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allmightluver · 3 years

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**bnha spoilers** I'm just sat here with renewed realisation of what All Might is going through. 40 years. /40 years/ he held and refined that power and dedicated his every waking (and sleeping if Vigilantes is anything to go by) moment towards the goal of defeating AfO and creating a society in which people could feel happy and safe. And now as it turns out AfO is still alive, society is broken and he has given a literal piece of his soul to this young boy leaving himself with only phantoms

Yes. I don’t think people quite grasp what all he’s going through.

It’s been shown recently to us that some, if not most, heroes have underlying ambitions in becoming a hero. Whether for money, glory, fame, popularity, doesn’t matter. They’re ultimately in it for themselves. Toshinori’s intentions from the beginning have been the most pure- he wanted to be a symbol that people can look to and know things will be ok. A symbol of hope. This boy was only around 14 years old when he decided this. What kind of 14 year old sees the world that clearly? Sees that people have no hope, that a veil of darkness covers them. The only thing I can think of is- Toshinori did not have a good childhood. Something had to have happened to a boy that young to stop seeing the joy in life so early, and see the world’s flaws. Truthfully, I believe he was an outcast- due to his quirklessness. Most likely an orphan, perhaps abandoned by his parents, as we’ve never seen him have any family. I do truly believe Toshinori has been alone all his life. I don’t doubt more could have happened to him as a child before he met Nana.

Some may argue that Izuku is the same age, and therefore it shouldn’t be that hard to see why Toshinori wanted to be a hero at such a young age. BUT, Izuku had someone to look up to, ever since he was a child of four years old, to inspire him to be a hero his whole life *cough cough* All Might. Izuku also was quirkless, much like Toshinori, and an outcast because of it (hence where I assume Toshinori was much the same). But ultimately, Izuku wanted to save people because he saw his hero do it. It really wasn’t until Izuku was a bit older, has been in UA, has been on rescue missions, has seen what the heroes see, that I think he’s truly realized how dark the world really is. Toshinori didn’t have that. He didn’t have someone to inspire him as a child, someone to look up to, a hero to inspire him to help others. At that time, heroes hadn’t become as popular as they are in present times. Toshinori saw the world for what it was, on his own, at a tender age. I think that day Nana ran into this blonde hair kid, she eyed him up, noticed his scraggly form, looked into those captivating blue eyes, and saw a man who’s lived through the world’s horrors- experienced the worst it has to offer-, and wants to save everyone he can from the same fate, all in a 14 year old boy.

Then after only a few short years with the woman he saw as his mother, she’s killed in front of him because of his own weakness- he wasn’t strong enough yet to protect her. The only other person his life, Gran Torino, literally abused him. He beat him to a pulp, taking his own emotions out on a teenager, and I doubt Toshinori said anything of it. He probably thought he deserved it. He’s still afraid of Gran Torino to this day, remembering the beatings and expecting more for his failures- even if he doesn’t know what they are surely he’s at fault for something, but he’s the only person who’s stood by his side for this long. Even while at a distance, and spouting nothing but criticisms along the way. But Toshinori had to put aside his own emotions to be that hope for everyone. He left everything he knew to go to a new country on his own, to learn how to be a hero, to be that hope for someone.

Vigilantes showed us just how hard he worked. Toshinori literally stayed awake with no sleep for days on end- 3 in the chapter I’m referencing- because people needed help, people needed saving, and no one else stepped up. He fought villains, rescued civilians, repaired damage, cleared rubble, (even accept and eat food that was against his dietary restrictions after his injury) whatever the public needed, all while draining himself further. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion because he had no help, once literally falling asleep while mid-leap across the city because he simply could go no further.

^^These happen in succession of each other^^

No one stepped up to say “Hey, Mr. Number 1, you’ve been working hard lately. Let me help you!” No one tried to take over his position. Even the Number 2 hero, Endeavor, never tried to take some of his burden. His only goal was to try to be better than All Might in terms of power- he was never trying to be the hero that the people relied on All Might for. Everyone relied on him when things looked grim. He was the back up plan. And all of this happened before Toshinori’s injury.

The only thing he ever wanted to do- help people- he can’t do (at least the way he’s always known how to). The ability to save people has been taken from him in the most gruesome way. He was finally able to fight the man that killed Nana, and in a rage that I’m sure echoed with all of the emotions of the previous users, he smashed that man’s head like a grape. But not without consequence. Several organs are gone. The pain is excruciating. He wears that man’s mark on his body for the rest of his life, never truly able to rid himself of the filth.

Then we have Nighteye’s betrayal. The man that helped him as a sidekick, the man that grew to be his only friend. Now some people may ask why Toshinori flipped like he did to Nighteye looking into his future when he was concerned about him making it through his injury. What I believe is Toshinori didn’t want to know when he would die (and really, who does). Now he knows he’s on a time limit, knows the clock is ticking. Time is running out to keep the world at peace, and with him as he is now, how long can this go on?

I think the betrayal, doing something that Toshinori specifically asked him not to do, is what hurt the most. How can he trust Nighteye anymore? He already can only count on one hand the people he can trust, let alone befriend.

He’s wasted away into a skeleton, a shell of the man he used to be. He can’t over exert himself without his only lung bleeding in protest. It’s canon in the side books that he really doesn’t eat much, which isn’t good for his diet without a stomach now (he’s supposed to have several small meals a day). He is quite literally punishing himself by starving. (Granted, he doesn’t feel hunger anymore.) He’s a sick man, beyond medical help at this point. They can only stabilize him and hope for the best. For five years now he’s in constant pain, every day. He loses blood like sweat. Surely his veins are bruised and collapsed with how many times he would have needed to be hospitalized. Whether from losing too much blood, being too dehydrated or starved from “forgetting” to eat, or an organ failing as body continues to fall apart. “...even as my body rots and grows frail...” - Toshinori People are bound to stare at him as he walks down the street. A tall, willowy, skeleton with a grimace on his face and blood stains on his clothes as he coughs up more into his own hands. There would be the ones who outright ignore him when they walk by, the people who offer pitying smiles and sympathetic glances or just outright stare, and then ones who are afraid of his appearance- children screaming at the mere sight of him and running to their parents to hide from the monster. Each one is another knife in Toshinori’s side, an ache in his chest. If only they knew who I really am.

Losing Nighteye took a toll on his hero work as well. Mirai was a huge help in the past, and took care of all Toshinori’s paperwork, while also reminding him to take care of himself. Without him, Toshinori was even more buried beneath his responsibilities. Plus, now he was on a time limit. He even snapped briefly in his first meeting with Tsukauchi, accidentally revealing himself as All Might because he was under too much pressure, and telling the detective he literally couldn’t handle doing everything by himself (who graciously took over the paperwork side of things for him).

He was living a double life now, having to lie to people left and right about who he was while in his small form, about how he became so sickly, why he was here in the first place who the heck is this skinny old guy. Surely he had multiple visits to the doctor while continuing to repair the damage done by AFO (there’s a limit to how much the body can handle at once. And things I’m sure continued to fail as time went on). Then he would be bedridden for as long as the doctors could keep him strapped to a bed, until he couldn’t take the people’s cries for help any longer, and would jump into action. (It’s also revealed he has something of a super hearing- able to hear danger- which may have been a form of danger sense of OFA that was never fully unlocked?. Either way, he surly could sense disasters happening while he could only lay and heal from his latest surgery. Those poor doctors must have had to re-stitch him several times). People blame him for not preparing society for his retirement, that he failed in passing on the torch so to speak, but in reality he did everything possible to keep society from falling for 40 years, doing all within his power just to keep things afloat. He is only one person. One human being, he can’t do everything despite trying to. Society failed All Might.

People blame him for not being a good teacher. He didn’t exactly have the greatest teacher himself to learn from. He’s never had to teach anyone anything, he just punches! He’s learning. And for his own credit, he’s an incredibly wise man, he has years of experience under his belt, and an intelligence score of 6/6, scoring up there with Nezu! He may not always have the right way to bring something up, but he’s doing his best. Yet even he blames himself for Izuku not being able to control his quirk better. Every time the boy hurts himself, it’s just another tally on the chalkboard of Toshinori’s failures. He himself knows the boy deserves better, better than him. Useless. Pathetic.

Then his friend from America, Dave, essentially became a villain trying to preserve Toshinori’s legacy after Toshinori told him about his injury. Dave went behind his back, threatened people, injured people (pretty sure people died), all for Toshinori’s sake. Something he didn’t want to begin with. Having to put your only other friend in jail for trying to help you surely couldn’t have been easy.

Oh, by the way? All For One isn’t dead. All Might will fight him again, publicly, have his weakened form exposed to the world, and have his own emotions toyed with as he finds out about his master’s grandson in the villain’s hands. Would Nana hate him for leaving her son alone like she’d asked, and dooming her grandchild to be raised by the greatest villain? Could he have done anything to save him? But Toshinori isn’t allowed to feel, he has to smile and push his own feelings aside once again, because there’s a villain to be fought, and only he can fight him. Despite coming out on top, he’ll have suffered severe head trauma, broken left arm, destroyed right arm, and several cuts and bruises that are sure to scar. And then, his quirk, the only thing that’s been allowing him to help people, the gift given to him that he carefully held for 40 years and molded into his own until his very consciousness was permanently carved into it, blows out like a match in the wind. And he’s done. Used up. Empty. Broken. Hollow. Alone, again.

He overhears his student, Bakugo, admit that he blames himself for All Might’s retirement. If he hadn’t been captured, All Might wouldn’t have had to save him, and he wouldn’t have had to fight AFO. Of course Toshinori knows that’s not true, his time was about to run out anyway. It would have happened one way or another. But how can he explain to this child that he wasn’t the cause of his hero, the world’s greatest hero, fighting for his sake, bleeding for his sake, being forced into retirement to keep him safe. Every time Bakugo sees the bandages covering Toshinori’s body is another reminder of the pain and sacrifice Toshinori willingly gave to keep him safe. Toshinori wasn’t held when his mentor died. He wasn’t told it was ok to be sad, that grief and mourning was a natural process, that it takes time to heal. He wasn’t told it was ok to cry. Instead his feelings were beaten out of him as he wondered if Gran Torino blamed him for Nana’s death. He already blamed himself How then, does he comfort a child mourning for him? For what he lost.

And then he gets the call to come to the hospital. Mirai, Nighteye, his old sidekick friend, has been gravely injured, much like he himself was only a few years ago, and most likely won’t survive the night. And to his horror, Nighteye is happy to see him, smiles at him, says he doesn’t hate him for what happened, only wants Toshinori to be happy. He can’t accept that, at least let him apologize, reconcile his sins before it’s too late! But it is. Another fractured piece of his heart gone.

Of course, seeing your students beat up and their arms completely destroyed must have hurt. Instead of being able to save these kids, they’re the ones that hurt themselves to save everyone else. And if Bakugo had kept OFA, things could have been very different (especially with what we know now of OFA and people with quirks). Toshinori wasn’t mad at Izuku for transferring it away, he’d never regret choosing Izuku, and I believe he still would have stayed by Izuku and Bakugo’s side should it have stayed in Bakugo, doing whatever he could to help.

As he tells Aizawa, “I’ve decided to live,” -that statement seems so melancholy, besides obvious reasons. It sounds more like another task he has to accomplish. He didn’t die he was supposed to die with the AFO fight, and now the whole life he lived is over. The world has no use for him anymore. If not for Izuku, he’d have nothing left keeping him here. But because his boy made him promise to live, he’ll do so. Though it almost seems like he says those words with regret. “I’ve decided to live.” Not, “I’m going to live!” “Nothing can kill me!” “I won’t go down without a fight!” No. “I’ll live if I have to, only because you asked me to.” The man is obviously and outwardly depressed. He has so many things against him. No doubt has severe PTSD, anxiety, among others. Not to mention his own physical health. Every day hurts. It’s painful to be alive. Why would he torture himself if he doesn’t have to? For you, my boy. You’re the only thing keeping me here. The only light in my dark world.

He tries to help Izuku find out the previous holder’s quirks, to help his boy in any way he can now that he’s worthless, and goes days on end without sleep, running his body into the ground. He even forgets Christmas. Only to find that by giving the boy the same gift he had received, he may have just doomed him to an early death, among psychological torture (danger detection). (Granted, he really doesn’t know how everything works, and he’s afraid to talk to anyone about it). His boy could live only half a life.

