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#gotta take notes on my last history lecture of the semester!!!
G'mornin
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btssaysstudy · 3 years
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Cheap Sunglasses || jjk
Pairing: Jeon Jungkook (BTS) x reader
Note: Inspired by cheap sunglasses by John K || do let me know if you liked it :)
Summary: Being a teaching assistant for college definitely has it monetary perks but who knew it had other perks in meeting a potential significant other.
Warnings: swearing, mentions of injury (not the reader), angst, jungkook being an annoying player at times, mentions of over-exhaustion from schoolwork
“Thanks y/n!” Mingyu grinned, reaching out for a fist bump. You laughed, returning the gesture. “No problem, just doing my job.” 
“I’ll treat you for a meal soon, you can count on it! I’ll see you around!” He gave you a quick side hug before leaving the lecture hall. You got up from your seat, packing your belongings to head off for lunch. 
“y/n! Could you help me compile the outline for the chapters to read for the semester?” Your professor approached you, handing you the list of chapters that class had to read. “Sure, when do you need it by?”
“Preferably by the end of this week? No rush! As long as it’s before midterms.”
“Okay, sure!” You glanced at the list, it was the same reading list as last semester, you just had to use your own outline for this semester. You smiled, thankful that nothing much changed with the syllabus so you had less work to do as a teaching assistant.
Your professor thanked you and left the hall. “You know, one definite perk of being a TA is tutoring hot students. Mingyu was definitely hitting on you.”
“No he’s not. We’re friends, I already met him for one of my classes last semester.”
“Mm, yea don’t believe you. Anyway, let’s hurry go, I’m starving.” Sooyoung rubbed her stomach and you grabbed your bag, leaving the hall with your friends. 
One definite perk, which was not what Sooyoung said, of being a TA was that you get paid and you definitely needed the money. It was tough to juggle being a TA at first and you weren’t sure if you were cut out for it, but 2 semesters later, you’ve been a TA every semester and it’s become a part of your schedule.
“Chan-mi!” A loud bright voice called out for other friend. The three of you stopped, turning around to find the boy who was dubbed as the “sunshine” of your college.
“Yes?” Chan-mi clearly unfazed by his loudness. Hoseok grinned, saying a brief hello to you and Sooyoung. “Our club manager just texted me that we have an upcoming gig. Just a little insider info for you, you’re on the performing team.”
Chan-mi nodded her head with a short laugh, “He texted me too actually.”
“What?! I thought i’ll be the good news bearer.” Hoseok pouted, his group approached him, patting him on the shoulder to rush him for lunch.
“I’ll see you at next practice then!” Chan-mi waved goodbye as he was being dragged away by his friends.
His friends. That group.
That group was popular and they knew it. They don’t seem to bask in it but they would slip some of the times — easily charming people to get what they need, having girls praying that they’ll become their girlfriends. It was no surprise that they have quite a list of girls they dated.
Despite the list,their reputation wasn’t that bad. They would make it clear to the girls they take out on dates — that they’re not looking to commit. You figured it was the least they could to do the poor girls who were pining for them, laying out the facts immediately.
“So what are we eating? I’m about to die any second.” Sooyoung grumbled once more.
“If you’d like to book my TA, I’ve sent you an email with a google sheet for you to find a slot. She’s a popular one so better book a slot asap if you need her help.” Your professor announced to the class, making you feel shy from her comment, your eyes glued to your screen as you felt the stares.
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t know that you were a popular TA. You did put in the effort to help others since you were being paid after all, so, you did deserve the credit.
Throughout class, you could do your own things since you didn’t need to pay attention to the lesson. Halfway through the class, you clicked on the google sheet link to see that your upcoming week has been almost fully booked.
‘maybe i need a pay raise’ you thought to yourself, opening your own calendar to update your own schedule. Your eyes landed on a particular name, shocked that he even bothered to book a slot. 
Jeon Jungkook.
You stopped yourself from whipping your head around to find him. He was part of that group and known to be the very athletic one. You guessed you stereotyped him to be those athletes that didn’t care about studies. You felt slightly uneasy, knowing his reputation in college and the girls.
‘It’s okay, it’s just one time slot.’
Once you noted the ones who booked a time slot with you the upcoming week, you contacted each of them to settle the venue & confirm the timing.
We can meet at my place :) - Jungkook
Yea, I’m not entirely comfortable going to a stranger’s place - y/n
Relax, it was a joke. How about near your place? So you don’t have to travel so much. - Jungkook
That works fine, there’s a cafe near mine. I’ll text you the address later. - y/n
Once class ended your two friends rushed to your seat. “So how’s your schedule Ms. Popular?”
“Really busy.”
“I saw the sheet, Jeon Jungkook booked a slot with you? Perks of being a TA is definitely helping cute students.” Sooyoung giggled like a little pre-teen girl.
“You don’t even need to be a TA to get cute guys, you have so many admirers.” Chan-mi made a very true remark.
“I’ll admit, you’re not wrong. But y/n’s snagging boys of a different league.”
“Stop idolising them like they’re gods.”
“They’re looks are god-like.” Sooyoung countered.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Hey,” someone tapped your shoulder, taking out your earpiece to greet Jungkook. “Hey.”
He was dressed in a typical tired college student, in grey sweats and a black hoodie. Yet, you had to admit he looked cute in them.
“Sorry, did I make you wait long?”
“Oh no, I just came early to make sure we get a good spot. Not too near the rest of the customers.”
“I see you want a little privacy.” Jungkook grinned cheekily, clearly implying something else. You raised a questioning eyebrow at him, “Sorry, just kidding.” He quickly apologised, taking the seat opposite you.
“Anyway, we can just begin immediately. Do you have any questions?”
Jungkook nodded his head, taking out his laptop. “I do actually. Quite a long list if you don’t mind.”
“Well you have me for an hour. Go ahead.” 
Throughout the 2 hours, you realised you really stereotyped him a great amount. You assumed he barely paid attention in class but he did — he even had a list of questions to ask. You honestly enjoyed helping these type of people the most, those that made their own effort to help themselves. 
“You know,” Jungkook spoke, coming back from ordering his drink. “For the past hour and a half, I gotta admit, I stereotyped you to be a super uptight and socially awkward person. Then again, having to help tutor a lot of people would need social skills as well.” 
With a chuckle, you shrugged your shoulders, “I stereotyped you too, so I guess we’re both guilty.”
Curious, Jungkook rested his weight on his arms as he leaned closer to you, “Oh really? What did you stereotype me as then?” A playful smirk clearly threatening to appear on his lips. 
“A dumb jock.” You mischievously grinned back at him, his smile dropped, clearly not expecting that answer. It felt good to bruise that ego of his, even if it was just a split second. “Since I’m asking you to tutor me, I’m not gonna argue that.” He leaned back, regaining his composure and confidence.
You could feel his entire presence exuding with confidence, though he did have something to be confident about. In fact, he had a few things to be confident about - athletically gifted, popular and handsome. Anyone would call you a liar if you said you didn’t think he was handsome. 
“If you don’t have anymore questions, we can wrap this up now.”
Jungkook nodded his head, “Thanks for helping me. Appreciate it.” He reached out his hand, offering a handshake. “A handshake?”
“Are you afraid of a little physical contact?” He teased.
Rolling your eyes, you reached out to give him a firm shake. “Glad I could help you.” He gave you a cute bunny smile, grabbing his things and leaving you behind in the cafe. You stayed for a few more minutes before heading back to your place to prepare dinner for your guests.
Cooking always seemed to make time pass by quickly because before you even realised, your friends were spamming your doorbell, rushing you to let them in. “How was he?” Sooyoung questioned the moment she entered your house. 
“I had a good day thank you.” You sarcastically replied, grabbing a cup for them. “He was alright, he actually came prepared with questions.”
“That’s surprising. I honestly thought he booked a slot just to flirt with you.” Chan-mi commented as she helped you set up the dining table. “Come on, he wouldn’t waste his time on me.”
“Why not? You’re a great catch.” Sooyoung argued.
“Pretty sure I give off the vibe of “date to settle” and not “date for the fun”. So obviously, he won’t even bother.” 
“Mm, you do have a point for that.”
“Anyway, enough about my tutees, let’s just enjoy girls night.” You raised your shot glass of soju, Sooyoung grinned excitedly, “Cheers to us”
-
As every week’s slot was released in the online sheet, Jungkook was always one of the first few to book. You couldn’t help but be surprised every time you saw his name on the schedule. 
“So you picked up the sport by accident?” You clarified again as you took another sip. Jungkook nodded his head, leaning back into his chair. “Seokjin was the one who wanted to learn it, he dragged me to the trial class and the rest was history. He takes credit for it.” He laughed, a reminiscing look on his face.
“From your stories, you guys seem like brothers.” You watched an endearing smile creep onto his face, “They really do seem like it.”
His phone started vibrating and he checked the caller ID before sighing, silencing the call. You furrowed your eyebrows together, “What’s with that annoyed look?”
Jungkook shook his head, running his fingers through his hair, “Nothing much, just someone I went out with a week ago.”
“Trouble in paradise?” You joked.
“There’s no paradise. It was just a date, nothing more to it.” He nonchalantly dismissed it. You felt a bit offended of how casual he was treating their feelings. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to go out with them, you know? You’re just giving them false hope.”
Jungkook sat upright, “That’s not true. I clearly tell them that I don’t mind going out on a date but that’s nothing. Nothing more than a date out. So it’s on them for still going for it.”
You sighed, “But you already know these people are dating you and hoping that they’ll be the one who will change your mind about the idea of commitment.” Jungkook shrugged, “Maybe that’ll happen one day.”
Narrowing your eyes at the boy in front you, you wondered if that was what he had been secretly hoping for whenever he went out with these girls. “Do you want that to happen? Is that why you’re more than glad to go out on dates?”
He didn’t answer immediately, staring at you as if he was thinking of a reply. Clearing his throat he adjusted his sitting position, “I didn’t say that. I just said maybe it’ll happen.”
“Yea but are you hoping for it to happen?”
Jungkook casted a soft glare, “Okay enough about my love life. How about you? Aren’t you single as well?”
You leaned back, nodding your head, “Yea, what about it?”
“Well, why aren’t you attached?”
Pressing your lips into a thin line as you thought carefully of your answer. “Unlike you, I date to settle.” Jungkook jutted out his bottom lip, internalising your reply as he nodded his head in response. “Interesting. You’ll probably click well with Jimin.”
“Your friend Jimin?”
“Yea, he has the same thought as you. Always nagging at me about the same thing you just did.” Jungkook chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he recalled the countless times Jimin was talking about Jungkook’s active love life. 
“He’s right you know… Doesn’t it get lonely always meeting different people?”
There was a short pause in the conversation, Jungkook’s eyes shifting away, his gaze fixed on the table. “To be honest, yea. But at the same time it’s what keeps me from feeling lonely. Doesn’t make sense, I know.”
You smiled, “It’s cool, I kinda get it. But after our numerous study sessions together, I’m certain you deserve to be in a good relationship.”
Jungkook shrugged, “Thanks but I don’t think I’m cut out for it.”
Confused, you questioned for an explanation. Jungkook’s eyes wandered around as he thought of a response. The athlete randomly took out his pair of shades. “Are the shades part of your answer or something?”
“It’s cheap.”
“Okay?” Your response sounded for confused, wondering if he was trying to change the topic. If he was, it was a very weird way.
“I buy the cheap ones because I know i’m going to lose them sooner or later. Can’t keep the good ones. That’s how I feel about my love life. Sometimes it feels like I can’t have nice things.”
“Man.” You breathed out, leaning back into your seat. “That’s a great analogy and all but don’t be so bleak. Between the two of us? You’re probably going to be first one who gets into a solid relationship.”
Jungkook chuckled, “Thanks for the faith TA. Do you have the same amount of faith in me for this module?”
You pursed your lips jokingly, “I think you’ll need more consultations for the same level of faith.” Breaking into a chuckle right after and so did Jungkook.
The popular athlete reached out his tattooed hand once again, for a handshake. By then, you were used to this gesture, chuckling as you reached across the table to shake his hands. “Tell you what, let’s take a pause on tutoring. You should meet the rest.”
“The rest as in your group?”
“Yea,” He stood up, throwing his backpack over his shoulder and stuffed his hands in his sweatpants’ pockets. You liked his laid-back look, he always wore that similar style whenever he was meeting you and you assumed it was to get comfortable enough to study. 
“Are you going to keep staring at me?” Jungkook smirked. You rolled your eyes, standing up to get your bag. “Come on, don’t be so mean to me.” He playfully pouted and he looked cute. You felt yourself feel shy just from that, “I am not.”
“Yes you are, you always mock me or insult me. Where’s my compliment?”
You pursed your lips, bringing your finger to your lips as you pretended to ponder. “You’re doing well with this class.” 
Unsatisfied, he grumbled, “That’s not a compliment.”
“Of course it is.” You grinned cheekily at him, patting his shoulders. “But alright, you look cute in sweats.” Even though you clearly sounded nonchalant, your heart was racing from admitting that and you hoped that your face wasn’t getting hot. You kept your composure, and made the first move to leave the cafe. 
You realised that you didn’t know where you were going to meet his friends, “Oh yea, where are we going?” You turned around to see Jungkook still standing in place. He cleared his throat and adjust his bag strap. “R-Right, just follow me.”
You didn’t want to tease him further but you clearly saw a pink hue on his cheeks. “Cute.” You muttered to yourself as he led the way.
“You want a snack? My treat, for all the tutoring you’ve been giving me.” 
“Jungkook, you don’t have to—“
“Okay I’ll get you your usual.” He winked at you before heading off to the counter. You smiled to yourself, watching his figure walk away. You continued on your own work as you waited for him to come back. 
Jungkook happily came back as if he won a prize. “Guess who just got free cake? We did!” Jungkook cheered, pushing his stuff aside to make way for the food. “Free cake? Why?”
“So the lady who we always see here apparently owns this place. She’s at the counter today and she randomly gave me this cake for us to celebrate Valentine’s Day.”
Confused, you looked at your calendar. “Oh, it’s Valentine’s Day.” “yea it is, didn’t you know?” “Clearly didn’t.” You shrugged, “But you should’ve told her we’re not together. I feel bad for the free cake.”
“No no, you should feel flattered she called us a cute couple. It means you’re cute.” Jungkook’s body froze for a moment realizing what he had just said. You laughed, “Yea right. Good joke, kook.” 
Jungkook frowned, “I’m not joking. I think you’re cute.”
You pointed your pen in his direction, “You know, when I was young I heard that cute meant adorable but ugly.”
“That’s obviously not what I mean. You’re not ugly, that’s for sure.” Jungkook argued without hesitation. You felt flustered this time, retracting your pen. “T-Thanks, I guess.”
The two of you not only spend weekly 2h sessions together, but also became “study buddies”. Jungkook was unsurprisingly super concentrated whenever he started studying. You realised it was his character to always give it his all even if it was something he wasn’t too fond of — like studying. You also noticed his eyebrows would furrow as he tried to comprehend the materials, or sigh and scold himself whenever he found himself stuck. 
He had a lot of endearing habits while studying, you couldn’t help but smile every time you noticed it. 
“It’s Valentine’s Day, why aren’t you on a date today?”
“Because we arranged a study session today.” Jungkook answered as if it was so obvious. 
“It’s just one day of not studying, you could’ve just told me. Plus, I’m sure many girls were hinting you to ask them out.”
“You’re not wrong about that.” He smugly answered and it made you feel a tinge of jealousy that Jungkook saw these girls as “date potential” while you were just his “study buddy”. “Tone down your ego—“
“But I’d rather study with you than go out on a date.”
You found yourself speechless, not knowing how you should be replying to that. Sensing that you were lost for words, Jungkook smiled, “Did I just take your breath away?”
“Shut up.” You snapped out of it, throwing your pen at him.
Hey y/n! Sorry i’ll be a bit late later, at the clinic so it might take a while before I’m let off! - jk
Are you sick? We can just reschedule! - y/n
No no! Just sprained my ankle during practice, that’s all! - jk
that’s all?! you’re not traveling today. what’s ur address? i can go over instead - y/n
You bit your lip, wondering if you were overstepping by insisting that and quickly sent another text.
if you’re alright w that of course - y/n
sure i just didn’t want to suggest it in case you weren’t, i’ll text u my address in a bit! - jk
On your way to his place, you felt nervous but you shrugged it off, blaming it on your usual ‘first house visit jitters’ — just like any other time you visited a place for the first time. Or so you told yourself. You ignored that feeling as you rang the doorbell, waiting for the injured athlete to answer the door.
“Hey.” Jungkook greeted you with a smile. You took a good look at his casted ankle, his weight resting on his crutch. A wince crept on your face, “Ouch, looks bad.” 
“Thank you for asking, I feel fine.” 
You stepped in, eyes taking your time to wander around his place. It was cozy, not cluttered as you had assumed. Jungkook pointed to the table placed by the window, well-lit for a good place to study or to wind down and have a meal. “Nice place.”
“Thanks. Didn’t have much time to tidy up the place before you came.”
“It’s alright, looks neat to me.” Your eyes glanced back down to his ankle, “Are you sure you want to have this session today? I feel like you should be resting—“
“You’re already here. I can take a little revision. Don’t underestimate me.” He teased, gently shoving your shoulder. With a light laugh, you nodded and sat down at the table. You watched Jungkook as he tried to find a comfortable position for himself, especially with his injury. Dropping his crutch on the floor, he settled down quickly to begin the session.
“So how do I know which case to use?” 
“It depends on the scenario prof sets for finals. Just a tip, prof loves answers that argues both sides. So, it’s best if you argue with both cases but conclude with which is more relevant or stronger for the scenario.”
Jungkook nodded his head, his bottom lip jutted out once again as he took down your response in his notes. “Thanks, I’m glad I started consultations with you since the beginning of the semester. I would be drowning will all these laws and cases if I didn’t.”
“I’m sure you would’ve managed fine. Your friends are managing well too. Jimin’s pretty good with this module.” You made an off-handed comment about Jimin as you started to pack up your belongings. You failed to catch the slight furrow in his eyebrows and that irritated twitch in the corner of his lip at the mention of Jimin. He knew you two would match well, which he should be happy for Jimin, but instead, he felt annoyed that Jimin was having consultations with you.
He couldn’t help but ask, “He meets you too?”
“Oh yea,” You nodded, your eyes still not meeting his as you scrolled through your schedule, “He meets me lesser than you though, just once a week.”
Just once a week. He repeated your reply. That was enough to get close to you. Hell, he meets you three times a week almost every week. One would question if he really needed that many consultations a week. Jungkook would argue against that, defending that he needed it. But deep down inside, he knew he was lying. 
