#yeah i could probably write a whole 12k one shot on this

[tennessoui]

14 for obikin pretty please?

here you go!

[from this list of prompts]

[5. 'are you jealous' - 27. 'i'm pregnant' - 32. 'i think i'm in love with you and i'm terrified' (LATEST) 44. 'if you die, i'm gonna kill you' - 41. 'you did all of this for me?' - 46. 'hey, have you seen...? oh']

14. 'hey, i'm with you, okay? always.'

The first time Anakin visits, he's so angry that he cannot speak for the first two hours. Obi-Wan sits against the wall of his cell, on the floor even though the Jedi have provided him a perfectly comfortable bed and chair. The Force collar around his neck looks wrong. His master sitting on the floor, dressed in the dull orange of a prisoner's jumpsuit looks wrong.

Anakin is so angry that he can't speak. He can only look and tremble until he is told he must leave.

Obi-Wan does not speak either. He does not even look at him.

Maybe that's what makes his anger harder to bear. Anakin knows that Obi-Wan has met with countless other Jedi. Visitors, friends, allies, people who are working with him on his defense case. He knows that the other man talks to them, has sliced into security holo footage to see it for himself, though no one will tell him what is said. Everyone always leaves looking frustrated, but at least Obi-Wan talks to them.

But not Anakin. Even though it is Anakin that Obi-Wan has hurt the most. Anakin, who deserves to know why from Obi-Wan's mouth.

After all--

"He was like a father to me," Anakin spits at him on his second visit, only a few days later. Going to see Obi-Wan in the Coruscanti prison cell where he is awaiting trial is like an itch. Scratched once, Anakin finds he cannot help himself from digging his claws in.

Obi-Wan is still against the wall. His beard has grown slightly longer. His head is tilted back against the wall, though when Anakin speaks, his eyes slide down from the ceiling to rest on him.

"I'm starting to think you say that to all the boys," his former master who is a murderer says in that lilting familiar drawl.

"You killed him."

"Yes," Obi-Wan agrees, because apparently part of his defense case is not to plead not guilty to the murder of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. Anakin would say that may be problematic, but then--there are security holos, soundless and slightly blurred, of the event. Of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi taking tea with Chancellor Palpatine. Talking in civil gestures for thirty minutes. Requesting, as far as anyone can tell, for the Chancellor to fetch him a pot of sugar. Lighting his saber and beheading him the moment the old man's back was turned. "Yes, I did."

"Why?" Anakin yells, voice cracking on the word. He doesn't understand. He thinks the not-knowing will drive him to madness. He thinks maybe it already has. It has been two weeks since the Chancellor's murder. Half the Senate is seeking Obi-Wan's execution.

The war, theoretically, has paused, like even the Separatists are holding their breath. Waiting. Wondering.

Obi-Wan looks at him quietly for a moment. For five. His face is stoic, resolved. Beloved, even after this.

Then--for a singular second--the mask cracks, and his master stares at him as if he needs to see him in order to survive. He looks hungry and exhausted and relieved, down to the bones.

"How have your nightmares been lately, padawan?" he asks him, and Anakin is so disgusted by the word--by the title that Obi-Wan doesn't get to say after killing the Chancellor, killing Anakin's friend--that he turns and leaves without another thought.

He is back a day later. He has never known how to keep his distance from things that can hurt him, that's what his mother always said. Too curious by half. Too sure of his own invincibility. That's what his master always said.

Anakin isn't sure of anything anymore.

"Why did you kill him?" Anakin asks. Obi-Wan's beard is longer. He is still on the floor. It rankles, the sight of him brought so low. "Did someone tell you to?"

Obi-Wan lets his head fall forward, a puppet with its strings cut. "Do you think me so biddable, Anakin?"

Anakin today. Not padawan. As if Obi-Wan has learned his lesson. As if he is as desperate for Anakin to linger in his presence as Anakin is hopelessly addicted to returning.

Padmé had tried to stop him this morning. Had tried to tell him it would do no good to see him, that the justice system would do its work, that Anakin was only hurting himself by returning over and over again. She pointed out that he had nightmares last night, for the first time since the news of the Chancellor's death reached them.

He hadn't had the heart to tell her that his nightmares were not about the Chancellor dying, but about Obi-Wan facing down an execution squad. About Anakin, standing on the deck of the Invisible Hand, Palpatine's voice in his ear, telling him to do it, do it. Cut off the traitor's head, only to look down and find that the two sabers he is holding are familiar to him, and person on his knees before him is his master.

Anakin had woken with a yell around one in the morning, sweat soaked and shaking. He hadn't been able to sleep again.

Maybe that's why he feels so alive now, slightly manic and still trembling as he paces in front of the Force barrier of Obi-Wan's cell. Did someone tell Obi-Wan to cut him down? he'd had the thought somewhere around five in the morning. Had it been someone Obi-Wan trusted? Someone he loved?

Who stood to gain from the death of the Chancellor? Who had the Chancellor ever hurt or threatened?

Anakin walks as close as he dares to get to the cell. "Master," he says, coaxes really, pushing forward until he can hear the hum of the force field.

Obi-Wan's head thumps back against the wall and he watches him from under his eyelashes.

"Master, I'm with you, alright? Hey, I'm with you, always, alright, always, so if someone told you, manipulated you, just tell me please. I'll find them. I'll get them to turn themselves in, master. Just tell me. Why did you kill him?"

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. He looks for all the world as if he is meditating, save for that collar around his neck. The prison garb. He doesn't look like a murderer, but he is. He is. He killed the Chancellor. He is going to face execution. Anakin is going to have to watch him die too and all he can think is that he knows that Obi-Wan doesn't even kriffing like sugar in his karking tea.

"Answer me!" Anakin yells, lifting his fist and forgetting himself for just long enough that he slams it against the barrier. He pulls it back with a curse as the force field short-circuits his mech arm and the prison alarm blares out a warning siren.

This time, he is led away from the cell by a Coruscanti guard. He is advised to not return for a standard week. The entire time he is exiled from the prison, the only thing he can think about is the expression on Obi-Wan's face as he watches him leave: eyes wide open and forehead wrinkled with concern, as if worried that Anakin had hurt himself.

The day after he is allowed to return, he does. He does not want to seem too eager or desperate, so he waits until it's early in the evening before pointing his speeder towards the prison unit.

"It had to have been someone you loved," Anakin announces as he stops in front of Obi-Wan's cell. He's in his bed this time, lying on his back and looking at the ceiling. He does not twitch at Anakin's voice, though Anakin can tell that he's not asleep, though his eyes are closed. He can tell just from the minute lines of tension he's holding in his shoulders, his neck.

How can Anakin know him so well and not know that he is capable of this? Of murder on this scale?

"Hm?" Obi-Wan finally says, when the silence drags on and it becomes clear that Anakin will not say more until he has engaged. Anakin watches this war play out in the subtle movements of Obi-Wan's facial muscles as well. He knows him so well. He knows him better than he knows anyone else in the galaxy.

"The person you killed him for. You had to have loved him more than anything else in the entire galaxy to kill a man the way you did. Defenseless. Over sugar. You don't--you don't even take sugar in your tea! It was a coward's way of killing--and it doesn't--you would never. Not unless it was for someone you loved."

Obi-Wan's eyes blink open, but he doesn't look away from the ceiling. He doesn't look at Anakin.

"I don't--I don't know what harm you think Sheev Palpatine could cause to anyone, but that has to be it. Nothing else makes sense. You loved someone enough to kill for them, and you killed the Chancellor."

The words come out easily. Anakin has practiced them for a week now; it is the only thing that makes sense. Nothing else makes sense. Nothing else but love could make a man like Obi-Wan do what he did. He must have loved someone a lot. He must love them more than the Republic. More than his own freedom.

The first time Anakin had told Padmé his theory, she'd looked at him for ages, until he'd grown angry and defensive. She'd touched his arm, as if that could hold back this hurricane brewing inside his chest, and said, "I don't know if you're right, Ani. I don't know if I think you're wrong either. It's just...you sound so...jealous."

At least Obi-Wan doesn't say the same thing. But what he does say may be even worse. Because he doesn't deny it. He doesn't protest. All he says is, "And who is it that you think I love more than anything else in the galaxy, padawan?"

Anakin has thought about this, too. "Bail Organa," he makes himself say, even though the name curls his lips up into a sneer. Bail Organa, the man who has been voted the interim Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. The man who has gotten everything from this assassination, while Anakin has had his everything taken away.

On his cot, Obi-Wan's eyes slide closed. His mouth quirks up. "Ah," he says, as if he has had something he has long expected to confirmed to him. He says nothing else.

It makes Anakin want to hit the barrier again. It makes him want to scream. It makes him want to be petty, hurt Obi-Wan back in the same way that Anakin feels hurt even though it doesn't make sense, none of this makes sense. But it feels as if Obi-Wan has kept half of himself secret from Anakin, a whole love, his entire capacity to love, and Anakin wants to prove that he has as well.

So he says, voice mean and sharp, "Padmé is pregnant. The med-droid says it is twins."

Everything else remains unspoken, but surely audible. That they are his. That he never stopped seeing Padmé. Perhaps even that she is his wife.

On the cot, behind the Force barrier, in his chains, Obi-Wan opens his eyes and blinks at the ceiling. His lips form a small smile, as he says, still not looking at Anakin, still not looking at Anakin, "I know, dear one. Why do you think the Chancellor had to die?"

[shadowsong26fic]

Coming Attractions!

A day late, but ah well...

As usual, we’ll go ahead and do an Open Question Night. Which basically means that, while my ask box is always open, tonight I’ll be keeping an eye on it and answering things as they come in. Any fandom or work I’ve talked about here (or posted on AO3) is fair game, as are general questions about writing, etc. I do accept prompts, but I am. Not very good at filling them in a timely manner unless they Immediately spark something, lol.

So, yeah, what’s on your mind?

Also, since I don’t think I have for a couple months, plug for my Discord server! It’s pretty quiet, mostly intended to be a slightly more interactive extension of this space, but you’re welcome to check it out!

Anyway, the usual Coming Attractions details are behind the cut!

PodTogether 2021:

I participated in this challenge for the first time this year, and it was a whole lot of fun! Of Other Suns is a SW/AtLA crossover, and I think it turned out pretty well! My reader/podficcer and I worked pretty closely together during the initial brainstorming process, working out what we wanted to do, and also bounced off one another during the whole editing/finalizing process. There’s a lot that I didn’t end up putting into the fic (because time and length; I am a. Uh. Very wordy writer; the aim was for 6-12k words, we ended up with nearly 15k as it is...), so I might poke more at this specific AU, or crossovers linking up at a different time (either a different point in the SW canon, or in the AtLA canon, or both). I...definitely have extensive headcanons for SW characters as benders of various elements (or nonbenders), and there are at least two Force-sensitive AtLA characters who were outside the scope of the crossover.

Anyway, if you want to check it out...click this link XD (and definitely listen to the podfic too!!! It’s really great)

Precipice:

So, between the final push on PodTogether and some origfic stuff I got done, I...did not get anything finished and posted for this, alas. But! I am saying it here in the hopes that doing so publicly will for once get me to actually stick to a deadline, which is that I will get either the first Protectors chapter or the next Preludes one-shot (or both!) up by this Sunday, September 12. The Protectors chapter will be mostly scene-setting, establishing where various characters are when we open, six years after we last saw our heroes. The Preludes segment will involved Hondo contacting Obi-Wan (and Anakin, who’s with him when he gets the call) about something Relevant To Their Interests.

I will for sure get that Prelude out this month, and hopefully at least two Protectors chapters, but we’ll see how things go at work and how much brain that takes, which is always a factor...anyway, with any luck, I’ll start establishing a Rhythm. I don’t think I’ll be doing weekly updates, the way I did for the first few arcs of Precipice (in part because there are some other longform projects I intend to start putting out and if I am going to do Weekly Fic Posts, I’ll probably alternate), but we’ll see how things go.

AtLA Fic:

Again, I didn’t finish what I wanted to (other than the aforementioned crossover for PodTogether), but I have been working on stuff in the background and, while I’m not going to commit to a Specific Deadline like I am for Precipice, I do plan to post at least the opening chapter of the still-untitled Avatar Zuko AU I’ve been working on this month, so watch this space!

Other Fic Projects:

I’m poking around at what to do for next years SWBB (if only because my wordcounts have been Steadily Increasing and I’d like to get a head start in anticipation of that happening again this year, lol). Still considering exactly what to do, whether I pour all my focus into OFLAM, like I consider every year, or see if I can work up Bail Unfucks the Timeline or another half-plotted AU I have in the back of my head, or go with a different prompt/storyline that occurs to me at some point between now and then, but I’m starting to Actively Ponder things.

I do have that BSG1 crossover outline in the works, I swear XD I’ve got...uh...maybe half to two thirds of the first third of the overall storyline written up? XD It’s a. Uh. Long one. I might go ahead and release it in three parts, just for length/convenience, and because it does more or less have three distinct sections (the initial contact/New Caprica fallout and establishment of the Haven settlement which makes sense in context; the second contact/algae planet; and then an adventure on a resurrection ship to retrieve a Specific Boxed Five and possibly walk away with Ellen because that would just ruin Cavil’s day and I do so love to ruin Cavil’s day, lol). ...I’m going to go ahead and post a preview snippet at the bottom of this post, as Motivation XD

I think that’s all the fanfic stuff I have specific updates for. There’s generally always stuff noodling around in my brain (lately, for Star Wars, AtLA, BSG, or some combination of the three), it’s just how much of it materializes, lol.

At some point, I plan to revisit some BSG epics I had going on (Serenissima; rewriting For Sorrow Sung or doing a slightly different storlyine with the same concept; The Other Battlestar; a few others), but no concrete plans as of yet.

I also kind of want to explore a far-past AtLA setting I designed for a challenge community way back? But I’m not sure if that would work better as an original work with the serial numbers filed off, if I could figure out how I wanted to do that (I have done it before, as I’ll talk about below, but this concept, while not directly involving any characters from Avatar canon as it’s set 2000 years prior to Sozin’s reign, does to an extent lean on the Avatar specifically as a concept, in a way that the other fic I did this with did not).

Original Fic:

Due to a challenge on rainbowfic, I actually got. Quite a bit written? Most of it was not super plot-relevant, but I dropped some Hints about a character in Lux and I got to play in some heads I don’t very often. I might go back to the Regency AU at some point, and there’s a specific reveal I want to write up for a secondary character in The Farglass Cycle, but I haven’t quite figured out how to structure that one, so we’ll see how it goes.

Had an interesting discussion the other day about the way original fiction sometimes starts as fanfic with the serial  numbers filed off and...well, a lot of my original stuff starts that way? Or has some roots there, anyway.

Lux doesn’t quite as much, but I definitely ported in at least two characters who started as fanfic characters (leaving aside that this is, y’know, The Apocalypse IN SPACE so, like. Various fandoms that deal with that probably influenced things, plus several key players are Public Domain Characters sooooo), plus some of the way the world is constructed draws on the Native Tongue trilogy and I flat-out stole a concept from Queen of the Damned, though the way it works in this world is different (also, to be fair, I think I’ve seen it in other places, too; but I personally got the idea from there).

