step it up like air force one

It was too much. 

Too much. 

The weekend is almost over and what have you accomplished? 

After the encounter with San, it was hard for you to do anything. Not to mention just turning back into your house brought you to the sight of the horrid living room and just everything it meant. In addition, your mother called again. You didn’t pick up. Perhaps she’d called to ask how the bedframe was coming along, which in reality was a mess of planks and screws in your bedroom. 

Thus, it was another night on the couch. 

Even as you closed your eyes, you could feel your forehead overheating like a decade-old laptop with an overworked cooling fan—dysfuntional at best, beyond repair at worst. 

There was so much to get through. Everything with your house, the unpacking, setting up your home, what was supposed to be shared with your then soon-to-be spouse had just fallen right through your hands. Now there was sorting the mess that was left behind. 

You were grateful that you weren’t actually married, divorce lawyers and a court hearing and the like would have just about ended your life. But then, you were stuck in this weird limbo where nothing has stopped but yet nothing is moving either and it makes it all so very frustrating.

That’s not taking into consideration how people around you will take to the news. How much longer could you continue postponing your calls with your parents? How much longer could you convince yourself that you lied to your mother successfully? How much longer until your father has the chance to say he told you so? How long could you stall until you prove that your hardwork, whatever that meant or whatever it was, was all for nothing?

Your life merely an empty point, taking space as you work through the slog for the sake of it. 

And then to tie it altogether, there was your neighbour. A mounting one-sided dislike based on interactions that barely lasted a few minutes. You could feel it. That itching and clawing in your throat, the irrational torrent of thoughts which were borderline corrosive, all of it so immature. Unfortunately for him, San was at the wrong place at the wrong time, prodding a dormant mine in a forgotten field. 

Every sentence, every thought, every notion that arises around him has to be deliberated. Filtered, even. He was one more knock away from instigating a breakdown, of what nature was anyone’s guess. 

Deep down, you knew he was merely a scapegoat. Taking out your anger, your shame, your regrets on an innocent man who just so happens to be in the vicinity. You needed to avoid him. If not to hurt his feelings, then to at least preserve your dignity. 

So that is what you did. 

Sleep escaped you. Ruminating on every single mistake was preferred to your mind, and there you were, locked on your couch. Your eyes drooping without ever closing, your body overheating, almost feverish, as the sun rose. 

For the better part of the day, you stayed on the couch, almost comatose. Then there came a moment when hunger was unbearable which forced you to get to the kitchen to grab something from the fridge. Though it was nothing close to a meal. Just something to satiate the pain you felt in your stomach. 

By the time the sun had set, your mother called again. You declined the call. 

You tried building the frame again. The frame fell apart. 

You sorted out your clothes. His joined the rest of them on the floor. 

The sight was horrendous. Overwhelming. 

Too much. 

It was far too much. 

When you inhaled, your breath hitched, the beginnings of a breakdown you couldn’t afford. 

It was there. 

Almost. 

Then your doorbell rang. 

Your attention turned to your door, an exit point that seemed to grow further away with every second you stared at it. When your feet didn’t move from their spot, the door bell rang again forcing you to wade through the mess that was your living room to get to that door. 

Please don’t be San. 

Please.

Your pleas were answered but at a deadly cost. 

The moment your door opened, your heart dropped to your stomach. 

“Let me explain,” he said but you were already shutting the door. 

But much like last time, he caught the door to prevent it from shutting. 

“I’m sorry,” he tried again. His voice, the nerve of it to warble like he had any right to be in tears. “I made a mistake. I was wrong—just let me speak, will you?”

Along with his hand, he now had a foot in the threshold. But you blocked most of the entrance to your home with your body, your weight on the door. You were not letting him inside. He had no right to be here. 

“I need to explain—”

“No, you need to leave,” you said, leaning on the frame, not giving up on the fight with the door. 

Simply put, your ex-fiancee looked haggard. An image you have not been privy to since the rough final nights of your university years. His hair was a mess, far removed from the gelled back pristine look he usually wore to his office. His eyes were red-rimmed, like he’d lost sleep. Looking at him made you bring your hand to your own, fearful of how you might look. Then there was the matter of his clothes, which were oddly tight in all the wrong places. He’d probably stayed over at his friend’s place for the last two nights before making his way over here again. 

There was just a small sense of comfort of him being stranded and naked. But it was short-lived. 

“I know you like space after we fight, I didn’t want to call—didn’t want to give you some time, to process, to think over,” he paused his rambling for a moment to catch his breath. “To reconsider what you said.”

Fight? Process? Reconsider?

“Us,” he added, reading your mind flawlessly. 

That’s what happens when you spend years with someone. They tend to learn every small detail of how you tick. They learn your little quirks, the microexpressions, the words, the silence. They become a walking instruction manual on how to put you together. Which just so happens to be the manual that allows them access to completely tear you apart.  

He was right. Annoying as it is, he was right. 

You liked your space. Especially after fights. You needed the time alone. To process what was happening, what you were feeling, only so you don’t explode violently. And he’d done just that. Give you space. Now that you think about it, you don’t remember any calls or texts from over the past twenty-four hours. Not that your memory serves anything, considering you ignored most of your calls and texts… but he really hadn’t reached out. 

Because he knew. 

He knew you. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You wished you could say he looked or sounded insincere. But it was that small voice of his, shaky and barely there as he said those words that made you feel a mixture of things. But he must know what you were thinking. 

“Please don’t end this.” 

He uttered the words and you let them float in the air for a moment. 

Here he was, begging you to reconsider the relationship—not that it existed anymore—when you don’t even know why you were even listening to him. 

“You ended it.” 

“Don’t say that—”

“You ended this!” your voice was a hoarse scream, fracturing in real time much like a magma cracking solid rock. “You did this!”

Your ex raised his hands, taking a step back, a feeble attempt to placate you, not that he ever could. He’d miscalculated, both on how hot your anger boiled and his leverage on the door. Taking the chance, you slammed the door so hard the frame rattled. 

Just in time too, because burning tears fell down your cheeks, endless since no amount of wiping them away dissuaded them. Unable to do much than pace around your house, you hoped the action will, plus the tears, will tire you out. Your ex still remained, forgoing the doorbell for his fists. You don’t know what was worse. 

Wait him out, that was all you could do, but even after twenty minutes you could hear your ex’s rambling. In your frantic pacing, you missed the glint on the messy ground of your living room. 

Swearing, you pulled up your left foot to check the sole. Hard metal had been crushed underneath, cutting into your skin and considering your house was a mess of nails, you were not in the mood to contract tetanus. 

You still had some luck left in you. A screw hadn’t lodged itself into your skin. You turned your attention away from the impression on your skin to the silver on the ground. 

No.

Wrong.

Your luck was still depleted. 

Your wedding band, the one you’d hurled previously, made itself known. Mocking you. 

A hiccup left you, all mangled between a sob and a cough. 

When a faint buzzing was heard, you clamped a hand over your mouth. It was incessant. 

And worst of all, there was a knock on the door. 

It was too much.

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: say you and your best friend get a tattoo together, what tattoo would it be ? personally i was thinking my little pony cutie marks but then it has to be character appropriate you know ? and yes this question definitely has to do with the fic, i need ideas :]

masterlist | chapter 3 | chapter 5

taglist: @eternallyghosting  @marvolos  @dawn-iscozy  @vannerriin

Perhaps it should've been obvious… She stuck out like a sore thumb, a far cry from the hoodies and grease monkeys you knew. She screamed of too much luxury, too high fashion for the world of burnt rubber and pink slips, that’s without including the creature, but that's a story for another day. 

Still there was something about the way she walked, a cold calculated disdain akin to a hedge fund deciding which businesses to bet against, as if she could see who was up next on the chopping block. 

Every executioner draws a crowd, though you doubted they would cling to every word like they were hers. 

You hear a whistle as her eyes land on you, a smile cracks across her lips. 

“I’ve heard of you.”

Her voice drips with something ineffable. Intoxicating is probably the closest word you'll find.

In spite of her lingering gaze, you fight the urge to scoff, what would some rich kid know about you? 

She holds a hand out for an assistant, who passes her a phone as she scrolls. “A certified b.a.d.” There’s a glimmer of excitement notched in the swell of her cheeks, a raw smile held up by your digital record. “A shame your last crew dropped you.”

You catch, arguably the closest thing to anything heartfelt or genuine in the nestled corners of her eyes. 

It’s almost haunting the way she softens, like an injured wolf nursing her own wounds. 

Perhaps the rich kid had her own story. 

Still it fractures like fibreglass as that practiced, perfect, smile scarves on to her lips. “Though I suppose that means you can join mine.”

