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if your fic contains any common triggers, please make sure to include TWs in the description
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While back in their hometown for a funeral, Person A crosses paths with Person B, their childhood best friend (turned high school sweetheart) who they haven't seen in 5 years.
Person A works at a café. Person B doesn't like coffee, tea or smoothies but has a giant crush on Person A so they show up every day and order something different to 1. try and find a drink they can tolerate and 2. get Person A's attention.
Taeny Arknights AU, General, 600 words
context: Tiffany is a vulpo noble, she got infected and ran away, Taeyeon is just an ursus commoner
this is an old something that was hidden on my folder for a long time that i never explored too much but wrote a bit more for @everydayau
"Why are you even hiding me?" Tiffany sighs, "you're always moody around me and complaining about everything."
Taeyeon looks up from her book, but doesn't speak. She’s not trying to make Tiffany feel uncomfortable and unwelcomed, but the way Taeyeon stays quiet and composed is enough to make her squirm in her seat.
She shows no signs of answering and Tiffany looks around the kitchen table nervously, scratching her skin, trying to concentrate on something else; she looks at the small chunk of crystals showing on her left thigh before she gives in, "I mean, you clearly hate me.”
Still no answer, Tiffany feels her stomach churning and blood boiling, “I’d never do it to you.”
"Do what?" Taeyeon keeps her impassive face, which only adds to the irrational rage.
Tiffany frowns, bothered, "Help you. If the tables were turned, I’d never help an infected."
"Maybe that's why I'm helping you," Taeyeon wrinkles her nose and closes her book, sliding it aside, finally expressing some degree of tiredness, "so I can be sure that I’m better than you."
The silence lingers around, and they fall into a staring contest, which Taeyeon wins the moment Tiffany shifts on her chair uncomfortably and scoffs.
She opens her mouth a couple of times, "So this is just a situation so you can feel superior?"
"Yes."
"You live in a cottage in the middle of nowhere," Tiffany starts, gesturing around at the dead trees at the window and thick layer of snow on the windowsill, "your parents are barely home and now you're also exposed to the infection because of me. I pity you."
Now Tiffany has hit a nerve, for Taeyeon straightens her back and stiffens her jaw, "at least I'm not hiding at some lowlife's house in fear of being thrown away by my own family. I'm sure my father would at least try to save me. I'd not be disposable, as it seems you were."
Tiffany closes her eyes. Taeyeon wasn't lying, and she deserved the retaliation to some degree, she started it anyway. Although she would argue about Taeyeon’s father, he didn't show any actual concern about his daughter, only a mouth more to feed with the small income he probably makes; Tiffany hears it sometimes, when he rarely arrives home and she has to hide inside Taeyeon’s room and be quiet. The walls are thin, she hears him ordering Taeyeon around and only keeping formalities before he sends her off to her room, voice thick with alcohol and steps heavy as he, too, walks to his own bedroom and comes out before the sun's even up, Tiffany’s seen the way Taeyeon enters the room and goes straight to bed without saying anything, suddenly exhausted and head hanging low, ashamed of her situation.
There's no reason to keep the argument, both are miserable, Tiffany notices Taeyeon shrinking a little into the chair. Taeyeon doesn't reach for her book and Tiffany keeps staring at her small patch of crystalized skin.
She touches the soft skin around, always afraid to touch directly into the black crystal, "I was lying. I'd help you now, you know," Tiffany whispers, still looking down. Taeyeon looks up, confused. "Right now, I wouldn't even hesitate to help you if the tables were turned."
Tiffany offers her a small smile, and Taeyeon fumbles to reach her book again and open into a random page to hide her face. Tiffany can't see her expression when Taeyeon replies, "well, now doesn't matter too much when you've already lost everything," and she notices that her flustered tone doesn't quite match her words.
There’s a waterbender named Taeyong who lives at the very edge of the village and Doyoung has been avoiding him like the plague. They met exactly once at the market a month earlier. Doyoung, new to the area and clueless about the local cuisine, embarrassed himself by asking the merchant a million questions and holding up the line.
People had started to get impatient, their annoyance exacerbated by the heat. Doyoung was already flustered, overwhelmed by his recent move and still feeling very much like a fish out of water – an apt simile for a non-bender who moved from a landlocked city in the Earth Kingdom to a small fishing village on the coast of a rocky sea.
