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presumenothing · 4 years ago

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wherefore // 几生轮回

unfinished nirvana in fire fic for @goodintentionswipfest

(aka the kimi no na wa au that i posted the first part of in 2018 before being once again reminded that i am physically incapable of plot. sections i-iii are complete, rough outline follows afterwards)

When Jingyan wakes up in another body, his first reaction is to be altogether grateful that he’s spent much more time at the borders and generally out of the capital than your average nobility. The slightest breath of unusually chilly morning air is enough to confirm that this is all the way to the border – of Liang and Da Yu, Jingyan suspects, much further north than even he’s ever gone.

(…well actually his first reaction is a flat startled “what”, right before he’d pinched himself to check if he’s still dreaming, but Jingyan figures anyone would’ve done the same anyway.)

The first bell of morning rings outside, and out of long habit Jingyan swings his feet off the bed and makes to rise before he can entirely realise what a terribly bad idea that is.

At least he manages to catch himself with a hasty hand on the bedframe. He’s even less coordinated than he was right after his growth spurt, when Jingyu-gege had kept a very straight face and not laughed at him at all.

That’s when Jingyan sees it: the ring of a silver bracelet around his ar– well, not his arm, but currently-his arm. Whatever.

He runs a light finger over the cool metal surface, over the deep grooves of an emblem that curls like flames and the shallower etch of a name. Lin Shu, it says.

Jingyan stands, properly this time, and goes to peer out the window, wondering if this Lin Shu can afford to take a day off. Whoever he is.

As it turns out, the answer to that is a resounding no, because Lin-Shu-whoever-he-is turns out to be the young marshal of this border army, as Jingyan swiftly finds out as he makes his way to morning drills.

Something he probably should’ve noticed right off, really, given the room he’d woken up in. Not large, certainly not by Jinling’s standards, but the noticeable lack of sharing made it a rare luxury in the barracks.

By the time he arrives at the training grounds, navigating purely on long-honed familiarity with army facilities, Jingyan’s already learnt to answer almost automatically to the many cheerful hails of “Young Marshal!” coming from the general outflow of people from the mess hall – many many more people than he’d been expecting, to be honest.

He doesn’t remember the actual numbers like Prince Qi probably does, but from personal experience Jingyan does know Da Liang’s border armies to be fairly impressive on the whole. Yet he’s never even heard of one this large, save perhaps Duke Mu’s army to the south.

It’s unmistakeably Liang’s colours they’re flying, though, alongside the same fiery emblem engraved on his bracelet, so Jingyan decides not to worry about it too much.

Either way it puts paid to his vague ideas of begging illness and staying firmly on the sidelines, though Jingyan finds to his pleasant surprise that this young marshal has trained some fairly competent lieutenants clearly capable of running the drills themselves.

It’s almost reminiscent of mornings in Jing Manor, honestly.

(And it could be worse, Jingyan thinks. “Young Marshal” is just a title, like “Your Highness” is, and after a whole life of answering to one it’s hardly a suffering to be addressed by the other – almost freeing, actually, even if he has to err on the side of caution by being much more taciturn than usual and hoping that the edge of exhaustion from sheer shock shows just enough to excuse him for it.

All said and done, though, Jingyan rather believes he’s done quite the good job of things.

Certainly better than whoever’s now in Jinling has probably managed, but as long as he hasn’t accidentally offended the Emperor or anything.

��Jingyan can only hope.)

–

ii.

This, as Jingyu-gege often says, is why Jingyan should never, ever jump to conclusions about things.

Admittedly this doesn’t backfire so much as it goes completely off the rails of his expectations, trundling like a particularly enthusiastic horse in the opposite direction.

Nothing terrible awaits when he wakes up back in his room the next morning, and a quick inquiry to Zhanying confirms that he definitely hadn’t entered the palace yesterday.

Jingyan breathes a deep if silent sigh of relief.

(A quick check of the outer walls turns up a scuff mark matching his shoe on the roof, so faint as to suggest that it’d only been left because someone obviously hadn’t entirely adjusted to his new height yet.

Fair enough, Jingyan thinks. He’d have done the same last night if he hadn’t been too tired from the sudden cold to sneak out and explore anywhere.

Maybe next time, he catches himself thinking, and pulls a face, because no, none of that.

That jinxes it right away, of course, as he promptly realises the morning after.

Jingyan stifles a shiver in the wintry sun, even colder now after a day in Jinling’s warmth, and thinks – really, Jingyu-gege would have a field day with this.)

Possibly the oddest thing about this, thinks Jingyan on the eighth day he wakes up at the border instead of Jinling, is that neither of them have ever thought to question, even once, whether this is really happening.

Or at least Jingyan hasn’t, and if Lin Shu’s wondered about it he hasn’t mentioned it either, at least not in the increasingly copious notes they’re leaving for each other.

They end up making a routine of things without much discussion about it, even though the setup in each of their rooms almost mirrors the other. Jingyan begins to stock more scrolls of paper and sticks of ink at his desk, keeps their correspondence in a hidden drawer within easy reach of his chair.

But Lin Shu apparently fears the cold as little as his relatively thin wardrobe would suggest, because his stationery inevitably is set up at the low table with only a cushion to sit on – admittedly quite a comfortable one, yes, but still unseasonably chilly for the stone floor.

Either way, what had started out as a simple way to update each other on the day’s events devolves into something else altogether, and Jingyan can even pinpoint the moment it happened: when Lin Shu had added also stop wearing my hair down you’re making me look like an idiot as an afterthought on the third entry, followed by oh and don’t eat hazelnuts squashed into too few inches of space.

Jingyan’s learnt enough of medicine from his mother not to take the second part lightly, but the first almost tempts him into putting a flower in Lin Shu’s hair just because.

But only almost.

Then you stop tying my hair all up like that first, he adds to his next summary, it’s giving me a headache.

The palace would give anyone a headache, he finds written almost musingly in the reply margin.

Jingyan rubs at his temple, and finds that he can’t even argue with that, really. So instead he pulls up a fresh sheet of paper and quickly outlines the basics of court etiquette, because the Emperor’s probably going to end up summoning Jingyan while he literally isn’t himself one of these days, if this is going to continue.

He has a feeling it will.

It takes Jingyan a whole month of alternating days to admit, not quite grudgingly, that he is rather impressed by the fact that Lin Shu is already the young marshal of such a large army at this age.

In his defense, he’d rather naturally assumed the worst when he first found out that Lin Shu was the son of the commander himself, but that was before seeing the genuine respect rather than mere tolerance he got from every last man in the army, even those thrice either his or Lin Shu’s age.

(It’s the Chiyan Army, Lin Shu writes back, the very turn of each stroke arrow-sharp with irritation. Chiyan! Army! Will you get it right, it’s not just any army!

And I’m literally a prince, Jingyan snipes back in his most practiced handwriting. Also, if you’re insulting my men…

Hardly. Zhanying deserves a pay raise and a better boss, Lin Shu answers, then adds, pointedly, Your Highness.

Probably just so he could use up the last bit of paper.

Jingyan scowls at that last scrawl before pulling out yet another fresh sheet and dipping his brush in ink.

As if he’s going to let anyone have the last word over him quite so easily.)

–

iii.

“I didn’t know you liked archery, Prince Jing-gege,” says Nihuang one afternoon when they’re resting in his manor’s study after an impressive practice bout. The young duchess Mu had gotten quite formidable enough to attract the rapt attention of the entire training field – or she would have, if Zhanying hadn’t promptly barked at all of them to get back to their drills right then.

(It’d almost tempted Jingyan into asking, really, whether Zhanying had noticed anything different about his fighting style on the days when it’d been Lin Shu instead.

Not that Zhanying necessarily knew anything, per se – but from the subtly helpful way in which his general had volunteered information that Lin Shu’s writings occasionally failed to convey, between the carelessly precise updates and snarky comments in the margins… Jingyan rather thought he did suspect something, at least.

Wei Zheng was the same, up north at the border, which was just as well.

Lin Shu doesn’t know how good he has it, really, that the Jing army has closer to seven hundred men than seventy thousand – all of whom apparently assume that their young marshal will recognise them. Which says something fairly impressive about Lin Shu, of course, but still. How fortunate for him.)

Both their fathers have been closed up in Yangju Hall all day long – all the palace servants had been dismissed, and he’d heard that even Xia Jiang and Xie Yu had been summoned in.

Whatever it is they’re discussing must be important indeed, he knows. It’s hardly unusual, for both the Marquis of Ning and the Xuanjing Bureau’s head officer to meet the Emperor, but Jingyan doesn’t think he’s ever seen the Duke of Yunnan even half as stern as when he’d arrived this time, both his children firmly in tow.

Mu Qing had been unabashedly cheerful as always, and easy enough to handle – Aunt Liyang had been more than happy to help. It wasn’t like two more kids running around the house would trouble her much further, anyway, what with Yan Yujin already practically living there half the time.

But Nihuang had declined her offer politely before asking to see the Jing manor’s grounds, which is how she’d ended up here, hands clasped behind her back as she considers the red bow in pride of place on his weapons rack.

At least the sparring earlier had worn away most of the tension in her features, though Jingyan can still see the trace of it in the graceful stiffness of her posture, and wonders silently if she too feels the same thing he does, the slight wrongness in the air.

He shrugs anyway, trying for relaxed. “I got back into practicing it over the past couple months. It’s quite a bit more enjoyable now that I actually have enough strength to draw the string back fully.”

Which is completely true, even if he’d only had reason to discover it because Lin Shu’s weapon of choice is bow and arrow, as Jingyan had found to his utter surprise.

Nothing like muscle memory when the muscles weren’t even yours to begin with – though he supposes that it’s a fair trade, since Lin Shu’s also had to up his own proficiency with swords and spears to match Jingyan’s.

Neither does he mention that he’d only bought this bow on a whim because it reminded him of the one Lin Shu used. A resemblance that the young marshal had swiftly noticed, from the way he’d filled entire swathes of paper with gleeful gloating, only punctuated by a brief note on how he’d restrung it and adjusted the tension to match.

(Jingyan had kindly reminded Lin Shu about the fact that he’d gone and taken one whole day off to go diving for pearls that time the Jing army had been at Donghai, apparently having completely forgotten that he wouldn’t be able to bring the pearl back with him anyway.

The answering blankness had somehow conveyed a very mulish silence nevertheless.

Jingyan had rolled his eyes before writing if you really want it back I can always ask a courier to bring it over, it’ll just take time to reach the border.

And money, came the reply, or do you think I’ve no idea how much it costs to send something from Jinling? Nah, just keep it and go spend that money on food instead, you’re like a stick.

You’re just jealous because I’m taller, Jingyan does not answer, because he can be the better person here, so instead he writes Tried my mother’s hazelnut pastries yet?)

Nihuang gives him an inscrutably knowing look, even though Jingyan’s plenty sure he hasn’t shown any signs of his thoughts. “Maybe you should teach Qing-er then,” she muses as she comes back down to sit at the table. “The way he’d always playing around, I don’t know if he realised that he’s going to take over Father’s position someda– huh.”

Jingyan glances up from where he’s pouring out another glass of cold water, and finds her attention apparently caught by the documents he’d left out on the desk. “What is it?”

At his nod of permission Nihuang lifts a half-familiar paper from the stack, and there’s a brief moment of alarm when he spots Lin Shu’s handwriting, though it fades when he realises it’s not one of their written conversations.

Luckily Nihuang doesn’t notice either way, too intent on reading. “This naval strategy…” she finally says, “it’s just like the one we received some time ago, when Yunnan was under attack by river.”

Jingyan doesn’t need to feign his surprise. “Really?”

Nihuang nods, smiling faintly. “It saved all of our lives.”

“Oh,” Jingyan answers a little dumbly, his mind spinning. All of this is quite real, obviously, everything has convinced him of that, but for some reason it hadn’t struck him how Lin Shu too existed in this same world as him, more than just another body he sometimes woke up in. Rather slow of him, he thinks wryly, Lin Shu would have a laughing fit if he found out.

The specifics of this paper escape him now – it’d been part of some grand point Lin Shu had been trying to make, he thinks, as if they didn’t both know he was just cribbing the strategy from Nie Duo – but Jingyan doesn’t even need to look at the paper to see that familiar handwriting half his own. “Do you know who sent it?”

Nihuang shakes her head, her expression clouding over. “Father refused to tell me who’d sent it, forbade me from even mentioning it to Qing-er.”

And as if everything’s just been waiting for this last piece to fall into place, Jingyan feels the thing niggling at the edge of his consciousness, just out of realisation.

“Jingyan-gege…” Nihuang says, slow and terribly hesitant, “what do you know about the northern b–”

“Your Highness!” comes Qi Meng’s harried shout from outside, and Jingyan has never been more infuriated with any of his men in his life. “Duke Mu is here, he says the Duchess is to go with him immediately!”

Jingyan looks across the table to find his own frown reflected fiercely back at him.

Nihuang rises, looking suddenly older than she is, and says, quietly, “Be careful, Jingyan-gege. I don’t know what’s going on but I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I,” Jingyan says honestly, and doesn’t press her for whatever it was she had been about to ask earlier. He stands to see her out. “You be careful, too.”

Nihuang nods firmly, then she turns and is gone.

(Spoke with Nihuang today, Jingyan writes before going to bed that night. I don’t think you’ve met her yet, she’s the daughter of the Duke of Yunnan.

You know, he finds written beneath it the next time he wakes up in his own room, it’s been a whole year and that’s the first I’ve heard you talk about any lady. And don’t say Xia Dong, she’s just terror manifest.

The raised eyebrow is clearly audible, even via text.

Jingyan snorts, grabbing the brush that sits ready and waiting, as always. Nonsense, he starts, then pauses for a moment before adding I think you’d like her.

He’s looking oddly forward to the reply, whatever it is: which one, and don’t say Xia Dong or even well certainly she’ll like me, all the girls do – though the last of that is nonsense, seeing as there aren’t really any more ladies hanging around the border pass than in Jing Manor.

But he never hears from Lin Shu again.)

–

iv.

Jingyan still finds himself in his room when he wakes up the next day.

And the next, and the next after that.

(On the eighteenth morning in a row he remains stubbornly stuck in Jinling’s oppressive warmth Jingyan punches the wall so hard it almost cracks cleanly in half – or maybe that’s just him.

Zhanying hurries up, voice tinged with ill-concealed worry. “Your Highness?” he says tentatively, except the words themselves feel like a shackle now.

Jingyan leans just slightly against the cool smoothness of the wood, and tells himself to breathe.

“Zhanying,” he says, finally, “what do you know about the northern border army?”

It’s the Chiyan Army, not just any old military! echoes Lin Shu’s voice in his head.

“…not much,” hedges Zhanying, and it clearly isn’t a lie but his eyes are also very wide.

The wrongness from before congeals into an ugly mess, settles decidedly in his heart. It’s the only thing he can be sure of not imagining.

Jingyan suddenly feels very tired indeed. “It’s nothing.”)

–

And then he finds out in the worst way possible: far too late, and all at once.

would have been: jingyan finding out the truth about what’s been happening, which is fairly true to kimi no na wa canon except that it’s everything at meiling instead of a meteor extinction event. in jingyan’s present time he finds the lin manor in absolute disrepair, asks questions of his mother that make both of them sad, and eventually forces a bodyswap to save lin shu and the chiyan army by… using the pearl somehow? and how would he stop this single-handedly anyway? never quite managed to figure either part out. though on his side lin xie is shown to also have realised Something was going on with lin shu (like zhanying realised about jingyan) and even if he doesn’t buy the “hey i’m from the future” shtick, he at least would be willing to hear out someone with a good idea of what’s currently happening in the capital, which helps.

anyway there would’ve been one section where we finally get lin shu’s pov which is when he realises what This Bloody Idiot xiao jingyan is trying to do and curses up a blue streak. from there this could’ve had one of two endings:

a HE where jingyan succeeds, lin shu and the chiyan army survives, and they forget but eventually find each other again (after remembering when jingyan sees lin shu doing archery or vice versa).

or a BE where jingyan doesn’t succeed and we end up right back in the canon timeline, dammit guys. optional extra being that changsu remembers for some reason even though jingyan doesn’t… but sometimes, jingyan can’t help thinking that changsu reminds him of someone. a person he’d forgotten? angst ensues. the end.

#nirvana in fire #nif #fanfiction #mine #WIP CLEARANCE 2K20

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heyyyharry · 5 years ago

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can you make a blurb when the flatmates aren't together yet then y/n didn't come home without any texts and harry is super worrie thank youuuu!! LOOOOVE UR STORIES AND THE IG POSTS TOO!! ❤❤

THANK YOU FOR LOVING THESE STORIES!

Another anon: Can you do A pre- relationship angst flatmate blurb and ending it with fluff pls? 🥺🥺

Yes, yes I can.

“Jesus Christ!” Y/N screamed as she turned away from the naked couple on the couch, who hurriedly covered themselves up with the first things they could reach. “Oh God! Please just—God! Have sex in your room next time please!“

“What are you doing here?!”

“I live here, asshole!” Y/N cried out. With her eyes closed, she slowly turned back to them and only dared to peek through the gap between her fingers when Harry told her it was safe to look.

Her flatmate and the girl she’d never met before were now sitting on two ends of the couch, as if they hadn’t been fucking like rabbits just a minute ago.

“I thought you were babysitting,” Harry mumbled, his face, neck and chest were flushed. And Y/N was trying her best not to pay too much attention to the pillow he was using to cover up his—God, she couldn’t even think of the word without blushing!

“Jamie’s mum got home early,” she said, eyes on the girl who didn’t seem to give a damn that she’d just been caught having sex. The gorgeous brunette casually leaned back, sitting with her long legs crossed while wearing Harry’s oversized t-shirt. Just like all the girls Harry had brought back to their place, this one was beautiful. Y/N assumed she knew she was beautiful, so she started sizing Y/N up and cracked a condescending smirk as if ‘ugly and insecure’ was carved on Y/N’s forehead. She made Y/N feel guilty. But why? Y/N wondered. She shouldn't be feeling guilty for walking into the place she paid to live in!

Taking a deep breath, she calmly told Harry, “you know what? Just...continue. I'll be in my room with my headphones on.”

And then, without waiting for a response, knowing she wouldn’t get one anyway, Y/N rushed into the kitchen to grab some snacks so she could just hide on her room and skip dinner to avoid awkward conversations.

The girl thought Y/N had gone into her room and couldn't hear her so she ‘whispered’ to Harry, “can we just lock her out next time?”

“Just...ignore her,” was his replied.

Y/N didn’t expect Harry Styles of all people to say something nice about her, but...”ignore her”?! Really?!

Ignore me?! In my flat?! While you’re fucking someone on my couch?!

Infuriated, Y/N stormed out of the kitchen, straight to her room and slammed the door to make sure those two knew she'd overheard them. Jokes on them, she thought, I’ll be the one to ignore them!

Though Y/N kept telling herself that, she ended up crying anyway.

Harry felt guilty.

Very guilty.

He wasn’t sure if Y/N had heard what he’d said, but he assumed she had because she had skipped dinner and been giving him the silent treatment. He thought he kind of deserved it, but that didn’t mean he could live with it.

What was worse was that, she didn’t even want to sit near him in class and continued to not acknowledge his existence for the rest of the day on campus. At first he’d told himself that it was no big deal and she would talk to him again that night. He had deliberately forgotten to take out the trash and she would definitely yell at him when she saw the trash bag lying by the kitchen door. It was stupid. But he’d rather have her yell at him and call him names than have her ignore him this way.

And so he sat on the couch, switching his eyes between the clock on the wall and the front door. Soon two hours had gone by. His flatmate should’ve returned already for she’d never been out this late without telling him.

Harry told himself to stay calm, but he was gripping his knees and tapping his foot uncontrollably. The last time he’d been like this was during the exam season and he’d consumed too much caffeine to stay energized, which kind of backfired. Now his stomach was on fire, and the next thing he knew, he was pacing back and forth in the living room, staring at his phone. Should he text her? Would that give away how worried he was? Maybe he should wait five minutes more. But what if something bad had happened to his Y/N? Oh God, a lot of things could happen in the next five minutes. He would regret for the rest of his life if something bad happened to his Y/N.

What was more concerning than the fact that his inner voice was referring to her as ‘his’, was these negative thoughts making him feel like dying. He gripped the phone with both hands, his breath was shaky. Okay, maybe just one text. With trembling fingers, he started typing.

Hey, where are you?

Sent.

Now, he waited.

And waited...

And—

Y/N, this isn’t funny. Where are you?

Sent.

When are you coming back?

Sent.

Hey, text me back.

Sent.

I’m sorry.

Sent.

I’ve learned my lesson. Please come back...

Deleting...

I’ve learned my lesson.

Sent.

After about...ten more messages without a single reply, he collapsed on the couch, breathing heavily as if he’d just come back from a long run. He kneaded his forehead and reread all the texts he’d sent and his heart was pounding as he waited for the word read to pop up.

But he got nothing.

Frustrated, tired, angry. He called her phone, only to get more frustrated, more tired and angrier as he found out she’d put it on airplane mode again. “To save battery,” she had said.

Well, goddamn it, Y/N! How am I supposed to rescue you now?!

Just as he felt like he would scream, the doorbell shot him up on his feet. In a flash, he got to the door and pulled it open, face lit up with joy.

But then his smile fell.

It wasn’t her.

It was the girl he’d hooked up with yesterday.

“Hey, I was visiting a friend near here and thought I should come over,” she said and instantly noticed his frown. “Um...you’re not happy to see me?”

“This is not a good time, actually.”

“Is your annoying flatmate bothering you again?”

“You’re bothering me.”

The girl chuckled as she thought she’d misheard him, or at least he’d said it by accident. However, the stern look on his face let her know he was serious. She crossed her arms, her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

Harry didn’t even bother to come up with an excuse to not let her in. At the moment, he was so mad he could punch a hole through this door. He just wanted Y/N here and make him feel better.

“Sorry. You shouldn’t be here when Y/N comes back. And do not call her annoying.”

“Wait, what?”

“Goodbye,” was all he said before slamming the door. He stood with his back against the door, panting, and waiting for the sound of footsteps to fade away.

“Okay, calm the fuck down, asshole,” he told himself with a harsh breath, shaking his head. “If you were Y/N, where would you g—“

A strong force pushed the door open, nearly knocking him to the ground, but a hand pulled him back just in time.

“Jesus Christ! Are you okay?” Y/N asked as she held his arms and steadied him on his feet. “Why were you standing at the door I—“

Not letting her finish, he grabbed her face and squeezed it so her lips puckered up like a fish. She tried to push him away, but he didn’t budge. His brows were snapped together as he turned her head to the left and then to the right, up and down. “Are you hurt? Who took you home? Where were you?!”

“What’s wrong with you?!” She smacked him on the arm and he released her instantly. “God, I just ran into Jamie’s mum on the way home and she took me shopping!”

“So you’re okay?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Chuckling, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Wait...Did you think something bad happen to me?”

“No! I was just—“

“Let me check my phone.”

“No—“ Harry tried to snatch the device from Y/N’s hand but she was quick to push his face away and dashed toward the couch. Not giving up, he chased after her, seized her elbow and they fell down onto the couch, fighting for the phone.

“Fifteen messages from The Most Obnoxious Human Being.”

“Hey, stop it! Do not read those!”

“Oh my god, you’re obsessed with me!” Y/N burst out laughing and flopped down on her back,squinting her eyes to read the texts but he was making it so difficult by holding both of her wrists, pinning her down. When the phone slipped through her fingers and dropped onto the floor, neither of them reached for it. They both stilled, eyes locked, lips just inches apart. Harry was lying right on top of her and time was frozen for that one moment until...

“Ouch! Fuck!”

...she pushed him off the couch.

“What is wrong with you?!” He groaned, rubbing the sore spot on his back and pushing himself up on the floor.

“What is wrong with you?” Y/N snapped. “What do you want? You want me gone or not? Make up your mind!”

“Why would I want you gone?!”

“So you could fuck whoever you want on this—“ She cringed at the couch and stood up quickly. So did he. Once again, they were face to face, both gasping for air.

Y/N held his gaze for a while and then lowered her voice, “am I annoying you?”

“No, of course not...” he said, frowning. “I was...Look, I’m not very smart—“

“You are though.”

“No, I’m not.” He chuckled, thinking it was cute how in the middle of their fight she still felt the need to reassure him. “I’m not talking about school...I just...um I say stupid things all the time. I didn’t...didn’t mean what I said yesterday. I’m sorry.”

She batted her lashes at him but didn’t say a word. So he went on, “I was very worried. I almost went out to look for you.”

“Sorry...” Y/N sighed as she looked at her feet. “I should’ve told you.”

“It’s okay...just...don’t do that to me again. It was scary.”

“What was?” she asked innocently.

“I thought I lost you or something.”

Harry only realized he’d said that aloud when he saw her reaction. She was startled and speechless and she was...blushing. He thought he would feel embarrassed for letting those words slip, but she looked so cute right now that he could only smile.

And so he took a step back, if he hadn’t, he might have done something even stupider, like grab her face and...kiss her.

“I’m just gonna—“ he blurted, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m gonna take out the trash.”

“Wait, you haven’t taken out the trash?”

Oh shit, here we go again.

“I’ve reminded you to take out the trash since Monday and now it’s Friday and you still—“

Would it be better if he just shut her up with a kiss?

Smirking at the thought, Harry shook his head as if to answer his own question.

“—you’re lucky you’re living with me! If you were living alone then you’d be swimming in trash right now! Will you ever be a responsible adult?!”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m doing it now.” He snorted, rolled his eyes and walked away, leaving the girl, once again, flustered and annoyed.

#flatmate!harry #flatmate talk #flatmate blurbs #harry styles drabbles #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles angst

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cometcalloway · 4 years ago

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[Please don’t reblog!]

Wrote a drabble/short story to try & get back in the swing of things (~3k words). It’s about like, trust and the kindness of strangers, solidly hurt/comfort.

Warning for injuries, discussion of living with trauma, mention of past abuse, nothing too wild.

The Last Straw

Consciousness rises to the surface and bobs there, disappointingly, like the last moments of a fish. Lothric is lying on his back. He raises his forearms to an upright position slowly, stiffly, then stops for a break from pain, letting his arms drift slowly downwards towards his face. After few quiet breaths, and a kind of concentration borrowed from many hours of meditation with the religious order he grew up with, he twitches his upper lip like a silent snarl and carries on with his goal, bringing his hands slowly towards each other across his chest. It takes a few tries, pushing them together, to get the fingers to interlock, but he gets what he wants. It doesn’t take long to ease them together, then hold tight in a clasped death grip. He’s pressing fresh bruises into the backs of his hands, and one of his claws has found a bead of blood. But he has faith, desperation, that, in the long run, the motion will help more than it will hurt, is ultimately vital for Lorian’s survival as well as his own.

Faith.

In this hazy swamp of pain, he’s not lucid enough to make or follow a plan. He’s going on instinct, and this gesture, he’s sure, is the one that saves him from pain. How many thousands of times must he have done it, in his near hundred years alive. He lies there, still holding that snarl of a grimace, and breathes a series of defiant, steadying snorts, hands pressed together and ready, prepared to do the next thing, no matter what it costs him.

Gradually, the next thing comes to him, and with it, a calm. That’s right. It’s not another movement. It’s a surrender to peace, and being loved.

Please, is all he says in his prayer, a soundless whisper from dry lips.

His world changes quickly.

He feels a divine signature in a drawing out of a great deal of magic from the deep well of his soul, and his breath catches with the sudden vacuum of it. There’s soft golden light, there’s a gentle hum, there’s a brushing of feathers settling on him. He feels a warmth, a balm, a renewal. He never properly took stock of his injuries after the dust cleared last night, just let exhaustion carry him home (it was only supposed to be a nap). In an instant, he has a heightened awareness of every point of pain, and then a few instants later he’s healed. Even the fresh bruises on his hands have melted away.