That's when you actually scoff, crossed arms and the roll of your eyes. Still you can’t help but notice the way she says that last word, it’s veiled with something more. 

Laughter rings out and her eyes snap to the noise, the barest hint of a scowl pressed against her lips. Her tongue clicks with bubbling frustration before she turns to her assistant. “Grab my gloves would you.”

There’s a flash of recognition in her assistant’s eyes, you catch the slightest quiver of her lips, as if to ask if she was really sure, but the question never comes.

“And could you please cover Boo’s ears for me?” The question is posed innocently like sweet sugar, yet you can tell it’s anything but, especially when some of her entourage move without so much as a word.

The sound of a slight scuffle echoes across the tarmac before someone is dragged before Momo. You notice the beginning of a black eye forming as flecks of blood stain his uniform, which is noticeably similar to the rest of her attendants. 

Her scowl only deepens with his appearance, tongue clicking with each passing second before finally her assistant returns, bundle of brown fur in her arms. Momo softens in its mere presence, hands delicate and practiced as she pats her dog, there’s a genuine affection that reminds of those splintered moments earlier.

Her assistant quickly offers a pair of fine leather gloves as well as a zip lock bag containing a… gun.

She makes no rush in her  movements, slowly taking her time putting her gloves on before she pauses, eyes lingering on her dog. 

There is a tremble in her assistant’s movements, as if she was co-signing someone’s death. 

And that could very much be the truth of the matter.

Her eyes linger on the man before you all before she slowly covers Boo’s ears, quickly turning away with a painful wince.

Momo pulls the gun out slowly, leveling it at the man’s head. Despite her calm, practiced movements, there is a hint of hesitation in her eyes.

“What do you think?” Her voice rings out, reminding you you’re not a mere spectator of all of this. 

Your throat runs dry, not used to the sudden responsibility.

She laughs slightly, “I’m just curious.”

Your head cocks to the side with a curious twitch of your brow. “Why?”

She lowers the gun ever so slightly, the man in front of her falters instantly from the reprieve, sinking against the concrete.

“Because, I could offer the world to you and it wouldn’t matter enough to make you join my crew,” she slowly walks towards you with soft, tentative steps. 

“But,” The word sinks against your chest like a heavy anchor. “Showing your word, your thoughts and your opinion will matter to me? I think that might matter more than the entire world.”

She stops right in front of you, “So what will it be?”

She smiles for real, as if she was a girl on a first date and not some gang leader threatening a public execution.

You gulp nervously, thinking about that poor assistant. 

“He lives.”

Her smile blooms deeper, eyes focused solely on you. She passes her gun to someone behind her, before offering her gloves to someone else. “You heard them.”

You can only watch as the man is dragged off somewhere else, though there is an overall softer touch, however before you can speak up again a hushed whisper tickles her ear. She rolls her eyes, a flare of annoyance.

“Forgive me, it would seem I have matters to attend to.” There’s the slightest hint of a frown at the corner of her lips before she whistles. Her attendants move like they were given an unspoken order quickly shuffling away.

She reaches into her coat pocket producing a business card, before smiling awkwardly. “You wouldn’t happen to have a pen or a marker?”

Your eyebrows knit together slightly before rifling through your pockets. It would seem she’s in luck.

“Thank you,” she says, taking it eagerly with both hands. Though you can’t help but spot a hint of pink tinge her ears.

She scrambles quickly, writing on her business card. “Uh, that has my personal number if you, uh, want to join my crew.”

Her eyes avoid yours as she offers the business card with both hands.

You take it softly, “I’ll call you later then?”

Her lips tighten as her eyes flash wider before settling. 

It’s not often you find yourself covering for Wednesday, after all it is her clinic. There are only a few instances where Playhouses resident doctor leaves her den in the care of another. 

Even fewer are the chances of you seeing someone you knew in High School, even fewer still are the chances of meeting someone you met after your life turned to shit. 

So what kind of lottery ticket is it when you manage to get all of the above. 

The beaten and tattered kind. 

She stumbles in clutching at her side, bruised and battered. Her eyes flutter to you, held on the edge of waxing confusion.

“Wait, you’re Wednesday?” her voice soft and weak, footsteps growing shaky with each step. 

You rush over in a hurry, too caught up in the heat of it all to even bother explaining the nuances. 

After all, when push comes to shove, you’re still a part of Playhouse and you're still one of the dolls. 

You catch her as her legs give out, earning a pained groan from her. 

She’s quiet as you drag her to the medical bed, eyes tracing over you like soft, svelte fingertips. 

It’s hard to ignore the way her gaze burns against your skin even as you peel off her leather jacket, caked in a crimson red. 

You try your best to ignore the memories that linger in the eves, a warm touch on a cold night. 

“Bite down on this,” you produce a wooden block as you fish for disinfectant. Part of you hates the ease in which you find it, too many nights spent in her exact position. 

She takes it wordlessly, teeth clamping taut. 

Still it does nothing for the pain that sears into her eyes. Her knuckles flare white as her hands clamp tight against the mattress. 

You can't help but think this is her penance. 

It’s quiet as you continue your work, stitching her deep wounds and bandaging the shallow ones. 

For a moment you forget it’s even her. 

“You know, I thought Mattel got to you.” Her voice is coarse, caught against the roughened sand-like edge of pain. 

You hate the scowl that flickers across your lips for the briefest of seconds, or the way you tighten her bandages a little too much. 

“She did.” 

It hurts more than when Mattel caught you, even as you trace every fibre of fear that snaps under her might. It still echoes through your mind on some nights, a reminder that it’s still fresh in some parts of your brain. 

The beautiful what-ifs, the kind that only the young and dumb can make. Before they realise how lucky they were. 

You can still remember the smile that lingered on your lips as the two of you danced, snapping to the melody of her sweet iridescent laughter. 

Caught against the fabric of her worn sweater, you pulled her closer. 

And she left you in the dust, the pain never truly recedes for those left behind, after all it is that painful absence that cuts deeper. 

Only made deeper when you realise what's lost. 

There's something unspoken in her eyes as she gazes up at you and your brain can't help but harkens back to dumb jokes and witty banter. You hate the part of you that just wants to click back into place like nothing ever changed. 

Because everything did. 

“You look healthier,” she says, as if she doesn't know how loaded those words are. But she means it in a good way, surely, not as a vile twist of the knife - a poignant reminder, that even when you were roughing it on the streets you still had her. 

She falters slightly in your silence, after all what can you say? That you missed her with every breath before it was consumed by an ashen fire - that you hated her for leaving you behind. 

Why was she like everyone else, why didn’t she look for you. 

But even underneath the dying pulses of anger, you know. 

Her breath hitches slightly, caught against the edge of what you can only assume is a raggard sob. Her eyes are misty and glassy, shifting her gaze against the ceiling. 

You offer her some semblance of modesty, turning away from her, ever so slightly. A soft sniffle echoes through the air, as her breath hitches again, more violent and hewn. 

You’re surprised when her hand latches against you like a death grip as she sobs violently. 

You collapse into place like a house of cards, try as you might to break the mold - but you can't. 

You pull her close like old times sake and for a moment, you can pretend you deserve good things, that you're allowed. 

It’s habitual the way your thumb rides the edge of her temple, combing through her pain with a soft touch. It all cascades in a soft, wistful way. 

You manage to catch yourself before you seal it molten, decadent gold - The soft echo of your breath, brushing against her forehead. 

Her grip tightens in that missed beat, as it begets a rougher muffled cry, gone is your rhythm in the dance of two. 

She looks up at you, as tears cascade her porcelain skin, lip quivering on the edge of shattering. 

“Yizhuo,” you barely manage. It’s hard to tell as your voice cracks at the hinges, everything brews tumultuously below the surface - you can’t quite articulate everything, not when she whispers your name with her velvet lips.

And it tastes foreign, foreign against the bygone years lost between the two of you. A tombstone, an epithet, by any other name. 

Yet your name doesn’t taste like brimstone and ash, instead it tastes like strawberry and watermelon as she does what a thief does best.

It’s wistful and melancholic, even as her lips dance against your lips with a familiar grace - like two puzzle pieces meant for each other. 

It lingers, much like the last one shared between the two of you - A honeyed promise, a prayer for luck and a guilty pleasure.

It’s only when the paint dries, do you realise she’s gone. A roll of bills stuffed in your jacket.

“Yeah, I get that, but why do I have to be there?”

Grinning ear to ear, you threw an arm around Yeosang’s shoulder, tugging him to your side. Your other hand raises to pinch his cheek. “Because you’re my best friend! And also because you love me.” 

Yeosang hissed at your roughhousing, shoving your hand away from his cheek. Not that it did any good since you kept coming back, giggling like a toddler. Your steps merged into one, even with your shuffling, as you poked his face, trying to pull his frown upside down. 

