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wherethefireliliesgrow · 24 days

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Moonlight Sunrise (Part 3)

Minatozaki Sana x reader

Part 1 Part 2

GENRE: angst, fluff, non-idol

TYPE: Short fic

The deafening roar of the crowd behind you rang in your ears as your heart accelerated with anticipation and nerves, much like the feeling before delivering the killing blow to your target. It was the night of the competition, and contestants had gathered in front of the well-protected gate of the labyrinth, an alarming contrast to the decaying metal gates you had seen when you met Sana. Contestants of all sizes—scarred, muscular, frail—braced themselves, readying to enter the labyrinth. Most carried large backpacks, heavy armor, and multiple weapons, each likely costing more than your life savings. All you had was a small knapsack with enough food for a week, your trusty dagger, and a new crossbow crafted by Minjeong specifically for the competition.

As the royal mage lifted his wand and pointed it to the sky, a dark green mist shot up high with a bang, signaling the start of the competition. Dozens charged forward, roaring their own cheers before disappearing into the dark mist covering the entrance of the labyrinth. You, however, lingered back, giving Minjeong and Momo a slight nod of reassurance before quietly slipping into the darkness.

The moment you stepped between the towering ivy-covered walls, the outside noise disappeared, leaving an eerie silence. As your eyes adjusted to the lack of light, you noticed several entrances aligned in front of you, just as Sana had told you. Taking a deep breath, you took the route on the far right, sending a silent prayer to the moon goddess herself.

Relieved to find the route deserted, you carefully made your way forward. Screams from afar echoed within, along with roars too brutal to be human. You were no stranger to the monsters dwelling in the darkness but preferred to stalk your prey instead of engaging in direct confrontation. Hand-to-hand combat was not your specialty, as you lacked the stamina for this kind of battle. Dealing with monsters at the start would ensure you never reached the stone. It was best to evade rather than face any beings head-on.

As you moved forward, time seemed to stretch endlessly. After what felt like an eternity, marked by the occasional easy combats with a hideous harpie and a whale-sized tarantula, the ground grew darker underneath your feet. The hairs on your arms stood on end as you pressed onward. Your instincts urged you to turn back, but with no way out of the maze and no escape without the stone, you ignored the warnings.

Before you knew it, grey mist began to rise, shrouding your surroundings in clouded darkness. Groping blindly for the labyrinth walls, you continued on, taking deep breaths to calm the thudding of your heart.

"Unnie?" A familiar voice called out to you in the darkness.

You flinched at the sound; the voice sounded eerily similar to Yeji's. Ignoring her calls, you continued forward.

"Hwang Y/N." The weathered voice of your deceased master whispered in your ear, making you freeze in place.

"I missed you," Yeji's voice called out again, as sweet as sunshine. "When are you coming back?"

"I'm proud of you." Your master's voice echoed in your ears again, trembling through your frame. "You grew up well."

Your heart thumped loudly in your chest as you grabbed your dagger in your hands and quickened your pace blindly. Forest Sirens. One of the deadliest and most vicious creatures to ever grace the earth, choosing to play with their prey, making them grovel in fear and pain before consuming them.

"Where are you going, unnie?" Yeji's voice continued to follow you. "Are you going to leave me here? Again?" Her voice got louder and more aggressive as you continued to tune out her voice.

"You could've saved her, you know. Dahyun." Your master's voice cut through your footsteps, making you stumble a bit before stopping. You knew fully well that your master was no longer there with you, but the words still managed to tear open your heart.

"But you were too weak." Your master's voice cackled, like nails on a chalkboard, piercing through your ears.

"Why didn't you save me?" Suddenly, a ghostly pale face emerged in front of you, Dahyun's face contorted in an eerie smile, her eyes only whites.

"You let me die." Her face was so close you could smell the rotting flesh.

You coughed, stepping back and losing your footing, falling to the ground.

A wrinkled, long hand grabbed your ankle, tugging you toward its direction.

"Did you ever love me?" Dahyun's voice prickled your head, feeling like your heart was going to be ripped in half.

You swiftly sliced the hand with your dagger, cleanly severing the appendage. A shriek and wail echoed, before another hand grabbed your shoulder in the darkness. You couldn’t see anything, just the occasional haunting, inhumane faces of Yeji, Dahyun, and your master. Countless hands grabbed you, slicing open your skin as you tried your best to fend them off. The haunting voices continued to echo, each word poisoning your blood.

At this rate, you were sure to die. There were too many of them, and you could no longer find the right direction in the pitch darkness.

Your enemies would have had a field day of the fact that one of the deadliest assassins to ever grace the earth couldn't even fend off forest sirens.

Out of desperation, you remembered the compass that Sana had given you. Fumbling with your pockets and stealthily swinging your dagger in the dark, you accidentally dropped the compass as another hand sliced through your shoulder.

The compass hit the ground with a crunch, the glass screen shattering. Before you could react, a blinding light emerged, revealing Sana in the flesh, her skin illuminating the darkness. The creatures, blinded by the light, emitted wails of pain.

Sana's glowing red eyes scanned the surroundings before focusing on you. "Let's go," she muttered, her eyes tightening at the sight of you covered in blood. She grabbed your hand and dragged you forward, leaving the wails of the sirens behind, slinking within the shadows trying desperately to avoid the light. You paused after a few steps, reaching down to scoop up the broken compass, when Dahyun's mimicry grabbed you with its wrinkled hands.

"Y/N!" Dahyun called out, her ghostly pale face contorted in pain as it reached for you. "I love you."

Sana paused at this, a twinge of annoyance bothering her, though she couldn't put a finger on why. Instead, she took out her anger on the siren whose hand was still grabbing yours. With a forceful kick to its face, she continued forward, leading you out of the siren-infested area.

As soon as you were out of the mist, you collapsed on the ground.

"Thanks," you muttered, visibly shaken by the previous events.

"You're really not as great as what people said about you," Sana snorted, putting her fingers up to her chin as she looked at you. "I can't believe you couldn't fight sirens, nightwalker."

You groaned at her words; it was a huge blow to your ego.

"They just caught me off guard."

"Who? Your lover?" Sana teased, trying to mask the strange feeling gnawing inside her.

"Yeah. I mean... no, she isn't, wasn't—" You sighed, rummaging in your knapsack for some bandages. "Never mind."

Deciding to let you off the hook, Sana grabbed the bandages and water from you and began to clean your wounds in silence. You sat there, hissing slightly as she cleaned the gash on your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you said, playing with the broken pieces of the compass in your hand.

“For what?”

“For breaking the compass. I promise I’ll get it fixed when we leave this maze.”

She bit her lip, focusing on your wound. “It’s fine. It’s pretty old, anyway.”

You couldn’t help but stare at the princess in awe. She was even more beautiful than what the books had said; they didn't do her justice. She was hauntingly beautiful, her eyes seeming to tell a thousand stories, and in those eyes lingered loneliness and sorrow. The years in the labyrinth had taken a toll on the princess. You found yourself intrigued by this human-like being in front of you, wondering what she was like before. Happier, perhaps.

Noticing your eyes on her, Sana felt her cheeks burning.

“What?” She met your eyes, confusion in her expression.

You merely shrugged, giving her an easy grin.

The princess flicked your forehead in annoyance, trying to act nonchalant to your staring.

“Did you bring me more of those cakes?”

“Of course. How could I dare to forget the princess’ orders?”

“Stop calling me that!”

The next few days in the labyrinth passed fairly smoothly, with only a few encounters with easy monsters here and there. Having Sana by your side made the darkness of the labyrinth less lonely. She kept you company, or for the most part, annoy you with her endless questions and reckless behavior. Nevertheless, you noticed a change in her demeanor; the haunting sadness in her eyes seemed to disappear, replaced by a more playful and youthful version of herself. You couldn't help but notice her flirtatious personality, which often left you speechless with her flirting and clingy touches.

“What are you doing?” Sana widened her eyes in wonder as she looked at you collecting the leaves of nightshades from a bush nearby.

“Creating nightshade powder.” You said, continuing to crush the dried leaves with a rock.

“Why?” the princess inquired, and proceeded to pluck a berry from the nightshade bush and throw it into her mouth.

“Because they are so poisonous you can knock down a full-grown hum—” You lifted your head to see the sight of Sana casually popping the poisonous berries in her mouth and swinging her legs as she sat on top of a tree, nearly sending your heart into cardiac arrest.

Panicked, you quickly pulled her down and made her spit out the berries, holding her warm face in your hands and squeezing her soft cheeks in an attempt to make her comply.

She merely grinned and continued chewing slowly. “They taste good. I’m not human anyways.” She licked her lips slyly, eyes flittering to your lips.

Lost in her eyes for a brief moment, you suddenly became aware of the proximity of your faces and the awkwardness of the situation. Hastily, you released her and took a step back, stumbling a bit before clearing your throat.

You quickly handed her a small leaf folded into a packet filled with the poisonous powder, and avoided her eyes.

"Put this in your pocket. If anyone comes near you, throw this in their face."

"Why are you called the NightWalker?" Sana asked randomly as you attempted to start a campfire on your sixth night in the labyrinth. The cold was becoming more biting as you neared the center of the labyrinth, and snowflakes began to fall.

You merely shrugged, struggling to ignite the damp wood.

“Is it because you sleep walk?”

"Seriously, Sana?" you sighed, rising from the pile of wood and shooting the princess an exasperated look. She had a knack for throwing you off with her random thoughts.

"What? The name sounds pretty lame, so I guess it has something to do with sleepwalking," she mused, enjoying your annoyance. "You also talk in your sleep, by the way."

Sana shivered slightly in her thin gown. You sighed again, as annoying and insulting as she was, you couldn't help but care for her. Seeing her discomfort, you took off your cloak and draped it around her body before returning to tending the nonexistent fire.

The princess’ heart fluttered at the gesture. You were growing on her, and she couldn't deny her feelings for you. Your care for her had softened her heart, making her fall for you faster than she had ever thought was possible. Also, she couldn’t ignore how attractive you are, because you looked so good with your tattooed arms flexing as you tried to star-

"I guess we can only settle for this tonight," you remarked, breaking her train of thought. A small fire, barely enough to warm your hands, now crackled weakly at your feet.

You raised an eyebrow at her, noticing her staring. She quickly averted her gaze, flustered.

“What?”

"Nothing. You just look stupid wearing a tank top in the snow," she retorted, trying to hide her embarrassment at getting caught checking you out. A slight blush lingered on her cheeks. The sight of your exposed skin wasn't helping her focus.

“Wow.” You glared at her playfully, “After working my ass off to get the fire going, all I get is an insult?”

“Shut up.” She muttered, her ears still tinged red.

The two of you huddled under the cloak, trying to warm up under the harsh weather. You were trying your best to ignore the tingling feeling whenever your arms brushed against Sana’s. The two of you ate dinner in a comfortable silence, a measly bread and ham for you, and a cup of apple cider for Sana (according to her, she didn't need food ever since she was cursed, but enjoyed the treats you brought).

“What is the first thing you want to do when you leave the labyrinth?” You asked.

The flickering flames of the small fire reflected in her brown eyes as she pondered over your question. After spending so many years trapped in the labyrinth, she had started to lose hope of ever seeing the outside world again. Hence, she never allowed herself to imagine what she would do upon leaving, worried that she would grasp onto false hope.

"I don't know," she muttered, a hint of melancholy in her voice as the sadness from her past resurfaced. "Maybe visit the seaside? I heard that's where my mother is buried, so I'd like to visit her.."

You had heard stories about the queen passing away not much after Sana was cursed into the labyrinth. She had died from grief of losing her daughter to the darkness.

“I’m sorry.” You murmured, trying to comfort her, but you were lost at words.

“It’s fine. It’s been a while.” Her voice cracked as she tried to wipe her tears discreetly. “We used to watch the sunrise together before everything happened. Now, I don’t think I can ever see the sun again, but at least being with her for a while would be enough.”

You hesitated slightly, before shuffling closer and wrapped your arm around her gingerly. She let out a content sigh, and leaned her head on your shoulders. You tried your best to ignore the feeling of her cool breath on your neck, and focused on consoling the broken-hearted princess.

“If you want, I can take you there.” You said after a while, Sana’s sniffles had now gone away and she switched to tracing the intricate patterns of your rune tattoos. “Someone I kno—knew used to live there.”

"Who? Dahyun?" Sana teased, pinching you playfully. Despite the circumstances, she couldn't resist teasing you about your love life. After the incident with the forest sirens, Sana had been curious about your romantic history and had pestered you relentlessly until you told her about your childhood friend and former lover, Dahyun. You had dated her for several years before she left you for someone else and tragically passed away during a mission.

Sana thought it was stupid of Dahyun to leave you - after all, what could she possibly see in someone else when you had everything a girl could dream of? However, she kept her comments to herself, knowing it was inappropriate to speak ill of the dead. She was however, slightly jealous and irritated that you were still hung up on your past lover.

"Yes... But Yeji is also there, too at the moment." You cleared your throat, feeling uncomfortable under the princess's narrowed gaze.

Satisfied at your answer, she put her head back on your shoulders. "I'd like that. Besides, I have to follow you after we leave the labyrinth anyway. Half of my soul is in the stone."

"I'm not going to tie you to me, Sana," you said, frowning at the thought that she still thought you were after the prize her father had set. " You should have your own life. I'm not bringing the stone with me, nor am I going to accept your father's offer of making you marry me."

"So you don't want to marry me?" Sana teased, noticing the goosebumps appearing on the tattooed arm she was clutching.

You cleared your throat, a habit she had noticed you do whenever you were flustered, and quickly stood up from the warmth of her embrace.

"Let me gather some more leaves to keep the fire lit when we sleep," you said, scratching your neck awkwardly. Sana found you unbearably cute, too cute to be a trained killer.

When you returned a few moments later with a handful of twigs and leaves, Sana was sitting there patiently, holding out a scrap of paper she had ripped off from your makeshift map.

"What's this?" you asked, confused, as she handed you a pen and the paper.

"A contract." she stated simply, giving you another of her charming grins.

You quickly scanned through the words, her neat handwriting befitting royalty, stating that you must take her to the seaside village any time per her request.

"Seriously?" you asked incredulously before signing your name underneath. "You have zero faith in me."

"An assassin's oath is as solid as a sugar teapot."

"What's that even supposed to mea—"

Before you could finish your question, shouts and hoots echoed from the far end of the open space where you were staying, cutting you off. It seemed that the surviving contestants had made an alliance and caught up to you. You quickly pulled Sana behind you and reached for your crossbow.

“Hey Nightwalker!” A bear-like silhoutte called. It was the scar-faced man from the bar. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Surrounded by his people, he was no longer the weak, nervous man you had threatened in the bar. You narrowed your eyes, annoyed at his ego.

"Who's that pretty lady behind you?" the man next to scar face cackled. You recognized him; he was once a guardsman who had killed his three wives, been sentenced to death, and managed to escape.

They were drawing closer, and you could make out there were four people in total.

"Wouldn’t mind sharing your girlfriend with us, would you?" Scarface said again, licking his lips disgustingly.

Sana flinched at that, her small frame shaking behind you as you pulled her closer. She had had a few run-ins with contestants like this throughout the years, and she had only narrowly escaped each time.

Trying to keep yourself composed, the twitch of your eyebrow betrayed your anger at their comments and their implications.

As the men stalked closer, you quickly pulled the hood of your cloak over Sana to block out the reflection of the moonlight on her skin. A soft glow of moonlight always lingered on her skin, an effect of the curse.

“On my mark, run to the back and hide in the shadows. Cover your skin.”

Her eyes widened in fear, but she decided to trust you. This was the most serious she had ever seen you.

“This is the real reason I’m called the NightWalker.” You gave her a lopsided grin as pitch-black mist started to emit from your skin, from the rune tattoos, quickly spreading out from your body and covering the area around you like wildfire.

“What is she doing?” one of the men shouted, their footsteps thundering loudly as they charged toward your direction. The entire area soon was engulfed with mist, making it hard to see.

“Now, Sana,” you whispered and kicked dirt over the small campfire, the last source of light.

Then everything was dark.

Previous Chapter

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kydrogendragon · 6 months

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Dec 2 - "You Shouldn't Have..."

(Ao3 Link)

It was Christmas Eve. The artificial Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner of their flat’s living room, the warm lights casting a golden twinkling glow on the walls. They had spent the day together, baking cookies and wrapping the remaining gifts for their friends and family. Present were stacked under the tree, the stockings were hung, and the fireplace was gently crackling. It had been a good day.

Hob was in the kitchen, cleaning up the last few dishes from dinner when he’d heard the soft shuffling of Morpheus’s sock-clad feet on the hardwood floors. He smiled to himself and finished rinsing off the last plate before turning around.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever quite get over the view of Morpheus swimming in his large cable knit jumpers. The cream yarn was a stark contrast against the dark hairs on his head. But what grabbed Hob’s attention, more than any of that, was what was in Morpheus’s hands.

In Morpheus’s hand lay a small, neatly wrapped box. It was about the size of his palm, maybe a bit larger. It was wrapped in red and tied with golden ribbon and bow. A small gift tag hung from the center with the name “Hob” written in delicate script.

“I thought we weren’t going to do gifts?” Hob asks, his eyes never leaving the present.

“That is what we said, yes.” Hob’s gaze lifts to meet Morpheus’s. He gives him a shy smile and tilts the gift forward. “But I thought I ought to repay you for the kindness you have shown me these past months.”

Hob’s face softens. He takes Morpheus’s hands in his. “You know you don’t owe me anything, yeah? You being here with me is more than I could have ever imagined. If anything, I’m the one who owes you for that gift.”

“Perhaps,” Morpheus whispers, stepping closer. He looks up and Hob’s breath hitches as he realizes how close they are now. Morpheus’s face is mere inches from his. “But I wished to show you my thanks. Would you deny me this?”

“Never.” Hob doesn’t think there’s much, if anything, that he would deny him. Not when he looks at him like this, especially. Morpheus could tell him to kill a man and all he’d need to do was bat his eyelashes. Hell, he wouldn’t even need to do that. If Morpheus wanted someone dead, all he had to do was point and Hob would do it.

