Marriage On The Rocks Type Of Fics 

So, India is dying.

Look, I know a good number of you are from the US and things aren't amazing there either, but my country is literally on the brink of collapse. So I'd love it if we could talk about that for a minute.

If you can't do anything else, please just read and reblog.

A second COVID wave has taken out the healthcare system. There are no more hospital beds. There's an oxygen shortage. There's a critical vaccine shortage. The Central Government has thrown its hands up and is passing the baton to the State Governments to do what they can.

There are over 16 million covid cases. A record 330,000 new cases reported yesterday - comparable to the US at its peak. 187,000 dead as of today.

There is no plan.

Mass cremations are taking place. The cremation grounds are running day and night and they are short on wood. People are watching their loved ones die while waiting for a hospital bed, and then they're unable to give them the proper burial rights.

Hospitals are overwhelmed. Patients are being confined, two to a bed. They're the lucky ones.

We are on the verge of people dying in the streets.

This is the second-most populous country in the world. The largest democracy. A country that encapsulates over 15,000 years of recorded human history and has endured everything from famine to invasion to colonisation.

We might be at the end. This might be the thing that does us in.

People are dying.

People are dying.

People are dying and there is no plan.

More good news? Variants are popping up. A double mutation strain has shown up. It is resistant to current vaccines. This will not go away. This is the devastation they warned of when the anti-maskers were out protesting the minor inconvenience of covering their face in public.

My country is on the verge of an emergency state. Our government has failed us. This is as dire a situation as it ever could be.

Look. I don't do much with my life. I write fics, some of you have read them and that's pretty much it. I spend my days with my head in the clouds because that's where I like to be.

But two days ago, my grandmother tested positive, had to be taken to hospital and the ambulance caught fire.

She barely made it to the urgent care she needs.

So, here I am, using whatever meager platform I have to cobble this request together. Because I have to do something.

If you can, donate.

Or spread the word.

Help. Please.

Look at this if you’re feeling sad.

I Know It’s Breaking Your Heart

Calum Hood x fem! reader ; Luke Hemmings x fem! reader

Warning: angst and mild swear words

Word Count: 2515

Summary: It’s hard to watch the person you love in pain due to the feelings they hold for someone else. Y/N knows that Calum has feelings for her, and Calum is aware that she knows too. So what’s stopping the two from becoming official? Y/N loves Calum’s best friend.

a/n: This is inspired or based on the song ‘ghostin’ by Ariana Grande. It’s absolutely phenomenal, incredible, and heartbreaking and I do advise you to listen to it while reading.

I know you hear me when I cry I try to hold it in the night While you’re sleepin’ next to me But it’s your arms that I need this time (This time)

You hated feeling vulnerable.

Blinking away the tears threatening to fall down, you stare at the Instagram post that Luke uploaded a couple days ago. Thao🖤, it’s captioned, as it displays a beautiful image of him and Sierra. The picture is so simple yet so captivating that it radiates romance through the screen, making your heart ache once more from unwanted jealousy.

You close your eyes and place the phone beside you with the screen facing down before one hand goes to wipe away fallen tears, all the while the other rises to grasp and twist the garment covering you heart in current pain.

Soft sobs can be heard in the room, echoing throughout the air and bouncing from wall to wall. The silence is deafening, but you couldn’t seem to feel anything other than your aching heart as you vulnerably tuck your head in between your knees in attempt of self-consolation.

“Y/N?” You hear Calum’s voice call you from outside the studio. “It’s almost midnight lovely, why are you still here?”

Look at the cards that we’ve been dealt If you were anybody else Probably wouldn’t last a day Every tear’s a rain parade from hell (From hell)

You slowly look up from your position and place your eyes on the raven-haired man. Standing up abruptly, you pull him close in a tight embrace as you sob onto his chest.

Calum doesn’t say anything but rather only pulls you closer against him, burying his face on your neck.

To say that the two of you have been in this situation only once or twice would be an extreme understatement. You’ve lost count of the times that Calum has found you in this certain state of vulnerability, the first time being months back when Luke first talked about Sierra romantically.

That was at Ashton’s house on a Sunday morning after a Saturday night out.

You remember how Luke’s eyes shone under the light-washed room when he talked about meeting Sierra the night before, and how he hasn’t felt that way since first meeting his ex - when things were non-toxic and healthy. You remember how his dimples came out as his smile widened when he spoke of the cheesy pick up line he used to approach her. You remember the boys patting him on the back, happy that he’s found someone that was then a possible love interest. You remember being one of the ones to smile and hug him, telling him that he truly deserves someone to love in a way unexplainable. And you remember him thanking you for that, telling you how much he appreciates all that you’ve done for him and the band.

But then you also remember having to excuse yourself after breakfast because ‘you had to use the restroom,’ but really it’s because you almost felt yourself choking from holding back the tears. You remember suddenly bursting out of your seat and head straight to the bathroom, bumping into Calum on the way. You remember how Calum checked on you as soon as you two collided and how his face softened as soon as he saw your broken state. You remember faking a smile before pushing past him and finally reach the bathroom. You remember having to lock the door and open the faucet so that no one could hear you crying and in pain. You remember how Calum knocked softly and asked you to let him in, not taking no for an answer. And once you did, he allowed his actions to speak volumes and only hugged you tight against his chest, whispering sweet nothings and words of comfort against your ear all the while softly rubbing your back.

You remember the first out of the countless low points in your life, and each time Calum was always there for you. You don’t know whether you could’ve gone on remaining to be such good friends with Luke and the rest of the boys if he wasn’t there for you. You probably wouldn’t last a day without his comfort. Calum was and still remains to be your anchor, - your lifeline.

Baby, you do it so well You been so understanding, you been so good And I’m puttin’ you through more than one ever should And I’m hating myself ‘cause you don’t want to Admit that it hurts you

But it’s so wrong. It’s so wrong what you’re doing to him.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand why he’s done all that he’s done for you. Sure he’s your friend, but so is Ash and Mike, so is Crystal and Kay.

So when you asked him why,

“Cal, why are you doing this?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you here? Why aren’t you out right now with the rest of the boys? It’s a Friday night, Cal. You could’ve met a girl today.”

“The only girl I need is right here with me.”

“Cal I’m serious. Why do you stay with me? I mean- don’t get me wrong, I appreciate all that you’ve done for me and I truly love you from the bottom of my heart, but you know you don’t have to do any of this.”

“I know that Y/N.”

“Okay, so why do you?”

-and he replies with nothing, you knew.

The silence was the loudest of all answers he could’ve possibly given.

After what felt like hours, the two of you pull apart and out of the embrace. Your eyes still remain closed as you try to steady your breathing. Lips quivering from both the pain and the cold, you feel Calum wrap around his jacket around you which then makes you suddenly step away from him.

Startled, Calum reaches forward to touch your shoulder in a comforting manner, “I’m sorry Y/N I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to give you my jacket since you seem col-”

“I’m sorry, Cal.” You cut him off with a whisper.

“What?” He replies, his gaze softening at the sight of your defenseless exteriority and his heart aching from your delicate words.

I know that it breaks your heart when I cry again Over him, mmh I know that it breaks your heart when I cry again 'Stead of ghostin’ him

Sighing, you raise your head to look at him before smiling weakly, “I know you care about me. In- in the same way I care about Luke, and-” You readjust yourself by looking away from him, “I know it hurts you. I know it hurts you seeing me cry because of how I feel for him and God Cal, I’m so sorry for being selfish and accepting your embrace every time you come to me.”

“No no no no no Y/N no-” He tries to cut you off.

