lost - unable to find one's way; not knowing one's whereabouts. you couldn’t explain it but wanting to help that lost boy may change your life. for better or worse you don’t know.
𝑘𝑎𝑖’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒: crafting this at 3 in the morning was so weird i felt like someone was watching (｡･･｡)
Summary: Jungkook doesn’t know much about you provided for the fact that you’re his coach’s daughter. But soon, his feelings of indifference turn into that of dislike.
Word Count: 4K+ words
A/N: The language they converse in isn't important, however, just putting it out that they indeed converse in Korean.
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-fi
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The next morning, you wake up in your bed.
The moment your eyes open, you're greeted with a heavy feeling in your chest. For a very short period of time, your brain remains unresponsive and clueless as to why you're feeling the way you're feeling. But soon it all clicks and the memories of last night come rushing back.
You sigh, feeling too tired to feel the pain and humiliation you know you will if you were to allow yourself to replay the events of last night. Hence, you decide to not let yourself repeat the scene in your head as you head towards the washroom. In a way, it's almost as if you're not letting yourself feel the emotions that your mind wants you to process. But you're too exhausted to hold a debate about whether that's healthy or not.
Once you're done freshening up, you wear your clothes for your shift at the cafe. When it's time for you to head out, you hesitate just for a second before you open the door to the living room.
It's only silence that greets you. You should have known. It's not uncommon for you to find the house empty. If anything, it would be weird if you were to find either of your parents in the house, greeting you with a good morning like every other normal household.
Sighing, you walk towards the shoe rack but much to your surprise, a soft and warm voice calls for your name.
The sound of your name causes you to squeak and you turn around to look at whoever it is that just caused your heart rate to spike by hundred.
Upon turning around, you're met with two warm brown eyes which shine with amusement at your scared form. Two brown eyes, you recognise to be your family cook's.
"Laura," you place your hands on your heaving chest to calm yourself down. "You scared me."
"My apologies, I did not intend to." She smiles at you, amusement now replaced with a tender look in her eyes. "Now, come I have made you breakfast, you're not leaving home on an empty stomach. You will get weak that way."
Your first instinct is to deny because you're not in the mood of eating at all. Although you try not to think about your issues, there's still that continuous churning in your stomach that reminds you there's a lot of negative emotion you haven't processed properly. A lot, you honestly, don't know how to process. That feeling in your gut doesn't make food sound appealing at all.
But then something inside you stops you from uttering the no that is on your lips. It's the part of you that doesn't have the heart to deny the very first person, who at least bothered to take notice of you and asked you to have your food.
It's just that longing for the minimum acknowledgement that has you nodding your head to Laura's previous question with a smile on your face, that radiates the same amount of tenderness as the one in her eyes.
You will take whatever you get, from whoever is willing to give.
She doesn't say much as she swiftly turns around and heads to the large dining table. You take it as your cue to do the same and follow her. She pulls out a chair for you to sit on and then arranges the plates in front of you. She then disappears for a few moments, for what you assume is to bring food from the kitchen.
You're simply running your fingers across the patterns of the table cloth when you smell it.
Lemon ricotta pasta.
Your eyes widen in excitement and you snap your head towards the kitchen entrance, where you assume the aroma is coming from. At the very same moment, Laura comes and much to your delight, she is indeed carrying a bowl of your favourite type of pasta.
She chuckles at your excited form and the big smile that's on your face.
"You cooked lemon ricotta pasta?" You exclaim, your mind narrowly focused on the fact that you are going to have one of your favourite dishes in your breakfast. You're so happy that you forget about everything that has been bothering you in recent days.
"I did," she replies as she serves pasta on your plate. "I hope you like it."
Well, if you were to go by the way it looks and smells, you already like it.
She sprinkles some chilli flakes on the top. "Your mom told me that this is your favourite."
Your mind abruptly stops working for a second. "Mom knows I like this?"
"Of course, she does. She gave me a list of foods that you enjoy." She chuckles.
Once again, you find yourself being speechless. "She did?"
She nods. "She also told me to not cook any of your favourite dishes for you until you're well settled. She was worried that it would take your body some time to adjust to the weather in Busan. Just so that your immunity doesn't become weak, she suggested you eat healthy, nutritional food. And we all know that the ones you like aren't exactly healthy."
Despite the storm of emotions that rage through you, you find yourself letting out a chuckle. The kind of food you like, is indeed not healthy, aka greasy as fuck.
But that chuckle soon subsides when you realise, you don't exactly know what you feel. You feel a certain warmth bloom through your chest, of course. Your mom cares for you. The thought itself is enough to make your day.
In theory, you always did know that she cares for you but the number of times you have felt being cared for is a handful. Which is why, you always treated the moments when you felt that you're cared for, very close to your heart. This being one of those.
With that warmth, there's also this bitterness that spreads through you because you have no idea what your mom's favourite dishes are. Or your dad's for a fact. All you know is that your mom likes spicy dishes but what in particular, you have zero clues.
It's not like you have never asked them. But it was once, years ago. You don't know if they still like those dishes or what other new dishes they have tried in the last few years, that they found good enough to be added to the list.
You never asked them again, because how many questions can someone ask over the phone? You can ask about their favourite dishes but then what about their favourite movie? Their favourite artist? Their favourite song? What about their dislikes?
Most of these things aren't asked, they are observed. Which again, you never got the chance to do.
The new mixed feelings added to the exhaustion you feel from the events of last night, has you focusing on the food instead, in an attempt to distract yourself. Taking a bite, you hum in delight.
"This is so good." Your brows furrow in concentration. The food tastes so good that you find yourself genuinely distracted. You haven't had this for a long time now, and this surely is a treat for your tastebuds.
"I'm glad you like it."
"Thank you so much for taking the time to make this for me." You say after swallowing down a huge bite.
"You don't have to thank me." She shakes her head. "Anytime you feel like eating something just come to me. I'll try and see if I can make it for you."
You mumble another thank you and keep the you're too sweet to yourself. You don't know if it would be weird to say that to someone you're only talking to for the first time. You don't want to express how touched you are by her words because you don't know if she will find it weird. You never thought these small gestures would make you so emotional someday. More than anything, you don't want to mess up by over welcoming yourself. You did that with the whole boxing practice thing and someone aka Jungkook clearly wasn't fond of it. What if-
Something snaps inside you.
You shake your head to yourself in frustration. This is not the time to think about Jungkook. You can't let him get to you every time. This is a good moment, Laura is clearly not like Jungkook. Most importantly, you feel good. You cannot let thoughts of Jungkook ruin it for you.
Jungkook was rude to you, and that's on him.
Sure, his words still hurt because he despises you for the mistakes you made. Mistakes. Especially, mistakes you made while trying to fit in. You are also sure that if he were to, again, be rude to you, you'd be hurt. Although, maybe not as much as you initially were. That's because now you have an idea of what Jungkook is like, so his words probably won't come off as a surprise to you. Now, you know what to expect from him.
And honestly, you don't want anything to do with him.
But the question is how long are you going to let it affect you? How long are you going to react to his words?
You simply don't want to keep reacting to his words anymore. Because when you do, your happy moments are ruined by the feelings of hurt he has caused.
How do you stop reacting though?
That is a question you will need some time to figure out the answer to. For the time being you settle for taking a deep breath and finish the food on your plate. When you're done, you rest the spoon on your plate and look up at Laura.
"Laura?" You call out.
"Hmm?" Laura glances at you and notices that you are done eating. "Do you want some more?"
"Ah, no," you shake your head. "I just wanted to thank you for making pasta. It's very sweet of you."
She gives you a sweet smile. "You don't have to thank me for that. I'm just glad you enjoyed it."
You nod at her with your smile broadening.
This feels nice.
You said what you wanted to say. You didn't let your fears stop you. You did it for yourself. You didn't let Jungkook's words, which your mind has quite honestly been obsessed with, stop you.
This sure feels nice.
The day at the cafe is busy.
There is a steady flow of customers and the whole place is bustling with no empty seats. You find yourself being occupied with the long line of people as you're currently in charge of taking down their orders.
But you kind of enjoy it, enjoy being busy and occupied. That way, your mind isn't wandering to places. Plus, the low murmur that is spread throughout the cafe is kind of nice. Makes you feel a little less lonely.
You also enjoy taking glimpses of the people who are sitting in the cafe. It's like a window to their lives.
In the extreme right corner are sat two kids with their dad. You observe the way the younger boy explains something very animatedly to his slightly older sister and find it endearingly cute. Their dad is nodding along aggressively so that his son knows that he's listening to him. A few tables in front of them, sits a young lady, probably just a few years older than you. She looks lost in whatever it is that is on her computer screen. Maybe she's reading a story. Maybe she's doing some office work. Maybe she's simply thinking something and has zoned out from the letters on the screen. Whatever it is, it seems important enough that she doesn't notice the plate of cookies that are being placed in front of her and the waitress has to call her twice, to gain her attention. A few feet away from her table seats a man who is probably in his forties and at the moment, he seems interested in gazing out of the glass walls.
Your eyes move back to the computer screen in front of you as the person who was next in line, recites his order.
That's what you like about this job. You can just take a glimpse at people in between taking orders or serving. For some odd reason, you enjoy it a lot. It's like you're working but then after every minute or two, you also get to allow your mind to venture here and there about the people around you. It feels nice almost like you're taking a break in between orders and serving when you can.
It's around fifteen minutes and a few orders later that you look up from your computer screen to greet the next person in line, but when you notice who the person is, your smile fades.
Jimin.
God, your day has been nice, please don't get it ruined.
"Hello, Y/N," he greets, with a smile that you can tell is genuine, which puts you slightly at ease. He also, seems completely unaffected by the way your smile faded the moment you saw him.
"Hey," you say a little hesitantly, not knowing how to act around him after last night.
"Can I have two lattes please?"
At his words, you feel a certain amount of relief spread through your body. He's possibly here only for the coffee. You nod and type away on your computer. "Sure, that would be 12,947 Won."
Jimin fishes for his wallets and pays for the order. "I know it might not be the best time but can I talk to you for a moment?"
Well fuck. You spoke too soon.
Before you can politely decline him and give the busy day as an excuse, Linda appears out of nowhere and gently nudges you such that she now has access to the keyboard and the computer screen.
"Go talk to him. I'll take care of the orders meanwhile," she doesn't stop there but also shoots you a suggestive wink, one which is subtle enough so that Jimin doesn't catch it.
Oh god.
Did she think something was going on between you and Jimin? If you were to go by the wink, she probably does. But you decide that's a conversation you'll have with her later. Clarifying it in front of Jimin might just be weird.
You sigh and give her a nod before you're exiting the counter and pushing the separator so that you can make your way to where Jimin is standing.
Jimin gives you another one of his smiles but this time he looks nervous. As odd as it is, the nervous smile somehow soothes you a little bit because now you know you're not the only one who's feeling that way.
"I just wanted to apologise for yesterday."
Now that catches you off guard.
You were a bit cautious of what Jimin had to say to you. You know Jimin is a much nicer and friendlier guy than Jungkook but you were somewhat embarrassed to face him after yesterday. After all, you did get treated as if you're a good-for-nothing person in front of him. Albeit, Jimin's drunk self was nice to you but even then, you still felt embarrassed and awkward talking to him.
But out of all things, you weren't expecting him to apologise to you.
Your reaction to his apology is stuttering.
Looking at your expression, which most likely screams that you don't know what to say, Jimin decides on explaining exactly what he is sorry for. "Listen, I don't know what I was thinking knocking at your door at three in the morning. I don't have an excuse for my behaviour except for the fact that I was drunk-"
His apology speech gets cut off by a snort that escapes your lips. It is very unlike you, to find something hilarious in a situation like this, where you are completely caught off guard. But something about his words has you reacting that way without giving it much thought.
The moment you realise what you had done, you tense up and you're ready to apologise for being insincere when he was apologising to you so sincerely. But then he beats you to it.
"Anything funny about what I said?" Jimin asks with his brows furrowed. You'd think that what you feared was true and that your slip had offended him, had it not been for the way he tries a little too hard to look offended.
That extra hard frown of his paired with the playfulness in his orbs is enough for you to know that he isn't offended at all. So you allow yourself to relax a little and a small grin appears on your lips.
"It's just that it sounds like you're apologising for cheating on someone."
That catches Jimin off guard and he starts to replay his words in his mind. You see the very moment it clicks in his mind and a shy, almost embarrassed smile appears on his lips.
"I did sound like that, didn't I?" He mumbles.
You nod with a chuckle. "Don't worry about it. I get that you were drunk. Your apology has been accepted."
Jimin sighs in relief but he looks like he has got something more to say.
You watch the hesitance play on his face before he finally decides to just go for it. "I'd also like to apologise on Jungkook's behalf. He had no right doing what he did, yesterday-"
"You don't have to apologise for something you never did." You interrupt him before he can continue because Jimin has no reason to apologise for the asshole-ery his friend displayed. And perhaps, you also cut him off because Jimin continuing with his words only reminds you of the incidents of last night.
Jimin chews on his lips and casts his gaze on the floor. "I know but still, I'm sure he feels bad too for what he did."
Once again, you snort. This time, it's a bit sarcastic.
"You don't have to lie. I might not have known Jungkook for long, but I know him enough to know that he isn't sorry for what he did."
Jimin still has that look which gives the impression that he has more to say, but this time he decides otherwise, much to your relief.
"So, if I am forgiven and all is good, can we be friends?" He queries with a small shy grin.
The question surprises you but when your brain slowly catches up with his words, you feel a giddiness spread throughout you.
Are you finally going to have a friend here? Damn, today is a good day.
If your brain had hands, it would probably do a keyboard smash right now.
You try to keep your smile contained and try not to show exactly how excited you are to be friends with him (but you're sure you failed terribly at your attempt). "I'd love to be friends with you."
You notice Jimin's smile widening and his eyes disappearing to form crescents. "Great! Maybe if I converse with you, I will finally get good at English."
"Is that why you wanted to be friends with me?" You joke, with squinted eyes.
"Yes, indeed. But don't worry, in return, I'll take you to all the good places in Busan where you can get authentic Korean food." He winks, playing into your joke.
"Ah, so it's like I help you get better at English and you help me to get to know Busan better?"
He nods, trying to suppress his smile to give off a serious look. "Guess we are friends with benefits, now."
You make a disgusted face. "Gosh, I can tell you are cringe."
"Everyone is," he shrugs.
"True," you agree. "So, now tell me when do I get to taste authentic Korean food?" The excitement is palpable in your voice. You had always wanted to explore the city but with how your mood has been, you never had the energy to go out. But now that Jimin is more than willing to give you a tour of the city, you think it won't be as lonely as you'd imagined it to be.
Jimin hums. "Well, how about once the tournament ends? Would you be free then?"
Your eyes spark with surprise at his words. "The tournament hasn't ended yet?"
He shakes his head and lowers his volume so that the words are only audible to you. "Apparently the news of illegal boxing got around and police got involved. The tournament had to be paused temporarily until things got under control."
"Police?! Is it dangerous? This whole tournament thing? The people you all are involved with?" You whisper shout.
You are well aware that there must be some sort of danger involved. Had it not been the case, you wouldn't have been sent to Canada. But even then, you still do not have any idea as to what that amount of danger might be.
Jimin contemplates for a few moments before answering your question. "It can be dangerous."
"Can?" You prod.
He nods. "Yes, but I don't think it's a conversation appropriate for a place like this."
Your fingers fiddle with each other as you keep your curiosity in and give him a nod in return as if to say that you understand where he's coming from. However, there's one question that you end up asking when you know you probably shouldn't have.
"Do you think I can attend one of the matches?"