“Good.” Hob feels as Morpheus places the gift in his hands, their gaze never breaking until Morpheus steps back. Looking down at the gift, Hob rubs a thumb across the wrapping. It was light. Jewelry, he wondered. It would fit the box size as well as the weight.

Hob peels the ribbon away and breaks through the wrapping paper to reveal a simple black squarish box. He lifts off the lid and gasps.

Inside, resting on a bed of ebony velvet, is a set of shiny golden earrings. They hang down, encasing a small ruby in each one. Tiny black gems dot the ends of the earring. Hob runs a finger down the cool metal.

“Morpheus,” he whispers. “You shouldn’t have…” He looks up with an ever growing smile on his lips. “They’re beautiful, Morpheus.”

Morpheus looks down to the box, a blush rising to his cheeks. “I. Had seen them in the store front. I believed they would look good on you. And.” Hob watched Morpheus’s Adam's apple bob as he swallows. “And I wished these to be a courtship gift, if you would accept them as such.”

Hob was proud of himself for not dropping the box.

“Courtship?”

Morpheus nodded.

Hob stands for a moment before closing the distance between them and pulling Morpheus’s lips to his. He lets out a started gasp before melting into the kiss. Hob’s heart was racing in his chest. He was running off of pure adrenaline as he devoured Morpheus. After six hundred years of pining for man in front of him, could anyone blame him?

They part, panting, as Morpheus’s hand finds the box in Hob’s. He looks down and plucks the pair of earrings from the velvet bed and holds then, dangling next to Hob’s ears.

Morpheus hums. “Yes, these will do nicely.” Hob chuckles. Keeping on arm wrapped around Morpheus’s waist, he lets the other float up to his right ear.

“Put them in for me?”

Morpheus’s gaze darkens as he does as instructed. He slots the golden hooks into the small piercing holes in Hob’s ears. After Hob had told him the story of getting them pierces those weeks ago, he had been unable to let the vision of Hob, adorned with golds and jewels, leave his mind.

Morpheus cards a finger against the metal and smiles. “You look good in my colors.”

Hob arches a brow. “Is that why you picked these ones out specifically? Wanted me all dressed up in your colors, my lord?” Morpheus flushes, but does not look away.

“Yes.” His pretty pink tongue darts out, wetting his lips. “I wished for all to see you to know who it was you belonged to.”

“Fucking hell, Morpheus,” Hob moans as he leans in for another kiss. Morpheus eagerly returns it, falling into Hob’s arms.

Morpheus’s arms wound around Hob’s back, pulling him closer to him. Their chests were nearly flush as they held each other close.

Pulling back for air, Hob grazes his lips across Morpheus's and whispers, “I gladly accept, if that wasn’t obvious.”

Morpheus chuckles against his mouth. “I am not certain I am convinced.”

“Oh?” Hob pulls back and rubs his thumb across Morpheus’s lips. “Guess I’ll just have to be more clear then.” And he drops to his knees.

Morpheus smirks from above. “I believe you will.”

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #the sandman #ky writes #december writing list #kydrogen's december drabbles 2023

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note-boom · 9 months

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Life and Death Parallels within the ADA

Someone in a tag said a while back to throw some of my tags of this post onto a post, and I meant to do it way back in February but kind of got lost to the timestream.

But I'm back and I really do have thoughts about the way the ADA is structured to really be, as Atsushi was told just before the Kamui revelation, a place where the members give the organisation unique strengths that cover each other's weaknesses. And I thought about how there's a sort of equal divide between the older generation (Ranpo, Yosano, Dazai, and Kunikida) and the younger generation (Kyouka, Kenji, Tanizaki, Atsushi) and how each of these characters have both a similar aged parallel to them in the agency as well as a minor-adult parallel.

I'll try to be as concise as possible (I failed), but hear me out...

We have Ranpo/Yosano, Dazai/Kunikida, Atsushi/Tanizaki, and Kyouka/Kenji as similar-aged parallel sets that pair a death-coded individual with a life-coded individual. On the the adult-minor side, you have Ranpo/Kenji, Yosano/Atsushi, Dazai/Kyouka, and Tanizaki/Kunikida as parallel sets in their story arcs rather than thematic ones.

So, to start with the first set.

Ranpo (life-coded) and Yosano (death-coded): I feel as if these two have sort of reached the most balanced level of thematic parallels than any of the other pairings. Ranpo's past was full of this enjoyment with life where his parents' occupations dealing with darker forces of the world were hidden from him. Meanwhile, Yosano's past was full of death and darkness that was not hidden from her. And in Yosano's backstory, she was called the angel of death; in Ranpo's Origins tale with Fukuzawa, he confronted an angel of death of a sort. Yosano was deteriorating into death while Ranpo was slowly thriving under Fukuzawa. And then they met...and Ranpo found someone to bring back to life, and a place in the ADA where he could use murders and death and the darkness of the world to spread light/life by literally shining light on the mysteries, while Yosano found a place where she could use death to bring life in the ADA.

Dazai (death-coded) and Kunikida (life-coded): I think this parallel of life/death manifests the most in their ideals...Dazai's ideal is sort of entrenched in death and trying to die a painless suicide while Kunikida is all about spreading life for himself and others no matter how much pain it brings him. What's so wrong with these two is that they also have inclinations towards their "opposite coding," so to speak. We constantly see people pointing out Kunikida's secret desire to die while we clearly see Dazai doing his uttermost to live a good life and carry on Oda's legacy. Life haunts Kunikida as much as death haunts Dazai, and yet death chases after Kunikida (all the people he's witnessed dying, RIP) as much as life comes after Dazai (all his failed suicide attempts, double RIP)

Atsushi (life-coded) and Tanizaki (death-coded): This is honestly pretty tricky because we barely know anything about Tanizaki. Even though Kunikida and Dazai's past-pasts are still pretty mysterious, we have a good grasp on their characters. But Tanizaki's personality dissonance and as-of-yet unknown past with his sister definitely contrasts with the way we're know Atsushi's past and values. Both, however, are incredibly protective, but the way Tanizaki and Atsushi approach it is pretty different; Tanizaki seems to have this mentality that he must kill the threat while Atsushi seems determined more to save the victim. (I also find that one throwaway about "wimp of the east (Tanizaki)/wimp of the west (Atsushi)" interesting because maybe it's just in western lit, but west denotes sunsets and death while east denotes sunrises and rising, except in Buddhism where the west is shown as a direction of enlightenment(info check?)...which provides another host of interesting parallels to Atsushi and his relation to the book but let's not go there). All in all, these two are a bit of a stretch, but it's interesting to see that Atsushi's mysteries lie more towards the future (usually associated with life) while Tanizaki's life more in the past.

Kenji (life-coded) and Kyouka (death-coded): This one's pretty straightforward, not just because they're the youngest members of the ADA. But you see their life philosophies and personalities lean towards what they're coded as, as well as their pasts (Kenji as a farmer, cultivating life, and Kyouka as an assassin, dealing death). And yet what drew each to the ADA....Kenji was drawn to the ADA after witnessing death after a lifetime of growing new life while Kyouka was drawn to the ADA after being given life after a long childhood of killing.

However, in the end, the Armed Detective Agency is a detective organisation devoted to saving people, and all of them end up choosing life for it. But the different ways they go about it just go to show that you can have any crazy skill and still spread some sort of life through it. All of them are haunted by death, anyway, and yet all of them choose to spread life regardless.

Now onto the second set, which I'll keep shorter by simply saying that the pairs - Ranpo/Kenji, Yosano/Atsushi, Dazai/Kyouka, and Tanizaki/Kunikida - just have similar story beats, in a sense.

Ranpo and Kenji raised fairly happy, rudely awakened by the world, and yet choosing to believe in continuing to keep up a positive attitude; I'd say, though, that Ranpo does it primarily through shutting his eyes to the world while unmasking it while Kenji does it through acknowledging its pain and refusing to let it bring him down.

Yosano and Atsushi both with honestly terrible childhoods spent witnessing some of the most cruel sides of human natures growing up to be champions of life, only Yosano has definitely developed more steel and walls while Atsushi's definitely softer and more open still (they're both crazy stubborn, though).

Then Dazai and Kyouka's past with the Port Mafia and a disillusionment in reality that was abruptly interrupted when they realised they had to do something about it as useless as it sounded; Dazai thanks to Oda dying and Kyouka thanks to Dazai telling her to save people anyway.

And again, Kunikida and Tanizaki's probably a stretch given we know nothing about their pasts, but I really really find it interesting that Kunikida was a former teacher and Atsushi first assumed Tanizaki and Naomi to be students; also, I've mentioned this in other posts but Kunikida and Tanizaki are paired together a lot and have...their moments. It's pretty interesting to perceive these two people with strong ideals that are almost the reversal of the other ("the world for one person" vs "myself (one person) for the world").

But yeah...that has been parallels within the ADA concerning themes of life and death and their character's narrative arcs.

Bonus? Fukuzawa and Naomi....a middle aged president and a teenaged clerk, both protective about the people they claim to be their own, smart in their own ways, with seemingly "support" roles.

#the bonus was mostly crack but i didnt want to leave fukuzawa and naomi out of it #anyway that has been a short look into character parallels with someone obsessed with character parallels...#...whether they exist or not #who knows maybe im just very much...#spitting nonsense #but also im onto something right??#anyway it means a lot to me that the ada is all about surviving despite what the world has thrown at you #and despite what i said about being coded more one way than the other...#...i also take it back #because what theyve all done is face the horrors of death AND life and choose to make things better...whatever that means #and i love them all for it #character analysis #armed detective agency #bsd musings #bsd #oh yeah but what about that thing about buddhism and atsushi's west?

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raainy-daze · 1 year

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The Snatcher.

chapter one. ➼ [next.]

rise of the tmnt x gn!reader [PLATONIC], rise!leo x gn!reader

summary: someone keeps stealing everyone’s things. nothing they’ve stolen has any correlation, and it’s anyone’s guess why they’re doing it. as time goes on, the list of crimes grows longer. reader just hopes no one realizes it’s them.

a box of parts has gone missing from donatello’s lab, and needless to say, he’s furious about it. just one heist in, and it’s already quickly turning into everyone’s problem.

word count: 2,868

a/n: guess who’s back with his first multi-chapter fic y’all

i’m gonna have another post regarding my return from hiatus with more details on that and my writing plans around the same time i post this, so please do check that out if you care about this blog!

in regards to the fic: i like to call this one “in which the reader is full-on just kind of an asshole and steals everyone’s stuff for no reason”. so, if you just so happen to be a little shit, congrats! this one’s for you. reader is in a relationship with leo in this, but that’s not really the focus, and it isn’t really even explicitly mentioned in this chapter.

All was still.

It was well past dark in New York City. Of course, that didn’t mean much - it’s called the city that never sleeps for a reason. Above ground, traffic still raced on, people still yelled in the streets, the hubbub didn’t quit. But in some apartments, families closed their curtains, tucked their children into bed, and tried to ignore the clamor outside their windows.

Below ground was a slightly different story, however. Sounds were muffled by concrete, leaving the rush of cars and footsteps inaudible. Occasionally, you would hear the telltale rattle of the subway, but it was easy enough to ignore once you got used to it. Normally, in this strange home beneath the city, there would still be some sort of noise at this hour, but the Hamato family had retired a bit earlier than usual tonight. Splinter had even remembered to turn off the projector, which was rare enough to be notable. As far as the family was concerned, everyone was tucked into bed and sleeping soundly. Not a creature was stirring.

Except for one.

In contrast to the rest of the lair, the laboratory wasn’t totally quiet, nor was it totally dark. The machines which occupied the room produced soft whirring noises at all times, and had plenty of blinking lights to keep the room just barely illuminated. Most of it was a very dim light, but at the main desk with the most clutter, there was one brighter source. The computer was open to some Wikipedia page, and the light it produced fell softly on the face of a sleeping softshell turtle.

Normally, he would still be awake, working away on his various inventions. But this evening, he’d crashed far earlier than normal. Definitely unusual, but no one would be particularly surprised to hear about it. After all, he had gone without sleep for what? Three days now? It was only logical he would drop at some point, whether it be by his own will or nature taking over. He needed this sleep, everyone (except perhaps himself) would agree. It was a tad unfortunate, however, that he crashed when and where he did. For one thing, the desk littered with empty coffee cups and stray materials couldn’t be a very comfortable pillow, and far more importantly, he hadn’t had time to close anything down for the night. Some things were left running, and their batteries would likely be drained by morning. That was the least of his concerns, however. What he should, and likely would if he was conscious, be worried about was that nothing was locked. The door to the lab, the cabinets of valuable tools, nothing. His precious projects were left completely and utterly vulnerable, as he would find out when the morning came.

It was Friday evening, April 16th. The small clock in the bottom right corner of the computer read 11:24 PM.

That was when the Snatcher struck for the first time.

•°. *࿐

“I suppose you’re all wondering why I called you here today.”

It was Saturday morning, 8:42 AM. It wasn’t unusual for you to meet on a weekend, but it was a bit strange that it was so early in the morning. Saturdays are for sleeping in, after all, but that hadn’t been an option this morning, thanks to Donatello. You’d been woken up bright and early at 7:00 AM by your phone blowing up with notifications, demanding that you get to the lair as soon as possible because Donnie had a “code red emergency that he needs everyone to meet for ASAP”. A quick check with Leonardo, however, revealed that there wasn’t, in fact, a code red (something on fire, someone bleeding, or an alien invasion). According to him, Donnie had woken everyone up banging pots and pans at an absolutely ungodly hour, and was very passive aggressive all throughout breakfast. All of that, and he was refusing to explain why until everyone was present.

So, here you were, sitting in the main room of the lair at this mildly ridiculous hour of the morning with everyone. And when you said everyone, you meant everyone. Yourself, April, and the guys were the usual given, as well as Casey Jr. since he showed up. Cassandra was sitting over on the far right next to Sunita, and even Splinter had been dragged to this meeting, though he appeared to already be drifting off. Upon arrival, you had been informed that Draxum was also invited, but had refused. You supposed Donnie didn’t have the authority to argue there.

“Will you get to the point already?” Leo groaned next to you. “It’s been hours.” Raphael and Michelangelo looked equally annoyed and tired, and you couldn’t blame them, what with the stories you’d heard earlier. You considered regretting taking extra time for breakfast and prolonging their suffering, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to. It was some damn good breakfast, and they ought to be used to this stuff by now.

Standing in front of you all, Donnie sighed. “All right, all right, you guys have no respect for a good monologue.” He grabbed hold of the whiteboard he had rolled out of the lab earlier and dramatically spun it around. You squinted, trying to interpret the scribbles made in dry erase marker, but quickly gave up. He would undoubtedly explain it all to you regardless.

“Last night, sometime between 10:30 PM and 4:00 AM, someone broke into my lab!”

Everyone stared at him blankly.

“Donnie,” April said, “I was just in there. Nothing looked very broken into.”

“Yes, nothing LOOKED amiss, my dear April, but one very crucial detail!” He pointed towards one corner of his whiteboard, at what you now recognized as a diagram of the lab. He circled a drawing of what appeared to be a box he had very subtly labeled “GPS PARTS”. “This box” -he gestured again for extra emphasis- “contained–”

“Let me guess, GPS parts?”

“LET ME SPEAK!” Donnie took a deep breath and returned to his drawing. “Yes, it contained GPS parts, very important GPS parts I just bought to use on my brand new upgrades to the navigational system in the Turtle Tank, more specifically the parts needed for the antenna, but I know you all start yelling when I go on science tangents, so for your sakes, I won’t elaborate.”

“Thanks, it’s much appreciated.”

Donnie made an expression you quickly recognized as the “trying to blow Leo up with his mind” face.

“And what happened to the parts, Donnie?” April asked.

“Why, thank you for asking. Well, this morning when I awoke…” Donnie took an eraser, held it up, and suddenly began erasing the box far more violently than he really needed to. “IT WAS GONE!”

Donnie’s yell woke Splinter up with a start. “Wh-” Sunita leaned over and whispered a quick summary of the situation. “Oh, that is what you are so mad about? You lost your, uh, things?”

“They weren’t lost, Father, they were clearly stolen!” Donnie was becoming more frantic by the moment. “I checked and double checked their exact position several times last night, to be perfectly sure I wouldn’t loose them! And yet, this morning, they were gone! And they had to have been stolen by SOMEONE IN THIS ROOM! Or Draxum.”

He waved an accusatory finger at… well, everyone. “Everyone present in this room was present last night for our Jupiter Jim: Atomic Lass Dies Again 2 viewing, as you all know!”

This was a fact. Yesterday, everyone in your circle had been invited (or dragged, in Draxum’s case) to watch the new JJ movie the second it came out on DVD. It had been fun, but you doubted anyone there expected to be a suspect by the next morning. Well, except for the perpetrator, you supposed.

“Are you sure, Dee?” Casey Jr. actually looked pretty concerned. He always seemed to take these things a bit more seriously, probably because he wasn’t as used to it. “I mean, you really think someone in this room would steal from you?”

“Oh, you sweet summer child, multiple people in this room have stolen from me. In fact, most people in this room have stolen from me. Some more than others.” He gave a pointed glare in Leo and Cassandra’s directions.

“Do you have any proof?” Cassandra glared right back.

“Yes, Cassandra!” Donnie once more slapped the diagram. “The fact that it’s gone! The fact that there is an outline in the shape of a box entirely free of dust! The fact that whichever one of you who did it (probably Leo) is an–”

“Whoa, whoa, are you accusing me? Your own twin brother?” Leo put a hand on his chest, commencing with his usual theatrics. “Dude, I thought we had a bond!”

“Leonardo, this would be far from the first time you’ve stolen my stuff!” Donnie pointed at him in response. “My tools! My clothing! Anything in my lab you thought looked cool! Even Penelope Platypus!”

“Penelope Platypus?”

“Don’t ask. Never ask about Penelope Platypus,” Raph whispered.

“Understood.”

