Herping the Derp

Wow hi, I'm Krispy and I write fluffy garbage, make costumes and speak Japanese. -Fanfiction -Translation -Cosplay Mostly Akagami no Shirayukihime. Sometimes: Bangtan Final Fantasy Bravely Default AO3: krispy-kream Personal blog: dream-drop-krispy FFXIV: Sisirinah Idris [Gilgamesh] About my blogs

[krispy-kream]

Hi guys, I know a mass exodus is occurring with the new rules so:

I have a Twitter, it is @/sharon_blaauw

My ao3 user name is krispy_kream

Smooches to you all, I still love you kids, catch you on the flip side!

[krispy-kream]

Shared [Exo - Seho - fluff]

[Read it on AO3]

Junmyeon’s finger trails down Sehun’s jaw as he looks down on him with a smug little smile tugging up his lips.

“Good?”

Sehun only hums as he nods, not quite coherent enough to for words yet. Junmyeon’s smile widens for him.

“Let me brush my teeth,” he says as he slides off the bed.

A quiet finally settles in, the faint rush of running water soft enough as white noise to finally calm Sehun down after his concert high. Overly plush hotel beds are especially comfortable on nights like these, right after the first show in a new city, laying in post orgasm bliss and ready to do it all over again the next morning. Sehun floats in contentment for a moment, like there’s too much good in his life, like his happiness might overflow and he’s overcome with the urge to share it before it can go to waste.

He grabs his phone and opens instagram.

He could answer comments again. That had been fun. But it had also been a little hectic and it’s not quite enough for this moment, he can’t show everyone how happy, how grateful he is. A picture is worth a thousand words, but that’s not enough either. He needs a hundred thousand, a million even, and that still wouldn’t be enough.

Junmyeon comes back humming a loose, lilting tune and climbs into bed beside him. He looks like he’s been swallowed by contentment too.

“I was thinking of doing an insta-live,” Sehun tells him. “Just ‘cause. I don’t know. I miss aeris already, that was a good concert.”

“Why not,” Junmyeon says easily. It kind of sounds like he’s still humming in his head.

“... Really? It’s okay?”

Junmyeon nestles further under the covers as he nods, then bunches the comforter around his bare shoulders. Cute.

“I’m gonna hide back here though, I’m not in makeup.”

“You don’t need it,” Sehun mumbles, but he’s also grabbing a mass of blankets to hide his blotchy, exhausted face. “Ok, I’ll do one.”

He starts it up, but then he just sort of stares at the camera. He didn’t really have anything he wanted to say, he just wanted to see everyone, show them how happy he is. He gets a little distracted by the filters, feels a little drunk on happiness and the warmth of Junmyeon beside him.

And Junmyeon, usually so reserved in front of others, doesn’t like to waste a moment when they’re alone. His hand snakes through the covers to caress the curve of Sehun’s shoulder, his fingers scratching idly at his bare skin. It sends goosebumps all the way down Sehun’s spine and makes warmth bubble in his chest, light and fluttering, as they share this kind of stupid thing. Heart-eyes time. Junmyeon doesn’t really get the filters, doesn’t try to make leading comments or make it into a show like he does for TV appearances. He’s just along for the ride, he’s just there with Sehun, a piece of his happiness, adding to the glow of their shared bliss that Sehun wants to share with the rest of the world.

Junmyeon slips out of bed again a moment later, probably to grab his boxers that Sehun had thrown kind of forcefully across the room earlier. And it’s sappy, but even this, this normalcy, this ease in which they can share this space and this moment only adds to the list of things that Sehun is grateful for.

“8:30,” Junmyeon softly sings, “in his eyes after a glass of wine.”

He hasn’t stopped singing that song since he recorded it. It’s a good song and Junmyeon’s voice is as soothing and beautiful as ever in it, but Sehun can’t help but wish it was any song other than Dinner that got stuck in his head. It’s a sobering song and his afterglow is fading fast enough as it is the longer Junmyeon is away from him.

“It’s not my fault,” Sehun sings back, a different song, a different mood, then suddenly taps the app closed and looks up at Junmyeon.

Junmyeon turns to him curiously, his mouth open like the next line of his song was on the tip of his tongue.

“You turned it off already?” he asks. “You could have kept going.”

“I wanted to kiss you,” Sehun says plainly.

It startles him a little, Sehun’s frankness. Junmyeon smiles at him like it’ll never stop surprising him, shy and delighted and radiating the same affection Sehun feels every time they look at each other. That smile never fails to set Sehun’s heart alight, even after all these years.

He puts down the shirt he had been folding (why was he even doing that) and comes back to bed to rejoin Sehun under the covers and lightly press their lips together.

It’s slow and soft, more a caress than a kiss, but it’s more than enough to make Sehun dizzy all over again.

“I like when you sing,” Sehun mumbles against his lips.

“Want to sing with me?”

He hums his assent as his arms reach out to hold him close.

“A different song, though.”

“Yes,” Junmyeon agrees, “you intoxicate me plenty.”

[krispy-kream]

WIP Game

 I haven’t been around on tumblr (and I’m still not really back) but I thought I’d play this game you guys did a while ago to assure you all I’m not dead.

List all the things you’re currently working on in as much or as little detail as you’d like, then tag some friends to see what they’re working on. This can be writing, art, vids, gifsets, fanwork, or original work!

BTS

Prince Jimin (working title) - jikook, royalty AU

So that's what it's like, his real laugh, his true self. He's never seen Jimin smile so much. He pictures it in his mind, plays the morning over a hundred times, counting every kind of expression he'd discovered, trying to rank them and failing because they all made his heart soar until...

No. Absolutely not. He pushes his thoughts back, brings his mind back to the present and his station as he pushes into his room. He is not getting hard at the thought of his prince smiling.

But what a difference it made.

Stress Test - jikook, friends-with-benefits, hella porn

 “Hyung.....” he says into the darkness because he knows Hoseok takes a while to fall asleep. They're alike in that. “I thought of Jeongguk last time I jerked off.”

Early Connection (working title) - Sope, soulmate AU

Yoongi has always been his best friend. Hoseok can’t remember how it happened, how they met or why they started talking. There must have been a catalyst for it all those years ago in primary school but he can’t recall anymore. It feels too natural to have Yoongi at his side, like this was always meant to be, it doesn’t even matter how they met anymore.

EXO

Empty Chairs, Empty Tables - baekchen, Jongdae centric, Universe MV fic

He remembers this part of the conversation, it happens the exact same way as it had before. This time he’s ready for it, this time he smiles without hesitation.

“Shouldn’t you take happiness by the hand and run with it?”

We Already Know (working title) - baekchen, soulmate AU

“I'm gonna protect you from dreaming about weirdos you don't know,” Baekhyun mumbles into his neck.

Jongdae breaths a laugh into Baekhyun’s hair.

“My hero,” he says.

Starstruck - chansoo, soulmate AU

“You mean to tell me. That you had the same fucking dream about Do Kyungsoo for three years and never once considered that he might be your soulmate?”

“I feel like that’s a rational assumption when dreaming about celebrities.”

[krispy-kream]

Dancing on Sand [jikook, soulmate AU]

((based on @kookminau​‘s marvelous soulmate AU, thank you my sugar muffin!!!

Dances referenced are from BTS Home Party

Shoutout to @maverae​ and @heartamplifier​ for putting up with my incessant whining and making this fic as good as it is, thanks darlings~))

[[Read it on AO3]]

Park Jimin likes to think that romance is no big deal. He likes to tell himself he’s too busy to date, that the universe itself could not concoct a man willing to deal with everything Jimin has going on. He claims the universe is doing him a favor by withholding his soulmate, that it’s a relief he hasn’t had to think about it in the two years since he came of age. Who needs a soulmate anyway, Jimin would say.

That is, of course, a huge lie. He cares a lot. He cares too much about it just like he cares too much about everything in his life. Everyone around him talks about it so easily but it makes Jimin crazy. He tries not to be sour, tries so hard to not take it personally but…

Everyone has one but him.

“God, my soulmate is so hot,” Taehyung laments like he does nearly every week. “Where are you, my sweet prince?”

“Why don’t you just tell me his name so I can help you look for him?”

“No, he’s mine, you can’t have him”

“Wow, rude.”

“Anyway, I don’t wanna muck up the grand design by meeting him too early,” Taehyung says as he rolls off the couch. “Fate has a plan, and all that.”

“Right,” Jimin mumbles, a sour pout bunching his lips. “Fate's plan.”

“Man, still?” Taehyung asks. “At this point I’d say one of two things is going on. Either, you’re a cradle robber-”

“WOW.”

“Or you’ve already met them and you just haven’t fallen in love yet.”

“God, I hope not,” Jimin moans, sinking further into his seat. “Anyone I’d be okay with romancing already has a soulmate.”

“Aw,” Tae coos, leaning over Jimin to bring their faces close. “Does that include me?”

“Not anymore,” Jimin huffs as he shoves him away.

“You know I love you the most, Jiminie,” Tae persists, pushing forward against Jimin’s arms to fuss with his hair. “Even if my soulmate is the most handsome man in the universe.”

“You’re not allowed to find him until I get a soulmate.”

“You would curse me like this? Wait, don’t you have practice?”

Jimin groans as he slips even further down the couch. He sinks so far that his butt slides off the seat.

“What is wrong with you,” Taehyung asks above him.

“Everything.”

“Okay, drama queen,” he says as he helps Jimin to his feet. “But you know you’ll hate yourself even more if you don’t go.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, even as he knows it’s true. His limbs feel heavy on days he doesn’t dance, his heart restless. Even now he itches to get back on the dance floor despite how he dreads it at the same time. If he could just do this dance right, if he could just move like his hyungs then he wouldn’t be so frustrated every time he practiced. Dancing is the one thing he’s supposed to be good at.

At this point he just wants to sleep the rest of the day away.

-

There’s something… different about this dream. Something vivid. He realizes it’s a dream but that fact doesn’t register as significant; it’s just a thought that floats by him in the air like the mist of the sea. Baby blues and soft pinks paint the sky like a cross between noon and dawn, the sand is cold between his toes as if the sun hasn’t had the chance to warm it but the tide is low like it cares not for the moon’s hold. It’s an odd sort of limbo that forces his mind to peace, the quiet even keeping his doubts at bay. He lets himself breathe for the first time in what feels like forever and he feels it on his face, tastes it in his lungs; he’s in Busan. He’s home.

The song comes to mind unbidden, the only one he’s heard for the last month. He likes it, he likes the song and he likes the dance but lately he’s been so caught up in trying to match Hoseok that he’s started to dread hearing it. But there’s no dread here. There’s no mirror to show him just how off his every movement looks. He hums the tune, feels it in his throat more than hears it over the waves, and his hips instantly itch to move. There’s no one here on this beach, in this dream, no one to tell him how to move or what to do and so he lets himself be carried by the song in his head. He moves how he wants, lets his limbs flow and linger in poses that should be sharp and precise, savors a body roll he shouldn’t have time to taste, loses himself to his emotions. Finally dancing is fun again, something he does for himself again. He doesn’t care for performing or attention, just the freedom to feel alive and one with the song.

The more he immerses himself in the dance the louder the song in his head becomes. It drowns out the waves and vibrates in his chest, the sound surrounding him so fully that he swears the world is his speaker. He smiles as he lets it play, no longer having to hum it himself.

He throws his arm to the side with a flair he’s not allowed and turns his body. This is the part where he interacts with Hoseok hyung for a moment before they switch sides on stage and he thinks that he’s imagined his dance partner like he’s imagined the song until he realizes.

It’s not Hoseok.

The music stalls. It blares in his head like a foghorn. He stares at the stranger and the stranger stares at him, eyes wide and chest heaving. The stranger’s mouth works silently until understanding flashes in his eyes but-

Jimin sits up with a gasp. The afternoon outside is still loud and bright with people, the sun only barely dipping into evening. His head pulses as it tries to catch up, tries to come to terms with being awake and present.

“Shit,” he breathes. “Was that…?”

-

Chimchim: TAE

Chimchim: I HAVE A SOULMATE

Taetae: what the actual fuck it is 3 PM

-

Jimin isn’t one for naps, honestly. There aren’t enough hours in the day for everything he needs to do, he doesn’t have the time to spare on being groggy for an hour after waking up, and he gets by fine without them. But that was before. Before the beach with the song and the boy, so real he could have reached out and touched him. It had to have been his soulmate. Soulmate dreams were supposed to be different, reality and illusion at once, a mix of what tied two souls together for that lifetime. You couldn’t reach that space unless your soulmate was there to dream with you.

Which means that, somewhere out there, Jimin’s soulmate was asleep at 2 in the afternoon on a weekday.

Jimin isn’t one for naps but apparently he’s going to have to start getting used to them if he wants to know anything about his soulmate.

