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wincore · 10 months ago

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indelicate | liu yangyang

pairing: yangyang x fem!reader

synopsis: missing the last train out of new shanghai was not on the to-do list. however, your project partner liu yangyang promises fun, dazzling lights, and the warmth of a human connection for this festive weekend. perhaps even in the era of diamond and steel, the human touch means something after all.

genre: oriental cyberpunk, f2l, fluff

warning(s): swearing & several innuendos. also out-of-date jokes sorry guys i wrote this in 2021

words: 11.9k

a/n: this is just a rework of an old fic i posted here with another character! if you find any inconsistencies, it's probably because of that LOL also this is not a wincore revival but i did miss everyone on here !!

i. city plaza

Some idiot, somewhere along in history, decided to renovate a city into something so dazzling that the population shoots up to a hundred and fifty percent of what was before, and the rest of the damage comes along with the people. Promises are made and broken to build this city of extravagance. You have the belief that the more people there are in one place, the more difficult it gets to live there. This dazzling hellscape means colliding into too many people on the streets, too many bright lights outside your dorm room when you’re trying to sleep and the god awful sound of deafening firecrackers at every new year celebration.

Another idiot somehow roped you into his ‘midnight adventure: traditional version’ once he heard you missed the last train ticket out of the city. Liu Yangyang has a terrible way with words—but he has a way.

You were, by some unfortunate gamble of the gods, partners for a project that accounted for sixty percent of the grade. While that affair is over, you still haven't rid yourself of the predicament that is Yangyang. Gorgeous, yes, but too overwhelming. You smack your head against the car window only for him to jump in his seat beside you, hand gently driving over your forehead to check for damage. The neon city lays around you, and festive light projections float across the sky in intricate shapes of the ox and written messages. This is going nowhere. You came to this city sacrificing everything and yet suddenly, everything’s hanging on a string again.

The city lights of New Shanghai are cruel. Everything in this place is cruel.

Which is exactly why you’re in Yangyang’s car, parked by the middle level city plaza on New Year’s Eve. It is, in fact, illegal to hover by the city plaza on New Year’s Eve but Yangyang seems to either not care or simply doesn’t know. You forget the law doesn’t exist for rich kids. Out of all man-made wonders, rules are the most interesting.

“Shall we go?” he asks, voice bubbly as ever. Every morning, he chirps like the alarm birds outside your window. Yes, it has made you want to sleep forever at times.

“It’s just one night. And I’ll be with you, so you don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you snap.

“Not afraid of the dark either?”

You pull your jacket closer to you. Here, the cold streets of the techno-jungle make you shiver more often than not. If you dare go out without friends, a city so grand will inevitably drain the life out of you. Your body alone cannot withstand the dazzle. And—you can’t be afraid of the dark after you’ve complained about the lights.

You look at Yangyang and back to the cityscape outside—large conglomerative blocks of buildings, some hosting advertisements with the faces of inhumanly beautiful models and some with the ‘Happy New Year!’ text animation floating about in increasingly complex patterns. You see the revolving top of one of the grandest skyscrapers, a Dior hotel, not the tallest but certainly the most pleasing to look at. It gleams from red to orange like the pulsating heart of a giant metropolitan beast. There are more funky buildings to look at, some not even the shape of austere corporate skyscrapers.

“Do you wanna go there?” Yangyang asks all of a sudden. “I heard the lounge is closed off from eleven. I can call some friends and we can book a room though—”

“No. No way. I’m not going to spend new year’s eve in a Dior suite.”

He grins. “Thank god. It’s so boring there. Only models and businessmen and whatever freak shit they do.”

You sigh. Liu Yangyang is a whole story in itself. He’s rich and popular—a dream of many—but so few are as welcoming as he is. When you’re in that position, you’re bound to have a little metal seep into your heart. Some hidden part of you, however, tells you to loosen up when you’re with him; just let it go and have a good time. There’s no reason why you shouldn't. The economy is on a steep incline, the people are happy and no other city compares to this place. You could learn a thing or two from Yangyang.

He looks at you questioningly, eyes waiting and the curve of his lips still. You notice his platinum blond hair is more styled than usual, you can almost smell the gel on it, and for a moment, you wish you looked as good as he does. A dark leather jacket accentuates his shoulders, the plain T-shirt underneath not of the flashy type. He looks like he’s ready for club-hopping and you, anything but. If you knew earlier that you’d be by the Strip around midnight on New Year’s, you'd have dressed better.

“If you stay any longer in my car, people are going to assume we’re…y’know,” he states, quirking his eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it’s illegal, though. Like, who thought fu—”

You were wrong. There is absolutely nothing to learn from Liu Yangyang.

“I would get out of this car immediately and fall to my death before I let that happen,” you retort, crossing your arms.

“No, hey. What an inauspicious sentence. Besides, and I’m not bragging but you should know I’m really good at using my assets—”

“Don’t say a word.”

The heat of embarrassment flows into your cheeks at his implication. You look out the window, weighing out the pros and cons. The scenery is so bright that sometimes it hurts to look outside. It’s not midnight yet but the main streets are already getting crowded for the processions; the sound of laughter and conversation ring in the air. It makes you somewhat sad to not be home for this. But as they say, living in a big city can only be done if you sell your soul to it.

You’re directly above the level one city plaza, the people below looking unsettling in the way they’re so small and far away—they don’t even seem human at this distance. You wonder if you look like that to the people above this, to the level three elites who sit on top of the whole city..

You look back to your companion, who’s transfixed on the bakery across the road—either that, or just really, really zoned out. Knowing Yangyang, it could be either. When you tilt your head, waiting, you find that he has pretty features—a shaped nose and round, curious eyes, all in perfect alignment with plump, pink lips. His metallic ring earrings shine when the light hits them right. No wonder you get girls asking how close the two of you are often. Even in a world pushing manufactured love, boys like him make others daydream. You wonder why you’re the one he loves to drag in with him.

Yangyang flinches when he finds you staring at him. You clear your throat, looking away and hoping you can sweep this under the rug.

“Are you- are you by any chance mad at me?” he asks, a nervous smile awkwardly tugging at his lips.

“I- what? No. I’m not mad at you.”

“You look like my mother when I don’t clean my room. Or Ten's cats when I try to kiss them.”

A tiny laugh escapes you before you get back your poised demeanor. “I’m- I’m not mad at you.”

He smiles at you wordlessly and you feel a little conscious. You glance outside when the plaza music starts to get loud and look back at him, debating whether you should just give in.

“So… you’ll let me brighten your life now?” he asks in his regular baritone, grinning wider. “The semester’s over and it’s festival time! I bring good luck, I promise.”

Liu Yangyang is not a happy serendipity. He simply cannot be. However, he does make you laugh more often than you’d admit.

“Whatever. Go ahead. I just don’t want to be hungover on a Friday.”

“You don’t- you don’t have to drink to have a good time.” He laughs. “I would know. I’m sort of a lightweight. I don’t know why I told you that. I’m supposed to be cool.”

You giggle, taking a moment to think.

“Fine then. Show me your magical access key to our beloved Mobius Strip, the mightiest, grandest structure in all of New Shanghai.”

“Well, if you put it that way… I am pretty cool, huh?”

His smile is too harmless for you to roll your eyes. He’s too gentle, you realize all of sudden, to be as awful as all the uni frat boys you’ve had the misfortune of talking to. You watch him as he drives; his arm moves with ease and he tries to make conversation but you can only hum and respond in singular words. The closer you are to the Strip the more nervous you get. It’s like visiting all those dark places that your mother explicitly warned you not to visit as a teenager—but you’re an adult now. No one owns you. No one should be able to own you. The determination builds up slowly over neon lights and hazy street shops.

Nights here are the fun part. Everyone says that. Other than the fact that you can barely make out the colour of the sky under the vivid city lights, there’s something very enticing about the streets, the upper streets that wind around the city.

Yangyang drives the car to a level three street, the behemoth structure of the Strip now so close that all you can see beyond your window are its placid, white walls stretching out to infinity. You can see little gardens and shops, peeking out from between each strip and one of the shopkeepers wave at you the moment you pass. Yangyang says something along the lines of “thanks for the free noodles” to the woman, before gliding higher.

“Grandma makes the best glass noodles here,” he says, excitedly. “I’ll take you sometime. If you like.”

You hum, noting the joy he expresses at the idea of something so simple.

Level three streets are already thousand and a half feet above the ground. You try not to look down; heights aren’t something you’re very fond of even if you love the sky. You note construction work for street levels four and five, shivering at the idea. The winds of change are fucking cold.

Yangyang swerves the car off-road at one point and you clutch his arm by reflex.

“What the fuck? Don’t do that without warning me,” you say, breathing quicker. You do not do well with: sudden movement, jumpscares and boys with pretty smiles.

“Sorry,” he says, looking at you with concern. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You let go of his arm, more embarrassed at yourself than mad at him. Driving the car closer to the Strip, he brakes carefully by the parking lot. The walls are covered in red wallpaper, a few lanterns attached to drones, floating along the path inside. It looks like a rooftop parking lot, though the mysterious dim lighting makes you walk closer to Yangyang.

“I heard this is gonna be a really cool event—they’ve got the latest AI tech hosting and crap but let me tell you the best part.”

He pauses for dramatic effect.

“The food!” He says, spreading his arms and grinning. “The food at private events is the best thing you’ll ever taste.”

You open your mouth but close it again in part horror, part confusion. “You’re… taking me to a private event?”

“Ah, don’t look like that. It’s really fun, promise.”

“I’m not even dressed for it,” you blurt, embarrassed.

Yangyang shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. It’s for rich kids, you know? If I’m being honest, none of them know how to dress.”

His confident statement gets a giggle out of you and you relax a little. You walk with him, further into the square platform and away from the cars. The sky disappears behind the dark roof and for a moment, you feel like you’ve entered a different dimension. It’s like the architecture models that your professors had on display for the Shanghai History class in your freshman year. Old stuff, that is. Before this place even had the first skyscraper.

You turn to your side and narrow your eyes at Yangyang, suddenly wondering how he finagled his way into bringing you here. Your iron-clad will is not so much iron after all. It’s not even steel, you think, once you catch yourself staring at Yangyang a bit too long.

You step forward to find the entrance to the club; it’s a little lonely to look at in the beginning. Then it clicks that it’s probably the back door. The red pillars encase a black door between them, the overhang of the gateway just a little above Yangyang’s head. You can see the hip-and-gable style roof of the larger building behind, looking like a skyscraper instead of the usual historical buildings you’ve seen on the internet. In glowing red letters, it displays a blinking ‘Club 2’ near the top of the door.

The moment you step on the stairs, a bunch of advertisements pop up on the door, bright bubblegum colours hurting your eyes. Yangyang taps at the little x at the corner of the display till it disappears and finally the door is a regular door. The colour is jet black like any other screening platform.

“I thought the rich were exempted from ads,” you say.

“They’re… more likely to buy things though.”

You make an ‘ah’ sound in contemplation when a whirring makes you jump into him. A little spherical drone flies its way out of an opening in the wall and stops right in front of the two of you.

“Sicheng-ge!” Yangyang says, waving frantically at the camera.

The little drone circles around Yangyang’s head before stopping right in front of his face. It runs a scan before turning sharply and beeping at you.

“My plus one!” Yangyang declares, pulling you by the waist. “Or whatever it’s called.”

Your ears feel warm but you don’t push him off. The camera focuses on your face, likely scanning to identify your age and occupation. When it’s done, a beep resounds and the door slides open to reveal a dimly lit pathway. The main entrance is much brighter, Yangyang promises, but for now it’s just the warm glow of the lanterns, Yangyang’s neon red striped jacket and the mechanical whirring of some sort of device in the darkness.

“What’s that sound?” you whisper and Yangyang stops.

He pauses to think. “Oh, they’re Sicheng-ge’s drones. He’s got like a million of them. I'll introduce you—he’s hosting this club event, by the way.”

He smiles at you reassuringly. If Yangyang’s not bothered by it, you’ll follow his lead. Though, you do take more nimble steps and stay close to him like he’s your lighthouse. (In a way, he is, with all that neon shining on his jacket.)

You’re surprised to find a garden, but then it gets stranger when you see brighter lanterns in the middle area. You see figures and before you can react, Yangyang takes your hand and into the central platform.

ii. orchid club square

Yangyang was right. None of them know how to dress.

The two of you stand in the middle of a crowd, who are in fact dressed either for: a) an impromptu pool party or b) a Sunday morning lecture. You blend in somewhat well given the variety though Yangyang’s painted looks have attracted the attention of quite a few giggling, murmuring onlookers.

You clench your jaw in mild annoyance.

“This is a tour,” Yangyang whispers to you. “I thought… you’d like to know what everything’s about.”

You feel grateful to him for once. Having some sort of knowledge about what you’re getting into makes you feel better about any situation. A set of mechanical clicking fills the air.