It’s only been a few months since he retired, and society has fallen into shambles. People are blaming him. People are dying. He watches helplessly as his colleague fight his fight for him, and end up battered, bruised, crippled, dead. He students, his boy, battle the monster he should have killed. Children are bleeding. This shouldn’t happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Is everything he worked for, everything he fought to protect, to build up, to inspire, is all for naught?! Did he live a foolish dream and doom the world? Was all the the friends he lost, tears he shed, the organs he destroyed, the pain he endures on a daily basis from the hole in his side, and the blood he continues to bleed every day, for nothing? The public, the ones he protected for so long, mourn his absence, but surely there are those among them who also blame him. The statue from his last fight in Kamino one that he never asked for was decimated in a mock of his catch phrase- the one that was supposed to give hope.

Now he can feel his own vestige speaking with Izuku in the OFA realm, even with out OFA in his own body anymore. His clock as nearly reached it’s limit, Nighteye’s prediction is due any day now. The only thing he wants is to see his boy smile at him, to give him some shred of hope. Yet the child remains unconscious, and Toshinori can’t even hold his hand from the bandages covering his arms. Will he still be able to fight? Is there any coming back from this now? Did I break him?

With all Toshinori has been through, I’m honestly surprised we haven’t seen him just outright break down. Anyone, anyone, else should have crumbled under the pressure of holding up the world for 40 years alone. And instead of being able to pass it on to someone when he can no longer bear its weight, it simply falls to into the abyss. People don’t credit All Might enough for everything he’s done. Most don’t realize the sacrifices he’s made. His character is so unbelievably profound and deep, it’s more than just the “I am here!” people focus on. He’s a deeply troubled, layered, complex character. And I can’t find fault within him.

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simplyotometrash · 3 years

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MC turns into MSheep!

Inspired by the lil anime announcement we got because I love MC still being represented by a lil sheepie~!

As usual, this is gender-neutral reader!MC

It was a total accident. You were just working on your potion project with Solomon. He was helping you with the math of it, mostly, since it was pretty complicated. You had no idea where things went wrong. There was a puff of pink smoke when you added the last ingredient and suddenly Solomon was a giant! Well, actually you were turned into a small pink sheep...

Lucifer:

He didn’t know what to say when Solomon brought you home.

You were a sheep. A tiny sheep. And very pink.

His beloved was a sheep.

Lucifer.exe has stopped responding.

Honestly, give this old man a few moments to take in the shock and let things settle.

Then he’s going to threaten Solomon because who else would have turned you into a fucking sheep?

A tiny voice sounded from the sheep. It sounded like you, only smaller.

“It was my fault. I think. Solomon didn’t even touch my potion ingredients.”

Well, that doesn’t change anything. Solomon had best change you back or else.

And those words shot pure ice through your veins. You knew when your Lucifer got pissed off, his threats were not to be taken lightly.

For the time being, however, you had to live as a sheep.

Lucifer didn’t hesitate to just carry you everywhere. What if you got lost? Or Beel tried to eat you? Or Belphie thought you were a pillow? Or Mammon tried to sell you?

There were too many variables and this old demon just wanted some peace of mind.

So you went literally everywhere with him. You two still talked as normal. You even slept in his room still.

You promised yourself to help him relax once you were human again. You knew your situation caused a lot of unneeded stress on the poor man.

It took three whole days before Solomon was able to change you back.

But when you were human again you didn’t expect Lucifer to hug you so tightly or give you such a firm kiss. He had missed his human being, well, a human far more than he cared to admit.

But you better make good on helping him relax. I think there’s some grey in his hair now.

Mammon:

Haha, good joke, Solomon! Now, where was his human? Really, where were they hiding?

He was so sure it was a prank and you were taking pictures from the bushes or something.

When you voice sounded from the small sheep Mammon nearly fainted.

What the fuck did Solomon do to his human?! The Great Mammon’s human was a sheep!

You explained your situation and Mammon only grew more jittery.

He was grinding his teeth. He didn’t hesitate, though, to snatch you away from Solomon and hold you like you were the most sacred thing in the whole of Devildom.

“Ya better turn them back! I can make money at the casinos so name the price!”

Oh he was serious. Mammon was willing to pay good Grimm just to turn you back.

And Solomon, after cruel teasing with pricing your return to human at over a million Grimm, said he would do it for free. After all, there was no telling if this would wear off or if it needed to be reversed.

So he would do it. It was a good chance to study your potion recipe and figure out how you fucked up.

Mammon, like his older brother, took you literally everywhere with him. But by everywhere I do mean everywhere. Lucifer at least had the decency to leave you out when he went to the bathroom. Mammon did not.

He was also making sure to keep you away from Asmo, who had fallen for your pink and fluffy form on sight.

Mammon talked to you like you were still human. He treated like his human.

But he also acted like you would break at any second. He had never been so careful in his life.

He honestly cried on the third day, worried you might be stuck as a sheep. He didn’t know what to do.

Of course, you were turned back by that evening. Solomon had dropped by to check in and the potion naturally wore off.

Mammon hugged you so tight you felt like you were being suffocated.

But he was back to normal the second Solomon joked that he wanted to get paid for his efforts.

Levi:

Once Solomon was able to get into his bedroom, Levi just about fainted at the sight of you.

He wasn’t even skeptical about this.

It was just like the anime “Help I’ve Accidentally Been Turned Into a Sheep and Now I’m Stuck!”. Literally, just like the anime!

You needn’t worry about anyone trying anything with you while Solomon worked to turn you back, it wasn’t like you would be leaving Levi’s room very much.

You were in his lap almost 24/7 save for when you needed food or to go to the bathroom. Or he needed to do the same.

His room was a fortress so you were pretty much safe.

You couldn’t remember the last time you got to spend quite that much time with your otaku. He could be difficult at times, especially when he was playing a game.

You actually relished the time spent as a sheep because of it.

Levi was not-so-secretly getting more and more anxious though.

He saw the anime! He made you watch it with him in one sitting, too! What if this turned out just like the anime and you never turned back into a human?

The main character in the anime was a sheep for an entire YEAR!

If he had a soul it would have left his body at the very thought.

By the end of the third day you could tell he was totally falling apart.

His partner was a sheep. Probably forever.

With a poof of pink smoke you were human again.

And Levi unconscious because, for some reason, you turned human and had no clothes on.

You just put on some of his clothes for the time being and called Solomon.

You caught a glimpse in the mirror as you were on the phone and told him to keep working on that reversal potion.

You still had sheep fluff for hair, horns, and sheep ears...

Satan:

If looks could kill then Solomon would have been dead where he stood.

The sin of wrath was so pissed off that there was an evil, menacing aura radiating from him.

And it was directed solely at Solomon.

“I don’t even want you working on a way to turn them back. You might be a great sorcerer but I’m going to do this myself.”

He snatched you away and slammed the door in the sorcerer’s face.

No one tried to bother him as he stormed back to his room.

“I promise I’m going to turn you back, MC.”

He poured over his books and had you give him the potion you had been making. You had to tell every single detail you could remember of what happened leading up to your transformation.

But he didn’t only focus on turning you back.

He couldn’t neglect you being in the room with him. You still brought out the calm within him and made him feel at ease.

When you insisted he take breaks, he would make some tea and give you a straw so you didn’t get tea in your wool.

Like he usually did, he read to you when you wanted to go to sleep. It was even more relaxing holding a warm ball of fluff.

But he barely slept.

He had to figure out a way to turn his favorite person back to normal.

You were still you, no doubt about that, but he missed you being a person. Someone he could kiss and hold hands with. Someone he didn’t have to worry about accidentally crushing or losing because you were so small.

He finally figured it out. He studied your potion recipe for hours on end until he figured out what went wrong. You had been given a recipe that had been “mislabeled”.

Knowing that made it a cinch to turn you back within the hour.

Now to murder the dodgy sorcerer who gave you the recipe for class to begin with.

Asmo:

“Whaaaaaat? MC? A sheep? Oh, darling, you are so cute! And so soft!!”

He canonically loves cute things (did you read the Devilgram story about him taking care of bunnies?) so he was having the time of his life.

And then it hit him as soon as Solomon laughed.

He couldn’t go out on dates with you. He couldn’t kiss you. Or see your stunning face. Your voice wasn’t the same.

Solomon promised to do what he could to fix this, but it could take a few days.

Did he spend the next hour crying and hugging your fluffy body? Yes, yes he did.

You got him calmed down, reassuring him that it was temporary and there were some perks. He would totally get lots of attention on Devilgram if he posted your pictures! You were pink, his favorite color! You had lots of soft wool he could brush and he could paint your tiny sheep hooves!

That perked him right up.

He spent the next several hours styling your wool, somehow managing to put braids in it. He gave you cute decorative pieces to wear in your wool, painted your hooves to match his nails, and even gave you a little bowtie!

And boy did his Devilgram blow up with attention at the sight of your pictures.

You even inspired his newest clothing designs! Clothing for pets! Devildom didn’t have a cute variety of pet clothes, and while you weren’t a pet, you were very inspiring to look at.

Even pets deserved to look beautiful!

You were so soft to snuggle with but nighttime really made him miss you. Even in an innocent way, he missed skin-to-skin cuddling. It was always so reassuring.

But he didn’t have that.

He managed to get through the days that went by before Solomon finally turned you back.

And he was beginning to wonder if Solomon had drawn out your time as a sheep on purpose.

That didn’t matter, though. Not when he had to take you out on a date!

Beel:

Solomon was holding something soft and fluffy. Was it food? Cotton candy? It looked really sweet and tasty.

“Beel, no, it’s me!”

“MC...?”

He wasn’t happy once the situation was explained. But he didn’t show it. To be fair, he wasn’t the most outwardly expressive of his emotions unless it was necessary.

With Solomon’s promise to return you to normal, he just carried you back to the kitchen with him.

But he wasn’t hungry anymore. Not when his dear human was in a new and unusual form.

It caused him to go into a bit of a crisis, though.

What did sheep eat? What could YOU eat? You were a human in a sheep’s body after all. Did you have to eat what sheep ate or could you still eat your favorite things?

He sat there, staring at the cupboards and fridge, with the most worried look on his face.

To be fair, you weren’t sure either.

And you two stayed liked that until Satan said you could still eat whatever you liked, though it would be best to avoid meat unless it was basically shredded.

Then came Beel’s next huge crisis: he was terrified of crushing you!

You were so tiny and delicate now, even more fragile than when you were a human.

It took a little convincing but Beel took to carrying you literally everywhere you wanted to go. He loved how soft you were.

Though you didn’t like how often he drooled on you because your fluff looked too tasty. You promised to get him cotton candy once you were a human again, which kind of helped the situation.

Beel even made sure to make everything you ate easy on you! He didn’t want anything to be hurtful to your little sheep body or hard for you to eat!

He didn’t hesitate to help you drink the reversal potion once Solomon got it made, holding his breath until he saw you in your proper state again.

He could breathe easy again.

Belphie:

What was Solomon carrying? A new pillow or something?

It looked so soft and like it would be a perfect napping pillow.

He wasn’t even listening to anything Solomon had to say, the explanation going in one ear and out the other.

He was focused on going inside to use the new pillow.

Until he heard you talking to him after Solomon had given up on explaining anything.

Now he was mildly concerned. You weren’t you anymore. You were a sheep. He actually listened as you told him your story, unlike with Solomon, and he merely shrugged.

“Well, what can you do? You’ll be normal again eventually.”

You knew your grumpy demon, though. He was worried about you. But Belphie was never good at showing his worry for others unless it was drastic.

True to form, he passed out once he laid down again. You were held against him as if you might disappear while he slept.

It was all the more proof he was worried about your situation.

He still slept most of the time, he was like a cat in that he slept for hours without moving. You had to wiggle free to do anything. No one wanted to wake up to a sheep smelling like piss and you didn’t want a bath.

Belphie whined that taking care of you as a sheep was too much work, but the moment anyone tried to take you from him he immediately got defensive. He even threatened to break Mammon’s hands.

The only one he trusted with you was Beel.