“Both those statements are questionable.”

“Nah, you love me,” you tittered, the words in a sing-songy voice as you dragged him to the Quidditch field. In response, Yeosang only shook his head as he did often with your antics and gave up trying to pry you off him. 

It was a sunny afternoon, surprising considering it was already getting colder. Most people were already in their winter robes and uniforms, but you still had your scarves and gloves and beanies locked away. 

Normally, after your classes you didn’t make it a habit of venturing to the Quidditch field. Not that you weren’t a fan, you’ve enjoyed a few friendly games yourself. But you’d rather take up space in the great hall fishing for snacks to appear or lounge about the courtyard before the snow froze the ground solid. 

It was just that you'd heard a little birdie say that certain someone would be spending their time here today. 

Which was strange considering you didn’t think this would even be in their selection of places to be, especially when they have time off after the school day ends. No, you’d imagine the pair of them would lock themselves in the library, poring over books instead of roaming the castle with you. Six years in and you were still trying to convince them there’s things they can learn outside of books. 

Though that conversation never got you anywhere, your friends, Yeosang included, would rather have their noses pressed into musty old books. Chuckling at the image, you patted Yeosang on the back, who let out a disgruntled huff at the action, as you pointed out the Hufflepuff stands. 

“Classic,” you smirked before taking Yeosang’s hand and rushed up the stands. 

By the time you reached the level you wanted to get to and ambled down the row, you and Yeosang were out of breath. Plus it seems the Slytherin team were already starting their training, though it appeared they were having a simple race around the field. You recognized their Beater pair as they weaved underneath the mass of Slytherins, spinning on their own. Having fun as it were, you let out a whoop at the sight, but your call was cut short when Yeosang kicked you in the shin. 

“Have some decorum,” Yeosang tsked. His eyes narrowed at you, but as well as the Beaters, as he slumped into a seat. 

Normally, you’d keep up with his attacks. The sort of banter you two have mastered which colour your loving friendship. Not that Yeosang would confirm it as such, but you knew better. He loved you and you were his bestest bud!

What stopped you was the soft laughter, bubbly and warm, a sound you yearn to hear often. One you wish were the cause of. Something like a goal of yours. 

“Are you okay?” Gahyun asked in between her laughter and you practically melted. For a moment, you just looked at her, your injury forgotten and your smile returning to mirror hers. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she raised a brow, a silent question and you nodded. Your usual demeanour returning, you patted off your clothes and straightened. Sending her a wink, you turned to face her instead of the field, leaning on the back of the seat behind you. “Nothing I can’t handle, you know I’m stronger than that.”

At that Gahyun snickered, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as she did and you… you just watched her while a warmth bloomed in your chest. 

Though, the feeling was quickly snuffed when Yeosang gagged, the exaggerated noises of retching even too much for yourself. Awful coming from such a pristine face, one that was usually statuesque in its expressions. This time, you returned the kick to the shin to stop him. 

Yeosang tried to kick you back. By some miracle, you happened to be the only person who manages to break through the brick wall he called a personality. Easily devolving him into an insolent child. Though both of you were interrupted by a new voice. 

“Why are you two here?” Tzuyu’s nose peered up from her textbook and the sight brought back your grin. She was so predictable. 

At that, you and Yeosang shared a look. Knowing. 

“We could ask you the same question,” you said, folding your arms. Gahyun’s gaze caught yours too, her lips twitching from keeping her smile suppressed as the three of you waited for Tzuyu’s answer. 

Instead, Tzuyu huffed and straightened her posture, in that ramrod way of hers. The polished spotless prefect badge on her robe label caught the sun, turning the glare to you but you just leaned back, still waiting. 

So Tzuyu pivoted in the way she knew best. Her eyes scanned, much like a teacher would, marking you down for all your imperfections and spat back her grade. 

“Roll down your sleeves and straighten your tie,” she gave you another once-over. “Tuck in that tail of yours, too.” 

And this was the other person you managed to crack—a crack through that mask of steel she’s perfected to an art. Whether it was a light twitch of her mouth, the drawing of impression on her forehead, that glassy faraway look in her eyes. Blink and you’d miss it but you brought it out, amplified it. She let you but it was still a win when you could make Chou Tzuyu avoid answering. So your grin only widened as you followed her instructions. 

“That good, Professor Chou?” you stood up and gave her a little twirl so she can appraise you. “Or are you gonna dock points from your own house?”  

“Answer the question, Tzuyu,” Yeosang said, his voice soft though not even that undercut his demand. Tzuyu shot him with her usual glare, not that it had any effect on him. The pair of them were awfully close for how similar they were. But if Tzuyu listened to anyone, it was him. 

“I came to study—”

“At the Quidditch field?”

“During practice!”

“With Slytherins, eh?” you finished after Yeosang and Gahyun. 

Glancing over your shoulder, you pinpointed that Slytherin Beater on the field who’s been recently orbiting Tzuyu as much as she’s been orbiting them. Rumour has it they were getting all cozy in the secluded corner of the library. Not that you’d ever vocally say you heard such a thing. One, Tzuyu would strike you down where you stood and you did not have a death wish. Two, she’d hunt down everyone that spread such a thing in some strange personal battle. Plus, rumours twist and are so far-removed from the truth, so it didn’t matter, because again, you valued your life. 

“It’s light reading,” Tzuyu backtracked and you scoffed. 

With a conspiratory look, you glanced at Gahyun as if to ask if she was hearing this. Gahyun just smiled and shook her head, asking you to drop it. 

“She helped them cheat.” 

While Gahyun was asking you to stand down silently, Yeosang dropped the factoid as if he were simply stating the weather. No fanfare at all. No contempt at all. Toneless as he just observed Tzuyu. Waiting for her next move. 

“I didn’t do anything like that, stop lying,” Tzuyu mumbled out after, “this is why I don’t tell you anything.” 

It couldn’t be helped. You and Gahyun just giggled as the other pair had another one of their silent glare-offs. When it seemed neither would back down, you decided to drop it altogether. Clapping your hands together, you brought the attention back to yourself and took a seat beside Gahyun. 

“What’s the light reading on?” you asked Tzuyu, though you were looking at Gahyun. After a nod from her, you threw your hand behind her seat and settled in. 

Tzuyu shut the textbook and showed the cover to you. Taking a moment to appraise the cover. It was generic looking with a confusing and long-winded title. You wracked your brain for what this was for in terms of required reading, usually you had better memory than this. 

“Transfiguration?” you asked for confirmation from Yeosang. He had everything memorised to a perfection. When he nodded, you frowned. “Were we supposed to read it? I don’t remember seeing it on our list.” 

“No, it’s extended reading.”

“So, optional,” you corrected Yeosang before looking back at the cover. Something about it was familiar. You know you’ve perused it, that’s when Gahyun added more clarification. 

“It’s from last year,” she settled back in her seat, her usual bubbliness dropping for a moment as she reached out and tilted the book to show you it’s back. Now, you remembered. “It’s the summer reading Professor Lee gave us, you’ve read it.” 

Nodding, you looked at Tzuyu. “Why are you reading it again? Isn’t it filled with basic non-verbal theory, you know it already.” 

“Just a refresher,” Tzuyu said, oddly calm, “can’t hurt.”

No, you supposed it never hurts. But it was these things that confused you about Tzuyu. In fact, all of your friends. Tzuyu with her piles of references. Yeosang with his obsessive memorization. Gahyun with her corridor-long parchments filled with diagrams. They’ve all found ways to turn the curriculum on its head. But how did reading the books over and over again help them practically? Especially when you know they’ve mastered these spells. You were piecing the case in real time, just about a critical question when a thunderous crack sidetracked your train of thought. 

All four of you turned to look at the bludger headed straight for you. 

On instinct, the arm behind Gahyun wrapped around her head to push her to your side. Your other hand was fumbling for your wand, a difficult task when seated. It seemed Yeosang had the same issue. But it was too late. Instead, your other hand gave up and grabbed Yeosang’s robe instead and pulled as you braced for the bludger to hit. 

For the second time, a deafening crack resounded through the field. Loud enough you jolted in your seat as if struck by lightning. Loud enough that your ears rang for a moment. This was going to bloom into a horrible headache later in the day, you just knew it. 

Scrunching your eyes to wean off the ringing, you gently pulled back from where you’d huddled to Gahyun, your hand still pressed over the side of her face. 

The first thing you did was give Tzuyu a onceover past Gahyun, she seemed frozen, her gaze steely while her hands clutching her textbook until knuckles protruded from her skin. But she was okay, unhurt. 

