did a little cheer, left his spot from behind the counter, and urged her to follow him to the back where the break room was located (if a customer came around he would hear the bell and duck his head out to greet them, but for the most part their Tuesdays were pretty uneventful). He told her he had sensed her coming so he already had two stools set out for them to sit on, and napkins placed in the middle of the table, but she’s almost a hundred percent sure they had been left like that last time she was here.

Try as she might to let her mind flee from the dark, hazed feeling that had overcome her last week, she couldn’t. Even as she listened to Niall prattle about some Gibson Les Paul custom that the owner purchased a while back, she struggled not to wonder what it was that was worming itself into her brain; slick tendrils of dismay overcame her. The true, unadulterated, execrable feeling only truly hits her in the night if she is outside the safety of her home or her shop, but otherwise, it was memories of this haunting aura that struck her throughout the day.

She couldn’t place her finger on it though, what it could be. There are feelings she garners when Harry summons certain spirits, but she can typically tell when he’s doing that, and they’ve never felt so. . .evil, before. What Harry deals with is evil, sure, but this was so smothered in turpitude that she couldn’t make it out. Like spilling black ink over a letter written in blue.

That’s why she asks Niall -- it feels too strong for it to be something only felt by her and Harry. It would also soothe her mind if someone had felt it as horribly and heavily as she did, considering it wasn’t affecting Harry enough that he would try to banish the damn thing before things went sour.

“Like, do things just not feel. . .off, to you?” She didn’t want to feed him any impressions of what she might be speaking about -- she would like to know if it were true to him. Niall is sweet as he could be, but not always when it was appropriate; he would tell her he did just to spare her from feeling foolish. It’s why she thought berets were her thing for about a month when really she looked like a washed-up indie artist trying too hard (Niall had agreed they weren’t her best fashion venture, but he certainly didn’t think they were that bad).

His face contorts in a pout as he mulls it over in his head, stabbing his fork into the noodles and catching a bit of pork on two of the pronks, “Hm, let’s see. . .” he looks like he’s spinning through a Rolodex, “I have not for the life of me mustered enough energy to have a wank in about a week, that’s some cause for concern,” when she responds with a blank stare, he holds his hands up, “Okay, fine -- Butternut was biting at the air when I took him on his walk the other night -- like. . .chomping at it, I was actually gonna ask you what that might be about.”

Now, don’t get Y/N wrong, any other time Niall would have told her that his great Pyrenees puppy was yapping and chomping at the wind, she would have brushed it off. “Niall, you’re just going to have to accept that he’s going to be a big, sweet dummy when he’s older.” But she was so desperate for something, anything -- because if something felt it other than she and Harry, then she wouldn’t feel quite as crazy.

“Sometimes it feels a bit like something’s watching me,” he tacks on at the end, taking the brown napkin from the stack in between them and dabs roughly at his mouth, “At night, when I’m walking Butternut, I get these chills but there’s no wind around.”

Y/N leans forward, thankful, “Yeah?” she presses, “Is it like -- describe it. What does it feel like?”

“Y’know, I do forget you’re a witch until times like these,” he leans back in his chair, a heavy sigh slides from his lips before he closes his eyes like he’s trying to place himself back at the moment, “I’ll tell ya what, it’s fuckin’ -- it’s a bit like I feel it right down to my bones, but then --” he opens his eyes, raises his closed fists and flicks his fingers out at her, “Poof, s’gone as quick as it came and I forget about it. My nan used to tell me that was the devil patting your shoulder, but if it went away quick s’because an angel kicked his arse out of there.”

It’s enough, Y/N decides, so she nods and relaxes back in her seat, “Okay, good.”

“Good?” His brows furrow, as he reaches for his can of soda and the aluminum can crinkles beneath his fingers, “Tell you that I get chills and you’re relieved? Should I be relieved too, or worried?”

“It isn’t anything to concern over, I don’t think,” she explains to him, “If anything changes I’ll let you know.”

Niall uses one of his fingernails to dig the dirt from beneath the other, “Did that Harry bloke muster some horrible demon up again?” His voice is laced with vexation. Niall wasn’t a hard guy to get along with -- he was loud and Irish, could chat up a storm about anything and everything, and while he could be scrappy at times, it was for all the right reasons. He was equanimous in most situations, even-tempered to a fair degree; if Y/N were in a situation where a cool, calm collected head would be the best approach then Niall was definitely the person she wanted on her side.

(Like when they had to drive home from a day trip to the massive lake just north of them, but the roads hadn’t been pretreated for the icy sleet that gripped the pavement. He drove them the whole way on the windy roads with little traction from the tires to the road, and was still bobbing his head and singing along to Ed Sheeran on the radio).

But Harry Styles? Oh, the mention of his name could dig right beneath Niall’s skin. Y/N would like to think that it was because he was so cruel to her, but she knows that there are two main reasons Niall is not too fond of him nor his craft. One of which is the fact that he slept with Liana (she happened to be one of Niall’s flings at the time -- there were plenty, but Y/N only remembered this one’s name because she shared it with a woody stem rooted to the forest soil that made for easy climbing), and the other, the fact that he had helped the captain of the opposing summer footie team with one of his enchantments to make them win. There are few things Niall cares for so deeply that he would dislike someone, but his sex life and his footie were two things a person just couldn’t mess up for him.

“No, it wasn’t him this time,” she clears her throat, pushing the rest of her ramen around idly, “It’s a bit too strong to be his doing -- more sinister too. He conjures mostly petty demons; the little ones that don’t have much better to do anyway. This is something. . .I don’t know, it just feels different.”

Niall sighs heavily, “Well, thanks for that, reckon I won’t be sleeping tonight,” he pushes the container away from himself to signify he’s done and when she takes a peek inside and sees nothing but a few noodles limp along the sides, “I like that you keep me in the loop, but sometimes I wish you would let me live in ignorance.”

“You know, I would apologize, but you’ve gone into an in-depth description of your arsehole to me so I thought any boundaries and forms of secrecy were long gone by now.”

His brows furrow features contorting into that of the same desperation he had come to her with two months ago, “Ugh, c’mon! You’re practically like a witch doctor or somethin’, I thought you would have a cream or something for it.”

“You had a hemorrhoid, Niall, for fuck sake! Even if I were a “witch doctor” then I would never let you put anything that came from my plants on your filthy bum.”

Niall stands, gathering their trash from the break room table but using his free hand as he passes her, he swats her shoulder, “You better be nice to me, or you’re gonna have to start eating lunch with Styles.” He steps on the level for the waste bin, throwing the trash in the bag, “Though I think you two would just end up hate fucking and the food would go cold.”

“No,” she rolls her eyes, “I would never let that Gremlin near my naked body.”

“Listen, I’m not saying I want the guy anywhere near your naked body,” he plops back down in his seat, “What I am saying is that you lot have such unbridled sexual tension it is practically palpable when I’m at the shop with the both of you. Maybe it’s ‘cos the two of you are the only witches, and opposites at that.”

Y/N snorts, “Maybe if we were in some enemies to lovers film, sure.”

After they finish their break, and Y/N realizes that she’s been with him for a little over an hour, they make plans to meet up tomorrow for a movie and she heads out. The air was cool -- when she had made her way over here the sun had been glittering rays down that bathed the world in gold, but it was now hidden beneath an overcast of thick clouds. Rain always carried a familiar scent just before it started to pour and Y/N had forgone a jacket, so she huffed her way back, breathless by the time she made it up the hill and saw Harry leaning against her door.

The sight of him makes her exhausted, but not in the usual way it does. He looks awful -- and typically he doesn’t! Y/N could admit that Harry was gorgeous; his hair always appeared soft, loose curls dispersed along the brunette strands, his eyes are a sea green, tender in his gaze when he wasn’t being an absolute prick and always bright (even when he was). His lips were pink, shaped perfectly, and his skin is typically smooth but even when he grows out his facial hair it still manages to look good. He had dimples. . .hell, Y/N would place a bet that he’d made a deal with the devil to look like that.

But today, he just looked worn down, and exhausted, like he might not have slept the entire weekend. His eyes were closed, his hands were in his pockets and his chin was tilted down towards his chest. If not for the way his head perked up immediately when her foot crunched into the gravel pathway leading up to her store from the small parking area (that was more so a beaten down, once grassy area now just dirt with tire tracks in it), she would have thought he was asleep standing up. There’s relief in his eyes when they meet her own, which she isn’t used to seeing from him, “Thank fuck.”

“You look horrible,” Y/N slides her hand into her pocket, pulling out her keys so she could unlock the door, “Budge over.”

“I feel it,” he rubs tiredly at his eyes, “Go on and open up quickly then. Why the hell do you keep your store closed on weekends?”

Y/N fits her hand over the knob, twisting it and shoving the door open with her shoulder. Thumper greets them at the door, nudging the top of his head against her ankle, “Do you work every night?”

“No --”

“I keep it closed on weekends for the same reason why you don’t work every night,” she heads toward the counter, settling her things down and reaching in for Thumper’s hay stash so that she could give him some, “What’re you here for? You usually come around to bother me later.” She chances petting at Thumper’s head for a moment, and since he was preoccupied with his hay he would allow it.

“Fuck!” Y/N startles, popping up from behind the counter, looking back up only to see Harry with wide, disgruntled eyes, “Where’s your chamomile?”

Her brows dip, “I’m out right now, so --”

“How the hell did you run out? Shit, what am I going to do now, hm? Shouldn’t you keep up with shite like this?” He’s going a mile a minute, he’s walking closer to her, distress was written all over his face and Y/N is alarmed to a fair degree -- Harry’s always seemed very collected and calm, it was seldom she ever seen him have more emotion than pure elation to fuck with her or displeased with her presence.

“ -- so I’m going to make more today. What’s going on with you? Why are you so pissy over it?” She finishes her previous thought, watching as he leans against the counter, propping his face up with his hand and she could now more clearly make out the bags beneath his eyes.

He rubs at his temple with the finger closest to it, “The only way I can sleep is with your bloody tea,” he grumbled, “That’s why I come around all the time -- well, that and to fuck with you, but mostly the tea.”

“Oh?” She reaches down, plucking Thumper from where he’d been positioned by her feet and setting him on the counter. He thumps his foot at her once but eventually makes his way over to Harry, sniffing at his chin before resting right before him. Y/N wasn’t necessarily doing it to be nice, but the energy he was exuding could really dampen the growth rate of her plants, and Thumper had a soothing way about him that drew all that negativity out. It was one of those odd little familiar powers that went unexplained for the most part. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged his shoulders, but the tension in them begins to dissipate as Thumper snuggles beneath his chin, “Reckon I pissed off some demon or summat -- usually it isn’t this bad. Without your tea, I can at least get to bed for three hours before waking up and catch cat naps during the day, but nothing was working this weekend. I think I’ve slept a total of two hours?”

“Christ,” she tuts her tongue, but her brain starts churning, “Do you think it has anything to do with that. . .with that thing, that’s around? That feeling?”

Harry huffs a sigh, “Fuck, here you go again -- Babe, listen, I can barely keep a coherent thought, so why don’t I just give you some money and you make that tea for me, alright?”

“That’s no way to ask,” Y/N chastises him, and though she is already beginning to gather the supplies she needs so she could go out and harvest her leaves, she taunts him, “You’ll have to say please, or I might just decide to wait on this batch.”

“Please,” he wastes no time in saying, “Pretty please harvest the chamomile so that I can sleep and I promise I’ll sit and theorize with you over whatever the fuck thing you’re feeling.”

Y/N could go through the trouble of doing a blood binding with him to ensure that he wasn’t lying to her, but she felt that was a little on the extreme side so she took his word for it. She could easily harvest her chamomile here at the shop -- she had two doors behind the counter, one that led to her garden, the field, and the forest outside while the other led to a backroom that was made into a little kitchen area. It was easier for her to do things here rather than at home and have to risk tainting them in transport; for the best results to any enchanted item, one has to seal it immediately and it should only be reopened prior to use.

She wouldn’t allow Harry to hover over her while she worked, so she sat him behind the counter and told him to not speak to any customers if they come through (“Wasn’t planning to,”) while she went to work. Y/N gave Thumper a look when he had started to follow her, and with a small thump of his foot (his way of saying Fine!) he hops himself into Harry’s lap and settles there. The tension once again eases from Harry’s features, soothing the pinch in his brow and the way his lips had been pursed in a frown.

It was silent as she set to work, and save for a few customers who filtered in and out (at least a dozen of them, only eight purchased something but her Mondays were always pretty slow so that was expected), there wasn’t much to disturb what appeared to be a dozing Harry. He looked much more peaceful than she’s ever seen him, and for a brief moment she contemplates sending Thumper back home with him, but she shakes her head physically as if to expel the thought from her brain. What was she going on about? She would give him his tea and send the heathen on his way. No matter how empathetic she felt for him (she had struggled with issues sleeping when she was a lot younger), there was no need to go out of her way. . .even if she could admit that the sight of him cuddling with a bunny was a little too sweet not to be documented somewhere.

She’s finished drying the leaves and carefully stirring them in the fine powder that she still had leftover from her last batch (there were many flowers from her garden ground up and enchanted with an incantation, which sounds like a simple enough task but the entire process took a little over a week -- the magic had to be purified several times, and the potential adverse effects had to be mollified. . . if she didn’t, instead of pleasant dreams of floating in clouds, her customers would be in an unsolicited astral projection) in a little over an hour. Y/N takes care to bag them delicately, adding a little extra in the two bags she would be giving Harry so that he would bother her less over it.

By the time she’s retreated from the back preparation room, she finds that Harry is awake now, eyeballing her Intimacy and Romance section. When he sees that she’s returned to the front, he holds up the small, cardboard parcel, “I didn’t know you doubled as a Pulse and Cocktails.”

“That’s a natural aphrodisiac,” she tells him, walking over to her empty chamomile shelf before she begins to fill it, “You might want to take some so your partners will actually desire you for once.”

“Oh, Honey,” he shakes his head, a look on his face almost like he pities her, “Don’ know a thing about how people desire me. Barely have to take my cock out for them to be gagging for it -- kind of how you are, but won’t admit it to yourself.”

Y/N kisses her teeth, “Alright lecher, come and get your chamomile then,” she plucks the two remaining bags from the box she brought them in and holds them out for him, “You should look into some spells to combat that though -- if a demon is purloining your sleep, then it’s probably still hanging around and like deluging your flat with negative energy.”

“Dunno’ if you know this, but I work with demons often, I’m always surrounded by negative energy,” he plucks the chamomile from her grasp, before reaching in his pocket and producing a small wad of cash that he places in her palm-- Y/N opens her mouth to decline it (she felt that his money was earned in a dishonest way and would not accept it for her flowers, because it felt as if she were disrespecting them. . .she would much rather give it to him for free), but he cuts her off, “Oh, hush and take the money. This is from a care package my Nan sent me, so it wasn’t earned in any rotten way, you spoiled brat.”

She sighs, clutching the money in her hands, “You still better keep your end of the deal,” Y/N tells him, “I want to talk about this. . .whatever that feeling is, around here lately. And I want you to be serious about it!”

Harry was already retreating, waving his hand up at her, “Yeah, sure thing, I’ll have my secretary get in contact with you --”

“Harry --”

“M’only joking. I’ll come around Friday.”

. . .

Later that night, with Thumper snuggled in her lap snoozing, Y/N looks into purging a home of sleep stealing spirits.

She’s only curious.

. . .

Sleep comes gradually, then all at once, like the shift between summer and fall.

Wind whistles past window sills singing shallow songs of change, while red apples ripen on their branches in the orchard during harvest season. The air grows colder in the mornings and at night, the day is still steeped in the sun’s benevolent kisses of heat at first until even that begins to wane. An aesthetic of reds, oranges, forest greens and golden hues occupy the minds of many as the leaves start to stain with color. Everyone waits with bated breath for true autumn to come around the corner.

And when it does, it’s with a cold slap of air against the face when they step outside. The air carries that distinct autumn smell, the world is chilly enough for thicker jackets and long socks, rain comes in sheets during the evenings, and the colorful leaves that had drooped from the trees adhere to the concrete, or in matted piles on the forest floor. Suddenly, the warm drink in everyone’s hand is a little less for the excitement and impatience for fall to begin, and more so to warm their cold palms from the onslaught of biting wind.

It isn’t autumn, and then it is -- just like sleep. Harry’s awake one minute, and then he’s passed right out.

Well, with Y/N’s help, bless her. Sure, she had been rotten before, but she made him a new batch and sent him off with two hearty bags full of tea that would soothe his worries and put his arse to bed. Plus, he had cuddled with her sweet little bunny Thumper for a while and he had a feeling the little bugger was exuding some sort of her soft magic unto him in the form of calming waves. When the rabbit sat in his lap, all the tension eased from his muscles and he sank into an otherwise uncomfortable chair like it was the softest mattress he’d ever been privy to. So by the time he came home, started the kettle, drank a mug full, and hot tailed it to his bed, he was asleep before his head could even quite hit the pillow.

It was so good. His dreams were pleasant, his sleep was heavy, and deep, and lasted around fifteen hours -- which in the grand scheme of things, made him feel a bit like a sloth, but he knew he needed it. He still couldn’t quite pinpoint what had happened that he just couldn’t sleep even a little bit, but he has no interest in investigating now that he had a full night’s (and partially day’s) rest. Plus, there was no time to do any exploring when he needed to make up for the work he’d missed in his time exhausted -- his powers are nowhere near as strong if he is tired, and it’s incredibly dangerous to be working with little sleep. He could mess up, and a mess-up could mean someone would likely end up possessed and -- albeit how interesting they are -- Harry’s intrigue with exorcisms ended after the seventh one he performed.

After he woke up, showered off, and ate brekkie, he sat down with his kitten and they cleaned his crystals and a few amulets before he set on preparing some of his finer elixirs, that he always waited until he was down to the last drop to begin making more canisters of considering how extensive the process was. It would be easier if he had someone else to help out, but the only other witch within 160 kilometers of him, he wouldn’t label as the type all too willing to help him break into a blood bank.

But he did have his kitten Oat. He was his little miracle -- Harry had been so sad when he learned that witches could have familiars, but the animal would come to him and he was supposed to just know. At that point, he’d been practicing for three years and the only feelings he could sense from any animal around him were fear and disdain, so he had thought that maybe he just wasn’t meant to have one. Which felt horrible. . .he loved animals.

One day, when the chill in the air rosied his cheeks and the cardigan he sported did little to shield him from the cold, he was taking a walk in the forest nearby. He’d left the trail, but not because he was working. . .if he were honest, he thought that the garden that Y/N kept out there was quite magnificent. It flourished even in the winter, a meadow of flowers that’s petals never frost, and the ground never grew hard. There was an air around it that made him feel warm and pleasant, so he visited often without letting her know. Which was what he was doing, walking through the small path that she had created so that she could tend to them (he’d seen her water them once when he’d come unknowing that she was there to cater to them).

And one moment he was looking at what he believed to be an oat grass, he heard a rustle from the bushes to his left that he looked toward (it was a bird flying away), and when his gaze returned to where it had once been, there a small kitten was laying. She was the kind of small that made his heart ache, with her eyes barely open as she yawned and stretched very wide -- she wasn’t there, and then she was. Harry always liked to say she was born from the soft soil of Y/N’s garden which was why her grey fur felt like clouds and she always smelled sweet as heliotrope. . .and, well, she smelled a lot like Y/N too. He may not be all too fond of the girl, but she did always smell nice.

She hadn’t grown bigger than one of his boots, the tiny little thing, but not because she was malnourished in any way (Harry always made sure she was well-fed), he just thinks she’s finished growing. He couldn’t tell her breed, but if he had to guess she was some mix between a munchkin and a ragamuffin cat. Harry knows all familiars have their duties and special abilities, but he wasn’t quite sure what hers was -- he just knew that he loved her to bits and pieces, and couldn’t ask for a better little ball of fur to sit on his shoulder while he made coffee in the morning.

What Harry did know, was that none of the demon’s he had ever conjured had ever bothered her, and she loved to be rubbed behind her ears.

So Thursday night, when the town grew quiet and the air was still, Harry ventured out with his tote bag slung over his shoulder. It was easy to move about relatively unseen in a place like this, that wasn’t so big there were people constantly looming around the corners of every nook and cranny, but wasn’t so small that everybody knew everyone’s business. It was a pleasant in between, where he could snake through the mouth of the forest, walk a trail and end up on the other side of town without having been seen by more than a few critters. He typically made this journey relatively late, without a worry or stressor in sight -- it only took him about an hour and a half to get everything done.

Today though -- today, he felt off. It hadn’t been immediately when he’d stepped outside, but after some time in his walk, goosebumps prickled his skin and the hair at the back of his neck stood on end. He couldn’t quite decipher what was making him feel like this when the wind hadn’t rustled the trees in a few minutes, but it put him on guard. He disliked the feeling and had only truly sensed it to this degree that night Y/N had originally questioned him about it. It was an unsavory sensation, and for it to even make him feel uneasy was saying something tremendous.

He attempts to ignore it, even though it only grew stronger the closer he was to his destination. He weaves through the trees, stepping over the thick roots, crunching over fallen leaves, and appreciating the scent of autumn as he goes. It was a nice night, despite the chill that ran just beneath his skin. . .it was the kind of night that he might go out on his balcony and sip on his tea until he grew weary enough to step inside. Oat liked to sit outside with him, curled peacefully in his lap and resting without a care in the world (she made him feel not so lonely all the time, which he appreciated immensely).

Harry was thinking about how that was precisely what he was going to do as soon as he returned home after he had emerged from the trees and walked through an expansive field, toward an old road that led him back into town and entered the blood bank (after melting the lock with one of his crystals). Though he sensed something strong when he was walking down the cold, dark hall. . .or someone that is, who -- before he could register their presence -- ran straight into him as they were peeling around the corner and nearly knocked him on his arse (but definitely knocked them on theirs).

“Fuck sake!” He cried out, steadying himself, looking down at the assailant, “Watch where you’re going, mate, or you’ll -- oh, Y/N?” He pauses, confusion laces through his brain as he recognizes her, “What’re you doing here so late?”

Y/N was on her bum, scowling at him as she gathered herself before flattening her palms to the cold, white tiled floor and pressing up to a stand, “I could ask you the same question.”

“It would be a silly one if you did, ‘cos you and I both know what I’m doing for a living,” he watches as she swipes her bum of the dust adhering to her sweatpants -- he had never seen her so dressed down before, in a dark-colored hoodie that just about swallowed her whole. She appeared much less ferocious this way -- not that she appeared very ferocious before, but he is always intrigued to see typically put together people in their sleep clothes. . .he thinks it says a lot about a person. From Y/N’s choice of pajamas, he could tell that she probably kept her flat on the side of too cold because she liked to bundle up. . .she felt safe that way, he would guess, and he would bet 50 quid that there was bunny hair all over it because -- despite his grumpy tendencies -- Thumper loved a good cuddle.

“I felt it again,” she says after a moment, her voice only above a whisper, though there was no security here -- or anyone, for that matter since the place closes at 7 PM, but her eyes still shift around like she’s a high schooler ditching class and the headmaster's down the hall, “. . .that thing, y’know, while I was getting ready for bed, so I followed where it felt grossest and came to check it out to see if it led me anywhere.”

Harry’s brows furrowed, “Well that was stupid,” he derides her, fixing the tote around his shoulder and shifting weight from one heel to the other, “What were you going to do if you found something, hm? Fight it off with your bunny and rose petals?”

Her scowl returns, “Piss off,” she utters before her gaze flickers to his tote and the reason he’s here becomes clearer to her than it had been before, “You shouldn’t be stealing blood. Isn’t that unethical?”

“It’s either this or siphoning it from a live vein, Babe, and while I’m aces at plenty of things, I have not been properly trained to set up an IV. I only take the blood that’s about to expire anyway,” He nods down the hallway, toward the refrigeration where they kept all of the baggies, “You might as well continue investigating while we’re here because it’s coming from that way -- plus you can make yourself useful by keeping the door propped open for me.”

In all honesty, Harry expects more fight than he was given considering how often she seems to object to every move he makes, but she merely rolls her eyes and starts ahead of him. The feeling does grow stronger the further they descend into the hallway and he knows Y/N can feel it too, from the way she shuffles just a little closer to him, and he can hear her breathing hitch to a small halt as they stood before the door and it felt like it had all been focused just behind the door. As strong as the taste of frozen orange juice concentrate, it made his face pucker just slightly as he raised his fingers toward the keypad and began punching in the code.

And there’s nothing.

Actually, as soon as they open the door, the dark, odious feeling that had been encompassing both of them disappears entirely. “Whoa,” Y/N pushes her hand against the door and keeps it open, taking one step inside of the room, “There’s a lot of blood in here.” His gaze flickers back at her, as she looks around, looking more intrigued than disgusted -- there was a lot of blood, 8 by 5-meter room just filled with it, so he could understand some of the awe. The more he returns, the less awe he feels, but he reckons that was to be expected.

“There are about five other refrigerators in this building too,” he tells her as he lowers to his knees, cracking open his tote, “This one’s computers are easier to get into though, and doesn’t say the date and time the amount was changed so nobody knows anything is missing. Easy peasy.”

Y/N nods, “Right. Stealing blood -- easy peasy,” she leans against the door, “What is it that you use it for?”

“It really depends,” he murmurs as he pulls out a rack, counting out the baggies he needed, “Some demons like blood more than ash, so they come when called and are more willing to help you out when given a little gift. There are a few spells that call for it, and elixirs are twice as potent — sometimes I have to drink it, which is...unpleasant,” he hears her shiver, “—but it makes the outcome better. All in a day's work.”

“Oh wow,” Y/N hummed, “That’s...different. I think the weirdest thing I’ve had to drink for a spell was doe milk and I felt guilty the whole time. Like I was taking it from a fawn that needed it.”

Harry huffed out a laugh — Y/N was a soft little thing, comparing drinking blood to milk — sometimes he forgets how sheltered her world of magic is compared to his own. It was easy to forget with all the spiteful words she could throw his way, but to see her out of her comfort zone. . .it’s refreshing. Not because she is less confident in her surroundings, but because she is more open to his own If someone would have told Harry they would be even remotely civil with one another in a room full of blood, he would have snorted before asking what they were snorting.

“I oughta call you Bambi then.”

He was on his last baggy of blood, checking the expiration date, and logging it into the computer when the dreadful feeling returned. Like a fly to rotting meat, it clings back to the room they were in tenfold. From behind him, a sharp clatter and Y/N’s squeal startles him to look back at her, “Harry!” She cried, pointing ahead of her, “The walls! L-look at the walls!”

Harry follows her finger, watching as a thick, black substance oozes from the wall’s coving. When Y/N had noticed as much, she knocked down a stray IV pole that had been left in here, and it lay at her feet where the same black ooze had begun seeping up from the trim of the floors. In all his time doing what he does, Harry had never seen something so odd, nor had he ever felt something this grotesque overcome his being. It makes him act quickly, and while he doesn’t speak, he does fix his tote over his shoulder and practically jog the short distance to Y/N, knocking her out of the room, grabbing the door by the handle, and swinging it shut. He had hoped to seal it in there, whatever it was, but when they look down at the floor, the goo bleeds beneath the door and they both take a startled step back, “Oh fuck me,” Harry mutters to himself, shaking his head.

