#angst doodle I did in class of a character crying | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-crows-typist · 3 years

Note

Hello! I recently read your azul's ficlet and i'm close to crying at how beautiful it is (its 4am emo hours). If its okay, may I request a ficlet of Jade with a gn!reader with the word 'sleep' or 'rest' (pick whichever suits better!). Thank you in advance! 💖

CW: Spoilers for the movie Your Name (Kimi no na wa), character death, body switching, angst with a happy ending, and slow burn (sort of)

Feedback in greatly appreciated!

Thank you to @opalmaplehibiscus , @jellyfishstuckinwonderland , and @raven-at-the-writing-desk for the input in the making of this fic. I greatly appreciate your help.

The Possibilities are Endless

“My name is..”

“Please remember me...!”

The crowds on the train pushed them apart, a braided bracelet was tossed towards Jade. A lifeline connecting both of them together, a connection between two souls; the face of one that was desperate to keep holding on, they yelled one last time just as the doors of the train closed and their grip on the bracelet wrap loosened.

“My name is—!”

Jade opened his eyes and he was in his room, his very dark room. To his side was his closet and to the other a white wall. The sound of bubbling water churned behind the window of his dorm room and with one slow blink, he pulled himself up and hunched over.

The same dream, the same voice, the same bracelet tossed to him.

He craned his head to his lamp stand where the colorful wrap lay next to his earring, he doesn’t remember where he got it nor does he remember why he wanted to keep it for so long. He took the bracelet and looked at it and thought back to the voice in his dream.

“Please remember me...!”

Pushing himself off he moved to the mirror to fix his appearance, with his brush and hair gel in hand he let out a gasp when the lights of vanity shined light on a note. A note written on his cheek with a marker, a message he didn’t remember writing.

“Who are you?”

It was during breakfast that Jade began to notice the strange happenings around him, how Azul asked if he was feeling better or how Floyd said he was wearing his earring again. “What do you mean,” Jade questioned. “I always wear it.”

“You weren’t yesterday. And you looked so lost like some little guppy, you even forget how to get to class yesterday morning.” Floyd complained, eating his breakfast with a huff. “Was it a prank? Cuz’ you got me good.”

What was he doing yesterday?

He woke up, went to school...No. That wasn’t what happened. He didn’t recall anything from the previous day. In fact, he remembered being at a different place.

In a city full of buildings and faraway from the sea, the familiar smell of white roses, the smile of an unfamiliar fellow and a bento box he had no recollection of him cooking or making.

His uniform wasn’t black but a cream with a tint of yellow, his magical pen was nowhere to be seen and was instead replaced with a pen nib brooch. He touches his cheek, remembering the message written on his cheek. “Who are you?”

“C’mon, you gotta tell me.” Floyd pestered, his arm over Jade’s neck “Was it a prank?”

“Perhaps.” The twins laughed, Floyd pulling close but in his mind he thought of the message, his incapability to remember the previous day. He needed more answers but only questions filled his head.

His notes were a mess and full of sketches. There were sketches of Night Raven’s facade and the students, his classmates. A slew of messy messages on paper, the handwriting worrying as if the person writing was stressed beyond belief.

“The uniforms are black, the gems are pens.”

“Nothing but roses for miles.”

“Wishing well???”

“Where am I?”

“Mr Leech, please read the next line.”

“Yes, sir.”

Trein’s brow raised and he blinked. “Well, today you actually remember your name. Perhaps you were just feeling ill.” A hum of laughter passed through the class. “And your hair is fixed as well; I was beginning to think you and your brother switched places when you came into class with a messy bed head.”

Jade blinked, tilting his head. “I...see. I’ll make sure to not make that mistake again, professor.”

“Good. Continue on reading.”

“Magic transcends all meaning when twilight occurs, when the sun and the moon share the sky for a single moment.” Trein explained, using a magical pointer. “The word twilight means ‘half-light’ when the light of the sun glows and causes refraction in the atmosphere and signaling the end of the morning and welcoming of night or visa versa. At times like this does magic become unpredictable and free-forming and when realities begin to overlap each other for the time twilight occurs. This was used to the advantage of the earliest magician in recorded history.”

Trein faced his students. “Nowadays, these times of day are known as dusk and dawn as the world twilight has fallen out of favor in recent years.”

“It’s probably because of that one book.” A student yelled from the rows behind and Trein nodded his head. “Ah, yes, ten years ago was an odd time for the word ‘twilight’.” Trein blinked, shaking his head slightly. “Who would have thought the human body produced so much diamonds but that is beside the point.” The bell rang and the students began taking their books. “Be sure to read up on your lesson today, we will be having a quiz tomorrow on the topic.”

Jade stayed in his seat for some time and stared at the diagram on the board.

Twilight.

In the back of his mind, a flash of a memory comes to him. He remembers a train stopping by and the droves of people coming in and out. Jade was alone that time, buying something some seeds or fungi. The sun was setting at the time, the yellow sun turning orange and the sky dimming to a nightly violet.

“Jade.”

He didn’t know the person who called out his name nor did he remember what they looked like but he did remember the smile they had, as if they were looking for him for a long time, it was a face relief.

“It’s me.”

He didn’t know who this person was nor did he ever remember their face and yet, at that instant he seemed to have known them his entire life. In his heart was a feeling of warmth, of glee, of content and relief; he was confused by it all. A strike of panic pierced his heart when that smile turned into a confused and upset frown. “You don’t...remember me..?”

The next stop came and people began filing out, pushing the two of them away from each other. “Jade, please remember me!” They said as they were pushed out by the crowd. Reaching up, they pulled the braided tie from their hair and threw it out of him. “Please remember me..!”

He caught the braided tie just as the other let go and doors began to close.

“My name is—!”

“Is there something wrong, Mr Leech?” He blinked, looking to Trein with confusion. He had missed the door and stood by the wall of the classroom. “Ah—I’m sorry.” There was a hissy laugh from Lucius as Trein set him down on the table to collect his papers. “You seem to be in deep thought, is there something on your mind?”

“No, professor, I was just thinking about our topic today.” Jade lied through his teeth and Trein took it with a huff. “I know twilight is a regular phenomenon but I didn’t know that it was an important time of day for mages and magicians.” A nod came from his professor. “Many people nowadays don’t see its importance as magical materials and magic itself have grown and changed over time. With the new technology and the new breakthroughs we have, the archaic practices of the past have since then been abandoned.”

Trein looked to the window and Jade followed his gaze, the sun began to set and the color of orange and violet painted the sky. “Twilight has begun.” Picking up his beloved cat, Trein stretched his back and moved to face the student in front of him. “It’s best to get back to your dorm, you might miss the curfew.”

“Professor, have you ever experienced anything during twilight? Like the way you’ve explained it during class?” Jade asked suddenly, his professor’s eyes widened then looking to the side to think for a moment. “I have but they were more of dreams than the otherworldly claims of recording happenings. I would often see myself in another person’s shoes, seeing a world I did not know about, it wasn’t a pleasant experience but...It was interesting, for a dream at least.”

“I see. Thank you very much, professor. I’ll be on my way.”

He stared at his messy notebook unblinking, the messy handwriting and the sketches were foreign to him. He drew a few doodles but he never put any detail to it nor was he able to do sketches of his peers in movement.

“Where am I?”

Taking his pen, Jade wrote a message. What had happened to him wasn’t a dream, he knew that and he knew that what he was about to do wasn’t a sure fire guarantee that whoever wrote this will see it but the unpredictability of the situation allowed him to push through with an eagerness to see the end results.

“You are in Night Raven College. My name is Jade.”

The night loomed over the dorm, the once blue waters a dark purple and tinge of black. Twilight has ended. Jade closes his eyes for a moment and sighed, thinking back about the lesson and to the confused glances of his peers.

“Please remember me...!” The voice begged, the image of a braided bracelet flowing through the air as it flew towards him. Tugging his sleeve, the bracelet was wrapped around his wrist snugly; its design was simple and bright mix of blue, yellow, and red.

“Please remember me...!”

Jade tugs his sleeves back down, only stepping out of to his bed when he felt tired. The bracelet was removed from his wrist and sat next to him.

“My name is—!”

The voice echoed through his mind, he felt that he should remember it, he felt like he should know who it was, and all he felt was frustration and eagerness to see this unpredictable situation through. He closed his eyes wanting to rest his eyes rather than sleep.

“So this is what Night Raven College looks like. It’s very pretty, your uniforms are very pretty too but I’m not used to the environment there. It’s probably because of the walls or the silence.”

It had been a few days since the messaging through the notebook began with Jade and his pen pal, of sorts. It seemed that his new pen pal had been observing weird happenings to them too. Their classmates telling them of their weird behaviors, one time all they ate were mushrooms.

“I don’t even like mushrooms and because of you I ate a whole lot of them in just one day!”

It seemed that his odd dreams of seeing another world unlike his own weren’t dreams after all. The white and yellow uniforms, the sweet smell of lilies, and the pen nib brooch all pointed to Royal Swords Academy. Apparently the person he switched bodies with studied there.

“And I was told that I ate eel for lunch and it upset my brother. It seems both of us are even on this regard.”

He always wrote messages on his notebook the moment he got home and he preferred it that way rather than waking up to writings on his face and arms. The marker ink was hard to wash off, even with large amounts of sudsy soaps.

“We have a notebook to communicate for a reason, please use that.”

“I like writing on your hand, Jade.”

There were moments that he expressed frustration with them, even anger but that soon dissipated into childish antics of messages written on skin, eating disgusting foods they came to like, and a bond that transcended physical reality. They were from two different worlds and yet, here they were being friends.

All this was just like a dream to him.

“Hey, about that braided bracelet...Where did you get it? I had one just like it before it disappeared; I used to wear it on my hair.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer to that. It just came with me, I suppose. I couldn’t part with it for some reason so I’ve been wearing it ever since.”

“I guess we just so happened to have the same braided tie, huh? Hehehe!”

After class, Jade went to experience the twilight hour for once and see the students filter out of school and run about. It was the end of the week and it was a time for fun, brooms flew overhead and magical swirls of dust were thrown about by fun-loving students.

“What I like about your school is that none of you are afraid to get dirty and have fun.” He remembered his pen pal writing. “I love RSA but the uniforms and the rules we live by stop us from having fun like all of you there in NRC.”

He couldn’t blame them, RSA had some rules to go by and the uniforms really stopped them from having fun too. The chaos that he saw in RSA wasn’t like those in NRC, not by a long shot but he could see the charm it had in it despite the difference in school life.

Jade wanted them to experience this first hand one day. In their own body, of course.

He went back to his room when the sun had disappeared and the moon stood in its place. Sitting by the notebook, he took his magical pen from his pocket and began writing his response to his pen pal’s recent message.

“RSA has beautiful scenery, there’s no doubt about it. It’s a nice change of pace from the gothic feel NRC has, I find it rather peaceful. Though the sudden music lessons do tend to throw me off but that is something I will eventually come to get used to.

He tapped his pen on his desk, humming at his short reply. He looked at his wrist; the braid coiled around his wrist and was vibrant under the yellow light of his lamp. Unlike them, he never really gave hints of what his school life was about nor did he give details of what it was like to spend a day in RSA.

“We had a lesson about the magical phenomena known as Twilight. Apparently around that time, magic becomes different and realities begin to overlap...Do you think that’s what’s causing us to switch bodies?”

“Twilight...I’ve heard of that phenomenon too! It actually makes sense, maybe that’s what's causing it but if it’s really true then that’s some real strong magic!”

Jade slept that late that night, the braided tie next to his forehead. For once, he didn’t dream of the train station but of a hand coming up to take his own. No, it wasn’t his hand, it was his pen pal’s hand, and it grasped softly then tugged for him to follow.

He was on a mountain, the sky glittering with millions upon millions of stars. It was a beautiful sight, his eyes widening as the stars grew closer and closer, the heat around him rising and rising; burning his skin and singing his hair. The world around him was destroyed and the last thing he heard was the terrified scream of someone he was beginning to hold dear.

He awoke with a gasp, his eyes tearful and his lungs out of breath. Next to him were a concerned Azul and his brother Floyd. “We could hear you gasping from the hallway.” Azul explained but Jade kicked off his covers and ran to his desk, his notebook, their means of communication was empty. The messages he had collected with them were gone and only his own remained.

His brother tugged at his shoulder. “Look at me.” He was whirled around, their foreheads touching. “Breathe. You’re gonna give yourself an attack if you don’t breathe.”

He closed his eyes, leaning against his brother to breathe harshly. A pair of hands pats his back, Azul’s and Floyd’s, in an act of comfort but none of their touches reached Jade. He was too confused, too shaken up, too anxious. “It was just a bad dream.”

A dream...

What he had seen in the eyes of his pen pal was all a dream...?

Pen pal?

“It’s best that you get some more rest.” Azul said, pulling Jade back to his bed. “I’ll explain to the teachers what happened to you.” Floyd nudged him down and pulled the covers up until his brother’s chin. “We need you well rested, Jade. We’ll have the others check on you every once in a while.”

He forced himself to breathe slowly and carefully, his eyes screwed shut and thoughts in a whirlwind. His memories scrambling and confusing, he tries to remember the train station, the lake that was on RSA’s sloping hills and the falling meteorite.

Had there been a meteor shower? There was no news of it, no indication.

A hand caressed his head, shushing his sounds to silence.

“Sleep, Jade.”

The next day, Jade spent all his time in the library with books about stars and meteors and sleep being the furthest thing from his mind. He poured through the articles about meteor showers, checking online news sites, and pouring through scientific documents.

Nothing.

No recent reports of a meteor shower anywhere near the area of RSA or NRC.

A frustrated sigh left Jade’s lips and he held his head with a huff, burying his fingers into his hair when a fluffy tail rubbed and pawed against his arm. “Good to see you’re up and about, Mr Leech.” Trein stood over him as Lucius stepped over the articles to sit on one of the books.

“I didn’t know you were taking a liking to astronomy.” The professor commented, taking an article and reading through it. “Meteor showers, eh? I haven’t seen those for some time. The last one was beautiful but also very tragic.”

“What do you mean, professor?” Jade stared up at his teacher, slightly surprised.

“You weren’t in NRC at the time this happened but there was a meteor shower that passed by Twisted Wonderland, it was a festive time...But that soon became a tragedy when a fragment broke off from one of the passing meteorites.” He sighed, closing his eyes and setting the paper down. “Though NRC and RSA have been rivals for a long time, I can’t bear to think such a catastrophic event would happen to them.”

His heart skipped a beat, eyes wide in surprise. “You mean to say...”

“A meteorite fragment fell on RSA three years ago, specifically on the field just outside the school where some students were watching the shower. Those poor children...”

The white crystal of his magical pen glowed bright and Jade pushed himself off his chair, figure hunched forward and head hung low. Lucius let out a meow as he scrambled away from the student. “Mr Leech, what are you doing?” Trein demanded but his voice fell on deaf ears, Jade remembers his last dream, the last time he switched bodies. He remembers the falling meteorite, the scream that wasn’t his own, he remembers them.

His pen pal.

In a burst of magic, Jade disappeared from his position leaving a scared Lucius and a confused and upset Mozus Trein.

The landscape around him was heavy, the crater left by the meteorite was massive and no traces of life were seen within the impact zone. The memory of the meteorite fragment falling right on top of his pen pal, killing them instantly played again and again in his head. Jade, normally so aloof and calm, fell to his knees.

They died.

They died where he stood.

For the first time in a long while, Jade screamed his heart out. A wail of agony loud enough to echo through the empty void that was essentially his pen pal resting place. He sunk to his knees and continued crying until his throat became hoarse and painful.

He laid on his side as the sun went down, the braided tie peeked out of his blazer.

“Please remember me—!”

The train station...Was that a dream too? What had he been doing when he was in there? What was he there for?

Who was calling out his name.

“Jade...?”

The sun set over him, the sky turning orange and violet. It was twilight hour.

“Jade..”

“Jade.”

There was a touch to his shoulder and a soft shake. His head turned, his eyes widened. A student from RSA stood over him. They smelled of white lilies, uniform a mix of white and yellow, and their magical crystal a pen nib brooch. There was a familiar gleam in their eyes, a smile he came to know from the many days they had switched bodies.

His pen pal smiled at him, offering their hand for him to take. “It’s really you, Jade. It’s actually you.”

They laughed, pulling Jade into a hug; his tall figure dwarfing them easily as they hugged his chest. Jade sighed, returning the hug soon after and rocking each other back and forth for a few moments the sun shined in the horizon.

“I thought I lost you, y’know?” They said, looking up at him. “I just...I suddenly couldn’t reach you.”

“I thought you had died. I saw the meteor fall on you.”

They looked at each other for a moment and a laugh was shared, their foreheads linked together soon after. “I know but...somehow, maybe...I don’t really know what happened to me. I just couldn’t reach you to tell you what happened on that day. I nearly forgot about you and I cried for days wondering why.”

Pulling away, they looked down to Jade’s wrist. “Hey, that bracelet...”

“You gave it to me in the train station.”

It was all coming back to him now. This person, his pen pal, was someone he held dear for a long time.

He felt comfort.

“Oh yeah! I did, didn’t I?”

“Do you want it back?”

“No. Keep it.”

The two held hands for some time but were immediately thwarted by them pulling out a marker. “Hey, why don’t we write our names? That way, if we ever forget each other there’ll always be a reminder. Ah, but I don’t have any paper with me...”

Jade offered his palm, his smile teasing and knowing. “You always liked writing on my skin.”

They shared another laugh and the marker’s cap was pulled off, Jade looking over the horizon as they wrote their name on his palm. “Your turn.”

He took the pen from them and as soon as he wrote the starting strokes of his name, the marker fell from his grasp.

The twilight hour had ended and the moon took over the sky.

“Eh...? What am I...doing...?”

Jade was found by his peers not long after, taking him in and letting him rest as they descended the crater near RSA. Mozus Trein was their chaperone, explaining to the staff of the rival school and covering his own students.

“Someone he knew died here,” He explained, looking at Jade being covered with a blanket by his brother. Jade’s eyes were closed and he leaned against him, clearly exhausted from the ordeal and exposure to the elements.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, professor.” Said one RSA’s employees, brows upturned and frowning deep. “The meteorite crash was a very tragic event for all schools. I can’t imagine how much grief that young boy has gone through knowing that a friend of his died that day.”

“I hope you can look the other way on this. I know we shouldn’t come into each other’s premises without proper—“

“It’s quite alright. I’ll explain the situation to the headmaster once everything has settled.”

Floyd pulled his brother to his chest and stood up, Azul placing a hand on his back.

“Let’s go home, Jade.”

Jade wasn’t alone that night, Floyd and Azul wouldn’t allow him to be alone. They slept next to him, keeping him company but while the two slept, he couldn’t. The moon shone against his window and gave his room a very soft blue glow. He raised his hand to his face, the message from someone he held dear was still visible but slightly smudged.

“Thank you.”

Bitterness rose in his chest and to his throat, his brows furrowed in frustration. The tears forming stung his eyes.

“You idiot,” he brought his palm to his face, sniffling. “I can’t remember you this way.”

A year had passed and the dreams stopped coming after that night. Jade had picked up the habit of sitting outside during twilight hour, watching the set and holding the bracelet that never left his wrist for more than a second. He wore it everywhere he went but when asked; he never had a proper reason for it.

“I feel complete wearing it.”

The yearly magical shift festival brought troves of customers and onlookers, Jade and his brother sat on a bench and let their legs rest after a long day. “I’m gonna go get something to eat. You want anything?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll buy some myself.”

“’Kay.”

Jade was left alone after that and he closed his eyes for a moment, his nose taking in the different smells of food and perfumes.

There was a familiar smell of white lilies.

“Excuse me.”

A person stood in front of him, holding a brochure. They were a uniform of white and yellow and a pen nib brooch. They smiled at him and familiar warmth bloomed in his chest. “I don’t mean to disturb you or anything.”

Their smile was sheepish but it felt as if he’d seen it somewhere before.

“Do we know each other by any chance?”

“I think so.” Jade’s smile was easy and suddenly their eyes began to water. “I had a feeling we did.”

“Hey,” Jade reached over and intertwined their hands, the bracelet’s colors were vibrant against his skin and theirs.

“May I…”

“Can I…”

“...Know your name?”

#works from the typewriter #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #jade leech x reader #jade leech #twst jade leech #twst jade x reader #angst #jade ficlets #this took me so long to write oml #twst #twst x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader

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uwuwriting · 4 years

Text

The writings on his skin Shinsou Soulmate au

Soulmate au with communication via writing on their skin.

Oh god this is bad, I’m not happy with it at all. My original draft got deleted and I had to rewrite this at 2 am and I’m dead. I didn’t proof read it because I swear I’m gonna pass out so I’m so terribly sorry for butchering this. I love Hitoshi to the moon and back I hope he has the most wonderful birthday I LOVE HIM. Hope this doesn’t suck that much. Love ya. 💖💖💖💖💖

Rules

warnings: mentions of bullying, some angst, fluff

When Hitoshi was young he used to believe in soulmates. He couldn’t wait to meet the person that would fit him like a puzzle piece. In the early age of five, Shinsou Hitoshi was filled with positivity and hope. Hope that in the future he would get to enjoy all the things he liked with someone special.

He was so excited for the first day of school. some of the kids from his neighborhood would be in his class; they didn’t like him they were really afraid of his quirk and would make fun of him all the time, but he didn’t care. He would make new friends and just ignore them. Stepping into the classroom he was met with about 18 new faces. 18 possible friends. A smile spread across his face as he made eye contact with one of the kids. The boy was playing with some LEGOs as Hitoshi made his way to him.

“Hi I’m Shin-”

“AHH IT’S THE MONSTER!!!” the boy cried out as he stumbled backwards putting a respectful distance between them. The whole class turned to look at them and one by one all the kids slowly took a step back. They were all afraid of him. They all wanted nothing to do with him. They-they.

“He’s a villain!!!”

“Someone call All Might!!!!”

More children joined the mocking and the cries for help. A group of boys, two of which he knew, walked up to him growls leaving their mouths as -even though Hitoshi was a tall child- they towered over him. Pushing him to the ground, one of them snatched his backpack emptying the contents on him before throwing it at a corner of the room.

“Villains are not allowed here! Jihiko-sensei will kick you out, villain!” Right on cue, Jihiko-sensei stepped into the room, her eyes landing immediately at his wide eyed face and trembling form.

“Boys that’s rude!” grabbing his backpack she started putting back his scattered supplies.“Apologise to Shinsou right now!”

Reluctantly the four boys bowed their heads, mumbling an apology before rising their noses up in the air and walking away, leaving a terrified Hitoshi on the floor.

During the first day of school he knew that he wouldn’t be getting new friends and with that his doubts of even having a soulmate bloomed to life.

Middle school was not as bad as elementary. He had gotten used to the teasing and the name calling. He couldn’t say that it didn’t bother him; it really did but he had learned not to show it. Even now, years after that fateful first day in kindergarten, he had no friends. All of them pushed him away, some more politely than others, leaving the word ‘villain’ lumming over their heads as they turned him down. He was fine though. No soulmate mark had appeared but at this point he couldn’t really be disappointed. After all, someone like him -a monster, a villain- didn’t deserve to have a soulmate.

It was a normal day in his boring middle school. So boring that Hitoshi had turned to doodling on his arm. It was not a habit, he hadn’t done it before since he saw the doodles as tattoos and he didn’t want to give others more reasons to call him evil. Plus he liked his arms clean. But he was bored and it was hot and he wasn’t functioning correctly. At some point during his history class, he fell asleep. He woke up to a light tickling sensation running up his arm and a dim shine appeared on a spot near his wrist.

‘You can’t draw….’

He blinked once, twice expecting the words to disappear but they didn’t. They didn’t fade, they were real. Bold black letters stared back at him as he marveled at the sight. He … he had a soulmate and he could actually speak to them. Snapping out of his trance he scrambled for a pen and thought of a response. He didn’t wanna seem desperate. Deciding on sarcasm he wrote beside their own message.

‘Well excuse me Picasso’

He waited for a response for what felt like centuries. This was amazing, incredible, astonishing all of those long pretty words writers use to describe their female characters in poems. Would they want to meet him? Did they live nearby? Were they the same age? So many questions swirled inside his head he almost missed the mandala pattern that appeared on his wrist. The design became more vibrant and visible as the minutes ticked by. It was beautiful.

‘What’s your favorite color?’

‘Purple….why?’

‘Be patient sweet soulmate of mine, you’ll see.’

His heart skipped a beat. Oh lord he hadn’t even met them yet and he was already getting butterflies in his stomach. Slowly purple highlights started to appear on his skin, matching the black outlines perfectly. They truly were a Picasso.

‘There now you have true art on your hand.’

‘Confident are we?’

‘Only when it comes to inter-soulmate communications.’

He liked them. He knew that from the first moment. A smile took its place on his face as he saw new letters forming on his skin, warmth blooming in his chest as he stared at their conversation. Soulmate...maybe he wasn’t so lonely after all.

UA High. This is it. He was finally here. A place where heroes were made. It’s his time to show all those pesky brats that called him a villain that he could be a hero. A fine one at that. Getting placed in the general department was a disappointment and kind of a let down. He thought he did well on the exam. Apparently, having a grape quirk was more hero material than his brainwash. He wasn’t fazed though and neither was his soulmate. They hadn’t stopped speaking since their first conversation back in middle school. His day would start with a small, sloppy good morning scribbled on his wrist. They were there for him whenever he needed someone to rant to and he was always their shoulder to cry on. Well inky shoulder? They had agreed to keep their identities a secret along with their gender leaving everything to the hands of fate.

‘She shall bring us together, babe.’ They always called him that, not that he minded.

‘Well she should hurry up kitten.’ And he in return he given them that pet name. They never complained. He hadn’t mentioned which school he applied to, only that he would be becoming a hero. So when they mentioned something about a Bakugou Katsuki he was intrigued.

‘Yeah he is in my class. Super annoying 0/10 would not recommend.’

They went to the same school. What a coincidence. Maybe fate did work fast. Choosing his next words wisely he replied.

‘So you are in class 1-A huh? Funny.’

‘How do you know that?????’

‘I’m in the general department that’s why.’

There was no response for some time. He knew Aizawa was a harsh teacher when it came to discipline, he gets a taste of his discipline every afternoon at six, so he didn’t write anything else. Later that day, during his training, the familiar tingle distracted him. Glancing down on his arm, he totally missed Aizawa’s capture tool coming straight for his leg. Before he knew it, he was swiped off his feet and started hanging upside down from a branch of a nearby tree.

“You are distracted Shinsou!” Aizawa sighed below him. Hitoshi read the message quickly before turning his attention back to his teacher.

“I’m sorry Aizawa-sensei.”

“Yeah yeah just don’t be like that during your training with my class. You remember that it starts tomorrow right?” Aizawa said as he got him down, letting him fall with a loud thud.

“Yes sensei I know.”

“Great, now go get some rest I don’t want you passing out the moment you step in the forest.”

Shinsou had never gathered his things quicker. Draping his jacket over his shoulders he sprinted to his dorm, an idea forming in his mind. He didn’t know if you wanted to meet him yet but he sure as hell wanted to see you. Grabbing a pen from his desk he scribbled under your previous message.

‘Can you draw one of your mandalas on my wrist?’

Y/N was late. Like super late. She had missed her first alarm and had only gotten up because of the pounding at her door. She had stayed up the previous night drawing something for her soulmate. She kept messing up and redoing her work one too many times. Reaching her classroom she slid the door open and tiptoed to her seat seeing as Aizawa-sensei hadn’t gotten out of his sleeping back yet. Sitting down she let out a sigh of relief as her friend leaned over to her.

“Late night with your soulmate???” She sang teasingly which only made Y/N roll her eyes.

“Shut up Sky!” Soon they were instructed to put on their hero costumes and meet their homeroom teacher at the edge of the mini forest right in the outskirts of the school grounds.

Skipping out of the girls locker room she looked down at her wrist where the mandala from last night looked back at her. She ran her fingers over the lines wishing she could see the design on the recipients skin.

“Come on man! We’re gonna miss the intro move your ass!” Sky grabbed her arm and yanked her forward, ruining her moment of longing as they made their way to the forest.

Aizawa-sensei was accompanied by another person. A boy almost at his height with vibrant purple hair and the most tired eyes Y/N had ever seen. He was staring at the class giving small nods when someone asked him something.

“This is Shinsou Hitoshi. Most of you will know him from the sports festival, he fought the problem child.” Midoriya hid his face in his palms at the name. “He will be joining the hero course come next year so have fun training with him.”

Shinsou raised his hand to scratch his neck, a nervous habit Y/N concluded, when she saw the intertwining lines on his wrist. The purple stood out. It was more vibrant on her design, slightly losing it’s shine on his pale skin possibly because he received it. Was that? Was he?

“Who wants to pair up with him?” at that her arm shot up instantly, without even thinking. Aizawa motioned for the rest of the students to find their partner as she made her way to him. He was taller up close, her head barely reaching his chin. Extending her drawn on hand she greeted him.