A woman—no, an AI bot is the first to greet you. She has pale white metallic skin and her dark strands of hair are in a traditional updo. Her lips are imperial red, shaped in a way that makes her seem as though she’s smiling but also not at the very same time. She holds an extravagant fan by her face at the perfect right angle, the patterns on it painted to imitate an ancient cherry blossom tree.

“Good evening, everyone,” she says, her voice pitched up and enthusiastic. It’s a little funny to imagine metal so lively.

You smell oranges and lavender as soon as she flicks her fan once and precise.

“Welcome to the New Shanghai nightlife!” The bot continues jovially. “The oldest surviving city on planet earth, the birthplace of the human race.”

“You are in virtual space,” she informs. “It might look like a courtyard stretching to infinity but it is only an illusion. However, the club is five hundred and sixty one metres wide and six hundred and twelve metres long. It is large enough to hold twenty-one blue whales in a line. That is, if they still existed of course.”

She giggles algorithmically.

“Where you stand right now,” she says, turning her head in a swift mechanical motion to you and you flinch. “This place is called the orchid club square. As you know, only VIP access lets you in.”

You glance at Yangyang worriedly and he shrugs. There’s no way she could know, right? That was oddly specific. But then she moves her head left to right to address the whole crowd in perfect grace. When her movement starts to get a little too eerie to watch any longer, you fix your eyes on the garden instead. You have no way of telling part real flowers from virtual ones and even so—all of them are beautiful. Maybe reality doesn’t make things any prettier.

However, when you look at Yangyang, the thought gets tossed out. You shake your head, in an attempt to get rid of the image of his face. It’s a little too late to be feeling this way. Either that, or the night is taking its toll on you already. The day was exhausting, considering it was the end of the semester.

The AI guide’s chatter fades into something quieter when you move the club square. It’s a rather empty space, fitting for a rave or just housing large crowds. The decorations are for the new year celebrations, banners of the ox in auspicious colours and a few drones projecting the rest. There’s a garden of evermore orchids lining the area in a perfect square and it’s so precise that it’s pleasing to look at. There’s a door at one edge, similar to the one you encountered before entering the club square.

The music that wafts through the air is so gentle, you almost forget there’s a celebration. The beat makes it livelier and even so, the rhythm of your heartbeat matches it in a soothing sort of way. Turning around, you spot the musical ensemble. It’s another AI, peering over a guqin with trained habit.

She looks the same, except she wears an electronic mask over the lower half of her face. It displays a blue musical note made up of noticeable pixels. She has no fan—instead, her fingers strum the guqin rhythmically, programmed with precision and grace. The sound is accompanied by the woodwind notes of a flute, though you’re not sure where that sound emanates from. There’s also a soft drumbeat which seems to come from the guqin bot herself.

You gasp when a few painted goldfish float through the air, almost real to look at if it weren’t for the glitch effect of holograms. One of them swims closer to you, opening and closing its mouth in rhythm and you giggle at its face.

Yangyang laughs, long finger pointing at the critter in amusement. “That’s adorable.”

He looks like a little kid and you giggle at his expression, with wide, delighted eyes and mouth open in focused mirth. He pokes at the goldfish and it makes a bubbling sound, gears shifting in ticking time before suddenly biting at his index finger. Yangyang lets out a low yelp, retracting his hand before clearing his throat in embarrassment.

“You’re like a cartoon,” you tell him, in between laughs. “No way are you real.”

He grins, in that same way he always looks at you and you look away, feeling hot in the face. It’s too enamored a way to look at someone. But of course, that couldn’t be true—he’s Liu Yangyang and you’re you. Parallel lines do not meet, even if they’re headed in the same direction.

“I think you’re unreal,” he mumbles.

iii. club 2

The doors open to a rather spacious arrangement, with several tables one one side and a sort of dance arena on the other where people are trying to out-dance each other. The intensity makes you move further away from it. It seems a little too festive and you can feel the energy slinking away from you. The music is more upbeat but you suppose the DJ tried to make it sound more eastern; the result is pleasing. He wears a smooth black helmet with a neon red beat visualizer on it, with written SFX appearing from time to time. Two pulsing golden horns glow at the sides of his head. You stare at it for longer than you’d like before composing yourself. You’re very impressionable when it comes to parties.

There are two floors to the club, above the bottom floor itself. The other two floors mostly seem to consist of private booths, however, covered with gossamer silk that glow iridescent. A few floating lanterns sway by the upper floors. The ceiling is open to a midnight blue sky and the stars look much larger than you’ve ever seen them—you suspect it’s an AR mesh over the ceiling. A few light shows project little dancing dragons and coins over the sky and you find them too cute to not stare at.

“Wow,” Yangyang says, right after walking in. “Why is Dejun on the table?”

You look where his eyes are focused on, though it’s difficult through the crowd of people, and find Dejun and Kunhang in some sort of old anime transformation pose atop one of the tables. It’s surprising that they’re not the weirdest pair here.

“Now, bear with me, it’s going to be boring as hell till the countdown and the fireworks,” he explains, waving his hands around. “But it’s a good place to have fun and make friends. You know?”

“Friends?” you ask, a little nervous. You’re not very proficient at making friends and it makes you anxious.

“Yeah! Don’t worry. ” He makes a strange gesture, bordering between posing for a beer ad campaign and looking like a motivational speaker for the army, before furrowing his eyebrows. “You just have to be confident! I’m learning too!”

He lets out a sweet laugh and it makes you laugh in turn, hand covering your mouth so you don’t embarrass yourself too much. You don’t believe the words much, but the glow over his cheeks makes you reconsider.

“You look really nice when you laugh,” he comments, a bright glint in his eyes.

“Whatever,” you reply, punching his shoulder lightly.

Just then, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder to find Lana from your ethical AI class, smiling at you warmly. She looks a little tired, of people more than the time. Like you, she is also a scholarship student—and not a day has gone when she hasn’t soothed your anxiety about your classes. In stark contrast with Yangyang, you would trust her over him for most tasks. Even if you weren’t partners, you’re okay with the outcome. You glance at Yangyang.

“(name)! Oh my god, I didn’t know you were coming here,” she says. “Did Yangyang kidnap you?”

“I mean, sort of.”

“Hey.” Yangyang looks at you with betrayal.

“And how did you even manage to do that cool ass project with him as your partner?” she continues, squinting at him.

“Honestly, I don’t know either. He can be surprisingly helpful though.”

Yangyang looks from Lana to you in exasperation. “I’m literally right here,” he grumbles.

Lana laughs at his expression, patting his shoulder sympathetically.

“I just can’t believe you let him kidnap you and not me,” she says in mock indignance. “I’m a much better chauffeur, you know?”

“Do you even have a driving license?” Yangyang asks, laughing.

“I got mine before you, rat. Anyway, (name), I’m playing the guzheng. Do you wanna come see?”

“No,” Yangyang interrupts, suddenly grabbing your hand. “I… I mean you guys can go, of course. It's just the countdown’s close, so we have to go to the viewpoint.”

“That’s exactly where—ah. I see.”

"We'll join you another time, Lana," he says quietly, a cute grin on his face like a little boy would make to an older sister for more shares of chocolate.

"No, no. I actually remembered I left my friends in the corner. See you!"

She leaves her epiphany unsaid, offering you a smile and taking her leave abruptly.

“I thought you told me to socialize,” you complain to Yangyang.

“Yes, I’m so proud of you for that.”

“Yangyang, I swear if you treat me like a kid—”

“I’m not, I’m not. Sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I just need to borrow you for tonight. After all, I promised you, didn’t I?”

You sigh. “Fine then, what’s this viewpoint you’re talking about?”

“Oh, we’ll get there.”

Someone’s watching you. You turn around a full three-sixty but find only the same crowd of college-age kids. No one sticks out much, apart from Dejun, Kunhang and Ten, who are at this point performing some sort of strange ritual unbeknownst to any new year tradition, with a hell load of yelling.

“Oh my god, you’re dancing too?” Yangyang says, grinning ear to ear. “I didn’t know I’d have that much of a positive influence. Wow.”

“I’m- I’m not- never mind.”

Yangyang furrows his eyebrows. “What did I tell you? More confidence! See—”

He takes your hands in his, pulling you further onto the dance floor. You feel a rising panic but swallow it. There’s a beat of silence in which the two of you look at each other. Yangyang proceeds to perform the stupidest sequence of movements you have ever seen, certainly too awkward for his body to accept as natural but it doesn’t seem like he cares. He’s having fun.

You find yourself laughing. Taking timid steps, you try to loosen up although the inevitable embarrassment arrives in flushes of heat across your face. There are stars in Yangyang’s eyes when you join him—not the artificial jewels in observatories but the real kind that you used to see in your hometown.

You take a wobbly step back. It’s starting to get disorienting. If it were the real sky above you, you might even have felt better. Perhaps the purpose is to get dizzy.

“I’m a little thirsty,” Yangyang says, motioning to the table with food and drinks at a corner. “I’ll head over and be back.”

Unsure what to do, you follow him like a lost lamb and though it would be embarrassing at any other time, any other place, now and here are not part of that.

The red and golden lights of the neon patterning the walls don’t seem as harsh anymore and you let your eyes rest on the boyish figure of Yangyang. You haven’t figured him out yet. Something tells you he’s more than a shallow image of the party-loving rich kids of Shanghai. In fact, in quiet, personal moments, he looks more out of place than you do—despite all that bright neon. You open your mouth to ask something when you’re interrupted by a dizzy Yangyang spinning into you.

“Sorry, (name),” he says, rubbing the base of his palm against his forehead. “I genuinely thought I was going to win that game.”

You shake your head, letting him get back to whatever spinning game they were at. He smells like wine and something tells you he’s poor at holding his liquor. The stakes must be high for that game, you figure, because you see Yangyang set aside his beloved shoe on the floor. To be the only scholarship student here suddenly feels scary and awkward.

Yangyang once again tugs at your arm, the touch reassuring as though he understands how you feel. But it isn’t true. There’s no way someone like him can understand someone like you.

“Yangyang,” you call. “Do you come here every year?”

“No, no. I do come for drinks though. I’m only here right now because a friend is hosting this.”

You shrug.

“And you,” he adds and you feel a hot flush rise to your face. “New years are the only time this place is PG-13.”

“I’m not a child,” you snap.

“My mom says childish people say that.”

“Then it's very rich coming from you, Liu Yangyang.”

He laughs heartily, leaning away. A creeping thought grows in your head that you missed out on a lot. But then again, you’ll always miss out on things if you’re not rich enough for them.

Yangyang flinches suddenly, almost knocking a plate off the table. He moves quickly, turning so that his side leans against the wall and the other arm cages you between him and the wall. His frame covers your view from whatever, or whoever arrived at the entrance that made him react so obnoxiously.

However, his lips hovering just a little over yours makes your breath hitch in your throat. This is the worst possible position you could've gotten into. The smell of mint interrupts your thoughts and you look at him with as annoyed an expression as you can muster over the heat of your face.

"Yangyang, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

“I am… admiring the wall. Ooh, it’s got velvet over it, did you notice?”

“You’re going to have your head in it too if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

"Just… sorry. Let’s stay like this for a few moments."

He flashes you an apologetic smile, his face close enough to make yours grow even hotter. A nervous chuckle erupts from his lips.

"Oh my god, get off. People are going to think we’re making out."

"We could do it for real."

"I'm going to scratch your eyes out."

"Sorry, sorry."

“Who are you even hiding from?”

“I’m not hiding… okay, forget that. Bodyguard-watcher-dude. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“You have a bodyguard?”

“More like a babysitter.”

You try not to laugh, considering the proximity between your faces. “How come you have a babysitter? Actually, wait, I think I know.”

He huffs over your face and you restrain yourself from landing a swift uppercut to his jaw. Now you know the minty smell comes from mouth freshener.

“He’s a prosecutor. It’s weird that he stalks me in his free time. Even- even if… my parents are paying him.”

“They think you’re doing something illegal?”

“No. I don’t think I am.”

You rest your head back against the wall, rolling your eyes. “Really? That’s your answer? God, your brain cells rotted somewhere along the way, didn’t they? It’s all those parties.”

“I’m starting to feel like my mom hired you too.”

He looks back, and noting the absence of his so-called babysitter, he pulls back from you. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath and you let it out in a shallow effort.

“Your babysitter’s gone?”

“Not a babysit—I regret saying that. Look, I really don’t think they appointed him because they think I’m doing something illegal. I have never done anything illegal. Except that one street race but that’s because Lucas told me it was perfectly legal.”

“The what?”

“Anyway, the point is, let’s look forward to good fortune for this year, hm? Leave all the burdens to last year.”

“Fortune doesn’t favour fools.”

“I’m not stupid,” he complains, spreading his arms to express it further. “Mostly.”

You laugh, turning your attention to the food table.

