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jimlingss · 5 years

Text

Jungle Park [20]

Chapter 19 - Chapter 20 - Chapter 20.5 OR Chapter 21

➜ Words: 6.3k

➜ Genres: Fluff, Light Humour (?), Slice of Life, Workplace Romance!AU

➜ Summary: The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah...once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*.

The first date consists of a warm meal in the comfort of your own home. It’s simple, but cozy. The second is spent chatting at a quaint breakfast diner, or rather arguing about what movies currently in the box office are worthwhile and those that are atrocious. This leads to the third outing at the theater where you both watch three movies back-to-back and get a headache afterwards, storylines in your head morphing together so you can’t distinguish which is which. There are countless more dates after that, from being dragged to the gym and being forced to workout to heading to a karaoke bar and re-discovering his superior singing skills to deciding to recklessly buy all ice-cream flavours from one brand for the sake of ranking them all. The first time he stays over is when you watch a comedy movie in your living room...that turns out to be a horror — by then, it’s too beyond the point of return and he stays over for both your sakes. And the first time he kisses you… “You have chocolate on your mouth.” “Where?” “Right there.” “Is it gone?” “No. It’s still right there.” Hoseok’s hand lifts, swiping at the corner of your lip and he licks the trace of chocolate off his thumb. A grin pulls into his cheeks, eyes gazing into your features like he adores you — it’s still strange. You’re not sure if you’ll ever get used to his affections like before. “There’s still some there.” “Really? What the...” Your brows furrow, wondering what kind of chocolate was on these chocolate covered strawberries and how it’s possible that it can be so stubborn. But a thought flickers into your mind and you steal the opportunity that is presented. Your arms raise until your hands are pressed on his cheeks, mouth puckering. You stand on your tiptoes, planting one chaste and quick smack to his lips. In the next second you’ve pulled away with a cheeky smile. “Is it gone now?” Jung Hoseok blinks hard and the corner of his mouth curls. “Nope, it’s still there. You’re going to have to kiss me harder.” The first time he kisses you is actually when you kiss him. The first time he hugs you — the first time he holds your hand — the first time he stays over — the first time you kiss him. You always thought it would be painful to relive these, to experience all these firsts again, even when they’re not the first for you. But it never occurred to you that experiencing all these moments over again wasn’t going to be painful at all. To relieve one of the best periods of your life again, to try one more time, it feels like watching your favourite movie or reading your book after having left them in dusted corners for so long. It’s seeing the most beautiful places with fresh eyes again, visiting those special moments once more, loving the same person twice. You’re lucky. It’s not his memories that are lost. It’s a future with him that’s being found. // “Hold the door!” Someone calls out and you push the button, keeping the elevator doors parted. Hoseok appears, slipping in with a nod. He steps beside you, keeping a good distance between both your bodies as it shuts. “Good morning.” “Morning.” He sips on his coffee, looking straight ahead and carrying his briefcase in his other hand. “You wanted to talk to me about vacation times?” “Yes. There are some concerns amongst the employees.” You keep your eyes trained on the numbers, watching them increase as you move past the floors. “You can come by my office any time after one then. I have another meeting before then.” “Sounds good.” The doors part with a ding, and you both walk your separate ways. But temptation is far too great and you end up glancing over your shoulder with a small smile, watching the lawyer enter his office. The pair of you agreed to keep your workplace romance discrete — it’s important to both you and Hoseok to remain professional and focused on your jobs during working hours. The two of you loved your jobs and didn’t want any of that to change. And for the most part things are normal. You’re more than content with it. “Y/N?” Sunyi pops her head through your doorway. “You have a second?” “Always.” You set aside your work with a smile and she doesn’t hesitate to step in, plopping down in the familiar seat across from yours. “What’s up?” “Oh nothing, just Yoongi again.” “What did he do this time?” When lunchtime rolls around, it’s Taehyung who’s visiting you. “A bunch of us are going out to lunch.” He wiggles his brows up and down with a mischievous grin. “Jin lost a bet, so he’s paying. Wanna come?” “Sure. Where to?” “This expensive place I know.” Taehyung skips away and you can practically feel Jin’s agony radiating off his body. It’s ordinary days like this that you cherish the most. As mundane as it is, the normalcy that lacks pandemonium offers a sense of peace of mind and you wouldn’t want it any other way. You get back in time, enough to approach causally with papers in hand and knock on his office door. Through the bottom crack, you can hear shuffling until it goes quiet again. “Come in.” “Hey.” You step into his office, shutting the door behind you. Hoseok automatically smiles, mouth curling upwards and his eyes crinkled ever so slightly. “You’re not wasting time, right? If you take too many extended lunches with the others, I’ll have to write you up, especially for encouraging them too.” “It was a business-related lunch.” You sit down with a slight pout. His brows raise and you laugh, giving in. “Business between Taehyung and Jin. I just happen to be there to observe and make sure no conflict breaks out that could be detrimental to office morale. Just doing my job.” The lawyer scoffs, amazed at how well you twist words. “You’re going to get all my employees to revolt and run me out of business one of these days.” “I’m sure Jimin wouldn’t mind.” You offer a cheeky smile. “It’ll give him the chance to break into the jungle gym business.” Hoseok’s serious persona completely shatters, losing all composure, and he laughs. “Oh god. Don’t remind me. The kid knows nothing about playground equipment and neither do I. Might as well declare bankruptcy now. Anyways, what do you have for me?” You slide over what’s in your hand except for one sheet. “It’s a new proposal for vacation days. I think the receptionists deserve three more days in the upcoming year….” He hums, considering the plans. For a while, it’s just business talk and discussions related to the office since you’ve both split the job of office manager together, a natural progression that happened without any change of official titles. But you fiddle with the single page in your lap, glancing at it, mind preoccupied. You clear your throat when you get the chance and slide it over to him. “Since I’m here...you should sign this too.” “What is it?” Hoseok grins, taking it. “It’s just for filing purposes.” You look away, suddenly made shy. It feels official to be documenting it — to have a ‘love contract’. Really, it’s nothing special. It’s to limit his liability as an employer and show that it’s a consensual dating relationship. There’s also a section on proper workplace behaviour expected of both parties as well as guaranteeing Hoseok will treat everyone fairly regardless of your personal relationship with him. “I’m part of HR and all and office romances are kind of part of my job...we’re actually the first ever, so that’s sort of exciting. First time I got to write guidelines for employees dating....” Hoseok's cheeks ache with his ginormous smile. He doesn’t say anything, only grabbing