Always sleeping holding your little sheep self did make him realize he wanted a stuffed animal version of you just like that.

It was so nice to snuggle with.

But he missed the normal you. He wanted to have you to lay on or go “star” gazing with. He wanted to do things with you again that weren’t quite possible with you as a sheep.

So he may have gone to find Solomon and threaten him if he didn’t turn you back quicker.

It was all for naught, as he came home to find you curled up in his bed in your human form once again.

He’d wake you up later. For now, he wanted to take another nap with you.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me fluff #waylonwrites

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kouque · 2 years

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Oh ok

part 2 of breaking up with ur genshin bf (childe, thoma, xiao, scara)

genre: angst

a/n: i just got licorice cookie and that inspired me to write this for some reason also fem pronouns used also i got lazy in the middle of Childes sorry lolz

Childe (anger):

“…Are you being serious?” Childe said, a sinister glare burning a hole through your soul. You stood your ground though, standing up to his mean demeanor for once.

“Yes, I am. And i’m tired of pretending this… whatever we have going on is okay.” You turned to leave, yet Childe harshly grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him.

“Oh, where do you think you’re going? We aren’t done yet.” He said, your head snapping towards him and attempting to pull yourself out of his strong grasp.

“Childe, let go! I have someone waiting for me out there!” You shouted, finally able to escape from his grip. He laughed as you turned and stomped away, an exaggerated chuckle he did whenever something wasn’t going his way. Or when he was overly-confident about something.

“Really now? You think that new person is gonna be better than me? Huh?” He screamed, chasing after you. “You’ll come running back to me, telling me how much you missed me and how kind i was compared to that asshole.” Childe snarled, staring into your eyes.

Long story short, you both had a rough breakup, resulting in Childe fighting way more than he used to. He says it’s because he’s angry, but… it’s really because he doesn’t know what to do without you.

Thoma (understanding):

“Was it something i did?” He would ask Ayaka, a fellow female who he thought had probably went through the same thing as you. (News flash: of course she didn’t.)

“Hm, i doubt it. You’re a sweet man, Thoma. I don’t know why y/n would want to separate from you.” Ayaka said, resting her hand on his own. “I think you should talk to her about it.”

Thoma took Ayaka’s advice, running around Inazuma to find the home that you were staying in. You had told him that you wanted to break up yesterday, and just like that, you disappeared for the rest of the day.

“Who is it?” You called from the other side of your home, unbeknownst to the fact that your now ex-boyfriend was on the other side after he knocked.

“Uh, Thoma…!” He replied. There was an awkward silence before you finally opened the door, happily inviting him in.

“Hey, Thoma! Is everything alright?” You asked, taking a seat at your dining room table. He sat down next to you and held your hands, looking at you in the eyes.

“Yeah, i’m alright. I’m just a bit confused on the sudden breakup, is all.” He told, smiling back at you with that signature close-eyed smile that he always gave you.

“Oh, that.”

You searched your mind for an answer that wouldn’t upset him— a way to put it as nicely as possible.

“Uh, well… You see, I—” You tried to explain, but Thoma put his finger to your lips.

“It’s alright, I don’t need an explanation anymore. I can understand some reasons why you don’t want to be with me, and that’s fine! Honestly!” He said, standing up to leave your house.

“I’ll see you at the teahouse, y/n!” He waved before leaving your house, leaving you in shock.

“…What the hell?”

Xiao (yandere):

“…” Xiao stared at you with a grimace, one poisonous enough that could kill anyone if he really wanted it to. “Is it because i’m different than you?”

“Wh-No, of course not!” You replied, your hands coming up to your chest in defense. “I don’t care how different you are. It’s just that, you know— I don’t wanna potentially get hurt by you, if someday you snap or something… I don’t wanna be a victim.”

He stayed silent for a moment, scoffing and rolled his eyes.

“Seriously? That’s probably one of the dumbest things you’ve ever said to me.” He chuckled, staring at you with stone-cold caramel eyes. “You think i’d hurt you like that? I’m a protector. I don’t hurt humans unless it’s completely necessary.”

“Yeah but, you can’t always control yourself…” You muttered, worried that if Xiao heard you, he would probably hurt you even though he said he wouldn’t.

“Hm? Is that so?” Xiao snarled, before teleporting away. You stared into the thin air that Xiao had disappeared into.

A few weeks passed and you still haven’t seen Xiao ever since the breakup. You were worried about him, of course, but you finally learned to just move on.

Yet the same thing can’t be said about Xiao.

Ever since he left, he’s been watching you from a distance, inspecting all of your interactions and things. He’s noticed that you’ve been talking with Mr. Zhongli every day for a long time everyday. What? No, he’s not getting jealous! He’s just… worried about you hanging out with an ex-archon, is all.

Hell, he’s even been stealing some of your personal items for… you know what. He gives them abck, obviously, but the breakup really ruined him.

It’s your fault >:/

Scara (guilt):

Was he being too harsh on you?

He stared at your tear-stained face, your eyelashes all damp from the salty liquid coming from your eyes. He was wide-eyed yet he tried to keep the cold look on his face.

“What the fuck was that for, Scaramouche?!” You screamed at him, holding your face that he had just slapped with all his might, out of anger towards one of the fatui recruits. “Just because you’re a harbinger, doesn’t mean you can just hurt me like that!”

“…” He watched as you stood up and stormed off into your bedroom. Guilt washed over him— something that he wasn’t used to feeling. Why was he feeling so guilty for hurting you? He was supposed to feel proud, proud that you succumbed to him! But why didn’t he like it this time?

He chased after you, only to see you hurriedly packing things up into a small bag.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He yelled, a bit toned-down this time. You looked at him and scowled.

“I’m leaving. If this is how you’re gonna act, then I don’t wanna live here with you anymore. Our relationship has been toxic from the start, anyways.” You frowned, letting up from your spot on the floor and walking out, only for Scara to block your way in the doorway.

He pulled you into a hug, one that was oddly comforting. You melted into his arms as usual, dropping your bags and tearing up.

“I uh, I’m sorry for… doing that to you.” He said, awkwardly patting your head to signal for you to get off of him. “I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you.”

“…It’s fine, but i’m still gonna leave.” You muttered into his clothes. “I’ll just go tomorrow, though.”

You both stayed in that position for some time until the sun began to fall.

#scaramouche x reader #xiao x reader #childe x reader #thoma x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin angst #angst #fanfiction

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

Prompt day hurray! What does BaXia think of ChenQing? They would have crossed paths in the war, right? What do all the other weapons and instruments think of WWX apparently setting aside SuiBian for ChenQing? Can THEY tell he's got no golden core?

ao3

You seem kind of evil, Baxia remarked when she first met the flute.

Yeah? The flute responded without first bothering to extend her perceptive aura out to see who was talking to her, sounding like a little punk, arrogant and bold. Well, you seem kind of – oh fuck oh fuck you’re terrifying!

This was true. Baxia was terrifying.

Please don’t destroy me! My master needs me!

Baxia said nothing, enjoying how the flute squirmed, and nudged her own master pointedly.

Do not destroy the flute, her master responded with a sigh. He knew Baxia well. Her master is on our side.

Truly, war made for strange bedfellows. Baxia mourned the loss of the easy, straightforward night-hunt.

She nudged her master again.

Yes, fine, you can chase.

Her master - loving, wonderful, understanding master that he was - very casually walked across the room, unhooked her from his back, and put her down next to where the flute was hanging off her master's belt.

Chase, Baxia said happily, the aura of her power already spreading beyond the confines of her blade. Chase, chase, chase –

Someone help meeeeeee!

You’re kind of a dick, Chenqing said, having finally realized that Baxia had no intention of destroying her incipient spiritual soul. Anyone ever tell you that?

Yes.

…really? Who dared?

My master.

Your master is badass. Chenqing contemplated for a moment. So is mine, he's very brave, even suicidally brave, but not – you know – that much.

Baxia considered this, and accepted it. Her master was indeed a superior sort of human.

Why do you smell of death? she asked, mildly curious.

My master uses me to direct resentful energy, so I’m affected by its aura. You?

I bathe in it.

…you're so badass.

Yes. Baxia was.

You’re not bad, she told Chenqing, which almost predictably got a little huffy.

I raise armies of the dead! I am terrifying! They call me the phantom flute! I am more than 'not bad', okay?!

Baxia ignored Chenqing's nonsense. It would not take long for her to realize that being called ‘not bad’ by Baxia was a very high compliment, as such things went.

Are there any swords that aren’t afraid of you? Chenqing asked. She was very chatty. Or sabers. Or musical instruments…

Which musical instruments have you met?

Uh, mostly Wangji? Wangji’s cool.

Baxia occasionally wished for eyes so that she could roll them. Her human got a great deal of relief out of doing that, according to him. Wangji has a temperament of ice, yes.

No, I mean, that’s not what I meant, I – wait. Are you making a joke right now?

Baxia said nothing.

You have a sense of humor?!

Baxia said nothing.

This is ridiculous. It’s like meeting a hurricane with sharp teeth and finding out it also likes to sing bawdy brothel songs.

You’re kind of stupid, Baxia observed.

Well, yeah. I mean. Have you met my master?

Baxia had.

He’s only scary by accident, Chenqing said ruthlessly, which was only to be expected – no one dunked on a human like their spiritual weapon. Inside, he’s a big soft squishy meatball.

My master cries when he has feelings.

My master too! Humans, am I right?

Baxia supposed Chenqing was, in fact, right.

Perhaps she could stay.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate everything Wei Wuxian is doing for us, Baxia's master remarked to her one day. But didn’t he have a sword at one point? The one with the ridiculous name – Suibian.

At the next meeting, Baxia asked.

Suibian? Yeah, master doesn’t use him anymore, Chenqing said. It's a bit sad, actually. He can’t access the spiritual energy in the blade anymore.

Baxia didn’t like the sound of that. How come?

Master doesn’t have a golden core, Chenqing said. I think he used to, but he doesn’t anymore.

Seems careless.

Hey, I’m pretty sure it’s not his fault! Anyway, it’s a whole big secret. Why do you ask?

My master wanted to know.

Hah, Chenqing said. Nice of you to ask on his behalf, since you can’t tell him what the result of your question was.

Baxia said nothing.

You – can’t. Right? Masters can’t hear what swords say.

I, Baxia said, am not a sword.

…oh shit. Shit, no, you can’t –!

“We need to talk,” Baxia’s master said to Chenqing’s. “In private.”

You’re a rotten tattletale, Chenqing said.

Why do you care? He won’t know it was you that squealed.

Yeah, well, I know that I did it!

It’s for the best. My master will be nice about it, and your master will feel better for it. Baxia considered. There may be tears.

There were many tears.

Master really does seem like he feels better, Chenqing observed. I wouldn’t have called that.

Told you so.

So, Chenqing said. This hunt is probably the last time we’ll be able to hang out.

Probably, Baxia agreed.

I was hoping to ask for some advice.

Bichen is amendable to your flirting, and Wangji follows where she leads, so you have a shot.

I – what? That wasn’t what I was going to ask.

Baxia waited.

…wait, are you serious? Will that work? I could do that –

The flute’s an idiot, Baxia told her master. But maybe she and that master of hers can help you here.

It would be inappropriate for me to ask, her master said, rubbing his eyes. The Jiang sect kicked him out, remember? It would be stepping on their face to approach him despite that.

Okay, Baxia said. So step.

Baxia…

You share a secret with him, at his request, she pointed out. He owes you for keeping it secret for him. At minimum, even if he can’t help you right now, he can help protect your brother when you’re gone.

Her master was silent. That was his weak spot, and had always been.

No one would be able to know, he finally said. And Meng Yao comes every week.

Is our home so small that we can’t hide someone from Meng Yao’s sight? Baxia said scathingly. Since when is he the master here, not you?

I just meant that he’s a sneak that’d sell me out to his father given half a chance, her master sighed. All right, I’ll see if there’s anything that can be done. Wei Wuxian is a musical cultivator, and a genius; maybe he can tell me why Clarity doesn’t seem to be having the impact we hoped it would.

Sure, Baxia said. Whatever. I don't really care. Just get help.

Well, that worked, Baxia said to Chenqing. Sort of.

How are you this badass? You just -! Singlehandedly -! I can’t – how?!