The moment the words leave your lips you see the surprised look that appears on his face as if he never expected you to ask that of all things. But the moment the surprise wears off, he shakes his head furiously. "There's no way. Your dad would never approve and honestly, I agree. It's not something you want to be a part of, trust me on that."
The words don't come off as a surprise. You already knew what the answer was going to be. But that doesn't mean you don't feel a bit dejected because you do really want to go to one of the matches just to know what the environment is like.
Jimin recognises the look on your face. "Don't be sad about it. I'll tell you everything in detail about the match. I'd have shown you videos but then recording is prohibited."
Somehow his words put a smile on your face. Knowing that he is willing to describe the match to you, for some reason means a lot. To add to that is how he answers your questions and acknowledges your curiosity, even when he doesn't necessarily understand where that curiosity is rooted from. It makes you feel oddly nice to know that there is someone you can talk to about the regular stuff as well as stuff that you have always felt, was prohibited for you to know about.
"Thank you, I'd appreciate that." You say with sincerity coating every word of yours.
"Always glad to help," he grins. It's then that his name is called for him to collect his order. "Ah, I think I should get going. Lord knows, Jungkook gets real cranky when he doesn't have coffee in his system."
"Here, I thought being cranky was his default mode." You blurt out before realising you were technically badmouthing Jimin's friend in front of him.
Before you can apologise and panic any further, Jimin laughs with his head thrown back and clutches his stomach. "Damn, I wish Jungkook was here to hear that. Would have served him right."
It's almost as if some higher power has heard his wishes because at that very moment Jungkook enters the shop, wondering what is taking Jimin so long. His eyes do a quick scan before landing on the two of you. The sight that he is greeted with, perplexes him to no end.
It's Jimin laughing extremely hard, the way he usually does and it's you standing a few steps away from Jimin with a small, easy smile playing on your lips. He doesn't know what the two of you are talking about and by the look of it, neither of you have noticed him.
He has long forgotten why he came here in the first place for there's one thought that currently has his whole attention.
Looks like his best friend and you, are friends now.
Taglist: if you would like to be tagged or I forgot to tag you, let me know!
@laymegentlytorest @im-sinking-in-mud
When she thought back to her human family and all the lessons, they had taught her; one of them being “Do not talk to strangers,” she had followed this all the way into adulthood.
She was pretty sure she could break this rule when it came to the man that had saved her life; she was certain her adoptive mother would be eagerly nudging her to talk with that cute smile.
“Can you stand?” the man arched his eyebrow as his sharp features almost glared at her and she quickly nodded half expecting him to at least offer her a hand to get to her feet.
“Good, get up and follow,” his entire demeanour reminded her of a strict teacher and she bit her lip to stop herself from yelling at him.
She was shaken up, terrified and exhausted from running from a horde.
Where was the compassion?
Instead, she struggled herself up from the floor and followed her saviour to the room he had appeared from, an empty office room where the door on the other side of the room had been barricaded with half of the desks and chairs in the room and the other half was ready and waiting by the door he’d come through.
Clearly, he had thrown things to the side to save her and this made her feel a little more relaxed around him, knowing that he had to compromise his own safety room to save a stranger.
“You got a name, Spots?” his voice made her jump and she quickly went to help him re-barricade the room.
She eyed him cautiously and had to once again, bite her lip to prevent an insult as she noticed him rolling his eyes.
“Well, I’m Lee Know and I just saved your arse,” he pointed out as he reached into a bag on the floor and she was immediately on edge once again; her fingers tightening around the baton.
“Here,” he murmured and she flailed her hands in the air as she tried to catch whatever he’d thrown at her.
A bag of crisps.
“Thanks,” she replied quietly and Lee Know let out a laugh at how comically fast she ripped into the food, a bright red blush appearing on the hybrids face once she realised.
“How...how have you been surviving in here?” she asked with a mouthful of crisps, crumbs all over her cheeks.
“Not that difficult when this place had water coolers and vending machines on every floor,” he pointed out sitting on the floor and groaning as he stretched his legs out in front of him, “plus it’s easy to hide in here because of the amount of rooms,” he closed his eyes, “though it would be a lot safer without people jumping through windows and bringing a horde with them,”
She paused in her eating and frowned at the smug grin on the man’s face.
“I was trying to lead them away from my friend,” she explained with a blunt tone that stopped whatever atmosphere had built and Lee Know looked at her with question.
“We split up for just a few seconds,” she added looking away from him, “he went to the pharmacy and I went to check out what direction to go; I was only around the corner and they were just there and I knew that when they had seen me that I would only bring them back to my friend so I had to abandon him!” she rubbed at her eyes as she felt them sting with tears, “I’m scared to go back and find him as one of them, despite my trying to save him,” she whispered and Lee Know broke his silence with a loud sigh.
“Listen,” he started rubbing the back of his neck, “I’ll help you get back to wherever you came from...y’know, as long as it’s close by” he offered and then dug around in his bag again, finding a pack of tissue and chucking them over to her.
“We need to wait for daytime though,” he pressed a button on his watch to make the face light up and held his wrist up so she could read it, “darkness only adds to the fuckery that’s already out there during the day,”
She nodded despite wanting to leave.
Be smart for a bit she hugged her knees as she sat on the floor.
“I’m just going to call you Spots, by the way,” he added with a snarky chuckle, “name or no name, that’s what I’m going to call you,”
It surprised her when a small laugh left her lips but she nodded at him.
“Fair dos,”
Though silence fell over the newly acquainted duo, she couldn’t help but feel ever so slightly bad that she just couldn’t shake the anxiety rippling through her at Lee Knows almost absent response to taking out quite a large group of zombies.
His shirt was starting to dry now but it was still covered in other people’s blood and his shoes still held small chunks of flesh in the grip ridges of the underside of his shoes.
The less said about the state of the baseball bat, the better.
She could only come to the conclusion that he had been in this building since the outbreak and was used to dealing with zombies; even more than herself as she was still living in her home with Felix.
“How’d you manage to get a baton, thought they were illegal for civilians to own?” Lee Knows ridiculously attractive face morphed into an expression that made him look considerably younger, which was saying something as he was clearly already a young man.
“There was an officer that had turned,” she flicked her wrist to make the baton stretch out, “he wasn’t going to use it and I kind of...needed it to get away from him,” she mumbled flinching a bit at the memory.
“What about you?” she asked pulling at her tail, “don’t normally find office workers carrying baseball bats,” she smiled shyly when he chuckled at her comment.
“Believe it or not, this place has a sports center down below all of this crap,” he explained, “there’s a batting cage and so,” he waved his own weapon, “baseball bat; just added the wire from one of the fences around the building,” he paused in his short story as he watched her slightly spotty dalmatian ears wiggle whenever she moved.
“Um,” he puffed out a small smirk, trying to ignore the Hybrid features of the woman before him; it was hard though, to not touch something that looked soft and fluffy, “I can add some wire to your baton if you’d like?”
She looked at him with interest and then considered her weapon, looking rather naked compared to his decked-out bat.
“You would do that?” she tilted her head once again.
“Of course,” Lee Know almost looked downright offended by her assumption, “I don’t want any more zombie, least of all hybrid zombies,” he waved his hands in the air when she started to frown at his comments.
“What I mean,” he rolled his eyes, “is that the hybrid zombies are so much faster than regular human zombies, they have that primal instinct as well so when their humanity is gone, they all turn back to how their animals would be in the wild,” he grimaced and she couldn’t help but wonder if he had witnessed such a scene.
“I’ve only seen a couple of hybrid zombies,” she noted thinking back to right at the beginning when she spotted a small group of hybrid zombies chasing down a crowd of people, their eyes wild and their jaws snapping.
“Well, you guys are fast!” Lee Know laughed quietly, “no zombie can really keep up with you lot unless they have you cornered somewhere,” he sighed loudly as he reached out and gave in to the temptation, his fingers gently stroking her ears making her nearly jump out of her skin.
“Sorry,” he flinched his hand backwards with a playful grin as he saw the blush appearing on her face once more, “your ears are really cute,” he was so straightforward that it genuinely made her pause to try and figure out how to respond to a person like Lee Know.
“People seem to enjoy my ears,” she pulled at her tail again, shyly, “my friend always strokes them when we’re watching films or playing games,”
Lee Know noticed how she beamed upon mentioning her friend and he found himself smiling with her.
“I think it’s an anxiety thing for him,” she pondered as he gaze fell to the dirty floor they were both resting on, “so...if it helps, you can do that...too,” she pulled at the fabric of the carpet and then at her tail before finally finishing my covering both of her hands with her sleeves to try and stop that habit.
“I’m actually looking for another couple of hybrids,” Lee Know pointed out and his chocolate brown eyes flickered to meet hers, “well, a friend group with a couple of hybrids in it,” he sighed and then leaned back on a few boxes that looked less than comfortable; eyes now shut.
“Are they family?” she questioned carefully.
“Might as well be,” he replied with a soft smile, “they’re a pain but as the cheesy movies would say, they are my pain,”
She found herself laughing once again at the drenching of sarcasm coming from the man, his attitude and humour quite different from Felix’s.
“If I manage to get back to my friend, I’m sure we could help you find them,” she suggested before yawning loudly and without covering her mouth, allowing Lee Know to see her fangs, “he’s always wanting to help people,” she added with a sleepy smile and brought her bag onto the floor so she could eventually use it as a pillow.
Lee Know didn’t reply.
She assumed he had fallen asleep, a small blessing as she all but crashed after her offer.
Story Summary: Petra survives her encounter with the female titan but when she’s hurt and goes missing, her comrades believe her to be dead and make for home. Now she has to try and survive long enough to get back home. If she can manage that, what will be waiting for her there? What will Levi do if he’s faced with a second chance at having Petra in his life?
Chapter Summary: Petra finally sets off for home, but will she make it with her dwindling strength?
As the last rays of sunset faded from the sky, Petra wrapped her arms around her knees. For about half an hour, she’d taken a seat on one of the weighty branches above the level of her hideout, staring into the shadowy haven within the wood. Her fingers played with her upper lip and each breath she took felt like it was being dragged into her. Her heart pulsed in an uneasy rhythm, as her chest constricted.
The fingers on her free hand twitched and moved towards one of her trigger handles. The urge to return into that dark hole was like a newborn flame, rising higher and higher. You’d be safe one night if you went back. The fear within her tried to remind her. You’d have another day to try and form a better plan.
Petra closed her eyes and brought both hands up to cup her face.
No. She’d waited long enough, had more than adequate time to come up with a better solution. Resources and energy were draining from her. She had to try while she was still strong enough. No amount of that unease could really make a persuasive, argument at this stage.
You’ve got to fight the fear, Petra, her father had taught her years ago. Her and her sisters had learned and re-learned that lesson over and over each time they came upon something that frightened them. Running away won’t help you at all. It’ll just let your fear grow big enough to catch you. Stand up to it and find out for sure what you can make of it. You might find that the great scary thing about it is just a shadow.
Her sister Jaime had picked up on that lesson well, Petra thought as she rubbed her forehead on the back of her hand. She was so damn fearless. The image of her sister in that dream days ago made Petra shudder with unease, raising her head and rubbing at her eyes. It was frightening how much Petra could imagine Jamie joining the Scouts out of vengeance against the titans if something did happen to Petra. Worst of all, Petra didn’t think she could see herself doing anything differently if their roles were reversed. She groaned into the air. I guess we’re both just stubborn pains then.
God, she wanted to see Jamie again, and Hannah and Celeste. She wanted to help her mother in the kitchen and laugh at all the ways she scolded Petra for the way she cooked. She wanted to listen to her father’s tales about his weird experiences down at the tavern. She wanted to listen to her sisters argue and watch them pinch each other. But to have all of this, to watch it all once more, she had to survive.
A cold whisper of wind brushed against her skin, like a hand pulling her from stillness and into a walk. Petra felt her joints wake up and renewed determination begin to fill up her body. Carefully she rose to her feet and turned away from her safety net. The sunlight was almost entirely gone and the subtle blue of dusk was settling over the sky. The trees began their nightly transformation into shadows in front of her.
Time to go, Petra thought as she stepped off the branch and fired off her hooks.
—————————————————————
She used only a short burst of gas to propel herself towards the edge of the forest. After that she began to walk at a brisk pace.
The growing shadows teased her already prominent anxiety, as if someone was sprinkling wood shavings over an open fire. But it kept her senses keen. Her eyes darted to any movements, any sounds, any shifts of air around her and her hands gripped the triggers even harder, the material digging into her palms.
More and more open sky began to show itself through the thinning out presence of trees as she walked. The chill of the night air grew with the view. Petra welcomed it as she approached the edge of the trees, drinking in the expansive horizon that stretched out ahead of her. It had been so long since she’d been foraging for supplies around here on that first night, since she had ridden into these woods with her comrades. All of that seemed like it had happened in a different life.
Stepping out of the shadows of the trees and onto the great moonlit plains felt like a weight had slipped off her shoulders. Petra sagged from the absence of it as she walked. She glanced back over her shoulder at the darkening woods and a great thrill of triumph coursed through her.
You’re out. You’re free. You’re on your way home.
Petra returned her attention to the horizon once more, a renewal of motivation filling her at once. She set off at a light jog, loosening her grip on her gear as she did. She was running into the wind but the cool temperature kept her concentration sharp. All of the food she’d finished off earlier had given her more energy than she’d had in a while. As long as she paced herself, she could run for a while.
Her mind thought back to the endurance runs back in training, back when she had first joined Levi Squad. Being criticized for her technique, then praised by the captain for addressing her problematic movements and for improving. A tug moved inside her chest, one of familiarity and nostalgia. I’ll be with you soon, Captain. I will.
But she could never be with the others again. Even so, there were still plenty of people back home waiting for her.
—————————————————————
It was a struggle to judge pacing, Petra found. The need to leave the forest behind and return to the Walls as quickly as she could battled with the fact that she needed to conserve energy because she didn’t know how long the journey on foot would take. Even a light jog sapped at her energy levels more than she would like meaning she had to slow to a walk quite often. The food she’d finished off between naps in the day had helped to boost her but still, she wasn’t quite at her best.
Once upon a time she could have kept up a moderate jog for a couple of hours (with very minimal pauses) on a really good day, A light jog would have been maintained even longer. She used to be able to power walk for a while as well. Back when she was strong.
She was out of sight of the forest within the first hour and she was met with wide plains, the occasional cluster of abandoned houses and sporadic trees. Now and again she would pass a sprawled out, lethargic titan laid out on the grass or against a house or tree. She considered killing them but quickly dismissed the process as a waste of energy. She couldn’t kill every titan that might catch up to her. She had to keep all the energy she could for home.
—————————————————————
The hours of night passed by faster than the miles. Petra limited her stops to very short periods even if that meant taking the rests more frequently. The landscape was harder to read at night but if she kept moving forward, she’d come across the wall at some point.
The boxes of blades banged relentlessly against her thighs when she ran. She ignored the pain but knew she’d have bruises there tomorrow. Over 20 days of wearing straps all the time wouldn’t look so good on her skin either. But these worries were as fleeting as they were thoughts in her head. Now wasn’t the time to get lost in her thoughts. Now was the time to put everything into moving forward.
So she ran and ran. Ran as her body ached. Ran as her head throbbed from the exhaustion. Ran as the chill of night deepened and threatened to freeze her insides. She tugged her cloak further around her although the benefit had long been lost. She lowered her mouth and chin behind it.
You can do this. Ilse did it. She evaded titans for at least a day or so before one found her. If you can make it to the Walls, you’ll be okay.
