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luxaofhesperides · 4 months

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For ghostlights: baby Ellie + tired Danny + Duke the baby whisperer?

He has no idea how his parents did it.

Babies are exhausting. Toddlers more so. Any infants in the strange stage in-between? Doubly so.

Ellie is wonderful and sweet and cute and such a terror that Danny genuinely has no idea how his parents managed to raise not one, but two kids. For all their eccentricities and absent-mindedness, he and Jazz turned out pretty well. Ignoring the whole halfa thing because that’s more his fault than theirs even if Jazz says they shouldn’t have created the dangerous environment in the first place.

That environment is exactly why Danny refuses to let Ellie go to his house in Amity Park. His parents say they’ve disabled all the weapons and ecto-sensors since he’s had to reveal himself as Phantom, but he knows that things slip their minds and if they can’t guarantee that the house is safe, then Ellie isn’t going in there. Simple as that.

This means that they live somewhere else now. Danny had thought about it, during the hours Ellie was asleep and he was awake, exhausted and worn down to his bones, and took Jazz’s advice to accept Vlad’s offer of buying a house for him. Except he argued Vlad down to an apartment in a city of his choosing where he wouldn’t stand out too much and he would be safe, or as safe as he can be, from anyone trying to hunt down ghosts.

So here they are. Standing in the empty living room of their new apartment in Gotham.

Gotham may not be very safe as a city, but it’s good for two ghosts trying to pass as normal.

Danny sighs yet again, and looks at the space he’ll need to fill. At least Vlad is footing the bill. It’s the least he can do for creating Ellie. Frostbite was the one who was able to stabilize her, though it was almost too late and resulted in her reforming as a baby, just one and a half years old. Jazz is the one who’s choosing most of the furniture, thankfully, so it’s something that Danny doesn’t need to worry about it.

It’s a new start to their lives and it feels so empty. So overwhelming. How did his parents do it? How do any parents do it?

Ellie smacks a small palm against his cheek and babbles lightly.

“I know, Ellie,” Danny says, giving her a tired smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll have this place looking good in no time.”

He adjusts her in his arms, then heads towards the bedroom. It’s the only room that has any furniture, and all that’s there is a bed, a crib, and a bookcase. There are a few boxes on the floor, labeled ‘bedroom’ and ‘clothing’ and ‘books’. Most of it came from his bedroom in Amity Park, but he’s pretty sure he caught Jazz sneaking a few things in before they closed the boxes and loaded them up into the car.

“Can you be good for five minutes?” he asks Ellie.

She babbles again and smacks his shoulder.

“I’m taking that as an agreement. Just let me open these boxes and start unpacking before you start causing trouble, okay?”

Ellie makes another sound, but it seems agreeable so Danny carefully lays her down in the crib and gets to peeling off the tape on the boxes. The opens the one labeled ‘bedroom’ first, finding blankets and sheets folded and stacked in vacuum sealed bags. One of them is his old childhood blanket, the one he carried around everywhere that was faded with age, barely blue, with white bunnies decorating it.

He was so small when he had this. It makes him oddly emotional to unpack it and pass it on to Ellie, draping it over her so her pudgy little hands can grab at it.

This is no time to cry, though! He forces himself to focus and makes his own bed, shaking out the sheets and fluffing up the pillows. He’ll worry about washing everything later; Vlad made sure to get an apartment with an in-unit washer and dryer, which means he was actually sensible while apartment hunting for Danny.

He doesn’t mean to flop onto the bed once it’s made, but he ends up there anyways. He’s barely gotten a full six hours of uninterrupted sleep since Frostbite deemed Ellie healthy enough to leave his care. The drive up to Gotham was long and wore him down to his bones.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he does, drifting off as he wonders, distantly, when Jazz will be back from getting them dinner.

Ellie wakes him up at dawn with a loud cry. Danny jolts awake, heart pounding in his chest as he panics because Ellie isn’t here, she’s supposed to be in his arms, where is she? And then he sees the crib, where Ellie is staring at him through the bars, and he nearly collapses with relief.

“Morning, El,” he says, voice rough from sleep, as he picks her up. She just stares up at him, then leans forward and rests her head against his shoulder.

It’s quiet moments like these that make his heart melt. Ellie’s had a hard life already; he wants to give her a better one, this time around.

A quick check of the time on his nearly dead phone shows that it’s barely past six in the morning, and Jazz texted him a few times. All about furniture, saying that she didn’t want to wake them and that food is in the fridge.

It’s only the mention of food that makes him realize how ravenous he’s feeling. Danny makes a beeline for the kitchen, ignoring everything else, and pulls out the boxes of take-out Jazz left stacked in the fridge. He devours it like he’s been starving for weeks, then gives Ellie her Ecto-Jello, the only food she’s allowed to eat until Frostbite gives the okay for solid, human food.

Once he’s got her burped and cleaned up, Danny looks out of the kitchen and realizes that Jazz was very productive while he was asleep. The living room isn’t empty anymore; a dark green couch is against the wall, a low, rectangular coffee table made of dark wood in front of it. Two armchairs are on both sides of the couch, and a television has been installed, fixed into the wall.

Jazz is asleep on the couch. Her legs hang off an armrest and she’s drooling slightly.

Her phone is charging on the floor, so Danny takes it and snaps a picture of her for later teasing, then sends it to himself and writes a note to her that he’s going out with Ellie to explore the neighborhood.

He’s finally feeling more settled, energized from sleep and food.

In the warm dawn light spilling in through the windows, Danny looks down at Ellie and thinks that they’ll be just fine after all.

. . .

Four months ago, Danny had hope. He was optimistic.

Gotham was a fresh start, a new lease of life for Ellie. It is Danny’s attempt to be a single parent, sacrificing college for Ellie, and he’s planning to go out and beat the gangs black and blue if they start anymore shootouts in the next year.

He had just gotten Ellie to sleep. She was actually peacefully taking a nap.

And then a drive by shooter raced down the street, gunshots echoing down the road, and Ellie work up crying. She still hasn’t stopped, despite how Danny rocked her, soothing her as best he could.

They had been outside when Ellie fell asleep, her head on his shoulder. He had been catching up with Sam and Tucker when the car drove by, people ducking and crying out to avoid the bullets. Danny instinctively covered Ellie and made them both intangible, saving them from any stray bullets, but they ruined her nap and he needs to make them pay for that.

“Shh,” he soothes, “You’re okay. We’re both fine. It’s okay, El, it’s okay.”

Her little hands clutch at his back, twisting the fabric of his shirt, and she lets out a heartbreaking wail. He pats her back, hurrying down the street to get back to his apartment building, ignoring the looks people were giving them as they passed by.

“I know it was scary, but you’re alright. You’re always safe with me, El.”

Ellie’s cries down down a little, but they don’t stop. She whimpers, burying her face against his shoulder as he finally reaches their apartment building.

The door’s locked, which wouldn’t be a problem except Danny can’t get his keys from his pocket. He knows he has them! But his pocket refuses to relinquish them and he has to stop every few seconds to pat Ellie’s back, trying in vain to calm her down.

“We’ll be inside in a second,” he tells her, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, “as soon as I can get these freaking keys!”

“Hey, you alright?”

Danny startles, whirling around so fast it makes Ellie go quiet, clinging to him so she doesn’t get flung into the air. There’s a guy standing before him in a gray hoodie, looking at him with clear concern. It speaks to Danny’s level of constant exhaustion that he hadn’t clocked someone sneaking up behind him.

The guy offers an awkward smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you or anything. Um, do you need me to open to door? I live here too.”

Danny wonders for a moment if this someone dangerous, someone hoping to hurt Ellie, but she starts to cry again and he steps to the side. “Please. I can’t get my keys.”

“I’m Duke, by the way. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

“Danny,” he replies, watching as Duke pulls out a large key ring, jangling with the amount of keychains on it, and easily opens the door. “I’ve been here a few months, but I’m usually inside. Or walking around in the mornings with this little monster.”

“That would explain it,” Duke says as he holds the door open, letting Danny in first. “I’m usually in classes at GCU, but I decided to take a mental health day after my lab, so here I am.”

Danny walks in and waits for Duke to follow, making sure the door closes properly behind them. “Thanks. How is GCU? What do you study? I was thinking of going there myself once she gets a little older and can go to school.”

“Oh, I’m majoring in English and Human Services.” He goes to say more, but Ellie wails again and Danny winces.

“I’m so sorry. That drive by woke her up and it’s really rattled her.”

“Hey, no need to apologize. I get it, Gotham is rough to kids.”

Danny tries rocking her back and forth, but it doesn’t help. He resigns himself to another hour of her crying before she exhausts herself, and makes for the stairs, going up to the fourth floor. Duke holds open the door again, then follows after them. It makes Danny wonder if Duke is planning to do something to them, then decides he can beat Duke in a fight, so it’s fine.

Duke doesn’t try to hurt them or steal Ellie away. He opens the door to their floor and stops before they do. “I’m in here,” he says, “If you ever need me to open more doors.”

“Thanks. Um, actually, I might need help opening mine?”

Duke just smiles and makes his way back to them, following them farther into the hall until Danny stops in front of his apartment.

“If I could just get my keys,” he starts.

“Here, let me hold her for a second so you can get them,” Duke offers. Danny wants to insist that it’s fine, but Ellie cries directly into his ear and Danny, at the end of his rope, passes her over.

Like magic, Ellie settles as soon as she’s in Duke’s arms. She sniffles and hides her face away, clutching to Duke’s hoodie, but she stops crying. They both go still, surprised, and stare down at her.

“Seriously?” Danny says as he finally pulls out his keys, “Are you trying to say that I’m the problem?”

Ellie babbles lightly, and Duke turns his head to futilely hide his grin.

He grumbles as he unlocks the door and pushes it open. Ellie is acting as if she’s never been upset before a day in her life, making herself at home in Duke’s arms.