Calm down, Baxia advised. What are you, human?

How dare you.

You’re the one acting like you need air to speak.

…so I’m looking forward to seeing the Lotus Pier again now that we're not banished any more, Chenqing said, pointedly changing the subject because she was wrong and she knew it. Thanks for that.

Thanks for figuring out that the evil meat was poisoning my master.

That’s. uh. Sure a way to call someone.

Why not? He’s evil, and he’s made of flesh, and he’s going to be nothing but meat as soon as I have an opportunity.

I thought your master was thinking of some sort of confinement…?

He certainly has thoughts, Baxia allowed, purposefully broadcasting.

I have very strong thoughts, her master replied pointedly. Do not kill him on your own – I’ll only get the blame for that.

Oh no, Baxia told him insincerely. How terrible for you.

Baxia. Please.

Fine. What about Jin Guangshan?

…what about him?

Me and the flute are going to take care of him.

We are? Wait, are you talking to your master right now? Oh that’s so cool. Tell him to tell my master that I said hi.

Baxia would tell her master no such thing.

That’s probably not the right way to do that, her master said, but in that wavering tone of voice that suggested he was open to being convinced. Though it would be easier to sell Meng Yao as being only collateral damage in the scheme if Jin Guangshan took the lion’s share of the blame, which would only happen if he wasn’t around…that doesn’t seem right, though.

Sure it is, Baxia said soothingly. He’s the one who wanted to play with resentful energy, right? All we want to do is play with him back. Who can say no to that? He’s practically volunteered!

“Okay, I have a weird question,” Chenqing’s master said to Baxia’s. “Please don’t judge me. But…did we happen to work together to drive Jin Guangshan into a resentful energy backlash?”

“We did not,” Baxia’s master said.

“Okay. Right. Got it. Sorry, stupid question.”

“Our spiritual weapons did.”

“…what?”

“If you’re wondering why your Chenqing shows signs of use in the manner that would be associated with Jin Guangshan’s untimely demise, it’s because the resentful energy you’re using has been sufficient to allow it to cultivate in the direction of a guai,” Baxia’s master explained. “It has a will of its own now, just as Baxia does. You will need to account for that when you master it in the future.”

“Wait. Are you saying that my flute has, what, a personality? Can think and talk and do things on its own?”

“Yes.”

“That’s…that’s so cool. Can you tell Baxia to tell Chenqing I said ‘hi’?”

Why are they like this, Baxia’s master asked Baxia.

I don’t know, you’re the human expert, she replied, ignoring the way that Chenqing was happily chirping answers to her human’s questions even though he couldn’t hear her. Why are you all like this?

I don’t know, he said. I really don’t know.

It’s nice to meet you, Suibian said, sounding appropriately respectful. I appreciate your master finding a way for my master to continue to wield me.

It’s through resentful energy, Chenqing said gleefully. Lots and lots of it, refining the sword like a saber – my poor master’s going to have to stay up late and learn so many techniques, his hair’s all going to fall out.

Yes, Baxia said. I can see the resentful energy. There’s a lot of it.

Lots and lots, Suibian said proudly. I drew in everything I could.

Without sorting out the evil?

…isn’t it all evil?

Mm, not really, Baxia said, and began to extend out her aura.

Uh, Suibian said. What’s going on.

I told you to be more patient! You shouldn’t have taken the evil parts, Chengqing said. It makes you a little bit evil, too, and that makes you Baxia’s prey.

…prey?

Chase, Baxia said. Chase, chase, chase –

Help! Help – somebody help!

I would, Chenqing giggled. But master doesn’t speak flute. Sorry!

#mdzs #baxia #chenqing #suibian #nie mingjue #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #kind of evil

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astermacguffin · 3 years

Text

What if the Mark of Cain manifests differently when it's imprisoning God and not the Darkness? If the Darkness makes the Mark bearer go insane with unbridled want for destruction, then what does sealing God make you do?

An obsessive desire for creation? Creation to the point of corruption? (Think of the Shimmer from the film Annihilation. Continuous reproduction to the point of begetting alien, cancer-like entities. A refracted, distorted notion of creation.)

Okay, so canon divergence from The Trap. They successfully seal away Chuck, then Castiel bears the Mark. (Jack won't be back until later episodes, so he's not here yet.)

At first, they think he's fine. Cas says he's not feeling any bloodlust just yet. (He does feel a certain itch under his skin. Not a desire to murder, but a desire to do...something. He doesn't tell this to anyone.)

His grace is getting stronger, almost archangel-like (if not more). It's incredibly helpful for hunts, and Cas is happy to feel his wings healthy again after a long time. Sam is happy for him, but Dean is suspicious of things (especially since he's a previous Mark bearer).

After a while, Cas starts feeling...burdened, almost bloated by grace. (After all, he does have access to an infinite supply of it.) He needs to have an outlet for it.

Cas tells them so and Sam suggests healing people. Dean gives the green light on the condition that he remains invisible and he doesn't go Godstiel on them again.

It's a great outlet, and for the first few weeks they start feeling normal again. But unfortunately, healing stops being enough to relieve Cas of his excess grace anymore. The mass healings start to pile up all across the globe and it catches everyone's attention. Some think it's a blessed miracle, some think it's a sign of the end times. They make him slow down on the healings after that.

Without an outlet, however, Cas starts feeling antsy and pained. They brainstorm on possible alternatives. Cas suggests going to Heaven and saving it from collapse by healing his brethren's wings and creating more angels out of consenting souls in Heaven.

He explains Heaven's endangered and dwindling numbers. Sam agrees that it would hit two birds in one stone: relieve Cas from excess grace and prevent the extinction of angels. Dean doesn't like the idea of more winged dicks so he shoots down the idea. Eileen says that since Cas is the one in pain, he should be the one to decide.

Ultimately, Cas defers to Dean's judgment (as always). Sam protests, arguing that he can't just shoulder that pain. Cas replies: "I've suffered worse, Sam."

Cas doesn't complain about the pain for about a week, so for a while, everyone believes him when he said he can shoulder the pain. One day, Dean finds him outside the bunker, groaning in pain as he bleeds himself out, his grace pouring into the ground and sprouting plants. Dean sees this and is finally convinced to allow Cas to make more angels.

What follows then is a series of escalating events:

While Sam and Eileen are practicing their witchcraft for spell they need in a hunt, Cas suggests to enhance Sam's physical and magical abilities using his grace. "It will make the process faster and safer," he reasons. He agrees, but Dean eyes this suspiciously.

During one of their hunts, they encounter a young and freshly-turned vampire. The boy begs them not to kill him, and Cas gives him a proposal. "Promise not to feed on humans ever again and I shall cure you of your hungers and your pains. Pledge your allegiance to me and you shall never be afraid of yourself ever again." The boy agrees, and before Dean could even protest, Cas slices his palm and feeds the vampire his grace.

They argue about the grace-feeding in the Impala. Dean notices Sam's pointed lack of complaints and figures it out. "You're in on this, aren't you? How long has Cas been doing this? He's going Michael behind our backs and you're letting him?"

Sam argues that it's different because Cas isn't making super monsters; he's making them less "monstrous" (whatever that means). Sam's obsession with his own "purity" is key to understanding him here.

One time, Dean catches Cas in his "garden" ("forest" seems more apt with how lush the greens already are) creating butterflies and bees out of thin air using his grace alone.

Reports of the miraculously healed people suddenly gaining new abilities like increased strength, heightened senses, and prophecy start popping up. Some are experiencing phantom limbs, talking about their sprouting "wings."

Sam is becoming addicted to Cas' grace to the point that he willingly lets himself be hurt in hunts just so Cas can cure him. Dean confronts him about this, but Sam just argues that he's "never felt this pure before." Eileenn shares the same concern as Dean.

Hunts are becoming less frequent the more monsters are being "cleansed" by Cas. The world is becoming disconcertingly quiet.

Cas' "garden" is starting to emit this strange aura. The plants and creatures growing inside it are starting to look more...alien.

One of the original angels goes to Dean and tells him of Heaven's affairs. The Host is stable again, but the angels he created are...not exactly angels. They're graced up and they sustain Heaven, but their true forms are "horrifying and incomprehensible, even to an angel." The angel adds that more than 60% of Earth's creatures have already been touched by Cas' grace.

The final nail in the coffin is when Dean catches Cas in the garden fiddling with his angel blade. It's emitting a strange glow, vibrating a subtle hum and looking as if it's liquid, flowing and distorting here and there.

Dean asks him what he's holding. "Oh, this?" Cas responds. "This is the Last Blade. Last, not in terms of time but in concept, for no other blade shall ever compare to it. The spark of creation. Fiat lux."

Dean's heart sinks. Of course. The First and the Last, Alpha and Omega. "Cas...the Mark, I think i-it's scrambling your brain, man."

"I know," he replies, eyes wet and apologetic. It's a small moment of lucidity amidst weeks and months of...whatever that was.

"Okay, okay, so you're still you, that's... that's good. Okay." Dean doesn't know how to approach this. Give him a fight and he'll know what to do, but this? Watching his best friend, the love of his life, be distorted into something incomprehensible? Yeah, this is totally beyond him.

"You know, I used to hate Chuck," Cas says. "How could the Father of All Creation be this angry, petulant child? But," he continues, "knowing what I know now, it's either regressing into a petty child or being reduced to insanity."

"Cas...what are you talking about, man?"

"No mind should bear this burden, Dean. No matter how infinite they are," he says, voice trembling in exhaustion.

(more below the cut)

He continues. "The awareness of everything is the awareness of nothing at all. Imagine perceiving every possible piece of information about the world all at once. Seeing light in all its forms all at once: ultraviolet, infrared, etc. Sensing all the neutrinos zip by, sensing gravitational waves, sensing the slighest bit of seismic activity."

Dean doesn't know how to respond, so he lets him go on.

"Knowledge can only ever be a slice of the Totality of Truth. Truth is absolute chaos, and Knowledge is the partial ordering of this chaos. One can sanely approach Truth only through organized paritions of Totality. Why do you think Chuck is so obsessed with stories? Stories are linear and finite; they're sensible snippets of the endless sea of possible worlds."

"So, what? Are you trying to—"

"I'm not trying to justify Chuck's actions, Dean," he interrupts. "I just want to contextualize them. Chuck's simplistic and repetitive narratives are what they are: manifestations of a chaotic Totality, gone insane trying to understand itself. Looking for simple things to hold on to."

Cas takes a deep breath. He speaks with a shaky voice. "I'm barely holding myself together, Dean. I can feel the universe beneath my skin."

He doesn't know what possesses him to ask, but he does it anyway. "What are you holding on to?"

Cas smiles at that. "You."

They stare at each other for a while, frozen where they stand. Cas, with unrestrained affection in his face. Dean, struck by shock and indecision. It's Cas who first breaks the silence.

"I think we both know what needs to be done, while I'm still lucid enough." Cas slices his palm and lets his blood drip down the soil. He then thrusts the Last Blade into the ground, lifting it when the soil glows.

Dean stared in awe as the ground erupts and a familiar shape rises from the hollow. "Is that.."

"The Ma'Lak box, yes. I also enhanced it with the Blade to be able to house things as powerful as me."

"Cas, wait, maybe we can think of another way to—"

"Dean," he says, calmly. "You know there's no other way. I wouldn't ask this of you if there was."

In any other scenario, Dean would've kept arguing, but even he knows that they're running out of time. Sam's grace addiction is getting worse and all the creatures touched by Cas' grace are slowly mutating into eldritch horrors. Dean offers a shaky nod. "Okay."

Tension visibly releases from Cas' body. "Thank you, Dean." He opens the box and enters it with ease. "When you lock this, bury me with the garden's graced soil. Once I'm under, my influence over the world should dampen."

Dean gives a wordless nod. For a while, they just stared at each other, Cas lying down and Dean trying to memorize every inch of his face while he can.

Cas presses his hand into Dean's left shoulder where his mark used to dwell. "My untainted grace," he whisper gently. "Some of it is still inside you. That's probably why you're not as affected by me."

Dean wants to say, I'll always be affected by you, but he holds himself back.

He takes his hand back, a bloody handprint now on Dean's jacket. "I love you, Dean," he says, breathless.

"Cas..."