You thought the same. Chan-mi and Sooyoung would make remarks on why Jungkook needed three sessions a week, hinting that he just wanted to find excuses to meet you. You would deny it every time, saying that he would always come prepared for each session with questions, proving that he really took those sessions seriously. But just like Jungkook, you too had a feeling that it wasn’t true. 
“Anyway, hope your ankle gets better soon. I better give you time to rest.” You checked the time on your phone. Jungkook did the same time, quick to respond, “Do you want to stay for dinner? I’m going to be ordering delivery anyway. You know... With my ankle. You could have dinner before you leave.” He shrugged his shoulders, trying to be casual about it. Jungkook wasn’t sure what was making him particularly nervous to suggest that. He normally wasn’t nervous with his dates. Why was he nervous around you when it was not even a date to begin with?
You contemplated, imagining your schedule in your mind. The pause made him grow nervous, “You don’t have to—“
“I’m down for dinner. My schedule’s not too busy tonight.” You smiled, settling your bag down back on the chair. Jungkook returned an eager grin. “My treat. For coming all the way here to tutor me.”
“Enough with the treats—“
“No negotiations on this one. I really owe you for traveling here, especially on such a last minute notice.” Jungkook shook his head, scrolling through the list of possible food options.
“Alright, thanks kook.” 
That nickname made his lips tug upwards as he tried to fight the smile. “No problem. What do you want to have?”
Dinner didn’t take long to arrive, you helped him collect the delivery and set it out on the coffee table. Jungkook had convinced you to watch a movie with him while waiting for dinner. Sinking yourself back onto the couch, the two of you happily enjoyed dinner while watching the movie he had chosen. 
“That’s cute.” You commented as the credits rolled. The movie was a short light one and it helped the both of you de-stress from the upcoming finals season. You really needed that self-care. 
“Thanks for the dinner and movie. I honestly needed it. Haven’t had much time to wind down lately.” 
“Too busy with your consultations?” 
You nodded your head, letting out a long sigh. “Yea, don’t get me wrong. It’s rewarding helping others, especially with the pay. But it’s just during this killer period that makes me regret it.”
Jungkook frowned, sitting upright, “I’m sorry I keep booking you.”
You chuckled, “Don’t be sorry. That is my job anyway. Plus, you’re always prepared for the sessions. I hate sessions when they don’t even know why they booked it. Drives me mad.”
Jungkook hummed, agreeing with you. “That must suck.”
“Yea,” your eyes trailed back down to his ankle once again. “What happened with your ankle anyway?”
“Training today. It’s been tough as well for me. Coach has been increasing the intensity and we don’t really get enough rest with studies as well. I wasn’t in the greatest condition today so I slipped.” 
“Yikes. Hope it heals fast though.” You smiled cheekily, “Do I get to sign it?”
Jungkook laughed, “That’s so childish. No one signs casts anymore.”
“Please? I’ve never done it before!” You pouted, doing your best to convince him to let you vandalize his cast. You didn’t need to do much to convince him, he was willing to give in pretty much from the first time you brought it up. “A-Alright. Just don’t draw a dick or something.”
You hummed, feigning consideration. “I wasn’t planning to but now that you mentioned it...”
He glared, grabbing his throw pillow to toss it at your face. “Don’t you dare.”
“I was kidding.” You laughed, rushing to the table to grab a pen, sitting back down close to him to draw on his cast. 
Don’t flunk my module.
“Done!” You added an “A+” next to it, willing yourself to not draw a heart which you almost did. You pulled away from the cast, looking at your work proudly. Jungkook snorted, “Don’t flunk my module? I won’t. Definitely not after all our sessions together.”
“You better.” You turned to look at him, suddenly aware of how close your faces were next to each other. You watched his gaze drop to your lips before flickering up to meet yours, “May I...?”
You nodded slightly, overcome by the adrenaline and fluttery feeling that was consuming you. You both leaned in, gently kissing each other, making sure you don’t put so much weight against him to avoid hurting his injury. Jungkook’s hand found your waist as he pulled you in, the other cupping your cheek. With your arms snaking around his neck, you both deepened the kiss.
Something in you snapped and made you pull away abruptly. “I-I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have done that.” You quickly got up to take your belongings.
“W-Wait, what do you mean—“ Jungkook called after you, struggling to get up fast with his crutch.
“You’re just going to end whatever we’ll have if we try. We’re looking for different things remember?” You rubbed the nape of your neck, “L-Look, could we just pretend this didn’t happen? I don’t want anything to be awkward between us.”
“W-Wait but...” Jungkook sighed, noting how resolute you were with your suggestion. “If that’s what you want.”
“Thanks Jungkook... Anyway, I should probably go. Get well soon.” You shifted your bag on your shoulder and sent yourself out the door.
After that incident, your schedule you had planned went down the drain. Your brain was foggy and your focus out the window the entire night as you kept thinking about that kiss. How it felt and how happy you felt. But you also reminded yourself that Jungkook was not looking to settle and you didn’t want to put yourself through that. 
You just hoped things would be the same after that day.
I’m guessing the usual cafe? :) - jk
Where else would we go? - y/n
Maybe my place? - jk
Good try - y/n
Worth a shot - jk
You couldn’t help but smile to yourself every time you conversed with him. Your usual 2h slot with him would drag on if you didn’t have anything that day. It wouldn’t drag on because of questions, you two would just be talking and enjoying each other’s presence. Ever since you met his friends, you met him more outside your 2h slot with him. Though, it was always off-campus. 
The incident at his place was as if it didn’t even happen. As if it was just a wet dream of Jungkook. You were thankful he stuck to the agreement and acted as if nothing happened. However, a part of you felt that it was the wrong move. 
You look great today btw - jk
But that doesn’t mean you look bad on other days - jk
Just extra great today - jk
Feeling that familiar fluttery feeling in your heart, you chose to ignore the message, promptly closing your chat. You reminded yourself about their reputation with relationships, they weren’t into a serious commitment. You didn’t want to waste your own time either. For some reason you could feel someone staring at you and you could bet anyone 10 bucks that it was Jungkook. 
After that moment, class went by fast and it was finally time for lunch. “Y/n! Do you want to grab lunch sometime this week? I promised I’ll be treating.” Mingyu flashed a very charming smile that made you smile back automatically. Behind him was Sooyoung and Chan-mi approaching you. 
“You really don’t have to treat me, I’m just doing my job—“
“I insist, yn. I still owe you for carrying me on your back last semester for the other class.” He chuckled. “Come on, you pulled your own weight.” You shook your head with a laugh. You glanced at your two friends who were patiently waiting for you and possibly eagerly eavesdropping. Just as you were about to turn away, Jungkook’s group walked behind them.
You could’ve sworn that you made eye contact when you gave him a smile to which he coldly ignored, looking away and leaving the hall with his friends.
“We can go for lunch but you’re not treating me.”
Mingyu reached out to pat your shoulder, “We’ll see! I’ll get you again soon!” He winked at you and headed off. Your two giddy best friends reached out to pull you along with them. “Is that a date?”
“N-No it’s not!”
“Why are you stuttering?” Chan-mi teased, poking your sides. You took a few steps in front of them, turning around to face them as you walked backwards. “I swear it’s not a date. We’re just friends.”
“Alright, alright, now walk properly before you hurt yourself Miss-I-have-a-date-with-Mingyu.” Sooyoung turned you around by your shoulders. Just as she strongly whipped you around, your eyes met with Jungkook’s.
Your mouth opened to say hi but nothing happened when he once again, looked away, not acknowledging your presence. “Hey y/n!” Jimin happily greeted you, pulling you in for a hug. “Thanks for tutoring me yesterday.”
“No problem, just doing my job.” You grinned at him but your thoughts still on Jungkook ignoring you.
Jimin chuckled, ruffling your hair, “You’re cute when you’re humble. Anyway, see you around!” You said bye to the others, noting that Jungkook didn’t say a single word to you. It was as if you weren’t right in front of you and you felt offended.
“Did something happen between you and Jungkook?” 
“No, nothing happened.” You denied as the memory of the kiss flashed in your mind.
“Are you sure?” Chan-mi questioned and you sighed. “Sorry, can we not talk about him? Let’s just have lunch.”
You didn’t notice your two friends sharing a look before collectively agreeing to drop the topic.
“Hey.”
“You’re late.” You commented, staring at your screen as you continued your assignment. “Yea sorry, I was on a date with someone and it kinda over ran.”
Oh. A date with someone. “O-Oh, how did it go?”
“Pretty well.” Jungkook took a sit, taking out his laptop, ready to fire his questions. “That’s good!” you sounded happy for him. You weren’t sure if your eyes were just trying to make you feel better but it was as if Jungkook seemed disappointed with your reply, as if he was hoping for a different reaction. 
“Yea... Anyway, I don’t have much questions today so it should be a fast one. If you want, we could go get an early dinner?”
“I don’t think I can... I have quite a lot of things to do today.” 
“Oh... That’s cool.”
Moving on from the topic, you two went through the questions he had smoothly though there was something nagging at the back of your mind. Why was he so cold towards you that day? Why is he acting as if he wasn’t being such a dick towards you that day? 
“You good?”
“Hmm?” You glanced up to see genuine concerned eyes that made your heart flutter once again. “Y-Yea I’m good.”
“You sure? You seem quite out of it today. Are you unwell? Is something bothering you?”
You shook your head, getting frustrated. “Why were you ignoring me today in school?”
“W-What?” Jungkook pulled away, taken aback by your question. You sighed, “You know what I’m talking about.”
Jungkook shook his head, “I was just having a bad morning.”
“A bad morning.” You scoffed, “Right, so a bad morning would make you ignore my entire presence. I’ll take mental note of that.” Jungkook himself got annoyed, crossing his arms as he countered, “You didn’t seem to care about anyone else either when you were chatting up with Mingyu. Didn’t think my moody morning would even be noticed by you.”
You blinked a couple times, processing what he had just said. “W-What? I was just talking with him. Why are you even bringing this up?”
He didn’t answer this time, sighing as he packed his laptop in his bag. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” Jungkook got up and so did you. “You can’t do this? Are you jealous or something?”
“What? Of course not.” Jungkook frustratedly ruffled his hair. Not wanting to cause a scene at the cafe, you took your own stuff, chuckling dryly to yourself. “Well, you need to sort out whatever shit’s going on with you. I’m not here to guess how you’re feeling.”
“You’re not here to guess?” Jungkook whisper-yelled. “You were the one who suggested to ignore what happened. I’m here trying to keep my shit together because of that.”
“Jungkook, look. Let’s not talk about it here. Can we just drop it please?” ”Whatever.”
You walked away, not looking back to see Jungkook’s regretful look on his face.
Jungkook didn’t contact you after that day and you didn’t want to contact him either. Jimin, on the other hand, was trying to find out what happened between the two of you. 
“He always shuts the conversation down the moment one of us brings you up.” 
You sighed, “Nothing serious happened.”
“If that’s true, you guys wouldn’t be ignoring each other like the plague again. I had to lie to him about where I am today.”
A part of you, admittedly, would want Jungkook to reach out to you to just come clean about snapping at you the other day. You couldn’t understand how he could go on a date and then get pissed that you were talking to Mingyu. 
“You shouldn’t have lied to him.”
“It’s nothing.” Jimin shook his head, “What really happened between you two?”
Defeated, you told Jimin what happened that day at the cafe. “You two are just plain stupid. That poor boy likes you. You like him. Case solved.”
“If that’s true, he wouldn’t have gone on a date right before meeting me.”
“Yes, I agree that part’s fucked up. He just sucks at admitting his feelings to himself. Don’t worry, I’ll sort him out for you.” Jimin draped his arms around your shoulder, “you can count on me to give him a good nagging.”
“Thanks Jimin but you don’t have to do that—“
“Jimin? Y/N?”
The two of you turned around, Jimin immediately retracting his arm when you saw Jungkook standing right behind you. “Oh Kook!”
“I thought you said you’re meeting your Tinder date.”
“R-Right about that—“
“No, forget it, it’s clear who’s your Tinder date. Enjoy.” Jungkook shut him down and walked pass the both of you. Jimin sighed, “Looks like it’s time for me to fix this mess.”
“I think he’ll beat you up if you go after him. I’ll talk to him. You’re right, we need to talk.” Jimin gave you an encouraging smile, patting your shoulders, “Good luck.”
You needed that.
You hurriedly followed after him, calling out to him to stop and wait for you. It wasn’t that hard to catch up to him with his injury as well. 
Jungkook looked hurt and cold, as if he was building up his wall against you. “We weren’t on a date. Jimin didn’t want to tell you that he’s meeting me because apparently you get pissed every time you hear my name. I swear.”
“You don’t need to explain anything—“
“Yea of course I don’t, because I should just leave it to you to make wild assumptions every time some shit happens. I don’t get it. One moment, I think you may like me and the next moment you’re out on a date with someone else. Just tell me what is it and we can stop having this misunderstanding.”
Jungkook ruffled his hair, looking around the campus. “Can we talk somewhere else? And not here in public?”
You gestured with your hands, asking him to lead the way. Jungkook led you to a more secluded area, not too far away from where you bumped into him. You both couldn’t take walking together without clearing things up. 
Jungkook didn’t waste any time, immediately diving straight into it. “I do like you. Hell, there’s nothing to even doubt especially after that night. I wanted to kiss you for so long. I never admitted that to myself until that very moment. But then you said you wanted to drop everything and I thought it was just in the heat of the moment for you so I agreed. I rather be friends than back to strangers.” Jungkook breathed, taking a short pause, “But then I see you with Mingyu, with Jimin, and I know these men are your type. The ones that settle down with the right partner. The ones that don’t go on many dates. But that’s been me. So i figured you regretted it when you said that i didn’t want the same things you wanted. But fuck, i want to settle down with you. Take things slow, see where the future takes us. Three sessions with you was over the top for my studies but I did it because I love our time together. I love studying with you, going off topic and talking about other things. I love teasing you just to see your reaction because it makes me smile. I love it when you tease me back just to annoy me. You annoy me but I love it.” He sighed, looking at the floor before meeting your watery eyes.
“But I know I’m not the type of guy you’re looking for. You made it clear yourself that night when you asked to drop it. So there. That’s why I went on that date before meeting you. Because I was so nervous about seeing your face, I needed to get my mind off of you. I admit, I’m sorry for doing that because that just further proves your point about me.” He trailed off, as the realization sinks in of how he had just fucked up his own chances of being with you.
You didn’t bother interrupting him at all, your heart pounding loudly against your chest as you took in every single word he said. Your brain and heart having a civil war with each other. Not knowing what should your next move be. 
“I’m guessing silence means I’m right.” He spoke after receiving no response from you. “I’ll see you around. Take care of yourself.” He gave a pained smile as he headed off back to his place.
Your knees felt weak as you leaned back against the wall that was hiding the both of you from the others. Your hand brought up to your heart. 
What were you going to do?
With a heavy heart, you made your way back to your place. As you settled your dinner, you aimlessly browsed through the shows on Netflix as Your mind was busy thinking about Jungkook’s confession. 
Why didn’t you go after him? Why didn’t you say anything? Were you scared that it was all words? Were you scared of ruining the friendship you two had established? What was stopping you from doing what you wanted?
You knew you couldn’t leave things there. You had to do something before you regret. You liked Jungkook. A lot. You were willing to take the risk with him. Just as he was as willing to prove to you that he’s serious. 
You reached out for your phone and key, making your way out the door and to where you needed to be.
Once you had arrived, you were knocking on the door profusely, “Jungkook!” You called out.
The door opened, “W-What are you doing here—“
“I like you too. You’re wrong. I don’t regret that night. I regret saying that we should forget about it. Because i couldn’t. I didn’t. I thought about it everyday. I’m willing to take things slow with you if you’re willing. I don’t want to regret this as well.”
The smile on his face grew as you admitted your own feelings to him, Jungkook pulling you in with his free hand as the other still held on to his clutch.
“I mean it as well. I have zero intentions to play around with you. I’m serious and I’ll prove it. I’m not going to lose you, you’re not cheap sunglasses to me.”
“I trust you.” You said with a laugh, recalling his metaphor as his grin only grew wider. “You just made me a really happy man.”
“Really? I couldn’t tell with that wide grin on your face.”
“You’re annoying.” Jungkook said with no malice in his tone as he leaned in for a kiss. Both of you had been wanting to do that again ever since that incident. Your leg kicking the door shut as you pulled yourself closer to him. 
“I could get used to this.” You smiled as you pulled away. 
“Well, you should. I’m going to be kissing you for a long time.”
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ushioink · 3 years
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(Part 2 of Careful,)
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The lecture hall is damp from boredom and like minded individuals, and so she puts herself in a spot slightly to the left, in the back where it’s a bit hidden from the nosiness of the students in her History class. She waits for Mrs. Kang to appear as she tinkers with her phone, searching through her images and playing games, considering the internet is banned from inside the actual classrooms for the benefits of busybodies like herself.
Mrs. Kang enters in the same time as the last group of students do, and she stares them down so hard that they quickly skittle down, thanking God that she, from all professors, don’t have that rule in excluding students that come after her. She stares at the glared at students with sick amusement, opening her laptop and turning it on to ready herself in notes taking. However, her small tinge of positive amusement is destroyed when a heavy body slides himself so casually on her seat, the one thing that she had happily bragged to own herself. She looks to the abhorrent nuisance that invaded her personal space, and her neutral face expression shifts into an annoyed one. Seeing this, Baekhyun just grins prettily at her, his straight teeth glinting like diamonds. She wants to gouge his intestines out.
“What are you doing?” She looks down at her laptop in feigned disinterest, even though her eyebrows constantly shift around in a narrow. “No, seriously, what the heck are you doing?”
“Shh, we’re in a lecture hall,” he puts a tall and pretty finger on his lips. “Mrs. Kang had not punished you before because you’re her favorite student, but I won’t take my chances. She knows who I am. I’ve made a ruckus or two,” he seems very proud of this, his eyes flashing smugly, “and I’ve been kicked out of her class a lot. So shush, let me concentrate.”
“All the more reasons for you to fuck off,” she tilts her head a little to the side so she can hiss at him, her hands beginning to type quickly as Mrs. Kang begins her lecture. “I’d rather not be seen here with you. Also, you’re not here to concentrate. You’re here to rip the skin out of my body.” She pretends to shiver violently.
He snickers, and it comes out a little loud. Mrs Kang instantly stops her exciting monologuing (it’s rare to find someone who manages to speak so boringly, and yet excitedly at the same time, but she does so perfectly) to whip her head around, her eyes hawk-like and deadly.
“I hear snickering!” She yells. “Who dares laughing in my class?”
Baekhyun instantly pretends to be an innocent listener, his eyes big and preposterously uncanny. Mrs. Kang ravishes the students with her narrowed, kohl eyes.
