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percywinchester27 · 2 years

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The new Mrs. Winchester (8)

Word count: 4.1K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Mentioned character death, mentioned kidnapping, fluff

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: There’s a surprise for you guys in this chapter ;)

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23 love ya!

The new Mrs. Winchester masterlist

“You’re shitting me,” you whispered. “He’s shitting me, isn’t he?”

Jack beamed. “He isn’t.”

“I can’t touch this thing.” You stepped backwards. “It’ll break and I’ll go to technology hell for it.”

“It’s just a laptop!”

“Yeah, the sort that people use in 200 million dollar budget movies. Look, the paint is all shiny and silver.” The thing looked like even your glance could break it. “I asked for a drawing table and tools. A decrepit computer would have done the job just the same.”

It had been two days since the day spent touring the house with Sam and in those two days, you had only seen him once at breakfast. His work kept him busier than the tiredness his face showed. Today Jack had greeted you in the morning with a brand new laptop and the news that the study next to the library was being fitted with a drawing table. You were free to furnish it as you saw fit.

The laptop scared you. “I don’t want it.”

“How’re you going to work, then?” Jack sounded amused.

“I’ll manage.”

“Just take the laptop, Y/N,” he said, smiling, then immediately made a funny noise. “I’m sorry. I mean, Mrs. Winchester.”

“No, please. Please call me Y/N.” It felt like being resuscitated each time your name was uttered.

Jack looked torn.

You reached out to touch his hand. “We’re friends, aren’t we? And friends call each other by name.”

When he still didn’t look convinced, you nudged his palm. “You call Sam by his name.”

“Oh, alright,” he gave in. “Just take the damn laptop, Y/N.”

Grinning, you opened the laptop gingerly and pressed the power button. The machine came to life almost in no time, without buffering. Wondrous.

“All your software is in there,” he said, sighing lovingly at the machine. “What was it? Auto something–”

“AutoCAD and SketchUp.”

“Yeah, pretty names for things in a pretty laptop.”

“Hey, if you want alone time with it…”

Jack threw you a withering look and you laughed. “Come show me the study you were talking about.”

*****

In the end, after much consideration on your part, you decided to start with the study itself. That morning, Sam stayed only long enough to introduce you to the contractor and his crew- all burly men with bulging arms and grim faces.

“Mrs. Winchester will look after the restoration,” he’d said, “Her word is final.”

You wished Sam had been around for the rest of the day when you had the men move your table to the seating room of your suite. It took some time to explain the process to them. From having renovated the room so many times over the years, one layer of paint had been coated over another and then another.

You instructed the crew to scrape off all the layers carefully till the original plaster was visible. The men went to work and you enlisted Abby’s help to look for the archival drawings stashed in the library.

“Sam said that the drawings should be somewhere here.” you pointed out to the rack at the very back. “He said all of them had been preserved for future reference.”

“You’ve been spending a bunch of time with him lately,” Abby mentioned casually.

“He’s been helpful while he is around,” you replied warily, recognising the hard edge in her voice.

“He’s around too much then,” she muttered ducking under a shelf ledge.

Not enough, not to you anyway.

“Found it!” You called, drawing out the dust-laden sheets from under the shelf. “No respect for archival drawings,” you tutted, blowing off the dust.

Abby agreed with you about the state of the sheets and forgot about her reservations for the time being. You explained to her the process of reading archival architectural drawings in order to decipher what the original details of construction must be. Most of your guesswork proved accurate. The sandstone used had been brought in from a local stone quarry and dressed on the premise itself.

“Local material is the best kind of material because it’s used to the climate of the area, will withstand weathering and is best suited for any kind of construction. Plus, you don’t have to cure the mortar for too long. Sandstone sets easily and the pointing–”

“Miss, you’re losing me.”

You smacked your head. “Oh, I’m blabbering..”

“No!” Abby reached out to hold your head, and you jerked in surprise. “Don’t stop talking about your work. I like listening to you, even if I don’t understand much.”

The catch in your throat made it hard to speak but you managed, “No. You will stop me when you don’t understand so I can make you understand. We’re in this together now.”

You spent the rest of the day testing out paint samples on the scraped-out walls. The contractor suggested a multitude of bright colours, but you picked out an understated cream to go with the natural ocher, having decided to keep the original sandstone exposed. When all was said and done for the day, you made a detour to the kitchen to check on Martha. She appeared delighted to see you, gushing about your ideas for the house. She had a couple of ideas up her sleeves, too, you realised, when she handed you a notepad and a pen.

“You need to draw up the plan for this week’s meals,” she announced.

“What, me?”

“Of course,” said Martha good-naturedly. “I’ve been using my discretion with what to cook these past years. Now that the house has a mistress, you get to choose.”

Staring at the writing pad, you murmured, “I don’t know what to do… I can barely cook.”

Martha laughed sweetly. “My dear, you don’t have to cook. I’ll do that. You just have to decide what gets cooked.”

The dishes that had been served at all prior dinners, even the big affairs, had been exquisite– French, Italian and God knew what all countries you didn’t even know the names of. Martha had a battalion of chefs working under her on days of big events. What did you know about cuisine and fine-dine food?

Instead of telling her that, you said, “I don’t know what everyone likes.” You didn’t know what Sam liked.

With a twinkle in her eye, Martha said, “It doesn’t take much to please master Sam. He’s very basic. Just Salads and eggs and meat. That’ll do.”

You snorted into your coffee. Martha had, for all practical purposes, just called Sam a basic bitch.

“Not just him,” you said. “I don’t know what the others like- Abby, Jack, the other girls, staff and… you, Martha. I understand that the meals are cooked for everyone? I don’t know about their choices, likes and dislikes.”

Her face softened. “Oh, sweetheart. Don’t worry about us. We’ll eat what gets cooked.”

“No. If I get to decide what gets cooked, then everyone gets a say in it. We’re running a democracy from now on. We’ll have everyone put the names of their favourite dishes on this paper and cook them in rotation, yeah?”

“Mrs. Winchester–”

“I hope Sam won’t mind me deciding?”

Martha shook her head. “It was his idea. Yesterday morning, I asked him what he wanted for the formal dinner next week and he says, ‘ask Y/N. She’ll decide for the kitchen from now on.’” She sighed fondly.

You left the kitchen then, wandering back upstairs. The sun had commenced a downward arc and when you crossed it, you found Sam’s door locked from the outside, which only meant one thing; he won’t be home tonight.

Disheartened, confused and strangely excited about the day’s events, you rushed into your room and pulled out the lamp from under your bed. Last week, you had specifically requested Abby to put it there citing the possibility of a power outage. Grabbing a matchbox, you walked outside to the corridor and placed the lamp onto the ledge of an arched opening. Against the backdrop of the lavender evening sky, the flame inside the lamp looked like another trapped sun.

The flame was bright but you didn’t know if it was bright enough. Still, bracing yourself for disappointment, you carefully traced back the path to your pier behind the outhouse.

You spotted him as soon as the pier became visible. He sat with his legs swinging over the water’s edge, skipping stones over the surface. You counted four skips on the last one.

“I almost thought you wouldn’t come,” you said to his back.

“And here we are,” he said, turning around to give you that smirk of his. The one full of warmth and a hint of mischief. “Wouldn’t ditch you like that, Chewie.”

“Of course not,” you smiled, taking a seat next to him and raising your fist. “Millennium Falcon Crew for life.”

He bumped your fist back. “So, how’re you holding up in the ivory tower?”

“Ivory tower?” You snickered.

“I’m not a big fan of that house,” he muttered darkly. “Nothing good ever happened there.”

“Well, I’m trying to make good things happen now.”

He looked at you sharply, “Say what?”

Wriggling your hands in your lap, you peeked at him. “Sam’s asked me to overlook the restoration of the house since I studied architecture and all that. I started with the study on the second floor.”

“One next to the library?”

“Yep, that one.”

An odd look came over his face. “That used to be m– Mary Winchester’s study.”

Fascinated, you stared at him. “Really?”

“Yep. Or that’s what I’ve been told.”

“You know? I never knew my mother. She ditched my dad not two weeks after I was born, and I really don’t care enough about her to go look, and yeah dad died in combat, but at least I wasn’t there to see it. I didn't have to see him like that… but those boys. The older one especially. He had to see both his parents dead. Must've been awful." You hadn't given much thought to Dean except that he probably wasn't dead, but you did feel for the man. He had lost both his parents and his girlfriend to horrifying deaths. And then he'd lost his brother to something else. Wherever he was, he must be bitter and angry, at least. Anyone would be. Then it occurred to you. "Did you know them? John and Mary Winchester?"

"I knew them," said Han. "The only thing I can tell you is that neither of them deserved to die like that. And their kids? They didn't deserve to live like that— at the mercy of a trust, forced to fight back to back against a world that knew nothing but to be cruel to little children."

The tone of his words held a certain finality and you decided not to pursue that topic further. But the tone also reminded you of someone else and you sighed wistfully.

Han raised an eyebrow.

"You remind me of my best friend, Carmen. She, too, is very ‘no bullshit.’”

His eyes turned speculative. “Best friend? From college?”

You nodded. “Very protective. I think about her all the time, and how she must have reacted to my absence… disappearance. I'm certain she would have tried to find out.”

“What really happened to you?”

Giving him a wry smile, you said, “You can’t really expect me to tell you that, can you?”

“I wish you would. Have you ever told anyone at all?”

No. The answer was a clear, straight-up no.

“You’ve got to open up to someone, some time.” You didn’t need to see his face to know what it must look like because compassion rang true in each syllable. “You can’t live like this.”

“I am.”

His hands balled into fists over the denim of his jeans.

“Let me ask you this,” you said. “Have you ever loved someone so much that you would do anything to protect them? Anything… even if it meant destroying your life with your own two hands?”

His eyes flashed.

“Then you know why I can’t tell you.”

Han, very slowly, offered his hand palm up and like reaching out to a raft in a deluge you gripped it tight.

“They told me I get to pick what’s cooked in the house from now on,” you whispered. “Anything I say goes. How do I tell them that a month ago I barely had food to eat? I can’t name half the vegetables in the pantry, I don’t know the kind of money that goes into stalking a pantry. I’ve been scared enough times in my life, but when Martha looks at me with those expecting eyes, that scares me, too. No one’s hurting me now. So why is THIS scaring me?”

He only tightened his grip on your hand, fingers weaving through yours. The silence stretched on, not pregnant, but in perfect understanding, until he said, “What did you decide about the food?”

You almost laughed. “I turned it around on them. I told Martha to make a list of what everyone likes and cook it in rotation. After all, everyone deserves a feast.”

He chuckled. “Very smart” The weight of his hand just felt the right amount of comfortable. “What did you put on the list? What do you like?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered. “Store-bought Ramen maybe. Everything Martha makes is delicious… but I don’t know what I would pick for myself.”

“One day you’ll know,” said Han. “And when you do, you can invite me into your husband’s fancy dining room that you restored and serve it to me. High tea?”

Snickering, you let go of his hand, only to shove his shoulder with it. “Oh, shut up! I can’t imagine you and the concept of high tea in the same room.” With his leather jacket, worn-out jeans, and that devil-may-care smile, Han would seem more at home on the open road than in a constricted dining room.

“Hey,” he rocked back in mock offence. “You think I can’t do table manners?”

“I think you wouldn’t willingly want to.”

He shrugged, allowing it and you were tempted to thank him again, but held your tongue.

“Hey, Han?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you really come up to the house if I invited you?”

His apple-green eyes went opaque just for a second before they cleared up. “Hell, yeah. I will come when you need me.”

After dinner, you rolled over on the silk sheets of the bed, unable to fall asleep. A vicious part of your brain informed you that maybe the sheets were too soft, or maybe you weren’t “worn out” enough. The clanging of metals against the grills, an alarm of its own to mark the number of hours you could sleep, was missing here. The markers of your allowance to rest.

But a deeper part knew the reason you couldn’t sleep. It was the absence of those small noises that emanated from the other side of the room– the softened thuds of footsteps against the carpeted floor, the grunts when you assumed he was exerting himself, the swears when he banged his toe against something and the rarest chuckles when he found something amusing in a book. Most of all you missed his good night taps. You smiled to yourself recalling the first time he had wished you so. Sam had responded to the ‘princess.’

Sighing, you sat up in your bed, peering at the dark room. If everything in the room had been picked by Sam, it must reflect his taste. After all, he hadn’t known anything about your taste to use that. The sick voice interrupted again. He had decorated this room for ‘a’ girl. Not you. It could very well have been the girl in the next cell. You just happened to be a fluke.

Shutting the voice down more viciously this time, you searched for anything that would distract you from the rising uneasiness. The laptop bag by the nightstand caught your attention. Stretching your hand, you caught hold of the handle and pulled it to you.

If you couldn’t sleep, it would be best to dust off the old cobwebs and get to work on the software. Recreating the house plans would be a task and Sam had said you could enlist the help of his employees.

You removed the laptop and then put your hand inside the bag reaching for the charger when your fingers touched something small and smooth. Clutching it in your palm, you brought it out, only to find a small burner phone. The kind that is hard to trace.

Surprised, you flipped it open, not having touched a phone in so long. The phone meant freedom. You could literally dial any number now. Call the police and tell them everything. Sam knew that very well. It could be accomplished with any phone of course, but a burner would let you do it without a trace.

With trepidation, you swiped up to reveal the menu. The phone was obviously brand new with a single contact saved in it under… ‘princess.’

A slow warmth spread through your body, like the best kind of whiskey taking an effect, making you melt right where you sat. His smile, his eyes, the small touches of his fingers, each sent out sparks up your spine. But this feeling was real, lasting, and so much more altering. When it subsided, it still left an after-effect, an afterglow. Later still, an ounce of that warmth refused to go away, simmering just under the surface of your skin. With a longing more than just missing, you wished for Sam to be sleeping on the other side of the wall. Just imagining him there, in his sweats was a happy sensation, and you didn’t feel alone anymore.

******

The cluttered desk reminded Sam of the oak table in the library, back in the big house. That’s what he had always called it- ‘the big house.’ People called it his home, but it hadn’t ever felt like one. Just a huge house, where he could still get lost; not in the walls but in the borrowed memories. Sam’s home was a small, three-bedroom house by the brook, where the gurgling of water was an omnipresent sound, steadying his breath at night, lulling him to sleep. He remembered sleeping in the bed of his room in the big house for the first time and the absolute quiet had disturbed him. Sam had wanted to run to his home and hide in the bed of his real room. But he wasn’t eight anymore, and his home lay dark and empty. So he had turned on the lamp, and read himself to what little sleep he could manage.

The big house is starting to feel like a home now.

Sam didn’t try to extinguish the voice in his head. He chased it, tried to unspool that string of thought, but deep down, he already knew the answer. The absolute quiet of his room had ceased to be. Now there were small noises in the night- rustles and sneezes and the very rare snores. Then there were the taps and pats. At first, Sam couldn’t believe his ears. It couldn’t be possible, right? But after a minute, there was no mistaking the rhythm of the taps. They were words… words strung together to hold meaning.

And the second Sam deciphered the true meaning… Well, he hadn’t hated himself more in this life.

The taps were precise: I-T-S G-O-I-N-G T-O B-E O-K-A-Y. Y-O-U-L-L B-E F-I-N-E

Sam understood very well that those words weren’t a message for him, or for anyone. They were words of reassurance, a mantra repeating over and over and over. And yet before that realisation set in, for a split second, Sam had felt reassured. He’d been torn that day, and the words had brought in relief before they brought in the loathing. He was the reason she had been reassuring herself on the other side of the words.

Over and over in the nights that followed, Sam was doomed to listen to her taps, reliving the guilt, knowing he was the reason. Every night her reassurances ended with ‘good night, Princess’ and he couldn’t help but wonder who said them to her. Not that he’d had a prayer in the world of ever knowing. Sam had believed himself to be too hated to attempt to talk to her.

And yet, here he was looking at the cluttered table before him, and remembering how she left the library table littered with all her drawings, and remembering the look she had given him when he’d handed her the portfolio.

She talked to him now, smiled at his jokes and glanced at him like she didn’t hate him. That was more than Sam had ever expected or hoped.

“It’s late. You should sleep.”

Sam turned around to see Cas standing in the doorway.

Groaning to himself, Sam closed his eyes and tried to harden his voice. “Could say the same about you.”

Cas regarded him evenly and Sam had that weird feeling of being looked right through. This was exactly why he didn’t want to travel with Cas. It was nearly impossible to put on a face for him. Cas knew where Y/N came from and had most certainly guessed why. Sam had already been sick and tired of it all before Y/N came into his life. Now, after letting his guard down around her, it was damn near impossible to put it back up with his people.

With deliberate steps, Cas shortened the distance between them. Once face to face, Cas sighed. “For the millionth time, Sam, why are you doing this?”

“You know why.” Sam’s very soul felt weary.

Cas huffed out an exasperated breath, frustration evident in the gesture. “Everyone’s asking questions, and one day you’ll have to answer them all. Why’re you doing this and where did that girl come from.”

“Her name’s Y/N,” Sam corrected automatically. She liked being addressed by her name, and though Cas’ ‘the girl’ had been anything but unkind, Sam corrected him anyway.

“Y/N,” said Cas, balancing the name on his tongue. “No one believes your story.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“You know what frustrates me?” Thundered Cas, abruptly. “It’s that you don’t trust me anymore. You can fool the whole damn world with your tough act, but you can’t fool me. I’ve been around for too long to fall for your farce. And Dean–”

“Don’t say his name,” Sam cut in sharply. “You know I don’t–”

“Like talking about him?” Cas barked. “Well, too bad, because you’re losing your edge now. Not long before your whole show falls apart. And bringing the girl into this? Dragging her into this godforsaken mess?”

“She’s better off here than where she was before.”

Cas narrowed his blue eyes. “So now you have a saviour complex?”

“No!” God no. If anything, Sam felt the exact opposite of that. “Look, I don’t need to explain myself. But, if you want to… you can help me with something. ”

“What?”

“Look into her past. Find out whatever you can about her.”

Cas frowned. “Sam, but the first condition of–”

“I know what the conditions of the deal were. I can’t look into it. But you can.”

Pacing across the room, Cas muttered under his breath, clearly annoyed. He finally stopped before Sam. “Fine.”

Sam almost smiled.

Cas scowled. “Just because you like her, doesn’t mean you need to put your ass in line…”

The rest of Cas’s words were drowned in the rush of blood in Sam’s ears. Was it so obvious?

Cas might have said something more; he gave another disappointed sigh and stalked off. The newly hired security had been astounded by Cas’s informality towards Sam, but he’d been like family for too long, Dean’s best friend. And despite what had happened, he refused to believe Sam’s parroted version of the past, refused to abandon the post. For the most part, Sam was too grateful to complain about the occasional outbursts Cas bestowed upon him… much like tonight.

Reeling from what might have just been Cas’s off-hand comment, Sam packed up his briefcase and headed to the hotel room. It wasn’t until after he’d settled in bed, that he finally felt the emptiness sink in.

Reaching out to the wall behind, knowing that no one would answer, he tapped out:

G-O-O-D N-I-G-H-T Y-N

He had only just closed his eyes when his phone pinged. And Sam’s entire body felt like it was melting within itself when he read the text: “Goodnight, princess.”

*****************************

A/N 2: So, we’re finally into Sam’s head, huh? Would you like to hang out there more often? And what did you think of the chapter? ;)

Please do let me know if you liked this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!

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@cosicas-cuquis @daughterleftbehind @maliburenee @spn730015 @aeo10fan @stoneyggirl2 @houseforwhores @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @linki-locks11 @cookiechipdough @impalaimagining @gabavaldman @multifandom-slxt @chalicia @mrswhozeewhatsis @likhelbentin @vividreader @mackiemcb @qveenmikaelson @lightchesters @deanwanddamons @bluedragonflylady @daddys-littlewhitegirl @mlovesstories @sams-bubblegum-bitch @chinosherlock @hoboal87 @sandlee44 @mariaenchanted @little-x-wolf @theanniewisegirl @supraveng @i-is-for-inspiring @fandom-princess-forevermore @sammedeansandwhich @trexrambling @wittysunflower @strawberryycows @joseyrw @agenthellcat @lacilou @giggles1026 @aloneatpeace @perpetuallyoverwhelmed @borhapparker @wafflezo

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam winchester #sam love club #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester reader insert #sam winchester x you #sam x you #sam x y/n #sam winchester x y/n #reader x sam winchester #Ana writes Sam #anawrites #anawritesspn #Ana writes tnmw #tnmw8 #q

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lovedbythesun · 2 years

Audio

Robert Rosen on John, Paul, obsession and John’s reaction to Paul’s arrest in Japan (bolded)

RR: If you read Nowhere Man, you're gonna spend a couple of 100 pages in Lennon's head and you'll see what that's like. The neurosis and the occult, and the insecurity and the anger and the rage and the petty jealousy and the absolute expression of joy when McCartney was busted in Japan for trying to smuggle in marijuana. And you'll also get the creative genius, the guy who went down to Bermuda, knowing it was time to break out of his seclusion and get back into it and release an album. After five years, the painful creative struggle to reconnect with his muse and the love he felt towards Yoko and towards Sean. I mean, that's all there. It's like the beautiful part of Lennon and there was indeed, a beautiful part, with the part that was heady and angry and resentful and jealous.

Host: You just described his reaction to the Tokyo drug bust with Paul. There's been definitely conflicting accounts, what the state of their relationship was not just the 1980 but throughout the whole of the Beatles solo years, where he definitely had the signs of an obsession with Paul's career and his successes. At the same time publicly talked about I don't pay attention to Wings, I don't pay attention to my peers. I don't pay attention to Jagger, or Dylan or all that stuff. Yet. You see things like the tape diary he did in 79, where he clearly is paying attention very much to Paul's career. Overall, did you get an impression of where things stood regarding his feelings toward Paul?

Robert Rosen: That is like a huge part of Nowhere Man because he spent so much time thinking about Paul and writing about Paul and obsessing over Paul. And everything Paul did, it drove him..every time he heard a Paul song on the radio, especially Coming Up off McCartney II that it would make him jealous. He saw his life as him and Yoko being either up or down in relation to Paul and Linda. And he just flat out said, I know this is not the way to be. There was like, the jealous part of him, that would just go crazy over something Paul did..and nobody's paying attention to me now. And there was that part of him and then there was the larger part of him, where he wanted to be like Jesus and Gandhi and Mohammed and Buddha, and he wanted to follow the path he wanted to follow the way, he wanted to merge with God.

It was just this constant struggle between this man who wanted to be pure and this man who wanted to take drugs and have sex with May Pang and just like, oh I bought this beautiful house in Palm Beach and Paul's gonna read about it and that's a great victory over McCartney and oh, Yoko just sold a cow for a quarter million dollars and it's gonna be in the papers and Paul's gonna read about it. That's another great victory over McCartney and it's just like Yoko did it, she used her magic powers to have Paul busted in Japan and this is not in Nowhere Man because this is what he wrote in the diaries that I couldn't quote from the diaries but he was just so overjoyed that say, it was like the high point of 1980 up to that point and he writes, go to jail, go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200 - that's the thing from Monopoly and I'm not quoting from the diaries, I'm quoting from the Monopoly board, right [both laugh].

You know, that's what John wrote and he was just "oh, Paul's still in jail, maybe they'll keep him there for a couple of years and they let him out after only 10 days but the Wings tour was ruined and it made him happy.”

- Robert Rosen / Something About The Beatles Podcast / 10/08/2022 (x)

#john lennon #paul mccartney #the beatles #satb #i can't believe i had transcribed half of this #before i learned i could use a website to auto-generate the dialogue #ah well...better to draw poison from the wound directly i suppose #it must have been love once #but the schadenfreude here takes my breath away #so much so it makes me question a lot of things #i have a hard time believing he thinks of paul as a ...real person here?#i can see him being petty and like hahHA that album was shit #or even being weirdly obsessed with paul's marriage failing?#but prison...#jesus christ

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shablonkamightcry · 9 months

Text

My job has really highlighted for me just how much I love humanity.

Things that I thought would be negatives of the job are my favourite. Having to talk to customers? Easy and charming, all types of folk come round here. I know enough to help them if they need it, and if they don't then that's easy. We might talk about the products or how their day has been and it has the ease as if I've know them my whole life, because we share the connection of the store. The customers are my favourite part of the job.

I had a customer come in and buy over 200 dollars worth of yugioh cards, and we talked about how he was going to go to the bottle shop after and drink and open the packs for the rest of the night. Another customer came in not too long ago and I commented on the sweater the guy she was with (which turned out to be her boyfriend) and how cool it's design was and she spent the next 15 minutes or so telling me about the website she got it on and all the cool stuff it sells and how much she loves it. So many people who come in for the first time have a face full of wonder and delight, and I get to expand on their joy by telling them more and showing them more.

I now have some customers who come in and look for me specifically because they like me so much. I had a trans customer ask me for a hug the first time he came in because I asked him for his pronouns while we were talking and the next time he came in he said "it's my favourite retail worker" and asked me for another hug. I have customers come in and thank me for how helpful I was last time, and I have customers who thank me on the way out, going out of their way to specifically tell my boss how helpful and nice I was. A lot of customers come in woth cool clothes or make-up or accessories and I can just. Tell them I like it after I ask if they need any help, and often time that will start a conversation that's just really nice and wholesome.

Even when there's customers who are more your stereotypical "annoying customer", they bring me so much joy. We have groups of teens who all gather around the knife display, and I simply get to talk to them and often show off the knives for them and have a nice chat with them. We have people who come in and make fun of aspects of the store, but they are having fun, and honestly the store is a bit funny if you look at it through the right lense. People who tend to complain or get mad at workers tend to soften up if you treat them with a level of understanding, and I assume part of that is a little bit of my autistic-ness making them feel a bit worse for being so rude. I know that sentence doesn't make sense on its own but like. It's The Way That I Am that seems to make people a bit kinder.

Even when I'm not working, I really feel so much love thanks to the changes my job has brought. My job is in a shopping centre, and that means I tend to walk around the centre if I have time before or after my shift. This means that in the stores closest to my job that I regularly peruse I have become familiar with the staff. This built such a sense of community for me because simply, I was able to befriend them not just because I was there alot, but because the people there liked me. There is a store in my little circut where one of the employees I know simply does not like me, and I'm ok with that. It actually helps to distinguish that these people are not just talking to me because I am a customer, but because they like me. One worker specifically went out of her way to let specifically me know that she would be on vacation for the next 5 months so that way I wouldn't be wondering were she was and that I knew she wasn't avoiding me. After she told me, she then asked to give me a hug and told me she'd see me after she came back. She chose to do all that.

My job has really shown me that I am likeable, but it has also reminded me how much I like people, individually and as a whole.