“What the hell is this?” Y/N is panicked -- it’s very clear in her voice, and while Harry was a tad thankful not to be dealing with this alone, he can’t say that a soft which, who planted pretty flowers and made sleepy time tea was necessarily the backing he wanted in the event he had to exorcise a demon. He didn’t even have the proper tools for it. . .he didn’t know what he was exorcising, fuck sake -- “Harry, shouldn’t we --”

“We need to leave,” he states, pivoting on his heel and hustling down the hall, Y/N was quick to scurry behind him, though she still murmurs some protest.

“We shouldn’t just --”

“Listen, unless you have any idea what that is and how to clean it, let alone banish it to hell, I saw we have a better chance through those doors than we do staying in here for even a second more,” he told her, holding out his hands to the crash bar, shoving the heavy door open, only looking back to make sure that Y/N had made it through, seeing that the black ooze had been following them before he promptly slammed the door shut.

This was one of the back doors, so it spits them out to the graveled employee parking lot that dances along one of the many mouths of the forest that surrounded them. They’re both out of breath, adrenalin zipping through their veins in a tidal wave as their chests heave and they stare at the door. They wait for it to crawl beneath these doors. . .they wait for the building to either be overcome by sludge or combust from whatever sinister being had decided to preoccupy this space.

But nothing happens.

The wind picks up, the leaves rustle against the branches, and as if it were a gift from the Earth, the sordid feeling blew right away with it.

“What the hell was that?” Y/N asks for the second time.

Harry straightens out from where he’d been crouched, inhaling the cool air, appreciative to be in it.

“Do you think for a second, with my reaction, that I have any fucking clue?”

. . .

Y/N doesn’t have people at her flat often.

Actually, apart from Niall and a few maintenance men, nobody had ever really come over. Not for any particular reason, really, and not because she didn’t want them to necessarily -- the opportunity just rarely arose, or more so, she didn’t often allow it to. If she were going to meet someone then she would meet them somewhere else, and they would part ways after they were finished (again, apart from Niall, who would simply follow her home, kick his trainers off, and head toward her couch which he had told her was simply the comfiest he’d ever been on). Her home was her humble abode. . .it was where she came to destress after a long day, and where Thumper sometimes waited for her debating whether or not he wanted to nibble her bathroom rug to shreds.

Not to mention she had plants growing here too, and flowers that she held dear to her, and while people are more reluctant to go touching what isn’t their business at a store, they are much less disinclined to give that same respect to her plants. Once Y/N had a maintenance man over to fix her faucet and she’d walked out from her room to see that he was caressing her snake plant’s leaves. She couldn’t blame him -- the plant had a very encompassing presence about it and had a way of drawing people in if they weren’t careful. . .hypnotized by the way it made them feel. All of Y/N’s soil and seeds are charmed with special incantations and concoctions that took her years to perfect, she would be disappointed if they weren’t causing people to leave all semblance of professionalism to even for a moment feel as if they were in a room with such clear air, their lungs felt renewed and they deemed it necessary to get closer.

But then she had to apologize to her snake plant for nearly two days after! It had been so upset with her, she could feel it, so she started being even more careful about who she let in. If she was going to go out of her way to have someone over, then there was a good reason for it. . .or it was Niall.

And a demonic, gooey substance sweating from the walls of a blood bank, was well enough a good reason to have Harry over.

It took some coaxing on her part -- he was convinced that they needed to just go back to their respective flats and go to bed, but Y/N was adamant in vetoing the idea. “We’re supposed to talk tomorrow anyway, so we might as well just go ahead and do it tonight -- and you are not leaving me alone after whatever the fuck that was!”

After a good ten minutes, he finally relented as long as they could stop by his flat so he could get his kitten. Y/N hadn’t known that he had a kitten and thought maybe he would bring out some ragged-looking thing, but she was surprised to see through her windshield window that Harry was approaching her car with a small grey kitten. Her face contorts in the way everyone’s face might when they see something small and cute, “Look at her,” she coos once Harry opens his door, “What’s her name?”

“This is Oat,” he answered, holding her out for Y/N to pet, “Be careful, she’s vicious.”

Y/N pet at her head and Oat’s eyes shut as she nuzzled into her palm, “Oh yeah, what a panther.”

Apart from the nerves that had already materialized from what they had seen in the blood bank, she was a little worried about inviting him into her home. When she visualized her safe space, Harry was not typically who she saw sitting on her couch when she came in from the kitchen, holding mugs of warm tea. Yet there he was, introducing Thumper and Oat to one another (who merely sniffed each other, then immediately cozied against her olive throw blanket on the end of the couch), and Y/N is handing him his steamy mug.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, immediately nursing the mug between his palms and lifting it up to his mouth for a small sip -- the steam disperses around his face in plumes, “And it wouldn’t make sense for. . .for whatever that is to just be a demon.”

“What?” She inquires, taking her seat beside him on the couch, her body twisted so she was facing him entirely. Y/N had adjusted the temperature to something that would be a bit more suited toward having a guest -- when she’s alone, she keeps it ungodly cold so she has an excuse to bundle up in her clothes and blankets. There’s nothing like feeling safe in a cocoon of various fabrics with Buffy the Vampire Slayer on the telly.

Harry strategically places the mug between his knitted socked feet, steadying it there as he begins to play with the thick, brassy tiger ring on his index finger, “Demons are strong, sure, but if they’re gonna be that strong there’s typically two reasons for it: they have already inhabited that area, or someone is controlling them behind the scenes. I would be more inclined to believe the prior, but I’ve been going to this blood blank for about a year now and unless there were some pentagrams I’ve missed or a gruesome ordeal that never made the papers in the past two weeks -- then there’s no reason for that to have happened at the hands of a spirit. Even a blood demon isn’t strong enough to make what happened in there happen, and they literally feed off the substance in the room.”

“So you think someone summoned it or something? I thought you were the only one around here that did that?” Y/N probes, trying to look in his eyes but she keeps getting distracted by his rings -- how many did he have? She thinks he nearly has one on each finger, and he’s plucking them off and placing them on different knuckles as he speaks. Y/N wonders if it’s something he does in response to a stressor, like how she picks at her nails.

“I’m the only witch that summons things around here, but not even I could conjure something that feels that vile.” He explained, fitting the last ring against his knuckle before he pops the bones in his fingers, and Y/N watches as the skin stretches and moves around the muscles in his hands, “I think someone is trying to manifest something without the proper safeguards in place. . .the lack of protection charms, crystals, and spells can invite much more heinous creatures to the living world. They feed off shite like that -- naivety. . .thinking that any person could decide they’ll have a demon carry out a job for them. It’s easier for them to take advantage of them that way.” Harry exhales, running the pad of his thumb around the rim of the mug— she’s given him the one that has intricate, realistic drawings of beluga whales on it, not for any other reason apart from that one was her favorite and she liked to see it in use, “And with a full moon coming up? Recipe for disaster.”

“Oh shit,” Y/N holds her tea closer to her being, “That’s why the feeling is so profuse and disagreeable in the air then, ‘cos they aren’t containing it right? When I was looking into a little bit of what you do, I read that there are containment spells so the demon or spirit doesn’t have free range to do as it pleases, but the spell is dependent on the demon in question and the severity of its power.”

Harry looked pleasantly surprised, “Yeah, that’s right -- what’re ya looking up what I’m doing for?” He settles into her couch, “Have you got a crush on me or summat?”

If Y/N rolled her eyes any further back, she thinks they would have done a 360 in her eye sockets, “I fell down a rabbit hole the other night when I was trying to figure out why you couldn’t sleep,” an impish grin slides onto his mouth, “And not because I’m “in love with you” -- I just thought it would be interesting to know if your insomnia was the reason of a demon because that would mean one of my items combats against that and wins. My. . .most of my magic is based on prevention when it comes to dark things like that, not really to fight what’s already there.”

“So your flowers don’t like -- I dunno, Little Shop of Horrors it?” He teases, motioning to her Hoya plant that had just begun to bloom for her, “I reckon when I think of plant magic, I think of you snapping your fingers and thorned ivy whipping around to slow assailants.”

“No, none of that,” she laughs lightly, shaking her head, “They’re much too nice and gentle. . .they only want to help. And I’m rarely in a situation where I would need thorned ivy whipping around.” Y/N locks eyes with Oat for a moment, whose eyes close nice and slow before she reopens them and Y/N thinks she might just melt, “What do we do then? How do we stop it?”

He slides a ring with teddy bears from his pinky and spins it between his forefinger and thumb, “There’s nothing to do -- if we don’t know who the problem is, then we can’t fix anything.” Harry shrugs his shoulders, and the action makes his already loose cardigan slide down his arms, revealing more of the cream-colored shirt he wore with Smokey the Bear on the front reading Only YOU! can prevent forest fires, “All we can do is wait for the next fucked feeling and hopefully run into the person causing -- oh,” Harry pauses, motioning toward her, “You’ve got a new friend.”

Y/N’s confused, brows knitted until she feels a paw press against her shoulder and the telltale purr of a happy kitty. When she turns her head, she finds that Oat has snuck her way up to her, and is now attempting to perch on Y/N’s shoulder. She presses closer to the back of the couch so that she had a better footing, and in return Oat bumps at her cheek with the top of her head, “You’re so cute, stop it,” she murmurs, and when she takes a breath through her nose, she smiles, “She smells like my heliotrope flowers too! How are you the familiar of such a grumpy, cruel lug, huh?”

“Oi,” Harry mutters, “I resent that. I’m not grumpy or cruel, you’re just rotten.”

A retort plays at Y/N’s mouth but her phone screen lights up from where it’s sat on the coffee table and strays her attention. She’s confused -- the only person who would be messaging her this late was Niall but she’s almost a hundred percent certain that he was supposed to be out at the bar tonight. It is him though.

Fuck me, have ya looked at the news? Is this that thing we were talkin bout?

Harry is a nosy bugger, and after reading the message with her he reaches for her remote, “You told him about it?” He turns on her telly, quick to open her TV guide, “So he knows about you?”

“Yeah, he knows -- turn to 3,” she tells him, and soon enough the local news is playing out, big bold letters on the blue band stretched across the bottom of the screen.

MAN TO BE CHARGED WITH ATTEMPTED MURDER ON GIRLFRIEND

He turned the volume up, so they could hear the news reporter who was on site. There was yellow caution tape stripped around a house, police lights, cops walking around in the back, and frightened neighbors who had left the comfort of their homes to investigate what was happening. The woman on screen had long blonde hair that whipped when the wind blew and muffled her microphone feed, her face set stony as she recounted the events as the police had told her, “. . .has no recollection of the event, and is claiming the “walls” were dripping in blood and demanding that he do it. Jacobs is being taken in for further questioning and pending a psychiatric evaluation -- his girlfriend Amanda Wilson is being rushed to hospital that’s all anyone knows right now. Back to you Tom...”

“Oh, fuck sake,” Harry groaned, shaking his head, “Now this is a problem, problem innit?”

“Was it not before?” Y/N takes the remote from him, turning the volume down, “Do you -- does that sound like anything you’ve dealt with? That would try hurting someone like that?”

He presses his knuckles to his eyes, sighing, “Not that I remember -- I’ll have to do some digging. . .this is bollocks, you know how bad this is for business? Nobody wants to mess with dark magic when shit like this is going on.”

“Aish, don’t think so selfishly. People are in danger,” she tsks at him, “And we’ll need to -- what are you doing?” She asks as he removes his feet from where they had been on the couch, reaching down for his loafers like he was about to put them on.

“S’getting late,” he responded, “I was g’na head home --”

“No you’re not,” she told him, her face dropping in borderline disgust as he seemed genuinely confused with her, his face twisting, “We experience something like that, then see the news, and you not only want to separate, but you want to walk all the way home, alone, in the dark? No way, that’s too stupid, you’re staying here.”

Harry’s brows dipped in, irritated, however, he did stop reaching for his loafers, “But --”

“Listen, we may not be fond of each other but I’m not letting you put yourself in danger,” she tells him, before adding quickly, “And you are fucking not going to leave me alone after that! Are you mad?”

“I’m sorry, I thought I’d be doing you a favor without bothering ya with my presence. Never thought Miss. Good Witch of the North would want me breathing her air for too long.” He ripostes and it reinvigorates any distaste for Harry that had been easing throughout the night the more they spoke. He always did that -- always made her feel like she was some stuck up prick who never gave him a chance, but she would have if he hadn’t started out being such an arse to her. Sure, the circumstances they had met under weren’t fantastic. . .she snapped at him for taking her flowers without asking, but he could have just apologized -- could have said sorry, and they could have started over but he was immediately put off by her she presumes, because ever since he’d been nothing but cruel to her. His knocking her out of the room in the blood bank was probably the first kind thing he’d ever done for her, and she isn’t a hundred percent certain that she wasn’t just in his way while he was trying to get out.

So she glowers at him as she pushes from her couch, “Sod off. I’ll get you some blankets.”

He almost immediately replaces the spot that her body had been with his legs, stretching out as far as he could and his feet flop on the arm of the sofa, “Reckon you should make me some of that tea though, so I can sleep.” He called after her. Thumper hops off and follows after her, while Oat finds her spot at Harry’s side and cuddles into where his cardigan’s extra fabric bundles. Y/N goes to the closet in the hall that leads to her bedroom, pries it open, and reaches to the top shelf where she keeps her extra blankets and pillows. Despite how irritated he makes her, she grabs him one of her heavier quilts, because even with her heat kicked up higher than normal her flat has very poor insulation, and the night’s into early mornings get pretty cold. She’s about to grumble at him that he better thank her for this and the bloody tea, but when she returns to the living room. . .he’s asleep.

Harry just fell right to sleep.

She’s confused -- understandably, she thinks, because she remembers how much of a fit he’d thrown about her tea and how she was closed on weekends so he couldn’t have any of it. Had whined how he wasn’t able to sleep without the tea, and she had only given him peppermint tea tonight, so there was no reason that should have put him to bed.

Yet there he was, fast asleep with his arms crossed over his chest.

Tutting her tongue quietly, she unrolls the blanket she had chosen for him and strategically places it over his legs. She is careful to move Oat so that she doesn’t suffocate under the covers as she pulls them over, up to Harry’s chest before replacing her in the spot she had snuggled prior. She pauses for a moment before she leaves them, taking in a completely relaxed Harry -- not that he doesn’t seem relaxed all the time, but he’s just. . .calm. His muscles have melted against her couch cushions, his brow has soothed and his amaranth pink lips are soft and parted. Gentle, easy breaths slip through his mouth. . .Y/N thinks that she likes him like this. Not spiteful, or crass -- this Harry doesn’t seem to hate her. This Harry is warm and comfortable enough to just fall asleep on her couch.

Thumper thumps his foot against the floor, his not-so-silent request that they go to bed and Y/N snaps out of whatever hypnotic state she’d been in watching him rest. She feels creepy but shakes it off, reaching down to pick up Thumper by his belly and cradling him to her chest as she leaves the living room, keeping her lamp on for him in case he wakes up to have a wee or anything.

It’s when she goes to the kitchen to grab him a bottle of water to leave at the coffee table for him, that she can feel Thumper judging her. This is only confirmed by the way he is looking up at her when she looks down at him, his small, pink nose twitching, and she can just sense him repeating Harry’s tease of have you got a crush on me or summat? -- it’s not like he hasn’t questioned her before. She reckons if Thumper could actually speak and not just implant little thoughts of his in her head through whatever little bond they have, he would be very free with his accusations about who she might have feelings for.

Y/N rolls her eyes.

“No, I don’t,” she disagrees with him quietly, “What do you know about crushes, hm? You’re just a bunny.”

. . .

It had been a while since Harry had worked.

Though he was always hesitant to call it work, all things considered. Y/N had once described to him that what he did was lurk around seedy clubs and wait to be recognized by a sorry sap that wanted something they didn’t want to put much effort towards, and Harry can’t necessarily say she’s wrong. He preyed on the lazy; men and women who couldn’t be arsed to obtain a goal without the help of a little magic no matter how negative, and Harry couldn’t really fault them for it. One, because sometimes goals are unattainable with literally anything other than a demon's help, and two because he gets a hefty wad of cash in his pocket for his trouble. How hypocritical could he be to deprecate their usage of dark magic when he is doing the same thing. . .when he relies on that more than anything, even the silly little romance novels he writes so that nobody questions where his money’s coming from.

It was a Friday night, and since he was no longer tied to the commitment of meeting Y/N to discuss the horrible, no good, terrible thing that was slithering its way through town and apparently spurring bouts of attempted murder -- he was able to visit a club. Though Y/N had made him lock pinkies with her that morning, telling him to keep his eye out for anything suspicious that may or may not have led to the events from the night prior.

Promise me that you’ll keep informed on what’s going on there, okay? And promise me that you’ll tell me about it.

The club he’d visited was one of the more popular of the four he frequented, and within the walls, amongst the gyrating bodies in scant clothing and sweat-drenched skin, were many of his regular clients. One of which had been blowing up his phone for the past week telling him how he desperately needed help, and he needed it ASAP. Harry finally replied to his message with a simple time that he would meet him, and that they would discuss the cost once he’s explained what is being asked of him. This guy, in particular, wanted many frivolous things, and typically his requests revolved around wealth, though Harry thought he had more than enough. And while Harry could do a few simple spells that would bring the money gradually and don’t come with the dangers that a demon will, he refuses. Harry has always told each of his clients that a spell and a demon could do the same thing, but demons brought faster results, albeit potentially precarious consequences.

And when it comes to summoning, things can get a bit tricky. If the person who is summoning is the person who will benefit from the demon’s will directly, then it may come with a price, and that price may or may not be hidden between the lines. Especially when it is someone who has no clue about the actual process, offerings that could be made without including their soul for the taking, and spells that could be done that would protect them. After doing this for so long, Harry had developed and harnessed enough power that it was rare a spell every backfired or a demon ever bested him, but if Bradley Evans tried this himself, he’d be good as dead.

This is why, no matter how this man grates every open end of his nerves with a dull blade, he continues to help him. Again, Harry gets paid an obscene amount of money for what he does, so he sucks it right up -- and it’s not as if this money is just for him. He has people to take care of, his own personal gripes with the smarmy, rich, meat-headed pricks that want him to summon Clauneck for a trip to the Bahamas matter very little in the grand scheme of things.

He’s leaning against the far back corner, at a table that he’d claimed for the night and a cherry mango cocktail that wets his lips and stains them red. He really isn’t scouting for suspicious behavior like he had promised to, only because his mind had floated elsewhere entirely. Like how, after so long of only ever being able to rest with help of Y/N’s chamomile, he was able to fall asleep without the help of anything. He had asked her about the tea that she and he drank prior to him passing out unprompted on her couch, but she told him it was just a store-bought strawberry tea that was a guilty pleasure.

It perplexed him greatly. He only remembers her demanding him to stay the night because she didn’t want to be alone (and if he’s honest, neither had he after the night they had), he remembers her standing and him stretching out on her couch, and he remembers asking her for the tea that would help him sleep.

And then he remembers waking, feeling refreshed, and renewed. Confused, but reinvigorated, he had a wee before poking around in her kitchen for something to satiate his grumbly stomach. Y/N was still asleep -- he’d peeked his head into her cracked open door only to find her dreaming peacefully, relaxed, and content. As creepy as it felt to stare at her as she slept, he did watch for a moment. It was different to see her without the accompanied scowl he usually coaxed upon her face -- the blissful gleam that exudes from her now is the same that he sees when she’s tending to one of her gardens.

He brewed two chai lattes in her Keurig with Oat on his shoulder like a bird and she woke as he was taking the second mug, setting it on her kitchen counter, “G’morning,” she yawned, Thumper hopping behind her, looking just as sleepy, “Did you sleep through the night? I made you a cuppa and kept it in the microwave in case you woke up.”

His heart had lurched. . .a genuine clench that Harry had not felt in a while.

“Oh,” he blinked at her owlishly, “I slept just fine, but thank you.”

“Mm, good,” she was so sleepy still, Harry remembers wondering if she was even fully awake speaking to him, “I have sliced fruit in the fridge if you want, for brekkie.”

It was a domesticated scenario that Harry had not been privy to.

Had it been her flat? Maybe the plants that she had strewn about the room were all enchanted, singing sweet songs of sleep that lulled him to sleep without him knowing. All he could recall was feeling so unbelievably comforted and no matter how cold it was in that damn flat, he felt so warm. . .so warm, and it smelled so good, and Oat was snoozing happily at his side. Plus she had wrapped him in this quilt that was heavy and smelled nice -- he thinks, in that moment, he finally understood why babies liked feeling contained in a swaddle blanket. Regardless of what happened at the blood bank, and what they found out on the news, Harry felt safe in her flat. And he probably wouldn’t have left either, if he didn’t have to work.

He’s so caught in his reverie, that Bradley’s arrival truly startled him. A clearing of his throat catches his attention, dragging his unfocused gaze from the crowd of dancers to Bradly, dressed in a Lacoste polo that thought was ugly but he would never say it aloud, “Oh,” he straightened up, bringing the rim of his glass to his mouth and taking a small sip of it, “Right then, what can I do for you? Another trip to Barbados?”

Bradley shakes his head a little frantically, and it's only then that Harry takes in the actual appearance of him, that surpasses the Lacoste and zeros in on the panic that decorates his face, “I need like -- like a demon protector or some kinda spell or -- I don’t fucking know, or something.”

“Oh --” his brows dip, “What’s wrong? Is something bothering you?”

He starts to nod, then switches it to a shake of his head, and that morphs into a shrug of his shoulders, “I don’t know man, I just don’t feel -- I don’t feel safe. I wondered if one of those demons from before were like. . .after my soul or summat.”

“Not possible,” Harry dismisses the idea, setting his glass down on the high round table, “When I work with them we make a spiritual, contractual agreement that they are bound to. If your soul was not on the table, then it will never be on the table -- it must be something else,” he thinks for a moment before a slither of realization stokes the fire in his brain, that sets the coals aflame and heats the cogs to a churn, “What -- explain to me what you’re feeling?”

“Like something is watching me,” he blinked, crossing his arms on top of the table and leaning most of his weight onto it, the scent of liquor wafts over Harry’s face when Bradly breathes, “It’s heavy and. . .it’s like swimming in ink. It’s horrible and frightening, and I’ve never -- I’ve never been one to rely on vibes, but mate, they were bad. . .they were like -- vile. Vile vibes, man.”

Harry thinks, while his description is repugnant, he knows exactly what he’s talking about, but there wasn’t much he could do. Harry can make protection spells that are generalized but he doesn’t believe that any of them are strong enough to fend off whatever this thing is. In cases like this one, sometimes dark magic is not good to fight dark magic, it can only make it grow and fester like a nasty, infected wound. He really did not want to try that out on Bradley. . .he may not be fond of the guy, but he didn’t wish anything ill on him.

“You wouldn’t come to me for a protection spell, for something like that,” Harry begins, “You would need --” You would need Y/N -- is what is about to leave his lips, but it drops away. As much as it’s true -- as much as Harry knows that the reason he felt the safest he’s ever had in Y/N’s presence was whatever protection spells she had put in place and strengthened -- he couldn’t. The thought of sending someone like Bradley to someone like Y/N, makes him feel sick. “Give me one second, yeah? Stay here.”

Y/N gave him her number that morning, telling him that it was silly for them to be unable to contact one another. Harry saved it into his phone and sent her a picture of Oat so that she would have his, but left it at that -- he had assumed, until this moment, that he would never have a reason to have her number. If he ever wanted anything from her he would just show up at her store.

But here he was, scrolling through his contact list to find her, pressing her number and holding his phone up to his ear. It only rings twice before she’s answered it, “Hello? Is everything okay Harry, did you get a lead?”

Harry laughs in disbelief, “What’re you, a detective?” He cleared his throat so he could speak over the music clearly, “I need you for something, and I’ll give you half. And before you get all high and mighty, it isn’t for anything bad -- one of my regulars is experiencing the same fucked thing we have only it’s more vile vibes opposed to blood seeping from the walls. Need a protection spell -- whatever you use for your flat and store.”

She’s quiet for a moment, long enough that Harry questions if his service dropped, but her voice reappears.

“Where are you?”

Fifteen minutes later, Harry is flagging Y/N down to his spot in the club where he stood next to Bradley whose friends kept coming around wondering if Harry was his pull for the night. Her jumper with a printed bunny right in the center made him chuckle to himself -- it was more than clear that she had not planned on coming out tonight, and if not for Harry, he thinks she would have spent three more hours at her store tending to the garden there if not for him. When she sees him, noticeable relief makes her shoulders slump, and as she gets closer, she reaches into her pocket, “Thank god,” she called over the music, “I’ve been in here for three minutes and if I got knocked into one more time I was going to lose it.”

She produces two things -- one is a tiny vial, with an unidentified green liquid, and the other is a small baggie of her tea. Harry takes both from her hand, “Thank you,” he murmurs, before dipping down closer to her ear, “Go over to that empty table near the bar, I don’t want this guy seeing you clear enough that he could ask you for anything ever again.”

Though she was confused, she listened to him, slinking her way over to the table while Harry turned to Bradley who had been looking at his phone, before both were placed in front of them, “Thank you,” he tells him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. How much?”

“850,” Harry says without batting an eyelash. Typically his business runs closer to the thousands but he cuts the guy a break since he’s scared.

“Each or what?” Bradley asks as he fishes his wallet from his pocket, flipping the leather open and beginning to thumb through his bills.

“No, just 850,” he takes the bills from him, folding it between his fingers, “I shipped your crystals last week, did they come?”

Bradley nods, a big grin on his face, “Oh, fuck yeah dude, I almost forgot! I already transferred you the money for them right?”

Harry thinks it’s a shame that he doesn’t keep track -- he could really scam him if he wanted to, with these black crystals bathed in the water of Asmodeus (they increases stamina and aids them in not being shit in bed; it was a fucking full-day event to get Asmodeus to recognize the clear stream water, in an incubator that he checks every 15 minutes or so to see if the water has been touched red) “Yeah, you sent double the amount ‘cos your buddy wanted some too, right?”

“He loved them, mate, he’s way less narky too now that he’s getting his dick wet.”

Harry holds back a grimace, “Alright then, stay safe. You know how to contact me if you need anything.”

Bradley bids his goodbye and Harry seeks out Y/N, who is picking idly at her fingernails and bobbing her head slightly to the music. When he gets close enough to her, he starts on his spiel as he waves the money toward her,

“Listen, Babe, you used your plants to help him, honestly you deserve way more than this -- a fucking Nobel Prize probably,” he holds it out to her, “Here.”

She shakes her head, but not in the way she would if she were refusing it because she was disgusted by him -- no, instead she closes his hand around it again and presses it closer to his body, “No, no, you keep it, he’s your guy or whatever.”

Harry tilts his head, brows knitted, “But they’re your plants.”

