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chocosvt · 5 years

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⚬ pairing: soonyoung x fem!reader. ⚬ word count: 12.8K. ⚬ warnings: drugs, alcohol. ⚬ genres: theme of unrequited love, friends to lovers, romance, a good dosage of angst, fluff to mend your heart, spiciness near the end.

✧✎ synopsis: there are lots of bits and pieces that come with being a best friend and soonyoung is certainly taking his time in figuring them out. was it right for his stomach to somersault at the sound of your laughter? was it normal his smile fell when junhui took your hand? he isn’t exactly sure what a best friend really is, but he’s sure of what it’s not.

✧✎ a/n: this was requested to me awhile ago! anon asked for a hoshi!best friend confession w lots of fluff. but ME being ME. i literally cannot write anything without turning it into some angsty, love-laced, fluffy fuckin roller coaster of ??? so..um.. yes… enjoy!!!

If Soonyoung had one wish, he would – without question – wish to glean the thoughts of others, to understand the precise lettering in their head when he stared them in the eyes. Sure, it was kind of lame in comparison to something like invisibility, the power of flight, a wish for a hundred more wishes, but he didn’t really care about those things because they didn’t apply in any way to the one thing he did truthfully did care about: you.

He knew he was rather eccentric to say the least, and maybe that caused some people to glance at him strangely, develop their own notions concerning his variety of behaviours. Soonyoung knew that you at first saw him that way too, and he was perfectly content with that. However the pathway into your thoughts soon became blurry when your relationship escalated.

Because at this moment you were ‘best friends.’

At least in the premature days of your friendship Soonyoung had been fully certain you thought him to be bizarre and oddly energetic. But things were largely different now. The more you know about a person, the more your head fills and fills with the shiny bits of their character; everything that makes them, well, them.

And sometimes the people you meet are so outstanding that you can’t even pluck one word down from a sky full of twinkling adjectives to describe them. So how was Soonyoung supposed to live comfortably when he looked deep within your eyes and couldn’t read their writing? What did you think of him besides a best friend? Did you ever let your mind wander beyond that? He was itching terribly to see within your mind.

Yet he was equally suppressing a fear that you could perhaps gauge into his own galaxy of notions, that you could fix the constellations together and see how Soonyoung’s thoughts about you delved much further than friendship. Hopefully if a genie ever approached you, you would never pick to have the same wish as him. You were more of the invisibility type anyways.

Soonyoung was a dancer. It built into a passion that burned him hotter than bubbling wax, a compulsion to illustrate an entire story through the art of his movements.

Dancing invited more blessings into his life than setbacks. Twisting an ankle was temporary, but turning the lights off on Lee Chan to hear his high-pitched scream pierce through the practice room walls was forever. Aside from meeting Chan, Soonyoung came to know Minghao, the boy with a knack for photography.

He was always outside the studio at dawn taking pictures of cobwebs that sparkled with dew, or the mute colours belonging to the downtown street as they would blend against a soft, lavender sky. Soonyoung was so extraordinarily close with both boys that he thought it was time to start warming up to the studio’s newest addition, the sharp-featured, broad-shouldered, incredibly long-legged Wen Junhui.

The studio was full today. Chan was busy mounting his iPod to the doc station, Minghao was highly concentrated on tying his sneaker, and even you were there, sitting in a chair off to the corner sipping impetuously from a milk tea and thumbing through your phone. Soonyoung loved having you visit the studio during his training. There was such a prideful glow that encompassed his chest at viewing your complete awe of his performances.

Junhui was the last to arrive. He pulled off his long, wool trench coat and tossed it onto a hook after the duffle bag slid from his shoulder onto the polished floor. Beneath the heavy coat he wore a simple white t-shirt and black sweatpants. When Soonyoung caught a peripheral glimpse of himself in the anterior mirrors, he did a double-take, subsiding with the fact he was wearing exactly the same as Junhui, even down to the stripes along the leg.

There wasn’t much versatility available when it came to practice clothes. It was of course more appropriate if they were loose, comfortable, and breathable. Minghao was usually the one to come in a wide array of outfits since fashion was another dominant area of his life, but still, Soonyoung found his gaze trailing to the mirror a little too frequently to switch between himself and Junhui. He looked at you as well, but you had yet to note Junhui’s presence.

Not that it needed to be a competition.

“So, do you guys just jump in or…? Do you do some stretching, an exercise?” Junhui asked whilst swaying back and forth, his hands awkwardly digging into his hips.

Minghao looked at Chan, but Chan was looking at Soonyoung who was looking at you who was looking at Junhui. It was a mouthful, but the point was that Junhui wore the expression of tiresomely holding a grin much too long for a family photo, desperately waiting for someone to cut the tension and throw him a bone. Soonyoung was sort of the captain who orchestrated the practices, so he took initiative, pulled his gaze from you, and smiled warmly at the newcomer.

“Yeah, we do a bit of stretching first, and play some music to get pumped up. Minghao got you caught up with the choreography for our newest project, right?”

Junhui carded his fingers through his black hair, though the tresses simply flopped back to their initial curtain over his forehead. “Yes,” He then said, “I’ve got it all down.”

“Great,” Soonyoung replied enthusiastically, (he heard your muffled cackle escape the hand tightly woven across your mouth, but chose to ignore you), “Better get started then. How’s the music working, Chan?”

“It’s set up. Do you have any suggestions?”

Soonyoung saw you cross your legs and take a notably loud sip from what remained of your tea. He scoffed playfully at you and inquired, “Do you have a suggestion, [Y/N]?”

“Why yes, I do, thank you for asking,” You responded whilst eyeing him with a composure that suggested you were withholding laughter, “I think that you should play Life is a Highway for your warm-up song.”

Minghao snorted almost too quickly, “You’re so funny.”

“Shut up,” You toed off your flats before tucking your legs close to your chest, “You guys play the same three songs every time. I’m trying to spice up your boring lives.” It was then that your gaze fell upon Soonyoung, and for a split second a tiny, electric jolt smoothed up the length of his spine, the imploring glint of your eyes already sanding away his resistance.

“Please can you play something different, Soonyoung?” You cooed.

Like a wilted flower, he was far too weak to conjure the strength to protest. “Okay, okay,” He agreed, “But it’s Chan’s iPod. He has to have the song.”

“I have a suggestion,” Junhui’s dulcet voice suddenly intervened after remaining quiet amongst the dispute, naming some song Soonyoung had never heard of in his life.

Immediately you squealed from your perch, your hands flailing about, “I love that song!”

Soonyoung heard Junhui’s laughter for the first time, brassy and in short breaths, his face pulling taunt in a wide, ear-to-ear smile that let his teeth and their rosy gums show. You were beaming in Junhui’s direction, babbling on and on about the artist and your love of her music as the boy eagerly nodded and continued brightly laughing. Soonyoung felt his chest tighten, like it was trapped within a balloon that had just popped, the thin plastic pulling so harshly it was almost suffocating. The feeling only became more apparent when he looked between you and Junhui.

“I don’t think I have that song…” Chan mumbled as he flicked through his playlists.

Soonyoung breathed out almost gratefully, “That’s okay, we ca—,”

“I have it actually,” Junhui piped up, “Would you mind using my iPod instead?”

Chan shrugged, “I’ll hook it up for you.”

“Awesome,” Junhui chirped before diving into his duffle bag.

Minghao had finally popped up from the ground and was making his way across the room to grab a water bottle. Soonyoung joined him, and together they hovered at the opposing corner whilst Chan, Junhui and you included swarmed the doc station. Soonyoung couldn’t evade the manner in which his stare adhered to you beside Junhui, how you titled your head up at him, eyes seemingly enchanted.

There was a bitter taste washing into his mouth, though it certainly wasn’t the water. He felt Minghao nudge his shoulder, a warm chuckle then fanning against his ear,

“Careful with Jun, or else you might not have a best friend any longer.”

Soonyoung didn’t possess the right heart to laugh, so he feigned a lousy scoff and began walking toward the centre of the room, the music at last easing through the speakers and echoing between the glossy wood as well as the high ceiling. You returned to your chair, grinning with pleasure and chewing at the straw of your emptied milk tea. Soonyoung was stretching, occasionally tracing his movement in the mirror, though he faced ample distraction.

You usually watched Soonyoung stretch, but now you were watching someone else, and that horrendous, tight feeling in his chest stayed with him throughout all of practice.

Considering that Soonyoung spent nearly an entire day at the dance studio, he was expecting to feel nothing short of fatigue; a particular drowsiness that might tug at his eyelids until it became a chore to keep them locked open. Most days he went to the studio a little earlier than lunch so he could have an excuse to go out on the town and eat with his friends. Besides, they often played nonsensical games, such as whoever tapped the light switch last was the one to pay for the entire meal.

It was usually Chan who lost since he was always occupied with something else whilst his older friends were deciding the game. However, Minghao generously payed the most, taking advantage of a vacant table to call over the server whilst Soonyoung and Chan were discussing the scent of the soap in the washroom.

This particular morning, Soonyoung received a text bright and early from Minghao, his phone vibrating next to his disheveled, spiky hair as an amber spool of sunlight slanted through his curtains. The next thing he knew, he was standing on the bridge just a block down from the studio with Minghao kneeling across the street, setting up what he referred to as ‘an immaculate shot’ of Soonyoung against the sky’s flush, peachy pink colour, illuminated beneath the fire of sun rays.

“I just needed someone to model,” Minghao explained as they walked back to the studio together, “You were one of the first people to come to mind.”

“Awe,” Soonyoung crooned, the faint blush on his cheeks identical to the hue that blotted the sky, “Thanks.”

But then Minghao had to go and throw a bucket of water over Soonyoung’s happiness.

“Next to Junhui. You know, when I first saw him in the studio I wanted to ask if he had ever experimented with modelling. He’s quite defined, like his face was cut from marble or something. He opened up to me a bit when I was catching him up with our dance. He did a lot of acting when he was younger, went to one of the most prestigious schools in Shenzhen, and won first place in a bunch of piano and Wushu competitions. Can you believe that?”

There was that feeling again, that stupid bitter feeling that made itself painfully known by wedging into Soonyoung’s chest like a wooden splinter. He had only walked a short distance from the bridge, but he hardly contained enough breath in his lungs to even sound fascinated or deeply intrigued. Junhui had never given Soonyoung any reason to formulate malice toward him, so why was such a sullen atmosphere suddenly clouding his mood?

“He’s a pretty extraordinary guy,” Soonyoung commended whilst staring straight ahead.

Minghao huffed, sounding marvelled, “No kidding. I mean, yeah, he’s kinda odd, but he’s got a hundred lifetimes beneath all those trench coats. We should invite him to eat with us next time.”

Soonyoung wasn’t properly filtering his thoughts. Suddenly he scoffed, “Yeah, I bet he’s a world class chef too. He’ll just whip up the whole meal from thin air at the drop of a hat.”

Laughter immediately bloomed from Minghao’s chest, the younger then slouching an arm around a stiff Soonyoung’s shoulders and lightly punching him in his side, “I think he has some experience in cooking! Sounds like you need to talk to him more.”

“I think we talk plenty,” Soonyoung earnestly defended whilst steering away from his friend’s grasp, knowing that plenty in his own dictionary meant: ‘as much as I think is necessary, so probably once or twice.’

When Soonyoung was nearing the end of his day at the studio with Minghao, you made the decision to swing by and bring them take-out from a small family business down the street. He was so hungry that hardly any conversation clung to the air apart from slurping, chewing, and drinking noises. Minghao tried to be more civil in his eating, but Soonyoung had known you for so long that he could eat like a starved animal and still meet your warm, adoring gaze afterward.

You then walked back to Soonyoung’s place together, smiling and laughing and haphazardly bumping into each other as day faded into night, fully expecting to receive a brutal shove that made him stumble off the sidewalk in consequence. Whilst Soonyoung took a shower, you threw yourself happily onto his bed, flipping through old comic books that had the particular scent of aged paper and fiddling with his Rubik’s cube that never seemed to change colours apart from when you touched it.

Soonyoung remembered the few times you’d asked him why he kept all this stuff.

He always said something along the lines of, “Oh, y’know, I’m gonna start hoarding now so I can get on TLC,” when in reality it was a far fonder reason that engendered his skin to surge with an embarrassed but candour heat.

He kept them because of you. He was in love with the way you looked when you lay perfectly content across his bed still rumpled from morning, smiling faintly at the fragile, yellowed pages of the old comics he kept on the shelf because you always read them. He was in love with the whittled concentration on your face as you hunched over the Rubik’s cube he won at some spelling bee in the tenth grade, valiantly twisting the cubes, adorably huffing when it was never quite right.

Soonyoung was in love with how you were always patiently waiting for him to emerge from the shower, head poking up from the mattress, your eyes drawn to him as though he were brilliantly glowing. He never got used to the feeling of his heart jumping so profoundly in his chest when you fell asleep beneath his bedsheets either, even when you promised you could stay awake for ten minutes at least as he dried off his hair with a towel.

No matter how many times it had happened, he still felt the same. He still had this feeling that never quieted.

In fact, it blared incessantly when he was with you, demanded to be released because there would come a point when Soonyoung would be incapable of compressing it any longer.

Now that the day was approaching its final chapters, and the sky had bled out its soft, rosy colours into patches of cobalt and dark indigo, Soonyoung wasn’t at all exhausted like he expected. Maybe it was because he had you tucked close against his side, your leg strewn over his lap, your arm curled around his stomach like a tight wire that never lost its shape. He could feel the gentle warmth of your breathing tickle his neck as your head cozied at his shoulder.

Together your eyes were transfixed on the sea of stars that speckled the sky, stretching so far and wide you almost believed you could see the Earth’s curve. It looked like a silk sheet that had been pricked by a thousand pins, leaving tiny breaks of luminescence to shine through from a different world that perhaps constantly glistered with light. A few meters away at the floor of your feet burned a small fire, slowly crackling out its embers.

He was only in his backyard, yet having you pressed so close with entire galaxies looking down on him, Soonyoung felt that he could be in a paradise beyond anyone’s comprehension. It was his paradise, but it only became complete when you were in it with him.

And maybe tonight as you leaned against half an oak trunk, entwined beneath an endless sky and a fire prickling at your feet, its light capturing your expressions like a photo frame, would Soonyoung unearth the courage to confess his heart to you.

“[Y/N],” He hummed, rolling his shoulder gently, “You still awake?”

When you shifted your gaze to blink up at him, your faces were in such proximity that Soonyoung could count each of the golden flames that reflected in your eyes.

“I guess,” You replied, laughing slightly at your own humour, “What’s up?”

This was it, the perfect moment to confess, to put his one wish into action and finally comprehend the pictures your mind illustrated when he intruded your thought. Soonyoung hadn’t planned much to say in advance, he was more about spontaneity, seizing moments as they came rather than charging a current that would never crackle. There was nothing to distract you from each other, just the black sky and cool earth that remained silent as Soonyoung pressed you closer against him with the arm wrapped around your waist.

“Well, actually,” He began, knowing there was quite literally nothing that could make his confession any easier, “I want to tell you something, and I’ve been meaning to say it for a while now, but it’s not like, the simplest thing to tell somebody, especially your best friend, so if it sounds stupid and just totally incoherent then…”

You set your palm on his chest. The very second your stare met his frantic eyes that fluttered faster than a hummingbird’s wings, a weight dropped to the soles of his feet. How was it possible that someone could make him so downright nervous, yet so enamoured and spellbound at the same time? You giggled at how tongue-tied he was. Soonyoung’s laughter mixed with yours, but it was evidently uneasy and oddly breathy and the sincerity of your gaze had brought his heart to pulsate in his throat.

Your brow stitched together as your hand continued to lay on his chest, the mellifluous, innocent chime of your giggles replaced by accumulating concern.

“Gosh, your heart is beating a hundred miles a minute, Soonie. Are you feeling okay?”