“You’re going pretty hard today Jimin, are you okay?” Hoseok asks him when they break for water. He holds a water bottle out for him and Jimin takes it from where he lays flat on the floor.

“Yeah,” he pants, wiping sweat from his brow.  “I just need to make sure I can take a nap after this.”

“... A nap?” Hoseok laughs. “Are you turning into Yoongi-hyung?”

Jimin barks a laugh back. “Yeah right, no one can sleep as much as hyung.”

“Are you sleeping alright? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“It’s nothing, I promise, don’t worry,” Jimin insists.

“Really?” Hoseok asks, clearly skeptical. He throws a leg over Jimin and straddles his waist. “You know you can tell hyung anything~”

“Oh my god, it’s nothing, I swear!”

-

There’s a surge of relief as Jimin looks out over the pastel ocean, at the pinks and blues that mix in the sky. Even without a soulmate he’d be eager to come back to this dream and this place, the peace and contentment to simply be.

There’s movement in the corner of his eye and Jimin is reminded that he’s here on a mission.

The stranger is walking along the beach, meandering away while he alternates between kicking at the sand at staring out over the ocean. Now Jimin has time to notice that the stranger is tall with broad shoulders and long limbs. Where has this guy been all this time?

“Hey!” Jimin calls and the stranger turns to look at him with his round eyes and high cheeks and… The universe wants him to have this? Someone this good looking is meant for him? Seriously?  

“You’re back,” the stranger breathes, then glances down at his feet. He seems to flounder for a little bit before meeting his eyes again with an intensity that gives Jimin pause.

“I’m Jeongguk. Jeon Jeongguk.”

“Park Jimin…”

“Jimin…” And his intensity fades, just like that, like he’s a kid lost in a candy store again. “Are you taking a nap or something, what is this?”

“Yeah, are you… you’re not in Korea?” Jimin asks.

“I’m in the US,” Jeongguk tells him, his eyes downcast. He fiddles with his hair as he adds, “It’s… it’s a 16 hour time difference…”

“16 hours… Damn, no wonder I thought I didn’t have a soulmate.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I just, I turned 18 and hopped a plane, I didn’t really consider I might have a soulmate who's older than me.”

“I didn’t think about having a soulmate younger than me, honestly,” Jimin laughs.

Jeongguk appears to breath a sigh of relief at that.

“What are you out there for?” Jimin asks.

“Dance.”

Jimin lights up immediately. He shouldn’t be surprised, they’re soulmates after all, but it’s so rare to find someone else this dedicated outside of the studio.

“You dance? What styles?”

Jeongguk rubs the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed about it, like he’s proud and ashamed at once. Jimin gets it. He wishes Jeongguk didn’t have to feel like this with him, but he gets it.

“They do a lot of modern here. But I’ve been working on a hip hop routine.”

“Show me?”

It looks for a moment like he’ll refuse; Jimin is a stranger and he doesn’t want to be laughed at. But he bites his lip and nods, doesn’t meet Jimin’s eyes as he takes a step back to set up. Jimin steps back too and sits himself on the sand to watch.

There’s a moment of awkwardness while Jeongguk tries to figure out how he’s going to do this without music. He settles on counting the beats under his breath, but Jimin can see through his half lidded eyes that he’s playing the rhythm in his head. His counting quickly dissolves into mumbled singing as the song picks up and he concentrates on his moves more than his timing.

Jeongguk starts to lose himself to the rhythm of the dance and the dream shifts to accommodate him. The sound of the waves fades away and is replaced with something else, with a beat, with a melody. Jimin can hear the music in his mind. It’s just like Jeongguk, all hard lines and strong hits. His gaze becomes piercing, his reservations from before nowhere to be seen. Despite the sand and uneven terrain his steps are sure and heavy. His dance is a force of nature and it leaves Jimin entranced.

“Wow,” Jimin breathes when the dance ends. “I can’t believe only America gets to experience that.”

“I’m not here forever,” Jeongguk laughs. He fusses with his hair as he sits in front of Jimin but he’s smiling this time. A different flavor of nervous habit.

“So we’re both dancers,” Jimin starts, eager to get to know him. It’s exciting that his soulmate is a dancer, that they share this thing that is a fundamental part of Jimin’s life.

“At least we know fate isn’t a total fuck up. Are you working on something?”

“I’m doing a show with my hyung, but… I’m not good enough,” he admits, a thought he’s never said out loud before.

“Nonsense,” Jeongguk shoots back with no hesitation.

“What?”

“Is it the dance you were doing the first time we met?” he asks. “It was gorgeous.”

Jimin loses track of all the air in his lungs. Gorgeous? That’s… that’s not a word other dancers have said about him. Not lately. Not with this dance.

“… it’s not supposed to be,” Jimin manages to mumble, thinking of Hoseok’s easy fluidity, that stark clarity between moves that Jimin just can’t recreate.

“What do you mean, ‘not supposed to’?” Jeongguk says, his smile souring like he’s the one insulted. “It’s your dance, isn’t it? It’s supposed to look like how you’d do it.”

“It’s a duet, we have to match.”

“You’re not your hyung, Jimin, why do you expect yourself to dance the same?”

Because that’s the point, Jimin thinks to himself, because everyone else can, because Hoseok is the best dancer he’s ever seen and he wants to be him. But Jimin can see the stubborn set of Jeongguk’s jaw, his tense shoulders like he’s itching for a fight. Jimin would rather not spend their first conversation arguing.

“Hey, let’s try something,” he says instead of answering. “Will you teach me that dance you’re doing?”

“My dance? Sure. Will you teach me yours?”

Jimin hesitates.

“Teach me how you do it,” Jeongguk insists.

He can already tell Jeongguk is asking this on purpose. He probably wants to prove a point and Jimin already knows what it is. But he nods just the same and he has just enough time to take in Jeongguk’s bright smile, all teeth, before his phone alarm is waking him.

-

On the hardwood of the studio, to music that echoes off hollow walls, Jimin dances. He keeps time in his head, his mind focuses on what’s next rather than what’s now and he feels like a machine, like he’s just a piece of the stereo playing on repeat. This isn’t how he would do it, not even close. But Hoseok’s sense of control is so on point, and he looks so good when he does it, that Jimin has to try.

He watches his hyung more than himself in the mirror and he barely knows what move they just did when Hoseok stops him.

“Your shoulders are so tense, Jiminie, loosen up,” he tells him, slapping at Jimin’s shoulders as if that will help.

“Sorry, I fuck up the timing if I’m not careful,” Jimin says through heavy breaths.

“You know the timing, have a little faith in yourself,” his hyung says like it’s an easy thing.

Jimin bites the inside of his mouth to keep from answering. He has to swallow down the words, the bitter laugh that wants to tear at his throat. Faith in himself is a thing he ran out of long ago. All he has left is a desperation to keep up.

The dance starts again.

-

When he does the dance his way, there’s a satisfying burn that runs through his whole body. It sears in his muscles and fills up his lungs and it feels like he could dance for all eternity, like he’s alive and himself and on top of the world. It’s startling how empowering it is to have someone follow him for once, to be the best, the ideal. He could run through this dance for the rest of his life and never get tired of it, just endlessly dancing in his dreams with Jeongguk. The ground is solid under their feet when they dance and the crash of the waves give way to the relentless beat of the music as they practice a phrase at tempo.

“Good,” Jimin says when they reach the end, chest heaving from the effort. “Don’t forget to roll your chest a bit when we lean back.”

“Every move in this dance is a body roll,” Jeongguk says as he does the move again to remind himself.

“You’re the one who said I look good doing it.”

“Yeah, you look natural,” Jeongguk mutters. He goes through the moves lightly and Jimin watches. “I tried it out in front of a mirror yesterday and I look like a dead fish.”

“You do not, you look hot,” Jimin laughs.

“I can’t trust you, you’re biased.”

“Yah!”

“I like that part in the chorus,” Jeongguk continues, unperturbed, “the take you down,” he sings as he launches himself towards the floor only to catch himself with both hands.

“How!” Jimin shouts at him, kicking at his side as Jeongguk starts doing wavy pushups. “I was scared of that move for so long!”

Jeongguk props himself up with one arm and flexes with the other.

“I work out,” he says with a wink.

“You’re just good at everything, aren’t you?”

He said it as a joke, but Jeongguk’s face falls and he looks away as he sits himself on the sand. It’s so obvious, so blatant, a mirror of emotion that Jimin feels all the time. Is his poker face just this bad or does the dream make them more open with each other? Jimin kneels before him and tries to catch his eyes.

“What?”

Jeongguk looks up again, but he’s got a fake smile plastered on his face, stiff and forced.

“Nothing, you caught me, I’m perfect,” he says like it’s an easy thing to brag about.

Jimin punches his arm.

“Don’t lie to me, you brat, what is it?”

Jeongguk drops his eyes and chews on his lower lip. Jimin watches him and waits.

“Sometimes… I’m afraid that if I’m not perfect at something then I’m not good enough.”

It seems insane, but Jimin is all too familiar with this kind of insecurity. He wants to touch Jeongguk, to comfort him, take his head in his hands like he would with Taehyung, lay on top of him like he would with Hoseok. But he hasn’t crossed that bridge with Jeongguk yet, doesn’t know what would help or if he even could. He scoots closer so that their legs touch.

“You know that’s bullshit,” he says softly.

“Knowing and believing are two different things,” he mutters back.

“I know,” Jimin admits, knows it too well. “Is that why you wanted to learn my dance? Because neither of us can do it perfectly?”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “I wanna see if I can bring life to something like you can.”

-

It takes awhile, but Jimin finally works up the nerve to practice Jeongguk’s routine when he’s awake. It’s different like this, more difficult, like his legs aren’t strong enough to do what he’s used to. Jeongguk’s laughter rings in his head. “I work out,” he had said. Jimin works out too, but apparently not as much.

He practices in the mirror, but he looks like a boy trying to wear an oversized coat. The moves are too big for him, more harsh and power based than his usual choreographies. He can’t stand to look at himself. He starts ignoring his reflection and hyper focuses on what he’s doing, his eyes practically unseeing as he envisions Jeongguk in front of him.

The picture makes him feel lighter, makes the moves easier. He’s probably doing it completely wrong but he doesn’t care. He can almost hear the song in his head, can almost hear it with the ocean backdrop he’s used to and he can’t help but laugh to himself as if he’s laughing with Jeongguk.

He reaches the end and lets himself collapse on the floor like they always do, his chest still bubbling with glee. His whole body heaves with a satisfying exhaustion and for a moment he remembers why he loves dancing.

He stares up at the shadowed ceiling, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room as the world continues to bustle outside, so far removed from the stillness of the studio. The silence catches up with him and it reminds him that he is alone. That had probably been the worst dancing he’d done in his life, prancing around the studio like a fool on his own.

His throat feels tight. His hand itches to reach out but Jeongguk is not there. No one is.

Jimin has to remind himself that he loves dancing.

-

They don’t always practice when they dream together. Sometimes they just talk. Never about specifics, they never say someone else’s name, or where they are exactly. Every time Jimin wakes up he curses himself for forgetting to ask for Jeongguk’s number again but it just never feels relevant at the time. It’s as if the rest of the world fades away and the only thing that’s left is the core of their hearts.

“I think you won’t like me as much when we meet,” Jimin tells him as he fiddles with Jeongguk’s fingers. Now he’s always touching him somehow when they talk and Jeongguk lets him. Jimin had let slip that skinship makes him feel at ease and as soon as he said it Jeongguk had held out his hand.

“Why do you say that?” Jeongguk asks, looking up from their entwined fingers.

“I’m just a stressed out soggy chicken nugget in real life,” he laughs.

Jeongguk laughs too even as he pulls Jimin’s hand fully into his own.

“Doesn’t that mean here is where you’re the most yourself?”

Jimin meets his gaze and his breath catches in his throat.

“Oh,” he breathes. “I forgot what that’s like.”

Jeongguk’s eyes dart back down to their fingers, a small smile turning up his lips. He loosens his hold on Jimin’s hand and their fingers twirl around each other once again.

“How do you think you are?” Jimin asks after a moment, “when you’re not here.”

Jeongguk ducks his head, his free hand reaching up to fiddle with his hair.

“I don’t know. Awkward,” he admits. “I suck at English.”

Jimin laughs. He tips forward and tugs on Jeongguk’s hand to pull him closer.

“You live in America right now!” he teases, bumping their foreheads together.

“Yeah, well, I suck. Throw yourself in an ocean and you’ll find out how bad you are at swimming.”

“But that’s the fastest way to learn,” Jimin insists.

“Every time I open my mouth I sound like an idiot,” Jeongguk continues, a derisive smile plaguing his features.

