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caiuscassiuss · 3 years

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oppa! | ot7 (I)

Description: Being raised by a caring yet distant father, a close, tight-knit family is the one thing you have craved in your short life. After your adventurer father remarries a rich woman, you’re stuck with seven new brothers. Seven very hot, very different men. This is not what you meant by family.

Arc 1: Stepbrother Introductions

Genre: OT7 x Female!Reader | Brother’s Conflict AU | stepbrother au | fluff | slice of life (For this chapter: PG 13) WC: 15k Warnings: swearing, dub-con (??). In later chapters there will be explicit mentions of depression, panic attacks, thoughts of suicide, self harm, and graphic smut.

Chapter 1: Enter the Oldest Type, Jin!

Fiddling with the charm on your phone, you looked down at the blue text bubble that spelled out the address of what might possibly be your home for the next few years.

You had googled the place as soon as you got home, expecting it to be a random apartment somewhere and boy oh boy, you were wrong. First, the house (not apartment) was on the outskirts of Seoul, on one of the hilly inclines overlooking the Han River. Second, the place where it was located was expensive.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when you saw the housing prices of properties nearby on this popular real estate app. Sure, your father was a celebrity adventurer with his own cable show and so you were used to a certain amount of comfort, but this type of wealth was way beyond your league. Who was this woman that your father married, Jesus Christ?

On the Google streets view (you swear you aren’t weird), you saw the place had at least 2 gates to get through and your father hadn’t told you of any code or given you any pass to get through. You had a feeling if you tried to go in there blind, you would be immediately detained by the police.

Biting your lip, you paced on the fluffy carpet that felt like a dream. Your father was gallivanting off in some remote corner of Nigeria, so he was bound to have no cell service there. You knew no one in the family— much less how to contact them so you could meet up for a coffee or something. It would seem rude not to do something…

Your apartment doorbell buzzed throughout your apartment. Folding your arms over your chest, you shivered as you walked towards the doorway. You had turned up the Air Conditioner too high to ward off the muggy Seoul heat and now it was freezing inside your apartment.

“Hello?” you asked in to the intercom.

“Hi, is this Y/N?” a masculine voice asked at the other end.

You frowned and shifted your weight on your other leg. You don’t recall expecting any guests today.

“Excuse me?” the man asked again after you refused to respond.

“Hi, sorry, who is calling?” you said politely.

“I’m Seokjin, Seoyeon’s son. I’m your, uh, new brother?” he said haltingly, his voice raised at the end.

Gasping softly, you felt your mind pile up with questions and questions until it was spinning. How did he get here? How did you know who you are?

“Oh! Uh, yeah, please come on up.”

You pressed the button to allow the elevator to go to your location and you heard a bright “Thank you!” before the intercom shut off.

You zoomed around your apartment like a psychopath, picking up spare pieces of clothing and putting the dishes in the dishwasher. Your apartment reeked of mild depression, suppressed anxiety, and the beginnings of an unhealthy reliance on take out and that was not the first impression you wanted your newfound brother to have of you.

Putting your hands on your hips, you scanned the now clean apartment. It looked like a moderately adjusted human lived here.

Good timing indeed, as your buzzer sharply rang throughout the apartment. Taking a deep breath, you grasped the door handle and pulled it open.

Your lungs really said “Bye, sister!” and decided to quit working as soon as you saw this man. You couldn’t breath because standing in front of you was one of the most beautiful men you have ever seen in your life.

He was tall, taking up the entire doorway with his height. A dash of neatly groomed, brown hair graced the top of his small head and big eyes peered at you curiously above a strong nose and a pair of big, pouty lips the color of strawberries.

The second thing you noticed about him after his overwhelming beauty was his navy scrubs and the large badge attached to his pocket that read “Kim Seokjin; Pediatric Doctor at Seoul National University Pediatric Group”. You’ve seen people in scrubs and they were, favorably said, unflattering but on this man… he looked like he stepped out of a catalogue.

“You’re Y/N, right?”

Speechless, you nodded.

His entire face lit up with a grin. “Oh, that’s a relief. It’s fantastic to meet you, I’m Kim Seokjin. You can call me Jin though.”

Your voice decided to be nice and start working. You held out a hand and he reciprocated with a handshake. “Hi, I’m Y/N. It’s really nice to meet you. Please, do come in.”

He took off his sturdy shoes politely at the doorway and you retreated further into the hallway of your apartment.

You shivered again through your thin top and crossed your arms. God, you were going to have to raise the temperature. It felt like a fridge in here.

Jin turned around with a smile on his face before his eyes went wide. His eyes flickered down your body and quickly flickered back up to your face.

“I’m sorry if this is a bit sudden,” he started, red climbing up his neck and rising up to his cheeks. “I—” His eyes flicked down again before staying resolutely at your face, despite his very red cheeks.

Did you have a stain on your pants or something? You cast your eyes down at yourself and—

Oh.

Your very regrettable decision of turning your A/C up resulted in stiff nipples poking out from your thin top. To make matters worse, your crossed arms emphasized your breasts.

You felt yourself going red as an unflattering squeak left your mouth. Pulling a cardigan from behind the couch (there goes your good first impression), you quickly threaded your arms through the sleeves and covered your chest.

“I am so sorry—”

“It’s alright!” he said, his voice unwieldy. Jin’s eyes widened again as he realized the meaning of his words. “No! I mean— ugh,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands.

You giggled as you saw his mature composure crack in front of you.

“I must seem like a pervert,” Jin groaned. “Here I was, hoping to come off as a cool older brother, and I just,” he shook his head. “Forgive me.”

The awkwardness defused, you laughed again, ultra conscious of your chest. “Please don’t worry about it! I had hoped to make a good first impression as well but look at me! Pulling clothing out of furniture.”

He snorted and you both started laughing, filling up your once silent apartment with sound.

As the laughter died down, you offered him a seat on your couch. He gladly took the invitation, throwing in a joke about being on his feet all day.

“Yeah, I’m sorry to barge in all of the sudden. I didn’t have your contact information— only your address and I realized that you had no way to get to our house. So, here I am,” he grinned, eyes forming cute half crescents.

“I actually have to thank you for it,” you said, setting down a glass of water in front of him. “I was thinking of going to your house myself but I saw the security around it and I knew I’d probably get detained or something.”

“Well, it’s good that it all lined up so well,” Jin commented. “I better introduce myself, don’t I? I’m just a pediatric doctor with the SNU pediatric group and 26— the oldest of all of us. I was born in Gwacheon and moved to Seoul to attend university.”

You smiled softly, despite your unease at his use of the word “just”. “A pediatric doctor? That’s very nice. What made you want to be a doctor?”

Jin’s smile grew strained and you saw his broad shoulders tense up.

Feeling like you wanted to hit yourself over the head, you threw out your hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to—”

He shook his head. “Please, don’t worry about it. It’s a common question. I chose this specific profession over the OR or surgery because, as a child, I knew someone who was injured a lot and I couldn’t help them at all.” He grimaced, but pasted on a very good smile. His eyes were crinkled at the edges, his head tilted upwards, but you could see through it. “Now I can, yeah?”

“I get what you mean,” you said sympathetically. You were often sick as a child too, and it was… difficult, when your father was off scampering across half the world.

Jin straightened up in his seat and lost that faraway look in his eyes, zeroing in on you. “What about you, Y/N? You’re college-age, yeah?”

“Yes, I’m 21 and attend Yonsei University as a junior. Although it’s not as exciting as wanting to be a doctor, I want to be a counselor one day,” you told him, your eyes cast down “I want to help people.”

“That’s really admirable, Y/N. If you ever need any help getting an internship or opportunity, I know some counselors and I’d be more than happy to facilitate a meeting,” Jin smiled warmly at you.

A blush infused your cheeks. “I, ah, thank you. I actually work as an operator on Crisis hotline right now, but I’ll definitely need all the help I can get.”

“Of course! You’re my cute younger sister now.”

“I’ve never had a sibling, I’m very excited to have seven older brothers now,” you grinned.

“Yeah! About that,” he coughed awkwardly, “— are you considering moving in with us? Your father told my mother that you would be moving, but I wasn’t sure if you were completely willing?”

You nodded. “I’m considering it. I’d like to meet everyone first, however. Just to get used to your personalities.”

“Completely understandable, all seven of us can be,” he paused, “—a lot. However, if you’re up for meeting a few of us, I can take you to our house for a visit. I can drop you back and everything.”

“That’d be lovely.”

He waited patiently for you as you locked the door to your apartment, carefully watching you as you stepped into the elevator.

“Where did you park?” you asked, craning your head upwards to look at him. “I hope you weren’t forced to park on the street, it can be very expensive.”

He shook his head. “I found the visitor parking, it’s all good.”

The doctor led you through the underground parking, weaving through cars and concrete beams with ease until you stopped in front of a bright white car with a silver trident in the middle of its grill. Eyes wide, you knew what this car was. Your dad had admired Maseratis for the longest time, and this one looked to be very new.

Jin gestured to the white Maserati, looking unfairly suave in his scrubs and next to his fancy car. “Hop in.”

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Mature Type, Namjoon!

Chapter 2: Enter the Mature Type, Namjoon!

Jin was a model driver, driving carefully on the streets of Seoul. He looked both ways before crossing an intersection and took slow turns. However, it amused you how he hissed at the console as it beeped to warn him if there was a car or curb too close to him.

However, as you looked out the window, the streets got quieter and the houses a whole lot bigger as you crossed into a residential part of Seoul. You were driving parallel to the Han River, and you saw many people doing water activities or boating to cool off in the hot September weather.

Jin slowed down as you entered an avenue lined by trees and you could see a guardhouse at the end of the picturesque street. However, the two of you avoided the guardhouse completely and took what was presumably the resident’s entrance, where he passed by easily with a scan of a barcode on his tire.

“Do you drive, Y/N?” Jin asked, one elbow resting casually on his open window and the other on his lap.

“No, I never really had time to learn.” More like you never had someone to teach you.

“Okay, so we’ll just need a resident pass for you,” Jin muttered to himself, eyes focused on the street.

He drove through large, green spaces with the occasional building speckling the landscape. You gripped your purse harder. Green spaces unencumbered by large buildings blocking the view were rare in Seoul, the cost of natural land so astronomically high only wealthy business people or very famous celebrities being able to afford places like this. You gulped. Their family was definitely out of your league.

The car stopped in front of a very modern looking townhouse and the garage opened, Jin driving into what seemed to be a much more expansive parking garage under the house. However, instead of boring concrete and fluorescent lighting, sandy colored marble and warm lighting lit the space as you descended through the underground.

Biting your lip as Jin backed in his car easily with just one hand steering the wheel, defined forearms catching your attention, you mentally smacked yourself. He’s your brother, for god’s sake!

You froze up as the doors started to lift up like wings on a butterfly, but relaxed. This level of wealth would definitely take some time to get used to.

He placed a warm palm on your shoulder, his fingertips reaching your collarbones, as he guided you to the entrance, up the dimly lit stairs and to a large, wooden door.

“I wish I could’ve taken you through the front door since it’s much more impressive,” he sighed, and pushed the wooden door open with a thumbprint scanner. “However, welcome to our humble abode.”

An abode it was, but humble was it not. You were only on the ground floor, but the ceilings were very high and you were surrounded by many floor-to-ceiling windows. The main theme of the building was warm marble and dark, rich wood with jewel tones interspersed between.

“Woah,” you breathed out. “You guys have a lot of space.”

“Yeah, “ Jin grimaced. “We kind of need it when some of us like to roughhouse and tend to break things.”

You laughed as he then guided you towards a spacious living room, a large window overlooking the Han River and greenery.

“Sit tight, I’ll get us something to drink,” Jin said, his voice getting fainter as he strode to a room off the massive living room.

Ankles crossed together, you peered at the large room. At first, it looked neat. Everything was in its place and perfectly coordinated by the eye of an expert designer. However, you could see the signs the place was well-lived in. The wear-and-tear of the orange and beige blanket emblazoned with an H that was thrown over the chair of the couch, the mess of wires from various gaming consoles, and even the small depressions on the pillows.

A shelf of colorful books framed the huge TV and you stood up, perusing them. You expected the books to be typical, non-offensive living room books with dust on the covers but to your surprise, the books on the shelves were well loved with their cracked spines and rounded edges. Tracing over your fingers over the books you whispered the titles to yourself.

Candide, Crime and Punishment, The Metamorphosis…

“I’m sorry, but who are you?”

A deep voice echoed behind you and you jumped in surprise. Whirling around you saw another tall man with neat ash blond hair, glasses neatly perched on his straight nose with a pair of fierce eyes peering out from behind the frames. His charcoal suit was well-fitted to his body and his build reminded you of a tiger; sinewous muscles cording his arms, back, and thighs and tensed, ready to jump into action.

A nervous smile crawled up your lips. “I’m Y/N L/N. Are you one of my new brothers?”

The man relaxed minutely but the fierceness of his eyes did not subside. “I am. I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s a pleasure to meet you Y/N.”

He strode across the room in long, confident strides and took your hand. His handshake was strong and you tightened your grip in response, narrowing your eyes at him. His right eyebrow quirked, but he said nothing as he turned his attention to the bookshelf.

“So, what caught your attention here?” He murmured, tenor voice traveling the length of your spine and stroking your sensitive skin. “Is it… this?”

He pulled out a copy of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, obviously less worn than the rest.

A smirk tugged at your lips. “No, not that one.”

He stared at you longer, before crossing his arms over his powerful chest. “Oh? Enlighten me, then.”

With nimble fingers, you pulled out a red, slim novel and handed it to him. You carefully tracked his reaction as he took it from your hands, face and eyes saying nothing. He ran a thumb over the agonized face on the cover, and you felt a shiver go down your arm at the sheer sensuousness of it.

“Clockwork Orange,” he breathed out. “Interesting. Are you a Lit Major?”

You continued to stare at the bookshelf, feeling his eyes boring holes into your face. “No, I’m not. I’m majoring in psychology.”

He hummed, eyes tracing the rough artwork of the novel’s cover. “I liked psychology, but at that point I was already double-majoring. I majored in philosophy and business, which are not as different than they seem.”

“Are you out of university, then?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual.

Namjoon nodded affirmatively. “I’m 24, but I matriculated at SNU when I was 18. I run a conglomerate group now.”

Trying to keep your mouth from falling open in shock— what kind of twenty something year old owned a large business, much less a conglomerate— you nodded coolly.

“Given or made?” you questioned, an edge in your voice. Something about Namjoon made you want to test him, to prod at him constantly.

His fierce eyes turned to you and they blazed.

“Made.”

Your lips lifted upwards, minutely, until you heard a clinking of glasses.

“Y/N? Sister-dearest? I got you— oh!”

Jin stopped in shock at the sight of you two seemingly huddled together in front of the book case.

“Do you two know each other?” Jin asked, absolutely bemused, as he set down a pitcher and some glasses on the coffee table.

“We don’t,” Namjoon answered. “However,” he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, “—I can see we’ll get along nicely.”

You did not get the same impression, but you digressed. He was one of your brothers now. Another factor was that one of his biceps, even though it was hidden inside his suit jacket, looked like it could strangle you.

Jin continued to stare in suspicion, before shrugging his wide shoulders and settling down on the couch.

“So what were you chatting about then?”

“A couple of books I had on the shelf. Y/N has some interesting taste,” Namjoon commented.

Jin snorted into his water with lemon. “Oh, ew, now I have two bookworms as siblings? Reading was the worst part of university. I liked all the practical stuff.”

“Sometimes I can’t believe that rational parents would let you near their kids,” Namjoon retorted, helping himself to a glass.

“And I can’t believe some women come near you,” Seokjin replied heatedly.

The two of them stared at each other seriously before breaking out in guffaws, hiding your expression behind your glass of water. This was such a weird dynamic and it was only two of them. Well, the best you could do was adapt the situation.

Just like you always had.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Rough Type, Jungkook!

Chapter 3: Enter the Rough Type, Jungkook!

As the three of you chatted about yourselves (apparently, some of the brothers were biologically Seoyeon’s children or were adopted), Jin’s eye caught the clock behind you and his eyes widened.

“Oh dear, it’s almost 6 o’clock,” Jin fretted, leaping up from the couch. “Everyone should be arriving home soon– excuse me,” he said as he retreated into the kitchen.

“Ah, I guess that means I should get going,” you said apologetically to Namjoon, standing up and straightening your ruffled skirt.

“Please, stay for dinner,” Namjoon smiled, gesturing for you to take a seat.

“Yeah, Y/N, stay for dinner!” Jin yelled from the kitchen.

“I mean, if you’re sure…” you trailed off, hoping you could stay. You felt too lazy to cook for yourself tonight.

“Please do, we hope to see you a lot more around here,” Namjoon said, warm smiling at you.

The security system dinged, signalling a door had opened within the house. Namjoon’s ears perked up.

His eyes flew towards the doorway. “That must be Taehyung or Jungkook, coming in. They’re usually the first to arrive.”

You wondered why both of those names seemed familiar and a heavy door slammed shut.

“Jungkook-ah! Your new sister is here! Come and greet her, you punk!”

The footsteps thud to a halt at the foot of the steps and you spin around in your seat.

In the hallway, a buff man in a loose-fitting white t-shirt and grey joggers stood in front of you. In almost humorous contrast to his hulking, muscled body, the cutest face with big eyes and pouty lips you have seen peered at you.

He looked familiar to you and you bit your lip, trying to figure out where you had seen him. Oh wait! Charger guy!

“Jungkook! You’re in my Calculus class, right?”

“Yeah…” he whispered, looking at you like he saw a ghost.

“It’s so funny that you’re here. It’s nice to meet you as my brother,” you grinned at him, tilting your head to the side.

He nodded mindlessly, frozen at his spot in the hallway.

“Jungkook? Are you good?” you prodded.

Namjoon snorted as he kept on typing into his phone. “Jungkook can’t speak to girls, so he gets frozen like this from time to time. Hyung, you fix him.”

“I’m cooking, you dolt!”

“And I’m trying to earn money so I can provide the food. Go.”

Jin shot you a look, as if exclaiming “look at how I’m treated around here!”, and dusted off his hands. Striding over to a frozen Jungkook, Jin poked Jungkook’s very built chest.

Jungkook still didn’t move and Jin pursed his lips. He poked him again. “Yah! Why aren’t you working?!”

The youngest brother broke out from his trance and looked at Jin seriously.

“No.”

“Pardon?” you asked, wondering if you misheard.

“No.” Jungkook shook his mass of black, shaggy hair and ran a tattooed hand through it, looking in disbelief at the ground. “No, no, no, no, no no.”

Your slight smile is frozen on your face and you feel your shoulders tense up and, nervously, you look to Jin.

“Jungkook—“

“Fuck!” He threw his hands in the air. Jungkook pointed a finger at you, a line creasing at his forehead. “I did not sign up for this! Fuck!”

Spinning around, he marched back into the hall and you could see the powerful muscles in his back tense through his thin t-shirt.

“Well…”

Jin, with his hands rubbing his temples, sighed heavily and deflated at the counter. “God, I’m sorry about that Y/N. I don’t know why Jungkookie is acting like that; he’s normally really amiable and nice.”

You laugh softly, trying to defuse the awkward tension that had settled around the kitchen. “Jin-ssi, please don’t worry about it. It’s a huge shift in his life and some people are going to take it harder than others. It’ll take some time, but I’m sure he’ll get used to me being his sister.”

Namjoon scrutinized you with hooded eyes. “You’re very kind. I hope my brothers don’t take advantage of it.”

Your grin cracked a bit. “We’re family. I don’t mind.”

—————

Jungkook would not come down from his room, despite the hilarious mix of threats, blackmail, and aegyo Jin tried to coerce him down with.

You could hear Jin rapid-fire lecturing Jungkook outside Jungkook’s bedroom door and Namjoon sighed, his temples in his hands.

“Hyung, just give up. The kid’s being moody again.”

Jin acquiesced with ill grace, throwing in a last good “You punk!” up the stairs. He stomped down the carpeted stair well, retying his apron and set to reheat many of the things.

“See if I feed him tonight, that ungrateful brat…” Jin hissed, moodily chopping some screen onions.

Namjoon leaned towards you and beckoned your ear towards his and you obeyed, curious. His scent wafted towards you, yet was not as punchy as a normal cologne. It was subtle and musky, carrying notes of old books and bergamot. Perhaps it was a lotion?

“Jin says that all the time, but will leave him leftovers anyways,” Namjoon whispered into your ear, making you unconsciously shiver. “He’s too much of a pushover.”

You snorted as Jin came out of the kitchen with a dish in hands. “Yah, what was that, Namjoon?”

“Just commenting on how good your food is, hyung,” Namjoon replied coolly and leaning away from you.

Jin glanced suspiciously at Namjoon, before setting down the dish. You gasped, immediately getting to your feet.

“Oh, I’ve been such a rude guest! Can I help in any way? Set out the dishes or something?”

The apron-clad doctor clutched his heart, and wailed, “Look! My cute dongsaeng! Finally, a member of this household that is kind and offers to do their part!” Jin’s voice got progressively louder as he directed his voice up the stairs.

You muffled your laugh with a cough, and turned to Jin again. “Jin-ssi?”

Jin shook his head, clicking his tongue as he directed you to stay in your seat. “No, sweetheart, you’re a guest. Joonie-ah, set out the plates.”

Namjoon got up to get the plates, but as he did, his phone buzzed. Namjoon’s forehead creased as he looked at whatever was on his screen.

“Hyung, Taehyung-ah won’t be here today. Apparently his shoot on Jeju is lasting over night.”

Jin sighed, bustling around the kitchen. “How about Hoseok? Yoongi? I know Chimmy is out of the country right now.”

Taehyung, Hoseok, Yoongi, Chimmy, you memorized in your head. These were the four brothers you had yet to meet.

Namjoon snorted and put down the silverware, forks and spoons tinkling brightly. “You know Yoongi— he’s like a stray cat. He’ll be here when he wants. As for Hoseok, I think he might’ve just fallen asleep at the studio.”