#Fuck this is long I'm not reading this goodbye draft post

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imperfectly360 · 15 days

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Bae is so cheap I told him I wanted this hoodie for everyday wear and he told me I had a green and white colored one already why do I need another crop hoodie and I said because I wanted a cow brand one and I'm from Michigan so it makes sense and because I wanted these ones to go with my light wash denim that I already spent $200 dollars on so why wouldn't I get a matchy match but he said $53 was way too much for a slouchy hoodie that looks like a Petoskey stone and I said that it reminds me of lake Michigan and he said that it looks basic and I said I wanted to look like Alyssa and he said that Katie doesn't wear stuff that's from over priced gift shops and I said so what you think I'm not good enough to wear Alyssa level clothes and he said no I'd rather you wear a black colored one with lace pearls and crystals and I said but you loved Alyssa and I want to feel loved and he said that I'm little thing and I said but what about my moo moo ice cream and he said you get a little chit chat and I said oh so I can't wear sparking blue whatever's anymore and he said no because pretty rocks are for Alyssa and that I'm a nothing a nobody and I said but what about my Michigan hoodie and he said that I'm stupid and I said so Alyssa is smart because she hoards ice cream and he said yes dumb girls go eat rice cakes and I said oh I see how it is and he said go scatt and I said okay yes sir and I swallowed my tears of milky opal and moon whatever

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mina-van1104 · 1 year

Text

Went to the movies with Aaron. Watched the new Avatar. The underwater scenes were awesome. Thanks Aaron! My dog (yellow Husky/Shiba Inu mix) Scooter is still recovering from the surgery from Sunday. He still has stitches. Literally spent thousands of dollars last week for my dog. Eventhough I have 2 part time jobs I’m really broke this month so if you can, anything can help no matter how small.

I’ve been feeling really down & depressed lately & this year, 1 of my aunts passed away in June, then 1 of my cats died in July, 1 of my best white neighbor friends I’m close to was diagnosed with cancer these past few months. 😭💔I’m really sad.

😭My dog being hurt was the scariest experiences last Sunday & then how I was treated at the Pet Hospital. Very rude, unprofessional ladies in front desk of Blue Pearl Pet Hospital. My dog is stable & today, I think he finally stopped bleeding even with his stitches- which the doctor said was normal.

It’s been an extra emotional year & extra stressful this year. Needing some prayers & needing more good luck for me & my dog. 🙏 Spread kindness. Proud nurse, coach. Nevada born & raised family living in Nevada for 43 years. 17 years as an Elite long distance runner.

Also, 😭 Rest in Peace to tWitch (Stephen ‘tWitch’ Boss) from the Ellen Degeneres Show. I remember 1st loving tWitch years ago in 2008 on “So You Think You Can Dance.” He seriously was my favorite. Rest in power. I loved him. He brought so much joy, laughter, & love. Such a good dancer. Listening & singing on key to old Taylor Swift songs to get over this tough year.

✞♡ # Selfie # NativeNevadan # JesusChrist ✝️🦂 # ProChoice (though, in politics) # Nurse # Coach # Healthcare # Running 🏃🏻‍♀️ # PositiveVibes # LoveDrivesOutFear # NevadaBornAndRaised # NevadaNative # athletic 🐾🏃🏻‍♀️💪🏼# HomeMeansNevada # Nevada # UNRnevadaAlumnaMay2016🎓 🐾 # PostUniversityGraduate 🎓 # Overachiever # WolfPackAlumna 🐾 # BachelorsHealthScience # PublicHealth 🐺 # 3CollegeDegrees # 3ExtraMedicalLicenses # AlreadyAllAchieved # TrueAccomplishments # integrity

•2019:Older sister Catherine Van&Adam Schwartz’s Wedding&their website on: https://www.theknot.com/us/catherine-van-and-adam-schwartz-aug-2019•Reminiscing more than 200 people came.

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hotcoffeetransformation · 3 years

Text

Jason swore loudly and had to resist the urge to throw his controller down, pissed that he kept dying cause of the game's stupid glitches (Also known as own mistakes). Still, he regained his composure, and smiled before saying

"Alright chat, we're gonna finish up this one and then we're gonna move on to another game. There should be a poll on top for what we do next"

Jason was a moderately successfully game streamer, averaging about 200 to 300 viewers a night, entirely based on his wit and skill. He knew for sure that they weren't coming for his looks, given his weedy, thin frame, overly pimpled face and large, nerdy glasses. Still, it was enough for him, and he was happy with the progress that he'd made.

As Jason got himself set up for the next game, he heard a shocking sound from above him. The victory theme from one of his favorite JRPGs was blaring through the speakers, and he came up, staring at the screen in shock. He knew what that sound meant. That meant someone had tipped him one thousand dollars, completely out of nowhere.

He looked in shock at the notification on the stream, seeing that it was from someone named JockBro69, with the simple message "Can't wait to get to know you better, cutie~"

Jason was completely stunned. Not only had someone actually redeemed the donation goal that he set as a joke (That being that whoever was stupid enough to tip 1000 dollars got to have a 15 minute private chat with him), it was also someone that he'd never seen in his chat before.

Thoroughly weirded out, but knowing that he had to honor his commitment, he sent the guy a quick private message.

"Dude, I don't know how to thank you enough! Guess I'll see ya pretty soon!"

With that, he sent the man his private zoom link, and said goodbye to the chat, who were still going wild over this turn of events, before pausing,the stream and hopping over to discord for the call.

Not two seconds after his stream stopped, he got a requested video call on discord from the guy, and he opened it up, giving a second for the video to load, but when it did, he was completely dumbfounded again. He was expecting the mysterious donator to be some fat, sweaty silicon valley nerd with too much and money on his hands, but instead what met him was possibly the hottest man he's ever seen, standing up and looking down at his webcam with a friendly expression.

"Fuck, bro! Its so good to finally fucking meet you, I've been such a big fan for a long time, and this is a really big deal for me~

The man had a deep, rumbling, pleasant voice, that shot straight down Jacob's spine and left him feeling strangely... inadequate. Like the fact that his voice wasn't as smooth or melodic as this guy's was his fault, and he should be ashamed of that fact. Still, this guy was pretty pleasant to look at, Jason had to admit. He wasn't gay, definitely not, but he could acknowledge when another guy simply looked good.

Jason scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, not entirely sure of what he should do or say. Still, this guy spent 1000 dollars on this meeting, so he had to try anyway.

"So, umm.... I see your username is jockbro69... What's your actual name thought? I don't think I've ever seen you in chat before..."

The other man actually laughed at this, before looking confused and saying

"What are you talking about bro? Its me, Ethan! I'm in your chat all the time! Man, I guess what they say about playing games so much is true, huh?"

At this statement, Jason actually went pale with shock. THIS was Ethan? This was the guy who's username used to be runningLink? Who was an active fan of the zelda series, constantly begged Jason to play them, and bemoaned the fact that no would date him? It just didn't seem right...

Still, Jason, ever the semi professional, continued on, pretending that he wasn't shocked at the news.

"Well, thanks for supporting me so much! Seriously, this means a lot to me... Ummm... so I guess tell me some of your favorite things about the channel then!"

The man laughed again, the sound coming out in a slow, dumb chuckle, before saying

"What's my favorite thing? Do I even have to say, bro? Its the amazing piece of eye candy I'm looking at right now. You're super hot, bro~"

At this, Jason was shocked, but he chuckled awkwardly while blushing, and said

"Really? I don't think I've ever heard a single person say that before. I guess I consider myself slightly below average..."

The guy looked confused at that, before pressing on

"Really, bro? You look super hot to me, you got those bright, blinding blue eyes that you can just get lost in~"

At this point, Jason knew the man was just messing with him. His eyes have always, and will always be a dark, muddy brown, hidden behind his massive frames. Jason was about to respond, when Ethan continued

"Yeah, and you got that super stylish haircut too, really makes you look super masculine~"

Now Jason was REALLY confused. The guy was right, he did always get complements on his eyes, the bright, shocking blue visible and striking even through his huge glasses. But his hair was always a long, unkempt greasy mess.

"Ethan, are you sure you're okay, you're not just seeing things? Cause I don't know what you're talking about"

Ethan ignored the comment, just continuing to press on

"And you've got that hot, manly face, with your strong jaw and amazing profile"

Jason was confused again. Sure, his stylish haircut did help him look much better, but his face had always been pretty androgynous, with hints of baby fat still present in his cheeks. Again, before he could interrupt, Ethan continued,

"And you've got that smooth smooth skin, that hot stubble, that sexy smirk of yours. You're the full package bro~"

Jason laughed at this. Ethan was clearly being way too complementary. Sure his face had a great shape to it, with strong cheekbones and a square jaw, but his skin was still acne marked as hell, his smile was crooked and awkward, and he'd never been able to grow any facial hair, no matter how much he tried.

"I really have no idea what you're talking about Ethan. Sure I've got some good features, but the overall package isn't much to write home about~"

Ethan smirked again, his eyes lighting up with humor, as if he knew something I didn't.

"Nah, bro, you're underselling yourself. Plus, you've got that body~"

"What about my body? I think its pretty average, though I guess I'm a bit on the skinny side..."

Jason looked down at himself, trying to contemplate what Ethan meant. Sure, he'd been blessed with an attractive, manly face, but it didn't change the fact that his body was still below average at best.

"Again, bro! Putting yourself down. You really think those massive logs you have for arms are below average?"

Jason looked down at his skinny arms, and said

"More like logs than twigs man, seriously."

"And what about your legs? You've spent so long working on em, you've got thighs and glutes to kill for~"

Jason laughed again

"I dunno man! Most people say the exact opposite. They say I spend too much time on arms and not enough on my torso and legs. What can I say though? I love having big, beefy arms."

"Of course you do, bro? Who wouldn't? Especially when right in between em, you got your big, pillowy chest, your sexy abs, and your super toned back~"

Jason was seriously starting to wonder if Ethan was on something. Anyone could clearly see from first glance that Jason's body was badly proportioned, his arms and legs being massive from months to years of work, while he neglected his back, pecs and ab muscles. Still, he thought he looked pretty alright honestly.

"And I especially love how you're not only super sexy, you know it and flaunt it~ I don't think I've ever seen you once wear a shirt. The most you'll wear is a necklace, and even then, not like that covers anything, bro~ Only makes you look sexier"

Now here Jason had to disagree. He knew that he had cultivated and developed an amazing body over his years of going to the gym, but that was all for his own personal satisfaction. He never flaunted it unnecessarily, especially not during a stream.

"And I love the fact that you're such a fucking bro, bro. Every other word out of your mouth is bro and dude, you can't go even five minutes without flexing and thinking of fucking, or going to the gym, or hanging out with your other hot bros. We all know that your brain is basically only good for working out and looking hot. No smart's up there. And you've got your deep, sexy voice, too. Makes it even hotter that you're a gay bro, just like me"

Jason HAD to laugh at that. What the guy was saying was just so ridiculous.

"What the hell are you talking about? Look, I know that I like to show off my sexy body a lot, but that doesn't mean I'm some kind of dumb jock. And I'm definitely straight, dude. Don't know why you'd think I'm gay"

Ethan pressed on, completely unabashed by Jason's last comments.

"But you know the best fucking part, bro? Its that power of yours. The fact that any weak ass nerd who looks at you and your huge fucking muscles grows into a hot, dumb bro like us within seconds~"

Jason was busy flexing, staring at his own bicep in awe, as if he was shocked by him impressive he was. He looked up at Ethan blearily, saying

"Sorry, bro, what'd you say? I guess I got a bit fucking distracted. Huhuhu. But who could blame me~"

"Nah, it was nothing bro. You don't need to worry about it. Now should head back to the stream?"

Jason gasped in excitement, having forgotten entirely about the fact that there was a whole stream audience full of lame ass nerds, just ready for him to make as sexy as he and Ethan were.

"You got it bro~ This is gonna be so fucking hot~"

Jason left the call, going back to the stream and restarting, glad to see that a full 300 people were still watching, even through the extended break. The second he turned his camera on, he could see that people were confused for some reason, saying a stranger broke into his house. How stupid could these people be? How did they not recognize him? Still, not like it would matter for long...

"Hey bros! How're we all fucking doing? Welcomes to today's stream..."

He trailed off, looking blankly at the camera, before saying

"You know what? Fuck video games! Who needs them when you can do this~"

And as his pecs bounced and bounced hypnotically, the chat slowly transitioned from messages like "What the fuck is happening?" or "Who is this dumb jock?" to "Fuck, bro! Your pecs look so fucking hot today!" and "Huhuhu, I love making my pecs bounce like Jace's~"

And so the stream continued, Jace showing everyone all the amazing things his body could do, while anyone that was watching, whether they wanted to or not, began to copy him exactly. And as the stream went on, the viewer count rose, and rose, and rose...

#musclegrowth #straight to gay #jockification #himbo tf #jock #muscle

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

could you possibly write something about Sirius & remus dating and remus feeling bad that Sirius keeps paying (since obviously he's big deal NHLer v trainer)

Oof, yes. This was combined with asks for some Coops hurt/comfort where one doesn't want to talk, as well as an argument. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for wealth insecurity, small argument (not a blowout)

Grocery shopping had never been Remus’ favorite thing in the world, but he had to admit it was a lot more fun when everything came with the thrilling reminder that he was living with the love of his life. He got to learn Sirius’ preferences on everything from candles (softer scents, or something woodsy) to towels (as fluffy as humanly possible) and filed every detail away in the little pocket of his brain entirely dedicated to the beautiful man that could reach the top shelves.

“What’s next?” he asked an hour into their latest Target excursion.

Sirius tilted his phone to show the screen. “Sheets.”

“I still can’t believe you had a hole in those and didn’t notice,” Remus said with a shake of his head.

“How do you know it wasn’t your fault?” Sirius countered with a playful quirk of his eyebrow.

“I’m not the one that runs marathons in my sleep,” Remus laughed, standing on his toes to kiss his stubbly cheek. “Oof. Prickly.”

Sirius scrunched his nose. “You like it.”

“Hmm. Perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” he mimicked, bumping Remus’ hip with his own. “What kind do you want?”

Remus shrugged one shoulder as they turned down the next aisle, scanning the shelves of plastic-wrapped packages in a million different patterns. “I like the look of the white ones, but grey or blue could be nice. You?”

“As long as they’re soft and have you in them, I don’t care.”

“Sap,” he teased, though he was unable to fight the blush racing hot up his neck. Sirius didn’t protest; his small, smug smile needed no explanation. Remus pushed the cart slowly down the aisle, making note of the price tags as he went. Sheets were always an expense—not as bad as blankets or, god forbid, a new mattress, but an expense all the same. He had managed to keep his last ones in good condition for almost ten years before they wore out.

The $30 set doesn’t look too bad, but that’s a weird color…Sirius hates microfiber…I’d rather not sleep on puppy print…getting laid on a 1970s paisley pattern would kill me instantly… “How about these?”

He startled and glanced down the aisle, where Sirius was holding a set in faint gray. An unbidden grin pulled at the side of his mouth. “The softest of the bunch, huh?”

“Of course,” Sirius laughed. “Come feel, it’s like heaven.”

Remus pushed off and hopped up on the undercarriage, riding the cart all the way until he reached Sirius’ side; his hand was halfway to the exposed block of fabric when he froze. $186.99, read the price tag below the stack of sheets in varying colors. Almost $200, and the only difference was the softness. “I…” he faltered slightly, looking between Sirius and the sheets for a moment.

“Do you not like them?”

“No, I do,” Remus said as his mind whirred. He had never spent more than a hundred dollars on sheets before. It wasn’t wildly out his budget, especially once he started working with the Lions, but he had always been careful with money. Sirius…Sirius had never had to do that. Never in his life.

“Is it the color? Because they have white ones—”

“It’s 200 dollars,” he almost laughed. Sirius fell quiet in obvious confusion as Remus turned to look at him. “Sirius, those sheets are 200 dollars.”

“Yes?”

“There’s—” Remus broke off again; something a little too much like shame for his liking crawled up his throat. “I—sure, yeah, if you like them.”

“It’s not about what Ilike,” Sirius continued, as if he couldn’t see the discomfort tensing every one of Remus’ muscles. “It’s our bed. I don’t want to get sheets you hate.”

“No, no, they’re nice.” Too nice. Remus forced a smile. “I like them.”

Sirius looked at him for a moment. “Which ones do you prefer?”

The ones that don’t cost the same as my monthly food budget. “Uh, the color threw me off at first,” he said. “The blue ones are better.”

The crease between Sirius’ brows eased by a degree and he kissed Remus’ jaw gently, then switched the sets. “D’accord, mon loup. Whatever makes you happy.”

Remus was as quiet as he could be without arousing suspicion for the rest of the trip. Sirius paid for their things—like always, Remus realized with a turn of his stomach—and helped him carry the bags to the car without another word about the sheets.

He stayed quiet the whole way home.

The shame mounted as they drove. It seemed everything was a sudden, unwelcome reminder of just how different he and Sirius were. Sirius’ family had a chef during his childhood—Remus made himself PB&Js every morning for the entirety of middle school. Sirius had a brand-new car—Remus had never had cause to justify that over public transportation and Uber. It was embarrassing, and Sirius’ unintentional thoughtlessness was more frustrating than he thought it would be.

He didn’t say anything as they pulled up to the house and unloaded their shopping bags; his shirt and jeans itched his skin like sandpaper. Judging from the look on Sirius’ face, he had picked up on Remus’ frustration, but there was no way Remus was going to get into the root of it while he still felt so twitchy.

Damn you and your emotional intelligence, he thought as he slipped past Sirius’ worried glances and up the stairs to their bedroom. Be oblivious for once and let me get through this.

The bed was stripped bare—their duvet and pillows sat in a heap on top of the mattress. Remus thought back to the first night he had slept there, marveling at the cloudlike support on his achy lower back. He had chalked it up to the pure bliss that came with finally having what he really wanted, but his traitorous brain was starting to convince him it wasn’t the joy that made it seem so nice.

He had never gone without food. His parents always made sure he had clothes that mostly fit and the school supplies he needed. They paid for his hockey gear and the team dues until he was old enough to work part-time and start saving his own money; scholarships had always been of a quiet importance in their house. Things got tighter when Jules was born, but they made it work. Remus would always be grateful for that.

Sirius had never had to think about money in that way. Not once.

Remus sighed through his nose as he pulled his battered Wisconsin hoodie over his head and tightened the drawstring of his sweats, letting the comfort envelop him. “It’s not his fault,” he murmured into the mirror. “Don’t get into your head about this.”

Sirius was in the living room when Remus made his way down the stairs with his hands curled into the worn sleeves of the hoodie. He said nothing while Remus began absently cleaning up the scattered items around their junk bowl, though his gaze prickled the back of his neck.

“Mon loup?” came the soft question after two minutes of tense silence.

“Yeah?” he managed around the tightness in his lungs.

He could practically taste Sirius’ hesitation. “Did I—nevermind. Sorry.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” Sirius said again, though he seemed to be folding in on himself. Remus hated seeing him try and take up less space, and hated the idea that he was the one that caused it.

$200. On sheets.

“What’s going on?” Remus asked, leaning back against the countertop.

“No, I just—” Sirius pasted on a smile and cross the room, dropping a tentative kiss to the top of his head as he passed despite the wary look in his eyes. “Just a thought. It’s nothing.”

“You’re upset.”

“No, no, I’m good.”

“Please don’t lie to me.” It came out harsher than intended and Remus winced. “I mean—Sirius, something is obviously bothering you.”

He chewed the inside of his lip for a moment, rubbing his thumbs in small circles over the marble countertop before making brief eye contact. “You’re angry,” he said at last, cautiously. “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” Remus said, then paused. Sirius’ face fell. “Well, I’m a little irritated, but—but it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t be.”

“It’s not stupid.”

Remus swallowed hard at the kicked-puppy look on Sirius’ face. “It is.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said.

And that was…honestly, kind of the worst thing he could say. “You don’t get it,” Remus said, staring at the floor. “Sirius, you just spent 200 dollars on sheets.”

If anything, that seemed to upset him more. “You said you liked them.”

“I—” Remus flailed his hand around. “I do! But Jesus, honey, that’s kind of a lot!”

“We both liked the sheets.”

“I don’t know how to tell you that that’s expensive!” he blurted as the words wormed their way out and hung in the air. “Two hundred dollars might be peanuts to you, but that used to be my food budget for the month!”

“Remus—”

“You have never had to budget a day in your life,” he said, quieter. “Your watch probably cost more than a month’s rent for my apartment, you’ve never taken public transportation—”

“Remus—”

“—and you make millions of dollars every year!” He paused, out of breath, and ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. “Millions, Sirius. And—and now that we’re together, that we’re living together, it’s just really apparent in a way that it wasn’t before.”

Sirius’ throat bobbed. “I wish you had told me at the store.”

“It’s not about the sheets,” Remus laughed, because there was nothing else he could do other than cry. “We have entirely different views of how much money is worth. You can pay for things for me and I can’t do the same for you, and that feels like shit.”

An unsettling quiet blanketed the whole first floor as Sirius stayed very, very still, like a small animal caught in a trap. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he confessed, barely above a whisper. “You’re right. Money is…it’s not something I’ve had to think about, but I like spending it on you.”

“I don’t like being cared for,” Remus forced out around the grate that had been keeping it down. “I don’t like feeling like I can’t support myself, or that I’m a burden on you and especially that I can’t repay that.”

Sirius finally met his eyes, and he looked appalled. “Remus, you’re never a burden.”

“It feels like it.” He was horrified to feel the burn of tears in his eyes. “Sometimes. When—when you buy nice things for me, or we go on nice vacations, or even when you buy groceries for us for the fifth time in a row, it feels like I’m using you for your money.”

“But you’re not.”

“No!” Remus said immediately. “God, no, never. That’s the last thing I want. But I don’t want you to have to change your lifestyle to make it revolve around me, either. I feel like I’m caught in the middle and there’s no good answer.”

Sirius watched him for a moment, the way that always made Remus feel a little bit like a particularly intricate play he was trying to work out. “What did you want to say at the store?”

“I—what?”

“What did you want to say while we were getting the sheets?”

Remus bit his lip in thought. “Those are too expensive, and I think we should get different ones,” he said eventually. “I like the color and the fabric, but I don’t want to spend that much money on sheets when we could do something else with it.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner.” The earnest look on Sirius’ face eased some of the bubbling feelings in his chest. “And I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

“I was embarrassed.”

“…why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing to look at your multi-millionaire boyfriend and say, ‘I can’t afford $200 sheets’, Sirius. It sucks. I feel like I can’t measure up.”

Sirius nodded. “I’ve never judged you for your money, not once. Just for the record. There’s nothing I would rather spend it on than making you happy.”

“I don’t want to be sheltered and provided for.” Remus blinked back the last of the tears and closed his eyes. “I want us to be equals. That’s important to me.”

“Okay.”

“And I don’t know how to fix this right away.”

“I don’t, either.” Warm fingers brushed the back of his hand and he leaned into Sirius without looking. “Can we try and figure it out, though? As a team?”

“Yes, captain,” he snorted, feeling Sirius’ soft huff on the top of his head. They stood silently for a few seconds before Remus let go of his tension with a slow exhale. “I don’t think a joint bank account is a good idea yet, but maybe we can start by alternating who buys groceries? Or something small like that. I don’t want to feel like this anymore, not with you. I love you too much.”

Sirius nuzzled into his hair for a moment before lips pressed against his temple. “How about we start by making the bed?”

The pressure on Remus’ chest eased. Making the bed was easy. They had the exact same method for it, a function of Sirius growing up with a militant mother and Remus’ aunts lovingly terrorizing him into learning how to do hospital corners. It was an olive branch that he could happily accept with a light squeeze around Sirius’ waist. Baby steps, he thought. We’ll deal with the big stuff when we’re better settled. He offered a half-smile to Sirius. “What are we waiting for?”

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #sweater weather #lumosinlove #money talk #hurt/ comfort #angst #argument #sheets

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viastro · 3 years

Text

trailing arbutus | lee juyeon

ミ★ synopsis: you couldn’t help but fall for the boy who offered you his umbrella on that rainy day in the fall.

ミ★ genre: hanahaki!au, best friends to lovers!au, angst, some humor, some fluff

ミ★ warnings: mentions of death, vomiting

ミ★ word count: 5,038

ミ★ pairings: juyeon x gender neutral reader

ミ★ notes: hi guys ! it’s been a while since i released a tbz oneshot so here’s juyeon ! spring break is coming soon and my classes for spring quarter are a lot easier than the classes i was taking during winter quarter, so i should be able to post oneshots more consistently again... i hope </3 AJLEGSBKRJ don’t hold me to that <333 keep your expectations of me very low <333 the flower that juyeon gave yn may seem familiar if you read my minghao oneshot, last a lifetime >:D anyways, i hope you guys enjoy this ! i wish i could’ve spent some more time on it, but alas. make sure to give juyeon lots of love <3

You met Juyeon in the Fall, when the raindrops began to descend down from the sky and you had forgotten to bring your umbrella.

“Fuck me.” You curse under your breath as you see the pellets of rain drop onto the sidewalk before you, wondering why the weather app always seems to fail you in times of need.

You were studying at the library for your biopsychology midterm at the end of the week, as you feel that your apartment has too many distractions. For once in your life, you checked the weather app to see if it would rain, and it said no rain.

It lied.

So now here you are, no umbrella in your hand as you debate on whether to sacrifice your textbook or your bag.

“This textbook was 200 dollars…” You mumble to yourself, now deciding which of the items to ruin. You open up your bag to place the textbook inside, only to pause when you feel a presence beside you. Turning your head, you see an incredibly handsome blonde man standing to your left, holding an opened umbrella above you.

“Don’t ruin your textbook and bag.” He tells you with a small smile, and you raise an eyebrow, looking down at your bag that now holds your giant biopsych book.

“I would’ve only ruined my bag.” You respond, and the pretty man chuckles, pointing at the cloth material of your bag. You purse your lips, coming to terms with the fact that he has made some strong points.

“Take my umbrella.” He says, giving the umbrella he’s holding a slight jiggle. You shake your head, raising your hands up to tell him that it’s fine, only to pause when he places the umbrella handle into the palm of your hand.

“It’s okay, my friend has one anyways. Get home safe!” And with a final smile, he heads back into the library. Leaving you standing at the entrance, in a state of both shock and gratitude as you hold the pretty stranger’s umbrella. You glance back towards the rain, and begin your descent down the stairs, heading back to your apartment.

It’s when you’re close to the trees that you pause, turning to look back towards the library when you realize something.

“I never got his name.” You mutter, before letting out a sigh. You continue on the path towards your apartment building, feeling too lazy to go back and ask for the kind man’s name.

The thought of his smile still lingers in your mind, even when you return to the warmth of your home.

You didn’t see Juyeon for a month afterwards, but you made sure to keep his umbrella with you in case you ran into him on campus again. The day you finally saw the pretty boy again, it was in fact, raining. Except this time, the roles were switched.

You had an umbrella, and he didn’t.

“Rain, I have a love and hate relationship with you.” You state quietly as you walk towards the cafe, umbrella shielding you from getting drenched. The weather app lied to you once again, saying that it was only going to be partly cloudy.