“Im so sorry for being such a hypocrite and not putting your feelings in consideration the same way you’ve been putting mine. I’m so sorry for just thinking about me Cal. I know it’s breaking your heart and- fuck, I’m so fucking sorry that I’m just allowing myself to do this to you.” You sputter your words out quickly, pausing in between due to the sobs escaping your lips.

Letting out a weak laugh, you smile as you look up at him, “God I wish I love you instead of him. I wish I loved you instead, Cal.”

“Shh shh, don’t say those things alright? You can’t possibly blame yourself for how you feel.” He responds soothingly, his hand finding its way to the back of your head as he pulls you in another hug, yet this one being firmer and tighter. “-I would know. It’s not your fault, Y/N.”

You grasp the fabric of his back and squeeze in attempt of comfort, smiling sadly and ironically, “The fucked up part is that it’s not his either.”

Letting out a soft sigh, you sway from side to side as you’re in the embrace, “He’s so happy with her, and I should be happy for him. But instead I drown myself in misery. I can’t even last an hour during a date without wishing I was with him instead. I’m so fucking pathetic, honestly.”

“We both are.”

“Guess we are perfect for eachother then.”

“Guess so.”

We’ll get through this, we’ll get past this, I’m a girl with A whole lot of baggage But I love you, we’ll get past this, I’m a girl with A whole lot of baggage, yeah

Making your way out of the studio, Calum again tries to wrap his jacket around you, and you let him. 

You thank him silently before giving a small smile and pushing the door open, Calum trudging along behind you closely. 

The both of you silently walk through the halls as you pass by the records and record labels upon which are in bright colors, screaming in yellow and green from the Sounds Good Feels Good album and red and blue for Youngblood. Your eyes find themselves scanning the walls ahead as you say memories captured in camera. 

Suddenly coming to a stop, Calum realizes the distance between you and him as he finds himself ahead of you. Turning around, he sees you biting your lip as you clearly try to hold back the tears. You were looking at the displayed image of you and Luke in a very tight embrace, taken just backstage when the guys have won their first ARIA award. Ironically, the sweet moment between the two of you was captured by Calum himself. 

You take one last look before swallowing the lump that formed in your throat as you continue your walk, grabbing Calum’s hand in the process. 

Calum slightly gets startled at your actions for some reason, even though hand holding is a very common gesture that the two of you do. Perhaps it was the timing upon which you did it. Or maybe he’s just falling in love with you even more, so much more that what was once a friendly action became a meaningful touch to him. 

Smiling sadly, Calum says nothing in fear that you’d suddenly let go.

Though I wish he were here instead Don’t want that living in your head He just comes to visit me When I’m dreaming every now and then (And then)

Once the two of you reach the outside, you pull him to a stop and look at him. 

He stares back at you with a kind of fondness that warms your heart, how could you have possibly been blessed by whichever power is about above with someone like him? 

Putting down the bags, you ask him to do the same, and as he does what he is told, you then take a hold of both his hands and place the in between the both of you.  

You smile before looking up at him, the difference in height taking a huge toll in the distance between both of your sights. Sighing softly, “I want to try us, Cal.” 

Taken aback, Calum looks at you in confusion, “What are you-”

“I don’t know when yet-” You cut him off, “and I don’t know how. I don’t know whether it’ll work out, and I don’t know whether this is crazy or not but- but I want to try, Cal.”

It takes a while for Calum to respond as he only stares at you adamantly before speaking up, “Y/N I love you.”

“Cal-”

“No. I love you. I’m in love with you. And I don’t know what that means to you or for you but I can’t just put my emotions on the line like this in hopes that you’ll run out of feelings for Luke and turn to me instead. That’s not fair, lovely. And I’m sorry but I can’t do that. I can’t just be a second choice.”

He finishes with a gentle tuck of your hair behind your ear, and suddenly you feel your heart flutter at the gesture.

This small interaction and display of affection has given you the boost to speak about what you mean, “Cal, of course not. I could never ever ask you to do such a thing. You’re not my- and should never ever be anyone’s second choice.”

You pause, trying to find the right words to say.

“And I’m not asking for that. I’m not asking for dates, or goodmorning texts, or gifts. I’m not asking for anything more than our current now. I’m not asking for you or myself or anyone to do anything. The only difference from now on is that I’ll recognize the fact that you have these feelings for me. That’s something I’ve never done before Cal, and you know it. Each time you’ve showed me affection I’ve brushed it off. Each time you’ve showed your love for me I chose to blindly ignore it. But I won’t anymore. I won’t ignore your love anymore, and I won’t pretend that you don’t anymore.”

Fumbling over with your words, you can just feel his eyes staring at you. It made you feel a sense of weakness, a tremble in your knees as you for the first time in existence felt intimidated by his presence. 

A kind of feeling you’ve only gotten around Luke.

“I’m not asking you to keep loving me, I’m just saying that if you do still choose to, I won’t hide how I feel about them anymore.”

It was a very long pause. A very long silence.

You hear distant car noises from down the street and certain chatters from crowds across the block. It feels as if you’re in a scene located in a desert and a tumbleweed passes by.

“And how do you feel about them, Y/N?”He finally asks, more daringly than sweet.

You kind of liked it.

“Just now?” You look up at him straightly, your head tipped up as his are tipped down, “I kind of like it, Cal.” 

And after all that we been through (And after all that we been through) There’s so much to look forward to What was done and what was said Leave it all here in this bed with you (With you)

You have no clue what is to come after that interaction. You don’t even know whether you made the right choice. 

You didn’t love Calum,

not yet.

But somehow you cared and longed for him lovingly. The way you needed him is unlike any other person you needed before. Not even Luke. He understands and connects with you in every way and every level. He brings you a sense of peace, a sense of calmness and joy and happiness that is incomparable to anything of existence. And that night, you felt something else other than joy or peace or happiness. No, instead you felt an immediate connection - a connection so strong that you felt so drawn to him than ever before. 

You didn’t feel love, you felt a connection on its way to love.

This connection is a type that developed over time, and after a long way hell in traffic, it’s finally reached its destination. 

soulmate (n): a connection so strong that you are drawn to them in a way you have never experienced before; as this connection develops over time, you experience a love so deep, strong, and complex, that you begin to doubt that you have ever truly loved anyone before. 

cold shoulder

Summary: Yoongi suddenly starts giving you the cold shoulder, causing you to distance yourself from him and the rest of the members. But the reason behind his behaviour is not what you think.

Yoongi x f!reader

Genre: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort

WC: 4.5k

Watching BTS perform through a screen was entertaining and exciting. Watching them perform live was magical and an experience you would never forget. Watching them perform up close from the wings of the stage was a privilege that came with being Yoongi’s girlfriend, and one you would forever be grateful for.

Of course, you weren’t just dating Yoongi to watch their concerts, you loved him inside and out, the good and the bad, the idol side of him and the real side of him. And no matter how many times you watched them practice, rehearse and perform their songs, you would never get tired of watching them do what they loved.

Keep reading

Reblog if it's okay to befriend you, ask questions, ask for advice, rant, vent, let something off your chest, or just have a nice chat.

reading this as a tae-biased army is not good for my emotions

When You Least Expect It | 08

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader x Taehyung 

Word count: 6.4k

Warnings: angsttttt, some vulgar language

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732419/navigate

A/N: Splitting the chapters won by literally one vote, lmao. Thank you to everyone who voted, and I hope those who voted for me to keep it as one chapter can enjoy it just as much. :((( 

Next: 09 || WYLEI Masterlist

You’re in love with your childhood friend, Taehyung. The problem is, you treasure your friendship with him far too much to ever risk losing it. Oh, and he’s quite the Casanova. At your wits’ end with feelings you can no longer hide as diligently as you once did, you ask him to set you up with someone, anyone, in a last-ditch attempt to avoid a heartbreaking conversation.