“I bet no one thinks you’re an idiot,” he tells him softly.

Jeongguk can’t meet his eyes as he says, “I keep expecting you to, honestly.”

Jimin smiles fondly at him and brings their fingers to his lips.

“I don’t.”

-

“You look like crap,” Yoongi tells him.

“Gee, thanks,” Jimin mumbles as he drags his feet through the door. He’s so tired he can barely hold himself up, he just wants to collapse onto his sheets with his shoes on. He hates naps. How did this happen to him.

“He’s got a date,” Taehyung snickers behind his hand.

“Looking like that?”

“A date with a bed.”

-

The sound of the waves washes over them as they lay side by side, the cool sand chilling Jimin’s too warm neck. The semester is drawing to a close and with it the showcase looms. Jimin needs these moments of respite more than ever and Jeongguk is more than willing to hold his hand through them.

Their fingers intertwine. Jeongguk squeezes them. From the corner of his eyes, Jimin catches him staring.

“Hyung, I…” Jeongguk starts, but then the words catch as they so often do.

Jimin turns on his side and hums in question, resting his free hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder.

“No, it’s nothing,” he insists, turns his eyes back up towards the pastel sky. As open as they are with each other here, he is still so shy about his own feelings. If only he knew how much they meant to Jimin, maybe he would hesitate less.

“C’mon, what is it?”

“It’s just…” Jeongguk turns so that they’re face to face, but he doesn’t hold Jimin’s gaze. Instead he looks at their hands, at how their fingers are linked. He’s silent for a moment and slowly the sound of the waves dies down to a soft background that their words can’t hide behind.

Jeongguk looks up at him. He reaches with his free hand to slide his finger up Jimin’s cheek, watches where his touch connects with Jimin’s skin and looks for a moment like he might be speechless again.

“You’re really beautiful,” he finally says, his words as soft as his touch. “I’m wondering what kind of shit I went through in a past life to deserve you in this one.”

The crash of the waves comes back in full force and Jimin feels the sound in his chest as his heart stalls. Everything feels hot, even the sand below him, even Jeongguk’s hand in his. His mind short-circuits and he ducks his head to hide it. 

“God, buy me dinner first at least,” he laughs, smacking Jeongguk’s chest.

Jeongguk laughs too, even as he pulls Jimin closer by his hip. Their laughter mingles as he dips his head to press their foreheads together.

“I miss you,” he whispers to Jimin. “I miss you every day.”

The laughter stills in his throat. Jimin looks up at him, at their faces so close, and thinks about kissing him.

“When you come back we’ll have a lifetime,” he says instead.

For some reason, the words bring little comfort. Jeongguk forces a smile. It looks as if he’s not done with the conversation, like that simple promise isn’t enough, and Jimin opens his mouth to say more but neither of them can stop the dream from fading to white.

The waves morph into the sound of his alarm, loud enough that it’s probably been on for a while. Taehyung leans over him and, when he sees Jimin’s eyes stutter open, reaches to turn it off.

“Holy shit Jimmy, wake up,” he says.

Jimin looks up at him through the haze of his grogginess and all he can see is Jeongguk’s shaky smile. All he wants is to go back to sleep.

“Tae,” he says in a mumble that he’s not sure is intelligible. “Taehyungie, I’ve got it bad.”

“Yeah, we noticed.”

-

He skips lunch and shows up early to the studio. Their dreams aren’t long enough for him to pay attention to his own dancing while trying to teach it and Jeongguk keeps telling him how great it’s getting, how inspiring it is to watch. Meanwhile Jimin has no idea how it looks when he does it anymore. So he puts on that damnable song and lets himself get lost in it to find out.

He puts it on repeat. He does a light runthrough, thinks about what parts he’d want to emphasize, which parts Jeongguk has said he likes, lets the song wash over him. Then he commits, he puts his whole self into it. He doesn’t realize how hard he’s dancing until the song ends and he can barely breathe. But it starts again in that taunting loop and he can’t resist losing himself to the rolls and the rhythm again until his legs shake and he loses sight of all his surroundings.  

“Oooh, yeah, that’s good, how did it go?” Hoseok says in a flurry of movement, tossing his bag to the ground in his haste to join Jimin in the dance.

Jimin nearly stumbles to the floor in surprise. It’s too early for him to be here, Hoseok isn’t supposed to see all these moves Jimin has changed, he doesn’t want him to know how wildly different their styles are.

“Hyung?” Jimin blurts out in question. He tries to think of a worthwhile excuse, but Hoseok is so enthused, even more so than normal. It throws him off completely.

Hoseok laughs and rushes to the stereo to start the song over.

“You’re finally starting to look like yourself, I knew you’d do well with this one,” Hoseok says, beaming.

The words barely register. Hoseok’s thousand watt smile looks like some kind of illusion, like Jimin has drifted off and is just dreaming of the day he finally does something right. But his legs still feel like jello and his lungs still burn, the hardwood flooring is still solid beneath him. It has to be real.

Looks like himself? Knew he’d do well? It almost sounds like...

“Wait, you…” Jimin asks, cannot possibly be more breathless and yet he is, “You picked this song for me?”

“Of course! You’re always jamming to stuff like this. The way you twist around when you’re into it sometimes, I swear I’ve seen people faint. Wasn’t it obvious?”

Obvious. Obvious! The laughter bubbles up from deep in his chest, unbidden and vaguely hysterical. It was for him. All along this was what he was supposed to be doing. After weeks, after months of not feeling good enough, it took a brat calling him gorgeous in his dreams to figure it out.

Jimin collapses to the floor in a fit of giggles.

“I’m so stupid!” he shouts “You’re the best, hyung! I love this song!”

Hoseok laughs right along with him, completely unaware of the difference he’s just made.

“You’re welcome! Now get up and show me what you were doing with your shoulders.”

-

When he dreams it feels like he’s been lulled to sleep by the sound of the ocean. Usually he comes to looking out over the waves, at the sun and the moon sharing the same sky, the sky that connects he and Jeongguk across thousands of miles.

Today Jeongguk is right in front of him, eyes bright, practically bouncing on his toes. He takes Jimin’s hands immediately.

“You said you’re not much for naps, right hyung?” he asks.

Jimin blinks.

“I’m used to them now.”

“Well, this is our last one.”

Jeongguk’s smile is blinding. That’s what connects the dots for Jimin, how he figures out what he’s talking about.

“Last… You’re coming home?” and now Jimin is the one bouncing on his toes.

“Yup. In 20 hours I’ll be on Korean time.”

“One step closer to seeing you.”

“Yeah… Longer dreams too.”

“Wow,” Jimin shoves him with a laugh, but their hands are still clasped tightly together and so Jeongguk pulls him back in easily. “What are you planning?”

Jeongguk only snickers in answer and Jimin feels like he can see their future unfurl in that smile. He sees potential; more time to talk, more time at ease in each other’s presence, more time to know everything about him. The dream ends early this time, Jeongguk unable to remain asleep with his impending flight, but that’s okay with both of them. They see each other again soon enough.

Now Jimin starts and ends every day with a smile on his face.

-

The day of the showcase arrives and Jimin is relieved to find that he’s excited about it. He’s excited to perform, excited to show off what he’s capable of. This dance was made for him and it’s only thanks to Jeongguk that he even realized it. Now that he’s not trying to copy Hoseok he’s positive he can charm a few incoming freshmen into the dance department.

The lights shine in his eyes and he feels like he’s soaring. He thinks of Jeongguk as he rolls his shoulders, thinks of what his reaction would be if he could see him now, in his element, drinking in the attention, seducing everyone who sees him.

He basks in the applause, lets it fill his chest and lift him to the clouds. As he and Hoseok exit the stage he thinks about how he can’t wait to tell Jeongguk, can’t wait to hear his praise, to brag, to flirt, to see him.

That night he dreams of no one.

-

“Tae, he’s gone,” Jimin says, the phone at his ear the moment he wakes. He doesn’t even know what time it is.

“Who is?” Comes Taehyung’s groggy reply. Early, then.

“My soulmate, he’s gone, what happened to him?” he continues in a tumble of words, the panic climbing up his throat.

“Well, the dreams stop when you meet them, right? That’s how it’s supposed to work.”

“I didn’t meet anybody yesterday!”

“Shh, Jimin, calm down, he’s your soulmate, you’ll find him, that’s how this works.”

“This is what I get for falling in love before we even meet, I’m so stupid,” he mutters as he rakes his fingers through his hair, thinks of trying to pull it all out if only so he can feel anything other than this.

“He’s out there, Jiminie, you didn’t lose him,” Taehyung tries to tell him.

“I feel like I did…” he chokes out and the tears finally start to fall. “Taehyungie, I miss him…”

-

The sense of loss fades after that initial hour spent on the phone with Taehyung. The world still turns and a new semester is starting; he doesn’t have time to worry about a soulmate he never met. By the end of the day the pain is gone. He spends another dreamless night and wakes up trying to remember something that didn’t happen.

Little by little, his time with Jeongguk becomes harder and harder to recall. He remembers… he was overseas? What was it about Jimin’s dancing he liked? Didn’t they hold hands more often than that? Didn’t… Didn’t Jeongguk say something about missing him?

He wakes up on the first day of classes with no recollection of anything he and Jeongguk did together. All he has left is his name and this dance he doesn’t remember learning. In the end it was nothing but a dream. The memories were always meant to fade.

-

Jimin gets to practically live in the studio this semester. He’s filled his schedule with dance courses and workshops, gets to put his name on a big fancy locker and is introduced by professors as “one of their best.”

A dance still pulls at the back of his mind. It makes him think of Jeongguk. Not that there’s much left to think on.

He tries not to let it bother him. Life is good. He holds his head high as he walks into the freshman seminar with Hoseok. They’re taking it again because they can and because Hoseok could use the brownie points with this advisor. Jimin is looking forward to goofing off with him while the fresh faced newbies learn things that Jimin and Hoseok can do in their sleep.

Class doesn’t even have time to start before someone is staring at him.

There aren’t a lot of guys in their department, so he towers over the other students from the back of the group, the direction of his gaze in full view to everyone in the room. He’s tall and broad, lean muscle filling out his shoulders and back down to his slender waist. His strong jaw is set in a hard line and his eyes are huge and piercing. Their eyes catch and Jimin has to jump to look away.

Jimin is used to getting stared at on occasion, but never so… seriously. It’s hard to feel anything but nervous about it. It’s not an angry stare, but it’s not exactly pleasant either. It’s impossible to pinpoint what it means or what the guy wants. It’s a relief when the class begins and he has to look away.

When class ends he’s the first one out. It’s only then that Jimin can breathe easy.

The first day is the worst of it. It dies down quickly after that. He still stares, but it’s more furtive now, less intense. It’s almost like he’s nervous, like he’s anticipating something, like he’s looking for some sign. Sometimes Jimin catches him biting his lip like he wants to say something. He kind of wishes he would so they could stop whatever this is. But he also makes Jimin so nervous that he hopes he doesn’t.

He’s always the first to leave, eyes glued to the floor and face flushed. Jimin tries not to watch him go, tries not to breathe a sigh of relief when he’s gone. He still doesn’t even know his name.

“Wow, someone’s got a secret admirer,” Hoseok snickers to him after class.

“God, I hope not.”

-

It’s three weeks into the new semester and Jimin still can’t get that choreography out of his head, a dance that doesn’t suit him to a song that’s not his favorite. He still doesn’t know where he picked it up or why it won’t leave him alone. He does a light version of the moves when he and Hoseok break off from the class and Hoseok is immediately intrigued.

“You putting something together?” he asks.

“No, it’s just something that’s been bugging me.”

“Show me that footwork again, what’s the count for that?”

Jimin only has time to show him a single phrase of a song Hoseok has never heard before they’re rejoining the others for drills. Jimin and Hoseok take their place at the front to act as extra examples and that’s when Jimin catches that familiar hard stare.

He thought they were over this, or that maybe he’d gotten used to it. But here it is, all over again, boring holes into the back of his head. He’s not sure what he did to set him off all of a sudden but he regrets it so much as his limbs grow stiff under the scrutiny. Jimin tries to avoid eye contact, to ignore the sudden intensity, but he’s always there in the mirror, staring at Jimin like he’s just seen a ghost.

-

“Not to be a dick, but I really want to skip 101 today,” Jimin sighs as they walk towards the studio.

“Your stalker was back in full force the other day, huh?” Hoseok says. “Shouldn’t you say something at this point? At least to the professor.”

“What would I even say? This kid is creepy please drop him?”

“We wouldn’t need to go that far.”

Music floats through the air, soft and muffled from a cell phone rather than from the sound system. The song is hard to identify like this, but it’s familiar. Too familiar. When they reach the studio doors Hoseok’s face lights up while Jimin’s breath gets tangled with dread.

