#he appears in front of me in all his standing man emoji glory and then refuses to talk to me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pretzcl · 5 years

Text

— the last dance

summary | He was the Sun, you were the Moon and all your little stars were slowly aligning. But the Sun and the Moon aren’t destined to be together, no they’re set apart worlds away. When texts become one word, calls left to voicemail and promises made to remain the centre of each other’s universe start to fickle. You suppose if you don’t have your best friend to talk to, you can spend the night in solitude talking to the moon.

{mutual pining au, opposites attract au}

pairing: best friend!donghyuck x fem!reader word count: 11k genre: angst warnings: the story often switches between yn’s perspective and a third person perspective so just be wary of that along with, the flashbacks. also, could i have gotten more cliché with the title?

You sit up in your bed and sigh. Wind breezes from the open window, gliding in swirls around your hair and nose, cooling the sleek metal of the mobile you hold in your hands. The blaring of an electronic xylophone jarred you out of the peaceful unconsciousness and hauled you into a room cloaked by the thick velvet curtain of night.

“Hey, this is Lee Donghyuck. I can’t answer the phone right now. But I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” The audio message fades into the chilly silence.

Brows crinkled, you bury your grumbles in your hands. The skin of your forehead bundles in lines as you squeezed your eyelids shut. Not because you’re wincing at the illumination from your phone in the stark darkness like you wish you were. No, you’re wincing back the tears brimming at the clumps of your wet lashes.

Blots gushing at your lashes blur the brightly lit-up phone screen with the shadows. The mobile slips from your fingers and drops onto the quilted blanket with a soft thud. The satin of your pyjama sleeve is smooth underneath your eyes as you dab the dampness away. While you run a hand through your unruly locks, wheedling yourself into false composure.

But the deep blue billows rolling around in your heaving chest, crash against you causing you to collapse over. Hurt crawls itself from the pit of your stomach and scavenges up your throat in an uproar of silent screams. The rumples of the white sheets crease under your hands behind you in search of a pillow to clutch against your chest and stifle your cries.

The front you lugged throughout the weeks of saying you’re ‘fine’, adding to the tedious misuse of the phrase, leaks in streams down your cheeks. Each bead bears a drop of the rippling weight from your stomach. The frontage caves down into crumbles like that of the white sheets lolling over your body, that had tucked you into the abyss of dreams. You wish you had prolonged your visit in its blissful peace.

One last tear escapes. It trickles along one of the moist trails tracing down the red blotches tinted on your cheeks. The desolate teardrop breaks off the tip of your chin with a soft plop. Though, your stare is vacantly placed at your open window.

Doesn’t he miss the little adventures you had together? Raiding the candy aisle with trolleys basketing the sugariest cereals and ice creams for your movie nights. Swinging side by side, under the golden maple leaves hanging by a thread onto a hunkering tree, dizzying in the elation of euphoria. Heart’s content with soaking up each other’s presence in the comfortable silence until one of you burst into a dancing fit.

Aren’t classes excruciatingly slow with loneliness sitting beside him in a room full of poorly acquainted peers and a wretched old man in suspenders making stiff gestures to a chalkboard?

Isn’t it oppressive plodding through hectic corridors, alone, to a locker abandoned of a someone bouncing at your arrival?

You swallow hard. Doesn’t he… miss you?

A grey banner pops at the top of your phone screen. A gleam glosses over your eyes as you click into the notification and open iMessage. Maybe the midnight's air has been hazing over your mind, clogging your better judgement.

[2:39 PM]:

fullsun: busy rn

The glassy gleam shatters at the realisation. He doesn’t.

A humourless chuckle passes your lips as it dawns on you. That’s one more word you normally receive in a text from him. But it gets caught in your throat after you send, “oh sorry ttyl then :)”, and you bawl into your hands for the second time tonight.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Tired commuters stand patiently, glued to their phones, wedged against each other at the station. The local bus arrives, and the crowd huddled together in a surge through the slid open doors.

Haechan spots an empty seat in the far corner. Holding the strap of his gym bag slung over his shoulder he hustles towards the single seat. In his peripheral, a stalky figure guns for the same seat as him, but he slings his bag down on the top it and lunges into the stiff cushion.

He peers back to see his opponent and is met with the glower of a middle age businessman. The sheen of sweat glinting underneath scraggles of oily hair and patches of stubble on his sallow face convinces Haechan, the businessman isn’t going home to much.

The man took out a handkerchief from his unironed suit pocket and wipes a thick layer of sweat coating his neck. The white cloth immediately becomes limpid. Haechan edges away in his seat. He can imagine him perfectly, hunching over a keyboard surrounded by empty cups of noodles and beer cans, all alone in his cramped apartment.

The businessman mutters something about kids having it easy with no respect these days.

“Thank God. I got this seat,” Haechan yawns loudly enough for the businessman to overhear. “I got up at five and practised at six, then went to school and practised during lunch break, and then practised again after school from three to five this afternoon,” Haechan presses to himself. Haechan shoots a look at the businessman. “And I’m the one who has it easy,” he murmurs.

The bitter glower on the stony businessman’s face cements.

A buzz silently vibrates up Haechan’s thigh. He promptly slips his fingers into the pocket of his grey slacks and pulls out his cell phone. The screen displays a caller id saved as “coffeehead” sequenced by a blue heart emojis.

Haechan shuts his eyes closed as he breathes out, “Don’t answer it, Haechan. Don’t. answer.”

He averts his gaze to the window, looking beyond the claustrophobic confines of public transport. The frame of unrelenting blackness shadowing over the never-ending line of tall industrial buildings fails to capture his attention. Drifting back down to the quiet rattling held in his hands. He nibbles the flesh of his bottom lip with his brows knitted together at his thumb hovering over the green icon.

Haechan pronounces a sigh. Waiting for the muted buzzing from his lap to finally cease in his anticipating fingers, he tenses. An imperceptible pressure lurks over his shoulder. He snaps his head and is faced with a hovering form.

The towering business glares down at the seated boy with a scowl plastered over his greasy face.

“Enjoying the ride, Sir?” asks Haechan mockingly through a Cheshire Cat grin. “Seated,” he sniggers under his breath. The upper lip of the businessman curls into a scowl as dirty as the chewed gum stuck underneath the bus seats. Though, the lour on the face of the vexed businessman is unheeded by the boy leant against the train window.

A message appears across the locked screensaver of a full moon above a white gazebo.

‘Missed call from Y/N’

Ignoring the heaviness lodged in his chest he swipes the notification away before idly drawing a frowny sun in the condensation of the window.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The moon sails through the ribbons of black clouds swirling through the sprinkles of glitter. Its fluorescence cascades through the windows of your home and bleeds silver into the leaden bedroom. The side of your face trailed in damp streams glistens under the lustre beams. Wiping the wells of dewy crystal, you slide off your bed.

Cautious of your roommates sleeping down the hallway, you tentatively inch towards the window on tiptoes. You sweep what feels like a sweatshirt underneath your toes to the side and resume to treading along the wooden panels with your hands stretched out in front of you.

Palms land flat on the windowsill, brisk underneath your fingers, lifting you up so your back is against the wall and your feet plant on the wall parallel.

The frosty window supports your head tilted upwards. Your gaze transfixed to the great luminous pearl rose in the inky sea. Bathing under the moonlight shower. Completely, entranced by its ethereal glory that you’ve forgotten your cries in the crumples of your bedsheets.

With an index finger, you idly circle the outline of the moon in the condensation, albeit releasing a low sigh.

—flashback

“I was thinking on Saturday you could sleepover and that way I get to take your measurements and see what looks best on you. And then we also get to celebrate your 3rd streak of scoring the lead role in the school play with a movie night… And you’re not listening to me,” you finished flatly. Your head rolled towards the boy beside you. His fray of muted hazels bounced with each clunk over a speed hump.

Lee Donghyuck, or what you like to call him, Haechan. A little nickname you coined together back in the fifth grade during one recess where Donghyuck was teaching you some basic Korean vocabulary for fun. Hae literally means ‘Sun’ while Chan means ‘to be filled with’ and in your little solar system he shone the brightest, so it felt fitting as an eleven-year-old. And it kinda just stuck as he grew more and more into the nickname. People in one way or another that met him felt gravitated to him. He had people orbiting around him; few so close it burned them, most set so far away in the cold, longing for the warmth of being closer. The lucky ones were in the perfect distance to bathe in his radiance. And you? Well, you were a strange, little moon with no planet to orbit around, spinning around on your own, in the opposite direction as everyone else. But somehow, even though you were neither big enough nor close enough to form part of his System, he found you important enough.

“I am listening to you and it sounds fun. I’m just-,” Haechan began before leaning closer to the window. His parted lips hovered over the glass with his hands covering the sides of his mouth. He puffed a few breaths.

The exhale reveals itself onto the window in a pressed cloud.

Detaching his nose pressed to the glass, Haechan nodded, pleased with himself.

“Ok continue,” he said, drawing a smiley-faced sun in the condensation.

“You’re going to be 80, riding in the pensioner seat and still be doing that,” you noted through a small smirk.

The circle of the sun began to vanish against the glass, but you followed the mellow rays flaring from the band. The faint beams led you on a trail from the pretty slope of his nose, along the sharp line of his jaw, and up to the gem under his eye. It’s a little mole. You like to believe it’s a speck from the Sun that had fallen and landed on his left cheek. So, wherever he walks he sets the pathway ablaze with dazzling oranges, brightening up the entire room because he holds a piece of the sun.

“And you’re going to be dead before 80,” quipped Haechan. Never mind, you would much rather believe it’s sun cancer.

“Probably,” you hummed. Your stare grazed the bus seat in front you, knocking the heel of your shoe leather heel back into the foot of your own seat. A clank with each knock at the sturdy metal. You waited for a few seconds to pass by. Once the imaginary timer rang you turned to face Haechan, a flash of mischief flickered in your hues. “But I’m not dead yet so I can still do this.” You lurched your torso over him. An outstretched arm lunged across his white buttoned up shirt. The slickness of the brisk glass is swiped by your hand and you wiped the smiley sun off.

“Hey!” yelped Haechan, loudly enough that a handful passengers turned around. But since you were a pair of high school students, the adults huff in annoyance, then returned to their devices.

Jaw hung wide open. He gaped at the cleared window. Not unusual for a drama kid to react so theatrically. “How dare you,” he rasped.

You rubbed your wet palm against the rigid cotton of your plaid skirt.

“Anyways… on for Saturday?”

“Oh.” The side of his face slightly hollowed as he bit the inside of his cheek. “I can’t…” said Haechan glumly. “I’m busy on Saturday. What about Sunday?”

“I can’t. I have to work the register at the fabric shop,” you mimicked the glum tone of his voice.

“Oh,” he repeated. A hand rustled the nutty blonde at the side of his head. His lips pulled at one side in a lopsided grimace as his eyebrows furrowed together. “Um what about…” he faltered, nibbling on his bottom lip.

“What’s Mr Hyuck up to on Saturday?” you asked.

His sun-kissed face pinched.

“I have to go my auntie’s anniversary party,” he grumbled in the rest of his palm hoisted on the narrow bus window sill.

Your head cocked slightly to the side, “and that sucks because?” Your brow furrowed over your narrowed eyes, fixed on the boy whose gaze wandered off. Something was tugging down on a thread sewn to the corner of his lips. Immediately, you wanted your sewing scissors to snip the thread, unstitching the sullen frown knitted on his face.

He sighed. “It sucks because I was going to ask out Soo-Ah but I found this morning she just started dating Felix”. Absentmindedly, his fingers traced along letters scratched into the window pane. ‘IT’S RAINING HERE TOO’. The words murmured through your mind as you struggled to ignore the knots tied in your stomach at the mention of her name.

Yun Soo-ah. Her name falls prettily off the tongue like rich silk cascading from the waist of a luxurious ball gown. Her raven ribbons pour over her porcelain shoulders, floating an elegant fragrance of jasmine as she minced the school hallways. Thin lashes sweep over her sparkling almond eyes, twinkling specks of glitter from the contact lenses she bought from Etude house. If pearls had a voice, it would sound like her tinkling laughter she covers with a dainty hand. She seats with her legs neatly crossed to the side at the bench, by the marble water fountain near the Geography classrooms.

The bench where all the popular kids sit; Jeno, Ha-Yoon, Jaemin, Ae-cha and… Haechan. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. He’s sunshine but he’s not just your sunshine. Sunshine isn’t an abstract painting of a peculiar composition of angry geometry and contrasting colours, only to be appreciated by acquired tastes. No. Everyone appreciates the beauty of the abundance of bright rays that paints the monotone world into a metropolis of glorious hues.

Although a spot reserved on the bench for someone had people squinting from their seats to make sure their vision isn’t tricking them.

Yours.

Not that you earned it. How does anyone earn the privilege of sitting at a bench more overrated than the tv series Riverdale? I guess being attractive can get you to three seasons and apparently, a bench by a cherub fountain obscured by veils of moss.

Truthfully, the only reason you had a seat saved with your name is that you have a free get-to-hang-out-with-the-popular-kids-because-Haechan-is-one-and-he’s-too-attached-to-his-first-best-friend-that-has-been-in-his-class-ever-since-Kindergarten-to-let-her-sit-in-the-library-all-by-herself-when-there’s-a-seat-right-here-!! pass.

Jeno, Jaemin, Soo-ah and the rest of the Scooby Doo gang are all nice. Nice in the simplest form of enjoyment. All their conversations sounded the exact same. If you closed your eyes each of their voices would merge into whirs of white noise. You had efficiently narrowed the subjects of their babbling into three categories: how much school sucks, parties and sports. 2 of which you have no interest in, which left school uncrossed but whining about that surprise pop quiz, was only a topic of choice for lunchtime banter that lasted so long before someone brought up sports or parties again.

Though, you all shared something in common apart from breathing. Haechan. They gave up their vacant seat at their pretentious bench to accommodate for your 50 shades grunge. Even if, your matte black Doc Martens clashed with their matching Adidas Superstars. Never addressing the elephant in the room in spite of her electric dyed hair and leather studded jacket. All to make sure the Sun continues to shine brightly.

Unfortunately, you never seemed to share anything else in common with them. You were a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit no matter how hard you all tried wedging you in and that was ok. People don’t always click, to be honest, you really liked Haechan’s friends especially Soo-ah, but it was evident there wasn’t much to go beyond friendly waving at one another in the school corridors. Not long after you began to evade the pause of awkward silence that ensued over the bench at your arrival. As much as Haechan liked to dispute, he shone brightly without you, happy with them and you were happy for him.

He would never admit it, but he was looking out for that little girl. The little girl who sobbed on the bus ride from the first day of school because it was a long way from home by herself. But that little girl grew up into someone who likes the solace of being alone. She likes being lost in the cluster of dreams and unexplored ideas swirling in her mind. She likes the purring of a sewing machine nuzzling beneath her hands rather than the droning of a person. She likes watching from the sidelines over being caught in the whirlwind of being in the present.

In the corner of the library, you found a place to fit your puzzle piece. Enshrouded by the tall shelves encasing Science Fiction books from the reaches of sunlight. Sketching fashion illustrations into your leather covered Visual Arts book. Far, far away from any interminable discussions.

After all, you were the only one who got to bask in the sunset. Your favourite part of the day. His radiance melts into dawn; cheerful smile softens to a small tug of the lips, doe eyes taper lowly with the fade of the blue sky, ripples of laughter soothe to content hums and sighs.

The orbit slows down, and gravity pulls you two together.

“Well, I’m sorry you have to go alone,” you consoled. He sighed once more. “At least, you don’t have to endure the emotional torment of a fifty-year-old woman because the store doesn’t stock the fabrics she likes,” you poked lightly.

One of the thread sears in frayed halves, loosening a corner of his rosy lips into a quirk.