The Farglass Cycle and Untitled Intrigues Story, however, straight-up started as fanfic concepts. And I don’t think it’s obvious unless I point out what the source materials were? Farglass, in particular (it’s the AtLA fic I mentioned earlier), because it started as an alternate future and then the map and magic system got reworked, plus the Avatar themself wasn’t even super involved in the original fic context, and while certain characters are very loosely based on AtLA characters, by now they’ve been so altered by the setting that it’s...I used the same archetypes, if that makes sense?

And then Untitled Intrigues Story started as a fusion between two wildly different fandoms, and while one character is a pretty clear expy if you know where he comes from, and another character kept the same actress in my head, I don’t think it’s very clear other than that.

...anyway, not sure where I’m going with that, other than it’s been in my head lately, lol.

...I think that about covers it! What about you guys? What are you all working on? Slash any questions, etc.?

Teaser for BSG1 AU outline, as promised:

So, anyway, SG-1 is prepared for rain and mud and a survivable-but-kinda-unpleasant environment. They’re also prepared for the usual shenanigans--Goa’uld, cranky local politics, weird alien tech that Daniel really should know better than to touch but sends him into another dimension anyway...

Just. Y’know. A normal mission.

They’re...not quite prepared for what they actually find when they step through.

Which is a very tense and now slightly Confused crowd of people, and a firing squad made up of very large killer robots, with a teenage girl as their target.

(One of the large killer robots is. Uh. Well. Half a large killer robot now; that particular Centurion was in the wrong place at the wrong time and got kawooshed in the face. As one does.)

(Said Centurion absolutely wins the ‘Weirdest Death’ pool for the week in Download City, because that is clearly a thing that exists because it entertains me)

There’s a beat where everyone just stares at everyone else, trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

The wormhole disengages.

Daniel takes half a step forward, opens his mouth to start the ‘we are peaceful explorers from Earth and y’all seem to be having a Moment here, sorry for interrupting, but, uh...’

And then the moment end and absolute chaos erupts.

[taeminuet]

where there is no Echo

Title: where there is no Echo Fandom: SHINee Pairings: Jongyu Wordcount: 12k Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Illness, homophobia, character death (set before the fic), discussion of suicide (set before the fic) Summary: In which Jongin’s older brother is sick.

This is the first of the WIPs I will be posting over the next little bit. Please pay attention to the warnings.

note: I did my best to get almost everything in this fic to at least stage 2 of my outlining process (though I think one section may be at stage 1). That means there are no gaps in this fic. There are definitely areas where the plot is glossed over, where it’s not formatted into a full fic, but there’s about 10k of full-on fic and a few sections later where I formatted it into a very loose shape of what the future paragraphs would be. I’m sad to think that this will never be a fic, but even the editing of this killed me, and I don’t imagine I could write the whole thing.

That said, I will repeat: please pay attention to the warnings. Thank you all so much for your support and I appreciate all of you. <3

“Look, it's not I'm trying to avoid anything,” Jinki defends himself, shifting the phone he has pinned between his shoulder and his ear. It slides dangerously, threatening to fall, and he hisses a note of panic, throwing his hand up to catch it and stabbing himself in the cheek with his pen. Moaning weakly, he scrubs at the spot, more than a little glad that his roommate isn't there to tease him for this not-so-uncommon show of grace. Unfortunately, on the other end of the line, his cousin is already snickering at him softly.

Jinki sighs. “I want to come home,” he goes on, though how true that is when he's being laughed at is questionable, ��but it's just not feasible right now. I have exams to study for, and I barely have enough money to buy food. I just can't afford the week off or the money it would take to get there. I'm sorry, Tae. If it was possible...”

“You know mom would give you money if you asked,” Taemin protests, a pout of his own evident in his voice. Jinki can imagine him without effort, sitting in the center of his bed, his long hair pulled into a high ponytail and his lips curled down at the edges as he sulks into the phone. His cellphone model actually has a speakerphone that works, but he probably hasn't remembered to use it, so he'll be leaning in close to the phone as he whines, “Just come home. You know she'd give you enough to get here. She misses you. We both do.”

Jinki sighs again. He really does miss them both terribly, and it's such a tempting offer, the thought of getting to go home and see him making his resolve waver. But, “I don't need the money though, and I don't want to do that to Auntie. She works hard enough.”

“But hyung,” Taemin whines, “I--”

“No 'buts', Taemin,” Jinki cuts him off. He feels mean, but he also knows that if Taemin keeps talking, he'll give in eventually, and he doesn't want to do that. “It's spring break, not the end of the world.”

There's silence for a long moment, and Jinki wonders if Taemin is giving him the silent treatment -- he honestly wouldn't put it past him. But then the younger takes a deep breath, the sound sending a static buzz across the microphone as if to confirm Jinki's mental image. “It's just really lonely here.”

“Oh, Tae...” Jinki sets his pen down and switches the phone to his other ear, fixing his attention more fully on Taemin. Maybe he can't spare a whole week to visit his cousin, but he can most definitely spare a couple of minutes to talk to him properly. At very least he can do that.

Taemin is his entire world most days, and that's only recently changed. By recently, he means when he moved to college, because up until then, it had only been the two of them.

Living out in the country hadn't been a bad way to grow up, not by a long shot, but it had been a little lonely. Most of the other occupants of their town were older couples, their children moved on into the city with their own jobs, and while of course that had meant that he and Taemin had been adored and doted by older grandmotherly types, it also meant that there just weren't any other children to play with.

It wasn't a good place for kids to grow up, really, but his aunt had tried hard. It had to have been hard to have taken on a child that wasn't her own when she was already struggling with bills and raising her own child. Jinki understood now exactly how much she had done for him, but at the time he had been a confused child, struggling with the loss of his mother and struggling harder to understand exactly why he had been left with a woman who he had only met a few times and a toddler who wasn't old enough to keep him company and cried all the time.

Jinki understood now that it had been the only option, but he had been a lonely child until Taemin was old enough to keep him company.

Once Taemin was older though, grown enough to really spend time with him, they had been inseparable. It had been the two of them against the world; Taemin had looked up to him with some kind of hero worship, and Jinki had adored him. Even when the two of them were old enough to be driven almost an hour the nearest public middle school, exposed to more children around, they hadn't really bothered to befriend the other children.

Or, rather, Taemin had been too busy defending himself from the incessant accusations of him being gay to try and actually make friends with the people sneering at him and whispering behind his back, and Jinki had been furious and unwilling to speak to anyone who would dare make fun of Taemin.

He had tried his best to defend him, of course, but it was hard. Despite Taemin being the one to fit all the ridiculous high school stereotypes -- long hair, delicate features, an interest in dance, and the frame to suit it – Taemin isn't gay. But Jinki is, and Taemin refused to let him risk transferring all the torment to himself. Jinki was the smart one, Taemin had insisted despite Jinki’s protests, the one who had always been going on to bigger and better things.

But now that he has, graduated with honors and moved to the city for university, he's left Taemin alone in a small town and a high school where people tease him, and Jinki feels awful for it. He feels even worse for denying him when all he's asking for is some company. Jinki is five and a half hours away from him studying day and night. If nothing else, Jinki owes Taemin a little while to talk to him.

“Tae, I'm sorry,” Jinki apologizes after a long minute of silence. “I'll be home for the summer. If I can pass all of my exams, I won't have any summer classes, and then I'll be home for months while you're out of class.”

“I have to study during the summer, hyung,” Taemin reminds him, but there's something in his voice that Jinki thinks might be a smile. “And I have dance classes.”

“I'll help you then!” Jinki offers, smiling back. “And I'll come watch you dance. It'll be like old times.”

Taemin laughs into the phone and Jinki exhales a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, leaning back in his chair. More than ever now, he wishes that he was going home to visit Taemin for break, because he's been so stressed out about everything that just taking a moment to speak to his cousin makes him feel more relaxed than he's been in weeks. So much so that when Taemin laughs, “God, I hope not. I've gotten tons better this year,” Jinki giggles so hard that he falls backwards out of his chair.

It's just in time for his roommate to walk in and see him sprawled on the floor, but the guy merely rolls his eyes before going to drop into his bed and grab his laptop. Jinki blushes pink and picks himself up and then the phone in time to hear Taemin ask, “Hyung, are you okay?”

“Fine,” he says, stretching out his leg with a wince. “Just not as graceful as you. I'm glad your dancing is going well!”

Taemin laughs again. “Yeah, well, we got a new student, who's actually really nice. We've been practicing together, so...”

“New student?” Jinki asks with interest, perking up. Taemin groans at his tone of voice, but Jinki's too excited to listen to the clear note of fond protest in Taemin's voice. “Is she cute?”

“He, hyung,” Taemin says with a laugh. “And yeah, I guess so, but you know that's more your scene than mine.”

“That's fair,” Jinki chuckles, “Does he live close?”

“You're not hitting on my dance partner, hyung!” Taemin protests, “He's like five years younger than you!”

“I don't want to hit on your dance partner. I'm pretty sure you'll have him corrupted by the summer anyways. I just meant so that you might have some company.”

It stifles the amusement a little, reminding them both of exactly how this conversation started. Taemin's laughter tapers off into a soft noncommittal sound. “His family lives in an apartment in the city right now. They're trying to find somewhere nice, but they haven't gotten a good place yet.”

“Ah,” Jinki says, smiling sympathetically, “Maybe they'll move in close and you won't be so lonely. It'll be okay, Taeminnie.”

“Don't call me that,” Taemin whines, but he sounds pleased. After a minute, he adds, “I miss you, hyung.”

“I know, Tae,” Jinki sighs, and then catches the glare from his roommate. Right. His roommate can't sleep while there's talking. “I miss you too. And I'll talk to you later, okay?”

“Yes, hyung,” Taemin says, and there's an almost dejected creak from his mattress as he moves around.

Jinki frowns. “I really do.”

“I know. Later, hyung.”

“Later, Tae,” he whispers, but the phone line is already dead. Sighing, he plugs his cellphone in to charge and crawls into his own bed just in time for his roommate to switch out the lights, shift around for a minute, and promptly start snoring softly.

Rolling over, Jinki realizes that he might be just as lonely as Taemin.

--

Homework swamps him over the next few weeks, and Jinki honestly does spend most of his spring break in the school library. He also spends the weeks after that, and before he knows it, he's answering the phone to his cousin's voice for the first time since they spoke since before spring break, and it's to Taemin's greeting of, “Happy Easter, hyung!”

Jinki blinks at his calendar for a long minute, shocked and appalled. How on earth is it Easter already? The weeks have flown by, and Jinki realizes that in all his preparations for his upcoming finals, he hasn't really had time for anyone else lately. The thought makes his stomach churn uncomfortably. “Happy Easter, Tae. How's it going?”

“Oh, you know,” Taemin replies, and his voice isn't nearly as upset as Jinki would have expected considering that Jinki's practically been MIA for the last for weeks. In fact, he sounds almost giddy when he adds, “Pretty good!”

“Pretty good?” Jinki repeats, dubiously. It's not that he's not happy that Taemin is happy, but it's just strange when it wasn’t that long ago that Taemin was begging him to come home and confessing in that trembling voice how lonely he was. Still, Jinki's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth over this. He grins, knowing Taemin will be able to tell the expression in his words. “Okay, I'll bite. What happened?”

“Free chocolate isn't enough?” Taemin laughs, but he's quick to add, “You remember that friend I met in dance class? He moved in!”

“Moved in?” Jinki asks, bewildered. “Moved in where?”

“The old house a few blocks over. The one that's been for sale forever,” Taemin says, and then giggles. “You know, the one that we used to say was haunted?”

“Taem, tell me you didn't tell your new friend that he lives in a house full of ghosts!” Jinki admonishes, thoroughly ruining it with a laugh of his own.

Taemin snorts into the phone. “Of course not, hyung. What do you take me for? I told him about the brutal murder-suicide in the attic and let him draw him own conclusions.”

“Taemin!” Jinki says, scandalized, and then pauses for a moment before asking, “Does that house even have an attic?”

“I dunno,” Taemin shrugs. “I don't think so, but I mean, Jonginnie's pretty gullible.”

“Jonginnie, huh? You sure you're not interested in him that way?”

“Hyung!” Taemin yells, and it's his turn to sound scandalized.

Jinki laughs until he can't breathe, and Taemin keeps protesting into the phone until it's time to pass it over to his mother. Jinki greets his aunt warmly, and she does the same thing, telling him about her promotion at her work.

“Now that Taeminnie has a friend,” she says honestly, in that furtive voice that means Taemin is nearby and she’s trying not to let him hear, “I'm not so worried about leaving him to take care of himself.”

“You should be. Now he's just corrupting an innocent,” Jinki laughs.

“Well then,” his aunt counters, “you'll just have to come home and stop him.”

Jinki sighs, clearly caught. “Summer vacation starts in a few weeks. I'll be home then.”

“You better,” she threatens, her voice soft. “It's not the same around here without you.”

“Sorry, Auntie,” he apologizes. “I miss you both, and I'll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay, Jinki. We'll see you soon.”

Jinki hangs up, rubbing his eyes slowly. Taemin has a friend now, but that doesn't make Jinki feel any less worn out, any less eager to get back to his family. He buries himself back in his studying, losing himself in flash cards and facts until his roommate wakes him up with a loud clearing of his throat, prompting Jinki to jerk up in alarm from where his head was laid down on his desk. “You need the light?”

“Oh, uh,” Jinki replies, “no. You can turn it--”

It's off before he finishes his sentence, and Jinki has to feel his way to his bed in the dark.

--

“So, uh,” Jinki says awkwardly, scuffing his foot along the carpet. His bags are in his car, his books have been returned to the school, he has his laptop bag slung over his shoulder, and he's staring across the dorm room at his roommate who is packing up a few more things and not really looking at Jinki. Jinki feels more than a little uncomfortable. “It's been fun.”

“Yeah, sure,” his roommate says, batting his hand in the air. “It's been a real riot, Joonki.”

“It's Jin... you know what, nevermind.” He rolls his shoulders for a second. “I'll see you around.”

He doesn't get a response this time, and he sighs softly, ducking his head as he walks out of the dorm. It's probably the last time he'll see his roommate, considering the size of their campus. Maybe he should feel a little bad, but considering that conversation, he can't say he does. Instead, he scoops his phone out of his pocket and punches in Taemin's number.

It rings a couple of times, and Jinki feels his heart plummet with the thought that Taemin isn't going to answer him. Then the phone clicks and Jinki's assaulted with the sound of music, the bass pounding through the speakers loud enough that he has to pull the phone away from his ear. He's glad he did, because a second later, Taemin is literally screaming into the phone, his voice loud as he hollers, “Hyung? Are you home?!”

Jinki laughs. “Could you even hear me if I was going to say 'yes'?”

He almost doubles over when Taemin's only response is, “What? I can't hear you!”

“Turn down the music, Tae!” Jinki shouts back, earning himself a couple of weird looks from the other students packing up their things to head home for the summer.

“Hold on, hyung,” Taemin says, quieter now, but still too loud, “Jonginnie, turn the music down!”