“Just because you give me a vague face, doesn’t mean I won’t find you.” The teacher threatens again. Still, no one gives her any response.
She’s a bit astonished that none of the nearby students who actually heard Baekhyun snicker were telling on him. But the surprise quickly vanishes when she looks around at their faces, every single one avoiding Baekhyun’s amused eyes, threat very clear under.
She rolls her eyes.
Mrs. Kang kinda mellows over once no one confesses and she no longer hears laughter, and resumes her lecture with the same vindictive tone that she has been using in the start of the semester.
Immediately after her back is to the class, Baekhyun slides his butt closer to her, until their thighs are a brush away. She gives him a creeped out look, and he simply leans against the table on his elbow, putting his head on his palm. He grins, or smirks. His lips only curl a little, and the devilish glint in his eyes makes him appear dangerous, so she goes with smirking. He is smirking, indeed. For a second, she understands why people are afraid of him. Tremors kinda bloom in her body, but she pushes the irrational emotion out of her system quickly. She turns to the board, focusing on the professor.
Soon, she realizes that he isn’t looking away. He’s staring at her in the same mischievous yet intolerable way. She gives him a thin-lipped smile, apparent in its annoyance. Her eyes wide and irritated. His eyes only twinkle more in that stupid, attractive glint of his that’s entirely evil.
“Yes? Is there something you need, dumbass?” She sighs.
He nods seriously, his face grave. “Yes. I was wondering if you’d be my Twin Flame. The walls to my well. The stone to my heart. The poison to my soul. Oh, be my favorite nightmare.”
She takes one of her blue pens and flicks it on his forehead. It flops pathetically on the floor. He sniggers again - much more quietly - and rubs his surely reddening spot.
“Seriously, I want nothing. I’m just quietly staring at you.”
“For what reason, oh please tell, you’re staring at me for?” She leans towards him as if potentially saying something secretive. “Do you know that staring so intently at someone’s eyes can affect their chakra? So, I’ll just stare right back at you hoping that my laser eyes can negatively make you bend over this desk. I gotta tell you, I have very strong chakra.”
He furrows his eyebrows weirdly. “You believe in this bullshit?”
Her eyes widen a little, but she quickly composes herself to squint instead. “No, I don’t. But I thought someone like you might.”
“I can’t help but have the slightest conclusion that you just called me a loser, which hurts my feelings. It really does.”
“Does it? And here I thought hurting your feelings would require more effort.” She gives him a mocking smile, and then turns to the professor with her default blank face.
He stares at her, a little amused at her odd shenanigans, and wonders how someone like her had slipped from under his eyes. He’s usually a quiet person that makes it his daily struggle to stare people down to scare them, but to see her, a person that’s so easily irritated for completely different reasons than his amusement actually makes him... excited. He hasn’t really considered annoying her today because of their promise to work on their assignment (or just his) but once he came inside the classroom, he remembered her amusing response of yesterday and subconsciously found himself going to her row, seating himself comfortably next to her.
He continues to annoy her throughout the lecture by poking on her shoulder when she concentrates and breaks her focus, or kicking her shin from under the table whenever she’s pulling a funny look at the utter shit Mrs. Kang is spouting so she’d adjust her bold facials into a neutral face, of course for her own benefits. He’d even steal pens from her large - very large - pen collection, throwing the used pen away from her grabby hands only to steal another one right under her nose. She’s disappointed in herself. She thought she has great reflexes, but she’s considered piss poor in comparison to Baekhyun’s fast, dangerous reflexes. Something about his numerous black belts in hapkido, as he easily bragged at her discomforted look towards her stollen utensils.
Of course, she’s hyper aware of the accumulation of stares from everyone piling up her back. She knows she’s being watched; or rather he’s been watched, for some reason their close proximity to one another, and the constant flying arms coming from her part to smack him away has ticked everyone the wrong way. She has been aware, since the start, that his presence so close to her would rise unfiltered attention from nosy students who found it their prime pastime to watch other unsuspecting students. She doesn’t care that much, of course. She has already been a suspect of gossip her entire life for having the personality that she does, but to be stared down at for different reasons than the ones she’s used to... she gotta say. It feels good.
The minute the lecture ends - very, very slowly - she instantly stands up, making her chair squeak. She raises her already collected stuff on her shoulder, turns to a suddenly flustered Baekhyun, and reaches over for his hair. His yelps come quick and excessive, especially when she uses his hair to pull him out of his chair. He complies, of course, so she doesn’t end up ripping his entire hair roots from his head, and follows after her obediently - yet loudly - as she drags him somewhere else. At first he doesn’t say anything, even though he can overpower her easily, because he knows he kinda sorta deserved to be treated like a dog, but the minute he sees her approaching the library (where silence is a requirement he can’t reach) he grabs her wrist and twists her hand as further back as it can go from his hair. It’s her time to yelp.
In response, her claws release his hair from their clutches, and he stands to his full height. Then, he pulls her towards him, or more like jerks her against him in a single gesture, until she bumps roughly into his chest, and pushes her on the wall so she’s stuck between two solid rocks.
She looks up at him with wide eyes. Her heartbeats are racing so fast inside her chest, she’s a little worried she wouldn’t be able to breathe at the end of this escapade. Of course, he looks down at her, his eyes narrowed and dangerous, but still holding a small flicker of childlike smugness. When he’s so close to her like this, she realizes how short she is. At first, she considered him short in comparison to most males in her university, but while he’s pressing her against the library wall like this, she understands that no, he isn’t short.
“Yah,” he calls, but the voice is soft and tender, the kind that makes a prey submit just to be devoured. She refuses to gulp in front of him and instead glares venomously at him. Seeing this, he lowers his face to her, his warm breath falling on her nose, her mouth and chin like waterfalls. “Yah.”
“Is my name yah to you?” She hisses like a snake, giving him her best don’t fuck with me look, even though genuinely, she’s shaking underneath him.
He narrows his eyes at her. “Do you think I let people shove their hands in my hair like that? Do you think people go around dragging me like that?”
She scoffs. She’s burning up from the inside; of course she is. In one hand, she’s not used to being squished like this against walls. In fact, she’s not sure she has ever felt such warmth from a human body encompassing her like this, and she’s not sure the sensation is to her liking. A girl from her background is used to selfish smacks on the head as a meager exposure of emotions, so such little proximity, with a man nevertheless, makes her feel.. strange. He’s not as soft as she first thought of him, as well. He’s all rigidness and soft muscles, and considering she’s as experienced as a squished slug, she’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. The way he’s staring down at her, like he’s conscious of the fact he might be in the presence of a cheetah hasn’t gone unnoticed by her, and despite his dumb personality, she has to admit that she likes careful people, especially those careful around her. However, she’s not exactly a flower girl. She refuses to be a flower girl, no matter how much respect she has for flower girls.
She lifts her knee and violently connects it to the man’s junk. She watches in sick, fascinated awe as the man’s face changes. It contorts into a painful scrunch, and quickly, he succumbs to the gravitational pull into the floor. He curls in a heap on the ground, moaning in pain. She huffs, brushes her hair from her sweaty neck - for no specific reason, of course - and glares at the watchful crowd. They quickly flush away like toilet water.
A few minutes after Baekhyun’s fall, she looks down at him as if she’s exhausted from his childish antics, and says. “I don’t let people pin me to walls, either. You’re not that special.”
She twists around dramatically - yes, she knows she’s dramatic - and intends to walk inside the library. But a few seconds later, she realizes that she isn’t being followed, so she pauses. She twists back dramatically (again) and narrows her eyes at the dead body on the floor. “Yah, Aren’t you coming? We have stuff to work on, you know.”
-
She yawns monstrously, and drags her heavy legs towards the convenience store a few minutes away from her tiny apartment in the middle of a neighborhood she has troubles remembering the name of. She bows respectfully at the older man owning the store, being on social terms, enough to be yelling at him without taking responsibility to her stupid anger, and walks further inside.
She shuffles around, her legs feelings like a full body sag as she tries to pull her weight up. Considering she has a certain amount of money she can spend on snacks because of her tight budget, she only chooses the most important snacks to her. For instance, she’s a sweet tooth so she gathers as much chocolate, marshmallows, and fluffy jellies as she can, then settles on two medium sized chip bags. She travels to the beverages’ fridge like a disabled elephant, and takes a few bottles of soda. She is not a fan of beer and soju. Those do nothing to tilt her world upside down anyways. To her, they are a waste of money.
Busy going around the ramen section, she doesn’t notice the tall man that enters the shop. She fails to notice the humongous sneeze that he releases either, shivering like a wet dog, sans the wet part. Her eyes are half-lidded with sleep, and her lips are practically swirly like water with how tired she is because of work, so she only gets attuned to his presence when she smacks into his side.
“Ow,” she mutters pathetically, rubbing her forehead with the hand holding the ramen. She raises her eyes to glare at the fucker, because that’s what she’s good at, even though she’s the one who bumped into him, only to falter when she sees Chanyeol. “Chanyeol?”
“Uh, yeah. Hello?” He sounds awkward, his large hands paused around two packets of ramen himself. He stares down at her because he’s a skyscraper, and that’s what skyscrapers do to align to people; and stares back at the ramen. He stares back at her, again, then at the ramen, nervous at seeing her for whatever reason.
She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. “What the heck are you doing in this convenience store? Or in this neighborhood?”
Chanyeol blinks, “I live here?”
“You don’t sound so sure about that answer.” She continues to narrow her eyes at him.
“Okay?”
She rolls her eyes and shuffle away from him. Noticing that she picked everything she needs, she heads for the register to pay for her things. Oddly enough, Chanyeol’s quick to follow her, standing behind her patiently. She tilts her head backwards so she can peek inconspicuously at him, and sees he’s only holding packets of instant ramen. He notices her trying to act slick, and focuses his big eyes on her. She quickly looks away, feeling a burn in the back of her neck.
She pays, and leaves, walking through the endless night of the day, huffing because her bags ended up being heavier than she expected. However, she’s a strong, independent woman, and so she swallows up her growing whine. But that doesn’t stop her from stomping on the ground as she walks further away from the convenience store.
Her loud, angry stomps doesn’t entirely block her from the steps that’s strangely walking after her. She pauses in her strides to check if she’s really hearing things, and the footsteps behind her pauses as well. She turns around suspiciously and finds Chanyeol standing behind her, a confused look on his face.
“Why’d you suddenly stop?” He asks, and she’d have found the question an okay one if she hadn’t already surrendered herself to the growing suspicion in her belly.
Instead of answering his question, she fires a question of her own. “Why are you following me?”
He tilts his head to the side, and a lock of dark hair falls on his left eye, giving him a sense of innocence that contradicts the tight clothes he’s wearing. His leather pants are so snug against him that she wonders how he can even walk, and his leather boots make him appear taller, if that’s even possible. She’s a bit envious of the large jacket that he’s wearing, making him bigger and helping him against the cold nights of January. She has been dumb enough to forget her jacket at work today, and so she’s forced to walk around shivering like a rat.
After she finishes inspecting him like a creep, and remembering the fact he hadn’t answered her question, she goes on her merry way for some reason, noticing that his own footsteps commenced after her. She takes lefts and turns away from her house, to check if he’s following her, and once she makes clear accusation in her mind that he is following her, she swivels around to glare at him. He looks back, eyes entirely vacant of emotions.
“See? You are following me, listen..” she twiddles her toes inside her flats, instantly nervous at the concept of being followed. “I don’t know who you think I am, and I don’t know who you think you are, but kidnapping unsuspecting victims is wrong. Kidnapping any kind of victims is wrong. See, maybe you are failing your classes, and maybe you don’t have a flourishing sex life, and maybe you are into this bad boy bullshit, but trust me, a felony following after your back is bad. It’s very bad for your resumé. Weren’t you the one so careful about the internal scarring of your heart? A felony is so much worse than that, I gotta tell you.”
Chanyeol’s lips curl at the blunder she’s throwing on his way, her usually glaring eyes now shaking in nervousness. He gathers all of his ramen in one arm so he can throw a large hand on his mouth to stop his growing laughter from bursting out. To see a girl like her showing uncharacteristic nervousness, it’s kind of funny, despite evilly knowing it’s causing her an internal meltdown.
She looks at him carefully, eyes prodding, and she fails to notice the fact his raised hand is to cover his laughter, not to knock her out. She eyes him up and down, putting her large bag of bought goodies on her chest as a secure guard against him, even though he seems like he can smack her unconscious with a simple kiddie slap. She swallows, taking a step back.
“Please,” she whimpers, then clears her throat when it shows that she’s whimpering, “I don’t taste good. I have nothing against cannibals, but I have the thought to consider myself distasteful.”
He calls her name to pull her out of her stupidly amusing fear, and she swallows, lifting her head up in false confidence. She notices that his eyes are twinkling, the same devilish sparkle that she associated Baekhyun with. To see them so similar yet different at the same time is unnerving, but she doesn’t focus on that. She’s a bit terrified to be consumed at the moment to think about anything else.
“Listen,” Chanyeol’s low baritone comes out of his lips, and this time he doesn’t push himself to conceal his smile. “I’m not following you. I’m not going to eat you. I don’t like the meat of innocent women.”
She stares at him suspiciously. “You prefer the meat of innocent men? I’m not judging.”
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t eat people, sweetie.”
She bristles like she has been burned, and she forgets about her flammable fear to give him a cold, deadly look. He falters. “Don’t call me that. Nobody calls me that, Chanyeol.”
He clears his throat, “Right,” he points at the house right behind her, the mirth quickly returning back to his opaque eyes. “My apartment is right behind you. I genuinely was walking home.”
she twists around to observe the house, noticing that it’s a large building with numerous floors. She guesses that he indeed is telling the truth, noticing the small sign on the corner naming the house as a university resident for males. Her face goes all types of colors at having not noticed the actual sign, and she starts to recollect her footsteps to see if she had accidentally just lead the man home. Maybe she is the stalker one. Her embarrassment grows.
She looks back at him, blinking, and he has the audacity to showcase his smug smirk. She clears her throat and squeezes her fingers around her bag, taking a few steps to the side so the giant scraper can get a leeway to enter his home. He does so, but before he can disappear inside; he turns around to give her another amusement-filled look.
She tries to gather her dignity, disliking the fact Chanyeol has seen her on her real act of a little scaredy cat, whether her fear is justified or not, so she clears her throat, swings her bag on her shoulder like a boss, and bellows, “Just so you know, cannibals are disgustingly immoral, whatever immorality is to you. I was just trying to secure myself a safe spot. I do have a lot of judgment against you. Lots and lots of judgments.”
“Good to know that.” Is Chanyeol’s cheeky answer.
She goes home with a stamp of red, crimson blotch all over her face and the back of her neck. For a second she wonders if she can avoid Chanyeol for the rest of her life so this episode of hers can be removed eternally from her internal disk drive, but then she rationalizes that the memory is shared between the two of them, not her alone. Whether she forgets her shameful distastefulness or not, she’s sure he won’t, so she bangs her face to a wall in her living room, believing that her stoic good girl image is ruined, forever.
She just hopes he doesn’t share this with Baekhyun.
-
Author Note:
So maybe the oc is dumb, ahaha.
I really find myself enjoying writing this fic. It’s very different than the characters I usually write, even though the concept is repetitive and cliché.
And yes, they live in the same neighborhood, but it seems that Chanyeol’s university resident is a bit far away from her apartment, thus why the lefts and turns she had to take to guide him away, ahaha.
We can see a bit of distinction in Yeol and Baek’s personalities??? We’ll of course see more of their personalities!
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Rehearsal (Peter Parker x Reader)
Summary: Peter and you have to rehearse a scene for your theatre class, which just so happens to have a kiss in it. (Gender neutral reader!)
Prompts: 1. “Why would you do this?” 22. “This is the part where you kiss me.”
Warnings: good old fashioned fluff
Note: Lol this one kinda got away from me. I used a random number generator to choose the prompts and only expected this to be like 800 words max but I ended up with over 2k so. but I really like what I ended up with so I hope y’all do too <3 mostly from Peter’s POV btw. oh and I tried to keep it gender neutral but it’s natural for me to write with a female reader so let me know if I accidentally left a few she’s/her’s in there.
Word Count: 2.1k
Masterlist
Peter Parker is a nerd. He’s good at science and math, which is why he’s attending Midtown School of Science and Technology. Despite the STEM focus the school has, there’s still a requirement for at least one art-related class in order to graduate. When Peter chose an entry level Theatre class, he hoped it would focus more on the study of famous plays than actually having to stand on a stage and act. Peter was very, very wrong. For the first assignment of the semester, students had to pair up and perform a short, dramatic piece. He had been paired with Y/N Y/L/N, who he had a minor crush on. Ok, major crush. After he and MJ broke up last year, he honestly didn’t think he’d find anyone else for a while. But then Y/N transferred to Midtown, and he was whipped right from the start. 
“Look man, you gotta use this opportunity to make a move!” Peter and Ned were walking down the hallway between classes, Ned trying to convince Peter again that this was a great chance to finally tell Y/N how he feels. “Just look up some cute scene for the two of you to perform! It’ll be like when Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie fell in love on set!”
“I’m pretty sure they broke up, Ned.”
“Whatever. The point stands.”
The pair approached their lockers, where you were waiting. You had a few papers in your hand, which held your attention until you noticed Peter in front of you.
“H-hey. What’s up?” Peter tried his best to contain his stutter, but couldn’t help it. Y/N just had that effect on him.
“Hey Pete, I, um, I found some potential scripts for us to use for our assignment. I thought you could look over them before we rehearse at mine on Friday? I like them all, so whichever you wanna go with is fine...although I did put a star next to my favorite piece.” You handed half of the papers you were holding to Peter, keeping copies of each script for yourself. Peter noticed that the copies you kept had already been highlighted and annotated, while his were straight from the printer. Except for the small star at the top of the first script in his stack. Before Peter could respond, the warning bell began to ring, signaling only a minute to get to your next class. “Just text me whichever one you want, and we can walk to my place after school tomorrow to rehearse.” You said this as you began to walk away, giving Peter and Ned a small wave before you turned around to race to your final class of the day. 
~~~
Instead of paying attention to his teacher’s lecture during Chemistry, Peter spent the 50 minute period reading through the scripts you had chosen. Peter already knew he wanted to perform the script you liked, but he was nervous. Your favorite scene happened to be the only one which called for a kiss, but he didn’t know if he had the guts to go for it. He could easily choose either of the other scenes and call it a day, but...well, was this your way of making a move? Had you intentionally chosen the script with a kiss to find out if Peter liked you? Did you like him? Or did you just choose that one because you genuinely thought it was the best option?