“Honestly, I haven’t felt anything ever since she berated me for not giving her a 10% discount she didn’t earn,” you ranted monotonously. “And then proceeded to demand to see the manager”.

The threads spilled from his lips onto coils on the ground as his lips stretch into a grin. “That does suck.”

“Not as much as going stag,” you lowly singsong.

Sirens set off, flashes of vigilant red burn brightly in your mind shouting, “Too soon” on repeat. How insensitive are you? The stoplight reds shrieked at you. He floated around Soo-ah plastered with the universal goofy face teenage boys make when they like someone. Don’t make him sulky because she doesn’t realise, she holds the most irreplaceable orb in her dainty hands.

You were about to blubber apologies when he joked, “See. This is a prime example of why you don’t have any friends.” A breath hitched in your throat released.

“What do you mean? I have Renjun,” you state, a little too proudly.

“The kid who believes in ghosts?” A questioning look drew on his face in cynicism.

“And aliens,” you added promptly. Ignoring the eyebrow, he mockingly raised you continued, “He has some compelling theories. Not that you would understand.”

“And what, the Earth’s flat?” he sassed, waving jazz hands up in the air.

“This is the type of thinking that’s going to get you killed in an apocalypse,” you chastised, nose upturned to his supercilious gaze.

The shrug of his shoulder must have tripped his round doe eyes because the chocolate chips vanished into the milky white like a reflex. He’s so delicious, you thought as you watch the sunlight glazed over his face in drips of golden honey straight from the comb. That day you wrote down his gorgeous eye roll in a blank space of the list of things you loved about the Sun.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The clouds once wisps of paper white have matted in thick, scratchy grey wool. A spurt of wind squeezes from the bus doors sliding close and is fleeting against Haechan’s back. Silently cursing the thin fabric of his pressed white shirt as cold slithers down his exposed neck, he treads the pathway.

The soil shielded by spouts of fresh grass emitted a pale musk, whisking a warning to quicken his pace, in the humid air. The scowl on Haechan’s face resembles one of the businessmen when the thought of the blue plaid fabric left in its stand by the front door taunts him. He digs an arm in his bag for the slumped material limp over his school books and heaves a sleeve through the opening. The jacket is thick and grey like the clouds hovering low in the sky awash in charcoal. Hastily, he pulls the hood over his flattened hair sprinkled in tiny dewdrops and zips the jacket to his chin. The jacket fails to instantly envelop his body in comforting warmth rather, attaching onto his torso pointlessly. The warmth clings to the lining to the jacket, reluctant to relieve the shivering of Haechan’s form, until he paces further along the sidewalk.

She wouldn’t have forgotten her umbrella. She wouldn’t have let him forget his.

His legs trace the familiar path towards a convenience store tucked in the corner of the intersection, but his mind fogs with wistful thoughts.

If only I told her, maybe it would have been different.

The white light of the mercury lamp glinted off the cell phone that he held in his hand.

It’s too late to tell her now.

Ruefully, he jostles open the glass door plastered in colourful advertisements for discounted food. A bell chimes at his entrance and heat from the vents of a rickety air conditioner immediately greets him with a hug of a doting mother. The unbothered store clerk’s head slumps in the palm of his pudgy hand, his cheek cushioning under his eye as he idly flicks through a magazine.

Haechan noses towards the narrow aisle of snack foods. A rainbow of shiny packaging blurs in his peripheral. Chocolates, crisps, Cup of Noodles, sodas, more crisps and finally, biscuits.

He holds up two slim rectangular boxes, in bold white letters “Pocky” printed in the centre, one red and the ladder pink. His hands shift, as to weigh both options in each hand, in a sedulous survey.

Eyebrows scrunched together creasing a slight line in his forehead. “Strawberry or chocolate?”

— flashback

Y/n’s impatience filled her with a suppressed urge to tap her foot as she waited for Haechan to decide which Pocky flavours he wanted.

“You always do this,” she huffed with her hands on her hips. The set of bangles embellished in faux diamonds reflected the fluorescent ceiling lights.

“It always a hard decision,” Haechan huffed back. “Do I feel like the original, Chocolate?” He lifts the small red box up in the air disregarding the way Y/N’s eyes glazed over with a look that states, ‘He’s got to be kidding me.’ “Or… Do I feel like, spicing it up a little bit, with Strawberry?” He then shifts his hands like a balance scale, holding the pink box up.

Y/N’s glossy red lips pressed together in a firm line, but the ends twitched and Haechan was pretty sure she was fighting off a smile. Haechan has seen her wear the same red lipstick a million times before, but for some reason noticing it that day made his mouth go dry.

“You’re unbelievable,” she chuckled and revealed her teeth that shone white against the bold lipstick. She slipped the Strawberry flavoured Pocky from Haechan’s grasp and back into the colourful assortment on the shelf. “You always end up getting disappointed with strawberry,” she said before walking off.

Unknowingly, a smile softened his face.

The click-clack of her leather boots on the grimy tiles jingled the chain latched to her skirt. She’s the last person you would want to be trapped in a horror movie with, Haechan thought. You might as well scream at an axe murderer if you were to be stuck with Y/N and her orchestra. Though, the thoughts vanished within the air that her arms swayed in, followed by the light swishes of her plaid skirt. Casually she sashayed away, weaving around the corner of a narrow aisle. It was spellbinding. So much so, that Haechan couldn’t shift a glance away like she was the Moon turning pirouettes beneath the Heavens, for no applause.

People were mistaken, the Moon didn’t droop low in the waning darkness, casting striking metallic over the land. The Moon hummed quietly, swept above from Earth, glowing the iridescence of a pearl. It drew the curtain of silver, shone against her buttermilk complexion behind her ear. Revealing the milky way copied in her eyes. The night fluttered over her eyes in ink dipped feathers, batting gently together with each blink.

Y/n glided her finger over the magazines propped in the rack, matching the glossiness of the covers with her nail polish. One piqued her interest, its cover was of a model in a dress like a pastry made out of pink ribbons and frills, lots of frills. A fashion magazine, she claimed she never had enough of them, and it was simply impossible to have too much inspiration. She flipped halfway through the magazine, almost expectant of what she was going to see, and her eyes instantly trained on the page.

Ethereal. At the time, Haechan didn’t know why the word she used, a thousand times about a heavenly themed fashion show in Rome, came to his mind. He didn’t know why his feet suddenly felt lighter with each step closer to her as if he was floating on air. What was he going to do when finally closed the space between both of her, he didn’t know. Tease her? Hug her? Hold her? Kiss-

Smack!

Guess he didn’t know there was a shelf in from of him either.

“Hyuck! Are you ok?” Blackness clouded his sight, but he heard her voice clearly. She was close.

Pain rushed to the veins pulsing hot blood to his forehead. His hand flew to the side of his head in a vain attempt to soothe the throbbing ache, wincing contact of his own skin.

The black clouds parted and revealed Y/N’s face constrained into a dozen lines. The tiny creases scrunched in her nose matched the crinkles at the corners of her eyes, furrowed by her chalky eyebrows. Her mouth twitched in different directions to keep her lips stuck together in a firm line.

“Geez. Some friend you are,” he deadpanned at his very unsympathetic best friend.

“How do you walk into a shelf? It was right in front of you!” she gibed.

“It was not right in front of me!” It most certainly was right in front of him.

She didn’t respond but held her sides as though she had a stomach ache. He studied her face. The subtle upward quirk of her red lips told him she was smothering her chortles. She then pointed feebly with a shaking finger at the shelf Haechan walked straight into, corrupting in a fit of mocking yet, hearty guffaws.

Haechan laughed too, despite nursing where a sickly purple welt would stain.

She exhaled a loud sigh to conclude the end of her outburst in the cramp convenience store. How she didn’t break a rib in the midst of her uncontrollable convulsions left Haechan in complete wonder. He had opened his mouth to jibe back as they normally would, being friends for so long, but he stood with a small gape gracing his cinnamon features. Y/n gently wiped her the corner of her eyes as the last giggle escaped from her mouth. Perhaps the tug on his bounded heart had strings to his tongue.

A spark lit the warm umber of his hues.

Y/n’s laugh sets Haechan’s body on fire but, softly, like that of a cozy bonfire. One where you crisp marshmallows into a golden auburn and then, plunge into your mouth before it drooped into a glump of pillowy sugar. She would laugh free-spiritedly, unafraid of the joy to riddle her face like dandelions scattered in a meadow field. Yet, explosive like the blissful moment when you hold someone’s hand counting down to a firework. Her weak knees would buckle at the sudden euphoria and she would hobble over the floor, giggling through her nose.

The spark ruefully dimmed at the sad realisation she doesn’t laugh like that anymore. Not even then, it was still contained. There were no adorable little snorts that intermission her hearty chortles. Y/n claimed her laugh was obnoxious, boisterous albeit Haechan thought she couldn’t be more wrong. Though, it wasn’t delicate laughter that ripples like tinkling bells in the cafeteria. But he didn’t want a public declaration of ladylikeness so obviously forced, making him doubt what he said was actually funny. What did he want?

Y/N returned to the magazine stand.

“So… Are you doing anything on Saturday?”

“Thought we had this conversation on the bus,” she replied flatly, too concentrated on finding the place she left off in the magazine.

“We did,” he swung back and forth on his toes. “But…” he drew out, perking Y/N’s attention from the pages of the fashion magazine opened in her manicured hands. “You never said if you were busy on Saturday.”

Y/n cocked her head at Haechan with quizzical look pinched on her face possibly, contemplating on how she should approach answering him. A second or so went by while Y/n eyed Haechan. He batted his lashes over his doe eyes, that were bigger and browner than before, a small smile curled at the end of his lips.

“I’m not,” she said in a questioning tone.

“Great!” he exclaimed. He swung a tanned arm around her shoulders, “So that means you can be my plus-one at the party.”

The wide grin sported on his stretched lips made Y/n’s hand twitch by her side. Her fingers curled, resisting the nerve itching to slap the shit-eating look right off his caramel face. Instead, fumed a steady exhale from her nose and she returned to her magazine.

She licked her finger and turned a page. The page dived and slid into the other pages as she stated, “So can Jaemin.”

“He’s busy,” he replied quickly like playing a game of Snap and shooting your hand to slam at the deck before processing the cards that have been placed.

“Jeno?” she raised an eyebrow over her magazine.

“Also, busy.” Haechan knew for certain the only thing Jeno would be busy with, was playing Overwatch but he slammed his hand on the deck anyways.

Y/n eyebrows scrunched upwards together and a ‘hmm’ withdrew from her lopsided pressed lips. “What about-”

“Everyone’s busy,” Haechan sharply cut her off. He was really terrible at this game of Snap.

“Well, I don’t want to come if I’m your last choice,” she disclosed as she flicked another page from the magazine.

Haechan’s whole face screwed up. “You were just listing off people, so you didn’t have to go!” he huffed in boiling frustration.

Y/n shrugged, her only interest tended to a model who cast a faraway gaze in a gown that folded over like aluminium foil.

Haechan’s frustration was as short-lived as a flash storm because his attention whisked away to a strand of Y/n’s platinum hair that flowed in a stream by the side of her face. His hand reaches towards the blonde ribbon poured by her cheek. The wispiness of the stray hair graced the tips of his fingers about to tuck the lock behind her ear.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked curtly, shooting the boy a cold stare and the wisps were merely fleeting against his fingertips.

“Your hair it’s-,” not sure how to finish the question, he leant closer to her. The ice rimed on her face melted, the sceptical squint of her eyes rounded into a mixture of shock at the feeling of wisps being swept along her cheek and behind her pierced ear.

The realisation of what Haechan had done, piled down on him like in those cartoons where a barrel of bricks clunk over a character in a heavy downpour. Before the bricks knock him unconscious and collapsed on the floor as a halo of stars circled above his head, he instinctively jabbed his index finger outwards. The fullness of Y/n’s cheek indented around his finger and triggered a twitch of her eye. Humoured by the irritation pooled in her eyes, he poked the soft flesh again, watching a scowl twist itself onto her mouth. She hissed, “You better stop that, or I will eat your firstborn.”

“See, that threat was scary before you used it on me 500 times,” he jested, relieved he played off whatever that was.

“Haechan I swear, you better stop-” her face scrunched up at the contact on his finger pressing into her cheek another time.

“Only if you agree to come with me,” he singsonged, a fleer curving his face.

She rolled her head back hurling a groan from the depths of her chest, stomping her foot.

“Come on, please. Don’t make me go by myself,” needled Haechan.

“What’s so wrong about going alone?” she asked but the exasperation trickling in her voice insinuated she wasn’t interested in an answer.

So, he replied to her question with another question, “What’s so bad about being with people?” The indignation of how he huffed back caught him off guard, and the way Y/N’s eyes widened for a split second, told him she was too.

They both emptied a sigh. Their eyes were on one another, not saying a word but thinking the same thing, “Have we always been so different?”

Y/n lashes fluttered over her eyes as her stare faltered to the floor. She lifted her head up to the ceiling, her attention shifted to the ceiling fan wheeling in bumpy coils. His eyes followed the tracings of where her gaze had been and stopped at the stuttering fan as well.

They stood less than a hand’s reach away but the ground under their feet felt as if a whole universe separated them.

Spaced out, a voice pulls Haechan back, “I don’t have a dress.”

“Huh?” Unable to have coined the words said to him to make any sense.

“I don’t have a dress,” Y/N repeated, still looking at the ceiling.

“You’re coming?” he asked dumbfounded turning to face her.

“Yeah,” she sighed.

“You don’t have to,” Haechan said feeling slightly deflated. The heaviness of his heart sunk in his stomach. Anchored at the thought of her only coming out of obligation.

“I want to,” she reassured him. The ceiling had finally released her gaze and she gently smiled at him albeit, it seemed unsure. “But you’re sharing those because I don’t want to pay for my own,” she chimed motioning to the Pocky box in his hand with a bright grin stretched on her lips.

— end of flashback

A touch of a smile wisps his lips. Chocolate, it is.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Most nights, darkness is absolute, scattered stars wrung in the sky like Christmas lights low on batteries, flickering their last breaths. The approaching of midnight preys on the awakening of the pale moon. It covers the moon with a velvet black blindfold before engulfing the orb. The moon on most nights wanes into nothing more than a dwindled strand of silver string.

But tonight, isn’t like most nights.

The moon rose from beneath the shadowy depths it had been buried under for far too many nights. Tonight, the moon doesn’t want to be hidden. And it won’t be hidden. Not behind the creeping grey clouds lurking thugly as if they owned the expanse of the sky. Not behind the black silhouettes of slender hands clawing high into the night to spill the moonlight into creaks of streams. No, tonight the Moon, the rightful ruler of the night banishes the measly grey wool of its kingdom and the trees are set free of their curse. Sat on a crisp white cushioned throne, the moon listens to you. A hum of acknowledges lowly breathes through sleeping leaves. The breeze arrives at your body propped on the window sill like wave uncurling onto the shore. So alleviated by the night’s serenity, your eyes are closed, and you inhale a deep breath of the brisk air. Your head rolls back as the coolness fills your lungs and seeps into your veins. The chill soothes down your body as taking a sip from a steamy tea would relieve others.

Midnight washes over your body.

The waves immersing your body freezes at the touch of your skin. Your eyes snap open wide at the unfamiliar chillness piecing into the air. Thorns stick up at the back of your neck. A boa constrictor coil tightens around your heart beating rapidly against your chest. It’s quiet but suddenly you’re conscious of your own breathing and your sense of hearing heightens.