As pain loses its hold on his attention, memories come flooding back, rushing to meet an immediately sharpened clarity of mind. He sits up with brisk authority, faster than he should have, and scowls at the cost. He looks around the barn through a matted curtain of straw-colored hair, finds Lorian immediately, and… frowns. Softens. Furrows his brow in confusion. He expected to see yesterday’s tattered, bloody clothes and the arrows they had no energy to pull out. But there’s a blanket over Lorian, the dirty shirt is gone, and the arm that rests across his chest as he sleeps has a neat bandage around it. A trouser leg has been cut off at the knee, and another bandage is visible beneath it. The arrows are all gone, too. There are patches of gray-green on his face; it’s puzzling at first, but Lothric soon realizes that it’s a treatment for lesser wounds, and spots more patches on Lorian’s shoulders. Someone has made a non-magic effort to tend to Lorian’s wounds.

The realization that someone has made a non-magic effort to tend to Lothric’s wounds, too, didn’t come all at once. But it’s cemented now. He stares at, and past, a looping band of cotton cloth around his own arm, a bandage that no longer covers a wound. It doesn’t give him answers. He rubs a patch of gray-green ointment off of his shoulder, and it doesn’t give him satisfaction, just a few gritty, oily fingers. He still has his skirt, but he can’t find his top layers anywhere. Shivering with unease, he finds the blanket that’s fallen into his lap and holds it up against himself tentatively, white-knuckled, feeling much smaller than his twelve feet of height. The blanket is too small to cover much of him if he threw it over his shoulders. He doesn’t know what to do with it, but he can’t bring himself to drop it, and he despises the show of weakness it is to hold it like this.

He ends up sitting cross-legged, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, holding the blanket in place by pressing it under his arms on each side. It hurts him badly to know Lorian is lying there unconscious in a fog of exhaustion and pain; hurts him quite literally, as he can feel it all through their soul connection. Lorian needs help, and Lothric can do much better for him than the folk remedies those without access to magic-based healing get by with. But something important has been betrayed, and the magnitude of the betrayal has him momentarily stunned. His expression reads something like blankness, something like fury, but he allows his breath to quiver, allows little sobs to hitch, allows tears to slip through. His body is not public property, but much of the world that he knows has decided that it is. It wasn’t theirs to touch. He could have fixed everything when he woke up anyway. This didn’t have to happen.

Lorian can’t be allowed to wait forever. Under a complicated expression, Lothric arranges his hands from holding his face to folded in prayer. Staring straight ahead, he thinks of Lorian, and, again, quietly whispers ‘please.’ This time, the sound even gets through.

The prolonged flight from soldiers, which ended with Lothric and Lorian successfully managing to lose the by hiding in the barn, almost lasted a week. They have only their demigods’ physiology to thank for finding the stamina to last, much less escape. Lothric is technically more durable, but only because the magic of his soul will intervene as he starts to die. And there’s a lot of it. He’ll hit unreal levels of pain long, long before he’ll truly start to fade. Needless to say, though he caught a few arrows, and a few well-timed sword and spear strikes, he didn’t do much of the physical combat. Meanwhile, Lorian truly wore himself out, with tireless engagement with their enemies. It wasn’t coincidence that Lothric rose first, out of the shallower sleep, buffeted by the worse pain. For the first time since he awoke, true gentleness shows on Lothric’s face, as he watches, and feels, Lorian sigh deeply in relief at the miracle’s effect and sink into a markedly more fitful layer of sleep. For the first time since he awoke, Lothric has tears to shed for someone other than himself.

He teleports closer, kneeling, a little lightheaded from the second, larger expense of magic, and examines Lorian more closely, holding the blanket close under his arms. A quiet scowl has found its way back to his face. Lorian deserves to be helped, deserves the world, of course. But Lothric doesn’t have good intuition around which folk remedies are harmless, and which are safest to avoid altogether. Is that gray-green ointment safe? Who did this? Surely they know who the twins are? Were they careful with Lorian, with an exile wanted for treason? Lorian will not discard a role of Knight, so Lothric must accept a role of Lord. This happened to Lorian under his banner. It’s his responsibility. He accepts responsibility for nothing, as a rule, but he will accept responsibility for Lorian’s well-being.

As far as he can tell, Lorian seems… fine. Fine enough. Fine enough now. Lothric teleports away, to his old spot, holding his arms like awkward chicken wings to keep the blanket up. Still wary, he looks around the barn, more or less looking the part of the attentive Lord, despite everything. Someone seems to have cleaned the area around the two of them a little, but it’s largely the same as it was. Old, falling apart, useless for animals, full of moldy hay and equally damaged farm equipment. Dusty, hard to breathe. It was built by and for that smaller style of humans. The small blanket, the little ribbon bandages, confirm the size discrepancy. How much time must this have take them? What must the cost have been in resources? Lothric’s blanket looks like a worn quilt. Isn’t this valuable to whoever made it? Why would they do all of this? His frown hardens. It doesn’t add up, and... he doesn’t like ambiguity.

He surprises himself with how much he still could cry, and he just softly lets it out, following a personal rule that there are actually no rules anymore in terms of what demeanor he ought to project. He won’t willingly cry in front of an enemy, out of a kind of pride that just feels like self respect, but for most other situations, well, it’s nobody’s business how he handles that call.

At the end of the spell, he thinks their next move is clear enough. They should get out of this place as soon as possible. Preferably before the people who meddled with them come back. The only question left is if and when to wake up Lorian, and whether to wait for nightfall. He picks the bandage on his forearm loose, removes the bandages around each ankle, and uses an unstained spot of one of them to start rubbing ointment patches off of what once were lesser scrapes. Somehow, he can find enough courtesy within not to use the family-heirloom-whatever quilt as a napkin in the same fashion, but only barely.

Feeling slightly refeshed, his gaze lingers on a stained bandage. There’s a black market for gods’ blood, other body parts. It can be brought to a faraway place of worship as a relic, a stand-in for the god, or mixed superstitiously in the worst kind of folk remedies. They didn’t… harvest any blood, did they? He suddenly checks his hands and feet for all of his fingers and toes, fear bobbing in his throat at the thought that the healing miracle eased the pain from injuries he didn’t have when he fell asleep. Lorian has all of his fingers, at least; Lothric’s not going to pull his boots off and risk bothering him. He shakes his head, pulls up the blanket to stop it from slipping, and lets another wave of overwhelm gently drive him to tears. It’s harder to tell if they took any hair, but he ducks his head and sweeps it back, protectively. He shudders. It’s not that he necessarily thinks the ones who helped him would do that. It’s that they could have. It’s that they could have. And his body is not public property.

He doesn’t look like a Lord anymore. He teleports to Lorian’s side and gently shakes him awake. He just can’t be alone with all of this any longer.

He has a sheepish smile for Lorian as Lorian sits up and looks at him. A smile like, we’re alive, right?

Lorian returns it, but a bit absent-mindedly. He’s still taking everything in, the reality of their situation and Lothric’s recent memories. Lothric can follow his thinking across the connection, and he watches Lorian react very differently. The idea that someone put in a lot of effort to help them deeply moves Lorian, but it’s more than that. Lothric sees that it moves him deeply that members of the kingdom’s lowest social class would not only bother with two Anor, would not only accept the material costs of enough ointment and bandages to help people as large as the twins, but would do all of that for well-known exiles and traitors they could collect a truly enormous bounty for turning in.

Lothric blinks. So Lorian really thinks it’s genuine?

Lorian blinks. Lothric really thinks it’s not?

Lothric looks away defensively, not willing to give up a casual worldview without a fight. They haven’t met these people yet. There could be plenty of reasons to treat their injuries that would be perfectly compatible with eventual betrayal to authorities.

A sudden energy from Lorian like now wait a minute, an equal unwilingness to yield. Lorian conjures up his context for his assessment by means of explanation, surely the most natural assessment in the world. He brings together a patchwork quilt of a different kind, a series of selfless acts Lorian has seen, many of which are in the context of his work in the army. Military camaraderie, gestures of heroism on behalf of fellow soldiers, necessary interdependence. He no longer believes his cause was just, and he carries a lot of shame about his ‘service,’ but that period of his life still held many formative experiences.

You were a monk, Lorian presses. Wouldn’t you have seen more of that...soft stuff than me?

Lothric looks up at him, with mounting frustration. He conjures up a brisk, defensive patchwork quilt of his own. Sure! Look at all of us holding hands, jackass. You like being right? His mouth is doing a weird trembling thing as he stares Lorian down, though he’s the one closer to the ground. He doesn’t cry in front of enemies. They watch the angry mishmash of memories together, watch as the people who are treated as appropriate recipients for the religious order’s signature kindness and charity are never Lothric. They watch as, behind closed doors, he’s sternly and routinely asked to carve out any emotion or need that would interfere in a public perception of aloof and benevolent holiness. Memories of crying to his mother as a child and being given advice on how to better shrink and comply. It’s all compatible with a hypothetical rulebook that says kindness is real, but only for others, always for others or not at all.

It’s a dynamic Lorian already knew about. Face reddening, Lothric can feel his surprise and horror as he connects it to the glassy, suspicious, horrified reaction Lothric had when he woke up here to clear signs of care and acceptance. As if expectations of connection are innate and not learned. As if Lorian’s ‘correct’ intuition came from some fundamental humanity, and not circumstances that taught him, well enough, that being helped by others now and then is probably in the cards for him.

He can tell Lorian is noticing his reaction and thinking it over. There are truly no secrets between them. He glares at Lorian, silently asking for no comfort or pity. Whether he ever changes his mind or not, he’s certainly not going to successfully fine-tune fundamental assumptions in an afternoon. Lorian’s frown hardens, and he nods.

Later that evening, a group of six people turn up at the barn. There are two healers, a married farmer couple, and a blacksmith. They have Lorian’s shirt and Lothric’s robes, which they’ve washed and mended (something Lothric has complicated feelings about, as the robes weren’t meant to ever be washed, but by the doctrine of a religion that was used to abuse him). Their benefactors are surprised and delighted to see that the twins have made such a quick recovery. They have hot food, even buckets of water the two can use to wash their faces.

Lothric doesn’t wear his suspicion obnoxiously or with hostility. Trusting Lorian and his Angels to protect him, he simply listens to their story and offers what he feels safe offering of his own. He and Lorian thank them gratefully. One of the healers says the six of them know who they are. They aren’t going to turn them in because the eight of them, she says, are all currently fellow sufferers under the same oppressive structure, and that’s good enough for her. The rest agree. The group of six may not be wanted exiles, but Lothric thinks they have their own wariness about them, appropriate for a choice to trust royalty from that blighted kingdom, a risk based on nothing but a hunch that a kind of suffering could unite them. At one point, it hits him that it’s an act of treason to shelter the two of them them. So they all know dangerous secrets about each other.

He doesn’t know what it’s supposed to mean to him, now that it seems Lorian was right and this group really did help them. He says proper and correct words like many thanks. He tentatively offers his cleric’s gift to any in their community who need it, provided his identity can stay protected. He carries a conversation mechanically, addressing questions and comments as they come, not in an unfriendly manner, but offering little prompting of his own. Lorian, for all his real emotion about all of this, has an identity built so solidly around stoicism that he doesn’t fare much better. One of the healers knows sign language, so they can communicate well, but he isn’t sure what a soldier is supposed to talk about with a healer. “We have opposite professions,” he observes wryly, thinking somberly on the horrors of war. The healer takes it as a joke, laughs loudly, and seems to decide that Lorian is Funny, which stresses him further.

When the little crowd finally leaves, the twins surprise each other again when both of them think the natural and obvious next step is completely different. Lothric thinks they should thank their lucky stars they didn’t die and bolt under the cover of night before their luck runs out. Lorian thinks that on a lonely road like theirs, with safe connections so few and far between, the obvious thing to do is stay for at least a few days and make the most of it; the locals certainly made no objection. Lothric feels his face growing warm again, as Lorian observes him, so obviously moved by the thought that he’d feel so unsafe and alone. It feels like pity.

“If those dear, sweet locals threaten us and you have to kill them,” Lothric snaps, taking on a warning look, “it will be on my account. You will tell yourself your purpose is merely to support my survival, and you do not choose our routes. If you would put the blood of our encounters on my hands, do not frame my actions as pitiable when I endeavor to keep these hands clean.”

Lorian startles like Lothric poked him with a stick, then nods, nods, nods to himself and looks away. Certainly, there are other factors, yes.

The discussion continues. Finally, Lothric finds a fundamental flaw in his natural and obvious next step. He’s dead tired. He considers the thought of traveling for miles in the dark, and he considers the thought of falling asleep right now, in what Lorian thinks is a safe location.

There’s a moment of silence, as they sit quietly, both knowing a decision has been made.

Lothric opens his mouth and closes it. He’s tired, and he’s tired of talking, too. He nods wearily, and so does Lorian. He sends away the dim magic-based light source they’d been using, eases into his makeshift bed of hay, and closes his eyes.

[Please don’t reblog!]

#mun art

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chloebeale · 5 years ago

Text

AT PEACE (2/2)

A follow up to this little drabble taken originally from this prompt.

Summary: Chloe deals with the days following her heartbreaking phone call from Beca. Same warnings apply!

Words: 3.7k.

Read part two below, or the whole thing on ao3.

Chloe doesn’t know how to put this pain into words. In fact, even the word pain seems so insufficient, so tame. No word in the English dictionary can describe the way she’s feeling as she sits, crumpled, with her back to the wall, eyes sore and cheeks stained with slowly falling tears. They come and go at random now. One minute, she’s sobbing, and the next she’s back to staring. Just staring. Because Chloe cannot process her thoughts. She just... She can’t believe that this has happened.

She’s not the only one that’s upset, of course. The other girls are all in shock, too. They’re all devastated, naturally so. And Beca’s parents... God, Beca’s parents. Chloe can’t even bring herself to look at them. It’s a good thing Aubrey has such a comforting presence to her, because she’s doing what she can to keep everybody afloat.

They’re all upset, but Chloe has taken it the hardest. And maybe there’s a reason for that.

No, she knows there is.

The girls have learned quickly to leave her alone. They don’t want to, they keep hovering around her, but Chloe refuses to say anything. At best they’ll get a brief glance, one that’s shot their way through thick, salty tears, but most of the time Chloe feels like she’s just looking right through them, and they know to just let her be.

While she’s in the room, she feels like she’s somewhere entirely different. Somewhere alone. It’s only at the feeling of an arm brushing against her own that she snaps back to reality. Chloe doesn’t look up, though. She knows it’s Emily. She can tell by the sound of her quiet sniffles, her soft, desperate sobs. And as the younger girl slides down the wall beside her, Chloe doesn’t push her away. She lets her lean against her, and finds herself slowly reaching out a hand to catch the brunette’s fingers in her own.

And that’s all the comfort Chloe is willing to take right now, because she doesn’t feel like she deserves it.

How she could’ve been so oblivious, so stupid, she doesn’t know. She’d noticed right away that something sounded different about Beca, that something just wasn’t right. But she’d accepted her excuses, she’d sat there and sipped on her daiquiri, talking about something as trivial as school, while Beca was just...

It’s been almost two days now, and Chloe still can’t bring herself to say it. She can’t even think it. All she can do is bask in her own regret, her own desperate sadness, and wish to whoever might be up there that they could turn back time, and that Chloe could’ve handled things differently.

“Just... Know that I love you, okay? I love you.”

Those final words swirl around in her head, those final moments on a continuous, excruciating loop. She’d found it weird the first time, when Beca had told her she loved her as if from nowhere. They’re best friends, it’s an unspoken understanding between them that they love each other. They don’t say it often, but they both know it, and Chloe had assumed it was just one of those brief, rare instances where Beca had wanted to remind her. She hadn’t thought it could mean anything else, anything deeper.

Then again, Chloe has conditioned herself not to do that, not to think too deeply when it comes to her relationship with Beca Mitchell. Because although Chloe has always acted content with the fact that that’s all there is to it, that they’re ‘just friends’, she knows that they’re not. The startling image of those blue-gray eyes pops like electricity into her head, and she knows that they’re not just friends, she knows that they never were.

Of course, the second admission had sent Chloe into hyperawareness, into the active feeling that something just wasn’t okay, and she’d tried multiple times to call Beca back, but hadn’t received an answer. So she’d called for help right away, a frenzy of worry and utter panic overtaking her. Phone tracking is a weird and wonderful tool, and it had come in handy yesterday, it had helped the necessary people to find exactly where Beca was -- on a boat, in the middle of the ocean -- and it’d helped them to find her.

Then they’d told Chloe what had happened, what they’d found, how they’d found her. And time seemed to stop right there and then. In that moment, everything just... Stopped. And Chloe’s whole world fell right the way apart.

She hasn’t slept. Naturally, she hasn’t slept. And she has wanted to. God, she has wished she could just close her eyes and take herself away to some other world, some other time, but it just hasn’t happened. Not until now, anyway. As she slumps against the wall, Emily curled into her side, Chloe doesn’t notice the way her heavy lids flutter slowly shut, and the place she goes becomes her new reality, at least for now.

---

“You know you’re only going to scare yourself,” Beca says, a pointed frown sent in Chloe’s direction as she plops down onto the hotel bed. The bowl of freshly popped popcorn shakes with the impact, and a few pieces fly over the edge.

“Careful!” Chloe warns, her tone light and giggle soft as she scrambles to pick them back up again. She notices the way Beca is facing her, legs crossed pretzel style and mouth hanging open. A slender finger raises and points at her open mouth, and Chloe playfully rolls her eyes, readying herself to throw each of the four pieces for Beca to catch. Three of them, she does so expertly, but the fourth hits the floor behind her, and Chloe considers getting up to go retrieve it, but she figures it can wait until later.

“I’ve seen this one before, it won’t scare me,” Chloe shrugs, picking up the bowl and holding it tightly in one hand as she shuffles back to make herself comfortable against the plush, propped up pillows. She rests the small bowl in her lap, then pats the space beside her, blue eyes sparking as she looks toward her friend. “Maybe you’re scared.”

“Please,” Beca scoffs, grabbing the television remote and quickly scrambling toward the head of the bed to sink down beside Chloe. “I don’t even like movies, I’m not going to be paying attention to it.”

An auburn brow arches as she eyes the other girl, edge of her mouth curved into a small, amused smirk. “Then why are you even here?”

A hand digs quickly into the bowl of popcorn, more pieces flying out messily -- maybe they made too much, or they at least needed a bigger bowl -- and Beca quickly pops a piece into her mouth. “I’m just here for the popcorn.”

Chloe’s response is a playful, sarcastic eye roll. They both know why Beca is here. The other girls have gone to bed, Chloe had been texting Beca that she couldn’t sleep, and it turned out that Beca couldn’t, either. So they’d decided to spend a little time in Chloe’s hotel room, some old horror movie playing on the TV screen while they each enjoyed the company.

And the popcorn, apparently.

“Did you know that this is based on a true story?” Chloe questions, humming to herself as she raises the remote to point it at the TV. The movie begins playing, and Chloe settles in comfortably, Beca’s small frame pressed lightly to her side.

“Sure it is,” Beca nods, her tone entirely unconvinced.

“It is! It was all over the news and stuff when it happened. The guy heard voices telling him to murder his whole family. It’s a real thing.”

Beca’s hand reaches out for more popcorn, and Chloe feels a gentle nudge to her arm, one that makes her grin as she glances down toward the other girl.

“Just watch your movie, weirdo.”

For a while, she does. Though she finds herself stealing glances here and there, each time noticing the way Beca’s gaze is glued to the screen, and Chloe feels silently proud that she’s actually gotten her to focus on a movie, something Beca Mitchell actively dislikes. Apparently, anyway.

Before she’d asked Beca to come to her room, she really had been wide awake. Admittedly, though, Chloe has gotten used to sharing a bed with the other girl, considering the small size of their shoebox apartment back home in the city, but she doesn’t realize until her eyes flutter open to see the end credits rolling that that’s probably why she’s been struggling to sleep this whole time. It’s been weird having a bed to herself again.

As Chloe blinks into the near darkness, she notices first that the popcorn bowl is almost empty, and next that Beca is still awake beside her, eyes still on the television screen.

“I thought you weren’t going to pay any attention,” Chloe mumbles sleepily, lips curling upward and into a lazy smile as her eyes adjust to the dimly lit room. “Did it scare you?”

Beca lets out an exaggerated scoff in response. “No. I couldn’t pay attention to it anyway, you were snoring too loudly.” Chloe notices that her voice is softer, almost a little mumbled the same way as her own. She can tell that Beca has made it through the movie, but that sleep is definitely creeping up on her.

“Mm, then maybe you want to head back to your room, because I’m about to start snoring again in about five minutes,” Chloe chuckles breathily, propping herself further upright against the now deflated pillows behind her. Her hair is unruly and tangled from the position in which she’d fallen asleep, and while she brushes her fingers through it halfheartedly, she knows she doesn’t really care.

Rolling onto her side, her arms stretch out to wrap around the top pillow, Chloe’s sleepy gaze fixed up on a still sitting Beca. “Well? Are you going?”

Beca thinks for a moment, or at least she pretends to, before finally shaking her head. “No, I might as well just stay here now. I’m comfy.”

“Oh yeah?” Chloe raises a brow, biting back her amused expression. “Are you sure you’re not just too scared to go and sleep on your own now?”

There’s a gentle, playful swat to her arm, one that Chloe responds to with a quiet giggle under her breath, then Beca is sinking further down into the pillows and tugging the comforter over her middle, evidently having made herself comfortable for the night. “No,” She insists, “Go back to sleep, Chlo.”

“Mhmm.” Chloe’s eyes are hooded, sleep desperate to drag her back out of consciousness. She’s going to succumb to it soon, she knows it, so she turns onto her side, back toward Beca, and fumbles around blindly on the mattress to find the remote, swatting at buttons until the screen dims and darkness falls all over the room. “Goodnight, Bec.”

“Night.”

It can’t be more than two minutes later that Chloe feels herself drifting back breezily to dreamland, though the shifting of the body behind her, shuffling closer until Chloe is her little spoon, brings her back to the present for a brief moment. She feels an arm drape coolly across her middle, and her hand is soon finding it’s way to Beca’s, their fingers interlacing so easily. The same way they do all the time.

“Knew you were scared,” She mumbles, thumb brushing gently over the back of soft knuckles.

There’s the feeling of delicate lips pressing lightly to her shoulder, leaving her with a gentle kiss that causes her body to tingle.

“Shh.”

Beca doesn’t deny it.

---

“Chloe?”

It’s unfamiliar, the voice breaking into her peaceful sleep, so much so that Chloe almost ignores it, almost switches right back off and tries to claw her way back to that precious memory. It’s Aubrey’s voice that properly wakes her, though.

“Chloe is sleeping, Professor Mitchell,” the blonde says, her volume hushed. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Her eyes remain closed at first, with Chloe just mindlessly listening to the exchange, though they shoot open fast enough to make her slightly dizzy as Beca’s father continues.

“Bec’s awake, she’s asking to see her.”

It’s almost surprising, the way Chloe can go from zero to one hundred. One moment, she’s laid against the wall, head sagging to the side as it rests against Emily’s shoulder, and the next she’s up on her feet, shaking herself awake.

“She’s awake?” She questions almost dumbly, wanting to make sure she heard him correctly.

Mr. Mitchell responds with a half smile and a singular nod of his head. “Yes, Chloe. She’s asking for you.”

Following Beca’s father down the long hospital corridor is almost as terrifying as the time she’d waited between those phone calls. Chloe doesn’t know what to expect, she doesn’t want to see her best friend hooked up to tubes and machines, but the idea of not seeing her is only more upsetting, so she follows in silence, straightening out her crinkled shirt on the way. The colorful stripes feel so out of place against the crisp white walls, but Chloe isn’t thinking about that. She isn’t thinking about anything. Only Beca.

Once they reach the correct room, Mr. Mitchell slowly pushes open the door. “Delivery for you, Bec,” he jokes in a light, gentle tone, stepping aside to motion Chloe inside. A part of her is still scared to look, though it’s impossible for her gaze not to immediately train itself on Beca, clad in her hospital gown and propped up in an admittedly uncomfortable looking bed.

“Mom and I will be in the family room with the girls,” Mr. Mitchell announces. “If you need anything, you just have Chloe come get us, okay?”

Beca nods, and her father disappears, leaving the two of them alone.

It takes a moment for Chloe to step forward, to finally find her voice. She doesn’t mean for it to sound so choked up once she does, so small and pathetic, but she can’t help herself.

“Hi,” she just above whispers, familiar tears prickling the backs of her eyes. She glances briefly to the tubes and the wires, but her main focus is Beca. It’s those eyes, the way they stare back at her, the way Chloe can see a film of clear liquid welling up beneath her lids. “How are you feeling?”

“Hey, no. Stop,” Beca soothes, reaching out a hand from beneath the thin blanket. Her voice sounds croaky and sore, the same way it had when they’d spoken on the phone. “I’m fine, okay? The doctors said I’m going to be just fine. You don’t need to cry, Chlo.”

Her feet are moving much too slowly for her liking. It’s almost like she’s afraid to get too close, like she’s acting cautiously, but soon her hand is touching Beca’s, and she feels that familiar feeling of crooked fingers wrapping around her own, exactly the way they’re supposed to.

“Why didn’t you tell me you needed help, Becs?” She asks, her own voice sounding so broken and pathetic in her ears. There are fresh tears sliding down her cheeks, though Chloe doesn’t see the point in wiping them away. She has a feeling they’d only be replaced in a matter of seconds.

Chloe lowers into the chair positioned beside the bed, her hand clutching tightly onto the other girl’s. “You called me, and I was right there, and you didn’t tell me.” There’s a kind of pleading to her words, though she knows it won’t do anything now. They can’t change the past, after all. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

The way Beca laughs quietly is almost unbelievable to Chloe. Then again, it makes sense. That’s Beca’s defense mechanism when something’s too much for her to handle, so Chloe chooses not to draw attention to the tear slipping slowly down the brunette’s cheek, and just lets her have her moment.

“What was I supposed to say?”

“You were supposed to ask for help,” Chloe presses, her frustration diluted by the sadness in her voice, the tears still streaming freely down her face.

“And you helped me, didn’t you?” There’s a kindness to Beca’s sad eyes, one that makes Chloe feel so coddled, so protected. It seems stupid really. Beca is the one in the hospital bed, Beca is the one who has been fighting for her life, yet Chloe is the one who needs the reassurance. “Look where I am. I’m right here, I’m okay.”

“But what if you weren’t?” The words leave Chloe’s lips amidst quiet sobs now, her hand gripping a little more tightly onto the other girl’s, as if she’s scared of either of them letting go. Beca only strengthens her grip in return. “What if you’d...”

She still can’t bring herself to say it.

It seems to pain her a little bit, judging by the scrunched up expression on her face as she shifts over slightly in the bed, but Beca turns to face her, other hand reaching over to gently cup her own. “I didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t want you to be afraid.”

“Beca, I’ve been terrified this whole time. I didn’t want to... I don’t want to lose you. I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“And you think you’re gonna?” Although her voice is hoarse, eyes still streaming, there’s a lighter tone to Beca’s voice, an almost playful one. It’s one that Chloe recognizes, one that comforts her beyond reason. “Dude, I was stabbed two days ago and I’m still here. I’m still with you. Nothing’s going to change that, Chlo.”

“But why did you call me? You could’ve called the cops, or an ambulance or... Or anything.”

Usually, Beca is so guarded, she isn’t so free with her words. But maybe it’s the whole near death experience thing, maybe it’s opened her up a little bit, because she sounds so strong and so sure, in spite of her gentle volume, as she answers Chloe’s question.

“Because I really thought that was it, you know? I thought I was gone. And I didn’t want the last voice I heard to be some emergency services person who I didn’t even understand. I wanted it to be you.”

Chloe has so many questions. So many more questions. But as her gaze locks with Beca’s, as blue eyes meet that beautiful, familiar gray, she has all of the answers she needs, at least for right now.