The bell rang, interrupting Peter’s thoughts and signaling the end of the school day. Hopefully a few hours of swinging through the streets of New York would be enough to distract Peter from thinking about you all night. For once, Peter was actually hoping New York criminals would keep him busy.
~~~
When Peter slipped through the window of his bedroom, his thoughts were unsurprisingly still revolving around you. Despite a somewhat busy night - two muggings, an almost-car crash, and one lost little girl now safely back with her mother - He still hadn’t been able to come to a decision. Half an hour ago you had texted Peter asking if he had chosen a script yet, and he still hadn’t responded. 
“Just go with the script they want, Pete. Even if Y/N doesn’t like you, at least you’ll get to kiss them.” He thought as he removed his skin-tight supersuit and changed into some sweats and a t-shirt. He grabbed his phone from the pocket of his backpack, and, after another minute or so of arguing with himself, finally began to type.
8:31 pm
Y/N:
hey pete, have you decided which script you wanna do yet?
9:06 pm
Peter:
Uh, yeah. I think the one you liked is the best.
9:08 pm
Y/N:
yesss, i was hoping you’d choose that one. i have great taste ;)
9:08 pm
Peter:
Haha, yeah, you do. We’ll rehearse tomorrow after school right?
9:10 pm
Y/N:
yup! i’ll meet you by your locker again :) see ya tomorrow pete
Peter decided to let the conversation end there. Honestly, he had no idea what to think. What does “I have great taste ;)” mean? Is that a reference to the kiss? Does this mean they like him? Or is it just a joke? Peter sent a screenshot of the conversation to Ned for help, but Ned being Ned wasn’t helpful at all. 
9:15 pm
Ned:
Just. Make. A. Move. 
9:16 pm
Ned:
Betty thinks you should make a move too.
Despite his confusion and nerves over tomorrow’s rehearsal, Peter managed to fall asleep at a reasonable time. Hopefully tomorrow he’d get the answers he was looking for.
~~~
Peter waited by his locker after the final bell rang. As the hallways began to clear, he noticed you making your way over to him.
“Sorry, I hope you weren’t waiting too long. My English class is basically all the way across the school.” You looked nervous. Is that good? Or bad? Have you been thinking about the kiss too?
“Y-you’re fine. I’ve only been here for like a minute.” That was a lie. Peter’s Chemistry class was just across the hall from his locker, but you didn’t need to know that. After he finished talking, you seemed to lose all sense of nerves.
“I guess it wasn’t me causing the nerves then…” Peter thought, his mood dropping a little.
“Oh good. Let’s get going then, my apartment is only a couple blocks from here.” And so you began the short walk to your place. You made some small talk on the way there, talking about your other classes instead of the one class you did share. 
“You have Mrs. Jenson third period right? I have her during fifth. Maybe we can study together for her tests...I know the school year just started, but I can already tell she’ll make her tests unnecessarily evil.” You said as the both of you entered your building. 
“That’s a good idea, I know someone who took her class last year and they said she always had essay questions. Not to mention 5 choices for multiple choice questions instead of the usual four.” Peter responded. As he spoke, they headed towards the elevator, and Y/N pressed the button, causing the doors to immediately open. After hitting the number 4 on the wall, the doors slowly began to close. Despite the unfortunate news he was sharing with Y/N, his voice had a hopeful tone to it; They want to hang out with him again. Sure, it’s just loose plans to study for a test sometime in the future, but hey, he’ll take it.
“Damn. History has never been my subject, so I’ll definitely need the extra study time. I can never remember all the important dates.” Your phone buzzed after that, causing you to glance down at it. As you responded to whoever had texted you, Peter was left to his thoughts when the elevator began to move. It wasn’t until the elevator doors opened and you stepped out that the conversation resumed. “That was my mom, guess she’s gonna be at work for a few more hours. We can order a pizza if you want, I’m not sure how long we’ll be rehearsing today.”
“Pizza, uhm,” Peter’s voice cracked, “Pizza sounds good.” Peter cursed to himself, but if you had noticed his voice cracking, you had the decency to ignore it. You pulled your keys from your backpack, and unlocked the second apartment on the floor. 
“Cool, I’ll order something online. Pepperoni ok for you?” You asked as you walked into the apartment, holding the door open for Peter. Peter only nodded, not really trusting his voice for the moment. He took a second to look around the place as you closed the door behind him. When you came into his eyesight again, you were looking at your phone, presumably ordering the pizza. “Since my mom isn’t here we can rehearse in the living room, it’s just this way.” Peter followed you as you led him across the apartment, then sat on the couch. He tried to give you space as you continued punching in the pizza order. While you were busy, Peter opened his own backpack and pulled out the script you had agreed upon. Last night he had highlighted his lines, although luckily for this assignment the teacher had mentioned that memorization was optional. After all, the school year had just begun and it was a beginner’s class.
“Ok, pizza will be here in like half an hour. Now we can get to work!” You quickly pulled out your own script from your backpack, and turned to face Peter. “Do you wanna just read through it a few times, then once we’re used to it we could start working out the blocking?” You suggested.
“Y-yeah, sure, that works for me.” Peter was relieved at this option; read throughs meant he didn’t have to worry about the kiss yet. “Your character starts, right?”
And so the two of you began reading through the script. It was short, only a few pages, and featured someone on the day of their wedding, and the man who was trying to convince them to leave their fiance. At first, the reading was a little awkward, as neither of you had any experience in acting, but by the third or fourth time you had gone through the script together, both of you were feeling much more comfortable. Instead of sitting away from each other on opposite ends of the couch, you were close, the way your characters would be. The blocking had even begun to take shape naturally, so you and Peter stood for the fifth reading, walking around the room, trying your best to embody the characters as they argued. This time, as you approached the end of the script however, Peter’s nerves returned.
“Why would you do this? Just barging in here on my wedding day?” You said, trying to act as frustrated and confused as you felt your character would be. 
“You and I both kn-know you don’t love him! You’ll never be happy with him!” Peter tried to keep his nerves in check, but he knew what was coming.
“And how do you know I’d be happier with you?” Following the stage directions indicated on your script, you stepped closer to Peter. Instead of continuing with the scene, Peter just stared at you, no longer looking at his script. “Uh, Pete?” He still didn’t respond. You were confused, until you looked back at the script. You weren’t sure how you had forgotten, after all, this is why you chose the scene in the first place. “Peter, this is the part where you kiss me” You said quietly. You had taken his choosing of this scene to mean he liked you too, but you weren’t sure. His eyes widened a little at your words though, which made your confidence drop. “O-or not, um, we could do a stage kiss, or you could just kiss my cheek, or we could just cut it complet-” Peter cut off your rambling by putting his hands on your cheek and bringing his lips to meet yours. You were shocked, but easily melted into the kiss. He was gentle as he kissed you, his nerves disappearing the second you kissed him back. After a while, you both separated from the kiss. Neither of you spoke for a minute, just staring at each other.
“U-um.. that was ok, right?” Peter whispered, as you were still pretty close to him. You only smiled, and gave him another short kiss as a response. Before you guys could do anything else, there was a knock at the door.
“Pizza!” Someone said loudly through the wood. Before you could make a move, Peter had grabbed his wallet and was already walking towards the front door.
“I’ll pay...after all, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you pay on our first date?”
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TATMILB, chapter 1
Penelope spent her life writing love letters, which didn't seem like a terrible idea until the letters were mailed out and Schneider received one of them. Hoping to fool their exes, they agree to fake a relationship. But are they lying to everyone around them, or to themselves? aka my To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before-inspired AU.
Penelope x Schneider, ODAAT. Available on AO3 with extra author’s notes.
Chapter 1: Penelope's still dreaming of Max, and resenting it. Elena's semester abroad leads to a breakup during family dinner, but all she wants to talk about is Goodwill donations. Airport farewells are bittersweet.
“The heat gets worse every year, I swear,” Penelope groaned, fanning herself with the hotel’s room service menu. “One of these days August is just going to kill me.”
Max turned over, reaching out to twist one of her curls around his finger. “Nothing’s ever gonna kill you, Penelope Alvarez. You’re too fierce for that. And after Afghanistan, I know you can handle a little heat.”
She grinned at him, stretching lazily until her toes curled. This vacation was the best idea she’d had in a while–and though they hadn’t gone far enough away to escape the California heat, at least the room had air conditioning.
Penelope’s t-shirt rode up as she moved, exposing her stomach. Max reached out to run his fingers over her bare skin. “Speaking of heat,” he murmured, leaning in closer.
She chuckled and kissed him, long and slow. With Elena off to college, and her Mami at home with Alex, all she had to do this weekend was relax.
Like he always had, Max made that easy for her. She felt so comfortable with him, so safe, that it took no effort at all to turn a hotel room into their own little oasis away from the rest of the world.
His mouth moved to her neck, trailing kisses down the curve of her shoulder, then lower, his hands sliding underneath the oversized tee she’d slept in.
Penelope was sinking into the rumpled sheets, letting her focus narrow to only the places where she could feel Max touching her, when they were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.
“Do not disturb!” She called out, annoyed, squeezing her eyes shut more tightly and willing the unwelcome intruder away.
“Mom!” she heard a voice call back.
It sounded like Alex, which didn’t make any sense. He was at home.
Home.
Penelope’s eyes flew open, adjusting to the dim light around her, which was definitely not the sun filtering through the blinds of a Hilton suite.
That’s right, she realized, dragged back to reality. It was a cool January evening and she was in her bedroom in Echo Park, where she’d fallen asleep before dinner…alone.
Sighing, she sat up and tried to smooth her hair down with her hands. “I’m coming,” she called out, listening as Alex’s footsteps retreated back toward the kitchen.
She and Max had broken up more than a year ago, Penelope thought. How long was she going to keep dreaming about him?
It got more depressing every time she woke up.
****
“There you are, Lupe. Did you have a good rest?”
Lydia set the salad bowl on the table, surveying the tableau critically. After a moment, she nodded to herself and went back into the kitchen to finish plating dinner.
“It was fine, Mami.” Penelope sat next to Alex, glancing over her shoulder when the front door opened. “Hey, Schneider.”
“Hi, Pen. Lydia,” he added, raising his voice, “that smells amazing.”
“Gracias, Schneider.”
“We’ve got a full house tonight,” Penelope warned him. “You’ll have to squeeze in.”
“Really? Who’s here?”
“Elena’s leaving in a week,” she reminded him. “Who do you think?”
“Oh, cool! I wanted to ask Syd if they’ve started the new Star Trek.” He took a seat across from Penelope and watched Lydia bring out the last of the food.
“They’re in Elena’s room. Alex, tell your sister and Syd that dinner’s ready, please.”
He leaned back in his chair, tipping it halfway off the ground before his mom smacked him lightly on the arm.
“Cut that out.”
“Sorry,” Alex said, showing no sign of remorse. Ever since he had grown three inches the previous autumn, he took full advantage of his extra height. Staying flat on the floor this time, he yelled behind him, “Elena! Syd! Food!”
“Papito! I meant get up and go tell them.”
He grinned. “Whoops. Too late, here they come.”
Elena led the way to the table, her long hair pulled back in a messy bun. She was holding Syd’s hand, and they stayed connected as they took two seats side-by-side.
A few weeks after getting it cut, Syd’s hair fell just above the neckline of the white t-shirt they were wearing. It had a wooden stake in the center with the words “I’m A Slayer, Ask Me How” printed across it in red.
“Wow, this looks great,” Syd said, letting go of Elena’s hand to reach for a napkin. “Thanks again for letting me stay for dinner.”
“Of course,” Lydia assured them. “The more, the merrier, especially before Elena’s big trip.”
“Only a week left, huh?” Schneider tucked his phone away, frowning at it before focusing on Elena across the table. “How excited are you right now?”
“God, so excited.” She grinned. “It’s gonna be weird, being away from everybody for three months. I know I’ll probably get homesick…but England! I mean, can you imagine? All that history, the culture. It’s such an amazing opportunity.”
“London’s pretty cool,” he agreed. “You’ll like the museums. Oh, when you get the chance, you’ve gotta check out the Postal Museum. You can ride in the actual tunnels under the city that they used to deliver the mail!”
Elena nodded. Her patient smile was only a little strained around the edges. “Text me the info, okay? I’ll add it to the list of one hundred and two Schneider-approved destinations you’ve already sent me.”
“I just want you to have fun. I’ve been to London a dozen times, and there’s a lot of cool stuff you won’t see on school tours.”
“I know. And I appreciate it. But I’m studying abroad, emphasis on studying. I can’t spend too much time wandering the city or I’ll miss out.”
The idea that soaking up the London atmosphere would equal ‘missing out’ seemed crazy to him, but Schneider let it go. Elena loved school in a way he never had.
“So,” he said, looking to Syd. “Are you caught up on Picard yet? I’m dying to talk about it and apparently your girlfriend doesn’t have time for fun.”
Elena rolled her eyes at him and dug into her salad.
“Yes, I’m totally caught up! Can you believe they brought back…” Syd trailed off with a glance around the table. “On second thought, I’ll text you later. Spoilers.”
“Right. Good call.”
“Speaking of fun,” they added, a smile tugging at the corners of their mouth, “I have something for you, Elena.”
She paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, staring at the envelope Syd was sliding her way. “For me? It’s a little early for a going away present.”
“I know, but this wouldn’t be a great last-minute gift.”
The long silence after Elena opened the envelope was deeply uncomfortable. Penelope knew her daughter well enough to recognize the absence of joy.
The rest of the family felt it too; everyone was collectively holding their breath through the seconds before Elena pulled out the tickets and looked back up at Syd.
“What is this?”
“A surprise.” Syd reached out and squeezed her hand. “I knew you might get homesick, and videochat won’t be the same…so I’m coming to London for two weeks! Don’t worry, it’s right in the middle of your semester so you won’t have to entertain me during finals or anything.”
“Why did you do this without talking to me first?”
“That’s kind of the definition of a surprise.” They were waiting for Elena’s surprise to turn into happiness, but she almost looked…upset.
“And you had to surprise me in front of everybody? A week before I leave?”
She cut herself off, taking a deep breath. The last thing she wanted was to get into a fight at the table. “Syd, let’s go talk in my room, okay?”
“Elena, what’s wrong?”
“Please. My room.” Her knuckles were white where she was gripping the tickets, and she could feel her whole family’s eyes on her, which was not helping.
Visibly concerned, Syd went without another word. The others watched them go, Schneider fidgeting in his seat and Penelope biting her lower lip.
She had been prepared for Elena’s semester abroad to strain her daughter’s relationship, but not for things to get this tense before she left. As hard as it was to hold back now that Elena was seventeen, Penelope knew there wasn’t much she could do. Just be ready to listen, and offer advice, if Elena let her.
She sighed and faced her plate. “Back to dinner, guys. You know if we’re all gawking at them when they come back out, Elena’s gonna lecture us about respect or autonomy or human rights.”
Things were quiet for several minutes, nothing but the sounds of forks scraping plates and bowls to keep them from listening in.
A clear, loud “You still want to control everything!” definitely came from Syd, followed by Elena’s even louder “Then why are you even dating me?”
But mostly the silence was ominous and stretched on–for ten minutes, then twenty. Schneider and Lydia made small talk with Alex gamely joining in to try and cover the tension.
Penelope worried and tried not to seem like she was worried, until Elena returned. She took her seat at the table, motionless while Syd emerged from her room a few moments later.
Carrying their bag, they lifted a hand in the family’s direction. “Thanks for dinner, but I have to go. Sorry.”
The front door was barely shut behind Syd before Alex asked, “What happened?”
Elena’s eyes filled. “Syd and I broke up.”
“What!?”
The chorus from her entire family, Schneider included, was a mix of surprise, concern, and disbelief. It shattered her resolve.
Elena started crying, quiet tears falling as Penelope rushed to fold her into a hug. Lydia and Alex were only a few moments behind.
Though Schneider caught Pen’s glance in his direction, he waited until the others had circled Elena with murmured words of comfort and gentle hands trying to soothe before he followed.
Alex’s growth spurt had put him almost an inch above his older sister now, but Schneider was still so much taller than them all–he towered over the family as he wrapped his arms around Penelope and Lydia and pressed his cheek to the top of Elena’s head.
“I’m okay.” Elena sucked in a shuddering breath and tried to detangle herself from the group so she could wipe the tears off her cheeks. “I’m fine. Thank you, everybody, but I’m gonna be just fine.”
“Elena, you had a big fight with your Sydnificant Other. You don’t have to be okay. We’re all here for you, as soon as you’re ready to talk about it.”
“And I appreciate that. But there’s nothing to talk about. We didn’t just fight, Mom. We’re over. It’s over, and I for one want to go to London ready to enjoy the trip. Not moping over things that are in the past.”
“It happened like two seconds ago,” Alex pointed out with a frown.
“And I’m ready to move forward. Okay?”
She could feel all of them watching her, their worry filling the air until it was hard to breathe. She knew how she sounded, how they probably thought she looked. Crazy. Heartbroken.
But it was too much. Their loving concern was making this harder.
“Elena…”
“No. Abuelita, I just need some space.”
When she left them there, escaping to her room, nobody followed.
****
Penelope gave Elena the space she wanted until after lunch on Saturday.
Elena spent all morning in her room, skipping breakfast, slipping in and out of the bathroom before anyone had the chance to speak to her.
When she appeared at the table, pushing food around her plate without eating it, everyone talked a little too brightly, trying to ignore the dark circles under her eyes. Schneider and Alex moved to the couch after lunch while Lydia busied herself clearing the table, and Penelope followed Elena to her room.
“Time to talk.” Penelope shut the door behind her. “I understand wanting to pretend you’re not hurting–believe me, I get it. But this came from out of nowhere, and now I’m worried about you, making such a huge change in your life right before you leave.”
“It didn’t come out of nowhere. I'll be graduating this summer, and the trip was just part of the problem. But you’re right, I am leaving soon, which is why I can’t get distracted. Academics has to come first.”
“You were together almost two years, Elena. That’s a big deal.”
“It’s over now. And no, I don’t want to talk about it. Especially since my flight is in six days, which barely gives us enough time.”
“Enough time to…what, exactly?”
“To go through the house and put together boxes to take to Goodwill.”
As Elena went to her closet, Penelope stared after her, confused by the abrupt subject change.
“You promised we last month, remember? To reduce the amount of stuff we all keep but never use anymore. And since I’m gonna be gone for so long–and we all know this household is going to be way less green without me–it’s the perfect time.”
“Mija, reorganizing the apartment isn’t going to fix what happened with Syd. Or make it hurt less.”
“Mom.” Elena handed her an empty box. “I’m not trying to fix anything except the amount of waste we generate. When we forget what we own because we never look at it, it’s really easy to buy extra copies of things we already have. This will save you money too!”