No, he fought off the dire urge to scream, but somehow found a single tassel of composure to latch onto. He thought he would be able to elaborate, but then your hand rose from his chest and suddenly your fingertips were brushing softly along his jawline, stroking the sweltering skin with a gaze that could melt thick slabs of titanium. He wasn’t sure if you were attempting to calm him, but it certainly did the exact opposite.

You appeared so innocent beneath the moonlight, yet the fire’s orange glow ignited half your face with such an intense beauty he could hardly break his desire to kiss you right then and there.

Okay, Soonyoung thought, I know what I’m going to say. He’d swallowed the remaining taste of his fear, nodded confidently, and took your hand that sweetly grazed his jaw to hold within his own grasp. But then—

Something buzzed in your jean pocket. And then it buzzed again, and again, and again. You heavily sighed whilst fishing for the device, a lurid sheen bathing your face as you separated from Soonyoung to check your messages. His entire chest thundered to the floor, shattering as though it were a glass vase, his confidence and composure instantly seeping away like the water inside that once gave life to the vase’s beautiful flowers.

When you turned back to look at him, an apologetic glimmer in your eyes, Soonyoung had this sinking feeling his confession wasn’t meant to be tonight.

“I forgot I asked Junhui to pick me up. He’s waiting out front.”

Soonyoung nearly choked. “Junhui’s picking you up? Usually I drive you home.”

“I know, I know,” You replied quietly whilst staring into your lap, “But I thought you would be tired after such a long day, I didn’t want to bother you. Besides, Junhui was really happy to do it, you should have seen him.”

As much as Soonyoung yearned to argue, he wasn’t about to leave what was once a perfect and spectacular night on an unpleasant note. He simply nodded. Your heat that had encompassed his body drifted away into the night as he grabbed the pail next to the fire, silently dousing out the entrancing flames and glowing embers in a tiny hiss. He saw your frown when he set the pail down and led you inside, your arms folded over your chest as the cold air suddenly nipped into your skin.

“That thing you wanted to tell me,” You murmured whilst standing at the doorway to his front porch, “How important was it? Can it wait?”

Soonyoung opened the door for you, smiling half-heartedly as you ducked under his arm and waved at Junhui who had the car running at the end of the driveway. Figuring he should wave too, Soonyoung gave a lousy toss of his hand, this cloud that was heavy and depressing growing denser and denser in his chest by the second.

“It can wait.” Soonyoung really had no other choice but to make that his verdict.

You smiled meekly at him, giving his cheek a small pat before stepping off the porch, hands delving into your pockets as Junhui popped from the driver’s seat to open the passenger door for you. Soonyoung observed how the contours of your face brightened when looking up at Junhui, how your laughter was already echoing into the crisp, chilled air. He wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling that rung through his body at watching you two together.

Soonyoung could only think of the once brilliant fire that lost its heat, its strength, to the wave of water that snuffed out its radiance in a mere second.

Maybe he felt something like that.

Soonyoung sat on a patchy green sofa that had at least four broken springs, ten coffee stains, and twenty-five burnt circles from cigarette ashes, feeling the lowest he had ever felt in his life. He kept purloining Minghao’s silver flask of cranberry vodka and partial gin to take quick, impetuous gulps, hating how the alcohol hardly stung his throat because he was just so damn numb to everything. The party was probably approaching its climax, yet in lieu of enjoying the raw energy Soonyoung was stuck on the stoner’s couch.

Minghao was next to him, but not because he wanted to be. He was simply cognizant to the fact that when Soonyoung let his melancholy consume him, he became even more unpredictable and his behaviour could spike at any given moment. Minghao would rather not get trapped in the whirlwind of his friend’s rage, though he figured he could keep him settled with more vodka if that storm were to start brewing.

Wonwoo orchestrated the stoner’s corner like it was his own business, constantly offering the use of his chrome grinder and organizing his rolling papers in case anyone had the instant urge for a hit. He offered Soonyoung a joint at least three times already. Minghao had declined each invitation for him since the sole thing Soonyoung did was unresponsively stare into the distance, but on the fourth attempt, he finally seemed to break from his musing and accept it.

Using the elder’s lighter, Soonyoung leaned forward with the blunt between his index and middle finger, giving sharp little sparks to the end of the paper until it began to slowly crisp. It had been awhile since he’d last gotten high, but the wispy curls of smoke he exhaled off his lips transiently distracted him from what he’d been blankly staring at. You and Junhui were situated at the base of the staircase across the room, looking with very evident ardour into each other’s eyes, smiling, flirtatiously brushing the other’s cheek or arm.

You were dating him, had been for the past six months.

Well, at least now Soonyoung knew what had been most occupying your thoughts, and it certainly wasn’t him. That initial jab to the chest when you first gushed to him about your new relationship with Junhui was absolutely one-hundred percent terrible. He didn’t think the pain could get much worse. But then the hole in his chest where that jab struck began slowly collecting with this estranged poison. As it filled and filled, the poison seeped and seeped, spreading throughout his body with the burning sensation of a wildfire.

The fire seemed to irreparably char his nerves.

In the beginning it unbearably hurt Soonyoung to see Junhui hug you, kiss you, stroke his fingertips down to your hip before pulling you tightly against his body. But then he noticed himself feeling nothing at those same sights that used to be so painful; there wasn’t even a crackle, a fizzle or a hiss. If he were to glean one feeling, it was emptiness. As he blew the smoke in gentle puffs from his mouth, alcohol scorching hot in his veins, Soonyoung found himself looking at you again.

He supposed that beneath the ashes his heart still beat, and it still beat because it refused to give up on how he felt about you.

He darkly eyed the flask in Minghao’s lap.

“Give me that,” the boy suddenly barked at his friend.

“Are you sure?” Minghao posed with concern, watching Soonyoung eagerly take another hit off his joint before he left it on the coffee table’s ash tray. “Do you want to step outside for a minute maybe? Get some fresh air?”

Soonyoung growled, “Just give me the fucking flask.” He’d already swiped it from his lap, hastily spinning the cap off and taking a long, deep gulp of whatever alcohol remained.

He didn’t even grimace after shoving the flask back into Minghao’s grip, instead scratched a hand through his thick, black hair, further disarraying the strands. Wonwoo had pretty much rolled over in his seat at this point, counting invisible sheep that jumped on the ceiling, and everyone else occupying the stoner’s corner was too blazed beyond coherence to even take note of Soonyoung’s sudden aggression.

Minghao opened his mouth, then silently closed it, following Soonyoung’s clouded gaze to where Junhui had you pressed against the wall, hands slowly squeezing down past your hips to the black fabric of your pleated skirt.

The manner in which your fingers slowly plunged through Junhui’s hair and tugged wantonly at the strands suggested what your mouths were busy with. It certainly was far from conversation. Maybe then Minghao understood what was racing through his friend’s mind as he rose from the couch, using Minghao’s shoulder to steady himself.

“Be right back,” Soonyoung mumbled, not squandering another breath as he weaved his way between small congregations, leaving Minghao to sit on the couch in slight bewilderment whilst the cogs turned in his head.

Feeling emboldened, Soonyoung marched right up to Junhui’s broad backside, an unusual calmness steadfast in his blood even when he could hear the way you softly moaned against the boy’s plump mouth. It could have been the alcohol, it could have been the intoxicating aroma of the blunt still lingering in the dense air, or it could have been the fact that Soonyoung just didn’t fucking care anymore. He was determined that this would be the night he at long last confessed his heart to you.

“W-What?” Junhui stuttered when Soonyoung tapped his shoulder, turning around in a disoriented fashion, his eyes lasciviously hooded and lips shiny.

You appeared to recognize Soonyoung before Junhui had. Surprise leapt across your face like a tidal wave, and whilst Junhui was still processing that someone had interrupted his make-out session, you were harshly swallowing, appearing overwrought beneath the dim lighting.

“Can I talk to you outside?” Soonyoung said very firmly, making it clear he was speaking to you and you only by gently grabbing your wrist.

You licked your lips, eyes darting between your boyfriend and Soonyoung, seemingly unsure on whether you should agree or not. Soonyoung was well aware of the fact he most likely reeked of alcohol and marijuana, his hair was completely strewn in every direction, his gaze not the clearest nor was his patience concretely stable, yet he still prayed that above his manic state you would be able to connect with him. He needed you to share a moment of your time now more than ever.

“Please,” Soonyoung implored, hardly able to care about the desperation rife in his words, “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Junhui parted the lust curtain draping across his concentration, finally seeming to acknowledge the situation. Well, more like the situation he was more or so not included in.

It was then, as your hand fidgeted to properly hold Soonyoung’s, fingers fitting like puzzle pieces between his own that the boy knew he’d gotten his wish. You stepped away from the wall your body was once pressed against a mere minute ago, quickly stroking Junhui’s cheek whilst murmuring into his ear, “I’ll be right back. Sit tight.”

Junhui blinked a bit mistily, but nodded, allowing Soonyoung to guide you out the front door where the cool night air dusted his skin and refreshed his senses. There weren’t many people out front. A majority of them were walking along the end of the road, talking on their cellphones, presumably calling someone to pick them up or asking a friend where they were parked along the line of blinking car lights.

Soonyoung didn’t want to be too close to the house, nor did he want to be right at the curb. He just wanted to place enough distance between himself and the party that he could hear his own thoughts. You didn’t start asking questions until Soonyoung pulled you beneath the overhanging leaves of a willow tree near the property’s edge, your eyes glistening in disconcertment against the darkness, fingers wrapped around Soonyoung’s hand so tightly that he could feel his circulation dwindling.

“S-Soonyoung,” He heard the dry gulp between your words, “What are we doing out here?”

He then let go of your hand. Instead, he cupped your cheek, caressing in slow, gentle passes along the heated arch using his thumb. It was like the entire world became shrouded in silence as his touch grazed your skin, burning profoundly, with the strength of a catastrophic supernova.

“I’m in love with you.” He spoke softly. The words sounded vastly different aloud in lieu of in his head.

Your expression marginally twitched.

“I-I… What did you just say?”

“I know that sounds so fucking weird for you to hear,” Soonyoung murmured, his thumb pulling back to rub circles upon the sweet spot just in front of your ear, “And I know I couldn’t have picked a worse time but… I’m just so sick of pretending like I don’t look at you every day, wishing I could be more to you. I need you to hear this. I just—I need you to know how I feel about you.”

Soonyoung couldn’t help himself. He’d never felt this consumed by your beauty. Titling your head back, Soonyoung admired you, allowed himself to mellow in the firm warmth of your cheek beneath his palm, how he could only wish to have you closer and whisper everything about you in which he was infatuated by. Every little secret he’d kept hidden over the years, he wanted to tell you all of them, place kisses on your skin in the places that made you tick between each confession.

A breeze then whispered between the swaying fronds of the willow. It delightfully swept upon Soonyoung’s skin and transiently cooled the raging pulse that was practically electric in his veins.

Perhaps he was entranced, but you were a gigantic question mark. Your lips were parted, yet they made no sound. He could feel your pulse thundering behind your ear, yet you stood so still. Never seeing your expression like this before, Soonyoung could only breathe with the faintest rise in his chest. Evidently you were lost, you were panicking, and your eyes were screaming at him with everything he couldn’t read.

Eventually you budged. Your hand rose up and your fingers wrapped around his wrist. The touch could have been everything Soonyoung wanted most in the world.

“Why are you saying this? It’s because you’re drunk isn’t it? Or you’re just high. You have to be, or else... Or else I don’t understand…”

But instead that touch pulled Soonyoung’s comfortable palm from your face and returned it to his side.

“It’s not because – I mean yes, I am a little drunk and a little high – but I’m being completely one-hundred percent serious right now.”

The sheen of your gaze was noticeably lacquering, “You mean as a friend though, right?”

With every word that pursed at your lips, Soonyoung felt his hopes deflating.

“No, not as a friend. I want to be more than friends,” He found himself being verbose, but he couldn’t help in expressing his heart, every sentiment he’d locked inside it for as long as he could remember. His words, they openly flowed, the heat that inhabited his body mounting. “I want to be with you. I want to take you out on dates, wake up next to you, kiss you at the end of every day. I want to be the only person who’ll ever get to touch you, make you breathless but so, so happy. I’m in love with you.”

Emotions repressed to the deepest whorls of his being were welling up within him like rainwater, “What isn’t clicking?”

“What isn’t clicking?” You were beyond flustered repeating his question, soaked in pure bewilderment that clasped onto you, made you involuntarily rigid and tightly wound. “What do you expect me to say to that, Soonyoung? What are you expecting to happen?”

He tangled a hand through his hair, burying his fingers close to the scalp so that it stung and kept him grounded. “I… I don’t know. But I can’t keep it inside anymore.” A look of pain slotted across his face. “I even tried confessing to you that night we were together in my backyard, with the campfire. But it didn’t work out. Even before then I’ve wanted to say something—anything to you, but it’s just so petrifying and I’d never had anyone make me feel that nervous before.”

You were no longer holding eye contact. Your stare was glossing the grass, the stray tatters of dry leaves that had blown in from old wind, your body frozen from how overwhelmed you were feeling. It was only mere seconds that trickled past, though it felt like agonizing hours before you spoke again. Your voice was as strong as tattered cloth, nothing but wisps struggling to remain together.

“But why wait?... I-It’s just that... That you waited so long— ,”

“It’s really not easy, y’know?” Soonyoung chuckled, though it crumbled away in seconds, in the time it took his hand to collapse back at his side. “Having to pretend that you’re not in love with someone? That fucking eats away at you, [Y/N]. It’s the reason I’m telling you this. I just... I don’t want to be miserable anymore, thinking I’ll stop feeling this way about you when I know how untrue that is, when you’re on my mind twenty-four fucking seven and I can’t even sleep because of it.”

There was this sensation pushing at his tear ducts, incredibly hot, scalding even, but he was able to blink it away. However, perhaps you weren’t as tuned at concealing your emotions. A sniffle suddenly pervaded the silence and Soonyoung saw you wipe your hand beneath your eye, your stature shrinking inward akin to a flower kept hidden from the sun.

“I-I’m sorry, Soonyoung. I didn’t know you felt this way… I didn’t know it was bringing you all this pain and I—,” Your tongue peaked out to wet your lips as your fists clenched, nails burying upon the fragile flesh like crescent daggers, “I don’t know what to say to you. I-I don’t. I’m so fucking sorry. I just don’t have the words right now.”

In an instant his expression earnestly softened.

“Hey, c’mon,” He cooed whilst pulling down his sleeve to dot the first tear that had slipped down your cheek, glistening like a little pearl. He knew in the case of a sober Soonyoung, it would be impossible for him to formulate malice toward you because you couldn’t reciprocate his feelings. As elated as he would be for you to return the sentiment, there was still much for you to process.

However, with the weight of the alcohol and the intoxication of the blunt, he was far from sober. He could feel it dragging him down, could feel disarray teetering at his brain’s forefront like a performer balancing on a tightrope.

“It’s not at all your fault, okay?”

Yet he did his best to soothe you, to flatten the creases of your pain. Soonyoung moved timidly, unsure of whether he should pull you into an embrace, but as you sniffled once more and clutched the sleeves of his hoodie in need, he was gliding his arms around your neck, gently resting your head against his shoulder where he knew you were bound to find solace.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, sweetheart.” Sounded his tender murmur.

It almost felt like a dream, the fact he could stand here with you forever, beneath the slight rustling of willow branches brushed silver and the cool air that ghosted his skin in the gentlest reassurance. Clocks were turning, though the world certainly felt still where you were standing, seconds adding up into minutes as your hair tickled his nose and made Soonyoung smile to himself.

