#i feel like howl would be less insufferable as a woman

[yehet-me-up]

Reboot

Pairing: Jongdae/Chen x reader (female)

Word Count: 26,971 😬 read it in a mobile web browser if it crashes! 

Rating: (PG13) for swearing + sexy vibes (nothing more explicit than a kiss on the page though)

Summary: Chen’s Electronics is a mystery, both how the store came to be and the man running it. When you start working as a receptionist for the enigma that is Kim Jongdae, you’re determined to be the one who unravels the mystery. You’re prepared for anything, except for falling in love with Jongdae himself. 

Part eight of the Exodus Mall series (Can be read independently, but you’ll get some extra backstory if you read the other parts first!)

A/N: I’m SO delighted that Jongdae is getting his IRL happily ever after and I’m so excited to wrap up his fictional counterpart’s story today, so he can have his ending as well 💕

March 15th, 1997

Capitol Hill is in full swing, the promise of spring drawing the sleeping city from its winter hibernation. The silver dress you wear is far shorter than you're used to, but the denim jacket is big enough to properly cover your ass, which is something at least. In your platform boots, borrowed from your roommate Liz, you're almost tall enough to see over the busy street to Cal Anderson Park up ahead.

'Come on,' Liz says with an excited glint in her eye. 'The club's just on the far side of Boylston.'

You nod distantly, eyes wide as you try to take in all the people around you. After spending the last two years buried in a book in the UW library or at internships or in class it feels startling to realize how much youthful, passionate energy beats at the heart of the city so close to where you've been existing. Not that you never go out, but now that you’re approaching the end of your master’s degree you feel like a diver finally reaching the surface to draw breath. You’re ready to celebrate.

A door opens to your right and music surrounds you. An impassioned man sings about an even flow, accompanied by an aggressive drummer and what you can tell is skilled guitar playing. The people on the sidewalk beside you press in, screaming and cheering and trying to shove their way into a club. A faded sign above announces it as Moe's Bar.

Your roommate's hand finds yours and she pulls you out through an opening in the crowd.

Once you’re free again you laugh and brush your hair behind your ears. Dozens of other clubs and bars and late-night restaurants you pass are the same. Men with mohawks in every color of the rainbow. Women in combat boots with plaid jackets tied at their waists. A group of teenagers skateboard down Broadway, hollering into the night as they fly by, the clack of their wheels muffled by the lingering rain dampening the streets.

Everyone seems taken by the revelry. It would be so easy - to disappear into the thriving mass of people celebrating music and community and being alive. Now, with graduation so close you can finally taste it, you surrender to the sensation. Tilting your head back you look at the round full moon above, peeking out through the clouds, and give a joyful, if tentative, howl.

This makes your roommate turn and squeeze your hand. Liz smiles with pride. 'Now that's the spirit!' she says with a fist pump and howl of her own.

The nightclub is unassuming, especially amongst the neon and metal venues you passed to get here. Two simple brass lamps spotlight the enormous carved wooden doors. Bass thumps from within, the slight rattling of the doors is the only indication that life exists within. Shari’s reads the hanging sign.

Liz practically glows under the lights, a North star leading you into a whole new world.

After so many years of keeping your nose to the grindstone - success gained through effort rather than extraordinary intelligence; advanced classes, extra college courses during the summer, every extracurricular you could pack in before you cracked, a high school diploma by sixteen, bachelors by twenty and MBA by twenty two - you would follow her anywhere as long as it didn't involve studying or a business suit.

She guides you through the heavy wood door into a small entry room. A large man with so many piercings he'd have a terrible time at the security scanners at the airport checks your IDs. It's stayed in your wallet, practically untouched, since the official one came last year on your twenty-first birthday.

Finally inside the club you bite your lip to hide a wide, giddy smile of excitement. Bodies fill the dance floor, joyously swaying to the beat. A DJ booth rises from a far corner like Sauron’s tower in the Lord of the Rings. A man with dark hair that falls in his intense eyes runs the booth; a king commanding his loyal subjects.

Liz finds her group of friends from the mall she works at spread over two successive tables with circular cushioned benches behind them. Their names and faces blur together in the low lighting, but everyone is welcoming, offering you a smile or a shake of a hand. A cheerful blonde-haired man, who you swear says his name is Bacon, takes you and Liz’s coats and purses and adds them to an overflowing pile beside him.

Before you can even think of sitting down Liz guides you onto the dance floor. Normally you’re the one in control. The one with the plan. The group leader or the one who organized the debate team fundraiser/supply closet at work/networking mixer. But it’s… nice, not having to be the center of everything, keeping it together with your effort alone. 

She gives you a teasing smile as if she can read your thoughts and you roll your eyes with a laugh. ‘No overthinking this!’ she commands with a raised brow as you find a good spot.

As if I have any other way of thinking. ‘I promise nothing!’ you shrug and smile at her.

Your movements are slow at first, awkward, and you laugh to yourself with amusement. Self-deprecation has never been your poison. Along with an unshakeable drive to make something of yourself you've always had a healthy sense of self-esteem. Who cares if you aren't the best dancer?

You get into the swing after the second song and shake your ass with delight at the energy in the room and the incredible job the DJ is doing loosening you up. He’s remixing “Semi-Charmed Life” with an older techno hit you don’t recognize.

Before long Jongin, Liz’s crush and co-worker from the KOKO exercise studio, captures her attention and you end up dancing with Baekhyun (tragically not actually named Bacon) and a girl who calls herself Hitchcock. You recognize each other from a seminar last school year at UW and take a long break to catch each other up on your lives over shots at the table. 

She tells you about her dual jobs at Microsoft and the movie theater at the Exodus Mall. You fill her in on your thesis project and she offers to look over your resume as you plan to apply to a similar track at the tech giant after you graduate.

When Liz said she was forcing you from your obsessive, ahem dedicated, studying for your research paper you didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t all of this. Reconnecting with a friend. A potential foot in the door at your dream job. Dancing so much that your back gets slick with sweat. Laughing with Liz so hard your stomach aches as Baekhyun attempts to breakdance, nearly falling backwards into no less than four people.

As if the night couldn’t get any better, something else catches your eye. Someone else - the DJ steps down from the booth on a break.

His black pants, white shirt, and tie would be overly formal and out of place in the nightclub, but his pushed-up sleeves reveal muscled forearms. The neon yellow sunglasses and loose piano pattern of the tie he wears make him look sexy, in an off-duty retro businessman kind of way. His face reveals none of his emotions as he slips off his shades, tucking them in his jacket pocket. But the corners of his lips tilt up with amusement as he scans the room.

Clearly he’s impressed with the atmosphere he’s created here tonight. As he should be, you think. You imagine for a moment what it would be like if he noticed you. If this was a meet-cute or the start of something. But his focus is on the bar now, not lingering on you or anyone else in the club. Dating for you was a rocky road and absolutely nothing like the way it looked in the John Hughes movies that were your guilty pleasure growing up.

Between your parents' support and your own innate thirst for success, you always felt like an outsider in terms of relationships. Extroverted and empathetic enough to make and maintain friendships, but boys were tougher. You could never figure out dating to your satisfaction in high school and you left when most of your peers were just finishing up Sophomore year.

In college there was hope. Studious and hardworking men with glasses and a love of Emily Dickinson and black coffee. Law school-bound guys who rowed crew and whose confidence was just on the right side of attractive instead of insufferable. John Cusack types with easy smiles and crates of vinyl they carefully collected, who performed at the Comedy Underground in hopes of ‘being discovered.’

It was both thrilling and irritating. You went after dating with almost as much determination as you did your school and career, set on experiencing everything possible.

But the English major wanted someone in a pastel dress and tights, who volunteered at an animal shelter and didn’t eviscerate him at Scrabble. The future lawyer was looking for his future trophy wife, to stand beside him at fancy dinners and fraternity mixers. And the Lloyd Dobler wannabe needed a muse, a beautiful and ethereal woman to be his object of longing, to laugh at his jokes and pass through life without worry about the future.

Not that you were jealous, or even bitter. Just because you weren’t what they were looking for wasn’t anything personal and you never took it like it was. The women they wanted existed and were wonderful in all their own ways. But it grated at you, how you always felt like a square peg in a round hole. Never being the right fit.

All your life you’d gotten used to knowing, and getting, what you wanted. It was insanely frustrating to not have found anything that stuck. Failure in any form made you frown, but thankfully romantic mishaps always took a backseat to school, friends, and your future, so it was easy to ignore. Until now.

The DJ passes close enough to you and Liz that you can see the echoes of dark circles under his eyes and the rich brown of his hair in the passing neon lights. For some reason that same intuition, that same hunger and drive that had propelled you to awards and scholarships and countless other successes, tells you to follow him. Whatever it is about him, your body and your desire react before your mind and conscious rational thought.

'I'll be back,' you yell to your roommate over the music. She nods and gives you a thumbs up as she's drawn into Jongin’s embrace once more.

Like a missile you weave through the crowd, target in sight. You watch as the DJ leans against the end of the bar, carefully positioning himself so he's at the end with no one behind him. You wonder if it's out of a dislike of people sneaking up on him or if he's a predator, sizing up the crowd.

With a casual hand he orders a drink from the bartender and surveys the crowd coolly. Too high on life to care too much, you take the seat two over from him, carefully avoiding eye contact, feigning nonchalance. ‘Self-possessed,’ that’s how your fifth grade teacher described you. Independent and old beyond your years. It always thrilled you, the praise and respect of adults. You wanted to earn more of it, to be seen as capable and mature.

But something about the man beside you makes you feel younger. Raw and playful in a way you’re not sure you’ve ever been before.

Admiring the cut of his jaw, you imagine kissing it. His hands on the bar are graceful, strong, befitting his profession. You want him and you want him to want you. The thought makes you inhale a deep breath, not even sure what that would mean. Adrenaline and delight fill your mind and you briefly fantasize about him holding you close on the dance floor like Jongin does to Liz. His hands on your hips and his mouth teasing your neck.

The bartender reappears on your side of the bar, his bald head gleaming in the lights of the club, and you snap back into reality. The flames tattooed across his knuckles shine as he slides a drink down the length of the bar, towards the DJ. An impulsive, reckless daring you've only ever felt before at debate tournaments makes you reach out and catch the glass of dark liquid before it can reach its desired recipient.

In one smooth motion you lift it to your lips and turn to meet the DJ's deep brown eyes. With a smirk you raise the glass. In two gulps you down the drink, the bourbon burning its way down your throat, reminding you how good it feels to be free, to be alive. 

To challenge someone who feels like a decent opponent.

He watches you, his eyes flaring with surprise before fading back to indifference. He looks like a tiger in a cage at the zoo, pacing in front of a glass divider. His fingers tap impatiently on the lacquered bartop and he tilts his head, watching as you lick the moisture from your lip, savoring the taste. You wonder if he'd be just as heady and strong on your tongue.

You have the feeling that with the slightest pressure in the right place and the glass would shatter, unleashing the beast within. The thought makes you clench your thighs together, a heat filling you that has nothing to do with the people pressing in on you trying to get the attention of the bartender.

The DJ seems just as self-contained as you are. A voice inside you whispers of unstoppable forces meeting immovable objects and you wonder which of you would cave first.

Before you can say anything, before you can even wipe the satisfied smile off your lips or ask his name or offer to pay for the drink, he drops a bill to the counter and slides off the stool. He pushes into the crowd, disappearing as if he'd never been there. As if he hardly noticed you.

But you didn't miss the interest, the arousal, the animal within him rising to your challenge. He slinks back up to the DJ booth and resumes his position of power, thirst unquenched.

You don't know his name, or anything about him. Aside from the fact that the way he looks at you feels so wrong it's right, and that his hands are the first ones you've ever wanted wrapped around your waist so badly you can feel it beating in your palms.

But you know one thing, as you rejoin your roommate on the dance floor, whatever has started between you and the enigmatic DJ isn't finished.

May 21st, 1997

You straighten your blazer, looking in the mirror to make sure your outfit is perfect. It’s not your first interview this week and it certainly won’t be the last, but it is the one you’re the most curious about.

The position as a receptionist and accountant for an electronics repair store isn’t exactly how you pictured your first job after getting your MBA, but the pay and the opportunity to work alongside the enigmatic tech genius Kim Jongdae is a chance you can’t pass up.

All that’s left is the graduation ceremony in June and then you’re free. Your final exams are done, your thesis is defended, and you’ve completed a thorough and perhaps slightly obsessive spreadsheet documenting all your connections who might have an in at your most desired companies. Now knee-deep in the process of interviewing for jobs it strikes you all of a sudden that this is what you’ve been working for… almost all your life.

The lighting in the bathroom of the mall is stark and a moment of uncertainty makes your knees weak.

Since your test results in elementary school came back top of the class it’s been the same refrain. Get good grades. Impress your teachers. Study and diversify your interests and push harder every year and eventually it will all pay off, right? You’re damn proud of what you’ve done, but now, here in the after, all you can think as you watch your own reflection is - now what?

Frowning, you wonder how many other applicants there are for this job. Anyone in the tech circle in Seattle knows about Jongdae. Rumors abound that he was set to be the next Bill Gates when an investment deal went south. Or that he was kicked out of Harvard for embarrassing his professors with his superior smarts. Someone in your Econ seminar once told you she’d heard that he was contracted by the NSA to spy on foreign hackers.

Whatever his history, he currently runs a computer and electronics repair store in a very unassuming mall in Capitol Hill. You want to stand out, and what better way to do so than the track down the mystery of Kim Jongdae, the prodigy turned hermit. You infuse your veins with confidence, knowing you can handle anything thrown at you. Or so you think.

The mall is quiet and peaceful in the mid-morning on a Wednesday. A couple of tables in the food court are filled with older men and women playing cards and board games. A group of moms walks past you talking about a storytime at the bookstore in the mall.

The slow and steady hum of activity in here is a far cry from where you thought you’d be working. Professors encouraged you to head to IBM or Oracle. With your skills, business sense, and intuitive ability to pick up each new trend in technology they told you that you would have your choice of opportunities.

But while you’re no stranger to hard work and a competitive work environment, the idea of clawing your way to the top of yet another group of high achievers just sounds… awful.

You long to travel, to finally see some of the exotic and culturally rich places you’ve stuck photos of to your fridge. You want to be able to actually go out on the weekends and see your friends. Whatever your future holds you want to finally enjoy your life outside of school and work, even if it’s only for a year.

You could always recognize the friends who were interning at Amazon because they looked like they’d come off a week of no sleep. Many of your fellow MBA graduates were flocking there, as the company finally went public earlier this month. But something just felt - off to you. Like a canary in a coal mine.

Purpose, fulfillment, financial security, and a challenging work environment? Yes.

Burnout, no free time, and living and breathing for ‘the company’? No, thank you.

At the salary Jongdae had advertised you could easily continue to afford the apartment you shared with your two roommates and work on paying off the remaining student loans your scholarships hadn’t covered. And you could hide away a small amount of your check every month for the trip to Amsterdam you’ve been planning for years.

The gentle music in the wide, bright lobby of the mall makes you sigh in relief. This job is a win-win and you’re more determined than ever to get it.

You finally see the shop. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d have missed it between the black and neon purple exterior of KMS Music and the narrow security office tucked behind the lively pizza restaurant. There’s a line winding its way in front of the music store and you assume it’s for an album release. Until you realize that the line is leading straight where you’re going and stop in your tracks.

Chen's Electronics. The mall is full of colors and bright shop fronts. But this is almost bleak in comparison, as though it's resisted the outright displays of joy and liveliness that seem to be at the heart of the mall. The sign is red neon against a black and steel facade. A simple poster hangs in one of the two wide windows that frame the door.

We do: - Hard Drive Repair - Internet Connectivity Issues - Computer virus protection - Turntables, record players, and other portable home audio systems - Radios - POS/credit card system repair (For stores in the Exodus Mall only)

We do not: - Sell computers or computer parts. Don't ask.

You raise a brow at the last note. The harsh exterior of the store and the brusque tone definitely match with what you've heard of Chen's Electronics - that the man who runs it is a computer genius, but that his bedside manner leaves much to be desired. Perhaps that's why the job posting emphasized 'superior customer service skills.'

The line you join grows, others coming in behind you, and you wonder if Jongdae told everyone the same 10am time frame or if he staggered interviews throughout the day. As you wait the line slowly dwindles. A woman leaves crying a few minutes later, and you watch her go with surprise and attempt to peek into the store. You’re still too far back to see in, so you’re left to wait and wonder.

Finally you’re next, waiting just outside the store. A printed piece of paper is taped to the door. CLOSED FOR INTERVIEWS it says in big, bolded letters.

The tall man who was ahead of you in line isn’t visible at either of the two work stations set up inside the shop. There must be a back room of some kind. You take the moment to check out the space. The store is organized chaos. Rows of shelves line each of the two walls, full of equipment - computers in various states of disassembly, old transistor radios, a VHS player, a few turntables, and endless coiled stacks of cords interspersed.

The walls above them and the two walls behind the work stations, on either side of the hallway leading to the back, are blank. No advertisements or personalized touches to make the business seem welcoming. Just bland, empty beige walls. One desk has only a computer, keyboard, and mouse. The other is full of parts and tools that extend over the desk to not one, but two shelving units behind it. Like Jongdae was in the middle of a project and the interviews are a rude interruption.

A muffled angry shout comes from the back, behind the gray curtain hung up over the entrance to the rear of the store. The tall man moves it aside with a sneer as he charges across the floor. With a voice practically a growl he shoves open the door and you jolt back to avoid being hit.

He looks you up and down and shakes his head. ‘Good luck. You’ll need it.’

After a last straightening of your jacket you swallow and push through the door. It's quiet inside, almost reverent, as the door closes behind you. The fluorescent lighting overhead isn't the most welcoming and the tan carpet is terribly dated. No one comes to meet you. The man on the other side must be waiting, like a dragon in his lair.

Your hand closes over the strap of your purse and you hesitate at the curtain, not wanting to move forward without being invited. 'Hello?'

Footsteps come down the short hallway and a hand appears, moving the curtain out of the way to reveal a man. Your jaw almost drops. Oh, shit. It's not at all who you were expecting the famed Jongdae to be - a studious man with glasses and a bad tie.

No, this man is handsome in an aggressive way. His black hair is styled back in a neat wave. His high cheekbones and strong brows hold no humor or friendliness. Only the catlike upturn of his lips stands in rebellious contrast to his unwelcoming face.

This isn't the first time you've seen this face either, you realize, and it's like being run over by a train. He seems to connect the dots at the same moment and his eyes widen, eyebrows raising. It’s the DJ from the bar. The drink. The - oh, god.

He presses his mouth together, smothering his surprise and sitting down harshly in the chair at the crowded desk in the main room. 'What are you doing here?' He keeps his voice tightly contained, not minding in the least that the other potential job candidates are surely watching you both right now.

You give yourself a small shake and remember you're not here to hit on him. You're here for a job. 'I have an interview.'

Best case is ignoring the whole thing. It didn’t happen. Not here in the light of day. His poker face might be good, but yours is better. You keep your breathing even and hope that the racing of your heart isn’t making your cheeks red.

He tilts his head to the side, pressing his lips together in amusement. ‘Alright then.’ Turning to the side he stands and holds the curtain open, allowing you to pass by him into the small office behind.

Holding his focus, you pull out the chair in front of the desk and sit down. You place the resume and references on the table between you and fold your hands on your lap, waiting.

Jongdae takes his place opposite you as he slides the papers across the desk. His eyes dart faster than you can imagine anyone reading. He doesn’t seem flustered, but the tips of his ears are just slightly pink, his nose flaring a bit too much, and you realize he’s just as caught off guard as you are.

Finally, he finishes. 'I… don't think this is going to work.' He looks up, his hand resting on your paperwork on the desk. His face gives away nothing, but his eyes are wild and full of emotion you can’t decipher.

'Why is that?' You keep your voice steady, determined. He’s not going to dismiss you so quickly. Realizing the DJ and the tech wunderkind are one in the same has only heightened your desire to show him you’re the best person for the job.

Jongdae stares at you. This time, there's heat in his expression. You feel his eyes move over you, not taking in the professional attire, but clearly remembering the dress you wore from the club instead. 'I think you know why,' he says under his breath.

Clearing your throat you lean forward, drawn to him by some force you can't define. Like something is shoving you towards this job. 'I don't know what you mean. The posting was for an office manager and bookkeeper. I'm qualified in both and I have plenty of experience. Are you really going to decide I’m not a good fit without even asking me a single question?'

He groans and runs a hand through his hair, his composure faltering for an instant. 'Why do you want this position? You know nothing about me.'

He states it like a fact, not an opening for discussion, but you jump on it anyway. 'I know plenty.'

Satisfaction blooms in your chest when he narrows his eyes, raising a brow. 'I do my research, Mr. Kim. I’m top of my class at UW and I didn’t get there by accident. With such a small team I could get a far broader experience than I could being just another cog in the machine at Microsoft. I might not know you personally, but your reputation precedes you. I plan to excel in the tech industry. And to do that, I need to work with the best. Simple as that.'

'And I'm the best?' He leans back in his chair. Resting his elbow on the armrest, he drags a finger across his lips in appraisal.

His quick responses remind you of the competitive tennis you played growing up. The way it felt to thrive when paired with an equal opponent, someone who could match your speed and precision. Someone who gave as good as they got. How it made you better, sharpened your skills and reflexes up against someone who you couldn’t easily defeat.

'Are you trying to tell me you're not?' You cross your arms and look around, feigning surprise and curiosity. 'If you tell me who is, I'll happily go apply to be their office manager.'

He almost laughs in amusement. You can feel it. But he covers it as a cough instead and tilts his head to the side, sizing you up. 'And you know what this job entails?'

You repeat it easily from memory. 'Being the face of the business. Greeting walk-in customers. Helping them figure out if what they need is something we do. Conferring with you about pricing. Scheduling service appointments over the phone. Processing payments. Ordering supplies. Occasional advertising assistance. Other assorted duties as needed.'

'That about sums it up.'

In the charged silence you hear the muffled noises of the mall - children squealing with delight, orders being called out at the pizza restaurant next door, people talking - but it's all separated. You wonder if the distance is intentional. Many stores have roll up gates or at least have their doors propped open to draw in customers. But not Jongdae. It’s almost as though he’s actively trying to keep visitors out.

You favor boldness and decide to push him, what have you got to lose? 'So, when do I start?' Leaning forward, you give him a relaxed smile. ‘Unless you’d like to terrorize a few more applicants before you choose me? I’m happy to wait, Mr. Kim. But you can’t scare me away. And you don’t intimidate me.’

With equal decisiveness he cracks a lopsided grin and shakes his head, with both amusement and resignation. 'How's now for you?'

You give a passing thought to the other jobs, the ones you’d already interviewed for and the ones on your schedule over the coming days. They all go up in a whiff of smoke as you extend your hand across the table to shake Jongdae’s hand.

‘Now is perfect.’ His palm is warm against yours and you do your best not to react to the contact, but you can’t help the soft sigh that escapes you.

Jongdae withdraws his hand quickly, and you note with pleasure that he seems a bit shaken as he stands. ‘I’ll be right back. You can leave your things here.’ He motions to the coat hooks on the wall by the door and the tall, thin bookshelf with a few cubby slots.

Aside from a black scarf and a few extra office supplies on two of the shelves the rest of the space is empty. You wonder what he isn't saying. 'What made you want help, all of a sudden?’ He pauses and turns back to you. ‘From what I can tell you've been in business for a few years. Why now?'

He sighs. 'I'm too busy to keep doing this by myself.'

'Ah. And you hate that, don't you?'

The ghost of a smile graces his lips. 'Yes.'

Jongdae disappears through the curtain. You follow him after putting your coat on a hook and your purse in one of the spotless cubbies. The rest of the space contains a few filing cabinets, stacks of boxes, and a small safe resting on a narrow table.

When you appear back into the hallway you see a door to the left that must lead out the back. And on the opposite side is an archway with a kitchen sink, a microwave, a small fridge, and a few cupboards inside, along with a small circular table. The table has only one chair. You smile to yourself. Clearly he's accustomed to doing everything by himself.

When you emerge the other applicants are dispersing as he peels the taped sign off the door, balling it up in his hands.

Jongdae gets you set up on the computer at the other desk. It’s a relatively simple customer management software and payment system, both of which you pick up in no time. He runs you through the pricing list, pulling a laminated form from the top drawer. His filing system for customer accounts is simple and alphabetized.

Neither of you speak about that night again, but oh, do you feel it - the electricity between you when he stands too close or you meet his eyes.

Until lunch he alternates between training you and assisting customers who come in every so often. It's all straightforward, nothing you haven't managed before, and by the afternoon you're already scheduling appointments in the large old-school appointment book he keeps open to the current week.

Despite the passion and intensity in the music he plays, he keeps an even keel throughout his day job. It's almost as if you went to sleep last night and somehow woke up as someone who's worked here for years. Before closing at 5:30 he remembers other things and hands you a packet on the way out. Tax forms, an employment agreement listing the salary and benefits, and a non-disclosure form. Most of it is standard, but you wonder what kind of secrets he needs to protect at an electronics store.

You gather your things and wait outside while he closes down the shop, turning off the lights as he goes. It’s still quite sunny outside and with a shock you realize that there’s nothing waiting for you, now that the work day is done. No papers to write or projects to finish or internship to head to. The idea makes you feel unexpectedly buoyant, and when Jongdae steps out to lock the doors you give him an easy smile.

He returns it, giving you a small one of his own in response. ‘So, I normally take Tuesdays off and keep the shop closed. Wednesdays are normally pretty slow. How does Thursday through Monday sound to you? I know today is Wednesday, so if you wanted to take tomorrow off instead that’s fine with me.’

‘I’m happy to come in tomorrow.’ You want to wince at the eagerness in your voice, but instead you stand firm, holding your purse in front of you with both hands.

Jongdae slides his hands into the pockets of his jacket and nods, looking at you for a long moment before speaking. ‘Sounds great, I’ll see you then.’

You nod at him too, turning back towards the department store to head out to your car. After a beat you look behind you and see he’s still watching. His gaze is unfocused on the floor before he shakes his head, seeming to come back to himself. He heads the opposite direction, towards the movie theater. In a few seconds he’s disappeared behind the pizza place, out of sight.

Jongdae takes the longer route home today. His apartment overlooking Lake Union is the one he grew up in, his grandfather’s place. When he passed away a year ago he left it to Jongdae and it never occurred to him to move. He walks along the water, breathing in the early summer air, wanting to laugh at himself. How long has it been since he let himself be impulsive? To act on instinct. To want something.

He’d settled into a routine these past few years, since everything changed after graduation. Working at the store. Reading. Playing Go and chess with his grandfather and the other older men that lived in the building. They’d go fishing out on the peninsula or to the local symphonies that his grandfather loved. Routine had saved him when his world fell apart once, but now, with his grandfather’s absence, he’s not sure how to pick up the pieces anymore.

The seagulls on the pier are loud today, hungrily gobbling up the bread and Ivar’s french fries tossed to them by the kids gathered around. They giggle and laugh, running to their parents for more offerings. Jongdae frowns for a moment, the sadness that he doesn’t often acknowledge creeping into his heart.

His parents were gone before he really even had a chance to know them. His father to lung cancer, from the awful smoking habit he picked up in the Navy. His mother moved back to Korea to be with her family, unable to cope being in the city without her husband. Jongdae didn’t blame her, but the distance grew and they drifted apart as he became an adult himself.

Jongdae’s father’s father settled here after World War Two, along with a few of his friends. From what he remembers there wasn’t a discussion about it after the funeral - if he’d stay or go back to Korea with his mother. One day when he was young he knew his father had passed. His mother left. And with two duffle bags slung over his shoulders and little Jongdae in his arms his grandfather had moved him into the apartment with the pretty view of the water. 

And that’s the way it was, ever since.

In school his friends might have joked that Jongdae was an old man himself. Doing the New York Times crossword puzzle on Sundays, getting his hair cut at the same hole-in-the-wall barber shop in Chinatown as his grandfather, and hanging out with more octogenarians than people his own age. But he loved his grandfather and the two of them were so close that he never stopped to question whether he should change to fit in with the rest of his classmates.

The only aberration came when he started DJ-ing at eighteen. The crowd he fell in with and the partying he did was short lived; they crashed and burned, went up in flames. Everything else faded as quickly as it had come, but the club scene was his escape and it stayed with him.

These days it feels like the only time he recognizes himself, now that his grandfather is gone, too. Until you walked into his store today, that is. You looked him dead in the eyes, unafraid. Just like the night all those weeks ago in the club when you came up to him, flirted with him and challenged him.

He doesn’t know how to move on with his life.

He doesn’t know what’s next.

But wanting you, inviting you into his life, is going to change everything. He knows it in his bones and for once change excites him, instead of frightens him.

June 18th, 1997

For an achingly slow two hours on Thursday the only sounds in the shop are your typing and Jongdae’s tools hitting the metallic insides of the radio he’s fixing. You should be processing yesterday's supply orders. Or cleaning up the books to get everything ready for the days' billing before you make a run to the bank.

But instead you watch in your periphery the way the muscle in Jongdae’s jaw moves when he's focusing. How his brows pull together and his lower lip sticks out slightly, making him look as though he's perpetually pouting. You wonder if you would have gotten along with him in school. If he was always so... uptight. Or if he was freer, looser. Not that you’re the picture of ease yourself, but he seems to almost vibrate with tension.

You watch as he turns back to the computer, his fingers fly across the keyboard and you admire the absolute focus he shows toward the screen in front of him. The past few days he’s handled repairs and projects for businessmen and women, families, and two gentlemen in suits that screamed ‘government’ to you. He could be repairing a nuclear warhead in front of you and you imagine his expression would remain the same.

His standard white button-up shirt bunches around his biceps while he works. A mischievous part of you wonders what it would take to make his robotic exterior crack again. What it would take for him to show joy or anger or arousal. Emotion from him is a precious, rare thing and you want to grab them when they do show, holding them tightly as proof they exist.

You jolt, realizing the unintended destination your thoughts have arrived at. Arousal. Where did that come from? With a cough and a shake of your head you refocus on the financial statements in front of you.

If you hadn't seen him that night at the club you'd have wondered if he ever enjoyed himself. He wasn't smiling that night, but the music and the dancing and the palpable energy seemed to soften the hard lines of his face. You want to see more of that Jongdae, the one that feels so much closer to who he really is, underneath it all.

However he started in this business, in the tech scene, he works away at it as though it's his sole purpose in life. He's clearly talented enough to fix anything, code anything. You’d asked him last week how he knows what to do, as you looked into a complicated mess of wires sticking out of a broken CPU as though it were gibberish.

All he’d said, in a gruff voice, was that his grandfather liked to tinker and take things apart before putting them back together, to see how they worked, and that he’d picked up the habit.

'Why do you work by yourself?' The sound of your voice is much louder than intended, breaking the hush in the store. You want to swallow the words, unsure why you didn't stop them from escaping. Instead you bite the skin on the inside of your cheek and watch as he lifts his head to look at you.

Jongdae raises a brow. 'As opposed to?'

You stop typing and lean back in your chair. 'You could have worked for anyone, I bet. After you graduated college. I’ve heard a few of the rumors about you. It sounds like you could have done anything you wanted. What made you want to start your own business?'

He mirrors your pose. 'What makes you think I went to college?'

You blink. For so long your parents' idea of a prosperous life - good grades, extracurriculars, graduate from a top college, get a lucrative, secure job - had been so ingrained that it surprises you to imagine that someone like him didn't go to school. 'You didn't?'

He smiles, the dimple appearing briefly in his cheek. 'Alright, fine. Yes, I did. I went to M.I.T. and I, uhm, graduated at seventeen.'

'Seventeen?' The competitive drive that buried itself in your bones early on wants to prove itself to him, awed by the size of his intellect.

'With my PhD.' He winces. Just for a moment, but you catch it.

'Oh,' you say with a stunned laugh.

He goes back to work with a quick shake of his head and a sigh. 'Yeah, that right there is why I don't tell people.'

You’re surprised by his assumption that you’d view it as a bad or repulsive fact. 'It's amazing. You should be proud of it. Why would you want to keep that a secret?'

His lip pouts again and irrationally you think about what it would be like to kiss him. 'Because now you'll look at me differently. Like I'm some kind of freak of nature.'

'I don't think it makes you a freak.' Your answer is immediate and emphatic.

'Oh really?' He gives you a side-glance, keeping his tone neutral.

'No, it makes you a genius. And intelligence is never a bad thing. Quite the opposite, in fact.' It does nothing to help the attraction you feel for him. Rather than dousing the flames, it pours gasoline on them.

'Tell that to -' he stops himself, pressing his lips together. The bitterness in his voice makes you jerk back in your seat. ‘Nevermind. It was a long time ago. Forget I said anything.’

But you can fill in the gaps, no stranger to the judgement of others. 'Clearly you need better friends.'

He blinks, vulnerability filling his eyes. 'Like you?' His expression softens and he gives you a half-smile.

You blush, realizing what it must look like that you’re so passionate about defending him. 'Sorry, I didn't - all I mean is that it’s attractive.’ You curse yourself and cough delicately, trying to appear impartial. ‘An attractive quality. I just got my master’s and I thought I was advanced for my age. So I just meant to say… I get it. And you’re not a freak.’

The moment stretches out between you, the air in the space seeming to pause. The muted, reverent silence fills the distance once more. But this time it’s charged, tense. Waiting. He breathes in deeply, the shirt he wears stretching across his chest and yet again you long to touch him. For a beat his gaze drops to your lips and he swallows, opening his mouth to speak.

But he’s interrupted by the door opening. The ding of the motion sensor makes you both jolt, turning to see who it is. An older woman comes in carrying a heavy looking bag. She coughs and leans against the door to rest.

Jongdae bolts up from his desk, clearing his throat. 'Here, let me help with that.'

He bows to her with a warm smile, holding his hands out to take the bag. She nods and Jongdae slings the bag over his shoulder, wincing when it collides with his back. With a gentle arm around her back he helps her into the chair opposite his desk.

'Thank you, young man,' the woman says with a smile.

'Not at all,' Jongdae says, resuming his post on the stool. 'How can I help you today?'

You're certain your mouth has fallen open. To difficult customers he's brief, almost condescending, and for the nice ones he’s reserved and polite, but nothing like this. For over an hour he patiently connects the woman's computer to his power strip and walks her through how to use it. 