Keep reading

Will you do the Phases of Kim Taehyung 👀 the other ones were so good!

This one was HARD! There were too many to choose from 😭😂🥺 I might have to make another one as well...

Fledgling

Hard Candy

Saucy lil’ Pumpkin

Certified Tongue Gymnast

V is for Vampire

Fatality

Post-Apocalyptic Warrior Thot

Disco Daddy Warbucks

Bob Ross

PonyTae

Hii!! Can you please give recs about cheating and regret?(any member) It doesn't matter if the ending is happy or not, I just want to cry skskksms🤧🤧 Thankyou love!!💖💖

🌷 Here you go, anon 😊.

Thank you dear authors for these fics! ♥️

Note: I don’t condone and support cheating. These are just works of fiction and I appreciate how these writers tackled the scenarios. 

BTS Infidelity/Cheating AUs

implied or suspected | member cheating on OC | member x OC cheating on partners | OC cheated on member | Member being cheated on by SO

There are fics I can’t recall the title/s of but I’ll try to update once I remember. I didn’t include fics that romanticizes it (like pwp type)

Jungkook

Break up With Your Girlfriend @pradaksj - 1920s

Chasing Pavements (ongoing) @guklvr - married bestfriend!JK [4/5] not really full-blown cheating

Comfort Inn Ending @joonbird - established turned exes, idol!au [7/7]

Decalcomania @floralseokjin - established relationship [2/2]

Forever Has a Limit @readyplayerhobi -  husband!jk drabble

Ghost in my Bed (ongoing) @yeojaa - exes!au, e2l, rockstar [4/?]

I’d Rather be Dead + Everything I Wanted (ongoing) @starshapedkookie - fratboy!jk [2/3] 

I Hate You, I Love You @jungblue - bestfriend!jk, unrequited love [2/2 + drabbles  morning truths + when spirits spill]

Love is Not Over @moonnightyoongi   - established relationship [7/7]

Mutual Help (ongoing) @personasintro - bestfriend!au, broken up sad boy Jungkook (not really a cheating au but topics of cheating are touched upon across chapters. Also, this is the only reason I visit wattpad 😁. It's really angsty too!) [33/?]

Paradise @lunar-jimin - ceo x secretary

Rain by nijoon [AO3] - husband, divorce!au

Red by @7deadlysinsfics [AO3, but they'll repost on tumblr soon) - affair 

Slow and Steady @yoonia - artist!jk, husband!jk

Snapdragon + Daffodil @dfdph - fratboy!jk, college au (part 2: doctor!jungkook, doctor!reader, exes au)

Sound the Alarms @littlemisskookie - bestfriend’s boyfriend [8/8]

Splinter @/jungblue - exes reunion

Stubborn Love @hoseoksyn - modern day royalty, bodyguard

UNDO @/moonnightyoongi  - affair, college au (01 02 03 04)

Way Down in Bed Stuy @minstrivia - sister’s boyfriend; very angsty

Yoongi

If Walls Could Talk @smoochkooks - fwb!au

Stay High @personasintro - exes!au

UNDO @yoonia - exes!au (I remember needing a moment to calm down after reading this fic) [one shot + 7/7 drabbles]

Wrong hoseokiehope [AO3] - fuckboy!au [10/10]

Wildest Moments @/joonbird - producer!yoongi [7/7]

Somebody Else @sincerelyourfangirl -  Your husband found solace in somebody else’s arms. [6/6]

Third Wheeling (ongoing, updates every Sat) @untaemedqueen - ceo!au, married!yoongi, pregnancy [17/?]

Jimin

Come Home to Me...Darling @roses-ruby  - husband au [2/2]

Faded Love @jamaisjoons ​ - husband au

Taehyung

Cheater @/personasintro -  Ten proofs you got to find out the truth but you were too blind in love to see.

Let Love Be Enough @jingabitch ​ - exes!au, divorced couple

Hoseok

Swan Song @avveh​ - Lord!hoseok x maid!reader 👀 [2/2]

This is Not a Love Story @sincerelyourfangirl - almost wedding

The Story of Us @/littlemisskookie - in a diary form, suspecting JHS of cheating

Namjoon

Stranger I Met on the Bus @9uk - strangers2lovers

Promises @jeonsweetheart - husband au, idol au [5/5]

Break Up With Your Girlfriend @lovetrivia - TA!Namjoon  Namjoon has a GF who broke his heart (but he still wants her until our tease OC comes along 😉)

Seokjin 

Infidelity @jungk0oksthighs - ex!husband

My Tiny Secret @personasintro - mistress AU 

Taehyung x Reader x Jungkook

Everything Goes @/jamaisjoons - fuckboy!kth

Get Someone You Love @bangtaninink - exes!au, pining koo

House of Cards @aiimaginesbts - friend!kth [10/10]

Jungkook x Reader x Yoongi 

Hidden Stars @/jungblue​ - idol!au [5/5 + drabble]

I Feel You in my Heart (ongoing) @purpletaecup ​​ - exes!au, discussions of cheating   [11/?]

Jimin x Reader x Jungkook

Intoxicated @sugarjaee -  fuckboy!jk, jimin comes in latter parts  [6/6 + drabble]

Right of Way by fringesofinsanity [AO3]  I can still hear hearts shattering 💔 [12/12]

Taehyung x Reader x Jimin 

Slight Changes @jiminimoon - idol!au, appearance of Hwarang actors (lol) [11/11]

🌷 posted: 2021 Feb 11 🌷 other lists 🌷 I love to read so feel free to recommend a fic =) 

Please note that the fics are NOT mine. Please show these authors love by reblogging their fics, giving them feedback, and engaging in any positive interaction you can think of! 🥰

so beautiful 🥹

IV. Something Has to Change

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love. 

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

//

Your friendship with Taehyung starts to show its cracks.

Section Warnings: language

WC: 7.5k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Saturday October 20th

You text Taehyung before going to sleep just to confirm he didn’t die in a ditch, but it’s radio silence from him until almost three o’clock the next afternoon. When he does finally answer you - “alive but at what cost?” - you roll your eyes and turn your phone over, screen down. You’re sitting in the living room, two author anthologies open on the coffee table, bookends to your open notebook. 

Apparently he’s displeased with your silence, because your phone buzzes again a few minutes later - the longer buzz, indicating a call of some kind. With a huff of aggravation, you flip it over to see it’s a video call, his preferred method of communication. You slide the button to accept the call, but let him stare at your ceiling. 

“What?” you demand. “I can’t talk, I have to go call off my search parties.”

“I was asleep,” he defends himself. “I texted you as soon as I woke up!”

“Didn’t sleep last night, huh?” you joke, but the sting is there. Just a little. 

He avoids the question. “What are we doing tonight?”

You laugh at the audacity of his whole existence. Admitting to your face that he’d been up all night with a girl, and then calling you first thing upon waking like he knows you’ll just be there, waiting for him. What would happen if you weren’t?

Not to mention asking what the Saturday night plan is thirty seconds after waking up with a hangover. 

“I’m assuming you won’t want to go out?” you ask. 

He hums, runs a hand through his messy hair. “Depends. I could be persuaded, maybe. Wouldn’t mind just hanging out, though. What about a movie? We have that one we’ve been saving?”

We.

You’re not sure why, today, it’s bothering you so much. The truth is, Taehyung’s acting and speaking the same as always. So what’s different?

