#working late and in the dark in the studio because I could feel a migraine coming on

[jamelalatise]

[timextoxhajima]

Playlist Feels: SHORT SERIES PART 3

PART 1 / PART 2

Member: Juyeon

Genre: angst, drama, SOME smut ????

“you lie but i don’t let it define you.”

it is snowing when you reach your office, a team of stylists and make up artists running past you to the studio where you were scheduled to meet a guest for the next issue of your magazine.

being the editor and, occasionally, the chief photographer of such a renowned name placed more pressure on you that you liked. sometimes it put you off, the way it showed you the true colors of celebrities and people who were supposed to be respected in their fields of profession was never a job secret you could get used to.

“filming in three hours, y/n! guest’s coming in about an hour’s time,” the interviewer strides past you with a file in her arms, following closely behind another makeup artist.

“got it, will be in the studio in ten,” you pull off your scarf and get the door of your office open, ready to get your computer on so you could check who was in the studio for the interview and photo-shoot today.

but an interruption in the form of a knock on your door warrants your attention, and your boss pokes his head in without waiting for you to respond.

“can i get you into the studio right now? photographer’s having some trouble setting up the lighting.”

“but i--”

“our guest today’s easy-going and candid so he should be alright with waiting.”

a nod shakes your head before you could process his words, and he pulls back out into the hallways. you put your computer to sleep mode and pat down the creases of your clothes after pulling off your coat. 

the snow outside catches your attention for a few seconds, the large christmas tree sitting right at the entrance of the shopping mall opposite your office building makes you warm with nostalgia. 

white looked so pretty on green and red and gold decorations; people were leaving footprints in the snow on the pavement and couples were holding hands on the way to wherever they were. 

you remember the first year you saw snow with juyeon. he fell sick because he thought jumping into the snow and making a snow angel with no coat was a good idea.

the memory plants a small smile on your lips, and it that takes you awhile to notice. you look away from the world outside, hurriedly pressing your hands into your cheeks to rub the smile off your face.

you get the day’s schedule into a file and make your way to the studio in the basement of the building. the lift opens to a familiarly dark space surrounding the brightly lit studio area where all the lights were, the bustling in the area telling you that something was wrong and the photographer was panicking.

“okay, kevin,” you teasingly call out with a little impatience. “fill me in.” the file in your hand gets tossed onto the table where the screens connected to the camera. 

kevin has his hands in his hair with his eyes wide open.

“the left one isn’t responding with the same amount of sensitivity as the right one and the camera sends pictures back to the screen that look underexposed,” your instincts bring you to wherever he was pointing to, and you start fiddling with the equipment to check for any damages. 

“have you tried shutting them off and turning them on again?”

“three times.”

“hmm,” you hum to yourself, returning to the monitors and comparing the picture on the screen on the DSLR and the monitor. “we might need to use the other set then, send this one for repairing. can’t you use another camera?”

“i think we can replace the equipment but if our guest comes earlier or even on time, we’re going to start the photoshoot late.”

“huh,” you rub your chin, the makeup artists and stylists making a fuss in the dressing room while they set up the clothes and make up products. “i’ll give him a call--”

“good morning!”

kevin turns around first to the lift, and you follow suit only by instinct. the light coming from behind you must’ve turned you into a silhouette because you could see his face clearly.

lee juyeon was carrying a box of donuts, and he was walking in with someone else, presumably his agent or a manager.

“mr lee, you’re extremely early!” kevin reaches out to shake his hand, and your fingers curl up against the mouse connected to the monitor.

“i don’t like missing out,” he grins and hands kevin the box of donuts. “just call me juyeon. last i checked, we are the same age.”

then your back is turned on them, head hanging low and your eyes glued to the table. you reach for the file that belonged to kevin leaning on the CPU, and you flip it open with such aggression, the whole studio would’ve heard it had it not been bustling with activity.

GUEST: LEE JUYEON

OCCUPATION: CHOREOGRAPHER

DATE: DECEMBER ISSUE

INTERVIEW QUESTIONS: TO BE PREPARED AND VERIFIED -- VERIFIED

the flap of the file hides the name from your view, and you finally realise kevin’s been calling out to you for awhile now.

“y/n!”

your temples tighten and your jaws should’ve cracked under the pressure when you turn around. juyeon’s smile shrinks but never really disappears when he sees you again after about two weeks. 

his hair looks less stiff from when you saw him at the club, and he was in a striped top and jeans. 

“hi, it’s nice to meet you,” his voice is warm but fake. he extends a hand out to you, and your need to remain professional cues you to take it with grace. his grip on your hand was rough and tight, sending shocks of anxiety up your hand and into your lungs. 

“likewise.”

the sight of juyeon looking like he just got out of bed and thrown on some barely presentable clothes tugs you back in time, and you remember watching him change into less shabby clothes for school.

this strange feeling is filling your lungs like pneumonia, and you didn’t like it.

you notice kevin’s flitting eyes between the two of you and something inside tells you he was going to sit you down and interrogate you about this awkward encounter with the guest.

but he smiles and reaches over to pat juyeon on his shoulder.

“anyway, the makeup artists and the stylists are in that room,” kevin gently pushes juyeon into the respective direction after juyeon releases your hand. “we have a little trouble with the equipment now so we might start late.”

“oh, that’s fine,” juyeon is disappearing into the room, the view of his polite smile igniting a small flame of confusion in your stomach. 

the night at the strip club becomes a silent movie in your head, but the words you remember spitting in his face about him not doing anything related to his education rings in your ears like an mocking alarm. 

juyeon never denied it nor confirmed it, so you just assumed he wasn’t. 

choreographers design and create sequences and performances that most of the time, they don’t perform themselves. 

this was why he said he couldn’t perform in his day job. 

“take as much time as you need, we’ll need more time to set up the studio!” kevin calls behind him to the stylists and makeup artists as he exits the dressing room, strolling towards you.

your attention resumes to the equipment and you start dismantling the defective studio lights, carefully placing them into the large bags as someone else brings over a new set. 

“are we having this conversation now or later?” kevin queries with wide, curious eyes. 

“we’re not having this conversation ever,” you lift the tripod bag and hand it to one of the production crew members. 

“we’ll do it after he leaves. you’re not going anywhere without telling me what that was.”

kevin shoots you the kind of look that you’d gladly slap off his face, and you would, but you wouldn’t want to make a scene in front of your guest. 

the interviewer runs you through the questions, but your attention refused to sit itself down and absorb the words running off her tongue.

all you could think of how being in the same room as juyeon was so antagonising.

his scent was wafting about in the air like waffles to a child; his smile stuck itself in the retinal memory like someone pasted a sticker into your eyes -- god, those eyes.

the same eyes he used to look at you when he caught you half-naked in bed with sangyeon. 

something must’ve crushed your spirit and it is a reminder that you’re not the best at hiding your emotions when the interview abruptly stops.

“y/n,” she is looking at you like you were sick, and that wasn’t very far from the truth. “are you okay? you’re zoning out and you look a little pale.”

the low volume of commotion trailing from the dressing room forces you to realise your forehead was between your fingers, like you were having a migraine. it takes you awhile to process her question, but you sit back upright and suck in a deep breath, forcing a smile out at the interviewer.

“i’m alright. sorry, i just... thinking about something else unimportant. go on.”

whoever thought creating mankind with the capacity to feel so much love and pain for one person should’ve been banished from all eternity, for all eternity. 

the kinaesthetic memory of his touch on your chin when he first kissed you in the rain drives waves of nauseating nostalgia through you.

the flutters in your stomach because he loved to pull you closer by your waist when you stood too far away from him in a queue or on an escalator; they were always too difficult to ignore.

when he hummed melodies in your ear when you couldn’t sleep or when you cried from the stress you had to swallow in school. 

but you threw all that away when you lost to your need for affection and love; when juyeon chose work over you.

the guest exits the dressing room in the horrid, familiar costume he had on at the stripper club. under the studio lighting, it is more striking on his skin. the lights made him look whiter than snow and the shadows cast under his jaw and ears and face by his hair sharpens his every feature.

some of the production crew were already feasting their eyes on juyeon, and you couldn’t blame them, not when he was a physically fine man on his own.

juyeon notices your eyes widening when you process his costume for the interview and the first part of the filming portion, so he deliberately rubs his left collar bone, exposing the skin on his upper chest and lower neck with the intention of driving you into a corner in your own head. 

kevin watches on with slight entertainment, but also a pinch of concern when he is able to see how much discomfort you were in. there was a look of pain and loss in your eyes which he doesn’t recognise, which he has not seen before. 

usually his editor was professionally emotional, but right now, you were zoning out. you were letting the guest, someone whom you’ve obviously had some kind of history with, puppeteer your heart around in your chest like it didn’t belong to you. 

kevin grabs your attention by resting his warm palm on your shoulder, nodding his head backwards to where the camera monitor was. he was holding a DSLR in his free hand, and you could tell from his eyes that he was trying to understand you just by reading your face.

how you wished you paid attention to the interviewer when she was running through the questions with you.

she was about seven questions in when she popped that fateful query. you couldn’t decide if it was the way she asked the question with such genuine curiosity or if it was the way juyeon froze slightly that made you panic. 

“tell us more about your time in the most prestigious performing arts academy in the country? we heard you sacrificed a great deal of things to... reach your maximum potential. of course, same rule applies: if you’re uncomfortable, you’re very welcome to sound out to us.”

the monitor loses your attention because your eyes were now focused on juyeon straight. in the camera’s view, he was sitting on the left with his right profile angled towards the interviewer, and the monitor was just about a few feet from the interviewer.

so it is absolutely shattering when he looks dead straight at you, though he was under the beams of the studio lights and you were sitting in the dark behind the monitor.

please say you’re uncomfortable, please say you’re uncomfortable, please say you’re uncomfortable, please say you’re uncomfortable, please say you’re uncomfortable, please say you’re uncomfor--

“it was a very fulfilling four years, even for me. and yeah, you’re right, i did lose and sacrifice many things when i was a student there.”

kevin steals a quick glance at you after he lowers his camera, noticing that juyeon was also taking fleeting looks at you past the interviewer when he is answering. 

“i lost time that should’ve been spent with my famlly, and right now i’m trying to make up for the time i lost with them then. i also lost friends i made in the institution i was in prior to enrolling in the academy, and...”

oh, god. 

please... don’t.

“i lost someone i loved very much.”

there was an awkward, almost murderous silence in the air. the interviewer was taking a side-glance at kevin who had the camera angled at juyeon, and juyeon had this contorted, sad smile plastered on his face as he said that last line.

“is this a family member or a partner?”

juyeon looks up through his gelled hair and glances at you, the purple box he was sitting on making you feel like ripping your hair off your scalp and shoving it down your own throat.

“a partner.”

a hesitant pause. 

juyeon seems to be contemplating with himself if he should continue, and he loses the battle to himself.

“she was my everything, then i made a mistake by taking her for granted and choosing my work over her. the day i lost her was the day i realised that i was terrible at time management, that i needed to learn how to prioritise the things i needed in life.”

another pause. 

kevin looks at you, but your eyes were beginning to glisten with a layer of tears. tears of hurt, sadness, loss, grief, maybe even anger, you weren’t sure anymore.

was he just saying this now because you were in the room?

“i didn’t know i needed her until i lost her, and i lost her to another man. it was the biggest mistake then, and it’ll probably be the biggest mistake i’ll ever make.”

slightly stunned at the sudden emotional confession caught on film, she turns to kevin, who gestures for a time out.

“right, thank you for your honesty, mr lee. we’ll be taking a short break here and we’ll have you back here in five, is that alright?”

your feet shove the chair backwards, and you turn away from the monitor, hands flying up to your eyes and gently dabbing away the tears threatening to fall. 

“yes, five,” you hear juyeon respond, but your feet bring you to the equipment room and the automatic light flickers on when you step in, the heavy door shutting loudly behind you. 

the ghost staring back at you in one of the dry cabinets used to store the cameras begins to fish out all your emotions one by one, and you struggle to contain it. 

he’s a liar and he does not prioritise you. 

he is only saying this because you are in the room.

he does not love you anymore.

the door clicks open, and you immediately look up upon the realisation that kevin’s voice was ringing somewhere far away from the equipment room. 

you wouldn’t consider juyeon as threatening or intimidating, but you were scared of him. not because of his anger or hurt, but because he was capable of leaving scars on you in places that nobody else has ever been able to before. 

your soul, your heart, your belief in love. 

juyeon watches you back away with every step he takes towards you, the fluorescent light stuck on the ceiling making his eyes look darker in the shadows of his hair on his face. 

your hand flies up into the air unconsciously, and your palm is opened to him. it was trembling like you were out in the snow without a coat, and the tears return to your eyes as the sour in your nose gets harder to ignore. 

“stop.”

it sounds more like a plead than a command, because of how shaky and terribly heartbreaking it was.

“please, don’t come any closer.”

something cracks in juyeon, and the sight alone breaks you further.

“y/n--”

“no, don’t--”

“i just--”

“please, just stop talki--”

one large step was enough for him to reach you, and he completely disregards the palm you have in the air between you when he presses his lips into yours.

the impact jerks your tears over your lids and more dribble out when you shut your eyes instinctively, tasting the familiar sweetness on your tongue when he willingly parts his lips. 

your cheeks were cupped in his warm hands, and your hands were balled into fists against his chest.

the automatic light flickers off when there was a lack of movement, and the darkness only fuels this intoxicating moment. 

it was a still, long kiss, but your heart felt like it was being thrashed about in a cage. 

it feels like someone was driving the tip of a shoe into your muscles, stepping and shoving clenched fists into your bones and cracking them into pieces like twigs. 

his fingers were digging into the hair behind your ear as you feel yourself involuntarily melting into his hands, then this feeling of missing him overwhelms you like you were drowning in sorrow. 

juyeon pulls away, eyes frantically searching yours for any sign of hatred or anger or any loaded emotions.

but seeing him look at you with immeasurable amounts of detriment only reminds you of the second he realised you spent the night with another man.

guilt fills you like someone stuffed a pipe down your throat and your tears collect in the corners of your eyes when you manage to find the strength to writhe out of his hold.

“y/n--”

“no,” you shake your head and snap yourself away from him, backing yourself to the door so you could run.

run like you have for the last five years, because of mistakes you both made and neither of you refused to admit -- no, admitted but cannot forgive each other for.

“i still love you, and i don’t want to break you again... so please don’t break me anymore, juyeon.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

to be continued

[cle1024]

erubescent | hhj

member: hwang hyunjin 

genre: angst, fluff 

summary: why are my cheeks erubescent? i shouldn’t be feeling this way about you; i’m not supposed to trust you.  bad boy!au, florist!au, high school!au, enemies to lovers!au 

warnings: swearing, underage drinking, cigarettes

a/n: it’s big cliche teen romance hours. i’ve been working on this for a while so it’s kind of long, i also apologise in advance for any spelling or grammatical errors. enjoy!

Monday, 2:35am. 

Music blasted from the garage down the street, as it had been for the past four hours. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, a huff passing your lips before you shoved the covers off of your sleep-deprived body. The house was on the other side of the road, three houses down, yet the sound it emitted was still agonisingly clear. There wasn’t a party or get together going on, it just served as the background noise for some boy who decided to do god knows what at two in the morning. ‘Some boy’ referred to the devil incarnate. Personally, you had your own bad traits and habits, and you were willing to acknowledge that. The boy, on the other hand, was not as willing. He was cocky, self-absorbed, arrogant, and many other synonyms. Students at your school found him annoyingly charming and attractive, parents found him to be deceptively charming and a total sweetheart, you thought he was a dumb prick. A self-absorbed, untrustworthy, dumb prick. A no-good, rudderless, troublesome bum. Hwang Hyunjin was the bane of your existence without even trying.  

Luck was never on your side, evidently. The bus ride to school took fifteen minutes at the least and school started at 8:00am sharp. Your bus was intended to arrive at 7:40am, but eight minutes had passed and it vehemently refused to show up. A groan bubbled in your chest, prepared to be expressed through your soft lips and into the crisp morning air, but the chance was cut short, much to your dismay.  

“Doesn’t school start at 8:00am?” As if your morning couldn’t get worse. The distinct voice of the boy, who’d managed to keep you up all night with his music, echoed from beside you. As far as you were concerned, he had no clue who you were: no name, class, nothing. You’d prefer to keep it that way. 

“Yes,” Hyunjin clicked his tongue before shoving his hands in his pockets. You weren’t sure if he was expected more of a conversation from you, perhaps some stuttering and blushing on your behalf, which you most certainly weren’t going to provide. Your morning had already gotten off to a shit start due to his behaviour, no need to make it even worse. As the clock ticked to 7:51am, the bus finally pulled up in front of the two of you. Hyunjin made a beeline to get on first, almost knocking you out of the way in the pursuit. You rolled your eyes: what on earth did people see in him? 

Wednesday, 1:22am. 

You banged your head against your desk continuously. Life was an unpleasant, torturous ride that you could not get off of. Hyunjin’s music was blasting from down the street, this time accompanied by the obnoxious laughter of his friends, all the while your chemistry report sat unwritten in front of you. Of course you had the scaffold and results you needed, but none of the motivation to write a full scientific report. What was the point? You didn’t wish to pursue a career that had anything to do with chemistry. It infuriated you immensely, the way adults dictated what was and wasn’t important to learn, even if you had no intention of applying it to your life later. You allowed your head to rest on the desk solemnly, the pain forming from where you’d hit it repeatedly - not hard enough to do any damage, but enough times for it to cause some pain. That, partnered with the lively sound of Hyunjin’s house, was enough to give you a killer migraine. You rubbed your temples tiredly, trying to recall if there was any panadol stashed in the cupboard near the kitchen. Much to your displeasure, you were almost certain there wasn’t. You sighed as you refocused your eyes on the bright laptop in front of you. With an exasperated sigh, you let your fingers wander over the keyboard to write the stressful report. You had roughly seven hours until you had to be at school and subsequently hand it in, going one more day with a few hours of sleep should be fine. 

It was absolutely not fine. You had fallen asleep at your desk after printing out the report and stapling it together, waking up with a major neck cramp and back ache. Furthermore, you only managed to catch your bus by a second, any later and you would’ve been forced to watch the bus roll away and catch sight of Hyunjin’s smug face as he sat at the back of the bus. Though you were glad you wouldn’t be subjected to such a look, you were stressed out of your mind. Stupid fucking chemistry report. As soon as you made it off the bus you muttered a thank you to the driver, speed-walking in the direction of your school. Hyunjin dawdled behind you, a fairly large distance between the two of you. He didn’t understand why you were in such a rush to get to that hell hole. He’d only noticed you for the first time on Monday at the bus stop, but now he saw you everywhere. Every time he wasn’t in class on Monday, either because he was skipping or because it was break time, he managed to catch a glimpse of your face. 

And you always looked like you wanted to die. 

It was quite humorous to Hyunjin, almost paradoxical in a way. You appeared to pay attention in class from the glimpses he got, dedicated to your studies he could assume, yet there was never an emotion other than stress or distaste creasing your facial features. He didn’t blame you, though. As soon as he could get out of that school he would run off to become a choreographer at the same studio as Minho. If he was old enough, he would do it now, but Minho said the company was strict on the ages of choreographers: “I’m not fucking around, Hwang. If they find out you’re still in school, they’ll come into my house and cut up all my clothes while I’m sleeping. I don’t have the money to buy new ones!” It was a very specific, unrealistic threat, but Minho could be very persuasive when it suited him. 

Friday, 1:41am. 

How anyone in the neighbourhood got any sleep was beyond you. Every night the Hwang house pumped music, different genres but none that piqued your interests or matched your tastes. At this point, it had been a week since it had started - you believed that was when his parents left town for a trip to visit relatives, at least that’s what you’d heard around school. People had been buzzing with excitement when they heard that Hwang Hyunjin had an empty house and could, as a result, throw a rambunctious party. Of course you weren’t as keen on the idea, but nothing you could do would stop it from happening. The party, thankfully, hadn’t happened yet, and you were secretly praying it never would. Though, now that you thought about it, could it be any worse? You already lacked sleep due to his deafening sound system, would the rambunctious sounds of teenage laughter really add to the noise? The only times you could make out the noises of his dickhead friends was when the music had been turned down significantly so they could hear one another yelling and hooting. Your eyes rolled at the thought, imbeciles. In their defence, the group had never directly done anything to you that made you feel that way. Rather, the way they acted left a bad taste in your mouth and a ringing sensation in your ears. Just like Hyunjin, they exuded an inflated sense of entitlement and were noisy beyond belief at school―at least when they were together. When they were apart, some of the boys were more quiet and mainly threw dirty looks or dropped an occasional comment. You weren’t sure whether Hwang Hyunjin classified as one of those boys as you’d never seen him alone at school, there was always someone matching his footsteps and snarky remarks. Come to think of it, the only time you’d seen Hyunjin stood alone was when you’d been late to catching the bus or the bus had showed up ten minutes late. Regardless, you had your reasons for wanting to stay as far away from them as possible. 

You sigh at the bright screen of your mobile, the energy draining from your body at the thought of working through the weekend. There was nothing wrong with the florist your family owned, you were merely unsatisfied with being paid the minimum wage of nine dollars and thirty cents an hour. Majority of the customers you’d had the duty of serving were restaurant or cafe owners, people with sick friends or family, lovesick teenagers, or middle-aged women who wanted to spruce up the dining room. Your mother often spoke of an elderly lady who came in with her handsome grandson, though you’d never been working when she frequented the store. You supposed the store was easy money, just neatly wrap some flowers with an adequate meaning and smile as genuinely as possible. There was never any displeasure from customers or passing civilians, but standing behind a counter for nine hours was less than stellar―and it was only for the grand payment of $135.40, that was better than nothing you supposed. You rested your head against the cool glass window of the bus, the cold air frosting the surface temperature. Grey clouds loomed across the autumn sky, the transition to winter becoming clearer each day. Autumn was usually a blue-skied sunny time, though as it faded into the crisp winter everything became abysmal. The sky took on monotone greys and watered the grass every now and then, it became dreary and people lost energy simply by looking at the dark weather. Though it was a small motivator for some, signalling that winter break would approach in a months time. Late November, always so deplorable. That was usually the time you had the most people coming into the flower shop looking for some bright arrangement to make their home feel less cold and dull; they cared not for the meaning but for the colour, even if it meant throwing together flowers of hatred and passion to achieve such a look. You wanted to laugh at their ignorance, but how could you blame them? Everything just felt so cold at this time of year. 

Sunday, 5:36pm. 

Rain gently pattered the glass windows of the store as you swirled the straw poked in your strawberry milk carton. The pink liquid followed the movement of the straw in a slow swirling motion, twisting in currents of dairy as a form of entertainment for your exhausted self. Business had been slower than yesterday, likely due to the ugly shades of grey and sharp rainfall haunting the sky, but you didn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing. You’d been standing in one general area since nine in the morning and your feet were aching. Your eyes drifted from the liquid inside the carton to the white clock on the wall―6:00pm wasn’t that far away. You were down to your last few sheets of the brown craft paper used to support the delicate bouquets, perhaps you could just restock that in the meantime. A cracking noise sounded from your back as you straightened your posture, rolling your shoulders from their previously hunched position. Your legs moved slowly in the direction of the staff only area of the shop, walking through the opened door in search for new paper. As you sifted through the craft paper, debating whether you continued with the tan brown colour or switched to an opaque blush pink, you heard the faint echo of the bell from above the door and the sounds of the rain grew heavier momentarily before the door shut. Your ears could just make out the sounds of quiet muffled talking, two voices evidently present, though you couldn’t pinpoint the exact words. With a stack of new pink craft paper in hand, you exited the storage room and returned to your usual spot behind the checkout, placing the newly gathered paper underneath the leftover brown sheets. From your position, you could clearly spot the two customers studying the large vases of fresh flowers, the taller and younger of which with their back to you. They had short yet messy black hair, slightly growing into a mullet from a lack of trimming, a white hoodie and light jeans. Their companion was much smaller, an elderly lady with grey hair and a soft smile. Perhaps this was the grandmother and her charming grandson that your mother spoke so fondly of―though that thought was immediately dismissed when the two figures turned to approach the table you stood behind. Hwang Hyunjin, of course it had to be. 