“Ooh, pineapple tarts,” he exclaims, hand reaching out to grab one when you smack it.

“You’ve had, like, fifteen already.”

“Mhm,” he says, with a few more stuffed in his mouth.

There’s a pause.

“It’s me, isn't it?” you ask quietly. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

He gulps, lips parting and closing. “I brought you here. So you don’t worry about it.”

Rich people suck. You believe that strongly. But sometimes, just sometimes, when you have everything you can ever want, you start to want the same for everyone around you. Some people are special. You find Yangyang genuinely fascinating for being someone who makes friends when he’s supposed to be making more connections. You find him fascinating.

It makes sense for someone like him to be the way he is.

iv. fireworks viewpoint

“That’s the old Shanghai Tower,” Yangyang points to a building in the distance. “It used to be the tallest building once but… well, it looks like the little guy now.”

Lunar New Year’s celebrations are a big, big deal in New Shanghai. It means a break from university, work and every other affair to have as many priorities sorted in anticipation of the new year. And the impact is evident from this height, when you can see the city in its golden glory. It looks warm out there for once—although you’re not very sure if it’s because of the warmth that comes from right beside you. The little wooden boats float by on the river a little far off, various images blooming as holograms above them. You giggle at the large animated fishes swimming above the river with blank expressions and painted button eyes.

The golden clock shines bright in the sky, its holographic hands ticking down to midnight. It looks like something out of a fantasy movie, scattering golden pixels everywhere with each minute passing. The size of it alone reminds you of the scale of this city.

This is an empire. It's owned by the kings and queens who built it over the bones left from sacrifices. It's going to be owned by heirs and heiresses. You feel a looming sense of dread come over you. It's so beautiful and it can never belong to itself. It must always belong to someone. It’s the terms and conditions of human creation.

"Hey." Yangyang taps you on the shoulder and you try not to flinch. "What are you thinking?"

You hum. "Stuff."

"This place is pretty cool, huh?"

That, you can agree with. "It is. It's so amazing that I can't believe I'm here sometimes."

Yangyang laughs slowly. "I hope more people can live here. Not in level one. You know. No one should live in desperation."

You hold back a scoff, though you end up frowning. What does a rich kid know of desperation? He might as well be prince, and princes do not know how to beg. It must be something of a saviour complex. You shrink away from him. The new year music is starting to ring a little too loud in your ears.

"That would be difficult," you mutter.

"Not if you lower the cost of living conditions—ah. Sorry." He pauses and you feel a flicker of surprise in you. “It’s not appropriate to discuss. Or so my parents tell me…”

The expression comes from empathy. You’re sure of it. There’s some sort of passion and not the kind of coloured fire that flames up in parties, but a different one. The kind that says, if you can’t bear the heat then you can’t learn how to forge. You scoff. Which prince has possibly known heat?

“I- I get angry too,” you say quietly. “I think it’s something to be angry about.”

He smiles at you, leaning against the balcony railing.

You’re interrupted by a man in the attire of a waiter and it causes the two of you to jump away from each other. It’s not like you were very close in the first place but the proximity of shared words can play tricks on people. The man offers the two of you a screen and Yangyang’s face lights up almost immediately.

“We can order food with this,” he says. “Or book a table. The top strips are all reserved for members of the club. That’s the big daddy restaurants.”

“That’s… pretty cool,” you say, leaning in to glance over the browsing menu. “But don’t say that phrase to me again.”

“I can. And I will.”

“Ugh. Move on.”

“Okay, so we should drop by the convenience store for some ramen. I heard they taste better in the middle of the night,” Yangyang suggests all of a sudden, leaning in further.

It gets difficult sometimes to not be bothered by him, especially when there is a lack of distance. You look at him, pause and then sigh. “Sure. I guess. Are those free too?”

He opens his mouth in sudden realization and grins sheepishly at you. You roll your eyes.

“Do you have money then?”

“Uh.”

“How do you not have money? It’s the New Year!”

“I… uh—”

“Okay, you don’t have to answer that. But I’m not paying for you,” you complain. “You could always ask your parents for some money. What’s the point of being a party kid?”

‘Party kids’—it makes you laugh in amusement—is the colloquial term given to the children of businesspeople who had a direct hand in the economic progress of New Shanghai. You would sell your kidneys to be one and it still wouldn’t be enough.

His smile wavers at your statement but he shakes his head. “If I call my mom, she’ll start scolding me again about how my apartment room needs to be cleaner. Blah, blah, blah. You know.”

“She’s right- wait, you don’t clean your room?”

“Don’t take her side, (name).”

You bite down a smile and he offers you his biggest one.

“Oh, that place looks new,” Yangyang exclaims, a long index finger pointing to the preview of a sushi restaurant. You glare at him, his face nearer to yours than you would prefer but his eyes are fixed like a child ogling halloween candy.

“Let’s go,” he urges, looking directly at you.

You furrow your eyebrows, shaking your head vehemently. “We don’t have money. Or bit-credits.”

He sighs, deflating as though you just snatched the candy right from his hands. “But… I haven’t been there before.”

“So?” You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You don’t have to try every food place in the city.”

“I need to eat,” he says as though it’s a very reasonable response. “I’m still growing!”

“Not mentally.”

He drops his smile, looking at you blankly. “You don’t have to get so smart with me, let me tell you.”

You snicker at the ‘offended’ expression on his face.

In the next moment, your attention shifts to the sudden crowd of people rushing to the balcony. Yangyang pulls you closer to avoid getting pushed by them, and you look around confused. It all makes sense when they start chanting the numbers, counting down from ten. You can only stare in awe at the clock and the otherworldly glee in the rhythmic chants. It’s like they don’t feel anything but joy at this moment. You let yourself smile.

The clock strikes twelve. The sound of the bell resounds throughout the city and the firecrackers burst into a thousand shades of red and gold across the sky. There’s moving images of animals, floating text and other animations which make the night sky seem like a screen. The sparks of the fireworks look like golden snow, or even happy little pixels.

You point your finger to the sky excitedly but when you turn, Yangyang’s eyes aren’t on the sky but on your hand outstretched towards it. He faces you, rather hesitantly as though caught red-handed.

“You’re- you’re… so pretty,” he says, softly and shrugging as if answering a question.

You wish he wouldn’t look at you like that. It’s the lonely speaking, right? The euphoria of human connection in this time and age—it can make you believe anything. There’s a myriad of colours blooming in the sky behind you, a city dazzling with diamond and ruby lights, people with much more stories to tell than you do. This city, this city, this city. This city will break your heart.

“It’s kind of crappy,” you mutter, to which Yangyang quirks an ear.

“Wh-what is?”

“This city. It’s got bright lights and fun and all those promises of success. But all I see are people desperately trying to survive. All I see are the same faces at the top and—I’m sorry. I’m getting carried away.”

“No, no.” He makes a vague gesture. “I’m listening.”

“We’re at their mercy,” you whisper. “My life is not my own. That’s crappy.”

Yangyang hums in response. “You're right. What’s the point of living a life that’s not your own?”

Looking at him again, you see the entire figure of his being against the fireworks and all the beautiful creations of the human race. His almost silver hair falls perfectly by his forehead, the contact lenses looking like glazed frost over his eyes. Just as vibrant and excessive as the city itself, Yangyang belongs here. This is his kingdom.

No, that’s not quite right perhaps. Yangyang belongs anywhere because he brings warmth. You're suddenly grateful he's with you because no one you know would possibly go out of their way to make you feel comfortable like this. You know Yangyang loves people and crowds. No one would do that for you at the expense of their own enjoyment. You smile at the prospect of solving the blinding mystery that he is.

"We… should leave," Yangyang says, all of a sudden. He eyes a man at the corner of the balcony, dressed in a business suit and looking blank. He sticks out like a sore thumb. You're not sure why he's in that getup.

"Okay," you say, not sure why you're so agreeable tonight.

Maybe it's the night. Sometimes all you can do is drag your feet over the asphalt and hope it'll be sunnier tomorrow.

v. two-four-seven convenience store

College boys are the most god-awful creatures on earth.

“Hey, do you always reach class on time?” Yangyang asks, eyes curious. He keeps asking a question every five minutes or so, trying to keep up conversation. You've already told him he doesn't have to. However, it makes you strangely comfortable to hear the sound of his voice periodically. You won't tell him that.

You nod, returning your gaze to the window, though the advertisements block your view. You can always try skipping the ad every five goddamn seconds.

It's your first time riding the train that travels through the Mobius Strip, and certainly the first time in a luxury cabin. Since it’s free for members of the new year club, you can heave a sigh of relief. You will never in your life, even if it’s genetically elongated, ever be able to afford a luxury cabin.

"Oh, that looks so good," Yangyang says, large hand smacking against the window to get rid of the colourful advertisements.

"It's a convenience store, Yangyang," you say. "It's got everyday ramen."

"No, look. It's a different brand. And they're giving a burger for free with two ramen cups!"

You furrow your eyebrows at him. "Well, I guess it's cheaper too."

"Oh, we can go to one of the upper restaurants too. They're free, remember?"

"I like convenience stores," you mumble. There's something about the lack of even lighting and crowds that made them a comfort spot for you.

“Quick,” he says, pulling you off the seat when the train stops.

“Yangyang!” you warn. He's so easily excitable that you find it hard to believe he's real sometimes.

However, when he turns around with his big puppy-dog eyes, you curse at yourself before you curse at him. Sighing, you follow him down the steps, his hand tenderly holding yours. Sometimes, you wonder if the human touch means anything at all in this diamond and steel era. Yangyang’s palm is warm against yours.

The ramen tastes awfully delicious on stolen time, and you would complain more if it weren’t for Yangyang looking at you with so serene a look. It annoys you and you try to grab his attention by waving your chopsticks in front of him. When it doesn’t work, you resort to swearing. You’ve never seen anyone respond with a smiling hum after being told to “eat shit”.

“Oh, this tastes so good,” he states, cheeks puffed with food. “I think I’m going to cry.”

“I- I think you’re crying because it’s spicy.”

“Oh.”

As usual, Yangyang pokes and prods at you with questions about your daily life, like you’re the most interesting thing in a city full of blinding lights, world-class robots and cyber-enhanced technology. You don’t understand how he doesn’t just grow tired of asking every single detail about you.

Apart from the fact that Liu Yangyang is most certainly an environmental hazard, some part of you cannot believe that he's truly terrible. There's something innocent about him, but all at once, something quiet and mysterious.

“Why are you always so curious, Yangyang?” you ask finally. “Why are you always running off to different places?”

“Because experiences never come twice,” he answers after some thinking. It seems to be a little difficult for him to articulate, deep contemplation over his features when he continues. “This city… all the lights and clubs and arenas, all of it will be gone someday. Like we don’t have telephones or those big computers anymore.”

You rest your chin on your palm, leaning in.

“This moment, right here with you… I’ll never experience it again,” he tells you. “We can have more midnight convenience store ramen sometime later but… each time will be different. I’d rather live now.”

You smile softly. “That’s a funny thought to live by.”

“Yours isn’t any better,” he says, patting your head. “Also, I’m like hot and young and popular and not a cyborg—how can I miss parties?”

You shake your head, laughing. He’s ridiculous. He’s completely ridiculous. In that moment, when you look at him, Yangyang seems to be smiling in a daze, eyes on your face.

“You look nice when you smile,” he says quietly.

"Thanks," you respond. "I should keep it a secret then, huh?"

"Not from me," he says, smiling.

Somehow, the extra minutes you have at the convenience store turn to a few multiplayer games and then, ditching technology, to an arm wrestling match.

"I feel like this game is kind of unfair," you say after losing almost immediately. He's clearly got stronger muscles. Does he work out? Probably against his will, you bet.

“My right arm’s a lot stronger than my left arm,” he says, before looking a little horrified. “That wasn’t a masturbation joke, by the way. I am so sorry.”

You roll your eyes. "Give me your left hand then- wait. You're right-handed?"

"That's not the- uh." He thinks for a moment, trying to gather words. “That’s not the reason.”

“I, uh, I heavily damaged this arm when I was a kid—don’t look like that, there’s a fun part to this. It’s made of titanium! And some other things. The names are too complicated.”

You drive your fingers over the arm, so warm and real and flushed red, anything but metal and code. You find curiosity blooming in you more than ever before.

“You know why I’m not with family,” you say, straightening. “But why aren’t you celebrating with your family?”

He gets quiet, thinking to himself for a few more moments. You almost regret asking when he answers, a hesitant sound leaving him first.

“None of us, uh… none of our parents can spare more than three hours. They’ll come in the afternoon tomorr—today.”

You can’t exactly respond to that very well.

“So all of us go hang out at the New Year’s Club.”

You frown. "But it's not a celebration without family!"

"We have new year lunches. And… it's the future. Traditions die. Very few grieve them for fear of being stuck in the past."

You feel partly horrified and partly dismal. "I… You could come with me next year, if you like."

