♡ characters: gavin, mc/reader, minor
♡ description: the fifth time you meet gavin, you panic.
♡ word count: ~1230
♡ ao3: archiveofourown.org/works/22485736
♡ previous: otomestan.tumblr.com/tagged/hsy%20fic/chrono
It is impossible to go to Loveland High and not hear constant rumors about the “legendary fighter” Gavin.
Gavin knocked out this guy in one punch, Gavin said the F-word to his English teacher, Gavin skipped class today to go smoke instead...you hear all kinds of stories on the daily from Minor especially, who is so proud of his eleventh grade friend.
The latest rumor floating around is about Gavin taking on three guys at once on the track field during second period. No one knows why exactly; the most popular reason seems to be that they were mocking some girl’s glasses. You don't believe it.
“How could anyone take on three guys and not end up hospitalized? It just doesn’t make sense,” you say to Minor, library books clutched to your chest. “And if he can...well, that’s a little scary, isn’t it?”
“Scary? No way! He’s like Superman or something.” Minor’s eyes sparkle like stars. “He’s so cool.”
You frown. “It’s not cool. What if they get hurt? What if Gavin gets hurt?”
“Gavin’s a tough guy.” A sly smile spreads across Minor’s face. “Why, are you worried about him?”
“No,” you answer quickly, but the blush dusting your cheeks says otherwise. “It’s just silly to start a fight over some dumb bullies who don’t even matter.”
Minor jabs you in the side, pulling a surprised giggle out of you. “You want him to fight for you, don’t you?”
“Shut up, Minor, I barely even know him!”
“Okay, okay,” he laughs, then inclines his head towards the library. “Go turn in your books. I gotta pee so I’ll be right back and then we can go to lunch.”
You roll your eyes as he veers off to the right, disappearing down a hallway while you push open the door to the library. It’s chilly in here, the air conditioning always running just a bit harsher in the library than the rest of the school, and you pull your sweater tighter around you.
“Hi, Miss Ruthie,” you greet, coming to a stop at the front counter. You smile at the elderly librarian. “How are you today?”
“I’m doing wonderfully, dear.” She takes your books and opens the cover of the first one to begin typing a number into the computer. “No Minor with you today? Odd to see one of you without the other.”
“Oh, no, he just had to make a pit stop. We’re on our way to lunch after this.” You cell buzzes in your pocket, but you don't answer it.
Miss Ruthie hums in acknowledgment. She sets two books aside to check the third in. “Tell him I said hello, won’t you?”
“Of course. I’ll also tell him to have his book returned by Friday,” you say with a wink, drawing a laugh from the woman.
“Good girl.” She stands and picks up the stack of novels. “You’re all set. Go enjoy your lunch.”
You say goodbye and turn to leave, checking the message on your phone. Absorbed in responding to a friend’s Moment, you don't realize that the library door is already open until your hand touches fabric. Confusion drawing your brows together, you glance up from the gray t-shirt and right into blazing amber eyes.
Snatching your hand back like it’s caught on fire, you stare wide-eyed at Gavin like a deer caught in headlights. In the span of a few seconds, you've made note of the fresh blood on his knuckles as he gingerly pokes at a cut on the corner of his mouth. Your heart constricts painfully in your chest.
Gavin doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even seem surprised to see you, expression that same mask of icy indifference it always is whenever you're around. He just stands there, one hand holding open the door, waiting for you to react first.
You clear your throat hastily. “H-hi, Gavin. Um, I’m really sorry about that, I wasn’t paying any attention,” you babble, slipping between him and the door frame to escape. “I have to go, Minor’s waiting for me, but I- I’m sorry again about, y’know, that. Bye!” And off you go, skirting around the nearest corner, afraid your heart is going to leap clear out of your chest.
When you summon the courage to peek around the corner a minute later, you see only Minor with his face pressed against the glass, hands cupped around his eyes, presumably searching for you in the library.
“Minor!” You gesture quickly for him to come over.
“Are you hiding?”
You shush him, looking at him with pleading eyes and flushed cheeks. “I just ran into Gavin.”
“...So?”
“Like, almost literally.” Fingers slip behind your glasses to cover your face. “I had my hand on his chest and everything.”
Minor snorts, clapping a hand over his mouth to tamper down his laughter before he’s able to reply. “Damn, I didn’t know you could be so forward.”
“Oh, you are so--!” You huff in annoyance, then abandon the thought. “Whatever, will you just do something for me?”
Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, Minor says, “I will absolutely go tell Gavin you’ve got the hots for him.”
You seize him by the arm with an iron grip someone of your fragile nature should not possess. “Be serious!”
“I am totally serious.”
“Minor,” you grind out, trying very hard to sound threatening and not like a petulant child. “Listen to me.” You dig into the cross-body bag on your side with your free hand, coming up with a pale pink bandage and pressing it into Minor’s hand. “He’s hurt. Will you give this to him?”
Eyebrows raised, Minor cocks his head at you. “Really?”
“It’s not much, but it’s all I have.” The falter in your voice is a stark contrast to the resolute expression on your face. “I told you he was going to get hurt.”
“Yeah, yeah. You did.” He can tell you're worried, so he doesn’t argue. “Will you let go of me now?”
You do release him, busying your hands by wringing them together instead. “Hurry up. We need to get to lunch before we get in trouble.”
Minor gives you a mock salute, accepting his mission with a wide smile, and sets off for the library.
It doesn’t take him long to track down Gavin, brooding alone in a corner and shooting sour looks towards anyone who looks in his direction. None of that bothers Minor, though; he plops into the seat across from Gavin.
“Gavin, bro,” he says brightly, sliding the bandage across the table. “You look like shit. Take this!”
Gavin, tugging at his bangs thoughtfully, doesn’t even spare Minor a glance.
Minor rolls his eyes. You two are going to be the death of him, he thinks. “It’s from her.”
That gets Gavin’s attention. He perks up the tiniest bit, eyes sliding back into focus on the bandage. It’s got a picture of a white cat wearing a bow on it, little hearts and polka dots patterning the background. He palms it, tracing a thumb along the design. An uncharacteristic softness fills his eyes.
Almost imperceptibly, he says, “Thanks.”
Minor’s smile returns. “Sure. Hey, was it really three guys?”
Gavin hits him with a deadpan look.
“Doesn’t hurt to ask.” Minor stands, putting his hands on his hips in a scolding fashion. “Maybe don’t make her worry so much, okay?”
If Minor didn’t know any better, he’d accuse Gavin of pouting.
♡ characters: gavin, mc/reader, minor
♡ description: the fourth time you meet gavin, you get an official introduction.
♡ word count: ~2100
♡ ao3: archiveofourown.org/works/22485736
♡ previous: otomestan.tumblr.com/tagged/hsy%20fic/chrono
“C’mon, you never want to hang out with my friends,” Minor whines.
“Your friends,” you reply, going out of your way to step on a satisfactorily crunchy patch of snow, “are too loud. They make my head hurt.”