One hand moves away from her own, though the other remains clutched tightly, and Beca flicks away the tears falling down her cheeks. “You know I was serious, right? What I told you?”

Chloe just stares, vision blurred by her salty tears. She doesn’t say anything, she just stares, just waits for her to go on.

“This is harder to say to your face,” Beca laughs softly under her breath, swiping away a fresh tear before it gets the chance to fall. “If I hadn’t gotten the chance to tell you... You know... That. I don’t know what-- Well, I just know it would’ve sucked.”

She doesn’t feel like laughing. Her heart is racing harder than she thinks it ever has done before, and she’s still so upset, so devastated about the thought of losing the one person she can’t even imagine her life without, but Chloe can’t help the quiet, barely audible laugh that falls from her lips in response. It would’ve sucked. It’s just such a Beca thing to say.

It takes a moment for her to find her feet again, but Chloe eventually stands from the seat, shuffling closer to the hospital bed. There’s room for her to perch down on the edge, so she does, being careful not to touch or dislodge any of the wires sticking out of only God knows where.

Her free hand rises to gently push stray strands of mousy hair from Beca’s forehead, and Chloe tucks them neatly behind her ear, blue eyes studying that familiar face. There’s a silence around them, save for the sounds of the machines doing their job, but it’s not uncomfortable. If anything, it feels almost natural.

“You know that you didn’t have to be in that situation to tell me, right? You could’ve just told me.”

The brunette shrugs her shoulder lamely, an almost apologetic smile sent in Chloe’s direction. “Yeah, well. It just seemed more romantic that way.” The teasing tone to her voice causes Chloe to roll her tired eyes, though her prior anger has subsided, and all she can feel is grateful. Her heart is racing for a whole different reason now.

“You know I love my romcoms,” she responds in her own small, playful tone, the words pulling a faint smile from the girl propped up in the bed before her.

“And your horror movies.”

“Those too.”

The air has changed between them now. It’s not cautious or filled with sheer terror the way it had been only moments ago when Chloe had walked into the room with no idea what to expect. It’s comfortable now, it’s the same way it usually is between them. Of course, neither is usually laid up in a hospital bed recovering from an almost fatal stab wound, but it’s... It’s comfortable.

Chloe’s tongue flicks out over the part in her dry lips, and she watches the other girl for a moment, studies her expression. She takes in the way her eyes still shine so brightly in spite of everything, the way her hair is messy and wavy as it flows over her shoulders. She takes in everything Beca Mitchell, everything she’d been so terrified she’d never get to see again.

“So what do we do now?” Chloe finally asks, voice calm and quiet. It’s like they’re talking in private, sharing secrets that they’ve held so closely for the longest time, secrets they only want to share with each other.

“I don’t know,” Beca admits, bottom lip sucking in between her teeth. “I guess that’s something we can figure out together.”

“You’re right,” the redhead agrees, gaze never leaving the other girl’s face. Her tears have stopped finally, and it seems that Beca’s have, too. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Beca nods into the comfortable quiet.

“And Becs?”

Gray eyes move up to meet with her own. “Yeah?”

A small silence follows, though there’s no hesitation. Chloe is just grateful that she’s here, that they’re both here, and that she can finally speak the words she’s wanted to for so long now. Things can be at peace.

“I love you, too.”

#beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe #bechloe fic #at peace #mine #mine:writing

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jimlingss · 6 years ago

Text

The Truth Between Us | 03

[!!] Co-written with @gukyi

⇒ Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 [Finale] || epilogue

⇒ summary: a book deal should be the most exciting time of your life, but there seems to be a constant and omnipresent damper on your mood in the form of a certain min yoongi, who you would just cut out from your life, if he weren’t your editor. but then, the world shifts beneath your feet, and you begin to wonder if maybe you’ve always been looking at life from the wrong angle.

⇒ enemies to lovers au with various other au’s thrown in there

⇒ word count: 15.6k

⇒ genre: fluff, angst, drama

⇒ warnings: uhh...teeth-rooting fluff and a ‘little’ stabbing angst. very little.

⇒ a/n: part three woo-hoo!! As usual, please hit @gukyi up and shower her with that praise. the first portion of this chapter is honestly all on her and i bow down to her as the master of that au. anyways, please enjoy this chapter!! it gets a lot more intense from here on out!!!

Color fades in and out, vivid hues and vibrant shades sucked away like a vacuum, reverting a children’s coloring book into its previous unmarred state. And in the instant that a blinding brightness sears into the back of your eyeballs, the world slams into you once more.

『The universe has formed.』

Matter weaves together, buildings and forests created, growing underneath the white sky that ripples to a baby blue. Pigments and stains rush to fill objects, assembling right in front of your irises. But as castle walls and towers begin to surround your body, you know there’s something different in this place.

The tingling in your fingertips tells you so.

“Wake up, Y/N.” Someone’s shaking you and immediately, you jolt awake, eyes opening towards an intricate canopy and long hair prickling at your nose. “You’re going to be late for breakfast.”

Your friend giggles, moving away to sit at the vanity mirror and you slowly rise from the comfortable bed, hair in a disarray and eyes weary. “What the—” But you’ve been through this enough times and you clear your throat, scanning the premise. “Where are we?”

It’s a circular room that’s relatively spacious. Ten beds follow the round walls, each of them obviously belonging to a specific person with the way it's decorated. There’s a broomstick by one, royal blue bed sheets spread on another, and you blink hard when you catch the inside of a poster moving. But your attention is stolen away by a rattling trunk to the bed next to you.

“What do you mean ‘where are we’?” She frowns, turning around with her rosy powder cushion still pressed against her cheek.

You recognize the female as Irene and while last time, she had been shaking in front of the conference room under your stare, this time she’s more at eased and relaxed. It wasn’t uncommon for you to use similar characters and celebrities in the little stories you used to write.

“I...uhh..” Your vision strays off to an owl sleeping by a wooden stand nearby, an oozing vial on someone’s nightstand but more importantly, by the wooden stick beside you.

“Boy, your head must’ve taken a real hit yesterday after Yoongi zapped you with that aguamenti charm.”

“....Yoongi?”

“I know you guys like ‘hate each other’,” She makes air quotations with her fingers and exaggerates her voice, rolling her eyes to add onto the theatrics as well. “But like, can you not flirt in front of everyone? It makes my single-ass feel bad and you guys can be so cheesy, it’s pretty disgusting.”

“What?”

“You don’t remember?” Her face scrunches up, and she turns back, sprinting floral perfume by her neck. “Why are you making me re-tell your damn love story? Ugh. Fine, you were pretty knocked out anyways. Yesterday, we were in Charms practicing the water-making spell, and I was trying to be a good student but of course, you were giggling with Yoongi behind the class and before everyone knew it, you were drenched from head to toe. Apparently, he blasted your skull with the end of his wand, hard enough for you to fall over and hit your head on the ground.”

Although you barely have an inkling of your location or the realm you’re in, hearing the story, makes your blood boil and you scoff. Everything that transpired a few seconds ago, the little ��confessions’ of yours retreats into the hollows of your kind. You're once again reminded as to why he's so goddamn annoying.

“Excuse me?! That doesn’t sound like a love story. Why is he such an ass?!” Even in this universe Yoongi is just as unbearable as he used to be.

“Uh-huh. You said the same thing yesterday but tell that to Yoongi.” A smirk appears on her lips, and she stares at you through her mirror, a mischievous glint in her irises. “He was the one who kept apologizing, looking like he was gonna cry, and he carried you to the infirmary...like ‘princess style’ in front of everyone. And he skipped the rest of his classes to be with you, dinner too. There was sherbert lemon pie for dessert, and he missed that shit for you. If that ain’t love, I don’t know what is.”

“And look,” she suddenly points next to you and your eyes follow, finding a cute bouquet of sunny daffodils lying on your bedside table, held together with a single red ribbon. “He even transfigured flowers for you as an apology. It’s so romantic, it’s disgusting.”

Your mouth draws open but before you can retort or your tongue can stumble out any incoherent words, she beats you to the punch with a scoff of her own, “Enemies, my ass.”

“W-Where is he?”

It’s all that you manage to utter from your frozen lips and her smirk grows. “Your lover boy? Probably in the Hufflepuff common room. Why?”

Before she can get another word out, you’re darting out of bed, scrambling to put on the right uniform over your shabby t-shirt and pajama shorts. Hopefully, you remember the films well enough to figure out what the uniforms are supposed to look like. There’s not even enough time to ogle at the world around you—finally, a chance to be a witch, like you’ve always dreamed of!—as your slipping into your shoes, your socks two different lengths but you hardly care. Irene looks practically speechless as she watches you fumble around your desk for your various possessions, not even bothering to take off your pajamas as you change.

You start to bolt out of the dormitory, hand rubbing at your eyes in a desperate attempt to rid them of any sleep gunk, when Irene calls after you, “And you always said you didn’t care about him!”

You’re out of the common room in a flash, barely enough time to say hello to whoever is calling your name by the fire. Stumbling through the hallways, you finally allow your brain to catch up with your feet as you stare at the surrounding castle. You can hardly believe that you’re in Hogwarts, magic at the tips of your fingers, surrounded by something you had only thought was make-believe. You’re itching to try something out, say any spell your mind can muster up with the wand in your pocket, but you know that you’d better avoid that, at least until you find a certain Min Yoongi.

“Y/N!” Someone calls.

You dart your head around to find a nameless Gryffindor, a boy who looks to be only a year or so younger than you.

“Feeling any better?” He asks as he jogs up to catch you, books pressed against his chest by a single arm.

“What?” You ask before you remember the story Irene had told you. “Oh, yeah, just needed to sleep it off, I guess,” you say awkwardly.

“Good. That was a real fall,” the boy says. “I’m surprised they didn’t punish Min harder.”

“Have you seen him?” You ask, almost too excitedly, at the mention of his name. God, when did you get so damn desperate?

“Who? Min?” The boy questions, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “Not since this morning. I heard he’d been acting strange, though. Like he’d lost his memory, or something. Probably do best to ask Jung, though, since they’re pretty close.”

God, what shenanigans could Yoongi get up to now? You’re pretty sure you remember him saying something about how he never got into the Harry Potter franchise, so you can only imagine his surprise at being spontaneously thrusted into the universe.

“I’ll find him,” you say, shrugging off your concern. “Gotta beat him up for doing that to me. Thanks, though.”

“Hope he gets what he deserves!” the boy calls out to you as you rush off in the opposite direction.

There’s no time to waste as you whip yourself down corridors and through courtyards, struggling to navigate the maze-like campgrounds of the castle. You ask a few professors for directions, and they just manage to tell you which way before you’re off again. They scold you for sprinting around and you have barely half a mind to shout an apology.

Students slowly shuffle to breakfast, ghosts yawning from their naps but you dive head first into groups and cliques, ignoring the complaints and dirty looks. It’s only when you’re out of completely breath, lungs ready to shrivel up, chest heaving up and down that you notice a familiar head of black hair.

“YOONGI!”

You scream his name with the remaining air left in your raw throat and the boy darts his head over, his eyes lighting up, and he wobbles forward with a stupid grin plastered on his face.

Like you, the person approaching looks sixteen or seventeen. It reminds you of the previous High School Yoongi that was on the tennis court. But this time, his exterior is more disoriented. His dark hair is curled into a soft cloud with strands sticking upwards, round glasses on the tip of his nose and his robes hang off his shoulders in a sloppy manner. His face is tender again, chubby cheeks pinched pink, and he looks irritatingly adorable.

“Y/N?!” He grins happily and you’re caught off guard by his rare enthusiasm. “What is this place?!”

“It’s Hogwarts.” Your lips curl against your will. “You know, the world that Harry Potter is from.”

Yoongi blinks at you and then shifts to scan the surroundings. A long time ago, he called you a nerd and ‘basic’ for being a fan of the Harry Potter series. Apparently it’s too ‘mainstream’ for his liking and now, you’re preparing yourself to face more of his whining but-

“This is amazing!”

Your eyes widen. “It is?”

“Are you kidding me?! This is so fucking cool!” He leans over the open window archway, pupils lighting up at the vast valley landscapes. As he takes in the scenery, he then pulls a wooden stick from his sleeve and bounces on his toes back to you. “Look, I have a wand too! And I saw moving paintings before I got here, like the pictures move, and I even talked to them! Did you see the staircases? They move too! The architecture is so beautiful and I don’t even think you could see this kind of thing even if you travelled abroad, Y/N! Like not even New Zealand's landscapes are this gorgeous. This is the best fucking universe I’ve been to, hands down.”

There’s a pause and then uncontrollable giggles spill from your lips.

Yoongi pouts, watching you completely lose it, and he pokes your arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You wipe your eyes, smile ever growing. “You’re just a dork, that’s all.”

There’s no way possible way he can refute, so, he only lets out a half-heated, “Psh.”

As a few groups of students pass the pair of you, ghosts moving through the brick walls, the whomping willow swaying to the warm breeze, you take a moment, stepping back to gaze at your companion. The yellow and black of his tie inherently rips a gasp from your throat.

“Oh my God, you’re a Hufflepuff?”

Yoongi stares down to where you’re pointing, and he frowns. Quirking an eyebrow, he asks: “What?”

“Why are you a Hufflepuff? The hell? You should be in Slytherin or something,” you inform him pointedly, wondering if it was you that made the male lead a Hufflepuff or if this is just a practical joke pulled by the Gods that got you trapped in this universes in the first place.

Yoongi is, to put it simply, the last person you would ever think to be in Hufflepuff. Sure, he might be dedicated… and hardworking, but that’s it. And those are qualities that match every house, you swear. You can’t remember the last time you heard the Sorting Hat’s little rhyme about each of the houses, but you swear that Yoongi and Hufflepuff do not mix. Maybe, if you were being particularly generous, he could be considered loyal. After all, he’s stuck with you for so long. But he was far from patient… and kind, wasn’t he?

Upon his blank expression, having absolutely no clue to what you’re talking about, you pinch the bridge of your nose, explaining yourself, “Hogwarts has four houses that you can be sorted into. Slytherin for the cunning, Gryffindor for the brave, Hufflepuff for the kind and Ravenclaw for the intelligent. Obviously, I’m an intellectual, so, I’m in Ravenclaw. The main color of the house is blue and bronze. See?” You point to your own tie and then to his. “Apparently, you’re in Hufflepuff.”

Yoongi snorts at your incessant rambling, his lips twitching into a slight smirk. “And you’re calling me the dork.”

With one more glance at you, he spins around on his toes, black robes swishing in the air. You barely manage to catch up to his large strides. “Where are you going?”

“Exploring.”

Yoongi doesn’t ask for the ending of the story or how to escape this universe and you’re not complaining either. It’s wondrous and surreal to be in the world that you’ve read about as a child and seen through theater screens. Not to mention, this isn’t an amusement park either or a re-creation. It’s the real thing, or at least your version of it.

This story was written as a guilty pleasure like the previous one too, one that you created mindlessly in your university years. There was no way you could publish an actual novel when JK Rowling had ownership of the franchise. So, it was your little secret, filled with embarrassing fantasies of hot celebrities as your wizard classmates. Except now, you were sharing it with Yoongi.

“Is that…?”

He squints, meagerly being able to make out the blonde man approaching from a distance but by the stiffening of your body, your sharp inhale and the back of his mind ringing a bell, he knows this person is familiar.

“Oh my God.” You tug on Yoongi’s arm, and he flinches when your tone moves up to a teenage-girl screeching pitch. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

It’s motherfucking Kim Taehyung again. You feel your heart soar.

And as Yoongi scowls, you practically swoon on the spot.

“How’s my favourite Ravenclaw doing?” The older, seventh-year prefect strides up to you, throwing his arm leisurely over your shoulder and pulling you close. Yoongi swears you almost combust right then and there.

Taehyung gives you a light and playful noogie before his hand reaches up to pet your head. An incoherent string of syllables slip off your tongue, steam practically rising out of your ears. The actor, that was now a Hogwarts Gryffindor, releases you and sends a mischievous look at Yoongi.

“Min, you better not be harassing my favourite Ravenclaw. I heard what you did yesterday,” Taehyung warns with a pointed expression. It’s obvious that Yoongi and Taehyung’s relationship, whatever it may be, isn’t on the best of terms. “I better keep an eye on you, Y/N. Make sure he isn’t hurting you.”

You don’t recall writing that into the piece.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Yoongi’s eyes narrow, arm reaching out and his hand captures your wrist. Yoongi tugs you in towards him and you’re caught off guard, stumbling until your head meets his hard chest and his arm has snuck around your waist, holding you close. “I can take care of her perfectly fine.”

Taehyung cocks a brow, crossing his arms in amusement and sends a knowing look towards Yoongi, one that you can’t decipher. You’re already bewildered at Yoongi, blinking up at him and wondering why this sixteen year old Yoongi was taller than you. Maybe he hit his growth spurt quicker than Tennis Yoongi.

“Well, I’ll leave you both to your own devices. I have a Herbology assignment to submit.” Taehyung begins to walk away and you whimper, hands twitching to reach out to your all-time crush. However, you don’t get the chance, not when Yoongi takes the opportunity and smoothly interlaces your open fingers with his. “Don’t get up to any trouble, you two, or else I’ll have to write you up for detention.”

The gorgeous, glowing angel sends one wink towards your companion before he turns fully and disappears. You begin to sulk, having yet again lost the opportunity of getting an autograph from him but no sooner are you being hauled into the opposite direction.

Yoongi’s palm is still clasped around yours, his hand firm and somehow comforting. You’re too preoccupied with meeting his quick steps to question it. “W-where are we going? We have classes to go to, Yoongi! And there’s breakfast in the Great Hall—”

“Y/N.” He quirks his head over to stare into your eyes. “You know you’re not really a student here, right?” There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He’s not wrong.

Soon, your footsteps are synchronized with Yoongi’s as you scour the castle together, peeking in every nook and cranny, skipping classes and running in the other direction when professors are walking past. The pair of you snicker and giggle like children, hiding behind shelves and pillars before the coast is clear, and he takes your hand once more, tugging you along.

You’ve never seen Yoongi so childish and excited before. He’s practically a kid, himself, and it makes you giddy too.

“Y/N, Y/N, look!” The two of you were in the East Wing courtyard, alone while the students were in their classes. Yoongi’s got a book he’d stolen from the library earlier under his arm, one copy of a Standard Book of Spells. He’d almost nabbed one about flowers, too, but it was absurdly heavy and not worth lugging around.

“Yoongi, it’s dangerous! Don’t—”

He looks down into his hand holding the textbook, and he flickers his other wrist in two gentle motions, letting the wood of his wand dip down slightly in the second movement. “W-Wingar…dium Levi...Leviosa…?”

Suddenly, a rock a few meters away is lifted into the air, levitating. Your jaw drops. Yoongi bursts from enthusiasm and hops up and down. “Look Y/N, look!”

“Holy shit! How did you do that?”

“Try it!”

Magic doesn’t come as easily to you as it does into Yoongi. It’s unfair since you were a fan first but no matter the different pronunciations you try or the ways you move your hand, it doesn’t work. Your frustration multiples until Yoongi sighs, walking up and grabbing hold of your wrist again.

“It’s Levi-O-sa,” Yoongi stresses, hand gripping yours tightly as he guides your want movement. “Emphasize the ‘O’ part. Not the ‘A’ part,” he instructs dutifully.

You try to ignore the way your chest shakes as Yoongi teaches you the spell, instead hoping to focus on the anger that should be bubbling up in your core from how unjust the fact is that he’s better at magic when you’re the one who even got him into this universe in the first place.

Together, Yoongi coaches you through the spell, until your voices are soft and your movements are natural as you say, hand in hand, “Wingardium Leviosa.”

“Oh my God, it’s working.”

Albeit, you’re lifting a feather instead of a goddamn rock, it’s still levitating mid-air and laughter breaks from your mouth. Yoongi matches your grin. “We should try the fire-making spell next.”

He lets go of you, moving to sit on the grassy lawn and flip through the old pages. You frown but you continue to make the feather float. “What if we accidentally set the school on fire, and we alter the story too much, and we can’t leave?”

“Relax.” His finger lines the endless sentences. “This is a grade-one book. If eleven year olds can do this, so can we.”

“But we’re not really wizards or witches, Yoongi.”

“In this world, we are.” He’s much too eager. You’re not even sure if Yoongi wants to leave this universe. But you let him have his fun, watching as he draws a flame with his wand and mutters ‘Incendio’, setting leaves into an orange inferno. Yes...for once, you let him have his fun.

That is...until he figures out how to white sparks and begins to zap you with it.

“Yoongi! Stop it!” You’re running as fast as you can while he’s hot on your tail, laughing maniacally like the evil, little bitch that he is. “This isn’t funny!”

“I’ll stop running if you stop running!”

Even if the white sparks don’t hurt you in any way, shape or form, it still freaks you out. The sparks are like mini-explosions or fireworks, and they way it crackles is loud. Not to mention, when he keeps flickering them at you, the fog makes it difficult to see and breathe.

“I swear I’m going to kill you!”

He shoots another one towards your feet. “I’d like to see you try!”

You cackle, spinning around and zapping one at his face. “Ha! Take that!”

He barely manages to dodge. “Oh, it’s on now, witch!”

“Yeah?” You stop by a tree, sticking out your tongue and mocking him. “Is it now?”

Yoongi’s preparing to launch another attack on you, maybe tackle you down onto the soft bed of grass as well. All you do is squeal and shut your eyes, preparing for another white firework eruption but-

“HEY!”

There’s a bloodcurdling shriek from the open corridor and you both, simultaneously, crane your heads around. There’s a mysterious professor with a gold pendulum hanging off his neck, robes a dark blue and hair a stark carmine. His brows are so furrowed, it almost looks like the wrinkles will permanently crease into his skin. From his age, you could probably assume they already have.

Oh God, you hope you didn’t write Professor Snape into this piece. Imagine the horror.

“What are you doing?!” He squawks and begins to march up, Yoongi taking a step back in fear. It’s unusual since he’s never really afraid of anything but completely understandable at the same time. The professor looks like he’s about to have a hernia. “Don’t you have classes to attend? I’m immediately docking forty points each off of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw because of your irresponsibility and buffoonery!”

Maybe if you were actually students here, you’d feel a little bad. From what you can gather, at least you are a well-liked individual here at Hogwarts, whereas Yoongi, not so much. You wonder what your make-believe peers would think if they found out you were the reasons their houses are in last place.

You can only grimace guiltily as the professor drones on about responsibility and ‘being mature’ and other nonsense that neither you nor Yoongi seem to care about. Even though he’s hidden his wand up his sleeve, it’s clear that he’s itching to get to try something else, cast another spell or see another magical moving object. You wonder if it’s Quidditch season yet—maybe you can take Yoongi to a game. You know he’ll enjoy it more when he’s not the one engaging in the sport. Besides, he’s always been a basketball fan—you remember him mentioning the fact offhand during one of your meetings. Quidditch is like, basically the same thing. Except on brooms. And with three balls. Two of which fly around on their own accord.

Shrugging, you hope that this universe’s you doesn’t have a penchant for mischief, because you’re about to ruin that reputation very quickly.

“Professor,” you say, voice sickeningly sweet as you interrupt his spiel, “can you tell me about Harry Potter?”

The professor seems taken aback. “Harry Potter? Why?”

“I just want to know more about him. Is it true that he survived the Killing curse?” You ask, feigning interest. You already know everything there is to know and more about The Boy Who Lived.

“Well, there’s not really much to say,” the professor says. “Four years ago, He Who Must Not Be Named tried to murder him, but he survived. We know very little about what happened to him, but I believe he is being taken care of by Muggle relatives.”

Aha! So this universe is before Harry Potter’s time. Thank God, really. You don’t know what you would have done if you had to deal with getting yourself and Yoongi out of this universe while at the same time having to fight off the forces of Lord Voldemort. There’s a limit.

“Oh, thank you Professor!” You say as though the man just cured cancer. “I had heard they were just rumors. Well, we best be off to class, goodbye!” You cry quickly before grabbing onto Yoongi’s hand and dragging him away from the professor before he can berate you for anything else. Yoongi’s cackling the entire way back to the castle, unable to stop laughing at the façade you put on in front of the teachers.

“Wow, are you sure you’re not Slytherin?” Yoongi asks, very obviously pleased with himself that he’s finally getting a grasp on the magical jargon of this realm. You have to admit, it’s kind of cute, how satisfied he looks with himself.

You purposely bump into his shoulder, a rather playful movement that has him grinning. “Please, if I was a Slytherin, with my beauty and brains, this world would be doomed. You’d never make it out alive.”

Come to think of it, there are so many goddamn dangerous things in the magical world of Harry Potter that it’s as if death waits around every corner. Suddenly, you feel much more responsibility to make sure Yoongi doesn’t trap himself in a Devil’s Snare or bump into the Whomping Willow by accident. Knowing him, of course, he absolutely would.

“We should probably stick closer to the castle,” you tell him as you begin walking down the open hallway. “Just in case we get caught. I could probably lie about something. It seems like everyone likes me in this universe,” you say happily. “Well, everyone except you.”

You poke Yoongi in the chest as you walk along, nodding hello to the ghosts that pass you by. They don’t give a shit about whether or not you’re in class, thankfully. He curls into himself adorably, like one of those pillbugs, soft smile growing on his face.

“Hey,” he says indignantly, pouting. “I like you. Everyone thinks that, at least. And I mean, I think so, too.”

“How many universes did it take?” You joke, holding out your fingers to count. “Five? Six?”

Yoongi frowns. “You can’t even remember how many universes we’ve been through?”

You cross your arms in front of your chest as you turn a corner, nearly knocking into a statue that would probably shout in surprise if you did. “Can you?” You ask as a rebuttal.

Yoongi keeps his eyes trained on the ground. “I lose track of time when I’m with you,” he mutters under his breath. It’s so quiet that you almost don’t hear him. Almost.

You pause as your mind processes the words, like it requires so much brain-power to comprehend and turn them into a thought you can coherently respond to that you need to come to a full-blown stop. Yoongi seems so distracted that he nearly keeps going, leaving you behind, but notices at the last second that you’ve strayed away.

“Did you… did you say something?” You ask, blinking, as if that’s going to help.

“Me? No, no,” Yoongi says, shrugging. Strange. You swear he did. Maybe you’re just fucking with yourself. There’s no way Yoongi would ever flirt with you. “Hey, what’s that closet over there?”

He manages to distract you easily, pointing towards a wooden door with a black sign plastered over it that reads: NO STUDENTS ALLOWED. Well, that’s practically got your names written on it. As you scurry over, you can hear a familiar monotonous voice from the room next door, and that’s when it hits. This is the Potions closet.

Oh God, if Snape catches the two of you, you’re dead meat. Maybe you can pull the Herbology card if desperate times call for desperate measures. Lord knows Sprout’s always been quite the gullible professor.

As you approach, you can clearly make out Snape berating what sounds to be a first year, if the crying on the other end of the conversation is anything to go by. Oh, classic Snape. Thank God you’re skipping all of your classes today. And for the rest of the time you’re here. Hopefully, his voice is so loud that he won’t be able to hear you and Yoongi sneaking into a closet that you will definitely get detention for being in.

“Quietus,” you cast, vaguely remembering the spell from one of the books. You point your wand at your footsteps, hoping the charm will silence them as you near the closet. “Alohomora.”

Easily, the door opens. Damn, Snape needs to work on his door locking techniques if it’s so damn simple for two students who know very little about Hogwarts to get inside. You shush Yoongi as you tug him inside by the collar, quickly shutting the door behind you and hoping that nobody saw.

“Lumos,” you say, allowing light to pierce the end of your want (and your retinas) so you can scan the shelves, glancing at anything that catches your eyes.

There are vials filled with sparkling purples, deep matte blues, bright yellows, lime greens, and everything in between. A few of them ooze and give off strange fumes, others foaming and frothy. Some of them have labels, and some of them don’t. Yoongi mimics your actions until his wand also starts to glow, excitedly peering in every nook and cranny. It seems that he doesn’t want to miss a second in a world like this.