But there persistently remained a shadow prowling at his awareness, the live wires that sparked his senses becoming increasingly dull as the alcohol and marijuana burrowed deeper into his blood. For a fleeting moment he felt like he could be floating, almost as though his body were more weightless than the air sweeping his flushed face. Soonyoung suddenly wobbled. At first you didn’t seem to pay much attention, until his condition then veered toward the inevitable and he swayed slightly before leaning a little too far into you.

Soonyoung felt you shift in his arms.

“Are you okay?” You squeaked, but he couldn’t focus on even a single sector of your body as the rush to his head continued pumping. All Soonyoung registered was that you had stepped away from him.

“M’fine,” Came his slurred response. He stumbled a few misplaced steps toward you before finding his footing. Whatever composure and reason he once possessed, it was slipping, fast.

Your hands gripped his shoulders to steady him. Peaking up at him, watery-eyed and innocent, your mouth then opened. For a split second Soonyoung believed he was truthfully going to hear those three words echo quietly to him and his blood began boiling hot enough to bend metal, the world slightly spinning beyond your frame. Yet instead you were stepping away.

All that remained attached was your hand in his.

“Soonyoung, listen, you need to reunite with Minghao. Those drinks, whatever it was that you smoked, it’s getting to you, alright? We should really go back insid—,”

“Are you in love with me?” He blatantly interrupted, blinking widely and unconsciously speaking louder than beforehand.

Soonyoung watched as your mouth slowly gaped, heard the fluttering of a sentence catch in your throat. It seemed that very meticulously, you were choosing what to say.

“I... I love you but, not in the way that... I mean, I think you’re a really, really phenomenal friend, Soonyoung, and I value what we ha—,”

An impulsive flare whirled to life inside him. The sole thing that seized his body to the same amount as his alcohol and half-smoked joint were his emotions. He couldn’t evade how he cut you off, the words that catapulted from his tongue so distanced from what he would have said in his right mind.

“Don’t do that,” His voice sounded like it was going to split, heart plummeting faster than an anchor to its sand bed beneath the sea, “Y’know I want to be so much fucking more than that. I-I want you, need you, please.”

“I know, Soonyoung, and I wish more than anything that I had the words for you,” You unsteadily warbled, your lips trembling whilst an unprecedented type of hurt cracked between your words, “ I’m so, so sorry, but I just… I-I can’t. I’m with Junhui, and I’m committed—,”

Soonyoung sharply squeezed your hand, an abrupt, indignant pain welting on his tongue, “Y’re with him? When you walked away from getting fucked to be out here with me? With him but y-you’re always staying the night at my place... Fall asleep n’my bed, wear my sweaters in your underwear, kick your legs over my lap so you can have my h-hands on your skin. Say you’re with him but what do you really feel?”

“What are you doing?” A hiss ruptured your voice and the tone drastically flipped. “I’m still out here with you because I genuinely care about your feelings and want to hear you out. You’re the one trying to force this narrative that I don’t actually want to be with Junhui. How do you know what I’m feeling, Soonyoung? How do you expect me to walk back into that fucking party and face my boyfriend knowing my best friend just said he’s in love with me?”

Fingers sheathing tightly into the skin of your hand, he pulled you back into him, looking you square in the eyes. He saw how they pooled with constellations of emotion and turmoil, and they might have looked strikingly similar to his own if it weren’t for the alcohol masking the dark ore of his gaze, the lingering potency still settling from his joint.

“How do I know what you’re feeling? I know because I’m your best friend. I know you better than Junhui ever will.”

With your chin pointed up at him, leaning in so close Soonyoung could see the slight bruising on your lips from Junhui’s kisses, he had to fend off the overwhelming urge to cup your face in his hands – to do exactly what Junhui had done when your body was flush against that wall. Soonyoung wouldn’t care if Junhui walked outside and saw either, if the entire party rushed from within the house to watch his lips connect with yours beneath the willow tree.

Still, he knew there was no way he’d won your heart. In fact, through the thickening of his daze, he knew he’d made everything ten times worse. Instead you huffed at him, snapped your hand free, and whipped around with word that Minghao would be sent to fetch him. You abandoned him beneath the moonlight’s solemn rays, the canopy of drooping branches that enclosed him akin to a metal cage.

The most agonizing part of it all – Soonyoung having to accept the fact that maybe he didn’t know you as well as he thought he did, that all his wishes seemed to crumble when he needed their magic most.

“It’s almost ten o’clock. Did Junhui forget to roll out of bed or something?”

Chan was lying on the shiny hardwood, his arms stretched out behind him whilst he stared into the ticking clock above the mirrors. There had never been a time where Junhui was late to practice at the studio. He didn’t exactly prefer waking up at nine in the morning, which he made very apparent in his texts to the group chat, sending bathroom pictures of himself angrily brushing his teeth with his hair still spiked up on one side from his pillow.

No one really knew how to respond to the pictures. Soonyoung used to say he only sent them despite just having flopped out of bed because he thought he looked good.

“I don’t know,” Soonyoung replied from his sitting position against the wall, using the outlet next to the coatrack to charge his phone, “Maybe he forgot to turn on his alarm.”

Chan sighed heavily and got to his feet, “Well, I don’t feel like waiting around. We can start the warmup without him.” He then mumbled something about getting his iPod set up, along with listing more reasons as to why Junhui could be late.

Soonyoung wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t really listening either. He hadn’t gotten a message from you in the past couple days, therefore drawing out this strange obsession that included him ceremoniously checking his phone for something that wasn’t even there. Before his confession at the party last month, you messaged Soonyoung quite frequently.

Before you started a serious relationship with Junhui, you had texted him every day.

The bond between you undoubtedly shifted, and Soonyoung believed that the world hadn’t felt like a real place since he poured his heart out to you beneath the weeping willow. When you whipped around and thundered back inside, Soonyoung remained outdoors, staring at the soil your presence had occupied mere seconds ago, unable to feel the cool breeze feather at his cheeks or hear Minghao’s shouts of his name when you had approached him spitting fury.

Word spilt before it even had the chance to be trapped.

Like sand grains slipping through a tight fist, it appeared that everyone and their dog was cognizant of Soonyoung’s confession, his little crush that actually wasn’t a crush at all, but a deep, profound love that he couldn’t ever seem to make tangible. You couldn’t even stand next to each other outside the entrance to the lecture hall or sit next to the other on the bus without the knowing gazes splaying across your skin. A few times you’d both gotten unbearable jokes. “Just kiss her already!” or, “I hope you’re being loyal, huh?”

They would always smile ear-to-ear afterward; crinkle their noses before swinging their hand like it was no big deal, saying, “Oh, I’m just kidding!,” As if the air between you wasn’t already thick enough to slice through like butter.

Of course, this concluded that Junhui caught wind of the details concerning that party and its events, in which Soonyoung had indeed unabashedly confessed to his girlfriend beneath crisp moonlight, surrounded by the shimmering locks of an almost fairy tale-looking tree, hands holding hands and breaths so close they mingled. It sounded quite romantic and definitely something to be alarmed about.

However, Soonyoung made the decision to pull Junhui aside before their first practice after the party to explain that he shouldn’t worry, that you were completely infatuated by Junhui and that his presence in your life was a far greater focus than Soonyoung’s own presence. It was inexplicably awkward, especially as Junhui only looked at Soonyoung with impassive, blinking brown eyes and a parted mouth.

“It’s okay,” Junhui told him, “I’m not scared that she would run off with you or anything.”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung responded, firmly slapping him on his broad shoulder, “Definitely not. You guys are great. I just want to put this behind us.”

But Soonyoung never really truthfully, “put it behind him.” He was still in love with you to an extent that couldn’t fit within the universe. It was indescribable. His confession merely scratched the surface of what he truly felt, yet love could be such a complexity that it was best demonstrated through actions rather than words. Well, that’s what Soonyoung learned at least – his words had certainly not been enough. He could only continue to support you as a friend, even if it felt akin to a knife twisting through his heart at times.

Spiraling back to the present, Soonyoung finally looked elsewhere rather than his phone as Minghao returned from the washroom, stretching his arms high above his head. He paused at the corridor, taking in the brightness of the studio as sunlight shone through the windows.

“So, he’s really not coming, huh?” Minghao rasped as he continued his stretching.

Chan was still focusing on the doc station, scrolling through the playlists on his iPod. “Are you talking about Junhui?”

“Yeah,” Minghao sighed, speaking presumably, like Chan and Soonyoung were already supposed to know the reason for Junhui’s absence.

“Did he text on the group chat?” Chan asked.

Minghao’s brow suddenly pinched together, his face hollowing, “Uh… No, he sent it to me only. But—Oh my god! That means you don’t know what happened!”

Soonyoung then felt his phone buzz in his hand.

“What?!” Chan exclaimed after tearing his attention away from his music, entranced like a little child witnessing a magic trick, except the magic was replaced with modern day drama, “Tell me! What happened?”

Peering down at the white light of his phone screen, Soonyoung nearly choked, his eyes opening wide and gleaming almost skeptically as he repetitively read the message, scanned the ID of the person who had sent it to him. Minghao begun speaking quietly, his voice shushed, as though the information he possessed was extremely confidential and ears all over the nation were intently listening.

However, Soonyoung knew he couldn’t stay; in fact he was already leaping to his feet whilst Minghao beckoned Chan over and said,

“Well, Junhui and [Y/N]… They broke up last night. And to make matters worse, Junhui was planning on saying the L word too.”

Chan gulped, “Love?”

“Yeah,” Minghao solemnly nodded, “But, I don’t know, she broke it right off in the middle of his confession. He’s devastated and that’s as much as I know. I figured he wouldn’t show up to practice.”

“Wow…” Chan touched his fingers to his lips, wearing a highly perplexed expression as he seemed to entre a personal musing. But then he was calling for Soonyoung who was in the midst of hastily wriggling on his pullover, grabbing for his duffle bag at the same time.

“Soonyoung, did [Y/N] say anything to you about—Hey! Where are you going?”

His head suddenly popped free from the collar, a hand ruffling out the black fibres of his hair as Soonyoung quickly glanced down at his phone.

“Something came up,” He coughed into his fist, “I probably won’t be back. I’ll explain everything later!”

Minghao hardly grasped the chance to bark out, “What the hell are you talking about?” Before his friend had shot straight like a bullet toward the door, practically toppling onto the sidewalk and grunting an impetuous apology to some lady he ran into. Soonyoung felt the burning singe of his friends’ eyes (not to mention the lady herself) at the back of his neck, watching him dart away from studio without a clue as to what provoked this unprecedented urgency.

All they had to understand was that he would explain himself in the future.

All that Soonyoung had to understand was one simple thing.

[Y/N | 9:58am]: can you come over? please. i need you.

He knew he was a bit late the second he arrived at your porch, the wooden, faded blue steps creaking beneath his weight and his heart ferociously pumping. Soonyoung brushed a hand against his sore ribcage as he knocked on the door, waiting in an anxious coalescence of overwrought nerves and a budding hopefulness. On his way over he’d passed by his own house, which prompted Soonyoung’s decision to shove his duffle bag through his bedroom window to discard the troublesome weight.

However, he then had a small epiphany, found himself climbing and squirming through to grab something that he was unable to leave without.

The doorknob jiggled.

Soonyoung stood in the sweetened, morning air, the birdsong turning into blurred background noise as his breath hitched and the moisture in his throat dried up, waiting for you to appear. Though when the door at last swung open and the sunlight twinkled in the wet depths of your eyes, the sight reminded him of why he charged here in utmost determination. A mess stood before him to put it kindly, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes – so distraught that your lips quivered, bitten bright like rubies, so emotionally drained that once glossy tear tracks turned to matte patterns on your cheeks.

Defeat had spun you around its orbit for far too long. You couldn’t even speak, just glanced at Soonyoung and hiccuped in the preluding fashion of a sob.

Immediately he’d stepped past the doorframe – every bittersweet word of his confession, every aching memory of your relationship with Junhui, every argument you’d ever had completely erased from his mind. Soonyoung solely focused on your comfort, planting his gentle hands against your cheeks, massaging away the damp film that slowly reformed beneath the sore skin of your eyes. His thumbs picked up the tiny, glistering beads and swept each one away.

Your fingers shakily kneaded into his waist, twisting the thick fabric of his pullover as though it would absorb and alleviate your pain.

“You’re okay,” Soonyoung lilted softly, “I promise you’re okay. I’ve got you now, and everything’s gonna be alright.”

Despite your strength being quite meek at the moment, Soonyoung could feel the loop your arms formed around his waist had infinitesimally tightened. Your body surged with the faintest flicker of energy as he rubbed his thumbs upon the warm skin of your temples, pressing a kiss to the space between your brows. As you breathed in tatters, the unstable warmth ghosting at his neck, Soonyoung kissed the space again, this time his touch lasting a bit longer, the tautness of your frame that was like a crossbow slowly loosening.

“S-Soonyoung,” He heard you breathlessly croak whilst blinking at him wetly, “W-What’s w-wrong with me?”

Soonyoung gave your face tender squeeze, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that soaked from between your lashes, “What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong with you, baby.”

But you immediately shook your head, a hiccup sounding at the back of your throat as you grabbed onto his waist harder. “No, no, no,” You chanted, “Please don’t lie, Soonyoung. I hurt you a-and then I h-hurt J-Junhui. That’s all I do a-and I don’t know why. Why do I do this?”

He sighed, the strained cadence and desperation in your voice newly pronounced to his ears. This state of agony you’d wilted into was uncharted territory for Soonyoung – he had to be careful and delicate with his choice of wording. After sticking his arm out to close the door, he took a light grip on your chin using his index finger and thumb, pointing your face upward where he could examine your expression in clarity. You had inflicted pain into his life, yet he could never get angry at you for it.

“Try not to be so rough with yourself. You’re a gorgeous, strong girl, and people are going to fall for that, okay?” Soonyoung humoured slightly, knowing that was merely a sliver of the reasons he’d fallen for you. Still, there remained a serious nuance in his tone. “People are going to come into your life, they’re going to evoke feelings from you, and you’ll evoke feelings from them. Just because those feelings don’t always match up, that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”

His thumb stretched out to stroke your jaw, his gaze warm, flaring in amber hues reminiscent of honey.

“You have so much time to discover what you want in your partner. They’re gonna come along one day and sweep you right off your feet, all these things you worry about will turn to dust. I know that for a fact, trust me. But for now, please just focus on yourself, sweetheart. You need some time to heal, alright?”

A cast of sunlight shafted through the glass on the door, pooling in a melted, golden stroke across your face. Audibly you gulped and sniffled, blinking at Soonyoung against the heat of the sun’s ray before returning back to his shoulder, your nose softly pressed to his neck where he could feel that your breaths had exponentially calmed. He smiled, his palm rubbing up and down along your spine, gently easing whatever small sobs you had left into open air. It wasn’t until your arms loosened around his waist and your voice quietly rustled by his cheek that he stopped.

“S-Soonyoung,” You feebly squeaked his name.

“Yeah?”

“Do you… Do you have something in your, um, pocket?”

That’s when it came to him. His face lit up as he dug his hand into the pocket of his pullover, your expression incredibly perplexed as Soonyoung pulled out his Rubik’s cube.

“I do actually,” He chuckled, “This thing! I had to run by my house to come here, and I had my dance bag with me. So I just shoved it through my bedroom window. But then I saw my Rubik’s cube and thought… Well… I dunno really. Maybe it would like, relax you or something since you’ve always liked playing with it. It doesn’t make a lot of sense when I say it out loud.”

He spilt into a wide smile at hearing your laughter. Maybe it trembled slightly and foretold the start of a deep exhaustion, but it allowed Soonyoung’s heart to feel less heavy.

“No, it makes sense,” You giggled, pawing beneath your nose, “I just— I can’t believe you would think to bring that.”

Soonyoung shrugged, speaking with such casualness as he said, “Well, I’m always thinking of you, so.”