his favourite ink pen from his cup and happily singing his full name. He takes his time, drawing every swirl dramatically, looping the letters, relishing in the moment. It’s probably the best thing he’s signed in the past ten years of his life. “Are you going to frame this?” “No. It’s just a form.” “I feel like I need to frame this.” He holds it out in front of him, leaning back in his chair, admiring how both your names are side by side on the paper, acting as if this was a magnificent painting. After a long moment, he gives it back to you. “I’m going to need a copy of this on my desk before five o’clock today,” he commands sternly. A snort of air rushes from your nose. “Yes, sir.” Hoseok laces his fingers together, putting his hands under his chin as he gazes at you. “I’m also going to need a kiss from you before you leave this office.” “What happened to staying professional?” You loll your head to the side, too amused. “Is anyone around?” “No,” There’s a pause and you counter, “but we’re still in the office.” “That’s a good point.” He nods with another grin. “But I’m too tempted to do worse things.” You scoff, standing on your feet and leaning over. Your right hand is pressed on the surface of his desk, holding your weight as you bend. Your left hand tugs on his tie, pulling him closer and you plant a kiss on his cheek, faintly staining his skin with your lipstick. You pull away just as fast, plucking the sheet of paper away from him. “Save it for after work, Jung. Or else I might find cause to sue you.” “You’d never win.” He smirks, watching you saunter off. You spin around one last time. “I think you underestimate me.” The door shuts again and Hoseok sighs helplessly, turning back to work. Oddly enough, he’s more motivated than before to get things done. // While sometimes the workday feels short, for you it’s too long. If someone paid close attention to you, they’d notice the way your left leg was jumping underneath your desk and the way you were constantly glancing at the clock, waiting for five o’clock to roll around, too antsy to get out of here. Luckily for you, after the ninetieth glimpse of the time, five o’clock has finally come. “Goodnight, Y/N.” Naul bids farewell as she passes and you mimic her goodbye. The office slowly but surely empties out. You’re getting closer and closer— “Are you leaving yet?” Seulgi swings by your office, coat and bag in her hands, big eyes anticipating and slightly surprised you’re still at your desk. “I...uh…overtime….” Your eyes accidentally stray to Hoseok’s office and the door that remains closed. With a long sigh and not wanting to draw suspicion, you collect your belongings. “I’m leaving too.” “Cool.” The paralegal follows you out, past the floor, his office, the front desk and the elevators. The metal doors part and sadly close. But you try not to seem disappointed. “Are you doing anything after work?” “Just the usual. Hanging out at home, catching up on some TV, catching up on some sleep. You?” “Just going out with some friends.” Seulgi checks her phone, scrolling through her endless text messages. “I’ve already skipped out on three outings with them because somehow Hoseok always miraculously finds a way to shove work at me right before I’m supposed to go.” “Well, he tries his best. There’s a lot of work to do.” The female scoffs. “I don’t know about that. He’s not so strict anymore, but he’s still an ass.” “I don’t think you should speak about our boss in that way.” You turn to her with a sudden sharp and fierce tone, causing her to become startled. You swallow hard, softening your voice and trying to explain yourself, “Hoseok tries his best and he actually has a hard time keeping everything afloat. He actually cares a lot about his employees. We just have to learn to recognize it.” “I’m...sorry,” she murmurs after blinking a few times. “No, it’s okay. I understand how easy it is to be swept up and believe that he doesn’t care, but believe me, Hoseok is the complete opposite.” Seulgi nods and when the elevator doors open, you both walk through the lobby, bidding goodbye to the security guard. “Oh, Y/N, do you want me to give you a ride to the station? I’m heading in that direction anyways.” You smile, touched by her offer. “No, it’s okay.” “Are you sure?” She frowns in confusion. “Yeah, I’m fine. I have to pick up some stuff on my way to the station, so I don’t want to be a bother.” “Alright.” She gets into her car. “See you tomorrow?” “Tomorrow!” You wave goodbye. Meanwhile, Jimin is still packing up his things in his office. He didn’t realize it was so late, having been working ahead and caught up in it beyond the recognition of time. So now he happily hums, stepping out of his office, heading towards the elevators. But a flicker of light from the corner of his eye causes the lawyer to freeze mid-step. His neck cranes over. He walks. And he throws open his partner’s door. “Are you going?” “No.” Hoseok is preoccupied with papers all over his desk. “Have some work to do.” But Jimin doesn’t buy it so easily, especially when he knows what work there is...or rather, lack thereof. The brunette frowns, thinking hard and tilting his head. “What work?” At the same time, the lawyer’s phone chimes loudly. Hoseok picks up the device, smiling momentarily at the screen before pocketing it. “Actually, I am going.” The lawyer already standing is shocked to say the least. His partner isn’t one to change his mind so quickly. He can’t help but stare at him, even as they both walk out. “Why are you so happy lately?” “I’m not. It’s nothing.” “You’re not or it’s nothing?” “Both.” Typically, Jimin can read his partner’s expression — Hoseok doesn’t hide many things. But at the moment, he can’t read his expression at all. “Does it have to do with Y/N?” “What? No. Why would you say that?” “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “You guys talk a lot these days — I thought you said she was annoying.” Jung Hoseok is appalled and his mouth draws open, high-pitched whining voice channeled outwards. “I never said that!” “Alright, alright.” Jimin backs off with open hands and the two of them exit the elevator. “Maybe I’m remembering wrong,” he mutters and they leave the building. But even stranger and more baffling to him is how Hoseok takes a left instead of right, the opposite direction of the parking lot. “Hey! Where are you going? What about your car?” “I parked somewhere else. Bye! See you tomorrow!” “What the…” If it were possible, there would be a question mark floating above his head. Heck, his entire face has practically turned into a question mark. Jimin can’t understand — Hoseok has a reserved parking spot. Why would he park somewhere else? Yet, he is only left with more unanswered questions as he watches his partner walk off with a skip in his step. And he can only get into his own vehicle with a sharp inhale, confused to no end. Hoseok walks three blocks and then he hears a very familiar, warm voice. “‘Bout time.” He smiles, finding you leaning on his car with your arms crossed and lips pouty. “Sorry, I was caught up.” “You don’t have to drive me in the morning, you know.” The two of you parked far away, not wanting to get out of the car together in the morning and arouse suspicion from the employees of the office. It was definitely a hassle, but one you didn’t mind so much. “But I want you to see you,” he says and you know he doesn’t mind either. Hoseok gets into the car while you slide into the passenger seat. “You still see me at work.” “It’s not the same.” He has a wide grin and then leans over, soft lips stamping on your cheek, kissing you, and catching you completely off guard. He says nothing, putting his keys into the ignition and firing up the engine. You give a small helpless sigh, smile stuck on your face as he pulls away from the curb and you both go home together.