“Yeah, but I would just feel guilty taking it from you so --”

He sighs, counting out 450 of it, taking her hand, opening her fingers, and sliding the bills into her palm, “Even split then. If you’re going to utilize something precious to you to help someone like that fucker, you deserve a little compensation for it. “

Y/N must realize that he wasn’t going to let it go, because she finally folds it in her hands, slipping it into her pocket, “What’s with that guy then? Why do you not like him?”

Harry can see it clearly; the image of his childhood self, his family struggling to make ends meet but going to primary school with the wealthier kids. The ones who laughed at his faded shirts, and holed winter coats -- who would ask him to their birthday parties and talk shit about the gift he’d scraped up coins for doing miscellaneous work around the neighborhood. He thinks about how he knew they would go home to kitchens full of food, and bountiful dinners that they would never appreciate, while Harry never took seconds because no matter how hungry he was, he made sure their bellies were as full as they could be. And Harry remembers how the headmaster did nothing to quell his worries because those kid’s parents could buy out the school if they wanted to.

He sees it all, and he hears it all, and for a moment -- selfishly -- it makes Harry wish he had never given Bradley the protection spell at all.

But he only shakes his head, “He’s just a prick,” he answers simply, before nodding his head toward the door, “Reckon we should get out of here, it smells like piss.”

It’s always a little easier to leave the club than it is to enter it, so they’re out in the cool air soon enough. A small line had formed outside since Harry had been in there last, and as they step out, a group of three is let in through the rope chain that the bouncer is policing. This part of town is always bustling late into the night, so neither feel the cold brush of fear they have been when they’re out in the dark -- or at least the relaxed way Y/N is looking around tells him that she’s pretty content.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” She asks him, pointing at the 24-hour diner right across the street, that had been strategically placed there because people who are drunk and high who just sweat out half their body weight love greasy food, “I skipped dinner today.”

“What a coincidence -- so did I.”

They got a booth in the far back corner, where the white and maroon tilted floor glistened wet from a recent scrub from the mop, and the air smells of lemon pine-sol. This along with the fact that the black leather seats were dusted of the crumbs that usually mottles them, Harry would assume that they had come just in time for their 12 AM clean up, where the first batch of besotted clubbers had left a mess and they were waiting for the second wave to come through. He didn’t miss the eye that the waitress had given them, looking them up and down like she was trying to decipher what state they were both in, but when neither of them wobbles in their stance, or slur through their words asking for a table, she relaxes and asks them where they’d like to sit.

After they get settled and order their food (Harry convinces her to get one of their malted milkshakes with him -- his favorite was strawberry and after she confessed that she never had their strawberry malt, he was insistent on her trying it), Harry’s curiosity is suddenly piqued as he thinks of something he hadn’t thought of before, “How did you make it over to the club so fast, hm? Do you just have jars of this stuff made laying around?”

Y/N sticks her clear straw in the icy glass of water she’d been poured, stirring it like there was anything to mix, and the ice cubes clink together soundly, “No, no, I actually don’t make protection spells unless I’m asked directly -- or usually that’s the case, but I was already in the middle of making some for you and me, so I had a little leftover.”

“For me too?” Harry inquires, genuinely surprised by the concept that she would make him something to keep him safe. She nods though, like it was silly that he thought she wouldn’t have, only this time she reaches into her purse and retrieves two much larger vials with little cork tops, and one bigger bag of the dried leaves, accompanied by a smaller one tied with red ribbon.

“I was doing some research while I was at work --”

“You do a lot of research, don’t you?” He cuts her off and she nods.

“Mhm -- and there’s this like. . .there’s this elder witch who lives an hour or so drive away from us who I think might be immortal, but that’s beside the point. She has this blog that I was scrolling through and she linked her email, so I messaged her and she sent me her number and told me to call her immediately.” She slides one of the vials over to him, along with the tree leaves, “When I did, she told us that we were in a little more danger than everyone else ‘cos like -- whatever this thing is could start trying to feed off of us, especially you. Said that we needed a potent protection spell, and I told her about mine. You feel safe in my store and in my flat right? Like -- like whatever that thing is couldn’t get to us?” He nodded, eyes fixed on hers, “So this is a version of that suitable for our bodies. The tea leaves are for your flat, and then this little bag here --” she points at the one tied closed with the small strip of red ribbon, “-- this is a tea version of it safe for Oat to drink.”

Not only had she made him some, but she also made Oat some too? As much as he disliked her before, he can’t help how this warms his heart, zipping through his body and makes him feel just as safe as he did when he was wrapped in her quilt snug on her couch. Harry wonders if this is what she’s like all the time with her friends. . .he wonders if this side of her, that researches and makes protection goodies, brews him a cuppa just in case he woke up in the middle of the night and comes out in the depth of night to the seedy clubs she despises just because he called and asked -- if that’s what they get to see. If that’s what he would have seen had their meeting been any different.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking the vial and the bags, looking at them against his palm, “A lot. You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“I did though,” she takes a drink of the water through her straw, “I may not agree with what you do but we’re the only two witches here and there is power in unity, even if our versions of magic are different. We have to be there for each other -- Thumper agrees, and that’s a lot coming from him because he doesn’t like much of anybody. . .he barely likes me,” she holds her hand up, the index finger of her other going from finger to finger as she lists off the ingredients, “So we’ve got fern, anise, leaves from the ash tree in the forest, fennel -- the nice old woman told me to hold off on the mugwort unless we’re planning on astral projecting or doing anything with divination, but if we felt that it was necessary we could wear a wreath of it around her necks. That’s an old wives tale though, I’m pretty sure.” She wiggles her fingers, “All that and a little bit of moon water, and we have ourselves a little protection spell! I dipped my finger in for a taste test and I’ll be honest, it’s awful and plant-y but I reckon we can toss them back like a shot and chase it with a sweet drink like juice or something.”

It hits Harry that he gave Y/N very little credit for what she did, but now as he’s looking at something that she’d made specifically with him in mind, that wasn’t just a glorified sleepy time tea, it puts some things in perspective for him. Sure, she’s been a dick to him in the past, but he was a dick too, about her magic. While he isn’t going to start kissing the ground she walks on, he decides then that he’ll be more mindful of her craft. Plus, from the amount of time that they’ve had to spend together in the past two days, she’s tolerable when she isn’t on her high horse about him summoning spirits and ruining the town. She’s even helpful.

“Thank you,” he repeats, “I really mean it, I appreciate this a lot.”

Y/N smiles at him and it’s a smile that he’s never been gifted before. A smile that makes him smile back, as she places her elbow on the table and holds out her pinky toward him -- she’s big on pinky swears, he’s finding.

“We’re looking out for each other, okay? I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine. . .I swear it.”

Harry locks his pinky with hers without a second thought.

#WRITING #WOOOOOOOOO #SPOOKY #YAHTZEE #I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT BECAUSE I LOVE IT LOADDS #AND I LOVE YOU LOADS #HAPPY READING :D #HARRY STYLES

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Love Pages

➜ Words: 18k

➜ Genres: 60% Angst, 40% Fluff, Yandere!AU, Inspired by Death Note

➜ Summary: You've always had feelings for Park Jimin, star soccer player and cute boy-next-door. But it's been unrequited for years and you expect it to continue that way. Or at least until a certain notebook falls into your hands.

➜ Warning: toxic relationships, loosely implied smut, some victim blaming. This is not your typical love story.

The more he ran, the deeper you fell. You couldn’t help it. Not when the breeze was whisking through his dark strands, sweat was rolling down his face and his brows were furrowed in concentration. To some, it looked like Jimin was just playing soccer — a mischievous boy kicking a ball in the grassy field. But to you, it was much more than that. He was magic. Leaping through the air. Irises glistening each time the coach hollers and he smiles. The corner of his mouth tugged as his team members jump on his back. Jimin is the one who manifests the butterflies in your stomach. And that’s magical enough for you. “You’re drooling.” Jihyo is startling when she throws her arm over your shoulders and pulls you away, shattering your trance. She giggles as you scoff, finally tearing your eyes from the boy across the field. “No, I’m not.” In spite of your denial, you check if you are indeed drooling and your hand wipes at the corner of your mouth. “You have it so bad for him, Y/N,” your best friend laughs loudly as you shush her. “Relax. No one’s gonna hear. The whole neighbourhood’s gonna find out anyway if you keep staring at him like that.” “I am not staring.” “Uh-huh.” It’s clear she doesn’t believe you. “Are you actually going to talk to him or keep looking and making it obvious.” “What would I even talk to him about, Jihyo?” “I don’t know. You’ve been crushing on him since what? Eighth grade? Shouldn’t you know what he likes by now? What do nerds like?” “Jimin is not a nerd,” you defend futility and end up sighing a moment later. Jihyo has a point. But whenever it comes time to strike a conversation, your brain empties and all you can think about is how he’s actually paying attention to you. The problem isn’t that you don’t know what to say, you just don’t know how to say it. “I always end up getting too nervous and make myself look stupid.” “Need my help?” “No.” You glare as she grins. You know Jihyo’s definition of help is screaming his name for the entire school to hear. The whole soccer team would turn their heads as she’d wave and point to you. She did that once and you were beyond mortified. Thankfully, Jimin was considerate enough to smile and wave back. The two of you begin turning and walking away before you’re late for library duty. “I’m just saying, there’s only four months left before we’re graduating for good. What’s there left to lose?” “My dignity.” “I thought you didn’t have any.” You throw a weak punch, but Jihyo dodges out of the way and laughs. You know your best friend is merely trying to help. It’s not like you like being this hopeless anyway. But you’re aware that even if Jimin spares a moment for you sometimes, you’re nowhere near his league. As you pass by the bleachers, your peripheral vision catches Jimin looking your way. Immediately, you turn your head — heart stuttering. But then you realize he’s looking at Seulgi. The girl is standing at the front bleachers, sweater tucked into her skirt, cheering him on and waving. And he waves back with an even bigger grin. Jihyo doesn’t miss the interaction. You feel her hand on your arm, guiding you away quicker. “I heard Jimin and Seulgi have been getting close.” “Really? I haven’t.” Jihyo’s lying. The rumours are running rampant that he’s interested in her. You were hoping it wasn’t true, but of course he would. She’s popular and cute, and even dances. You can’t do any of those things. You can’t be those things— “Y/N?” “Sorry?” You blink hard, attention taken by the youthful librarian behind the desk smiling gently. “Are you alright, dear? Do you need to go home early?” “No.” You shake your head, feeling the weight of Jihyo’s gaze as well. “I was just thinking about something else. I’m sorry.” “It’s quite alright. I was saying how all the books have thankfully been shelved and all the things I needed to be cataloged into the computer system is done. Of course, it’s thanks to you two ladies helping me out recently.” The pair of you respond that it’s not a problem and she smiles before guiding you towards the back and flicking on the lights of the dusty room. “I was thinking we could tackle cleaning out the storage area today before we close up for the end of the year. It hasn’t been touched since the previous librarian.” She sighs. “I’ve been meaning to get it done but we’ve just been so busy.” Bookshelves on all sides and a table in the center, there are books without covers and ripped pages coating the surfaces. But it’s still not as terrible as that time you had to reorganize the entire science fiction section. That task alone took two weeks. Jihyo seems to agree. “It’s actually not that bad.” “We can probably finish it in a day or two,” you add. “You girls are more helpful than you’ll ever know.” The older lady breathes a big sigh of relief. “I was thinking we could inspect all of these and sort them into books that can still be used, donated or thrown out. I’ll run and grab you boxes so you can organize them. Oh and if there’s anything you’d like to take home, feel free to! Take it as a perk of volunteering to help out.” She smiles and you and Jihyo nod before getting to work. “Look at what I found.” Your best friend holds up a bright coloured book five minutes into it and you burst out laughing. The novel reads ‘You’ve Got A Dog in Me’ and aside from the ridiculous title, it’s completely tattered with a brown stain in the middle. “It looks like it’s some romance comedy. Whatever.” She chucks it in the garbage can and you notice an old guide on how to spank children from the fifties. It raises your brows and you throw it in the trash too. There’s a ton of books to go through, but you have fun looking at some of the ridiculous titles or synopsis with Jihyo. Some of them are able to be donated while others are in a good enough condition to be kept after the layers of dust are blown off. It’s clear that no one’s touched this storage area for years. The room is crowded, so with Jihyo at the front, you venture to the very back bookcase. You dodge stacks and bins, and squat down to the last shelf. Almost instantly, your attention is taken by shiny green spines that seemingly shimmer even in the dim lights. The books are large and heavy duty, requiring two hands to be pulled out with how tightly they’re stuffed into the shelf. But you manage. The first book reads ‘The Magical World Explored’. The second is ‘Dark Magic: Beginner Spellbook’ and the third, ‘17th Century Witchcraft History’. Latin and other symbols surround the titles and two of them are with small locks, the other without. Yet you can’t seem to open it no matter how hard you pull. What’s even stranger is that the textbooks are immaculate. It looks like they’ve been untouched. “What is it?” Jihyo asks at your ongoing silence and approaches with the same curiosity that twists to befuddlement you have. “Looks like something edgy you’d pick up on ebay for that witch aesthetic.” You burst out laughing. “I can’t even open this one. It’s like the pages are...glued together.” “Maybe they’re cursed,” she says jokingly and your next laugh is a bit more uncomfortable than the last. At the same time, the librarian pokes her head through the door, asking how everything’s going. You take the opportunity to ask her about the odd books. “Hmm, this is strange,” she muses, tapping her chin. “It looks like it’s from the previous librarian who worked at this school. I only met her a few times but she told me she was from a small village out in the middle of nowhere, so that’s where these probably came from. Anyway, she already passed away so I can’t give them back. If anything, just trash them.” “Okay.” You set them into the garbage can before continuing without thinking twice until there’s an interruption. “Excuse me?” There’s a familiar gawky boy with rounded glasses at the front desk. With the librarian busy on the other side of the library, you grab your best friend and quirk your head towards him. “Jihyo! Jihyo! It’s Namjoon!” “What?!” “Go help him!” Her face flushes pink. “No! Why don’t you?!” “Because!” You grin. “Didn’t you say that we have nothing to lose since we’re graduating?” “Don’t you know I’m all talk and no action?” Her last syllable is a squeal when you nudge her forward and out the side door where she stumbles into his line of sight. Jihyo throws a glare over her shoulder before she clears her throat. “Is there something you need? Or are you here to bother me again?” Namjoon smiles. “Both.” You watch the cute interaction for a moment before leaving to give them some privacy. Humming to yourself, you resume inspecting and sorting the books, turning to the back shelf again. And as you clear it out, you grab a stack of novels at the top shelf. Inadvertently, something topples on top of your head. Luckily, it’s thin. Not painful whatsoever. Merely flopping to the carpet— A pastel pink notebook and in small text at the front, simple words read ‘Love Pages’. It draws you in. Bewitched. Unblinking. Unbreathing. A mysterious magnetism has you spellbound, curiosity coming within waves. So you reach down to grab it, fingertips grasping the very edges of the few pages. You flip it over to the back and your eyes skim the white text on the blushing cover:

The human whose name is written first shall fall in love with the human whose name is written second.

The Pages can only take effect if the writer has the person’s face in mind.

The only way the Pages’ powers can be removed is through erasing the names.

A name cannot be written first more than once at a time.