The grass in your backyard has yet to be cut. It’s long and unruly, much like your hair at this very moment. However, your thoughts aren’t on your unkempt locks as you skittishly dart your glances over your garden, hissing with crickets and spotted with fluffy dandelions. Towering up above it all was a mighty elm. A voice is rationalising your terrified stricken mind, suggesting it could be the flapping of bird wings, or heavy gates shuffling in the wind. Surely, there must be a reasonable explanation but that doesn’t stop your body from twitching, desperately wanting to flee to your bed and hide under the sheets like a child. Your ears prick at an unsettling sound, it’s clearer this time. A bush crouching insignificantly by the elm tree shakes. Eyes glued to the dark silhouette of leaves rustling hazardously, you’re unable to detach your body, glued to the window sill. For a split second, the fear wracking your body pauses as you think the bush jitters like its leaves are being tickled and its wiggling under the sensation. The bush shakes off its final rustle and you could almost laugh the breath hitched in your throat. A ginger cat springs from the bush shadowed from the tree hunkering above it.

The neighbour’s cat, you sigh. The mangy little thing often, trotted alongside ever since you moved here, accompanying you on the last ten steps home every day from school. Tail held high, its feline pride bottled up inside the purr as he beckons for his reward for being such a lovely escort. Which he would shortly receive, after a much-deserved eyeball roll and leaning down you would press a kiss on his fluffy kitty head.

He trots tentative steps towards you. His soft teal eyes meet yours. Somehow, the night is captured in the blue of his eyes and it transcends you back to the tranquillity tranced by the moonlight. Suddenly, he breaks eye contact and scampers away into the shadows. But the moon’s lustres fill his departure with a feeling as soft the silken ginger of his fur rubbing up against your legs.

— flashback

The tepid milky liquid ran smoothly down your throat. Having sat by your sewing machine in a forgotten coffee mug, it had long since devoid of any warmth. Your fingers curled around the ceramic, frowning at how the heat barely spread through your hands. The last sip of what would be your fifth cup of espresso slushed in your mouth as you pondered to yourself, “How long has it been?” The bitterness in the lustrous texture is drowned by the lukewarmness albeit, a tang lingered on your tongue. You haven’t quite grown accustomed to the bitter taste richly engrained in coffee but a self-induced caffeinated high was the only way you were going to finish sewing in time for Haechan’s aunt's party. Besides, Anna Wintour wouldn’t down a Coca Cola straight from the can, that seemed as much as a mix-match as animal print and polka dots.

You drew your lower lip between your teeth, there was something not quite right. Attaching the bodice to the skirt of the dress had you anticipating the sense of accomplishment that would have overcome you with a sigh of contentment. Yet, the completed garment looked more like a dead piece of fabric, hung limply over the table as if the sewing machine was a fox biting into the flesh of its prey’s neck. The crystal blue satin was supposed to make you feel stunning and wearing what you had thought of as a small dead animal surprisingly, convinced you weren’t exactly going to feel like a dazzling star against the night sky.

After mulling over what could possibly be missing; sequins, frills, embroidery, ribbons? You decided that perhaps looking at it from a new perspective would help solve the case of: is it in need of sprinkling some sparkly sequins or spicing it up with trendy floral embroidery. Or maybe floral prints embroidered out of sequins? Best of both worlds, isn’t that what Hannah Montana was always preaching about? Another cup of coffee was surely needed or else you might have started singing, “You get the limo out front~”.

You pushed the chair from under you by swinging your feet from in front of you. In a series of clumsy movements, you managed to plunge towards your wardrobe, fling the doors of your closet wide open, one arm reached inside and then, awkwardly wrapped it around Belle. You clambered across your room back to your makeshift fashion studio corner and placed Belle in front of the standing mirror. Belle, short for Annabelle, is your trusty tailor dummy. Belle and you have been together from designing Haechan’s costumes from when he starred in the elementary school plays, all the fashion terrorism in between, to scratching up an A-line dress under 2 days.

With delicate hands, you sifted the dress over the top of your mannequin. Wary of any possible loose stitches, you gently tugged and padded the sides of the dress down. A flake of your nail polish chipped onto your tongue while you examined the dress from a few steps back. Tilting your head to the side, you slowly removed your finger from your mouth, scraping tiny flakes off your nail. You felt the corners of your eyes wrinkle as a smile curled your face and bubbled out a titter. Moments ago you were convinced the dress was so flat of life but there you stood peering into your reflection in the mirror, imagining yourself waltzing down a staircase. At the bottom of the flight of stairs would be Haechan enchanted by how resplendent you would look in the glorious light blue dress. Too overjoyed by your little fantasies twirling in your mind, you had to shake yourself out of your daze because you needed to the hem of the dress.

Upon returning into your bedroom, you winced at the sip of your freshly brewed espresso. It was piping hot and overly bitter though, it was much preferred over the old bath water from the last cup. Nonetheless, it was a source of caffeine so you planned to drink it like a mum unwinding herself with a bottle of red wine. Looking up from the mug wrapped in both your hands, your face squeezed into an expression of perplexion. Startled, you stood frozen in the doorway of your room. Your whole body stiffened in a pose of one of Medusa’s victims at the sight in front you of you. Panic struck over your limbs. Mouth hung agape, you could have sworn you left Belle in front of the mirror and not by the bedroom door. Your heart pounded rapidly against your chest when you remembered you were home alone since your parents were out of town for a business trip. The house was empty, swallowed by the silence it heightened your consciousness of your own breathing.

In some part of your brain, probably the rational part that seemed to be missing at the moment, you knew you should have knew returned Belle and hemmed your dress, spending the last night as a mature and productive teenager. Although, would a mature and productive teenager even be up at that hour? Anyways, you released a shriek from your gut and sprinted to the living room, stumbling down a flight of stairs. Logic was overruled by fear and fight to flight. And even though you knew you probably overreacting, you were certain you did not move Belle an inch from the mirror!

Fled from the haunted mannequin and the entire second story of your home, you sped dialled the top caller ID saved on your phone. “Please pick up. Please pick up. Please pick up,” you whispered to yourself like an eerie broken record player with the phone pressed to your ear. The hushed chants soon interrupted by a voice thick with sleep.

“It’s 1am,” Haechan groaned at the end of the line.

You chewed the flesh of your bottom lip suddenly rethinking your choice of calling him in the middle of a school night, in the midst of your episode of freak encounters.

“I know but could you come over?” you asked through a grimace like you bit into a lemon.

“It’s 1am!” Had you not been so focused monitoring the staircase of a moving mannequin you would have rolled your eyes. Like he was actually whisked away to the call of slumber when the raucous clicking and gunshots were so obviously heard in the background. Before you could call him out for playing OverWatch on a school night at 1am, he simply said, “Yeah sure but why though?”

A few seconds at the end of your line were silent, debating on how you should phrase that your tailor dummy could very well be cursed. “I think Belle moved on her own,” you said through the same ‘this lemon is so sour’ expression from earlier.

“Ooh Annabelle, told you she’s creepy,” Haechan joked, however, there was a lot of truth to it. The first time you showcased your favourite birthday present to your best friend, Haechan declared it to be named after the notorious demonic doll.

But with Belle living up to her legacy you frantically started to whisper, “No Haechan, I’m serious. When I left the room to get coffee she was in front of the mirror but when I came back she was near the door.”

“Maybe you should call Renjun to come over instead and then maybe he can bring his Ouija board to speak to it,” he jested.

“Not funny.” The last thing you had wanted in your home, which had already been inhabiting a haunted mannequin was an Ouija board. But it was kinda funny.

“Okay, I’m out the door. See you in 5. I mean.... if you don’t die until then.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Haechan tugged on the ends of a long scrap of fabric, squeezing it tightly apart in each hand. “Okay I think we’re safe now,” said Haechan dusting his hands together.

“I don’t know Hyuck maybe we could just sleep in the lounge room,” Y/n suggested from the doorway of her bedroom.

“What do you mean I just-,” he dramatically waved his hands at the wardrobe doors bounded at the handles with the blue satin. “It’s locked up!”

“You locked it up with fabric!” She flung her hands in the air, pointing towards the wardrobe as well.

“It’s not even real, you crackhead!”

Y/n scrunched her nose and crossed her arms over chest.

“Fine!” he huffed. Haechan walked over to her desk and made an apparent gesture of placing his hands on the chair. Before he pulled the chair from underneath the desk he turned his face to mock Y/n with a fleer. The chair bumped against one of the legs of the table and he noticed something light shuffle off the edge of the desk. He continued to drag the chair along the carpet and stopped in front of the wardrobe then, lodged it under the bounded handles creating somewhat of a barricade against the door.

“Better?” he smiled tauntingly.

“Whatever. I’m going to grab extra blankets.”

He watched her plaid purple pyjamas meld into the dimness of the hallway. Light footsteps echoed off the walls in the corridors, leaving him alone in her bedroom with the image of her scrunched-up face in his mind. He shook his head, chuckling at how she arched her eyebrows at him, gruffly crossing her arms. “What has gotten into me?” he sighed. It’s not the first time he has seen her pout and dig in her heels in the ground, seeming that he takes pride in ruffling her feathers as a joke. But tonight made him feel like the joke was on him. That his feelings were playing a silly prank on him. The week before, he was fascinated by the glossy red moving with each word she spoke passionately about the illustrations she was working on. A day ago, he caught himself hypnotised by how she walked down an aisle in a convenience store. On the first step upon entering her bedroom, his eyes caught of the beautiful blue dress clothed on the mannequin, instantly imagining Y/N adorned in the materialised diamonds.

A fleck of white glinted in the corner of his eye, slicing him away from the internal battles, that were his thoughts. Upon stepping closer, he recognised it was a sheet of paper that fell to the ground when he bumped the chair into the legs of the desk. Crouching down on the balls of his feet, he picked up the paper half expecting it to be a design y/n sketched during class. Briefly, he scanned the paper held in hands, his brows knitted together, registering what he had thought was going to be a drawing of dress, was a letter. At the top of the letter was an emblem, similar to the emblem to the school Haechan and yn go to but this one had scissors and measuring tape. His eyes started to anxiously search for an answer to what this letter could possibly be until he stopped at a sentence in bold.

‘We are happy to inform you that the Paris Institute of Fashion has accepted your application for admission.” He got his answer; an acceptance letter, and a lump in his throat.

A soft thud lifted Haechan’s downturned stare to a pile of quilted blanket unfolding at sock-clad feet. He met Y/n’s widened eyes with an empty stare, watching how her irises flickered from his face to the letter held in his hands. The drawn down corners of his lower lip quivered as the words merely whispered from his mouth, “When were you going to tell me?”

Y/n began to shake the head fervently, stuttering, “I- I don’t know…” Her voice faltered as she cast her gaze to her feet, feeling guilt under the scrutiny of his emotionless stare.

“You don’t know when you were going to tell me?” his chest rising from the slumped posture of shoulders. “Was it when you’re halfway across the world?” he sniped.

The sudden rise in the volume of his voice had y/n immediately grinding her teeth. “Why were you snooping through my stuff!” she retaliated, deflecting his interrogation and sitting him down at the turned detective’s table.

Haechan jaw jutted forward a couple times before he spluttered back, “I wasn’t!” He shot back defensively, “I dropped it when I was moving the chair and I went to pick it up!”

“You didn’t have to read it!” she retorted, marching over to him and snatching the letter from his grip.

“Seriously? ” he asked incredulously, only to be answered with a cold stare hardened on her face. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“I said I don’t know,” she exasperated. The iciness sharpened on her face melted slowly into weariness.

Haechan gulped dryly, his throat hoarse from shouting. In preparation for an answer, he knows will make his heart drop deeper into his heaved chest, “Do you want to go?”

“Yes.”

The single syllable penetrated through the room, deafening silence between them, so blaring that it echoed through Haechan mind. A roll of film played on the fastest speed in his mind of their little adventures from when they were six and would swing side by side, under that enormous maple tree at the local park. To walking side by side on the first day of high school with their timetables opened, as they tried to find which classes they shared. To earlier that morning, sitting side by side on the bus ride to school, sharing earphones, listening to a playlist they made together on a sleepover a week ago. He swallowed hard. Wouldn’t she miss being side by side?

“It’s late and we should go to bed,” she said trailing back to pick up the pile of blankets dropped in the middle of the doorway. She glanced back to him, “Are you going to help me?”

Air escaping from beneath the sheets as the thick quilt sunk on top of the bed was the only intermission of silence within the bedroom. Haechan gruffly reached for a pillow and settled it in the middle of the bed. He picked up another one and aligned it with the other one, not once making eye contact with the girl tugging the quilt at the top corners of the bed.

“I don’t want the first thing I see tomorrow morning to be your face,” Haechan said. Answering the quizzical look he knew was ridden all over her face when he placed yet, another pillow down the centre of the bed.

“Oh really,” she replied, picking up a frilly cushion from the floor. “Well I guess soon enough I won’t have to see your face for any longer,” she hummed, adding the cushion on top of the Great Pillow War of Y/n’s Bed.

“Ha! You really think I’m going to let you live across the world and not facetime you every day. Y/n, you poor delusional girl,” he shook his head in faux dismay.

“Threat or a promise?” she grinned.

“Both,” he grinned back.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Donghyuck walks through the unlocked front door to his home, juggling his opened packet of Pocky and his house keys in one hand. A series of gunshots and yelling resound from the living room, far from the seductive call of a siren but Donghyuck blindly follows anyways.

“How was vocal practice?” Johnny, his older brother, asks. Not looking up from the television screen as his thumbs hammer into the controller gripped in his hands.

“Usual,” Donghyuck says, with a mouth full of chocolate flavoured Pocky. Chocolate never did seem to disappoint.

“So how’s y/n?” The mention of her name takes him back for a second especially, out of Johnny’s mouth. He never really express any sort of opinion of her, Donghyuck at times, even forgot the two knew of each other.

“Good I guess,” he replies nonchalantly, walking over to grab the spare console controller on the coffee table.

“You guess?” Donghyuck could see his Johnny’s forehead conjugate from the corner of his eyes.

“I haven’t been talking to her lately,” Donghyuck said, with an insouciant shrug, finally logging into his game profile.

“Shouldn’t you?” Johnny prods when Donghyuck doesn’t expand on his vague reply.

“Shouldn’t you mind your own business?” The television screen pauses and the leather of the couch stifles a groan as Johnny shifts himself to look at the younger boy. Johnny frowned at him. It’s not the response Donghyuck thought he would receive, rather something quick-witted and sharp-tongued for him to rebuttal. Until a sudden, unwanted realisation quickly washes over him of whom he was talking to or more accurately, who he wasn’t talking to. “I’ve just been busy lately,” the nonchalance in his voice receding.

Although he knows it wasn’t satisfactory enough of an answer and he is proved correct when Johnny begins, “The Donghyuck and Y/n I know used to have phone calls at 4am. You’ve both have never been too busy for one another.” Johnny noticed by the end of his sentence, Donghyuck’s entire expression dulled. His doe eyes saddened into sullen brown hues reminding, the older brother of the scene where Bambi loses his mother.

“Listen, I don’t want to go all big brother on you,” Johnny gently starts upon Donghyuck falling silent. “But should we talk about why you’re ignoring your best friend?”

“Because…” he mumbles, not sure if he can confide to his older brother about this or his feelings in general. Then, Johnny leans towards him, waiting for him to continue with gentle eyes and it’s enough to convince him. “Because,” he breathes. “I heard her mother tell mum she was thinking of moving back home because being the institute has been hard. I’m scared if I talk to her I’ll end up convincing her to come back home… To me.”

Johnny leans back into his spot, drawing out a ‘hmm’ through pursed lips. The younger doe-eyed boy awaits him like a patient when they just gave their symptoms to a doctor.

“Do you remember the first time you went to that drama camp for summer,” Johnny perks up.

“Yeah,” Donghyuck answers though, not completely sure why the summer camp he went to when he was nine could correlate to his medical evaluation.

“Do you remember the third night?”

“Kind of.”

“Well, you called mum in the middle of the night crying to go home,” recounts Johnny. “And do you remember why?”

“Because I didn’t know anyone and everyone else seemed better than me,” Haechan recalls in a small voice.

“But who reminded you that you were just as talented as the other kids?”