—————————————————————
Dawn soon crept over the horizon, filling the sky with light that sparkled on the dew that clung to leaves and the grass. Petra heard the wet swipe of the grass as she lurched through it, the balance in her exhausted legs giving out over and over. Even as she jogged, fatigue wore at her. She had to fight to keep her eyes open but they continued to fall half-closed every now and again. Her vision blurred in front of her and she kept blinking to clear it, more and more.
The increasing sunlight seemed to chase her, pushing aside any possibilities of sitting down and resting. Every second lost was a second a titan gained in sunlight. Besides, if she stopped, she didn’t know if she would be able to get herself going again. If she wasn’t destined to make it out of this then she’d rather black out than be conscious when a titan came to eat her. Petra scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, streaking her face with dirt and tired tears as she did.
A particularly slippery patch of grass beneath her feet sent her flying forwards. “Ack-” she grunted as she hit the ground, sliding along, mud and grass sticking to her face. Her mind seemed to roll over itself. Colours and shapes danced in and out of clarity. Her eyes fluttered then tried to close again. Drowsiness swept through her, inviting her down into a dark, sweet oblivion. Do it. Let go. All your troubles will soon be over.
Petra’s fingers clenched in the grass and she exhaled, fighting the feeling as the faces of her parents, sisters, the captain, Nifa and her friends floated into her head. Even her former commandant at the Cadet Corps came to mind. Never just lie there and take it. Fight until you can’t any more. You never know when a situation can turn.
Raising her head with some difficulty, Petra rubbed her sleeve against her filthy mouth and reached for sturdier ground. She planted her palms down hard and pushed. Protest shot through her whole body as her arms took her weight and lifted her. She brought one knee forward and then another then shifted to one foot and finally the other until she was crouched.
Her joints burned with overuse but at least they were still working, Petra thought as she rose up and began to walk again. Only as she returned her eyes to the horizon properly, blinking away the urge to sleep again, did she freeze up. How had she not noticed that before?
Maybe half a mile ahead of her, the great stone barrier of humanity loomed towards the skies. Petra’s heart dropped a great deal of its tension at once. Wall Rose. Her eyes were pricked with what remained of tears but none actually fell. She felt dry and drained and empty. Except for the feeling of hope that now rose up within her.
Home.
Come on now, she told herself as she began to jog again, trying to ignore the punishing sensations on her body with each stride, with each swing of her arms. Just a little further and you’ve done it. The surprise had jolted a bit of wakefulness and clarity into her and she seized upon both.
The effort of running punched the breath out of her but she threw everything she had into moving forward, to try and make it to that gate. She tried to summon it all into one last burst, her eyes drinking in the welcome sight of the Walls with the tiny patrolling figures along the top and the…
… boulder blocking the gate.
Petra stumbled to a clumsy walk as she scrubbed at her bleary eyes again.
This wasn’t Karanes. It was Trost. She’d come a different way.
Even so, it was within the Walls. It was still home.
So she continued to run as quickly as possible. Light rose up behind her, stretching out ahead of her. The titans would be waking up now. She couldn’t afford to stop anymore, she realized, fighting against the agony. She needed someone to hear her. She needed to get close enough to the Wall to use her gear and get onto the wall. She could ask for help then.
Her head hammered in protest from her thoughts, the physical exhaustion and the fear that battered away inside it.
Run. Just run.
—————————————————————
The doors to the lift opened and the 104th gang trotted out of it onto the sturdy stonework of the walls, stretching their arms and staring out at the expanse of wild territory leading into the horizon. A low level of chatter and grumbling began to rise up among them. There was very little appreciation on their part for being pulled into a dawn session supervising and observing Eren’s titan form. The ride in the lift had been accompanied by Connie asking why they were all needed for this and Sasha asking when they were next going to eat. Jean had been dozing off against the side and had been thwacked awake by an irritated Levi while Hange had lectured them all on the importance of being part of Eren’s training together so they all understood where he was at with his progress.
There was a sadness to getting used to training without Historia among them but she was settling into her new role as Queen. There was a great deal of paperwork still to do and official business to observe before she would take an unsupervised role. But the young woman already had ideas for how things could be improved and she had the support of all the commanders of the military in her plans to do so.
Eren walked towards the edge of the wall, shielding his eyes from the rising sun. “Should I turn now?” he called back to Captain Levi and Hange who were disembarking from the lift. He half-turned towards them, one hand already balling into a fist.
“Not yet.” Hange called to him, folding their arms and rubbing their chin thoughtfully.
“Hold your horses, Eren.” Levi added.
Eren stiffened but then nodded. “Yes, Squad Leader, Captain.”
“We should wait until we see our first titan.” Hange told the teenager. “There’s no sense in having you wandering around in titan form with nothing to do.”
Levi stepped away from Hange and began to walk among his new squad. “However that doesn’t mean you can all just stand around, doing nothing. Patrol this area and keep an eye out for titan movement. Report back when you see one.” He then fixed his gaze on Eren. “Don’t turn until Hange or I tell you.”
“Sir.” Eren answered loudly enough but Levi could hear the unease that had been sitting in his voice since his capture by Rod Reiss. While Eren’s ego had been in need of a little humbling and calming down, what had happened down there had all but completely demoralized him until they#d heard Shadis’ story. That, at least, seemed to have given the boy some peace of mind. Levi took a small measure of comfort from that and chased that recognition away. It was just concern for his charge’s mental state. That was all. It would be easier all around if Eren wasn’t too emotionally imbalanced.
Levi observed as Armin placed a hand on Eren’s shoulder and led the scruffy haired boy away with him and Mikasa. At least his friends would keep an eye on him and keep him in line somewhat. That would make Levi’s job a lot easier. The fact that Mikasa was also an Ackerman played a significant role in his reassurance.
“He’s still not quite right. is he?” Hange asked as they joined Levi at the edge of the wall, their gaze falling on Eren as well. They let out a sigh that was too quiet for them but Levi heard it with his proximity. He watched their eyes soften sadly as they watched Eren. “I’d hoped that Shadis’ story would have helped him a bit more.”
“The kid’s not had much time to deal with any of this shit,” Levi grumbled. “Guess we should be glad he’s at least keeping some of his shit together.”
“Even so, I wonder how long that can last,” Hange’s tone was unusually hard. “If he falls apart when it comes to the Wall Maria mission-”
“I won’t let that happen, Hange.” Levi interrupted, his focus still on the retreating back of the boy in question. “I’ll have it out with him one way or the other.”
Hange’s face shifted into a smile. “My, that sounded almost paternal, Levi.”
“Did you forget that the brass put me in charge of the brat as part of our custody of him?” Levi retorted irritably. “Unlike some I take my job seriously.”
“Sure, that’s all it is, suuuuureeee,” Hange cackled quietly, ignoring his bait, and moved to take a better look at the horizon. They withdrew a small set of binoculars from their pocket and raised them to their eyes with a sad huff. “I hope some titans come along soon.” They spoke the wish with such reverence. “It’s a shame that we have to kill them. I miss my experiments,” they add. “Annie’s not around to ruin them this time.”
Levi turned and began to pace along the wall in short lengths. “You and your titan obsession can wait, Four-Eyes.”
“As it often has to,” Hange sighed dramatically and continued to watch the landscape for signs of titan movement. “Nothing,” they observed with an annoyed huff. “Not even a-” Suddenly they stopped talking, their shoulders squaring, their head leaning forward, mouth twisting in confusion.
“Spotted one of your pets?” Levi sneered.
Hange lowered their binoculars and then raised them again. “No,” they answered quietly. “I thought I saw but…” Their frown deepens. “No, there- there it is again. That’s got to be a trick of the light. It can’t be. That’s not- there’s no way…”
Levi began to advance on the Squad Leader. “There what is? For fuck’s sake, speak sense, Shitty Glasses.”
Hange lowered the binoculars again, looking sideways at Levi as he reached them. “Look over there.” They tell him as they hand the binoculars over. “Tell me you see her too,” they add, raising their arm to point in the specific direction.
“See who?” Levi took the binoculars, gave them a wipe with a handkerchief and put them to his eyes. Following Hange’s arm, he landed the binoculars focus on the spot they were pointing at. Levi’s own body went still with disbelief as he endeavoured to process what he was seeing.
Running along the worn down road that had been created by the Survey Corps over four years of expeditions was a soldier - by her uniform, a Scout - covered in grass and mud. Although her strides were quick, they were also clumsy and unsteady. Every so often the woman seemed to be on the verge of toppling over but managed to just about catch herself. Levi’s breath was stolen from him as her growing proximity gave him a better look at her, a better confirmation of just who he was looking at. The way the light set her ginger hair aflame, the way he could glimpse her rounded face whenever she lifted it to look at the Wall. How can she be here?
Petra
Something loosened in his chest, a feeling that Levi was completely unaccustomed to because fate had never given him anyone back before. Everyone who had disappeared on him had never come back except for Kenny and even then he wasn’t someone that Levi had wanted to come back. Yet here was Petra now and the strangeness of that reality took him out of his senses for a moment. Lightness sprung up and the corners of his mouth twitched up for a moment. That pain in his chest, the one he’d learned to live with ever since the conversation with her parents, ever since he’d filled out her death certificate, returned and then faded all at once, leaving him with a bizarre tingling feeling. Like he was stepping out of a dream.
He snapped back to reality, lowering his binoculars. “How can she be out there?” he asked Hange.
“Her body was never found.” Hange mused. “But even so, she’s been around titans for so long. How has she avoided them?” Already Levi could see the cogs turning behind Hange’s glasses. “This is unprecedented. No one has survived outside the Walls for this long.”
Levi handed them the binoculars. “We’re about to find out how, I guess.” He walked towards the edge of the Walls.
“TITAN!” Connie roared from the left just as a rumbling sound accompanied his words.
Levi’s hands were at his gear handles, his teeth gritted. “Shit.” His attention snapped back to Petra who was still running. Why hadn’t she engaged her gear yet? She was in range now. But instead she was headed straight for the blocked hole in the wall.
Sure enough, from the right, a titan came lumbering into focus, making a beeline for the human hurrying into its path. The creature had messy sandy hair and huge watery eyes, as if it was a harmless beast. Both its arms outstretched towards Petra as it ran towards her. Levi’s blood turned to ice inside him.
“EREN!” Levi shouted. “Engage that thing now!” He pointed towards the titan as he cried out. He leaped off the wall, sending his hooks into the stone as he descended to the ground sharply. He heard Eren give an answering cry as he plummeted. Seconds later, a golden light filled up the air and Eren’s titan roar followed after it.
The ground rumbled as both Levi and Eren landed. Levi spared one look towards Eren as he rushed at the titan which had stopped to watch the light of the transformation. It bought Eren time to reach it. The dark haired titan crashed into the pure titan and they both went sprawling across the ground.
Levi’s attention returned to Petra and his heart flew into his mouth. She lay flat on the floor, hand outstretched with drooping eyes, her body stilling before him. He began to sprint. His heart slammed in his ribcage, pumping a variety of emotions throughout his body: desperation, relief and frustration among them.
—————————————————————
The Wall was so close now, Petra could have laughed with joy if she had the energy. Instead, it was taking everything just to keep moving and not black out.
Her fingers grasped at the triggers of her gear but they kept sliding off them, her grip fading away almost instantly each time she tried to get a good hold of them. Concern rose up and quickly began to transform into panic with each failed attempt.
Why? She wanted to yell at her fingers. Why are you failing now?
She was almost at the Wall. She was close enough to engage, she was sure. The world was blurring a little now and her thoughts faded in and out of cohesion. Her fingers just grabbed clumsily at the triggers, sometimes missing and touching her cloak instead.
Come on. Come on.
Her fingers, also heavily dripping with sweat, just slid off the handles once again.
Petra gasped out a weak, broken sob as she stumbled forward.
Something pounded in the distance. Regular beats like giant footsteps. Petra turned her head sluggishly, horror slow to crawl on her face as comprehension crept in.
I’m dead. I failed. The realization hit Petra like the fall from a horse. It rattled through her and stole the breath from her lungs. She willed herself to change course or to stop but nothing happened. Her legs kept moving, kept carrying her forward but why, she didn’t know. What was the point? She wondered as she raced ahead. The titan’s path was about to cross hers and then it would be over.
A shout cut through the air but Petra’s brain was too panicked to make sense of it. However a familiar golden light filling the air behind the titan caught her eye.
Her legs finally caught onto the danger and stumbled, forcing her to slow to a stop. She tripped and hit the ground again with a thud, eyes still on the light.
The fall should have made her an easy meal but the titan had stopped too, diverted by the explosion of sound and light near it.
That would have been Petra’s cue to keep moving but all of her strength had abandoned her. She lay limply on the ground, struggling to even regulate her breathing, her eyelids drooping heavily as she watched her predator’s diversion. The aches in her bones and joints returned at once, overwhelming her with discomfort and pain, mingled with a rush of relief that she’d stopped moving at last.
I tried… she thought as she battled to stay awake.
She thought she heard other sounds against the ground. Perhaps more titans were coming from far away. She sighed into the grass. Guess it didn’t matter now.
She kept her eyes on the titan that was staring at the distraction. In a moment, a familiar-looking titan raced out of the light and charged her would-be killer, bringing them both to the floor with a crash that sent shockwaves rattling through her. She saw the long dark hair and the luminescent emerald eyes of the saviour titan.
Eren… so he’s okay.
Her eyes began to droop shut again and her hand, reaching out, lays flat on the floor, her body finally giving up.
“Petra!” A voice reaches her, deeper and more piercing than any she’d heard in the forest. A voice so distinctive, so heart-provoking, that it was enough to make her lids lift open as a blurry figure in green and brown appeared next to her. Her heart throbbed in aching recognition and her throat released a tiny cry as she tried to respond. She tilted her head so she could see up into the narrow eyes and dark bangs of a familiar face. The sunlight lent his pale complexion a cozy, warm glow.
She exhaled shakily. “Captain,” she breathed. At least I get to see him one more time. “Thanks for finding me,” she managed to rasp before her eyes fluttered shut. “I can’t… I’m sorry…” she breathed.
“Hey,” Levi shook her shoulder. “stay awake, Petra. I’m gonna get you out of here.”
“Can’t… can’t use my gear,” Petra murmured, her eyes still closed. In the background, she could hear Eren’s titan roaring and ripping his opponent apart. But that sound was growing steadily quieter as blackness crept in on the edge of her vision. “My hands won’t work.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Levi told her, giving her shoulder another squeeze. “I’ll take you.” His hands began to unfasten her blade boxes and he shoved them aside immediately. Petra groaned softly at the absence of their weight against her. “Just stay awake.”
“Mmm, can’t. Too tired, Captain.”
“You can sleep soon. Just keep talking to me,” he murmured, tucking her into a sitting position, leaning her side into his sturdy frame. “Put your arms around me,” he instructed, one hand rubbing her back as the other moved to hold her elbow.
Petra’s arms moved of their own accord, instinctively crawling up and around his neck.
There was a whoosh of cable movements and another finger dropped into Petra’s line of, admittedly blurry sight. Someone with dark hair.
“Tie her wrists together,” Levi said to the figure. “She won’t be able to hang on on her own.”
“Yes sir,” a young, female voice sounded. Petra thought she recognized the stoic tone of Eren’s friend Mikasa. Petra felt small, sturdy hands binding her wrists together behind Levi’s neck. “Do you want me to help carry her?”
“No, I can manage,” Levi’s tone was firm. “Keep an eye on Eren with Hange. Keep watch for any more titans.”
“Of course, sir. I can take some out if many come.”
“Don’t engage unless you have to. This is Eren’s training session, not ours.”
“Sir.”
“Take her blades back, if you can manage them,” Levi added.
Petra heard Mikasa grabbing at the boxes and examining the blades. “There’s only two left. I’ll take them.” Next came the sound of two metallic slides and the rush of cables being fired again.