“I can’t believe this. Betrayed by my own blood.”

Duke laughs as he follows Danny into his apartment, lightly patting Ellie’s back. “It’s always the smallest, cutest ones that do this.”

“Yeah? Do you work with a lot of kids or something? Used to being betrayed by the little ones?”

“I don’t work with kids per se,” Duke says, “But my foster family is a hot mess and the youngest of them likes to keep us all on our toes.”

“Family,” Danny says in a tired, fond tone.

“Family,” Duke agrees.

With his door open and Ellie calm, Danny’s ready to just lay face down on the floor for the rest of the day and not deal with anything else. He moves to take Ellie back, holding his arms out, and Duke tries to pass her over.

The key word being tries.

Ellie tightens her grip and kicks at Danny. She refuses to be taken away from Duke, making him awkwardly try to pry her off his hoodie. Danny really hopes Duke doesn’t notice how she goes slightly intangible to make his hands fall through her arms and legs. It shouldn’t be noticeable, but it’s hard to focus on anything but a kid that clings to you, so Danny holds out for Duke’s goodwill and silence.

“As nice as it is to meet you, you need to go back to your… parent?” Danny nods when Duke looks at him in askance. “You need to go back to your parent. Okay? Come on, kid, he’s waiting for you.”

Ellie shakes her head, makes a frustrated noise, and then turns and reaches out a grabby hand towards Danny.

She still refuses to be taken from Duke when Danny tries to pick her up again, so he settles with just letting her hold two of his fingers.

“I’m so sorry about this,” he says to Duke, face burning. This is why he hasn’t been going out and being social since he moved in; Ellie is a handful even on the best days, and Danny doesn’t want someone to judge him as unfit to parent her and have her taken away.

Duke shakes his head, stepping closer. “It’s all good, man. I don’t mind. It’s not like I had any plans today. I’m already skipping my classes, might as well spend it with you two than sleep all day.”

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to invite you in, but I know Ellie can be a lot and not everyone wants to spend their day off with a baby.”

“I’m sure. Besides, I’d just be down the hall anyways. It’s no skin off my back, man.”

“Well,” Danny says, stepping to the side to give Duke full access to his open doorway, “Come on in, then.”

Ellie keeps them connected, one hand in Duke’s hoodie and the other holding Danny’s fingers, and though her cheeks are still red from how hard she had been crying, she’s calm now with her eyes shining with mischief.

As the door closes behind them, Danny realizes that this is the first time someone he’s not related to has been inside his apartment. Not even Vlad has come in, always choosing to invite Danny and Ellie out for lunch instead.

It should make him nervous, but Duke is calm and easy going and kind.

He’s making silly faces at Ellie to make her laugh, completely at ease with her in his arms, as if he’s done this a thousand times before.

Gotham is a second chance at life for Ellie. It’s a sacrifice for Danny, to be alone and without friends or family around. He’d been ready to give up everything for Ellie, to focus solely on raising her, but with Duke filling his apartment with laughter, he thinks that he can make a life here too.

All he needs to do is take that first step, reach his hand out, ask Duke to stick around.

He can do this.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #prompt fill #my writing #i really love writing about characters struggling to be parents v suddenly and thru unconventional means #so here's danny a year out of high school living on his own for the first time w baby ellie #and duke who needed some space and independence while he's in college. bruce pays for the apartment while duke works part time for grocerie #and ellie who had been fully developed but unstable is now a halfa baby who remembers stuff but is also. yknow. a baby.#she absolutely latched onto duke to force danny to have a life outside of her. but also she can sense that hes kind and calm #which danny needs bc he is Stressed (tm)#this leads to duke bringing over food for them and looking after ellie while danny goes shopping or naps #both of them ignoring how duke has to leave suddenly for Hero Related Reasons and how danny and ellie have Powers #it's a v delicate balance they keep for the sake of keeping ellie safe #yeah they're gonna co-parent and realize they're basically dating after MONTHS of pining #the bats have bets on who gives bruce a grandkid first and literally no one bet on duke but here he is lol :)#thanks for the prompt!!

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stbot · 1 year

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I've been thinking lately... maybe I should stop worrying so much about why I feel something and just feel it.

#grease rise of the pink ladies #grease rotpl #rise of the pink ladies #rotpl #cynthia zdunowski #grease spoilers #cynthia rotpl #shy guy rotpl #short king ‘wait does this mean i’m a thespian?’ cynthia #shy guy 'i'm jewish though?' edward #baby boy shy guy!!!! my son my child!!#queer solidarity love to see it!#i think i need a gif tag #not to prev tags myself but uh:#cynthia and shy guy are like Peak high school gays trying to date each other bc they can't accept they're gay but know the other is Safe #like i really didn't expect for this to be where his v obvious crush was going but i'm here for it!#love them love this #love to see cyn getting their shit together to apologize #cannot wait for next week!

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loumands · 8 months

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Love that when countless of shows take place in high school Gen V's main characters are university students. Much more realistic and unique

#no more child characters played by 30 year olds depicted like high school is exciting and sex filled instead of the worst time of your life #gen v #.txt

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cerise-on-top · 4 months

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EEEE BACK AGAIN CUZ YOUR WRITING IS YUMMYYY

Valeria, Graves, König, and Soap (separately) who has a s/o who's into poetry?

like maybe they're a poet or a librarian or something.

bonus points for a silly little cozy aesthetic dressed s/o :33

MANY HUGSSSS

-☁️

(CLOUD ANON)

Hello again! Welcome back! I'm glad my silly writings are enjoyable to people! I wrote it so Reader is a librarian and writes poetry both, in most of these! I think I forgot for Soap! I hope these are good enough! Thank you very much for the request! ^^

Soap, Valeria, Graves, König with an S/O who likes Poetry

Soap: While he may have read some poetry throughout his life, but only because he was forced to at school, he doesn’t care for literature like that in the slightest. Sure, he can understand some metaphors and some messages a piece of writing might try to convey, but he won’t go out of his way to buy himself an anthology of William Blake. He doesn’t have the time to read, and he doesn’t really want to either, he’d much rather go outside and take a hike. However, once you come up to him with one of your poems in hand, he’s more than happy to sit down and read through it. The way the language flows, the way the words intertwine with each other and form something unmistakably beautiful, it has him in a chokehold after a while. He’ll always cheer you on, quietly, while writing and read everything that you put on paper. While he might not be the best at giving criticism, he can use his words to reassure you that your writing is, indeed, the bomb. If you ever release your works then you can be certain he’ll be the first to buy a copy of the book, maybe even several because he loves and supports you that much. He loves the cozy aesthetic you have. Beige cardigans with either matching trousers or skirts. If you’re roughly the same size then let him borrow one of your cardigans, he wants to feel for himself how warm and cozy they are. It’s not usually his style, but trying them on won’t kill him. He actually also kind of likes it when you send him pictures of you drinking tea or coffee with a book on the table. It’s, as mentioned, very cozy, very comforting. You’re living your best life, you’re happy and thriving, and that’s all that matters to him.

Valeria: Unlike Soap, she has picked up books after school. The only poem she has read after school was the Divine Comedy by Alighieri since it sounded interesting to her at the time. She never finished it, though, having become far too busy with the military and, afterwards, the cartel. She doesn’t particularly miss reading either, though. Maybe sometimes, when she just wants to have a nice and quiet day, she might pick up a book she found just lying around, but that book could contain just about anything. While she might not always have the time to read your poetry, it will likely be sitting on her desk for a few days before she can read it, she will visit you at your library. It’s calm there, it’s quiet, and likely not a place anyone would suspect someone of her caliber to be. While she might not particularly be there for the books, you could read her some poetry every once in a while. Doesn’t have to be at the library either, you could just check out a book and read to her at home. She can appreciate something like that, you spending time with her, reading your favorite poem in a soft, almost mellow, voice. She gets to see you happy, after all, and that’s what she’s usually striving for. Even if that library isn’t doing too well, she’ll always make sure that it’s up and running because you love your job as much as you do. She, too, likes your aesthetic. It’s fairly neutral, it doesn’t stand out too much. While it might be a bit boring to her occasionally, since you likely would look just as lovely in something a bit more flashy, she won’t tell you to dress you any differently. In fact, she might instigate you a bit and egg you on by buying you expensive coffee beans or expensive hand made tea. The most aesthetically pleasing tea pots and cups will be yours, in this case you won’t even need to ask her.

Graves: Graves has not picked up many books after school either. The occasional book on business and history, yes, but nothing that was written lyrically. It never interested him, he had to analyze poems at school and that was the start of his disdain for poetry. He never did well with writing down what a specific metaphor might mean, so he never got any good grades on that. At first, he won’t be very happy to see you’ve brought him a poem, even if it was written by you, but he won’t complain, he’ll read it and give you honest criticism. He’s better with constructive criticism than Soap because he can still see the poem’s flaws while being nice and uplifting about it so you can do better next time. It likely won’t ignite a spark for poetry in him, but he has a soft spot for you, so he’ll read anything you want him to see. On the off-chance he has time to visit you, he will. While he might not be as quiet as Valeria, he tries, but he just really wants to converse with you. He doesn’t get to see you often, so it wouldn’t be too unlikely for him to waltz up to your library in his gear either. He tries not to scare the people, but it doesn’t always work. Tries to convince you to go home early with him so you can pay attention to him instead of burying your nose in some books. It doesn’t work, but hey, an attempt has been made. He really digs that entire cozy aesthetic. You look warm, you look soft, you look like you want and need a good hug from him. He’s a very touchy person in general, but that goes up by 100% since he likes the feeling of your cardigan, it’s made of wonderful fabric. If you’re more of a coffee drinker, like he is, then you can drink some coffee at a lovely cafe together, he knows plenty of nice and calm places. Tea, too, but you’ll be alone in that endeavor since he’s a coffee drinker first and a human second. Send him some cute pics of you, though, he’ll appreciate them after a mission and tell you how good you look.