Again and again he shows her the links and how to work the web browser. Installs a complimentary virus protection program. Makes sure she can find the Solitaire application she loves. And only charges her $20.

But after she leaves the next customer is a businessman dressed in what looks to be a very expensive suit. Jongdae spends the laughably short visit practically sneering at the man. And he charges him at least twice what it says on the pricing list he gave you.

As soon as the door closes you release the laugh you’ve been holding in. 'You know, for someone who runs a business, you seem hell bent on driving some of your customers away.'

He shakes his head, hair falling in his eyes. 'He was a moron. You don't buy the Rolls Royce of computers if you don't know how to drive it.'

'So the only exception here is kind old ladies?'

Jongdae barks out a laugh, meeting your gaze and looking younger than you’ve ever seen him. 'Exactly.'

June 28th, 1997

Moments after you walk out the door for lunch during a bustling Saturday it pings again, announcing yet another customer. This one is probably his scheduled twelve o’clock appointment, Jongade thinks as he looks distractedly at his watch.

He turns to greet them and his entire body recoils. 'What do you want?' Jongdae practically hisses, but he keeps his tone even with all his might.

Since you’ve taken over scheduling Jongdae hardly looks at his calendar anymore. If he’d known Julian Danforth was seeking his help he would have told him to fuck off. Unfortunately Jongdae’s hesitation in talking about his past means you could have no possible idea how much the man standing before him used to matter.

Julian strolls in with a computer in his arms and a smugness on his mouth that Jongdae wants to punch off. His sunglasses are perched on the top of his head and his khaki shorts have neatly pressed lines, clearly not done by the man himself, who drips with privilege.

He'd thought these feelings were long buried, but they roar in Jongdae’s chest. The friendships and the future he almost had are now scattered behind him like a trail of carnage, all the fault of this man. The burn of sadness and embarrassment that fills Jongdae’s stomach was supposed to be gone, relinquished to ashes. But seeing one of his former best friends again Jongdae feels like he's ten years old, stuck in a class with far older students. Young, inexperienced, an outcast.

‘Good afternoon to you as well, old friend.’ Ignoring the daggers Jongdae is staring at him, Julian steps forward, setting the computer down on the desk. 'Like I told the woman on the phone I'm having a problem with some computer virus.'

He says it like it’s a slimy, living thing that had crawled into his machine. Displeasure colors his expression; annoyed at the mere thought that his money and status don’t render him immune from such commonplace problems. ‘You know I don’t trust anyone else with my system.’

After what you did I should smash your computer open. Jongdae doesn't speak as plugs the machine into the power strip he rigged to his desk, not willing to risk what he’ll say.

It's a far more expensive model of computer than most of his clients bring in. Those who purchase such a high end version fall into two camps - enthusiasts like himself who know what they're getting, or the rich and famous who buy them as status symbols and have no clue how to work them. Julian, unfortunately, falls into the latter category.

The computer starts up and Jongdae’s mind goes into work mode, tuning out Julian. The virus has rendered it unusable, only a blur of symbols and lines of code flit across the screen. None of the normal exit keys brings up the desktop. Jongdae purses his lips and slides in the floppy disk he keeps beside his own monitor, an anti-virus he designed.

He leans into muscle memory as he runs through the start up and sets the program to do its job. With any luck the idiot just found some simple malware from some incredibly obvious email spam or downloaded a bug on a porn site. In all social and business sense Julian is a shark; he'd never have fallen for such an obvious scam in real life. But when it came to computers and technology he was hopeless, and thus Jongdae had come into his life years ago.

'How long have you been set up here?' Julian asks with a dismissive glance at the machines and equipment stacked on the shelves.

'Why do you care?' The question comes out harsher than he intends, but the emotion isn't entirely unearned.

Once upon a time he and Julian met in Seattle, after Jongdae was fresh out of M.I.T. and Julian had flunked out of yet another University. They were determined to build a business together. If he had more energy Jongdae would wear this store and his reputation proudly, built from no family connections or money, just his own intelligence and drive. After how thoroughly Julian severed Jongdae’s life he should rub his success in Julian’s face with pride.

Instead he ignores him, determined to move on.

The program finishes its run in rapid time, as though it knows how quickly Jongdae wants this moment to end. The virus dissipates and the desktop loads like normal. He's tempted for a second to indulge his curiosity to see what Julian has been up to. Last he knew Julian had gone to work at his father’s investment bank, dreams of standing on his own cowed by the reality of the world outside of his comfortable bubble. Without Jongdae there’s no way the business and the program held up to scrutiny. 

For a second Jongdae stares at the screen, remembering how good it had felt to have found his people. Tech nerds, hungry to build something that would change the world. Julian, who wanted to cast off his father’s legacy and strike out on his own. Julian’s girlfriend Marissa and her soft heart, who wanted to help people. Their friend Albert, with the plan. 

Once he knew them so well he hardly knew where he ended and they began. But now, all these years later, they’re strangers.

Jongdae looks up and watches Julian as he absently admires the collection of turntables on the wall behind the desk. He knows Julian well enough to know this might be an act of contrition, his way of bridging the gap he created to reach out the olive branch of friendship once more. But Jongdae’s curiosity already killed the cat once, spectacularly, and he has no desire to repeat the mistake.

He unplugs the machine and watches the screen go dark, shoving it with both hands across the polished wood surface towards Julian. 'There. It's fixed.'

For customers who are far more polite and far less acquainted with Jongdae he might have explained what caused the virus or recommended an anti-virus software or even shared best practices to avoid getting one in the future. But, for Julian, he'll do what he was hired for and nothing more.

Julian stands and clears his throat uncomfortably. 'How much do I owe you?' A hint of guilt as he pulls out his wallet.

The motion reminds Jongdae of vacations to Marissa's family home in the San Juans or partying with Julian, Albert, and the rest of them in Capitol Hill. When they turned on him it was like the sun went out. He managed to take his pride and his love of music and DJing and escape. Once Jongae rebuilt his life the doors to the past firmly closed.

Anger finally peeks through as he waves a dismissive arm at Julian. 'I don't want your money. Not spending a second longer in your company will be all the payment I need.' He stands as well. Their business today is done and he lets his memories of the past fall before him like ashes.

An awkward beat passes between them and finally Julian breaks eye contact. With a nod to the ground he pushes out the door and disappears, carrying his computer.

He breathes out a sigh of relief, folds his arms, annoyed at how his position and his continued presence here in Seattle occasionally brings him into contact with people like Julian. He should have moved, he thinks. Gone to Singapore or Berlin or London or New York. But for some reason, he stayed.

Through the front window he watches you laugh with your friends in the food court and smiles to himself, thinking of how you call him Scrooge. It should unnerve him, how quickly seeing you or speaking to you or simply thinking you makes his day better, more hopeful; chases away the shadows that linger in his mind when he's left alone for too long. No, left alone isn't the right word. When he isolates himself.

Jongdae doesn’t really know you, not yet. But already he wants to make all of your dreams come true, he wants to make them real. 

The thought is so sentimental and kind and soft that it brings him up short. He bites the inside of his lip and tries to fight the warm feeling in his chest as he watches you laugh. But as he resumes his work he acknowledges that maybe there was a reason he stayed in Seattle, after all.

The mall is packed during lunch; it’s one of the only days you and your roommates and Hitchcock all work together so you’ve christened it Saturday girl’s lunch time. But Baekhyun and Chanyeol of course crash in, as they always seem to. Loud and raucous and happy. Others from their wide circle of friends drop by to grab slices or to make plans for tonight.

Baekhyun sticks two straws in his nose and makes what are probably very scientifically inaccurate walrus noises. As you laugh so hard you almost snort you can’t help but feel like something is missing. Someone is missing. You look back to the shop, drawn to Jongdae as always.

He works away, resuming his repairs after chasing another customer away with his attitude. You sigh, watching the blonde preppy man carry away his enormous computer, muttering to himself. You rest your foot on the edge of your chair and drop your chin to your knee. From this angle, surrounded by the stark design of the store and the fluorescent lights from above, Jongdae looks like he’s trapped inside of a screen himself.

You bite your lip, debating. He’s made it clear that whatever happened between you at the club isn’t something he will discuss, or repeat. But friendship? Community? You work together five days a week and it wouldn’t kill him to get out of his enclosure once in a while. It’s done you good this month, to be out and about with people. Like you can finally breathe for the first time in a long time. And you decide that it’s high time Jongdae do the same.

Liz and Jane, your roommates, call you ‘determined.’ But they say it in a way that clearly means ‘like a homing missile,’ when you want something. Your nature has served you well; you can cut through the bullshit and figure people out almost instantly. It’s helped you both professionally and personally. Allowed you to know immediately which friendships would last, which ones were worth the effort.

Maybe it’s how Jongdae looks like an island, all alone in the shop. Maybe it’s the large Coke that infused you with far too much caffeine. Maybe it’s your insatiable curiosity. But you can’t keep watching him from afar, not when there’s something you can do about it.

‘I’ll be right back.’ Pulling on your denim jacket, you march over to the store. You lean inside the glass door, holding it open with your shoulder. ‘Hey, you.’

Jongdae looks up at you, confusion tugging his brows together, making him befuddled in the cutest way. You tell yourself to stop thinking of him like that, even if you want to.

He blinks and refocuses on you. ‘Back already?’

‘No, but we’ve got more than enough pizza. Why don’t you join us?’ You grin, making a show of looking around the empty office. ‘It’s finally slowed down, and you deserve a break.’

‘I’m on a deadline with this.’ He gestures to the modem that is scattered around him.

You fold your arms and lean against the door. ‘You can fix that in twenty minutes. I know you.’ He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. ‘And before you throw another excuse you should know I’m very persuasive when I want to be. I don’t think you have another option.’

Jongdae barks out a laugh, dropping the tools in his hand to the desk with a thud. ‘Determined to drag me from my lair, huh?’ He holds your gaze, his expression filling with something akin to heat. Finally he gives you a rueful smile. ‘You’re not going to give up on this, are you?’

You meet his eyes and raise a brow, smiling with satisfaction. ‘Nope. Absolutely not.’

The certainty on his face turns into sadness, so fast you can’t be sure it was really there. Then he closes off and he’s quiet, more so than normal. ‘It doesn’t come easily to me.’

Wondering what could have changed so quickly you step forward, letting the door close behind you. ‘What, pizza?’

It shakes you how desperately you want to know. To peel back his skull and see inside his brain, just to understand what makes him tick. His history and where his future is headed. That small voice inside you whispers that once you figure it out, it still won’t make you care less about him.

‘Friends.’ He says it on a gasp. Looking at the floor fixedly, avoiding your eyes, he seems haunted.

The silence surrounds you both and he finally meets your focus again, chewing on the inside of his cheek. The pieces start to come together. He’s intelligent, preternaturally so, and so advanced in school you can’t imagine he’s had much experience with people his own age. And now that he’s in his mid-twenties he’s built himself a fortress. Close enough to the rest of the world, but distinctly separate.

Irrationally you want to reach across the space and wrap his hands in yours. Tug him into your growing group of friends and fix the ache in your chest his expression gives you. Not sympathy and certainly not pity, but some sensation that’s like butterflies in your stomach. But- he’s your boss. You’re not his keeper and you don’t think whatever dangerous emotion lives in you is what would help him.

He’s not yours and you don’t have the right to push, much that you want to.

‘Ah,’ you say. ‘I see. Well, more often than not we have Saturday pizza out there. The offer always stands. I’ll leave you be if you want to be alone, but just -’ you swallow and give him a tentative smile. ‘Just know that we’d be happy to have you join us. I’d be. Uhm. Happy if you joined us.’ It comes out in a rush and you groan.

With a shake of your head, an uncharacteristic gesture of uncertainty and embarrassment, you wave at him and push back out the door into the noise of the mall.

It’s a shame you don’t turn back. Or no, he thinks, it’s better this way. Jongdae feels far too much for you to keep it contained behind his normally stony expression.

You seem like the kind of person who would take that moment of openness and pull on it, until he unravels in front of you. Fear tells him you would take everything and when you're gone he'd be even more alone than before, now that he knows what it's like with you here.

Looking out through the glass he watches you rejoin the lively group. Always he’s felt like a science experiment, or some kind of circus exhibit when he was growing up. If he didn’t have his grandfather’s steady support and gentle guidance he surely would have become even more isolated.

With a shake of his head, he attempts to refocus on the project at hand. For some reason it doesn't fill him up like he wants it to, his usual joy and satisfaction is missing when he picks up the screwdriver once more. This is where he thrives. Computers and the internet and coding.

To other people it's a labyrinth, impossible to figure out. A world and a language they can speak and learn with effort and intention and study. But to him it's always been as easy as breathing.

His grandfather took his skills from the military and parlayed them into a business as a prolific handyman. It was the world they shared. A place where Jongdae’s creativity and his intelligence could soar. Anything he wanted to build or make, he could. Coding a rudimentary game to pass the time after school, when he could hear the neighborhood kids playing soccer outside.

It took him many wonderful places that he wouldn't have been able to reach if he was, for lack of a better word, normal. As a child and even in school it was so easy to hide behind his grades and his projects and the pride and hope of the adults around him. But now, at twenty five, there’s nothing to keep him hidden anymore.

When lunch is over you return and join him with a nod. He hopes you don't regret asking. He nearly hopes you'll try again. Maybe next Saturday.

For how confident he feels in some spaces - DJing at Shari's, here in his ‘lair’ - at the thought of joining a group of friends he feels again like a nervous thirteen year old sitting in his first college course. Like everyone around him knew how to do things he couldn’t comprehend.

He keeps his thoughts and his feelings to himself; he’s already shared more than he planned. But you draw him back into conversation easily enough, asking about the afternoons orders to be picked up. You don't shy away from him or give him an angry offended air. Inexplicably you still look at him warmly, openly, and he wants more than he's dared to let himself want in a very, very long time.

July 11th, 1997

He doesn't normally leave the office at lunch, preferring to eat his meals in his back office alone, but today Jongdae braves the food court.

It’s a Friday not a Saturday, but it’s a start. He makes brief, yet friendly, conversation with Chanyeol at the pizza place. The taller man smiles at Jongdae, easily, as though he doesn’t second guess the action. He asks if Jongdae had caught the Mariner's game over the weekend and they talk about how Griffey might finally lead Seattle to a World Series this year.

For once he doesn't feel like going back to the office and burying his head in his work. Jongdae awkwardly pulls out a chair in the cluster of tables between the bookstore and the record store. As he takes a bite of his pizza he hears a familiar laugh. Turning around he sees you through the glass of the bookstore.

You speak to the woman who owns Greyhame Books, standing beside someone he thinks is possibly called Jane. It all seems so… easy for you. Tucking your hair behind your ear you lean against the counter, discussing the stack of books in front of you with your friends.

Jongdae gives a rare laugh to no one but himself.

When he imagined hiring an accountant and administrator for his flourishing business he thought he'd get someone older. A person with experience and a similar level of wanting to be left alone. They could ignore him and he could ignore them, delegating filing and payments and customer questions and not have to think about them again.

An employee was supposed to reclaim the silence and peace that his work used to bring. Technology is so much simpler and predictable than humans and he’d really prefer to cut other people out of the equation entirely.

But you are the opposite of simple, and you absolutely aren’t someone he can ignore. From the moment he recognized you he knew he had to hire you. With your intensity and your impressive resume and the way your mouth pulls to the side when you’re trying not to smirk.

He doesn't regret it. But he feels raw in a way he hasn't allowed himself to in years. Jongdae doesn't let people get close. Not anymore.

'Hey, Jongdae!'

With a pizza slice halfway to his mouth Jongdae spots Junmyeon approaching, waving, a large Starbucks drink in hand.  He wants to turn away and hide in his pizza. He isn't good at this - making friends. For months Junmyeon has asked him to join in their monthly networking events here at the mall, or asked him to get a drink at Flanagan’s after work to chat. Jongdae’s all out of excuses.

He imagines his life as a circuit board. There’s his life now - pieces and wires scattered around him - and there’s the life he could have. If he’s brave and if he tries. He imagines the pieces fitting together and what they might build. He wonders if you might fit in, if you’d want him or let him.

His knee is jiggling and he’s nervous, but he takes a deep breath and waves back. ‘Hey Jun! Want to join me for a bit?’ Jun’s expression is surprised - the man doesn’t know how to keep back any of his emotions. ‘If you have time, I mean. No pressure.’ He stutters, pulse racing and cheeks reddening.

Jun grins and sits down opposite him. ‘Absolutely. About time! I thought you’d turn me down forever,’ he laughs. ‘Thanks again for helping me with that broken radio last month. You’re a pro. So, how’s business?’ He sips his coffee and waits patiently.

They can talk about business, something so easy? Jongdae wants to laugh with relief. Maybe he can do this after all.

Junmyeon is amused.

After ten minutes of talking shop with Jongdae he watches as you and Jane leave the bookstore next to their lunch spot. He’s owned a business two doors down from Jongdae for years, but he’s never seen him smile before. When you pass by it’s like someone flipped on a light switch. Jongdae has always been somewhat quiet, somewhat serious, except when he DJs. Now he sits straighter, his face softens, and his eyes fixate on yours like a magnet.

The two of you claim the other seats at the table, showing off the books you purchased. In between sips of his coffee Junmyeon balances his own flirtation with Jane and observing - okay, spying - on you and Jongdae.

He’s warmed by not just the caffeinated beverage. There’s a soft energy here- It’s a warm summer day and he’s discussing books, one of his all-time favorite topics. His mind whispers the words ‘double date’ and he smiles to himself for a moment before blinking.

“Are you alright?” Jane asks, gently resting her hand on Junmyeon’s wrist on the table.

He blushes and gives her a reassuring nod and asks if she’s read the Octavia Butler book on top of her stack yet. It’s an attempt at distraction and he knows it. But thankfully Jane’s eyes crinkle in the corners when she talks about the author, not pausing or seeming to notice the way he was fantasizing for a beat.

Across from him you and Jongdae are arguing about the merits of Isaac Asmiov. Jongdae is more articulate, more animated, more alive than he’s ever seen him. Gesturing emphatically and saying something about how robots are friends, not foes as you interrupt him by reminding him about Terminator. Neither of you seem to acknowledge the attraction between you. It’s been months since you started working at Chen’s, if Junmyeon remembers correctly.

In his periphery he sees Temptation, the chocolate store, and thinks of how Yixing and his girlfriend met on the job. One of his favorite poems mentions how love mirrors the lover; that everyone falls in love in a way akin to their personality. Yixing, passionate and insatiable and spontaneous, fell for Lavender in minutes and days. He saw what he wanted and after a slight pause to make sure it’s what Lav really wanted, he made the move.

Jongdae is nothing if not the complete opposite. Calculating and reserved and inscrutable.

His potential new friend is falling, if the lingering looks he gives you and the way he’s almost touched your shoulder not once but twice are any indication. But it’s a mystery to Junmyeon if, or when, Jongdae will ever make a move. You aren’t the same kind of romantic as Yixing’s girlfriend, someone playful and open with your emotions. You’re driven and witty and warm in your own way. Clearly you care for Jongdae, but in a quieter sense.

Junmyeon imagines this will be a marathon of love, not a sprint.

Eventually lunch hours end for all of you. There’s clients to see and paperwork to do and as he waves to you and Jane he wonders what will become of you and Jongdae. If you’ll stay as co-workers, always flirting and secretly wondering what might be. Or if either of you will push the other into action. The chess board is laid out, pieces waiting to be moved. It might just be his imagination, but Junmyeon hopes that one of you gets the game going.

He does also, perhaps, focus on you and Jongdae as a way to ignore how his own heart beats a bit faster around Jane. How he can’t stop staring at her dimple when she smiles or the head tilt she gives him when she’s really listening. Like he’s the only person in the world. No, he absolutely doesn’t think about Jane’s feet i n his lap as they both read on the couch in his living room. He doesn’t wonder what it would be like to kiss her or hold her hand. Absolutely not.

Instead he invites Jongdae to the monthly Settlers of Catan night he has with Minseok and some other folks from the mall. Much safer territory than wondering about his own love story and if still waters truly do run deep where he and Jane are concerned.

August 11th, 1997

On a surprisingly rainy yet unsurprisingly dead Monday morning Jongdae forces you away from your insistent attempts to organize his paperwork to the market a few streets over. The quiet bakery on the hill above Pike Place has a view of the misty Sound beyond. He sits close beside you, carefully keeping his knees away, lest he bump yours and you do the same, perhaps letting them linger a moment each time they collide.

It’s nice here, you notice suddenly, as you take the first sip of your coffee. The smell of dark roast and fresh almond scones. The breeze coming in through the open door. The soothing, distant sound of jazz from the overhead speaker. The pleasant warm lighting, far different than the aggressively bland fluorescent kind he chose for Chen's. Everything puts you at ease, wraps around you the way you wish Jongdae’s arms would.  

'This place reminds me of Amsterdam.' You smile, looking down into your cappuccino to avoid Jongdae’s eyes.

‘Have you ever been?’ he asks, voice softer than it normally is.

With a shake of your head you trace the edge of the teal and white ceramic cup in front of you. ‘No, but I’ve seen pictures. I used to love photo books growing up. Atlases and travel guides. It’s always been my favorite section of the library.’

He hums for a moment, considering. 'If you could go anywhere in the world, is that where you'd choose?'

Tucking your hair behind your ears you bite your lip to avoid grinning at him. He’s making you remember long-forgotten parts of yourself. Before school and work became the end point, the be-all end-all that your life was funnelled towards. Back when you imagined exploring every country on the planet. Taking photos and making memories. A long time ago, in the days before you realized how expensive it is to actually be a wanderlust-filled adventurer.

Finally you look at him. Something in his irises makes you swallow; an endless, nameless emotion that lives in him you can never seem to place. Elusive and frustrating and tempting all at once.

‘Yes,’ you admit. Voice dry and heart racing you look back to your coffee in avoidance. ‘It’s my dream to travel there. I’m a bit obsessed with it, really.’

'You? Obsessed?' Jongdae smirks, a boyish grin you want to cover with your own mouth.

You roll your eyes, tracing the handle of your mug. 'Hush. It's such a beautiful city with all the canals and the architecture and history, and the food is to die for. Every quaint European city fantasy in one. What about you, have you done much traveling?'

He shakes his head. ‘Not personally. But - my grandfather went everywhere in Europe, after the war.’ His admission is so quiet you almost miss it. But it’s as if your soul is waiting for every crack in the door to Jongdae you can find, and you don’t pass up the opportunity. ‘What was he like?’

It happens sometimes, when you’re working together. The times there’s no customers around and the mall gets empty and you can’t help but be aware of him. Against your skin and with your hands, eyes feasting on him when the rest of you is forbidden from doing so. In the moments when he isn’t putting on airs of being the tech mogul or the reclusive jerk or the awkward, secretly friendly nerd around Jun or Minseok.

Those times when Jongdae meets your eyes and you see the real him, beneath it all. Wanting and alone and scared. Your breath catches in your throat just as it does now and you long to ask him plainly if he feels the way you do. Being honest with your words and not just your jokes or looks out the corner of your eyes when you catch him watching you too.

But those feel too fragile, too dangerous to utter. So instead you ask him about his family, someone close enough to Jo ngdae’s heart to glimpse the core of him; like a sun during an eclipse you can only look for a moment, lest you get burned.

'My grandfather?’ Brows furrow, the corners of his cat-like lips tilting down for a moment. You nod gently, cupping your drink for something to occupy your hands.

Jongdae looks out at the water for a moment, his mouth tugging to the side as he ponders. ‘You know when you finally solve a puzzle you’ve been working on for ages? Hours of struggling to find the right combination and finally it’s all laid out, perfectly in alignment.’

You nod, trying not to smile and ruin the moment, but softened by him nonetheless. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’

When his gaze lands on your hands he pauses, like he’s wondering if the two of you might fit in a similar way. But it’s gone before you can grasp onto the moment. Sadness colors his features then. Not the aching kind that gnaws away like a feral monster, leaving nothing in its wake, but the beautiful, bittersweet sadness of a love greater than grief.

His voice is thick when he next speaks. ‘My grandfather was that person for me. We just - fit. He understood me better than my parents did. More than any of my classmates or the few people I’ve ever gone out with. We didn’t even need to speak.’ Jongdae pauses and taps his fingers on the counter.

You give in and reach for his hand, not to hold it - not yet. But to cover it with your own for a moment of understanding, of comfort.

He smiles at you, the crease between his brows disappearing for a moment. ‘He was fifty one years older than me and he was my best friend.’

‘I’ll bet you miss him quite a lot?’ You realize how incredibly inadequate the sentiment is and shake your head, moving to withdraw your hand. ‘Sorry - that’s - of course you miss him.’

But Jongdae doesn’t let you retreat. With his free hand he holds yours in place. Warmth floods your body from the connection point and you’re unable to take your eyes off him. ‘It’s alright, I know what you mean.’ He traces your thumb with a barely there motion, seemingly without intending to. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’ You ask, a bit breathless and unable to mind.

‘For always asking. For always listening.’ He says it simply, as though it’s a novel concept. Perhaps, given what you know of his life, who he is, not many people dare to ask. Or bother to listen.

Soon paperwork and customers and regular life draw you back to Chen’s Electronics. He doesn’t mention the way you reached for him and you don’t either. But when you go to leave that afternoon Jongdae holds out your jean jacket for you to slip on. And when you thank him he gives you the soft, secret grin you’ve learned he saves only for you.

On the way home you think that Amsterdam might be the most beautiful city you can imagine, but that it pales in comparison to a hole-in-the-wall cafe in Seattle, as long as Jongdae is seated beside you.

September 9th, 1997

The summer turns into fall and one Monday evening, seemingly without his noticing, Jongdae realizes that his appointment book is full to bursting.

On Tuesday night he's playing Settlers of Catan with Minseok, Bookworm, Kyungsoo, and Junmyeon. They meet up in the food court after the mall closes at nine, second Tuesday of every month.

Wednesday he has lunch with Jun and some other business owners in the mall for their monthly networking/commiserating 'sesh' as Yixing calls it. That afternoon he's promised to help Minseok install the new upgrades to his store's database software that 'make him want to rip out his hair' in exchange for a few coveted LPs Jongdae's had his eyes on for a 70’s/grunge remix set at Shari's.

Thursday night there’s a L.A. Confidential screening at the theater that Baekhyun talked him into, after their argument about whether or not Russel Crowe could actually act or if he was just handsome.

Saturdays are pizza and raucous laughter to break up the busy weekends full of work and clients and deadlines, followed by long nights of DJ-ing and circling you as if you are a sun, drawing him in with the pull of your gravity. He’s merely a comet attracted by the force you give off and he’s not even upset at the realization.

Sehun, Jongin, and Yixing practically bribed him into joining their 'Sunday morning brunch and biceps' workout group, saying that they need a fourth and everyone else is normally sleeping off their hangovers or works the opening shift.

It’s other people’s names all over his schedule, but what he feels is you. Everywhere, all over him. He knows it’s you. Not intentionally, perhaps. But you opened a door for him with your ease and generosity. One Saturday pizza lunch and somehow he’s gotten to know more people in two months at the mall than he had in the years before combined.

You’d wave him off if he mentioned it or thanked you. With that adorable tilt of your head you would smirk and tell him that all he has to do is give people a chance. That they don’t bite.

Irrationally he wants to do things for you - not just as a friend but in the romantic sense - like buy you flowers or have you by his side at Thursday movie screenings or take you to Amsterdam, just to watch you bloom among the flowers. But that would be… crazy, right? He sits in his favorite armchair unable to focus on the book in front of him and runs agitated hands through his hair.

He’s not your boyfriend or your partner. He’s your boss or your co-worker and possibly your friend. Why does he think of holding your hand and walking along the canals of some foreign city every time you look in his direction?

Why does the once-comforting quiet of his apartment feel more and more empty when you’re not laying on the couch across from him, reading and teasing him? Why does he wake up and wish that someone besides himself filled his bed? Someone with your expressions and your joy and your stubborn insistence.

He briefly makes a mental note to ask Yixing how he ended up dating Lavender before suddenly tossing the book to the floor, standing with a groan.

‘What a ridiculous idea!’ he yells aloud to the empty apartment. Jongdae paces circles in the carpet of his living room and wonders if part of being in love is going slightly insane, if everyone who manages to do so finds the madness enjoyable or if love is simply folie à deux?

He looks at his calendar, spread open on his grandfather’s old, wooden desk and tries to comprehend how his life could be so different one year to the next. Like he’s grasping at straws or wisps of air. Aside from work and his grandfather and music, what did he have before? The occasional alumni event or guest lecture at his alma maters?

For a minute his chest feels too full to breathe, unable to let in anything more. Panic tugs at him for a second. It’s too much, all at once - too many people and too many events. Too many opportunities to mess up and these people? He can’t sever his life completely like he did from Julian and his friends. They're so connected to this space he's made his business in. What will happen when he inevitably falls out of favor with them?

He imagines himself shunned and the idea hurts worse than before. Back then he had chosen isolation; to have it thrust unwillingly upon him, unasked, is too much to comprehend.

Once he walked naively into friendship, believing it was easy and that it would last. That there was no rug that would be unceremoniously swept out from under him. But people change, faster than he can believe.

Jongdae sits on the floor, his pajama pants brushing his crossed legs, and forces himself to steady his breathing. These people are not his old friends at Microsoft, he reminds himself. Nor are they the kids in school who teased him, or his classmates in college who resented him or treated him like an annoyance.

Like he’s always practiced, he turns to facts to calm his mind. He’s safe - the apartment is his and he has plenty of money. Not just from his business but from his grandfather’s life insurance. If he wanted to leave - if he was forced to, he thinks he could do it. But something within him howls at the idea of leaving what he has now.

For the first time in ages he has ideas, plans, and dreams for what to do with his life. Now he has people he cares about, people who he trusts to be kind rather than fearing they’ll betray or leave him. You’re at the center of it, if you let him. Determination takes hold of him and doesn’t let go. After a few moments his panic subsides, washed away by the bright promise of a future he’s never dared to imagine before now. Before you.

September 13th, 1997

By the end of your second drink you contemplate being the one to risk it all and ask Jongdae out.

In the months you’ve worked together you stopped seeing him as a challenge and started viewing him instead as the push to your pull. The yang to your yin. The - you sip on your rum and coke and get lost in the tug of his brows and the set of his lips as he spins rather than finding another apt metaphor.

The first time you met him you knew there was something underneath his hard exterior, but you had no idea how correct you’d be proven. Somehow he walks the tightrope between being harsh and being softer than you thought possible. But rather than turn you off you find you’re drawn to his bewildering mix of wry humor, nerdy fixations, and raw emotion. It unlocks all the jagged parts of you that you try to keep so nicely pressed together.

For someone who has been deemed too much to handle finding a man who seems to do it with ease is staggering. He loves your bossy, charismatic nature and your ideas about new things to try at the store. He listens intently when you rattle off obscure facts about your favorite books and movies. He sees your dreams of traveling, of being part of community here, as a complement, not a detriment to your professional career.

A voice startles you. “So when are you going to jump his bones?” Baekhyun is the kind of puppy dog, glowing cheeks, wide-eyed endearing drunk you wish you could hate.

He waggles his brows at you and you snort, shoving him away with your shoulder. “I have zero idea what you’re talking about.”

You weave your way around the perimeter of the dance floor, trying and failing to not fixate on Jongdae with every step.

“Come on. Admit it. You’ve got a thing for the DJ.” His mouth tugs into a smug grin and you groan. “And word on the street is he wants you too.”

“He’s my boss.” The last of your drink burns your throat and you belly up to the bar to order another. “Get real.”

Always a hoe for gossip, Baekhyun leans one elbow against the bar and drops his chin into his hand to watch you. Rather than speak and risk your wrath again he merely looks between you and Jongdae, waiting.

You pride yourself on not giving into temptation for all of ten seconds and then blurt out - “What are you doing?”

Baekhyun presses his lips together to suppress a grin. He raises a finger and holds it up. “You’ll see.”

The bartender is tied up with a group at the far end so you sigh and turn, resting your back against the bar top. With folded arms you observe the club. “We’re about to be abducted by aliens? Jongin’s going to breakdance? Minseok and Bookworm are -”

He clicks his tongue. “So impatient. You two really are a match made in heaven.”

“Me and Jongdae?” If you weren’t already buzzed you’d deny it more. But the permission to speak openly about your feelings for the DJ is too tempting. “You think so?”

Before he can tease you again a motion up ahead catches your focus. Jongdae looks up without tilting his head. His eyes cut to the left, to the two overflowing booths that are filled with the usual crew from the Exodus Mall. With amusement you follow his eye line as he scans the dance floor, looking for something. He never breaks the movement of his hands, spinning the vinyl and working the controls.

Finally his focus lands on you and Baekhyun at the bar. Jongdae’s eyes widen and that unreadable expression settles on his features, no emotion escaping. Your heart picks up, cheeks heating with awareness. There’s nothing to do but hold his gaze for long seconds while the club pulses with life around you. Isolated and together, even across the room.

And then Baekhyun ruins it.

With a comically large wave he smiles at Jongdae. The motion breaks Jongdae’s focus and he rolls his eyes, shaking his head at his friend’s ridiculousness. A smile tugs at his lips and he gives you a look of commiseration and you laugh, reaching over to ruffle Baekhyun’s blonde hair.

The song changes and Jongdae finally looks away. A second later the bartender appears, asking you for your next order. Baekhyun waits patiently beside you, arms folded against the bar, his smugness a tangible thing in the air between you two.

You bite your lip and look at yourself in the mirror behind the bar, visible between the clear shelves of liqueurs and syrups. Could he feel the same way? Does Jongdae imagine holding you, kissing you, being with you the same way you do with him in your unguarded moments?

The two of you already do so much together - work five days a week. Meals alone or with friends. Nights here, separate but still united in the bubble of the dance club. It strikes you just how thin the line is between friends and coworkers and … something more. A four-letter sinful word that starts with L and implies dangerous things like hands touching hands followed by lips and skin and teeth. A different four-letter word full of softness and commitment that has no place being in your mind at the same time as Jongdae’s name.

A hand rests gently on your shoulder. “I told you,” Baek says sincerely. He disappears after waggling his damned eyebrows one more time and leaves you at the bar, wondering.

Half of you wants to confess to him out of genuine affection and desire for connection; you can’t escape the way he makes you long to be reckless and daring and bold and romantic in the kind of grand gesture sense that you’d have rolled your eyes at before you met him. The delicate balance makes your palms sweat and your glass shake slightly as you raise it to your lips. From nerves or excitement or a mix of the two.