Your mouth opened slightly for a transient moment, revealing nothing but a black diamond gap until you seemed to shake away whatever thought plagued your mind. You took the Rubik’s cube from Soonyoung and then looked back into the corridor, sniffling whilst you touched the wall with your hand before sinking down to sit on the floor. Without having to think, Soonyoung slouched down snug beside you, shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg.

Already you were working the different panels with a dexterous speed. Leaning his head against the wall, Soonyoung watched silently, though enjoyed thoroughly. The silence was tranquil and continued as the sun began etching higher and higher into the eggshell blue of the sky, a dusty sea illuminated in warm, caressing light as floating particles shone through the glass door.

He felt a faint weight on his shoulder, peeked down to see you resting against him.

Swallowing as discreetly as he could, Soonyoung harnessed the courage to set his hand on your bare knee, his lips curling when you didn’t protest, just continued to fiddle and experiment with the cube. However, his lungs were teetering on the edge of shriveled leather as you momentarily paused your game to grab his wrist, move his hand higher up your soft, smooth skin until you placed his touch at the inside of your thigh. White speckles tingled in his peripheral vision. He wanted to pinch himself just to ensure he wasn’t dreaming.

“Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?” Soonyoung asked whilst peeping at the game from above your head, squeezing the warm skin of your thigh reassuringly.

There was a pause the scope of a heartbeat.

“Stay.” You then replied.

So he did exactly that.

It was a somewhat late night at the studio, a couple rotations past nine o’clock, the streets slowly but surely beginning to teem as most prepared to embark on a Friday night escapade. Minghao had gotten out of the shower fairly quickly, but Chan must have aimed to dawdle or maybe take a nap beneath the soaking hot water and webs of steam. There was hardly any heat left, even when Soonyoung cranked the handle all the way to the right, into the red section.

Still, it felt rejuvenating to peel the sticky clothes from his skin that had once adhered like paper-mâché and stand beneath the water, his eyes closed, hair swept back from his face, hands gliding and scrubbing the ache from his muscles. Minghao had come up with the idea to go out and dine, so whilst Soonyoung would usually be at home at this point, snuggling into bed, probably thinking about he could fall asleep so much easier with you in his arms, he was instead getting ready to stuff his face.

Not that he would ever complain about such a thing.

Roughly two weeks had passed since Soonyoung cradled you in his arms, your tears absorbing into the fabric of his pullover, a hand soothing down your spine in an attempt to crease out your self-loathing. Two weeks had passed since you sat together in the corridor, his gaze trained to how you maneuvered his Rubik’s cube, almost on the brink of solving its puzzle until there was a single panel that didn’t match and you huffed in sheer frustration. The cube was still sitting on your dresser.

Soonyoung never bothered asking for it back. He figured you could make much better use of it than he ever would. Little by little, it felt like your friendship was padding its way back to its golden era, where life wasn’t so serious and there wasn’t this attribute of stiltedness whenever you were alone together. Junhui seemed to be feeling better too. He started arriving at practices a week after the break up, though it was impossible to truly read the writing on his heart. He was an actor after all. Maybe he was just immaculate at hiding his truths.

Unsurprisingly so, Soonyoung’s utter affections for you remained unyielding. When he believed you had attained remarkable stability back into your life, he made sure you were aware of this, in which his emotions were quite possibly never going to change. He wanted to make sure you were okay with everything – that you were okay with his thoughts about you, what he felt when he looked at you, that his desire to have you wasn’t something that imbued discomfort.

Soonyoung remembered telling you this by his campfire as you stargazed together, except there had been no interruptions.

Once he’d gotten out from the shower with a towel rubbing his hair dry, he could faintly hear the muffled conversation shared between Minghao and Chan.

They were speaking quietly, which Soonyoung found rather peculiar considering there was no one else occupying the studio apart from the three of them. He swore that your name as well as Junhui’s had popped up multiple times in the same sentence. Soonyoung was completely aware both you and Junhui were going to be at the dinner. Sure, it was off-putting and questionable, but you were mature and would know not to start anything to create an awkward atmosphere.

Hell – Soonyoung thought that even Wonwoo was invited.

However, Soonyoung’s curiosity was far too puissant. He couldn’t evade pressing his ear against the door, a smirk prancing up his lips as he strained to hear the conversation. It couldn’t be that fucking terrible, probably something about how it would be a little unsettling to have you and Junhui in such proximity.

But then—Oh no, Soonyoung’s jaw had bloomed with rust, nearly unhinging from its bone and clattering to the floor.

“Why are we whispering again?”

“Shh! Chan if you don’t lower your fuh— I mean fabulous voice, I said I was going to explain!”

“Sorry.”

“I-I have some news, but don’t start yelling, okay? Anyways, [Y/N] isn’t meeting us here and walking to dinner with us anymore.”

“What? Why?”

“Well… She’s going to Junhui’s apartment before instea—would you pick your mouth up off the floor? She’s going over to Junhui’s apartment beforehand.”

“How did you find that out?”

“Junhui told me. She texted him and said she wanted to come over.”

“Do you think she wants to get back together? Maybe she changed her mind and does love him. ”

“I have no clue, Channie. I really have no clue. But Junhui’s had some stuff he’s really wanted to say to her. Maybe they’ll come to the dinner as a couple, maybe not.”

“Damn, this is going to destroy Soonyoung. I… I—,”

“I know, and that’s exactly why we’re not going to say anything to him. We shouldn’t assume. We’re not going to assume. He doesn’t deserve this.”

Soonyoung wasn’t sure what the pain felt like exactly. There was nothing physical that could come close to its depth, its unbeknownst strength that abruptly flared within him so potently he could feel even his blood vessels concaving. He just knew it hurt. He knew that sensitive wounds recently set to heal had been torn up without warning, and they poured open, pouring and pouring as Soonyoung’s head thumped against the door, wanting to rail his fist through the wood if there had been no one there to witness him.

Actions weren’t solely reserved for testaments of love. They were just as representative of anger and heartbreak as they were anything else.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

Minghao posed as set his handbag around his shoulder, Chan standing next to him and shyly tugging at his fingers. They both gazed worrisomely at Soonyoung who sat on the table with the doc station, dressed in a fresh t-shirt and black sweatpants, not exactly the primmest attire for dining at a somewhat sumptuous restaurant.

“I never said I wasn’t coming, but I feel kinda sick right now. I might join you guys later.” He heartlessly defended, his arms lying like cement blocks in his lap.

Chan gulped nervously, “Y-You don’t have to make something up if you don’t want to g—,”

“I’m not making it up!” Soonyoung unabashedly snapped, leaning forward slightly and fists harshly balled to collect the energy in his outburst.

Chan didn’t flinch, but he most definitely looked drained, his face paling to that of morning frost. Minghao clearly read the situation much better than Chan, suspicions dangling at his mind’s forefront, however he wasn’t about to voice them and further collapse the situation when what he’d been craving all week was a relaxing dinner, some smooth music, a glass of wine to swallow his stresses to. Instead of interrogation, he decided to give Soonyoung the quietness and air he evidently needed, simply nodding his head with a tight lip.

“I hope you feel better,” Minghao said whilst patting Chan on his shoulder, “We should really get going though. There’s no pressure for you to show up. Do what you feel is best.”

Soonyoung leaned back against the wall, his legs bobbing as they hung over the edge of the table.

“Thanks.” Was all he muttered before Minghao and Chan left the studio, the enticing bustle of nightlife sounding for a mere fraction, until the door clicked shut and Soonyoung was left to kick his feet as cars sped past beyond the studio’s glass window.

Soonyoung was unsure of how long he sat in silence, his head titled to gaze upon the luminescent families of stars that gathered in the black sky. He couldn’t see the moon from his position, but he knew it shone brightly, a silver-bluish glow bathing the polished floor like an ocean light. If there happened to be a thing or two on his mind, it was a question rather than a sentiment.

How could you do this? You seemed to allow yourself to slip so effortlessly back into Junhui’s reigns, as though you were a tiny leaf on the pond, simply following the current that tugged you downstream.

Even when Soonyoung thought he could read you, it only took mere seconds for that confidence to be erased, yet there always remained a lifetime of pain that jabbed him wherever it hurt most.

Getting lost in his head, Soonyoung failed to recognize the figure that approached the studio in haste, which walked up the staircase and gently tried the handle to see the door push open. He failed to recognize the swift patter of its steps, the light citrus of its scent, even the melodic lilt that weaved into its voice as it ventured into the studio. Soonyoung felt like he’d been plunged underwater, his lungs withering to scream yet were unimaginably full of something dreadful.

He caught the figure’s eyes—your eyes, how they timidly sparkled.

You swallowed, arms unnaturally crossed against your chest. “Minghao said you would be here,” sounded your soft-spoken introduction.

There was no barrier separating you from Soonyoung, yet you hovered in the middle of the studio like there was a vast gorge that kept you apart.

Soonyoung nodded, “Yeah.”

You licked your lips, rubbing your arms up and down, “He said you were feeling sick. Is that true? Do you feel any better?”

“Dunno.” Soonyoung answered.

Despite his curt replies, emptiness echoed so loudly in between every pause that he suspected even you could feel a part of it. Very cautiously, you stepped further toward him. He wasn’t some feral animal that was going to burst from its chains and attack you, but you approached him as such.

“It didn’t really feel the same without you there,” You made the effort to potentially ignite some warmth into the air, “Not without your jokes and stuff.”

But Soonyoung indolently blew out the warmth with a cold reply of his own. “What are you doing?” He said. His tone wasn’t sharp, but flat, and he could see how you uneasily shifted at his complete flip of attitude.

Your arms fell from your chest, perhaps a foreshadowing of how you were willing to confront the obvious weight in the room, the dark shadow that prowled directly where Soonyoung sat, staring you down with ice in his eyes, but your gentle words suggested opposite.

“I want to talk to you.” You replied whilst stepping closer and closer.

Soonyoung remained mute, though continued to follow your movement, how you fluttered in step by step until you were standing right in front of him, right at his legs that dangled off the table.

He sat up straight and looked nowhere else but directly into your eyes. It had always been him that shuddered with nervousness, and now the coin had been tossed so that you were seeking trouble in finding composure, a method to ground yourself whilst his gaze prickled you like an intense fever. Soonyoung didn’t split the connection for even a second; he steadfastly maintained eye contact, your faces only inches apart as you momentarily looked to your fumbling hands before shaky laughter filled the studio.

“I-I, um, I have something to tell you, alright? But it’s really, really not easy. I don’t know how you’ll react or what you’ll say or what you’ll think of me but, I don’t want to keep this a secret. I guess there’s no sense in rambling though.”

You took a deep breath, your eyelashes feathering and hands pushing down past your stomach, almost as though your fear was palpable and you were attempting to subdue it.

Soonyoung’s eyes fell to the shape of your lips, how they pursed with the breath you exhaled. Your scent had encompassed him, mild and sweet like the fresh fruit of summer, and moonlight splashed along half your face, illuminating your skin like a glinting crystal. Perhaps he could have possessed more self-control, but this may be the last time he could ever act before what he suspected you were going to say became reality.

“Soonyoung, I need to tell you that I’m—,”

He didn’t resist. A squeak erupted from your mouth as Soonyoung slid off the table, his hands gripping with modicum force at your waist and pushing your back against the mirror. The second your skin seemed to hit the cool glass, a gasp burst from deep within your chest, Soonyoung then seizing the sliver of time to press his lips against your own. For a fleeting moment your body was rigid, though it fell ultimately weak, melted like cream into his touch as his fingertips tightened the silk of your dress into your skin.

Your mouth was soft, corresponding eagerly to his movement, and your teeth were gentle in their quick, teasing bites against the plush of Soonyoung’s lips. This specific moment what was played most commonly in his head, from restless sleep that could never grace his eyelids soon enough to long, morning bus rides where his head had yet to leave the clouds and the sunrise ignited embers in his vision.

But at last, he was kissing you; he was drawing heavy, hot breaths from your chest as he collected your taste on his tongue.

Briefly Soonyoung pictured the party, how he’d sat watching Junhui’s large hands roam your body, dig crescents upon your skin that was softer than a peach with his nails, turn the colour of your mouth a vibrant, cherry red, the sheen of saliva on your lips glossy and bright. But at long last it was Soonyoung’s turn to ruin you – to elicit the sharp, breathy mewl from your chest.

The mere realization further emboldened him, caused him to lick into your mouth whilst your hands trembled, threaded into his hair in tight, concupiscent fistfuls.

Inch by inch his kisses strayed from your lips. Your back was pressed with a more solidified firmness into the mirror as Soonyoung’s hand crept down your waist and tucked beneath your thigh, hauling it over his hip. His fingertips curved fire upon your skin, inducing a sting that overweighed in pleasure than in pain. You titled your head back, heat coursing through his veins when he heard a beautiful moan flutter from your mouth. His lips then reached the sensitive crook of your neck where the sweet scent was most concentrated.

His teeth delicately bit down upon the warm, velvet flesh, the manner in which you arched toward his touch encouraging Soonyoung.

His world was tuned to nothing but your hedonism, the tiny noises you were unable to supress beneath the wet pressure of his tongue against the new, glistening bruise. And it continued like that, blossom after blossom being suckled, nipped and licked into the column of your neck, your chest, fingers knotted into Soonyoung’s hair not to guide him, but to express the euphoria he masterfully summoned at your core.

However, as Soonyoung’s palms cupped your ribcage, and as his kisses adapted a much more sentimental, slower rhythm once they pressed upon the soft swell of your chest, there was a gaping feeling that howled inside him. He couldn’t have you. He shouldn’t even be doing this with you. Where you should have been was at dinner with your friends, enjoying the music, the food, the conversation. Despite Soonyoung’s intimate wishes to continue with your fingers tugging at his scalp in a dull sting, your breathless mewls, your swollen lips gasping his name, he believed you were not in love with him.

A splash rolled onto your chest, tiny and wet, and then another and another. Soonyoung had stopped kissing you, his grasp on your ribcage fading in strength.

“W-What’s wrong?” You questioned whilst he heard that your heart still beat like a metal pendulum. “Why did you stop? It felt so good, really good.”

Undoubtedly the damp trails were leaking from his eyes. They were no longer tinted with a thick lust, but a vacantness that left his irises hollowed and indiscernible. Soonyoung’s vision of his marks on your chest blurred. He heard you gulp, your fingers winding down from their tangled clasp in his black hair to gently cup his face; raise it into the meagre light of the studio.

“Soonyoung? You okay?” However, the very second you peered into the clear lacquer that lined his eyes; he assumed that you understood his answer before he even spoke it.

“N-No.” His voice cracked.

The soft pad of your thumb brushed beneath his eye. “Tell me what’s wrong,” You were notably pleading rather than politely asking, “What’s hurting you?”

He didn’t care anymore. His face plunged straight into the junction between your shoulder and neck, his hands uselessly clutching at the back of your dress, compressing the silk in his hands. Your heartbeat thrummed throughout your entire body, and Soonyoung could easily detect its sporadic pulse with his ear pressed tightly to your neck. He hiccupped and the dam suddenly broke loose, your fingers coaxing down the back of his head in a lambent hope it would soothe him even marginally.

“Y-You don’t love me, you don’t love me, you don’t love me but I’m so fucking in love with you that it’s all I can ever think about. Nothing has ever hurt this bad but I can’t keep myself away from you. I-I don’t know what to do. You’re with Junhui again and I want to be angry at you because how could you fucking do this to me when you know how I feel about you, how badly I want you, how I’d drop everything for you. B-But it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault and—,”

“Soonyoung, Soonyoung,” You’d gotten a hold of his face, fingers gripping into the teary trails that soaked from his eyes, from his gaze that had broken like a glass sheet. “I need you to listen to me, baby, okay? Calm down.” Soonyoung wetly blinked at you, never having experienced such a heartfelt reflection glaze in your eyes.

Sweeping the black hairs that had masked to his flushed, tan skin, you gave his head a small shake, staring at Soonyoung with moonlight slanting across your features.