König: He sort of likes poetry, actually. While he hasn’t read enough to actually have a favorite, he likes the way it sounds when read, either out loud or in your head. While he, by no means, could ever write a poem himself, English or German, he does like to read some every once in a while. He has an anthology at home he never got around to finishing. It’s a calming hobby. However, he finds himself with a favorite poet once you show him your writing. He’s very supportive of you, asking you fairly often about your progress and how you’re doing, answering any and all questions you might have that might bring you some inspiration. Whenever he writes it’s somewhat dry, mostly because he’s used to writing reports these days and nothing else, so seeing your flowery, beautiful language makes him smile a bit. It makes him imagine the scenery very vividly, even if you don’t specify too much of your setting. He, too, will come visit you at work when he can, but he won’t make a ruckus. If he can talk to you, that’s fine, if he can help you sort some books, he’d love to, but if you just want to do your work in quiet, then he’ll grab himself a nice book and sit down quietly until you have time for him again. Might ask you some questions regarding some books, might ask you for some recommendations as well, but he respects your want for quiet. He also really likes your aesthetic, it’s such a contrast to what he’s used to. You don’t look like you’re fighting wars, you look as though you sit down at a park bench during late spring or early autumn to read some books, and he thinks that’s very nice. If you want to, then the two of you can sit together in silence while you’re reading some poetry and he’s reading the Schachnovelle. He’s more than happy to tell you about what he read or listen to you reading some of the poetry out loud as well. It’s nice, it’s calming. It’s so far away from what he normally does at his job, he could fall asleep to the comfort of it all. If you’re reading at home, he might put his head in your lap and just take a nap.

#cod #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #valeria garza #valeria garza x reader #phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #könig #konig #könig x reader #konig x reader #I used to write poetry back in high school and I always loved reading it #I remember going for a cozy aesthetic like that when I was hospitalized as well haha #drinking some tea while reading one of my Arsene Lupin books was actually just the best thing ever #I should really start reading some of my books again I have so many classics I never really touched which is a bit sad #I remember getting into poetry because of dmcv due to the character v #I never regretted it and I still think about that one poem from time to time #“I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe” “that made my love so high and me so low”#I have read that entire poem but it's been years since then #I was really into DMC V when it came out like four or five years ago or so haha

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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

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For the dialogue prompts: Steddie + 24. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” “Probably not.”

i did another one-shot with this prompt here as well :) (this is a no upside down au/high school au; eddie is a senior (his first senior year) and steve is a junior) {part 2 // part 3} cw: substance use; weed; very brief reference to child neglect & alcoholism; little bit of internalised homophobia

It's not often Eddie sees Steve Harrington in detention. Not often meaning never. He's out of place here, sitting at a creaky desk with Eddie and the others, in his pristine polo and shiny hair.

Eddie stares at him for a moment when he walks in, hovering in the doorway and eyeing Steve's posture. He's slouched in his seat, arms crossed, almost brooding, and Eddie feels rabid as Steve meets his eyes and cocks an eyebrow. But he behaves (for once).

He sits next to him, scooting his chair a little too close as he whispers, "What'd you do?"

"Nothing," Steve grumbles, and Eddie grins.

---

Steve's never actually talked with Eddie Munson. But that doesn't stop him from looking at him. He sees him in the hallways all the time, sees his hair that's almost at his shoulders, long and frizzy in a way that would be curly if Eddie took proper care of it. He sees him make faces at people, sees him draw in his notebook, and Steve is fascinated.

Eddie smiles like he's feral, all wide-eyed and shining, and Steve loves his smile, even if he doesn't admit it to himself. It's an exciting smile.

Somehow even though they've never spoken, Eddie seems perfectly comfortable sitting next to him (right next to him; maybe a little too close, but Steve isn't complaining) and talking to him.

"No, seriously," Eddie says. "What'd you do?"

Steve sighs, letting his head fall back to look at the ceiling.

"Uh." He keeps his voice quiet. There are other kids in the room, but none of them seem to care very much about the two of them. They're all sitting with their heads down on their desks, probably asleep. "I might have cussed out a teacher."

Eddie's eyes become even wilder, and his grin broadens, and Steve can't help but smile with him, his face flushing as Eddie knocks their shoulders together.

"You are so much cooler than I thought you were."

"Wow."

"Who was it?"

"Fisher."

"What'd he do?"

"Uh," Steve sighs again. "He, like, scolded me for not paying attention because I couldn't follow along, and I kind of just... snapped. Said he's a shitty teacher and maybe I'd be able to follow along if he wasn't so fucking boring."

"Steve Harrington. You're my hero."

Steve laughs. He hasn't laughed all day, but Eddie fucking Munson manages to get him to giggle, and then his face flushes with heat again.

They have to be quiet when detention actually starts, and Steve doesn't get the chance to ask Eddie what he did to get detention. But he can guess: he was probably late to class a few too many times, or neglected to turn in an assignment again. Something that Eddie is notorious for.

---

They fall silent when detention starts, and Eddie sees Steve lay his head down. He lets himself watch, admiring the way Steve pushes his hair out of his face before he sighs and looks across the room, blinking at the chalkboard. His eyes glaze over after a moment, and his eyebrows furrow like he's thinking hard about something. And Eddie is curious about what goes on in Steve Harrington's head. He has a feeling it's nothing good when Steve blinks his eyes, sniffling and tilting his head to lay it on his forearm. He looks like he's going to cry.

Eddie pulls his bag close and rips a scrap out of one of his notebook, rummaging around in the bottom of the bag for a pen before he scribbles a note and slides it onto Steve's desk.

you ok?

Steve lifts his head to look at him, and somehow his face falls even more as he reads it, and Eddie suddenly wants to wrap his arms around him, this boy he's never even spoken to, as Steve looks over at him and shrugs weakly.

What's wrong? Eddie mouths.

Steve looks back at the nose, biting his lip, and then he gestures for the pen, and Eddie passes it to him.

just feel like shit

Eddie looks at the note, contemplating, ultimately deciding that he can't give him a hug right here and now (unfortunately), and he draws the lines for tic-tac-toe before passing it back to Steve.

Steve looks at it and smiles.

He glances up at the teacher, who's reading something, and he moves his chair closer to Eddie, leaving the paper between them. The movement makes Eddie's stomach flutter, and he internally curses himself, because now is not the time to think about how he has a crush on a straight boy.

But he can't do anything about it, because Steve lays his head back down, drawing a little X in the center square, and his cheek squishes against his arm, and his hair falls to the desk, and he looks beautiful. Eddie looks away from him, but leans down, crossing an arm over the desk in front of himself and resting his chin on it.

They play three games, passing the pen back and forth. Steve wins the first two, and it makes him smile again and again, and Eddie decides he's set the world alight to make him smile. It makes his eyes squeeze shut in a way that's going to leave crow's feet behind when he's older. Eddie suddenly hopes he gets to see it.

Eddie sticks his tongue out at him like a child when he finally wins a game, drawing a sharp line through his Os, and Steve snorts, shaking his head at him.

Eddie sits up while Steve is staring at their next game, analyzing Eddie's Os carefully, and he stretches his back, looking across the room. Peters is asleep now, slouched over at his desk and snoring quietly, his book on his chest.

Eddie grins, elbowing Steve and gesturing with a jerk of his chin when Steve looks up at him.

Steve makes a face at Peters, looking oddly disappointed in him, and Eddie almost laughs, pressing his lips together when Steve looks back at him.

---

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Eddie whispers softly, and Steve glances him up and down, scanning his ripped jeans and his Megadeth t-shirt that's stained, the black fabric spotted reddish orange, his tangled necklaces and heavy rings.

"Probably not."

And Eddie just gives him this grin, this shit-eating, let's-break-the-law type of grin that makes Steve want to break the law. And Steve watches as he snatches the pen up from the table and grabs his backpack, standing up and crossing the room. The chains hanging from his jeans jingle happily, but Peters doesn't stir, and neither do the other kids, who just cast looks at Eddie and then lay back down or look back at whatever homework they're doing. Steve watches him, until he stops in the doorway like he can feel him watching.

Eddie turns back around, meeting Steve's eyes, and he gives him a look, widening his eyes and shaking his head before he beckons dramatically like they're going to be late for something. Steve glances at Peters, who hasn't moved.

And he follows Eddie.

Eddie is beaming when he follows him out, leaving their chairs behind, still out of place, and he starts to laugh as they head down the hallways toward the exit before he tosses an arm over Steve's shoulder, jostling him and messing up his hair. Steve doesn't mind.

---

"You're a terrible influence," Steve says, but he's smiling too, stumbling as Eddie pulls him along, arm still around his shoulders.

"But you were influenced so easily. You think I can get you into metal?"

"Absolutely not. Where are we going?"

They're exiting the building, the doors swinging shut behind them loudly, and Eddie just pulls him toward his van, standing out obnoxiously among the other students' cars.

"We're gonna smoke some weed," he says brightly. "Because you need it."

"In the school parking lot?" Steve questions, raising an eyebrow.

"Obviously not, we're leaving the school parking lot. I'll bring you back for your car when we're sober."

"Oh. Okay."

He just goes with it. He seems lighter than he did in the detention room, an absent smile on his face as he buckles himself in, looking around Eddie's van. It's a mess, but Eddie supposes it's representative of him. Steve jumps when Eddie turns the van on and the music comes on, the volume too loud, but he just laughs when Eddie headbangs as he buckles up.

They end up at the quarry. It's oddly quiet when the music turns off, replaced by the gentle sloshing of the water below them, by the leaves rattling in the wind.

They move to the back of the van, sitting opposite each other with their legs hanging over the edge, dangling above the dirt and gravel, and Eddie looks at Steve as he looks around, at the sky, which is now a soft grey.