Sighing, you look at figures pressed to your chest and loosened your hold on her. Gahyun looked at you when you whispered. “You okay?” 

Or you think you did, your hearing was still returning to you. She mouthed her thanks, maybe spoke it, and nodded. 

Sighing, you looked to Yeosang next and his hand was on yours. His uniform slightly askew from when you’d tugged him to your side as well, but he was unhurt as well. That’s all you needed. 

You were still reeling from the ringing when a new voice entered. 

“Listen, I’m so sorry, Tzuyu.” 

Your attention tilted to the student floating above you. The Slytherin Beater. 

Everything clicked. 

And Yeosang's glance at you confirmed it. He’d update you later. 

Yeosang began fixing up his uniform, the silent manner of collecting himself. While you pulled your arm from Gahyun, focusing all of your concern on her. The whole scenario, barring the near-fatal threat and the dizzying attack to your eardrums, was quite ridiculous. You decided it was time to drop all of this seriousness and gain a little levity. 

“That was super heroic, right?” you ask, the startings of grins happening as Gahyun let out a chuckle. “How I protected you like that?” 

For effect, you threw your arm around the air, mimicking the action. Eager to see how she’d react, you did it again and Gahyun’s grin only widened. You knew you looked silly but what did it matter. 

“Like super brave right? Did you swoon?” Gahyun let out another chuckle, before shoving your shoulder playfully but you caught her hand, keeping her close. “Come on, you can admit it! you swooned a little, maybe a lot?” 

Gahyun pressed her free hand to her face, her face blotchy with blush as she giggled that laugh of hers that made your heart somersault in your chest. 

“Don’t you think I deserve something?” you asked, a whisper, much more muted than the previous questions, too taken by her laughter. She mumbled for you to stop making her laugh. “I almost died being your knight in shining armour and all, come on, give me something.” 

The pair of you were in your own world. All too reminiscent of when you’d sneak away from history classes when you were younger. Only when you’d managed to convince her that you had something to show her. And even then, she knowingly relented to see the most mundane findings of yours, only to spend a minute longer with you. The stolen seconds at the edge of the grounds, far too close to the forest, or at the entrance to a forgotten hallway that neither of you had any courage to enter. All just to make her smile. 

“Stop, seriously,” she giggled, eyes full crescents and ears all pink as she shoved you lightly again.  So ridiculous, but she was grinning. That was a win. 

On the verge of saying something even more ridiculous, you stopped when the Slytherin’s voice filtered in again. Only because they were calling to Yeosang. Almost like a premonition forced you to speak out, to intervene but Yeosang was quicker. 

“No.” 

You let out a dejected sigh at his answer, blunt and short as always. You would have berated him for being so, maybe even settle this strange dynamic and assure the Slytherin that there was nothing to worry about. But when Yeosang grabbed your sleeve and lugged you up, your resolve faltered, instead wishing to spend more time with Gahyun. 

The latter won out. 

Clutching to your seat, you try to get out a farewell, something to get her to laugh out again. You knew it wouldn’t be hard, but Yeosang’s aggressive tugging was a significant obstacle. Instead, you send her one last wink before Yeosang manages to snag you away from Gahyun. 

You manage to wave goodbye to Tzuyu before stumbling over your feet and clipping your thigh on a chair. Giving Yeosang a light shove for his wrangling, you stomp on after him. 

By the time the pair of you had made it down to the ground and exited the Quidditch field, Yeosang seemed to have relaxed. Pocketing your hands, you look at his profile as the pair of you walk on the grass. 

His steeliness gave way to a pinched expression, something else was bothering him and you had a faint idea of what it could be. Since it worried you as well. 

Both of you were slow today. 

Sighing, you asked in a serious tone. “Duelling practice after dinner?” 

Yeosang only nodded.

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: just realising nothing happens in this one lol, hope you have a good day/night :]

The moment Tzuyu realized there was no fight, she shoved her satyr behind her. “The entrance, find it!” 

The satyr lost colour, horror mounting as he shook his head. In his defence, asking to find an entrance to the labyrinth by pure scent when a horde of reptilian monsters were marching towards you was a big ask. 

Tzuyu turned and shoved him again, her features pulled tight as she ordered. “Go!” 

Unable to make an argument for himself, he cursed and turned tail, his goat legs carrying him much faster down the rocky terrain than either yourself or Tzuyu. Which seemed to be the next plan, as she grabbed your hand and ran. 

Every few seconds, she looked over her shoulder—that stare of hers you’ve seen so many times when playing capture the flag, when friendly competition became war for honour within a matter of seconds. When she took things a bit more seriously than she needed to, but this was an understandable situation, you only feared what order she’d bark at you. 

“At my mark, you will torch down the first line, okay?” Tzuyu screamed over the winds rushing past us.

“What?” You screamed back, nearly tripping over a rock, your shin getting clipped but you managed to keep running. The question wasn’t because you hadn’t heard her, it was more the fact that your supposed fire powers have dwindled down to pathetic sputters. “You know I can’t—”

“I’ll help you,” and with that harshly, she turned, somehow skidding to a stop and faced the avalanche of dracaena. 

Nearly a hundred, maybe even more monsters of serpent legs, a mixture of green, brown, and yellow scaly skin. Both slithering and running down the terrain at an alarming speed. A tangle of reptilian limbs with no end who seem eager to spill your blood, hissing with joy at the thought of it. 

Tumbling to a stop yourself, you turned to face the wave of dracaena, unable to fathom a way to defeat them all. But Tzuyu had said the first line… but even then how were you blasting them with fire at such a distance? You’d be blessed if you could manage a lick of flame. 

Tzuyu looked over her shoulder, searching for our satyr who circles a tall rock formation. His hand grazing the jagged surfaces for something. Tzuyu nodded and kneeled to the floor, one glance to you told you she needed you ready at her will. 

So you did your best to conjure a flame. Every snap of your finger pulling a spark, warming up your palms and bubbling up your blood just enough. Each click seemed to bring the monsters closer and closer. 

Tzuyu, uncaring of the clusters of rocks on the ground, wiggled her finger into the dirt. Almost searching for something. With the snaps of your fingers counting the seconds, she waited, waited, waited until the first dracaena hit the slight dip in the terrain. Tzuyu clawed at the dirt and mass of land, directly in front of the monsters cleared of rock as if tugged and slanted. The dracaena went down thrashing, an ugly green coiled mass of serpent limbs. 

You watched with your mouth agape, one hand still snapping as now flames tickled the tips of your fingers. 

“Why did you do that?” you shrieked, but still not horrified enough to distrust whatever Tzuyu was thinking off. 

While the monsters were now not on their feet, they didn’t really lose momentum, instead they were speeding up, headed straight for you, ready to roll you flat to the ground at any moment. 

That was when the satyr called out. “Found it! Found the entrance!” 

A tree root shot out of the ground next to you, nearly poking your eye out, you stepped back both hands fully aflame. 

“Are you out of your mind?” is the question you would’ve asked, but were stopped short when another root erupted from the ground much larger than one by you. 

More vines and thorns and woods spilled out from the ground at an alarming rate, slithering up to the monsters much like they had to you. Tzuyu’s eyes were glowing, a faint green tint to them as she muttered something under her breath. Something like an apology before she turned at you, casting that godly glow at you. 

“Now,” her voice was weak, distorted and hoarse. You could only imagine the power seeping out from her as she managed to wring up more vines now, the first line breached by the monster collection. 

You understood her. You understood her apology. You knew who it was for. 

Raising your hands, and with much strength as you could muster, blasted a torch of flame. Warmth arching and coiling much like her vines, as they caught the wood, and bursting alive, spreading much faster than you could predict. 

The hissing was the first indicator of a job done. The nauseating scent of burning flesh was the mission accomplished. 

The sight was horrendous. Spindly trees and vines and thorns, skeletal looking and strange in this rocky terrain, all dancing in the wind as flames engulfed them along with the dracaena. Their mass of reptilian limbs, erupting in golden dust as the flame burns brighter. 

With one last sputter, you put out the flames around your hands. The wall of fire and woods and serpent was still rolling towards you, and you didn’t want to be there for it when it reached you. Tzuyu was hunched over the ground, her eyes still emitting a faint glow yet she looked anything but godly. 

Her forehead dripping with sweat, the heat getting to her more easily than yourself. Her flat and sticking to her face as she gripped the dirt, coughing like she’d smoked a whole pack at the last minute. Words were useless to her, so you grabbed her by the waist, dragging her away from the ground. 

Usually, she’d put up a fight, but she just crumpled in your arms as you pulled her back with you. Much like her, the roots she’d erupted seemed to dwindle, but it didn’t matter because the satyr was waving to you, a dark cavern opening into the ground just by the foot of the rock formation. The entrance to the labyrinth. 