It’s another ordinary day, one of the kinds that you’re most content with— “Hey. Has anyone seen Hoseok?” Namjoon frowns, pushing up his glasses and leaning over to gather the attention of the other legal assistants. Seulgi shakes his head and so does Jin. “Actually, I was looking for Y/N too.” Seokjin chews his crunchy carrots and speaks with his mouth full, annoying the living daylights out of Seulgi. “She’s not in her office either.” “Huh.” She snaps out of her irritation caused by her coworker and tilts her head to the side. It was a mystery indeed. Jungkook passes by at the wrong time and is unfortunately questioned too. “Hey, Kook, have you seen Hoseok or Y/N?” “Uh…” The boy��s doe eyes stare back into theirs. “No..?” He walks away slowly, practically doing the moonwalk and he leaves into the kitchen, slipping away from them and making the legal assistants even more baffled with his bizarre behaviour. Eventually, the lawyer is found again and he tells Namjoon that he was in the bathroom. As for you… “I was in the lobby.” You smile at Seulgi. “Is there something you needed?” “No, I’m fine.” She shakes her head and walks away. Her thoughts are running wild, but she shakes it off with a tiny laugh and a scoff, feeling like she’s driving herself insane with her active imagination. It can’t be…

These ordinary days are the ones you love most. You can’t complain, especially with the way your morning starts off. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” You slip into the passenger seat with the brightest of smiles that would probably make Min Yoongi, the opposite of a morning person, want to kill you. “I thought you were against being late.” Hoseok grins, hands on the steering wheel, but still not driving away just yet. “Isn’t that part of your rules for the office?” “Yes,” you confirm. “So, we better get going here, Jung.” “Not before I get my morning kiss.” The lawyer childishly pouts and he taps his plush lips with a single finger. You sigh in exhuasion and he only sulks harder, tilting his head. “C’mon! Hurry!” he whines and you laugh, giving in. You lean over the console, pressing a single kiss to his mouth. The edges of his mouth lifts, smiling against yours. When you pull away, he mischievously chases after it, planting another peck to your lips. Happy and satisfied, Hoseok hollers loudly and begins driving. “Alright! Now we can go!” Really, you don’t know what you’re going to do with him— “Are you alright, Y/N?” Inyoung appears by your side, shocking you and nearly making the coffee slosh past the rim and onto your clothes. You set the cup down, dazed. “Huh? Uh, yes, why?” “Nothing. You were just smiling to yourself.” The accountant has her mouth meekly upturned and she scans you from head to toe, judgment lacking from her gaze and filled with fascination instead. “You look great.” You blink. “I do?” “Yes, you look very refreshed. Actually, I’ve noticed these days that you seem pretty happy, it’s almost like you’re glowing.” “T-..thanks.” You laugh nervously, trying to cover it up, but cringing at how stiff it sounds. “It’s what eight hours of sleep does to you, I guess.” “Ah...I wish I got eight hours of sleep. I actually suffer from insomnia sometimes.” “Oh, you want to talk about it? I don’t know how much actual advice I can offer you, but it might help. I know insomnia is linked to stress.” “I would love that,” she says with a grin. Your head nods once, picking an appointed time later on in the day and taking a sigh of relief at how you narrowly escaped. You really need to stop daydreaming.

But what were you thinking about? Yes. It’s ordinary days like this that— Kim Dahyun. She is a receptionist at Jung and Park. Most of the time, she feels like she’s just a side character in the firm, a sidekick so to speak. Not only does she have less of a strong personality than Lisa, the other receptionist, but she’s the newest addition to the office, albeit joining months ago. Apparently, she replaced a psycho girl before this. But that’s not important. The important fact of the matter is that she’s decided to take control of her life again! No longer will she be just a side-character. No longer is she going to be quiet and confused in conversations, still learning about the dynamics between people here. She’s going to make herself known in this office. She is going to show the other employees her bubbly personality that has been hidden away. She’s going to be the main character now! And she’s going to start by going directly to her boss and asking for a raise! Knock. Knock. She opens after hearing a squeak inside. “Um—” The words die on her tongue when she realizes she’s interrupted. You’re standing across from Hoseok’s desk, obviously both having been engaged in a conversation. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The receptionist begins to back away, but you smile. “No, it’s okay. I was just leaving.” You slip out of the room and Hoseok looks up with his piercing eyes. “Is there something you need from me?” “N-No. Sorry.” Okay. Courage might not be Dahyun’s strongest suit, but she’s going to assert her dominance one way or another. Now’s just not the right timing. But maybe she should talk to you and get your help. You’ve helped the others in this office get a raise before… “I’ll be right back.” Dahyun sets down her bag and coat on the chair. Lisa nods, booting up the computer while peeling the vibrant pink paint off her fingernails. “I’m going to grab a coffee.” She’s going to get herself a drink and find you. Tell you what’s going on. Get that raise. “Why are you doing that?” Dahyun hears a giggle and she freezes. “Stop that, Hoseok.” The receptionist’s eyes land on both you and Hoseok side by side at the counter of the kitchen. Her breath hitches. Her eyes grow wide. She begins to back away as if a predator is there, but it’s too late. You turn and notice her. Immediately, the conversation dies. Hoseok’s smile falls and your expression glazes over. Then, faster than she can blink, you smile at her. “Good morning, Dahyun.” “M-morning.” The lawyer nods in acknowledgment and walks off with a coffee cup in hand while you’re still staring at the girl who’s caught like a deer in headlights. But you’re oblivious to her turmoil. “Did you need something?” “No, no, I’m good…” Kim Dahyun is in agony. Every corner she turns, she’s placed in an awkward position, somehow sandwiched between you and Hoseok. She is the third wheel with no intention of third-wheeling. This isn’t right. Maybe she’s not supposed to the main character, maybe this isn’t her story. All she knows is that it was certainly more peaceful when she decided to just do her job and not chase after this imaginary raise and ambition of being noticed. She was being noticed alright — just in all the wrong ways. A sigh spills from the seams of her lips and she pushes the elevator button to return to the proper office floor. She waits patiently and then the silver doors part. “—don’t make me tickle you!” Your giggle and Hoseok’s laugh dies off. Dahyun stares.