"Why do you feel like shit today?" Eddie asks as he pulls a bong out from where it's hidden under a blanket.

Steve looks at him, his head falling back, and he looks tired, but relaxed. His shirt is wrinkled now.

"Just... I don't know. I feel..." He watches Eddie get the weed ready, eyes half-shut like he's going to fall asleep. "Tired. All the time. My dad was in town last week and he..." He's quiet for a moment. "I don't like him very much."

Eddie looks at him solemnly. One of his legs is propped up, his arm around it, the other kicking the air weakly.

"Is he gone now?" he asks before he takes a hit, the sound of the bubbling water filling the van.

"Yeah. Spain, this time."

"Spain? For what?" Eddie questions when he lifts his head, wrinkling his nose and exhaling.

"Who fuckin' knows, man," Steve says, laughing lightly, but it's a forced laugh, and Eddie can tell he wishes he knew.

"Does your dad suck?" he asks, passing the bong and lighter to Steve, who sighs and takes them. His chest rises and falls as he takes a hit, and Eddie's eyes follow the way his lips part to let the smoke out.

"Yeah."

Eddie nods.

Steve takes another hit, looking out across the quarry as he exhales, eyes a little glazed over.

"He wants me to..." Steve pauses, holding the bong back out to Eddie and sighing. "To follow in his footsteps. With his business and everything."

"Do you want to?" Eddie asks softly, gazing at him. Steve scoffs.

"Fuck no. 'D rather fuckin' die."

A laugh bursts out of Eddie and Steve grins lazily at him.

"What would you do?" Eddie asks. "If you got to pick. You graduate high school and then..."

Steve hums breathily, slouching and fidgeting with the end of the blanket as Eddie takes a hit.

"Probably just... take off," he says finally, his voice soft and thoughtful. "Pack my shit 'nd just leave."

Eddie exhales the smoke, smiling.

"You don't like it here?"

Steve scoffs.

"Hate this fuckin' town."

"This town loves you," Eddie points out, but Steve's face just falls a little, and he shakes his head.

"...They love who they think I am," he says softly after a moment. "They love King fucking Steve, not me. I wanna go."

"Isn't that the dream," Eddie says softly, ignoring the way his chest hurts for him. He wonders if he's the only one who knows Steve. This Steve, this... fragile, lonely boy.

"You too?"

"Jesus, yeah." Eddie passes the bong to him, still smiling, and he tosses the lighter. Steve catches it against his chest, looking at him curiously. "Hate this fuckin' town, man."

"You're not from Hawkins," Steve says. "Right?"

"Nope." He watches Steve flick the lighter, watches him duck his head to take a hit, watches his shoulders rise as he inhales. "Moved here with my uncle when I was nine."

Steve looks up, giving him a curious look as he leans back against the side of the van and exhales slowly.

"Why're you here?"

Eddie hums lightly, reaching for the bong. Steve tosses the lighter and giggles when Eddie doesn't catch it. Eddie flips him off. He grins.

"Dad was more into drinking than he was being a father," Eddie says. "And Ma didn't stick around long after he took up liquor. So. Wayne stepped in."

"Is he nice?" Steve asks after a moment, his voice so small it almost disappears behind the bubbling water. Eddie nods as he lifts his head.

"He's real nice," he says. "Kinda my best friend."

Steve smiles, listening.

"But he knows I hate it here. Knows I wanna leave as soon as I can. He's cool with it."

"Where would you go?" Steve asks, drawing both knees to his chest and leaning forward, hugging them to himself as he looks at Eddie like Eddie's going to tell him a story. He looks so young, like he's just a little kid, daydreaming about escaping a lonely town. Eddie's chest aches.

"Maybe San Francisco," he says softly, setting the bong aside. "Or some other big city. Somewhere I'll see other people like me. Somewhere I don't have to worry as much about being stared at, you know?"

Steve looks at him, his chin on one of his knees, and his eyes are shining at him.

"I like looking at you," he says after a moment, whispering. Eddie's stomach flutters again, and he smiles as Steve's face flushes pink. "...I'm kind of a lightweight. Sorry."

"'S okay," Eddie says softly, mirroring him, wrapping his arms around his legs and gazing across at him. "I like looking at you too."

He really does. Eddie always thought his eyes were brown, but they're hazel, lighter up close, specked with green and gold and the stars. His skin is spotted with moles that Eddie wants to memorize. Steve relaxes a bit at the confession, his lips curving into a smile, and he leans closer. Eddie leans closer too.

---

"Where would you go?" Eddie whispers.

He doesn't have to speak any louder. It's so quiet now, especially when Steve's head is a little cloudy and everything feels muffled.

"Anywhere," Steve whispers back. "Just... pack up and drive. Follow the roads to wherever they take me."

Eddie is smiling. His eyes keep flicking across Steve's face in a way that makes him feel a little self-conscious, wondering if there's something on his skin, but Eddie is just looking at him, his eyes aimlessly wandering across his face.

"Sounds nice," he says softly.

They fall silent, and Steve gazes at him. He looks so... soft.

Everyone makes him out to be so scary. Like he's a stray dog, like he's dangerous, but his eyes are dark and shiny, and he doesn't look threatening or menacing at all right now. His head is tilted like he's curious about what Steve is thinking, and his hair looks fluffy, and he just looks a little sad.

Steve wants to kiss him.

He hates himself for thinking it, for thinking how easy it would be to just... lean over. They're so close, and Steve's brain feels fuzzy, and for some reason, he doesn't think Eddie would mind all that much if Steve kissed him. But he can't.

Boys like Steve don't kiss other boys.

Especially boys like Eddie Munson.

It makes his chest ache, and his lip quivers. He sees Eddie notice it, the way the air shifts a little bit. Eddie's brows furrow, and he looks like he's pouting a little. And he's so adorable Steve wants to bite him.

"I hate this fucking town, Eddie," he says weakly, taking a breath to steady himself, because he doesn't want to cry. Not when he actually feels so... good. Good because he's a little high, but also good just because he's with Eddie, who doesn't seem to mind that Steve feels like shit. Eddie, who didn't tell him to just snap out of it, to just deal with it. Eddie, who just smiles despite the way Steve's eyes are glistening with tears, and leans in closer. (Close enough to kiss.)

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he whispers.

It makes Steve laugh, and he wipes the tears that fall down his face.

"Probably not," he says, still laughing softly, his voice wavering, and he sets his chin back on his knee, looking at Eddie. A soft gust of wind blows into the van, and Eddie's bangs shift and his curls fly into his face.

"Let's do it," Eddie whispers after another moment of looking.

Steve blinks. Eddie's smile widens.

"Let's get out of here," he whispers. "Let's just leave this fucking town, they don't need us."

Steve's heart beats faster, and he leans forward.

"Okay," he says.

"We should graduate first," Eddie says, voice still soft. "I gotta make my uncle proud somehow, so if I graduate this year, I'll wait for you, and then we can just..." He shrugs. "Pack our shit. Leave."

"Together?" Steve breathes.

"Yeah," Eddie says, as though it's obvious. Steve smiles, taking a breath, his legs falling as he stares at Eddie. He's serious.

Steve scoffs, smile widening.

"I can, uhm." Eddie swallows, shifting so he's crossing his legs. "I've been thinking about applying at that mechanic that's outside town, Morgan's? I heard they pay well, so I can... I can save some money up."

"I can get a job too," Steve says, almost excited. "There're tons of places in town that are hiring, and I can-- I can save up my allowance from my parents. And I can sell my Beemer."

"Your Beemer?" Eddie says, eyebrows flying up in surprise, which makes sense, Steve supposes. The care is practically who he is, what he's known for, but--

"We won't need it. We can take your van."

Eddie blinks, and his lips curve into a smile.

"Okay," he says softly. "Yeah."

They stare at each other for a moment as it sets it, and Steve's eyes burn.

"Really?" he asks weakly, and Eddie nods, smiling.

"Yeah," he says. "Fuck it. We'll take what we need and we'll just... go. Follow the roads to wherever."

Excitement floods Steve's body, and he moves onto his knees, taking a sharp breath, smiling and smiling and smiling.

"We can-- We can put a mattress back here," Eddie says, looking around the van. "We'll have to share, but--"

"I don't mind," Steve says abruptly. "I don't-- I don't mind sharing."

Eddie's eyes flicker across his face again.

"Okay," he says softly. "And we can... bring some bags and sort them out back here, and-- and food and water, and we can take turns driving. And every night it can be like this," he says, moving a little closer. Steve aches. "We can find beaches, and lakes, and mountains, and we can get high and just explore." His eyes are gleaming excitedly, and he's smiling. "I'll bring my tapes, and you'll get used to metal."

Steve giggles.

"Can I make you listen to my music too?" he asks, and Eddie gives a dramatic, silly eye-roll.

"I guess." And then he's just smiling. "I can bring books."

"Will you read to me?" Steve asks, and then his face flushes with embarrassment. "Just-- I'm not-- I'm not good at reading and--"

"I'll read to you, Stevie," Eddie says gently.

"...Okay."

They look at each other again.

"I can bring some maps," Steve says. "Atlases and stuff. So we know where gas stations are and stuff."

"Yeah, that's smart."

Steve doesn't hear that often. His face flushes with heat again.

"God, I'm so excited," Eddie says, and he's got that grin again, that grin that could convince Steve to do anything. "We just have to graduate. Then we can go."

"How soon after grad?"

"Soon as possible," Eddie says. "I'll pick up my stuff and say goodbye to Wayne, promise to send him postcards 'n shit, and then I can pick you up."

"I won't say bye to my parents," Steve decides out loud, shaking his head. "I'll just-- just leave them a note telling them I'm fine. Or if they're at home, I'll just go."

Eddie nods, eyes bright.