You could make the first move, but the logical half of your mind wins out. Instead you swallow your drink in three gulps and head over to the DJ booth to talk to him and nothing more. Close enough to be comforted by his nearness but keeping your desire closeted behind your fear. Tonight that’s all you can manage.

Passing by Yixing and Lavender dancing is a reminder of all the good love can bring. Yixing’s hands holding her close, her arms folded around his neck and their foreheads together. Intimate words are shared that aren’t meant for your ears, even if you could hear them over the sound of the music.

But just beyond is Baekhyun and Hitch. She laughs and dances out of his way as he tries to tickle her. They’re obviously in love to anyone who watches, so why haven’t they admitted it and had a go at being together? Maybe it’s for the best, you wonder. If trying and failing and ruining what you have it worse than never trying at all.

Before you can wander too far down the road of doubt and consequences you remember how it felt to have Jongdae’s hand on top of yours. The thought of tomorrow and the days after disappear altogether when you feel Jongdae’s eyes on you once more, drawing you closer to him, whether he knows his effect on you or not. When you reach the booth you decide to stop thinking in general, and let yourself feel instead.

Saturday night and he's in his element. In the booth, far away from the rest of the crowd but still a part of it. Adrenaline in his veins. Music is Jongdae’s therapy. An alter ego much like the comic book characters he read about growing up. It's the skin he can put on when he's tired of being himself. A place where he can set down the baggage of his identity for a night and get lost in the beats.

He closes his eyes, savoring the pattern of the vinyl beneath his fingertips.

Suddenly, he feels you. Of course you're here. He's never free from you, he thinks with a rueful smile. First you invaded this place, his escape and his temple. Then you wormed your way into his business as though you always belonged there. Now you're occupying his senses the way you occupy his thoughts at all hours.

For a beat he admires you, standing at the bar rolling your eyes while Baekhyun waves dramatically. He drinks you in with a last look at your fabulous legs before reluctantly turning back to switching out one album for the next. Lately you’ve taken to joining him for a bit while he spins and he hopes that once again you’ll come up to the booth tonight.

He's not a patient man, or a subtle one. If he wanted to be rid of you, you'd be gone. Severed with the kind of brutal finality he showed to anyone from his time after M.I.T. There are no second chances as far as he's concerned. But still, you remain. Infuriating, exhilarating. Never far from his consciousness.

'You look like you're having a good time!'

Sooner than expected your voice breaks his trance and he lifts his eyes to look at you. His heart thumps painfully in his chest and he swallows harshly. He doesn't know how you do it - how you effortlessly change to match your surroundings.

One minute you're his office manager, polite and respectful and skilled. Already he sees the business taking shape, becoming more cohesive and smooth beneath your talented mind and heart. And your feisty insistence that he upgrade and finesse his marketing and finally finish putting together a website for Chen’s.

The next minute you're leaning over the edge of the booth, chest coming forward and revealing your neckline. The red is fitting on you. It brings out the natural flush in your cheeks and makes you look perpetually alive. He feels stagnant by comparison, a man of stone who remains unchanging while the world passes him by.

The tumble of hair across your shoulders and the delight in your eyes are so beautiful he wants to reach for you. To reach for more, be more than who he has been - afraid and alone. Bitterness lives in his heart, swatting away anyone who gets too close. But here you are, knocking once more on the door of his being.

He finds his voice, his hands thankfully moving on muscle memory as he drops in the next remix. 'It's good energy tonight,' he fumbles. 'I love this song.' You nod in agreement.

It’s easy, being with you. Together you talk about work and the music he plays and your group of friends. Chanyeol and Bijoux, who finally got together again after what seems like months of back and forth. Bets on how long Minseok will wait before he proposes to Bookworm, now that they’re an official item. Joking about Baekhyun and Hitch like always.

He shows off for you, just a little. Spins 'Scream' by Michael and Janet jackson with a bit more pizazz than usual. It strikes him as amusing how much he always hated being watched before this. Not that many people pay particular attention to him as a DJ, but he thinks he might like the way it feels to be watched by you.

He wants to watch you, too, for as long as you let him. He already can’t take his eyes off you. No matter how much that idea might terrify him. When he drops the next mix and the crowd cheers at ‘Tubthumping’ he gives you a rare broad smile and it's like being punched in the chest when you return it with an unexpectedly shy one of your own.

Jongdae almost invites you into the booth. He sees it as though it were one of the romantic comedies that are so popular right now. You would take your place in front of him. He'd get to rest his hand on top of yours, guiding your movements. Maybe as you got the hang of it he would slide them to hold your hips, keeping your back to his chest as his mouth finds your neck.

Liz invites you to dance and Jongdae wipes the probably awed look off his face with effort. He needs some cold water, immediately.

Friday September 19th

Jongdae is upset about something. It’s not so much that you now seem to be able to pick up his moods with ease, which is true, but the fact that he is nearly tearing his hair out. A piece of paper sits in front of him on the desk but it’s too far away for you to read.

By the time he groans for the fifth time you finally speak up. ‘Are you alright?’

His head jerks up and his eyes are tired when they meet yours. Not ‘it’s been a long week’ tired, but something sad in his expression that makes him look fragile and younger than his years.

For a moment he shakes his head. Then he picks up the paper and waves it in the air, opening and closing his mouth in rapid succession. The confusion on his normally self-assured face would be comical if it wasn’t such an obviously distressing situation. Finally he drops the paper and leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand along his jaw.

‘I just got word that they’re demolishing the apartment building I live in. I have to move by November 1st.’

Instantly you want to hug him or hold his hand. ‘Your grandfather’s apartment?’

Jongdae nods. ‘They’re tearing it down so they can put in some luxury condos. Yet another classic neighborhood about to be wiped out in the name of progress.’ He sighs, looking at the ceiling to compose himself. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so-’

‘No, it’s -’ you start, unsure of your destination. ‘It’s an important place. And it’s your home. Don’t apologize for being pissed off about it.’

He nods, taken aback. ‘Exactly. It’s where I grew up. I’ve also never had to look for an apartment or move, either. So this will be dreadful.’

You bite the inside of your cheek. The offer to help practically leaps from your mouth and you hold it close for a moment, making sure you don’t rush into something that’s out of your depth. But as always your logic overrules your fear.

‘I could help, if you like?’ He’s just your boss slash co-worker. It’s innocent. It’s harmless, right? ‘I’ve moved so often with school and everything. I know my way around the city.’

In the ensuing pause Jongdae’s solemnity returns, his mouth and the lines of his face don’t give away any emotion. But, as always, he holds you in place with his expression. And his eyes have that fire within that he seems to only show to you. ‘That would be wonderful, thank you.’

You nod, case closed. Turning back to your computer you lie to yourself further, pretending not to notice how his voice lowered. As though he knew you weren’t just offering for help with his living situation. But something more raw and painful that he isn’t prepared to hold on his own just yet.

For how picky you thought you were about apartments, Jongdae has you beat by a mile. Student housing accustomed you to wonky flooring and cramped kitchens and the charming yet ancient windows on many older Seattle homes. But his grandfather’s gorgeous pre-war unit had made Jongdae’s tastes quite particular.

On Tuesdays and on weekends you pulled up listings and showed Jongdae around the city by way of it’s apartments, condos, and houses. He enjoyed the nature surrounding Greenlake, the affordable houses north of UW in Ravenna, and the vibe of Ballard and Fremont. But he ruled anything north of 520 out quickly as ‘too far from the store.’ The luxury of walking to work on nicer days was something he wasn’t willing to part with.

The same unfortunately ruled out a townhouse in Alki that you had salivated over, a block from the beach. Pioneer Square had some great lofts that would have been perfect for a music-lover like Jongdae, but he vetoed those as well. Along with all the trendy industrial lofts near the stadiums, claiming he hated all the construction going on nearby.

It should have been frustrating, to spend endless hours watching him nix perfectly wonderful places. In Queen Anne he hated the hills. Westlake he disliked the mall. Madrona, Leschi, Montlake, Magnolia, and Lake Union all came close but still he shook his head and said ‘thanks, but no thanks’ to landlord after landlord.

It should have driven you mad, but all it did was make you like him more.

Falling in love with Jongdae isn’t what you had planned. But from the first night you saw him at the club some part of you knew it was inevitable, the way the rain in autumn starts off as a light drizzle and before you know it becomes a torrential downpour, blanketing the city and saturating every exposed corner.

He always brought you coffee and insisted on buying breakfast or lunch. He always picked you up, right on time. Held doors and made sure he didn’t walk too fast and did the thing where his arm hovered over your back when the two of you were in crowded spaces. Not touching, but close enough you could feel him protecting you. On anyone else you would have absolutely hated that, but of course from him, you craved it.

Day after day you listened to music in his car as the two of you drove around little neighborhoods hoping to find something, complaining about how tight and ridiculous the parking situation always is. Joking about your friends or the news or the latest books you’re reading. They hardly felt like dates. No, they felt like something even more insidious. Like being in a relationship with him. Easy and warm and friendly and the kind of thing you could get used to.

But eventually it had to end, before it seemed like either of you were ready.

On a surprisingly warm Tuesday in October the two of you walk into a place that no one could object to. The building is in south Capitol Hill, close to Cal Anderson and only a fifteen or twenty minute walk from the mall. It’s designed in the classic Victorian style of the neighborhood, but was completed just three years ago. Small pane windows and a fireplace with a carved mantle and dark spires on the roof, all with brand new insulation and appliances.

Sunlight floods the corner unit on the top floor and you gasped as soon as the door opened. Jongdae stands beside you as the landlord goes over the details of the square footage and the building amenities, but neither of you are listening anymore.

‘What do you think?’ he asks softly. The five-story building sits on a slight hill and overlooks the rest of downtown, with a partial water view around the tall downtown skyscrapers.

‘I think it’s as close to perfect as you’re going to get.’

He moves closer and rests his palms on the window sill, looking around for a moment before turning his head to watch you. ‘Good.’

After a long pause Jongdae pushes off the windows and politely interrupts the landlord, who is currently opening every single cabinet in the kitchen and giving a detailed run down of his wife’s favorite tupperware, asking about the deposit. The way he phrased it along with the attentive way he waited for your approval makes you wonder if he wasn’t just picking this apartment for himself.

Imagining yourself there scares you. If he was seeking your opinion… surely he would be hoping you’d come over? Neither of you have spoken a word about the bizarre yet undeniable attraction you have, but that hardly forms the basis of a relationship. A boyfriend who wanted to be sure you liked his new place would be one thing, but your friend and co-worker who has never admitted to even liking you is quite another.

You lean against the edge of the window and run a finger along the ledge. A small part of you whispers that you’re supposed to be doing something else, eventually. You won’t work at Chen’s forever, but it wasn’t meant to be this hard to leave. It’s just a stop on the way to your final destination. So why do you want to get off the train altogether and make a home here?

Would it be so terrible, to be with him? It’s been a fantasy for so long that imagining real life with him makes you suck in a breath as though you’ve been punched in the gut. It could be a fresh start for you both. The end of one adventure and the beginning of a new one. You remind yourself that being in love doesn’t mean you can’t travel or change the world. Being with Jongdae would hopefully only encourage your dreams, not stifle them.

As they discuss deposit and applications and timelines for moving into the apartment you wander into the other rooms.

The bathroom has a large tub and dual sinks. You can only imagine what your expression must be like right now, given your swirling emotions, and avoid the mirror altogether. The second bedroom is more like a cozy office, narrow enough for a desk and a couch and perhaps some bookshelves. In the bedroom you hesitate at the doorway, reaching up to play with the pendant of your necklace.

Windows run along both sides, meeting in a corner. You think of plants lining the wide ledges and going to sleep with the setting westward sun and how short of a walk it would be to get breakfast from your favorite bagel shop that’s just a block away. It’s close to the mall and the club. It’s truly perfect.

As you watch cars pass and people walk by down below you space out, the image blurring and becoming Jongdae on a bed in this room, leaning back against the pillows with a book in his lap. Smiling at you and pulling you close since he knows you refuse to get up earlier than you have to on your days off.

Inexplicably you want to cry and you huff out a laugh, squeezing your eyes tightly only to find that they’re damp. It’s not anger that the vision inspires in you or even sadness. It’s frustration and amusement that war inside you as you think about how you fell in love with him without your consent. Rational thinking should have stopped this long ago, but all you can think as you stand there is how nice it is to be with him. And how you wouldn’t mind being with him for a long while.

The only thing that helps ease the tension in your chest is how he looks at you on the drive back to your place. You fill the time with discussions of moving trucks and hiring a company to help with the heavy lifting, but you’re both clearly distracted by other thoughts. He pulls his car up to your apartment and you try to avoid looking at him as you say goodbye, but he briefly rests his hand on your knee to get your attention.

Your hand stops in its motion to grab your bag and ends up nearly on top of his, but you make no movement to break the contact. ‘Thank you,’ he says softly. ‘I mean it.’ Jongdae turns his hand and holds yours, giving it a quick squeeze and looking like he never wants to let go.

October 12th, 1997

You’re eating cheesy bread at Barada with Hitch, but today she’s different - evasive and nervous in a strange way. 'So I - uhh. I have news,' she finally says. She sips her drink and looks at the table rather than at you. 'I don't know if I should tell you though.'

Pausing in your chewing you raise a brow. 'You can tell me anything, you know that.'

She awkwardly runs a hand along her neck. 'No I know. I just -' she huffs out a breath and blows her hair off her forehead..

'You and Baekhyun finally had sex and you're pregnant?' You smirk at her as she chokes on her soda. 'Come on, just spit it out.'

She waves and hand and very quickly says - 'There's a project manager position open in the gaming division. Some new big thing and they're looking for an upstart to head up operations.'

You frown and tear off another slide of bread, not understanding her odd behavior at all. 'Okay… and you're thinking what, thinking of applying?'

'No, you dork. I'm thinking you should apply.' She tilts her head like she assumed your reaction would be more immediate. 'You wanted me to keep an eye out for you, right? I didn't want to say anything since - '

'Since?' you ask, both afraid of what she'll say and dying to know. Terrified it will have to do with Jongdae and the swirling mess of feelings you have for him.

It’s her turn to be wry. 'Since you and Jongdae have been attached at the hip.'

'Really?' You stall, taking an enormous bite.

Hitch tosses a balled-up napkin at you. 'Yes. When I met you in college I thought 'there goes the most intense person I've ever met.’ And then I met Jongdae after he opened Chen’s and he gave you a run for your money.' She dusts off her hands. 'You both could be making millions someday. Taking over countries or saving the world or something. We all know it. I don't know, I didn’t want to mention this because together you guys seem happier. Softer? Something like that..'

'And you think me getting a job there would ruin that?' Her words mirror your fears exactly and your stomach drops.

'It's taken me years to get Jongdae to even look at me after I told him where I worked. He hates Microsoft. With good reason, from what you've implied. I'm sure you could make it work, but trust me when I say if you get swept up into that upper management spiral, we probably won't see you again.'

'I won't completely abandon you guys just because I get a new job.' But doubt whispers in your mind. The long hours and the endless meetings and the extra work to always be the best, to always be ahead. 'Okay fine, I see your point. I still have to try, right? I should at least apply.'

She rests her hand over yours where you have your napkin in a death grip on the table. 'You don't have to do anything, babe. We'll always be here for you even if you become a tech mogul overnight. But will it make you happy? Whatever comes next... do it for yourself, okay? Not just cause you think you should.'

You smile and hold her hand for a moment, wrinkling your nose. 'Thank you, Hitch. I needed that. What about you? You said you were going to apply for that transfer to the NYC office, are you still considering it?'

She blows out a deep breath and pulls her hand back, dropping her forehead to it for a moment. 'God, I don't know. My whole life is here. And I'd have to leave the theater.' She rests her chin on her palm and looks up at you with a dramatic frown. 'My friends are all here. My family. I love where I'm at, but I know that something eventually has to change.'

'Baekhyun?' You grin at her, wondering if the move might finally force them to admit their feelings.

Hitch straightens and looks across the food court to the movie theater. 'Yeah, something like that.' She gives you a dramatic waggle of her brow. 'Jongdae?'

You groan and fold your arms, sinking lower into your seat. Even your roommates ask about him now. Everyone can surely see how you light up around him. The way you gravitate towards the DJ booth on club nights like a moth to a flame. The way you draw him into conversations and brag about him. It should be forbidden territory, as untouchable and unreadable as he is. Not to mention he's your boss.

But worst of all he still hasn't said anything about it, nothing more than the occasional flirtatious comment or lingering look. Even after all your time together and the way he looked at you in the new apartment. For all you know he sees you as a very stubborn employee who happens to force your way into things.

You cover your face with your hands and sigh. 'Something like that.'

Hitchcock stands and takes your shared tray of dishes to the bus station with a throaty laugh. 'That's what I thought.'

November 1st, 1997

Jongdae is frantically packing up more of his bookshelf when the doorbell rings. He smiles on instinct. It's not something he can help anymore, not when he knows it's you on the other side. Right at nine in the morning, just when you promised the movers would be here. With a last look around his living room at the organized chaos he wipes his hands on his sweatpants and stands.

It surprised him how quickly you agreed to help with - well, everything, really.

When he told you about his move he didn’t expect anything would come of it. It's his problem, not yours. He didn't imagine for a moment you'd give the announcement more attention than a sympathetic word or two. But you stepped to his side. Put up with his grouchy persistence in believing that there's no place in the world, let alone in Seattle, that would be as amazing as this apartment. As it always seems with you, he found himself proven wrong.

You didn't let him wallow and guided him with your decisiveness through the checklist of everything he'd need to do. A few months ago he would have waved you off. Decided you were being bossy or nosy and turned down the help with a cold shoulder. 

But now he wants you around for everything and the thought makes him pause with his hand on the doorknob.

He made sure you like his new apartment too because - when he isn't expecting it he imagines you there. Not just as his co-worker or employee or even as his friend. As someone more permanent. Lasting. It's not that he needs you to run his life for him, he's perfectly capable of doing things on his own. It's just that he loves how you barge your way into his world and refuse to let him be alone.

Jongdae doesn't know how yet, but he wants to show you how he feels in return. It's like trying to run with a blindfold on, but he desperately hopes that he can figure out how to care about you in the way you deserve. Bringing you coffee and asking about your day and giving you all the freedom you want at work are a start, but they barely scratch the surface of how much he feels for you.

He's got one idea. A big one. An insane one, that you'll probably call him nuts for suggesting. If he ever gets up the nerve someday.

The buzzer sounds again and he shakes himself out of it. Finally he pulls it open and is greeted by your smiling face in the morning gray light. Hair pulled back in a ponytail and dressed in a long black shirt and faded overalls. He leans against the doorframe, wondering if he's ever seen anything more beautiful than you on his doorstep.

'So, I have a surprise,' you start. With a free hand you nervously brush your hair behind your ear. It's so unlike you that he immediately wonders if something is wrong.

'What is it?'

Before you can answer, noise in the parking lot draws his focus. His front door faces the open-air walkway that leads to the stairs down to the parking lot. He expected a moving truck and several buff men in logoed shirts. Instead it's a scrappy group of your friends - his friends now, he supposes - looking tired but ready to help.

Junmyeon and Jane drink coffee and pull furniture dollys and heavy blankets out of a Uhaul truck. Liz and Jongin are leaning against the cab of Sehun's car and laugh at him as he and Yixing sleep peacefully in the backseat. Chanyeol and his girlfriend are paused on the landing below making out, a tape gun in each of their hands. Another car catches a break in the flow of traffic and pulls into one of the guest spaces. Minseok and Bookworm step out and yawn, tying sweatshirts around their waists.

Jongdae repeats his question. Or at least he tries to, but emotion catches his throat and all he can do is stare at you with a mix of surprise and what he's sure is a very naked expression of affection.

'How did you do this?' he asks when he can finally breathe again.

You tilt your head and grin at him, pride making you radiant even in the dull mist of the morning. 'Is this okay?' For a moment you look worried, tucking your hands in the pockets of your overalls and taking a step back.

'I know I said I'd hire the movers, but I thought this might be better? I didn't think everyone would be here, especially after the Halloween party last night. Soo and Sunshine are working, but I think - wait,' you turn and yell down to the group in the lot. 'Has anyone heard from Baek and Hitch?'

Chanyeol reluctantly pulls away from his girlfriend and replies. 'Yeah, he messaged me at the ass-crack of dawn. He said he and Hitch are fine, but they won't be able to make it until later.'

With a curious look you thank Chanyeol and turn back to Jongdae. 'Okay, so almost everyone came.'

'It's because you're incredible,' he agrees, heart warm and in awe of you. Stepping back, he shoves the door stop in with his foot to prop it open and gestures for you to come in.

He doesn't get two steps before your hand finds his bicep, stopping him. 'No, I'm just absolutely amazing at organizing things,' you laugh. ‘But they didn't just come for me Jongdae, they came because they're your friends. They wanted to help.'

The intensity in your voice makes him pause. Like you're trying to say far more than your words. He gets lost for a moment in your beautiful eyes and swallows harshly. His past, the negative parts, haven't come up much - his failed first business, the trail of broken friendships he's left behind him, the ensuing guard he's had up since - but you've paid far more attention than he realized.

He doesn't miss the meaning behind your words, or the look in your eyes; what you're asking of him. To trust you, to trust them. To release his death grip on the walls he keeps up to protect himself. But no matter how determined you are he knows he has to be the one to dismantle them. His heart is nervous and he instead focuses on your hand on his arm.

For a beat he wants to kiss you, then and there with almost all of his and your friends just outside. Instead he lets his actions speak when his mouth isn't able to and pulls you into a hug. You freeze for a moment, stiff with surprise. But after a moment it melts away and you hold him back, wrapping your arms around his waist. His head spins when you rest your forehead against his shoulder, unable to process the fact that you’re in his arms in reality, not just his dreams.

'You're the most amazing person,' he murmurs against your hair.

The sound of loud voices and thumping of boots on stairs make him pull back. You give him another smile, warmer and softer this time. Something that's private for him only. 'I know.'

He barks out a laugh as Sehun and Jongin come in through the doorway. 'Let's do this!' Sehun calls, clapping his hands together.

'We promise we won't steal anything,' Jongin jokes, looking around Jongdae's place with obvious fascination.

Bijoux organizes the packing party while Chanyeol grabs Jongdae's keys so he and Sehun can take the first load of boxes over to the new place while Junmyeon, Jongin, and Jongdae load up the bigger furniture pieces into the Uhaul. Jongdae lets out a rusty laugh as Junmyeon dubs them ‘the J squad.’ You work around them, collecting all the random trinkets and knicknacks that have escaped other boxes.

He closed Chen’s today to hopefully knock this entire project out in one swoop. Ripping it off like a Bandaid. After the first big load everyone splits up into teams. Sehun and Yixing pack and load the rest of the boxes and smaller items into the cars. Jongin, who is absolutely not trusted around breakable items, goes with Junmyeon to return the Uhaul to the rental shop and pick up lunch and drinks for everyone with the cash Jongdae insisted they take. 

And Minseok leads everyone else on a cleaning checklist he’s created with military precision. It's been so long Jongdae doesn't even know if he has a damage deposit. His grandfather took excellent care of the place and he kept it up in his absence, so he hopes it's not too much work to tidy.

Yixing’s boombox keeps up a steady flow of music throughout the morning and lunch time. With everyone’s help, and of course with the added fuel from the pizza and beverages, things are just wrapping up at the old place. You stay behind with Jongdae to take a last look around and turn in the keys, forcing him to take a few photos in the space to remember it.

‘This is it, I guess,’ he says, holding out the key and laying it on the kitchen counter with a small metallic sound.

‘How do you feel?’ You lean your hip against the fridge and drink from a water bottle.

Sunset over Lake Union is his favorite time of day and it’s hard to stand the thought of missing out on a last one. It’s barely two in the afternoon and it’s hours until golden hour. Rather than lie he simply says the truth. ‘I wish I could see the sun go down one last time.’

You come and stand next to him, close enough he can smell the light scent of your perfume and see the flush of your chest from the day’s exertion. ‘We can wait.’

He thinks of everyone at his new place, unloading boxes. ‘But everyone-’

‘Jongdae,’ you start. ‘They’ll be fine. You know Sehun has probably fallen asleep on your couch already. Baek and Hitch and the openers from Barada will be heading over soon. Some people have to head out for closing shifts but it’s already been decided that we’re doing movie night and Chinese take out tonight at your new place.’

‘Oh really?’ He presses his lips together to try not to laugh.

‘I don’t think you have much of a choice,’ you tease. ‘Trust me, they’ll be fine for another few hours.’

‘Alright then,’ he says after a pause.

The two of you sit on the bare hardwood floors and talk until the sun finally sets, just before five pm. He doesn’t yell his feelings for you at full volume like he wishes he could. He doesn’t dance with you or kiss you slowly in the empty apartment, there’s far too many emotions in his heart today to try and cope with more. But after he locks up and leaves the keys behind he does take your hand to help you into the car. And he does hold it for far longer than necessary before pulling back to shut the door. 

It’s not much, but like his new apartment it’s the start of something.

November 3rd, 1997

You’ve got to tell Jongdae now, but nerves eat away at you and your resolve lessens minute by minute. Since the move he’s been warmer, more open, and you don’t want to ruin that. But you can’t keep this from him any longer.

Applying at Microsoft was supposed to be a long shot, a shot in the dark, or some other kind of shot that never meant to lead anywhere. But still it’s one you took and one that ended up paying off way faster and more successfully than you’d planned. After two interviews last week you sit with a job offer on your answering machine back home and a choice to make.

They need your decision by tomorrow and as Monday winds into early afternoon your deadline approaches. You bite your lip and vacillate wildly between thoughts. On the one hand this could be a good thing - if you’re no longer working at the same place, there’s nothing stopping the two of you from being together, right?

But what if Jongdae can’t see past his hurt and freaks out, assuming you’re leaving him like everyone else has? Or worse, what if he never cared about you that way at all?

Your stomach drops at the thought of walking out of here into your dream job, but feeling empty, leaving behind someone who has come to mean so much to you.

Your roommates Liz and Jane, Hitch, hell even Baekhyun weaseled the truth out of you at Shari’s on Saturday. Stone cold sober and still you let out everything to him sitting in your group’s favorite booth. About how you might in fact love Jongdae and how badly you want this opportunity, how utterly terrifying and exhilarating change can be simultaneously.

None of them told you to choose one way or the other. They didn’t say ‘take the job’ or ‘turn down the job,’ they all said that the decision is one only you can make and that they’d support you no matter what you picked. And maybe each time you cried a little and all of them were good enough friends to just hug you and not mention it.

But all of them told you one thing that now sits lodged in your throat. Whatever else happens, you both deserve to know. Jongdae deserves the truth about what you’re considering, and you deserve to finally know once and for all how he feels about you and what he wants.

After he locks the doors and starts cleaning up, you rise, holding your hands behind your back so tightly your knuckles are most assuredly white. ‘Hey, can we talk for a minute?’

Jongdae nods. ‘Of course. I’ve got something I wanted to discuss with you as well, actually. But you go first.’ He folds his arms and leans against his desk, giving you that affectionate close-lipped smile of his. You desperately hope what you’re about to say doesn’t wipe it off his face.

Not one to beat around the bush you dive in. ‘I applied for another job.’ The words sound blunt and harsh. You swallow and try again, hating how his brow furrows in confusion. ‘Not because I don’t like it here. But Hitch told me about an opening and it sounded - sounds perfect for what I want to do in the long run. It’s on the new gaming system division… at Microsoft.’

He doesn’t say anything for a long pause. Instead of meeting your eyes his have dropped to the ground and you wish you could reach out and touch him. Anything to make sure he hears you, understands you. But a whisper of fear makes you keep quiet, worrying the connection you had wasn’t meant to last, if something so trivial could break it.

‘I thought you were happy here,’ he says finally.

You hold your hands out in front of you, palms up in a gesture of entreaty. ‘I do, Jongdae. It’s not that at all. I thought this might - be good for us. If we’re not working together, then -’

When he finally looks up his gaze is distant, his mouth a thin line. The shutters have fallen over his face. ‘By going to work at the one place I despise?’

Anger makes your skin hot and you fold your arms as well, in defiance. ‘But you talk to Hitch and Baekhyun? They haven’t turned into the devil incarnate yet.’

He gives a quick, harsh shrug. ‘I like them both, sure. But being friends is one thing. This is quite another.’

It’s almost a declaration, yet so far from how you dreamed this moment might go. ‘What are you saying, Jongdae?’ You need to hear it. After so many weeks of trying you need him to at least do you the courtesy of speaking it out loud.

‘You know how I feel about you.’ There’s hope in his eyes. But it’s so buried amongst hurt and suspicion it’s not even close to reassuring. ‘I want you to stay. Here.’ With me, he doesn’t say, but you feel it.

Nothing drives you more up the wall than being told what to do. His words fall against your own shield and the plea within goes unnoticed. ‘Would you really shut me off if I took this job? Does hating them mean more than wanting what’s best for me?’ You finally step forward, reaching a hand for his arm.

‘I’ve supported you in everything,’ you start, unable to stop now that you’ve started. ‘In finding community here. In your move. Even in the business, who was the one who pushed you to keep growing? I don’t intend to stop being there for you, but I need you to support me in this. Please.’

He just watches you, not saying a word. The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the silence. People outside the glass doors go about their day, shopping or getting an early dinner, unaware of the standoff taking place merely feet from them. You wonder what it would take to make his guard truly ever come down.

With how quickly it snapped back into place you feel tired all the way down to your bones. Maybe it will never be enough, even if you did stay here forever.

‘I’ll pay out your PTO in these next two weeks,’ he says softly. ‘No need to come back into the office. If that works for you?’ His last statement is thrown on as a hasty addendum. Like he’d realized how harsh it sounded and he wanted to dull the sting. It’s a sliver of kindness, a glimpse at the man he almost allowed himself to be. But it’s not enough.

‘Fine with me.’ You move past him, into the supply room to grab your purse and jacket, proud of the way your voice doesn’t waver. Pausing in the hallway you turn to look back at him, still frozen against his desk. ‘I’m leaving this job, I’m not leaving you.’

He turns to look at you, running a hand through his hair and messing up the ends. ‘It will go the same way, I know it. In the end you’ll disappear too.’

‘Jongdae, I’m trying. I need you to at least meet me halfway.’

You don’t wait for his reply, if one was ever even going to come. Instead you continue down the small hallway and push out the back door into the mall. It’s only once you’re in your car that you remember he mentioned something he wanted to discuss. You wonder what it was, and if you’ll ever find out.

Jongdae stares after you for long seconds after you’re gone. He doesn’t hold out hope that you’ll come back, not after the way he treated you. Instead he feels stuck in place, like if he holds his breath and doesn’t exhale then the last five minutes didn’t happen.

But his lungs burn and his chest aches, and when he finally sighs it comes out ragged. He fumbles for the switch and the store descends into darkness. Shafts of light still come through, angled in from the glass ceiling of the mall’s concourse. Jongdae stands just outside of it, protected. With no one to see he sinks into his desk chair and drops his head into his hands.

The tears that clog his throat are at first unexpected, but as the minutes drag on he finally gives into them. He should have known they were coming all along. Not just from the moment you walked into his life, but from the day his grandfather died. From the day his father passed and his mother became a ghost rather than a permanent, tangible figure. 

From the day Julian took Jongdae’s designs and credited them as his own to the investors, cutting Jongdae out of not only the business they were building, but out of their group of friends as well.

Misery and hopelessness whisper against his skin and for long minutes he lets himself wallow. He knows it’s no one’s fault but his own that he ruined things with you. His grandfather taught him long ago that other’s actions are theirs, and that it’s what Jongdae does in response that is his responsibility. But he can’t deny that he indulges in thoughts of blaming the cruelty of life for making him so goddamn stubborn.

He swallows and leans back in his chair, feeling as though his body is made of hard, unyielding stone. Maybe it's better this way, he wonders, drumming his fingers on the wood desk before him. Perhaps he should let his worst fears dominate his life, believing that the risk is far greater than any potential reward that love or friendship could offer him.

Is it better to be alone, knowing that he’ll always be safe, free of anyone who might hurt him?

Jongdae groans. The voice inside him that whispers No sounds first like his grandfather, both encouraging and feisty at the thought of Jongdae giving up. Next it sounds like you. He knows you’d roll your eyes and call him grouchy, always thinking better of him than he does of himself. You’d tell him his bark is far worse than his bite and to get over himself already. At this thought, at any thought of you, really, he smiles.

Familiar voices make him look out into the mall. Sehun and Jongin walk by carrying sodas, rubbing their stomachs. He can imagine how they’re complaining about eating too much Barada pizza, as always. 

They pass by quickly but the image stays with him, of their friendship. Jongdae thinks of Chanyeol and Kyungsoo’s, how opposite and yet how similar they are. Baekhyun and Hitch, who are always teasing each other but who he knows would do anything at the drop of a hat.

He’s held himself back the past few months. First a reluctant observer. Then a tentative participant. The endless exhaustion of being careful, keeping his distance, catches up to Jongdae as he sits in that chair. If it weren’t for you maybe he’d never be brave enough to try again after how hard it was growing up. But if he is to be the kind of person, the kind of partner you deserve, now is the time to make the attempt.

It’s up to Jongdae to be the one to try, to reach out. He can’t let others find him anymore. For the first time in a long time Jongdae stands up and goes looking for a friend.

Junmyeon still has an hour before his store closes and he looks up at Jongdae as he walks in through the door of Guardians. ‘Hey, JD! How’s it going?’ If he notices that Jongdae’s been crying, he’s kind enough to not mention it.

‘Are you busy?’ Jongdae’s throat is raw but Jun has a young son, surely tears won’t bother him.

‘Not really, I’m just organizing some shipments going out tomorrow,’ Junmyeon answers. He sets down his pencil and rests his hands on the counter. A crease forms between his brows the longer he watches Jongdae. ‘Is everything alright?’

He wants to do this right, but all he can find are inelegant words. Junmyeon is as close as he has to a best friend at the moment, and he hopes he doesn’t inconvenience him. ‘Not really.’

Jun tilts his head and gestures to the door, picking up Jongdae’s unspoken request and running with it, just like he’d hoped he would. ‘I can close up shop a bit early. Want to talk in my office?’

Jongdae runs a hand over his face and nods. Grateful and relieved he manages a small laugh. ‘That would be great, thanks.’