It’s the fourth day in a row Minor has pled with you to join his gang of sophomore buddies. He always waits until you're walking home from school so you can’t escape, hoping one day he’ll get you to agree. Obviously, you're more stubborn than he expected.
“You can’t diss all of them just because Tyler said your glasses are kinda stupid.”
“My glasses aren’t stupid!”
“Well, I know that. So does Quinn.” Minor chuckles at a memory. “You should’ve seen the way they jumped Ty’s ass for making fun of you. Did he ever apologize for that?”
You puff out your cheeks, but nod. The boy had approached you the day after the incident, embarrassed and seemingly genuine in his apology. Naturally, you forgave him; that didn’t mean you were inclined to meet Minor’s friends again anytime soon.
“I don’t think they’re mean, I just don’t think they like me very much.” You fidget with the hem of your sweater while you wait at a crosswalk. “Quinn is the only one who tries to include me in conversations.”
“That’s because they all have the attention span of a cat smelling catnip. It’s nothing against you, I promise.”
You're shaking your head before he’s even finished his sentence. “I don’t want to go ice skating with them. Not this weekend, at least. Winter break starts in two days and midterms have been really hard, I just want to relax for a few days. Okay?”
Disheartened, Minor makes a show out of sighing dramatically, lolling his head to one side. “Yeah, okay. I get it.”
You know he’s not truly upset, but you still feel the nagging urge to tack on, “But if you really want, I’ll go with you and one friend to do something this week since we’re out of school.” You pause thoughtfully. “As long as it’s not Tyler.”
Minor side eyes you, one eyebrow raised in mild disbelief. “Really?”
“Really. I have ballet Tuesday afternoon and piano lessons Thursday morning, but any other time is fine, I think. I’ll check with Dad.”
He beams like the sun and eagerly starts suggesting things you can do, and you can’t help but giggle at how easy to please he is.
---
As promised, you show up to the arcade in New Light Mall at one o’clock to meet Minor and his friend. He wouldn’t tell you who he was bringing no matter how much you asked, claiming it was a surprise but that you wouldn't be disappointed. Which, regardless, makes your flight instinct take effect as you stand awkwardly by the entrance, phone pressed to your ear and waiting for Minor to answer.
He doesn’t answer, but only because he’s already jogging up to you, mauve-colored eyes shining expectantly.
“You made it!”
You tuck your phone into the pocket of your coat, his presence momentarily settling your nerves. “I said I would, didn’t I?” Your hands follow your phone as you attempt to nonchalantly ask, “ Has your friend shown up yet?”
The smile that graces Minor’s face is borderline wicked. “Yup. He just demolished me at Street Fighter when you called.” He inclines his head, starting to walk off. “C’mon, this way.”
Near the back of the arcade is where your and Minor's favorite cluster of games live, among which are classics like Mario Kart, Pac-Man, and Pokemon Snap. At the Street Fighter machine, with his back to the two of you, stands a tall boy with chestnut hair, hunched slightly over the controls. He doesn’t acknowledge you as you approach, intensely interested in his match, handling the joystick like a professional.
Minor clears his throat loudly. “Hey, bro.”
The other boy doesn’t turn around, only responds with an aggravated “What do you want?” as he taps the brightly colored buttons of the machine.
Your eyes widen a fraction of an inch in recognition. Your insides feel like they’re being twisted into balloon animals.
“Don’t be an ass, dude, there’s a lady present.”
“Minor, I--”
A loud noise of defeat plays from the machine, cutting you off. He turns to face you at the sound of your voice, frighteningly familiar (and gorgeous, an annoying part of your brain sighs wistfully) eyes locking with yours, and just like two weeks ago when you'd caught his eye across the alley, you're paralyzed.
Minor’s friend...is Gavin?!
Blood rushes to your face so quickly you feel lightheaded, subconsciously taking a half step backwards to balance yourself. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Is this some kind of joke?
After a second, Gavin’s gaze slides from you to Minor. Though his expression is carefully schooled to show disinterest, there’s a bite in his voice that only Minor catches. “This is your friend?”
Smugly, Minor replies, “Uh-huh.” He looks at you, head tilted. “Gonna introduce yourself?”
You give him a sharp look out of the corner of your eye. You distinctly remember having a conversation with Minor about Gavin’s “transaction” in the alleyway, and he definitely never once mentioned being friends with Gavin. Were you not so shocked at the situation you've found herself in, you'd be having quite a few words with Minor.
Still, Minor doesn’t seem fazed by the accusatory and, frankly, betrayed way you're glaring at him. Barely three seconds pass before he’s nudging your shoulder. “Anyone home?”
You resist the urge to swat at him.
“I’m--”
“I know who you are,” Gavin cuts in.
Unbidden fear fills your veins with ice. Shoulders curving inwards imperceptibly, you shrink into yourself in a subconscious effort to become smaller. A vision of his piercing gaze mixed with the phantom feeling of wild winds tangling your hair makes your heart race.
“...Y-you do?”
“Your name’s MC, right? Minor talks about you often.”
Minor’s self-satisfied smile immediately dissolves into a scowl, though you don’t notice due to the relief flooding through you. He must not realize you were the one he saw across the alley that day. That doesn’t erase all your worries, but it does lessen the knot in your stomach. Whatever trouble he may or not have been in that day, at least you won't get roped into it.
“Yep, that’s me,” you say shortly, afraid to talk too much at the risk of coming off annoying.
“My partner in crime.” Minor slings an arm over your shoulder. “The peanut butter to my jelly. The second pea in the pod.”
You push him away by a hand on his cheek, rolling your eyes. “The Mario to his Princess Peach, actually.”
“Without,” Minor is quick to add, “any of the lovey stuff.”
“Uh-huh,” Gavin says slowly, like he’s taking stock of the situation he’s found himself in. He doesn’t smile when he says, “Well, it’s nice to meet you.”
You bow your head briefly. Your earlier relief at not being remembered is now tinged with a sense of disappointment that you can’t understand. “You too.”
“Anyway,” Minor cuts in, throwing an annoyed look at Gavin for ruining his plan, “The Mario Kart machine added two more bikes, which means we can have a three-way race! You in?” At your hesitance, he sings, “Someone unlocked Shy Guy~”
Despite your best efforts, a smile still spreads across your face. “Fine. You got me.”
Surprisingly, Gavin doesn’t immediately take the lead when the first race begins. You aren’t the best at this game so you'd expected him to at least be better than you, but he stays sandwiched between you and Minor. Occasionally you're able to pass him, holding onto second place for a little while before he overtakes you again. But he never gets very far ahead of you - unlike Minor, who takes his little Dry Bones and disappears from view before the second lap of any race begins.
There’s a moment in the second race of the Grand Prix where the automated Bowser on your tail slams you with a red shell and sends you spinning into fifth place. After you grit your teeth and lean forward angrily on your plastic bike to get back into the race, you notice Gavin, or more accurately his racer Link, has somehow ended up behind you. You spare him a glance that he does not return, then focus on the game again. Still, you're aware of how he stays one position behind you for the rest of the race.