“You beautiful, beautiful boy who I adore so much I can’t even describe it. I’m not with Junhui, I don’t know where you got that idea from, but I’m not with him. I came here specifically to tell you that—,” Your thumb brushed beneath the plump curl of his bottom lip, “For fuck’s sake, that I’m in love with you! I’m in love with you, and I am being one-hundred percent serious.”

Your hands drifted from his cheeks to the sides of his face, where Soonyoung could feel their slight pressure and their solacing heat.

He wasn’t able to pinpoint that last time he’d allowed his emotions run so rampantly before you, completely abducting control of his body until he felt like a vessel running on autopilot. His face was still damp and there were watered pearls clinging to his eyelashes, though Soonyoung wasn’t as concerned with a little blotchiness marring his vision when you looked at him like you needed him, like you couldn’t live without him.

The tender, grazing movement of your fingertips along his jaw pulled with a feather’s daintiness, Soonyoung sniffing a bit raggedly as your arms then wrapped around his neck.

“If you’re wondering about why I drove to the dinner with Jun, it was just because I left a lot of things at his apartment I wanted to pick up. I was finally feeling well enough to face him on my own… When I broke up with him, I knew exactly why I did it, Soonyoung.” You chewed your bottom lip and huffed in slight amusement, adapting to how it felt to ultimately speak these realizations, these thoughts, aloud.

“I did it because I finally understood this feeling I’ve always had for you, but could never put my fingertip on. I know that I’m in love with you. And, like you said, one day someone is gonna come along and sweep me right off my feet, make me forget about all my worries as though they’re nothing but dust. You’ve always been that person; I guess I just didn’t understand myself well enough at the time to see that.”

Fragile laughter rumbled in your throat, “You really took all my years of blissful ignorance like a solider, huh? I’m not really sure how I’ll ever make up for that.”

Soonyoung hands returned to your waist, clutching with a notable pressure, as if your body was fabricated from the swirling soot of a star that could ghost between his fingertips in a mere second. He straightened his posture, rested his forehead against your own, and peered directly into your eyes that blinked at him with a sentiment he could at long last read.

Without another wasted heartbeat, Soonyoung whispered right at your cupid’s bow, “You can be with me.”

To which a smile blossomed at your bitten, bright mouth.

“I’d love that more than anything.” Your voice slipped into a gentle hush just before the tips of your fingers swept down his neck, guiding Soonyoung forward the tiniest amount to kiss his pink mouth so sweetly.

The night ended on quite an interesting note. Minghao ended up hopping from the dinner table early because he was reunited with the sudden urge to photograph their memorable night; however, he’d forgotten his camera in his dance bag which he left at the studio. The air was chilly and misted, but felt ever so refreshing against his skin heated from many glasses of wine. As he quickly paced down the street, nose buried in his coat and hands in his pockets, he found himself coming to an abrupt stop outside the studio.

With a hammering heartbeat clogging his throat, he vigilantly did his best to peek into the dance studio’s front window, his jaw hanging on by a mere thread as he gauged the sight that had been beautifully framed by a shower of moonlight. Soonyoung’s hands were pressed against your back, holding you close to him whilst your arms cradled his head at your shoulder, fingers just barely combing his hair. Together you swayed, tangled in the other’s company, to a much muffled melody Minghao had to absolutely strain to hear.

Once he saw Soonyoung’s iPod glowing from the doc station, Minghao nodded to himself, a smile crossing his lips at a relationship he never thought possible.

Yet, now that he witnessed Soonyoung raise his head from your shoulder and softly capture your mouth in a slow and gentle kiss, Minghao could see that it was a relationship that made the most sense. As much as he yearned to fetch his camera, Minghao decided to place his own needs aside. Besides, he would most likely return to the restaurant to find Wonwoo offering the server a blunt and Chan shoveling handfuls of mints into his pocket whilst Junhui distracted the front-of-house manager.

Minghao left the two of you to your moment.

Soonyoung had finally attained his wish.

✧✎ a/n: lol starting this i inferred it would only be abt 6-7K... obviously that DID NOT happen! i dont know why my brain is solely programmed to make such long stories. i mean... i have written shorter things... but not very many. hopefully you can see why it takes me eons to respond to requests!! i havent posted smth this lengthy in a while so i hope those who read it had fun!!! comments r welcomed!!

it felt very nice writing a one-shot for soons bc i only have ONE other one-shot for him... and it’s like done in a second. Tragic!!!! anyways, i envisioned this story listening to allie x’s song, catch!! i would have linked the song, however adding links seems to prevent work from showing up in the tags :( if youre interested in listening tho, i guess youtube exists lol. this author’s note is going to become as long as the fic if i dont stfu, sooo... BYE!!!!

#seventeen scenarios #hoshi scenarios #soonyoung scenarios #hoshi #soonyoung #seventeen angst #hoshi angst #seventeen fluff #hoshi fluff #kwon soonyoung #svt fanfic #friends to lovers

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preraphaelitepunk · 5 years

Text

Fictober Day 17: The Love Language of Scarves

Prompt #17: There is just something about them

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley

Rating: Teen (a little bit of cursing)

Warnings: None

On AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/20843936/chapters/50118575

Love can be shown in countless different ways: a touch on the shoulder, a warm smile, time spent together, tasks taken on to save someone else the bother, little gifts, actually saying it out loud, cuddles, kisses, more . . . vigorous activities. After his great falling out with Heaven (to be distinguished from an actual Fall from Heaven), Aziraphale had enjoyed trying out all the methods with Crowley. He was aiming for a nice mix, though he tended mostly toward words, touches, and smiles. Crowley, though, had always been consistent, for millennia: he showed his love with acts and gifts. Words came harder for him, though practice was slowly easing the way.

“Ready for lunch, angel?” The bookshop’s bell jingled as the door swung closed behind Crowley.

Putting on his coat, Aziraphale said, “Indeed. You’re looking particularly lovely today, my darling.”

“Vile flatterer. I thought angels were supposed to be truthful.”

“I may be guilty of downplaying your appearance, but not of flattery. You look absolutely ravishing.” He enjoyed the faint blush creeping up the other’s sharp cheekbones.

As Aziraphale joined him, Crowley said, far too casually, “Oh, by the way, this is for you.” He handed Aziraphale a tissue-paper-wrapped package. It had tiny silver sparkles embedded in the paper, and was tied with a cream ribbon.

“How lovely, dear. Thank you!” Aziraphale kissed him on the cheek. “Shall I open it now?”

“If you like. Doesn’t matter.”

It was a scarf, in the lightest, most delicate wash of blue. Obviously hand knit, though by someone with enough skill and patience to coax the slender yarn into a pattern of lace that evoked intricate stylized fans, or possibly wings. Judging from the texture, it was cashmere, possibly with some silk blended in.

“It’s gorgeous, darling! I love it.” Aziraphale gave him one of his special smiles, the warmth and joy he reserved just for Crowley. “Wherever did you find it?”

Crowley shrugged, his cheeks reddening a bit more. “Dunno. Just picked it up on the high street somewhere, thought you might like it.”

“Hand knits on the high street? You simply must show me the shop, darling. Usually they only have mass-market stuff, or cheaper hand-made crafts. This must have cost a fortune.”

“Er. Not really. Just a few pounds.”

Aziraphale trusted Crowley implicitly, but he knew utter tosh when he heard it. “Now, I certainly don’t believe that, my dear. It takes hours to finish a scarf, especially a lace pattern like this. Then there’s the quality of the material — cashmere and silk do not come cheaply, poppet, and something this size must have required several skeins. Materials costs alone were probably fifty pounds, to say nothing of labor.” He didn’t mention the emotion emanating off the scarf: it was radiating love, knitted into the fabric like dog hair, though Aziraphale had to admit that wasn’t the most poetic of similes. Dog hair did lodge everywhere, though, and was impossible to get out, so the comparison seemed valid, if inelegant.

Crowley shifted on his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Probably from a sweatshop, then. Drastically underpaid slave labor, hideous working conditions, fast fashion ruining the planet. Good choice for a demon.”

“You know that’s not true, Crowley. I’d be able to feel it if it were.”

Crowley heaved a sigh. “All right, fine, angel. You got me. I made it. Are you happy now?”

“Exceedingly. But I had no idea you knit, dear.”

“’S good stress relief. When I start to worry.” He smiled reassuringly at the wounded-sounding “oh” from Aziraphale and continued, “And I like the yarn. Winding a skein into a ball by hand is soothing, like meditation or something. And the skeins: there is just something about them. They’re like fuzzy, soft little pets. Except you don’t have to feed them, or yell at them like with plants. They’re easy. Pretty.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way. I’m glad you find it helpful, love, but you know you can always talk to me when you’re worried.”

“I know, angel.” Crowley took his hand and squeezed. “It’s just, sometimes you need something that you can do for yourself.”

“I understand.” Lifting their hands, Aziraphale pressed his lips to the soft, precious skin on the inside of Crowley’s wrist. “But please remember I’m always here whenever you need me, no matter what, no matter why. Wherever did you learn to knit?”

“In Hell. I was stuck down there cooling my heels — you know how it was, they’d call you down there for an update and then they’d be too busy to meet with you, keep you hanging around for yonks — and I got bored. Hastur taught me.”

Aziraphale tried to imagine the Duke of Hell with knitting needles and fuzzy skeins of yarn. He failed. “Hastur. The one with the filthy mac and the rather unfortunate smell of, um, manure?”

“That’s the bunny. Be funny if there were another Hastur running around, but as far as I know there’s just the one.”

“One is quite enough, dear.”

“Good point. He’d made a big black scarf for Ligur, and said it helped him. Focusing on something simple that you can control, and doing one tiny thing correctly over and over again. You can see your progress, your success. It makes a nice change from the rest of life in Hell, certainly. Anyway, he said it was good for handling stress, and suggested I try it. I was certainly stressed, so I did. And I liked it.

“Er, forgive me, dear heart, but I’m having a bit of difficulty imagining a knitting circle in Hell.”

“Nah, fiber arts are pretty popular, but you’re right: people don’t think it fits with the whole ‘big, scary demon’ image. We keep it on the down low, but it was kind of ni — er, enjoyable for a bunch of us to get together occasionally and bring out the wool and the booze, catch up on gossip.”

“But why? I can’t imagine there’s much demand for fuzzy scarves and warm sweaters in Hell.”

“You’d be surprised. It’s in the basement, and it gets damp and chilly sometimes. Quite a lot of the time, actually. But not everyone knits. Ligur did really disturbing cross stitch.”

Aziraphale tried to imagine this. “‘Curse this mess,’ that sort of thing?”

“More like ‘I love the sound of screaming in the morning’ or ’Eat a bag of dicks and die, human scum,’” Crowley laughed. “With flowers and skulls in the borders. He said he liked making art by repeatedly stabbing something.”

“I can imagine.”

“Dagon says that’s why she does needle felting. Well, I say ‘needle,’ but I’ve seen her use her teeth when she’s particularly het up. Makes little wool sculptures in anime style, with the hair the Hellhounds shed. The one she made of Beelzebub was classic; pity they burned it on sight.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but giggle. “You’re jesting, surely.”

“No! Swear to — to Somebody.”

“So what does Beelzebub do?”

“Macrame.”

“What, like plant hangers and wall hangings?”

Crowley shrugged, but his grin was wide. “I guess they like ropes and knots. So did Heaven have a knitting circle?”

The very concept of Gabriel or Michael sitting cozily with their knitting made a heretical giggle bubble up Aziraphale’s throat. “Not likely. I can’t imagine anything so human as that would be encouraged.”

“So no hobbies at all? Gabriel doesn’t collect stamps? Uriel doesn’t make pottery?”

The giggles were getting harder to stifle. “Sandalphon could bake bread. He’d enjoy punching down the dough.”

“Michael could do paper cutting; she’d like using a razor knife.”

“Oh, she definitely would like that. Sharp and precise and unforgiving.” Aziraphale laid his cheek against Crowley’s shoulder. “I don’t have a hobby, either,” he said, a little mournfully.

Crowley made an “ngk” noise and gestured around the bookshop with his free hand. “What do you call all this, then?”

“Oh. But I don’t think that counts, really. I’d like to do more with my hands. Baking, perhaps?”

“Could do. Or,” Crowley gave him a little squeeze, “I could teach you how to knit. Once you’ve learned, you could work on something simple while you’re reading: two birds with one thingie.”

“One stone, I believe.”

“That can’t be right. What do birds want with stones?”

“I don’t think they want much at all with them. I believe you’re supposed to throw the stone at the birds and kill them.”

“Urgh. Hastur probably came up with that one. Two birds with one birdbath, then.”

“Much nicer.”

“‘M not nice. Just don’t see the point in killing birds for no reason.”

“Of course, my dear. My evil, naughty old serpent.”

“Naughty indeed. And don’t forget it.”

“So will you?”

“Teach you to knit? Sure, if you like. But for now,” Crowley sat up and retrieved the scarf from Aziraphale’s lap, wrapping it securely around the angel’s neck and tucking the ends into his coat, “we have a lunch date.”

#fictober19 #good omens #good omens fanfic #fluff #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #knitting is soothing #hell has a fiber arts club #demons need all the stress relief they can get #crowley's love language is gifts and acts of service

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dresupi · 5 years

Note

Because I live for angst apparently - both our spouses passed suddenly and we found common ground in that, it's been a while and we're claiming we're just friends but oops we might have made out after a bottle of red and now what?

Here you go! I’m sorry it took me so freaking long to write this.

Ship: Draco Malfoy/Hermione GrangerRated: MOther tags: Past Character Death, Snogging, Grief, Angst, Heavy Angst, Feels, Canon Divergence, Not Epilogue CompliantWord Count: 1560

Hermione's head pounded like a runaway drummer as she softly padded through her living room.

It was filled with smiling photographs of her family. The children playing outdoors. Happily frantic photos from King's Cross at platform nine and three-quarters. Hers and Ron's wedding day.

She turned away, her eyes stinging. She couldn't look at that one without tearing up. Even now.

A green scarf was still on the coat tree by the fireplace. She knew if she sniffed it, it would smell of green tea and licorice. It would smell like Draco. Her throbbing head was the only thing that kept her from burying her face in the soft wool blend.

Nothing in this house smelled like Ron anymore. She hadn't even noticed when his scent had gone, but it had. Gradually. She wasn't sure what she thought about that. It didn't make her eyes burn and tear up as the wedding photos did. It mostly just made her realize how bloody long it had been since she'd gone out.

A year. It had been a year. And technically, Draco's visit the night before didn't count. Because she still hadn't gone out.

She'd gone an entire year going between work and home. Home and work. Down to the train station twice. Once to pick up the children and once to drop them off for school. The first time doing either on her own. The first time without Ron.

That past September felt as if it were ages ago. Harry and Ginny had tried to help, but nothing they did seemed to assuage the pain she felt that she was here and Ron wasn't.

Draco had been there too on September first. Alone, as well. She'd heard the news through Harry. Astoria had succumbed to the illness she'd had her entire life.

Draco had appeared stoic, but she could tell his shoulders were a little too square. His smile a little too fixed. He held his son a little too tightly as Scorpio squirmed to be let go and to run to the train as well. He'd caught her gaze only briefly, but lingered until she turned away.

It was three days later that she'd received the first owl.

On Malfoy header, penned with exquisitely smooth green ink. An apology took up most of the space. An apology for even deigning to contact her while she was in mourning, but… was there any chance they could meet for drinks? For lunch? For a coffee? He needed someone to talk to. And none of his friends seemed to understand.

She'd refused, but the owls kept coming.

After that first one, the ice had been broken. He spoke of his grief without preamble. Asking her if she still felt Ron's presence? If it had stopped. When it had.

She asked him if photographs brought him to tears. If it was painful to look at Scorpio sometimes. If there were things he did that reeked too heavily of Astoria.