You don’t want to examine the answer to that, so you focus on the plan instead. “I like the sound of a movie,” you agree. “Wanna see if anyone else is interested?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “I’ll text everyone.”

“Sounds good. See you around eight?”

“Should we order dinner before that?” he asks.

Something in your stomach turns. You don’t want to. You don’t want to keep getting your heart stepped on. You don’t want his metaphorical scent on all of your clothes, so that you can’t go anywhere or do anything without him lingering on you. 

And at the same time, he’s your best friend. He’s your family. You love him, in multiple ways.

It feels like being tugged in opposite directions. It feels like lose/lose. It feels like there’s no right answer, nowhere to turn, no option that doesn’t hurt.

“Not tonight,” you hear yourself say. “I have too much homework.”

“Okay,” he says easily. “See you around eight, then. I’ll let you know if anyone else is coming with me.”

You try to return to homework after you hang up, but your focus is shot. You lean onto the cushy back of the couch, closing your eyes. You’re still sitting like that when you hear the front door open. Namjoon hadn’t been home when you got up, had been out the whole time.

“Hey,” you say, eyes still closed.

He gives a chuckle. “Everything okay?”

“I think my brain is broken,” you tell him. “Can Edna write about something besides death?”

He huffs out a laugh, and you hear him drop his keys onto the counter. “I think she does,” he says, coming closer and peering at the anthology you still have open on the table in front of you. “Nature. Rebellion. Men. Women. Love. Sex.”

Your cheeks burn, like you’re thirteen damn years old, just from hearing the word sex in his low, steady voice.

Get a grip, you scold yourself silently. 

“I guess so,” you admit. “But today everything I read is about grief.”

“Take a break,” he suggests, moving into the kitchen. You hear a cabinet open and the sink run, and then he comes in carrying a glass of water. He sits down a few feet away from you on the couch and copies your pose, leaning back against the cushions.

It occurs to you that you’ve never sat on the couch at the same time as him before. In fact, your Uber ride last night was the closest your bodies had ever been. 

“We’re gonna watch a movie tonight,” you find yourself telling him. “That new one with what’s-his-face, Raven’s Prophecy? Around eight. If you want to join.”

“Yeah,” he says right away, surprising you. “Sounds good.”

–

The movie’s good  - really good. You’re all crowded around the living room - Namjoon on one end of the couch, Yoongi on the other, you and Taehyung and Jimin on the floor. The coffee table has been pushed to the side to make room for you, the lights turned down. Taehyung is sitting with his back against the couch, legs extended in front of him, and you have a throw-pillow leaning against his knees, laying perpendicular to him. Jimin sits next to Taehyung, one of his legs resting lazily over top of yours.

It feels normal, and it feels nice, and everything weird from earlier seems to float away. Maybe you had just been tired. 

“That’s totally foreshadowing,” you pipe up, raising a hand to point at the screen. “Because when he-.”

“Hey,” Taehyung says loudly, reaching over to flick the back of your arm. “No nerd talk. Just enjoy the movie. No one asked for a literary analysis.”

“But, look -.”

“No,” he repeats firmly, and Jimin giggles, used to this exact squabble. “This is fun, not school.”

“Foreshadowing is fun!” you protest, laughing, but you let it go. 

A second later, your phone buzzes in your hand. 

[9:37 PM] Namjoon: 🤯

You bite back a smile, turning off your screen before the light can catch anyone’s attention, and then you cast your gaze up at the couch to find Namjoon looking right at you, a sheepish smile creeping up on one side of his face. 

You’re thankful for the dark of the room, the light shifting and changing with the scene on the tv screen, as you feel yourself blush. 

God, you think to yourself. Get it together. Two days ago, it hadn’t been like this, where every met glance cues up a shy smile, and each tiny smile elicits a flush. You don’t know who this girl is but she is un-fucking-recognizable. 

You wait a minute or two, then turn your brightness down and send back, “but am i wrong?”. Then you glance back up to watch Namjoon read the text. He gives a laugh, one shake of his shoulders as he sees it, and then he meets your gaze. That same half-smile on his face, he shakes his head imperceptibly. 

Behind you, beneath you, Taehyung shifts and you turn back to the tv quickly, feeling something akin to guilt simmer in your gut. You don’t see his eyes bounce back and forth between you and Namjoon, curious. 

Monday October 22nd

Monday brings bright sunshine despite the chilly air, morning light illuminating the deep reds and oranges of the trees down the block. 

Namjoon finds you in the kitchen, staring listlessly into an untouched cup of coffee. 

“Good morning?” he greets you, a question.

You startle. “Shit!” you yelp and then laugh, heart pounding. “I didn’t even hear you getting ready in there. ”

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says apologetically. “I’m heading to campus in a bit… how about you?”

“Yeah,” you say glumly. “I have work and class.”

“Same,” he says, moving around you to rummage for some breakfast. “Class first, and then I’m TA-ing all afternoon.” 

You give him a little smile. “I don’t think I’ll be needing your services today.”

“No?” he asks mildly. “Last few submissions went well?”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume I’ve written anything worth submitting.”

He laughs, his back to you, and then settles against the kitchen counter. “I can help you brainstorm, too, if you’re stuck.”

You bite back the prideful I don’t need your help that rises to your tongue. He’s being nice. Instead, you say, “Hopefully I’ll make some progress on my own. Have fun, though. You still have that office to yourself? If I had that, I’d be so productive. Nothing to distract me.”

Namjoon shakes his head, smiling ruefully. “I find ways. I still have my phone. And a window.”

You laugh at this, and then rise, draining half of your mug of coffee in one go. “I need to head in. Are you leaving now, too? Or, later?”

“I can make now work,” he says, something warm in his tone. “Let me just go grab my bag.”

Out front, you blink against the sudden brightness, holding up a hand to shield your eyes as they adjust. Namjoon locks the front door and comes down the steps at a light jog, stopping next to you.

“Ready?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you tell him, and you start off towards campus in silence, the only noise around you the calls of birds and the hum of car engines from nearby traffic. 

You stop at an intersection, watching the orange hand tell you to wait. “So,” you say, glancing up at him as the cars whiz by, “what’s your book about?”

He looks at you completely blankly, like he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“For the grad program,” you clarify. “You said you were in fiction, right?”

“Oh,” he says, as if he forgot. “Yeah. Um, I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

“Try,” you say dryly.

“It’s a coming-of-age, I guess,” he says, rubbing his chin as he thinks. He’s wearing his glasses today, and you have half a mind to tease him that he’s just trying to look like one of the professors so they don’t kick him out of his hijacked office. “And a bit of an unrequited love story.”

“The good kind or the bad kind?” you ask, a little absently. When he doesn’t answer, you look at him to determine why, and he’s looking at you like you’ve asked the most ridiculous question in the world.

You huff out a sigh. “Like - unrequited because the other person doesn’t know, or because they don’t return the feelings?”

“One of those is the good kind?” he asks, raising a brow. 

“The first one,” you say, as if it’s obvious. “It’s… it always exists only as the idea of love, it’s untarnished, it can remain a beautiful and pure thing. It never gets messed up.”

“But you’re alone,” Namjoon counters. 

“You still love someone,” you insist. “The meaning of life, and all that shit.”

Namjoon shakes his head as the stoplight above you changes from green to yellow, and then to red. “It’s not the same as loving someone and having them love you back, building it together and working to sustain it,” he says firmly. “That’s real love.” And then he heads for the crosswalk, his long legs carrying him swiftly away. 

You hurry to catch up, feet following his without question.