“I’m sorry Y/N, I wish I could’ve introduced you to our other brothers,” Jin apologized. “Now, you’re just stuck with us two grandpas.”

You shook your head. “I’m just happy I could have dinner with you guys. Thank you for inviting me over.”

Jin watched you with a fond smile and Namjoon contemplated you carefully again.

Everything was set out and the three of you dug into Jin’s delicious food.

“Jin-ssi, this is very good. Your food tastes delicious. Did you put brown sugar into the sauce? It really rounds out the taste,” you complimented.

“I haven’t heard a compliment from these ungrateful brats about my cooking for 10 years,” Jin sighed dramatically. “Such a cute dongsaeng.”

Namjoon shook his head at Jin’s immature antics. “I might as well introduce you to Jungkook, since he elected not to do it himself.”

“You seemed to know him from university, yes?” Jin asked.

Nodding, you dabbed your mouth with a napkin. “I know of him, yes. He’s in my calculus class? Although, I feel like I might’ve had him in some of my core curriculum classes.”

“Jungkook is at Yonsei for a technology degree, although at first he was reluctant to go to university,” Namjoon revealed. “He wanted to be a Pro-Gamer and streamer full-time, but Seoyeon, Hyung, and I convinced him to get a degree.”

“He chose technology because he wants to combine his passion for gaming and technology into something in the future,” Jin continued, taking a sip of his water.

“That’s a very smart move of his,” you said politely. You wondered why Namjoon referred to his mother as ‘Seoyeon’. Maybe he was one of the adopted ones?

“That brat upstairs might look like he just screams at the monitor and works out, but he’s much more,” Namjoon reflected.

———-

When you were cleaning up, you felt bad that Jungkook hadn’t had dinner yet. That man must need like four square meals a day and tons of snacks to keep up his bulk.

“Jin-ssi, Namjoon-ssi, I’m going to deliver some food to Jungkook. He must be hungry,” you called out, scraping some of the food onto a plate.

“You don’t have too, Y/N, he usually sneaks down to get something from the fridge,” Namjoon said as he typed furiously on his phone.

“Don’t worry about it, I want to help him,” you grinned, climbing up the stairs.

Namjoon mumbled something suspiciously like, “You’re too kind for your own good” but you had already gotten to the second landing. Stopping in front of Jungkook’s door, you knocked.

“Jungkook-ssi?” you said when no one responded. “You must be a bit hungry, so I just got a plate together for you.”

Complete radio silence.

Exhaling sharply through your nostrils, you pouted and bent down to set down the plate next to his doorway.

“Well, if you change your mind, I put it next to your door. I’ll be going now!”

You strode down the hallway, making sure your footsteps trailed off. You hid behind a corner, making sure to conceal yourself completely.

After waiting a few minutes, you were sure he wasn’t going to come out but his door clicked open and Jungkook emerged in a grey-blue hoodie. He took a surreptitious glance around the hallway before his eyes found you behind the corner.

Blushing, you decided to wave at him. To your surprise, instead of scowling or ignoring you completely, Jungkook’s face turned tomato red as he hurriedly gathered up the plate and slammed his door.

You scratched your head. Maybe he was shy or something.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Bright Type, Hoseok!

Chapter 5: Enter the Bright Type, Hoseok!

“So, how were your brothers? Nice? Weird? Ugly?” Hyerim pestered as you walked by the subway.

You bit your lip. “Um, really different?”

Hyerim fixed you a look.

“Okay, so I met three out of the seven yesterday. The oldest one— his name is Seokjin, but I call him Jin— is 26 and he’s a pediatric doctor. The other one—”

“Wait, Seokjin?” Your friend squinted at you. “Does he happen to work at SNU Pediatric Group?”

Blinking, you turned to her. “Yeah? How the hell did you know that?”

Hyerim let out a half strangled scream as you stepped down the stairs of the station. You were instantly surrounded by dozens of power blue ads with a purple suit-clad man in the middle, perhaps in the middle of a hip trust, all reading Happy Birthday in aesthetic cursive.

“Hoe! He’s my brother’s fucking doctor, I can’t believe this!”

Your eyebrows nearly touched your forehead. “Shit, really?”

“Yes! Holy shit, did you not listen to me complaining to you about how hot he was? And now he’s your fucking brother? The star must’ve aligned for me! This must mean the rest of the brothers are good looking!” Hyerim squealed.

“Does Jongin not exist anymore?” you asked as you both swiped your subway passes.

“Shhh, just because I’m off the market doesn’t mean I don’t get to look,” she giggled, her pony tail swishing back and forth.

You shook your head, amused at her antics, and continued.

“Anyways, the other brother I met is some fancy-schmancy businessman. Namjoon-ssi is 25? 24? He’s older than me but graduated from college when he was just 18.”

Hyerim’s eyes took on a perverted light and she simpered underneath her hand. “Oh? Am I hearing of sugar daddy material?”

You squawked and hit her shoulder. “Hyerim, stop! These are my brothers, not matches on Tinder!”

“I don’t care, you need a boyfriend— even if it’s a secret and taboo one,” Hyerim said, pushing her hair off her shoulder.

Rolling your eyes, you sat down in a seat next to her. “Anyways, the boys invited me to dinner again tonight in hopes we’ll catch more of the boys in the house. Jin-ssi says trying to get them all in one place is like waiting for a blue moon— it’s very rare.”

“So are you going straight there or going home to change?”

Shaking your head, you gestured at a laminated white pass in your hands. “I wanted to get there early today so I can go home early. Jin-ssi drove me home last night and I don’t want him to be caught in rush hour traffic again.”

Hyerim peered at the pass in your hands. “Hannam the Hill? Hey, doesn’t Han Hyo-joo live there? The actress from Brilliant Legacy?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you leaned into the hard plastic seat. “I don’t know. Probably? All I know is that the place where they live is very ritzy and takes like two security gates to get into.”

“Okay, they’re all sugar daddy material then,” Hyerim commented. She ducked to avoid a hit over the head and you huffed, crossing your arms.

“Stop, they all do pretty well for themselves and I heard my stepmother is some fancy businesswoman from a well-to-do family. They’re just my family now.”

“The train is approaching Yangwon station. I repeat the train is approaching Yangwon station,” the bright voice announced over the intercom.

“Oh, that’s my stop,” you remembered.

“Wait, you said you met another brother. Who is he?” Hyerim asked as she patted her nose with a compact.

The train slowed to a stop and you got up.

“My other brother is Jungkook. The one from our Calculus class? The streamer?”

Smirking, you dramatically walked away and heard Hyerim’s shriek of disbelief as you stepped onto the train platform.

—————

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked the guard in disbelief.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but your visitor pass has expired,” the security guard said calmly, eyes scanning you detachedly. Like you were another crazy female.

You were going to kill Jin. Forget his awesome jajamyeon, you’ll bitch-slap both him and Namjoon into another dimension.

“Are you sure you can’t just let me in? Like, call the house or something,” you asked desperately, hands crumpling the visitor pass.

The guard looked like he desperately wanted to roll his eyes, but he picked up his corded phone.

“Building 10, yes?” he asked boredly.

“Yes.”

He waited for the call to be picked up but after several rings, no one picked up.

“Apologies ma’am, but no one appears to be at the house. If you’re done, I’d like to ask you to leave and come back later,” the man said with an air of finality, and turned back to his station and looked at the 6 monitors surrounding his desk.

Your mouth open, you were aghast at his lack of sympathy. He could’ve at least offered for you to let you wait! It was nearing sun down and the boys had invited you to dinner again, and it would be rude to be late.

You don’t even know why they needed this much security. Sure, Namjoon was the CEO of a large conglomeration but wasn’t as high profile as Samsung’s chairman or someone crazy like that. It wasn’t like one of your brothers was a high-profile celebrity, right?

Standing on the sidewalk and looking like an idiot, you decided to call one of your damn brothers. Huffing, you flipped open your phone and selected Jin’s contact. After several rings, the call picked up.

“Y/N?”

“Hi Jin-ssi, sorry to bother you right now. I’m sure you’re busy right now,” you apologized, accidentally meeting eyes with the security guard who stared at you suspiciously.

“You’re fine! Is everything alright?” Jin asked, his voice tinged by concern.

You bit your lip as the security guard raised an eyebrow and picked up his phone, his eyes not letting go of you the entire time.

“I’m trying to get to the house, but the guard told me the visitor pass expired,” you explained, breath hitching as the guard spoke rapidly into the phone.

Jin swore over the phone, the sound muffled as he moved his phone away from his face.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, Namjoon and I were so sure it was still active. Sit tight wherever you are, I’m texting one of the boys to get you through the gate. Hoseok is about a few minutes away from you.”

“Um, I don’t mean to rush,” you said, eyes widening as the man gestured to get out of the guardhouse, “— but I think the guard is about to detain me.”

“Goddamn security,” Jin hissed. “I’m calling the guard office right now, I am so sorry.”

He hung up and the guard continued to advance towards you, and you grasped your phone a bit tighter. The summer humidity suddenly pressed into your skin, slipped between your waistband and collar to make you sweat. Your eyes flickered to the station. No one was in the guard office to take Jin’s call so you steeled for yourself for what was about to be an ugly confrontation.

“Ma’am, I firmly ask you to leave the premises before I am forced to—”

“Y/N!”

The guard and you turned in the direction of the sound, and you saw a man in a bright yellow windbreaker and black sport shorts somehow jogging towards you in socks and sandals.

“Y/N,” he said, out of breath, as he stopped in front of you and the security guard. He held out a hand as he put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“Hoseok-nim,” the guard bowed in respect, “Do you perhaps know this young lady?”

You got a good glimpse of him as he lifted his head and tennis cap. He pulled down his white mask and you saw his pointed nose, unfairly smooth skin, and sharp chin. You sobbed inwardly. Did all of your brothers miraculously get the luckiest scratch off tickets for the genetic jackpot? The man grinned at you and nodded in affirmative at the guard.

“Yes, I do,” Hoseok said, straightening up.

“I’m sorry, the young lady did not have the proper credentials to enter. My apologies.” The guard continued, speaking to Hoseok as if you did not exist.

Hoseok’s happy expression vanished and his brows furrowed. “Please, don’t apologize to me. My sister looked frightened. My brothers and I would appreciate it if you treated her a bit more politely.”

You hadn’t even noticed how frightened you were as you felt a drop of sweat roll down your temple and the shivers stop.

“I apologize, young lady,” the security guard said, taking off his cap and bowing politely. You smiled tightly and accepted with grace, gesturing for him to get up.

“That being said, we haven’t had time to get her resident pass processed. I’d like to add her to a list of visitors so a mix-up like this will not happen again,” Hoseok said seriously, staring down the security guard underneath his tennis logo cap and eccentric outfit. It almost put a smile to your lips, to see a beefy man in a suit and tie nearly cower under a boy at least half his age and centimeters shorter than him.

“Of course. Hoseok-nim, young lady,” he bowed, and the security guard scurried towards the office.

Hoseok turned towards you and his face brightened, rounded cheeks pulled upwards. “Hi Y/N, I’m so sorry for this mess,” he said, eyes shining with regret.

“I completely understand,” you placated. “You’re… Hoseok-ssi, right?”

He beamed. “Yes, I’m Hoseok. I’m 24, the middle brother. Please, call me oppa, we’re siblings now!”

He slung an arm over your shoulder and you couldn’t help but beam along with him. His bright energy was so infectious and immediately warmed you to him, drawing you into his orbit.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you replied, smile tugging at your lips. “I’m Y/N, 21 years old.”

“I’m so excited to have a cute younger sister,” Hoseok confessed as he walked you through the streets towards the house. “I was always jealous of my friends that could take care of their younger sisters, even though they acted like they were annoyed by them.”

You grinned more brightly. “Me too. I’ve been an only child all my life and having seven new brothers is very exciting to me.”

“You might want to take that back when you’ve met all of us,” Hoseok laughed. “You’ve met Jin-hyung, Namjoon-hyung, Jungkook-ah, right?”

Nodding, you spoke, “Yes, I have. Jin-ssi and Namjoon-ssi are very nice to me, but I don’t think Jungkook-ssi liked me very much…”

Hoseok waved it away. “Don’t worry, Kookie-ah doesn’t socialize well with girls. Or people. It took him ages to warm up to us after he got back from his grandparents.”

“Kookie-ah?” you asked curiously.

“Yes,” Hoseok grinned as he turned you onto a familiar street. “It’s our nickname for our youngest. He’s too cute not to tease.” Hoseok frowned as he remembered something. “Even though he is taller than me now.”

Hoseok was pretty tall himself, and you were starting to think that if you all took a family photo one day you’d look like the dwarf in the middle. Namjoon, Jin, and Jungkook just towered over you.

“On the other note, what do you do, Y/N? I’m curious about what my younger sister does.”

“I’m a university student at Yonsei, Hoseok-ssi,” you coughed, still not comfortable calling anybody oppa. “I’m studying psychology so I can be a counselor.”

“Yonsei? So my dongsaeng is a smart nut, I see,” Hoseok teased. “Did you know Jungkook before you met him as your brother?”

You shook your head. “I saw him around, but I only knew of him. What about you, Hoseok-ssi? What do you do?”

“I’m a dancer,” Hoseok announced, the house getting closer in view. “I’m part of this dance group, Neuron. We travel to perform and compete in competitions.”

“That’s awesome!” you clapped. “You must be very persistent. I tried ballet when I was younger and it was a disaster.”

“I haven’t heard that before,” Hoseok said, looking curiously at you. “Most people have told me I must be very talented or pull girls easily. But you’re right, I worked very hard.”

“What can I say?” you shrugged. “I just see through people.”

Hoseok guided you up the front steps of the doorway, fumbling through his pants to get his key. As he unlocked the front door, you heard the rumbling of a car going through the streets.

Going at least 100 kilometers per hour, a metallic blue Lamborghini skidded to a halt in front of the house. The weird doors stretched upwards and you saw both Jin and Namjoon emerge from the car.

“Y/N? Baby? Are you alright?” Jin asked worriedly, running up the front door.

“I’m good, Jin-ssi,” you comforted but he ignored it, taking your face in your hands and tilting your head to his view.

“Aish, those damn security guards!” Jin complained, clutching you to his chest and turning to Namjoon. “It’s your fault! Why did you give her that pass! She could’ve been detained! Put into cuffs like—like a criminal!” he ended dramatically.

Namjoon looked flabbergasted. “Me? You’re the one who got it!”

As the two descended into bickering, you peered at Hoseok from in between Jin’s arms. Your eyes screamed save me!

Hoeseok helpfully pried you from the still arguing doctor’s arms.

“Sorry about that, Jin is a bit protective over all of us— he practically raised us. We call him our mom sometimes,” Hoseok revealed, getting you into the house and leaving the now huffing and puffing duo on the doorsteps.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Moody Type, Taehyung!

Chapter 7: Enter the Moody Type, Taehyung!

As you entered the house, the faint strings of what might be a Daniel Caesar song flowed throughout the house.

“Oh goodie, Taehyung must be here!,” Jin clapped, setting down his keys on a hook near the door.

Namjoon snorted. “He’s the only one of us that listens to this moody shit.”

Through drought and famine, natural disaster, my baby has been around for me.

A door slammed somewhere on the ground level, and the click clack of heeled boots echoed like muffled gunshots on the marble of the house.

Kingdoms have fallen, angels be calling, none of that could ever make me leave.

Turning the corner, your heart stopped.

Leaning on the wooden doorway was the most heart-breakingly beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes upon. His dyed ash-grey hair was messy around his face, but behind his bangs peeked half-lidded eyes shaped like tear drops. A strong nose and pink lips, like the petals of a flower, were parted open as he stared through you.

“Oh? Is this our new sister?” he said softly, his gravelly voice filling the hall.

You grinned uneasily, fighting off the urge to cover yourself with a blanket or something. It wasn’t that his gaze was improper; those mercurial eyes just seemed to look through you.

“Taehyung, meet Y/N. She is our stepfather’s daughter,” Jin said carefully, eyes flicking between you like a tennis match.

It’s not fair, you thought. His clothes shouldn’t even match. The silky sleeveless tee had a paintbrush stroke across the chest and was bunched into baggy canvas pants covered in paint. It should’ve made him look like those wacky tube inflatables near car dealerships yet he looked like he walked out of a magazine.

“It’s nice to see you, Y/N,” Taehyung nearly whispered, head tilted to the side like he was evaluating a particular interesting museum installation. He made no move to shake your hand or embrace you.

“And you too, Taehyung-ssi,” you replied, bowing politely. He inclined his head.

“Well, I better get back to my red room. My pretties are coming along nicely,” Taehyung pronounced matter-a-factly, spinning sharply around to disappear into the dimly lit hall.

Namjoon face-palmed. “Well, now it sounds like he has a kinky sex dungeon. He just sees the world a bit differently than us, that’s all. It took some time for us to interpret his words when he came to us; for example, his pretties are his photographs.” The businessman looked suddenly pensieve. “Perhaps that’s why he’s so good at what he does.”

“Oh? What does Taehyung-ssi do?” you inquired, feeling like a strong breeze had swept into the room and left as suddenly as it came. You know that feeling? Where your skin tingles in the aftermath, your lips are suddenly dry, and like you could be knocked over the lightest touch.

“He’s a magazine editor, Y/N-ah,” Hoseok grins, putting down his heavy dancer bag on the couch carelessly. “It’s this really new-age, artsy magazine with a cult following. Maybe you’ve seen it? I think he named it something cryptic like ‘V’.”

“I’ll look into it, then,” you beamed, hoping to diffuse the weird tension that had settled on your shoulders.

———-

Hoseok excused himself to take a shower and Namjoon had to take an important phone call, so it was just you and Jin left.

“Well, I know us five are at least here, and I know Jungkook is due to arrive soon from the gym. However, I don’t know if someone is going to drop by so I just leave an extra plate in the fridge just in case,” Jin said, stroking his chin.

“So, what’s on the menu today?” you asked playfully, taking a seat on the barstool.

Jin ruffled through the fridge, the fluorescent light highlighting his casual t-shirt. “Well, with what we have in the fridge, I can make some Chap-Chae and perhaps Kimchi Jjigae. However, we’d have a lot of chicken left and we need to eat it soon. Hm…”

“Jin-ssi, I know a good chicken recipe. Dakgangjeong? It’s this crispy fried chicken slathered in sweet and spicy sauce.”

The doctor frowned for a moment, leaning against the countertop.

“Is someone allergic? Or doesn’t like Chicken?” you asked worriedly, biting your lips.

Jin shook his head and chuckled. “No, everyone really likes fried chicken here. I’m just trying to remember if we have the ingredients.”

“That’s a relief, because it’s one of my favorite comfort meals.”

Opening the pantry, he bent down to look for something. “I think we do have everything here, thank goodness,” he grinned at you as he got up. “Do you cook a lot?”

“Yup, it’s my hobby,” you revealed, washing your hands at the sink. “I had to learn how to give myself food as a child.”

“Okay, awesome! You get started on the chicken and I’ll do the other dishes,” Jin said brightly, putting some ingredients on the table.

“Sounds good to me!”

You probably weren’t meant to hear it, but Jin giggled underneath his breath, “I have a sous-chef now.”

————

You put the finishing garnishes on your chicken and stepped back. The glaze looked very savory underneath the kitchen lights and dipping your finger into your glaze pot, it also tasted very good as well.

By the looks of it, Jin had finished with his two dishes. Wiping his hands with a towel, he put his hands on his hips and yelled, “Children! Get down here to eat, you punks!”

As soon as you set down your plate of chicken, a multitude of footsteps resounded throughout the house.

Namjoon strode in first, only in a white shirt and trousers, and nodded coolly at you. The man looked very attractive out of his form-fitting workwear, and you wish your gaze hadn’t lingered on his tan, exposed skin.

Hoseok and Jungkook came in second, rough-housing with each other in the doorway before taking their seats. Hoseok greeted you brightly but Jungkook stared at you without a word before averting his gaze.

Finally, V came into the dining room in a more casual outfit of an oversized shirt and lounge pants, but still exuded an air of effortless grace. He grinned at everyone and plopped down into his chair.

“Alright everyone, eat up!” Jin fussed, setting down the steaming hot bowl and plate he was somehow carrying. You trailed after him with your dish grasped with both hands, hoping you wouldn’t accidentally trip and spill your hard work over the very expensive carpet.

You had to lean over Jungkook to place your chicken in the middle and you heard a startled “eep!” from beside you.

“Jungkook-ssi, are you alright?” You asked, sitting down in your seat next to him.

He nodded wordlessly, his ears red and gaze intensely focused on his plate. Running your eyes over him, you shrugged and grabbed your chopsticks.

The whole family dug in, loud and boisterous as people argued over which cut was better and devolved into personal attacks. Something warm curled up in your chest and warmed your cheeks, hoping to constrain the ridiculous smile that threatened to split your face. Is this how family looks like?

Watching Jungkook engage Taehyung in a very one sided conversation about the benefits of eating a certain part of the meat versus the other was very different than your empty apartment and lukewarm food.

“Wah, hyung, you’ve really outdid yourself with the chicken,” Hoseok gushed as he took a big bite of your chicken. “Please make it for us more!”

Jin chuckled, and set his chopsticks down. “I didn’t make it, so you’d have to ask her if you want more.”

Namjoon, with a strange light in his eyes, gestured to the nearly empty chicken plate with his chopsticks. “You… made this?”

Nodding in affirmative, you took a sip of your cola and cleared your throat. “Yes, I hope you guys liked it.”

Jungkook choked on his water and Jin rushed over to roughly pat his back. “Breath Jungkookie, breath!”

Hoseok yelled in delight and took out his handphone. “My cute little sister made this for me? Wow, my friends are going to be so jealous!” he grinned, snapping a few nice pictures of your glazed chicken.

Jungkook recovered at this point and was trying to fend off mother-hen Jin. “Hyung, I’m fine! I swear! You don’t have to baby me!,” he whined, cheeks red. “Besides, it was probably a bone or something.”

Your oldest brother huffed and sat back roughly into his seat, muttering something about ungrateful kids, while you tried to roll Jungkook’s comment over in your head. Bone? You used boneless chicken?