The music quiets a bit, and Jinki smiles slightly. “You're with Jongin? Are you sure you two are not--”

“Hyung,” Taemin says, and he sounds so honestly mortified that Jinki is actually genuinely taken aback. “I mean,” Taemin adds after a second, “no. You know I'm not--”

“Okay,” Jinki says, holding up his free hand in mock surrender, even if he knows Taemin can't see it. “Okay, I get it. But if I get home and you two are engaged, don't say I didn't tell you so.”

“So you're not home yet?” Taemin asks, and his voice has a little bit of a pout in it.

“No, not yet,” Jinki apologizes, “But I'm on my way. Give me a few hours and I'll be there, okay?”

“Okay,” Taemin chirrups, “I'll see you in a few hours.”

“Alright, Tae,” Jinki says, climbing into his car. “Bye.”

For once, after a conversation with his cousin, he doesn't feel guilty or lonely, and he hums happily under his breath as he tosses his laptop bag and his cellphone into the passenger seat and heads for home. It's a long drive, admittedly, and he remembers about halfway there exactly why he didn't want to do this for spring break, but he has the entire summer now. He'll have some studying to do to keep up with his work, but mostly it'll be free time and getting to spend time with someone who actually remembers his name.

--

Also, apparently, someone who he's never met before, Jinki realizes as he pulls up outside his house a couple of hours later. The sun is starting to dip toward the horizon, and Jinki has to squint into it as he pulls up the street, so he's not entirely sure whether he's going crazy or not when he sees someone suspiciously similar to his cousin standing right next to Taemin, but when he gets out of the car, he just lifts an eyebrow.

Taemin is beaming, long hair tied up in the loose bun that says he's been dancing, and he bounces up and throws sweaty arms around Jinki's shoulders with a grin. Behind him is what appears to be Taemin if he grew a couple of centimeters, got a tan, and cut his hair short. Jinki blinks, and then remembers to make a face of disgust and shrug Taemin off with a soft, “Ugh, Taemin, that's disgusting. Go take a shower.”

“It's nice to see you too, hyung!” Taemin chirps, clinging on closer with an impish grin. “How was the drive home?”

“Long,” Jinki admits. “What's with the good twin?”

“Wait, why am I the good twin?” The boy speaks up, looking bemused. He tilts his head to one side and stops looking quite as much like Taemin, mostly because he now looks a little like a bewildered puppy.

Jinki smiles at him. “Jongin, I presume? Right, well, you should know Taemin well enough at this point to know that he's certainly not.”

“That's...” Jongin starts and then stops and shrugs, “That's fair.”

Jinki laughs while Taemin pulls away from him to frown at his new friend. “You’re a traitor. You’re a traitor, and I don’t need you now that hyung is home.”

The sentence actually takes Jinki aback, and he blinks rapidly, eyebrows knitting and mouth pursing into a tight line. He isn’t sure whether to tell off Taemin first or apologize to Jongin, and so he stands there for a moment, totally off guard.

Jongin bursts into laughter, the kind that makes his mouth gape open and his upper body bounce with the force of it. Next to him, Taemin beams, covering the expression with his hand like that might help hide the fact that his complaint has now turned to nothing but smiles and happiness. Jinki hasn’t seen his cousin this happy in a very long time, and Jinki reaches out without thinking to squeeze his shoulder, a smile on his lips. He’s glad to be home.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jongin,” he says, voice all honestly. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“Nah, I’ve got to get home. I was just walking back with Taemin after practice, and he insisted I wait here until you got here so I could meet you. He's told me a lot about you, hyung.”

Jongin’s smile is sweet, and Jinki nods a little approvingly. Taemin, however, pouts. “Jonginnie, stay. Mom won’t mind, you know. She always says you’re welcome.”

“No, no, it’s alright!” Jongin rubs at the back of his neck a little. “I’ve got to get home. It’s not every night your cousin gets home. This should be a family thing. Besides,” he adds quickly to abate the protest Taemin has just opened his mouth to add, “I’ve got summer school work to catch up on, you know? Moving put me behind, and I don’t want to be a grade behind you just because I’m struggling with some math.”

“Jinki-hyung is great at math! He could help you catch up!” Taemin says, like it’s some kind of bartering system, and Jinki lifts an eyebrow at him for volunteering his services without asking.

Jongin just blinks at him though, suddenly looking a little shy, and asks, “Could you, hyung? I’m just kind of confused by some of it, and I don’t want to repeat a year when I know I could wrap my head around it with a little more practice.”

Jinki caves. Either Taemin has taught Jongin the tricks of the trade for getting Jinki to give in to things or Jongin just naturally has that hopeful puppy look, but either way, it doesn’t bode well for Jinki if Taemin and Jongin ever team up on him.

“Sure, Jongin. It’s not a problem,” he agrees. “Just not tonight? I’m a little tired from the drive.”

“No! No, of course not, hyung!” Jongin says, grinning brightly. “Just whenever you get settled in!”

Jongin and Taemin both look far too excited about this, Taemin’s mouth a proud little smirk like he somehow just brokered the world’s greatest peace treaty instead of some strange tutoring session for his best friend. Jinki fights not to roll his eyes, just grabs the essentials out of his car and tosses them at his cousin’s face. “Help me carry these in?”

--

To his credit, Jinki only breaks two things while moving back in, and that plate had been on its last legs before he even left, so he can’t really be blamed for that. Also to his credit, in the same amount of time, Taemin loses his cellphone (twice), three different hair ties, and somehow, mysteriously, his left shoe. Jinki figures they all have their vices.

It takes him three or fours days, mostly because he keeps getting derailed by the requests to spend quality time with both Taemin and his aunt, who, while her job takes her away a lot, makes a concerted effort to be home for dinner every night, even if that dinner is take-out. Taemin volunteers to cook, but he’s shot down extremely quickly.

Jongin shows up for at least a couple of hours a day, usually to hang out with Taemin, though sometimes he ends up helping Jinki move things, smiling at him and claiming to “really want to help, hyung!” when prompted. He’s a good kid, Jinki decides, and so, when he’s finally finished unpacking, he figures he owes it to Jongin not to put it off anymore, even if he really doesn’t want to do any more math.

Still, high school math can’t be as bad as college level calculus courses, he figures.

He’s wrong.

It’s not that the numbers are harder – if nothing else, Jinki breezes through the equations once he’s got them figures out. It’s that somehow, somewhere along the line, someone hired a batman super villain to write the word problems that Jongin shows him from his workbook. It takes way longer than it should just to figure out what the questions want him to figure out, and usually there’s at least one completely unnecessary number in there to throw him off, because why just teach math when they can easily throw advanced problem-solving into the mix, just in case the students had strange film noire aspirations to their lives.

Jinki doesn’t say any of this though. No reason to discourage Jongin. Instead, he casually mentions maybe not doing all of this today and coming around to help out a lot more. “Easier to do an hour or two a couple of times a week than try and cram it all into a few days and get frustrated, right?” he offers in his gentlest voice.

The look Taemin gives him from the chair across Jongin's living room tells him he’s fooling no one, but Jongin lights up hopefully. “Would you? God, it’d be great not to have to sit down and do five or six hours of math at a time.”

“Of course. And,” he adds, because Taemin has upgraded from giving him a look to giving him a look, and Jinki wants to discourage that right now, “it might make it a little easier to get through if you’re not getting frustrated after a couple of hours.”

“Yeah,” Jongin admits, looking sheepish again. It’s not an uncommon look for him, Jinki’s learning. “I just can’t sit still for a long time or I get really sleepy, you know? It’s like –“

 Jongin stops abruptly, though even if he had gone on, Jinki would have missed it. His head has already snapped around to look up towards the ceiling, the loud thumping noise like something falling making him jump a little. For half a second, Jinki has some weird flashback to him and Taemin joking about this house being haunted, but that’s ridiculous. Besides, Jongin looks more concerned than confused, like he knows very well where the noise is coming from.

“Hyung?” He calls loudly, and there’s a long stretch of silence. Jinki almost jumps when it’s broken by the trill of Jongin’s phone going off. It’s sitting right between them on the table, and Jinki catches a glimpse of the name 'Hyung~ ^^' before Jongin picks it up and swipes the screen, greeting, “Hyung, are you okay?”

Jinki can hear what’s said, but it’s obviously not good because Jongin tenses a little and starts to get up. Across from them, Taemin shakes his head. “Jonginnie’s brother is really sick,” he tells Jinki in a quiet voice. “He doesn’t leave his room a whole lot. It’s why they moved out here – the doctors said the fresh air would be good for him, even if it’s a little further from the hospital. Don’t know if fresh air helps when he doesn’t get outside much, but…”

He shrugs loosely, and Jinki glances at Jongin, but he’s absorbed in the phonecall, saying, “Hyung, if you fell on the way to the bathroom, I can come help… No, I get that, but… Mom’s going to be really upset if you got hurt because…”

It sounds like he’s getting refused at every turn, because he sits back down slowly, protests getting quieter by the minute. Finally he sighs out, “Okay, but if you need me, text me. I’ll be right up.”

He hangs up the phone and sets it down, looking worried. Jinki frowns, empathy stirring up feelings of sadness in his chest. He pats Jongin’s arm quietly, the same as he would for Taemin. “Do you need to go help him?”

“No, he says he’s fine,” Jongin sighs, giving no sign that he’s even remotely upset by Taemin telling Jinki what’s going on. “My mom’s a little overprotective, and he gets upset after a while. Says that he’s sick, but he’s not an invalid. It’s just…”

Jongin shakes his head a little and then shrugs. Taemin reaches out and squeezes his friend’s arm. “It’ll be fine. Do you need to skip dance practice this afternoon to keep an eye out for him?”

“No, my mom will be home,” Jongin says, shaking his head. “We’re good. Can we finish up these two pages maybe?”

It’s an abrupt change of subject, but Jinki’s more than willing to give into it. He probably hadn’t wanted to talk about his mom a lot there at the end either.

“Okay,” he says instead, pointing at a problem, “So they’re looking for which of these could be the total price amount of the coins you have, and you have a ratio of 4:3 with a total of 14 coins…”

Jinki squints at the word problem in exasperation, Jongin looking completely at a loss, and Taemin stands up abruptly, fishing out a handful of coins from his pocket and dumping them out on the table. They’re still laughing and rearranging the money when Jongin’s mother comes home and Jongin and Taemin rush up to Jongin’s room to change into dance clothes.

Jinki smiles after them and introduces himself to the woman as he cleans up Taemin’s money and organizes the workbooks they’d been pouring over. It kind of surprises him when he finds himself being greeted warmly and told to come over any time he’d like, that Taemin is practically a third son at this point and that Jinki is more than welcome any time.

It makes Jinki’s heart swell to hear such good things about Taemin, especially when his cousin rushes back downstairs with Jongin in tow and whines, “Hyung, come on. We’re going to be late!” like that’s Jinki’s fault.

“It was nice to meet you,” Jinki says with another bow as he shoves Taemin’s coins into his pocket to return them when Taemin is once more wearing an outfit with pockets. He gets tugged out of the door before he gets a response, and shakes his head as Taemin and Jongin have a brief scuffle over the passenger seat of Jinki’s car.

Looking back at Jongin’s house, he pauses for a moment at the sight of a short boy in one of the windows, blinking down at them with a look that tugs at Jinki’s heartstrings. He gets distracted when the scuffle ends with Taemin knocking into him, and by the time he looks back, the boy is gone from the window. Jinki stares a moment longer before banishing both of the boys to the back seat under threat of rescinding his offer to drive both of them to dance.

--

It’s the next Tuesday before Jinki has a real chance to go over and help Jongin again, mostly because Taemin coaxes him into taking him into the city over the weekend. It’s not a big deal, really, but they spend most of the day window shopping, visiting arcades, and getting ice cream. It’s all those things that they both wished they could do all the time when Jinki was still in high school, and getting to do them now is nice.

Nice is also more than a little exhausting though, and they spend Sunday recovering, playing video games in their boxers with the blinds drawn and only stumbling downstairs for dinner when Taemin’s mom gets home.

Monday is another lazy day, though this one is because there’s really nothing much to do; Jongin and his family are in in the city this time. There’s probably no ice cream and window shopping though, because Taemin points out that if they’re in the city then they’re probably at the hospital for Jongin’s brother.

That makes Jinki’s stomach drop hard and fast, but Taemin just shakes his head. “He has checkups, like, all the time. Every couple of weeks or so. They’re pretty much trying to just keep an eye on him.”

“Right,” Jinki says, though it doesn’t help any, and when they walk over to Jongin’s on Tuesday for Jinki to help Jongin with his math, he pauses for an extra moment outside, looking up at the window where he had seen the boy looking out. All the rooms upstairs are dark though, and when Jongin opens the door, he explains why.

“Hyung’s sleeping,” he says, voice hushed. “He’s been kind of worn out lately.”

“Do you want to do this another day?” Jinki asks, because he doesn’t want to disturb the sick boy. “It’s fine if you’d rather wait.”

Jongin shakes his head. “No, honestly, it's fine. We just can’t be super loud or anything.”

They follow Jongin into the living room where he has his math books set out along with some spare papers and a few pencils. He starts to sit down and then seems to think better of it, looking at them both and asking, “Do you want anything to drink?”

“I’ll take a beer,” Taemin says in such a deadpan voice that Jinki glances at him for a moment.

“Okay, so you want a soda,” Jongin says in a voice just as deadpan, and then looks to Jinki. “And for you, hyung?”

“Soda would be great, thanks,” Jinki replies, taking a seat, and opens the math book to begin looking over it and making sure he knows what he’s talking about.

Taemin follows Jongin into the kitchen to get drinks for them, the two of them chatting in hushed, amiable voices that Jinki can’t quite make out. It’s nice background noise, and Jinki hums softly to himself as he listens to their quiet voices from the other room, eyes skimming the words. He hears them come back in the room, jostling each other and still talking away, and he looks up to smile and take the drink from Jongin’s hand only to watch in a kind of helpless horror as Taemin knocks against Jongin a bit too roughly, liquid sloshing from the glass he’s offering and spilling sticky across Jinki’s hand and arm, dripping down onto the table as well.

“Oh my god, hyung, I’m so sorry,” Jongin fumbles out at once, wide-eyed and red-faced, jerking away and ending up spilling more soda across the table. From behind him, Taemin snorts with laughter, and both of them glare at the long-haired boy, Jongin hissing out a, “Shut the hell up, Taemin.”

“Jongin, it’s fine,” Jinki says, trying to be kind, because Jongin looks frankly mortified. “It’ll wash out. Just, where’s your bathroom?”

“Oh, god, uhm, it’s… upstairs and to the left. Or, no, second door on the left. Yeah. First one’s a closet, and… should I, uhm, show you, or…?”

“I’m sure I can find it, Jongin,” Jinki says, trying to be as patient as he can. “You might want to clean this up, though…”

“Right, yes, okay,” Jongin says, and rushes towards the kitchen to, presumably, get something to clean up with.

Taemin watches him go, reaching down and plucking Jongin’s math book away from the mess, and Jinki shakes his head for a second and then heads upstairs, taking them as quietly as he can.

The bathroom is easy to find and loosely decorated, the soap dispenser matching the shower curtain and the towels, though both of those are hanging loosely and unfolded from the rack, making it clear they’ve been used recently. It’s a typical bathroom for a teenage boy, and Jinki finds himself smiling slightly as he turns on the tap and starts scrubbing at his hands and arm, trying to wash the soda out of the sleeve of his shirt.