The lawyer glares. You smile at her again, stepping aside. She enters after a delayed moment, holding the file folder to your chest. The stiff air nearly suffocates her to death. Hoseok looks straight ahead, face blank and serious while you peek at the receptionist. “Is everything okay, Dahyun?” “I..uh...I’m okay,” she murmurs, breaking a sweat from the tension. That’s when she decides to go for the kill, just to put herself out of her own misery. “But...I...um..was thinking….a r-raise.” “Would you like a raise?” you clarify and although Hoseok doesn’t say anything, you nod. “We’re in discussion for raises, so we’ll definitely keep you in mind. You’ve been doing a good job.” “T-..thanks…” The doors part with a chime and both you and the lawyer go your separate ways. Dahyun barely drags her feet back to the front desk. Lisa is startled at how pale she looks, skin sickly in lack of colour. “What’s wrong?” The receptionist doesn’t say anything, simply collapsing in her chair. Finally, her goal is complete. That’s all that matters. And she’s given up — she’ll just do her job quietly, go home quietly, mind her own business and hope one day she’ll save enough to pay for her own funeral. Trying to be the main character of a story that doesn’t belong to her is giving the poor girl too much stress. She doesn’t want the spotlight anymore. Not only is she confused and placed in such bizarre situations, she doesn’t think she can handle it any longer. It was definitely weird… But maybe it’s just a coincidence that you and Hoseok were always together. What were you thinking again? It felt like you forgot and faded in the background for a second…. It’s ordinary days like this that you cherish the most. Yes. That’s it. “Hi, could I get a large black coffee to go? Also...I’d like a strawberry strudel.” The question mark returns over Jimin’s head and after he makes his own order, he follows his partner to where the pick-up station is. “Don’t you hate strawberry strudels? You said it was too sweet once and you even spat it out.” Hoseok shrugs nonchalantly. “My tastes changed.” “Huh. Aren’t you a picky eater?” The lawyer doesn’t even answer or respond to his question, preoccupied with tapping away on his phone. // Later on in the day, Jimin is making his rounds around the office, finding some spare time and checking around. He used to do it more often and it would take much longer considering how many times he would be stopped and complained to (most notably by Sunyi towards Yoongi). But it seems like these days, he can happily weave through tables and offices without being bombarded with excessive whines. Everybody was doing well, focused on their jobs, office morale at a good place, content and happy. But there’s one notable thing. “Oh, is that a strawberry strudel?” You look up at your desk towards the brunette lawyer who’s popped his head through the doorway. “Yeah. Do you want some?” “No, I’m okay. But did you get that at the coffee shop?” He tilts his head, pointing at the sweet treat with a twitching smile and his other arm behind his back. The question mark above Jimin’s head is on the verge of exploding. “I brought it from home,” you say with a smile. Boom. The floating question mark blasts. Jimin leaves casually, but behind his office doors, his eyes are narrowed, two fingers parting his blinds carefully to stare out at the office floor. He isn’t Park Jimin anymore — he’s Sherlock Holmes. And he’s going to find out what the fuck is going on because he knows there’s something, merely right under his nose. He can sniff it in the air. He’s a hyperactive cat high on curiosity instead of catnip. There’s never been a moment where he’s been this curious, itching to know what’s going on, and as nosy and intrusive as it is, he stalks you both. But when he eavesdrops, it’s just mundane conversations and always work related. When you’re both together, it’s by coincidence. The rational part of Jimin’s brain tells him that you and Hoseok are just good friends and he’s projecting his own ‘needs’ onto the two of you, as if you both were having some hot affair that Jimin wishes he had…. But the lawyer is stubborn and won’t give up so easily, especially when it comes to his equally stubborn partner. “Hey, Y/N. Do you want to go out to lunch?” “I’d love to,” you reply easily, playing right into Jimin’s hand. It was perfect. He was going to set it up and make it so that you both would be going out to lunch with him. From there, Jimin would be able to observe how you two react with each other and he could do his interrogation at the same time too. It was impeccable— “I’m busy,” Hoseok mutters. “Can’t.” “What? You have to!” “We already had our monthly date last week if you didn’t remember.” He flips through several papers, licking his thumb in the process, chin deep in work. Jimin makes a last ditch attempt. “Y/N’s coming.” Hoseok doesn’t even look up at him. “So?” Fail. He sighs and walks away, not knowing what else to do. With his mind preoccupied on it all day, even as you sit across from him in the breakroom and share a salad during lunch, he doesn’t realize when five o’clock has rolled around and all the employees are leaving. “Hey, I’m heading out now,” his partner tells him on the way out. “Oh. Okay. Goodbye.” Jimin waves like a prince riding a carriage, acknowledging his presence. Hoseok disappears soon after...and then, Jimin’s legs take off. He bursts down the hallway, stopping on his heel and looking into your office. Lo and behold, you’re still there. “Y/N?” “Hey.” You look up at him. “Is everything alright?” His chest rises and falls, trying to catch his breath. “No-....I’m good. Are you going home?” You melt into a sheepish smile. “No. Unfortunately, I think I’m going to go overtime. I’m trying to finish this. I hope you don’t mind.” “It’s fine.” He backs away and then runs towards his office, ignoring the frown Seulgi sends him for being so outlandish. Jimin is more focused with leaping towards his glass windows and then he looks down….finding Hoseok driving away in his car. Whelp. Perhaps the strudel incident was really just a coincidence. There’s no other evidence of anything else going on. You’re both the same and Hoseok doesn’t act like he particularly cares about you. Jimin doesn’t want to ask you or his partner directly, knowing his boundaries and honestly already feeling guilty for being so suspicious and nosy in your private business. But the emotion that overwhelms him the most is disappointment. Jimin would’ve been so happy if you and Hoseok had actually something going on beyond a platonic sense. For a second there, he was actually excited. Secretly, he always felt you two were a good match with each other — you got to the deeper parts of Hoseok’s personality and he always seemed to anchor you down. Plus, Jimin doesn’t want Hoseok to die alone. The guy’s been working hard for the past two decades and he’s the one who deserves to feel happy the most. Park Jimin sighs to himself and muses that by the time Hoseok’s in a retirement home, the guy will only have him. But it would’ve been so nice if you both were together. Oh well. It is what it is. // Twenty minutes later, you’ve left the office to make the trek towards the station, but you stop only a block away from the firm. While standing on the curb of the street, eventually a familiar car pulls up and you open the door, jumping in. “Did you get the food?” you ask, planting a quick kiss to his cheek. “Just in time before they closed!” “Nice!” Things were great. Everything was going smoothly with Hoseok thus far. You were happy as can be, floating on cloud nine, and no one in the office suspected a single thing.