It’s that creepy guy. It’s the creepy guy and he’s dancing to Jimin and Hoseok’s song, the one from the showcase. Jimin can’t help a sharp spike of anger; it’s his dance that he shares with special people, he doesn’t want some stranger he doesn’t like doing it.

Jimin didn’t think himself the type to get possessive over a dance.

It’s alarming how well the guy knows it, how intuitive the moves appear to him. He couldn’t have learned it to this degree in such a short time. Especially after only seeing it once.

Hoseok is unperturbed as he bounds into the room.

“Looks like someone enjoyed the showcase,” he laughs.

The guy nearly stumbles at the interruption. “Hyung! Yeah, I was, I, Sorry, I’ll...” he starts, reaching for his phone and looking mortified, but Hoseok waves him off.

“Don’t mind us, the room is more than big enough for everyone.”

Jimin tries to ignore him as he follows Hoseok to the stereo, but the guy’s gaze invariably slips towards him, watching Jimin like he’s waiting for something. From the corner of his eye Jimin sees when he turns away, biting his lip. At least he wasn’t going to be creepy for now.

He and Hoseok start stretching, but now it’s Jimin who can’t help glancing over at where the guy practices. The irony isn’t lost on Jimin, but he can’t help it; no one should be able to replicate this dance so well already.

The guy goes back to dancing. He shifts his weight and leans back, but the movement isn’t as smooth as the others, he doesn’t flow into it as well as he did other parts.

Jimin doesn’t realize he has anything to say until the words are already out of his mouth.

“You’re still forgetting to roll your chest there, I told you every move in this dance is a body roll.”

“I look stupid doing that one,” the guy says automatically as if they’d had this conversation a hundred times already. “I can’t do it like you can.”

“I don’t wanna hear that from you, mister perfect, c’mon.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you guys were friends,” Hoseok says, cutting into the conversation and snapping it apart.

It’s like coming out of a trance; Jimin hardly knows how he got to the other side of the room, conversing with his stalker like it was the most natural thing in the world. His mind grinds to a halt and his heart…

His heart hurts for some reason.

Before he can even attempt to make a fool of himself, Jimin turns and walks out of the studio, suddenly desperate for the beach and for home. His blood shakes in his veins and his mind whirls with empty memories, of things that used to bring him comfort that don’t exist anymore. He thinks of Jeongguk.

He can’t remember why that used to help.

Jimin almost doesn’t hear the sound of footsteps behind him over the pounding in his head.

“Hyung! Wait up!”

“What the hell do you want with me?” Jimin shouts as he rounds on him. “You’ve been staring at me since we met!”

The guy’s shock, his hurt, makes him look so young.

“I’m sorry, it just, it didn’t seem like you recognized me so,” he stutters, trailing off without really making his point.

“I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

“But I don’t, Jimin, come on,” he tries, reaching for Jimin’s hand.

“Don’t touch me!” Jimin shouts, snapping back and colliding with the wall behind him. “Just leave me alone!”

“Where did I learn your dance then?” he asks, the breath of a laugh turning the words harsh. “And where did you learn mine?”

“Your…?”

“You remember the dance but you don’t remember me, how does that even work,” the guys mutters to the floor.

There’s so much Jimin feels like he’s missing, but the situation doesn’t make him feel inclined to try and this weirdo isn’t making it easy to understand.

“What dance?” he asks but doesn’t care. “Listen, could you quit staring at me? It’s fucking creepy.”

The guy looks at him, searches Jimin’s face for a long, silent moment, and apparently finds nothing.

“I guess I fucked this up,” he finally says, his tone forcibly flat. “Sorry.”

He turns away from Jimin and returns to the studio without looking back. Jimin feels like his legs have taken root in the floor, the other’s disappointment tugging on his chest. It’s completely insane. He doesn’t even know this guy.

Jimin takes a deep breath to try to shake the feeling and forces his feet back towards the studio, back to where he can hear Hoseok and the guy talking.

“Is everything alright?” he catches Hoseok saying.

“Yeah, it’s nothing, I’ll be back next class I just… have to go.”

Their shoulders brush as he rushes out of the room, eyes downcast. Jimin keeps his gaze forward, stubbornly holds his head up and forces himself not to look at the other’s dejection. It shouldn’t bother him. He was creepy and it’s better this way.  

“Wow, what did you say to him?” Hoseok asks him.

“I just told him to stop staring at me,” Jimin grumbles.  

“Is that all? He looked spooked.”

“Not my problem.”

-

He wakes up feeling like he dreamt of Jeongguk. The wet tracks trailing from his eyes are how he knows he didn’t.

-

He goes to the studio even though there’s no class because he feels like he hasn’t practiced properly all week. It feels like he hasn’t practiced properly since the semester started, since the first day of classes when he wound up with a stalker. He hasn’t been able to relax since he lost Jeongguk.

He goes back to how he dealt with stress before; dancing until he can’t see straight.

He makes a playlist of every song he remembers the choreography to. He puts it on shuffle. He puts it on repeat. He goes as hard as he can, throws all his frustration into the first three songs. By the fourth he’s already feeling sluggish, has to force himself to move, has to ration his energy to keep from hurting himself.

His thoughts fall away. There is only music and movement, a relentless taskmaster that Jimin is powerless to refuse. It feels like his veins are on fire. Something stings in his eyes, sweat or something else, it hardly matters. It all tastes like salt.

The playlist starts over and his legs give out. He lets the music play as his chest heaves. He thinks the moves instead, his arms flailing in a vague imitation of their proper positions. He stays on the floor for the whole length of the playlist. When it starts over again, he gets back up.

Rinse and repeat.

Jimin isn’t sure how much time has passed when he finally pauses the playlist and checks his phone. The silence is deafening, a cacophony of songs still pounding between his ears. It feels like waves crashing behind his eyes.

It tugs at his chest. Jimin blinks, shakes his head, stops letting himself think of the beach.

Hoseok texts him to remind him to eat and to remind him that Taehyung wants them all to go out later. Then he asks Jimin, “when are we gonna practice that cool thing you’re working on?” with an emoji with a triangle smile and sparkle eyes.

That “cool thing” still taunts him, now more than ever. He’s been doing every other dance he knows to avoid it. He hasn’t done it properly yet, not really. He’s been teaching Hoseok how it goes in bits and pieces without really showing him how it’s supposed to look in the end.

Doing it right makes him nervous in a way he can’t explain, like he doesn’t trust himself with it, like it isn’t his to perform. But why else would he know it?

He puts the song on, has to look it up on the internet because he really doesn’t want to own it. He starts the dance, goes as hard as he dares, and starts discovering pieces he doesn’t quite do right. He’s used to seeing broader shoulders strike this opening pose, he’s used to longer legs cutting through this footwork. The picture in his head is fuzzy, more a silhouette than anything, like a half remembered memory from long ago.

It’s not just exhaustion that drags his feet. Lack of air isn’t the only thing that burns his lungs.

“You’re still standing up too straight on that part.”

“I told you I’m not gangsta-” Jimin starts to say automatically until he turns and sees him.

It’s that guy. Of course it’s that guy. It’s always that guy. Jimin turns away and runs his hands through his sweaty hair. He thinks of running again, or maybe shouting, but he’s too damn tired for either. Instead, he deflates.

“Come on, I’ve seen you do it, I know you can,” the guy says. “Start the song over.”

The guy… smiles at him. It’s small, tentative. An olive branch. Jimin hesitates. He looks down at his phone as an excuse to look away. Even after Jimin had been so harsh, this guy still…

He presses play without a word and takes up a position slightly behind the other so he can see him. For some reason, it feels like he fits there.

The guy counts them in. Jimin watches him instead of the mirror, forgets he can use their reflection to see the moves better. The guy keeps counting, his voice rising when the moves hit on the beat and the song feels more complete for it.

“Good,” he says. “Two, three, up! Nice!”

The song washes over him, his feet follow the stranger’s and their steps fall into place. The dance is easier like this, watching the guy. There’s something familiar in the line of his shoulders, in the stomp of his feet. It makes Jimin’s own movements feel more right, more confident.

Calm settles over his heart like the ocean over sand. The ease he’d been chasing for weeks clings to his bones even as the song ends and their feet stop. The world feels hazy and wrong around him, like it’s too white, too stark. The light should be softer, the moon should be brighter. There should be… something. One last piece, if he could just remember.

He looks at the stranger, standing at the center of what feels like a dream.

“Why is this so familiar…” Jimin breathes.

The guy looks at him. It’s not the same as when he used to stare, it’s… softer somehow, like he’s caught the calm that’s infected Jimin. He’s just watching now. Waiting.

“Why do you know this?” Jimin asks at last. “How do you know this dance? I don’t even know why I know it.”

“Because I taught you,” comes the simple answer.

Jimin open his mouth even though he knows he’s got nothing to say. The other waits, his expression oddly serene. Open. Jimin digs his nails into his legs to keep from reaching for his hand.

Waves crash in the back of his mind. The earth beneath him feels uneven like sand. He thinks of home. He thinks of…

“Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk smiles.

Jimin feels all the air leave him in one shuddering breath.

“You were here,” he whispers, because it’s all he can manage. “You were right here all along.”

They simply stare for a moment, overwhelmed, words lost in a jumble that chokes Jimin into silence. Looking at him now, Jimin can't believe he didn't realize it sooner; the square of his jaw, the lights in his eyes, the long curve of his back that always made Jimin want to reach out and touch. Jeongguk’s smile rushes through him like the tide and while he can’t remember what they talked about or how often they touched, he does remember him.

He never lost him.  

“I probably should have just introduced myself,” Jeongguk admits after a moment, his smile skewing into a smirk.

“Yeah, you ass!” Jimin cries, hiding the tears he can’t hold back behind their familiar rhythm. Relief gives strength to his arms as he punches and shoves at Jeongguk, finally real and solid in front of him. “Do you know how weird I thought you were!”

“I could tell you didn’t recognize me! I freaked out!” Jeongguk laughs.

He catches Jimin’s wrists and they both tip forward in laughter, their foreheads resting against each other as naturally as the sun and the moon sit in the sky. The familiarity of it lodges into Jimin’s throat. Their laughter dies down and they look at each other.

Jimin thinks about kissing him. There’s no ocean waves to calm his racing heart, no soft colored sky to grant him patience and ease. He’s just a soggy chicken nugget who wants to kiss an awkward brat. He reaches out to cup Jeongguk’s cheek and does. Jeongguk smiles against his lips and sighs into his mouth, lets go of Jimin’s wrists just so he can reach behind his neck and pull them closer. It feels like a dream, like home, like everything he’s ever wanted. Jeongguk kisses like he dances; intense and strong. It makes Jimin shiver, threatens to pull him under. Their lips slide together and then slowly apart and Jimin is paralyzed by his racing heart. In the stillness he savors Jeongguk’s breath on his skin.

“You moron, I missed you.”

“Now we have a lifetime.”

-

Chimchim: jeongguk says he’ll teach you

HOBIIII: (｡・ω・｡)? Who’s that?

Chimchim: uh

HOBIIII: JIMIN.

Chimchim: NO ONE

Chimchim: btw tell tae we have +1 he’ll kill me if i do it

HOBIIII: HOW MANY MYSTERY BOYS DO YOU NEED CHIMMY

Chimchim: THERE’S ONLY ONE?

HOBIIII: :DD

Chimchim: shit

Chimchim: G2G BYE

HOBIIII: :DDDDD

HOBIIII: loooooool now tae is the only one still having dreams, he really is gonna kill you! o(≧∇≦o)

[krispy-kream]

Recharge [Exo - chansoo - fluff]

Chanyeol finds Kyungsoo sitting alone on the sofa and immediately forgets why he came into the living room in favor of diving in to lay his head on Kyungsoo’s lap.

Kyungsoo stiffens, his chest seizing a bit like he’s ready to yell before he takes a small breath through his nose and falls back into the cushions. He holds his book over Chanyeol’s face and goes back to reading without a word.

“Wow, you just let anybody sit on you, huh?”

“You’re not just anybody,” Kyungsoo tells him simply, his eyes remaining trained on the book in front of him.

Chanyeol can’t help the small thrill that sends down his spine. He laughs it off, says, “but everyone sits on you,” and shifts a little closer to try to peer up at Kyungsoo’s face.

“The members aren’t just anybody.”

A hint of a smile tugs up Kyungsoo’s lips. Even from his vantage on Kyungsoo’s lap, Chanyeol can see the fondness that softens his whole expression.

“That’s fair,” he relents.

Then he rolls and shoves his face into Kyungsoo’s hip bone.

Kyungsoo finally holds his book aside to look down at him. Chanyeol can’t see it, but he feels the shift. He kind of thinks he can feel Kyungsoo’s eyes on him, too.