She both wanted him to say no and yes. She didn't want anyone feeling this same pain, but she also didn't want to be alone.

Hugo had Ron's laugh. And damnit. It hurt to hear it.

She hadn't even spent much time in the company of her best friend for fear of seeing the same sparkle in her eyes that Ron used to have.

Around two months into their correspondence, Draco asked if it was better to watch one's spouse waste away for years and years or to lose them all at once as Hermione had. That he'd never known an Astoria who wasn't ill. No one did. If there was an afterlife where he'd meet her once more, he'd never recognize her. Was that better than kissing Ron goodbye one morning and identifying his corpse that afternoon? Was it worse? Did it matter?

Hermione didn't have an answer for him. She knew neither was fair. But instead of telling him that, she invited him over for wine.

Her eyes clouded as she stared at the glasses where they sat on the coffee table. Both empty. The bottle between them empty as well. She'd thought she herself would feel empty too.

But she felt as if she were packed to the brim with butterflies. Bursting to get out.

Her cheeks burned as she reached down to scoop up both glasses in one hand, the bottle in the other.

She could magic it all away, but the act of cleaning felt therapeutic. It was how she'd done it when Ron passed. She'd slowly, methodically packed his things, keeping a few items for herself, but the rest was sent off for donations.

Now that she thought about it, that was likely when her late husband's scent had started to leave the home they'd once shared.

The home she now padded through alone unless it was summer and Hugo and Rose were around to liven it up.

Between the months of September and June, it was only her.

Until last night.

She'd no sooner sent the owl inviting him than he was flooing into her living room. Hanging his coat and scarf on the coat tree and sitting upon her sofa like a cat. Crookshanks had twittered at him, rubbing around his ankles before tottering off to his favorite napping place.

Draco was formally dressed. Robes still on from work, most likely, whereas Hermione was in her usual weekend attire. Flannel pyjama bottoms and one of Ron's old Quidditch t-shirts. Draco hadn't batted an eye, he'd simply produced a bottle of some very fine red wine, prompting Hermione to summon the glasses.

Although she'd waited until well after her second glass to act upon it, the desire to kiss Draco Malfoy had consumed her from the second he'd arrived.

He always looked put upon, as if he was doing you a favor by deigning to grace you with his presence. This wasn't like that. She'd wager that he'd no sooner read her invitation than he'd set off for the floo.

He didn't look bored. Or boastful or swaggering.

He looked…

Hopeful.

And she'd wanted to kiss him right then and there.

The urge surprised her. She'd never wanted to kiss Malfoy in her entire life.

But in that minute, she wanted those dextrous fingers tangled in her hair. She wanted his lips on hers because he was the only one in her life who could truly understand her melancholy. And why that was being coded as arousal by her very confused mind wasn't her concern.

Still, it took her two and a half glasses to go for it.

And it was sloppy.

She leaned over, her lips finding his and tasting the wine lingering there. He didn't move for a long moment and she dreaded pulling back, having to look him in the face and own up to what she'd done.

But then, he sent both of their glasses to the table and cupped her face in his hands, deepening the kiss and laying her back on the sofa cushions.

His tongue delved into her mouth, flicking around and driving her mad. Her mind went absolutely blank and for the first time in a year, she wasn't comparing this to her life before Ron had been killed. She wasn't drawing any comparison, because there wasn't one.

This was new. It was exciting.

And she didn't want it to stop.

But stop, they did. She wasn't sure when the snogging had started, but it ended around one in the morning with her legs wrapped around Draco's hips as he ground helplessly against her warmth. They were both still clothed, but very mussed.

He'd broken off the kiss softly. "Granger… unless we want to take this further, we should stop now."

She'd gulped and nodded. And he'd sat up, downing the rest of his glass and standing to take his coat. He'd lingered at the fireplace, sending a dark, longing look her way. "Next time, you can come to mine."

And he'd gone.

She was here now, cleaning out their glasses and blinking back a hangover and wondering what in the bloody hell she'd been thinking.

What she was still thinking.

Because she had to remind herself that it was poor judgment. Because it felt so very good.

A rapping at the kitchen window brought her from her thoughts. She recognized Draco's owl, a message for her tied to its leg.

She fed the owl a treat as she read through the short missive.

I seem to have misplaced my scarf. Why don't you bring it 'round this evening and stay for dinner? Arrangements can be made in the event you'd like to stay later.

She frowned, wondering exactly what tone he meant for that last bit, nearly missing the postscript at the bottom of the letter.

P.S Stop overanalyzing, Granger. If I hadn't wanted to kiss you, I wouldn't have. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, so I hope to see you this evening.

Her cheeks reddened considerably and she quickly penned an acceptance on the opposite side of the paper, sending it back with the owl.

It wasn't poor judgment. Her past year of self-inflicted hermitism had been. Besides, if there was any judgment to be endured, it wasn't going to come from Draco. Nor from Hermione for that matter. And theirs was the only verdict that mattered.

#Dramione #Draco/Hermione #Hermione/Draco #Draco Malfoy #Hermione Granger #downrightfierce #character death #angst #dramione prompts

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aliceslantern · 4 years

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Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 16--Unlucky

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: “Unlucky.” A routine case with a vengeful patient leaves Demyx with more than he bargained for.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

It had been kind of a long day. Drizzly, but in a vague sort of way, as though the sky couldn’t make up its mind. Demyx only had one call left before shift change, and a last-minute one; a woman had badly cut her hand by the marketplace and needed help. It would be a quick fix, at least, before he could go home and collapse into bed.

The population around here was getting to be more dense, though it still paled in comparison to many of the cities he’d visited. A few people he’d healed greeted him. He still struggled to remember all their names.

The woman was waiting by her front door, her face ashen and drawn. She had a towel wrapped tightly around her hand, and it was soaked through in places. “Good, you’re here,” she said.

“Ouch, what’d you do?”

“Trying to do some slice and dice on some vegetables… and, well…” she shrugged. She was youngish, maybe thirty or so. Her apron had splotches of blood on it.

“It happens more than you think.” He smiled. “I can fix it. Why don’t you sit down?”

She sat on her stoop. He could barely see the inside of the small home, the onions and tomatoes sitting on a now-dirty cutting board. A bloody knife. A kettle had been put up, but was not yet boiling.

Demyx sat next to her. “How’s the pain?”

“It stings more than anything. The peppers, you know.” She bit her lip.

Before unwrapping it, he gave a quick scan of the wound, and cast a spell to coagulate the blood. He set the bloody towel aside. It was a clean cut, but one that probably would’ve had trouble healing on its own. He cleaned it quickly. She hadn’t even lost much blood, and it was shallow enough that it wouldn’t scar with a spell. He had it fixed in five minutes. The woman flexed her hand.

“You’re all set,” he said. “Just try to be careful next time, okay?”

“Oh, before you go. I was about to make some tea. Would you like some?”

Demyx hesitated. “That’s really nice of you, but I should let you get back to your dinner--”

“I insist.” She smiled widely, revealing straight, even teeth. “It’s the perfect kind of day for it.”

“Uh… sure. Thanks.”

She went back inside and came back a moment later with two mugs. “It’s a special blend. I made it myself.”

“Oh, are you a botanist?”

She laughed superficially. “You could say that.”

Demyx sipped at the tea. It was incredibly bitter, and he tried not to flinch. “The taste really is… unique.”

“Thanks. I thought so too.” She didn’t sip at her tea immediately.

“Are you new here? I haven’t seen you before.”

“I guess, in a sense. I just moved back in a few weeks ago. This was my sister’s house, but she… well.” The woman sighed. “She fell to darkness some years ago.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m getting along just fine on my own.”

He drank the tea probably too quickly, eager to get rid of the sour taste. “That’s good. I’ve noticed the people here are really friendly. You’re in good company.”

“I’m sure I am.” He wondered if he was imagining the dark undertone of her voice. She had been talking about her dead sister, after all. “We seem to be pretty welcoming to just about everyone.”

“Yeah… I really like it.” He tried to smile. “Thanks again for the refreshment. I’ll see you around.” Demyx realized he hadn’t even asked her name, but when he turned back to fix this, she had gone inside and shut the door. He brushed off the weirdness as a lack of social skills and started the long walk back.

It did seem much longer than usual. His calf muscles were getting tighter as he climbed the shallow incline, even though he usually took it a few times a day. Demyx attributed it to exhaustion, the weather. Once he was on the flat surface of the postern it didn’t fade, however, and in face the ache seemed to be creeping steadily upwards. He tried to think about what it might be. Potassium deficiency? Dehydration? He’d probably feel better with water and rest.

He kept making his way upstairs. The cramping was getting worse, more uncomfortable, almost painful now. Had he burnt out again? That had felt kind of similar. It would figure. Broken bones and pneumonia were high-cost heals, and he’d had a couple. He started to dig in his kit for an ether, found half of one, and had just brought the bottle to his mouth when a sharp pang in his chest made him double in two. The bottle fell to the ground and shattered, spilling the shiny green liquid all over the floor. “Shit.” He rubbed at the pain, trying to get it to ease enough to stand. A hot burning sensation replaced the pain, and his vision seemed to shimmer.

It wasn’t--no--

Demyx dug out his gummiphone and dialed Even.

His voice was sharp and snippy. “Boy, I’m in the middle of something. What do you want?”

“I think I’ve been poisoned.”

---

Demyx couldn’t make it as far as the lab. His muscles were too tight, and painful, and he sat propped against a wall waiting for help. He dug through his bag with shaking, achy fingers to see if he had any antidote, but he’d used his last on a kid who’d accidentally swallowed cleaning products. He had to wait and hope he could make it until help came.

At least it was fairly quick. “What on earth did you do to yourself?” Dilan asked sourly.

“Not me,” he hissed through his teeth. He could feel sweat coursing down his face.

“Can you walk at all?”

“Hurts too much.”

Dilan hefted him up like a baby. Being moved hurt worse than the stillness, and for a moment he thought he might faint. “You’re much lighter than you look.”

He tried to keep breathing. His head was swimming too much to try and figure out what had been done to him, and why. Even was smart. Even could handle it.

“So what is this? An accident? A cruel prank?”

“Don’t know.”

“We’re almost there.”

Time seemed to stretch, elongate…

“Demyx, try to stay awake.”

“Sorry.”

There were so many damn hallways in this place.

“Here. Set him over here.” Even’s voice, high and stressed.

“He’s been slipping in and out of consciousness.”

A sharp stab of cool fluid into his arm. Demyx’s eyes fluttered open. He could just barely feel the canvas of a cot under all the pain.

“There you are,” Even said. Another pinprick, this one in his hand. “How do you feel?”

“Hurts.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“I’m sorry, I’m hesitant to give you anything while we’re trying to get you to metabolize this nasty business. I’m going to take some blood, alright? Let’s see if I can’t figure out what this is. In the meantime, I'm just going to keep a steady antidote drip.”

“Okay.” The words would’ve meant more to him if he could focus. His muscles were stiff, tight, and burning. Demyx wasn’t sure to be glad or not he was conscious. He shivered, hard enough that Even had trouble getting blood. Even tucked a scratchy wool blanket around him.

"I should tell Ienzo."

"No," he hissed. "No, I'll do it after."

"You're very ill. You'll probably be very ill for the next few days."

The generic antidote was making him more lucid, but it also made him more aware of the pain, insidious and awful. "That bad?"

"I'm still doing research. But you're lucky you recognized it and got to me when you did."

Through a sort of haze Demyx watched Even at work at the nearby table, watching him pipette blood and examine it under a microscope.

Time was moving weirdly. It could've been ten minutes or two hours. The pain eased in the slightest. He was desperately tired, and desperately thirsty, despite the fluids he was taking. "Even?"

He looked up. "Yes?"

"Will I die if I go to sleep?"

He smiled sadly. "No, you're rebounding enough. Get some rest. You'll need it."

Demyx slipped in and out, never quite getting all the way asleep…

"It was quite alarming to see. I haven't yet gotten the story. I think you may be right, Dilan. Someone clearly has ire for us."

Demyx blinked. Something cold wormed under the skin of his hand. "What…"

Even patted his wrist. "A more specific antidote. Go back to sleep."

"What was it?"

Even frowned. He sat on an upturned crate next to the cot. "A type of neurotoxin that causes your cells to stop accepting water. Essentially, it would've been a very quick, very painful death from dehydration. Not to worry, I've made a serum which seems to be combatting it. Your vitals are already stabilizing."

Demyx considered the irony of this. "She must've known."

Even's eyebrows furrowed. "Who?'

"The person who did this." He tried to sit up, or at least prop himself up, but his muscles were horrifically sore. “About my old powers—”

"Don't move," Even said gently. "I figured you, of all people, would understand this part of palliative care."

The joke didn't phase him. "Why else would she use a poison to dry me out?"

"Who?"

"The woman, the one who--" Hot nausea brought tears to his eyes. "I'm going to throw up."

Dutifully, Even handed him a pail to be sick into. This dealt with, he tried to focus.

"She gave me tea. After I healed her. I thought the cut was too clean, that she acted weird--"

Even sighed. "You gave her the benefit of the doubt. As any competent physician would." He paused. "Do you remember where she lived? We should let the committee know. The last thing we need is another maniac on the loose."

Demyx swallowed the taste of bile. He told Even what he remembered, but this exhausted him into a stupor. Even gave him another dose of the real antidote. He drifted off and woke suddenly, disoriented, is his own bed. There was still an IV in his hand. His head was pounding in time with his heart, an insistent thud like a metronome, and his stomach was sour. The blackout curtains of the room had been drawn, leaving it blessedly dark and cool.

In the semidarkness, he did not quite realize that there were other people in the apartment with him. The lamp by the couch was on, and it was here Even and Ienzo sat, mumbling to one another too softly for him to make out. Demyx felt horrifically thirsty, and despite all the time that had passed and all the fluids he’d taken he still didn’t feel the need to use the bathroom. He wondered if the poison had done more damage to him than he’d thought, that it had fucked with his kidneys, and if he should say something.

One thing at a time. Worry about sitting up first.

A sharp, splitting pain in his ab muscles nearly made him gasp out loud, but he managed it at last, treading dizziness. His skin was tacky with dried sweat.

The muffled conversation abruptly stopped. Ienzo stood and all but ran over to him. “You scared a few years off my life. Easily,” he said. He pulled Demyx into a gentle embrace, and if he hadn’t been so dehydrated he probably would’ve cried. Demyx couldn’t help but lean into the comfort. Too soon, Ienzo broke away and touched his face. “How do you feel?”

“Oh, wonderful,” he said hoarsely. “I could run a marathon.”

A twitchy, anxious smile broke the tension in his brows. “Are you still symptomatic?”

“Well I feel like roadkill. Like a hangover times one thousand. But the worst of the pain seems to have stopped.”

“Good.”

Even gently steered Ienzo out of the way and took Demyx’s pulse. “Aerith appraised you when you were unconscious,” he told him. “You should be alright, more or less, so long as we keep your electrolytes up to snuff. The antidote seems to have worked before the poison caused lasting damage. I’ve made more, in case our little friend decides to strike again.”

“I’m still so thirsty.”

“I’m sure it must feel that way. You’re getting more than enough fluids.”

Ienzo turned towards the window, peeking through the curtain at the moonlit night. His arms were crossed and he clutched his elbow so tightly Demyx could see the knuckles were white. He wanted to console him, but considering his brain felt like it had been microwaved all he could focus on was how shitty he felt. “Can I change clothes?” Demyx asked Even. “Maybe take a bath? I feel gross.”

Even raised an eyebrow. “Do you feel up to it?” he asked. “You should really rest first.”

“I’ll feel better. There could still be vestiges of the poison in my sweat. Which I’m kind of covered in.”

“That’s a fair point. Ienzo?”

He jerked, as though startled.

Even squinted at him. “Could you help him? I’m sure he’d prefer you over me.”