There was an obvious edge to Elena’s words that screamed avoidance to Penelope, and it was that–her daughter, in pain–more than the logical argument that made her agree.
“Fine. I will give you two hours today, and I’ll help get Alex on board. But that’s it. This is my weekend too.”
“Awesome. Okay.” Elena looked around her room with a critical eye. “I’m going to start in here, and then I’ll deal with Abuelita.”
“You do that. I’ll go see what I have to bribe your brother with,” Penelope replied. “Afterwards, maybe we could all go out to eat. Somewhere fun.” Somewhere that will distract you for a minute, she added silently. The only real cure for heartbreak was time, but until then, distraction was the best she could offer.
“That sounds nice,” Elena agreed before snapping back into project mode. She was already pulling clothes out of her closet to lay on her bed as Penelope left.
****
“You’ve got your boarding pass?”
“It’s on my phone,” Elena told Penelope for the third time.
“Passport?” Schneider chimed in.
“In my bag,” she confirmed.
“Lipstick?” Lydia ventured hopefully.
“Very funny.” Elena hugged her, holding on for a long time. One semester hadn’t seemed like forever until now, with them all at the airport while she was imagining what might happen in her absence. “Please take care of yourself while I’m gone, Abuelita. No dancing, okay? And leave your heels on the shelf.”
“Ah, si, si, of course.” She winked at Alex, without even trying to hide it from her granddaughter. “I will be very careful.”
“You better. I’m gonna worry.”
Elena turned to Alex, whose hands were shoved in his pockets watching her. “Come here, would you?” She pulled him into a hug. “I’ll miss you.”
“You too,” he said as she stepped back. “Do something not nerdy while you’re there in honor of me. Something European and cool.”
“I’ll try,” Elena agreed with a smile.
“Oh, come on,” she protested, when she looked to Schneider next and realized he was sniffling. “I’m not going to be gone that long! Pull yourself together.”
“The family won’t be the same without you,” he told her, ignoring her eyeroll. “Speaking of the family, how about we go grab you some snacks for the flight? I’ve heard that the food in coach is…not great.”
Schneider led Alex and Lydia off to give Penelope a few minutes alone with Elena, and Penelope forced herself to take a steady breath. The panic setting in was normal–she was allowed to be nervous. This was Elena’s first trip to another continent. Just breathe, and keep it together.
She wasn’t sure how Schneider knew she needed the time, but Penelope was grateful.
“Be careful over there, you hear me? Listen to what they tell you at orientation, and stick with any group you’re in when they take you on tours. If you go out at night alone–well, I want to say don’t go out at night alone, but I know you will, so just be really careful! And I know you’re going to be focused on your classes, which is important, but make sure you take some time to explore. You’re not just there to study–this is a chance to experience things you couldn’t do by staying home, so take advantage of it.”
She squeezed Elena hard, kissing her cheek and then wiping away the hint of lipstick she left behind.
“Mom!”
“What? It’s a long way, baby. You’re going so far away.”
“I know. But it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”
“Me?” Blinking through sentimental tears, Penelope scoffed. “Of course I’ll be fine. Your Mami is a badass. I’m just going to miss you.”
“Yeah.” Elena reached out impulsively for a second hug. “I get that. Don’t spend the whole semester missing me, though, okay? Go be a badass.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know, Mom, you seem lonely sometimes.” Elena looked like she wanted to say more, but she saw the rest of the family returning and left it at that.
They were carrying too many snacks, as well as two books and a sweatshirt, “because the UK gets cold,” Schneider told her helpfully.
Penelope tried to pay him back for the trove of gifts, but he waved her off. “She deserves to travel in style, don’t you think?” Schneider put his arm around Penelope as they all watched Elena go through the security line.
Her daughter’s squared shoulders and steady gait were a comfort to Penelope as Elena disappeared around the corner–as was Schneider’s presence next to her.
Elena was ready for adventure, and even if Penelope didn’t feel totally ready to see her take the leap, at least she wasn’t alone in watching her go.
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asarahworld-writes · 4 years
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Merry Christmas @vicapuleti​ !  I, @asarahworld, was your Zombies Secret Santa.  You mentioned a love of Zeddison, Zoey, fluff and angst, and AUs.  Well, it’s not quite an AU, but it is future fic where they’ve gone off to college.  We’ve got Zed.  We’ve got Addison.  Zoey makes an appearance. And without further ado...
Chapter 1
It had been six months since Zed had gone off to the state university on a football scholarship, six months since Addison had been accepted at her parents’ alma mater, and four months and thirteen days since the last time they had seen each other if you didn’t count the five minutes after the game two months ago.  The daily phone calls had slowed down to weekly; text messages became a quick thing to fire off between classes.
Addison was ploughing through a slough of research for her Writing Studies essay on “Classic Literature As Viewed Through a Modern Lens” when her phone buzzed.  Automatically, she reached for it and immediately flipped it over upon seeing that it wasn’t the cheer squad’s captain, Juliette Viconte.  (Unlike Seabrook High, the university squad had only one captain.)  She stared at the screen of her laptop, thinking.  She had just finished writing a decent-sized paragraph on Romeo and Juliet, exploring how if the leads hadn’t been so quick to act that the play would not have been the tragedy and leading into a comparison between the original storyline and modern adaptations. Star-crossed lovers destined to be apart.  Ultimately, every version of the play needed to end tragically, otherwise the message Shakespeare had intended behind the story was lost in the happy ending.
She stared at the screen of her laptop, thinking.  That was definitely the line of reasoning her professor would be looking for.  And yet she couldn’t help but see herself and Zed in the characters.  Two young people from feuding families (societies) fall in love. A relationship built on stolen moments. The relative innocence of one character balancing out the harsh reality lived by the other.  Theoretically, modern technology provided ease of communication that could have saved Romeo and Juliet from tragedy.  And yet, it was clear that just because one had the ability to communicate directly, that wasn’t necessarily going to happen.
She grabbed a pen and started re-working her notes.  Maybe this essay wouldn’t follow the professor’s expectations.  But Addison had her own ideas.
Her phone buzzed again.  Addison, in the middle of frantic scribbles, fumbling, turned it off.
“Hey, this is Addison-”
“Hey, it’s me,” Zed said cheerfully.  It was so nice to finally hear her voice.
“-so leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”  The accompanying beep following the end of the recorded message startled Zed, and he realized that he had reached her voicemail.
“Hey, it’s me,” he started over.  “I know it’s getting old, but the captain’s scheduled another practice and of course it’s happening Saturday morning.  Abraza garzi’ska, ag gar-gargiza ru,” he said softly, reverting back to Zombietongue.  Zed smiled gently as the memory of when they had officially decided to only use Zombietongue for endearments.  As horrible as that fight had been (not that it could even be considered to be a fight as they had resolved their issue without any drama), they were so much stronger for it.
“This relationship is with you, too, Zed,” Addison had said angrily.  “I want you to be able to be completely yourself.  And that includes being able to speak Zombietongue around me.  Excuse me for thinking that that was a reasonable request.”
That hadn’t been it at all.  But despite his best efforts, Zed had failed to properly explain what exactly he felt about his girlfriend’s wish to become fluent in his native language.  Zed hadn’t even been certain that he himself knew why he was against the idea.
All that he knew was that Addison now sat by herself at the front of the classroom during Revised Local History, cheerleading practice was after football practice, and that the cheerleaders once again had their own table in the cafeteria.
“Zed, you’re overthinking this,” she’d told him when he’d finally confessed his fear. “History’s hard enough as it is without having you right beside me.  You realize that you have gym the period before, right?  So either you walk in and your hair’s still wet and there’s water rolling down your neck from your hair or else gym ran late and you didn’t even have time to change, let alone shower, and you,” she laughed nervously, “to be honest, you always smell amazing but especially then.  I need to pass history.  Surely you can get by without me for one extra hour,” she’d said, giggling.
“When you put it like that, how can I say no?”
“That’s what I love about you.  Always willing to listen,” Addison had said with a smile.  “As for cheer, well, during your practice, we’re up in the weight room. It takes a lot of work to be able to do this stuff.”  Addison had been counting her rebuttals off on her fingers.  “And as for lunch, some of the new kids seemed like they needed a friend.  And the cheer squad is a family.  We’ve gotta be there for each other.”
“Abraza garzi’ska… ag gar-gargiza ru,” Zed had said tenderly, threading his fingers through Addison’s.
“Gar-gargiza…,” Addison’s smile had grown softer.  “Ag gar-gargiza ru,” she’d repeated.  “I love you.”  Suddenly, her gentle smile had turned into an excited grin.  “Does this mean I get to learn more Zombietongue?”  Zed had only laughed, repeating his declaration of love softly in her ear.
Writing annotated notes for her essay had taken her far longer than she’d anticipated and when Addison finally checked her phone, she was startled to see that it was nearly two a.m.  She stumbled across the room to her bed and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
Addison had learned during her first semester why you didn’t take an eight a.m. course unless there was no other choice.  However, being an underclassman came with certain disadvantages. Being one of the last to choose courses was one of those disadvantages and with that came fewer course options. Taking English was mandatory for all students and Addison hadn’t had any other options to fill that credit without waiting another semester.  So she begrudgingly took the Writing Studies course, wondering why she hadn’t looked for one during her first semester despite her parents’ insistence that she take it easy her first semester.
When the alarm went off at six, Addison immediately hit the snooze button.  Once. Twice.  Three times the alarm was silenced and Addison lay in bed.  The phone rang.
“Addison, where are you?  Class is starting in five minutes and you know that Professor Jackson docks points if you’re late!”  Bree’s hushed panic broke Addison’s sleepy haze.  She leapt from her bed, quickly changing into the nearest clothes that weren’t pajamas, and swept everything off her desk into her bag.  She sprinted to the classroom, from the D building up to A, and up the flight of stairs to the second floor, barely making it in the back door as the prof began class.  Luckily, she’d grabbed a notebook and pen in her rush, and was able to at least take notes.
The rest of the day passed in a similar haze.  Everything was a mess, but salvageable.  After her three-hour English lecture, Addison had another three-hour lecture (this time for Anthropology), followed by a short dinner break and cheer practice; practice ran much later than usual as the neurotic captain was more obsessed with perfection than Bucky had been at his most neurotic.  Just like that, the day was over and Addison flopped into bed, exhausted.
Sleep, shower, repeat.
Wednesdays she worked part-time in a café down the street from the main campus.  Though the pay was negligible, the hours were steady and gave her a reprieve from the stress of being a student.  Seven a.m. to three p.m., then she was back to cheer practice and homework.  Thursday was spent organizing her English notes and drafting her essay, Friday was another eight hour shift at the café and studying for her Anthropology midterm.  The weekend only provided more of the same.  When Monday came, her first draft was finished and Addison treated herself to a relaxing bubble bath.  To her surprise, it was only six o’clock.
The phone rang.
“Hey, sweetie,” it was her mother.  “How’s school?  You didn’t call us yesterday, is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” she lied.  “I mean, I guess I’m just stressed with midterms and my essay.”  I haven’t spoken to Zed in a month.  There’s only so much you can communicate in a text and I only get to see him during the games.  Missy continued to press her daughter and Addison continued to say what she wanted to hear.  When her mother ended the call, Addison sat staring at the phone.
The phone rang.  And rang. And rang.  No answer.
The phone rang.
“Zoey!”  Zed couldn’t help smiling as he answered the phone.
“Hey,” his little sister replied enthusiastically.  “Did Addison tell you she enlisted Miss Zàrate to work with the Zombeans while you guys are at college?”
Zed nodded in remembrance.  “Yeah, said that someone had to make sure you rascals kept up with practice,” he joked.
“Is she there?”  Zoey asked. An innocent enough question, but one that tugged his dead heartstrings anyway.
“Uh, no.  It’s the end of the semester, everyone’s pretty busy with final projects and exams. How’s your schooling going?”  Zed changed the subject.  He didn’t want to talk about how the past few weeks had been hard, how they hadn’t even talked on the phone, much less seen each other. Zoey happily told him about Zombeans and her experiences at her new school. She talked about their Dad and Puppy, about the changes to Zombietown (the rusty gates had finally been removed, there was a bus that took the kids into the human part of town for school and a regular city bus connecting the neighbourhoods “we get to take the regular school bus with the humans to the bus stop,” she’d explained solemnly), and everything else that was important to an eleven-year-old girl.
“When are you guys coming back to Seabrook?”
Zed sighed.  “I don’t know, Zozo.  Probably pretty quickly after the semester’s over.  Five weeks maybe.”  He could practically hear her pouting over the phone.  “I miss you and Pops and Puppy,” he said.  And Addison.
“We miss you too,” Zoey assured him.  There was a brief pause while she said something to their dad. “Dad says I should let you get back to school stuff.  And he wants to go over my homework.  I told him it’s fine, but…”
“Math?”  At his sister’s hum, Zed continued: “you just gotta keep checking.  Try to memorize the uses of each formula and always check your work.  At the end of the day, all that matters is that you pass.”
“Thanks, Zed.”
“Hey, isn’t it just about bedtime?”  He could practically hear her rolling her eyes.  Laughing gently, he told her good night and hung up the phone.
MISSED CALL. ADDI.  Read the call display.  Zed cursed, a mix of English and Zombietongue, and hit the speed dial.
The phone rang.  And rang. And rang.  He cancelled the call, not wanting to hear her voicemail again. Instead, he sent a few messages. Fifteen minutes and a response later, he texted Addison.
U R FREE SAT! PICK U UP @ DORM @ 430.  SEE U GORGEOUS.
He added a green heart emoji at the end of the message, slowly smiling.
When he woke up the next morning, there was a new message from Addison:
YOU MEAN LIKE A DATE? followed by a single pink heart.
It was Tuesday.  He had three days to plan the perfect reunion date.
 Zombietongue and translations all taken from Ly’s amazing masterposts. @unusual-ly
Zombeans belongs to Sarah @fist-it-out
Abraza garzi’ska, ag gar-gargiza ru.  |  Sorry garzi’ska, I love you.