“Y/n.”

Clear memories flood through his mind so vividly. He remembers how he had woken up the camp supervisor and begged in fury of briny tears bursting from his bloodshot eyes, to call his mother. The first three days of drama camp were utterly terribly; all the other kids had their own friendship circles they formed when they were five and were all fiercely competitive for that lead role. It was the first time, Haechan had ever felt left out and doubted his own talent, he had always been the centre of everyone’s attention. And then, over his ferocious wails, he heard a familiar, squeaky little voice. He remembers, her softly coaxing him over the phone for almost an hour. Gently persuading him to stay at the drama camp because if anyone deserved the main role it was him and soon enough, no one would be able to resist his bright charm.

“This was the first summer you two had spent separated and you were y/n’s only friend at the time. Don’t you think she would have wanted to tell you to come back home… to her?” Johnny asks looking deep into Donghyuck’s eyes. “She’s always been your no. 1 supporter, from making your costumes, running lines with you, being the first one to celebrate when you get a role. It’s time for you to help her shine.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

An array of warm amber creaks from under the horizon. The Sun not quite ready, to come around like a young child on the swings who's been told it’s time to go home. It’s nearing dawn, close to early morning, you know because you can’t hear the whir of machinery yet, and the world is as silent as if it ended in the night. The moon, however, is gracefully returning to its depths as it unwinds less and less from the magical pearl and into a swindle of a luminous strand.

— flashback

Snip. Snip. Snip. A loose strand of blue thread drifted to the floor. You edged backwards from your full-length mirror to get a clearer view of yourself in the a-line dress. In the reflection, you observed the small, smile curve closer and closer to your hands cupping the side of your cheeks. It was exactly how you imagined in your head. An elegant, crystal blue dress, that flattered your body in classic lines with a lovely sweetheart neckline and flowed to just below your knees. A very girlish giggle bubbled from your mouth and rippled in your bedroom as you began to twirl in your beautiful, blue dress. The soft, satin swirled around you, its sheen twinkling the lights from the ceilings so magically. You would have kept spinning had you not have heard a car from outside your window, whom you assumed to be your best friend pulling into your driveway. Frantically, you spritzed an expensive floral perfume you brought a while ago but hadn’t worn since it smelled like your hard-earnt money draining from your pockets.

“Honey! Haechan is here,” your mother called from downstairs.

“Okay!” you yelled back, rushing over to collect your nude purse.

You inhaled a deep breath before taking your first step down the stairs. Second step. It wasn’t like you haven’t spent a night out with Haechan before. Fifth step. He has been your date to prom and formals every year, this wasn’t any different. Eleventh step. He wanted to ask out Soo-ah, you were the back-up plan. Thirteenth step. He was the most beautiful thing you have ever laid eyes on.

At the bottom of the flight of stairs awaited Haechan dressed in a black tuxedo with his hands clasped together in front of him. The white of his button-up shirt was crisp against his sunkissed, tanned skin. The bowtie sprouting from his collar had you shaking your head with a grin plastering itself across your face. He peered up you, with those big, brown doe eyes through his tousled, hazel locks framing his brows. His blissful gaze followed you down the last set of steps. You caught a glimpse of a tentative smile crept along his rosy lips as he caught onto what you were chuckling about. Until, you were distracted by your mother smiling, all too knowingly, from behind Donghyuck and you shooed her away.

“This is the first time I’m tied my own bowtie,” he confessed, scratching the back of his neck.

“I couldn’t tell.”

“Hey, for a first attempt this is pretty good,” he remarked, tilting his chin up as you began to loop the bow tie.

“Mhm. Keep telling yourself that, loser,” you smirked.

“Whatever, you ready to go, low-budget Cinderella?”

You heard your mother sigh in defeat from the kitchen.

“Hyuck are you sure we’re allowed to go back here right now?” you questioned in a hushed voice from behind Donghyuck, humming a tune to himself. Five minutes before you were naively following Haechan into the midst of the starry night, the invitation proposed by the sun-kissed boy to sneak off from the party to the gardens under the night sky sounded thrilling. As the sappy love songs blasting from the party slowly reduced to vibrations on the pavement, the straps of your stilettos began to pinch, dig and chafe against your heels and the thought of sitting down filled you with much more of a rush of exhilaration.

“We’re here,” Haechan announced, looking beyond and over his shoulder you saw it too.

A white gazebo was illuminated by veils of fairy lights, lit up like fireflies. A row white rose bushes encircled the gazebo, in their freshly trimmed glory. The gazebo stood virtuously against the painted black sky like some kind of answer.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Wonderstruck glittered in Y/n’s eyes. Haechan thought the sparkle in her eyes challenged the twinkling of the fairy lights wrapped around the gazebo, no the expanse of the night sky. Her celestial eyes shone so brightly, he found himself staring at her from aside in complete awe of her. He swore he never felt this way before. Feeling like he could lose himself in the constellation of someone’s eyes, let alone his best friend’s. A feeling so gradual like the morning sky, fading into the inky abyss of the night. Till it was washing over his body like tidal waves crashing into the stoic rocks on the shore. It drowned his lungs, weighed down his stomach and yet, he was floating all at once.

He didn’t allow the better judgment of his mind to dictate of his mind and would have refrained him from placing his hand in her delicates ones and escorting her into the gazebo.

“Haechan,” she whispered. The lustre beams poured gently over her and Haechan drank in the sight of an angel before him. Blue had never looked more ethereal, slipped onto her shoulders, peppering her body with soft, sensual kisses he longed to do in that very moment.

“Dance with me,” he breathes. “Dance with me.”

His hands found themselves around her waist and whisked her into the middle of the gazebo floor. A puff of wind swept through her silky hair, leaving him breathless.

“We can’t hear the music from here,” she giggled. It was soft, so soft. But the epiphany that his favourite song would soon be only a memory, sank his already hurting heart.

He slipped a hand into the back pocket of his trousers, revealing earphones and his phone. He doesn’t allow her to question him instead, he gently placed an earphone in her ear and his own ear and pressed play.

Her arms found home around his neck and they swayed in each other’s embrace to the melody quietly strumming in their ears. If it weren’t for her arms wrapped around him, he would have fallen apart. Falling deeper for those heavenly eyes was overwhelmingly crushing so he tucked his forehead onto hers and closed his eyes.

“Haechan, promise me something,” Y/n whispered against his chest. He hummed into her hair. “Promise me we’ll still be best friends. Promise me you’ll be my home. Promise me you’ll always be the centre of my universe. My FullSun.” How could he possibly deny her of her one request when he saw skies of stars copied into the softened swirl of the gaze, looking right up at him from under her thickly shadowed eyelashes.

“I promise.”

That night was the sweetest song, Haechan had ever heard. The humming of the black, the stars were a choir; they were lights that sang a symphony of infinite patterns. Then, the unexpected rain fell, cascading from the rim of the gazebo like a waterfall, as if gravity is soft music from the Earth, a sweet beckoning serenade. And they danced and danced in each other’s arms, slowly to the sweetest serenade gifted from the night sky.

— end of flashback

Your finger traces the trails of a desolate rain drop streaming down the chill window. The chorus of rain courses through your body in the gentlest way like nature was humming through your body. The moon had long departed, the Sun is hidden by matted wool of leaden clouds, and you hear your dormmates waking up in the rooms next to yours. As you close your eyes, you feel the heady pull of your dreams, beckoning you back into bed after your long night of solitude, talking to the moon. You turn begrudgingly to the light switch and flick it, immediately the room is immersed in that unnatural electric glow, and you find yourself absentmindedly staring at your phone sunk in the crumples of white sheets of your bed, waiting.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Haechan stares out his bedroom window. The earlier conversation with his older brother, Johnny, echoes in whispers at the back of his mind. His damp eyes follow a drop of rain trickling down his window pane and he can’t explain why it steadies his heart. Why the gentle pitter-patter soothes a calmness over his mind, like a soothing melody, a sweet serenade. Watching rain roll down the window, he spots in the reflection of the glass his cell phone laying on his bed.

Promises aren’t made to be broken.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

“Haechan?”

“It’s raining.”

“It’s raining here, too.”

#neowritingsnet #lee donghyuck #nct haechan #nct writings #nct fic #nct oneshots #nct angst #haechan oneshots #haechan scenarios #haechan imagines #haechan angst #haechan fluff #haechan fics #haechan x reader #haechan oneshot

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zedecksiew · 4 years

Text

d100 Adventure Beginnings

Feeling anxious, indoors because of the Covid-19 quarantine, I adapted an idea from Khairani Barokka and asked Twitter to give me emojis.

I’d turn these emoji into oddities, instigations, opening to adventure.

Guess I wanted to travel? In my head, far afield. It took the weekend, but it made me happy. There were many, many typos, but I visited a hundred different microcosms, with a hundred different persons.

Original thread begins HERE; tweets in the thread were tagged / attributed.

d100 ADVENTURE BEGINNINGS

1. 🥐 The sandwich comes to you via delivery. You unwrap the foil as the quadrotor buzzes away. There's something in your sandwich, between tempe patties -an oil-stained slip of card. "Come alone," it says. There is a street address. ~

2. [Photograph of a vine tendril] Watering the garden, you see your morning glory stir.

Its tendrils uncoil. Its vines unclench, recede. Knot in on themselves, twine into thin limbs.

They let go of your fence. They have a face. Flower eyes: two purple trumpet blossoms. They offer a hand to shake.

3. [Italian flag] Morning ritual: put coffee on, wash face, check phone. Twitter takes a half-hour.

You smell burning. Coffee! Your moka pot is now sooty, long past hissing. A man stands next to it, made of steam.

"Salve," the steam ghost says, tipping his steam cap.

4. 🕯️ A warm night. The air is still. The candle flickers in your partner's face. She is checking her wallet. Slips it in her pocket as the candle dies.

"Ah!" she says, in darkness. "So over this power cut."

Time to get more candles.

5. 🔧 This is a *great* spot to get a flat: Lonely road, no streetlights, trees knitting their branches overhead. You shiver. You hate that you shiver. You're an adult. You make noise to assert this. The jack clunks on the ground. "Darling?" somebody whispers.

6. 🦚 "Make way for Lady Lerna!" cries the page, swinging his censer. Behind him a dozen men bear a gilded litter.

Laughter. Ringed fingers part the curtains. A powdered dowager wearing a cartwheel ruff of peacock eyes peers out. She holds her nose.

You hate her.

7. 🐷 Suckling pig. Its split-jaw-ed head faces you. You have never been more aware of an animal corpse.

Goldteeth Liu sips his cognac and asks: "Hey boy, why you not eating? My food not good enough for you is it?

"You feel sweat on your chest, where the wire is.

8. 👻 An ordinary corridor. Sconces, faded wallpaper, a painting.

"Behind the painting," a voice says.

A button behind the painting. Press it. The wall goes click. A crack appears.

"Now can I go?"

You unspool your spell, and the spirit leaves for her afterlife.

9. 🎲 The dice land. "Nine! Woo!" She moves her token, counting every space with a smack.

"What's with you?" they ask her.

"What you mean?" she giggles. She never did know how to play it cool. But she doesn't have to. Under the table, she puts her feet in your lap.

10. 🦷 When you took this assignment, they gave you two false molars:

The one in your right cheek is a transmitter -- a signal for Ops to start the evacuation; The one in your left is a cyanide pill, in case of capture.

Or was it the other way around?

Shit.

11. 🐉 From heaven a serpentine form, golden and gleaming. Growling like thunder ground out of the earth.

Descending, approaching --

But getting no bigger? Is it shrinking?

It is in front of you, now. It is as big as your forearm -- no, your finger.

"Bite me," it squeaks.

12. 🍞 The curfew has gone on for months. You have survived through food shortages, power cuts, rumours of civil unrest.

But now you are in trouble. Now, you enter your second trimester. Now, you crave.

Gardenia white bread.

You will brave cordons to get it.

13. 🧎‍♀️ You are hurrying to your car when somebody calls: "Girl? Girl!"

The voice comes from a red altar under a tree, past the kerb. From a songkok-ed uncle, as tall as your calves.

"Got food ah girl?" the roadside god says. "Two weeks already uncle hasn't eaten."

14. 👀 Someone has been pasting googly eyes on your stuff:

Your mailbox in the lobby; The telephone pole in front of your parking spot; The flower pot on the balcony.

Creepy. "It's not me!" your housemate says.

This morning, you find googly eyes on your forehead.

15. 🔐 The padlock on your front door is broken.

The door swings open onto an empty living room. On the floor: rectangles of dust, where your shelves and cabinets once stood.

As well as a shred of newsprint. "Take this, Mat!" it says.

Your name's not Mat.

16. 🎟️ Pa played the lottery on his birthday. Always with the same numbers: 1406, 2902. Ma's birthday. Yours.

Pa died last week. Yesterday was his birthday. You bought his numbers from the ticket counter.

Today you check the results: "First jackpot: 1406 2902."

17. 🦖 Dusting Dr Khoo's shelves, you accidentally knock over a novelty Tyrannosaurus piggy bank.

It shatters on the parquet floor.

There are ceramic shards, change -- and a passport with Dr Khoo's photo. Under a different name. In Cyrillic script.

Uh oh.

18. 🍳 Eggs in your cast-iron pan -- the last three eggs you have.

Ina: "What are we going to do for protein, now?"

Gan: "We can search the shophouses in town. Or hope to catch a lizard?"

Ina makes a face. You shrug. With your cast-iron pan, you can cook anything.

19. 👻 Knock before you enter a hotel room for the first time. Say: "I'm coming in, okay?" Let its other occupants vacate.

But:You bustled in, dropped the card in its holder, threw your suitcase in the closet, dumped yourself on the bed.

So, now:

Don't look up.

20. 🙆‍♀️ From you balcony, you watch your neighbour in the community playground. She is a dancer. She plays music on portable speakers. She practices pirouettes.

You wish you could work up the courage to talk to her.

She looks up, sees you watching, and waves.

21. 🗝️ "The key will open any lock," the goblin said.

The key feels heavy in your hand. Plain and iron. But when you bring it near the queen's jewellery box it shifts: turns silver and intricate.

A skeleton key!

"The key only works once," the goblin said.

22. 🎥 You don't like the protesters. So naive. And look at how they've spray-painted the street! Anarchists.

The cops charge with riot shields. They are beating protesters --

What are you doing?

You are recording this on your phone.

A cop points his baton at you.

23. 🥳 On your birthday you are surprised at the door. Balloons, food, music to dance to. A party! Laughing, you thank you friends.

"Thank Brian!"

"Brian?" you ask.

"Your cousin Brian?" they say. They point. He smiles and waves back. You don't recognise him.

24. 🤦‍♀️ Your headache gets worse. On day three your vision blurs; you collapse in your bathroom.

You wake to familiar voice: "Hey."

It is your voice. "Don't panic," your doppelganger says. "You're okay." She dried you off, put you in bed. She will not harm you.

25. 🍳 You tried to steal from the Pasha. He is magnanimous, and decided not to behead you. Instead, you will serve him.

You will journey into the wastes. You will brave the fire. You will acquire the Phoenix's egg. The Pasha is a gourmand. He wishes to eat it.

26. 🐙 "Finding the Perihelion Squid is not a problem," your captain says. "It glows in the water."

Sunset. A ray catches your captain's arm and belly, throwing the sucker-shaped burn marks there into textured relief.

"The problem is fighting it," your captain says.

27. 🚦 You stop at the lights. You look at your phone.

Somebody bonks your side-view mirror. "Oi!" you say -- but more people are rushing past. The drivers of the cars in front of you. What are they running from?

Across the intersection, a stampede of water buffalo.

28. ™️ "Breath Easy," the billboard says. A beach panorama, with a white family in the foreground: father, mother, daughter -- all three in pastel shirts. Eyes shut, chins up, smiling.