You're not sure where the offer comes from but Yangyang lights up at the idea.

"I can? Oh, we'll have so much fun!"

"Slow down. There's a year to go."

Yangyang laughs. It's surprising the way he turned out. He must have gotten tired of waiting by the door. And now you know all the things about him that his parents don’t.

You smile at him, warming up to the idea of you and him as friends before scoffing at it again.

Right in the next moment, Yangyang dips suddenly to the ground, crouching below the table. You look around in surprise and fall to your knees with a yelp at the tug on our wrist from Yangyang.

“What the hell?” you hiss. “You’re starting to act really weird.”

“I- Sorry. It’s an emergency,” he says, but there’s no sign of distress in his voice. He simply smiles at you. Perhaps he’s never heard of the emotion as of yet.

“Your babysitter?”

“I say that once and on accident—yes, it’s my babysitter.”

You chuckle. He’s simply too cute at times.

“We have to be discreet now, okay? It’s like—what’s the movie called? Oh, Mission Impossible.”

“I’ve never seen that.”

“What? How can you not? It’s a classic! It’s got so many cool—ah, I’ll show you another time.”

You hum, staring at Yangyang’s facial features tense up and relax again as he scans the vicinity outside the window of the convenience store. It’s full of people, even at this hour so you can’t possibly know who’s looking at you from there.

Yangyang turns back to you. “Have you ever been to blue moon station?”

“The one with the pretty walls? No. No, I’ve never even gone beyond Strip Two.”

Yangyang smiles at you and right then, you feel like you’re about to resent whatever’s going to happen next. It’s in the ebb and flow of tonight’s itinerary, however, and you relax your shoulders just as he does a roll across the floor, looking back at you with a grin for executing it flawlessly.

“You’re so silly,” you mutter.

“I heard that,” he whisper-shouts back.

You’re not as afraid as before, you realize. The lights are absolutely mesmerizing.

vi. blue moon station

It drops a few degrees in temperature once you step foot onto the platform. You can see a bunch of scattered tourists, cameras hanging around their neck and a look of awe over their faces.

Yangyang takes off his jacket, shivering immediately but offering it to you nonetheless. When you refuse, he places it gingerly over your shoulders.

"Is that a…?"

"A tourist bot, yes."

"Oh my god, it's so cute," you say, crouching by the little red robot, a teal-colored smiley face popping up on its monitor.

"A lot of tourists in this station," you note.

"Yeah. It's very… visually pleasing."

That's true. The walls are screens with three dimensional graphics, immersive enough to catch one's eye. A single tree grows through the middle of the station, evergreen and alive with holographic flora and fauna. The sun shines eternally over the tree. It's so beautiful that you had trouble taking your eyes off it at first.

The walls next to you are currently displaying a walk through a fantasy forest, crafted by a visionary artist, no doubt. A blue butterfly flies past you and you stare at it before zoning out.

Sometimes, the lights are too disorienting. You start to feel dizzy, massaging your forehead when Yangyang brushes the tips of his fingers against your shoulder.

“You good?”

Yangyang crouches beside you with watchful eyes.

You nod, turning your attention to the tourist bot. It displays a plethora of information about the architecture of this place which you're sure no tourist will bother to read beyond the first two lines.

“You can make it do cool tricks too,” Yangyang says. “Watch.”

Yangyang pokes at it with his index finger, drawing a pattern over the screen. The bot proceeds to do an old internet dance, waving about its arms and hips. You laugh at it and Yangyang looks at you with the pride of a third grader with first place on their science project.

The colours on the walls change and you see the animation of a man and a fox, furrowing your eyebrows as you try to recall that image. They seem to be broadcasting fables through the holograms. You can’t deny that they’re pretty—glowing with auspicious colours and as animated as the real world itself. As if by compulsion, you hold Yangyang’s hand. It’s nice to feel the human touch real once in a while, especially in the overwhelming loneliness of city nights.

Yangyang looks at you brightly and right then, you feel less inclined to leave him.

“You know, I could teach you better ways to flirt than just grab my hand,” he says, grinning like an idiot.

“What?”

You move your hand. “I’m not flirting.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he responds quickly. “Can I please have your hand back?”

You shake your head, laughing. He worries you. Some part of you says you shouldn’t be worried. It’s not like you’re close friends. (Friends, maybe. Close, not yet.)

The night has a different opinion.

—

“Found you,” a voice declares, and the two of you jump into each other with a scream.

The man in the suit looks at you with a fatigued look in his eyes, hair somehow still neat though he breathes like his lungs are on fire.

“Care to tell me why you’ve been skipping my calls?” he asks after catching his breath. “It’s not like I wanted to follow you—you just needed to tell me.”

“I… I was busy?” Yangyang flashes a smile. “Kun-ge, I honestly had no idea you called. I don’t even have my phone.”

The man shakes his head. “Fine. Just head over to Jasmine for the night. And you can bring your date too.”

He gestures at you and you want to deny it as quick as you can. You do not, however. It’s almost like you’ve warmed up to the idea of it rather well.

“Okay,” Yangyang answers quietly.

vii. jasmine private lounge

You enter a lounge with the capacity of around a hundred people. Despite that, there are hardly five present. The walls are black with neon jasmines pulsating from blue to red. A grand piano lies still in all its elegance in the middle of the lounge, played by a plain white AI. It feels like an expensive place to be, and more so, it feels like someplace you’re not supposed to step foot into. There's a bar table at one side, opposite to the entrance which glows a hypnotizing purple. A flat lettering on the wall declares the time to be 3 A.M.

You and Yangyang sit a little too close on the artificially warmed couch, waiting for Kun to return. Yangyang reassures you that you haven't done anything wrong but the illicit outing of yours certainly says otherwise. You contemplate tasting the cocktail Yangyang ordered before finally giving in and find it pleasantly warm to taste. You take another sip.

“It’s a little strong,” Yangyang warns. “Don’t have all of—you had all of it.”

You shrug. Your throat certainly feels better now. This lounge is fucking cold.

"You know, Yangyang," you say with the warmth of confidence on your face. "You're a really nice guy."

He smiles incredulously. "Thanks. You're really nice too."

"And you're pretty decent-looking—"

"I know that."

"—and also popular. So why are you always hanging around me?"

"Uh, that's your question?"

You nod. Placing your cheek against your palm, you try not to sink into the couch.

"Because you're really cool!" He answers before clearing his throat. "I mean. I think you're fun to be around. You make me see things clearer."

"And what exactly are you wanting to see clearer?'

"You."

You blink aside your astoundment, straightening. "What?"

Your question is left unanswered because a man enters and sits across the two of you, a loud huff of annoyance leaving his mouth. It's not just his disposition but the architecture of his face that grabs your attention. He looks like an AI robot so perfectly crafted with coloured lips and flawless skin that you end up staring till Yangyang elbows you.

“He’s not an AI,” Yangyang whispers.

You furrow your brows and notice it is, in fact, true that he's not an AI. There are no ridges over the joints or hollowness in the eyes. He wears the same frost-patterned smart lenses as Yangyang does. However, it doesn't change the fact that the man is beautiful to look at.

“I’m never hosting a new year party again,” he mutters, sinking into the couch.

“It actually sounds kind of fun,” Yangyang interjects. “I can’t wait for my turn.”

“I’m sorry. Good luck standing at Longhua temple for three hours till midnight just to make sure nothing goes wrong. Without dinner.”

Yangyang makes a face at that.

"That's Sicheng-ge," he says, turning to you.

"Ah," you say in response, remembering the name vaguely.

"He let us into Club 2," Yangyang says, noticing your lost expression.

"I think Kun's looking for you," Sicheng says, eyes trained at the back.

His hands fidget with the dim blue buttons at the edge of the table, till a small compartment reveals itself under the glass. An old world-style cigarette is slowly pushed up and Sicheng picks it up. He offers the next one to Yangyang, who accepts it hesitantly. No one smokes tobacco anymore when nicotine is so readily available. Alas, human nature is to want things deadly and out of reach.

“So how’s Cat?” Yangyang asks, fumbling with the plasma lighter he picked from a compartment on the side.

Sicheng smiles a little, the smoke from his cigarette snaking around him as he raises a hand to dissipate it.

“She’s doing fine. Running everything as usual.”

“Of course. Boss lady.” Yangyang does an awkward salute.

“Oh, a new hair color too. As pretty as flower fields in the spring of ‘22.”

Sicheng’s lovesick rambling is interrupted by Yangyang hacking his lungs out. You turn to him and he avoids your gaze, reaching for a crystal blue glass of water one of the helper bots offer. So, he’s not even a smoker? Why did he think you would care?

“Anyway, Kun is glaring daggers at me now. You better get out of here.” Sicheng grimaces.

You turn around to see Kun by the bar table, gesturing towards Yangyang to come. You're not sure why but either of those men make you nervous.

"I'll be right back," Yangyang says, scrambling up and leaving you in a long awkward silence with Sicheng.

“So, uh, I’m assuming you’re oblivious to that lovestruck puppy following you around?” Sicheng asks, raising an eyebrow. “Or is this some game you guys are into? I’m not judging you for that.”

Your face heats up and you fidget with your collar. “The- A what? Game? Uh? I- huh?”

Sicheng tries to press down his smile but it’s evident enough for you to see. Did you say something funny? Did Yangyang say something funny about you? Oh, you’re going to kill him.

“For all that he talks, he’s kind of terrible at pulling together his own love life.”

“I- I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

It still unnerves you to look at him. He certainly looks more android than human when he’s not making any particular expression.

“Don’t mind me,” he says, offering you a reassuring smile. “You should find Yangyang before he lands the two of you in trouble.”

You turn to look at Yangyang through the glass and turn back nodding. Sicheng offers you a parting smile and you hesitantly make your way to the bar table.

"This isn't in my job description," Kun tells Yangyang just before you arrive. "I didn't know being a lawyer included babysitting."

The tips of Yangyang's ears heat up when he notices you.

"It's not babysitting," he murmurs. “Also, you’re not my mom.”

"You, Ten, Kunhang, all of you give me such a hard time," he continues but pauses right when he notices you.

"Oh, hello. (Name), isn't it?" He says, smiling politely. He's quite young and handsome for a lawyer. "Yangyang talks about you a lot."

"Oh," you respond. "Really?"

Yangyang glares at the older man. "You don't have to say everything, Kun-ge."

"You interested in law?" Kun asks, offering you a seat between him and Yangyang.

You make a face. The law is a tool for the rich and powerful. But then again, what isn’t? The world is in your hands when you have billions to spare. However, you still can’t imagine being a rich man's guard dog your whole life.

Kun chuckles. "You kids are interested in tech more, aren't you?"

Yangyang interrupts, "You talk like you're fifty years old."

Kun grimaces, resting his face against his hand. Shooting a glare at Yangyang, he finishes the rest of his wine.

You're not exactly interested in tech or engineering or the big kid jobs either. You just want a way to survive this man-made food chain. Rich eats the world till there’s nothing left on the plate. Then again, you'd rather be a pet than get eaten.

"Anyway," Kun turns to Yangyang. "If you see Ten, give me a call."

Yangyang signals with a thumbs up gesture, watching as Kun’s figure slowly makes its way out of the gate. It’s the two of you again and suddenly, you feel a strange sort of feeling overcome you. Leaning your throbbing forehead against Yangyang’s shoulder, you take some soft breaths and skip the part where you question your actions. It’s pleasant, at the very least. He shifts his chair closer, extending his arm around you so that your head rests against his shoulder more comfortably.

“You must be tired,” he mutters.

“You didn’t answer me,” you say. “Answer in a way I understood, at least.”

“Hm?”

“Why do you hang around me?”

“Do you not… want me to?”

“No. I like your company, actually. I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

Yangyang laughs. “You’re… you’re really perfect. As a person. At least to me, you seem that way.”

You scoff. “You’re a long way off there.”

“No. No, you felt like clockwork,” he continues. “When I first met you. I couldn’t believe you were real.”

You do work like a delirious robot on clockwork steroids. But you’re not very proud of it. You don’t think overworking is a good personality trait to have—even if it’s for survival. However, the faraway look in Yangyang’s eyes suggests that’s not what he means.

“I felt like I understood you,” he continues after a short pause.

You find it unbelievable. That’s the one sentence you could never imagine coming from him to you, much less agree with. But right then, as his warmth seeps into you, you want to agree desperately.

Yangyang feels an unexpected trickle of doubt down his throat. No matter how many times he’s practised in front of the mirror, the words don’t come out right when you’re with him. With everything you do, he feels more drawn in. There’s something familiar and something honest. And if he’s honest himself, he just likes you. What sort of a hypocrite should he be categorized as, to tell his friends to ‘just confess’ to their crushes when he’s a complete idiot when it comes to you? It can’t be that little voice from his childhood that tells him to stay in order.