Petra slumped against the captain’s chest with a small groan. Her eyes had well and truly closed now.
“Almost there, Petra.” Levi assured her before a couple of shouts from far above had him cursing. From behind them, some thundering footsteps sounded. Petra felt one of Levi’s hands on the back of her head while the other instantly covered one of her ears. “Eren! Incoming!” he shouted away from her.
An answering cry from the direction of Eren’s titan was quickly followed by rumbling footsteps.
Levi stood up, pulling Petra against him like a limp doll. She weakly cried out at the movement. Levi’s hands, now in fists around his triggers, pressed against her back to hold her steady. Petra’s face leaned into the warmth of his neck, her cheek on his shoulder. She was too tired to worry about how filthy she was making him right now.
In a second there was another whoosh of cables and they lifted off from the ground. Petra felt her stomach jolt uncomfortably as she and Levi rushed through the air.
“Urgh,” Petra mumbled against him.
The feeling lasted mere seconds as Levi landed them onto firm stone. The impact of it had Petra’s feet knock into the floor and her body sagged even more. Her linked wrists and Levi’s hands kept her from falling to the ground. Her eyes opened and she lifted her head in a daze.
“Let’s get her laid down,” Petra recognized Hange’s voice though it sounded garbled as though Petra was hearing it from beneath the surface of water.
Blurry green figures moved about her. Her wrists were unlinked and she felt Levi’s hands on her back, lowering her to the ground. She felt something soft beneath her and a slow smile crossed her face at the feel of it.
“Wanna sleep now,” she whispered.
“Not yet.” Levi was kneeling next to her. “Stay with us a bit longer. We’re going to get you to the hospital.” His words faded away to silence.
Petra could only smile at him as darkness clouded over her and consciousness was finally taken away.
genre/warnings: travel!au, roommate!au, bookstore owner!namjoon, strangers to lovers, ft platonic reader x taehyung, fluff, lots of angst regarding uncertain futures, namjoon has a cat named marie
word count: 16,451
summary: taehyung’s warning was simple: stop and you’ll never want to start again or the one where you’re left alone in a loft apartment above a bookstore owned by a man with the sweetest dimples you’ve ever seen.
a/n: my first fic in three months omg...i hope u enjoy it as much as i did writing it :-(
Tiny succulent leaves spiraled outward from a central lobe rooted somewhere in the limited space provided by it’s miniature clay home. The pot rattled with the dips of open road, contained mostly to the corner of the dash and the dusty van window yet a victim of the unforgiving lack of traction still attached to the tires that had carried you for miles up until this point.
One thousand, two hundred and thirty-one miles. And counting.
You tucked your knee into your chest, lounging so the seatbelt started to cut into your neck as your head lulled to the side, eyeing Taehyung’s profile.
“You’ve kept that one alive,” You commented absently.
A noise of surprise broke the hard line of Taehyung’s clenched jaw. He glanced at you, genuine innocence shining through his confusion. It mirrored in his blunt, “Huh?”
You nodded toward the bouncing plant, “If you think about it, killing aloe vera would be kind of ironic…”
“Oh,” Taehyung wrinkled his nose, adjusting his wrist where it laid languidly on the top of the steering wheel, “I think succulents are more my speed. Or at least, the speed of traveling. My daisies didn’t appreciate the darkness of the bedroom. The sunflowers protested the living room on day one.”
“At least if a succulent spills it doesn’t immediately shrivel up and disintegrate…”
By bedroom, Taehyung meant the front section of the shades of beige van he’d acquired in high school, the area with a barely functional bed nailed to the floor of the “trunk”, with windows covered by tattered pieces of flannel you’d hand sewn to resemble curtains. By living room, he meant the back half, where a tiny, rainbow rug sat in the center of splintered wood and a few fold out lawn chairs, matching flannel curtains from the bedroom drawn open to allow sunlight to push through the thin layer of grime gathered in each corner of the windows.
His daisies had spilled fresh potting soil into your clean pillow case, one you’d shaken free of debris by holding it out the open window of the van while Taehyung shrieked with laughter. His sunflowers wouldn’t even balance on the tiny lip between the window and the inside, ceramic pot tumbling through Taehyung’s clumsy fingers and shattering onto the rug. A glittering piece of the white pot still sat lodged between a space in the wooden floorboards.
You grunted in acknowledgement, unfurling your legs to heave yourself forward, snatching the tiny plant from its place on the dash. You turned it gently in your palm, “This would have been nice to have a few weeks ago.”
The tiny seaside town you’d rumbled into by accident of the lack of fuel in the van’s tank lead to three nights of camping in crab infested sands, gorgeous sunset photographs you’d clipped to the twine string zigzagging through the living room, and a horrible ripple of blisters sun stained into Taehyung’s shoulder blades.
He gestured to the scarf you’d prematurely yanked from your luggage shoved into a compartment on the bottom of the vehicle, knee directing the steering wheel as he balled the fleece and tossed it at you. “Good thing it’s almost winter. Put my aloe down.”
You unfolded the pleats of the scarf once you settled the pot back against the windshield, curling it around your arms to settle back into the seat. Your eyes drifted to the scenery beyond the plant, coming first in the fashion of a neon highway sign advertising the next town. You glanced at the tiny red tick on the fuel tank meter.
“Are we stopping tonight?”
Taehyung’s gaze met the places yours rested on. He sighed, palm pressing into the steering wheel first until his fingers gradually curled around the leather. “At least to get gas and dinner, yes. Look and see if there’s any hotels around, please? And then maybe how far we are from our next stop? I don’t want to hang around too long and miss the harvest festival…”
The tiny tag clipped on the digital map of your phone showed a tiny motel with a singular Yelp review from someone named Min Yoongi within walking distance of the gas station Taehyung had turned into. Your legs crossed where you sat on the edge of the blow up mattress in the bedroom, eyes squinted as you twirled around the general vicinity of the tiny town with the tip of your index finger.
“Status update, copilot,” The van rocked as Taehyung took a running jump into the open back, momentum causing him to crouch in the center of the living room. Your mouth parted to respond in time with a tinkling crash to your left.
“There’s a motel across the street,” You uttered in an unimpressed monotone, locating the source of the crash as three similar aloe plants to the one on the dash tumbling off your tiny bookshelf to the rug below. Three sad aloe plants a mess between the sprinkle of potting soil in between grains of rainbow.
A sheepish look crossed the geometric edges of Taehyung’s smile. “I’ll clean it up,” His cupped palm swept over some of the more elevated piles of soil as if to prove his point, “Will you go see if they have anything available?”
“Got it, boss,” You stood, crouched still due to the proximity of the top of the van to your head, and began to edge your way outside.
Your hesitation came near the very bookshelf, the sign of the crime, sole of your shoe squashing into the center of the limited pile Taehyung had created by scraping his hands across the rippled weaving of the rug. You stayed crouched at the waist, fingers thumbing through the titles, titles a cumulative collection from your own personal belongings and the various shops you’d stowed away in the growing months of your journey. Their dusted and rough covers slowly transitioned into the item you were looking for, a slick yellow folder bursting at the pockets with the mixture of paper clipped, stapled, typed, and handwritten papers curled within. You squeezed it’s outer edge, thumb feeling into the tiny rip that was begging to form on the spine of the folder.
“I can’t clean if you don’t move,” Taehyung’s hand wrapped around your ankle, startling you to do a hop step into reality.
The imprint of the ripped folded scratched at the crease in your thumb where you rubbed your palms together, quick strides weaving you down a deserted sidewalk to cross a deserted street where a three story, house shaped structure sat. Your palm flexed into the ends of your scarf still dangling from around your neck, tucking it tighter to you to avoid the stream of words that began to ink across the forefront of your subconscious from the simple touch to the folder.
The interior of a structure whose exterior gave off the impression of outdated was instead rather modern, like stepping out of a deserted movie from the eighties to step into a fifties diner in the twenty-first century. Sleek tile in patterned squares wrapped around a black, raising desk, one that had a tiny stack of business cards and a credit card reader clipped to either side. A man was hunched over a laptop placed on what appeared to be a second level to the desk, it’s lid plastered in various hand drawn stickers peaking over the countertop as fingers continued to audibly hack away at a keyboard.
His black curls bounced when the screen door clattering shut behind you, wide eyes either perpetually surprised or simply shocked at the presence of a person in the otherwise desolate area. You assumed it was a little bit of both once his shoulders relaxed into the black polo hugging his toned upper body but the circular innocence to his eyes remained.
“Hi!” He chirped as you squinted at the gold plated name tag strapped on one side of his shirt. Jeongguk. “...how can I help you?”
“Do you have any rooms available?”
The surprise traveled into the rise of Jeongguk’s eyebrows into his shaggy fringe. It was short lived this time, though, movements instead turning frantic as he lifted the sticker covered laptop to the top layer of the desk, resuming his furious hacking with his tongue poked between his cheeks so that a dimple appeared to the side of his lips.
“I do,” He said after a moment, glancing up at you as his fingers continued to work, “Plenty, actually. Just trying to, uhm…”
“There!” Jeongguk cheered finally, voice an octave louder than before and there was a twinkle in his crinkling eyes as he directed his full attention to you, “How many nights and how many beds?”
“One and two,” You rested your forearm to the counter, thumbing one of the business cards out of its plastic tray. A fond smile curled onto your lips when you noticed the tiny logo was the same doodled design gracing a sticker pasted to the center of his laptop lid. GCF Motel and Design. “Please…”
“Of course, absolutely. Coming right up…” His index finger tapped hard at the touch pad a few times before a different color illuminated the stars in his eyes. He blinked, nodding once to himself before he cupped the credit card reader and dragged it toward you. “It’ll just be fifty for the night. Card reader is here—it works, I promise—or I can take cash. And make change for you, if...you know.”
“I have a card,” You said gently, plucking the plastic from the tiny holder stuck to your phone case. The chip reader clicked to life after a few passing seconds of your card sitting idle in the slot, taking longer in its processing that left you in a silence with the bouncing man across from you.
“Have you been busy lately? There’s that harvest festival a few miles from here this weekend, so I wasn’t sure…”
“No. No, uhm,” Jeongguk glanced at you under the shadow of his bangs, “You’re actually my first guest in two weeks.”
“Oh.” Two tiny electronic beeps signaled you to take your card but you were still delayed in doing so. You smiled warmly at the man across from you instead, “Well, then I’m happy we stopped here.”
“We means you’d like two room keys, right?” The tiniest of red dusted the apples of his cheeks, gaze cutting away to the level of the desk you couldn’t see.
“Please. Tae should be here any minute—”
The screen door clattered harshly when your tall best friend tripped through the threshold, loud in his, “I got the living room clean!” while Jeongguk’s perplexity amplified ten fold.
“Uhm, here’s your room keys. It’s on the third floor. Stairs and elevator are behind the desk,” Jeongguk passed over two green cards, holding them separately to each of you. You accepted yours with a gentle smile, Taehyung with a sleepier confusion that almost mirrored Jeongguk’s. His movements grew jerky again as he rustled behind the counter, presenting two sheets of paper in your direction now. “...and here’s a sheet of stickers. They’re mine. I hand draw them and sell them...I have my own website, it’s listed on the logo sticker in the center.”
You fondly assessed the page as you drew it closer to your nose, eyeing the etched star shape and the shaded in hues of a tiger flower. “Thank you, Jeongguk,” You said gently, holding the stickers to your chest.
“Of course!” He chirped while Taehyung continued to squint between the room key and the sticker page. “I hope you enjoy your stay...don’t hesitate to come find me if you need anything. My room is the only one on this floor if I’m not here at the desk.”
You were gentle in turning the door knob to a close while Taehyung flopped dramatically onto the nearest bed corner, still clutching his sticker sheet that he stretched above his face.
“Motto out the window tonight?”
Taehyung hummed, twisting the sheet to the right and then to the left, “For one night only—” He blinked to the side of the paper at you, “—did you look at these?
The motto hadn’t applied for three nights of your travels, the sleepy town with the sticker making motel owner included, the motto Taehyung’s sentiment that if your head ever touched a real pillow again, you’d want to cease your travels. A just keep going, arbitrary reason for continuing to blow through your college savings to travel the country. The first night had been in a storm when it was simply too dangerous to board up in the back of the van. The second night had been after Taehyung had contracted a cold from sneaking into a resort pool in a downtown tourist center. The third seemed to have no other motive than genuine exhaustion. You blamed the third potted plant spill of the month.
Mention of the motto made your mind drift to your travels as a general cloud of thought, one that generally evaporated into the back of your conscious so that you were able to focus on the paper map Taehyung had shoved into your grip from the last rest stop or the delayed play by play instructions on your phone due to the limited signal or simply forgotten due to your laughter at whatever ridiculous song Taehyung had decided to blast over your carefully wired auxiliary cord.
Just like you ignored your dwindling funds in the debit card you’d just mindlessly shoved into the barely functioning card reader, ones that funded the purpose of the sparkly eyed boy perched on a plastic stool in the lobby. Your purpose remained nothing but the ghost feeling of the rip in your yellow folder still digging into the crease of your thumb.
“You should order some from him. It’d make his week,” You said gently.
Taehyung laughed, “I don’t think he delivers to a traveling address, kid.”
You tried to manage the panic in your voice.
“Tae.”
He didn’t answer, just a grunt from outside the van where he was currently pumping air into the front driver’s side tire. Panic could only manage itself for that one call. You tried again, louder and with a slap of your hand against the nearest open door.
“Taehyung.”
The van rocked again and he answered verbally this time, agitated. A peek of one half of his face became visible, “What?”
“Where’s my folder?”
Taehyung blanched, full features coming into view, “What?”
Your hand did a dramatic sweep across the bookcase, collecting your tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice in your wake to let it drop unceremoniously to the floor. “Where is my folder?” Another book, a title you didn’t recognize but a cover you connected with the flea market Taehyung had insisted on visiting near the beach, dropped to the floor from your grip. “It’s not in its spot any longer.”
“I had to take everything off the shelf to get all the soil up,” One foot made it inside the van as your stack of discarded books continued to grow. “I swear I put it right back but it may have fallen—”
“Fallen out? Of the van?” Two more books plopping audibly to the pile. You thought about Jeongguk and his stickers and what would happen if someone threw out all his sketches. His sense of purpose suddenly gone due to someone’s recklessness.
“—behind something,” Taehyung finished, nudging you aside to retch the shelf away from where it was bolted to the wall. It only came a fraction of the way, barely enough for Taehyung to lodge his fingertips down it and effectively rule out any possibility of your folder being there. Instead, every book still clinging to the shelf flopped sadly to the floor.
The miles you’d traveled up until that point seemed to rush by in your peripheral, every open stretch of rolling road, the glittering nightscape of lively cities, the blackness of the sea current swallowing up ruts in the shore, the decades old gas stations that drained your cash from your wallets into the tank to the freshly renovated rest stops that had patterns pressed into the concrete intentionally and not just because a local raccoon decided to test his luck with some half dry concrete. It propelled you back into the moment, thousands of miles ago, where you’d stood in the same spot in Taehyung’s parents driveway with a cardboard box at your feet filled with things still labeled from when you’d moved out of your college apartment.
“Why did you keep this?” Taehyung had teased with a wrinkled nose, handing over your tattered textbook from your world literature class freshman year, the second volume in a group of three you’d paid a month's rent for. Highlighter bled into the outer edge, marking the thin off white pages appeared a mirage of rainbow that contrasted a shade more neon than the rug you’d stretched out below your feet.
“I paid for it,” You defended, settling the paper back between one side of the shelf and a heavy, dolphin shaped paperweight that you’d stuck felt on the bottom of to keep in place on the road. “Besides, it has full, translated classics in here.”