You took one last look at the burning mess of woods and flesh as the satyr flanked to Tzuyu’s other side to hold her up. 

If Tzuyu’s mother hated you before… then you might as well be dead in Demeter's eyes now.

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: this was literally written in the last hour and i'm severely out of practice with writing so rip. also will probably add title and banner to fit with the rest of the pjo collection but who knows when that will come anygays hope you have a good day/night :]

After your run in with your neighbour, you brushed away the sight of his timid smile. There were more pressing concerns that needed to be addressed. 

The start of the weekend, you started with more motivation than you expected. Starting from the moving boxes labelled ‘Living Room Items’, you unpacked. Though considering how barren your house had been, you’d barely had time to consider where each item would actually go. So instead of being stuffed away in your boxes, trinkets and small furniture littered your living room floor. 

Deciding that decorating the living room was too big of a task and something you could tackle later, you moved to the kitchen. Besides, it wasn’t like you’d be inviting anyone over any time soon. Unpacking and setting the kitchen was a much more successful endeavor. Placing most of the cooking utensils and instruments in their desired places, you dumped a few plates and bowls in the dishwasher. Starting the machine, you exited the kitchen to navigate your way through the living room mess. 

Now, you want to cook. Or well, you were hungry. However, your kitchen cupboards are empty apart from a few spices and essentials. At least while you’re completing this huge task, you’d like a better meal than a microwaved cheese sandwich, all soggy bread and unmelted cheese. Grabbing your coat and keys, you exit your apartment. 

While there was no certain meal in mind, you bought what you would usually buy. Some vegetables, a few fruits as snacks, and some meat. There was a general idea of food and it will have to do. 

You were staring blankly at the wall of instant noodle packages, in a deep debate with yourself if you should bother stocking on emergency noodles when a familiar voice brought you out of your trance. 

“Good afternoon!” she chirped up, and despite yourself, you found a small smile growing on your face. 

“Afternoon, kid,” you said, turning to her. 

This time she was in a purple shirt and denim overalls, her hair in pigtails with… well, who would’ve guessed? A dinosaur charm. The mere sight of it seemed to lift the heaviness in your chest. The sight was comical, but you appreciated that she was so consistent with her interests. 

When she didn’t start the conversation, you decided to take initiative for once. “Your parents send you to collect stuff again?” 

She shook her head. “Nope, I’m just here to get a juice box before heading to the playground with my friends.”

“Alright, you do that, kid,” you nodded and turned your attention back to the noodle packets with a sigh. 

“And you have a good day,” she said. “Adult.” 

Once again, you brought your attention to her. The little girl was barely holding in her giggles as you blinked at her. Then with a small smile, you sighed. 

“Very funny, kid—” she broke into a fit of giggles, all doubled over and clutching her tummy. 

Pursing your lips into a thin line you watched her with mild amusement. Adorable. 

There was something about her demeanour that just seemed to disarm you so easily. From the first interaction to every other one since, even if it only happened in the span of a few days, you looked forward to catching her and having your strange conversations. Strange because you never felt like the type to entertain children, or bother with them really. Perhaps, you were more soft-hearted than you’d imagined. 

Sighing at her still giggling figure, you tell your name. Your voice was small, almost hesitant. Though, once she recognized what you were doing she was grinning back at you. 

“I’m Danbi!” she extended her hand out and you took it, giving it a little shake. “But can I still call you an adult?” 

You don’t see why not, she clearly gleaned some sort of amusement from it. When you shrugged in response, her smile widened. 

“You can call me kid.” 

“Deal,” you nodded. “I gotta finish my groceries, but I’ll see you around, kid.” 

She chuckled, hands covering mouth and all, as if the pair of you were sharing a secret. 

“See you around, adult,” she waved and skipped away, not before releasing another bout of giggles. 

Honestly, you didn’t find it so entertaining but it seemed to make her happy. Children were so peculiar, you thought to yourself with a smile. 

Grocery shopping had been a quick task once you decided on the noodles dilemma. You got them, of course. For the sake of trying to settle your mind just slightly, you decide to explore the large gated community. There were more buildings than you could count on your hands with the hub for your needs situated in the middle. There was a large station for restaurants, groceries, and health support. The playground however was situated centrally to the buildings, along with a pool. 

It was hard not to search for that little kid that you’ve come to see over the last two days. Your momentary breath of fresh air from what seems to be the worst weekend of your life. 

Danbi was sprinting across the playground at breakneck speed. The little critter was quick. She was laughing at the top of her lungs while reaching a bright pink pole and tapped it thrice before jumping up and down. Some form of a tag game, you assumed. Her friends shoulders sagged at the sight, but she only giggled before dragging them over to the nearby benches and pulling out juice boxes for all of them. 

So the juice boxes weren’t only for herself but also her friends. Her parents must be really proud of the star they’ve raised. 

Smiling at the sight, you turned the path to your building, steeling yourself to the state of your house. The elevator ride was a quick, asocial one. You were grateful for that. Though, your luck didn’t last long. 

Just as you shuffled your grocery bags to one hand to reach for your key card, the door behind you opened. Automatically, your body froze, as if staying still would make you invisible. Of course, that is not true. 

“Good afternoon,” that faceless voice said and you internally sighed. 

Clearing your throat, you threw an awkward smile over your shoulder. “Afternoon,” you said. 

The first thing you really noticed was the warmth on your neighbour’s face. And you really didn’t know how to describe it, the feeling it stoked in your chest was almost some sort of burning… irritation, perhaps? Of course, all of your interactions with this man have been disjointed. You’ve never fully seen his face, until now, and his greetings and acts of kindness have been brief. And lastly, you definitely didn’t forget his little smile when he held the door open for you to garbage chute last night. 

Besides, you were in the strangest headspace. You were trying to strong-arm your way through your relationship breakdown. You weren’t looking to chat up neighbours. 

But unfortunately, this was undeniable. This man—your neighbour—was good. 

At whatever surface level, you could sense it. That is if your internal compass of goodness meant anything, you knew it he was good even with no solid evidence. And while that ticked you off slightly, it stumped you even more. 

Giving him a slight nod in greeting, you turned back to your door, swiping the key card quickly. The automatic lock flashes green before the clear click of unlocking could be heard. 

And at the same time, your neighbour opens his mouth. 

“Heading back from grocery shopping?” he asked, the tone gentle and well… friendly. 

Closing your eyes for a beat, you collected yourself. You could get through this. 

Then, with that same awkward smile you turned to face him fully. Your neighbour's warm smile widened just by a fraction, as if he was grateful you spoke to him. It was important to note, and again, unfortunate for you, that he didn’t seem overbearing or pushy. He didn’t seem eager to do anything, almost as if this was just a normal conversation he was having with any neighbour. He was just being neighhbourly. That is all. 

That gave you no valid excuse to not indulge him. Or at least, it felt that way. 

“Yeah, meal prepping for the week,” you shook the bags in your hand a bit, forcing a chuckle the same way you did the next question. “Are you heading out?” 

He nodded. “Visiting a friend in the western block to grab a drink.” 

“That’s nice,” you said almost flatly. This was so awkward, what were you to say to him? “Have fun.” 

“Thanks,” he said with that warm smile of his almost taunting you. There was something so familiar about him. Shaking his head, he sighed. “Actually, I wanted to apologize.” 

The words sent down a sense of dread through your body. 

He must’ve sensed it because the moment he noticed the tension, he pivoted, shaking his head more vigorously. “I just—I know you moved a few weeks or so back, but I just didn't have time to introduce myself.” 

Oh. 

Is that something people really worry about? You hoped your face didn’t express the confusion you felt. 

It was your turn to shake your head. “That’s okay, I’m pretty busy myself. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yes, but it’s the neighborly thing to do to check in on, well, your neighbours,” he chuckled, his eyes almost shining with that warm smile of his. “You know, help you get used to the setting and everything?”

You were trying your best not to narrow your eyes. Why was this random man blasting the charm on you? Or was he genuinely this kind? Surely not. It wasn’t his job to do anything, in fact, you preferred it when he barely interacted with you. Though, you didn’t say exactly that.

“You’re kind, but really, it’s no trouble at all,” you shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Fairly simple compound. Quiet, too.” 

“Still, I should’ve introduced myself earlier,” he said, softly tilting his head, his smile evening out into a more somber expression. “I’m San. Choi San.” 

And then he extended his hand, expectant. 

If you indulge him, this would be quick. 

Pocketing your keycard, you shake his hand and said your name. He repeated the words to himself, sounding out your name as he nodded. You took back your hand and just stared. Well, that’s introductions done. 