Min Yoongi wants to jump in front of a train, a school bus, maybe both. He couldn’t believe he was going into the office when it was nearly midnight, just because he was a big enough idiot to forget to bring his work home. Sunyi’s right. He’s a dumbass. Sure, Yoongi needed to finish it over the weekend and he could’ve picked it up tomorrow when it wasn’t at an ungodly hour. But then again, he also knew that there was no way in hell he was waking up at a reasonable time and he most positively did not want to step out of his house on a Saturday when it was not necessary. He’s a night owl and isn’t tired when making the trek to the office. On the bright side (if there was one), at least he could come in wearing his pajamas and no one would notice….only the night guard who waves while making his rounds. Yoongi fishes out the office keys and easily opens the door. Immediately, something catches his eye. It’s odd. Hoseok’s office lights are still on. The impassive lawyer wonders if Hoseok is having a late night like he is or maybe one of the cleaning staff accidentally left it on. He approaches, about to ask his old friend, but then he hears….moaning. There’s the sound of creaking inside, like a ghost taking refuge on an old rocking chair placed on a patio of some horror house. He walks away, beelining for his office. Yoongi sighs, picking up his shit to get the fuck out. But unfortunately for him and probably because Sunyi has cursed him so many times, as he walks out with an entire box of papers, the door to Hoseok’s office opens. You’re there. Just like he thought. “Yoongi?!” You’re shocked, frozen mid-step, not able to take a step closer towards the bathroom that you were heading into. You blink hard, wondering if you’re seeing a phantom. You aren’t. “Hey.” He greets you with a blank expression like it’s an ordinary day and he isn’t dressed from head to toe in blue airplane pajamas, freshly washed hair, and you weren’t still in your work attire. “I came to pick this up. Working on the client file over the weekend.” “Oh. I-uh...I was doing some overtime. I’m….a-about to go home too.” Yoongi nods, gripping the box. “See you.” But as the lawyer brushes past, he stops temporarily, cranes his neck and whispers in your ear— “Your skirt is on backwards.” You’re beyond embarrassed. Mortified. The planet could swallow you whole. Steam rises from your ears. It doesn’t help that you’ve preached about not engaging in any sexual misconduct within a five hundred radius of the building. But you don’t say anything and as Yoongi walks away nonchalantly, he peeks into the office where Hoseok is putting on his pants, faced away from the door and oblivious to his existence. You knew it was a bad idea. But when you tell Hoseok, he only laughs, mumbling something about how that sounds exactly like Yoongi. // You’re not so sure how long the butterflies will last. There will come a time when holding hands with Jung Hoseok and kissing him on the lips will no longer send swooping tingles to your stomach and make you giddy and giggly. But then you remember already living past the part already. Past the part where special moments became ordinary and mundane, and you’re not so worried as before. As long as neither you nor Hoseok give up, then things will work out. You believe in him. You believe in yourself. You believe in the two of you together. That’s how the thirty days pass and no one makes mention of it, no one decides to wave the white flag and declare to adjourn this relationship. “What is this?” He asks as you throw a thick pile of two hundred sheets on the coffee table, nursing a glass of wine in your other hand. You plop down on the plush couch, taking your place beside him. “It’s my first draft of the staff handbook. I finally finished.” “What?” He frowns, putting down his own glass to hold the pile. “Remember? You told me to work on one when I first came to the firm.” It takes a long second before his features light up with recognition. “Right. Wow, I didn’t know you would actually do it.” A grin pulls into his rosy cheeks and he flips to the second page, reading it. “Okay, let’s see what you did here. Oooh, Jung and Park. A Divorce Law Firm. I like it already.” You scoff, having an inkling that he’s so soft, he’ll even like it if you only wrote three words per page. Throughout the night of reading and going through the draft of your staff handbook, the wine glasses become empty and you become sleepy, curling onto his side, lulled from the warmth radiating off his body. “Hoseok…” “Hmm?” “Hani wants to go on a trip,” you murmur. “All of us. Taeyeon, Changsub, Daehwi.” He hums a soothing, low note that vibrates in your ears pleasantly. “That’ll be a lot of fun.” “I’m still mad at Changsub,” you whisper and he laughs quietly, squeezing you. “Well, I’m thankful for him,” he says. “Actually...if it weren’t for him, how long would you have waited to tell me about all of it.” “I don’t know.” Your eyes flutter shut, words spilling out slowly. “Didn’t...want to risk it. I wouldn’t mind being your friend...as long as I’m beside you…..” The corner of his lips tilt and he gazes endearingly at your profile before kissing the top of your head. Hoseok nuzzles into you, pulling the blanket up to your chin and you both fall asleep on the couch together.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #hoseok fanfic #hoseok fluff #hoseok scenario