Taehyung pretended to understand the fascination of literature that came with your education with a raise of one eyebrow and a single, gentle nod that shifted his gaze back to the remaining contents in the box. He ruffled for a second before retrieving one of the items draped on the bottom.
“Okay—” He stretched your manuscript folder up in two hands so as to not let the contents on the inside spill out the sides. “—explain why you keep this.”
You snatched it from him, holding the yellow protectively to your chest. It looked a bit comical, the whole situation, you hovering over the disorganized stack of papers that you’d written off, figuratively, of course, chin resting on top of the folder as you stared hard at the worn spine of the text book you’d just placed to the shelf.
“If anything…” You moved slowly with the folder in hand, stretching it toward the felt dolphin and textbook. One hand clutched it while the other brushed aside things to make room for it, tight palm effectively dragging the weeping edges of the folder apart so a tiny rip formed in the yellow near the top of the makeshift spine. Gradual movements turned frantic as you shoved it onto the shelf, pushing the dolphin to hold it in place as your thumb remained on the newfound rip.
“...I paid a lot of money for the printer and pen ink it took to write all of that. It’s like keeping a twenty dollar bar of gold that can never be converted into usable currency.”
The dolphin was the only thing remaining on the shelf, staring at you while you stared at Taehyung, blank, not moving. Somewhere, up on the dash, the unharmed succulent rattled with the gust of wind that curled against the outside of the van.
“We’ll find it, it couldn’t have gone too far. There isn’t much space to search anyway—”
“Why did you touch it in the first place?” Your sharp cut in didn’t register in your mind as unreasonable, not at first. Instead, your mind drifted to all the times in which he’d be apprehensive of your unwillingness to throw away the folder, to, as he put it, simply transfer all the handwritten files into digital versions to zip away with the ones that were already locked in a cloud somewhere, all the times you’d caught him staring, perplexed as you pulled out the folder and flipped it open to make sure none of the pages had shifted order. “You know how much it means to me.”
“This would be different if I was intentionally trying to sabotage something of yours. I moved it to clean. It has to be somewhere in this general vicinity,” Taehyung held his hands palm up to you. Penance. Until he ruined it with a sighed, “Besides...don’t you think it’s time we throw it out anyway. I don’t think a constant reminder of rejection is—”
“Go on with your trip,” You said suddenly.
He paled in front of you, knuckles and all where they grew tighter on the edge of the unhinged bookcase. “Our trip…” He corrected, drawing out the silence at the end as punctuation.
“Your trip,” You shoved yourself off the floor, stepping past him to hurdle to the cracked concrete outside. “Help me get my luggage.”
Taehyung spluttered, lips foaming like a puffer fish out of water, eyes narrowing like you’d just grown a third hand from the tip of your nose. “Dove, we’ll find your folder. We can keep it up front so it never gets lost again. I wasn’t trying to insult your situation, I just care about you and—”
“Tae,” You said his name gently, the calmest you’d managed to spit it out in the entire ordeal, calm like the ghost of a smile that dimpled into your cheeks, “It’s not about the folder.”
“Go on. Go to the harvest festival. Hit the next few cities. I’ll be fine here.”
His eyes bulged now, “You expect me to leave you here? There’s nothing here and I’m no stranger to how our funds have been dwindling.”
“There’s a motel. And a cafe somewhere according to the map. I’ll find a job. Maybe I can rake someone’s leaves when the seasons start to change,” You smiled, “I’ll figure something out.”
“And when I come back? Will you want to go with me?” A bit more forceful, Taehyung set his eyebrows and added, “I will be coming back for you.”
You shrugged, opting for simple, “I don’t know.”
The tension sagged from Taehyung’s person, all the confusion and frustration and bubbling anger, returning him to the default of your best friend complete with a tiny half smile. A loaded inquiry in the way he tilted his cheek into his curled fist.
“Why, dove?”
“The motto,” You stretched out a hand toward him, “I quite liked the bed in the motel.”
“...so I think I’m going to stay around a little longer,” You finished your, shortened albeit, story to the pouty lipped cafe worker, offering a tentative smile.
The man who’d introduced himself as Yoongi and the owner of the tiny building, removed a hand from where it had been perched on his hip, gently plucking the wad of bills you offered to him. The register opened with what would have been a small puff of dust if the space around it weren’t so meticulously clean, the sleek black counter top and the checkered floor free of any imperfections. Yoongi had swept away the little particles of gravel you’d tracked in after he’d handed over your carefully crafted club sandwich.
“So, are you planning on staying at Jeongguk’s place?”
You blinked, a useless piece of collected information about the town in your short twenty-four hours there slipping out. “Are you the Min Yoongi who left a review on his motel?”
A charming smile crossed over the man’s gums, shoulders bouncing silently as he began to pool your change in his cupped palm for you. You took his nonverbal answer, leaning closer on your elbows, “Is Min Holly some of your relation? They left a review, too…”
Yoongi’s nose wrinkled when he laughed a second time, plopping your change down in a small tin next to the register when you motioned him to keep it. “...something like that.”
“It’s a fine place to stay, by the way. Just a dumb joke we have going,” He fished behind the counter for a rag, rubbing it over the places in the counter that had been touched. Dark eyes assessed you playfully from under white fringe, “There’s a review hidden in ours that says we make grilled cheese sandwiches without cheese.”
“Are you...in need of any help making those bread sandwiches?” You panicked when one of his eyebrows disappeared into bangs and a snort racked his shoulders, “Sorry, that was really forward. I just...my travel funds have been running low regardless of me stopping here. I really need a way to make money during my stay.”
“I don’t think Seokjin would appreciate having to split his already limited tips,” Yoongi continued to wipe at the counter, shuffling down the row of bar stools you sat at and back up.
“...you said you have a background with literature, right?” You nodded. “You could check with Namjoon and see if he has any odd jobs for you. He owns the bookstore on the next block over…”
“If anything, he could have you paint the outside,” He meticulously began to fold the rag, shaking his head, “The place looks like it just time traveled from the eighteenth century.”
Yoongi wasn’t wrong. All the buildings in the town seemed to be situated in a similar fashion, curled into strips of three or four businesses about three or four blocks long yet, it appeared that the majority of the buildings were abandoned or at the very least, not functioning businesses any longer. You pinpointed the specific building you were in search of on instinct that the one centered in the middle of a strip of buildings that appeared completely out of place had to be the one Yoongi teased about the exterior. Chipped cream and dark brown lined the paneled walls and thick frames around doors and windows, two stories of windows coated in a visible layer of dust and webs on the corners. As you strolled closer, you could make out the beige pink hue of plastic letters pasted onto the inside of the left display window, Monie’s, with a looping cursive font displaying a phone number and a website. Propped up in the thin stream of dust and crumpled window stickers was a sign, black coated in specks of brown with neon orange advertising help wanted.
You wrapped your fingers around the door, pulling it open to step inside.
The first thing you registered was the temperature difference, winter chill just starting to nip into the air outside but the bookstore was coated in something that somehow bordered the favorable side of cozy and unbearable. Minimal lighting added to that ambiance, bulbs caged in thick metal where they were screwed in planned intervals above the bookshelves. Plants littered the empty spaces in between already crowded furniture, bonsai trees to be exact, curling in their awkward shapes out of hand painted pots. Any decorations that maybe could have been placed on walls occupied by floating bookshelves instead littered the displays in each of the front windows, a massive plastic snowman, fake holiday grass plopped on top of fake winter snow, a myriad of specialty figurines ranging in sizes and shapes and colors all centered around a wooden table that appeared as though it had been made directly from a fresh stump. Perhaps, judging by everything else, it had.
The books were another thing, appearing more like library shelves than those you would see in chain bookstores or in the aisles at various department stores. Titles varied in size, in their positions in how they laid against each other. In fact, there seemed to be no reason to the way they were organized, obscure children’s books tucked in between used biographies of a fourteenth century royal and three new copies of the first book in the latest dystopian young adult series.
You turned down the last aisle, one that seemed to harbor anything from an entire encyclopedia set to preschool board books, to find a steep staircase at the end of the shelf. The dark wood matched that of the outside of the building, leading upward into a shadow until you could no longer see where it went. Careful footsteps carried you across creaking wood covered in various colors of woven rugs, testing a hand onto the rail of the staircase. One foot on the first stair and it creaked worse that the floor, the second a wail just as bad.
Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the tiger striped cat that bounded down the stairs past you.
You yelped, clinging to the staircase as your knees gave out in your brief moment of panic and had you sinking to a crouch. A deep swallow into you cradling the posts between the stair railing and you managed to get your heart rate to calm by pressing the blunt end of your palm against your chest.
A voice acted like the pull start of a generic lawn mower, kicking the roar of blood in your ears back to life.
“Where are you going?”
It was spoken kindly, a genuine inquiry in which the tone matched the man who stood within the row of books. Namjoon, your conscious presumed. He was tall, a long navy coat fluttering against his khaki jogger covered ankles. A deep maroon t-shirt showed off the glitter of a pendant necklace dangling between the defined planes of his chest where the terror of a cat was now cradled. Thick rimmed glasses rested on the very tip of his nose, deep set brown eyes magnifying when he nudged the frames up with the tips of his index and middle fingers. A gentle smile indented permanently into his mouth, showing off dimples that became deeper set the more his laughter grew at your prolonged silence.
“Oh, sorry I...I was just—”
“Unfortunately, my business is not enough to harbor a second floor,” His nose wrinkled with his smile as he dropped his gaze enough to place the cat onto the floor before effectively shoving bracelet covered wrists into his pockets, “Can I help you with something else?”
“I’m looking for a job,” You blurted, still standing firmly on the second stair while the cat, calmer this time, scurried past you once more. It creaked again with the two movements, the cat and the nervous shift of yours, and you allowed yourself to wince this time.
The man tilted his head, dark brown locks sticking behind the glass and frames. “And why would you come here in search of that?”
“Yoongi sent me,” You blinked, “Uh, Min Yoongi. The guy that owns that cafe up the street? I’m going to be staying in town for a little while and I’m in need of something...I have a literature background, if that makes my case any more compelling. At the very least I could reorganize your shelves or something—”
“My shelves stay as they are,” He cut in absently, waving a hand. Go on.
“—besides,” Your finger pointed dumbly toward the window display behind him, “You have a help wanted sign in your window.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the trajectory of your finger, shaking his head, “No...I don’t think I do.”
You clambered off the staircase, pointed in brushing past the tall man to stalk determinedly for the opposite window display. The sign stuck to the window in some sort of build of debris that you didn’t particularly care to question but instead made it hard for you to pull up when you were straddling a tiny train set and a mountain of fake snow in an attempt not to harm any of his decorations. It came in a cloud of dust, coating your fingers and glittering in the baths of afternoon sun that cut through the window.
You found that he’d trailed after you, close enough that when you stumbled out of your awkward stretch position you could press the sign just spaces from his chest.
“See.”
He took it from you, that trace of a smile still prominent as he squinted at the object in his grasp. His sleeve curled over his fingers, gradual in clearing away the grime build up over the printed words.
“Oh,” He simply, “I suppose I do.”
More than the confined heat of the sun through the windows warmed your body from his gentle carmel stare, something that curled your toes into your shoes as your hand had the opposite reaction in jutting out towards him. Quietly, you offered your name.
“Namjoon,” He settled his free hand in yours, giving it a firm shake without pulling away. Instead he tilted his head, “What’s your story?”
You tilted your head in the opposite direction, “Is this my interview?”
His smile grew warmer when his teeth appeared under his lips, “And if it is?”
“I’ve been traveling with my best friend for the past few months. We started after our university graduation and didn’t look back,” A halfhearted laugh followed the slip of your hand out of his, “Truthfully—” kind of, “—I was starting to run out of money. Your town seemed to be about my speed,” You set your shoulders, “...so I told Taehyung to leave me here. Now I’m in your store asking for a job.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The motel, Jeongguk’s right?” You brushed your foot into the floor, “He told me I didn’t have to pay for anything until I left, or at least built up enough to afford his rates, but—”
“That won’t do,” Namjoon dismissed. Curtly, he turned, stalking off between the shelves with the sign tucked to his chest.
You were sure you looked like a personified exclamation mark wrapped around a question mark but you allowed yourself to stumble after him anyway, trailing him between the awkward route of shelves you’d yet to explore in your short venture through the store. Finally, you arrived at a small desk, one with a clear glass top with flyers and charts and business cards lodged underneath it. A register, the most modern item of the entire store, took up most of the desk space, placed directly next to an illuminated desktop computer that displayed a background of a light blue koala character etched out in a vaguely familiar art style. You noticed the cat from earlier had wandered back into view, now perched on a red leather stool that was placed behind the counter and let out a particularly discontented mrow! when Namjoon shooed it aside to take a seat.
Ring clad fingers began to clack away at an outdated keyboard for the modern monitor, features scrunched at the center. Namjoon’s glasses slipped down the length of his nose, this time purposely, as he leaned closer to the screen, mouth parted as eyes darted over the contents. His entire expression shifted when he leaned away, soft smile returning as he gestured for you to join him on the opposite side of the counter.
“Have you ever worked with any type of cataloging software?”
You blinked at the foreign objects on the screen, a whirlwind of passwords and edit options, and ISBN numbers that you didn’t understand other than how to finesse the cheapest textbooks when you were still in university. His whirlwind explanation that hadn’t allowed you any time to answer the initial question ended with a single syllable laugh.
“I’ll help you,” Namjoon promised, spinning on the stool to face you. His gangly legs crossed, elbow meeting the thickest part of his thigh as he cheek settled into his palm. “And dusting? How are you with a rag?”
A smile broke out of your tense uncertainty, “That I can definitely do.”
He hummed, drumming his fingers against his cheek, “I think I can find plenty for you to help me with here, if you’d like. I can’t promise much pay.”
“But no staying with Guk. You can stay here as part of your payment.”
You subconsciously glanced outward around the store, to the crowded shelving and potted plants and lopsided books, as if maybe a bed would manifest somewhere that you hadn’t seen it before. To that, Namjoon laughed, louder and so that his face scrunched up around his eyes.
“I live in the apartment above the store. That’s where the staircase leads. I have an extra bedroom…”
“But that’s only if you’d like,” He rushed suddenly, voice growing an octave as his hands flailed, “I know we just met so if you’re not comfortable living with me, you can absolutely continue to stay at the motel. I just thought it might be easier on you financially and travel wise if you were already here, you know. The bedrooms are on opposite ends of the apartment. There’s two bathrooms, too—”
“Thank you, Namjoon,” You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, waiting until he relaxed under your touch, “That sounds like a wonderful idea. I accept your offer, if you don’t mind having me, of course.”
He started to shake his head only to be interrupted by a strangled meow from below your feet. You watched as the cat curled in between your legs, butting into your shin while an audible purr rumbled into its next meow.
“You’ll have to bargain with her for use of the bedroom, actually. It’s unofficially hers at the moment,” The tiny cat continued to nuzzle into your jeans, tail curling happily each time she threw her body weight into you, “It seems like you’ve passed the Marie test.”
You crouched, allowing her to inspect the curl of your fingers before she happily began to settle her chin into the crevices of your palm, rubbing back and forth until you began to flex your fingers in her fur.
“Miss Marie, can we be roommates for a little while?”
She mewled in response, bypassing your hand to jump into the open space on your thighs. You adjusted her in your arms instead, stretching back to a standing position to smile at Namjoon.
“First task complete.”
Namjoon cocked an eyebrow, “Which was…?”
“Befriend the cat that ratted me out,” You grinned, bouncing her a bit in your arms, “What’s next, boss?”