You weren’t the only one who felt less than stellar about the situation. As soon as Hyunjin laid his eyes on the person behind the counter, you, he groaned internally. He hadn’t a clue what your name was, nor had you done anything to him, but he distinctly recognised you as someone from his school. This was going to be beyond humiliating―surely you would taint his infamous reputation at school, or at least blackmail him to avoid doing so. His grandmother smiled warmly at you as she placed the yellow flowers on the counter, “hello, dear. Just those ones today,” you nodded with a small smile, your fingers working carefully to wrap the bouquet in shades of tan brown. Hyunjin tried to avoid looking at you entirely, though he couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the lady who usually ran the store―you did bare a striking resemblance to her, so he just made the assumption that you were related by blood, just as he was to his grandmother. 

“Any special occasion for the flowers?” Your soft voice floated to his ears as you tied a silk ribbon around the paper. 

“Oh no, my grandson just likes tulips,” his grandmother chuckled as he forced an embarrassed smile, “though it would be nice to have some colour in this dreary weather,” you nodded understandingly. That was always the case in such weather. Hyunjin’s smooth hands placed the money in yours as he picked up the bouquet, praying to escape the store as soon as possible even with a growing storm outside. As soon as he heard the register close, he made his way to the front door of the shop while his grandmother shouted a quick thank you from behind him. You watched in amusement as the infamous Hwang boy exited the dainty little shop. You certainly never took him for a lover of flowers, let alone tulips. Then again, you only knew his reputation. You didn’t know Hwang Hyunjin. 

Monday, 3:51pm. 

Hyunjin glanced at the clock dreamily, feeling very resemblant of Britney Spears in her Baby One More Time music video. Only nine minutes until he could get home and prepare a half-assed meal, then ditch his after school study groups for some time with friends, as he always did when his parents weren’t able to monitor him. It was always a paradise when they were gone―no fighting, no classes until ten o’clock at night, no demands to turn his music down when it wasn’t even turned up halfway on his phone. He much preferred his grandmother. She was wise, sweet, gentle, and always prepared him hot chocolate and biscuits in the winter. Although now that he thought of his grandmother, he couldn’t help but cast his mind back to the flower shop and how you had served him. An internal groan erupted in him at the thought. He didn’t care that it was you who served him, he had no clue who you were, though the knowledge that you had some sort of leverage over him bugged him greatly. You knew he wasn’t all parties, unsafe drinking and scoffs, you knew he was a sucker for tulips and accompanied his grandmother to a warm little florist. The bell rung right as his eyes rolled subconsciously. He could only hope that your interaction at the flower shop wouldn’t synchronise with his visits to the store. 

Hyunjin glared at the cracked screen of his phone, furrowing his eyebrows at the text message from the girl in the year below him. If it hadn’t been for the persistence of the girl, he would’ve completely discarded her name from his memory. Son Bongcha, the way she squeaked it vivaciously was an earache and a half. The boy didn’t really know when Bongcha started her quest to ‘win his heart’ or whatever the fuck she was trying to do, he tended to not take much notice of her in hopes of getting her to realise that he was far from being interested. Though it seemingly never worked. Everyday, or everyday she could find him, she’d have another sickly giggle and batting eyelashes prepared in advance. At this point, his friends ridiculed him relentlessly for it―just as they planned to do now. Hyunjin felt the phone being snatched from his grip suddenly, causing him to swiftly look up and meet the sight of Jisung sprinting in the opposite direction as his other friends followed behind. The tall boy groaned at the thought of their teasing, “Ji, give it back.” 

“Why, so you can be harassed by…” 

“Bongcha!” The boys mimicked her voice in unison as the huddled against one another in the distance. Hyunjin rolled his eyes with an amused half-smirk. He initially felt bad for mocking the girl, but the memory of her desperate flirting seemed to rid of the guilt―he still vividly recalls the time she caused a scene in the hallway, loudly demanding he admit their relationship (which didn’t exist) to the rest of the school. That all happened when he was in his third and final year of junior high school, aged fifteen while she was only fourteen―Chan would’ve been in his final year of senior high school at that point. The thought felt odd; Hyunjin had only met Chan through Minho last year, the idea of the eldest being in school felt… wrong. His attention fell back to his laughing friends as they read over Bongcha’s irritating messages. Changbin rolled his eyes before taking a swig of his beer, “I don’t get why you haven’t blocked her number yet.” 

Minho laughed, “who else will be a loyal booty call?” 

Hyunjin sighed heavily, “not all of us rely on booty calls, Minho,” the older held his hands up in surrender as the others cheered Hyunjin on, “besides, a blocked number doesn’t stop her from approaching me at school.” 

After the words left his plump lips, Felix came running up to him and tugged on his arm before whining, “oppa! Why haven’t you texted me back?” The group laughed at his impression of the girl, the alcohol pumping through their blood seemingly hyped them up and amplified the humour of the situation. Jisung tossed the cracked phone back to Hyunjin. 

“Chan and Minho have no other way to experience her cringiness, don’t delete her number,” Hyunjin took the younger’s advice. No one would know about how they flamed the girl, and it felt like a good form of redemption for the way she had humiliated him in junior high school. It took months for those dating rumours to die down―although Hyunjin still isn’t one-hundred percent sure people knew the truth of the situation. Then again, the truth of a rumour always turned out to be the version people wanted to believe, no matter how much evidence proved otherwise. 

Thursday, 7:38am. 

Hyunjin’s feet slapped against the pavement gently as he strolled to the bus stop. He never usually took the bus to school, at least not since the first year of junior high when his parents last went on a holiday―some sort of romantic getaway bull shit, just as they were this time. Although he was used to the sound of honking horns and road rage from his short-tempered mother, even if short lived, he much preferred the journey from the bus. The walk was always comforting even in the depths of winter and swells of summer, and there was something about sitting on a bus with two other people that was oddly comforting to the boy. Perhaps he was just odd―no, if he was odd then no one would understand him fully, yet there were people who did, friends no less. A sigh escaped his lips as the bus stop entered his sight, as well as your figure sitting on the furthest end of the bench. He didn’t see you here every morning, likely because he took much more time to dawdle here than you did, though you were there on mornings where the bus was inexcusably late or you had woken up on the wrong side of bed far too late. It seemed like one of those mornings. As Hyunjin drew closer he could make out the dark circles under your dull eyes, the messy strands of hair that carelessly fell in your face, eyes half-shut as you looked ahead in a trance. He wondered how long it took you to get here each morning, perhaps you rarely ran into each other at the stop because you lived closer than he did, or perhaps you just had a more sensible understanding of time and its value. The thought seemingly left his mind not long after it entered. He hadn’t a reason to care for how you got to the bus stop, nor did he take much notice of you when you did happen to cross paths―except for at the florist. The dark-haired boy was close to forgetting that incident when it resurface with the sight of you. Sighing softly, he leaned against the poll of the bus stop sign and gazed in the direction the bus would usually come from. 

You picked at the mini pajeon on your food tray, only slightly listening to the conversation of your surrounding three friends. You could make out the sound of disgust made by Seungmin as Jeongin appeared to eat a chunk of rice whole, “Jeongin, you need to chew,” his nasally voice sounded diagonally to you. There was no need to look at the first year to know his response, you could practically hear the over exaggerated eye roll he often did at one of Seungmin’s critiques. Although they bickered a fair bit and tormented each other to no end, you knew it was out of non-blood related brotherly love. Yuqi chuckled from your left, nudging you gently to engage in a conversation outside of the two bickering boys. 

“How’s the noisy house going?” She smiled playfully before popping a piece of nori seaweed in her mouth. You mimicked Jeongin’s eye roll on a smaller scale. 

“Awful. Still staying awake until four or five in the morning after bashing my head against a wall,” Yuqi laughed at your dramatic words. Her elbow rested on the table as she shrugged her shoulders slightly. 

“I don’t understand why you don’t just say something to him about it. You’re not even neighbours and it keeps you up!” You sighed gently, knowing she was right. Of course the confrontation would be more beneficial, but it would also be your worst nightmare. You never wished to interact with Hwang Hyunjin. Besides, you knew complaining about his behaviour would only gain a scoff and door slamming in your face, perhaps a friendly “go fuck yourself”. 

“I just don’t want to complain about something when I know it won’t change.” 

Saturday, 1:43am. 

The buzz about Hyunjin’s potential party while he had the house to himself morphed into a nightmarish reality at ten o’clock, Friday night. He threw ‘everyone is invited’ type of parties, which only served as a way for desperate girls to throw themselves at him and blame it on alcohol the next day when he inevitably rejects him. You could remember Yuqi saying she would go, only because her boyfriend didn’t want to get wasted without someone reliable by his side―although you were pretty sure Yuqi just wanted to hear him drunkenly ramble about how she was the love of his life or some crap. Jeongin had been begged to go by one of Hyunjin’s friends, Felix. You hadn’t a clue how they met but Jeongin said he was a good guy, even when Hyunjin was near him―in all honesty, you’d never spoken to Felix in your entire life, you just knew that he and Han Jisung had gotten more detentions in one semester than you’d gotten in your entire time at school. Seungmin detested the idea of parties, way too many “loud and sweaty barbarians in one cramped space” as he once said, and you were in a similar boat. You didn’t know anyone at the party who wouldn’t be dragged away by someone giggly and drunk to leave you standing awkwardly, and you didn’t want to be in the same cramped house as Hyunjin―let alone his own house. You didn’t really want to think about the fact you could almost feel the vibrations of the bass from across the road, two houses down, though it was almost impossible when it was the main cause of your splitting headache. You sighed before grabbing your phone from the nightstand beside you, squinting at the brightness of the screen in your dark room. Yuqi’s simple text message, signifying her ending the night, appeared on your screen in the form of a blinding notification: xuxi is pissed off his face and telling me to never leave him, i’m really dating an overgrown child huh. A small chuckle escaped your lips at the thought of the six foot teenager babbling about loving Yuqi―you couldn’t blame him, Yuqi was practically perfection personified. Love and alcohol can make a person do crazy things, admit all their secrets and give everything away. Yukhei was just lucky Yuqi was willing to make the same sacrifices for him, regardless of his sobriety at the time. 

The clock on your phone displayed the early time of 2:46pm, eliciting a disapproving groan and eye rub from your tired form. You supposed it was catch-up for all the mornings you’d woken up with four hours of sleep. A satisfying crack sounded as you arched your back and stretched your arms, pulling the covers from your pyjama-clad body to make your way to the window. The weather was far more bright today, blue skies and fluffy marshmallows speckled around against the cool colour, though you could still feel the frosty nip of the air as you opened the window. You were met with a gust of wind and voices, indistinguishable but strong. Your eyes cast downwards towards the road right outside your house, immediately spotting seven boys in the area―you could easily tell who they were. You noticed Jeongin first, watching from the gutter as he laughed from beside another boy you hadn’t seen before. The dimpled boy, evidently older, had slightly curly brown hair atop his head and a cheerful grin on his pale face. In the road was Jisung and Felix, both in your year and far too loud for your liking―though Jeongin had defended them numerous times saying they were ‘funny and wholesome dudes’. Then you spotted Lee Minho with his head turned sideways and his back to you. A graduated boy with a permanent smirk and never-ending collection of flirtatious comments, that was the best way to describe Lee Minho―based off everything you’d heard about him, at least. He oozed sleaziness, though his smile in that moment seemed so genuine and pure as he laughed at the younger boys in the road. Seo Changbin sat nearby the elder male, his feet resting on the tar road as he sat on a skateboard identical to the one Jisung had almost fallen from moments ago. The most you knew about him was that he had a permanent glare, unwanted opinions to share all the time, and bangs that would seem annoyingly ticklish on your eyes. Directly across from you, supporting his outstretched body on his elbows, was the boy you had been running into far too often for your liking. There was a cigarette twiddling between his long fingers, though you could tell it was unlit and seemed to be staying that way. His gaze drifted, tired of absentmindedly looking up the street, to look straight ahead of him. He cocked his head at you almost teasingly, a small smirk playing on his lips as he maintained your gaze. Nothing was different about his appearance: same dark eyes, same dark messy hair, although slightly longer at the ends now. You pushed yourself away from the ledge of the window to avoid the shivering breeze and invasive gaze of a certain Hwang. 

Monday, 12:54pm. 

Yukhei leaned his head on Yuqi’s shoulder as he shovelled rice into his mouth, the minor display of affection earning a disgusted look from Seungmin. As they did every year, Yukhei and Yuqi marked this as their week of public affection in the lead up to their anniversary. It baffled your mind to think about how the pair had been together since the second year of junior high, four years on Sunday. You could never imagine yourself tolerating anyone in a romantic sense for that long―then again, you’d never had any romantic relationship in the first place. The idea of shy smiles and reddening cheeks made you sick nowadays, even though it was an ideal you once yearned for. The sound of Jeongin forcefully sitting down broke the concentrated gaze you had on your own food tray, glancing up at him momentarily to smile. Your eyes lingered for a second―the boy was positively beaming, braces and dimples on full display as he grinned enthusiastically. Seungmin studied the younger male beside him, “did you ingest the sun?” 

Jeongin rolled his eyes, though his smile remained, “no, I just had a good weekend and got a good mark on my chemistry report.” 

Yuqi smile supportively at the young boy, “good job, Innie!” He usually hated that nickname, but he seemed okay with Yuqi using it occasionally―she was like an older sister to him, even if they hadn’t known each other for decades. 

“I take it Hyunjin threw a good party.” 

“Yeah, we hung out the next day too,” the comment garnered a teasing “don’t go replacing us” from Yuqi, though you couldn’t really focus on that. The only thought on your mind was the heavy eye contact you held with Hyunjin, while he had that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. One incident at the florist couldn’t undo the cockiness that he exuded at all times. You hated self-righteousness―Hwang Hyunjin just so happened to be the walking form of such an undesirable trait. 

Saturday, 5:46pm. 

Your hands nimbly wrapped the bouquet of pale pink azalea flowers, they were the perfect decision in your eyes. They expressed fragility, gratitude and passion, all of which Yukhei harboured towards his long-time girlfriend Kim Yuqi. There was a goofy, dazed smile on his face as he undoubtedly allowed his mind to travel along a road structured by thoughts of her. You shook your head lightly, tying the bouquet with a delicate white ribbon before handing him the bouquet, to which he slid over the adequate amount of money and left with a thank you and a smile. You sighed as the door slammed shut behind him, squeaking slightly on its hinges―you had to remind your mum to get some WD-40 to fix that up. Glancing at the clock, you mentally praised the swift movement of time as you relished in the fact you only had fourteen minutes left. You allowed your head to roll forwards, stretching your cramping neck before rolling it all the way back, fixating your gaze on the white ceiling of the store. The bell sounded from the door causing you to return your gaze to looking straight ahead as your neck pushed your head back upwards. The familiar back of Hyunjin greeted you as he sifted through the display vases, clearly in look of a certain type of flower. You heard him curse under his breath before awkwardly turning to make his way to the counter―you could see that the feeling of wanting to avoid the other was mutual. He cleared his throat slightly before speaking with a soft voice, a tone that shocked you as it came from the typically rebellious boy, “uh―do you happen to have any yellow roses left? Maybe in the back or something?” You watched him fiddle with the ring on his right index finger before you quietly made your way to the storage room in search of the sunny roses; a symbol of joy, friendship, of get well. To his luck, there was a fresh display vase of the yellow petals waiting to replace the last one. 

“How many were you hoping for?” Your voice sounded as you reappeared from the nearby room. His head shot up towards you as he fixed his gaze on the roses. 

“Just a dozen, grandma only likes receiving flowers in groups of twelve,” he mumbled the second part more to himself than you, though you still made out the words. With a silent nod, you plucked twelve of the roses from the glass vase, wrapping them delicately in the pink craft paper before handing them to the tall boy. 

“I hope she gets better soon,” you offered as he took the bouquet. His hand was outstretched towards you to offer the necessary payment, though you shook your head in refusal. Hyunjin studied you for a second before shoving the money back in his pocket, only to turn and leave without even thanking you. A scoff passed your lips as he left the store. You didn’t expect much from him, but certainly he would have the common decency to thank someone for saving them thirty-six dollars―three dollars for each stem, though you didn’t particularly agree with the price. Regardless of the cost, Hyunjin should’ve thanked you for saving his money so he could spend it on more cigarettes that he wouldn’t smoke, or whatever the fuck he spends his cash on. 

Wednesday, 12:33pm. 

Hyunjin had essentially gone M.I.A after the flower shop incident, though you were certain it wasn’t related to your involvement. You chalked it up to taking care of his grandmother, or at least being by her side while she was sick, though other people didn’t seem to think the same―then again, other people didn’t know about the health of his grandmother. The only reason you knew was because Hyunjin wasn’t as quiet as he had hoped when he spoke to himself, you were never meant to know. You poked at your rice with your chopsticks in an attempt to rid the vague memory from your mind. Your eyes glanced around your surroundings, noticing how pathetically lonely you looked. From what you knew, Yuqi was studying in the library, Seungmin was at some student council meeting, and Jeongin was always late to lunch: “I have a full hour until lunch ends, why can’t I be twenty minutes late?” That always earned an eye roll from Seungmin, a boy who highly valued punctuality and reliability. In your opinion, he could go a little overboard with his withering patience, but you supposed there was nothing he could really do about it. Especially when Jeongin tested it every other day. 

A carton of strawberry milk was slammed on the table in front of you, though not with enough force to break the carton and allow the milk to spill everywhere. Your head rose, as did your gaze, in order to figure out which of your friends had decided to interrupt your pondering. Instead, Hyunjin stood with a hand in his trouser pocket and the other by his side, backpack slung over his shoulders as he looked at you with a blank expression. He gazed at you for a moment, breaking the contact to walk in the direction of his friends’ lunch table, somehow ignoring the gaze of every fucking person in the lunch hall. Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment as you reached out to take hold of the milk, unsure as to how he knew to go for strawberry rather than chocolate or banana. There was a small sticky note, pale yellow, stuck to one side of the carton with messy handwriting scrawled on its surface. You dropped your chopsticks to peel the note off and decipher the words ‘now we’re even’, right above much smaller writing. You squinted involuntarily as your eyes traced the lines, struggling to make out the simple ‘thank you’ he’d, probably shamefully, written. A small smile graced your features before you opened the carton; you didn’t think about the fact people had watched the whole thing, not in that moment at least. 

“What was that all about?” Changbin questioned as the younger sat down at the table. 

“I owed her something,” he explained with a small shrug. 

Jisung scoffed in disbelief, “yeah, because you’re so giving, Jinnie,” the words earned a glare from the taller boy, but it went unnoticed by Jisung as he happily munched on his food. 

“Doesn’t matter, no one’s gonna see it that way regardless,” Felix commented absentmindedly before swiftly transitioning to another topic. Hyunjin drifted his eyes towards you, watching as you sipped from the milk carton and nodded slightly in acknowledgement as Jeongin approached your table. He furrowed his eyebrows, how had he never noticed you around Jeongin before? You placed the carton down momentarily before glancing around the lunch hall, eyes landing on the Hwang boy who was already staring into you. Though you didn’t react the way most people would—no flushed cheeks or shy smile, just a blank expression as you internally questioned why he was blatantly staring at you. The feeling it gave him was strange. It almost felt like you treated him like a human being, not a reputation or status to ogle at. He smirked slightly at you, causing you to turn away with an unimpressed expression. You were an enigma in the cafeteria; he knew so little about you, yet knew exactly how you felt about him with a few facial expressions. 

Thursday, 7:36am.

People seemed to have a fucking field day with your little — very little — interaction with Hyunjin in the cafeteria. Numerous people, majority of which gossiping girls you’d never cared for interact with, questioned you about your ‘relationship’ with Hyunjin. It made you agitated beyond belief, almost in a way that was unjustified. No, actually, it was most definitely justified. If you had a dollar for every time someone approached you to ask whether you two were dating, how you knew him, why he gave you milk, why you’d never spoken before, or anything that could get even a little bit of information — which would inevitably be the victim of manipulation and embellishment as it passed through the school — you’d no longer need to be working for your parents in that dingy old florist. You groaned slightly at the thought of the store. You knew you’d inevitably return whenever your parents told you to, until you got another and higher-paying job, and that would mean possible interactions with Hyunjin—with or without his smiling grandmother. Perhaps it was that thought that, unbeknownst to you, summoned the boy to your vicinity. School shoes slapped against the concrete pavement, smoothly approaching the bus stop. You could feel the sharp sensation of someone’s prominent gaze fixated on you, yet you waited until the approaching person had halted their movements to glance at them. You had intended to keep a blank expression on your face, though couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling back into your head at the sight of his smug face. Hyunjin towered over your seated form with a faint smirk dancing on his lips. His smugness was likely prompted by your eye roll, or the fact he bought you a fresh carton of flavoured milk—not that it meant anything, he was repaying you after all. Hands in pockets and backpack slung over his shoulder casually, the consistent styling of the consistently careless Hyunjin. You diverted your gaze elsewhere, refocusing on the road ahead of you. His eyes were still trained on you, you could sense it. There was no watch on your wrist, nor did you know how to tell the time based on the sun’s position in the sky, but you could estimate at least two minutes passed before Hyunjin opened his snarky mouth. 

“Tutor me.” 

An exasperated sigh passes your lips, your gaze shifting up toward the cloudless blue sky, “what do you need tutoring for? Your grades are fine.” 

A noise escaped his mouth at your words, a mix between a scoff and a chuckle, “no, not school,” you didn’t like the tone he used in that phrase—as if you were a pure moron for even entertaining the idea of school tutoring. He continued shortly, breaking your irritated thoughts, “flowers.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you turned your head to look at him, evident puzzlement tracing your features. He shrugged his shoulders slightly, diverting his gaze momentarily to the pavement beneath him. You appreciated his shift in tone as he spoke, a softer and calmer, almost soothing, sound. 

“Teach me about flowers.” 

And so you started working every Saturday, dedicating two hours of your shift to teaching Hyunjin the meaning of flowers that caught his eye, sometimes helping him decently wrap a bouquet of flowers. It was odd how you saw the gentler, less cocky side of him when in the quaint store, yet couldn’t even glance at him on the grounds of school without copping a greasy smirk—you liked to assume they were directed at someone stood behind you. 

Saturday, 1:06pm.

The hand of the clock ticked silently with each movement, mixing with the bustling volume of passing cars and pedestrians. Although your gaze was fixated on the time-telling contraption, you didn’t absorb the numbers the hands pointed to, completely zoned out as your mind drifted to other thoughts. There were few of significance, but there were many roaming your head. They were distracting enough to stop you from recognising and acknowledging the sound of the bell above the door. Unbeknownst to you in your distracted state, Hyunjin shuffled into the store with a black hoodie pulled over his unkempt hair, a carton of strawberry milk contained in his right hand. The sound of the carton being roughly placed on the wooden countertop was enough to break your trance, giving you a sense of déjà vu as you shifted your gaze to meet Hyunjin’s, “what’s got you in a trance?” 

You sighed as you fiddled with the sealed carton, “the three hours of sleep I got because of your party last night—so nothing new.” 

“Oh, ha ha, very funny—” 

“It wasn’t a joke.” 

“—For your information, that was just a get together with the guys. The party’s actually tonight,” you rolled your eyes. You didn’t care what he wanted to call it, it was still way too loud, “you should come.” 