"VitaOX, premium bottled air," the billboard says. "A Sinochem-McDonald's company."

29. 🦥 The Colossal Ground Sloth is a geographic enormity.

See that hill, blocking our view of the rising sun? That's not a hill. That's a sloth. It sits, seemingly smiling, covered in trees. When it shudders the birds take flight.

Look: it opens its lake-like eyes.

30. 🗽 When the Statue vanishes, America freaks. Who's to blame? Terrorists? SJWs?

Then it turns out the Statue is also missing from all visual media: T-shirts, postcards, patriotic paraphernalia.

The White House settles on its favourite scapegoat -- China.

31. 🧩 The map to the Treasure of Sagely Fu is borne on the back of the Divine Tortoise:

Its scutes represent the 38 provinces of the Empire. Its coloration represents the hills and valleys. When Sagely Fu fought the Tortoise, he kicked a chip-mark into its shell.

32. 💙 The Heart Of Ice is a crystalline fortress, so high above the sea that the sky is twilight and the air freezes you solid.

There rules the Queen, a goddess of pure and alien elements. If you can make Her shed a tear she will grant you your heart's desire.

33. 🌼 The pontianak is a monster -- born when a pregnant woman dies, wronged.

Seeking vengeance, she hunts men. She takes the form of a comely woman. One of her signs is the fragrance of frangipani blossoms.

"Hey," says the bar hostess. She smells of night flowers.

34. 🦊 "My foxies," the witch says. "My vulpies."

In her hut are bones, bones, bones. Piled in a bucket. Mounted on display stands. Sniffing your ankle -- fox skeletons, moving as they did in life.

"Can you do cats?" you ask, nodding to the bundle in your arms.

35. 🥾 The search parties assemble quietly. A trekker is lost on the mountain. Nobody is happy.

"I told him," one of the guides whisper. "I told him. Don't take anything, I said. You don't know whose things you're taking. But I saw him slip a stone into his pocket."

36. 🐬 The pool is still. Park management turns this fountain off at 10pm.

You like walking here, at night. You like the granite dolphins, mid-jump, frozen in time. You toss a coin into the fountain for luck. Clink.

There is a splash. A flash of motion. A fin.

37. 📚 In the book you find a letter, in delicate cursive:

"Dear Emily, Bought this book for your birthday. Which is also Valentine's Day. I will never be able to tell you that I love you. So I will never give this book to you. Sara."

Sara is your mother's name.

38. 🌲 A postcard of evergreens. A landscape you've only seen in photos.

You stash it in a notebook, stuff that in your bag.

"Over here," Michelle says. She grins, shimmies out of a space between leaning shelves. A box of double-A batteries. Meaning: jackpot.

39. 🥡 You bike to the pick-up.

It's a commissary in the middle of an industrial park. The guy at the counter says nothing. Just looks you up and down. He licks his lips.

"What's in this?" you ask, pointing at the takeaway pack.

"Meat," he says. He licks his lips.

40. 🎏 The airships of Vo Langka are fish-shaped.

Carp and arowana are most common -- but advances in aeronautics have made wing-form (ie: stingray-like) aircraft possible.

You are a pilot. Today you will test the first ever flying machine made in imitation of a bird.

41. 🐗 The boar charges your golf cart. The caddy veers onto the green.

Gunshots!

Your bodyguards down the beast. It came from the forest behind the golf course -- the one you've earmarked for clearing.

It's not the only forest creature that wants to murder you.

42. ♻️ Your body slides into the furnace.

Your husband will pick through the ash and bones. Tomorrow he'll take a boat, sail a kilometre out, empty your urn in the sea.

The day after, silver pomfrets will school in a person's shape, and you will see the ocean.

43. ✨ It's a clear night. "Honey?" you call. "Come see!"

She whines -- you are tearing her from her work, she says. You insist. You point up.

Orion and the Dipper, the soft shine of the sickle moon.

"Wanna go for a walk?" you ask. She slips her arm into yours.

44. ✒️ The auto-pen you own is old. Picks up too much background chatter. The newer pens have noise-cancelling wards.

See? You've stopped dictating, but the pen is still writing:

"NO AH NO IT MOTHER PLEASE IT HURTS MAKE IT STOP"

Hell's not a good muse.

45. 🌌 The transitcraft trembles as it descends on its pillar of plasma.

"Sorry you didn't make it," the pilot says. "Cosmofleet is not for everyone." He's trying to be kind. This does not help.

He leaves you on the pad. Here you are, with packed bags, back home.

46. 🤫 The librarian drags you under the counter, pale with terror.

You hear the tread of the logovore. The meaning-eater. Books impaled on its spines -- leeched of their ink, their substance, going see-through, disappearing.

It does that to humans, too.

47. 🍥 You spit the fish cake out. From surprise, really. Because it is candy.

A confection of flour, sugar, pink food colouring, floating next to beef slices, on the oily surface of the noodles you ordered.

The kitchen makes you a new bowl. The chef is baffled.

48. 🛰️ Satellites no longer obey us.

Meteorology reverts to fortune-telling. Intelligence becomes earth-bound. Defense satellites play games of laser tag.

Broadcasting ends -- well, not really. When you turn on your TV it tells you: CALL YOUR MOTHER SHE MISSES YOU.

49. 🌿 Where you buried your cat, something is already growing:

A fresh stem of basil, putting out its mild scent; its green, convex leaves.You pluck a leaf, put it in your mouth. Your cat jumps into your lap. You feel her scrape your finger with her tongue.

50. 🐸 The Weed Toad sprouts spiky fur filled with chlorophyll. Basically: it's a frog with grass on its back. It can be a pest.

When you step into your garden something squeaks.The toad jumps away, incensed. Its siblings hop off, too. Your whole lawn, leaving you.

51. 👾 Pixel Goblins are voxeloids, walking about in waking life. Refugees from a reality whose servers shut down two years ago.

They eat electricity. They line the sidewalk. "Hungry," the Pixel Goblin says. She looks at your phone, hopeful.

You have 11% battery left.

52. ✴️ "I am chaos!" the boy shrieks. "A conduit of magick!"

You can hear that hard "k" from here. Baldie in an Invisibles tee and factory-distressed jeans, thinks he knows magic? Please.

Then he pisses on your headstone. Which is rude. So you possess him.

53. 👣 Footprints, made with oil. They cut across the driveway, onto the grass, leaving rainbow sludge on some clovers. They turn the corner of your house.

You turn the corner, too.

In front of you, the prints have stopped, side by side. Their toes now face you.

54. 🐷 In the middle of his emergency pandemic address, during a live broadcast, on national television --

The Prime Minister oinks.

He blinks. Clears his throat, looks at the teleprompter -- and oink-oink-oinks.

The PM's eyes blink tears. Then the broadcast cuts out.

55. 🌙 Can we trust the moon?

See its phases -- the way it goes from a bright circle, wanes into a crescent, shuts completely, then opens again, waxing half into full --

Like a creature blinking: slowly, ever so slowly.

The moon has not looked directly at us. Yet.

56. 🌺 You tuck a hibiscus in her hair. "It's pretty!" you say, before she reacts. "Plus it's patriotic."

She rolls her eyes.

Day after the party she wants to meet you. That makes you happy. She's not happy. The flower's driven a root into flesh, behind her ear.

57. 🍜 This bowl of noodles, made from soup powder, desiccated ramen, the last remaining tomato in the fridge, one overcooked egg --

It's the most delicious thing you've ever tasted.

This shouldn't be possible. You cry. You'll never have anything this good again.

58. 🥦 "This," Mother says. "This needs to be half-size."

You know this moment. The kitchen was never your thing. You made an excuse and left to play videogames in your room. Two days later Mother died. Car accident.

This time you stay. You cut the floret in two.

59. 🌵 The Blood Prickle's blossom is prized by cities that border the Pebble Sea. Dried, smoked, its fume delivers accurate prophecies.

The Blood Prickle only blossoms when watered by the viscera of living creatures. You lead your herd of sheep into the desert.

60. 🕸️ The bungalow is covered in gossamer, like a suitcase shrink-wrapped at the airport. Shreds stick to you, glue.

"Go away!" the bungalow's owner says. You see her eight eyes peer at you from a window.

"Babe, please," you say.

"Stop stalking me!" she shouts.

61. 🐼 The ghost bear waddles across the plaza and through a wall.

They felled a forest to build this strip mall. But they did not exorcise its ghost. Ghost vines hang from the ceiling. Ghost trees fill changing rooms. In the car park a ghost brook babbles, incoherently.

62. 🕯️ You blow out the candle. "Happy birthday!"

Your friends have grey hair. Others dance to Kelly's playlist. Something in your brain snaps -- you do not know how old you are.

There is only one candle on the cake. It tells you: you are however old you want to be.

63. 🍥 At the bottom of an empty paint bucket in your backyard shed, you discover a giant millipede, dark red, curled into a spiral.

You name her Millie. Obviously.

You boyfriend is disgusted. Slightly jealous of the attention you allot her. He was always insecure.

64. 🍡 The city is a shadow. Office towers in shards. Hypermalls with their skybridges broken. Collapsed nightclubs.

In the midst of all this, on an overgrown street, incongruously -- the smell of boiling soup. Fry-oil. Fish balls. A lok lok truck, greasy and pristine.

65. ✨ The light in her eyes die when you tell her to leave.

You lose your job at the production house. Once again, you are a freelancer. Interviewers pooh-pooh your portfolio.

You will learn how to draw again. Your muse was a crutch. You must do this on your own.

66. 🔮 Everything is as kitschy as you expect. Fake-velvet curtains and tablecloth. A set of tarot cards from Etsy. Even a crystal ball!

But when the fortune-teller looks up and sees you, she says: "No no, out."

What?

"You. No. Get out," she says, afraid.

67. 🥵 Ten laps in the pool. Then you pant to the sauna.

Stones sizzle as you open the door. Somebody is here, already. You take the opposite bench. He has an athlete's thighs. Sweat on his obliques make them look oiled.

He looks you up and down. Smirks. Judges.

68. 🗨️ In the kitchen Khan grunts. Khan being Khan, you think.

Sylvia comes in. She makes an oinking sound.

He grunts. She oinks again. Hoot-hoot. He hisses in reply. It appears to be a conversation.

Sylvia sees you staring. Waves a hand in your face, asks: "Moo?"

69. 👹 "They are going to hate me," she says, frowning around her tusks."

They are going to love you," you say.

In her nervousness she walks up to the microphone, no intro, just launches right into it. Her poem is electric. She is electric. And she is yours.

70. ⚛️ Guards, gyrocopter patrols -- Coilhaus Atomworks’s compound is well-protected. Which is as you expected.

You didn't expect the hex-wards in the inner compound. When you set foot on the manager's balcony, the teak floor shrieks: INTRUDER INTRUDER INTRUDER HERE!

71. 🌂 The Bum Under The Overpass jumps out. You yelp.

"Flee, peasant!" he growls. He reeks. He has a bin lid for a buckler, a brolly for a sword. "I shall shield ye against yon creature!"

You peer into the dark under the overpass -- and notice the hulking shadow there.

72. 💀 The captain wears a cutesy plastic skull on a silver chain. You don't think it fits with her camo grease, her fatigues.

"My daughter made this," she says.

You nod. You miss your son, too. All this -- the pay you earn, burning villages -- you do for your children.

73. 🦧 "Orangutan Kong". Some sort of gangster moniker?

No. Kong is actually an orangutan. He escaped from the Zoo, and started working in Goldtooth Tat's crew. As comic relief. Everybody who laughed at him is dead now.

If you want to work for him you should know.

74. 🧠 The robot ploughs through Market Street. Tiles scatter like confetti; cars are stomped flat. Pressure in your ears -- a thunder clap! The police van up the road explodes.

"There!" your partner shouts, pointing. A brain in a glowing jar, in the robot's belly.

75. 💈 You grew up here.The broom, the hair -- the chairs, Naugahyde over industrial frames. The mirrors, angled slightly, either side leading into infinity. The sink where Uncle Kuppu rinsed his razors and shaving brush.

Uncle Kuppu's gone. This place is yours, now.

76. ⚗️ The alchemist stumbles backwards, knocks over a beaker.

"My formula," he whispers. "You're an assassin from the Bankers’ Guild? You can't have me turning lead to gold."

You shake your head. "No. I work with the Silversmiths' Guild. I'm here to protect you."

77. 🔭 It is the fourth victim he has brought home.

They are always young, with tattoos. He restrains them, strangles them by the neck on the floor of his bathroom.

You watch, through your telescope. You should report him. But you like to watch them struggle.

78. ⛩️ The way to Grand Andropolis is lined with 417 red gates -- each one for a glorious victory the Imperial Legions have won over lesser races.

Gate 412 marks the time they slaughtered your parents. You touch it, and swear quietly: you will burn Grand Andropolis.

79. 🌻 The men at the big table drink beer, munch kuaci, laugh.

A woman with sunglasses arrives. The restaurant people tell her: "Kitchen closed already. Drinks?"

Just kuaci, she says.

She watches the men. When she bites the seeds open, you see long canines.

80. 🤖 You've never considered yourself technosexual. You thought robots cold. Then you met MARY-K8.

Her bright crystal optic sensors. Her omni-articulated limbs. Her way with words:

"HEY HUMAN USER," she synthesises. "HEART-UNIT NOT FOUND. PERHAPS YOU HAVE IT?"

81. 🦖 "The job is a museum," your master sighs. "Museum's are the worst."

You ask him why.

"We are exorcists, dumb-dumb! You know how many things the damn spirit can hide in? Can throw at us?"

When you master sees the T-rex skeleton in the atrium, he sighs again.

82. 🎍 Treaties signed between the Yun Empress and the Princes of Elemental Wood have resulted in the Type-4 Rhizomic Footsoldier --

A stiff, lanky construct; needing only sun and soil; grown in vast groves; with souls of bamboo and therefore without mercy ...

83. 🧜‍♀️ Each year, the mer send an emissary to bargain with the dry world.

The tide swells, then withdraws just as quick, leaving a carriage of driftwood and flowering coral --

"Dammit!" a voice says. Rattling, from within. "Door's stuck!" A sigh. "Some help, please?"

84. 🧠 "You're always going on about life hacks. So here," Mark says.

His gift is a book. "Telekinesis In 100 Days", its title says.

Mark smirks. "Enjoy!"

You'll show the bastard! It's just day 13. Already you can toss 50-cent coins with a lift of your eyebrow.

85. 📯 The footmen blow their horns. The herald crows: "The Tyrant and Lady van Sur!"

They descend the stairs. The man frail, tubes stuck up his nose; the woman in silk, her wig so heavy it is held up by grav-suspensors --

One push of your remote, and the suspensors fail.

86. 🥶 You jolt awake. Ice is pressed to your ankle -- no, chilled skin. A toenail. Feet.

"Jesus. Your feet."

His apology is a snorted murmur. He curls further, pressing into the heat of your belly. His hair tussled, smelling of lavender.

What's his name? Can you remember?

87. 🚪 The heavy door is shut. Padlocked. Your lock sprite shakes her head. "Mechanism's rusted solid."

Your spell-dwarf grumbles. "Lead brackets, see? Shock hex won't work."

"Lemme try," your slip-spirit squeaks. Flattens itself, slips under.

Doesn't came back.

88. 🌵 The Saguaro Sea is a vast tangle of sole-cutting rock, thorny brush, towering cacti broad as hillforts.

Here is found the Weeping Roc -- whose cry is a woman wailing; who steals children to feed its blind, featherless chicks.Children like your six-year-old.

89. 💃 Flamenco star Magritte Tanaka's talent is such that people say it is more than just grace and training.

They say she made a bargain. When she dances a devil helps her; plays her like a puppet on strings.

Truth is he forces her. She never wanted to dance.

90. 🎸 You stole the keytar of synth legend Razzak Luminem from the Museum of Sidereal Art last month.