"I probably would've built up to that if we had more time but," he makes a surprised laugh, "I am, as you would say, already 'losing my marbles', so."

The air quotes would've been funny and endearing in any other scenario, but it just makes Dean's vision blur up with tears.

"Thank you for everything, Dean. I know we've done nothing but repeatedly hurt each other these past few years, but I don't want to spend a deathless eternity with that as my memory of you. I forgive you, even for the things you haven't forgiven yourself for yet. And I'm sorry for everything, especially for ending things like this."

He should probably wipe away his tears to clear his vision, but Dean can do nothing but stare at Cas in awe, in fear, in grief, in reverence. They're both fully crying now.

"Goodbye, Dean."

"Wait, Cas."

Cas looks at him, waiting.

"Can you...can you say it again?"

He doesn't need to clarify what 'it' means. They both know.

With one last mournful smile, Cas says: "I love you, Dean."

And with that, Dean finally gathers all the strength he needs to shut the lid and lock the box. He stares at it for a while, unblinking. He forgot to ask, Can you hear my prayers down there? But it's too late now to ask.

The box automatically lowers itself into the hole it arose from. Now all that's left to do is to cover it again with soil.

Dean doesn't bother with a shovel. He gently buries the box with his hands deep in the soil, some of it getting trapped under his nails. He continues the mindless task, whispering a tireless series of I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I hope you're okay I'm sorry, over and over between his quiet sobs. Cas is quiet inside the box. No screaming or crying. Dean doesn't know if that's better or worse.

When the final clump of soil is pressed into the mound, he suddenly feels it: a visceral shift that echoes throughout the world. The alien glimmer of the garden dims, and the world corrects its axis. Dean screams his agony into the air.

That's how Sam finds him: sprawled over a mound of soil, crying his heart out. Dean doesn't need to say anything: he knows what happened. He pulls his brother off the ground and brings him inside the bunker.

For the first two weeks, Dean cycles through drinking and passing out in various places in the bunker. If he's not wearing the jacket, he's holding it with close to him. Sam gives him a considerable space to grieve while he monitors the world grace problem with Eileen. The grace mutations have significantly dropped since then and everyone's going back to normal.

Unfortunately, that means monsters are getting hungry again. Sam doesn't want to leave his brother alone after going nonverbal with grief and dysfunctional due to alcohol. Eileen assures him that she can handle hunts on their own and that the hunter network that they're building will lessen the workload.

Sam's attempts to sober Dean up finally work, mostly due to the latter having very little strength to protest. Dean remains sober an entire day for the first time in weeks, and all he can think about is: I haven't prayed to Cas in a while. The longing might have reached him, but never a coherent prayer.

The first time he goes out of the bunker in a while, he heads straight to Cas' garden. Sam's glad that he's finally going out because "the sun is good for you" or something, but he's really only here for Cas. He kneels in front of the burial mound (where a patch of an unknown species of flowers is already growing).

The first prayer he says to him in a while is: I love you, Cas. I should've said it while you were still here. Not saying it out loud and just strongly thinking about the words somehow bolsters him to get the words through.

He's crying again, and he knows he's losing coherency. In his mind, he's explaining about his hangups and his regrets and his continuous denial of his own joy, but one constant remains: he's beaming all his love and affection into this prayer.

He's halfway through explaining all the traits that he finds endearing in Cas when suddenly, he feels it like a snap. If the glimmer dimmed when he buried Cas, now it's as if it was never there in the first place. With an unsettling amount of certainty, Dean just knows that Cas is gone. For real, this time.

"C-cas...?" It's the first thing he's said in a while and it sounds rough in his long unused voice.

"CAS! CAS!!! " He's now screaming, ripping away the flowerbed with his bare hands and scratching the soil away. Tears are obstructing his vision, but he has no time to wipe them away. He needs to make sure that is really gone. His hands are bleeding and he doesn't give a damn.

Eventually, Sam comes running towards him. "Dean! Dean, stop!"

He tries to hold his brother back, but Dean just keeps on clawing away soil. "Sammy, Sammy he's gone, he's not there anymore, Sammy I have to see, please, let me see Cas again, I need—" he breaks into sobs again, and like a puppet with its strings cut off, he slumps into Sam.

"Dean, it's okay, it's okay..." he says softly to his shaking brother.

Eventually, when Dean calms down, he looks at the carnage he's done and starts sobbing again. The flowers, his last evidence of Cas being here, are all destroyed. Now Cas truly is gone.

. . .

When Cas first heard Dean's confession prayer, he was overcome with joy. When he realized what that means, however, his stomach suddenly sinks.

He hears before he sees the Empty arrive, slithering like black goo.

"Wow, were you excited enough for eternal slumber that you wanted a preview?" The Shadow teases in Meg's voice.

At first, he was dreading the Empty, but now that he thinks of it, it's actually the perfect prison for him: a vast, endless nothingness for him to fill with his creations.

And if Jack wasn't in Heaven, that only means that he's in the Empty, and he can't wait to see his son again. Even when blinded by the madness of the universe, he can never forget the joy of being a father.

"Yes," he replies, "I'm actually glad you're here now."

. . .

Somewhere around the globe, Billie drops Jack back.

"Don't worry, kid. You'l reunite with your father very soon."

(to be continued)

#spn #destiel #supernatural #aster writes #destiel fic #long post #im totally obsessed with moc!cas #moc!cas

475 notes · View notes

wincore · 3 years

Text

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of.

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low.

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours.

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget.

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore.

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume.

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type.

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises. If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts.

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself.

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask.

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it.

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it.

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily.

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt��s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year.

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately.

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one.

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt.

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover.

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours.

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth.

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words.

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table.

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad.

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back.

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing.

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters.

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs.

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.”

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can.

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off.

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating.

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know.

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young.

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.”

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling.

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung.

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses.

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention.

Inviting him somewhere.

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure.

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more.

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter?

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him.

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.”

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.”

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.”

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts.

You’re disappointing.

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose.

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps.

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask.

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you.

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue.

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.”

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you.

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families.

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe.

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard.

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them.

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out.

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure.

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up.

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt.

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder.

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart.

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it.

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him.

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak.

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time.

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional.

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love.

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved.

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding.

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either.

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple.

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action.

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t.

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days.

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.”

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by.

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers.

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever.

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout.

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!”

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?”

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this.

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose.

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond.

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—”

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder.

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him.

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too.

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again.

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling.

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you.

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care.

“Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there.

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes.

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally.

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer.

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand.

2K notes · View notes

juviaafullbuster · 3 years

Text

IN EVERY UNIVERSE

"JUVIAAAA"

He should have known. He should have seen it coming the moment he heard that blue cat call out her name. Of course nothing good would come from this. That stupid cat, exceed, whatever he is, was raised by Natsu after all. But he didn't think much of it when he saw him flying towards Juvia, who was currently sitting with the other girls and landing in the middle of their table.

"Yes Happy?"

"Remember what I told you when we came back from Edolas?"

Happy was wiggling his tail excitedly, while trying to hold back from spilling the information immediately. After all, he lives for the drama. Juvia on the other hand was just looking at him, confusion written all over her face.

"Juvia isn't following.."

"You know, about the Juvia in Edolas and how the Gray there is obsessed with her.."

"Oh yes! Of course Juvia remembers that! The other Juvia is very lucky.."

"Yeah, and guess what? She got even luckier. Turns out they've got-"

"HAPPY!"

Gray had to stop him before he spilled too much. Why were they on the other side of the hall anyways? Juvia was always stuck to him whenever he came back from a mission. Why did she have to abandon him now of all times?

"What is it Gray? I'm busy delivering information."

"If you don't shut it that's the last information you'll ever deliver."

At that Happy visibly gulped. Gray was sure he was considering whether it was worth taking the risk. He probably still remembered the incident where Gray had declared him his enemy. Gray himself didn't remember much of what happened, just that it wasn't his proudest moment when he woke up half naked on an island surrounded by strangers. Now however, he was glad it had happened. At least that cat knew what he was dealing with and wouldn't dare to finish that sentence.

"Hey popsicle, are you threatening Happy?"

This just keeps getting better. Of course Natsu had to get involved as well. All he wanted was to enjoy being back home and spending some time with Juvia. And he wasn't doing either. Really, the last thing he needed was Natsu and his damn cat to ruin things for him.

"I don't threaten anyone unless necessary. So if you want to save him from trouble, tell your cat to back off."

"I'M AN EXCEED!"

"Like I care. Point is, shut up."

"HEY, DON'T TALK TO HAPPY LIKE THAT!"

"Stay out of it, flamebrain!"

"IF HAPPY IS INVOLVED, I'M INVOLVED."

"Whatever.."

He just needed to get to Juvia. There was no need to participate in the conversation with Natsu. Not that you could actually hold one. It would always end in a fight and if that idiot doesn't shut up soon, Gray was sure that this will be the case today as well. So he decided to be the bigger person and ignore Natsu, no matter how much he was provoked. However Natsu didn't get the message.

"What's up with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're being weird lately. Happy noticed too, right Happy?"

"Aye!"

"I'm not being weird, what the hell are you talking about?"

"I think it's because he's jealous of you!"

"WHY WOULD I BE JEALOUS OF NATSU?"

"He did tell me what happened.. is it because he has more woman than you?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know, that snow woman. He had quite a lot on his side, you however just had-"

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

Like it wasn't bad enough that he was going to tell Juvia about their Edolas counterparts, she really didn't need to know about that whole woman in the depth of his heart thing.

"You're jealous of me?"

"Who's jealous of who?

"Gray is jealous of Natsu."

"Seriously?"

"NO!"

That's it. He's going to kill that cat. But first he'll have to deal with Natsu because he was costing him his nerves as well. So next thing he knew, they were throwing fists at each other until Erza forcefully stopped them.

"What is this about? Explain yourself before I pull out my sword."

"Grays being mean to Happy."

"That's because Happy is stupid! Probably got it from you.."

"SILENCE! Happy!"

"Yes?"

"Explain!"

"Well, Gray is being mean to me just because I wanted to tell Juvia about what we saw in Edolas. I don't see why he's so worked up over it, I mean I was just going to say that they're married."

"Who's married?"

"Gray and Juvia!"

Silence. The whole guild went silent. Well, except for Happys snickering. Gray could swear he felt his soul leave his body. He was certain he would never hear the end of it. After all, he could already feel the eyes on him.

"Gray and Juvia are married in Edolas?" It was Juvia who decided to break the awful silence. Happy nodded eagerly in response to her question.

More silence. Or as Gray would say, the calm before the storm.

"Is that true?" Juvia was looking at him with wide eyes. He knows her well enough by now to know exactly what was currently going on in her head. He could tell her imagination was going wild with wedding pictures. But she was clearly holding back from squealing, instead she kept staring at him, desperately waiting for an answer. Gray sighed.

"Yes.."

And then all hell broke loss. Mira was cornering him trying to find out as much as possible, while Cana kept adding her inappropriate comments. Elfman starting shouting something about marriage being manly, whatever that meant. By the time Gray had managed to escape from them Juvia was no longer in sight.

"Juvia?"

"She went outside, said she needed to cool down." Lucy smirked proudly, making Gray fear her next sentence. "Good thing you're an ice wizard. Who else could cool her down?"

"Hilarious. I'm going outside."

"Of course you are."

Gray didn't bother reacting anymore. Instead he went to search for Juvia. The cold air outside hit him in the face. It wasn't until now that he realized how stuffy it was in there.

He distanced himself from the guild hall while keeping an eye out for his bluenette. He really had missed her during his mission and now that he was back, he wanted to spend as much time with her as possible. After all, he had finally acknowledged his feelings for her and after seeing their counterparts in Edolas and that vision he had been trapped in, it just made him long for her more.

Those feelings still freaked him out somehow. He wasn't aware that he was capable of feeling this much for someone. But Juvia had really broken down every single one of his walls. And he was really grateful for that. She was the one who kept pulling him back whenever he was close to the edge. She's his power to live, even though having admitted that so bluntly in front of her still got him all embarrassed. And her teasing didn't help one bit.

"Juvia!" He spotted her on a bench near the lake. She seemed lost in thought. When she heard his voice however, she immediately spun around.