A scoff passed your lips at his suggestion, “I’ll pass, I’d rather not go deaf from how excruciatingly loud you play the music,” he shrugged nonchalantly before snatching the flavoured milk from you, taking a small swig of his own while his eyes darted over the fresh flowers. 

“What do coral roses mean?” 

“Friendship, modesty, and sympathy,” you mumbled in boredom. 

“Perfect!” He exclaimed, waltzing over to the display of coral roses to pluck one up. As he reapproached the counter, he shoved the flower in your face, “if you value our friendship, you’ll have great sympathy for me and make my party enjoyable by being there.” 

You watched him in bewilderment. Part of you was confused as to why he wanted you at his party so desperately, while another questioned whether he really just called you friends. You didn’t want to dwell on it too much—Hyunjin was friends with lots of people, you weren’t significant to have that title. At the same time, you couldn’t help but question the meaning of his words. Had Hyunjin ever outright called anyone his friend, other than the group of boys he seemed to be physically attached to? The taller boy watched you in amusement as your cheeks tinted a soft pink colour, deciding to take your silence as a yes. 

“Great, it starts at nine.” 

Saturday, 9:35pm. 

You absolutely did not want to venture to Hyunjin’s house, regardless of the situation. The fact it was for one of his ‘raging parties’ was no better. Nine o’clock had passed thirty minutes ago and the party was well on its way - you could already hear faint retching if you strained your ears enough - and yet you remained in the warmth of your bedroom. If Hyunjin hadn’t directly asked you to come then you wouldn’t be sitting in your room, dressed for a party. If that little shit hadn’t made out like your presence was vital to the party, you wouldn’t have to ponder intently over reasons to bail. You cursed Hyunjin under your breath as you threw on a pair of shoes—he insinuated that he was expecting you, and now you felt like you were obligated to go. 

As soon as you opened the front door, a tsunami of regret washed over you, along with the stench of sweat and alcohol. You had taken one step inside and already felt overheated, overwhelmed, over it. You’d caught sight of some familiar faces — most of Hyunjin’s friend group surrounded some curly-haired guy, Jeongin was chatting with Felix near the group, Hyunjin was nowhere in sight. You weren’t sure whether that was a good or bad thing—on the one hand, Hyunjin was someone you knew. Jeongin was wrapped up in a conversation with Felix, and you didn’t know the freckled boy well enough to insert yourself into that conversation. But at the same time, Hyunjin was probably half-past wasted right now with an amplified ego — if that was even possible — and even more unbearable cockiness. A sigh passed your lips as you began to push your way past the sweaty bodies—why was everyone so fucking sweaty?—to escape to a less crowded area. Truthfully, you had no clue where you were going. Of course you didn’t, this was a house you’d never had the desire to enter. Gosh, why did you even come? It wasn’t too late to turn back around, walk out that door and return to your semi-quiet bedroom—only semi-quiet due to the deafening volume of an infamous Hwang party, even from houses away. That would be the better option in this moment, partial deafness seemed better to deal with than complete deafness. 

“Y/N!” 

You take it back. Complete deafness was far better, especially in this moment. Perhaps if you kept walking he’d think it wasn’t you and give up, right? No, of course not. You’d never be that lucky. You’d made it ten more steps before the boy grabbed your wrist and spun you around, beaming at you with his childlike grin. You loved Jeongin, who didn’t? But all you wanted was to go home, this party was a mistake and you already knew it. A small smile graced your face, “hey, Innie.” 

Jeongin was one of those people who were always happy, always smiling and living their days without any problems or bothers. He was persistent, persuasive and currently dragging you towards the group of people he previously stood near. You didn’t want to go over there, but if you refused Jeongin would look at you with a tiny hint of sadness in his eyes and you’d feel a tonne of guilt land on your shoulders—he didn’t mean to guilt trip people so easily, he was just one of those people that never deserved to be sad. Thankfully, Jeongin knew better than to throw you into a sea of strangers and expect you to survive, opting to drag you over to Felix, who snacked on a plate of colourful macaroons. You’d never spoken to Felix — the most you knew about him was that he was Australian, Hyunjin’s friend and had freckles — but you had a gut feeling he wasn’t as bad as his association with the delinquents would suggest. The boy smiled brightly at the two of you, seeming to emit rays of sunshine through the toothy grin; he seemed sweet and friendly. You should really just trust Jeongin’s judgement at this point, he always managed to construct more accurate judgement on an individual’s character than others, “hi, Y/N!” Felix was very bright and cheerful, it came across in his sober voice—at least you assumed he was sober, he didn’t reek of toxic alcohol like most of the party goers. You smiled slightly in response, waving in what you deemed an awkward fashion. Jeongin easily continued his previous conversation with Felix, one you tuned out for the most part as you instead focused on the suffocating and humid atmosphere, until Felix suddenly bid goodbye to the younger, disappearing into the mass of people. The remaining boy contentedly munched on a pastel pink macaroon, eyes sparkling and widening slightly under the hazy lights of the room. 

“Jeongin, do you know where I can get some fresh air?” 

The boy nodded swiftly, directing you to walk up the stairs, down the hallway and onto the balcony, away from the vomiting and skinny dipping teens. You nodded with a soft thank you before happily following his directions — if you couldn’t leave this wretched atmosphere, for no reason other than your own fabricated obligation to be here, then you might as well get as far away from it without leaving the property. 

The moonlight glistened against the chlorine water, music pumping through the building and teenagers yelling to hear each other. Oddly enough, it was peaceful. Even with the splashing, drunken giggles and what you think is people having a sloppy makeout session, the atmosphere felt calming — the visuals of party goers vomiting and skinny dipping didn’t assist in building that atmosphere, but you supposed there was nothing you could do about it. At least, not until a hand tapped your shoulder, breaking you from your trance of observing people on the grass. You turned your head, met with the sight of Hyunjin with his hands in his pockets. He gestured for you to follow him and, for some reason, you did, leaving your spot on the second floor balcony. 

It was quieter on the roof, somehow, despite the worrisome journey. You were thankful for your shoe choice, anything too uncomfortable or without proper grip would’ve had you tumbling to the ground below—that would’ve been embarrassing, painful, and potentially lethal if you landed on the concrete. The stars glimmered against the dark night sky, seemingly closer than most other nights. Hyunjin hadn’t spoken to you at all, even during the difficult climb to your current spot. You weren’t entirely sure why he’d escaped his own party, or why he’d taken you with him, but you weren’t mad about it. The silence was nice, and you were certain that opening his mouth would dismantle the tranquillity. If he was as wasted as most of his other friends — specifically Jisung — then he’d certainly come out with some horny bull shit. You weren’t in the mood for that, not now, not ever. The music softened in the background and a loud voice ordered everyone out of the house with a short “party’s over”. It seemed sudden, but you supposed it had been going on for a while. And Hyunjin had disappeared. What time was it? 

“Can I ask you something?” Ah, shit, he actually wanted to talk. You mumbled a word of confirmation, waiting for Hyunjin to come out with something you could answer with sarcasm or an eye roll, “what do you think of me? Honestly,” you weren’t expecting that one. You could feel Hyunjin train his eyes on you with intent, curiosity, perhaps hopefulness. What were you supposed to say? Was he hoping for something other than the typical ‘bad boy’ description? You couldn’t provide. 

“I think you’re… confident,” uncertainty laced your tone, “and curious. I think there’s more to you than meets the eye, but I don’t think many people see that part of you. And- I don’t think you want them to,” you turned your gaze to him. His eyes seemed to be glazed over, his mind in a distant land of existential thoughts or offence at how you perceived him. His brown orbs shifted to his lap while his lips stumbled over words, seeking a way to carry on the conversation—or end it, you supposed. 

“I…” he trailed off hesitantly. This was a side to Hyunjin you’d never seen. Sure, you’d seen his confidence and cockiness at school, his laidback humour at parties and the admiration his eyes held whenever he was among flowers, but you’d never seen him look so confused. Lost, rather. He seemed anxious, on edge and scared. He didn’t want to confront the words forming on his tongue, didn’t want to break down his walls for someone who saw him every Saturday and taught him about flowers. He couldn’t help it, though, the words seemed to slip out without permission, “I feel like no one truly knows me.” 

Hyunjin’s words hung heavily in the air as a hush fell over the neighbourhood, “I just―” he paused slightly as his breath hitched, raising his gaze from his lap to the starry night. His eyes were glossy, the stars twinkling against the water forming around his orbs. His walls were breaking, “I just wish I could go somewhere no one knew me,” as the sentence progressed, his voice shook. It was getting harder to keep it all in. For once, he decided to let it all go. Allowing his walls to crumble, the dams in his eyes broke too, tears glistening on his smooth cheeks as he choked up a sob. You watched him with pity, subconsciously moving to wrap your arms around him in a comforting hug. He sobbed into your chest, “I just want people to know who I really am.” 

All your perceptions were based on falsehoods, fabricated rumours and retellings of old stories. He used his tough exterior to hide his crumbling contents, any traits that could be taken as weakness or fragility. As the boy ― because that’s what he truly was: just a boy ― cried under the stars, only one thought could cross your once racing mind. Hwang Hyunjin’s very existence was a lie. Hyunjin’s pained sobs were reduced to soft sniffles after what felt like a long time, though tears still soaked his cheeks. You couldn’t tell how long it had been since everything still looked the same, almost like time didn’t move. A shaky breath passed Hyunjin’s lips, his head raising from your shoulder. 

“You know, I always thought you were really interesting. And pretty.” 

“Hyunjin, you don’t mean that,” you dismissed. Your head shook slightly in disagreement, you didn’t want Hyunjin to tell you that you meant something. 

A humourless laugh echoed in the night, “yeah, I really do.” 

Hyunjin looked at you with intent. How did the night get to this point? There was a part of you that wished you stayed home, just so you didn’t have to feel these butterflies in your stomach. He must’ve been drunk―was he drunk? Were you drunk? Memories of the night had slipped through your fingers like warm brittle sand. The night sky danced on his cheeks, reflecting against the salty water his eyes had unleashed previously. His eyes stayed on your face, flickering from your eyes to the lower part of your face momentarily. Then, he was leaning forwards, closer and closer. Closer until his lips were pressed against yours in a piteous kiss. His hand moved from his side to touch your arm, just above your elbow, as if he was making sure you didn’t slip away from him. It was like he wanted you there, but you couldn’t believe that. Salty tears stained your lips in the midst of pitiful desperation, until Hyunjin pulled away to rest his forehead against yours. His breathing was sharp as he choked out a whisper, “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to feel alone anymore, even if it’s only for a moment.” 

You could’ve sighed in disappointment, but you stopped yourself. That’s all you’d ever be to Hyunjin: temporary. A last resort, even. You didn’t mind―no, you didn’t want to mind. As the moonlight danced along your skin in hues of blue and grey, the epiphany of falling for Hyunjin sank in. Damn it, you really fucking minded. 

Tuesday, 7:57am. 

You’d made a point to avoid Hyunjin since the incident at the party ― or, rather, after the party. Every time you glanced his way in the hallways, he was already staring at you with enough intensity to make you shift uncomfortably. He’d tried to approach you during break yesterday, but you bolted with the excuse of needing to use the bathroom before he could open his mouth. You left a disheartened and anxious Hyunjin behind, as well as a confused Jeongin and querying Seungmin. A sigh passed your lips at the thought; you’d probably have to face him on Saturday, regardless of whether you did or didn’t want to. Hyunjin was persistent, after all. 

But he was also a liar. It became most obvious when you were approaching the classroom with your locker hurriedly, attempting to sort your belongings out before morning roll call began. Glancing absentmindedly down the hallway, you halted in your tracks with a double-take as you processed what you’d seen. Hyunjin, the boy who claimed to find you pretty and interesting, leaning against a wall as he sucked face with Son Bongcha. She was in the year below and had an annoying voice, that’s all you knew about her―she also had an iron grip on his wrists, but you didn’t see that. You glanced away dejectedly, rushing away to save yourself from further embarrassment. What did you expect? Hyunjin said he just didn’t want to feel alone, you didn’t actually mean anything to him. How could you be foolish enough to let yourself fall for him? He played you, in more ways than one. He acted like he cared, claimed he was different, and kissed you as if he was actually attracted to you―and you made the mistake of kissing back the same way. 

Hyunjin fought against the grip of Bongcha, shoving her away with a mix of disgust and anger across his features, “what the fuck is wrong with you?” He hollered. Her eyes held innocence, satisfaction, delusion. The girl’s face faltered with confusion, her mouth opening to spit an excuse in that unbearable squeaky tone. Hyunjin didn’t want to hear it, even if he’d questioned her, “stay the fuck away from me.” With one last seething glare, Hyunjin stormed away from the younger girl. He was just thankful no one was around to see it and spread rumours about what they saw, the last thing he needed was a school full of people convinced he was with Bongcha―at least, that’s what he was telling himself to stay calm. 

Nothing was out of place at lunch. Everyone sat in their regular seats, having the same conversations and engaging in the usual banter with their friends―your friends were no different. Jeongin was encouraging Seungmin to meet his other friends, namely Felix, while Yuqi smiled softly at their trivial bickering. Things were different for you, though. They were bad. You had too many thoughts racing through your mind, as they were in a sprinting race with no determined finish line. This day sucked, but things could only get worse with your luck. A throat cleared behind you, “Y/N?” You turned around lifelessly, meeting the gaze of Hyunjin while the rest of your table―and the surrounding tables―watched the scene unfold silently. It was none of their business, they knew that, but no one cared, “can I speak with you? Alone?” With a slight nod, you stood from your seat and followed him into the hallway. 

“I was just wondering if we could do the tutoring on Thursday instead of Saturday? I’m busy this weekend and we don’t have after-school studying on Thursdays,” he rubbed at his neck awkwardly. 

“Yeah, fine.” 

A relieved smile graced his lips, quickly falling at the memory of the other thing he wanted to talk about, “and―uh, about the party… I didn’t mean―”  

“Forget it, Hyunjin. I know what you meant,” you tried to suppress the stinging bitterness that leaked through your tone, you didn’t want Hyunjin to know your true feelings on the situation. It would’ve worked if you were as good at lying as he was, but you weren’t going to say that. Hyunjin understood why you felt the way you did ― or, how he assumed you felt. After all, he brushed you off like you meant nothing to him. Just something to fill the void of isolation growing in his heart; the kiss meant nothing. Gosh, he was such a liar. It was an opinion the two of you unknowingly shared―for different reasons, of course. 

Thursday, 7:25pm. 

An awkward two hours had passed inside the florist. Hyunjin had sensed something was different about you, chalking it up to his careless actions on the weekend. He’d been beating himself up about it since he did it, and he knew you didn’t want to talk about it, but he felt as if he owed you an explanation. One you hadn’t made up by yourself, based on his poor choice of words after it happened. Your delicate hands fiddled with the stems of three white flowers while Hyunjin formulated the right words to say. He didn’t want to mess it up again. 

“Y/N, about Saturday ni―” 

“God, Hyunjin, just forget about it!” The boy was startled into silence by your outburst, “I know you didn’t mean it, I know it was a mistake!” Frustration and betrayal laced your tone, your cheeks reddening slightly as your face flushed in annoyance. 

“I wasn’t―” 

“I won’t tell her, okay? But stop lying to me,” Hyunjin’s eyebrows furrowed with perplexity. He couldn’t figure out what you were talking about; he wanted you to listen to him. 

“‘Her’? What are you talking about? I’m not lying about anything,” a pit formed in his stomach as anxiety pooled his chest. 

“Bongcha,” the name was barely decipherable due to how quietly you spoke it, as if saying it any louder would summon her on the spot. Hyunjin’s face fell, for fuck’s sake, “stop acting like you genuinely care, it’s obvious you don’t.” 

Silence settled into the air before a sigh escaped your lips. The flowers slipped from your fingertips as you moved away from the table, “I have to go.” 

“Y/N!” Hyunjin spoke desperately, thankful no one was in the shop to see your dispute or his despair. 

“Just… don’t talk to me anymore. Please,” with one last sorrowful look, you turned on your heel and exited the store, the sound of the little bell ringing throughout the now empty store. Hyunjin watched you leave, hopeless. How did he fuck it up this badly in such a short amount of time? He hung his head low, eyes glancing towards the flowers you’d dropped moments before. 

White chrysanthemums; the truth. 

Such a bitter irony, if only you’d stayed to hear it from him. Hyunjin couldn’t help but scoff. 

Wednesday, 10:21pm.

Life ― at least, almost two weeks of it ― had been hell for Hyunjin, to put it dramatically, since your confrontation at the flower shop. Every time the two of you met eyes at school you’d quickly divert your gaze, rushing away before Hyunjin could even process what was happening. He never ran after you, partly because he knew you wouldn’t listen to him and partly to avoid other people seeing the interaction. People struggled to mind their own business, he supposed it was human nature for many. Bongcha had made the wise decision of finally listening to Hyunjin and staying the fuck away from him; it was too late, you’d already seen enough to misunderstand his relationship with the younger. He hadn’t understood how he became so attached to you without noticing. That fateful night, when he stumbled over his words after molding his tear-stained lips with yours, he finally realised it was an attachment he feared. When moonlight shone on his salty tears and stars flickered at him with lost hope, the words simmered in the air with a false certainty. He couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol pumping through his blood, he was completely sober that night. No, it was his own fault. It was his slip up, his fabrication that came out sounding more truthful than it was. You weren’t just temporary, a spur of the moment decision he’d never talk about. You meant so much more, that kiss meant so much more. Would you ever see it that way? Hyunjin doubted it. When you told him how you saw him, as per his request, you were slightly inaccurate in your description. Now, your perception had changed, there was no doubt in his mind it had. You saw him as a liar, didn’t you? He could accept and admit that, but not for the wrong reasons. When it came to you, he’d only lied twice: the night of the party and the morning of the party, when he called you his friend. You were so much more than that. 

The following afternoon, the universe delivered Hyunjin the perfect opportunity to explain himself to you—even if just partially. He stopped in his tracks as he saw you walking home from school, he assumed you missed the bus or something. With the encouraging words of his friends from the night before echoing in his mind, Hyunjin jogged in your direction, “Y/N!” 

Your footsteps sped up, unsuccessfully attempting to keep distance from the long-legged boy, “leave me alone, Hyunjin.” 

His hand grabbed at your wrist, “no! Not until you listen to me.” 

You sighed exasperatedly, “what do you want?” Your exhausted voice made Hyunjin falter slightly, but he couldn’t miss this opportunity. 

“I’m not with Bongcha, I never was, okay? I wouldn’t waste someone like you for someone like her!” 

“How am I supposed to believe that?” 

So you did see him that way: a liar. He couldn’t blame you, and he didn’t know how to prove you wrong. Why didn’t he think about that? A tugging motion made him snap out of his trance, your wrist leaving his clutches as you turn away and speed walk home. 

Thursday, 9:52pm. 

Rain pattered against the glass pane of your window. Your eyes followed stray raindrops as they cascaded down the surface, dripping away and out of your sight. The vibrating of your phone rippled across the table, the sound causing your eyes to snap towards the device in a mix of curiosity and annoyance. Lifting your head from the desk, the screen glared at you brightly, causing you to squint to become accustomed to the brightness. There were six messages from Jeongin, an Instagram notification and reminder to take out the trash at 6:00pm. It was now 9:52pm, you needed to mark that reminder as complete. Your finger swiped the messages from Jeongin, opening the conversation and being met with five screenshots. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

   |  innie ☼ : these are messages between hyunjin and bongcha, please don’t       misunderstand their relationship 

   |  why couldn’t hyunjin send these himself? 

   |  innie ☼ : you blocked his number 

   |  innie ☼ : please, y/n, just give him a chance 

Your stomach did flips as you read through the messages. Some were from last month, some from last week, some from the day they kissed, but they all conveyed the same message. Hyunjin wasn’t attracted to her, not in the same way she was attracted to him. There was a screenshot of an argument they had on Thursday, after you confronted him at the florist. With furrowed eyebrows, you processed the revelation. He didn’t kiss her? Your expression fell. Gosh, you’d really fucked it up, hadn’t you? He wanted no part in that kiss, and what right did you have to be jealous anyway? You were meant to be friends, after all. His temporary. Even if that title hurt, you still had to take back the words you said, fix whatever relationship you had left with the boy. It was raining outside, of course it was, but you didn’t care. You pattered down the stairs, unlocked the front door as quietly as possible before running out into the rain, fully intending to run over to Hyunjin’s house. There was no need. The boy sat on the curb outside your house, black strands of hair and black attire a void in the dim streetlight. At the sound of the door closing, he turned to see the cause. He was soaking wet, probably cold, and had a lit cigarette hanging from his lips. Black strands of hair were splayed against his face, dripping with rainwater as he continued to be pelted by the droplets. His head turned away from yours, returning his gaze to the moonlight; you two were making an awful habit of meeting under the moonlight. Parting your lips, you prepare to spout heartfelt apologies, even if you don’t completely forgive the words he spoke to you. 

“Were you going to come looking for me?” His words escaped before yours could. 

“Y-Yeah, I wanted to apologise,” Hyunjin clicked his tongue in disapproval, producing a ‘tch’ sound. 

“What for? You don’t owe me shit,” the cigarette found home in his lips, breathing in the toxins with desire. 

“For making assumptions about you and Bongcha. I owe you that.” 

The cigarette drops against the dark road, soon being grinded into the surface under the sole of Hyunjin’s scuffed sneaker. 

“It’s fine, I would’ve made the same assumption,” the boy stood up, his legs straightening with a satisfying crack. How long had he been sitting there? “Are we back to being friends?” 

You nodded hesitantly, “yeah. Friends.” 

Hyunjin had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want you in the same way you wanted him, on more than one occasion now. He could sense the unease in your voice, as if you were hoping for him to say something more or re-title you as something other than a friend. There was nothing more that he wanted, but he didn’t deserve it. You were too good for him, far too good for him. He was a liar, a delinquent, a bad influence. All he could ever do is hurt you. Even if it pained him to hide it, some things had to be left unsaid. 

“Can we—talk about the party?” 

The boy looked away from you momentarily, rethinking his decision. It’s for the best, “no. I don’t want to talk about it.” 

His tone was icy, brushing you off as if that night meant nothing, “Hyunjin, you bugged me to talk about that for days.” 

“Yeah, well it doesn’t matter anymore,” he was exasperated. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore, it would mean revealing his true feelings or making you feel worse. All Hyunjin wanted was to keep you safe and happy; getting wrapped up in him would be your downfall, he just knew it. 

“I need to know why you did it.” 

“Drop it, Y/N.” 

It was a warning you didn’t listen to, “please, Hyunjin.” 

“I said, drop it.” 

“Why did you do it?” You hadn’t intended for your voice to be so loud, you didn’t mean to shout, your walls broke down involuntarily. The world blurred around you, salty tears forming in your eyes as you thought back to the night, “why did you kiss me when you clearly didn’t feel that way about me? I don’t want to be something to temporarily fix your loneliness.” 

Hyunjin kept his eyes down guiltily. He didn’t want to say anything, but your words kept pressing him to speak up. Your voice was echoing around him, cutting through the night sky and tugging at his ears. The sobs that formed in your chest were bubbling out; the rain was mixing with your tears. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t escape what happened. He didn’t want to say anything, but he could feel it slipping out. 

“Why would you do that, Hyunjin? I—” 

“Because I love you!” The shout rang through the cold air like a lone gunshot, “I love you and it scares me!” 

A poignant silence settled around you, the words sinking into your chest and pumping your heart to beat faster. A slip of the tongue and here you were. Days of sadness, anxiety and insecurity, all over Hyunjin’s unknown fear of his feelings. Could that be worth it? “Hyunjin—” 

In swift motions, the boy paced towards you to grab your face in his hands. Tilting your head upwards, his lips collided with yours in a show of passion, with every emotion Hyunjin could muster. Thumbs rested gently on your cheeks, laying against the few escaped tears and fallen raindrops, as his lips moved against yours. As the rain pelted your skin, running through your already soaked hair and tickling your exposed skin, words didn’t need to be spoken. When those lips moved against yours, you finally saw the hidden emotions Hwang Hyunjin was so afraid of. 