“Don’t touch anything,” you advise Yoongi, knowing well enough that you are unfamiliar with most, if not all of these potions, and that consuming any one of them would be more than just a terrible idea. It would be straight disastrous.

“What’s Amortentia?” Yoongi asks as he plucks a small bottle from the top shelf. It’s gleams a mother-of-pearl type sheen, soft and pink, and when Yoongi removes the cap, it emits steam in the shape of spirals. “Smells good.”

“Yoongi, don’t—!” You cry out softly, but it’s too late, as Yoongi is already downing the entire bottle like a dehydrated madman and stuffing the emptied glass into his pocket for safekeeping. Your eyes widen at the sight of him as the color seems to drain right from his body for a mere few moments before returning, his lips colored a dusty rose.

“It didn’t do anything,” Yoongi says, disappointed. “I don’t feel any different.”

“God dammit, Yoongi,” you exclaim to yourself, shaking your head as you reach over to grab his hand. “Thought I told you not to touch anything.”

“You don’t understand, Y/N. It smelled amazing. I can’t—I can’t figure out what that scent was, but it was perfect. I want to take that scent and turn it into a personalized Febreze bottle, so I can have it for the rest of my life,” Yoongi says. He leans in close you to, pressing his head into the crook of your neck for a solid five seconds as you freeze up at the touch. “Come to think of it, it smells like you.”

“Me?” You ask, shocked. You push his head away instinctively, unsure how to feel at the touch. It was foreign and familiar, all at once. Yoongi seems to have that effect on you. “Why on earth would it smell like me?”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says, shrugging. “You smell like… paper. And ink. And new books. You know that new book smell, when you go to Barnes and Noble and buy a brand-new novel and you’re in the line for the cashier and you just sniff the pages because they are so crisp and untouched and perfect? That’s what you smell like.”

“You have a good nose,” you point out.

“It’s easy to distinguish,” Yoongi says in return. “But there’s something else I spell that I can’t put my figure on,” he mumbles but then shrugs it off. “What was Amortentia even supposed to do? It’s like I drank it and then nothing happened. You’re still you and I’m still me. No body-swapping, or anything. Boo.”

“I really don’t think that’s what Amortentia is supposed to do, unless it goes horribly wrong,” you say warily, eyes wide at the thought. This universe business is enough, imagine if you had to go through it trapped in Yoongi’s tiny frame! “It’s a love potion, as far as I remember.”

Yoongi looks as though he’s seen a ghost. A real one that’s meant to spook you, not like the ones that parade around Hogwarts greeting you. “A… a love potion?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding to yourself. “Except maybe this one was just faulty, since nothing changed when you took it. I mean, who were you even supposed to fall in love with, then?”

Yoongi’s silent. Guess he doesn’t have an answer.

You grab onto his hand, directing your illuminate wand towards the door to the closet. “We should probably get out of here before Snape finds us and skins us alive,” you say, hoping classes haven’t finished yet and the hallways are clear for you to continue fooling around.

Yoongi nods, eyes glinting in the light from the spell as you shine the light close to him, just to make sure he hasn’t drifted off somewhere. The door creaks ever so slightly as you peer out, making sure the coast is clear. When there’s nobody in sight, you and Yoongi slowly tiptoe out, Yoongi’s hand held firmly in yours as you lead the two of you from the closet and hope that nobody catches you.

Once you’re down the hallway, safe and sound from any trouble, you and Yoongi make the executive decision of camping yourselves on one of the benches as you wait for whatever’s next.

“Are you sure nothing changed when you drank that potion?” You ask as you lean in close, just to make sure Yoongi’s eyes haven’t turned an ominous red, or anything. You swear, that’s the only reason you’re staring into them. Seriously.

Yoongi looks himself up and down and shakes his head. “I feel the same.”

“Huh,” you say to yourself, positively perplexed. You doubt Snape would keep a faulty love potion in his closet full of things that are strictly prohibited from students, but you can’t think of any other explanation for the lack of change in Yoongi’s behavior. Maybe potions magic didn’t work on you since you were actually a muggle. Still, that doesn’t explain your ability to cast all the charms you have. Unless…

No, you must be going crazy. There’s absolutely no way.

“What next?” Yoongi asks as he stares out into the little courtyard that rests right next to you, a single tree growing out from the ground in the center. The campus seems so quiet when you two are the only ones making noise.

“We figure out what we need to do to get home,” you say.

“Mr. Min! Miss Y/L/N!”

The unfamiliar voice of a female teacher catches the both of you off guard. It’s no McGonagall that’s approaching you. Instead, it’s the vaguely memorable face of who you believe to be the Muggle Studies teacher that’s sauntering towards both of you, hands firmly planted on her hips.

“What are you two both doing out of class?” She asks, but she doesn’t seem particularly threatening.

“We were just taking a break,” you say, truthfully. “I don’t really understand what’s happening in class right now, and I was hoping Yoongi could explain it to me.”

You sweeten your voice, batting your lashes back and forth in order to alleviate the situation. In the meanwhile, Yoongi stares at your profile and stifles back a snort. Unfortunately, however, the professor isn’t as susceptible to your cunning charms as much as the other one.

“Well, you two certainly have some chemistry,” she comments. Even the teachers are in on it? Damn, maybe you’re more popular than you thought. “I’d suggest going back to class before someone punishes the both of you. You have Defense Against the Dark Arts right now, correct?”

She knows your schedule better than the both of you, so you nod. At least you appear to have escaped any sort of punishment. You can hardly imagine how disappointed your house would be if they found out that you were the reason that you lost all of those house points, because you were traipsing around the castle with Yoongi. Irene would never let you hear the end of it.

“Well, move along then,” she says, motioning to the door across the hall. “Don’t want to see the two of you out here during class time again, understand?”

You and Yoongi firmly shake your heads, nodding like the diligent and respectful students you apparently are as you awkwardly approach the thick wooden door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Like fate would have it, you were conveniently right beside it the entire time. Hopefully nobody will think too much of two students sneaking into class halfway through it. You’ve lost enough points already.

Luckily, you and Yoongi manage to find your seats—right next to each other—without drawing too much attention to yourselves, opening your textbooks immediately and pretending as if you were there the entire time. It doesn’t look like the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—whoever they are, since you’re before Harry Potter’s time—pays very much attention to the class at all.

Sometime during the lecture, Irene whips her head around from where she’s sitting and spots the two of you. She gives you this incredulous look, like a sort of “What the fuck are you doing and where the fuck did you come from?” kind of expression, one that has you smiling guiltily in return with Min Yoongi’s head resting in the crook of your neck.

“The Patronus charm is one of the most powerful defensive spells in a wizard or witch’s arsenal. But, it is also one of the most difficult,” you catch the professor saying, paying minimal attention since you just so happen to know most of the information about it. “The corporeal Patronus takes the shape of a guardian spirit, typically an animal. They are often animals with which you share a strong bond with, whether it be physical or emotional, but the guardian’s form can also change should you experience an unwavering, eternal love of some sort.”

Just at that moment, Yoongi’s hand brushes over yours. You pay little attention to it, instead choosing to focus on the professor.

“Today, we will be practicing it, just so that you can all get a feel for the spell. I want an essay of two rolls of parchment on its uses and its history on my desk in exactly a week, though,” the professor instructs, whipping out his wand. “In order to conjure it, you must think of the happiest memory you have, one that brings you nothing but the biggest of smiles, as you say the words: Expecto Patronum.”

You hear Yoongi next to you, muttering the spell under his breath. Is he actually going to try to cast it? You recall The Order of the Phoenix—you remember how difficult it was for Harry to teach everyone how to cast it. And those were skilled wizards, too. Not just any random human, plucked off of the street. Like Yoongi.

“You will make a circular motion with your wand and say the incantation, but be careful not to point your wand at anybody, as the light that the spell emits is quite bright,” the professor warns. “Watch.”

With a simple twist of his wand, he says, “Expecto Patronum.” From the end of his wand bursts forth a simple white light before it morphs into the shape of a fox, bounding from one end of the room to the other. The students are mesmerized—and so is Yoongi—as they watch it leap around the room, a trail of white dust following it until it disintegrates into the air.

“Now, for your turn. Remember, circular motions,” the professor advises, stepping off of the platform to begin inspecting students’ techniques.

“What’s the incantation, again?” Yoongi asks as he stands up, readying himself.

“Expecto Patronum,” you repeat from memory. Prisoner of Azkaban was always your favorite book. “What memory are you using, Yoongi?”

“Uh…” Yoongi says, pausing. “When I was six. And I won my school’s spelling bee. Yeah, that’s it,” he quickly tells you.

“Born to correct other people’s spelling errors,” you joke, nudging him slightly.

What Yoongi doesn’t tell you, though, is how his happiest memory is merely from the prior universe. It’s seeing you, standing in front of him in a jumpsuit that brings out the deep color of your eyes, telling him that there’s nobody you’d rather be with than him. Even though the confession was only so that you could move onto the next universe, you didn’t really mean what you said, it is something that Yoongi will cherish for as long as he can, for as long as he knows you and more. He knows that once you are freed from these universe travels you will go back to hating each other, so he savors every moment by your side.

“How about we cast them together?” Yoongi suggests. “Just to see.”

“We are probably the least qualified sixth years to be doing this spell, just saying,” you point out as you stand up next to him, wand at the ready.

Yoongi chuckles. “I think that makes this even better.”

“Okay,” you say, breathing out, thinking of the happiest memory you can. You try and tell yourself it’s when you graduated from high school, or had a 3AM bonfire with friends during the summer of your junior year of university, but what seems to cover them all is Yoongi’s face. Memories with him are limited but overwhelmingly present, like your brain is insisting that your happiest moment has occurred with him. And that’s when you realize. Your happiest moment is right now, is every universe before this and every universe after because you don’t think you’ve ever had as much fun in your life. Maybe you’re trapped with Yoongi but that’s alright, because you can’t help the smile on your face when you see who each universe has turned him into, a little different but still the Yoongi you know so well. You’re living through your happiest moments because you are next to him every step of the way, every world you enter and every world you leave. He is your happiest memory.

Together, the two of you follow through with the movements of your wands and say, gazing at each other the entire time, “Expecto Patronum.”

Yoongi’s is the one you notice first. It materializes from a collection of white dust, sparking under the firelight of the classroom as it travels around the room, slowly forming the shape of a cat. It’s calico—you can tell from the clear markings that decorate its fur—and it meows, just for good measure before running back to Yoongi’s wand and disappearing.

And then you see yours. It’s a poodle. Of all things, a poodle, barking happily as it jumps around the room, the dust circling you and Yoongi excitedly before vanishing in front of your eyes. You and Yoongi are speechless as you stare at your wands, wondering what your patronuses mean. You can’t say you’ve ever felt connected with a poodle, of all animals.

“A cat?” Yoongi asks loudly, sort of in shock. “Why a cat? I don’t even like them.”

You scoff. “Cats are my favorite animal, alright? Back off. I mean, mine was a freaking poodle, of all things, so it’s not like you’re the only one who got snubbed.”

“I had a poodle when I was little,” Yoongi points out randomly. “His name was Holly.”

“You did?” You ask, turning to him. “I didn’t know that.”

Before Yoongi can say something else, Irene begins laughing. She bursts into giggles from her seat across the way, having forgotten entirely about the Patronus charm as she doubles over. You and Yoongi look her way, equal amounts of bewildered. The rest of your classmates have also turned to stare, their wands dropping, none of them yet able to create a patronus like you and Yoongi. Even the professor, himself, is amazed at your magical abilities.

“Are you guys serious?” She asks between laughs. “Seriously? You don’t even know?”

“Know what?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

“Oh my God, you guys are crazy. Are you seriously that blind?” She asks like you’re missing the elephant in the room, like the answer is staring you down but you can’t even see it. “You guys wouldn’t know love even if it punched you in the face.”

Love? What’s love got to do with it? You furrow your brows in an attempt to increase your understanding, hoping to figure out why Irene looks so incredulous, why she’s acting like you and Yoongi are in a constant state of beating around the bush. The professor had said that the Patronuses are only affected when you are in an eternal love, but what does that mean for you?

Immediately, your mind drifts back to the Potions closet. The Amortentia. Yoongi drank it without experiencing any effects in return, but maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe the love potion wasn’t going to do anything anyway. And now, you’re standing here with Min Yoongi casting his patronus as your favorite animal, and you’re casting his, and suddenly it seems fairly obvious.

“You don’t think…?” You ask, unsure if you’re directing your question at Yoongi or at Irene.

Irene rolls her eyes. “It’s high time the two of you realized that you were in love!”

A few of your peers are snickering at the exclaimed proclamation and the professor smiles discreetly, turning away to help a few struggling students.

It’s one thing to have this feeling under your skin, this subtle awareness of the fact, and it’s another for a fictional character to blatantly spell it out for you. Now that you’re hearing it out loud, coming from someone’s mouth, it suddenly feels easier to argue against. Like it’s easier to disregard, to disprove, only because everyone’s acting as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“We’re not in love,” you say defensively.

Maybe it’s just your characters. Maybe you’re just embodying the protagonists that you had created for this universe, maybe they are the ones that are supposed to be in love and you and Yoongi are just mimicking their actions, their personalities. That would explain Yoongi’s placement in Hufflepuff. Your mind rattles as it tries to grab onto any semblance of logic, of reasoning, any explanation for the strangely romantic behavior in this universe other than your true emotions. It’s almost like you refuse to accept the end result for what it is. Like you can’t ever comprehend the idea of Yoongi actually caring for you, or vice versa.

You swear, if you were back in your own world, you’d still hate each other. It’s just the Universe Effect™.

Irene scoffs. “Yeah, I’ll believe that when You Know Who comes back.”

“Actually—” You begin.

“Just kiss him already!” Another boy calls out in exasperation. He earns a chorus of agreement.

Yoongi looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole, and you have to admit, you’re with him on this one.

“Min Yoongi, can you explain this?” You inquire, turning to him.

He’s silent.

It’s just this universe. It’s the magic that’s making your brain delusional, tricking you into thinking Min Yoongi, of all people, is in love with you. Sure, through each universe you’ve retained your core personalities, but maybe this world has just placed you more firmly into the shoes of the characters you created. The characters are supposed to be madly in love, not you and Yoongi. That would explain the Amortentia. And the Patronuses.

You and Yoongi aren’t in love, right?!

You grab hold of Min Yoongi’s collar, staring him dead in the eyes. Everyone around you begins to cheer, to chant, but all you can see is him. Even as the world begins to twist and turn, to morph into an indistinguishable blob of nothingness, he is the only thing your gaze rests upon.

Once more, like all the other times before, the world is ripped away from your fingertips.

Your surroundings wash away, your vision being blinded by light and your body floating like a feather in an empty abyss, just waiting to be placed in a different galaxy. The tingling sensation of magic, of a wondrous supernatural wizardry is torn from your blood and bones. But instead of feeling hollow and barren, something else has shifted inside your chest. Although you cannot forth spells or charms with the flicker of your wrist or enchant another being with syllables rolling off the tip of your tongue, you are far from feeling desolate. The magic has simply moved elsewhere.

And you only feel it when you think of Yoongi.

『The universe has formed.』

“Y/N. Wake up.” The voice is more urgent this time around, a note of panic ripping through the sweet and soft timbre. “Why are you sleeping?”

“W-what?” It’s difficult to peel back your eyelids. You haven’t felt so weary and exhausted in such a long time. It’s as if your muscles have been overly-exerted and your bones are brittle, the feeling of being famished embedded into your flesh. You are weak. You are weary.

“My wedding is tonight. Hurry.”

You sit up from your spot on the floor, having curled up into fetal position in the corner of the room. And once your rise on your trembling legs, you are met with the most gorgeous woman on the planet.

She is the same stature as you but the lady stands taller from her wealth, radiating the confidence that you do not have. Her skin is smooth and polished, hair perfectly combed back into braids that build beautifully at her crown, multiple jeweled hair pins sticking from her locks. Her lips are two daffodil petals, cheeks pinched into a roseate shade, gown made from the finest silk fabrics, red skirt imprinted with black swirls and intricate loops.

“Heo Yeonhwa…” The young lady’s name is already rolling from your tongue without a single thought.

She is one of your most memorable characters. She was the first fictional being that you ever cried for. She is someone that has always been real inside of your mind, someone who suffered her entire life and even in the end, found nothing for her future. Yet, she embodies the person you’ve always wanted to be.

Dignified. Fearless. Beautiful.

Her brow lifts from your impolite speech, directly calling her name without any sort of proper title attached to it. But she allows it to pass, pacing until she meets the murky vanity and sets herself down on the seat. “Re-do my hair. It’s hurting my scalp.”

“O-okay.”

As you approach, you catch your reflection. You are nothing but a lowly maid, face permanently dirtied and sunburnt, cheeks hollow and outline of bones visible, hair matted down and tucked into a low ponytail. Your clothes are of dull colors, browns and soiled whites. You are nothing in this world. And that makes it all the much harder to accept the ending to this story.

An ending that you know like the back of your hand.

With gentle fingers, you carefully undo the pins and clips, letting her braids fall before you unwrap them. Against your will, your hands begin to tremble as you brush her soft, long hair. Guilt and remorse begins to envelop your being. Facing your own character makes you wonder why you used your pen on paper, why you let your fingers tap against the keys, to make her destiny so horrible. Maybe it’s true after all that writers are the most evil of them all.

For the first time, you truly feel like the villain.

“Why are your hands shaking, maid?!” Her tone is clipped, sharp and venomous. You wince, and she rips her own strands away from your grasps with a huff, doing it herself.

“I-I’m sorry.” You jump back, grabbing fistfuls of your skirt and downcasting your head, bottom lip quivering. You lack the courage to look her in her eyes, but she does not.

“—Your highness,” she corrects.

“Your highness.” You nod. “I’m sorry, your highness.”

A sigh spills from her pretty lips and her fingers work her locks, braiding it tightly without a single piece loose. “Soon, it’ll be princess. And one day, you’ll have to call me Empress.”

There’s a silence. She gazes at you through the mirror and her body softens. “Y/N,” the lady calls you quietly, “look at me.”

With hesitance, you lift your chin, locking your gaze upon her.

“You don’t have to be afraid. Be at ease.” A tiny smile graces her lips, and she nods at you, gentler and becoming almost a maternal presence. “There was no need for you to apologize.”

“I—”

“And there’s no need for you to call me such a title, at least when we’re alone.” Supposedly, you grew up together, practically sisters at this point. But you feel like you know her on a deeper level. You wrote her, you know all her emotions and experiences, you created her.

In a way, you are her.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been harsh to you.” She drapes her braids behind her back, hands folded into her lap. “Things have been getting out of hand at the palace. I haven’t been feeling well.”

“There’s no need for you to apologize to me, your highness.” You’re compelled to speak to her as delicately as you can, afraid that the fragile girl will shatter in your hands. She is no less than your age but has lived through more than five lifetimes worth of pain. At least, that’s what you’ve written her as.

You step forward, raising your hands to do her hair again, at least to the best of your abilities.

There’s a quiet and peaceful moment, the morning air seeping through the open window, the birds swooping across the azure sky and chirping their lively lullabies. The sun gleams down, rays pouring through the paper walls and a sort of serenity fills your soul.

“Do you think he’ll ever love me?”

Lady Yeonhwa stares at you carefully through the mirror. It’s a test, a deliberate question. But her gaze tells that she already knows too much about your own inner feelings.

“The crown prince.” She clarifies, “Min Yoongi.”

You swallow down the thick lump in your throat. “I’m not sure.”

“Love is fickle. At least that’s what my mother told me all my life. It’s what she told me before we came here.”

You don’t know what to say to her, how to make things better, how to lessen the agony that is to come. Sure, you’re not attached to this universe, you don’t shoulder any real responsibilities, there’s no need to feel any guilt. But you cannot bear to hurt her, the person who is all too real in front of you.

“So are humans,” you add on hesitantly, wondering if it’s right to speak up when she’s in the middle of voicing her own worries. “A-are you ready?” Your cotton-filled mouth manages to stumble something coherent out, though you wince at the next words. “To marry Min Yoongi.”

“I don’t have a choice, ready or not. It is my duty to marry him.” Anything less of that would ruin her reputation, soil her family name. After all, her own family was the one who forced her into this position, and they would never accept her back if anything else happened. It’s a life of suffering. “I cannot run away.”

You speak nothing, uttering no syllables. Merely, you force your fingers to stop quivering and you fix her up-do as best as you can before she takes over, polishing the flyaways and sitting back when you place the pins back into her tightly knotted strands.

Once it’s complete, you step away.

Lady Yeonhwa is the one that parts her lips to whisper first- “Y/N, have I wronged you in any way?”

Your blood runs to ice. “Pardon?”

The young girl turns in her seat, eyes desperately reading yours. “I’ve been gracious to you since the day you set foot into our manor. We lived together, grew up together. I shared the same bed as you for many years, and we learnt how to read, write, together. I love you like a sister born from the same parents and I know lately, lately, we haven’t been as close. I’ve been distant to you, cold, but let me make one request.”

She drops down to her knees. Your eyes widen. If you knew anything about this girl that you created with your own hands and thoughts, it’s that she never begged anyone.

“Lady Yeonhwa—”

“I have no one.” She faces the ground. “My parents, my brothers, they’ve all left me. I’ve been sold to the royal family and I know it won’t take long before I’ll be thrown away again. He’ll find a million other concubines in place of me. I’m nothing but a pawn, but…but, Y/N, I—”

There’s scattered footsteps outside of the door, rattling the frame. “The Crown Prince awaits.”

The doors burst open and it’s Min Yoongi, the person you’ve been waiting for.

Except, this time, you don’t want to be taken away by him. Still, he marches forward, without giving the other woman in the room a single glance, grabbing onto your wrist and leading you outside. “W-wait—” you stutter, but he stops you.

“We need to talk, Y/N. Like, now.”

The four guards don’t ask any questions, even if he’s of royal status, personally talking to a lowly maid like you. In the story, he’s the prince and his word is final. And as you’re dragged away, you turn your head one last time, catching a glimpse of Yeonhwa, how she’s still bowing on the ground and how tears have begun to trickle from her lash line. The doors shut.

“Thank God you’re here.” Once he’s lead you to the secluded gardens, Yoongi turns and embraces your body, pulling you close until your chest is pressed against his. A broken gasp spills from your lips and your hands tremble, lifting to return the touch, grasping at him.

You clutch him close, like he’s your only lifeline. Your nose digs into the crook of his neck and you hold back a heart wrenching sob. One question rings inside your mind: why is it so difficult to have him close to you?

“I missed you,” he murmurs and you nod, weakly humming a single note.

You were taken away so abruptly from him. One moment, his eyes had grown wide when you grabbed a hold of the collar of his shirt, and the next, you had dissipated from his grasps. As disappointing as it is to Yoongi for leaving the wonderful world of Hogwarts, there are more pressing matters at hand.

“I missed you too.” It stings when you pull away, an itch underneath your flesh that screams for you to hold onto him before he’s taken from you.

You both face each other and a smile finds its way up your lips when you see how well he is in this place. He looks healthy, dressed adequately, hat and blue robes with the emblem of a dragon on his clothes. In contrast, you are the complete opposite, weak and feeble. Yoongi could feel your bones when he hugged you close and to see you in such a state, it’s painful.

“Y/N—” He holds your hand, his furrowed brows marring his face. “We…..I...I’m getting married in a few hours.”

You suck in a breath, swallowing down the thick lump in your throat. “I know.”

“Well, we need to think of something now. Fictional or not, I can’t marry someone I don’t know.” His voice is quiet but urgent, stressed with a hint of panic. He sweeps your blank features, confused as to your strange composure. “We need to run away.”

You and Yoongi, it would never work. At least, not in this universe. It was far too forbidden.

You tear your gaze away. “We can’t.”

“What do you mean we can’t? What are we supposed to do then? What is the ending supposed to be?” When you don’t respond, he begins to piece it together himself. In his historical setting, if you’re a maid, and he’s a prince-

“I’m right, aren’t I? We need to run away together.”

You shake your head, letting go of him to ball your fists together. “I...can’t do that, Yoongi.”

Yoongi shakes his head. “Give me a good reason why not.”

“This entire time, we’ve been doing things without any major consequences. We had no responsibilities, not attachments, no empathy but that girl in there.” You stare into his eyes, unwavering and you point back to the small home. “That girl that you’re supposed to marry, I can’t hurt her like I’m supposed to.”

He doesn’t understand. “What?”

“She...she’s important to me.” His gaze becomes too much and you turn away, facing the endless sky that seems more like a prison and less like freedom. “I..I wrote her after my first breakup. She is everything that I’ve always wanted to be. She’s the reason why I became serious about writing. She is the first character that my heart ever ached for and I...I can’t hurt her like I planned.”

“So, what are we supposed to do? Are you going to watch me marry her? Are we going to be stuck in this universe?” His stare bores holes into your skin. Yoongi’s voice nearly gives out as it drops into a murmur. “Are you going to give up on me so easily?”

You sigh. “Yoongi.”

“Y/N, I...I—” His features are contorted into distress. It seems like there’s something he wants to say, something that he’s been craving and aching to let loose, but he’s unable to let it tumble out. “Never mind. Just...think about what to do then. We still have some time.”

Without much else, he spins around and leaves. His entourage of guards and other servants soon follow and you watch as his silhouette fades into the environment. For some reason, your chest twinges in a dull pain.

It seems like no matter what choice you make, it’s bound to hurt someone.

Anger pulsates through his veins. Each of his strides carries a heavy weight, booming against the gravel and then the floorboards. The servants bow their heads lower, affected by the darker aura of the crown prince. Min Yoongi does not understand you and he never will.

After all you’ve both been through, the countless realms and circumstances, the strife and fight to return to reality, you were so ready to throw away. But he finds himself less furious and more frustrated—the expression written across your visage is one that he has never witnessed before.

He has known you for years, pulled apart the meaning of your earnest words written in the most lonely of times, been by your side through lifetimes, but he does not know you. Truly.

The man has never known your tears, your sadness, your suffering. He only knows of your rage and the small glimpses of happiness. And to see you in such a state, broken and weary, tired and drained, he is frustrated to the point of ire. There is nothing he can do, no way to mend your wounds.

“Your highness,” a croaking voice interrupts his trance, and he turns towards the elder speaking. The guards stand down and Yoongi supposes the stranger must be a royal advisor of sorts. “Why do you appear so grim? Do you not know today is your wedding celebration?”

He scoffs. “No, it isn’t.”

An amused smile takes place on the old man’s lips, and he settles down on the stone bench by the tree of the courtyard. “But it clearly is. Tonight, you will wed to Lady Yeonhwa and the country will be united again. Eventually, she will become your empress and bear a son who will someday be crowned Emperor as well.”

The way this elder smiles, a mischievous glint in his irises, the corners of his lips turned upwards, it reminds Yoongi of his boss, Jeon Jungkook. But the latter man was never this eloquent and astute despite having a full time job as the head of a publishing company. The young kid was always a bit erratic and panicked, rather than composed. Even so, the man before Yoongi just seems to echo his boss uncannily.

Yoongi doesn’t care about this universe. Unlike you, he has no connection or attachments to these people and as unprincely as it may be, he continues to himself, brash and angry.

“I won’t marry her, whoever she is. Why should I?” He inhales a sharp breath. “I don’t love her.”

The advisor stares at him. “Then who do you love?”

There’s a silence.

“Love is indeed fickle.” The elder says, looking up towards the cirrus clouds and soaking in the sunlight through his wrinkled skin, skin that has touched thunderstorms and hurricanes, blizzards and scorching droughts. “It changes and alters with time. You can grow to love someone, fall out of love with someone, learn to utilize love as a weapon. How do you think it’s possible to that matrimony can unify countries, make one stronger and prevent warfare?”