“Y/N L/N, nice to finally meet you Shinsou.”

Bonus:

The house was quiet. Oddly quiet. Hitoshi let his bag drop next to the coat hanger as he took off his shoes. The TV could be heard playing from the living room but no voices accompanied it. Where was she? Making his way to the kitchen he found a bowl full with steaming soup that looked like it had just been made. He left it on the table, his first priority being to find the girl he was looking for. Slowly walking up the stair he heard a humming coming from the room down the hall.

Once at the top he made his way to the pastel violet door, grasping the knob and pushing it open. He was met with the back of his soulmate, humming the soft tune he had heard earlier as she rocked steadily back and forth. The mess of purple hair on her shoulder raised its head revealing those stunning e/c eyes he adored so much.

“Daddy…” the little girl in Y/N’s arms let out a low sleepy mumble. Turning around she saw her husband standing in the doorway of the nursery, a smile adorning his face as he looked at Kei. Kei, at the sight of her father, started doing grabbing motions trying to leave her mother’s embrace. Hitoshi let out a low chuckle as he took the two year old in his arms, letting her wrap her chubby arms around his neck and nuzzle into his neck.

“Happy birthday Toshi.”

Shinsou Hitoshi could have never imagined he would be here today, holding his daughter as his soulmate stared back at him. He was happy, beyond happy actually. Words could not express. Extending an arm out to her, she took it tucking herself under his chin as one of her hands came to rest on the back of her baby. Kissing both of his girls, he squeezed them closer to him.

“Thank you kitten. For everything.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ TAG TEAM AY:

@iwaqchan @the-arcana-fan-fic @angelwritings @axerrri @reinyrei

#shinsou x reader #shinsou x y/n #shinsou x you #my hero academia shinsou #shinsou fluff #shinsou soulmate #happy birthday shinsou #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha x you

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rosemarypasta · 4 years

Text

self portrait ♡

➤ pairing : tsukishima kei x yamaguchi tadashi

➤ warnings : the tiniest amount of angst

➤ tags: college roommates!AU, art student yamaguchi, business student tsukishima, unrequited love

➤ summary : Tsukishima Kei was forced to move in with his best friend and long time crush, Yamaguchi, so he could attend the univesity he wanted in Tokyo. He thought he could surpass his feelings and live his life normally just like in high school but what he didn’t know was that living with the person you’re in love with, makes falling much more easily. Especially if that person is Yamaguchi.

➤ word count : 4863

♡ masterpost ♡

“That should be the last of em’!” Yamaguchi finally announced as he set the seventh cardboard box down in the middle of the barren living room. He stretched his arms out and sighed in relief, turning suddenly with a grin flashed across his cheeks towards his new roommate as a celebration.

Tsukishima grumpily set the box he had in his arms down, proceeding to massage his back with the heel of his palm, “We still haven’t unpacked, Yamaguchi, isn’t it a bit early for a celebration?”. His best friend pouted at the reality check he was just given and collapsed onto the still bubble-wrapped couch out of exhaustion.

Tsukishima Kei and Yamaguchi Tadashi were childhood friends who met in primary school. They then proceeded to go to the same middle schools and high schools together. They practically spent the majority of their lives together. They played in the same volleyball teams, went to school together, walked back home together, and grew up beside each other. Though they cared a lot for each other, surely they would go their separate ways eventually right? Finally having such distinct differences in the majors they wanted to take, everyone in Tsukishima’s and Yamaguchi’s lives thought that university would be the wedge that finally separates the two. Well...everyone except their mothers.

“What do you mean I can’t go to Tokyo?” Tsukishima’s eyes widened at the unexpected answer his mother gave him. He approached his mother with the topic of moving out to Tokyo so he could attend the university he wanted. He addressed the topic as if he was asking for permission but he thought it would just be a formality.

“What? Why not? I managed to get a scholarship that’ll give me an allowance for my living costs so it’ll cost you nothing! Besides, Akiteru moved out for university so why can’t I do the same?” Tsukishima spoke rapidly, his fists were balled up tight but he still attempted his best to keep his composure, not wanting to create even more awkward tension in front of his guests.

“C-calm down, Tsukki.” Yamaguchi stammered, looking as shocked as his own mother at his out of character outburst. The two coincidentally were interested in universities in Tokyo. Though they would be attending different schools, their universities were within walking distance. Yamaguchi was unsure how his mother would react to his only son moving out so Tsukishima came up with the idea to tell their parents together to hopefully soften the blow of Yamaguchi’s mother’s outrage however, reality seems to turn out the opposite to their predictions. Yamaguchi’s mother, who was predicted to freak out instead, was so moved by her only son’s decision to be independent that she started crying tears of joy after the two announced their planned departure. On the other hand, Tsukishima’s mother who was supposed to be playing the supporting role and calming down Yamaguchi’s mother turned out to be the one in need to calm down.

“You’re pretty much still a child! I will not approve!” Tsukishima’s mother scowled at her youngest child. “What do you mean?! Akiteru moved out the same exact age as me!” He argued back. The two blondes bickered back and forth in their dining room, leaving their two green-haired guests exchanging glances and clueless on what to do.

“I-If you’re so worried about Kei-kun being alone, Tsukishima-san, why not have the boys move in together? Surely it would be better, no?” Yamaguchi’s mother, being the conflict-avoiding woman she has always been, suggested to her friend in an attempt to cut the tense air in the Tsukishima household. The blonde mother looked at the green-haired mother’s soft expression with a baffled one on her face.

Though, despite the prior opposition, Tsukishima did get to attend the university he wanted with the help of the Yamaguchi family, to which he will always be grateful for, however, he wasn’t sure if the conditions he had to agree to was something to be thankful for.

“Ah! That should be the pizza. I’ll get it!” Yamaguchi’s head shot up from the couch as the doorbell echoed throughout the cluttered apartment. He got up in an instant and twirled towards the door to tend to the delivery man, finally leaving Tsukishima alone with his thoughts for the first time that day. Tsukishima sank onto the floor and buried his face into his knees, his pale hands covering his beet red ears. He was more than thankful that he was able to go to the university he wanted which coincidentally happened to be in the same area with the university his childhood best friend was attending but there was just a slight problem.

He was madly in love with him.

Tsukishima wondered how long it had been. Ten? Five years? He didn’t know exactly when he started liking Yamaguchi but he was sure that he realized his feelings during his first year of high school. It was the time Yamaguchi was brought in as a pinch server in one of their volleyball matches. He attempted the jump float serve he has been working so hard on and succeeded, breaking the gloom atmosphere the Karasuno volleyball club had around on their shoulders. Everyone’s eyes lit up as a point was added to Karasuno’s scoreboard but none of their eyes lit up as bright as Yamaguchi’s. His brown eyes glistened under the gym lights and his lips were pressed to the biggest smile Tsukishima has ever seen. Everyone on the court rushed to pat and praise Yamaguchi but in order to keep his overexcited heart in between his ribs, all Tsukishima could say at that moment was “Give us another one.”

“Tsukki, you okay?” Yamaguchi’s soft voice startled him. “Yeah i’m fine, just got a bit dizzy.” Tsukishima murmured before rising up and taking a seat beside his best friend on the unwrapped couch before shortly taking a slice of pepperoni pizza, hoping his complexion no longer showed the embarrassing and unwanted red hue.

In the midst of their well-deserved lunch, Tsukishima caught his eyes constantly wavering towards Yamaguchi, watching him stuff his freckled cheeks with food, his eyes glimmering with satisfaction. Tsukishima tried his best to get rid of his worries. Besides, they have been friends for so long and pretty much spent every waking hour together and everything has been alright up to then. Surely, it would be fine living under the same roof as him right?

But oh boy, was he wrong.

Shortly, the semester starts for the roommates. Being drowned in responsibility and exhaustion from his new surroundings, Tsukishima was impressed with his brain’s capability to still think about Yamaguchi despite his busy schedule. Even when he was in class, cramming for a test, around his new friends, Yamaguchi still occupied his mind. Though, he didn’t blame his brain for doing so since the blame fell onto someone else’s hands.

“I’m home.” The blond business major sighed as he wiggled his shoes off before stepping onto his shared hallway. “Ah! Tsukki, welcome back!” Yamaguchi’s head popped out, his pristine smile on his face as always. Tsukishima’s head shot down, attempting to hide his flushed cheeks. It has been a couple of months since they moved in together but Tsukishima can’t bring himself to get used to the warm welcome his roommate keeps giving every time he comes back home. Tsukishima being a business major, he constantly has group projects and on a daily basis has to meet up with his teammates to discuss the assignments after class so Yamaguchi was always home first which means his signature “Welcome back!” Was inevitable to the blond.

“I made curry so help yourself.” Yamaguchi hummed, pointing to the kitchen counter before residing back to the living room corner which was reserved just for him. Tsukishima tossed his bags on his bed, walked back to the kitchen to pick up a spoon and dug into the bowl filled with rice, not bothering to heat it up. He viewed as Yamaguchi went over to pick up the messy palette and paintbrush he just set aside to greet his roommate and sat back down on his stool, facing the easel.

Tsukishima examined the half-done canvas from the kitchen whilst spooning his dinner in his mouth. It wasn’t fully finished but Tsukishima could make out what his crush was trying to express. It was a figure of a boy in mid air, his back arched and his hand was on the same level as his head, parallel to the tri-colored ball which was the centerpiece of the canvas. Tsukishima was no art snob but he could assume it was a painting of Yamaguchi himself.

“A new assignment?” Tsukishima started, shuffling behind his friend who had his back hunched towards the easel. “Yeah, the professor told us to create a work that showed our most important memory of our high school life so...I picked volleyball!” He enthusiastically answered though his face never left the canvas. His fingers were wrapped around a dainty detail brush. He shakily brushed it up and down, trying to add detail to the hair of the subject.

The blond studied the painting with deeper interest, impressing himself as he paid more attention to the minor details of the painting with his half eaten curry still in his hands. Tsukishima knew Yamaguchi always liked drawing. His notebooks were always covered with doodles and he remembered Yamaguchi was always drawing whenever Tsukishima dropped by his house to play when they were still young.

“You’re really good.” Tsukishima unconsciously mumbled, his mind still deep in thought with the painting upfront. “You think so? I think I got pretty rusty ever since we entered high school.” Yamaguchi casually replied to his comment to which Tsukishima flinched at. He didn’t realize he was speaking his thoughts out loud.

Tsukishima disagreed with Yamaguchi’s opinion. He always knew Yamaguchi liked art but he never knew he was this talented and passionate about it until the last year of high school when Hinata randomly brought up the topic of university after practice. There Yamaguchi confessed he wanted to take up fine arts after high school. His eyes always shined when he talked about art. Tsukishima admired the passionate part Yamaguchi had. He envied that he had something he liked so much unlike himself, who took up business just because his father suggested it to him. He didn’t even feel a big drive to continue volleyball after highschool so he abandoned the thought of pursuing anything related to it despite having spent half his life playing the sport.

Tsukishima was about to turn and take a shower but a certain figure on the left side of the painting caught his eye. He couldn’t believe he missed it after staring at the painting for more than ten minutes. On the corner of the canvas stood another figure aside from Yamaguchi’s, standing. The figure had his hands together as if it was clapping. The figure was painted in similar colors to the background, it’s blond hair almost seamlessly blending into the warm background but thankfully, the figure had a pair of black glasses on which made it noticeable.

His heart skipped a beat as he realized that his best friend had incorporated him into a painting that supposedly portrayed his most important moment of his high school years. Tsukishima rushed into the shower in a hurry. He shut the door behind him and let himself melt onto the ground, rationalizing his thoughts. He was Yamaguchi’s best friend so naturally, he was a part of his high school years and he was also in the same volleyball team. But so was Hinata and Kageyama, who he had grown close to and they were much more encouraging to him on court so why weren't they there too? He remembered that his painting was only half done and Yamaguchi will surely add them in right?

Days passed and Yamaguchi didn’t add Hinata and Kageyama into the painting. Though, it seems like his deadline was being unreasonable so he rushed to complete it to the best of his ability. Tsukishima didn’t know whether to be comforted or bothered by the possibility of his first assumption so he pushed his complicated feelings away.

“Nice work, Megane-kun! See you in class.” The rooster-haired upperclassmen yelled out after Tsukishima had already begun to walk away from the cafe he just spent three hours in for yet again, another group project. He began to walk home under the navy blue sky with a half empty to-go-cup of coffee. He was exhausted. Every limb on his body ached and his eyes feel strained from working on his laptop for so long. All he wanted to do was go back home and embrace Yamaguchi so his exhaustion could just melt away but he guessed that would be impossible to do so he settled on just looking forward to looking at him. He let his eyes wander off to watch the various shop fronts he passed by, in an attempt to find a bakery or some sort to buy desserts from in the future when he was going through rough days such as this one but his eyes unexpectedly spotted his green-haired roommate he was so looking forward to meeting back home.

Tsukishima rubbed his eyes from under his glasses and examined the bustling crowd his roommate was a part of. It was no mistake, it was Yamaguchi. Tsukishima was about to approach him before the crowd of shoppers dispersed and revealed the person Yamaguchi was walking side by side with. Tsukishima’s eyes widened as he recognized the short blonde girl his crush was walking with. “Y-Yachi?” He said in disbelief under his breath. He watched as the pair of his high school friends laughed and talked together from across the street. Naturally, if he were Kageyama or Hinata, the logical choice after seeing his two close friends out on the streets was to catch up with them and greet them but Tsukishima’s eyes watched as Yamaguchi giggled at the blonde. He was smiling a bit too much and his cheeks were flushed red.

Tsukishima rushed home with gritted teeth. He was upset. But he didn’t know if he had the right to be. What was he so upset about? Yamaguchi hanging out with Yachi? It wasn’t like Tsukishima was dating him, he didn’t belong to Tsukishima. He doesn’t deserve to be jealous. Tsukishima opened the door to the empty apartment. Some part of him hoped that he saw wrong and whoever he saw on the street wasn’t Yamaguchi but alas, the stool Yamaguchi always sat in the corner of the living room was empty and the lights were all off. Tsukishima dropped his bags on the corner of the hallway and staggered over to the couch, collapsing with heavy breaths, exhausted from running back home.

And as Tsukishima dreaded, the front door clicked open after a handful of minutes, shortly followed by a bright “I’m home” from Yamaguchi. Tsukishima watched as Yamaguchi walked into the living room, hung his coat and scarf on the coat hanger and plopped down right beside Tsukishima without a care in the world, oblivious to his mentally deteriorating roommate. “Why were you late?” Tsukishima managed to say, his thoughts still in a jumble. “Oh, I stayed back in the studio to work on my sculpture assignment,” He answered, stretching his arms sideway, “I know you hate the smell of clay so…” So was he about to forget mentioning who he was with? Tsukishima knew Yachi went to the same art university as Yamaguchi but he was sure she belonged to a different major than Yamaguchi. Besides, a graphic design student like her wouldn’t deal with sculptures so why would she be together with him in the sculpting studio that was specialized for fine art students? Tsukishima sighed and accepted reality. It was silly to begin with to have a crush on Yamaguchi anyway.

“Ah, Tsuk-“ Yamaguchi started but got shortly cut by the blond, “I’m taking the shower first.” Tsukishima stood up abruptly, power walking towards their shared bathroom with a lump in his throat. Tsukishima slammed the door behind him, leaving his roommate in utter confusion.

“Never mind I guess.” Yamaguchi mumbled to himself.

Yamaguchi knew Tsukishima wasn’t the warmest person, at least on a surface level. He was always known to be salty and unapproachable to everyone but he knew he never meant it to be malicious or anything so Yamaguchi had grown accustomed to his personality but the following week was something unlike anything he has ever experienced.

Everyday, Tsukishima would come home and go straight to his room. No snarky comments on Yamaguchi’s paintings and no complaining about his day while lounging on the couch, which he claimed to be more comfortable than his own bed. And at meal times, he just sat and ate his food in silence, always a frown present on his face. And at times when it was Yamaguchi’s turn to cook, he didn’t say anything, even though he always had something to say before, whether it was a good job or not. Watching his own best friend act like that didn’t sit right at all with Yamaguchi so he only had one thing to do left.

Spoil the hell out of him.

Attempt number one, museum tickets.

“Tsukki! Look, I got museum tickets! Lets go this weekend.” Yamaguchi brust in Tsukishima’s room. “Where’d you get it?” Tsukishima’s expression is still as cold as ever. “Er, Akaashi-senpai gave them to me!” Yamaguchi lied. He had sacrificed his allowance money from buying new paint brushes to buy the tickets. He knew if he told Tsukishima that he bought it with his own money he risked him calling it dumb, even though he liked museums, or Tsukishima feeling even more down that Yamaguchi had to spend his frugal university student money on the tickets.

“What ever.” He said but went along anyway. Though Yamaguchi was proud of himself of dragging Tsukishima out to the museum at first, Tsukishima’s mood unexpectedly didn’t improve much during the visit. His eyes occasionally lit up when he examined the dinosaur exhibits but they were only momentary and disappeared in a split second everytime Yamaguchi initiated a conversation.

Yamaguchi went home in defeat.

Attempt number two, curing his possible homesickness.

“Tsukki! Look who came to visit!” Yamaguchi’s voice bounced off the walls in excitement as he opened the door one Friday of a three-day weekend. “Pardon the intrusion.” Kageyama and Hinata said as they shook their shoes off prior to entering the apartment. Tsukishima’s head peeked out to the hallway and his eyes widened at the sight of his two friends from high school. Yamaguchi watched as the usual wrinkle in between Tsukishima’s eyebrows disappeared when he recognized his two friends. Yamaguchi knew though Tsukishima doesn’t show it at all, he was very fond of being around Hinata and Kageyama so surely it would improve his mood which he was right about. Tsukishima had, for the first time a week, finally spent time outside his own room aside from mealtimes. The apartment finally filled with laughter and bickering. Colors seemed to be restored when the oddball duo graced their presence and Yamaguchi was about to give himself a pat on his back before the last guest arrived.

Tsukishima, who was in the middle of laughing at Hinata’s story, froze immediately as he saw the former club manager walk into the living room as the rest of the guest cheered at her arrival. Though his behaviour for the latter half of the day seemed normal to the rest of his friends, Yamaguchi knew his attempt had once again failed.

Yamaguchi sighed as he walked home from a five hour studio session. His hands felt grimy and dry from touching clay too much, which didn’t help soothe his mind from thinking about his depressed roommate.

He was about to turn to the street where his apartment was at but the bright lights of a certain shop caught his attention. Yamaguchi cursed at himself for not thinking of this plan ages ago. Without skipping a beat, Yamaguchi crossed the road in glee, excited with the plan he just came up with.

“Tsukki! Look what I got!” Yamaguchi gushed with excitement as soon as he opened the front door, not bothering to do his usual greeting. He kicked his shoes off in millisecond and almost tripped on his way to the kitchen, to where Tsukishima was standing, confused, with a glass of water in his hand. “What?” Yamaguchi took a second to catch his breath, having just run the whole way home from the bakery.

“I got…” Yamaguchi struggled to start, his breath still short, “cake!” Yamaguchi exclaimed with the biggest smile he could make but it was too early to celebrate.

Yamaguchi’s eyes roamed Tsukishima’s face, studying every movement his features made. And after holding his breath a bit too hard for ten seconds, he sighed the hardest he has ever done in relief as he watched Tsukishima’s eyes softened up and the crooks his lips angled up ever so slightly.

“Alright! I’ll go set them on a plate!” Yamaguchi squealed, setting the box of cake on the kitchen counter but before he could even reach the cabinet that stored the plates, his excitement made him trip on his own foot.

“Yamaguchi? Watch ou-“

Yamaguchi closed his eyes tight, expecting to feel a sharp pain in the coming seconds but instead, his head was created by a soft thud instead of the cold kitchen tile. Yamaguchi’s eyes fluttered open to be greeted with a very close up view of a pastel green fabric that seemed like it was part of the hoodie Tsukishima was just wearing. Yamaguchi’s brown eyes trailed up to see Tsukishima’s face wincing, his hand rubbing the back of his back, which was inches from the floor. Yamaguchi’s eyes trailed back down to see his very own hand on Tsukishima’s chest. Embarrassed from just falling and the inappropriate placement of his hand, He hurriedly retracted his hand and body from Tsukishima.

“T-Tsukki! I am so sorry!” Yamaguchi stammered, expecting Tsukishima to be furious but instead, Tsukishima’s face was bright red. Confused and worried, Yamaguchi brought his hand up towards the blond’s forehead, “Tsukki? Do you have a fever?”

Tsukishima slapped Yamaguchi’s hand instinctively, his cheeks only getting redder and redder as seconds went by. “D-Don’t touch me.” He breathed, he could feel his ears burning. Tsukishima watched as Yamaguchi’s face contorted to a mix of emotions. Confusion, pain, and embarrassment. Tsukishima knew he had literally nothing to lose then. He had gotten rid of whatever was left of Yamaguchi’s kindness when he hit his hand away so it was all or nothing.

“S-stop being so nice to me,” He began, his voice cracking, “or I’ll fall in love with you even more.” His voice was weak though he braced for the end of his friendship with his childhood best friend. Yamaguchi’s eyes widened in surprise. Tsukishima wasn’t sure if it were just plain shock or disgust but he felt like it was definite that it was a mix of the two. Tsukishima bit his lip, trying to suppress his tears from falling, and got up. “I know it’s disgusting right? A man falling in love with you, especially because you have a girlfriend but I understand if you don’t want to live with me anymore. I-I’ll grab my things.” He forced himself to say, his voice cracking all over the place. Tsukishima didn’t blame Yamaguchi. It was his fault after all. He should’ve never lived with him and listened to his mother rather than pursuing his selfish wishes to study in Tokyo. It was a natural reaction to be disgusted anyway.

“W-Wait! What are you talking about? It’s not disgusting!” Yamaguchi’s frail voice finally shouted out, just in time before Tsukishima left the kitchen. Tsukishima’s head whipped back to stare at the boy on the ground with wide eyes.

“What?” He breathed.

Yamaguchi pulled his body up, gripping the kitchen counter hard. “I said...” His voice gradually grew stronger as he staggered closer to the baffled blond. “It's not disgusting!” The usually timid green haired boy yelled before launching himself onto his taller friend, impulsively planting his lips onto the other’s lips.

Yamaguchi’s leap caused Tsukishima and him to fall over once again but Yamaguchi slipped his hand behind Tsukishima’s head right on time before the blond’s head hit the floor. His hand stung upon the forced contact with the floor but at that moment, he felt no pain as his heart was being filled with content.

The kiss wasn’t deep or sensual, rather, it was long and sweet, which perfectly mirrored the relationship the two shared. Though, the more realistic reason why neither of the two have slipped their tongue in was because of the lack of experience both parties had. Though he did not want to, Yamaguchi pulled out from the kiss, gasping for air, to which his partner did the same.

Realizing their mistake, Yamaguchi burst into fits of laughter to which Tsukishima raised an eyebrow at, still out of breath. Yamaguchi rested his forehead on Tsukishima’s chest, “We forgot to breathe huh?” He giggled, his cheeks beet red, just like the boy he was on top of.

That night, the two childhood friends snuggled up under a blanket and talked to their heart's content with plates of cake in their hands. Having isolated himself in his room for extended periods of time, Tsukishima forgot how much he missed talking to Yamaguchi. But not only can he now talk to Yamaguchi, he can do it without fearing falling in love with him since now, he was allowed to. A warm smile crept onto Tsukishima’s face as he watched Yamaguchi take his final bite from the strawberry shortcake slice he bought earlier.

“Wait, so that’s why you thought I was dating Yachi-san? And that’s also why you started avoiding me?” Yamaguchi managed to say without letting a single laugh slip in between his lips, trying not to make Tsukishima more flustered as he is since he wanted to catch up on everything he had been missing from. “Y-Yeah.” The blond pouted, bundling the blanket tighter around his body. Yamaguchi’s eyes widened at the sight. He loved the way every time Tsukishima got flustered he always pouts and lowers his head down slightly. Of course, it only happens once in a blue moon and Yamaguchi has only seen him like that for a whopping total of three times for the whole time they’ve been friends, and he was like that for all three times so he was sure it was a habit of his.

“God! Tsukki, you’re the cutest!” Yamaguchi squealed, throwing his body at the blond’s, causing the two to collapse on Yamaguchi’s bed.

He had to explain what actually happened to Tsukishima, which was he really did coincidentally bump into Yachi on the way home from the studio. He also confessed that he was blushing madly that day with Yachi because he was talking about Tsukishima.

Yamaguchi never knew Tsukkishima was the type to get jealous easily. He found it very much endearing.

“So since when were you in love with me?” Yamaguchi enquired the blond, he took his time teasing his roommate while he was in a vulnerable moment since he knew how rare it was for Tsukishima to be like that.

“Three years maybe? It was around inter-highs.” The blond answered with a pout. “What about you?”

“W-what?”

Yamaguchi’s teasing demeanor vanished immediately. He wiped his smug face off and buried his face into the shared blanket. “Hmm? now someone’s being shy huh?” Yamaguchi hated how fast it took for the roles to reverse.

“Shnczezaeymedu” He soft whispers muffled from the blanket he covered his mouth with.

“Hmm? Come again? I didn’t catch that.” Tsukishima’s voice as condescending as ever, poking the sides of Yamaguchi’s waist with his index finger through the thick blanket.

“S-Since the day I first met you!” Yamaguchi yelled out of embarrassment, his face was so red that his freckles were barely noticeable. Tsukishima’s eyes widened in surprise. He always thought he was the first to catch feelings and he knew how hard it was to keep a crush a secret. How have Yamaguchi kept his feelings hushed down for all these years?

Tsukkishima had a lot of questions and he was sure they could last a lifetime. He had a lot of emotions running through his veins but he was sure a big majority was joy. And he could not contain it for much longer.

Tsukishima shot up and pounced his boyfriend, planting a kiss on his lips and throwing all his composure out the window. He didn’t care how stupid or love struck he looked. He had his everything in his arms and that’s all that matters to him now.

“I love you, Tadashi.” Tsukishima managed to say, trying to not make his voice crack as tears well up in the corners of his eyes.

“I love you too, Kei.”

#tsukkiyama #tsukkiyama ff #tsukiyama #tsukishima kei #yamaguchi tadashi #kei tsukishima #tadashi yamaguchi #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu!! ff #haikyuu ff #haikyuu au #tsukishima kei x yamaguchi tadashi #tsukishima x yamaguchi #anime #fluff #yamaguchi x tsukishima #tsukki

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sams-sass · 4 years

Text

The Others pt. 1

GIF not mine

Hello, I started watching Supernatural from the beginning and I got this idea. This takes place in season 2, I tried to make you around Sam’s age, maybe a year or two younger. I hope you guys like it and thanks for all the love!

Read Part Two, Three, Four, Five, and Six Here

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Summary: You and Sam share a gift that could potentially save your college campus.

Characters: You, your roommate (Jenny), Sam, Dean, Brandon (some asshat)

Pairings: Sam x Psychic!Reader

Warnings: Language, discussions of death, discussions of seeing death, angst

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16 Years Ago

You had just laid down to bed, your mother kissing your forehead and pulling the blanket around your shoulders. You hugged your stuffed rabbit close to your chest and closed your eyes, your body relaxing.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Your mother said as she closed the door to your room, the only light in the room coming from your princess night light. You fell asleep quickly, wrapped in the warm blankets. You woke sometime later, you were freezing, shivering under the covers. Your small hand pulled the blankets tighter around you. You could see your breath in front of your face and you pulled your legs up closer to your chest. You felt a tingle down your spine and the air around you became heavy. You poked your head out from under the blankets, looking around your room with wide eyes as fear set into you. That’s when you saw him. It was a man, he was old, skinny, and tall. He wore a black suit that only made his skin look even paler against the contrast of night. Your breathing became shaky, telling yourself it was just a dream. He took a step towards your bed and your breath hitched in your throat, you slammed your eyes shut and covered your ears. You heard his footsteps coming closer towards you, hearing his uneven and raspy breathing. You felt a pressure against your shoulder, you opened your eyes and saw his hand, grey with purple and blue bruises touching you.

“Button.” He said, his voice was breathy and grumbled in the quiet room. You shot up in bed, looking into his cloudy blue eyes and let out a blood curdling scream. Your parents burst through the door, concern written all over their faces. You were curled into a ball, your small arms wrapped around your legs. Your father picked your up into his arms, you buried your face against his chest and cried from fear. He rubbed your back and looked up at your mom, exchanging a look. Your mom ran her fingers through your hair, helping you calm down.

“What happened sweetie?” She asked you when you had stopped crying so hard. You turned to face her, your little face red and puffy.

“There was a man in here. A old man. He was scary looking.” Your voice was shaky and small.

“Oh baby, I’m sure it was just a bad dream.” Your dad said, his chest rumbling when he spoke.