Yangyang understands that there are rules to this world but he doesn’t get what those have got to do with him. He sighs, the sound somewhat grim when it comes from him.

"I've seen it before," he says, "People come from all over the country with hopes and dreams, and they get their hearts broken by capitalism."

You frown.

"I don't want you to go anywhere," he mumbles. "I hope you'll stay… even if- even if you feel like that, you know? If you're feeling lonely, I could—"

"Yangyang." You smile. "I’m quite comfortable here."

When you bury your nose into the crook of his neck, Yangyang thinks this is it. This is how he ends the sorry excuse of flirting he’s been trying with you and says something he regrets. It was never this difficult with the other crushes he’s had. He’s always left opening his mouth and then promptly closing it like a goldfish out of water every single time he wants to bring up dating with you. He’s always honest. So, what’s the big deal this time? This is so horrendously not cool of him.

You straighten. “We should get back home.”

“Can you- Can you not move so far from me, please?” Yangyang murmurs, hands gripping yours.

You smile, to yourself more to him but that’s one he likes the most.

“You’re a really interesting person, Yangyang.”

“I am?” He clears his throat and repeats the question.

“How are you so nice to people?”

“I think people are nice.”

“Why do you like parties?”

“They’re fun.”

“When the party’s over, who do you go to?” you ask, words mushing into each other.

“Home,” he answers, gulping down what seems like more words. “Like always.”

A hush falls between the two of you. You’re asking quite the questions.

“I’m sweaty,” you mutter. “I hate being sweaty.”

“You look wonderful though,” Yangyang mumbles, more to himself than to you. “Not that being sweaty makes you wonderful. You’re just nice.”

There’s another hush, the notes of the piano playing a faraway, romantic tune. He turns away and looks back at you again, but right in that moment, you lean forward to press your lips against his. It’s so sudden that he almost falls over backwards, his feet planted firmly on the ground the only thing preventing that from happening. The next thing he thinks is that your lips are on fire and it’s the most comfortable feeling he’s ever experienced.

The two of you fit into each other like clockwork, Yangyang thinks. It’s the one thing in his life that feels whole. Not that he isn’t whole by himself—he just loves your warmth. For a moment he feels like he’s on cloud nine and the next, his heart plummets when he feels you go limp in his arms.

It breaks his heart a little but he doesn’t—can’t bring himself to say much. He’s not this bad when he’s drunk, is he? Pulling you up by the waist, he texts Kunhang to bring his car down to the lounge.

This is going to be a long night.

viii. home

You wake up to the sun in your eyes and immediately know you're someplace you shouldn't be. This isn't your bed. The sun doesn't reach your bed in the morning. This isn’t the dormitory. You see a cubical alarm clock, a pixelated smiley face on it as it displays 10 A.M.

You get up and immediately shriek. You’re not wearing any clothes. Pulling the blanket up to your chin, you look around the room. It’s huge; the walls are multicolored with a little section opposite the bed reserved for photographs. There’s a lot of junk all over the floor that you don’t pay mind to when you notice Yangyang.

“Yangyang?!”

He rouses blinking slowly, hair going every which way and his eyes still unfocused. He looks like he’s had a difficult night.

“Why are you on the floor?” you ask, shrinking further into the ridiculously soft bed when he gets up. Massaging the back of his neck, he looks like he's looking at a mirage instead of a real live person. Unfortunately, he’s not wearing a shirt and you look away after a prolonged minute of staring. This is getting ridiculous. What are you doing here?

“Yangyang!”

“Huh? Oh!”

He seems to be finally awake. You should pop the question before it eats you alive.

"Did- Did we…?"

Yangyang blinks at you in confusion before a loud "oh" erupts from his mouth.

"No!" He says in between laughter. "No, we didn't. Oh my god, you’re so funny. You took off your clothes saying it's too hot and smacked me with them. I didn’t look, by the way.”

Your jaw drops. You can’t even form words through the pulsing headache.

“Your clothes are on the chair. And I didn’t touch your underwear. Out of respect."

You avoid eye contact in embarrassment.

“And… well, you did kiss me once. Twice.”

You look up alarmed and he raises his arms in defense.

“You- you were drunk so I had to push you off. You cried a little after that. Sorry.”

“Oh god.” You cover your face with your hands, sitting down on the bed. That has to be the most embarrassing thing you could have done.

“You- Don’t worry about that. You’re a good kisser. I was kind of surprised,” he offers in an attempt to make you feel better but you only grow hotter in the face.

“And- And I liked it,” he adds in a panic. “Wait, I don’t mean it in a creepy way.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t anyone else.”

“What?”

“You. It’s okay if it’s you.”

You give him a weak smile, still not over the embarrassment.

Yangyang laughs. “I… I think I should’ve said this before but… can I take you out on a date?”

“What were we doing last night then?”

“Well, that was- ah. You’re teasing me. Motherfucker.”

You giggle into your palm. When he takes a seat on the bed, you make a distressed sound and he jumps up immediately.

“My clothes,” you hiss. “Get out of the room so I can wear them.”

“Right,” he says, pointing an index finger at you.

He turns around right then. "By the way…"

You shriek, pulling the cover up all the way to your nose.

"Sorry," he says, averting his eyes immediately. "If- if that was a date, did you like it? Do you wanna go on another one?"

You can see him practically sweat bullets and you laugh at the innocuous questions. He’s too cute. You can’t believe you made yourself shake off the thought every time it crossed you. However indelicate his touch is, you welcome it nonetheless.

"Yes. Yes, I'll go on a date with you. You annoying, stupid, bratty idiot."

“Okay, that was mean.”

Watching his figure leave through the door, you relax your shoulders. In the end, people will always be people. No matter what shiny new toy you give them to play with, people will always search for happiness, and they will laugh and cry and fall in love with people and places and things over and over again. It's lovely to be human in an era of diamond and steel.

#yangyang x reader #nct x reader #wayv x reader #yangyang scenarios #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #yangyang fluff #nct fluff #wayv fluff #yangyang fanfic #nct fanfic #yangyang fic #moonwrites #dawg idk what im doing imma be honest here

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lou-struck · 8 months ago

Text

Dodge This!

Mirio Togata x reader (ft. Tamaki Amajiki)

~ Mirio has a new hobby and he just had to bring you along to cheer him on.

W.C. 2.6k

a/n: this was a sleep-deprived idea but I really am happy at how this turned out. I really had to incorporate some non-canon pop culture references for narrative sake.

The dimly lit pathways do little to conceal the drying puddles of rainwater on the street around you as you and your boyfriend, Mirio Togata, pass rows of darkened buildings in the city's warehouse district.

"Are you sure we're heading to the right place, Mirio?" You whisper, looking around for any sign of another person. "It seems awfully quiet around here."

He gives you a smile and drapes one of his strong arms around you, pulling you close. "There's nothing to worry about, y/n; we'll get to the gym soon. I just can't wait for you to see me play."

The game in question, dodgeball…

It's no secret pro heroes have some of the hardest jobs out there. Over time, pros have found ways to unwind after work just like everyone else, joining book clubs, poker groups, and adult sports teams.

The latter of which has been gaining more traction in recent years.

After hearing about a quirk-friendly recreational dodgeball league, Mirio jumped at the chance to sign up for a chance to use his quirk for something other than work. The first few times he had gone out, he returned sweaty, slightly bruised from ducking and diving against the gym floor, but more happy than you have seen him in a while.

This is saying something because he is literally a big ball of Sunshine, hope, and optimism. All wrapped in a thick coating of good humor and affection.

At first, you did not want to go. Not because you weren't interested in watching a bunch of Pro Heroes throw rubber balls at one another but because it seemed like this was his thing. This little league has been so therapeutic for him you didn't want to inject yourself into the experience. But after weeks of pleading from him, you finally relented, knowing that in your heart, he wants to share this new and exciting part of his life with you, the person he loves most in the world.

"Oh, watch your step there," he says suddenly. His large forearm shoots out in front of your stomach to stop you from stepping into a massive pothole full of rainwater.

"Thank you." Looking down into the deep hole in the ground, you shudder, imagining the uncomfortable sensation of walking around all night with a sock drenched in rainwater. "You really saved me there, Lemillion." your smile is soft as you meet his twinkling gaze.

His smiling cheeks flush a light pink color at the soft way you said his Hero name. "Anything for you," he beams, taking your hand and guiding you over the obnoxiously large puddle. His hand stays comfortably on your own as you continue walking down the paved street. He happily hums the Mission Impossible theme song, his current hyper-fixation, until he comes to a stop in front of a large warehouse. The white fluorescent light on the outside flickers as it is circled by big white moths.

"And here we are," he declares, turning his attention to you. His features turn serious as he places both of his hands on your shoulder. "Now, do you remember the first rule of underground dodgeball?"

"Ummm, don't talk about underground dodgeball?" you reply as his poker face shatters into his usual joyful features.

"That's it,” he laughs, his body practically buzzing with excitement.

"I should've never made you watch Fight Club, "you mutter under your breath as he takes some sort of access card out of his jacket pocket and slides it into the electronic lock. It beeps in response and the little red light on the side of the sensor turns from red to green as the metal doors open for the both of you.

You are flabbergasted at the complexity of the private facility. "All this for dodgeball?" this is kinda high tech, and you wonder which one of the country's extremely wealthy, retired Pro Heroes decided to fund this operation.

"Yeah, isn't it the best?" he asks, practically bounding down the short hallway toward the ever-growing sound of chatter. His mannerisms remind you of a golden retriever on its way to the dog park. The mental image brings a smile to your lips as you step into a massive gymnasium, its warm overhead lights illuminating the whole room.

A massive indoor sports court lies in the center of the room, surrounded by a few rows of bleachers.

There are already a multitude of heroes and sidekicks standing around the room, some tossing red rubber balls into the padded walls with a scary strength behind them. The impact sends shivers down your spine as you worriedly look to Mirio. But he doesn't seem nervous in the slightest at the possibility of decapitation by rubber ball. Instead, his blue eyes are alight with the fires of competitive determination.

"This is…" The word frightening lingers on the tip of your tongue, but he beats you to the punch.

"Incredible isn't it? In here we get to let loose a bit and have fun without worrying about our rankings or the media."

You nod, noticing the carefree smiles of the other Heroes in the room. This league is a good thing for them to have fun and just act like they are normal people whilst throwing rubber balls at each other.

He looks at the clock counting down on the switchboard above the gym and shoots you an embarrassed grin. "It looks like we are cutting it a bit close today. My game starts in five minutes, so I'll have to warm up a bit so I can really impress you."

"I'm already impressed with you Mirio," you smile fondly. "I'll go up to the bleachers and get all settled in."

You turn to leave him to his own devices, and you feel a gentle pull on your wrist before you can step away. "Wait," he says firmly, the look on his face dead serious. "You're forgetting something."

"You cock your head to the side and try to remember what he could be talking about. When he sees that furrow in your brow, his serious face melts away, revealing that mischievous boyish grin that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. "You forgot my good luck kiss."

"Oh my," you mock gasp, "how could I forget such an important thing?"

He shakes his head, "It's a crime for sure; you'll have to pay double for this infraction."

"I think that can be arranged," you chuckle, closing the short distance between your two bodies and pressing two gentle pecks to his lips. The kiss is brief, but you can still taste the berry-flavored chapstick he put on earlier lingering on his lips.

You pull away and playfully tug down on the hem of his shirt. "Good luck, Mirio," you murmur, nudging him off toward the court where his other teammates are waiting for him.

It's a short walk up a lightweight metal staircase to the raised bleachers. Since these leagues are pretty low profile, there aren't many spectators. You see a few groups of people waiting to play in the next round, but near the back of the bleachers, you spot a familiar-looking head of indigo hair sitting all by themselves.

"Hello, Tamaki," you say, coming over to sit next to your friend. "I didn't know you were on one of the dodgeball teams."

"I'm not," he replies, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth. The heavenly aroma of butter fills your nostrils as you pull your gaze away from the bag he must've gotten from one of the little concession areas in the warehouse. "But someone at my agency wanted to make plans tonight, and I told them I was busy, so I decided to come here so I wasn't lying to them."

"Oh, I get it," you say sympathetically. "But I'm glad you're here. I don't really know anyone else, so it will be nice to have someone to talk to."

He gives you a small smile and tilts his popcorn bag towards you. "Thanks y/n. Here, take some. I saw you were looking at it earlier."

"Thank you," you smile embarrassedly at the realization you are just as sneaky as Mirio. "Was it that obvious?"

"Just a little bit," he says.

Suddenly, you are interrupted by the sound of a rubber ball hitting the wall with a terrifying force. It barrels back at the player who threw it like a boomerang. "Wow, do these balls just not pop?"

"Not usually," Tamaki says. "Since these games are for Pro Heros, the equipment was designed by support specialists to be extra durable. Occasionally, things will break, but it's way less common than with normal equipment."