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yourjughead · 7 years
Text
Study Buddies
Synopsis: Your old boyfriend from highschool requests your help for studying a module, much to your current collage boyfriends dislike. Pairings: Jugheadxreader Requested: College AU x jealous Jughead Warnings: Fluff, angst, mentions of cheating and smut...much sin very sin (it's been awhile) A/N: not edited lol sorry ------------------------------------------------- ***=Jughead pov cause he'll be sees some stuff but not enough to change the pov hope it's not confusing but I'm lazy. Yn pov I was sauntering through campus after a long lecture, yearning for when I get home to snuggle up to my English majoring boyfriend and relax with my friends//housemates. Totally lost in my world with Jughead. “Yn!” Reggie's voice snapped me out of my daze. Oh God leave me alone Reggie. “Yes Reginald what do you want?” my pace quickened as he ran to catch up with me, crossing the quad. “Listen I'm really tanking this elective and you took it last semester and y’know we go way back to days in Riverdale I was wondering if you could help me” Reggie sounded half desperate. By way back he means dated. I dated the idiot. “Please yn, you used to tutor me all the time back in highschool, not much is different….well a few things are different but I really need your help I'm here on scholarship, please, I'll do anything!” “Leave jughead alone?” “Ah well yn everyone needs a hobby” he smirked and I shoved him. “Okay okay I'll leave Doris alone” I glared at him. “Alright alright I'll leave jughead alone” he put his hands up in surrender. “Fine but the second I say I want out, that's it, I'm gone, deal?” I put out my hand out to shake his and he took it but pulled me into a hug. ***I was looking for yn before my lecture, think we might coffee or someth….is that yn and Reggie….are they...are they hugging?! Okay calm down Jug maybe he needs resuitation or something. Oh shit late for my lecture*** ~~~~ Over the next few weeks I was spending increasingly more time with Reggie. Almost too much. He was magnetic, addicted to days well gone, simpler days. I missed him, missed his stupid company but when I was back with Jughead, oh when I was with Jughead it was nothing but love and respect and he was my everything, my always. I loved Jughead more than even possible to fathom, over two years building this relationship and I needed him but that didn't mean I couldnt also enjoy being around my ex boyfriend. Right? “So what do you think” Jughead shook me from my thoughts. “Huh what?” I looked up at him as we were cuddled into the couch. “I said dizzy, do you want to go to the cinema tonight? I swear youre always off in your own world these days.” He said slightly pulling from me to meet my eye. “Can't" “Why….wait wait let me guess Reggie?” He practically bit out Reggie's name, like a curse word. “Don't say his name like that jug” I moved completely from his arms, sitting up and turning to face him. “Why not yn?! Afraid I might hurt your new boyfriends feelings?!” Jughead said loudly before standing up. “Jug for God sake, stop being a child and calm down I'm helping him study! That's it!” My turn to stand. “Study? Are you sure that's all it is?! I see ye around campus you know? I see how ye are together! The amount of people who come up asking me if we broke up because they've seen you both so cosy together! Do you know what that's like?! Having people think you were cheated on?!” He was shouting now, “NO JUGHEAD I DONT BUT I DO KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO BE CHEATED ON AND I WOULDNT WISH THAT ON ANYONE!!! AND ID NEVER EVER DO THAT! ESPECIALLY TO YOU!” I storm off up the stairs before jughead can comment. How did he think Reggie and I ended? It wasn't exactly amicable. I ran into our room, slamming the door and throwing myself down on our bed. Now I'm acting like the child. Thankfully the rest of the gang were out, I couldn't deal with their shock and comments at us fighting, we never fight, not this seriously anyway. I scream into the pillow in utter frustration *Sms: Reginald: Can't come study tonight. I'm done. Youve laid the groundwork, you can finish your self. -7.40pm *Sms: YNN: come on Babe we're almost done!-7.42pm *Sms: Reginald: don't.ever.call.me.that.again.EVER. -7.43pm *Sms:YNN: Come on Babe I was going to stop this tonight but you know I still love you...i know you still love me....and I was thinking maybe we should try again….i know I fucked up in the past and it has been my biggest regret losing you to Wednesday….yn we could be together again.-7.45pm *Sms: Reginald: Reggie since I met Jughead I realised I didn't love you at all, I didn't know love till him. Don't talk to me again. I mean it.-7.46pm I threw my phone at the wall in total anger. How dare he say that! Tool. Trying to manipulate me! “Jug just leave me alone please” I called back to his light knocking on the door, that's not going to keep him out. I was right. He slowly sulked in before sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed to the ground. I exhaled loudly before swinging my legs over the side of the bed to sit right next to him. I intertwined my fingers in his as we sat in silence. “Yn…” “Jug can we just..can we just sit.” I leaned my head on his shoulder. “no yn i need to tell you im really sorry for not trusting you….its just with your history together...i don't know...the thought of someone taking you from me when you're mine, I can't stand it, especially when it's that douche” “Yours? Am I a book on the shelf or something?” I half laugh. “no not like that...youre just mine.” He met my eyes before pulling me into a searing kiss, one of his hands slipping to my cheek. I moved back slightly further into the bed pulling jughead with me. 3rd person. Jughead followed your movement till he was on top of you. You rubbed your hands up and down his sides slowly as he used one of his hands to support himself, the other still cradling your cheek. “Jug” you break the kiss “Yeah?” He breaths “Show me I'm yours” his eyes darkened with lust at this as he attached himself onto your neck. He kissed and bit until he found your sweet spot. You moaned as he agressively bit and sucked your skin, relisihing in the sweet sensation. You pulled his shirt over his head before he helped you with yours. Jughead practically riped your bra from your skin leaving you bear as you kick off your pants and underwear in one. You paw at Jugheads pants to remove them, gladly obliging all the while you meet each other in passionate, if slightly sloppy kisses. You moan at the feeling of his buldge against your thigh. You run your fingers through his hair, knocking his beanie off and pulling his head down into your chest where he continues to mark you as his own, spurred on by more of your moans and with one of his hand playing with your clit, you are like putty. “Jug” you barely get out “Yes” he pulls from your neck. “I need you. Now” He winks before slipping two fingers inside of you and you gasp at the sudden sensation. Your hand reaches and meets his buldge before you start gently and then not so gently stroking it. He groans into your ear. With both of you unable to hang on anymore, Jughead slips inside you and you gasp at his length in your entrance, nails digging into his back. “Fuck me Jughead fuck me” with this he's begins pumping into you harshly as you moan scratching his back. Your back arches as he hits your g-spot perfectly. He begins cursing as he digs his arm into the bed alongside you giving him more support and thus more speed. “Oh yn you're so wet, youre fucking hot yn, my fucking yn,all mine” he groans into your neck as you begin snapping your hips to his, moans leaving you both frequently. Jughead kneels up pulling you into his chest, your legs wrapped around him as he continues bouncing you on his length both of you moaning messes. “oh fuck I'm going to come yn” he groans. “Come for me Juggy come for me baby” you purr as your own band begins to shorten. You kiss down his neck, marking him as you both gasp for air. The feeling of your walls tightening around his member sends him into overdrive as he comes inside of you, shouting your name and collapsing slightly on top of you. But not pulling out and continuing to move sloppily until finally you hit earth shattering status shorly after with the  band snaping, sending you swearing and screaming Jugheads names as your high is ridden out. Jughead roll over next you in a huffing mess. He pulls your trembling body into his and covers you both before taking a moment to catch his breath. “Note to self, jealousy Juggy is insane in bed” you are just about capable of breathing out. “Am I not always insane in bed?” He laughs. You kiss his lips again with love. “Meh youre alrgght” you smirk as he tickles you in punishment. “okay okay truce!” You laugh. “Besides i gotta help Reggie study” you pretend to get out of bed before Jughead catches you and drags you back in laughing.   “Oh you're never leaving me again” he grins. “Good” “Good” ----------------------------------------- Teehee Xx
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rhainontheshelves · 7 years
Text
Musical Theatre!Rocky
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A/N: Please forgive me please!! You have a long-ass bullet scenario ahead of you if you choose to proceed because yo girl doesn't know how to condense rip This is dedicated to an awesome friend, @sanhatation! The feelings might be long past but I promised to write this for you. A short part 2 will be coming to describe the life under the stage lights. Happy Reading! - Rhin
Rocky originally wanted to go to school for dance
Why wouldn't he? He knows he's stellar
But, he also wanted to sing
Unfortunately, it wouldn't be possible for him to get a minor in vocal
Dance takes a lot of effort and practice hours
So he worried and thought about it a lot over his senior year of high school
One day, Sanha approached him with a poster
It was advertising auditions for the school spring play
Immediately, Rocky was interested; acting had always piqued his curiosity but he had never gotten a chance to try it
He accepted the offer
Cue many practice meets with Sanha (who was auditioning as well) to memorize the monologue required
He memorized it quickly, just like any step or note
Pretty soon he made it his own, reciting with sincerity and little hand motions
At one point Sanha wondered if it was even worth it to audition anymore because Rocky was killing it
Come audition day
The director and the people helping him judge were very impressed with this young man they only saw passing the theater to go to the practice rooms
By the end Rocky was virtually guaranteed a spot in the production
He walked out of there the proudest boy alive but also as the most internally dying and relieved it was over with
Because he will never admit it but the audition really stressed him out and he worried over miniscule details
About three days later the director approached Rocky
He wanted to talk about the role he was thinking of assigning to the boy
It was an important part, however it wasn't the lead
"It's your first time." Was the director's reason
This disappointed Rocky a bit but the director had come with a plan in mind
Rocky would also be assigned as the understudy for the lead
The director had some suspicions about the boy casted as the lead's loyalty to the show, so if he did leave Rocky would get the role he really deserved
This pleased both parties and the next day the cast list was posted
A month later, practices were in full swing after school
Rocky was well on his way to getting his part down word-perfect and memorizing the lead's lines
He liked the cast and had made some new friends
The vibe in this group was carefree and fun while still hard-working
That's Rocky in a nutshell so he fit in quite nicely
The only thing that he didn't like was the inactivity
There were plenty of stage directions, sure
places he needed to be and actions that needed to be carried out
but where was the variety?
he thought back to when he was a tot and his grandparents took him to a show
There was dancing and excitement and singing and emotion throughout the whole thing
he wondered what had changed since then
turns out nothing had
he was just in the wrong year
"We switch between musicals and plays every other year," giggled Doyeon, the girl who was casted as the female lead
"You just came a year too late. I'm sure you'll have a chance to do one sometime in the future."
Rocky sure hoped so
First show night couldn't have come fast enough
There were still parts that needed more work, which is normal in any production
But the director felt that this was the most prepared that any of his recent shows had been
certainly not because of how hard some had wanted work to catch up and surpass Rocky
The show went amazingly well but there are always the oopses
aka a couple of props falling apart in the user's hands
Improvisation is a wonderful thing
It seemed like bows came too soon
Rocky stood up at the front of the stage with the rest of the cast, smiling and waving a bit after their final bow
His heart was soaring
The only thing that compared was when he finished performing one of his own choreographed dances and he got a standing ovation
That's when he realized that this was what he wanted to with his life
Fast forward to the last part of 2nd quarter, freshman year of college
He had just finished his homework for a history class and headed down to the theater department to grab audition material for the spring musical
Gotta start early
He gets outside the professor's office and sees someone else is in there
So he hangs around and waits, because he can be patient
He ends up dancing for like ten minutes, waiting, because this meeting is taking a really long time??
The door finally opens and a really happy girl exits
Rocky swears that the hallway gets a bit brighter
She turns around to thank the professor one last time but sees Rocky and almost has a heart attack
She totally didn't notice him there
Now flustered, she rushes away without giving Rocky a chance to see if she was okay
Slightly confused, Rocky just watches her go
The professor is in the exact same boat Rocky is
So they let it go and have a small talk about what the auditions require
For the rest of the quarter Rocky sees the girl in a lot of his classes and comes to the conclusion that she has the same major he does
However, before he gets the chance to approach her Christmas Break rolls around and he's off on the road back home
3 weeks, one memorized song and dance routine later, 2nd semester starts
Musical auditions are at the end of the first week back
and that first week couldn't have seemed slower
Lectures stretched on forever and homework seemed to take twice as long as it usually did
Finally, the last class on Friday was dismissed and Rocky was out of there like lightning
his class ended about halfway through the audition hours r.i.p
He ran as fast as his dancer legs would carry him over to the auditorium
Luckily the line is semi-long so he has time to catch his breath
The line shortens to about half the length it was when another person sprints in
The thudding of tennis shoes makes Rocky look up from the sample script
lo and behold the girl that ran away that one day is bent over a couple of feet away from him
"Are auditions over?" she asks fearfully
"No, I'm the end of the line" he replies
"Okay, good" she comes over to stand next to him in line
Rocky wonders if she recognizes him
she barely got five seconds in before she dashed away so he figures probably not
silence settles
until she curses
"I forgot my music in my room" she hisses to herself, smacking her head
Rocky's mouth runs before she can
"You can borrow mine, I have it memorized anyway"
she stares at him in surprise
"Really?"
"Yeah, here"
"Thank you so much!" Her gloomy mood brightens and Rocky's world does too
"No problem"
By this time the next person is called, and Rocky is torn away from a perfect opportunity to talk to her.... again
The audition goes by fast as always
Rocky stays for the girl's audition
Now or never am i right
She does a great job
Dancing needs a bit of work but that comes with practice
He's still standing in the doorway when she comes up the aisle
she gives him a "why are you still here" look but quickly replaces it with a smile
"You did awesome!" she compliments
"Same to you," Rocky nods
"Nah, I was just average... Thanks again for letting me use your music, uh... what's your name?"
"Minhyuk, but you can call me Rocky if you want to."
Cue the Zelda "object acquired" music because a new friend has just been made: (Y/N)
Rocky walked (Y/N) back to her dorm and got to know her a bit
She indeed has the same major as him
Her dream was to be on Broadway someday
but she's going through a slump rn so things aren't going so hot
Rocky understands; that happened with him and dancing around 7th grade
He promises himself that he'll check up on her and make sure everything's going okay
so he acquires her number before she takes the stairs up to her floor
and proceeds to do just that over the rest of the semester
checking up becomes full-blown conversations complete with memes
and they became best friends
they both got into the production that year
which made them even closer ofc
Summer Break rolls around and (Y/N) and Rocky swear to not let distance separate them
it doesn't
and this friendship continues until Junior year....
when (Y/N) drops out
her parents can't continue to support her financially and she doesn't have enough to support herself
Rocky, of course, is devastated
Where will (Y/N) go? Will she be safe? What about her dream??
He dies inside while helping her move her stuff out of the dorms and into her car
He goes back to cry in his room when her car is finally out of sight
The rest of the day is spent reflecting on every single memory
especially the one where she finally remembered that he scared her that one day Freshman year
"That was yOU??????"
and Rocky realizes that his world is no longer as bright
they continue to message each other
but it teeters out after a few months bc (Y/N)'s working two jobs to pay off her debt
soon Rocky has lost all contact with his former best friend, although he never forgets her
Fast forward a few more years
Now Rocky's graduated with a Bachelors' in the Performing Arts
He just auditioned for a role in Newsies
It fits his skill set perfectly
Acrobatics?? Yas
He's feeling pretty confident until he steps out of the building and someone runs smack-dab into him
He's dazed for a bit but when he asks the person if they're okay, his brain goes on over drive
(Y/N)'s there staring back at him in shock, an audition packet in hand
Rocky grins and immediately encases (Y/N) in a hug, questions falling out of his mouth at a million miles an hour
All (Y/N) does is hug him back at first, but Rocky notices her hesitation so he lets go
"I'm so sorry, it's just been a long time and I've been worried? How are you?"
(Y/N) finally smiles and replies, "I'm just fine now."
the two catch up while (Y/N) waits in line for the female auditions
(Y/N) was on vacation and she overheard someone mention auditions
she had never forgotten her dream
and a small little voice told her that something good would happen there
now she knew what the good thing was
*nervous and awkward blushing from both parties*
(Y/N) was called in before she could say anything else, so Rocky waited for her outside
fifteen minutes later she comes out smiling
She has a really good feeling about it
About three hours later
(Y/ N) has to go back to her hotel so she can pack and catch her flight
Rocky is determined to never lose (Y/ N) again
Bc he realized over lunch with her that his world was bright again and he never wants that to end
So he walks her to the airport, insisting that he see her off
(Y/ N) pretends to mind, but she really doesn't
She really missed Rocky the second she got into her car Junior year
The exchange of cell phone numbers happens once again at the terminal
It takes Rocky a couple of minutes more to enter his new number into (Y/N)'s phone
When (Y/N) looks at his contact, she blushes
it reads: Minhyukkie 😘
it doesn't seem special, but it is bc Rocky was insistent that only his girlfriend could call him that
(Y/N) makes a mental note to ask him about it the next time she sees him
fast forward one last time to the phone call
(Y/N) and Rocky were both super excited when Rocky picked up his phone
They had just gotten phone calls saying that they had been accepted into the production
Their first reaction was to call each other
In fact Rocky was just about to hit the call button when (Y/ N)'s contact popped up
The first five minutes was just screaming tbh
Eventually proper congratulations were exchanged
But it got lost in all the excitement
They would see each other for the rest of their Newsies career
And that was possibly the best thing ever
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dememarquette · 7 years
Text
GSI AU
[Prelude] - Part One - Part Two
IN THE JANKY HALLS OF THE GSI OFFICES…
No sun, no air, hardly the sound of another human being unless you count the incessant scrabbling of pen against paper (though it sounds much more like a convict taking a spoon to the concrete wall), the tepid wasteland of GSI offices lay nestled beneath the extravagant offices of tenured professors. You know you’ve made it when you have a window in your office. For now, the majority of us sit ass to elbows and wait for a student to pass by so we can, at last, feel useful.
The next time you think the life of a graduate student is glamorous, think again. I’m here to tell you that we hate ourselves just as much as you hate us for calling you out on your shitty paper.
Yes, in the dark underbelly of each building hides a squadron of graduate students furiously pedaling away to keep the electricity going. Don’t forget it, and make sure you clear out by 6 pm because that’s when we all emerge to return home, bringing doom and gloom up to the surface alongside us.
I glance at the clock. 5:59 pm. Time to go. Everything is packed into a folder, a binder, a pencil case with a compartment for each pen and pencil, and then I’m good to go, hitting the light switch on my way out to startle the remainder of the graduate team. They blink at me owlishly atop piles of empty coffee cups like dragons hoarding gold.
That, at least, gets me ten feet out the door before I have to backpedal. When you’re on the way home, it takes the supernatural to hold you back. That or the foul stench of defamation.
Amongst the chaos of the bulletin board, the brightly-colored posters and the stray cry for help (DISSERTATION EDITOR NEEDED IMMEDIATELY!! And IS MONOGAMY A LIE??), all that’s left of my flyer is a corner. In its place stands a Spotify promotion disguised as an educational flyer, in turn disguising Gwen Stefani as music. It reads:
LINGUSTICS. THIS SH!T IS BANANAS. B-A-N-A-N-A-S.
I glare at it for a minute before tearing it down and putting my flyer back up.
The next day, Gwen Stefani glares right back at me.
***
“Alright, so remember we have a quiz on Thursday, and that English uses Greek as an embellishment, but in Greek those words are simple as hell and make you sound like an idiot. Martyr. Witness. Phobia.” I shrug. “Fear.”
I shove my folder into my bag and zip it shut, nearly getting my finger caught in the zipper. Fuck. Play it off. “Okay, now get out of here and take Greek 1.”
The students miserably shuffle out the door. The girl in the back was pounding two thermoses of something all throughout lecture, either coffee or liquor—maybe both. I don’t blame her. It’s about that time where the line in my office goes right out the door and to the bathroom around the corner. Please, the desperate college student begs, I will literally die if I don’t get a B in this class.
Well, fuck. Just die then because it isn’t going to happen.
I lean against the podium and watch the back row clear out. I’m not in a particularly forgiving mood this semester. Too many apathetic faces staring at me, but at least I’ve come to a tacit agreement with my students. We’re all here against our will. They’re here because, as first-year undergrads, they have shit registration times and got stuck with a 7 am Greek Religion class, and I’m here because I tragically split hot coffee on my advising professor’s pantsuit. Twice.
When the last person leaves the classroom, I immediately deflate onto the table and groan. It’s an impressive groan that lasts for at least a minute, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
“Wow. What an impressive groan.”
I don’t have enough self-respect to lift up my head. “Yup,” I say. “I’ve been practicing.”
“It’s paying off. Hey, do you mind moving a bit to your left? I gotta plug my laptop in.”
I move the chair to the left. The dude has adventurous taste in footwear. When’s the last time I saw a pair of monk straps? The answer is there was never a time. I have never seen a pair of monk straps in person, other than on myself. So you got me, dude. I’m down on my self-respect but I would never turn down a chance to look at the owner of a magnificent pair of shoes.
I look up. As expected, his shoes are the best part of him.
“Okay,” I say, abruptly standing up. “Farewell.”
“See you.”
Why, Erebus? You could have stayed, the two of you could have talked shop! You never find another GSI wearing anything outside the category of high school boy footwear. Yeah, I could’ve killed myself too, doesn’t mean I’m going to do it. I laid there for five minutes, and now my workload has interested by a corresponding five minutes. Ugh.
I step out of the classroom and maneuver around the crowd of students lining up to enter the room, forcing me to go a different route. I trot down the hall—with dignity, might I add, which is a lot harder than it sounds. Trotting is generally undignified, but I am all dignity.
That is, until I come across an entire wall of Gwen Stefani posters pinned all over the Center of Religious Studies corkboard. The paper taped on top of the board reads: DO NOT POST WITHOUT PERMISSION. I’m pretty fucking sure Spotify didn’t get permission from the department.
I have a fuckton of work sitting on my desk and last month’s test scores are backlogged in the system, but I also have a stapler in my bag and a whole stack of event flyers hot off the press. Why the hell not?
It takes me fifteen minutes to rip down the entire wall of Gwen and replace the posters with my own. I leave one defiled Spotify poster, just as you leave one man alive in an army you slaughter. You know. As a warning.
***
“610, Muhammed receives a message from the angel Gabriel. He is told the Arabs must follow the Abrahamic God, and that he is the chosen prophet, Jesus Christ’s legitimate successor. The Eastern Christian Church already split from the Greek Orthodox Church at this point in time—why? The Romans were—man, the Romans were off their game. Christianity no longer emphasized discipline and moral fiber, but Muslims did. That’s why the Romans were so offended by Islam. Because it was, essentially, a purer form of Christianity.”
There’s a lecture this Friday on the beginning of Islam and its relation to Greek Orthodox Christianity. If you’re interested, look at the poster board outside the classroom.”
Apparently, I spoke too soon. When I went into the classroom, my flyer was up. When I went out, it was replaced by Gwen Stefani. Fuck.
“I hate you,” I say to Gwen, pressing my nose right up into the flyer.
Someone clears their throat behind me. “You a big fan of Gwen Stefani?”
“You wouldn’t ask a Jew if they were into Hitler. Why would you ask an East Asian if they’re into Gwen Stefani?”
“Woah.”
“Yup. Totally wish I could take that back. But hey I haven’t made eye contact with you yet so this conversation never happened. Goodbye.” I scuttle away, keeping my eyes on the floor. Oh. It’s monk strap guy. Good to see you again.