Tonight you host its auction. Many have shown up: demon worshipers; glamrock stars; violist perverts; members of the Critics' Cartel -- troublemakers.

Watch yourself.

91. 🙆‍♀️ To fear the sky falling is silly --

Except in Fading Dassho, whose most dilapidated districts sit twilit under an obsolete stellar shield, its support struts increasingly ancient and tottery. A shutter collapsed, just last week -- shattering six thousand souls.

92. 🤖 We sent unmanned drones through the Hell-portal; we assumed exposure to Ultimate Evil would be bad for the human psyche.

All moot, it turned out. Because drones are robots -- and, you know, that cliche about robots turning bad, turning KILL ALL HUMANS?

Well.

93. 🏚️ A manor-turned-hotel, on a cliff, with a history of homicide? TrueCrimeFest 2018's organisers could not resist.

Three days of signings, panels, cosplay -- and a podcaster found garroted in her room.

Horrible! Horrible. (But, really: Best. TrueCrimeFest. Ever.)

94. 🤪 The Rictus Worm causes paralysis. Distorts the muscles of the face.

Your eyes pop, your tongue hangs lolling. You speak drool and sputters. You try the chirurgeon. He thinks you are fooling. Kicks you out.

The Rictus Worm is rare. You feel it in your nape.

95. 🌌 One by one the stars disappear. Without their light -- were they ever there?Constellations vanish, nebulae fade. The moon hangs alone in the night sky.

Only our sun and its huddling planets remain. An isolated, solipsistic, self-obsessed apocalypse.

96. 🤗 She welcomes you with open arms. "Happy you're home, Ah Boy," she says, kissing you, Tears on her cheek transferring to yours.

She is your mother; she calls you Ah Boy. Return appropriate amounts of affection. Your mission depends on how well you fool this woman.

97. 🅱️ The mark is made in red ink. The letter "B". Not so bad, outsiders might think --but yours is an euphemistic society.

This is the Competency Test, through which all citizens are streamed. An "A" means you get to stay above-ground. A "B" sends you Below.

98. 🎡 Anna gets into the pod before you. The ferris wheel begins to turn.

Travelling carnivals! Holdovers from a previous world, now surmounted by app-stores. You don't get the appeal. It's not even ironic --

High up, in the pod, Anna kisses you.

Now you get it.

99. ☄️ You still remember your wonder --

A bright blue star, trailing a bright line, bisecting the sky. Staring at it would spoil your eyes, they said.

In your cockpit, as the countdown begins, you think: now you will be a bright blue star. There will be a young girl on the ground, watching.

100. 🥑 When you halve the avocado you don't find a seed. You find a tiny baby.

It is curled up foetal. It is the colour of mahogany. It fusses slightly -- then starts into a full-blown caterwaul; big droplets of blood well from where your rough knifework has nicked it.

+++

#fantasies #writing #twitter #gygaxian democracy #random generators #adventures #covid-19 #quarantine

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valnune · 4 years

Text

An Ordinary Party (Asmo + Wine Mom)

Based on the chat of the same name, you’re invited to a party after school that has perfectly normal things. I had already written this and finished yesterday but it’s perfect for the start of Asmo Appreciation Week that @milas-imaginarium posted. Since it’s his birthday week, I will have to finish that Asmo Angel outfit I’ve been sitting on. Look forward to it! For those who haven’t gotten the chat yet, it’s called “Ordinary Party” and is just Asmo, and for some reason the demon’s name you’re gonna have a house party at is called Lucifugus. Which is the taxonomy name of a small brown bat. Also. Warning. Prepare for a Feels Trip. Word Count: 6347 ---------------------- Asmo had said that a little party was being thrown at Lucifugus’s house after class today. The text came just before lunch and after inquiring what sort of party it was, it was described as “nothing special.” Eating, drinking Demonus, and gossiping. However, as he said he’d pick Althea up after class, he mentioned the prospect of finding a new partner at the end of it. Complete with a heart emoji at the end. Since coming to the Devildom, Althea had been dragged about on various trips and escapades by the demon brothers. Normally she was the unwilling participant in many of these because they wouldn’t leave her alone and the effort to get them to stop was not worth the trouble but sometimes it was not the worst thing. Initially, she found it enjoyable because being invited out allowed her to get familiar with the place, this is what the upper echelons of demon society found most valuable, right? So it must be important. Yet. More and more she just realized it was demonic versions of mundane things. Hell was just another Earth, just with a different coat of paint.

Today would be no different than the day before and the next day after. After all, this wasn’t the first time Asmodeus sprung plans on short term notice, and it wasn’t even the first time that he’d invited her out to a party. Normally, if he was to take her out, it would be to Majolish or other stores he liked, seeing as she was someone who knew a fair bit about fashion and prided herself on her presentation. It was one of the things she seemed to bond over well with him, and decently enjoyed. So, when Asmo met up with Althea at the end of classes, the standard thoughts were going through her mind. They were going to someone’s house, drink, gossip, and he’d probably drag her to The Fall after. While she always allocated time to study, such things could be done past midnight. It wasn’t as if she lived off of four hours of sleep every night anyway.

“Ooh, aren’t you so excited? I know I am, I mean, who wouldn’t want to spend their time with me. Ahahah.” Linking his arm around her own, Asmo gave his signature head inside laughter, trying to be cute as he beamed a smile up to Althea. Normally, she’d be stoic and unamused but, with Asmo, she tended to lighten up a bit, after all, she did enjoy indulging herself on occasion.

“Yes, yes. Once more, it is of the utmost privilege to bask in your glory, Asmodeus. Your radiant smile, your glowing eyes, why, who needs the Sun when you shine more brilliantly?” Swaying her hips from side to side, the click of her heels upon the stone floor of the Academy was muffled by the sounds of the various demons getting ready to leave. The idea that demons still had to go to school despite being supernatural creatures was still confusing. Did that man there was school in Heaven as well? While she did enjoy learning, it made her question the economy of the Devildom if the education system took so long.

“More! More! Shower me with more praise or even better, why don’t you prove it with a kiss. You would if you really felt that way about me.” Releasing her arm and stepping in front of her, Asmo curled a finger in his hair and pulled it, letting the curl bounce as he struck a pose.

“Flowers wither and die, dry in the heat of the sun, or shrivel from the cold, their petals yellow, their leaves wilt, but your lips shall stay as an eternal Spring, blossoming forever in a garden that envies the scent of your nectar.” Althea leaned in, cupping a hand under his chin ever so slightly, but just smiled, releasing the expectant demon and sauntered off without him.

“Come along then, we need to pick up a gift for the host. It’s terribly rude to arrive at a house party empty handed.” A hand waved back and forth as she waited for Asmo to catch up.

“Ugh! You can’t just say something like that and not follow through! You always do this!”

Leaving the academy grounds and visiting the market, Althea and Asmo picked up a bottle of Demonus, even though she clearly wanted to get a bottle of wine, human world commodities were rather hard to come by. It was unfortunately out of her price range. She was still looking for a way to convert her human world funds into Grimm, though she heard the exchange rate was quite lucrative as human money itself as a commodity for its novelty. Still, despite her Devilgram name being: Wine Mom, she was without wine for another week. Mammon said he made headway in that direction but was still waiting to hear back from a few people.Something would need to be done to incentivise him, otherwise she’d be waiting for a hundred years. If she was lucky.

Lucifugus was one of Asmodeus’ many, many, many acquaintances and for this house party there were about eight others there. It seemed not everyone was as courteous to bring a gift and just showed up, and it seemed that Lucifugus was expecting Asmo to do the same. He was pleasantly surprised. As his name suggested, he did have some bat-like features, and was rather short compared to other demons she had met.Well. She actually took the time to find out that Lucifugus was Latin for a kind of brown bat. She learned that most demons had references to Latin or Greek words, if they weren’t directly from the Bible. This was no different. It seemed that many demons preferred to use their human forms outside of school as well, however most had loosened up their uniforms a bit to relax. Yet, as the two just greeted the host, handing off the gift, a voice caught her attention as a pair appeared from the side.

“So, this is the exchange student, hmm? Can’t say I’ve seen them up close before. One of your brothers is usually lurking about.”

“Oooh. Look how tough they’re trying to be. Just because they have a few pacts.You’re sure we can’t take a few bites, Asmo~baby?”

These two looked slightly familiar, as if she had seen them at the school but never had interacted with them. Both of them carried an androgynous look, but the sharpness in their eyes, on their teeth, and their nails… they were succubi and incubi, though which was which was hard to tell. The first had slick back hair and shaved sides making it look like waves on sand while the one who addressed Asmo as baby had an angled dramatic bob cut.They hung off each other and leered in her direction. The way they moved, the shifting of their shoulders, their stride, their gait, it was clear they were a bit more primal, perhaps true demons that never fell. Regardless, they reminded her of eels.

“Oh hey lovelies, I’m glad you could make it! Oooh. Ooh. I want to introduce you guys to each other. These two are Amaurós, and Ophidia, only like, two of the biggest gossips in the Devildom, as well as two of the biggest sluts. Ahaha.”

Asmo slid over to the pair and circled around them like the queen he was, standing behind them now as if to present her to the pack. This seemed like a sort of initiation into a clique, being evaluated by those who thought themselves above the rest. It was something she was familiar with. Oh, there most certainly were cliques in a Catholic school, perhaps not quite the same as public school, but it was mostly the social status and hierarchy that formed between wealth groups. That’s what this feeling was. She was back to being judged by others. Well. She still remembered the steps to this dance.

“You’re one to talk, Asmo. I’ll have you know that I am the classiest of demons, thank you very much.” Flicking their eyelashes at Asmodeus, the one on the left, Amaurós, feigned offense.

“Oh please. I am a connoisseur of assets, not a slut. Amaurós, Ophidia, this human here is Althea, she’s basically like… Hm. Oh. You’ll see what I mean. I’m sure you’ll get along great!”

Parading himself about, Asmodeus made sure to wave to the others who were invited, making sure he was seen. That left her in front of these two eels that now ungulated forward, giving a circle about her. Althea remained still, arms crossed over herself as she raised a brow at what they were doing. Not reacting even when she felt a nail glide over the arm of her blouse, Althea had opted to keep her jacket with her as opposed to hanging it up. Her coat was long and under it was a pencil skirt that the spruce green shirt was tucked into, but she kept the gold tie clasped and firm with the buttons still tight around her neck.

“Aren’t you going to speak? This IS a party after all, or are you just going to stand there all night and be a coat rack?”

“Ugh. Come on then, don’t be such a buzzkill. Do something human-! Unless you want us to make the first move, hmm?”

The two hissed as they returned to each other's side, Ophidia, draping their arms over Amaurós’ shoulders and making that final jab at her, while Amaurós themselves seemed to stand there and sneer a bit. All the while, Althea saw that Asmodeus was watching the three from the corner of his eyes. Catching the glint in his gaze, she saw that he was expecting a bit of a show. Very well. Her arms unhooked from themselves slowly. Placing a hand upon her hip, Althea cocked them to the side, coat hanging over the arm while her hand flipped through her hair.

“Well, excuse me for reserving the right to speak. I thought I’d save you the embarrassment, after all, it appears you two share the same brain as you can’t think or act independently.” With a scoff, Althea tilted her chin up high, eyes glaring down at the two. Let the game begin.

“Ooh. Tough talk from the thirty year old virgin. So what if you’re book smart if you don’t know how to get any. That’s where true power lies. You can control someone from between their thighs.” It was Ophidia who was on the attack once more, the one who called Asmo, Asmo~baby with that cutesy voice.

“You’ve had crows-feet for over a thousand years, it’s a wonder you can get any at all. But I suppose if you put enough makeup on, you can still look half as decent as I do.” Althea turned her head off to the side and huffed a bit in response. Like a dragon she moved, purposely, strong angles, don’t give them an inch. Don’t back down.

“As if! I am only seven hundred, thank you very much and I-”

“Hmph. Well you clearly fooled me, but then again. You seem to play the part of a fool quite well. Just how many centuries of practice have you with that?” Althea’s sharp tongue struck again but cut short by the other demon, Amaurós.

“Haha! Well, done human. You’ve got a bit of a mouth on you. I wonder what else it can do.” They didn’t seem to be nearly as uptight as Ophidia who was pouting and clinging onto the other, but it seemed to be an act as they were back to smiling again, or grinning. Sneering. It was hard to tell with sex demons.

“Oh, I know! Isn’t she just so fun to play with?” Asmo had returned holding a glass filled with a rich burgundy shade. Hooking an arm around Althea’s, he pressed his head to her shoulder and smiled back.

“Come on, the real fun’s about to start. Lucifugus found some human games and we wanna try them out. You’ll give us the real, authentic treatment, won’t you Althea?” Batting his long eyelashes up at her, Althea glanced down and chuckled ever so slightly.

“How could I say no to you?” Her voice lush and low in return, a finger extending out to brush the hair from his face.

“You say no plenty, unless that’s an invitation-”

“Just lead on, Asmo.” Cutting him off, Althea, however did the leading. She had watched where he came from anyway, and had Asmodeus point out where to turn. This particular dorm was not nearly as robust as the House of Lamentation, but it still housed a few individuals so it was sizable enough. The basement was spacious and seemed that everyone else, aside the two she was speaking with, were downstairs.

Other than the host, there were four others. That meant there were nine total. It was a cozy amount of people, something she could handle. There was a table with various drinks on it, bottles of demonus and still, nothing she could get the slightest bit intoxicated off of. This was fine. She didn’t drink to feel effect anyway, well. Not mostly. As for food things as Asmo mentioned there would be, along with cupcakes and other dainty sweets, there were “party” foods, which consisted of things like scorpion and giant centipede skewers, cream puffs which- looked normal but the cream was made from pigeon milk. It seemed that Hell was abundant with strange foods. One thing she would not miss once left.

“So, I heard about this game called Truth or Dare, you’ve heard of it right?” Lucifugus looked at her expectantly as he took a seat on the sofa. Settling down with a drink, everyone took their respective seats. Althea picked a solitary arm chair so she could see everyone and, of course, Asmo sat with the pair he introduced her to. It was clear what his intentions with them were with the way they were snickering and giggling to each other was.

“That’s right. Typically, you ask someone the question, truth or dare. That person then responds with which one they’d rather do or say. If you pick dare, you perform an action, and truth is obviously answer the question truthfully. If you don’t want to do it, you typically have to do a punishment or take a shot of something. Alcohol. Hot sauce, until they will say or do something. Depends on house rules.” Althea kept her eyes focused on the host as she spoke, out of politeness.

“Oooh! That sounds like great fun! There are SO many things I can finally get you to do and say, Althea!” Asmo was giddy like a schoolgirl, his expression changing from sweet to sinister in a quick flash. This was going to be a long night…

However. The night wasn’t terribly bad. Several of the demons had to answer what their biggest regrets were, or had to make out with each other- dares Asmo specifically asked, or had to send text messages to people they hated. At least three people were guaranteed detention the day after. Asmo had the audacity to ask her what would get her on her knees, clearly referring to sexual actions, however she avoided the question saying she only gets on her knees when praying at Mass or confessing sins. A few more rules were added as people weren’t drinking enough, including if you didn’t do the dare within a minute, you had to take a shot, or if you avoided the truthful statement, another shot. If the others guessed what the truth was to your question but were wrong? Shot. That one ended up getting a few people drunk. After Althea refused to kiss someone, he dared another demon to kiss her, which resulted in her slapping them across the face until they gave up.

Among the things that people did, sitting in each others laps, drinking disgusting things, taking pictures and texting them to others, a few times people had to leave and return with others because, of course Asmodeus would dare someone to do something sexual, Althea made certain to avoid those kinds of dares, or at least only pick truth when Asmodeus asked her the dreaded. Truth or Dare.

“Truth.” Althea stared towards Asmo, the time already around midnight.