“No, I saw him. He touched me.” You sat up straighter in your dads lap, looking at him directly.

“Ok. Ok, do you see him anymore?” He asked, brushing your hair behind your ear. You looked around the room, making sure to check the corners. You turned back to him and shook your head. He smiled at you and kissed your forehead before laying you back in bed.

“I think he’s gone for good.” Your mom said, touching your arm. You sniffled and nodded, trying to be brave. They both kissed you again before going back to sleep, reassuring you everything was ok. Once you were alone again, you tried to lay as still as you could. You closed your eyes and managed to drift off to sleep for the night.

Two days later

You were coloring at the kitchen table, a cup of juice in front of you. Your mother lugged a box from the basement and placed it on the table next to you. She began to pull out picture albums, looking through each one. You scooted closer to her so you could look too. Your mother turned the page and your heart dropped in your chest. You placed your hand on the page and pointed to the man in the picture.

“Who’s that?” You asked, looking at your mom. She furrowed her brow and gave you a sideways glance before answering.

“That’s your grandfather. He was a wonderful man, so happy and full of light.” She said, running a finger along the picture.

“He was in my room the other night. He called me ‘button’.” You said, wondering why you had never met him. Your moms whole face dropped and went pale. She stared at you for moment, she was crying. You reached up and touched her. “Don’t cry, mommy.” She turned and looked at you, she was breathing heavy. She looked scared.

“How did you know he called me button?” She asked you, holding your shoulders.

“He said it in my ear.” You were getting upset now, why was your mom so sad? What happened?

Present Day

You were in your apartment, grabbing what you needed for class. You ran your fingers through your hair and hoisted your bag onto your shoulder. Your roommate poked her head out of her room, giving you a sideways smile with only one eye open. You laughed at her hungover state and gave her a small wave, shaking your head. You closed the front door and walked down the steps, taking a bite of your bagel. Your morning class was boring as always, letting you day dream. You doodled into your notebook as your professor mumbled on in the background.

“Hey.” A voice said next to you making you jump slightly. He chucked and sent you an apologetic look. He usually sat near you, Brandon was that his name?

“Hey.” You whispered back, raising your eyebrows in question.

“Got an extra pen?” He asked you, licking his lips and leaning closer to you. You nodded and grabbed one out of your bag, his fingers touched yours as he took it from you.

Brandon looked over his shoulder, making sure you weren’t looking. He crushed the pill with a glass and poured the contents into the drink in front of him. He turned around, handing you the drink and sitting down next to you on the couch. He draped an arm around you, watching you drink.

You blinked back into the present. He was staring at you with a mischievous grin on his face and leaning in even closer. You pulled back slightly and glanced at the clock, thank god class was over. Your professor turned and closed his book, dismissing the class. You shot up and practically ran from the room, your skin was tingling and all you could smell was Brandon’s cheap aftershave. You hated when the visions snuck up on you like that, sometimes you could feel it in the air before it happened. Sometimes it happened in dreams, but other times it overtook your whole body. You were walking back to your apartment, trying to get the image out of Brandon out of your head. When you heard your name being called. You closed your eyes and tried to ignore it, picking up the pace.

“Y/N! Hey, wait up!” He ran towards you, catching up in no time. He grabbed your arm and spun you around, you could feel the evil swarming inside him. Your eyebrows furrowed, you had never felt this much evil coming out of someone before. What was happening? He smiled at you and took a step toward you, making you shrink away from him. “Why don’t you come with me? We can have a good time together.” He was staring at you like a predator looking at its meal. The energy coming off of him was swelling with hate, anger, and agony. You could swear you got a hint of sulfur when he turned his head.

“No thanks, I really have to study.” You turned and tried your best to walk quickly without running, you didn’t want him to know you were scared of him. You walked back to your apartment and closed the door behind you. You closed your eyes and rested against the wood for a moment before going to your room, needing to relax. You laid down on your bed, turning on your TV. You just wanted to forget all about him. Forget his face, his smell, the way he made you feel like your head was going to explode. The TV turned to static and the air around you got thick and heavy. A tingle ran up your spine and you saw your breath in front of you. You wrapped your arms around yourself and put on a brave face for whatever was coming. A girl appeared in front of you, she was wearing a tank top and jeans. She was filthy, her hair a mess. Her mascara ran down her cheeks and her lipstick was smudged. You took in a deep breath and nodded at her, knowing she was here for a reason. She walked closer to you and placed her hand on your shoulder, you saw that she had bruises on her wrists and her nails were broken. You closed your eyes and felt all her fear, pain, and sadness. You opened your eyes, tears falling down your face.

“Find me.” She said, her voice was wet and broken in your ear. She pulled back and looked into your eyes before she was gone. You let out a breath, touching your chest and wiping your eyes with your sleeve. Ever since that night when you were six you had been seeing the dead and having visions. After much research you learned that you were a psychic medium. The dead would frequently find you to pass on a message from the grave. The restless spirits of the world were drawn to you like a magnet. Most were just trying to convey something, others were more malevolent in nature. You could usually tell how someone felt when they died, feeling their final emotions swarm you. Over the years you had learned to just let them tell you what they were going to tell you and they would usually leave you alone. Sometimes you had to be more forceful, telling them to move on, be at peace.

You took large breaths into your lungs, calming you down before you walked into the kitchen. Your roommate was at the sink, a strange look on her face.

“Have you ever heard of Michaela Baker?” She asked you, looking up at you.

“No. I don’t think so. Why?” You said, something was wrong. Her energy was afraid and confused.

“She was in my chem class. She’s missing.” She leaned against the counter, her hair still wet from her shower. She looked scared. Your lips parted and your stomach flipped inside you. Could it be? If you had just seen Michaela she wasn’t missing, she was dead.

Sam was sitting next to Dean in the impala. They had just left some diner heading towards the local college. Girls were missing. Dean didn’t think it was anything, but Sam had a feeling that something bad was happening. He begged Dean to at least check it out. They were almost there and Sam felt something stirring inside him. There was a nervous energy that he couldn’t shake. They pulled up to the campus and found a place to park, looking around for a sign or someone to talk to. It seemed that there was a mass exit, the campus suddenly bustling with people.

You were walking out of class, your bag over your shoulder. It had been two weeks since your roommate told you about Michaela and in that time two other girls had gone missing. Fear was rampant throughout campus, girls were locking themselves in their rooms from the moment the sun set. Curfew was at 7 sharp, all activities cancelled. Guys were offering to walk people to and from any night classes. Every girl you knew carried a whistle with them given to them by campus security. You had frequent meetings about the importance of the buddy system. The police we constantly on campus, weapons ready. It was all consuming. Your head was down and you were racing back to your apartment when you stopped in your tracks. The air changed around you and a tingle ran up your spine. Not in public, please not in public. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to will it away. When nothing happened you popped one eye open. Your face twisted in confusion as you looked around frantically, when you saw him. He was tall, really tall with wide shoulders. His hair was shaggy and curled around his ears slightly. He was wearing jeans, a flannel and a Carhartt jacket. He was beautiful, hazel eyes dancing in the sunlight. There was something about him, something inside you told you to talk to him. You felt drawn to him, you found yourself walking towards him.

Sam was standing with Dean among the crowd. He was looking around, trying to find the best place to start when he saw you. You were staring right at him, a look of confusion on your face that Sam found interesting. He gave you a small smile, causing you to narrow your eyes at him. Suddenly you were walking towards them, he let out a small breath and hit Dean’s chest to get his attention. You stopped in front of them and cocked your head to the side. Dean smiled at you, clearly checking you out, but your eyes remained on Sam.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be weird, but do I know you?” You asked them, looking between the two men.

“No, but you can get to know us.” He said, a smile never leaving his lips. You sent him a small smile before your eyes returned to Sam.

“Uh, no I don’t think we have met. I’m Sam and this is Dean, we are looking into the disappearances here. Is there anything you can tell us?” Sam said, showing you his fake badge. You could feel that he was lying but telling the truth at the same time.

“Right, I honestly don’t know much. I heard from my roommate that all three girls said they were meeting a guy, but I have no idea if that true. The only thing I know for sure is that nothing has been found.” You didn’t know if that was true, all you knew was that all three girls had found you and gave you the same message, “find me”.

“These questions may seem strange, but have you noticed anyone acting strange? Maybe smelt something or seen flickering lights around campus?” You raised your eyebrows and stared deeply into his eyes, without thought you took his hand in yours.

A girl was on the ceiling, her curly blond hair was like a halo surrounding her head. There was a cut running across her stomach, staining her white nightgown. She took a large breath into her lungs and blue flames erupted around her before the entire room was engulfed into flames. Sam woke up in bed, painting and sweating. The girl was lying next to him, just fine. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his body tightly.

You blinked back into the present. You realized why you were drawn to him, he was like you. Your breath was caught in your throat. Both boys were staring at you like you were crazy. Your eyes were wide, your breath heavy, heart pounding. You dropped Sam’s hand and covered your mouth with your hand.

“We need to talk. Follow me.” Your voice was rushed and high pitched. You turned and walked into the closest building, finding an empty classroom. The three of you walked into the room and you turned to face them. “Ok, I’m just going to say it because I feel like you guys might actually believe me: I’m clairvoyant.” There was silence for a moment before Sam spoke up.

“I believe you.” Sam said, he was staring at you with heavy eyes.

“We both do.” Dean nodded.

“Have you ever heard of hunters? Not in the traditional deer hunting sense. We hunt monsters, vampires, ghosts, demons. Its our job.” Sam explained.

“Ok, I thought what I said sounded insane.” You smiled, all three of you chuckling together at your conversation. “So, you really think what’s going on here is monstery?” Sam nodded, looking at you with steady eyes.

“Could be.” Dean said, also nodding. You bit your lip and weighed your options. Should you tell them how the girls had visited you? Maybe they could help or were you just asking for more trouble.

“I have something I need to tell you, but there are too many ears here.” You practically whispered. You were scared. Scared of the missing girls. Scared of what might happen if you were wrong. Mostly, you were scared of how you weren’t scared of them, especially Sam. Everything in you told you to trust him. The boys looked at each other and motioned for you to follow them to their car. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. This was insane, getting into a strangers car because they hunt ghosts? You could see your face on the news now. Dean drove you a short distance to the shittiest motel around and you all piled into the room.

“What is it, actually we never got your name.” Dean smiled at you again, laying on the charm thick. You smiled back.

“Y/N.” You were nervous, twitchy, and restless as you began to speak. “Ok, so the dead they visit me right. Well, I have been visited by all three girls and they all gave me the same message: ‘find me.’ I don’t know if they want me to find their bodies or what, but it’s really starting to affect me. I can’t sleep, I’m falling behind in classes. I just constantly picture their faces so close to mine, their wet and cold voices whispering to me.” You bit your fingernail in between your teeth, hoping this all worked out. Sam and Dean exchanged a look that you couldn’t quite pin point. Sam stood up from the bed and placed his hand on your shoulder, you felt calmer instantly. He smelt like pine, orange peel, and spices. He gave you an understanding look, and a crooked smile that showed off his dimples.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He seemed genuine, like he knew where you were coming from. Dean stood up too, facing you.

“You hungry?” He asked. You blinked at the off topic question, but nodded all the same. “I’ll go get us some food.” There seemed to be a form of nonverbal communication between these two that you wanted to learn. When the door closed, you faced Sam again and decided to tell him what you saw.

“Sam, I know you have had visions. I had a vision of you seeing your girlfriend die.” You were timid, you didn’t want to upset him but you also didn’t want to shut him out. You watched his face fall and all the color drain from his skin. He stared at you for a moment before he cleared his throat and ran a hand down his face.

“Yeah, I still have visions sometimes, but those early ones of Jess will always be the worst.” He sat down at the small table, it looked ridiculous against his massive form. You sat down across from him.

“I’m sorry, I can’t even imagine how horrible that must have been. We don’t have to talk about it anymore. I just wanted you to know that I had a vision of you, that��s all.” You tried to keep your voice light. He looked up at you under his lashes, pulling the left side of his mouth into a small smile and letting out a heavy breath.

“Y/N, I know you don’t want to think about it, but is there anything you can remember about how the girls looked when they visited you?” He was slouching in his chair, holding his hands up in a open manner. You told him how they were all filthy and bruised. How they all had tangled hair and marks on their wrists. He nodded, thinking to himself if that meant anything. Dean came back about 10 minuets later, you all ate and the boys questioned you more about the campus and the disappearances.

“Did you know any of the victims?” Dean asked you, taking a sip of soda.

“No, but my roommate did. I can ask her some questions tonight and tell you guys later.” You offered with a small shrug, trying to be helpful.

“That would be really helpful, thank you Y/N.” Sam was talking now, it amazed you that you felt so at ease whenever he was speaking.

They drove you back to your apartment, giving you each of their phone numbers and taking yours so you could stay in touch. You smiled at them when you got out of the car. You unlocked your apartment and walked in, calling your roommates name against the darkness. Something was wrong, the hair on the back of your neck stood up. You raced around the entire apartment, calling her name the entire time, your voice frantic. She wasn’t there, she was gone. You called her phone about six times before you dialed Sam. He answered on the second ring.

“Y/N? What is it?” He asked, you could hear tires squealing as Dean turned the car around.

“My my my roommate, Jenny, she’s gone. Sam, she’s gone.”

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rosethornewrites · 4 years

Text

Fic: Sacrifice

Relationships: Marc Anciel/Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marc Anciel & Nathaniel Kurtzberg & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

Characters: Marc Anciel, Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Principal Damocles, Lila Rossi, Chloé Bourgeois

Tags: Angst, Bullying, Injustice, Gaslighting, Self-Sacrifice, Lila Rossi Lies, Crying, Hugs, Hurt No Comfort, Protective Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Triggers, enablers, ml salt, Catharsis, hello darkness my old friend, Madame Bustier salt, Principal Damocles salt, Lila salt, Friendship, Abuse, Lies, Victim Blaming, Heart-to-Heart, Sad Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Sad Marc Anciel, Sad Marinette Dupain-Cheng, bad teachers, bad adults, Isolation

Summary: Marinette has grown accustomed to her school's enabling of bullies, and knows the only way to protect her classmates from Lila is to be her only target.

Note: I went through an experience not too unlike this when I was in 8th grade, protecting a peer by taking the blame for something that would piss off most of my classmates. I lived in Small Town, USA, and was already the bullied outcast, so I took on more to keep that peer from having to experience it.

AO3 link

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Marinette sat at a table in the art room, trying hard to find a creative spark. Lately it had been in hiding, or hibernating, or something. Really, since Lila had come back and vowed to destroy her. The liar had started to isolate her, slowly convincing her peers that she had done or said things she hadn’t.

She had thought they’d trust her over a virtual stranger, but Lila had clearly done this before. She’d started small, believable, and made it worse over time. And Marinette herself hadn’t helped the issue—injustice triggered her, made her see red. It had since Chloé had bullied her relentlessly with no consequences, teachers and staff choosing to look away instead of help. Or worse, they expected her to practically thank Chloé for her treatment, gaslighting her being upset. All those years of abuse, enabled by adults.

And so Marinette had reacted, and that had just dug a deeper hole, giving Lila’s quiet accusations a foothold, giving the liar something to work with.

Before, everyone knew Chloé was awful. But now, Lila had them all convinced she was wonderful, and so they didn’t believe anything Marinette said about her—they believed her instead. It was a whole different type of bullying, and so much more insidious than what Marinette had faced before.

Adrien expected her to take the ‘high road,’ and she’d slowly come to realize he meant what the enabling adults did. Marinette wondered what had stripped his sense of justice away; she was fairly certain the answer started with a G.

She was starting to wonder if it was even worth staying to use the art room, putting herself in situations that involved the classmates who used it.

“Marinette?”

Nathanaël’s voice startled her out of her reverie, and she looked up warily to see him and Marc looking at her, their faces troubled. Marinette hoped she hadn’t said something questionable out loud; she didn’t need to look crazy in addition to being made to look like a bully.

“Yes?” she asked, keeping her voice as cool and disinterested as she could.

“Can… can we talk to you for a minute?” Marc asked softly.

His body language reminded her of a frightened rabbit, and she softened.

“Of course. Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Nathanaël glanced around the room and Marinette did the same. Surprisingly, none of their other classmates were there today, and the realization relaxed tension she hadn’t known she was feeling. Even the art teacher was out of the room. At the moment, it was just the three of them.

They sat across from her at the table, and seemed to have a silent conversation before Nathanaël finally spoke, not meeting her eyes.

“Marc pointed out some… inconsistencies in the stories Lila was telling us,” he began.

“He means he knows she’s lying now,” Marc interjected in a whisper.

Nathanaël looked guilty. “I can’t believe I ever believed her, especially about you. I… I mean, you know I had a crush on you, and I think so highly of you, but she had me convinced. I’m so sorry, Marinette.”

“We want to help,” Marc added.

Marinette wondered for a moment what Marc had said that she hadn’t, but decided it didn’t matter, not really.

Nathanaël finally looked up. “I want to help you expose her.”

She blinked, startled. Marinette had thought they meant by supporting her; she hadn’t expected the two shyest boys in the school to want to take an active role like this.

She couldn’t let them.

Neither of them were strangers to being bullied, and they were both such sensitive souls that it impacted them far worse than most. Worse than her, definitely. If she was having trouble with the war Lila was waging against her, they’d be quick victims.

Marinette shook her head. “She’ll come after you. Worse than Chloé ever did.”

Nathanaël’s eyes widened as he realized the ramifications of that—Chloé had been the reason he’d been Akumatized, after all. If Lila could do worse, and sat right next to him…

“You can’t do this alone,” Marc whispered, and it was clear he got the meaning, too.

“I have to,” she said. She could feel the tickle of threatened tears at the edge of her eyes, and fought them off. “If I’m her only target, no one else will get hurt. She can’t know you know she’s lying, or she’ll go after you.”

Marc covered his mouth with one hand, looking horrified. He didn’t hold back the tears.

Nathanaël looked grim. “You’re sacrificing yourself.”

To avoid seeing Marc’s tears, avoid them being contagious, Marinette looked down at the halfhearted doodles on the open page of her sketchbook. She had pages and pages like this, of half-assed designs and partly-drawn rejects.

“She’s not going to stop coming after me, and the teachers won’t do anything,” she said after she was sure she had control. “If they won’t stop the mayor’s daughter, they won’t stop a diplomat’s either. None of us have powerful parents; it’s never mattered when mine have complained. Even though M. Damocles has a duty to look into it, he never has before, and that’s not likely to change.”

She felt the bitterness twitching her lips into a sneer, and stopped it with a sigh. She shook her head.

“It’s enough knowing you both know.” Marinette attempted to smile at them. “Adrien knows, too. I’m sure the rest of the class will come around eventually, too.”

Marc wiped at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, not able to hold in a soft sob. “But you’ll be suffering until then. It’s not fair!”

“No,” she agreed. “It’s not. But our collége isn’t fair. The adults aren’t fair. And the only way I can create a tiny bit of justice in this situation is to make sure you two aren’t hurt by it, too.”

A hand covered her own, and she looked up to find it was Nathanaël’s. He’d lost his battle against tears as well. Marinette could feel a lump in her throat.

“We’ll support you however you need us to, Marinette,” he whispered. “You’re not alone. We won’t let you be alone. We’re here for you.”

That did it; she felt a tear slip down her cheek. Marc rushed around the table to throw his arms around her, and she felt a sob start to build in her throat. Then Nathanaël was beside her, gathering her in his arms as well, and the sob broke free, so strong her whole body seemed to convulse. She was certain if she didn’t keep some control, she’d start wailing and never stop.

She had felt alone, even with Adrien knowing. He never checked on her, though she was sure he’d heard the rumors Lila had been spreading. But Marc and Nathanaël—they were reaching out. They were supporting her.

Marinette would protect them, be strong for them. It was the only thing she could do.

#my fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfiction #marinette dupain cheng #marc anciel #nathaniel kurtzberg #miraculous angst #lila 'the liar' rossi #lila salt #bustier salt #damocles salt #ml salt

279 notes · View notes

hetacon · 4 years

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For Humanity’s Sake

Word Count: 2,668

Pairings: Platonic Moxiety, Background platonic LAMP, Background Romantic Logicality, Background Romantic Prinxiety

Warning: Swearing, physical fighting (really light, it’s one punch), bullying, crying, so so much Patton angst but I swear Virgil makes him happy

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Summary: Patton has a hard time making friends.

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By no means was Virgil seen as a kind person to all of his high school. While he was definitely the lone wolf type, he got more involved in getting into others’ business than he should have.

He got into fights basically.

He picked unnecessary fights, got into plenty of trouble, and was in detention fairly often. His parents didn’t seem to care if their son was a delinquent because outside of school, he was no more harmful than your average person.

The difference came with Patton. Patton Hart, Virgil’s best and, frankly, only friend. Well, now, he’d had some others before getting involved with Patton.

Patton Hart was definitely not the most normal of people, not that it was in any way a bad thing. He was cheerful, loved to laugh and talk for hours, sang to himself as he did chores, doodled all over his notes, made silly jokes, anything he darn well felt like doing. He had anxiety that could very well near rival Virgil’s own and that was damn impressive in and of itself. Despite this, he wasn’t very well liked.

See, even with how kind and sociable Patton tended to be, many people found him rather off putting. For one reason or another, if there was a word that people would use to describe Patton, it was this: annoying.

And if that didn’t make Virgil’s blood boil.

Since early childhood, Patton had always been sweet and talkative, going on for hours about his interests, talking about anything and everything he wanted to with a happy demeanor about him. Even then, he didn’t have friends. His mother would tell him that she always saw him as the type to get along with everyone and that everyone liked but Virgil knew Patton saw himself as pretty obnoxious. The other kids only played with him because they were in the same class as him. He was with the same 20 or so kids for 7 years, kindergarten to 6th, and not a single one of them really enjoyed him being there. It was only a nicety if anything.

Patton managed to make some friends in junior high due to common interests but this turned out more than disastrous than Patton would’ve dared to imagine. By high school, he started to realize just how little people actually wanted to talk to him so he started to keep his mouth shut whenever possible.

Virgil Knight completely destroyed that behavior as Patton instantly clicked in a way neither had ever experienced.

For one thing, Virgil actually listened to Patton as he went on long and exhaustingly winding stories, talking up a storm something fierce that Virgil wondered how Patton had ever managed to stay quiet about all of the thoughts running through his head.

Another thing was that they shared a few common interests, the first of which had brought them together being a really obscure movie from 1991. Patton was really into discussing the character growth, psychoanalysis of the characters, the time period and history, and everything in between of their common interests and while it was a bit harder for Virgil to express it to that extent, he listened to what Patton rambled about with no complaint.

One of Patton’s favorites though was that Virgil actually took the time and effort to encourage Patton to talk about the things he wanted to talk about and do the things he wanted to do. It was something special for them both.

Virgil loved Patton with every inch of his heart and he didn’t hesitate for a single second to remind people of that.

Clearly that was going to happen right now, Virgil thought to himself as one of his friends started to ask a question.

“Hey, dude, why do you even hang out with Patton? He’s not really your...” his friend hesitated, sucking in a breath. “I dunno, your style I guess.”

Virgil looked up from his lunch, mid-bite as he held his sandwich in his hands. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he asked a bit cooly, his language not really showing much animosity to it. But oh boy, if things were going where he thought they were-

“Virge, you’re like, his only friend, doesn’t that say something to you? How do you know he isn’t a shitty person or has serious issues or something? I wouldn’t trust him,” another person from the table spoke up.

“You don’t have to trust him or like him, you can’t please everyone. I do though, all that matters to me really. Patton’s not your friend? Chill, means I have no competition for the best friend title,” Virgil hummed out lowly, taking another bite of his sandwich.

A silence fell over the table before finally, someone seemed to say what everyone else was thinking. “Virgil, you know everyone finds him kind of obnoxious right? I mean, he’s always so loud, he clings to you like a lost puppy, and he literally doesn’t know when to shut up. He’s frankly kinda weak, who even needs to be that emotional, dude? Patton’s honestly psycho.”

Virgil’s fist slammed into his face and he was on the table, leaning over to tower over the person in front of him. His hand gripped at his friend’s shirt tightly, watching with a snarl as his friend shrank back a bit, eyes wide and clearly shocked.

“You’re going to shut the fuck up about Patton. He doesn’t have friends because shitheads like you guys can’t understand why someone would love life so much. He is not annoying, he is not weak, and he is not fucking psycho. He enjoys things, he wants to express his emotions rather than cower behind an act like an actual wimp, and he’s my best friend,” Virgil growled out. He snapped his head up to see everyone in the cafeteria looking at his table and he shoved his friend back roughly, standing on the table as he started to yell. “Patton Hart is the best person I could ever ask to be friends for and if you have a problem with business that isn’t yours to talk about, you take it up with me! You got a problem with him? You’re dealing with me before anything else and I will not stop for a single second! Fuck all of you!!”

With that, he clamored off the table, grabbing his food and backpack before storming out, catching Patton’s wrist as his friend was about to enter the cafeteria door he came out of.

“Woah Virgil, slow down!” Patton laughed, running to Virgil’s side, moving Virgil’s hand to hold his. “What’s going on?”

“People suck,” Virgil scowled before his expression softened. “How was tutoring?” he asked gently, kissing Patton’s temple. He smiled to himself in satisfaction as Patton practically lit up.

“Good, just needed a little refresher before tomorrow’s test is all,” Patton told him.

“You meet up with that guy in your class you like?” he asked, smiling a bit as Patton leaned his head on Virgil’s shoulder.

Patton turned a little pink and nodded. “Yeah, he was super sweet about it even if it was a silly reason to get tutoring.”

“My best friend is silly,” Virgil hummed. “But that’s just how I like him~”

_____

Things didn’t get better for Patton as Virgil saw. Not that he exactly expected things to magically get better, for people to understand Patton overnight, and for Patton to have as many friends as humanly possible. But this was ridiculous, truly.

People started to stare at both of them, especially Patton. People wouldn’t even talk to Patton during his classes, at least the ones that knew what was going on. It didn’t seem to affect Patton too much but there were definitely moments, as was happening tonight.

Virgil had invited Patton over for a sleepover weeks ago and was getting everything ready when he heard a knock on the door, hurrying to get it.

Patton was a mess. He didn’t have his glasses for one thing, his clothes were rumpled and messy, and most noticeably was his hair, tangled and tousled unrelentingly, a wad of gum stuck in it. Patton looked close to tears and Virgil just hugged him tightly before ushering him in.

The first part of their evening was spent with Patton laying his head in Virgil’s lap as they watched The Rescuers, Virgil’s hand working through Patton’s hair with a trusty handful of peanut butter. By the end of the movie, the gum was out, Patton had calmed down a little, and Virgil sent him off to take a shower.

Patton came back from the shower a bit later, already in his pjs as Virgil set up for another movie. The night mostly went alright and Virgil was just getting to sleep at 2 in the morning when he heard Patton get you and shuffle over to his bed.

It was silent, Patton didn’t say anything and was turning back when Virgil spoke up.

“Pat?” Virgil whispered softly, grabbing his friend’s wrist.

Patton sniffled. “Yeah?”

“C’mere, you’re sleeping with me tonight.”

There was no hesitation for Patton and within seconds, he was shaking and sobbing into Virgil’s shirt. Virgil could do nothing but rub his back and let him cry. That seemed to be enough for Patton.

_____

“Hey Virgil, have you thought about joining GSA by any chance..?” Patton asked one day at lunch, taking a bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Virgil looked over to him before thinking, throwing his legs over Patton’s lap.

“Nah.”

“How come?”

“Just haven’t, you goof,” Virgil said, his eyebrow raised. “If you want an answer why I wouldn’t, it’s overrated if I’m not with you and I know you’re not planning on it.”

“But what if I did?”

“Do you?”

“... No.”

Virgil snorted and leaned over to kiss Patton’s forehead. “I have made the executive decision that this school’s gonna have a super exclusive GSA club, headed by the wonderful and responsible club president Patton Hart.”

“And who are the members of this club, Virge?” Patton asked, moving to snuggle into Virgil’s side.

“You and me, that’s all we need. Two gay as shit disasters, no one else matters in my opinion,” Virgil told him, resting his head against Patton’s while silence settled over them for a bit.

“What do we do at club meetings?”

“Talk about gay shit.”

“Does Logan count?”

“You bet your pining ass that Mandel counts.”

“Then Roman does too!”

“We’re gossiping basically then.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what’s happening.”

“Eh, fair enough.”

_____

Patton was currently playing video games with Virgil and as he fell off Rainbow Road, sighed.

“What’s up?” Virgil asked, still focused on the game.

“What do you mean?” Patton asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That was your pensive sigh, not your Virgil-is-kicking-my-ass-in-Mario-Kart sigh. So what’s up?” Virgil chuckled.

“You ever just... Realize that people suck?”

“They really do, screw ‘em if they can’t take a joke, am I right?” Virgil joked, finishing off the race.