Minor notices it too because at the end of the race (where he once again comes in first and you and Gavin come in at second and third respectively), he sits up and frowns at Gavin. “What the hell, bro? Stop coddling her, she knows how to play.”
You keep your mouth shut, elbows propped on the handlebars as you watch the boys. Was that what Gavin was doing in the last race? He’d barely said two words to you since you arrived, what would he care what place you came in?
“I’m not coddling anybody,” Gavin replies indifferently. “Are you gonna ready up for the next race or what?”
Minor looks like he wants to say something else - you know the way he scrunches his nose well. Though you can’t see Gavin’s face, he must give Minor a sharp look because he grumbles under his breath and turns back to the game.
The rest of the Prix goes much the same way: Minor takes a strong lead, you try to play catch-up, and Gavin stays one or two positions behind you. Even when you purposefully drive off the course at one point as a test, Gavin always winds up nearby. It’s almost like he’s playing bodyguard, though you can’t figure out why.
As the final results are being announced, you get a call from your father ushering you home. You want to argue because you're actually having fun despite your expectations of Gavin, but the worried tone in your father’s voice makes you reluctantly agree to come home.
Tuning back into Minor and Gavin’s arguing (or rather, Minor’s arguing and Gavin’s apathy), you raise your voice. “Hey, guys, I have to go.”
Argument with Gavin forgotten on a dime, Minor deflates. “Aww, what? Is your dad being a buzzkill again?”
“He’s not a buzzkill!” You retort defensively. “He just worries a lot.”
“Yeah, fine. Want us to walk you home?”
“No, that’s okay. I rode my bike here.” You smile at them, hands clasped politely in front of you. You feel a bit shy all of a sudden. “Thank you both for today. I had a good time.”
For the first time all day, the aloofness slips from Gavin’s face and is replaced with thinly veiled surprise. Then as quick as it showed itself, it vanishes. He looks to the side, ears reddening, and doesn’t respond.
Your smile dims a little at his apparent dismissal, but you shake it off to look at Minor. “I’ll let you know when I’m home, okay?” To Gavin, you say, “It was really nice meeting you. You're... different than I thought you'd be.” You don't stick around to explain yourself, hurrying out of the arcade.
When you're safely out of sight, Minor rounds on Gavin with a smack to his arm. “Acting like you’ve never met her? Really?”
Gavin’s eyes flash when Minor connects with his arm. “I haven’t ever met her,” he says evenly.
“Oh, shut up. The girl you ran to the bus stop with in the rain? The one who saw you in the alleyway with Lynn? You know that was MC!”
“Even if it was,” Gavin says, knowing full well that Minor is right, “she obviously doesn’t remember me, and she doesn’t need to.” Imperceptibly, his posture slouches. “She’s too nice to get roped into my bullshit.”
“First of all, I know she recognizes you at least from the alley because she told me about it. Second, she’s a lot tougher than you think she is.” Minor’s expression softens. “She obviously had fun hanging out today. If you like her, then just talk to her. What’s the worse that could happen?”
As usual, Gavin clams up. He tugs at a lock of hair, which is how Minor knows he’s thinking deeply about something. He could be like that for a while, so Minor pats his back and heads for the Street Fighter machine again.
“Alright, big guy. Come fight your feelings out.”
For a few seconds, Gavin watches Minor walk away with a sour look on his face. Then he sighs, decides begrudgingly that he does still want his company, and follows him.
They don’t talk about you again, even though Minor can tell Gavin’s still thinking about you. He just ribs Gavin’s sub-par skills and talks aimlessly about whatever crosses his mind in an attempt to lighten Gavin's mood.
When they go their separate ways later that evening, Gavin quietly but genuinely expresses his thanks. Minor jokes that he better step up his game before someone else swoops in to steal you away, and Gavin retracts his thanks with a scowl and an attempt to pull Minor into a headlock.
Still, they make plans to get together again soon; it leaves both of them feeling at ease.
♡ characters: 707, zen
♡ word count: ~2900
♡ ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24670588
♡ description: noticing saeyoung's sour mood as of late, zen invites him over for an impromptu beauty treatment to help brighten his mood.
♡ note: this was originally going to be part of a “fives time, one time” series, but i fell out of mysme before i could finish so idk if it’ll ever be done. but for saeyoung’s bday, here’s my fave chapter of it!
[ZEN] hey,
[ZEN] is everything okay?
[ZEN] you seemed kinda snippy in the messenger.
saeyoung frowns at his phone. he doesn’t particularly want to think about the way he’d snapped at yoosung and jaehee barely an hour ago. they’d only been joking around with him, after all. normally that wouldn’t have been a problem; he’s 707! he loves to joke!
...except for the fact that for last few days, he hasn’t exactly been in the best of moods.
his sourness is to be expected, given the circumstances. saeran left on his travel therapy trip three days ago, and saeyoung’s only gotten more and more tense as the days passed without being able to reach his brother. yoosung and jaehee likely were being a bit more playful than normal in an attempt to cheer him up. which, upon realization, only made him feel worse for being sharp with them and then abruptly leaving the messenger.
another text pings its arrival. saeyoung waits a full minute before reluctantly checking it.
[ZEN] if you want to talk about it, give me a call.
he doesn’t want to talk about it, is the thing. he wants to push the fact that it ever happened as far back in his mind as possible so that he can maybe, with any luck, forget about it entirely. he doesn’t like being mean, especially not to the only friends he’s got, but he also doesn’t know how to resolve the lonely bitterness twisting his guts into knots.
“wow. i didn’t really expect you to call.”
zen’s voice shocks saeyoung out of his thoughts. when had he dialed zen’s number? had he really zoned out that hard? he doesn’t respond, trying to decide if just hanging up is the best route for him to take.
noting the silence, zen keeps talking. he’s good at that. “if you don’t want to talk, want me to talk instead? i can tell you about the audition i went to today.”
wanting anything to keep him out of his own head, saeyoung agrees.
that’s all zen needs to launch into a detailed play-by-play of his latest audition for a musical called illegally brunette. he even goes so far as to reenact some of his lines, incredibly overly dramatical just to (successfully) pull a laugh out of saeyoung, who knows enough of the musical to attempt an enthusiastic response in kind.
by the end of it, when their laughter has died down, saeyoung sighs. the weight from earlier settles back onto his lungs. “i feel bad.”
“about jaehee and yoosung? you shouldn’t,” zen says simply. “they know you didn’t mean anything by it.”
saeyoung hums noncommittally. “still, i was so mean… i should apologize again.”
“it wouldn’t hurt.” zen pauses. “hey, you know what else you should do?”
confused, he says, “what?”
“come over tonight. i’ve got a new box of face masks i’ve been waiting to use, and i think you could use some good old fashioned self-care.”
the offer leaves saeyoung momentarily speechless again. “i’m not- i don’t know, zen, i’m not really the face mask type. i’m more the ‘forget to wash your face for four days and then wonder why it’s so greasy’ type.” it’s meant to be a lighthearted joke, but it falls flat even to his own ears.
“even more of a reason for you to come!” zen insists. “that sounds incredibly unhealthy, for one thing. and you might find that you like having a nightly routine.”