“You will learn to love Lady Yeonhwa. Over time, the partnership can easily alter into affection and infatuation. It’s your duty to marry her — for the better of our people and the kingdom.” The elder smiles at the grimacing prince whose patience is running thin. “You are no ordinary boy. You are the prince. Your selfish wants must be sacrificed.” He chuckles and somehow it oddly reminds Yoongi of someone familiar, “You’ve probably heard this all your life, haven’t you?”

“But child, to me, you are not simply bounded to your noble title. You are a boy I have tended to since the dawn of time. You are Min Yoongi.” The call of his name has his attention snapped back into focus. In the short time he’s been in this place, no one has called him directly, except for you and now, this old man who stares directly into his eyes in an unwavering and unsettling manner.

“And if you make no mistake and truly bear the feelings of love towards another, take it before it’s gone and hold it close to you. While love cannot overcome all barriers, it makes it easier to uphold to suffering, and only the universe knows how much suffering there is.”

For the most part, Yoongi is unfazed by the inspirational pep-talk by some random man that is apparently like his adopted grandfather in this realm. But there’s still a part that resonates within him, tugging his chest, and he clears his throat. “Are you suggesting I run?”

“I would never, your highness. The Emperor and Empress would immediately skin me alive and boil me upside down if I urged you to go against your duties.” There’s a playful sparkle in his irises. “I am merely speaking about your innermost feelings, am I not?”

A noncommittal noise leaves the back of Yoongi’s throat.

The advisor continues on with a mindless ramble, “There is no fault with feeling. Sometimes we are the most human when we are devoid from thought and simply feel.”

“You’re pretty wise, aren’t you, Jungkook?”

“I am,” the old man quips back at him playfully and stares at the profile of the prince as he settles down beside him. Yoongi isn’t sure which part of the question the man is responding to. “And you aren’t the boy I taught, are you?”

Yoongi’s caught off guard and the elder merely chuckles, saying nothing else.

On the other side of the palace grounds, your fingers are quick at work, knees bruised from kneeling on the ground. “Will you hurry up?!”

The head-maid barks and you fumble, tugging the fabrics tighter to hug against the lady’s body. A pained exhale leaves her lungs and you wince apologetically, trying your best to quicken your pace. The wedding attire is gorgeous, silk reds and golden flowers imprinted into the skirt and sleeves. Compared to your own clothes, you are nothing.

There are other maids, younger and older, who are swarming Yeonhwa. They fix any loose strand of hair, keeping her locks wrapped tightly against her skull with heavy pins digging into her head. Jewels and rings adorn each of her fingers, precious stones hanging off her ears. The clothes begin to drown her frame and although she is otherworldly beautiful-

“Take it off!”

She screams and shrieks, beginning to cry in front of the full-length mirror. The younger girls are startled, stepping back and immediately, the middle-aged head maid comes over in hasty steps. “My lady, we mustn't. The wedding is in a three hours, and we have to prepare.”

“I don’t care!” She begins to hyperventilate and without further instructions, you begin to undo the layers and layers. The young girl continues to have her meltdown, crying and weeping, heaving in breaths. “I need to get out of this! I need to!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you mutter, attempting to placate her. The other woman is baffled and watches as you undo the efforts of the past half-hour, calming Yeonhwa as you slowly begin to untie the laces of her corset. The court ladies try to approach you again, but know better than to go against your actions as you slowly remove layer by layer of satin and silk until Yeonhwa is left in nothing but a simple white slip dress. You even release her hair from the tight knots and braids, pulling out clips and ribbons, jewels and the daffodil flower hair pins. It helps - at least visibly, she seems to have stopped shaking.

Once she’s completely freed, she turns around to snatch your hand within her own. “I need a bath. Y/N will accompany me, do not bother us.”

None of them argue, not when they’re afraid of upsetting someone who will soon be crowned Princess, then Empress. So, she turns towards the bathhouse and you barely have the time to bow your head slightly towards the other women.

In silence, you draw her a warm bath in the wooden tub, filling it slowly, bucket by bucket. You hold her hand, coaxing her into it, and she eases, a shallow exhale spilling from her lips with the temperature of the water. As you dip your fingers in, you hiss, the heat scorching and soothing all at once.

“Are you feeling any better, your highness?” You ask gently, reaching over to dip a soft hand-towel in the water. The fabric slowly absorbs the water, and you gently drag it along the skin of the princess.

She frowns. “Don’t call me by that title,” she orders sternly before becoming gentler. “Please, not here, Y/N. If no one else, I can at least be straightforward with you.”

You nod, but she isn’t even looking at you, so you hope she takes the silence as acceptance. You don’t really know what else to say, know if bringing up the wedding, Yoongi, anything, is appropriate. It feels wrong to want to mention him. So, you keep your lips pressed firmly together as the water sloshes around her body and the tub. You lightly scrub, admiring the suppleness of her youthful skin, but at the same time, there’s a kind of pity inside you that is inerasable.

Almost, you think that the remainder of her bath will be spent in silence, but then she speaks up. “I’ve always envied you.”

It’s no slip of the tongue. It sounds like a confession, an earnest secret hidden in the depths of her mind for as long as she could muster before letting it slip out, tumbling from her mouth like vomit. She sounds pained.

You freeze. “What?”

Yeonhwa sighs, like she’s regretting ever opening her mouth. “You have everything that I don’t,” she tells you sadly. “Freedom. Hope. Love.” The final word sounds as though it’s being wretched from her throat. Sounds like a plea, a cry for help.

Coming from the soon-to-be Princess, of all people, it catches you off guard. They are words you never thought you’d hear. At least, not from her. To you, she has everything. Even Yoongi.

It’s absurd. It’s ridiculous. “But… but Yeonhwa… you’re dignified. Confident. You’re…” You’re fumbling for the right words. Yeonhwa is everything you’ve ever wanted to be, and more. “You’re beautiful.”

She scoffs bitterly. “And you think that means anything? My grace, my beauty, they are meaningless. I have no one.” You feel like you need to say something, tell her anything, but she continues without ceasing. “That won’t change. I live alone, and I will die alone. I am alone.”

It’s strange, chilling. It’s as if she’s already aware of her destiny, aware of the ending you’ve written for her. Like she knows that you’ve created her only to abandon her in the end, leave her in favor of the protagonist you’re meant to care about.

Without even realizing it, your vision has begun to blur. You find yourself kneeling on the hard stone floor as if you’re begging for her forgiveness, atoning for your sins. It’s peculiar. Strange. You feel as though you’re having an out-of-body experience, like you’re watching a mirror image of yourself. Because in a way, you are. You’ve written Yeonhwa to reflect yourself, your beliefs. That was the whole damn point. She is you, and you are her.

You had always thought you’d die alone. But watching it now, seeing your thoughts play out in front of you, it feels different. It feels like there’s something that needs changing.

“That’s not true,” you say softly, even if you can’t believe it yourself.

“How is it not, maid?” Her voice is cold, distant, emotionless.

For years, you had thought this way, felt as though you were hopelessly lost, hopelessly alone. Nobody would love you, nobody would help shoulder your hardships, your pain. No matter how many stories you create, how many characters you build and come to know, how many fantasies you construct, how many universes you see, you have always woken up alone, nothing more than a laptop beside you or a pen in your hand, the static of your screens the only noise other than the thumping in your head.

You have always been alon-

“You’re wrong,” you find yourself saying, mustering up as much courage as you can. She turns to you, a doubtful look lacing her expression. “You have me.”

You were never alone. You aren’t alone. You’ll never be alone. There has always been someone there for you, time and time again, a certain someone who broke down your door with wine in his hand, who invaded your space with minute smiles and sneaky grins, who knew you and your writing, your words, better than you ever have, who has travelled with you across galaxies, across timelines.

His name is Min Yoongi.

And you had never been on your own. Yoongi would never have let you. He’d always be there, bothering you every step of the way.

You could hardly imagine a world, at this point, where he wouldn’t be by your side.

“Y/N…” Yeonhwa says softly, trailing off into nothingness.

“And you deserve love, Yeonhwa. More than you know,” you tell her firmly, blinking away the water in your eyes as you reach over to embrace her, pulling her in tight. The droplets on her back seep into the thin fabric that covers your body but you can’t find it in you to care. “Never give up on that. It’s waiting for you, you know? It’s out there. You have me, so don’t think, for even a second, that you’re alone. I’ll always be here.”

She grins softly, mostly to herself. “And what happens when you leave?”

Yeonhwa knows.

“I’ll still be here,” you promise, and it’s a promise you can keep but only because you’ve hand-stitched this world together, built it brick by brick. You know it like the back of your hand, have walked through space and time in these universes. Even though you’ll vanish, watch your surroundings disintegrate before your eyes, you know she’ll never forget you. You know that your presence will remain, long after you do not.

“No matter where you or I go, I’ll always be right by your side,” you tell her.

Yeonhwa chuckles to herself softly, shaking her head. “How is it that I can believe you so easily?”

“Because it’s true,” you solemnly vow. “I’ll never leave you.”

Yeonhwa hums to herself, like she’s thinking of what to say next. Maybe your characters, Yeonhwa and this maid, have grown up together, watched each other mature into the young ladies you are now, but you, you as a person, as a traveller, you feel like you have a greater connection. You forged her out of your own insecurities, molded together a character that is everything you’ve ever wanted and everything you’ve ever been. Being with her is like being with you, a version of you that you are slowly beginning to realize, has it all wrong. You wish you could go back in time, tell yourself that you aren’t alone, that there will always be somebody by your side. Being with her is like watching your insecurities blossom into a real human being, a girl who is just as scared as you once were, and now, you want to fix that.

“Then go.”

“What?” You inquire, looking into her deep brown eyes. “Go?”

You pull away from her, but not because you’ve been repelled, or because she’s told you to. You can recall the original ending—remember how Yeonhwa is supposed to turn bitter and resentful, hatred overwhelming her once forgiving being, but in present time, her soft smile says nothing of the sort. In fact, it appears to be the opposite.

“There’s no one I would rather be happy for than you,” she admits. “You love him, don’t you?”

You don’t even have to say his name to know who she’s talking about.

Slowly, you find yourself nodding.

“If what you say is true, then I suppose I have no reason to be lonely,” she tells you, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. She’s letting both you and the only person she once believed would ever grow to love her go?

That wasn’t part of the original script.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you mutter out, unable to formulate something better to say. You feel as though you at least owe her an apology for writing her like this, for letting her turn into someone who can hardly see the color in a rainbow. You have no other words, nothing but sympathy for her, for a girl that once was meant to mirror you but no longer does.

She shakes her head. “No need to apologize. Go to Yoongi. He must be waiting for you.”

“Don’t you want help with draining your bath?” You ask, a final offer for any extra help. It’s sort of like a last request, like the last line in this chapter of your life.

She sighs, perfectly content with wading in the water until someone else comes and orders her return. Finally, she is at peace. “I’m alright.”

You nod, getting up and dusting off your cotton dress. There are no more words left to say, not as you open the door to her room to begin your a new quest to find him.

“Y/N?” She calls out. You turn around, meeting her eyes for a final time. She beams. “Thank you.”

It sounds like she’s not only thanking you for teaching her to love herself, she’s thanking you for being there. For creating her, for allowing her to live truly and freely and independently. You grin in response before walking from the room, letting the door shut softly behind you.

It turns out, finding the man in question isn’t as difficult as you thought it would be.

The grand palace grounds are a maze in and of themselves but nothing far from Hogwarts and it isn’t confusing to navigate considering there’s a horde of people surrounding the crown prince. They’re all trying to placate him, following along like tiny minions as he paces the courtyard, refusing to put on any wedding attire or even nibble on any of the food that’s to be served in the evening.

“Your highness,” one of the men bows his head and speaks gruffly, “the Empress will not be happy if you don’t begin your wedding preparations.”

“I don’t care,” he growls out, snapping back at them with the stringency of Mafia Leader Yoongi that you still remember. The memory brings a slight smile to your face and you take a step forward from the shadows.

“Yoon—”

Before you can even call his name, you’re being yanked back. “What do you think you’re doing, maid?!”

A man has ripped you back, practically screaming in your face and his spit splattering on your skin. Once the guard takes a good look at you, his grip loosens. “Wait a minute, aren’t you the personal servant of Lady Yeonhwa? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?”

“I..uh—”

You’re scared, a little stunned and unnerved that you’ll be taken some place elsewhere that someone of your status would belong, dragged far from Yoongi who’s waiting for you only a few paces away. But there’s not a chance to make a squeak in front of the looming guard or plead your case, not when there’s a ear-shattering shout.

“Y/N!” He saw you. There’s no reason to be afraid. It’s okay to trust him. “Let her go this instant, you idiot!”

The guard is shocked from the prince’s vulgarities and immediately jumps back, releasing his hold on you. The parade of attendants and officiants barely get to trail after him as Yoongi marches up to you, a stupidly happy grin spreading across his face. “Y/N! Finally! I was waiting for you. Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine.” You smile meekly, lowering your head as the crowd of men are staring daggers into your form. Yoongi seems to sense your unease almost instinctively, and he turns around with narrowed eyes.

“Why are you all still standing here?!” He hisses with his ultimate pissed-off-bitch-resting-face and it causes you to stifle back a laugh. It seems like Yoongi’s ran out of patience with the overbearing servants. “Can’t you see I’m trying to have a private conversation?!”

“But your highness,” one of them pipes up out of desperation, “We really, really need to get you prepared for the wedding. There’s a lot to do and you haven’t even gotten dressed—”

All it takes is for Yoongi to glare.

His dark brown eyes almost turn black, a muscle in his cheek twitching, his jaw clenching and teeth grating together. They scatter immediately, some reluctant and others out of fear.

Finally, you’re left with alone with Yoongi.

It takes a second for you to regain full consciousness of your surroundings. You’re gazing at him with a new-found perspective, a sort of appreciation for his presence even if he annoys you to no end and likes to provoke you for his enjoyment. You have an urge to reach up and kiss his cheek. But of course, you haven’t lost all your brain cells…yet.

“Is there something on my face?”

“No.” You shake your head. “It’s just your ugliness is really showing today.”

His eye twitches and you hold back your giggle, ultimately failing. “Don’t blame me if I end up punching you in the face.”

“Hey, I’m just kidding, you know.” You hit him in a playful manner, one that would probably get your hand severed off by a guillotine if anyone else were to witness in this universe. But alas, this is not a poor maid and the crown prince. It’s you and Yoongi.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes and grinning. The pair of you are put at ease for the first time since being in this place. It finally feels like its return back to normal, the little banters and quips, the endless teasing that feels more playful than before when malice was laced in every other syllable.

“Did you think of a solution yet?” Yoongi asks. “These people are really insistent and it’s driving me up the goddamn wall. I really don’t want to marry someone, Y/N. I know it’s fictional and all that but it still feels weird. If I get tied to them, I swear if they come back to our ‘reality’ and they haunt me, I’m seriously going to kill y—”

“Let’s run.”

“Run?” His infamous gummy grin returns, plastering across his face like the fool that he is. “Are you sure? Thought you were against my idea. So, I guess this is my chance to say ‘I told you so’?”

You snort, beginning to pull him along, opposite of the courtyard and into an empty hallway. “Shut up, dork.”

“Do you even know where we’re going?”

“Nope.”

He laughs but still trusts you to lead the way. It works for a while, navigating the grounds and deflecting any of the noble guests who have come for the ceremony. You even catch the Empress at some point, a distinguished older woman that is supposedly is Yoongi’s mother in this realm and you make sure to sprint in the opposite direction.

“We just need to find a horse or a carriage or something.” You vaguely remember the details of the ending, just that you needed to escape but going by feet would certainly be futile. “Do you—”

Suddenly, Yoongi tugs you in towards his chest, hugging you close and spinning his body around to hide behind a wooden pillar. You make muffled noises against the palm of his hand, something along the lines of ‘what the fuck’ but he reaches down, shushing you against your ear and his breath against your nape has you sealing your lips.

“Have you seen the crown prince?!”

“No! Where did he go?! The Emperor is calling for him!”

“He was just talking to the maid girl, and then they both disappeared when we turned around!”

“What the—” There’s a pause and their steps get closer. You gulp, trying to steal a peek but Yoongi doesn’t let you, shuffling your bodies away from the naggy attendants. “Well search for him quickly and quietly! If it gets out that the groom is missing, there’s gonna be big trouble!”

“Oh dear, oh dear!” There are notes of panic within their voices but it thankfully fades off.

Once it becomes silent, Yoongi wraps his hand around yours, lacing his fingers together. He takes one glance both ways and the two of you book it. You do your best to keep your steps quiet, huffs leaving your mouth as you rip down hallways and the outside, hiding in the shadows, past guards and guests alike. There’s already music being played to welcome the nobility, drums and a wooden flute, a singer using their powerful vocals in a trot style.

And eventually, by sheer chance and luck, an opening is seen.

“Hey, Y/N,” he whispers while you’re both hidden behind a tree. “Can you ride a horse?”

“No.” You look at him. “Can you?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “Nadda.”

Well shit. But there’s no other choice, no possible solution, at least not when he decides there’s no more discussion needed and begins to pull you out into broad daylight.

Instantly, a guard is hopping onto the scene, shouting, “Hey!”

The two female aristocrats gasp. “Is that Prince Yoongi?!” And they’re more appalled that he’s touching a dirty, lowly maid like you. But there’s no time to think.

It’s absolute mayhem.

One second, you have a fistful of your dress, sprinting full speed and the next, Yoongi’s lead you to climb on top of the horse. The coachman was shoved to the ground, landing with an ‘oof’ and saying no more as he watched the prince struggle to clamber up after you.

“Hee-yah!” The man behind you whips the reins but the horse doesn’t move, still munching on some grass that he found on the side of the dirt road. “Hee-yah! Move, you fucking animal!”

“Yelling it is not gonna help!” You shout back at him in panic and pet the creature with a gentle hand, attempting to coax it. “Giddy up, horsey.”

Still, the pony tortures you both, standing as still as a statue, fluffy tail whirling in the air like the blades of a mini-helicopter

“Prince Yoongi!” There are more shouts, guards who rush over with spears and the entire horde of stubby servants and minion attendants are hysterically chasing after the two of you. “Prince Min Yoongi! Crown Prince Yoongi! Please! Your father is looking for you! The wedding! The wedding—!”

“Come on, come on!” Yoongi says, trying his very best to egg the horse on before the palace staff catch up. “Move, goddamnit! Move!”

The servants are shrieking. The attendants are scampering. They get closer and closer while the guests are still shell-shocked from his vulgarities, merely watching the chaos. But as the guard with their pointed weapons approach, suddenly, the horse puffs out air through its nose.

A fingertips reach away from snatching you, the horse begins to dart.

You nearly break your neck, getting whiplash and Yoongi screams behind you, holding the reins and his other arm wrapping around your waist to keep you from falling. The old horse on the other hand is free from dragging along a two hundred pound carriage and tears through the dirt roads, past guards and servants who shout after Yoongi on the top of their lungs.

The wild animal kicks down the small red gate doors and bounds towards the empty, open road towards the forest.

The palace is left behind you.

A giggle spills from your lips and eventually, you have the courage to loosen your grip from the animal. The wind weaves into your hair, kissing against your cheeks and reddening them with the rush. It’s glorious.

Yoongi doesn’t seem to think the same. “Wh...at t..he f-fuck—” He’s let you take the reins, instead, holding you with both his arms, his eyes shut tight in fear and his head hiding in the crook of your neck.

You cackle and shout above the whistling winds, “Should we go faster, Min?!”

“No!” He cries softly into your skin, “Stop teasing me!”

“I think we’re gonna need to go faster!” You whip the reins, laughing and taking a look back to make sure a new mob of guards aren’t hot on your heels. Thankfully, it seems like you’re safe for now. “I just robbed the groom from the alter, I want to make sure I don’t get caught!”

He lightly pinches your side, causing another fit of giggles from you. “I’m seriously going to kill you when I get off this thing!”

“I’d like to see you try!”

Who knows how long you’re galloping into the wilderness for, horse’s hooves marking into the dirt, causing a puff of dust to be left behind in your trail. The forest becomes thicker until the path has diminished into grass and the trees are all you see, canopies covering the evening sky and orange light filtered through the lush greenery. You eventually slow down, stopping to a halt a little ways off.

You jump off the creature, barely with Yoongi’s iron grip still around you. With a hand held up high, he pouts before he takes it, hopping off too. You pet the horse, running your fingers through its mane and thanking it for taking you so far. It even nuzzles into you, causing a snickering laugh to leave your chest and Yoongi watches, waiting patiently.

“What’s the plan, princess?”

It’s an ironic pet name considering your current status but you don’t mind. Hand-in-hand, you’re walking through the bushes on the forest floor and you take a moment to steal a glimpse of Yoongi, smiling. “We run a little bit more before they can catch up. You trust me?”

He returns the smile. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

There’s one more exchanged laughter and then you’re leaping through the forest, following lights and listening to the birds. Any sounds created by other humans fade into nature’s background and soon, you’ve found yourself at a clearing, an open field that will lead you to the border of the country.

It’s freedom.

Yoongi clasps his palm tight against yours. You intertwine your fingers together, laughing and making the last sprint. He follows alongside you, giddy with excitement and holding you close to him. While he abandons his dutiful matrimony, a new promise of marriage is on the horizon.

The ending to the story is finally fulfilled and the universe morphs to white.

Writers notes: Once again, please feel free to message me or gukyi at any time!! Any message is worthwhile. The next part will be posted over at gukyi’s blog, so, check out her awesome-sauce stuff!

CO-WRITTEN WITH @gukyi

#bts fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi fanfic #yoongi angst #bts scenario #bts scenarios #i'd like to think of this series as an elevator #ever chapter and every world we go up another level #anyways i think the next chapter is my favourite one!!! WOO!!

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combust-catalyst · 5 years ago

Text

Two Sides of a Coin

Main Idea: Niwaki ( OC ) and class 1-A are doing hero combat class. And Niwaki hasn’t had the best of days at the moment, but since he has had a chance to relax, that anger or explosion isn’t going to end well.

Notes: I’ve been having a rough day at work within the few days to maybe a week and stress is going to literally make me explode. This kind of long.;;; I apologize for any grammar like mistakes and such. This is a Bakugou x OC story, but there isn’t a lot of per say interactions between them a lot as most is very non agreeable? Thus, I tried tagging them the best I could for what I believe is appropriate and not clutter other tags it’s not a part of.

Everyone has ups. Everyone has downs. Some people have good days. Some people have bad days. It was only a matter of how you dealt with those days. Relaxation was a way to ease the pain. Hobbies and activities one loved could release tensions. A good massage would help with tense muscles. A favorite beverage put you in a sense of bliss. Music or sounds could send away the painful migraine. Finally, a good chat with a good friend was a good way to make everything go way.

However, Niwaki had none of those things. At least, for the moment, Niwaki didn’t have any solutions. His days had been disgusting. As disgusting as being pushed by a large crowd on the way to school. It was the early mornings, so it was naturally busy. Crowded trains with business people clamping up against him with no mind for personal space. Clamping foot steps stomping on his feet. Yeah, this wasn’t a good start to his day.

To find that his homework had been left at home that was due the very current day. Although, one could say it was yesterday that he had bad nightmares that made sleeping almost nonexistent. His abrupt awaking to his own yelling and nervous sweating made sleeping in the dark of night impossible as he would resort to hiding under his sheets. Matters seem to only grown more when annoying voices in his head got to him. Or were they voices? Wait, where did the scratching noises come from? That was from a tree, right?

A car driving pass a large puddle that splashed onto Niwaki’s pants. At least, it only got his shoes and lower parts of his pants up to his knees wet. Either way, he was on his way to school. He didn’t have even time to go back home and change again as that would require another crowd travel back on the train. He would have to go to class and just home he could hope that the air today and temperature was fair enough to make it bearable.

To include insult to more problems, a random dog chased him on the way to school. It was uncertain to the boy as to where the dog came from, but he was sure it wasn’t home trained as the animal was not wearing a collar. Niwaki had not even encountered this dog nor agitated the canine in any way nor shape nor form. This was only their first encounter with each other for fucks sake! As why the dog had been so enamored with wanting to rip Niwaki’s jacket, the boy didn’t even know.

And it didn’t stop there. Even school was draining him dry. He had to explain to Present Mic for the missing assignment which didn’t end well. You know how one loves music? Well, Niwaki has his favorites, but let’s just say Present Mic’s voice was on a very low tier list. Low volume or quietness was not going part of that teacher’s characteristic. . . at all.

“Seichikara,” Present Mic stopped.

“Yes,” Niwaki’s voice responded a bit ghoul and almost dead-like.

“You don’t seem to be lookin’ too hot, my dude.” Present Mic remarked as he took notice of Niwaki’s already badly messed up shoes and lower pants. “I’m not too angry over the missing assignment. Things happen, ya dig?”

“I’m fine.” Niwaki calmed as he raised his hands to prevent Present Mic’s further reassurance. “I’m completely fine, teach, okay? It’s just a rough day.” He looked away his expression clearly not equal to his own works, but his tone and pretending attitude seem to get through his teacher.

“If ya saying it’s all good, I’ll follow, but I still my suspicion.” he complied almost somewhat a bit against the sudden shrug off.

“Thank you,” Niwaki smiled as he bowed his head respectfully.

All seemed to be well for Niwaki. Exiting the teacher’s lounge, Niwaki rubbed his forehead. It was subtle, but there felt to be two lump from his head. Maybe it was from the migraines. They tended to annoy him when he was in a bad mood such as today.

“Maybe I should just---,” he toppled a bit backwards against the wall. “Fuck! Ow.”

That was going to make his migraines worse for sure. As his eyes scanned for the source of the impact. They had locked eyes with a pair of two red eyes. One seemed a bit less harsh and almost apologetic while the other seems to have more of a hostile anger at him like he had ruined their day despite his own.

‘I don’t have time for this!’ Niwaki hissed to himself. ‘I’ll just try to dispute this peacefully. Besides, no point get angry at someone who is already angry.’

At least, he was the only one thinking this.

“Watch where the fuck your going, you damn extra!” the voice barked.

Niwaki scratch that idea immediately out the window.

“Excuse you,” he barked back. “Say that to me again you puny spike puffer fish!”

The more hostile red eyes that he had locked into contact earlier had seem to take it as a challenge and immediately seem to inch closer to Niwaki. His height already somewhat taller than Niwaki’s. His teeth more shine and eyes that seem to want to pop out of his sockets. He continued, “Fucking say that shit again! ”

“Bakugou,” the one with much softer eyes and spiky red hair spoke up, “come on, dude! Knock it off!” His hand blocking the other one away from Niwako. His own sharp teeth smiling as his expression a bit more goofy was enough to keep Niwaki in place. “Listen, don’t my friend here, hehe. He’s been a bit rowdy. Things are comings up and he’s been on edge.” He extended his hand to Niwaki, “Names Eijirou! Kirishima Eijirou! Please to meet!”

Niwaki leaned back a bit hesitant from the sudden change in mood. He wasn’t sure if he should be saying hello or glare at him. With whoever was behind him, Niwaki felt as if two auras was surrounding him: one that seem a bit too bright and one that seem too heavy.

The soft eyed boy, Kirishima took notice of the situation. With a toothy grin once more, but with extra teeth, his other than pointed with his thumb back to the other one with much more hostility in his eyes that before staring at Niwaki, “And this is Bakugou! Katsuki Bakugou!”

Niwaki decided to at least comply with Kirishima’s introduction with his own accepting his extended handshake, “Seichikara. Niwaki Seichik---.”

“That damn extra doesn’t deserve to fucking know my damn name!” the boy, Bakugou, interjected.

And with that, he made a swift jerk. His elbow bumping into Niwaki’s as he stomped off. His hand clamped into his pants that seem to be even more disgusting in Niwaki’s eyes. Someone like that goes to this school?! Kirishima was at least kind enough to give another apology for his friend before racing off to catch up with the puffer fish.