Deciding to push it away from your mind, you discreetly glanced at your cell phone and realized it was nearing 8 o’clock.

“Oh dear,” you muttered, catching the attention of the men at the table. “It’s almost 8 o’clock and I need to get home to water my plants,” you fretted.

As if on cue, a crack of thunder shook the table and you heard the rain start to hound at the windows and walls.

“Well, I be-leaf they’re getting watered,” Jin commented, cleaning up the last parts of his plate.

Staring at him in disbelief, you started to giggle and soon you were clutching your stomach with how hard you were laughing.

“Did she like his shitty joke that much?” Jungkook whispered not so discreetly to Namjoon, who looked a bit weirded out himself.

“I’ve- I’ve never met a man with such awful jokes,” you laughed, wiping a tear from your eyes. “But I can’t help finding them so funny.”

The doctor aha-ed and pointed at Jungkook. “See? My jokes are so bad that they’re good!”

Snorting in disbelief, the youngest brother leaned back into his chair with his arms crossed over his built chest. “She’s our sister, she’s obligated to,” he murmurs sulkily. He sneaks a peek at you and you giggle at his adorable moodiness, to which he reddens and avoids your gaze.

Namjoon looked worriedly out the window, quickly turning on the news with his phone.

“— strong windstorms and rains are going to be surrounding Seoul overnight—”

“I can’t, in good conscience, let you go back home in this weather,” Namjoon stated, eyes flickering between you and the loud weather outside.

You hesitated. You were kind of worried for Mr. Ukyo, your cute succulent on the porch. “I—”

“Y/N, please,” Hoseok begged. “What kind of brothers would we be if we left you alone tonight? Stay in. We have a guest room with all the stuff you need.”

“I… okay. Thank you guys,” you smiled uneasily.

Hoseok laughed and patted your back as he got up to put his plate away.

“Sleepover…” Taehyung mumbled as he passed by you. On his way out the door, he gave you a boxy smile that tugged at something in your head.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Cool Type, Yoongi!

Chapter 7: Enter the Cool Type, Yoongi!

“Hi, my cute dongsaeng!” announced Hoseok as he strode into your guest room. “I come bearing gifts!”

You grinned at your exuberant brother as he danced through your doorway, having a pile of stuff in his arms.

“We usually don’t have guests over, but sometimes our mother stays at the house and now we have a bunch of, uh, woman stuff,” Hoseok coughed.

“Thank you, Hoseok-ssi,” you said, moving to sort through the items.

“Call me oppa,” Hoseok whined.

Namjoon peeked through your doorway and saw Hoseok pouting at you, and instantly wacked the back of his head.

“Yah, you literally just met her today. Let her grow more comfortable with us first,” the businessman scolded, before turning to you.

“We have some t-shirts and shorts that don’t fit Jungkook anymore but please don’t tell him that we kept his childhood items,” Namjoon shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “I got you a toothbrush and toothpaste, plus some face products.

“You’re really kind, I feel like I’m in a hotel,” you joked, moving to plug your phone into the wall outlet. The place felt like your hotel suite suddenly got upgraded. This guest room was bigger than your entire living room and everything was so nicely decorated, you couldn’t help but gawk like a tourist at the fancy light fixtures and furniture. Maybe if you broke a vase you’d have to work in a host club...

“Ah, really? That’s nice to hear,” Namjoon said, sitting down in an armchair near the window overlooking Seoul and the Han River. He steepled his fingers together, tilting his head at you. “However, if you moved in, this room would be yours.”

Your slight smile turned slightly downwards and Hoseok, sensing the change of mood easily, turned over and whacked Namjoon over his head.

“Who’s the one going too fast now?” Hoseok retorted, before plopping down on the chair opposite of Namjoon.

“No, no, you’re fine, Namjoon-ssi,” you acknowledged. “I just… I don’t want to intrude. Plus, the amount of testosterone in this building…” you trailed off.

“Y/N-ah, we just met you but we already know you’d be a good fit with our family,” Hoseok said, smiling softly at you. “Seriously.”

“I don’t want to seem overbearing and I know you’re very independent, but the idea of you living alone worries Jin-hyung and I,” Namjoon confessed, wringing his hands and looking towards the window. “What happens if there is any emergency? Or you got sick? It’d be hard for us to take care of you.”

Tears welled up at the edge of your vision and your mouth twitched downwards. Quickly pressing a hand to your mouth, you averted your eyes from the boys.

“Y/N-ssi, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” Namjoon asked worriedly, getting up from the armchair.

You waved him away, discreetly wiping your nose. “I-I’m fine, Namjoon-ssi. Really. I’m just really emotional all the sudden, that’s all.”

“Y/N-ah, are you sure?” Hoseok piped in concern, craning his neck to see your face.

A hand thrust some tissues in front of you and you took them gratefully, dabbing at your eyes.

“I- I just…” you sucked a breath in, and turned towards the fretful pair of brothers. You suddenly beamed at them, eyes crinkling into crescents and grin splitting your cheeks despite the visible tear tracks on your cheeks. “I’ve never had someone care for me. Thank you.”

The two boys felt their heart stutter at the surprisingly vulnerable confession from the ever-polite yet distant you. They shared a look.

We’re in trouble.

———-

The house quieted down and all the lights were turned out as the rain seemed to get louder. However, despite the busy day, you tossed and turned in the very comfy cotton sheets.

Turning on your side, you watched the rain stream down your window in awe. While the window was big, a building partially blocked your view of the Han river and the Seoul skyline. You unplugged your phone from the charger on the wall and looked at the time. 1 A.M.

For some reason, you couldn’t sleep. Perhaps it was the unfamiliar environment or the dozens of thoughts crowding your head, but you couldn’t force your head to turn off despite counting hundreds of sheep.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you untangled yourself from the sheets and set your feet on the heated marble. Padding quietly to the door, you tried your best to open and close the heavy wooden door softly.

The house seemed bigger when it was not filled by the loud voices and eclectic, varied personalities of your brothers. Clutching a throw blanket over your shoulders, you made your way down the stairwell with only the city’s lights shining through the large, floor-to-ceiling windows around the house.

Flicking the low lights on in the kitchen, you searched the many cabinets for where they kept their tea packets. You finally found a jar of chamomile tea in a corner of the pantry, turning on the tea kettle and waiting for it to boil.

Leaning against the corner, your eyes got accustomed to the dark of the living room and roved over the personal effects of the brothers. There was a large picture of all seven boys on the mantle of the fireplace with their mother sitting in the middle, however, you could not see the faces of the two brothers you had not met due to the reflection in the glass.

Could you see yourself living here? With the amiable and fussy Jin, and the mature, erudite Namjoon? Wake up every morning to see the infectiously bright Hoseok at the counter and the mercurial Taehyung floating through the house like a wraith? Even go to school with your confusing classmate, Jungkook?

The kettle whistled loudly and you took it off its burner, pouring water into a cup. Flicking off the underhead lights in the kitchen, you padded towards the living room and curled up on the outrageously soft, leather couch. Blowing on your tea, you took a sip as you gazed in wonder at the rain streaming rivers over the large, bay window.

For years, the rain had been your only friend when your father traipsed the globe. It had softly knocked at your window to check if you were okay when you were sick and playfully splashed you when you were sad. The rain sang you to sleep every night when you were young and alone, afraid of the thundering din outside.

Looking at the portrait of the seven boys, you saw a new family.

Smiling into your tea cup, your mind was made up.

A loud beep rang throughout the house and a click reached your ears. Your eyes tried to look through the darkness at the basement entrance, where a figure clad in all black emerged. Feeling a momentary panic seize your heart, your fingers tightened over your mug and you tried to think straight. This was probably your other brother, Yoongi or Chimmy.

“Oh? Who are you?” A raspy voice said, shutting the door behind him. “Are you one of my brother’s girlfriends?”

Shaking your head, you got to your feet. “No, I’m your new sister, Y/N L/N.”

The figure made an affirmative noise and removed his shoes at the massive shoe closet next to the entrance. “Ah, I see. I’m Yoongi, your second oldest brother.”

A crack of thunder shook the house and a few seconds later, bright white lightning flashed through the room and illuminated you both.

In that split second, you saw pitch black hair constrained by a headband. However, what caught your attention was his eyes. Contrasted against pale skin and fierce, arched brows, were lids shaped like the outstretched wing of a bird. He stared at you lazily before they widened minutely.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Yoongi-ssi.”

“You too,” he mumbled and bowed politely, shuffling up the stairs like a gloomy specter.

You blinked a bit at how calmly he took this into stride. Christ, were your brothers fazed by anything?

—————

“Y/N-ah. Y/N-ah, wake up!”

You groggily opened your eyes to see Jin close to your face, his brows bunched together in concern.

“Y/N-ah, are you alright? You’re on the couch.”

Straightening up you could see that you, indeed, were still on the couch. You must’ve fallen asleep while watching the rain.

“Oh, yeah, I am,” you stated, rubbing your eyes and yawning. “I must’ve fallen asleep here last night.”

Jin sat across you and looked worried. “Did something happen last night? Was the guest room not comfortable? Did—”

“Oh no, nothing like that!” you tried to say. “The sound of the rain was better here.”

He looked at you strangely but accepted it with a shrug of his shoulders. “Anyway, I’m about to make breakfast, why don’t you clean up a bit? I’ll wake up the other brothers.”

You nodded and almost stumbled trying to get off the couch, before Jin caught you with an arm. You turned your head to see his face uncomfortably close to yours.

“Careful,” he whispered, his minty breath trailing across your cheeks and his eyes roving your face.

You felt your cheeks heat up before you almost threw yourself out of his touch. “Yeah, um, thank you!” you yelled behind you before you fled to upstairs.

————

By the time you cleaned your face and put on a bra, all of the boys— in various states of consciousness— were gathered around the dining counter.

“Y/N-ah!” Hoseok said enthusiastically, obviously one of the more awake ones. He wore a pair of flowered pants that ahjummas usually wore and white, long-sleeved tee. “Yoongi came in last night, he’s our other brother.”

“We met last night, Hoseok-ah,” Yoongi mumbled into a large cup that, hilariously, was engraved with the words “Daddy-Size”. “I came home around 1 AM and saw her on the couch.”

“Oh, was everything alright?” Namjoon inquired politely, stretching his broad muscles as he yawned. Even his loungewear looked professional.

Smiling uneasily, you took a seat at the counter next to Jungkook, whose head was buried in his arm. “Yeah, couldn’t sleep and the city lights calmed me down,” you reassured.

Jungkook suddenly jerked awake next to you, alarmed eyes peeking through his messy black hair. “H-huh?”

You grinned at him. “Good morning, Jungkook-ssi.”

He mumbled a good morning in the direction of the ground before his eyes zoomed into something at your collarbone.

‘Y/N-ssi, i-is that my shirt?” he asked shyly— the first words he has directed towards you.

You looked at the oversized navy shirt, which you had tucked into the pair of denim shorts you wore yesterday. “I think? Namjoon told me it was one of your own.”

His gaze whipped to Namjoon and he started sputtering as Namjoon snickered, putting on a pair of thick-framed glasses.

Suddenly, Jin swore as he looked at his phone. “Sorry guys, but there’s an emergency at the hospital. I need to go,” he said rushedly, racing to the closest to put on a pair of tennis shoes. “Yoongi, cook for them!”

He shut the basement door with a slam and suddenly the house was silent.

“Yoongi-hyung, please,” Taehyung, who had emerged from some hallway, begged with a pout on his petal lips. His voice was extra raspy this morning.

The black-haired man grunted before hiding his face behind his coffee cup. You took that as a no.

“We’re going to starve,” Jungkook complained into Hoseok’s shoulder, who cooed and patted the muscled man cutely.

“Well, I can cook for us if you’d like? As a thank you for letting me stay over?” you said nervously. All eyes turned towards you and you gulped, not used to having all of your brothers’ attention on you.

“That’d be lovely,” Namjoon said, squinting at a novel he had produced out of nowhere.

“Aw, is our cute dongsaeng going to cook for us? I’m living the dream,” Hoseok sighed dramatically.

You snorted and got out of your seat. “I saw enough ingredients for what I want to cook, so just sit tight.”

The boys thanked you and some exited the kitchen towards the living room. You tried to remember where you saw the ingredients yesterday, but the kitchen was extremely big and had those weird cabinets where you had to push in a certain corner to open.

“Uh, where are the onions?” you asked no one in particular.

“Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok nudged the still tired looking man. “Next to Jin, you know the kitchen the best.”

The black-haired sighed heavily and got out of his seat, leaving the “Daddy-Size cup” on the counter. He opened the fridge and bent down to a drawer you hadn’t seen. “Green onions.”

You took the bag and thanked, expecting him to leave the kitchen. “What else do you need?”

He stood there, eyes boring a hole through your face. Even as he was sleepy, he still looked like a cool older brother.

Scanning the ingredients, counting the things you had and didn’t, you turned back to him. “Um, I just need butter, tomatoes, and cheese.”

Wordlessly, he grabbed the ingredients and set it down on the counter next to you. Really expecting he’d leave, he surprised you by pulling out a chopping board and knife.

“How do you need the onions and tomatoes cut, Y/N-ssi?” he asked roughly, raspy voice causing the hair at the nape of your neck to rise. You shook your head. He’s your brother, for god’s sake!

“I need both diced, but slice some of the tomato into thin wedges for presentation,” you asked politely.

He nodded and washed both of the vegetables, before quickly and neatly dicing them with an experienced hand.

You broke the eggs and as you whisked the egg mixture with a pair of chopsticks, you decided to break the silence.

“How old are you, Yoongi-ssi?”

He didn’t pause in his slicing. “25 years old. How about you?”

“21, but turning 22 soon.”

Yoongi hummed and started on the tomatoes. “Ah, that means you’re university age then. Are you attending university right now?”

Nodding, you grabbed some salt and pepper to add flavor to the omelette. “Yeah, I’m actually attending Yonsei with Jungkook-ssi. What about you?”

“I’m a freelance producer,” he said carelessly, neatly scraping diced tomato onto a plate. “But I graduated from an arts college overseas in classical performance.”

It seemed like many of the brothers were artistically-inclined, you noted as you washed the spinach. But it amused you that this cool-looking brother of yours, with pierced ears and effortlessly stylish street clothes, could play a fancy-looking instrument.

Your step brother cleared his throat and he stepped back. “Is there anything else you need me to do?”

You looked at the finely chopped tomatoes and onions and shook your head. “No, that’s all. Thank you for helping out.”

He inclined his head and padded out of the kitchen, collapsing on the couch with his hoodie over his head.

Turning on the heat, you put the omelette mixture in the pan and waited for it to cook through. As you were gathering the other ingredients to put in the pan, a chin nestled itself onto your shoulder.

“Oh? What is this?” a deep, husky voice rumbled next to your ear.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Taehyung’s finely chiseled face so close to yours. Squeaking, you turned your attention back to the pan.

“Breakfast omelettes, Taehyung-ssi,” you replied a bit shakily, feeling the weight of his head on your shoulder and his breath puffing into your ear. “I hope you like it.”

Adjusting his bent over position, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face into the crook of your neck. “I will, Y/N-ah. It’ll be delicious.”

Your face flamed and you willed the egg to cook faster, trying not to focus on how his large hands pressed warmly into your stomach.

“Hyung!” Jungkook exclaimed, barrelling out of nowhere. “Hyung, you can’t do that! Stop!”

“Oh? Why not?” the editor asked monotonously, his lips moving over the sensitive skin of your neck. You stiffened and muffled a squeal, neary getting hot oil over your fingers. Your muscled classmate tried, unsuccessfully, to tug Taehyung’s arms from your body but for some reason, Taehyung’s hold on you was ironclad.

In the midst of Jungkook screaming in the background and the shouts of your other brothers, Taehyung sighed heavily and melted into your body. “I miss this,” he murmured.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Cheeky Type, Jimin!

Chapter 8: Enter the Cheeky Type, Jimin!

Over the next few days, you slowly got used to the vibrant and varied personalities of the boys. The brothers were a rowdy bunch but they coaxed you out of your shell with unintentional hilarity and clumsy warmth. Even Jungkook, with your weird first meeting, took to accompanying you throughout school and engaging you in shy conversation. Visiting the house frequently, someone was always there to entertain you and coerce you into trying to move into the house.

However, as the days passed by, you saw neither hide nor hair of the mysterious seventh brother. None of the brothers seemed to be fazed. One day, as Namjoon drove you home, you decided to press the subject.

“Namjoon-ssi? Who is my seventh brother? I haven’t heard much of him,” you inquired shyly.

He hummed, leaning an arm casually against the window and driving between lanes with just one hand. Namjoon didn’t drive as recklessly as Jungkook, per se, but he seemed to think other cars were just nuisances on the road.

“I was wondering when you’d ask about that. Our other brother is not home a lot because he’s usually on tour,” Namjoon revealed in his deep voice. “He’s an idol.”

You gasped and looked at Namjoon in surprise. “You’re fucking with me.”

He chuckled, a chocolatey, rich sound that filled your ears and did funny things to your belly as he turned to exit the highway. “No, I’m not. Our little Chimmy is an idol.”

Taking out your phone, you opened up the web app. “Chimmy? Is that his name? Or does he have a stage name I need to find.”

Namjoon shook his head. “No, his name is Jimin. 23 years old, debuted 3 years ago.”

Smacking your head, you exclaimed, “Oh wait! I know him! I saw his birthday ads all over Seoul a few days ago. Wow, my brother is a celebrity, huh?”

Typing his name into the search bar, millions of results popped into your browser. Gorgeous, fan-taken photos filled the image section and you clicked on one.

Wow. Jimin looked ethereal on stage, in a loose, white shirt and tight, black pants as he performed some sort of strenuous dance move. His plump lips, sharp jawline, and high cheekbones were still stunning in low quality photos. You were seriously starting to think your stepmother secretly paid for them from a lab. It really wasn’t fair that you, an average 4, were now related to solid fifteens.

You clicked on a video with nearly 12 million views of him at a fanmeet event, his eyes crinkling and lips pulled up in a grin as he did aegyo for his adoring fans.

“He’s very popular, isn’t he?” you asked Namjoon rhetorically.

Namjoon snorted. “An understatement. We can’t go out in public with him unless he covers his hair and his entire face. He has security tailing him when we go to crowded places, it’s ridiculous.”

Something clicked in your head. “Ah!” you exclaimed. “That’s why you guys live there! And here I was, thinking you were all paranoid.”

His laugh filled the car again and you got a whiff of his musky cologne as he leaned over to adjust the air conditioner. “Yeah, even when we moved there a few years ago before Jimin’s popularity exploded, he had some crazy fans. Seoyeon, Jin, and I decided to choose Hannam Hill for their security.”

“You’re such good brothers,” you grinned at him. You swore you saw a hint of red beneath his collar as he cleared his throat.

“And we’re lucky we’re gaining such a good… sister.”

You tapped at your purse. “At least with my residence pass I won’t be detained now.”

The man next to you groaned and nearly facepalmed into the driver’s wheel.

“Do you have to remind me of this? I take it back, my sister sucks.”

———

Jungkook and you walked through the campus gates, finished with the Calculus class and exhausted after the test.

“Wait, shit, did I derive number eighteen right?” you fretted, your sweaty hands fiddling with your bag strap. “Oh my god now, I didn’t foil correctly!”

“Relax, Y/N, you did fine,” Jungkook snorted, no longer as painfully shy as he was when he first met you. You never did get why he had such a violent reaction to you at first, though.

“Easy for you to say, Mr. I-don’t-study-yet-I-still-get-A’s,” you huffed in annoyance, accidentally bumping shoulders with him.

He laughed and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. An ‘eep!’ escaped your mouth but you found you couldn’t protest as Jungkook looked down at you with the cutest, bunny smile you had seen.

“Relax, Y/N. It’s just one test.”

You sulked and crossed your arms, trying to push the heat in your cheeks away. Clearing your throat you ducked from underneath his arms. You thought you saw a flash of disappointment in Jungkook’s face, but you quickly linked arms with him so you could walk more comfortably. His eyes widened and he looked upwards, the tips of his ears a flaming red.

Ignoring several stares from your fellow university students, you walked to the campus parking lot where Jungkook had parked his car.

“Jungkook-ah? Which car did you drive today?” you asked, flushing a bit as you heard your own words. Imagine what the you from a few weeks ago would’ve said. What kind of rich bitch did you turn into?

“The silver one. The Mercedes,” he said casually but you knew he was beaming with pride. He had revealed to you, one day when driving home, that he bought this car with his streaming money and not with cash from his brothers or family. Jungkook was insanely protective of this car.

“Gotcha.”

Throwing your bags into the backseat, he started up the car. Feeling that it was a bit hot, you decided to roll down the window. Fumbling for a hair tie in your bag, you decided that putting your hair up would be smart.

“—gry, Y/N?”

“Huh?” you asked confusion, hair tie in your mouth.

“I just asked if you were hungry, Y/N?” he said, voice trailing off in a question as he looked up from his phone. His eyes widened at you.

“Um, not really? But if you are, I can whip us up something once we get home,” you said confidently, twisting your hair into the tie. Huh, when did you start calling it home?

“... Jungkook?”

He nervously cleared his throat as you looked at him, pulling back your hair into the tie. The tip of his ears were red and he seemed a bit flustered. Your brother fumbled with the controls, accidentally turning on the windshield wipers. Biting back a smile, you smoothed down your hair.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

—————

The house was silent as the two of you entered. It seemed no one was in the house today, all of your brothers very busy with their respective jobs.

“I’m going to take a shower, Y/N, “ Jungkook said as he climbed up the stairwell.

You hummed affirmative as you threw your bag at the foot of the coffee table, collapsing into the comfy leather couch. Switching on the TV, you couldn’t find anything interesting so you settled on an entertainment channel.

“Thousands of fans crowded Incheon Airport’s International Terminal today…”

Snuggling into a sun spot on the couch, you nuzzled your face into a pillow. The warmth made you feel drowsy and you decided a quick nap was alright. Nodding off, you could hear the shower turn on upstairs.