“What do you have against kissing? You act like it’s such a big deal. I bet you’d like it if you just gave in a little bit. I mean. I’ve never seen someone with a body like yours so uptight. It’s SUCH a waste.” He was starting to slur his words a bit, but he passed it off with a fake cute voice, and insisted on drinking more of course.

“Oh-! It’s because she’s a prude! I mean, just look at her, buttoned up and formal. All work and no play. But you don’t need her to have a bit of fun, Asmo~baby.” Ophidia, arm draped over Asmo’s shoulder just to get his attention, yet he didn’t look at them for more than a glance.

“No, no. I mean, yes but- I think it’s because she had a bad breakup before. Someone broke her heart and now she can’t love agaaaain. So cliche.” Amaurós was less drunk than Ophidia but still clearly intoxicated.

“Wrong on both fronts. Aside from the fact that the exchange of bodily fluids is disgusting? To me, kissing is a level of intimacy that I reserve for the eventual person I will select for courtship. It holds something of a sacredness to me.” Althea stared at her glass and then glanced to the incubi and succubi pair who just rolled their eyes and finished off their shots before standing up.

“Ugh. So it’s because you’re a church girl again? You’re in the Devildom. You should lighten up a little bit. Why are you so opposed to fun?” Asmo took a shot as well, as it was clearly not the answer he thought either.

“Truth or dare, Asmodeus.” Althea followed it up towards him, seeing as she, one, didn’t care about getting answers from others, and two, they were in the process of leaving.

“Hmmm. Truth!” Asmo leaned forward a bit, curious to see what she’d ask.

“What was the Celestial Realm like?” Her eyes stared towards Asmo now, narrowing slightly. The unfortunateness that she was sober around a bunch of drunk demons was now starting to turn advantageous, they should have their tongues loosened to talk about what they normally wouldn’t should be available now. Or at least that’s what she hoped.

“...”

“Next question.” Asmo took a shot, a bit of an uncomfortable look on his face.

“Fine. Exactly how long ago was the Celestial War?”

“You really aren’t supposed to ask those sorts of questions, you know that.” He fingered the shot glass a bit, trading his nail along the lip before taking a second shot.

“In detail, what is your relation with Solomon?” Althea would ask as many questions as needed until she got the answers she wanted. She was waiting for this moment when he was drunk enough. The host, Lucifugus, was cleaning up but looked between the two and saw the tension grow.

“Cooomee ooooon. You know I can’t… Ugh. Just keep asking questions until there’s something I can answer. You’re as bad as Solomon, you know that, right? Fine, fine. Keep the questions coming.”

So, Althea proceeded to ask a list of questions that were declined. They included questions about the bible, about Heaven, the afterlife, the origin of the universe, God, things that either he didn’t know, or that he couldn’t answer. About fifteen questions in, there was a final question he did answer. Or maybe he was just too drunk to care.

“What did you look like as an angel?” Althea was just about ready to ease down but it seemed that with this question, and the way he let out an exasperated sigh, he might actually respond.

“FINALLY, a question about me! Well. I was beautiful! There was no more beautiful angel, and EVERYONE loved me. Jewel of the Celestial Realm- no one- not even Lucifer- well. Okay maybe Lucifer but- No one else was more beautiful than me! I was so stunning that it was almost a crime. Well. Hehe. I guess it did become a sin.” Strutting about the room, Asmo was swishing his drink around and then nearly tripped over an end table. As he held balance, Asmo straightened up and held his hands out like he was perfectly balanced the whole time.

“Simeon did say something similar… But, it seems like it’s time to go. Come on, you can’t walk straight. Let’s get you home.” Althea went to go wrap an arm over Asmo’s shoulder, pulling his drink away from him except Asmo stumbled back and waved a hand.

“Wait, what did Simeon say about me? Ugh, look at those shoulders, I just want him to wrap those arms of his around me, and those eyes, his smile, beautiful- I mean. Not that I’m jealous or anything.” His cheeks started to flush, but that might have been from drinking too much. A few more things were mumbled under his lips, comments on his appearance and how above everything he seemed.

Again, Althea stepped forward to take the drink away from him, using the length of her arms against him, handing it towards the host who was cleaning everything up. It was certainly past midnight now. Still, she didn’t answer his question. After all, Simeon didn’t say much on it, actually told her to ask the demons themselves as he didn’t feel right speaking about the topic while in Hell. He also made her promise to not ask Luke about it too much either. Disappointing but, she’d keep the promise.

“Althea-! One more question, the game isn’t over until I say it’s over! Truth or Dare! But- but- you have to answer Truth. Got it? Then I’ll leave.” His words still slurred, it seemed that all those shots were catching up to him now. While he didn’t have a drink anymore, he was playing keep-away, so, to indulge him, she nodded her head slightly.

“If I must. However, come over here. I’ll answer Truth as we leave.” Althea hadn’t ever declined to answer a question truthfully, and she wasn’t going to avoid answering it this time. Right now, the only thing she had was a headache from the loudness of everyone, a glass of wine could really be needed right about now.

“What do you REALLY think about me? I know you said you’re not interested in any of my brothers but- come on. You have to love me. I don’t believe you when you say you’re not interested.” Asmo was struggling to put his jacket back on, not able to find where the arm hole was. A slight sigh slipped from her lips, taking a step forward to help him do it up.

What she thought of him? Well. To say she wasn’t interested was not true. However, not the way he wanted her to be interested in him. Glancing off to the side slightly, Althea thought about the question. It would be best to answer this when they were alone. He wouldn’t like the answer.

“You don’t want to hear what I really think about you, not while you’re drunk.” Althea spoke in a solemn way, knowing that this answer was going to have some kind of emotional impact on him if she responded. While she didn’t care about saving someone’s feelings, this was going to be a problem getting him home and Lucifer already was blowing up her D.D.D. with texts. He could brush it off if he was sober, but drunk?

“Nu-uh. You gotta answer this-” He waved a hand away, getting his coat back on but then stumbled and fell down as he was trying to get up the stairs to the main level of the dorm as they exited. Narrowing her eyes at this, there clearly was only one solution.

“Fine. But I’ll answer when we’re out of the building, okay? You won’t want others to hear what I think of you.” Althea slipped an arm under Asmo’s leg, and the other behind his shoulder and lifted him clean off the ground. Looking behind her, in the same stoic, flat voice as always, she nodded to the host, thanking them for allowing them all to come over and, of course, putting up with the craziness.

“Oh, that intimate? So romantic. Is that why you’re carrying me like a princess? Does that mean that you’re my prince? Oh you shouldn’t have.” Asmo wrapped his arms behind her shoulders, kicking his feet back and forth as he was carried. He clearly wasn’t in the right headspace. When was he ever though?

“Very well… What I think of you.” Althea continued to walk as she thought how best to answer this. Asmodeus. The Avatar of Lust… An emotional, needy crybaby who would act out for attention, any attention, and demand everything of you and still want more. No. He was worse than that.

Once they had left the dormitory, Althea kept to herself on the streets, not wanting to pass by anyone to have them overhear, but also because she didn’t trust anyone, nor believe Asmo was in the proper state to defend her if they were attacked. As she knew not all demons obeyed and listened to Diavolo, she was careful not to venture too far out on her own at “night”. Asmo stared up at her with expectant eyes, he wanted to hear that she adored him, that he was her world and couldn’t live without him. He was wrong. So, without ceremony, she began speaking, eyes forward and not looking at him as she delivered her answer to, “Truth.”

“You’re a Parasite. A blight upon everyone you encounter. You feast upon the attention of others, leaving those who have the misfortune of encountering you a husk, drained of emotion after they’ve left your wake. You’re terribly selfish, thinking only of yourself, how it benefits you, how it makes you feel, and disregard the needs of others. Were I not immune to your charms you surely would have tried to sink your fangs into me. If it were not for this program, I’d avoid you like the plague. The toxic aura you spew forth is enough to choke on without even speaking to you. So… Seven out of Ten.”

Each word was left hanging in the air, each word a knife to his heart. It was the brutal honesty she felt towards him, and perhaps it would seem like insults, but to her they weren’t. She met worse, surely. However, he was a demon. This is how she viewed him and while she found his company tolerable, and sometimes fun, this was still his nature. Her eyes remained forward, focused on getting back to the House of Lamentation. Yet, despite what she said, all of her words, he went silent instead of crying loudly. His arms slipped off of her neck and crossed over themselves loosely.

It was a quiet walk back…

Rising up the stairs to the second level, Althea just side-glanced whomever she passed to ensure they didn’t start speaking or ask why the two were so quiet. As soon as she brought him back to his room, he was gently eased down upon his bed and he promptly turned away, pouting, curled up, a slight hunch to his shoulders. It was hard to tell how much of this was the not-alcohol was catching up with him or if he just wanted attention, but there was a bit of sharpness in her chest. Was she feeling back about telling the truth and hurting him?

“Asmo... “ Althea reached a hand out to his shoulder, he turned a bit to smack it away, and turned further around, sharply as the fringe of his hair fell forward, shadowing a bit of his face.

“Don’t touch me! D- Don’t you dare touch me. I’m just a parasite to you.” He pulled away again, this time sitting up and giving a sharp glare at her. There was a hint of light within his eyes, almost like it was glowing. He seemed to be so close to shifting into his demon form with how he was unstable right now.

“I mean- how can you call me that? I’m the Avatar of Lust. People WANT me. I am literally everyone’s type. Seven out of ten? That’s an insult. How dare you! You’re lucky you know. Mhm. If I was allowed to, I’d carve out what little heart you have and hold it beating in my hand. Then you’d see how beautiful I am! Then you’d love me, right?”

The way he spoke, how it flared up, the sharpness, the venom he was spitting, it was as she said. Parasitic. The way his shoulders rose and sank, the primal movement. It was similar to how those two were from the party earlier, clearly more in touch with his demonic side at the moment. Yet, there was something else there. The wounded animal. It came with the break of his voice as he started to settle down, no longer a fire, but a crackling cinder, dim in the night. A mournfulness filled his voice.

“Then… Then you’d love me, right?”

When once his anger settled down from the snarl, the snap, the visceral, a tormented sort of sadness filled his expression as he crawled towards her on the bed. Reaching a hand out, Asmo dragged it down her arm until he was holding her hand. It was not a touch of seduction, but one of longing. Cupping his cheek with her hand, Althea remained silent, watching what was he was doing, if it was a show or genuine response. She knew that whatever was consuming his thoughts, it was likely mixed and veiled as well. After all, demons weren’t truly capable of expressing true human emotion. Theirs was far more complex. So, sitting herself down upon the edge of the bed, Althea would be the emotional rock he needed right now.

“Asmo… You are still beautiful, but beauty isn’t love. You know this.” Her hand then started to brush against his cheek gently, seeing as he was still holding onto it, thumb rubbing back and forth, fingers curled to the side of his face. Something to calm him down. He seemed to like this action, nuzzling against her hand as he was hungry for affection of any kind.

Asmodeus was slow to respond, perhaps he was deciding on if he should answer, or if he was just too tired to respond. It seemed as if he was just content to hold her hand against his cheek, the warmth of her touch, even if it wasn’t as intimate as he wanted. Searching his eyes for truth, watching his gaze, the light still flickered within. But- a sharp tug caught her attention, Asmo pulled on her hand, toppling her off balance in surprise as his other hand pushed her shoulder down to the bed. Though she was sitting on the edge, he had overtaken and was now sat atop her hips, leering down with an intense glow in the burning hues of his gold and coral coloured eyes.

“... Nothing..” His voice was low, a lush whisper that trembled off his lips.

“...Not even now do I see a hint of desire in your eyes… Am I impossible to love? Truly love? I, who was once loved by all, now nothing. To look upon me was to know the Beauty of God. What am I now? A parasite…”

The demonus on his breath was just as bad as any alcohol. It lingered in the air and hung off every word, hot as it practically dripped upon her cheeks. Drawing closer, his face was mere inches from hers but even then, Althea did her best to hold back any sort of reaction. To not recoil, to not withdraw. Even if she wanted to react, he needed the emotional stability right now. She couldn’t feed into his energy, else he’d consume anything she gave off and it would be dangerous for the both of them.

“I may not love you, but that does not mean you’re impossible to love. When I look at you, yes, I see a parasite, but I also see all of that beauty within you. The glow upon your skin, the radiance of your eyes. All of this is true when I speak it, but you look most beautiful like this. This vulnerable scorpion, fighting with his nature. You wish to sting me even now, don’t you?”

With how low her words were, that bare whisper between their lips, the heat of her breath upon his skin, it was the closest physically she had ever been with Asmo. Still, he remained holding onto her wrist and shoulder, staring towards her but not making any movements. As his grip tightened, she also felt his hands trembling and then it released, tears welling and falling from his eyes to her cheeks before he lowered his head down to her chest, arms tightly wrapping behind the small of her back.

“Love me… Love me, please. Tell me I’m beautiful, that I am the most beautiful person you’ve met. Whisper sweet nothings to me and devote yourself to me. I…” Asmodeus clutched on tighter, arms holding onto her waist more as his face started to burrow into her. If she didn’t unwrap from him now, she’d end up sleeping here and who knew how he’d behave once the drunkenness wore off. Yet. She didn’t want to leave him alone. Not like this.

Sitting up slowly, Althea would gently shift in position and unhook his arms, even if he so desperately wanted to remain clung to her, it was the only way. Removing his shoes and setting them on the floor, she tucked him into bed. Fighting with his clingy hands, she had to constantly pull them off and tighten the sheets over him. Changing him out of his uniform was asking for problems so that was out of the question, but she did remove his jacket and loosen his shirt. Yet still, as Asmodeus lay there, looking sleepy, and pitiful, not even she could deny the bit of warmth that was nestled within her heart, the small bit of empathy she felt for him.

It was at this moment, looming over Asmodeus, staring into his eyes as he so often desperately wanted, Althea realized something. For all his age and history, for his time as an angel, then as a demon, he was like a child emotionally. This poor, frail creature, fallen from God’s Love that was hurt so. Yes, the rebellion that happened was likely something he didn’t regret, and something she didn’t blame him for, but to change so fundamentally from who you were from birth, to what you were now. It wasn’t as if she was the best Catholic, nor thought she was going to heaven when she died but still. He was an angel once. They all were angels. Except Satan. Yet Asmodeus, he who was loved by all, how desperate he had become in his moments of depravity.

“I care about you too much to lie to you like that, Asmo. Right now, this crippled, wounded creature you are before me, a parasite, a fallen angel, who you are, there’s nothing more beautiful in this world to me than to see someone like this...but I take no joy in it. Your inner self is exposed to me, and I want nothing more than to play with it, to manipulate it and abuse it for as much worth as I can extract but… It seems I’ve grown a fondness that prevents me from doing so.” It was her confession time now. The delicate way she spoke such harsh words, it was the nature of her internal conflict ions, so sure and not remorseful of those she hurt but fully aware of how toxic she was to others. At least, how she was to other humans. Normally, what she would do to others is manipulate them in this state, make them dependent upon her so that they can’t get away. Just as narcissistic as he, if not more so as she did it by choice. It was not in human nature to hurt others this much. It was a learned behaviour that she carefully cultivated over time and yet. Perhaps that is why she felt such respect towards demons? It was their nature, that any of them behaved civilly was a feat unto itself. How troubled her heart was at this moment. She should feel nothing for these creatures that strayed from God, but at times they were more human than she was. Asmodeus was about to sit up, stirred by what she said but Althea cut him off.

“Hush dear... You need your rest. If you truly want to, we can discuss this in the morning.” As she was leaning over Asmo on the bed, Althea stared down to his amber eyes, her hair draped over a shoulder like a curtain as she made sure his eyes closed. He seemed a bit reluctant to, but the lushness of her words, the soft lullaby melody she spoke, and quite a helping hand of the drink taking effect, he closed his eyes fully.