When he’s gotten it mostly out, to the point where it won’t be troublesome when he goes to wash it, he looks around, fishing for a hand towel of some sort. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something, and when he turns his head, he sees two faces in the mirror, another boy standing behind him in the doorway.

Jinki nearly jumps out of his skin, whirling around with a gasp. “Who…?”

The boy in the doorway blinks at him slowly. “You’re new,” he says, voice soft and light. He has light blond hair and a puppyish face, eyes a little dark like he doesn’t get a whole lot of rest. He’s wearing a thick, soft-looking sweater, fingers curled into it in a clear sign that he’s cold. Jinki can understand that; the air conditioning is running full-blast up here, making the upstairs seem a lot colder than the relatively comfortable downstairs. Still, it seems like a weird thing to be wearing mid-summer, and Jinki hesitates a moment, especially when the boy raises an eyebrow. “You’re… one of, uh, Jongin’s friends, right?”

“Y-yeah,” Jinki says, a little taken aback, and then he remembers the boy he had seen in the window only a few days ago. Jongin’s brother. Jongin had said he was sleeping, but he’d obviously woken up. “I’m Jinki.”

“Jonghyun,” the boy says, sounding almost nervous now. He must not meet very many new people. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jinki answers, smiling politely. “Sorry, you just startled me.”

“Yeah, I, uh… I get that a lot,” Jonghyun says with a shrug. “I didn’t really think you’d notice me, but…”

 “Well, you were standing in the doorway. It was a little hard to miss,” Jinki points out, and Jonghyun hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t reply. After a second, Jinki adds, “I’m sorry. Did you need the bathroom?”

“Oh, uh,” Jonghyun says, looking like this has just occurred to him, “yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Jinki says with a smile. “I’ll just get out of your way.”

He twists off the tap and settles for drying his hands on his pants, figuring no one will really care. Then he edges past Jonghyun who’s still standing in the doorway and makes his way back downstairs.

Jongin has the soda cleaned up, but he starts in on apologies the second Jinki’s back in the room, and Jinki has to shake his head a little and wave them off with a, “Jongin, it was an accident. And Taemin’s fault if anything. It’ll come out in the wash. Let’s just work on your math, alright?”

Taemin looks offended, putting his hand to his chest like Jinki has deeply wounded him, and Jongin snickers softly and agrees. Leaning in, Jinki starts in on the math with Jongin, not even thinking to mention that Jonghyun is up and about until a while later when Jongin’s mother gets home and asks Jongin how his brother’s doing. Still, it’s been a while, and Jonghyun’s probably gone back to bed, so Jinki lets it lie.

He and Taemin decline Jongin’s mother’s offer of dinner, saying that they need to get home, and they head out soon after, leaving Jongin with his family. Jinki glances over his shoulder out of habit and sees Jonghyun blinking at him from one of the windows. He waves tentatively, and Jonghyun takes a second and then waves back.

“What are you doing, hyung?” Taemin asks, already headed down the street without him. “Come on! Mom’s home, and she said she’s making something good for dinner tonight.”

“I’m coming,” Jinki replies and strides after his cousin, looking back once more to see Jongyhun staring after him.

--

It becomes kind of a routine after a couple of weeks. Fridays are dance for the two younger boys, so Jinki helps Jongin with his math then and then takes the both of them to their class in the evenings. Tuesdays are also set aside to help Jongin struggle through the mess of numbers he has to deal with. The rest of the week is kind of a give-or-take thing, and more often than not, the other days of the week find Jongin with Taemin at every possible moment, thus meaning that Jinki sees quite a bit of the boy. Eventually, after a few weeks, Jongin stops being so shy and openly extends the invitation for Jinki to come hang out at his house as well.

Jinki doesn’t mind doing so, though he doesn’t have the same thing for video games that the two younger boys do. Or, rather, he does, but he tends to lounge on the couch and play games on his phone while the two boys argue playfully and shoot each others’ characters in the face, even when they’re on the same team.

Jinki hasn’t seen any more of Jonghyun so far, but Jongin mentioned something about going to the city every Monday now, citing, “Hyung’s been a lot more tired recently. The doctors say the move just took it out of him and it’ll be a while for him to get back on his feet, but… I dunno, they say a lot of things.”

He sounds moderately sad about it, but he’s also kind of accepting, like he’s been dealing with this for a long time. Jinki thinks it’s probably hard for Jongin to deal with, but, of course, it’s probably hard for Jonghyun as well. He’s the one who’s sick after all.

Jinki doesn’t say either one of those things. Instead he gets up quietly while the younger boys argue over who gets to have a certain type of gun and wanders upstairs towards the bathroom.

He hadn’t been meaning to creep on anyone, but when he finds a door open, he can't help but poke his head in. It’s empty, bed neatly made, curtains drawn. It feels a little sterile actually, unlived in, and for some reason it makes Jinki squirm, a chill going down his spine.

Maybe this is a guest room? There are other doors along the hallway, all closed, and those could easily be bedrooms for two boys. Maybe –

“So you’re here a lot now, huh?” A voice interrupts his thoughts.

Jinki jumps about a mile high, heart starting to thunder in his chest. How he had missed Jonghyun sitting in a chair in the corner, he has no idea, but the boy just scared this shit out of him. Jinki presses his palm to his chest, trying to make sure he’s not having a heart attack or something. “S-sorry,” he fumbles out. “I didn’t mean—“

“You’re fine,” Jonghyun says with a shrug, getting up out of the chair soundlessly and moving to lean against the wall nearer Jinki instead. “I’m not mad that you’re in here or anything. The door was open, so…”

“Yeah, I saw that. I just thought… I mean, I thought maybe I’d say hello?” Jinki tries, a little cautiously. “I didn’t know if you were sleeping or what, but…”

Jonghyun looks baffled for a second, blinking a few times. Then he starts laughing for some reason, a kind of weary sound, and shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t sleep much.”

“But I thought…” Jinki starts, and then clams up. He doesn’t want to be rude or anything. After a second he tries, “Should I leave you alone so you can rest?”

“No,” Jonghyun says, a little too fast. “I like the company. I don’t get a whole lot of it.”

“Oh. Does Jongin not…?” Jinki asks, brow furrowing.

“He’s a sweet kid.” Jonghyun shrugs. “He’s just got too much going on to see me much.”

“That’s sad.”

“Not so much as you’d think. I’m kind of used to it. It’s just kind of a part of… all this.” Jonghyun smiles like he’s got a joke that he’s not sharing with Jinki. “I don’t mind so much. It’s nice to talk to someone though.”

“I can come visit more, if you’d like?” Jinki says.

Jonghyun’s eyebrows furrow. “Don’t go out of your way.”

“I’m not!” Jinki promises, smiling as kindly as he can. “Like you said, I’m here a lot now.”

“Then… yeah, that sounds nice. If I’m around,” Jonghyun says, shrugging like it doesn’t matter. There’s something longing in his face though.

“If you’re around,” Jinki agrees. “It’s really nice to—“ Jinki stops abruptly when he hears Taemin’s voice from downstairs, calling out to him. He turns in the doorway, looking down the hall, and then sighs a little. “I should go.”

“Yeah,” Jonghyun agrees from behind him, and Jinki looks back to see him halfway across the room again, settling back into his chair.

Jinki frowns. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jonghyun says. “Can you, uh, shut the door behind you?”

“Sure,” Jinki says, stomach twisting a little. That hadn’t been how he wanted that conversation to go.

He shuts the door behind him and goes downstairs to find Taemin lacing up his shoes. “Where’ve you been?” Taemin asks. “It’s time to go home for dinner.”

Jinki thinks about answering, but it feels weird somehow, like he shouldn’t tell Taemin about the loose attempt at friendship he’s carving out with Jongin’s brother. If that can be counted as a friendship.

It doesn’t matter a whole lot. Taemin’s happy to accept Jinki’s shrug and, “Sorry. Lost track of time.”

 “Did you find the ghosts in the attic?” Taemin teases, and Jinki laughs as he pulls on his own shoes and they head home for dinner, Taemin chattering excitedly about his and Jongin’s video game.

--

It becomes a sort of habit for Jinki to try and slip upstairs at some point to see Jonghyun. Not all the time, of course. He still spends quite a bit of time with Jongin and Taemin, sometimes helping Jongin with his math and sometimes just watching the two of them bicker playfully and play video games. But a lot of the times, he manages to find some time to go and visit. He had said he would try, after all, and it’s not like it’s hard to slip away.

Taemin and Jongin are in their own little world, and Jinki finds himself a kind of third wheel more often than not. It’s a little weird, but Jinki doesn’t mind. Taemin’s happy, and it’s nice to see him so open and entirely himself. It’s pretty much all Jinki’s ever wanted for Taemin, and while he originally thought that he might mind the two of them being so wrapped up in their friendship, he’s not.

Part of that is Jonghyun.

He’s not always there. Sometimes Jinki goes up and finds all of the doors shut, and when he knocks softly on the door, he’s always ignored. He figures Jonghyun really is sleeping at those times, and he doesn’t want to disturb him.

Other times he goes up and Jonghyun’s sitting there in his room with the door open, either sitting cross legged on the bed or folded up in the chair. Sometimes he seems to be scribbling things in notebook, but he always hides it away like magic when Jinki comes in. Still, he smiles at Jinki sweetly enough that Jinki has never had room to ask about it, always greeting him with a, “You’re back!”

The first few times he sounded more surprised than pleased, and Jinki had worried that he wasn’t as welcome as Jonghyun had made it seem during their earlier encounters. But Jinki realized quickly that Jonghyun just doesn’t get a lot of socialization. He supposes it’s always either Jongin or Mrs. Kim, and Jonghyun still sometimes expresses how rarely Jongin sees him. Jinki doesn’t have the heart to tell him that that’s probably because of Taemin, but Jonghyun seems to know anyways.

“Your cousin seems nice,” he tells Jinki a couple of weeks into their visits, a wry smile on his lips, and when Jinki’s eyebrows furrow, he continues, “I’ve never really spoken to him. He’s very wrapped up in Jongin, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty close,” Jinki says, shrugging a little. “They spend a lot of time together.”

“I’ve noticed,” Jonghyun says with a snort of amusement. “Jongin’s enamored.”

“What?” Jinki’s eyes widen, flicking downwards like he can see through the floor to the living room if he tries hard enough.

“Jongin’s got a crush. How’d you miss that? He’s always primping before you two come over.”

“But Taemin isn't gay,” Jinki protests, frowning tightly, unhappiness settling into his features. God, if Jongin has a crush on Taemin and it goes badly, Taemin could lose the only friend he has. He doesn’t want to see that happen, not when this is the happiest he’s seen Taemin in a long time.

“Yeah, I know,” Jonghyun says, and something in his voice is chilly enough that it feels like the air in the room literally plummets a few degrees. It pulls Jinki’s eyes back to Jonghyun’s face. The other boy looks pissy, shoulders suddenly set in a way that makes him stop looking as small and soft as he always does. “Your little cousin is as straight as they come. No shame to your family or anything.”

“Woah, what?” Jinki stiffens as well, mentally reeling. Jonghyun sounds so hateful, and it kind of stings to hear that angled at him, but worse is the words he’s using, like he thinks Jinki might genuinely feel that way. “I never said—“

“You didn’t have to. I get it,” Jonghyun says bitterly. He looks away from Jinki towards the window, head turned far enough that Jinki can’t see his expression, and it’s too bright outside for Jinki to be able to get a glimpse of Jonghyun’s reflection in the glass. “It’s written all over your face.”

“Then you’re not very good at reading,” Jinki says, and his voice is tight and controlled. He doesn’t want to yell at Jonghyun, partially because that feels mean, but also because he doesn’t want to get in trouble for being up here and upsetting him. “I don’t give a damn if Taemin is gay or not, and neither does my aunt. But Taemin has always said he’s straight, and that’s for him to figure out, not for anyone else to try and push on him.”

Jonghyun doesn’t look at him for a long time, but when he does, he’s wearing a look that Jinki is more than familiar with. It’s pretty similar to Taemin’s confused face actually, like he’s trying to buffer and process what Jinki just said, and it goes on for just a few seconds too long, making Jinki feel like squirming.

Jinki doesn’t know why, in his urge to break the silence, he admits, “I’m gay.”

“Oh,” Jonghyun says after a second, and then his face contorts into something else entirely, staring at Jinki like he’s never seen him before. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Jinki says, shaking his head a little. After a moment he pauses and then says in a voice as firm as he can make it, “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No!” Jonghyun blurts out, shaking his head, “No, of course not. I just thought…”

“Yeah, I know. I get that a lot. I’m just not fashionable enough for a gay man,” Jinki jokes in a tone that makes it very clear exactly how much he hates that stereotype.

Jonghyun snorts a little. “I don’t think fashion is much of a deciding factor here. I used to know the most fashionable guy ever, and he was straight as a ruler. And Jongin’s got the fashion sense of a blind frat boy.”

“He’s in high school,” Jinki points out, smiling a little. “He’ll get past it. I hope.”

Jonghyun laughs, and like that it’s a little easier again. They don’t talk about Jinki’s confession, and they don’t really go back to discussing sexualities either. Not that day at least.

Before he leaves though, responding to Jonghyun’s yawn and proclamation of exhaustion, Jinki adds, “Hey, are we, uhm… good?”

It feels like such a lame thing to say, but Jonghyun nods, smiling gently. “Yeah. We’re fine.”

Jinki feels a little warm at the smile he’s apparently earned, and there’s a smile of his own on his face as he closes the door behind him and wanders back down the hallway, humming just loud enough that he misses the shuffling around behind one of the closed doors.

--

The next week is weird. Jongin and Taemin have a dance competition coming up hard and fast, and while they can’t make it out to the studio as often as they’d like, there’s space enough at their house for Jinki and Taemin to push all of the living room furniture out of the way and make space for Taemin and Jongin to practice. It’s fun to watch them for a while, but after about an hour of watching Taemin and Jongin repeat the same verse over and over with only the tiniest of alterations, Jinki’s getting a pounding headache.

His room’s not enough of an escape, and he can hear the base beat thudding through their walls no matter what he does. It’s driving him clearly mad, enough that when he crosses through the living room to the kitchen to get water and some ibuprofen, Jongin’s mouth pulls. The boy follows him into the kitchen, leaving Taemin for a second, and hesitates in the doorway.

“Uhm, hyung,” he says, looking sheepish (or as sheepish as he can look when he’s red-faced and dripping sweat, tank top soaked through and clinging in a way that is highly unnecessary on a kid his age), “I called my mom, and she says you’re welcome to hang out at our house. I mean, my brother’s there, but he’s still sleeping a lot, so it should be pretty quiet.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t want to bother him,” Jinki says to be polite, though realistically, he’s kind of excited at the prospect. Peace, quiet, and maybe getting to spend time with Jonghyun. It’s not a bad deal.

“Well, I mean, he doesn’t leave his room a lot, so I doubt he’d even know you were there. And if he does, you can just say who you are,” Jongin points out, and Jinki realizes belatedly that Jongin hasn’t noticed him disappearing for hours to hang out with Jonghyun either. He wonders if Jonghyun’s ever even mentioned their friendship. The thought is oddly unsettling.