Warning: The more naturally compatible a couple is, the more effective the Pages shall be. The less compatible a couple is, the more likely undesired consequences shall arise. Utilize with caution. You’re confused. You wonder what kind of prank this is. Whoever did it had a really detailed and elaborate yet creative plan to fool someone. But you wonder if they accidentally left this notebook here. You’re not sure if the notebook should go straight into the garbage, so you toss it on the table and continue cleaning. It’s not long before you come across a crime novel you’re actually interested in and place it aside to remember to take home. And it’s not long before Jihyo’s coming back in with her backpack. “Hey, our shift’s over. She said we can finish tomorrow. Wanna go grab fries on the way home?” “Sure.” You grin. “How’d your talk with Namjoon go?” Jihyo smiles, the usual assertive girl grown shy under the topic. “How do you think it went?” You grab the novel and shove it into your bag haphazardly without looking. You don’t realize a certain soft pink notebook underneath that you’ve taken as well. // It’s evening by the time you get home. Tired and grimy from the long day, you beeline straight up the stairs to your room as your mother’s voice chirps from the kitchen. “Have you had dinner yet?!” “I already ate with Jihyo!” you call back before shutting your bedroom door. You swing your backpack off your shoulders as you collapse into your chair. Your desk is cluttered with loose leaves of your bored scribbles, college pamphlets and school forms you never read. The attempt to make your room pretty and aesthetic failed years ago with your messy tendencies, but what catches your eye as you look around is the candle of Bundled Roses Jihyo gave you for your birthday. Golden lid and shell pink container, you reach out and uncap it to dig the wax into your nose. Even after burning half of the candle already, it still smells good. You smile to yourself, placing the candle back in its spot next to the lighter. The desk lamp is switched on and you reach for your backpack to dump out your homework. In a few months, you’ll be freed from ever having to sit down and be forced to do quadratic equations again. Graduation was definitely something to look forward to. But as you spill the contents of your bag out, the crime novel and a certain pink notebook comes tumbling out. “Shit.” The Love Pages stares back at you. It’s tiny print letters on the cover are simple yet annoying. You didn’t mean to take it with you, but that mistake’s gonna cost you a walk all the way to the library tomorrow. Or you could simply dump it in the trash bin now. Dust your hands off. Call it a day. But for some reason, you don’t. You don’t turn to stuff it back into your bag. You don’t shift to drop it in the trash. Perhaps it’s on a whim, riding the wave of procrastination, preferring to delay homework for just another moment— You flip it open. Min Yoongi Kim Seokjin Amane Miki Jeon Jungkook Kim Taehyung Ellie Windsor It’s funny. In a strange sort of way. There’s an endless list of names spanning across the pages, each line consisting of exactly two but the writing is starkly different. For some of them, it’s clear that they were written by the same person. Straight lines, small letters, the occasional loops. Yet for others, it’s chicken scratch writing or scribbles, hearts drawn on the side, thin lead to thicker ones. It looks like the notebook’s been passed to lots of people in spite of its immaculate exterior. As you flip, you find faded names barely legible as if they’ve been erased. More importantly, there’s more than ten pages that have yet to be written in. For how silly and complex this prank is, maybe it’s a good luck charm. Maybe these couples actually got together and this notebook somehow fell into your lap as a sign of fate. Maybe. It’s ridiculous. But would it hurt to try? It’s not like anyone would know. Plus, you’ve doodled your name as ‘Park Y/N’ more times than you could count. Secretly, of course. Compelled and childish, you reach for the pencil on your desk. You flip to the next clean new page and recall the rules of the Pages. And you call to mind kind smiles, half moon eyes and a sweet voice. Your pencil loops his name onto the paper. Park Jimin L/N Y/N It’s done. Your breath hitches. You blink once. Then twice. But — nothing happens. “God, I’m such a fucking idiot.” You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it’s not like Jimin’s going to fall in love with you simply because you wrote his name down in some stupid book. That’s not how love works. You shut the Love Pages and shove it away before cracking open your algebra textbook with a tired groan. // It’s early morning when you’re trudging along the path to school, rubbing your swollen eyes that you’re sure Jihyo will make fun of you for. But it’s not your fault that you ended up scrolling through your phone instead of tackling the chem assignment and forgetting that it was due today until you were laying in be— “Y/N?” It’s an unfamiliar-familiar voice. Unfamiliar in the ways that you’re still not used to it. That you haven’t heard it directed to you enough times. But familiar in the ways that you’ve always listened to it. That your ears always perked when you passed by him in the halls, trying to pick up on the sweet syllables that rolled off his tongue. You’ve always hung off every sentence that he had to say. Holy fuck. Park Jimin is looking at you. “Y/N?” And he’s smiling, tilting his head, eyes tender. He’s so close and if your mind could actually function, you would realize that he’s just standing there by the school entrance as if he was waiting for you. “Are you alright?” “Y-Yeah.” The word chokes out of you and you try to shake off your nervousness. You muster a smile as your heart begins to pound into your ears. “S-Sorry.” “Good morning,” Jimin tweedles with a growing grin. “Morning.” You start walking alongside him. “How’re you?” “Good. You?” “I’m good too.” Jimin’s eyes are crinkled and he steals a glance at you at the same time you do. It’s a moment that has your heart stuttering in your chest. “It’s been a while since we’ve talked.” You’re caught off guard, unable to believe this is happening. But his presence is more than welcome. In fact, Jimin doesn’t know that he’s already making your day. “Y-Yeah, it has been. How’s….soccer practice been?” “Really great actually. We have one more game left. We’re versing West Side this time.” “It’s the final match of the season?” “Yup! We’re all pretty excited. Everyone wants to win but even if we don’t, then we come in second place in the entire school district.” Your steps slow as you get to the front doors, still wanting to savour each second and luckily, he slows as well. Neither of you are eager to move on. “That’s incredible, Jimin.” “Y/N!” Right as the conversation is simmering down, Jihyo disrupts any awkwardness that might settle. She appears out of nowhere and swings her arm over your shoulder. Your best friend gives you a knowing look and then to Jimin. “Hey there, Park.” “Hey.” He smiles politely, then redirects his gaze to you. “I’ll see you later, Y/N.” “Y-Yeah. Totally. See you.” You wave, still struck and baffled by the interaction. Jihyo seems equally surprised as well. And once Jimin’s gone from sight, she nudges you roughly with a sly smile. “What was that all about? Did you finally grow some balls?” “No. He was the one who approached me,” you murmur, not sure what to say. You wonder if this is the Love Pages’ doing, but that’s impossible. It was merely a prank notebook made by someone bored. // It’s hard to focus in class with what happened in the morning. You keep replaying the scene in your head. His soft voice. The look in his eye. How he was standing around and his smile lit when he saw you. It’s a record, a movie, that’s played again and again in your mind. Soaking every second you couldn’t take in at the time. To some it might simply be mundane small talk, but to you, who’s always looked at him from afar, the butterflies are still tickling your tummy. The world has never been so rosy. It’s after class that your head is still in the clouds and you’re trying to repress your giddy smile to yourself. You’re holding your textbooks to your chest as you pass by the field, making your way home alone with Jihyo at her after-school anime club. She had a small interest in it but it only grew after befriending Namjoon there. As much as she likes to make fun of Jimin for being a nerd, Namjoon’s the real geeky one. But that only makes your best friend and him all the more endearing. You hope they get together soon. In the midst of your thoughts, you don’t notice the soccer practice going on. Not until there’s fast sprinting steps crescendoing to your left. “Y/N!” There’s an out of breath shout of your name and you halt with your eyes wide. Jimin’s panting as his team members disperse from the field. He grins. “I thought I saw you!” You’re stunned and watch as he wipes the sweat dripping on his forehead with his blue jersey. You blink hard, mouth full of cotton. Before today, Jimin never approached you when you were by yourself — most certainly never twice in a day. You’ve never had this much attention from him before. “I was worried you weren’t going to drop by like you usually do!” “Like...I usually do?” “Yeah.” He steadies his breath with a cheeky smile. “I’ve always noticed that you came to practice. Honestly, you’re kind of like my good luck charm. It feels weird if you’re not there.” Your brain goes blank. You process a single word at a time. And you manage one nod. “Hey…” Jimin scratches the back of his neck, cheeks blooming with a subtle hue. “Do you want to wait till practice is over? I want to walk you home. If you’d like.” “S-Sure…” “Park!” his coach shouts and Jimin whirls around with a grin. “Break’s over!” “Yeah, I’m coming!” Park Jimin’s smiling to himself as he runs back onto the field — leaping in the air, wind whisking through his dark strands. In the meanwhile, you’re left rooted to the ground, staring at his backside. Your face is on fire and the butterflies erupt all the way to your throat. It’s magic. “—hot dogs down at East road….” “You comin’, Park?” Kyungsoo looks at his team member, noticing the quietness of the soccer star. Jimin smiles before pulling the clean shirt through his head. “Nah. I have plans.” “With who?” another interjects. “Seulgi?” “No, someone else.” Instantly, obnoxious ‘ooh’s fill the locker room and he rolls his eyes with a growing grin before throwing his duffle bag over his shoulder and shutting his locker. Jimin exits and finds you waiting meters away. Jimin runs to you. “Sorry for you leaving you waiting!” “It’s okay.” The walk home is a bit awkward. You’ve never had anyone accompany you other than Jihyo before — most certainly not a boy, and not the person you’ve been crushing on for practically four years now. You clear your throat and steal a glance. “Is there a reason you wanted to walk me home?” “Why?” Jimin is immediately alarmed. “Did you not want me to?” “No!” Your eyes look into his, equally as rounded. “That’s not it. I’m...just not used to it, that’s all.” “Honestly.” Your steps are synced together and colour blooms on his cheeks. “I wanted an excuse to talk to you more and get to know you better.” “Oh.” “I guess you can say I realized the other day that we went to the same elementary, but I don’t even know you that well. You can tell me if you don’t want to—” “I want to,” you blurt before you can realize what’s coming out of your mouth. Jimin’s eyes are as big as saucers and he nods. At the same time, you frantically turn away out of embarrassment, not noticing the way Jimin was smiling to himself. The comfortable silence simmers between the pair of you as the sun sets over the horizon, painting the sky in a pastel tangerine hue. You can hear children on the playground nearby, see the other sidewalk occupied by a couple pulling along a stroller and the grandma in her front yard pinning up her laundry to dry. And as you savour the moment, the back of your hand accidentally brushes against Jimin’s. It’s soft and you flinch subtly before glancing down. Jimin must feel it too because he follows your line of sight and clears his throat. “Hey.” His timbre is husky and nervous. “Is it...okay if I hold your hand?” You answer with a bob of your head. And Jimin timidly reaches out, fingertips first, and then his palms clutch yours. Your hands are slotted together perfectly and you muse how soft his skin is. Heat rises to your face. Heart stuttering in your chest. Butterflies a whirlwind in your stomach. But unfortunately, the moment is all too short. “This is it.” You stop in front of your house and Jimin lets go of you. He looks at your home and smiles. “It’s cute.” “Thanks.” You pull open the gate, eyes diverted elsewhere lest he can see how flustered you are. “Well, I’ll see you later, Jimin. Thanks for walking me home…” “Wait!” he shouts when you’ve taken three steps and you spin around to see him scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry, um, Y/N. Would….would you like to...like to go out sometime to catch a movie or get some food this weekend. I mean you don’t have to, no pressure.” Your mouth is twitching as you try your best not to scream on spot. “I’d like that, Jimin.” “Okay.” A cheeky grin spreads gradually into his cheeks, eyes crinkled into crescent moons. “I should probably get your number then…?” “Sure.” The exchange is quick and then you’re running into your house, stomping all the way up the stairs, ignoring your mom’s shout. You launch yourself into bed face first, mattress bouncing at the impact. While your limbs are sprawled out, you scream into your pillow with your furnace hot face. You roll around in your covers, kicking your blankets. Jimin just asked you out on a date. He asked you out on a date and he walked you home. Park Jimin walked you home and talked to you this morning. You’re certain your heart’s about to give out with how fast it’s beating, that the butterflies bursting in your tummy’s about to explode up your throat and out of your mouth. You can’t believe it. You rise up in your bed with your hair in a disarray and your bed ruined, and you look over to your desk where the pastel pink notebook is. You wonder if this is the Love Pages’ doing. // “You’re going on a date?!” Your best friend is taken off guard, but when you vehemently nod, her confusion is overcome with excitement. Jihyo engulfs you in a hug. “This is so fucking exciting! I’m so excited for you! Oh my god!” She squeals and you laugh, jumping together. “Do you know what you’re going to wear yet?” “I have no idea.” “I’ll help you.” She grins. “It’s going to be fine, you’re going to sweep him off his feet.” “Easy for you to say,” you counter, “Your crush already likes you back.” “Namjoon’s just a friend,” Jihyo sighs and then her peripheral vision catches the tall brunette passing by as if calling his name was enough to summon him. “Shush! He’s coming!” Except you look him straight in the eye and smile. “Hey, Namjoon.” “Hey.” Namjoon snorts as if he overheard the conversation, a smile placed on his features as his eyes linger on Jihyo before he passes by. She remains nonchalant as if he’s invisible. Or at least until the moment he’s gone and she steps on your foot. “You were being way too obvious!” You pout at Jihyo, grabbing her arm. “No, I wasn’t.” “Go be cute to Jimin instead,” she scoffs while you giggle, hoping he’ll find you half as endearing as you know your best friend does. // The weekend comes slower than you wish it would, but arrives nonetheless. You’re waiting at the station — intercom noisy overhead, the sound of the train breaking echoing from afar. It’s the bustle of the afternoon, of overtime office workers and other couples shuffling amongst themselves with parents following their children. You tug on the hem of your dress that Jihyo insisted you wear. You’re not sure if it’s too much or if you caked on too much makeup, but there’s no time to overthink. “Y/N!” Jimin meets you, dressed in casual attire of jeans and a white tee underneath a black hoodie. “I’m sorry I’m late!” “You weren’t late, Jimin. I just came early.” “But how long were you waiting for?” “Not that long,” you assure and he glances at you before smiling. “You look really nice. Like really nice.” “T-Thanks,” the word stutters out of you and you look around, feeling conscious under his sole attention. “Where are we heading first?” “I was thinking of catching a movie, if you’d like.” “Sure.” The both of you start moving towards the exit. At the same time, the intercom announces the arrival of the Northbound train. It pulls up on the other side and the doors whir open a beat later, flooding the platform with passengers exiting and pushing to enter. In the chaos, your shoulder is roughly shoved and you’re pushed aside by the rushing mass. You wince and open your eyes to discover you’re losing sight of the boy with dark strands. But the second hopelessness begins to settle— “Are you okay?” Jimin’s hand has clasped yours and he’s pulled you out from the crowd. You stumble in a place where you can breathe again. Jimin smiles sweetly and you’re not sure if he’s an angel or not. “I thought I lost you,” you admit in an exhale. “Don’t worry, I would never let you out of my sight.” His grip is firm and secure. Jimin squeezes tenderly and leads you out the exit again — this time with you in hand. You feel your palm getting warm. “Sorry, my hand’s a bit sweaty.” “I don’t mind.” Your heart catches in your throat. You hope this lasts forever. The pair of you end up catching a romance movie in a cute, local theater called When Spring Meets Autumn. But towards the end, you’re not sure what it’s about. Not when all you can think about is the fact that Jimin’s beside you, how he’s leaning your way, your elbows are brushing. The way his arm ends up draping over the back of your seat. All you can do is steal glances at him. Your eye eventually catches his and your attempt of pretending you weren’t staring is futile. You feel Jimin lean even closer, noticing a soft smile playing on his lips. “Is there something wrong?” he whispers. You shake your head. It’s the opposite. This is a dream come true. “I’m usually more into action than romance,” he says as the both of you walk alongside one another over the bridge. “I can’t believe that actress died ten minutes into the movie though.” “Oh yeah.” You laugh awkwardly, not able to recall. Your eyes travel towards the cityscape and then the lake that you were crossing. Your ears perk at the giggles of couples in pedal boats, blue boats they’re using to cross the waters together. Envy stems in your mind. They sure were taking advantage of the warm weather. Jimin notices your fixation. “Have you ever been?” You shake your head. “I’ve always wanted to go in it with my family, but I never got the chance.” “We could do it now.” Your eyes meet his. “Right now?” “Why not?” He grins boyishly, already taking your hand again. It’s ten dollars for ten minutes and you split the cost in half, in spite of how much he insists on paying for the ride. The boat wobbles as you get in, but Jimin holds your hand and guides you, laughing while the instructor asks if you want a life jacket for the second time and shows the rules nailed onto the wooden board. The two of you get settled in and start pedaling with your feet. But you don’t get anywhere and bump into the dock instead. “The left person paddles!” The instructor yells and Jimin’s wide-eyed before he nods and follows. “This is actually my first time too,” he admits shyly as you finally get into the lake. “I wanted to look cool.” Laughter unabashedly bubbles out of your throat. “It’s okay, Jimin. You’re very cool to me.” “Now you’re just trying to make me feel better.” “No!” You retort in the midst of giggles. “I’m being honest!” You both paddle to the middle of the lake and it’s a lot more work than you expected. You’re sure you don’t look flattering in your dress pedaling a boat but there’s no time to dwell when you’re having this much fun. At least not until you feel your toes getting wet. “Oh my god!” You flinch. “There’s a hole in the boat!” Water leaks up to your ankles and it’s only getting faster. “Paddle to shore!” Jimin shouts in the midst of laughing. You giggle and as if to make matters worse, the rolling clouds over the horizon begin pouring rain. It spits and then starts showering on top of your heads. You’re becoming soaked from both ways, but rather than being upset, you’re laughing and giggling hysterically with one another. Jimin helps you up onto the harbour and holds your hand as you run away to get some cover. You find some under a closed store canopy on a nearby quiet street. The pair of you face the road, unable to see far with the thick, heavy rain morphing the city to monochrome. Warm giggles fill the spaces beside you. “I’m going to be honest, I imagined the first date with you would be a lot better than this.” You meet Jimin’s eye and take the chance to tease him. “You imagined it?” But he doesn’t make a snarky comeback. Jimin is genuine as he is shy. “Yeah. I have. I like you a lot, Y/N. I think...I have for a long time. I just didn’t realize it.” It’s silent — the peaceful kind of quiet that lingers. As cold as the rain is, your face warms. But you wonder if this is how Jimin really feels or if it’s the Love Pages’ doing. Your trance is shattered by an embarrassed laugh. “You shouldn’t leave a guy waiting after they confessed, you know.” Jimin tilts his head, eyes tender and smile kind. “It makes it feel like you’re about to reject me.” Reject him?! “I’ve liked you since eighth grade,” you blurt loudly, the honesties pouring out of your mouth. They’re words you never thought you would have the chance to say. A confession you’ve always held in your throat. Secrets you held so close to you and were too cowardice to speak. But the compassionate Jimin you’re facing makes you brave. He grins, a growing smile that spreads into his cheeks and makes his eyes gleam. “Really?” “I have ever since you helped me in that group project.” “I did?” His brows furrow. “I can’t really recall.” It’s disheartening to hear considering that the memory is significant to you, but you elaborate as if you could jog his mind. “Science class with Mr. Chen. No one was listening and I was really stressed, but you helped me.” The recognition never seems to set in his eyes, but instead, they flicker down to your lips. “Can I kiss you?” You nod furiously and Jimin smiles before he leans in with heavy lidded eyes. His fingers lift to hold your chin and your eyes flutter shut. Soft lips meet yours. It’s a sweet kiss, a brief and chaste one. Your very first. And your heart feels like it’s about to burst. You can practically hear Jimin’s thundering heartbeat underneath the thumping rain. // The giddiness lasts an hour later. You can’t resist the enormous grin on your face even when you slap your own cheeks and tell yourself to calm down. It’s still cloudy outside when you get home, the rain subsided into scattering droplets, yet you feel warm inside. “I’m hom—” The announcement is cut short when you stumble on a pair of shoes. You catch yourself and look down to find odd brown loafers that don’t belong to your mom, dad or you. There’s only one other person. “Hobi?!” As if the day couldn’t get any better. You sprint into the living room to find your older brother sitting on the couch and he turns around with a small smile. “If it isn’t my baby sister.” “What are you doing here?” It’s not like him to visit unannounced, but as you step forward into the evening light, you discover his reddened eyes and the swollen area underneath is as if he’s been crying. Colour instantly drains from your face and your expression falls. “Is...there something wrong?” Your pupils stray to the suitcase beside him. Hoseok musters another smile. “Surprise. I’m moving back.” “W-Where’s Irene?” “She’s not coming.” His voice is hoarse. “It’s…..over. We’re getting a divorce.” What? // Life — he told you is what happened. Careers got busy. Staying together turned out to be more of a chore than expected. And it seemed like there were more arguments than there were proper conversations. Hoseok followed it up with a hard swallow and nonchalantly told you that sometimes things just don’t work out. But by the look on his face, you know he was holding back tears. You’ve never seen your brother cry before. “What do you mean?!” “What happened? Did she kick you out? For how long?! Where are you planning to go now?!” Your parents are in hysterics, exasperated and stunned by the situation. Your dad is tense in the armchair while your mother is pacing the floor. You watch the three of them through the gap of your bedroom door, not sure if you should intrude or what you would even say. “This doesn’t make any sense! The two of you were fine last week!” “We weren’t, mom,” Hoseok assures in a weak voice with his downcast head. “Have you spoken to her yet?! Did the pair of you sit down and talk properly?” Your older brother releases a staggering exhale from his lungs. “We have,” his voice cracks, “enough times. And...it’s...it’s over between us.” This isn’t right. This shouldn’t be happening. Your mother cries, “Hoseok, are you giving up?! You can’t just give up! This is your marriage that we’re talking about. This is serious!” “This isn’t just up for me to decide!” Hoseok retorts in a shout, finally lifting his face. “I can’t do anything about it when she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore!” You shut the door quietly, pressing your back against the surface. You’re as shocked as your parents are — maybe even more so. You were the one who saw it first hand. You’re the one who tagged along when they went to play, when Irene knocked on the door every morning to go to school together, you’re the one who sat in the backseat as they took a road trip down to the beach six summers ago. The two of them grew up together in this neighbourhood. They’re soulmates. And you know that best. Your dad’s voice is muffled through the walls. “—happened exactly?” “—doesn’t love me anymore……..wanted a break weeks ago.” Hoseok’s eagerness, Irene’s calmness. Their sense of humour, their ambitions in life — it all aligns like puzzle pieces meant to fit. And you’re not the only one who thinks so. Everyone who has eyes and ears would’ve thought that their relationship would be inevitable. They’re soulmates — better together than apart — and you could bet your entire existence on that fact. You march across the stretch of your room and sit yourself down in the chair. Swiftly and silently, you pull open the last drawer of your desk and grab the pastel pink notebook. Pushing your chemistry textbook, candle and lighter aside, you flip open the pages. Kang Irene L/N Hoseok L/N Hoseok Kang Irene The names are written without needing to blink twice, straight lines and big print. Twice to make sure that both sides are the same, that affections will be reciprocated. But you know it’s childish. You can only hope it works. // Dinner is stiff. Little bites are taken, each person nibbling on the food. No words are exchanged across the table when the tension is so thick. Neither your mom or your dad speaks another word about the issue with the way Hoseok’s brooding. There’s no point in making futile commentary, in adding gasoline to the fire after all, so you don’t press on the matter either. But ten minutes into dinner, the silence is interrupted by the doorbell. It echoes throughout the home and heads lift, eyes looking at one another. Hoseok is the first who moves. As if he has a sixth sense or a foolish wish of who it could be. Who he hopes it is. And as you and your parents follow after him while he opens the door, that wish is granted. Irene stands at the doorstep in a cream coat and leggings, bag thrown over her shoulder. She’s out of breath as if she rushed over, yet the pair of them don’t speak. They gaze at one another quietly. Hoseok grips the doorknob, eyes pinned on his wife as she looks back into his brown irises warmed by the dim light of the foyer. Their eyes are tender, expressions pained. “C-Can I come in?” she asks in an exhale. Hoseok nods fervently. As much as your parents would like to listen in to the conversation, they both give Hoseok and Irene a private moment. One you observe through the crack of your door. There’s an exchange of sighs and muffled apologies. And when your brother finally asks what she’s doing here, Irene responds in a beat. “I still love you.” “W-What? But just a few hours ago...you….you said….we were done. This is so sudden.” “I know.” With her downcast head, tears trickle down her cheeks. “I know that. But I regretted it the second you were gone, Hoseok. I’m sorry. I...I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everythin—” Hoseok pulls her in close, cradling her face against his shoulder as he embraces her. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I love you too.” The corner of your mouth tugs and you look away when they kiss. They’re surmounting the bittersweet moment together, leaving behind the point where they were so close to abandoning their relationship. Your parents emerge with you lingering behind and you’re relieved as they are. “I’m sorry.” Irene dips her head. Your father glances at your mother and then smiles. “Don’t worry about it, dear. Couples fight all the time. It’s only natural when you’re living together.” “Does this mean you’re not staying over?” You intrude, quirking your head at your brother who smirks. “I thought we were gonna have a massive sleepover.” Your mom nudges you. “Let him leave with Irene. They should spend time together.” Hoseok laughs. “Maybe next time, squirt. I’ll make sure to come home next week and visit. This time, properly.” He gazes at his wife who nods. The two of them leave hand in hand, closer than they were before. It's the perfect outcome. All you could have hoped for. What you know is meant to be. But it isn’t a mere coincidence that Irene came here, that they made up with one another. You know it in your bones — the Love Pages works and it’s your saviour.

“You look like you’re in a good mood,” Jihyo notes with a brow raised and you snap back to attention, realizing that you’ve been humming and smiling to yourself. “I guess I just have a lot to be happy about,” you sing-song and your best friend scoffs lighty with a tiny smile of her own. “Yeah, cause you’re dating Park Jimin and even wearing his sweater. Life’s good, isn’t it?” You look down to the navy material that’s soft to the touch, sleeves draped past your fingers. He gave it to you after noticing that you were cold one evening and said you could keep it. You’re happy to wear it too since it carries his comforting scent and makes it clear what your relationship with him is. You smile, unable to retort Jihyo’s snarky yet playful tone. And she notices your love-struck state, rolling her eyes before she’s interrupted by a gawky brunette whose height towers over her sitting form. “Jihyo, you said you had the homework answers?” She looks up and deadpans, “I never said I would give them to you, Namjoon.” You’re stunned at how your best friend can be so cold to her crush, but you know it’s just a front to keep herself from being flustered and out of control. Namjoon seems to know as well since he grins. “I thought we could compare.” “Fine.” She exhales, acting like it’s all a chore when you’re certain she’s ecstatic. Jihyo brushes a strand of her dark hair behind her ear and smooths out her skirt as she stands. “Let’s see what you have, Joon.” You watch them stride across the classroom to his desk, eyes tracing their backsides. And then you’re reaching down to your backpack for the pastel pink notebook. You’re not sure when you started bringing it around with you, but the Love Pages have become your good luck charm. You feel naked without it in your possession. No one notices when you push aside your biology textbook. When you flip it open. When you take your pencil and begin scribbling names inside. Kim Namjoon Park Jihyo There’s a reason this notebook fell into your lap and you’re not going to let it go to waste. Out of everyone you know, Jihyo deserves her feelings to be reciprocated. And you’ll play cupid if that’s what it takes. Swiftly, the notebook is closed and you slide it back into your backpack. A beat later, your best friend is returning and colour is drained from her face. She plops down in her desk chair, the seat in front of yours. “Jihyo?” She looks like she’s seen a ghost and you’re alarmed, wondering if something went wrong. “What happened?” “Namjoon...he….he….” She blinks hard. “He just asked me out…?” “What?” Your head whips across the classroom where said boy is smiling at your friend. You didn’t know the effects of the Pages are so instantaneous. “When? Right now?” She nods after a delayed second and a smile spreads into your face. You try to keep your squeals down before it collects the attention of the rest of the class. “Oh my god, Jihyo! I’m so happy for you!” Her brows furrow. “I don’t get it….it came out of nowhere….” “Does it matter?” You grab your best friend’s hands. “You’re going on a date with Kim Namjoon!” “I am. I...am!” Your best friend finally looks you in the eye, giddy at the idea. “I need to go shopping!” // “—and then she came back and told me that he asked her out!” You’re smiling from ear to ear, twirling around to face Jimin as he watches you with a smile. You don’t think it’s possible that you could be any happier than this. Not only do you have Jimin by your side, but you’ve granted both your brother and your best friend their wishes. “They’re going to catch a movie this weekend, I think.” “You’re so excited,” he laughs. “Sounds like you’re the one going on the date.” “Jihyo’s liked Namjoon for so long. I’m just happy for her.” “You spend a lot of time with Jihyo, huh?” Jimin comments as you come to a stop at the light, waiting for the pedestrian signal to come on. “She’s my only friend,” you admit with a small smile, reminiscing over the years. Your steps sync with Jimin’s again. “My best friend. We’ve been through thick and thin.” “I’m jealous,” your boyfriend squeezes your hand, eyes glimmering. “I want you all to myself.” You lightly scoff at his flirtation and his smile only widens until you let go of your interlaced hands to open the mailbox in front of your house. But unfortunately, there’s nothing inside. No acceptance or even rejection letters from any colleges or universities like you were anticipating. There’re no bills or advertisement pamphlets either which probably means your dad’s home from work and beaten you to the punch. “Well, I’ll call you later then, Jimi—” “Can I come in?” he asks, eyes twinkling with hope. You’re taken aback and glance over your shoulder, not sure if introducing your boyfriend to your parents so soon is a good idea. While you know they try their hardest, your parents can be extremely overbearing. They tend to bombard anyone you talk to with a million questions, yet somehow, they’re still out of touch with your life. Your relationship with your parents isn’t spectacular to say the least. But when Jimin takes a step forward with confidence, you have a feeling that they’ll like him as much as you do. After all, who doesn’t like Jimin? And you’re not wrong. “Hello. Nice to meet you.” He dips his head in greeting, tone respectful as he stands in the foyer of your home. Your mom’s brows are raised to her hairline while your dad is seemingly sizing him up. “My name is Park Jimin. I’m Y/N’s classmate.” “Actually, he’s my boyfriend,” you clarify, deciding to be straightforward with it and your parents exchange expressions. But within minutes, you know they’ve fallen for him too. “Oh dear, you’re on the soccer team as well?” Jimin nods. “I’ve been playing since elementary, but I’m not that great at it.” “That’s a blatant lie,” you object while sticking your head from the kitchen into the living room where they’re seated. “Jimin’s the star of the soccer team.” “That’s very remarkable,” your father notes with stars practically in his eyes. You have to hold back laughter just watching them. “How do you manage to be so studious, keep up such great grades, maintain a social life and play sports at the same time?” “I’m not as impressive as it sounds,” Jimin laughs shyly, scratching the back of his neck. “I just do a little every day. I think having supportive parents help a lot and having Y/N around does too. She’s always supported me, even before we got together, so I owe her a lot.” Their smiles are bright, bodies relieved and you match Jimin’s soft smile. Any nervousness of having Jimin meet your family vanishes like it never even existed. And for a moment, you imprint the scene in front of you in the forefront of your brain. You wonder if your future will someday look like this — Jimin sitting across from your parents in your family home. “Would you like to stay for dinner, Jimin?” your mother asks and he enthusiastically nods. // Life is perfect. “You’ll come to my game, right?” “Of course, I will!” The days and weeks are flying by fast, and you’re getting closer and closer to graduation. It’s hectic but a busyness that isn’t tiring — not when you’re enjoying every moment of it. “And the winner of the final soccer match of this season goes to Daykey High!” Cheers erupt from the stands and as you shoot up with your own hollers, Jimin whips his body around after being dogpiled on by his teammates and grins. He races up the stands when he gets a chance, engulfs you in his embrace and gives you a sweaty kiss full of vigour that has you smiling. Months ago, you would’ve never known your last months of high school would be spent so perfectly. It feels like a dream come true, like your biggest desires have been granted. “Jimin!” “What?” “Are you going to come, dude? We’ve missed you at like five hangouts so far. C’mon, this one’s gonna be the last one, you have to come.” “Nah.” He grabs his duffle bag. “Sorry, guys. I'll probably have to back out of this one too. Can’t leave my girlfriend waiting.” “What’s going on, Chim?” The soccer captain steps forward with his brows furrowed. “This isn’t like you.” “What do you mean?” Jimin laughs. “Nothing’s going on.” Another snorts and slings an arm over his shoulder. “You got it bad for your girl, don’t you?” Jimin’s sheepish when he admits it. “She’s the only one for me.” Sometimes you’re frightened that you’ll wake up one morning and find that everything you’ve been living through was really just a dream. But time and time again, you open your eyes to see the pastel pink notebook on your desk. And it’s a reminder that it’s what brought you all this joy. The Love Pages made this possible. “H-Hey, Jimin.” Seulgi lingers outside the locker room, struggling to meet his eye as she teeters from side to side. “Congratulations on winning.” “Thanks! It was a tough game, but I’m glad we pulled through.” “Yeah...well..um…I—.” “I’ll see you around?” Jimin smiles and Seulgi nods after a delayed second. They exchange small smiles full of distant politeness, but as Jimin turns to catch up to you, his expression grows genuine. You hope this lasts forever. // “Hey, Jihyo….” “What.” “How are your eyes so beautiful?” Namjoon mutters and the girl busy with her paper turns her head to glare at him. The corner of his mouth curls and he hums, “I wonder how I’ll go on without you. I might miss you to death.” She scoffs, unwavered by the greasy lines. “Get your ass to class before you’re late.” Namjoon grins and as he gets up, grabbing his bag with him, he makes sure to plant a surprise kiss to the top of her head. The gawky boy laughs at his partner’s scandalized expression and takes his leave. In the meanwhile, the smile itching up your features finally reveals itself and you march across the library floor to plop down into the seat that Namjoon had occupied. “You two lovebirds really need a room.” Jihyo makes a noise of acknowledgment at the back of her throat. “How did the fourth date go?” “What? Oh yeah. It was fine.” Her response is short and you chalk it up to her merely concentrating on finishing her assignment, but after a minute, Jihyo lifts her chin and looks at you. “Hey, Y/N.” “What?” “Do you think Namjoon’s off somehow?” “What do you mean?” “I know him.” Jihyo pauses. “Namjoon would rather die than say something as cheesy as he just did.” You loll your head to one side and shrug. “I don’t know. Love changes people, Jihyo. You should stop overthinking it and just let yourself be loved.” She blinks and hums, returning back to her work. // The library is becoming quieter and quieter as summer arrives. Jihyo doesn’t blame everyone for preferring to spend their remaining days outside with their friends than hanging out in a place surrounded by bookshelves and studying for exams. But if anything, it makes her job easier. There are fewer books to shelve, fewer people to attend to and less to clean up. With only a student here or there, she’s able to savour the last shifts of library duty left. “Joon.” “Hmmm?” Not to mention, no one really bats a lash with her boyfriend hanging around beside her. Ever since they started dating officially, Namjoon’s been glued to her side. But Jihyo doesn’t mind. The company and conversations are welcome. Even the librarian finds him endearing. “When did you become interested in me?” Namjoon is seemingly perplexed by the question and their eyes meet as they stand between the thin aisle between two looming bookcases. “I don’t know. One moment, everything was fine and then the next, I started feeling this way.” Jihyo’s frowns. “Suddenly?” “It was a bit weird for me too, but then I realized I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It...hit me and it was intense, so I asked you out.” His smile softens, dimples creased into each side of his cheek. “Why?” Jihyo sighs and shakes her head. “No reason. It just seemed like you never liked me like that before or at least you never hinted at it.” “That’s true. I saw you as just a friend for the longest time.” Namjoon leans in, his smile sweet towards his girlfriend. “Is that such a bad thing?” Jihyo scoffs lightly but then shakes her head with a tiny smile. Maybe you’re right. Maybe she is overthinking it. “I just have to get used to it.” It’s that same afternoon that Jihyo walks home by herself — Namjoon busy with his other clubs and unable to accompany her. She doesn’t mind much, actually finding solace in her alone time. But Jihyo’s mind wanders and she realizes it’s been a long time since she’s hung out with you outside of class or library duty. Jimin’s monopolized you these days and as happy as she is to watch you giddy, she misses her best friend. 4:38 pm. Jihyo: wanna go out for ice cream or something 4:39 pm. Y/N: hell yeah!!! :D 4:39 pm. Y/N: omw home 4:39 pm. Y/N: wanna meet up there? Jihyo smiles to herself and turns down the familiar street to your house. The school’s boundary lines are narrow, so most of the students live in the same small neighbourhood. And considering that Jihyo’s been your friend since grade six, she’s no stranger to your house, the white mailbox, the gate, and the small yard that the pair of you used to play on. They’re all nostalgic memories to her. “About time!” she calls out when she sees you. You laugh, quickening your strides. “It only took me five minutes!” “On another date with Jimin?” Jihyo follows after you, through the door and up the stairs to your room. It’s quiet which only means your mom’s running errands and your dad’s not home from work yet. “We just went to a bookstore and grabbed food.” She laughs and drops her backpack by your bed. “Can you eat ice-cream then?” “Don’t you know there’s always room for dessert?” You grin while patting your stomach. “Speaking of which, I need to take a leak before we leave. Be right back.” She snorts and pulls out her phone to check her usual apps. But there’s nothing much to see aside from the string of heart emojis that Namjoon sends for no reason. She rolls her eyes, but smiles to herself. Namjoon’s an idiot. But he should be lucky he’s a cute one. Jihyo boredly wanders to your desk, eyes falling upon the shell pink container. She holds the candle up, glad that you actually liked the birthday present enough to burn half of it. Then she sets it down and picks up the lighter, rolling the wheel and observing the flame that sparks. She puts it down, looks over the polaroids you have strung on the wall, and then her eyes stray to a crime novel you have pushed on the side of your desk. Jihyo smiles to herself in amusement. She didn’t know you picked up reading recently. Curious, she flips it over to read the synopsis of the book, but then something underneath catches her eye. A baby pink notebook. The Love Pages. Her brows furrow and she discards the crime novel to the side in favour of the magnetizing pull coming from the notebook. She’s curious. Her intuition forces her to look. Jihyo turns the notebook over, and she becomes more and more bewildered as she reads the rules. As she reads the warning. Then, she flips it open. At the same time you return. “J-Jihyo?” You’re frozen at the door. “Y/N. What is this?” “Nothing.” You damn yourself for not putting the notebook in the drawer, for not bringing it with you like you so often do. You forgot about taking it with you this morning when you were in a rush to get ready and now you’re paying the price for your mistake. You take two wide strides across the floor to snatch— But Jihyo’s grip remains firm. She doesn’t let you rip the notebook from her hands. Her tight hold crinkles the corners of the pages. “Y/N.” Jihyo’s eyes meet yours. Cold. Firm. “What is this?” You release your sigh and your arm comes to your side. “Remember when we were cleaning out the storage room of the library two months ago? I found it there and it works. I know it’s hard to believe, but it works, Jihyo.” It takes a second for the words to sink in. But then it hits Jihyo like a freight train, slamming into her form, smashing into her brain. She doesn’t want to believe it — not when it’s so outrageous and outlandish — but it all clicks. Everything finally makes sense. “Is this….how you got Namjoon to go out with me?” Her pupils trace his name on the lined paper and then the straight lines of her own name. Jihyo looks up at you, colour drained from her face. She whispers as if someone could overhear, “Is this how you got Jimin to go out with you?” “I wrote it as a joke first.” Your voice is pitched as you frantically explain, “but then Jimin started to pay attention to me and the next day, he even asked me out! I...I didn’t think it worked but then Hoseok came home and he was about to get divorced, Jihyo. It was really bad. But I wrote their names in and they’re fine now. See? It works and it’s a good thing!” She shakes her head slowly, connecting the dots. “You wrote my name in it...and you didn’t even ask me.” “I know and I’m sorry.” Your palms are clammy. You’re not sure why she’s so upset with you, why she’s giving you such a horrified look as if you did something so wrong. “But I didn’t know if you would believe me and since it worked, I thought...why not.” “Why not?! You didn’t ask for my consent! I didn’t want this! I can’t believe you did this, Y/N!” “What do you mean you didn’t want this?” It’s your turn to be upset — if anything, you did Jihyo a favour. You were looking out for her as her friend. “You liked Namjoon for the longest time! I did this for you!” “This isn’t what I wanted!” Jihyo’s voice is shrill and you flinch. “This is so wrong, Y/N. This is so fucked.” “How? We got what we wanted, didn’t we?!” “But have you ever thought about the other side?! Have you ever thought about them?” she asks, coming face to face with you. “You’ve made everything artificial! Why would you go against their will and control them like this?” “It’s not against their will!” “It is!” Jihyo screams, voice straining in her throat. “Namjoon only saw me as a friend and nothing more, and Jimin didn’t even know you!” Her words reverberate in your ears. Jimin didn’t even know you. Your fist curls as you tremble. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as tears threaten at your lash line. You can’t believe she just said that, that she can be so ungrateful. She doesn’t get it. And you thought out of anyone, Jihyo would be the one who would understand you most. “How do you get rid of it?” she demands, thrusting the notebook to your face. “How?!” “You….have to erase the names.” “Then fucking do it!” “Fine! Move!” You push her aside and press the book to your desk, grabbing the pencil that nearly rolls off. You take the eraser end and rub her name and Namjoon’s from the paper. Fine. If she wants you to erase it, you’ll erase it. But you know she’ll come running back to you to write it in again. You scrub the names hard enough that the shiny surface of the paper dulls. Hard enough that the pink eraser bits fill the page. That your hand physically hurts. You show her when you’re done. “There. Happy?” “Erase Jimin’s name.” “What?” By sheer instincts, you pull back and press the notebook to you. “No.” “Y/N. This is crazy. This is so wrong. You’re violating your morals for—” “I have no morals,” you cut her off. She can yell at you, shame you, make you erase what you did for her. But you draw the line here. “Don’t you realize, Jihyo? You said it yourself. Jimin never looked twice at me. And I know he would’ve never asked me out. He would’ve never gone on that date, he would’ve never made me his girlfriend. He would’ve never told me he loves me.” “Y/N—” “I’ve never been loved or looked at like this before.” You swallow hard, eyes stinging, the lump in your throat makes it hard to talk. Most of all, your heart aches. “For the first time in my life, I’ve actually had someone like me back. For the first time in my life, I’ve had someone love me like that. Without this notebook, it would’ve been impossible.” “But you can’t force him—” “I’m not forcing him to do anything!” Blood curdles at the back of your throat. You wish someone else was in the house, then they could rush upstairs and take Jihyo away from you. Away from threatening your happiness. “That’s not how the Love Pages works!” She steps forward, arm extending. “Then if that’s true, erase his name.” You flinch away from her. “I will never erase Jimin’s name!” “Y/N!” — “Leave me alone!” You try to push past her, but Jihyo grabs the notebook. Your attempt to rip it from her grip and shove her away is ultimately futile. Jihyo’s grabbed hold of the edge and she’s not letting go. In your desperation, you catch a fistful of her hair and she stomps on your foot, shouting ‘bitch!’ at you. You cry aloud, wonder why it’s so hard for you to be happy. You love him. Your hands are slipping, but you untangle your fingers from Jihyo’s head and manage to seize the cover with your right hand. The notebook flips open, papers dangling downwards between your struggle. Jihyo screams for you to let go, that this is crazy, but you ignore her. She knows nothing. You love Jimin. And all you want is for him to love you back. The pair of you yank back and forth. When it looks like you’re about to win, Jihyo snags a page near the back. And it rips as you snatch it towards you. The paper tears. You both stumble to the ground from the force of your grasps. Your own hand slams into your mouth, bruising your lip. Jihyo across from you has her hair in a disarray and you’re horrified to find her holding her eye. She cusses again, tone venomous. The notebook falls beside you, the empty white page fluttering in between. It’s silent as you two hyperventilate. Then Jihyo stands. She brushes past you, roughly grabbing her bag. “Suit yourself. But don’t get me involved anymore. I want no part of this.” The girl stomps out and you don’t look behind you. You don’t race after her, tell her to wait, explain that there’s a misunderstanding. Because there isn’t. You already said your piece. You allow the slamming of the front door to echo. But you do get up to watch her from the window. She acts like this is your fault, that you did something so horrible to her when what you did for her was a miracle. She’s the ungrateful bitch. Self-righteous in the dumbest ways. And you hope she never comes back. // Even when your anger has subsided, you know there are certain things that can’t be forgiven. Jihyo ignores you when you glance in her direction, when you move past her, when you stand in front of her. At school and lunch, she hangs out with the other girls, never once sparing you a look or the friendly smile she gives to her new friends. And it’s a change that others notice. “Is everything okay?” your classmate asks curiously. “Did you and Jihyo have a fight or something?” Your bruised lip and the skin around her eye blossomed blue speaks for itself. “Something like that.” You muster a smile. “But I’m fine.” “Oh. Well, make up soon then.” But you highly doubt that’ll happen. If she wants to be a bitch, then you can be one too. You can ignore her. You can pretend she doesn’t exist….. But unlike Jihyo, it’s always been harder for you to be cold. Not when you’ve spent so many years and made countless memories together. So you’re unable to resist when Namjoon comes by during the last shift of your library duty — one that you know she’s arranged to be absent at. “Do you know where she is?” Yet, the tall brunette merely shakes his head. “Sorry, I don’t. Jihyo...actually broke up with me yesterday, so….yeah….” “Oh. I’m...I’m sorry to hear that, Namjoon.” He smiles. “It’s okay. It was pretty mutual.” You watch him leave, not batting a single lash, without a single trace of heartbreak on his features and then you divert your vision. You know things will never be the same for them again. Jihyo and Namjoon might never become as friendly as they were prior to their relationship. But you also know she’s wrong. You never forced Jimin to do anything. You didn’t force him to have feelings for you. That’s not how the Love Pages works— “BOO!” A hand comes down on your shoulder and a scream tears out of your throat as you spin around. You nearly fall on the ground from startlement, but Jimin latches onto your wrist, stabilizing you. “Y-You almost scared me to death!” “Sorry, sorry.” Your boyfriend laughs. “I didn’t know you would be so scared.” “Don’t do that again,” you scold, heart rate steadying. “How long were you even following me for?” “Not that long. You seemed a bit off. I had to make sure you got home safe and didn’t talk to anyone else.” Jimin syncs his steps into yours, familiar with the route you take home after accompanying you so many times. But as silence simmers between the pair of you, he takes notice. Jimin slips his hand into yours, slowing down. “Y/N. What’s wrong?” You shake your head, words caught in your throat. You don’t know what to say, where to start, what you can tell him. How he’d even react. And it’s all too overwhelming for you to bear. Against your will, you burst into tears. The tsunami of emotions — anger, sorrow, regret — they clog your chest and shed in the form of teardrops. It hangs on your lashes, drips down your cheeks, clouds your vision. And the only comfort you receive is when Jimin reaches out, guiding your head to his shoulder. “J-Jihyo….she….she hates me…” You hang onto him, tight fists clutching onto Jimin’s jacket. You were scared — scared when your only friend turned their back against you and found others to replace you so quickly, frightened when you realized just how isolated you are, petrified when you had a taste of what it’s like to walk the halls alone, to eat alone, to sit alone. To be alone. To be abandoned. If Jimin leaves too, you’ll truly have no one. “It’s okay,” he hums, locking you in a secure embrace. “You don’t need anyone but me.” Jimin consoles you without needing to be asked. He soothes you and says the things you’ve yearned to hear since yesterday. You return his hug, quieting your sobs and strengthening your resolve. You can’t give him up. // You’re not sure why it took you so long to realize what is and isn’t important. In a blink of an eye, the entire world seems to have shifted. The things — people — you treasured can so easily throw you away and all this time, you didn’t know. You’ve been played. Time wasted. “Y/N, are you home?” your mom calls from the kitchen as the front door shuts and she stumbles out with a frown. “You’re later than usual today. Were you with someone? Jihyo?” “I was with Jimin,” you sigh, kicking off your shoes. “Where did you go?” “Nowhere. We just talked.” “About what?” “Nothing! God, can you stop asking me questions?!” You stomp up the stairs. Your mother exhales in frustration and calls after you, “Well get yourself looking nice! Your brother and Irene are coming over for dinner tonight! Are you listening to me?! Don’t ignore me, Y/N!” But you do ignore her as you zip to your room and shut the door. Finally, you’re able to get a moment of peace and quiet, and once it settles, you take two large strides across your room. You swiftly slip the Love Pages out of your backpack and into the bottom drawer of your desk. Without blinking, you grab the half-burnt pink candle and dump it into the bin. I can’t believe you did this, Y/N! Your bottom lip trembles but your determination hardens as you begin tearing off the strung polaroids on your wall. You’re suffocated just looking at them. Bitch! Your sixteenth birthday spent with Jihyo — sleepovers in seventh grade — summers spent at summer camp. You rip the photographs all off and they follow the candle in the trash. Suit yourself. But don’t get me involved anymore. I want no part of this. An unpleasant feeling sits at the pit of your stomach and you flop down onto your bed. You shut your eyes before being plagued by the moment she turns her back, how she passes by the hall, giggling with other classmates. They’re moments played over and over until you feel nauseous. “It’s fine,” you mutter to yourself and repeat, “It’s fine.” You’re graduating soon. You can finally get away from here. You can move far away, to a university out of the city. You open your eyes to stare at the ceiling, tears stinging. And you inhale a staggering breath. Soon. You can go with Jimin and the two of you can vanish together. You’ll never have to think about your lost best friend or what you did. You can leave the Love Pages behind.