“...as international Hallyu star Jimin arrived back in Korea …”

—————

“Oh? Who are you?”

You groggily opened your eyes to the high-pitched voice that was honey to your ears, an unconscious “huh?” coming out of your mouth. In your bleary vision, you saw lavender-blonde hair and pink, plump lips hovering above you.

The man snickered and you felt a smooth hand grasp your jaw to turn your head upwards. Your eyes focused and you swore you were still dreaming, because the face so close to yours could only be an angel’s. Ethereal eyes like a storm looked lazily down at you, his high cheekbones and narrow jaw highlighted by the warm light of golden hour.

“Are you a fan? You shouldn’t be here,” he scolded in a sing-song voice, clicking his tongue as he stroked a thumb over your chin.

You couldn’t think after being awoken from such a deep REM cycle and being near such an unearthly man, your thoughts jumbled and disjointed.

“Naughty, naughty girl,” he whispered, minty breath puffing against your face. “Well, if you’re here, I might as well make the most of it.”

With strength you hadn’t expected, he suddenly caged you into the couch— a leg between yours and the other on the floor, his hands trapping your hands above your heads. His silk shirt brushed against the exposed skin of your belly, making you shiver.

“H-hey!” you said, regaining your thoughts. “What the hell?”

He chuckled, a cruel edge to his voice as his face neared yours. “Oh, playing the innocent card are we?” His lips neared your ear and you froze, eyes wide as his plump lips brushed against your earlobe. “Don’t worry, baby girl, you’re pretty enough to pull it off.”

The man started to press a kiss at space between your ear and neck, and slowly started to trail down your sensitive neck. You inhaled sharply as his teeth and tongue prodded at your skin and he snickered, his voice vibrating against your skin. An involuntarily squeak left your lips as he bit playfully at your collarbone.

“H-Hyung?”

You both turned to see Jungkook, hair still wet from the shower, staring at you two in disbelief. His eyes were wide and his lips were opened in shock as he suddenly froze in the middle of the living room.

“Jungkookie!” the man said brightly, no trace of the breathy, seductive voice he had used to lull you into a trance. His limbs no longer trapped you as the lavender haired man sprang up and ran to the stock-still Jungkook.

“Aw, Jungkookie, I missed you,” the familiar yet still unknown man cooed as he clung to Jungkook’s broad shoulders. “It’s been so long,” he whined, lips pursed in a pout.

Still breathless from lavender boy’s attentions, you sat up on the couch and saw stars as the blood rushed to your head. Blinking to clear it away, you reached up to your neck to touch the spots where lavender boy had touched.

“Jungkook-ah?” you whispered, voice rough from lack of use. “Who’s this?”

Your classmate still stared at you in shock as lavender boy clung to him like a leech, cooing at Jungkook.

“Aw, is this your girlfriend, Jungkookie?” Angel boy said fretfully after a moment of silence. “I’m so sorry, I thought she was a fan! Forgive me!”

You cleared your throat nervously, righting your disheveled clothes and messy hair. “Look, I have no idea who the hell you are, but I am not Jungkook’s girlfriend nor your fan and either way, you should not be— be assaulting unsuspecting girls who just wanted to nap!”

“Who the hell am I?” Lavender boy retorted rudely, no longer seductive or cutesy as his eyes narrowed at you. “I live here, wench!”

“Well I’m about to, fool!” you sneered, crossing your arms.

“Jungkook-ie, call security as I deal with this clearly crazy lady!” The still unknown boy huffed, advancing towards you.

Jungkook finally got out of his trance and grabbed Jimin by the shoulder. “Jimin-Hyung, stop! Haven’t we talked about her in the groupchat a lot? She’s our new sister!”

Jimin froze and his eyebrows lifted minutely, whirling around to look at Jungkook. “Wait, what? We have a sister now?”

He looked at you differently, eyes scanning your figure disinterestedly. “Did Seoyeon—” he spat out the name like it was stale gum in his mouth, “—find another baby we didn’t know about? Another poor bastard like me?”

You got whiplash with how much he changed moods and started to inch away. Well, it seemed like your step brother was nothing like how he portrayed himself in the videos you had seen online about him. A frown pushed at your lips.

Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, hyung, mom got married again to Y/N’s father. She’s our new step sister now.”

Jimin stayed silent before he turned to you again, his eyes mocking. A shit-eating smirk crawled up his lips. “Well, sister dearest, welcome to the family!”

Arc: Character Introductions Ended. Press [ X ] to continue?

A/N: If you’ve watched BroCon and you’re curious to who each person is based on, here’s the guide:

Jin (Doctor) = A mixture of Uyko and Masaomi

Namjoon (Businessman) = Natsume

Jungkook (Gamer/ Uni Student) = Yusuke

Hoseok (Dancer) = Himself lol he was supposed to be Subaru but i didn’t want to make him super angsty. Don’t worry, in this story he’ll be more than just his stage persona :)))

Taehyung (Magazine editor) = Louis

Yoongi (Producer) = mixture of Yuusuke’s tsundere-ness and Iori’s calmness

Jimin (Idol) = Fuuto with a bit of Tsubaki’s personality

Anyways, if you enjoyed it, please comment and reblog!!! I appreciate any feedback you may have, whether it be a sentence or a whole dang paragraph— I love it all :))) Please, if you’re doing okay, please help me pay for school through my Ko-Fi (link in my profile).

Arc II: Decisions and Settling In will be released in a month!! Comment if you’d like to be tagged :))

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inlovewithhisblueeyes · 3 years

Text

Stuck in Your Head

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader

Word Count: ~2.7K

Warnings: Descriptive Depressive Episode and Discussions about Prescription Medications (specifically missing doses and having side effects)

A/N: This is my first time writing RPF so I decided to stick with something I know well. I substituted my own best friend’s name in so I didn’t have to deal with the pesky acronyms cluttering the story.

Buried underneath the covers, you were safe even though sleep continued to elude you. The chill of the morning was unable to pierce the walls of your blanket fortress. While the soft pitter-pattering of rain on your window would normally be able to lull you to dreamland, you were left to watch the rise and fall of the fabric.

Early daylight had danced its way across the room a millennia ago. No matter how deep you burrowed into your little nest, the light would seep through. So you tucked your head underneath your pillow and fought the urge to continuously check your phone. Watching time tick past would only make these growing frustrations and anxieties worse.

You remained curled up with your knees close to your chest, willing your hands to stop their shaking. All those exercises you had been taught in therapy seemed fruitless. Nothing could alleviate this numbness that had settled in your bones. Time continued to pass as you laid there, only daring to leave your bed’s warm embrace when your bladder was screaming in agony.

The spot where you laid never had to the time to cool. You were always sucked right back to it in record time like every episode before. Brain fog would cause the same thing every time. The days would seem to just blend into one another, a cycle of light and shadows that would chase each other around the ceiling. You would have no idea if you took your meds, what day it was, or even the last time you ate. Time would be nonexistent in your little blanketed world.

A soft vzzzzt came from outside your safe zone. Moving your hand slightly, you could just barely feel the vibrations of your phone. You paused as you tried to decide if you had enough energy to answer. It was most likely unimportant, another robocall about some silly matter. Sighing heavily, you drew your hand back to its previous position.

Silence fell over the room once more and you breathed a sigh of relief. You forced your eyes shut in hopes that you could finally sleep. Not more than a few moments passed before the quiet was broken yet again. The soft vzzzzt returned, requiring you to begrudgingly open your eyes. You hissed as you slowly rolled over, just enough to reach over and drag your phone under the covers with you.

You flipped your phone over as your best friend’s face filled up the screen. You know you should answer it, but you didn’t want to worry her. Ariel has enough going on without you dragging her into your shit. You quickly shot off one of those automated responses saying you’re busy and you’ll call back later before declining the call.

Carefully shoving your phone back out from under your blanket pile, you tried once more to adjust and get comfy. Finally, it seemed that the sleep you craved is upon you. You yawned before nestling your head deeper into your pillow and letting your eyes fall shut.

You woke up sometime later and noticed that the bedroom is almost completely dark. You dare to glance at your phone and it’s only 6 pm. Stiff limbs quickly made themselves known as you tried to stretch. They crack and pop as you finally moved them, each crying out desperately for motion.

Slowly you sit up and allow yourself to slip out from your burrito. Every movement feels as if you’re wading through an endless pool of molasses. You rise to feet carefully and your knees buckle as they wake up to support you. Ambling towards the kitchen, you tried to scrounge up the desire for anything other than a few mints.

Your pickings are rather slim. Even then everything would take longer than you know you have the energy to stand for. Huffing as you grabbed handful of mints before you make your back to bed. You crawled back into bed, grabbing your laptop in hopes you can find someway to pass the next round of sleepless.

Popping a mint in your mouth and scrolling through the various entertainment options, you happened across a show you know very well. Another time you might have smiled at your luck. Of course it recommends something that he was in. Rolling over to grab your phone, you unlock it to check what time it is over there.

2 am the clock answered. You swallowed the lump in your throat, remembering what he said last time.

“I don’t care what time it is. If you need me, call. I’d do anything for you. “

You glance at the clock once more and you lose your nerve.

“He’s halfway across the world right now and under enough stress. You’ll talk to him again when Friday comes around” you rationalize internally, “That’s more than 3 days away. You’ll be back to your usual by then. You always are.”

You shake your head and push the phone off the bed. Tucking an arm under your head and curling your knees to your chest, placing your laptop on top of them. You settle in with Forensic Files, hoping that Peter Thomas’s voice will eventually get you more sleep.

Sleep doesn’t come. You’ve lost count of how many episodes of Forensic Files that you’ve watched. All of them have blurred together. Once again the sun’s rays slowly painted your room in an array of reds, oranges, and finally yellows. Two more rounds of soft vzzzzt that go unanswered cause you to retreat back under the blankets once more.

For how long you remain there is unknown. All you known is that you’re forced to get up by your throbbing bladder. Then you’re back in your bed, curled up around a pillow and begging for sleep to come. Your body is sore, your mind is all fogged up, and by the time you do feel sleepy, the sun must be high in the sky.

Here's to another day of waking up after the sun has set. Daylight Savings Time is a bitch. There’s no use in checking your phone. You stretched and tried to sum up the strength to move your feet, knowing you need to at least try to make your way to the kitchen. Each step causes a shooting pain in your underused appendages.

Leaning against the counter, you grabbed a package of Cup Ramen from the cabinet. Not the healthiest choice, but the one that will take the shortest amount of time to cook. Adding the water and setting it in the microwave is the easiest part; having the strength to wait the 3 minutes to cook is the hardest.

Anxiety seeps in as you watched the timer go down. Tapping your fingers against your thigh, you tried to pass the time without throwing yourself into an anxiety attack. Finally, the microwave beeps and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You opened the microwave and quickly stirred the contents of the cup together.

You make the trip back to the bed that’s been calling your name since you left. Although you’re not hungry, you have to try to eat. You ate earlier right?....Your stomach hadn’t give any indication of hunger. You ate as much as you could stomach before leaving the unfinished meal beside your bed.

Grabbing your laptop, you scrolled through for something, anything to distract you. In a moment of clarity, you remembered that last time he mentioned a nature documentary which he said you should watch. You found it easily and turned it on, curling your body around your laptop. In your bones, the numbness reared it’s ugly head once more.

The animals in documentary didn’t cause you to laugh at their antics like they usually would. You had to pause it. You felt like you were drowning in this void. What once might have been enough to drag you out of the darkness, no longer could do so. You had been doing so well; going to your appointments and working on coping with your trauma only for the empty pit to gobble you up once more.

Screwing your eyes shut as you take in one shaky breath after the other. Whatever strength that was left in your tired limbs, you willed to help get you through. You needed to be fine, he needed you to be fine. Every inch of you shook with hurt and sorrow as sleep waded in and out of your mind. It took forever to succumb.

A gentle chime woke you from your fitful sleep. You laid underneath your mountain of blankets and watched the gentle rise and fall that came with every breath you took. You blinked a few times as you attempted to stretch out your body. The chime had stopped by the time you were finally able to peak your head from where it was tangled in your cocoon.

The noise had emanated from your laptop. You inwardly curses yourself because you only know what that means. You left yourself logged into Skype and you reached a hand over to check who called. However, as soon as you did, the chime started up again, his name flashed on your screen.

A sob threatened to break loose from your lips. It couldn’t have been Friday already. Skype dates only happened on Friday and Saturdays, that was your routine. You glanced around your room and contemplated slamming your laptop closed. Based on the colors of the sun that painted your bedroom’s walls, it was early, much too early for his call.

Deep down you knew he would keep calling until you responded and as much as it pained you to do so, you had to give into him. You moved the cursor to hover over the accept button. With a deep breath, you clicked accept. You waited for the swoosh that always came before his face filled the screen.

You couldn’t face him like this. He didn’t deserve this. Your stomach was already upset, it didn’t need your anxiety making it worse. Burying your face in your hands, you heard the tell-tale noise that the call connected.

“Darling, there you are,” he exclaimed.

You had no choice but to peek between your fingers to see his smiling face. He looked so happy and full of light. You couldn’t dare to bring him down from his high. He was worthy of so much more, someone who wasn’t empty. Surely he could see that.

“As much as I’d love to talk your lovely hands, I’d rather talk to that face of yours.”

“Hen-“ Your voice cracked from not being used in so long.

“Please,” He begged.

Every inch of your body quaked, the inevitable was here. He would see you, see how broken and lost you were, and wouldn’t be able to take it. The expiration date for your time together was today.

“Please, sweetheart.” He tried again, his voice no louder than a whisper.

You shook your head in silent agreement to his plea. Trembling, your hands pealed away from your face and finally you saw your boyfriend’s face fully. Messy curls were strewn across his forehead and there was an inkling of stubble making an appearance on his face. His eyes were bright and warm as always. You could just barely make out the brown amongst the blue at the top of his left eye.

“There you are,” Henry murmured, his voice dropping an octave.

“Hen-“

“Shhhh... I know it’s not Friday but I wanted to see you. Ariel was worried. I was worried.”

“I’m so sorry-” You started as you felt tears beginning to form in the corners of your eyes.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, love. I’m happy to see your face. I would ask how you are, but I think I know. Have you been taking your meds?”

“I don’t remember. All I know my stomach is a bit upset,” you whispered as the first hot tears rolled down your cheeks.

“I’d reckon it’s been a few days then,” Henry sighed, ”Do you think could get up and make some green tea? That’s always helped in the past.”

You groaned, flopping backwards onto your bed. A few moments pass by in silence as you weighed your options.

“I can try.”

“That’s all I’m asking for, sweetheart,” admitted the blue eyed man,” How about you bring me with you?”

You nodded slowly. Henry was always good at reading you. It seemed that regardless of the distance between the two of you and the blurriness of the camera, his skill hadn’t waned. He knew you so well and right now you were thankful for that. There was so much you couldn’t say right now, you didn’t have the energy nor the clarity to do so.

Stretching your arms above your head, you winced at the stiffness in them. You had to do this, you had to fight that little voice in your head. You carefully moved yourself to the edge the bed. Taking a much needed deep breath, you forced your aching body to sit up. Gently, after a few moments, you maneuvered yourself to stand on your feet.

You glanced over at your computer screen and saw nothing but pride and encouragement in his blue eyes. It gave you the required push to grab your laptop and make your way towards the kitchen, tired body be damned. Normally, you feel safe and content in the silence with him. The freezing emptiness that had made it’s home amongst your bones and mortal flesh flourished in it.

“How’s filming going?” You croaked.

Henry was quick to fill the crushing silence “Remember that scene I mentioned to you last time…” His hearty timbre warming the outermost parts of your mind. Puttering around the kitchen, you put the kettle on and grabbed your favorite mug while listening. He could be speaking about blue-footed boobies and you would still be rapt.

Sooner than you would of liked, the kettle sung it’s annoying little tune. Carefully, you snatched it off the stove and poured into the waiting mug. You dropped the teabag in and leaned up against the counter. Glancing over at the computer, you saw Henry watching you with a smile on his face.

“Good job, sweetheart,” Henry beamed.

You tried to blink away the tears that remained in your eyes. “I boiled water. Nothing too special about that.”

“You know what I mean.”

Shakily setting the down the mug, you forced yourself to take some deep breaths, but it does nothing to stop the onslaught of tears. They blazed in hot trails down your cheeks.

“My brain doesn’t work, Hen. The fog sets in and it’s like I can’t do the simplest tasks. I can’t even just go through the motions,” You sobbed

“Oh, darling,” his voice barely a whisper and your gaze remained on the floor, arms wrapped around your quaking form.

“Nothing’s working…. I’m so tired of feeling like this. I don’t even feel alive anymore. Just empty and cold all the time.”

Silence fell over the two of you once again; only being pierced by your shuddering breaths as you tried regain control. It took a few moments to calm yourself. You brushed away the remaining tears and finally glance up at him.

“I’m sorry,” You murmured.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to apologize. I know you’re struggling. I’m worried about you being all alone right now with everything that’s going on,” Henry admitted,” How about you ask Ariel to come stay with you? Just until I finish filming.”

“I…I can do that.”

“I want you to know you don’t have to stick to our schedule. I know you like the consistency it brings, but I don’t mind if you call other times, love. I’d be happy to hear your voice more often.”

Nodding your head, you grabbed your abandoned tea and took a sip. “I love you, Henry.”

“I love you too. We’re in this together, us against the problem.”

Somehow his words seemed to pierce at the remaining chill in your body. He was exactly what you needed, your lighthouse in the storm. No matter how far apart you may be, you’ll always find your way back to his loving embrace.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #real person fiction #celebrity fanfiction #henry cavill x you #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #rpf

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 27

First time reader click here

TWs/Summary: If you read carefully, you knew this; if you didn't: reader was drugged at the party. Hangover from Hell ft. boys being cute, Loki being best friend material and reader fully integrating him into the Gen-Z community via Monster energy drinks and depressive music whilst being sad. I live for Loki/reader friendship tbh.

So folks, this is the last big plot thing before the endgame. I reckon it's about 10-15 chapters left until out happy ending and the next bit is going to focus on developing reader's and Stephen's relationship. There will be smutty parts too - either chapters or interludes, idk, depending on how well they'll integrate into the story.

I love y'all.

Ow, was my first thought upon waking up. My head throbbed something fierce, the pressure behind my eyelids was unbearable and my mouth tasted like a bog on a sunny summer's day. I was warm, from both sides, and one of the bodies felt foreign in everything besides the smell - sandalwood leaked through the lead curtain of alcohol and sex.

Needless to say, I had trouble piecing together the fine details of last night but had enough coherence to remember our... Activities. I was sore and Strange's long arm was still possessively draped over both me and Tony. The luck was on my side as I carefully wiggled out of his grasp, padding to the bedroom on quiet feet. The sorcerer barely moved, only grumbling briefly at the loss of my warmth and immediately quieting, shamelessly snuggling into Tony.

I would have not exaggerated if I said it was the worst hangover of my life. It was baffling, really, because I'd gone way wilder and didn't suffer half as much after effects; my first attempt to brush my teeth ended with my face resting against the toilet bowl, my empty stomach rejecting what little liquid in it was left as the room spun on its axis. That was incredibly embarrassing and I hoped my boys wouldn't wake up to witness my best impression of a bum - and they didn't, both men still sound asleep and interwined like snakes when I put on the shirt closest to me and departed in search of coffee.

My mood only worsened. Steve and Bucky were already up, shoveling an impressive amount of eggs and bacon, as Bucky quietly teased Steve about his own hangover. The blonde man was slightly greenish, disheveled - we traded equally glum looks and nodded to each other in silence. The smell of food made my stomach churn and I retreated, one black coffee in hand, towards Bruce's lab, having been informed by Friday that neither Tony not Stephen planned on waking up.

"Morning, Princess," Bruce smiled kindly, pushing his glasses out of the way to hold me close and give me a sweet kiss. "Had fun? The boys still asleep?"

I giggled at Bruce calling Tony and Stephen boys. "Yeah. I wouldn't be wearing Stephen's shirt if he was up and about, I think." I pointed out the obvious.

Bruce chuckled, holding my face to give me a long, thoughtful look. I stared back, hoping convey my respect and adoration without having to say a word; like Tony, I wasn't particularly apt when it came to talking feelings. Whatever Bruce was looking for, he found it, and sealed it with another kiss, twice as long and twice as sweet. We stood like that, my head on his shoulder and my arms firmly holding him to myself, until the elevator dinged behind the glass wall, revealing a shirtless Stephen and Tony in his pajama pants, both men bickering animatedly.

"Aw shit, here we go again," I rolled my eyes, unhappy about the possibility of the magic being broken. I rather preferred all three men to be like yesterday: friendly, kind and relaxed.

"I will kick them out if I have to," Bruce shrugged, turning me around to face them.

Tony smiled, seeing me, stopping mid-conversation. "Princess, I am disappointed in your lack of manners. You left me with Merlin and he is mean." The engineer unceremoniously snatched me from Bruce and smooched me, hangover breath and all.

"Gross, Tony," I rolled my eyes, giving the man a light shove in the chest. "Morning, Steph," I addressed the third man who had gone back to his usual stoic expression. Just to see his resolve crack, because I loved pushing his buttons, I gave him a good morning kiss too, and was unexpectedly blown away by the eager response from his side. As I pulled back, I noticed his cheeks dusting a light pink.

"I came to get my shirt but I think you'd rather keep it," The sorcerer's fingers caressed my skin beneath the collar of his shirt, voice still low and scratchy from sleep and those magnetic eyes fixated on the exposed flesh of my chest, no trace of previous awkwardness.

"You sure 'bout that?" I pushed one of the sides off, exposing my shoulder, seeing Tony gulp the remainder of my coffee, one hand already messing with the screen that Bruce was focused on. "I think I look better without it," I would never miss an opportunity to tease the uptight man.

"Quite," He grinned, "It's a shame I didn't get to see much last night..." Two could play this game, okay.