After Jun locks the doors and flips the sign to closed he motions for Jongdae to follow him. The back room of Guardians is much warmer that at Chen’s Electronics, in style rather than temperature. Jongdae sits on a beige sofa that’s even more comfortable than it looks. The walls are filled with framed photos and art prints and various other pieces that give the space an art gallery vibe.

With a sigh Junmyeon tidies up the mess of papers and crayons and various cups with kid lids. ‘Sorry, Sungmin loves to draw but we haven’t quite nailed the clean up yet.’

‘Don’t worry about it on my behalf,’ Jongdae says sincerely. ‘I’m just grateful you’re willing to listen.’

The space has a narrow hallway leading to a back door and a closet that’s probably full of supplies, much like Jongdae’s store. Jun takes the cups to a small sink in the mini-kitchen in the corner. His brow lifts in confusion. ‘Why wouldn’t I? We’re friends, right?’

Could it be that simple? No need to prove himself or do everything possible to impress Junmyeon, like he did with Julian. ‘Yeah, we are I suppose.’ He laughs and shakes his head. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to imply I don’t consider us friends, I just - well, have a few trust issues when it comes to that sort of thing.’

Junmyeon dries his hands on a dishtowel and blows his hair off his forehead with a huffed laugh. ‘We’ve all got a few issues, don’t we?’ He moves to the table and takes a seat, sliding a glass of water towards Jongdae and sipping from one of his own. ‘I’ve got the time. So quit stalling and tell me about yours.’

He sags into the couch and drinks from the glass. ‘Alright then.’

For once he doesn’t second guess himself or try to read the minutiae of Jun’s expressions to see if he’s annoying him or being too boring. Jongdae simply tells him the truth, trusting his friend to listen. 

He mentions his family and how hard it hit him when his grandfather passed. How strange and yet unbothered he is by the lack of relationship with his mother. The way he was teased growing up and how he was probably the only person in his Master’s program going through puberty. The fact that the mall is the first place he’s ever had friends his own age since childhood.

It’s satisfying to see how pissed off Jun gets when he tells him about Julian and all the bullshit he put Jongdae through. For a while there Jongdae had convinced himself that he was the one in the wrong, that there’d been something he’d done to earn his exile. That it was a deserved punishment. But his friend’s muttered curses remind him that true friends don’t normally backstab each other for money and notoriety.

And finally, he talks of you.

How much he values you at work and how sassy and insistent you were about bringing him into ‘the fold’ of their friend group. The ways in which he wants to be with you and care for you and all his worries of whether or not he’ll be any good at it, given his lack of experience. Junmyeon is neither surprised by his feelings for you nor willing to let him wallow.

‘I even brought prom tickets,’ Jongdae finishes with a groan. He pulls them from the pocket of his jeans and lets his arm fall to the couch cushion. ‘Me. At a prom.’ He almost snorts.

But Junmyeon just purses his lips. ‘Is that really such a stretch?’

Jongdae hums a noise of contemplation. ‘No. I guess not. All our friends are doing it.’ But before Jun can continue he shakes his head. ‘But I’ve messed this all up, so it doesn’t matter either way.’

Loneliness aches in his bones, his hands tired of not holding yours. Wishing he was enough, somehow, to keep you here and keep you warm; enough to make you stay, to make you happy.

Junmyeon raises a brow. ‘I think you’re missing the point entirely my friend. She told you what she needs. All you have to do is listen. She’s asking you to trust her. This job is something she’s worked for and she’s not leaving you for it. She’s just leaving the job. If you want to know you have to ask.’

He sighs deeply. ‘You’re right. But what if it all goes wrong? What if I try and it’s all for nothing in the end?’

Jun dips his chin to his chest, looking at the ground lost in thought. ‘That’s fair. I know a little of that myself, Jongdae. But all you can do is try. There’s sadly no guarantees here. I think you want to make it work and from what I know of her, she wants you as well. It’s time to make the big gesture. Or any kind of gesture, really.’

He groans and smiles, knowing his friend’s fondness for ‘I think you’re right.’ He even has an idea, two in fact. One that’s lived in the back of his mind for weeks and one that’s brewing right now. ‘Will you help me?’

‘Absolutely my friend.’ Jun claps him on the shoulder, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

November 19th, 1997

It should have been wonderful news to you that it was a clean break at least. No mess, just walking out the door and leaving behind the man and the job in one fell swoop. But of course, it wasn’t.

Microsoft was delighted when you told them you could start ASAP, but honestly you did it to jump into work rather than spend your time missing Jongdae. Filling your schedule proves to be the easiest way to avoid thinking about what hurts. You still had your roommates and Hitch and everyone else to hang out with, even if you weren’t ready for any Saturday pizza lunches or Shari’s nights quite yet. Both brought you far too close to him to bear right now.

Liz and Jane and Hitch are wonderful and you’ve had not one but two sleepovers since ‘the Jongdae incident.’ If not for their friendship and constant presence you’re sure you would have walled up the hurt and hid it away, not one to normally speak about your pain openly. Not while it’s so fresh. 

Distantly you hope that Jongdae is okay and that he has someone to talk to. If he’s even hurting. 

For all you know he’s completely fine and unaffected by the entire thing. Maybe he’s already found a new office manager and has forgotten about you. But those are the kind of rude and painful thoughts that only come to you at three in the morning when you can’t sleep, when dreams of his hands and his voice and his smile keep you up.

Jongdae calls one Tuesday to ask you to swing by Chen’s to pick something up the next day and you’re suspicious. He wouldn’t say any more, just ‘please come by at six. I have something to give you and I’d like it to be in person.’

You put on your favorite black dress and blazer that make you feel both sexy and confident and head to the mall. If he’s just calling you to twist the knife in deeper, you’ve already decided to leave and not bother letting him hurt you more. But if he’s calling to reconcile… you shake your head, not willing to get your hopes up. Instead you park in your old space and fix your make up in the rearview mirror.

It delights you to see that your old desk is returned to its former state. Just the computer, keyboard, and mouse remain. No one’s personal possessions have taken over the space like yours used to. It shouldn’t make you so happy to see he hasn’t replaced you, but it does.

Jongdae sits at his desk. His hair is in its usual perfect wave but his white button down and slacks have been swapped today for a dark green sweater and tan chinos. He looks ridiculously handsome and you grit your teeth, wishing you could turn off your attraction to him with a switch inside your brain.

He looks up at your knock on the glass door. For a moment he simply stands, drinking you in. Then he moves, walking closer to unlock the door and let you in. 

‘Hi. How are you?’

You blink and try not to laugh. ‘How am I? Jongdae, how do you think I am?’

‘Right, sorry.’ He shakes his head. Carefully he looks you up and down, not bothering to hide his own attraction to you in his hungry gaze. With a swallow he remembers himself and grabs a cardboard banker’s box from in front of his desk. ‘Here. I didn’t want to come by and drop it off. It felt wrong.’

The box holds all the random photos and personal belongings you’d left in your desk, in your haste to leave. Postcards from Amsterdam and family photos and lotions and your favorite scarf you’d been missing. He steps back, resting against the corner of his desk and folding his arms. When you take it he doesn’t say anything, which is not what you’d hoped by any means, but silence is definitely less painful than you’d feared.

‘Well, it’s been an adventure,’ you manage. You lean against your desk and move the box under one arm, holding out a hand to him to shake. Ready to be done with this officially.

He doesn’t move. You can feel words held on the tip of his tongue. Months and months later you know how to read his tells. The tightness in his jaw and the widening of his eyes and how his hand grips the fabric of his sweater. But seconds tick on and still he says nothing. 

He should speak or you should leave. One of you should do something. Instead you’re frozen in time. Eventually your arm aches and you set the box down beside you. You could go first, but pride demands he be the one to confess, if there’s going to be any confessions tonight.

Neither of you caves; twin pillars of resolution, stubbornness, and desire. It’s a game the two of you could play for hours. The tension in the air pulls tighter than a violin. His gaze drops from your eyes to your lips, unabashedly. His lids grow heavy as he breathes deeply, close enough to smell your gardenia perfume, but just out of reach of being able to touch you.

So this is what it feels like to meet my match, you think, finally acknowledging just how deeply you want him. Enough nights had been spent imagining kissing him, being with him in far more intimate ways than just a holding of hands or a hug. You want more, but only if he wants you, too.

You'd always been told that you were too driven, too smart, too self-sufficient to attract a man. Even in your MBA program where ambition and intelligence were supposedly rewarded, it apparently made you too something to find a good man to date.

But now there’s one right in front of you, looking at you as if you’re the answer to Fermat’s Enigma; a rare and priceless gem he’d been hunting for all his life. But he doesn’t look at you as if you’re art to be admired, a prize to be won. The guard lifts steadily and when he looks at you now it’s as if you’re the kind of miracle he wants to sink his teeth, his tongue, and his fingers into.

Your cheeks grow warm and you’re sure you look just as amazed and turned on as he does. If you had to guess, you’d bet that the number of people who challenge him these days are few, and the number of people who attempt to see the man behind the curtain even fewer.

While everyone else in the world might just see a monolith of a man, a genius, a hardworking and brilliant anomaly, you see the passionate, warm heart that beats in his chest. You know that the tin man really does have feelings and needs, and your heart almost breaks when you realize he’s been searching for you just as fervently as you’ve been searching for someone like him.

The silence in the room is almost too fragile a thing to break. On one side of the moment is a spark of something, a chance to see if this connection is real and deep, or if this is just chemistry and biology combining into lust. If your mind has taken the small gestures of passion and kindness and friendship from him and built it up to be something more than the sum of its parts.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he breathes, voice catching in his throat. Releasing his folded arms he rests his palms on the edges of the desk.

‘I’ve missed you, too,’ you admit. Your hands curl in on themselves, trying to fight the way emotion and physical longing make it difficult to be in such a close proximity to him.

‘Okay, then.’ He breaks first, moving with purpose and striding to you in two steps, sliding his hands along your jaw with such softness that you gasp. 

And then, finally, you feel his lips on yours. You grasp his hips, hands freed and aching to touch him, to feel his hard body press against yours with surprising heat.

You meet him with equal passion, working your lips against his steady assault on your composure. For a solid minute you’re in awe that you could feel this much, that his lips and his hands could undo you so rapidly. That they could rebuild you into someone who belongs to him in such a short space of time, after weeks of endless doubt.

He groans against your lips in what feels like similar shock and surrender. Who would have thought that he would cave to your touch just as you did to his? How could someone so grumpy and strong-willed also be so open and vulnerable to this tentative thing between you.

But as he drops a hand and brings it to rest securely on the small of your back you realize there’s a name for this feeling.

You could call it fate. You could call it destiny. You could call it that damned four-letter word or you could call it Darwinism for all you care as his teeth bite gently into your lower lip.

You just know that nothing has ever felt as good and right as his hands claiming you for his own and the smell and heat of him wrapping themselves around you and burrowing their way into your heart.

A whine works its way from your throat as he licks along the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. When you open your mouth to him, his tongue slides along your own and you almost lose your balance. With a giggle you could swear you’ve never made before in your life you let him guide you up onto the desk.

He steps between your legs instantly, gripping your hips and continuing his tasting of you. Heat and electricity race down your spine as you fist your hands in his hair, pulling him closer to you until there’s no separation.

Banging on the glass doors and whistles come from out in the mall and you freeze. Instead of jerking back in shock and alarm like you’d expect him to, Jongdae confounds you once again. He pulls back slowly, opening his eyes and lifting his hands to gently cup your face. It can’t have been more than fifteen minutes but in less than the time it takes to watch one episode of Friends he’s turned your world on its axis.

You and Jongdae smile at each other and both turn to wave at your group of friends, who are celebrating and clapping. Baekhyun eats from an enormous bag of popcorn, wearing his theater uniform. Jongin and Sehun take large handfuls and Hitch whoops with joy. Liz and Jane and Junmyeon are all smiling, and attempt to force some of the group away to give you privacy.

Jongdae’s hands flex on your waist. ‘I want to try. You’re everything I want, will you please give me the chance to be what you need?’ His voice is raspy and his lips are red and you can’t help but grin.

‘I just want you, okay?’ You fix his messed up hair with both hands and sigh with relief. ‘And for you to admit you like me.’

‘I far more than like you.’ Jongdae rolls his eyes and kisses you once more. ‘You just want me to say you’re right.’

With a laugh you ease yourself off your desk, standing close within his arms and bending to whisper in his ear. ‘I’m always right. I just love when you admit it.’

‘So,’ he starts with an amused quirk of an eyebrow. ‘Will you let me take you to dinner? Us, officially, on a date.’

Your chest feels as if it’s a balloon, expanding so rapidly it might burst. He looks so young and boyish and hopeful your heart feels like it turns to liquid gold. With a delighted grin you lean forward and press your lips to his again, unable to resist.

Joy swims in his irises as he holds you in his arms. He looks at you through his lashes, his lips tilting into lopsided smile. ‘Is that a yes, then?’

‘Yes,’ you answer. ‘Of course.’

‘How’s right now for you?’ He motions to the doors and your friends have finally been corralled to the side of the walkway, revealing an elaborately decorated table in the food court.

You gasp and grip his arm. Jun and Sehun hold the doors open and Jongdae escorts you out. A red tablecloth is spread out over the circular table. The chairs have added plush cushions and several candles have been lit. A bottle of wine and two glasses rest beside several plates of food. You recognize the pizza from Barada, the rest looks like a mix from the other restaurants in the food court. 

With high fives and hugs from your friends they finally leave you and Jongdae alone. Well, almost alone. It’s not a busy time at the mall, but there’s no way to avoid some of the customers turning to watch with amusement and curiosity as they pass by. You pay them no mind as Jongdae holds out your chair and helps you sit. 

The two of you fall back into conversation easy enough, aided by the enormous amount of food and how you no longer have to move your knees away when they bump under the table. Jongdae reaches for your hand and holds it, in full view. He stares at the joined digits with warmth before looking up at you. 

Doubt passes across his face, marring the beauty that contentment lends his features. ‘I don’t -’ he struggles. ‘I don’t know how to keep this much good in my life. I worry that I’m going to mess it up.’

Neither of you are the type to openly acknowledge such things. Merely the fact that he’s voicing his fears to you shows you he’s doing what he said - he’s trying, he wants to change. And truthfully so do you. 

‘I worried for the longest time that I’d be alone forever,’ you say softly. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever find someone who understood me or who could handle all my - well, you know how I am.’ 

Jongdae smiles then, lifting your joined hands to his lips to press a kiss to your skin. ‘I love who you are.’ 

Your eyes mist at that and you groan, trying to blink them back. ‘Good, because I love who you are too.’ With your free hand you reach for his, needing to hold both of them and all of him at once. Not wanting to give his overly-analytical mind a chance to override the fragile hope you’re both building tonight. ‘You know what to do when a computer overloads?’

He nods. ‘Of course. Often it’s just a simple matter of turning it off and on again.’

‘So,’ you say, lifting your shoulder in a shrug. ‘When we mess up or freak out or say the wrong thing, we’ll just start over again. As long as you want me and I want you, we’ll figure it out.’ 

Jongdae softens, his shoulders dropping and ease coming back into his eyes. ‘I didn’t know I was lagging until you jump started my life.’ He waggles his brows. It’s a gesture that’s all Baekhyun, and a pun so terrible that Junmyeon would be proud. You can’t help but laugh and squeeze his hands. 

‘I’ve got one more surprise,’ Jongdae says, reluctantly releasing one of your hands to pull two narrow slips of paper from his pocket. ‘Do you have any plans for Christmas?’ 

The tickets are in both your names. First class round trip from Seattle to Amsterdam. ‘Oh my - Jongdae, what is this? You and me in Amsterdam?’ 

‘I figured it was about time,’ he says with pride. 

You lean out of your chair and reach for him, tugging him closer to kiss him fully. Noise reaches you - clapping and cheering from the shops around the mall. When you look around you see Sehun and his girlfriend leaning out of Starlight Apparel. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo smiling and fist bumping as they work on closing up the shop. 

Hitch nudges Baekhyun from the theater booth and he jumps in excitement. And from Guardians Junmyeon leans on the counter, resting his chin in his hand, giving a thumbs up. 

You roll your eyes and wave. ‘We maybe should have gone somewhere outside the mall, huh?’

'No, I think this is perfect,’ Jongdae answers. He then covers your mouth with his and holds you so tight that it drowns out the chorus of cheering that echos around the space. 

#jongdae fanfic #chen fanfic #exo fanfic #exo angst #exo fluff #exo au

[blahkugo]

hi sexy gorl can i see what katsuki + supernatural is like? congrats on 1k, i hope you hit infinity!! - 🦍 anon

thank you my sweet, beautiful gorilla an(nie)on. your identity may always be a mystery, but i feel as though we’re very close friends ♡

                                  -ˋˏ ༻ 光 ༺ ˎˊ-

「BAKUGOU KATSUKI」

— supernatural! au / mythology! au

— warnings: 18+, smut, all characters are aged up.

⤏ the greek gods are alive and well, thriving even. with daily offerings from millions around the world, their powers surpass limits well beyond human perception.

⤏ of course, humanity either prospers or perishes at the fall of a pin; the pettiest grievance can mean life or death for a mortal being, and so, humanity does all it can to keep them pleased

⤏ with this surge of followers, comes evolution. specifically, of the minor monsters and mythological creatures. beasts gain the ability to shift between forms, using molds of mortals to lure them to their deaths

⤏ enter: katsuki bakugou, the hell hound

⤏ cerberus is no longer simply a four-legged beast. he walks the mortal realm like any other, a— quite hotheaded— aide to hades. a corruptor of souls, if you will

⤏ but mostly, hades just uses him to get under zeus’ skin.

⤏ if there’s anything zeus absolutely loves, it’s beautiful women. maidens— skin smooth as whipped butter, voices sweet as pure honey— tempting him to dip a finger, or rather an entire limb, into the world of adultery

⤏ and so, the hell hound, when not dutifully guarding the gates of the underworld, prowls for these women. devoted worshippers, who fall to their knees to please the insatiable god, suddenly find themselves enticed by the massive riches bakugou promises them under the patron of hades (among other massive things)

“The mortal realm has nothing for me,” Katsuki pounds a fist against the flat ground, howling. No response from his heinous master. “Bastard!” 

At that, the earth trembles and shakes, seething from deep within. It seems Lord Hades does not take kindly to insults; however, he is too riled up to heed the warning. The son of a bitch can burn this vile domain to the ground, for all he cares. 

As a force that only bows to those whose veins surge with the blessing of the gods, one would think Cerberus has better things to do than be stuck in the world of puny humans. He’s a guardian of the gates of hell, a fierce soldier whose talents lie in the bloody ravaging of intruders. Preying on wide-eyed, imbecilic matrons— sorry women who believe that philanderer of a god Zeus is going to save them— is the last thing he should be doing.

And yet, it is exactly what his Lord has commanded of him. ‘You will enjoy your time with the mortals,’ the cretin had simply chuckled at Katsuki’s disputes on the matter. He pounds another fist against the grass, though this time, with less gall.  

“Father Zeus, holder of lightning,” he hears the soft chime of his victim’s voice before he sees you. Making his way through thick underbrush, he follows the sound until he sees you. 

And there you perch, kneeling at the modest altar in devout worship. Though your knees must ache, separated from the hard floor by only a simple robe, you chant the words perfectly; it seems you take special care not to falter in prayer. “I implore you, guide me to be just.” 

Katsuki simply observes, keeping his distance so as to not interrupt you. It is not as though you are the first human woman to cross his path; he has pillaged one too many poor souls who have stumbled into the Underworld, though you are certainly the most enchanting. 

It isn’t your looks that have him mesmerized, not at all. While your beauty— the curve of your supple lips, your plentiful bosom, the slight dip of your lower back— certainly aids the situation, it’s your demeanor that keeps him rooted sturdily in place. Not once does your voice waver, nor do your limbs quake. You keep steadfast in your goal of bestowing proper homage upon your cruel, cruel god. 

How dare the bastard neglect such a worthy offering? How can he stand to keep someone of such stature, tiny yet flooding with vigor, on your knees when you so clearly cherish him with your entire being? 

By the time your prayer is over, dusk has long since come and gone; your fire is now reduced to mere ashes, and Katsuki’s sharp eyes don’t overlook the chills that appear on your exposed skin. 

Even so, the altar is bathed in an ethereal glow, your basket of oblations untouched. As they will remain, until some insufferable thief comes along and snatches them away. For a reason unbeknownst to him, the thought of this occurrence sends electricity down his spine, harsh red clouding his sight, his nails itching to shift into claws. 

“Why do you bow to a god,” his gruff lilt resonates across the field, startling you, “who is too preoccupied committing adultery to accept your bounty?” His aim is not to lull you into a false sense of compliance, as Hades wishes, but to talk some logic into an ignorant sheep. 

Within seconds, he crosses the field until he finds himself only inches away from you. Though he had noticed a syrupy scent from afar, it’s nothing compared to now: ambrosia, nectar of the gods. The smell is practically intoxicating— it must be the offerings. 

“Oh dear Zeus, he knows not what he says,” you ignore his question, choosing instead to beseech your lord for forgiveness. It’s odd, and a bit insulting, that you don’t cower in the presence of Cerberus, his looming form typically sending travelers into shock. Even as he inches closer, you make no move to run or hide. 

“How many times must I tell you he’s not listening,” the deep growl that escapes his throat borders on ravenous. He has to give it to his master, “At least Hades answers.” 

At the mention of Zeus’s brother, you finally turn to face Katsuki, eyes narrowing at the irritable man. He’s chosen well to hide his true form, but his eyes— piercing, blood red— must still seem every bit akin to a beast. 

“Zeus has blessed my family for generations past and will do so for generations to come,” you offer meekly. What happened to the steadfast woman he saw only minutes ago? 

“Of course,” he smirks, baring sharp canines, “and I’m sure that is why you don the robes of a humble servant.” When he spots your lips turning downwards, just for a single second, Katsuki knows he’s won. 

But as intimidating as he attempts to be, the sweet scents of honey and nectar threaten to reveal his wanton need. With every step forward, he feels the aura envelop him, attack every one of his senses and send his head spinning. “I could show you,” he’s unable to stop the words from exiting, “you could have all you desire under Hades.” 

“And what do you know of my desires?” Your poise is back tenfold, paired with a quirk of your brow and what he thinks is a dangerous gleam in your eyes. He never thought he’d use that word to describe a mortal woman, of all beings, but here he is. 

“My knowledge surpasses yours,” he brings a pointed nail, a claw, to rest under your chin, tilting your head up so that you may see him in all his glory. 

His finger grazes your bottom lip, and he snickers when you part it to allow him greater access. “Wealth beyond your wildest dreams,” the digit dips into your mouth, presses against your tongue. “Good health,” he brings his other hand to cradle your jaw, bending so that his face meets yours. Inhaling deeply, he now realizes that the pleasant odor was not the offering, but you. 

“Is that all?” you mumble, words muffled. His entire body shudders at the lapping of your wet muscle around his finger, all blood rushing to his nether regions. 

“No.”  The slender digits cupping your face scratch softly against your cheekbone. Beautiful. “Best of all, Hades will offer you— I will give you,” he’s crouching now, pulling his finger from between your lips to give his mouth access, “pleasure.”

                          ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ 光 ⚘᠂ ⚘ ᠃

#blah blah blah 1k #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo #bakugou katsuki #bnha smut #1k.event

[hela-avenger]

poison & wine- part 10

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1810

Summary: Prince Loki of Asgard is in need of a date to take back home. That’s where you come in with a task of your own to make the whole trip with an insufferable prince worth it. Too bad that things don’t always go as planned and you end up giving more than you can take. Fake-Dating AU.

A/N: A little backstory for ya which ends with a pleasant surprise! Shoot me a message if you’ll like to be tagged!

Hela-Avenger Masterlist

Loki takes you on a tour of the royal garden. You knew he wasn’t doing it out of the kindness of his princely heart. He wanted more than you already gave him and you wondered what it could possibly be. Loki knew that you knew something was up and so he decided to just get ahead of it. 

“I have questions,” Loki states. “Questions pertaining to you and your half-immortal life.” 

“Oh, so now you want to get to know me,” you sneer at him. “Funny how things change.” 

“Now that I know you’re not completely mortal, I find you interesting enough to actually want to,” Loki remarks sensing your annoyance immediately. “So let’s start shall we? How old are you?” 

“I’m sure that question is rude to ask a woman in every realm in this universe,” you point out, earning a scoff from him. “But fine, I’m… I’m about 198 years old.” 

“And in Midgardian standards?” 

“24ish.” 

“Hmm,” Loki hums. You were young as he previously suspected you to be. “Does anyone else know about your true lineage?”

“Only Tony and Steve,” you answer. “Tony because he was told by Fury after his death and Steve because… because I knew him from before.”

“From the war? You were there with him?” he asks surprised. You nod and he tries to make sense of it. “You were there when they first found the tesseract.” 

“Contrary to popular belief I never encountered the nuisance of an object,” you tell him. “It wasn’t until later that I found out that it even existed.” 

Loki couldn’t help but stare at you wondering what else you’ve lived through. You were aware of his intense focus on you and you tried very hard to ignore it.

“My story is a long one,” you tell him as you let yourself get distracted by the flowers that seem to reach out for your touch. “It’s best if I start from the beginning and work my way till the end.”

Loki nods in agreement and prompts for you to begin.

“I was born in 1822,” you answer. “Grew up fairly normal and comfortable to my mother’s content, managing to hide her secret for the first twenty years of my life before it all came to a stop.” 

“You stopped aging,” Loki comments.

“I did,” you sigh out. “After turning 19, aging seemed to have grown to a stop. I remained that way for another fifty years. I watched my mother age and die alone because she was afraid of what people might think if they saw me.” 

You take a deep breath trying to relinquish the pain that had taken hold of your chest. 

“I found her journals soon after her death,” you answer. “And I couldn’t… It took awhile for me to actually read them. Found some oddities in the entrances before my birth and that was just the first hint of many that I wasn’t normal.” 

“I was on my own after that,” you tell him. “I left her estate to be taken care of by distant relatives and had to keep moving in order to avoid getting caught on this ageless lie. I managed to avoid all of the wars in my travels. Lying became second nature wherever I went and I avoided getting close to people because of it.”

You shake your head out of the thought knowing you were giving more than was necessary. You hope Loki didn’t notice but he did. He caught the emotion on your voice. 

“Anyways, I avoided the first world war,” you mention. “I was helping out where I could and everything was in such a disarray that no one questioned my agelessness or my not having a husband or kids. Once the war was over, I was on the move again. Time was slipping by quicker by then that I didn’t even notice the change.” 

You pause as you recall the horrors you’ve seen. 

“Another war started up,” you continue. “It was more awful than the last that I couldn’t stand idle on the side anymore, I had to help. I managed to get my hands on some false documentation that allowed me to sign up to be a nurse.” 

You couldn’t help but snort at your cluelessness then.

“I worked my way up the ranks so easily,” you tell him. “I didn’t know why I was so immune to the many diseases going around at the time, nor my inability to get gravely injured or healing as quickly if I did end up hurt. I felt invincible… I hadn’t realized then that I technically was. And because of this mentality, I volunteered to go to the most dangerous locations which then led me to…” 

“The Howling Commandos,” Loki interrupts knowing this story from Thor. “The good old brave Captain.” 

“Yeah,” you laugh. “He was… He was amazing to work with. Not as much fun as…” 

You stop yourself at the thought of him but he’s already invaded your mind. The sound of his laugh echoes in your mind. You feel the brush of his lips against your ear as he quietly sings the word of the song you’re closely dancing to. 

Loki notices your pause and from the look on your face he recognizes where your mind has gone off too.

“You had a lover?” 

“No, I mean… I…” you quickly stammer out a response. “We didn’t have a label on it but we were close. Bucky and I…” 

“Wait,” Loki interrupts. “This Bucky isn’t the one they call the Winter Soldier, is it?” 

You sigh at the label even though it was true. 

“Yes, he is,” you answer. 

“So he knows about your lineage too?” 

“He’s aware there’s someone besides Steve from his past,” you correct him. “He doesn’t know it’s me.” 

Loki glares down at you and you don’t comprehend as to why. 

“Carry on with your story.” 

“Well, from there it’s kind of all textbook,” you answer. “We were turning the tides of the war, releasing so many of our trapped troops, and regaining enemy territory but of course, nothing good ever lasts.” 

“The Man of Winter plummets to his death and soon after the Captain crashes the plane to bury the tesseract.” 

“Against all the rules I had set for myself, I managed to break them,” you sigh out. “I got too close to the squadron and I suffered the consequences of loss. I promptly resigned which in a way didn’t matter as the war had already come to an end.”

Amidst your walk, Loki had led you to a beautiful marble fountain. A bench was nearby and Loki prompted you to take a seat. 

“I disappeared because I had to and I was on my own again,” you tell him. “And I returned to my family estate in need of some change. I repaired what was damaged in my home, updated it, and opened it up as a home for orphan children. I helped run it for as long as I could but had to leave it once the kids started to grow older. I left it with my trusted staff and checked in when necessary.” 

You pause as you notice the figurines in the fountain shift into a different position before freezing up once more. You marveled at it in distraction amazed at the action. 

“What happened next?” Loki asks snapping your focus back to him. 

“Nothing really,” you answer as you turn to him. “I travelled the world like I always do until I was caught by SHIELD, most specifically Director Fury.”

You chuckle at the memory. 

You had been in the middle of the frozen section at some grocery store trying to decide which pint of ice cream to take home. Nick had just plucked one and thrown into your basket making the decision for you. That was the only time you let him do as he pleased when it came to you. 

“Apparently, Thor’s arrival on Earth prompted them to do some research which then made them aware of an incident two hundred years prior,” you explain. “And that’s when Fury found me, realized who I originally was, and made me aware of my true lineage. He tried to convince me into working with him but I refused. Threatened to lock me up and I laughed.”

Loki can’t help but join you in your amusement. Fury was not a man he was fond of and it seems you hadn’t liked him either. 

“In the end, he let me go. Said he would keep an eye on me in case I tried something,” you tell him as your laughter died down. “But then he calls me up again, hoping that I would be able to help him with a private matter.” 

“Steve Rogers…”

“Yes,” you answer. “And that’s how I got reunited with an old friend. I tried to help him acclimate to the modern world but it became disrupted upon your arrival. Fury tried to have me stay back and help but I feared for the aftermath of war and knew that my help was needed there. So I aided New York in recovering from the attack and that’s how I became acquainted with the rest of the Avengers. They all think I was a very brave civilian but Steve, and later on, Tony knew better.” 

Loki nods happy that you skipped his role in your story. He did not enjoy being reminded of his failures. 

“Things kind of blur together from there,” you tell him. “There was that mishap in London, Fury’s death, Hydra, Bucky being alive, Ultron… and a few bumps and bruises later here we are now. The end.”

Loki rolls his eyes at your conclusion knowing you failed to mention one very major detail. 

“You wasted a lot of time on information that I could frankly care less about.” 

“Alright, your majesty,” you mutter in annoyance. You had hoped your tale of woe would satisfy him but it hadn’t. “What is it that you want to know?” 

Before Loki could ask the remaining burning question in his mind, he hears a chorus of laughter nearby. He seeks out the source noting the familiar dresses of his mother’s ladies in waiting from across the fountain. Loki didn’t enjoy their new audience and curious gazes on them. They were most likely gossiping already which after slight consideration could work for him if he played it right. 

The opportunity for Loki to ask you about your father is gone but he was still able to gain something out of you. 

“Loki?” you ask, gaining his attention once more. “What did you want to ask me?” 

Loki’s grin makes an appearance again and you grow weary of it. 

Your suspicions are confirmed right as he takes a gentle hold of your chin and sets his lips onto yours.

poison & wine tag: @damalseer​ @just-the-hiddles​ @jessiejunebug​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @smollest-soybean​ @assassinoftheworld​ @readerbandit​ @doyoufeelikeayounggod​ @strangemcuvlogs​ @ha-tep​ @i-dont-know-eiither​ @gene-king​ @day-dreaming-fox​ @bn-studies​ @is-it-madness​ @sigyn-njorddottir @devilbat​

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas​ @thesilentbluesparrow​ @oddly-drawn-muse​ @josiehosiedaninja​ @hp-hogwartsexpress​ @sadwaywardkid​ @wolf-lover74​

All Works Tag: @jmb959​ @astudyoftimeywimeystuff​ @hellocookiecutter​ @steve-rogers-personal-hell​ @buckybarnesyard​ @not-zari-tak

#loki x reader #loki x ofc #loki x you #loki x oc #prince loki x reader #prince loki x you #prince loki x ofc #prince loki x oc #poison & wine #poison & wine part 10 #fake dating au #marvel au #thor au #loki fic #loki series #loki fanfic #prince loki #prince loki of asgard #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #angst #fluff #reader fic #reader-insert

[way-to-the-future]

#18: Panglossian

(cw: implied reference to self-harm, violence, and sexual content)

His voice comes through reedy and halting, so thin I can hear it in the calls of the toads and the cicadas that dwell in the dry wood. “I didn’t – I didn’t imagine it would be quite so lonely,” he admits, and I feel him shift next to me on our makeshift confessional bench, the heavy cloth of his uniform sighing into the old, dead wood. Adder colors would make him hard to pick out at a distance – another outgrowth of natural decay, a limb of this felled pine that juts stubborn against the night. “Ma and Da and Ruthie – I ain’t spent more than five suns apart from ‘em, ever.”

“Sorrow isn’t a sin,” I interject. I imagine that I sound rather paternal. That might be giving myself a little credit – I’ve got six or seven turns on this poor chap, at best. They don’t call me Brother for nothing. “You’re doing important work, but that doesn’t make it any less difficult.”

“I know,” he sighs. “I know that. But it’s not just the being apart. I don’t feel like a soldier. The rest of the fellows in my brigade, they – “ He has some pride left, and he trips on it. I don’t need to know the particulars.

“It’s alright, friend. You’ve been to speak to your commander?”

Here he sits on his silence, like this is the worst confession he’s made so far. Not that anything he’s told me – about his family back in the Shroud, about the myriad woes he’s seen since coming to this posting so far from everything he’s known. The prideful part of me says that he was fortunate his unit was down a chaplain – I can help him.

“No,” he murmurs, stepping out of his mournful quiet carefully, as though there might be something waiting for him on the other side. “Others’d call me a squealer. I can’t afford that. I can’t let them think I’m weak.”