“Okay, okay-” April stood up from her spot and walked over to Donnie. “Everyone, let’s just-”

“I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR PENELOPE PLATYPUS-”

“Donnie, let’s just calm down!” April grabbed Donnie’s arm and lowered it. “Do you not have any security cam footage?”

“No, April, I do not, because as I conveniently told you all yesterday, all my security measures are under maintenance!”

“Fingerprints?”

“Already checked. Whoever it was, they knew exactly what they were looking for and didn’t touch anything else. Believe me, I have been looking since 4. A. M.”

“Okay, what’s all the rest of this on your board?”

Donnie cleared his throat, but not before sending one last nasty glance his brother’s way. “Well, here I have a list of any possible motivation our thief could’ve had. Leonardo, mischief, Cassandra, mischief, Draxum, turning back into an evil supervillain stuff, Mikey, an insane level of dumb luck and obliviousness-”

“Okaaay.” April cut him off before he could go down the whole list, but you could just make out your own name below Mikey’s. Anything else written on the board, however, was pretty much lost to time thanks to Donnie’s illegible handwriting.

April picked up a dry erase marker from the bottom of the board, and began making amendments to Donnie’s notes. “Well, we know it couldn’t have been me or Sunita, since we left while you were still awake.” She crossed out both names. “Mikey also went to bed pretty early, but I guess he could’ve gotten up and come back downstairs.” She placed a question mark next to Mikey’s name. “If our thief did know what they were looking for, then who did you tell about these parts?”

“Well, I told you, of course.” April began making checkmarks as Donnie listed names. “I also told Casey Jr. when I was teaching him how refrigerators work.”

You decided not to ask.

“I mentioned it to Father, but I doubt he was listening, since he clearly doesn’t often.” He paused as he stared at Splinter, who took a full seven and a half seconds to space back into reality and notice.

“Oh, are we done? Wonderful, I’m missing the latest episode of-”

“No, Father, we are not done!”

“Also, we don’t get cable,” Raph pointed out.

“Alright, and that’s everyone?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Alright. So we’ve got ten total suspects, two with a solid alibi, three with inside knowledge, and…” April muttered to herself as she read over Donnie’s guessed motivations. How she managed to read those, you had no clue. “... two with a reasonable motive. Not a lot to go off of.”

“Well then, on to my planned second step; I will now be questioning each of you in order from oldest to youngest.” Uh oh. “Father?”

“Uh- yes, Purple?”

“WHERE WERE YOU THE NIGHT OF APRIL 16TH?”

“... I believe I was here. I also believe that was yesterday.”

You exchanged a look with Leo. This was going nowhere - Donnie was just going to yell a lot, and eventually Cassandra was going to start yelling back, and then everyone would be yelling, and it would just be really loud. You pulled out your phone as discreetly as you could, and began typing.

was it you?

be honest i swear i won’t tell anyone

no!!! i went straight to sleep after you left

i didn’t go anywhere near the lab

i assume you wouldn’t be asking if it was you

well duh

should we tell him raph slipped sleeping meds in his coffee

no, that’ll just make it worse

raph wouldn’t do it anyways, he’s too nice

point taken

so what are we supposed to do

watch it play out?

you read my mind

You looked up from your phone, back at Donnie, who had moved on from Splinter to Cassandra. This would be fun.

“WHY THE HELL WOULD I TAKE IT? I WOULDN’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT!”

“YOU HAVE ONE OF THE TOP MOTIVES, CASSANDRA!”

“AND WHAT KIND OF MOTIVE IS THAT?!”

“TO SPITE ME!”

“TO SPITE– oh. Yeah, that makes sense.”

“SO YOU ADMIT IT!”

“I ADMIT TO NOTHING!”

“Oh my god, they’re going to kill each other.” You sincerely doubted you would see anything as entertaining as this for the rest of the week. It was pettiness at its finest, and you’d acquired quite a number of insults from watching fights this way. You knew it was only a matter of time until someone (Cassandra) threw the first punch, and then it was only a matter of time until someone (Donnie) threw the first explosive. But alas, it would be over too soon for that.

“April, you get Donnie.” Raph sighed as he stood up, and scooped Cassandra up remarkably easy. At the same time, April grabbed Donnie, preventing him from trying to hit Casey Sr.

“Look, Donnie, I can understand why you’re upset, but fighting isn’t really the best way to fix this.”

“But it is a way.”

“Maybe, but–”

“Don, I’ll help you find your parts.” April cut Raph off. She sounded pretty exasperated at this point. “Just stop screaming before everyone’s eardrums explode.”

“I was not screaming-”

“Yes you were. Now come on, I wanna see the crime scene for myself.” April began dragging Donnie off to his lab. Casey stuck her tongue out at him, and you just caught him flipping her off before disappearing into the lab.

Raph set Cassandra back down, and she muttered something that sounded a lot like a very targeted insult.

“Well, that was certainly… something,” Sunita commented.

“Something, indeed.” Mikey nodded.

“Okay.” Raph turned back to the group. “You know I trust all of you…”

“But you’re gonna accuse one of us of stealing some dumb science crap?” Cassandra raised an eyebrow.

“No! No.” Raph smiled sheepishly. “But, if it was any of you… Just, please give it back. He will not let this go, and I don’t know if our sanities will survive it.”

“Hey, hey, April’s on the case now!” Mikey chimed in. “I’m sure she’ll solve it in no time! She’ll catch our… our Snatcher!”

“Our what now?”

“The Snatcher! It’s what I just decided to title our resident thief.”

“We’re naming the thief?”

“Now, now, Casey Jr., every thief needs a good name.” Mikey patted Casey on the shoulder a couple of times, looking very proud of himself.

While everyone else was talking over the new name and what could’ve happened to Donnie’s stuff, you walked over to the whiteboard. You weren’t really interested in the lab diagram; you also weren’t sure what part of this required an entire corner of the board being dedicated to math equations.

You squinted at Donnie’s scrawled handwriting, trying to make out the notes at the bottom of the board. On the motives list, you found your name, which was just barely readable. It took you a few seconds to translate what was written next to it.

Scheming.

That didn’t sound too different from Leo and Cassandra’s “mischief”, but hey, it sounded better, so you weren’t going to complain. You’d have to ask Donnie what he meant by the difference next time you saw him.

You grabbed the marker and wrote down several notes regarding what had occurred last night. You had stayed in Leo’s room for a while before you left, so you could provide alibis for each other in that time frame. You hadn’t seen Cassandra on your way out, nor had you seen anyone else up. You wrote down the rough time you left, as could be verified by Leo, and wrote down that you had seen a light from under Mikey’s door.

Finally, you wrote “The Snatcher Case” at the top of the board, followed by “(y/n) was here :)” in the bottom corner.

You smiled to yourself before going to grab your things and get ready to leave. You were eager to watch this play out.

You couldn’t wait until you enacted phase two of your plan.

It was 9:57 AM, Saturday, April 17th. The Snatcher waltzed right out of the lair, and no one suspected a thing.

#tmnt x reader #reader insert #rottmnt x reader #gender neutral reader #gn!reader #tmnt leo x reader #rottmnt leo x reader

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inkpot909 · 1 year

Note

Can I get a Spike x raeder

The reader was kind with Spike and all but he didn't need a kid adult like in his team so he was always treating them like..idk "whatever" "ok." "Just leave me alone" and so on

But one day the reader gets in the way of a criminal taking the bullet for Spike and they say "thanks goodness you're ok" while bleeding out and Spike regrets it,he doesn't want them to go away,so he apologizes,saying that he needed them taht he would stop teasing them or treating them bad

They get together in the end :)

U can add as much angst as u want

A/n: Thank you thank you so much for the fun request! I feel awful for not being able to finish it for a while; getting caught up in personal matters. I appreciate the support and truly hope it was worth the wait. Have a lovely day; as well as all others reading. <3

Warning(s): Swearing; brief mentions of blood/canon-typical violence; light angst.

This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go.

It’s a dreadful thought lingering in the back of Spike Spiegel’s mind. Instead of pulling him away from them, fully in the present where he should be, a ricocheting gunshot nearly grazing across his shoulder only hammers the point home.

It seems that’s the route most bounties have gone down as of late. Realistically, he knows he shouldn’t even pretend to be surprised anymore. And usually, high-stakes entice him. But tonight was supposed to- no, it had to be different for safety’s sake. That much so was made very apparent.

What was originally meant to be a sneaky, difficult yet rewarding job, has mutated into a public gunfight taking place within a famously high-class bar. Having tracked the bounty to this location, things quickly went array upon the realization that most of the security in the building is in the palm of their hand. The bounty himself has presumably slipped away in the commotion, letting others take care of the dirty work for him.

The messiness of the situation has forced Spike and you both into a corner, desperately having to duck for cover. If it weren’t so tense- bullets flying in the air seemingly at every turn -Spike would almost laugh. It’s delightful (if not, a tad bit macabre) to see the place be wrecked to hell in a contextless vaccum. A handful of bodies are scattered across marble flooring along with broken tables and seats. By now, most innocent bystanders are either in hiding or found a way to flee the scene. Blood pouring onto the floor from bodies or light droplets from those still standing contrast heavily with a monochrome color scheme. It’s the kind of joint Spiegel usually wouldn’t ever think to step foot in; mingling with rich types isn’t exactly his cup of tea. On the flip side, maybe the owner at least has hope of being able to repair the mess themselves (a vain hope; as both him and you will most likely have to pay for property damage regardless of the owners funds).

Finding an opening to do so, Spike whirls his body around while swiftly reloading his revolver. Sticking his head up from behind the bar, he barely has enough time to understand the positions of those firing.

Just a few yards away from him on his left, you keep yourself hidden behind a table turned onto its side. Spike ducks below the bar once more, cursing underneath his breath. Blood is trickling down your right leg, clear signs of an injury. From what, exactly, eludes him for the time being.

The dark look on your face is unwavering, however. In fact, you’ve maintained a serious exterior for almost the entire night. It’s enough to put a hindrance on Spike’s breathing, albeit briefly. Such an intense presence doesn’t suit you at all.

You momentarily pull your attention from the action across the room, sensing someone’s eyes on you. Sure enough, you meet Spike’s gaze immediately. Nodding to one another, a beat comes and goes before the two of you move in tandem. Raising your guns, you both rise up quick enough to fire a shot or two.

This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go.

Crouching down, Spike stares at his feet. Despite holding his head low, his eyes give the impression that he’s looking at something far away. His lips press together in a thin line, letting out a long sigh. Jet’s going to have our heads for this, he expects.

Despite your cool front, you’d been as reckless and clumsy as ever (Spike’s words not yours). He had half a mind to blame you for the shootout, but even he has to admit he knows better than that. Although you fired the first shot, he might as well have done so himself via his own thick headedness. Just as Spike predicted would happen earlier the same day, you ended up hurt. However, he’d done just about everything his older companion told him not to, and here you are suffering the consequences along with him.

...

“Isn’t the whole point of this bounty to be discreet?” Spike muses, arms crossed. His expression is soured, and shoulders stiffened in defense. Sprawled out against the Bebop’s couch, he’s sat himself opposite of Jet. Well aware of how uncomfortably upright the yellow furniture is, his vegged out form is working to drive home a point more than anything else.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Jet replies, voice gruff and short.

The younger man scoffs, raising his arms and gesturing to his right wildly. “Then why the hell-...” Spike pauses, rubbing his temple, “Then why… do you think I need to bring along Y/n? Surely it’d be better if I-”

“Because they work swiftly and are the most likely to keep you from inflicting your usual brand of collateral damage. I’d say they’ll do well to keep you from messing this up well enough.” Jet cuts him off casually.

“What? So they’re my babysitter? You know how they are- they’ll just get in the way.”

Jet bites back, “Spike, I swear this’ll go smoothly if you just accept their help. Don’t you dare think of going off on your own. The bounty’s got connections and has reportedly been on high alert since the price on his head increased. We don’t have all the details, but there’s enough to know it could get ugly. You’ll be kicking the bucket if you don’t get your head screwed on straight.”

“We both know the chance of that happening,” Spike huffs.

“Yeah, right… less likely than you admitting to yourself the real reason you get so high-strung about Y/n.”

The fluffy-haired man raises an eyebrow.

“It’s because you like them, but saying so must not be in vogue nowadays, so you tell yourself it’s just because they’re childish- or whatever made up reason it is this week.”

“They are childish.”

“And you aren’t?” Jet questions, “I’d think refusing to follow a well-informed decision just to avoid who you’re going to be working with is pretty immature.”

Silence follows, the moment thick with thought.

Making a face, Spike abruptly kicks his leg forward and smacks his foot against the side of Jet’s cute coffee table. He doesn’t even open his eyes at the booming, metallic sound. “As if a bright green racer with a goddamn flower plastered on the side of it won’t make us stick out everywhere we go!” Spike exclaims, clearly still hung up on Jet’s previous statement or sending him an implicit warning to shut his mouth.

“I’m sorry, but how many repairs have you needed on that obnoxiously red racer of yours in the past month!?” Jet snapped, finally looking his crewmate in the eye. “Y/n and you are the best choice for this sort of job. You’re going with them; end of story. The sooner you get the bounty the sooner you can come home sulking about it.”

Not twenty minutes later, Spike found himself begrudgingly walking next to you heading towards the Bebop’s garage. You maintain a youthful spring to your step, while he practically drags his feet on the floor following you.

“Hurry up, slow poke!” you jest, stopping in front of the garage door. Turning towards him, you tap your foot repeatedly as if you’re being forced to wait for him.

“Maybe you should start practicing blending into the shadows for when we land,” he suggests, moving past you, “You know… being unnoticeable.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you giggle, “You’d miss out on what you like the most about me!”

Sneering, he responds non-committedly, “Yeah… sure.”

“Oh, don’t deny it, Spiegel.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You huff, a playful edge to your tone, “C’mon… at least admit I’m more fun than Faye; that can’t possibly be difficult to voice out loud.”

“I’m not admitting shit,” he suddenly snaps, “I just want to get this done; I could really use that reward- so let’s go.”

Frowning, your gaze hesitates on his person as he turns on his heel and shuffles away. He moves with hasty steps towards his precious racer for extra measure.

Your shoulders fall, but his back is turned to you. And even if it wasn't, you are certain by now that it wouldn’t make a difference. The wall he’s built between the two of you is sturdy and unmoving, but hell if you haven’t tried your hand time and time again at tearing it down.

But unknown to you, his thoughts haven’t moved his attention away.

Select bounty missions notwithstanding, nothing ever seemed to truly wipe the smile from your face. Even then, most times you can keep a playful edge to your actions and attitude. Spike Spiegel hates that. It’s hypocritical, considering his own behavior at times, but logic is (apparently) irrelevant. Nothing ever seems to get to you either, and that’s the most frustrating. Nothing he ever says or does gets to you. From the tiniest comment to the very reasons behind Jet's latest stream of lectures- he hardly has witnessed you bat an eyelid at it all.

It’s not that he necessarily dislikes you as a whole, but something angry inside him bubbles over around you. Still fresh in the bounty hunter world, your attitude just appears… too naïve. The feeling you fill him with is foreign, and why someone ‘so simple’ can get his mind racing is beyond him. Within the dim lighting the Bebop offers, barely reaching the inside of his racer, Spike has long been so sure you’d never find common footing he doesn’t even consider it an assumption anymore.

...

Amidst his thoughts, the two of you manage to shave the number of shooters down by a considerable amount.

Still eager to be done with the case (even if it means coming back empty handed at this rate), Spike takes the opportunity to fully rush away from behind the bar completely. Taking a dive, he shoots another individual just before tumbling to the floor. As he rolls himself over to find complete cover once more, he loudly lets out a curse after a loud gunshot fires in the air.

“Spike!?” you squeak, whipping around to see the man on the floor cradling his foot. Both his hands are clasped around his shoe, knuckles turning ghost white from applied pressure. Your eyes widen, dropping your adopted expression. “Are you alright!?” you shout.

“Less worry; more shooting!” he barks, wincing at a shot of pain trailing violently up his leg.

Not needing to be told twice, you focus your efforts back on the task at hand. He hears three distinct gunshots from your side of the room. Two thuds come from the far end his back is facing, a sound he recognizes as clothed bodies hitting the floor. To Spike’s relief, deafening sounds of guns firing comes to a complete halt.

You drop to the floor as well, buttocks making harsh contact with marble. Turning just your head this time, you meet Spike’s gaze once more. Not a second passes before the two of you share an exhausted laugh. Your tone is light and thankful, his is booming and pushing through fierceness beginning to fade.

“As best as we can… we’re keeping this from getting back to Jet or Faye,” Spike mumbles, leaning his head back after calming himself down.

Smiling warmly, you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear and move your attention. Your eyes scan the back of the bar, squinting slightly. The walls are littered with bullet holes, and you’ve no doubt the amount of which are near impossible for one person to count alone. A shady figure lingers in a bathrooms door frame, and at least two tables in the back are snapped in half-

Wait…

Realistically, the figure in the distance moves fast. To you, the gut reaction is so quick hindsight allows you to fool yourself into believing you had even a moment to think about your actions. To understand what exactly it was you’re doing. To process all that transpires within the next couple of seconds.

But that isn’t really the case. You merely registered the shadowed individual’s frame, and the reflective light bouncing off the pistol in their hand. It was all you needed to act, diving to the side so quickly that ‘desperate’ wouldn’t be enough to describe the action.

A shout erupts from behind you, frantic and unfathomably angry. More sounds of gunshots fill the air; curse words and other profanities fill any available space. You can distinctly make out Spike’s voice, and one more that’s unknown to you. It’s very deep and masculine, though, from what you can understand.

You attempt to roll your body over, but a sharp pain just below your collarbone and near your shoulder keeps you from doing so. Vision blurs at random, and you can scarcely make out your companion (roommate?) standing in front of you. When exactly did he get there?

Your eyes flutter open and shut.

You feel someone kneeing you in the side, and your eyes snap open to observe Spike bending down beside you. Slowly but surely, your vision stabilizes. When did he…? Is the mysterious shooter still around? You attempt to move again, but this time the pain you feel is so prominent you cry out and screw your eyelids shut.