“See you in class later!” he waved. “We got combat practice today!”

The walk back to class had not been light enough to sooth the raging pain in Niwaki’s head. And bumps on his forehead felt a bit bigger than before. Maybe some ice packs might help or should he go see Recovery Girl.

‘My head hurts,’ Niwaki rubbed his face as he stepped into class.

And the sight was rather over whelming to say it lightly. Normally a class held a number of possibly twenty students each, right? So why in the word was there over that number of students in the classroom now? Niwaki pinched his nose at how rowdy the conversation was. Was this a competition to see who could be the loudest? If so, this would rival that noisy Bakugou guy from earlier; he seem to only knowing swearing at people for a first impression. His eyes scanned the room as he was able to tell that there was quite some students he had not encountered--at least not at a slight closer distance.

“Why is there so many people here?” Niwaki groaned.

And just as he had pondered to leave the room, a door flew open. And what followed seemed to be none other than the R18 Hero, Miss Midnight. Niwaki’s face was at pure concern at this point. Although, he couldn’t deny a slight disgust at how close she was--as if blocking him from the only freedom he could see.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten what today is.” she folded her arms as a smirk graced her lips.

“A holiday? Special occassion?” Niwaki guessed.

“Your combat training today.” she cheered.

“Oh,” he deadpanned before burying his face in his hands. ‘Shit!’

Niwaki recalled Kirishima mention something about a combat hero class today. Was it really today though? Perhaps all those bad things earlier was a sign to stay home? Now Niwaki was feeling a bit disappointed at himself. It didn’t take long for him to wander before a hand landed on his right shoulder. His magenta eyes coming into contact with a familiar soft pair of red ones.

“Hey again,” Kirishima grinned, “this is like our second meeting too! Haha!”

A pair of hostile red eyes returned to join the spiky red-hair.

“Not fucking you again,” Niwaki growled. “Can YOU not be here when I”M here?”

“I didn’t even say a damn thing to you!” Bakugou barked.

“Guys,” Kirishima stepped in as the rest of the class started to die down. “Come on.”

“You h---.” he started to bite back again until a gust of blew from behind him.

His white hair flowing along the wind and tangling up his style. There was even a slight clumped together strand of hair that curled straight up like a swirl. Bakugou was loud yes and would grab quite the attention because of it. Yet, Niwaki had seem have a slight weird affect. As if the air was suffocating for a few of the students, the atmosphere felt too hot, but at the same time curiosity was a natural thing. Glancing behind him, where Miss Midnight had previously stood, but seemed to be with now two other teachers. Dressed in entirely all black that matched even his hair with only his scarf and belt standing out, the hero whose quirk disabled others, Eraserhead, otherwise known as Aizawa. And finally the quirk user that might as well be a mystery of his own nature, All Might.

All Might saluted in his rather same old masculine form, “I see everyone is full of energy!”

“I know, right?” Midnight agreed with glee.

“They may as well save it for today’s training instead of picking fights with each other.” Aizawa deadpanned not even the slightest interest shown for what today’s activity was going to be. He tilted his head at the students who eyes all trained on the teachers in front of the doorway. His hands pulling out a remote, “Today’s training will be working on your skills and such.” As he pressed a button in the direction of the wall, the wall began to press into the glass revealing suite cases each with different numbers. “Get dress and head out back for further instructions. We’ll be informing you more later on.”

And with that, Aizawa had left. Midnight following behind as she herself claiming it was a surprise for a few students. All Might had given a small encouraging speech before following as well. Most of the students were quiet while some had continued their chit-chat from earlier while carrying their suitcases to their respective dressing rooms. Niwaki just slip pass the two boys as he proceeded to grab his own suitcase.

Although, he could never exactly escape one of them though.

“Hey, uh, Seichikara?” Kirishima called.

Niwaki glanced to see them again except this time Bakugou was clearly looking away from him. Kirishima’s nervous expression as he rubbed the back of his head.

“I just want to say---,” he stopped as his eyes was looking up at Niwaki’s forhead. “Dude, is something wrong with your head?”

“What about my head?” Niwaki asked. “There is nothing there.”

“Look again, shit-head.” Bakugou intervened.

“Do you ever say anything that doesn’t come with an insult.” Niwaki growled.

“Not my fault you fucking have a low attention span!” Bakugou pointed out.

“Dude,” Kirishima interrupted. “There is like two horns coming from the top of your head. Is that normal?”

The dark-skinned boy took a second to let those words seep in his ears. They were two lumps from maybe something that happen some time ago he had concluded. And they weren’t even that big like just bumps from a distance. Lifting up to touch his forehead, the curvature of the lumps was evident. A slight peak or edge was felt from the tips of his fingers that followed the curve. His eyes widen in horror. Was he getting sick? His mind rambled for answers, but only responded with a another throbbing headache that felt like a needle had been jabbed in his skull.

“Ow,” Niwaki flinched as if static had got him.

“You don’t look so good.” Kirishima said eyes soften and voice laced with concern and worry. “I should go get the teachers.”

“No,” Niwaki grasp the spiky red-heads sleeve. His eyes widen as they came into contact with Kirishima’s. “I’m fine! Really! It’s just a bad headache symptoms that my quirk does sometimes! Yeah! That’s it! I’ll be fine! It’s nothing to worry over! Some fresh air will do the trick!”

Kirishima squinted his eyes. His eyes appearing to struggle at trying to keep eye contact with Niwaki who might as well look to be helpless pup begging it’s owner for attention. It was then Niwaki’s eyes had noticed the puffer fish, Bakugou, walking off. It didn’t matter to him in the least what the ash-blond did. Niwaki was not going to have this day go any more crazy that is already was. He’d just needed to get through this class today and everyone should be sooth sailing. Besides, hero combat training was one of his favorite classes for many reasons, but there was something more special about it for him at least.

“Seichikara,” Kirishima pulled Niwaki away from his thoughts, “you should really go tell the teachers.”

“I’ll be fine.” Niwaki smiled as a way to reassure Kirishima before sneaking his way out of the topic, “Say, do you have any idea what’s going on with today’s hero class?”

Niwaki didn’t mean to do it, but if it went on forever, Niwaki was going to be stuck here. And besides, peoples quirk have weird reactions to their owners internal problems. You could get a cold and your body temperature could drop or you sneeze ice icicles. His quirk was just reacting to his body he guessed.

The travel to the boys dressing room was a pretty nice and chill. Of course, a few other students that were headed there two was a bit more rowdy than most. Kirishima had no idea from what Niwaki was inferring from that the classes was a bit more of a secret. This meant no one knew what to expect. Yet, the boys enthusiasm was something Niwaki found quite nice; that and his optimism. When you two went inside to finally change, Kirishima brought up an interesting question or it might be called expected.

“Oh,” he started to chuckle, “this seems really intrusive to ask since we just met today even though more than an hour ago. But mind if I ask what’s your quirk?”

“If I told you,” Niwaki laughed, “you’d use it against me. Besides, we don’t know what the teachers have in store for us all to do.”

“Agh,” Kirishima groan, “you’re right. Darn!”

As Niwaki proceeded to dress in his hero costume or well, uniform? His uniform was a bit easy for movement, but enough that he didn’t feel like a completely copy of other ones. However, his most precious item was his gloves. It was maybe a personal taste or how it had many meanings. Yet, for Niwaki, his gloves might as well be his most important part of his identity.

The meet up with teachers was calm. With all students dressed up in their hero costumes, Niwaki couldn’t help, but look around. Some costumes were easy to tell the owners quirk and others took a bit more subtly. One couldn’t help, but find some others amazing in appearances and gave off intense or cute aura. Even some where quite plain or disturbing.

Midnight shifted her hips which her hands rest, “Heroes must be able to improvise and work along with others. This includes making the best use of each others quirks and special skills that go beyond just the basics. Cooperation and teamwork are crucial in any situation.”

“Putting your complete trust in your teammate!” All Might laughed. “A hero can be not just be a single person in the light, but duo--or even a group!”

“Which is why,” Aizawa stepped up in between the two one foot ahead of them in front of the students. “You’ll be working in pairs of two in today’s hero training.”

Excitement filled the air as some felt a bit enjoyment. Niwaki was not one of them. If working with another person while having a headache could count as a good, Niwaki would be showing enthusiam. Instead he smacked his head into his palms internally screetching.

‘This can not get any worse!’ Niwaki screamed.

“Working as pair, one of you will be wearing these,” Midnight announced as she held up a ribbon like necklace. “This is in a way treasure in the heroes possession that the villains will be going after. There is a tracking devise to allow us to keep track of every piece. Villain will not be given one as their objective to obtains the very ribbon one of the two of you possess. Of course, this will not be a battle royal to avoid any dangerous destruction.” Her eyes glanced at Aizawa and All Might who seem to be avoid her glance.

“Of course,” All Might coughed. “We will be observing closely from near the area and in a security room to allow other students to watch and learn from their classmates.”

“I’ll be announcing who the pairs are.” Aizawa put his hands in his pockets; his head tilting a bit. “During these decision it was between use three to pair you with particular partners due to either quirks, personality, or behavior.”

As Aizawa proceeded to name the students pair, Niwaki bit his lip. His fingers toyed with his hair. Every pain he felt began to weigh him more and more. He massaged his temples from the tips of his fingers. His eyes closing to trying take in the cool air that graced upon his skin.

“And lastly, Seichikara,” Aizawa announced, “you will be paired with Bakugou.”

Like a bunch of glasses falling apart, the world or soothing ease Niwaki had put himself in had gone down the drain. His eyes widen in horror. He did not need to deal with the puffer fish! And certainly not on this course as his partner! And it seemed that Niwaki was not the only one as Bakugou’s own eyes locked with his matching the shocked expression.

Throughout the rest of the day, the training had gone pretty nice. Each students prevailed while some barely went through. Yet, there was also a tiny portion that would fail or get carried away in the moment. Niwaki found it to be a good source to watch with excitement. Yes, the whole partner thing had gone on pretty terrible, but Niwaki wasn’t going to let Bakugou make his headaches kill him.

“You might want to get ready.” Midnight smiled. “You and Bakugou’s turn is coming up.’

“Right,” Niwaki’s face clearly struggling to smile as he glanced at his surrounding to find the puffer fish nowhere in sight.

Approaching the area which was a city construction that seemed almost too familiar, Niwaki walked at the entrance with his white necklace around his neck. Bakugou’s back being the only thing Niwaki could see. Expanding a sigh, Niwaki had to take this seriously. The only problem was how do you talk to someone who gives off an aura of “don’t talk to me”.

“So depending on who we’re up against,” Niwaki initiated the talk, “we need to be cautious in case its some whose quirks we don’t know. Got anything to say to that?”

“Just stay put and out of my way,” Bakugou deadpanned his eyes entirely focused ahead of him.

“This is a team, more so duo,” Niwaki warned. “We do this as a pair not as a one man army!”

Before the talk or argument get more higher, Aizawa interrupted.

“Team Bakugou and Niwaki will be playing against Team Kirishima and Sero.”

Niwaki blinked, “I was worried for something else.” He glanced at Bakugou, “You’re friends with Kirishima, right? So you got to know at least his quirk.”

Instead of answering his question, Bakugou proceeded inside the area. Niwaki racing right behind. Was this really the time to not talk? This was important.

“Bakugou,” Niwaki barked as his glove grabbed onto his shoulder roughly turning him around, “I’m not going to just let your recklessness get us in trouble right now! I’m trying to work with you! It would be APPRECIATIVE if y----.”

Before Niwaki could finish, Bakugou was close to elbowing Niwaki in the side. Luckily, Niwaki was observant as his free hand gripped Bakugou’s elbow. His eyes came into contact with the same hostile and fierce red ones since the just more than an hour ago they met. Was this idiot truly going to do this now? Niwaki was internally grateful to be able to react quickly enough to prevent his anger to lash out at them so violently free. Besides, Niwaki wasn’t a pushover.

‘I’ll have to thank Kirishima for this.’ he reminded himself.

“And I said don’t get in my way,” Bakugou barked. “Is all you do is ask god damn stupid questions?”

“When I’m trying to talk to a puffer fish,” Niwaki responded, “who by the way, looks angry almost every fucking second then yes I do!”

The air was thick. Perhaps from the humidity in the air or the wind that was blowing at them, but Niwaki’s stance stayed the same against Bakugou. His hands gripping Bakugou’s elbow that seemed to be fighting against the hold. Niwaki’s magenta eyes glowing bright as his teeth clench. This was already difficult as it was! Niwaki had enough problems and troubles that came along his way. His days had been disgusting enough! And now having to work with an uncooperative teammate was just as bad and fueling the fire.

“I am asking you one last time,” Niwaki’s voice deepened almost like a beastly growl, “will you----.”

It was unfortunate the sentence couldn’t be finished as Niwaki felt a strong grip wrapped around his shoulders that restricted his arms. He stared down as he was exposed to white like tape. His eyes checked with Bakugou as his own attention was no longer focused on the brown-skinned boy, but rather behind him.

“Damn it,” he growled.

Niwaki’s eyes glanced back following the source of the white tape. At the end, a light skinned and dark haired boy about taller than Niwaki whose elbow was rather larger than the average human had a look of a grin on his face. Kirishima had stood right next the boy; a less cocky but confident smile on his face.

“Yo,” Kirishima saluted, “no hard feelings, right?”

“This is too easy!” he laughed as he began to reel Niwaki in.

Niwaki’s glared behind him. This was already stressful. His teammate wasn’t even cooperative! Now, Niwaki was stuck in some fucking tape! His head was pounding. The pain of needles felt like a pain of a sledge hammer hitting at his cranium over and over again. His teeth screeching as they lost their form. His eyes kept the same glow. The nubs on his head felt less small and short, but rather longer and stretching as if growing in size.

“Fuck you,” Niwaki yelled as he reckless fought to break free of the black-haired boy’s restraints. “And fuck this fucking tape!”

Everyone around remained silent as Niwaki seem to behave entirely different as he even gripped at the tape to rip it off. Bakugou, who appeared ready to suddenly fight was silent as Niwaki’s sudden emotion was more hostile than he had seen previously. Despite all of this, Niwaki was behaving like some wild animal or insane badger.

“Eh, uh, Sero,” Kirishima blinked, “are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Another Bakugou?” the black-haired boy, Sero, asked.

“No,” Kirishima denied. “Seichikara looks. . . different?”

“Wh---.” Sero lifted and eye brow.

Not giving Sero a chance to continue his talk with Kirishima, Niwaki clawed his hands into the ground for support as he began to pull back away from Sero. This resulted in Sero stumbling forward almost into the ground.

Niwaki grinned, “Not so tough with you being the one pulled in huh?” Niwaki shifted his weight again causing Sero to follow along almost helplessly.

Leaning up, Niwaki’s voice groaned as he bit his lip. His eyebrows furrowing in anger, but concentration. It was enough as he was able to get himself onto one knee. He had enough being through shit and he wasn’t going to allow others knock him down more than the day had succeeded ahead of them. His eyes glanced up a pair of red ones, ones Niwaki immediately recognized and felt his anger get higher. The same eyes that had nothing, but hostility to him had now turned to caution.

“You,” Niwaki hissed as he began approach Bakugou.

Each step was followed a low growl. Niwaki’s entire appearance that had been nothing had grown into some beast. His eyes had been clouded black with the only magenta glow that stared down the explosive boy. Marking from his head down to pass his neck, almost unrecognized. And the thumping nubs on his forehead had extended upwards--almost horn-like. Bakugou only keeping his stance against Niwaki as small sparks began to fly off his palms.

Niwaki’s step faultered as he was yanked back once more, this time it was Kirishima was assisting Sero who was having more trouble than before from the pain of his arms. Kirishima’s skin almost rock solid as he appearance to stomp his foot in the ground to get solid grounding and not budge, “Seichikara, snap out of it!”

“What are you talking about,” Niwaki grinned as he gripped tighter on the tape and with one more pulled had yanked the two off the ground. His body shifted as he tossed the two into a nearby building. “I’m perfectly fine!” His eyes jerked to the side in search of Bakugou. The white-like tape no longer wrapped around him, but rather loose on the ground. A grin on his faced never leaving, “Now--!”

Boom!

From a large explosion that collided with Niwaki directly in the face, the dark skinned boy was sent back quite a distance. A large rumble had fallen in front of him as a few pebbles of concrete had seem to fall apart from the structure of the ground. A groan escaped his lips as the contact had been quite a dizzy one. Yet the point blank blast was a bit more obnoxious as he was pretty sure he received quite a few bruises.

“Son of a bitch,” Niwaki yelled as he began to stand up again.

His eyes stared directly at the source in front as Bakugou had his palm outward aiming for Niwaki.

“Tch,” Bakugou clicked his tongue.

“I’m gonna---.” Niwaki yelled as he stomped his foot forward before sprinting directly at Bakugou.

“That is quite enough!” a voice called.

“Huh,” Niwaki hissed before his eyes came into contact with a pink like mist and a smell that seemed too soothing. His eyes blinked a bit trying to fight his, but he fell to his knees. His face colliding with the ground. “God damn it,” was his last words before he collapsed.

Once Niwaki opened his eyes, he stared up at a ceiling. Was he home? That could be possible? Was he at the hospital? No, lights there were much brighter and room develop noise from outside to which there was none. He leaned up. He gripped his head almost as if his brain lost its still state and bumped into his skull from the insides. To call it a headache than--no! Comparing it to over grown headache was a laugh. This pain strung him like his brain was ping ball and his skull was the table. Not a pretty sight at all to imagine.

“Oooowwww,” he groaned. “Myyyy heeaad huurts.”

“Well,” an elderly voice lectured, “that what you get when you neglect a headache! Especially with what it caused!”

Niwaki looked to his side greeted by an elderly woman whom he immediately recognized as Recovery Girl. Shit, he was in the school infirmary. Well, it was better than a hospital, so he couldn’t argue against that. Yet, his mind wandered to the class he should be in before finding where he was now. What happen to everyone? Where was the teachers? His mind went back to what happened earlier. His hands covered his face with shame. What about Kirishima? He hoped he didn’t injure him or that Sero guy too badly. Considering his anger and burst of rage, they might as well be mad at him.

“He hates me.” Niwaki confessed as his voice dropped.

“What?” another voice called from the entrance. “What are you talking about? Hate who?”

“Huh,” Niwaki blinked.

At the doorway, the three teachers stood behind as the three students Niwaki recognized from the fight earlier. The guy Niwaki recalled earlier to be Sero, who was on the left side of Kirishima, had a few bandages of his own and possibly a brace for one of his elbows. Niwaki sweatdropped as he knew exactly why that was the case. Bakugou on the other side of Kirishima preferring to not even still make eye contact. He looked perfectly find as usual, but that reason was because Niwaki was restrained earlier and didn’t get to punch him at all. As for Kirishima, he was in a few bandages, but there wasn’t a lot of them as his expression was full confusion.

“I mean,” Niwaki started, “look at you two! Those were my fault!”

“They were.” Aizawa interrupted. “That’s a reason I had Midnight around just in case things got out of hand.” He scratched his head. “Present Mic had informed me earlier this morning about your earlier condition.”

“And you still let him continue in class,” Recovery Girl summarized, “knowing full well he may just burst?”

“When you put it like that,” All Might scratched his own head clearly not able to argue at the truthful fact.

Niwaki interrupted, “I was the one that didn’t confess though.” He looked down at his hands, “I was having a rough day and just thought it would pass, but my headache just kept growing and then I got irritated.”

Recovery Girl sighed, “Bottling in emotions are damaging to your mental and physical health! It is even worse for those around you who are unfairly targeted due to your emotional outburst!” She turned to the teachers who seemed a bit terrified. “And as teachers you should be more careful for letting it almost get too far!”

All Might apologize as did the other two. Midnight sighed as she smiled at Niwaki, “For now, how are you feeling? I can imagine after all outburst, you’re more sore than ever.”

Niwaki chuckled, “I’ll be alright, for real this time.” He smiled at Recovery Girl, “I’ll try to keep that advice next, Recovery Girl. Thank you.”

“Well,” Recovery Girl sighed, “with a quirk like yours, healing shouldn’t be a problem. You have quite a lot energy for that.”

“I thought Niwaki’s quirk was super strength!” Kirishima yelled astounded. “That’s not his quirk!”

Niwaki rubbed his head, “Inside voices please.”

“Sorry,” Kirishima flinched. “I mean with how you was about to like grip Sero’s tape and just fling him off---and me!”

“Well,” Niwaki sweat dropped, “it’s part of my quirk.” Niwaki had a feeling explaining was going to be quite a pain. “Let’s just says it’s like two sides of a coin?”

“Oh,” Sero called, “like Todoroki’s, right?”

“That’s kind of close to it.” Niwaki sweat dropped.

Kirishima nodded a few times appearing to take in this information. Bakugou groaned which caused everyone to stare at him expecting some exchange of words between him and Niwaki.

“Your hands,” Bakugou glared. “That’s the source of your quirk, isn’t it?”

Niwaki sighed, “I did say it’s hard to explain. But I mean Sero already got it.”

Niwaki rolled his eyes as Bakugou clicked his tongue and jerked his head away. He had a feeling he was going to encountering Bakugou a lot more often for the rest of the year. And honestly, Niwaki wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

#BNHA OC #BNHA Writing #BNHA x OC

3 notes · View notes

unimpressedperson · 6 years ago

Text

ishin-denshin

(I found that picture in @seoulicons . Thank you for posting that)

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Warnings: I mentioned Expensive Girl and sex, so yeah, nothing here is pure. Also, there are mentions of self-harm, so please, if it’s triggering tell me and I’ll change it :) Your mental health should always come first :)

Pairing: Min Yoongi x @emerson-moonchild, Min Yoongi x Reader

Word Counting: 6.2k

Synopsis: Min Yoongi and Emerson had a profound connection, so deep and supernatural that not even themselves understood it. However, nothing is pure bliss and flowers, when everything seems wrong and the connecting fades with time, then their love shall be proven with no otherwise.

A/N: Hey Em!! It’s finally here! I finished your oneshot + poem. Yes!! I mentioned The Chaos Club and paired them with BTS, but tried not to focus on them. Even though it finished with over SIX THOUSAND WORDS, I had to stop myself and not include random and unnecessary stuff, like interactions between characters without the starring roles presence (Yoongi and Emerson). Oh, before I continue, I changed the band’s name, it’s shitty, but I even wrote one verse of ‘Clarividencia’ (the BTL song mentioned). Hope it’s good! You deserve the best Em, or should I begin calling you ‘cutie pie’? Lol Sorry for my bad grammar and hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing :)

- x - x - x -

Min Yoongi took a long sip on his coffee, dark and, ironically, sugar-free. He enjoyed small ironies and always drank from them, maybe it worked as fuel to his personality. Despite from the cute face and artistic name, Yoongi enjoyed how people were amazed about the personality flashed: rebel, serious, sarcastic, a human with a stone cold heart pumping blood and rage to his organs.

Well, that's how outsiders saw him, reality was insanely different. Emerson knew it, she dig down so deep in Yoongi's emotions, finding a butter heart with so much love stored. Whilst drinking tea from a ridiculously adorned cup, she analyzed his soft expressions and occasional wrinkling nose whenever the bitterness hit his taste buds.

– Tea is just leaf juice, you know, right? - Yoongi asked, not glaring straight at Emerson.

– So what? It's delicious. - Emerson answered, taking a long and loud sip from the salmon and cream coloured cup, raising her pinky. - Coffee is just juice from beans. Water is juice from ice cubes.

– You are so british sometimes. - The man said and turned to look at Emerson, grinning slightly at her cuteness and rosy cheeks.

– Well, my identity backs you up on that. I'm british, living in London, drinking tea in a british coffee shop, listening to british news on television, presented by a british journalist, graduated in a british university, working for a british television broadcast channel. You are the foreigner here, love. - She said serious, but smiling, fingers stuck around the cup, steam warming her face.

– I know. Everything is so british. Even our songs are getting british. - Yoongi said and finished his cup of coffee with a short sip. - Yesterday Taehyung sang with british accent, even the verses in korean. We were surprised and Namjoon almost collapsed cuz one of the words sounded like 'yadong', which is porn in korean.

– I'm surprised one of your songs never mentioned 'yadong', since it's a rock band with pretty explicit musics. - She giggled remembering the first time Yoongi allowed her to listen 'Expensive Girl', their first song that exploded in SoundCloud, and as soon as Bangtan Lads made a career outside Korea, the track was deleted, only officially existing in personal files from every member.

– Don't you throw 'Expensive Girl' at me, it was Jin and Namjoon's idea to release it. - Yoongi said and raised one of his eyebrows slightly.

They were sitting on a table close to the window, sun shining bright outside, breaking through the typical whitish smoke accumulated all over London's atmosphere. The cafè was one of those overrated places, charging abusive prices for a cup of plain coffee, walls painted in a very dirty shade of cream, matching the fancy cups (the owner would never admit it, but Emerson knew they were bought in Walmart, part of a special edition paying homage to Duke William and Duchess Kate wedding), wooden floor well polished, and secondhand machines.

– Why do we insist in coming here anyways? There is nothing special or marvelously tasty, and the prices are salty, even for my rich ass. - Yoongi said, listening the annoying creek sound from the old, and possibly thriftshopped, brown chair.

– Because it's small, quiet and mainly because your fans won't flash boobs outside the window, since they would never imagine rockstar Min Yoongi having a coffee with his girlfriend in a place like that. - Emerson said, staring the street along with Yoongi.

– Yeah, that day we went to Starbucks was insane. Who would imagine someone is actually willing to lift the blouse and get arrested in exchange of an autograph? - Yoongi said and chuckled.

– That day was intense and weird. Her boobs were beautiful, though. Round and symmetrical. Your face tattooed on the nipples also looked good. - Emerson said and smirked in a dorky way, leading Yoongi to chuckle even louder. - Who would ever guess that your nose has the exact shape of a nipple? The fan was a genius, we got to admit.

Yoongi left all the weight from his upper body heavy on the chair back, staring at the ceiling and inhaling deeply, exhaling and repeating. He swallowed a puddle of spit pooling on his tongue and looked back at Emerson, finishing her tea with a short sip and folding back the napkin.

– Fame is so good sometimes. Don't take me wrong, I love making music, being rich and travelling around the globe, but the occasional harassment bothers a lot. - Yoongi said tapping his fingers on the table.

Emerson reached his arm and caressed lightly the skin covered with a sweatshirt. Yoongi inclined to the side, laying his head on table, feeling his girlfriend's fingers petting his black hair. Sometimes words weren't required, silence had a lot to say, loud, actions could hold even more significance.

– I love you, cutie pie. - Yoongi mumbled, cheeks squeezed against the wood, but words still bright and clear.

– I love you too, Yoongles. - Emerson replied, still feeling his smooth wires against her skin. Soft touches coming from both sides.

Whoever saw Min Yoongi up spitting on a microphone, saying raw words about political struggles, sex, mental health, life and a few songs based on stories, possibly thought of him as a rough person. No one would ever imagine his soft side, everyone always glanced over and focused on Suga, not Yoongi. The opposition between personality shown and stage name enchanted and intrigued.

Yoongi only allowed a few people to witness his actual personality.

Opening up and letting someone unknown in his personal space, oh it always represented a problem to Yoongi. A lonely soul that hardly had friends, only close to a few people. Bangtan Lads represented friendship and family.

Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook, Seokjin, Jimin and Taehyung flew from Korea to England with him after achieving worldwide success, for the sake of their fame moving to a place rather connected to alternative rock sounded as a clever change. Seven korean boys, carrying a bag with worn-out clothes, instruments and golden discs. Simplicity and luxe. Millions of fans, artists and new faces, yet Yoongi only felt truly comfortable around his bandmates.