“You enjoy your drink,” you tried, hoping he’d get the hint this time. 

“Yes, and you, your groceries,” he said, looking down at his hand fidgeting with his own keycard. Then, he looked up at the last minute, almost hesitant. “If you ever need anything, just knock on my door, yeah?” 

Yeah, that’s a solid no. You will not be doing that. 

“Yeah, of course, thanks for the offer,” you smile. “Same here.” 

“Alright, you have a good rest of your weekend,” he gave you a two-fingered salute as he headed towards the elevator. 

“You, too,” you mumbled and hurried into your apartment. 

For some reason, you couldn’t bear to start in the living room. It was just too overwhelming. Your items, when packed, had been aligned by the nature of items, but now you wanted to separate your ex’s shit from yours but that would mean starting different piles. And that would technically mean at some point in the future, you’d have to see him again. 

You figured you’d come back to it. Again, it was not like anyone was coming in any time soon. 

Indulging in two packets of instant noodles for dinner, you started cracking on the bed frame. Honestly, a terrible idea on your part to start it so late in the night and then to do so without bothering to fully read the manual. Now you sat on the floor of your master bedroom huffing and puffing, screws and tools littered around you with a barely put together headboard. You figured you were in much better health, but attaching just two planks of wood had drained you out. 

Sighing, you pressed your palms to your eyes, hoping rubbing away the drowsiness would help. However, it was the knocking that snapped you out of your despair. 

Who could be knocking on your door at this hour? It was almost midnight.

Grunting, you stood up from the floor and dragged yourself to your main door. Evading the huge mess that is your living room, you cracked open the door just enough to see who it was.

Your neighbour. San. 

He was nervously checking back on his door, though it was closed, before turning to you. His stark black hair was tousled, invitingly soft as if he’d run his hand through it a million times. San was wearing a grey knitted cardigan, though it was askew as if hastily pulled over. Considering his checkered pajama pants, you assumed he was headed to bed before he decided to show up at your door, but made sure to look semi-decent before knocking. 

Though the expression from his face was far from tired. San’s eyebrows were pulled together, his fingers picking at his lips as he tried to formulate his words. Then with that low voice of his, he asked. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah–Yes?” you said, tone almost affronted, but you threw in a shaky smile to weaken your dormant irritation. “Why do you ask?” 

Biting his lip, San sighed. He didn’t believe you. 

“There were some noises, like something fell or…” San moved his hand to his arm, stroking his sleeve, almost self-soothing, “and I just wanted to check in if everything was okay.” 

You just stared at him. 

There might have been a few swear words thrown around when you dropped a heavy plank, completely miscalculating just how difficult it would be to lift it. And maybe, you had shoved your half complete headboard into the wall in frustration. This is not mentioning all the clattering throughout the day. 

Perhaps, you weren’t the most careful when you were unpacking. But you’d paid good money for this home, and you knew it was well-built. Figuring it was somewhat soundproof, you’d been pretty tactless. This was your own mistake. 

Plus, it was midnight. 

So this was a noise issue. 

“Oh, yeah,” you nodded, plastering on a genuine look of apology, “sorry about the noise.”

Well, that’s your first confrontation. Lots of firsts with your neighbour today. Wonderful. 

Though that didn’t seem to be the conclusion for San. His forehead wrinkled as he glanced around to stall. 

To convince him, you added. 

“I’m just unpacking and it’s hectic,” you throw another weak smile at him hoping it dissipates some of the awkward tension. “I’ll be more mindful of the noise. Again, sorry for the disturbance.” 

That should be enough. He can leave now. 

He didn’t. 

Instead, he sighed, pursing lips into a thin line as he deliberated. It was clear as day that the cogs in his mind were working full-time, you knew he had something to say or ask. Complain, perhaps. But it was beginning to get frustrating that he wouldn’t just spit it out—

“Alright, appreciate the apology.”

His tone said it all. San cut his losses and figured to not push. 

“Good luck with the rest of it,” he said and you shook your head. 

“I think I’m done for the night,” you tried your smile again but his expression of concern or worry or whatever pitiful look he wore didn’t seem to falter. Sighing, you tried again, “listen, I really am sorry—”

San shook his head, running a hand through his hair again. “It’s not a big deal, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt,” he nodded, almost as if trying to convince himself. He could barely look at you. “Have a good night.”

Nodding, you parroted. “Good night.” 

Waiting until he was back in his house, you watched his door for a bit. Had you not interacted with people outside of work for so long, you’d lost touch. Or was this guy just strange? It was so clear that something else was bothering him. You’d have appreciated it if he just told you straight to your face that this whole interaction was a noise complaint. 

Shutting the door, you headed to the couch. 

Tomorrow. You will deal with all of this tomorrow.

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: next chapter is going to be rough y'all <3

masterlist | chapter 2 | chapter 4

taglist: @eternallyghosting @marvolos

“Hey.”

“Hey, hey—oh, sweetheart, we can’t see your face?” 

Well, yeah. You had your phone facing the ground. 

Biting down the groan, you looked around to locate the switch to turn on the living room lights. “Just give me a second, I’m doing something, I’ll just—” 

Fingers barely scraping the edge of the light switch, you turned on your knees, almost standing up at full height when you turned on the switch. The perks of earning money and designing the home you wanted was the fact that you installed dimmer lights. A warm welcoming amber slowly washed over the room, lighting up everything you hoped you wouldn’t see until tomorrow’s sunlight reminded you.

Moving boxes. Lone boxcutter. Discarded clothes. 

With a sigh, you took your place back on the floor and reached for your phone. 

“There you are!” your dad basically screamed, forcing you to push your phone far away from you and spam the volume button to lower the noise. 

“Here I am,” you groaned as you brought the phone back to show your face. 

You look like shit. 

“You look like shit,” your dad said, only to receive a smack from your mother. “What, it's true! Are you not eating? You look like you’ve lost weight. Is that husband of yours not feeding you—!”

His face blurred as the phone was yanked away from him and instead replaced by your mother’s face. 

“Not husband,” you joked as usual, though now more sardonic than ever before. 

“Yet,” your father added as he shoved himself back into the screen. 

For a man who could barely tell the difference between granulated sugar and powdered salt, you’re not surprised his poor observational skills extended to being unable to read the room. Or just identify emotions, for that matter. 

“That’s enough,” your mother said, standing up and moving away to another room but not before throwing your father a pointed glare. Your father protested, but he was far too lazy to actually follow your mother, so his voice died out when the door closed. With a similar sigh to you, your mother seated herself on your childhood bed. “Why are you on the floor, sweetheart?” 

If your father was as perceptive as a distracted toddler, then your mother was the exact opposite. 

Attempting to steer away from her question would be futile. 

With another sigh, you admitted. “I’m just tired I guess.” 

She pursed her lips. You could guess what she would say, but was stopping herself as you had asked her to do. At least one of your parents attempted to understand your boundaries and requests. 

Why don’t you buy a car?

“Why don’t you lie down on your bed?” 

That’s not a better question but you couldn’t fault her, she didn’t know your situation. Mentally shaking away your desire to whine, you answered truthfully. Or at least as truthfully as you could without revealing what just happened. 

“I don’t know, I just find the floor comforting I guess,” you attempted a small chuckle. It felt forced even to your ears. 

“You still haven’t set up the bed, have you,” she angled her question as a statement, if only to attempt to join in on your poor excuse. 

“No, I haven’t,” your words trailed off at the end, you couldn’t carry the light tone. Should you have said ‘we’?

“Did your fiancé not help?” 

You couldn’t look your mother in the eye. Instead, you stared past your phone and at the gray slacks on the floor. 

Your mother hummed a note of question before moving on. “Please set it up over the weekend, sweetheart.”

“I will.” You will. 

“I’ll let you go now. Eat dinner please before you go to sleep, order something if you have to,” she said, reading you as easily as a children’s tale. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”

Mumbling your ‘I love you’ back, you cut the call and dropped your phone to the floor. 

Dinner. Sleep. Work. Then the weekend. 

One more day before you could let yourself shatter into a million unidentifiable pieces that could never be put back together. One more day. 

You barely slept. The couch wasn’t exactly made for sleeping. And breakfast was a cereal bar you found at the back of your cupboard. It will have to do. 

Making sure you were somewhat presentable for a nine-hour shift, you exited your apartment. 

Just as you stepped out, you caught a glimpse of the person living opposite you. The briefest of images since he was turned away from you. The most striking feature being his broad back nearly covering the width of the door. His hair was a black tousled mess and matchingly he was dressed head to toe in black. Though, what startled you was his greeting. 

“Good morning,” his voice was low, soft, still groggy from sleep. And with that, he was in his apartment and locking his door. 