It’s a permanent turning point. Your friendship with Jihyo never mends or is even a topic of conversation. Sometimes, you can feel her looking at you from the corner of her eye as if she’s judging you for the secret she knows. One she’s aware no one would believe her for, but that you both know what you did. You don’t speak to each other, merely passing by in the same spaces and no one asks. After all, friends drift apart all the time. Everyone merely finds a new normal and so do you. Jimin becomes your new best friend. Sometimes, you eat lunch with his friends. Sometimes, it’s solely with him. The two of you continue going on dates and when you’re not, it’s conversations through text or shy talks on the phone. And sometimes— “C’mon, no one’s home.” “Yeah, but what if your mom returns and finds me in her son’s bedroom? That would be a bad look.” He laughs. “I promise she won’t. And even if she did, she’d still love you.” “I don’t know about that, Jimin.” “I’ll still love you and that’s what’s important, right?” Jimin pulls you into his cozy house and before you know it, your back is pressed against his soft sheets as he hovers over you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. No teasing words are spoken when the boy leans down to capture his lips with yours. It’s an eager kiss where you’re able to relish in the softness and the warmth of Jimin’s skin. Your arms automatically loop around his torso and you feel his smile against you. Jimin steals all the breath from your lungs and you’re left gasping as his mouth trails from your jaw to your neck. “J-Jimin,” you pant his name with swollen lips, leaning into his touch. “I missed you.” “What’d yo..u mean? I saw you today.” “Seeing isn't enough.” His mouth sucks into the juncture of your neck, marking it red to his liking and knowing it’ll bloom blue. Jimin lifts himself and smiles tenderly. “Tell me you’re mine, Y/N.” His gaze is soft, full of affection and endearment, and it swells your heart. “I’m yours.” “That’s right. You’re mine,” he whispers and kisses you again. He fiddles with the hem of your plush sweater and not long after, he’s tugging your camisole down. Sometimes you stay in Jimin’s bed, limbs tangled with one another’s. Other times, he’s busy with soccer practice and you come home by yourself— “Huh, did someone….move my cardigan?” You frown, wondering why it’s draped over the back of your chair and not the bed. Maybe your mom was trying to clean up for you again. “Hello?” you call, poking your head out your door. There isn’t an answer. You scoff to yourself, wondering what you were expecting. Anyway, life for the most part is normal again. With Jimin by your side, he’s become a pillar of your strength and a reason for your resiliency. He is the many of your firsts. And he makes you look forward to even better days. “Hey. Jimin?” “Hmm?” The pair of you are laying in his small bed and you shift your head to find him gazing at you with tender eyes and a softened smile. It tickles your own lips and you stare at him — his brown kaleidoscopic irises, his dark strands of hair nearly pricking into them. It’s quiet in his house with his parents gone and the fuzzy afternoon sunlight casting through the window makes you sleepy. If you don’t blink, you can spot the specs of dust floating in the air. “What are you thinking about?” “Nothing much.” Your voice is a murmur and you inhale gently, senses filled with Jimin’s comforting scent. “Do you think...you would’ve loved me before this school year?” “Of course, I would.” Jimin smiles as if you’re silly. “We’re meant to be.” He twines his hand with yours, fingers interlaced, and your sleepy smile stretches into cheeks. But Jihyo’s cursed you. She’s done the worst possible thing. She’s planted a seed in your mind. A seed of doubt. And it’s sprouted, taken root, embedded and coiled deep enough that you can’t tug it out. Even beautiful moments like these, you’re plagued by her words. You can't help wondering if this is really Jimin or the Love Pages’ doing. It’s chilly one night as you’re walking by yourself, going home from the convenient store down several blocks. The street lights are bright, illuminating both your figure and casting your shadow on the brick. But then you halt. Feet against the asphalt. Turning around. You swear, you felt eyes— Ring. Your phone rings suddenly and you jolt in startlement. You fumble before pulling it out and pressing it to your ear. “Hello?” You continue walking, except this time, your steps quicken. “Jimin?” “What’re you doing?” “Nothing,” you exhale, feeling comforted with him on the other line. “I’m so happy to hear your voice.” He laughs boyishly and you smile to yourself, practically able to hear his grin. Jimin sighs quietly, “Why does that make me feel happy?” “Did you finish running errands with your dad? Where are you?” “I’m always with you,” he quips playfully and you roll your eyes. It’s a joke, but as you peek over your shoulder, unsettlement sticks in your stomach. It feels like you’re always being watched. // “Jimin.” You stare up at the popcorn ceiling of his room, eyes running over the pointed ridges and dips, and drawing constellations from your imagination. “Do you ever feel like you’re being watched?” He turns his head, having been folding his laundry on the floor. “What do you mean?” “The other night, I was grabbing something for my dad at the convenient store and while I was walking home, it felt like….someone was watching me.” “Was there?” he asks. “I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone.” “Maybe you’re just being paranoid,” Jimin comforts with a small smile and finishes folding his last shirt. He comes up on the bed and you make room for him to lay next to you. “Or maybe it’s your guardian angel protecting you.” You scoff. “What guardian angel?” “Me,” he giggles softly and reads your expression. “Would that be so bad?” Your brows furrow and you go silent. Blood drains from your face and confusion makes your head dizzy. It’s outrageous to ask, but you do so— “Were you the one following me, Jimin?” He hums, “Maybe.” Instantly, you push your boyfriend’s hand away that was playing with your hair and you sit up. “I’m being serious.” Jimin follows after you, getting up. “I don’t get why you’re so upset.” “It’s weird! You’re stalking me!” “I’m protecting you,” he corrects and his voice softens. “I’m doing this for your own good, Y/N. I see people on the news getting kidnapped all the time. I just…I don’t want you to be taken away or put in danger. I don’t think I could live with myself if you got hurt and I wasn’t around to help.” You press your palms against your forehead, not knowing where to even begin. After a beat, your voice croaks, “How long have you been doing this for?” Jimin shrugs. “A while.” His intentions might come from a good place, but it makes you nauseous to think about how Jimin’s been following you. How he’s been tracing your steps, watching you from behind. And you didn’t even know. You don’t want to ask what else he’s done. “I’m not going to get hurt, Jimin. You don’t need to follow me like that.” “But you don’t know when something might happen. No one knows. I just want to be there for you.” Your thoughts are in a disarray, not sure how you should even reason with him. Shouldn’t it be common sense? At your ongoing silence, Jimin reaches out to hug you. But you stand, slipping away from his arms. “I think I need to go home.” “Wait. Y/N.” Jimin’s agile and swift, capturing your wrist in his hand before you’ve grabbed your bag. He stops you in your tracks. “Don’t be mad. I’m sorry!” “I just need a moment by myself, okay?” You try to shake him off. “I-I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Please. Don’t leave me,” his voice drops into a trembling whisper and your head whips around. Your eyes meet his, teary and shaking. Jimin suddenly gets onto his knees, cradling your hand in both of his hands and pressing it to his nose as if he’s praying. He begs, “Don’t leave me.” But his affectionate behaviour only serves to freak you out more. It’s more than bizarre and you quickly tear your hand back, pulling it to your chest and out of his grip. “You’re not being yourself, Jimin.” You grab your bag, turning around and making it to the door— “I love you!” he declares loudly, startling you. His sheer desperation radiates waves and you turn around with wide eyes. Jimin looks like he’s in the midst of a break down. “You’re mine! Is it so wrong to look after you like this? I did it because I love you. I love you, Y/N.” You clutch your bag against your body and divert your vision away from the boy. “Then...promise me you won’t do that again,” you murmur after a handful of uncomfortable seconds have passed, “I’m safe and fine. Secretly following me is excessive and it makes me…..uncomfortable.” Jimin begrudgingly nods. You slowly close the distance and hug him, allowing him to sniffle into your shoulder. He’s fine with letting you leave after the pair of you have made up. Yet, when you arrive home the next day, you swear you feel eyes on your backside. It’s easy to pretend nothing’s wrong when you haven’t noticed before. But once you lock the front door and make it to your room, you nimbly peek out the window. You catch Jimin standing across the street, expressionless. // The situation isn’t mentioned again in fear of another dramatic confrontation, but it dwells. A disturbing discomfort weighs on your shoulders and every sweet call of your name on his lips is startling. You’re not sure why you’re like this, how you can go back to how it used to be, when a mere glance from Jimin had your heart soaring and the butterflies in your tummy tickling. It feels like the rose filter of your eyes have rubbed off. And that you’ve found out the world is darker than the pink shades you previously saw it as. You leave the bathroom, hands still a bit damp in spite of drying them— And you flinch when you see dark strands, brown irises and rounded cheeks standing in the hallway, leaning against the lockers. Jimin smiles. “You’re about to have lunch, right?” You nod. “I was thinking we could eat together today.” “With your friends?” “No. Just us.” As the two of you walk, Jimin slings an arm around your shoulders. It feels heavy instead of warm and comforting. It’s quiet too, until he breaks it. “Have you been avoiding me, Y/N?” You shake your head. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to be distant.” He lovingly presses his head to yours, nuzzling into your hair. “That’s not what a good girlfriend does.” You swallow hard. The food ends up tasting like nothing. This isn’t right. This isn’t the boy next door you fell in love with years ago. Obsessive, controlling, a crazed look in his eye, desperate enough to beg on his knees — this isn’t Jimin. And you know the cause. You know why and how this happened. But you can’t bear to acknowledge the truth. Even when you’ve been plunged so deep, you still want to savour this a little longer. This impossibility. This dream that you’ve been granted. Tears fill your eyes and you gaze at him. Your boyfriend notices your softened expression that searches his face and he smiles, lifting his hand to pat your head. He prepares to walk off to class, but you take the leap while diverting your eyes. “Jimin. A-After graduation…...we need to talk.” His hand comes to curl around your wrist, firm enough that you can’t escape from. His voice drops an octave. “Are you breaking up with me?” You shake your head. “I’m going to tell you the truth.” Jimin’s brows furrow hard and he leans in close. “What’s the truth?” “I’ll tell you afterwards. Just wait a little longer,” you plead, “be patient with me. Please. I love you.” He stares and then nods. Jimin embraces you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders to console the turmoil bubbling underneath your skin. No one’s around to witness the intimate moment, so you allow yourself to savour it. “I love you too. I won’t ever let you go.” You nod against him. And you really hope what he says is true. You hope he loves you for you and not because it’s the effect of the Love Pages. // “I’m home!” you call out and shut the door. But instead of hearing your dad’s greeting or your mother’s nagging, there’s a smooth timbre coming from the living room that’s all too familiar. It raises the goosebumps around your arms and you stalk the noise, feet sliding against the floor. “—thinking of maybe renting an apartment—” “Jimin?” You stop in your tracks, bewildered at the sight of him sitting on the couch with your parents across from him, mugs and half-empty glasses of water on the coffee table in between. “W-What are you doing here?” “Oh, sit down! Jimin’s just discussing your plans with us,” your mom says with an endeared smile. “I didn’t know the two of you had so many arrangements for after you graduate, Y/N!” “You should’ve kept us in the loop,” your dad states with a satisfied smile. You swallow hard, approaching on weak knees and collapsing beside your boyfriend. “I’m going to the same university as you are,” Jimin informs with a proud smile, hands knitted together and posture straight. He’s the picture perfect son-in-law, an image crafted to perfection. “What? I mean….h-how do you even know what school I’m going to?” “I saw the acceptance letter, silly.” Jimin smiles. “I can’t believe you hid it from me.” “It was supposed to be a surprise!” you lie frantically, in a rush and spilling out the sentence before your brain can catch up. And once it does, you add in a laugh and quirk your head to the side. “I was waiting for you to get your round of acceptance letters.” Jimin believes you and apologizes for ruining the surprise to which you brush off and tell him it’s okay, that it isn’t a big deal. The crisis is averted until he presents another idea— “We should probably move in together. I’ll have to move out anyway and you will too.” Your mouth opens but your mother exclaims, “That’s a great idea! Jimin’s a good boy who will protect you, Y/N. It’ll make me feel a lot better about you moving so far away.” Jimin smiles. He stays for dinner and your mom fusses about to make sure his stomach is stuffed with her home cooking while your dad reminisces and tells old stories. But you don’t hear anything or taste the food you’ve grown sick of. It’s bland and white noise buzzes against your eardrums— “Y/N.” Jimin slips a hand on top of yours and you flinch before catching yourself. “Y/N. What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” You realize your parents have left the table. “I’m fine.” But you fail to notice how Jimin stops smiling when you turn away. // The long awaited day arrives on a brisk morning. You’ve imagined it countless times before — when your head was laid on your desk, when your face was buried in your textbook, when your hand hurt from gripping your pencil. Graduation is the liberation day, another step to moving forward. After years of schooling, it marks another end and another beginning. You always envisioned getting ready with Jihyo, looking at Jimin from faraway, being swept by the crowds and walking away without too many regrets. In many ways, your fantasy is better and worse in reality. It’s worse in the ways that Jihyo doesn’t look at you. When you call her name, catch up to her, she doesn’t so much as acknowledge who you are. She doesn’t even say her last goodbyes. She doesn’t promise to keep in touch. It’s uncomfortable, for you and those around who witness. Your parents aren’t one of them, but they bombard you with questions when you tell them not to call out to her. Questions you beg them not to ask. Jihyo doesn’t even give you the chance to admit your mistakes. So you let her be. You’re not sure what you expected when she’s the master of holding grudges. All you know is that until the end, you did your part on trying to make amends. The rest is on her. You hope she doesn’t regret it. Nevertheless, there are silver linings. Instead of having to peek at Jimin through the masses, of having him accidentally in the background of pictures, he’s by your side. Your crush is yours to call, yours to hold. But a weight still dwells on the back of your mind. As time passes, you know it’s getting worse and worse. He’s becoming less like Jimin and more like a person you no longer recognize. He’s grown distant with his friends as he solely focuses on you — calling you, texting you, asking where you are, telling you how excited he is to move in with you and how you’ll finally be together. And the more Jimin surrounds himself with you, the more sure you become. You have to erase his name from the Love Pages. Even if you don’t want to. There are consequences of the Pages. You’ve stared at the papers, the names, the rules enough to know. The more naturally compatible a couple is, the more effective the Love Pages will be. The less compatible a couple is, the more undesired consequences will arise. And this is a consequence. If Jimin’s worsening obsession is because of the Love Pages, then you need to stop it. You have to vanquish your doubts about him being with you before this future together begins. You want him to love you for you. “Y/N! What are you doing standing there? Move in!” Hoseok is holding his phone to his face, camera open and ready to capture a picture of you and Jimin together. Irene stands beside him with an enormous grin, temporarily holding the bouquet of flowers they gifted to you. In the meanwhile, your parents and Jimin’s are chatting away. “Okay! Perfect! Ready? One, two three!” Your smile is stiff. No matter how hard you try to maintain it, it twitches and never reaches your eyes. When it’s done, Jimin holds your hand and pulls you to his family. Jimin’s dad is friendly and open while his mom is more soft-spoken, but her features are reminiscent of Jimin's. You’re moved when she gives you a bouquet of peonies on top of the flowers Hoseok and Irene, saying how she just bought some from the stand. “Congratulations, sweetheart.” “Thank you.” Jimin playfully pouts. “You didn’t get me any?” His mom lightly scoffs and bats at him. “You don’t even like flowers.” “I swear Y/N’s gonna be drowning in them by the end of this,” he sighs and everyone laughs. Jimin seems so normal on the surface — no one knows what you do. // Your heart is thumping against your rib cage hard enough to bruise. It’s violent in your ear drums and you could clap to the rhythm of your pulse if you chose. But unfortunately, it isn’t from excitement. Not the feeling of rushing down a roller coaster or falling infatuated within seconds. It’s different from the flutter of a first love or the anxiousness of a class presentation. It’s dread. Hope. Remorse. The day has come — time is up. You’ve finally managed to pull Jimin aside in the chaos of graduation celebrations, alone in the house with your parents over at your brother’s. There’s no room for disturbances, for interruptions, no way you can back down from the promise you made. The two of you enter your room and you inhale a deep breath as you turn to face him. Jimin’s brows are furrowed and he searches your expression. “What is it? What have you been wanting to tell me? You know I don’t like it when you keep secrets from me.” Wordlessly, you stride to your desk, pull the bottom drawer and reach below the file folders. Jimin is solemn as he watches you and you pull out what started this all— A pastel pink notebook and in small text at the front, simple words read ‘Love Pages’. You brace yourself, grip tight enough to crinkle the cover. But then you hand it to Jimin. He deserves to see it for himself. Jimin takes it, curious and confused. “What is this?” “You have a right to know what I did, Jimin,” you murmur quietly as he studies the notebook, flips it over, reads the rules, the warning. “I found this notebook by accident and I know I’m going to sound crazy, but it works. Whoever’s name that’s written in it will fall in love with the second written name. And….I-...I wrote your name back in February.” Jimin’s frown deepens. He flips open the pages. You’re too ashamed to look at him. Your downcast head avoids his glance. “I’m sorry,” you snivel and repeat, “I’m sorry.” You’re not sure how many times will be enough — you don’t think it’ll ever be enough. “I….I’m the one who made you this way, Jimin. I liked you and I thought this was a joke and that it would be harmless, so I wrote your name in it and it ended up working...and I was so happy for the longest time,” your voice breaks and you realize your cheeks are wet. “But this isn’t you.” He’s gone completely silent and you swallow hard, the need to explain compulsive. “The way you’re acting, the person you are when you’re with me, it’s—...it’s a consequence of the Love Pages because we’re not compatible.” You’re sobbing and your heart aches as the words choke out of your closing throat. “And I tried to force something that isn’t compatible. So I’m so...so sorry. I made you lose yourself. I...I shouldn’t have ever done this. So I’m going to erase your name. I’m going to undo all of this, I promise.” Jimin stares at you, lips in a straight line, eyes dimmed. “I know you wouldn’t lie to me, Y/N,” he starts and you muster the courage to look at him, “If what you say is true and if this notebook made me love you, then it’s the greatest thing to ever exist.” “What?” “I got the chance to love you, to be with you when I otherwise wouldn’t have, Y/N.” Jimin’s eyes catch the evening sun through the window and his irises glimmer as the corner of his mouth quirks into a smile. “Why would I want to erase my name?” You shake your head. “This isn’t right, Jimin.” You’re not sure how he drew this conclusion on his own and you quickly approach, but then Jimin holds the notebook up. He extends his arm high above his head and out of your reach. “Jimin,” you beg him, “snap out of it.” “I love you, Y/N. Do you not love me?” You try to reach up, get closer to the pink notebook held mockingly above you. But Jimin swiftly dodges your attempt and rounds towards the desk. “I love you, Jimin. Trust me. I really do love you. But it shouldn’t have been this way. I shouldn’t have made our relationship artificial.” “But I love you, Y/N,” he argues, becoming angry. “That’s not artificial!” “If you love me then p-prove it. Let me erase the names!” You lurch forward, fingertips finally gripping onto the edges, but victory is short an inch. Jimin grabs it hard enough to wrinkle the entire book and all its pages. He screams, “No! I won’t let you erase it! I love you and I won’t risk falling out of love with you!” “Stop this, Jimin, please, I’m begging you, let go,” you desperately spew through gritted teeth and it’s all too familiar— Pushing one another, trying to rip it from his grip, grabbing hold of edges, not letting go. You’ve once stood in the same spot, having the same fight with Jihyo. And it’s an irony that makes your mouth bitter. She was right — and you wonder if she would laugh if she knew. But the difference between then and now is that winning twice is harder than once. Jimin’s backed up against your desk, nearly falling on it but his right hand comes to cushion himself. Though as it does, he feels the objects on your desk. In desperation, he grabs whatever he can to succeed, to perhaps distract you with. And he finds the lighter. It takes one second. One for Jimin’s strength to easily overpower yours. For him to yank it hard. For the smooth, pink cover and its white pages filled with endless names to slip from your fingertips. For Jimin to scrape his thumb across the wheel of the lighter. And for you to hear the flickering flare, the rasping sparks, the quiet hum of the orange flame igniting. Jimin brings the fire to the notebook. He burns it, sealing the Love Pages together. “No!” Your last attempt to grab it is futile. You’re left to drop to your knees. The blood-curdling shriek in your ears is unrecognizable until you realize it's yours. Your pupils reflect the tangerine hue of the fire, the ash of the pages curling together, the soft pink that turns to black cinders fluttering down like Spring cherry blossoms in front of you. Jimin’s smile is sweet. “The only way to remove my name is to erase it, right? Look, Y/N. This way, we can always be together.” A tear drips from your lash down your cheeks. Your mouth opens but the sob doesn’t come from your throat already sore from yelling, screaming, apologizing. Instead, you cry like a marble statue shocked in time. Jimin drops the burning corner of the Love Pages and the last of the binding melts into your carpet. He lowers himself and wipes away the tears on your cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “You made me better,” he coos, “the Love pages made me better.” Jimin sighs and caresses your head gently. “If this is what the issue was then I’m actually relieved. I thought you were going to try to break up with me. This obstacle means nothing to me, Y/N. It means nothing to us.” He laughs and quickly reassures, “Soon enough, we’ll move away. No one will be able to find us. We can finally get away from….this. All these distractions. I can finally have you all for myself.” He embraces you, arms wrapped around your body, propping his chin on top of your shoulder and breathing in the scent of your hair. It’s suffocating. Your eyes dim. Jimin’s trapped you. He’s caught you in his web.