“Yes. Of course,” he said stiffly.

Standing was treacherous, and he had to lean heavily against Ienzo. In the privacy of the bathroom he let Demyx undress, his back turned as if they didn’t see one another naked on a regular basis. Demyx hung the IV fluid on a rack normally devoted to towels and settled in the warm water. “Well, this is humiliating,” he said slowly.

Ienzo sat on the covered toilet. “I’m sure.”

“I feel like an invalid.”

“You’re very, very weak.” He sighed. “While you were resting, I studied that compound. Things could’ve been so much worse, Demyx.” His voice trembled in the slightest. “It could’ve caused irreparable, irreversible damage to your brain. You could’ve had memory loss, or been paralyzed-- why are you laughing?”

The deadly anger of his tone sobered what little humor Demyx had found. “I can deal with memory loss.”

Ienzo paled, his anger dissolving. “Yes… that was… tactless of me.” A pause. “You could’ve lost so much, aside from your life. Motor skills… the ability to speak…”

“Motor skills?” He looked at his wet palms, which trembled faintly. He hoped it was from anxiety and nothing deeper. Aerith would’ve said something, right? “You mean I couldn’t play Arpeggio?”

“Amongst other things.”

He’d been too sick to realize it. He could handle the thought of death, even being disabled, because there was nothing wrong with not being able to walk or talk. Whatever would have happened, he could handle and adjust. But losing Arpeggio? Again? He felt wetness in his eyes and tried to blink it back.

“This is probably traumatizing,” Ienzo said softly. He took Demyx’s hand.

“Probably? You think?”

“I hope this is an anomaly, a lone act of cruelty. The committee is opening an investigation. Once you’re well, they want to question you.” He slumped a bit, as though his body weighed too much. “I am… furious. Even if this is revenge against the apprentices, there was no reason for you to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Unless she knew about me being in the Organization.”

“That is… possible, yes. Even so. It would’ve made far more sense for her to target one of us.”

“I interact with people more. Maybe she was trying to send a message.” His stomach was feeling a little worse, and he settled more deeply into the tub.

“Perhaps,” he said. “I had hoped Dilan was wrong, about the townspeople harboring grudges against us. I was naive.”

“You were hopeful.”

Ienzo looked up. There were tears in his eyes.

“Maybe it’s got nothing to do with our pasts. Maybe she’s just crazy and wanted to hurt someone.”

“Maybe,” he said, though Demyx could tell he didn’t believe it. “Is it helping? The bath?”

“It feels good. I’m so sore.”

“You probably shouldn’t stay in too long. I’d feel much better if you were back in bed. I should probably change the sheets, in case you were right about it being in your sweat.” He stood. “I’ll do that now. If you need me, shout.”

Taking a bath wore him out. Once he had actually brushed his teeth and gotten dressed again, he fell asleep for an indeterminable length of time. When he woke up, he was still achy, still thirsty, but a little bit less so. He kept down tea and a bowl of rice, was able to get to the bathroom on his own. It was a small victory.

Aeleus visited him. After all this time they weren’t very close, but Demyx appreciated the gesture regardless. “I’ve made you some bone broth soup. It’ll help get your strength back.”

“Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”

He sat in the chair at the bedside. Ansem had taken Ienzo out for lunch, though he didn’t know that Demyx asked him to do this. Ienzo needed air, some time to decompress. “How do you feel?”

“Much better,” Demyx admitted. “I’m getting there. Slowly. I can’t wait to get this thing out of my hand.”

“You gave Ienzo quite a fright.”

“I think it hit him harder than it hit me, to be honest.” Demyx bit his lip. “To a degree I think he thinks it’s his fault. That the woman was really after one of you, that this was some sort of revenge. It’s probably triggering him. That’s why I wanted him to talk to Ansem.”

Aeleus nodded sagely. “You know him well.”

Demyx laughed a little. “Well--I hope so. He’s hard to figure out, but I’m getting better at it.”

“You’ve become very considerate. Compared to then.”

He scratched the back of his neck with his untethered hand. His hair was a mess, but he saw no point in making it look good today. “I’ve worked really hard on that. The way I… used to talk to the others, makes me… ugh, cringe.” He bit his lip. “You want to know something really horrible? When Demyx heard about you guys at CO getting killed, he was happy. As much as a Nobody could feel, anyway.”

Aeleus’s expression barely changed. “You had to develop a sense of empathy from scratch. I, too, hardened my heart. So to speak. It was the only way to get through.”

“I already asked Even and Dilan. But how did you end up with Ansem?”

Aeleus thought about this for a few minutes. “We can say it was… progress for progress’s sake,” he said slowly. “I was young, I was idealistic. I’d heard that Ansem was pushing the boundaries of what could be, and I… feeling somewhat stuck in a rut… craved that change.”

“Did you feel trapped in Radiant Garden?”

“I believe I did. To hear him speak of other worlds, of other cultures was… intoxicating. It changed absolutely everything. Now I try my best to not be jaded. This place… I hope to nurture it.”

Demyx understood. “I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job.”

---

He slept again, deeply, and woke up disoriented a little after noon. He felt weird, and it took him a minute to process that he only felt that way because he wasn’t thirsty. Demyx waited for Even’s confirmation, but getting rid of the IV made him feel a million times better. He was able to at least rest on the couch now instead of in bed.

Aerith came by with Leon. She confirmed that the poison was gone from his system, but that he should still rest for another few days, at least until the fatigue dissipated. She made them tea and, exam and pleasantries over, they set to business.

Demyx told Leon everything he remembered, every detail to how she looked and acted, to how the tea tasted, where she lived. He’d told Even all this in a sort of fugue state. Giving the report made him feel vaguely nauseous.

“We’ve investigated the leads,” Leon said. “It’s so weird. When Yuffie went to that home, there was nobody there. There was no sign it was even inhabited. We’ve asked around, and nobody’s seen this person in days. We’re thinking she came over with one of the last Traverse Town flights. Without a name, and without records… she’ll be hard to catch.”

Demyx bit his lip. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

Leon sighed. “Yeah, us too. And we’ve let everyone know--not that it was you, but that someone had been poisoned, and not to accept anything from strangers or what seems or tastes suspicious. The restaurant owners are all pissed at me, but I don’t do this to be liked.”

“Even has samples of my blood and the poison. If that helps.”

Aerith’s eyes brightened. “You know, it might,” she said. “Maybe if I can figure out where it came from, we can find out more about the person who did this.”

“I’d say you guys in particular need to be extra careful,” Leon said. “In case this was targeting you specifically.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Do you think it is? Has anyone ever, like, mentioned anything about us?”

Leon tapped his fingers against his notepad. “Not that I can recall. I sent Yuffie out to do some recon. She’s good with people. If there’s anything to be found, she’ll find it.”

“And at least we have and can make more of the antidote, should someone need it,” Aerith said. “It’s good you were able to recognize it for what it was.”

“I kind of have you to thank for that. That, and years of getting bitten by asshole Heartless.”

Leon smiled. “We’ll call you if we need more information. Though this brings up an important point. We need to know who lives here. What they’re doing here. Town is growing so fast. We’ve been so focused on the literal infrastructure that I nearly forgot there needs to be other infrastructure too.”

“Oh, bureaucracy.” He tried not to flinch.

“Sort of. We should start a basic census, at least.” He thought about this for a moment, tapping a pen against his chin. “Well, I hope you have a quick recovery.”

Aerith gave him a hug. “Be well.”

---

It took him about ten days before he was feeling normal. It definitely felt like he’d been really sick for a long time. He’d lost weight, and ended up having to buy a belt because nothing fit right anymore. He hoped to gain a few kilos and get back into shape. Demyx was sure if he tried to do magic right now it would wipe him out, or worse.

One of these days he and Ienzo took a walk into town to get some groceries. At first, a flutter of anxiety crept under his skin, because even though Leon said they kept his identity hidden in terms of the poisoning, he feared everyone would know. But they were treated more or less normally.

“I figured I’d use this time as an excuse to bake more,” Ienzo said. “If you need to gain weight, that’s a good way to do it.”

“I won’t say no.”

“I know you won’t. I do enjoy it.” He stood to Demyx’s left, so he has trouble reading Ienzo’s expression. He swore he heard some artificiality in it.

“Can you make macarons? The last time you did I swear I met god.”

“To be fair. We’d just smoked marijuana. That does affect taste. ...And any supposed divine revelation.”

“Even so.”

“That was a good night. We should do it again when you’re well.”

A blush crept into his cheeks. “Yes.” They hadn’t had sex in nearly two weeks; maybe if he wasn’t exhausted when they got home Ienzo might want to.

“Do you feel up to taking the long way home?”

“I think so. I’m not that tired yet.” The early morning air was fresh and cool, and he drank it in gratefully. Even with open windows, the air inside could only feel so clean. “I’ve missed being outside.”

“You’ve dealt with all this beautifully.”

“No point being weak and also miserable.”

“I suppose.”

Demyx looked back towards him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Why is it you ask?”

“I wanted to make sure.”

He sighed. “Admittedly, it did dredge up some negative memories,” he said. “You and I… have a complicated history of collapsing on one another.”

“We have the combined constitution of a wet tissue.”

He chuckled. “As well as luck that is both terrible and great.” A pause. Demyx let him take his time. “I know it’s not my fault, but I do feel… guilty. If this is a targeted attack, who knows what else might happen should someone with a grudge seek revenge?”

“I really hope it isn’t that.”

“I do too--” Ienzo’s head snapped up. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I swear I saw someone--maybe I’m paranoid.”

“Might be a Heartless.”

“Are you strong enough to fight one?”

“Maybe a Shadow--probably not much more. Maybe we should turn back towards where there are more claymores.” A seed of dread started to grow in his stomach.

“Yes. I agree.”

They walked back along the blue stone that bordered the edge of town. Ienzo kept looking over his shoulder; Demyx couldn’t help but do the same. They heard rock scrabbling. “We’re definitely being followed by something,” Demyx said, as softly as he could.

“What should we do?”

“Try and act natural until we get somewhere safer.”

Ienzo squeezed his hand more tightly than he normally did. “I’ve got a pocket knife. But I don’t think that will be much use. And my magic is still very limited.”

“Well, we’ll see. Might want to dust off that strategizing part of your brain.”

There was a quiet thud behind them. Demyx turned, tense, ready to draw the Keyblade.

The figure wore a cloak. Not an Organization cloak, a regular, run-of-the-mill cloak. It was brown.

But Demyx, after years of recon, didn’t need to see a person’s face to recognize them. The height, shoulders, and general bearing were enough. He exhaled and put a hand on his hip. “What are you doing here?”

The figure, craving anonymity, said nothing.

Ienzo squinted, confused.

“You trying to finish the job, or what?” Demyx asked.

The figure flicked back their hood and scowled.

“For the record, poisoning a healer isn’t the best way to go. We tend to be pretty resilient. You should’ve just stabbed me.”

The woman’s face was flushed red with anger. “You weren’t supposed to survive.”

“Yeah, that’s how assassination works.”

Demyx turned back to Ienzo. He was frozen; he looked like he’d been struck. Demyx wondered briefly if he’d been hit by a Stop spell, but he was still blinking, and his hands were shaking. More obvious than anything, though, was the flicker of recognition in his eyes.

“Little Ienzo,” she said coolly. “Though--not so small now, are you?”

Demyx tried to think. “Who--” he began, but the woman cut him off.

“Go on, tell him,” she said.

He shuddered, then said, “One of the test subjects. One of the victims. She and her sister.”

“But she’s human,” Demyx said. The conversation he’d had with her previously clicked. “Or--”

“Not all of the people who were exploited fell to darkness. In the--the early days.” He steeled himself. “Regardless of how you feel. Take out your anger on me, not on those around me.”

“I think you were the most disturbing one,” the woman continued. “Of all the scientists. What did they do to you, to get you to act the way they did? And why are you reopening old wounds?”

“I want to help people heal from what I did. The darkness hurt me too.”

She took a step forward. Demyx tried to shove Ienzo behind him instinctively. “Not everybody wants to forgive and forget,” she said.

“More people do than don’t,” Demyx cut in. “And how is trying to kill us solving anything?”

To his surprise, he felt Ienzo taking shelter behind him; he was confused for just a second before he felt Ienzo pressing the gummiphone into his back.

The woman scowled. “He’s got you under his spell too, I see.”

Demyx rolled his eyes. “Honestly, if you want to manipulate me, you’re going to have to be a lot more clever than that.”

Ienzo pressed his palm once again against Demyx’s back. The message was clear; stall.

“What did you think any of this would achieve?” Demyx asked. His heart was hammering, but he tried to maintain a sculpted look of boredom. “So you kill me. What would your next move have been? Infiltrating the castle? Trying to off us one by one? And then what? Regardless, you’d get caught. We work with the committee. They’d notice if we were gone.”

She seemed thrown by this. Behind the bravado, he noticed something like pain.

He sighed. “Look. I get it. I do. I know how it feels to be violated, and then to be so angry, so desperate, so hurt you’ll do anything to make it better. But you don’t have to do it this way. If you want, we can… I can help you.”

She clenched her fists. “You’d help the person who tried to kill you?”

“Yeah. Honor code, right?” he held up his hand, and then wondered if this was overkill.

For a moment she said and did nothing, her expression blank. Her hands opened, relaxed. He breathed a small sigh of relief. Someone would be here soon.

With a flash, almost faster than he could really perceive, he saw the knife, but before he could duck or draw the Keyblade Ienzo threw him down and caught the knife right against his shoulder. In the space of about two seconds, Demyx smashed the hilt of the Keyblade against her temple, and she crumpled to the ground, unconscious. He turned back to Ienzo. “Why the fuck would you do that?” Demyx hissed. “Lay down.”

He was breathing heavily, a fine film of sweat all along his face. “Feels mostly like she hit bone,” Ienzo said through his teeth.

“That’s for me to decide.” He ripped off his sweatshirt and packed it around the wound.

“Don’t do magic. Help is coming.”

“Let me at least check to see if it hit an artery.” The bleeding wasn’t visibly too much, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. It could all be internal.

“You’ll hurt yourself--”

“Shut up. You just got fucking stabbed.” He tried to find the energy for a spell. It didn’t seem to want to come. He pulled hard, pulled deep within himself, and immediately felt his body start to protest. He gagged.

“Demyx--”

“No. I’ve got this.”

“Demyx, I’m fine. Really.”

He applied pressure to Ienzo’s wound. He texted Aerith, in case she wasn’t already on the way. “You still with me?”

“I don’t even feel dizzy.”

“Don’t lie.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “If you die I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“I’m not going to die.” The way he was breathing seemed to betray that. “I’m not finished with you yet.” His eyes rolled a little bit.

“Ienzo.”

“Still here.”

“Don’t shut your eyes.” He had to try again. Demyx pulled harder, tried to find the magic. Blackness swam over him for a minute.

He heard their footsteps before things could get bleaker. He wasn’t sure if it was from trying to use power, or from panic, but things seemed off, his ears ringing. Aerith crouched to heal the wound, Leon crouched to accost the woman. A small, dusty smelling hand patted his cheek. “Come on, kiddo,” said the voice. Yuffie’s face barely slid into focus.

“I’m five years older than you,” he mumbled, and fainted.

He came to about fifteen seconds later when she tipped an ether into his mouth. He drank it all down, flinching at the oily taste. He turned to Ienzo and Aerith--he was pale, his eyes closed--and a strangled sound caught in his throat.

“He’s alive,” Aerith assured him quickly. “He’s alive. He’s asleep. He’s going to be fine.”

“Oh fuck,” he said to the ground. “Fucking--”

“What a day, huh,” Yuffie said dryly.

---

“I do believe Aerith’s instructions were that both of us were to rest. I also believe I don’t need any more pillows. Nor do I need them fluffed.”

Demyx took a step back. Other than being a little pale, Ienzo seemed completely back to himself.