After a few months living in England, conceding daily interviews and working like horses in new musics, Yoongi decided to try and join a dating app. Hoseok met a few women through Tinder, but happily found Taylor, friends with benefits at first, but a few months later his girlfriend. Witnessing one of the lads glad in a relationship inspired Yoongi, he even paid for Tinder Gold, regretting immensely after two dates and realizing sex could be good, but lacked connections. He needed to connect with that person, deeply to a point where her heartbeat felt like music.

Lonely and slowly giving up, Yoongi felt his heart flutter when Emerson appeared like a butterfly on his eventful yet boring life. Emerson emerged from a calm life working as music critic for Rolling Stones, to the love of Yoongi’s life and his main inspiration.

Everything began when Emerson went to work and received the task of interviewing a korean band. Apparently someone was sick and everyone else had more important stuff to do. She accepted and decided to use the original agenda, adding a few questions and studying every member.

Those who believe would say it was love at first sight, a connection between souls. Not even a word flew across the room, but Yoongi felt butterflies on his stomach and heart beating faster. For a single moment, he even considered the idea of end having a heart attack, because in years no one ever made him feel like that. Emerson lost words and suddenly, there were only Emerson and Yoongi in a room, not the whole Bangtan Lads.

That same day they had dinner together. Chatted, danced and traded cellphone numbers. Instead of going back to his place, Emerson took him to her home and they watched a movie.

For the first time in a almost a whole year living in England, Min Yoongi felt a connection.

- x - x - x -

– I swear that Zeus’s nutsack is the best position ever. - Namjoon said and threw the notebook in Jungkook’s direction, watching him grab it and read all lyrics written down.

– And why should we sing about that? - Seokjin asked raising one eyebrow, expression deadly serious, grabbing his can of Coca-Cola and sipping from the white straw. - I love doggy style, but would never write a whole goddamn song about it.

– I agree with Jin, the world doesn’t need to know what you and Bárbara are up to. I never wanted to know. - Taehyung said and nodded in Jin’s direction, whilst curling a lock of brown hair on his fingertip. - Honestly, I think you need vacations, your ideas are getting cornier, hornier and grossier.

– Let the man live, you guys! - Hoseok said and took the notebook off Jungkook’s hand, being punched in return. - I don’t even know how the fuck is Zeus’s Nutsack, but if our smartpants wants to write about his experience, allow him to do so. - He gazed down at the lyrics on his hands and chuckled. - Sorry Joon, but this time I’m with Tae and Jin, I won’t sing it.

– Please guys! We are an alternative rock band who has three songs about sex, we need something to bring sexy back during the concerts or fans will feel bored. It’s been two tours since Jimin showed his abs during ‘Clarividencia’ for the last time. People are commenting on Twitter. - Namjoon said and pouted.

– Let’s vote. It’s a democracy, isn’t it? - Yoongi asked, emerging from his big and fluff chair and bending down, his upper body supported by the elbows firmly planted on his skinny thighs. - I vote to burn that shit and never mention it again.

Everyone in the studio laughed, except for Namjoon, he shrunk on his spot and turned the page, sketching and randomly drawing circles, looking for inspiration in something other than intercourse. Yoongi watched everyone leave the studio and sat beside him.

– Remember when we first recorded a full-length album and korean managers wanted us to become a pop? They saw potential in every single one of us, but wanted a profitable artist. - Yoongi laid his head on Namjoon's shoulder. - Thankfully we took our content and moved to an indie recording studio. Can you possibly imagine us as Bangtan Sonyeondan? BTS not BTL? We discussed the idea, and the first sketch of success wasn't the right one. Maybe that song is like BTS, a bit more of thought and time may turn it into BTL.

– Are you saying that I should focus less on the movements itself? The song is pretty explicit, so should I use better metaphors? - Namjoon asked, still not looking at Yoongi, but the older man saw a sparkle run through his eyes, like a lightbulb shining with new ideas flowing through his synapses.

– We can work on it later, right now I want to prepare a surprise to Emerson. Can you believe we've been together for 5 years already?

– Yeah, half a decade. - Namjoon said, sighing deeply. - What do you have in mind?

– I'm gonna propose. - Yoongi smiled, a gummy grin with feelings running off the edge. - I've been planning it for two years now. When we completed our third anniversary, Emerson wrote a post on her personal Tumblr about our relationship, mentioning a few situations and funny moments from day to day. That same day I wanted to make a song, but it's easy, within hours I could finish a masterpiece and the effort would be almost none, so I decided to step up my game a little and began writing a book. Poems about her, our partnership, my feelings, everything.

– It's really thoughtful of you, Yoongs. - Namjoon wrote a few random lines on his notebook and turned to look at his friend. - And some folks still dare to claim you are not a romantic guy.

In fact, not even Yoongi saw himself as someone surfing on romance, usually writing about politics and books. Focusing in feelings and matters related to relationship never appealed. He became responsible for most tracks talking about issues of immigrating from Korea to England, emphasizing that fame changed how they saw him, but xenephobia still existed. Bangtan Lads received a Grammy Nomination for ‘Golden Borders’, a whole album shoving in people’s ears how shittily they treated immigrants, but still wished from heart to live in USA.

Using ‘Golden Borders’ as the soundtrack, Emerson made researches and released a documentary about immigrants, showing the ridiculous racism and highlighting double-standards in how right-wing parties treated foreigners victims of war and those just running from economic crisis, but still wealthy. She also reported how politicians like Donald Trump vertiginously changed the meaning of “immigrants”, not differing someone legal from the illegals.

Yoongi was possibly the proudest boyfriend ever accompaining his significant other during the premiere of ‘Invisible: The Truth on Immigrating’. Emerson invited a few famous people who immigrated from their home-countries, along with “common” folks.

Maybe he wasn’t the most romantic boyfriend ever, but still knew how to encourage Emerson. During their relationship, Yoongi convinced her of writing two books, one script for a movie, produce two documentaries and demand her own column on Rolling Stones site. Whilst she inspired and gave ideas to two albums which earned them four Grammy Awards, abetted him into trying something solo, and produce for different artists aside from BTL.

Even though both of them worked massively with media, Emerson and Yoongi never thought about conceding interviews as a couple. Daily invitations for appearances in shows together popped up on their e-mails, but without discussing it they already knew the answer: No.

When asked the reason, Emerson and Yoongi agreed to keep their personal life, well, private. They already shared a few cute moments on Instagram and Tumblr. Why would someone want to dig more into the relationship? Snooping isn't good.

- x - x - x -

– In conclusion. Communism wasn't planned for over populated countries, or planets. - Jade said and chopped in two the turkey sandwich she was holding, taking a bite from one half of it.

Emerson shrugged her shoulders and nodded, agreeing with Jade. Accompanied by Shmailah and Zariah, they were waiting for the reunion with some other journalists from Rolling Stones. The weekly meeting for coming up with ideas to articles, reportages and new ideas for photoshoots to use in scheduled interviews, was about to happen, but only a few professionals were already there.

Usually, the boss bought some goodies to complement and cheer every meeting, but that day in question had food and sandwiches provided by a new diner across the street. They were lolling on burgers, sandwiches and chips, also milkshakes and cherry fizzy drinks.

– My article about nigerian culinary is going smooth. - Zariah said and took a sip from the vanilla milkshake in front of her. - That restaurant I contacted to ask for primary informations, the old lady sent me fried yams. I’m totally sending her a Christmas card and gift, and candy canes for her grandchildren.

– Great! It's so nice when someone values our work and spoils us with small, yet adorable gifts. - Emerson said and dipped one chip in the ketchup sauce. She was sitting curled up, knees touching her chest, not very excited. - By the way, mine about Bollywood is almost done, but I need some new informations. Can you help me, Shims?

– It's not right to assume I know a lot about Bollywood, only based on my bangladeshi heritage… But yes I’m a fucking Bollywood nerd and would love to help. - Shmailah grinned perversely, caressing Emerson's cheek with love, noticing that she seemed a little down lately. - What's up, Em? You don't seem very happy, not even surrounded by your best friends and a whole lot of free junk food.

The parallel conversation between Zariah and Jade quit, suddenly all three pairs of eyes were gazing at Emerson, who felt her cheeks getting warmer. She took another chip and started talking, whilst shaking the potato around, like a wand, before taking a bite and continuing.

– I don't think Yoongi loves me anymore. - She sniffed, swallowing the growing knot in her throat with chips. - We've been together for five years now, but in the last few months he's been a little distant. I know, I know, Yoongi sometimes loses himself inside his own brain, but not distant like that. Far, you know? We used to be so connected, now that connection seems a little faded.

– Oh Emerson. I don't see that happening, ever. - Jade said, bending over the table to grab her fries-less hand. - Yoongi seems so passionate about you. Whenever we go out in group, he only has eyes for you. Like, when Yoongi notices you barely had the opportunity to speak, he always tries to bring you into the conversation. Jimin already witnessed your boyfriend getting distracted and spend several minutes staring at his lockscreen, which is you.

– Totally agree with Jade. Not even dead Yoongi would stop loving you, he would probably find his way back into our spiritual plan only to make sure you are aware of his love. - Shmailah said, watching a shy tear run down Emerson's rosy cheek

– It's so complicated. In the past two months he spent days without showing up at our place, and not caring to tell where he is. Whenever he is around though, the office's chair receives most attention, since Yoongi locks himself there and if I try to get in, he scouts me outside saying it's something related to work. - Emerson tried to swallow the knot again, but now not even milkshake worked, and she sobbed. - Why couldn't I see if it is about work? When he was recording and producing his solo mixtape, I slept on the studio's couch for four days straight, trying to support him. I'd never do anything to ruin whatever he has been working on. We had coffee today at a cafè, but the experience felt so shallow. Small, verging insignificant, talk.

– I’m so sorry to hear that, baby. What if he’s been working in something for you? Like a gift and doesn’t want you to see and spoil the surprise? - Jade asked, raising one eyebrow. - You shouldn’t conclude always the worse, sometimes it is just something you can’t put immediately put together. Consider it and give time to time.

The conversation silenced in the moment everyone else invited to the meeting showed up. Seven other journalists gathered, including the boss, whose appeared holding another tray full of cookies and cupcakes.

– For what it seems like, that diner also has bakery goodies. - Jackie, also know as The Boss, said pushing the tray up on table. - I love so fucking much my job. Whoever don’t can totally stand up and leave, more cupcakes and chips for me, há!

- x - x - x -

Emerson had no time to think about her situation with Yoongi during the afternoon. Work consumed every disposable piece of brain cell, fulfulling a whole week of articles for her column and completing one reportage about self-made millionaires.

However, after leaving the building and heading home, the empty apartment made her shatter out and cry, sobbing and feeling a sudden urge to destroy something. Not only a random object like a glass cup, but something stiffier and harder to fix, like herself. In years working, dating Yoongi and being friends with so many great people, she never felt that need again, honestly, considering the idea of hurting her own body sounded weirdly appealing, after so much improvement, going back felt like a failure.

Maybe the past years left her brain so occupied with every new information, that negative thoughts had no actual space, a little tab in the corner that was muted by Yoongi’s voice. Now, without his presence and strong connection, Emerson silenced all other tabs, only listening to the one where haters were loud, depression and self-harm spoke freely.

Years of self-improvement faded within a pinch, a thin drop of blood coming from her thigh stained the beige pants, and Emerson left the small, yet painful, piece of skin go from between her long nails.

Weak and sobbing, she reunited all forces and stood up from the front door, walking slowly in bedroom’s direction, wishing only to lay down, curl up inbetween the duvets and sleep, ignoring any bad temptations, observing them disappear along with conscience.

Old monsters, some she saw as teenage ghosts, showed up. Emerson felt stupid for harming herself over such a small reason. Independent woman, smart, successful, amazing close friends, and yet the major breakdown in years was happening because of a man. What kind of mean joke could that be?

She wished so hard to pull herself together again, living happily and not getting to precipitated conclusions over small situations. That's it, maybe she was only overreacting. What if she is not? What if the connection between them is, indeed, fading? What if? What? What?

What was their mistake?

What was her mistake?

Was there a mistake?

Cruel trick her own brain was playing. Blackjack with sanity. Poker with happiness. What did she had to bet? Of course, Emerson conquered a lot in years, how much of that could she lose? Golden Globe? Literature prizes? All had her name embedded in wood. Friendships? Weekly night-outs proved that their bond didn't change within years. Why then only Yoongi seemed to slip through her fingers? The only thing she would miss the most, fading like smoke on the water.

Sometimes, the smartest, strongest, toughest people can go through menaces with delight and peace. Though, their inner monsters exist, and can seem small for whoever witnesses from outside, but a spider is a huge matter to a fly. Struggles and fears, perspective changes them.

Judging someone's feelings and fright isn't up to us.

- x - x - x -

That night Yoongi meant to crash down at the studio, but Namjoon showed up close to midnight, accompanied by his girlfriend, a small and chubby woman with wild brown hair, and also followed by Jimin and Jade, Jin and DiLayla. Their Instagram revealed that everyone had dinner, sponsored by a fancy restaurant trading food for audience.

– Why is everyone here grating me with the grace of your presence? Is there a party happening in my studio and I'm not invited? - Yoongi asked sarcastically, saving the new poem written before anyone could ruin it.

– Cut it out, Yoongi. - Jade said taking her thick beige coat off, leaving it on the black couch. - Don't you think you've been spending way too much time working? Stuck in your office or studio?

Her tone seemed mysterious, as if she meant something more than what was actually voiced. Yoongi felt intrigued watching everyone getting comfortable. Were they intervening?

– What is that? An intervention? I don't do drugs. - Yoongi joked, only him laughing, everyone else seemed morosed.

– See Yoongs, we were having dinner and suddenly Emerson became a subject of discussion. - Jin spoke trying to look chill, but very tense. - Jade mentioned that Emerson has been feeling a bit… Ignored lately. Bárbara and DiLayla agreed...

– Let me speak, love. - DiLayla touched Jin's shoulder and stood up. - Emerson mentioned to us that you’ve been working way too much, even at home, and she thinks you don't love her anymore. Basically, she feels like your connection is slowly vanishing.

– Namjoon told us what you've been planning for proposing to her, and honestly, I will take note and use a few of your ideas someday. - Jimin gave a side grin to Jade, watching how she blushed and continued. - But maybe, just maybe, you focused so much on something to her, that kind of forgot her? Not literally, we know you love Emerson with every beat of your heart, your maeum [마음, something like feelings], but you know, you can't starve a man before feeding him…

– What? Emerson is feeling neglected? - Yoongi asked, chocked and feeling his heart breaking.

Yoongi turned the chair around when tears verged to fall, not wanting to face his friends whilst crying. Jin, Jimin and Namjoon only saw him emotionally shattered in two situations. Feeling raw and vulnerable always made him uncomfortable, mainly being stared by people he had no intimacy, like his friends’s girlfriends, they were cool, but not close enough to watch him with guards down.

The young man hated this aspect of him. He despised how inadvertently his mind let things pass without noticing, facts around that could vastly affect his life, personal or professional. Having Emerson always picking up on him about unhealthy habits made it easier to don't die after spending three days living off hard liquor and olives, and overworking.

He wasn't someone mindless, or easily distracted, but Emerson helped him to focus in more than one thing at once, like working, but still resting enough, or channeling the best from every situation. Hiding something from her, avoided the warnings. Without realizing, Yoongi evicted his girlfriend from working aspects of him.

Maybe Jimin was right. He focused so much in doing something for Emerson, that he forgot to live with Emerson.

Goddamn it, Yoongi!

Namjoon looked around and politely asked everyone to leave the studio for a moment. He pulled a chair and sat beside Yoongi, caressing his trembling shoulder.

– I don't think I ever saw you crying over something so simple to solve. - Namjoon whispered, still petting his friend's shoulder. - You know nothing is lost and what to do is actually easy. The solution may ruin a huge surprise, but it is going to soothe a small injure caused by itself.

– What if Emerson has been considering to break up? Oh fuck, Joon! What if I ruined it all? - Yoongi used his sleeves to dry off his tears. - What if everything is so lost that not even all poems I wrote could fix it?

– See, a few weeks ago me and Barbs were talking about couples that gathered together along the past years. - Namjoon said and stopped caressing Yoongi's shoulder. - First, Hoseok and Taylor, then you and Emerson, Jade and Jimin, Di and Jin, me and her, Zariah and Jungkook, and Shims with Tae. I think we created an equilibrium in universe. Everyone is such a great and right match that if at some point one these couples break up, a new Big Bang would happen, cuz the mutual decision could ruin the universal balance.

“I'm not being far-fetched, I swear in the name of Stephen Hawking. - Namjoon spoke and made a cross in his chest. - Sometimes a long-term relationship can go through challenges. Two different people sharing a life of experience cannot live without occasional fights, bickering or arguing. We are human, even the most rational ones can be stubborn. All you have to do is insist. Although, it seems like Emerson loves you as much as you love her, so the only struggle here is distance.”

– You are right, but I’m still feeling like a sucker. - Yoongi snuffled, cleaning the coryza from his runny nose. - But as Emerson already told me, I should learn from my mistakes, then use it on an inspirational song, making my fans wander on what actually gave me the idea to it. - He grinned passionately and turned his cellphone screen on, staring at the lockscreen: a stunning picture of Emerson in Japan, smiling, using a flower crown and surrounded by cherry blossoms. - I love her so much.

Next thing processed by cameras around the building was a very hurry Yoongi grabbing his stuff, leaving a group of friends behind. A determined face, quick steps and then driving fast through the parking lot, tyres screaming like Robert Plant in the beginning of ‘Immigration Song’.

- x - x - x -

Emerson woke up in a startle after hearing the front door banging loudly. Still sleepy, she had no energy to stand up and check what was happening. Sleep whilst crying is exhausting, you wake up psychologically weary. After a few minutes and heavy steps, she heard someone calling her name, more specifically, Yoongi calling chanting her name.

She stood up, bringing one of the duvets along, and walked to the room, where Yoongi was crouched down, sitting on his calfs, typing something on the laptop he settled on the coffee table. When the man side glanced Emerson, he got up on his feet and hugged her, feeling his heart shatter with the small, yet present, dot of blood staining her beige pants.

– I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please… - Yoongi whispered, trying not to cry again, not before actually accomplishing his new goal for the night. Also, his mind was worried about the blood on her leg. - Did you hurt yourself, baby? Oh fuck, did you?

– Why? What did you do? - Emerson questioned feeling his arms around her, resisting before letting the duvet down and hugging him back. - I pinched myself a little too hard, but I swear it wasn't serious. Sorry...

– I was distant and absent from your life, and now you are convinced I don’t love you anymore. - He swallowed the knot on his throat, still trying not to cry. - It’s so dumb, because the only thing I love more than you is my music, but you are the inspiration for my work, so you are my music… And I made you hurt yourself.

– No, please Yoongles, it was a small relapse. Not worth of a fuzz. It won't happen again. - She felt his uneven heart beat against her ear, touching his chest. - Who told you that? Who told you how I was feeling? - Her arms quit hugging him, a tension running through both bodies.

– I don’t know, today I was finishing a project for you in my studio and Namjoon, Jin and Jimin showed up, they were accompained by their girlfriends. They told me how you were feeling and made me realize how far I’ve been, and how cold I acted earlier. - He seemed uncomfortable revealing his sources of information, but the truth would end up appearing anyways.

– Wait a second… - Emerson dried the single tear left running down her cheek and stared Yoongi. - Have you been working in something for me? Like, a surprise? A gift?

Yoongi shrugged his shoulders and nodded. His mind was hazy and the urge to just kneel and propose to Emerson without previous background was slowly taking over his guts. He couldn’t predict her reaction, since every brain cell were occupied on finding the right words. Fortunately, the woman grinned shyly and blushed, gazing down on the laptop.

They sat down in front of the open laptop, his arms around her shoulders. Yoongi sighed and pressed the ‘enter’ key, watching Power Point opening and a clear book cover appeared, mint coloured like his hair.

The book Yoongi worked for two years was almost ready. Whilst looking for good names and aesthetics a japanese word loomed from his pre-teenage memories: ishin-denshin (以心伝心) and his book title fitted like a glove. A compilation of poems and the last one, in Yoongi’s humble oppinion, the most majestic one was named after the piece itself. He planned on proposing whilst reading to Emerson.

– You asked me nothing, but I feel the need to explain what’s in front of you. - Yoongi cleared his throat, watching Emerson’s eyes scanning the screen. - My gift for our fifth anniversary was a book. I’ve been planning it for two years now, and in the last two or three months I reached the final details, which were cover and last poem. I never allowed you to see it, because I wanted it to be a surprise. I guess old habits never die, because during the time spent working on that book, I isolated myself from you and gave a wrong impression. Sorry.

– It's so beautiful, even though I don't even know what the title means. - Emerson said and sobbed, smiling through tears. - If the whole book is in japanese, then it would be good if you taught me how to read.

– Oh, cutie pie. I love you so much. - Yoongi snorted and kissed the top of Emerson's head, whose felt so loved, more than she felt in months. - It's, indeed, in japanese. Ishin-denshin, it's a kind of interpersonal communication, unspoken, but the understanding is still mutual. Something like, heart transmits what mind thinks. That word was a trend back in my pre-teenage years, never thought I would use it.

Emerson turned to look Yoongi. His eyes were watering, but no tears falling. She smiled, happily and kissed him. In months, they kissed plenty of times, but none of them had the same meaning as this one. It wasn't sexy or teasingly, if we are going to be honest, the kiss was salty with tears and, well, coryza. Emerson and Yoongi were slowly reconnecting.

The kiss stopped when their lungs claimed for air. After a few smooches, they got back to stare the screen.

– I love you so much, Yoongles. - Emerson felt a magnetic force making her back look for support on his chest, diminishing the space between them. - I know it's dumb, but I firmly believe we are soulmates, there is a supernatural connection between us, and considering the idea of losing you… it made me so desperate and sad. I know I would keep living, but my soul would never feel completed again.

– I know baby, I feel the same way, but instead of voicing my feelings, why don't you read a few poems I wrote? -Yoongi leaned and wrapped one of his arms around her shoulders again, smiling passionately whilst seeing skinny knees touching the chest, covered by a fluff light pink sweatshirt with ‘Treat People With Kindness’ written in a plain white font. He remembered the day they bought the piece of clothing after a Harry Styles concert in London. What a fun night, hanging around with him after the event. As Yoongi said earlier, being famous has its perks.

Emerson felt immersed in deep feelings, some of them not even voiced during their relationship. Yoongi wrote small poems about every aspect of her: from her cute moles, to how he loved petting her hair before sleeping, or how her voice was sweet like honey and face cute as a mochi. Everything, he wrote inspired by moments they shared, like the trip to Japan during spring, or New Year’s Eve in China. The first time Emerson tried kim chi and how her nose puckered when the spicy taste finally hit her taste buds. When she first attended to Bangtan Lads concert and fanchanted along with ARMYs, taking a few of them to backstage. Travelling to Brazil and messaging Bárbara instead of using Google Translator.

They lived so many precious moments together. Yoongi made sure over 100 of them became art through emotional poems.

The last one, named ‘Ishin-denshin’. She took a deep breathe, still sobbing with happy tears running down her face. The silence only broken by occasional snorts and chuckles. However, Yoongi was getting more tense, staring at her eyes.

Ishin-denshin

Once upon a time in the far land of England

A woman gave birth to love impersonated in flesh, blood and gold

No one knew how important she was and how lucky they were

Until chaos from Korea arrived and trapped her in maeum.

Connections can cross the border of space and time

Voices and signs

Touches and sights

You and me, hands holding tight.

Love is a matter of ishi-denshin

Ability to communicate from mind to heart

Open up on a gaze

Not a sound to be heard from mouth.

Thankfully chaos and peace mingle and complete each other

Yin and Yang united by their differences

Perfecting what was already sculpted with dust and water

Remodeling and always improving, resulting in brand new peculiarities.

Love and connections are the result of fighting

Nothing good comes easy

Nothing easy is good

Once you find balance, universe rewards you with love.

Continents separated us for most part of our days on earth

Wandering uneven, looking for the half that best fit our soul

Happily odds were and allowed what resulted in balance

Only imagining myself without you, even my brain in plain conscience feels afoul.

Don’t you dare saying you are not good enough

Cutie pie, you are unique like flakes of snow

Every drop has its own shape

Unique, you never see two looking the same.

My heartbeat is in sync with yours

Slow like when we sleep

Or when we kiss after a long period apart, tumbling in ribcage, rhythm vigorous

I thank everyday for finding my soulmate in a sweetheart like you.

Stay for as long as you want

I feel lucky only by having in my life as a constant

Luckily it won’t change much

When I finally make you a Min like me, everything mine will be ours.

When Emerson finished reading ‘Ishin-denshin’, Yoongi didn’t quite gave her time to think broader and stood up, pulling the woman together. Standing side by side, he kneeled in front of Emerson and proclaimed, among tears and sobs, holding one hand whilst looking for something in his back pocket.

– Emerson, after all those words you’ve read, would you give me the honour of becoming my Mrs.Min?

– The only possible answer is yes.

- x - x - x -

P:S I purple you <3

38 notes · View notes

namjoonsteeth · 7 years ago

Text

Ruin The Friendship VII

Title: Ruin The Friendship (mini-series) part 7

Word-Count: 6.6k

Pairing: Jay Park/ Reader (kinda)

Summary: Best friends to lovers. Inspired by Ruin The Friendship - Demi Lovato.

Genre: Smutty Fluff

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

“Someone pushed the story without me, Y/n. I can promise you that whoever had access to my files will be found and repercussions will be done,”

Gina Waters has been trying to contact me for the last two days. I’d blocked her number, email address and purposely found her social media accounts just so I could block her on them as well. I was feeling quite bitter a day and a half ago. It seems like Gina has made it her mission to speak with me considering this is the fourth unknown number she’s tried to call me with. The only reason I answered was so that I can tell her that I’m definitely pressing harassment charges if she continues to contact me.

I sigh pressing the phone to my ear. I stand up, trying to ease out of Jay’s massive bed as quietly as I can. I pull a pair of his basketball shorts and pull them on before slipping out of the room.

Because of Gina Waters, my apartment has been deemed as no longer safe by my very protective boyfriend. The few young girls who were outside sometimes doubled overnight, and they aren’t as nice as before. I don’t understand Korean completely but I know when I’m being insulted. Jay hasn’t let me walk to work in the last two days and I’m exiled to his apartment once again much to his pleasure.

“I don’t believe you,” I say, pulling my wild hair into a ponytail. I head to the bathroom to see just how scary I look. There’s dried drool on the corner of my mouth, and I’m starting to break out probably from stress. One of the best things about being with Jay is that he already knows I’m in a constant state of mess.

“Why would I be calling you if I put the article out, Y/n?”

I think for a long minute. When I can’t come up with anything, I roll my eyes at myself.

“So, what do you want then?”

“I want permission to run the story I actually wrote. I can send you a copy, you edit out whatever you don’t want in,”

“Why? I’m hardly interesting enough to be worrying about. Just call it a loss and we both pretend that someone at your office didn’t try to ruin my career and reputation,”

“Y/n,” Gina sighs like I’m the one being exasperating. “I believe you will single-handedly leave a mark on the fashion industry in South Korea. Your impact has been noticed and I want your story to be told the way I intended it to be told. I want to omit any mention of Jay Park. And I want you to get the recognition you deserve,”

“I’m really not that important over here,” I laugh. I put the phone on speaker so I can brush my teeth.

“Y/n,” she says my name like she’s talking to a child who refuses to listen to reason. “Styles found only in Southern California are popping up on Korean boy group members. Jay Park just made a top twenty list of the most fashionable men in the world. It’s your impact. It’s your influence,”

I groan around the foam in my mouth. “Fine! Fine, I don’t care. Do whatever you want. No mention of Jay and I want a name of who sent the story in,”

“Perfect! I’ll send you a link to what I have you tell me what to take out,”

“Don’t worry about it. Just try not to do any more damage, please,”

I don’t even know what I’m doing it, but for some reason, I believe her. I believe her and I trust her more than I probably should. I don’t know what it is about Gina Waters that has me once again putting everything in her hands.