"We're gonna run away together," Steve realizes, his voice soft as he gazes at him, and Eddie tilts his head.

"Yeah. We are."

Steve hugs him.

---

Eddie startles with how sudden it is, Steve tacking him with a hug so hard they fall back against the wall of the van, but he wastes no time hugging him back, arms tight around his waist as Steve buries his face in his neck.

"Sorry," Steve says into his neck.

"Don't be," Eddie mumbles. "Wanted to hug you for ages."

Steve's arms tighten around him, and he settles against him, leaning so their chests press together. Eddie slides his hands over his back, pressing one into his hair. He smells nice.

It's a while that they stay there, wrapped around each other, but Eddie is content to stay there all night, as long as Steve needs.

When they finally part, they don't let go of each other. It's slow, the way Steve's hands slide to his neck, his fingertips cold and his palms warm as they press to his skin, and their faces are so close.

Steve's breath is warm on Eddie's face. Eddie tilts his head, and their noses brush.

He startles away, stomach flipping over, and Steve is looking at him, wide-eyed.

"Were you about to kiss me?" he asks breathlessly. Eddie's stomach clenches.

"I..." Of course he'd ruin everything so soon. "Yeah, I'm-- I'm sorry, I won't do it again, I just..."

But before he can spiral, Steve is reaching out and grabbing his face, pulling him in, and their mouths crash together. Eddie's eyes widen, and his hands fly into the air as he startles, but Steve just holds his face, and they're kissing.

Eddie closes his eyes, his hands finding Steve's shoulders, and the kiss softens as Steve slides his fingers into Eddie's hair.

---

It is soft.

Eddie is soft.

Steve moves closer as Eddie squeezes his shoulders and runs his hands over his biceps, his fingertips slipping under the sleeves of his shirt. Eddie follows, holding him with one hand and using the other to catch himself as he falls back against the wall of the van, and then he's pulling Steve closer by the belt loops of his jeans, and Steve falls against him. They're barely kissing now, just grinning against each other's mouths.

Steve kneels between his legs, spreading his knees to move as close as possible, so Eddie's legs are over his thighs, and he reaches to hold his face again, his palms pressing to Eddie's (soft) cheeks, fingers slipping behind his ears. He kisses softly too, almost tender as he presses a hand into the small of Steve's back and pulls him close. Steve hums, pulling back to tilt his head, glancing at Eddie's lips before he leans back in. They're kissed red, and Steve feels like his heart might be glowing.

Eddie tugs at his back again, shifting and sliding a hand down his thigh, squeezing and pulling

"C'mere," he mumbles. "Sit on my lap."

Steve giggles, shifting so he can sit atop Eddie's thighs.

"Thought you were gonna take me back to my car," he says quietly, pressing a soft kiss to Eddie's lips. Eddie's hands slide over his waist, and he tilts his chin up to look at him.

"I said I would when we're sober," he says, and Steve realizes what he's been looking at when his eyes flicker over his face. "Are you still high?"

Steve pauses, blinking at him.

"Mm... My head feels fuzzy but I can't tell if it's the weed or if it's because you're kissing me."

Eddie hums thoughtfully.

"Maybe we should stick around here a while longer just in case," he whispers. Steve smiles, leaning down and closing his eyes as their noses brush.

"Okay."

Eddie tilts his chin up. Steve kisses him.

"Can we do this when we run away together?" Steve murmurs when they part after a while, breathless.

"'Course," Eddie whispers, kissing him. He reaches up and holds the back of Steve's head, his fingers tangling with his hair, and Steve doesn't mind. He kisses him. "We can do whatever the fuck we want."

"Okay."

He kisses him. And kisses him, and kisses him, and he revels in it like the sunlight. Because he's kissing a boy, sitting atop his lap and feeling his warm hands run over his waist and back and legs, listening to his deep voice let out soft hums and breathy whispers of Steve's name as it all intensifies. And Steve never thought he'd find himself here, but he loves being here.

He runs his fingers through Eddie's hair, untangling it carefully as he sucks on Eddie's lower lip, and Eddie hums quietly, fingers pressing and kneading Steve's thighs in a way no one's ever done before, but it feels so good. Steve sighs.

The sky is dimming when they finally part for more than just breaths between kisses. Eddie laughs softly, hugging Steve's waist.

His hair is messy, frizzy from Steve's fingers, and Steve's shirt is partially untucked from Eddie's, and he kind of feels high, but it's definitely not the weed.

The feeling fades as they drive back to the high school, as Eddie reaches over and holds Steve's leg, as Steve reaches down and twists their fingers together. The parking lot is empty except for Steve's car. (Steve's care car that he's going to sell.)

"I'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart," Eddie says as Steve is getting out of the van. Steve blushes.

"You got a pen?"

"Uh... Yeah?" Eddie rummages through the glove compartment for one and hands it to Steve, who kneels on the passenger seat and pulls at Eddie's hand, uncapping it with his teeth. His brows furrow in focus as he carefully writes his phone number on Eddie's hand.

"Call me," he says as he finishes, the words slurred about the pen cap, and he lets go of his hand, capping the pen again. "When you get home."

Eddie looks at the number, smiling.

"Okay."

He tilts his chin up, which Steve is already learning is his silent sign for wanting a kiss, and Steve leans back into the van, ducking to avoid hitting his head as he stretches over the center console, a hand holding himself up on the passenger seat as he kisses Eddie. Their lips don't land square on each other, and they're both smiling too much to really kiss each other, but Eddie's hand is warm when it finds Steve's cheek, and it's perfect.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he whispers against Eddie's lips. Eddie's fingertip traces his jaw.

He has to tear himself away from Eddie after one last kiss.

He'll invite him to spend the night sometime when he calls him.

dialogue prompts!! ❧ buy me a coffee // check out my commissions ☙

#this is so much longer than i intended #will do the others tomorrow if i have time!!!#this was v fun i love high school aus #also love ppl falling in love unrealistically fast #i am a hopeless romantic #obviously #steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie one shot #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson fanfic

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darkjimxn · 2 months

Text

Chapter 3: Stalker [M]

Summary: “A manwhore and a junkie… it’s a match made in heaven.”

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: High School au, angst

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: 18+, substance use disorder/drug addiction, PTSD, child abuse, sexual content (not explicit), additional warnings might be added as story progresses.

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update, my motivation has just been so bad because of uni. And now with exams coming up, I can't really promise anything, but after my exams are over I'll definitely be more active!

“God, I want you to absolutely wreck me.”

The bedroom suddenly quieted, its dim lighting beginning to wrap around the walls and furniture of the room to form an uncomfortably suffocating atmosphere. Or maybe Jimin was just projecting his own deteriorating feelings onto the innocent space. He was well aware that his mind shouldn’t have latched onto the words of the innocent woman he currently had pinned to his bed, shouldn’t have started picturing her wishes in his head, yet he couldn’t stop it. He’s never been able to stop it. But that didn’t stop him from trying every time.

The more he envisioned the actions, the more he could feel those familiar ghostly hands crawl up his spine. His mind grasped at something, anything else to focus on.

In his desperation, his unsteady gaze dropped to the girl beneath him. She was the epitome of conventionally attractive, with long, light brown hair sprawled around his mattress and dainty facial features. Modelling agencies would probably die for this girl if she gave them a chance.

But at the moment she was just a distraction. Or at least she had been, until she had opened her mouth.

The logical part of him tried to remind himself that her words were just that: words. She was just a horny girl expressing her preferences. It made sense, considering what they were about to do. And if anything, Jimin appreciated it when women told him what they wanted. It made his life a lot easier.

But those particular wishes churned uneasily in his stomach as he felt the hands continue to travel up his spine, finding a cosy spot on his neck. His heartbeat, which had been racing for an entirely different reason, now thumped painfully in his chest as it quickened in pace.

This can’t be happening right now, he thought with a mixture of frustration and desperation.

Jimin pushed the impending, but familiar, feeling aside, choosing instead to focus on Emily.

That had clearly been a mistake.

“Like, tie me down. Choke me. Use me like a freaking slut. I swear I haven’t been railed in weeks,” she continued while running her fingers through his hair, completely oblivious to Jimin’s deteriorating state.

The feelings he had shoved aside pounded against his poorly constructed dam, fueled by the implications of Emily’s words. He could feel the ghostly hands press harder against his neck, labouring his breathing in the process. It was a telltale sign of the panic that had become so familiar to him. He knew now that there was no escaping this episode, no matter how hard he tried to steady his breathing and calm his nerves.

What he needed to do was get out of here.

“Those are a lot of demands to cover in one morning,” he said with a forced chuckle, hoping his voice wasn’t as shaky as he felt, “give me a minute, I’ll be right back.”

Before Emily could protest, Jimin slipped off the bed and half stumbled into his bathroom, just barely managing to lock the door.

And just like that, the dam broke.

Jimin collapsed onto the tiled floor, desperately trying to get some air into his lungs as memories started to flood his mind. They flashed before him like a montage, nightmare after nightmare stealing his ability to breath. At first, he was back in his childhood home, watching his father push his mother down a flight of stairs while screaming at her like a madman. Jimin could feel his heart racing in his chest as he wondered if she was dead.

But before he could run to her, his memories moved onto the day his father found out his wife had left. Jimin hadn’t even registered the fact that he’d never see his mother again before his father was on him, shouting at him while his hands enclosed around his neck harder.

Then he was in his old bedroom, watching the bat in his hands crash into his father’s head as he heard a feminine scream. There was blood everywhere, in the room, on his hands. He tried to wipe it off frantically as it burned his skin, but it didn’t matter. The more he wiped off, the more it spread up his arms.

All he could do was sit helplessly on the floor of the bathroom, head between his knees, as he shook uncontrollably and gasped for air. But the air wouldn’t come. It was like the ghostly hands had finally succeeded in crushing his windpipe and he could no longer fill his lungs.