[lobstermobster-95]

Incrimination

Notes: Realized I forgot to post this on here as well. My first take try at modern au!

Summary: When Runaan catches Rayla sneaking back home in the middle of the night, they both lose their tempers and Rayla makes sure to let him know exactly who she'd been with. But when he pulls her world out from under her as a response, Callum is there to catch her before she hits the ground.

Pairing: Callum/Rayla

Word Count: 2,577

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22370722

The lamp in the den flicked on before Rayla even had a chance to head toward the stairs. The abrupt change in lighting left her rubbing at her eyes and wincing as she tried to clear the spots from her vision.

“You’re late,” a stern voice said from the sofa.

Her eyes may have been clouded, but Rayla didn’t need them to know Runaan had not in fact stayed late at the studio like he said he would.

She groaned and rubbed more furiously at her eyes until she could finally see him glaring at her with clarity. His arms and legs were both crossed tight and his lips were pursed into a straight line.

Shit.

“Rayla, I expect an explanation for this,” Runaan said. “Now.”

Rayla swallowed the trepidation growing in her throat and let herself remember exactly why she’d gone out in the first place.

She was pissed.

“You cut me out of the show, so I went to go blow off some steam,” she said simply, pulling her backpack from her shoulder and letting it thump to the ground.

Runaan looked at her in disbelief. “Blow off some steam?” He repeated back at her as he gestured out the window where he’d undoubtedly seen the car that dropped her off. “And who exactly did you go, ‘blow off some steam’ with?”

Rayla knew he already knew the answer to that. He just wanted to hear her say it out loud. She folded her arms across her chest and firmly held his gaze. Fine, she could play this game.

“I was with Callum,” she said coolly, daring Runaan to react.

React he did. Without hesitation, Runaan rose from his seat and stalked over to where she was still standing in the foyer, glowering all the way.

“I told you to never see that human boy again,” he practically snarled.

“And I told you that I’m an adult and I don’t need your permission,” Rayla fired back. “Besides, you’re wrong about him. Callum doesn’t study dark magic because he knows it’s awful. He’s kind and good and he doesn't care that I'm an elf. He would never do anything to hurt me. He’s my best friend.”

Runaan looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“You’re a fool, Rayla,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose like he would when he had a migraine. “That boy is nothing but trouble. Humans are nothing but trouble. You’ve known him less than a year and look what’s happened -- you’re sneaking back here at one o’clock in the morning after doing who knows what all night. What happens when he shows you who he really is? What happens when you don’t come home at all?”

Rayla had grown used to Runaan’s bigotry during her first year at Katolis Tech. He’d been against her enrolling in a predominantly human university in the first place. In the end, she’d learned how truly wrong she’d been about humans. Yes, some were terrible and did terrible things, but there were so many like Callum who were incredible and just wanted the hostility between humans and elves to finally end.

But no matter what she said, Runaan would never listen, and she refused to stand there and let him tell her that Callum was some kind of punk who would drag her down.

Rayla glared at Runaan in furious silence for a moment before she pulled her hair back from the right side of her face and tugged down the sleeve of her sweater.

Runaan’s face when he saw the bright purple bruise sitting at the juncture of her neck and her shoulder was instantly priceless. His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open, wordless and stunned.

Rayla smirked as she let her hair drop. “That was my idea by the way, not his. If anything, I’m a worse influence on him.”

She expected Runaan to yell and scream, to curse at her for letting a human touch her like that. She expected him to try and send her to her room like a child. What she did not expect was what he actually said, his voice quiet but quaking with anger.

“Get out.”

Rayla’s smirk dissolved.

“What?” She asked, not quite believing his words.

“You heard me,” he said, seething. “I can tolerate a great many things, Rayla, but you seeing that human is not one of them. This is precisely why I said you were not ready to dance at Kalik Hall with the others. You are thoughtless and impulsive and you deliberately disobey me.

“You want me to treat you like an adult? Fine, then you can stay in your human’s bed instead of your own.”

Rayla couldn’t seem to find her breath. She and Runaan had always fought, even when she was a child. Ethari always said it was because they were so similar, both firey and stubborn with quick wits and sharp tongues. Even so, she never could have imagined that their fighting could come to this.

She felt her heart breaking as she reached down for her backpack and hefted it once more onto her shoulder. She kept her eyes on Runaan the whole time, daring him to back down, to take it back.

He glanced between her and her bag for a moment, his expression betraying nothing. A terse nod was all he offered before walking around her and opening the front door.

A beat passed as they both stood still and rigid, each looking at the other with steely resolve. Rayla would not give him the satisfaction of seeing how much this was shattering her.

So, she looped her other arm through the strap of her backpack, held her head high and walked straight out of the door without looking back.

She could feel his eyes on her the whole time.

The sound of the wood slamming behind her sent the pieces of her heart scattering into the cool April wind. The sting of the night air seeped into the open crevices and brought tears rushing to her eyes.

She wouldn’t cry, not where Runaan could still see her. He’d always taught her to fight through pain, to dance even when her feet bled and to stay strong even when she was miserable.

So she started to walk.

She couldn’t entirely grasp where she was headed, just that she had to leave. She was no longer welcome in her home. All she could do now was put one foot in front of the other.

Rayla knew she could have handled the situation better. Showing Runaan the hickey was definitely overkill. But she wanted to hurt him. She wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt her when he cut her out of the show she’d been dreaming of for months. She wanted to hurt him for the things he’d said about Callum.

Rayla was several blocks away when she finally felt the first tear fall. She brushed it away impatiently as she pulled her phone from her pocket, wincing at the sight of her own haggard face briefly reflected back at her before the screen turned on.

She wiped at her eyes while scrolling through her contacts. She found Callum’s name and did her best to clear her throat before hitting ‘call.’

The line rang twice before he picked up.

“Hey,” he said, somehow still managing to sound light and affectionate even when she could hear the sleepiness in his voice. “You were right, I am already way too cold lying in bed without you.”

Despite everything, Rayla couldn’t help but smile. That was what Callum did for her. He could make her smile and laugh and feel better no matter how shitty the situation or how adamantly she was avoiding her problems.

“Hey,” she said back, hearing the scratchiness in her own voice. “I-um, I know you just left, and I’m sorry, but I really need a favor.” She never knew a phone call could make her feel so small.

She heard Callum shift immediately. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He didn’t sound tired anymore.

“Runaan was home and I opened my big fucking mouth and it didn’t go well,” she said with a sigh as she sat down on the curb beneath a street lamp and ran a hand through her hair. “Could I stay with you for a while?”

She could already hear the jingling of keys on the other end of the line.

“Of course you can, I’m leaving right now. Where are you?”

Rayla looked up at the street signs.

“Corner of Addison and Burr,” she replied.

“Okay, I’ll be right there,” he said, the sound of a door quickly opening and closing echoing behind him.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice shaking as she felt more tears just waiting to spill over.

“Always,” he said gently. “It’s gonna be alright, Ray.”

Her usual sarcasm was quick to come up with a defensive reply, but she held it back. Callum didn’t deserve that from her, not right now.

“Yeah,” she said quietly instead. “Maybe.”

She hung up and let her head drop into her hands, a full sob finally tearing its way from her lips.

Runaan had rejected her. He didn’t want her as a dancer or a daughter. She knew Ethari would feel differently, and maybe if he’d been home, he could have talked his husband down a little. But the feelings would still be there. Runaan would still think she was a child and a fool and he would never be able to accept how she felt about Callum.

She didn’t know how long she sat there on the side of the road, sobbing into her hands.  But she didn’t move until she heard the sound of a car pull up in front of her.

Looking up through bleary eyes, she saw Callum throw open the driver’s side door and run to her. He dropped to his knees in the gutter and pulled her into his arms where she continued to cry.

Rayla clung to his jacket as her body shook with the strength of her sobs. Callum stayed silent, holding her tightly while he rubbed circles on her back and stroked her hair.

He was the only person she’d ever really cried in front of as an adult. He’d come into her life as the antithesis of everything she’d ever believed about humans. He’d broken down the walls Runaan had helped her build and made her feel safe in her own skin.

When they first started dating five months ago, they’d sat out on the deck of his apartment drinking cheap wine from Soren’s stash while they stargazed and shared stories from their childhoods.

They eventually came to the story of how her parents left her with Runaan and Ethari to join the Elven Council when she was five and hadn’t returned for her. She initially threw around a few jokes and wry comments to diffuse the weight of the lonliness and abandonment she described in her story, but Callum saw through it all. He saw how much it had hurt her, how much damage it had done.

But seeing the cracks in her walls hadn’t scared him away.

Instead, he told her about losing his own mother and how he’d cried for weeks when he found out she was gone. He told her how he still cries sometimes when he thinks about her.

Everyone grieves differently, he’d told her, but not letting yourself grieve at all can be a slippery slope.

Two hours and several glasses of wine later, they were huddled beneath a blanket while they shared a single patio chair, their faces both streaked with tears and their lips swollen.

She teased him about it later, saying that he’d gotten her drunk and made her cry on their fourth date, but in reality, that night had meant the world to her. For the first time, she’d given herself permission to fall and Callum had been right there to catch her.

And now he was doing it all over again.

He cradled her until her sobs turned into hiccups, never once letting her go. When Rayla eventually pulled away, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead.

“Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s go home.”

He pulled her to her feet and didn’t let go of her hands until she was nestled in the passenger seat, her bag stored in the trunk.

Her brain was numb now, but she supposed numbness was better than agony. She let herself sink into the soft leather of the seat, her head drooping to the side as she watched the lights of the city whizzing by as shapeless blobs.

Callum didn’t press her to talk. She was about three shots of whiskey and one good night’s sleep away from being ready to talk just yet. But in the meantime, he kept hold of her hand, stroking the tops of her fingers with his thumb.

They reached his apartment as a soft rain began to thump against the windshield. Callum pulled into the garage and took the key out of the ignition but didn’t move to get out.

Lolling her head to her other shoulder, Rayla was met with his concerned eyes.

“Are you okay?” He asked seriously, taking her hand in both of his now.

She squeezed back reassuringly. “I will be,” she said. “I’m sorry you had to come deal with me when I’m such a mess.”

Callum shook his head. “I’ll always be here for you, Rayla, messes or no messes.”

There he went making her smile again.

“Thank you,” she said.

They spent the next several hours on the couch watching old samurai movies. After seeing her tear-soaked face, Soren brought out a bottle of his good bourbon, but not before asking if there was anyone she needed him to beat up. She patted him on the cheek and told him it was cute that he thought he could beat someone up worse than she could.

But she was grateful all the same.

When she and Callum finally fell into bed, he held her close and kissed her deeply as the light of early morning began filtering through the drapes. They were both content in knowing that they wouldn’t be attending classes today.

“You know I love you, right?” He whispered into her ear after kissing his way down one of her horns.

Hearing those words still sent a shiver up her spine.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, her brain now happily buzzing from affection and the warmth of alcohol.

She lined his jaw with kisses before pulling away his scarf, only to rediscover the matching hickey she’d given him last night.

It was funny how much trouble one little bruise could cause. All it took were a few burst blood vessels for her to get kicked out of the only home she’d really ever known. Falling in love with a human was definitely a complicated business.

But then again, Callum was worth it. He would always be worth it to her.

She would talk to Runaan again at some point, she knew she would. Ethari would never let either of them rest until they did. Whether she would ever want to live with him again was a question for another time.

But for now, she kissed the mark on Callum’s neck, happy to know that he would be there when she woke up.

[blu-joons]

You Have A Bad Day In Your Pregnancy ~ Park Jimin

The door slammed shut making you groan, grabbing your head with your hands to try and shut off the pain. You tugged the duvet further up your body. Next came the light, your bedroom light came on, the brightness killing you.

“Hey, I’m home…babe? Everything alright?” You sighed, shaking your head feeling the bed dip beside you.

Jimin laid down, pulling you into his chest, resting his hand on your blossoming bump. “I’ve got the headache from hell, I’m tired, I ache, I just don’t know what to do with myself.”

“I’m sorry jagi,” he whispered, running his hands through your soft hair, “is there anything I can do? Have you eaten at all?”

You shook your head, just the thought of food made you feel nauseous. Usually you could eat anything put in front of you, ringing Jimin to get more food on his way home from work.

“Baby, you need to eat something, we’ve got a little baby in there we need to keep healthy.”

“Jimin, please, I just can’t eat right now, when I feel better I will feast, but right now, even discussing food is making me feel worse.” He sighed, but didn’t argue.

His hands travelled down to your bump, massaging soft circles around it. You’d just passed the six months mark, meaning your bump was growing at a quickening rate, much to Jimin’s delight. He loved to see your baby growing, measuring your bump all the time.

“Have you even moved all day?”

“I tried!” You cried out, “but it just hurts. You clearly don’t understand so why don’t you just leave me alone for a while.”

His eyes rolled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I do understand, I’m just trying to make sure you are alright, I might not be going about it the right way, but it comes from a place of worry and care.”

“I know, it’s just my hormones.” You cuddled into his toned chest, allowing your eyes to shut, unable to adjust to the bright lights. “How was the studio?”

“Really good, we’re working hard to get the album done so I can take some time off for when the baby arrives, the boys have been great in making sure everything is as good as it can be.”

Jimin looked down, noticing your eyes shutting, reaching across as best he could, afraid to move you, switching the light off. The dark room was unappealing to him at this time in the day, but as your grip on him softened, he knew it was the right thing to do.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“Have you got a migraine? Is there anything else that’s causing you hassle, I think if this continues we might need to get you checked over.”

“It’s just one of those days, it’s nothing serious, tomorrow I will be back to my normal self, a good nights sleep and a cuddle from my handsome boyfriend are the best medication.” Jimin chuckled, tucking himself under the duvet.

He vowed not to go anywhere until he knew you were better, happy to entertainment himself all night with his phone whilst you fought your way back to a better state.

“So, the boys and I were predicting what we think the baby will be today?”

“Yeah? What was the outcome?”

“Well, Hobi, Tae and Jungkook think it’s going to be a girl, Yoongi predicts a boy, somehow Jin thinks we could be having twins, and Namjoon can’t decide, because according to his research your symptoms and patterns suggest it could be a boy or a girl.”

“And you, what do you think?”

You turned to look up at his smiling eyes, his dark fringe hanging just above them. “I don’t care,” he proudly replied, “as long as they are healthy that’s all that matters. Regardless, they are going to be welcomed into a loving family, with the best mummy in the world.”

“And the best daddy in the world,” you added, “our child will learn so much from you, I can just tell that they’ll adore their daddy.”

Late night talks were quite common between the two of you these days as you struggled most nights to get yourself off to sleep. Jimin could never sleep until you were awake, so he’d grab your hand under the duvet and talk about anything and everything.

“So Namjoon has been doing research, should I be worried?”

“No jagi, he’s just really fascinated by it all. Unsurprisingly, babies aren’t a subject he’s ever had to pay any attention to before, but he’s really interested.” Namjoon had been sending you texts constantly about facts he’d read in books, giving you tips to try and make your pregnancy easier.

“Are you feeling any better?” He whispered, poking your cheek lightly. “I can see the tiniest glimmer of a smile.”

He wasn’t wrong, all the baby talk did bring a smile to your face. Despite the bad days, you were thrilled, brimming with anticipation for what the next few months would bring.

“I’m just happy, I’m always happy with you, and right now, life is just perfect.” You felt his lips press to the top of your head, you pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“Well I’m glad to see that a little bit of you is back to normal. Get some sleep, I’ll be right here if you need anything. I’ll cook you some meals in the morning for the rest of the day so you don’t have to worry about cooking.”

“You don’t have to do that, I’ll be fine.”

“Nonsense, it’s no hardship, anything to make my love’s life easier.” Your eyelids fluttered shut, his small hand pressing to the side of your face. “I’ll try not to wake you in the morning, but give me a text when you do so I know you’re okay.”

You hummed in response, the dark coupled with Jimin’s soothing voice relaxing the enduring pain in your head enough to bring you into a sweet slumber.

“I love you, goodnight baby mumma, you beautiful soul.”

“Night Jiminie, love you more.”

---

Masterlist

[tell-me-when-ur-ready]

This Thing Called Love (part seven)

Summary: When Shawn meets dancer Kellie in Toronto, he falls for her—hard. But Kellie has an invisible disability and thinks it’s impossible that someone could really love her the way she is.

Author’s note: PHEW things are getting good. The usual disclaimer: I have multiple chronic illnesses that are similar to Kellie’s, but not the exact same health conditions she has, so I apologize if I get anything wrong.

Warnings: language? just once lol

Word count: 2k

Kellie and Shawn didn’t talk to each other for two full weeks. It wasn’t for lack of trying on his part; Shawn continued texting her and calling her and trying to connect with her, but Kellie thought it was better to just make a clean break. It would be better in the long run for both of them.

Shawn had gotten Mackenzie’s number at some point during the summer (something Mackenzie had been way too excited about at the time), and he was using it now. Each evening, Mackenzie would show Kellie the latest texts.

Can you tell Kellie to call me?

Has Kellie said anything to you?

Ask Kellie what I did wrong.

“That boy’s in loooooove,” Mackenzie said, delighted, at first. But she got a little more exasperated as the days dragged by and the summer started to wane. “Kellie, this is just cruel,” she finally said. “Why won’t you date him? Because you think he’ll be scared away if he sees your health issues up close?”

Kellie shrugged uncomfortably and looked away.

“You could at least tell him that instead of just leaving him hanging. See what he says,” Mackenzie said, pursing her lips disapprovingly. But Kellie just shrugged again.

Shawn wasn’t the only one who was suffering. Stress affected chronic migraines, making them worse, and Kellie got so sick during those two weeks she almost forgot about Shawn altogether. The second week, she was only able to go to work one day; the other four days, she was at home in the darkness, lying in bed and periodically running to the bathroom to throw up.

 She’d gotten used to texting Shawn when she felt bad. But that wasn’t an option anymore. At least, that’s what Kellie kept telling herself.

 “I can’t do this,” she sobbed on the phone to her mom one Friday night. “I’m going to lose my jobs.”

 “Slow down,” her mom said. Kellie’s family lived an hour away, more north of Atlanta, so Kellie’s mom could no longer help take care of her when she flared up. Mackenzie had brought home groceries that day and Shelby had gotten Kellie’s prescriptions for her, but they were out with friends now. And Kellie didn’t want to burden them any further, anyway. She’d been upfront with them about her health issues when they decided to all move in together, but they weren’t obligated to babysit her.

 “But I am,” Kellie said. She wiped at her eyes. “Going to lose my jobs, I mean. I can’t work, I can’t eat, I can’t do anything.”

 “Is this at all related to Shawn?” her mom asked. “You haven’t mentioned him lately.”

 Kellie sighed. She’d told her mom (who had never heard of Shawn) about the music video, of course, and had vaguely said that she was staying in touch with Shawn and liked him a lot. But that was all her mother knew.

 “I mean, we haven’t talked in a couple of weeks. But it’s not a big deal.” That second part was a lie. “I’m way more worried about how I can pay rent. I can only call out of work sick so many times.” That, unfortunately, was the truth.

 But somehow, she woke up the next morning feeling better. She was able to keep breakfast down; her migraine was almost completely gone. Kellie rested all day Saturday anyway, to get her energy back up, and went into the dance studio Sunday.

 When she got home, exhausted but feeling a little happier after a few hours of teaching a lyrical workshop, she started pulling ingredients for a smoothie out of the cabinets. Someone knocked on the door, and she wiped her hands and went to get it; Mackenzie and Shelby were both at work, and she didn’t think they were expecting anybody.

 The door swung open and Shawn was standing there.

 Kellie’s first thought was that she looked awful, sweaty and tired with her hair in a messy bun (not the cute kind, but the actually-messy kind). Her second thought, which she said out loud, was, “Mackenzie.”

 Shawn shoved his hands in his pockets and smirked a little. “I like Mackenzie,” he said conversationally.

 “Well, she’s not here,” Kellie snapped, moving to shut the door. She didn’t know if she would have actually closed it in his face, but before it was halfway shut, he had reached out to stop her.

 “Can I come in?” he said, his face serious now. Reluctantly, Kellie nodded.

 Thankfully, the apartment was relatively clean at the moment. Their squishy couch was covered in pink pillows and the kitchen island held a stack of books and a pair of pointe shoes; out the window, you could see the hanging plants Shelby had installed on the balcony, green leaves swinging in the breeze.

 “Cute,” Shawn said, looking around. He slung his backpack to the ground and turned and looked at her, leaning against the counter. “Hi,” he said, his eyes going soft.

 “I’m sorry,” Kellie blurted out. But before she could get anything else out, the door opened again and Mackenzie came flying in.

 “Shit, he’s already here? I thought I was going to get home first,” she exclaimed, breathless. “I was going to prepare you—” She looked at Kellie apologetically.

 “I should have known you would do something like this,” Kellie said with a heavy sigh, glaring at her. Secretly, something inside her had lit up at the sight of Shawn’s face—but she didn’t really want him here, because now she had to face the reality of all her complicated, messy emotions and the things those emotions had made her do.

 “Sorry,” Mackenzie said, not sounding sorry at all. She held up her hand for Shawn to give her a high five.

 “Nice to finally meet you,” he said, sounding amused.

 “Go fix all of your problems,” Mackenzie said. She waved her hands at them in a shoo-ing motion.

 Kellie frowned at her. “Life is not a rom-com. It’s not always that easy.”

 Mackenzie shrugged, patted Shawn on the back, and disappeared into her bedroom with one last bright smile over her shoulder.

 There was a moment of awkward silence. Then Shawn said, “Are you feeling okay today? Do you wanna—go somewhere and talk?”

 “Yeah,” Kellie said shyly, figuring there was no way around it now. “I guess so.”

 She slid her feet into flip-flops and they went down to the parking lot of her apartment complex. On the sidewalk, Shawn rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and said, “Uh, so I might not have totally thought this through. I caught an Uber from the airport and they didn’t stay. Do you… feel well enough to drive?”

 She did giggle then, a real one, and Shawn smiled, obviously encouraged.

 “I guess so,” she said, and she was fishing out her keys when Shawn stopped her with a hand on her arm.

 “Really?” he asked seriously. “Because I don’t want you to feel like you have to say that. And I have a little self-interest here, too, since I’ll be in the car…”

 It was so different from what others said. If Kellie was starting a migraine or getting over one, she didn’t feel as if she could drive safely because of the pain and disorientation the migraines caused. Her friends didn’t always understand that. With Shawn, though, it was like he truly understood what her disability and her life were like—or at least, he was really trying. For the first time, Kellie felt like this might actually work.

 “Yeah,” she said softly, and nodded.

 She drove them to a park ten minutes away, trying not to be embarrassed about her dirty old Toyota, most of the drive spent in silence except for a few questions from Shawn about places they were passing. When they got to the park, they sat down on a picnic bench overlooking the baseball fields where teams were beginning to warm up for a late afternoon game; Shawn sat on the opposite side of the bench from Kellie and twisted the rings on his fingers.

 “So,” he said after a moment. “I want you to talk to me. Really talk to me. Mackenzie told me—some—”

 “Probably too much,” Kellie said with a rueful smile. Her voice sounded hoarse and strange and she cleared her throat. Her stomach was feeling fluttery, but for once that had nothing to do with Celiac.

 “But I want to hear it from you,” he finished. He stopped fidgeting and set his hands flat on the table, looking straight at her. His gaze was a little frantic and a little wistful, but there was a certain steadiness to it, too. “Please.”

 Above them, the wind blew through the leaves; from down the hill came faint yelling and the clang of a baseball hitting a composite bat.