–

The first leaf falls, a warning. Now the rest will follow. I watched them sway all summer. Autumn leaves me hollow.

There’s a promise in the air, I turn towards the icy bite. If autumn can’t make me happy, I wonder if winter might.

Aren’t those frozen days so dark? Isn’t catching snowflakes strange? Perhaps this could be something. Perhaps something has to change.

You frown at the page. Half of you is tempted to take Namjoon up on his offer to workshop during his TA hours, but you’ve got a good reason not to let him see this one. 

“Y/N?” Kris calls from the register at the front of the store. “Did I leave my phone back there?”

Their voice brings you back to reality, pulling your focus from the page of your notebook open on your lap. You’re hiding in the stockroom, sitting on an unpacked box of what you hope are books, trying to cram in some coursework. 

Kris’s phone is indeed on a table behind you, where you sling your bookbag when you come in to start a shift. You rise, slipping your notebook back into said bag and grabbing the phone, walking it out to them. 

You’re alarmed when both phones buzz in your hands, a long, repeating pattern that you aren’t accustomed to.

“What the fuck?” you utter, even though if your boss heard you cursing on the floor you’d get a written reprimand for the first time in your life. 

“Storm alert,” Kris says, reaching one grabby hand out for their phone. You pass it over and press your thumb to your own screen. Sure enough, it’s a severe weather alert. 

You groan. “Great. I walked here.” You try to pull up the radar, but your shitty service takes too long to load it so you switch over to the hour-by-hour. 

“See if your knight in shining armor will give you a ride,” Kris says with a twisted chuckle. 

For a second, you aren’t sure if they mean Taehyung or Namjoon, and that fact is startling. Obviously they mean Taehyung, they know a lot of your history with him and they don't know anything about what’s happening with Namjoon. Nothing is happening with Namjoon, you correct yourself sternly. You had a weird desire to scoot closer while drunk in an Uber and had one sort of deep conversation. It’s not a thing. 

And, actually, texting Taehyung for a ride is a pretty good idea. Outside, it’s not even raining yet, but the clouds hang low and the leaves that have managed to cling to their branches this late into autumn are flipping and shimmying in the harsh wind. 

There’s a long line of students waiting to check out - probably grabbing last minute snacks and drinks before the rain starts, so they don’t have to go out later - so you slide next to Kris at the second register and swipe your access card. You work like this for at least an hour, the rain starting a pace outside the windows as steady as the flow of students trying to get what they need and hurry back to their dorms. 

When you catch a minute, you send a text, holding your phone down under the counter and typing with one hand, as if it isn’t painfully obvious what you’re doing. When the answer comes in, you tap the screen quickly.

[4:22 PM] You: are you still on campus?

[4:31 PM] Namjoon: just finished work. can’t wait to walk back in this…

You giggle and Kris looks at you out of the corner of their eyes.

“That him?” they ask. They mean Taehyung, and you’re too damn aware of the lie as you answer, “Mhm.”

[4:34 PM] You: i’m done in 25 min if you want to suffer together

[4:36 PM] Namjoon: yeah sounds good you can make sure i dont drown lol

An “lol”? Oh, goodness.

[4:37 PM] Namjoon: you’re at the bookstore right? i’ll come there and wait for you

Oh, lord, Kris is going to have a field day with this. You don’t have time to focus on this, as your boss finally sweeps out of her adjoining office, announcing that you need to shut down the second register and finish everything in the back room before your shift ends. She’ll be the one to close the store tonight, as she does on Mondays. 

When you emerge from the back room at 4:59 on the dot, your backpack on your back, Namjoon is loitering near the registers, and Kris is shooting you looks that are somehow mischievous, delighted, and wounded. You have a feeling you’ll be interrogated during your shift on Wednesday.

Outside, the rain isn’t that bad, but it is steady. The wind blowing makes it look like it’s raining left to right, in sheets. 

“We’re gonna be drenched,” you groan. You follow Namjoon out of the bookstore, waving a goodbye at a still-disgruntled Kris, stopping at the glass doors that lead outside. 

“It’s not that bad,” Namjoon tells you, voice a little fond, like he thinks your complaining is cute. “We’ll just go quick. I’m mostly worried about my laptop.”

“Ugh, same,” you lament. “We’d better be fast, I fully cannot afford a new one.”

“Let’s go,” he tells you, and leads you outside. Just like that morning, your feet follow his, like it’s natural. You walk in silence almost halfway home, the pace too clipped to really carry on any kind of conversation. 

You’re practically panting for breath when you hit the major crosswalk, stopping to wait for the signal to walk. The rain seems worse when you’re stopped - sticking your hair to your head where it lands, raising the hairs on your arms as your body gives one dramatic shiver against the chill. Namjoon looks down at you.

“We’re almost there,” he says, reassuring. 

“Mhm,” you manage, rubbing your hands over your arms to fight off the goosebumps. The light changes and you start across, following Namjoon and his naturally long stride. You keep your eyes on the ground, dodging puddles, watching the white stripes pass beneath you. 

You’re just across, stepping up the curb onto the sidewalk, when it happens.

The sky opens. 

One second it’s raining hard enough to be a nuisance, the next second it feels like someone dumped a bucket of water over your head. The sound goes from a soft patter to a sudden roar, like the rain is alive and it is pissed. You splutter, actually blowing water away from your lips, reaching up to wipe your eyes. 

“Fucking shit,” Namjoon swears, and then he grabs your hand and tugs. “Come on!”

He’s not running that fast but there’s still a few seconds where you feel uneven, your gait awkward, trying to match his. Eventually your feet settle into the rhythm and you run just behind him. His hand, so large in yours it's almost swallowing it, is warm and solid and sure. His grip is tight - like he means it. He doesn’t look back as he runs, just squeezes your hand in his and trusts you to keep up.

When you round the corner of your block, together, you try to pull back, try to slow down. Your lungs hurt, your legs are burning, and you just want to admit defeat and walk the block letting the rain know it won.

Namjoon doesn’t let you. He slows his pace to more of a race-walk, gives your arm another playful tug. Not for a single second does he loosen his grip on your hand.  

“You can make it,” he tells you over his shoulder. His hair is flattened from the rain, his face a little flushed from the run, but his dimples wink at you through the deluge.

When he reaches the front of the apartment, he finally drops your hand and takes the steps at a clip. At the top, under the safety of the awning, he turns to see why you haven’t followed him.

You can’t help it - it’s all so ridiculous you have to laugh. Your hair sticks to your face like cooked spaghetti, your shirt clings to your arms, your backpack is dripping water like there’s a faucet in there, and even your socks are wet, making each step you take squelch like mud. Still cackling at the absurdity of this moment, of having been completely defeated by the season, of running all the way home and still ending up half-drowned, you look up at the sky. The rain slides down the sides of your face and you let it cool the heat that’s there from either running, or Namjoon’s touch.

You feel a little drunk from it. 

“Y/N!” Namjoon scolds from the top of the stairs, but he’s smiling that same fond little smile he’d had on movie night a few days ago. “Come inside! You’re going to get pneumonia.”

You look back at him, the rain still assaulting you from above. There’s a second where you feel something. Something like… you’re half-drowned and chilled to the bone, but you feel warm with his affectionate gaze on you. Like you don’t want him to look away and leave you cold again. Like the rain was penance and now you’re all paid up. 

Like for at least this moment, right now, the rain has washed away your histories and left you clean and empty, a blank page waiting for a new story to tell - where before, your pages were full of scribbles and scrawls that held such heavy meaning there was no room for anything new.

You’re thinking too much.