“It’s a hard situation,” I announce, almost over the end of his phrase. I lace my fingers together and rest them on the broad, soft surface of my cloth-covered middle. It’s so familiar in this space that I can almost relax, but I need to be present. I’m at the helm, here, and he’s both my passenger and the storm. A cloud of fireflies stutters across our view. “If I were in your place, I’d feel cut off. No one to talk to. Nothing to be done.”

“I been having thoughts. Kind I never thought before – ugly ones.” This is sudden. Tender, now.

“Whatcha think, Eamon?” Eamon - that’s his name. That’s who he is, not what he’s got circling in his head like brine in a sinking ship. Not a soldier he can’t be.

“Hurtin’ folks. And, feelin’ low.” Forthcoming. A good sign.

“What kind of low, Eamon?” We both know how this conversation goes; I just need to prompt him.

“Good for nothing. Fool to think I could come here, do something. Be something.” He takes a weary breath in. The air is dry and a little thin, scented always of this wilderness. He is grappling with something as broad as the peaks that stretch out before us, and I can’t rush him through it.

“If you were my brother, Eamon, my comrade, I’d know that wasn’t so. I can see from here how much you’re holding back. How much you’re trying. You’re doing as much as you can, but there’s so much beyond that, isn’t there?”

“I don’t know what to do.” It’s alright, Eamon. “I didn’t want any of this.” We never do, Eamon.

“It must seem an awfully long way to go.” Careful, now. I look at him – young. Young as I was. Young as we all ever are. Young and miserable for it. Until now, alone, but no longer. Not a moment longer. “Eamon, you’ve done everything you could, and that’s an unkind thing to ask of someone. A great deal’s come your way all at once. There’s something I’d share with you, though.”

He won’t look at me – not yet – but all he needs is to hear me.

“I’d tell you – as I’m sure your kin would, and your comrades one day will, that nothing lasts, and nothing is without answer. What you suffer now won’t make you stronger or abler in the future, but neither has it shut the path towards joy. I’d tell you that sorrow comes in proportion with sweetness – that no matter which way you climb the mountain, there is always a meadow, and always a stream. You always see the peak.”

“Apologies, brother, but that sounds like a crock.” He’s managed to keep the tears back, so far.

“Ha! Maybe it is, Eamon. Maybe that’s just how it sounds. But I’m here, now – I’d like to make you happy, if I can. And there are many others like me. More than you could ever count.”

“I don’t know how much there is that would make me happy.” Of course he doesn’t, poor fellow. Hardly seen the world and already he’s at its mercy.

“Maybe there isn’t much at the moment. Maybe, if you only send letters that tell about the good things, and you don’t speak to me as earnestly as you have, there won’t be for far too long. But if you reach out – “ And it’s not so far, Eamon, you can just reach for me, “well. No one should face their sorrows alone.”

“There’s so much, brother.” What a desolate tone. Sympathy chills me to my core.

“And you carry it all with you – but it won’t last. It’ll fall like leaves in autumn.”

“I don’t want it anymore.”

“Are you ready to let it go?”

Silence. Silence that could last bells, or days, silence even in the midst of Rhalgr’s raw country of howling winds and rustling pines and baying wolves.

“No. I don’t want to give up. But I need help.” When he speaks, there’s a painful justice in his tone - he knows that to leave it unanswered would be worse than bearing it.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t need me to ask him. No, there’s a strength in that scraped hand of his, bandaged over from some recent brawl, when he offers it up to take. It’s a strength like a column, like the pile of a bridge, a strength that needs joining, to be levered up until it can stand on its own. He’s crying, now, and it’s beautiful, not because of the way the tears shine on his cheeks in the vivid moonlight, but because they show me the depth of his spirit, the shape and the scope of his soul, and that’s beautiful as it ever is, as it always is. It’s beautiful because I can take his hand and stare him in the eye not harshly but welcomingly, and he’ll know that I see him, that I’ve journeyed so very far and through so very much to see him, through all the long dark of the night, every insufferable step on too weary feet up that hard-bitten path. I’ve crossed the endless gap between us, our words and our eyes, the ways we try to cling to one another and miss. I’ve walked through all the suns and seasons and turns to be here with him as I was always going to be, and even though it may not last I will be here again and he will be, too, even if our names and our faces change in the course of the journey between that instant and this. I see him, and I see every moment I will see him from now until the god of these highlands sweeps us under His palm and the world with us, and my Keeper calls forth the Builder to forge a new earth, no less perfect, from the fulgent ashes.

I’ll live in that moment and all the ones that follow until I sink into the earth and rise up again. I pray, and I hope, that after we come apart that night, I’ll live in him, too, in his memory, and I can last that much longer.

It is a hard thing, to leave him. But nothing lasts – not even us.

I stop at his commander’s tent before I’m gone, the following morning. I tell her what needs to be done. She seems a good woman, to me, even if she doesn’t know him, all of them, like I do. I believe, sweet balm of faith, that she will see it through. And even if she doesn’t – I believe I will see Eamon again.

#time and tide #this one got away from me #as you are probably able to tell #you know when youre writing something and its Important? #yeah #FFXIVWrite2020 #unfortunately this is what teia was made for

[fenrys-moonbae]

A Bright Star in Centuries of Darkness--Chapter 2

Eleanor tugged roughly at the laces of Evalin’s dress, muttering her annoyance beneath her breath.  “Of course we’re to host one of her lapdogs.  I suppose we’re to lay out a fine bed for him and perhaps a golden water bowl as well—”

“Eleanor,” Evalin chided, glancing away from the mirror and back over her shoulder, “we are to act as accommodating hosts regardless of our personal feelings toward his Queen.”

Eleanor huffed, heat rushing through her cheeks.

Like hell she’d be an accommodating host, she thought drily, she’d rather run him out of the castle with a stick, send him back to his dark mistress in the fabled land beyond the mountains where he belonged.

Even if his strong jawline and tawny eyes had stirred something . . . more . . . in her.

She ignored the phantom flicker of enticement that zipped through her and she continued to lace up Evalin’s bodice.

“Perhaps Glaston will have him sent away after dinner.” She tied off the last of the ribbons crisscrossing the back of the azure gown before reaching for the neat pile of golden hairpins beside her, easing them into Evalin’s curls one by one.  “And send along a sweet little note detailing our feelings regarding his visit: ‘Dear Maeve, thank you for making your threat more pronounced by sending one of your favored members of your harem to us immediately after returning my dear sister. In the future, kindly try to pretend to not be the heinous hag that you are and stay put in your drab city of stone.  Sincerely, The King of Wendlyn.”  She snorted. “A good start, no?”

“Eleanor,” Evalin’s voice was exasperated but Eleanor swore she heard the slightest hint of amusement and caught a glimpse of upturned lips in the mirror as she finished pinning her golden curls.  “If you’re going to send such a letter, at least be sure you include her proper title: Queen Maeve.” “Hag Maeve.” “Mistress of Doranelle.” “Unholy Witch of the North.” “Her most illustrious Majesty.” “Spider of the Wood, best dealt with by using the bottom of a boot—” Evalin coughed, trying to cover her laugh, her turquoise eyes shimmering in amusement.  Eleanor hummed her victory as she adjusted the last of Evalin’s curls and stepped back, admiring her handwork.

Where Maeve was an insufferable immortal cow, Evalin was a rare and coveted golden heron, proud and beautiful.  Prince Rhoe had never stood a chance.  

“Well, off with you,” Eleanor flicked a wrist over a shoulder towards the tall and intricately carved door that led out of Evalin’s chambers. “You wouldn’t want to keep his Majesty or his royal guest waiting.  Do pour something foul in his wine for me, perhaps a pinch of mandrake—” “Oh no, don’t you even contemplate it,” Evalin quipped, her shoulders tightening as she looked Eleanor over, an aura of command slipping into place, the aura that would one day lend itself to her rule as Queen, “If you even consider the idea of not attending this dinner . . .”

“What? Glaston will have me contained to my chambers? Force me to--” she gasped mockingly, a hand fluttering to her mouth, “--drudgery duty?  Oh no, what ever shall I do if I have to waulk more fabric?”

She waved a dismissive hand, let her cousin punish her as he saw fit.

What was the worst he could do?

Make her mop the floors?  Sit through more nasally history lessons with her childhood tutor Randor?

No, she was quite content not facing one of the warriors that poised such a threat to her dearest friend, content to remain quietly in her room so that her damnable mouth didn’t instigate something more than Glaston’s irritation.

She suspected the warrior would be wearing gravy in addition to the piss and dye if she attended this dinner.

“Elle,” Evalin’s voice was laced with warning, a sound that Eleanor was certain her future children would become accustomed to very quickly, “dress now so we can go.”

Eleanor sniffed disdainfully, sidestepping Evalin as she made her way toward the large canopy bed and gracefully eased into a lounge across the delicately embroidered duvet.  “Oh, I fear I’ve taken ill cousin, a right case of the pox.  I regret to inform you I won’t be able to attend dinner tonight.” She rolled over onto her back, staring at the canopy above her.  “Do send my best regards though.”

Yes, a cat nap and tea sounded rightly delightful, especially if she could manage to sneak a few sugar-dusted pastries from the kitchen.

Eleanor barely registered the movement beneath her before she found herself sliding off the bed as the covers beneath her fled.  She plopped unceremoniously onto the floor with a yelp, scowling at the golden bedding in Evalin’s manicured hand.

“Get dressed, Elle.”

“I do not wish to,” she quipped in return, a streak of stubbornness washing through her, “and since I am a princess, I do as I please.”

The argument she had used time and time again since she was a child.

Most times it proved successful, even against her more formidable foes.

Evalin’s brows furrowed.  Delicately, she dropped the fabric to the floor and planted her hands firmly on her slim hips before approaching Eleanor with a knowing look on her delicate features. “Get dressed or I will tell Glaston who, exactly, let that entire flock of geese into the spring masquerade two years ago. The one where Duke Marwick nearly lost an eye?”

Ouch.

Well, when she put it that way.

“Fine,” Eleanor rose, brushing bits of invisible dust off her gown, frowning at her still emerald-tinged nails.  “But I will not be happy about it.  Perhaps I’ll visit the apothecary and get a pinch of mandrake to poison his tea myself.”

--------

The water Gavriel dumped over his head was refreshingly cool in the stifling summer heat as it ran in long torrents down his bare neck and shoulders.  Gingerly, he reached for one of the vials of soap a set of young female servants had brought him, giggling and fumbling as they’d stared at him before sloppily curtsying and rushing back down the hall.

He’d sighed in quiet exasperation.

Perhaps his Queen should have sent Vaughan or Lorcan in his place, both were better suited to deal with the affections and pining of young women.  They enjoyed such attention.

Gavriel, however, would have much preferred a quiet retreat with no flirting women . . . and to not smell of . . . urine.

He sighed again.

Dumping the soap directly onto his wet hair he lathered it, relieved to find it did not smell of anything atrociously sweet.  Pulling his hand away, he was amused to find the bubbles were a rich emerald.

The young woman’s aim had undoubtedly been remarkable.

He had expected some resistance with his arrival, at least an air of distrust from the Wendlyn nobles given the nature of his visit in regard to Evalin Ashryver.  He hadn’t expected to be doused in a torrent of urine and dye, however.  And by a petite blonde with the most striking features he’d ever seen, no less.

An Ashryver noble no doubt.

She had looked like Princess Evalin but sharper and wilder, her eyes a bit smaller and more angled and her lips a plump pink line that he imagined sat in a delicate pout when she wasn’t fuming.

He’d heard her furiously grousing about his Queen as he’d approached before she’d thrown the bucket and splashed him with its contents before he could react.

He’d only been able to stare at her in disbelief as she watched him with an expression caught somewhere between horror and fury before disappearing beyond the stone, Princess Evalin’s laugh resounding across the battlement.

Honestly, he’d half expected the girl to throw the bucket at him as well.

He had felt oddly sheepish approaching the soldiers at the gate smelling of piss and dyed the color of evergreens.  The looks of disbelief and horror that had washed over their features had detracted from any of the fear that usually came with his arrival.

He’d only been relieved that Fenrys hadn’t been there to howl his amusement.

To his surprise, King Glaston had immediately welcomed him into the castle and had looked him over with quiet mortification before swearing he’d discover who had dumped refuse onto him. He’d then quietly offered him a room where he could freshen up and scrub the dye and . . . other substances from his person and clothes.

Glancing sidelong to the pile of clothing beside the wash bin Gavriel sighed, he was fairly certain his tunic would never be the same shade of grey it had been.  Fortunately, Glaston had offered him clean garments for the dinner he was to attend and had said a servant would tend to the washing.

Not that he was sure he’d ever see his clothes again if either of those young servants were assigned to the task.

He dumped another pitcher full of water over his head and found that the rivulets of the water were still a vibrant emerald.  He was going to need more soap.

 -------

Of course, Glaston had found it imperative that he seat her right across from the broad-shouldered warrior, right in the bask of the candlelight too, giving her a detailed view of his too-pretty face, the sharp planes illuminated by the soft glow.

Eleanor didn’t fail to notice the remnants of green dye that still tinged the male’s golden locks however, even if he’d successfully washed the stench of piss away.

Small victories, she thought smugly as she took a sip from her elderberry wine, the vintage that Glaston only had brought out when the most notable of guests arrived.

Too bad Evalin hadn’t given her a chance to drop down into the kitchen to look for some type of herb that might loosen his stomach a bit.

She watched him sip from his cup, his tawny eyes respectfully averted from her, roaming aimlessly across the large dining hall.  Perhaps if she bumped the table just so she might be able to send the decanter of wine spilling into his lap—

“What do you say, Eleanor?” She froze, having entirely tuned out the conversation as she glared daggers at the male before her.  She quickly took a sip of wine before turning her attention to Glaston, fixing her cousin with an easy and polite smile as she felt Evalin stiffen beside her.

“I beg your pardon, your Majesty?”

Her cousin’s lips downturned disapprovingly, his turquoise eyes flickering with annoyance.

Glaston’s broad face had only grown harsher with each year of his rule, the handsome features slowly settling into a permanent scowl.  Fortunately, his babe Galan had seemed to have taken after his olive-skinned mother, her beautiful features softening the harsh planes of his father.

“I was saying, Eleanor,” she hid the flinch from his tone well, “that it is most unfortunate that our guest Lord Gavriel,” A lord, of course, “was greeted in a such an unruly fashion upon his arrival.  Lord Dennor was strolling near the palace when he saw the incidenct occur and mentioned that you might know who the culprit could be.”

Conniving pig. Of course Dennor had been present for the event, the ruddy lord with a hooked nose and pump middle who’d been furious with Eleanor ever since she declined his proposition of marriage.  He’d fluctuated between making her life a living hell and showering her with trinkets to try and win her favor ever since.

Apparently, he was intent on having her hung this evening.  Likely hoping that Glaston would finally have enough of her and dump her into his lap just to be rid of her.

She barely resisted the urge to turn and glare at the round little man who sat at opposite the end of the table, no doubt inflated with the pride that he’d caught her doing something wrong.

Well, two could play at that game.

Eleanor straightened her spine as the king continued.

“We have been unable to discover which servant girl was so careless as to pour refuse off the wrong side of the battlement,” she felt Evalin’s hand rest on her knee, a reassuring squeeze, “and I was curious as to inquire if you might know, given there was rumor of your waulking fabric this afternoon.”

Furious.  Glaston was absolutely livid.

“I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest clue, your Majesty,” she wiped delicately at her mouth with a pressed napkin, keeping her face neutral as she spoke in a light tone, “but I assume whoever did so was likely not aiming for our honored guest and must have lost their hold on the handle when they smelt the enrapturing aroma of our dear Lord Dennor coming up the path.” She felt Evalin cringe beside her and didn’t miss the spark that went through Glaston’s gaze or the baffled, offended shriek from the lord.  She knew she’d be punished for it but the sound of the other courtiers snickering beneath their breath would be well worth it.

If she hadn’t known better she would have also thought she saw the slightest tilt of the warrior’s mouth, even as the rest of his face remained impassive, almost bored.

She sipped delicately at her wine.

If she was going to burn she was at least taking someone with her.

Gaston completely ignored the comment.

“Lord Gavriel,” the king addressed the warrior instead, the damning witness in this case. Eleanor swallowed hard as she watched him tilt his head politely in acknowledgement, the movement too smooth to be anything but predatory--and they’d given him dinner knives?  Foolish.  “Do you recall what the serving girl looked like?  Perhaps we can identify her and see to it that she is punished accordingly.” Eleanor was certain the male – Gavriel - was just waiting to sell her out so she braced herself, prepared for the hell wind that would sweep down upon her once Glaston knew for certain it was her.  Evalin’s hand dug harder into her knee.

“Your Majesty, I am a lord in title only and though I am honored that you address me as such, it is unnecessary.  I am only a soldier.”  He watched Eleanor curiously, his tawny eyes bright. “And as for the servant girl, I’m afraid I am uncertain what she looked like.  Dark hair, perhaps? Olive skin?  I cannot recall.  However, I do not believe she meant any harm and it would bring me great relief if she were not punished for a simple mistake.  I am here to build relations with your kingdom, not to incriminate your servants, your Majesty.”

Polite and succinct.

How many years had this male been waging wars not only on the battlefield but in the court as well?  He seemed well acclimated to both.

Eleanor tried not to let the shock creep onto her face as she watched the fae warrior before her.  He’d certainly known that it had been her who had dumped the bucket and had, for some gods forsaken reason, chosen to not acknowledge it.  

She could hear Dennor’s flabbergasted muttering, no doubt furious she’d gotten away with it and still recovering from his wounded ego.  She watched as the warrior dipped his chin respectfully to the king, briefly flickering his attention toward her before mildly returning to his meal.

“If you are certain, Lor—Sir Gavriel,” Glaston corrected himself, an air of confusion seeming to float about him, surprise almost.  Evalin visibly deflated, “In any case, I would still like to remedy the unfortunate accident. I would like to offer you a host for the remainder of your time here, company if you will.” Well, at least Glaston was finally talking sense, Eleanor thought in relief.  Having someone watch where the warrior prowled might make him less likely to do something foolish--

“—and I think our dear Eleanor would be ideal to escort you through our home.  I’m certain my lovely cousin would be more than happy to entertain you through the duration of your stay.” It was like a bucket of ice had be dowsed down Eleanor’s back as she openly gaped at Glaston, all sense of refinement gone.  Had he gone bloody mad?  Evalin stomped gently on her foot, trying to get her to regain her composure.

“It would be the highest honor to have a Princess of Wendlyn as an escort,” Gavriel nodded respectfully towards Eleanor, something like amusement flicking through those golden eyes.  “I thank you for your hospitality.” “It is no trouble, Sir Gavriel, we are honored to have you here.” Glaston looked a bit like the cat who had finally caught the canary, smug and content to glut himself on his kill.  He cast her a pointed look.  “She will meet you tomorrow morning at sunrise to explore the grounds and show you our noble kingdom.”

It took all of Eleanor’s control to not reach down the table and flip Glaston’s plate into his face.

Tags

@seekingformangoes

#gavriel #Throne of glass #Aedion #aedion ashryver #kingdom of ash #The cadre #koa #aelin #aelin ashryver #evalin ashryver #fanfiction #pre-throne of glass #sarah j maas #glaston #galan #wendylyn #I'm still figuring out how to tag things

[dear-vista]

her shadow [t.h.]

[ prince!tom x reader ]

summary: when the princess of france is arraigned to marry the prince of england to help the financial front, zendaya and her sister come to stay at the castle. you make an odd first impression with the royal family, causing the prince to take a certain interest in you. with a heart of gold, you put up with being in your sister’s shadow. but with newfound interest in the prince, how far can you take your curiosities?

word count: 2.8k

warnings: none ( maybe a swear word? )

author’s note: imma be real homies, this was a trek. i worked on this chapter for a long time and i changed it a lot and it took a while for me to be comfortable with it, and i also dealt with some major writer's block. in my personal, i moved to a new city and it's been really hard for me. my mental health hasn't been and still isn't the greatest, but maybe this can be my crutch. i know you guys waited for this and let me just say, a BIG FUCKIN THANK YOU. Y'all were supportive and patient and it's really wonderful to have that in times like this :) but we hit over 100 followers and i never thought i would do that. so again, thank you. and i promise i'll try not to make the next update two months from now. anyway, enjoy chapter three :) also, if i forgot to add you to the tag list or you would like to be added, either comment or send an ask :)

part 1 part 2 part 3

For the next hour of your time, Anastasia had you sat in a bathtub as she desperately tried to scrub the scent of liquor and what could only be called ‘desperation’ off your skin. Sure, your arms and legs looked like cherry tomatoes that had grown in awkward ways, but thank the gods it was normal to wear long sleeves. Anastasia humored you, asking about your time in the city, asking what the pub was like, what the people were like. When asked if she had even left the castle gates, she got quiet and it made your heart ache.

She pulled you from the tub, drying you off as you shivered from the water that had all but turned to ice. You pulled on your undergarments yourself, hating even entertaining the idea of anyone dressing her. You had two hands and thought yourself perfectly capable of pulling fabric on. Anastasia busied herself with looking through your dresses until a knock rang through the room. The copper-haired maid scuttled to open the door but was immediately pushed back by the person you wanted to see probably the least.

“You’re insufferable. Insisting on going into town and drinking your heart out. We’re not in France where you can spend your life as a peasant. We are guests of the King and Queen and you will act as such.” Zendaya scolded you as you sat back, eye looking bored. All she could do was glare at you and you truly questioned if the corset around her waist was so tight that it could cause mental defects. The thought made you snicker, causing the princess to huff.

“You will not embarrass me tonight, our first meal with the King, the entire family. So I went and picked out a dress for you.” What she held up made you want to vomit. A sickly colour that looked like a mix of green and purple with bright white lacing up the front. “You will wear this and you will not speak tonight unless spoken to. Your spot will be next to the twins. Maybe, if you clean up your act, you can pick a Holland of your own.” She smirked.

The way she spoke of the family like objects put you in perspective once again. You were not in the friendly village you called home, not in the city that welcomed you with laughter and drinks. You were in the London palace, surrounded by cold royalty who thought everyone who wasn’t them, wasn’t worth the air they breathed.

“Maybe I don’t want a ‘Holland of my own’” You quoted, “Maybe I think of them as people and would also like to marry as far away from you as possible.” You sneered. She couldn’t help but smirk, because she just loved to get under your skin. You guessed you could blame your mother, though this was something so purely aggravating that just she possessed. With that all being said, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

You stood for a second, trying to mask your heaving chest from the immense anger you felt as you played with the small necklace that sat around your neck. It was a circle, representing the moon that a blacksmith had given you after showing you the countryside just outside of France. You clicked your tongue as you pushed yourself off the chair you had been leaning on, going over to the closet where all your clothing was hanging.

Fabric began to fly as you dug through the clothes, of course, there was quite a bit. But you knew what you were looking for. The moment your hand brushed against it, you pulled it from the closet. A smile formed on your features as you turned towards Ana.

“The people here do talk, don’t they?”

When it was time for the dinner, there was a guard at your door. And lucky for you, you had met this one before. Ana had just finished your make-up as Harrison knocked on your door. She hurried over as you stood, dusting off your dress as you looked in a mirror. A whistle was heard behind you as you turned with a raised brow.

“Well, well, well (Y/N). Looks as if you clean up quite nicely.” He teased as you walked over to him and took his extended arm. You scoffed as you waved goodbye to Ana. “Please, do tell me your secret to sobriety.” He said in a joking manner.

“An hour in an ice bath would wake anyone up.” You admitted as you walked through the halls. You could hear small bits of chatter, soft music as you raised a brow. They had a band just for a simple dinner? Though, you guessed it wouldn’t be considered ‘just a dinner’. The coming of the Princess who was to marry the heir to the throne, the uniting of the kingdoms, that could be a cause for some kind of celebration. It was as if Harrison could feel your hesitance, quickly offering you a soft smile, patting your arm.

“You took on the pubs of London. Some small dinner should be no cause for concern.” He encouraged you, making a breathless laugh leave your lips.

“The streets of London and France are one thing. If I get in trouble, throwing a punch is on the table. But in  a dinner with one of the strongest monarchies in Europe, I don’t think that’s necessarily acceptable.” You chuckled along, drawing ever closer to the source of your fear. At the door, Harrison stopped you. He turned you towards him, hands resting on each shoulder lightly.

“Now (Y/N), do excuse my speaking outright but they are nothing to fear. Just sit there with a fake smile like the rest, and don’t speak unless you’re spoken to if you’re truly that frightened. But as your friend, yes I consider you a friend by now, I encourage you to just try and enjoy yourself. Tom will be there, look to him for guidance if need be. You’re going to do great.” He flashed a smile as you took a breath, nodding and dusting your dress off.

“Into the pit then.”

You entered fairly unnoticed. You could feel a few pairs of eyes on you as Harrison walked you in, linked by the arms to your seat. You were sat in the middle of your sister and one of the twins. At both heads sat the King and Queen. Zendaya to her right, Tom to her left. Next to Tom was the youngest Holland, playing with his food. The other twin, Harry or Sam you couldn’t be sure, sat across from the other. In all honesty, you weren’t really paying enough attention to be able to decipher them apart.

You could feel Zendaya’s gaze as you sat in the deep emerald green dress that adorned your form, along with what you could only assume was Tom’s eyes locked onto you. You smiled as you sat, mouthing a ‘thank you’ to Harrison subtly before looking across the table to Tom, who offered you a grin. Zendaya grabbed your arm with tight lips and you could feel her sneer without even having to look at her.

“I told you to wear the grey dress. Where did you even get this?” She hissed, pulling at the silk fabric as you swatted her hand away. With the small burst of confidence that Harrison gave you from his pep talk, you grinned at your dear sister.

“To be honest with you Z,” Your voice was filled with the type of spite that you only harbored when you were sure you had an upper hand, something you seemed to be very unsure of at that moment. “I really don’t give a damn what you told me to do. Because you may be my big sister, but that doesn’t make you any less of a pain in my ass.” You said with a smile as you looked back up across the table, hearing one of the twins snicker from beside you.

“Zendaya, you look wonderful tonight.” The queen chimed before your sister could get a word in edgewise. “Tom,” the older woman purred to her eldest, gesturing to her, “doesn’t she look stunning?” She asked with the intent of helping her son, only to make his smile falter.

“Of course.” He chimed with an uncomfortable look in his eye. “Though, I’ve never really been a fan of yellow.” He said, making you want to howl with laughter from the look of pure and utter horror that tried to escape Zendaya’s face. “But (Y/N), the green looks wonderful.” You were practically wheezing.

The dinner went through smoothly after that. You were actually mildly enjoying yourself. You decided that maybe, just maybe, you should steer away from any kind of alcohol for the night, sticking with water throughout the meal. You could hear the twins snickering from across the table to each other, Tom playing with Paddy, earning the occasional scowl or scolding from their mother. Dom and Nikki conversed with Zendaya, occasionally including you in a question or two. It was a bit of a change but you didn’t really mind it. Though, you were sure this is one of the first dinners with any kind of royalty where you actually felt anything at all besides pure exasperation.

“(Y/N)” You felt a nudge from beside you, catching your attention and making you turn to the twins. You couldn’t help but raise a brow at the look of mischief on their faces. Maybe it wasn’t so much externally, but you knew that glint in their eyes from a mile away. After all, you were usually the one who held it. You watched for a moment as the two exchanged a glance, a silent thought shared as if it was telepathically.

“We want to go beyond the wall.” The twin closest to you said, who throughout the night you figured out was Harry, Sam nodding after he said it. The hall was noisy enough that you hoped no one could hear your conversation. Of course, they would come to you because of course, they knew. Your little outing had only gone over the head of the king and queen. And for as long as you were a resident of their home, you’d like to keep it that way.

“What do you mean you want to go ‘beyond the wall’? Why are you telling me? You’ve got full power over yourselves, can’t you just go?” You asked with furrowed brows. At home, being the younger sister of the heir didn’t mean much. You were just another person with some nobility. No one cared when you came and went, hell, you were once gone for two weeks and when you returned, your mother gave you no more than a nod. You couldn’t see what the big deal about leaving the gates was. But your confusion just increased as the twins shook their heads.

“We don’t really leave the castle unless its for some war preparation that our father has planned. We don’t greet the public, we don’t go into the city. Mother says it’s wrong for royalty to be in those kinds of conditions.” Another thing you could add to the growing list of things you disliked about the king and the queen. They were your sister’s type of royalty, your father’s type of royalty. But even then, Zendaya and your father made appearances in the lower city, to show they ‘cared’ about their citizens.

“Well I don’t know what you want me to do about it.” You said, mind already knowing where they wanted to go with their statement, mentally forbidding yourself from accepting. It was bad enough that you had your sister on your tail the entire time, but the last thing you needed was to be on the foul side of the King and Queen of England. Especially staying at their home, it was really not preferable.

“We want you to take us-”

“No.” You wouldn’t even let Sam, the one sitting across from the two of you, finish his sentence. “Absolutely not. If you’re not allowed out then there’s no way in the seven circles of hell that I would even attempt to get you out. Ask one of the guards or the golden child. But you won’t be coming out with me.” You didn’t need their lives in your hand just to have your head on a plate. It wasn’t worth it.

“But you can get out! You just left with one of the guards!” Harry complained, his voice was in a whining tone, making you roll your eyes.

“Yes, I can get out. Because everyone here is so invested in the fact that my sister is here that they’re going to look right over my head. But that’s because I’m not one of England’s star princes or one of France’s prize citizens. At home, I come and go as I please. I’m sure they expected no different from me here. I don’t believe it would be in my favor that, after I arrived, the twin princes decided it would be a good idea to go off an explore.” You said with a huff. “Now, if you excuse me.” You said as you slowly motioned over to Harrison. Frankly, you had been done eating for a good amount of time, and no longer wished to socialize.

Harrison walked over to you without making eye contact with any of the other royals, bending down to whisper to you, you could feel the smirk that crawled over his lips.

“Now what’s got your feathers in a ruse, princess?” He asked as he extended his arm, helping you raise from your seat. You felt a gaze on your back, and with a look over your shoulder, you spotted Tom. He was smiling, and it wasn’t overly obvious that he was staring at you. Just enough so you could tell. It caused you to offer a small smile of your own before you walked out of the dining hall on Harrison’s arm.

“Just the twins. I’m not really sure if they know my name, but they know I can leave the castle and they want me to get them out.” You sighed once you were out of earshot. The day had been long, and yet strangely you weren’t tired, at all.

“It’s just like them, they’ve been asking me for months now.” You laughed slightly, shaking your head. You would want to escape too if you were them. Being trapped in confined spaces, though under normal circumstances you would never call the walls of this grand castle confined, next to the Kind and Queen had to be painful.

“Harrison, what do you after nightfall? I mean, when there’s no training or guarding to do, what do you do?” You asked curiously, looking up to the blonde. He looked back down at you with a raised brow, already knowing where you were going. And disliking it.

“I go into the guards quarters, and we have a few drinks, we play a few games. Even the kind’s men get a bit of time off. Especially now that you and your sister are here. The king isn’t planning any wars or requiring any kind of extra training so, we actually get some time off to do what we want to do.” Harrison said, actually sounding happy about the fact. Sure, you had only known him for a day, but you could only guess that the serving class around here wasn’t treated the greatest.

“Take me with you. Please.” You asked, in your own way, with hopeful eyes. Harrison’s own blue ones looked down at you with some kind of mix of concern and nervousness. Before he could say anything, you spoke up again. “Please. It would save me temporarily from Zendaya’s wrath. You have no idea what something like wearing the wrong dress entails.” You said with a small chuckle, hoping to persuade him.

“I don't know (Y/N). The boys are kind of tough people to get used to.” He tried to sway you, and you gave him a blank look.

“Harrison, for a good chunk of the day I was in a pud. And there were several fights and I still got myself home unscathed. Sir, I think I can handle myself quite well.” You reasoned, a slight smirk on your lips as Harrison paused. He had to admit, he saw your point. He stayed silent for a few more seconds before sighing.

“Fine. Go change. It would be a shame for this dress to smell like liquor.” He said, causing you to smile brightly. Yes, this would be a good night.

tags: @greenarrowhead @voidtrixie @racewife2004 @technolilly @andreuskystuff @jadav5 @aelin-firehearts-court @spideybitey18 @choke-me-sweet-pea @loxbbg @thebadassbitchqueen @notes-from-my-journal @jubaydahk @carolyns14 @supernatural-strangerthings-1980 @heimdoodle @httpmcrvel @deranged-sewer-rat @justanotherfangirl2015 @shortbty14 

#tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #prince!tom au #prince!tom #princessdiariesau #royal!au #royal!tom #tom holland series #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland x reader fluff #tom holland x reader angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #marvel #her shadow #trying my best #THANK YOU!!! #like and heart!

[renaroo]

Surrender (1/27)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence, PTSD, Psychological Manipulation, Dubious Nonconsent, Sexual Content Pairings: WashingtonxFelix, WashingtonxTucker Rating: M Synopsis: [Canon Divergence] In a world where Wash, Donut, Sarge, and Lopez end up with the New Republic, and Felix and Locus’ strategy to manipulate Chorus takes major adjustments. And Felix isn’t above exploiting a new found weakness.

A/N: Well. This is going to be.... something different, that’s for sure lol. Okay, so this is going to be much darker than a lot of my other fics, I’d say probably all of my fics, and it’s been something I’ve put off fully fleshing out and writing for ages now, but thanks to some encouragement from good friends, I’m about to bring some unwarranted filth to this fandom again. I am sorry but also not at all sorry.

I cannot stress enough PLEASE LOOK AT MY TAGS AND WARNINGS IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE. This is not going to be a pleasant fic once we dig into things, and it’s going to touch on or fully dive into all of the elements mentioned in the warnings. I do not want accidentally trigger people so please take some self care if any of the situations mentioned bother you. 

There will be explicit sexual scenes in the future.

And a special thanks to @goodluckdetective, @secretlystephaniebrown, @powerfulpomegranate, @a-taller-tale, and @littlefists for the encouragement/bullying to actually write this fic :P

A Subtle Change

"No one shoots my men but me!” Sarge roared from his position. 

The canyon they had been holed up in for the past several weeks was overflowing with members of the Federal Army that this Felix guy had been warning them about and quite frankly, it was difficult to not think of them as less enemy combatants and more canon fodder considering how unbelievably well their fortifications were holding up.

Well. All things considering since CeeCee had gone and mutinied on them with Dos-point-oh. 