"Graysama! Juvia is sorry for leaving so abruptly.."

"Don't worry about that. Are you okay?"

He sat down next to her. Usually he would leave a space between them, not wanting to give her any ideas. But things changed. And now here he was, sitting as close to her as possible, longing for her touch. Juvia smiled at him.

"Juvia is very happy that you're back."

"I'm happy to be back too. I.." He cleared his throat and looked away shyly. "I missed you."

"Juvia missed you too. Juvia was wondering whether you were doing alright, if you manged to stay dressed and whether the others bothered to pick up the clothes you discarded.." she kept talking but Gray was too focused on her beauty, wondering how he'd gotten so lucky having someone like her in his life.

"I want what they have as well." Gray had blurted out the thought before he could realize it.

"What who has?" Juvia questioned him. He could go back on his word, pretend he never said it. But what's the point? He was just making himself suffer by prolonging it. And he had promised her to be clear with his intentions once he got back, not that he got to finish that promise before he was swept back to Elentir. Point is, it was time for him to be honest.

"I want what Edolas Gray and Juvia have.."

"You want.. you want to marry Juvia!?"

"What? No!"

"No?"

This wasn't going the way he wanted it all. Gray sighed.

"One day."

"One day?"

"Yes, one day I'm going to marry you. But I think it's still a little early for that. To be fair, our counterparts in Edolas are older.."

Juvia just kept looking at him in disbelief. He couldn't blame her. It wasn't exactly his style to be so open and honest. They didn't start dating yet and he was already talking about marriage. Juvia had really impacted him..

"Listen. I want to be with you. Like Edo Gray is with Edo Juvia, like Fairy Nail Glen is with Fairy Nail Juvina.. I want Earthland Gray to be with Earthland Juvia as well."

"What's Fairy Nail? And who is Juvina?"

"That's a long story.. point is I want to be with you. I'm sorry I'm not as clear with my intentions as the other me. But that doesn't mean I want you less than he wants his Juvia.."

By this point Gray was a blushing mess. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, too afraid to see her reaction. He had literally just run her over with emotions.

"Graysama doesn't have to be sorry."

"Huh?"

"For not being as clear with his feelings. I feel in love with this version of Gray, the Earthland version. Juvia wouldn't change a thing about you."

Gray smiled at her. She was truly too perfect. How did she always know what to say? She seemed so calm and collected while he was literally trying his best not to freak out.

"And Juvia would like that very much as well. Earthland Gray and Earthland Juvia being together.." she was looking at Gray sweetly and he couldn't help the smile that took over his face.

"I promise to be the best version of myself for you."

"You already are."

They smiled at each other and Gray tucked behind the hair that had fallen into her face. He found himself leaning closer and he saw Juvia doing the same. He had just closed his eyes, just a little away from finally kissing her after thinking about it for so long, when a voice interrupted them, making them jump apart.

"Gray loves Juvia!"

"Quiet Happy!

"They are so cute together."

"About time he made a move."

How had he not seen them hiding behind that bush. He'll admit Lucy, Wendy and Charles were hidden pretty well, but Natsus pink hair and Happys blue fur were visible to everyone. And Erza hadn't even bothered hiding. He must have been too focused on the girl in front of him to notice. Said girl was now blushing furiously.

"I'm going to kick their asses.."

"Juvia thinks it's sweet that they're so supportive of you. You have a great team."

"How are they a great team? They literally interrupted a very important moment."

"Juvia knows.. but Juvia is very happy already."

"So you don't want me to kiss you?"

"Juvia didn't say that!"

He was truly enjoying teasing her. So much, he was able to ignore his friends presence. So instead of letting them ruin their moment, he leaned in and finally, after so long, kissed her. It took her a moment to react, but once she did, Gray felt like the luckiest person in the universe. He was never going to let her go.

"Juvia loves you very much."

"And I love Juvia very much."

He kissed her again, already addicted. His friends were cheering, probably happy that he finally made a move. He couldn't blame them, it took him long enough.

"All that because I told her about Edolas Gray and Juvias marriage. Imagine what she'll do when she hears about Greige.."

"Who's Greige?"

"HAPPY!"

♡♡♡

Here you have it, my contribution to Gruvia day! I hope you like it, let me know what you think :)

Also, I'm still fangirling over the drawing we got today. Maybe I'll write something about that too one day..

Anyways, happy Gruvia day! ♡

#gruvia day #gruvia #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #fairy tail

186 notes · View notes

lostgreekgod · 3 years

Text

delusion: part 2

"a/n: hello, hello! cant say i didnt sniffle a little writing this one.

words: 6539 (the word limit kind of faded away as i got emotional)

pairing: loki x f!reader

warnings: angst, but ends with fluff. but a lot of angst. mentions of death, blood, and fingers. and dead bodies. and hypnotism?

another a/n: thanks to @theaudacitytowrite for this little adventure. cant say I wont miss it.

tagging all those who requested for a part 2: @karushinekomiya @midnights-ramblings @savoryloki

read part 1 here!

37 minutes. That’s how long it took for y/n to have her soul crushed. Not crushed, ripped, and trampled all over repeatedly, until her very essence was terminated, until she was nothing but a bag of bones, muscles, and blood. She fell back into her bed as she watched Loki leave her. Forever. She didn’t matter to the god. Of course she didn’t. why did she ever believe that she would be of any importance to him? A mighty god like Loki, a literal prince! What was some simple Midgardian to a being of such alleviated status? y/n felt something trail down her cheek. She was crying. 4 years, 3 months, and 27 days of not one tear- not even when her parents left her to rot- and it took only 37 minutes for her ex-lover to have her eyes release such a foreign substance. She wasn’t even sobbing, just one lonesome tear trailed past her cheekbone, just one tear that contained all her anger, sadness, and pain. She wished she could cry harder. She wished she could cry her eyes dry, and just spontaneously combust while she was at it.

“Okay since the door is open, I’m assuming you guys aren’t doing anything that will scar me for life-“

Nat. Of all those times she could walk into y/n’s room, she picked today. She faltered as she took in the image of y/n sprawled on the bed, staring at the ceiling and into nothingness.

“y/n?” she whispered as she reached for her friend. Her blood froze as she took in y/n’s face. Pale, like a corpse. y/n still hadn’t acknowledged Natasha’s presence. Gently shaking y/n’s shoulder, Natasha called her name again. Nothing. Was she even breathing? Natasha began to panic. Her only friend- aside from Wanda- What ever happened? y/n was fine when she left training a while ago-

“Nat,” came y/n’s voice, a gentle, hoarse whisper.

Rushing to her side, Nat brushed her hair away from her face. “y/n, what happened?”

Finally, y/n met Natasha’s eyes. The pain was so evident in them, just bared out for the whole world to see. Vulnerable, weak. Natasha had never seen y/n like this. The y/n she knew was strong, so strong.

“y/n,” she breathed, “talk to me.”

“He left me.” Her voice cracked, almost as if it wanted to match with the likeliness of her cracked heart.

“What? Right now?”

y/n nodded, not trusting her voice. If only she could find a release for that awful swell in her throat.

“Hours before a mission?” Natasha could have slapped herself for blurting out something so insensitive. Here laid her friend, literally looking like death, and she was worried about a mission. Sure, they had 4 lives to save, but what good was a near-dead agent in a rescue operation?

Natasha had initially come over to y/n’s room for last-minute mission prep. Yes, they had about 2 hours left for the mission, but she could never be too careful with anything.

“Would you like me to leave you alone?”

y/n simply continued to stare at the ceiling. Natasha wished she could see what she was thinking. Although she looked like death, Natasha couldn’t help but notice how she had cried just one tear. Anyone could tell that she needed a while to collect herself. Natasha decided to step out, probably approach Fury and issue a last-minute change of plan. She could take Clint and Peter. Not the best replacement, but she could have Peter go in and look for the agents, while she placed Clint at a farther position, as backup for Peter.

“Stay.” y/n breathed out when Natasha began to retract her arms away.

Perhaps Natasha could stay and provide her friend some support, just for a few minutes. She felt awful about how she couldn’t help more, but this was the most she could do at the moment. ‘Missions first, personal problems next. What are you a hero for?’ as Fury would say. Natasha thought of Loki. How she wished she could knee him in the groin and then cause him a slow painful death.

“Coming up with a plan for murder?” y/n asked, somewhat with a hint of amusement in her voice.

Looking up at y/n’s face, Natasha relished the little smile on her face. Heartbroken as y/n was, she was still alive.

“You know me so well.” She snickered.

“Don’t bother Nat. He doesn’t deserve it.” Lies. Although y/n really wished to let Nat murder Loki, her love for him outdid that need.

“y/n, as much as I would like to stay with you like this, I’m afraid I have work to do. I need to find replacements so the mission can still-“

y/n’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? Replacements?”

“Yes, you obviously cannot go on a mission in this state. I mean, have you seen yourself?”

No. No, no, no. The mission was the only distraction she was counting on. If she stayed behind, she would probably end up doing something she never once thought she would.

“I want to come, Nat. I’m fully capable of fighting today.”

“y/n, think about this. Loki- “ Nat paused, concern refilling her when y/n flinched at his name. Rephrasing, she tried again, “he’s going to be there too, and we cannot risk any mistakes.”

“Nat. you know me. You know how I am. Would I let a little squabble in my personal life come in the way of my work?” y/n was probably lying again, she didn’t know how she could manage being in close proximity with the same person who managed to suck out her very soul, but it was so much better than the alternative. If y/n was deemed unfit for the mission, she would have to spend a day doing nothing, and that was not something she was looking forward to.

“Let me partake in the mission, Nat. I promise ill be okay. I just needed a few moments to collect myself.” y/n added a little smile at the end, hoping she could have Natasha fooled into believing that she was fine.

Gauging her response, Natasha studied y/n’s face for a moment. It was obvious she was lying, but Natasha knew better. She had to let y/n do this. Nodding, she relented.

“Promise you’ll be okay?” she asked, squeezing y/n’s shoulder once before standing up.

“Promise.”

He still had 2 hours to burn. 2 hours before he set out on a mission with the person he loved, aka the person whose heart he broke. Once her best friend, Natasha Romanoff found out, she’d probably come straight up to his room to kill him. He would have laughed if he was capable of feeling anything at the moment. He laid in his bed. The mattress was cold, hard, empty. Not even an hour since he left y/n for good, and he was already missing her. Her soft body flush against his chest, as he inhaled her chocolaty scent. The little sighs she subconsciously let out when he wrapped his arms around her. The little twitch in her lips when he whispered something in her ear. It was too late before he realized what he was doing. His heart stopped as his mind screamed at him, you can’t think of her! You don’t deserve to think about her, let alone lay next to her!

Inhaling deeply, he curled up into a ball. How he wished he was someone else. If it weren’t for his past, he and y/n could have lived one of the sweetest lives. Sure, she was a Midgardian, he would still figure out a way to keep her with him forever. If only.

“Top of the morning to you, brother!” Thor’s voice bellowed. Loki groaned internally. It seems, while he was in the middle of his self-deterioration, he forgot to lock his room door.

“What’s gotten you so sullen?” Would he simply leave if Loki didn’t respond?

“Brother. Hello.” Thor said again, shaking Loki’s shoulders. Clearly, he was unaware of Loki’s mental state- but then again, Loki was always like this with everyone. Except his y/n. His y/n? Nope, not anymore. Just y/n.

“Thor.” Loki said, finally acknowledging his cheery brother’s presence.

“Ah, finally. It seems to be getting harder every day to obtain a response from you, brother, hence I must ask- is everything alright?”

Loki wanted to laugh. Hysterically. So, he did. Slow laughter built up in his throat, and before he knew it, his laughter boomed all the way from his stomach. Cold, dry laughter that would run chills up one’s bones. When was the last time he had laughed like this? Out of sorrow? Out of spite for himself?

“Whoa. Am I dreaming? I have never seen you laugh like this, brother. I am now very concerned for you.” Came Thor’s voice, causing Loki’s laughter to die down. Laughter is supposed to make people feel better, right? But the feeling in Loki’s stomach would prove that otherwise. I do not deserve to laugh.