Jimin lurched forward suddenly, feeling his heart hammer painfully in his chest. He swore this time was different.

He swore this time he was going to die.

His hand slapped desperately against the counter before it made contact with smooth metal. Relieved, his fingers wrapped around it, pulling it upwards until he could hear the faint sounds of water rushing out of the faucet. He tried to aim his attention to the sound of the water spewing out of the tap, listening intently to the way it sputtered out of the circular piece of metal. Then he focused on the water splashing against the smooth marble sink, running against it momentarily before it was swallowed up by the drain. He could hear the water crash against the pipes under his sink as they whisked the water away.

It took him what felt like hours to really focus on the sound, letting it sooth him as much as it could. Jimin imagined his memories and panic seeping down the drain alongside it, the black plastic pipes guiding them far away from himself and his house. His breathing started getting a little easier with every passing moment as the memories of his father began to seep back into the locked portion of his mind.

With small pockets of air now able to enter his lungs, Jimin managed to bring his hand down to the floor. He dragged two of his fingers against it in circles, focusing on the cold of the tile seeping into his fingertips and the rough line of grout between them. He inhaled as his finger met one half of the circle, stalling there for a moment, before exhaling as he completed the round.

When Jimin finally felt himself calm, only the remnants of a few mild tremors left, he let his back drop against the glass side of his walk-in shower with a sigh. A lingering soreness was spreading throughout his chest as he felt his sweat-soaked shirt stick to his back. Although he was more than familiar with episodes like these, he couldn’t help but wonder why this one had been so particularly bad.

Either way, the “attack” had left him exhausted, to the point that Jimin almost considered skipping school today. It was especially tempting, considering how much Taehyung had been bothering him recently about the therapy and whether it was working. Jimin had to remind him that he had only gone to one session, though he didn’t mention just how much he had hated it.

But Jimin knew that there were a few concepts he needed to clarify in his first class, so ditching school was out of the question.

Not to mention, Jimin’s second period had gotten a lot more interesting when the school had decided to transfer him to a different class because of a few scheduling issues. Particularly your presence had intrigued him, because he was so confused as to how he’d never noticed you before. Sure, Jimin had only been attending this school for the past two years, but he still found it hard to believe that the two of you had never crossed paths. He’d have definitely remembered if that were the case. You were, without a doubt, the most attractive woman he’d ever met, there was no way he would have overlooked a face like that.

Jimin stretched forward, just barely managing to close the faucet without having to get up from his position on the floor. You were fun to tease, and definitely something during sex. Jimin didn’t think he’d ever enjoyed sex as much as he had with you.

His gaze dropped as he remembered the bottle that had been clutched in your hand that night at Taehyung’s house. It had been a shock to him that you were using, even though technically he was well aware he didn’t know you at all. He wondered if your addiction stopped at Adderall, or did you do more than just that? He hoped you didn’t, for your sake.

Jimin had wanted to say something about it when he had dropped you off, encourage you to choose a different path for yourself. But he couldn’t seem to find the right words. He had used them all up when his father was still alive, none of which were successful of course. So instead he had walked away, guilt nibbling away at him with every step.

“Jimin?”

Jimin’s head snapped towards the door as Emily’s muffled voice passed through it. He had practically forgotten that she was still there, too wrapped up in his panic and then his thoughts to remember that she’d probably been waiting for him to come back to his bed. He knew he couldn’t do it. She clearly wanted things that he just couldn’t give her. The prospect of having to explain some lousy excuse to her suddenly made him exhausted all over again.

But thankfully Emily spoke up again before he could reply, “look, my first class starts soon and I can’t miss it. I guess we’ll have to do this another time.”

He could hear the disappointment in her tone before he listened to the sound of her footsteps as she walked out of his bedroom, followed by the sound of his front door shutting quickly. When he was sure she was gone, he stood from his spot and made his way to his bedroom, picking up his phone to confirm the time. Emily wasn’t wrong, his first class was starting soon. He would have to get going as well.

Jimin walked back to his bathroom, standing in front of the mirror above the sink. His gaze scanned the damp, rust-coloured hair sticking to his forehead, and then the beads of sweat travelling down his neck. He grimaced. First, he needed a shower.

Jiwoo was in a mood.

You had begun to suspect as much at the end of your first class, when she had kicked your bag while stomping out of the classroom. Although Jiwoo was always pulling stunts like that, she’d usually accompany it with an irritating taunt or mocking expression. But it wasn’t until right before second period, when she had purposely bumped into the open pencil case on your desk to scatter it all over the floor, when you became certain.

Jiwoo was in a mood.

You watched her drop into her seat near the front of the class with an angry huff, uncharacteristically not even bothering to spare you a fake “oops.” Normal Jiwoo was far from a saint, but god did annoyed Jiwoo unlock a different type of rage in you. Her irritation made you wonder how her parents’ divorce was going. Probably not great, if her mood today was anything to go on.

With an annoyed sigh, you slipped off your chair and lowered yourself to the floor to focus on collecting your things, trying to calm your raging heartbeat and shaking hands in the process. You weren’t sure whether it was because of Jiwoo or the Ritalin. This was your third day on Ritalin even though you had vowed to never take the stuff again. You didn’t really have much of a choice. There was still no news on Yoongi, which meant you were still out of Adderall. And although Ritalin made you crazy with nerves, it still somehow managed to help you focus on your schoolwork. Not to mention you’d much rather be a jittery mess than the dead zombie that your Adderall crash had reduced you to.

Unfortunately, until you could get your hands on some Adderall, Ritalin was your only option.

You shoved the last of your supplies into your pencil case, brows furrowing when you noticed that you were missing your eraser. But one scan of the floor showed no sign of the white rubber.

You checked under your desk and then your chair, wondering where it could have disappeared to.

It wasn’t until a pair of black dress shoes and grey dress pants appeared in your line of sight when you realised where your eraser had gone.

“Looking for something?” Jimin asked in a teasing tone, holding out your white eraser between the tips of his index and middle fingers.

Your gaze reluctantly travelled up to his smug face, the feeling of annoyance a natural response to his presence at this point.

“Stealing my car wasn’t enough? Now you want my eraser too?”

Jimin’s head tilted for a moment before he rested a hand on your desk and leaned forward so that his next words could only be heard by you.

“Why would I want anything more when I’ve already got you on your knees for me, kitten?”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the tempting view of his sharp jawline, before grabbing your pencil case and pushing yourself off of the ground. Leave it to Jimin to turn every instance into an opportunity to flirt.

“Weren’t you the one that said I had to ask for sex the next time I wanted it? What happened to that?” You asked with a low voice before taking back your eraser.

“I never said I couldn’t be tempting.”

Then, to your surprise, Jimin dropped into the empty desk beside yours instead of his usual seat behind you. It took you a second to register the sudden change, and then another to eye him weirdly.

But before you could ask him what he was doing, Mr. Kim walked into the classroom just as the bell rang. The students rushed to their seats to bring out their textbooks, some of the girls swooning over the alleged new shirt he was wearing. You took your seat quickly, sending Jimin a glare in the process.

Taehyung hurried into the room just after Mr. Kim, slipping unnoticeably past him before dropping into his usual seat. His eyebrows furrowed for a moment when he noticed Jimin wasn’t sitting next to him, and then they furrowed even further when he realised where he was actually sitting.

“Come on man, what happened to bros before hoes?” He muttered under his breath. You almost laughed at his sulky expression.

Mr. Kim began writing the lesson on the whiteboard, “please turn to page 245.”

You turned to the page alongside the rest of the class as Jimin did the same, distantly noticing your leg bouncing up and down unconsciously.

Mr. Kim turned back to the class, beginning the lesson by explaining the concepts on the page he had instructed everyone to turn to. He was one of the better teachers, so you were easily able to understand the seemingly complex concepts.

That was until Jimin started annoying you, just like he had been doing in class for the past few days. It was always small things, like sneakily drawing random doodles in your notebook when you weren’t looking or stealing your pencil every so often. It took everything in you not to throw your eraser at his face. Instead, you dragged your notebook and supplies to the other side of your desk with a huff.

That just made him laugh, one he had to muffle with his hands so Mr. Kim didn’t call him out.

The class went on like this, a mixture of evading Jimin’s antics while simultaneously trying to understand the lesson being taught by Mr. Kim. You honestly had to applaud the guy for being able to escape Mr. Kim’s gaze for so long. He was notoriously known for being an observant teacher, and because of that you were sure he knew a lot more student secrets than he let on.

However, Jimin’s antics had to come to an abrupt end when Mr. Kim placed his whiteboard marker down and faced the class, seemingly finished with teaching the lesson. He called up two students, handing them both stacks of papers to hand out to the rest of the class.

“Your next assignment will consist of a presentation closely resembling a seminar, where each group will be expected to accurately teach the class on an assigned topic,” he explained, characteristically professional and thoughtful with his words, “since the goal of this assignment will be to facilitate understanding, I will be expecting the incorporation of some creative elements in order to keep the presentation engaging in addition to being informative.”

One of the students that had been handing out the mini booklets finally reached you and Jimin, handing the two of you one each before moving onto Taehyung.

“The booklets in front of you go over the details pertaining to this assignment. Therefore, I expect you all to read through them thoroughly to avoid losing marks over small mistakes.”

Mr. Kim suddenly smiled, “although, with this being your senior year I doubt you all require such a reminder anyway.”

You watched Jiwoo’s hand shoot into the air as you tried to keep Jimin’s hands off your booklet. Mr. Kim nodded towards her before she spoke, “will we get to choose our own groups?”

“No, I will be assigning the groups, as well as the topics,” he replied, earning him a number of whines and groans. But Mr. Kim merely chuckled, amused, but not willing to change his mind.

He then turned to the first row of students, grouping them in pairs based on their seating. You groaned inwardly when you realised the pattern he was going by and who, in that case, would end up being your partner.