“That’s…” Jinki starts, and then hears Taemin curse and the track repeat. He flinches openly. “That’s probably a good idea. Thank you, Jongin, and thank your mother for me if I don’t get the chance myself.”

“Yeah, course, hyung!” Jongin says, smiling brilliantly and practically wagging his metaphorical tail as he digs his house key out of the pocket of his sweats and hands it over. He and Jonghyun both look like puppies sometimes, honestly.

“Jonginnie, come on! We’ve got to get through this bullshit transition,” Taemin calls from the other room, and Jongin turns his head in surprise and then smiles at Jinki a little softer before returning to his friend.

“Language,” Jinki teases as he slips back through the room and heads upstairs to go get his laptop, in better spirits now that he has an escape.

“Get out, hyung!” Taemin laughs, and Jinki does so, taking his time on the walk to Jongin’s house. The summer air is sticky, a little stifling, but Jinki doesn’t mind. It only makes the constant iciness of Jongin’s house feel better as it chills the sweat beading on the back of Jinki’s neck, cooling him quickly enough that he shivers a little.

It’s slightly strange being in Jongin’s house when there’s no one home. Well, no one but his brother. But it’s always quiet upstairs, in what feels like Jonghyun’s territory, and now the entire house feels like that. It’s oddly silent without Jongin verbally working his way through math problems or Taemin and Jongin arguing over video games. It’s nice though, and Jinki relishes it for a moment as he goes to get himself a glass of water, comfortable enough here that it doesn’t make him feel awkward.

He gulps it down, sets it in the sink, and takes a moment to look out the kitchen window to the slightly overgrown side yard. It’s strange, how it reminds him a little of the way their yard always looked like when he was younger, after he had moved in with his aunt but before she trusted him to run the mower without running over his own feet. He should probably offer to mow the Kim’s yard one of these days.

He’s still lost in thought when he hears a soft noise from the second floor. It’s quiet enough that he’s fairly sure it’s just the sound of socked feet on the floor above him, but it makes him pause anyways. After a moment, he smiles. He takes the stairs as quietly as possible, just in case, but he’s pretty sure that means Jonghyun is awake, and when he slips into the room at the end of the hall, he’s a little disappointed not to see him.

He frowns for a moment, looking around one more time, just in case, and then turns on his heel to leave, only to nearly jump out of his skin when he sees Jonghyun standing behind him in the hallway, where he certainly hadn’t been a moment before.

“Jesus—“ Jinki breaths, pressing a hand to his racing heart.

Jonghyun smiles. “I’m sorry,” he says, taking a step back to give Jinki some space. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No. God, no, you’re fine,” Jinki laughs, raking his fingers through his hair. “I should have given you some warning. I didn't want to be too loud coming in though, in case you were sleeping.”

“It's alright,” Jonghyun says, smiling. “I'm not sleeping. I wasn't expecting you here is all. I thought it would be-- well, someone else.”

Jinki lifts an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking playfully. “Do you not want me here?”

“I like having you here. It's nice to have someone who actually interacts with me,” Jonghyun says. There's something sad in his face, but he smiles anyways. “I just don't see you much without your cousin in tow. And Jongin, of course.”

“Yeah, they're practicing over at my aunt's place. It's a tiny bit deafening,” Jinki says with a laugh. “They're good, but there's only so many times--”

“Ah,” Jonghyun says, nodding. “It's worse when you can't get away from it. They try not to practice here much, but Jongin plays the same songs over and over and, well...”

Jinki laughs. “He's in high school,” he points out, meaning it as a playful comment on his tastes, but it calls to mind the conversation from the previous week, and that makes him pause.

Jonghyun is obviously thinking the same thing, because he tips his head at Jinki and says, “So, when you said you were gay...”

“I generally meant that I'm attracted to guys,” Jinki says. “The traditional definition.”

Jonghyun laughs weakly. “No,” he says, “I meant... does that work out for you?”

Jinki smiles softly, a little sadly. “It's alright. It doesn't affect too much. I've always been a bit more interested in school and grades than relationships,” he says. He tries not to think too much about how few friends he has at school because of that.

But Jonghyun seems to see right through him. “It's rough, isn't it?” he asks, reaching out for Jinki. He seems to hesitate before touching him, and Jinki realizes abruptly that this is the first time Jonghyun ever has. His fingers are ice-cold and a little clammy, and he pulls them back quickly when Jinki shivers involuntarily. “Sorry.”

“You're fine,” Jinki says. “I know that you're sick. It's okay.”

Jonghyun pauses. “Yeah,” he agrees after a moment. “Sick. Right.”

That seems like a strange response, and Jinki's brow furrows. “Are you--”

Jonghyun only shakes his head. “I should go soon. I'm getting tired.”

“Alright,” Jinki agrees. He's not going to stop him. He needs his rest. “Well, I'll be downstairs if you want to talk.”

Jonghyun nods slowly, moving to one side. Jinki steps out past him into the hallway, letting Jonghyun move past him into the bedroom. After a quiet moment, Jinki moves down the hall towards the stairs.

“Jinki?” Jonghyun says, and Jinki turns towards him in surprise. Jonghyun is standing there, in the doorway, watching him. “I... I'm gay too.”

“Oh,” Jinki says, not sure what else to say. He's not sure if he's surprised or not. “That's--”

“I'm gonna go,” Jonghyun says, before Jinki can get out anything else. He steps back, disappearing out of sight, and the door closes. Jinki stands there for a moment longer before heading downstairs, leaving Jonghyun to his sleep.

 -- Jinki and Jonghyun interact a few more times, becoming friends, and Jonghyun starts hanging out for longer and longer amounts of time.

 -- Jonghyun admits, one day, to never having kissed a boy. Jinki kisses him --

Jonghyun’s mouth is soft, and his hands shake as he makes a quiet noise of disbelief and wraps his fingers loosely into the front of Jinki’s shirt. It’s not a long kiss, and Jinki pulls away after a moment, swallowing tightly. He hopes that that was okay. He hopes that he didn’t just shatter their friendship, because it startles him to realize that he considers Jonghyun his best friend and to think that he might have ruined that is terrifying.

“Was that…” he starts, slowly, and he can hear the concern in his own voice, wavering and unsure.

Jonghyun makes a tiny, sweet little noise and crumples into him all at once, shoulders heaving. Jinki startles, catching him, and for a moment Jonghyun feels almost insubstantial in his arms, like if Jinki squeezes too tight he’ll just melt away. But then Jonghyun makes another of those noises, a little wetter this time, and Jinki sucks in a breath and tightens his grip because Jonghyun is crying.

“Jonghyun,” Jinki says, a little helpless. He’s always been bad at this sort of thing. “I don’t-- I’m sorry if that wasn’t…”

Jonghyun shakes his head weakly, the action rubbing his face against Jinki’s shirt. “No, no, please don’t-- don’t apologize. I… g-god, I just… I never thought… I’ve never been kissed before, and I d-don’t…”

He’s stuttering, stumbling over his words a little, and Jinki should know better, should think more about it, but he doesn’t. He just unravels his arms so that he can catch Jonghyun’s face instead and pulls him up, kisses him again despite the tears on Jonghyun’s face and the way Jonghyun gasps into his mouth.

Jonghyun’s fingers spasm in his shirt, and then he’s tugging weakly, like he’s trying to pull Jinki closer. When Jinki breaks apart from him, Jonghyun whines, tugging pitifully, but Jinki just grins, leaning their foreheads together and breathing slowly, evenly.

Jonghyun curls into him slowly and clings for a long while, the two of them sitting in peaceful quiet before Jonghyun whispers, “This feels so real.”

Jinki laughs a little, confused by the murmur. “Of course it’s real. Jonghyunnie…”

“I know,” Jonghyun whispers but it sounds almost doubtful, almost near tears again. “I just… I want it to be real, and I know it can’t be. I know it can’t… can’t work out or last…”

Jinki bites back his cringe. He doesn’t like to think too hard about it, about the way Jongin always says ‘my brother is sick’ with the kind of tone where ‘sick’ means ‘dying’. He doesn’t like the think about the way the hope rings hollow in Mrs. Kim’s voice when she mentions going to the city or a new treatment. He doesn’t like to think about it, and now he has to, because Jonghyun is looking at him uncertainly, pulling away, and Jinki feels something ice-cold and desperate.

“Why can’t it?” he says, and then realizes how stupid that was. “I know… I know things aren’t perfect, or… or, I don’t know. I don’t want to mess this up. I like being with you. I like being your friend. And I’d be happy with that, I would. But I also… I like kissing you and holding you and…”

Jonghyun makes a soft, strange laugh, a little tense, a little strained. “I do too,” he says finally, biting his lip. “I want-- I want to be with you. However you-- I just don’t want to break your heart.”

That seems a little much, but at the same time, Jinki has a feeling like it’s too late for that. Romantic or platonic, Jonghyun is so important to him now, and one day he’s going to lose him.

He doesn’t say that though. He just kisses Jonghyun again, hands shaking as he moves to hold Jonghyun’s waist, thin and fragile under his bulky sweater.

“Okay,” Jonghyun says finally, and Jinki doesn’t know what that means, but Jonghyun is swaying a little, tired a little, and they rest there a moment longer before Jonghyun says, “Isn’t it time for you to take Jongin and Taemin to dance?”

“Fuck,” Jinki says, jerking suddenly. He lets go of Jonghyun, fumbling for his phone to check the time and then hisses, “Fuck. Thank you, Jonghyun. I gotta-- we can… later, yeah?”

Jonghyun smiles, hesitant and not entirely a happy expression. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be here.”

“Jong…” Jinki starts and leans in to kiss him again.

Jonghyun stops him, hands bracing on his chest. “You’re going to be late,” he says, and then presses up for a tiny kiss, brief and chaste and something that makes Jinki’s heart swoop anyways. “Go.”

Jinki catches Jonghyun’s hand and squeezes before he goes, patting down his pockets to make sure he has his keys and taking the stairs two at a time.

 -- Taemin and Jongin’s team wins their dance competition and are moving on to the next thing, so they start spending more time practicing and Jinki starts basically hiding out at Jongin’s house and just spending a lot more time with Jonghyun. They talk a little more, and Jonghyun never really gives a solid answer on what they are, he just kisses Jinki instead.

 -- Jinki hanging out with Jonghyun, and Jonghyun sitting up suddenly and mumbling something about, “I have to go,” and rushing upstairs and Jinki worries about him and tries to follow him up, but Jongin’s mom gets home then and Jinki says hi and they talk for a moment before she starts to go up and Jinki says something about “I don’t know if he’s feeling well. He kind of…” and her face crumples a little and she forces a smile and says she’ll check on him and Jinki nods and kind of reluctantly leaves her to it and goes so it’s not weird.

 -- Jongin is gone that weekend cuz his family goes into the city. Jinki and Tae scene where Taemin says something about how hard it is on Jongin and then backtracks and is like ‘I’m not saying Jongin’s got it worse, but… he just… it’s hard for him. His family being like this. I just don’t know what to do for him.’ and Jinki kind of frowns and says, “I doubt it’s easy on any of them, but… all we can do is be there. However we’re needed.” And Tae nods and the conversation kind of falls to other stuff.

 -- Jinki and Tae are at Jongin’s house and Jinki’s trying to help Jongin study since Jongin’s been putting it off for dance. Jinki’s aunt calls and tells them that she has to work late and won’t be home until at least 10 or 11, and Jinki is talking to her when Jongin’s mom gets home and Jongin suggests Jinki and Tae stay for dinner. She agrees and Jinki tells his aunt and they make plans and settle in and Jonghyun doesn’t come down for dinner, but another boy -- maybe a year or so older than Taemin -- comes down and grabs some food and goes back upstairs and Jinki assumes maybe it’s someone with Jonghyun and gets jealous, but he doesn’t get a chance until he and Taemin are heading home and then he asks.

“Who was that guy who came down?” he asks, and they’re passing just under a streetlight now, so Jinki gets to watch as Taemin’s face pinches in confusion. Jinki doesn’t know what he said wrong -- it felt like a perfectly legitimate question.

“That’s Jongdae,” he says, and the tone of his voice makes it clear that Jinki should know who that is. After a moment, he says, “You know? Jongdae? Jongin’s brother? Have you not met him yet?”

Jinki is suddenly very aware of his own heartbeat in his ears. Jongdae. Jongin’s brother, Jongdae.

“Then… does he have another--?” But he can’t even finish that question. It’s too ridiculous. How could he have known Jongin for a month and a half and this still be catching him this off guard. Jongin’s older brother. He frowns. “What about Jonghyun?”

“Who?” Taemin asks, and his face is shadowed now. They’ve stopped between streetlights, Jinki frozen on the sidewalk. “Hyung, are you okay?”

Jinki shakes his head.

 -- Jinki avoiding the house for a few days until Jongin has to beg him for help with a problem set and Jinki goes over and the entire house feels uncomfortable now, and Jinki asks how ‘Jongin’s brother’ is and Jongin kind of shrugs and mumbles something about “He’s sleeping a lot more recently. The doctors can’t figure it out. He just says he’s tired all the time.”

Jinki goes upstairs when they’re done and runs into Jonghyun and Jonghyun is staring at him and finally says, “I’ve missed you,” and Jinki doesn’t know what to say except, “Who are you?”

And Jonghyun’s face crumples and he gets angry and asks Jinki why it matters, why he has to care when he hasn’t cared this whole time?

And Jinki asks him again because he thought Jonghyun was Jongin’s brother, he thought he knew, and now he doesn’t and he’s scared.

And Jonghyun sighs really loudly and kind of shamefacedly tells his story. He was this kid who used to live in this house a long time ago and he committed suicide b/c he was gay and being bullied, and Jonghyun -- "It's funny how you never realize how much you want to be alive until you aren't anymore."

Jinki finds out that Jonghyun's the one who's been making Jongdae worse and he doesn't mean to, but it takes energy to stick around and Jongdae is the easiest target. And so Jonghyun takes energy from him and just basically leaves Jongdae passed out half the time and Jonghyun's like, "he's dying anyways! What's worse, for me to make it easy on him and give a second chance to someone who wants it, or for him to be in pain every hour of every day?!" and Jinki's literally so aware that Jonghyun can't do this, but at the same time, Jonghyun just wants to be alive, or as alive as he can be.

And Jinki had to choose between his feelings for Jonghyun and the knowledge that Jonghyun can’t do this because he’s hurting people. And Jinki tries to talk to him but Jonghyun starts getting angrier and angrier and lights start flickering, and Jinki stumbles backwards just as something flies across the room and it shatters against the wall and cuts him.

And he looks down and sees the blood on his fingertips and looks back at Jonghyn who’s looking at him in horror and just “I… I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t. Jinki, I promise, I didn’t mean-- I don’t know how I did it. I’ve-- I’ve never…”

Jinki drops his hand and just looks at Jonghyun for a long time. “Why are you here, Jonghyun? Why are you staying here?”

And Jonghyun whispers that he’s scared. And Jinki steps in and hugs him and kisses him really softly, and when he steps away Jonghyun’s just looking at him and his hands are shaking and he repeats, “I’m scared.”