 “Okay,” Kellie said slowly. She licked her lips and looked down at the rough wooden table, then looked back up, latching onto the steadiness in his eyes. “I just—okay. It’s not that I don’t want to see you. I do want to; I want to so badly. But I feel like I can’t. Because…”

 And she went on, describing how she felt as if it was unfair to the other person to try to be in a relationship, because she was constantly canceling plans and resting in bed and too busy caring for herself to think about anybody else. She talked about how she was scared to be with somebody because she thought, even if they said they didn’t care, they would see the real her—Celiac and chronic migraines included—when they started dating, realize everything that entailed, and wouldn’t stay. She explained how her life was unpredictable and how sometimes her physical problems affected her mental health and how she was so used to being alone in her pain she just didn’t know what it would look like to have someone by her side.

 When she finished, Shawn was silent for a moment. Kellie swallowed and wished she’d brought along a bottle of water for her dry throat.

 “You know the thing you left out in all that?” Shawn said softly. Kellie shook her head.

 “I love you,” Shawn said frankly. Kellie stared at him, mute, feeling her eyebrows draw together in something like shock or maybe disbelief.

 “Or, I think I would,” he added, “if I had the chance. And I think love makes all that other stuff not matter. I think, I mean I know, you can’t help that you have health problems, and I think everyone is afraid for someone to see the real them. But I think the real you is what someone should want in a real relationship. And I think… I mean, I know… if you give me a chance, I won’t leave. I’ll stay.”

 Kellie felt tears prick at the back of her eyes and turned away slightly, bringing a hand to her face.

 “Are you upset?” Shawn asked, his voice full of concern. An entire baseball team was walking by them, metal cleats crunching on the sidewalk, but Shawn never took his eyes off of her.

 “No,” she choked out. “I’m happy. I—no one’s ever said anything like that to me before. But I’m still scared.”

 He reached out and gently pried her hand away from her face, taking it in his own.

 “Do you think I’m not scared?” he said, laughing a little, almost incredulous. “Kell, I’m scared too. I’m scared for you to discover the real me. I’m scared my anxiety will get bad again and I’ll shut everyone out. I’m scared of what it might be like to have a relationship that’s inevitably going to be very public. I’m scared because you’re really pretty and I don’t want to say something stupid and sound dumb.”

 Kellie laughed through the tears that were now dropping on her face. She brought her other hand up to wipe them away and cover her eyes, but he captured that one too, not letting her hide.

 “But I think,” he said, low, “we can’t let fear dictate our lives.”

 There was a long moment of silence while all the things they’d said hung in the air.

 “Okay,” Kellie whispered finally, and Shawn looked at her steadily.

 “Okay?” he repeated, and she nodded. He smiled. And then she asked, “Do you have a tissue?”

Taglist: @rosiemercy@ @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @evibesss @tnhmblive (let me know if you want to be added/removed)

[easy-p-lemon]

Surprise!

Summary: Y/n has a bad day and Shawn makes it better.

Warning: Umm they take a bath together? No smut, just some TLC but I thought I should mention it :)

You worked as an elementary school teacher, and normally you loved your job. Normally you loved the kids and had so much fun with them, you would laugh almost all day and always felt so proud at how much your students were learning. Normally, when people made a joke about how terrible it is to be a teacher you would laugh it off and explain that is truly a dream to work with such wonderful children.

Normally.

But today was not one of those days. Not even close. You had already had two parents call - in the middle of your class - to complain about your teaching methods. You had to send a student to the nurse because they cut themselves with safety scissors and then had to clean up an apple juice spill, even though they were only allowed to have water at their desks. Today, you had to manage all the kids by yourself because your student teacher was out on a personal day and your school didn’t provide a substitute. Today, you forgot your coffee on the kitchen counter and then remembered that you never put in the grades that were due in by 5 pm.

You had just dropped the kids off for gym class and were now back to your room. You had an hour for class and desperately needed Advil for the major migraine assaulting your brain. You checked the clock and groaned out loud when you saw the time. It was only 10 in the morning - the kids are dismissed at 3. 

You kept reminding yourself that it was Friday and that you could do this. Only 5 hours left.

Checking your phone you noticed a text from your boyfriend.

iMessage from Shawn: Just made reservations, our hot date starts at 7 ;)

Shawn was an amazing boyfriend. You two had been dating for the past 2 years and you moved in to his condo 8 months ago. Monday, he told you that he needed to “Take my girl out. It’s been to long since I’ve seduced you.”

At first, you were excited. It had been a while since you had gotten dressed up for a date, and Shawn had insisted he take care of everything so all you had to do was show up. But after the day you had had, all you wanted to do was burrow into your pajamas and cuddle your boyfriend.

After staring at his words for a little bit, you decided you should be honest with him and admit that you needed a night in.

iMessage to Shawn: I’m so sorry but my day has been horrible and I really just want you to hold me. Do you mind postponing our sexy date to tomorrow?

Immediately after sending the text you felt bad. Shawn had been hyping tonight up all week and you knew it meant a lot to him to be able to take you out and just be Shawn your boyfriend and not Shawn Mendes the pop star.

iMessage to Shawn: Actually, forget that. I’ll be ready for 7 - you better knock my socks off. I love you :)

You could do this for Shawn. And who knows? Maybe by the end of the day things would be better.

~

Things did not get better. You missed lunch because you had to cover an art class, a student threw up at his desk and the buses were late, resulting in all the kids being dismissed 45 minutes late. Not that that mattered ,considering you ended up staying until 5 anyway to put all your grades in because you didn’t get to at lunch. 

When you finally shut the door to your car you were hungry and seconds away from breaking down. That was was when you remembered that you told Shawn to keep the reservations. Realizing you couldn’t just go home and hide under your soft sheets until the end of time broke you. A sob escaped your mouth and your body shook with the force of your defeat. You pulled out your phone out to call Shawn only to see he had texted you at lunch.

iMessage from Shawn: Nope too late. Reservations have been cancelled but our date has not. I’ll get pizza for dinner, you just come home and take a shower. When my girl need cuddles she gets cuddles. I’m leaving the studio at 6, I love you more.

iMessage to Shawn:  On my way home now and can’t wait for tonight - thank you. <3

You smiled for the first time that day and put the car into drive, finally excited to go home.

~

When you finally pulled into the parking garage you were almost giddy with anticipation. You had spent the whole drive fantasizing about your taking your shoes off and wiping off you makeup. Walking to the elevator you pressed the button for your floor trying to decide if you would eat first or get clean first. Walking out to your floor you decided you’d take a shower - no - a bath first. You were so distracted by your day dreaming that when you opened the door to your apartment, you didn’t notice all the noise coming from your living room.

“Surprise!”

Your bag hit the ground with a thump as you jumped to see that your mom, dad, sister and her three daughters were sitting on the couch.

“Wow!” you put your fake smile back on and locked it in place. 

You were originally from the states, so when you moved to Canada because you wanted a change of scenery, you only expected to stay for a year. After meeting Shawn, a year turned into the foreseeable future and your family promised they would visit as much as possible. You loved them, but you after the day you had, you really wished they could have waited one more day to talk in person and not over the phone.

“What are you guys doing here?” you worked hard to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

Your sister gave you a big hug before pulling back and explaining with a smile.

“Oh well Theo” her husband “has a business trip for the next five days and the girls are out of daycare so I thought it would be the perfect time to come and visit! When I mentioned it to mom she said how she could come and we could surprise you and well - here we are! Isn’t this great?!”

Before you could say anything, your mom pulled you in for a hug. “Oh Y/n its so good to see you honey! Come sit down, we need to catch up.”

You sat down with a sigh. You were hungry and desperately wanted to at least take a shower, but you never saw your mom anymore and wanted to give her your full attention.

~

Shawn pulled out of his parking space after tossing the pizza in the passenger’s seat. He was eager to get home and give you a hug. While he had been looking forward to a date, the moment you mentioned you had a bad day, his focus shifted. He knew you wouldn’t say anything unless it was pretty bad and also knew you probably felt bad canceling.  He was sure you’d feel up to it another night and for now he just wanted to help you de-stress.

Finally getting to the apartment, he pulled into the space next to yours and took the quick trip up the elevator. As he walked up to your door he slowed down when he could voices coming from the apartment. Confused, he slowly opened the door to be met with a sight that made his jaw drop. 

Your nieces were playing with dolls in the corner of the room. Your dad was sitting with his feet propped up on the coffee table scrolling through his phone. And then his eyes met you.

You were sandwiched between your mom and sister on the couch. Your hair was messy as if you’d been running your fingers through it all day and you had dark circles under your eyes that weren’t there this morning.  Your shoes were abandoned by the couch and your feet looked red and swollen. You had your best fake smile on, but Shawn could see right through it. His heart broke wishing he could just make everyone disappear, knowing that when you had a rough day you liked to have some quiet time. He knew you loved your family but he also knew when you needed time to collect yourself and regroup. He closed the door behind him, prompting everyone to look at him, but he kept his eyes on you.

“Hey babe, I’m home,” he was hesitant to ask how your day was and make things worse so instead he decided to acknowledge everyone else. He turned his head towards your family and greeted them with a surprised expression and open arms. “Hey guys! What a nice surprise!”

“Uncle Shawn! Uncle Shawn! Hi!” your nieces yelled, running up to him.

He bent down to their level to say hello and when he straightened again, you were standing in front of him.

You had never been so happy to see him. Finally, after everything that happened today, you felt like you were able to relax. 

Without a word he took your hand and brought you to the kitchen. Once it was just the two of you, he put the pizza down and engulfed you in a hug. You melted into his touch and held him as tight as you could. He rubbed big soothing circles on your back and started to slowly sway you side to side.

“Hi” you mumbled from where you are tucked under his chest.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Hi.”

“We should go back to everyone.”

“Mmhmm” he agreed but his hold on you only gets tighter.

You sighed into his soft sweatshirt. “I needed this. I needed you.”

“I’m right here. Always.”

After a few more stolen moments in your kitchen you convinced yourself to pull out of his grasp. He let you go only to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

After pulling away for breath he leaned his forehead against yours.

“Did you know they were coming?”

“Nope.”

“Are they staying here?”

You rubbed your thumb over his cheek in a small caress. “Don’t think so.”

He pecked your lips one more time before leaning back against the counter.

“Eat a piece of pizza, I’ll go talk to them,”

You just nodded and opened the box. You groaned noticing how hungry you were and how good it smelled. “I love you so much.”

He just chuckled as he headed back toward the living room, “I love you too babe.”

~

After talking with your parents, you found out that they had already booked a hotel about 5 miles from your apartment. It was around 7 o’clock now and your family had decided to drop their bags off at the hotel and then go to dinner. They invited you and Shawn to join them but before you could say anything Shawn answered for you both.

“I actually had a crazy day today and could use some sleep. What if you call us tomorrow and we can give you a grand tour of Toronto?”

Everyone agreed with his idea and after promises of calling tomorrow they left the apartment. As soon as everyone was gone, you collapsed onto the couch -drained of any energy you had had after leaving the school.

Shawn knelt down next to you and gently smoothed your hair out of your face.

“Love?” he asked in a quiet voice. You only found the energy to mumble in response. “How about I go run you a bath? Then we can have cuddles and a movie.”

Picking your head up you looked over at him with an eyebrow raised. In a hopeful voice you asked “Harry Potter?”

Shawn gave you a small smile and chuckle. “Whatever you want babe.” 

“Ok.”

You reached out with both your hands and let Shawn pull you up, and before he could move, you locked your arms around him and took a deep inhale, finding comfort in his cologne and masculine scent. Shawn didn’t say anything, his only response was to hold you back just as tight and gently rock side to side.

Eventually he stopped his rocking and pulled as far as you let him - which was just enough so that he can see your eyes.

“Y/n?” you met his gaze, “Let’s go take a bath ok? I think it will help you feel better.”

You gave him a small smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Now come on.” After planting a quick peck to your lips Shawn led you to the bathroom. He had you sit on the closed toilet seat while he got the water temperature just right, turned the lights down low, dug through the closet to find the two fluffiest towels you had and added way too much bubble bath soap. Once he was satisfied with his work, he turned to you and gave a sweeping gesture towards the tub.

“My lady, your bath awaits.”

You offered a soft smile and stood up with your hands raised. Getting the hint, Shawn helped you peel your shirt off. He then dropped to his knees and planted a kiss just above your bellybutton, whispering a soft beautiful against the skin there. He dragged your pants and underwear down your legs in one smooth motion, while pressing more kisses to your legs. You stepped out of your pants while he stood back up to help you unhook your bra. Finally naked, he helped you into the tub and placed a soft kiss to your forehead. He turned to leave before you reached out to grab his wrist. 

“Wait!” you said, slightly confused. “Where are you going?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you’d want some alone time. I know -”

You cut him off. “Nope. I appreciate the sentiment, but right now I just want to take a calming bath with my wonderful boyfriend so I can put this completely trash day behind me.”

With a smile a said “I can do that,” and proceeded to take off all his clothes too. After some moving around, Shawn was finally situated behind you. You melted into his chest, finally -finally- able to leave your day behind you.

As he started washing your hair, Shawn asked if you wanted to talk about today.

You let out a loud sigh. “Honestly? No. I mean, my day was bad but it wasn’t one major thing, you know? The kids were crazy and my schedule was all messed up and I had to stay too late which sucked. And it was so nice to see my family, don’t get me wrong, but it totally caught me off guard, you know? And a part of me still feels bad for canceling our date because I know you were looking forward to that. But just being here with you, in this bath that has way too many bubbles, makes everything so much better.” You leaned your head back so that it fit into the crook of his neck. “Thank you.”

Once Shawn was sure that you had ended your small rant, he placed a kiss to your forehead and started to play with your hands. “Y/n, don’t feel bad about dinner. This, taking care of you, is more important than any other plans we had. If I was having a bad day, you would easily cancel a reservation, right? This is what we do babe - we take care of each other. I’m so sorry you had a bad day, but it’s the weekend now, so give yourself a break. And your family is lovely, but I agree it would have been nice if they had given a warning. But we will enjoy the rest of tonight and tomorrow we will have a great day with them. Ok?”

With just a few words Shawn was able to make up for everything that had happened. You immediately felt better.

You turned to pressed a kiss to his lips, “I love you so much Shawn.”

“I love you more Y/n. Now let’s get out, the water is getting cold.”

You both got out and dried off in comfortable silence. You shared smiles while you changed into pajamas and brushed your teeth, both happy to not be doing anything. You crawled under the covers and Shawn got Harry Potter on his computer. As the movie started you cuddled into his side, stealing his warmth.

“How was your day? I’ve gone on and on about me and I didn’t even get to ask what you did.”

His hands hugged you closer while he answered. “Oh it was fine. The studio was good, we think we’re almost done with this one song.”

You felt your eyes droop as you tried to listen. “Really? Have I heard it?”

“Ummm no I don’t think so.”

You let a hum and leaned even farther into Shawn. “Yea,” you whisper, words thick with sleep, “What’s it called?”

Shawn noticed your losing battle against sleep and ignored your question as he set his laptop on the night table and turned off the lamp. Pulling the covers up he cuddled into you, your back to his front, and pulled you impossibly close. 

“Go to sleep baby, we’ll talk in the morning.”

You let out a loud yawn. “Mmm ok. Love you, g’night.”

He pressed a tender kiss to the back your head. “I love you so much Y/n, sweet dreams.

A/N : Oof it’s been a while since I’ve posted! I hope to get back into it, but I’ve been swamped with school work lately! Please let me know what you think - even if I don’t respond to your ask I promise I see it! Thank you xoxo

[arcadeguk]

a little more love

prompt: “be you. no one else can.”

pairing: jeongguk x reader

genre: mind-numbing, cavity inducing fluff, jeongguk being a sweetheart what else is new

a/n: the literal first thing i’ve ever written and posted. be gentle with my inexperienced terRIFIED heart thank you uwu

11:34pm. exhausted doesn’t begin to cover the feeling jeongguk has right now. he’s beyond exhausted, he’s convinced no being on any planet ever has experienced this kind of tiredness. a recording session at the break of dawn followed by 8 hours of dance practice whipped his ass incredibly well, so incredibly well that by hour 7, he just laid down on the studio floor, hoping that if he closed his eyes and stayed still hoseok would just assume he was dead roadkill, and leave him alone. however, much to jeongguk’s delight, hoseok’s chirpy “5,6,7,8!” echoes through the room, bouncing off the thick white walls, and reverberating in jeongguk’s eardrums. he feels a level 6 migraine on the horizon, and he debates for just a moment that if he rips out his own esophagus out maybe he can go home early.

go home to you. 

“home” the word sounds good in jeongguk’s head, and tastes even better on his tongue, especially when he thinks of nothing else. “home, you, home, you, home…” plays on a loop in jeongguk’s head, until it’s the only thing he’s certain of. he’s most definitely not certain of these steps, of the beat pounding under his feet, or the insane body-roll-two-step-mix that jimin just did, who’s desperately trying to add flavor to the choreography.

the manager on duty calls out “alright, that’s all for tonight!”, and jeongguk nearly ducks, convinced that this moment could only come if the heavens had opened up and rained down on him. to his credit, jeongguk manages to get his bag, jacket, and somehow convinces hoseok for a ride to your place. however, he doesn’t remember a second of it. one minute, he’s under blinding fluorescent lights, and the next he’s walking into the warmth of your apartment.

jeongguk closes the door behind him, much gentler than his usual grandeur entrance. in his fuzzy and faraway mind, jeongguk is dimly aware of the fact that it’s late and that your apartment is bathed in darkness. it smells like the rose candles you always burn, and the tinge of takeout food long devoured. jeongguk slips off his shoes in the hall, drops his keys in the bowl, and discards his jacket and bag, somewhere where someone will most likely trip on it. he makes his way to the living room, checking to see if you had retired to your normal nap location, lumbering around and letting out a soft “shit” when his knee bumps the coffee table. the softness of the carpet under his sore and overworked socked feet threaten to turn his spine to liquid, and he makes the cardinal sin of rolling his shoulders, letting his head dip into his chest for just a beat too long, and he wishes he could just sleep. but the familiar voice in the back of his mind reminds him of you, and suddenly, he’s a man with renewed strength. jeongguk tiptoes to the bedroom, hand planted on the doorknob as he mentally plans how he’s going to dive into the bed. but as he opens the door, he frowns when he sees all the lights on, hears the dull, tinny sound of music being blared through headphones, and the source of that strong takeout smell he sniffed out earlier.

there you are, sitting cross-legged in the middle of your shared bed. white duvet covers have long disappeared under the avalanche of papers and packets that have since covered it. your laptop is in front of you, blue light illuminating your face in all the best ways. jeongguk slowly smiles, and walks over to you, quicker than he’s moved all day.

jeongguk sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, slightly shifting your chaos of papers. you seem to pay no attention, barely aware of his presence. lips parted ever so slightly, eyes red and brows furrowed together, tongue forming a sailor-worthy curse to throw at microsoft word. jeongguk leans over, and gently plucks the earbud from you, and replaces the emptiness with a puckered pout, planting a wet loud kiss right on your ear, smiling like a fool when you pull the other earbud out, and he can feel the muscles of your face stretch into a smile as he continues to peck the spot.

“i’m home” jeongguk says simply, pulling back only slightly to meet your face. “so i noticed” you mention, landing a quick peck on his lips, one that makes him blush ever so slightly. “how was practice?” you inquire, as jeongguk throws himself down into your lap with reckless abandon, curling up in the comfy space your legs has carved, just for him. “boring, long, hard”, he mumbles, lifting a hand from your keyboard to plant it upon his mop of long black hair. you sigh, but it’s all a rouse, as you delicately card your fingertips through jeongguk’s silky strands. he hums, stays quiet for a minute, and then questions, “whatcha workin on?”

an annoyed huff and roll of your eyes is the only answer jeongguk needs, but you continue anyway. “stupid dumbass paper by that stupid dumbass professor for that stupid dumbass class that i won’t pass and gave up caring about after i basically failed the midterm.”

if jeongguk wasn’t half asleep (lulled by your stroking), he would have heard the lump in your throat as you struggled to choke out the last few words. instead, you pray jeongguk didn’t hear, cover up the halfway-sob with a simple throat clearing, and continue to stare at the near blank document in front of you. what does pull aforementioned sleeping bun from his trip to dreamland is the ragged sniff he hears from above him. he opens his eyes, to see your head resting in your opposite hand, eyes teary and leaking, staring into the computer screen with something crossed between murderous lust and desperateness. jeongguk’s nerve endings tingle, and suddenly, full boyfriend mode is activated.

“hey, hey, hey” he whispers, pulling himself out of your lap, curling himself around you the best he can. you struggle against him for just a minute, wishing he could just go, so you could have this moment of childlike frustration all to yourself. but jeongguk doesn’t let that happen, his grip tightening around your waist, and you relent, allowing him to lift you up and onto his chest, leaning back against the wall of pillows at the top of the bed.

“oh sweetness, please no,” he murmurs into your temple, one hand calmly stroking the expanse of your back, while the other cups the base of your head, gently massaging the thin tendons in your neck. jeongguk tries to pretend his heart doesn’t crack a little bit when he feels his shirt dampen, and that his sanity doesn’t nearly fall apart when he hears you choke out a sob you were trying so hard to hold in. “just let it out darling, let it all out” is whispered in your ear, and you relent. gentle words are whispered still, something along the lines of “i love you, it’s okay” and “i’m right here, baby”.

soon, your sobs turn to sniffles, and jeongguk lets out the breath he’d been holding. the atmosphere turns into a soft silence, and it’s only you, jeongguk, and the stars, breathing in a solid, unified rhythm.

“how long have you been working on it?” jeongguk ventures to ask, “since 11 this morning” you sigh, voice stuffy and low. jeongguk gives a simple “hmm”, and the little world you’ve created falls silent again. “i can’t afford to fail this class” you whisper into the dark, so quiet that jeongguk barely hears it.

“baby, i’m not gonna love you any less if you don’t get an a++ on,” he squints to read the title heading on your paper, “professor idiot weiner dipshit’s intro to smaller weiner douchebag shakespeare”

the sound of silence is soon broken by guffawing laughter, the kind that makes tears roll out freely. the ones that make you double over, and you have to forcibly remind yourself to breathe, because in all the humor your brain just forgot how to on its own.

you lean back on jeongguk’s lap, wiping away tears of laughter and happiness, and watching jeongguk do the same. “you might want to change that before you hand it in”, jeongguk grins as he wipes tears, and you can only giggle in response. “thanks for, ya know, helping me through my bi-weekly emotional breakdown”, you grin, and one of his classic “gukkie smiles” lights up his face. “anytime, babygirl” he offers with a smirk, and raises a hand to gently catch your cheek in his hold, bringing your face close enough to let him leave a warm, wet kiss there. long, fluid, comfortable, home.

he pulls away, and his brown doe eyes melt into pure chocolate and honey when they gaze into yours. “whether you pass or fail, it doesn’t matter. you can always take it again, if you can handle the mental turmoil.”

“i’d rather invite a fucking anaconda into our bedroom and cover myself in live mice and hope that it chokes the life out of me”

“what i am TRYING to say”, jeongguk says, clearing his throat to be heard over you, giggling at your own joke, “is that you, this paper, school, it’s all gonna be okay, baby. i promise. you’re a rockstar when it comes to school, you work your ass off for everything, you somehow keep me alive (which is a feat in of itself), and you can actually function as an independent adult.” he grins when he sees an actual, genuine smile light up your face, and he takes the fleeting opportunity to run his thumb over your bottom lip. “be you, baby. no one else can.”

your heart soars at his words, and you crash your lips against his. “thank you” you murmur softly against him, and he simply grins.

jeongguk’s bed now no longer looks like something that came out of the business end of a copier, but rather the comfortable white cloud that he can’t wait to crash onto. laptops are put away, showers are taken, and there’s only one thing to do: sleep. jeongguk has been more than patient with you tonight, and you recognize it. as if you didn’t realize the way he moved earlier, like he was dragging a baby grand piano behind him. which is why you decide to repay him for his virtuous patience, with an excellent post-shower massage, kissing all his bruises, and letting your lips graze over sore muscles.

jeongguk pulls you down into the soft sheets, reveling in the way your skin feels so insanely divine on his bare palm. the warmth radiating off of you, the smell of vanilla shampoo tickling his nose, the relaxed, even cadence of your chest against his. this, finally, is what he’s waited for. what’s he yearned for all day.

you, warmth, happiness, home.