“hmm. will there be cute headbands?”
zen laughs. “yeah, i’ve got plenty to choose from. any other requests?”
“not really,” saeyoung says sheepishly. “i don’t know much else about stuff like that.”
“well, lucky for you,” zen says, excitement in his voice, “i’m the king of self-care.”
---
when the door opens to zen’s semi-underground apartment, saeyoung is met with a wide grin and a plush robe being thrust at him. it’s black and covered in yellow stars and there’s no way zen just happened to have it on hand. he takes the robe, rubbing the fabric with his thumbs, and ignores the way his heart swells as zen ushers him inside.
the apartment is nice; it’s small, but not uncomfortably so, and zen keeps everything tidy. the lights are dimmed, replaced by a series of candles that smell like rosewater. instrumental music plays quietly from the tiny cassette player set up by the television. there’s a plethora of items situated on the coffee table; several types of face masks and headbands, a collection of skin-care products, a fruit tray, a machine he can’t identify that looks a bit like a vase, and a pitcher of water.
it’s… a lot. very much unexpected, especially since he knows zen doesn’t eat any better than he does most days. to mask his surprise, saeyoung jokes, “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you tricked me into a date.”
zen shoots him a glare, which makes him snicker. the silver-haired man isn’t exactly the most threatening thing saeyoung’s ever seen, especially not when he’s wearing a fluffy gold-monogrammed house robe. “you just got here. don’t ruin it.” he plops down onto the couch. “put your robe on, kick your shoes off. get comfortable! you don’t have to be so stiff, you’re starting to look like jumin han.”
somehow, that does help saeyoung relax a little. zen’s not making this into a big deal (even if he has made it into a big production), so he doesn't need to be so stressed out either. he leaves his shoes by the door and pulls the robe on, shutting out the chill of zen’s apartment. “ignoring your horrible insinuation that i am anything like our dear ceo-in-training,” he says, taking a seat on the side of the couch opposite zen, “what’s the plan here?”
“our dear ceo-in-training,” zen repeats with a shudder. “ugh. there’s nothing “dear” about him. anyway, my normal routine is pretty involved, so we’re going to take it down a little.” listing out the steps on his fingers, he says, “we’ve got the steaming, the initial cleaner, then the exfoliation, the face mask, and the moisturizer last.”
“that sounds... good, i think.”
“great! let’s get started.”
saeyoung plucks a pale yellow headband with a small bow on it from the pile and uses it to hold his bangs away from his face, mimicking the way zen positions his own red headband. the first few steps of the process are easy: sit in front of the vase-shaped machine for ten minutes and let it “open his pores,” wash his face with a transparent blue liquid, then scrub with something that feels like sand (“how does this help your skin?” “it gets rid of dead skin cells.” “gross.”).
the face mask is where the real fun begins. zen spreads out a selection of packets before him, each a different color and each with a different descriptor. saeyoung doesn’t know what any of them really mean (nor is he confident enough to ask) so he picks the first his eyes land on, labeled “sweet tea and lemon: for all skin types.” whatever that means.
“so, what you want to do,” zen explains as he scoots a bit closer to saeyoung to flip the packet over, “is spread this orange paste all over your face. it’ll feel like wet clay because that’s basically what it is. avoid your eyebrows and hair line at all costs.”
saeyoung looks up from the instructions. “why?”
“because this type of mask peels off and it will take hair with it.” zen winces at a memory. “trust me, i’ve done it.”
“huh. noted.”
---
when he’s finished applying his mask, saeyoung squints in zen’s direction. “is this good?”
zen leans forward to examine saeyoung’s face, wiping some excess exfoliating cream on his towel. saeyoung’s done fairly well for a beginner, zen notes, though it’s layered a bit too thick in some places. “you have some spots that need fixing. otherwise they won’t dry with the rest of the mask.” without thinking, zen reaches up to gently cup the right side of saeyoung’s face and drag a thumb across his cheek, just under his eye, to smooth out a patch of goop.
the second zen’s fingers touch his face, saeyoung’s heart nearly jumps out of his chest. he’s incredibly grateful for the honey-colored face mask he’d chosen - without it, his furious blushing would be impossible to explain. his eyes widen as zen’s ruby gaze locks with his, and zen is so close that saeyoung can make out his features crystal clear even without glasses. neither of them move for what feels like several minutes (but in reality is only twelve seconds).
and then there’s a loud clunk from the cassette player followed by an awful buzzing sound. zen snatches his hand away like he’s been electrocuted while saeyoung straightens his posture with an awkward clearing of his throat, staring at the radio with a look that could kill.
zen jumps up to go fiddle with the radio like he’s done a thousand times before - saeyoung sits with his hands in his lap, praying for his heart to stop hammering so loudly. after a beat, zen says, “there’s a spot on your nose that you missed,” without even a glance back at the couch. the player has stopped buzzing as loudly, but a low hum persists.
contemplatively, saeyoung gingerly pats at his nose to adjust the spot zen mentioned. he doesn’t want to speak, still trying to wrangle the butterflies in his stomach, but his instinct to fix things wins out. “can i see it? the radio?”
there’s a pause before zen hands the radio off to saeyoung and sits back down, pretending to check something on his phone - saeyoung knows he’s pretending because he recognizes the motions of opening an app, scrolling for a moment, and then swiping up to close it. but saeyoung quickly becomes too absorbed in tinkering with the tape deck to pay attention to the way zen keeps stealing glances at him, then eventually shifting to watch with curious eyes.
several minutes later, saeyoung finally makes a satisfied sound, looking up from the radio with a victorious smile. “there we go. you shouldn’t have to smack it around anymore.” he offers it out to zen.
“what was wrong with it?” zen asks (taking great care to not accidentally brush saeyoung’s hand with his own) as he takes back the object. “how’d you know how to fix it without any tools or anything?”
saeyoung shrugs. “some parts were just loose and banging against each other. nothing serious, which is surprising for something so old.” he laughs. “have you considered upgrading to something from this decade?”
defensive, zen hugs the cassette player to his chest. “not everyone is a genius like you, seven choi. some of us like our simple machinery.” the tension is ebbing, finally. thank god. he stands to return his treasured radio to its spot on the shelf. “you should be okay to start peeling off your mask, just make sure it’s all dry first.”
saeyoung obediently pats his face and, when no goo sticks to his fingers, he gently starts to remove it. the sensation is… unnerving, somehow. “this makes me feel like a serial killer.”
“i- that’s where your mind goes?”
“yeah! i’m peeling off a mold of my own face! i think i saw something like this in a horror movie a month ago except it was, like, a real face.”
“okay, gross. no horror movie talk in the self-care zone.”
“look, it’s even dried to almost match my skin tone.” saeyoung holds up a particularly large strip of faux-skin. “this is a weird hobby you’ve got, zen.”
zen wrinkles his nose and reaches out to swat at saeyoung’s hand, except saeyoung’s faster than him and easily pulls back before the hit can connect. “there’s nothing weird about taking care of your skin. as usual, you’re the only weird one here.”
tossing the gunk into the small trash can by the table, saeyoung says, “if you want weird, i can flip my eyelids inside out. that always freaks yoosung out.”