Back in my office, there’s a post-it note on my desk summoning me to the department head’s office that afternoon. I’ve done a lot of questionable things that would warrant a summoning—I’m going to need more fingers to count the possible things this meeting could be about. Uhm. As a historian of Islamic history, I’ve been reported as a ISIS-sympathizer. One time a white supremacist reported me for being racist, which was fun.
I wait on the bench outside her office, flanked by Gwen Stefani posters. I drop my head in my hands and groan.
“Oh hey, Hitler dude. What’s up?” Someone sits down beside me when the entire bench is available.
“Gwen Stefani.”
“What?”
“No, seriously. Look up.”
Monk strap guy looks up and squints at the poster before snorting. “Shit. Okay, that one was definitely not me.”
“Wait—what?” No. Don’t do this to me. Don’t let my only acquaintance who has ascended far above Adidas and Nikes be—be a Gwen Stefani sympathizer. “Are you the one posting all these fucking Gwen Stefanis everywhere?”
“Are you the one replacing my posters with, what was it, Religious Studies?”
“Replacing—I’m not the one replacing them. You replaced mine first, and it’s Center! CENTER for Religious Studies, and I’m restoring the poster boards to their original glory, their—their academic glory! There is no academic glory or integrity in Gwen Stefani.”
“Oh. I thought we had a friendly rivalry going on.”
“We aren’t friends,” I hiss. “We are enemies.”
“That’s cool too.” He extends his hand and I stare at it suspiciously. “I’m Demetri.”
“I’m Erebus, and I don’t shake hands. Germs.” Right as I do jazz-hands, the department head’s office door opens and I get up to go. I turn back, narrowing my eyes at Demetri. “This is a ceasefire. Stay off my turf and we’re all good.”
Demetri shrugs. “Sure.”
***
The following day, David Bowie’s face on my office door squints back at me.
1 note · View note
izanyas · 7 years
Text
Hundred-Dollar Rum (Part I)
HAPPY BIRTHDAY @scarlet-blossoms 💖
Plot inspired by this comic by @federtanz, Vorona’s design based on this art by @apetunias! Thank you @weirdpine for the quick beta!
Rating: T Length: 7,700 words Warnings: family death, grief/mourning, drinking, reckless driving.
Hundred-Dollar Rum Part I
"Bad," Vorona announced when Shizuo got home.
He didn't have time to close the door behind himself. He could only see half of the living-room from where he was, but it was the half she was occupying—sitting at his desk—and she was hunched over in her chair, nail polish in one hand and the other atop the thick economics book she had borrowed the night before. Only half of her toenails were orange, but more than two thirds of the book had been read.
"Brush's gonna dry," he muttered, leaning down to untie his shoes. "And what do you mean, bad?"
He heard the sound of her body moving and a bottle being screwed shut. Then she said: "Your Modern History grade."
He straightened up too fast and knocked the side of his cranium against the wall. Vorona didn't laugh, though she was looking at him, but he knew better than to think she didn't derive any humor from the situation. "How bad—wait, did you log on to my email again?"
She shrugged. The foot she had perched on the edge of Shizuo's chair came back to the floor, and she pushed herself back to make room for him. She liked that his desk chair had wheels.
Shizuo walked to the desk and leaned over her laptop. Yagiri had sent over everyone's notes for the first assignment of the semester—and, indeed, his was terrible.
"That makes no fucking sense," he said out loud.
He was exhausted. He had helped Celty at the library for hours, stamping new books for her because her boss was a poor excuse for a librarian—and he'd been inhaling coffee and skimming every article he could find for the essay he was already late in handing back. He still had a shift at work afterward.
And he knew he'd done a correct job for the Modern History thing.
"Stop logging onto my account," he barked in Vorona's direction. "I keep having to change my password because of you."
"Better passwords needed."
"F—" Shizuo stopped himself. He didn't like insulting girls, but Vorona really pushed his buttons sometimes. "Damn it. I'm late for work, I'll deal with this later."
Vorona's expression didn't change. It rarely did. She shook the bottle of varnish and opened it again, and then leaned over her own feet and ignored him.
Shizuo's throat tightened a little in guilt, but he didn't have time to stay and ask what was wrong with her. He made his way to the mezzanine over the living-room, where his bed was—the only separate bedroom was inhabited by Vorona. He quickly changed into different clothes and came back down, murmuring his goodbyes, before getting back outside.
The air was warm. It was almost eight in the evening, but this far into spring the sky was bright blue still. The only way to truly feel the night was for the color of light itself against the building façades around, pink and orange. Shizuo ran most of the way to the pizza parlor, with the setting sun at his back. It would've been pleasant if he weren't so tired.
"You're late," Tom said. He was smoking by the entrance, and Shizuo shook his head when he offered him a cigarette. "The boss isn't going to be happy."
"I've never been late before."
"Once is enough," Tom replied, looking at him gently. His words came out alongside blue smoke.
Kaztano wasn't happy. He lectured Shizuo in his loud voice and with his loud accent for almost fifteen minutes, gesturing wildly with his hands, ignoring the patrons around them who kept looking at him in discomfort. Shizuo stood still as a statue and tried not to count the many phone calls Manami was picking up in the pack—the many notes she was putting in for deliveries that Kaztano was giving Shizuo an even later start for.
If this kept going he'd have to lose more time apologizing to each client, and he'd finish at four in the morning instead of two.
Kaztano took a big, wheezing breath. He wiped the edge of his chin of grease from the kitchen and said, "Get to work."
"Sir," Shizuo replied complacently. He wasn't angrier only because he knew this was his fault.
He was reckless on the road for the first hour and a half. He pushed the tiny moped the restaurant owned for all its worth, crossed the entire district ten kilometers above the speed limit to get there within twenty minutes late of his first delivery. The woman who opened the door to him was kind, but he wasn't so lucky with the rest of his clients. The second man he saw had him bow there and apologize for a good ten minutes, and by that time the route Shizuo tried to take to go back to the restaurant was crowded with cars, forcing him to slow down.
He had to repeat to himself that this job was the best paid one around for most of the evening. That the only reason he and Tom and Manami were laboring as they were—Manami as a receptionist and cook, Tom as a waiter, Shizuo as the delivery boy—was because Kaztano was the fairest boss around, and because Kadota himself had gotten him a job there after he left it for construction gigs.
Clients were rarely a perk of his evenings. Shizuo took to them as calmly as he could and wasted all his pent-up energy going as fast as he could from one side of the city to another. The helmet he wore didn't cover his entire face. When he could find a strip of street devoid of traffic he rode fast, and let the wind hit his skin and drown every other sound.
The evening this night dragged by especially slow. For most of it Shizuo kept half of his mind occupied with the essay he had to hand back the following day at midnight. He still hadn't actually written any of it. He could feel his limbs sag with fatigue but he was still planning on staying up most of the night to finish it. Especially since Yagiri had decided to give him an unfair grade, again.
He probably could've wept in joy by the time his last delivery of the night came around.
The sky was grey now. Not black. The lights from the city gave the clouds a milky, blurry shine, the same color as dusty drapes. It made the air feel unbreathable. Shizuo got off the sputtering bike with only one pizza box left and his ass and back aching, and then he came into the shining lobby of the apartment building where his client lived and discovered that the elevator wasn't working.
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," he growled out loud.
From the corner of the room the guardian sent him a sympathetic look. He made himself smile at her despite his irritation, and then he started his ascension to the eighth floor.
Usually he wouldn't have minded the climb. He liked to exercise. But he'd done nothing but miss sleep and miss meals for at least two weeks now, and it was three in the morning already, and he could feel aches in parts of his body that he hadn't known he possessed. His forehead was abuzz with the need to sleep.
There was only one occupied apartment on the eighth floor. Shizuo knocked on the door and tried to read the name on the paper stuck just above the alarm button he didn't want to use. It wasn't a name he had ever seen before. Nozomu? he thought, blinking the blur of sleep out of his eyes. No… maybe Rinya?
The door opened brusquely. Shizuo didn't jump back only because he didn't think he could've have made a quick move if his life depended on it.
The man standing in front of him looked disheveled. His clothes were rumpled and his shoelaces were untied, and his hair looked to be sticky with something—his face sweaty and his lips trembling.
And then he spoke, and Shizuo got hit in the face with the smell of alcohol, stronger than he had smelled on another person for a very long time. "What do you want?"
His words slurred together, but it sounded like he was trying to seem sharp and composed. With as wasted as he looked, maybe he believed he was.
Whatever. It wasn't any of Shizuo's business. "I'm here with your pizza," he said. He held the box up a little high with both hands.
The man—he was young, probably around Shizuo's age—took a long moment to focus on it. Judging by his frown he was struggling to make sense of the word pizza alone, never mind Shizuo's presence on his doorstep.
"It'll be seventeen hundred yen," Shizuo added hopelessly.
No need to wait for a tip from this guy.
The other made a move, at last. He dragged his hand to the back pocket of his jeans and made a faintly surprised face when it came out empty. "Sorry," he said, after another moment of heavy silence. "I'll just—"
In the second that followed, Shizuo made the hardest decision of his day yet.
He saw the guy turn around too quickly and his foot hit the edge of the step separating the entrance from the rest of his place. It didn't drag itself up to step on it properly. Instead the man's body toppled forward and sideways, in the direction of the polished wood cabinet full of sharp and solid angles.
Shizuo could leave him to it. He doubted this client would be able to see long enough to count the money and pay him anyway. He could just let the man fall and possibly hurt himself and decide not to care, just leave the pizza next to him and go away and get home and spend what was left of his night trying to make up for Yagiri's grudge against the entire student body.
Shizuo always had a distaste for letting himself do the easy thing, however. So he dropped the pizza box and lunged forward to catch his stumbling client around the middle and prevent him from giving himself a concussion.
Apparently he could make a quick move. Only not if his own life depended on it.
The man was very thin. Very light. Shizuo hadn't completely stepped into the entrance, so he was leaning forward quite a bit—it made his forehead level with the other's nape as he held him, and from this close he could smell alcohol in his hair too. Oversweet and heady. He must've spilled a drink on his own head or something.
"Easy," he mumbled, awkward.
The man didn't squirm. When he managed to slightly turn his head to the side it was with a few seconds of delay, as if the situation had taken that long to reach his brain. "What…"
"Just—hang on. I'll get you to your couch."
He squeezed his feet out of his sneakers without letting go of him. Despite his light weight he was leaning heavily on Shizuo, his entire energy dependent on Shizuo's ability to hold him upright. Once he was in his socks, Shizuo dragged the other to his side and lifted one of the guy's arms above his shoulders, sneaking one of his own around his waist. He practically dragged the man further inside the apartment, with zero protest. It was a neat place, which Shizuo wouldn't have expected for someone who looked as out of it as this guy was. If anything he was ready to see a bunch of other college kids passed out everywhere.
But it was empty. Clean and dustless. Except for one sticky-wet spot on the floor where a bottle of rum had been upended—probably when its owner fell—the living-room was sleek and lifeless. Tidy unopened books around the walls and a brand new laptop on the glass desk.
Shizuo laid the man down on his side on the grey couch. The other blinked at him blearily, mouth opening and closing in turn, as if he knew he wanted to speak but couldn't remember how anymore.
Shizuo took a moment to really look at him. He didn't look in danger of anything except accidentally stabbing himself with a corner of the coffee table. As long as he didn't drink anymore there wouldn't be a need to call an ambulance, he thought, uneasy.
He hesitated before asking, "Are you gonna drink more?"
The man's unfocused eyes stayed on him. "No," he replied, at last. "Maybe."
"Right."
He really didn't want to have to call an ambulance on a stranger. Maybe there was someone else he could call, though.
Shizuo retreated to the desk, keeping an eye on its owner. There was a notebook on top of it which he thought might contain addresses and phone numbers, and it did. But he couldn't figure out if any of them belonged to personal relations, a girlfriend or boyfriend or parents or siblings. They were just names, none of which matched the strange one on the door.
When he turned back to look at his client, the man had fallen asleep.
Shizuo stared at the soft, unhappy turn of his mouth for a second longer. He would probably wake up in his own drool and with a raging headache, but it didn't look as if he was going to endanger himself.
Still, he picked up the bottle of rum. A lot of it was still inside. He screwed the lid back on and, after a moment of hesitation, rummaged through the guy's fridge to make sure there was nothing else there that he could drink.
It seemed he had gone straight for the rum and nothing else.
Shizuo put the bottle inside his backpack. He swallowed back his discomfort and opened the last two doors of the apartment—one leading to a bathroom, the other to the bedroom. It was as cold-looking as the rest of the place. There wasn't even a poster up on the walls. He took the comforter off the bed and brought it back to the living-room, laying it on top of the passed out Orihara Rinya. Or Nozomu.
He ripped a page out of the notebook and wrote a quick note on it, adding his phone number and the address of Kaztano's pizzeria, just in case. And then he put it on the coffee table, on top of the cooling pizza, and he left.
He was already an hour and a half late in reporting to Kaztano. He knew the man wouldn't yell at him for making sure someone didn't die of alcohol poisoning or their own stupidity—Kaztano was, according to Kadota, someone who had depended on the goodwill of strangers many times in his life—but he felt guilty for making him stay up so late. Kaztano always said good night to every single one of them before closing the shop by himself.
The night air was cold on his face now. No pink sun to keep it warm.
Kaztano was sitting in front of the shop when he arrived. He had a cigarette in hand and at least three more in the ashtray placed on the stairs next to him. He smiled in Shizuo's direction.
"I'm so sorry," Shizuo said, but Kaztano waved a big hand at him.
"I'll let you take care of the register," was all he said.
Shizuo nodded. He went back inside the empty restaurant and opened the cash register, placing the money out and adding to it everything he got for deliveries. He used part of his tips from the night to pay for Orihara's pizza.
When he came back out, Kaztano handed him a cigarette. "Thank you," Shizuo said.
The first breath of smoke raged inside him, sending sparks into his tired body and easing the stress out of his head.
His eyelids were drooping. He knew if he thought about it too long he would panic at the thought that he had driven in this state, unaware of how dangerous he was to himself and other, so he resolved not to think about it. It would be four soon, and though the city was always awake, he wished he weren't.
Shizuo left Kaztano's company as soon as he politely could. The old man let him go without a word, watching him walk the length the of the street. The traffic only ever let off at this hour of the night. In an hour, people would be driving their cars and bikes getting to work early.
It was five past four in the morning when Shizuo arrived home. He dragged his feet out of his shoes and let himself fall onto the couch in the living-room, and for a long second, he considered taking a sip of the rum he had confiscated from the drunken client earlier. A fleeting noise from above made him look up.
Vorona was leaning over the edge of the mezzanine and looking down at him.
"What are you doing up?" Shizuo asked.
She didn't answer. Her face looked the same kind of sulky as it had before—irritated, negative, malicious. He couldn't tell exactly.
Her toenails still weren't done being painted. The economics book, however, was closed on top of the desk.
"Get out of my room," Shizuo grumbled tiredly. "I have—"
"Father passed away."
Her voice was as matter-of-fact as ever. Shizuo looked at her sharply; there were no traces of tears on her face. No outward sign of grief of discomfort.
"Damn, Vorona," he murmured. "You should've said."
"I just did."
She swung her legs back and forth into the empty space above him. Shizuo caught one of her feet with his hands and squeezed it gently. "D'you wanna talk about it?"
"Negative."
He frowned. Let go of her. "What do you want, then?"
She rested her arms on top of the wooden barrier separating the side of his bed from the imminent fall right after, and she put her chin on top of them, so that the bottom half of her face was hidden from him, but she could still observe him.
"Request zombie movie," she said softly. "And alcoholic drinks."
Shizuo pushed his backpack under the low table with his foot. He picked up the books he had left on the couch before leaving with the goal of sitting down and immediately starting to work, and he stood up, patting the side of her calf as he walked toward his stash of DVDs.
"Sure."
--
Vorona was still asleep the following day at two in the afternoon. Shizuo had been awake for an hour and cleaning up the mess they'd made of the kitchen. Despite the thorough brushing he gave his teeth he still had a faint beery taste on his tongue from the off-brand Kriek Vorona always bought him. He didn't even like it as much as he pretended to, but it was the only beer he could drink at all.
He was writing an email to Yagiri. His essay was due in ten hours and still as unwritten as it had been the day before; Shizuo asked her for an extension, again, with a heavy chest and no hope whatsoever. It didn't matter how meticulously polite he was in his message.
She answered five minutes later: No.
He heard Vorona move from her bedroom. Wordlessly, he stood up from his seat and put water to boil for tea. Neither of them liked coffee that much.
"Consequences not worth it," Vorona groaned at him when she emerged into the hallway. Her hair was in disarray and her shirt was stained with the cheap mojito she'd drank half of by herself around five in the morning.
"Why do you keep buying this shit anyway?" Shizuo replied.
"Interesting taste. Nothing close to the real deal." She took a seat at the kitchen table and stared at the kettle as if she could make it go faster with the strength of will alone. If left to her own devices she'd probably try to drink boiling water just to get the taste to disappear.
Shizuo snorted unappealingly. "I'll never get your obsession with bad drinks and food. You have money to buy yourself anything you want."
Vorona dragged the leather jacket she'd left on the back of her chair above her head, hiding herself from him and his words.
She had to leave, eventually, to take care of paperwork at the hospital where they kept her father's body. The funeral would be held some time the following week, she had said, drunk out of her mind. Those were the only words he'd managed to get out of her on the topic.
Shizuo drank two cups of sweet tea and sat down at his desk, grimly resolved to write this essay in the nine and a half hours he had left to do it.
He spent most of the day like this, his lower back aching from riding on Kaztano's crappy moped all night and then falling asleep on the couch, drunk out of his mind. From time to time his cellphone buzzed with an incoming text from Celty asking how he was doing or Shinra reminding him he needed to put in some money for the preparations for Kadota's new semester party.
I don't want to pay for Karisawa's shit, he replied to him.
If you don't she'll probably literally rob your place, Shinra texted back, quick and unbothered. And then, I've got a childhood friend coming, so try to make a good impression at least.
I never make a good impression, Shizuo said.
You know, for someone with instincts as good as yours, you can be really oblivious.
Shizuo stared at the text for a moment before deciding to ignore it.
Vorona came back around six in the evening, wearing sunglasses and a leather jacket and looking amazingly composed. Shizuo's outline was starting to take shape and his organization was becoming clearer. He could probably actually hope to finish in time, even if the final product would be less than stellar. It wasn't as if Yagiri would mark him fairly anyway. Vorona leaned over his shoulder and huffed quietly, so he batted her away, saying, "No need to gloat," before she could start telling him everything he'd written in mistake.
"Should have worked on schedule," she commented, opening the fridge.