Partly cloudy your ass.

You hold the umbrella that the pretty man gave you a month ago, feeling grateful that you’ve been carrying it on you since that day just in case you ran into him. However, you’ve ended up using it more often than you originally thought you would.

You squint when you see a familiar blonde haired man holding his bag over his head as he walks to his destination. You speed up your pace until you’re close to him, and realize that he’s the pretty stranger from a month ago.

Without a word, you take a few more steps and outstretch the umbrella over his head, and he pauses, turning to look at you. The two of you stop walking, and he tilts his head to the side when he recognizes you, a pretty smile coming over his features.

“Don’t ruin your bag.” You point out with a grin, and he lets out a laugh, nodding his head. He glances up at the umbrella, chuckling when he sees that it’s the same one he gave you that day at the library. Looking back at you he asks, “You kept it?”

You nod your head, an incredulous look coming onto your face. “Of course I did! Why would I get rid of a stranger’s umbrella?”

The man purses his lips, before outstretching his hand in your direction. “Hi, I’m Lee Juyeon.”

You smile, now knowing the name of the kind man as you reach out and grasp his hand, giving it a slight squeeze. “I’m yn yln.”

A year since that fateful encounter, you and Juyeon are walking towards his apartment underneath a shared umbrella. The rain falls softly against the clear plastic, and you watch as the droplets fall off the sides and onto the ground.

“Always so intrigued by the rain, huh?” Juyeon asks you with a grin, making you turn and look at his face. He dyed his hair black a few months after the two of you became friends, having had Changmin color it for him. However, with the boxed bleach you hold in the shopping bag as the two of you walk, you know Juyeon’s hair is about to be fried.

“The rain is nice when I’m not getting wet.” You respond with a nudge, and Juyeon chuckles, nodding his head in agreement. You both turn into the apartment building entrance, with the black haired beauty shaking the umbrella to remove the excess water.

“Are you sure you want to bleach your hair again?” You ask once the two of you enter the elevator, and he nods his head as he wraps up the umbrella. “Yeah, I miss the blonde.”

Pursing your lips at the thought of Juyeon possibly going bald, you decide to press more, “Your hair could end up being absolutely fried.”

Your pretty friend simply shrugs his shoulders, taking a photo of the boxed bleach in the bag that you’re holding. You let out a sigh when the elevator doors open and you both step out, wondering how he manages to just not care about anything.

“Okay, I have another question.” You state as the two of you walk up to Juyeon’s apartment door. He raises an eyebrow at you as he turns the key, letting you step in first. “Mm?”

“Are you sure you want me to bleach your hair for you? Do you remember the last time I tried to dye Changmin’s hair pink?” Juyeon just chuckles at the tragic memory, shrugging off his coat and placing it onto the rack. He stretches his hand out to you, and you hand him your own jacket, watching as he places it beside his own.

“Yeah. I trust you, yn.” Juyeon tells you as he walks off towards the bathroom, stretching his arms over his head as he does so. Your eyes catch the sliver of skin that appears when his shirt rides up, and you immediately turn away, letting out a frustrated breath as warmth floods your face.

“You really shouldn’t have this much trust in me.” You mutter, following after the pretty man. The two of you set up the bathroom, with you preparing the bleach solution and Juyeon placing newspapers onto the floor.

“You ready?” Juyeon glances up from his phone and into the mirror, sending you a grin that makes your heart palpitate within your chest. “Of course.”

You place the brush with the bleach concoction onto a few strands of Juyeon’s hair, wincing at the image of your pretty friend going bald because of how often he colors his hair. Juyeon raises an eyebrow at the furrow to your brows and the pout to your lips, letting out a chuckle as he turns around and rests his hand on your head.

You snap out of the trance of a bald Juyeon, just to find your best friend staring at you with an amused expression on his face. With his thumb, he reaches down and swipes the crease between your eyebrows until it goes away. He gives you a kind smile once his hand lowers back down to his lap, “Why did it look like you stepped in a pile of dog poop as you started to bleach my hair?”

You don’t answer for a moment as you return to placing the bleach onto the ends of Juyeon’s hair, warmth flooding your face at the physical contact that lasted very briefly but sent your heart spiraling. Juyeon watches you in the mirror, awaiting your answer.

These feelings have to stop before it’s too late, You think to yourself once you feel yourself begin to calm down. It wasn’t shocking to you that you felt a bit attracted to Juyeon, as he is incredibly handsome and has a precious personality to match. What was surprising, albeit a bit scary, is that your attraction for Juyeon didn’t dwindle as the two of you became closer over a span of a year. In fact, it’s only grown since then.

But that is one of the few facts that you refuse to acknowledge.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you take out a comb and part another section of Juyeon’s hair and finally glance up into his eyes in the mirror with a playful smile.

“Cause I thought of how you’d look bald.”

Juyeon scoffs, eliciting a giggle out of you when you take note of his own expression turning a bit sour from the image appearing in his mind.

“If I go bald, I’m blaming you.”

“You just said you trusted me!”

“Yeah, well. That was before you placed the image of me being bald in my head.” Juyeon says, laughing when he sees you biting the inside of your cheek to hold back your own chuckles. He nudges you slightly, and your laughter pours out, mixing with his own as you continue to bleach his hair.

The previous worries you had slowly melt away, but inch back towards the surface each time you lock eyes with your best friend.

You scroll through your phone, looking through Twitter to try and find memes as you wait for Changmin to come for your guys’ weekly lunch run. Your thumb halts its sweeping movement when you feel a presence standing before you, and you glance up to see Juyeon staring at you with a smile on his face.

Immediately you frown, “What are you doing here?”

Juyeon’s eyebrows furrow in response to your unenthusiastic reaction. He runs a hand through his blonde hair, “Changmin has to stay after at practice because he needs to help fix the choreo. He told me he texted you, but you didn’t respond.”

You purse your lips, going to the messages app to see that you did, in fact, completely miss Changmin’s message that he couldn’t make it and that Juyeon will be his replacement for the week. You grin when your eyes land on the last text.

changmin: this is only a one time thing ! no one can ever replace me on our weekly lunch extravaganzas >:DD

“Mmm.” You mutter, placing your phone into your pocket and looking up at Juyeon, who is squinting at you.

“What?”

“Why are you so unhappy that you’re eating lunch with me and not Changmin?” Juyeon asks, and you smile, beginning to walk towards McDonalds without answering his question. The blonde just stares after you with an amused smile on his face, watching as you turn back towards him and cup your hands around your mouth.

“Changmin is more entertaining!”

Juyeon’s mouth drops open at your words, and you let out a loud laugh at how offended he looks. He points towards you with a competitive grin on his face, and your eyes widen when you realize what that look means.

“Juyeon, no.” He simply starts running after you without a response, making you elicit a squeal as you begin to sprint away. The two of you run through campus, ignoring all the other students around you as you let out bright laughs while listening to Juyeon’s shouts.

“You’ll NEVER CATCH ME ALIVE!”

You suddenly feel your wrist get grabbed, and you’re pulled back into Juyeon’s body as he laughs, staring into your eyes with all the stars in the universe. Warmth floods your face from the close proximity between the two of you, wondering if he’s even affected by this as he looks at you.

“I caught you alive.” Juyeon states with a grin, pulling back and raising his arms up as he stretches. It takes you a moment to answer as you wait for your heart to calm down, before rolling your eyes and nudging him.

“Whatever. You got a head start.”

“You literally ran before I even chased after you.” You simply shrug your shoulders, and Juyeon lets out a chuckle as the two of you peacefully walk towards the fast food franchise.

“You still think Changmin is more fun than me?” Juyeon asks as the two of you pass the flower shop, signaling that you’re close to McDonalds and closer to eating very unhealthy french fries. Biting the inside of your cheek, you respond, “I think you’re both equally fun.”

When you don’t hear a reply from Juyeon, you turn your head and realize that the blonde is no longer walking alongside you. You glance back to see him standing by a bucket that holds a few flowers, and you raise an eyebrow when he tentatively lifts a pale pink blossom out.

Juyeon walks back over to you with a friendly smile on his face, and you open your mouth to ask what it is, only to pause when he reaches out and tucks the fragile flower behind your ear. You look into his eyes to search for an answer as to why, but you fail to find it.

Juyeon looks away from you first, pointing towards the direction of the McDonalds. “Let’s go get lunch, yn.”

You nod your head slowly, and the two of you walk side by side to the fast food establishment, all while you try to calm down your racing heart. In your head you’re just repeating to yourself the same sentence like a mantra to try to remind yourself not to overthink the action.

he doesn’t like you, he doesn’t like you, he doesn’t like you. stop these feelings before it’s too late.

It’s only later when you’re alone in your bathroom throwing up the familiar pale pink petals that you realize,

it’s too late.

“What ramen do you think yn would like better?” Changmin asks Juyeon as the two walk around the convenient store to buy groceries for you. The blonde glances over at his friend, pointing at the shin ramen, “That one. It’s yn’s favorite, they always make it for me when I visit.”

Changmin purses his lips, grinning to himself as he places the packet into the basket he’s holding. Juyeon takes notice of the knowing smile on the black haired beauty’s face, and he nudges him, causing Changmin to chuckle. “Why are you smiling?”

“Cause your love for yn is showing.” Changmin responds, and Juyeon bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head at him. The blonde turns back towards the arrangement of items, grabbing a few of your favorite snacks and placing them into the basket.

“I don’t even know what love is.” Juyeon mutters as he grabs one more pack of ramen and throws it into the basket. Changmin purses his lips, choosing not to respond as the two walk to the checkout.

You haven’t been going to classes, nor have you been texting Changmin or Juyeon for the last few days. Juyeon remembered the time you got sick and didn’t text either of them a few months ago, so he realized you must be doing the same thing right now. That’s why he dragged Changmin to the convenience store to prepare a care package for you, knowing that you don’t take proper care of yourself when you have a cold.

“You sure you can’t come with me to yn’s? I think you’d make them feel better.” Changmin says, promptly changing the topic as they place everything onto the counter. Juyeon purses his lips a bit, wishing he could come and visit, but he already agreed to practice with the new recruits of the dance team.

“I can’t back out of plans an hour before, so I’ll just pay for all the groceries.” Juyeon responds as taps his card on the reader, watching as the payment goes through and placing the card back into his wallet. They both grin at the cashier as they hand them their bags, before walking out of the convenience store.

“Text me when you get to yn’s, I’ll try to visit after practice.” Juyeon tells Changmin, and the younger nods his head. The blonde waves his hand at his friend, before turning and heading towards the university.

Juyeon glances up towards the grey sky as he walks, finding that his thoughts are only flooded with you as he does so.

He comes to wonder when his heart began to beat faster whenever he saw you.

“Yn! Let me in!” You don’t move to answer the door, continuing to sit by your living room window, staring out at the city below. Coughing slightly, you reach over and grab your cup of tea, taking a long sip once Changmin’s voice comes to a stop.

It’s only when you hear your door knob jiggle that you turn your head with a frown, seeing your front door open fully to reveal your friend who has a frown on his face. You let out a sigh, and Changmin’s frown deepens as he slips off his shoes and closes the front door, walking towards you.

“How’d you get in?” You ask quietly, only to let out an, ah, when Changmin holds up the spare key you gave him a few months back. He places the bag from the convenience store onto the coffee table, before settling down beside you.

The two of you stay silent for a moment, with Changmin staring at you in concern, and you avoiding eye contact by staring out the window. You bite the inside of your cheek once you feel a tickle in your throat, trying your best not to cough.

“Why didn’t you tell me or Juyeon that you were sick? You did this last time and you got scolded. Now I’m gonna scold you again! You live alone, yn. You should be resting, not making your own food or cleaning.” Changmin says sternly, and you don’t reply with the fear that you may cough out those pale pink petals again.

“Yn.” Changmin states once you don’t answer, leaning a bit closer to look at your face.

“Why are you giving me the silent treatment? You should be giving Juyeon the silent treatment since he didn’t come! Well, he actually paid for the groceries I got for you but-” The words die in Changmin’s throat when you release a cough, and a single petal flies out of your mouth and onto the floor. His eyes widen at the sight, before turning towards you and seeing the tears flooding your eyes.

“Yn…” You bite your bottom lip, before leaning over and resting your forehead onto Changmin’s shoulder.

“What are you going to do?” Changmin asks, wrapping his arms around you and patting your back soothingly. He’s filled with worry as he stares down at the pink petal on the floor, knowing that there’s only two options to handle this disease.

“I don’t know.” You mutter quietly, tears trailing down your face. Changmin bites the inside of his cheek, pulling you closer and holding you.

“I don’t know what hurts more,” You begin, squeezing your fists tightly at the thought that comes to mind. “The petals that I keep coughing up.”

You cough again, fortunately no petals escape as you pull back from Changmin’s embrace to look at him. He reaches out and pats your head, and you harshly bite your bottom lip when the thought of those sparkly eyes comes to mind as you say,

“Or the fact that Juyeon doesn’t love me back.”

You walk around campus with your mask over your mouth and nose, feeling grateful that you haven’t coughed up any petals throughout any of your classes. Glancing up at the sky, you see the various shades of pink and blue, your heart feeling heavy at the beautiful sight.

“Yn!” Your eyes widen when you hear that familiar voice, but you refuse to turn around, continuing to walk as if you never heard it.

“Yn! Wait!” You speed up your pace, panicking when the sound of footsteps draws closer. You’re about to break out into a full on sprint when Juyeon runs around you, forcing you to halt your movements as you stare at him with wide eyes.

“Didn’t you hear me calling for you? You haven’t been responding to my texts for the last week.” Juyeon says as his chest goes up and down, trying to catch his breath from having to run to you. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head as you attempt to pretend that you’re okay. “Sorry, I’ve been avoiding looking at my phone cause it strains my eyes.”

Juyeon nods his head, understanding what you mean as you just got over being sick. “Changmin told me that you had a fever and just slept the whole time when he came to see you a couple days ago, are you feeling better now?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod and flash Juyeon the brightest eye smile you can muster. He squints at you, before reaching his hand up and resting it on your forehead to check your temperature. You freeze, warmth flooding your face from the contact, only to pause when you feel your throat begin to tickle with that dreadful feeling.

“Your forehead isn’t hot, so I suppose you weren’t- Yn?” Juyeon’s eyes fill with concern at the sight of your eyes turning watery. He takes a step closer but you raise your hand up to stop him, feeling the petals begin to climb up your throat as you turn and run away from Juyeon without another word. Juyeon’s eyes widen, “Yn!”

Feeling the tears fall past your eyes at the calls of your name, you sprint away, trying your best to hold back the flowers that threaten to escape, but to no avail. Finding it harder to breathe, you remove your mask as you run, releasing a few of the petals that were stuck in the cloth. Your chest burns, your heart hurts, everything is in pain as you run away from the one you love.

“Yn..” Juyeon mutters, stopping himself from chasing after you when he realizes you have no plans of stopping. He watches as your figure gets smaller, only to squint when he catches sight of something pink flowing with the wind from behind you.

Juyeon’s heart stops in his chest when it floats in his direction, and he stretches his arm towards it, watching as the pale pink petal softly falls onto the palm of his hand. He knows this flower, and as he looks back up in the direction you ran in, he feels his heart break for the first time when he makes the connection of where the fragile petal came from.

Changmin watches from across the studio as Juyeon keeps making mistakes in the choreography, something the dancer rarely ever does. However, over the last few days, it’s been happening consistently. No matter how many times Changmin reteaches the choreo to Juyeon step by step, he still makes a mistake the next day.

“Juyeon, you keep making mistakes.” Changmin says as he pauses the music, turning to look at his best friend. The blonde simply breathes heavily, staring down at the floor while he tries to sort out his thoughts. Changmin frowns, stepping forward towards his friend, “Juyeon.”

“Yn ran away from me the other day.” Juyeon starts, a furrow to his brow as he remembers the look of fear in your eyes. He bites his bottom lip harshly, before looking up at Changmin, seeing the dread on his friend’s face, “A pink petal flew towards me from their direction.”

“Juyeon-”

“It had to have been one of the flowers that grow in the square, right?” Juyeon asks with tears filling his eyes, stepping towards Changmin as he squeezes his fists at his sides. The black haired beauty tries his best to hold back from crying as he simply shakes his head, no.

“They have hanahaki, Juyeon.” Changmin states, tears escaping his own eyes from finally confessing the truth that’s been haunting him for the last week. The two stay silent for a moment, letting the information sink in as Juyeon slowly slides down onto the floor.

“Is it me?” Juyeon asks in a soft voice as he looks up from the wooden floor, Changmin lets out a bittersweet smile at the question, looking away from the blonde as his own heart breaks within his chest.

“It is.” Changmin answers quietly, rubbing his chest in an attempt to ease the pain. Juyeon slowly stands up from the floor, eyes wide as he stares at his friend. Changmin turns to look at the blonde, eyebrows furrowing at the shocked expression on Juyeon’s face.

“What is it-”

“How long has it been since the last time yn coughed up flowers?” Changmin purses his lips, remembering how you mentioned you haven’t coughed anything since the day you ran into Juyeon. “I don’t know, a week?”

Changmin pauses, suddenly realizing what Juyeon’s thinking when his eyes widen as he connects the dots. Hope floods his chest as he stares at his friend, feeling relieved that you’re going to be okay. Juyeon turns and looks out the window of the studio, seeing the rain fall from the sky, and he quickly walks over and grabs his sweatshirt and umbrella.

“Where are you going? We just realized something huge!” Changmin shouts when he watches Juyeon walk towards the door. The blonde simply turns back towards his friend, giving him a small smile,

“It’s raining, yn must’ve forgotten their umbrella.”

“I forgot my umbrella.” You mutter, staring up at the blue sky from the convenience store entrance. The raindrops fall hard onto the pavement, making you let out a sigh. You turn to glance back inside the convenience store, debating on buying one even though you have at least four back at your apartment. You look down at the bag in your hand, seeing the ramen and tea you bought in an attempt to soothe your throat.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you remember that your days are limited as you watch the raindrops fall from the sky. With that in mind, you step out of the protection you had from the convenience store, and let the rain hit you as you walk towards your apartment, convenience store bag in tow as you do so.

As your clothes slowly become soaked, you can’t help but think of how you met Juyeon. The kind guy who gave you his umbrella on that rainy day. You let out a bittersweet smile, knowing that it was inevitable for you to fall for the man.

You halt your movements, suddenly realizing the fact that you haven’t coughed up flowers in almost a week. Your eyes widen, heart beating rapidly against your chest as the bag of groceries you were holding falls to the ground.

You scramble to grab your phone from your pocket, quickly unlocking your phone to dial Juyeon’s number as tears fill your eyes. You listen to it ring, quietly muttering to yourself for him to pick up the call, needing to know if this is real.

“Hello?”

“Juyeon! Where-”

“You didn’t bring an umbrella again?” You squint, wondering how he knows that as you look up from the ground, only for your mouth to fall open when you see him standing a few feet away from you, umbrella in hand. You take note of the rise and fall to his chest, seeing that he must’ve ran here from dance practice as the two of you stare at each other.

You let out a wet laugh, tears falling from your eyes as you stare at Juyeon, nodding your head as you adjust the phone to your ear. “You know me, I always forget. That’s why you’re there to save me from the rain each time.”

Juyeon smiles in response, tears spilling and flowing down his face. He reaches up in an attempt to wipe it away, laughing quietly as he stares at you, a look of remorse in his gaze. Feeling grateful that he was able to realize his feelings for you, but regretful that you had to experience so much pain before he did so.

“I’m sorry I didn’t save you sooner, I wasn’t sure what the weather was going to be.” Juyeon mutters, and you bite the inside of your cheek, understanding what he truly means. You give him a grin, before opening your arms and gesturing to your guys surroundings as the rain begins to fall softer from the sky.

“It’s okay, you came just in time.” You say, wiping away the mix of tears and rain from your face. Juyeon walks towards you, stopping when the umbrella is hovering over the two of you, blocking you from the rain.

“I love you.” Juyeon confesses, and you bite the inside of your cheek, nodding your head as the tears fall from your eyes once again. He reaches out and softly wipes it away with his thumb, letting his warm hand remain on your cheek as he stares into your eyes.

As the rain continues to fall from the sky on this sunny Spring day, a rainbow forms above you and Juyeon as you let out a smile, leaning into his touch when you say,

“I love you too, Juyeon.”

trailing arbutus: if given the pale pink blossom, it means you are the only one they love. a promise that the love they have for you will not only be warm, but will last a lifetime.

#lee juyeon x reader #juyeon x reader #the boyz scenarios #the boyz oneshots #lee juyeon scenarios #juyeon scenarios #lee juyeon fluff #lee juyeon angst #lee juyeon #juyeon #juyeon fluff #juyeon angst #lee juyeon humor #the boyz

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thunderheadfred · 3 years

Text

❄️Todoroki HC's🔥

Aged-up pro hero Shouto. NSFW under the cut. Minors do not interact.

- - -

General

Might as well be tied with Bakugou for the #1 pro hero spot; they seem to pass the crown back and forth every other year. Everyone knows about their intense frenemies uber-rivalry. Well. Everyone but Shouto.

He's asked to speak at a lot of charity events. If he has time to prepare (and hire a speech writer) he is capable of stirring crowds to standing ovations. But if caught unawares... he gets cornered into hilarious on-the-spot interviews. He's been memed. Mercilessly.

He's an OP character, but unfortunately he rolled -500 in fashion sense. Eventually he wises up and hires a stylist. When he finally cuts his hair a slightly different and even more flattering way, it's a national event. People faint in the street.

Does god-awful sleight-of-hand magic tricks when he meets young fans, even though nobody asked him to. The second-hand embarrassment is palpable. But he keeps doing it. God, why does he keep doing it?

Has hovering arm syndrome in every fan photo.

Super into pop music. Not a fan of any particular group or artist, couldn't tell you the name of a single song. But every time he turns up the volume on the radio it's like... really? THIS? Probably pumps that shit through his hero agency to keep up morale. Has no idea what you mean when you tell him his music taste doesn't match his personality.

Similarly, he enjoys brainless romantic comedies and old silent movies. Doesn't laugh at jokes but loses it over physical comedy. Thinks Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd are the funniest people who ever walked the earth.

He's long and limber. Runs practically a hundred miles every day just to "relax." Doesn't even get sweaty doing it. A filthy yoga addict. He'll probably live to be 200 years old.

He can regulate his body temperature for quirk use but in everyday life he's always half a degree outside the Goldilocks zone. It drives him quietly insane; he has an epic love-hate relationship with his thermostat.

Has a therapy animal pet. Doesn't matter if it's a dog or a cat or a bird or an iguana or a teeny tiny rodent. It's the best-behaved animal in the country and speaks more languages than you. It has its own room and an instagram account with millions of followers.

Lives in a traditional Japanese estate that doubles as a national treasure. Probably has government-appointed snipers at the gate, and he's just like, "don't worry about it." You are afraid to touch anything. Fuck, don't even look at anything, just to be safe.

Has an outstanding personal chef who only gets to cook five things unless (thank fuck!!) company comes over. Impossibly picky eater. He rotates between a few "safe" foods and suspiciously side-eyes everything else. If you cook something unfamiliar for him it will be the most awkward meal of your life, because he'd never tell you he doesn't like it. But oh lord, just look at his face.

This clashes directly with his love of traveling. Frequently uses his hero earnings to visit exotic foreign locales over long weekends... but rarely tries the food.

- - -

Dating

A grey-ace demisexual disaster. You could count the number of people he's been attracted to on one hand. He falls madly in love every time and always gets his heart smashed to pieces when his crush can't magically intuit the meaning of his frigid longing glances and generically courteous romantic gestures.

Which is stupid, because he gets propositioned constantly. He can't walk out the door without being flirted with. People keep slipping him their phone numbers and he always directs them to his agency like a moron. It's a good thing he will never understand how attractive he is because that's the only thing keeping him from total world domination.

Conventional attractiveness does not compute. Shouto doesn't have a type, doesn't care that he's an eleven whilst you are merely mortal. He will fall for your personality above all else.

Probably falls head over heels because your schedules overlap in a completely ordinary way and he witnesses you doing something endearing or brave or most likely: utterly mundane.

Pick a favorite, because you're his favorite coworker, or his favorite barista, or his favorite random bystander in line at the grocery store. You made him smile once; then he spent the next three months daydreaming about your future together before you accidentally stomped on his foot, initiating your first real conversation.

He's big on healthy communication. HUGE. He goes to therapy and it shows. Will talk through literally everything to the point of delirium. Sometimes his dedication to resolving every issue right away can get overwhelming; sometimes you just need some frickin time alone. But it pays off, because the two of you have practically never have a "real fight." There's just no way for bad vibes to fester.

STILL, his family wasn't exactly... erm... verbally or emotionally supportive, shall we say. For that reason, he might not give you all the compliments you deserve, because it simply doesn't occur to him to do so. He assumes you know how he feels. If you're self-conscious or insecure in the relationship, it might take him a while to notice. But when he figures it out (or even better, when you tell him directly) he will make it up to you with enthusiasm.

Will take you on lavish dates. Spoils you rotten without actually intending to. He's clueless about money. If you wanted a sugar daddy, you just hit the fucking jackpot. But if the word valet makes you uncomfortable, perhaps suggest some romantic picnics instead. He can still go all out with the food and five-star location without making you see cartoon dollar signs.

Chronic Insomniac. Stays up too late watching YouTube every night. His viewing history is an incomprehensible blur of k-pop music videos, serial killer icebergs, and super girly crafty ASMR channels. When he's watching a video, he is unreachable. Please call back later and try again.

He's disgustingly cute when he sleeps. Doesn't snore, but drools. Sometimes the drool freezes and leaves frost trails on his face in the morning. Still sleeps with the giant stuffed cat pillow that his mother gave him when he was like, zero. He'll inadvertently suffocate you with it, and you will welcome death with open arms because awwwwww!!!!!

The first time he tells you he loves you will be after your traditional Japanese shinto wedding. You won't hear it again until you start a family. Honestly, it's a good thing he doesn't say it often and is always holding you when it happens. It's a knee-buckler.

- - -

Icy-Hot

I don't even need to say it. Shouto is as old-fashioned as they come. You will never open another door or pull out another chair for yourself as long as you live. He will ask before he holds your hand. He will ask before he kisses you. He will stop and check in if you so much as breathe funny during sex.

If you don't orgasm at exactly the same time while staring into one another's eyes, he'll consider himself a failed lover. God forbid you want him to pound you into the futon... cause you are going to have to present that scenario to him in writing first.

Physical intimacy rarely leads to sex. He loves cuddling, craves physical affection. He'll sprawl all over you and turn into goo while you hold him close. He's an amazing, astounding, phenomenally good kisser. And that's... nice and all... but sometimes you have to grab his face and say, "Shouto, I'm horny," before he's like so that's why you're currently dry-humping me?