“What are you doing?”

“Recharging!” Chanyeol shouts into his shirt.

“Hm,” Kyungsoo says, then settles back and lets his hand come up to absently card through Chanyeol’s hair.

“Me too.”

[krispy-kream]

Do you have any plans to work on or expand your Obiyuki Wonderland AU?

Nope! It’s fair game if you want it *WINK WINK*

[krispy-kream]

Nanowrimo Day 1: 3k (Prince Jimin AU / jikook / nsfw)

As is tradition, I’ll be posting NaNoWriMo progress here whenever I happen to remember! This year is a Bangtan AU that I don’t really have a name for yet.

Anyway, of course I woke up November 1st and decided porn was where I needed to start so here is a porn scene that happens at a critical moment in the story.

((A bit more lead-up that was previously written can be found here. ))

“Talk to me.”

Jimin stares at him, his jaw squarely shut. His eyes flit across his face, searching. He takes Jungkook’s collar with both hands.

“No,” he growls, then crashes their mouths together.

All of Jungkook’s thoughts fly out the window. Jimin moves their lips together and coaxes forth every desire Jungkook has buried deep in the back of his heart. He wants him, wants to feel the curve of his body, wants to taste every inch of his skin. He wants to make Jimin moan, to make him feel so good he can’t hide his ecstasy. He wants to love Jimin in every way he shouldn’t.

Now he can’t remember any of the reasons that held him back.  

Jimin presses his body against his and he moans into Jimin’s mouth, splays his hands across Jimin’s back and bites at his lips. Jimin gasps between kisses like he didn’t start this, as if he didn’t think Jungkook was hiding a passion as hot as his own.

Arms loop around Jungkook’s neck and fingers dig into his hair and Jimin is tugging him closer until they stumble together towards the bed.

A faint thought registers in the back of Jungkook’s mind that this is a line from which they cannot come back. But Jimin falls back against the mattress and Jungkook crawls over him as if hypnotized. He is not in the lead. He’s not the only one who wants this.

Jimin’s chest heaves and he runs a hand through his hair to hide his face.

“I know this isn’t the time, but I, I just…”

Jungkook takes Jimin’s wrist to move his arm out of the way and plant kisses on his cheek.

“Anything,” he whispers into Jimin’s skin. “Anything for you.”

Jimin bites his lip as he shudders, then reaches up with his free hand to pull Jungkook’s lips to his.

They fall into each other, into the heat of each other's mouths and each other's body. Jeongguk is afraid to open his eyes and find reality staring back at him until Jimin arches up into him, gasps into his mouth and drags his fingers through his hair. It pulls him under, casts a spell that guides his hands up Jimin's chest, over the silk of his robes. He tears them open with eager fingers, pulls away the reminders of who they are, pushes back the barriers of why they shouldn't. Jimin's head falls back as he shrugs out of them, barring his slender shoulders and smooth chest, a sight Jeongguk has only caught glimpses of in their early mornings together. Now he takes it in as he pleases, drags his lips down his prince's long neck and grazes his teeth against his collar, lead by the sound of Jimin's breath hitching at his touch.

As he moves ever downward with each inch of skin revealed, Jimin pulls at him from all sides. His legs wrap up and around him, his rough fingers tug at his shoulders and dip beneath the collar of his uniform. Jeongguk can't be bothered to undress himself while so much still separates him from Jimin, from everything he wants, everything he needs to touch. Jeongguk groans into Jimin's chest as their hips collide, Jimin's hard length pressing against his own with urgency.

"Please..." Jimin sighs as he rolls his hips again, moves so easily while Jeongguk's hands stutter, his thoughts shortcurciting.

He sits up with a curse, his hands flying to the clasp of Jimin's slacks. It's too much at once and he wants it all this instant.

Jimin props himself up enough to toss away his tunic and reaches for button's of Jeongguk's coat, the faint sound of "let me," on his lips, but he's too late. With a growl Jeongguk pushes him back down to the mattress with a kiss, their teeth gnashing together and Jeongguk reaches in to tug at his hard cock with calloused fingers.

Jimin goes pliant beneath him, a whimper forcing it's way into their mouths. Jeongguk swallows it eagerly, stroking Jimin to conjure more, his veins buzzing with possessiveness.

"God, I want," he mutters against Jimin's lips, but his words fall short. He doesn't know anymore, he doesn't know, he just wants all of him. He feels Jimin in his hand, takes in the shape of him, the creases that elicit moans, and he can't take it anymore. He tears his mouth away from Jimin's lips and shifts down to take him into his mouth.

This, yes, this is what Jeongguk longed to taste. He runs his tongue up Jimin's length, making him shudder and buck his hips up into Jeongguk's mouth. Jeongguk lets him, moves his head with him and sucks at the head, drinks in the strangled gasps above him. He hadn't let himself imagine this far, had tried to keep himself from picturing this, the weight of it in his hands, the feel of it in his mouth. He savors it now, licks up every inch so he'll never forget the taste.  

"Jimin," he breathes against him, enjoys the way it makes Jimin tense beneath him.

"God, Jeongguk, I-" he moans, then takes a moment to swallow and push at Jeongguk's shoulder. "My lotion, it should still be..."

Jeongguk glances up, lets his breath ghost over Jimin's length, now slick with spit. Another shudder wracks Jimin's body and he pushes at him harder.

"Stop that, I'm gonna...!" he gasps.

Jeongguk pulls away then, if only because of the insinuation that Jimin wants more than this. He slips off the bed and moves to the vanity, discarding his coat and tugging his tunic over his head on his way. He knows the lotion he's looking for, a heavy crystal jar that starts his routine every morning. It was shoved across the vanity with everything else, but it's still intact. It feels heavier than usual when he picks it up.

The moment away is enough for the doubt to return and Jeongguk wonders if he should ask if this is really happening, if this is what Jimin really wants. But the sight that greets him when he turns back, Jimin's eyes trailing up the lines of his bare chest, him now naked laying on the bed, his legs spread...

Jeongguk returns to Jimin as if dragged by a string, his lips calling to him as if asking to be claimed again. They crash together once more as if they'd never parted, Jimin immediately reaching for Jeongguk to pull him closer.

"Please," he whispers against Jeongguk's lips, "I want you..."

"How are you so," Jeongguk starts, but he doesn't have words. He kisses him instead and Jimin is all too willing to accept that.

He has to pull away to get the jar open. He sits back on his knees and Jimin's eyes feel like they pierce right through his chest as he tries to coat his fingers, drags them through the lotion like he's seen Jimin do and spreads it with his thumb.

He wants to watch what he's doing, to be careful, but he glances up at Jimin and he can't turn away, trapped by his dark gaze that he's always felt pull at him but never indulged before this. He leans forward, guided by Jimin's hands as they slip over his shoulders. Jeongguk drags his coated fingers around Jimin's ass to find his entrance, watches Jimin bite his lip in anticipation, then surges forward to kiss him as pushes in.

Jimin hums for him as he takes his finger, so hot and tight around him Jeongguk nearly shudders from just this. Jimin's arms wrap tightly around his shoulders, trapping their chests together as Jeongguk works him open, whimpering into his ear with every thrust. He doesn't let go until he's stretched around 3 fingers. Jeongguk takes his cue and reaches for the lotion once more.

“I’m so stupid," Jimin laughs at himself while he does, "I’m such an idiot, this is so," he trails off and suddenly sits up, reaching out to still Jeongguk's hand has he spreads more lotion along his length.

"Wait, this isn’t… You’re not here because I’m your-”

He doesn't need to say it. Jeongguk knows all too well where the doubt stems from, has felt its icy grip every time Jimin smiled at him, been crushed by it any time Jimin confided in him. It was impossible to count the number of times he's berated himself for forgetting his place. Jimin isn't the idiot here.

“Jimin," he says, twisting his hands in Jimin's grip to entwine their fingers. "I’ve told you before. Anything for you, for you and nothing else.”

Jimin stares at him, unbelieving, as if it's unthinkable someone could want him the way Jeongguk does. Jeongguk can't help but smile at him.

“We’re both idiots. I’m stupid for you, Jimin, I don’t deserve you.”

“Stop it," Jimin chides him instantly, his eyes still wide with wonder, searching his face for a lie and coming up empty. "Stop it and kiss me, you stupid idiot.”

He does. Their lips move together, languid and heavy, as they fall back together. Jimin takes Jeongguk into his hands and guides him to his entrance

Heat surrounds him, it squeezes him blind and he digs his face into the curve of Jimin's neck to keep from losing himself. Everything he wants he has in hand and it takes everything he has to pace himself, to move slowly to keep from hurting Jimin.

Jimin moans, low as gravel and raises his hips to meet him, but it's not enough, not for either of them.

"Fuck me like I know you want to," he growls into Jeongguk's ear.

That's all it takes for Jeongguk to feel himself break. He snaps his hips forward, slamming into Jimin without warning and Jimin is knocked back, his head flying back with a shout as he digs his nails into Jeongguk's skin.

This isn't what he intended, it's not how he would have shown Jimin the depth of his feelings for him, but it's too late for that now. All Jeongguk knows anymore is how much he wants, how much he wants Jimin for himself, how much he wants to see him break, how much he wants to be the only one who can make him scream.

He props himself up on both arms and thrusts into Jimin at a fervent pace, watches Jimin as his mouth falls open and moans tumble out. It's not enough, it's still too controlled. Jeongguk already feels delirious with desire as he reaches down at takes Jimin's cock into his hand once more.

Jimin tenses up immediately. His back arches and he bites down hard on his lip, cutting his moans down to soft whines he can't control at the back of his throat. It's there, his breaking point, Jeongguk sees it behind the tense lines of Jimin's body that shudder and threaten to crack.

Jeongguk lets go only long enough to cup Jimin's jaw and drag his thumb down his mouth, freeing his lips and opening his mouth with a shaky gasp.

"Let me hear you," Jeongguk orders, reaching back down and tugging hard on Jimin's length.

He cries out, his whole body responding as it had wanted to before.

"I can't," he insists to the ceiling, "I'll, ah!"

"Tell me," Jeongguk says, his words a low rumble in his chest as he watches Jimin finally fall apart. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you," he gasps between thick moans that escape him with every thrust. "Ah, god, yes, fuck me, Jeongguk, Jeon—ah!"

"Yes," Jeongguk hisses. He leans in to nip at whatever he can reach, his teeth grazing Jimin's chin haphazardly as they move together. "I'm yours, take it."

"I'm...!" is all the warning Jimin can give before he's wracked with shudders, clenching around Jeongguk and halting them both as pleasure overtakes them.

Jeongguk wants to burn the image into his mind, of Jimin lost in euphoria, hidden away from his doubts here in Jeongguk's arms. He waits for the dream to end but, as he reaches up to brush his fingers against Jimin's cheek, he finds that it's real, that Jimin is here reaching for him, wanting him.

It's nearly too much for him.

He catches Jimin's hand and squeezes it before slowly letting go to seek out a towel to clean off with. His mind still buzzes with adrenaline, not sure he can properly process what they just did.

He turns to once again find Jimin in a state he didn't expect.

Jimin has curled in on himself, covering his face with both hands, his lips trapped between his teeth the only thing Jeongguk can see.

"I..." he starts on shaky breath.

"Stop," Jeongguk says, pulling a hand away as he wipes away the mess on Jimin's stomach with his other. "Stop worrying about me. I'm not going anywhere. Let yourself have this."

He lays beside Jimin, wiping away the sweat, making sure their bodies connect in as many places as Jimin allows. Slowly, Jimin looks up at him, unfurls little by little to reach for Jeongguk.

“Why are you the only person who doesn't make sense to me?” he asks, his voice so soft, like he's afraid to ask.

Jeongguk wants to laugh. He's spent so much time trying to understand his prince, he never considered they might be in the same predicament. It's no wonder this took so long.

He runs his fingers through Jimin's hair and lets himself fall for him harder than he ever should.

“Because I'm trying so hard not to be in love with you.”

Jimin opens his mouth to respond before he has anything to say, his surprise springing tears in his eyes.

“Fuck," he breathes. "Fuck, it's not supposed to be this easy to get what I want…”

“You deserve the world, Jimin," Jeongguk tells him, wrapping his arm around his middle and pulling him close so that their legs can tangle together. "When will you finally believe that?”

Jimin doesn't answer. He simply tucks his head beneath Jeongguk's chin and settles against him, his breath warm against Jeongguk's skin.

-

He wakes with a question; what had they just done? What sort of chaos had they wrought on their already complex lives? Was it regret that cooled the sheets beside him? Jeongguk turns to the balcony and finds Jimin still bare, standing taller than he's ever seen him. He looks up at the stars as if a new life fills his chest.

It's all the answer Jeongguk needs.