All those considerations that were certainly no fault of Sarge’s own, of course, they were doing incredibly well prior to Donut being hit with the recursive blast of some sort of grenade. Which simply would not do! It wouldn’t do at all for anyone to be responsible for the untimely demise of Red Team that wasn’t either by Sarge’s own hands or by that of the hands of their forever immortalized enemies, no matter what Agent Washington tried to trick them into believing, the dastardly devils of Blue Team!

“Do you hear me? No one’s allowed to take out my men unless they want to take out me! So bring it, you cowardly, well organized, unthinking, white demon spawn!” Sarge continued to howl, getting up on top of his cover so as to make sure that the enemy had to look him in the eye as he slaughtered them wholesale!

“Sarge! What are you doing!?” Agent Washington snapped from below, yelling over his own return fire.

“Making sure the enemy retreats in the face of my boldness!” Sarge answered firmly. He then glanced up only to be dismayed by the lack of white retreat.  “Double damn! I told you that we should have made time for warpaint! It’d be working if you’d only listened to me, Agent Washington!”

“We didn’t have time for anything thanks to your fucking robot mutiny!” Wash snarled. “Now get down before you get yourself shot!”

“Ha!” Sarge called out eagerly. “One afternoon without that dirty Blue armor and you’re already talking insubordination like a true Red, Agent Washington. I knew that yellow stripes are a part of our dubious code. I went to Space Woodstock, after all!”

“Shut up and get some cover!” Washington snapped again.

Sarge made a few shots from the hip, feeling only emboldened by their position. His chest swelled with pride. “Looks like we’ve got this under control—“

He heard the crack of the sound barrier before he could feel it.

The sound was so loud and so sudden, it built the pressure around his head to the point that even with a helmet firmly on, Sarge’s ears painfully popped.

By the time the force of the hit was catching up with him and Sarge realized that his chest had been hit hard enough by the blast that it had knocked him to the grass, Sarge was utterly winded. His lungs were so empty that his chest was painful and as stunned as he was, he couldn’t manage to even gasp for air.

His vision doubled — nay, tripled — before him, and Sarge was left with his limbs flailed to his sides as he laid on the ground. It was a good day to die except even as the sky above him spun and blurred and tripled until nothing was quite making sense anymore, he could somehow still hear Simmons screeching at him.

“Sarge! Get up! I can’t…. Someone help! I can’t pick him up on my…”

The ringing kicked up a few notches and something or someone changed Sarge’s position because his scenery changed entirely, dazing and confusing him even more than he already was.

“Get the wounded!” a voice Sarge could not even begin to recognize managed to break through the surreality he was experiencing.

Everything was waited and heavy, he wasn’t sure how the bruiser managed to get Sarge over his shoulder and take off at the speed he was, but he could see he wasn’t alone.

Two other figures in tan and green were lifting Donut’s limp and charred form between them, heading in the same direction.

They passed Grif and his stupid useless Future Cubes.

“Grrrffff,” Sarge attempted to scold, unable to hear what stupid things Grif was screaming as he threw the cubes at the ever increasing enemy. “Grrrrff.”

The orange figure was disappearing more and more, only to reemerge.

It wasn’t Grif, though. It was the other orange that he hated. The not-Freelancer who helped end their quiet peacefulness in the canyon. That Felix fella. That…

He had Agent Washington hanging over one of his shoulders, half limping with him forward, half dragging. Washington’s head hung low, his helmet cracked.

“Are you getting to the cave?” Tucker’s voice burst through the ringing, he was racing up with his sword out. A fact that should have let itself open to more than a few jokes but Sarge could feel his spinning head slowing again. It was too much to take in.

“Yeah, get on in there, we’re gonna have to close up the cave to make an escape now,” Felix ordered. “I mean that like twenty minutes ago yesterday now. So come on—“

“Yeah, I hear you. Tell me who’s still not in the cave!” Tucker demanded angrily. “I’m not fucking around, Felix, tell me who’s—“

“Grrrifff,” Sarge coughed out, getting Tucker and Felix’s attention simultaneously.

“Right, which also means Simmons,” Tucker concluded, correctly. “Do you have Caboose yet?”

“We have Agent Washington,” Felix answered, like it was remotely the same thing.

“Okay, great, then give us a few minutes and I’ll get the others, too!” Tucker claimed, turning to leave when Felix roughly grabbed his wrist and yanked him hard enough to nearly send him dipping backwards.

“We don’t have minutes, you insufferable—“ Felix tried to hiss out only for Tucker to free himself and race toward the fight. “Fucking idiot!”

Sarge chuckled, despite how much it hurt. He had a begrudging respect for the thin mint. Leaving no men behind. That was almost Red Team worthy—

“Set the charges,” Felix ordered. “We’re getting out of here with who we’ve got.”

The words were unimaginable, catching Sarge not only off guard but they were so… wrong. The only thing he could muster out was a solid “No.”

The word was apparently enough as Felix looked around before focusing on Sarge. He tilted his head and leaned forward. “You’ll thank me later, Old Timer,” he declared before reaching forward and then—

Everything went black.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Washington wasn’t sure how, but he was reliving his greatest nightmare. Flat on his back, chin tilted back, head throbbing like his skull had been cracked open and splintered into a thousand pieces, a monitor beeping quietly nearby but not quiet enough.

Vision came to him in fish bowl lens flashes. A face he never knew, then another, then both. Muffled words, medical in nature. The sort of interest in his body and less his person that could leave even the boldest of men with a chill down their spines. Most of the time it was only a light, glaring into him, making him feel empty and bare to its insight.

What wasn’t a flash of vision fading in and out of his surroundings was overwhelming numbness. Darkness.

Things were not well. Things were not what they were supposed to be.

It was years beyond Freelancer, months since the nightmares, weeks since the nightmares returned with an altogether different ship crashing and an altogether different team being failed by his same hands.

So why was he surrounded by doctors in masks and hospital machinery again? Was anything in between the two dreadful memories real?

They had to be. They were. Tucker and Caboose. They were real. They were his team. He was a Blue and—

Sarge had been shot. They were in a canyon. Donut? Was he even alive? There had been a firefight.

They were winning. They were losing.

Washington was behind cover. But he couldn’t see Locus, and Locus was the one he was supposed to keep his eye on most and then…

Then his cover didn’t cover much anymore.

He was dead, surely, but rather than that reality he was faced instead with a gulping breath of air as his eyes snapped open. Someone was touching his throat. His throat was bare. He wasn’t in his armor or his under armor mesh. He was exposed and the hand was at his throat and he had to make it stop—

“He’s awake!” the woman’s voice called just before Washington grabbed her hand at the wrist and rung it back, twisting her forearm painfully until she let out a shriek. “HELP! ORDERLIES! PLEASE!”

His head was still painfully throbbing and he knew what calling for orderlies meant, he knew more than almost anyone else by that point in his fairly unjust life. Wash gritted his teeth and held tighter to her wrist. “What were you doing to me!?” he demanded.

“No need for orderlies, ma’am! Double-Oh Donut’s on the job!”

Before Washington could even process who the comment was coming from, two arms looped themselves under his armpits from behind and hoisted him back, nearly flattening Wash’s own back out against a broad chest. Almost immediately, Washington began to thrash without letting the doctor’s arm go.

“Let go of me!” Wash ordered. “Let-Let…” he struggled less, looking over his shoulder and being met by a very familiar, though looking particularly empathetic, look. “Donut?”

“That’s right, Washington. You’re with friends,” another sly voice said before a hand closed around Washington’s own. “So how about you let go of the nice doctor here without breaking any arms today, huh?”

Washington looked back toward the voice and saw Felix, in full armor, standing by him. Then he looked to the doctor’s look of sheer terror and pain, a disturbing flip in his stomach giving a measured response. “I… I am so sorry,” he said, releasing the doctor’s hand. “I…”

“You… were in shock, and had a violent reaction,” the doctor tried to explain, rubbing her reddened wrist while taking an extra step away from them. “It’s underst—“

“What the nice doctor means is that it’s totally understandable that you’d have a reaction like that,” Felix cut in. “I mean, look at your record.”

Wash stiffened again which prompted Donut to hold onto him tighter. “What record?”

“All of you with Project Freelancer. None of you have exactly had it easy, have you?” Felix remarked almost gently.

There was nothing Washington could think to say to that, fortunately, Donut was still holding on for dear life.

“You’re telling us!” Donut responded with a bit of a huff. “Heck, I was even supposed to be on shore leave!”

Felix’s gaze stayed locked on Wash’s despite the fact that it was Donut talking. Something about it was… unnerving. “Huh,” he said. “You look younger than I thought you would.”

The comment took Wash aback so much he physically came to a stop, which apparently had been the sort of reaction Donut was waiting for as he finally released Wash’s arms. “Excuse me?” Wash asked, still dumbfounded.

“Just a compliment, you look younger than you sound, crazy of a compliment as it seems,” Felix continued lightly with a shrug.

“Is it a compliment?” Wash asked sharply which then caused Donut to move toward him until Wash held up his hands and stopped Donut by his chest. “I’m fine. I’m not… going to wig out. I’m just…”

“Disoriented and greeted by someone who tends to be a bit too flagrant with his language,” a stern voice offered. A woman walked through, armor a military tan with bright, light blue accents. Her helmet was at her hip as she walked through, showing a distinct military haircut and eyes that were sharp enough to remind Washington of an old drill sergeant. “I apologize for Felix. When he was hired we were not aware that a mouth was coming with it.”

“Aw, Kimball,” he snorted with too much familiarity, though surprisingly the woman didn’t seem to mind even though her looks would say otherwise.

Washington could feel the beginnings of a headache already working on him so he shook his head once and waved his hands. “Okay, I need to know who you people are, what you did to me, and most importantly of all, where the hell my men are,” he ordered with as much ferocity as he could manage. “Because believe it or not, this is about as compliant as I am without any of that information, and my patience is already wearing thin.”

Donut tilted his head. “Jesus christ, Wash,” he muttered before growing overly excited. “That was amazing. You should give speeches like that more often!”

“Donut,” Wash hissed.

“You have a right to all that information, Agent Washington, and more,” Kimball addressed him, genuinely surprising the former Freelancer. “After all, we’ve all read the stories about you, seen the reports. We know that all of you have worked tirelessly to bring war criminals to justice and to bring yourselves to the honors you currently have earned. Yet you would, of course, know nothing of us.”

“You’re right,” Wash said impatiently. “We don’t know anything about you but the briefest of descriptions your paid mercenary gave us when he found us.”

Felix, leaned back against the wall behind Kimball, shrugged. “I’m not hearing a whole lot of thank yous going around for that, by the by,” he said smoothly.

“You want a thank you?” Wash snapped.

“Felix,” Kimball said thickly without even looking in his direction.

“Shutting up,” he replied.

With her attention fully back on Washington, Kimball took a breath and stepped forward, closing the gap between her and Washington. “My name is Vanessa Kimball. I am the general of the New Republic Army of Chorus. We are a small fraction fighting a large enemy, attempting to save our people and their freedoms from the former oppressive regime that would have seen us starve and die of disease after the UNSC forgot our colony. It has been a long and bloody war between the two fractions, and only hope has been fueling my soldiers throughout this all. And hope, as you can imagine, has been hard to find. But I believe in hope, and I believe that things happen with reason. Which is why, when Felix came across you and your men, I knew we needed you — we all needed you — to give my soldiers something to believe in again.”

Beside Washington, Donut wrung his hands, taking a deep breath. “Aw,” he said. “I’ve never been someone’s only hope — well, I’ve been someone’s only hoe but this is definitely the first time I’ve been an only hope—“

Washington was significantly less moved. “General, I can respect that you are an authority here, and I can respect that your conflict is heartfelt and well fought for,” he said, using every bit of patience he could to not let his anger accent every word. “But you are not our authority, and if you were, well, we don’t deal well with most authority figures. I’m not anyone’s beacon of hope, I’m just a leader of my men. And you still haven’t answered where they are.”

Donut leaned back. “Snap.”

“Damn, balls of steel,” Felix snorted again. “Even I don’t talk back to you like that.”

“Not now, Felix,” Kimball said, her eyes still locked on Washington’s. Her lips pursed in a way that told Wash everything he needed to know. Her hesitation spoke volumes.

“No,” Wash said darkly. “Where are they?”

“Your Sergeant is a room over, he cracked a few ribs and the doctors have him on bedrest for now,” Kimball answered.

“And… he’s staying in bed?” Donut asked, finally sounding half as skeptical as Washington felt at the moment.

“There is also… some sort of robotic unit that some of my men brought with them from the canyon you all escaped,” Kimball continued. “We don’t have many engineers to spare so one of our lieutenants who was a four-year battle robotics winner is handling it for now.”

“I hope that’s Lopez the First and not Dos Point-Oh,” Donut stage whispered.

Washington ignored Donut’s interjection for a moment, waiting for Kimball to continue with listing off their compatriots. When her lips pursed again, the fire already lit in Washington’s chest grew monstrously.

“Where is everyone else? Where the hell are my men?” he demanded.

“I wasn’t at the scene, I only have the reports,” Kimball answered reluctantly. “But from what we can tell, Privates Michael Caboose, Richard Simmons, Dexter Grif, and Private First Class Lavernius Tucker, did not make it to the caverns in time to follow the escape route—“

“No,” Wash said lowly.

“—and so did not make it to the rendezvous point prepared for the rescue mission,” Kimball continued/

“No,” Wash said louder.

“It is our current intelligence that they are captured by the enemy but alive,” Kimball quickly responded.

The heaviest of silences fell between all of them in the room.

It was terse and angry, though Washington suspected that a decent amount of the anger was purely from him at that time. And loathe as he was to be predictable, he concentrated it squarely on the only authority to be found in the room.

Surprisingly, even for Wash, though, he was not the first one to shatter the silence.

“That’s terrible,” Donut announced, a bit of a waver in his voice. “Like… That’s bad. I’d personally be ashamed if I scored anything less than fifty percent. You’re at… what?” he glanced momentarily at Washington as if somehow Wash was supposed to be following along with his logic, let alone computing for it. He then turned back to the general and mercenary. “You’re like at twenty-five percent! The only percentile lower than that that I claim is the proud-and-out eight-to-ten. Which is totally not the same thing and is way cooler.”

Washington’s mind was racing to process what he had just been told, and for the first time since… well, since he could remember at all, he was grateful to have Donut at his back. Figuratively speaking.

“Please, we understand your frustration, but as long as our objectives align, I believe we should try to work on our problems together,” Kimball pressed.

“No. You don’t understand our frustrations. And, frankly, you can’t. No one can,” Wash snapped, sending a deathly silence over the others in the room. “You say the others are alive. That’s what we needed to hear.”

With the ease of an expert, Washington pulled himself free of drips and monitoring equipment and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He anticipated the wooziness but pressed past it. Everyone seemed to flinch at the action but, at least in Washington’s mind, it was smooth as silk.

“Come on, Donut,” he ordered. “We’re getting Lopez and Sarge.”

“Alright!” Donut responded cheerfully enough. There was still a note of concern in his voice, but it was something Washington was ignoring.

His people were out there. His people were in danger. And there was something about all of it that left him unsettled and angrier than usual.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Felix called out after Wash, arms folded unimpressed across his chest.

“As long as the others are alive? I don’t care,” Wash answered without so much as looking in their direction.

Instead, he and Donut left right out the door.

Felix wasn’t sure if he was feeling more impressed or more enraged at the former Freelancer as he walked right out the door and nearly ruined everything he was working toward.

He made a mental note to determine which it was once he was away from Kimball and able to more freely be himself. Until then, he had an image to protect.

So he looked at Kimball in a somewhat charming fashion, gingerly tilted his shoulders in a shrug, and eased a quick, “Well, that certainly could have gone worse.”

The general was not having it, though she bought into the persona as well as usual. “I can’t see how,” she said icily. “You fucked up, Felix. You fucked up big time.”

Tersely, Felix reminded himself of his role, of his play. Still, he allowed himself to square his jaw and bite back on his molars before letting out a tight, “I know.”

“You’re not getting your full payment,” she reminded him, assessing that to somehow be punishment enough.

“I know,” he repeated, his temper flaring just beneath the surface.

“And I expect you to somehow make this right,” she warned him. “You heard what he said. They are invested as long as their friends are still alive. Of course they are, who couldn’t be? That means, we can still do something. We can still offer them help in return.”

“Believe me, Vanessa,” Felix breathed out calmly, the cool satisfaction of a plan forming in his mind, “I know what to do. And I’ll be keeping an eye out for our Agent Washington especially.”

#writing #rvb fic #RvB: Surrender #Agent Washington #Colonel Sarge #Felix #Lavernius Tucker #Franklin Delano Donut #Vanessa Kimball #Isaac Gates

[davidmann95]

May I please ask if the showings in JUSTICE LEAGUE 2017 have had any impact on your various Rankings? (I was rather delighted by the film - at one point I actually thought "so this is what it's like to be ten years old again" or words to that effect - especially after learning of the various, quasi-Biblical tribulations inflicted upon this particular production and nobly endured ... also, I can't keep it in any longer, Jason Momoa as Aquaman - My Brother, My Cap'n, My King - was OUTRAGEOUS!).

Not for Superman or Batman - Affleck remains a well of untapped potential, and I need to see more of Cavill. In the movie itself, it goes for me Batman (a little overcorrected and lacking a complete arc)

So with this, all the comic book movies of this year have come out, so I can finally rank those (with the exception of Wilson, which I haven’t seen):

10. Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets: When I walked out of Justice League, one of my first thoughts was “neat, a year of all good comic movies!” But then I remembered this particular turd in the punch bowl - visually breathtaking, but a dead, limp, lifeless plot with insufferable non-characters that squanders Dane DeHaan’s considerable talents, as well as what I understand was highly regarded source material. Apparently making this was one of the great dreams of Luc Besson’s life, and if we weren’t collectively on the tail end of the second in a row of what the scientific community has formally classified “hell years”, that’d be one of the saddest things I’d have heard in this one.

9. Kingsman: The Golden Circle: Without the base of Mark Millar’s respectably entertaining original comic to work on and flying free beyond the premise of “what if James Bond had trained his cocky underprivileged nephew as his successor?”, this doesn’t attempt to pull together the stitches of a message it has, nor does undoing one of the central emotional moments of the original flick amount to much of anything, but it’s a fun, well-directed time nontheless.

8. Atomic Blonde: Our other spy-fi entry, this time on the more traditional end of brooding people muttering a little too quietly too be heard properly about too many names and conflicting entities to recall, with an endgame twist that doesn’t recontextualize the movie so much as render if that much more incomprehensible. But you know what? The point is that it’s a bunch of beautiful people in lovely or seedy places (or indeed lovely seedy places) whispering conspiratorially at each other - except MacAvoy’s unhinged deep-cover agent - interspersed with murdering and fucking each other in equally lovely ways, and on that front it entirely succeeds.

7. Thor: Ragnarok: Yeah, I’ll be the bad guy on this one. I dug the hell out of it, it’s hilarious and stylish and epic, but the actual *story* it tries to build between its comedy and action setpieces feels half-formed and ill-served.

6. Wonder Woman: I’m not quite as beaming on it as I was when it came out, but it’s still by far one of DC’s best efforts, with chemistry among its colorful leads and supporting players, a real sense of moral conviction, and the standout action sequence of the year. It would be higher if not for Paradise Island itself being presented as an agonizing black hole of tired exposition that swallows the first chunk of the movie whole, with it only truly getting going once Diana and Steve leave for man’s world.

5. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2: One of the most remarkable cinematic turnarounds I’ve ever seen, with the smirking, soulless, self-parodying trashbag mediocrity of its predecessor blown absolutely to hell by a follow-up that’s somehow stylish, funny, and weird as hell in all the best ways even though it’s by all the same people; while some characters don’t get their full due, it’s anchored by the central story of awful fathers and the scope of how bad they fail their kid, with Rocket trailing in its wake as he learns to be a little bit less of a dickhead.

4. Justice League: I know, I know, and if it wasn’t about characters I’m so predisposed to love I almost certainly wouldn’t put it this high, but it was and I did and I’ll stand by it. It’s exciting and satisfying and lean and tied together by a set of enjoyable characters arcs, somehow a perfect expression of the middlebrow popcorn sensibility this Snyder/Whedon hybrid freakshow ended up aiming for.

3. Spider-Man: Homecoming: Finally, a Spider-Man movie that’s both good and recognizably about Spider-Man. It’s awkward and quirky and silly and heavy in ways none of its MCU contemporaries were quite willing to get, and because of that it’s near the head of that lot as their biggest hero finally comes close to living up to his premise of feeling like the hero – who could be you!

2. The Lego Batman Movie: I never thought I’d see a kids film where a substantial part of the emotional core is Batman and Joker implicitly arguing about the boundaries and commitments of their open relationship, but that’s the world we’re living in. It’s the kind of parody that could only truly work for a character as embedded in the global cultural consciousness as Batman, playing off the popular understanding of him and bit by bit forcing that particular brand of unwittingly absurd avenger forever howling in the wind to grow up and become something like how Batman works at his best. It’s wild, and I absolutely loved it.

1. Logan: Some of if not the only real competition The Dark Knight has for title of absolute best superhero movie, this was absolutely next-level work on just about every level, and I’m honestly not sure that we’ll ever see the likes of it again, so unique and unlikely was its conception as a hard-R pseudo-post-apocalyptic depressing western character study with the guy with knife-fists; it’s a miracle that it worked at all, nevermind as well as any of these things ever have. It doesn’t seem to be kicking off a new wave of grim-and-gritty superhero shit - the catastrophic wake the DC movies have left behind them made that impossible - but I have to imagine this’ll have an influence, so here’s hoping it’ll be more of its contemporaries being willing to branch out into unconventional territory and commit with all they have the way this did.

#MCU #DCEU #Logan #The Lego Batman Movie #Spider Man: Homecoming #Justice League #Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 #Wonder Woman #Thor: Ragnarok #Atomic Blonde #Kingsman: The Golden Circle #Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets #Opinion

[clown-bait]

29 Neibolt ST (Monster Roommate AU) CH 11

WhoooOOOOooooo’s ready for some domestic monster bullshit?! So I head cannon that Penny is a secret plumbing expert from living in a sewer for centuries. Also finally introducing one of the main antagonists hope you guys like horror comedy because its about to get GOOFY AF. 

CHAPTER11

Party Prep

Pennywise had been insufferable all day. It seems like ever since he finally was able to get a date with Leech the clown was on cloud 9. Normally having him in a good mood would be a positive thing but when its mixed with an ego boost and pride he became a cocky asshole hell bent on showing everyone how fantastic he is. “What’s the matter Freddy? Jealous that I'm the one with a beautiful woman on my arm this time?” he taunted. They were both attempting to figure out the plumbing situation after Tiffany threw the rampage to end all rampages when Penny “forgot” to fix the problem overnight.

“You know I thought having you in a good mood for once would make things better.”

“You’re so jealous.” the clown sneered.

“I don't know why you're so smug, you know you're going to have to tell her you love her eventually now that you're dating and we all know that you cant handle feelings” Chucky said pretending to help so Tiff would get off his back. The girls were out shopping with Drac, leaving the rest of the boys to figure out the plumbing issue.

“I can put it off.”

“PFF famous last words Jingles this is a chick we’re talking about here” said Freddy

“Like you've ever been in this situation.”

“I’m not a commitment type of guy clown”

“Look Pennywise trust me, girls go crazy for that touchy feely stuff. You need to say something sooner or later or she's gonna end up stabbing you in the heart.” the doll said.

“Was that a metaphor or something that actually happened to you?” asked Freddy

“…..both”

————

“Ok what to get a homicidal maniac with the mind of a child.” Leech and the rest of the gang were down town attempting to accomplish the simple task of shopping for someone other than themselves.

The three monsters were struggling, they needed to surprise their enormous roommate with the perfect gift but it was proving difficult to shop for him since Leatherface never spoke. They knew the giant liked sweets and already had plans to bake a bunch of them once the boys figured out the plumbing issue, but they wanted to get him something special that wasn't just another chainsaw.

“Perhaps a pocket watch?”

“Drac sweetie the 1600s ended a long time ago.” Tiffany rolled her eyes

“We could just pool out money and get him an iPad like most parents this day and age”

“We all agreed this is going to be special Leech, you cant half ass it this time.”

The vampires groaned. “Why is this so hard! Lets just get him a giant pumpkin for Halloween or something they had some at the grocery store earlier”

“Ah! I got it a new hat!”

“Between the out dated advice and your half baked ideas it'll be a wonder if we accomplish anything at all….” Tiff sighed

They stood on the sidewalk of the down town shopping area overwhelmed and exhausted with each other.

“Ok, lets just go store to store till we find something. If we fail completely we can just get him a new meat cleaver or something.” The younger vampire said

“An excellent plan! Let us begin in the vintage clothing store yes?”

“Drac, we are here to get a gift not a new blouse.” Tiff said.

“I do not wear blouses”

“You totally do” Leech sneered at him with a mischievous grin. She’d been hanging out with Kruger and the clown too much.

“Do not think your sass can work on me apprentice. Your beloved clown may let you get away with being unlady-like but I will not tolerate such behavior.” The elder vampire warned.

“Ok he’s not my beloved were just dating”

“You lie to your own heart my dear. Open yourself to love!”

“Dracula's romance novel in the works aside, where are you guys with that any way?”

“I mean…. I guess I might love him? I don't even know if he's actually capable of returning my feelings since it took me screaming at him to actually get him to go on a date with me. He did call me his mate though, so progress I guess?” Leech blushed and fidgeted with her wig.

“You must make his heart realize its true feelings! He knows not why it beats for you!” Dracula sang out.

“I bet we can get him to admit it! Come on hun I got an idea! Drac! come’re!” the doll whispered something into his ear.

“YES! this is an excellent plan we shall begin immediately!”

“Aren’t we supposed to be shopping for a gift?”

“Like you said well find something along the way!”

———————-

Tiff pushed Leech into the nearest clothing store Dracula excitedly fowled behind.

“Guys I really don't need new clothes”

“NONSENSE! Your’s are in shambles my dear! Look at them! Your jeans are ripped and that tshirt is drab!” The elder vampire said grabbing garments off the racks.

“Excuse me but I happen to like ripped jeans and t-shirts thank you very much”

“TONIGHT IS NOT ABOUT COMFORT MY DEAR YOU MUST LOOK YOUR BEST TO WIN HIS COLD HART!” Dracula was getting carried away once again.

“Besides the club were going to would never let you in like that you need a wardrobe update…. and maybe some makeup to hide those dark circles.” said Tiffany

“Penny likes my dark circles”

Dracula sighed “We shall make a lady out of you yet my dear!”

————-

“Move Kruger, you're going to do it wrong” Pennywise grabbed Freddy’s face to shove him out of the way

“I worked in a school boiler room for years I know my way around pipes”

“Excuse me, I LIVE in a sewer I think I'm the most qualified here!”

Chucky rolled his eyes so hard he was worried they were going to fall out. The two had been arguing over pipes for a good half hour now. The living doll had been texting Tiffany out of boredom. (this is a rough translation as Chuck and Tiff communicate almost entirely in emojis)

“Babe save me, the clown and Kruger haven't made any progress. :’( “ he typed

“</3 aw poor baby were having a much better time.”

“>:( no fair what trouble are you getting into.”

“giving the baby vampire a make over for her big date tonight xoxo”

“omfg i should do that with the clown maybe it'll shut him up for a bit >:) ”

“YES! we have to get them together be home in a few hours <3”

“see you soon sugar tits <3<3<3”

“gross Chucky”

“ ;)”

Chucky put his phone away in his front overalls pocket to look up at the scene in front of him Freddy was shooting water into Pennywise’s face laughing as the clown roared and hissed at him. Tiffany had the easy job he thought to himself.

—————

“Alright how does it look, I cant see it so you'll have to help me out here”

“PFF you look like my grandma” Tiffany snorted

“Enough with your laughter girl doll, she looks like a true lady!”

“This thing itches and I can barely breathe.” Leech clawed at the fabric.

“BEAUTY IS NOT COMFORTABLE MY DEAR”

“Lets try something else hun. Something more casual and simple, less ballroom”

She grabbed a simple black dress tight at the top and pleated at the bottom a large belt around the waist. “all we need are some boots!”

“Wait Tiff I cant walk in heels!!”

———-

“Ok clown when she arrives at the party you have to offer her your arm and pull out her chair for her” Chucky instructed.

“Why would I do that? Leech is more than capable of doing all that herself I don't need to do that for her.”

“Its the gentlemanly thing to do idiot ”

“ Human customs are so strange.”

“Focus! Do you have anything to give her?”

“No?”

Chucky sighed “ok so human females are obsessed with jewelry give her something shiny and you'll pretty much be in the clear, don't you have like a giant pile of crap in the sewer? grab something out of there.”

“Shiny. Got it.” The clown was barely paying attention.

“Don't forget to tell her about your massive dick!”

“Kruger! You're not helping! Were trying get the clown laid here not punched in the face!!”

“But we've already mated several times?” Pennywise turned confused.

“No, no, no! This time its going to be different, this time you're going to be in love and its gonna be way more intense. Trust me.” the doll said.

“I don't love,,,”

“PFFFT THATS A LOAD OF HORSE SHIT” Freddy laughed loudly.

“Most importantly don't insult her and do everything you can to impress her. Do that dancing thing you do, chicks dig that”

“Look I don't see how this will be any different than the other times we've been together”

“It's a daaattee Jingles! Girls put special meaning on that word. You aren't just hanging out, you’re…. well you know” the doll raised and lowered his plastic eyebrows

“Wait if a date is just a fancy way to begin mating then why am I doing all this? Seems like a waste of time to me” Pennywise complained “I’ll just show up in her room like usual!”

“Clown its because girls fucking like it” the doll groaned giving up on this lost cause.

Suddenly the shower head turned on without warning, water blasting out of it with tremendous force. It turned and sprayed Chucky so hard he fell off the counter while a storm of toothbrushes and tools flew around the room. A screwdriver stabbed Pennywise in the eye causing him to roar in pain. Meanwhile Freddy was being strangled by Tiffany’s hair care appliances frantically trying to cut the chords with his clawed hand. Pipes unexpectedly broke apart and started spraying water everywhere, the cabinets banged open and shut, and the toilet had begun laughing at them. In fact the entire bathroom was laughing at them. The gang yelled and shouted in confusion “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?” screamed Chucky

“MY FUCKING EYE” Penny howled in rage

“YOUR BATHROOM IS HAUNTED AS SHIT CLOWN” Freddy roared still wrestling with the hair dryer

The toilet laughed and spoke up “MOOOONSTERSSS??? YOU CALL YOURSELVES MONSTERRRRSS? LOOK AT YOU! PATHETIC WEAK SHELLS OF WHAT YOU ONCE WERE HAHAHAHAHA YOU ARE NO MONSTERS! BUT WE’RE HERE NOW, WEVE BEEN SET FREE AND SOON ALL WILL JOOOOIIINN USSSSS.”

“OH SHIT! ITS THESE ASSHOLES!” Freddy yelled

“YOU FUCKING KNOW THEM?” the clown roared trying to get the screwdriver out of his head his current form becoming less and less held together.

“LONG TIME NO SEE FREDDDYYY! YOU STILL OWE US FROM LAST TIMEE WE WERE- WAIT!! SOMEONE IS HERE! SOMEONE IS COMING! WHO CAN IT BEEEE? WHO CAN IT BEEEEEEEE? OOOOHH!! ITS………YOUR LOVEEEERRRSS!!! POOR POOR MONSTERS SOON WE WILL TAKE THEM! WE WILL TAKE THEM FOR HIM AND THEN WE WILL BE FREE TO TAKE ALL”

Everything stopped abruptly as if something was sucked out of the room. Appliances turning back to normal as if nothing ever happened.

“First of all you jackasses, Dracula is my roommate. We have an odd couple thing going ok?”

“Kruger! NOT the time” Chucky shouted.

“…..H eE Lp” Pennywise gurgled out barely maintaining a human voice.

The door opened downstairs.

“Hey boys were home!” Tiffany called up to them.

Leech climbed the stairs and made her way to her room but froze when she heard moans of pain and a large puddle of water coming from the bathroom.

“Jesus guys how'd you fuck up this ba- WHAT THE FUCK”

——————

“Hold still I'm going to pull it out.” Leech gripped the screwdriver in Penny’s head “ok on the count of 3” Pennywise’s good eye flicked up at her.

“One….. two… three! ” the clown gurgled and grabbed her hands and they pulled together. The tool finally dislodging its self from Pennywise's head causing him to howl in pain blood floating up from the wound.

“Shit Pen you ok?” she cradled the side of his face not caring about cutting herself on the razor sharp teeth splitting his cheeks.

“…H u RT” he managed to say starting to put himself back together.

She ran her fingers though his hair and kissed the top of his head. Pennywise winced at first but leaned into her touches shutting his one good eye and purring faintly at her comforting him. As powerful as the eldritch horror was he was a complete baby when it came to pain sometimes.

“We leave you alone for 4 hours and not only do you guys flood the bathroom again, you end up stabbed and strangled in the process. What the fuck happened?”

“It's a Kandarian demon” growled Freddy “someone read from that damn book again”

“How do we get rid of it?” asked Chucky getting up off the floor

“Find out who sent it”

“And just how do you know all this Kruger?” Pennywise asked finally somewhat back to normal minus his eye.

“I owe it money.”

-----------------------------------

YEAH EVIL DEAD MOTHERFUCKERS! So fun fact Evil Dead was the horror series that literally saved my life so it holds a very special place in my heart. And yes Ash is going to show up. Stay tuned for more deadite fuckery, including musicals, mutilation, and insults! Also bringing in a new OC next chapter who I think everyone will like! So get hype friends!

#pennywise #pennywise fanfiction #pennywise the dancing clown #it fanfiction #pennywise x oc #pennywise x reader #monster roommate au

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

The worst part about having two Inquisitors is that they should be able to split them up, get twice as much done! Especially with nine party members they have more than enough people, but no, no, they refuse to split up and honestly they need constant supervision anyway.

You know in a modern AU they're just like "DON'T SPLIT THE PARTY" "You know what happens in horror movies when you split up!" and Cassandra makes a [disgusted noise]

But you know seriously that for the first several weeks, they were impossible to split up. They tell Cassandra and Leliana that they met each other at the Conclave, but Cassandra doesn’t see how that’s possible. What do a Trevelyan and a Dalish elf have in common to draw them together in such a short time? - But if they had known each other before, then how would they have met? They are still from very different walks of life.