“Oi oi oi…” you hear Spike’s voice call. “Don’t strain yourself, dummy,” he tells you, having absolutely no bite behind his words. At least, none you could make out. Still, you're inclined to wonder if it’s still just your own shock over getting shot making you misunderstand.

“Bounty got away…” he huffed, gently sitting you up against a fallen table. Giving you an apologetic look, he rips the side of your top open. You put up no fight, watching him wrap your bullet wound with whatever makeshift materials he’s found lying around.

“Was that who was standing in the back?” you ask, voice kept low.

“Yeah,” he replies, “ I thought the coward hightailed it and ran… but I guess he wanted the last laugh. Erm- tried to at least. He ended up running anyway.”

“Him and this ‘team’ if his will probably persue us, then,” you sigh, “Now we have to hunt him down before he gets us…” Pausing, you take a minute to mull over your words. “I’m really sorry. This is all my-“

“Don’t,” he cuts you off calmly, gesturing to your injuries. “Not when you’re like this.”

Smiling despite yourself, he stops his movements at the display. Ignoring the shock on his face, you ask, “What? You worried about me?”

Spike hesitates, physically moving his chest away from you. “Don’t be absurd,” he scoffs, speaking unconvincingly. He continues, wrapping around the wound once more before stopping himself yet again. His frown deepens, adding, “And stop smiling like that.”

“Why?”

“Because you were just shot!” he snaps, “And nearly slipped out of consciousness!”

“Ah…” heat rushes to your face, “So you were worried…”

“I-… yes, fine, okay?” his head falls, giving in.

You snort, “That sounded painful.”

“Tonight’s been stressful; you haven't been acting like yourself all night. Even on a job… it’s not like you to get so serious. What was with you?”

You shrug sheepishly, avoiding his gaze. “Thought you’d like it better that way.”

“It freaked me out, why would-“

Spike halted his words. He knew exactly why, but the night has been a long string of his own mistakes so it’s been tough keeping up. And here’s the biggest one yet, coming straight towards him holding a steel chair: How he treats you. More specifically, how he spoke to you earlier. How indifferent, borderline annoyed, he always acts. It’s true, he’s long been trying to figure out how to press your buttons. But all at once it’s clear that it does get to you. Now that it’s showing, even just a small bit, his wall between you two starts to crumble.

“Couldn’t let anything happen to you either…” you mumble when he doesn’t continue, “Jet was telling me how easily the job could be slipped up. I was a bit intimidated… and when you spoke to me earlier I guess I just accepted that it would be a little out of my league. This was my first real ‘big gig’ after all… and I couldn’t accept the idea of disappointing you.”

Nodding, he finished up the last of tending to the wound for the time being. Regardless, his hand lingers on your shoulder supportively. “I’m… sorry I’ve been hard on you. This lifestyle’s really roughened me out; guess I should be glad it hasn’t gotten to you yet,” he mutters, adding a quick, “You did good.”

The moment it slips from his mouth, he is taken aback. He means that too, but that’s the part that surprises him. Then again, you’d surprised him yourself.

A grin flashes across your face. Sweet and genuine, without a sting of pain. Spike’s heart feels heavy with just a simple glance. It’s like the first time he ever saw you, back when he was keen to notice a glowing aura you possessed. He’d describe it as a pure beauty, if he could have swallowed his pride. However, it’s the added context of knowing who you really are that keeps his attention on you this time around.

“You think I have hope of becoming a ‘real’ bounty hunter like you someday?” you ask, referencing a conversation you’ve shared once before.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, sweetheart,” he replies, a tiny smile appearing on his face.

Sharing a breathily laugh, the two of you soon sit and stare at one another in silence. Outside, people are shouting and police sirens are flaring. Yet his diligent ogling isn’t hindered in the slightest.

“What about respect…?” you test the waters, voice quiet and careful, “You think I’ve at least earned that?”

Smirking, Spike’s head slowly moves from your shoulder to the back of your head. His own leaning down crookedly in correlation, speaking now in a low whisper, “Don’t be modest… you’ve earned more than that.”

In one swift motion, his lips press against yours in a surprisingly soft kiss. Even as people began to pile into the building, police enforcements leading the way, the two of you stayed glued to one another. A news crew even caught a glimpse of the display of affection, only adding to outside confusion.

Breaking away from the kiss, you giggle against his lips, “We’re on TV.”

“Give ‘em a show, then, yeah?” he smirks, leaning closer and planting another kiss on your lips.

At home, within the Bebop’s common area, Jet plops down in his favorite seat with Ein at his side. The man nearly falls out of his chair upon turning on his television.

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pyrrhicpoison · 9 months

Text

I already posted a rough version of this on my twitter but with the way things are going on that hellsite I wanted to put it here too. I was thinking about Yang and two of her most important relationships (Ruby and Blake) and how they both could be related to things that oppose each other. The sun and the moon, and the moon and the ocean. How one needs the other but in two very different ways. Then I wrote this 🤷🏻

Ruby and Yang are the sun and moon.

Yang is the sun. she’s golden and fiery, boisterous sometimes but kind and caring. She gave up her own childhood for Ruby, raising her when no one else was around to. Her light is nurturing, and it envelopes Ruby, allowing for her to flourish. Yang’s the one who brightened up Ruby’s life, told her bedtime stories with silly character voices, fought off the nightmares that plagued her little sister’s mind almost every night, fought off school bullies for her, and, once admitted to Beacon, tried her best to have her little sister’s back.

Yang is Ruby’s protector, biggest cheerleader, biggest believer and best sister ever. that’s how it’s always been and how it always will be. Without Yang’s light illuminating her in dazzling rays of warmth, Ruby never would have been able to shine herself.

However, get too close to the sun and the wax wings you flew there with will melt, or, that’s what Yang thinks will happen anyway. Every person who has ever been close to her has left in some way, at some point. Two people left at no fault of her own, those people being her mothers. One biological, the other not. They both left her behind without second thought, and Yang never got a reason why.

Three people left her when she was at her lowest. When her sunny personality and charm dwindled and became dark, gloomy depression no one was there to comfort her like she’d done with so many others. No one helped when her nightmares showed her shadowy figures and flashes of red and white hot pain. Even if they were there, though, she still would not have let them close enough to try.

Ruby is the moon. Her light reflects off of her and onto others underneath her, shielding them from harm with her silver eyes and brightened smile, even on the darkest of nights. She’s the symbol of hope that says the sun will rise again. Although, she is always in the shadow of the sun, always being shielded and lifted up and never given the opportunity to ever feel the consequences of her failures until the sun goes dark (Yang gets injured. Atlas falls. etc etc)

In that way, she’s also like Remnant’s moon, shattered by blasts of darkness to her core. The failed Atlas plan. The fall of Beacon. The events at Haven. Those shattered her, and try as she might to keep herself pulled together, to put a brave face on for the sake of her sister and team, to lead like her own feelings don’t matter, the Ever After could not force her to pretend anymore.

Her hope? The girl who flew to the moon to keep it company, who saw the world through better eyes. The hope she had could fill that blasted jar.

Ruby’s hope was taken from her long before she washed up on that beach.

That place took piece after piece of her until there was nothing left, and she had no choice but to give into Neo and the tree. To come back as someone better. To look inside and be more than the infallible hero that Yang had made her believe she could be, because Yang always believed in her but all her protection and shielding had held her back from what she needed to become.

The sisters are like the sun and moon. They need each other, they benefit from each other, but they’ll always be worlds apart.

____________________________________________

In contrast, Blake and Yang are the moon and the ocean.

They could be either/or, really. Blake and Yang’s lives are intertwined, each other’s souls so important to the other that separating them causes disaster (or at least brutal heartache). Without either of them working in harmony, the planet would be engulfed in the ocean’s wrath or be an arid, rocky wasteland, both uninhabitable to intelligent life. The balance and equilibrium the moon and the ocean have is unlike anything, much like Blake and Yang’s bond is deeper than just romantic connection. Without the other, nothing could thrive.

Also, do not get me started on how perfect the moon and ocean analogy is for them when you take the ‘reincarnated soulmates’ into account. The moon and the ocean have been locked in an eternal dance for longer than any human has walked the surface of the Earth, much like how Yang and Blake’s very souls have loved each other for centuries. Even their aura colours, golden light and darkened purple shadows, have complimented each other for eons starting with the fucking Gods.

They are yin and yang, moon and ocean, push and pull. They were just meant to BE.

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theredhavendelegate · 3 months

Text

Iss. 4:

Rising Tension And Blood In The Gutters!

As the situation in Redhaven proper begins to simmer down, other tensions bubble up: a riot broke out on Broad Street in front of the Frontline Confederation recruitment center last night. Occupation soldiers reportedly initiated a scuffle with citizens protesting their presence in Gerhardt square, Redhaven's historical city center.

One civilian participant, injured during the brawl, elaborated, "Redhaven doesn't belong to The Confederation or to the Covenant. Redhaveners have always decided our own fate, and we'll fight for that."

By contrast, General Harrison made an announcement decrying the violence this morning: "The Frontline Confederation," he said, "have come as liberators, to protect Redhaven from the lingering tyranny of religious dogmatists and violent anarchists alike. There is no cause for this aggression, and those involved will be punished justly."

Stirring words from both sides. The Redhaven Delegate, though impartial, wishes to remind all our readers that there are three sides to every story: Our side, their side, and the Truth. ---

Dark. There isn't a moon or a sun, just an empty sky that waltzes sluggishly between dun grey and black with a faint and uneven purple tint. The gas lamps at night are the only real source of light along Broad Street, and they over-watch an increasingly ominous scene.

The road turns off in the middle to a large square, forming a sort of wide, chunky T. Orange banners marked with wings and stars hang on every building and from every post. People with hard eyes, rifles, and red-brown uniforms, line the edge of the square and face off against a disorderly group in common clothes.

One of the soldiers steps forward from the line and shouts, "You are to disperse immediately, this gathering has not been properly permitted by the--"

"Fuck you, you orange confederate shithead!" someone calls from the crowd, their face shrouded by the mass of bodies. A cry goes up in support, and a different voice shouts, "If we need your permission, then what's the point? You'll just tell us to fuck off!"

A mousy boy, small and swift, darts around behind the soldiers. He wears a red-brown canvas coat one size too large and a newsboy cap with a gleaming brass pin in the shape of a wing on it. He clutches an envelope tightly in both hands.

The lead soldier starts to shout again, ignoring the cries of the crowd. "Disperse immediately! By order of General Bradley Harrison and The Frontline Confederation, you are to disperse!"

A young man with a blue arm band steps to the head of the crowd. He brushes a calloused hand over short, dark hair and straightens out his coat, a military jacket of a different kind than that of his interlocutor. He speaks with a slight smirk. "Gerhardt square is the property of the citizens of Redhaven, outlined in its laws and governed by them. As of yet, no agreement has been reached allowing your occupation of it. If anybody should disperse, it should be you!"

There is a rolling cheer as the crowd presses forward a few steps, and the soldiers retreat an equal distance, backing towards the buildings to their rear.

The mousy boy jumps out of the shadows and to the side of the lead soldier, who addresses him curtly and quietly, "Michael, what's this you've got?"

Michael hands off the letter and the soldier tears it open. His eyes scan it, then his expression goes slightly grey. He waves the messenger off, sending him back into the darkness, then nods to the other officers nearest to him.

Turning back to the crowd, he shouts, "Disperse immediately! Use of force has been authorized to clear the square! This is your last chance to disperse and return peacefully to your homes!"

The pause is hideous. It is grave and twisted. Not everyone present was prepared for this ultimatum, and it can be felt as the uncertainty reverberates through the crowd in the form of shuffling and murmurs.

The young man with the blue armband has lost his smugness, and half raises an arm to calm the people at his back.

Then another voice, faceless and full of anger, emits from the crowd. "If you want us to go, you'll have to force us out!" A moment later, a cobblestone comes sailing through the air, catching the lead soldier in the chest and sending him stumbling back onto the ground.

The surface tension breaks in an instant and the built-up rage escapes, liquid fury pouring out over the square in a flood of color and sound, lit dimly by the gas street lamps as it mixes with the scent of spent gunpowder and spilt blood.

Bodies fall and gunshots ring out, people from all around peer out of their windows or lumber into the street to get a better view. Michael watches from an alleyway. A dozen more soldiers come pouring out from the largest building in the square, equipped with steel armor and shields. A wave of hurled stones fall on them, but they press through in their iron shells.

Michael flees down the side street and into the darkness until the sound of the fray has faded to a distant thrum, and a triangular building emerges around the corner. He charges onto the stoop and knocks heavily a few times, then waits.

A middle-aged woman opens the door. She is dressed in a simple green vestment with a brass hourglass hanging about her neck, and she raises a brow at the messenger. "Michael, what brings you to the temple? Won't they be missing you at the barracks at this hour, the other cadets?"

Michael mutters for a moment, his voice skipping and stuttering, then he stops and starts again, "I-I don't wanna...go to th-the barracks now, Sister B-berns."

The Sister eyes him for a moment, then sighs and pushes a stray brown lock back over her ear. "Well, the foster hall is empty, but I keep the beds made. I'm sure you can find yours still. Go on."

---

Night turns into morning, then to noon. Nobody comes by the temple looking for Michael, so there he remains, ambling about an empty room full of bunk beds and cots, familiar but for their emptiness.

The building only has four rooms. The temple hall, where religious services are held, the bathrooms, which are public, the Sister's chambers, where she lives and sleeps, and the foster hall, where Michael currently resides.

He occasionally hears the squeak and thunk of the main doors, but not often. There is shuffling occasionally as well, Sister Berns sweeping the floors and altars, wiping windows and polishing candle holders.

Michael shuffles across the floor and pries gently on a loose board, revealing an old wooden box. The word 'Foundations' is painted on it in flaking gold lettering. He removes it from the hole and opens it up.

Inside, there is a deck of yellowing cards and a collection of strange brass instruments. There is a manual as well, a set of instructions, but it has never been used and Michael has no intention of doing starting to use it now. He draws a random card from the deck.

There is an image of an hourglass printed on the back, as is true of every card. On the face-side, there is a detailed image of a wooden building with an open roof, a graveyard on one side and a vineyard on the other. Bold letters at the bottom read, "THE COURTHOUSE". Michael stares at it and whispers, "Justice, j-judgement, honor, p-punishment." His mind lurches back to the night prior.

He draws another card. This one depicts a mountain with a storm blowing on its left side and a waterfall pouring off of its right.

Michael whispers, "D-desolation, plenty, h-hubris, accomplishment."

The door to the foster hall creaks and Michael freezes up as Sister Berns voice calls warmly, "Michael? Are you hungry?"

Before the door is fully open, there is a bellowing knock on the temple door. Sister Berns startles and says instead, "Well, someone's here. I'll leave the soup by the door, on the little table. You can get it if you like." Her footsteps start up and fade as she walks away from the door.

Michael relaxes a moment, then puts the cards away, burying them beneath the floorboards again. His stomach growls and he hurries over to the doorway, but stops himself just short of opening it. He listens, instead, to what is happening on the other side.

The heavy temple door swings open, and there is a slight gasp on the other side. A new voice cuts the air, though softly. It's a little on the low side. "Relax, you're not in trouble. I didn't get sent by Bradley or anyone else. I just...I didn't know where else to go."

There is a quiet moment, shuffling of feet, and then the door closes. Two pairs of footsteps work their way across the floor of the temple hall, then stop. Chairs scrape and creak, and Sister berns breaks the quiet. "Soldiers from your faction aren't allowed to practice the covenant faith, even coming here is a strange risk to take. It's my duty to listen though, regardless of creed. What's troubling you?"

There is a pause, then a sigh. "I know I don't need to tell you my name, you didn't ask, but I'd like you to know me if you're going to give me advice. I'm Eric Sanders, I joined the Frontline Confederation because I believed in what they were doing, and last night, I helped stop a protest that...that...well...it shouldn't have gone like that."

There is a quiet moment, then the Sister says, "You aren't the first person to come here today with troubles over the riot. Do you feel responsible for what happened?"

"I don't know if I do. I didn't shoot anyone, or hit anyone. They gave me a gun but I just shot the ground. I don't know if I can do that every time though, and there's another thing--see, this message runner, I know him, he moved paper for the recruitment office, he was there that night and I can't find him now."

The Sister keeps a silent composure. Michael can imagine her now, closing her eyes and nodding gently. She finally speaks, "Did you know his name, or what he looked like?"

"Michael Ashling, twelve years old maybe, messy blond hair. You'd know him if you saw him."

Sister Berns clicks her tongue and replies, "I can't promise that he'll turn up, many are still grieving from their losses during The Transit, let alone recent events. I can still look though." There is a pause, then she continues, "As for your guilt: can you split yourself in two? One who is a soldier and one who is not?"

Eric doesn't answer for a long while, then he groans. "I don't know. I don't think I can stay, but I don't know if I can desert now either, we're not in Eudax anymore. If we were, I could grab a truck or a horse and disappear into the countryside, but here? There's just Redhaven." He stops, and his chair creaks heavily for a moment. "Is it better to die myself than hurt someone who doesn't deserve it?"

"Is that what your heart says?"

There is quiet on the other side of the door, a long, uneasy quiet. There is another creak, more shuffling, and Eric clears his throat. "I don't know. I got a lot more to think about though...thank you, Sister."

A set of footsteps make their way over to the exit. It creaks open, then thuds shut again.

Michael waits a moment, then opens the door to the temple hall. There is a bowl of room temperature soup on a small table nearby, and he takes a couple of uneasy steps towards it, looking pointedly away from the Sister. She sits in an old wooden chair and stares at him, head cocked gently to one side. She doesn't stop him.

He returns to the foster hall silently. Noon turns into afternoon, and afternoon turns into evening.

Michael removes the wooden box from its hiding place and squirrels it away into his ruck. He creeps towards the door and opens it just a crack. Nobody is in the temple hall.