“We should watch Mamma Mia, I hope you know what you’ve done,” Patton smiled, finishing the course too. “You’re even worse than Roman with the musical references sometimes!”

“You take that back!” Virgil exclaimed, tackling Patton to the couch, smacking him with a pillow.

Patton laughed loudly and pulled Virgil down on top of him, snuggling into his best friend.

Virgil’s heart melted and he hugged on to Patton tightly. “Dear god, you’re too cute for your own good, c’mere you cuddlebug,” he muttered, happy to feel Patton relax in his hold.

_____

“Soooooo lemme get this straight, Patton-“

“Good luck with that!” Patton giggled, causing Virgil to lightly push him with a snort.

“Shut up,” he said with no malice, kissing his friend’s hair. “You asked him to go over a bit of the math work you guys got assigned and he without prompt just asked you if you wanted to meet up for coffee to do so?”

“Yeeeeep!”

“Shut up you beautiful embodiment of sunshine and rainbows, you got a study date with Logan!!” Virgil shouted, shaking a very giggly Patton.

“It’s not much but it’s spending time with him, yeah? He’s still talking to me, even if it’s about school a lot of the time.. He could..” Patton paused, smiling to himself. “He could maybe be my friend, right? Do you think he would?”

“He’s not a complete blockhead like every single dumbass in this school, he’s gonna like you,” Virgil said with a smile, hugging Patton tighter in his lap.

“Well, as the Patton and Virgil GSA meeting demands, we must now hear from our resident emo about his blockhead!” Patton teased, kissing Virgil’s cheek.

Virgil laughed and hummed. “Good grief, who made you in charge?”

“You!”

“Oh that’s right, my mistake!” Virgil joked, receiving a punch to the arm. “Roman’s been doing a good job, had his whole script memorized today when most everyone else only had half. I just worked on the sets while they were rehearsing but he came over to talk with me when he didn’t have any more scenes. Still as stupid as I like ‘im though!”

“We clearly like two men at the opposite ends of the spectrum, huh?” Patton asked.

“Yep, absolutely. A total nerd and a moron. Strange combo. Think they’d get along?”

“Only one way to find out!” Patton hummed in a sing-song tone, offering half of his pasta to Virgil.

_____

Virgil glanced over to the front door of Logan’s house as Patton was revealed on the other side. Logan was quick to give Patton a kiss and greeted him.

“Wow, your house is really nice, Loggie!” Patton said, looking around.

“Patton!!!” a loud voice squealed from behind Virgil, Roman barreling towards Patton and Logan. He practically tackled Patton to the ground and Patton laughed loudly and fully. “I missed you so so so much! Never leave me alone for a single minute ever again!” Virgil’s boyfriend whined, hugging Patton tighter.

“Roman!” Patton laughed out, hugging back tighter. “I’m never going anywhere! You can’t make me leave, you’re stuck with me!”

“Mmm, perfect!” Roman exclaimed, picking Patton up to twirl him around.

As their antics continued, both of them talking excitedly about Patton’s job at the animal rescue center and Roman’s next show, Logan sat next to Virgil. Virgil watched his best friend and boyfriend talk excitedly for a bit, resting his head on Logan’s shoulder.

“You make him this happy you know,” Logan said quietly, wrapping his arm around Virgil’s shoulder.

“Dude, you’re his boyfriend,” Virgil retorted with a raised eyebrow.

Logan chuckled. “That I am. But you were his first and only friend for a long time. You’ve made him feel like he can take on the world just by being himself. It makes me very proud of the both of you.”

“I just treated him like a human being, you know?”

“Well, when you’ve been treated alien your whole life, it can make a world of difference for someone to see your humanity,” Logan explained, smiling a bit as Patton and Roman dragged Patton’s stuff in from his car.

Virgil smiled too as soon as Patton came back inside, still beaming with the force of a supernova. “He deserves every bit of humanity.”

Patton wasn’t treated well up until he was out of high school but looking at him now, Virgil knew all the fighting and arguments were worth it. Patton truly deserved everything the three of his friends could give him.

______________________________

Taglist: @virgils-paranoia, @marshmallow-the-panda, @anotheregofanficblog

#sanders sides #platonic moxiety #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #background platonic lamp #background logicality #background prinxiety #stan writing

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glassbangtan · 5 years

Text

Jungkook is Typing... {Jungkook x Reader}

Words: 21.1k

Summary: You and Jungkook met online when you were only fourteen years old. Neither of you thought meeting up would be a possibility, until you’re hired as Big Hit’s new editor.

Genre: mild smut, angst, fluff.

Warning: sexual scenes (but nothing graphic)

Notes: masterlist

---

You and Jungkook met online.

This is where most people roll their eyes, close the book and move on. It's this little pinprick of information that makes people turn a blind eye and assume the absolute worst.

In truth, you never really blamed them for this mindset.

You were only fourteen when you started getting into online gaming, and it wasn't like it was some massive deal at the time. Everyone was doing it; World of Warcraft, Dungeons and Dragons, Minecraft Online were all common topics of conversation amongst your year ten class, with people sharing server pins and usernames in a similar way to how they used to share sweets when the teacher wasn't looking. It was no surprise to you – or anyone else – when you asked your parents for a computer for Christmas, and quickly got hooked on the game Prisons of Terror.

It was all you ever talked about, because – in truth – it was all you ever did. You got home from school, threw your bag on the floor and darted to your room. Some days, you didn't even bother saying hello to your mother in fear of someone logging onto the online server before you and getting all the weaponry you'd stashed away in an unlocked chest. You simply could not let that happen. Over one hundred and twenty five hours of hard work were not going to waste just so you could make idle chat with the woman who lived downstairs.

Your parents never questioned it – as stated, this wasn't some new phenomenon, and you didn't have a problem. You were quite capable of logging out of the game when the server was quiet, and you only spoke about it when someone else was willing to engage in conversation. Other than that, most people saw you as a fairly capable, intelligent fourteen year old – normal.

But this little passing fling with Prisons of Terror grew when GoldenJeon entered the server for the very first time. You remembered the date, remembered flicking your eyes up from your homework with the game still running in the background – hardly anyone was playing, so you'd decided to at least be a little bit productive as you waited for some of your other friends to come online. Never before had you seen GoldenJeon written across the bottom of the screen.

You narrowed your eyes, leaned forward and quickly typed into the chat: Who are you?

He didn't reply. You left it at that. He was probably just there to try it out, too nervous to speak to anyone until he found his footing in the game and was finally able to open up a little bit more.

A few days later, he appeared again.

You were quicker with your curiosity this time, barely letting his name disappear from the chat before you were repeating your previous question.

GoldenJeon is typing...

But then he stopped, and there was no response given.

Maybe it was this constant game of back and forth that piqued your interest, that had you pondering over the person behind the strange username. His characters skin consisted of the gear of prisoners, which has always been a strange thing to pick when playing this game. Most people are drawn to the powerful looking players, the guards, the people with swords and crossbows slung across their backs – your own was a person in a guards uniform, your weapon consisting of two circular blades strapped to your shoulders.

Your curiosity heightened to levels you could no longer control, and you opened up a new, private chat with GoldenJeon and started texting.

Innocent questions at first; asking him who he was, how long he'd been playing the game, who the hell gave him the password for the server you were so familiar with at this point.

And he texted back.

He gave you answers, the conversation flowing so much easier than you'd ever expected it to. His silence in the beginning had unsettled you to the point where you'd ridiculously convinced yourself he didn't like you – even before he'd spoken to you. He was ignoring everything you said, so what else were you supposed to believe?

But the two of you texted like best friends outside of the ring of the game you'd grown so addicted to. He sent emojis, and after a few months of constant back and forth, he started sending you little pictures of his dog and the doodles he did during class, and you granted him the same thing. You were never much of an artist, but you put a lot of effort into the drawings you sent him, and also put a lot of effort into making them look effortless, just like he did.

GoldenJeon: got bored in class again. Teacher nearly caught me this time. {ATTACHED IMAGE}

He was talented. There was no denying that. Even at fourteen, there wasn't a sense of jealousy that came with this acknowledgement, but a simple sense of pride. You often tilted the phone to your friend, Yul, and let him see the fresh, simplistic art work GoldenJeon had sent you that day, and Yul would hum and compliment him, and you'd sit there smugly as if to say yep, he's my friend.

After a few weeks, GoldenJeon became somebody else. He became Jeon Jungkook, a student in Busan – miles away from where you lived, but close enough to startle you. Both of you lived in Korea – that had to count for something.

The start of it all was a bumpy road, but looking down at your phone now, you can't help but grin at the realisation that it really was all worth it. Though you and Jungkook are yet to meet in person, not a day has gone by in the past four years where he hasn't sent you some bizarre song, or some scribbled doodle on the back of his notebook. Not a day has gone by where he hasn't sent you a good morning text and asked you how you are, what you've eaten, what your plans are for the day.

He's your best friend, but telling people that earns you a few confused glances, so you tend to refrain as far from that conversation as humanly possible.

Jungkook: I'm bored. Please cheer me up before I walk out and fail this entire class.

Y/N: tough day?

Jungkook: The worst day. I forgot we had a test.

Y/N: what a Jungkook thing to do.

Jungkook: Fuck off and cheer me up. I'm keeping you around for one thing and one thing only.

Y/N: to cheer you up?

Jungkook: Exactly.

Challenge accepted. Standing in line at Starbucks, you shamelessly lift your phone high above your head and take a selfie, sticking your tongue out and throwing up the peace sign for added effect. You hit 'send' to Jungkook and stuff your phone back in your pocket, turning round to retrieve your coffee and head back to work.

Jungkook goes to a weekend performance club in Seoul. This much you know, as you get updates from him on the daily about how his classes are going and how life is now that he's basically an independent man who can do whatever the hell he wants; as well as being a student, he's also a trainee.

He told you about his dreams of becoming an idol on multiple occasions, but you'd heard it all before. Growing up, every single person in your class wanted to be an idol at some point; rising stars like Big Bang and EXO inspired the youth to strive to become as rich and famous as possible – but it always died away, and that's what you thought was going to happen with Jungkook.

You really should have known better.

He was only fifteen when he texted you saying he'd passed his audition. Confused, you'd asked him what he meant, only for him to send you a picture – “photo credit to my mum!” - of him standing in front of a sign with the words Big Hit plastered across it. You leaped out of your chair, squealing with happiness, immediately pressing 'CALL' to continue your freak out with him on the line; he'd started crying, you'd started crying, and that phone call will forever go down as the one that cost you the most money as it lasted for over four hours.

He was still working hard. You got the updates. You comforted him when it all got too much. You helped each other out.

Your phone chimes, signalling Jungkook's response.

Jungkook: Okay good. I think I can push through now. Wish me luck. Love you loads and all that.

You grin.

Y/N: love you too. Don't kill anyone. Xx

The conversation disappears and you are finally able to sink yourself back into reality – work.

Whilst Jungkook is a thriving trainee, you're an intern at a publishing house. Whilst Jungkook spends his days singing and dancing, you spend your days going through unedited manuscripts and marking them up with red pen.

Your boss, Mr Grey, is standing by your desk when you walk in, which is already the first bad sign of the morning. His arms are folded, his grey (yes, grey) moustache freshly waxed. You swallow back a laugh, giving him your best grin as you walk past him to your desk, pretending that his presence in your office is a normal, everyday occurrence.

You already know you're in Big Trouble. Mr Grey never steps foot outside of his office unless someone is in Big Trouble.

“Are you sure you need that caffeine this morning?” is the first thing he asks, as it usually is. Mr Grey is on a health kick. Even though you know it's temporary and he's been through this with you a million different times before, he will still chastise you for any and all unhealthy lifestyle choices you make in his presence whilst he is trying to slim down.

You take a small sip of your hot beverage, clap your lips together and say, “Definitely.” You set your folder down on your desk before turning to him fully. “How may I help you this morning, sir?”

“I need to speak with you about an important matter,” he replies. You pause, waiting for him to elaborate, but his eyes have suddenly turned shifty and there is not a single hint in his posture to reveal whatever riddle he has just spoken.

You look around cautiously, half expecting Soobin from the next office to jump out and spray you with Silly String, or perhaps throw a can of paint in your face. You honestly wouldn't put it past Mr Grey to want to poison you somehow.

When nothing seems out of place, you turn back to your boss and say, “Okay. Do you want to sit down?” You gesture towards the seat he is stiffly standing behind, and he nods before slowly lowering himself onto the worn out cushion. You follow his lead, shuffling a few papers around because that's often all you need to do to look busy around here. You then intertwine your fingers over a thick folder and glance at him, waiting for him to usher the conversation along.

He inhales and rubs a single finger along one of his bushy grey eyebrows. “There has been an opportunity given to me recently that I unfortunately cannot take for myself, so I've come here to ask if you would like to take the chance in my place.”

He says it just like that. The previous silence, the drawn out dramatics just look stupid now, and you can't help but stare at him blankly as the words settle in. You haven't been there for very long, and you're still barely full-time. You're still considered an intern by most people, and still have a lot to learn – so why is he offering you something like this when there's hundreds of other worthy colleagues who would know what to do with this opportunity so much better than you?

“Right,” you say slowly. “I'm gonna need a few more details, I think.”

“It requires travel.”

“I don't really think I can aff-”

“All expenses will be paid by the agency. They'll organise a flat and transport when it's needed. They've been very generous with this offer, which is why I think it would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Your heart is thumping. This is real. This is serious.

“What is this offer?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady but failing miserably.

“A well-known company is writing up a catalogue for future employees and they want an editor flown out to make corrections on hand if they need it.”

You blink. “That's . . . Unheard of. Why don't they just send the manuscript out?”

“Because that takes too long, and they don't have that amount of time,” Mr Grey explains. “Plus, they're already in partnership with another editing agency, but this agency doesn't have enough staff free at the moment to take on the job. That's why they came to me.”

“So you'll be shipping me off to another editing agency? I'll become part of another team?” You raise your brows, slowly lean back in your chair. “You could have just sacked me, Mr Grey. It would have done the same thing.”

Mr Grey rolls his eyes – he never has any time for comments like these. It's part of the reason you find it so difficult to find even ground with him. “You'll be coming back eventually. This is just a temporary job, a favour for a friend.”

You sigh. “This is a lot to take in, sir.”

“I understand,” he replies, before he starts standing up. “I'll give you time to think about it, and when you-”

You launch yourself over the desk, grabbing his wrist and dragging him back into his seat before he can get much further. “Jesus, Mr Grey, slow down. I never said I wouldn't take the bloody offer.” You grab a pen from the Worlds Worst Drinker mug on the corner of your desk. “What do I sign and when do I leave?”

---

The train station is bustling with people, but you had been expecting nothing different when you were told you'd be shipped off to Seoul.

Seoul, South Korea. A place you'd once only dreamed about stepping foot in. As you'd grown older, the idea of visiting the capital became more and more intimidating, and you've since grown quite fond of your tiny little area. You'd heard the stories, seen the pictures of the crowded streets and the smoke that always fills the air, but hearing about these details and being amongst them are two very, very different experiences.

You step off the train at long last, shoulder immediately shoved by a passer-by who is too busy looking down at his phone to notice you standing right in front of him. You frown, quickly pull your timetable out of your pocket and look down – you're meant to be meeting your colleague. According to the timetable, this mystery person was meant to pick you up in their car and drive you straight to the building you'd be working at – which, at this moment in time, you have not yet heard the name of.

You look around for any sign of somebody professional looking – sadly, that seems to be the majority of Seoul. You're surprised to see that half of the people bustling around look like they're on their way to work, wearing nice suits or long coats that hide whatever professional gear they're wearing underneath.

“Y/N L/N?”

Your eyes shoot up, heartbeat thumping because you know, just from the sound of the unfamiliar voice, that things are finally starting. There is no backing out of this. You can't just turn around and get back on the train – you've taken the offer, and you're stuck.

You turn on your heel, placing your professional grin on your face. Standing behind you is a fairly small man with a tiny black moustache, wearing an oversized grey hoodie and a beanie. Little black hairs trickle from the edge of his hat and poke him in the eyes, but he does nothing to shift them out the way.

He certainly wasn't what you had been expecting. He's shorter than you by a few inches. He's wearing casual clothes, even on a Wednesday afternoon. He looks like any normal human being, even a little laid back.

“Mr Son!” you exclaim. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Please, call me Sungdeuk,” he says. “I hope the train ride wasn't too bad? I know they can get a little crowded and uncomfortable.”

As he speaks, he grabs for your suitcase and starts down the platform. You blink, ponder over whether or not to follow him before you're nearly tripping over your own feet trying to catch up.

“Uh, yeah. It was a – uh – experience,” you reply. “I'm just glad I got here on time.”

“I assume you know all about the kind of work you'll be doing?”

“Mhm!”

You cringe even as the noise leaves your lips, because in truth, you have absolutely no idea what it is you'll be doing. What little you've been told barely seems to cover the surface, and you're still carrying around many questions in which you know will need answered eventually – when you get to that point, you'll make sure to ask, but for now, it's safer to just pretend you're prepared.

You and Sungdeuk make your way into a large Range Rover that is parked outside the station. Sungdeuk gets in the front seat whilst you clamber into the back, and immediately a cold bottle of water is passed to you over the back of Sungdeuk's seat.

“Kept chilled, just for you,” he says, winking in the rear view mirror.

You smile and grab for the drink, but your stomach is reeling with nerves and you know for a fact you won't be able to keep anything down, liquid or not. And so, you mess with the lid, curling your fingers around it until the clasp bites into your palm, until the condensation is sinking into your jeans and making the leather seats damp.

Neither of you speak for the majority of the drive, and Sungdeuk seems perfectly fine with that. He barely even glances at you, too busy leaning his head against the headrest with his eyes closed, like he's living in his own fantasy world. Even the driver is perfectly content with the silence, but it itches at your skin. You should be talking. You want your first impression to be chipper, friendly, curious. You want your new boss to think you're actually interested in whatever it is you've been signed up for.

Cautiously, you lean forward and poke your head between the passenger and driver seat. “Uh, hi.”

Sungdeuk creaks open one eye. “You alright?”

“I was just – uh – I have a question.” You may as well slip a question in now.

Sungdeuk turns to look at you. “Go ahead. I thought you were told everything.”

“I was told most things,” you lie. “Except for – you know – who I'll actually be working for.”

Sungdeuk stares at you, waiting for the non-existent punch line. You suddenly want to curl up in a ball, perhaps throw yourself out the window.

He purses his lips when you stay silent, features completely straight. “You don't know who you're working for?”

“I'm sure it was in the contract,” you hasten to say. “I might have just missed it. You know what, sorry for bothering you.” You wave a dismissive hand, already leaning back in your seat and pretending you didn't even speak up in the first place. “You carry on doing what you're doing, and I'll just sit back here and-”

“We're here anyway,” he says, grinning at your sudden flustered state. You don't even have a chance to be embarrassed, as you lurch forward and look out the window, just as the massive gates open into the car park behind a large grey building. Lights are on in almost every single room, and there's a sign on the door that reads, in big, bold letters:

BIG HIT ENTERTAINMENT.

And you want to scream.

There's no way. There's absolutely no way this is real life. You've decided. You've come to the conclusion that maybe you hit your head on the train and now you're actually dreaming this entire thing. You're in a coma somewhere. A doctor is poking at you this very minute, but you won't wake up because-

“Y/N?”

Your eyes snap up. “Hm?”

“We going in?”

You swallow thickly and gather your wits, trying to calm the race of your heartbeat. Your phone burns a hole in your pocket – you want to text Jungkook so bad, because you can already guess his reaction. He's going to be mortified. The safe little friendship the two of you have is going to be destroyed as soon as he sees you walk in them doors, because he can no longer hide behind the distance that was always such a comfort blanket between the two of you. Sure, it was a pain in the ass sometimes. Sometimes Jungkook would just go on huge rants about wanting to cuddle you because he couldn't sleep, and its them moments where the distance can honestly just fuck off – but at the same time, you have a pimple growing on your forehead that Jungkook would never be able to see.

Not until now.

Nonetheless, you know you can't just set up camp in the back of the Range Rover, so you gather your bags and follow Sungdeuk into the lobby of the building. He's chatting away, giving you a brief tour of the area you can see, but you're not even paying attention.

On the wall, the posters glare at you.

“Who is Bangtan Sonyeondan?” you ask, not even realising you're cutting the man off.

He lowers his hand and follows your gaze to the poster you're currently inspecting; it consists of seven men, all of whom you recognise because Jungkook idolises each and every one. He texts you about their daily runnings almost every single day, and you find it kind of strange that you know Namjoon's favourite cereal to have in the morning, as well as the fact that Seokjin shrunk his favourite pink socks the other day.

But it's Jungkook who your focus is trained upon, because you recognise him immediately. The brown hair, the dumpling cheeks and the baggy clothes. He's staring into the camera with such a serious look on his face, and half of you wants to burst into a fit of giggles whilst the other half of you wants to burst into flames.

“They're the group,” Sungdeuk says.

You raise a brow. “The group?”

“The only group Big Hit is representing at the minute,” he confirms. “They've been together for a few years now. I'm surprised you haven't heard of them.”

You swallow. You have heard of them – probably on a much deeper level than Sungdeuk can even begin to comprehend.

He moves on with the tour, leading you through winding hallways, explaining each and every detail as he does so. You meet a few people on the way past; a few producers, a few choreographers, a few people who are messing with broken cameras and lights. The building just seems to get more and more complex the longer you walk, and it isn't long until Sungdeuk is leading you directly to the training room.

Thankfully, it's empty for now.

“And this is my place,” he says, stretching his arms out. The room is only small, but it's brightly lit and there's a glowing neon sign in the corner that reads BTS. Beneath it are a pair of shoes that look as if they had been discarded not long ago; with your limited knowledge of fashion, you're able to identify them as Balenciagas.

“This is where the boys come to learn their choreographies and practice some of their old stuff,” Sungdeuk continues to explain. “I sent them on their break so I could come and get you.”

You smile warily. “So what is it you actually do around here?”

“I'm the production manager,” he replies. “But I'm also the lead choreographer. I come up with the dances, teach them to the boys and send them on their way. They're quite independent that way – they don't need me holding their hand through everything.”

You chuckle. “I heard Hoseok does a lot of the training. He tends to just take over.”

Sungdeuk laughs. “Yeah, he's a really good-” He freezes. You glance at him over your shoulder. His eyes are narrowed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Wait. How do you know about Hoseok?”

Aaaaaand, you've already fucked up.

Your brain runs at a million miles per hour, because there's a legible answer there somewhere. You can lie. You can come up with something – anything - but god, your hands are now sweaty and he's staring at you with his head tilted and he probably thinks you're such a crazed stalker.

You open your mouth to reply, to say anything, but the words are cut off by the sound of booming laughter and the door opening. It squeaks, and you make a mental note to bring some WD40 with you next time you're here.

But until then, you have to calm down, because Jungkook is there and he's taller than you imagined, and he's captured your eye already meaning there's absolutely no getting out of this mess.

Sungdeuk greets the other boys – all six of them, fuck sake – but Jungkook stays rooted to the floor. In his hand is a coffee. In his other hand is a water. He's wearing a bandanna and an oversized hoodie, and it takes everything in you not to melt into the floorboards right here and now.

“Everyone, meet Y/N L/N,” Sungdeuk announces, one arm wrapped around Namjoon's waist, the other pushed towards you. “They're the new editor for the Big Hit catalogue.”

“Ay, you found someone!” Taehyung exclaims, walking towards you with those long, intimidating legs that are neatly covered by a pair of striped trousers. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and tugs you tight against him. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I'm Taehyung.”

“Nice to meet you,” you mumble.

“Awk look; they're already nervous,” Seokjin teases, peeling his jacket off his very, very broad shoulders.

“Don't worry. We don't mind a few typos,” Yoongi chimes in.

You try to laugh, but it sounds forced and honestly not worth the effort. Even the boys seem to notice the dry, false side to the giggle as they all turn to look at you, a crowd of raised eyebrows turning to look at you all at once – but again, you can't take your eyes off of Jungkook for even a second.

This is the person you've been talking to since you were fourteen. This is the person who calls you in the middle of the night because he doesn't know what to get from the fridge. This is the person who sends you countless videos on Snapchat of him trying to figure out how to fit the sheet back on his bed in the morning, most of which end with him saying, “Seokjin will do it.”

He's standing in front of you, and he's real, and you're still not entirely convinced you're not dreaming.

Until he speaks.

“D-don't be nervous,” he says. “You'll do a great job. I know you will.”

Oh yeah. You're definitely going to melt into the floorboards at any given moment.

---

“I can't believe this-”

“I swear to god I didn't know it was Big Hit I was gonna be working for.”

“You're here. How are you here?”

“I took a train, Jungkook. A train! Do you know how terrified I am of fast moving vehicles?”

Jungkook closes his eyes, tilts his head back against the wall you've accidentally pushed him against in your panic. You aren't even sure how you've done it, but in your hectic panic, you've ended up basically shoving him against the wall as soon as the two of you are away from the large group of excited, older men.

You take a step back and awkwardly rub the back of your neck. “Look, I'm being serious. I didn't even know what company had hired me until Sungdeuk pulled up outside the Big Hit building. I wasn't searching for you or anything.”

Jungkook cracks an eye open. “You know I'm not even meant to be in contact with you.”

This draws you up short. “What?”

“After I joined Big Hit to be a trainee, they made me sign this massive contract thing. It said I had to cut all ties with certain people, and I signed it and said I would.” He bites his lip and looks away, as if confessing to his crimes makes him somehow not worthy to look into your eyes. “And then I texted you the same day about going online for a few hours.”

Your chest hurts. Physically aches. “You were meant to cut ties with me?”

“I didn't take it seriously!” he hisses, tugging at his hair. “I was fifteen, for gods sake. It wasn't until Hoseok started telling me all the things he had to do to make up his contract that I started realising I should probably be – you know – paying attention, too, but I liked texting you. It became kind of routine, so I never stopped.”

You hollow out your cheeks. Not even a full day into business and already Jeon Jungkook is overwhelming you; you're not even surprised.

“Okay, so we just don't tell anyone that we know each other,” you say, as if the two of you haven't already put suspicion in people's heads by basically handling each other with bubble wrap the entire afternoon.

“But I was gonna – I was gonna ask if you wanted to go get dinner tonight,” he says. You raise a brow. He rolls his eyes, shakes his head. “As friends, you sleez.”

“Okay, okay, I was kidding,” you chuckle. “We can still go to dinner, Jungkook. You can just tell the guys you're going somewhere else, and then we'll meet up. Although, I don't really know my way around Seoul just yet so...”

“Do you know where you're staying?” he asks.

You pull a piece of paper from your back pocket and shove it in his hands; written in almost unintelligible handwriting is your new, temporary address. Jungkook's eyes light up when he reads it.

“Hey, that's not far from the dorms!” he says. “I can come and pick you up if that makes it easier. Then we can finally . . . you know . . . discuss what's going on here.”

The way he says it makes your spine tingle, like being friends is some kind of scandal. Apparently it kind of is, considering Jungkook was meant to cut all ties with you over three years ago and just casually decided not to, as if it was no big deal. Part of you wants to be flattered by it. The other part of you wants to slap him up side the head for thinking his friendship with you was more important than living his dreams.

“How long are you staying?” he asks, voice suddenly quiet.

“However long it takes for the catalogue to be made,” you reply, before awkwardly stepping forward. “Jungkook, I just want you to know that I'm not here for a holiday. I have work to do.”

Jungkook's head snaps up, eyes alert. “What? Of course. I know that. I was just – I mean, we've been friends for a long time, Y/N. I think it's about time I take you for dinner.” He raises a brow. “Unless you think this is weird. 'Cause we can always just go back to texting and sending each other stupid videos.”

You chuckle, glancing down at the floor where your toes are very nearly hitting against his. You don't step back, simply kick a rock up onto his shoe which he kicks back onto yours almost immediately. “No. I think this is good. It's like fate, isn't it? Even the universe can't keep us apart kind of thing.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Is this another one of them astrology things you always send to me?”

You roll your eyes, nudging Jungkook with your elbow. “I was trying to be sweet, you idiot.”

“You don't need to be sweet. I've seen you make a fake Instagram account to get a look at your ex-boyfriend's new page.”

“I was fifteen-”

He starts walking back towards the building. “I've seen it.”

“Jungkook, I swear to-”

“I've seen it, Y/N!”

---

You shouldn't feel nervous, but you do.

As you look at yourself in the mirror and try desperately to fix your travel-hair, you remind yourself that this is Jungkook. GoldenJeon. The boy you've known for years, the boy who knows you better than any of your real life friends do. There will be no awkward silences, because there is so much to talk about. There will be no flustered glances, because there is no reason to be flustered. There will be absolutely no tension during this dinner, because you and Jungkook have been friends for years. Just because he is now a physical form changes nothing.