You think about running. Even when he follows you half across the country under the guise of continuing education, you think about running in the middle of the night while he’s asleep. You fantasize about slowly slinking the arm slung around your body off, moving his dead weight from you, or moving during the day when he’s forced to be away. Before it’s too late. Before it worsens. You can still escape. But somehow, Jimin always knows where you are. He texts at night when you’re gone for too long. He calls when you’re at the grocery store to buy certain things he forgot. And you know for a fact, he would track you down and look for you until his last breath if you tried to flee. But your hesitance is not only because of him. It’s your fault too. A part of you always stops, with one foot out the door of the apartment and your bag slung over your shoulder in the middle of the night. You’re unable to abandon the faded image of the boy you used to long for. Unable to stop the guilt from overwhelming you that you began this. That you’re the one who reduced him to this crazed state from your own selfishness. And the only way to undo what’s happened to him is gone. For just a moment, you wanted to be loved. But what was an innocent wish morphed into a sin you blinded yourself too. All those months ago, had you done nothing, had you sat still, it would’ve never been like this. And that haunts you. You can’t bear to abandon Jimin, to try to get away, to call the police and attempt an escape. You can’t make him surrender his entire life, disappoint his family, lose his scholarship, mark his history with red. You can’t make him lose more of himself than what he’s already lost. Jimin is both the benefit and the consequence you have to shoulder for the choices you made. “Y/N! Come here!” Your mother rushes you in for a hug and pastes a wet kiss on your cheek. “I’m so glad the two of you could make it back for your winter break! I missed you so much.” Jimin shadows you, dragging in the suitcases and your mother smiles at him. “Jimin! You too! Get in here!” She hugs him as he giggles and pats her back. The festive music plays in the background, your dad, brother and sister-in-law in the living room chatting away. But you don’t enter the warm room. Rather, you ascend the darkened staircase. The pitch black envelops your form until you reach for the knob of your old room. The door creaks as it swings open. Your room is undisturbed, just like you left it except for the thin layer of dust sitting on the furniture. You remember when you sat at the desk, when you knew absolutely nothing. Stiffly, you take two strides and sit back down on the creaking chair. You flick the table lamp on and off, watching how it illuminates the space before darkening it again, listening to the click of the button. Then, your eyes travel to the discarded lighter. You pick it up, rolling the wheel and observing the flame that sparks. A moment later, you put it down and instinctively from the habits you’ve built, you reach down to tug open the bottom drawer. As if you’ll see the Love Pages reappear. As if the notebook will sit right there as it did for so long. But instead, you notice a folded piece of lined paper tucked at the side. You take it out, studying the page in a transfixed state. The lines are a light blue, the white crisp and clean, but it’s completely torn on the side. You remember. “Erase Jimin’s name.” Jihyo all that time ago, tried to convince you to erase his name. You should’ve listened to her then, salvaged your friendship while you still could. But what was left of her and that fight was this page torn out of the Love Pages. You stare at it. The final evidence of such a notebook ever existing. And then you’re grabbing the pen on your desk. The ink bleeds on the page, letters feathering away, but you scratch it hard enough to hear, looping the names onto the paper, knowing it’s permanent— L/N Y/N Park Jimin Jimin shuffles into the room and notices your backside cowering over the desk. “Sweetheart, is there something wrong? Are you hiding something?” You turn from the chair and he’s startled from your enormous grin and your brightened eyes. You shake your head and run to him, lurching forward. “Jimin!” You throw your arms around his neck and he stumbles back from the impact of your embrace. “I love you so, so much.” It’s hard to express the feelings that have suddenly devastated you, so you tear yourself from him to kiss him. It’s an eager kiss, one where your mouths smack together, where you’re gripping his sweater, tasting him and trying to get as close as you can but to no avail. All you’re aware of is the need to have Jimin by your side. You might die without him here. When you pull away, he’s grinning, happy that you aren’t so distant anymore. “You love me, right?” “Of course, I do!” Jimin’s almost upset at the question. “Why would you even ask that?!” You laugh joyfully, the sound chortling from your throat. Your chest is rising and falling, pupils blown wide as your massive grin makes your cheeks ache. “Then you’re mine.” “That’s right. I’m yours.” You embrace Jimin again, arms wrapped tightly around his warm torso as your nose digs into his shoulder and his own arms cage your body. It feels like you’ve been sewn to each other by your skin and the thought makes you even more giddy. You love him so much, more than the whole world itself.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jimin angst #jimin fluff #bts angst #bts yandere #bts yandere AU #I know what you're thinking #two dark Jimin fics in a row???#yes lol #the schedule ended up working out that way so I hope y'all don't mind #the fluff will soon be returning to my blog

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wishesunderthestars · 3 years

Text

Ocean Waves // Ch. 1

Pairings: Wizard!Namjoon x Witch!reader

Summary: Wizards were arrogant and self-entitled, they looked down on witches when they were the ones who desperately tried to control magic, to become like them. Better than them. You had your own troubles, struggling to make enough money to escape the judgement of your community and the past mistakes haunting you. Getting involved with a wizard was the last thing you needed. But you had never been lucky.

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 12.2k

Warnings: none

Talking books were a pain in the ass. They could talk miles around the same subject and never stop. The worst part? They were impossible to close if they didn't want to. Which witch had thought it would be a good idea to give voice to a know-it-all?

You had made the mistake of opening one and now it wouldn't shut up.

It was going on and on about all the different kinds of seaweed, their uses and complaining about people confusing them. It was causing you a headache. If someone associated books with ancient deep voices they were sadly mistaken. This one had the most high pitched voice you had ever heard and it was so loud the whole ocean would be able to hear it.

You couldn't care less about seaweed types at the moment. Why had you made the mistake of opening it? It depicted various ingredients for potions but it had become obvious it was most fond of seaweed. Titled "Guide to Underwater Plants and their Contribution to Magic", the writer had described thousands of plants in its pages and then he had made the mistake of animating it. You vowed to yourself that if you ever reached that lever of magic you would never repeat that. Too many speaking books had been made, way more than the world needed in the first place. Zero, that's exactly how many it needed.

"Chlorophyta, also called Prasinophyra, is a taxon of green algae. Depending on the author the name is used in two very different senses. In older classification systems, it refers to a highly paraphyletic group of all the green algae within the green plants, which includes more than seven thousand species. "

You put a book back in its place on the bookshelf carved into the cave wall. "Yeah, yeah."

"Contrary to popular belief not all species live in freshwater but about 90% of them do, 10% can be found in seawater in secluded regions."

"Amazing." You picked up another book. You were extra careful not to open another book that would make your headache worse. "You sound like a Wikipedia article."

A moment of silence. You read the first few pages of the book in your hands then put it back. Nothing interesting there. Rustling of paper that could only be described as aggressive came from the book on the stone table in the middle of the library.

"Did you just compare me to a Wikipedia article?" You clenched your eyes as the pitch of the voice got higher, it should have been impossible, but you had never been lucky. "The blasphemy, the insult! How do you wound me so? Are you so ungrateful to my services? Then I shall service you no more." The book closed with a bang echoing through the library.

You rushed to the table to pick it up and shove it in one of the shelves. You added the seaweed book to the list of people and now things you had managed to offend. At least it had stopped talking. Books were too sensitive these days.

The library hadn't been much help this time. You had been coming for so long taking comfort in the dim lights under the water and the lanterns with the silver flames. You found solace in the cave above the water where the books were kept safe from being soaked and destroyed.

The lower levels were underwater, much larger in size. They were like huge museums of things old and new, anything that would interest the sea creatures that gathered them. Some were displayed in glass cases and others on carved stone. Forgotten relics centuries old and statues of a different age. Beautiful jewelry worth a fortune was preserved by the librarians.

It was an underwater wonderland.

You collected your notes, divided them by kind and hid them away in your waterproof bag. You hadn't made many new ones. You would have to figure out the rest of the details for the potion yourself. You didn't look forward to that.

With one last look at the dry section of the library and the blue sky that was visible through a hole in the cave's ceiling, you dove back in the sea.

The water was soothing against your skin. You closed your eyes at the feeling of freedom.

"Did you find what you needed?" the selkie polishing one of the statues asked you. She was the head librarian and always had a smile on her face.

"I came close," you said. You had perfected the art of speaking and hearing underwater. It had taken many hours of practice and nearly drowning twice but it had been worth it. Your mother wouldn't have let you drown anyway. She had been the one to teach you. "Nothing too specific."

"I could help you look next time, not that I would be much help if you didn't find anything." The selkie ran a hot pink pad over the curls of the statue. The attention to detail of the sculptor was incredible, the man looked alive. He reminded you of the ancient statues in the western human civilizations and their beauty. You could recognize it didn’t originate there though, it wasn't that old, but the untrained eye could mistake them.

"I can try to do the rest on my own. I'll experiment a little, try it a few different ways until it works," you said.

Snickers followed your statement. "Oh no, we all have to hide. Y/N is doing magic again. On her own." More snickers. "Everyone in twenty miles from her house is in danger."

A group of mermaids emerged from one of the pathways. The mermaid's words were accompanied by the giggles of her two friends. They were swimming gracefully in the water, their hair floating around them like halos. Their words were much less angelic than their appearance.

You gritted your teeth. "Too bad for you. You better start hiding then." You kept yourself back from saying anything worse.

The mermaid who had spoken before giggled. "Maybe you should be the one to start hiding. There are much bigger fish in the ocean and they will swallow you whole."

Their giggles echoed in the chamber as they left.

The selkie looked at you with sympathy. "They are all talk, nothing else."

You gave her a weak smile. "Don't worry. Don't I know?" You tightened your grip on your bag, adjusting it over your shoulder. "Take care. I'll see you."

"See you around, little sea witch," the selkie said fondly.

You disappeared deeper into the library, passing through different rooms and narrow paths. The library was difficult to navigate at first but it grew on you. The longer you spent there you gradually unraveled its secrets and understood the structure, the way it was made. There was a method to its madness.

Out of the series of caves, the sun was but a faint vision above. A couple of fish followed you as you swam to the surface. They were drawn to you like moths to the flame, your magic drawing them in. Anna would joke about it, say that if you ever went hungry you could catch the fish surrounding you to feed your belly.

You went higher and higher, closer to the light.

Most water creatures didn't spare you a second glance. A group of kelpies were heading north, their manes swirling around them, and a mermaid was arguing with a water nymph about the pros and cons of sea shells as hair accessories.

You emerged by the rocks on the forgotten trail to the sea. The sharp points of the stones dug into your palms as you pulled yourself up. The water had smoothed parts of them and left others sharp enough to cut through skin with one wrong move, you had to be careful which ones you held onto. You stood up barefoot on steady feet. The underwater library was a twenty minute swim away from the shore at best. By all means your limbs should have been sore from going and coming back but you were used to it.

With a flick of your hand and a few muttered words under your breath the water clinging on your ripped jeans, crop top and hair slipped away like it was being pulled by some kind of magnet. It left your hair in a not so favorable condition but it was nothing some combing with your fingers couldn't fix. That way you at least looked a little presentable. Not that you had a mirror to look at but you had enough years of experience to have a general image in your head of what you looked like.

You pushed your hair back as best as you could to get it out of your face and started your way up. The rocky trail wasn't easy to navigate but you had a lot of practice. Under a larger stone, one the water couldn't touch, you found your sandals. You had left them there before diving into the sea. Shoes restricted your movements underwater making you slower.

You slipped them on, happy to avoid the pain of the sharp rock edges poking the soles of your feet. You were used to it but it was nice to avoid it whenever you could.

Moss was growing between the stones, it wrapped around them creating patches of green amidst the black and dark brown landscape. You were careful not to step on them, they were slippery and the rocky terrain could be dangerous. If you slipped and fell your, head and body wouldn't stay intact.

You climbed up the familiar way with ease. Your bag was securely wrapped around your shoulders, the spell work cast on it still working wonders. As you went up, the rocks gave way to a dirt road.

A few trees surrounded the road. Pine trees and lemon trees provided shade from the sun during the day. You patted one of the older trees in the area and felt its life force thrum underneath your fingertips. A spark of warmth greeted you.

You didn't have to walk long to your house. It peaked on the horizon as you walked down the hillside. More trees were growing around the area and grass and different kinds of wild flowers were everywhere you looked.

The house was perched on the plain near to where the woods ended and on the other side the hill gave way and gazed over the sea. Vibrant red flowers, like small roses, bloomed on the vines climbing up the stone walls. They had been there as long as you could remember and they bloomed all year long. Thin lines of smoke were coming out of the chimney. The windows were open letting the early spring breeze inside, the gossamer curtains billowing in its pass.

As you came closer warm tingles ran through your body, the protective charms around the house were welcoming you. Your wards were very powerful, they could detect someone with unsavory intentions from miles away. The white stones littered around the grounds were only a small part of them.

You were the most proud of your garden. It took up a wide ring around the house. It was your mother's garden and you had learnt how to care of it early on. You planted all the kinds of herbs you would need for potions, salves and spells and some of your mother's favorite flowers. Lemon and apple trees had been around the path to the door since you had been little and moonflowers, that would open at night and release their sweet aroma, littered the window sills. They were your favorites.

By the door the charmed dreamcatcher danced with the wind. The white strings were made by kelpie hair and it was decorated with Phoenix feathers for added effect (both gifted voluntarily). Tokens like that were all over the house, inside and outside. You had picked up the habit and created charms and amulets of all kinds. It was easy and some of your best work.

You opened the door making the small bells ring softly.

As expected, Anna was sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through Instagram. Her long black hair was pulled up in a ponytail and her nails, painted black, made a clinking sound whenever they touched the screen.

"Did you find everything?" she asked, too engrossed to look up.

"I wouldn't go that far. I would say I found at least some things I can work with." You pulled off your bag and placed it on the kitchen table. The kitchen doubled as your "witchy laboratory" as your brother like to call it and its usual state was a mess. "I'm closer than I was yesterday. I count that as a win. Where are the boys?"

"John, upstairs. Nathaniel is out." Anna's syrupy voice carried to the kitchen.

Out of the bag you pulled out your spellbook. You liked to call it a spellbook but it was the combination of many notes and observations you had compiled over the years. Pretty much everything was inside.

"Where did Nathaniel go?" you asked.

"No idea, I didn't ask. Just be glad he won't be messing with anything you are working," Anna said. "Any explosives yet?"

"I don't use explosives, I'm not a miner." You flipped through the pages, pausing at a drawing of a vial next to a staghorn coral, like its name suggested it resembled the horns of a deer. "Should I start working now? If any of you have any plans that are going to distract me, please let me know."

"Nah, I don't think we do. I doubt John will be coming down until our shift starts."

That was good enough for now.

Your housemates could be loud to an extreme. Even their silence was loud. They filled the kitchen with noise, threw things around by accident or not, messed with your work and generally made a mess. They were the biggest obstacle to your work and you couldn't wait for the time you would have your own space. No more spilled potions, lion cubs Nathaniel was supposed to be babysitting running between your feet, torn or lost books, destroyed charms and constant talking and fighting. The last was the worst.

You were close to forgetting a time before all of them had entered your life. The time before Nathaniel was like a dream. Scattered memories of swinging high in the garden, pushed by a faceless father, picking flowers and swimming without an extra voice accompanying you and no over excited boy running behind you. Anna and John came later so your memories without them were clearer but still too far away.

Nathaniel was your mother’s best friend only son. You had grown up together but you didn't spend half as much time with each other as you did after his parents died. It had been a heavy blow to your mother, only a few months after your father had disappeared. In the same year she had lost two of the people most dear to her. After your father's disappearance, she was strong, she continued like nothing had happened. She read her books, attended on her customers, tended to her garden. When her best friend was killed at the hands of hunters everything stopped, the facade fell.

Hunting supernatural beings was illegal. It had been outlawed decades ago, yet some people just refused to give up. There weren't that many but enough to cause worry and fear. They were enough to make you double check if someone was following you and never lose your focus in case you needed to cast a spell to escape when you were outside the supernatural communities. The risk was much greater outside.

You didn't see the bodies but your mother came back with her voice so hoarse from screaming she couldn't speak for days. It was only natural that Nathaniel would stay with you, no questions were raised about it and no one complained. And so the werewolf became a part of your little family.

John and Anna's story was different, the reasons similar.

"What are you making?" Anna was leaning on the doorframe between the kitchen and the living room. Her phone was in her hand, hanging by her side.

You stopped measuring the white liquid in the vial you were holding. "I thought you wouldn't distract me."

"I don't have any plans that will distract you. I'm bored," she whined. "What are you making?"

"I told you about this yesterday. It's for a customer."

"Oh right, the memory potion." She grimaced. "I don't understand how that's supposed to work. If his memories are gone, they won't be coming back with a potion. What if someone stole them? You can't grow them back."

"Memories aren't trees, of course I'm not growing them back. The potion isn't going to make the memories suddenly appear," you tried to explain as you opened the cupboards looking for the ingredients you needed. "Some memories are suppressed, living deep in the subconscious. That can happen because of trauma or simply because the brain deemed them not important enough. They haven't truly disappeared. This is one of the mildest potions, it is supposed to bring the missing memories to the front slowly, one by one."

"Interesting." Anna stepped away from the wall and came closer. "Are you going to crush that?"

You had an orange coral in one hand. "It's going to melt in the potion. If I do this right, it won't need crushing. Careful!"

Thanks to Anna's fast reflexes the vial was saved from crashing to the floor. However, you didn't feel that thankful when she was the one who had knocked it over in the first place. Vampires were supposed to be graceful and elegant, it was just your luck you had ended up with the only two clumsy ones ever made.

You continued working on the potion. Anna got bored of you and your monotonous answers and returned to the living room with her phone. Instagram was far more interesting than potions, apparently.

Thumping was coming from upstairs. It could be nothing else but John jumping up and down like maniac, listening to heavy metal or rock ‘n’ roll or any other kind of music with a loud beat that had drawn his attention. You needed to cast the silencing spell between the rooms again for all of your benefits and your own peace of mind. It wore off too quickly and with four people living in the house, you couldn't do without it.

The last ingredient was the most important. It was one you hadn't found exactly the correct technique for, but based on most of the potions it was used in you had to add it with precision and slowly. Not a drop more. You kept your hands steady, holding your breath. One, two, th-

"Y/N!"

Surprised, you squeezed the dropper harder than you should have, a copious amount falling into the mix. The potion turned green instead of royal blue. An epic failure.

You growled, throwing the dropper to the side. What had you asked for? A few hours to let you work in peace. Why couldn't they do that? You didn't go and sabotage their jobs. Now the potion was destroyed and you should start all over again. In two days the potion had to be ready for the client and you were miles away from that, it seemed. You had to test the method, let it brew overnight and make sure it was effective. But in this house, you doubted you would be able to do that.

"What the heck do you want?" you shouted back.

Nathaniel appeared in the kitchen, chocolate brown hair tussled. "Have you seen my favorite top? The dark blue sleeveless one? The one I wear with the black choker?"

You gripped the sides of the table, your long nails digging into the wood. "That's it? That's what you wanted to ask me? You ruined my potion!"

Nathaniel sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "Technically, you-"

"Don't finish that thought if you want your body to stay intact," you growled.

"Not finishing that thought." He lingered by the door as you picked up the ruined potion, and after casting an easy spell on it so it wouldn't be dangerous to any creatures or nature, you disposed of it by throwing it outside the window. The earth shallowing up the liquid rapidly. Nathaniel shifted on his feet. "Did you see the shirt?"

You narrowed your eyes. "No, I didn't see the damn shirt. It's either in your room or the laundry basket. Choose and take. Unless it sprouted wings, then good luck finding it," you said forcefully.

You could feel Nathaniel's eyes on your back as you cleaned the vials you had used one by one. "Okay," he dragged the vowels as he spoke. "I'll look there."

"Geez, what's up with her?" You heard John's voice from the living room. The silencing spells definitely needed to be recast.

By nightfall, you had come close to melting a cauldron and ruined another two potions. You were close to perfecting it, though. Your three housemates had left for the club shortly after dusk. Anna and John worked at a supernatural club as bartenders, clubs needed charming bartenders and vampires were nothing if not charming. Nathaniel worked there too as a bouncer. His height, wide shoulders and muscles made him perfect for the job.

Having the house to yourself was a blessing. By all means, you should take advantage of the nights they were gone but you were a morning person and it was more difficult working at night, it didn't help that a lot of spells needed daylight to be cast properly.

In a drawer, there was a talisman for protection you had put together a few days ago. The small pouch was a deep purple, on the front a rune was sewn in it. It was in the old language of the people of the sea, so old only few words survived the trial of time. One of them was adorning the talisman, meaning "protection". A white stone, with a thin blue line like a crack running through it, was inside along with a few anemone petals and a couple seashells.

You made metal talismans too, like rings and charms for necklaces, but the process was more difficult. Carving the rune into the metal was a struggle and the spells could be too time consuming.

The forest was very close to your house and it was mostly quiet at night. Many supernatural creatures lived in its embrace or around it. It wasn't dangerous usually but you were cautious as you treaded the path to a small clearing. You liked working under the moon, away from the house, the memories and the responsibilities.

You pulled out the talisman from your bag and continued working on it.

You were twirling the white thread in your fingers when you heard the footsteps. They were approaching.

You leveled your breath, keeping it to its normal pace. You recited every spell you could use in your head. Speed, power and counterattacks. Which spell would be best for each supernatural creature?

The steps were coming closer. Whoever it was, they were taking their sweet time. If it was a predator, a wild werewolf for example, they would have smelt you from miles away. They could be playing with their pray, playing cat and mouse. Or it could be someone else simply out for a walk at night.

You didn't move, didn't make a sound.

A tall shadow emerged from the trees. Taking a better look at him, he wasn't a shadow anymore. His silver hair was shining under the moon, like beams of its light had landed and stayed there. He was wearing a long tan coat, like a cloak, and he was carrying four books in his arms.

Familiar tingles went up your arms, like when you were doing magic. Hia aura spoke to you.

Magic.

"Oh." His eyes widened as they landed on you. You hadn't moved, waiting for his move. "I didn't expect to find anyone here."