"We can't all just not have a part time job."
Around eight, when Shizuo was almost done with the outline and getting started on writing out the essay proper, he received a phone call. "Heiwajima," he answered curtly.
For a moment all he heard was breathing. He rubbed ink-stained fingers over his eyelids and said, "I'm busy, so—"
"I'd like my rum back," said a familiar voice. "If you don't mind."
Shizuo leaned back in his chair. "Oh."
"'Oh', Indeed." The no-longer-inebriated man took a slow breath and asked: "Would you be free to come over and hand it back tonight? I'd like to avoid going out if possible."
Orihara didn't sound anything like he had the night previous. His voice was sweet but unfriendly, sharp, haughty. Something you could only consider pleasant in low doses. "You've got a lot of nerve," Shizuo said, irritated despite himself. "I even let you off without paying, you could at least thank me."
Orihara replied instantly: "How terribly kind of you, to pay for my pizza, which I had to eat cold, by the way. It's not like you took off with a hundred-dollar bottle on your way out."
Shizuo's eyes flew to the bottle he had set on top of the kitchen counter this morning. The glass—or maybe crystal—reflected the light around and into the amber liquid inside, turning it gold and red.
"Uh," he said. "I didn't know."
"I figured. You wouldn't have left your phone number if you did."
"I didn't drink any of it," he added, suddenly anxious. "No one's touched it. There's not a lot left, though, because you—"
"I'm aware," Orihara cut in coldly. "Are you free tonight?"
Shizuo looked at the half-finished essay shining off his laptop's screen. "Not before midnight."
"Fine by me. Come whenever you can." He hung up.
Shizuo didn't move the phone from his ear for a while after that. He looked at the bright, shiny bottle sitting on his counter, and wonder what would've happened if he had drunk from it the night before like he had considered.
Orihara didn't seem like a very forgiving guy. He gave off rich youth vibes. Not the good, selfless kind.
Time went by achingly slow. It had to do with how hard Shizuo found it to focus on so much text for hours on end while keeping his thoughts in line. In the end he did use the coffee machine Vorona owned but never touched. He poured as much sugar into his cup as he could without making himself sick and swallowed the drink as fast and hot as possible. The caffeine helped him through the last hour of his work.
He submitted the essay thirteen minutes before the deadline. He was pretty sure Yagiri had already prepared her failing email for him, and for a good twenty minutes, he sat on his chair, idly watching videos and thinking about her disappointment.
Then he pushed himself upright with trembling arms and grabbed an energy bar in the kitchen. Vorona was sitting on his bed again, legs dangling from the gap between fence and mezzanine floor. She was was filling paperwork.
"I'm going out," Shizuo called.
She looked down. "Nonsense. No work tonight."
"Unsatisfied client," he shrugged.
She didn't reply, but he could read the incredulity on her.
Shizuo took more care with the bottle of rum this time. It was heavier in his hands than it should be, probably confirming that it was made of crystal rather glass. When he moved it the rum splashed around and left tiny golden drops hanging to the sides. He put it in his bag carefully, sandwiching it between books and a scarf, and then he took off for the subway station nearest their apartment.
The ride itself was uneventful. The trains weren't too crowded this late into the night. Most of the other passengers were drunk men in work clothes and women with tension running in their shoulders who avoided eye-contact. It took half an hour for Shizuo to figure out where to go to Orihara's apartment via public transportation rather than his own vehicle and actually get there, but by the time he did, it was just before one.
Once again he climbed eight floors to get there. The guardian in the lobby looked at him with curiosity, probably remembering him as the pizza guy from the night before, but she didn't say anything to him. Shizuo walked up the clean staircase and through the corridor on the eighth floor. It was carpeted in red, and there was a potted plant on a wooden table in the middle, with a mirror on the wall behind. It looked like a hotel hallway.
Orihara took his time to answer after he knocked. Shizuo looked at the alarm button in consideration for a moment but decided against it—he hated when people rang instead of knocking—raising his hand to touch his knuckles to the door again.
Orihara opened right this moment, as if he had been waiting for it.
"Good evening," he said, a fleeting smile on his lips.
"Evening," Shizuo replied.
They stood still for a moment, looking at each other.
Orihara looked way better now. His hair was clean and his skin was a healthier color. The bags under his eyes weren't as pronounced as they had been almost twenty-four hours earlier. He was wearing different clothes too, better-fitter pants and a black, clean, pressed shirt, the collar of which was brushed by soft strands of hair at his nape. He had sharp eyes and thin features and a poise that Shizuo wouldn't have expected of someone he had met for the first time bordering alcoholic coma.
Shizuo had to drag himself back to reality. "Right," he said. "Your bottle."
"If you don't mind," Orihara murmured dryly.
It made anger spark up in him, but Shizuo kept it in check. He slid one arm out of the handle of his backpack and opened it close to his side, taking out the rum.
It was unscratched, but Orihara made a face all the same. "You've been carrying it like this?"
"I didn't exactly know I was dragging expensive shit around," Shizuo replied, handing it over. Orihara took it from his hand with a brush of his fingers against Shizuo's knuckles, tingling and warm. "I was tired too. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't go back to drinking it and kill yourself by accident."
Orihara observed him intently. He wasn't frowning. If anything he looked a little baffled, Shizuo thought. "Are you like this with everyone?"
"Like what?"
Orihara slipped his free hand into his pocket and took something out of it. He unfurled the crumpled piece of paper and read: "I apologize for intruding. I opened your fridge and displaced a blanket from your room, but I did not steal anything. I'm only taking the bottle away so you don't put yourself in danger. Thank you for ordering from Kaztano Pizza." When he lifted his head, his eyes were mocking, and Shizuo could feel the burn of blood in his cheeks. "I didn't know pizzerias offered nurse services as well."
"You were fucking smashed," Shizuo replied in a growl. "Don't tell me you would've preferred to wake up with a concussion."
"I wouldn't have," Orihara said, lids flickering low over his eyes. "If you're this thoughtful with every client, your work must get you riches in tips."
"Says the guy who couldn't even pay."
Orihara waved a hand to the side, like a character in a play. "I'll give you the money I owe you, if that's such an issue. I know times are tough, but I didn't think missing out on fifteen hundred yen would make such an indent in your savings."
"Do you ever get tired of the sound of your own voice?" Shizuo replied. "Because I'm exhausted."
He meant it. Orihara had the sort of sweetness to him that only gave cavities on the long run. Yet Orihara smiled at his words, and his face colored with more energy than before, and his eyes never left Shizuo's. And Shizuo found that his cheeks were still warm. "Whatever," he said between his teeth. "Why were you getting drunk off fifteen-thousand-yen rum on your own anyway?"
Orihara's hand fell back at his side, his fingers still clutching the note Shizuo had written the night before. "I was celebrating," he said.
"Celebrating what?"
"Star Wars Day," Orihara said dryly. Then, seeing the way Shizuo's face twisted: "My birthday."
Shizuo swallowed mechanically. His throat felt a sudden tightness, like a diluted version of the kind that he had felt when Vorona had said her dad was dead without shedding a single tear. Mostly discomfort and a little bit of pity.
Orihara himself closed his mouth tightly after that, face pale and frustrated. He plucked a wallet out of the back pocket of his pants and took out a few bills. "There," he said, handing them over. "For the pizza."
There were only fifteen hundred rather than the seventeen Kaztano's tuna pizza was worth, but Shizuo didn't have the heart to tell him his count was wrong. "Thanks," he said in a low voice, pocketing the money.
"Don't worry your sweet head about me," Orihara continued. "I only get this drunk once a year."
"I'm not worried," Shizuo replied tersely.
Orihara smiled. He took another bill out of his wallet and stepped forward, into Shizuo's space and out of his apartment, bare feet quiet on the carpeted floor; Shizuo stood still as he lifted his hand and slid the bill into the breast pocket of Shizuo's jacket.
"See you around, pizza boy," he said. Shizuo looked down at him and at his lips, and Orihara's smile widened, showing sharp, white teeth.
--
Shizuo's essay came back with a barely-passing grade. Not enough to make up for the gigantic hole into his average scores that the first assignment was. Yagiri smiled nastily when she gave it back to him, and only the fact that every other student in the room was looking at their copy with a pale face restrained Shizuo's anger.
"I fucking hate her," he told Celty during lunch. She had to at the library for two more hours before she could catch her own break. "God damn it."
Celty typed something on her laptop. She turned the screen toward him when she was done. It's worrying that this has been going on for years, and no one's fired her yet, it read.
"Her father is a big contributor to the pharmacy lab or something," Shizuo muttered. "And she's written a bunch of famous books. Somehow that's enough to overlook the fact that she hasn't passed a single student in ten years."
That's what we get for being in this college.
He laughed, despite everything.
He was sitting on a corner of her work desk and helping to put magnets inside newly shipped books. It was brainless work, good enough that they could both do it and still talk at the same time. Outside, spring had bloomed warm and colorful. Rows of flower trees made students sneeze on their way back and forth. Light poured in through the large library windows and dyed every table it touched a rich brown, making the kids sat around them blink tears from their tired eyes.
Celty tapped his elbow lightly. He turned his head to look at her monitor and saw that she had written: When is the funeral?
"Monday," he replied softly. It was Friday now. A work day for him, with a working weekend ahead.
Do you think Vorona would want us to come? Celty asked.
He hesitated, but thought it would be better to tell the truth. "I don't think so." He winced at her. "It's not against you or anything. It's just…"
Vorona didn't have a good relationship with her father when he was alive. The man had been absent, had let her grow up on her own in their home in Russia and then strung her along on his way to Japan without asking for what she wanted. Vorona had lived as isolated in Tokyo as she had before that, until she moved in with Shizuo at the age of nineteen.
And Shizuo wasn't even sure that he would be invited to the funeral. Vorona was a private person who disliked showing her emotions and especially her grief; if anything, he thought she would go alone, and go through every stage of mourning in a meticulous, calculated way, and come out of it the exact way she had come in.
He didn't know if that was a good thing. And he didn't have a right to tell Celty anything more than Vorona chose to.
"Sorry," he said.
Celty squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.
Shizuo's afternoon lecture went by slow and easy. He had plans to swing by Kadota's place after that, so he took off by foot, with more than a half-hour to spare. The walk did him good. Despite the mediocre mark, the relief he had felt since handing in the essay hadn't left. He breathed in deeply, thankful to be free of the allergies plaguing half of his friends, and even as he crawled deeper into Ikebukuro, it was with the smell of flowers in his nostrils.
"Hey," Kadota welcomed him when he arrived, opening his door wide. Behind him there was only Togusa, sitting at the bar and playing app games on his phone.
Kadota's place was the biggest out of everyone they knew. It was also the favorite, because Kadota had done most of the construction work inside by himself, with the help of Simon who worked at the Russian sushi place.
It had been his project since they got into high school together. To buy the biggest place he could find at the lowest price, no matter how decrepit, and to turn it into something livable.
"Karisawa and Yumasaki aren't here?"
"Cosplay group for Karisawa," Togusa replied from the bar. "Who knows what Yumasaki's doing."
"There's a new maid café near your folks' apartment building," Kadota said.
Shizuo and Togusa nodded somberly.
Togusa offered Shizuo a drink, which Shizuo refused. He didn't think there was anything sweet enough here that didn't belong to Karisawa, and he knew better than to dig into her stash. He did accept a can of lukewarm coke, however. Kadota and him took a seat on either side of Togusa, and Kadota asked, without much ado, "How's Vorona?"
"Fine," Shizuo answered. "I think."
"You never know, with this chick," Togusa said between his teeth.
Kadota kicked his shin lightly.
Shizuo shrugged. "She's probably not fine," he said. "But she's holding up. Going through every day. I don't know if it's better than if she let me see that something's wrong, but at least she's doing what she needs to and attending class and everything. She even took care of the groceries yesterday."
Togusa lifted his eyes from the idol game in his hands and grimaced pityingly. "I can't believe you're living with her without dating her." Kadota rolled his eyes ostentatiously, and Togusa added, louder: "What! Vorona is one of the hottest girls we know, and she's not seeing anyone. It's not like Heiwajima isn't into girls."
"You're living with a hot girl," Kadota pointed.
"The weird outweighs the hot in Karisawa's case."
Shizuo tapped the can in his hands with his index, and took a sip of warm soda, and thought idly about the red-haired woman Vorona sometimes brought home and who only left in the morning, looking flushed and satisfied.
"Well," Kadota sighed, "it's good that she's not in bed all day and crying, I guess. Though I wouldn't expect that from her anyway."
"She's pretty solid," Shizuo said with a smile.
Kadota bowed his head in serious acquiescence. When he lifted it, there was humor on his face. "Now," he continued. "Erika said you owe us a little something for the party."
Shizuo groaned.
--
Later, at work, when Shizuo was back from his third round of deliveries and stacking the following—and last—ones onto the back of the moped, Manami stopped him with a curt call of his name.
"What is it?" he asked.
She looked unhappy, but it wasn't a very good indicator of her mood. She always looked unhappy. "This guy asked to be your last delivery," she said, giving him a slip of paper. "Orihara Izaya."
Shizuo felt a rush through his limb and into his hands. It tingled in his fingers when he took the paper. "Oh."
She squinted at him in suspicion and then turned on her heels and walked back into the restaurant. Shizuo saw Tom wave at him from inside, two plates on one hand and walking between tables. He waved back half-heartedly.
Time seemed to speed up on this last round. The city was a blur around his head, white lines drawn onto endless black, as if someone had pressed fast forward onto the life around him. He turned around Ikebukuro three times, slid between cars on the road and avoided running on stray cats in the alleys. He didn't remember the faces of the people who paid and tipped him. Before he knew it he was standing in the lobby of Orihara's apartment building, and the woman at the counter was smiling with familiarity and whispering, "Good evening."
The elevator had been fixed. Shizuo took the stairs anyway, despite the cooling pizza in his hand and the unnecessary effort of climbing all those floors. He stepped into the red-carpeted hallway and walked past the plant and table and mirror and he knocked on Orihara's door. Orihara himself opened a few seconds later, looking tired but clean and alert, and his smile this time was a lot less sweet.
It was also a lot of more honest.
"Pizza boy," he greeted him. His eyes trailed down, stopping by Shizuo's mouth and then chest before landing on the box in his hands. "And my order."
"Shouldn't it be the other way around?" Shizuo asked before he could stop himself.
And Orihara smiled wide and gleeful, taking the box from his hands, slipping not enough money into the front pocket of Shizuo's jacket again. His fingers lingered for a second too much.
The encounter left Shizuo shaken until he managed to fall asleep, hours later, fitful and restless.
Orihara pulled the same thing the following day. He told Manami to write him down as Shizuo's last delivery of the night, and Manami did with thin lips and an irritated face. The conversation they had didn't last more than five minutes, like the times before.
"I have a name," he told Orihara after the man called him pizza boy again. "If you're going to keep bothering me during my work time you might as well start using it."
"Heiwajima Shizuo, right?" Orihara said immediately.
Shizuo tensed. "I never introduced myself to you."
"No, but the lovely receptionist at your workplace tells me everything when I ask nicely enough." Orihara slid him the money, more this time—almost enough to pay for the full pizza. "She also said you live with your girlfriend, whom she called a 'literal Russian babe'."
"She's not my girlfriend," Shizuo replied tiredly.
Orihara smiled at him darkly. "Good."
On Sunday Shizuo thought about taking the day off. Vorona didn't show any change in her behavior, but she spent most of the day confined in her room and using every bit of their shared Wi-Fi to find which place sold appropriate black dresses for a funeral and was open on a Sunday at all. Shizuo didn't comment on it. He wanted to stay and insist that she talk, because he feared that this might be the one time he should; but Vorona had been handling things fine. She hadn't denied him the right to come to the funeral yet. When he had seen her at noon she had been on the phone, presumably with Sharaku, and she hadn't seemed any different than usual.
He left her some tea before he left, prepared as black as she liked it.
Orihara had his door open this time. He was sitting on the step leading to the inside of his apartment proper, with his bare feet next to his shoes and slippers.
"Is the tuna pizza really that good?" Shizuo asked warily. "You haven't ordered anything else."
Orihara pushed himself to his feet. "It seems I can't get enough of it," he replied, giving Shizuo a once-over and pushing the money toward him. Seventeen hundred yen.
Shizuo's face burned, and he wanted to reply with something—he didn't know if he wanted to encourage or discourage the other—but all Orihara did was step back, taking the box from Shizuo's hands, and slam the door close between them.
"Damn it," Shizuo snapped. "At least tip me, you asshole!"
There was no answer from inside the apartment. Shizuo stood there for a minute longer, trying to reign in the irritation and embarrassment making his blood boil through his every vein. In the end he stomped away after kicking the wall—and he noticed with a mix of shame and satisfaction that his shoe had left a stain behind, grey on red.
Vorona was awake when he got home. She was sitting on the couch rather than on any of his possessions, which was rarely. The mug full of tea that he had left her was sitting, empty, on the coffee table.
"Hey," he said.
She lifted her head from the magazine she had spread over her crossed legs. That was when he noticed.
She had cut her hair while he was out. It was shorter, completely shaven on one side even, while on the other, longer bangs framed her face, without the ability to hide it like it always had before.
He stared at her in silence for a while. She didn't seem too upset at him for it, and she didn't move at all until he was done taking in the change. Ultimately, all he did was sit on the couch next to her and say, "Looks good."
"Affirmative."
"You can just say yes, you know."
She hit him with the magazine, very lightly. It made him smile through his worries and his chest tighten with the knowledge that this wasn't like her. Vorona was never that playful.
So he decided to do what he had refrained from doing this entire time, and he asked: "Are you alright?"
She didn't immediately answer. Rather, she watched the muted TV in front of her with empty eyes, and with her hands, she took something wrapped in plastic that had been sitting on the other side of her body and gave it to him.
It was a dress, from what he could see. Brand new, unworn, cleanly folded. She probably hadn't even tried it on before buying it.
"I'm sure you'll look good in it," he offered, because he didn't know what else to say. Vorona never wore dresses, and he never questioned it, but he knew it would be another awkward thing for her. Another detail to work through on her own.
She looked at him again. "Extending invitation," she said in a small voice. "To the funeral. Tomorrow."
Shizuo's heart pulsed in his throat. He blinked the blur out of his eyes. "Yes," he replied. "Of course I'll be there."
She nodded her assent, and turned back to the silent TV. He couldn't see any trace of sleeplessness or anxiety on her. She was as solid a presence as she had ever been, unreadable but not emotionless, someone he cared about and found comfort around. Shizuo didn't think he had ever met someone as tough as she was.
And yet, when she lifted a hand to touch the shaved side of her scalp, her painted fingers were trembling.
[NEXT]
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