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readbookywooks · 7 years

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Lyra And Her Death

Here and there, fires had been lit among the ruins. The town was a jumble, with no streets, no squares, and no open spaces except where a building had fallen. A few churches or public buildings still stood above the rest, though their roofs were holed or their walls cracked, and in one case a whole portico had crumpled onto its columns. Between the shells of the stone buildings, a mazy clutter of shacks and shanties had been put together out of lengths of roofing timber, beaten-out petrol cans or biscuit tins, torn plastic sheeting, scraps of plywood or hardboard. The ghosts who had come with them were hurrying toward the town, and from every direction came more of them, so many that they looked like the grains of sand that trickle toward the hole of an hourglass. The ghosts walked straight into the squalid confusion of the town, as if they knew exactly where they were going, and Lyra and Will were about to follow them; but then they were stopped. A figure stepped out of a patched-up doorway and said, "Wait, wait." A dim light was glowing behind him, and it wasn't easy to make out his features; but they knew he wasn't a ghost. He was like them, alive. He was a thin man who could have been any age, dressed in a drab and tattered business suit, and he was holding a pencil and a sheaf of papers held together with a clip. The building he'd stepped out of had the look of a customs post on a rarely visited frontier. "What is this place?" said Will, "And why can't we go in?" "You're not dead," said the man wearily. "You have to wait in the holding area. Go farther along the road to the left and give these papers to the official at the gate." "But excuse me, sir," said Lyra, "I hope you don't mind me asking, but how can we have come this far if we en't dead? Because this is the world of the dead, isn't it?" "It's a suburb of the world of the dead. Sometimes the living come here by mistake, but they have to wait in the holding area before they can go on." "Wait for how long?" "Until they die." Will felt his head swim. He could see Lyra was about to argue, and before she could speak, he said, "Can you just explain what happens then? I mean, these ghosts who come here, do they stay in this town forever?" "No, no," said the official. "This is just a port of transit. They go on beyond here by boat." "Where to?" said Will. "That's not something I can tell you," said the man, and a bitter smile pulled his mouth down at the corners. "You must move along, please. You must go to the holding area." Will took the papers the man was holding out, and then held Lyra's arm and urged her away. The dragonflies were flying sluggishly now, and Tialys explained that they needed to rest; so they perched on Will's rucksack, and Lyra let the spies sit on her shoulders. Pantalaimon, leopard-shaped, looked up at them jealously, but he said nothing. They moved along the track, skirting the wretched shanties and the pools of sewage, and watching the never-ending stream of ghosts arriving and passing without hindrance into the town itself. "We've got to get over the water, like the rest of them," said Will. "And maybe the people in this holding place will tell us how. They don't seem to be angry anyway, or dangerous. It's strange. And these papers..." They were simply scraps of paper torn from a notebook, with random words scribbled in pencil and crossed out. It was as if these people were playing a game, and waiting to see when the travelers would challenge them or give in and laugh. And yet it all looked so real. It was getting darker and colder, and time was hard to keep track of. Lyra thought they walked for half an hour, or maybe it was twice as long; the look of the place didn't change. Finally they reached a little wooden shack like the one they'd stopped at earlier, where a dim bulb glowed on a bare wire over the door. As they approached, a man dressed much like the other one came out holding a piece of bread and butter in one hand, and without a word looked at their papers and nodded. He handed them back and was about to go inside when Will said, "Excuse me, where do we go now?" "Go and find somewhere to stay," said the man, not unkindly. "Just ask. Everybody's waiting, same as you." He turned away and shut his door against the cold, and the travelers turned down into the heart of the shanty town where the living people had to stay. It was very much like the main town: shabby little huts, repaired a dozen times, patched with scraps of plastic or corrugated iron, leaning crazily against each other over muddy alleyways. At some places, an anbaric cable looped down from a bracket and provided enough feeble current to power a naked lightbulb or two, strung out over the nearby huts. Most of what light there was, however, came from the fires. Their smoky glow flickered redly over the scraps and tatters of building material, as if they were the last remaining flames of a great conflagration, staying alive out of pure malice. But as Will and Lyra and the Gallivespians came closer and saw more detail, they picked out many more figures sitting in the darkness by themselves, or leaning against the walls, or gathered in small groups, talking quietly. "Why aren't those people inside?" said Lyra. "It's cold." "They're not people," said the Lady Salmakia. "They're not even ghosts. They're something else, but I don't know what." The travelers came to the first group of shacks, which were lit by one of those big weak anbaric bulbs on a cable swinging slightly in the cold wind, and Will put his hand on the knife at his belt. There was a group of those people-shaped things outside, crouching on their heels and rolling dice, and when the children came near, they stood up: five of them, all men, their faces in shadow and their clothes shabby, all silent. "What is the name of this town?" said Will. There was no reply. Some of them took a step backward, and all five moved a little closer together, as if they were afraid. Lyra felt her skin crawling, and all the tiny hairs on her arms standing on end, though she couldn't have said why. Inside her shirt Pantalaimon was shivering and whispering, "No, no, Lyra, no, go away, let's go back, please..." The "people" made no move, and finally Will shrugged and said, "Well, good evening to you anyway," and moved on. They met a similar response from all the other figures they spoke to, and all the time their apprehension grew. "Will, are they Specters?" Lyra said quietly. "Are we grown up enough to see Specters now?" "I don't think so. If we were, they'd attack us, but they seem to be afraid themselves. I don't know what they are." A door opened, and light spilled out on the muddy ground. A man - a real man, a human being - stood in the doorway, watching them approach. The little cluster of figures around the door moved back a step or two, as if out of respect, and they saw the man's face: stolid, harmless, and mild. "Who are you?" he said. "Travelers," said Will. "We don't know where we are. What is this town?" "This is the holding area," said the man. "Have you traveled far?" "A long way, yes, and we're tired," said Will. "Could we buy some food and pay for shelter?" The man was looking past them, into the dark, and then he came out and looked around further, as if there were someone missing. Then he turned to the strange figures standing by and said: "Did you see any death?" They shook their heads, and the children heard a murmur of "No, no, none." The man turned back. Behind him, in the doorway, there were faces looking out: a woman, two young children, another man. They were all nervous and apprehensive. "Death?" said Will. "We're not bringing any death." But that fact seemed to be the very thing they were worried about, because when Will spoke, there was a soft gasp from the living people, and even the figures outside shrank away a little. "Excuse me," said Lyra, stepping forward in her best polite way, as if the housekeeper of Jordan College were glaring at her. "I couldn't help noticing, but these gentlemen here, are they dead? I'm sorry for asking, if it's rude, but where we come from it's very unusual, and we never saw anyone like them before. If I'm being impolite I do beg your pardon. But you see, in my world, we have daemons, everyone has a daemon, and we'd be shocked if we saw someone without one, just like you're shocked to see us. And now we've been traveling, Will and me - this is Will, and I'm Lyra - I've learned there are some people who don't seem to have daemons, like Will doesn't, and I was scared till I found out they were just ordinary like me really. So maybe that's why someone from your world might be just a bit sort of nervous when they see us, if you think we're different." The man said, "Lyra? And Will?" "Yes, sir," she said humbly. "Are those your daemons?" he said, pointing to the spies on her shoulder. "No," said Lyra, and she was tempted to say, "They're our servants," but she felt Will would have thought that a bad idea; so she said, "They're our friends, the Chevalier Tialys and the Lady Salmakia, very distinguished and wise people who are traveling with us. Oh, and this is my daemon," she said, taking mouse-Pantalaimon out of her pocket. "You see, we're harmless, we promise we won't hurt you. And we do need food and shelter. We'll move on tomorrow. Honest." Everyone waited. The man's nervousness