These are the rules you set out for yourself as you slip on your shoes and head for the door of your new apartment. It's small, one bedroom, a tiny kitchen and a sofa. There's a generously sized television hung up on the far wall, and a picture of a house plant hung beside it; you're half tempted to take it down and replace it with a family picture, but something about that makes this place seem a little too permanent. You don't want to be getting attached when you know full well you'll be heading home in a matter of months.

Jungkook texts you to tell you he's outside at exactly seven pm. He's on time, something you weren't expecting considering he has a habit of being late to almost every single meeting he's invited to – he tells you these things on a daily basis, claiming he slept in or he forgot, or he got too caught up in his games.

But he's not lying. You step outside into the chilly night air of Seoul and are greeted by the sight of his warm smile and fluffy brown hair. He's wearing an oversized coat, his hands tucked into the pockets, his shoulders bunched around his ears. When he sees you exit through the front door, he picks up his pace to a penguin-like jog before jumping in front of you and bundling you into a hug you most definitely were not expecting.

“Do you see how early I am?” he asks. You can feel his lips moving against the crown of your head, and your face heats up.

“You're on time,” you correct. “And apparently in a very good mood.”

He pulls away, holds you at arms length. His brown eyes look so light beneath the yellow glow of the street lamps. It's a doe-like look, and it makes your spine tingle when it's trained on you.

“Of course I'm in a good mood,” he says. “I've already picked out the restaurant we're going to. It's called Frapuls.”

You raise a brow, letting Jungkook slip his hand into your own as he starts to lead you down the pavement. “Frapuls? I don't think I've ever heard of that before.”

“It's good. All sorts of food – burgers, kimchi, stir-fry – anything you want, they have it.” He looks over his shoulder. “I wasn't sure what kind of food you liked, so I just picked the one that had the most options.”

You smile. “Frapuls sounds perfect.”

The restaurant itself is small, sparcely populated. Part of you thinks Jungkook's decision to eat here had more to do with the fact that it isn't busy than because he was unsure of your food preferences – nonetheless, you're not complaining. Jungkook leads you into the tiny restaurant, mutters something to the man at the front desk before the two of you are led towards a table on the far side of the restaurant.

It's dimly lit, tiny little lanterns placed all around the room being the only source of light. It makes Jungkook's eyes a little darker, making you want to rip his bucket hat off his head just so you can be given better access to the doe-like brown eyes you had seen earlier on. However, when Jungkook looks at you from across the table, there is no more wondering; you can see his eyes perfectly fine, bright and round and questioning. He looks so curious, tracing your features, trying to figure you out – you can see it in his expression. He has questions, so many questions, but he says none of them until you cough and meet his gaze.

“You can ask me anything you want.” It's a bold statement, but you mean it.

Jungkook pulls back, spreading his fingers across his untouched menu. He licks his bottom lip and sighs. “There's just so many things that don't make sense.”

“Like?”

“Like how you're here. How I didn't know you were going to be here. How we managed to meet up after years of just texting online, and it wasn't even planned.” He shakes his head. “People in our situation literally go through hell to see each other, and it just fell into our laps.”

You bite your lip. “Would you say it's luck?”

“I don't really believe in luck.” Jungkook leans forward, folding his arms in front of him. “But I can't really put my finger on what else it could be.”

“A coincidence,” you suggest. “I mean, it's insane that the people from Big Hit decided to choose the publishing agency I work for to edit their catalogue. It's insane that my boss decided I'd be a good replacement for him.”

Jungkook raises a brow. “It's not insane. You're brilliant at what you do. I've been subject to plenty of late night distressed phone calls to be able to vouch for that.”

You scoff. “You of all people are not allowed to talk about late night distressed phone calls. I think I received at least one a week from you – I marked them on my calender.”

“I'm not that bad!”

“You definitely are. I have the receipts-”

Jungkook's hand snaps out and curls around your wrist before you can grab your phone.

“Alright, I believe you,” he says. “But that's not the point.”

You grin, twisting your hand out of his grip. “Look, maybe it's better if we don't question why we were lucky enough for this to happen. Neither of us know how long we've got together, so we might as well focus our attention on other things.”

Jungkook nods, looking down at his menu. “I agree. For example, you never told me how short you are.”

You very nearly choke on the air you're breathing.

Your eyes snap open, darting across the table to where Jungkook is now grinning down at his menu, pretending like this conversation starter is oh-so-normal, and not at all totally ludicrous.

“I'm average!” you argue. “It's not my fault you're a complete skyscraper of a human being.”

Jungkook raises a brow, still yet to look up from his menu. “I'm not even that tall. You're just taking the piss.”

“Is this your way of charming me?”

“I didn't know you wanted me to charm you in the first place.”

You grit your teeth, shifting your eyes back to your menu.

Jungkook, however, is on a roll. “Did you notice that I could put my chin on your head when I hugged you earlier? Is that not adorable?”

“I'm average,” you repeat.

“You're small. The sooner you realise it, the better. Then I can give you more chin-to-head hugs.”

It sounds promising. That single hug outside your apartment had been enough to fill you with so many butterflies that you were convinced you would float off like a balloon pumped with helium. His arms had been warm. You had convinced yourself that he'd hidden hot packs in the front of his coat, because nobody's chest could be that warm and welcoming in two degree weather. He'd even gone as far as to press his lips into the crown of your head, and you remember that vividly, because it was that very movement that-

“Can I take your order?”

You look up, cheeks heating up with the realisation that you had just completely zoned out, remembering Jungkook hugging you. Looking over, you can see Jungkook staring at you, his cheeks a vivid red colour and his eyebrows furrowed. You bite your lip, looking back up at the smiling waitress who is waiting patiently at your table with a notebook in her hands.

You order the pasta carbonara and a water, whilst Jungkook orders the steak and rice with an iced Coke to go along with it. The two of you don't mention the lack of alcohol – you don't trust yourself to get drunk in front of him yet, and if your thoughts are anything to go by, you need to keep your brain in check tonight.

Jungkook's look of confusion does not leave his face throughout the meal, even as the conversation develops a life of its own. The two of you bicker like an old married couple, Jungkook complaining about the amount of times he has to revive your character in Overwatch and you complaining that you always have to give him extra supplies in Minecraft, even though you've totally, one hundred percent outgrown Minecraft and only play it because Jungkook still likes it, and his character would definitely die if you were not there to make sure he keeps his inventory full.

You're not even surprised with how easy the conversation flows; it's like your texting, but with your mouths. The banter, the teasing, the sly jabs that are always so present in your text conversations do not take the back seat even when you are in front of each other – the only difference now is that you can see his expressions, can hear his laughter, can hear his scoffs of disbelief, and it makes your insides melt with each and every thing he says.

It's so much better than texting. It's so much better than patchy Skype calls. It's so much better than you could have ever imagined.

You speak for hours even after your meal has finished. You place your napkin over your empty meal, place your bag in your lap but neither of you move from the table; you just keep talking, shifting into a debate on whether Billie Eilish or Justin Bieber have the best new song out – Jungkook admits that he's taken a liking to Billie Eilish, but hastens to insist that Justin Bieber is, and forever will be, his ride-or-die.

You only leave the restaurant when the shy waitress glides over to you and tells you that the table you've been over-occupying for hours is needed. Jungkook has paid for the entire meal (plus a tip) before you even have a chance to find your purse.

You shoot him a glare once the two of you are finally outside again, subject to the cold winter air and the surprisingly busy streets of Seoul – back in your home town, the streets were basically empty at this time, but Seoul is different. Seoul is always alive, always bustling with people and chatter and entertainment. Even at this time of night, there are buskers seated on the pavement and dancers twirling through the streets, lights on in every household. It vibrates with an energy you've never known before, and it sends a ripple of excitement coursing through you.

Jungkook ignores your glare and continues walking, a dull smile playing on his features that you find difficult to miss.

“I don't wanna go back to the dorms yet,” he says without turning to look at you. You are forced to pick up your pace just to catch up with him, and when you do, you latch onto his arm so you don't lose him amongst the ever-thickening crowd. If it bothers him, he says nothing.

“What else can we do?” you ask. “It's getting late.”

“So?”

“So all the shops are closed.”

Jungkook raises a brow, glancing down at you as if your logic is extremely flawed. “Again, so?”

“Jungkook, we can't just-”

“Watch this.” He shrugs out of your grip and marches towards a nearby busker before you have a chance to even register what he is doing. You pause in the middle of the street, pulling your coat tighter to your body and watching as Jungkook and the young man with the guitar talk in hushed tones. The busker's eyes eventually light up and he shakes Jungkook's hand before the song he was previously playing is forgotten and replaced by a soft, melodic tone that you've never heard before.

When Jungkook turns back around to face the crowd, he looks nervous. You immediately know what he's going to do, and your heart races at the idea of it; you've heard him sing before. Some mornings he'll call you just so you can keep him company as he goes through his daily routine, and you sit back and listen to him hum as he brushes his teeth, belts out solos as he picks out his outfit for the day. You've heard him sing, but never like this, and you aren't sure why the idea of it excites you so much.

He doesn't bother with an introduction to the song. He just looks at you once, closes his eyes and starts singing, and suddenly the rest of the crowd no longer exists.

The little girl crying over her fallen ice cream no longer exists. The bickering couple beside you no longer exists. The dog barking in impatience no longer exists, and the only sound you can hear is Jungkook's soft voice flittering through the busy crowd, meeting your ears as if he's singing for you and only you.

The lights bring it all together. They shine behind him, illuminating the gold streaks in his hair, the outline of his jaw that has absolutely no right to be as sharp as it is. His body sways back and forth, and even though he's wearing the worlds biggest coat, zipped right up to his chin, you can still imagine his Adams apple bobbing every time he stops for a breath.

This is Jungkook in his natural element. This is where he's meant to be, where he worked so hard to be. For years, the both of you had always joked that he was a video game obsessive, that he was most comfortable in front of the computer, or PlayStation, or xBox just losing himself in a world that wasn't this one – but now you feel ridiculous even pondering over such a crazy idea. This is where he belongs.

Your throat closes over as the song does. Jungkook's voice fades away, and the eruption of cheers brings you back down to Earth. Everyone fizzles back into place, and you're suddenly overwhelmed with the unexplainable urge to break down into tears.

Jungkook's eyes meet your own almost as soon as he opens them. You grin brightly, clapping along with the crowd and he blushes before he turns, thanks the busker and makes his way over to you. Almost as soon as he is in front of you, he takes your hands in his and pulls you close.

“You look freezing. I should have kept us moving.”

“What song was that?” you ask, pulling away to look up at him.

He frowns. “You liked it?”

“I loved it,” you reply. “What song was it?”

“It's called Promise. My friend Jimin wrote it.”

“It was beautiful,” you say before you can stop yourself. Jungkook's blush grows more prominent, looking down to the floor in his attempts to hide it, but you can see right through it. You grin, place a hand on his neck and say, “I'd like to hear you sing some more.”

His eyes meet your own. For a moment, you think you've gone too far. His brows are furrowed, and he's silent for a moment longer than you're comfortable with, but he eventually grins and nods. “Of course.”

---

The first day of work is a hectic one.

The first few pages of the catalogue arrive on your doorstep at seven am sharp, followed shortly by a frantic phone call from Mr Bang Shi Hyuk, who you met a week ago and have still yet to hear talk in a normal tone. He's always busy, always bustling round his office, and you're certain you've never gotten through a phone call without him having to put you on hold to scold someone. This morning, his frantic call has an undertone of desperation to it as he asks you to get the freshly edited pages back to him by five pm – definitely not an impossible goal, but you know you won't be taking any breaks today.

And so, you set up camp at your kitchen table and get to work as soon as the coffee kicks in. Bundled in your fluffy dressing gown and a pair of slippers, you sip idly on different beverages, red pen in hand, glasses perched on the end of your nose. You order some food from a nearby delivery place, dig into it with one hand whilst the other continues to glide across the pages, correcting typos and sentences until everything sounds smooth.

You reach an area of the catalogue that describes Bangtan Sonyeondan, and put it to the side for later. You don't want to think about Jungkook right now – well, you do, but it probably won't be for the best. Any time you see something that reminds you of him, you want to stop, snap a picture of it and send it to him via your stupid little Whatsapp group – that is time wasted, and you can't afford it right now.

Seven am turns into four pm, turns into five pm, and you're stuffing the catalogue pages into the return envelope at the same time you're pulling your jacket on over your shoulders and sprinting out the door. You don't bother saying hello to the friendly door lady at the reception desk. You don't bother to check both ways before sprinting out the door and barrelling up the street towards the Big Hit building. The only thing you can focus on is the time slowly trickling away, and by the time you've crashed into the lobby of the Big Hit building, the time reads 5:01pm and you're already planning out your new CV in your head.

You groan, sprinting up to the front desk and slapping the envelope onto it. “Here. It's here. I wasn't late. I was just -” You pant, trailing your fingers over your rain soaked hair. “Please tell Mr Bang the pages are finished.”

The lady at the desk eyes the envelope and raises her brows, before slowly reaching forward and slipping it into the delivery bin beside her. “Thank you, Y/N. I'll email him now.”

“Like, right now?” you push. You stand on your tip toes and try to see over the desk. “Can I see what you write? Please tell him I was on time, I was just-”

Hands gently grip your elbow, startling you. Jungkook is grinning down at the receptionist as he pushes you away from the desk. “Don't mind us, Gertrude. We're leaving now.”

You shrug out of his grip, spinning around when he pushes you into a nearby hallway and closes the door. He turns back to you, raising a brow that holds so many questions, but your only concern at the minute is whether or not Bang Shi Hyuk is going to receive those pages on time.

You try to look over his shoulder. “Do you think he'll be mad at me?”

“You weren't even late,” Jungkook replies.

You pull your sleeve up and shove your watch in his face. “Can you see that? Five. Oh. One. He wanted them back by five, but I lost track and-”

Jungkook reaches up and tugs on your bottom lip. The action is so unexpected that you don't even continue speaking once his hand drops back to his side – you just watch his arm swing, eyes slowly narrowing.

“What did you just do?”

“Tried to calm you down,” he replies. “Or shut you up. Whichever way you wanna look at it.”

You frown, shifting your eyes to his. “I think I'm delirious. I've been sat at my kitchen table since seven this morning.”

“So I thought,” he says. “You weren't answering my texts, or my single phone call that I so kindly wasted my lunch break to make.”

You wince. “Sorry. I was busy.”

He waves a dismissive hand, but the guilt is still there; Jungkook always makes time for you, no matter how busy his life gets, and you can guarantee that his schedule is a lot busier than yours on days like this. You can see it in the way the sweat clings to his baggy black shirt, the way the ends of his hair are damp.

“Did you eat anything good today?” he asks.

“I had some Chinese takeout.”

“Gross. That's not good at all.”

“It was good.” You pat your stomach for added affect. “I had fried rice, chips, egg noodles – the whole damn heap. Ate it straight out of the bag, too.”

Jungkook crinkles his nose, and it's the most adorable thing you've ever seen. “I swear to god, I'm going to have to keep an eye on you 24/7. You're gonna end up giving yourself a heart attack.”

“I was stress eating,” you say. “I was burning the calories by stressing. It's like I haven't even eaten.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, loops his arm through yours and starts down the hallway. You follow him, a new-found skip in your step that it seems only Jungkook can rattle into your system.

He leads you right to the training room, where the rest of Bangtan are busy doing absolutely nothing. They lounge around, some of them laying on the floor, others sitting on spinny chairs that have absolutely no reason to be there. Namjoon is leaned against the wall; if you weren't careful enough, you'd mistake him for a house lamp.

“Look who arrived,” Jungkook announces, shoving you into the room. The other boys chorus out a “Hi Y/N,” before going back to their exhausted scrollings of social media. “One minute late.”

Jimin fake gasps. “Fired!”

“Don't even joke,” you grunt, slumping down next to Taehyung on the floor. He leans over and shows you his phone screen, and you immediately take over his game of Angry Birds. He lets his head drop back to the floor and his eyes promptly close, as if he had just been waiting for someone to take over his game so he could go to sleep.

“Hard day?” Namjoon asks.

You shrug. “Stressful day.”

“But at least you made it. Did you edit the pages Mr Bang sent you?” Seokjin asks.

“Barely,” you reply, and Jungkook scoffs, kicking your foot.

“You're being too hard on yourself. One minute late isn't a big deal – Mr Bang probably won't even get to reading them before he goes home tonight.”

“So why did the little bastard make me run down here to get them to him by five?” You raise a brow at Jungkook. “Answer me that, Oh Great One.”

“Because.” Jungkook sits down beside you, crossing his legs. “Having a deadline looks more professional than just telling you to get them in by the end of the day.”

“Can someone tell him that I don't care about professional?”

Seokjin sighs. “I've been trying to tell him that for years, Y/N. So far, no luck.”

You groan, the sound mingling with the angry chipper of a bird who has just failed to knock down a house full of tiny green piglets.

“It's done now, anyway,” Hoseok chimes in. He's barefoot again, his Balenciagas thrown carelessly to the side. “I say you celebrate.”

“Mm. I could always order more Chinese food-”

“Nope!” Jungkook exclaims. “Nope, nope, no. No more Chinese food.”

You frown. “Who made you the devil incarnate this evening?”

“You're gonna make yourself sick,” he says. “Celebrate some other way.”

“I wish we could join you, but I'm exhausted,” says Yoongi.

You wave a dismissive hand. “Don't worry. I am too, buddy. I'll probably just go home and get an early night.” You shoot Jungkook a glance. “Play a bit of Minecraft.”

His eyes light up, a tiny smile twitching on his face that he tries to hide by ducking his head down and messing idly with the drawstrings of your grey sweatpants; you didn't even realise you were wearing them. You were too busy trying to leave the house to actually pay attention to your appearance.

“Sounds like a night made for an elderly person,” says Jimin. “Right up your alley.”

You throw Hoseok's Balenciaga at him.

---

GoldenJeon is active, and you're ready to absolutely destroy him.

Gathering snacks and a drink of water (healthy), you settle by your laptop and start playing. The two of you agreed to meet up on a server called The Hunger Games, in which the players are put against each other until there is only one remaining player – for years, you and Jungkook have squabbled over this game, making it much more dramatic than it needs to be, but it's all for the right reasons. Jungkook will call you in the middle of the game, speaking through gritted teeth, warning you not to jump out at him because he knows you're prowling around the corner, just waiting for him to drop his guard. Neither of you even pay attention to the other players; if another player kills you, Jungkook kills them. It's how it works. You're Jungkook's only goal, and he is yours.

Jungkook calls you after the ten minute mark. Whilst he speaks through clenched teeth, you speak through a mouthful of marshmallow.

“Just tell me where you are, you piece of shit,” he demands.

“Ask me nicely.” On your screen, his tiny block player is busy scrambling through some chests. It would be so easy to sneak up on him, stab him whilst he's too busy looting for gear, but you stay back.

“Y/N, I swear to god, you're giving me anxiety,” he replies. “Just tell me where you are. I promise I won't kill you.”

“Aren't you sweet.”

“So?”

“I'm not telling you where I am.” You equip your player with your new weapon. “But I just want you to know that I've just found a diamond sword with full strength still on it, so I'd watch out.”

Jungkook groans. “I hate you. I hate this game. I hate that you're so good at this fucking game.”

“You spend too much time worrying,” you say. “As soon as the map loads, you're trying to get away from me. Why don't you actually try and figure out where I'm going before you run off in the other direction?”

“Because if I stay close to you, you'll kill me!”

“That's the point!”

Jungkook groans again, and you can imagine him tugging on the blanket he always has wrapped round his shoulders when he's on his laptop. “You need to cut me some slack.”

“You've been looting plenty of chests recently, Mr JK. It'll be easy for you to just find me and kill me.”

Jungkook pauses. “How did you know I was looting chests?”

You grin. “A hunch?”

“You son of a bitch.” His character spins around and looks directly at you. You let out a squeak of surprise at the same time Jungkook gasps, but you don't give him mercy. You dive out of your hiding place and slam the space button so many times your finger starts to hurt from the pressure; your character bashes Jungkook's character with their fancy new diamond sword until eventually the words GoldenJeon has left the server appear on the bottom of the screen.

“Y/N!” he cries out. “You didn't even-”

“I won, is what I did,” you holler, throwing your arms in the air, doing a little dance on your mattress. “I won again, I won again, I won again.” You put your hands back to the keyboard. “Another game before we go to sleep?”

“No, you know what?” He sounds stern, and you're no longer sure whether to continue the teasing. “No. This is totally unfair. I'm on my way over.”

You freeze, not sure whether you heard him right. “You're what, sorry?”

You can already hear him shuffling around on the other side of the phone, probably grabbing his coat, or maybe a baseball bat. “I'm coming over. Get the kettle on, by the way. I have to walk, and it's fucking freezing.”

“Jungkook, it's twelve am,” you hiss. “Stay where you are or so help me-”

“See you in five minutes, you little traitor!” And then he hangs up, leaving you in a sudden state of panic.

Whatever triumph you'd felt at winning the game has melted away and been replaced by an immediate sense of urgency. You jump out of bed, blankets flying left, right and centre. You don't bother going for your wardrobe – Jungkook has seen you in your pyjamas plenty of times before (thank you, Skype). Instead, you head directly for the kitchen, slapping the kettle on on your way past before you busy yourself with tidying up the mess you'd made this afternoon. Broken pens and pencils scatter the table; old takeout boxes litter the counter; your washing up basket is filled to the brim. You quickly toss a pair of underwear under the fridge and hope to God Jungkook doesn't decide to go snooping.

You've barely emptied the bin before the door to your apartment is opening and Jungkook is suddenly there, in all of his fucking glory, with the most hard expression you've ever seen. You swivel up, drop the bag and say, “If you're here to kill me, I want you to know that it was all fun.” You pause. “But I still beat your ass in that game.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, and before you can process what is going on, he's crossed the threshold of your living room and is standing right in front of you. He wraps his arms around your waist and tugs you into him, startling you enough for a squeak to escape your throat.

Jungkook leans down, his lips so close to your ear, your throat, the hinge of your jaw and suddenly you want to drag him into you and lose yourself in that warmth you were lusting over only a few weeks prior.

“I've never been able to do this before,” he says, voice gruff.

“D-do what? Kill me?”

He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, and Jesus take the wheel, you've had it.

“I've never been able to just come over to your house when I want to.” If it's possible, his voice is even lower. “Never been able to call you a son of a bitch to your face, because you should have told me where you were.” He nips your collar bone. If the world wasn't spinning fast enough already, it sure is now.

You grip the counter behind you, breathing heavy. You want to continue the teasing, to make light of this situation, but your head is running at a thousand miles per hour and holy fuck is this really GoldenJeon holding you like this?

“Jungkook, what are you doing?” you ask, breathless.

He stops, detaching his teeth from your throat but he doesn't move away. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” You're eager, and that much is clear in your words. “No, please don't. I just want to know why.”

“As I said,” he says, leaning down to bare his teeth against your flesh again, “I've never been able to do this before.”

“I didn't know you wanted to.”

“Then you're very, very oblivious.”

“Not as oblivious as you. That's probably why I was able to kill you fifteen minutes into the first match.”

He growls. His hand snaps down and grabs the back of your thigh, hitching your leg onto his hip. You squeal, tossing your head back just as he lifts you up and props you up on the counter. You bang your head against the cupboard. Jungkook pulls back, eyes wide with that concern you know so well, but you don't let him spoil the moment. You grab onto the back of his neck and drag him forward, slamming your lips against his before you lose your god damn mind.

Because that's what it feels like. All of this is so sudden, so unexplainable and strange, but you're going to be driven absolutely insane if it doesn't continue. Your stomach clenches. You swallow his breathy pants, acknowledge how his lips twist, how his hands hesitate before he finally clamps them on your thighs and slowly drags them up until they're teasing the waistband of your unflattering pyjama trousers.

“Shy little Jungkook,” you whisper into his mouth. “So confident a few seconds ago, and now you can barely touch me.”

“Where do you want me to touch you?” he asks.

The question hits you like a ton of bricks. Your eyes flutter closed. His mouth trails hot, open mouthed kisses along your jaw as he waits for your reply, but you're not sure you can gather enough air to give him one at this moment in time.

His grip tightens on your thighs. Your legs jerk, but he holds you down. “Tell me where you want me to touch you, Y/N.”

“Everywhere,” is your reply, because you can't think of one specific body part this is burning hotter than the others. “Just – Just stop messing around.”

Jungkook chuckles. His tongue darts out, dabs at the hinge of your jaw before disappearing, and you want to scream with how slow he's taking this, like he's savouring every moment even though you're trying to scoot closer to him, trying to capture his lips with yours again.

“Do you want me to touch you here?” He curls his fingers around your leg, his fingertips moulding into the flesh on your inner thigh.

You shake your head, pursing your lips. “Somewhere else.”

He raises a brow, slowly lifts his hand to your mouth. His thumb scrapes along your lower lip, and you resist the urge to do that thing you've seen in movies where the girl sucks the mans thumb into their mouth – is that even considered attractive in real life?

“What about here?”

“Not good enough.”

He tilts his head, starts to smirk. His hand drops from your lips, glides along your chin and disappears into the front of your pyjama top. “Here?”

He's not close enough. Your only response is a strangled groan, to which Jungkook laughs and slips his hand lower, lower, lower until his fingers are moulding the area you need to him to be.

You groan, tilting your head back when his hand traces the underside of your breasts. “Fucking hell, Jungkook, took you long enough.”

He leans forward and kisses you. It's desperate. Now that he's heard your response to his hands, he can't get enough. He wants to please you. He wants to take this as far as he can, and he shows this by hitching both your legs around his waist, picking you up and stumbling from the kitchen.

“Where's the bedroom?” he asks, breathless.

You point in the general direction he's referring to before pressing your lips to his. No more talking. He could stumble into the bathroom for all you cared, and you'd have him in the bathtub with absolutely no complaints.

It's your luck that he kicks open the bedroom door and presses you into the mattress. His lips detach from yours for only a second as he strips off his shirt and you strip off yours; he gawks down at your exposed chest, shakes his head and says, “No bra?”

“It's midnight,” you say. “I haven't had a bra on since seven pm.” You grab his shoulders and pull him on top of you. “Now please stop talking.”

He laughs, peppering kisses along your jaw that leave you squirming and warm and satisfied. If he were to just spend the entire night kissing you, you'd go to sleep in bliss. His lips work like electric shocks, startling you every time he makes contact, every time his tongue slips from his mouth and joins with your flesh. You feel hickeys burn into your skin, but you don't worry about them now because God, you're too far gone. Tomorrow doesn't exist. It's tonight and only tonight, and it's you and Jungkook and everyone else can go the fuck to hell for all you care.

He whispers in your ear. His voice is rough. The soft spoken, excitable boy you used to talk to on the phone every night has melted away into something ravenous and hungry, and his hips are grinding into yours with only his jeans and your pyjama trousers as a barrier, until there is no longer a barrier and it's just bare skin against bare skin.

He asks if you're ready. You say you are. He asks if you're sure, and you say you've never been more sure about anything in your entire life, and in that moment, you mean it. He kisses you, and it isn't the kiss you give someone on a one-night-stand. It's soft, holding memories and feelings and his body slides against your own and your groans contaminate each others mouths. You get loud; Jungkook gets greedy. You beg for more, and Jungkook tells you you're doing so well, so, so well. You unravel in each others arms. Jungkook falls to the side of you, nuzzles his head in your sweaty neck and you hold him so close because you don't want this moment to end.

“Tomorrow isn't real,” you whisper into his hair. He nods his agreement, panting against your flesh. His breath tickles your new hickeys. You reach up, press your fingers into the forming bruise.

Jungkook presses a soft kiss to the skin. He's loopy. You look down and see that tired smile playing on his face, the sweat drenched ends of his bangs hanging in his eyes. He shuffles up the pillows, wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

You don't think he realises what he's saying when he whispers “I love you,” into your hair.

You look up. His eyes are closed, his breathing even. Jungkook is peaceful, but his words play on a loop in your head for the rest of the night.

---

When you wake up, Jungkook is nowhere to be found.

Your heart immediately lurches into your throat; this can't be happening. You know Jungkook well enough to know that he would never just use someone like that before taking off – so he's either parading around your house, or he's dead.

You slowly sit up, tucking the quilt under your arms in a pointless attempt at sparing your dignity. The sheets are stained with sweat and . . . other stuff, and you internally groan at the idea of having to wash them; your new washing machine is complicated enough with clothes.

You make a promise that you'll deal with them later before slipping out of bed and tugging your dressing gown on. You slip into a pair of slippers and head downstairs.

Immediately you are greeted by the welcoming scent of cooking bacon. It's only when you walk into the kitchen and glance at the clock do you realise what time it is.

“Six am?” you mutter, startling Jungkook. He stands by the hob, swaying his hips to a song that is playing softly from his phone.

He spins around, face lighting up at the sight of you, even though you're certain you look nothing short of bedraggled right now. Whilst he looks fresh as a daisy in a black shirt that is tucked lazily into a pair of belted blue jeans, your hair is knotted and your breath stinks, and you have absolutely no qualms about any of it.