“Why don’t you two start by cleaning out those window displays while I go to retrieve your things from Jeongguk,” He slipped his glasses off between the pinch of his fingers, allowing them to twirl back and forth for a moment, “Who knows what other hidden treasures are in there.”
You found your things stacked in a neat pyramid on a bed. Your bed. You clutched the ‘treasures’ you’d uncovered in the window displays a bit tighter to your chest.
It was a modest room, full size mattress squeezed into a vast majority of the room, leaving just enough room for a dresser and closet doors that folded open to one side. Your things looked massive in the center of the bed, particularly with how they’d been stacked in awkward, Jenga like angles. You frowned until you found a slip of paper dangling off the very top piece of your luggage. You cradled Namjoon’s things, a curly haired teddy bear and a miniature pair of leather shoes, into one arm to pluck the note.
It was another sheet of stickers, different from the first, with a handwritten note in swirling purple marker scrawled to the blank side.
Come back and visit me! Or maybe I’ll come into the store more now...Here’s some of my newest designs as thanks :)
“Jeongguk insisted I bring you those.” You crinkled the edge of the paper in hand, startled by the soft voice. It was Namjoon, now without his long coat, arms folded across his chest where he leaned against the doorframe. He nodded toward the other contents in your grasp, “What are those?”
“Oh!” You passed aside the paper to grip the bear and shoes in separate hands, stretching the items toward him. “Just some things I found hidden in the displays…”
He pushed himself up off the door, pulling the bear into his grasp first. Long fingers tucked into the wirey fur of the toy, scratching gently as a fond smile slowly worked upwards into his cheeks. Crinkles formed underneath his eyes as he pressed the bear underneath his arm, cradling the two tiny shoes next, raising them up above eye level for inspection.
“You’re right, I forgot about these,” Namjoon passed the shoes into one palm, closing his fingers to hold them at the center of his chest. “Thank you for doing that, by the way. It looks wonderful.”
You returned his grateful smile, unsure of how to accept a thanks for a task assigned to you as an employee. It was the first time since the morning that you’d allowed yourself to think of the yellow folder, one that symbolized the exact opposite of the gracious, polite expressions Namjoon had yet to fail to provide.
It’d been less than twelve hours, but you had no reason to assume he would offer anything otherwise. A less than conventional situation with a less than conventional job offer with a less than conventional boss with less than conventional job benefits.
His mouth fished once, twice, gawking at the shoes in his hand before his gaze settled back on you. Lips pressed together, head tilting.
“...would you like some tea?”
The disarray, library aura the maze of shelves in the store provided came as a result of the equally disorienting ordering process from Namjoon, so you learned. He avoided section titles, author groupings, or series shelving. Instead, there was some mental list of steps all based around bogus marketing techniques that accounted for the haphazard strew of books to the point where you weren’t quite sure he had meaning to it anymore and was simply doing it to stay to some imaginary regiment he’d convinced himself of.
Best selling young adult dystopian novels were on the far shelf, the one closest to the desk, and hidden behind the busy leaves of a bonsai in the back left corner. There were three copies of the first and second books but only two of the third book. Children’s books were placed backwards on the shelves, spines facing inwards, the shapes giving them away. Biographies were always placed on the third shelf from the bottom, eye level.
No romance made the cut to “easy on the eye” locations.
“I’d be replacing them every day,” Namjoon explained as he gave you the third tour of the store with a third set of instructions for shelving. You weren’t sure how to politely tell him that he wasn’t in the position to assume he had that much patronage daily.
In the end, he’d left you isolated to cataloging month old shipments, boxes piled high with novels at the top of outdated best seller lists scattered in between obscure titles of obscure genres with obscure authors that you often found yourself squinting at in wonder with their unfinished tab open on the blinking monitor in front of you. Cataloging meant updating the system first so that when your second customer of the eight hour day came in, you could properly run their crossword puzzle booklet or copy of the town newspaper through the bar code scanner without having to employ the help of the tiny red calculator hidden within the contents of the desk.
Eventually, you convinced Namjoon to let you update the website too, starting with the boxes you still had left to do and moving onto those things already existing on the shelves when a customer appeared for something new on the shelf simply because they had seen it online. Namjoon had eyed the customer like they were leaving with a third arm rather than a newly acquired how-to manual on toothpick crafts and promptly requested you do whatever that was.
Your reorganization of the window displays had done a number in themselves, cleaning away the cobwebs to make the neatly arranged scenery, now free of any cheap decorative foliage or precipitation, visible from the sidewalk. Three different individuals had appeared with comments about such, one in question of if the newly cleaned window decals had always been there, one asking if that was the current working phone number, and the third asking if the store was under new management due to the “new changes”.
Aside from updating the website and reorganizing his conglomeration of acquired decorations, you couldn’t get Namjoon to budge on anything else.
Especially not ordering some more romance novels. The best sellers in your short time as an employee. The genre tab you were constantly updating on the website.
You tried to mention it casually over a cup of tea one evening, your feet propped up on a wooden coffee table similar to the one you’d placed fresh flowers on in the shop.
“Okay, former literature student,” Namjoon swung his feet off where they had been resting across from yours. The patchwork red recliner he sat in creaked as he leaned forward, white mug cupped in two hands with the rim resting on his smiling bottom lip, “...and I can’t believe I didn’t ask you this already. What are some of your favorite authors? Go.”
You hesitated. Of all the classics, the literature tailored for a specific class genre, the novels you’d exhausted class discussion after thesis on, you’d still honestly answer that easy to read, cliche romance were your favorite, especially when written by a select few authors you’d claimed to some sort of unspoken circle you trusted.
There were things to learn in even the cheesiest of cliches, in generally the most ideal situations that were few and far between the reality you’d seen, love could and would prevail. Love was the start, the middle, and the end to the spines of worn romance novels, ones often criticized for having the same plot hidden under ten different covers plastered in warm pastels and photographs of flowers draping over bicycles and down the sides of beach side houses.
But just because it’s ideal and not realistic doesn’t mean it shouldn’t exist in what you strive for. At least, that’s what you stood by, particularly when your pencil or your fingers moved to creatively express that very mantra in the plot of your own romance story lines. They were romance at the surface, or at least hidden underneath the flaps of your tattered and lost yellow folder.
The tear itched at the bend of your thumb and you rubbed it as you squinted at Namjoon, pretending to be in thought. “That’s a hard question.”
“Is it?”
He’d garnered enough information about you in the last weeks to understand you were well versed, at least enough to recognize, to understand, and to adapt. Lying could work but would be virtually useless in the face of your almost stranger roommate. The laymen’s, internet speak resting in the deepest recess of your conscious cooed to you quietly.
It’s not that deep just tell him you enjoy the occasional Nicholas Sparks novel.
Instead, the cursed part of your conscious blurted, “Have you ever read Twilight?”
Namjoon didn’t laugh at you but with you. “I have, actually…” His lips puckered to take in enough tea to coat is tongue, another gentle laugh shaking his shoulders, “Is this your way of saying Stephanie Meyers is your favorite author?”
“No! No, I mean...not necessarily,” You shrugged, “I enjoy the occasional cliche. Even in the easiest cliches there can be a lesson to be learned. Just with some padding. Like bumpers on a bowling lane, you know. You still make it to the pins just with some extra help.”
“Right,” He lounged again, taking the natural rock of the recliner with him before releasing his foot so it swayed his relaxed stature, “That makes sense.”
“The artistic value isn’t lost simply because it’s popular or it’s based on something popular, you know,” You glanced behind his head, to one of the various artwork pieces he had nailed throughout the apartment. This one was a canvas coated in navy birds, ones that grew sloppier in shape the smaller they grew towards one corner. “It wouldn’t be popular otherwise…”
“I don’t disagree,” Namjoon narrowed his eyes but they crinkled on the edges, “I also wouldn’t fire you if you told me the Twilight franchise was the peak of literary and cinematic history. I just would...respectfully disagree.”
“Would you fire me if I told you I write romance?”
“Is it about vampires that sparkle?”
“No.”
“Then no,” He grinned this time, “If you can’t answer your favorite author question then who inspires you when you write? Most art is modeled after that of which we’ve already consumed so I can’t imagine you’re any different.”
No thought of the yellow folder burned through the itch on your thumb as you rattled off your extensive list of ever evolving authors, ones you adored in middle school then reread in college to find new light (or some glaring darkness you missed in the naivety of your uneducated youth. See: the glitz and glamour of The Great Gatsby) within, those young adult novels of dystopian future in which you’d always wanted to teach your own university course on all the way down to the grossest cliches that had you and Namjoon wrinkling your noses.
“They’re still wonderful,” You bargained, “In every sense of the word. Wonderfully awesome, wonderfully terrible. Refreshing to read, refreshing to pick out eyebrow raising and quite frankly glaring issues that high school teachers choose not to point out in their lessons.”
“Have you ever thought about ordering more for the store?”
“There are plenty of popular titles in the store,” Namjoon resisted immediately. His mug of tea was empty now, nothing to divert his attention from staring directly at you. For a moment, you feared you’d imposed on something like when you’d offered to reorganize the shelves.
Gently, you tried to express your point and correct him, “Yes, but not that’s currently popular in the last five years, or even the last decade. It would be a good selling point, at least to garner a bit more profit—”
“No.” He wasn’t harsh. Just firm. “I’m content with our current inventory.”
“However, if you would like for me to order you something to read, I would be happy to do so. You know where the catalogs are.”
That’s not the point. You sighed in the defeat of your changed window displays and online catalog update.
“That’s okay, Namjoon. Thank you anyway, though.”
“So, what do you think?”
There were two expectant pair of eyes blinking at you, one the curator of the dish placed just beneath your nose, the other wholly hoping for your features to be unable to hide the disgust of whatever cheese, tomato, and bread contraption currently resting on the part of your bottom lip, ready for a taste.
“I haven’t even taken a bite yet, Jin,” You laughed, testing the warmth of the sub bread against. You turned the sandwich in one hand, wincing when some of the cheese spilled out and singed at the skin of your palm. “It’s hot.”
“It’s delicious,” He argued, dragging the bar stool closer to you.
“It’s already on the menu,” Yoongi mumbled.
“It’s not,” Seokjin slapped his palm on the counter, ears growing red as he fumed at his boss, “This stromboli has nacho cheese instead of mozzarella. Instantly better.”
“If it’s good, you can make it for everyone who orders it,” You eyed Yoongi as you gave it another temperature test and he smiled shyly, “The nacho cheese gets too hot...I don’t want to have to handle it.”
Tentatively, you jutted your teeth out to take a nibble off the corner of the steaming sandwich, managing to acquire a mouthful of bread, pepperoni, and of course, the seeping nacho cheese. Yoongi was right, it was scalding, but it burnt your taste buds enough to mask any horrid taste that may exist and you managed to swallow it down with a minimal wince.
“Amazing right?”
“They can’t even speak—”
“They can’t speak because it’s so amazing,” Seokjin nudged your side while you tried to digest the burning coals currently sliding down your throat, “Right?”
“It’s not too bad,” You croaked finally, making prolonged eye contact with a viscarly annoyed Yoongi as you dragged your ice water closer and downed two, three, five gulps. “Would probably be better if it weren’t the temperature of the sun.”
“That’s not a yes—”
“Maybe, but it’s also not a no,” Seokjin happily clapped in the seat next to you, making a full rotation on the bar stool in victory before he swiped the plate from under your nose and went to take a bite for himself.
His high pitched screams muffled by the way too large bite of yeast and runny cheesy came in time with the ding of the cafe door that had Yoongi straightening and you snorting.
Namjoon ignored the way Seokjin’s palm began to rapidly slap against the counter top as he waddled directly for you, a large cardboard box cradled to his chest as he happily chirped your name in time with the slap of his sandals against the tile. He deposited the box to the empty bar stool on your opposite side, only then allowing his gaze to deviate to a violently coughing Seokjin.
“Is he okay?” He asked simply, that same comforting calmness etched deep in his tone.
“Loaded question,” Yoongi grumbled.
“He’ll be fine,” You dismissed, waving your hand over your shoulder. Seokjin coughed in outrage. You placed both hands on either side of the taped lid, tilting your head, “What do you have here?—” After a second, you perked up, “—Is it this week's shipment?”
Namjoon’s hands covered yours, soft with the vanilla pine lotion you knew he kept on the bottom shelf behind the counter in the store. Gentle thumbs nudged your appendages aside, instead tucking his nail underneath the tape and flicking across it.
“You reviewed my final order list, right?”
You nodded, “Yeah, you were going to order some extra crossword books and replace those couple copies of encyclopedia that Marie...had an accident on…”
“Right, but—” He balled the tape when it reached the far end of the box, still holding your eye contact as he began to fold open the flaps on the box, “—I added a few more things before I sent it in.”
“Oh yeah?” You couldn’t help but grin too, “And what did you order?”
“Well, first of all…” Namjoon shuffled around, trying his best to shield the contents inside from you until he retrieved what he was looking for. An exclamation point coated his features when his fingers wrapped around the desired book, drawing it out with a giddy grin.
“Is that Gatsby?” You gaped, reaching for the paperback book in his hand. You took in the horribly refurbished cover, sighing blissfully as you looked at Namjoon. At the same time, you each breathed, “Hate Gatsby.”
“I bought ten copies I think,” Namjoon took it back from you, flicking it back into the box like a frisbee, “If anything, we can put them to Marie’s litter box. Lead her there.”
“I like this already. Show me more.”
“The next one I bought for you, if you want it,” He shuffled a bit longer this time, eyebrows meeting his hairline when he finally latched onto the item yet seemed to struggle a bit more with lifting this one. The veins in his arms strained, bottom lip tucking under his teeth as he threw his shoulder into it, letting the heavy hardback hit the top of the counter with an audible thud that silenced Seokjin’s moaning behind you.
“Twilight?” You laughed, stroking your fingers over the raised text, “I can’t believe you brought yourself to write this on an order.”
“I can’t believe I did either,” Namjoon beamed, glowing in the rays of your praise, “I thought you’d like it and I wasn’t sure if you had a copy of it so…”
“My copy is in the van,” You flattened your palm to ignore the itch on the bend of your thumb, forcing the rush of emotion down past the sudden lodge in your throat, “This is a nicer copy than mine, anyway.”
“Isn’t that the book about vampires?” Yoongi deadpanned. You slid it toward him, letting him turn the heavy text over to read the soft pink cursive that curled a summary across the back cover. He eyed Namjoon, “You...ordered this?”
“I got a few copies for the shop too,” He ignored Yoongi, addressing you as he instead shoved a stapled packet of paper toward you, bits of other paper and an envelope fluttering to the top of the box in the process. “And I...consulted some of the newer best seller lists and ordered the things that sounded interesting from those. I’ll let you shelve them, if you want.”
“You haven’t read this, have you Joon?” Yoongi continued to gape at the cover, flipping it back over to stare open mouthed at the table of contents.
“I could help you next order too,” You flipped through the list, running your index finger over the highlighted titles, “...if you like.”
“Uhh…” You heard an excessive amount of extra fluttering, peering over the top of the packet in your hand to see him ruffling at the papers and envelopes that had slipped out of his grasp when he passed you the list. You watched as he pried open the singular envelope with crooked index finger on the flap, wincing as he did so. “Yeah...yeah maybe.”
“What?” You asked gently, trying to laugh, “Is that the bill for all this fresh content?”
“Yeah—” Yoongi had stopped where he’d been rubbing at bits of nacho cheese Seokjin had spilled over the counter, watching Namjoon carefully. A smile met his lips, one that never even touched the crinkle around his eyes or the sparkling softness in his irises, “—something like that.”
“Can I tell you something?”