Even if he isn't technically a virgin the first time (or the millionth time) you sleep together, you won't know the difference. He's a blushing violet. Every. Fucking. Time. This doesn't mean he's a bad lay, oh no. But there's always ten minutes of confused bumbling before he hits his stride and remembers oh yeah, I DO know how to fuck good.

Absolutely silent during sex. Focused. Intense. Sometimes you have to push him a little to make any kind of noise at all, just so you know you're pleasing him (oh don't worry, you are).

His cock is Just Right. Not to big or too small. Perfectly proportioned and symmetrical. Somehow pretty. Like a fucking factory prototype. It truly is not fair.

Gets handsy and restless at night, even if you both have work the next day. Seems to crave sex at three in the morning. You've given him more than one exhausted handjob.

Gets offended if you don't cum. Will go down on you for hours. Of course he uses his quirk to tease you. He doesn't typically use it during actual intercourse, but he's all about foreplay, and he'll use every tool in his arsenal.

His sex drive is completely fucking unpredictable. Sometimes he's all over you, other times he's an icy slab. His line of work leaves him busy and stressed on a near-constant basis, so you can't entirely blame his personality for this one. Just give him some time and help him take care of his basic needs. He'll come back around soon enough.

#todoroki shouto #todoroki x you #todoroki x reader #todoroki x y/n #gender neutral reader #todoroki headcanons #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #smut #fred writes #bnha #mha

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darkshinsou · 3 years

Text

Sakusa Kiyoomi, Akaashi Keiji, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Kageyama Tobio, Miya Osamu, Suna Rintorū and Their Hands HCs

This is part two

Warnings: none, pure fluff

Sakusa Kiyoomi:

Sakusa's hands are long, semi-thick, and veiny

He takes good care of his hands, just like the rest of his body

He also wears a ring or two every once in a while

His hands are just so much different then yours

He love that, though

He also loves to keep his hand(s) at your hips at all times

Steering you clear of people and making sure he doesn't lose you, you guys talk

Until you see your favorite makeup store

Squealing, you drag Sakusa in and right into the nail polish aisle

"So many pretty colors, Omi! What one should I get?!"

You are so giddy, wanting to know his answer

He points at a dark, almost black, matte blue and you grin, grabbing it and buying as well as some skin care products that Sakusa insisted you get,

"It's good for your face and I saw that you were running low on your other one"

After arriving home, you set down all but one bag and plop into a dining chair

Sakusa joins you and watches as you automatically start painting your nails

You were on your last nail when you suddenly got an idea,

"Omi, can I paint your nails?"

He looks back at you, confused, and shaking his head

"No, y/n"

"Please?" You gave him your best pouty face and he sighs

"Fine."

You grin and let yours dry before doing his

After letting them sit for a while, you finally take Sakusa's hands into yours, expecting to laugh

But, you couldnt

It looked so good

The color suited him and the nail polish somehow made his hands look more masculine

You loved it, and started the tradition of painting his nails once a month

You wanted once a week, but he said that's too much and the other nail polish wouldn't be gone by then

It was interesting to see as Sakusa's hands got prettier and prettier in different colors

Akaashi Keiji:

His hands have got to be the prettiest out of the bunch

Akaashi doesn't do much to them, trimming them every once in a while and applying lotion

But his hands are the softest

Slim, long, and slightly veiny

They are gorgeous

When you're nervous, he let's you play with them

He loves holding your hand

How it seems to wrap around yours so perfectly

You once asked him to wear leather fingerless gloves,

"It's for a cosplay!" You explained

It didn't take much for him to agree

The only problem you had was convincing him to wear the rest of the cosplay

A minute later, he came out and you stared, both turned on and astonished

The turtle neck, leather jacket, and jeans where sexy, no doubt

But his hands

Looked so delectable

It was just so sexy seeing his hands clad in black

And the fact that his long fingers that you loved oh so much looked even longer?

You could've died then and then

But when he tugged the glove down since it wasn't tightened-

Let's just say that you didn't sleep much that night

Ushijima Wakatoshi:

Ushijima's hands are thick and long

They are also very big

Which is great for spiking

But it made you feel so tiny when he held your hand

The difference is huge

His hands are also rough from spiking

It's not that it was bad, but his hand was also starting to blister more easily

So, you decided you would buy him lotion

And that you did

You gave it to him as one of the many gifts for his birthday

And, because it's from you, he wears it everyday

He also likes wearing survival bracelets

Which you introduced him to

They makes his hands look so much more attractive

And makes him very happy

So you looked past the fact that your boyfriend has spent over 200 dollars on bracelets

Oop-

Kageyama Tobio

Kageyama's hands are also very well kept

But, that's because of volleyball

You didn't really mind

As long as he was taking care of himself, there is no problem

Oh, I probably should just mention the fact that his hands

Are so long

That you can't even-

He somehow engulfs your hand with his when you guys are out and about

And it's kind of embarrassing how his hands seem to completely cover yours

His back scratches are also divine

He just knows where all the right spots are

Anyways, back on the self care thing

He kind of sees his hands as top priority

His hands always come first when treating himself

So he was hesitant when you asked if you could cut his nails

But he lost gonner when he saw your puppy eyes

So, with a small container and a set of nail clippers,

You sat on his lap

He watched you intensely as you focused on cutting his nails

Humming to yourself as you go

Kageyama smiles to himself

What was he so worried about?

A few moments later

This.

This is what he was worried about

He winced when you dabbed the wound with rubbing alcohol

"I didn't realize it was that close to your skin...." You mumbled apologetically

He looks up at your face and suddenly, all his anger diminished

You just looked so sad

He brings you into a hug and whispers into your hair,

"It's okay, y/n"

All was forgiving, but he never let you cut his nails again

Miya Osamu:

Miya Obama's hands are shorter than anyone else's on this list

And they are brittled with cuts from cooking

And also rough

But, that just made you all the more happy

'Cause now he comes to you when he cuts himself

Asking you to help him

And you sit down in his lap and apply the rubbing alcohol and bandage, always kissing it after

When he holds your hand, it's just so warm

And you feel so safe

Osamu in general feels like home to you

And you love it when you are cooking and he comes up behind you

Placing his hands on your waist

And if you have music on, he'll most likely hum or song softly into your ear

Whenever you need help with cooking something, he'll place his hands on top of yours

Which is what he is doing now

His hands engulfed yours as you kneaded the dough

Leaning into him and humming to the song softly playing in the background

This was home to you

And you never wanted this moment to end

Osamu let's go of your hand and asks you to grab the flour

Which you happily oblidge to

You start walking back towards him

Until you trip

And spill the flour all over him

You stare at him in shock

And he slowly looks up

He slowly scoops up some flour off the floor

And throws it at you

You narrow your eyes and say,

"Oh, it's on"

This starts the food fight

Which, looking at it now, was a very bad idea

"Let's take a shower and clean it up after" Osamu tells you as he leads you to the shower while holding your hand

Suna Rintarū:

His hands come in third on the pretty scale

Not exactly beefy, not really being veiny, they are right in between long and short

He also applies lotion to his hands, but they are still semi-rough

He loved braiding your hair

And you loved when he massaged your back after a hard day of work

It wasn't often, though

He also loved to knit

Which he picked up after the quarentine

He knitted you a blanket and you love it

So, when you come home from work to see him sitting on the couch knitting, you hurry your pace and change into comfortable clothes before making your way to the living room

Lifting his arms and sitting yourself on his lap, you smile as he gets right back to work

You like watching his hands work

It comforts you

After watching him for a little bit, you yawn, your eyelids getting heavy

Falling asleep, your soft snores make Suna smile

He sets down his knitting tools and wraps his arms around your waist and closes his eyes

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btsmosphere · 3 years

Note

Hey Ru! I wanted to start by saying a massive congratulations on your milestone. Here’s to many more. Could I please request yoongi with the prompt “Bro $200? You’re not a sugar daddy you’re a high fructose corn syrup daddy” thank you! :D

~summary: Yoongi can only resist you for so long when you insist on staying late in his genius lab with that quick-witted mouth. Yoongi x reader Prompt: bro $200? You’re not a sugar daddy you’re a high fructose corn syrup daddy ~word count: 596 ~friends to lovers, idol au, humour Rating: pg13 Warnings: mentions sugar daddies?? ~a/n: Elle, thank you so much!! Love you lots and I hope you enjoy your drabble!

“Just go home if you’re so tired.”

Quickly snapping your mouth shut mid-yawn, you shot a glare at Yoongi’s back. The tapping of his keys never ceased as he stayed bent over his desk.

“I don’t wanna,” you grumbled, sliding further down the sofa.

“You could at least sound a bit more eager to be here, this is the genius lab after all.”

“Yoongi, I’ve seen you leave dishes in here to dry, excuse me if I don’t see it as Disneyland.”

Snorting, Yoongi finally pushed his headphones down around his neck and swung his chair around to look at you.

“Why bother coming then?” he smirked.

“No reason,” you shrugged, avoiding his gaze.

Truth be told, since you had gained genius lab privileges, you had been enjoying your time there. Perhaps a little too much. Any time you got the chance to spend time around Yoongi, you would take it, stubbornly ignoring the fluttering of your heart when you were in his presence.

“Is there something you want? I can order takeout to your house.”

“If you want me gone so badly, you’re gonna have to try harder than that,” you laughed, folding your arms.

“Hey! I already spent $200 on dinner the other week,” he leant his elbows on his knees, face drawing closer to yours, “I’m practically your sugar daddy already.”

“Bro $200?” you scoffed, “you’re not a sugar daddy, you’re a high fructose corn syrup daddy.”

Yoongi blinked.

“Did you just call me bro?”

“THAT’s what you took from that?” you sat up, “I just spit fire, why aren’t you writing it down?”

“Well if I’m high fructose corn syrup,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “then you’re a dollar store waffle.”

Gaping, you spluttered in the face of his cool smirk. You held a hand over your heart as he slumped back in his seat, crossing his arms in victory.

“You are cold, Min Yoongi! I never asked to be attacked like this!”

He was already swizzling his chair away from you, but you clearly heard his deadpan response.

“Yes you did .”

“Ugh, I hate you,” you shot back.

“Love you too.”

Just like that, there it was again, that stupid hammering in your chest. If only he wasn’t joking, if only he would say that for real.

Biting your tongue, you fell against the back of the sofa again. To your surprise, as you laid eyes on Yoongi again, you found him closing down his tabs instead of continuing his work. Wasn’t it a bit early for that-?

Screen fading to black, your eyes widened as Yoongi pushed himself from his chair and crossed the room to you.

“Yoongi…?” you frowned.

But under his gaze, you fell silent.

“Y/n, we both know I could give you a lot more than $200,” his voice was low, “but I don’t think that’s why you’re here, is it?”

All words caught in your throat. He moved closer, that intensity never leaving his eyes as he waited for a response. Swallowing hastily, you could only offer a shake of your head.

And then he was right in front of you, breath hot on your face.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” he growled, hand finally breaching the space to meet your jaw, holding it firm as he pressed his lips to yours in a ferocious kiss.

Unable to believe what was happening, you kissed back just as eagerly, melting to his every touch until you were reeling, breaking apart too soon with stilted breaths. A grin slid onto your face.

“So you are glad I came?”

Thank you for reading, and thank you again to elle!!

If anyone wants to play my drabble game, I am still taking requests! Find the post here. You can check out my other drabbles here

Taglist: @aianloveseven @preciouschimine @kb-bangtanenthusiast

#thebtswritersclub #purplearmynet #btscreatorscorner #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi drabble #min yoongi fluff #bts drabbles #bts drabble #yoongi imagine #min yoongi humour #min yoongi scenario #yoongi scenarios #yoongi x reader #yoongi idol au #min yoongi friends to lovers #bts imagine

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gukyi · 4 years

Text

four weeks | kth

summary: four weeks. that’s how long you’re trapped on campus after missing your flight home because of a grossly overtime final. and as you’re walking around your empty campus, thinking that you could sink no lower, you find yourself alone in the art building with a certain freshman-year-dorm-neighbor from hell, and he’s got an offer that you don’t think you can refuse: he’s staying on campus this winter break as well, and he’s happy to let you live with him.

or, four weeks is all it takes to fall in love.

{enemies to lovers!au, roommates!au, college!au}

pairing: art and chemistry double major kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff, angst, comedy, the whole nine!! word count: 20k warnings: alcohol consumption (be safe!), unwanted sexual advances (not between main characters and not at all explicit), and a ton of college tomfoolery. a/n: i’m finally finished with my very first semester of college! it was a lot, but finishing this fic was a treat after my damn finals, which were very stressful. this is part of the stranded for christmas collab, and i’m so honored to be doing this with such amazing, talented writers! please give them and their fics lots of love, and enjoy this super fun train wreck of a fic!

Admittedly, Global Politics in the Twentieth Century has never treated you particularly well.

Your lecturer is about as interesting as grass growing, the readings are low quality scans of book pages with the tiniest font and absolutely no line spacing, and any friends you had in that class in the beginning of the semester dropped out of it by the time mid-September rolled around, leaving you trapped due to societal pressures and a History and Politics general education requirement you still have yet to finish.

But, of all the things you could imagine Global Politics in the Twentieth Century doing to you, like charging you an exorbitant $200 dollars for a textbook you would never open anyway, burning your house down, or even straight up just murdering you, this is by far the worst.

It’s bad enough that your final for Global Politics in the Twentieth Century is on the last possible day for finals at the latest possible time, but when the clock strikes 8:00PM and you have just about fucking had it with this semester, you realize that no one else is standing up.

This panic intensifies as you begin thinking of all of the terrible things that could be the reasoning behind this: you’re just the dumbass who finished their final first and got all of the questions wrong, the clocks have yet to adjust to daylight savings and you think that it’s 8:00PM when really it’s 7:00PM, or, worst of all, your final is running overtime.

You have only ever heard of horror stories about overtime finals. Things like having to cram the next three-hour final into one hour, or having to reschedule the final to some other time that is equally as conflicting. Stuff that is, to a normal human being, a minor to moderate inconvenience at best (and to an overdramatic college student—pure, unadulterated hell), but when this is the last final on the last day at the latest time, there are no other finals to be had. No other school-related scheduling conflicts barreling into you.

It’s just your luck, really, that on the last day of the semester, at the latest time you are allowed to be here, Global Politics in the Twentieth Century would come back to bite you in the ass one last time. As if all the times you dozed off in class (or just plain skipped), forgot to turn in your reading analyses, and showed up late to your recitation are finally catching up to you. Like the very worst kind of karma that could ever befall you.

Well, to be fair, it’s not as if the rest of the day has treated you any better. The entire time you’ve been awake on this fine December day has been an absolute trash can of a day.

This is how the beginning of your very last day of the semester played out:

Your alarm went off at 8:00AM sharp, purposefully set that early so you could wake up and have a productive day studying before your final at 6:00PM.

You hit snooze and ended up waking up around 11:33AM.

You scrambled out of bed very inelegantly and attempted to get your life together before noon so you could at least have six hours worth of a productive study day before your final.

You remembered that you hadn’t packed yet, so you spent the next hour frantically stuffing your belongings into the singular carry-on sized suitcase meant to last you through your month-long winter break.

You also realized that you hadn’t done your laundry for the week (well, week and 6 days…), and you obviously want to bring clean clothes back home so you spend the next two hours doing your laundry and finishing up your packing.

By the time you finally managed to get the time to study, the panic had fully nestled itself into your bones, so you could not focus and spent the next three hours staring at your study guide and praying that osmosis would kick in so you could actually retain information.

You left to go to your final five minutes later than you should have and then ran across campus (with absolutely no dignity left) in order to get there on time.

You arrived at your final just in time, only for there to be technical difficulties with printing the exam because your professor is a procrastinator, just like you are.

The next thirty minutes were then spent contacting the IT department, attempting to fix the printer, having to go print in another building, and then coming back with the final exam to a room of aggravated students who thought that they would be thirty-minutes into the exam by now.

You are taking the final exam. It’s stupid difficult and you’re absolutely going to tank it.

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about half an hour.

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about an hour.

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about an hour and a half.

And on your very last day of the fall semester, your final runs overtime by two whole hours because of some mystic force determined to ruin your life, and your flight heading back home took off fifteen minutes ago.

You know, it could be worse. You could have failed all of your classes. Instead, you paid an exorbitant $500 to miss your flight, fail your Global Politics in the Twentieth Century final, and end up trapped on campus for all of winter break because you don’t have the money to buy another plane ticket at such late notice (or at all).

So, it could be worse.

You trudge out of your final exam and try not to burst into tears on your way back to your dormitory. Barely anybody is left on campus now that finals are officially over, but you still want to save that last shred of dignity. As you’re walking down the pathway, you begin to feel wet splotches on your face. For a moment, you think that they are fat tears rolling down your face, but you look at the cobblestone beneath your feet and realize that instead, it’s raining.

The perfect weather to match your mood, if you’re being honest.

Not wanting to get caught in a downpour, you end up taking refuge in the coffee shop connected to the art building on campus. It’s a genius business design, if you say so yourself, because there is no one more dependent on caffeine than sleep-deprived, eyebag-laden art students. Surprisingly enough, there are still people behind the counter bustling around, so you use the last of your university dollars to order a peppermint hot chocolate to warm your insides (but not your cold, dead soul).

From there, you take a quick detour to explore the art building, a building you have, admittedly, never really taken much of a look at. It must be empty now, with everyone off campus—except you, of course—which gives you the perfect opportunity to wallow in peace while admiring art.

Walking inside, you stare at your reflection in the enormous glass walls. Look at your tired eyes, slouched shoulders, lips pressed thin, and hands warmed only by the heat of your cardboard coffee cup. Count each acne mark and hair out of place. It’s almost like you’re watching yourself as you look in the mirror, a third person standing in the background. The audience. Like the person who’s looking back at you isn’t you at all.

It's quite artistic, actually. Ironically enough.

But no matter how picturesque, how cinematic this particular moment of your life is, nothing can really soothe you after missing your flight, failing your final, and pretty much having the worst day of your entire life.

Just then, you hear footsteps echoing down the halls.

You assume that it must just be a professor leaving their office, or even maybe one of the hardworking security guards, but as you watch the glass walls to catch a glimpse of who's passing by, you realize that it's not a professor, or a security guard, or even a very large mouse scurrying across the floor.

"I thought I would be the last one in here," Kim Taehyung says when he spots you, stopping in his tracks with a canvas about half the size of him underneath his arm.

"So did I," you muse in response, not really wanting to turn around to save yourself the trouble of talking to him.

Still, Kim Taehyung has always been one hell of an observant guy, so by the time he's stopped behind you, he's already peering into the reflection of the glass windows to look at who he's talking to.

"Y/N?" He asks, walking up to you with his eyebrow raised. He comes over, standing next to you as you look at each other's reflections in the glass. "Never thought I'd see you in here."

"Me neither, to be honest," you say. Seeing as you aren't a visual studies major, you never really considered the art building to be a location of top priority. Until now, that is.

The last time you spoke to Kim Taehyung was the last day of your freshman year, when everybody was getting ready to move out, packing up their belongings and removing the fifteen thousand Command hooks stuck to their walls. You and him made eye contact as you placed the last of your boxes for the semester into those enormous Residential Services carts, glaring at each other from your adjacent rooms.

“First year flew by, didn’t it?” Taehyung asks, smirk lacing his features.

“Thank God it’s over,” you tell him.

“Not gonna miss me, huh?” Taehyung winks, and it makes you want to take this cardboard box filled with all of the notebooks and lined paper and folders you used throughout the year and chuck it at his head.

“Miss you?” You ask with a scoff. With the final box finally out of your room, you can officially lock the door behind you, closing the chapter on your very first year at university. “Please. Nothing makes me happier than the fact that I don’t have to live next to you anymore.”

“Why are you still here?” Taehyung asks, tapping his fingers on the side of the canvas underneath his arm. “Thought you’d be off campus by now.”

“I had a late final,” you say, pretending that your life and every aspect of it is fine when it is, in fact, not fine at all. The best case scenario is that Taehyung accepts your bullshit answer for what it is and heads off to do whatever it is that he does, leaving you alone so you can wallow in pity and ponder the meaning of life. The worst case scenario is that Taehyung stays.

And Taehyung has always been very good at picking the latter.

“Ah, sucks, for what class?” Taehyung asks. You can’t tell if he’s genuinely curious or just wants to interrupt your personal self-wallow time for as long as possible.

“Global Politics in the Twentieth Century,” you tell him with a sigh. You don’t want to have to hear, say, read, or write that name ever again.

“Oh, really? I took that class last semester,” Taehyung says with an eyebrow raised, surprised. “I thought it was super interesting.”

As if you needed any more proof that you and Kim Taehyung are exact opposites in every way. You are hardly surprised that Kim Taehyung enjoyed Global Politics in the Twentieth Century—not when the two of them have so much in common, like inconveniencing you, being annoying, and sort of always having it out for you. It’s like they were meant to be together.

“I can’t say I thought the same,” you say pointedly, lips pursed into a tight line.

“Ah, well, I never did peg you for a history buff,” Taehyung says with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Why are you still on campus? I thought art students had to turn in their final projects on the first day of exams,” you ask, turning the focus onto him. It’s obvious that he has no intention of leaving you alone, so your next best option is to interrogate him until the tension between the two of you is so suffocating, so thick and heavy, that he wants to leave.

“I had a couple of chem finals after I finished up my art classes,” Taehyung says. Right. You forgot he was doing a double major. “And, my parents are actually travelling this winter break, so I was planning on staying on campus. Didn’t really want to go back to an empty house, you know?”

After the day you’ve had, you can think of nothing better than opening the door to your home, knowing that you have the entire place to yourself and can spend the night in your bedroom, watching Netflix.

“You’re staying on campus?” You ask. Great. The only two people who will be on campus this winter recess are you and Kim Taehyung. Fantastic.

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, clearly unaffected. He seems particularly unbothered by the fact that he can’t go home, almost like he’s been looking forward to having the entire university to himself. “You’re about to head home, then, aren’t you? Just taking a quick break in the art building?”

Well, almost to himself.

The chances of running into Taehyung this winter break, despite being probably the only two people on campus, is still slim. It’s a big campus, and there are people who are not part of the university that walk on campus all the time.

And still, you don’t know what you’ll do if you lie to Taehyung and tell him you’re about to fly home, and then bump into him at the local coffee shop. You might just perish. That might be what happens.

So, for once in your life, you suck it up and tell the truth. For once.

“Actually, I missed my flight because of my final running overtime, so I’m sort of stuck here,” you tell him, and as the words leave your lips it feels like your whole body gets weighed down, like you’re cemented to the floor.

It’s only then that Taehyung actually turns to face you, so you aren’t standing shoulder to shoulder and staring at the rain pattering on the pavement outside. You look at him, meeting his eyes and to your surprise, they aren’t filled with mirth. He hasn’t got this pleased grin on his face. He’s not milking this situation for what it could be milked for at all. He could be standing here, bathing in the satisfaction of your timely demise, and he’s not.

He actually looks quite sad.

“Really?” He asks, genuine.

“Yeah,” you say, and it’s then that you accept your fate, resign yourself to the fact that you’re trapped on campus with no way (and no money) to get home, and try to look for the silver lining. “So, I’ve actually got to get going, grab my stuff and everything.”

“Oh, do you live off campus?” Taehyung asks. “We should get together sometime this break. Who else are we gonna talk to, right?”

Spending time with Taehyung on your lonely-ass winter break sounds like the absolute worst thing in the entire world. It’s been two years since the last time you were forced to be within fifty feet of each other, so even having this conversation is taking you by surprise.

“No, I’m still staying on campus. But my dorm is closing for the winter break, so I need to go and find an Airbnb or something to stay somewhere,” you say, feeling your heart break at the notion of spending even more money this winter break after having watched your $500 dollar airplane ticket get flushed down the toilet.

Taehyung stays silent, eyes gazing at the lines between the linoleum tiles on the floor. He’s stopped tapping on the side of his canvas, a painting which you still haven’t fully gotten a glimpse of. In the quiet of the art building, the dust settles, and you wait for Taehyung to say something. Anything.

After a few more seconds, you decide that the two of you have been standing in awkward silence for long enough.

“Well, I’ll see you around, I guess,” you say nervously, letting out an unnatural and forced laugh as you turn on your feet and begin to head towards the exit. You have no idea where you’re going to go or what you’re going to do, but what you do know is that you have to be out of your building by noon tomorrow, so you’ve got less than a day to figure it out.

And then, Taehyung says the worst thing he could possibly say at this given moment:

“Do you wanna stay with me?”

You stop dead in your tracks.

“What?”

“You don’t have to say yes,” Taehyung immediately clarifies, as if that makes the offer any less sudden. “But I live in an off-campus apartment year round, so you could always stay with me if you’d like. You wouldn’t have to book an Airbnb or anything. But you don’t have to.”

You close your eyes, feeling your chest rise and sink as you inhale and exhale. You can’t believe you’re actually considering his offer. You can’t believe that Taehyung would willingly offer up his personal abode, his private apartment to you, the freshman year next-door neighbor who knocked on his door every six hours to tell him to shut the fuck up. You cannot believe that you are on the verge of accepting.

“Are you sure?” You ask, both eyebrows raised. Yes, the idea of free lodging and no-hassle appeals greatly to you, but you’re not so certain that Taehyung or you actually want this. After all, you spent all of freshman year hating on each other’s living habits as personal hobbies of yours. “You don’t have to offer just because I don’t have a place to stay. Seriously.”

“No,” Taehyung says, taking a step towards you. It’s barely a foot, but it feels like he’s a thousand miles closer to you than he was before. “I mean it. If you want to stay with me, you’re welcome to. I have a futon in my living room that you can sleep on. I’m being serious.”

You cannot believe that he’s asking this.

You cannot believe you’re considering this.

You cannot believe you’re about to say yes to this.

“You really mean it?” You ask one more time, just so you can be certain. You’d hardly be surprised if this whole thing was just a mindfuck.

“I do,” Taehyung says. “No matter what, I don’t think anybody should be alone for the holidays.”

“Then yes,” you say, letting Taehyung catch up to you as you begin to walk towards the exit, step by step. “I’d really appreciate it.” You turn to look at him, your eyes meeting his own chocolate brown ones, nearly ink black in the dark. You can’t offer much, certainly not anything to top this gracious proposal, but you smile, and he smiles back, and you think that’s enough.

Your first order of business is trekking back to your dormitory and grabbing your fully-packed suitcase. At least spending an hour shoving as many of your belongings as possible into a tiny carry-on has its benefits despite you not setting foot in the airport.

“Been a long time since we’ve done this,” Taehyung comments mindlessly as you walk through campus, following the cobblestone path as a shortcut to his apartment.

“Done what?” You ask snarkily. “Hung out with each other?” You scoff. You and Taehyung spent all of freshman year skirting around each other, desperately trying to avoid contact while also banging on each other’s doors every ten minutes. It was essentially two semesters worth of shouting at each other through walls and sneering when you actually locked eyes.

“Talked,” Taehyung simplifies, because he’s right.