was soothed a little by her humble tone, and the spies had the good sense to look modest and harmless. After a pause the man said: "Well, though it's strange, I suppose these are strange times... Come in, then, be welcome..." The figures outside nodded, one or two of them gave little bows, and they stood aside respectfully as Will and Lyra walked into the warmth and light. The man closed the door behind them and hooked a wire over a nail to keep it shut. It was a single room, lit by a naphtha lamp on the table, and clean but shabby. The plywood walls were decorated with pictures cut from film-star magazines, and with a pattern made with fingerprints of soot. There was an iron stove against one wall, with a clothes-horse in front of it, where some dingy shirts were steaming, and on a dressing table there was a shrine of plastic flowers, seashells, colored scent bottles, and other gaudy bits and pieces, all surrounding the picture of a jaunty skeleton with a top hat and dark glasses. The shanty was crowded: as well as the man and the woman and the two young children, there was a baby in a crib, an older man, and in one corner, in a heap of blankets, a very old woman, who was lying and watching everything with glittering eyes, her face as wrinkled as the blankets. As Lyra looked at her, she had a shock: the blankets stirred, and a very thin arm emerged, in a black sleeve, and then another face, a man's, so ancient it was almost a skeleton. In fact, he looked more like the skeleton in the picture than like a living human being; and then Will, too, noticed, and all the travelers together realized that he was one of those shadowy, polite figures like the ones outside. And all of them felt as nonplussed as the man had been when he'd first seen them. In fact, all the people in the crowded little shack - all except the baby, who was asleep - were at a loss for words. It was Lyra who found her voice first. "That's very kind of you," she said, "thank you, good evening, we're very pleased to be here. And like I said, we're sorry to have arrived without any death, if that's the normal way of things. But we won't disturb you any more than we have to. You see, we're looking for the land of the dead, and that's how we happened to come here. But we don't know where it is, or whether this is part of it, or how to get there, or what. So if you can tell us anything about it, we'll be very grateful." The people in the shack were still staring, but Lyra's words eased the atmosphere a little, and the woman invited them to sit at the table, drawing out a bench. Will and Lyra lifted the sleeping dragonflies up to a shelf in a dark corner, where Tialys said they would rest till daylight, and then the Gallivespians joined them on the table. The woman had been preparing a dish of stew, and she peeled a couple of potatoes and cut them into it to make it go farther, urging her husband to offer the travelers some other refreshment while it cooked. He brought out a bottle of clear and pungent spirit that smelled to Lyra like the gyptians' jenniver, and the two spies accepted a glass into which they dipped little vessels of their own. Lyra would have expected the family to stare most at the Gallivespians, but their curiosity was directed just as much, she thought, at her and Will. She didn't wait long to ask why. "You're the first people we ever saw without a death," said the man, whose name, they'd learned, was Peter. "Since we come here, that is. We're like you, we come here before we was dead, by some chance or accident. We got to wait till our death tells us it's time." "Your death tells you?" said Lyra. "Yes. What we found out when we come here, oh, long ago for most of us, we found we all brought our deaths with us. This is where we found out. We had 'em all the time, and we never knew. See, everyone has a death. It goes everywhere with 'em, all their life long, right close by. Our deaths, they're outside, taking the air; they'll come in by and by. Granny's death, he's there with her, he's close to her, very close." "Doesn't it scare you, having your death close by all the time?" said Lyra. "Why ever would it? If he's there, you can keep an eye on him. I'd be a lot more nervous not knowing where he was." "And everyone has their own death?" said Will, marveling. "Why, yes, the moment you're born, your death comes into the world with you, and it's your death that takes you out." "Ah," said Lyra, "that's what we need to know, because we're trying to find the land of the dead, and we don't know how to get there. Where do we go then, when we die?" "Your death taps you on the shoulder, or takes your hand, and says, 'Come along o' me, it's time.' It might happen when you're sick with a fever, or when you choke on a piece of dry bread, or when you fall off a high building; in the middle of your pain and travail, your death comes to you kindly and says, 'Easy now, easy, child, you come along o' me,' and you go with them in a boat out across the lake into the mist. What happens there, no one knows. No one's ever come back." The woman told a child to call the deaths in, and he scampered to the door and spoke to them. Will and Lyra watched in wonder, and the Gallivespians drew closer together, as the deaths - one for each of the family - came in through the door: pale, unremarkable figures in shabby clothes, just drab and quiet and dull. "These are your deaths?" said Tialys. "Indeed, sir," said Peter. "Do you know when they'll tell you it's time to go?" "No. But you know they're close by, and that's a comfort." Tialys said nothing, but it was clear that he felt it would be anything but a comfort. The deaths stood politely along the wall, and it was strange to see how little space they took up, and to find how little notice they attracted. Lyra and Will soon found themselves ignoring them altogether, though Will thought: Those men I killed - their deaths were close beside them all the time - they didn't know, and I didn't know... The woman, Martha, dished the stew onto chipped enamel plates and put some in a bowl for the deaths to pass among themselves. They didn't eat, but the good smell kept them content. Presently all the family and their guests were eating hungrily, and Peter asked the children where they'd come from, and what their world was like. "I'll tell you all about it," said Lyra. As she said that, as she took charge, part of her felt a little stream of pleasure rising upward in her breast like the bubbles in champagne. And she knew Will was watching, and she was happy that he could see her doing what she was best at, doing it for him and for all of them. She started by telling about her parents. They were a duke and duchess, very important and wealthy, who had been cheated out of their estate by a political enemy and thrown into prison. But they managed to escape by climbing down a rope with the baby Lyra in her father's arms, and they regained the family fortune, only to be attacked and murdered by outlaws. Lyra would have been killed as well, and roasted and eaten, had not Will rescued her just in time and taken her back to the wolves, in the forest where he was being brought up as one of them. He had fallen overboard as a baby from the side of his father's ship and been washed up on a desolate shore, where a female wolf had suckled him and kept him alive. The people ate up this nonsense with placid credulity, and even the deaths crowded close to listen, perching on the bench or lying on the floor close by, gazing at her with their mild and courteous faces as she spun out the tale of her life with Will in the forest. He and Lyra stayed with the wolves for a while, and then moved to Oxford to work in the kitchens of Jordan College. There they met Roger, and when Jordan was attacked by the brickburners who lived in the clay beds, they had to escape in a hurry; so she and Will and Roger captured a gyptian narrow boat and sailed it all the way down the Thames, nearly getting caught at Abingdon Lock, and then they'd been sunk by the Wapping pirates and had to swim for safety to a three-masted clipper just setting off for Hang Chow in Cathay to trade for tea. And on the clipper they'd met the Gallivespians, who were strangers from the moon, blown down to the earth by a fierce gale out of the Milky Way. They'd taken refuge in the crow's nest, and she and Will and Roger used to take turns going up there to see them, only one day Roger lost his footing and plunged down into Davy Jones's locker. They tried to persuade the captain to turn the ship around and look for him, but he was a hard, fierce man only interested in the profit he'd make by getting to Cathay quickly, and he clapped them in irons. But the Gallivespians brought them a file, and... And so on. From time to time she'd turn to Will or the spies for confirmation, and Salmakia would add a detail or two, or Will would nod, and the story wound itself up to the point where the children and their friends from the moon had to find their way to the land of the dead in order to learn, from her parents, the secret of where the family fortune had been buried. "And if we knew our deaths, in our land," she said, "like you do here, it would be easier, probably; but I think we're really lucky to find our way here, so's we could get your advice. And thank you very much for being so kind and listening, and for giving us this meal, it was really nice. "But what we need now, you see, or in the morning maybe, is we need to find a way out across the water where