- Similar enough, both young, maybe mid-twenties, and both clearly terrified. They have not strayed more than two feet apart from one another. The elf girl is lighter on her feet than the human boy, but as she nimbly picks her way up the snowy hills she stops each time and waits for him to catch up to her.

She did not let either of them lay hand to a weapon, and she thinks she may regret that when they tumble down to an icy expanse filled with demons. "Get behind me!" she shouts, raising her shield, praying that they will get to cover as she strikes. The demons fall, one by one, but one must have gone around her, as she hears Trevelyan yell. She turns in time to see him pulling a sword loose from the wreckage of a cart, but the elf has already bounded across the ice, past him, pushing him away so that she stands between him and the demon. From her hands she forms a giant fireball and she throws it. It explodes on the ice in front of the demon and the creature shrieks as the flames batter it. She waves a hand and they rise higher, and the second one she tosses catches the demon squarely, and when the flames pull apart, the demon does too, in a howling mass of blood and guts.

Oh, Cassandra thinks, far too belatedly for the fact that she already has her shield up again, between her and the survivors, this time, not the demons. A mage. She's a mage.

-

Chancellor Roderick glares at them with all of the force he can muster. “Murderers!” he snarls, and they stand there huddled together like two druffalo trying to shield each other from the wind. “Heathen -”

Trevelyan shifts forward slightly, as though to shield Esti from the accusations. (If she had a surname, or a clan name, she hasn’t given it.) He stares the chancellor down, the way Etsti stood between him and the demon, and finally with pressure from Leliana and Cassandra, he yields and lets them pass, still spitting curses after them though he does.

-

Brennan wakes first, confused for a while as to where this warm house with these warm quilts is, but he finds a scribbled note from a healer mentioning the Breach and the mark and everything comes rushing back. He dresses in clothes to leave but instead sits back down on his bed, reading and rereading the paper in his hands, trying to ignore the twinge in his left palm. Esti is just sitting up, blinking at the bright light filtering in through the windows, when an elven serving girl enters, squeaks, and rushes away as soon as she can, no matter how Esti tries to hurry after her, “Wait, there’s no reason to be afraid of me! Why are you-”

She stands there in the middle of the room in her undershirt and leggings and Brennan glances away, but she doesn’t seem particularly bothered by the issue of modesty - much less bothered than the many other matters plaguing them. He searches the room again for anything he can lay hands on as a weapon but finds nothing. He remembers demons buckling under flames that Esti summoned in her hands, no staff required. They’ll be fine, he thinks, and Esti looks at him as she pulls on her gloves. “Should we go find the chantry?” she asks.

"I don't want to make" - what is her name? - "Cassandra angry."

Esti's lips twitch into a smile. "I suppose I don't either."

He pushes the door open and stops dead. A crowd has gathered alongside the house, forming a gauntlet along the path that they will have to walk. They explode in a cacophony of noise and for a horrible paralyzing moment he is in Ostwick, in the Circle, a crowd of Templars gathered to lay a verdict on his head and throw him out; in the estate, in court, and dozens of eyes turning to him, again and again and never for a good reason. He can catch halves of phrases: "-that them?" "-closed the-" "-the Breach-" "-the Breach-" "-Andraste-" "-the Fade-" "-saved us-" 

"Andraste saved them."

He blinks stupidly, not understanding. 

“They saved us.”

"They saved us!"

He hears it again and still does not understand, but Esti has straightened up, breathing out a sharp puff of air. "Come on," she says, tugging on his arm. Then she steps forward and silence falls for half a second before the chatter renews. No one tries to touch her or speak to her and Brennan follows. She walks like a noble, like royalty, until they have woven their way in between the tents, away from the crowd, and she seems to fold back into herself, shoulders and head dropping and curling down. "You walk like you know what you're doing," he says.

She laughs shakily. "It's how Keeper does, and I'm supposed to be the next Keeper." She glances back over her shoulder to where the crowd was. "I can walk like it but as soon as I have to say something profound and...leader-ly, then it all..." She drags the statement out like she's searching for a word and then she shrugs and says, "You know."

He does, he thinks - the Trevelyan's shameful son. 

-

Chancellor Roderick calls them "lying heathen murderers" again, but Cassandra chases him off with quiet fury and a confidence that Brennan admires. She and Leliana call in the other heads of their Inquisition, a former Templar - oh, this will be great, Brennan thinks, imagining that Cassandra must know his own sordid history with the Templars, and Esti a mage - and an Antivan noblelady who greets Esti in elvish. Her face lights up and Brennan tries to replay the words in his mind to learn them. He'll ask the ambassador later.

-

In the Hinterlands, it rains one day, and Esti raises a hand and the air around it shimmers and then Brennan no longer feels drops of water on his face. He looks up to see the air shimmering and rain splattering like it has hit an invisible force above their heads. "How - that's - that's magic," he says. "That's really useful." 

Esti grins. "The way the Templars in Ostwick said it, there's nothing useful like this you can do with magic, just maim and murder and they are missing out." 

He hears Solas snort quietly nearby.

The cleric, Mother Giselle, they find suggests a trip to Val Royeaux, to find the surviving Chantry clerics, and Brennan thinks that is a terrible idea. He looks at Esti. She is looking back at him. They look at Cassandra.-

The Lord Seeker punches a cleric and curses at Cassandra and Esti shrinks behind Brennan, trying to escape their notice. "I know the Lord Seeker," Cassandra says after. "He and the Seekers, and their Templars, are not like this."

Brennan looks all around, seeming confused, and Esti thinks he is looking for her and steps back up to his side. He catches her eye and then rolls his. "Sure they're not," he mutters.

-

Leliana marks on the war table map the location in the Hinterlands where a Grey Warden has been spotted. Josephine points out the Storm Coast where the mercenary company will be. "You could split up," Cullen suggests. Esti's head jerks up in alarm. She frantically shakes it as he continues on, "If Cassandra and Brennan and Solas went to the Hinterlands, and Esti and... Sera, and.... Varric..."He trails off, seeming to realize how unwise that combination would be. "If Leliana were to..."

"No," she says.

"You could," Esti says. She's heard Varric laugh about Curly. There is no way in all the abyss that Cullen would agree to a trek out to the Storm Coast with Varric.

He looks at her and she reminds herself that he is only a few years older than Brennan and she could probably kick his ass if she wanted to. She pictures him meeting Essa and any lingering fear of Templar fades into amusement. She thinks he is probably trying to decide if she is serious. "If," he says, "Cassandra and Brennan and Varric -"

"No," Cassandra says.

"You don't like our company, Seeker?" Brennan asks. Josephine holds her clipboard to her face but Esti can hear her giggle. "That hurts."

"You are both insufferable," Cassandra says, "and you make her" - she nods at Esti - "insufferable."

-

"Could we send delegations to both the rebel mages and the Templars?" Josephine asks. 

"Cassandra and several others to Therinfall Redoubt, and Esti and I and whoever to Redcliffe?" Brennan suggests.

"The Templars likely will want to negotiate with one of the Heralds," Josephine says. Esti starts to repeat her and Brennan's frequent motto of, we are not the Heralds of anyone! but what is the use. 

"So if Cassandra and..." Cullen looks at Esti. "You won't want to march into a fortress full of Templars, I'm sure." She nods. She appreciates the notice. "Brennan, Cassandra and Brennan go to Therinfall Redoubt with -"

"I, uh, don't really want to go to a fortress full of Templars, either," Brennan says. He fidgets and stares down at his hands. "I was a Templar recruit in Ostwick. And I got - thrown out of the Order." He winces as though bracing himself for an outburst. "Me and Templars don't get along very much."

Cullen sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "So neither of you are willing to negotiate with the Templars?"

"I would be plenty willing if I expected that they would be willing to work with me, but the Lord Seeker punched an old woman and told us to fuck off, in more formal terms, and I don't think they'll have suddenly changed. Or their opinion of me. If I was one of my siblings, now, maybe..."

"We're going to Redcliffe, together," Esti says, over Brennan's fumbling to find a way to end his ramble, nudging his arm with her shoulder. "Forget the Templars. We can sort them out when the Breach is closed."

-

Cullen had expectations of how the meeting with the rebel mages could go poorly. Tevinter being involved was not one of his predictions. The magister's son leaves a note in Brennan's hand, the chantry, and Esti knows instantly that it's a trap. So Brennan seems to, as well. They stare at each other and as she starts to speak, he is already saying the same words, unplanned, uncoordinated. "Spring the trap."

Brennan making doe eyes at another magister - altus, what-fuckin-ever, fenedhis, 'Vints are annoying! - is something that Cullen would also not have predicted in his nightmares. Esti wouldn't have, either. She digs her elbow into Brennan's side. "C'mon, Bren," she hisses, and when the 'Vint, Dorian, looks at Esti, she twists her mouth in a snarl. Go away, now. 

-

There is a lot that Esti could not conjure up in her worst nightmares, but she knows that she will be seeing it again in her dreams for the rest of her life. Dorian works his magic and she and Brennan stand there, waiting, and she prays to each of the Creators in turn and then Fen'Harel for good measure, I'll give you my life or my cursed hand or my soul for this to never happen, and the castle shakes around them with another onslaught of demons.

She doesn't notice herself reaching for Brennan's hand until she is squeezing it in a death grip, but he doesn't seem to mind.

-

Dorian catches her alone, once, and flashes her a grin meant to be charming and says, "You're quite possessive of him, aren't you?"

"He's my friend and I don't like you or trust you," she snaps back.

She realizes what he probably meant about two hours later and spaces out in the middle of a conversation with Solas, which is admittedly not an infrequent occurrence. It takes her until the next day to find a moment when she is not with Brennan, but Brennan is not with Dorian. "It's not like that," she says. "Did you notice how he's hanging around you? Looking at you like you're not a - a snake!"

"That's a creative insult. Being from Tevinter, I certainly have never heard that before."

"Great," she says. "I don't have more energy to spare on unique insults for a magister. I -"

"Ah, hello there, Brennan," Dorian says over her head. "How are you this fine day?"

Brennan gives each of them a quizzical look, but he answers Dorian cheerfully enough. Esti remains planted there in silence, making sure that Dorian will catch her eye every few minutes to see her glaring.

-

"What happens after?" Esti asks, stopping for a moment to lean her hands on a boulder as they climb back up to the ruins of the temple. Brennan watches the Breach and the ever-shifting shades of green within. "Can we go home?"

His heart drops. "There'll probably be rifts to close," he says. He shouldn't want this madness to last. Tell him at the start of this, the last time he stood in the Temple beneath the Breach, that he would want to stay with the Inquisition, and he would call it madness. But Ostwick is no more home than Haven - it is less home.

"But after," Esti says. She scrambles up a loose patch of dirt and turns around in the path and looks back at him. "After, we'll be able to leave, right?" She looks at Cassandra. 

"I wouldn't make plans yet," Cullen says. "Everything has a way of..."

"Destroying every hope we begin to have in our tiny mortal lives in a fit of great godly antipathy?" Esti offers.

"And people say I talk funny," Sera mutters.

"You could come meet my clan," Esti says to Brennan. "Close all the rifts along the road to Wycome and go visit them."

"They'd let me stay with them?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'd say you're okay and that'd be fine," she says, and for a few moments, his heart feels lighter. Then his hand twinges and he stares back up at the Breach. As long as this doesn't kill us.

-

It's okay, and then it isn't, and a thousand prayers to the Maker float past Brennan's ears, and right by his side, a string of curses at the Dread Wolf and the "shemlen's damned stupid gods." The chantry bells clang loudly over the crackling of the fires eating away at Haven and almost carelessly Esti tosses magically formed ice at each. They can't wait to see if it halts the spread of the flames at all, and they are down past the gates, where the Templars have regrouped, red crystals springing from their armor like that which filled Redcliffe Castle. 

Dorian nearby is cursing in Tevene, while Blackwall, Cassandra, and Solas are quiet, speaking only to call out positions of the enemy. Varric is rambling something that he can't quite make out. Brennan reaches the controls of the second catapult and he feels at his back the variant heat of flames cast and thrown, fading in and out of existence, that Esti controls. She yells something and suddenly a wall of ice stretches up over them, toward the sky. "Hurry," she gasps. "Fenedhis, Cullen's signal better come soon -"

They're going to bury themselves and the thought rises with clarity in his mind and then shatters to make way for immediate matters as the ice fractures into a thousand glistening pieces that suddenly vanish. He lashes out at a nearby Templar with a dagger. It almost seems quieter, now, before a roar shakes the ground and the catapult and Brennan's very soul inside of him. He ducks his head and Esti shrinks back against him. "What is that!" he yells.

He lifts his head and sees the dragon.

They scatter, all of them, as it spits fire to the ground. Brennan is thrown from his feet and collides with the ground hard enough that for a moment the world goes quiet but for a ringing, and it spins as he starts to sit back up. He sees the dragon, and Esti, and some giant figure, perhaps another of the huge red lyrium beasts, but no sign of any of the others. He hopes they got away. He hopes a few of them will survive.

He doesn't know of any words to describe the creature that looms up out of the smoke. It has a few red crystals breaking through its skin but bears no further resemblance to the warped terrors that may once have been Templars. It speaks, with a voice that is smoother than it has any right to be, and it speaks of the Conclave and the Breach and the rifts and the marks on their hands. In its own hand it raises an orb that glows, two jagged strings of light like lightning reaching out from it and finding their way to his marked hand, and Esti's. It feels as though something has grabbed his hand and is dragging him across the ground. He digs his feet into the dirt and tries to stop the movement, but Esti is closer to the creature and it grabs her by the arm and holds her up, dangling ten feet above the ground.

"Put her down!" Brennan yells. He finds at his side only a small dagger left on his body, but he charges the creature - Corypheus, it named itself - anyway. Before he reaches it, it flings Esti down at him and she crashes into him and bowls him over.

"The anchor is permanent," it sneers. "You two foolish children have spoiled it with your stumbling."

They both yell angry questions at him, words Brennan doesn't even remember moments after speaking them, because the creature cannot speak a straight sentence and will not deign to offer them more of an explanation than its desire to be worshiped as a god. They are desperately stalling until the bright flare of Cullen's signal scrapes the dark winter sky.

"Go," Esti whispers and they spring up. Brennan lunges for the catapult controls and Esti throws a fireball up toward Corypheus' face. The catapult unwinds, the projectile flying off toward the mountains, and Corypheus stares at it. He slowly turns his head toward them as the rumbling of the coming avalanche shakes the ground. 

"Time to go," Brennan says. He grabs Esti's arm and they run, diving for a hole in the ground as the snow swallows up the town. He hears the dragon roar.

-

"Well, shit," Brennan says. The mouth of the caverns opens into a raging snowstorm, masking the world in white and gray. The path the rest of the Inquisition took could be anywhere. 

Esti laughs and winces, wrapping her arm around her ribs. "Well," she agrees, "shit."

Brennan leans on her to take the weight off of the burning through his leg. At least he isn’t alone. If he dies, he won’t be alone. 

Carrying each other, they stumble out into the storm. 

-

"We've lost contact with some Fereldan and Inquisition soldiers in the Fallow Mire," Cullen says. "There have also been rumors of darkspawn and red templar activity on the Storm Coast. If Brennan, Blackwall, and Cassandra were to investigate, Esti can take-"

"I am not going to anywhere named the 'Fallow Mire' unless Brennan is going to come suffer along with me," Esti says.

"Thanks," Brennan says.

#i hope the sequences i did from brennan's pov are good #it didn't feel right having it all be just esti #esti lavellan #brennan trevelyan #brotp: we are not the messiahs! #well i guess this is an oc tag #trash kid writing #runningwolf62

[ikonislife]

My Star, My Man.

 - Bobby x Reader

- Angst, Fluff

- In his quest to fix the biggest mistake of his life, Bobby discovers his true self. This new found understanding guide him to see life the way you do, leaving him falling in love with you more and more as he’s getting closer to reaching his end destination. You.

- Masterlist

- I Don’t Love You by Urban Zapaka

- Don’t be Happy by M.C the Max

- Galaxy by BolBBalgan4 (turn on cc for lyrics translation)

There was a point in time when Bobby finds the ear-piercing whistle of the trains blaring pass endearing…Endearing in a sense that it could still drowns out even the loudest, most excruciating of screams. That was of course when he was fresh on this journey and the pain of disappointment was something raw, something new. Not to say that the aching of his heart now was any less raw than it had been, callus wasn’t something heartbreak knew. 

Nowadays, it seems as though his brain had finally committed the bellowing of the locomotive to memories as even that couldn’t drown out the frustrated howling of his weary mind. As he lets the weight of the long trip sunk onto the worn-out wooden bench by the now empty train track, desolation chipped away yet another corner of his jagged heart, leaving the fragment to wither away into ashes. Just a moments ago, all his hope and dream of a happy ending were shredded to bits by the wavering voices of the old couple whom were landlord to the humble home boding the address he had so excitedly scribbled on a torn piece of paper just a week ago.

“She hasn’t been back for days. I’m sorry, child. You’re too late.” The old woman had said as the old man shook his head in regret, they felt for him as they too went through many heartbreaks before finding solace and love one another.

That little piece of crumbled up paper that had held Bobby’s heart and soul, the one he had hung onto so desperately as if a lifeline guiding him back ashore was now falling out of his limp fingers as emptiness washed over everything… A feeling he, unfortunately, was all too familiar with at this point. 

He had been searching for a glimpse of that smile, the familiar soft features in the passing crowds for so long he had lost counts of the weeks or was it months now. He wouldn’t want to turn into one of those insufferable parents that refer to their child in months even though it’s just as easy to say 2 years as it is 24 months. 

Now typically, Bobby wouldn’t be so down on himself at every shake of the head and whisper of “No, i haven’t seen her”. Sure, he’d be weighed down with disappointment and a few sighs would accompany his heavy steps, but he’d just simply move onto the next lead. This time, it really struck quite close to his heart because he almost had you, so close he could almost pick out that delectable scent of freesia mingling with pear still lingering about the old room you had occupied. It was too much, the sadness was almost too much for his feeble heart to handle, as if a river after a long rainstorm, threatening to spill over the banks any second now, washing away everything precious along its destructive path.

He almost had you.

A sudden urge to punch himself risen within his soul the longer he remained in this old town. Had he not decided to squeeze in that last project, had he just left when his assistant bolted into his room with the most hopeful expression on his face. It was just one tiny contract, one last one before taking the much-needed time off to reunite with your lovely face. But none of that matter anymore, because here he sat all alone on this worn out wooden bench by the train track. Perhaps this very second you too were on some other worn out wooden bench at some other train track far away from here, completely unaware of the man chasing your shadow. 

Despite the sorrow plaguing his heart, Bobby couldn’t help but let himself immersed in the place that had taken your breath away, at the very least, intrigued you enough to remained here for so long. As he took the long way back toward the train station, having bid adieu to the kind souls that had let him wallow in shame and in the weight of his failure on their front porch for as long as he needed, Bobby took in the gentle scenery of this old town. He thought of the wooden gate and how in the few minutes it had taken the old couple to answer his question, it had transformed significantly. 

The very first moment he had laid his eyes on the home number proudly displayed right beside it, that wooden gate had held so much hope and happiness. One swing and he’d be reunited with you, just one swing and he could enter the home where his entire heart laid despite never before having been here… One swing too, was all it took for it to morph into a painful reminder of how late he was and how for so long, you had passed through it without fail, days in, days out. It was mere days, just days and you were once more out of his grasp, swallowed up by this big wide world without a trace, not even a hint for his poor broken heart to follow. That was the bitter reality, he was always far too late. There was a lesson to be learn and he had unfortunately, learned it the hardest way. Even now, even as the silent promises of finding you, of never again letting you go or letting anything get in the way of his heart chiming loud… he still did just that. He let the world and its need get in the way of reuniting and he paid dearly for it.

As his footsteps echoed into nothingness, the couple’s words replaying in his mind over and over again until the words themselves began to lose meaning. Halting just by the edge of the road with nothing to stop travelers from taking a plunge down a steep cliff but a series of wooden fencing precariously hanging on for dear life, Bobby gazed up at the calm blue sky above and took it all in. His hand traveled up to cover the crescents of his eyes shying away from the bright crisp sun, a small smile formed on his lips as he studied all the things wonderful about this place. 

The image of you strolling along the coastline of this small fishing village on the way to the market projected right onto the landscape like some crazy hologram show, smile bright on your pink lips, almost as if challenging the harsh sea air bitter with salt that seems to wear everything down.

Not you.

Bobby truly believes there’s nothing in this world that could ever wear down that favorite smile of his. His steps continued, following your transparent figment of his imagination trekking right by his side, humming to that song you love so much. He had made the mistake of telling you all too bluntly exactly just how annoying it was, the incessant humming and how it had stuck in his head all those sleepless nights. All it took was one sentence, just once and from there on out, never again did he hear your soft voice dancing along with the tune. How he wished to have you sauntering right by his side humming it now, then maybe, maybe he can finally join in with the jolly tune even if the raspy of his voice would completely ruin the harmony.

Not too far down the road, a small flower field caught Bobby’s eyes and he thought of your fondness for the colorful dainty thing. His heart creaked under a heartfelt grin blooming on his lips recalling his inability to understand why you love flowers so much, as they seemed so fleeting. There was no denying its beauty yet in such short amount of time, that glamour just withered away into nothingness. He questioned so many times why you couldn’t be more like the typical girls he encountered, sharing a love for jewelry, diamonds, gems, clothes. Or for God’s sake even those stupid little stickers you seemed to put everywhere; Even once he found a dainty little orange paper bunny sticker, tucked away so far from the line of sight for anyone to see but perfectly in his view right on his work desk. His first reaction was of course anger… How could you be playing around in a place where solemnity was required of everyone, the place that had proven times and times again the pen is mightier than swords. Yet as he reached those svelte fingers to peel away at the fragile thing, suddenly his heart ached for you, for the moments of the past when money and power weren’t placed above everything else, when they weren’t the invisible wall separating you and him. So ,he left it there, a corner of the right ear missing but nevertheless still very much strongly adhere to the dark oak desk. These days, that little bunny served as a reminder of his end goal, of the smile that was still keeping his heart running. It reminded him that there was a light at the end of the tunnel and all this pain, all the sleepless aching nights were only temporary.

Any of the above would last so much longer, some even withstand the test of time but you love flowers best… You love it with all your heart and never once did he bother to give you, even just a single stem, he might never again have the chance to…

Watching the way they danced so softly with the wind against the silent only the countryside could offers, something sparked inside his heart. He was mesmerized by its fragility. Yet even as easily bruised as they were, the dainty little things stand proud against the wind, the sea, even strong enough to thrive through the cracks in the asphalt of the old road, painting the world with its vibrancy. 

Flowers possessed the amazing ability to convey a feeling, to coax emotions out of the world that so cruelly cut them down for the sole purpose of pleasing itself aesthetically. They sacrificed so much to please the unpleasantness, to soothe away pain, and cheer along the happiness of the world… What do they get in return? Once those brilliant colors began to fade and no longer could they hold themselves tall, they’d get toss away without a second thought. 

You’re a flower.

In many ways, you were the most dainty, fragile, and precious thing in his heart and he wanted nothing more than to protect you from the viciousness of the world. Yet your vivaciousness and fiery passion had always set his world ablaze, leaving him utterly breathless at points from how much such you could achieve. 

You’re the best kind of flower…his flower.

You had been there for him since day one, since before the fancy job and the fancy title, before he could command the world to move with just words. You didn’t care that his bank account had but $11 in it or that the collar of his shirt had begun to discolor. You were there and you listened to his pain when no one else would. Even when success meant that he’d share laughter of joy with someone else, share the happiest moments of his life with people he knew for the entirety of a few weeks because his new life, his new world was one you didn’t belong to… At the end of the day, you were still there for his sorrow and not once did you ask for anything in return but to remain by his side. You were the best therapist that no money could get yet all he ever done was hurt you. He was the world that cut its own flower down, a flower that had done nothing wrong aside from being friend with a contemptible asshole. 

As Bobby perused the endless swaying sea of colors, he spotted a small flower bent from the wind, barely hanging on and found a small smile bloomed on his lips. He whispered a small thank you to the dainty thing before gently ending its misery. A small leather-bound journal retrieved from his backpack, Bobby let his fingers ran through the pages filled with messy scribbles and all dated carefully. He gingerly placed the tiny flower onto the next blank page before taping it down, jotting a small “1/30, I finally understood flowers″ just beside the town name. 

“My flower, when will you let me see your brilliant, exuberant self again? I miss you. I had thought I would be hugging you by the night end, but I guess I missed my chance again. What else is new right? Always ignorant of your pain and only pay attention when it’s too late. What can I do but push through and pray for a better day. I know I will have you back with me soon enough.” he jotted quickly before closing the journal to hasten toward the station as he felt the rising of emotions choking his breaths. 

Loneliness was something he looked down upon, contemptuous, and misjudged of just how powerful it could be. A single tear slips down the skin of his cheek, pale from winter’s cruel breeze before the soft sweater paw wiped it away in a haste, not wanting to give into recent memories. If he succumbs to loneliness now, all he had done would be for naught. A forced smile lingers on his lips, a small attempt to scare away the sadness of his heart as the sleeve that had been shielding his hand away from the cold begins to peel backward. There sat on his boney wriest, a small silver bar so pretty in the embrace of a small chain, the sight of its engraving alone could lure out the most genuine grin, something he thought had lost the second you left. His soul slowly regained its liveliness as his thumb gently petting over the prettiest name in existent, hope painting color over the dejection in those sharp brown eyes. Once again Bobby settled back into the creaking bench as he awaited the arriving of his long ride home, recent conversation haunting his mind.

“You’re that boy…” The landlord’s voice albeit weak was slowly filling with joy as his memory permitted him to recall the familiar face. Although this face was much wearier than the one had been wearing the cheerful smile the old man had seen, he was certain Bobby was the one. The confusion played clearly on Bobby’s face as he quirked an eyebrow in surprise.

“How… You know me, sir?” He asked but was almost too scare of the answer, fearing bad reputation could lead them into lying to him.

“Yea. I’ve seen your picture in her room when we collected the rent. Honey, you remember?” He looked over to his wife, a flash of uncertainty dashed across the wrinkles around her kind eyes before they lit up so brightly it gave Bobby hope.

“Right. She had pictures of you in her room. If I remember correctly, one of it was you and her by the beach. The other one you were smiling but wasn’t looking at the camera. I asked her who you were and she said someone very important to her heart… What was that she called you?” She trained her gaze back to Bobby’s face once more, this time with the utmost carefulness in studying the handsome features and soft brown locks of hair. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s you, although you were a bit chubbier then.” A small chuckle left her lips as it did her husband’s, they both exchanged bits of concern of just how worn Bobby had looked, noting he must take care of himself if he hopes to ever make you happy again.

As the conversation grew long, more and more details about your short-lived adventure in this town painted a clear picture of everything in Bobby’s mind from when you had arrived till the day you left. They spoke fondly of your kind smile and sweet personality, even the sorrow lurking beneath the surface in the quiet moments of day. Then revealed too was your strange habit of gazing at the ocean even though times and times again the most painful sigh would leave your lips at the sight of young couples sauntering pass. They were curious, what sadness did you go through to bear such sorrow watching others’ happiness, yet you still insisted upon visiting the beach so often. 

“It was once my favorite place, I go there often with my star… But my star no longer shines for me the way he used to do so I’m sad.”

It was like God given salvation for his dying heart. A smile he didn’t know he still had bloomed upon the dry lips - genuine and pure. You kept his pictures, he was still yours… he was still yours even if you had made the most devastating mistake of all - he still very much shined for you, wanting, needing to shine brighter than ever for his flower. 

“My star.” He murmurs over and over. He was still in your heart. 

… Yet just beneath it all, distress and the worst kind of sadness ran amok at the thought of you suffering, enduring the happiness of other just for a glimpse of what could’ve been your own. 

As the sun sets over the small train station, Bobby felt the closing of yet another eventful chapter in this small saga of you and him, all his curiosity put to sleep, all aside one. You have always had a knack for photography, the countless amazing photos decking the living room of his home all by your talented eyes. These pictures the old couple had spoken off, the memories of the day they had been taken fresh in his mind as if it was just yesterday. Yet he wished with all his heart he had a chance to see them, all amazing no doubt about that.

The first had been from a happier time before money and power had changed Bobby into this person he despised. The constant pressure of being perfect, being someone that wasn’t entirely himself had always eaten away at his soul, chipping at his heart for far too long and you knew it. Just mere days before you left that Bobby had the last drop that spilled the cup, work abandoned and before he even knew what he had done, his car parked in front of your house and an invitation to the nearest beach had been sent to your phone. 

He was still in his constricting suit, angry at lack of effort by his subordinate, stressed from the seemingly poisonous love life that brought him nothing but a cheating ex and a gold digger for a date. You had sat there with your toes in the sand, huddling close to his side under a big blanket hiding away from the frost of late winter, listening to him complain about anything and everything. You never said much, in fact you said nothing at all… just listen as him ranted, with that kind and understanding expression you always wore. You let him take all the frustration out on you despite deserving none of it, then offered wise words when he was ready. 

His personal therapist, punching bag, and shoulder to cry on, you were everything and he took you as nothing. Oh, if you could see the guilt ravaging every fiber of his being now, would you laugh at him for finally realizing he had taken you for granted far too late? Would you laugh if you see just how pathetic he had become, all alone without a single soul to spill his heart to, not the way you did, not with his best interest in mind.

It took Bobby nearly too long to recall the memory attached to the second photograph before realizing he has absolutely no idea when you had taken it. Only then did he recalled your love of capturing candid moments of life. He never understood your fascination of capturing his unprepared moments until a few months after you left. He had found a polaroid, worn at the edge and a bit yellow from his carelessness. It was so long ago he couldn’t quite narrow down which birthday it had been. A mutual friend had slyly slipped the small thing into his pocket with a teasing wink, and the most curious whisper “you’re one lucky dude. Keep this close.” Now that he really thought about it, perhaps it had been “keep her close” but Bobby was too enthralled in another face he could no longer recalled to realized. He couldn’t remember anything except how absolutely stunning you had looked, way too beautiful for his dumb young self. 

How could he had been so stupid that he couldn’t recognize what he had right by his side. You weren’t looking at the camera but rather lovingly at him. A smile delicate on your lips as you listened to him talk, probably complaining about something. Since then, candid had become his most favorite kind of photo of you. He’d spent hours searching through all the albums to pick out glimpses of you in the background. He smiled at the memories. The same smile he was now sporting letting his finger tracing out the small curves and bents of your name etched permanently onto the shiny band worn on his wrist.

“I’m coming for you, Y/n. Wait for me, okay?”

He whispered affectionately before pushing himself off the worn out wooden bench by the tracks with almost a spring to his steps as he walks off into the distant, one step closer to bringing you home. After spending all his time searching aimlessly, snatching up any clues he has about your whereabout no matter how insignificant, he was finally on the right track. You were here, and now so was he.

 Another two weeks had past before a knock came upon the grand wooden doors of his office. Expecting another report or files, he spared no glance and simply raised his hand up expecting a folder to be place in his grasp. What slid between his fingers left his soul leaping from his chest. It was small, glossy on one side and much too thin to be a folder. He froze. Slowly lowering the object down onto the table, his breath hitched as if all the oxygen had just up and left the room leaving him suffocating. Another piece of paper with trails of ants liked typing neatly laid onto his desk. He whispered a small thank you to the man he now realized is the private investigator he had hired before dismissing him. This was a private moment he’d like to have on his own.

The small picture showed you basking in the bright sun of yet another small town. Your hair shorter than what he remembered but still just as shiny and amazing. Your smile although not as brilliant as he had last seen it by the beach, it was much happier than the one he had seen the last time before you disappeared.

“Y/n ah…”

He whispered desperately, hoping you’d somehow hear him through the portal of the small photograph. His attention turned back to the other piece of paper with the details of your possible whereabout. Clutching both tightly in his hands, he stormed off before his assistant could even fathom what kind of uproar was brewing in his boss’s mind currently.

There he goes, on another train but heart already there. This time heading toward a small farming town. He had heard you spoken about this town many times before but never once think twice about the significant of it. You had lamented over riding down the small river under the tunnel of cherry blossom trees before heading off to the strawberry farm for a snack or two. He had promised you he’d take you when he’s free but once again, he was always too forgetful, too busy to fulfill his side of the deal. He could see so clearly now the disappointment in your eyes you used to hide so well until times and times again the false promises continued to fall, until you could no longer hide the sadness of unfulfilled words. The disappointment that he should’ve fix instead of brushing it off as another one of your ridiculous antic. How he wishes now to hear your small little whines of disappointment when he says he’s too busy.  

It’s only the 2nd week of February, off season for the small town that thrives upon the love of spring. The entire train cart empty, leaving Bobby alone with his thought. Back leaning against the wall and feet rest upon the long bench lacks of any other soul, Bobby smiles at the way your cheeks softly glow under the playful sun. You were still wearing that old yellow cardigan he bought you so long ago before he became too busy with work, before the extravagant social dinners took him away from your cheap take-out weekly nights in with Netflix. Although he had bought you better and nicer thing, you still prefer that old cheap yellow cardigan over things worth hundreds, maybe even thousands. His heart elates at the simplicity that is your present in his life. Staring out the window racing by hour after hour of greenery dormant in the cold winter, he lets dream soars free amongst the cloud as his eyes flutter shut for another nap.

“I don’t love you.”

Not really sure where to start or even how or what to say, Bobby had stood still after blurting out his reply. He let the awkward silent that used to be non-existent between the two of you sunk in for the very first time in all the years you’ve known each other. The utterance of those three simple yet powerful words from your mouth had knocked him off his game.

“I just don’t see you that way… but you probably knew that.”

He said once again, not really bothered much that tears were welling in those beautiful eyes. A small smile creeps onto those quivering dismal lips of yours as your head dropped low.

“I know.”

You breathed almost too painfully as you know none of this really hurt his heart, not in the way you wanted it to.

“I can’t give you a reason why. There’s no other reason why we can’t happen. I won’t say I’m sorry or ask you to forgive me because it is what it is. This is just what I feel… I don’t love you. I feel like if i say those things, it’d just be pitying you for falling in love with the wrong person. There’s nothing wrong with falling in love. It’s just… sometimes… falling in love is the most damaging thing you can do to yourself.”