“Apparently,” Jungkook replies. “I was hoping to make you breakfast in bed.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you say. “But also, you're a guest. You shouldn't have to make breakfast.” To prove your point, you grab the tongs out of his hand and nudge him with your hip. He chuckles, giving you the benefit of the doubt by over dramatically stumbling out of your way. You roll your eyes and start poking at the mostly cooked bacon.

“At least now you'll be able to say you helped,” Jungkook says.

You grin. “I'm nothing if not completely useless.”

“Only sometimes.” He presses a kiss to the back of your neck, and it is this movement that brings you back to last night; the kissing, the sex, sharing a bed.

The I love you.

You'll be damned if you bring that up to him, though, because judging by the look on his face, he doesn't even remember saying it. He sways around the kitchen like he's lived there his whole life, a goofy smile on his face that has your chest constricting, because you're fairly certain it's you that has put that smile on his face. He grabs two plates from the cupboard above your head and lays them on the counter, before he goes back to watching as you poke the bacon.

“How do you know when it's done?” you ask.

Jungkook blinks. “It's been done for a good two minutes. I thought you just liked yours crispy.”

You hiss, quickly turning the hob off. “You could have said something!”

“Give it here.” He takes the pan from you and starts scooping the bacon onto the plate. You follow suit, grabbing the bowl of scrambled eggs he'd prepared earlier and adding a decent amount to each plate. Jungkook then spoons the beans and adds the toast to the side, and the two of you are prepared.

You eat on the sofa, because of course you do.

Jungkook eats bent over his plate. You don't know why you notice this, or why you're so intrigued by something so small, but you struggle to take your eyes off him. He presses the edge of the plate into his chest and bends forward, his eyes not leaving the TV as he struggles to rip a bit of fat from his bacon.

You watch his Adams apple bob, remembering the feel of it beneath your lips. You regret not trailing your fingers along the column of his throat. You regret not unravelling him, completely taking over in the way you so desperately want to now; you had been so caught up in the logistics of what was happening that you didn't take a moment to focus on what you wanted to do; you realise now that you want to watch his eyes roll into the back of his head. You want to see him come apart.

You swallow thickly and turn back to the TV, cheeks burning. You need to remind yourself that you have other things to worry about besides what happened last night; the work hasn't just stopped because Jungkook decided it was a good time to show up and completely ravish you.

Jungkook finishes his breakfast before you. As he nibbles on the last remaining bites of his toast, he turns and glances down at your plate; it's nearly empty, and yet he still raises a brow. “You feeling okay?”

Your eyes shoot up. “Yes. Why wouldn't I be?”

Jungkook stares at you for a moment longer, urging you to tell him the truth. When you look back down at your plate and ignore his seemingly endless gaze, he sighs, sets his plate down on the coffee table before shuffling closer to you. “Is this about last night?”

You let out a breath. “I really thought you weren't gonna bring that up.”

“Do you want me to leave it?”

“No!” You grab his arm. “No, Jungkook, of course not. I really think we need to talk about it, but I just . . . I wanna know your feelings on it first.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes, tracing the lines of your face, the same trail he traced with his fingers last night. “I thought I made my feelings pretty obvious, considering I was the one who initiated it in the first place.”

“That doesn't mean anything,” you murmur, looking down. “I could have been bad at it, you know.”

A noise not unlike a croak escapes Jungkook's throat. It slowly morphs into a laugh, his hand coming down upon your knee and squeezing.

When you don't join the laughter, his smile fades and he stares at you. “Wait. You're not serious, are you?”

You throw your hands up in frustration. You hadn't even realised this train of thought was so prominent in the back of your head, but there's no denying it now. “Look, all of it was very unexpected. I didn't have time to – like – practice my strategy or anything.”

“You didn't need to-”

“Yes, I know that, but it would have helped,” you hiss, before groaning and slumping back against the plush sofa cushions. Your plate remains abandoned on the coffee table. Jungkook looks down at it, picks up a piece of bacon and takes a bite.

“I definitely came.”

He says it so casually that you very nearly miss what he's said at all. Your eyes burst open, cheeks burning with this news that isn't really news because you know what happened – you were there. You made it happen.

“You made it happen,” Jungkook continues, as if reading your mind. “And you definitely came.”

“Oh god.”

Jungkook grins. “I think I have the qualifications to vouch for that.”

“You're a dick.”

His grin only grows. He leans over and presses a kiss to the space just below your ear; you hiss and pull away, hand snapping up to trace the edge of the hickey you'd forgotten was there. Jungkook pushes the hair from your shoulder and lightly touches it, biting his bottom lip to fight off the smile that is surely threatening to show on his face.

“Lovely,” he says.

“I'm gonna have to cover this now,” you grumble. “Do you know how difficult it is covering a hickey?”

“No, considering you didn't give me any.” He shakes his head. “I feel like I'm missing out.”

“Poor baby.”

He shrugs, swings his legs round and stands up. He grabs the plates off the coffee table and starts towards the kitchen, but not before saying a casual, “We'll try again next time,” that hangs in the air even as the sound of the tap water shatters the delicate silence.

You grin, biting down on your bottom lip. Butterflies are attacking your stomach. Memories of last night are lodged in your brain, and you know for a fact that there is absolutely no way in hell you'll be getting any decent work done today.

---

Jungkook leaves for the dorms at seven. On his way out the door, he bends down and picks up a thick yellow envelope, handing it to you.

“I think that might be the new catalogue pages,” he says.

You hollow out you cheeks, taking the envelope from him and tossing it carelessly over your shoulder. “Tell Mr Bang I'll get it to him as soon as possible.”

“Mm, no,” he says, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Then the old man will know I've been here overnight, and that is awfully suspicious.”

Despite knowing this would be the case, your heart still quivers a little. You hide it by rolling your eyes and ushering him out the door. “Fine then. Leave the hard work to me. You go and prance around your practice room for a few hours, and call me as soon as you get a chance.”

Jungkook spins, planting his hands on the door frame. “One more kiss?”

You narrow your eyes. “You're gonna be that guy.”

“I believe this is called the Honeymoon Phase.” He kisses you, small and soft but it ignites something in you you've never felt before. Jungkook feels it, grins against your mouth before slowly pulling away and clicking his forehead against your own. “I'll see you later, yeah?”

“We'll see,” you whisper, before you grip his waist and spin him round. “Now go! I'm not being the reason you're late.”

“Alright, alright. Tell me how you really feel.” His voice and laughter fade into nothingness as he disappears down the hallway. You watch him leave, gripping the collar of your dressing gown like some kind of wife sending their husband off to war. You only turn and head back into your apartment when you hear the lift ding closed.

---

You love your job. You really do. There is a power that comes with correcting other peoples mistakes, and you are not ashamed to admit that you have been thriving off it from the moment you picked up that red pen and started slashing marks into the pages.

But this is a whole different ball game.

You're hunched over your kitchen table, your third cup of coffee half-empty beside you, doing nothing to help the exhaustion. Your body is slowly beginning to realise that you were not made for being woken up at six am. Your muscles are sore, and your eyes are getting tired before you've even gotten through the fifth page of edits.

You lean back, scraping a hand through your unwashed hair that is still sweaty from last nights mishaps. You told yourself you would take a break to clean up and pull yourself together, because going another day in this state is going to drive you to breaking point, and yet three pm is rolling around and you have yet to move from your kitchen table.

The pages are littered with images of Jungkook. With Bangtan being the only group involved with Big Hit at the minute, they're using their maknae's adorable smile and doe eyes to the best of their abilities. It makes your job ten times more difficult, as you have to stop every few seconds to send a picture of Jungkook's face to your Whatsapp group with a teasing caption that Jungkook always chooses to ignore in favour of asking you how you're getting on.

Not good, you want to tell him, but you don't. He's working just as hard as you; it would be cruel to distract him with your own pointless stresses.

And so you lose yourself in the world of literature for a few more hours, until the last page is glaring up at you and your hand is cramping, and you're refilling the ink on your sixth red pen. Five pm rolls around, and once again you're shrugging your jacket on and bolting down the street towards the Big Hit building.

Mr Bang is standing in the lobby.

You freeze, one hand braced against the glass door, the other clutching the envelope tight to your chest; well, this is most unexpected. Though you and Mr Bang have spoken on numerous occasions these past few weeks, most of those conversations were had via phone call. You had convinced yourself that the small man in front of you lived in his office.

He turns when you enter, immediately smiling an oddly cute smile that lights up his whole face and crinkles his dark brown eyes. He nudges his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and steps towards you.

“I was just about to call and ask where you were,” he says.

You shove the envelope in his direction. “All done!”

“Great, great.” He tucks the envelope into his coat pocket. You resist the need to wince; he better not crinkle those god damn pages, or so help you- “The edits aren't the only reason I was looking for you, though.”

Your brain short circuits, and you aren't even sure why.

Today has honestly been the day from hell. Your head aches, and your hand is cramped, and all you want to do right now is curl up on your sofa with a glass of wine and drink everything away. Instead, you place a smile on your face and say, “Oh?”

Mr Bang sighs, looks around as if checking for anyone eavesdropping before he steps closer to you and lowers his voice. “Have you and Jungkook fallen out?”

Okay. That certainly wasn't what you'd been expecting.

You raise a brow, flicking a glance over the big boss's shoulder. Gertrude quickly lowers her head, pretending she hasn't heard anything, but it's obvious in the tilt of her head and the shy little smile on her face that she knows exactly what Mr Bang is asking about.

You look back at him. “I don't – I don't think so. Why?”

“Well, I told him I was going to offer you a job in one of the offices here so you don't have to keep running back and forth from your apartment,” he says. “Jungkook told me not to.”

It takes a minute for you to untangle what all of this means. It's the most absurd thing you've ever heard. It doesn't make any sense, because you and Jungkook slept together and he held you, and he said he loved you and there's no way in hell all of that changed in the space of a few hours.

But Mr Bang is serious. His eyes shift to the floor when you stay silent, and you watch as he slowly sucks in a breath.

“I don't like it when my employees go against each other,” he says. “I asked Jungkook if everything was alright and he refused to tell me anything. He's young, so I didn't push him, figured I'd let him figure it all out on his own. But I just want you to know that whatever this feud is – you can't let it get in the way of your work.”

“There is no feud,” you burst out. “I mean, not really. Nothing you need to be worrying yourself with, anyway.”

Mr Bang's eyes light up. “Really? That's fantastic, Y/N. How about you come and join us for dinner then?”

Before, the idea would have lit something inside you. The idea of sitting beside Jungkook and laughing with your friends would have excited you to no end, but you replay Mr Bang's words on a continuous loop and find yourself unable to gather that same excitement.

You stuff your hands into the pockets of your jacket and say, “I think I'm gonna have to pass. I'm exhausted.”

Mr Bang nods as if he understands. “Of course. I'll send the next few pages over tomorrow, then. Get some rest, Y/N.”

You turn on your heel and exit the building. It feels permanent. You want it to be permanent. You want to walk to your apartment, pack up your stuff and never come back. You feel like a teenager, moping over some boy, suddenly willing to change the directory of life just because this certain someone slipped up and hurt your feelings.

But that emotion is there. You grip the material of your pockets and inhale the cold air of Seoul, ducking your head down in case anyone were to notice your gritted teeth.

---

It's nearly eleven when the knock echoes through your apartment.

You're draped across the sofa, a glass of wine in your hand, the TV blaring re-runs of Friends. You've been sneering at Ross Geller for the past three hours, and quite frankly, you are in no mood to be disrupted.

You stay silent and hope the visitor takes the hint.

It's never that easy, though.

The knock sounds again. And again. On repeat until you eventually throw your head back and push yourself off the sofa. You slam your glass of wine down and barrel towards the door, throwing it open to reveal GoldenJeon in all his glory.

Your drunken state wants to spit on him.

He's grinning from ear to ear, hands in his pockets, hair a tussled mess. Even in your state of tipsiness, you still reach out and flatten a strand against his temple; you pull your hand back just as quick, tucking it under your armpit as if to restrain yourself from touching him further.

He frowns when he sees the state you're in. You have no idea what you look like, but you're purposefully scowling to the best of your ability, arms folded, the glass of wine bright and full on your coffee table – it wouldn't take a genius to figure out just what is going through your mind right now.

“Are you okay?”

“Why are you here?” you demand. “I didn't invite you.”

Jungkook's frown deepens. A crease forms between his eyebrows. “Since when did I need an invite?”

“Since you started showing up uninvited and interrupting my relaxation time.” You try to slam the door on his face, but he wedges his foot between the frame and pushes it open again.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, poking his head through the tiny gap he's created. “Are you gonna explain to me what the hell is going on?”

“No. Go away.”

“I'm not leaving until you tell me why you're mad.”

“I'll literally call the police.”

“No you won't.”

You purse your lips, turn on your heel and B-Line towards your cell phone. Jungkook shoves the door open and follows after you. You pick up the phone, but Jungkook is quicker; his fingers curl around your wrist and it is with barely any effort that he plucks the phone from your hand and tosses it onto the couch. He keeps your wrist in his grip, staring down at you with a set of eyes that – any other day – would have you pouncing on him in two seconds flat.

“Let go of me,” you say.

He does.

“And get out.”

“I'm so confused right now. I thought we were okay.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Is this about last night?”

You groan. “For crying out loud, Jungkook, I'm drunk. Why can't you just take the hint and piss off?”

He flinches. There's a tiny glimmer inside you that wants to apologise, wrap your arms around him and tell him you didn't mean it, but then you hear Mr Bang's voice in your head and your senses draw back to you.

“You didn't join us for dinner,” he says. It's almost a subject change. Again, you want to spit on him.

“I don't think you'd have been too happy if I showed up,” you reply. You take another swig of your wine. “Apparently you only really like me when I'm underneath you.”

Jungkook's eyes widen. His hands twitch by his side, and he reaches up to deftly rub at this throat. “What are you talking about? You know that's not true.”

“So why don't you want me working in the same building as you?”

There is no way to make that sentence sound intimidating, no way to get your anger across without sounding childish and needy; you and Jungkook spent one night together. If he thought it was a mistake, you would respect that – but he didn't need to cut you off from your work, didn't need to come crawling back when he was in the mood. If he found regret in last nights endeavours, it would be so much more merciful if he just left you alone.

His face softens. It's an expression of realisation, the fact that he's been caught out dawning on him. It's enough to make tears rise to the surface, and you blame the wine but it builds in your chest, grabs at your throat. Jungkook sees it – he lurches forward. You don't even fight when he wraps his arms around your waist and tugs you into his chest, his chin taking perch on the top of your head.

“No,” he says. “No, I didn't mean it like that. Y/N, I didn't mean it like that. I said it to protect you.”

“Protect me?” You jump away from him, stumbling but managing to catch yourself on the sofa at the last moment. “How could that protect me?”

“We're not meant to have what we have,” he says, running his hands through his hair. He's trying not to touch you. You're trying not to throw yourself into his arms.

“What is that, Jungkook?” you ask. “What do we have that is so special? Because last time I checked, all we've done is slept together and played a few rounds of Minecraft.”

“That's not true. We've got more than that. You're more than that.”

You grit your teeth, turning on your heel. Your wine sloshes, drenches your wrist but you don't even care. It triggers you to take another swig, then another, and another until the glass is empty. “You know what? I don't think I wanna play this game. I've never let a man dictate how a relationship works, and I'm not about to do it now.”

Jungkook groans. “I'm not dictating-”

“Telling your boss to keep me off the fucking premises so you can keep our friends-with-benefits subtle-”

“And we're not friends-with-benefits!” Jungkook steps forward, grabbing your wrist before you can reach for the bottle of wine. You glare at him, hoping and praying that your eyes look menacing enough right now; you want him to know how angry you are. You want him to see how bad he's hurt you.

His eyes trace your own. He's looking for forgiveness, but you won't give it to him. His lower lip trembles and he sucks it between his teeth.

“I don't want us to be friends-with-benefits,” he whispers, fingers still curled round wrist. “I got carried away last night, but I didn't show up just to have a quickie and then leave. I want – I want more.”

You stare back at him, unsure of what to say. There are so many responses that are playing on the tip of your tongue, but none of them seem right. Not when his eyes look like that. Not when he slowly leans forward and presses a kiss to the flesh just beneath your ear – right over a hickey he sucked into your skin the night before.

You shiver, wrist sliding out of his suddenly slack grip.

“Tell me if you want more,” he whispers.

You close your eyes, tilting your head to the side. Your drunk and angry and turned on, and at this point it's too late to turn back. You do want more – you want it all. You want everything he is offering, but you know better.

You step away from him. He looks at you, analyses the way you're standing, the way you fold your arms over your chest because you're so scared you'll crack again, so scared you'll reach out and touch him and lose yourself entirely.

“I want you to leave,” you croak out. The words are acidic. They're a betrayal, but you have to say them.

Jungkook's features harden. He looks down at the ground, brushes his foot against the carpet only once before he nods and says, “So that's it then? There's nothing I can do to make this better.”

“You can't expect me to like this arrangement,” you reply. “I'm not sneaking around with you. I've got too much going on as it is without stressing over being caught with you.”

Jungkook nods, but you're not entirely sure he understands. Maybe he hides a ton of stuff from Mr Bang. Maybe sneaking around is his forte, but you haven't had as much experience as him in this line of work. You're not ready to put your entire career on the line to be with someone who clearly doesn't care about you enough to want a real relationship.

And god the thought hurts. The realisation hurts. Before, you failed to realise just how much of an integral role Jungkook played in your life, but looking at him now and knowing it will be the last time you'll ever be able to talk to him like a normal human being – it breaks something inside you. Little fourteen year old Y/N L/N is screaming in the back of your head, asking you what the hell you're doing.

You push them away.

Jungkook says nothing when he turns and walks out the door. He doesn't look back at you, barely utters a goodbye. He certainly doesn't apologise. He leaves you numb, watching the door swing closed behind him. You listen to the lift opening, closing, going down. You force yourself to stay rooted to the spot, resisting the urge to scramble to the window so you can watch him cross the car park.

You have to let yourself believe that he is nothing more than another chapter in your life – necessary for your story, but you have to move on to know the conclusion.

---

The pages are getting few and far between.

Months have passed. You still see Jungkook everyday, but it's not how it was. He doesn't smile when he sees you. He doesn't text you to find out if you got home safe. If he can avoid looking at you at all, that is exactly what he does.

In the beginning, you didn't want things to be awkward. You smiled at him, asked Yoongi if he was okay, made sure to check up on him when you could, but it got tiring after a while and you lost the motivation eventually. Jungkook wasn't giving you the same enthusiasm, so you no longer saw a point in trying.

It's your last few days in Seoul. You can feel the end approaching, even though none of the Bangtan boys nor Mr Bang himself wants to admit it. Mr Bang lengthens the deadlines on your edits just to keep you around that little bit longer. The Bangtan boys invite you out for dinner, but you decline because you know Jungkook will be there and you don't want that kind of hassle.

All in all, you are disappointed to say your last few months in Seoul have been terrible. Full of stress and avoidance, life truly did not give you an easy time of it.

But your days are coming to an end. You stand by your bed now, looking at the packed bags. A lump grows in your throat; you swallow it down, swiping a hand beneath your eye in any attempt to hide the tears that are threatening to rise to the surface. No one is with you – it would be easy to just break down, because God only knows when you'll next get a chance, but you don't want to. Not even within the comfort of your own company. Crying means admitting you've been affected by the sudden shift in your life. Crying means admitting you got attached.

Stupidly, obsessively attached.

To a boy who was meant to be nothing more than a few texts on your phone screen.

You busy yourself by reorganising everything yet again. It's the fifth time you've done it, and each time has been completely unnecessary. Your clothes are folded beautifully, your toiletries packed away, your sheets and work gear all tucked away neatly; you just need to do something. You finished the last few pages of the catalogue yesterday evening, sent them out and fled the Big Hit building before Mr Bang could make you emotional with any kind of farewell speech. You just needed out of there. Once you get back to your actual office, back home, you'll be fine. You'll be able to start over.

It's as your reorganising that you realise you've missed something.

How you missed it is completely beyond you, considering you've been through this five times already. You shoot up, spin around and glimpse your laptop on your desk, untouched for three days now. You've been too busy to even think about logging on and catching up with your gaming; besides, you didn't want to game. Not if Jungkook wasn't on the phone, yelling at you for the most trivial of things.

But now seems a good a time as any.

You slowly open it up, press your password in and wait for the Minecraft game to load up. It's ten at night, so nobody you talk to will be active; the game will be full of complete strangers, will be no fun. You'll sign out of it in a few minutes and go back to moping round your apartment, but at least you can say you've tried. It's a step in the right direction, a sign that maybe the spell Jungkook cast over you has melted away a little bit.

You click on the server you so frequently play on, and look through the list of people active.

GoldenJeon.

You should delete it. The whole game, just get rid of it. It's no fun without Jungkook, but after the fight you had, it's no fun with him either. You don't want to play at all, so what's the point of even having it on your laptop?

Despite these thoughts, the sense of them, you're unable to do anything but stare at his name. Your little character waits for the timer to start, signalling the beginning of the game, but you're not even preparing yourself for it. You're just staring at his name, blinking in gold letters.

And then your phone chimes.

Even though he hasn't texted you in weeks, you know it's him. You glance over, catch sight of his name, and you ask yourself why you even kept his number in the first place.

Jungkook: Please don't surprise me this time.

You bite your lip. That son of a bitch; he knows exactly what he's doing. He's prodding at your competitive side just to get a reaction out of you.

But he's done it now.

The timer counts down from three. As soon as the sirens go off, your hands are glued to the mouse and keyboard, and you're latching your view on Jungkook as his tiny little box character makes a dash directly for the woods; fool. He has no weaponry. Whilst everyone else headed straight for the chests in the centre of the map, Jungkook turned the other direction, thinking he would be doing something good by getting away whilst everyone else was distracted.

However, you are not one of them distracted people.

You sprint after him, even as your brain screams at you to just turn the bloody thing off and get back to being an Adult.

You follow him deeply into the match, your phone chiming away at the side of you; it's Jungkook having a crisis, begging you to not follow him this time. You know he's only saying this because you will – you'll follow him, you'll kill his character and then you'll be reminded of the last time you did it, when Jungkook realised he could come over and yell at you in person if he so pleased.

His character sprints through the map, gathering supplies and you follow him until he finally comes to a stop and you calculate your chances of survival if you were to just whack his head off now. You make your character crouch, duck behind a door frame as he shuffles around an abandoned house made out of bedrock (bedrock!).

Your phone rings. You click ACCEPT without even thinking.

“Where are you?” His voice his gravelly. It hurts to hear it.

“Now why would I tell you that?” you ask.

“I don't know why I never learn,” he grumbles. “You do this to me, you know. You make my head go somewhere else, and I can't use my common sense.”

Your heart thunders. “It works in my favour, so I don't really mind.”

“Are you gonna pop up out of nowhere again?”

“Would you like me to?”

Jungkook pauses. “I would. I really would.”

“But then you'll be out of the game,” you tease. “Poor little Jungkook, losing another round of Hunger Games because he can't think straight.”

He growls. It startles you, distracting you for a moment too long. Your eyes snap down to your phone, and you're positive it's only for a brief second, but by the time you look back up at the laptop screen, your character is being beaten bloody by GoldenJeon's stone pickaxe.

Y/N has left the game.

Jungkook doesn't laugh, doesn't yell in victory like you do every time you win. There's a single breath of humour-filled air before he says, “Got you.” And then he hangs up.

You sit there, staring at the end credits and trying desperately to catch your breath; what the hell just happened? What the hell just happened?!

He called you, is what happened. He had the nerve to pick up the phone and call you as if nothing had been going on these past few weeks, as if he hadn't ignored you, as if he hadn't completely ripped your heart from your chest and forced you to end things with him.

You grit your teeth. This is what he wants. He wants you to play right into his hands so he can get the control back, and you're not about to let him get away with it.

So you stand up, grab your coat and march right out the door.

You know where the dorms are. You've been invited over more times than you can count, have broken Taehyung's heart by declining these invites, but you can't think of a better reason to make an appearance now. You shrug your coat on as you march down the street, turn the corner and head straight for the front desk.

You're recognised and let inside almost immediately. You don't realise your relief until you're halfway up the stairs, heart thundering in your ears – this scene is so familiar. It's been reversed, but it's so familiar, and it makes your heart rate speed up to a rate you're pretty sure is considered unhealthy.

You had won the game last time. Jungkook has marched into your apartment.

Jungkook won the game this time. It's only fair for you to give him the same courtesy.

You rack your knuckles against the door and wait for someone to answer. It takes two seconds, and there is nothing but undeniable relief when it's Jungkook's grinning face that appears in the doorway and nobody elses.

You slam your hands into his shoulders and push him backwards. “You son of a bitch. I wasn't even ready!”

Jungkook loops his arms round your waist and tugs you into him. You're so lost. You're so worked up and he looks so good, and he's just beaten you at a game you prided yourself on winning each and every time. He did it to tease you. He did it so this would happen, and you've walked right into his trap.

But god, he smells so good, and his hair is slightly damp from a shower, and you're honestly prepared to make a fool of yourself if it means getting a glimpse of his toned torso one more time.

“Sorry,” he says. “But I believe I won that round fair and square.”

“You used a distraction tactic,” you hiss. “We never use a distraction tactic!”

Jungkook raises a brow, tilting his head to the side. “I don't remember distracting you.”

“You being on the phone at all was distracting enough.” You bundle your fists in his shirt, debate pulling him closer. You eventually decide against it and instead flatten your palms against his chest. “And then you kept making that stupid fucking noise, and I couldn't . . . I couldn't concentrate.”

Jungkook's eyes flare. “I can't help it if you get distracted just by my voice.”

“It wasn't your – Stop that!” You slap his chest and groan. “The point is, we need a rematch. That game wasn't fair, and you know it.”

His hands tighten on your hips. You want to scream.

“I really didn't take you as a sore loser,” he says.

You scoff. “Don't act like you didn't come marching into my apartment when I won the last round.”

That does it. The reminder settles between you, and you don't pull away even though you know you should. Jungkook's eyes – if possible – turn darker. Your breath hitches. The world is spinning too fast. You just want him to kiss you. You don't want any of this back and forth, teasing, talking in low voices – you just want him.

You knot your hands in his shirt again. This time, you do pull him closer, but not by much. It's a little jerk that has his chest hitting lightly against your own, but he still isn't close enough for your liking.

He inhales deeply. “I can't believe you're here after what I did.”

You close your eyes. “We don't have to talk about that.”

“I don't want to just sleep with you, Y/N.” He pulls away then, rakes his hands through his hair as if trying to restrain himself. “I told you on the day we argued that I don't just want to be friends-with-benefits. I want to be able to talk about things with you.”

There are cotton balls in your mouth. It's hard to speak, so you just stare at him, hope that gets your point across.

He bites his lip. “Is that what you want, too? Is that why you're here?”

Is that what you want?

On that first night, the first night Jungkook slept with you, you thought that was what you had. You'd never taken Jungkook as the type to have sex with someone and then just . . . leave, and that isn't what he did. Waking up to him cooking breakfast and his scent on your pillows felt almost natural.

So of course you want it. You want him – not his body, but him. All of him.

You swallow thickly and step closer. “If we're gonna make this work, we have to sort a few things out.”

He nods too quickly, too enthusiastically. It rips your heart out of your chest. “Of course.”

“I'm going back home in a few days,” you say, and Jungkook's hopeful expression fades. “I don't know – I don't know what that means for you. I don't know if that will make things easier. I don't know if me not physically being here will suddenly make Mr Bang let you date me, but-”

Jungkook groans low in his throat. “I don't care about Mr Bang. I care about you.” He steps forward and cups your face with one large hand. “I made a mistake. I was so caught up in my contract that I didn't even stop to think about how Mr Bang would take my own feelings into consideration.”

Your jaw drops, eyes snapping up. “What are you talking about?”

“Mr Bang knows we – we talk,” Jungkook stammers.

You step out of his grip. “He knows you went against the contract?”

“In the beginning,” Jungkook says. “He was disappointed, but he's known me since I was fifteen. I guess he took pity on me, because I was a mess when I went into work that day and told him. I'd just reached my breaking point.”

“And he was okay with it?”

“As I said, he was disappointed. Thought he could trust me and all that.” Jungkook winces. You place a comforting hand on his arm, knowing how hard it must have been for him to have disappointed one of the people he looks up to. “I said I was sorry, and then he – he asked me how things between you and I were going, and I got really confused. He said it as if we were together.”

You bite your lip. “Okay...”

“I turned round and told him you'd ended things because you didn't want to be sneaking around, and he just looked at me like I was insane. He asked me what I was doing, told me to talk to you and then he let me have the day off.”

You swallow the golf ball sized lump in your throat, not sure what to say but knowing for a fact that you are really gonna have to thank Mr Bang for this.

Jungkook rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “So I went home, logged onto Minecraft to see if you were there – you weren't, but I waited.”