You’re standing in the rain, Namjoon is looking at you like you’re nuts, and you’re thinking too much.

 Watching your feet, you head up the stairs, going through the front door that he’s holding open for you.

You squish your way upstairs, neither of you talking. Inside the apartment, Namjoon flicks on a few lamps.

“I’m going to grab a shower,” he tells you, voice quiet. “You should, too.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “That was my plan.”

You stand beneath the spray of hot water, tapping on the faucet to work it hotter by degrees, not wanting the temperature to jump and scald you. You feel drained, like your limbs are noodles. You lean your forehead against the tile wall, closing your eyes and just breathing.

“What the fuck…” you whisper to no one, “is going on?”

You wish you had a friend to talk it out with. Kris would go overboard, exploding with glee. Lin isn’t a talk about boys kind of person, or even a talk about your feelings kind. That leaves Taehyung, and the idea of trying to talk to him about your burgeoning feelings for Namjoon makes you laugh out loud, the single syllable echoing off the shower walls, echoing back to mock you. 

When you finally make it back into the living room, hair blow-dried and wearing your fuzziest joggers and a hoodie, Namjoon is tucked away in his own room, the door open that familiar four inches. 

You get settled on the couch and pull out your phone and realize practically with a gasp - you hadn’t even tried to text Taehyung to drive you, nice and dry, back from campus. Your brain had thought but I walked here with Namjoon and the option of “dry” went right out the window.

You cover your face with your hands, sliding down on the couch a little bit. What is the matter with you? 

You feel right now like it’s all happening too much, too fast. What even is “it”? Do you like Namjoon? Despite barely knowing him? Despite having to live with him? 

Despite the years and years of experience you have with loving Taehyung, and Taehyung alone, out of everyone in the whole wide world?

Luckily, Namjoon stays in his room for the rest of the evening, sparing you from any more self-reflection, any more soul-searching. 

You still kind of wish he’d come out. 

Tuesday October 23rd

One of the steady things that you and Namjoon share, that works for you as roommates, is that neither of you cooks. A whole kitchen of pots and pans just to heat up water for tea and ramen and to occasionally cook an egg. 

So when you get home from class on Tuesday so late that it’s already pretty dark out and you hear the clanging and banging from the kitchen that indicates a meal being made, you genuinely wonder if you’re at the wrong door. 

As you push the door open, the noise only gets louder. You round the corner and see the kitchen in chaos - two unmanned pans on the stove, bowls and whisks and colanders and cutting boards all over the counterspace. Namjoon has his back to you, a large kitchen knife in hand. 

You ease around him, not wanting to startle him until the knife is set down. He spots you anyway, and gives you a sheepish grin.

“What… exactly… is happening here?” you inquire. 

“It depends on the scope of your question,” Namjoon answers, because of course he can’t just fucking answer you like a normal person. “If you’re referring to the stove, I am burning some sauce on the left and burning some meat on the right. If you’re referring to the cutting board, I am -.”

“The stove is on fire!” you shriek, pointing, your spare hand flying to cover your mouth in horror. Flames crawl from underneath the pan of meat, over the top, devouring what’s in the pan and leaping into the air. Namjoon drops the knife with a clatter and whirls around, eyes wide. 

“What do I do?” he cries, hands in the air like he’s going to swat the flames like gnats.

“Turn off the burner and smother it!” you cry, not willing to enter the kitchen and get closer to the danger. 

“Smother it?” he repeats, the words a little wild as he screams them. Smoke has filled the kitchen, blurring your view of him, and the smoke alarm over the front door begins to blare. 

“The lid!” you scream, trying to be louder than the alarm. “Turn off the burner and put the lid on the pan! Be careful!”

You add this last part in a shriek as Namjoon follows your directions, reaching towards the flame to twist the burner and then slam the lid over the top of the pan, hissing a little as he does. 

The flames vanish almost instantly, but the smoke remains and the alarm keeps screaming. Namjoon looks at the pan, then his hand, then at you. 

“Go run cool water on that,” you tell him firmly, and you cross the apartment to open the windows and turn on the fans. 

You return to the kitchen to find Namjoon running the sink over his knuckles, brows furrowed.

“Is it bad?” you ask loudly - again, to be heard over the smoke alarm - as you open a drawer and get a kitchen towel, moving to stand in the kitchen’s doorway flapping away, trying to send the smoke towards the open windows. 

“No,” he tells you, pulling his hand out of the stream of water to examine it more closely. “It’s just a little red.”

“Keep it there for a little bit,” you tell him, still flapping away. “I might have burn cream in my bathroom, I’ll check in a second.”

Eventually the alarm quiets and you both heave a sigh of relief. The cold air coming from the open windows chills you down to your toes, but smoke still clings to the room, blurring your vision just enough to wonder if you’re imagining it. 

You find the burn cream in your medicine cabinet and return to the living room. Namjoon is looking at the ruined remains of his dinner with something like heartbreak on his face.

“Come here,” you tell him, sitting at the breakfast bar, ointment in your hand. “Come sit so I can do this.”

“I can do it,” he protests, but he heads your way.

“Sit,” you repeat, pulling out the stool next to you.

He does, silently and obediently, sliding his hand over to you. You can see the redness over his knuckles, middle and index the most. You uncap the tube and squeeze a little onto your fingers, then take his hand in your spare one to hold it steady. Gently you press the cream into his skin, making sure to cover each bit of redness. Namjoon watches you solemnly, wincing a little when your fingers touch his middle knuckle.

“See if that helps,” you tell him, his hand still resting on yours. “Want help cleaning up?”

He sighs heavily, and you both look at the kitchen in defeat at the mess of pans and bowls to wash.

“Do you ever just… miss your mom?” he asks plaintively, not looking at you.

The thing about grief - long-term grief, lifetime grief - is that you can go days, maybe even weeks at a time without noticing it. It’s kind of like a bruise in a hard to reach spot. It just takes one bump in exactly the right place, and it hurts just as bad as day one all over again. Namjoon’s words pierce you, and you take a slow breath. You were just caught off-guard, that’s all. You can be fine. You can be normal.

“Sure,” you say, trying to sound casual. Failing. 

He narrows his eyes at you in suspicion. “Why’d you get weird?” he asks. “Do you have a bad relationship with your mom or something? I didn’t mean to -.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, but you rise and head for the kitchen, starting to pick things up just to do something with your hands. “It’s just… I don’t have my mom anymore. She passed when I was little. My dad too.” Might as well get it all out there. It felt weird to let someone only know half.

It’s easier to handle this moment with Namjoon in another room. You don’t have to watch him react, don’t have to translate his silence and his body language. You slide all the chopped onion onto a plate just  in case Namjoon still wants to use it, and turn to rinse off the cutting board in the sink. 

He appears behind you, silently lingering in the doorway. “Y/N,” he says softly. 

“It’s fine, Namjoon,” you tell him, scrubbing at the cutting board vigorously. You don’t turn to face him.

“I wouldn’t have been so blase about it if I’d known,” he says apologetically.

“I know,” you say. You turn - away from the doorway - to put the cutting board aside to dry. You grab the pan with sauce in it - all congealed and unappetizing now - and move to scrape it into the garbage can. 

He comes up beside you; his fingers touch your elbow, feather-light, like he’s afraid he’ll spook you.

“Y/N,” he implores. “Look at me.”

You do, glancing sideways up at him, the pan heavy in your hand. “I’m not upset,” you assure him. “People just get so weird when they find out. I hate… navigating that, over and over again, with new people.”

He gives you a guilty smile, but there’s relief in it as well. “I will stop being weird immediately,” he promises. “I just felt like I stepped in it, you know?”