"Oh, but you will," Tony piped up suddenly, a hint of smugness in his voice barely covered by Bruce's fond chuckle. I really didn't know what to say, suddenly overwhelmed with the attention, my emotions amplified by the hangover - party drugs tended to exaggerate my anxiety on the comedown.

And what a comedown it was. My social energy ran out very quickly so I complained about a nasty headache and retreated into my room, Bruce's gentle hands pressing a bottle of Ibuprofen into my own. Despite my attempts to tame my rioting body, it got worse before it got better and shortly before lunch, I had thrown up twice more. Pissed off, I ran a bath with cold water and sat in it until I felt somewhat human to prepare myself for a journey to Wanda's apartment - as a last resort, I was going to chug on of Pietro's Monster energy drinks that I knew he kept hidden there.

The retrieval was a success. Cans securely hidden in the kangaroo pocket of Tony's oversized hoodie I had thrown on, I had to make a haste detour to throw up once again - the closest bathroom was in Loki's apartment and I only managed to knock twice before throwing open the door and making a mad dash for the porcelain throne, a very confused Asgardian following my movements with raised eyebrows.

"Hangover from Hell," I croaked once the first wave subsided. Loki nodded in understanding, waved a hand to summon me a water bottle and shut the door behind himself.

As I sat there, desperately trying to understand why was I feeling like utter shit... It clicked. Bile rose to my throat once again, and I just dry heaving, mulling my revelation over and over again.

I didn't take any drugs. I had been drugged. My memories became hazy and dream-like shortly after someone had given me the drink... Someone, who? It was a split-second moment; Sam, even in his drunk state, didn't keep his eyes off me for too long. Maybe it had been someone the team knew? Possibilities began playing out in my head. Cursed was my overactive brain - the anxiety from the leftover drugs was making me panic.

"Fuck, FUCK," My hands shook - I only noticed it because I had spilled water on myself, adding cold and wet to the unpleasant sensations I was already experiencing. "Why am I such a fucking fuck-up." Taking a drink from a stranger seemed downright idiotic now. Middle school bullshit.

"Are you alright?" Loki's worried voice interrupted my inner monologue.

"Yes," I replied, voice cracking. "No. I don't fucking know."

The door all but flew open, the Asgardian taking several long strides to take a good long look at me. The frown on his face tells me all I needed to know about my physical and mental state.

A slender hand tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "What happened?"

I laughed tersely, feeling tears to begin welling in the corners of my eyes. "I'm an idiot," Seeing his face get annoyed briefly, I conceded: "I got drugged yesterday. My drink."

The hand that he had slid between my shoulder blades froze. I felt his whole body go rigid and his nostrils flare, the smell of ozone and something foreign - magic - filling the small space. The air around us became charged with the power of his anger. "Pardon?" His voice was dangerously quiet.

I physically fought with the need to flinch away from him, settling for lowering my eyes and staring at the dark stain on my hoodie. "I got carried away dancing. Someone handed me a drink and my stupid ass just shotgunned it," I confessed, picking at the wet spot. "And I can't tell anybody because I had a threesome with Stephen and Tony," I suddenly realised, my voice raising in pitch. "They're gonna think I didn't want it and feel bad. You know how Tony blames himself for everything under the sun..." Another wave of dizziness and nausea hit me as I leaned against the wall closest to me.

"Alright," Loki conceded after a brief pause. "We absolutely are telling the others. I'll make sure they understand," The Asgardian stated firmly in a tone that bore no argument. Seeing me lift my head to protest, he interrupted me before I could say anything: "Did you... Did you want it?" He asked me, hooking a single finger under my chin to look me in the eye.

I nodded, feeling my face heat up.

"You're not lying. The team knows of my ability to detect lies. Nobody will blame anyone..." Loki trailed off, obviously already plotting something. I wished it were a prank both of us were conspiring on instead of... Trying to make sense of this cluster fuck of a shit show. The circus called, they seemed to have left their clowns behind. "Although I will have a word with Sam." The Asgardian muttered darkly.

"No, it's not his fault. I just got too relaxed, I need to pucker up and be responsible for myself," I protested, damn well knowing it wasn't the Bird's fault. Everyone was drunk and I should've known better.

"It's not yours either," Loki sneered, seeing right through my self-loathing. It took a deep, slow sigh for him to calm down. His expression softened and the hand that was on my back resumed the gentle stroking as he scooted closer to me to press my side against his chest. "Vile people of this kind aren't exclusive to Midgard. It could have happened to anyone."

I nodded, my logical part briefly taking over as the waves of nausea and dizziness waned. I stifled a giggle, coming to another sudden revelation. "You holding up my hair as I barf out my hangover? That makes you qualified for the position of my Best Friend," I stated with a snort.

Loki chuckled, relaxing bit by bit. "I accept the position," His voice was unusually soft and a little bit shaky; I chose to tactfully ignore it. "Shall I call for assembly in the war room?"

I sighed, the dread and anxiety creeping it's way back in. "Can we just... Wait a bit? I have something- hold on-" I rummaged around my pocket, taking out two cans of Monster. Loki eyed them curiously and I extended one to him. "It probably won't do much for you but for me it's a last-resort hangover cure." I popped open the metal cap, seeing him do the same. "Be warned though, it tastes kinda funky if you're not used to it," I announced the disclaimer but it simply egged Loki on.

The scrunched up face he made was pretty funny. "It's sour but sickeningly sweet at the same time? I can't tell," He briefly eyed the written ingredients on the can.

"There are a bunch of flavors. Pietro likes the plain one, I like the purple one better, it's not so tongue-burning." I paused to inhale loudly. "If this is what college life looks like, I don't want to go," Mustering up my courage and gathering my balls in a knot, with one broad motion I closed my nose and poured the carbonated acid down my throat until my eyes watered. "Gimme a minute," I hiccuped, trying to keep it down.

Wide-eyed, Loki took a chaste sip of his own drink, eyeing me warily. He looked part impressed part disgusted with the little stunt. "I am pretty certain that is counter-productive."

"Caffeine make brain and body go skrrt," I argued back. "Friday, play my "grant me the sweet release of death" playlist. I'm upset," I announced and the AI obliged silently, the first notes of Placebo's 'Exit Wounds' beginning to play. If I was going to mop in a stranger's bathroom, I was going to do it with style. Even if said style was just simply stealing in my own misery with emo background music.

Loki stared at me, I stared back, both of us lost in our respective minds. At one point, he began swaying to the music slightly, resting the cool tin of the can against his cheek; I followed suit, mouthing along to some of the lyrics. It took us about a dozen songs to finally finish the liquid acid that was Monster energy drink and my ass felt like the bathroom tile itself: flat and hard.

"Do you ever feel like the universe just hates you for no fucking reason?" I groused, taking Loki's outstretched hand and slowly feeling the blood rush back to my legs.

"You wouldn't believe," He rolled his eyes in solidarity, vanishing away the empty containers. "Norns, give me a Hel-damned break."

I laced his arm through mine as we exited his apartment, feeling considerably less upset than I was before. I couldn't protect myself, but one look at Loki's sullen, irritated expression was bound to scare off anyone who dared to interrupt our mission.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95

#party favours #bun writes #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x y/n #tony stark x you #tony stark x reader #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader

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recollins · 3 years

Text

! HIATUS OVER !

Hello, my precious lil rays of sunshine ❤️

I know it's been a while, and I wanted to start off with saying I'm so sorry for that hiatus. I feel like a broken record at this point always saying this, but I can't even begin to tell you how much your love and support means to me. This is the first time logging back in to everything since January and I am so blown away by all the love you've given me.

Under the cut, I've put a longer explanation for those that want to read it. For those that don't have time to read my ramblings, the brief version is this:

-I'm alright, I just absolutely suck at handling stress (I know, I hide it so well...) and needed to step away from everything for a little bit to get myself back in a better place.

-SLAS will be updated next Monday! I aimed for this Monday but missed the mark and don't wanna rush out a half-assed chapter. But it'll be there for you next week. I promise.

-I have read all your messages here, on AO3, and FF.net. I will be responding to all of them, I promise! It just might take a bit but I promise I'll get to anything I've received.

Again, thank you all so much. I love you guys, I appreciate your patience, and I'm really happy I had all of you to come back to. I hope you're all still invested in Aria's story because I've got so much more to share with you!

❤️, Rea

As mentioned above, my ability to handle stress is absolutely abysmal. My go-to for coping has always been to just shut down and pull away from literally everyone and everything. This time was no exception, and life was just not done dropping everything onto my shoulders and it just got to be too much.

You all pretty much know by now I was in an abusive relationship for 13 years, and I ended that last April (which is what kicked off SLAS). 2020 was ridiculously stressful enough with COVID, and that was sprinkled on top. I bury my emotions (wow, shocker, I know) and had kind of been just pushing aside all I'd gone through because I didn't want to deal with it. The repercussions of that came out when I lost my Grandma and I was in a rough spot. After that brief hiatus, I was trying to convince myself I was alright and I just sort of ignored the signs of distress and depression until they blindsided me. My work has been incredibly stressful, my financial situation is stressful now that I live alone - Colorado is ridiculously expensive for no reason - and I was trying to help my sister and my best friend simultaneously deal with their own depression and stress and everything came together at once. The cherry on top was officially getting diagnosed with ADHD, it's something that had been on the table for a while but now with it official, it all just felt like too much and I retreated.

Social media can be extremely stressful and overwhelming for me and Tumblr is no exception. I love the site - love all of you - but when I'm in that headspace, everything is too much and I didn't want that extra stress on top of everything else. I hadn't written anything since the beginning of January and felt really, really terrible for not updating - then worse for just disappearing - and instead of just taking time to log in and be like 'hey guys I'm not dead I'm just stressed' my mind rationalized that the best thing to do was literally nothing. Like I said, I know I don't cope very well.

In March, I was finally getting ahold of things, and felt a little better. I was getting back into writing, and was getting back on the social media wagon, when I lost my other Grandma suddenly and unexpectedly. My family is about as open with communication as Hotch is, and we don't really tell each other things. Like, my mom was in the hospital for a week with life threatening blood clots and no one told me anything until a week after she'd been released. I found out last year I have two uncles from both sides of my family that I've never heard about. I'm 28. My baby cousin (who's like a brother to me) moved cross-country with his wife and has been living in North Dakota for 2 years, and I found this out not a month ago when they announced she's pregnant. So, it's no surprise no one mentioned that my Grandma had stage four lung cancer and was on the way out, until I got the call that she'd passed away. My gramma, lost in December, had been on the decline for a while and in hospice for a couple months before she passed, so it was hard, but I had time to brace for it. Losing my Grandma in March hit me unexpectedly hard and it had me pulling in once again.

I can say now that I'm doing better. Taking a step back and using the time to get myself in the right headspace has been long-needed, and for the first time in a while I can say I feel like I'm on solid ground again. I'm back at writing and I finally got over the anxiety of just logging in and reading all your comments and messages. It might sound a little odd, but I'd put off logging in for a while because I didn't want to see how much I'd let you all down. I've really, really missed talking to you guys and updating the story. It was really and truly the highlight of my year, and I've felt awful for leaving you all like I did. You guys have been so sweet and understanding. All your messages have assured me you were more concerned about me than the updates, and that touched me more than I can say. I know you've all missed the story too, and I just want to say I'm really sorry for dipping out the way I did.

If you read all of this, bless your heart, because that's a lot and I know I'm ridiculously long-winded with my writing. I really appreciate you sticking around if you've been with me for a while, and if you're new to all of the chaos that is my life, I'm so sorry this is what you came into lol. I promise things are better now and like I said above, I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to writing for you guys again.

I love you all ❤️

#I'M BACK!#yeah I know I disappeared again what a surprise #tw: depression #tw: anxiety #tw: death mention #general warning: I wrote a lot and rambled because im nervous #slas #something like a star

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averykedavra · 4 years

Text

Set All My Regrets on Fire

Anyone up for some post-POF Roceit angst? I’m way late to the party, but hey, let’s do this. This is for a WTIYS by @hitmewiththatfanart33, who’s a great writer and seems like a really nice person. Check ‘em out if you haven’t already! Congrats on 1k, you deserve it!

This is based around Out on the Town by Fun, a banging song, and I played it on loop while writing this! You can find this fic on Ao3 here.

Words: 10,756 (yeah I can’t write oneshots what of it)

Pairings: platonic Roceit

Warnings: self-hatred, bad self-care, food mentions, extra arms, negative self-talk, sleep deprivation, a bit of an identity crisis, fire, anxiety, panic attacks, crying, some symptoms of depression and/or disassociation, very brief suicidal ideation (only in reference to ducking out), sympathetic everyone including Remus (even though there are some less-than-charitable mentions, it’s because Roman and Janus are in a bad place).

Summary: Roman wants to apologize. Janus wants to explain. It’s a shame neither of them can work up the courage to say hello.

---

I knew there would come a day when all was said and done.

Roman is standing in front of Janus’ door.

It’s a nice door, rather simplistic, with a golden doorknob and a little knocker in the center and a peephole set right below it. Roman’s carefully avoiding the peephole, but if Janus tried hard enough, he could probably see Roman standing in the hallway like he’s waiting for a coffee.

Maybe he wouldn’t recognize Roman, though. Roman isn’t wearing his usual costume. He needed something soft and comfortable, so he stole Virgil’s old hoodie. It’s a darker color scheme than he’s used to, but not too bad, and it settles around his shoulders and makes him feel protected. He’d worry about being teased by Virgil, but Virgil hasn’t come out of his room for days.

Roman pulls it tighter around him. If he closes his eyes, it’s almost like he’s getting a hug, or he’s weighed down by blankets during a sleepover, Disney playing in the background as he does Patton’s nails.

That hasn’t happened for weeks. Janus has watched movies with Patton and nobody else came. Roman lurked in the doorway before turning away, retreating to his empty room and a too-dark hoodie.

A little voice in his head says, you should get used to the dark.

Roman ignores it. He’s good at that, ignoring anything he doesn’t like. Logan, for instance. Or the flaws in his own ideas. Or Janus’ biting words.

Well, that last one has evaded him. They flit around his head like fiery butterflies, searing away his thoughts, whispering when he tried to sleep.

That’s why he’s here.

Standing in front of Janus’ door, one hand raised, trying to work up the courage to knock.

He is courage. He’s a Gryffindor, bold and brave and passionate. So why can’t he make his hand fall? The whole world has frozen around him, waiting in expectation, eyes crawling up his spine. He’s always loved the stage. He always bears the burden of being the center of the attention. Now he feels exposed, wrong, a glossy photo cut from a magazine and pasted into this scene. He scuffs his feet on the floor and hopes no one walks by at this moment and sees how ridiculously pathetic Roman is being. There’s a slim chance of that. Virgil’s in his room, Logan’s in his room, Patton’s in the kitchen baking mounds of cookies and smiling a brittle smile at anyone who enters. Maybe Remus will show up and knock Roman out again. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad--it would be an excuse not to talk to Janus.

He tries to picture Janus’ reaction. Maybe Janus will ignore his knock. Maybe Janus will attack him, berate him, tell him he’s not welcome here. He hasn’t been hostile towards Roman whenever they cross paths, but he hasn’t been kind, either. Mostly he’s just ignored Roman. Roman’s done his best to return the favor, skipping family dinners and staying in his room. At first Patton tried to get him out, but Patton must have given up, because the knocks stopped coming.

Worse, Janus might pity him. He certainly looks a mess, standing in the hallway in his best friend’s hoodie, hair greasy and falling over his face. Janus might forgive him more easily if Roman looked pathetic. However, the very idea stings. He doesn’t want reluctant or guilty forgiveness--he wants the real thing. And isn’t that so selfish of him?

He could fix everything, of course. He could snap his fingers and get rid of the hoodie, sweep his hair back from his face, rub away the bags under his eyes from several sleepless nights, rub the wrinkles from his black shirt. But that wouldn’t erase the fact that he’s forgotten how to smile.

It’s easy. It should be easy. He’s practiced it in the mirror a thousand times. Crinkle the eyes, lift the corners of the mouth, scrunch the nose, pull the smile tight until it tickles his cheeks. He’s an actor. He should be able to look like he’s happy to be here, look like he’s happy at all, yet he can’t find the right combination. He tries to smile and it feels too stretched, too forced, too disjointed. He lets it fall because he doesn’t think he could bear to let it exist a moment more.

Janus isn’t the only liar here, is he?

It’s just one smile, he tells himself, trying again. This time he barely manages to lift the corners of his mouth before he lets his face collapse.

And he’s supposed to be an actor. Pathetic.

Roman rubs his face and clutches the jacket for warmth. He should give it back to Virgil. Virgil doesn’t wear it anymore, but he tends to panic whenever something isn’t in its place. Yeah, he’ll go give it to Virgil, leave it in a bundle by the door or just sneak it back into the closet. He can conjure his own jacket. Even though it won’t feel the same, won’t have the same comforting weight, like Virgil has his back.

He’s really a mess right now. His lips are cracked and he won’t stop curling into himself like he wants to disappear.

Maybe he does, just a bit.

Roman sighs and turns away from Janus’ door.

He’ll come back when he looks the part.

---

Everything I was is everything but gone.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

If he’s being honest--which is a hilarious concept--it’s a little too gaudy for his tastes. He’s all about tasteful theatrics and dramatic decor, but this is so over-the-top it’s almost sad. Still, he supposes he can appreciate the effort put into it. Years of effort, in fact. It’s practically a mural of different designs. Roman clearly kept painting over sections when he had a new idea, never bothering to erase the whole thing. There’s also an excessive amount of glitter and enough rainbows to make a leprechaun faint in delight. A large sign reads Prince Roman, Creativity in red sparkling cursive.

It looks like a five-year-old made it, which is the sort of charitable assumption Janus feels he should keep to himself, based on Patton’s advice. It might “hurt Roman’s feelings.” And if he only manages to antagonize Roman, then this entire trip was a waste.

He doesn’t want to be here, of course. He would much rather be reading, or looking after his snakes, or perhaps planning the downfall of society at large. Or...maybe with Patton, baking cookies or watching movies or exchanging puns as they pass.

Hanging out with Patton. As if they’re friends. Despicable. Friendship is a boogeyman, affection is a social construct, and Janus has no use for it.

He told this to Patton, who laughed and said “You’re so silly! Can you grab my oven mitts?” And Janus did, because lulling Patton into a false sense of security meant his master plan could go undetected. He’s not quite sure what his master plan is, yet, but he’s sure he has one. He’s certainly not spending time with Patton for the fun of it.

Definitely not.

Lying to himself is harder than lying to other people, which is annoying. He supposes that deceiving himself would compromise his ability to deceive others. He needs to know the truth, deep within him, so he can obscure it and twist it and use it as he sees fit.

It’s the others who enjoy lying to themselves.

He should be proud of that, that despite their self-proclaimed hatred for Deceit, they lie to each other and themselves every day. He’s not. It stings how much they lie, it eats into his skin and burns. Logan says everyone lies. Well, that’s a paraphrasing, but that was the gist of it. Patton never liked to hear that. Patton still doesn’t, but that’s not an issue anymore, since Logan hasn’t been there to say anything.

It’s Janus’ fault, of course, and it was a necessary sacrifice to get Thomas to listen. He doesn’t mind if Logan hates him. Logan is Logic--he’ll come around He’s always been the smartest of the sides.

Roman, however, keeps grudges.

So Janus is here to ask for forgiveness. Or at least to explain what he meant, why he did what he did. Then Roman can start rejoining the group at dinner, Thomas’ creative pursuits will regain their spark, and Thomas will be alright.

That’s all Janus needs. Janus is self-preservation. He’s only here, standing awkwardly in front of Roman’s door, because Thomas is suffering and his function is to help Thomas.

If Roman hates him, that’s perfectly fine. He just needs Roman to hate him and keep doing his job.

Janus wishes so deeply that he was better at lying to himself.

He stands there, hand raised, poised to knock, for a frankly embarrassing length of time. He’s not sure what’s stopping him. His chest itches and his eyes burn slightly as if the golden glitter of Roman’s door is blinding him.

“Janus?” he hears. “Do you wanna watch Winnie the Pooh?”

“Of course, Patton.” Janus glances at Roman’s door and gladly twirls his cloak and walks away.

He’ll come back when Patton doesn’t need him.

---

All my big mistakes are bouncing off your wall.

Roman is standing in front of Janus’ door.

He shouldn’t be here. He knows that. He’s got two deadlines in the next week, one after that, and he missed a brainstorming session with Logan and Logan’s been badgering him about it. Besides, he didn’t hit the word count for the story he’s writing, and he has to squeeze in some more writing tonight. Long story short, he has much more important things to do than loiter in front of Janus’ door and watch it like it’ll knock for him.

Yet he’s here. Self-control has never been his strong point.

Besides, he’s almost glad of the change of scenery. His room is a magical place filled with ideas and inspiration and lights that dance around the ceiling like fairies or birds. It’s also a mess, the bedsheets half pulled off the bed, pillows strewn about the floor, candles burned low, Spotify playing a million Disney medleys that blend together in his ears, his desk covered in papers with slowly deteriorating handwriting and unfinished stories and reminders of things he knows he’ll never get around to.

This hallway is blank and empty with a gray carpet and a slightly different shade of gray for the walls. But it isn’t filled with his own scratchy words, taunting him for his failure, the grandfather clock skipping around as time seems to scrunch up and speed past like it’s falling in dollops down his windows.

When’s the last time he even left his room? He can’t remember.

He really should be working.

He lets his hand fall to his side, picks it up, and hovers over the knocker.

Roman can’t bring himself to knock.

His eyes itch. He’s tired. He should be sleeping, but he doesn’t feel like it. He knows he can’t. Not until he’s wrung out every last idea, scribbled his way to the finish of each story, made something that’s crappy and unrealistic and vapid but something. He’ll settle for a terrible idea that Logan will tear into the next day, as long as it’s an idea, something coherent from the snarled mess that’s inside his head.

He’ll feel better if he eats or sleeps or just takes a break. The voice that tells him that sounds like Logan and Patton. But he doesn’t have time. There’s never enough time. His mind runs ahead of his mouth runs ahead of his hands runs ahead of the clock that ticks steadily in his room, reminding him that time is running out, that his days are numbered and soon he’ll shatter and fail and crumple to the ground and still, it will never be enough.