He scampers back to his bedside and gathers up his bowl and spoon, then slips through the door into the gloomy chapel. He sets his dishes on the small table, then slinks to the temple's main doors. He does his best to open them quietly, but the old hinges still squeal and whine. Michael slips out anyway, and the heavy wooden panels thunk as they fall back together.

Sister Berns listens from her quarters, peering around the door frame and into the empty space. She sighs and whispers a prayer.

---

A mousy boy, small and swift, darts through the shadows just beyond the gaze of the street lamps. He passes down the roads on memory now: Landry, Coulton, First, Second, then onto Broad Street.

He rounds onto Gerhardt square and stops suddenly, catching himself on the corner of an old brick building.

There are more protesters here, more than a hundred packed onto the plaza. Soldiers wait in the windows and in front of the buildings, weapons at the ready. One soldier steps forward and shouts, "This is an illegal gathering, violating restrictions on space and curfew! Disperse immediately and you will not be harmed!"

Michael starts to slip around the side, his backpack bouncing with each stride.

The young man with the blue armband is at the front of the group again, barely visible until he steps up onto a box. He has a bruise on the side of his head and his jacket is slightly torn. He shouts, "Redhaven has always been a victim in Eudax. It has always sought to be free, and because of The Great Transit, it finally has a chance to become free!"

There is a change in the air and Michael stops.

The man continues, "Part of Eudax, hateful and cruel, still clings to Redhaven like a leech. Today is our day to cut. It. Off!"

The lead soldier calls again, "Disperse at once or--"

There is a gunshot. The man with the blue armband has drawn a pistol. The lead soldier drops dead. Someone shouts, "Open fire!" though their identity remains unknown. Chaos erupts again in the square, though this time it is markedly louder.

There is gunfire on both sides now, there is bludgeoning, and somebody has brought explosives to the mix. Burning bottles of alcohol and grenades fly through the air and explode, bursting and lighting up the square.

Something collides with Michael, the invisible force of a shock wave. His ears ring and his whole body throbs as he is thrown to the ground. His vision blurs and darkens.

---

The bed is warm, though most of Michael's sense of feeling is numb now.

"Boy, boy? Are you awake?"

Michael blinks hard a few times, then turns his head, squinting, towards the voice. A soldier wearing a red-brown uniform, rail-thin and gaunt, stairs at him with worry. Sister Berns stands behind the man, expression hard-but-gentle.

Michael groans and turns over to find something clutched in hand, a wooden box with faded gold lettering on its cover.

He glances up at Eric, who answers, "You were holding onto it tight. Couldn't even pry it out of your grip while we were treating you."

Sister Berns shrugs. "It's an old deck, a tool for Brothers and Sisters of the faith. I don't know where you got it, but you should hold onto it now."

Michael goes to nod, but the pain suddenly sets in, all over his body, and he's taken into darkness again.

---

First

#trd #the redhaven delegate #writing #writblr #unreality #unrest #riot #injured child #near death experience #violence #gun violence #TRD: Mabel Berns #TRD: Michael Ashling #TRD: Eric Sanders

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haeggi · 11 months

Text

while you are dreaming | myg ✓

➔ pairing: visual arts major student!yoongi × culinary arts major student!reader

➔ genre/warnings: road trip!au, camping!au, traveling!au, soulmates!au, best friends to lovers, fluff, angst, slow burn, mutual pining (confused feelings from reader), emotional constipation, anxiety, heavy self-deprecation :(

➔ word count: 14.8k

➔ glimpse: you and yoongi embark on an escapade from the bleak realities of your lives. at some point while you are both dreaming, you both experience a moment of epiphany; that you constantly sought each other's warmth for refuge.

︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶

What does genuine happiness feel like?

Happiness. One word. Nine letters. It's a simple word with a simple meaning. With one glance, it's facile to grasp the definition of the word. Yet, it's a feeling arduous and complicated to achieve.

Throughout your time on earth, you always find yourself racing after it. And with every step you take, desperately trying to reach for it, it seems like it is getting further away from you. Just when you think you've got it, it slips from your fingers no matter how much effort you exert to clutch it.

Instead, you fall and find yourself amidst the ferocious waves, smothering your breaths. The vehement pressure constricts around you like a sea serpent, solicitous to drag you down within the trenches. You desperately try to summon your remaining potency, if you even had any left to spare. Alas, the serpent would daunt you, and you let it get into your head, and you stop resisting.

And whenever you wake up on the soft sand of a random beach, the peaks of rays coat yourself warm as if the previous night didn't torment you with perennial cataclysmic storms. Then, you're left to ponder.

Where am I?

What do I do now?

From then on, you start your day again with spontaneity, because you're faced with a huge murky forest that you had no choice but to enter if you wanted to continue to survive.

But on that particular night, in the midst of the devil hours while you lie down again within the darkness of your melancholic room and wait for the raging storm again to devour you, a beacon of light appears in your line of sight.

You rise from the waters that were beginning to submerge you, and you reach for the light, reluctantly enclosing it with your palm.

With a heavy exhale, you answer the call and press the device against your ear.

His warmth instantly instills in your erratic nerves. His mere soft breaths vibrating from the phone and traveling towards you, makes you calm your own breathing.

"Let's run away."

︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶

The sun is still resting beneath the clouds, and it is blanketed by the grayness of the sky. Your eyes trail after the buildings that you pass by until they are replaced by trees, stilling your breaths until you slowly let the slumber succumb you.

You don't know for how long you're gone, but you feel your consciousness gradually seeping through your system. You notice that the shuddering of the vehicle is miniscule unlike before you went to sleep. It's steady and motionless, and you realize it's the reason why you woke up. Because it wasn't lulling you to sleep anymore.

Stretching your limbs, you release a soft yawn before you fully open your eyes. You are greeted by the cerulean sky, cotton clouds patching it. You let your gaze wander to your right, and you see the sunlight's glow warming your skin adequately.

Finally, you shift your gaze to your left where you are welcomed by his soothing presence. His amiable hazel feline eyes are locked with your round mouse ones. His soft wavy ginger locks is accentuated by the sun's gleam. His hair color contrasts the paleness of his unblemished skin. And finally, his soft pink lips that is curved upward, his charming smile infectious that you can't help but reciprocate it.

The strum of baritone strings fills your ears. "Good morning," Yoongi greets.

"Morning," you mumble back. His kind smile reaches his eyes and you watch him as he reaches for something at the backseat of the pick up truck.

He hands you the paper bag with takeout, and the aroma of hamburgers fills your nostrils. You give him one of the burgers and you both start to eat in silence.

"Where do you wanna go?" Yoongi asks with a mouthful of burger in his mouth.

You blink at his question, mildly confused before you say, "I thought you had a plan in your mind."

He snickers at you, a coy smile painting his lips. "No, you dummy." He pinches your cheek to which you protest, swatting his teasing hand away. "It's not a road trip if we have an itinerary."

You scowl, caressing your cheek that is still puffed because of the burger in your mouth. "Then, why are you asking me where do I want to go? Just keep driving until we see something that piques our interest."

Yoongi hums thoughtfully, tapping the wheel with one hand. "Alright then. But first, we have to make a stop for a gasoline station. We're about to run out. Perhaps, grab a few stuffs from the convenience store too."

You nod your head in acknowledgement. "That works with me." A sudden realization comes into your mind so you abruptly shift in your seat, turning your body to face Yoongi, placing your hand on his arm.

"Wait, how long will this trip be?"

He blinks at you and ponders before coming up with the notion, "Maybe a week?"

A loud gasp escapes your lips. "I only packed enough that would last me for three days!"

Tsking, Yoongi leans towards you and your brows crease in confusion at his action. Realizing that he was reaching for the compartment, you incline back on your seat. With watchful eyes, you follow his every movement as he grunts softly, having a bit difficult time rummaging inside the small space.

"Aha," he finally exclaims, taking his arm out. In his hold is a leather wallet. He smirks at you, lifting the item in front of you.

He tilts his head and declares, "We're going shopping then."

︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶

Your limbs start to feel too heavy to merely lift as Yoongi continuously pulls you around the clothing store. He keeps taking shirts, pants, and shorts from the clothesline and settling them in front of your body. He would either hum in countenance and shove the apparel in the basket, or shake his head disapprovingly and return the garment to its rightful place.

Nonetheless, you let him drag you around as he pleases because you can't deny that you're starting to get fond of his attention and dedication into picking out the best outfits for you.

But you can't help but wonder loudly, "Does your course teach you fashion too?"

Yoongi doesn't look at you. He holds an over-sized shirt in front of you while answering, "Nope," he pops the p. "But, everyone who takes the course is very meticulous when it comes to their fashion styles."

You hum in understanding, "I see, you were influenced."

He nods, giving you a soft smile. Then, he finally takes the last article, which is a knitted sweater dress, hands you the basket of clothes and pushes you towards the direction of the fitting room.

"Since we're shopping, might as well buy the best ones we can find for you," he states cheekily.

It was impossible to not giggle at Yoongi's merry mood. And who were you to even deny him?

You tried out everything he gave you and you can't help but feel amazed that every piece of apparel you wore suited you. You're awestruck by your best friend's fashion sense. After trying all of them, you step out of the fitting room and you see Yoongi ambling around the store, humming a meaningless tune to himself.

When his eyes land on you, the giddy smile returns to coat his features, and you almost feel yourself melting into a puddle when he skips towards you and asks for your decision.

The gums in his mouth started to appear the moment you told him that you were happy with his choices. The sight of his gummy smile causes you to return one to him.

After a short quarrel about who has to pay, you finally let him to your dismay. But not after making him promise that it will be you who pays the next time you both eat.

As you exit the store, with two paper bags in your hand, you feel Yoongi's fingers interlacing with yours and you shoot a look at him. He seems oblivious of the unfathomable feeling swirling inside you.

Holding hands with him had been awhile, but even in your previous hangouts, this has been a routine with the both of you already. So, you wonder why a certain organ in your chest stopped beating for a second, and resumed to its usual pulsation as if nothing ever occurred.

He pulls you out of your daze through asking, "Where do you want to go next?"

︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶

Minutes later, you both find yourselves hitting the road while you both belt out every lyric of Getaway Car. Mostly, it was Yoongi who handled the high notes, while you guffaw at him every time his voice ebbs gradually.

The succeeding songs that follow coops you to sway along the beats while Yoongi passionately sings every syllable of each song. You aren't surprised because after all, it was his playlist. Albeit you didn't know most of them, you were still able to lilt alongside, because his exuberance is contagious.

Every now and then he would let one of his hands release the wheel, walloping the air rhythmically. You requite the jubilant smiles he gives you every time your gazes collide.

You don't know for how long you've jammed with the radio but once a gasoline station appears in your vicinities, the energy eventually simmers and you both take your time to calm your breaths.

Yoongi skids the car to a halt and instructs the crew, while you unbuckle your seatbelt.

"I'll head for the convenience store now," you say, departing the vehicle.

Once you receive his nod of acknowledgement, you barrel towards the store with giddy steps, the glass doors instantly sliding open. You grab a basket and start snatching and shoving all necessities in it.

You approach the cashier after evaluating that you've gotten everything. As you drop the basket on the cashier, a hand sneaks its way up below your arm then swiftly shoots something into the basket.

"Lollipops? What are we, five, Yoongi?" You pivot around to face the culprit, who already has a sucker in his mouth.

He takes it out and goads you, "Oops, this one's been opened now. You have no choice but to pay for the pack."

To say that you're riled up is a lie because you're incapable of resisting to shake your head fondly and titter at his juvenile actions. You swiftly pay for the delicatessen and essentials before vamoosing the store to resume your way on the road.

This time, it's you who goes behind the wheel. Without a particular destination in mind, you let yourself listen to your instincts; to continue following the path that leads to the unknown.

Unlike the zestful playlist earlier, Yoongi put on a mellow playlist, inundating the ambience between you in snug silence. In your peripheral, you see the cadence taps of his fingers on his thighs while his eyes rove over the passing greenery.

You fracture the silence, experimentally proposing, "Move your hand away."

Yoongi gives you an inquisitive look before he espouses, leaning away from the car door. Then, you press a button and both of your windows roll down. You turn off the cooling system then turn the rotary button above the rear mirror to unbar the sunroof.

"Better?" you query with a soft smile.

"Anything is better," Yoongi admits. "But I can't hear the song now," he adds jokingly.

You giggle, clicking your tongue to which he regards you with a jest expression. "That means you should turn it up, Yoongs."

He finally discerns your message and switches up the mood of the radio. Once again, you're both lost in the ocean of your reveries, with Yoongi congruously leading the small concert session you're having.

You couldn't control the hysterics you're erupting whenever he exaggerates a certain lyric, even attempting to mimic the sounds of instruments. And if those didn't make you reach the peak of your convulsions, the strumming of his fingers on an imaginary guitar and the slapping of his hands on his knees to impersonate a drummer undoubtedly did the trick.

You both don't know for how long you were immersed in your plenary but you finally catch a glimpse of a small hut appearing in your line of sight. You slow down the car and notify, "I caught something on our radar."

Yoongi follows your gaze and accords, "Let's take a stop there."

He initiates to close the windows and sunroof while you focus on parking the truck on a muddy spot, leaving the cement road you were more accustomed to. Then, you both exit the vehicle. Before moving on, he takes both of your backpacks from the cargo bed. The sounds of engine and whirring wind are immediately replaced by the sounds of nature; croaking frogs, clucking chickens, chirping squirrels, tweeting birds, buzzing bees, and more.

Yoongi walks ahead, making a beeline for the hut. You both tramp on soil before finally stepping on the familiar material of wood. The place is almost a ramshackle but you can tell that its built is stalwart and probably withstood a lot of storms already so you didn't doubt that the hut will not collapse on you. Your eyes wander on the ceiling fan, stirring soft winds towards your face, then on the bamboo-made benches on either end of the hut. Yoongi ambles to the center where you finally take notice of the long wooden desk. You realize that the hut is a reception area.

Trailing behind his steps, Yoongi props an arm on the desk and begins to inquire the receptionist.

Your focus on their exchange falters as you survey your surroundings more, even squinting your eyes to try and make out what was beyond the forest. You hear words and sentences along the lines of one night, camping, waterfalls, and other accommodations.

You disconnect from your trance when you feel the softness of a palm land on the small of your back.

"Let's go?" Yoongi asks you with a soft smile when your eyes meet, and you merely nod.

The two of you leave the reception area and approach a trail of cobblestone stairs with moss serving as fleece of the steps. "So, what did the receptionist say?"

"I booked us a cabin for tonight," he informs, lifting a key fob for you to see. "She said there's kayaking on the river. And we have the option to hike to the waterfalls and dive first before doing so."

You hum in response and the conversation quiesces. He lets you walk ahead of him so that when you slip, he would be there to catch you. Occasionally, he would break the silence to alert you of accumulated moss on the steps and tell you to avoid them because they're slippery.

Once you finally reach a flat ground after trekking, you groan in fatigue, bending down to massage your knees while Yoongi situates himself beside you, looking down at you with amusement tinkling his eyes.

"Tired already?" he teases. "We're not even halfway through the day. Come on, slowpoke. We have a waterfall left to hike up."

You whine, punching him lightly on the shoulder. "Can you just do it alone instead? I can just take a video of you from below while you flail in the air like a fish."

He shots you a jokingly offended look. "Rude," he says.

"You started it!" you protest, crossing your arms and stomping your foot.

He chuckles, finding your little tantrum adorable. So, he pulls you to his side, wrapping his arm around your shoulder while you continue to spew strings of curses at him.

Nevertheless, he doesn't let you go. He banters with you, and urges you to keep on walking.

︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶

As soon as you and Yoongi checked into the cabin, and dressed into your swimming garments, you both barge outside the place deliriously and challenge each other on whoever reaches the river first.

You aren't keen on the idea at first because Yoongi has the favorable position of having better stamina than you do. But your smaller physique gave you the advantage of feasibly winning.

In fits of mirths, you relent yourselves into the adrenaline rush, excitement, and zealous passion to obtain triumph at the end of your friendly race.

After Yoongi counts down, you dash towards the cobblestones, and you can hear the vigorous footsteps of your friend trailing behind you. Both of your irregular breaths and unceasing giggles resonate through the forest, urging the both of you to speed up even more.

All throughout the race, you never looked back, casting all of your attention ahead of you to make sure that you also didn't slip because you might end up becoming a loafer if you get injured.

Eventually, your feet lands on a flat ground and the sound of your uneven breaths is drowned with the sudden sound of splashing water nearby. You look ahead of you, seeing the crystalline water reflecting the light of the sun towards you.

It blinds you for a moment then suddenly, a realization dawns on you. You pivot around and your eyebrows crease when you didn't see Yoongi.

He was just right behind me earlier.

As your eyes rove to look for a specific male with ginger hair, you don't detect the footsteps tiptoeing behind you. A yelp escapes your lips when you're lifted off the ground. You catch a glimpse of marmalade, confirming your intuition that it was no other than Yoongi who briefly took your ability to walk by yourself.

His gaiety rings in your ears as he carries you towards the direction of the river. You finally realize what he's about to do so you start wriggling in his hold, eyes enlarging.

"Oh, no, no, no! Yoongi! Don't you dare!"

Your warnings only intensify his scheme and the sight of the raging waters magnifies in your sight. You shut your eyes and brace yourself for the impact, and Yoongi throws you into the waves.

Your whole body submerges underneath, the air promptly unplugged. It reminds you of the sleepless nights in the suffocation of your own room. The nightmares of your failures replaying beyond your subconsciousness like a broken vinyl that's maladaptive.

You flounder beneath the waves before you finally found the momentum to swim above the surface.

When you open your eyes and gasp for air, the horrifying panoramas instantly subside. But that isn't what completely makes your ponderous heart repose. Because what greets you abovewater is the elated smiles of Yoongi, who you found swimming along with you in the spates of waves. His smile is as bright as his locks. And unlike you, he seems to be much more relaxed, as if he was very used to going along the course.

His touch is electrifying when his hands slither around your waist, hoisting you so that you wouldn't drown. Apparently, you were stunned and lost the ability to float yourself. Nonetheless, he still embraces you while you wrap your arms around his neck. You both follow the flow of the river.