Afraid of ingesting something new and triggering one of his allergies (Doyoung’s greatest fear, especially now that he’s so far from home), he may have gone overboard with his questions. The shopkeeper, a teenager, lost his patience and snapped at him, shouting, “Buy something or don’t! Let these people pay for their food!”
As Doyoung ducked out of the market, tail between his legs, cheeks crimson with humiliation, he noticed Taeyong at the back of the line.
At the time, of course, Doyoung didn’t know who he was. That day, Taeyong was just an absurdly handsome man holding a basket of fruits and waiting his turn in line like everyone else. Doyoung didn’t know he was an esteemed waterbending master, someone that lesser benders would have paid anything to lean from (if Taeyong was someone who saw students, that is. Doyoung would learn later that Taeyong is as introverted as he is brilliant. There’s no shortage of students willing to travel to the village and pay for Taeyong’s guidance but Taeyong simply isn’t interested in teaching.)
No, that day, Doyoung just saw a beautiful man with high cheekbones and silver hair, a slightly confused expression on his chiseled face when he ran out the door.
Since then, the legend of the reclusive waterbending master has grown exponentially. Doyoung hears a new story every time he goes into town: Taeyong once helped a neighboring village with their food shortage by plucking fish from the sea with his bending, Taeyong singlehandedly put out a massive blaze started by a group of firebender thugs, Taeyong once parted the ocean to save two kids who’d gotten trapped on a sandbar during high-tide. In every story, Taeyong is the hero. By everyone’s accounts, he’s one of the most powerful benders this side of the Earth Kingdom.
And that’s why Doyoung stands at the edge of a long, sandy path. He’s traveled hundreds of miles to study the local bending traditions. He’s been to the Northern Water Tribe to interview members of the royal family, to a remote village on the bank of a winding river to learn about the region’s fighting style, to a territorial swamp community to study the way they learned how to bend the water inside vines. He came here to learn from the fishermen but each time he's spoken to one of the locals, he’s been directed back to Taeyong.
“Talk to the master. He lives at the bottom of the hill. He knows more than we do. If you really want to learn something new, you should talk to Taeyong.”
Staring down at the cottage, Doyoung can’t seem to pick his feet up off the ground. This is the sixth day in a row he’s made it to the path, stood for a while, then given up and gone back home.
What is he supposed to do? Go knock on the door of a celebrated, respected waterbending master, one who turns away even the most promising of paying customers, and ask him stupid questions?
“Hi! We haven’t formally met but I’m Doyoung. The last time we saw each other, a sixteen-year-old boy screamed at me about plums. Can you tell me about the time you split the ocean with your bare hands? I can’t pay you but if it helps, I think you’re gorgeous.”
Doyoung takes a deep breath, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he tries to get himself psyched up enough to take another step towards the master’s house. The sun is beating down on his shoulders, nature’s way of trying to hurry him along.
You have to do it. If you want to finish your thesis, you have to talk to him.
Doyoung starts down the path, his social anxiety and fear of failure dueling for control of his brain. When he gets to the front door, he hesitates. He raises his fist but he can’t seem to remember how to knock.
Before he can, the door swings open. Taeyong stands on the front step, silver hair tied back, blue robe hanging loosely from his shoulders. He’s even prettier than Doyoung remembers. There’s a distinct emotion on his face but Doyoung has trouble placing it. Is he annoyed? Surprised? Offended? Sick of being summoned for help? Happy for the company?
“I was wondering when you’d finally make your way down here,” Taeyong says. There’s half a smile on his lips. When Doyoung doesn’t reply, Taeyong cocks his head to the side and says, “How many days have you been standing up there now? Five?”
Doyoung clears his throat, embarrassed but determined.
“Six actually.”
Taeyong laughs – a nice sound, Doyoung thinks. He steps aside and gestures inside the cottage. Looking past him, Doyoung sees simple, wooden furniture, ceremonial weapons from the Southern Water tribe and colorful paintings on the walls. Immediately, his mind is bursting with questions.
“Well then,” Taeyong says warmly, “I guess you better come in before you make it a full week.”