“To what do I owe your presence, dear brother?” Loki was surprised his voice sounded so collected. Almost as if he didn’t just take someone’s heart and stomp all over it. His heart churned as he remembered what he had done. He just wanted to lay in bed and sob.

“It is mission day, brother! We must prepare!” Thor bellowed; his previous question forgotten.

“As it is. Leave. I shall arrive at the quinjet in due time.” Loki hoped Thor didn’t hear how his voice wavered in the slightest.

“Brother- “

“Leave, Thor,” he breathed, his voice cracking at the slightest, “I beg of you.” Maybe Thor didn’t sense the wavering earlier, but he definitely caught this. Besides, Loki never begged.

“What did you do, Loki?” Thor asked gently. It now dawned on him why Loki crawled into a ball. Since they were children, Thor had seen how he would do that every time something had hurt his heart.

Loki scoffed at how Thor questioned his deeds. Of course, Thor would suspect him of some wrongdoing. It was never ‘What happened, Loki?’. Just the accusatory, ‘What did you do now?’. Although, this time, it was his fault. All his fault. Monster.

“y/n,” he said.

“y/n? What happened to y/n?” Loki could feel the sudden anger surge in him. Big, ugly anger- filled with resentment for himself. Why won’t Thor leave him alone? Why can’t he just leave, leave Loki to rot in his room?

“I broke her heart, Thor. I took it, trampled all over it, and left her to scavenge for the shattered bits. Is that enough? Or would you like me to tell you more? Leave, Thor. Leave me alone. I will report at the quinjet for the mission soon.”

Thor realized Loki’s predicament. He knew a situation like this might arise sooner or later, but he hadn’t expected it to occur at such an intensity. His little brother had only begun to experience the joys of love, of living, he had just begun to heal, and his demons were eating at him already.

Sighing, Thor began. “Loki. Look at me.” When Loki didn’t respond, Thor forced him to face him and meet his eyes.

“I may not have a clue about how you deal with most things, but I do know what you are feeling right now, brother. I have known you for many millennia, and no matter how clever and secretive you are, I can always tell how you feel. You feel undeserving of y/n, am I correct?”

Loki inhaled sharply at Thor’s accurate judgment. Was he so predictable?

Almost as if reading his mind, Thor continued, “You aren’t predictable, dear brother. In fact, you are far from it. But it wouldn’t take a fool to see how you feel about y/n. We all see how you look at her, Loki. Like you love her. Like you would do anything for her. But what you don’t realize is that we also see how she looks at you. She loves you, regardless of your scars, your past; she loves you for your heart- she loves you for you, Loki. Anyone who’s incapable of seeing that is simply an ignorant idiot.” Loki’s eyes widened at Thor’s revelation. y/n loved him regardless of what he had done in New York. She loved him, not because he was a god or a prince, but because he was him. Because he was Loki. How could he have been so blind? He wanted to smack himself for being so naïve & insecure. He should have just talked about it to y/n, like she always suggested. ‘Talk to me if you have a problem, Loki. It’s what all couples do. They support each other,’ she had said to him once.

“It isn’t too late. It never is. You can always fix it. Do you understand?” Thor said, bringing Loki back from his thoughts.

Loki needed to sit down and think, and Thor shaking him to elicit a response to his monologue wasn’t really helping.

“Are you done, brother?” Loki asked, his voice and face still monotonous. He needed time with himself. Besides, he never responded to Thor in any other manner. To break that ritual now was to sin.

Thor, however, couldn’t see past Loki’s monotony. Sighing, he said, “I hope you think of my words, Loki. You need y/n, as much as she needs you. Come to terms with that for yourself.”

“Based on what we can tell, they’re going to ask us for the hard drive before they give us Agents Samson, Waller, Bryson, and Stevens- so we’re going to have to stay on our toes,” Hill began, Natasha and y/n listening on intently. Loki wasn’t anywhere to be found, but then he hardly attended the briefings. He simply read case files and had a pretty good idea of what was to be done. “Natasha will be our front. She will deliver the drive, while y/n and Loki go in search of the agents. We need to ensure that we find our men before the decryption of the drive.” She said, looking back at her tablet.

Just then, Loki walked in, looking as pristine and collected as ever. As if he wasn’t running on sleep from a day ago, as if he didn’t have a broken heart weighing him down. y/n’s anger surged. It was infuriating how he wasn’t affected even to the littlest. She put on her mask of indifference perfectly. Last night didn’t happen. Loki was simply her coworker, and she was going to have this mission take place perfectly.

“Um, Agent Hill? Is it possible for me to take Agent Romanoff’s position?” y/n’s voice rang before Hill could give further instructions. Loki noticed how y/n looked calm and ready. Ready, to pounce like the lioness she was. She didn’t acknowledge his presence. Usually, when they met up at briefings, she’d give him the tiniest of smiles, but the sparkle in her eyes would speak more than what they could converse in a lifetime. That one moment always made his morning. He wouldn’t deny the sting he felt in his chest when she asked Agent Hill to change her position.

Agent Hill looked into her tablet and frowned. “I’m sorry Agent y/l/n, but this is the best way we can proceed while ensuring minimal casualties. Loki’s seidr, accompanied by your stealth will help in a faster rescue. Not many people are capable of resisting Natasha’s sweet-talking, so it is best for her to be on the receiving end of the exchange.” she said, winking at Natasha; grinning as Nat returned the wink. “And guys, a quick note. We don’t know these people; we don’t know how they work. If in case shit goes down, call for backup. We’ll be in ASAP. You have a 60-minute time bridge to be in and out. If you’re not out by then, we’re coming in. Understood?”

Quickly sheathing her disappointment, y/n nodded in agreement, “Affirmative, ma’am.” It seemed as if she had to face him after all. But no matter, she reminded herself. I am a hero. An Avenger. My people before myself.

“Alright guys, let's move in. I will enter through the main, you both through the back doors. Wait for my signal, and as soon as you receive it, go. Do not waste your time. I assume you have memorized the floor plans?” Natasha asked, putting a gun into her thigh holster. y/n nodded as Loki simply stared.

“Go on then, good luck.”

Loki used his magic to put some sort of cloaking around himself and y/n as they walked quietly towards the backdoors of the abandoned silo. The rival organization had set up a temporary location there for the exchange, and their current invisibility enabled them to walk comfortably.

Loki took a deep breath. It was unwise to have a conversation, nevertheless an intimate one during a stealth mission, but he had to talk to her. Let her know that he was sorry.

“y/n, I have to talk to you about earlier,” he began, looking for a reaction in her.

He waited for a moment. Several moments.

“y/n.” he tried again.

Nothing. Not even a flicker of emotion in her.

“I’m sor- “

“Don’t. Don’t for one second, think you can talk to me. Not after what you did.” She sneered at him, fresh fury blazing in her eyes like Greek fire. Loki flinched at her sudden reaction. He never flinched. “You do not get to talk to me after I bared myself open to you like I did, only to have you scoff at me, and deem me worthless.”

y/n was now angry with herself. It enraged her how Loki was able to elicit such a response from her with 3 mere sentences. She had to stay more collected. Ignorance, she decided. The best choice of weapons.

Loki decided to attempt again later. He could not give up on his love. He could still hear Thor telling him about how he could fix it. Loki used his seidr to pick the lock on the back door. So far, they couldn’t see anyone. No snipers, no guards, nothing. He ignored the chills that ran up his back.

y/n had her gun at the ready. It didn’t matter if they were invisible, there could be heat sensors. She wasn’t going to let the little kerfuffle from a few minutes ago faze her. Her skin rose in goosebumps as she sensed the eerie silence. Something was wrong.

On Natasha’s command, they moved in, both walking on guard in perfect formation. y/n in front of Loki, with her gun out, while Loki stayed behind her with his daggers in his hands. They walked around each other in perfect sync as they scanned their surroundings. They moved past the pitch-dark corridors as y/n tried to look for signs of an ambush. So far, they had to have encountered at least a few guards. The plan was to silently take them out as they continued to look for the kidnapped agents. y/n looked back at Loki and turned away before he could make eye contact with her. His heart pumped steadily, his blood filling with adrenaline in response to the suspicious silence. They approached another door, and based on the floor plans, they had to go through the room ahead. The only problem was that it was a very big, and possibly empty one. Some sort of a torture chamber, y/n figured, from the lack of furniture and other basic things. She cracked the door open. A single chair. That’s all she found in the center of the room. Was that blood? y/n’s muscles froze as she noticed the table with numerous surgical tools- no, torture devices. A little knife-like object laid in a steel tray, covered in blood. And fingers. So many fingers. y/n gasped at the image in front of her. The junior agents had been tortured in the very room they were in. She looked around for active cameras. 4 in each corner of the room. She was thankful for the invisibility curtain Loki’s magic was able to provide. Suddenly, Loki was tapping at her shoulder, trying to get her attention. He frantically pointed at a bundle in the corner of the room. White sheets. Drenched in blood. She moved towards it slowly. Please don’t be what I think it is. Please.

Uncovering the flimsy cotton, her eyes widened. “The Agents.” She breathed, meeting Loki’s eyes. He looked as mortified as she did. All four of them were dead. Tortured, left to bleed out slowly. It’s a trap. y/n realized, her blood curdling up. Only then did she notice the tripwire around the sheets. We’ve been tricked.

“y/n!” came Nat’s voice in her earpiece. “y/n- it’s a t-t-trap! Crack. G-get out of t-there! N-n-now Crack. R-r-rendezvous at-t b-back- Crack.” not even the static in Nat’s transmission could have left them confused about what they had gotten into.

In a blink, there were lights, everywhere. Red lights, lasers, sirens, noise resonating all over. They had been spotted.

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here,” Came a deep, cold voice from behind them. A man in a white coat, followed by a woman who seemed like an assistant- who was followed by at least a dozen men who looked like SWAT agents, except they had much more brandished weapons. The 2 doors in the room shut with a bang, leaving Loki and y/n trapped; with 4 dead agents, and the many people who probably wanted them dead- but not before having their fun.

“Agent y/n, and Loki, the God of Mischief.” He sneered at them.

y/n pointed her gun at him while Loki drew out his daggers and flipped them. That would have had y/n swooning on a good day, but not today.

“The one and only,” Loki stated. “Now let us through, or it will be the end of our short-timed pleasantries.” he sneered, adrenaline flooding in his veins, causing his green irises to turn almost completely black.

“Now, now. There’s no reason to be so hostile,” the man said, his mouth twisting into some crooked sort of smile. “After all, I am sure you do not have the capability to fight past all of my soldiers.”

He was right. Loki’s seidr could probably take out a few, and y/n’s ammunition a few more, but not before they were electrocuted or whatever those hi-tech weapons were capable of. She needed to contact backup. And fast.

“Let us out, unworthy scum. We’ve given you the intel anyway.”

“Behave, Agent y/n. Do you really think I’m stupid enough to fall for a corrupted drive?”

Loki wanted to smash his teeth in. How dare he talk to his beloved like that?

“And you are?” y/n asked the man, changing the subject and trying to stall him. The drive plan had failed, which meant that Natasha could be in trouble. Besides, they needed to come up with a new plan to get out without any more trouble. Not even 10 minutes in, and they were already cornered.

“Fred. I am also a doctor.” The grey-haired man said. y/n would have laughed if she wasn’t already upset and running on almost no sleep.

“.. your name is Fred?” she asked, silently trying to reach for her walkie.

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No, but I was expecting something more ... traditional. Something that would suit that malice in your eyes a little better,” She stalled. “Something more Russian. You look very Russian.”

All Loki could do was stare at y/n with a prideful smile when he realized what she was trying to do. His little lioness, so daring and clever.

Grinning like a madman, Fred turned to his assistant. “I like this one. Although, what’s all this about being Russian? I just don’t get it.”

y/n would have responded if not for the dart in her neck.

“Hey!” she felt the poison running through her veins in no time. Her sight faltered, her own voice sounding distorted.

“No!” Rang Loki’s panicked voice. His heart fought against his ribcage. What had he done? If only he hadn’t gestured at the bundle, if only he told y/n it was better to leave the moment they spotted it. They knew the junior agents were dead the moment they saw it, what was the need for him to have y/n uncover the sheets?

“Don’t worry, Mr. Laufeyson. It is only a sedative. Your girlfriend will be fine.” The doctor chortled.