You shrug. “It happens to the best of us. It really is fine. It’s been a long time.”

You arm tingles where he’d touched you, but he stays put when you move back to the sink, running the water hot enough to steam before you put the pan under it. Then, wordlessly, he moves next to you, grabbing a cloth and starting to dry the cutting board you’d washed.

You carry on that like that, a perfectly synchronized dance, in silence until the countertop is empty. All that remains is the pan that had been alight about half an hour ago.

“Can I ask you something personal?” he asks, leaning against the counter as you scrape the remains of the charred meat into the garbage with a grimace. “I’m just curious. You can tell me to fuck off.”

“It’s so jarring when you swear,” you tell him.

He grins at you. “Hobi says my surprising potty-mouth is one of my best charms.”

You laugh at this. “I can see that,” you agree. “It is surprising.”

“Not charming?” he teases.

You shrug, feeling that blush rise up again. “No comment. Anyway - what did you want to ask?”

He lets you get away with evading the flirtation. “If you were little… who raised you?”

“Oh,” you say. You aren’t sure what you thought he’d ask, but it wasn’t that. “My grandma, until she couldn’t. Then my Aunt Lin took over, but she’s more like a big sister than anything.”

Namjoon nods. Then he asks, carefully, “Did Taehyung know your parents?”

The question makes you smile at the memories it pulls up - you and Taehyung as kids together, goofing off around your house, back when it had been filled with people.

“Yeah,” you say softly. It doesn’t occur to you to wonder why he’d ask that. It doesn’t occur to you to mask the tiny smile, that it might jostle his feelings even a little bit.

You look over at him when you realize he’s gone quiet. “Are you close with your family?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He nods, eyes on the pan lid that he’s drying. “Very. I was a lost soul when I first moved to campus. I couldn’t do anything.”

“You burned dinner tonight,” you point out. 

“I can do laundry now,” he retorts, smiling at you as you put the last of the dishes away. “I’ve come a long way.”

“Still room to grow,” you tease, reaching out to give his arm a playful nudge.

You’re giving playful touches now. That’s a thing that’s happening. 

You ache, again, to have someone to tell. 

Wednesday October 24th

You both love and hate Wednesdays - on one hand, you have your thesis double-feature, and you actually enjoy it. On the other hand, you go straight from double-class to closing shift at the campus store, and you don’t get home until dark. The day is long, and you’d rather be home. For several reasons. 

Your morning goes as you expect - you make it through the lecture part of class, updating Professor Jemisen on how your research segment is going. During the break, you eat some leftovers you’d thrown in your backpack, and talk with Gloria and the other girls. After the break, your group helps you workshop your latest poem, the one about the season changing, and you do the same for them.

The season changing is happening in real life, all around you. Fall fades quickly, the days darkening, the chills lasting longer, becoming more pronounced. Gone are the autumn days that change their mood and become summer again for hours at a time. 

You normally go straight to the campus store after class, but this week you’re hungry - the leftovers you packed weren’t enough to keep you until you get home. Instead of heading down the main paved path to the student center, where you work, you head for a large academic building you pass on the way there. You know there’s a little sandwich station on the lowest floor, tucked away past the mailroom like a well-kept secret. 

You take a hallway off to the side, passing some open classrooms on your way to the staircase. You’re walking mindlessly, head thinking only about the sandwich you’re going to order. You slow your steps when you hear a familiar voice, low and calm. 

“All I’m saying,” a girl is saying, and you stop in the doorway, listening, “is that while the idea of going to live alone in the woods is actually extremely appealing, Thoreau as a whole kind of sucks.”

“I might agree with you, but you need to frame that more academically,” Namjoon corrects gently.

A circle of students - freshmen, if you had to guess, maybe eight of them, are sitting at desks, their bags all forgotten on the floor by their chairs. Namjoon perches on the edge of the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, legs casually stretched out before him. He’s listening intently as the students debate.

“We have to specify the problem,” someone else in the group points out. “I’m all for metaphorically dragging down statues of the patriarchy and everything, but we need a solid argument.”

“Or,” a different girl says, voice just barely loud enough for you to hear from the hallway, “maybe instead of giving more attention to ‘classics’ we see as undeserving, maybe instead we should focus just on the underprivileged voices that we prefer to be amplified?”

“You mean pick a lesser-known author and shed light on their work instead?” Namjoon clarifies, and the girl nods. 

The group begins to debate this passionately, and Namjoon lets them fight it out, taking a second to glance at his phone. You become aware of the fact that you’re just standing in the hallway staring. You’re about to move on when Namjoon notices you. He looks away quickly at first, and then it registers that it was you standing in the doorway like a weirdo, and his gaze flies back to you. 

Caught, you have no choice but to lean into it. You give him a tiny smile, raising a hand in a guilty wave. He smiles back, just barely. You stay there another minute, smiling at each other, while the freshmen continue to argue. Then your feet spur you on, and you give him a little nod before heading down the hall. But the stupid fucking butterflies stay in your stomach the whole time you wait in line for your sandwich.

When you get to the bookshop, you toss your backpack behind the counter and slump onto a low stool that’s stashed back there. You lean your head on the counter next to the currently unmanned register and let out some unhappy grumbles.

Kris comes out from the stockroom - you can tell it’s them by their footsteps.

“What is happening here,” they say flatly, not exactly a question.

“Kriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis,” you whine, not looking up. “I think I need to talk about… my roommate.”

“Bitch!” they utter indignantly. “He has a name! What grade are we in right now?”

You stomp your feet lightly, needing to display your crankiness. “I am feeling very confused and conflicted and I need you to be nice to me about it,” you say petulantly, finally picking your head up so you can pout better. 

“Okay,” Kris says easily, leaning against the wall. The shop is devoid of customers, so you don’t bother to lower your voice. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” you continue to whine. “It’s just how I feel.”

Kris gives you a level stare. “I need the whining to stop, like, yesterday. If you feel conflicted, there’s a reason. So, figure out what it is.”

“I already said I don’t know,” you tell them, still pouty, but sitting up straight now.

“Dig deep,” Kris deadpans. “Do it for the dimples.”

“Oh my GOD,” you say, unable to even make eye contact. “Never mind, conversation over.”

They shake their head, not letting you off the hook. “What’s the problem, Square?” It’s a nickname they gave you last year when you wouldn’t go partying - because… apparently you’re a square.

“You know the problem,” you grumble quietly, making them lean closer to hear you.

They lean back, something knowing in their eyes. “Ah. It’s the Taehyung factor.”

“Shh,” you scold, glancing around the empty store like someone might have materialized without you noticing. When you return your gaze to them, Kris is just staring at you plainly, waiting for you to elaborate. 

“I don’t know,” you say, and then more emphatically, “I don’t know! If I… start something else… does that mean giving Taehyung up? Because I can’t say I want to do that. Not if I’m being honest.”

Kris nods silently, letting you work it out. You meet their eyes, suddenly feeling the squeeze of anxiety around your chest, like your lungs have something heavy they have to push every time you inhale. 

“If I lose him,” you say in practically a whisper, “I will quite literally die.”

Kris scowls at you. “You will not.”

“I will,” you retort. 

Kris gives you an eyeroll. “So dramatic,” they scold. 

“He’s my family, Kris,” you try to explain. “In a lot of ways he’s my only family.” Your voice breaks as you ask, “What if I lose him?”

Now Kris softens, lips pulling together into something like a very pursed frown. “Maybe you should talk to him,” they suggest quietly.