“You waited.”

“And then you came online and I took my chance.”

“You did indeed.”

Jungkook lowers his voice to a whisper. “And now you're here.” It's almost like he's talking to himself, even though his eyes are burning holes in your own. “You're here and you're not saying anything.”

You don't need to say anything. There are no words that can possible portray what you're feeling right now, so you do the next best thing. It's straight out of a cheesy romance movie, but you've learned from the best and you launch yourself into his arms, kissing him with the need and desperation that has been building in your system for weeks now.

Jungkook grunts into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist. The two of you stumble until the back of Jungkook's knees are hitting against the arm of the sofa and he's falling backwards into the plush cushions; he doesn't let go of you, and your body ends up right on top of his own.

You kiss him again, and again, and again. Not just on the lips, but everywhere. Peppered kisses behind his ear, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth, his chin, his cheeks. Everywhere until he's giggling and trying to push you away from him.

“You still played unfairly today,” you pant, exaggerating each word with a kiss to his forehead. “I want revenge.”

“I'm excited to – hey! - find out how you get that revenge,” he replies, crinkling his nose up when you go to press yet another kiss there.

His fingers are just starting to grip onto your belt loops when the door behind him opens. Jungkook's head snaps up, his hands tightening to keep you in place. Taehyung and Namjoon walk in, side-by-side, but immediately stop and raise their brows when they see the position you are currently in.

Jungkook wriggles beneath you. You shoot upright, struggling to find your footing again. Jungkook grunts when you're forced to shove against his chest to get off the sofa. You turn to the two members of Bangtan and grin as Jungkook flops back onto the sofa and groans.

Namjoon is the first to speak. “Hey Y/N. . . I see you took Taehyung's invitation.”

“I did!” you exclaim, and then quieter, “I did. It's a lovely place you've got here.”

“Apparently we've also got a lovely maknae,” Taehyung says, wriggling his brows, and Jungkook buries his head in the sofa pillows. “I always knew something was going on with you two; you're the only person I know who can distract Jungkook long enough to break him away from his work.”

You raise a brow, flicking your eyes down to the boy in question. He peeks at you with one eye, half of his face still pressed into the cushions, and grins an embarrassed grin. You smile right back, pushing down a laugh.

“Come on, Tae,” Namjoon chuckles. “Let's leave them alone for a bit. I think they have a lot of catching up to do.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, mouths Use protection before he and Namjoon turn and leave the room. You glance back at Jungkook, raise a brow.

“He's totally lying, of course,” he assures, voice muffled.

You chuckle and bound back onto the sofa, circling your arms round his torso and going back to pressing loving little kisses to every part of his face you can think of.

---

Jungkook presses his chin into the crown of your head and sighs yet again. “You're still so tiny.”

“I'll literally start walking home now.”

He groans, pulling you closer to his chest. “Don't say home. You're home is meant to be with me.”

You close your eyes and tilt your head back. It rests in the hollow of his throat. You want to live there.

“I'll visit you,” you say, even though it's not enough. It'll never be enough. “We managed to keep in touch since we were fourteen – this isn't anything new.”

He sighs again. “I know. We'll make it work, just like we always do.” His arms tighten on your waist. “I'm just gonna miss this, that's all. I'm gonna miss you – you in your physical form.”

“In what way do you mean physical form, Jeon Jungkook?”

He leans down and nips your earlobe with his teeth. “Whatever form you're offering.”

You chuckle and shake your head, beckoning him away. He goes back to resting his chin atop your head, the two of you looking out for the train that will soon be pulling up to take you home. Your bag is packed, but Jungkook placed it a few feet away because he didn't want to admit that all of your stuff was in there – that means permanent, apparently. Packing up your stuff means there's no option to come back. Looking at your suitcase, filled to the brim with the clothes he's seen you in, the clothes he's ripped off of you, made him uncomfortable.

“I feel like adults are meant to handle this type of thing a lot better,” he says suddenly.

You look up; his chin slides to your forehead as he refuses to move. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “Like – relationships. Love. Stuff like that. I should have grown out of my mine, mine, mine phase, but the idea of you just . . . walking away is literally ripping me open.”

You bite your lip. “Jungkook...”

“I get it if you don't feel the same way. I'm not asking you to.” He shrugs again, grabbing your chin and tilting your head back so he can put his chin back where he is most comfortable. “It's only been a few months and I already feel like you should just be by my side all the time.”

“I wish I could be.”

“You do?”

“I don't think I've ever clicked with someone like I click with you, Jungkook. I feel just as awful about leaving.”

He sighs. Again. If you made this into a drinking game – drink any time Jungkook sighs – you would be falling head first into the train tracks by now.

He hugs you impossibly closer, and the two of you fall into a thoughtful silence. In the distance, the whistle of the train sounds and you close your eyes, as if in doing so, you can somehow transport somewhere far, far away, with only Jungkook to keep you company.

But reality is a bitch, and it slaps you in the face when the train pulls up and people start piling onto the carriages.

You turn, quickly wrapping your arms around his shoulders and kissing him, putting everything you can into the way your lips mould against his. He groans against your mouth – he always does – and he tightens his grip and you hope to God he just refuses to let go. You two can just live here, in this underground station, tangled in each others arms forever. You'll become statues, a part of the structure and nobody will bother you again.

But the conductor calls a warning,and you know you have to go.

You pull away. Jungkook's face falls, and his thumbs swipe beneath your eye. You didn't even realise you were crying until he shakes his head and says, “Soon. We'll see each other soon.”

You nod, biting your bottom lip. You say the first thing that comes to mind, which might not be the best strategy considering this is the last thing you'll get to say for quite a while, but nonetheless, it's a perfect parting confession.

“I love you, GoldenJeon.”

His eyes widen. You panic, because that was certainly not what you planned on saying. He reaches towards you, but you press a final kiss to his lips, grab your suitcase and dart off towards the train only seconds before the doors close behind you.

As the train speeds off, you turn in your seat. Jungkook is still stood on the platform, one hand raised to his lips and his eyes lowered to the floor.

---

You're in your pyjamas again. Boring, stupid old pyjamas. You'd left them behind for a reason – you're wearing them now because you're trying to get back into routine. You have to be at the office tomorrow. You have to look Mr Grey in the eyes and thank him for the opportunity even though he was the one who ordered you home. You shouldn't feel angry, but you do.

You press PLAY on your movie once again, having paused it to go and gather some ice cream and your laptop. You and Jungkook have only texted the odd time since you got home, with him claiming he wants to give you time to rest and you promising him that you were definitely, one hundred percent in bed and only seconds away from falling asleep.

Turns out, falling asleep without Jungkook's arms around you is a lot more difficult than you'd originally anticipated.

It's so weird. It's a phenomenon, considering you fell asleep without him your entire life. But now that you'd got a taste of just how luxurious sleep can actually feel, it's difficult to go back to square one.

You click on the tiny little Minecraft icon and watch the screen load. It's almost instinctive when you log onto the all-too-familiar server. Again, it's much too late for Jungkook to be online – he told you he was doing some late night editing for one of his Golden Closet Videos, and you've seen him when he starts editing; he won't be looking away from that complicated editing screen for another few hours at least. His attention will be nowhere near Minecraft.

It loads up, and of course, the little shit has lied to you.

GoldenJeon is online.

You narrow your eyes, hoping and praying he doesn't notice the little Y/N is online that appears in the corner.

But he's GoldenJeon. He notices everything.

Your phone chimes. You wince, cautiously looking over as Jungkook's name flashes on screen.

Jungkook: You weren't asleep for very long.

Y/N: you weren't editing for very long.

Jungkook: It's gonna be very difficult for me to come over and have sex if you win this match, you know. You didn't think this through.

Y/N: i'm sure phone sex will be just as sexy.

Jungkook: Let's give it a go.

The match begins, and you win. It's no surprise – at this point, you're fairly certain Jungkook is just letting you win because he wants an excuse to come over.

Or in this case, an excuse to call you.

You pick up before the first ring is even over. Jungkook laughs at your eagerness before saying, “Miss me?”

“More than anything. Now talk dirty.”

“I love you.”

You freeze.

“Oh, did you like that one?” he teases. You can hear him grinning. You want to smother him – or kiss him. Either way, you can do neither. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“Jungkook-”

“I've loved you since I was fourteen years old and you were just a weird little character on a shit, low budget game.”

“I don't want you to talk dirty any more. Please keep making fun of me before I combust.”

Jungkook chuckles. “Tell me you love me back.”

“I said it first. You know I-”

“Say it again. We're having phone sex, remember?”

You bite your lip. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He inhales shakily. You can hear it, the rattle in his chest, the way he bites his bottom lip. You can imagine him tilting his head back in that way he does so often when you insist on walking downstairs in one of his shirts, or nothing at all if you're feeling particularly playful that day.

“You're right, you know,” he whispers.

“About?”

“Phone sex really is just as sexy as the real thing.”

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its-pronounced-quoassoint · 4 years

Text

Power Rangers AU-Chapter 3

Pairings: romantic Logicality, Prinxiety, Demus, Remile

This Chapter Features: YouTuber!Patton, Patton centric story line

This Chapter Warnings: crying, angst, mentions of dead characters, reluctantcy, sympathetic Remus

Credit for this AU goes to @when-day-met-the-knight (specifically this post).

If you would like to be added to the taglist for this fic please let me know in reply!

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Chapter 3-Pink

Patton kept a diary. When he was younger he would stay up late at night, using pens to write in composition notebooks. Assigning different colors to different days of the week, doodling in the margins, dating every page in the top right corner, and taking time to think of a title for each day. At the bottom of every page Patton would rate how well the day was on a scale of one to five and doodle a little face that showed how he felt.

Keeping a diary was one of the few constants in Patton's life. After so much change and heartbreak, holding on to something, as silly as diary keeping, made Patton’s time a little more enjoyable.

When he received his first phone, Patton decided that a digital diary would be more convenient. He downloaded a simple note taking app, and began writing about his day there.

The advantage to a digital diary was he could write wherever he wanted. Patton sat on the bus to school, typing fervently. It was their first day back since the last attack and he had not gotten enough homework done as he would have liked. Patton was letting out some feelings onto his phone and listening to the chatter of the kids around him.

Patton is very aware of the fact that many of them were staring at him in awe. Especially the middle schoolers. Typically his audience on YouTube was middle schoolers. He knew having a few million subscribers got him attention and Patton had accepted that attention as part of his everyday life. It meant nothing to him now. A sort of bitter exchange. He didn’t feel the nervousness he used to when people approached him for pictures. The right feelings he got when young minds randomly appeared next to him and wanted to ask about being a YouTuber. However, that also meant he didn’t get the rush of happiness when some small kid praised or thanked him. He didn’t really feel that delighted feeling of pride anymore.

Patton typed on his phone until the bus pulled up to the high school. Patton stepped off the bus after almost tripping over several small kids in the bus isle. He began rolling up to the school, warm humid air hitting him. It had rained horribly the day before and him, along with several other fluffy haired people, were feeling the affects.

Patton opened the doors for a few high schoolers behind him and walked in. Heading for his locker immediately. After gathering his things Patton began taking his bag to his first hour.

“Hey Pat.” The familiar voice of Naomi, one of his close friends, greeted him.

“Hey Mi.” Patton smiled at her, moving a little in the hall so she could walk next to him.

“How was break?”

“Ugh, did not get any homework for Leed’s class done.” Patton rolled his eyes. “But, ya know, got some editing finished.”

“Well, I don’t think the teachers honesty expect us to have gotten anything done.” Naomi tried to soothe him.

“Yeah.” Patton sighed. They stepped into their shared first hour and continued to talk. A few more friends walked in and began talking with them, but Patton dropped away from them quickly.

He never felt particularly attached to the people in his school. It was hit or miss with people you talked to. Patton was very aware of his social standing as ‘the most popular person in high school’, but he attributed that to his YouTube channel’s success. It wasn’t like he didn’t have friends. He certainly had people wanting to be his friend. However, it was never the type of connection that Patton would see on tv. No best friend sleepovers, skipping class together, eating cookies late at night while watching Netflix. Patton wasn’t proud of the fact that he didn’t have a close friend like that, but he figured he should take what he gets.

Besides, he still had friends.

Lunch was an easy time for Patton. He typically sat with Naomi in the library. Sure that’s not what one would expect from a popular socialite like Patton, but the cafeteria was simply too loud. Hectic and scary were adjectives Patton often described lunch as. He didn’t eat much at lunch either. He never really ate much. There wasn’t a lot of time to eat.

Patton often spent his time listening to his friends’ problems, studying, doing something for the array of clubs he was in, or editing for YouTube. There wasn’t much time for anything else, but that was okay. Patton enjoyed doing all of those-besides studying-so it wasn’t like he missed anything. There was nothing to miss when he didn’t know of much else he could do.

Mondays were usually not the favorite day of the week for any student, never mind any person. However, they were Patton’s favorite. Why? Well, Mondays after school, Patton got to go down to the freshman biology teacher’s room and run the QSA at his school. He loved the QSA. He had been going since 8th grade, when he couldn’t technically go because he wasn’t in high school.

However, he dedicated a lot of time to the QSA and had become the president of the club in junior year. He was elated to be in it and was able to get together a team to spread the word about it and set up fun activities. It was one of the only things about school that Patton documented in his YouTube videos.

Patton didn’t like to talk about school too much for fear of it interfering with him graduating, but he was able to take videos of everything that happened with QSA. Much to the delight of his viewers.

Patton sat anxiously in 6th hour, awaiting the final bell that meant he could head down to the club room. Sadly though, sixth hour was just getting under way, so he would have to wait.

“Welcome back to sixth hour!” Patton’s calc teacher, Mrs. Ryans began. “I know school only had been a few weeks in when the attacks hit, and it essentially feels like the next semester, but we’ll be doing a small project!”

The class cheered a little. Projects for her class were typically easier than usual class work. She would often pair up students to work on it together, making it all the easier on Patton. Usually Mrs. Ryans paired Patton with Logan, who was more than happy to help Patton on the project. Patton loved partnering with Logan, he was understanding of Patton’s schedule and never got frustrated with Patton’s inability to meet in order to work on the project. Though Patton had heard he was quite the opposite with other partners in different classes.

“So, I didn’t really have the time nor the care to make a list of partners, so, your table partners will do for this.” Mrs. Ryans sighed.

Patton met Logan’s eye with a disappointed look and shrugged. Logan returned the sentiment before looking toward Remus next to him. Logan smacked the snickering idiot.

Patton turned to his table partner Dee and gave him a warm smile that was met with a side smile, reserved for Patton alone.

“Donnie can you pass out the papers?” Mrs. Ryans asked.

“Sure!” Donnie smiled and stood, grabbing the stack of papers that explained the assignment.

“Mrs. Ryans! Dee and I need to be partners.” Kayley Holt said a few rows behind Patton.

“Uh, no.” Mrs. Ryans trailed off giving Kayley a questioning look.

“But we have to be. We have co-dependency anxiety and we’re both super anxious without each other! We have to be partners.” Kayley demanded.

Patton looked over to Dee who held a blank expression rivaling Lady Gaga’s ‘poker face’. Patton could tell he was not happy with the arrangement Kayley was trying to pull.

“You know what Kayley, I know you’re lying to me about this so don’t even try and pull this stunt again, but fine, you and Dee can be partners. Just don’t whine when you two both get Cs on the assignment cause you didn’t work.” Mrs. Ryans pointed at Kayley. Then pointed at her table partner. “Roman, you’ll pair with Patton.”

Patton smiled over at Roman who dramatically smiled back.

“This will be due on Friday and I expect it typed, nothing handwritten! Heck knows you people write in hieroglyphics.” Mrs. Ryans dismissively waved her hand. “You will have Thursday in class to work on it if you need but if you don’t you can just have this as a free hour.”

Patton received the paper and began reading over the project. Dee and Roman switched places and the two dove into the work. Dividing it between themselves and scheduling times to meet to work on it.

“Are you free tonight after QSA?” Roman asked.

“Yeah, you?”

“Mhm. I don’t think Logan or Remus have anything going on either. We can all kinda work on it together at my place.” Roman turned to where Logan and Remus sat across the room. “Logan! Remus! Come here.”

Logan and Remus turned to Roman who was waving them over enthusiastically. The two look at each other before Logan shrugged and began walking their way. Logan and Remus sat down across from Patton and Roman, the four began talking about going to the twins’ home after QSA to work on the project.

“Well what am I supposed to do while you three are in your club?” Remus asked

“You can come if you want. We’re doing some stuff for the underclassmen for homecoming.” Patton told Remus.

“I though they called off Homecoming.” Roman looked at Pat.

“Well, they did,” Patton trailed off. “but the freshmen on the QSA group chat were so upset, I mean I couldn’t let them be so disappointed.”

“What did you do? Pay ‘em off?” Remus whispered.

“What?! No!” Patton whispered back. Not fully knowing why he was whispering, so he stopped. “I just argued to the superintendent that they deserved a Homecoming.”

“How? He never changes his mind.” Roman smiled.

“Well, I mean, I’m good at convincing people, I guess.” Patton shrugged. “But yeah, homecoming is back on.”

“None of us go to homecoming though.” Roman pointed out.

“Yeah, but the freshmen and sophomores like going and some juniors go and I know I don’t have time to go, but they deserve some fun. The town’s ten pm curfew doesn’t exactly give any kids the chance to hang out with their friends like normal teenagers.” Patton explained.

“Well, it’s nice for you to do something for them. Having experiences with their friends, like homecoming, will make it all the easier to deal the trauma of the attacks.” Logan finally said.

“Thank you Logan.” Patton nodded. “Now, is that all settled. We just head to your place after QSA?”

“Yep.” Roman nodded.

Patton smiled at him and began texting his foster mother the plan. Class ended a while after that and the four began their walk to the science wing of the school. Heading to Mr. Travis’s-the QSA faculty advisor-room. The room was already full of kids from every grade. Eager freshmen were talking nervously to their friends while the other two seniors looked around commenting on how they were used to it by now.

“Hey guys!” Patton said as he entered.

“Patton!” Jana, a sophomore, squeaked when he entered. “I passed the project!”

“I knew you would! You’ve gotta stop doubting yourself.” Patton congratulated her.

“I know, I know.” She giggled. “Camera?” Jana put out her hands expectantly.

“Here!” Patton walked over to one of the cabinets and pulled out the camera he used for filiming. He handed it to Jana who giddily heded over to tripod and began setting up eqquipment. "Okay everyone, before I begin with what we're doing today can we set up the tables into one long table?"

The group got up from their chairs, still chatting, and began arranging the tables the way Patton had asked. Once done helping, Patton walked to the 'head' of their make-shift table and sat down. Jana started up the cameras and sound and Patton began.

"Homecoming is back on, which means another year of having to find a date, dress nice, and so on. So, what I’ve decided to do, is spend this week, next week, and however much longer making flower crowns.” Patton announced. “I know it’s a little childish, but pride flag flower crowns are so much fun to make and afterward you get really good at them”

“I love it.” Cami, one of the juniors said.

“Thanks Cami.” Patton smiled. “Make some for yourself, make some for our friends, make pride flag ones, make any color ones, doesn’t matter, just use all the flowers. I printed out a bunch of instructions on different types of crowns and other jewelry you can make with the flowers. Just have fun with it!”

Mr. Travis entered the room with loads of flowers in his hand and his daughter trailing behind, also carrying many flowers.

“Here we are.” He grunted, setting them down.

“Thanks Mr. Travis.” Patton smiled. “Let’s get started!”

The club dispersed into groups and began making crowns, chatting with their friends, and goofing around. Patton was pulled over to a group of sophomores and freshmen who wanted to talk.

He looked over to see Logan, Roman, and Remus talking quietly while making the crowns. Patton smiled, even Remus was making a pride flag flower crown.

After some time he walked over to Logan, Roman, and Remus. The three stopped talking quickly and focused a little too intensely on the flower crowns.

QSA ended far too quickly for Patton’s liking, but he and the three others left for Roman’s house soon. They talked the whole way, mainly Remus, and were very quickly entering the home.

Patton and Roman went to the living room and lazily began talking about the project. Logan and Remus went to the dining room and Logan attempted to make progress while Remus threw Cheetos in the air and tried to catch them in his mouth.

Patton looked around the house. It was huge. Large eggshell white walls and intimidating furnishings. It barely looked lived in.

“Hey Roman,” Patton started, “can you point me to the bathroom?”

“Yeah sure, the closest one is just down that hallway.” Roman pointed to a dark hallway. “I’m pretty sure it’s on the right. You’ll find it.”

“Thanks.” Patton smiled.

He got up and headed that way, not quite sure what he was doing. He didn’t need to go to the bathroom, but something about the house felt so familiar. He had to find out why. Why did being in the home feel off yet inviting. It didn’t make any sense. Patton has always been good at feelings. Knowing what they are in him and observing them in others. This though, this was different.

Patton walked down the hallway toward a door, feeling the pull even more intensely. Every step was pulling him forward. Why was it so familiar?

Patton opened the door and stepped into an extremely dark room. Patton’s eyes could barely adjust. Without realizing it he had entered the room and was running his hand along the objects in the room. The feeling grew to an overwhelming point and Patton tried to pull away and go back to the living room, but to no avail. Then something grabbed him. It wrapped around his wrist and tightened into a perfect fit. Patton was finally able to pull his hand back and looked at the thing on his wrist.

A bracelet. Glowing pink and swirling around his wrist.

Patton screamed.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” Patton continued. He just stared at the bracelet in horror trying to get it off him as fast as possible.

Patton distantly heard Logan call his name. Pounding footsteps headed his way and the lights around him were flipped on.

Patton barely noticed, he just focused on tearing the bracelet off of him.

“Patton?!” Logan yelled for his attention.

“Get it off, get it off, oh please just get this thing off of me.” Patton cried out.

“What?” Roman started, but stopped when Patton turned and showed them the bracelet. “Oh.”

“Please just get it off, please, please,” Patton suddenly stopped, staring at Remus. “You-you’re-“

“Remus!“ Roman chided, noticing the mace he had in his hand.

“What? We didn’t know why Patton was screaming! It could have been a minion.”

“Jeez Remus.” Roman shook his head.

“You’re the Green Ranger?” Patton asked shakily. “Which one are you Logan?”

“I-uh blue.” Logan hurried out an answer.

“Logan! You can’t just tell every pretty boy you’re the Blue Ranger!” Roman smacked Logan on the shoulder.

“I’m not!” Logan’s face turned a bright red.

“Oh this is a disaster.” Roman sighed.

“I know.” Logan looked away.

“Look, I don’t care! I won’t tell anyone, I promise! You can trust me! Just please get this off of me! I don’t want to be a Ranger please!” Patton begged.

“Patton-“

“Can you take this off or not?” Patton asked, tears welling in his eyes.

“I-uh-no.” Logan stuttered. “We don’t know how.”

“Fine.” Patton stood and looked at Roman. His expression hard as tears began falling ever so slightly. “I need to borrow your car.”

“What?” Roman asked startled.

“I need to borrow your car, drive to Thomas, and get him to pull this horrible thing off my wrist.” Patton said, his voice steady.

“Patton we-“

“Please.” Patton broke down into a quiet sob. “Please just let me-“

“We’ll drive you. It’s unsafe to drive when you’re upset like this.” Logan said quickly. “Roman let’s go.”

“Ok-okay.” Roman turned and headed out of the room.

The four quickly ran out of the house and into a car. Roman started it up and began driving. Remus sat quietly in the passenger seat, looking at Patton nervously. Logan and Patton sat in the back, Patton silently crying into Logan’s chest. Logan wrapped an arm around Patton’s shoulders, holding him soothingly.

They pulled up to Thomas’s house and frantically ran to the front door.

“Thomas! Thomas! We need you open up!” Roman knocked on the door loudly.

The door swung open and a little kid stood there worried. “What’s going on?”

“Emile! Where’s your dad?” Roman asked frantically.

“Coming coming! What is it?! Is someone hurt! What happened?” Thomas asked. He looked at the four.

Remus and Roman stood awkwardly on the small porch. And a little ways behind them, Logan held a crying Patton.

“Wha-“ Thomas stopped himself. “Patton?”

“Thomas!!” Patton pulled away from Logan and raced to Thomas. He fell into Thomas’s arms and sobbed harder.

“Oh Pat. It’s okay I-I know.” Thomas tried soothing him. “Come on lets all go inside.”

Thomas led the four inside. Patton collapsed on the couch and looked around, drying his tears.

“Thomas, get it off of me.” Patton started shakily.

“Patton, you know that’s not how it works.”

“I don’t care. It needs to come off. I’m not breaking my last promise with Talyn. I won’t do it.” Patton shook his head. Once again grabbing at the bracelet and trying to pull it off.

Emile put a hand on Patton’s bracelet to stop him from tanking at it.

“Patton, you know Talyn would be proud of you no matter what. They knew that it wasn’t a choice you got to make. You were chosen. They would be so proud to know you’re the next Pink Ranger.” Thomas smiled.

“No!” Patton’s tears started up yet again. “I promised! I said I would never! I told them I would never become a Ranger. It’s dangerous and heartbreaking and it tore Talyn away from me! It took Joan and Talyn from me! It took them both and it almost took you!”

“Patton, I know.” Thomas sighed, stepping closer to Patton who only pulled away.

Roman, Remus, and Logan stood in the kitchen eyeing the scene and trying to understand whatever was going on.

“I can’t do this. I won’t do this.” Patton stated firmly.

“Patton, don’t you remember when you were younger and all you wanted to be was a Ranger? You were so excited to be everything Talyn was and more.”

“I was young. And stupid. And I still am. I’m not ready for this. Talyn didn’t want this.”

“Talyn knew that this would happen. They knew you would be Ranger. It was simply your destiny. You know that. We all knew that.” Thomas sighed. “Talyn just didn’t want you to feel pressured. Talyn knew the risks and didn’t want you to go through the pain.”

“If it weren’t for the morphers, Talyn, and Joan, and Valerie, and Terrence, and Dominic would all still be here! You wouldn’t have been the only Ranger for the past ten years! You wouldn’t be doing this on your own.” Patton cried.

“Pat-“

“Thomas, please just get it off of me.” Patton held out his wrist to Thomas. “Please. I can’t do this, please.”

"Patton. I-I-"

"Pat, please." Emile took Patton's jaw in his hand. "I know it hurts, but think about what you're doing. You know you can't take it off. Once it's on you, you can't just take the morpher off. It's there and there's nothing you can do. So, what you need to do, is live up to that amazing loving person the morpher chose. The morpher chose you because you bring heart and care and compassion to the team. You're made for this role and I know you can do it. Though you may not feel it now, it's still there."

"Emile-“

“When we were so much younger do you remember pretending to be Rangers together. You were always the brave Pink Ranger, swooping in your save me from the Dragon Witch. You just wanted to help me. You’ve always wanted to be a Ranger and you’ve always wanted to help people. Please don’t give up on that. You know for a fact Talyn only said that to try and keep you safe. No matter what you’ve promised them, or Joan, or Megan, you want to do this.” Emile stopped him. “You don’t have to be afraid. You’ve got a team by your side.”

They sat in silence. Patton’s tears had dried on his face and he desperately tried to talk but found no sound coming out. His chest heaved and ached. Patton could only squeeze Emile’s hand in his and sniffle.

“I’m sorry.” Patton squeaked. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry. Pat of course you’d feel this way. No one expects you to immediately want to be a Ranger. Especially after what happened with Talyn. No one blames you for feeling this way.” Thomas assured him.

“Thank you, I-I know. I know it’s okay. It just still doesn’t feel that way. It doesn’t feel-feel-feel-“

“I’m sure it doesn’t. But it’s okay.” Emile whispered.

Patton collapsed into Emile, just crying into the smaller boy. “It hurts so bad.”

Emile nodded and ran a soothing hand through Patton’s hair. As Patton continued trying to control his sobbing he felt more arms wrap around him. He shifted to see Roman, Remus, and Logan holding him gently, too gently. It was like they though one squeeze would break Patton in half.

“You’re going to be the best Pink Ranger to ever fight.” Roman told him.

“Thank you I-I’m okay.” Patton smiled sweetly at the boys hugging him.

They pulled away, but stayed close.

“I’m going to be okay.” Patton said a little shakily but calm.

I’m ready. Patton wrote late that night in his diary. I’m going to be okay.

Taglist:

@tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors@maddarc@pheonix-inside-reblogs@thisismysanderssidesblog@almost-all-my-ships-are-gay@mostpeopleannoyme@the-smol-est@i-sexually-identify-as-a-mistake@nadja-chamack16@too-bi-too-function

#patton sanders #YouTuber!Patton #power rangers au #thatsthat24 #logicality #prinxiety #demus #remile

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 4 years

Text

The Steinbeck Agreement

PART TWENTY-THREE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: discussions of familial physical/emotional abuse please read with caution, serious angst, anxiety about future, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 6K

Summary: Ella makes some major changes in her life, and Jess reluctantly returns to town for his mother’s wedding.