It was now y/n’s turn to freak out. “How did ... how did you…” she mumbled; her eyes widening at the colors that brimmed in her vision. Her heart calmed to a surprising rate, a sloppy smile on her lips as she sank onto the floor.

“Please, Agent y/n. Like I said, I’m not stupid. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the way you look at each other?”

Thor’s voice rang in Loki’s ear. ‘It wouldn’t take a fool to see how you feel about y/n, Loki.’ He would have smiled if it weren’t for their current state.

“Mmm,” y/n hummed. Understandable, she wanted to say. “Un- un- under the sea.” She managed, with a goofy smile and a giggle bubbling from her chest.

Chuckling at y/n, the doctor said, “I’ll see you soon, Mr. Laufeyson.”

That was all Loki heard before everything went black.

He gasped loudly as he woke up. Where was he? He scanned his surroundings and realized he was in a lab-like settlement. No doors, just 2 bullet-proof glass windows behind which a number of doctors and agents stood. Along with Fred. His heart sped up as he took in y/n. Strapped onto a bed with numerous wires attached to her head. She was still unconscious from the sedative. He pulled at his arms only to notice he was shacked to the walls.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Mr. Laufeyson!” Loki heard a cheery voice through the speakers. “Shall we begin?” Fred asked, pausing for a few moments as Loki realized he was waiting for a response.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his mind numb. How was he going to get out? Where was Agent Romanoff?

“Ah, so glad you asked. This nice lady here,” he gestured, “is Doctor May. She specializes in hypnotism.”

What did they need a hypnotist for? If they were planning to hypnotize Loki, they were in for a disappointment because that really wouldn’t work on him.

Looking at Loki’s expression, the doctor smiled. “Don’t worry, it's not for you! It's for our dear y/n here! Doctor May here has so skillfully come up with a serum that we can test on y/n. We’re going to turn her against you, watch an epic battle- to the death; and if she survives, hooray! We’ll have her rejuvenate and train before using her to infiltrate SHIELD!” he cooed. His tone did not go with the threats he was spewing. "Oh, I also forgot to mention, we're giving her superstrength, just for the sake of it. see what happens."

Loki’s blood turned to ice. “What if she doesn’t survive?” he asked, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.

“Oh well, if she doesn’t, we’ll harvest your powers and whatnot! But not to mention we will be very disappointed in her.” The doctor said, frowning playfully.

Loki’s chest seemed to cramp up onto itself. He tried to pick the locks on his cuffs with his seidr.

“Did you really think we’d let you have seidr while in captivity? Gosh, SHIELD. Keep thinking I’m stupid. See what that does for you.” Fred mumbled, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“No! No. Fred. You do not want to do this,” His silver tongue was the only thing he could rely on now. He couldn’t let them hurt his y/n. Ignoring the sweat running down the side of his head, he donned a sweet smile and crooned, “let her go. I am far more powerful than she is. If you release her, I promise to submit to you, causing you no difficulty. My seidr and my other strengths. All yours. I will give you any intel you need.” He promised, his nerves slightly betraying him. That’s it. Take the offer, Fred. Let y/n go. It’s my fault she’s here anyway.

“Hmm, let me think,” Fred said, placing his index on his chin. Uh oh. “How about no?” he snapped, quickly letting that carefree smile adorn his face again. Loki’s smile faltered. “Unfortunately, your proclamation isn’t as fun as my idea, Mr. Laufeyson.” No seidr, no backup. He was going to have to fight the one he loved.

“May, commence operation Omega!” Fred yelled, bouncing on his toes. “I’m so excited!” he yelled, his arms flailing around. Loki couldn’t help but notice how the man’s appearance did not suit his personality even by a percent. Creepy.

He watched as y/n’s body started shaking. She was seizing. His stomach dropped as the horror registered in his mind. The wires suddenly detached from her head with a sickening pop as she opened her eyes. Her e/c irises now glowed bright blue. Like electricity in her fibers. Loki’s chest clenched at y/n’s foreign expression. How long had it been since they got in? Surely Agent Hill must have realized something was wrong by now?

He flinched as the shackles around his hands clicked open. He was incapable of fighting y/n, let alone killing her. He couldn’t stand the idea of landing his fist on her.

“Ah, hello? Subject 7? Can you hear me?” Fred’s annoying voice crooned.

“Yes,” y/n said, her face devoid of any expression. Almost as if she was a robot. Loki’s skin rose up in goosebumps as he heard her cold emotionless voice. This was not his y/n.

“Good,” the doctor beamed. “Destroy.” That’s it. One simple command for y/n to turn to Loki and snarl at him.

“y/n,” Loki whispered. No, no, no. He felt tears prickling in his eyes. He’d rather die a thousand deaths than lay a hand on her.

“You’re pretty. But I’m going to kill you.” y/n smiled, her mouth letting out a little giggle. That wasn’t her giggle. It was cold, malevolent.

“Doctor May, what was that? It was cute, but I don’t remember asking for that?” Fred asked, frowning at the lady. Stuttering, she said, “I-I believe the serum hasn’t taken complete effect, sir. Part of Subject 7’s personality i-is still accessible to her.”

“Aw,” Fred groaned. “Do I have to kill you, Doc?” he asked the lady, whose eyes were now wide as saucers.

“N-no, sir. I assure you it won’t be a p-problem. I will have it fixed b-before administering the next dose.”

“Okay!” Fred smiled again.

Loki overheard their little conversation. Could he still reach for his y/n, which was buried underneath the cold exterior, courtesy of the serum?

“y/n,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. She didn’t respond, but simply charged at him with a growl.

Loki dodged her, putting a safe distance between the two of them before trying again as his mind screeched at him. All your fault! Why did you let y/n uncover the sheets? You knew it was dangerous, you knew they were dead!

“y/n, it's me,” Loki said softly, trying to get her to look at him. He took a step towards her when he saw that she wasn’t going to lunge at him.

“y/n … I know you’re in there.”

Loki thought he saw a flicker in her eyes.

“Doc! What’s going on?” Fred exclaimed; his face glued to the glass.

Loki decided to get closer. “My love,” the words sounded foreign to his ears, no doubt, but it had never felt so right.

“Come back to me,” He whispered, reaching for her; tears obscuring his vision. “Please.”

y/n lunged at him; a perfect roundhouse directed towards his face. But Loki’s reflexes had always been faster. She circled him, like a predator assessing its prey.

Fred banged at the glass. “Subject 7! We do not have all day!” He yelled, and now y/n was rushing towards Loki. She swung her fist at his jaw as Loki dodged her, only to receive another punch on his throat. Coughing and sputtering, he glanced at y/n, his eyes speaking words he never had a chance to say. Rubbing his neck, he said in the gentlest voice he could muster, “Please, my love. You do not have to do this,” he paused, gauging y/n’s reaction. He noticed how her movements faltered every time he spoke in that gentle voice. “It’s okay, y/n,” he whispered, his eyes holding hers as he reached to cup her face. Everything slowed down when clarity sank into Loki, chilling his bones like ice on a hot plate. He now knew what he had to do.

“It’s me, look at me, my love,” he breathed, his eyes searching hers. Flicker. His y/n was fighting underneath the shadow that had taken over her body.

“I love you,” He whispered to her. 3 words, just 3 words to let her know how sorry he was. To let her know he never meant any of it. to let her know, that it was all his fault.

“I love you, my darling, I always have; I’m so sorry this ever- “ Loki’s voice muffles down as the next event unfolds.

She’s suddenly kissing him, she’s kissing him like she’s never kissed before- raw and hungry- and for one moment, for one moment y/n's emerged from the shadow of the serum- to tell him, tell him that it was okay. That she understood. One kiss to let him know that she’s forgiven him, one kiss to let him know that she loved him too. Loki’s eyes widened as her warm lips held onto his like her life depended on it- except this time, it did- and he was kissing her back before he knew it. he wrapped his arm around her, his other arm knotting in her hair to support the force of the kiss- and he’s crying, he's crying as her fingers tangle in his hair, he’s crying like he’s never cried before- the tight wraps around his past wounds ripping open, he’s crying like he’s never going to experience this feeling ebbing from the depths of his heart ever again--

And he’s suddenly on the floor with y/n’s hands around his throat, her eyes electric blue again, a menacing smile playing on her lips.

“Yes! Yes!” Came Fred’s voice. “Finish him, Subject 7!”

y/n stared at Loki, her hands lowly tightening around his throat. He could only stare back at her, his tears running silently as he placed his hands around y/n’s wrists.

“Do it, y/n. Do it. I did not deserve you anyway,” he said as he choked on a sob, “but I just want you to know- I have always, always loved you; and I wish last night never happened. I wish for you to never, ever experience the pain you felt last night, I wish for you to be treated like the queen you are- “ he paused, meeting her eyes, a thousand emotions swimming in his mind; making it impossible for him to speak the numerous confessions he was attempting to make.

“I love you, y/n, and I regret not believing you when you said you did too.” He choked out before shutting his eyes and accepting his fate. He embraced death like an old friend, waiting for it to swoop in and steal his soul. He waited for that cold feeling of release, of being free. He would die for her instead.

“I love you too. I never stopped,” He heard a sweet voice whisper. He opened his eyes to y/n’s e/c ones. She had fought the serum. Her lips quivered as tears brimmed in her eyes, freely falling down her cheeks, as Loki’s hands reached for her cheeks. “I love you,” she said, and everything blows apart as the building explodes.

// a week later//

y/n opened her eyes to 2 smiling faces, groaning at the throb in her head. She noticed the other Avengers next to her, all smiling, grateful that she was okay. She was in a hospital bed.

“Welcome back!” Natasha and Steve yelled, causing y/n to shut her ears.

“Guys! Stop yelling!” y/n manages to say before furrowing her eyebrows and shutting her eyes.

“How long was I out?” she asked, her eyes still shut.

“a week,” Sam replied from her left.

“Whoa.” She whispered, trying to recollect the events that had unfolded.

She froze as the images came rushing back to her. She tried to kill Loki. Then she kissed him. ‘I love you,’ he had said, and the building had exploded on their fragile reconciliation.

“Loki!” she gasped, sitting back up, her eyes flailing around to look for him. Was he dead? Please don’t let him be dead.

“y/n! Calm down! You have 3 cracked ribs, not to mention the messed-up head, thanks to serum Omega. We need to make sure it still isn’t in your bloodstream,” Nat says, holding her down.

“Is Loki okay?” she asks Natasha, her heart in her throat.

“I'll bring him to you,” the red-haired agent smiles at her, before turning to the door. “Stay put,” she calls behind her.

“What happened to Fred?”

“Who?” Steve asked quizzically.

“That weird doctor.”

“Oh, probably died from the explosion. Our people are there as we speak, y/n, we’ll find out soon. Feel better, we’ll tell you the rest later.” he said with a warm smile.

How did they manage to get out? Sure, she was knocked out after the explosion, but she did witness the intensity. It would have been impossible to extract them from underneath the rubble- unless--

“y/n?” Loki’s tentative voice came from behind the infirmary’s door a few moments later. She looked at him, searching for any injuries he might have sustained. Loki ran up to her, grabbing her face, “You’re okay.” He said, kissing her gently. He snickered as y/n’s hand crawled up into his hair, pressing his lips into hers harder.

“So are you,” she smiled, looking at him with a look of pure adoration.

“What happened?” she asked Natasha, her fingers looping into Loki’s as he sat next to her.

“I escaped, noticed that you both hadn’t made it to the rendezvous point only to encounter more agents, fought my way out, called for backup, and the rest is history. The question is, what happened to you? We got only Loki’s version. Gotta hear yours,” she says, all in one breath.

“Perhaps give us a while before that?” Loki asks her, Natasha gasping slightly at the little smile on his face.

“Careful Loki, smile any wider and people might think y/n’s making you go soft,” she joked and turned around to leave, gesturing at the team to follow.

“Hey you,” y/n whispered, her index tracing Loki’s jaw. He leaned down to envelop her in yet another kiss, this one sweeter than the best Asgardian mead, filled with promises of tomorrow. He smiled into the kiss when her fingers knotted in his hair.

“I love you," Loki whispered, thanking whoever that he could say it to her again.

"Forever?” y/n asked, her voice still hazy from the kiss.

“Always.”

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