"I see," you say quietly. Instinctually, your eyes dart over to Mirio in concern, but he looks so genuinely happy stretching and talking with his teammates it gives you a sense of security. If he isn't worried, you shouldn't be either.

A short man in a referee uniform steps up to the side of the court and blows the silver whistle from around his neck. The clear, high-pitched sound echoes off the walls, signaling to the teams of six to take the court.

A line of red rubber balls sit motionless in the center of the court. The players are touching the back walls with just the tips of their fingers as they stare the balls down hungrily as they try to decide which one to go for first.

There is a competitive intensity in the air that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up, but when you finally zero in on your boyfriend on the court, he doesn't seem to be at all intimidated.

Instead of the balls or his opponents or anything else game-related, you see that he is looking up in the bleachers right at you. A big, goofy grin rests on his face as he waves up at you enthusiastically.

You laugh and give him a small wave back just as the starting whistle blows, and both teams are off. Mario doesn't run toward the line of ammunition at all; he hangs back and paces across the floor with an open, unassuming posture that basically invites his opponents to chuck a ball at his chest.

It doesn't take long until the first player takes the bait. A woman with plum-colored skin and a long silver ponytail steps up and throws the ball his way with a wicked speed. It has a slight backspin as it barrels toward his face.

It gets closer and closer until he activates his quirk, and it passes harmlessly through his body and hits the wall behind him. If it weren't for the special workout clothes he was wearing, you would worry about him sinking through the ground and popping up completely naked.

"Nice throw," he smiles, crouching slightly to pick up the now harmless ball. "If that had hit me, I would definitely feel that tomorrow." He winds up his throw and slings it across the court with a curve.

The woman dodged just barely, but the man behind her wasn't so lucky. The ball hits one of his spring-loaded knees as he tries to leap out of the way and is sent off by the referee.

"Way to go Mirio." you cheer happily. When the sound of your voice reaches his ear, he can't help but puff out his chest with pride.

'Watch me,' he mouths, stepping into the middle of the court.

"Looks like someone is getting overconfident," Tamaki mutters next to you.

"What do you mean?" you ask as Mirio sneaks a smile your way just as his opponents throw three balls at him at once. Thanks to his quirk, he is basically untouchable. If this whole 'hero thing' doesn't work out, you are sure he will have a promising career in the underground dodgeball circuit.

Because that is totally a real thing.

"Wow, he's incredible," you murmur to Tamaki.

"He is," the hero replies, "but Mirio has a weakness."

"Really?" you ask, struggling to think of how he can lose at this game, "how so?"

"Just watch, you'll see what I mean," he replies, taking a long sip from his water bottle.

And watch you do.

As the game rages on, Mirio's teammates are picked off one by one until Mirio finds himself staring down his opponents. The woman with the silver ponytail and the man with the strength quirk you saw earlier warming up. 2 vs. 1 may not be a fair fight, but you have full faith in your boyfriend.

His evasive maneuvers are professional and practiced. He is so good at dodging, ducking, dipping, diving, and dodging some more until all of the balls on the playing field end up on his side, safely out of his opponent's reach.

With a bright red ball in his hand, you see him wind up his throw, rush to the top of the court, and send it flying through the air with all his might.

But the man from before, smiling in his black leather singlet (which cannot be comfortable), catches the ball with one of his giant hands as if it were a balloon.

Mirio is out.

The ref blows the final whistle, and the match ends.

After shaking hands with each one of his opponents, his smile falls, and he sulks over to you with his head hung low. "Ahhh, I was so close," he groans, plopping down next to you and leaning his sweat-dusted brow on your shoulder.

"But you played so well," you say gently, consoling him. "This is so much fun to watch. Thank you for inviting me."

He perks up and puts his chin on your shoulder. "You had fun?"

You nod and press your lips to his forehead. "So much fun."

Tamaki clears his throat. "You player well, fo you play again?"

"Tamaki, thank you for coming." Mirio smiles, looking over to his best friend. "Yeah, I think we play again after this game. Do you want to play? I think we can add in an extra player."

The indigo-haired man's eyes go wide as he starts to shake his head. "N-no, I can't."

"Why not?" Mirio asks cocking his head to the side."

You watch as Tamaki tries to come up with an excuse. “Because… because…”

"That doesn't sound like a reason to me." you hum thoughtfully.

Mirio claps his hands together. "Perfect, then you'll be playing on my team in the next round."

"We could get ice cream afterward." you offer as the shy hero accepts his fate.

He narrows his eyes. "Fine, I'll play. But you're paying."

"Done," you agree, as your boyfriend looks like he is about to burst from happiness at the idea of playing dodgeball with his best friend.

"This is great!" he exclaims, patting Tamaki on the back. "There's extra clothes in the locker room in the back, go get changed."

"You sound too excited about this," Suneater mumbles as he heads off toward where the locker room must be, with the slightest hint of pep in his step.

Your boyfriend looks at you warmly, his sapphire eyes filled with love as he takes your hand. "Thank you for helping me convince him to play. I think this will be good for him to let loose a bit."

"I think you guys will have fun." you say earnestly, "I can't wait to watch."

Mirio gently pokes your cheeks.

"Hey y/n?"

"Babe?"

"The love of my life?"

You scoff as his enthusiasm brings a smile to your lips. "Yes?"

"If we win the next game can I get two scoops?" he leans in close to you and peppers your face with bribing kisses, your favorite form of currency."

"Mirio, if you win. I'll get you three scoops."

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

#my hero academia mirio #bnha #mha #my hero academia #Mirio x reader #mirio togata x reader #x reader #tamaki amakiji #mirio togata #mha fluff

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itsonlydana · 8 months ago

Text

"passenger princess" | final chapter

the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana

❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader

❱ wordcount: 7,5k

❱ summary: the rules of a man keeping love from himself and the girl who broke them

❱ warnings: mature language

❱ an: so, here it is. The last chapter. This was originally 24k on ao3 and now we hit 42k and around 148 pages on google docs. This has been unbelievable and i'm so glad to have added this and that and posted on here <3 thank you all for every comment & kudos & repost and just all of it🩷

general m.list + series m.list

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3

CHAPTER NINE: WHISPERS

The drive was a lot quieter than usual.

The radio still played classical music, the soft piano music filtering through the stereo and cradling you in welcome melodies. Instead of the usual chatter, you opted for silence, preferring to listen to Thranduil as he talked to you about his day in the softest of voices.

Once or twice you huffed out a wet laugh through your nose at something he sayed, a quip against one of his coworker or a joke he thought off, nearly soundless but Thranduils lips quirked up nevertheless.

He proved to be correct about the weather forecast too; shortly after the car departed from the city streets and ventured onto the highway, the skies opened up.

Initially, the rain descended in a gentle pitter-patter, small droplets defiantly challenging the windshield wipers. The lights of passing cars transformed into watercolor circles, providing a soothing spectacle that eased your eyes and calmed your nerves.

And not once left Thranduils hand your leg for longer than necessary.

You were watching him, looking at his side profile as he drove you through the night and quietly chatting. Giving you time. Not pushing you into telling him why he had to pick you up crying and had to hold you while you were crashing down a cliff.

He'd done it without a second thought, picking you up this godless hour like he hadn't been in bed already and abandoned sleep for you.

Thranduil, who waited for you to be ready to tell him what happened, throwing his evening plans for you overboard, once again coming to get you and comforting you with his touch; the spark inside your heart soared.

If this wasn't love, what else could it be?

By the time you arrived at the Oropherion home, the soft drizzle of the rain had turned into merciless streams of water crashing down to earth, obscuring the view out the front window as soon as the ignition died and the wipers came to a stop.

The seatbelts clicked loudly.

"I forgot an umbrella."

You turned your head from the shape of the house you could make out through the water streaming down the window to Thranduil. He had leaned forward to be able to look out the window as well, head tilted sideways and his mouth curled downwards at the sides.

"I guess we will have to run," you said softly.

"No. I will run, grab one of the umbrellas in the entry hall and pick you back up."

You let out a snort and your hand all but flew to your mouth.

"What?" Thranduil asked but you shook your head. "Why did you laugh?"

Your hand fell back into your lap, down to Thranduils one. "You don't have to run and then come back only for me to be dry. That's really unnecessary," you told him, biting your lower lip as you felt a smile blooming inside you "Though it is appreciated that you would do that for me."

He mirrored your smile and it's so heartful and warming, the way his lips changed from the frown and lifted up and you could see the smile reaching his eyes, his eyebrows relaxing as well as his jaw.

"Then let us run quickly and hope we are fast enough," Thranduil agreed, leaning towards you and opening your door, then his. He looked at you. "On go?"

You nodded.

"Three."

"Two."

"One."

"Go!"

Both of you jumped out of your seats, slamming the doors shut and then you were off. The rain poured down relentlessly as you and Thranduil dashed through the downpour towards the entrance of the house.

Within seconds you were completely soaked, wet from head to toe and your clothes clung to your body when you stumbled up the steps to the door, Thranduil close behind you.

So close, that he nearly crashed into you, as he took two steps at a time and stopped just a few centimeters from where you leaned heavily against the entrance, trying to wring out some of the water out of the sweater.

His hands landed next to your head with a thump as he stopped himself, the momentum of his halting resulting in his hair following his body, smacking against your face like a lasso. Not with much force but it still had you spluttering to get a few of the strands out of your mouth.

Thranduils face contorted in embarrassment as he realized what had you smacking your lips and huffing out a cough and he threw his long hair back over his shoulder. "Don't grin at me," he groaned while pulling his keys out of his pocket "I will die of humiliation if you ever speak of this in front of Legolas."

"What of?" you teased, "That you nearly ran me over with your tall body or that I got a taste of hair because you can't control that tall body?"

"Neither!" he growled, then yanked his keys out and jammed them into the keyhole. Before turning it, he stopped, locking down at you, flattened between him and the door.

His perfect thick eyebrows raised almost in a hesitant question in themselves. "You won't, right?"

Knowing he had been an – involuntarily – witness to many of the evenings Legolas and you had spent in their living room wearing your cutest pajamas and face masks that had scared him more than once, while you painted each others nails and gossiped like you would get paid for it by the minute, you understood the underlying fear in Thranduils voice.

Chuckling, you raised a hand, and curled your fingers around one of the few strands that clung to his drenched sweater and glistening jaw.

"I won't," you said but the eyebrows rose higher at the light amusement in your voice so you reassured him while brushing the strand behind his ear, following the curve of it to the pointed tip and felt him shuddering under the light touch.

"I promise! Pinky swear that I won't tell Legolas anything that involves your hair or your body," As soon as those words were out of your mouth, you grimaced.

Thranduil did too.

That didn't came out like you had wanted it to.

Even the simple thought of telling Legolas anything that involves anything private with Thranduil... no– you're sure that this would never happen.

You had tried talking to Legolas once more about the matter, checked in with him to ask what he thought of the progress you and Thranduil had been making after the cabrio conversation, and he had simply given you his permission if he wouldn't have to call you "mother"; a compromise you had rushed to agree to.

"Ew," you murmured, teeth being close to chattering as the wind slapped a fresh wave of rain your way "Never mind."

Thranduil nodded quickly. The one hand pressed against the door slid down and to your waist, leading you into the entrance hall after the key had turned and the both of you were stumbling into the safety of the house.

Inside, water dripping on the dark hardwood floors, Thranduils other hand found your waist as well, as he led you through the dark house from behind you.

You didn't bother with turning on the lights, you trusted Thranduil with finding his way through a house he had lived in for his whole life.

It almost ended in stumbling, especially given the trail you left behind, practically begging for a "caution: wet floors" sign. Thranduil was so near that you could feel not only his hands but occasionally his chest too, particularly when rounding corners or ascending stairs.

Somehow though you found yourselves in front of a closed door on the third floor with no injuries except for that ache in your heart that while being number than earlier, seemed to be a constant companion for the time being.

You knew in an instant what was behind said closed door.

It's quite an accomplishment to know what was behind it, looming, if you would have to be specific.

There were a lot of doors in the Oropherion house: the kitchen had three, there was a pantry door, Legolas bedroom door, the guest room doors, the library doors, the door to the cellar, and if you were in the right state – beer pissed if there was no other option but preferably wine tipsy – there was no telling where you would end up.

Well, the chances of you crashing into a storage room when you were aiming for the guest room you always stayed in were pretty high, high enough Legolas – or Thranduil nowadays – would accompany you up and save to the door, making sure you slept in the bed rather than a makeshift situation out of aprons and rags.

How easy it would be to lie and say that only happened once…

But no matter the level of alcohol in your blood and head, you never dared opening this door.

This was the only door you never touched, never even stopped in front of.

Sure, in your mind you were a regular visitor but that was between you and the fantasies coming alive ever since Thranduil had picked you up from that bar the one fateful night!