He needs to go work.

Why won’t his legs move?

Why does he insist on standing here, one arm raised, frozen in limbo?

He needs to work or they’ll all hate him.

Usually, that gets him moving. Today it barely stings. Of course they’ll all hate him. They’ll hate him no matter whether his ideas are complete or not. The only person he creates for is Thomas, and Thomas doesn’t care.

Sometimes deadlines keep him going. Sometimes passion keeps him going. Sometimes validation keeps him going. He has a lot of the first one and none of the last two. His mind is empty at the bottom and leaking from the side. His joints and limbs are mismatched like a doll’s, and he feels out of control of all of them, like he’s just a character in someone else’s story.

He really needs to go work.

Janus can wait.

Janus probably isn’t even awake--it’s sometime past midnight. Or maybe it isn’t midnight yet. Roman can’t quite remember and doesn’t really care about the difference. He’s wearing bunny slippers and has several ink stains on his fingers and probably looks as exhausted as he feels. He shouldn’t be here. He’d just been thinking too much in his room, and he figured if he could finally see Janus, his thoughts would finally shut up and let him work.

Pathetic, he tells himself, and tries to make that be enough to turn away. It should be enough. Fear and panic have always kept him going before. The one thing that gets in the way of any great adventure isn’t fear--fear is what pushes him to rehearse, keeps his mouth shut, helps him scramble to reach a deadline. What gets in his way is apathy. The sick, cotton-filled nights where he’d much rather close his eyes and sink into the hole in his chest than write another word.

He’ll get through it. He always has.

He doesn’t have another choice.

Roman wrenches himself back into his body and walks down the hallway, each step hesitant and disjointed, his mind buzzing and still at the same time.

He’ll come back when he isn’t so busy.

---

The bottles never break, the sorrow never comes.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

It’s late. He’s already had dinner and really should be sleeping, since Logan always says to sleep at ten o’clock and Janus can’t argue with self-care. However, he knows that Roman is up. There’s a small light under the door, flickering, and he knows it’s a candle. At first he was scared it was a fire, but that was just instinctive after dealing with the other Creativity for so long. The burning is controlled and flickers on and off. Occasionally shadows shift and Janus steps back instinctively.

Roman does not open the door.

Good, Janus thinks, although he has to admit he’s disappointed at the same time. Perhaps it would be easier if Roman opened the door. Roman would have questions, surely, but it would rid Janus of the obligation to knock.

He is far too tired to knock. He’s practically leaning on the wall. He should go to bed.

He doesn’t want to go to bed. Not yet.

It’s been a long day. Thomas is struggling with the most recent video idea. Remus has become even more manic and disruptive than usual. Patton is sad, Logan is angry, and Virgil is nowhere to be found.

Of course it’s Janus who has to put the pieces back together and calm everyone down. He’s the self-preservation side. He’s the only one somewhat sturdy after that disaster of an episode.

Still, it’s rather tiresome, he has to admit. This is why he doesn’t help people. You do it once, and suddenly everyone has expectations. Suddenly you’re cast in the role of the Good Guy when Janus has always been comfortable on the other side of the battlefield.

But there’s no time for shoulds and shouldn’ts, doubts and worries, the question of whether he deserves this or not--he has a job to do. The world is collapsing, Thomas is struggling, so Janus will tie rope around all the sides’ wrists and puppet them back into position. An unsavory metaphor but an accurate one. He is not their friend, sitting with them until they calm down. He is just playing a part. He’s been called on to steady the ship, and he will do that, because that is his job.

He is not their friend. He only lets them call him that because it gets him what he wants.

That is just how things are, and nothing can change that.

He could leave them behind entirely and go back to how things were. He’s thought about that more than once. He could crawl back into the darkness and lie on a messy couch and watch Good Omens and laugh whenever he hears a white lie. However, things have changed, for better or for worse. Regrets and would-have-beens are other things Janus is not built for, cannot allow. The truth is that the past is the past. He cannot rewrite the story, only play his part to perfection, a hollow face with a useless name and a meaningless place among the sides he barely cares for.

He’s tired. He wants to go to sleep.

But Deceit cannot sleep when he still needs to glue in the cracks.

And he knows Roman should be on his list of Ridiculous Idiots to Help. He knows he should be talking to Roman right now. He knows it’s his job to check in on Roman, who has been more frazzled and angry every time Janus sees him, barely noticing when Patton says hello.

Roman might not want to see him.

And Janus really wants to sleep.

It’s a coward’s move to turn away from the door. But it’s what Janus does, because Janus is self-preservation and cowardly and selfish and that is what he is. It is all he is ever going to be. Pull off his gloves and scrape beneath his scales, and there is nothing there at all, nothing but a name and a title and an ever-shifting voice.

He can imitate any side he likes, help any side he wants, and hurt any side he chooses. Whenever his own desires and emotions get in the way, it only ends in turmoil and trouble and hurt.

He shouldn’t have even shared his name. Not because of Roman’s response, but because now everyone believes he’s their friend, a person in his own right, someone they’re capable of getting to know.

It’s Janus’ greatest lie, and it’s the one he hates the most.

He wants to sleep.

Janus is not in the mood to play pretend with Roman, to bait him into forgiveness, to pacify him with lies. Janus is in the mood to snap back. To bare his teeth and poke at weak spots and say whatever it takes for him to be left alone. He’s bubbling up with emotion and his walls are turning to swords. He can’t talk to Roman like this unless he wants Roman to stab him through the heart.

Janus groans and kicks angrily at the wall. It hurts. He enjoys the sensation of doing something other than sitting still and playing nice.

He’s going to go sleep.

He’ll come back when he’s less tired.

---

So come on, let me in.

Roman is standing at Janus’ door.

He wrote a letter this time. It took him an embarrassing number of drafts to get it, and he’s still not entirely happy with it, and he’s pretty sure he misspelled something in the third paragraph. He’d ask Logan for help, but Logan’s been prickly ever since Janus replaced him--and they were never on the best of terms to begin with. Logan, Roman is pretty sure, would gladly exchange him for another Creativity.

It stings in the way that only the truth does.

His letter is crumpled in his hand. He could simply slip it under the door and disappear. But he feels the urge to explain it, apologize for it, try to say something for himself instead of hiding behind shields of sentences. If only he could figure out what to say.

The letter is simple. It’s an apology and a request to try and work together. Roman ended up going for a short and sweet letter, even though it goes against all his instincts. Being extra like Roman usually is might not be the best idea. Being Roman might not be the best idea. If he wants to convince Janus that he’s not a bad guy, he should act like a little less of a self-centered, impulsive, cruel side with no tact and intelligence.

Wait. Why is this about convincing Janus that he’s not a bad guy? This is about apologizing. All Roman needs to do is apologize. It didn’t matter if Janus thinks he’s the bad twin--Janus has a point, after all.

Roman shakes his head. He shouldn’t be focused on what Janus said. They were just words and he could handle them. He’s the one that needs to apologize. Then Janus could forgive him and things could go back to normal--

Wait.

Was that why he was apologizing? Because it gets him what he wants?

Roman swallows and backs away from the door, letter limp in his hand. No. That can’t be right. He’s guilty. Some days he feels the guilt might tear him apart at the seams, rip through his blood vessels, curl around his heart and strangle his lungs until there’s nothing left but ash.

That’s a very Remus thought.

Roman shakes his head violently but it can’t dislodge the voice in his head. Evil twin.

This doesn’t matter! He doesn’t need to think about this. He can just drop off the letter for Janus and be on his way. He doesn’t need to try and apologize, or ask Janus what he meant by evil, or ask if Janus wants to replace him or if he’s already trying or if everyone’s decided Roman is worthless and needs to be replaced. He’s heard nothing about that, but he’s been in his room. For all he knows, Janus could be ousting him from his spot.

That should make him furious. Why doesn’t it make him furious? Where’s that burning passion that always gets him into trouble?

Is it because Janus is right?

Roman squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t cry. He needs to knock on Janus’ door and hand him the letter. He doesn’t even have to say anything. The letter--the stupid, poorly-written, not-enough-to-take-back-everything letter--can do the talking for him.

He could say he’s sorry. He could say, why did you say what you said? He could say, are you the bad guy? He could say, am I?

He could say a million things. None of them would give him the right answers and none of them would be enough to fix things.

All he has is one stupid letter.

Roman leaves it on the ground by Janus’ door and walks away,

Ten minutes later, he walks back over. The letter is still there. Roman grabs it and rips it into pieces. It spirals around his feet like confetti. He snaps his fingers and the little pieces burst into flames and blacken, crumbling to bits of ash. He kicks the ash into the corners of the hallway and walks away, hands clenched, chin high.

He’ll come back when he thinks of what to say.

---

I will be the sun.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

He knows Roman has been nearby. Janus’ hallway now smells like smoke. It could be Remus, of course, but Remus wouldn’t light a fire without making a big deal out of it. So Roman lit something on fire in front of his door, whatever that means.

Janus doesn’t know why that makes him feel worried.

He’s here to confront Roman about the fire, nothing else. It should be in and out. “Hello, Roman, might I inquire why you burned something in front of my door? And could you tell me how to get rid of the smell? It would be very kind of you.”

Of course, Janus’ hands have to betray him, and he’s stuck hovering around Roman’s door as if it’s shielded from him. He summons another hand, then another, then all of them. They all curl their fists and rise up to meet the door. None of them fall. None of them make a sound.

Janus almost hisses in frustration. Why is this so hard? What is he so afraid of?

He’s not supposed to be afraid. He’s Deceit. He’s faced down the worst parts of Thomas’ psyche. He’s tamed wild monsters in the Subconscious, gone toe-to-toe with Remus, dealt with Virgil when he was wild and fiery and didn’t know how to stop fighting. He holds the key to every secret Thomas has ever possessed. He doesn’t get scared.

And yet, a simple closed door is enough to bring him down.

Pathetic, he thinks. Then he catches himself. Negative self-talk is unhealthy. Even though it seems to be everywhere these days, his mind falling into old habits and ruts he didn’t know existed, slipping and sliding down a slope until he’s left spiraling and wondering if he’ll ever be able to fix things, if he’ll ever be more than a liar, if being Janus means anything at all or if he’s just fooling himself into believing he could ever have a family--

Janus clenches his fists. Not the time. He needs to talk to Roman.

And say what? Roman, I’m sorry. Roman, don’t hate me. Roman, you’re affecting Thomas. Roman, Patton is worried for you. Roman, I’m worried for you.

Roman, why did you light a fire outside my room?

Roman, why did it take so little work to break you?

He hadn’t even meant to. He always aims to protect Creativity, and well-placed flattery was the best tactic to lure Roman out of Patton’s grasp. He didn’t count on the insecurities beneath the surface that burst into being the moment Roman saw himself as a failure. They were just compliments. It was just a little manipulation. He hadn’t meant to--hadn’t meant to make Roman cry.

Some grand puppet master, hurting the one person he needed on his side.

This is why he can’t be trusted. This is why he isn’t meant up here in the light side. He isn’t good and pure. All he does is destroy things, people, dreams. He should have learned his lesson from Virgil. Instead, he jumped in where he wasn’t wanted and miscalculated the landing, and now Creativity is sulking with the door closed.

Creativity is broken.

Maybe he’s always been--maybe it just took Janus to throw all the fractures into the light.

Janus is good at unearthing secrets. He’s less good at dealing with the messy aftermath. Yet here he is, struggling to knock on a door, running through every word in his head. He is a master of deception, the lord of the lies, a silver-tongued trickster who could slip into skins and play any part he wishes. Yet he runs dry when thinking of what to say to Roman. There is nothing he can say.

Roman is only feet away, but so far beyond Janus’ reach.

Janus leans against the wall, two arms hugging himself, one hand reaching up to grab a fistful of hair, another covering his mouth. His final two still hover over Roman’s door, but Janus might as well have lost control of them entirely, since they refuse to knock.

Maybe that’s a good thing. Roman would surely take well to Janus’ interruption. And Janus doesn’t feel like being mocked for the state he is in--reduced to shudders, holding back tears, as if he has a right to be upset. As if he should be upset. He needs to pull himself together. He’s better than this.

Janus tightens his hand over his mouth. He can barely breathe. Was that what it felt like when he did the same to Logan? To Roman, to Patton, to Virgil? His gloves are soft and rough at the same time. Janus remembers taking one off, holding his hand up, feeling so exposed. He let down all his barriers--and he should have known that would backfire, he was Deceit, he wasn’t meant for truth and openness and friendship. He’d let his guard down and he’d gotten hurt.

Of course, it didn’t hurt him. At all.

Hello, Roman. Sorry about tearing into your insecurities and everything, but could you please apologize for making fun of my name?

Pathetic, Janus thinks again, and this time he doesn’t bother to stop himself. He is pathetic and a mess and about three seconds away from crying in front of Roman’s door.

Janus sighs and turns away, vanishing his extra arms into his cloak, leaving Roman’s door behind him. He supposes he’ll never know about the fire. He supposes it doesn’t really matter at all.

He’ll come back when he thinks of what to say.

---

I will wake you up.

Roman is standing in front of Janus’ door.

He’s angry. Perhaps more furious than he should be, under the circumstances, but he kind of enjoys the way the anger sparks in his chest. It makes him feel more awake and in control than he has for months.

He’s not even sure what he’s angry at. It could be anything. The obvious answer is the fun little exchange he had with Thomas this morning--Thomas wants to bring Remus into more of their discussions. Thomas wants to “explore different directions in his content.” Thomas wants the other twin.

Thomas swears he wants Roman there, too, but Roman sees what this is really about. This is the beginning. This is how it starts--one word, one offer to join in movie nights, and soon Remus will be taking his place. Roman will be ousted from his seat at the table and be thrown into the darker side of Thomas’ mind. Forgotten, ignored, hated.

He’s known this was coming. He knows he deserves it.

But to actually hear it from Thomas himself--it stings. It aches and claws at him until he turns to anger, because anger is safe and anger allows him to find someone else to blame. Or maybe he didn’t choose anger. Maybe anger just came of its own accord, because emotions don’t always make sense, and Logan does always call Roman irrational.

He’s standing in front of Janus’ door and has the urge to pummel it to the ground.

Stupid Janus. Sneaky snake. Slimy boy. A two-faced trickster with a silver tongue and silly gloves. Why had Roman even considered apologizing to him? Janus doesn’t deserve it. He hasn’t--he hasn’t even tried to talk to Roman after everything. He’s just let Roman sit in his misery forever.

Maybe Roman doesn’t deserve an apology, but he’d sure as hell like one.

Maybe he’ll apologize too. Or maybe not. Maybe he’ll leave Janus hanging, unsure of their position, struggling to get a grasp on whether Roman is serious or lying or hates Janus or hates himself or just wants some peace and quiet. Maybe he’ll make Janus confused, like Roman is every single day, and he can finally see Janus’ face when his insufferable righteous in-control expression falls away.

He’ll see the Janus behind the mask.

And maybe everything will make sense then. Maybe nothing will. Maybe Roman’s just grasping at straws, clawing at the sides of the hole he’s falling into, desperately reaching for anything that will keep him from

He’s wearing his prince costume. It feels wrong and itchy around his shoulders. Too square, too gaudy, too ridiculously heroic. He got black ink stained on the shirt yesterday and panicked because he thought the Mindscape was turning him evil already. He should have known. Evil is a choice, in the end, and soon Roman will have to make that choice. Let himself fall, for the good of everyone, and learn what it’s like on the dark side.

Broadway, here he comes.

Still. Not yet. Roman has always been irritatingly persistent. And he needs to talk to Janus. Yell at Janus. Shake Janus until he gets answers to every question in his head. He doesn’t know what he’ll ask, but hopefully Janus will know, because Janus knows Roman better than Roman knows himself.

Roman raises his hand to knock on the door.

He taps quietly, once, twice.

The door creaks open.

Roman steps forward and looks into the room. It’s empty and still. There’s a surprising amount of dust on every surface. Books line the walls, almost more books than Logan’s room, and there’s a record player by an armchair, and some small lamps that glow the same shade as Janus’ eyes. His bed is old and mahogany and the sheets are rumpled.

Janus must be out, then. Perhaps talking with Remus or arguing with Virgil or debating with Logan or baking with Patton. Maybe he’s talking to Thomas, thinking through how they’ll break the news to Roman that he’s useless, that they’ve decided to lock him in his room and shove him into the back of the mind where he can’t mess up anything else.

The thought is burning and furious and climbs up Roman’s throat. His hand goes to his sword. He looks around at the room, dim and serene.

He could destroy it, if he wanted. He could tear it to pieces. He could burn the books on the walls, slice through the carpet on the floor, throw the record player against the wall and watch it break in two. He could open up the floorboards and read through the books and check under the bed and try to find something that tells him more about Janus, that’s something real and tangible beneath a million layers of deception.

He could. He wants to. He wants to so badly, and this is why he never gives himself what he wants, because desire is a sickening sensation that scares him.

He could destroy everything.

He is Creativity--he is meant to create. But if his title means nothing, what’s wrong with using the other side of the coin?

He could burn this place to the ground.

Everything is so still and perfect. It’s all waiting for Janus. Roman can almost picture him curled up in that recliner, reading a book, humming along to a song on the record player. His hair falling over his face, his capelet messed up, his eyes half-closed.

It’s a beautiful room. Elegant and refined. He should have expected nothing less.

It seems wrong for Roman to destroy it.

Right and wrong have gotten him in trouble before. He’s no authority on the subject. He is wrong. All he does is wrong. That’s what Patton thinks, he’s sure of it, and that’s what Thomas thinks. That’s what Janus thinks. Deep down, it’s what Roman thinks, too.

He is not going to add one more mistake to his tally. He is already falling--there’s no need to tug anyone down with him.

Roman steps out and closes the door.

He’ll come back when Janus is there.

---

I am who I was.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

He vowed to only come back when he thought of what to say. However, he’s already breaking that promise. He’s in this accursed hallway again, lurking in the shadows like the villain he is, eyeing the door and wondering if it’ll spring open of its own accord.

He shouldn’t be here, of course, but his mind won’t leave him alone.

He wishes Roman would just talk to him and make things simple. But Roman appears to have no interest in communication. Roman has been avoiding him, cutting him off, slipping out of every room Janus enters. It would be irritating--it is irritating--but Janus is more concerned than irritated.

That, in itself, is irritating. He shouldn’t be so worried about Roman. He should be furious with the side, not appearing at his door once again, preparing to apologize when he’s received nothing of the sort in return.

He should just leave Roman alone.

But he’s worried.

Maybe he should just shelve the apologies for now. Maybe he should simply knock on Roman’s door and see if he’s okay.

That sounds like a better plan than stammering through apologies he’s not sure if he means, throwing away every mote of dignity he has left, shattering every wall he’d work so hard to build.

Janus raises his hand to knock on the door.

The door bursts open.

Janus stumbles backwards, tripping over his feet and barely managing to steady himself, trying to look like he was just walking past and not standing in front of Roman’s door like a stalker.

It must not work, because Roman scowls deeply and asks “What are you doing?”

“I...” Janus pulls his capelet tighter around him and tries not to panic. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Make it quick,” Roman says. His eyes are red and there’s a smear of ink down his cheek. Janus has the urge to reach out and wipe it off.

“I was worried,” Janus finally says. “I am worried.”

“About what?” Roman asks.

“You.”

That gets Janus an even darker glare.

“Everything’s under control,” Roman spits out. “No thanks to you.”

“Are you sure?” Janus finds himself asking. “You’ve been--”

“I’ve been what?” Roman’s lip curls. “I’m doing fine. I’m doing my job. I have so many ideas, you wouldn’t believe. If there’s a problem with what I create, it’s because you won’t leave me alone.”

“That’s not what I--” Janus swallows. “I’m not concerned with your output.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’ve already decided it’s not worth anything.” Roman looks Janus up and down. “Still wearing that? Thought you’d get a wardrobe change now that you’re officially one of the good guys.”

“I like this,” Janus says weakly.

“Don’t see why you do. It looks like a curtain swallowed you whole.”

Bile rises up in Janus’ throat. “And you certainly look like the pinnacle of fashion,” he snaps back before he can stop himself. “You’re giving Virgil a run for his money with those eye bags. I thought princes were supposed to be poised.”

He seems to have hit a nerve, because Roman’s eyes flame. There’s no other word for it. They snap and crackle like a bonfire.

“What are you still doing here?” Roman grits out. “I’m busy.”

“Like I said, I’m worried.” Janus holds up his hands. “But clearly, I shouldn’t bother.”

“No, you shouldn’t!” It’s almost a scream. “I don’t need you here! I’m doing fine!”

“You do know who you’re trying to lie to, right?”

“Yes, I do.” Roman sneers. “Deceit. I know exactly what you are. And you will never take my place, understand me? I am never going to be a villain. I know you want to oust me, but you’re powerless. You’re a two-faced trickster with a million lies who doesn’t care about anything, and I’m Thomas’ Creativity. You go up against me, and I will win every time.”

“Is that a threat?” Janus asks, his mind whirling.

“It’s going to be if you don’t leave.”

“Look, listen--” Janus spreads his hands. “I’m just trying to help, no one is replacing anyone, if you’d just listen to me for once in your life--”

“I listened to you and that’s why I’m here.” Roman waves a hand. “I’m done hearing what you have to say. Leave me alone.”

“But--”

“Leave!”

Roman slams his door loud enough to rattle the walls.

Janus is left standing there, part of him knowing that he probably caught Roman at a bad time, but his chest squeezing despite of that. He shakes his head and tries to think on the bright side. He’s gotten his answer. Roman wants nothing to do with him. Not a surprise, and not something Janus can blame Roman for. So everything was alright. He now has an excuse to go about his day and stop worrying about Roman all the time.

He sighs and turns away from the door, tears rising to his eyes unbidden. He swipes them away. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. He’s heard worse.

Janus leaves, planning to curl in the corner of his room and listen to his favorite playlist and try to scrub Roman’s fiery eyes from his mind.