You paused where you’d been mid chopping vegetables, a task you’d handed off to Namjoon only for him to show sizable difficulty with. You tasked him with dishes instead, handing off each new soiled piece for him to dunk in the basin piled high in bubbles. He hesitated with his wrists hidden underneath the suddy mess, fingers holding onto the wire edges of one of the charred racks from within the oven.
After a second, you started again, allowing the slice of metal through the onion slices under your moist fingers to fill the cramped kitchen once more. “Of course,” You glanced at him once you’d finished the row you were on, absently sweeping the pieces back and forth across the cutting board underneath a cupped palm, “What’s up?”
“I’m not very good at ordering books for the store,” He held up a palm when you tried to suppress your reaction, “I know you know this, but I’m just...acknowledging that it’s always been like this. I don’t like to think of myself as pretentious, but I suppose my ordering and stocking habits are a bit on that side.”
“In the beginning, I had a reason for it, or at least, what I convinced myself was a viable reason. I’d purchased the shop after living in the apartment above a quickly failing bakery for far too long. I wanted it to be something that thrived in this secluded little town.”
“Like a bookstore,” You nodded without any sort of teasing or malice. You were a book person, after all. You craved the homey feel of a locally owned bookstore in any crevice of the Earth, probably contributing to some twisted fate in the universe to how you ended up in one particular place in one particular line of employment after being lost on the road for so long.
“Right, but not just any bookstore. I wanted to give the place something unique,” White bubbles gathered and slipped down the length of his knuckles when Namjoon drew his hands out of the water, letting them grip on either side of the sink as he leaned into it, “A scavenger hunt of sorts sounds appealing, right? Once you find the book in the store, there’s some sort of satisfaction to it. Especially if you don’t really know what you’re looking for and you end up stumbling upon an extensive history of stuffed animal fur.”
You wrinkled your nose, “We have that?”
“Somewhere,” Namjoon nodded gravely, cracking a smile at your indignation, “I would have no idea where it is.”
“And to an extent, that business plan works. Keep just enough popular titles to appease to the general public. Keep more obscurity to draw the crowd craving originality. Garner revenue from individuals on any spectrum of literature pretentiousness,” He shrugged, letting his shoulders roll up to his ears as his chin dropped, “It worked for maybe five months. Then the newness wore off.”
“I’ve never really been able to recover even with our normal patronage. Now that there’s appeal for business in neighboring towns, all of us have started to suffer. People would rather stay in a Hilton next to a Panera and shop at the three story Barnes and Noble than tour our locally owned amenities that provide damn near the same thing.”
“Jeongguk and Yoongi have been able to adapt, though,” Namjoon’s shoulders relaxed again, letting his hands dip down into the water to grab at the wire rack. He passed the rough edge of the sponge over the edges now exposed out of the water, soft enough that the fibers barely pulled any of the grime from the utensil. “I can’t seem to find my way out of a rut.”
“Have you tried?”
Namjoon laughed, “I ordered Twilight, didn’t I?”
“But did you order New Moon too? Or the other two books in the series? What about the DVD adaptations?” You started to dice the onion now, speaking to the tiny pieces you nudged aside with the tip of the knife, “Did you put them in alphabetical order? Or did you at least consider creating a young adult section? Or a vampire romance section? I can offer more recommendations—”
“I can’t afford to pay the bills,” Namjoon said gently. “Not...not anymore. Way before I hired you, even.”
You grew silent, letting yourself sink into the lip of the counter top.
“I had to start using my monthly order funds to pay rent on the store. And my personal rent. And the light bill. And…” He sighed, dunking the wire rack a few times in silence to rinse it of the bubbles.
“That’s what those envelopes were today. Notice of eviction.”
Your mouth fished, pursing at the seam of your lips and puffing your cheeks out as you pondered the terrifying thought. Never mind that this was your temporary home and temporary place of employment but this was Namjoon’s livelihood, his greatest accomplishment, his love.
Behind convoluted marketing strategies and a quietly picky selection in what he read in his personal time, there was a man who absolutely adored the power of literature in its simplest form, tangible, physical books. You’d witnessed the way his eyes lit up when the tiny bell at the front of the store tinkled with the arrival of someone new, his long legs and eager persistence quick to beat you out from behind the counter to assist the customer, whether that be to point out a general area as to where something may be located, to recommend something of his own, or to simply offer a casual conversation over a cup of coffee he offered in a floral paper cup from the tiny room underneath the staircase.
“So, what do we do?”
He was puzzled only for a moment, the furrow in his eyebrow traveling upward with the smile that appeared as he dragged his hands out of the water. Massive palms dabbed to his thighs as he backed away from you, bumping into the edge of the counter on his way but he found his target, the massive stack of sliced open mail. Some ruffling with semi damp hands that splattered visible water droplets over the counter later, his pinched fingers appeared triumphant holding a mint colored envelope with a red printed logo stamped on the return address corner.
“There’s uhm…” Namjoon’s fingers pried inside, drawing a folded piece of paper out. Through the back, you could see the same red logo, bold and in the center of the page this time. “One of the companies I order from sent this not too long ago. I don’t know if it’s a sign but it kind of seemed like a sign.”
You abandoned your chopping to accept the paper, now doused in vague water spots, from his grasp. He voiced the contents your squinted eyes began to scan.
“Basically, if we can get sales above a certain threshold by the end of the month, I can apply for a grant worth—” He was in front of you now, reaching his index finger over to hover above a bolded monetary amount, “—that. That would give enough time for you to help me implement some of your ideas…”
“And if none of it works,” Namjoon shrugged, folding the paper back into it’s neat little pamphlet, letting it dangle to his side, “then I guess this wasn’t really meant to be.”
A small part of you envied him in that moment. Perhaps there was more than what presented itself outwardly, but Namjoon was frustratingly calm about simply giving up something he worked so hard to achieve simply because of a couple of setbacks. The yellow folder that triggered you to step off the trunk of Taehyung’s rickety travel van certainly could not relate.
Instead, you blurted, “You want my help?”
His normal composure fractured a bit, longer pauses, hums even, stationed between stumbled words, “If you’d like to, yes, I’d love to have your help. Outside perspective is the only way I’m going to change my ways. I don’t think I could do it, not productively, by myself.”
“And of course, if you’re still around by then,” Cautious brown irises met your own, swimming in something unreadable, a guard almost, “I know you’ve said you aren’t sure when Taehyung will be back. If he does come back—”
“He’ll be back,” The skin behind your neck grew hot with how quickly you assured that, a statement mostly spoken to sate the tiny nagging part of yourself that was left lost with your entire situation as a whole. Namjoon blinked, unwavering, chin twitching just enough to nod.
“But I’d be happy to help for as long as I’m here,” You allowed yourself to smile even if the line wobbled a bit. You resumed your chopping in silence, only long enough to finish off the vegetable underneath your palm before you were sweeping your work space clean, dusting your fingers off in the process.
“Where should be start, boss?”
You were tasked with reorganization while Namjoon took to his computer, conjuring up flyers dedicated to those few events you’d agreed upon after exhausting a list of potential, quick ways to garner attention and profit. Aside from making the store more navigable for the average person (as well as setting aside some funds specifically to order the missing books in series), bringing people into the store seemed like an obvious answer to gaining short (or long) term interest in the store.
An easy way to bring people into the store was to host events.
Armed with three massive stacks of flyers in the basket on the front of Namjoon’s spare bike, you took off on an advertising run. You stopped at Yoongi’s, watching Namjoon wallpaper flyers to the glass windows outside the cafe while Yoongi looked disgruntled between the spaces in the fluttering paper yet made no attempt to remove any of them and quietly took a stack you handed him to hand out to customers as they came in. Jeongguk barely let you get the question out of your mouth, appearing with a sheet of thick, round, metallic stickers of his own design that he used to plaster the various event flyers over the front of his desk and a promise to photocopy the flyers and post them to every gaming community he knew online.
The first event advertised was in connection with the local elementary school, parents pouring through the doors one Wednesday after school while their beaming teacher brought up the rear. You settled them in with fresh baked cookies and hot chocolate while Marie made her rounds, resisting gooey chocolate off of chubby fingers and happily deciding upon a small girl in the corner who was completely enamored with a dinosaur themed pop up book she’d discovered with Namjoon’s help.
You’d watched quietly where he knelt next to her on the shorter shelves, one’s you’d specially arranged for the event and as a way to pinpoint the location of the children's books previously scattered aimlessly about. He’d murmured gently too her, offering books on the shelves she couldn’t quite reach until she made grabby hands at a slightly disgruntled stegosaurus when Namjoon had flipped open the first thick page.
Hoseok, their teacher, drew you out of your fond trance. His arms were filled with educational books, ones a level between the ages he taught and that of high school, glossy pages filled with just enough text and just enough pictures to appeal to all ages. Wavy red hair parted down the middle, fluttering against shining apple cheeks as he beamed giddily at you, rainbow cartoon smiley faces in a repeated pattern on his shirt almost blinding you all the same.
“I did some shopping while you two watched over them,” Hoseok admitted bashfully, a slight pink tinting his ears as he glanced at the book on top of his stack, a midnight blue cover with an abundance of jungle animals spilling across the surface. “I hope they weren’t too bad.”
“Not at all,” You softened, pulling your gaze away from Namjoon when the little girl proudly parked herself in his lap and began to chatter absently about the next dinosaur that popped into view, a triceratops by first glance. “I could give you a discount since they’re for the school?”
“Oh no, I couldn’t—” Hoseok’s eyes widened, tossing his fringe as an absent habit, “—I’d like to support anyway. I feel as if I don’t do that enough lately.”
“It would be no problem.”
He brushed past you to place his towering stack on top of the counter, already digging deep in the pocket of his bright purple jeans. A wad of cash was pushed across to you before you could even begin to swipe barcodes through the system.
“Consider it a donation.”
The dinosaur popup book sold during the event along with a dozen other children’s books that Namjoon assured you were relics, books he’d forgotten were on the shelves at all let alone ones that would sell instantly upon being relocated to an easy to find vicinity (whether that be grouped or closer to the ground where two foot tall humans could scan at eye level).
Other things started to leave too, filling the space in between scheduled events. You saw a fair amount of hand sized romance novels leave the door, ones you plopped randomly onto a singular turnstyle you assembled from multiples hunks of plastic in a dusty cardboard box in the room underneath the staircase, flowery covers with fraying spines shoved into purses and jacket pockets. Magazines started to go, new and old issues alike after you ordered them in stacks on Namjoon’s wooden table as it sat in the front window display. Series started to go as a whole, limited in quantity but at least as a whole rather than in the first and third book with the second book to be ordered from an online delivery or serviced from a nearby chain.
You sold out of crossword puzzle books when the second event came, murder mysteries and a fair few of the popular horror authors leaving the store too when the local florist used the space to teach a beginner’s bouqet workshop. The blonde headed man, Park Jimin in all his charming giggles and devastating smile, brought in his self written gardening manual, giving Namjoon a sizable check to be able to sell them while he did his workshop.
You had every reason to believe it wasn’t the atmosphere of the bookshop that had elderly women kissing red lipstick stains into his blushing cheeks and selling out his small stack of green pamphlets but Namjoon wasn’t one to turn away the check.
“What do you know about daisies?”
Jimin’s expression immediately grew amused, glancing at you from under shaggy fringe as he hunched to untie the cat covered apron pressed to his stature. He freed the knot at his spine, straightening once more as he shrugged it over his head and began to meticulously fold it.
“A lot,” His eyebrow cocked, letting the apron fall to his now empty table, “What are you wanting to know?”
“Let’s say you were trying to grow a plant in a moving van—” You crossed your arms, “—could you do it?”
His nose wrinkled at the bridge, “With a lot of finesse, probably. But if we’re talking about a plant that’s good with traveling...succulents might be a good bet.”
The dip between your thumb and palm itched and you rubbed it at your hip, smiling, “That’s what I figured.”
Locations around the store were progressively growing blurrier each time you glanced up from the harsh lighting off the computer monitor in the shop. There was a soft glow from the moon where it reflected on the floor panels at the front of the room but it didn’t quite reach through the rows of thick shelves (you’d rearranged books, not furniture. Namjoon wouldn’t budget on layout) but otherwise, you worked in the dark, fingers working on muscle memory around the keyboard as you continued to plug in information to the online application.
The events worked, giving the store a two month boost in sales that granted you, at the very least, a chance to save the store. It was just that, a boost, nothing that could sustain long term even with newfound organization and aggressive attempts at community engagement. Even with all that, you lacked the funds to properly distribute across all things that needed tending to, particularly the ordering that would require you to keep up with the amount of product that went out the door after the first event.
It was a curve, one with a sharper downfall than the first.
Creaking on the staircase alerted you to Namjoon’s presence, phone flashlight outlined Marie where she sat cradled in the curve of his elbow. He placed her on the floor when he reached the bottom, allowing him to properly balance the basket curled on his opposite forearm.
“...alright?” He murmured. The wicker container was slid to the counter top next to you as he slid onto the free stool.
You hummed, flicking your index finger up and down the scroll to send the typed text whirring by. “Just about done,” You placed your chin on your shoulder, gaze cutting away from his gentle smile to nod at the basket, “What do you have there?”
“Oh!” Namjoon thumbed at the lid, digging inside to present you with two plastic wrapped sandwiches. He placed those aside, returning with a metal thermos next, followed by two paper plates and forks you recognized from the utensil drawer in the apartment. “I packed us a little paperwork picnic.”
You dragged one of the sandwiches closer, careful in picking apart the wrap to discover sliced tomato, floppy lettuce, and careful strips of bacon stuck between two fresh buns. Lemonade was dunked into two plastic cups by the careful hands of Namjoon, his smile growing when you shot him an inquisitive glance.
“I said packed for a reason,” He teased, nudging you when you pinched at one of the ranch drenched piece of greenery, “Jin insisted I take them when I was picking up lunch earlier.”
“Was the picnic part your idea?” You accepted a glass from him, drawing it to your bottom lip without taking a sip.
His gaze remained unwavering as his hand dipped back inside the basket, tripping it across the glass counter top a bit but managing to retrieve the checkered strip of fabric at the bottom of the basket in the end. It fluttered from its folded position when he lifted it higher, showing that it wasn’t a full checkered blanket but instead a strip of fabric, sheared at the edges and appearing to be a leftover from something sewn. It was just big enough for each of your glasses to sit with a comfortable distance from each other, something Namjoon completely by gently drawing your cup out of your grasp and settling it next to his.
“Maybe,” He watched as you continued to squint at the end of the sandwich, “...that means the food is safe to eat. Promise.”
You let yourself take a sizable bite, chewing thoughtfully through the crunchy bacon. You swallowed, serious into the next nibble you tested, “You have more trust in Seokjin than I do.”
It was quiet as the two of you began to dig into your meals, the first of any sizable food you’d had the entire day as a result of being cooped up in a mountain of tax papers, profit spreadsheets, generic online bell curve generators, and the daunting application that hung on the thread of an accidental click to send its incompleteness spiraling into the cloud of uncertainty for the store.
Your typing resumed in silence too, scrolling rather as you simply scanned over the answers you’d provided for the longer answers, open ended questions reminiscent of essay portions of school applications. The words by themselves registered but the combination of such into sentences didn’t comprehend in your mind, subconscious elsewhere as the pixels flashed through your blurred peripheral by means of your own flicking fingertip.
“So what’s your story?”
The screen stalled at your command, shoulders sagging. Softly, you wiggled the mouse to click out of the screen at hand, bringing up the smiling koala cartoon whose name you’d learned was Koya. “Is this another interview?”
Namjoon’s fingers warmed your wrist, pulling your hand toward him until your stool spun on its own accord. He continued to hold onto your wrist, thumb traveling upward to brush across your knuckles.