“Jimin and Y/N,” Mr. Kim grouped, but then paused when he noticed Taehyung sitting without the deskmate, “and Taehyung.”

“Mr. Kim,” Jiwoo said once again, but this time you rolled your eyes knowing what she was going to bring up, “isn’t it unfair that one group has three students? That will lessen their workload compared to everyone else!”

You noticed Jiwoo send you a mocking smile for a moment, clearly trying to incite you.

Witch.

“You may rest assured, Ms. Kim. I will ensure everything is as fair as possible,” he reassured with a small smile. But Jiwoo just slid down in her seat, annoyed that her plan to make your life harder had pretty much failed.

You wished she turned around so you could send her your fakest smile. On one hand was Jiwoo, the most annoying witch in existence, and then on another hand was Jimin, the most annoying jerk in existence.

What has your life come to?

When the bell finally rang and Mr. Kim dismissed the class, you crumpled one of your rough pieces of paper and threw it at Jimin’s face with a glare.

It wasn’t much, but boy did it make you feel better.

“What was that for?” He asked, failing miserably at stifling a laugh.

“You know what.”

Ignoring Jimin’s amused glance, you packed your bag as your classmates began to chat with each other and started making their way to the cafeteria. You wouldn’t be heading there, though, since you usually spent your breaks in the library studying. It just felt better to get all your work out of the way so you could go home and just sleep for hours.

You walked out of the classroom, thankful that you could finally get away from the annoying thing known as Park Jimin, and then began walking to the library. The hallways were full of students relaxing and playing around with each other, making you think of Namjoon. He was away on some trip for a maths competition. Or maybe it was for a science competition? Either way, he was off doing his nerd stuff, so you couldn’t invite him to hang out after you finished studying.

You made it to the library’s front desk, sending a smile to the main librarian who returned it sweetly.

“Hello, have the study room schedules been made yet?” You asked.

She answered your question with a nod and, after giving her your name, she began searching the computer for your schedule.

Since the demand for the very limited number of study rooms in the library was so high, the school had decided to come up with a schedule system for the students that wished to use them, because a first come, first serve approach would be much too “barbaric” for a private school of course. Each student was given a schedule for which study room they were assigned to and when they could use it.

“Hi, can I get my study schedule please?” A voice asked, “my name is Park Jimin.”

Your gaze snapped to your side, finding Jimin standing right next to you.

Seriously?

“So you’ve resorted to stalking me now?” You asked, causing Jimin to turn to you with a surprised expression.

When his gaze fell on you, he grinned.

“How come I’m the stalker? You could very well be the one stalking me,” he said.

Before you could reply, the librarian walked back to her desk and handed you and Jimin your printed schedules. The two of you thanked her before walking over to the library’s elevator while looking them over.

Thankfully, you were scheduled for a study room on Wednesdays during break, so you didn’t have to find somewhere else to study at the moment.

You eyed Jimin when he followed you into the elevator, watching as he pressed the button to the floor you were also going to. The two of you seemed to be finding yourselves in each other’s presence a lot lately. It made you groan inwardly, knowing that the semester had only just begun.

It was like having a second Jiwoo since you and her were usually thrown together a lot due to your familial ties, but at least Jimin didn’t kick your bag or slap your pencil case to the ground. That earned him at least a few more points in your book.

The book’s name? “The Most Annoying People in Kim Y/N’s Life,” of course.

The elevator door dinged as it revealed the hallway of the second floor. Jimin walked out of it first, unfortunately taking a right into the hallway, which was the same way you were going.

You followed him reluctantly.

“Who’s following who now, kitten?” He said with a smirk, an eyebrow raised at you.

You simply huffed, “shut up.”

You didn’t bother to come up with a better comeback. All you had to do was make it to your study room, then you could finally get rid of him. This day had been filled with way too much Jimin, and you were actually looking forward to doing homework in a nice and quiet room over having to deal with his annoying butt.

Jimin continued through the hallway until he stopped in front of the door to the farthest study room from the elevator. The action made your eyes widen.

“No,” you denied immediately, stomping over to him before grabbing his schedule from his hand, “no way. There’s no way.”

Your mouth fell open as you took in his schedule, almost exactly identical to your own. The only day in which your and Jimin’s schedules didn’t align was Monday. Only one out of the five days of school in a week would you be free of him. No way. There was no way this was possible. Of all the insane things…

While you were distracted, a confused Jimin took your own schedule from your hands, looking over it curiously. It only took him a second to figure out what your issue was, but when he did, he couldn’t help himself.

Jimin burst into a fit of laughter.

“Stop laughing, this isn’t funny,” you whined, smacking the paper against his head. That only made him laugh harder as he fell to the floor with a hand clutching his stomach.

“Guess we’re stuck with each other now,” Jimin managed through his laughter.

You rolled your eyes, choosing instead to walk past him into the room. Fine, if you were going to be stuck with him, then you were just going to have to ignore his presence completely. It was the only ray of hope in your seemingly continuous misery.

You dropped into a seat at the large table, spreading your work out as you opened your laptop and began typing furiously against the innocent keys.

After a few minutes Jimin walked into the room, closing it behind him before he thankfully dropped into a chair away from yours and brought out his own work. You risked a glance upwards, catching a smirk on his lips that made your blood boil.

Your eyes stayed glued to your screen after that.

You expected him to annoy you the same way he had during your second period class by stealing your pencils or throwing a paper plane at you, but instead he remained focused on his work for a full half an hour straight. That came as a surprise to you because you honestly hadn’t been expecting him to be very studious. Maybe it was because he had annoyed you during class. Or maybe it was because you had unintentionally believed in the stereotype against guys that slept around. Either way, it was surprising when you managed to get through half an hour worth of work without any disturbances.

After half an hour, though, Jimin sighed, leaning back in his chair as he stretched his arms behind him. He’d taken off his blazer, so you could see the defined lines of his muscles stretch under his dress shirt. Your straying gaze quickly shot back to your screen, but not before Jimin had noticed your curious eyes. He smirked.

You were able to work for a few more minutes before Jimin suddenly leaned forward, eyeing you curiously.

“So,” he said, causing you to turn your head towards him questionably, “how did your dad end up reacting?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “what?”

“After the party, when you came home after midnight. I’m surprised he wasn’t already standing on the porch with a shotgun ready.”

You snorted, unable to imagine your dad doing that, “my dad’s not like that.”

“Oh, so he was cool with it and everything?” He asked.

You shifted in your seat, “no… I mean, I don’t know. He wasn’t home that night.”

Jimin nodded, “business trip?”

“Kind of. He’s a truck driver,” you explained, a little weirded out by the suddenly normal conversation but still appreciating the unexpected break from your work, “he’s usually only home on weekends. Otherwise he’s out driving across the country.”

Jimin’s eyes widened, “so he leaves you alone during the entire week? And sometimes he doesn’t even come back on the weekends?”

You shrugged, finding it odd how surprised Jimin looked, “yeah? I’m not a kid, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Jimin’s gaze dropped to the table in front of him, seemingly deep in thought. But you noticed a slight scowl in his features.

Weird.

You shifted to face Jimin, a question coming to mind, “but why are you only asking about my dad?”

Jimin didn’t look up from the table, “I heard what that girl said about your mom last Friday… I just kind of assumed…”

The room quieted into what felt like an awkward silence. You had the feeling that something you said had cut the surprisingly normal conversation short, but there was nothing you said that could have offended him so you didn’t really understand why that was.

You turned back to your work, brushing against the touchpad to light up your laptop’s screen once again. After sending one final curious glance at Jimin, you went back to your work.

But Jimin was clearly lost in thought.

The first thing Jimin noticed when he walked into the room was Lauren, who was sitting on one of the beige sofas situated next to the glass coffee table. She had been looking down at the binder she had shown him in their last session, reading over something intently before the sound of the door opening had her looking upwards and then smiling.

“Hello Jimin,” she greeted, to which he gave her a curt nod.

Thankfully, Lauren had already situated herself on the sofa facing away from the door, allowing Jimin to sit on the one that gave him a view of both the entrance and the window at the same time. Even in his sour mood, he was able to appreciate the gesture.

He knew Lauren was studying him, taking in his sudden attitude, but to his surprise she didn’t call him out on it. Instead, she closed the binder and placed it beside her on the sofa, bringing a much thinner notebook onto her lap in its place.

“Did you complete the Impact Statement worksheet I assigned in the last session?” She asked, to which Jimin nodded.

He had avoided starting it until the last minute, something he knew Lauren wouldn’t approve of considering she had given him that big speech about avoidance and how it wasn’t helping him. He just couldn’t help it, he’d spent years trying to rid his mind of that night’s memories. Anything that reminded him of it was discarded, any person that reminded him of it was avoided. Even the house had been sold the second it was passed down to him. So doing this Impact Statement? Something that would not only remind him about it, but make him think about it to a deeper extent… it had been hard.

“Could you read your Impact Statement out loud?”

Jimin’s eyebrows pulled together at the random request, confused as to why that was necessary. He wasn’t in kindergarten anymore, where they would make his class take turns reading various children’s books to each other.

He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the request. But he couldn’t make a fuss about it. He needed to give this therapy thing a genuine try, especially considering the enormous attack he had this morning.

Jimin brought out the statement from his school bag, unfolding it slowly. He cleared his throat before finally following along the hastily written words.