He’ll come back if it’s desperate.

---

Just open up your heart.

Roman is standing in front of Janus’ door.

Well, no, he isn’t. He’s crumpled in a ball at the foot of it, back pressed against the wood, arms around his knees and his head tucked between them. He figures he probably started out standing, but he can’t remember. He’s been here for a while. It’s late--maybe past midnight, maybe not. He doesn’t really care. Everything’s dark. He could conjure a light, but that would take energy he doesn’t have, energy that’s going towards trying to stop his breathing from stumbling over itself and stopping.

In and out. In and out. What are the numbers Virgil always uses? Four, five, eight? No, four, five, six. Does it even start with four? He should remember this. Why is he so stupid?

In. Out. In. Out. His breathing is shallow and too deep at the same time. It rasps at the edge of his lungs. He squeezes tighter at his thighs. His throat is choking up. At this rate, he’ll be crying or fainting soon enough. He hopes it’s the second one. He wouldn’t mind just going blank for awhile. Everything’s so loud in his head.

He’s crying now. Great. Never gets what he wants, does he?

He tries to rub away the tears. They keep coming. They drip over his hands and burn like fire. They trickle down his skin and he tries to scratch at them to make them go away. All that happens is irritated red skin.

Something’s itching and tugging inside him. He wants to grab it out of his chest and unspool it until he feels less like he’s trapped in someone else’s skin, thin and papery and about to shatter under his fingers.

In. Out. In. Out.

Breathing is so simple. Why can’t he do it? Why won’t it work? Why does he have to mess everything up like he always does?

He should at least move. He should sink out. He should get away from Janus’ door. What if Janus sees him like this?

Then again, that’s all he wants, isn’t it?

He wants Janus to see him. He wants to look Janus in the face. And he wants to beg for forgiveness.

He wants to--he wants to say sorry.

Say everything.

He wants to tell Janus his name isn’t stupid--it’s beautiful and unique and drips with the mythological implications that Roman loves. God of doorways. Beginnings and endings. Two-faced. There’s room enough for both evil and good in Janus. There can be both friend and foe. He may have ended things for Roman, but he’s also found the beginning of something new, and as a fellow creator Roman can respect the change Janus has wrought.

Janus is wondrous and hilarious and smart and so, so worthy of the place he’s finally received.

And he’s worried about Roman.

And Roman yelled at him.

Because Roman can’t stand the idea--the fact--that he’s going to be replaced. He’s such a coward. He thought he could step down gracefully, but he had to claw his way back to a place he isn’t wanted, because he’s desperate. He’s so desperate. He would do anything to get Janus’ approval. Or Patton’s, or Logan’s, or Thomas’. He would do anything in the world to be loved.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic--

Roman curls tighter.

Maybe he won’t mind being a dark side if it gets the knives in his lungs to stop slicing deeper.

Maybe he should just duck out before he causes any more trouble.

Everything’s itching and spinning and his breath comes in short gasps and he can no longer tell if he’s breathing in or out.

He closes his eyes, opens them again, blinks away the tears clustered on his lashes, tries to tighten his grip on his legs so he can finally be crushed into little pieces or feel safe or pretend that someone is there with him, running him through exercises, saying that he’s worthy and loved and still a hero even when he’s crumpled on the ground with a heaving chest and wrinkled pajamas.

Logan would do it. Maybe. If Roman asked. Logan would calm him down, at least. Maybe Virgil would, too.

They’re nice that way.

They’d calm him down.

Then they’d kick him out and say he’s too weak to ever be a prince.

He should leave. Why is he still here? Why can’t he move?

Why is everything collapsing around him?

Why is he such a failure?

He’s forgotten how to breathe. He’s going to die. He’s going to fall to pieces in this hallway and they’ll find his burned edges tomorrow morning and they’ll kick the ashes into the corners and move on.

He needs to go.

He doesn’t want to go.

He wants to slam his fist into Janus’ door and break it down and collapse around Janus and sob into his shoulder and promise he’ll be better, promise he’ll make things right, if Janus just gives him one more chance and opens up his heart--

Roman takes a long shaky breath.

In. And out. In. And out.

You’re doing good, says a voice that might be Logan’s and might be Virgil’s and somehow manages to cut through the haze in his head. Keep breathing.

In, out, in, out.

Roman lets his head loll forward. He’s done. He’s exhausted. He wants to curl up under his blankets and sleep forever.

He raises one hand.

He could knock on the door.

Janus is probably asleep.

Janus hates him.

Janus is right to hate him.

He needs to go.

Roman closes his eyes and lets his head thunk against Janus’ door. Cold and stiff and hard and telling him to go.

Roman snaps his fingers and sinks out.

He’ll come back when he’s less desperate.

---

I know I could be more clever, and I know I could be more strong.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

It wasn’t his idea this time. He’d been perfectly happy avoiding Roman any chance he got. But Virgil had come running into Janus’ room, insisting that Roman had been on-and-off panicking for the past few days, and begging Janus to do something about it.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Janus had said. “I’m not exactly the best side for the job, and I’m sure he’d love to see me.”

“Please,” Virgil had said.

Janus had always been weak for Virgil, a fact he abhorred, and Virgil was asking him for help. Janus. Virgil trusted Janus to help Roman, even though Janus had done nothing but help Roman sink to even greater depths.

What was Janus supposed to do, just turn Virgil away?

So now he’s here, knocking twice on Roman’s door, ignoring the nerves that crawl up his throat and tickle under his scales. He hopes Roman isn’t here. He hopes Roman is in a good mood. He hopes Roman is okay.

There’s no answer.

Janus knocks harder.

“Go away,” he hears.

Janus contemplates shifting into Patton or Virgil or someone else. But Roman is remarkably good at catching him in disguise, and the idea just feels wrong to him. Besides, that would certainly get Roman to trust him--once again impersonating one of his closest friends.

Janus knocks once more.

“Go away, Patton,” Roman calls.

Janus opens his mouth to correct Roman and finds that it’s gone too dry for speech.

He settles for knocking again.

“I’m coming!” There are rustling noises. The irritation in Roman’s voice is plain, but so is the fatigue, and so is a crackling, cutting edge that betrays he’s upset.

The door flies open. “I told you, Patton, I’m not coming to dinner--”

Janus waves sheepishly.

Roman stares at Janus for a few very long seconds.

“Roman?” Janus asks. “I...I came to check on you, Virgil says you’ve been upset lately and you seemed rather--volatile when we last spoke. So...I...is everything alright? Would you like to talk?” He laughs to himself. “I know I’m the last person you want to see, but I could fetch Patton, or--”

Roman keeps staring at Janus.

“Roman?” Janus asks again.

And Roman bursts into tears.

He tries to stifle them, if the way he presses a fist to his mouth is any indication, but it doesn’t work. Tears drip from his eyes and he starts sobbing softly. It’s a pathetic sound and it makes Janus’ chest ache.

“Hey,” Janus says frantically, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“‘S not your fault,” Roman chokes out between sobs, “just bein’ stupid--”

“You--” Janus gives up on words and reaches out, touching Roman’s shoulder. He expects Roman to throw himself away from the touch. Instead, Roman whines and throws himself forward, latching onto Janus’ clothes and curling up against his chest.

Janus bites back a gasp--when was the last time he’s been hugged? He doesn’t remember--and slowly slides to the floor, bringing Roman with him. He sits in the doorway with Roman practically in his lap, sobbing into his shoulder.

He expects Roman to stop crying soon. He waits for Roman to realize exactly what he’s doing--that he’s in the arms of a side he hates. But Roman doesn’t. He must be really upset.

Janus swallows and shifts into Patton’s form. A cat hoodie settles around his shoulders and he clucks his tongue, running his hands through Roman’s hair.

“C’mon, kiddo,” he says in a voice that’s not his own, “let it out, okay? Let it out.”

Roman makes an unidentifiable wailing noise and pushes at Janus’ shoulder.

Not Patton, then. Janus slouches and lets a purple hoodie form around his arms. It’s surprisingly comfortable. He huffs, his bangs fluttering a bit, and rubs circles in Roman’s back.

“What happened, Princey?” he asks in Virgil’s growling tones. “Who do I need to yell at?”

Roman shakes his head vehemently.

So Janus straightens again--as much as he can, he’s still gay, and why is he making ridiculous jokes when Creativity is crying into his shoulder--and a tie knots itself around his neck.

“Breathe in for four,” he instructs in Logan’s clipped voice. “Hold for seven, out for eight. You are figuratively breaking down and you need to steady yourself.”

Roman flinches away.

Janus switches back to Virgil, because he’s feeling anxious and he’s run out of people and Virgil seems to be the person Roman likes the most.

“Stop,” Roman pleads, looking up into Janus’ face that isn’t Janus’ face. His eyes are red and tears cling to his eyelashes.

“I don’t know what you want,” Janus blurts out. “I can be Thomas, I can get the real Thomas, I can leave you alone--”

“Don’t leave.” Roman clings to him tighter. “Don’t.”

“Thomas, then?” Janus coughs and shifts into Thomas. It’s the hardest one yet and it makes him feel rather bad. He’s never impersonated Thomas before. That’s been an internal rule for him--Thomas is off-limits. But if Roman needs it... “Keep breathing, buddy--”

“Stop!” Roman yells. “Stop pretending to be people!”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Janus asks, his panic probably showing. “What do you want me to be?”

“You!” Roman shakes his head. “You’re who I want, stop hiding and just be you.”

Janus is silent.

Roman starts crying again, making a mess of Janus’ clothes, but he finds himself barely caring.

“Shh,” he says, cupping the back of Roman’s head, remembering all the nights he had to talk Virgil down, the little spider curled up next to him. “Shh, easy, okay? In and out. You’re safe here. I’ve got you.”

“I--” Roman stumbles over his words. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t talk. Focus on breathing.”

“I’m sorry!” Roman insists. “I-I’m so sorry, Janus, please--”

“I know.” And Janus finds he does, at least right now. “I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t,” Roman murmurs into Janus’ shoulder.

Janus smirks. “Don’t tell me what to do, Roman.”

“You--” Roman sits up straight, eyes wide. “You--please don’t make me leave--I’m sorry--I can do better, I promise, I know you want to but I don’t want to leave--”

“Leave?” Janus repeats. “Where on earth are you leaving?”

“H-here.” Roman waves a hand, his face crumpling again. “‘Cause I’m bad. I’m the evil twin.”

Janus feels horror clench in the pit of his stomach. “That is not--I said that as an offhand jab! Roman, you’re not evil--and for that matter, neither is Remus--Roman, listen to me.”

Roman has disappeared into Janus’ arms again, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“Listen,” Janus orders. “You’re not leaving. Remus is not replacing you. I have no idea where you got that.”

“You’re lying,” Roman says miserably. “That’s all you do.”

Janus hisses between his teeth. “That’s not--”

“I know. Sorry.”

“It’s not.” Janus pauses. “Your name is Roman. You are the embodiment of Thomas’ creativity. You like Disney and love to write and want to find Thomas the prince of his dreams.”

Roman shifts a little in Janus’ arms.

“You have a brother named Remus that you aren’t proud of. You are friends with Virgil, who you used to dislike. You often fight with Logan but you care for him nonetheless, and he feels the same for you. You are good friends with Patton.”

“Not anymore,” Roman says.

“You are. Things will work out between you two. He still views you as a close friend.” Janus reached out and swept Roman’s hair off his forehead. “You are Creativity. You are strong, passionate, and indispensable. Everyone here cares deeply about you and forgives you for your mistakes. You are not broken or evil or a dark side.”

Roman shudders.

“I can speak the truth,” Janus says, and it sounds wrong but also so right. “I am not only my lies, and you are not only your mistakes, and I speak the truth when I say that I will never make you leave.”

“I’m sorry,” Roman says. “I’m so sorry.”

Janus sighs. “I’m sorry, too.”

And they fall silent, with nothing left to say, Roman still clutching Janus like a lifeline, Janus rubbing the back of Roman’s neck and bringing out another arm or two to help keep Roman in place. Roman doesn’t flinch. Janus finds this oddly reassuring.

“It’s late,” Janus finally says. “I’m sure you’re tired after that.”

“Yeah,” Roman admits. “But I’ve got work to do, I can’t just--”

“You can’t possibly get any work done in this state, unless your creativity is increased by mental breakdowns.” Janus sighs and pulls Roman to his feet, wiping away the last of his tears. “Go to sleep, Roman. I’ll be able to tell if you haven’t.”

“Creepy,” Roman mutters, but he grins shyly and turns to go into his room.

"Roman?” Janus asks before he can talk himself out of it.

“Yes, Nag-gini?”

“Ouch,” Janus says blandly, to convey that he isn’t hurt at all. On the contrary, the nickname makes him feel somewhat bouncy. Ridiculous emotions. “I wanted to...extend an invitation, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Janus tucks one hand behind his back so he can fidget. “I...my room. Tomorrow afternoon at three or so? Just knock on the door.”

“What’ll we do?” Roman asks.

“Whatever we feel like.” Janus swallows. “Of course it’s perfectly understandable if you wish to spend your time elsewhere, I was only raising the possibility--”

“Calm down, you sound like Logan.” Roman laughs a bit. “‘Course I’ll come. Um--thanks.”

“It’s no trouble,” Janus says smoothly, neatly avoiding mentioning the several weeks he’s spent trying to work up the nerve to talk to Roman. “I’ll see you then. Now get some rest or I’ll send Remus to knock you out.”

Roman laughs again. It sends fluttering happiness through Janus’ chest. He hasn’t heard Roman laugh for weeks.

“Bye,” Roman says, closing the door and waving.

“Goodbye,” Janus says back.

Janus lingers for a few more moments before turning away.

He’ll come back soon enough.

---

I'm waiting for the day you come back and say "Hey, maybe I should change my mind."

Roman is standing in front of Janus’ door.

It should be easier this time around. He’s been invited! Janus expects him to knock on this door, and if he hasn’t suddenly decided he hates Roman again, Janus will welcome him in.

What if he has changed his mind?

No, that’s ridiculous. Janus wouldn’t do that. He’s steady and ridiculously one-note--if he says one thing, he sticks by it.

He said Roman was the evil twin.

Then he said Roman wasn’t.

And he’s a liar, a trickster, so Roman can’t figure out which one is right.

One was said during a fit of anger. The other was said to calm Roman down. One is the truth, one is a lie, and Roman knows well enough that he’s very bad at telling when Janus is lying. Maybe Janus only complimented him to manipulate him later--maybe it was all flattery--maybe it was a joke Roman was too stupid to get--

Roman’s mind is spinning. He needs to stop overthinking this or he’ll start panicking again. This is fine. Everything’s fine. Janus invited him and it’s going to be fine--

Unless this is a trap. Maybe everyone’s waiting in there, ready to send Roman to the Dark Side. Or maybe it’s a test, and Janus will interview him, see if he’s realy changed. And he’ll find ouut that Roman hasn’t. That Roman is a failure and always will be.

He doesn’t want those piercing eyes staring him down.

If Janus can sense lies, he’ll know all the things Roman lied about.

Is he lying? Is he telling the truth? Roman runs back and forth in his head, exploring every possibility, but it all comes down to the fact that he doesn’t know Janus at all. Janus could be doing anything with this. He could have changed his mind and Roman could be pushing himself into a space he isn’t wanted. He should just leave before he causes any more trouble--

“Roman?”

Roman flinches back as the door opens.

And Janus smiles. “There you are. Come inside!”

Roman does, hesitantly, still feeling like any moment the other shoe will fall. He tries to look around at Janus’ rom like he’s never seen it before. Janus would surely be mad if he learned Roman had snuck into it before.

“What are we doing?” Roman asks after Janus has settled into his armchair and Roman has perched on the edge of the bed.

“A little bird told me you’re struggling with your ideas,” Janus says, pulling a few books off the shelf. “I figured a change of scenery might help? And I fancy myself rather good at telling tales.”

“Really?” Roman asks.

“Of course.” Janus smirks. “Would I lie to you?”

Roman’s indecision must show on his face, because Janus sinks a little bit and sighs.

“I know you can’t trust me,” Janus says quietly, “but I really am just trying to help.”

“I don’t trust Deceit,” Roman agrees.

“You shouldn’t.” Janus nods. “It’s not wise.”

“I don’t trust Deceit,” Roman says again. “But...I think I could trust Janus. If I got to know him a bit.”

Something flashes across Janus’ face. “Janus doesn’t exist.”

“It’s you.”

“No, it’s not, it’s--” Janus is getting worked up now, and Roman has no idea what he did. “I can’t explain it. Janus isn’t real. Deceit is who I am.”

“Janus is real,” Roman argues, because he doesn’t know Janus that well but even he knows that.

“No it’s not! I’m not!” Janus throws up his hands. “I’m a liar, I’m a fake, I’m a fraud, why don’t you get that?”

“You’re not.” Roman leans forward. “You’re a dork and ridiculously dramatic and you like musicals and you don’t like being wrong and you look good in a suit and you can pull off a hat the way I can’t and you love sarcasm and--” Roman shakes his head vehemently. “That’s not Deceit. That’s Janus. And I’d like to see a little more of him sometimes.”

“Don’t...” Janus pauses. “Just...I’d like not to be Janus. For a while. Janus...I’m scared of that. I’d just like something between Deceit and Janus, if that’s alright. ”

“Dee?” Roman asks. “Does that work?”

“Dee,” Janus repeats. “That’s...” A smile flashes over his face. A real smile. “I like that.”

“Dee, then.” Roman smiles. “Aladdin?”

“Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

“Snow White.”

“Black Cauldron.”

Roman grins wider. “The Incredibles?”

Janus laughs. “Not Disney.”

“Pixar, and we’re doing it.” Roman pauses, searching for words. “Um... you alright, Janus? Are we...good?”

Janus is silent for a long time.

“We could be,” Janus says. “I think we’re getting there.”

“Great,” Roman says. And finds he means it. Things aren’t perfect, but he can get better. He knows that.

Roman can leave some things unspoken for now. Janus hears them anyway.

And he’ll come back to them when he’s ready.

---

I was out on the town so I came to your window last night.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

It’s open, so he slips inside, sits next to Roman on the bed, and stares at the swirls of paint across the ceiling. They look like the currents of an ocean, the sweep of galaxies across the sky.

“Everything’s changing,” Roman says.

“Yes,” Janus says.

“I don’t like change.”

“Nobody does.”

“This...this is good change, though.” Roman pauses. “Right?”

Janus thinks of the discussions they’ve had. The way Thomas is really trying to put himself first when necessary. Patton’s cookies, Logan’s debates, Remus’ little octopus plushies that he gifted them all after getting accepted. Virgil, who gave Janus a quick “sorry” over breakfast cereal, and somehow that said everything that needed to be said.

He thinks of Roman. How wrong he was about Roman. Roman is not broken and never has been--he simply stumbled, and with help, he is rising again. He smiles more often. He sings along to Disney movies. He laughs at Patton’s puns. He’s started reading wit Logan in the afternoons. He’s even sparring with his brother, and it seems less vindictive than it used to be, as if it’s only a playfight now.

Roman is happier. Not happy, not perfect, but better.

And Janus feels...a little better, too.

“It’s good change,” Janus agrees.

“You want to do some Shakespeare?” Roman offers.

“I was thinking Dante’s Inferno,” Janus responds, like he always does.

“Boring,” Roman says like always, wrinkling his nose. “Disney?”

“Disney,” Janus agrees.

“I’ll get it ready, Janus--” Roman pauses. “Um...is Janus good today?”

Janus thinks about it. Because Janus has connotations and weighty moments and Roman’s laughter still rings in his ears. He doesn’t want to be Deceit. He’s scared to be Janus. He wants a little space in between, to find out who he is without the lies, to find out how he could be...more. More than his job. Maybe a friend, maybe a confidant, maybe somebody worthy.

Janus could be that. If he wanted.

Some days Janus crawls over his skin, wrong and itchy and reminding him of how much of a lie he is. Today it settles in place--strange and a little new, but not bad. A change. Not a bad change.

Sometimes things need to change.

Sometimes you need to talk a leap of faith and knock on the door.

“Janus is alright.” Janus smiles. “Janus is good, actually.”

“Yeah,” Roman agrees, smiling back, “he is.”

The door is open. It’s remained so for weeks. And even if it wasn’t, Janus would find the courage to knock. Because he knows Roman would do the same for him.

He’ll always come back.

He’ll always try again.

---

Now I'm causing a scene,

thinking you need a reason to smile.

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@the17thmeatball

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@csi-baker-street-babes

@caffeinated-cryptid

@thefivecalls

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Taglist sourced from @the-taglist-repository:

@callboxkat @nonasficcollection @supernovainthenightsky @evoodo123 @idont-freaking-know @hekking-happy-nonsense @cottonwoolsocks @aceawkwardunicorn @just-your-typical-trans-guy @legendsgates @itsabsurd-and-terrifying @k1ngtok1 @itsabsurd-and-terrifying @smileyzs @robinwritesshitposts @thatgaydemigodnerd @potatsanderssides @arya-skywalker @somehow-i-got-an-account @star-crossed-shipper @a-fandom-trashdump @locked-prism @kieraelieson @rainbowbowtie @10moonymhrivertam @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @ananonsplace @intruxiety @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun

#roceit #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #roman sanders #janus sanders #averywrites #tw panic attack #tw anxiety #crying #angst #angst with a happy ending #roman angst #janus angst #roceit angst #platonic roceit #well actually kind of debatable? i'm sticking with platonic tho #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction

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giant-sketches · 4 years

Text

The Library

Awesome! Another short side done for you all to enjoy. This one is completely by me without any kind of prompt attached so I hope it’s just as nice.

In this story Logan is a scholar living in a house on the outskirts of town. He’s been living there for five years now, adding books to his ever growing collection. However, such a long time of isolation has weighed him down and he’ll need a helping hand in getting back on his feet. A tiny hand that is. ;3

This story includes 3 sketches and 1 colored page.

Word Count: 4787 (a long one!)

Disclaimer: isolation, alluring to depression, anxiety, mention of vomiting, kind of steamy

“Thank you again Mr. Logan for helping us find the last herb we needed for healing our father.”