In reality, notably, a reality where you were much closer to those fantasies now than ever, there had never been an opportunity to come up to the third floor.

There were only three rooms up here.

The study behind the last door at the end of the hallway was where Thranduil would sometimes disappear into. You knew he hoarded some very special editions of books that you two had discussed.

The first door was to the old nursery, now no longer used but for an empty threat Thranduil held in his hands if Legolas dared to ignore the very few rules they had. If the threat was that Legolas would move back into the nursery or if Thranduil would bring out whatever was in there was not the matter, it was enough to bring Legolas back on track if needed.

And of course…

The master bedroom.

Thranduil's bedroom.

The one Thranduil was currently opening before you, his hands on your waist and his breath hot on your neck as he steered you into the room.

Unlike you, he didn't seem to give the situation a second thought, much less a third, fourth and from the way he kissed you on the back of the head and then walked to a door on the right side of the room, he wasn't on the verge of a nervous breakdown either.

You, on the other hand, could only stare at the room unfolding, exchanging the images of it you had drawn in your mind.

The bedroom you had imagined had been clinically tidy, in no more colors than grey, white and maybe he would be crazy and had thrown some black in there, and he would've had few pictures and books but just the barest minimum to have it look like this wasn't a furniture exhibition and not too much that the room could mess with the image of the cold, serious, stern and intimidating lawyer he put out for strangers.

For once, the walls were painted a beautiful dark green with gorgeous panels that graced them from the dark wood floors to the high ceilings, similar to the bay windows that reached the ceilings as well but had a slim bench.

The windows were framed by long rusty colored curtains. These windows would surely flood the room in the sunlight whenever the weather wasn't dark and gloomy like today.

Right now you couldn't even look out, but you knew from the guest room one floor under you, that this room had the perfect view of the garden that stretched behind the house and Thranduil would be able to look out right into the cherry tree.

There was a giant king-sized bed pushed against one of the walls without windows, the sheets midnight blue and most certainly silk, the pillows propped against the wooden headboard, and there were enough of them to make it look like the perfect place to disappear into sweet dreams.

Two nightstands were on either side of the giant bed, both had a simple lamp and some burned-down candles on them, as well as a book and a picture frame that was facing the bed.

On the left side of the bedroom door was another door left ajar, allowing you a small peak into the en suite bathroom, because of course Thranduil had his own private bathroom and you nearly snickered thinking of the many hair and skin products that he would hide in there.

On the window-side of the bed were two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, filled to overflow with books, many of which you recognized even from afar. There was also a comfortable-looking old wing chair in front of the shelves, a wine-red blanket thrown over its arms.

Your eyes wandered to the right side of the room, to the door leading to the walk-in closet where Thranduil was currently pulling out some clothes.

Next to the door was a small desk with another bookshelf. Papers lay scattered on the surface in front of a dark computer, around them opened books and even more picture frames.

The room shocked you in the best way possible.

Everything looked so… well lived in.

From the pictures on the wall, shelves and every surface that they fit onto in an aesthetical, home-y way, to the phone cable next to the bed (you would tease Thranduil about that later; after all was he the one always bickering with Legolas that he shouldn't sleep with his phone in his bed), and the used cup with a coffee stain on the side next to one of the many books next to the wing chair.

He had some potted plants as well, tall ones in between the windows and smaller ones on shelves and the benches, and they didn't even look close to dying.

Not like the little cactus in your room that you would forget to water and if you remembered you would throw in whatever you were drinking that moment into the pot.

You could even spot a pair of socks next to the bed. Next to the unmade bed.

Thranduil had said on the phone that you'd called him when he was about to retire to sleep but seeing the rustled sheets and a thrown of pajamas right before you made it all so real.

This was Thranduil's bedroom, littered with pieces of his personality and you were standing right in the middle of it…

… dripping on what was probably a very expensive carpet.

With that realization you took a step back, whipping back and forth on your heels, eyes landing on Thranduil.

"Okay, I took the liberty to pull out some clothes for you," Thranduil said and stepped out of the closet, a gray sweater and what looked like black shorts in his hands. "You can change in the bathroom over there, through the door next to the bed." The clothes landed in your hands, you carefully held them away so as to not get them too wet and Thranduils smiled at you. "If you need anything, yell, alright? There should be some towels in there as well and I have a spare toothbrush under the sink."

You just nodded.

Entering the bathroom was another shock, considering it was as big, no definitely bigger, than the whole of your room and you could have sworn even the curved bathtub was bigger than your bed.

Right then, it looked more comfortable as well.

You switched on the lights and instead of one big light, many smaller ones lit up and bathed the room in a somehow quiet light. How light could be described as 'quiet' was beyond explanation for your tired mind, it fitted nonetheless.

Peeling the cold and wet sweater off pulled more on your heartstrings than on the synapses in your brain that would normally scream because of the fabric clinging to your skin most unpleasantly.

You hoped you could wear it again another time. You carefully draped it over the edge of the tub and the dress you had put on followed regardless of how dry it had been thanks to the sweater.

You couldn't get it off fast enough.

Certainly, you were aware that you had it on; you could feel the fabric stretching over your curves.

However, the encounter with it in the large round mirror above the sink was a startling surprise. Before you knew it, your mind was replaying the events of the evening right before your eyes.

Quickly and trying to avoid the breakdown winding its way up your body you scrambled for a towel, drying off the rest of the rainwater on your damp arms and legs, as well as wringing out your hair in an attempt to at least stop the dripping.

Then you all but jumped into the warm clothes Thranduil had given to you. The sweater that now pooled over your hands was long enough to reach your thighs and as inviting as the thought of ditching the pair of shorts was, you felt the slightly cool air nipping your legs.

But not even the soft fabric and nice smell, pines, and laundry detergent, could hold off the impending tears that came up when you brushed your teeth with the promised toothbrush and stared at yourself in the mirror.

You were able to wash off the makeup with some wipes and now there was a red, puffy face that pulled the same grimaces as you, the evidence of your crying as clear as the hurt in your eyes.

After spitting out your toothpaste and washing your face once again, you turned off the lights and stepped back into the bedroom.

It was dark there as well, the room illuminated by the lamps on the bedside tables, their glow casting golden hues on the face of the man standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

Your lips were automatically drawn upwards at the sight of Thranduil, especially now that he wore the dark blue pajamas. His hair was thrown together in a bun at the top of his head, some strands framing his face perfectly and lining up with his jaw.

His tongue swiped over his lips, cerulean eyes watching you intensely and you didn't miss when they raked over your body and how they lightened up.

"Did you find everything?"

"Yes, thank you."

More silence.

Thranduil took a step towards you, stretching his hand out in a wavy indication to the bed. "Uhm–" he cleared his throat "I don't want to impose but do you want to stay here tonight?"

Your jaw fell open at the invitation which prompted Thranduil's eyes to widen in shock. "You don't have to if you don't want it! I can bring you back downstairs to your room if you prefer some solitude after today–"

"No–"

"I wouldn't be mad, love."

"Thranduil," the second his name fell from your lips he shut his mouth.

"I will never get enough of that," he said quietly and you tilted your head in question. "Before you, my name was such a strange sound on the lips of others. Now.. now I fear that nothing I'll ever hear will sound as beautiful as my name when you say it."

Your face flushed hot at this admission, spoken so honestly that you knew it to be true.

"Well, uhm, Thran– Thranduil, I wouldn't mind… sleeping here, I mean," you rambled on, the thoughts in your brain scrambled like eggs or flown away like the leafs on the cherry tree outside; his words were a strong wind shaking your composure to the point you adverted your eyes in the fear of proclaiming all your love all of the sudden.

What came out your mouth instead, was a long yawn.

The exhaustion of the last two hours (how it had been only two and not more since the party) was rushing to your head now that you were finally in warm and dry clothes and additionally in Thranduils company, your body aching for rest.

Thranduil ultimately smiled, nodding once before he placed his hand on your lower back and turned you around. "Then it would be my absolute pleasure to have you here with me this night and every night you wish. Now, hush hush to bed or else you'll fall asleep right there"

Your cheeks turned another shade of pink and you wished the guest room a swift goodbye, not once feeling bad about abandoning the room next to your best friend if it meant you could sleep next to Thranduil.

That one morning you had awoken on the sofa was the sweetest of memories, especially the feeling that his tall body hugging you close to his chest had awoken.

He was someone that could protect you.

The moment you climbed onto the bed – and yes, climbed; the bed was high enough to have you move with one knee first and then try to gracefully jump the last part – the fabric of the sheets drew you in with their soft and light feel to it.

Thranduil joined you, slipping under the sheet on the right side of the bed and arranging the pillows in his back to his liking.

You observed the action, the routine in the movement of his hands as they pulled out the hair tie that had held his hair back and now removed, let the silver strands fall down his back and sides.

He grabbed his phone after he discarded the tie on the nightstand, the glow of the screen in the dark reflecting in his eyes as he switched to his alarm app and turned off the one single alarm that he had.

You snorted at that, pulling his attention to you.

"Sorry," you quickly said at his raised eyebrow "I didn't want to snoop. It's just funny that you have a single alarm while my phone in the morning rings nearly at a one-minute tact."

Thranduil chuckled and looked at his phone before turning to you. "Oh, I wondered why the hell you were getting calls in the morning when you sleep here. Not even my line in the office is that busy. And you still oversleep with that awful noise blasting your eardrums," he teased and you rolled your eyes at him.

"I do not oversleep!"

"You don't? My love, I can hear those appalling ring tones for what? An hour, two?"

"That's not oversleeping," you retaliated and lifted your nose into the air "I simply set my alarms an hour before I have to wake up so I can get that sweet sensation of being able to fall back asleep again and again," you sighed, reminiscent of the moments your head was being pulled back into the world of dreams

"and again..."

"You can't possibly fall asleep in those five– no two minutes that your phone is quiet before the next alarm screams out," Thranduil looked at you with disbelief.

"Of course I can, I'm a student. I will even accept the five minutes I have when Professor Baggins is making himself a cup of tea"

The sole look on your face told Thranduil you were serious and he shook his head, laughing to himself.

"It's been a long day," Thranduil said and you stifled a yawn. He chuckled, leaning over the small gap between you and breathed a short kiss on your forehead. "Let's sleep, my love," he murmured against your skin there and kissed you again. "You need the rest and I do too. We shall not wake with any alarm, you will sleep as long as you want."

"Uhm, then I would never leave this bed. Ever," you said and grinned, leaning against his lips in an attempt to get another kiss out of it.

He complied, laughing while doing it and the hot air of his breath caressed your face nearly as intimate as his hands on the side of your face.

You smiled but feigned a serious voice, one that could sound threatening if your smile wouldn't have shone through it: "I mean it! I will never ever get out of this bed, you will have to deal with me being here until I've worn out these gorgeous sheets."

Huffing, Thranduil sat back, a grin wide on his face. "Oh, how terrible that sounds! Most unfortunate... for your friends and university. I shall call them right in the morning and tell them Sleeping Beauty has fallen into her slumber and there was nothing I could do against it."

The sheets rustled as you giggled and wiggled down until your head rested comfortably on one of the pillows.

He looked down at you, the grin fell to a dramatic frown as when he reached over and stroked your cheek. "This fate must be so hard on you; staying here with me for all eternity."

You copied the dramatic sigh of his and tilted your head to face the ceiling. "The journey will be hard, but these pillows are soft enough to even it out. Besides, I'm sure there are worse possible outcomes for my future than sleeping here and waiting for a pretty prince to kiss me awake"

Grinning a Cheshire cat-like grin you snuggled deeper into the covers, pulling the sheet up your chest and inhaled the very masculine smell of them.. Thranduils smell.

"Maybe you can send Legolas up here to try"

A low blow, yes, you knew.

But Thranduil simply raised his eyebrow, he was so good at that, you envied him and wondered if he was born with simple talent or if he had worked for the perfection of the timing and the arch, and pushed the hair that had fallen on his chest back behind him.

"I would lock the door before allowing that," his lips curled in amusement.

Looking him up and down you pinched your lips. "Now that you say that, you do have an astonishing resemblance to Mother Gothel," For a moment you pondered "We would only need to dye your hair black, a shame, but– oh look! You even have the same scowl!"

Thranduil did indeed stare you down, cerulean eyes glaring until you saw the tiniest twinkle of mischief not just in his gaze but in the corner of his mouth as well. "I fail to see a resemblance between you and Rapunzel but if you exchange the Adam Sandler look you are wearing right now with a white nightgown I could see you as a slightly more obstinate Berta Manson," He reached over again and poked a long and slender finger into the pout of your cheeks. "And look at that, even the third floor fits!"

You gasped out loud at that, feigning hurt across your features whilst crossing your arms in front of your chest.

But before you could think of anything to retort, a yawn took over for you, breaking the teasing.

Thranduil promptly dropped his act as well, not fighting the besotted smile as he gave you another kiss, this time to the cheek. His hair tickled you when he leaned down and you scrunched your nose.