“everything freaks yoosung out,” zen points out with a laugh, beginning to peel away at his own mask. “if you specifically look at him a little too long, he acts like he’s going to pass out.”
“it’s a superpower,” he replies proudly. he sheds the final remnants of his mask and blessedly puts his glasses back on, blinking a few times as the world comes back into focus.
zen watches him as closely as possible without potentially getting caught for also doing something weird. “what do you think? does your skin feel softer?”
running his fingertips in circles on his cheek, saeyoung answers, “i think so. is that the end?”
“you didn’t moisturize, but it’s fine if you want to skip it.”
saeyoung decides he will skip it because he’s already feeling a headache blooming from not wearing his glasses for the last forty-five minutes. “do you really do this every night?”
“every other night,” zen nods. “my good looks are all natural, obviously, but a little maintenance goes a long way. it’s why i sparkle ten times brighter than anyone else.” he’s preening, clearly looking for saeyoung to reinforce his claims.
and, well, he’s not wrong to brag. zen is gorgeous. everyone knows it, whether they admit it or not. his eyes glitter like refined gemstones, his hair is silky-smooth, he’s built like michelangelo’s david, for christ’s sake.
“and the prettiest boy in all the land is giving me free skin care tips.” saeyoung can’t help the dumb grin plastered on his face. he places his clasped hands over his heart, batting his eyes at zen for added effect. “i’m so honored. perhaps one day i can be as beautiful as you, lovely zen?”
“oh, shut up,” zen scoffs in response - but there’s an edge to his voice and a twitch of his lips that suggests he’s pleased with the response. “you’ll never match my gorgeousness, let’s get that straight.”
and saeyoung laughs so abruptly at that that he actually snorts, hands clamping over his mouth immediately as zen’s surprised gaze snaps to his. not that it matters; the giggling won’t be stopped now, no matter how embarrassed he is.
“what,” zen begins, trying to stifle his own building laughter, “was that?”
all saeyoung can do is shake his head helplessly as he sinks lower against the arm of the couch. he inhales sharply, trying to catch his breath, but his giggle fit doesn’t let up.
“saeyoung, you can’t die in my apartment. think of my image!” it’s a joke, of course, because now zen is just having fun watching saeyoung unravel at the seams like he hasn’t laughed this hard in years. hell, there are even tears in his eyes.
“you can’t,” saeyoung manages after another minute of uninterrupted wheezing, “that never happened, you can’t tell anyone i snorted.” he takes his glasses off to wipe away his tears.
“are you kidding?” zen’s smile is radiant. “imagine what the rfa will say when i tell them i brought saeyoung choi to tears for literally just breathing.”
saeyoung swings his hand towel at zen without any real force. “don’t give yourself so much credit, i was definitely laughing at myself.”
zen catches the other end of the towel. “yeah, because i made you laugh hard enough to snort.”
“but only because half of your face is still green from your mask! you look like if double-face and hulky had a baby.”
he drops the towel to touch his cheek, dry and wrinkly. “okay, fair point. stop distracting me and let me peel it all off then.”
“ooh, i’m distracting you~?” saeyoung sticks his tongue out at the frown he receives.
“i go out of my way to do something so nice for you and this is the thanks i get?” zen sighs dramatically.
he knows zen isn’t serious, but it does motivate him to sit up straight and be genuine for a minute. “i do appreciate you inviting me tonight. it’s boring,” read: lonely, “staying at my place by myself, so it was good to get out. i needed it.”
“yeah, of course.” zen shrugs, attempting at nonchalance. “i don’t have much, but you’re always welcome here. you can stay tonight too if you want. we can order real food and watch movies.”
a fuzzy feeling settles in saeyoung’s chest. “really? but i didn’t bring any extra clothes or anything, so-”
“you can wear something of mine,” zen interrupts. saeyoung doesn’t have the safety of a mask to hide behind this time, so he fights against the blush threatening to color his cheeks. luckily zen is too busy removing his new layer of “skin” to notice. “it’s no big deal. you said you don’t like staying alone, right? and i don’t have practice until late tomorrow afternoon.” he glances at saeyoung, warm smile on his face. “you should stay.”
when was the last time he had a sleepover with someone that wasn’t yoosung? saeyoung has no idea, but the thought of lounging around in zen’s pajamas and a very soft robe while watching movies with a friend is incredibly enticing.
at length, he says, “...yeah. okay, sure. that sounds fun.” he prays his smile doesn’t come off as shy. “thanks, zen.”
finally clean-faced, zen stands and motions for saeyoung to follow. “c’mon, let’s find you something comfy to wear.”
"i was happy at first, but then i cried. and then i was kinda ok, but then i totally cried again." i feel like kiro or mc would say this or maybe both skdlgjdklsf
prompt from here!
“Y’know,” Kiro begins, fingers drumming idly on the tabletop, “the first time I came here, I got to try this rice pudding called Eight Treasures.”
You take a sip of your tea. Your menus have already been collected, and now all you can do is wait (im)patiently for Mr. Mills to return with your meals. “Why was it called that?”
An almost dream-like expression crosses his face as he rests his chin in his hand. “Well, it’s made with sticky rice and red bean paste, which you can’t go wrong with, but the best part is that there are eight different kinds of candy stuff on top.”
You shift in your seat, drawing Kiro’s pretty blue eyes to focus on you. He watches as you lean back to settle in for his story, hands folded against your stomach. “Candy stuff? What does that mean?”
“Raisins, cherries, plums. Stuff! I don’t remember exactly.” He can’t resist an opportunity to make you laugh, so he gives you the reason. “I was too busy crying about how good it was to commit it to memory.”
It works: you can’t help but giggle. “Crying? Oh, Kiro.”
“Yes!” He laughs along. “I mean, I was super happy at first. It looked beautiful and it was so sweet without being too sweet, so,” he shrugs, “maybe I cried a little.”
You raise an eyebrow, doubtful that he’s telling the full truth about how many tears were shed. After all, you’ve seen him cry for five straight minutes after winning a signed Batman collectible card in a raffle -- his crying over food isn’t exactly out of character.
Kiro continues on enthusiastically, not noticing your change in expression. He’s taken by the memory again. “After the first couple of bites I was kinda okay. Like, it was still one of the best things I’ve ever tasted, but I was okay.”
Knowing Kiro the way you do, you prompt, “But that didn’t last.”
“Nope,” he says with an odd amount of cheer. “I totally cried again.”
Your abrupt laugh brings him back to the present, where you have a hand over your mouth in an attempt to smother your laughter. “You cried twice? Over a dessert?”
“I did!” His grin widens at the way your face is turning red from your struggle to stay quiet even though you’re the only two customers in Souvenir. “It was almost gone, what else could I do except cry?”
“No, no, you’re right,” you say after taking a breath, though you’re quickly overtaken by giggles again. “I would’ve done the same, if it’s as good as you say.”
“We should try it together next time.” Kiro’s eyes shine as he looks at you fondly. “They only make it around the new year, so maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Isn’t it a little early to make plans for the new year?”