“Isn’t that what we were aiming for?” You ask with a raised eyebrow, turning to look at him as your suitcase wheel skips on a stone out of place. “I thought we had reached that consensus already.” It’s been a year and a half since you last spoke to each other. You were almost confident that, without any overlapping classes, you would be able to keep that streak going long after graduation.

As it turns out, things change.

“I don’t know if we ever actually agreed on that,” Taehyung says, thinking back. “Almost like it went…” he pauses, and you can’t be sure if it’s for dramatic effect or because he actually doesn’t know what to say. “Unspoken.”

The irony is not lost on you. In fact, it hits you smack dab in the forehead as you watch Taehyung’s curious expression morph into the sleazy frat boy one he wore so much back then. He looks very pleased with his pun. It makes you want to sock him in the face.

And as it turns out, some things never change.

You resist the urge to punch him in the shoulder because he offered you a place to stay for this break and you sort of (actually, really) owe him big time right now. But that doesn’t mean you can’t send a disapproving frown, which seems to do the trick.

“I distinctly remember how you were so excited to never have to live next to me again when we moved out,” Taehyung says like he’s remembering a fun trip to the zoo. Almost like he looks upon the last time you ever interacted with each other fondly.

You mentally sigh. If only freshman year you knew what was going to happen in the middle of your junior year. If only your final hadn’t run overtime by two hours. If only you had booked a later flight.

If only.

“I don’t remember that at all,” you lie like a liar, saying the words as the picture of you snarkily spitting them at Taehyung at the end of your freshman year plays in your brain on repeat.

“You sure about that, Y/N?” Taehyung says, turning to look you up and down. He’s always been such a people reader, and you’ve always felt so helplessly transparent in front of him. Even back then. Even now. “Because I don’t really think that your memory is that bad.”

“Nope, no, I don’t,” you say quickly, trying to get Taehyung to stop eyeing you like you’re a question on an exam that he thinks is suspiciously easy.

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter then, does it?” Taehyung muses as you round the street corner and his apartment complex comes into view. “Since we’ll be living together, anyway.”

“Miss you? Please. Nothing makes me happier than the fact that I don’t have to live next to you anymore.”

Before you can wheel your cart down the hallway and kiss your freshman year goodbye, Taehyung opens his mouth and says one more thing. You almost don’t hear him, too busy reminding yourself that you’ll never have to see him again, but then he says, “One day, Y/N, you’re going to realize that we’re closer than you think.”

When you walk into Taehyung’s apartment, your eyes zero in on these three things: the navy blue futon pushed up against the wall by his television and the fact that it doesn’t look like the kind of used furniture from off of the street that most college kids typically resort to, the little wooden kitchen table that looks straight out of a family-owned Italian restaurant (looks like the two of you will be eating dinner together), and the paintings on the walls.

“Did you paint these?” Is the first thing you ask once you’re inside, putting your suitcase up against the wall as Taehyung takes off his coat.

“Those? Yeah, I did them early last year. My walls looked so damn plain without anything on them.”

In freshman year, Taehyung seemed like the kind of artsy hipster who shopped at Urban Outfitters and put vinyl records on his wall with Command Strips but never actually listened to them.

But the pieces on his walls aren’t vinyls of bands like Arctic Monkeys and Modern Baseball. They’re paintings, oil and acrylics and even a bit of charcoal. Still life and portraits and shadows.

You had never seen one of his paintings before. You never imagined you’d ever want to, or even get the chance to. And now, you’re standing in the middle of his apartment, and you’re surrounded by them.

“They’re…” You trail off, eyes bouncing from wall to wall as you take all of them in. There’s at least ten, one, if not two on each wall in sight. His bedroom is probably filled with them. His apartment’s not enormous, rather small since it’s only got one bedroom, but the paintings make the whole place bigger. Make it feel full of life.

“They’re alright,” Taehyung finishes. He’s already grabbing extra blankets from the storage closet in the side of the wall. “They were assignments we had during the semester so I figured that they’d be put to good use on my wall.”

“It’s very impressive,” you admit. “Kind of a flex, but an impressive flex.” There is something so perfectly Taehyung about the fact that he’s got art all over his walls, but they’re his very own pieces that he has framed and hanging, on display for the entire world to see if they’d like.

“They’d collect dust otherwise,” he says with a shrug. He tosses two blankets and a pillow your way, letting them plop onto the futon. “Are those enough blankets? It can get fucking cold in here, so I don’t want you to freeze to death or anything.”

And for a moment, you think that Taehyung has actually outgrown his asshole-y freshman days, maturing into someone with an actual moral backbone.

“How considerate,” you say sarcastically, “but I think I’ll be alright. I’m a big, strong girl.”

“Just don’t come crawling into my bed if you want a taste of that weighted-blanket life,” Taehyung says, pretending to flip his hair. “Though, I wouldn’t blame you if you did want to sleep with me.”

With a pillow right at your disposal, you waste no time grabbing it and chucking it straight at Taehyung’s face. He easily dodges, having spotted the move from a mile away, and chuckles.

“Come on, Y/N, you can do better than that,” he says disapprovingly, shaking his head as he makes his way to the kitchen. “Your arm was much stronger back in freshman year.”

Scowling, you watch as he puts on the kettle to boil, letting the water begin to bubble as he goes about his business like he doesn’t have a guest in his living room that absolutely can’t stand him.

And you realize that maybe Taehyung’s a couple of years older, a couple of years wiser, but that doesn’t make him a couple of years any less unbearable.

If you were a sleep-deprived engineering student three cans of Monster deep who, in their 4AM haze, invented a time machine to go back to freshman year, and you told your eighteen-year-old self that you would be living under the same damn roof as Kim Taehyung in two years time, freshman year you would probably sock you in the face. And ask you if you changed majors. Which, you did.

It’s not a far reach to wonder why. By the time October rolled around, the two of you had already established yourselves as archenemies until the end of time.

It was a natural progression, really. Two tiny dorm rooms right next to each other, two beds pressed up against opposite sides of the same paper-thin wall, and two disgruntled freshmen trying their hardest not to die of alcohol poisoning.

Now, you don’t have a track record for going to sleep at a reasonable hour. In fact, you don’t think you’ve gone to bed before 11PM since middle school. But is it really that irrational of you to want to get some well-deserved shuteye at two in the morning after a long day of procrastination and a long night of doing the studying you should have done during the day? Your roommate is fast asleep across from you, having gone to sleep at midnight like a regular college student who has her life together, which means that she’s immune to the fact that right next door, you can hear nothing but pounding drums making the very linoleum floor of your dormitory shake.

Scowling, you scramble out of bed, sliding on your shoes to go give a certain Kim Taehyung a bit of a reprimanding.

Why the fuck does he listen to heavy drums at two in the morning? What the fuck is he doing? Does he not own headphones, or anything that might restrict the sound to his own two ears and nothing else? Does he not have any respect for the people next door to him that might also have to listen to the sound of a thumping bass while they’re trying to go to sleep?

Some of you have 9AM’s tomorrow morning. And by some of you, you mean you.

You quietly shut the door behind you so as not to wake your roommate, dead-bolting it so you don’t get locked out and have to trudge down to the Help Desk looking like a tired piece of non-recyclable garbage, and immediately bang on Kim Taehyung’s door. He hasn’t got a roommate, and you know he’s awake, which means that if he doesn’t respond, you’ll know why.

Surprisingly enough, he does, opening the door and immediately grinning once he sees who’s on the other side, like he can’t get enough of the fact that his mere existence bothers you.

“It’s 2AM,” you tell him, in lieu of a greeting.

He checks his watch. “That it is.”

“Would you mind turning down the music? I’m trying to go to sleep.”

“This late, Y/N?” Taehyung asks, an eyebrow raised. “No wonder you’re always so cranky.”

“Maybe it’s because my next-door neighbor plays loud fucking music when I’m trying to go to sleep!” You say, already beginning to raise your voice like a loser who can’t control her emotions.

Which is exactly what you are, actually. So this is very on brand for you.

“Hmm, never thought about it that way,” Taehyung says innocently. He’s got a gleam in his eye that says otherwise.

“I’m being very nice to you right now, Kim Taehyung. Please turn your music down. Because it’s loud and you’re probably bothering other people as well,” you say, restraining yourself. If you were any more sleep-deprived you’d storm into his room and pound in his face like it was the fucking drums he’s listening to.

“But you’re my only neighbor,” Taehyung says, a bitter reminder that you were unlucky enough to be the second-to-last room in the corridor, and he, the very last one.

You inhale, trying to not lose your cool despite having probably already lost it. Kim Taehyung makes you want to tear your eyeballs out. Or buy heavy-duty earplugs off of Amazon Prime. The thing is, one of those options costs you money, and one is entirely free. So, it’s not difficult to see which one you’re leaning towards.

“Taehyung, please turn your music down, or so help me God. I’m asking nicely,” you can feel the carbon dioxide paths coming from your nose as you breathe, in and out and in and out.

“Just for you, Y/N,” Taehyung says with a grin. God. You could just straight sock him in the face right now. “It helps me focus, but so does getting to see you.”

“Perish immediately,” you tell him sharply before pulling the door shut, marching back off to your room.

True to his word, Kim Taehyung does turn off his music. Or puts in headphones. At least he’s conceded.

That is, until you wake up to a crash of glass later that morning at 7AM, coming from only one direction.

The fact of the matter is, everything you and Taehyung did that year bothered the other so immensely that hatred, pure, unadulterated dislike, was really the only thing that could have come out of it.

“You still listening to loud ass drums in the middle of the night?” You ask, eyeing the speakers by Taehyung’s television as you sit on his couch (as far apart from each other as possible) and eat some leftover spaghetti.

“I invested in some AirPods as a treat to myself last year, so yes, but don’t worry,” Taehyung says. He’s mindlessly flicking through the available Hulu options on his TV, severely unimpressed by every one of them.

“Wow, AirPods, sounds like you’re moving up in the world,” you say callously. “At least I don’t have to listen to it with you anymore.”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said it helped me focus,” Taehyung says, all matter-of-fact about it. “It was from a Spotify playlist of modern orchestral music. You should give it a listen, it really gets you into the zone.”

“My relationship with classical music has, unfortunately, been tainted by a certain someone,” you remind him, taking the time to shoot him a glare just in case he doesn’t already know who exactly is at fault.

“What a shame, you might actually like it,” Taehyung says sadly, shaking his head.

“So what are the speakers for, then? If not for your fuckin’ drums,” you ask, motioning to them again as you slurp up the last of your spaghetti. It’s not as if you’ve got some sort of sacred reputation to protect in front of him. He’s seen you at your best (the first day of freshman year, when there was still light in your eyes), and at your worst (2AM, coming out of a drunken stupor, and bedhead-ridden). Like an ex-boyfriend, or something.

“My friends really like singing karaoke,” Taehyung says. He points to the bluetooth microphones underneath the television as extra proof.

“Why does that not surprise me,” you muse to yourself. Taehyung always struck you as someone that needs people not to calm him down, but to elevate his already boisterous personality. Friends who are equally as unabashed as he is.

“Since you’re here for a whole month, we should try it some time,” Taehyung suggests, taking the empty bowl from your hands and heading back to the sink to wash up.

“You need help with that?” You ask, immediately getting up because even if Taehyung has a tendency to drive you up the wall, you’re still going to be a good guest.

“No, don’t sweat it,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “You know, I have karaoke for All I Want For Christmas Is You. Super seasonal, right?”

You dust off your hands from where you’re standing, loitering in that weird halfway point between his kitchen and his living room. Checking the clock underneath his television, you realize that it’s already past ten. And while you haven’t gone to sleep this early in a while, being in Taehyung’s apartment makes you feel all sorts of strange. Subdued and exhausted, too grateful to be your normal aggressive and witty self. And after such a long goddamn day, passing out on his navy blue futon seems like absolute heaven.

“Not right now,” you say, shaking your head. Karaoke is something that friends do with other friends. And despite currently living under the same roof, you and Kim Taehyung are not friends.

(But perhaps you will be. And that’s the scary part.)

You sigh, absolutely tanked. It’s been a stupidly long day. “Maybe later.”

Living with Taehyung is a sort of strange limbo you never, in a million years, pictured yourself in. You aren’t close enough to be friends but you’ve matured out of being the true enemies you had both envisioned the yourselves as in freshman year. The both of you walk around his apartment like you’re afraid to talk to the other, waiting patiently for the bathroom when the other person’s inside, trying to keep yourself busy with nonexistent work (it is winter break, after all) and the apps on your phones.

This is the sort of thing you dreamed of when you were a freshman. A Kim Taehyung that you could co-exist with peacefully. Someone who didn’t spend every waking moment of his life making every waking moment of yours unbearable. You used to find excuses to sleep overnight in the library (it was open 24/7, after all) just so you wouldn’t have to go back to your dorm and see his stupid face. Now, the two of you sit on opposite ends of the couch minding your own goddamn business and doing two totally unrelated activities. In silence. The only noises being his refrigerator/freezer combo when it starts making ice and the sounds of your fingers hitting the keyboards on your laptops. Maybe he’s playing a video game on the Playstation 4 he keeps out in the living room, but he has headphones on and isn’t saying a word.

It’s a very strange sort of limbo indeed, because no opportunities arise for you to become friends nor do any arise for you to become enemies. At this rate, you’ll live together for the month-long winter break and when it ends, you’ll go back to never speaking to each other again.

And that, strangely enough, makes you sad. Makes you want to reach out to him, try and build up a relationship that last ended in absolute chaos so that when you leave this place, it won’t have been for naught. You will have gained something from it, no matter how small.

But just like usual, Taehyung beats you to it.

“Hey,” he says one day, walking into the living room and already pulling on his overcoat. “You free right now?”

“Yeah, why?” You ask, shutting your laptop as you turn to him. He’s all dressed up and you’ve been wearing the same hoodie for the past forty-eight hours.

“Let’s get hotpot. I’m freezing and I want some hot soup and meat.”

So, you go and get hotpot.

Like any normal university with more than approximately three East Asians enrolled, there’s a hotpot place right off campus that many a college student frequent. You have, admittedly, not been since freshman year, but this winter break you seem to be reaching back into all of those memories anyway, like a can of worms. Memory worms.

“I’m starving,” Taehyung says as the two of you sit down. He’s already opening the menu, eyeing all of the different ingredients he can order for a simple All-You-Can-Eat fare. “Plus, I’ve been craving hotpot for weeks now.”

As if on cue, his stomach grumbles and you can hear it from across the booth.

“Even my tummy knows,” Taehyung says, placing a palm to his belly to soothe it. “Have you gotten hotpot before?”

“Yeah, but it was a while ago. I just never had the time to go for a whole two hours and pig out on food,” you say with a sigh. It’s been so long that you barely remember what it tastes like.

“Then we’ll spend every minute that we’re allowed to here, eating as much food as we want and gaining a few pounds while we’re at it,” Taehyung says, determined. The waiter comes by to pour you both some water and he already begins to order, pointing to about fifteen different things on the menu before the waiter whizzes off.

“I don’t think I heard a single word you told that guy,” you say candidly. Taehyung listed everything off so quickly that it went right over your head.

“I just ordered a lot of food, so be prepared,” Taehyung says like it’s a promise. He’s got this glint in his eye, one that tells you that you should be glad you came on a fairly-empty stomach because it’s about to be filled to the brim.

And prepared you are. Within five minutes of Taehyung ordering, there are plates and dishes and boards of food in front of you and a steaming pot of broth in the middle. There’s so much on the table that you can hardly see the marble table top underneath.

Taehyung dives right in, clearly an experienced hotpot eater. He grabs two bowls filled with various sauces and pops a couple of the vegetables into his mouth as he waits for the broth to boil. And when it begins to bubble, he immediately begins dumping everything in sight into it, from meat to noodles to vegetables. It all looks ridiculously appetizing.

When the first round of hotpot is over and done with, you already feel yourself starting to get sleepy just from the consumption overload. Taehyung, on the other hand, has apparently no limit and is already ordering more, pointing to another fifteen things on the menu.

“Never thought we’d be doing this, did you?” Taehyung asks, and you can hear the knowing tone in his voice. Like he already knows how you’re going to answer him.

“I have to admit that I never did,” you say. It must the food that’s softened you up. No wonder Taehyung invited you to a place where you can literally eat as much as you want in a two-hour timeframe.

“This is nice, though, isn’t it?” He asks.

And for once in your life, you agree. It is nice. Not just the food (though the food is very nice) but being with someone on a winter break that would otherwise be overwhelmingly lonely. Eating out with someone, even if it’s someone with whom your relationship isn’t all that strong, isn’t that sturdy. It’s nice. Because it means that, somewhere along the way, you both wanted something to change for the better.

“It is.” You nod. “Way better than all the times we fought during freshman year.”

“Remind me why we never went to our RA to resolve things like we should have?” Taehyung says, but he doesn’t make it sound like you both made a mistake. He asks because he’s curious, and because the past is the past.

“I think we were both too fucking prideful for our own good,” you say, shaking your head. You now would disapprove of you in freshman year so strongly. “We thought that we could either resolve it ourselves or spend the rest of our lives hating each other.”

“Isn’t that crazy?” Taehyung asks, holding up his water like it’s a glass of vintage red wine from the 1800’s. “That we thought that we could just spend the rest of our lives hating each other?”

“I was prepared to do it,” you say, taking another piece of meat from the hotpot in front of you, letting the steam waft from it like a tiny campfire. “With how big this school is, I was convinced that you and I would never have to see each other again. Never have the opportunity to change how we felt about each other.”

“But that’s not how life works, Y/N,” Taehyung tells you, looking into your eyes like he’s trying to reach into your soul, pick apart the memories of freshman year and watch as your relationship deteriorated as each day went by. “It doesn’t matter if we see each other every day for the rest of our lives or if, after this, we never say another word to each other. You will always have the opportunity to change how you feel about someone, even if you aren’t with them. Even if you aren’t seeing them at all.” He takes a deep breath, and reaches over the steaming pot of soup to nudge your shoulder with his finger, ever so slightly. It makes you look up at him, meet his dark brown eyes with your own, foggy from the steam. “That’s what makes us human, Y/N. We’re human because we can change.”

Your heart, still and silent, begins to thump.

“Do you wanna go to New York?”

“Today?”

It’s early in the morning on Christmas Eve, and the two of you are wide awake after Taehyung’s neighbors a floor below him called the fire department as an early wake-up call for the entire complex. You’ve always been a light sleeper—Taehyung made sure of that in freshman year—but even he woke up as the fire trucks pulled up to the fire lane next to the apartment building. He came stumbling out of his room in nothing but a t-shirt two sizes too big and sweatpants hanging low on his hips, locks of his hair sticking every which way, face illuminated by the blue, red, and orange lights of the emergency vehicles beneath the window.

And he stayed like that, even as the noise died down and the sun rose. He marched around looking like he had just rolled out of bed, barely sparing himself a second glance in the reflection of his refrigerator.

“Yeah,” Taehyung responds like it’s obvious. “If we hopped on a bus now we could make it there by nine and spend the day there. How about it?”

“You mean, right now?” You ask, just as clarification. College and its many features have forced you to grow used to spontaneity, but it usually came in the form of “I’m hungry, so I am going to eat an entire bag of Hot Cheetos at this exact moment” or “Yes, my bank account is crying but these pants are very cute,” and not, “Do you wanna go to New York?”

“In a bit. Buses leave from here every hour to go to New York, especially since it’s the holiday season. Tickets are ten dollars. We could do it, if you’d like,” Taehyung says casually, like he’s suggesting that the two of you go grocery shopping or something else equally mundane.

“Just for the day?” You ask, a girl of both many questions and a shocked expression.

“Sure,” Taehyung says with a shrug, biting into a tomato as if it were a goddamn apple. “We can go to a museum or two, eat a nice lunch or dinner, and go ice skating at Rockefeller. See the tree, too. It’ll get us in the holiday spirit, don’t you think?”

And normally an outing to New York would have you planning weeks in advance, organizing reservations and buying tickets for entry into exhibits, but it’s winter break and you’ve got more free time than you know what to do with.

And maybe you’d hate to admit it, but you need someone like Taehyung to get you off of your ass and out of the house, do something fun and spontaneous like college students do in the movies.

Taehyung is practically a movie portrayal of a college student in real life. He’s spontaneous, secretive, sage. He’s artsy and worldly, paints but is also extremely smart and well-educated. He lives in a quaint off-campus apartment by himself and spends his days making friends and keeping busy. He loves to tease you, and has that sort of lopsided smirk that all casanovas do. And he is, as much as you’d hate to admit it, always been something of a looker. He’s got the same sort of handsome, classic look that young European men in paintings from the eighteenth century have, a portrait of them in the prime of their lives. One wink and he’d send every preteen girl in the audience to their knees.

And you? Well, you suppose you’re the tragically unlucky female lead who has to live with him until classes resume.

Taehyung’s standing in the kitchen, leaning on the counter island as he scrolls for bus tickets on his phone. “There’s a bus leaving from the station in thirty minutes. Think we can make it?”

It might be the fact that you’ve been holed up in Taehyung’s apartment for the past forty-eight hours that makes you say yes. Or it’s the desperation to do something, anything, literally anything, to keep yourself busy this break.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that little voice in the back of your chest, one buried in the depths of your heart, that makes you go. Because there is something so wonderfully exhilarating about being spontaneous. And there is something even more exciting about it being with someone you know.

You grin. “Let’s do it.”

Two hours later, the two of you are standing outside Penn Station in New York City, staring at the road signs to try and orient yourself. It’s chilly and a little windy, but the sun beats down regardless, shadows of skyscrapers cast along the streets.

You pull out your phone to pull up the Maps app, looking up directions, but Taehyung just begins to walk down 7th Avenue, not a care in the world.

“Where are you going?” You say quickly, scrambling to catch up to him. This early in the morning, your breath still turns to fog as you jog towards him to meet his abnormally long strides.

“Do you want to go to the Met, MOMA, or Guggenheim?” Taehyung asks simply, like he’s trying to decide which type of Doritos to get in the chips aisle.

“Uh…” you are, admittedly, not that particular to the art that you’ll see. Art does not have as much of an immediate relevance to you as other things in your life, like your bank account, or your final semester grades. “Why don’t you pick the museum, and I’ll pick the restaurant we go to?”

“Deal,” Taehyung says, that same devilish gleam in his eyes, a trick (or two) up his sleeves. Only this time, you aren’t afraid of what he’s got in store.

You find that you are very much looking forward to it.

Twenty minutes later sees the both of you standing outside the gigantic glass doors of the MOMA, surrounded by a pitch black exterior about as edgy and contemporary as the pieces of art inside.

“You never struck me as a modern art kind of guy,” you tell Taehyung as the both of you walk inside, glass windows and ceilings on every side of you and a bustling crowd right in front of you. Modern art seems rather stuffy. And perhaps, two years ago, you would have equated Taehyung to such, but now, stuffiness couldn’t be the furthest adjective to describe him. He may be a little obnoxious and overwhelmingly charismatic, but he is certainly not stuffy.

“I prefer Impressionism and the subsequent periods,” Taehyung tells you, another fact you never knew but happily stow away. “But I am, admittedly, a bitch for modern art, no matter how goddamn stupid it is.”

“Good to know we’re spending our money on a museum that will definitely be worth our while,” you say dryly, taking the two tickets from the woman behind the desk. You pick up a map while you’re at it, almost certain to get lost in this maze of a museum, but Taehyung is already zooming off, forcing you to scurry through the herds of people just to keep up his pace.

“Do you know where we’re going?” You ask, entirely serious. You fumble to open up the map and suddenly you’ve got a piece of shiny paper larger than your backpack in your hands, overwhelmed.

Taehyung stops, the two of you standing right by the middle of a doorway, blocking everybody’s path. And he places his hands on top of yours, lowering the map as you gaze up at him, wondering why the heck you haven’t moved to the side so you aren’t inconveniencing the thousands of people roaming the museum. His brows are soft, a little furrowed, like someone began to knit them together but then forgot halfway through. Like he’s thinking. Like he wants to tell you something.

“No,” Taehyung says softly, large hands enveloping yours as he begins to fold the map back up, “I don’t know where we’re going.”

You open your mouth, about to prove your point, but Taehyung continues.

“But I don’t need to. Because we’re supposed to get lost,” he tells you, honest, candid, and true. “That’s the whole point. It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey.”

You scoff, heart a little warm on the inside but wit still sharp. “You sound like an infomercial for a cruise.”

Taehyung laughs, tilting his head back in the way that says that he means it. “I’m serious, Y/N. Please. We don’t need a map. We can guide each other. All we need is faith, trust…” He pauses, leaning in and waiting for you to finish his sentence.

Begrudgingly, you give in, mostly because he’s too naturally charming not to. “And pixie dust.”

Taehyung grins, satisfied, before he catches you by surprise, takes your hand in his, and pulls you into the elevator.

Much like the corrupt businesses whose main offices are only a few minutes walk away, you go from the top down. Taehyung says that it is like a very, very long slide. You say that it’s an extremely slow walk.

He’s an art student. You don’t really know what else you were expecting. He stares at each piece until it bores into his eyes, fills up another cup in his soul, overflowing with color, with light and meaning and everything in between. Every now and then, he and you stop at the same one, inspecting each and every detail, and Taehyung will lean to the side and whisper in your ear.

He will tell you what he thinks of the medium, what he thinks of this piece and what he thinks of the positioning of that specific object. He tells you not how he interprets it in the eyes of the artist, but what it means to him, and how he perceives it. And, as the hours pass, you realize that, while you have been in museums before, you had never felt like you were truly there. And here you are, standing in front of priceless pieces of art with a boy in love with art beside you, and he holds your hand as he takes you through what brings him more joy than anything else.

(Well, besides perhaps, chemistry.)

When you reach the first painting and sculpture floor, Taehyung lets out an audible gasp.

You round the corner and before you know it, you’re standing in front of what could very well be the most famous painting of the nineteenth century.

“I forgot it was here,” Taehyung says distantly, like he’s forgotten who he’s talking to. In the ink black of his pupils, you can see the oil painting reflected, the thick blue and yellow brushstrokes, each and every line on the canvas.

“Now, this piece I’m familiar with,” you say, standing next to him and staring up at The Starry Night, an artistic feat, worth more than probably a hundred times your tuition, and a legacy. The legacy that The Starry Night left behind is one that you see still reflected today. You see it in all of the other people in this little room, clambering over one another just so they can get a glimpse. You see it in the little children who draw self-portraits in art class, Sharpies and markers and crayons littering the page.

And you see it in the boy next to you, who loved something so much he knew that he would be doing it for the rest of his life. He would be following a legacy, forever, until he forged one of his own. You look not at the art but as Kim Taehyung gazes at it, memorizing each and every stroke and imprinting it onto his brain. And you finally realize what art means: passion. It means that it fills you up, flows through your blood and into your heart, consumes you. And it means that the only thing you can do to prevent it from eating you alive is to spread it, and let others get a taste of the madness.