“You’re welcome. Now for my payment please.”

“Yes of course, here you are. This is a story our late grandmother read to us as children. We’ve memorized the tale so we have no need to keep the book around.”

“It's only been collecting dust on the bookshelf. It could use a new home.”

Graciously, Logan took the book and inspected its title; The Prince of Syds. The book was of the fairy-tale variety and told of a Prince that went on many harrowing adventures. The book was of a decent thickness and looked to be an interesting read for the scholar tonight. Casually, Logan hopped back on to his horse and trotted off back to his secluded homestead.

Logan was a recluse that lived a decent distance away from the neighboring towns. There in his comfy abode he collected a variety of literature and stored them all in his personal library. The library consisted of a multitude of genres from mystery, adventure, romance, nonfiction, maps, journals, and more. Logan was never picky when it came to a new read and he was titillated with his current find.

Like a child at Christmas, Logan pulled up a chair to his desk and gingerly turned the cover. Inside the book read a tale of The Prince of Syds that was on a quest to save the princess from the villainous Dragon Witch. While the initial premise may appear cliche, the story had many unexpected twists and turns. One of them being that the actual Dragon Witch was his twin brother that had been kidnapped as a baby and was being controlled by a sorcerer called D.

“Interesting, I had found it curious why this Dragon Witch had not just attacked the kingdom as a whole and only settled for a mere princess we hadn’t previously been introduced to. To think it was the Prince’s brother who was still fighting against the mind control placed on him.”

Logan rubbed his eyes as a tiny yawn escaped his mouth, “I should call it a night and return to my chambers.”

Another yawn, this time more pronounced, caused Logan’s mind to lock onto the idea of sleep. In his haste he simply placed the book onto his ‘to read later’ podium, left wide open. As Logan slumbered the book started imitating a mysterious glow as the pages flipped furiously to the start of the story. Once the book stopped on the page showcasing the Prince character a small hand covered in light stretched out and pulled its remaining parts out of the book. Now free from its bindings a tiny man now stood upon the page in confusion.

“Wha-what is this? Where am I? Just a moment ago I was conversing with my long-lost twin brother and now I’ve suddenly been summoned to this unfamiliar realm filled with giant objects.”

Frantically, the tiny man looked about the darkened room. He searched desperately to find something recognizable, but his eyes failed him. Distort, he huffed loudly,

“I can’t see anything in this darkened place, but I can at least see where I stand. I’m high up, too high to get down from so I shall remain here.”

Frustrated at his own uselessness the tiny man laid himself down on the pages folded beneath him and fell asleep until beams of warm sunlight awoke him. He gave a small yawn as he stretched unaware of the figure looming behind him.

“How peculiar.”

Shocked, the tiny man spun around to face the booming voice that ringed through his ears. Instinctively he yelped and jumped to his feet in order to take a defensive stance, but as he motioned downwards towards his hip a grim realization hit him. He was unarmed as a giant towered over him with peering eyes. Despite his fear he called out to the massive figure,

“Stay back giant fiend! I may be unarmed, but I’ve faced worse in more dire straits!”

Logan raised an eyebrow in response as he leaned in closer allowing his face to catch the light of the sun.

“I can assure you I am no fiend nor am I a giant. You are simply small and…” Logan paused to contemplate. “Actually, what exactly are you?”

“First off I am not a what, but a who. For who I am, I am Prince Roman of Syds!”

Prince of Syds? Is this the character from the book he was reading last night? Quickly, Logan glanced behind Roman to see that the pages had gone blank.

“The pages, what happened to them?”

In one swift movement Logan slammed his hands onto the podium causing Roman to lose his balance and fall on top of the giant hand. Dazed, Roman groaned at the sudden movement as he tried to lift himself back up. He stopped when he realized what he was holding on to and blushed.

“Why are they blank?” Logan was panicked.

Roman snapped out of his thoughts and turned his attention back to the upset giant. He appeared concerned over the book that once housed his being. Even he had no idea what had happened honestly.

“I’m sorry, but even I have no idea what’s going on. All I know is I can’t return though I must be here for a reason.” Roman looked at the giant with pleading eyes, hoping this would calm them.

Logan huffed and raised his hands away in retreat. If this was the case there truly was nothing to be done.

“No need to give such a look, I believe you. Still, since you will be held up here for a time I might as well be a gracious host and make the best of this perplexing situation.”

Logan stepped back and took a deep bow towards the prince. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Your Majesty. My name is Logan the Scholar and this is my home and personal library.”

A library, so that’s where he was. Roman looked around at the now lit room in awe, he had never seen so many different kinds of books. His eyes sparkled with delight as he himself enjoyed a good tale from time-to-time. Excited, Roman turned to ask if they could read one together, Logan however, had already made his way to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I want to make a record of what’s going on for future reference and historical relevance. I have never heard of a book character coming to life before. You’re an astounding find.”

With that Logan turned the corner towards his room to retrieve his journal. All Roman really pulled from that statement was that his new giant friend found him astonishing. Boredom quickly overcame him as he laid down on his books empty pages and stared at the ceiling. He so wished he could roam about the room and read right now, but alas he was limited by his tiny stature. However, an ominous figure was stealthy creeping its way towards him.

“This truly is an amazing event to watch transpire in person. I must make haste to record what I can of our interactions. There are too many unknowns that could affect how long he will remain here.”

Uncharacteristically Logan gaily retrieved his journal from his nightstand drawer and made his way back down the hall to the library in a hurry. Right before reaching the door an all familiar sound came from behind, ‘meow’. Logan went pale and slammed the door open with a fright,

“ROMAN?!”

Yet, Logan’s fears were unwarranted as his eyes locked on to the adorable scene of the tiny prince cuddling with his uninvited and fluffy guest.

“Oh Logan, you’re back! Look at this adorable beast that has submitted to my charms so willingly. She will make a grand stead for my time being here.”

Oh thank heavens; Logan sighed in relief. For a moment there he feared for the worst.

“Pray tell, what name have you bestowed upon this fair feline?”

“Name? It doesn’t have one. It’s simply a stray that wonders in from time-to-time and I share leftover scraps with.”

“Just a stray, you say. No this cat is indeed yours Logan and as her owner you must grant her a suitable name at once!”

Logan was taken aback by such an absurd command and scoffed at the notion of even following through with it, until another soft meow rang out. Logan twitched slightly as he felt the cats warm fur press up against his pant leg affectionately. Roman looked on with pure delight on his face.

“Yep, she is indeed yours. Now a name if you would Sir Logan.”

Logan’s face scrunched up in embarrassment. To think he had been persuaded so easily by a pretty face and a fluffy tail.

“Cat should suffice.” he groaned.

“CAT?! Are you mad?”

Startled by how loud the tiny man’s voice could carry he jumped back in surprise.

“You’re an intelligent man, surely you can come up with a better name then that!”

“Fine! How about….Jam?”

Logan’s face flushed instantly at such a silly name, yet the cat’s appearance reminded him of marmalade.

“Jam? I like it, quite a cute name coming from someone so stern.” he chuckled.

Right now Logan’s face resembled that of a strawberry as he coughed to move the conversation along.

“Can you tell me the last thing you remember before you were summoned here?” Logan asked as he picked Jam off the floor and carried her back over to his podium.

“I was talking with my long-lost twin brother about a plan to take down the evil sorcerer D and free him from the curse. Next thing I knew this bright light swallowed me whole and I awoke to a darkened room with only strange, and large shapes surrounding me.”

That sounds terrifying and yet this hero found his surroundings safe enough to slumber in?

“Interesting, that correlates perfectly with where I left off with the book.”

“Really? What does that mean then? Will I ever be able to return and finish my story? Wha-what if I’m stuck here forever?”

An unusual sense of guilt washed over Logan as he looked down at the tiny prince. He couldn’t help feeling that somehow this was his fault even if there was no proof for said theory. Regardless he needed to do something to comfort Roman. Gingerly he raised his hand and patted Roman rigidly on the head in an awkward attempt to cease his woes. Roman, however, found the mechanical motion hilarious.

“AHAHAHAHAHA!!!” Roman had slumped over in laughter as he rolled playfully on the podium.

Logan found the reaction jarring as he simply rested his hand down and remained still. Obviously, Roman was now feeling much better, but at what cost to Logan’s pride. Once Roman stopped he could see how distort his giant friend looked and confidently walked over to the resting hand.

“I’m sorry for laughing, Logan. I know you were only trying to comfort me and I appreciate it. I feel much better now.” he said as he wrapped his arms around Logan’s pinky and planted a charming kiss on the knuckle.”

At that moment it was like a dam broke as Logan was overcome with emotions he had locked away. The sensation was so jarring it nearly knocked him out cold. If he hadn’t already been sitting he most certainly would have fallen to his knees. Any longer and he would have melted into a puddle, luckily Roman snapped him back to reality,

“By the way do you live here by yourself? I have yet to hear anyone else walking around or any other noises for that matter.”

It took a moment for Logan to compose himself, but he answered with a cooled down expression.

“You are correct in your assumption. I do indeed live here by myself and I have for many years now. Thus, you have no need to worry about anyone else discovering you are here. I can guarantee your safety Roman.”

Logan smiled the best he could, but it faded quickly as he saw small tears peering out from the corner of Roman’s eyes. Did he say something wrong? What could have been his miscalculation?

“Logan tha-that’s so sad!”

“Sa-sad?”

What was this tiny prince saying? If anything he was the happiest he had been in a long time right now.

“Yes sad, this place is huge and yet there’s NO ONE here? What about friends or family?”

That’s what he meant. Logan put on a cold demeanor as he remembered why he was here.

“No, I have no one like that and that’s just the wa-”

“Don’t lie to me!”

Logan’s fake face shattered in an instant by way of Roman’s concerned words. It would seem he couldn’t feign callousness with this one. He was now an open book.

“Fine, I won’t try that again. Still I’m not good at expressing myself and it’s true that I don’t have any friends or family. Not anymore at least.”

“Anymore? So you did have them once.”

“Yes.”

Roman wiped his tears away and choked down the lump that had formed in his throat. Logan was just like the princess he was sent to save in his story. All alone in the world with no one else there to help her. No, Logan wasn’t fictional, he was real and so was Roman right now! He had a wonderful idea,

“Then let’s go out and make some new ones!”

“Excuse me?”

“If you don’t have any friends then you just need to get out there and make some!”

“I-I don’t know…”

“It will be fine darling. Besides I also want to take a look at your realm before I leave.”

That’s right he was going to leave eventually. A slight pain coursed through Logan's heart. If they didn’t have much time together then maybe going out together was the best idea.

“Alright, but you have to stay close to me and not be seen by anyone.”

“Understood!”

With that Roman bounced with anticipation as he watched Logan’s hand lower down to him. Without hesitation, the tiny prince climbed aboard mesmerized by the site of him resting in a massive palm. His life was now completely in Logan’s hand, but he felt no fear. Carefully, Roman was slipped into Logan’s breast pocket. It was so warm as Roman pressed his back up against Logan’s chest to look up at the opening a few centimeters above him. Logan’s heartbeat pounded vigorously causing his entire body to pulse. The sensation was like nothing he had felt before as it overwhelmed him and he quickly fell forward against the other side of the pocket’s fabric walls.

“Are you doing alright in there?” Logan could feel the abnormal moment and grew worried.

“Yes, I-I’m alright. Just got a little warm is all.”

“I see, if that’s the case then here.”

Logan poked his pointer finger into the opening of the pocket. Roman could tell what Logan was going for as he clung onto the huge amount of flesh and was lifted up. Once his head had reached the lip of the pocket Roman latched himself on. Now he could breathe in the fresh air of the outside world.

“Is this this a town?”

“Yes, it’s the one that’s easiest to walk to and a good place to find magical items and good like spices and tea.”

“Oh so you all have magic in this realm as well?”

Logan paused for a moment before answering.

“Yes we do. Now try your best not to get over excited and pop out of my pocket okay?”

Tenderly this time Logan placed his finger on top of Roman’s head and ruffled his hair. The motion pleased Roman greatly as he blushed deeply. He felt extremely cared for in this moment. Usually he was the one doing the swooning so this was a nice change of pace.

“I’ll never leave your sid-”

Before Roman could finish his confession two loud voices called out from behind the pair,

“LOGAN?!”

Logan froze, he knew exactly who was there. He squeezed his eyes in fear and began to shake nervously. Roman had no idea what was going on, but he fell back into the lower part of the pocket and stretched out his arms in a comforting hug. Logan twitched a bit at the sudden feeling of the prince’s tiny frame pressed up against his. Yet, he found his touch pleasing as he placed his hand over his breast pocket in response. He could feel Roman being squished in between his hand and chest. Roman let out a light giggle at the return hug.

Thanks to Roman’s efforts Logan had calmed down and turned around to speak to the two mysterious figures waiting patiently.

“Patton, Virgil...it’s been awhile. How are you both?”

“Oh my gosh Logan, it really is you!”

“Where have you been? After...well you know, you just disappeared. Some people were even saying you might have died.”

“Yeah, we were so worried!”

“I can’t imagine why? As you can see I am doing quite alright for myself regardless of these so-called rumors.”

“You can’t imagine why...Lo aren’t we your friends?” Patton whispered through teary eyes.

“Geez Logan, we’ve finally been reunited after five years and this is how you act.” Virgil growled.

Logan was visibly agitated. Unclear of what had happened with these three Roman hesitated to step in, but shook his head at the notion of letting this opportunity slip away. Roman tugged at Logan’s shirt to garner his attention. Logan noticed and sharply glanced downwards, but his expression softened as he saw his tiny friend pinching his cheeks upwards in a smile. It didn’t take a genius to see what Roman was getting at.

“You’re right Virgil.”

“I’m sorry did you, mister know it all, say that I’m right?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, I had wondered how you may have changed after all this time. Glad to see you learned some humility during that time.”

“I suppose I have changed, though I can’t say it’s not a recent development. Regardless I’ve had plenty of time...alone to think about my past attitude. I apologize for upsetting you Patton.”

“An apology as well? Now I’m not even sure I’m talking to the same gen-”

“That’s enough Virgil, he apologized after all. I know you’re upset, but…” Patton looked to Logan with a solemn look.

“Lo? Have you been alone this whole time?”

Logan swallowed loudly.

“...I have a cat.” he mumbled.

Patton’s face lit up at the idea of grumpy Logan playing with his cuddly pal, but a cat wasn’t a person. Virgil gave Patton a look of concern and grabbed his hand. Patton smiled and gave a nod.

“Would you like to hang out with us and catch up?”

“Oh I…”

Logan glanced down at his pocket where he took note of Roman’s shallow breathing and reddened face. It wasn’t a good idea to keep him trapped inside his breast pocket for much longer.

“How about I invite you two over to my residence instead? That way you’ll know where I live.”

“That sounds lovely Lo, we’d be honored to come over to your home. Wouldn’t we Virgil.”

“Yeah, it will be nice to catch up and tell you what’s been going on.”

With that the newly formed group took off to the outskirts of town. Once inside Logan’s abode the two were amazed at his collection, but even more astonished he hadn’t lied about the cat. Patton was instantly smitten with the fuzzy creature. After Logan finished up the tour Roman was placed inside his room on top the pillow. There he lied down with his body completely spread and finally relaxed. It had been a long day for the prince and he was understandably exhausted.

“How about you get some rest while I go entertain our guests?”

Roman yawned, “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Logan carefully covered Roman with his handkerchief and caressed his face as he whispered, “Sweet dreams.” and tip-toed out of the room.

It wouldn’t be until a couple hours later Roman would wake up as he rolled over to be face-to-face with a slumbering Logan. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed the giant climb into bed, but maybe he was just that tired. Lost in thought Roman continued to stare at the snoozing behemoth. He smirked mischievously as he crawled his way up to the top of the pillow. Logan’s hand was in the way, but if he aimed right he should make it. He tested for any wind resistance and blinked twice to turn on his targeting systems before hurling himself downwards towards Logan’s face. Thankfully, he stuck the landing!

“I certainly have found myself in a peculiar predicament being suddenly transported to this giant land, but I believe this lovely princess right here makes it worthwhile.”

Pressing his lips to Logan’s the prince planted a barrage of kisses on to his sleeping beauty.

“Even if I am never to return, I believe I’ve already found the princess I was meant to save.”

Funny enough, Roman was now unable to make the climb back up the steep hill that was the pillow, but he didn’t mind. He simply made his way to Logan’s hand and squirmed himself between the fingers. Slowly, Roman fell back asleep and dreamed of his beloved.

An entire week flew by as Logan reconnected with his friends from his school days. Roman heard from Logan about what had happened five years ago and what led to his separation from society. It was a tragic tale of him being born without the ability to wield magic, but gifted intellectually. His noble family deemed him worthless and disowned him when he turned sixteen. Determined to prove them wrong he enrolled himself into the Magic Tower. To pass over the casting exam however, he forged his entrance papers by pretending to be a famous magician's apprentice. There at the academy he was deemed a prodigy and his brilliance flourished. Yet, despite his best efforts he was found out and promptly expelled with all his achievements and research being awarded to other promising students.

His entire existence was wiped from the Tower’s records. It was like he never existed in the first place. Having fallen into despair Logan simply thought disappearing was the only logic course of action. After all that’s what everyone wanted wasn’t it? However, that wasn’t true as his two friends had been searching for him this whole time. Once they heard about what the academy had done to Logan they were outraged and exposed the entire thing. The Tower lost its spotless reputation overnight and disbanded. Together Virgil and Patton put together a new institution that enrolled anyone interested in magic regardless of their abilities.

Logan felt like a fool for hiding this entire time without once thinking of looking into how things were developing without him. He had planned to move on, but instead he had become complacent, stewing in his own misery. His friends had helped him finally realize his error in judgement. However, it was Roman that had brought light back into his darkened life. He needed to properly thank him after Patton and Virgil left from their weekly visit.

“He’s doing so much better now. I love seeing him smile like that and he’s got this cute pep in his step too. Gosh, I didn’t think he could get even more beautiful, but he’s full of surprises isn’t he Jam?”

“Meow.”

“I hear you! I’m really happy for him, but...I’m a little jealous of his friends. I wish I could be out there with them chatting and laughing.”

“Meow”

“I know! Logan wants to keep me safe. They don’t visit for long anyway and then the rest of day I have him to myself.”

“Meow”

“Sure our relationship hasn’t changed...at all.”

“Meow”

“What confess?! I couldn’t I-I’m not even real. That’s right I’m nothing but a character from one of his many books.”

Roman looked sadly around the library where he was sitting on top of the desk and snuggling with Jam. He was one of many stories Logan owned, no one special.

“I’m not his happily ever after.”

Spontaneously, the blank book resting on top of the podium was enveloped in a light glow. Roman sprang to his feet in surprise as the light beckoned to him. He knew then that his quest had come to an end. Roman gave a whistle for Jam to carry him up to the podium.

“Thanks girl.”

Roman stroked the bridge of Jam’s nose dismally. Meekly he glanced towards the door hoping Logan may walk into the room any moment now, but no dice. The glowing had become more intense as Roman neared it. This was the end of his story, who knew it’d be a tragedy.

“Goodbye Logan.”

Not able to stall any longer Roman dived into the light and vanished as a gigantic flash spread throughout the entire house.

“What in the world was that?!”

“Ah my eyes!”

“What just happ- no,no,no,no!”

Logan’s stomach dropped at his current thought. He rose from his seat so fast he thought he would vomit as a sickening feeling crept up on him.

“Woah Logan are you okay, You don’t look so well.”

“I’m fine, I just need to go check on something real quick.”

“You are not fine! Why don’t we help you an-”

“NO! Please I-I need to do this alone right now. It’s important, please.”

“Bu-” Patton pulled Virgil back and shook his head.

“We understand Lo, go do what you have to do. We were about the leave anyway.”

“Thank you, both of you.”

With that Logan raced down the hallway and burst through the library door.

“ROMAN?!” no answer.

Logan frantically scanned the room, but all he saw was Jam standing on the podium. What the podium! There he could see Roman’s book with the pages now visible peeking out from underneath the cat. Slowly, Logan dragged his feet to take a closer look and gently shooed away to fluff ball. Sorrowfully, he turned each new page not caring to full read the paragraphs as his tears welled up. The story had changed to his own of finding the prince in his world and asking for his help in ending his isolation. Yet, as Logan reached what should be the end, what he found was another blank page. Too distraught to think about what this might mean he closed the book and clung to it. Pressing its entirety against his chest as he fell to the floor screaming out in pain.

This new found happiness meant nothing to him if he couldn’t spend it with the man he loved.

“Why, why did you have to go? I never got to tell you how I felt! What’s the use of these new emotions if I’m never given the chance to express them?”

Logan continued to weep long into the night. Never once allowing the book to leave his side as he finally tired himself out enough to sleep. Birds chirped per usual as the new morning came. Begrudgingly, Logan groaned as he went to reach for the book he had cuddled with all night only to find it missing. Panicked, he rubbed his puffed up eyes to better focus on his surroundings. Suddenly, he was caught off guard by the touch of the leather backing poking at his face. Logan whipped his head around to see who the perpetrator was that had snatched his book only to be met with an unbelievable sight.

“Ro-Roman?”

The man standing at the foot of the bed was none other than Roman, but he was now the same size as Logan.

“Ho-How is this possible?” Logan was overcome with emotion as tears began streaming down his face.

“Look.” he whispered.

Roman had turned the book to the final page, but this time it wasn’t blank. Instead what appeared on the page was a beautiful illustration of Logan and Roman holding hands and kissing in front of the house. Logan shaking in amazement, took the book from Roman’s grasp and started lovingly at it.

“Seems like I was your happily ever after, after all princess.”

Logan was happy, so happy he didn’t know what to do with all of it. In a bold move he pulled Roman on to the bed and curled himself around him sobbing. He was never going to let his prince go ever again. Roman tucked himself into Logan’s embrace and whispered into his ear,

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The End

@thought-u-said-dragon-queen @sanderssidestrash27 @nomynameisanon @crystalk17 @notkolaidoscop

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