And Jinki whispers that he knows, but that Jonghyun, the Jonghyun he knows wouldn’t want to hurt someone. Wouldn’t want someone to hurt because of him.

And Jonghyun kind of laughs bitterly and says, “How would you know? It’s what I’ve been doing all this time.”

But Jinki just shakes his head and says, “Jonghyun, please.”

When Jonghyun pulls away, he’s looking at Jinki’s injury and his eyes are sad and scared and he takes Jinki’s hand and murmurs, “I’m sorry. I wish… I wish that things had been different. I really wanted to love you.”

Jinki just stares at him, something ragged and tight in his chest. “I do love you, Jonghyun.”

Jonghyun just wells up and presses his face into Jinki’s shoulder, and whispers, “I told you I didn’t want to break your heart.”

But Jinki just shakes his head and closes his eyes, pressing a kiss into Jonghyun’s hair. He stays like that for a long time, and he doesn’t open his eyes until the weight of a body in his arms is gone.

 -- Jinki helps Jongin finish his math stuff. He meets Jongdae, who’s feeling a little better now, not as tired all the time. The new treatment is working, they tell them. Jongin and Taemin win their dance competition. They celebrate at Jongin’s house and Jongdae joins them for lunch and talks to Jinki for a bit. He’s a nice kid, and when he gets amused, he smiles like a cat and laughs freely. They could maybe, probably be friends.

Sometimes, at Jongin’s house, Jinki catches sight of something out of the corner of his eyes. Sometimes, at Jongin’s house, he feels a sudden chill of cold air. Sometimes, at Jongin’s house, he finds himself crying for no real reason except the obvious, and he can almost imagine someone holding him.

Sometimes, he’s not sure if Jonghyun is gone or not, but when he can, when he finds himself wondering too hard, sometimes he whispers ‘I love you’ to the maybe-empty house, just in case.

[hiraeth-doux]

Let Me Make Your Dreams Come True (1/2)

Summary: A year after the incident, Claire asks Owen to come to Wisconsin with her because she never told her family about their breakup. 

A while back, one of my favourite people, aka @birdmacklin, asked me if I’d be willing to write something based off this mood board. There was no way I’d say no, so here we are! Honestly, just give me any excuse to write about the winter and snow, and I’m in :) This story was meant to be a one-shot, but before I knew it, it was 12k long, so I’ll post it in 2 instalments because it’s easier to edit it that way. The second part will be coming up sometime next weekend. 

Have fun and let me know what you think! 

AO3  |  Fanfiction.net 

“You want me to do what?” Owen’s eyebrow quirked like he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.

Claire gave him an even look. “You don’t have to make it sound like I asked you to shoot a puppy.”

He winced a little, but didn’t break the eye contact, studying her from across the table, his coffee getting cold, untouched and forgotten.

They were sitting on an open patio outside a French café near Claire’s office, and she knew that if he was the one to summon her for lunch after several months of complete radio silence, she’d have questions as well. Quite a few of them actually. Truth be told, she wasn’t even sure she’d answer his phone call at all, and the fact that Owen definitely was a bigger person in this situation was rubbing her the wrong way right now.

Not that she could back out of having this conversation. He showed up, after all. She might as well used it to her advantage even though it didn’t make it any less weird. At least he wasn’t laughing at her. Yet. It was a start, all things considered.

“You’re asking me to go to Madison with you,” he said slowly as if needing to taste each syllable separately in his mouth in order to truly comprehend her request. Come to think of it, it would have been less surprising if she asked him to shoot a puppy. “To hang out with your family.”

“Gray’s science project won an award at the state Science Fair--” Claire started.

“Yeah, on bacterial transformation efficiency,” Owen nodded.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, and Karen is taking the boys to a ski resort before Christmas. Zach’s girlfriend is coming, too. And the guy Karen is seeing.”

“And you want me to come with?” Owen repeated, the corners of his mouth curved with amusement.

Claire pursed her lips into a thin stubborn line, hating the idea that he was having an upper hand in this situation. It wasn’t needing him that bothered her so much as his knowing that she did, which made her feel more vulnerable than she did in months and making her bite back the words she knew she would regret later. And did he have to rub it in her face?

Then again, she’d probably do exactly the same, so she couldn’t really blame him.  

She wondered sometimes if the Universe would actually implode if one of them stepped back just once. The problem was, they couldn’t both be right, or in control, or the best at everything at all times. Someone had to give. And each thought that that someone should be someone else, even in the situation when it made no sense whatsoever.

Claire let out a slow breath and reminded herself that this was nothing but a business arrangement of sorts, and business arrangements she was good at. Hell, she was excellent. She was the best! And just because Owen Grady was involved didn’t mean it was that much different from the contract she’s signed yesterday with the stationery supplier. Except she sort of needed the paper clips more.

“Gray asked if you were coming,” she said if a little unwillingly. “I promised to bring it up with you.”

His smile fell, a mask he was hiding behind slipping momentarily. “Why haven’t you told them?” He drummed his fingers against the saucer, still his ignoring his cappuccino. “It’s been almost four months.”

“Why haven’t you?” She inquired, and the status quo shifted, she was gaining a momentum again, except instead of the anticipated triumph she expected to feel she was suddenly overcome with such deep wistfulness it was making it hard to breathe. Oddly enough, poking at each other with every chance they got stopped being entertaining and stated to feel like a cement block pressing down on her. “You know what his science project was about. It seems like you talk to them more than I do.”

“They’re your family, Claire,” he reminded her and looked away, studying a steady flow of the office workers streaming past them on the way to or from their lunch breaks, all crisp shirts and pressed pants, jackets hanging from their elbows because even December in San Diego could feel like summer now and then, and this past week was treating them with the most gorgeous weather, undoubtedly the calm before the storm, aka the rain season that every Californian dreaded more than anything else in the world. Except traffic. And carbs. “It didn’t seem appropriate.”

Which actually was one hell of cop-out, but who was she to judge?

“It’s not about us now, it’s about Gray, and I don’t want to upset him,” she clasped her hands around her cup of latte, not sure what else to do with them and a bit too aware of the fact that her fingers were trembling. “It’s only for a few days. If you have any Christmas plans, I’ll make sure you come back here before then.”

His mouth curled into a rueful half-smile that didn’t touch his eyes, and Claire had to make an effort not to look away. It had been four months – almost – and she couldn’t believe that they felt both like only a few days and a decade at once. He looked the same, but different, and her mind struggled with the notion that the man who used to be everything to her not so long ago was barely a stranger now, the one she couldn’t even talk without choosing every word like her life depended on it.

She was not used to feeling that way about Owen, of all people, and it was wrong in every way imaginable, awkward and weird and unnatural.

“So, you want me to go with you to Wisconsin and pretend we’re still together?” Owen asked, and just like that, the wistfulness inside her was replaced with irritation. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I just kinda figured that you’d come up with some bullshit excuse and be done with it.” He shrugged.

Her frown deepened, jaw clenching in frustration. “I did,” she admitted flatly. “For Thanksgiving. Karen would come after me if I skipped this as well, and believe it or not, but it’s easier to take you there than come clean and unleash the wrath of my family.”

“Wow, this is the nicest thing you said to me since--”

“Will you do it or not?” She cut him off.

His eyes narrowed. “What’s in it for me?”

Claire glowered at him. “Jesus Christ, Owen, I’m asking you for a favour, not to give me your kidney!”

“Like that time with that other favour?” He snorted.

“I wouldn’t call a divorce a favour,” she pointed out.

Owen conceded her words with a nod. “I wouldn’t call it asking, either.”

And that was something Claire could agree with. The first thing in quite a while. A screaming demand was far more accurate, and she was being generous here. It was also the last time they actually spoke, which, in all honesty, didn’t end that well anyway.

“Forget it,” she muttered, digging into her purse in search for the wallet. She knew it was a waste of time, and making that goddamned phone call two days ago left her drained like she’d run a marathon. By the time she hung up the phone with Owen’s promise to meet her in her pocket, she was shaking, her chest constricting painfully with every breath.

He had no right to still make her feel like this.

“Claire,” Owen said when she put a $20 bill on the table, covering the check, and was about the leave. It wasn’t even his voice so much as the way her name sounded in his mouth that made her look up. “When do we go?”

She studied his expression, uncertain of what she was looking for, half-convinced that he was joking. Wouldn’t past it past him, truth be told. Yet, he looked earnest, and if a little weary around the edges, the lines around his eyes deeper than she remembered, like he wasn’t sleeping well. He needed a haircut, too, she noted absently, hating herself for noticing, for knowing that he wasn’t comfortable with his hair being much longer than now.

It was unfair that people could so easily walk out of your life, but the smallest details about them would stay behind forever to haunt you.

Claire paused, then nodded. “I’ll have my assistant send you the tickets,” she said at last, all business. This was something she could do in her sleep. If she was lucky, they’d be able to breeze right through this whole affair without even noticing it happened.

---

Clearly, she didn’t think it through.

Focused on the bigger picture and more concerned about keeping the appearances, Claire – in a very un-Claire-like manner – overlooked a detail or two. Like the king-sized bed that was staring right back at her in the guest room in Karen’s house that she and Owen were supposed to share. Because they were supposed to be together. The plan was to drive to the cabin that was located some 50 miles outside of Madison and that actually belonged to Karen’s ex-husband, Scott, in the morning, and so when Karen waved off Claire’s suggestion to crash at some bed and breakfast for one night, the ramifications of said arrangement didn’t hit her until it was too late.

When they arrived an hours ago, Gray barreled into her with the force and enthusiasm only a 12-year-old whose excitement of a puppy hadn’t quite worn off yet would have, and it struck Claire how quickly he was growing. They talked a lot, trying to mend a long-broken relationship, but she’d only seen him a couple of times since the incident – for Zach’s sophomore graduation, and when Karen brought both boys to California for Grays birthday in July, but the change didn’t feel quite as drastic back then. He was almost as tall as she now, and before she knew it, he would be towering over her.

As of now, though, he was chatting a mile a minute, seemingly thinking that if he didn’t fit the past few months in one sentence, they would disappear without a trace, and even Zach dropped his ‘too cool for this world’ attitude and pulled her into a bear hug. Right before both of them abandoned her to attach themselves to Owen – Claire suspected he’d have to surgically remove them. And then Karen was hugging them and thanking them for coming, and introducing Jeff, a man almost as tall as Owen, although slightly less buff who worked as a high-profile database administrator and who she’d met a few months ago at a corporate party. He had an open face and infectious laughter, and Claire could easily see what her sister found in him.

And it was all fun until Karen sent them to unpack, and the enormity of her glaring miscalculation slammed into Claire like a high-speed train.

“Cozy,” Owen commented from over her shoulder, peeking into the room that featured cheery curtains on the window and an overall honeymoon-y feel to it.

She stifled a sigh, her mind reeling.

Meanwhile, Owen squeezed past her inside, seemingly filling what little space there was left there that wasn’t occupied by the bed and dropped his bag on the floor by the chest of drawers before jumping up, twisting in midair, and flopping down on the mattress like he was 12 and on a sugar rush. He bounced a couple of times for good measure and then patted the spot beside him, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at her.

Claire sighed with pointed exasperation and stepped into the room, ignoring his sleazy proposition entirely – for the sake of her sanity, if nothing else. She set her small suitcase on the floor by the window and glanced outside at the backyard covered with snow. After the years she’d spent in a place where people didn’t know what the snow looked like, being welcomed by the white blanket that stretched before her as far as her eyes could see was alien and odd, and surprisingly in-tune with what was starting to feel like the dumbest idea she’d ever had.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” she commented, turning to Owen who was still sprawled on her mother’s patched quilt, looking like he was having the vacation of his life.

“Who wouldn’t?” He inquired.

Claire folded her arms over her chest and regarded him grimly. “You know you’re not sleeping here, right?”

He rolled onto his side and then sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “And where am I sleeping, pray tell?” Her eyes darted toward a loveseat tucked in the corner. He followed Claire’s gaze and let out a bark of a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

“The floor is all yours, too,” she offered generously, her voice uncompromising.

“I’m not sleeping on the floor in a place known for its sub-zero temperature,” he pointed out. Cocked his head to his shoulder, his expression amused. “Are you really that worried you wouldn’t be able to contain yourself around me?”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Get over yourself.”

“So what’s the problem then? We shared a bed – and some other places,” he made a dramatic pause, “for over six months. Doncha think we could handle it for one more night?” He was baiting her, and Claire knew that she was swallowing it, but it was too late. “What do you think I could possibly do?”

Well, that wasn’t the issue.

Their breakup was ugly, and the fact that they hadn’t said a word to one another since he tossed roughly a hundred pairs of socks and an impressive collection of sportswear into a duffel bag and slammed the door on his way out, making the windows rattle in their frames spoke volumes. Claire was not in any way concerned about him so much as touching her. However, it was more about the shift of power than anything else. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of being right, and for petty reasons, too.

It was not what he could do that bothered her so much as the memories his presence was going to bring up to the surface – all the things she was pushing out of her mind as best she could, filling the void with her job, and gym, and talking to her nephews on Skype, and a million tiny things in-between that added up to something big. As if he could somehow know that she was still sleeping in his shirt even though the sensible sweatpants and a top she brought on this trip suggested nothing of the kind.

“Alternatively,” Owen continued when she didn’t respond, misreading her silence for hesitation, “you could sleep on that thing.” He pointed at the loveseat. “Or you could ask your sister for a different arrangement, and if you do that – can I come with?”

Claire let out a slow breath. “What are you, 12?”

“Is that a yes?” He perked up.

“Stick to your side,” she warned him in a voice that allowed no further arguments.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Claire,” he promised.

She hummed. “Why would I be worried?”  

Claire expected a comeback – they never seemed to be in a short supply, as far as Owen was concerned. At times it felt like the world would never be complete unless he had a final say in every matter. Which led to some interesting debates in the past.

Instead, Owen hooked his index fingers through the belt loops of her jeans and yanked her to him, and before Claire knew what was happening, he was kissing her, his hands on her waist, holding her between his parted knees. Even sitting on the bed, he was almost as tall as she was standing up – granted, the bed had an elevated frame, but in all honesty, she didn’t particularly care.

As a person with curious mind, Claire couldn’t help but wonder sometimes about the intricate works of a human mind and why certain notions made more sense and stuck around while the others were dismissed and forgotten before they even had chance. Like what was the deal with comparing all the good things to sliced bread? Was it really that hard to cut a loaf of bread in consumable pieces? Frankly, she could think of about a thousand other things the invention of which was far more beneficial to the humankind. Or why did riding a bike become a universal equivalent to the skills that couldn’t be forgotten once obtained? Was it possible to unlearn to drive a car or swim?

Alas, she knew that some of those things were meant to remain a mystery regardless of her opinion on the matter.

However, if she were to come up with something in her own life that was so firmly engrained in her mind she’d need several lifetimes to erase it, it would undoubtedly be kissing Owen Grady. He was her goddamned bicycle, and there was nothing she could do to change it whatsoever.