He slips from the sheets and pads across the room, hypnotized as he always is in Jimin's presence. He's only had him once but he realizes he's addicted. He's addicted to this man, the touch of his skin, the depth of his heart and everything in between.

He slides his hand across the small of Jimin's back and Jimin leans into the touch. A smile, small and satisfied, spreads across his lips. It's another new side to his prince, an exhilarating one, one he can't wait to see more of. One that's just for him. Jeongguk leans down to take the skin of Jimin's neck into his mouth, desire coursing through him anew with Jimin in his arms.

"Jeongguk," Jimin says to the night, "The throne is mine."

"As you say, your highness," Jeongguk says into the crook of his shoulder.

"It's time I made sure everyone knows it."

Jeongguk grins, his prince's confidence sending a shiver down his spine. He turns to press his lips to Jimin's cheek.

"How I have longed to hear you say that," he sighs against his skin.

He feels Jimin smile before he turns to look up at Jeongguk. His grin only spreads as he reaches up to run his finger down Jeongguk's chest.

"Speaking of things that are mine," he coos as he pushes Jeongguk back towards the bed.

On the list of things Jeongguk understands about himself, he had no idea that this, simply this possessiveness could make him hard. Something in the glint in Jimin's eyes, how he controls him with a single finger, that he's finally claiming what has always been his with such vigor, makes Jeongguk's breath quicken. Jimin must see it, for his grin shifts into something darker, his eyes filling with promise as he looks Jeongguk up and down and licks his lips.

His knees collide with the bed and Jeongguk sits back, holding himself up by Jimin's hips as he climbs into his lap, practically purring.

"Jimin," Jeongguk breathes not for the last time that night as Jimin dips down to take his lips in a greedy kiss. With the lotion still close at hand it's not long before he melts around Jimin's deft fingers inside him, encouraging him with long moans as Jimin litters his chest with bite marks.

It becomes a mantra as Jeongguk is pressed into the mattress over and over, Jimin's fingers dancing across his skin and leaving no inch unmolested. His name simply falls from his lips unbidden as pleasure assaults him, still just as desperate for his prince as before he'd had a taste.

Jimin peppers kisses down his back as he comes and, as soon as the aftermath is wiped away, Jeongguk pulls him close for more. This time, when they fall asleep in each other's arms, there's no doubt left to cloud the air around them.

-

He wakes up so wrapped up in warmth and comfort that Jeongguk wonders how he ever managed to sleep before now. Jimin is already awake, nestled against his side and drawing lazy patterns across his chest. Jeongguk hums in contentment and kisses the top of his head.

"Morning, highness," he mumbles into his hair.

Jimin shakes faintly with silent giggles.

"Don't call me that while we're naked," he chides him, but the smile is too clear in his tone.

"Any why not?" Jeongguk counters. "I'd want to call you that even if you weren't a prince."

"I'm so sure."

There's silence for a moment as Jimin's hand slowly comes to rest at the center of Jeongguk's chest.

"I suppose we should... talk about it," he says softly.

Jeongguk wraps his arm around Jimin to hold him tight against his side.

"We don't have to. I know better than to have expectations of a prince."

Jimin huffs, the breath brushing against Jeongguk's bare skin.

"I wish you would," he says. His fingers start drawing shapes again, but they’re short, quick movements this time. "You're not just some tool to me, Jeongguk."

"I can't expect you to be beholden to me when we both know you-"

"Shush," Jimin cuts him off, pushing himself up just enough to look up at Jeongguk. "I get what you're trying to do, but... my feelings for you are real, Jeongguk. I want this too."

Jeongguk stares in stunned silence for a moment, unsure of how to tell his prince what a foolish thought that is without simply making him angry for not listening. He reaches up and brushes his hand up Jimin's cheek as he settles on his words.

"I just don't want to add to your worries," he whispers.

"You won't," Jimin tells him, leaning into the touch. "You've eased some already."

"Don't ever let me," Jeongguk continues, "I only want to support you."

Jimin hums, which is not the same as agreeing, but Jeongguk takes it.

It's Jeongguk's turn to drawn patterns, running his fingers against Jimin's scalp in slow circles. Jimin lets his chin fall to Jeongguk's chest as he sighs with pleasure.

"I should get up," he says slowly, clearly in not much of a hurry. "I have a feeling breakfast will take longer than usual."

"Oh," Jeongguk groans, letting his head fall heavy back into the pillow beneath him. "Taehyung is so worried about you... maybe less worried now."

Jimin chuckles into Jeongguk's skin, then slowly pushes himself up to sit beside him.

"Yes, yesterday was," he pauses, smiling ruefully to himself as he draws one last long line with his nails. "Frustrating to say the least."

"Will you tell us about it?" Jeongguk asks, unwilling to take his hand back yet.

"Yes," Jimin says. "But only because I need your help to fix it."

[krispy-kream]

Tagged by @sabraeal​

Rules: post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic/original/anything!) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence

My sentence:  

“You know that’s bullshit,” he says softly.

“Knowing and believing are two different things,” he mutters back.

“I know,” Jimin admits, knows it too well. “Is that why you wanted to learn my dance? Because neither of us can do it perfectly?”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “I wanna see if I can bring life to something like you can.”

y’all know I never tag people, but I am gonna at least mention @kookminau because it’s her AU lmao

[krispy-kream]

A Duel of First Impressions (FFXIV + AnS crossover)

((Some time ago I was feeling very crummy and asked my discord buddies for drabble prompts. When I considered doing the same on twitter, I already knew exactly what @mightier would ask for. So I wrote it preemptively.))

“The rogue’s guild?”

“Yes, join us, Idris! We could use someone with your finesse!”

“I’m surprised any of you think you stand a chance,” Sisirinah said.

Rhotgeim threw his head back and laughed. “Why do you think the axemaster asked for you!”

Beside him, Broenbhar tapped his massive ale mug against hers.

“If they can’t get close, those rogue’s won’t do any good. I’d call it an interesting match up.”

Sisirinah hummed, the tip of her tail twitching left and right as she considered it.

“It’d be quite the change of pace,” she mused.

“A far cry from smashing down boars,” Broenbhar added. “Or dragons, in your case.”

She grinned.

“Alright, I’m in.”

-

Sisirinah stood beside Axemaster Wyrnzoen in the dying light of dusk as they watched the sparring matches.

“I hope you didn’t bet good gil on these fights,” she said just before the rogue was sent sprawling to the ground. “Well. I hope you bet some gil.”

Wyrnzoen chuckled.

“I knew what I was getting into when I signed up. Just be grateful I didn’t throw you in on the first match to watch you flounder.”

“I’m hurt you thought I needed this handicap.”

“No handicap,” he assured her. “I needed a wildcard.”

Across the walkway the rogues had gone quiet. The crowd parted warily around the next fighter as he made his way to their impromptu ring.

He was a tall man, but scrawny like he didn’t eat enough. He twirled his knives between his fingers like they were toys and completely ignored the heckling from her fellow marauders. He looked bored already.

“That’s your cue,” Wyrnzoen said, glancing at her.

Sisirinah couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face.

Slaps on her back and whistles followed her to the ring. She slung her axe’s handle across her shoulders as she stood before the man, as much at ease as her opponent looked.

“Sisirinah,” she said in greeting. “You?”

He eyed her up and down in silence for a moment before answering.

“Nanaki.”

“Alright, Nanaki,” she said, swinging her axe down in a wide arc before settling into a defensive stance. “I’m here as a favor, so try to make it worth my while, yeah?”

He stopped twirling his knives and finally smirked back.

“I was about to say the same.”

There was a moment of stillness before Sisirinah lunged forward. Any rogue worth his salt would be waiting for an opening and marauders were predictable in their recklessness; that would become her advantage. Nanaki dodged her easily (light on his feet, this one) and kept himself low. He only ever moved just out of reach, always poised to step back in with a counter. Sisirinah kept her attacks shallow and guarded. She couldn’t afford to take a real swing at him, he’d end the match in an instant.

She watched his reactions for a time, looking for patterns in his movements that she could exploit. That nonchalance from before was gone from his posture and that boredom from before had darkened into something far more menacing. Despite that, he scoffed at her when she tried to lure him in close with a fake opening.

“I thought you wanted to make this fun?”

“Don’t test me, thief,” Sisirinah shot back, taking a heavy swing.

He leaped back to dodge, giving himself enough room to look affronted by her comment.

“Hardly! My criminal record is far more sophisticated!”

“Do tell! I’d love to arrest you once I’ve knocked you out.”

“You and everyone else I’ve beaten.”

“We’ll just see about that!”

Her swings got riskier and his dodges were forced further and further back, but he was always back in range in an instant. It was all she could do to keep him in check, there was no room to look for an opening of her own.

From the crowd at her back someone shouted, “While we’re young, Idris!”

That’s when she noticed the sun had set.

She leapt back and held up a hand.

“Hold up!” she shouted. “There’s no point once you’ve got the darkness on your side.”

Nanaki straightened, his chest still heaving from their fight.

“Now that’s no fun,” he said, but he was smiling all the same.

“Take it as a win if you want.”

His expression soured.

She turned to leave the ring and already she could hear the whispers from her comrades, (“I still think she could take him,” “We’ll just have challenge them again.”) but Nanaki stopped her.

“Sisi!” he called.

She turned back with a scowl, he wasn’t allowed to call her that, and had to move fast to catch the coin he flipped to her. It was a dull and dusty copper, too large to be Eorzean currency. She looked up at him as he approached.

“I told a lie earlier,” he said, his voice low so as not to be overheard. “The name’s Obi.” Then he winked and raised his voice back to normal. “Let’s have a rematch sometime.”

He jogged back to his group across the walkway, but Sisirinah didn’t see him again.

Not in Limsa, anyway.

[krispy-kream]

Obiyuki Week - Protect

[[Listen]] - [[Laugh]] - [[Forgive]] - [[Wait]] - [[Cherish]] - [[Flirt]]

Obi’s presence is needed in the capital for the coronation and Miss is invited as well. Her summons don’t come in the form of an order, but with the young highness’ seal on the letter accompanying it, it’s the next best thing. Little Ryu doesn’t get a formal invitation, but Obi assures them he can come as a plus one. Little Ryu isn’t interested in the party, but he does want to travel south with them. 

Their old rooms are waiting for them when they return, including Miss’ in the prince’s suite. 

That damnable west wing. Obi will never forget the strain those rumours and expectations had put on his miss, how silently she had suffered when the young highness wasn’t around to see. It’s for this reason Obi walks her to her room tonight despite how unwelcome he knows he is there.

Miss looks calmer for his presence and that’s the only opinion he cares about.

“It’s too warm to cuddle, I hope you’ll be able to sleep,” Obi jokes as they approach the door.

Miss laughs and the line of her shoulder relaxes.

“You mean you won’t keep me company while Monsieur Olin Maris is away?”

“That’s not my role down here, Miss,” he reminds her.

“Oh,” she says and her face falls, her cheeks tinting pink. She places her hand on the doorknob, then thinks better of it and turns back to him.

“Obi, I…” she starts, but the words fail her even as her mouth tries to work. “No,” she amends. “Later would be better. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

For once, Obi has no idea what his miss is talking about.

“Of course,” he says after a moment, once he’s recovered his wits enough. “You know my priorities.”

“I do.”

She smiles like her words hold more meaning than they seem. Why…?

Obi ponders this as he makes his way through the halls to his master’s office. It makes the sight when he arrives more jarring than it otherwise would have been.

“Oh. Your highness.”

“Obi,” the young highness spits, his voice holding more venom than Obi’s ever heard. “Done with Shirayuki, are you?”

Obi ignores the question; it’s a trap anyway.

“Is aught amiss, Master?”

Master regards him with an odd expression. He mostly looks amused, but there is an undercurrent of exhaustion that eats at his patience. Obi has been away too long; if he had been present, it would never have gotten this bad.

“You have interesting timing, Obi,” Master says, glancing at the younger highness.

“Isn’t it about time you called off your dog, lord brother?” the young highness says, looking at Obi before his glare turns back to Master. “You know by now Shirayuki isn’t out to tarnish the family name or whatever you were worried about.”

“My employees are not your concern, Zen.”

“You’ve made it my concern.”

“I assure you, Obi has nothing to do with any of Shirayuki’s decisions.”

“As if I’d believe that now! After all this!”

Something clicks. The full time position. Of course. They’d talked about it, but Obi didn’t know she’d decided anything.

Oh. Suddenly so much falls into place. He can’t even hear the young highness anymore.

He doesn’t even see his Miss come into the room.

“Zen! What are you doing, stop it!” she cries, coming to stand between Obi and the young highness.

“S-shirayuki,” he stammers, stricken. He’s been caught red handed doing what he does best; meaning well but not thinking everything through. “You can’t tell me Obi had nothing to-”

“Of course he did,” Miss cuts him off. Obi has never seen her this furious.