“It’s never too early, especially if it means I get you all to myself.”
"i’m already pretty cute, so even cuter clothes might be overkill" for the prompt meme and uhhh MC and Minor (ft. Gavin??) or MC and Kiki (and the company girls?) skdlgjkl i think they're all cute but tbh im not sure who would fit the quote better
prompt from here!
Kiki looks at her reflection in the full length mirror for nearly a full minute, twisting this way and that, before she says, “I’m already pretty cute, even cuter clothes might be overkill.”
You sigh, leaning backwards on your hands to briefly stare at the ceiling. “You said the last outfit didn’t have enough flair, now this one has too much. I don’t know how I’m supposed to help you pick a date outfit when you shoot down all my suggestions.”
Kiki shuffles uncomfortably, sliding the strap of her baby blue halter dress back up onto her shoulder. The bracelets on her wrist jingle together noisily. “I just,” she pauses to chew on her bottom lip and put the words together in her head, “I just don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”
“You have literally held Willow’s hair back when she was drunk-puking in a bar bathroom,” Minor chimes in from where he’s spread out on the floor. He’s been disinterested since he walked in, which is fine; his specialty lies in his (occasionally brutal) honesty rather than his ability to put together an outfit. “I don’t think she has much room to judge how hard you’re trying to impress her.”
“Plus, we’ve had tons of sleepovers. She’s seen you first thing in the morning, hair sticking up in every direction, drool on your face, makeup smeared because you always forget to take it off--”
“Thank you, boss!” Kiki says loudly in an attempt to cut you off, her cheeks turning red in embarrassment. “If that was supposed to help, it didn’t.”
“The point is,” says another voice, drawing all eyes to where Anna is being displayed on the iPad propped up on the bed next to you, “Willow knows you. You guys are friends. You don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not just to impress her.” She scans Kiki’s current outfit, which is a bit too flashy compared to her normal wear. “If anything, you’re going to weird her out because you don’t look like yourself.”
Kiki turns to look at herself in the mirror again, eyebrows creased.
“Exactly,” you say, pleased that someone else is on your side. “She wants to go on a date with you, not whoever you’re trying to be by nitpicking your wardrobe.”
“Just be yourself,” says Minor. He doesn’t look away from his phone, but his sincerity comes through regardless. “Otherwise you’re going to have a shitty date and it’s going to mess up your friendship. Believe me, I’d know.”
She hums to acknowledge their words, then faces them again after several more seconds. “Okay. I got this.”
“Yeah? Are you sure?” you ask.
With a nod and a confident smile, Kiki says, “Yep. I know what I’m gonna wear. Thanks for the help.”
“Hey, it’s what we’re here for,” Anna says reassuringly. “You’re going to have a great time on your date.”
Minor pushes himself into a sitting position, leveling Kiki with a serious look. “And you’re gonna give me all the details after, because Willow sure as hell isn’t going to.”
♡ characters: (mlqc) gavin, mc/reader
♡ description: the first time you meet gavin, you don’t know his name.
♡ word count: ~680
♡ ao3: archiveofourown.org/works/22485736
part one of a (potential) series following mc and gavin through their time together in high school (aka i screw around with the timeline and do what i want while keeping the major plot beats the same)
♡ ♡ ♡
You stand uncertainly outside of the high school, watching the rain come down in sheets beyond the safety of the overhanging roof. Umbrella-less because the forecast that morning had called for a sunny afternoon, you can only stare dejectedly into the rain from your spot on the very edge of the eaves.
The rain bouncing off the pavement spatters onto your shoes, but you pay it no mind, completely lost in your own thoughts. Until...
“Mrow?”
With a little gasp of surprise, you turn to see a black and white cat at your feet. It looks to be a stray, if the scars on its muzzle and its too-thin frame are anything to go by, and your eyes prickle. Crouching, you offer a hand to the cat. It bumps its head into your hand immediately, purring like a little engine at the contact.
“You poor thing,” you murmur sympathetically. “You’re all wet. You don’t have anywhere to stay?”
The cat meows plaintively at you.
“Here.” From the front pocket of your skirt you produce a white handkerchief with your initials painstakingly embroidered on it. “Will this help?”
Coincidence or no, the cat lies down obediently, watching you with bright eyes as you gently drape the handkerchief over it like a blanket. The purring gets louder.
You smile, straightening back up and dusting off your skirt. “We’ll wait together, okay?”
Nearly ten minutes pass without any sign of the rain letting up, but with a new friend waiting by your side, you find yourself humming quite happily as you practice various ballet moves you remember from your old lessons.
It’s on your third pirouette that you notice the boy watching you from a little ways away. You stop in your tracks, feeling a blush creep up the back of your neck, but you smile at him anyway. Shyly, but friendly nonetheless.
Neither of you say anything for what feels like minutes. When you do finally open your mouth to speak, a cold wind brushes by to ruffle your hair. Shivering, you cross your arms tightly across your chest. “It sure is cold today, huh?”
He ignores your question. “What are you waiting for?” The boy’s voice is a bit rough around the edges, words coming out reluctantly. He doesn’t look at you.
“Oh, I...I’m waiting for the rain to slow down. I need to get to the bus stop down the road and I don’t have an umbrella…” you respond, growing quieter near the end when he turns his amber eyes to look at you. He has very pretty eyes that seem to see all the way through you. Like they’re looking at your heart instead of your body. It somehow makes you feel more vulnerable than when he was watching you spin in circles.
The boy tilts his head, frown deepening. Then he looks at the rain, a deluge in the making, and seems to come to a decision as he walks over to you and shrugs off his jacket, holding it up over your head like a makeshift umbrella. “Here.”
You take a tiny step away in alarm, hands held up in front of you. “You don’t have to do that, I can wait--”
He fixes you with those eyes again, clear and determined, and your voice catches in your throat. “Let’s go. It’s not far.”
As if giving permission, the cat behind them meows.
You glance from the cat, to the rain, then back to the boy and clutch the strap of you messenger bag. A slow smile spreads across your face. You nod decisively. “Okay.”
He moves towards you again and this time you crowd close, your small frame fitting like a missing puzzle piece against him. No boy has ever stood this close to you (excluding Minor, who you’ve known since you were children and therefore doesn’t count). It brings heat back into your cheeks, but you don’t have time to think too deeply about it before the boy is counting down.
“Three...two...one...go!”
In perfect sync, you and the boy sprint into the pouring rain.
♡ characters: (mlqc) gavin, mc/reader, a hint of minor
♡ description: a short drabble inspired by gavin’s ‘blind date’ card (o˘◡˘o)
♡ word count: ~1170
♡ ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22485898
Searching the planetarium’s nooks and crannies for Gavin makes you feel like you’re going to tug the hair right out of your head. There’s no way he would’ve just left, you try to reason, especially not without saying goodbye.
So...where is he?
Anxiety takes root in your stomach like a weed, twisting around your guts a little tighter with every second that passes. Phone to your ear, you perk up when you hear Gavin’s ringtone not far away. You track the sound, past a small alcove, and are swiftly pulled backwards by a strong hand wrapping around your wrist.