You hate that idea a lot. “Maybe,” you say loudly, slapping your hand on the counter and standing as the bell over the door chimes and a group of lacrosse guys (the sticks are a give-away) enter the store with a burst of noisy chatter, “I should never talk about any of this ever again.”

Kris sighs heavily, practically doubling over. Now who’s dramatic? “You’re so self-destructive,” they complain.

“Don’t be mean,” you say, going back to pouting.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kris waves a hand at you. “Go write a poem about it.”

“And what if I do?” you demand, but you’re both laughing now, unlocking the registers as the lacrosse dudes line up to pay for their snacks and drinks.

–

Taehyung texts you near the end of your shift - “we haven’t hung out in five billion years :(“.

You roll your eyes at his dramatics and text back, “come get me from the bookstore then and hang out for a little”.

You’re pleased when he agrees. He shows up a little bit before closing, knocking on the already locked glass doors. You hurry to let him in, ignoring Kris staring knives into your back. 

“Hi,” you say happily as he slips into the store, and you lock the door again behind him. “I’ll be done in about four minutes.”

“‘Kay,” he says easily, striding over to the checkout counter and leaning against it. 

“Taehyung,” Kris greets him, nodding their head as they lock the register. “How’s it going?”

He sighs dramatically. “The usual. Classes. Parties. Trying to figure out why Y/N doesn’t love me anymore.”

You freeze halfway to the stockroom, your eyes wide, air catching in your throat. 

Luckily, Kris is and always has been way more slick than you. They cock their head quizzically, letting a playfully concerned frown settle over their features. 

“Y/N doesn’t love you anymore?” they echo, the poor baby pronounced in their tone. “What on earth do you mean?”

Taehyung shoots you a mischievous look; luckily, you’ve gotten your act together since he said those words. 

“I had to beg for her attention tonight,” he says, clearly loving this bit. “I’m beginning to think she has a secret boyfriend she’s not telling me about.”

He’s teasing and you know it, but after a lifetime of friendship with Taehyung, you know this too: there’s a little sliver of him that must be hurt, or at least bothered, or he wouldn’t tease at all.

You feel both caught - despite not having a secret boyfriend or anything like it - and guilty. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I just got busy with my thesis and everything. I promise I’m not out with other people and not you. Even Kris only sees me at work these days.”

“And Namjoon,” Taehyung adds plaintively, and your blood runs cold.

“Namjoon?” you echo, not sure you can form a different word.

Taehyung’s pouting now, which means he’s not too serious. “Yeah, he has no choice, you’re in his living room every day.”

“Oh,” you say, relief flooding through you. “Yeah.”

You don’t see the point in telling Taehyung that there’s a teeny, tiny something starting with Namjoon. Not when it’s so… unformed, insubstantial, uncertain. You don’t know which word fits best. It’s a maybe at best, and it just doesn’t seem worth rocking the boat over it. 

What would happen if things started for real? Would you tell him? It shouldn’t have to be a secret… it shouldn’t stay a secret, not if you mean it. What would happen?

You’re afraid to know the answers. 

You finish up in the store and you all head to the parking lot together. You tell Kris goodbye and drop down into Taehyung’s passenger seat. 

“You’re gonna stay at the apartment for a little?” you ask. 

“Mhm,” he says, fiddling with the heat until he gets it how he wants it. “Can I work on homework with you?”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I have so much shit to do. I wasn’t kidding when I said school is eating my life. Senior year sucks.”

Taehyung isn’t looking at you - he’s watching the road as he waits for an opening in traffic so he can pull out of the parking lot. But something crosses his face - relief, maybe. Something softens, anyway. Maybe he really had been hurt that you hadn’t been hanging out as much.

When you return to the apartment, Namjoon isn’t home - his door hangs open, his bedroom completely dark. 

You and Taehyung settle in the living room, dragging out your laptops. It’s nice, hanging out like this again. You hadn’t realized how long it had been - over a week - since it had been just the two of you, like old times. Everything falls right into place. You swap snacks, hands brushing as you both reach into crinkling chip bags. You reach over and type nonsense into his paper when he isn’t paying attention, letting out peals of laughter when he figures it out and starts spluttering at you in outrage. You tell him about the customer at the store who argued with you over - of all the stupid things - a used copy of The Odyssey. 

When he hugs you goodbye at the end of the night, swaying you playfully back and forth like he might drop you, both of you giggling wildly, you’re reminded of just what the stakes are. You’re reminded of just how much you have to lose. 

<- Prev || Next ->

ahhhhh what do we think??!! there was hand holding!!!! are we clutching our pearls??!!!

as always thank you all so so so much for being here, i appreciate every one of you so extremely much!!!

Second Best

summary: you and Harry meet at a party, but he seems to take more interest in your sister than in you, and you won’t be Second Best. 

author’s note: bonjour mes chéris!! this is the first instalment of hannah being the history/french student she is and merging all three of her worlds and creating her own little fictional one. this is based off of lousia may alcott’s little women (one of may favourite books ever) but with my own little twist on it. this is set in the 1860′s during the civil war but i haven’t made it too historical at all.  i have done all of the translations myself and even though i’m semi-fluent i still make mistakes so if you spot any let me know. this is so long so i’ll shut up now, thanks for all the support bye!! <3

word count: 16k of good old fashioned marriage talk (there’s a lot of it, its all they spoke about tbf??), fluff, angst and a lil’ smut. there is marriage and children at the end (woo, exciting!) not proofread because my eyes are already asleep. 

masterlist   |    speak to me about second best here!

“Stand up straight, don’t slouch. You have a tendency to do so, and these people will not tolerate it.” You sister, Lizzie, says as she pushes her arm between yours, walking you towards the fancy house in front of the two of you, “Whatever you do, don’t speak about your art at all. Nobody can stop you once you’ve started. Do speak if you’re spoken too, and if you’re asked to dance, dance.”

You shake your head, “But I don’t want to dance.”

“You will dance.” Lizzie says again, squeezing your arm slightly, “You may find yourself a husband if you act proper enough.”

“I shouldn’t have to act proper just to find a husband, Lizzie.” You scoff, shaking your head, “If they don’t love me, oil paints and all, then I don’t want them. I don’t think I’ll ever find a husband.”

“Oh shush with you.” She says, tapping your arm slightly. It didn’t hurt, but it did cause your lips to part in shock, “How lovely would it be if father returned and you were married! It would make his life.”

“I think he’d have a heart attack.” You mutter, removing your arm from around hers as you stand outside of the door you were going to walk through in mere minutes, “I’m his little girl, you are also, Lizzie. If we were both to be married I’d think we’d kill him off.”

“You shouldn’t joke about that.”

“I’m not joking. I truly believe that would happen.” You deadpan.

She scoffs and slips her arm through yours this time, using her free hand to ring the bell. A man wearing one of the fanciest suits you’ve ever seen in your life opens the door, allowing the two of you to slip through. You help Lizzie remove her shawl, whilst she does the same to you. The man hangs them up amongst the array of other jackets. You lips part in shock at the sight of the house you were in, the first thing your eyes falling upon being the large staircase, with paintings littering the walls. For once, you were speechless, unable to control your excitement and want to gawk at the art upon the wall.

“Lizzie!” You gasp, gripping her arm tightly, “Look at the—”

“Don’t you dare say paintings!”

“Lizzie!” You groan again, pulling her arm so that she’s looking your direction, “Look at them.”

“I’m looking at them.” She lifts her eyes to look at the wall you were looking at, where the pieces hung with such grace and elegance, “They don’t seem too spectacular.”

A shocked gasp escapes your lips, “Take that back, Lizzie! They are beautiful!

“If you say so.”

Keep reading