But he has seen her this determined.

“He had as much to do with it as you did.”

The young highness balks at this.

“But, more than anything, this is something I decided. I thought you understood that. We talked about this.”

The young highness deflates. “I know, I do, I just,” he takes a deep breath. “I do.”

“Come on,” she says, her voice softer now. She takes the young highness’ hand to lead him from the room. “This isn’t an evil plot by your brother. It’s something I decided for myself.”

“Right,” he says, then turns to look back at Master as he’s lead away. “Forgive me brother. That was uncalled for.”

Master raises his brow but doesn’t answer.

He says nothing to Obi. The door shuts behind them and Obi is left alone with his master and the buzzing aftermath of a suddenly quiet room.

There’s a beat of silence before Obi turns to him.

“You knew something before I did,” he says, forcing a chuckle. “I must be getting soft.”

Master sighs and slumps into his chair. “You were always soft for her.”

They almost leave it at that, but Master glances up at him and the smirk creeps across his lips.

“… You want to tell me to go after her again,” Obi guesses. No, he doesn’t have to guess. He knows.

“I do,” Master says and lets his grin spread wide. “But I don’t think I need to.”

True enough.

[krispy-kream]

Obiyuki Week - Flirt

[[Listen]] - [[Laugh]] - [[Forgive]] - [[Wait]] - [[Cherish]]

The last time they were on their own together for an extended stretch of time Obi had laid it on thick. An odd mixture of the power of suggestion with just wanting the miss to feel at ease produced an oddly flirtatious back and forth that ended up more like a joke than anything else. Not being taken seriously had worked out in the end; the young highness’ hold on her heart was still strong, no amount of earnest advances would have swayed her.

But Lyrias is so different in every way that matters.

Master’s ‘suggestions’ regarding his love life have all but disappeared. Whether it’s because he thinks that ship has sailed or he knows the seed is already planted Obi can’t be sure. He’s still teased relentlessly for his affections, but without the pressure from on high his feelings seem much more like his own. It sets his heart on edge in a whole new way.

He doesn’t need to shock Miss’ nerves into relaxing this time, but she is so comfortable here that she starts the jokes up herself. Jokes that are wildly suggestive to anyone but them.

“You’re such a perfect husband,” she coos at him when he brings dinner to her workspace after saying he wouldn’t anymore.

“Oh, there’s my other half,” she says to Yuzuri when they catch him napping on top a bookshelf.

“Leaving me to sleep alone, after everything we’ve been through,” she mumbles into his shoulder when he finally drags her to bed.

“Is that an invitation, Miss?” he can’t stop himself from asking.

“You’re the one who knows me best, aren’t you?”

“What I know best is that you trust me too much,” he reminds her as he helps her into bed.

She hums as she settles under the covers, already drifting off now that her head has hit the pillow.

“I trust you just the right amount,” she mumbles. 

And no matter how many letters they send back and forth, the miss’ preoccupation with the young highness ends as soon as she writes a reply.

“Are you here to whisk me away like a proper dark, handsome stranger?” she asks with laughter in her eyes.

For once, he skips worrying about her intentions and lets himself play along.

“I couldn’t take you away from the one true love that is your office,” he counters with a smirk of his own.

She giggles. “I can’t go there, it’s missing something.”

“What’s that?”

“You.”

His heart lurches so hard he almost misses his cue.

“Miss,” he gasps as if scandalized. He saunters close to cage her between his arms even as his pulse pounds in his head. “Monsieur Olin Maris will be jealous.”

“He’ll be alright for one night.”

It’s too much. There’s a point when something ceases to be a joke and becomes a window into someone’s true thoughts. As Obi dips in closer Miss must see that she’s crossed that line; the mirth fades from her expression and they simply look at each other, wrapped in the quiet solitude of the night.

He lets his eyes linger on her lips, lets her see his desire and intentions. He lets himself toy with the idea of having what he wants.

She answers by tilting her chin up, by sucking in a shallow breath and holding it in her chest.

“A letter for you, Miss,” he whispers, his words ghosting against her skin. “Sorry, I read this one.”

Her face heats as she takes the envelope.

[krispy-kream]

Obiyuki Week - Cherish

[[Listen]] - [[Laugh]] - [[Forgive]] - [[Wait]]

Miss eyes the mulled wine with a hint of apprehension when Obi hands her the mug. A look born of knowing just how weak she is with alcohol.

“The nights are getting colder, if you can believe that,” Obi points out.

She pouts. They both know the wine will keep her warm longer than cocoa ever could. She takes a small sip. There’s an oddly rebellious set to her jaw when she brings the mug down.

“Another letter, huh? Such a diligent prince.”

“It must be trouble for Izana,” Miss laughs. “He’s quite serious.”

He spies the barest twinge to her expression; Miss is getting better at hiding her emotions, but she still has a ways to go before she can fool Obi.

“The young highness certainly knows what he wants.”

“Yes…” Miss says into the rim of her mug.

Obi shifts himself an inch closer, just within the realm of ‘too close.’

“Do you?”

She looks up at him, her brow quirked, paying no heed to their proximity.

“Do I what?”

“Know what you want.”

She opens her mouth. She closes her mouth. She looks back down at her wine.

“It’s alright if you do,” he tells her, his voice quiet like the night, like the secrets she can’t quite keep from him. “It’s alright if it’s for yourself and no one else.”

“Why do you say that?” she asks, the lilt in her voice so forced it threatens to shake.

“Because you’re here. Because I watch you do what you love every day. Because just being yourself has made everyone here adore you.”

He watches as her cheeks flush. She takes another sip to hide it.

“You gonna tell me it’s all an act? That you’re not happy here?”

“I could be happy somewhere else too.”

“Miss,” he sighs. He leans in so that their shoulders are pressed together, so that she can’t miss his point. “You weren’t meant to be just another pretty face on a throne. You’re too good for that. You could never be happy like that.”

At this she finally tries to shy back, to put back the distance she forgot to maintain.

“What do you know about my happiness,” she tries to say.

“It’s my job to know everything about you.”

Her pout is back. She sits up straight and stern; it brings them close once more.

“Don’t say it like that.”

That gives Obi pause. Miss has a problem with the truth? Is it suddenly inconvenient to remember he’s here because he was told to be?

Does she want something genuine as much as he does?

“... Then, it’s a perk of my job that I get to know everything about you,” he amends.

She relaxes. She takes another drink. Obi lets his shoulders relax but he can’t quell the buzz in his chest.

The quiet feels so different than it did moments ago.

Miss takes a deep breath, lets the icy air mingle with the warm spice in her throat. She looks up at the stars with a smile.

“Izana gave us this opportunity. I don’t intend to waste it.”

“... Master will be happy to hear that.”

She smiles at him like she’s chosen to ignore everything he’s supposed to be. As if his presence is a comfort, as if she’s happy to see him.

He won’t waste this opportunity.

[krispy-kream]

Obiyuki Week - Wait

[[Listen]] - [[Laugh]] - [[Forgive]]

“Little Ryu, do you remember what we put in that tea we made for your boss?” Obi asks.

Little Ryu looks up, but text still dances in front of his eyes for a moment before he properly sees Obi.

“It was pretty basic, I should be able to find everything here.”

“Just make me a list, I’ll get it.”

Little Ryu looks at him for a moment, like he needs extra time to process spoken words over written ones. Then he looks down and pulls out a mostly blank sheet of paper.

“Yeah, you can do that,” he mumbles as he writes. It sounds suspiciously like ‘that’s easy enough for someone like you.’

Obi knows he means it with love.

He likes to think he knows his way around a pharmacy, but Obi admits he doesn’t know his way around this one. No one knows him here, no one shies away with furtive glances or whispers behind his back about the future king’s faithful rat, so it’s easy enough to ask everyone he meets in the halls for directions. As much as this place was built like a fortress, it is nothing like a castle; scientists have such refreshingly different priorities. Those that can even see past the piles of notes in their arms think it’s cute that he’s running errands. Any glances or whispers that follow him are light with curiosity.

He usually has to trick people into liking him like that.

He’s passing by the mail room on his way back when he hears it.

“Shirayuki…?”

“Isn’t she with the group from the capital?”

Obi pokes his head into the room to ask, “Mail for us?”

They jump in surprise but are immediately pleasant with him.

“You’re from the capital too? You know Shirayuki?”

So weird. Too easy.

“Yeah, I’m going to see her right now. I can take the mail for you.”

They hand him the letter without question.

He thumbs the flap of the envelope as he walks. The young highness’ handwriting is unmistakable on the front. It would be an easy thing to reseal.

He doesn’t. Not yet, anyway. Nothing of hers is too private for him, but she at least deserves first dibs.

With a little practice he could easily make this tea himself, but he’s not sure how much of anything he needs so Obi drags little Ryu away from his books to get a pot brewing. Then he drags him to where Miss is set up to force them both to take a break.

“There’s a letter for you, Miss,” Obi says when they’re each settled with a cup.

“Oh, what’s it say?” she asks as she takes it, so natural like she expects it of him.

“Don’t know,” he answers, oddly proud of himself. “Figure I’ll find out soon enough.”

That gives Miss pause.

“... Oh. Thank you,” she manages to say. It’s not clear what exactly she means by that.

Obi shrugs it off. He can’t promise he’ll respect her privacy again.

He wouldn’t mind grabbing the mail again, though.

[krispy-kream]

Obiyuki Week - Forgive

[[Listen]] - [[Laugh]]

As if to prepare them for the weather up north, the air between him and the miss has been… frigid. She doesn’t speak to him, glares at him with furrowed brows until her ears turn red, and finds reasons to leave the room when he comes in. Not that she can ever lose him; they both know how easy it is for him to stick close even when she avoids him. He’s a professional, after all.

It’s reminiscent of his first few weeks on the job, back before Miss’ relentless kindness for all things kicked in and she started treating him like just a regular person. It’s funny, in a way, watching Miss try this hard to stay mad without falling back into their friendlier habits. But it’s also frustrating in a way that doesn’t sit well in Obi’s chest. His first mistake was caring this much, he knows. Perhaps he took her kindness for granted. Just as she did his.

The ice in the air made little Ryu nervous for about two days, but by the time they finally depart for Lyrias (of course Obi is with them, following the Miss is literally his job) he just sighs and rolls his eyes. His opinion of Obi remains unperturbed, but then, he’s not the one being spied on.

“I don’t know what you did, but you could just apologize,” little Ryu tells him.

“That’s hard when I’m not actually sorry,” Obi admits with a wry smile.

Little Ryu frowns at him in that way that only he can, that frown that says ‘that’s not what I meant.’

Obi chuckles. He can’t help it, little Ryu is just too good.

“I’ll clear this up before we get there, I promise,” Obi says, but the chill of the north has already begun to set in. He can’t let this go on for much longer.

The snow is thick on the ground, the city within sight just over the crest of the hill, before anything changes. Miss has reached her limit; she no longer glares or avoids him, she simply sighs every time she looks at him, resigned to her fate of his constant company.

They walk up the hill ahead of the group, Obi so he can scout out the conditions for the rest of their trip and Miss because… actually, he’s not sure why she’s following him. She simply trudges on behind him, watching their feet sink into the snow. He leaves her be until they reach the top.

The sight of the mountain range is just as breathtaking the second time around. They stand side by side as they look over the jagged curves and white topped trees. The cold bites at his cheeks and his lungs, but Obi opens his mouth anyway.

“I know it doesn’t amount to much. But Master has been planning to put you on this project for weeks.”

“Yes, I know,” she says with another sigh, but there is a faint bubble of a giggles hidden underneath. “This assignment is too big to just be about Zen and I. I shouldn’t have blamed you.”

“I am sorry for making the timing awkward,” Obi admits, even if he’s not sure it’s true.

Miss shakes her head. “You don’t pull Izana’s strings.”

“Yeah, but I could be a little less whipped.”

“No.” she says, and when she looks up at him she is smiling. “You’re loyal and take your job seriously. Those are good things.”

Obi wants to tell her not to say things like that. He wants to remind her that thinking so highly of a spy is what had her upset in the first place. But the words get caught in a lump in his throat and Obi has to close his mouth to swallow it down.

“So is being here. It’s a big job. A testimate to how much Master trusts you.”

“Yes. Yes, I know.”

When they turn to head back to the group Miss walks close at his side.

[krispy-kream]

Obiyuki Week - Laugh

[[Listen]]

There’s no non-answer that can get Miss out of this. Though, from this angle, it doesn’t really look like she wants to get out of it.

“I’ll be counting on both of you,” Master says, his smile oddly genuine.