[skywalkerbc]

The Beauty in the Damnation

Written by: bellarkebc

AO3 Link

Summary:

(Based on an anon prompt)

Bellarke soulmate AU where when you get a tattoo, it appears on your soulmate as well.

or

Of course Clarke's soulmate would be such a fucking nerd

~ ~

“Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.” - Homer, The Iliad                                            

~ ~ ~ ~

It’s fitting, she thinks, that her soulmate is such a fucking nerd. ‘Who better than a nerd for Clarke Griffin, our crazy smart pre-med student?’ her friend Jasper would say. To which he’d only ever gotten an eye roll in response. But yeah, she agrees. It definitely is fitting that she got a nerd instead some stupid asshole who thought she fit the dumb blonde description.

Clarke got her soulmark on a Thursday, in the middle of games night at Raven’s place. One minute she had been beating all their asses at Mario Kart, the next, black writing had appeared on her arm, making her jerk her controller to the right so fast that she plummeted straight off of rainbow road.

“Holy shit.” She says, staring at the words, still clutching the controller tightly in her hands.

“Yeah I know Clarke, what a blow! First place to twelfth…Haha suck it Monty!” Raven says from beside her, furiously turning to avoid falling into the abyss after shooting Monty with a red shell.

“No..I mean, well yeah that sucked but…holy shit.”

Monty pauses the game, causing the others to all groan and shout out a few choruses of complaints.

He turns from his place at Clarke’s feet to look at her. He opens his mouth to speak but before he says a thing, his eyes catch onto the, very new, soul mark on her wrist.

“Holy shit.” He says.

“That’s what I said.”

“Ahhhhhhh! Clarkey has a soulmate!” Jasper exclaims, jumping up from his position on the other couch to grab at Clarke’s wrist.

“What does it say? What does it say?” Raven asks him excitedly, leaning over Clarke’s shoulder.

Clarke tries to shrug them both off but Jasper’s grip is insane, and Raven is stubborn. She relents, letting him turn her arm to read the words.

“Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed…” Jasper reads.

“Huh.” Monty says, still staring at the cursive writing.

“That’s strangely poetic.” Jasper says, finally letting go of Clarke’s wrist.

“It’s from the Iliad.” Clarke says to the others, still a little in shock that she had an actual soulmate. It wasn’t like it was rare to have a soulmate nowadays, but it wasn’t exactly common either. Clarke’s fingers trace over the words running up her forearm.

Raven snorts suddenly.

“Of course your soulmate would be a fucking nerd.” She says, patting Clarke on the shoulder. She sinks back into the couch and grabs at her controller, nudging at Monty with her foot.

“Unpause it Monty, I was whipping all of your asses!”

Monty gives one last look to Clarke before grinning at Raven and unpausing the game.

“Oh you’re on Reyes.”

Clarke smiles softly at her friends, watching as Jasper quickly darts back over to the other couch to grab his controller.

“I call cheat!” He yells, furiously pushing the button to accelerate.

She leaves her controller in her lap and silently stares at the words, reading over and over them again.

‘Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed.’ She reads.

Looking back on her life, she can’t help but agree.

~ ~ ~ ~

Not that Clarke had ever thought she had to be one of those people with a soulmate, but she had definitely fantasised possible meet-cutes she’d have if she was lucky enough to have one.

And can she just say, meeting her soulmate by hitting them with her car, certainly wasn’t any of the scenarios she had imagined.

Her day had been pretty ordinary in terms of how days go. Her barista didn’t spill hot coffee on her blouse, her car hadn’t broken down and she wasn’t late to work so her day wasn’t all that bad….but then again, the hot barista hadn’t given Clarke her number either and she could feel the start of a migraine coming on. So yeah. Not good, not bad. Kinda just cruising in the middle in terms of how days go.

Until she hit a guy with her car of course.

It was an insane hour on a Saturday morning, and Clarke was driving into the art studio she worked for. (Student loans didn’t pay themselves, so for about the next 209 years, she was going to be stuck trying to earn money on her weekends. Just so she could eat something with more nutrition than instant ramen and keep the lights on in her apartment.) When she came up to a red light, she slowed to a stop and took the opportunity to take a long scalding sip of the coffee the hot barista had given her this morning. Hoping the caffeine would wake her up after her late night finishing up assignments for school, she takes another long sip.

A car honking behind her makes her roll her eyes and and put her coffee back down (extra slow) into the middle console.

“I can see the green light you nitwit.” She mutters under her breath, purposefully taking a long time to accelerate. (Sue her. She hates impatient people and loves being passive aggressive).

Just as she is about to put her foot down further on the pedal, a random man steps out from in between two cars and walks directly in front of her car. Shrieking, Clarke slams her foot on the break. Her hands come up to cover her mouth when the impact of the car sends the man over her windscreen.

“Holy shit.” She says, wrestling with her seatbelt to get out of the car.

She can already see a crowd of people stopping on the sidewalk and staring.

Don’t just stand there gawking and taking pictures! She wishes she could yell at them all.

Seeing the man lying on the ground with his eyes closed, Clarke quickly rushes around the side of the car.

She kneels beside him, “Oh my god! I’m so sorry! You just suddenly stepped in front of my car and I had no time to stop! Please don’t be dead!”

The man’s long groan makes her stop babbling. His eyes blink open and he looks directly at her. Clarke takes in the sight of his curly hair, and the dark coat he’s wearing. He doesn’t look like the type of person to step in front of a car… but then again what type of person does?

“Ow.” He says, blinking a few times to try to clear the fogginess in his head. Clarke shakes herself out of her thoughts and leans forwards over his body. She pulls one of his eyes open further, checking his pupils for any signs that he has a concussion.

“Uhhhh….” The man looks at her in confusion.

“Don’t worry, I’m pre-med.” She says, letting go of his eyelids, satisfied that he isn’t showing any of the early signs of a concussion.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? You just hit me with your car.”

Clarke bristles.

“You’re the one that stepped so suddenly into oncoming traffic.”

“…Touchè.”

Clarke looks up from him as he closes his eyes and over to the small crowd that has formed. She scans through them, checking to see if any of them thought to call an ambulance. She lets out a sigh of relief when she sees that one woman has.

“Sir?” She asks, turning back towards the man. He still has his eyes closed.

“Bellamy.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s Bellamy Blake. I figured you probably wanted to know the name of the idiot you hit with your car.”

Clarke laughs, putting her hand on his shoulder. He opens his eyes at the contact, looking over at her.

“Well, Bellamy Blake, I’m Clarke Griffin. The asshole that hit you with a car.”

Bellamy smiles at her a little loopily. He lifts his arm to shake her hand.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

When he puts his arm back down, Clarke leans forwards to grab at his wrist.

“Is it okay if I check your pulse Bellamy? I need to know if your heart is beating okay.”

“Go ahead.” He says, looking up at the sky.

Clarke lifts his arm towards her and pulls back the sleeve of his coat. She puts her fingers on his pulse and begins to count to herself. After a moment, she stops counting.

“Okay…I think your pulse is fine. A little fast, but then again you did just get hit by a car so that’s probably just due to the….” she trails off, her eyes catching site of the familiar cursive writing of her tattoo,

“…shock.” She finishes, eyes glued to the edges of his tattoo.

Without warning him, Clarke pulls his arm closer to her and pushes the sleeve of his jacket up to his elbow.

“What are you-” Bellamy starts, lifting his head up to get a better view.

She drops his arm and grabs at the sleeve of her sweater, pulling it up to her elbow also.

She holds out her arm to him, showing him the matching tattoo she has inked there.

“…Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed.” He reads quietly.

His eyes flit back up to her face, seeming to take her in all at once. He opens his mouth to speak but Clarke beats him to it.

“The Iliad? Really? You’re such a nerd.”

He smiles at her smugly.

“Yeah but you recognised the quote.”

“What if I had googled it?”

“Something tells me that you didn’t have to google.”

“That something would be the concussion.” She deadpans.

Bellamy’s smile turns into a full blown grin and he starts to laugh. Clarke smiles as well, loving the warmth that his gaze is spreading through her chest.

So maybe she was wrong. This day turned out to be a pretty good one as days go. (Especially since the strange man she hit with her car turned out to be a pretty extraordinary).

-Fin-

[cyjprojectarchive]

not enough | jinyoung

Sometimes love isn’t enough.

x. park jinyoung, you o. 2333 words. angst. 

this was supposed to be a one shot, but my mind suddenly changed its.. mind. thoughts and feedback are greatly appreciated. i... put a lot of personal emotions into this, in a way. ha.

one

“Hey,” he drawls, voice tired and dull—like yourself.

And yet, you put up a front as your lips painfully curl into a hopeful smile. He can’t see you, of course, but pretending to be excited for a call that should have happened five hours ago was more for your sake than his at this point.

You close in on the mic of your phone, you heave a deep breath before placing the device back against your ear. “You called,” you reply. Damn it. You said you weren’t going to be bitter about this. Lips twitching in regret, you clear your throat and huff, “I hope I’m not interrupting something?”

“No we just—“ Jinyoung answers back in a rush, and you can imagine him running his hand through sweaty black locks. “What do you mean interrupting? Didn’t you want to call today?” His tone changes, irritation rising in his throat.

You sigh, contemplating whether to argue or just leave it be.

Although it’s not like either of your choices would make any difference.

“Five hours ago,” you decide to correct him even though  the majority of your senses are telling you to just stop and let him win this time; stop and instead, hear him rant about the exhaustion from working all day; stop and find yourself fading away from Jinyoung—which is probably for the better nowadays.

And yet, you continue pointing out his accusation as false. “I asked you yesterday if you would be available at a reasonable hour that is not two AM and you promi—,” you bite down on your lip. The word has been a taboo in your vocabulary, and his. “—you reassured me you were, so I waited. You’re lucky I kept myself up by watching some random movie playing on TV.

“So you’re saying it’s my fault I had to finish a lot of work today?” Jinyoung finally snaps—you were honestly just waiting for his voice to reach a certain pitch—“If you knew I wasn’t going to call you when I said I did, you could have just slept.”

“So why did you call me at this goddamned hour, Jinyoung?” You shoot back, realizing that there is no way in hell you were going to let yourself feel small around him. Not anymore.

There is a pause, and this time Jinyoung doesn’t hide an exasperated sigh. You frown, eyes closing in as an attempt to calm the hotness of your cheeks, and the bubbling frustration in your stomach.

“Because you didn’t text me that you were going to sleep,” he simply says, understanding void in his tone. You hear nothing but blame towards you, for keeping him worried—and probably guilty—that he, himself, didn’t bother sending you a quick text informing he couldn’t make the call today.

But it’s not like he’s ever done it in a while.

You don’t warn him when you press the blaringly red end button; don’t warn him that you’re tired yourself and he isn’t the only one working full-time jobs in the relationship; don’t warn him that just because his career demanded more in terms of giving all of him to the industry, it doesn’t mean he can’t ever share even just a tiny piece of himself to you—that he can’t ever reserve one miniscule part of him to the person he promi—reassured would always have it.

You’ve done a lot of things in the two decades you have lived in which you initially told yourself not to.

Stealing not one, but four chocolate chip cookies during bed time just to suffer the stomachache in the morning, deliberately coming home three hours later without telling your mom just to be grounded for three weeks straight, drinking not one, but three 8 oz cups of black coffee before finals just to endure the throbbing pains of a heavy migraine the whole duration of your exams—you were logical enough not to pursue any of these acts of disobedience in the first place.

But life isn’t going to be the same without rebelling against the status quo in some way—better yet, that’s how you have shaped yourself to come to rational, beneficial decisions. That’s not to say you still don’t defy the logic of your mind through the persuasion of your heart.

And that is what loving Jinyoung is like—at least, right now.

You wake up with dry cheeks and stinging eyes. There is no natural light that hits your face, fortunately so—you have long since reminded yourself to never draw out the dark blue curtains from your windows during the night. From recent experiences, the growing headache you feel in the morning after a night of either: a) no sleep or b) “sleep sobbing” (as you had named them) only increased in intensity when the morning sun welcomes your face with a glare, almost mockingly.

Nowadays, you let the darkness of your apartment consume you—as if someone was willing to get you out of it, which isn’t the case.

It was another day of work, and you will yourself to keep up the standard routine you have devised ever since you had started feeling distant with not just your boyfriend, but your own being. You didn’t want to lose your source of income—anything but that at this point in time—so as sluggish as you are moving, at least you were getting things done.

The short phone call last night only came back in your conscience when you successfully find your phone hidden underneath the couch of your living room. You don’t exactly remember how it got there, but recollections of anger and longing return to your mind, and you conclude that the person you had called didn’t exactly resolve these emotions of yours thus the act of  shoving your phone somewhere you couldn’t see it for the rest of the night ensued.

Your lock screen was a default wallpaper that came with the device, but as your thumb rests on the home pad you are greeted with a picture of yourself and a man you doubt you still know of by now.

You can never get yourself to change it, however, as you believe seeing Jinyoung with his head lazily snuggled up against the crook of your neck, dark brown orbs absent with his eyelids on full view and yet the whiskers around them available for you to see and marvel over, full pink lips showing teeth without any of his hands hiding the beauty that is his smile—you still have him.

Seeing Jinyoung so vulnerable with you in the picture that was taken almost eight months ago makes you have that sliver of hope that he still cares about you the same way he did before.

And this is what keeps you going every day.

Finally ready to spend the rest of your Wednesday at the office, you make your way to the door and open it fully only to see the man in question standing right before you.

“Jinyoung?” Is your first reaction, eyes widening while your hand trembles in the air, not knowing whether to reach out to the skin protruding from the collar of his shirt to feel—oh god just feel if he’s real, or retract them to your figure and demand yourself to wake up from such a cruel nightmare.

“I’m sorry,” is his first response, eyes confirming the lack of enthusiasm on his voice last night before things got messy. “I deserve to being hung up on and I apologize—for everything,” Jinyoung adds, his tone now more determined and sincere.

Your expression softens, but the crack in your heart can’t be replaced that easily.

“Jinyoung, what are you doing here?” You ask him abruptly, head spinning from the recent turn of events. “I thought you had a showcase to practice for?”

“I—“ Jinyoung starts, and you wait for it. You haven’t seen him face to face in a long time, so witnessing the apologetic features adorning his visage, which quickly turned into furrowed eyebrows, a narrowed stare, flaring nostrils and parted lips made you nervous—it made you fearful of him.

“Aren’t you grateful I came all the way here knowing I can get in real fucking trouble with my manager?”

There it is: the blaming, the guilt tripping after you make him feel guilty. It was always the same sequence of emotions—on call or, as you can tell right now, in person.

“I don’t need this, Jinyoung. Go back to the studio if you’re that worried,” you say, refusing to meet his eyes flashing daggers towards you.

You didn’t want him to see you break down after everything, everything you have fought over for the past couple of months in text messages and voice calls. The last thing you want is for him to see you so weak—even if you are, even if you truly just want to make peace, you know Jinyoung wouldn’t. His pride is written all over his face, and it takes a good scrubbing for it to come off.

But you’re just so, so tired.

“Excuse me?” He shouts, stopping your exit with his arm outstretched at the door frame. You take a step back, wincing at the loudness of his tone. You have heard it countless of times from the speaker of your phone, but absorbing every anger it held right in person was a different terrifying sensation all over.

“You shouldn’t have made all the fucking effort of coming here just to blame me for the fact that you had to, Park Jinyoung,” you spat, forcing yourself to reciprocate his stare as you hold back the tears dangerously forming around your eyes.

You didn’t want to do this right now, so early and just… so raw. You haven’t seen him in months, you haven’t had a decent conversation in weeks, and you’re going to be late for the interview your boss had set up in regards to your promotion in the business. Jinyoung didn’t have any consideration towards you, and you doubt he’d try to understand right now.

“Can’t you just—can’t you just accept my apology so we can get this over with, then?” Jinyoung sighs heavily, using his other hand to rake through unkempt hair—he probably snuck out of the salon to make a quick visit as you see the perfect coverage of his face, no blemishes no scars—except for his eyes, his orbs that dug right through you. His stylists can never do anything to make them shimmer anymore, you think—and suddenly, you frown.

Jinyoung’s changed.

“You want me to forgive you so that you won’t be feeling all that guilt eating up your insides and you can finally breathe normally, Jinyoung? I don’t think so,” you seethe, letting one tear cascade down your cheek. His eyes notice and discreetly follow its trail to your chin, and you see him gulp with the tension building up between you. His face wasn’t that close, but any more movement from him inching forward, you would lose it right there and then.

“I’m not giving you that power over me, Jinyoung. Not last night, not today, so please. Get out of my way,” finally, your voice quiets down, protecting your façade from slowly breaking you apart. “You’re not the only one working hard to be successful. I have an interview for a higher position today, so if you’ll excuse—”

“What? You’re getting promoted? Why didn’t you tell me?” Jinyoung asks, curiosity overpowering the annoyed tone in his voice. His eyebrows relax for a moment, and you contemplate whether or not to admit your fault in not relaying such relevant information to him—at least, it’s relevant to you.

But you remember you’re just as angry and just as frustrated.

“I was supposed to tell you during our call last night,” you, instead, confess. “But shit happens, right?” Jinyoung’s thick black eyebrows return in a knot, and his eyes darken like the isolation you feel in the night, but this time—you’re just over it.

“Hurry back to your damn studio, Jinyoung. They need you back,” you mumble in your wake, shoving past his tense shoulders and outside the apartment complex, not even locking the door behind you. You remind yourself to call up your best friend to do so in a few minutes as she has a spare key, but right now, that’s the least of your concerns.

They need you, yeah right, like you weren’t projecting.

Shutting the car door with a slam, your head drops on top of the steering wheel, forcing a yelp from your mouth to escape. The tears you held back threaten to let go even more, but you sniffle them away. Your throat hurts from keeping it in, and so does your head, but you push yourself to continue on with your day as needed.

Jinyoung had probably left your apartment by now—what else was he going to do there? Wait for you to come back? You scoff, as if. But as you drive to the usual road you take to work, you are suddenly reminded that traffic is really heavy at this time of the day, so you turn to a corner.

The light turns green, and your car whizzes through the pavement as your feet aches to take you to the office as fast as you can. You side eye the rearview mirror as your heart sinks to your stomach almost immediately, a prominent banner plastered on a particular building for everyone to see. Quickly turning your head forward, you feel yourself hyperventilating. You just saw him this morning, told him to vanish, and here he is haunting you from behind.

“Fuck,” you say under your breath, hot and heavy, and hoping—hoping you’d be able to go through the interview with a higher salary promised—reassured in hand, and not a certain Park Jinyoung invading your mind.

[addicted-with-some-pens-blog]

Hello! I'm new and I've never asked anything so I'm Sorry if I'm doing this wrong (you can totally delete that, don't worry :) Could you write about the blue haired boy and "How come I always end up calling you when I can't fall asleep?" Thank you, I love your blog!

Thank youuuu! I’m so happy that you do :) 

A sudden loud and very annoying noise echoes throughout your room jolting you out of your peaceful sleep. You just finished a 14 hour shift and finally got to sleep for two hours. Your eyes are red and they sting slightly. They’re heavy and they don’t want to comply with your will to keep them open. Your phone rings repeatedly, as you struggle to snap out of your sleepy state enough to reach over to your nightstand and see who’s calling. When you finally do, you see that it’s Stuart facetiming you,  and you muster a lazy smile, always happy and willing to talk to him no matter what time of night.

When you pick up the phone, you see him through your screen. He’s leaning against his headboard not wearing a shirt,  he has dark circles under both large black eyes, making them look even bigger than they are. He looks exhausted though. His blue hair is a mess and he’s paler than usual.  Nevertheless, Stuart gives you a genuine smile, happy that you picked up the phone.

You greet him with a groggy “Hello?”

“Ah shit, I caught ya sleepin again, yeah?” He begins to say before offering to hang up and let you sleep.

“Yeah, no it’s totally fine, Stu. What’s up? How was your day?” You ask, genuinely interested. You loved talking to your best friend, your partner in crime.. You’ve missed him lately, not being able to see him because of your job and his schedule with him either touring or being locked up in the studio by Murdoc, practicing with the band.

So you two begin exchanging stories about your day. His day didn’t go very well. He’s been attacked by horrible migraines throughout the day while he was expected to practice with the band. He tried to push through it but he blacked out because of the pain while the band played Kids With Guns. You complained to him about your rude customers, venting about how terrible it is working in a restaurant, even if you are the manager of the establishment. You two cracked jokes to make fun of your customers and Murdoc to lift your spirits up. You for the most part enjoy insulting the pickle-man for giving the person you love so much trouble while he was in pain, and he loved insulting the rude customers that gave you a hard time.

After coming down from both of your giggle fits, you sigh,  “I missed you, D.”  

“I miss you too, love. More than you could imagine. It’s been so...hectic around here, wiv the new album comin out and all. I just hope my head gets better before we start touring... “

“How are the new pills working out for you?”

“Not very well considering I had ta call you…Couldn’t fall asleep.” he chuckles,

“So this time you called me because your pills weren’t working? Last week it was because you were freaking out over the fact that eels didn’t have arms...” You laughed. ( SO I SAW A MEME AND THIS IS BASED OFF THE MEME AND I CANT FIND IT ANYMORE) 

"I… dunno actually… There’s just something about you, love… . How come I always end up calling you when I can't fall asleep?" He smiles.

You don’t know why, but this sent a sharp pang of electricity through your stomach. It was a good pang, a nice feeling. You try to cover up the fact that you’re blushing but he notices and giggles.

“You know I love you right?” He proclaims shyly while also turning slightly red. 

This is the first time he’s ever actually said it, both of you being in different beds, him wearing nothing but pajama pants and you with tangled hair and eye crusties. Regardless of the situation, it was the most romantic thing that’s ever really happened to you. Someone who doesn’t get to see you every day, someone who genuinely enjoys talking to you, someone who you’ve considered your best friend and your lover for a while, proclaimed their love for you at 2 AM through facetime. And you couldn’t be happier.

“I love you too, Stu.”

[stuckinthekookiejar]

Sick Day

Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Taehyung was stressed with work and you did everything you could to help even if it meant putting your own health on the backburner. 

Word Count: 2480

Warning: like one use of the f word

The cup of tea you had set down on the desk for him had gotten cold. It was untouched, not a drop had left the cup. He didn’t even lift a finger or tilt his head in acknowledgment when you entered the room. He was too engrossed in memorizing lines for a drama he was recently cast in. 

“Taehyung-ah. You have to eat something.” You came up behind him and place a hand on his shoulder. It seemed like the only part of his body moving right now were his eyes which danced left and right reading the lines in the script. This drama was pretty important to him. He’d moved up from supporting to second male lead, and he wanted his performance to be perfect. 

You sigh and take the cup of tea from its place on the table. Taehyung’s been sitting there at his desk ever since he came home from dance practice, and that was hours ago. For hours, he’s been sitting there repeatedly scanning each and every page trying to memorize each and every line. 

This was routine for the past few weeks. He’d leave early to go to the studio to either record or dance, come home late into the evening and sit at his desk memorizing the lines. You’d have to force him to go to bed and even then he’d only ever get a good three, maybe four, hours of sleep every night. It was unhealthy for him, and you knew it. 