It goes like that for a few seconds, and the seconds last ephemeral much to your dismay. As quick as the river flows, his warmth leaves you, causing you to feel a sudden void in your chest at the disconnection.

He swims towards the side, with you following suit, and hoists himself to sit on the grass before helping you to escape the ferocious waters.

You plop beside him, exhaust breaths leaving your lips. And once you've regained the regular pulsing of your heart, you punch Yoongi's shoulder. He yips, caressing his shoulder.

"Why'd you do that?" he bemoans, still stroking his skin that was starting to turn the darker shade of his hair.

"Because you threw me in the water!" You didn't mean to seethe, but your words came out that way so Yoongi actually pays attention to you this time, his pained expression swiftly morphing into genuine concern.

"Hey, are you mad? I'm sorry, I thought you would be up for it—"

"No!" you quickly stop him. "It's not that— fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound mean..." you peter off, sighing deeply.

"Are you okay?" Yoongi asks. His hand rests on your bare knee, and the mere action extinguishes your anxiety. His soothing touch lulls you into tranquility.

"Yeah, I am," you let out, and don't say more.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he prods you that manages to emit you the smallest of smiles.

You're touched by his gentleness. You turn your head to face him, your breath hitching momentarily once your round eyes collided with his feline ones. The ebullient expressions he had earlier are now gone. Worry creases his forehead instead and you resist the temptation to kiss it away at that moment, so you opt to look at his nose instead.

"Honestly, Yoongi," you begin. "The reason why I agreed so quickly to you when you told me to get ready because we're going on a trip is because I needed to take a break from life."

He hums, his focus solely on your face that it was making you feel exposed. You feel the shades of carnations coating your cheeks so you continue to speak in hopes of distracting yourself.

"It's nothing that serious, really," you half-lie. "I guess... I just remembered some of my blockmates who kept on freeloading. I caught all of the stress because, well, who would do the work if not me?"

You start to fidget with your fingers underneath the piercing gaze of your friend.

Yoongi sighs and you become aware of his hand on your knee which was drawing small circles. It left you a trail of goosebumps in your skin but you were glad that you had a convenient excuse to say if he notices.

"I'm sorry if I wasn't there for you in the times you were struggling."

Your head cranes up to look at him, eyes widening. His guilty gaze meets your appalled ones and you feel a painful tug in your chest.

"I swear, Yoongi," you reassure him. "It's nothing too deep. And it's not your fault. You didn't know."

"Still, I am sorry," he insists. "Because you remembered them because of me."

You quiver slightly because you interpreted his words differently. He still doesn't know about the real turmoil you're fighting inside. Now, your own guilt is gnawing at you because you just ruined the mood of the vacation. You two are supposed to be having fun and yet here you were, sulking because you couldn't keep your shit together. Because you're a drama queen who hyperbolizes everything.

Even you can't comprehend yourself.

You plant your face in your palms. "I'm sorry, Yoongi. I ruined the mood. We're supposed to be enjoying this getaway."

He pulls your hands off of your face and places his finger under your chin to lift it up. "Hey, don't blame yourself. It's okay. You know, whatever we do in this trip— cry, thrash, or laugh, I'll still cherish every moment of it because it's with you."

You swear you saw something different gleam behind his irises, but in a blink of an eye, it vanishes and you're left to mull on whether you were imagining things or not. However, your own heartstrings strummed as well, giving you no time to dwell anymore.

"Do you still wanna jump off the waterfall?" he asks you, halting your trance. "Maybe you'll feel better after doing so. You can leave all the negative emotions on top of the fall before diving."

"How can you make waterfall-diving sound so enticing?"

Your genuine question breaks the tension between you two and your nose scrunches in confusion when Yoongi chortles, shaking his head. He stands up, dusting the dirt from his soaked clothes before offering you his hand.

You enclose your fingers around his palm, relishing the warmth he instantly transfers from him to you.

Hand in hand, you both trek for the waterfall.

︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶

Having an immense trust for Yoongi, you never doubt his advice that after free diving, your visceral will ameliorate. And it did the trick. Your worries that had been pummeling you hands you mercy, and you clamp your hand around it, even just for a moment.

By the time you both retire for the night in your cabin, the sun had done the same. The sky is smeared with ebony and grape tints. Wraiths in the form of moonlight whisper sweet dreams to the blanketed sun, wistfully wishing that the next morning will be lenient to you.

You volunteer to concoct dinner since it was your specialty and Yoongi is beyond ecstactic that he will finally get to have a taste of your "masterpiece" after awhile (as he claims) to which you only bashfully chuckle at.

As you start to gather the ingredients from earlier's mini grocery shopping, you hear Yoongi meandering around the small living room. Then, he stops and watches you for a few minutes with propped arms on the counter until he finally decides to take a quick shower and attempt to have a power nap.

When his presence leaves you all alone to your thoughts, you suddenly feel apprehensive about doing all this. But it was too late to back out now and it's only fair for your friend that it should be you who prepares your meal because it's where you're supposed to be good at. Shuddering lightly, you hope that it's because of the sudden blow of the night chilly air that nips at your skin and not because of another reason.

The knife in your hold shakes and you struggle to press it down on a bulb of garlic. You latch your wrist with your other free hand, hoping you will stop quivering. You clamp your eyes shut, placing the knife down on the cutting board as you try to regain your senses.

What's happening to you? Why are you so worried? It's only Yoongi.

Your eyes shoot open. Gradually, the ruthless poison ivy choking you relents, allowing you to breathe in through your nose and exhale through your mouth.

That's right. It's just Yoongi. And you have nothing to worry about with him.

You retrieve your strength and you finally proceed to make a meal without any intrusion. After what felt like hours, you're finally placing the two seasoned salmons in the oven. You squat in front of the appliance for awhile, puffing out small breaths because only then did your body registers your exhausted state.

Your hunched form causes your muscle fatigue, so you had to stand up right away to your dismay. You waddle towards the other side of the kitchen as you wait for the salmon to cook, and you start to clean up your station.

The stray strands of your hair keep falling on your face and every now and then, you had to throw your head back to get them out of the way. It becomes frustrating as each second passed by. As you drop the utensils on the sink, a few locks block your sight again. Huffing in annoyance, you were about to swat it away again when two hands appear in front of you out of nowhere.

They gather your strayed locks and nudge them into the back of your head. That's when you unexpectedly feel the presence of another warm body standing behind you. His soft breaths caress your cheek as he tilted his head slightly to check if he hadn't left any strand.

You still as Yoongi smoothly ties your hair, cheeks reddening at his initiative. You wonder how long had he been there witnessing your little distress. And the thought that he had been watching you let out whispers of profanities at the simple problem spurs your cheeks to warm further along with the peculiar feeling in your chest.

He pats your head fondly and you blink, turning your head to face him. Yoongi remains in his stance at your back, a soft smile painting his chapped lips. He tucks baby strands of your hair behind your ear and you suddenly wonder why you're incapable of speech.

Fortunately, he finally speaks, unconsciously intervening with the burgeoning typhoon in your heart that is still inexplicable to you.

"What's for dinner?"

"Salmon," is your implied verbose response yet he stays where he is, tipping his head as a way to prod you to elaborate. "Butter-baked salmon," you finally say.

He furrows his eyebrows in befuddlement. "You don't have a real name for it?"

"Huh?" you dumbly express.

With a cheeky grin, he playfully flicks your forehead. Your hand instinctively flats against it, stroking the skin. "What was that for?!" you squawk.

"You're just so out of it! Had it been awhile since you last cooked?" he pokes.

"It's been a week!" you confirm. "Semestral break, remember? And even so, that doesn't mean my cooking skills did decline!"

Your annoyed state comes across as whines to Yoongi and he couldn't resist pinching your cheeks for the second time that day. With your still stained hands, you couldn't retaliate so you stomp your feet and he finally surrenders. But not without giving you a last poke at your side.

"I swear, I'll give you the smaller piece!" you threaten.

Yoongi exaggeratingly gasps and wheedles you to forgive him. At his attempts, you playfully shake your head but when he offers to do the dishes that night, you finally yield.

And for the rest of the night which felt the longest one to you in awhile, instead of the poison ivy you've become desensitized to, you feel marigold flourishing in your heart instead.

They wrap around you in a manner that doesn't exhilarate you. It doesn't feel monotonous either. It's the perfect amount of ataraxy. You don't know if it's because of the meal you've prepared that tasted more than its usual savory, or if it's because of the serene ambience enveloping you.

Or, if it's because of the presence of the reassuring person sitting across you, the quintessence of solace of his words and stories that come across to you as poems and symphonies.

Your smile feels natural the moment you curve your lips upward when he tells you jokes. You feel at ease in expressing your astonishment or enthusiasm whenever he tells you a few of his anecdotes.

For once in awhile, you don't feel the dread of the night.

Because Min Yoongi is the beacon that lights your path that night in the infinite sea.

︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶

The next day, with the sun at its summit, you're both back on the road. You both relish the congenial silence that envelopes the two of you, mellow tunes complementing the atmosphere.

After a few more kilometers, the air feels different. It's breezy, refreshing. And the roots of tall trees morph into beige grains. Opaque vicinities turning transparent as trunks slim and grow, then you can finally have a glimpse of blue waves crashing against the shore, the horizon becoming more evident to you.

"Wanna take a detour?"

Yoongi's suggestion is what breaks the long silence between you. He acknowledges your nod and minutes later you both find yourselves sitting on sand, sharing two boxes of fruit juice. The seagulls' squawks serves as your background noise for awhile before you suddenly blurt out a question before your brain even internalizes it.

"Are you happy?"

You feel Yoongi's gaze burning on your side profile. "Where's this coming from?"

"Nothing. I'm just curious, is all." You shrug nonchalantly, sipping on your juice.

Candidly, it is not the whole truth, because you're genuinely curious about Yoongi's well-being and current mental state. In the back of your mind, you wonder if he's also going through the same sufferings as you. Deep inside, you wonder if the cheerful attitude he's showing you is a facade, masking his true feelings.

You ponder if he sought you the way you sought him. Trepidation crawls over your skin because you're worried that maybe, you're not the suitable person to be with him at this moment. That maybe, you had been doing something wrong. It's vexatious that you can't help but think this way because you were, unfortunately, a veteran overthinker.

His voice fills your ears. "Well… if you're referring to right now, I can say that I am happy."

You furrow your eyebrows, scrutinizing the meaning behind his words. He might be hinting to you that he's going through something but when you glance over him, you don't see any indication of it. Come to think of it, he never told you why he wanted to "run away" with you in the first place. You were so fervid to escape your own shadows that you forgot to even ask what was Yoongi feeling.

Guilt gnaws you, nibbling your lip that draws rivulets of scarlet. You lick it away, the metallic taste soothing you momentarily.

You tread, gauging for his reaction inconspicuously. "When was the last time you felt sad?"

He takes a sip of his own juice then proceeds to look at the nutrition facts, as if they were the most interesting things at that moment.

"Just recently, when I had this project. We had to draw our own living rooms."

"That doesn't seem so bad. You're good at drawing. What happened?"

Yoongi meets your gaze, chuckling in a tone that you can't decipher whether it had a bitterness in it. "Well, I don't think I've mentioned this to you before but I'm extremely terrible in capturing depths and perspectives, and instilling them on my drawings."

"I didn't know you touched architecture too," is what you simply say. It's a safe response in case Yoongi doesn't feel comfortable to open up to you, but sufficient to also let him know that he can confide to you.

"Me neither." He licks his lips, an unreadable expression etched across his features. "Never expected it. That's why I was so stressed all throughout the process of it. I barely made the passing score, but don't worry. After a few days, I got over it."

Something tells your gut that he's convincing himself more than he's reassuring you. You decide to grant him a brief silence, basking the sea breeze kissing your cheeks softly.

"How do you feel about it now?" you bravely ask, keeping your eyes ahead.

It took him a few seconds before he finally answers, "I'm not dwelling on it that much as before now. And I think I should focus on doing my best at the field I'm good at, impressionism."

You hum, mulling over his response. Somehow, you feel the need and want to assure him.

"You're doing great, Yoongi. You worked hard for every grade you got. It's just that everyone has different standards."

Hypocrite.

You ignore the cruel voice in your head.

"Thank you, Y/N." You don't see his face but you can imagine the way his eyes light up at your words, his signature gummy smile painting his lips.

"Why are you curious all of a sudden though?"

His question catches you off-guard because he had already asked it before. You know that you're being a hypocrite because you can't divulge like he just did. You know it's unfair for him, but with how stubborn you are, you just can't allow yourself to open up your feelings because you can't forgive yourself.

You can't forgive yourself when you fail yourself. When you fail others. When you repeat the same mistakes. When you weren't there for the people who needed you during their shortcomings, because you're busy wallowing yourself in self-pity — even doing that makes you feel shit. When you do nothing to solve about your problems. When you run away instead. When you're happy. When you're sad.

So, of course, you push everything away. Because the one thing you allow yourself to do, is to give yourself a hard time. Because you think it's what you deserve.

So, of course, you dodge the question again.

"It's nothing, really. We weren't able to talk that much whenever we're busy with university, so I just wanted to catch up with you." You hope the smile that you return to him doesn't look forced because you can't afford another screw up.

The gut-wrenching swell on your chest further heightens, and you force yourself to swallow it.

"That's thoughtful of you. But, are you sure? You don't need to tell me anything?" He scoots closer towards you, his arm brushing against yours.

To say you're bewildered is an understatement. Because in that mere, small occurrence — at that featherlight action, Yoongi had once again manage to annihilate your asphyxiation, and you can finally breathe properly again.

"I really am okay, Yoongi. Don't worry about me."

Another half-lie and half-truth. You encage yourself in the prison walls you built yourself. But for some unfathomable reason, you have incognizantly constructed a door — a door so minuscule, and Yoongi had the key to it.

He unlocks the door and opens it, walking into the crevasses of your heart.

"I hope your words match your feelings. Please know that whenever you want to tell me anything, literally anything, I assure you that I'll listen."

This time, your smile reaches your eyes. "Thank you, Yoongi."

Whenever I'm ready. Alright.

You don't know when you'll ever be ready. But looking at Yoongi, you don't want to ever see him crestfallen. Therefore, the odds of not ever being ready was higher.

You don't want to drag him down along with you. Because the last thing that you ever desired is to see him in agony.

You want to protect your safe haven. Protect him from danger. Protect him from yourself.

︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶

What you both planned to be a detour turns out to be the place you'll be spending your whole day at. The calm waves of clear waters on white sands, and the sapphire sky with white streaks made you two like fishes, successfully baited to stay.

Yoongi's busy setting up your tent while you sit quietly on one of your folding chairs, spectating your best friend's struggle. He would emit small irritated grunts every now and then, and mutter incoherent words to himself. Your lips would twitch into a smile whenever he unintentionally puckers his bottom lip or suck the air between his teeth.

You just sit there for awhile, admiring his presence before you finally decide to leave the comfort of your chair, ambling towards the still struggling Yoongi.

"Need help?" you quip, hands pocketed in your loose sports shorts.

From his squat position, Yoongi looks up to you, squinting his eyes because of the sunlight imparing his vision temporarily. His pout becomes more salient, emitting a giggle from you when he grumbles, "So nice of you to finally join me."

"Hey, I'm sorry, alright!" You bite your lip in attempt to halt your giggles. "I just thought you had everything under control like you said earlier."

Yoongi droops his eyes then leaves his position, now towering over your smaller form. The sudden swing of confidence from a few seconds ago instantly dwindles now that he's standing a head taller over you. Nonetheless, you cross your arms, hoping that the sassy action will mask your sudden nervousness.

What a weird feeling. You think to yourself.

"Oh yeah?" he lazily voices, taking a bold step closer to you, diminishing the distance between your warm bodies in an alarming amount.

Your feet stay planted on the ground and you wonder why you don't move an inch away from him.

He whispers balefully, "You wanna see how I have things under my control?"

You stare up at him with curious doe eyes. And then, his ominous gaze shifts into fright. His eyes leave yours and trails down before he unexpectedly shrieks, "There's a crab! It's going to snap your toes!"

You vociferate a shrill ear-splitting scream, resonating throughout the broad beach. Jumping and bounding into Yoongi, you shrink against his chest, both of your feet gliding against the mounds of sands. Deep laughter rumbles from his pectus but quickly disrupts as you both gravitate towards the ground. Yoongi falls on his back with a yelp while you follow, landing on top of him.

He grunts below you, his hands falling on both sides of your waist.

You don't realize the position you're both in for you keep clutching on his knitted cardigan, crawling above him in terror, hoping to escape the crab.

But when you look ahead your feet, you see nothing but sand. That doesn't derail your palpitating heart. Your eyes mimic that of a vagabond, desperately trying to look for the snappy creature because frankly, not seeing the enemy is a ton worse than seeing it.

Alas, you don't see the creature and you halt your panicky state, the realization finally dawning on you.

There wasn't any crab in the first place.

Yoongi only bluffed. And now, you find yourself in a strange, nerve-wracking situation.

When you muster the courage to look up at him, he's already staring, mirth and mischief glimmering from his irises. Your heartrate pounds against your chest, and you desperately wish that the clothes serving as the only barricades between you two are doing their best in concealing your palpitations.

His heavy-lidded eyes are locked with yours, freezing you in your place. The galaxy in his eyes are absorbing you further to get lost in his gaze like a blackhole slowly but surely swirling around you. You can see a lot of stories hidden within the depths of his pupils but they're out of your reach because of their nebulosity.

It doesn't feel real to you when he nudges his face closer toward yours, decreasing the gap between your faces until—

CAW!

You scramble to your feet in surprise, looking up to see a crow flying in circles around the two of you. Meanwhile, Yoongi groans, still flat against the sand. You shoot a glare at him, grabbing a fistful of sand and pummeling it towards him. The grains hit his face and he coughs and sneezes, earning a giggle from you.

"Not the face!" he exclaims, rising to his own feet, stumbling in the process. He glowers at you while you only blow a raspberry at him.