“You’re doing it again,” he said drolly, and took another drink of the blood replacement potion.

“Doing what?”

“Taking care of me instead of yourself. Come to bed. Lie with me.”

Demyx did so.

Ienzo slid his shirt down his shoulder. “See? I don’t even have a scar. So before you exert yourself wittering over me--”

“You took a fucking knife for me.”

He put a finger over his lips. “Which was a calculated risk I knew probably wouldn’t kill me. In the moment, I admit, I was more concerned about your wellbeing than mine--”

“Probably?”

“Demyx. Breathe.”

He tried to listen.

“I’ve seen too many people die this way.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” Ienzo pulled him close.

He cried for a long time.

“I know you want to protect me,” Ienzo continued. “I think it would be easier, and more productive, if we agreed to protect each other instead. Can you agree to that?” He brushed a tear from Demyx’s eye.

“Yes.”

#beyond this existence #demyx #ienzo #zemyx #even #aerith #beyond this existence: new life #idk how this chapter turned out to be 5000 words

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throneoflevin · 5 years

Text

Vengeance

How he hated the cold.

Even as the warmer moons made their way to Ishgard the cold was still present. Ketsuchi let out a long breath of air, watching as it hung visible in the air for a moment before disappearing. He tugged the heavy fur hood further forward over his head to keep his ears hidden from the biting cold. He was grateful the wind had died down, but treading through the snow was still an arduous task. The heavy furs and linens that covered his body had helped to keep the cold away when he began his journey, but now that he neared his destination they did little to stop the chill that had made its way into his very bones.

The Seeker produced a piece of paper from the pocket of his wool pants, unfolding it to check the hastily created map he had been given of the geography. He lifted his head to look around, his eyes darting from one apparent cave to the next. The area was littered with them and checking each one would take him more time then he cared to spend out in the cold. He had passed that mark quite a long time ago, if he was to be honest with himself. Taking his best guess of what the map was telling him, he tucking it back into his pocket to reference later should he need it.

A sloped path just to his right led up to a more narrow cave that was difficult to see had he not been in possession of a map with scattered Xs to mark their locations. This was the one that had been circled...or so he thought. He wasn’t adept at reading maps, especially when they were thrown together in such a manner that made them barely discernible from chocobo scratch. Ketsuchi reached up with his right hand, grasping the handle of the large, jagged-edged blade he wore on his back. The leather restraints held it in place well enough that it was in no danger of falling from his person. With that checked, the Seeker began his ascent of the snow-covered slope that led to the first, and hopefully last, cave he would begin to search.

He realized when he reached the cave that the entrance wasn’t as narrow as he had thought from further away. While still barely wider then a person, he at least wouldn’t have to shimmy his way through it. He reached up with his right hand again, taking hold of the weapon on his back in order to keep it straight so that it wouldn’t bump against the walls as he walked inside. The cave felt longer then it was, but eventually it opened up into a wider cavern that gave him plenty of room to maneuver around. It didn’t take long for Ketsuchi to find what it was he was looking for.

In the wider portion of the cave there was a pack, materials to build a fire as well as a place that looked like it had already been used for those means, and a container that likely contained food of some sort. There was a bedroll, pillow, and a few whetstone lying nearby as well. This certainly seemed like a place someone had taken to living in if only temporarily. The Seeker looked up, noting the ceiling of the cave was open. He was able to look up at the grey, cloud covered sky without any obstruction.

“This must be the place…” He murmured to himself as he approached the camping supplies at the other side of the wide, open space. While there was always the likelihood these supplies had just been left behind, it seemed as if a fire had been burning here not all that long ago. The ground was still singed in places and the darkened area showed signs that something had been burning at least at some point in time. It was difficult to toss all his chips on the table for this wager, especially since it meant waiting even longer in the cold, but the Seeker decided that was what he had to do. So he would wait.

Ketsuchi made his way to the bedroll where he sat down and bent his knees up into his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs and tried to keep them close to hold as much body heat as he could within his body. The cold was almost worse inside this place, but he had no choice but to endure it for a while longer. This was the only place he had been able to connect to the man he was searching for, making it the only thread he had to ensnare the person who had chosen to try to imitate the Seeker’s actions.

Time passed slowly. Ketsuchi didn’t know if it had been a bell or a sun by the time the silhouette of a man appeared at the entrance to the cave. He had nothing to think about other then the cold that he could shake. His eyes lifted slowly to the person walking toward him, settling on the black armor that adorned the man’s body. The Miqo’te could tell by the look it was made of darksteel, the very same as the armor he had used. There wasn’t a doubt that this was the man he was looking for.

The horned, black helm of the man recoiled as Ketsuchi got to his feet. He must have blended in enough that he hadn’t been seen from far away. The Seeker rose to his full height, staring with his mismatched eyes at the armor-clad man down the frozen tunnel. Nothing but the wind made a sound. Neither man seemed intent on breaking the silence...until the armor-clad one spoke up.

“Is that you, Demon?” The words were muffled by the helm and even with the raised voice, Ketsuchi was barely able to make them out.

“Yes, it is. I assume you are the fake then. It takes a lot of courage to impersonate me like you have been doing.”

Ketsuchi’s response was yelled, a sound that carried up and out of the cave as well as toward the man who had reached the end of the tunnel. His heavy blade was visible now, as well as the tail that swung side to side behind him. The furry, blonde appendage gave away that he was a Miqo’te just like Ketsuchi.

Silence once more hung in the air just like the cold. It lasted for a moment before the armored man started to emit a sound. At first, Ketsuchi didn’t realize what it was. It took a few more moments of the sound building before he could make it out. The man almost doubling over helped to give away what was happening: he was laughing. Ketsuchi let out a low growl, reaching up to grasp his own weapon with his right hand.

“...What is so funny?”

The laughter continued until it came to an abrupt and sudden halt. The man straightened up, standing just slightly shorter then the actual Demon. He stood motionless, his head indicating he was likely staring at Ketsuchi. Much like the silence he had broken, it was a swift move that cut the tension between them. He drew his blade and bolted toward the man who had invaded his “home”. The sound of steel on steel reverberated around the cave as Ketsuchi brought out his own blade to block the attack.

“I have been waiting for so long! Finally. Finally I can slaughter you!”

Ketsuchi clicked his tongue, his right hand holding the grip of his blade tight while his left braced the flat back side of it. He felt the blade being pushed back, the power of the armored man overwhelming his own bit by bit. The Seeker dug in his feet, shoving the other Miqo’te away before a flurry of blows was exchanged between the two.

The sound of metal against metal filled the cave. It carried on for quite some time before it finally grew quiet again. A brief break from the flurry of attacks left the two men several fulms from one another. Ketsuchi took the time to take stock of his opponent, something he hadn’t had a chance to do until now.

He wore heavy black armor, adorned with red straps that held the breastplate together. It had jagged points and edges to it. The helm had two large horns as well as the same jagged look. It was exactly the same as the armor he used to wear in his time in Ishgard. It was only now that Ketsuchi also realized something else: the man was uninjured. He hadn’t managed to land a single blow to his armor or the flesh that was beneath.

In comparison the Seeker had taken several strikes. The light chainmail beneath his coats and hides hadn’t helped to protect him from the massive sword. A large wound, though shallow in depth, ran down his right side. A few shallow wounds adorned his arms while a deeper one had found its way into the inside of his left thigh. This wound was the one he could feel even through the numbness of the biting cold. His leg felt like it could buckle at any moment.

“Are you tired, Demon? Is this all you can do? I haven’t even begun to enjoy this yet!” The armored man spoke with an obvious tone of mockery. He had the upper hand and he knew it. The man grabbed his helm by the right horn, pulling it off his head to reveal the face beneath. His hair was long, blond, and obscured most of his face. He had to sweep it back over his head to reveal the eyes that made Ketsuchi swallow a snarl. The radiant, glowing, violet eyes that stared back at him were the same as his right eye.

“...So, you are just a monster as well, huh?” Ketsuchi straightened himself up, taking in a few deep breaths to steady his breathing before he spoke again. “What is it you want from me? You went through a great deal of work to get my attention after all.”

“What do I want from you?” The man let out another cackle, narrowing his eyes and smirking at the Demon. “Isn’t that obvious? I want to play with you for a while before I kill you. I thought that killing that woman of yours would be enough but you didn’t come running like I wanted. I knew you would come eve—“

“What did you say?” Ketsuchi’s voice had grown cold. There was nothing short of rage filling his words as his grip on his weapon tightened.

“You heard me. I killed Y’ashe. She came out here to find the person who was imitating you,” He made a grand gesture of pointing to himself, “me. She came alone, and I killed her. I had some fun with her first—“

Words were not what cut the man off this time but a torrent of violet levin. The storm flashed past him, striking him a few times and leaving pieces of his armor burnt. The maddening look on the man’s face twisted more and more as he let out another fit of laughter.

“There! Finally you resemble the Demon I wanted to kill so badly! I was worried you had forgotten how to truly fight!” The large blade raised to rest on the man’s shoulder as he bent his knees, eyes growing wide as the violet light grew brighter. “I’ve waited for so long to take your life from you! I’ll have my revenge at last!”

Ketsuchi could feel the warmth from his right eye. His aether was swirling inside him and finding every way it could to force itself out of his body. The glow in his eye was just the start as his anger built inside of him. Purple sparks leapt around his body here and there, the emotion getting the better of him.

“...So many people want to see what the Demon looks like. Everyone thinks they understand…” Ketsuchi lowered his head, looking down at the snow while his ears stood tall on his head. “...Very well. If that is what everyone wants, then that is what I’ll do. You took away the only thing I cared about in this world…”

The heat inside him was growing. The anger was building. He felt like his body was on fire, despite the frigid temperature. It took a single moment, just one final thought of letting go, before Ketsuchi launched himself forward. Once more steel slammed against steel, but this time it was the Demon who has the upper hand. Swing after swing connected with his opponents blade, pushing him back toward the wall of the cave. Soon there would be no more retreat, but it wasn’t fear that filled the man’s eyes, but the same look that now filled Ketsuchi’s.

Chaos.

Both men took enjoyment in the fighting, the Seeker’s opponent sending out a flurry of his own purple levin to push back the aggressor. The fight continued, both men trading attacks and strikes of aether until finally both men stood several fulms apart. Both were bloodied now, wounds covering either man’s body. It didn’t seem that one or the other had taken an advantage, and if nothing else, Ketsuchi had made up for the blows he had taken earlier on.

The two charged each other again, blades clashing. Ketsuchi drew back his left hand, aether gathering in his palm as a spear of lightning burst into existence. His opponent tried to take a step back, but it was too late. His foot slipped in the snow and the lance of levin drove itself through his right shoulder. A howl of pain filled the air as he dropped his blade to the ground before recoiling away from Ketsuchi. The Demon didn’t miss a step, striding forward and slamming the hilt of his blade against the man’s nose. A sickening crack came from the impact, followed by another howl of pain. He fell to the ground, and soon the Demon was on him.

His weapon now abandoned, Ketsuchi drove his elbow into the man’s head, sending him down onto his back. The unarmored man set on top of his enemy, raining down punches to the man’s face. His gloves grew bloody as he continued to pummel the man.

“You wanted the Demon! Don’t give up now! Defend yourself! Make this fun!” Ketsuchi yelled out, laughter following his words. A dark, twisted, and depraved laughter. His opponent had managed to raise his left arm in an attempt to defend his face but it was pointless by now. The Demon had no intention of stopping until the man’s head was nothing but a crimson stain on the snow. It was only when the man stopped even trying to defend himself that Ketsuchi got back to his feet.

“Pathetic. Weak. Worthless. That is all your revenge is worth? That is all whatever I took from you meant?!” Ketsuchi’s right eye cast a brilliant purple glow on the blood-stained snow beneath him. The man didn’t move, but he made a sound. It was barely audible, but the Seeker caught it. A laugh that was almost entirely muted by the sound of the blood filling his throat. His face was a mess; he was barely recognizable anymore. His blond hair was the same shade of crimson as the snow beneath his head.

“Death it is then. How dull. How boring. How pointless.” Ketsuchi grabbed his blade, hoisting it into the air as blood ran down his gloves and over the handle of his blade. His knuckles were just as much of a mess as the man he had pummeled, but they would hold for long enough to land one more strike. His hands gripped the handle tight, but before the blade could fall his ears stood straight up again. Behind him.

The Seeker tried to pivot, but it wasn’t fast enough. His exertion had left him too slow to react, and soon a spear of ice had found its way into the right side of his chest. The pain was immediate and immense. Ketsuchi fell to his knees, bloodied hands grasping for the ice once he had dropped his weapon to the side.

“Quite a fitting end to your story, isn’t it Ketsuchi?”

It was a woman’s voice. He didn’t recognize it, but as he lifted his head to stare at the person approaching him he was met with another pair of glowing eyes. These, however, glowed a brilliant blue. The woman grabbed the spear of ice and pulled it free, blood pouring from the open wound before she drew back the spear and struck it against the side of Ketsuchi’s head. He fell to his side, the world spinning as the pain and weakness made its way through his body. He couldn’t sit up. He couldn’t fight back. He couldn’t move.

“You had to know this would happen, Demon. People would gather together to bring you down. You have taken more than your share from us and had it not been for Kikusui we wouldn’t have found the power to stand against you. You had to take her from us as well though...didn’t you?”

Ketsuchi couldn’t make out her face. Darkness was closing in on his vision and what he could still make out was clouded at best. The woman squatted in front of him and pressed the bloodied ice against his forehead. All he could see was the blue light flooding out of her eyes.

“This is what monsters like you get. You deserve to die and you know it.”

The Seeker couldn’t speak. He found it too much effort to even open up his mouth to make a sound. He felt cold. He felt weak. He felt…

Content.

The thought passed through his mind as his eyes finally shut. Sound faded away and the Seeker lay motionless on the ground as blood pooled beneath him. The woman straightened up from her crouched position, looking to the other man that Ketsuchi had been fighting with. There was no need to go check him; he made no movement and his eyes stared up at the grey sky.

“The cold take you both.” She looked once more down at the Seeker with a mixture of emotions in her eyes. The light had faded from Ketsuchi’s as well as her own. It was the look on the Demon’s face that made the woman furious. A smile that was far from his usual sinister face graced his lips. He seemed happy.

“I didn’t think this would feel...so hollow. I feel...nothing.” Her right hand lifted to rest over her heart, turning her head to stare up at the sky. “...This is the price I paid for this power then, is it?”

There was no point staying any longer. Her work was done, the revenge she wanted had been taken and at long last the allies she had made could all rejoice in their victory. Or, so she thought...if any of them still had the ability to rejoice over anything.

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OOC time! Did you really read all of it and get this far? You’re crazy. Well, this took ages to write. I found myself going in and out of my creative mindset, and it ended with the story being a bit disjointed since it took me probably 5 or 6 times sitting down to write it. I wanted to post it all the same as this is my “I’m on hiatus for a while” post. Lots of jobs to level, lots of Shadowbringers stuff to do, lots of...work just kicking my ass.

Some people may know this and some may not, but I have been struggling to write Kets for a while now. I feel like his character was at a point where I had nothing left to do with him. No, I’m not killing him off. I haven’t decided yet what I am going to do with him, but don’t worry, if anything I will be taking a break to try out a new character and I am sure I will move back to him in time. Or I’ll just wake up one day and go “yeah I like my piece of shit asshole” and just jump right back into things. Creativity is weird.

Thank you to everyone who has RPed with me and my damaged boy. Thanks to you who actually read through all this to get this far. I’ll still post some inspiration and what not up on Tumblr, and feel free to tag me as I’ll still be active, but consider this my “I won’t be RPing until the mood strikes me and I have the time” post.

#ffxiv #balmung #balmung RP #writing #ketsuchi #ketsuchi kotetsu #ffxiv rp #the fox and the wolf #a dangerous past

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