Slowly, her hand lowered to cup ever so gently atop his lips as her face drew close to his own. Careful not to touch him too heavily, her lips pressed delicately on the back of her hand. This indirect sign of affection wouldn’t be remembered in the morning, not by Asmo anyway. As her lips pulled away, her own eyes lingered upon his face, and she could not deny he was beautiful. He was like the golden child of a family, an Adonis if you will, something that others would want to remain in the company of. Yet she felt no hint of desire towards him, something he said so himself. Pulling away from Asmo who was now safely asleep, Althea quietly slipped out of the room.

He, who had seen and bore witness to the eternal light of Heaven, to bask within the Celestial Realm and to be called the Jewel of it, he must truly have been glorious, beyond beautiful. The way he looked at Simeon, with eyes of distant longing but not lust, she should have seen it sooner. Was he embarrassed about being a demon? Was he so fraught with melancholy that he’d never be as beautiful as he was as an angel? Perhaps. All she knew, however, was that in his moment of weakness, when she had been caught off guard, he could have followed through on his threat, he didn’t. Instead, he bore his heart out to her, held it shriveled and bleeding in his hands, and she didn’t break it...

Leaning against the back of his door, arms crossed behind her, thought started to betray her once more. Why didn’t she lie to him? She could have told him all he wanted to hear and he’d believe it. It would have been so easy to twist his desperation around her finger and have him depend upon her. So pitiful he was at that moment. So pitiful she was becoming that pulling away and leaving him to sleep alone, awake alone, started to gnaw away at her.

“Asmodeus…”

His name fell from her lips, eyes forlorn as she pulled off the door. The short walk back to her room was just as silent, heels clicking through the corridor. A lonely sound in the middle of the night.

“Please don’t make me love you…”

#Obey Me OC #Asmosweek #thefandomlovesasmo #milas-imaginarium

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blackirisposts · 5 years

Text

Of Ghosts and Coffee Shop Whispers

This work is part of Spoopy October Writing Challenge 2019 (SOWC19) hosted by me, annnnnnd Happy Steve Bingo (HSB) by: @happystevebingo !!! ❤

Prompt: Day 6: Ghost for SOWC19 && Romance Novel for HSB ❤

Pairing: Darcy Lewis x Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes x OMC, Jane Foster x Thor ❤

Word Count: 2404

❤ Book Shop && Coffee Shop ❤

Reblog will include links and tags! ❤

Warnings: Swearing, Mild Crack and the occasional cameo ❤

A/N: Special thanks to @pegasusdragontiger and @heartbreaker6995 for both shocking my brain into actually working and cranking out this fic ❤

Darcy’s eyes follow the blond man across the room as he moves to wait for his coffee order.

“You’re staring.” Jane says, not looking up from the small wired contraption she was fiddling with.

“Yep.” Darcy pops the ‘p’ like the word’s made of bubble gum. “What a sight.”

Jane hums not fully paying attention to Darcy.

“Thor’s off world, your loss.” Darcy says with a slurp of her coffee.

“Thor?” Jane looks up and around in confusion.

Darcy pats her hand, “Off world, dear.”

“Right. I knew that.”

Darcy pushes a barely touched panini sandwich towards Jane.

“Eat, my scientific one. It shall give you strength!”

“Eat later. Science now.”

“Eat now. Science, well, also now?” Darcy sighed dragging her eyes back to Jane. “Don’t make me take whatever the hell that thing is away from you until after you’ve finished your no longer hot sandwich thingy.”

“I dare you.” Jane stares at Darcy.

“Jane.” Darcy arches a brow.

“Fine.”

“Love you too.”

Jane takes a few bites as she fiddles with her contraption.

“Still staring.”

“He’s still a sight to behold.”

“You stare at him whenever you see him here. Go talk to him. Dazzle him with your wit.”

“Yeah. That’s likely to happen.”

“Where else are you going to run into him? The lab?”

“No.” Darcy huffed, fixing her mass of curls. “Maybe a bookshop.”

Jane scoffs.

“You never know.” Darcy takes a drawn-out sip of her nearly empty coffee mug. “Okay, but if I ran into the glory of that in a bookshop, I’d die happy. . . oh, and then I could haunt the bookshop, too. . . okay, Jane. New plan!”

As Darcy dreams out loud, a half-asleep man in a stained purple shirt and black apron sidles up to her.

“It’s your lucky day then, Dee.”

Darcy squeaks in an undignified manner, startled by Clint’s sudden appearance at her side. She glares at him, her cheeks tinted pink. Clint’s an incorrigible gossip. And he will definitely tell Nat, another incorrigible gossip. This will not end well.

“Where’d you crawl out of?”

“I’m on break.” Clint shrugs and sips his coffee.

“You know something, Barton?”

“I could use more tips.” Clint arches a brow at Darcy.

“Ha! You’re lucky you make the best coffee in the city.”

Clint chuckles and takes the empty chair at their table, partially blocking Darcy of her glorious view.

“I might know a little something-something about a certain possibly haunted book shop on 66th street. If you’re planning on taking up an additional post to haunt it.”

“Possibly haunted?” Jane asks, suddenly interested in the conversation and not believing a word he says.

“Yeah. There’s like at least two ghosts. They’re—well they’re really annoying. Funny sometimes but mostly annoying.”

Darcy and Jane share a look and Darcy snorts turning back to Clint.

“So, what are you actually saying?”

“Maybe he’ll be there. Maybe he won’t be.”

“But?”

“But I’d check it out if I were you.” Clint grabs the empty cups and crumpled wrapper that once contained Darcy’s Danish. “You two check each other out far too much for you both to not have noticed yet. It’s driving everyone insane.”

“Whatever, dude.” Darcy rolls her eyes, biting her lip to keep her smile at bay. “If this bookshop is real, it’d be worth it to run into him there. Haunted or not.”

“Whatever you say, Dee.” Clint says walking back to the front counter.

“Okay, Jane, new plan. Same plan. Whatever.”

“Darcy. No.”

“Darcy. Yes.”

“Wait, what’s the address?” Darcy looks from Jane to Clint.

‘Look at your phone.’ Clint signs from behind the counter.

Darcy looks down to her phone to see the address and several emojis light up her phone.

“Who put this here?”

“You know who.” A tired voice replies, muffled by the rows of books.

“Dude. You can’t put this here.”

“I can. And I did.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Fix it!”

“There’s nothing to fix. It should go here.”

“No. No, it shouldn’t.”

“Guys.” The tired voice calls out.

“You cannot put Tolkien in the romance section.”

“Yeah. I can.”

“No.”

“It’s totally a romance novel. You’d know that if you ever learned to read.”

“Guys!” The voice calls out again.

“NO!”

“Yes! He goes in every section!”

“Tolkien. Does. Not.”

“Yep. Every one. That’s what everyone wants to read anyways.”

“Oh my god. It’s like arguing with a wall.”

“Guys. Knock it off.” The tired voice shouts.

A barely discernable pair of ‘sorry’s are uttered without feeling. Hushed arguing can still be heard throughout the book shop that finally stops when a book is thrown down aisle slamming into a wall with a harsh thud.

“You done yet?” Darcy asks, tapping the end of her pen against the table top.

“Does it look like I’m done?”

“No. You’re never done. Even when you are, in fact, done.”

“What?”

“You started spouting equations when you were asleep. Remember? I recorded it incase it was something import.”

“I don’t remember that.” Jane eyes Darcy. “There’s no way I did that.”

“You did.” Eric taps his head. “I remember. It was odd. All your equations where correct but they had nothing to do with each other.”

Jane huffs. “Typical.”

“Nah, just proof you need more sleep, Doc.”

“I need more sleep? Or you want to go ghost hunting?”

“Maybe both?” Darcy holds both hands up defensively. “Can’t we have both?”

“Take the rest of the day off, Darcy.” Eric chuckles grabbing the pen from her.

“Really?”

“Yes.” He gives her an incredulous look. “Go have fun with the—ghosts.”

“I don’t think they’re—”

“I don’t want to know. Just call us if you need help or are pulled into another dimension again.”

“Thanks, ma dude.” Darcy bounces on her toes and presses a quick kiss to Eric’s cheek. “And you’ll take care of Jane-y?”

“Yes. Now, go before you convince yourself not to.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t science too hard.”

Darcy bites her lip, checking her phone one more time for address to the bookshop. The entrance is warm and charming. Totally inviting. Not that there was a bookshop that hadn’t agreed with Darcy yet.

The door chimes softly as the smell of fresh coffee and paper flood her nose.

“Yeah. This is a place I could call my forever home.” Darcy mutters to herself.

Not a soul in sight. Only books and a mismatched pair of leather chairs and a purple velvet couch.

Mismatched fairy lights hang crisscrossing overhead, leading to a small stage. A framed chalkboard sign reads: Poetry reading, Tonight 8pm.

Darcy snaps a pic and sends it to Jane and Eric, found my happy place.

She wanders farther into the bookshop when she hears it.

“Was the fair palace door—”

First it sounds like a whisper.

“Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing—”

Now a little louder. The disembodied voice sounded pensive, annoyed even.

“Flowing, flowing, flowing—”

Darcy’s curiosity gets the better of her and she follows the voice, stifling a snort when she hears it curse in frustration.

She hears papers moving and an irritated sigh.

Rounding a corner, she sees the source of the voice. Not a ghost by any means, but definitely something that took her breath away. Before her perched precariously on a stool is a rather large man in a rust colored sweater, his dark hair tied messily in a bun.

“That was really beautiful.”

The man looks up and blushes. “Th-thanks. I’m trying to memorize it before tonight.”

“You’ll get it.”

“I better.” He sighs, his voice dropping low in embarrassment. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“Oh, for who?” Darcy beams a toothy grin at him as his blush darkens.

He hands her his book, an anthology of Poe, open to the poem that he’s struggling with.

“It’s for my boyfriend, it’s his favorite. If I can pull it off, I’m going to ask him to move in with me, too.”

Darcy squeaks out a noise that makes him chuckle.

“I’m Bucky by the way.”

“Darcy.” She replies. “And that is possibly the sweetest thing I’ve heard all month.”

“I call bull, Bucko.”

“What the fuck now, Sam?” Bucky asks, features going neutral.

“No way.” The man referred to as Sam crosses his arms over his chest making himself look intimidating in the small book aisle. “You paid her to come in here and say that. Admit it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

Darcy snorts, drawing their attention. “You two don’t sound like ghosts.”

“What?” They ask in unison.

A low chuckle is heard an aisle or two over.

Darcy points in the direction of the laugh. “Now there’s your ghost.”

“Ghost?” Sam asks.

“A friend recommended this place, said it was haunted by at least two ghosts, annoying but sometimes funny. I imagine he was talking about you two. You’re not the boyfriend, are you?” Darcy asks Sam as she draws soft lines of graphite in his book.

“Oh, hell no. He wishes.” He chuckles, holding out a hand. “I’m Sam. I can only stand that man as far as I can throw him.”

Darcy takes his hand, offering her name in return.

“What the hell man? You know you can’t throw down like I can.”

“Knock it off, guys.”

“So, is he the ghost then?” Darcy snickers referring to the voice as both men roll their eyes at the phrase they’ve heard far too often.

“No.” Sam seems to pout. “You’d think so, but no.”

Darcy shrugs and hands Bucky the book back. “Here, try to memorize it in chunks, it has more rhythm that way, might be easier.”

“Thank you so much!” Bucky’s face brightens and he wraps Darcy in a quick hug, nearly crushing her. His movements startling her into laughter and cause Sam to roll his eyes.

“Why you gotta hug everyone, man. Some people don’t like it.”

“I don’t mind.” Darcy shrugs with a laugh. “Some people need kindness in physical platonic gestures.”

Sam hums, eyeing Darcy and then Bucky.

“What?” She asks confusion written across her face.

“You thinking what I’m thinking, Buck?”

It takes Bucky a moment, but he gets there. “Oh. Stevie. Yeah.”

“Who?”

“They’d be perfect together.” Sam nods, giving Darcy his sweetest smile. “You’d really love him.”

“No, seriously, who’s Steve?”

“For us to know and you to fall in love with.” Sam arches his brows at her.

“Hey, maybe then he’ll spend less time here giving us a hard time.” Bucky says, nudging Sam.

“Give the lady some room otherwise she’ll never come back here, ya crazy mutts.” Says the voice again, this time closer.

“What?” Darcy asks while Bucky shakes his head and goes back to his book. She looks to Sam who throws his hands in the air in mock defeat.

“We try and we try, Steve.” Sam says, his smirk growing into a full smile. “But we can only do so much for you, old man.”

“This is why business is erratic.” Says the voice, who Darcy is now assuming to be the Steve formerly mentioned. “You two aren’t sharing shifts anymore if you keep this up.”

“Uh oh, looks like you’ve upset the man behind the curtain.” Darcy quips, earning a fist bump from Sam and a chuckle from Bucky.

“Yeah! Good one.” Scott cheers coming around the corner, bowl of orange slices in hand. “Who’s the new girl?” he asks, offering everyone to take from the dish.

“Scott, be cool, man.” Sam shakes his head, grabbing a handful of oranges before walking out of the aisle.

“When am I not cool? I’m cool right?” Scott looks to Darcy, like she’ll back him up.

Bucky chuckles and disappears around the corner before being dragged into it.

Darcy laughs and nods, her words caught in her throat as Steve rounds the corner, rolling his eyes.

“You’re the coolest Scott.” Steve confirms, eyes tired until they fall on Darcy and light up. “Can you finish inventory in the back?”

“Can do Cap!” Scott mock salutes, shoving the large bowl into Steve’s hands as he leaves.

“Sorry about him.” He shuffles his feet a bit, suddenly shy at finding the ‘cute coffee shop girl’ in his shop. “’Bout all of them, really.”

Darcy shakes her head “You must be Steve?” Darcy smiles at the flush starting to color his cheeks.

“Yeah,” He says softly, smile as bright as she knew it’d be. “And you’re—”

“Darcy. It’s nice to meet you, finally.”

“How’d you survive the minotaurs that work here?” He asks, putting the bowl on an empty shelf, his free hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I know how to get around a maze with minimum casualties.” Darcy laughs, the sound feeling like a wave of sunshine rippling through his veins.

Steve can’t help but laugh with her. He should have listened to Clint and Nat and talked to her sooner.

“Would you—” He’s interrupted with a tap on the shoulder by a guy with a creepy yet happy smile holding three pizza boxes.

“We didn’t order anything.” Steve says with a confused look. “Wait. Guys? Did you order take out again?”

“No!” Come Bucky and Sam’s reply almost in unison, followed by a late and muffled ‘no’ from Scott.

“Sorry, man.”

“Smells good, though.” Darcy murmurs.

“Eh, thought I’d just say hi. This goes next door.”

“What?” Darcy takes a step closer to Steve.

“Hi. Wade Wilson.” The man says with a sigh of admiration. “Big fan.” And turns to leave.

The door hasn’t shut yet and they hear his voice again from the street.

“Fuck! I got distracted by those baby blues. What was my line? ‘Everything’s better with pizza?’ Fuck it, close enough! Can’t I do it again? Shit!”

“What the fuck was that?” Darcy asks, holding a hand over her mouth as she laughs.

“You keep the pizza, boss?” Bucky yells.

“Or are you two too busy making out already?” Sam sticks his head around the corner waggling his eyebrows.

“Why did I agree to hire you two?” Steve asks, giving Darcy an apologetic look.

“Wanna get out of here?” Darcy slips her hand into Steve’s.

“Yeah.”

“Buck!” Sam yells over his shoulder. “They’re holding hands!”

“Ha! Nat owes me twenty bucks!” Comes Bucky’s voice from behind the stacks of books.

“Coffee shop?”

“Coffee shop.” Steve agrees, his smile faulters. “Wait, do you know Clint?”

“Shit.”

#Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes/OMC #bipspoopy19 #happy steve bingo 2019

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