He stood there, watched you cried but not once did his heart waver. He watched as the sleeves of your old worn out yellow cardigan got soaked in tear before you gave a weary smile, turning away. Little did he know then that this would be the last time he sees you because you knew you had to go away. You knew he didn’t love you. You knew you needed closure. You knew you needed to move on. Taking a few steps forward, you stopped then turn around to look at him one last time. He still stood there silently, so perfect in his suit and tie watching you walk away.

“Thank you.”

You mustered up your best smile before stepping off into nothingness once again. You were done. He let you go. You can move on. You hadn’t even wish for him to regret his words and run off after you. He doesn’t love you. You accepted that.

Awaken screaming your name, Bobby sits up in a haste staring around trying to decipher his surrounding. His bleeding heart calms down once the soft soothing clacking of the wheels against the track reminds him of his destination, of you. He had grew content with the sound of train in his quest to search for you. In his mind, it’s the sound of progress. Every time he hears the sound, body swaying with the cart, he knew he’s one step closer to you… Or at least eliminated one more place that doesn’t have you. Without even knowing, tears flood his eyes of the haunting memory. He didn’t love you. He really didn’t, so why did it hurt so much after the 3rd month without seeing your face. That slow burning turned intense by the end of the 4th month. When your birthday had come and gone in the most disturbing serene, peaceful way possible… The pain had swell like a volcano awaiting its eruption, unbearable.  Sitting alone in his room, he sang happy birthday in tear before collapsing onto the ground over the realization of what he had done.

He loves you.

Letting his eyes close once more after checking to see there was another 45 minutes left to the journey. He knows he’d need all his strength once he gets to the station.

Breathing in the fresh air of the countryside, Bobby grins thinking of the way you fawned over this place. He can see why now. The air seems almost mellow as are the clouds sauntering above in the blue sky. Bowing to the station’s guard, he sets on his way toward the small convenient store visible in the corner of your photo. His note recounted the serendipitous meeting that had the investigator randomly stumbled upon your photo in a photo gallery of an up and coming photographer. She was known to take candid shots of people living their daily life, in their most natural unfiltered state. He pulled all the string he could to get the photographer to reveal your location but fearful of what kind of creep would stalk her subjects, the kind photographer keeps a tight lips. 

It wasn’t until 2 nights later when the investigator showed up once again with Bobby in tow, hands clutching tightly onto an old album. She had gave him half an hour to convince her why she should reveal her secrets and in the private of the back room behind the main showroom, Bobby told her the cliff note version of the magnificent light you had brought into his life. Letting the photographer sifted through the old album, he hoped for the best and with a painful heart as he recalled the last time he saw you. Completely honest with the stranger about his stupidity, his pride, and his biggest mistake of letting you walk away. After the dust had settled, she stood up, thanked him for his honesty and simply said they’ll be in touch. It wasn’t even a day later when the investigator had showed up in his office with the picture personally printed by the photographer.

Standing in front of the old store now, Bobby holds up the picture to match the background perfectly. He flips the picture over to reveal a few sentences scribbled by the photographer telling him she thinks you’re no longer in this town. When she had met you, you told her you were passing by, a wanderer of some sort living out your dream of traveling. She had thought it was so odd for you to visit such a small town, albeit being popular in spring season, it wasn’t a town people would just know about without doing some research.

“She told me there’s something about these small quaint towns that’s so simple and satisfyingly perfect. People doesn’t have much but what they do, they worked hard for and appreciate it with all their heart and soul. That’s something big cities and tourist traps don’t have. Funny you had mentioned her love of taking photo when you’re not paying attention. She had only agreed on letting me take this picture if I can capture it without her knowing. To be frank, if you hadn’t mention that little bit, I would’ve never let you know where she is.”

Bobby reads the sentences out loud, he could almost hear the slight giggle in your voice when you get passionate about something. His heart smiles at how familiar you still feel even when the world had changed, he had changed. Although you were no longer here, he was told there’s someone that might know where you were heading to next. Pushing his way into the small store, he lets the small clear chime of the door bell rings out the hope he wears on his sleeves that someone here knows where the owner of his heart is.

 Opening his journal one more time, he presses a small leaf into the page noting 2/12 next to it before putting it away with a soft sigh. Pulling your picture out of the overstuff backpack, he smooths out the wrinkled corners before tucking into the bottom of the cold window against the glass pane of yet another train leaving the creaky wooden bench by the tracks of the last station. He watches as the sunset on another day before whispering a goodnight to you, thumb tracing the line of your face letting the comfort of your smile lulls him to sleep.

It was 7AM when Bobby had arrived at the next station. Sitting on another wooden bench by the track, he watches the warming sun pushing its way through another morning just as he’s pushing through another day closer to you. It was much too early to be out searching for you. Perhaps closer to lunch, he’d have better luck with the hungry horde out searching for something to stuff themselves full. As the thought of lunch drifts by, his stomach growls in protest of skipping dinner last night to make the last train out.

Wandering into town, Bobby gotten himself a bag full of kimbab rolls to go as he meander to the far ends of the station. When the train had slowed down enough preparing to pull into the station, he had spotted a field full of plum blossom trees so pristine and white they put fresh snow of December to shame. Settles on a large stump underneath a dense patch of blossoms, he lets himself sink into the dreamy sight as he replenish himself with energy for another long day of searching. He wonders if you had sat here also, on this very stump and dazed off into your own world. 

Often in the past he’d find you lazily gaze into the distant and he’d tease you for being so sleepy all the time. Then as the weight of the world grew, he grew frustrated at your indolent way, the lethargic expression you’d wear when you knew he was tearing his hair out from overworked, overstressed. He had taken it out on you like a fool. How he wishes now you’d be here lazily gaze into the distant with him while enjoying a snack.

He now knows, regrettably too late, you weren’t lazy nor sleepy. You were infatuated with the way nature threads itself into the busy life of people that neglects it. Forgotten that once these concrete jungles were filled with the wonders of plants and simpler things in life. You had always know how take time to appreciate the silent life in the background of your normal bustling one. If only he had learned your way sooner, then maybe he wouldn’t be so insufferable to everyone around him, maybe you’d still be here.

It’s astounding how you continue to change the way he views life even without being here. This crazy yet amazing journey you had sent him on guide him closer to the path of understanding himself. Being a young boss, he had lost that innocent of not worrying, of letting loose, of just taking a breather once in awhile. The various destinations you had set foot on, even the one you didn’t but he couldn’t leave any stone unturned, each and every one of them soothes his aching heart a bit more. They taught him to appreciate things as they come. 

He had thought this quest of searching for you would be a long and treacherous one and it was. The first two town he visited, he took planes then cars, whizzing by the life that went on outside the windows, oblivious of the wonders these small towns hold. After the 2nd time met with shaking of heads and whisper of you were never there in the first place, he ran off in a fit of anger. He had ran so far he wasn’t sure if he was even still in the same town. Letting himself slumped over onto a big boulder, he had cried. Cried until he couldn’t cry anymore, and it hit him, the way the ripple of waves glisten under the sun, the way the tree line mirrored so perfectly atop the peaceful lake top. For the first time in months he felt at ease. That night he decided to take the train back to the city and the rest was history.

He had sat with the night guard laughing all nights about the craziest thing that happened at the 4th town you visited. He had comforted a kid that lost his mom while pushing through the busy aisle of an open air market of a false lead not too long after. He couldn’t believe the sights, the smells, the sounds as he held onto the kid dragging him around to find his mom. He had anonymously donated a large sum to an old couple he found crying after the bank tried to seize their house as collateral for their youngest son’s mistake. Their other kids were barely making enough to support themselves, unable to help out their parents. He watched the shame in the oldest son’s eyes as he knew he would never make enough to carry his young brother’s debt. 

Bobby realized that there’s much worse pain, struggle so trying he couldn’t even fathom how people make it through another day. People suffers through much tougher situations than what he goes through in his lavish life. Yet, they’re so content, so generous with what little they got. He learned to see life through your eyes, to see the goods in people, to not always get stuck on the bad things in hindsight. He had wonder how you could always smile. Even when he yelled at you, disappointed you, took his anger out on you… You were still smiling just the same and readily forgave him for everything. He had learned your simple way of life had brought you happiness beyond anything Bobby could ever even began to think of. 

He had learned that he’s falling in love with you more and more everyday as he sees life the same way you do. What will he do when he reaches the end of the road and everything falls apart, he doesn’t know. For now, the journey itself is gratifying enough to carry him another day. For now, he wishes for nothing but to see you again even if it’s just for a second. 

As the last piece of food travels down to its resting place, Bobby stands up and heads out into town once more. Picture in hand, he had walked all afternoon and yet no one recognize you. Heaving a small laugh, he shakes a fist to encourage himself to go on. This was nothing new. He used to get sad, dispirited every time someone says no but now, he learned to persevere. Most importantly, he learned that the only way he’ll have a bad day would be if he lets it get that way.

He pushes on and before he realizes, it’s already time for another sunset. He’d have to find a place to hang his hat soon. Quickening his steps, he hopes to check a few more places before tucking out for the night when a sound barely in the range of his hearing stops him in his track. It’s a giggle. A sweet, sweet giggle that he had thought he’d never hear again. Too afraid to turn around fearing that if he looks, the owner of the giggle would somehow change into someone else, so he stands and listens for a bit longer. There it was again, this time accompany by the voice he grew to love. He’s sure this time.

“Goodnight, I’ll see you tomorrow.” The voice says.

Tears stream down his face on their own accord as he spins around to meet your smiling face, eyes twinkles under the reddening sky. You were speaking to an older gentleman holding a bag of things in your hand, shoulders cover by that old yellow cardigan.

He found you.

You hadn’t notice him at first, still too busy chatting away, smiling but then just as you step toward the 5 ways cross road, the biggest one of this town, he stands there crying. Your polite smile drops into something feeble, gentler. Bobby was still stuck in playing the whole scene out in slow motion when you step toward him, calling his name. He reaches up to poke your face with his index half expecting for you to just dissipates with the last rays of sunshine. His small action earned a smile and a scrunch of your nose. His hand clasp tight over his mouth still gapes open from shock as he cries.

He found you.

You both stand there, perfectly in the center of the biggest intersection of town staring at each other. It wasn’t until a small delivery scooter zooms past cussing at both of you for being stupid enough to stand in the middle of the intersection that he snaps out of his daydream with a chuckle. Pulling on his arm, you drag him to the safety of a sidewalk before he finally speaks.

“Y/n… I found you.”

Sitting down by the edge of an empty bridge that hovers over the river that runs through the far side of town now, you both share a content silent. It’s so different than the last time you had share with him a moment of quietness. You stare at the boy you had left behind, see the slight change in the way he smiles, the way his eyes gaze upon the small fish fighting the current. It’s almost as though he’s seeing what you’re seeing. Although unsure why, your heart is happy at the possibility.

“How are you?” You break the silent, fearing it’d turn sour if you let it goes any longer. Bobby was never one to find solace in the peaceful quiet nooks of life.

“Better.”

He answers almost too quick to which you answer with a small hum.

“I mean, I understand things about myself now that I’d never dream of a year ago.” He laughs nervously, debating whether it’s too much to tell you he’s a changed man. “I think I finally understand you better.”

“That’s good. I always thought I come off as a little kooky in your eyes.”

You smile and it does something to his heart. The same something that could be liken to quenching the thirst of a wilting plant. Your heart shaken, clearly registering how much your simple smile affects his heart. The same shaken that could be liken to a small tremble of the Earth.

“You came this far, I’m assuming you have things you want to say?”

“I honestly don’t know where to start.” He regrets not planning this out better. “I had set out with the simple goal of finding you. I didn’t know for what or if you really wanted me to or not but… I wanted it.”

You whisper a sadden “oh” in response. You’re happy to see him, that much you know. Yet there’s another part of your heart that screams the cold words he had said, the icy stares he gave… He broke your heart but you never really blamed him for it. It wasn’t his fault you fell for the impossible man. You had half hoped he’d find you but what’s the point to go back to the days of hiding your feelings. Even now, sitting here, he’s still impossible. Where’s the crisp suit and impeccably styled hair? Where’s the cold Bobby that only smile around you? This boy here, he’s not Bobby but he’s still is, very much so. It’s like the inner child you had longed for finally broke free. You hadn’t seen Bobby so relax since the first day he closed the doors of that enormously lonely office. Yet here he sits, not barking order, not fidgeting even a little bit over just sitting here doing nothing. He wears a pair of black ripped jeans, simple white t-shirt hiding under a thick grey hoodie, thumbs hanging precariously on the straps of his overstuffed backpack, legs dangling over the side of the bridge, swinging back and forth, pleased with the scenery.

“You know what’s surprising? Somehow in this whirlwind crazy road trip of mine, I found myself while searching for you.”

The most luminescent glint of happiness shines in his kind eyes as he recalls the people he met, the things he done, the places he visits. He talks about the feeling of facing the impossible of life and the joy of just helping someone out. Even though in the grand scale of life, his action probably didn’t matter much but to that person, he could feel the way his small gesture changed the way they see life. How eventually it became his mission to help the people he meets see joy in living another day. You had listened and he had talked all the way until the darkness washes over the town. Getting up now, he walks close by still fearing you’re just a ghost that would vanish if he breaches some set radius. There’s still so much he needs to say, so much more and he suspects you have a few things of your own. Panic stricken over the soft smile as he watched you walked off, unsure of what to do. Was he crossing the line speaking to you as if no time had passed, as if he hadn’t hurt you in the worst way possible? He could feel the tears pricking before you turned around humming the softest “you comin’?”, easing all the fear in his heart away like the many dawn he had watched breaking the cold of night away. Staring at your hair swaying gently with each step, he wishes he could reach out and laces his fingers through the strands just as he did so many times before.

“Sometimes I wonder why love is so hard. I see people break up over and over again and I thought, does this sadness ever end? How do I cope with these things?”

He speaks with an air of nonchalant, as if he knows the answer but needed for someone else to say it. Crickets had begun to sing in the field of corn lining the small road leading back to your temporary home. He soaks in the sweetness of the air and the crisp note of something that’s so unique to the countryside.

“It’ll go away after a while.” You sigh, almost letting your bleeding heart spills into the air. “the pain, the tears… It goes away, you know. People learn eventually that letting go because sometimes that’s love.” How stupid were you to think he wouldn’t bring this up as you fight the tear and the wounds he reopened just by facing you. Your slight sadness not miss by the attentive boy following your steps closely. He wishes he could just reach out and pull you into his arm and rubs your back gingerly until he dispels all your pain.

“I thought that it’ll be alright if I can just find you, that I’ll have time to tell you this but…” You peek over to see him smile at the sky above, eyes forlorn, longing to join the stars blinking above. “… I realize my time is running out soon so. Y/n?”

His handsome features face you with that unsettling calmness that you had the day you confessed to him. You were calm because you knew the answer you were expecting, is it the same for him? Once he was sure your attention completely his, he smiles but somehow it doesn’t ease your unnerving heart as it used to.

“I love you.”

Your feet stop themselves as your eyes widen at the utterance of those three simple yet powerful words. The rush of the crush that turned into first love blinded you in a flood of emotions. All the ones you hidden and all the ones that were rejected. Glimpses of happy time, glimpses of watching him with someone else, glimpses of his cold expression that day gush out like a broken dam drowning you. In the complete silent of the countryside night, Bobby told you he loves you.

“You can’t do that, Bobby. You can’t just show up one day and say you love me… No.”

Your stammer of confusion was shut down by another smile, this one perhaps a bit sadder than the last.

“Don’t say anything for now… It’s one last favor I want to ask of you, just listen like you used to.”

You nod slowly and he continues to walk prompting you to take the lead as he has no idea where his feet are carrying him to.

“Don’t be happy. It sounds stupid doesn’t it? How selfish of me.” He laughs, not because the words that was coming out of his lips were funny nor did you told a joke. He laughs, just to laugh away how much this hurt. “I don’t want you to be happy. The second you try to be happy again then I know you had forgotten about me. For a while now it hurt to just breathe knowing you were out there somewhere hurt over something I said stupidly and carelessly. It’s been hell living because I realized too late that I was too busy to know my own heart.”

He continues to walk, following your steps closely, eyes fixate on the old oversized yellow cardigan he bought you. You had already lost control of your tear by this point, but the sobs haven’t yet settled in. You let the tear flows freely as you can feel his gaze on you, watching your every move. If you wipe your eyes, he’d know.

“Don’t love, Y/n. If it’s not me who can be with you till the end of time, please… Don’t love. I know I sound so incredibly stupid, changing my mind like a fool. I turned you away then to only chase after you. Even now, I’m not even sure if I should be doing this… I told you to find someone better, someone good but now, my heart ache at my own words. I’m trying so hard to hold on. If I could,”

His words lost in his throat as the sobs he suppressed begins to sting its way out chasing your own to do the same.

“If I could somehow remember that place, that time I lost you… Maybe, do you…” He laughs again, dejection weaves itself into every breath he heaves heavily as if he already knows what you’d say, “Do you think I could find us again like I did this afternoon?”

As if the sky had answered your prayer, the softest touches of rain tickle your skin, hiding the pearls welling in your eyes so perfectly. You spin around to find Bobby had stopped, just a few feet away from where you stand. You let yourself sigh the last bit of your love away.

“We never were, Bobby. I don’t think you can find someone in a place that never existed.”

As if the cloud he loves had answered his prayer, the heavy downpour hides his gasp for air and the sobs so perfectly with its pitter patter. He had turned away with a sadden smile just as you did at the beginning of it all, whispering a small thank you before walking away. Your mind races thousands of miles, deciding if you should let him know it’s okay if he wants to continue searching for you but in the end, no voice came out, and your feet didn’t move. You stand there watching him disappearing into the night knowing this might be the very last time you’ll see him ever again.

 It’s 3AM now and you’re no closer to dreamland than you were standing in the rain watching Bobby go. Tossing in your bed, you couldn’t get the smile and the way his breathless “I found you” rings out so endearingly against the loneliness of your own journey. His genuine happiness tugs hard at your heart. Pushing sleep off, you kick off the cover to your warm bed heading out to the front porch to watch the cleansing of another day. Tomorrow, the Earth will twinkle and shine in the light of the sun as if no pain had happened the day before. Everything will continue.

You creak the door open and take in a breath of the cold air wafting around the wide-open space. You stare at that road you know would lead to Bobby before letting your eyes falter to the wooden panes of the old porch debating the rise and fall of letting yourself succumb to the calling of his heart. Under the soft glow of the light shining through the doorway, you spot a small object neatly laid like a present. There it was. The leather-bound journal you had momentarily laid eyes upon earlier when Bobby dug through his backpack searching for his wallet. Faster than light, you pick up the damp book hoping the rain hadn’t damage it too much before retreating back to warmth of cracking fireplace in the living room.

The very first page is mostly blank, water had already permeated through the corner of the page leaving it wrinkles. You huff and puff, hoping to dry out the smearing inks. He had put too much work into this for you to let it rot and waste away in the carelessness of your heart. In the middle of the page however, that writing… You’d recognize that writing anywhere.

“To my beautiful Y/n” It says.

It’s only the first page and he already have you sinking in heartache. This was going to be a long read. To your surprise, there isn’t much writing as there is a mishmash of trinkets illustrating his long journey. The very first entry dated 3/19 with nothing else except for an old picture of you and him in high school. It was a polaroid taken just before his birthday dinner sophomore year. Your finger traces out the small line of that smile and those loving crescent eyes. Just like the first, entries after entries dated carefully and flourishes with details as he got comfortable with admitting his feelings down onto paper. Some have leaf taped on them, some dried up flowers, others a small doodle or a heartfelt line if he’s having a particularly bad day. Your aching soul smiles at the simple phrases, messages sent by his soul. “i miss you” and “I love you” litter the pages along with heartfelt sentiments that transcend any words or things of this realm. You could feel yourself melt under the intensity of his love. You let your heart soar along his at the small picture of the cloud floating by his train cart then cry at the details of his profound sadness over losing a few pages of the journal one careless drunken night. Soon an hour had past and you’re finally caught up with the last entry dating 2/13.

In the middle of the page, a fresh innocently white plum blossom he had picked up while having lunch by the station. A small doodle of what supposed to be a cat right next to the soft petals with the small caption “I saw a cute cat today. He lets me pet him after eating 3 of my kimbab pieces.” The first genuine laugh you have in over a year was over a stupid doodle of a cat that managed to con him for food by being cute.

This page, unlike many before it, is fill with lines upon lines of writing so much so that he almost ran out of space.

“I know it was stupid to ask you not to love. I just wanted to hear myself say it at least once before I could let you go. I thought if you struggled as much as I did, couldn’t we just reconnect? I know it’s selfish. I know it’s not healthy, wrong even to hold onto things that should be let go but I had to… I needed to see you one last time. I love you. I wish I have more time to say it properly but alas, I was already racing against the hands of the clock the second I set out on this journey. Someday, I know a very good person will come along and take you away. Honestly, as I’m writing this, I’m already envious of whoever that is. He’d get to see your amazing smile every day, hear your silly jokes, bask in your sunshine, sway along to the small songs you hum. Most of all, he gets to love you knowing you love him too. He gets to miss you, and have you miss him. I love you. I know no matter how much I say those three words now that it wouldn’t matter. Now that I can no longer hear your voice or have the privilege of knowing you love me … I’m lost. 

Don’t be sad. It’s okay, I will be okay eventually. I just hope you’ll be able to say it again soon with the person that will make you happy. Laugh and be happy. I will look at our love as if it’s just put on hold… at least until I can make sense of everything. I hope you’re okay with that. I made the biggest mistake of my life and now I will live with the consequences of it. I want you to know that you had guide me through this insane journey of self-discovering and I want to thank you for that. I love you.”

Ink smears in places you know the rain hadn’t kiss. His heart poured out onto a few simple lines that you couldn’t help but unlock the cage of your heart, letting it free.

 Once more Bobby makes acquaintance with another worn out wooden bench by the train tracks… The very last time he’ll rest his weary soul on one. Even though there was no stopping the tears silently rolling down his cheeks, the only thing offering him a bit of warmth on this cold lonely night, Bobby feels light. He found you, he really did and even if it was only for a few hours, the closure he had been chasing finally smiled down on him. He can finally rest, 11 months the journey had gone on for. The piercing cold of winter and the pouring rain sending yet another shiver down his spine for his damp jacket did naught to stop it. 

Pulling his knees up to his chest, Bobby let himself shrinks in hope of warmth and in hope of relieving this feeling of being so small against this big, big world. As a billow of fog leaving his lips, before he could lose all hope of surviving the night, like dawn breaking, a flash of that old yellow cardigan wraps around his freezing body with the force of thousand suns. For a second he was hopeful, but before his heart could once more drag him down a path of self-destruction, Bobby laughs at his own delirium, reminding himself once more that he was truly alone. This warmth spreading through his body, the soft hand petting color gently back into his skin? They’re all fake, nothing but a last-ditch attempt to hold onto a happier time.  Yet the weight of the old leather journal pressing into his chest, it feels so real… So, so real that he begins to accept the comforting scent of the old yellow cardigan.

 “Y/n? What are you doing here?” It was only now that he sees the pair of feet standing before him, feeling the gentle heat lingering from your body emanating through the woven threads of the old cardigan. 

“Read.”

There you are, standing in front of him panting hard, hand pressing onto your chest as if soothing away the burns in your lungs. He watches as your chest rise and fall rapidly, no closer to calming down your ragged breath. He thought about jumping to you, to comfort you but you repeat yourself, insisting once more.

“Read”

“What?” He gasps, stuns by your strange action but nonetheless compliant as his fingers grip tightly the worn-out cover of the book.

“Just read.”

Finally comprehending your cracking sentence, his hands flip through the pages, soaking in the familiarity he thought he would never again have the chance to see. Flipping fast through the page, his eyes searches for any differences in the entries. Pages pass before he lands on the date 02/14 in pink ink, a small heart in place of a normal ending period mark. Immediately, he recognizes the small piece of memory you taped onto the page - an old yellow piece of yarn matching the old yellow cardigan draping over his cold shoulders. Staring back up at your still redden face, whipped till painful by the gushing wind and rain, he sees something he didn’t see earlier… A small glint of hope behind your fluttering lashes behind those beautiful eyes. Returning his attention to the page, he lets himself look at the small lines of writing just below the piece of yarn, the small lines that he was too afraid to look at before now.

“You found me.

I love you, Bobby.”

You speak the words of your heart out loud, just as his lips mumble softly the words written on the page. Almost immediately he throws the journal onto the bench rushing forward to pull your shivering body into a hug so tight, he could feel his broken pieces healing. You could hear the desperation in his voice, the joy in his tears as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck whispering “I love you” over and over until he chokes on his tears. Shushing his pain away, you rub softly on the broad shoulder and strong back you wouldn’t mind supporting just like this for the rest of your life.

Parting way, he gazes into your eyes deeply and swear he could see universe shining from them. One peck, then two. Came three before he presses a lingering kiss on those lips he had wanted to touch with his own covetous ones all day long. Holding on tighter, you let him works you into a stupor before feeling his tongue meeting yours, gingerly playing chase. You giggle at the strange feeling but let him deepen the kiss into something fervent. You push him away for air only to have him crashing back with stronger desire and passion than before. Letting his fever wears itself out, you comb your fingers gingerly through his dampen hair, earning a soft satisfying moan from Bobby.

“Stay with me tonight?” You murmur against his lips, not really wanting to part way with them as your arms tighten their hold on him. “I don’t want you out here in the cold all alone. Come back to my place.”

“Only if you come home with me tomorrow.” He entangles his svelte fingers of his right hand into your hair supporting your head as he pushes his lips forward while the left tracing the dip of your spine down to the small of your back, flushing you impossibly close against his firm chest.

“Only if you promise to continue filling out the journal for me.” You tiptoe to land another soft kiss to his lips, eliciting a sweet smile.

“Only if you promise to be there when I fill them out.” He pecks your cheeks then nose, chuckling brightly when you scrunch your face up in protest of the wet kisses. Fervidity of the sudden love only burn brighter the longer you remain in his arm as he pulls you in for another passionate kiss.

His lips frown at the loss of you when you slowly back away from his needy body, craving for your scent, wanting to share the heat of your love. He looks at you with confusion and pain before your smile soothes it all away. Now with curiosity filling up his heart, he stares, watching your movement closely as it’s seems you’re pulling the long sleeve of your sweater up to reveal your hand. The most amazing smile graces you with its present the moment he realizes what you were doing. Hanging daintily on your wrist a small chain bracelet with a shiny silver bar etched with his name.

“You still have it.” He exclaims, pulling the sleeve of his own jacket away to show the matching one on his wrist.

“I never took it off.” You reply with a playful grin on your lips.

His hands near teleport over to cup both your cheek, crashing his lips messily into yours nearing topple you over onto the bench. You laugh at his silliness, something you’ve never gotten used to but had always love. He returns a giggle, glad it was right once more for him to be happy standing next to you.

“I love you, Bobby. I miss you so much.” You whisper against his blushing cheek, pressing a big kiss onto the soft burning skin.

“I miss you too, baby. You don’t even know how much I love you.” he returns the sentiment, nearly crushing your bones with his hug.

It might’ve started out as a best friend bracelet, something of a false couple item to ward off unwanted attention from girls. Those tokens of platonic love were now blooming in full like the buds of flowers bursting through with life after a long dormant winter holding onto to the hope of spring. The small simple bracelets with each other names etched on them had held you both over the long lonely winter of your hearts. Now, like a beacon of hope, they guide your love back to each other.

“I was hoping to see some stars tonight… Looks like it’s not happening with all this rain.” Bobby whispers softly against your cheek, lips gently pull back from a soft peck. The slight frown of his mouth combines with the pouty plump lower lip send you into a drunken haze. How could this be the same man, haughty under the boss’s suit you knew just before you left.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I can see at least one.” You quip, returning his kiss as his eyebrows furrow incredulously, eyes staring up at the sky full of dark clouds. He cranes his neck to the best of his ability to figure out where on Earth are you looking to see this star, completely missing your focus stare in his handsome visage. 

“The brightest one of them all is standing right here in front of me.” You smirk playfully before reaching out for his hand, pulling him along, his laugh soundly rings out pushing away any last cloud of lingering sadness of the past.

The star of your night is back in your arms illuminating your life with love while the watchful satellite of his life is back into orbit doting over his every move. If someone had told either of you to believe in the power of love just a year ago, you both would’ve laugh in their face but now embracing the dawn of February 14th together on the platform of the train station, maybe it’s not so crazy after all to believe in a little bit of Cupid’s magic. You can only hope this bit of magic will last till the end of time but somehow you know even without it, you’ll both be fine.

#ikon #ikon bobby #ikon scenarios #kim jiwon #jiwon scenarios #bobby scenarios

[theconservativebrief]

Giving a good review of Hulu’s new drama The First feels like a betrayal of everything I stand for as a critic.

It’s a show about Sean Penn going to Mars that never actually has him set foot on Mars. Hell, he doesn’t leave Earth until halfway through the season one finale. (There are eight episodes in said season, and I’ve seen them all.) It’s weird, slow-moving, pretentious, and more stretched-out than taffy that’s been left in a car on a hot summer day. It feels like creator Beau Willimon (of House of Cards fame) took the first 10 pages of a novel, or the first five minutes of the Christopher Nolan movie Interstellar, and expanded them into eight episodes of television.

These are all qualities I hate in modern TV drama, which never met an interesting premise — the first humans to visit Mars — that it couldn’t slow way the fuck down. I call it “when are they gonna get to the fireworks factory?” television, after the 1997 Simpsons episode “The Itchy & Scratchy & Poochie Show��� (still one of the best TV episodes about the TV industry ever made). Milhouse, frustrated by an episode of Itchy & Scratchy that never brings the titular cat and mouse to a fireworks factory promised by road signs, wails the line, and it’s a stand-in for every time a story just keeps withholding the interesting stuff in favor of something else entirely.

You’d better believe that The First is “when are they gonna get to the fireworks factory?” television. You’d also better believe that it’s leaden and self-serious and features, like footage of the life cycle of a cicada intercut with young people hooking up and a man with a vaguely Cajun accent drawling about nothing in particular over stock footage of the planet.

But oh boy did I find The First emotionally overwhelming and hard to shake. It got under my skin in a way I never would have predicted.

The scenes where Tom (Penn) deals with his strained relationship with his daughter, Denise (Anna Jacoby-Heron), are the show’s best. Hulu

The First is perhaps best understood by watching its strongest hour, a nearly standalone episode that steps out of the season to tell a story about one family slowly but surely falling apart. Dubbed “Two Portraits,” the season’s fifth episode focuses on Denise, the daughter of Penn’s character, Tom. Played by Anna Jacoby-Heron (whom I had never heard of before The First, and who is simply remarkable), Denise embarks on painting a portrait of her late mother (Melissa George) and in the process of filling in the blank canvas slowly comes to better understand the woman who gave birth to her.

I’m treading very carefully here to avoid spoilers, because even though viewers will have figured out most of the reveals in “Two Portraits” before they’re directly depicted, the episode feels like a steady excavation of scar tissue. Knowing the wound is there doesn’t stop the arrival of the part where you uncover it and wince at the red, open gash.

Directed by the brilliant French-Turkish director Deniz Gamze Ergüven (whose 2015 film Mustang was one of my favorites of that year), “Two Portraits” is often filmed as though it’s a stage play, with pools of light isolating the actors and key pieces of set decoration in massive blank dark spaces.

It’s a canny depiction of how someone like Denise might come to better understand her parents and their failings as she grew up, and the older she gets, the less blinkered her perspective becomes. And all three actors involved bring their absolute best. (Penn seems a little disinterested at other points in the series — which is his first regular TV series role — but he’s as good as he’s ever been in “Two Portraits.”)

And despite that it works as a standalone episode, “Two Portraits” also helped me better understand what The First is doing. This is not a show about the people going to Mars. It’s a show about the people going to Mars.

That might seem like a subtle distinction, but it explains why, say, the show will butt up against what seems like a major conflict — we see Tom squabble with Laz (the woman funding the expedition, played by Natascha McElhone as a woman with immense money and power who never feels comfortable with herself) over which of two people to bring on the expedition to another planet — only to cut forward by a matter of weeks or months, the conflict long since resolved. (In this case, the person chosen is just suddenly on the team, and The First trusts us to figure out how it happened.)

It can all be a little bit much. When you sit down and think about it, everything that happens in season one of The First could have probably been condensed into three or four episodes. But that would have left less room for “Two Portraits,” or for the episodes that build up the lives of the other astronauts who will join Tom on his mission, or for a long series of interviews between Laz and a hostile journalist (the great Bill Camp).

I viscerally understand just how much this show is going to turn off some viewers. It is slow-moving and ponderous, and the occasional monologues from the Cajun voiceover guy are really ridiculous. I have a feeling that for every viewer who really cottons to The First, there will be three or four who spend their entire viewing howling at its self-seriousness. All I can say in my defense is that when the space explorers finally set off toward Mars — which, again, doesn’t happen until the middle of the season one finale — I teared up. It got me. I don’t know how else to explain myself.

I mentioned the movie Interstellar above, both because it seems like a touchstone for this movie (in that it also deals with a family in crisis whose lives are disrupted by one member choosing to spend huge amounts of time exploring space) and because The First similarly takes place on a near-future Earth where catastrophic climate change is gearing up to potentially cause our extinction and where technological shifts have pushed human workers out of many fields.

The argument that Laz makes to a skeptical US government is that going to Mars is imperative because it offers humanity’s best chance at survival. It’s an argument about legacy, about trying to leave a mark that won’t be washed away in the flood. But that idea is also integral to the show’s family drama side. After all, leaving a legacy is a big part of having a child, of hoping that you are carried on in some small way by a being that shares your DNA.

And yet having a child also means you can never completely ensure your legacy won’t be turned to ash, because their life is theirs to lead. Nobody gets to live forever, but we keep breeding new generations and creating art and striking off toward the unknown as if we might cheat death anyway, as if achieving immortality is just finding a way to plant your flag on some new world, or at least a different corner of this one. The First might be a more conventional sci-fi show once it gets to Mars, (assuming Hulu orders a second season that takes us there) but I suspect I won’t like it nearly as much.

The First’s entire first (heh) season is available on Hulu. It makes for a weird binge, but I’m pretty sure it would be insufferable week to week, so just watch it all at once. Then yell at me on Twitter.

Original Source -> Hulu’s The First is everything wrong with modern TV drama. Reader, I loved it.

via The Conservative Brief

#IFTTT #The Conservative Brief