The afternoon light streamed golden through the diner windows as Liz and Luke came in, Ella leaning on the counter with her sketchbook in front of her. Too enveloped in the drawing of a field of murderous daisies, Ella didn’t even register what they were talking about until she heard them mention her name.

“...maybe Ella could do it,” Liz said, tilting her head at the young woman with dark eye makeup and EAT ME printed across her shirt.

“Hm?” Ella asked, looking up from her sketch with furrowed brows.

Luke rolled his eyes at her distracted nature. Ever since she’d moved out of her childhood home, she’d been in a worse mood, focused almost solely on her terrifying drawings. He’d had to tell her a couple times to make sure to keep the sketchbook off the counter when there were children present.

“Be a flower girl,” Liz said, a big, dreamy smile on her face. She was dressed in a long, floral red dress. “Most of the Renaissance fair crowd doesn’t have small children. But if we’re gonna have a wedding, we’re gonna have a real wedding. Can’t be a wedding without a flower girl.”

“Sorry, whose wedding?” Ella asked, straightening up and raising an eyebrow.

“Mine, sweetie.” Liz had a high, wispy voice that reminded Ella of the fairies she used to imagine playing in her mother’s garden. “We’re having it right out in the square next week. It’s gonna be beautiful, all our Renaissance fair friends will be there, and it’ll have this great medieval theme! And you could be the flower girl!”

“Oh, I don’t…” Ella began with a shy smile, but Liz only waved a dismissive hand at her, continuing.

“I can loan you one of my fair dresses,” she said excitedly, not picking up on Ella’s doubtful expression.

“Yeah, Ella. You can finally perfect your whole Bride of Frankenstein look,” Luke teased. His expression was far more pleasant than Ella could have predicted. Happy. Happy, in its simplest form, looked so strange on Luke. The past few months had seen the true finalization of his divorce and his having to watch Lorelai date some rich snob from her father’s company. But the news seemed to brighten his mood inexplicably. She was sure the laughter at her expense wasn’t exactly a drag on the day either.

Rolling her eyes, Ella shot him a pointed glance. “Y’know, you would be lost without your best waitress.”

“I’m quaking in my boots. Besides, I’ve got Lane working for me now, anyway.”

Though she narrowed her eyes at him, she could think of nothing more to say. He was right. She would never quit on him. The diner was more of a home to her than anywhere else in the world. Hell, it had almost single-handedly fed her during the worst few months of her life. Along with Lorelai’s frequent feasts of junk food.

“I can just see it, Ella! It’ll be so much fun and you’d look so beautiful!” Liz exclaimed, grabbing one of Ella’s hands in a pleading gesture.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Ella did her best to protest. She still wasn’t Liz’s biggest fan, despite wherever it was that she stood with Jess. The alcohol, the neglect. But Luke seemed not entirely angry about the match, especially considering his view on TJ when the two had first been introduced back in February. And Liz’s smile was so large, so radiant. Her eyes were desperate and almost kind. Heaving a huge sigh, Ella nodded. Luke was much more than her boss. And he gave a smile so rare when she agreed. She would do it for Luke, she decided. In fact, it was the least she could do.

. . .

Sat on the lumpy couch in Lane’s living room, Ella found herself smiling just a touch. The band, finally named Hep Alien, was getting better with every practice. Though the room was piled high with dirty clothes and video game equipment, and it remained cluttered no matter how many times Ella tried to clean it up, she was beginning to get more comfortable. Her king mattress was so old anyway, and sleeping on the plaid couch wasn’t much different. As she had run from the only house she had ever known, she’d packed as much as she could into her station wagon, which had once been her aunt Julie’s. It wasn’t like her old room fit much anyway. Mostly, the backseat was filled with her records, books, clothes.

Loud music making her ears ring, she sketched Lane behind the drums, living the way she had always wanted. As fun as it was watching band practice nearly every night, Ella was eager for her summer classes to start. If she played her cards right, she could graduate a year early with art as a minor. Ella’s mind drifted to the night she left, the day after she finally finished her first year of college. And, over a modest celebratory dinner, the conversation had drifted, as it always did, to the future.

. . .

two and a half weeks earlier

Tugging with one hand at the ends of her hair, Ella felt an odd mixture of distasteful nostalgia and happiness in her stomach. The lasagna tasted exactly as her mother’s had, and Ella knew Fiona had followed the recipe, scribbled in the back of the ancient cookbook, exactly. But she would keep quiet. Fiona truly seemed proud of her, beaming and giving her a hug the moment she walked through the door after work. Slowly, very slowly, Ella was beginning to accept it, the motherly love. Though occasionally it still rubbed her the wrong way, it didn’t send her spiralling into anger and melancholy as it once had.

And it wasn’t as though Fiona was a bad person. She had a sunny disposition, glossy hair, expressive eyes. Ella could understand how her father would want to marry her. But she was just too unlike her mother. Would never understand Ella the way her mother had. It still felt like bizarro-world when Fiona tried to give her advice or compliment her on her piano skills. But she could manage dinner every once and a while, and accept pride in her academic accomplishments. She was on the Dean’s List, after all.

Adam pushed his food around his plate as he spoke. From the glances they’d shared, Ella could tell he tasted the same memories from childhood she did.

“We’ve still got about a month, but I really think we can get first place,” Adam said of his mathlete competition. His voice had gotten deeper, and he was finally growing taller. Ella could tell he would end up looking a lot like Noah.

“That’s great,” Jake said, nodding with a half-smile.

“Really is,” Fiona echoed, grinning widely.

As silence fell on the four of them, forks scraped on the Corelle plates and throats were cleared. Awkward silences had quickly become staples of family dinners. Eventually, Jake began twisting his wedding ring and looked straight at Ella, who sat at his left side. The light in the peach kitchen was bright despite the cloudy darkness outside. The May evening was humid and buzzing with cicadas.

“And what about you, Ellie?” Jake asked.

Looking up carefully, Ella put down her fork and faced him. “What about me?”

“Do you have any prospects for the summer? Besides the diner?”

She shook her head. “No. Unless Patty needs me to fill in. Might start painting more. I’m thinking a small easel would fit pretty well near the window in my room.”

Narrowing his eyes doubtfully, Jake tilted his head slightly. “I don’t know. Seems like a waste of money.”

“Why?” she asked instantly.

“We don’t have to discuss this now,” Fiona interjected patiently.

Adam looked down at his plate as he ate.

Jake breathed a frustrated sigh through his nose. “You’re majoring in history. You’re living with us for at least three more years. I don’t think now’s the time for pipe dreams.”

“Hm,” Ella nodded, giving a thin, vicious smile. “It’s funny you say that. When mom was alive, you always thought I should put as much time into my art as she put into her music.”

“You were a kid. Things change. The best you can hope for is being a history teacher at Stars Hollow High, and you have to be happy with it,” Jake explained with cold logic in his voice. His eyebrows were raised in condescension.

Ella’s cheeks heated up. “Oh, so all this time you’ve just been humoring me? Telling me I had talent?”

“Not exactly. But you’re not O’Keefe, either.”

“Never said I was,” Ella snapped, standing up from her seat. “I can't do this right now. I’m buying my fucking paint, dad.”

“Hey!” he shouted, rising from his own seat and following her as she stormed into the living room towards the hall entrance. “Don’t you use that language with me, young lady!”

“Why not?! Might as well let you know how I actually talk if you’re gonna let me know how you actually feel!” she yelled back, gesturing wildly with her hands.

Jake rolled his eyes at his only daughter. “Toughen up, Ellie! You’ve only got so much time on this earth and I’m not gonna watch you waste it on your doodles!”

“Oh, and lecturing about the revolutionary war in the town where I’ve always lived wouldn’t be a waste?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“At least you’ll make a living! You’ll still be around people who love you, who take care of you. You’ll always be near us,” he argued.

Ella let out a bitter, humorless bark of laughter. “People who take care of me?! I’ve been taking care of you for almost five years! All of you! Especially you! When mom died, I was the one who fed us, I was the one who cleaned and tried to cook! And you did fuck-all except drink and lie around crying!”

Eyes darkening, Jake took a step closer to her and she immediately recoiled. “I lost my wife. You will never understand that!”

“I lost my mother!” she screamed, hands clenched at her sides, so hard her knuckles turned white. Angry tears snuck up on her eyes but she swallowed them back to the best of her ability.

“If I’d have known how much you’d bitch about helping out, doing what a daughter should, I never would’ve let you take that job at Luke’s!”

“Doing what a daughter should?” she asked immediately, eyebrows shooting up. Her jaw was set firm with tension.

Fiona appeared from the kitchen behind her husband, putting a hand to his shoulder. “Baby, let’s just all take a minute to cool down.”

“You brother and I needed you and all you could do was complain!” he roared.

Ella scoffed. “You needed me? You needed me to keep you alive long enough for you to find a new wife to coddle you and baby you and cry with you when you told her about your tragic high school sweetheart! Why do you think she hates you, huh?”

Her stomach did a flip when she saw the hurt on Fiona’s face from the corner of her eye, but a fire burned so hot inside her, and she couldn’t keep her words contained any longer. She’d tried to play the dutiful woman of the house long enough.

“Do not talk about my marriage!” Jake warned. “It’s none of your business!”

“Of course it’s my business! It’ll be my business when I have to pick up the pieces once she leaves you!”

“You have always been such a little brat! You were a nightmare to raise for me and for Sophia!” A vein had popped out in his forehead, and he shrugged Fiona’s touch from his shoulder.

“Fuck you!”

Crack! Ella seemed to hear it before she felt it: a sharp, searing pain as his open palm struck her cheek. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in so long, not since she was ten and had mouthed off at the dinner table. A sinking feeling struck her stomach as silence filled the room. Because she suddenly discovered she had always been expecting it. Always knew it would happen again, someday, somehow. And she’d been almost surprised he hadn’t smacked her in the months following her mother’s death. But, the levee had to break. It always did.

She brought a hand to her stinging flesh, and her father stopped in his tracks. Remorse washed over his features and he went to reach out for her. Flinching away from him, Ella felt her fingers grip at her necklace.

“Ellie, I’m so sorry, baby. I told you not to use that language with me. And you know how my old man was about-”

“No,” she said softly, shaking her head. “No.”

. . .

The final, strong bass note of the White Stripes song Hep Alien played broke her from her memories. She could see the dull sky as she packed up her car the best she could, the night crossing over into morning as she offered Adam a quick goodbye. He’d been upset, but also somewhat calm. And when he’d come to visit her a week later during one of her shifts at the diner, he told her he had always known Ella would leave. From the first night after their mother had died, he’d known. Though he knew it was fruitless to try and convince her not to feel guilty, Adam had told her not to worry. He could handle home on his own, he was confident. He’d never been slapped. And they were both smart enough to understand why.

And when she’d come to Lane in the early hours of the morning, still painfully holding back her tears with the entire contents of her life parked out on the street in the station wagon, she knew everything would change. Lane had welcomed her with open arms, of course. Had seen Ella cry for only the third time in all their years knowing each other. There was something so sweet about her new freedom, but a heaviness still sat in Ella’s heart. Constant guilt and fear for Adam, heartache over her mother, who she still missed everyday. And she felt so lost, it was all-consuming. She didn’t know what the next step was. Would she still be able to pay for college? Would she ever speak to her stepmother again? Would she even stay a history major, if she was lucky enough to continue her education? She had never been more glad for Luke’s, and for her friends. There were few comforts in her life, continued existence as a waitress, or knowing Adam was only a few blocks away in case something ever happened. She clung to the only constants left for dear life. She’d been dreaming of leaving the house for so long, but it managed to be even harder than she thought it would be. A gloomy cloud had been hanging over her for a few weeks, as she walked through her existence with an aimlessness she had never known before.

Clapping some, Ella offered a big smile and watched as Zach, Gil, and Bryan began to talk amongst themselves about the new tattoo Gil had shown up to practice with. Lane excused herself from the conversation only because of the temptation. She wanted a tattoo, really did, but didn’t want to increase the chances of her mother disowning her any more than she already had. Instead, she came to join Ella on the couch, plopping down and putting an arm around her friend. Ella kept her smile and rested her head against Lane’s shoulder. Since moving in, Ella was reminded every day of what a wonderful person Lane was. They came from such different worlds, but never judged each other, always took care of each other, helped each other with their respective escapes. Working together at Luke’s had been even more fun than Ella could have ever imagined. It was a welcome end to the long, lonely year after Jess’s departure, just she and Luke sulking around together. There was a place for sulking, but the time for it seemed to be coming to an end.

“You guys were fucking great,” Ella said, then gestured down to the picture she had just drawn. “You’re a regular Meg White up there. Really.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Lane chirped, beaming with pride.

Snorting a laugh, Ella put the sketchbook aside and bit back a yawn. “Don’t I know it.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Lane asked, brows furrowing.

It almost made her want to laugh. Over the past two weeks, Lane had asked her that question more than had once seemed humanly possible. “Yeah, Lane. I’m fine. Just a long day. Got roped into being a flower girl.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Luke’s sister. Liz. Have you met her before? You weren’t working at the diner yet the last time she was in town,” she said tiredly.

“No, I haven’t,” Lane replied. “Jess’s mom, right?”

“She is indeed.”

“And why exactly are you filling what is traditionally a role for a girl in pigtails and Mary Janes?”

Blowing out a sigh, Ella shook her head slightly. “I don’t even know. She just sort of told me...didn’t exactly ask. It’s next week in town square, so there’s not enough time. And Luke really seemed like he wanted me to and I just...I don’t know. Maybe she’s a witch.”

“Always a possibility,” Lane nodded, going along with the bit as she always did. “And have you heard from Jess lately?”

Again, Ella shook her head. “He still doesn’t have an actual phone number, and now I don’t either. Not optimum communication conditions.”

“Yeah, that’s not ideal,” Lane said, commiserating.

“I wish it had crossed my mind, but I moved out in about forty-five minutes,” Ella said, fiddling with her necklace.

A guilty look painted her features. But she’d only been out of the house a little while, maybe he hadn’t called.

“Do you think he’ll come for the wedding?”

Ella scoffed. “Not a chance in hell.”

. . .

“Are you sure I can’t help with anything else?” Ella asked, arms crossed over her chest.

Her chewed pencil sat behind her ear, and her hair fell in a loose, hasty braid over her shoulder. One of her booted feet tapped constantly against the tiled floor, and she smoothed over her blue skirt every few minutes. And she only looked half as stressed as Luke. The wedding was in two days, and nearly everything had been dumped on him. As a consequence, Ella had been dealing with the diner business while Luke argued on the phone with vendors who could give him the proper medieval food and decor.

The midday lull had finally come, and Lorelai stopping in was sure to bring a little sunshine. Though she had been pretty overwhelmed herself, lately. The new Dragonfly Inn opening was only weeks away.

Luke shook his head at Ella when he’d finished giving Lorelai the rundown of the week’s events. “Not right now, kid. That was the last call I had to make. At least for the time being.”

“Just say the word,” Ella shrugged, finally letting herself relax a touch, leaning her forearms onto the counter.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So, am I caught up on everything, then?” Lorelai chimed in, brows raised and eyes expectant.

“Yeah, I’d say so…” Luke began, but the bell over the door jingled.

A familiar scowl appeared in the diner’s entrance, and Jess trudged up to the counter with a finger pointed at Luke. “I’m not paying for a motel, so I’m stayin’ with you!”

Lorelai gasped dramatically and narrowed her eyes at Luke. “Liar!”

As he passed on his way to the stairs, Jess gave Ella a curt nod. She reciprocated, but felt unnerved by his demeanor. Was it shy? Was it angry? It certainly didn’t seem pleasant. They hadn’t spoken in nearly three weeks, the longest time since he had first run away to California.

“I didn’t think he was coming,” Luke muttered, watching Jess disappear up the stairs. A wistful, fond smile crossed Luke’s lips. “I went to see him in New York.”

“You did?” Ella asked, brows furrowed.

“Yeah. It was a total pig sty and he may or may not be a drug dealer. But, hey, at least he came,” Luke said, shaking his head in a mixture of amusement and wonder.

Sighing through her nose, Ella looked down at her feet and bit at the inside of her cheek. Her gaze focused on nothing in particular, thoughts swimming around and colliding with each other inside her already crowded mind. “Yeah. At least. I’m gonna take my ten minutes. That alright?”

Luke was busy, back to his banter with Lorelai, and only gave a half nod her way. She snickered at how enveloped in each other the two of them were. Without much effort, she slipped behind the curtain and climbed up the stairs unnoticed. Nerves coursed through her, and her heart sped up in her chest. She gave two short, harsh knocks on the window of the shabby apartment door.

After waiting a moment and receiving no response, she rolled her eyes to herself. Who was she to be nervous? He was pretty much her best friend, besides Lane. And she hadn’t done anything wrong. With a new, determined quality to her steps, she walked through the front door and found him just where she expected, on his old bed, nose already buried in a book.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she plastered on a confident smirk and sat down on the end of the bed. She recognized the book instantly, her own copy buried in the pile of belongings in her car: Sweet Thursday by John Steinbeck.

“The only author we could ever agree on,” she said, eyeing the book though Jess still hadn’t lifted his head.

“Pretty much,” he replied flatly, biting at his bottom lip as he focused on the words in front of him.

Sighing shortly through her nose, Ella turned to face him fully, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the familiar brown afghan. Jess unconsciously brought his feet in closer to make room for her, his knees up in the air, blocking her view of his face slightly. But she could see his hair, longer still and without any gel.

“See you’ve completely ditched the pompadour look,” she muttered. “Couldn’t handle being mistaken for an Elvis impersonator any longer, huh?”

“My God, you should do stand-up,” Jess said dryly, eyes widening in feigned amazement as he kept reading.

Shaking her head slightly, Ella let a harsh chuckle escape her lips and furrowed her brows at him. “Out with it, jackass.”

“Hm?” he asked dismissively, taking a pencil from his pocket to underline a phrase.

Ella pursed her lips in frustration. “Well, it’s obvious you’re pissed. I say we skip the passive-aggressive theatrics and you just spill it. But, hey, this is a democracy. You also get a vote.”

Rolling his eyes, Jess finally shot a glance over his knees. Heaving a sigh, he shut his book and tossed it into the open duffel bag on the floor next to the bed. In one swift movement, he mirrored her sitting position and tilted his head at her in askance.

“Have you been doing a lot of hard partying lately? Really taking advantage of this college thing? Or have you been avoiding my calls?” he asked, though he wasn’t angry, despite the sarcasm. There was a defeated tone in his voice which surprised her; almost disappointed.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she gave another small shake of her head, and she spoke firmly. “Well, first of all, I’m not required to take your calls. I asked you to call me because you fucked off to California without telling me and I wanted to make sure you hadn’t been serial-killed.”

Jess gave a begrudging nod, almost preparing for a dressing down.

“But, no, I haven’t been avoiding your calls, alright? Paranoid much?”

He scoffed, but she cut him off before he could retort.

“I moved out.”

Immediately, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You did?”

She nodded. “Yeah. About two weeks ago. Wasn’t exactly seamless, and I bet my dad will disconnect my old line at some point. I’ve been staying at Lane’s with her and the band. They don’t have a phone yet. And you change your number pretty much every week, so it’s not like I could let you know.”

A smile crossed his features. “I’m...that’s great, Eleanor.”

She snorted a laugh of disbelief. “Yeah, it’s so great living out of my car and sleeping on Lane’s forty-year-old couch.”

Jess shrugged. “Gotta start somewhere.”

“I guess.”

He looked flabbergasted. “I’m so proud of you.”

A blush heated her cheeks and she chuckled breathily in confusion. “What?”

“For moving out. I mean, I can’t imagine it was a quiet affair,” he said, face falling slightly.

Again, she shook her head, glancing down at the space between them on the comforter and clutching her necklace. “No. It wasn’t.”

“What happened?” he ventured without hesitation, searching her face and exposed arms for any yellowed bruises or healing cuts. Sometimes, he could give even Ella a run for her money when assuming the worst.

Ella shrugged noncommittally, throwing a glance down at her watch, then facing him again with a small smile. “Long story. I’ve only got a couple minutes left on break. You gonna be in town for a little while?”

“Until the minute the wedding ends.”

“Okay, we’ll find some time to catch up,” she said, smirking. “Luke tells me you’re a drug dealer now. You’ve gotta let me in on all your behind-the-scenes Scarface facts.”

Jess rolled his eyes. “God, Luke is such a drama queen. I’m a messenger.”

“Nice cover. Very convincing.”

“Don’t you have coffee to pour?” he shot back, defensive.

Snickering, Ella rose from the bed, smoothing down her skirt and apron. “Whatever keeps the guilt at bay, tough guy.”

“G’bye,” he muttered, grumpy, as he settled back against the wall and picked up his book again. But, just before Ella reached the door: “What time are you off, Eleanor?”

“Six-thirty. Luke’s closing up early to play wedding planner,” she said, hand poised over the doorknob.

Jess chuckled. “Pizza at Antonioli’s tonight?”

“Sure. I even promise not to wear a wire.”

The pillow Jess had thrown barely missed her as she exited the apartment, laughing under her breath.

. . .

Sighing softly, Ella ran the key along the chain of her necklace and looked down at the half-eaten pizza crusts on her paper plate. The old wooden table in the pizza place was slightly sticky, and carved with the names of various people and couples who had shared a pie there before. But, they could watch the Stars Hollow evening turn from golden to blue as the sun went down, sitting by the front window. Jess had to leave by eight, and it was half past seven by the time the stars came out. Summer had almost come, and the days were long and bright with sunshine. Chilly breezes swept past at night, but it was getting warmer still.

“So...yeah. It only took me about forty-five minutes to pack everything up. Didn’t realize how little stuff I had until I could fit almost everything in my trunk and back seat,” she said, a small, humorless smile on her face.

Jess nodded, rolling a balled-up napkin absently in his hand as he listened, his face stony. “Was it just yelling? Or did he hit you?”

Breathing another long sigh through her nose, Ella bit the inside of her cheek. “Just once. He just slapped me once. He told me not to swear at him, but I-”

“Eleanor,” he interjected, voice firm but gentle. “Once is way too much. Even a slap. It’s way, way too many times.”

She only shrugged. “I know. I mean, of course I know that. It’s just…”

Again, he nodded wordlessly. Jess knew what it was like to have a parent, or a step-parent, who used hurt as a tool. And he knew the confusion. Sometimes monsters wore masks. She didn’t have to say anything more.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Ella shook her head. “It’s not your fault. And I’m moved out now, Jess.”

“Right...and I meant what I said. I’m so proud of you, Stevens.” Jess reached hesitantly across the table, and took her free hand in his. Gave it one squeeze.

She flashed him a tiny smile, squeezed it back. Then she disentangled their fingers and tucked her hair behind her ears, clearing her throat and straightening her back. The severity left her features, a new, mischievous twinkle lighting up her hazel eyes. Her chest was less heavy, and she was glad he knew. Glad he could understand with so few words.

“Proud of you too, Mariano. This time, I didn’t have to watch you step out of a sheriff’s car when you got to town,” she smirked, picking up one of the crusts and taking another bite out of it.

He frowned. “Ugh, please don’t mention Andy Griffith. That car is my property. The only reason I even called Luke after I got to Venice was to ask about the car and he-”

Still chuckling, Ella raised her hands in surrender, cutting him off. “White flag.”

Jess offered a sardonic, lop-sided smirk. “And, believe or not, Luke will be the sanest person at the bachelor party tonight.”

“Why are you even going?” she asked, brows furrowed as she took a sip of her water, ice melty from time and the May heat seeping through the splintered wood of the front door.

Shaking his head, Jess glanced down at his watch and noticed he had only ten minutes before he and Luke would have to hop in Luke’s ancient green truck. “I don’t know. Luke mentioned me not wanting to go to Liz, and then she spent thirty minutes babbling until she finally wore me down.”

Pursing her lips, Ella nodded. “Yeah, she’s very persuasive.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re looking at the flower girl,” she admitted, gesturing to herself.

He laughed breathily. “No way.”

“Yep. I’ll be there in the renaissance dress and all. Though, Lorelai said she would make some alterations for me. I’m going over to her house in a little while to sort out the whole corset situation.”

Jess snorted another chuckle. “Good luck.”

“Right back at ya, Mariano,” she teased. “Where on earth would TJ want to go for his bachelor party?”

“It’s a cliché I’m sure you’ll be able to guess on the first try,” Jess said with a dejected frown.

After only a moment with brows furrowed, realization flashed across Ella’s eyes and her expression turned to one of disgust. “Ugh, Jesus. A strip club?”

“I know,” he grumbled. “Believe me, I’ll be there in silent protest.”

“Mouth off to one of the owners if you get the chance, would you? For me?” she asked.

“Will do.”

. . .

“I don’t hate my mother,” Jess grumbled to Luke, rolling his eyes slightly.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, crossing his leather-clad arms. Maybe he should’ve known he would get into a fight with TJ at some point, considering his history with Liz’s past boyfriends and husbands. All it had taken was TJ hitting the Austen novel out of his hands, as he read begrudgingly in the low-lit strip club. And they’d come to blows. And Luke was pissed. They were sat down at a table in Luke’s, the diner completely dark glowing only from the streetlamps and twinkle lights in the square. All the chairs, save for the two they sat in, were stacked up on the red tables. Luke was interrogating Jess about why he’d come for the wedding anyway, if he was so mad about it. As if he hadn’t stormed into Jess’s apartment trying to convince him to come only a few days earlier.

“You don’t?” Luke asked, eyebrows raised in expectation. “Then why did you come, anyway, if you’re so against your mother finding happiness? And it’s pretty clear you hate me.”

Jess sighed heavily at Luke’s dramatics. “I don’t hate you. I came here because of you.”

“Stop that,” Luke scolded in disbelief.

“You said it was important to you. Remember?” Jess asked, voice tight with annoyance.

“I didn’t think you were listening.”

“Oh, I was listening.”

Luke stared at his nephew for a long moment, leaning back in his chair. “So, you don’t hate your mom. You don’t hate me. But, really, all it took was me coming to New York to yell at you?”

Sighing, Jess said nothing. His lips were set in a thin line, and he averted his gaze from his uncle. He ran a hand over his mouth.

Eyes widening, Luke cracked a knowing grin. “You came because of Ella? But, you haven’t been together in...what? A year?”

Jess gave a sheepish nod. “Yeah, but, we still talk every couple weeks. She didn’t tell you?”

Luke snorted. “Well, I remember her chewing you out that first time you called. Telling you to let her know you were alive. But I didn’t know you were really talking.”

Running a hand over his mouth again, Jess gave another nod.

“So?” Luke asked, prodding. “Why’d you need to come here...if you call so often anyway?”

Jess bit at his bottom lip, squirming under the questions. “Since she moved out, she hasn’t been picking up. I didn’t know what happened. I wanted to...make sure. Because…”

“What?”

“I think...I mean...I’m in love with her, alright?” Jess spit out, an anxious bite in his voice.

Luke’s eyebrows shot up, and a flabbergasted look formed on his face. “Wow!...You think you’re in love with her?”

Jess shrugged. “Pretty sure. But, I’ve been thinking that since I was seventeen. And she doesn’t believe in love, anyway.”

Scoffing, Luke shook his head. “I know she says that, but it’s crap. What do you love about her, Jess?”

“Excuse me?” Jess asked, brows furrowing.

Luke rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Jess, I think it’s great that you know how you feel. And like I said earlier, I’m not gonna keep trying to change you. You are who you are. And Ella is who she is. If you’re gonna tell her how you feel, you have to do it carefully. And you have to be sure. So, tell me what you love about her.”

Scowling, Jess looked long and hard at his uncle. “What, do you wanna hold hands and skip afterwards?”

“Do you want to do this right or not?”

Finally, Jess relented. “Okay. Fine. I love that she...she’s so passionate. About everything. And she talks with her hands. And she eats peanut butter right out of the jar when she’s sick. And she hums while she works, without even realizing it. She..she cares so much about her friends and her brothers and her aunt and...I don’t know. She does everything for other people. She doesn’t think she’s a people person. But she really is. Even the way she talks to customers...you can really see it.

“And she’s such an amazing artist. She can feel art. And music. I’ve never met anyone else like that before. I can talk to her for hours...or not say anything at all. I miss her when she’s gone. Everything is...just better when I’m with her.”

When Jess looked up again, he found his uncle with a smug smirk. As Jess was speaking, his eyes had taken on a far-off quality. And though he didn’t want to be talking, his lips had started to curl upward at the corners anyway. Just from thinking of her. Luke recognized everything in Jess’s expression.

Jess shook his head slightly, jaw tense, embarrassment swirling in his stomach. “What?”

“Nothing,” Luke said lightly, almost mocking. “I’ve just...never seen that look on your face before.”

Rolling his eyes again, Jess scoffed angrily.

“Alright, alright,” Luke said, fighting off good-natured laughter. “Open two-way communication is the foundation of love…”

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