You raised your eyebrows, placing the pouch in your lap. "Clearly I didn't either."

His magic crawled up your arms, leaving the ghost of its touch behind. If you focused on it, you could see deeper into his energy. Potions might not be your strongest suit, but since a baby you had been very sensitive to magic, you could sense it in the air, you could feel the different kinds of magic, but you hadn't been exposed to it much and you couldn't recognize them. The man's magic was different to what you were used to, subtle and refined. It wasn't free and earthy.

You narrowed your eyes. A wizard.

What was a wizard doing here? Wizards stayed in their libraries and grand universities. They didn't just take strolls in the woods unless they were looking for something, they preferred to act mighty and knowledgeable in luxurious rooms with the most prestigious of companies. They bragged as if magic was their own creation just because they had managed to master a part of it. Magic wasn't in their blood like it was for witches, maybe they had an inkling, but it was nothing like the way magic flowed through witches connecting them with nature.

Yet they viewed witches as inferior when they were the ones who forced magic and as much as they studied the most powerful wizard couldn't hold a candle to the power a witch could achieve.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just looking for a quiet place," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"The whole forest is quiet."

Instead of being annoyed at your sharp tone, the wizard smiled sheepishly at you. Twin dimples appeared on his cheeks. You had an urge to scowl. "That's right I guess. I was walking around and stumbled upon the clearing. I didn't mean to interrupt." You scoffed looking down at the talisman, you hoped that if you didn't say anything, he would eventually leave. Tough luck. "Are you making a talisman?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, I'm sewing a pouch for fun. What do you think?"

His cheeks were tinted in pink but that might have been a trick of the moonlight. Moonlight was well-known for fooling your senses. "You're a witch, aren't you? Protective talismans are a challenge, it's tough to get them right."

It had taken him long enough to realize. You were about to come up with another sarcastic retort but that would only keep him here longer. It wasn't that difficult to see you didn't want company, yet he insisted on staying. "I get them right just fine."

The wizard's eyes widened for a moment. "Do you live around here? One of our customers told us about a witch who made a few protection charms for her, she said they were the strongest and most efficient she had ever used, they stopped two goblins from sneaking into her garden on two different occasions."

You remembered that customer, she had come to you a few weeks ago, looking for a way to ward off unwanted visitors who ravaged her garden. She was a nice woman, long auburn hair and flowy dress. She must have been some kind of nymph but you couldn't be sure. He had said their customer. You had never heard of wizards working before, they usually lived on the money of the rich, who funded their Universities. A wizard selling any kind of magic sounded more ridiculous to you than the already ridiculous meeting with a wizard in the forest.

One of the druids had mentioned something about a new magic shop. You had overheard him while you were gathering herbs for a potion, but he hadn't mentioned anything about a wizard. Witches were the ones who owned magic shops. Wizards made fun of said magic shops.

A magic shop in the area wouldn't be good for businesses. Luckily they were selling things out of your expertise, like healing potions and some rare ingredients. Potions weren't your strong suit but you could make some money out of them. The ones related to the sea were the closest to your comfort zone, but it was a long process. You were already struggling as it was, not many people trusted you for important work and it cost you.

"Protection charms are routine work," you said curtly.

The wizard shrugged. "I'm awful at making them, I tried a few times but they would barely work. Jin is a little better than me but his aren't that strong either. Ah, I forgot, sorry. My name is Namjoon. We moved here a few weeks ago and opened a shop."

"I have heard," you muttered, glancing at his extended hands. You might be pissed at being interrupted and at the stranger's insistence on not getting lost, but you had some manners. Begrudgingly, you shook his hand and told him your name.

"You're a sea witch, right? I've never met a sea witch before." You came close to rolling your eyes again. Of course he hadn't met a sea witch before. Pure elemental magic was rare in witches and the witches who had it wouldn't hang out in the places wizards did.

You cut the white thread in a sharp move and balled the unused part in your fist. It was clear Namjoon wouldn't leave you alone to your work. You got up, dusting off your clothes. "Excuse me, but I have to go. It's late."

Taken aback, Namjoon looked up at the sky, like the moon could tell him the time. Didn't wizards have phones? "Oh, yeah. It was nice meeting you." The dimples popped out again, you averted your gaze.

"You, too," you said before disappearing in the trees. Great, you didn't have any other place to go. The trek to the sea was long and dangerous at night and you weren't in the mood for a midnight swim. A couple mischievous hobgoblins frequented the rocky grounds and you didn't feel like becoming their next target.

There goes your night.

~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~

You were woken up bright and early when your housemates made their appearance. The door banged once against the wall and one more time as it closed. Nathaniel really needed to control his strength when he was tired. The door couldn't take much more before it flew away from the hinges at best or shattered into splinters at worst. When Nathaniel's werewolf strength and senses had started manifesting when he was sixteen as his first shift was coming closer, everything and everyone around him had suffered. He had broken your favorite couldron, three of your vials, the door to his room, a broom and the most memorable; the toilet, to this day you still didn't know how that had happened. He had also come very close to squeezing you to death hugging you.

He had cut off your airflow for approximately three minutes.

John was singing off-key to an EDM track that wasn't meant to be sung without some form of autotune. It was a rare John ability, but he somehow made it sound like a failed heavy metal track.

The house was in desperate need of recasting the silencing spells between the rooms. They were wearing off far too quickly. But what did you expect when some of the loudest people did everything to overload them?

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and sat up in your bed. Light was streaming in from the window, the rays stopping at the foot of the bed. The thin curtains didn't do much to stop it. It was nice waking up to a partly illuminated room, without having the sun shining straight to your eyes and blinding you.

Feet were climbing up the stairs. Nathaniel was heading to bed, after being awake all night at the club. John and Anna were at an advantage, as vampires they didn't have to sleep. They still got tired though and spent the mornings bitching about the rude clients or fawning over the attractive ones or gradually getting over an alcohol-blood hungover. Vampires couldn't get drunk the conventional way but they had found a hack. If they drank blood from someone drunk, they would get drunk too. Of course, they had managed to create a drink for that.

You changed into a pair of black jeans. They had faded from all the times they had been washed, diving in the sea wearing them also caused some damage. You picked out a simple white blouse that would allow you to move comfortably. You had given up on wearing nice clothes because a potion or a new spell could easily backfire. Climbing down the stairs, you caught sight of John and Anna sprawled on the couch, and partly on each other, watching a morning show on TV and making fun of the hosts. You couldn't blame them, the dress the woman was wearing made her look like a colorful lamp. But who were you to judge?

"Good morning." Their keen hearing hadn't missed you moving around. The weak silencing spells didn't help.

"Morning," you greeted them, going straight to the kitchen. You hadn't eaten a large dinner last night and you were ravenous. It was a pity that eating too much was bad for swimming.

You pulled out a carton of milk from the fridge, careful of the vials you were storing inside, and a box of cereal from one of the cupboards. A tentacle slithered around your wrist but you tapped it with a spoon and it retreated. That octopus-like creature had been staying in your cupboard for a few years now. Really, it was harmless but it could scare some customers away. There was a spell you could use to banish it but it was nice enough and didn't bother you. It actually bothered you less than your housemates did. Occasionally, it would open the cupboard and pass you the ingredients you needed. Also, it had an appetite for mice and cockroaches, which you didn't mind at all and firmly encouraged.

One of your books was open in the table on a page about weather-related spells. You had been doing some late night studying and had left it like that before stumbling up the stairs way later than you should have. Weather spells weren't very popular and there were many different kinds that required different levels of magical abilities. As an elemental witch, you should have been able to execute most of them with ease. Should, but you hadn’t tried your hand at them in a long time. Well, it didn’t hurt to do some research, you thought, as you flipped through the pages as you ate your breakfast.

You didn't have many customers, so most of your days were dedicated to doing your own studying and perfecting easy spells and potions or learning new ones that might be useful in the future. The sound of the TV accompanied you as you poured a few vials together and watched them change colors into a pastel yellow. You stayed still for a few minutes and when no foul-smelling cloud followed, you counted the potion as a success and transferred it into an oval-shaped bottle.

"Hey, did you hear of the new magic shop in the area?" Anna was leaning against the doorframe, her long black hair clipped back with a claw clip carelessly. Even that looked good on her. She was still wearing the short red dress that hugged her curves just right. The nightclub didn't have a dress code for their employees and Anna used that in her favor.

You stored the bottle with the rest of the successful potions in an enchanted cupboard your three roommates weren't allowed to touch. "I heard. Where did you hear?" It was obvious but you still asked. Word got around fast in the club.

"There was this guy, really cute, " she said. "Really cute and really hot. He pulled off both so well I'm jealous. A fairy. You should have seen the way he danced. His friend was also rather handsome but I didn't get a good look at him." Her lips formed a pout, red lipstick immaculate like she had just applied it. "I hadn't seen them in the club before so I asked. They moved here a few days ago from somewhere in the North, I forget the name of the region now. It started with R... Rio- Or was it N? Anyway, that's not the point. They are new and two of his friends own the shop. I think we should pay them a visit."

You thought back to the night in the forest and the tall wizard, who whenever he smiled dimples appeared on his cheeks. There was no chance you were going to his shop. The last thing you wanted was getting involved with arrogant wizards. Your magic was already belittled and ridiculed by the people in your community, the last thing you needed was wizards calling your magic inferior.

"Why on earth would we go to the new magic shop?" you asked, trying to hide the disdain in your voice. One perfectly drawn eyebrow lifted. You hadn't succeeded.

"Why wouldn't we go to the new magic shop?" Anna came closer, sitting on one of the mismatched chairs around the table. "Are you afraid they'll steal your clients? They don't just do spells and potions. They sell ingredients too, they might have something you need."

"I don't need anything, I can get my ingredients myself. I have everything I need here." You motioned to the cupboards, the baskets of herbs and the random boxes you had stored some of the most odd supplies. "And why would I be afraid of losing my clients? It isn't like I have many, anyway."

Anna's expression softened. "You have just enough clients and you're getting more. They are loyal, they know no one can cast water related spells the way you do. Ms Rogers wouldn't go to anyone else to clean the water in her stream and Mr Klutze will always come to you for talismans. I just think the new shop is worth checking out. Maybe you could exchange some tips, magic user to magic user."

As if. You scoffed. A wizard and a witch exchanging magic tips, that sounded like a bad joke.

"I'm fine where I am. I'm busy, anyway," you said.

"You aren't busy," Anna stated. "You don't have any orders. Your time will be spent more constructively if you come with me to check out the new magic shop."

"Anna, I really don't want to go," you pleaded.

It didn't change anything. "That's why you have to go. You need to socialize more. Who knows? Maybe you'll make some new friends."

You very much doubted that. You might not have that many friends but you weren't that desperate to turn to wizards. And if those wizards ever learnt what you had done, you would become a laughing stock for them and their friends. At best. At worst, they would demand you stop practicing magic, something that would only happen over your dead body. Not a nice path to go down in the morning.

"Why are you so intrigued anyway?" You raised your eyebrows at Anna who seemed to be counting your potion bottles. "Does it have anything to do with how good-looking the owners' friend is."

She didn't deny it, thankfully taking her perfectly manicured nails away from your bottles. "They were both good-looking. Who knows? Maybe they have more cute friends."

You closed the spellbook on the table, afraid her meddling would ruin something and your spellbook was too valuable to become her victim. "You can find handsome men everywhere. It's like a weird vampire ability. I don't want to get involved in your romantic escapades."

"You’re my best friend, of course you will be involved in my romantic escapades. If you don't come with me to the magic shop, I will go by myself. I'll get every random ingredient I can find and tell them you were too shy to come yourself so you sent me." She grinned, her fangs peeking through.

Your heart stopped. You could swear it did. "You wouldn't!"

"Oh, but I would," she said, her words tilting in a playful melody.

You groaned. Anna knew you so well she could be your worst nightmare. "Okay, fine. I'll come. Are you going to go like this?"

She looked down at her dress. "What? Don't I look marvelous in it?" She laughed at the look you sent her. "I'll change, I'll change. Be ready in a few." She stopped herself before leaving, saying over her shoulder, "Don't even think about running away. You need to get out of the funk you have buried yourself in."

Funk. You scoffed. You hadn't buried yourself in a funk or whatever Anna claimed you had done. You were perfectly fine and as social as you needed to be. You had your job and your clients and the selkie you talked to at the library. And you had the three of them who wouldn't get out of your hair. That's all you needed. For now.

The remnants of a protection charm John had destroyed by spilling a glass of water on it was left on the counter. The water interfered with the magic and rendered it useless. You had to cleanse it and throw it out before the remaining magic seeped into something it shouldn't.

Your roommates somehow never failed to sabotage something you were working on at least once a week. The kitchen was small, not leaving much space for the four of you to move around but it was the only place you could use. You didn't have your own magic shop like your mother used to and you had learnt from her to never practice complex spells or brew potions in your bedroom. You didn't make a lot of money, not nearly as much as your mother did. But your mother was a trusted witch in your community, everyone came to her with any problems they had. She could do everything. And you... You were trying.

In a small jar, hidden deep in the cupboard that didn't house any tentacle creatures, with a pastel blue ribbon wrapped around it, a small metal book-like charm *filled* with positive energy dangling from it, you had stored your savings. Money to open your own shop and finally move from this community that had done nothing but laugh at you. You would go north at the Great Waterfalls, where you knew no one and no one knew about your mistakes. Or maybe you would settle in one of the human cities, one by the sea, they were many more than the supernatural communities.

The supernatural world's relationships with humans had been getting better and better and at this point it was completely normal to see fairy run coffee shops in human cities or gargoyles employed as guardians for libraries or museums. Supernatural beings mingled with humans, became friends and co-workers. Because of that a lot of half-blood children were born. Children of forest nymphs and humans who had a magic touch with plants, ones who had inherited alluring voices from sirens but the magic wasn't strong enough to control the listener's mind. But a few of them had more supernatural than human blood. Genetics were hard to guess and as society developed and old boundaries were broken down, questions they hadn't bothered with before surfaced.

You sighed, cleaning the table and hiding away anything that could potentially harm your roommates. Your magic wasn't particularly dangerous, the ingredients you used were mostly natural, like corals, seashells, herbs and crystals, but there were a couple you would rather not have Nathaniel messing with.

On your way to store some herbs in the cupboard, you stopped in front of the mirror hanging on the wall. The oval-shaped mirror with the gold lining snaking around the edges had been there all your life, above the counter and close to the window. The kitchen wasn't the place someone would expect to find a mirror but it fit in a weird way. You combed your fingers through your tousled hair and winced a little when you met a few tangles. You hadn't put on any makeup thinking you wouldn't be going anywhere. Did you have enough time to go upstairs and apply some? Anna liked to take her time getting ready.

No, you were fine. You looked fine. You didn't need to get dressed up or look like a movie star. It was just a visit to a shop and you had no one to impress.

Anna swirled into the living room wearing an elegant black jumpsuit, complete with a wide belt and golden jewelry. If there was one thing Anna was amazing at, that was fashion. She dressed herself like she was going to a photoshoot for the cover of Vogue. You looked severely underdressed next to her.

With a wide smile she opened the door and motioned for you to follow her. It was a nice day and Anna lowered her sunglasses a little to take in the vibrant colors. Contrary to popular belief sunlight didn't hurt or kill vampires, although they did tend to dislike it. Because they were pale, they were prone to sunburns therefore they avoided it. Anna attempted to solve the problem by layering a ton of sunscreen on her skin. She had been through a phase as a young vampire in which she had taken to carrying a parasol around, but had eventually given up on it because it didn't fit her style. And she was tired of carrying it. Although you could never forget the time she had smacked a more-than-shady man with it when he had grabbed her waist.

You took the path through the forest, Anna told you it was faster that way. You had no idea where the shop was located so you followed. Anna had her way of gathering information so you weren't the least bit surprised she knew where the shop was. Maybe the fairy boy had told her.

The forest was full of life in the morning. Small animals running around the ground, squirrels jumping from tree to tree. A nymph was scolding a small rabbit for something, stopping when she saw you and shouting a greeting. The trees rustled with it. Anna winked at her. She had helped her approach the boy she liked a couple of years ago and they had been together ever since. Anna was a quite friendly vampire, connected with every kind of creature.

The trees were getting further with larger spaces between them, the path leading up to a more modern building than what you would have expected to find in the middle of the forest. Climbing roses creeped up to the second floor wrapping around the roof. The lovely white blooms must have been magicked to reach that high. The walls were painted a soft peach. The balcony, surrounded by a white railing, was filled with colorful pots. Various kinds of plants were growing in them, many spilling over the balcony. In the middle of all the plants, there was a small table and two chairs.

Anna skipped ahead, motioning for you to follow her. You took a deep breath and straightened your back. You could deal with this, you had dealt with much worse than going to a magic shop of two wizards.

She pushed the half-opened cherry wood door. The open sign was written in careful calligraphy. Fairy bells jingled as you walked inside, their melody sweet and welcoming. The shop was moderately large with many selves lined with crystals, herbs and vials. The world of magic contained in one room. Waiting.

A man with black hair was standing behind the counter flipping through a book. Whispers of autumn brushed your skin every time he turned the yellowed and torn at places pages. It was spring.

Upon hearing the bells, he looked up at you with a wide smile. You were the only ones inside. You reckoned it was pretty early for a stroll to the magic shop.

"Welcome," he greeted you, his bangs falling into his eyes. "Can I help you?"

Anna strolled to the counter, her eyes flitting over the artifacts. "We heard you came here recently and my friend here would like to take a look around. She'll probably know what to get better than me." She turned to you with a smirk. You held yourself back from cursing her into a bat. You had been considering it for years. "I'm Anna," she introduced herself. "I met your friend Jimin last night. Or this morning, if you'd like."

She roped him into a conversation with ease while you hid between the shelves. The aura of the shop was pulling you in, tucking you into its depth. This feeling wasn't something you would use to describe a warlock's magic. It flowed through you, seeping into your bones and warming you inside. You looked between the crystal balls at the handsome stranger.

He wasn't a warlock. He was a witch.

You frowned. What was a witch doing here?

A yellow crystal slipped from your fingers when Anna called your name. You caught it last minute, placing it back with a relieved sigh.

Anna had made herself home, standing against the counter with one hand in the pocket of her jumpsuit. "This is Y/N, she's the one you heard about. She's a sea witch." You hadn't wanted to strangle Anna as much since she had got into a fight with a siren who had been badmouthing you. She had landed a killer punch, though.

The man turned his blinding smile to you. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Seokjin. Our customers have told us about you. We didn't expect to meet an elemental witch here."

If there were multiple customers who had told them about you, all of it couldn't be good. Most of it wouldn't be good. There were many who preferred to travel all the way to the communities on the other side of the forest to find a witch than come to you. One mistake and it had cost you your credibility. The worst part was that you couldn't blame them. You should have never agreed to do the job.

"You have a lot of things here," you said, trying to steer the conversation away from yourself. "I think I saw a snow crystal from the White Peaks."

"Oh, yeah," Seokjin chuckled. "That has been with us for years. Someone gave it to Namjoon, I think, as payment for a spell. Namjoon manages the shop with me, it was his idea. We have managed to stack up on a lot of stuff over the years. Knowing the right people helps a lot. I'm not a fancy witch like you, I'm a plain old green witch but I'm very handy with potions."

Green witches were the most common. They utilized herbs and traditional forms of magic. There were many types of witches, each specializing in different branches of magic. But the basics were the same for every type, like potions and herbs. You could have done without the potions.

The bells sounded again as the door opened. Someone walked inside, his upper body hidden by the boxes he was carrying.

"Hyung, the delivery from Fornwick arrived today. Where is Namjoon hyung? He was supposed to help me." One of the top boxes trembled and Seokjin rushed to take it. "I could carry that."

"You could drop that and it's expensive," Seokjin chided him. "We'll be just a moment," he said to you.

He took some of the boxes but not enough to reveal the other's face and they carried them to the backroom. Anna turned to you with one of her arms resting on the counter.

"Did you see him? I told you they would have more have more handsome friends." Anna didn't toss out compliments at random. When she said someone was handsome, they were handsome. She was a sweet-talker but an honest one.

You couldn't deny that Seokjin was handsome but you were more focused on the fact that he was a witch owning a magic shop with a wizard. Witches and wizards had a long-standing rivalry. A centuries old rivalry. Your mother was a strong believer that no wizard would ever do anything other than look down on witches. Your mother's words were what you lived by and yet...

"Are you looking for a date?" you asked.

Anna pursed her lips. They were the same shade of red as her nails. "Maybe. Maybe not. I just like meeting people. And looking at pretty things. Look how lucky I am."

You couldn't argue with that. Seokjin came back soon after, a boy younger than him trailing behind him. He had chestnut brown hair and wide doe eyes.

"This is Jungkook, he's staying with us and helping with the shop," Seokjin said. Anna looked at you, raising her eyebrows. You had become a master at reading her eyebrow-talk. Another handsome one. Seokjin introduced you and the younger boy nodded, staying behind him. He asked if he could help with anything before Seokjin dismissed him.

Anna was in her element, picking up the talk with Seokjin who seemed to be enjoying himself. You inched away, getting lost between the shelves and the magical items calling to you. A pink crystal for positive energy. Dried wisteria, it could be used in so many spells. Sunflower powder, add a pinch of it in your tea and you would feel happier.

You reached for a small pouch of dried goblin daisies (they were very hard to grow and even harder to pick, they tended to bite) when you collided with someone coming out of the backroom. The shock combined with the push made you lose your balance, sending you back and flat on your butt. You winced at the pain blooming on your behind.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry!" The voice was familiar. It was just your luck. Namjoon was standing over you, one hand extended as if he had tried to catch you but hadn't been fast enough. He rushed to help you to your feet and pick up a few pouches you had knocked over when you fell. "I wasn't looking where I was going and then you were there. It was too early so I thought we wouldn't have many customers..."

"Joon!" Jin was suddenly next to you, delivering a slap on the back of Namjoon's neck. "Yah, you knocked the poor girl over with your clumsiness! Didn't I tell you to be more careful? No one ever listens to me. Are you okay?" he asked you.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you said, dusting yourself off to hide your embarrassment.

Anna held up two fingers. "How many is that?"

"I didn't hit my head. You do that when someone hits their head."

She looked down on her fingers. "Do you ? Still, how many is it? I wish I'd seen you fall. I just heard the thud."

You rubbed your backside. It still hurt, it had been a hard fall. "Thanks for that. I'll remember it."

"Did she look funny?" she asked Namjoon. The wizard looked like he didn't know what to say and you wanted to hide in a cave underwater and never surface again. You should have never agreed to come with Anna in the first place. Nothing good could come out of this visit.

If they had heard about you, the unsavory things wouldn't have escaped their notice. You were unreliable. Your magic was out of control. You were putting people in danger. You had heard it all. What were you doing here? They were the ones who would replace you. Your customers were already few and far between, no one came to you for important things. With a new magic shop in the community it wouldn't be long until those few customers preferred this place. You couldn't blame them. Who would choose you with your history, doing spellwork in a kitchen, over this?

You bit the inside of your cheek. "Yes, Anna, it was really funny." The vampire's grin faltered. You grabbed the pouch with the goblin daisies a little harder than was needed. "I'll get this. I need to go, I have work to do. How much is it?"

Seokjin gazed at you and the pouch. "Just take it. Consider it a welcoming gift."

You clutched the pouch in your hand, ready to protest but Anna beat you to it, "Shouldn't we be giving you a welcoming gift? You're the ones who moved here."

"We wouldn't be opposed to any gifts," he said. "But please accept this one. You can come here whenever you need anything."

You said your goodbyes and left the entracing shop behind. The pouch warmed up your hand, your fingers caressing the cotton material. Anna didn't say much on your way back. Her back straight and eyes looking ahead. You hadn't expected much from the visit but it was obvious she had.

The pain had ceased, leaving behind a dull throb. Your fall replayed again and again in your mind like an endless current. The force pushing you back, grabbing at the shelves, at anything to keep you upright, your hand knocking against the pouches and dragging them down with you and that wizard and his stupid silver hair standing over you with his mouth forming an o. Your first time at their shop and you had embarrassed yourself beyond belief. They wouldn't need more than that as confirmation for what was being said about you. Not that there was any chance they wouldn't listen to all the gossip surrounding you. You just hoped you hadn't ruined any of the pouches.

John wasn't in the house and Nathaniel was still sleeping. At least he had remembered to lock the door before leaving. The times you had returned to the house to find the door unlocked were many. Although the protection spells around the house were strong and you reapplied them often, that didn't mean it was alright to be careless. You placed the pouch in the cupboard with the rest of magical herbs. Herbs' prices depended on how rare they were. Goblin daisies only grew in very specific parts of the world and few people dared to pick them up. As useful as they were, they were hard to find. And Seokjin had gifted them to you. Probably as an apology for his friend crashing into you.

You heard the kettle being turned on. Anna had followed you into the kitchen and she was pulling your your favorite mug out of the cupboard. A cup of your favorite tea was left on the table. Anna had a silent way of apologizing.

Sipping on the tea, you started your research on goblin daisies. You knew a lot of potions and spells they were used for but you had never used them before. That meant looking up the quantity you should use. Using too much would make any potion or spell too aggressive and no one wanted their potion fighting them.

~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~

Nathaniel was babysitting again. And whenever Nathaniel was babysitting, you were all babysitting. Anna had conveniently made herself scarce, off to visit a centaur friend of hers (or that's what she told you), leaving you and the two men of the household chasing after three lion cubs and a baby panther. Nathaniel really needed to find a different day job. For the sake of your house. And your sanity.

"Tom, don't climb on the couch! Your nails-" You had to pull off the little lion, maneuvering him so he wouldn't rip the back of the couch. The couch was saved but his nails sunk into your shirt and he refused to leave your arms.

They were still young and they couldn't control the shift well. Shapshifters were complicated creatures. When they shifted shapes something inside them shifted too, not enough to forget who they were or lose control of themselves, but their instincts were different and they were much more likely to follow them in their other form. It was easier for young Shapshifters to give into their animal side a little more.

Tom had your shirt caught in his claws and his hind legs around your waist. You would have found it cute if they weren't digging into your skin, most likely leaving marks behind. He was wrapped around you like a baby ten times harder to get off.

All had been well at first. Their parents had dropped them off early in the morning for a small trip to the nearest city, promising to come back by nightfall. The four children had been entertained by Nathaniel for the first two hours. Watching TV, playing games, Playstation, Nathaniel had tried every trick in the book in the past year. You had been brewing a potion, forgetting one minor detail. It erupted into a small explosion when it was ready. An explosion that had scared all four of the boys, who shapshifted the moment the boom sounded.

The three lion cubs were the sons of your mother's close friends, the couple were both lion shapeshifters. The small panther was their adoptive son and he was the youngest of the four. He used to be the most shy, staying quiet while the other three created a ruckus. Now, he had grown closer to you and he was just as bad as the rest.

John was sitting on the floor in the kitchen, Nathaniel running after a lion cub in circles around him. One tentacle had sneaked out from the cupboard and it was holding another cub upside down from its foot while it writhed around, playfully trying to bite it. John was throwing something at the cupboard.