“It really is beautiful, isn’t it,” you muse. You don’t know much about art but when there is something so mesmerizing, so stunning, in front of you, it’s difficult not to notice.

You feel Taehyung turn his head, letting the gaze of his piercing brown eyes rest upon your figure for a split second before he turns back. “It is,” he says.

The way that the two of you go through art museums, by the time you emerge, it’s already dark and the streets are beginning to empty as tourists and cityfolk alike find places to eat, walking into every bar, restaurant, cafe, and house on the hunt for a good meal, whether homemade or curated. You had spent nearly an hour in the gift shop alone, laughing at the overpriced t-shirts and kitschy pillows.

“Where to next, m’lady?” Taehyung asks as you push open the glass doors and let the biting cold hit your noses.

“You know, we were so busy in there that I didn’t even have time to find a nice place to eat tonight,” you admit sheepishly.

“That’s alright,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “I like surprises. Spontaneity is my thing.”

“You don’t say,” you comment sagely, making Taehyung roll his eyes.

Knowing that it’s nearly impossible to get a reservation now, you and Taehyung make your way south, following the flow of traffic heading towards Times Square and keeping an eye open for any places that look relatively nice and busy, but not too busy, the perfect sign of both a delicious and available restaurant.

After walking for a few blogs, cuddling together (in a totally platonic way) to preserve as much body heat as possible in the now freezing weather, air no longer warmed by the sun’s rays, you stumble upon a tiny hole in the wall Mediterranean place. You can’t really see anything inside due to the fog on the window, forming from the combination of cold air and hot, but Taehyung does a quick google search and says that it’s a modern Mediterranean restaurant that specializes in pizza. Google says it has two dollar signs. You hear the word pizza, and everything pretty much goes out of the window.

“Hi,” Taehyung says as you squeeze through the little hallway to get to the host, voice warm and silky. “Table for two?”

“Your last name, sir?” The man asks.

“Oh, we don’t have a reservation,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. You two are college students. It’s not like you plan ahead anyway.

“That’s okay, we still ask for every customer’s name for a more personalized experience,” the host says. He leans forward, eyes wide, waiting for Taehyung to respond.

“Kim,” Taehyung says simply as the host gathers two menus and a wine list.

“Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Kim,” the host says, and you open your mouth to correct him (Because you are not married. You’re not. You’re not even dating. This is not a date. It’s not a date, right?), but Taehyung puts a finger to his lips and tells you to zip it. It’s almost like he’s enjoying this.

For the rest of the evening, the wait staff all address you and Taehyung as Mr. and Mrs. Kim, which is absolutely outrageous for multiple reasons: you are college students, you both look like college students, you’re not dating, you don’t act like you’re dating (other than the hand-holding and cuddling which was purely out of survival and nothing else), and most importantly, you’re not interested in each other like that. That part is obvious. Isn’t it?

When you order a glass of champagne each they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When Taehyung has a question about one of the ingredients on one of the pizzas they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When you order your food they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When they come by to clarify Taehyung’s request of no anchovies they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When they bring these massive pizzas and place them down on your table, wishing you a pleasant meal they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim.

Mr. and Mrs. Kim, they call you.

“Everything alright, Mr. and Mrs. Kim?” Your waiter asks as you’re plowing through your individual pizzas very inelegantly.

“Yes,” Taehyung grins cheesily. “Thank you very much.”

He’s positively beaming.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” You ask, a single eyebrow raised.

“This pizza is really good,” Taehyung tells you.

“Not that,” you say with a roll of your eyes. You know that Taehyung knows exactly what you’re referring to, he’s just being annoying about it, as per usual. “The whole ‘we’re married’ thing. You like it, don’t you?”

“The “Mr. and Mrs. Kim’ thing?” Taehyung says with a smile. He’s relishing in the feeling, especially when it’s obvious that you’re not as keen on the collective nickname. “I fucking love it. You don’t?”

“We’re college students,” you remind him.

“So? That means that they think that we look old enough to not be college students. I consider that a win, especially because Jimin always says I look twelve,” Taehyung says with a shrug.

“We’re not married,” you add. It’s the truth.

“You’re right, we’re not, but Mr. and Mrs. Kim has such a nice ring to it, don’t you think? I love the way that it sounds,” Taehyung says. He basks in it.

“We’re not even dating, Taehyung,” you say with a sigh, exasperated. Doesn’t he get it? It’s weird, being Mr. and Mrs. Kim, because you never have been. There never was a Mr. and Mrs. Kim. And quite frankly, there never will be. “We’re not even interested in it.”

“Who says?” Taehyung asks, and the path he’s directing this conversation down is not one you’d like to take. It’s rocky and bumpy and unclear, hazy with fog. You don’t do fog. You like when things are clear cut and visible.

“I do,” you say with a frown. “Are you interested in dating me, Taehyung? Because I don’t know about you, but I don’t really want to date you right now. Or, like, at all.”

Taehyung pauses. His brows are furrowed again, but all the way this time. He stares down at his pizza, and he contemplates. You sit there and watch him, feeling the weight of every second as it passes by. Were you too harsh? Maybe you were. But it was the truth, and he deserves something honest, even if it’s brutal.

“Oh,” Taehyung says, like he wasn’t expecting those words to come out of your mouth. What you said has been lingering between you like smoke, refusing to dissipate. “Well, I—I guess that makes two of us.” It’s obvious that there’s something else there, just underneath the water, but you don’t press further. It sounds like he’d rather keep it hidden.

When you leave, the waitstaff bid you goodbye exactly as you had predicted.

“Enjoy your evening, Mr. and Mrs. Kim,” they say cordially as you and Taehyung pull on your coats and hats and gloves and head out the door.

“You too,” Taehyung says softly after a few seconds, like he was waiting for the words to fade away before speaking. “Thank you.”

Your bus leaves from Penn Station at 9:30 that night, and it’s barely seven. Plenty of time for you to continue exploring, see Times Square all lit up like it’s New Year’s Eve, go up to the top of the Empire State Building, or even take a peek into Central Park at nighttime, when the moon is high and the lanterns are lit.

“How about we go ice skating?” Taehyung suggests as the two of you walk along the pavement, side by side. Your hands are buried deep into the pockets of your coat.

“At Rockefeller?”

“Sure, why not?” Taehyung says. That sentence pretty much sums up your trip to New York thus far. “I’ve always wanted to go skating and see the tree during Christmastime. When else will we get the chance?”

Five minutes later you’ve paid for rental skates, a locker for your shoes, and a ticket to the rink. Visible right next to you is the enormous tree, the lights twinkling and cameras flashing as everyone scrambles to get their Instagram picture to prove that they actually went to the tree at Rockefeller Center in New York City.

When the zamboni is finished and the employees have skated over the ice enough to increase the level of friction, Taehyung and you balance on your skates as you walk towards the entrance. Slowly, everybody begins to glide on, wobbling at first before eventually getting the hang of it. There are a couple of small children holding onto those little penguin skate assistants, laughing as their older brothers and sisters guide them along the ice.

“I’ve never skated before,” you admit nervously, about two seconds before you’re about to enter the rink.

Taehyung’s mouth drops open. “Never?”

“No,” you reiterate, even more nervous than before. “I have no idea what I’m doing, I just said yes because like you said we’re in New York and it’s nearly Christmas and we should just seize every opportunity that we have and—”

“Y/N,” Taehyung says, calming you down as he ushers you away from the entrance so you aren’t blocking other people’s paths. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry,” he tells you, holding onto your wrists to make you look up at him. “I can show you how to. It’s easier than it looks, I swear. I won’t let you fall. You just have to trust me, alright?” He shakes your wrists to catch your attention, make sure that you heard him. “Alright?”

Deep breath. Inhale, exhale.

“Alright.”

Everything is, in fact, not alright. No matter what Taehyung says, ice skating is way more fucking difficult than it looks. Taehyung steps onto the ice and it turns into second nature for him, gliding around a small circle to get warmed up as you cling onto the side railing like an idiot. You have no idea how to move, you have no idea where to go, you just shuffle along the railing with the rest of the children who are far younger than you, also trying to skate for the first time.

This is embarrassing.

“You’re a liar,” you tell Taehyung pointedly as he circles around, coming up to rest next to you. You’d point at his chest for emphasis, but you’re afraid you’ll fall without both hands on the railing at all times. “This is—” you pause, remembering that there are children present, “—very difficult.”

Taehyung just chuckles. “You have to be brave, Y/N, come on,” Taehyung implores. He holds out his hand, motioning for you to let go of the wall and take a leap of faith.

“No, I will not be brave. Please let me be weak,” you beg, scared for your life. One wrong move and you’d go splat in the middle of the rink and embarrass yourself in front of all of New York City.

“Come on, Y/N,” Taehyung says, holding his hand closer. “You said you trusted me. I told you, I won’t let you fall. Come on. Be brave.” And then he adds, leaning in to meet your eyes, “for me?”

He’s always been too charming for your own good.

Tentatively, second by second by painstaking second, you remove your hands from the railing, first the left and then the right, as Taehyung pulls you right next to him, holding on tight.

“See?” He asks as you begin to move on your own, Taehyung’s short glides pulling you along the ice. “Look, it’s not that bad.”

“I am scared for my life right now.” You blink.

“Focus on me, okay,” Taehyung says, making you meet his eyes once more. “Eyes on me, alright. You’re doing fine. You’re skating, isn’t this fun?”

“I am terrified that I am going to perish on this very rink,” you repeat for emphasis.

“Look, Y/N, look! You’re skating!” Taehyung tells you, and finally you glance down at your feet and realize that they’re beginning to move on the ice, all on their own.

“Oh my God! I’m skating! What the—heck!” You say, eyes widening in excitement.

“I knew you could do it,” Taehyung says, hands gripping on tight. You can feel the warmth from his palms seep into your own, feel the back of your hand burning from the touch. “You just had to trust me.”

“This is so cool,” you say, immediately very pleased with yourself. “I’m such a pro, I can do anything. Who said skating was scary?”

Taehyung opens his mouth to respond, but you shoot him a warning glare and he zips his lips.

“Watch this, I can even do it on my own. You’re gonna be very impressed, Kim Taehyung, just watch me!”

Within the next moment, you’re letting go of his hand and pushing yourself away from him, gliding along the ice ever-so-slightly as you begin to balance on your own.

But power is short-lived, and much like every leading male in Greek tragedies, your hubris gets the best of you, and you face the ultimate demise.

The moment you attempt to pick up your left foot, your right toe pick gets caught in a dip of the ice and you go toppling over, collapsing onto the ice in a cold, bruised ball.

Luckily, your coat takes most of the hit, its length preventing your knees from hurting into the next century, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing. Ashamed of yourself and even more mortified to have to face Taehyung after boasting about how amazing you are, you slowly push yourself off of the ice, wobbling like a baby deer.

“What was that, Y/N?” Taehyung says with a raised eyebrow as he skates over. He’s clearly just recovered from a laughing fit.

“Fuck off,” you mutter, and you don’t even care if children hear you. “I got excited.”

“Clearly,” Taehyung notes, eyes wide and knowing. He holds out a hand, and before you even have time to think of a snarky retort your palm is reaching out for it, letting him pull you up off of the rink. “Here. Come on.”

One hour and two fairly bruised knees later, you and Taehyung are taking off your skates and relishing in the feeling of your feet, flat on the ground like feet should be.

“You alright?” Taehyung asks. You didn’t have any massive falls following the first spectacle, but you admittedly, still cannot ice skate very well. You’ll have to figure out a way to learn.

You round out the night by going to look at the Christmas Tree. Now that it’s fairly late, the massive families with young children have all gone home, leaving only the young adults left to bask in the glory of the peak of Christmas decorations.

“It seemed bigger in photos, didn’t it?” Taehyung asks as the both of you crane your necks to look at the tree in all of its glory. “Like it was the size of a small tower.”

“Yeah,” you agree. It looks somewhat disappointingly small, now that you’re here in front of it. “Today was a lot of fun, Taehyung. Your spontaneity paid off.”

“When does it not?” Taehyung asks, proud of himself. He even has enough of an ego to do a little hair flip, making you shake your head disapprovingly. “But I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I certainly did.”

“What was your favorite part?” You ask.

“Definitely when you were in your prime for one moment and a puddle on the ice the next,” Taehyung says, and for that, he earns a punch to the shoulder. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But I did really enjoy ice skating.”

“Yeah, because you can actually do it,” you remind him.

“What about you?”

You think. This day has been so long, from getting woken up by Taehyung’s irresponsible neighbors and the entire city’s fire department outside your window, to hopping on a bus to New York, to museums and restaurants and ice skating and the city, you feel like you’ve lived three days in one.

“The museum,” you finally decide. “I’m not really an art person, but I thought it was lovely. Nice and heated, too.”

“Yes, the best part about the Museum of Modern Art was its modern, state-of-the-art central heating,” Taehyung repeats, making you laugh. “I’m glad you liked the museum. I was worried you’d think it was too stuffy.”

You had thought that too. And then you watched someone fall in love with each and every piece, right in front of you, and you realized that there’s more to art than putting a price tag on it and critiquing it. It’s passion, materialized. It’s real.

It’s Taehyung.

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “I thought it was beautiful.”

On Christmas Eve, it snows.

Correction: On Christmas Eve, it snows a lot.

Correction for the correction: On Christmas Eve, it blizzards.

When you listened to “White Christmas” last night, this isn’t exactly what you had in mind, if you were being honest. Maybe an inch or two. Maybe even just a flurry. But certainly not nearly two feet worth of snow, effectively trapping you inside of Taehyung’s apartment complex until the next day because not even the snow plows are allowed to go out on the roads. Not until the snow stops.

“Good thing we don’t live on the first floor, right?” Taehyung asks with a laugh that late afternoon, taking a peek out of the window to stare down at the white expanse below you. “I’d hate to be those guys.”

“It must be so cold,” you say sadly. You’ve spent the better part of today huddled up in as many blankets as Taehyung owns in his apartment and you have no intention of shedding even one of them. Not even as you sweat right through your pajama shirt from high school.

“We can just make dinner here, tonight,” Taehyung says, fishing around in his kitchen to see what the options are. It’s already beginning to get dark even though it’s not even five o’clock. God, you hate winter.

“What are we making?”

Taehyung fumbles through the cabinets and his fridge, hunting for anything that might make a good meal. Eventually, he pulls out two cartons of Trader Joe’s vegetable broth and every vegetable in his fridge.

“Wanna make soup?”

Soup is very easy to make. You set the broth to simmer, chop up vegetables, and dump them in the pot.

But the idea of you and Taehyung sharing his tiny kitchen space, both with knives in your hands is, well, a recipe for disaster.

Luckily no knife mishaps occur, but, like the children at heart that you are, you eventually end with pelting uncooked lima beans at each other in the most adult version of a food fight you have ever had in your life. No fuss, no mess, no tomatoes or key lime pies or spaghetti doused in sauce getting chucked across the kitchen floor, the dinner table.

No, your little food fight ends with you and Taehyung kneeling down on the tile as you pick up each little lima bean, gathering them in your palms.

You make to toss it out but Taehyung stops you.

“Wait,” Taehyung says, a hand on top of yours as it hovers over the trash can, “don’t toss them out.”

“Huh?” You ask.

“I’ll feed them to the birds,” he says, taking the pile from your hands and placing all of the lima beans, along with his own, in a Ziploc bag.

“You have a porch out here?” You ask, looking around. You’ve never seen it.

“No.” Taehyung shakes his head. “They land on my bedroom window sill so I feed them.”

When you were in freshman year, you remember how Taehyung always left his window open. You know this because even though yours was always closed, anytime a police car, fire truck, ambulance, or particularly loud motorist drove by, the sound was always loudest on the wall of your room that bordered Taehyung’s. You hated how he always left his windows open, even in the winter. Wasn’t he goddamn cold?

And now, even though it’s Christmas Eve and there’s a blanket of snow outside nearly two feet deep, Taehyung will go and open his bedroom window again and feed the birds lima beans like a fucking Disney prince, and it makes your heart flutter, ever so slightly.

You end the night sitting on Taehyung’s couch, only a foot or so of space in between your bodies as he multitasks, channel surfing and gulping down your homemade soup.

“I haven’t made soup in a while, but damn, this is good,” Taehyung says, drinking the rest of it before getting up to help himself to seconds. He sticks a hand out to take your bowl as well, and wordlessly you hand it to him.

“It’s my magic touch,” you tease. It was not. Taehyung did most of the work. You don’t have much of an affinity for cooking.

“It’s my chemistry brain,” Taehyung corrects. “Chem is basically like making soup.”

“But it can kill you,” you tack on.

“But it can kill you,” he agrees, returning to the couch. This time, when he sits down, he plops right down next to you, your sides touching as you sit in front of his television, slurping up homemade vegetable soup. “How’s your major? What is it, again?”

“English with a minor in Psych,” you say over a mouthful of carrot.

“Sounds like too much reading for me,” Taehyung comments. “I’d only like picture books.”

“Yeah, wonder why,” you tell him sarcastically. “But it’s going well. I’m thinking of maybe adding Consumer Psych as another minor since there’s a lot of overlap, but I’m not sure. I’ll think about it.”

“Sounds busy,” Taehyung comments.

“Almost as busy as visual studies and chem,” you remind him. “Seriously, do you ever sleep?”

“Inspiration is a fickle mistress and the will to do my chem problem sets, even more fickle,” Taehyung muses like the two subjects aren’t the absolute bane of his existence. “But yeah, I mean, I made it this far.”

“Our majors are so different,” you comment. They are. Encompassing all sides of the college major spectrum, from STEM to art to humanities. The only thing you’re missing is a business minor. But only snakes would ever be interested in something like that.

“It’s nice,” Taehyung decides. “Because this is forcing us to talk with someone with whom we don’t already share all of the same classes with.”

“I couldn’t imagine taking the same class as you,” you say, not because you’d hate having to be in the same room as Kim Taehyung or dread the potential to be paired up for group work, but because your tastes are so different. They’ve always been different. Art, English, chemistry, psychology. Headphones or speakers. Closed windows or open. It’s always been opposites with the two of you.

“Maybe I’ll take a psych class so that way we can,” Taehyung says.

“Maybe I’ll take an art history course,” you retort.

“You’d really take an art history course? They’re awfully boring, and I’m an art major,” Taehyung says, in disbelief.

You ponder it for a moment, but then nod. Yes, you would. Even if it sent you to sleep. Because it looks genuinely interesting. “After today, I wouldn’t mind it. You showed me a lot about art, Kim Taehyung. More than I thought I would ever learn in my lifetime.”

Taehyung sighs, shutting the television off. You guys weren’t watching it anyway. You hardly realized it was on. He looks down at his empty soup bowl, and then at you. He always does that—always looks somewhere else before looking at you, like he has to muster up the courage by first staring at an inanimate object. And then he says, “You’ll never stop learning about art. Neither will I. It’s a constant cycle, learning and relearning and changing your mind and revisiting old pieces. Because art is all around us.”

He looks at you, like he’s trying to say something else but doesn’t have the words. “You just have to look for it.”

New Year’s Eve is often a time of reflecting on the year that’s passed, making a list of goals to achieve once the clock strikes twelve. Thanking your friends and family, your loved ones, for being there for you this year, and promising to be there for them as well next year.

To you and Taehyung, it’s literally your last chance to get piss drunk this year without repercussions. You’ve never stayed here, at your university in the city, for New Year’s Eve (obviously). You’d be interested in getting all dressed up to go out. Taehyung would also be interested.

And so, after a day of slouching around and making half-assed resolutions you know you won’t keep (like managing your time better. As a college student? Impossible.), you and Taehyung decide to get dressed up and go out, pulling out the winter jackets you don’t care if you lose, or if they get trashed, or if they stain with vodka. All you want is to lose your goddamn mind in a tiny club with a bunch of other wasted young adults who don’t want to stay at home on the last night of the year.

You are, unsurprisingly, a self-proclaimed not-a-going-out person, but tonight is something of an exception. It’s your last night to do this this year, and honestly, you can’t really think of a better way to end the year. There’s been plenty of ups (that A+ on your paper on the ethics of Beowulf, yay!) and plenty of downs (Global Politics in the Twentieth Century, yikes), and no better way to say goodbye to them all than with alcohol in your system. But even if, during the regular college season, you’re something of a stick in the mud, you remembered to pack a nice party dress just in case, so you tug on a little black velvet mini-dress that sparkles rainbow in the light, covered with tiny glitters that get stuck in your hair and never come out.

As you’re fishing around for some tights that you don’t care about so your legs don’t freeze off in the cold, the door to Taehyung’s bedroom opens.

Out he walks in all of his New Year’s Eve glory, a full black ensemble complete with structured belt and a leather jacket. You turn around to look at him and he stops dead in his tracks, eyes blinking like he doesn’t know where to look. It gives you a clear view of him and his simple yet extremely flattering outfit. He looks like Danny Zuko. He looks like a boy you would avoid in high school.

Funnily enough, seeing him now draws you closer to him.

“Wow, hot stuff, you clean up nicely,” You comment, tugging on some black tights with a hole in the back that no one’s going to notice.

“I could say the same thing about you,” he adds on, a hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck. “I didn’t even know you had this.”

“I packed it just in case,” you say with a shrug.

“Came in handy, didn’t it?” He asks. He comes up to stand by you, holding his arm out for you to wrap yours around, two people on a mission to not remember most things about this night. “You ready to go?”

Stuffing your phone and wallet into your purse, you quickly link arms with him as you walk to the door, your black boots clopping on the floor like the obnoxious high-heel owner you are.

“Yeah, you ready?” You ask, doing a quick double check. You’ve got everything.

“Let’s fuck some shit up.”

And fuck some shit up you do. By the time you reach the club that Taehyung had found online, you can already hear the bass pounding through the walls, feel the ground shake from the speakers alone. Go big or go home, you suppose.

As you expected, the club is already packed with bodies. Every young adult within a twenty-mile radius is out tonight, eager to spend the last night of the year doing what young adults in the primes of their lives do best: drink. And you and Taehyung are no exception.

Like everybody else entering the club at the same time as you, you make a beeline for the bar, already itching to get something into your system. You don’t love being drunk, and you like the taste of alcohol even less, so you just order a simple cocktail that should keep you occupied for a while.

Taehyung, on the other hand, well. He seems to harbor the go big or go home mentality quite firmly. It’s obvious that he’s here to do one thing and one thing only, which is not remember what he did when he wakes up tomorrow. You watch, a little impressed and a lot nervous about what exactly he’s trying to achieve, as he downs several shots in a row, pays the bartender, and immediately pulls you into the crowd of people dancing in the center of the room.

“The more I move, the faster my body can process the alcohol,” Taehyung tells you as your cocktail sloshes around in the glass in your hand. It’s an alright cocktail. A little too sweet for you, but you suppose that that’s your fault.

“Wow, when you said you wanted to fuck shit up, you meant it,” you comment as Taehyung dances, jumping and swaying to the beat of whatever Top 40 pop song is blaring from the speakers. You can barely hear the music over the volume of the rest of the club, people shouting to speak to each other, the sound of feet hitting the floor.

Within approximately fifteen minutes, Taehyung is already fairly tipsy and eager to keep going, bubbling over with excitement.

You convince him to dance a little longer before he goes back to get more, trying to make sure at least a bit of the alcohol he had at the beginning of the night goes through his body. The song changes to something much sultrier, like honey dripping from the speakers themselves, and suddenly, the entire club’s atmosphere changes.

“I love this song,” Taehyung says, and it must be the lack of control that causes him to place a hand on your waist and pull you in close to him, making you gasp.

“Wow, okay,” you comment, blinking. Taehyung rests his chin on your shoulder, leaning down as he holds you tight, your bodies swaying in tandem.

“You don’t mind this?” Taehyung asks.

“Not if you don’t,” you respond. He’s practically drunk, and you’re even a little buzzed. There are worse things you could be doing.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” He inquires aloud. It’s a good thing that you can’t see his face, can’t watch the haze in his eyes, otherwise you might lose your footing and collapse.

“What is?”

“This,” Taehyung repeats unhelpfully.

The next three minutes are some of the most confusing ones of your life as Taehyung rests a hand on your waist, palm rubbing up and down as the two of you dance together like it means something to the both of you.

But it doesn’t, does it? You chalk it up to both of your minds not being as sharp with some alcohol in your systems. That must be it.

When the song ends, the mood disappears as well, and Taehyung’s back to his bouncy, tipsy self. He’s practically stumbling over himself once he determines that it’s time for more shots, and you’ve never seen Taehyung drunk before but you can tell that he’s nearly there. You’ll probably put a hard stop on the drinks after this round, since Taehyung is the one most familiar with the way back to his apartment and you wouldn’t mind going home and sleeping after this.

“Come with?” Taehyung asks as he eyes the bartender like he’s the love of his life.

“No, it’s alright, Tae,” you say.

“You never call me Tae,” Taehyung comments mindlessly. Even when he’s nearly drunk, he still picks up on the little things.

“I guess the alcohol is making me soft,” you admit. “You go. I’m gonna find the bathroom and hope that nobody’s having sex in it.”

“Okay,” Taehyung singsongs as you pull away from him, looking for a dingy hallway to go down. “Be safe.”

“You too, I’ll be back soon,” you promise him, and that’s when you go rushing down the hallway.

Things are certainly weird down here. It must be the feeling of the new year looming over your heads. Like this is the last night to do everything wrong without regretting it in the morning. The bathroom is, luckily enough, empty, so you rush in and splash your face with some water, not caring about if your makeup runs. You’d sweat it off, regardless. You stare at yourself in the mirror, and this feels so stupidly like a goddamn romantic comedy that it makes you want to laugh at the irony.

Beautiful male art student lead gets drunk, confuses hardheaded and impenetrable female lead who doesn’t believe in love and supposedly hates beautiful male art student’s guts. Tension ensues.

Your life may as well already have a shitty Rotten Tomatoes rating stamped on top of it.

After collecting your thoughts and praying that that white stain on the wall isn’t what you think it is, you leave the bathroom and scurry down the hallway, eager to find Taehyung and make sure he isn’t bouncing off the walls after a second round of shots.

He’s not.

Instead, he’s still standing by the bar as a beautiful young woman speaks to him, long dark hair resting against her shoulders and a model-esque smile on her face. She’s leaning in with a suggestive look in her eyes, a hand coming up to rub at the side of his arm.

You furrow your brows as you watch them from afar, a little hurt by the fact that beautiful male art student lead is confusing hardheaded and impenetrable female lead even more, but then you notice Taehyung’s hesitance. The way he backs up a little when she gets closer. How he stiffens when she touches him.

And, well, fuck that.

“Tae,” you say, rushing up to him faster than you’d like to admit. “There you are, I was looking for you.”

The girl next to him frowns at the sight of you, and it’s clear she feels no shame to hide the immediately dislike. Sure, you don’t have model proportions or a smile whiter than snow, but you have morals.

“Who’s this?” You ask, trying to be nice.