You inhale sharply, preparing to scream, but as your back bumps into a wall, your instincts kick in. Something clean and clear and a touch citrusy fills your nostrils. The chest beneath your palm feels familiar. You almost instantaneously settle down, heart still racing but with something other than fear.
“Gavin,” you start to either chastise him or apologize, you haven’t decided yet, when soft lips press urgently against your own. The kiss is passionate and rough, as if it’s drawing all of the air out of your lungs, keeping you from making so much as a squeak. Gavin’s let go of your wrist to cup your face instead, thumbs brushing your cheeks. You feel like you’re suffocating despite the warmth spreading to the tips of your fingers and toes.
Completely weak in the knees, it’s all you can do to stay upright; luckily, Gavin assists you by sliding an arm around your waist, pulling you close, so close. His other hand fits itself against the back of your neck, securing you enough to deepen the kiss.
You think, with more certainty than ever before, that you’re going to die in the arms of a gorgeous man who made your heart beat so fiercely that it burst like fireworks in your chest. You’re halfway through mentally dividing up your life’s belongings when Gavin finally, blessedly, pulls away. Turns out he needs to breathe as much as you do.
Shivers shoot down your spine at the way he’s looking at you, those amber eyes studying your reaction closely, like he’s totally unaware of his effect on you. All you can do is stare back, a hand over your mouth, until your voice comes back to you after several long seconds.
“Gavin,” you say in a hushed voice, swatting lightly at his arm.
He laughs. “What’s wrong?”
“We’re in public!”
“And?” As if to challenge you further, he tugs you closer to him, resting his chin on your shoulder. “We can just hide right here.”
His warm breath against your ear sets your entire body aflame all over again. The temptation is unbearable, so much so that you almost abandon every moral you have just to kiss him again, to lose yourself in this tiny, not-quite-private space with him.
So, of course, that’s when your phone rings.
You wince at the sound as well as at the loss of Gavin’s warmth against you as he stoops to pick up your cell. When he straightens back up, he’s scowling at the screen.
“Chandler.”
A sigh. “I should answer that.”
Gavin taps the red ignore button and slip the cell into his back pocket. “No chance.”
Knitting your eyebrows, you argue, “Don’t be stupid, I can’t just--”
For the second time, Gavin cuts you off with a searing kiss, hands on your waist to pull you flush against him. His tongue runs along your bottom lip and that’s all it takes for every thought of Chandler to get thrown out the window. You lock your hands behind Gavin’s neck and he obediently bends down a little further to adjust for your comfort. It gives you the ability to tangle a fist in his hair which, if the groan your action elicits from him is anything to go by, Gavin greatly enjoys. If you could possibly get any closer to him, you would, because he feels like a lifeline you’ve finally managed to grasp after months of just brushing fingertips.
...Then Minor’s louder-than-normal voice breaks through your reverie, an edge of panic and forewarning only those who really know him would be able to catch.
“C’mon, Chandler, what about the VR helmet? Didn’t you say you could make your own solar system with it? That’s seriously so impressive!”
Though every fiber of you disagrees with it, you manage to separate from Gavin, inhaling as slowly and as steadily as possible. You can’t bear to look him in the face, positive his beautiful eyes, sparkling like starlight, are appraising the absolute mess you’ve become at his hands. Eventually all the blood rushing to your face is going to make you faint. Instead, your hands fall to interlock with his, forehead resting against his chest as you will your lungs to begin working again.
Chandler brushes Minor off, clearly bothered. “Perhaps I’ll show you after we’ve located our missing friend. Are you not worried about her?”
“Not even a little bit,” Minor snorts, knowing exactly what you, and by extension Gavin, are probably up to. “She’s probably just in the bathroom, she always takes forever in there. Ladies, y’know?”
Your nostrils flare. “He is going to get it.”
Amused, Gavin presses a kiss to your neck. “You’ll give away our position.”
You slap a hand over your mouth, eyes closing. Your nerves are fried, every part of you is far too sensitive now, and if you were anywhere but here...you can’t let that thought continue, so you gently push on Gavin’s shoulders. “I have to at least see him home.”
Gavin looks at you a bit like a shunned puppy. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.”
Nodding, he steps back, watching as you pat down your hair and straighten your clothes.
“Do I look okay?”
The fire in his eyes has settled to a fireplace smolder, fond smile on his lips. Tenderly, he tucks a lock of hair behind your ear and answers, “Beautiful as always.”
Overwhelmed with adoration, you wistfully say, “You are so hard to deal with,” and then you slip out of the alcove to greet Chandler and Minor from the opposite end of the hallway.
Minor picks up on your swollen lips and flushed cheeks and, grinning ear to ear, enthusiastically says that he needs to find Gavin and head home, so you and Chandler should go on without them.
For the first time all evening, Chandler seems relieved. He offers you his arm and you politely link arms with him. As he starts chattering away about something or other, you throw a look over your shoulder at Minor, now standing with Gavin, and wink.
Neither of the men speak until you and your pseudo-date are fully out of earshot. Unsurprisingly, it’s Minor who breaks the silence.
“Nice shade of lipstick, Gav.”
He expects Gavin to swing on him, not for the brunette to laugh, throw an arm around his shoulders, and say, “I’ll let you have that one.”
♡ characters: gavin, mc/reader, minor
♡ description: the sixth time you meet gavin, he saves you.
♡ word count: ~1230
♡ ao3: archiveofourown.org/works/22485736
♡ previous: otomestan.tumblr.com/tagged/hsy%20fic/chrono
“Do you think I could convince Coach Nick I’m too sick to participate today?”
“You and I both know you can’t lie.”
You ponder that for a moment, readjusting your headband. “What if you lied for me?”
“Now, that I could do,” Minor replies. “I won’t, but I could.” At your pout, he laughs a little. “It’s just a few laps, don’t worry about it! It’s not even really for a grade. This substitute is just too lazy to follow the schedule.”
You cross your arms, not out of anger but out of unease. “I don’t know, Minor, I really don’t feel good today.”
“C’mooonnn,” he says as he drapes an arm across your shoulders, leaning in like he’s got a secret to tell you. “The seniors are out on their free period right now. Maybe we’ll get to see Gavin.” He grins devilishly.
Your eyes go wide. The thought alone makes you turn red in the face, embarrassed over something that might not even happen. Defeated, you whine, “Now I really am gonna be sick.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Minor begins, interrupted by the substitute blowing his whistle to rally the students. “Too late now anyway. Let’s go!”
The weather outside, luckily, is gorgeous: cotton candy clouds dot the skies enough to occasionally block the sun, and the slight but consistent breeze helps to keep cool. The majority of the class take off towards the track, grateful for the mostly free reign they’ve been given to get out some energy before lunch.
You, on the other hand, lag as far behind as possible, even when Minor tries to gently tug you along in a bid to catch up with your friends. “Stop pulling,” you snap, shaking him off of you with a frown. “I told you, I don’t want to run today. I don’t feel good.”