“I’m sending it in for publishing first thing in the morning, Y/n. Thank you by the way,”

“For what?”

“You’re the biggest new thing coming to fashion, Y/n. I get to say that I had a hand in getting you that Vogue editorial,”

What’s up with everyone and Vogue?

“I’ll be in touch,” she says.

“I don’t doubt it,” I murmur.

“Oh and Y/n, I didn’t send the shitty story in, but someone did. I’m going to find out, but don’t forget someone has something against you. Be careful,”

I’m not sure what to say. “Okay, thanks, Gina,”

We both hang up. I lean against the sink and sigh. Thinking about her words, I can’t put a finger on anyone who would gain anything from running a story on Jay. Granted the article didn’t explicitly make it seem like I was using him for his name, it’s just what people have started to conclude. I don’t get it.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door and I open it so Jay can come in. He hesitates in the doorway. “I need to pee,”

“Well pee, then,” I laugh frowning at him around my toothbrush.

“Aren’t you going to get out?”

“No, I’m brushing my teeth,”

“Can you please get out so I can pee,”

I pull my toothbrush out of my mouth so I can look at him. He has stubble around his mouth and chin, his dark hair sticks up in every direction, and he’s still so handsome it’s unfair. He scratches tiredly at his bare stomach as he waits.

“I’ve seen your dick before. I’ve actually touched it too if you remember. I’m not phased by you peeing for less than thirty seconds, but if you insist on being this high maintenance in the morning I will leave. But I have you know you could’ve been done using the bathroom right now if you had just come in and peed three minutes ago,”

“I’m trying to be considerate,” he frowns while I move out of the bathroom.

“You do realize that I’m used to you being the opposite of considerate right?”

I hear the toilet flush before the water runs. After a few seconds, I hear the unmistakable sound of a toothbrush moving against teeth. I push into the bathroom.

“You asshole!”

He smiles around his toothbrush, moving over so I can finish brushing my own teeth.

“You’ve been in here for twenty minutes brushing your teeth, Y/n,” he laughs.

“I was on the phone,”

“I figured from all the sighing I heard,” he laughs. He pulls the foamy brush out of his mouth. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, it was the writer I did the interview with. Someone pushed the article through without her consent,”

“And you believe her?”

I reach up to smooth my thumb over his raised slitted eyebrow. “Are you going to redo this? Yes, I believe her. If she’d been the one to publish the story she wouldn’t be calling me,”

“Yeah, I’ll do it before the wedding on Friday. I guess you’re right. What did she want then?”

He waits as I rinse with mouthwash and put my toothbrush back in the cup. I sit on the sink in front of his toiletries.

“She asked permission to publish the story she actually wrote. I told her I didn’t care as long as she didn’t mention you,”

Jay rinses and reaches behind me to grab his razor and shaving cream. I watch as he lathers the cream on his face.

“You think that’s a good idea?”

“I don’t know. For some reason, she believes I’m going to be bigger than whatever I’m doing now. I rather not miss my opportunity. And whoever pushed the story obviously wanted me to. I feel like I’m letting them win or something,”

“Ok, baby,”

I narrow my eyes at him while he glides the razor over his skin. He seems so focused that I’d miss the pensive look in his eyes if I didn’t know him so well.

“Is that ‘okay, baby. I don’t agree with you, but you look scary in the morning so I’ll shut up’?”

“I’ve seen you look worse-,”

“Oh fuck you,”

He leans over to press his lips against mine which gives me a shaving cream mustache. I look in the mirror. We look fucking adorable if I’m honest. I grab my phone and snap a picture of us smiling in the mirror.

“You know I’m kidding. You’re beautiful all the time. That’s like the boyfriend thing to say, right?”

I slap his arm and hop off the sink to grab a towel and wipe off the shaving cream.

“And, you’re grown, Y/n. You don’t need me to sign off on your decisions. If you trust her, I trust her. Whatever you decide is the right decision for me too,”

I wrap my arms around his waist, running my hands over his chest. I press my cheek against his broad back.

“Who are you and where is my asshole friend Jay Park?”

“He’s crazy in love and being supportive of his pretty girlfriend,”

I press my lips against the center of his back. “You’re working today,”

“Yeah, I’m going to try really hard to keep everything short. I know you hate being here by yourself,”

I sigh, letting go of his waist. “It’s ok. I’ll be fine. I’m going to the office. Bora got back in yesterday. We might go get lunch after,”

“Ok, baby,” he pats his face dry. “But take the car with you. I don’t want you walking anywhere. Not even down the street,”

“I’m not in danger, Jay,”

“I don’t care. I’m not risking it. There are too many people with access to you right now,”

“Ok,” I concede. “I’m going to shower, so get out,”

“What if I wanted to shower,”

I peel my clothes off and step into Jay’s large shower. It was definitely made with luxury in mind. With different jet speeds, this is the real reason I decided to move in. I could happily spend hours in here.

“I don’t think anyone is using the bathroom in the guest room,” I smirk.

“You should just move in now,” Jay says suddenly. I look at him through the glass. His head tilts as he watches the water flow down my body. His tongue comes over his bottom lip.

“What?” I tap the glass to bring his eyes back up. “What did you say?”

“There’s hardly any security at your place, Y/n. I’m going to be gone weeks at a time. I would feel more comfortable if I knew you were safe here,”

“I don’t want to,” I pout. I’m going to miss my little homey place. Its the only other place I’d lived at besides home. I already feel like I’m abandoning it whenever I spend a couple of days at Jay’s.

“You don’t want to,” Jay crosses his arms over his chest.

“I haven’t had a proper goodbye yet, Jay. You can’t give us a few months and then change it to a couple of days,”

“Us?” His eyebrow raises.

I turn away from him, grabbing my washcloth.

“Me and my home,” I sigh, a little embarrassed at the attachment I have.

“Ok, fine,” he says. He turns to leave the bathroom but I tap on the glass again.

“What’s that supposed to mean? ‘Ok, fine’” I mimic his voice while pulling a face. “What’s that?”

“It’s ‘Ok, fine,’” he laughs. “I’m not going to force you to do anything, Y/n,”

I turn off the shower and reach for a towel to wrap around my body. I breeze past him back into his room.

“Now, you’re turning up your nose at me,” he says following close behind.

“I didn’t like your ‘ok, fine.’”

“First of all, stop doing that face, and I don’t sound like that. Second, what do you want me to say, Y/n?”

I follow him into his closet and lean against the door frame. I watch him sift through t-shirts he has hanging up.

“I don’t know. Why ask me to move in sooner if you aren’t 100 percent behind the idea,”

“Who says I’m not 100 percent behind it,”

“‘Ok, fine’ says so,”

He turns to look at me. Before I know what’s happening, he has his arms wrapped around my waist and his mouth against mine. His tongue pushes past my lips roughly before meeting with mine. When he pulls back I’m breathless and a little lightheaded.

“You,” He says as he catches his own breath. “Are the most difficult person I’ve ever fucking met in my life. It’s like you live for confrontation and being a pain in my ass,”

I run my tongue over my lips, smiling up at him. “I’ll start packing today,”

“You’re the worst,” he laughs and kisses my forehead. “Give me half an hour and you can drop me off at work, ok?”

I nod, puckering my lips for one more kiss. He touches my lips before going to take a shower. He turns to look at me.

“Hey, wear your own clothes today,”

I push my bottom lip out having just spied a pair of jeans I know will fit me.

“Why, I have nothing to wear,”

“You never give me my shit back,”

“All you ever do is complain these days,” I say, faking disappointment.

“Go to work and annoy your friends or something,” he says disappearing to go get ready for work himself.

We drive together, with Jay promising to get home early as I drop him off. I refuse to get used to driving a Bentley. Whatever sacrifices I have to make so I can still pay rent and get a car is going to have to be made. Jay can keep him monstrosity even if it is pretty. There’s still people milling around outside so I hurry into the studio garage.

When I get in, Bora is already there, sun-kissed and prettier than ever. I’ve missed her so much.

“Look what the cat dragged in from fucking her hot boyfriend,”

I frown at my friend. “You sound bitter,” I laugh.

“I am. Jay stole my friend, and she doesn’t even give me all the juicy details,”

“I know, I know! We haven’t had time to get together,”

Bora narrows her eyes at me. God, she’s so perceptive.

“Something is happening. What did you do?”

I peek over her shoulder pretending to be engrossed with whatever she’s working on.

“Try a higher heel. It’s perfect but I think a tiny bit of a lift is what’s missing,”

“Thank you and I will do that. What did you do,” she says again.

I sigh, leaning my forehead on her shoulder. “I’m moving in,”

“Oh, my god, Y/n! Domestication! When?”

“Sooner rather than later. He doesn’t think I’m safe at my place from the teenage fans that follow me to work,”

“He’s right,”

“So coffee at my place? While I con you guys into helping me pack,” I smile hopefully at her.

“You’re lucky you’re cute. I’ll let Chae know. She’s going to give you a lecture though,”

I sigh taking my own seat at my desk. “I know,”

Chae doesn’t give me a lecture. Instead, she looks at me like she’s totally unsurprised by the turn of events. We get started packing my little apartment into boxes surrounded by coffee and snacks while talking about our relationships. It’s the girl friendships I’d missed out on when I was an awkward kid who couldn’t dance but spent most of her time at b-boy shows.

“I know he wouldn’t, Y/n. But how do you just trust him completely? He’s surrounded by women everywhere. How is there no doubt that he won’t fuck up,” Bora asks while folding some dresses.

“I just know that he’s Jay. I can’t explain it. He’s always just said what he meant. If he wanted out, I know he’d tell me before going behind my back with someone else,”

“See, I don’t see how you guys aren’t married by now. It took me three years of being with Jin to get to that point,”

I shrug. “We’re not in a rush. I’m not going anywhere,”

Chae comes back to my room with a few more boxes. I feel weird about taking up Jay’s place with all of my stuff. His apartment is very much so a reflection of him; straightforward and to the point with hints of his personality mixed in. I can’t come with my cat duvet and quartz collection. Not only are they random, he’d never let me live down bringing my rock collection.

“You guys realize it’s just a ring, right? Everything changes with this little piece of metal,” she wiggles her fingers before going back to unfolding boxes.

“Is that a good or bad thing,” Bora asks.

Chae tilts her head to the side. “It’s neither. It’s just a thing. I can say I never loved my husband more than the week after we were married. And I never hated him more than that week either,”

I think about what she says and how much Jay and I have changed too. I get it, I think. Sometimes it seems like we aren’t even in the same book, let alone on the same page. He throws me every time he opens his mouth.

“It gets better and it gets worse,” I say.

Chae nods. “You and Jay might be the exception. But then again you might not. I think you guys are still discovering each other no matter how much history you have. Ride that out for a little while,” she turns her eyes to Bora.

“And everyone progresses at different paces. You are Jin are like a slow burn instead of this one’s” she jerks her thumb at me. “fucking explosion of everything at once. There’s nothing wrong with that either,”

Chae, the mom friend. We continue like this, talking and laughing while we pack up boxes and divide them between storage and Jay’s place. At the end of it all, the main thing I’m taking is my clothes and shoes. Everything else isn’t really a necessity. I still have a lot to do but in the next few days, I can be completely packed and in Jay’s place. How fucking weird is that? It seems like only yesterday I was kissing him for the first time, now I’m moving in. Granted it’s not completely by choice, but it still feels like I’ve passed a monumental milestone.

“He’s leaving. Are you guys ok?” Chae asks me.

I think about it for the first time honestly. There’s no denying that he’ll be gone for a long time. He won’t be able to just hop on a plane and come home whenever he wants and I won’t be able to go to him either. I’ve been spoiled for the last month or so. It’s been just kismet that he’s had as much time off as he did while we were still figuring everything out.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. I just, I want to do something you know. I can’t just let him go without us having a night to ourselves. With his schedule in the next few days, I don’t know if we’ll get a proper send-off,”

“Why not tonight?” Bora holds up a strapping black bodysuit with the tags attached while wiggling her eyebrows.

I shrug. “He’s working,”

“I think he’ll be more upset if he knew you weren’t putting this to use,” She laughs.

“I second that,” Chae says pulling out a pair of scarlet red heels.

“He’s working,” I groan.

They both roll their eyes at me.

“Curl your hair,” Bora says standing to shuffle around my room. “Actually, I’ll do it,” she says finally locating my straightener on my dresser.

Chae smiles at me. “You don’t have a choice anymore,”

I’m anxious to get back to Jay’s. I get ready in the lingerie Bora forced me to bring along and pull out a pair of strapped red heels.

I call Jay to make sure it’s safe to come by wearing literally nothing.

“Is there anyone there with you?” I ask while tying the red string of the heel around my ankle.

“No, I’m here alone. Everybody went home a few hours ago,” he says. He sounds tired as usual. I’m hoping he’s in the mood for what I have planned because this will all be a waste. If I know my boyfriend as well as I think I do though, I’m betting he’s always in the mood.

“Did you eat?”

“No, not yet. I was just about to order something. I’m sorry, baby. I know I said I’d be home earlier,”

I smile at myself. He’s too considerate. “Hey, don’t worry about it, Jay. I do want to see you, though. Do you think you can take a break? We can have dinner,”

“You don’t have to come all the way out here, Y/n,”

“I want to. I miss you a little bit,”

He laughs. “A little bit? Ok, thank you, I appreciate it. Can you drive yourself over?”

“Yes,” I laugh. “Give me maybe twenty minutes and I’ll be over,”

“Ok, baby. I’ll see you in a minute,”

We hang up with me securing my other shoe in place. I stand and head to Jay’s closet. Hanging on the back of his door, the tan trench coat he’d bought me. I look at myself in the mirror. The black ensemble fits too perfectly. My breasts are framed by lace, velvet straps cross around my waist holding up more lace. It’s not his birthday but it sure will feel like it, if I have anything to do with it. It’s only seven-thirty so we have plenty of time before it gets too late and we’re both too tired for anything.

I pull the trench coat on and grab my purse and Jay’s keys on the way out.

I don’t know why I’m nervous. Maybe it’s the probability of someone being there or walking in. Or maybe this whole thing is freaking ridiculous. I shift against the leather seats, my thighs sticking a little bit.

I park in his garage and head upstairs. Hesitantly, I press the key code hoping like hell no one decided on late hours tonight. I need this. A fun, wild night of him. Just because. When I walk in, the main area is empty thank goodness. Still, I pull the jacket down to cover a centimeter more of my thighs.

“Jay?” I call.

“Y/n? That was quick. What happened to picking up food-,”

He stops mid-sentence when he sets eyes on me.

“No, fucking way,” he whispers.

His eyes follow me as I walk further into the massive space. There’s so much room around us, yet I feel like none of it matters when he looks at me like that. All the confidence I had is now depleted, replaced with nerves and overwhelming need to just have his hands on me.

“I forgot the food,” I say quietly. I watch his eyes travel up from my feet and linger around my thighs.

“That’s ok,” he says quietly.

I pull my lip between my teeth, suddenly shy at his reaction. My hand goes to the belt of the coat.

“Wait,” he says. He comes close to me until he’s only a couple of feet away. He leans against the back of the couch.

“Someone could come in,”

“Your office?”

He reaches out for my hand and leads me behind the glass of his office. He grabs a remote control, turning the clear glass opaque. He leans against his desk, waiting for me to move first.

“Is this a late birthday present?”

I smile at him, pulling the belt. The coat falls open just enough to give a peek at just how little I’m wearing beneath it. Jay’s eyes eat up the sliver of skin he sees. He reaches out to set a hand on my hip but I pull out of his reach.

“Don’t touch,” I say. “Not yet,”

He pulls back ready to listen and follow whatever else I say. I kind of like this power. The man who quite literally never stops talking has been struck silent by a few straps of flimsy fabric.

My hands go to the waistband of his pants. My eyes don’t leave his as I push the elastic down away from his hips along with his boxers. I stroke his silky skin. When he leans in, I let him kiss me softly. I’m glad I remembered to just go with lip balm instead of the red lipstick I wanted to use. His teeth pull gently at my bottom lip. His tongue pushes against mine while his arms come up to wrap around me. I’m so lost in how he feels in my hand and against my mouth, that I forget he’s not supposed to touch me.

His hips start to move into my hand, jerking me out of my stupor. I pull out of the kiss and step back. He opens his mouth to protest but stops as I sink down to my knees in front of him.

I don’t wait. I wrap my lips around him until he hits the back of my throat. I circle my tongue as his hands come up to tangle in my hair. I look up him, watching his head drop back and his lips part. If I could take a picture of him like this, I would. I want to savor the look of complete pleasure on his face.

His neck stretches, showing me the black lines of the compass etched into his skin, probably my favorite of his tattoos. I close my eyes and focus on making him feel good.

“Y/n,” he says my name like it’s a cuss word. Like maybe the way he’s thinking about me is sinful. I understand it because I feel the same way.

I’m finding out fantasies aren’t just for the person who has them. There’s a certain pleasure in being the one to carry it out. This, this is my own fantasy; to have him be completely enamored with me that I alone can be responsible for the pinch between his brows and the hardening of his jaw.

Jay grabs my shoulders and pulls me up off my knees. He takes my mouth again, pushing the coat off and onto the floor. When his lips trail down to my neck, I reach up to pull at his hair and draw him closer. He pulls away, his chest moving against mine rapidly. His hands on my hips spin me around slowly as he finally takes in the whole outfit.

“Fuck, you’re so damn hot. Look at you, baby,”

His fingers trace the straps that cross over my body. His hands smooth down until he covers my ass.

“Desk or couch?” I ask raising an impatient eyebrow at him. Honestly, I would even settle on the floor right now. I still feel the weight of him on my tongue and I’m tempted to sink back down and make him come with my mouth.

“Right here,” he says while gripping my hips suddenly. He lifts me up on the edge of the desk. I reach behind me, moving papers out of the way so I can lay. Jay nudges my legs apart so he can stand between my knees.

“I don’t have anything,” he says looking around as if a condom is going to appear among the papers and other shit.

“My purse,” I say tapping at his arm impatiently. He pulls his joggers back in place which does nothing to hide the bulge. He hurries through the foggy door, leaving me staring up at the ceiling above me.

He comes back quickly and gets back into position. He pulls the latex on before bringing his hands down on my hips. He glides in slowly. His fingers dig into my skin like he’s trying to control himself.

“Jay,” I call. I try to wrap my legs around him but he pushes on my thigh to keep them open. He moves too slowly. Tortuous pulls draw out moans from my lips. My fingers ache to hold some part of him, but I can’t reach anything other than his hands on my waist.

“Tell me what you want,”

“Harder, faster, please,” I beg.

“Fuck,” Jay breathes out. “I’m going to miss this,”

One of his hands slides across my stomach up toward one of my breast covered in lace. He pulls the material down, covering my skin with his palm. His hips pump faster against me.

I’m so lost, I don’t even notice the fact that my back is pressed against the cold glass or that I’m knocking papers off his desk, fact that I’m digging my nails so deep into his wrist I’m sure I’ve punctured his skin.

He groans loudly before pulling away from me completely. I whimper at the loss of his body against mine.

“Up,” he instructs. I do as I’m told, sitting up on the desk before hoping down. Two hands come up, cupping the back of my neck as he brings my mouth in. This time, I catch his lips between my teeth before he can pull me in. I nibble on his bottom lip, bringing my own hands up to comb through his dark hair.

He pulls away suddenly, a hand on my hip spins me around so that my back is toward him. He runs his palm up my spine, applying the smallest amount of pressure to get me to bend. My chest presses against the desk as he bends over me. His lips fall on the back of my neck, and then my ear.

“You like when I take you like this, right?”

I nod wanting nothing but to taste his mouth again. He pulls away only a little. His lips move down my spine slowly. A hand moves against my ass, squeezing my skin.

“You’re so sexy,” he says against my skin. “And you’re all mine, aren’t you? You’ve always been mine,”

I can’t speak. It’s like my tongue is caught in my throat or something. I look back at him. His wet hair, a little too long falls over his falls over his forehead barely covering his eyes that work over my skin.

He draws back fully standing above me. Without warning his hips snap against mine. I moan out as he continues at the rough staggered pace. I reach out to hold onto the edge of the desk.

“Fuck, Y/n, fuck,”

Whenever I think I can’t be more attracted to him, he surpasses expectation. It makes me weak. It makes me give him pieces of myself that I should maybe keep to myself. With Jay, he’s made it so that there’s no such thing as holding back for me. He owns everything. Like he said, he always has.

“God, I love you,” I cry out.

“I love you too, baby, so much,”

I feel my knees finally give out, and I’m not able to hold myself up anymore. I feel like I’m floating, moving through time with nothing pulling me back to earth but his hands on me.

A hand slides up my back toward the back of my scalp. His fingers tighten around my hair gently as he fucks me. I feel dirty. Like we’re doing something we aren’t supposed to. Realistically, anyone can walk in at any time and this isn’t a soundproof room. There’s a thrill at the possibility of someone coming in to hear the sound of Jay’s skin moving against mine, and just how good he’s making me feel.

“Jay,” I sigh, swiveling my hips in time with his to get closer to him somehow.

“I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere,”

But, you are.

I shake the thought of him leaving me away. I’m here. He’s here. And it’s not forever.

His hands move all around my body, touching skin that he knows as well as his own. I wonder when exactly all the small pieces of me became more for him. When the beauty spots on my shoulder became parts of me he’d fallen in love with too. When did he know that the birthmark on the back of my left thigh belonged to him along with the rest of me?

He curses, suddenly. His movements become more erratic and rough with his fingers digging into my skin. My knees bump against the glass of his desk as he comes against me. I feel myself come again wrapped around him with a loud groan. His hands rest on either side of me while we both come down from wherever we just were.

I’ve never been one for passion. I’ve never been one for deep affection. I always thought it was just how I was set up. Sometimes I’d wonder if I just didn’t have the capacity to fall head over heels in love with someone.

But here I am; draped across a glass desk, drenched in sweat, thoroughly (roughly) fucked, and so damn in love, I could burst. All four of these things I never thought they could be with Jay. Jay who knows all the bad parts of me. Jay who gets annoyed at how indecisive I am. Jay who introduced me to my first boyfriend. Jay who has seen all of my emotional wreck moments.

It’s Jay, Jay, Jay, Jay, Jay. It always has been. And no matter how much we fight, how much we bitch and complain and annoy each other it’s always going to be Jay for me.

Jay pulls away from me and helps me stand up. I pull the straps of the thin outfit back in place. He disposes the condom in a trash can behind his desk and comes back to me. I lean against the desk and watch him pull himself back into place.

“Are you ok?” He frowns at me. “Was I too rough?”

I shake my head and clear the lump of emotion out of my throat.

“No, it was perfect. You were perfect. I just,” I trail off searching his brown eyes for something. For some hint that everything for the last decade and a half leading up to this moment was somehow wrong. That for some reason we’d gotten it wrong and we’ll crumble tomorrow.

I think about what Chae said about marriage making everything worse and better. I don’t think it’s the act of marrying someone. I think it’s the act of irrevocably committing to someone that has everything in chaos after marriage for some people. I also think Jay and I have been committed to each other for years before we got together. We’d decided to be apart of each other’s life forever a long time ago so maybe we’ll be ok.

It’s this moment that I feel myself stop walking on eggshells. This is it for me. I can say that without fear or hesitation now. No, matter how bad it gets, or what stupid mistake either of us makes, it’ll never be enough to ruin us.

I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.

His words feel like more than a promise. It’s like a law now. It can’t be undone.

His hands cup my face, his thumbs swipe under my lips that feel a little bit swollen.

“You’re scaring me, Y/n,” he gives me a small smile. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I’ve been afraid that I’ll lose you all this time. I’ve been so scared that anything one of us did could make everything just implode,”

I reach up to run my hands along his sides. Even touching him like this is comforting.

“I just realized that we’re stuck with each other whether we like it or not,” I smile.

Jay rolls his eyes and brings his mouth down to mine. When he pulls back, his tongue comes across his bottom lip before he gives me a smile that tilts everything inside of me on its axis.

“I’ve always known you were a slow learner,”

I scoff, rolling my eyes, but I can’t stop smiling. “You’re so annoying. So, so annoying,”

I duck under his arm and grab my trench coat that I’d discarded on the ground. Jay laughs and helps me into the jacket, even tying it securely at my waist.

“Let’s go home and do this all over again,”

I smile up at him ready to say something smart back but my phone rings. I pull it out of my purse. It’s Gina Waters. She’s somehow managed to both start and end my day. I don’t know how I feel about that.

“Hey, Gina,”

“Y/n. I have news. All kinds of news,”

“Ok, I’m ready for all kinds of news, I think,” Jay frowns down at me but I shrug not knowing what she’s talking about.

“First, and most importantly, my article is up on Haute. It has tons of traffic and I want a dedication when you write your first memoir,”

I laugh. “Ok, noted. Thank you. I know I sounded more than a little hesitant this morning but I appreciate you caring enough to put something else out,”

“Of course, Y/n. It was an honor, trust me. Second, we figured out who was behind the first article. A writer who was just looking to write big story confessed this morning. I guess news got around that I had gotten a story with you, he did some digging, got in contact with a friend of yours. He said she gave him everything he needed to know about your boyfriend,”

“A friend of mine? I don’t actually have friends. I have two,”I look at my boyfriend who’s cleaning up the mess of papers. “Three. If you count my boyfriend, which we aren’t because he’s out of the question,”

But Chae and Bora wouldn’t do this either.

“Well, trust me he’s being more than dealt with. Using unreliable sources is the least of what he should be worried about. Unfortunately, because Elise Reagan doesn’t work for us and didn’t do anything illegal, we can’t actually deal with her,”

My blood runs cold. Then hot. Scorching hot. I can feel the heat on the surface of my skin.

“You said, Elise, right? I’m not going crazy. You said, Elise Reagan?”

Gina pauses. “I mean, yeah. You know her, I’m guessing?”

“Yes. Listen, I’ll handle Elise. Thank you. I have to go,”

“Y/n, wait wait,”

“Thank you, Gina. We’ll talk tomorrow. My tomorrow, I guess. I hate time zones. I’ll call you,”

I hang up. I set my eyes on my boyfriend who looks at me wide-eyed.

“Why are you so damn pretty,” I groan.

His eyebrows rise up.

“Excuse me?”

“You just attract fucking crazy ass women. Before, it used to be funny watching you navigate the trouble your face and your stupid smile and everything else you have going on,” I gesture up and down his body. “caused. But, now I’m annoyed,”

“So this is my fault,” he laughs incredulously.

“Yes...no,” I groan again. “Let’s go, I’m hungry, and I need to think about how I’m going to deal with this,”

I can see it now. Jay Park’s American girlfriend who uses him for attention found attacking Elise Reagan for exposing her demon ways.

“What’s wrong with your face? You look like you’re about to have a stroke,”

I roll my eyes and grab his extended hand. “I’m pissed,”

“Clearly,”

“And I’m hungry. And I rather not think about this girl right now,”

“Ok, so food, more sex, and sleep?”

“Food, the rest is debatable,”

Jay rolls his eyes but leads me out of his office. I hand over his keys on the way down to his car.

We pick up food on our way home and by the time I’m done eating, I’m so angry with only have Jay to take out my aggression out on (much to his appreciation). We curl around each other late at night.

“You and your stupid pretty face,” I curse into his neck. “Everyone is obsessed with you. Literally everyone,”

“You can sue her or something,” he suggests.

“No, she has money. She won’t care. She wants you. It’s hurting her stupid rich pride that she can’t have you. Not just that she can’t have you. She’s seething that someone has prohibited her from having you. She’s not allowed to,”

Jay is quiet for a long time. Finally, he sighs and pulls me in tight. “I feel like a piece of meat,”

I laugh. “My piece of meat,”

#jay park #aomg #h1ghrmusic #jay park imagine #jay park scenarios #rtf 7 #RTF mini

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