“No,” His voice grew warm, quiet for the ambiance created in the quaint shop near the midnight hour, “I only know a fraction of your story, the rising action, maybe? I’m not too sure. I don’t have enough information to even begin to plug it into the imaginary literary equation.”
“You graduated with a literature degree and you have questionable yet defendable taste in books read in your free time,” Namjoon squeezed your skin, “What else am I missing?”
“I write sometimes,” The words came so quick that your conscious had to pause to gather your next thought, trailing your gaze over Namjoon’s head. You squinted, blurring the darkness of the children’s shelves a bit more as you corrected, “I’m a writer.”
“I had a book deal right out of graduation, something I’d worked ages on. Revised three different times to appease to different agents, none of which ended up signing me. Self publishing was an option I just saw the other side. Heard too many pitches that made me a bit too hopeful.”
“And then finally I found someone who wanted to take me on. Who assured me that I could make big waves within their agency. Said they’d never quite seen anything like my writing style, something that didn’t quite fit in my declared genres,” You laughed bitterly, letting your hand drop from Namjoon’s to rub across your lap, “Said they’d never quite heard anyone as headstrong about my particular beliefs either. Said it was a good thing, made me memorable.”
“I got all the way to their corporate office in the city to sign off on the rights. I even went to the effort to type up my notes and my drafts and whatever else I could find—” You offered a smile, “—I prefer handwriting—” sighing, you spread your fingers apart, pressing at the bend in your thumb, “—Had it all stapled and put together in a nice folder.”
“Then they told me they couldn’t sign me. I don’t remember the exact reason. I think I stopped listening to them after my potential agent was called out of the room for a phone meeting with another prospective client.”
A shaky inhale kept the mist of tears that involuntarily gathered in your waterline at bay, gaze darting to your wringing fingers, “Have you ever played that jelly bean game? The one where half the blue ones taste like raspberry and the other taste like disinfectant wipes or something? It kind of felt like that. Going in expecting one thing and leaving with the exact opposite.”
“I didn’t know I could feel that lost,” You admitted out loud, further elaborating, “I had no plan other than that. It seemed like all my other friends were graduating with a perfect bridge into their new lives,” You let yourself smile, “...even Taehyung. He was always planning on traveling after graduation.”
“He never really understood what I was going through. I didn’t expect him to. Like I said, he had his own plans, one that hadn’t included me until a week or two before they were to begin. I don’t blame him for not understanding how to handle me. And in a way...I feel guilty for placing that kind of responsibility on him. He didn’t need to feel obligated to care for me but he did and he always had and for that I’m sorry.”
“I guess I thought doing something impulsive would give me a purpose again. At the very least, maybe it’d renew my purpose. Maybe I’d want to start a whole new book. Maybe I’d want to try self publishing if I forgot about the horrors I endured through the other process,” A tear appeared now, slipping down the bridge of your nose as your lips wrinkled into a shriveled petal and you shook your head, letting your palms lift and fall back into your lap with an audible slap, “Nothing.”
You startled when something scuffed on the floor, gaze focusing on what you could see in front of you once more. Namjoon had shuffled closer, bringing his stool with him until his knees bumped into yours, close enough for the warmth of his palm to cup your cheek this time soft in using the curve of his thumb to collect the stream of tears as they began to fall more freely.
“Can I tell you something?” You murmured, waiting until his silent gaze met yours.
“This gave me a purpose again. You gave me a purpose,” You grinned, some of the excess tears spreading over your tongue, “At first it was just wanting to figure out why this strange man with a cat wanted to arrange his bookstore like that.”
“Old dog new tricks,” Namjoon insisted, voice gentle for the first time since his initial question.
You let both your hands cup his wrist, holding his hand against your face, “You reminded me of my initial purpose. What I grew so far from...that there’s so much warmth in literature and books and the written word.”
“There’s always worth in spreading that type of love to the community,” Your lips curled in the edge, not quite reaching your teeth, “It’d be a shame if you didn’t get to continue to do so.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” The intimacy expanded outward, encasing your statures in a safety bubble when his forehead touched yours, holding you there by means of his hand on your cheek and your fingers around his forearm. He waited until he no longer felt new splashes of tears underneath his diligent thumb before he spoke again.
“Have you ever thought about trying again?”
Namjoon was so close, the warmth bleeding off his dark irises giving your uncertain heart a squeeze. It didn’t cut into your confusion, “Try what?”
“To get another book deal,” He straightened just enough to pick at your opposite cheek with his free hand, placing stray hairs aside in a meticulously soft way, “Just how far have I inspired you, honey?”
You swatted at him, squawking until he held up a hand in surrender.
“I haven’t, not with...that book anyway. Truthfully, I trashed everything but my handwritten notes that day. I think I even impulsively deleted the files or if they’re still out there I wouldn’t know where to find them.”
“I suppose my next question as to if I can read anything by you is moot now.”
“I’m sure there’s some embarrassing poems out there on my undergraduate literary magazine website…”
Namjoon cocked an eyebrow, “That’s a scavenger hunt I’m willing to have.”
“And it’s one I’m willing to help you with—” You giggled, managing to catch his hands when they went to do grabby hands around your body at the computer mouse, “—after we submit this paperwork.”
“Ah, right,” Warm hands landed on your hips, spinning you to face the monitor while a heavy chin settled on your shoulder, “The whole save my passion thing. I suppose the poems can wait.”
You wrote a poem in undergraduate about a divorce as told by the family cat, the detached perspective of an animal who has no conscious understanding of anything in the human world, yet is still watching his life crash before his eyes. He’s not getting food as often. Everyone is always yelling. Suddenly, dad isn’t there anymore. His tiny human, the child of the family, comes and goes in a confusing schedule. But he still has to be a cat.
The script on that section of the university page barely functioned any longer, drawing your poem into mismatched fonts with spacing that surely wasn’t what you’d originally intended. The flit of your gaze over the up and down scroll of the page fit the same detached sense that the cat in the story had.
Life still went on around you as the crippling rejection email for the store grant hovered in the next tab over from your poem. Namjoon’s absent restocking of the shelves at the front of the store proved that.
You clicked out of your poem, letting the etched red logo at the top of the email cover your vision once more as you sighed. A bitter tap of your index finger later and the image was hidden, just leaving the wall of text that was just several different ways to say you didn’t receive the grant. You’d opened all their resource links, those hovering in the next browser over while Koya watched on behind them.
None of those would work, either. You didn’t buy from their partner supplier. Your store square footage wasn’t enough. You didn’t specialize in one specific genre. You didn’t offer library-like services alongside the business aspect.
One tab had the generic question plugged into a search engine, easy ways to make money. You felt like you were applying for school again, scrounging for scholarship opportunities on survey websites that did nothing but implore armies of viruses into your hard drive. Some of those resources still sat in unorganized folders in your email, ones you mindlessly scrolled past with your cheek scrunched into your curled fist, fingernails pressing crescents into your palm the harder you squeezed.
University emails changed from graduation subject lines to assignment subject lines to personal sprinkled within, exchanges with members of group projects or monthly subscriber updates from clubs you participated in.
Junk emails continued to pour in on the daily even if your email was virtually untouched since you’d sat out on the road which meant the folder continued to dump an unprecedented amount of data into your deleted file never to be cleaned out where you used to diligently empty it. You did that with a clear conscience, a small victory in your hazy consciousness as your finger misjudged and you found your drafts opening.
There was a singular email, the body text left blank and the subject line half typed. Manuscript...A tiny paper clip indicated that something was attached.
For a second, you feared you’d overloaded Namjoon’s system with the file size until the PDF materialized across the screen, blank at first until the last of the near eighty pages downloaded and you found yourself face to face with the typed contents of your lost yellow folder.
Your laughter drew Namjoon from his task, his silhouette shadowing over what was already dark in the store, another late night venture between the two of you when the news of rejection had the both of you searching for something to do that wasn’t nothing. He was smiling at first until he caught a sheen on your cheeks, laughter slowly materializing into sobs before he could properly reach you.
He uttered your name, hip catching on the edge of the counter as he lunged for you yet reeled back at the glaring title on the screen. The initial hug his instinct wished to provide stalled, hands instead landing on your shoulders as he squeezed.
“What’s this?”
“I think this thing is haunting me,” You groaned miserably, “Either that or your computer itself is haunted.”
Namjoon kept a firm grip on you as he shook the mouse, minimizing the tab and all the others until Koya’s smiling face spread across the screen. Gentle pressure turned you, hands leaving to spread palm up, fingers wiggling.
Softly, Namjoon encouraged, “Let’s go to bed.”
Marie’s meow managed to piece some of the scrambled pieces together once your slow advancements at the lead of Namjoon’s hand paused, leaving you to realize this isn’t your room.
“This is your room,” You audibly expressed, flinching away from one of the two foot tall character’s he had curled in the doorway.
He let go of your hand to allow you to make your decision, assuring that his searching gaze ducked to find your own. “Is that okay?”
Your whimper welcomed the stretch of one of his hoodies across your torso, snug to the fresh coffee ground and fresh rain scent that clung to his duvet as long fingers tucked it around your body. He settled in next to you, just close enough to stroke at your cheek with his thumb and the flat of his mouth.
“Hey Namjoon?”
He shifted closer, curled knees encasing yours as his fingertips began to stroke down the back of your head. “Yeah, love?”
“Do you want to try again?” You regarded him with just your eyes, mouth and nose hidden underneath the hem of his sheets. “To keep the store?”
His lips lingered on your forehead this time, cradling the back of your head until the shaking of your shoulders subsided. The tip of his nose pulled back to brush where yours would be underneath the blanket, nodding so the skin brushed accidentally a second time.
“What else is there to do?”
You found a warm bagel and a handwritten note on a napkin in place of Namjoon’s stature when you woke. Raw eyes found it difficult to decipher the shapes he’d quickly scrawled with a blunt tipped marker but somehow you made out store. You abandoned the plated bagel and headed for the staircase.
“If that’s not Marie I don’t want you down here,” A laughing voice ordered your descend when you’d barely made it to the fourth stair.
“Why?”
“Did you not read my note?”
“It said that you were working in the store.”
“And that you’re not allowed down here yet.”
You continued your descent a few slow stairs at a time, “I won’t look.”
Namjoon snorted, an image you saw when you already broke your promise to find him seated at the counter completely swamped in crafting materials. Strips of construction paper, jagged cardboard, stacks of printer paper still half hanging out of their packages.
“What are you doing? DIY decorations?”
He looked up where he was furiously spinning a shard of pipe cleaner, “I thought you said you wouldn’t look.”
“Oops,” You shrugged, bare feet chilled all the way up your legs to where your sleep shorts began as you shuffled toward him, squinting at the mass chaos he’d created. Your gaze trailed upward from the browns and purples and metal utensils, starting to offer a generic question once more until you found your manuscript still open on the computer monitor. “What are you…Namjoon what are you doing?”
He grunted into the last spin of his fingers, securing the last, electric blue pipe cleaner in the poorly jabed hole through the top of the object he held in whitening knuckles. An audible breath slipped through his lips, hanging ajar for a second before his lips drew upward into a smile.
“I, uhm,” Namjoon thrust the object toward you, “I made you something.”
It appeared to be made of three separate pieces of cardboard, a front and back cover with a sizable strip bent to accommodate either, acting as a mock spine. Purple construction paper was glued over the brown substance, dobs of glue staining some of the edges but flat otherwise. A trio of electric blue pipe cleaners sat in neatly spaced, tightly spun balls on the far left side, binding the ball of pages instead that had already begun to bend at the cardboard covers. The same messy handwriting that covered the napkin now forgotten in Namjoon’s bed graced the front, the title of the novel larger than your name. The back held similar penmanship, the synopsis you’d provided to various companies scrawled just above a tiny, attempted portrait of you.
“I know you said you got rid of the other one but if you ever wanted to try again, you know, to get it published—” Namjoon smiled, tucking his arms between his legs shyly as he leaned toward you, “—now you have a potential mock up to show them, too.”
You kissed him with your palm pressed into the pair of scissors he’d dropped when he heard you descend down the stairs, body leaned awkwardly over the counter until he stood to intercept you. His palm held onto the side of your neck while you clutched the book to your chest, breathing into the open seam of his lips.
“Thank you so much.”
“I’d make you ten more copies if you wanted me to.”
Your laughter stopped just a hair short of kissing him again when there was a knocking at the front door, gentle at first and then frantic when you jumped away from Namjoon. Through the spaces in the shelves, you could see Jeongguk, his over exaggerated waving growing smaller as you and Namjoon approached.
“Was I…” Jeongguk’s gaze flashed to Namjoon’s flushed cheeks when you pulled the door open, “Was I interrupting something?”
Namjoon did an astounding job of holding in his irritation, “What do you need, Guk?”
“Oh!” He perked up again, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. A sheet of paper was thrust against your chest, “Special delivery. You need to look at it now.”
“What—”
“No time to explain,” Jeongguk shot you a thumbs up, taking backward steps that had him stumbling over pieces of gravel on the sidewalk as he went to dash in the opposite direction of the hotel, “See you later!”
Namjoon went for the sheet of stickers while you came to inspect the tiny piece of notebook paper balanced on top of it.
“Are those tiny aloe plants?” He continued to awe, pointing at the characters on the sheet.
Hey dove, good news! I found your folder. If you want it uhm...look up. I guess.
Taehyung stood across the street, hair entirely longer than how’d you’d left him, adorned in a matching baggy grey sweatsuit with your yellow folder clutched against his chest.
He braced for the impact of your arms throwing themselves around his neck yet still managed to stumble back two or three paces in a fit of laughter as you clung to him. “Hey there,” He greeted, nose in your hair as he managed to properly weave his arms around your waist and squeeze. “How’ve you been?”
The initial joy seized in your heart as you pulled away to look at him, softening, “I’m not going to go back with you.”
Taehyung’s grin grew wider, all geometric edges and bouncing fringe as he nodded. A gentle understanding, leaning in closer to murmur, “I didn’t think you would, kid, not from the second you stepped out of the van—” After a second, he said a bit louder, “—and besides. That’s not what I asked you.”
You hummed thoughtfully, glancing over your shoulder to where Namjoon continued to regard the interaction fondly. You smiled, turning back to Taehyung.
“Have you had breakfast yet?”
He shook his head, gentle in sliding his hands down your arms before taking your hands, shaking them gently between your bodies, “I’m not going to stay much longer,” One hand left you to take the folder he’d shoved underneath his arm, “Just wanted to bring you this.”
You took it gently, rubbing thoughtfully at the old rip in the spine. A few more had joined it from whatever turmoil it had endured in the last months. “Where did you find it?”
“I’d put it underneath your seat when I cleaned. To keep it safe,” Taehyung’s smile was regretful and amused all the same, “Forgot I put it there…”
“Are your succulents okay?”
“Mhm…” His hand cupped yours where you held the folder, “You still haven’t answered me. Are you okay?”
Another involuntary glance behind you to Namjoon who offered you a thumbs up this time. “Yeah,” You nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, Taehyung, I’m great.”
Taehyung’s smile was equally as fond, nodding once to your rapid ones, “I’m glad…” He trailed off, patting the folder in your grasp, “Well I, uhm, just came to return that to you so—”
“Can you keep it?”
“What?”
“Can you keep it safe for me?” You pressed the folder back against his chest, “I don’t think I need it anymore.”
“Yeah, yeah I can…” Taehyung gradually pulled it closer until it was hugged against his chest, taking a step backward, “Yeah. I’ll keep it safe.” He made prolonged eye contact with you, smiling, “I’ll see you?”
“Of course,” You touched his chest, “And hey, Tae?”