“This traumatic experience happened because I was stupid and did something horrible. I knew that my father wasn’t himself, I knew that he was under the influence, and yet I still ended up murdering him, my own father, like some kind of psychopath. Saying that that makes me a horrible person feels like an understatement, because being a killer is one thing, but being able to kill your family? That must make me even worse than a murderer. I feel like I don’t deserve anything good because of it. If anything, the world should bring me my karma and just end it already. I think that sometimes… that because of what I did, someone is just silently watching me and waiting for the right moment to get back at me. I feel like I’m never safe, like I constantly have to be on guard whenever I’m out. I feel like people should think the same about me too, they shouldn’t trust me either. My past is evidence enough that I might just lose it and hurt someone. I would hate to do that to Taehyung especially, the only person that’s genuinely been there for me. But anyways, the gist of it is that I’m not a good person. I make bad decisions. I feel unsafe all the time, especially when I’m around other men. Sometimes when I’m out I can imagine every grown man that looks my way hates me the same way my dad did, and that they’d go after me the first chance they got. I don’t want to get close to people because I feel like if I build any kind of genuine relationship, I’ll end up hurting them. That’s why I don’t think Taehyung should have a friend like me, that he deserves better. I don’t know how to make things better. I don’t think I’ll ever be normal again.”

The room fell quiet as Jimin set the paper down on the coffee table, wanting it away from him immediately. He was relieved that he was finally done with this assignment, though he hadn’t noticed how much he had ended up writing despite the limited amount of time he had to complete the worksheet.

“What did it feel like to write and then read the Impact Statement aloud?” Lauren asked, an expression of complete neutrality. He couldn’t help but feel grateful that she wasn’t disgusted by him.

Or at least she wasn’t showing it.

“It was hard,” Jimin admitted, gaze travelling everywhere but her, “honestly I didn’t start the worksheet until just an hour before I came here.”

Lauren surprisingly nodded, “the good thing is that you completed it nonetheless. It is difficult work, Jimin, and you were able to get through it. That takes a lot of strength.”

“But I should remind you that avoidance only helps in maintaining PTSD symptoms, right?”

Jimin nodded.

“How do you feel after reading the Impact Statement?” She asked.

“A little less anxious,” Jimin replied, though it was more the fact that he was relieved it was over than anything else. Whether his improved feelings were because the Impact Statement had actually helped or because of the relief he felt from it being over, there was no doubt that he felt better now compared to the anxiety he had been feeling when walking into this room.

“If doing the assignment in this way made you a little less anxious, then I wonder what it would have been like to have completed the assignment earlier in the week?” Lauren wondered out loud, but she didn’t dwell on it for long. She was clearly keen on changing the topic.

“Now, earlier it seemed that you might have been upset about something. Could you explain to me why that was?”

“It’s nothing,” Jimin said, shaking his head as he leaned back against the sofa. But he could feel his blood begin to boil once again, his thoughts from earlier apparently the flame. His anger simmered to the surface and, before he knew it, he was blurting everything out.

“It’s just… I was talking to this classmate of mine earlier today, just a normal conversation, and she told me something about her dad that kind of pissed me off.”

Lauren tilted her head, “can you tell me what she told you that made you so angry?”

Your words from earlier filled his mind once again, bringing the anger along with them. He had been furious throughout the rest of the school day, and all throughout the ride here, with your words and their implications repeating over and over in his head.

Jimin suddenly stood up and walked over to the window, his anger making him want to move around.

“The thing is, she’s actually this girl I hooked up with at a party last Friday,” he started to explain, not realising that he had begun pacing around, “I’d ended up taking her home that night because she didn’t really seem like she could get there on her own, so I just casually asked her about how her dad had reacted to her getting home so late. She started telling me about how her dad hadn’t been home that night because he’s a truck driver. In fact, she said that he usually wasn’t home at all throughout the week, and sometimes he didn’t even come back on the weekends that he’s supposed to.”

Jimin spun around towards Lauren, who had shifted so that she was still facing him, “can you believe that? What kind of father would leave their kid alone for weeks at a time? And does he even know what his own daughter has been doing in his absence? She uses, you know. I bet he has no clue.”

“But of course he doesn’t,” Jimin scoffed, “just one of the millions of examples of a grown man being absolutely useless and incompetent as a father.”

He turned to look outside once again, trying to focus on anything that could calm down his racing heart.

“Do you feel that way about your own father?” He heard Lauren ask from behind him.

“Obviously. He beat my mom, and then he beat me. That didn’t exactly make him father slash husband of the year. Nothing could justify his actions,” Jimin reasoned.

“Do you feel that your actions that night also can’t be justified?”

He paused, the question catching him off guard. Slowly, Jimin faced Lauren once again, “well yes, I’m not different from him. If anything I’m worse. He beat people. I murdered him.”

Lauren’s gaze bored into him in an almost unnerving way before she spoke, “‘murder.’ That’s a strong word.”

“It’s appropriate in this context.”

“From what you’ve told me, it seems like you killed your father after he had begun to hurt your girlfriend-”

“Ex,” Jimin said, his gaze not meeting hers, “ex girlfriend.”

“Ex girlfriend,” Lauren corrected, “your actions occurred in a very specific place and time, and under certain circumstances.”

“Yeah, but he still died. And I’m the one that killed him.”

“Yes, he died, and it seems, at least in part, because of your actions. Does that make you a murderer?”

“Yes,” Jimin answered straight away, not comprehending what was so hard to understand, “I took a bat to his head, and then he died. That’s murder. And that’s worse than anything he had ever done to me.”

“Really? You think it’s worse?” Lauren asked, her voice suddenly quieter. For the first time since these sessions started, Jimin thought he might have caught a little sadness in her expression. But the moment he caught it the expression disappeared, tucked back under that blanket of neutrality that he had become so used to. Distantly, he wondered if he had imagined it or not.

“On one hand, people were hurt. On the other hand, someone was killed. Obviously both situations aren’t good since people were hurt either way. But I killed him, he didn’t kill anyone.”

“It is true that the outcomes are different,” Lauren agreed, “but it’s the context that I wonder about.”

Jimin’s brows furrowed, “what do you mean?”

“Do you think what the intention was in those situations matters, regardless of the outcome?”

“No,” Jimin replied firmly, pulling back on the frustration in his tone,“in one case someone was killed. In another, no one was killed.”

Lauren paused for a moment, seemingly studying him with her characteristically neutral expression. When nothing was said for a few seconds, she clasped her fingers together before resting them over her lap professionally, “while it is true that your father died, and that your actions played a role in it, I think we might slightly disagree on the definition of the term ‘murder.’ It is apparent that his death has been a very difficult thing for you to accept, and that you are trying to make sense of that. From what you’ve told me, the sense that you appear to have made of his death is that you are a ‘murderer.’ I believe this is a good example of one of the stuck points that seem to have prevented you from recovering from this traumatic event. We’ll definitely be spending more time together on understanding your part in his death.”

Lauren then began to explain something about how important it was to be able to identify and label his emotions and thoughts, but Jimin’s thoughts were too stuck on her earlier words to pay any attention. He wondered about how intentions might or might not matter in the context of whether a death is considered a murder or not. When a person participates in an action that ends up with another person dead, he was pretty sure that classified the situation as a murder. He couldn’t really understand where the nuances existed in a situation like this.

But then again, Lauren’s suggestion hadn’t been too crazy of a thought either. If a person didn’t intend to kill the other, then would it still be considered a murder?

Had he intended to kill his father that night? Jimin wanted to say no and deny such a thing, because he really hadn’t wanted to do that. But he had taken a wooden baseball bat straight to his father’s skull, what other outcome had Jimin been expecting? Maybe intention did matter in general, but in Jimin’s case he concluded it made no difference.

“How do you feel about the death of your father?” Lauren asked randomly, catching Jimin’s straying attention. He had no clue what the context behind the question was since his thoughts had been elsewhere while she had been explaining it, which had caught him off guard.

“Um,” Jimin paused, having to think about it for a moment, “I know he did horrible things to me, like I’m aware his actions were wrong, but… a part of me felt a little saddened by his death. Maybe not because of losing him as a person, but losing him meant that I had lost the last of my family. It does make me feel sad when I think about it.”

Lauren nodded encouragingly, “and that is a completely natural reaction to have when you feel that you’ve lost something. It’s good to feel that sadness and let it run its course.”

Jimin let a breathy chuckle escape his lips, though there was no humour behind it, “feeling sad isn’t exactly something I enjoy- actually I prefer to avoid feeling anything at all. It’s just easier that way.”

Lauren crossed her leg over the other, continuing to focus on Jimin as she brought her clasped hand over her lap once again, “have you ever allowed yourself to feel sad?”

He shook his head, explaining that he’s always preferred avoiding anything and everything that had to do with intense feelings like that. Even the frustration he had shown earlier was a generally rare occurrence.

“Then if you’ve never allowed yourself to feel your emotions, how do you know that it would be easier not to feel them?”

Jimin was silent, processing the logic behind her words once again. He was starting to realise that therapy was a lot more logical than what he had initially thought.

“From what you’ve told me, avoiding your feelings hasn’t helped you very much so far. Maybe allowing yourself to feel the natural feelings associated with the traumatic event may help you recover from what happened?”

“Maybe…” He relented, knowing that her reasoning made sense to him.

But Jimin still couldn’t help but feel anxious at the thought of feeling his emotions. He didn’t even know if he’d ever truly felt them before. With a father that had been beating him for as long as he could remember, it really had just become easier to numb himself to the pain. He was scared of revisiting that pain, he realised. The pain that he’d been trying to run away from his whole life.

Lauren opened her binder to bring out a few sheets that were similar to the Impact Statement worksheet she had given him in their last session, except they clearly had a different purpose. She called them “A-B-C” Sheets, which again reminded Jimin of kindergarten, and explained how to go about completing them properly. She also explained how they were meant to help him begin to identify the things he was telling himself and his subsequent emotions before they had exchanged pleasantries and Jimin had walked out of the room.

Unlike the last session, where he had rushed through the door at light speed, Jimin took his time walking through the hallways and out of the building. This time his mind was filled with questions of murder and intention. He thought about feeling his feelings, and how long it had been since he had lost the ability to do so. He thought about you and your dad. He thought about everything.

There was just so much to think about.

So much to think about indeed.

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