"John, stop throwing milk chocolate at it, I think it's lactose intolerant," you called, Tom still holding onto your shirt. John pouted. Noah stumbled on John, Nathaniel didn't have to stop running and the three of them ended up in a John-Nathaniel-lion pile on the floor. The tentacle let the lion cub fall and it landed on them. Seeing the pile, the Panther who had been occupying itself with a cat toy, ran to them.

It took some more time before you kicked them all out of the kitchen. You had a charm for clean water to make. Ignoring the cubs' whining, you shut the door. You would spend some time with them later. The charm was relatively simple, a shirt incantation and a few supplies, all tied into…

A deep sea crystal. And you were out of them. You groaned, rummaging through the cupboards and the shelves, only to come up empty. Expected. You had completely forgotten you had used the last one. Those crystals were hard to find and you didn't have enough time to go looking in the ocean. That would take you the whole day. There was one thing you could do.

Crap.

"I'm going out," you shouted to the boys. The replies came in various forms of protests. You didn't stay long enough to let them pull you back.

You remembered the way you had followed with Anna and the magic thrumming in the path wouldn't let you go astray. You missed the presence next to you as you walked alone. Anna was good at talking and diverting the attention away from you. Alone, you were too exposed. You didn't know what to do with yourself.

The house peeked from between the trees, flowers blooming all around it, the trees leaning close to it as if pulled by the magic inside. You climbed over a root sticking over the ground and landed on your feet, you had been doing this as long as you remembered. Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door hearing the sweet melody of the bells.

The shop welcomed you, drawing you in. Sunlight spilled through the windows, showering the room in a golden glow, the crystals shining and casting rainbows on the walls. This time it wasn't Seokjin behind the counter. It was Namjoon.

There we go.

Namjoon was writing something in a notebook but he put the pen down when he saw you. "Oh, hey. I mean, welcome." He cringed at his awkwardness. It seemed like you weren't the only one in this state. "Can I help you with something?"

You swallowed down anything you could say to embarrass yourself. "Yeah, I'm looking for a Deep Sea crystal."

Namjoon strode to the shelves in the middle of the shop and you followed him, that's where most of the crystals were. "I'm sure we have a few here. What do you need it for?" His hand hovering over an oval hot pink crystal paused. "If you want to tell me, of course. It's alright if you don't."

You glanced around for anything to catch your attention but you came up empty. You could tell him, it wasn't a complicated spell. Very difficult to backfire. "It's a spell for clean water. They are having some problems in the western part of the forest. The water is so dirty they can't drink it."

"Taehyung told me of that, he said it was affecting some of the creatures. They were looking for a solution." Namjoon crouched down to look through the lower shelf. "Uhmmm, I also wanted to say sorry. About last time." He pulled at his collar, revealing a glimpse of his collarbones. You turned back to the shelves. "Jin hyung was always saying that I would hurt someone else with my clumsiness, not only myself."

You shrugged. He had already apologized, you hadn't expected he would again. "It's alright." It hadn't felt alright at the time but a few days' distance and you could admit to yourself that you had overreacted. You had been embarrassed and felt horribly cornered and it had brought out the worst of you. "Are you working alone today?"

"Not exactly. Jin hyung will be out with Hoseok until later tonight, so I'm taking care of the shop for now." Hoseok. He must be another friend. Namjoon stopped and took a crystal in his hand. A royal blue so dense it would look like a stone, not a crystal, in the absence of the morning light. "Here we are. A Deep Sea crystal purified and ready for use."

Taking the crystal, you weighted it in your palm. It was indeed purified and cleansed of any traces of magic other than its own raw form. "This is perfect. I'll take it."

You followed him to the counter and gave him the money he asked for. It was a smaller amount than what you had expected to pay. You wondered if Namjoon still felt guilty for knocking you over and instead of gifting you things like Jin, something you wouldn't accept for the second time, he was reducing the price of what you bought. You hoped it wasn't that and the crystal was simply cheap. Your pockets cheered that they wouldn't have to part with much.

"Do you want anything else?" Namjoon asked.

You looked down at the crystal in your hand. "No, that's all."

He opened his mouth but it seemed like he couldn't find anything to say. He closed it and opened it again. "Have you been staying here for long?"

“I haven’t stayed anywhere else.” The magical community nestled in the forest, the sea and the surrounding area had always been your home. Your mother’s warnings about hunters had prevented you from venturing far and soon you had stopped asking her to take you with her to trips outside the communities.

Supernatural creatures had been living peacefully among humans for decades but the laws didn’t stop those so intensely afraid of difference. Hunters were diminishing in number year by the year but sometimes you wondered if there would really be a time no supernatural creature lost their life because of fear. Witches had it the easiest in recent years. You looked like humans and your services were useful to them. Humans chased your power and made their own kind. Wizards. They couldn’t hunt you for something they were striving to become.

“It’s nice here,” Namjoon said. “Calm. It’s very different from the city.”

It was only expected that Namjoon was coming from a big city. Humans had built grand Universities in their largest cities, the ones the world marveled at and was attracted to them like moths to light. There, they taught how to channel magic, force it in an unnatural way. Magic wasn’t meant to be controlled, it was meant to flow. You didn’t control magic, you guided the stream.

But humans didn’t understand and they didn’t want to.

“I’ll be going now.” You nodded at Namjoon, turning to leave.

“We’re here for whatever you need,” he said a little hurriedly, like he had panicked and decided on saying the first thing on his mind instead of staying silent.

You looked at him over your shoulder, standing behind the counter in a shop he co-owned with a witch, wearing a denim jacket over a white shirt. The only thing standing out about him was his silver hair. Another thing way too different from the image of wizards you had in your head.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said.

~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~

You were incredibly stupid. The amount of stupidity required to end up in your position was astronomical. Earlier in the day you had visited the underwater library to find some information for a potion. Everything had been like any other day and you hadn’t stumbled upon any mishaps, finding the book you needed rather quickly. The weather had been getting progressively worse, you could see it in the way the clouds gathered and the waves lashed the rocks.

In a hurry, you had run to your house, failing to notice the protective charm falling from your pocket. Thunder was striking when you remembered to look for it. The storm would hit full force soon, trees trembling dangerously, the sky lighting up every few moments followed by deep rambles. But you needed the charm. The client would be coming to get you tomorrow and you had neither the materials nor the time to make another one.

“Where are you going?” John shouted over the whistles of the wind. It was whipping at the door and you struggled to keep it open.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” you shouted back and you only heard half of his next shout having closed the door behind you. It was something following the lines of “Are you crazy?”.

You were lucky your house was built so close to the shore. Your mother had found the spot and deemed it perfect, near the sea and the forest. She used to tell you it was everything she needed, if she didn’t feel the magic of the sea an emptiness grew inside her. Spending all your life next to the sea, you had never experienced that and you wondered if your connection to the ocean run deep enough to ever do.

The force of the wind made you lose your footing a couple of times but you powered on. That charm was hard to make and the longer it stayed there the more chances the waves had to claim it. You scanned the floor as you stumbled forward. The way you took to the shore was always the same and you could tread it in the wind. You found yourself wishing for lightning. You didn’t dare to take your phone with you in this weather and the clouds had turned the afternoon into night.

That’s exactly what I needed, you thought as a raindrop landed on your cheek and before you could take another step, thunder struck and the rain descended on you. You started running. There was no way you wouldn’t get back home drenched to the bone. In the distance you could see the rocks and the sight gave you more strength.

You halted. There were people there. Two of them. They were leaving, trying to escape the rain when one of them slipped. You watched as he fell behind, the wind carrying him, and landed face first into the water.

He disappeared.

It was enough to set you into motion.

“Stop! Don’t jump in!!! You’ll both drown!” you shouted, hoping his companion heard you over the wind.

“I have to do something!!!” You could now see his transparent wings and bubblegum pink hair and how he stumbled under the force of the weather. He was a fairy and a tiny one at that, shorter than you and probably as light as a feather.

You reached the edge of the rocks, tearing your eyes away from him. You didn’t say another word before jumping in.

Please reblog and comment, it motivates me and keeps me writing.

A/N: This has been in my drafts for a very long time and in my desperation to get away from studying but also do something productive I found myself returning to this project. It will probably be some time until I can write anything else but I have another chapter of this work completed so I thought it would be as good of a time to post this as any.

P.S.: For those who have read Eunoia, the John in this story is a completely different character from the John in Eunoia. This John is a very old character of mine and I had completely forgotten the two of them ended up with the same names.

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

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Ducktales Comics: Spies Like Us and Dime after Dime or Weblena: The Preschool Days (Lena Retrospective) (Comissioned by WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy people and welcome back to Shadow Into Light, My Lena Retrospective, which fittingly has now come to Women’s History Month! I sadly do not have anything besides this arc prepared for the month. This month is pretty packed for me with two shows a week to cover, as while there’s only two weeks of Ducktales left final space starts up right after to take it’s spot, two arcs to cover, and two time specific movie reviews: animal crossing the movie and the 1990 TMNT film. I will try to get more than the currently planned top 12 superheroines list out there... but this month is very tight as is, so if I do not I deeply apologize.

Now that’s out of the way, it’s appropriate we start Women’s history month on some likely lesser known parts of Lena’s history, with some comics stories focusing on our faviorite emo lesbian duck and her 87 counterpart. Before I get started on that though Kev my patreon pointed out something intresting a few weeks back i’ve been forgetting to get to and since we’re looking into Minima, I felt this was the perfect time to do so: Lena’s Concept art.

There’s quite a few things to gleam from this. For starters as pointed out in the reddit thread I got the image as a whole from this was made in 2015, meaning Lena was one of the first new characters designed for the series and was part of it from the VERY early stages, as evidenced by the fact that despite clearly having their new personalities established, Beakly and Webby still had the old designs.

The other notable change is that her first design was way more like both Magica nad Minima, a bit more modern, but clearly far more obvious who she was related to. She also had all black feathers making the shadow twist a bit more obvious and was likely done away with both to avoid giving that twist away, the same reason for the fake lestrange name, and to avoid accidently black coding her, as while Lena being black would’ve been intersting, it also would’ve invited a firestorm of controversy given that their one black character in season 1.. woul’dve started off as a homeless, manipulative antagonist, and none of that would play well nor was it something the progressive crew of this show couldn’t spot from a mile away. And even this early on they have an almost final design ready, simply changing the shirt to fit her personality more, and her hair to be pink because it honestly looked better She also had green eyes throughout, but for whatever reason they phased them out. That part I don’t quite get as they look nice but probably they were hard to translate to the reboot style once they settled on their own. Her purple eyeshadow and haircut though have stuck since and were good calls.

One last VERY obvious note.. Webby was gay for Lena from minute one. While Dana helped it is now VERY obvious they gay coded this relationship from the design phase, and the crew was entirely aware the whole time and I gave them less credit than I should have. They clearly had this in mind, and it’s very likely ONLY subtext because Disney, while making more and more progress, is very reluctant to have queer characters as Owl House was a struggle and since they have a tighter leash on properites based on the sensational 6, that means Frank knew they had the same odds of making Webby or Della queer in anything but subtext that a pig has of suviving in a slaughterhouse. I bring this up because I fear the series getting accused of queerbaiting somewhere down the road instead of doing what they could with a bad hand and hoping they could make the show as gay as they could. Penny is as out as they posisbly could get her, and Violet and Lena’s dad’s got a full apperance, if no speaking role that made it obvious beyond a shadow of a doubt their gay and did it in a plot important episode. So they did their best and I want them to get credit for that.

But while this is all intresting stuff, join me under the cut for the meat of today’s review as I dig into Lena’s only apperance in the tie-in comic that was never punished here, and the only apperance of her protoype Minima.

Spies Like Us: As I mentioned this comic was never published here which is doubly weird to me because of how I knew this story existed. Since I follow comics weekly and buy trades reguarly, I read the solicits companies put out eveyr month to see what new series are coming, what the ones i’m currently reading are doing, and what trades are coming out. That sort of thing, and it’s something I love. I know their basically adds.. but their well put together adds that really pull you into the books you like. The big two and the indies are all very good at it and sometimes i’ts the only way to know a comic is coming if the company dosen’t make a press release for it ahead of time.

So naturally given there are several comics I follow at idw, paticuarlly the TMNT comics, I read those solicits and found they were going to do an issue with Webby and Lena becoming spies, and was excited about it. I ended up forgetting about it and never really followed the Ducktales comic as it came out, and upon reading an issue or two recently, one for another comission by kev as one story, happy happy valley, was particularly terrible. For those who haven’t read the story or my review, it involved the family getting stranded on an island where their forced to partake in activites and smile..that somehow turned into an aseop about Louie wanting to be rich. It ended with this

Yes.. really. That actually happened. But even with this, I fully planned to cover the issue when I covered Lena, and brought it up to Kev when he commissioned the retrospective. He gave me the discord equilvent of a blank stare and had never heard of it. I soon found out why: the story was replaced as, and fair play to disney, it spoiled Beakly’s past from the agent 23 episode which wasn’t going to air in time. What dosen’t work is they never reprinted the story in The US.. didn’t put it in a future issue and just swap it’s place didn’t put it in the nothing. And the story was fully complete as we’ll see, with a cover and everything so they had no excuse whatsoever to NEVER use it, even with what happened to Lena in the season finale, this clearly took place before that and it was weird to just shelve it because of that. But thankfully when a bunch of the stories were reprinted overseas, this and another one, also webby centric got published overseas. But not in english.

Lucky for me, I was able to find an english translation of an english story which you can read RIGHT HERE. It was translated by @neopuff and I thank them for it as without them this review would not be possible and want to give them all the credit. So was it worth all their hard work translating it? Well let’s take a look.

We begin at the Manor where Lena is skulking around suspiciously.. though it turns out she and Webby are just playing hide and seek. Though Lena accuses cheating. The dialouge here is pretty flat though that’s not Neopuff’s fault at all. As I can attest from reading other stories a lot of the early IDW comics are just this flat in dialoguge no matter the writer as they were likely given character descriptions and basic info about the show they likely had written up for merchandising and Frank and Co were given no involvement and likely weren’t made avaliable to consult on the comics to help them be a bit more fleshed out. It’s very obvious to me Disney just tried to get these pumped out so they’d have a series in stores to tie in without carring about qualities and given Scrooge debuted in comics, their lack of care toward that side of things in general, but especially in the first american published original duck comics in a while, bothers me a lot. It’s inexcusable.

That being said the story isn’t half bad nor is the setup as the two hear a beeping and find it’s Beakly’s phone going off with a mysterious message from Q, Webby thinks she’s been reactivated, and is encouraged by Lena to go look after her while she stays along. While Webby says in response

It just feels grossly out of character for both. Lena is far more subtle about manipulation as shown five minutes ago and Webby blindly trusts her. Because she has a massive crush on her and is naïve about how the world works. It just seems very odd of her to get suspicious as she never does on screen, and again it comes off as Disney having barely given the writers any materials on them when i’m sure Frank or Matt would’ve been happy to write up a thing for them to help outside of the usual press materials they were given.

Though hte last line isn’t all that out of character and has an obvious answer as within a jumpcut Launchpad’s taking them to London and is told to blend in.. which he does with an australian flag and accent.. good gag.

So our heroines do some heroic breaking and entering and look for the package, but soon find while hiding it’s already in transit.. and had obvious bows on int. Whoops. Our heroes trie the old follow tha tcar bit and refreshingly, it dosen’t pan out as the guy stops and tells them to get out. A nice twist. Unable to follow, our heroes instead find launchpad lost, as his map is upside down

So Lena dares him if he can follow that plane, a nice bit of character for both. I will give Joe credit. While the dialouge’s a bit flat and there was that out of character moment.. for the most part he does nail the actual character down and does use it decently enough. He’s just not given enough page room or actual details to work with is all.

So while our heroes follow they end up having to crash as they run out of fuel.. lucky their with the expert but end up near home where the package is delivered to. Turns out this wasn’t a spy thing, this was just a thing with her aunt. That’s fine and a nice gag.. it’s just ruined by just sorta.. ending. Lena leaves disapointed and Beakly scolds webby for “playing spy” and she’s sad. That’s it that’s how it ends. Which dosen’t fit the characters, as while Beakly would defintely scold her, it just dosen’t FIT that she’d be that tearse or not appricate the effort or give her an actual lecture and it feels like Joe had no idea how to end this after the gag and just.. ended it.

Final Thoughts for Spies Likes Us: This was okay. It is a bit of a disappointment as for the only story not available.. i’ts just okay and not really above an average Ducktales comics story, with some nice character bits but feeling a bit weak overall, as do at least the first half of the idw comics. I haven’t read the later stuff to see if it got better. It’s worth a read if you like Webby and Lena as characters and it’s not BAD, it’s just not anything impressive and is a simple hyjinks filled misunderstanding story.

Dime After Dime:

So now we go back a bit to the original. I didn’t do these in chronological order because frankly, Dime after Dime is the better story of the two and the bigger one at that, so I have more to work with here. But the original also had comics and honestly from the few i’ve read much BETTER comics. I chalk this up to two things: The Ducktales 87 comics seem to have come out AFTER the series was already a hit, and since Ducktales is pretty close to the original uncle scrooge comics minus it’s own tweaks here and there, it’s easy enough to just write the stories like you would a regular uncle scrooge story, just with Webby and Launchpad added, whereas the idw writers were staffed with writing for all new versions of the characters with noticable differences without much to go on. It’s why to me with tie in comics you have two options: Wait long enough so you can put your story inbtween the episodes like the Steven Universe and Regular Show comics did or just make your own continuity entirely like the Adventure Time Comics and the Archie TMNT Adventures series did. The ONLY time i’ve seen a comic work like this is the Bravest Warriors comic, which had a talented writer and fit well enough in the margins until it sadly ended.. and honestly is BETTER in some cases than the series. I might get to it someday. The point is this comic shows why you need to have a deft hand adapting something instead of just falling your arms about and hoping it’ll work.

So today’s comic was part of some Disney Series called cartoon tales, which clearly repackaged comic stories from wherever, and put them together. I don’t know much about it and the only other issue avaliable collects the disney adventures adaptation of “Just Us Justice Ducks”, which I might cover at some point. This book does have two other stories which i’d be happy to do on comission or on my own at some point, one involving gladstone the other gizmoduck, but for now, i’m just sticking to the title story and the reason you all came here.

So we open with Magica gazing into her crystal ball from her Mt. Vesuvies base saying that Scrooge will never know what hit him I know exactly what and who wiil hit him thank you very much.

Scrooge is seeing Webby off to her first day of day camp, getting all teary eyed which is touching. Beakly apparently goes with her as the story never SAYS Sshe does but she’s not also not around when the story moves on, as Launchpad says it looks like rain. Scrooge dismisses him, though Launchpad turns out to be right. Scrooge had good reason for once though, instead of just being a dick good on you comic for making me not want to punch him in the face, trust me that is a high bar to clear with the scrooge comics, as the weather was fine just a minute ago. Naturally it was Magica All Along! Nothing scrooge can do now that eveyrthing has gone wrong! Her entrance though is sadly not a catchy earwormy tune, but .. this confusing line

I think your thinking of Gladstone. And he’s still single so.. have at that but no Scrooge is the one who values hard work over anything else and brags about THAT or being rich. I .. I don’t get this line and frankly I don’t want to. Even in stories where the dime is supernaturally lucky and the source of his wealth he dosen’t boast about it because he’s not stupid and dosen’t want everyone knowing how to bankrupt him instantly. This line will baffle me until I die, presumably, given my life’s tragetctory, after reviewing an episode of mighty ducks and slipping on some a jerky wrapper.

Scrooge asks what she wants...

No this isn’t that kind of story sadly. Her plan is to.. zap the bin with lightning and take the dime. Really just went with your first draft didn’t you magica? But as stupid as this plan is Scrooge has prepared for it. He installed a lightning rod on the bin to save on power, and to power his new super soaker traps. So all Magica did was save him money. She flies off and nothing is acomplished.

So we get back to Webby at the Teenie Weenie Day Camp.. and just so you don’t think that was a terrible joke on my part...

My theory for how this name got approved at all is the editor KNEW how that sounded and just wanted to see if Disney would actually print a comic with the phrase Teenie Weenie without getting what it means in slang or how hilariously inapproriate it is to namme a children’s camp after it.

Your probably wondering who that grown woman calling Webby a dweeb is. Well story wise, she’s SUPPOSED to be another kid at the camp around Webby’s age. In practice, she looks like THIS in closeup

So it looks and plays like a 30 year old woman snuck into the day camp and no one’s noticed she’s not actually a children. Or their just humoring her because she had a week to live. I don’t know. I do know she doesn’t get to judge on names.

Snippy Von Glitz, proof rich people really do hate their kids and this this comic is trying personally to give me material. Snippy is your average alpha bitch, taking a chair from Minma and being obnoxious and classist and all that jazz. Minima gets hers back by making the chair bouncy then returning it to normal so Snippy gets in trouble when she makes up things about the chair, with the lady in charge getting ready to call her Dad. You cannot convince me that her “Dad” is just what she calls her husband, this is how they both get off, and that the lady at the preschool only tolerates it because they pay her a lot and so far the kids haven’t noticed Snippy is 30. Webby likes minima finding her name pretty, proving that the ho yay is alive no matter the webby and magica relative, and Minma returns the favor by saving her from a block.

Minma is reluctant to make an actual friend, finding they aren’t worth anything and given most of the kids here apparently pick on her and her aunt is well.. Magica, it’s understandable why she’d be so cold. But Webby presses on and says something from Scrooge about friends. Which given Ducktales scrooge has none goes weird but it gets Minma to find out she knows and lives with Scrooge, so she cons webby into taking the dime for show and tell, showing that she can manipulate them with her powers, and that he won’t notice it’s missing, getting her with “I thought you wanted to be friends”

So let’s pause for a second and compare and contrast the two: Both are the niece, or at least sorta in Lena’s case, of Magica, both manipulate webby, and both are her first real friend: The 87 boys are little monsters and I don’t consider them friends or even brothers, while the 2017 ones are just that: brothers. Their her siblings in all but blood, not friends and have hteir own long complicated history.

But otherwise the two are vastly different. Lena is a far more complex character as she’s been abused her whole life, is a rebel because Magica hardly gave her agency, and while she starts wooing webby out of self interest it’s clear even as far as the first episode she cares. Lena would gladly be part of the world if she could and this whole scheme is to gain that choice.

Minma is still sympathetic but very different: She walls herself off because the other kids laugh and mock her for being herself and lashes out at them.. not unreasonably mind , but still feeling she needs no one else.. but as we’ll learn later she’s only helping Magica to finally feel accepted, to get all the fancy clothes and stuff that will make her popular instead of that grown woman masquerading as a kid for disturbing reasons. Minma is at her heart just a hurt kid desperate to fit in. And while Lena shares the desire for a place to belong.. it’s at it’s core much sadder. Lena.. wants a family. Someone to love her and to care about her and actually look after her. Minma has that she just wants to be loved. it’s similar but very diffrent and I can see why Lena evolved into what she did, as Frank and Matt ended up going in a far darker but ultimately more interesting direction. Minima is not a bad character at all though and without her I don’t think we would’ve had Lena, but at the end of the day the 87verse is just not that complicated, so the reboot needed something more and that more evolved into who we have now.

Both kids excitedly talk about their new friends, with their respective guardians being distracted. Scrooge is distracted by the fact his car is a bit bumpy and Launchpad offers to fix it up for free with some parts from a buddy, which given the sentence “This won’t cost you anything” makes him erect, Scrooge agrees. Magica meanwhile, whose watching Minima while her mom is away which raises a LOT of questions we don’t have time for like who she is, is she’s poes wife or does Magica have other siblings... it’s a lot of questions we’re never going to get answers to.

The next day Webby got the dime easy as Scrooge was distracted. so Minima swaps them while she’s distracted. But while swiping it was easy, which to be fair Webby is likely approved in his security so it woudln’t match her.. or the story just needed to progress. You make the call.

Magica does the logical thing and goes and get sthe dime and the story ends there.. and i’m shitting you, she of course brags to scrooge, reveals minima as her spy, and offers to RACE him for it shortly after he realizes he has a fake.

The only major flaw in this story is Magica’s overconfdience, which isn’t BAD persay, but here has gotten to dumbass proportions. She just can’t plan for anything and a CHILD has a better plan than her that only dosen’t work for reasons we’ll get to. And that plan is almost ruined by Magica taunting scrooge!

So a race is on but Launchpad has transformed Scrooge’s old Model T into this

Damn that’s cool. Scrooge of course dosen’t like it, but honestly you get what you paid for. Oh that’s right you paid nothing for something you NEED to use every day for transportation.

At the rickity thickity bridge, Steve Buschemi’s worst roll and her minion ask Webby to roll with them and Minima mistakes this for betrayal planning to soak them all.. only for Webby to DEFEND HER, pointing out minma’s her friend, how she dresses is fine and she loves her no matter what.. the last part’s implied. The 30-year old asshole and her minon leave Webby and Minma is genuinely touched, as no one’s done that for her before. She put up so many walls... she didn’t realize someone could ACTUALLY care about her, so obessed with thinking she had to be like that soccer mom in preschoolers clothing, she just had to be herself: kinda werid but in that fun adams family way. Webby says she knows Minma would do the same.. so while she prepares to let’s get back to the race. Magica realizes Launchpad’s roadster is actually gaining and spreads some tacks, but Scrooge counters with some money.. because of course he has a lot of money in the trunk. But Magica takes out the bridge and while scrooge awesomely JUMPS IT... he’s still too late.

As you probably guess though, Minima had a change of heart, and gave Webby the real dime back, and Scrooge confirms it. Minima TRIES to tell Magica, and Magica is horrified her niece is a goody goody “I”ll never hear the end of it at my astral aerobics class”.. I.. I want to see that. Let’s raise those spirit ladies and kick kick that soul, doge that shadow king punch them in the soul. Yes! Now eat it eat it and absorb it’s power!

We end on a button joke as Webby apologizes for taking the dime., Scrooge accepts it and Webby tells them magica learned to carpet and they gulp for some reason.

Final Thoughts on Dime after Dime: This story was decent. It has problems, some jokes don’t land and Magica is made horribly incompetent, but minima’s character arc is endearing, and Webby herself is precious as always and her winning Minima over feels genuine. And Scrooge is in prime adoring uncle mode with her and i’ts just so cute. And the roadster race is pretty awesome to watch honestly. It’s an exceptional and enjoyable tie in story.. and not the last ducktales 87 story we’ll be covering here. Wink wonk.

Next Time: Things get DARK as Lena and Webby head into the depths of Scrooge’s hidden bin and Lena heads into the depths of her own soul.

Tommorow: Woo-Ooo mofos as we go back to the very beginning of the reboot! A family restored, a lost city to explore, and a glomgold rises! Be here or be square.

#ducktales #ducktales 1987 #webbigail vanderquack #lena saberwing #weblena #minima de spell #magica de spell #bentina beakly #launchpad mcquack #scrooge mcduck #dime after dime #spies like us #idw #comics #animation #shadow into light

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