You stood at your door for a second, a hand on your door handle, the door waiting to be closed so it can automatically lock your apartment. Darting your gaze up and down the corridor, you come to the conclusion he was talking to you. So you did what anyone would do.

“Uh, morning,” although your greeting was to an empty door. 

Well, at least now you couldn’t say you never interacted with your neighbour. 

Shaking away your confusion, you made your way to the elevator and walked to the bus stop near your block. It was a short walk so the interaction was fresh in your mind. Though not for long. 

“Good morning!” a cheery tone greeted you, as you came to a stop by the bus station. You knew that voice.

In an instant, you were looking to your left. It was the young girl from last night!

“Nice to see you again,” she smiled at you, all wide and chipper. 

This time around her hair was in two braids on the other side of her face, tied up with carefully crafted purple ribbons. You doubted the bows would last the school day, though they did look adorable. Her school bag was almost more than half her size and you noticed the patterns of dinosaurs. They were hand-drawn, cartoon-like, so the dinosaurs looked a bit goofy, you supposed, but identifiable nonetheless. And the colours… were colourful, for sure, but the only thing that matters was that she likes it. So purple and dinosaurs are a favourite. Cute. 

The young girl was also holding a carry bag with containers of… cupcakes.  

“Uh, yeah, morning, kid,” you stammered much like you did with your neighbour. “Nice to see you too.”

“Did you sleep well?” she asked without missing a beat and you couldn't help but look around to check if she was still talking to you. 

No, not at all.

“Yeah, decent. You?” you asked out of politeness, still facing the road. 

“Could’ve been better, to be honest,” she chuckled to herself. “I think my father is more exhausted though.” 

“Oh, is that so?” What were you doing?

“Yeah, we were up all night making cupcakes! He stayed up much later though,” She shook the bag in her hands. Alright, they were cupcakes. 

“Oh,” you repeated as you stalled for a way to converse with a child. “Nice.” 

“Would you like to try one?” She was already reaching into her bag and opening the container. 

“Oh, no! No, it’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“Here you go, I designed this one!” 

Extending her hand, you saw the beautiful cupcake she picked out. The icing was a harmony of delicate purples, pinks, and blues. They were piped to a precision that only a steady hand could bring, the design formed a flower… the name of which slipped your mind. 

“They’re hydrangea cupcakes, because, you know,” the girl said, wiggling the cupcake in front of you like some bait. “Do they look like them?” 

You stared at the cupcake, then at her and nodded. Hydrangeas, yeah, those. 

“That’s good, I worked really hard to learn how to pipe them,” she giggled before pushing the cupcake closer to you. 

Now, would you be an asshole to reject her? 

Thinking of how to navigate this social situation, you were reminded of last night. That same smile of hers and her near-perfect manners. 

“Listen, kid, about last night,” you started, still only looking at the treat. “I hope I didn’t freak you out or—”

“No worries, I know you were only concerned for me,” she nodded, urging you to take the cupcake. “Please take it, as a thank you. My father also appreciated it.”

“Alright,” you shifted your laptop bag in your hand before taking the cupcake with an awkward smile. 

The girl just stared at you, waiting… right.

With another brief smile, you peeled the cupcake sheet to take a bite. 

Maybe it was the fact that you craved sugar from all your stress. Or perhaps the fact that you had a questionable breakfast. But the cupcake was absolutely divine. It took all of your strength not to shove the cupcake into your mouth and gulp it down. The icing was a bit too sweet for your taste, but the sponge cake balanced it out.

Gulping down a bite, you nodded. “So good.” 

Her smile widened, that sparkle in her eyes returning again and you couldn’t help but share that smile with her. Something about her carefreeness alleviated the burning in your chest. A brief reprieve from the shitshow that is your life, but a reprieve nonetheless. 

“What are you making cupcakes for?” you asked, a genuine curiosity laced in your small voice before taking another bite.

“We have a bake sale today, so,” she shuffled her bag in her hand, though only slightly so as to not mess up the treats. 

You frowned, reaching into your pocket as you asked, “hold on, should I be paying you?”

“Oh, no! No, like I said, this is a gift,” she shook her head when she saw you pull out your wallet. 

“You sure? I don’t mind,” you said, rooting to pull out some notes. “How much?”

“Seriously, it’s alright,” she grinned, pink tinting her round cheeks. She was so adorable that you felt bad for getting a free cupcake, but you doubted she’d take your money. 

Nodding, you put away your wallet before turning back to the road, both of you patiently waiting by the bus stop for your respective buses. It was so early in the morning, that the sky had barely lightened. You travelled early to beat the rush of the trains. The last thing you needed was being smushed next to other people and tolerating their presence first thing in the morning. 

Pausing your internal grumbling, you turned to the little girl and frowned. “Kid.”

She craned her neck to look up at you, a hum as her response. 

“Why are you up this early?” you asked, it was a fair question considering there were only two other students at the bus stop. A young boy and a girl, though they wore different uniforms. Surely, these buses can’t be arriving so early for these kids. 

“My school is quite far,” she said, her demeanour dimming just slightly. “So I’m the first to be picked up and last to be dropped.” 

Well, that was some terrible luck. 

“When does school start?”

“We have to be in the homeroom by seven forty-five.”

It was just about six-thirty.

“That is…” Fucked is the word you’d like to use, but you doubt that's appropriate language to use with a child. “That—That sounds awful.”

“It really is,” she agreed but then shrugged, easily shaking off her fleeting somberness. “But it gives me time to catch up on my sleep!” 

Well, that’s a positive spin. And it works considering she didn’t need to be concerned about missing her stop. 

“Fair enough,” you nodded and turned back to the road. Your bus should be here soon. 

Another silence banketed the pair of you, before your bus pulled into a stop. 

“Good luck with your sale, kid,” you mumble, before adding, “and thanks for the cupcake.” 

Her grin widened, pushing up her rosy cheeks further. It was almost cherub-like. Were kids always this adorable? That can’t be. 

“Thanks, have a good day!” she waved as you climbed in and took a seat. 

She was still waving when the bus pulled away from the stop. 

Of course, you were aware that this would happen but unfortunately, you did not see the young girl later that day. Probably because she returned home way earlier than you did. You hoped her sale went well, and considering her delicious goodies, you were sure she had no problems raking in the cash. 

Somewhat motivated about the weekend, you took a ten-minute break on your couch to ease the pain in your back before starting to clean. The first chore to tackle was the many many bags of take-out that should’ve been discarded a long time ago. Grabbing two bags in each hand to make this a one-time trip, you waddled your way out of your apartment. The garbage chute was only to the right around the corner. 

Just as you were struggling to bring your tired fingers to grab the door handle, the door opened towards you. Stepping back, you shifted your bags to a more comfortable position, waiting for the person to step out. But instead of simply leaving, the person stayed, holding the door for you. 

“Good evening,” they said. Low and delicate. You knew that voice. No longer slow from grogginess anymore. 

And much like in the morning, you fumbled your words. What is with the residents of this building?

“Uh, thanks—and yeah, good evening to you too,” you couldn’t have sounded more reluctant. You stepped into the garbage room as you spoke, pointedly avoiding looking at your neighbour. 

“No problem,” is all he said, before letting the door close after him. You turned in time just to catch his profile, his eyes scrunched shut with a small upward curve at the corner of his lips. 

Was he laughing at you?

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: hey chat realistically how long does it take to get over a breakup HFKJSDF

masterlist | chapter 1 | chapter 3

In the cramped back of the ambulance, Danoh was fast asleep, curled in your coat and snuggled close to her mother, who gave you a weary smile before shutting her own eyes. Returning the small smile, you turned to look at the stretcher beside them. On it, Ms Park’s oxygen mask lay beside her head as she tried to sleep with her eyebrows pulled to a frown. Her granddaughter, Sieun, on the other hand, had her knees to her chest managing to take up a small portion of the stretcher with dark circles under her eyes as she looked at her unwell grandmother. Sighing at the scene, you squeezed Sieun’s shoulder, bidding her goodnight wordlessly before closing the doors of the ambulance carefully. 

After making sure that the lock was secure, you turned to the familiar skyline of your city. The sun had completely vanished behind towering buildings, as the last shades of coral and blue made way for a deep indigo, allowing twinkling stars to emerge—you would’ve never been able to witness this from your apartment. At this distance, your home looked peaceful… and normal. From afar, no one would be able to tell that the streets had been infested with flesh-eating monsters. Shaking your head to thwart away the growing lump in your throat, you looked at the dry sand beneath your boots while you walked to the passenger seat of the ambulance. 