Like water off a duck’s back, your irritation doesn’t faze him. Instead he stops walking to look at you curiously. “Really? I thought you were just being silly. What’s wrong?”
Again, they’re cut off by the sound of a shrill whistle. “Hey, you two! On the field, move it!”
Minor looks like he wants to back talk the coach, a snarky rebuttal on the tip of his tongue, but you stop him. “It’s fine. Go on ahead, I’ll catch up with you guys.”
Concerned but unwilling to argue with you further, he says, “Sure, but shout if you need me. Okay?” He waits for you to nod before running off.
As Minor had mentioned, several groups of seniors are indeed lounging on the bleachers surrounding the track field. You scan the crowd as you begin to jog - the groups vary in size, from two or three friends goofing around to groups double that working busily on homework and passing papers back and forth. There are a few stragglers sitting by themselves, basking in the sun or on the phone or otherwise doing their own thing.
With relief, you conclude that Gavin isn’t among them. Perhaps you shouldn’t have been so worried, knowing how much of a loner he tends to be, but the thought of him seeing you like this troubles you. You don't have a cute outfit like the majority of the girls in your class, just an oversized, faded yellow t-shirt knotted at the waist over black athletic shorts. Plus, despite the breeze cooling your cheeks, you know you're going to start sweating, and you can’t even begin to get into how weak your lungs are-
A wave of dizziness washes over you suddenly, bringing you to a stumbling halt a quarter through your second lap. You grip the chain-link fence separating the track from the bleachers for support. It’s not until your breathing steadies that you're able to shake away the lightheadedness. A passing classmate asks if you're okay and you wave them off politely, continuing your jog a few seconds later. The sun feels much too hot now, as if you've suddenly become acutely aware of its presence, and there’s a dull pain in the back of your head that hurts worse with every step.
Only about three minutes pass before you notice your vision acting funny, and you blink rapidly to dispel the black spots forming. You wobble on your feet for another step before falling to your knees, too weak to stand. Around you, alarmed voices and approaching footsteps become muffled.
And then everything goes dark.
A handful of classmates encircle you, chattering anxiously about what to do as someone runs for the teacher. Minor pushes past two of the students to kneel by your side. Like he’s had to do this before, he rolls you onto your back before tugging the collar of your shirt down low enough to where it’s not tight around your throat. Then he presses two fingers just under your jaw and pauses.
After a moment, he looks up. He’s gone pale, faint panic in his eyes, but he stays calm. “Has anyone gotten Coach? Her pulse is too fast, she needs to go to the nurse but I can’t lift her by myself.”
“Jeremy’s talking to him now, but he’s on the other side of the field,” replies a girl with red hair and a face full of freckles.
“I’ll take her.”
The juniors startle at the new, unfamiliar voice, and quickly shuffle away upon seeing the newcomer appear seemingly out of thin air. Where they react in fear, Minor reacts in exasperation to hide his relief. “Of course you’d show up. Do you have some kind of radar for her or something?”
Gavin doesn’t respond to that, his mouth pressed in a firm line. “Is she okay to move? Should we wait until she wakes up?”
“No, she needs to go now.” Minor scowls, though not at anyone in particular. “I think her blood sugar got too low again, she probably didn’t eat this morning. I knew she was acting weird, I should’ve-”
Gavin’s already lifting you, with more gentleness than any of them would’ve ever dreamed he possessed, before Minor’s done talking. Masking his own concern so as to not worry Minor any further, he says, “It’s okay. The nurse will take care of her.”
Finally, the coach approaches them, addressing Gavin with a wary look. “What’s going on here?”
“MC passed out. We’re taking her to the nurse.”
He looks at Minor with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re in class.”
Bewilderment turning quickly into anger, Minor retorts, “Screw class, that’s my best friend!”
“You can go to the principal if-”
“Minor,” Gavin’s voice cuts in, steady even as he stares daggers at the coach. “Don’t worry. I’ll come back and let you know what the nurse says.” He turns his gaze to his underclassman with a softened expression. “She wouldn’t want you in trouble, right?”
Minor doesn’t have an argument for that. Crossing his arms, he grumbles, “Yeah. Whatever, just go.” And then, realizing his annoyance isn’t at Gavin, he adds, “Thank you for taking her.”
Gavin makes a dismissive noise of acknowledgement, gives the coach one more intimidating glance, and heads off the track.
Minutes later, as he's crossing the threshold into the air-conditioned building, You exhale softly as you come to. Your eyes flutter open, then you immediately recoil at the fluorescent lights attacking your vision. You squint, the world blurry and completely unfocused, and are only able to make out a pair of warm amber eyes before you have to close yours again because they're watering too much to see.
“Don’t worry,” Gavin says quietly, unsure if you're able to hear him. His tone is determined and, he hopes, reassuring. “I’ve got you. You’ll be okay.”
And though you can’t quite process who this voice belongs to thanks to the way your head is swimming, warmth fills your chest and settles your nerves. The last thing you remember before the blackness takes you again is feeling so, so safe.
----
When you wake some time later, you're greeted by white ceiling tiles and the unmistakable smell of disinfectant. You groan, raising yourself to a sitting position and rubbing your eyes.
“Ah, there she is,” comes the voice of Nurse Emily, someone you are (unfortunately) very familiar with due to your frequent trips to the school’s infirmary. “How are you feeling?”
“Sick,” you answer with a slight whine. Your stomach twists uncomfortably and your entire body feels barely strong enough to remain upright.
“Fainting due to low blood sugar will do that to you,” the nurse says with a knowing look - not quite stern, but not totally forgiving either. You've certainly had this conversation before. You look away, ashamed, and your gaze lands on a grocery bag with your name written sloppily on the side.
Thankful for a change of subject, you ask, “What’s that?”
Nurse Emily hands you the bag. “The boy who brought you in, he came back with that. According to him, Minor said you skipped breakfast this morning. I guess he wanted to be sure you had something to eat since you’ve now also missed your lunch period.”
Confused, you set the bag, unopened, in your lap. “The boy who brought me in? What was his name?” A memory of bright eyes soft with worry flashes through your head, but you still can’t grasp it firmly enough to know for sure who it was.
The nurse shrugs. “He didn’t say. Tall, brown hair, polite.”
You've opened the bag now, stomach rumbling at the small loaf of bread inside. There’s also a glass bottle of milk that’s still cold to the touch, so he must have dropped it off not long ago. At the nurse’s description, you feel your face get hot. You have a suspicion, but if it’s true…
Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you say, “I see. Thank you. When can I get back to class?”
“After you eat. Don’t let that boy’s kind deed go to waste, yeah?”
You bow your head, another wave of embarrassment overtaking you, and do as you're told.
When you join Minor in your fifth period class, the first thing he does is pass you a note that says: Real nice of Gavin to bridal-carry you to the nurse, huh?
You flush cherry-red, your savior’s identity revealed, and pointedly ignore Minor’s teasing for the rest of the day.
(Still, when you give him a note folded carefully into a small square with Gavin's name written on it, he delivers your letter with all the seriousness he can muster.)