"You seem giddy now." He cackles, dusting the sand off of his outfit. "You should've seen your face— you were so frightened, it's so hilarious!"

You smack the back of his head and he yips, leaping away from your reach.

"Not a word, Yoongi!" you squall. "Why would you lie about a crab that was about to snip my feet?!"

"You started it!" he protests, flailing his arms. You attempt to swing a kick at him but he expertly dodges it, grabbing the opportunity to pull your arm and flush you against his chest.

The familiar and odd feeling of your heart hammering against your ribcage returns. But Yoongi seems oblivious to your (once again) frozen state as he ruffles your hair playfully.

You squirm in his hold and when he finally releases you, you regain the usual pulsation of your heartbeat. You're starting to consider consulting a doctor after the getaway because you've been having these heart palpitations for awhile now.

Yoongi leaves you with your thoughts, hollering ahead of you, "We better set the tent quicker! The sun's about to descend."

︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶

Two hours later, the tent is standing robustly on the sand and the firewood is crackling flames. It's your second night of the trip. Comfortable silence accompanies your sunset-gazing, watching the sun gradually disappear below the horizon until the sky is left with plum and indigo pigment streaks.

Yoongi clears his throat that pulls you out of your reverie, shifting your attention to him. He's toasting your marshmallow on a stick.

The flames complement his hair color, making him resemble an angel. He's glowing underneath the obsidian sky, his ethereal features more prominent.

He's so pretty.

"A penny for your thoughts?" His breathy and husky voice ushers you to look at his face, and you feel your cheeks warm, as if you were a deer caught on headlights.

"Why'd you choose red-orange?"

It's truly a part of what you've been thinking about, but you also didn't want Yoongi to think that you were a creep for staring at him for so long.

"Why? Does it look weirder the more you look at it?" He hands your marshmallow, the top slightly burnt then skims his fingers along his ginger locks.

You munch on the soft mallow while murmuring your response, "Oh, no. I'm just wondering 'cause the last time I saw you, it was a darker shade."

Yoongi hums thoughtfully, leaning back against the folding chair with both of his hands raising to rest behind his head. He presses his lips into a thin line, mirroring a certain keyboard symbol.

"Do you want the short and simple version or the long and in-depth one?" he finally says.

You scoff lightly, bemused at his question. Your reaction causes him to chuckle, ushering you to pick one already.

"Both," you decide.

"Oh, you're really not letting me get away from this, huh." He raises an amused eyebrow at you, smile never leaving his lips as he bites on his own marshmallow.

"Yeah, well, I'm really curious, okay! Now, shoot your story." You beckon, spreading your arms sassily.

"Okay." He chortles at the action before shifting his expression to a serious one.

"Well, I personally don't like how orange looks next to my skin. While red, is too strong. It makes me look like a devil."

You muse, "But red-orange doesn't seem too far from both colors."

"Yeah, I know. But for me, the shade made a big difference."

"That's some deep shit right there."

Your comment makes him scoff, while you give him a brazen smirk. Truthfully, what he said seemed like a quote to you. It reminds you that the smallest things really did have the biggest impacts sometimes.

It makes you wonder if Yoongi saw you that way. If you're one of the small parts of his life that contributes greatly to his overall well-being and continuous personality and attitude development. Or perhaps if you belonged in a bigger scale, a very significant person in his life.

Just like how he is that person to you.

"Okay, but really, why that color?" you finally ask for the deeper explanation.

He doesn't answer you immediately and you think that maybe he's trying to formulate a comprehensible explanation.

Then, he finally replies, "I guess it's because the two colors evoke some sort of emotions from me." He licks his lips and you heed that his gaze started to wander everywhere, a little habit of his that you've noticed that he does whenever he's nervous.

"I don't know if it makes any sense, maybe it's a visual arts student thing, but red reminds me a lot about my passion for art, you know. But I still didn't go for that solid color because like I said earlier, people might perceive me as a delinquent."

He pauses and lets out a laugh that is neither bitter nor sweet, so you can't tell what exactly he felt at telling you the last sentence.

He continues, "Anyways, while orange... it's a product of red and yellow. Aside from passion, red may mean hostility or anger, and such vehement emotions, while yellow is the opposite. It's optimistic, upbeat, hopeful. And they balance each other, don't you think?"

He stops again to gaze at you, eyes finally steady and you're aware that he had become less uptight, his words seemingly flowing seamlessly.

His last words are what makes you truly awestruck. Because they strucked a certain chord in your heartstrings that had it swelling. It's painful, raw, and consoling all at the same time.

"Because they have something in common. Warmth and comfort."

The silence that blankets the both of you is homely. His words process in your mind, the gears turning in your brain while he only stares at you, patiently waiting for your response.

Truth behold, you were rendered speechless. And you couldn't equal his lyrical interpretation so all you say is,

"I never imagined that you had such profound outlook on colors."

He nods in agreement, sending you a soft smile that quilts your heart with warmth.

"Me neither, I mean at first, of course. But the more I studied art, the more I fell in love with it," he explains, his feline eyes sparkling and you could see how feverish he is with his passion.

"It keeps me... level-headed too, if you know what I mean. Sometimes, life throws shit at you and you have to find that one thing that keeps you in the surface. For my case, it's art."

He ends it there, the denouement so clear yet so ambiguous at the same time. Yoongi truly amazed you. His words are so compelling that you can't help but surrender to him.

"What about you?"

You're taken aback by his question so you dumbly say, "Huh. What about me?"

He chuckles at your befuddlement, "Silly, I told you about my major. It's fair you also tell me yours."

"Oh, so you're a strong believer of an eye for an eye." Your remark renders him into a fit of giggles, the notes of his laughters becoming your lullaby.

"Funny, but no. I just want to know as well, since we both kinda have similar majors. Culinary is art too."

You release a deep sigh and accord, "Yeah, it is. But I look at it way differently than you do. I focus more on the precision of food preparation, make sure that there isn't a single blotch present on the plating because one stray dot, or a mere grain of rice falling from its place—" You shake your head, "—ruins the whole dish. You could say that I'm a perfectionist freak."

"Damn," Yoongi peters off before asking, "If you look at it that way though... doesn't it stress you more?"

"If I don't look at it that way, it would upset the customers."

Your answer makes him silent. You don't know if he's aware of your perturbation. But if he is, he doesn't show it through his actions.

"But have you ever thought of the instance that maybe the customers wouldn't be too disappointed because, well, surely they will recognize the effort you've put in to serve them a dish that will appeal them."

He obliviously shows it through his words. It's another bullseye to you and you wonder if you're that so easy to read. Or, if Yoongi just really knew the right words to say.

"I haven't... thought about it that way..." you admit, nibbling on your bottom lip.

You're absolutely aware that your anxiety is becoming more and more evident with the way you were fidgetting with your hands, your body quivering slightly both because of the chilly air and that certain feeling crawling up on your skin once again.

"Mm, not everything has to be perfect, Y/N. But, it's also not wrong to aim being a perfectionist. It's the way how you do it. If you're open to mistakes and failure, it gives you more chances to improve. Failing is also a part of perfecting. They go hand in hand."

His voice keeps you grounded and you don't realize that you've been holding your breath until you feel Yoongi's soft palm resting over yours that had been fisting your sweat pants.

"You're making me cry, Yoongi. Why do you have to be such a deep talker?" You try to make it sound like you're joking, but your voice brittles at the end.

There was no way to hide what you're truly feeling now. Yoongi isn't dense, you know that.

But it makes you feel pathetic. You feel like you didn't deserve to cry there and then, because if you break at that moment, everything you've ever held in will account for nothing.

"I'm sorry," he genuinely says, drawing small circles on the back of your hand. "I don't mean to make you cry."

"Yeah, I know." You laugh bitterly, the next words falling into whispers, "You always know what to say... it's breaking and easing me at the same time..."

Yoongi doesn't catch what you said.

"What's that?"

"Nothing, I just said that I know it wasn't your intention." You blink away the tears that are threatening to fall. Then, with the most unfeigned smile you could muster, you bravely face him. "And don't worry, I'm not actually gonna cry. It's a metaphor."

You're glad that it's dark because Yoongi takes the bait. At least, that's what you think.

"Are you gonna start speaking in figures of speech?"

"Oh, shut up," you say, chortling at his jest.

The heavy tension soon simmers, and you're grateful that you didn't fall apart in front of Yoongi. But of course, you're also incognizant.

You're oblivious of the fact that he knows that deep inside of yourself, you wanted to collapse. That you wanted to break free from your own shadows at that moment. That you yearned to forgive yourself.

But you still couldn't so he gives you your own space. Even though he severely wanted to yell at you right there and then — scold you to stop giving yourself a hard time. To stop putting him in a pedestal. He wanted you to know that he also has his own flaws. He wanted to let you know that you were perfectly imperfect.

But he didn't explode to you that night, because he wants to treat you with the utmost care as much as possible. He wants to be patient with you — wait for you until you can finally let yourself loose.

He will gently guide you — light your path, and lead you slowly but surely to fully embrace both your flaws and strengths. Be your sanctuary. He wants you to feel what you've been making him feel.

︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶

You're in the middle of the dark waters once again. Like the other night, the familiar serpent crawls over your legs, hurling you deeper and deeper into the abyss.

The pressure that rings in your ears feel all too real, the memories of your failures echoing around you while you desperately try to search for the source of the deafening voices.

Underneath the torrential waves, you furrow your eyebrows, because all the voices sounded the same. Too familiar. It's thunderous, the distinct roar making you wince.

And then everything turns bright.

You don't feel yourself floating. Instead, you were lying comfortably on a bed of flowers. The petals tickle your cheeks, causing you to smile at the sensation. It's so warm, so reassuring.

The flowers begin to feel real in your hold and you can't stop yourself from caressing their softness. It's too real, too tangible.

When you open your eyes, you feel something heaving against your face. It's soft and tepid, almost lulling you back to slumber.

Yoongi's hands feel like home around your sides. And your own hands fit perfectly around his waist. You feel like two missing puzzle pieces that had finally found their pair.

His soft breaths kiss the top of your head. Carefully craning your head upwards, the sight of Yoongi's serene state welcomes you. His lips are slightly parted and his face is relieved of all kinds of creases and wrinkles.

In your hazy state in a too early morning, you bury your face into his chest, his heartbeat serving as your lullaby as you slowly fall back into the most peaceful slumber you've ever had in the longest time.

︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶

When the skies are sapphire and the sun is painting everything on its way vibrantly, Yoongi drives until the blue waters disappear from sight, until the white sands turn into green meadows.

He drives along the long path until you leave the outskirts, and the familiarity of small establishments appear in your eyesights.

You both had end up in a small town so Yoongi slows down the car to give you both the time to admire the architecture styles of each building.

"I like how old-fashioned this town is," Yoongi comments and you nod in agreement.

"We should make a stop here," you suggest to which he immediately concurs.

He drives into a pay parking area and when both of your feet had landed on the gravel stones, you stretch your sore limbs that had been in the same idled position for hours.

Yoongi laughs at you and you shoot him a questionable gaze. "What's so funny? Aren't you aching?"

He shakes his head. "It's nothing, and I'm fine."

Yoongi thinks you're cute but he doesn't tell you that.

You shrug and say, "Suit yourself."

"Come on, let's make the most of our time." Yoongi offers you his hand to which you immediately interlace with yours. Your gaze lingers on your intertwined fingers for a beat longer than usual.

You're reminded of the time he pulled you around the clothing store, the fond memory still clear in your mind. Lips curving upward, you don't notice it until Yoongi points it out.

"What's with the smile?"

"I can smell coffee, I'm craving for it!" You smoothly dodge while Yoongi sniffs the air.

"You have a strong sense of smell," he muses.

This time, it's you who pulls him along, leading the way as you follow the aroma of coffee bean and apple cinnamon.

The bell dings upon your entrance to the coffee shop. In broad daylight, only a few tables are occupied because usually, the cafe's rush hours are during the nights.

"A medium Vanilla Cold Brew, no whipped cream, and less ice. And a tall Iced Americano, no water, with one shot of heavy cream and two pumps of vanilla syrup," you tell the cashier.

Beside you, Yoongi looks down on you with pure adoration in his eyes. When you two walk to the other end of the counter, you give him an inquisitive gaze.

"What?"

You watch as he stops fending his signature gummy smile from emerging. "You've memorized my order?"

You don't even realize how much of a surprisal that is to Yoongi. While you're confounded for a moment, he takes the leisure to map out the cute creases on your eyebrows and engrave them in his memory before he gently presses a thumb between your brows.

"It's what you always order whenever we have coffee break after school, how could I not remember it?"

He shakes his head at your nescience, his smile lines still visible to you. "What if I ask you why didn't you order your usual pastry to-go as well? Cheese rolls?"

Your cheeks suddenly feel warm despite of the frosty temperature inside the coffee shop. Now, you're aware of the meaning behind his words.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you mumble, "Well... they didn't have your favorite... Blueberry scones... So, I didn't want to eat without you doing so too."

A few moments ago, Yoongi could still feel his own heart beating against his chest. But now, he's certain that it had jumped away from his ribcage and took shelter in you.

But he doesn't tell you that.

Instead, he compliments you, "That's thoughtful of you, Y/N."

Your name rolls on his lips seamlessly, sounding like a melody to your ears. The thumping of your heart intensifies that you turn around to avoid Yoongi's piercing gaze.

What is going on with me?

At the same time, your name is called, the barista handing your orders. You nimbly take the tray and the both of you slide into a booth by the window to enjoy your caffeine drinks.

︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶

By night time, the streets outside are crowded. Oceans of people bustle inside the cafe. You also both realized that you had been chatting away all your hours inside. However, both of you don't complain. Because you'd never ran out of topics.

With being in each other's presence, you both think that time is too short.

Yoongi leads you outside the coffee shop, the frigid air almost knocking you off your feet. The two of you navigate your way amongst the swarming people until Yoongi halts, and you almost crash against his back.

You peek over your shoulder and now you understand why Yoongi had stopped.

Lots of strings of lanterns hang above you, serving as stars to light up the onyx sky. Rows of food trucks and stalls fill the road with tons of various street foods displayed, luring you to check them all out.

"Hotteok!" you exclaim and pat your friend's arm excitedly, pointing at the nearest food truck.

Yoongi giggles, his gums in display, while you pull him to line up for the hotteok.

After obtaining the desired food, your eyes catch another delicacy, bungeoppang — and another, mandu — then another, tteokbokki— and another and another, the list going on. Before you both knew it, both of yours and Yoongi's hands are filled with paper cups and barbecue sticks.

Your cheeks are full, garbling words as you point another food stall.

As you take the first step to skip, Yoongi wraps an arm around you. Mildly confused, you look up at him to see him bowing apologetically to a stranger.

You swallow the fishcake before asking him, "What was that?"

Yoongi's soft reassuring smile comes into view. "It's nothing. We almost bumped into him."

"Oh, sorry, Yoongi. I didn't see him." You pout, casting your gaze down while he presses the back of his hand against your lower lip.

"It's okay. It wasn't a big deal," he reassures you.

Your smile returns and you both resume your food adventure.

For what seems like hours, you both try out every single street food in the bazaar. When you plop against one of the outdoor picnic benches, that's when you instantly feel the soreness of your legs.

Yoongi groans across you, massaging his knees. You volunteer to dispose all of your garbage since more than half of the cups and sticks that had food earlier are now chilling in the walls of your stomach.

You give Yoongi a smile before skipping away with the litters in your hands, searching for the nearest bin in the dark.

Squinting your eyes, you finally find one and skip towards it, shoving everything inside.

You were about to walk away but then you feel an ominous hunch in your gut when you can faintly hear footsteps crunching leaves behind you. They start to get louder as each second passed by before finally, you find the strength in your limbs to start walking when the footsteps stopped.

The baleful feeling in your chest doesn't spurn when the sound of the same footsteps return, trailing behind you — urging you to fasten your pace.

You're only a few away from reaching the crowded outdoor seating area and if you speed up only a tad bit, you'll be able to reach safety—

"Hey, over here, man!"

A stranger calls out, making you look at him. He runs towards your direction, passing by your back. And you grab the chance to sprint.

You run with the adrenaline rush coursing through your nerves, serving as the fuel to spur you faster.

The back of Yoongi comes into your line of sight that you impulsively yell—

"Yoongi!"

You crash into his chest, arms enveloping around his waist as you bury your head into the crook of his neck, ragged breaths escaping from your lips.

"Woah— hey. What happened?" Yoongi instinctively rubs your back soothingly, reciprocating your actions.

"Nothing," you blatantly lie. "Can we... stay like this for awhile?"

"Of course, but... you're worrying me, Y/N."

Yoongi doesn't object your sudden request. He could've relished the warmth you're giving him but he's more concerned about what happened to you. Taking deep breaths, Yoongi continues to rub your back, ushering you to follow his breathing pattern that will hopefully calm you down.

"I'm sorry," you say after you've regained your normal breathing. "It's just... I thought someone was following me."

"What?" You feel his body tense.

"Please don't look!" You tighten your grip around him. "I'm okay now," you continue in a calmer tone. "I didn't see him but he may have passed by us already."

Yoongi's chest heaves up and down, a deep exhale rumbling from his throat.

"I'm sorry for letting you go out there alone. I should've just gone myself instead."

"Hey, don't blame yourself, Yoongi. I volunteered to do it because you were already tired. And it's my fault, anyway. I shouldn't have recklessly—"

A string snaps in your heart, the maim provoking agony; it suddenly feels like you're having a difficult time breathing again. The only anchor you have is Yoongi at this moment. But, he's also the person you've now hurt.

"Don't be ridiculous, Y/N," he disrupts you, pulling away to look at you properly. His eyes are coated with pain, worry, ire, and sadness all at once. You can't decide which one is the worst. But they all make you cower under his gaze.

"You can't possibly be blaming yourself over something that obviously wasn't your fault," he rebukes, his fiery gaze scorching you. "Stop making it an unhealthy habit of throwing yourself under the bus. Do you understand what could've happened if you had gotten kidnap? Are you still going to beat yourself up if you end up in that kind of situation?! Not the one who wronged you?! Why can't you..." His tone simmers. "Why can't you forgive yourself?"