The moment Owen’s mouth crashed against hers, Claire’s mind stepped back and let her instincts run the show. The way someone who tripped would try to regain their balance, her body responded to his touch in the only way that made sense to it, and before she had a chance to process the whys and the hows, she was kissing him back. Owen pulled her closer to him, his hands roaming over her back and her shoulders, and she buried her fingers in his hair, eliciting a low growl of approval from him. He tasted the same, felt the same, and the mere memory of having his mouth everywhere else on her body sent a jolt of electric shock from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her lips parted, deepening the kiss—

Someone cleared their throat right behind them, and they jerked away from one another, both panting and bleary-eyed.

“Dinner’s ready,” Karen announced, struggling to bite back a smile, one eyebrow arched meaningfully, and it all suddenly made sense. Wrapped up in their exchange of insults, she completely missed her sister’s footsteps on the stairs.

“Right,” Claire muttered, feeling her cheeks grow hot for more reasons than she could count. “Be right over.”

“I think we’re selling it,” Owen murmured as he followed her down the stairs a minute later, her lipstick still smudged over his mouth.

She cleared her throat. “Good call.”

---

Claire thought she would not be able to fall asleep that night, what with all the adrenaline coursing through her system that was enough to power a small town and Owen sprawled over half of the bed while she scooted all the way to the very edge on her side, trying to keep as much space between them without actually falling to the floor. If her proximity bothered him as his did her, he certainly wed no sign of it, which she admired and envied and maybe hated just a tiny bit.

She turned her back to him, fluffed her pillow and tried to tune out the shifting of the mattress beneath her as Owen settled in his spot and a long breath he let out when the mission was accomplished. Squeezed her eyes tight for good measure, too, ignoring the burning sensation on her lips from the goddamned kiss and the way her fingers were still tingling from when he was playing with them over the dinner while having an effortless conversation with Jeff about fishing Gray about comic books. Except his presence felt more comforting than she anticipated, and despite her fears, it lulled her to sleep in no time.

Claire woke up to a single ray of sun that wedged itself into the room through the crack between the curtains beaning straight in her face, so bright it almost felt like it was trying to burn right through her retinae. She groaned in protest and buried her face in the pillow. It was still early. She had no idea what time it was, but it felt like she’d only closed her eyes five minutes ago, and so she snuggled deeper into the blankets, set on staying cocooned for another hour, or five.

Something moved behind her – something big, and warm, and decidedly male, if Claire’s memory of waking up to one was any indication. Am arm flexed around her, a face nuzzled into her neck with a short, distinctive snore. She stilled, alarmed, and suddenly the memories of the precious day came rushing back in – the flight to Madison, a relatively uneventful dinner, and Owen in his Navy shirt and checked boxers emerging from their bathroom last night, smelling of toothpaste, his hair ruffled from changing. And now his whole body was wrapped around her as he snoozed away, or at least some parts of him did.

Her eyes snapped open as she nearly leaped into the air in her hasty attempt to move away from him, hitting Owen in the chin with her shoulder in the process.  He fell on his back with a surprised Ow!

“What the hell, Claire?” He muttered with accusation, rubbing his eyes and then checking his jaw for any damage, which it sustained none.

“You… you were supposed to stay on your side,” she hissed quickly, figuring out that it was the only way to address, ahem, the issue without actually spelling it out.

Not that he needed her to. He glanced down and the looked up at her with a grimace. “I can’t exactly control what’s happening to me when I’m asleep.”

“Not the point.”

“So were you, by the way,” he added.

She frowned, confused. “What?”

“You were supposed to stay on your side, too.” His gaze darted toward the spot she’d vacated not a minute ago – stark in the middle of the bed, and try as she might, Claire couldn’t argue with the glaring breach of their agreement.

She was still struggling with the response when the door swung open all of a sudden, startling them both, and Gray burst inside, buzzing with nervous energy.

“Aunt Claire! Owen!”

“Jesus, Gray…” Claire pressed a hand to her chest. “What happened to knocking? What if we were…” She faltered. What if they were what? There was no way in hell they could be doing anything PG13, let alone something R-rated. “What if we were sleeping?” She finished, a bit more aware of Owen’s curiosity about where she might go with this.

He chuckled under his breath and pretended to cover it with a cough. However, the boy ignored her flustered face and a slight tremor in her voice in his own agitated state.

“We have to go!” He announced.

Owen covered his face with his hands and collapsed back on the pillows. “Where?”

“There’s a storm coming and we have to get to the cabin before it hits the town,” Gray explained.

Claire glanced outside the window where the sun was shining high up in the bright blue sky, streaked with a few wispy clouds that in no way indicated any possibility of a bad weather. “I think we’re good,” she said, trying to smooth down her tousled hair.

“But they said so,” the boy insisted.

“Okay, okay, we’re up,” Owen groaned. “Ten minutes to get dressed, deal?”

“This is ridiculous,” Claire breathed out when the door closed behind Gray and rubbed her eyes.

“You really want to go down that road?” He inquired.

No, she did not. Arguing with Gray once he got something in his head was useless, fruitless, and a waste of time. It was like trying to stop a place that was about to take off by jumping in front of it – there was no way to avoid the casualties.

“Getting dressed it is,” she agreed. “Dibs on the shower!”

---

The breakfast was a ridiculously fun affair, with a foot-tall stack of toast and pancakes that Owen was flipping by throwing them up in the air and catching them with admirable precision, bowing theatrically every time someone clapped, and someone always did. There was syrup everywhere, and jars of jam, and half-hearted bickering over cutlery and who took whose plate and why was the coffee pot empty again?

Claire was watching them from her spot near the counter as she sipped her coffee and not even trying to follow roughly a dozen conversations happening at the same time, the words tossed around and then forgotten instantly, the chatter filling every nook and corner of the house. And if she pretended hard enough, she could almost feel the normalcy of this morning seep into her very bones, the lies stitched into her words no tasting as bitter as before.

“There you are,” Owen appeared by her side with two plates of pancakes. His – Claire presumed – also sported a healthy helping of crispy bacon and a scoop of scrambles eggs. A growing boy through and through. Hers was drowning in syrup with a handful of berries sprinkled on top.

“I’m good,” she shook her head, watching Zach and Gray fight over something or the other. “Not really hungry.”

“Come on,” he leaned against the counter next to her and put the plate down. “You never said no to the infamous Grady pancakes before.”

Claire opened her mouth to protest, her stomach still in knots over their earlier confrontation, and even more so over the rest of the trip that hadn’t even started yet, technically speaking. Yet, this was certainly not the kind of argument that was worthy of her time, and he was right – Owen Grady was nothing but not a good cook. She was still processing this discovery, truth be told. So she nodded her thank you and picked up the plate, taking note of him remembering that she preferred blueberries over cherries (ad hated whipped cream). And they were some damn good pancakes, too, melting on her tongue exactly the way Claire remembered.

They ate standing side by side while Gray explained his science project to them for probably the 11th time since last night, which wasn’t a bad thing because she only understood maybe half of the words he was saying. The kid was probably smarter than all of them combined, and the thought filled her with fierce, overwhelming pride. He flashed a grin at her, and Claire found herself winking in response, happier to be here than she expected.

“Hey, you have something…” Owen started, pulling her out of her thoughts. She turned to him and he jerked his chin, pointed at something on her face. “Here, let me.”

Claire thought he was going to brush a crumb off her cheek. Instead, he lifted her chin and leaned in to brush a feather-light kiss to the corner of her mouth, his breath warm on her face. She went still, nearly holding her breath, and knowing that all this was for the benefit of the audience didn’t make it any less… well, real. Somehow.

“Syrup,” he murmured, catching her gaze, his face still just a breath away from hers.

“Get a room,” Zach snorted from the table.

“Zach!” Karen gasped, then gave her sister and Owen a once-over and rolled her eyes. “Get a room.”

And Gray might have been crazy smart, but his attempt to hide behind his mug of hot chocolate while shaking with silent laughter was as lousy as it could be.

And then they were loading in the cars, and Claire was slammed in the face with the flashbacks to every trip she and Karen went on with their parents in the first 16 or so years of her life, listening to the same bloody arguments over what goes where and could someone please check if the oven was off.

She hoped that maybe one of the boys would join her and Owen and maybe help dilute the tension between them, but Zach announced that he was not sharing a car with his brother, and he and his girlfriend – Stacey? Gracie? – climbed into Jeff’s SUV which was the roomiest. Karen then claimed that Gray was riding with her because she was not driving 50 miles by herself, which ultimately left Claire and Owen alone, albeit with their food supplies, crammed into the back seat.

This was going to be a fun ride.

The cabin was sitting hallway up one of the mountains north of the city, a few miles away from one of the ski resorts the area was known for. Roughly an hour or so away, depending on the weather and road conditions, and by the time they finished the breakfast and piled into their respective vehicles after roughly fifteen fights over nothing, the wind picked up and heavy clouds started to creep in on them from the east, and Gray was ushering everyone like spending the weekend in the mountains was a matter of life and death.

With a wistful sigh, she waved at him a moment before he climbed into Karen’s car and then finally slipped in the passenger seat of her and Owen’s, still trying to shake off the cold hand of panic that was holding her in its grip.

The first ten minutes were almost tolerable. The traffic was distracting enough to keep Claire’s mind occupied as she guided Owen toward the outskirts of town, following the roads only a native would know to think of at all, and then she spent ten minutes more fiddling with the radio, which she didn’t care about at all, but at least it gave her something to focus on. Something that wasn’t the proximity to the man who was a human equivalent of a freight train that ran over her a few times in the past couple of days.

She tried to stay focused on the conference call she was having right after the holidays, going through her mental to-do list because it was something that kept her grounded and focused, in control of the reality that seemed to be slipping right through her fingers ever since they boarded the plane heading north last afternoon. And the most important thing was that her work matters had nothing to do with Owen, which was a welcome relief. However, her mind kept going back to the last trip to Madison they made together, a couple of months before the shit hit the fan in that spectacular way from which there was no coming back from.

Back then, Claire mused, their silences weren’t quite as thick, if possible at all, and she was content to watch the town go by without the overwhelming need to jump out of the moving vehicle for so many reasons that she didn’t even know where they began. Back then, the air was always filled with the words that didn’t have to have any meaning at all, Owen’s fingers perpetually laced through hers, his thumb running over the back of her hand in the mindless, absent circles that made her heart feel too full for her chest.

The radio coughed and crackled with static, fading in and out of the coverage zone, and after trying to find a station that worked better than the rest of them, Claire gave up and turned it off. She could have – and should have – swapped places with Gray, she was thinking now, tell Karen she needed a sister catch-up time and stick the boy with Owen, which would probably make all of them much happier than their current arrangement. She wouldn’t even mind her sister’s invasive questions because after roughly two decades of practice, she most definitely mastered the art of deflecting each and every single one of them while making it look like she’d actually answered.

“You didn’t tell them about us,” Owen said after a few minutes, and the suddenness of his words didn’t even register with her for a moment or two.

“Pardon me?” She looked at him, confused.

Owen glanced at her, his shoulders rolling in a half-shrug. “They don’t know.”

Claire arched an eyebrow. “I thought we already covered that,” she reminded him.

“Not that. That we were married.”

She bit her lip and turned away. “We were not married, Owen. We got drunk in Vegas, and if memory serves me right, it was either that, or getting matching tattoos. As luck would have it, we found that pseudo-chapel first. There’s nothing more to it.”

“There was nothing pseudo about it,” he countered.

There wasn’t indeed, although for a solid two hours the next morning she mentally begged and prayed that there was, studying the marriage certificate that they were issued and trying to find something reassuring, maybe a footnote in small print claiming that it was a joke and please don’t get so hammered in the future. She’d barely touched anything stronger than lemonade since, which in retrospect wasn’t that thing at all, but still!

“Which is the problem,” she pointed out. “How is it even legal to offer this service to the people who clearly have no idea what they are doing? Jesus, if it wasn’t for that goddamned certificate, we wouldn’t even know it happened the next morning.”

He shot her an amused look out of the corner of his eye. “Give me some credit, Claire.”

“Please, like you even remember how it happened.”

“I do actually.”

She whipped her head around, skeptical. That weekend in Vegas was an impromptu thing, and even though the decision was made while they were both sober, she couldn’t for the life of her remember how they settled on it. What she did remember was a long ride and the glimmering lights of the hotels and casinos on the Strip, and it felt like magic because once the investigation of the incident was over, everything felt that way – brand new and unreal.

They spend most of the Saturday roaming around and debating the pros and cos of actually trying the casinos. Owen insisted that the beginners’ luck was on their side while she remained unconvinced, no longer considering herself lucky in any way whatsoever. It was hard to think of the world that way after she’d inadvertently caused something close to a thousand deaths.

They settled on stopping by a bar and maybe going back to that conversation later.

The rest of the night was a huge grey smudge in her memory, until Claire woke up the next day around noon with her head pounding and her mouth tasting like someone died in it, and Owen snoring by her side. The first thing she saw on the bedside table when she reached for her phone to check the time was a piece of A4 paper stating that Mr. Owen Grady and Ms. Claire Dearing…

Her vision blurred, and she bolted for the bathroom, barely making it there on time before she threw up, which, in all honesty, was most definitely a result of having roughly a gallon more of tequila than she should have had, ever. It took her the rest of the day and several handfuls of Tylenol to piece together random bits and pieces of the previous night in her head, and even then, the only thing Claire was certain of was that they didn’t end up with empty bank accounts so at some point, the casino must have been taken off the table altogether.

“You do not,” she scoffed.

He smirked. “I do, too. You have a very funny way of… um, signing things.”

“You’ve seen my signature a million times before,” she countered.

“It’s more about the way your hand moves…” He trailed off, his eyes on the road and a small smile playing across his lips. “You wanted to dance in the fountain afterwards.”

Claire opened her mouth and closed it again. It was not a memory so much as a sensation she couldn’t quite place. She couldn’t see herself do it, couldn’t imagine climbing into the fountain and… what? Shaking her hips? Jesus… But she could quite easily assume that she might want to. Besides, if he wasn’t actively thinking about it for the past few hours, Claire couldn’t imagine him saying that just off the top of his head.

“Did we? I mean… dance in the fountain?” She asked with resignation, mentally preparing herself for the idea that somewhere in the depths of the Internet there might be a photo of her doing just that because some tourist couldn’t help but pull out his camera when a crazy drunk lady climbed manically into a street decoration.

Owen chuckled. “No, we didn’t, I don’t think so.”

Claire wrapped her jacket tighter around herself even though the heater was blasting the waves of hot air right in her face, having a hard time wrapping her head around the person she was that day. The one who decidedly wasn’t her.

“For what it’s worth,” Owen added as an afterthought, “I’m glad to be here.” He darted a quick glance at her, reading the confusion on Claire’s face. “Glad you brought me along,” he explained, even though the words still had some trouble registering with her. Like he was speaking another language, the one she couldn’t understand.

Claire nodded, still searching for a response that didn’t go along the lines of Are you out of your mind? when her phone exploded with a series of persistent chimes. Saved by the bell, she thought. Or something like that.

“Hey, Karen,” Claire breathed out into the receiver, grateful for the interruption. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, we’re just….” Her answer was swallowed by the sounds of a video game or something of that kind. “Gray, please. Sorry,” this one was for Claire. “No, we’re fine, but Gray forgot something at home.” Gray’s voice cut through for a second but Claire failed to catch what he was saying. “We’re going back, it shouldn’t take long. Just a heads up. And Jeff will stop by the supermarket.”