"As much as I would love to hear what comparisons you could up with," he started and his voice was low, deep, rolling through your entire body in pleasant waves "I believe sleep is in order. Good night my darling, sleep well." He leaned to the side and grabbed the cable hanging there, connected it with his phone, and set it down on the table, turning off the lights while he was at it.

Without making much noise Thranduil settled into the pillows again and his legs brushed yours under the covers.

"Excuse me", he said softly and drew back.

The rain was still heavy against the windows, supported by a low rumbling in the distance and the howling of the wind that shook the trees outside the house.

Nature was loud with everything, from the brewing thunder to the raindrops collecting in a puddle on the window sill in a constant drip drip drip...

The silence inside the room was unbearable loud for you. The rustling of the sheets when you moved even the tiniest bit was as loud in your ears as the roaring ocean waves crashing against the shore, hell, you even thought your swallowing and blinking would make enough noise for Thranduil to hear.

Just as all the lights had gone out, something had settled over the room.

You couldn't put your finger on it, didn't know what it was exactly that was now present but you could feel it in your stomach.

It wasn't awkwardness.

Not like you had sometimes felt it after one night stands when the guy would stay in your room and it would suffocate you to have this person next to you that you really didn't want to have there.

Not like you had felt it the first time you had to crash at Aragorns and he you had fought about where you would sleep and he'd made the argument that you both were adults and could sleep in one bed after twenty minutes of back and forth.

You had kept your distance to him that night and it was like every bit of friendly affection was put on hold for the six hours you had tried not to move and accidentally brush against him.

It wasn't like that now.

It wasn't discomfort either.

It was more pressing, eating away at you and crawling it's way up your body, from your stomach where it fluttered similar to nervousness, biting down in your chest and had you taking a deep breath until you felt it in your throat.

You tried to swallow only to found your mouth full of words that pressed against your teeth and lips, urging to be said out loud into the silence of the room.

You slightly opened your mouth, wettened your lips as the words formed each other to a sentence.

A statement.

A question.

"You never asked what happened tonight."

A whisper.

And then, the rustling of sheets.

Thranduils voice was hesitant at first: "It isn't my place to question it. I figured you would either tell me when you are ready or not at all and I would be fine with it either way." While he talked you could hear and feel him moving, sitting up against the pillows again. "I was worried, god yes and so much, but as soon as I knew that you were safe– safe with me, then I gave you the choice," he talked quietly, concern etched into the words when he seemed to remember the phone call.

The answer wasn't enough to satisfy the restlessness that harbored your body, it seemed to fuel it further and you had to sit up as well to try to calm a few of the nerves. "Yes, but wouldn't you want to know?" you asked in the direction you could make his face out. "I had you driving to the city without telling you anything and you did it. Without question."

"Are you mad at me for doing so?" he asked, the frown audible in his voice.

Your frustration grew and you felt the childish need to kick your legs or cry again. "No!" you said, far too loud and immediately lowered your voice, "No, I'm not mad. I just can't wrap my head around it. If I had written any of my friends they wouldn't have let go until I told them anything and then try to strangle whoever is responsible."

In a second the lights were switched on again and you saw a horrified look on Thranduils face. "Whoever is responsible?" he repeated, the words strangely choked "I– sweetheart I believe you if you tell me you are alright but if there is anyone out there that hurt you I promise you I can help."

You lowered your head as he talked but soft and cold fingers on your chin forced you to look at him again.

His eyes wandered over your face with the same precision of taking everything in and he fixed you with a worried expression. "I care for you, very much so and I know this day was exhausting for you so if you want us to go back to sleep I'll rest but you worry me. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Could you hold me? Please?"

It took a lot for the words to come out, the question not an easy one but you found yourself being tugged over to Thranduil, the man pulling you without as much as a question or hesitation, and struggle.

You landed on his lap in seconds, your knees digging into the pillows at either side of him and you fell into his chest with a deep sigh.

Almost instantly his arms wrapped around you, pulling the sheet up to cover your back and him with it and you rested your head on his shoulder, your arms holding onto him with the same eagerness to hold him close as his.

"There was an argument at the party," you began, whispering the words into his shoulder loud enough for him to hear them.

"My roommate wanted me to meet a guy, the brother of the guy she had been hanging out with; and at first I made a joke about her with these two guys, brothers because she had been joking too but then she told me one would be there for me."

Pausing, you took a deep breath. Your hands had wandered, twirling starlight blonde strands between your fingers. It calmed you, grounded you.

"And I was shocked, really shocked and annoyed because why would she invite a guy for me to make out with as if I didn't have a say in it? Who does that? I have told here before that that's not something I do, especially not now…" your voice trailed off, "Not since you."

"She got angry so fast. In one second she was laughing about making out with two guys and in the next she said these really hurtful things and I stood there, listening to her yelling at me at a party I originally didn't even want to be at and she didn't stop, didn't pause, just throwing every negative thought she had about me on me like our friendship had meant nothing. Well, it wasn't really a friendship."

You were two identical puzzle pieces that had somehow pressed into each other when you had met in your shared apartment in the dorm three weeks before the start of university.

A friendship, much more based on forced harmony and the desire to desperately know someone in this new place than matching preferences.

The rest grew around the shared space, shared experience and somehow you found things you both enjoyed, partying mostly, before you concentrated on the friendship with the boys.

"She was so mean, Thranduil," you mumbled, hands continuing their work on braiding his hair absently minded. "I had to get out of there, it became to much too fast and I couldn't look at anyone anymore. The people there must have heard everything... there were some guys I knew from Saurons class– I don't even want to think about what they think of me now."

Thranduils hand stopped the reassuring movements on your back and they moved up to your neck, guiding your head to look at him.

"I am so very sorry that happened to you," he started and his eyebrows drew together over the cerulean eyes filled with concern.

"Firstly I think however she thought she was helping you with inviting that boy, she should've checked with you and accepted whatever answer you gave her. I don't want to defend her in any way but maybe in her mind that was how she wanted to spend the evening with you." He worded his opinion carefully, ever the lawyer and you could imagine that he had quite a bit of practice with Legolas as well.

"Yes, she did. After I moved into the dorm we went out.. a lot," you abandoned the finished braid and moved to the next few strands of hair, right behind his ear. "And sometimes she would bring a guy home and I did too, once or twice. It didn't made me happy, not really. I think she was jealous because I have Legolas and Gimli and Aragorn and with them I don't need some guy and alcohol to tolerate a party."

"But jealousy isn't a good enough explanation for hurting you, nothing is," Thranduil moved his head, giving you room to pull out some of the long hair from behind him before settling again. "Do you want to tell me what she said?"

You froze, hands still in his hair, thin strands slipping between your fingers like water.

'Do you know how disgusting it is to see you being driven home at night by a man as old as my father? Not to mention it's your best friend's father'

'At first I really believed you were sleeping with Legolas since you were always with him and god I would have understood that'

'Is he paying you for sex? Or what does he want from you of all people?'

It was like you were confronted with them for the first time, your body reacting to remembering the tone, the venom and you tensed up.

Thranduil felt it inevitably as your thighs squeezed around his legs and started to pull in to your chest.

"Hey," he whispered, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours "Breathe for me, darling. Everything is alright, you are here."

"No it's not," you let out a breath as instructed, sitting up on Thranduils lap. "It's not and it's not fair that she can say these things and here I am, stupid enough to believe them.. or not doubt them. Stupid–"

"You are not stupid!" Thranduil said, his voice taking on a stern tone "You are far from it."

"Then how do you explain that it takes a simple 'no one really wants you if you're not fucking them' to have me crying on a curb in the middle of the night?"

You nearly didn't dare to open your eyes again, not when the tears were starting collect in them like the rain drops on the window sill but then Thranduils hands cupped your face fully, hands on your cheek and his thumbs followed the curve of your trembling lips.

"Look at me. Please, look at me," he whispered and you couldn't not follow.

The sight of Thranduil was blurred until you blinked a few times, sniffing to fight the tears from falling.

Thranduil's face was so close to you, close enough to nearly feel the words he was speaking. "You are a wonderful woman, my love, and these thoughts are poisoning your mind. If she said these things she doesn't know you as I do," He paused, holding your gaze and his heartbeat thrummed in your chest.

It beat in the same tact as the rain against the window.

Building up as your hand slid down from his hair to his chest, halting right above his heart.

"You never kiss me," you said in nothing more than an exhaled breath and the beat under your hand stuttered.

His eyes flickered down to where his thumbs where swiping over your mouth, hesitation in them when he looked back at you. "I know, I know. I wanted to, god I wanted to kiss you every time I dropped you off at your dorm and hated myself for letting you go with that look in your eyes that waited for me to do so," his voice trailed off into a sigh, his nose nudging against yours "To be honest with you my love, I was scared of how deep I would fall if I got closer to you, that I would lose myself. Ever since the night you stood in front of that painting, I could feel myself losing control over the rules I had set."

"Rules?" you interrupted, too confused to let that conversation drift away from that specific point.

He sighed again. "Yes, rules. Stupid ones really. When Legolas started talking about you I was intrigued, glad he found friends, yes, but the more time he spend just awing about your wit and how smart you were, helping him through exams, forcing him to study the more curious I got."

Thranduil's hands followed the curve of your cheekbone, continuing to talk as he caressed the skin in gentle movements that kept your head steadied on him.

"And then imagine my surprise when I picked you up that night at the bar–" He kissed the tip of your nose, "and here you were, not only smart, polite and so nervous but beautiful as well. And then you came over more and more, spending the night, reading more books in my library than I could count and you started these discussions at the breakfast table"

Thranduil huffed at the memory, shaking his head minimally.

"Politics, literature, oh even that one morning when you convinced Legolas to not skip class and he went out of the house with his night wear just because he wanted you to stop talking! I knew that if I didn't hold myself back I would move through hell and back if you asked me to. So I thought of these rules."

"Not touching you, not staring at you in awe, not lingering in the living room when you were over–", he counted on his finger of one hand.

"You did a good job at that," you whispered. Thranduil huffed out a laugh, his whole body heaving under you.

He nodded, "Yes, I may have failed sometimes–" You stared at him "Okay often! All that fell away after the moment at the painting. I knew I would never rest peacefully if I didn't try to find out what your true feelings were after you stared up at me."

"That's when things moved a lot faster. Why you were all hot-and-cold. " you concluded, your head feeling all fuzzy after listening to him.

All of it fell into place then, the hesitant touches, the disappearing into his study.

Have you two been suffering for much longer if you could have just talked to each other? But then, the teasing and the tension had been utterly electrifying.

"And, please tell me if I'm wrong, the night you asked me out, to the concert I mean, were you sure then? That this could work?"

Thranduil nodded, nose once again brushing against you. His hands fell down to your waist, which you gratefully leaned into. Your face had grown considerably warmer with his fingers stroking your lips.

"It was either the concert or Netflix and chill," he responded in such a wishful tone that had you laughing out loud.

"That wasn't my proudest moment. I swear you asking me out on a date was unbelievable. I missed the whole lecture from Sauron the next day because all I could think about was if you had been serious"

"Of course I was serious, the evening is all planned out in my mind. Frankly, I had planned it when I got the tickets and still had to ask you if you wanted to go. But I think we are getting of track here," You stared at him, thighs shuffling nervously around. You saw him swallowing, adams apple bobbing in his throat as his eyes darted down to your lips.

"I think," he started with his voice an octave deeper than before "I would very much like to kiss you now– if you'll still have me"

All you could do was nod and then Thranduils lips hovered over yours, his eyes searching your face for a final permission and when you gave it to him in a barely audible "please," his lips finally touched yours.

The first kiss was soft, almost just a brush. It was the catalyst, the lighter for the fire sizzling inside you.

You closed your eyes and let yourself fall. Hands fisted in his shirt you leaned closer, closing the gap between you for another kiss, this one more daring, lips starting to move against each other in a hurry.

Thranduils hands grabbed your waist more forwardly, bunshing the fabric up, fingertips ghosting over your heated skin and you gasped into his mouth at the feeling of the cool and smooth digits.

He used it as an opportunity and licked over your lips with his tongue, crashing every thought you would ever had into a mess.

This was not like other first-kisses, this was not some fumbling around and trying to get into a rhythm.

Thranduil's lips moved with a purpose and directed urgency reflecting the hundreds of thoughts you both shared individually about this moment.

A deep and rumbling hum of appreciation vibrated in his chest and his hands spread all over your hips, holding you close to him as if you would ever think of leaving again.

When you broke apart, gasping for air and chest heaving, you could only stare at him. Thranduil's gaze was wandering over your face, dilated pupils hushing right and back, taking you all in in a way, gaze so pure and open with all of his feelings pouring out of it, that your heart screamed and her bones ached.

It was then and it was right.

There was no more space, no more shadows, just you and him.

"Again"

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