The bullet penetrates your skin. It feels so real, too real. Moreover, it's because Yoongi was the one behind the gun. And after hesitating for a lot of times, against his conscience, he finally pulls the trigger.

You can't even process his words; they blur along your vision. They dim until you can no longer see his face. Your hot tears had finally spilled and you surrender, clutching Yoongi's shirt and convulsing against him.

And he stays with you, never leaving your side as you submit yourself wholly into a state of vulnerability. The bottle that you've closed and kept for so long falls on the ground and crumbles, shards lacerating your skin.

"Why..." you choke out as you attempt to speak. "Why... is it so hard... to be happy, Yoongi?"

Vehement hot tears incessantly spill from your eyes, your sobs amplifying in the now almost-empty outdoor seating area. Yoongi makes you look at him, your red swollen eyes causing his heart to ache.

"You have to understand that happiness doesn't come instantaneous, Y/N," he tells you sweetly, with the utmost delicate tone laced in his voice. He lulls you to his saccharine smile, his hand tucking the strays of your hair and resting against your soft cheek. A simple action that protects you from peril.

Yoongi flutters his eyes close as he rests his forehead against yours. He whispers, "The wheel has to keep on turning, Y/N. Without sadness, you can never attain happiness. It takes time, and I promise you, everything will be worth it once you reach the top of the wheel."

You choke out a sob, leaning against his warmth, gripping tightly on his shirt as you brokenly say, "But it's too much, Yoongi... It hurts too much because I feel like I'm stuck at the bottom of the wheel. I can't push it to move."

He hushes your cries, wiping the tears away from your tainted cheeks. His touch is intricate, handling you as if you were a glass that must be treated with the utmost care and protection. "Maybe because you've been pushing the brakes for too long. Tell me, Y/N." He leans away to lift your chin up.

Your gazes collide like supernova, and suddenly all you can see and feel is him. You can see yourself in his glossy irises, mirroring your own pains, and you can't help but flush yourself against his chest, afraid that he might slip away from you too.

"When was the last time you allowed yourself to feel?"

His question draws you to dig within the trenches of your subconsciousness, but you can't remember anything. You can't recall the last time you've opened your arms to your own vulnerability. Because the answer is a long time ago.

And you realize how much you've kept everything inside. A small bottle where you locked all of your painful encounters away. The discernment a little too late that the container had overflown, and you spilled everything out convulsively.

The weight of the whole world seems to lift itself away from your shoulders, and now all you feel at this moment, with Yoongi by your side, is relief. Finally, a moment when breathing doesn't feel like you're getting asphyxiated.

When your loud sobs simmers to soft cries, Yoongi takes your hand and leads you both back into the car. He helps you get inside, protecting your head by hovering his hand on top of it.

By the time he's already behind the wheel, you've stopped crying. The bags under your eyes feel heavy, your energy drained from all the sobbing that you can only look ahead of you with a faraway gaze.

You feel Yoongi rest his hand on top of yours, his warmth instantly channeling to your body. It emits you a miniscule smile — barely even there but he catches it even in the dark.

Because for Yoongi, you're his light.

︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶

Your hands are interlaced ever since Yoongi drove away from the town. They're resting on top of your thigh and your eyes linger on them for what felt like minutes before you trail your gaze to Yoongi's side profile.

You take in his beautiful features; his vermilion locks, pale round cheeks, his feline eyes that had the color of honey, irises swirling like sweet nectar — last but never the least, his pouty pink lips glimmering under the ascending sun, looking so soft and shiny, the temptation luring your mind to wander in your fantasies; how will it feel like pressing yours against his. Will it taste saccharine or salty? Will it slot against yours perfectly?

The beating of your heart drowns the sound of the throttling engine. And suddenly, everything to you makes sense. Your currently rising heartrate, the peculiar feeling of something fluttering in your abdomen, the electrifying tingles you constantly feel whenever your skin would connect with his.

His mere presence that is the epitome of your haven, your home, your —

Love.

It feels too overwhelming that you sharply retract your hand away from his and you look away, forcing yourself to watch the passing nature in your eyes.

"What's wrong?"

Yoongi's soothing tone warms you, but the heart-shaped lump that rises on your throat is difficult to swallow.

With shut eyes, you mumble, "Nothing. I just need some sleep."

You convince yourself more than you assure him, pushing away the inundating thoughts of his smile, his laughter, his mere voice sounding like music to your ears. Forcing yourself to sleep, it took you what felt like hours to do so.

When you woke up, you find yourself alone in the passenger's seat. The empty seat beside you slightly makes you feel lonely with a hint of relief. Because truthfully, your heart nerves are still erratically beating.

In attempts to calm yourself, you exit the vehicle and bask under the cold air that instantly nips your skin. It only takes you seconds to realize that you had a stop over in a gasoline station.

You realize that you had been zoning out when Yoongi ambles out of the store, two plastic bags in his hands. His marmalade hair steals your attention straight away. Shaking your head out of your daze, he invites you to sit on the cargo bed to have breakfast.

After hoisting both of yourselves behind, you make sure to leave a sufficient amount of space between you. Then, you both quietly eat your store-bought sandwiches.

Albeit the ambience around you is still, the sun barely rising from the horizon, your heart is undergoing a series of fluctuations. Every beating sound reverberates in your ears. Your mind is going haywire, spinning and whirling like a mayhem—

"How are you feeling?"

Yoongi's sudden question makes you flinch slightly. Looking for any sign that he noticed your distress, you see that he doesn't show it. The battering of your heart against your ribcage relents for now.

You swallow thickly, "I'm... better."

It's partly the truth. Truthfully, you're feeling a lot better after your breakdown last night. But, today, you're facing a different battle. It's different from the usual ones you have, and you have no idea how to deal with it.

It's a new feeling — both frightening and consoling. You're in a fight or flight situation.

"That's good to hear." He looks at you and you're instantly trapped under his gaze.

His smile is back, smile lines accentuating his beauty marks underneathe the honey rays.

"Remember, Y/N," he speaks to you tenderly. "One step at a time. Alright?"

You nod mutely, staring as he lifts one of his hand to tuck a few strands of your hair behind your ear. His knuckles brush againts your cheeks, rendering you to pull away from his touch, break the eye-contact, and look away.

The frown that etches his features comes unnoticed to you. Nevertheless, Yoongi respects your space, and reluctantly retracts his hand that was about to reach and touch you.

︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶

Yoongi drives with you in the backseat of the truck. He keeps checking on you in the rear view mirror, fingers tapping on the stirring wheel. He can't seem to feel at ease. He had been fidgetting in his seat for the past half an hour, pouty lips protruding and cheeks hollowed.

Meanwhile, you have been doing your very best to avoid the questionable and piercing glances being thrown at you by your best friend.

Best friend. That's right, Y/N. You have to protect your friendship. Don't surrender yourself to your feelings again.

You keep replaying your mantra in your head again and again, hoping that your newfound feelings for Yoongi dissipates.

If only it was that easy.

A few more hours fly by, and the sun is finally at its crest. Yoongi parks in front of a diner while you swiftly unbuckle your seatbelt and exit the car with the engine still revving.

You were about to enter the diner when the call of your name halts you.

Your body tenses but you turn around to see Yoongi jogging after you.

"Hey—" He pants as if he had been on a marathon for hours. The truth is, his heart is also racing because you've been acting strange for the past few hours.

"Y/N, can we talk?"

You don't answer immediately, nibbling your lower lip. His eyes fall on your lips for a fleeting moment before forcing himself to look at your eyes instead when you nod your head.

"Have I done something to upset you?"

"No!" You quickly protest. "Why would you think that?"

Yoongi fiddles with his fingers, releasing a soft sigh. He contemplates whether on he should take a step closer to you or not. He wants you to be within his reach but he's uncertain if you'll allow him. Yet, he takes the risk, anyway.

"It's just..." He decreases the distance between you by an inch. "You've been distant since this morning."

You stay frozen in your place, your eyes looking everywhere but him. Yoongi takes your silence as the confirmation.

"So, there is something. What is it, Y/N? Is this about last night? Can you tell me? So that I'll never do it again."

He takes another step closer to you, but you push him away again by taking a step backward.

"That's not what I want, YoongI!" You flail your arms. Then, your tone wanes. "I... That's not the issue at all..." you stammer.

"What then?" Yoongi's heart cracks slightly, bracing for your verdict.

"I want you to keep doing it but..." you trail off. Shutting your eyes, you muster every bit of your courage to tell him. "I just hate myself for interpreting it differently when you've been doing it ever since we've become best friends."

"I'm not following, Y/N."

"Of course, you aren't!" You retort again. Taking a deep breath, you attempt to keep yourself level-headed. "I have to say it myself now, don't I? And this... might mark the ending of our friendship." Your voice fades, brittling slightly at the end.

"Why are you saying that?"

"Because I'm in love with you, Yoongi! I have been in love with you ever since before the moment I even realized it..."

Your heart combusts, and you realize that it was too late to take back your words. So, with every fiber in your body, you bravely meet his eyes.

"You're the warmth that I always seek for. Your gentleness and your tender touch... whenever you lace your fingers with mine, I can't help but stray towards the thought that maybe... you might feel the same way."

You sniffle lightly, your tears already welling up for the second time within twenty-four hours.

"But I know we're only friends, Yoongi. And you've been doing all those things— caring for me, spending time with me, affirming me, treating me— everything! And now, I have just made things complicated and I'm scared that you will just stop doing all of those. Because now, something changed."

You lower your head in shame, fisting your hands and closing your eyes. A few drop of tears falls to the ground, the spots turning the asphalt shades darker.

It's silent. Too silent. And you were about to take it as the indication that that was it — that everything is now over when—

"And what if I told you that you thought right?"

Your eyes snap open, head craning to look at Yoongi.

"What if I told you that my heart yearns for only you and nobody else?" he confesses, taking a bold step closer to you. This time, you don't push him away.

"You said it yourself, it wouldn't make any sense for me to stay close to you when I don't see you more than just... a friend. What if I told you that I had been longing for something more between us?"

Another step closer. "That the thought of making you mine crossed my mind a lot of times?"

Another step closer. "What if I told you that I love you? But not in the way I've said it before. I love you, Y/N. More than it encompasses friendship, more than as a partner— a lover."

He breathes deeply, and he lifts a hand to cup your cheek. "I wished there was a better word than love for me to be able to express what I truly feel for you."

You're truly stupefied. Not being able to utter a single word to his confession. Yoongi looks at you in a way that you've seen a lot of times from him already.

It's the same enamored eyes, the tender touches, the compassionate actions, the solaceful words.

"Just say the word, Y/N," he whispers. "And I'm all yours."

You concede, reaching to cup his cheek. He flutters his eyes close, leaning to your touch before you stand on your tiptoes and press your lips delicately on his.

You've traced everything — every feature of his lips, mapped out his smile lines and etched them into your mind. But until this very moment, your thoughts never did any justice into capturing the details of how warm and feathery it would feel to slot your lips in his.

He kisses you like his whole life depended on it.

He kisses you as if this was going to be the last time he'll feel your unwavering warmth morphing with his.

He kisses you delicately, taking his own time to explore every crevice of your soul — inhaling your vanilla scent, and ingraining them into his memory.

And you kiss him back with as much ardor.

You reciprocate every languid and fiery ember he gives you.

It was a long, long kiss full of passion, and love. It transcends the mind, the heart, and the soul. Every note and rhythm of each pulsating kiss is heartquaking.

Your heart spills unwanted tears, tainting your cheeks that Yoongi had to pull away, his warmth distinctively leaving you.

"I can't..." you brokenly say.

"Y/N..."

The shattered call of your name crushes your heart into pieces.

"Yoongi, I can't do this to you..." Hot tears spill from your eyes, the sensation burning every trail it falls into. "I'm broken and I don't want you fixing me. You can't be with someone who can't even love themselves—"

Yoongi hushes you, cupping your cheeks and making you look at him.

"Y/N, I don't care if... if we both end up getting broken. I'd rather be broken with you than spend my whole life in happiness, knowing that you aren't by my side. I don't care how much more we become destroyed because we can build ourselves again.

It doesn't matter if we fall again, because it's a part of the process. Each time we fall, we'll learn choosing the right bricks to use. We can keep building until we reach the top and nothing can ever maim us again."

Yoongi sighs deeply, burying his hand into the back of your head. He brings you into his embrace and you welcome it with open arms.

However, the turmoil within you doesn't cease. Because this isn't what Yoongi deserved. As much as you were touched by his loving words, you still couldn't grasp around them.

You pull away completely from his touch, forcing yourself to be valorous.

This is your own battle.

And you will continue to fight it even if Yoongi isn't by your side.

Because it's what you feel that is right.

When your gazes collide, he immediately understands the look in your eyes. Although it's breaking his heart, he understands you and he will respect your decision.

But he makes a promise to you that sunrise, below the rays that are about to ascend.

"I will wait for you."

︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶

You remember everything from that day as clear as the moment it ended. His shattered expression, his glossy irises shedding his own tears. His broken smile as he waved you goodbye.

You couldn't stay with him any longer because if you did, even for a mere second, you will crumble and fall apart, and surrender under him.

But you didn't want that. You didn't want Yoongi having to deal with your broken state.

You want to make things right. You want to be deserving of his love. You want to be the right person for him.

Even if it means letting yourself fall again beneath the chasm.

But now, you have a newfound strength. And you will wield it the right way this time. You will brave against every storm that strikes you.

You will brave against yourself — your own voice that you hear in your nightmares every time the moon made its apparition.

Because now, you have someone by your side, even it wasn't physically.

Before you dream, it's his smile that appears in your mind, the very last thing you see before you fall into slumber.

After you dream, it's his laughter that you hear first thing in the morning before you open your eyes.

While you are dreaming, it's him that you see in the depths of your shadows, the light at the end of the tunnel.

︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶

The emerald leaves turn into sepia, dry ones descending and blanketing the asphalt. Vibrant colors morph into bold, homely and strong ones, gold and red that carpet the grass. Mist and fog waft the air, the once warm weather shifting to a frosty one.

It is the season of change. Autumn.

You've never enjoyed the breeze of the certain season until now. Puffing out small ice breaths, you smile as the leaves crunch smoothly and melodically into your ears. Your long coat barely does its job of warming you. Nonetheless, you enjoy the sudden shift of temperature.

It's a very significant day for you. It's the day where your life drastically changed — the same day from three years ago. The day you opened a new chapter in your life.

Upon your arrival, the people around you greet you with warm smiles and small bows. You reciprocate their gestures, then begin to survey your surroundings. Various shades of orange and red embellish the interior of the building, with several origamis of leaves and birds beautifying the ceilings.

Intricate strings of small pumpkin ornaments hang by the windows, along with the apricot fairy lights twinkling and lighting up the place with hues of tangerines.

"Good morning, ma'am."

The voice of your employee pulls you out of your daze. You give her a smile of gratitude. "You guys have done well as usual. The decorations are fitting and amazing."

"Thank you, ma'am!" She gratefully bows to you.

"And happy anniversary," you greet her.

She reciprocates your greeting then leaves you to your own thoughts. It's the opening anniversary of your self-made restaurant, the one thing you've been focusing on for the past three years. It had become your own safe haven because of the smiles of your customers that they give you before they step foot out of the restaurant. It's soothing in your nerves because you feel fulfilled whenever you send them away happily.

The air around you feels refreshing, and you inhale the aroma of pumpkin spices and apple pies.

It's a significant day for you not only for this reason but something else.

An art gallery had recently opened a few months ago, but you weren't able to check it out because of how busy you had been with your business. For some unfathomable reason, every time you passed by the gallery, a peculiar invisible string keeps on pulling you.

And today, you're going to find out what is that enigmatic essence luring you. You bid your staff a farewell before stepping out into the autumn air once again.

Your feet leads you into the familiar but new establishment. Standing before the entrance, you admire the bold calligraphed letters in the gradient of roses and marigolds, green vines wrapping around each letter that spelled the art gallery's name.

Gravitating towards it, you finally step foot inside the building. Your eyes wander every art piece, from portraits to landscapes, even architectural pieces before your eyes catch a glimpse of a certain painting.

Delicate strokes of blue and white smear the sky, mixtures of pigments that are beyond your comprehension creating the illusion of clear waters. And most importantly, the figure in the middle. She looks all too familiar to you. She had a cosmic smile on her face, lips curved upward, the intricate details of her cupid bow prominent. As if the artist had specifically gave much more attention to her facial features more than the landscape itself.

And unlike every other masterpiece with women adorned in extravagant dresses, the girl in the painting, instead, donned a cream-colored sweatshirt, and black shorts ending right above her knees.

Of course, you know this girl all too well.

Because it's you.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?"

The strum of familiar baritone strings fills your ears. You don't need to look to know who it is. Because his voice had been inscribed into your memory. He still sounds the same since the last time you've heard him. But more homely, warmer, deeper, more melodic.

"She is," you affirm.

"But she'll be more stunning today."

Your lips twitches into a smile. "Have you seen the model yet?"

"No," he answers. "She hasn't let me yet."

Your eyes slowly leave the painting before you, shifting to your left in an agonizingly slow manner. You take your time until you finally see his profile.

Yoongi was still the same. The same since the day you left him.

His hair was still the strong shade of red-orange, styled handsomely so that none of the fringes conceal his face. His feline eyes seem more fuller than before, more contented, happier. Amongst the galaxies that your eyes can make out, you see your own reflection. And you've never felt belonged into his eyes until this moment.

His cheeks are more defined, manly, but he still has the same lips — the lips you've once had a taste of. Looking so soft, plump, and pink. A suit dons his body, enhancing his manly and handsome features.

He is the epitome of beauty.

You finally reach out a hand to him. His gaze lingers for a beat longer before he interlaces his hand with yours. You both immediately relish each other's warmth, reveling on the moment that you two had finally found both of your ways back home.

You to him.

And him to you.

With the most genuine smile that traces your lips, you say,

"Let's run away."

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