You didn’t know how to help him. Every time you asked if he wanted food, he’d ignore you and continue to study the script. Every time you suggested to take a small break, he’d ignore you and continue to study the script. Every time you offered some help, he’d ignore you and continue to study the script. Script, script, script. Everything was about the script. 

You knew he couldn’t help it, it was just his way of coping with all this work. BTS was in the middle of recording new songs for their upcoming album, and his role in this drama was more demanding than that of Hwarang. He was the second male lead, and so he was needed during filming for a lot of the time. This time, none of it was prerecorded, so for almost every single day for the next few months you knew he’d be out either filming or recording nonstop. Saying that Taehyung was just stressed was an understatement. 

Some nights you ended up staying awake with him. Some nights you’d stay up until three or four in the morning. You’d stay up because you knew if you didn’t remind him, Taehyung would forget to go to sleep. It would be three or four in the morning, and you’d have to practically shove Taehyung out of his chair just for him to notice you telling him to go to bed. 

It was another one of those nights, and Taehyung was memorizing the script for the 8th episode of the drama. The drama was hitting a critical point in the plot, so you knew he would be glued to his script for a long, long time.

The orange tinted color of the tea painted the bottom of your sink for just a split second before you open the faucet, forcing the liquid down the drain. The time on the clock read “2:38 am”. 

“Perhaps I should tell him to sleep now...” you mumbled. You turned away from the sink to start making your way back to Taehyung, however, you were struck with a sudden sensation of dizziness. The room was spinning and your head felt like it was splitting in half. You bring your hand to cup your head and let out a soft groan. 

You had been feeling like this for a few days now. You’d get migraines every once in a while and let out a few coughs here and there. You were definitely coming down with something. It was probably due to all the times you would stay up late waiting for Taehyung. You also had your own life to deal with at work and school and your lack of sleep wasn’t helping your health in any way. As stupid as it sounds, you’d rather stay up late and make sure that Taehyung didn’t overwork himself instead of paying attention to your own health. Taehyung, of course, knew nothing about your current condition because you thought that he didn’t need another thing on his plate to worry about. 

You open the medicine cabinet, pull out some medication and down a couple of tablets. You were going to need all your strength if you were going to get Taehyung to out down his script to go to sleep. 

The warm rays of the sun bounced around the walls of your bedroom. They touched everything in their path including you and the empty spot next to you. Your eyes opened slowly, a headache was clearly present and breathe was heavy. You bring the back of your hand to rest on your forehead. You definitely had a fever. 

“T-Tae...” You moaned, but you realized he wasn’t in bed. Looking at the clock you see that it’s already almost half past nine, so you knew he must’ve already left to go film. You barely manage to crawl out of bed. Your vision was hazy and you stumble with every step you take. The fridge was filled with nothing but leftovers from when you last ordered Chinese take out, but at this point, you just needed to fill your stomach with something. 

The television only served as background noise as you scarfed down the chow mein. You couldn’t pay any attention to the news anchor who was probably talking about the weather or traffic because your head just hurt so much. Luckily you didn’t have work today, so you once again you snatched the bottle of medication and down two tablets before trudging back to bed. 

It was almost five in the evening by the time you woke up again. The headache had subsided just a slight bit, but the fever was still raging on. You didn’t care, however, because you needed to prepare dinner for when Taehyung came back. Even in your current state, you got out of bed, went to the grocery store and cooked a nice homemade meal for your boyfriend because caring for and feeding him was your only form of helping him. 

The stew was boiling, and the vegetable pancakes were simmering as you heard the front door open and close with a thud. Taehyung walked in and hung his coat haphazardly on the coat rack near the entrance. 

“I’m home...” He said quietly, his voice rushed as he took his steps towards your bedroom. You wiped your hands on your apron and turn to him,

“Taehyung-ah, I’m making dinner right now. I’ll bring some over to you when I’m finished, okay?” All the response you got was a soft grunt. 

You missed the times when Taehyung’s life wasn’t as hectic as it was right now. Normally when he’d come home to you cooking, he’d hastily kick off his shoes and come right behind you encasing you in a back hug. He would litter kisses around your neck, tickling you as you squirmed in his touch. He’d inhale the lavender and rose scent of your hair as you cooked his favorite meals, and shower you with compliments and “I love you”s. But Taehyung wasn’t doing all of that lately, and you accepted that. You knew he would revert back to the bubbly, affectionate Taehyung you knew once all his stress subsided and you were willing to wait. 

You place the plates of food and side dishes neatly on a tray and carry it carefully to him. He was already hunched over his desk flipping through the pages taking in each and every line. 

“Here’s your food, Tae.” The plates clatter as you set the tray down on the desk. Again all you get from him is a grunt. He doesn’t even look at you or nod. You look at the tray and realized that you forgot to get him a drink. You ran back to the kitchen and grabbed a two-liter bottle of Coca-Cola, his favorite, and pour him a glass. Suddenly a sharp pain pulsed in the back of your head, but you shake it off telling yourself that you’d rest a bit after you take this drink to Taehyung. 

You crept in, careful not to spill the drink, “Here’s your soda, Tae.” Just as you were going to set down the glass, your head once again pulsed in excruciating pain. You lose your footing and trip over your own two feet spilling the dark liquid all over the desk...and all over Taehyung’s script. You manage to catch yourself before you had the chance to fall over and notice the mess you created.

“I’m...I’m sorry...” Taehyung suddenly shoots up out of his seat, the chair falling back clattering against the cold hard floor. 

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” His breathing was heavy and full of annoyance and anger. You cower at his harsh tone, “DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU JUST DID?”

“Taehyung...I’m so sorry...” He places a hand on his hip and combs his hair with his other hand roughly.

“Sorry is not going to cut it, Y/N! Do you know how many more lines I have to memorize? Huh? DO YOU?” Taehyung grabs the soggy booklet from the desk and shakes it in his hand, droplets of the sticky liquid jumps off and splatters onto you and the ground. “You’ve been bothering me all this time and now I get this! WHEN WILL YOU JUST FUCKING LEAVE ME ALONE?”

You would’ve clapped back at him and say that you were working so hard to help him out despite his behavior, but your senses were slowly giving out on you. The room was spinning, you could barely make out the words Taehyung screamed, and his yelling was only making the headache worse. 

“Yah! Y/N, are you even listening to me?” Your body couldn’t take it anymore. Your knees buckle and all feeling in your legs just vanish. Taehyung, wide-eyed, gasps and rushes to catch you as you collapse onto the floor.

“J-jagi...Yah! Jagi-ah, wake up...JAGI!” Your vision was becoming cloudy and soon turned into nothing as you slowly shut your eyes. 

Droplets of some sort of liquid substance, lukewarm in temperature, dripped down the side of your forehead. Your eyes open and the first thing you see is the ceiling decorated with glow in the dark star stickers. Taehyung knew you loved looking at the stars, so he had bought them for you so that you could admire them even in the middle of Seoul where the night lights were too bright for the real stars to shine in the sky. 

You bring a hand to your forehead to inspect the wetness on your forehead and discover a sloppily folded wet rag. By the amount of water and the folding job of the oversaturated cloth, you could tell it was Taehyung who took care of you. A warm sensation surrounded your other hand and you turn your head slightly to see him sitting on a chair with his head resting on the bed and his hand holding yours. It was a warm sight to see. You haven’t seen him show even the littlest acknowledgment of your presence in the past few weeks and now he was here holding onto your hand for dear life. 

The memories of what had happened before you fainted flooded your mind and you realized that he must’ve been scared out of his mind when you fell unconscious in his arms. You sit up, gently remove your hand from his grasp and stroke him on the head lovingly. He may have ignored you, but seeing him like this now quelled all your salty feelings. 

A movement stirred from beneath your hand as Taehyung awoke from the feeling of your soothing touch. His eyes, red and puffy, darted to meet yours and his mouth hung open in relief and surprise.

“Jagi-ah!” He jumped out of his chair and engrossed you in a desperate hug, “I thought you were dead!” Your eyes close and you giggle as you wrap your arms around him, comforting him.

“Shh, don’t worry Taehyung-ah. I’m still here, I wouldn’t leave you like that. Shh, my little baby...” He silently sobbed into the crook of your neck and you could feel his tears splash against your warm skin. 

“I’m sorry, jagi...” His voice was muffled as he spoke, “I-I yelled at you and then you fainted...I thought...I thought I...”

“It wasn’t your fault, Taehyung-ah. Yelling isn’t just going to make a person faint you know...” He removes his tear stained face from your nape,

“B-but...but you’re sick because of me...aren't you?” Your eye twitched as you took in his solemn expression of guilt. You had stayed up way too late for your body to handle, and it was due to worrying about Taehyung.

“Tae...”

“You made me dinner, made sure I went to sleep and made sure I didn’t overwork myself every single day while I just ignored you this whole time, jagi.” He takes your hand, “I made you stay up late and I made you work hard even though you have a lot of work to worry about yourself. I took you for granted...I’m sorry...” A smile stretches across the length of your face as pull him into a hug. 

“It’s okay, Taehyung. It’s all okay because I care for you. I don’t care if you ignore me when you’re stressed because I know in time, all that stress will go away and you’ll appreciate everything I’ve done and shower me with love just like right now.” You pull away and place a kiss on every single tear that marked his cheeks, wiping them away before placing your head back in the curve of his neck. 

“Thank you jagi, thank you for everything.” His breath tickled your ear. You smile and hum in response. Suddenly, you realize that you hear the birds chirp in the distance and you see that the clock displayed it was already almost ten in the morning. You gasp as you move to face Taehyung,

“Taehyung! What about filming! It’s already...” He chuckles and taps his finger on the tip of your nose,

“I called the director, and he said that there were other scenes of the episode he could film without me. And don’t worry about the script, I can always get another copy.” 

“So you’re not going to work? What about recording for the album?” He shook his head and once again encased you in his arms,

“Nope, I’m not going anywhere. I took a sick day just for you.” 

Gif not mine, credits to the owner

[ecotone99]

[SP] I See You

I feel like this story could have fallen into a few different categories. This was inspired from a prompt I found on the app Daily Prompts. The prompt was a story starter about discovering you had lived a past life as someone famous.

Please enjoy. It’s the first one I’ve finished in a while.

—————————————————————

She knew him.

She knew him?

Of course she knew him. Everyone knew him. He was famous.

But she knew him. The familiarity wasn’t just because he was one of the most admired, celebrated, talented musicians to ever grace a public stage and had been for longer than she’d been taking up space on planet Earth. It was more than that. It was an intimate knowledge. As she stared at the picture on the screen, she was paralyzed. A crippling fear gripped her like a vice, holding her in place as she stared at the handsome, weathered face. Was it a fear for him? Or was she afraid of him?

What was it about this man that had her so freaked out? And why did it matter all of a su...?

…

Sasha Simons stared at the tv on the living room wall, mouth slack, eyes glazed. She was no longer seeing the man on the tv. She wasn’t seeing the tv or even the wall it had hung on just a microsecond before.

Her living room wall was gone and had been replaced by a wall of glass. Day had become night and rain had replaced the snow that had been falling all morning. The curved, floor-to-ceiling windows, were suddenly lit by white-hot light that spiderwebbed across the panoramic view. On cue, the skies opened. The deluge was deafening as it drowned out the rolling thunder. The shockwave of thunder rattled through the hills around her and vibrated the rivulets that ran down the outside of the glass.

…

She looked from the window to her surroundings. There was a drink in her hand.

…

She didn’t drink.

…

Sasha brought the glass toward her face and sniffed the dark amber liquid. The smell, reminiscent of rich tobacco and old, dark wood, while not unpleasant, made her cough. This made the contents of her cup slosh around and caused a few small drops to splash out and land on the webbing between her thumb and index finger. Without thinking about it, she licked the beads of whiskey from her hand and slammed the rest of what was in the glass in one graceful motion. Her throat burned and she coughed again. Another flash of lightening and…

…

The pretty reporter stood in the middle of the parking lot outside the arena as snow fell around her but did not dare to touch her. Sasha noticed the bodiless arm stage left that held a large, black umbrella high over the woman’s immaculately quaffed hair and flawless face.

“The show starts tomorrow at 7pm. Tickets are sold out but Miranda and Steve will be giving away a pair of front row tickets and VIP All Access passes on our morning show, Wake Up, Denver! Be sure to wake up early for your chance to win. This is Amber Johnson, reporting from the Pepsi Center in downtown Denver. Back to you in the warm studio, Jay.”

The screen split and a middle-aged, man with neat, salt and pepper hair, in a smart, blue suit tried to show Amber and Sasha how far he could stretch his lips across his face before a fissure opened up and revealed all of his teeth at once.

“I sure am glad I got my tickets, Amber. And I know I’ll be seeing you there.”

Amber, like her counterpart in the studio, had begun to explain just how glad she was she had gotten her tickets but Sasha no longer heard either of them.

I’ll be seeing you there

I’ll see you there

I see you…

…

The lights of the sprawling city below looked alive. Sasha leaned her cheek against the thick, cool glass, took a deep breath and exhaled. The window fogged and she quickly wrote three words: I see you

She felt a heavy arm encircle her waist

“Hi.”

His breath tickled her ear, sending a delicious shiver down her spine.

Without prompting, he took her glass and headed for the bar on the other side of the room.

“I’ve got a bottle on the table over there,” her head tilted in the direction of a handful of couches clustered around a large square table. A bottle, right at a the point that would start a half full/half empty debate with the right crowd, sat precariously close to the nearest edge.

Sasha could see his reflection in the glass as he about-faced and headed to the table. So handsome. So not her type. But this worked, this collaboration. The song was good, really good. She felt it in every fiber of her being.

“I think it’s going to be huge, babe!” He handed her glass back to her with a generous amount of booze now in it. “And the whole collaboration thing? We’re gonna hit them out of nowhere with this.” He poured two fingers into his own glass and set the bottle on the floor beside the window. “People are gonna lose their shit.” He reached around her and clinked his glass into hers. “I’m gonna make you famous, babe.” He chuckled and chugged half of his drink in one gulp. “Drink up! We’re gonna celebrate tonight!” He tapped his glass into hers again and downed its contents.

With his hand on her hip she tilted her head back and rested against his chest. “Or maybe I’ll make you famous.” Sasha put the glass to her lips, closed her eyes and drank, draining the entire glass in three large swallows, her breath caught in her lungs, unable to inhale or exhale. She held her eyes shut for another moment as she relished the heat of the liquor, the heat of his hand on her hip, the heat of his breath on her neck as leaned down and pressed his lips and hips tight to her body. The heat between her thighs. So much heat. “Let’s go,” she whispered and took his hand. She turned and walked with him up the stairs that led to the upper level and the bedrooms.

Sasha opened the French doors to the bedroom at the end of the hallway. She reached in to flip the light on and…

…

Dim light came through the curtains on the far side of Sasha’s bedroom. One word, migraine, she thought as she crawled into bed and pulled the covers over her head. How long had it been since she had had a migraine? Two years? Three? A long time by migraine sufferer’s standards. And this one promised to be a bad one if the hallucinations were any indication.

When was the last time she hallucinated before a migraine? Not since she was a kid. God, the hallucinations, though.

Just need to sleep. Need to stop over-thinking.

Need sleep. No over-thinking.

Sleep. No…

…

…”thinking about,” he asked. “You seem really far away.” He had lit them both a cigarette and she took the one he handed her.

Dragging deeply, the excitement of creation, of making something that people might actually love, something that might carry on had her head spinning. He had her head spinning. She exhaled in a rush and turned to her lover.

“It really is good, isn't it?”

He grabbed the edge of the sheet, flipped it off his legs as he swiveled and planted his feet on the floor in one graceful, fluid motion.

“Yes!” He jumped up, “I’m starving.” He stood, nearly perfect. The sheet fell back to the rumpled bed. “You?” He was a rock god in the making. “I think I’ve got some left-over Thai in the fridge.” He had turned to face her, a shit-eating-side-grin, one of the things he was already becoming known for, on his face; his left eyebrow cocked to a point. “Or, I could just eat you?”

And there was that naughty-boy charm she’d been hearing about. Sasha, used to having to be the aggressor in and out of the bedroom, felt an unfamiliar flush in her face.

“Oh! Wait!” His grin widened. The charm turned up to ten just made him that much sexier. “Did I make the bad girl of the pop world actually blush?” He leaned down, moving across the bed toward her, his fist pushing into the mattress. Gravity drew her close to him.

He smelled of cologne and sex and booze. He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ll be right back.”

Sasha closed her eyes and let her body fall back on the bed as soon she heard his footsteps on the stairs. Exhaustion like she hadn’t felt in years hugged her body the moment it hit the oversized pillows stacked around her. The late night sessions in his recording studio all week had been one thing, but trying to keep up with the drinking and the now the sex? There are some the might still call her by the moniker she had earned when she had first gotten the attention of the people who mattered in this shit show that they called the music business, but she sure as hell hadn’t felt much like the bad girl of the pop world in longer than she cared to think about. They joked with each other about making the other famous but for her, it was more about being relevant again.

And what would that be like? It had been more than a year since she had made any meaningful public appearances. And three times that since the last tour had ended.

Her body relaxed and she tried to remember the exhilaration she would feel again, being on the stage. She slipped into sleep as the crowd chanted. Chanted her name.

Wait. No.

Not her. Not her name. His name. The crowd chanted his name. They had forgotten all about her. It was his name on their lips. It was him that they wanted.

Now she was in the crowd. Right in front. And he was standing over her on the stage. Larger than life. He was looking directly at her. As if she was the only one in the entire stadium. Just the two of them. Her below and him above, he looked at her and her only.

But the people around her didn’t seem to know she was even there. They began to push at her, crush her. Sasha couldn’t breath. The crowd moved in closing off her airways. She tried to struggle but her arms were pinned to her sides as the bodies pushed in tighter around her. She looked up and tried to find him. Tiny white dots floated and swam around her vision. Fear boiled over and she tried to scream.

Sasha’s eyes flew open and she opened her mouth wide to inhale the air that had been deprived of her in the dream-turned-nightmare that her insecurities had mustered out of her subconscious.

Nothing. No air.

A face floated above her. Where she had expected to see a warm, inviting, mischievous and just a bit sexy grin, instead, a cruel, twisted mocking grimace carved into a black hole of hate. And hands were around her throat.

Confused, Sasha brought her eyes to her attacker. They pounded with the beat of her heart until she thought they would explode. She tried to plead. Her mouth moved.

Why?

The thumping slowed and a blackness had begun to creep in around the edges of her vision.

She never heard her killer utter a word.

The darkness swallowed her. …

It was close to dawn before Sasha finally gave up on sleep. She turned the tv on as she passed it headed toward the kitchen and coffee.

Fifteen minutes later, Sasha was sitting at the kitchen bar, her second cup of barely-coffee flavored creamer and sugar held in one hand, her phone in the other. A cheerfully bright bleach blond in an equally bright pink and white skirt and jacket ensemble was standing in front of a map covered in large snowflakes.

“That’s going to do it for the local forecast.” She turned just as the cameras switched to a close up shot of a salt and pepper haired anchor, nearly indistinguishable from the gentleman that sat in the same chair for the evening news.

“Thank you, Gina.” The man said as he spoke into the camera in front of him. “A winter weather warning will be in effect starting at midnight tonight. Keep your tv tuned to Channel 11 overnight and Wake Up, Denver! starting at 5 am tomorrow morning for road conditions and any closures as this storm moves though the city. Miranda?”

A dark haired beauty with too much makeup sat up a bit straighter in her chair as the crew cut to the wide shot.

“Thank you, Gina. Steve.” She glanced down at the desktop, switched her view to her close up camera and segued into the the part that Sasha had been waiting for since she had clawed her way from the horrors of her dreams a few hours prior. The woman at the desk became a bit more animated.

“It’s almost as if the weather gods themselves have rolled into town for tonight’s sold out performance at the Pepsi Center.” The camera switched back to the wide shot of both anchors.

“And when we come back, Steve and I will be giving away two tickets to tonight’s historic event as we say goodby to a rock legend as he winds up his final performance right here in the place his fans say he got his real start.” She paused for just the right amount of time and continued, “I’m Miranda Stevenson.” She looked to her right.

“And I’m Steve Knight. This is Wake Up! Denver and we’ll be right back.”

Sasha picked up her phone. She had punched in the ten digits without seeing them. Her thumb hit the green send button and the phone began to ring. …

Thumping beats assaulted and seemed to change the rhythm of her heart as guitars screeched and screamed. The anxiety she felt in her nightmare returned as the crowd pressed around her. She pushed her shoulders and elbows out as she tried to make herself bigger. After a few seconds that felt like a few minutes, the crowd seemed to collectively exhale which allowed her room to move. The reprieve didn’t last as the man they had come to see made his way to her side of the stage and stopped in front of her. The crowd swelled and threatened to swallow her, to drown her, to choke her.

Sasha barely noticed as she made eye contact with him.

For just a moment, he faltered. It was just a split second. Sasha doubted anyone else had even noticed. But she had. And so had he.

…

The green room, which wasn’t actually green at all, was full of people, alcohol and food. Everywhere, people were talking, mouths full of food or drink or both. Sasha made her way to the bar to the left.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Hot breath on her neck. A warm hand on her waist.

She took a sip of the drink she had just been handed and leaned her head back against his chest. “Best performance of your career.” His grip on her waist tightened and he pulled her to him; his hips pressing to her, the erection instantaneous. She shivered as his lips brushed the back of her neck.

“I knew it was you. The moment I saw you.” He didn’t seem surprised. “I guess an explanation is warranted.” She turned in arms to face him.

“The explanation won’t be necessary. Up and coming rockstar records decades biggest with the on-her-way-to-obscurity pop star hours before she dies in a tragic fiery crash leaving the mountain recording studio.”

He looked her in the eyes. “Wow. You really do look amazing, Sasha. Like it never happened.” His eyes were glassy with drink and nostalgia. “Would it make a difference if I said I was sorry?”

“Tragedy sells. And playing the grieving friend and lover who was only trying to help me revive my career? Brilliant. Martyrdom really suits you. Don’t apologize for being shrewder than I gave you credit for.”

She took him by the hand, “Let’s go.” Sasha led him through the crowded room and out the door.

…

“The weekend weather should hit the three S’s. Shorts, sunglasses and sunscreen. Stay tuned for more on this warming trend at ten past the hour. Steve?” Gina turned to the anchor desk as the camera cut to a close up of a much more somber reporter this morning.

“In other news, tragedy has struck the rock and roll community as official word has it that rock legend Devon Smithfield was found dead just hours after his final performance here in Denver. He rose to fame with the song, I See You, recorded with pop icon Sasha Sin just hours before the crash that took her life. Preliminary reports from the police and the coroner’s office have indicated he may have committed suicide by hanging. We’ll update with more details as they come in. Miranda?”

Sasha hit the red button at the top of the remote and the screen on the wall went black.

submitted by /u/Cre8iveJunkie [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2YzhUzL

[timesupstory]

Chapter 2: Lester

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hi Les. What you got there?”

Oh yeah, the real reason why I’m here. “I stopped by Elena’s and got the results from her physical. I also got you McDonalds--a Big Mac meal.” It’s a relief that I didn’t leave everything in the car with so much on my mind all summer.

“She’s healthy...as usual and ready for the season.”

“Aw, thanks--dunno what I’d do without you.”

“No problem.” I try to keep myself together while seeing my mom’s beautiful smile--her brown eyes light up and her beaming white teeth. No makeup, no extensions, just great skin and dark hair put back in a ponytail.

I just can’t fake a smile. She may even be faking it and just doing a great job. I’m not really much to be proud of. Mom gives her face a break except for her eyes getting serious.

“Something’s up. Was Eve home? Did she want to talk things over again?”