“Nobody,” Taehyung tells you, and his hand immediately interlocks with yours. Standing next to him, you can feel as the tension fades from his body, his whole demeanor relaxing now that you’re by his side. “She just wanted to talk.”

“Are you a friend?” She asks, because she knows.

“I’m a special type of friend,” you say. There’s no way she’ll leave Taehyung alone otherwise. And this is definitely on the cocktail you drank (and nothing else, you swear!), but you even reach up to plop a kiss on his cheek for proof. Taehyung’s eyes widen as you do, but he plays it off as catching him off guard and grins, wrapping an arm around you to pull you even closer. “Can we help you?”

The girl is absolutely pissed, which means that you did your job.

“No, it’s alright,” she hisses through gritted teeth before turning her sights on someone else. Someone without a friend to protect them.

“Thanks,” Taehyung whispers once she’s gone. Even though she’s probably not coming back, Taehyung keeps you close, a hand on you at all times like you’ll fly away if he doesn’t hold on tight.

“Of course,” you tell him. “You’d do the same for me.”

“She scared me,” Taehyung says, and if his red face is anything to go by, it’s clear that he’s pretty much reached his alcohol intake limit. “I’m glad you came.”

“I could tell you didn’t want to talk to her,” you say.

“Because I wanted to talk to you,” Taehyung says, and it’s definitely the alcohol that’s erased his filter. “I was waiting for you to come out of the bathroom and she just came up to me and started flirting with me. I think she wanted to get in my pants. I didn’t want her to get into my pants.”

“I know.”

“I’d much rather be with you than with her. Than with anybody else. I would always want to be with you, instead.” He tells you, keeping your hands firmly intertwined as you lean against the bartender counter.

And well, huh. That’s different. Taehyung’s aforementioned lack of a filter means that any thoughts that run through his mind immediately turn into spoken words, but you weren’t expecting those words. You never thought you;d hear them, not in a million goddamn years.

“Okay, Tae,” you say, patting him assuringly. He’s just drunk. That’s all.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” Taehyung tells you firmly, pushing your comforting hand off of his shoulder and turning to face you directly. “I mean it.”

“I know, Tae.” you reassure him. It’s easier than trying to fight him, especially when he’s this hammered. You check the time on your phone. Maybe it’s time to leave. If you go now, you’ll be able to make it back by midnight. “Let’s go home, okay? I’m ready to go home.”

Wordlessly, Taehyung nods, and the two of you leave the club before people are even thinking about ringing in the New Year.

When you reach Taehyung’s apartment, he takes off his leather jacket to hang on the coat rack and turns the television on. Only three minutes to midnight.

“I had fun,” you say, trying to lighten the conversation. The way back was silent, the only noises the sounds of New Year’s Eve parties on every block you turned onto. Taehyung kept his face forward and his eyes ahead, even as you tried to huddle close to him to conserve the warmth.

“It was sort of fun,” Taehyung halfheartedly agrees.

“Did you drink too much?” You ask. His face is still beet red.

“I don’t think I drank enough.”

Two minutes to midnight.

You frown, brows furrowing. Why on Earth would Taehyung want to drink more? What would change if he had another shot, a can of beer or a little cocktail?

Slowly, you begin to peel off your own layers, resting your coat on the back of the couch and slipping off your boots. The both of you stand in his living room as the TV begins to buzz with excitement, the broadcast of Times Square lighting up the otherwise silent, tense atmosphere. He’s only a couple of feet away but it feels like he couldn’t be farther from you.

One minute to midnight. Everybody begins to count down, and you feel yourself holding your breath.

“Will you be alright going to sleep?” You ask. Even if Taehyung’s still drunk, he’s far less bouncy than he was at the club.

“I’ll be fine. Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, beginning to walk past.

Three.

“Okay.”

Two.

“Okay.”

One.

Something overtakes Taehyung, something quick and brief. He stops right next to you and flinches, like he wants to lean in and do something, anything, goddamnit, but stops himself before he goes through with it. Everyone on television is cheering, but this apartment couldn’t be less festive even if you tried.

Taehyung sends you a small smile as the world rings in the new year, dashing off to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

And you stand there, in the middle of his living room like the goddamn fool you are. Turning to the television, you watch over and over as every couple in Times Square kisses, clip after clip after clip, and like a goddamn idiot, you wish that Taehyung had done the same.

The end of winter break approaches faster than you’d like it, just like it does every year. Before you know it, there’s less than a week left before classes resume and you go back to the daily college life. Less than a week left before you can go back to your dorm and pretend like this year’s winter break mishap never happened.

Less than a week before you and Taehyung go back to never seeing each other.

You’re sitting at his kitchen table, clearing out your backpack and recycling every paper, every syllabus and assignment and study guide from last semester, doing a deep cleanse of your life (because holy shit, you need it), when you come across the purchase you had made at the MOMA.

“Taehyung,” you call out before you can stop yourself.

“Yeah?” He asks from where he’s sitting on the couch, reading a James Joyce book. You love that novel. It was one of the very few you read for fun last year.

You take the small paper bag in your hands, walking over to the couch. “I almost forgot about this, but since winter break’s starting to wind down, I just wanted to give you this as a thanks. For everything.”

“You got me a belated Christmas gift, Y/N?” Taehyung asks as you hold out the gift, clearly something thin like a posterboard or an art print.

“If it means I don’t have to buy you two things, then sure, consider this a belated Christmas gift,” you say with a laugh, sitting down a foot away from him as he slowly opens up the packet. “It’s sort of cheesy and very basic, but I just wanted to get you something nice as a thank you.”

Out Taehyung pulls is a print of van Gogh’s The Starry Night, big enough to fill up the empty spaces on his walls, so every inch of his apartment, of his life and his home, is filled with art.

“Oh my God,” Taehyung says, mouth agape. “This is…”

“It’s basic, I know. But I know how much you loved seeing it in person, so I thought that a memory of that would be nice,” you say, trying to ease the nervousness that has bubbled up inside of you.

“It’s wonderful,” Taehyung says, and you swear you’ve never seen him so happy, other than perhaps when you saw the real thing. “This is so fucking thoughtful of you.”

“I just—you told me a lot about the art we saw that day, but when we reached this painting, you were speechless. And I sort of knew, then, that it was your favorite piece. Because you didn’t have to explain it with words,” you tell him. “I could just tell. It was like your whole body warmed up the moment it came into view.”

“I’m touched, Y/N.” Taehyung beams. “This is all an art student could ever want, really. To be able to know that their love for art meant something to someone else.”

“I just wanted to say thank you for everything. Taking me in, cooking me food, being really nice me despite me entrenching on your living situation.” You smile.

“I was happy to do all that stuff,” Taehyung tells you honestly. “I’ve had a lot of fun this winter break, even if we’re still trapped on campus.”

You loved getting to go home for winter break your freshman and sophomore years. You loved being able to escape from the college mindset and just relax, no deadlines, no assignments, no worries.

But looking back on it, you think that you’ve had the most fun this winter break, stuck at school, a five-hundred-dollar plane ticket short, with your dorm neighbor-slash-nemesis from freshman year. Never have you done so much in so little time.

“Yeah, me too,” you say, thinking back fondly. It feels like this winter break has lasted for years, but also as though it went by in the blink of an eye,

“I have something for you as well,” Taehyung says, scrambling up to dash into his room. “Consider it just a Christmas gift, because I don’t really have to thank you for letting you stay at my apartment for free for a month.”

“Roast me, why don’t you,” you muse jokingly, rolling your eyes as Taehyung fumbles around in his bedroom before he emerges with an equally flat, similarly-sized gift wrapped up in some spare tissue paper.

“I don’t recall you buying anything at the MOMA,” you tease as Taehyung hands you the gift, settling back down on the couch to watch as you open it.

Slowly, you peel back the tissue paper, and when you reveal what he’s wrapped up for you, it drops to your lap.

It’s a portrait of you, done entirely in pencil. It’s you smiling, with your eyes closed, lashes fluttering. He’s memorized your entire face, drawn it neatly onto this piece of sketch paper, like he was just passing the time and suddenly he had a picture of you on his hands. He’s even remembered where your freckles go.

“What’s this, Tae?” You ask, like you don’t already know.

“Uh, it’s you,” Taehyung says sheepishly. “I wasn’t planning on drawing you, I didn’t have a gift in mind, but I was practicing sketches the other day and an hour later I looked down and I had drawn you. And I felt bad for not telling you, because that’s weird, so I thought that you could see it.”

“You drew a portrait of me? Just randomly, from memory?” You ask, looking down at the sketch in your hands like it’s just ruined your life.

“Yeah, so?” Taehyung asks. He looks terribly nervous.

“So, that’s—people don’t just do that, Taehyung. You don’t just draw a picture of someone purely from memory while you’re practicing sketching,” You say, reeling back as he tries to lean in, attempts to explain himself.

“What do you mean? I did that. I thought of you and I drew you, what’s so bad about that?”

“I don’t know if you missed the memo, Taehyung. I told you in New York. We’re not dating, Taehyung,” you tell him, so firm and certain in your conviction that you hardly pay attention to the way his shoulders sink. “We’re barely even friends. I’m not interested in you like that. Please don’t think otherwise.”

“Don’t tell me what to think,” Taehyung snaps, and he’s mad. Really mad, not like the fake anger from freshman year when you tried to get back at him by being an equally-annoying neighbor. “Don’t tell me how to feel. I drew you, Y/N. Not because I’m obsessed with the idea of us getting married, or because you’re my muse or some bullshit like that. I drew you because I thought of you, and I draw what I think of. Don’t tell me what to fucking think.”

“Do you like me, Taehyung?” You ask, on the verge of shouting.

Taehyung’s furious. “So what if I do? Huh? What difference does it make? You’ve told me over and over that you don’t like me back, so why does it matter? It’s not like I’d ever have a chance.”

“I told you because I didn’t want to confuse you,” you hiss, standing up and beginning to grab your belongings. It’s clear that this conversation is turning sour.

“Confuse me? You didn’t want to confuse me?” Taehyung shouts. “You did a damn good job at that. Telling me in New York that you hated being called Mr. and Mrs. Kim, but holding my hand as we walked around the city and looked at art together. Kissing my cheek in the fucking bar but then patting me like on the back like I’m just a sadass friend of yours. Can you blame me if I was confused, Y/N?”

“I told you,” you say again.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Taehyung bites. “I’m sorry that I fucking fell in love with you, even though half of the time you acted like it was alright. My mistake.”

“It was your mistake. I never said I wanted to date you,” you tell him firmly. You refuse to take the blame for something you had made so explicitly clear.

“Can you fucking blame me for being hopeful?” Taehyung asks. He’s standing up, about to head back into his bedroom, absolutely furious. “You held my hand and kissed me on the cheek and I thought that meant that you felt it, too.”

“Taehyung—”

“Keep the portrait, Y/N,” Taehyung spits. “I don’t ever want to see it again.”

He slams his bedroom door.

It’s a good thing you made friends with some upperclassmen when you were a freshman.

After packing your belongings into your little suitcase and standing in the lobby of Taehyung’s apartment complex, you remember that one of your old friends who had graduated last year still lived in an off-campus apartment since he would be beginning graduate school at the same university.

“Yoongi?” You ask when you hear him pick up your call.

“Y/N? What’s up?”

“Long story,” you say with a sigh. “Would it be alright if I stayed with you until school started?”

“Holy shit, you’re on campus? What the fuck, yeah, sure, you know where I live. I’ll be here whenever you stop by,” he says without question.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re standing outside his door, double checking to make sure you’d got the right apartment.

You barely get the first knock in before the door swings open to reveal Min Yoongi himself, clad in all black and looking very tired.

“Are you okay?” You ask. He looks exhausted.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says, ushering you inside.

“Have you been up all night?” You ask, resting your suitcase against the wall.

“I took a brief nap between two and three, but yes, I have been,” he says like it’s natural.

“You’ve always been a chaotic sleeper,” you say with a shake of your head.

“The grad school grind stops for no one,” Yoongi says with a sigh. “What’s up? Why are you on campus?”

“It… it’s a long goddamn story. Do you have time?”

“I have a piece due for a small indie band tomorrow at noon that’s barely finished,” Yoongi says.

“Oh,” you say. You suppose the story can wait. Yoongi offered up his abode to you until classes resumed if you needed it, and there’s no way in hell you’ll be going back to Taehyung’s.

“What do you mean, ‘Oh’? I got loads of time,” Yoongi says. He plops down on his couch and motions for you to sit next to him. “Tell me everything.”

Yoongi has always been a particularly good listener. Not just to other people’s words, but to music, to the sounds of the chords and the notes of the piano. He has an ear for things that most others would never notice.

It’s the same thing for when he’s doling out advice.

“To clarify,” Yoongi says when you’re finished telling your story, thirty minutes later. You had warned him that it would be a long one. “You had once hated his guts, but no longer hate his guts?”

“I stopped hating him after freshman year,” you admit, more to yourself than to Yoongi. It’s true. The moment the two of you stopped seeing each other, everything dissipated.

“And now you like him.”

“We’re friends,” you say, tentatively. Maybe less than friends after the disaster that just went down in his living room.

“But he drew you a portrait of yourself,” Yoongi mentions.

“I said that it was complicated,” you say with a frown.

“It doesn’t sound that complicated,” Yoongi says. And maybe he is a graduate student with more life experience under his belt than you, but you think that it’s pretty complicated.

“What do you mean?”

“It sounds like he likes you, and you like him. I wasn’t really interpreting it in any other way,” Yoongi says casually.

You reject the notion immediately. “I do not like him.”

Yoongi frowns. “Would you really be here, in my apartment having a relationship breakdown, if you weren’t confused about your feelings for him? Really?”

“I just needed to get out of his damn apartment, that’s all,” you say, avoiding eye contact. Yoongi has this very annoying habit of being extremely reasonable all of the time, and it bothers you immensely.

“Sure, okay. Y/N, I’m not gonna dictate how you feel and try to change your mind, or anything. But if you can look me in the eye before the end of your break and tell me, one-hundred percent honestly, that you don’t like him, then I’ll believe you,” Yoongi tells you simply. “How about that?”

It sounds like a very doable deal. Maybe it’s not doable right now, but it certainly seems possible in the future. In the future, specifically.

“Fine. But you’re making a big deal out of nothing,” you tell him matter-of-factly. Why does he care? It’s not like you’re worried about it.

As it turns out, you’re worried about it.

You’re worried about it because even though you’re not in the same room, not in the same building, not even on the same goddamn street as him, you’re thinking about him. Thinking about how much fun the two of you could be having right now as you relish in the last couple days of your winter break before the cold reality of school hits.

Think about the things you could be doing. Exploring, going out to restaurants, finding new little gold mines in this city that you call home. And instead, you’re moping around your friend’s living room wishing that the two of you hadn’t ruined the whole thing.

Maybe you had been too harsh. Taehyung has a right to be mad at you for lashing out at him. How was he supposed to feel? You held his hand and kissed his cheek and pretended that it was still freshman year, that the two of you were still just two people stuck together by unfortunate circumstances. Acted like nothing had really changed despite the years going by. Going through with all of these adventures with him knowing, in the back of your mind, that once classes started back up, you’d probably never make an effort to see him again.

Drawing a portrait of you says one thing, but dancing around him says another. Every time you fucking see Yoongi in his own goddamn home you try to muster up the bravery to tell him that you don’t like Taehyung the way that he thinks you do, and you can’t.

He sets up his pullout couch in his living room for you when you go to sleep that night, you dream of Taehyung. Envision him wandering the halls of a nameless museum, priceless pieces of art hung along every wall, from van Gogh to Monet to Picasso. He turns back around so you get a view of his face, dream up his curly black hair and soft eyes, sparkling with wanderlust as he roams the corridors, stopping to spare a quick glance at every painting he passes.

And then at the end of the hall, he pauses in his tracks, looks up at the painting on the wall. You watch as the camera zooms in on what he’s looking at, what made him stop in his tracks the moment he laid eyes on it.

It’s your portrait. A simple piece of paper out of a sketchbook, graphite on the coarse canvas. It’s barely more than a line drawing, your eyes here, your nose there, the little freckles that decorate your skin. It’s only in one color and still, even now, it leaves you speechless. Taehyung made that. He drew that, line by line. He made that for you.

You wake up in a cold sweat at seven in the morning. Yoongi’s fast asleep in his bedroom, and you know he won’t be waking up until the hour on the clock reads double digits. Frantic, you scramble through your backpack until you pull out the sketch paper a little bit larger, a little bit thicker than the rest, still wrapped up in tissue paper.

Pulling the paper away to reveal the canvas, you stare down at it in the hazy light of the sunrise, small rays beginning to stream through Yoongi’s window. Your fingers trace along each line, picturing Taehyung as his pencil scratched along the paper, over and over until it looked perfect. Taehyung made this. He sat down, thought of you, and drew this.

A picture may be worth a thousand words but this one doesn’t say a thousand words. Instead, it only says three.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you flip the sketch over to see if there’s anything else he’s drawn. There isn’t, but you find a little note in the bottom right corner.

Y/N,

I hadn’t realized that I had drawn you until I was nearly finished with this. My bad, but it was too late to stop. I don’t know if I’ll ever give this to you, or if I’ll just have a guilty conscience for the rest of my life, but just in case I do, I want you to know this: art inspires me, and you are no exception.

Tae ♡

When Min Yoongi wakes up that day and trudges out of his bedroom, he finds you sitting on his pullout couch, staring down at a sketch in your hands. When you turn to look up at him, he sees your red eyes and wonders how long you’ve been out here, crying.

“I can’t do it, Yoongi,” you tell him.

“Do what?” Yoongi asks, even though he already knows the answer. Why else would you be letting your tears drip onto your portrait?

“Tell you that I don’t like him. Because I do. And I can’t lie to him like that.”

Yoongi grins. He knew you’d come around, like you always do. You may have quite the stubborn streak, but you’ve got a big heart, and it always gets the best of you.

He sits down next to you, glancing down at the portrait. It’s gorgeous. Taehyung did a wonderful job. He looks at you as you cry over a sketch of yourself, and he thinks that, even if he doesn’t really know this Taehyung character, the two of you will make a perfect pair.

“You should tell him that,” he tells you with a nudge. You look up at him, scared for your life. “I think he deserves to know.”

The night before winter break ends, you ask Taehyung if tenants of his apartment complex are allowed on his rooftop. He says no, but also says that his landlord is out of town for the holidays.

In the biting cold of a mid-January evening, you climb up the stairs of his apartment complex and push open the heavy metal door to the rooftop, a gust of wind nearly blowing you right over. Looking around, you spot Taehyung in nothing but a sweater and a scarf, sitting on the edge of the rooftop and looking out over the city.

“Aren’t you cold?”

He turns around to find you standing next to him, wrapped up in a long coat, gloves, a beanie, and a scarf.

“I’ve got a warm body,” Taehyung tells you, looking back out into the sea of lights.

“This is scary, isn’t it?” You ask, sitting down next to him. Your feet dangle off the ledge, and normally you’d be insistent on sitting in the middle of the rooftop where no danger can befall you, but this feels a lot more personal.

“Why did you want to meet me up here?” Taehyung asks, all business.

“I just wanted to talk,” you tell him. “You know, since it’s the last day of winter break and all.”

“It went by fast, didn’t it?” Taehyung muses.

“I remember failing my final and missing my flight like it was yesterday,” you remember fondly, laughing. It seemed like the end of the world at the time, but there’s always a silver lining. You just didn’t know what it was, back then.

You think you have a pretty clear idea of it now.

Taehyung chuckles, letting the two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you gaze out at the rest of the city. Taehyung’s apartment building isn’t particularly tall, but it’s got enough height to it that it feels like you’re looking out over a place you hardly recognize. There are so many things you don’t know about this city, despite having lived here for over two years. So many things you are aching to find out, and only one person you’d really like to do it with.

“What’s your New Year’s Resolution?” You ask randomly, interrupting the quiet that had befallen the both of you.

Taehyung jumps at the sound of your voice piercing through the atmosphere, caught off guard. You lean in, expecting him to answer.

“Oh, um, I guess to draw and paint for fun more. A lot of the stuff I’ve been making in school I’ve been doing because I had to,” Taehyung says quickly. It’s sort of obvious that he made up the resolution on the spot. “Uh, what’s yours?”

You press your lips into a thin line, smiling to yourself. “To be honest.”

Taehyung scoffs at that. “Believe me, Y/N, you are more than honest. Brutally so.”

“To others, yes,” you reason. You always were a tell-it-like-it-is sort of person. “But I’m not very good at being honest with myself.” You swing your legs slightly as they dangle over the ground below, kicking into each other. Taehyung turns to look at you, waiting for you to continue. “Yoongi says I’m a very stubborn person. I always have been. Once I determine something is the way it is, it’s very difficult to change my mind.”

Taehyung chuckles to himself. He’s probably quite familiar with that aspect of your personality.

“But I realized recently that sometimes, things change without you even realizing it, and that instead of being afraid of those changes, you should embrace them. So that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to be more honest with myself, because I think I’ll make everybody around me, including myself, happier.” You continue.

“Good for you,” Taehyung tells you mindlessly, turning back to face out towards the city.

“Kim Taehyung, I’m not finished talking, yet,” you demand, forcing him to look back at you. “I hated you in freshman year. You were the worst thing to happen to me that year, annoying and full of yourself. And I didn’t know you in sophomore year. We stopped talking and decided that it was better if we never did again.”

He lets out a little huff of breath, visible in the cold night air.

“But I do know you now. You offered me a place to stay when I missed my flight after what might have been the worst final I have ever taken in my entire life. You took me to New York, and we made vegetable soup together. You let me hold your hand and kiss you on the cheek, and you drew me a portrait,” you say firmly. He looks up at you and finally, finally, his eyes aren’t foggy. There’s no haze, no mist. You look into his eyes and you can see yourself reflected in the ink black of his irises. He’s beautiful. He’s sitting on the ledge of the roof of his apartment building in the middle of January with nothing but a sweater and a scarf on, and he’s beautiful. “You are the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Before you can even take another breath, Kim Taehyung places a cold palm on your scarf-covered cheek and pulls you into a bruising kiss, his other hand wrapping around your waist as you shuffle along the ledge, closer and closer. And even if his hands are cold and his lips are chapped, his mouth is warm and soft, wanton and desperate. You beam at the feeling of his lips on yours, wrapping your arms around his neck as you ring in the New Year for real. This is how it was supposed to be. This is what you had been waiting for.

When you part, Taehyung’s lips are a cherry red to match the tip of his nose. His brown eyes are twinkling, and not from the light pollution of the city.

“Can I be honest, too?” Taehyung asks. He’s got the biggest goddamn grin on his face. “I think I’m in love with you.”

The words are music to your ears. “My honesty is rubbing off on you,” you tease. “Because I think I’m in love with you, too.”

Smiling, grinning, positively fucking beaming, Taehyung wraps his hands around you and kisses you again. It warms your heart from the inside out, blossoms like a tulip in spring. When you started this winter break, you thought you had reached your lowest point, but you’re finishing it on a high that you hope never fades. He loves you, he loves you, and most importantly, you love him back. And as it turns out, the movie where beautiful male art student lead and hardheaded and impenetrable female lead are stuck with each other for four weeks has a happy ending, after all.

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #v fluff #v angst #v scenario #taehyung scenario #bts imagine #taehyung imagine #v imagine #bts au #taehyung au #REPOSTING BC IT WASNT SHOWING UP IN THE TAGS #w: four weeks

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cosmosbunnies · 3 years

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GoFundMe Update!

This is an update post for my GoFundMe, which was to help me pay my bills. In total, my friends and family donated a total of $865 over the course of two weeks. First, I'm gonna break down what that money has been/will be used for, and then I'll have a thank you note at the end of this post.

Much of the money was used on utilities. We had to pay set-up fees for water, power and internet. This meeant that the costs were a lot higher than they will be moving forward My water cost $150 My power also cost $150 My internet cost $127 My car insurance cost $100 My phone bill was $50 My credit card debt was reduced by $100 in total I also spent approx. $100 on groceries and clothes for me and Fin, my roommate.

Now I'm gonna get personal!

I am a full time artist, but the fatigue on my body due to moving has resulted in reduced productivity. That productivity is slowly coming back, and I'm nearly back in full swing. This means that October will be a more profitable month for me. Not only that, but I have picked up a second job. My roommate is bedbound, and I moved here to act as his aide. I have a meeting coming up to finalize the paperwork for that, which means I'll get paid weekly by insurance because I'm caring for him. My duties as an aide aren't all that different from normal house chores, but are fairly time-consuming and require a regular amount of attention. A lot of cooking, cleaning, buying groceries, running errands, and generally being available most times of the day for assistance. For two months I've been doing this work for Fin because he is my friend, and he needed it. I haven't been paid thus far, but that will change very soon, meaning I'll have adequate compensation for my work. For those of you whom I've ignored or been unavailable for, please understand that between moving, keeping two jobs, and experiencing terrible pains in my knees, I've been struggling to keep my head above water.

When Angel suggested that I start a GoFundMe, I was resistant to the idea. I was raised to work hard and earn my keep, right? At the time, I was sleeping in my car, working at coffee shops during the day and slowly running out of clean clothes. No houses or apartments were getting back to me in a timely manner. Still, suffering as I was, I told Angel "I don't judge those who crowdfund, but I'd rather stab myself with a fork than ask for money." And Angel said "Jamie, it's a dog eat dog world out here. Whether you like it or not, sometimes you /have/ to ask for help. People die when they don't have help." And it made me realize; I have so many loving friends and family members who had been /offering/ to help already. Am I taking them for granted? So many people would kill to have as much support as I do in their life, and here I am not asking for or even accepting help when offered explicitly, and for what? To keep a false sense of pride intact? Pride doesn't put food on the table. Angel shook me out of my warped sense of shame, and I was able to swallow my pride to start a GoFundMe.

It's the hardest thing I've ever done, I think. Clicking that button and telling my friends and family about it was really taxing on me. I spent the whole night just freaking out, but then something wild happened.

People donated. People donated a LOT. Before I knew it, I had money in there. $200, then $300, then $400, and within a few weeks we had raised over 800 dollars for my bills. I understand that money is not a sign of love, but people who love me gave me money so I could survive, and I am extremely thankful for that. My life is better with my friends and family in it, and even some people who just know me from my art (u know who u are i love u) donated and shared, to keep my dreams alive. That's more than I even thought I could ask for, and certainly more than I ever expected. Those of you who really know me, know that I'm a hard worker. I often put in more effort than is asked of me, and more than is healthy for my body and mind. Still, that's not always enough to survive the weird and kind of broken world in which we live. And every one of you who donated or shared or even care about me a bit? You make this broken world marginally better just by being in it.

TL;DR I was in need and my loved ones came through for me. Thank you all so much <3

#more personal than ill probably ever get on here but it's worth it for sayig thank you

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thegreatestofheck · 4 years

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Ocean and Alcohol Pt. 13 ✘JJ Maybank✘

part one! part two! part three! part four! part five! part six! part seven! part eight! part nine! part ten! part eleven! part twelve!