the dead people go, and see if we can get there, too. Is there any boats we could sort of hire?" They looked doubtful. The children, flushed with tiredness, looked with sleepy eyes from one grownup to the other, but no one could suggest where they could find a boat. Then came a voice that hadn't spoken before. From the depths of the bedclothes in the corner came a dry-cracked-nasal tone - not a woman's voice - not a living voice: it was the voice of the grandmother's death. "The only way you'll cross the lake and go to the land of the dead," he said, and he was leaning up on his elbow, pointing with a skinny finger at Lyra, "is with your own deaths. You must call up your own deaths. I have heard of people like you, who keep their deaths at bay. You don't like them, and out of courtesy they stay out of sight. But they're not far off. Whenever you turn your head, your deaths dodge behind you. Wherever you look, they hide. They can hide in a teacup. Or in a dewdrop. Or in a breath of wind. Not like me and old Magda here," he said, and he pinched her withered cheek, and she pushed his hand away. "We live together in kindness and friendship. That's the answer, that's it, that's what you've got to do, say welcome, make friends, be kind, invite your deaths to come close to you, and see what you can get them to agree to." His words fell into Lyra's mind like heavy stones, and Will, too, felt the deadly weight of them. "How should we do that?" he said. "You've only got to wish for it, and the thing is done." "Wait," said Tialys. Every eye turned to him, and those deaths lying on the floor sat up to turn their blank, mild faces to his tiny, passionate one. He was standing close by Salmakia, his hand on her shoulder. Lyra could see what he was thinking: he was going to say that this had gone too far, they must turn back, they were taking this foolishness to irresponsible lengths. So she stepped in. "Excuse me," she said to the man Peter, "but me and our friend the Chevalier, we've got to go outside for a minute, because he needs to talk to his friends in the moon through my special instrument. We won't be long." And she picked him up carefully, avoiding his spurs, and took him outside into the dark, where a loose piece of corrugated iron roofing was banging in the cold wind with a melancholy sound. "You must stop," he said as she set him on an upturned oil drum, in the feeble light of one of those anbaric bulbs that swung on its cable overhead. "This is far enough. No more." "But we made an agreement," Lyra said. "No, no. Not to these lengths." "All right. Leave us. You fly on back. Will can cut a window into your world, or any world you like, and you can fly through and be safe, that's all right, we don't mind." "Do you realize what you're doing?" "Yes." "You don't. You're a thoughtless, irresponsible, lying child. Fantasy comes so easily to you that your whole nature is riddled with dishonesty, and you don't even admit the truth when it stares you in the face. Well, if you can't see it, I'll tell you plainly: you cannot, you must not risk your death. You must come back with us now. I'll call Lord Asriel and we can be safe in the fortress in hours." Lyra felt a great sob of rage building up in her chest, and stamped her foot, unable to keep still. "You don't know," she cried, "you just don't know what I got in my head or my heart, do you? I don't know if you people ever have children, maybe you lay eggs or something, I wouldn't be surprised, because you're not kind, you're not generous, you're not considerate - you're not cruel, even - that would be better, if you were cruel, because it'd mean you took us serious, you didn't just go along with us when it suited you... Oh, I can't trust you at all now! You said you'd help and we'd do it together, and now you want to stop us - you're the dishonest one, Tialys!" "I wouldn't let a child of my own speak to me in the insolent, high-handed way you're speaking, Lyra - why I haven't punished you before - " "Then go ahead! Punish me, since you can! Take your bloody spurs and dig 'em in hard, go on! Here's my hand - do it! You got no idea what's in my heart, you proud, selfish creature - you got no notion how I feel sad and wicked and sorry about my friend Roger - you kill people just like that " - she snapped her finger - "they don't matter to you - but it's a torment and a sorrow to me that I never said good-bye to him, and I want to say sorry and make it as good as I can - you'd never understand that, for all your pride, for all your grown-up cleverness - and if I have to die to do what's proper, then I will, and be happy while I do. I seen worse than that. So if you want to kill me, you hard man, you strong man, you poison bearer, you Chevalier, you do it, go on, kill me. Then me and Roger can play in the land of the dead forever, and laugh at you, you pitiful thing." What Tialys might have done then wasn't hard to see, for he was ablaze from head to foot with a passionate anger, shaking with it; but he didn't have time to move before a voice spoke behind Lyra, and they both felt a chill fall over them. Lyra turned around, knowing what she'd see and dreading it despite her bravado. The death stood very close, smiling kindly, his face exactly like those of all the others she'd seen; but this was hers, her very own death, and Pantalaimon at her breast howled and shivered, and his ermine shape flowed up around her neck and tried to push her away from the death. But by doing that, he only pushed himself closer, and realizing it, he shrank back toward her again, to her warm throat and the strong pulse of her heart. Lyra clutched him to her and faced the death directly. She couldn't remember what he'd said, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see Tialys quickly preparing the lodestone resonator, busy. "You're my death, en't you?" she said. "Yes, my dear," he said. "You en't going to take me yet, are you?" "You wanted me. I am always here." "Yes, but... I did, yes, but... I want to go to the land of the dead, that's true. But not to die. I don't want to die. I love being alive, and I love my daemon, and... Daemons don't go down there, do they? I seen 'em vanish and just go out like candles when people die. Do they have daemons in the land of the dead?" "No," he said. "Your daemon vanishes into the air, and you vanish under the ground." "Then I want to take my daemon with me when I go to the land of the dead," she said firmly. "And I want to come back again. Has it ever been known, for people to do that?" "Not for many, many ages. Eventually, child, you will come to the land of the dead with no effort, no risk, a safe, calm journey, in the company of your own death, your special, devoted friend, who's been beside you every moment of your life, who knows you better than yourself - " "But Pantalaimon is my special and devoted friend! I don't know you, Death, I know Pan and I love Pan and if he ever - if we ever - " The death was nodding. He seemed interested and kindly, but she couldn't for a moment forget what he was: her very own death, and so close. "I know it'll be an effort to go on now," she said more steadily, "and dangerous, but I want to, Death, I do truly. And so does Will. We both had people taken away too soon, and we need to make amends, at least I do." "Everyone wishes they could speak again to those who've gone to the land of the dead. Why should there be an exception for you?" "Because," she began, lying, "because there's something I've got to do there, not just seeing my friend Roger, something else. It was a task put on me by an angel, and no one else can do it, only me. It's too important to wait till I die in the natural way, it's got to be done now. See, the angel commanded me. That's why we came here, me and Will. We got to." Behind her, Tialys put away his instrument and sat watching the child plead with her own death to be taken where no one should go. The death scratched his head and held up his hands, but nothing could stop Lyra's words, nothing could deflect her desire, not even fear: she'd seen worse than death, she claimed, and she had, too. So eventually her death said: "If nothing can put you off, then all I can say is, come with me, and I will take you there, into the land of the dead. I'll be your guide. I can show you the way in, but as for getting out again, you'll have to manage by yourself." "And my friends," said Lyra. "My friend Will and the others." "Lyra," said Tialys, "against every instinct, we'll go with you. I was angry with you a minute ago. But you make it hard..." Lyra knew that this was a time to conciliate, and she was happy to do that, having gotten her way. "Yes," she said, "I am sorry, Tialys, but if you hadn't got angry, we'd never have found this gentleman to guide us. So I'm glad you were here, you and the Lady, I'm really grateful to you for being with us." So Lyra persuaded her own death to guide her and the others into the land where Roger had gone, and Will's father, and Tony Makarios, and so many others; and her death told her to go down to the jetty when the first light came to the sky, and prepare to leave. But Pantalaimon was trembling and shivering, and nothing Lyra could do could soothe him into stillness, or quiet the soft little moan he couldn't help uttering. So her sleep was broken and shallow, on the floor of the shack with all the other sleepers, and her death sat watchfully beside her.

#AmberSpyglass

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