“No. Elena said she went shopping.”

“Well, it’s been a month now.”

“Yeah, Eve ghosted on me and it sucks. I guess it’s karma.”

“Baby, you did kind of leave her hanging,” Mom admits as she rubs her fingers against her forehead. All my drama must be giving her migraines, and she’s forcing herself to stay strong.

It’s true, I’ve been shady and I guess it’s her turn now, but I can’t keep quiet.

“But she just gave up--I gave up at first, but she won’t give me a second chance. It’s almost like her being all concerned back then was an act...and it’s immature. Elena’s two years younger than her and she still talks to me.”

“Son, you were still getting along good with Elena.” Well, she got me there.

“That’s because Elena’s her sister, so she’s like a sister to me too. I mean, we’ve all known each other a while now so I know Eve doesn’t think I left her for her sister.”

“That never crossed my mind, I know you.” My mom looks like she’s about to cry and I hate it--she puts up with so much, too much. She doesn’t have time for this and I need to let her get back work. I hug her and look over her shoulder at the blank wall.

“Don’t worry about me, Mom. I’m gonna just head back home, call me if you need me.”

“Alright, see you. Thanks again for Elena’s results--and lunch.”

“Merry Christmas! Guess I’m covered!” I point to her with both hands. Yeah, I’m not funny but my mom just giggles because it’s all good as long as the joke’s from me.

“Les, get out of here! Bye!”

There’s the smile you gave me, please don’t be sad.

“Hey, Pops!”

“Les! Hey! How’s the schoolhouse treating Chris?”

“She’s pushing through, doesn’t wanna put off handling all the paperwork and reaching out to all the important people--texting, calling, emails. I don’t know how she does it.”

“Just hoping she’s not working too hard. Kids are the future, and your mom is a grown woman but she still has a life. You still have to take care of yourself, remember that after you turn eighteen, your life is just beginning.” He pauses and looks down at the skillet on the stove, then faces me with those same serious eyes that my Mom gives me. Those two are perfect for each other. “Sorry, how are you doing son? I know you’ve been helping as usual.” Yeah, my dad cut to the chase and asked about my mom, but it doesn’t hurt my feelings. My parents have been great. Dad’s been doting on me all summer with my injuries and my emotions. I can’t always be the center of attention.

“I’m good. It’s still summer and I don’t have anything to do, so you need any help with dinner?”

“Nah, I’m just whipping up some stir-fry, it’s nothing. You still like it right?”

“Are you kidding? You know it. Feel free to go to town with the soy sauce.”

“Yeah, no. I repeat, take care of yourself. Don’t get me started on my lecture.” He just points at me with a smile.

I head down to the hall to home within home--if that’s even a thing ‘cause that’s just what my room is now.

I’m about to take off my jeans--not to sound sexist, but I can be such a girl, no pants when I’m alone and done for the day. That’s probably because I mainly hang with girls, not for the attention--I don’t even look like a player as I stare at the mirror on the wall right now like I do everyday. It just is what it is. There’s Elena, Tati, and Brandi’s a cool person too. There all beautiful and fun to be around, I respect them. There’s just something special about Eve--actually many things that I love blended together, it’s definitely not black-and-white, and now I realize that I fucked up.

Still looking in the mirror, I put my phone down on my desk and hear it buzz. I check and it’s Tati, and it’s a pick-me-up reminding me that I still have some people. First, I thought it was just a useless reminder that I need to disable.

“Hey you, what’s up?”

“Nothing much, dreading the first day of school. I rather be at the dance studio.”

“Hey, come on, what kind of attitude is that? Try not to say that around my mom, she’ll get in her feelings and take it out on all of us.”

“Chill out, I know the rules. Anyways, you know summer’s fun and all but it’s dry now that school’s coming up, and I’m done with the humidity but that’s here nor there. I wanted to let you know that Al’s friend is having this Labor Day party. You should come with me, I wanna go out.”

“Yeah, I’m down,” I clap back aware that parties aren’t really my thing but Tati doesn’t put me in a box, and it’s time I take her up on one of her offers.

“Nice. Just so you know, it’s open invitation so it’s not just a get-together. It’s gonna be a big thing. We’ll leave if it gets to wild. Of course we’re good, we’re not gonna drink, and we’re not touching any kind of drugs. I don’t wanna get arrested.”

“Right, no worries.” We sound like no fun but we both have enough going on.

“It is a week from now, but we have to be prepared. People keep it casual at these parties, but I still wanna look somewhat decent. I know you need to think your clothes through.”

Tati’s crazy, I see she’s got jokes. “Oh, really? What are you trying to say?”

“No shade, I’m just saying. Remember, casual, you don’t have overspend on Men’s Warehouse, then, I don’t have to worry about you reaching for those extra Met Gala looks. You remember what happened last time? Dad’s wedding? You were looking like Willy Wonka--I mean minus the cane and the hat, but still, I can’t have you embarrassing me like that.”

“I learned my lesson. Um, is Eve gonna be there? You invited her, right?” I hated that I had to bring it up, but I gotta face this.

“I haven’t told her about it yet, I’m still figuring out how to go about that…”

“I feel bad for putting you in the middle.”

“No, I love you both, and I don’t wanna leave her out. She could use some fun too.”

“It’s cool,” I’m not gonna make this Tati’s problem, I got myself into this mess.

“I doubt she’ll go, though, she hasn’t been talking to me that much, lately. It’s not just you.”

“Elena said she’s been acting strange. She wasn’t home. Maybe she knew that I was coming over, but I didn’t ask.”

“Alright, well, hang in there. We better rest up and get ourselves together this weekend before we’re on lockdown. I’m not referring to your mom, she’s been nice to me.”

I crack a smile again. “It’s all good, take care.”

[fashiontrendin-blog]

Cynthia Nixon, Lots of Feelings and an Outfit Change: Haley’s NYFW Diary

http://fashion-trendin.com/cynthia-nixon-lots-of-feelings-and-an-outfit-change-haleys-nyfw-diary/

Cynthia Nixon, Lots of Feelings and an Outfit Change: Haley’s NYFW Diary

7:50 a.m.

I didn’t set my alarm last night with the hopes that I might sleep in (I didn’t get to bed until 2 a.m. last night and my first show isn’t until 1 p.m.), but I wake up at 7:50. Nooooooo is the internal dialogue kicking off my day, which seems like a good sign.

9:13 a.m.

After laying in bed with my eyes closed like a dead person with a racing mind for a riveting 83 minutes, my boyfriend Avi texts me good morning and I give up on sleep. He asks if I’d like to meet for breakfast — we haven’t seen each other in a few days — but I tell him I have some work to do and probably shouldn’t. The truth is, I’m feeling kind of depressed and don’t want to see anyone (a surprising feeling given my recent headspace, but this week’s been hard and brought up some old stuff).

9:17 a.m.

When he replies, “Well let me know if you change your mind and want me to grab you a coffee and just say hi,” I decide to FaceTime him and share my honest feelings. He says he’s going to bring me a coffee and I agree I could use some company.

9:20 a.m.

I get up and start to clean vigorously. I put things away, wash the dishes, sweep the floor, brush my cat, tidy the living room, light a candle. Do, do, do instead of think, think, think.

10:17 a.m.

Avi arrives with coffees and walks into me putting final touches on my house while listening to Phoebe Bridgers, which I believe is the perfect emotional fall music. We spend the next hour talking on the couch. I let everything out that’s on my mind and feel 100 pounds lighter. He shares stuff too. It’s not that everything in our lives is solved, we’ve just given it all some space to breathe. A necessary step.

11:28 a.m.

We hang out until it occurs to me that I’ve squandered all the time I’d blocked off for working and need to get dressed, so I hug him for five minutes straight and then firmly kick him out.

12:10 p.m.

I’m currently doing an outfit recipe on Man Repeller’s Instagram story. I feel brighter, more energetic, more like myself. I think about how many emotions can fit into a day, and how easy it is to flatten yourself or others into the last emotion projected. We are such complex creatures. Did I mention I’m PMSing?

12:43 p.m.

The Eckhaus Latta show is in a warehouse in Bushwick, a 17-minute drive away or a 47-minute train ride. Such a tough decision, I did not think. (I’ve had a week of nightmare train mishaps.) I call an Uber. I have exactly as much time as I need (17 minutes), which I should have known would not be enough, because after five minutes, the Uber cancels. I call another in a panic. Thankfully it gets me there by 1:08 p.m., which is good enough.

1:28 p.m.

After riding in a crowded elevator and finding my seat, the headache I’ve been nursing for two days kicks up a notch. It dawns on me that I have not eaten yet today, which is very unusual for me. My unexpected cleaning stint and therapy session with Avi derailed my breakfast plan.

1:44 p.m.

The show finally starts. The music is the simple, arhythmic chaos of kids banging on drums and screaming. This doesn’t strike me as the best treatment for my headache, but I’m not a doctor. There is lots of ruching; mint and forest greens; structured utility pants slung low on the hip; midi glove heels; pencil skirts and tailored blazers paired with stringy mullets — it’s all very business-casual-made-grungy. I love it.

At the end of the show, a bunch of kids skip down the aisle. This is the third show I’ve seen that incorporate kids and it’s only day 3. I wonder whether designers are looking to younger people to help them inject optimism into an anxious and cynical time.

2:02 p.m.

I’m happy to be in my old neighborhood. I decide to walk to AP Cafe, a place I used to frequent before I moved to Bed-Stuy in May. When I notice it’s unusually crowded, I remember that Avi told me about a meet-n-greet happening here today with a rapper from Queens named Anik Khan. I spot him across the room with a crowd around him. I order a rice/bean/chicken bowl and find the only open table in the far back corner, which — miracle of all miracles — is situated right now to an outlet. I plug in my dying phone.

2:31 p.m.

When my food arrives, I scarf it while considering whether I should write about my issue with conflict aversion. Should I fight more with the people I love? Do my relationships suffer for their lack of brutal honesty?

2:54 p.m.

I map to my next show — Christian Siriano at Gotham Hall. It’s only 30 minutes away! Bless the L train = something I never expected to think.

3:07 p.m.

On my way to the train, I decide to stop by Hana, a grocery store I used to go to all the time. I miss this place! It smells the same! I buy some candy, gum, water and two individually packaged doses of Tylenol, which I take immediately for my pounding head.

3:11 p.m.

When I get into the station, I’ve missed the train by a second, but the next one is only three minutes away. I’m not used to this kind of service on the A line. I bless the L train a second time, shocking myself.

3:20 p.m.

I read the profile of Mac Miller that Vulture published shortly before his tragic death on Friday. I’m not that familiar with Mac Miller, but the profile is really interesting and made sadder by its new, unintended context. In my reading I miss my stop and ride the train an extra two stops to the end of the line. I get out and remap.

As I transfer to my next train, I consider how many celebrity profiles I’ve read lately. Is it just me or have there been a lot published in the last month? Is this the dawn of a boom? If so, what does that say about this cultural moment?

3:55 p.m.

I arrive at Gotham Hall and it’s a zoo! Tourists have stopped to watch the media circus, which includes hoards of photographers mobbing around a carpeted walkway into the venue, onto which important people are exiting from their black cars. I stand awkwardly to the side until Emily texts that she’s looking at me from 10 feet away. I go over to her immediately, thankful to see a familiar face. We chat until Nora texts that she’s running late and I decide to go in.

4:06 p.m.

I find my seat, which I’m excited is right on the runway, but bummed it’s kind of facing a wall (the runway is a long and winding path around the massive floor), because it means I can’t people-watch, which is half the fun of shows like this. I take a few antsy laps, hoping to run into Emily and Nora or perhaps Whoopi Goldberg (which I did — she’s at everything — and I see Cynthia Nixon, too! Speaking of which, don’t forget to vote in the midterms! I have a story highlight on my Instagram that explains the process if you find the Google results extremely confusing) until I finally sit down and open my bag of candy. I still have a headache, maybe the sugar will help? Again, I’m not a doctor.

5 p.m.

The show is really fun, full of big, ruffly gowns and lots of Miranda Hobbes green. (I wonder if Cynthia noticed?) When I get outside, it’s raining. I don’t have an umbrella. My phone is at 5%. I finish my candy as I walk to the train.

5:25 p.m.

I arrive at Spring Studios for PRISCAVera and run into Reese and Molly Blutstein. It’s always nice to know people at these events.

5:38 p.m.

I’m seated. I tried to charge my phone in the hallway but someone told me I wasn’t allowed to, so now I’m just looking around, forced to confront my surroundings for a lack of cell phone-as-distraction.

6:01 p.m.

I stare at the photo pit and notice it’s filled with about 35 men. Where are the women pit photographers? I recall interviewing a pit photographer last season and regret not asking that.

6:16 p.m.

After the show (a delightful array of fabrics and textures, from knit and silk to PVC and patent leather, in undeniably 00s silhouettes and rendered in even more Miranda Hobbes green), I run into Aemilia Madden, Senior Fashion Editor at The Zoe Report. We take five minutes to complain about how hot this week was and how tired we are and other riveting things, and then she hops in a car. I watch her drive off and then make my way to the train.

6:29 p.m.

I’ve been waiting on a platform for a long time. My head kills. The trains are messed up, as usual, so I’m being rerouted, as usual, and the train is late, as usual. It’s over 100 degrees on the platform and everyone’s dripping sweat. As usual?

7:16 p.m.

I’m soooo happy to be home. But my headache is getting worse. I immediately undress and put on a pink Caron Callahan set to lounge on the couch and eat cheese and crackers. My next show is at 9 p.m. I take three Advil.

8:02 p.m.

The thought of skipping my last show enters my mind and keeps tapping me on the shoulder. The Advil’s not working. I consider taking my migraine meds but they make me drowsy. I text Harling, who I know is going: “Would your heart be broken if I skipped? I’m nursing a headache that won’t quit.” She says she’s sad but wants me to rest. I thank her profusely and sink ~8 feet into the couch.

9:01 p.m.

Avi arrives to find me curled up on the couch in my head-to-toe pink outfit. He kisses me hello and accuses me of dressing like a “strawberry shortcake supremacist.” He offers to make us dinner, like a gem, as I’m sensitive to light and can’t do it. He makes us pasta and sausage in my almost completely dark kitchen.

9:36 p.m.

We turn on Sex and the City. We’re rewatching the series because Avi has never seen it. He considers it cultural research and spends most of the time shouting at the TV or laughing at everything Miranda says. While I’m a fan of the show, a lot of it is cringey and hasn’t aged well. Except Miranda. Miranda’s aged perfectly.

10:49 p.m.

After a second episode, we call it a night. My head’s still hurting so I finally cave and take my prescription migraine meds and sleep like a dead person with no racing thoughts at all.

17 PHOTOS click for more

[tell-me-when-ur-ready]

This Thing Called Love (part six)

Summary: When Shawn meets dancer Kellie in Toronto, he falls for her—hard. But Kellie has an invisible disability and thinks it’s impossible that someone could really love her the way she is.

Author’s note: look I updated this series two days in a row someone give me a prize. The first kiss also may or may not happen in this installment

Warnings: none

Word count: 2,000

They went out three times in the next month. The first time was sushi in Atlanta two weeks after the music video when Shawn was in town for a big charity event and some related press; they ate and talked and strolled around a nearby park after and it felt natural and good, almost too good.

The second time was supposed to be two days later, but Kellie had a migraine and canceled, so two days after that they had a hurried dinner (which, although it was rushed, felt much more serious than going to lunch) just before he left to go back to Toronto.

The third time was a couple of weeks later, at a restaurant at Hartsfield-Jackson. Kellie wasn’t entirely convinced Shawn had to have a layover in Atlanta during his quick trip to New York, but he’d arranged it that way regardless of whether it was most efficient, so she skipped out of her nanny job for one day and went to the airport for a late lunch with him. 

They FaceTimed or talked on the phone ten times. Shawn would give Kellie updates on his songwriting. She’d tell him funny things her youngest dance students had said. He wanted updates on the routines she was choreographing, even though they both knew he didn’t understand half of the dance words she used. And if Kellie was talking to him in the living room, she’d have to fend off her roommates who liked to peer over her shoulder—Shelby not so much, but Mackenzie was a little pushier, and Shawn thought it was hilarious.

They texted almost every day. Shawn sent Kellie updates on whatever new coffee shop he’d tried that morning. He listened to her talk about her symptoms and medications when she wasn’t feeling well. She sent him interesting articles about holistic medicine. He sent her the red heart emoji a lot—he really liked that one—and yellow smiley faces.

And then he kissed her, and everything got too real, and Kellie got scared.

The kiss happened after their third date, at the Hartsfield-Jackson airport in Atlanta. Neither of them had officially labeled what they were doing as “dates,” but really, both of them knew; there was no cover from the music video anymore.

 And at first, Kellie had been nervous. She’d expected their time together to be awkward and stiff and cringeworthy. She was sure Shawn was experienced, but she personally had only ever dated one guy, and that was before she got sick; even her personality had changed now, she felt, because of her chronic illnesses. Kellie and Shawn had hit it off initially in Toronto when they went to lunch (well, before she got cold feet and ran away), but now that things were a little more serious… well, she thought it just might be too awkward.

 But she was pleasantly surprised: Their three dates were genuine and natural and fun. Until, that is, he kissed her at the end of the final one.

 He was already at the restaurant waiting for her; she’d taken an Uber instead of driving her own car because if a migraine hit unexpectedly, she wouldn’t be able to drive, and the airport was over an hour away right in the thick of Atlanta traffic. He looked good, like he always did—he was wearing black jeans and a soft blue sweater, phone in his hand, with sunglasses sitting on the table in front of him.

 When he saw her, he immediately sat up straight and waved, beaming, fumbling with his Airpods before taking them out and dropping them on the table.

 “Hey,” he said, standing up to give her a quick sideways hug, and Kellie smiled back. “Hi.”

 She was nauseous and could only pick at her lunch, but like before, their conversation flowed naturally. They were in tune with each other’s lives now and knew the things to ask about—his latest song, her latest dance (she was choreographing something for a prestigious worldwide competition in a few months), his traveling and her students. At one point a teenage fan approached the table and asked to take a picture with Shawn. Kellie braced herself for the questions—the airport was the most public place they’d been together so far—but thankfully, the girl didn’t ask a thing.

 After lunch Shawn and Kellie slipped into a semi-private nook of an airport gift shop for a moment before Kellie had to go find her Uber and Shawn needed to go back through security to catch his connecting flight. Fatigue was pushing at the edge of Kellie’s vision—she’d been teaching at the studio until too late last night and wasn’t sure how much longer she could make conversation—and she wanted this to be a quick goodbye.

 “My Uber is almost here,” she said, and Shawn nodded. He stepped a little closer to her and tilted his head.

 “It was really good to see you,” he said sincerely, and Kellie felt a little flutter of nerves in her stomach. As long as they were talking and laughing like friends, she could handle it. But when things got like this, it made her mouth go dry, wishing they could press fast-forward and skip past it. Not that she wanted to skip past it forever. She wanted this, more than anything. But it just wasn’t possible. So it was better to not even try, because—

 “What are you thinking about, Kell?” Shawn said, a soft look in his eyes. No one had ever called her that before, but he had recently coined the term and she didn’t dislike it.

 Despite her frenzied train of thought, Kellie drew closer to him. She looked up, meeting his gaze.

 “I had—a nice time, too,” she said, a little breathy, because it was true. She wanted this; they just couldn’t have it.

 Shawn leaned his head down, angling toward her mouth. When she didn’t move away, he tilted his head and pressed his lips to hers. Kellie froze for a second. Then, feeling almost like she was watching things happen from across the room, she kissed him back, just for a moment. His lips were soft but firm and his hand on her elbow was warm and reassuring and—and then reality set in and she took a quick step back, almost sending a rack of magazines flying.

 “Sorry,” she stammered as she grabbed the rack. She wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for—something she’d done, or something she was about to do?

 But that had been that. She’d made an excuse about her Uber, quickly mumbled a goodbye, and left him standing in the airport gift shop staring after her like a lost puppy.

 Everything ok? he’d texted her a few minutes later. Then, Sorry if I shouldn’t have done that. Get home safe. See you soon? Xx

 Everything fine, have a good flight, Kellie answered from the backseat of her Uber. But she slid her phone back into her purse with a slightly sick feeling in her stomach.

 Things were moving too quickly all of a sudden and she didn’t want to get to the point where he confessed his feelings and wanted more, because judging based on the look in his eyes when he looked at her (and on the gentle pressure of his lips on hers), she was sure it was only a matter of time—and as much as she wanted more, too, she couldn’t have it. So Kellie pulled back. She let his phone calls go to voicemails and she answered his texts with brief responses that could barely be construed as polite and she said she had to work when he broached the idea of her coming to Toronto again (which was true, the work thing, but she wished more than anything she could get on a plane and go).

 And Shawn got confused. She could read the confusion in his texts filled with smiley-face emojis and question marks, see the bafflement in his knitted eyebrows when she cut FaceTime calls short, hear the confusion in his voice when he called and she answered but, instantly regretting her choice, said she couldn’t talk right then.

 Kellie didn’t blame him. She understood. She knew it was unfair of her to have let things go on like they did only to pull back so suddenly. But if she didn’t get out now, she’d be doing it later—so it was best for everyone to go ahead and get it over with.

 The last straw came about a week later.

 Hey, I kept my Sunday night open just for you. Want to FaceTime?

 Sitting cross-legged on her bed clutching a throw pillow, Kellie read the text and pushed a hand into her hair. They’d FaceTimed every Sunday night the past few weeks, and she used to look forward to it. But after everything that had happened the past week—everything she’d done—she didn’t think she could face that bright smile and those kind eyes again.

 Like she kept telling herself, this would never work out. It couldn’t—not with all of her issues. So it was only humane to end things now.

 I really appreciate being in your music video this summer but I think it’s going to be best if we keep this a professional relationship.

 His response—or, rather, responses—came immediately.

 What? Why?

 Kell I thought we were—

 Is this because I kissed you? I’m sorry

 Hey, we should talk about this. Can we talk?

 Then her phone screen was lighting up with his face. Incoming FaceTime from Shawn Mendes.

 Kellie declined the call, put her phone on airplane mode, and chucked her pillow angrily across the room. Throw pillow, indeed. Then, even though it was almost 9:00 on a Sunday night and she had work the next morning, she grabbed her car keys and ran down the stairs.

 Kellie didn’t know where she was going until she pulled up at the dance studio, parking in her usual spot. It was empty and dark, and she walked through the steamy Georgia air, slid her key into the lock, pushed open the door and fumbled around for the lights. She went into the biggest studio and turned on the lights; leaving them on the dimmest setting, she plugged her phone into the portable speaker by the wall and hit shuffle on her music.

 Of course, she thought ruefully when she heard the first chords, of course the first song to pop up would be one of his. For a moment she wanted to curl up in the fetal position under the barre and cry. But she didn’t let herself.

 Instead, as Shawn’s voice started to croon Maybe I’ve had too many drinks, Kellie danced. She leaped and twirled and jumped; she sailed across the floor, her body seemingly moving without any direction from her brain, to song after song, Shawn’s voice ringing through the empty studio with the lights of the city glowing outside.

 And when she finally unplugged her phone and walked silently outside to get in her car, she thought she had worked something out, that she felt better, was ready to move on with her life.

 But as she drove home through the muggy summer night, heat lightning crackling in the distance, she admitted the truth to herself. She hadn’t worked anything out at all.

 And if I have to, I'll wait forever Say the word and I'll change my plans Yeah, you know that we fit together I know your heart like the back of my hand

Baby, tell me when you're ready I'm waitin' Baby, any time you're ready I'm waitin'

Even ten years from now If you haven't found somebody I promise, I'll be around Tell me when you're ready I'm waitin', yeah

Taglist: @rosiemercy @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @evibesss @tnhmblive (let me know if you want to be added/removed)