Little Ryu and the miss are still staring, wide eyed, at the research documents. Little Ryu can’t stop himself from flipping through the pages, eager to devour all of the information. Miss leans in to catch a glance herself. Gone in their own little world, as usual. Garrack clears her throat and they look up with a start.

“Yes!” They both say at once.

It’s an ambitious project, this Olin Maris thing. Obi thought they had all seen the last of Lyrias but he should have known that his master would notice; the sparkle in their eyes, their chemistry with the other researchers. The facilities at the palace are top of the line, but you can’t beat a place that was built for research.

Master had been humming and hawing about the project with Garrack for weeks. But just a couple days into those discussions, Obi had seen the subtle shift in his master that meant he’d made up his mind. At the time Obi couldn’t fathom the need for the facade, couldn’t anticipate the kind of opportunity his master was waiting for.

It had all made sense when he gave his report last night.

Master glances at him as he leaves. Obi feels like he’s caught in a web of his own making. It often feels like this when his master finally gets to act on his plans.

Everything is scheduled to move quickly; They’re given the rest of the work day to clear out their office for their extended time away and Obi follows along to help as he always does.

“I wonder if I can bring this with me,” Little Ryu mumbles, looking at one of his particularly messy notebooks. “I don’t want to stop the experiment half way…”

“If you don’t think the cold will mess with it,” Obi offers.

“Two years will mess with it more,” he grumbles, then goes about gathering up his materials.

“Will it really only be two years?” Miss wonders aloud.

Obi glances over and sees she has a very specific medical record in her hands.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s a lot to do,” she says, slowly slipping the thin book into its place. “And it sounds very… open ended.”

“Sounds like an opportunity.”

She looks at him.

“It sounds like a choice,” she counters. The air between them feels suddenly thick.

Obi laughs. “A choice, Miss?”

“You must have heard us. You always know everything.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, still chuckling.

Little Ryu is staring at them, his eyes going back and forth between them like he’s waiting for an explosion. The miss’ frown is sharp.

Hurt.

“This timing… I guess I should have expected this, you heard us and then went straight to Izana like you always do.” She sighs, a deep and heavy thing.

Obi almost feels guilty. He widens his grin to hide it.

“Well Miss, I did hear both of you last night.”

She freezes and looks up at him. Her expression is carefully blank. “What does that mean?”

Obi laughs instead of answering. Laughs because they both see it. Laughs because neither of them will say it.

He laughs because he has a chance and he wishes he didn’t.

[krispy-kream]

Obiyuki Week - Listen

“Ah, this gentleman,” Obi says, tapping the picture. “I see him at the ports all the time. Got a lot of foreign friends.”

“Is that so,” Izana muses. “I can’t send him, then.”

The picture and profile sheet get moved to an ever growing pile and they continue onto the next. Obi recognizes this one as well. He knows everyone by now.

“I like this guy,” Obi snickers. “He knows how to party.”

“That’s unfortunate for you, then.”

The picture is moved to the ‘no’ pile as well.

“This isn’t fair, you hate everyone I like,” Obi pouts.

“Not true. I have high hopes for someone you’re very fond of.”

The small upturn of his master’s lips gives Obi pause. When Master teases, he fights dirty.

“Speaking of…”

“Would you look at the time!” Obi says as he hops from his perch on the arm of Master’s chair. “I’ve got work to do!”

“Oddly late for that,” Master says, looking over the next profile as if he’s not invested in everything Obi does.

“It’s date night,” Obi explains with a wink.

It’s his business to know everything his little miss is up to, especially if it involves a not-so-secret late night rendezvous with a certain young highness. He’s fairly certain everyone that matters knows about it; The second prince can’t keep a secret to save his life, though it’s not for lack of trying. They both wear their emotions too clearly on their faces. Obi finds it rather endearing.

It’s also extremely useful, but he won’t tell that to them.

The sweet ring of Miss’ bashful laugh floats down past the balcony and Obi makes himself comfortable in the supports below it. He doesn’t feel bad about eavesdropping like this because they are so disgustingly chaste with each other that there is hardly anything to intrude upon. He’s really just there to confirm the state of things, to gauge interest and intent on both sides. Master doesn’t care that much about the details, though Obi is a little more invested in those than he should be.

It’s just more helpful to have all the information, Obi tells himself.

They talk of the mundane for a time, their voices soft and shy like the stories about their days aren’t boring as hell. Obi notices that Miss leaves out the parts that involve him; she doesn’t retell any of his jokes nor does she mention his antics with little Ryu that leave her giggling even hours after the fact. For whose benefit does she keep quiet, he wonders. Maybe she knows it will sour the mood with the young highness. Maybe she wants to keep those stories for herself. It doesn’t matter. Obi remembers this detail either way.

Finally the young highness gets to the point.

“Shirayuki, I… I want to do everything I can to make sure I can stand by your side.”

“Zen… You do so much for me already. It’s up to me to make sure I’m allowed-”

“That’s just it,” the young highness says, probably cutting her off to take her hand; Miss is so weak to that. “I want you here beside me. No one should need to give you permission.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then,

“I intend… to promise myself to you, Shirayuki. If you’ll have me.”

He should have opted for a spot above them. It feels important to know what kind of face the miss is making.

Her answer is a long stretch of quiet followed by a shaky, “Zen…”

It’s not an answer. Obi finds that the most important detail of the evening.  

[kookminau-blog]

soulmate!au where once both soulmates have turned 18, if you and your soulmate are asleep at the same time, you will meet in your dreams. this happens until you meet them in person. jimin always thought that he didn’t have a soulmate, seeing as it has been three years since he turned 18 and he hasn’t shared a dream with anyone. so he is most definitely surprised when he decides to take a nap after a grueling day of classes and finds himself by the beach with a boy. that’s when he finds out that his soulmate isn’t in korea but in fact is in america for a dance programme.

“when are you coming back again?” “in two months, hyung.” “ughhhh.”

[krispy-kream]

There’s something… different about this dream. Something vivid. That he realizes it’s a dream is his first clue but that doesn’t register as significant, it’s just a thought that floats by him in the air like the mist of the sea. Baby blues and soft pinks paint the sky like a cross between noon and dawn, the sand is cold between his toes as if the sun hasn’t had the chance to warm it but the tide is low like it cares not for the moon’s hold. It’s an odd sort of limbo that forces his mind to peace, the quiet even keeping his doubts at bay. He lets himself breathe for the first time in what feels like forever and he feels it on his face, tastes it in his lungs; he’s in Busan. He’s home.

The song come to mind unbidden, the only one he’s heard for the last month. He likes it, he likes the song and he likes the dance but lately he’s been so caught up in trying to match Hoseok that he’s started to dread hearing it. But there’s no dread here. There’s no mirror to show him just how off his every movement looks. He hums the tune, feels it in his throat more than hears it over the waves, and his hips instantly itch to move. There’s no one here on this beach, in this dream, no one to tell him how to move or what to do and so he lets himself be carried by the song in his head. He moves how he wants, lets his limbs flow and linger in poses that should be sharp and precise, savors a body roll he shouldn’t have time to taste, loses himself to his emotions. Finally dancing is fun again, something he does for himself again. He doesn’t care for performing or attention, just the freedom to feel alive and one with the song.

The more he immerses himself in the dance the louder the song in his head becomes. It drowns out the waves and vibrates in his chest, the sound surrounding him so fully that he swears the world is his speaker. He smiles as he lets it play, no longer having to hum it himself.

He throws his arm to the side with a flair he’s not allowed and turns his body to the side. This is the part where he interacts with Hoseok hyung for a moment before they switch sides on stage and he thinks for a moment that he’s imagined his dance partner like he’s imagined the song until he realizes.

It’s not Hoseok.

The music stalls. It blares in his head like a foghorn. He stares at the stranger and the stranger stares at him, eyes wide and chest heaving. The stranger’s mouth works silently until understanding flashes in his eyes but-

Jimin sits up with a gasp. The afternoon outside is still loud and bright with people, the sun only barely dipping into evening. His head pulses as it tries to catch up, tries to come to terms with being awake and present.

“Shit,” he breathes. “Was that…?”

-

“You’re going pretty hard today Jimin, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just need to make sure I can take a nap after this.”

“... A nap?”

-

There’s a surge of relief as Jimin looks out over the pastel ocean, at the pinks and blues that mix in the sky. Even without a soulmate he’d be eager to come back to this dream and this place, the peace and contentment to simply be.

There’s movement in the corner of his eye and Jimin is reminded that he’s here on a mission.

The stranger is walking along the beach, meandering away while he alternates between kicking at the sand at staring out over the ocean. Now Jimin has time to notice that the stranger is tall with broad shoulders and long limbs. Where has this guy been all this time? 

“Hey!” Jimin calls and the stranger turns to look at him with his round eyes and high cheeks and… The universe wants him to have this? Seriously?  

“You’re back,” he breathes, then glances down at his feet. He seems to flounder for a little bit before meeting his eyes again with an intensity that gives Jimin pause.

“I’m Jeongguk. Jeon Jeongguk.”

“Park Jimin…”

“Jimin…” And his intensity fades, just like that, like he’s a kid lost in a candy store again. “Are you taking a nap or something, what is this?”

“Yeah, are you… you’re not in Korea?” Jimin asks.

“I’m in the US, in LA,” Jeongguk tells him, his eyes downcast. He fiddles with his hair as he adds, “It’s… it’s a 16 hour time difference…”

“16 hours… Damn, no wonder I thought I didn’t have a soulmate.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I just, I turned 18 and hopped a plane, I didn’t really consider I might have a soulmate who's older than me.”

“I didn’t think about having a soulmate younger than me, honestly,” Jimin laughs.

Jeongguk appears to breath a sigh of relief at that.

“What are you out there for?” Jimin asks.

“Dance.”

Jimin lights up immediately. He shouldn’t be surprised, they’re soulmates, but it’s so rare to find someone else this dedicated outside of the studio.

“You dance? What styles?”

Jeongguk rubs the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed about it. Jimin gets it. He wishes Jeongguk didn’t have to feel like this with him, but he gets it.

“They do a lot of modern here. But I’ve been working on a contemporary routine.”

“Show me?”

It looks for a moment like he’ll refuse, Jimin is a stranger and he doesn’t want to be laughed at, but he bites his lip and nods, doesn’t meet Jimin’s eyes as he takes a step back to set up. Jimin steps back too and sits himself on the sand to watch.

There’s a moment of awkwardness while Jeongguk tries to figure out how he’s going to do this without music. He settles on counting the beats under his breath, but Jimin can see through his half lidded eyes that he’s playing the rhythm in his head. His counting quickly dissolves into mumbled singing as the song picks up and he concentrates on his moves more than his timing.

Jeongguk starts to lose himself to the rhythm of the dance and Jimin can hear the music in his mind. It’s just like Jeongguk, all hard lines and strong hits. His gaze becomes piercing, his reservations from before nowhere to be seen. Despite the sand and uneven terrain his steps are sure and heavy. His dance is a force of nature and it leave Jimin entranced.

“Wow,” Jimin breathes when the dance ends. “No wonder you left for America.”

“I’m not here forever,” Jeongguk laughs. He fusses with his hair as he sits in front of Jimin but he’s smiling this time. A different flavor of nervous habit.

“So we’re both dancers,” Jimin starts because they should probably talk about themselves.

“At least we know fate isn’t a total fuck up. Are you working on something?”

“I’m doing a show with my hyung, but… I’m not good enough,” he admits.

“Nonsense,” Jeongguk shoots back with no hesitation.

“What?”

“Is it the dance you were doing the first time we met?” he asks. “It was gorgeous.”

Jimin loses track of all the air in his lungs. Gorgeous? That’s… that’s not a word other dancers have used with him.

“… it’s not supposed to be,” Jimin manages to mumble, thinking of Hoseok’s easy fluidity, that stark clarity between moves that Jimin just can’t recreate.

“What do you mean, ‘not supposed to’?” Jeongguk says, his smile souring like he’s the one insulted. “It’s your dance, isn’t it? It’s supposed to look like how you’d do it.”

“It’s a duet, we have to match.”

“You’re not your hyung, Jimin, why do you expect yourself to dance the same?”

Because that’s the point, Jimin thinks to himself, because everyone else can, because Hoseok is the best dancer he’s ever seen and he wants to be him. But Jimin can see the stubborn set of Jeongguk’s jaw, his tense shoulders like he’s itching for a fight. Jimin would rather not spend their first conversation arguing.

“Hey, let’s try something,” he says instead of answering. “Will you teach me that dance you’re doing?”

“My dance? Sure. Will you teach me yours?”

Jimin hesitates.

“Teach me how you do it,” Jeongguk insists.

He can already tell Jeongguk is asking this on purpose. But he nods just the same and he has just enough time to take in Jeongguk’s bright smile, all teeth, before his phone alarm is waking him.