Claire glanced over her shoulder at the bags and boxes that were taking up most of the car, pushing against the backs of their seats. To a side observer, it would probably look like they were moving into that cabin until spring, not going there for three days.

“I thought we had all the food we needed,” she said, puzzled.

“I know, I know, but Zach decided they wanted snacks or some specific brand of cereal, or whatever. Trust me, it’s easier to just get it than deal with the sulking for god knows how long.”

“Okay.” Claire turned to Owen who was throwing curious glances in her direction. “Do you want us to pull over and wait for you?”

“What? No, of course not. Go ahead, we’ll be maybe half an hour behind. Gray, take your feet off the dashboard!” More mumbling. “Seriously.” Karen huffed. “Anyway, the place is probably freezing, but there should be wood on the back porch, and if you could get the fire started…”

“Sure,” Claire nodded even though her sister couldn’t see her. “See you soon.”

She hung up and passed the message to Owen who acknowledged it with a quirk of his eyebrows as he turned off the freeway and into one of the roads heading toward the resorts scattered all over the steep slopes. And it was only then that Claire noticed that it started to snow, pale snowflakes swirling in the wind and melting on the windshield of their rented Honda. The sky grew grey and heavy, the clouds hanging low and brushing against the treetops.

By the time they turned onto the side road again, it was snowing in earnest – so much so that when Owen rolled to a stop at last, the GPS finally announcing that they reached their destination, Claire could barely see past the hood of the car.

“Looks like Gray was onto something,” Owen commented more to himself than to her and pushed the door open.

“He usually is,” Claire echoed, following him into the world made entirely of white.

The cabin was just that – a cabin. Four walls with a bedroom and a kitchen tucked in the back, the rest of the space taken by the living room with two skylights in the ceiling that had been added not so long ago when Scott decided to renovate the place to use it more frequently. There was no heating here, of course, but the fireplace and a power generator provided comfortable enough conditions for winter visits, and one of the ski resort was a stone’s throw away with their chair lifts, overpriced hot chocolate and impeccable slopes.

The last time Claire came here was nearly a decade ago, if she was not mistaken, and she was surprised to see how little the place had changed. Sure, the window frames were replaced and some other minor adjustments were made, like a fresh coat of paint on the cabinets in the kitchen, but it looked strikingly unchanged although in all honesty, Claire completely forgot about this place until Karen mentioned it a few weeks ago.

It was freezing, like her sister suggested, and Claire shivered in her puffed jacket, her breath coming out in white clouds even in the living room.

Barely speaking, they left the food piled on the kitchen counter and Owen busied himself with the fireplace, poking and prodding at the logs until the spark caught on, the wood glowing bright orange in the darkened room, while Claire turned on the power generator, bringing the overhead lights to life. It was barely past midday, but the weather that kept getting progressively worse made it feel like it was the late afternoon already, dark and gloomy.

Owen rubbed his hands together, then held them close to the glowing fire to keep the blood circulation going before standing up and taking in the place properly. Claire watched him scan the faded couch and a half empty bookshelf housing some novels, magazines and – oh, horror! – VHS tapes that were left behind over the years because they were nowhere near interesting enough for anyone to care to grab them on the way back home, his gaze skimming over the dining table and the kitchen counters and cupboards visible from his spot. There was an old rug on the floor between the couch and the fireplace and several more mismatched ones covering seemingly random spots of the hardwood floor here and there.

He caught her looking at him, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly in acknowledgement. The fridge sputtered and coughed in the kitchen, startling them both for a moment before it settled into a low hum, and it was that sound that set them in motion again.

The curtains were pulled open and the food was arranged in the fridge and on the shelves. Claire grabbed her suitcase that was sitting by the door and found a pair of wool socks, uncertain of where to leave the rest of her stuff. The place was small and the general plan was to put Karen and Jeff in the bedroom, Claire and Owen on the pullout couch, and the kids in sleeping bags on the floor. Which basically allowed for no wardrobe space, she figured. Still, she found her toiletries and left them in the bathroom while Owen fiddled with the TV and the VHS player seeing at how no one ever bothered to get cable for this place.

So far, she noted, the tension was thick enough to cut it with the knife and their seemingly joking conversation in the car amounted to nothing in the end. She wondered if he even noticed that both of them were trying to keep as much distance from one another as humanly possible, taking several extra steps here and there so as not to pass too close to each other.

Claire was in the middle of looking for extra blankets in the built-in closet in the hallway in case they needed them later when her phone went off, Karen’s face flashing on the screen.

“Hey, where are you?” Claire asked in lieu of a greeting, noticing that her frozen toes started to thaw.

“Where are we? Where are you?” Karen demanded.

Blankets forgotten, Claire took a step back, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Is this a joke?”

“Did they let you through?”

“Did who let us through? What’s going on, Karen?”

“The roadblock. They closed the roads because of the storm. No one is allowed in or out until the weather improves.”

Claire waited for the punchline. And then waited some more. And then she started to hope that she would wake up and all of this would go away.

She glanced across the room and found Owen looking at her. He was standing completely still, his eyebrows knitted together as if he could hear both sides of the conversation, or maybe even hear the panic rising inside her in tidal waves. Although the latter he could have easily picked up from her expression, perhaps.

“What do you mean, no in or out?”

To be continued.... 

[hrrytomlinson]

hiiii, here are a bunch of fics I’ve enjoyed and loved reading throughout the month of february. I recommend that you read these great fics in march, if you haven’t already. there are SO many good and unique AUs this round, so please check them out!!

(all fics with a star are my favorites and if there are two stars then it was a favorite favorite)

1. Saved Tonight (30k)**

Harry is the world's most persistent seduction-baker, a questionable dog-sitter, and Louis's biggest fan. Louis hasn't written in years, is trying to pass loneliness off as cynicism, and absolutely hates his fans. It's probably destiny.

2. Too Real to Fake It (82k)*

With seven years of blissful marriage behind them and four wonderfully unique kids to brag about, Harry and Louis seem to finally have life all figured out and under control. How much more real could it get?

Very real it turns out, when Harry reluctantly leaves home for a 5 day business trip leaving Louis to manage their rambunctious, hyperactive household. Do they really have it all under control or are they just faking it?

Featuring all the usual suspects, inside jokes, embarrassing moments and of course, Harry and Louis' wild antics + the addition of their four equally wild and outrageous kids.

3. When You Look Like That (16k)*

“You… you still have the dress form I got you for your eighteenth birthday? You've kept it for ten years, Harry?” Louis’ eyes flick around Harry’s studio. It’s big and modern, with floor to ceiling windows that help flood the room in bright sunlight, just like the lobby. However, he can't stop staring at the faded, but present, heart surrounding the “H + L” written delicately in Louis’ handwriting in the center of the mannequin.

Louis is a songwriter who is nominated for a Grammy and he needs a suit. Fast. He seeks out help from a very popular, very mysterious designer who just so happens to be his ex-boyfriend.

4. Dress You Up In My Love (103k)**

Harry is single, and more than anything wants to find love. Agreeing to sign up to a dating website was a bad, bad idea. Niall's bad, bad idea. Louis is single, but has no interest in relationships. Or so he tells himself. 

Harry is a lawyer whose boss, Nick, happens to give him a bonus, which he decides to splurge on a new work wardrobe. Louis is a frustrated designer, working as a personal shopper at Selfridges. Louis happens to be working on the day a very beautiful, but out of his depth, new customer ambles into their department in need of advice. Louis might have just found the muse he never knew he was looking for.

5. Of Honey (24k)*

Harry wants what most hybrids don’t have. Love, for instance. Companionship. Understanding. And sex so good it hurts.

6. If You Keep Holding Me This Way (22k)**

Harry is a uni student who just so happens to enjoy dressing up as a long-haired androgynous sub persona to go out to bars and pick up men to dominate him. He tries to keep his BDSM life and his personal one separated, but that gets difficult when his crush on a classmate gets serious and his two worlds collide.

7. Then We Talk Slow (20k)**

The picture showed Harry smiling widely (with a fucking dimple) at the camera, his glossy brown curls situated artfully around his shoulders. Louis couldn’t see his whole outfit, but it seemed to consist of a pink, floral button-up with most of the buttons undone. Louis could also detect the dark outlines of tattoos on his chest, although he couldn’t quite make out what they were underneath the shirt.

What he could make out was that his own heartrate seemed to have picked up significantly.

Shit.

This was so not good. Not only had Louis drunkenly sent messages in a deliberate attempt to interact with this man, he was now insanely attracted to him without ever having met him in person.

Maybe Liam was right – drunk tweeting really was a horrible, rotten idea.

A famous/non-famous AU in which Louis banters back and forth with his new record company on Twitter, only to find out that Harry is the man behind the tweets.

8. Love Endless (The Road to Recollection) (171k)**

The year is groovy 1973, and eighteen-year-old Louis Tomlinson is as gay as the rainbows that never waste their time in gloomy ole' Fortwright. Would be fine if he wasn't so viciously bullied at both home and school for such a "harmful" sexual preference.

Yeah, yeah, we've all heard this story, haven't we?

Believe him, Louis didn't think he was anything special either.

Until he found the mansion. The notoriously haunted mansion hidden deep within the forests of his tiny blip of a town in Bumfuck Nowhere, Idaho. No one with a brain ever goes near it, but Louis could use a little excitement in his life...and possibly a Band-Aid or two.

After discovering the mansion was less abandoned than he'd thought, he's now left with the most riveting mystery of a lifetime; every new finding leaving him with more questions. Who is this elusive owner, and why won't they show themselves? Why is there a set of journals in the same handwriting that span over centuries? Why in the world is there a padlock on the refrigerator...and who the hell is Alexander?

9. Dance Me (to the End of Love) (19k)*

You would think that it's a simple process - you meet, you fall in love, you get married. But when you add one lawyer and one overly-competitive high school teacher to that equation, it's no longer a straight line from beginning to end. Or the story of how a simple proposal becomes a competition where no one loses in the end.

10. For a Spell That Can’t be Broken (8k)

“Why do you have to bug him so much, Lou?” Niall asked, chewing on the sleeve of his Gryffindor robes. “He’s a good kid.”

“I’m aware of that,” Louis argued petulantly.

“Are you sure?” Niall asked, his expression sincerely concerned.

“Don’t mind him,” Zayn spoke up. “Louis’ just got a weird fetish for tormenting boys he likes.”

Or a Harry Potter AU where Louis' got a secret crush on Harry and won't admit it until a late entrance into potions class outs him.

11. Cocoons and Crow’s Nests (10k)*

Harry is happy to live his life in the confines of his Cocoon. Louis specializes in breaking down barriers.

It's a young love, coming of age Larry Stylinson one shot.

12. Dance Like Warriors On A Battlefield (20k)*

Down in the arena, the triumphant gladiator places his foot on the back of the loser, holding him there as he waits for instruction on his next move. Kill or let live. It’s barbaric, really, the bloodlust involved in this sport. Louis is pretty sure that if it wasn’t for his distaste for the killing there would be a lot more blood soaking that sand.

As it is, his father rarely gives the kill order anymore. He gives the order to let the loser live. Louis rolls his eyes, turning away. He doesn’t miss the way the gladiator’s eyes linger on him.

13. Record Your Fate (and Write Me In) (13k)*

Harry is the Archivist, it's his job to record what happens in the universe.

He's only a few days into the job when things take an odd turn.

Suddenly, the small blue eyed boy seems more important than writing about crowning dignitaries.

14. Tangled Up in You (45k)

Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?”

Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry.

“What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing.

There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.”

A professional…what. “What?”

15. This Ain't Just a Thing That You Give Up (34k)

Harry turned to Liam to whisper something about not being in Kansas anymore but his best friend was frozen to his spot with a look of complete disbelief on his face. Harry looked to his right, the direction Liam seemed to be focused on, and saw a small group of people who had paused their discussion to look towards him in confusion.

A small group including Zayn Malik and Louis Tomlinson.

Harry is fairly sure his jaw actually dropped.

"Li, is that...?"

Liam nods his head emphatically. "I'm about 110% sure that yes. It is."

Or… The one where Harry is a baker in addition to being a college student who just happens to meet the crazy famous Louis Tomlinson while on spring break. Featuring personal assistant!niall, roommate and best friend!liam, and costar/model!zayn.

16. Resist Everything Except Temptation (100k)**

The lethargic sound of heels clicking against wood resonated across the sea. Footsteps descended the staircase, every assured step creating a menacing aura as it grew closer. Perspiration gathered along Louis’ palms as the rhythmic sound halted in front of him.

There was a metallic slide of a sword being pulled out of its sheath, the sound startling Louis out of his cocoon of sterile shock. His shoulders jumped as the tip of a blade flattened underneath his jaw. Louis’ distorted reflection stared back at him in the polished metal. Engraved rose petals twisted his appearance as they crawled up the length of the sword. The sword lifted and took Louis’ chin with it.

Standing in front of Louis was Captain Styles.

OR The one where Louis is the commodore's son who is forced to become a part of Harry's crew when he is captured.

17. Far Afield (11k)**

Harry Styles is a witch who owns the best flower shop in Manchester. Lottie Tomlinson is planning her wedding, and brings her brother along to her first appointment. Both men have been having a bad day and sparks fly.

18. You’re Either In Or You’re Out (12k)

Louis' tone is maybe a bit harsher than necessary, but he still stinging from the suggestion that he was staring at Harry. Sure, the way his legs are encased in those skinny jeans is mildly intriguing. But Louis is here to be the next Top Designer, and he'll be damned if he lets a pretty boy with a sinful mouth get in the way of his dream. Especially if that sinful mouth is spewing phrases like bohemian pantsuit. Honestly.

Or the one where Louis tries out for Project Runway, Harry is his stupidly gorgeous competitor, Liam is Tim Gunn, Zayn is the supermodel host, and Niall is the guest judge who knows nothing about fashion.

19. These Bountiful Silences (123k)**

They live in a world where they can only say four words per day. Harry meets some people that don't want to live that way.

20. Kiss the Boys (8k)

“Being able to blatantly kiss pretty boys out in the open is my favorite part of Pride,” Harry says without preamble, leaning into Louis’ space, inviting pink lips quirking up as they get closer to him. “You up for it?”

“Um,” Louis glances at Zayn for help. He’d thought for sure after the way he’d just seen Zayn and Harry kissing, there had to be something more going on there. The last thing Louis expects to see on Zayn’s face is a knowing grin.

Harry leans closer and for a split-second, Louis wants to meet him halfway but then he thinks better of it. He doesn’t know the landscape here and in just a couple of weeks living with him, he’s already learned that Zayn is really bad about holding his feelings in. He doesn’t want to risk stepping on the toes of his closest friend here at Uni. So, at the last second, Louis raises his empty hand and covers Harry’s mouth before the boy can complete his mission.

“Sorry, Curly,” Louis says jokingly, “I just don’t know where that mouth has been.”

21. Manhattan From The Sky (47k)**

Harry's been raised to know that successful men do not fall in love. Louis believes that love is all you need to be successful in life. They meet.