(gif not mine! all credit to toesure!)

Word Count - 5663 Warnings - SOFT, this is too soft, too tender. I apologize. More serious warnings include swearing and that’s mostly it. Synopsis - You and JJ finally get a few hours alone. The gold is found with very few snags, but problems arise when you try to sell it off. Taglist - @bitterbethany @lovelymaybankk @ilymarkchan @downbytheouterbanks @clearcolourlessglass @obxwriterfan @tangledinsparkles @chill-sushi @summerintheobx @kiarasgold @lovelyfreshfestival @lolitstiana @divcrdown A/N - We got it all in this chapter; soft JJ, angry JJ, jealous JJ, protective JJ. I was rereading some of the earlier chapters and decided that JJ and Elm hadn’t been alone together recently enough, so there’s a whole five pages worth of just them, so there’s a gift for you I guess. I hope the rest of the chapter is something you enjoy! I skipped a relatively large portion of the plot because I didn’t want to write it out, but it still happened. I hope all is well with you guys and thank you so much for the 200 followers! stay safe, stay healthy, stay groovy!!

***

You and JJ sat out on the dock, kicking your legs back and forth. Despite the chill in the air, you felt warm with JJ beside you. The sun was even lower than before, the sky painted with beautiful purples and deep blues. The dwindling light of day cast the horizon in a golden hue. You tried not to look at JJ every three seconds, but he looked so...beautiful with the light against his skin.

“What?” He asked, laughing. You felt your cheeks redden as you turned your gaze back to the sunset. You shook your head, trying to cover for yourself now that you’d been caught.

“Nothing.” You dropped your gaze down to your feet. “It’s nice to have time alone when we’re not both half asleep.”

JJ bumped your shoulder with his. You laughed, pushing him right back. He grabbed your chin and gently turned you to face him. Your laughing died instantly, heart starting to pound in your ears. The water underneath the dock responded just as strongly as your gut. But he didn’t kiss you, not right away at least. His eyes scanned your face. His gaze landed heavily on your cuts, your bruises.

You wanted to look away. Shame crawled deep inside of you, twisting in your stomach. Sure, JJ understood how you felt, but it didn’t make it any easier. It was like having your skin peeled off and being put on display for all to see. There was no hiding from him when he was this close. He could see the rage of your father and the impression it left on you. For anyone to see all your scars, both literal and metaphorical, it was almost too much for you to bear.

After spending so long avoiding any kind of personal attachment, you weren’t sure how you had managed to let JJ in so quickly, so deeply. You had spent your entire life running from anything that could put you or Kid at risk and now here you were, running headfirst into JJ Maybank.

When he closed the distance between you, he didn’t kiss you on the mouth. Instead, he pressed his lips against the cut on your cheek. The movement startled you. You straightened your back, cheeks turning red once again. But JJ didn’t stop there. He kissed the bridge of your nose, where you had to reset it after your dad broke it. You let him tilt your jaw upward, so he could kiss the yellow bruise Rafe left behind from the summer movie series.

It was a different feeling than you were accustomed to when it came to kissing. You had grown used to the whirlpool and the storm and the riptide and the strong current. This was something else entirely. It was the goldilocks zone; where your feet were in the water enough just to keep your senses alert, but you were still very much on land.

Gently, he leaned down to kiss the cut on your lip. You watched him carefully, never take your eyes away from his face. But he didn’t look up, fixated completely on the rest of you. This tenderness was more than you could handle. It felt too much like…

You couldn’t bring yourself to think about it. Not when last time you said it, it freaked him out.

And then he finally pressed his lips to yours and the swell in your stomach turned into a wave until finally, it consumed you whole. You leaned into the kiss as far as he would let you. He pulled you closer, curving his fingers behind your head and using his thumb to keep your head tilted upward.

He dropped his hand to rest along the bottom of your neck, as he always did. The deeper you fell into the kiss, the tighter he pulled you in. You were lost in his touch, lost in his taste.

His hand wandered farther up your neck. You hadn’t realized until you felt a twinge of pain, like someone poking at a bruise. Which, of course, he was doing accidentally. When you first felt it, you ignored the pain, not wanting to part from him. But the second time, you flinched and JJ felt it. He sat back, breaking the kiss. You sucked in a deep breath before letting it out slowly through your nose. The pain in your neck was gone immediately as he removed his hand.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he fought for breath. You shook your head, not really wanting to tell him it hurt. Because it didn’t really hurt, or at least, it didn’t bother you. Not when he was there. “Ellie, you can tell me.”

You grimaced, turning your body away from him and back to the marsh. He didn’t push, but he didn’t look away, still expecting an answer.

“I thought you didn’t do the emotional shit,” you said, hoping that a laugh would keep him from asking any more questions. Clearly, it didn’t. You cleared your throat, kicking your feet again. “Do you ever...after your dad hits you, do you ever feel, like, I don’t know….”

“Like it’s my fault?” You looked over at him. “Like I somehow deserved what I got, that I had it coming?”

You bobbed your head up and down slowly, twisting your lips.

“And when people look at you, all they can see is the bruises and the scars,” you added and you swallowed a lump in your throat, forcing yourself to keep talking. “I mean, there’s got to be more to us, right? We’re not just a couple of kids who are beat around by our dads and abandoned by our moms.”

JJ nodded his head slowly.

“I used to feel like that a lot more,” he said. “But then I met the Pogues and I learned that, yeah, there is more than just a shitty home life.”

You smiled at him. It was good to hear.

“That’s sweet,” you said. He rolled his eyes.

“Sweet isn’t really the word I would use.”

“Then what word would you use?”

JJ looked out to the ocean. The sun had gone completely by then, not even the barest hint of its light peeking over the horizon. He thought for a moment, squinting his eyes. You watched him carefully.

“Despite all the shit our parents put us through, there’s gotta be one good thing that takes away from it all, that isn’t connected to all that shit,” he said and looked over at you. “For me, it was the Pogues. They’re my one good thing.”

You nodded your head, looking at your knees.

You wondered what your one good thing was. Maybe it was Kid, but JJ said it had to be disconnected and for as much as you loved Kid, how was in the thick of it just like you were.

Turning toward JJ, you lifted one knee up, propping your elbow against it. You searched his eyes for a few moments, looking for something. He simply stared back. He finally lifted his hand and brushed his thumb against your cheek. You leaned into his touch, breathing in deeply. When you opened your eyes, your gaze fell on the cut on his eyebrow.

“Will you tell me what happened?” You asked, lifting your hand to move a fallen strand of hair out of his face. JJ looked down as your fingers grazed over the cut above his eye.

“Like I said, I got arrested for sinking Topper’s boat and my dad wasn’t too pleased with a 25 thousand dollar restitution,” he said with a bitter laugh. You pinched your eyebrows together.

“How did you get arrested for something Pope did?”

“I told them I did it.”

“JJ-”

“Don’t.” He shook his head at you. “I told him to do it so I took the fall. Pope has too much to lose.”

“And you don’t?” He looked down, his hand falling from your face. “You don’t always have to look out for everyone else, you know.”

JJ scoffed, lifting his head toward the stars.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said and gave a shrug before letting his eyes fall back onto you. You sighed deeply, reaching out to take his hand in yours.

“I can pay the restitution,” you said softly, knowing full well that he would protest.

“No way, Ellie.”

“I want to help you. I...I don’t have the money myself but I can always ask my dad-”

“Forget about it.”

You watched him for a few moments, but it was clear he wasn’t going to say anything further. So, you finally let out another low sigh and gave him a smile.

“Okay.”

There was no way you were going to forget about it.

But, JJ didn’t give you much time to think because he stood up and offered you a hand, his mood changing instantly.

“Where are we going?” You asked as he pulled you to your feet. JJ’s mischievous smile pulled against his lips and you immediately regretted asking.

“How about a swim?”

“JJ…”

“It’s a perfect night for it!”

Before you could protest any further, he scooping you up into his arms.

“Hon,” you said slowly, peering down at the water below. “If you throw me in-”

“Sorry, what was that?” He teetered on the edge of the dock, making you cling tighter to his neck. “That water looks so nice, doesn’t it?”

You glared at him.

“No, it doesn’t. I don’t have any other clothes-” He leaned farther forward. “JJ!”

“Relax, Ellie,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve got clothes you can wear.”

And then he jumped.

Your stomach dropped just before you hit the water, a similar feeling to whenever JJ kissed you. When you broke the surface, the cold water shattered through you in all the best ways. The night had been warm, almost unbearably so. The chill of the water washed away the sticky, clammy feeling from your skin.

JJ let you go when you hit the water. You let yourself float for a few moments. For all your protesting about going in the water, it was just what you needed. You kicked your way to the surface once your lungs decided they needed air. Once your head was above the water, you gasped in a breath. JJ was right there, inches away from you, with a grin on his face, hair dripping wet.

“Not so bad, huh?”

You tried to fight back a smile as you pushed him. He laughed, grabbing hold of your arm and pulling you in. You let out an overdramatic sigh as he brushed your wet hair back and out of your face.

“Thank you,” you said, trying to pretend that he wasn’t pulling you in even closer.

“You’re welcome.”

You weren’t surprised when he leaned down to kiss you. It was a short kiss because the water still tasted bad.

“You wanna go inside?” He asked.

“What happened to going for a swim?”

He shrugged.

“Race you back?”

“You’re so on, bucko.”

***

JJ sat on the bed when you emerged from the bathroom, wearing one of his spare shirts and a pair of his boxers.

You thought he might say something about how you looked wearing his clothes, but he just stared at the floor. You sat next to him, running your fingers through his hair a few times.

“What’s wrong?” You asked him.

“What happened between you and Rafe?”

His question took you aback. You stiffened, letting your hand fall to your side. From the look in his eyes, you knew it was a question he had been wanting to ask you for a while.

“No-nothing happened,” you said, looking down at your hands. “I mean, nothing that really-”

“Just tell me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. You didn’t want to be thinking about Rafe, not right now. Standing, you wrapped your arms around your waist, trying to figure out what exactly to say.

“Remember what I said about…?” You waved in the general direction of your face.

“Someone was taking pictures.” You nodded your head slowly, pressing your lips into a line. JJ seemed to connect the dots then. “Rafe took the pictures.”

You could hear the rage in his voice, his hands curling into fists.

“But it wasn’t him who showed them to my dad,” you said quickly, hoping to deescalate the situation before it escalated at all.

“Then who did?”

You swallowed, chewing on the inside of your lip.

“Topper.”

“Goddammit!” JJ picked up a pillow from the bed and threw it on the floor. You flinched at his raised voice, backing away from the bed even more.

“But it’s okay,” you said, voice shaking slightly. “I handled it.”

He turned to look at you, saw how far you had moved away, and his features softened.

“I don’t care about Topper,” he said slowly, trying to keep his voice calm. You took that to mean that he wanted to know about Rafe.

“I thought it was Rafe too,” you told him. “But when I went to confront him, he told me about Topper and the pictures and...why he had taken them.”

JJ watched you, eyes smoldering, but he wasn’t going to interrupt you.

“You remember that party at the Cameron’s?”

“When you kissed Rafe because you were mad at me?”

“Um, yeah. That party.” You felt your cheeks heaten. JJ stood, taking a few steps closer to you. “Well, apparently, Rafe was upset that I kissed him because-”

“Because he likes you.”

JJ was nearer to you now and you stepped away until you hit the wall.

“He didn’t exactly say it like that.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that he hates seeing us together. He’s jealous of you,” you told him, breathless as he neared and leaned against the wall, putting his hand by your head. “But he knows where his place is.”

You weren’t entirely sure what JJ was going to say as he stared down at you. Your breathing was deep, heavy, heart-pounding painfully in your chest. It was almost like fear, but you weren’t afraid.

“Tell me I’m yours,” he said finally. You blinked a few times. When it finally sunk into your brain what he had said, you lifted your hands to his face.

“You’re mine.” His eyes closed and he let out a deep breath at your words. “And I am yours. Only yours.”

The relief on his face passed. You didn’t even have the chance to think about what was going to come next before he crashed his lips against yours, pushing you back against the wall. You let out a shocked gasp, which JJ took full advantage of. He had you pinned against the wall. There was no way you were going anywhere, but you didn’t really want to.

You had never seen him like this, never felt him kiss you so hungrily. It was more than just desire, there was something else there. You broke the kiss, pushing him back with a knowing smile.

“Are you jealous, Maybank?” You asked. He narrowed his eyes. It was a confirmation in and of itself. You stood on your toes, pressing a gentle kiss against his neck and then another, longer one. He tightened his hands around your waist, his nails scratching your skin.

“Shit,” he breathed, making you smile as you kissed his skin again. “You keep doing that and I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself.”

You pulled back, meeting his eyes.

“Then don’t.”

***

The next morning, you sat with boys on Pope’s small boat, on the way to the HMS Pogue to pick up the girls.

“You guys have fun last night?” John B asked, a smirk on his face. You coughed, cheeks turning red. JJ threw an empty beer can at John B’s head.

“My eyes are still burning,” Pope said, rubbing his eyes dramatically.

“Two hands on the wheel, Pope,” you said, trying to pretend that your face wasn’t on fire with embarrassment.

“Not our fault you guys went out for late night ice cream,” JJ said. “We thought you were asleep.”

“I doubt we would have been able to sleep through-”

“John B, if you say another word, I will castrate you,” you told him with a smile. You didn’t want to think about it. It had been embarrassing enough when they walked in on you and JJ, still deep in a heavy make-out against the wall. It wasn’t really something you wanted to relive every three seconds.

John B cringed and fell silent. Apparently, he didn’t want to be castrated.

“Good choice.”

Picking up the girls, you could tell there was a difference in their attitudes toward each other. Even if they vowed that they still hated each other, you knew that wasn’t the case. You were just glad not to be stuck with the boys anymore.

“Next time you guys get stranded on a boat together, please take me with you,” you whined as they climbed back in the boat.

“Next time, don’t be an accomplice,” Sarah said, raising her eyebrows at you.

“That’s fair.”

“So,” John B said, clapping his hands together. “We need to get supplies. Rope, flashlights, dark clothes, the whole deal. We’re hitting the Craine house once the sun goes down. Yeah?”

There was a series of nods from around the boat as Pope headed back toward shore.

“We’re gonna get that gold,” he said with a large smile. The quiet nodding turned into loud cheers.

Your heart soared with the thought of it. You had your boy sitting beside you, his hand on your thigh and a smile on his lips. And soon, you were going to have your hands on a large pile of gold. Life couldn’t be any better.

***

Adrenaline ran through you as you gasped for breath. A crazy, blind lady shooting at you wasn’t something you were expecting for this night, but here you were, bolting from the Craine house as fast as your legs would take you.

JJ made it to the van first, jumping in the front seat. You were second, sliding into the passenger seat and throwing the sliding door open for the others. They all piled in after each other, except for John B, who had yet to even jump the wall. JJ turned to car over and slowly started to drive off.

You could still hear the old woman shrieking, firing off round after round from her gun.

“Why are we always getting shot at?” Pope yelled.

“Get in, John B!” Kie yelled, hanging out the door and offering him a hand. Sarah and Pope held onto Kie to keep her from falling out. Kie and Pope yelled over each other, Kie at John B and Pope at JJ, until the final member of their part jumped into the van.

Kie slammed the door shut and JJ sped off, pressing his foot harder on the gas. There was a lot more yelling, a few swear words thrown back and forth. You turned back around to look down at John B, who was absolutely covered in mud.

“Dude,” you sighed, holding your nose.

“JJ, drive!” Sarah called.

“Go, man!”

The van lurched forward. John B laughed.

“Are you okay?” JJ asked him. “Are you shot?”

“No.” He shook his head.

“You good?” Pope asked.

“Yeah, yeah.” His voice was shaking from the adrenaline.

“You stink,” you said. John B looked up at you with a smile.

“Thanks, Elm.”

“I think I’d know if I was shot, right?” Kie said, feeling her chest and stomach. Sarah did the same.

“What the hell just happened?” Sarah asked, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.

“All-time Pogue Hall of fame, baby!” JJ hollered, tapping his hands excitedly against the wheel. You grinned, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“That bitch is possessed,” Kie said.

“That bitch can’t aim,” Sarah added with a laugh.

“She’s pretty spry for a dinosaur,” you said, still breathing heavily.

“I’m telling you,” Kie said, swallowing and then shaking her head. “She’s possessed.”

“I don’t get it,” Pope said.”

“She’s blind.”

“Like Master Yoda.”

“Yoda wasn’t blind,” you said.

“Yeah, but he was old and moved super fast.” Pope shook his head. “It makes no sense, scientifically.”

“She does yoga. Pilates, probably.”

You looked down at John B, who held something muddy and disgusting in his hand. Your mouth fell open.

“Oh my god,” JJ said, glancing back.

“You didn’t,” Sarah gasped with a smile.

“What is that?” asked Kie.

“We did it, baby!” John B shouted. That was gold in his hands. Real gold.

“Oh my god,” You laughed, leaning farther out of your chair. “Oh my god!”

A series of screams and shouts for joy filled the van. JJ hooked a hand on your shoulder and shook you back and forth.

“Full Kook!” John B started, pumping a fist up and down in the air. Everyone picked up on the chanting.

The gold was down there. John B had found it. You were going to be rich. You were going to afford that lawyer, get Kid away from your dad. The dream you once had was slowly becoming a reality. You couldn’t stop laughing.

“Full Kook! Full Kook! Full Kook!”

***

The next morning, you sat with Kie and Sarah in the van, reviewing the plan that the boys had come up with. You couldn’t help but laugh at the silly drawing.

“Who drew this?” Sarah asked, a quiet laugh still in her voice.

“Who do you think?” Kie looked over to where Pope and John B were sitting. Pope looked up and grinned. Kie held his gaze for a moment. You glanced over at Sarah and she looked over at you. The two of you let out a little laugh, which turned Kie’s attention back to the plan.

“Kie!” JJ said, walking up to the van. “This better work.”

He dropped the gold into the bottom of the van, crossing his arms.

“We can’t pawn this off if there’s a giant wheat symbol on it,” he continued. With a smile, Kie plucked a blow torch off the ground and held it up.

“It’s gonna work,” she said.

You sat off to the side as Kie blow-torched the gold in a small pot above a flame. JJ and Pope leaned over, watching the gold melt carefully. You chewed on your fingernail, legs shaking up and down.

Not much later, you were all back in the van, shuddering down the road on the way to the pawnshop.

“They might not have the cash for the entire thing,” you said as JJ fiddled with your fingers. “If we break it into pieces and take it to different pawnshops-”

“This will work, Elm,” John B said from the front. You nodded slowly. Overthinking again, you thought to yourself. No need to overthink everything.

When the van slowed to a stop, you felt your stomach flipped. This was the moment of truth. You got this money now, pay off JJ’s restitution, and then go get the rest of the gold. It was all going to work out. You had to believe that.

You hopped out of the van behind JJ as he pulled the gold out of his pocket.

“Hell of a job melting it down, Dr. Frankenstein,” JJ said, turning to look at Kie, who rolled her eyes.

“Like you could have done better.”

“I could have. I took a welding class.”

“You-” She narrowed her eyes at him and tilted her head to the side. “When?”

“Hey.” John B stepped between them. “Shh. Chill out, okay?”

“Easy for you to say,” JJ grumbled. “You’re not the one that has to sell this piece of shit off. How did I get this job anyway?”

“‘Cause you’re the best liar,” Pope said as they started toward the pawnshop. JJ glanced back at you and you shrugged, arms crossed. The Pogues had no reason to doubt you when you lied to them about all the things you lied to them about, so they would have no need to think that you were a pretty good liar. When they gave JJ the job, there was no way you were going to protest.

The six of you filed into the shop, JJ in the front.

“Afternoon, ma’am.”

Everyone spread out rather lamely, standing in front of different objects and pretending to actually care about what they were looking at. If there was anymore sneaking around and lying going on, you were definitely going to have to give them a few pointers as to how to act natural.

JJ spoke to the lady up front, trying his hardest to convince her that the gold was real before she even would talk about price. You tried to cover a laugh as he told a fake story about his mom melting down her earrings.

“Best liar my ass.” You shook your head, turning back to look at a wooden chicken on the wall. The woman at the cash register clearly didn’t believe him. She went to the back to talk to her boss, giving Pope and Kie time to go and talk to JJ. He looked back at you and you gave him a thumbs up, making him smile.

When the woman returned, she slid a piece of paper over to JJ.

“Fifty thousand?” JJ asked. You nearly choked, turning to look at them. JJ tried to negotiate, but the woman had her eyebrows raised. No one was really even trying to pretend that they weren’t paying attention anymore. He and the woman passed quips back and forth until the woman gave one last offer.

“70,” she said. Your heart leaped. “And I won’t ask where you got this.”

You tried to bite back a smile. JJ accepted. But then you hit another snag. The money wasn’t in the shop. She didn’t have the cash in the shop. As soon as she mentioned going to a warehouse, your smile fell. That didn’t sound right. There was something strange going on.

But you were probably overthinking things again. What reason did you have to doubt her? None of your friends did. You tried to shove down your concerns as John B drove to the address that the woman had given to JJ.

“They keep the gold all the way out here?” Pope asked.

“That’s what she said.” JJ laughed. “That’s what she said.”

You smiled, sitting on the floor by his side.

“Stop,” Pope said. Both your and JJ’s smiles dropped. Not the time for jokes, it seemed.

“I’ve never heard of Ressurection Drive,” Sarah said, turning back.

“Cause you’re rich,” JJ said.

“You haven’t heard of it either.”

You sat up straighter and looked out the window. The bad feeling in your stomach was starting to solidify. It was good to hear your friends starting to question this whole thing too. It made you feel a little less crazy.

A police siren startled all of you. Kie and Pope turned around to look at the car. You pushed yourself up, looking out of the back window.

“The cops? Out here?”

“Are you kidding me?” JJ shoved the gold back into his backpack.

“What did we do?” Sarah asked.

“That’s not a police car,” you said as John B pulled over. “No way any cops out here have a car like that.”

“JJ, did you bring the gun?” John B asked.

“No,” JJ zipped up his bag, throwing a blunt inside. “Everyone told me to leave it back at the place.”

“Thank god,” Kie sighed.

“That’s not a cop,” you said, watching the man get out of his car. JJ stood up and shoved the backpack into the hidden compartment beneath his seat. Your heart started to pound at the sight of the man walk toward the van. A black bandana stretched across his face. You shook your head a few times as the others argued about weed and making sure that it was all packed away.

You saw the gun too late. You didn’t have a good view of it until it was shoved through the front window right at John B’s face.

You froze, your entire body going rigid. JJ slowly moved his hand reaching down to grab yours. You didn’t take in a single breath until you felt him squeeze your hand once.

“All y’all’s hands up in the air now!” the man with the mask shouted. You swallowed a lump in your throat and lifted your hands slowly, pulling it from JJ’s grip.

“You, out,” the man said to John B. “Let them out!”

John B slid out of the car slowly, hands still raised in the air. He walked around to the van door and opened it slowly. Sarah walked out first, and then Pope, Kie, you, and JJ last. The man kept shouting, yelling for you to back up.

“We’re broke-” JJ started. The man pointed the gun straight at him.

“Shut the hell up!”

“Alright!” JJ shouted back. “Relax!”

But the more he spoke, the angrier the man got. Pope put his hands on JJ’s shoulders and pulled him backward. You ducked under JJ’s raised hands to stand between him and the man.

“I’ll blow your damn head off!” the man said.

“Okay. Okay, we’re moving,” you said, voice steady.

“Lay down in the ditch!” JJ hesitated, glaring at the man with the gun. “Get on your hands and knees!”

You lowered yourself to your knees, putting your hands behind your head. JJ slowly followed after you.

“It’s okay,” you whispered to him, watching his muscles shake as he resisted the urge to beat the hell out of the man. JJ heaved, his breath ragged and his jaw tight. His eyes flitted back and forth as the man walked back toward the van. You risked moving to place your hand on his arm. “Look at me.”

Slowly, JJ’s eyes moved to meet yours. There was so much anger in him. That anger might just get him killed.

“It’s okay,” you whispered again. “We’re okay.”

He softened slowly before nodding his head once.

“It’s a setup,” Kie whispered.

“The old bat shanked us,” JJ ground out through his teeth. You glanced up at the van, putting your hand back behind your head.

“John B,” you heard Pope whisper. You lifted your head, watching John B sneak off toward the fake cop car. “Don’t be a hero man!”

You put your head back down, keeping your breathing steady. Even when the man emerged from the van and started shouting again, you didn’t look up. Just keep breathing. Just keep breathing.

At the sound of a struggle, you looked up one last time. John B was in the back of the car, trying to take the gun from the man. JJ was on his feet, running toward the car, and you were just behind him.

“I got the gun!” John B called out just as you and JJ neared the car. JJ grabbed hold of the man, spinning him around. He ducked under a punch before hitting the man in the ribcage. The man hit JJ across the cheek, only to be greeted by you with a punch to the face. You hit him again before he shoved you backward. You tripped over your feet, hitting your head against the hard ground. Kie got to him next, giving him a good punch. John B used the gun to knock him off his feet.

“I got the gold!” Pope cried as Sarah slammed the car door into the guy’s head twice.

Your head buzzed with the sting of pain.

“C’mon,” Kie said, grabbing holding of your arm and helping you to your feet. Pope ran around the car and kicked the man in the face, knocking him onto his back. JJ walked over to you, putting a hand on your face and checking your eyes.

“I’m good,” you said. You turned back toward the man on the ground. John B yanked his bandana off of his face. JJ tensed.

“I know this piece of shit,” he growled. “He’s a basehead.”

“Probably knows my brother,” Sarah said with a sigh, running her hands through her hair.

“He sells coke to my dad.” JJ plucked the gun off the ground.

“Listen,” the man groveled, his voice slurred from the blood dripping down his nose. “I couldn’t hurt a single one of y’all-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence before JJ jabbed the butt of the gun against his nose. Kie and Pope both yelled at him and John B took the gun from his hands, but you wouldn’t have cried if he did it again. The asshole on the ground deserved it.

“Let’s get out of here,” John B said. But JJ wasn’t done yet. He bent down and rummaged through the man’s pockets before pulling out a wallet.

“We got one last stop,” JJ said, shoving John B away from him and storming back to the car. You brought your hand up to your mouth. Beating the guy up was justified, sure, but he was down. No one except him got hurt. Pope had the gun. There was nothing else to be done. But JJ was on a warpath.

Kie looked at you as if you could somehow stop him, but you just shook your head.

“Let’s go see where this son of a bitch lives,” JJ called back.

“I’m gonna remember this!” the man yelled from the ground while you made your way back to the van. “You can’t hide from me! I know exactly who y’all are!”

You jumped into the back of the van, settling yourself into the seat where JJ had been sitting before. Putting your head in your hands, you decided that it was time to go back to listening to your gut. Overthinking or not, there was nothing wrong with playing it safe.

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