The sound of static filtered through the quiet night as soon as you opened the door. Unfazed by your entrance, Siyeon kept fiddling with the radio she’d managed to find. Climbing in, you shut the door soundlessly. For a few moments, neither of you acknowledged each other. Hissing and stray words from the radio elicited sighs of frustration from Siyeon, while you stared at the object separating the two of you—an emergency axe. 

There were splotches and specks of burnt umber which couldn’t be scrubbed clean even when you knew they weren't rust. Under filtered moonlight, the end of the blade gleamed silver, terrifyingly sharp and unblemished as if it could sever a thousand more limbs and crush a thousand more skulls while still remaining untainted. You couldn’t say the same about your hands. 

That cursed axe had ruined you. Your hands. 

The moment flashed across your vision again. 

Both your hands gripping Siyeon’s axe. Bringing it down with a swing. And then another. And another. The blade cleaving through skin. Muscle. Bone. Until the head rolled toa stop by your feet. An expression of eternal horror. Cloudy eyes and rotting skin. 

You couldn’t pull your stare away from it. You simply couldn’t. 

Siyeon had to pull you away. 

There was still that phantom sensation of bringing down that axe, saved in your muscle memory now. Your hands shaking. The very same that had been trained to save lives had just taken one. 

Unable to take the repulsive image nor the shuffling static anymore, you said under your breath. “There won’t be a broadcast this late.” 

The static abruptly stopped. 

You startled slightly when Siyeon raised her hand in surrender and away from the radio, before folding her arms and looking out the window. Now instead of rampant hissing, there was endless silence—an enormous suffocating chasm between the two of you, more distressing than that axe. 

The relationship between you and Siyeon was a strange one. You were work colleagues, not that your paths crossed often at the hospital, what with her running back and forth from the hospital on this very ambulance while you were running laps around the intensive care unit and operating room. After long shifts and late nights, the two of you have shared thoughts and drinks. Though Yubin had always been there to be a buffer, a mutual connection. You and Siyeon were acquaintances at best. 

So when all hell broke loose one night, now almost three weeks back, you were glad she was there. Wielding a bloodied axe, her bleached blonde hair a mess in her face as she guarded and escorted you, Sieun and her grandmother to the parking lot. The four of you took off, and the rest was history. Until, the convenience store two nights back. 

With a voice just as quiet as yours, albeit lower, Siyeon asked. “How are they doing?” 

Staring at your hands splayed out flat on your knees, you answered. “Fine.” You hesitated, then swallowing your distress, you asked, “when do you think we’ll reach that camp? Ms Park… her condition is worsening. We need to treat her. Quickly.” 

Finally, Siyeon turned away from the window to stare at your side—to observe you. She did that often. 

Of course, you were thankful for Siyeon. Well, without her, you wouldn’t be here. Alive, that is. However, you’ve seen how paramedics work, how she worked with Danoh and her mother, and how… proactive… she can be when necessary. You spared a quick glance at the axe. This is why when she paused or withdrew, it stunned you. There is a slightly awkward aloofness to her that she masked well with a sombre gaze and brief answers.  

Sighing deeply, Siyeon leaned forward to fiddle with the radio once again and mellow static filtered through the speakers. She recalled the broadcasts you’d stumbled upon two nights back and said, “they mentioned a base camp. Up north, not far. So—“

“We’re in the middle of nowhere, Siyeon.” 

“—it must be a factory or warehouse,” nonchalant to your comment, she continued, “there’s that industrial sector, you know?” 

You bit back the urge to hiss that, no, you don’t know any industrial sectors because you were rooted to the hospital. Instead, you asked, in what you hoped was a level-headed tone. 

“And they have the ability to broadcast messages from there?”

“I don’t know, but it's good shelter,” Siyeon said emotionlessly. Factually. Like she did when she wanted a conversation to end. 

Once again, there was that smothering stillness between you, only disturbed by the sound of the howling wind rustling the sand accompanied by the faint groans of monsters. On habit, you checked your dying phone to see if Yubin had read your messages, or received them for that matter. Still nothing. 

When the screen turned black, you saw Siyeon’s reflection. Her head was turned to look at you, jaw clenched with that fierceness you couldn’t seem to mimic. Her skin was ashen under the moonlight and her once silken blonde hair was wind-blown with brown roots. There were dark circles under her eyes, but even then they were trained with such intensity you doubted if she was actually tired. She studied you like you would a case file, noticing the flaws, reading between the lines, running millions of scenarios before narrowing down to a possible diagnosis. 

She was calculating what to say to get you to forgive yourself. 

You knew this because ever since you picked up Danoh and her mother at that convenience store, Siyeon had suddenly become more vocal. More concerned. Like… you were some sort of patient. 

On the other hand, you’ve been doing your best to ignore her, just like how you pretended her burning gaze didn’t bother you. Before returning to study your hands, you threw your useless phone into the glove box, pushing aside any hope that Yubin might respond. 

“You did what you had to.” 

Those five words made you clench your fists and had your nails dig into your palm, but you felt how your hands trembled. You were well aware of what she was talking about but you weren’t ready to admit it. Maybe, it was easy for someone like Siyeon to say something like that, to tell herself that to justify her actions but you’re not like her. That lump of regret and self-deirison you’d swallowed began clawing its way up your throat again. There was a tightness around your chest which paralysed you, making you feel the weightlessness of being weak. When you unclenched your hands and turned to study your palms, you witnessed the odd twitches of your fingers, the sudden jerks and incessant shaking, and the growing redness from forming blisters.

“You did what anyone would’ve done,” Siyeon tried again, each word stressed to drill her point in, though it was of no use. 

At the sight of you shaking your head, Siyeon groaned. You didn’t want to hear this again, not when your hands were quivering like a leaf. The same hands that you’d spent a decade moulding into perfect stillness, precision, and poise—only to be lost to fear, doubt, and crushing regret. 

Whatever lecture Siyeon had prepared, you interrupted before she could begin. 

“That's ten years of study and practice and tears—and a lot of money—gone to waste,” you said, voice shaking as much as your fingers, which never stilled even when you clenched your fists again. 

“You still have two years of your residency—”

An exasperated scoff escaped your lips as you kept flexing your fingers, hastier with each attempt, anxious to stop the tremors but to no avail. Biting your lip, you tried to steady your breath and blinked furiously at the sight of your hands. 

“You did what you had to,” Siyeon repeated, voice gravelly and exhausted.

“We swore to save lives!” you yelled, hitting the dashboard as tears you’ve been holding up for days were finally free. With another dejected slap to the dashboard, you leaned forward and laid your forehead on it and held your aching head. Voice brittle, you said, almost like a whine, “we swore to save lives.”

Only your sobs were apparent in your surroundings for a moment, no doubt shocking Siyeon into even more distance, but something new happened. 

Silently, the paramedic moved the axe away from your sight and shuffled closer to you. She wrapped an arm around you, forcing you to turn into her. There you were, crying into her shoulder as Siyeon rubbed circles on your back, consoling you with a gentle voice you’ve only seen her use with Danoh. 

“We are saving lives,” she said, after a while when your sobbing had subsided. Siyeon pulled you away from her and wiped away any stray tears. “You are still saving lives—no, look at me.” 

Siyeon held your cheek to make you face that intense gaze of hers head on. You recognized that look of determination, that calculating stare as she took note of your features. 

“Ms Park is here, in this ambulance, because of you. She’s alive, because of you. Her granddaughter is here, with her, because of you. Danoh is sleeping peacefully in her alive and healthy mother’s arms because you heard her cries and jumped head first into that convenience store, which was super stupid by the way,” that elicited a chuckle out of you and Siyeon’s own lips twitched upward for a second, savouring this moment before she said, “and we’re all here—I’m here… because you—” 

Killed.

You knew that. 

You did. 

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: i actually wanted to make this a larger fic with multiple parts (some of which are half-written) but then i put too much pressure on myself lol. i might post the parts, it might be disjointed tho idk anyway hope you have a good day/night :]

The sigh you let out was deep. With it your whole body sagged, the ache in your lower back making its way up your spine even after you’ve twisted and turned to relieve it. There had been open seats on the train back home, but you decided to stand by the doors, leaning on the railing as you watched your city rush past you in a blur of yellow, blue, and black. You would’ve missed your stop if your body didn’t move on its own. Even though you were wearing your earphones, no music played. Instead, you wore them for appearances, so people would know to avoid you. Besides, the blooming pain growing in your temple wouldn’t allow you to enjoy music anyway. 

Today was less than ideal. Though you could argue that sentiment applied to a lot of your days in the last few months. Every single day felt like a slog, from the moment you woke up to the moment you entered back into the bed. Work was mind-numbing, and overtime was the only thing keeping you together, a routine you couldn’t shake, anything to avoid the end of the day so another wouldn’t start. 

Texting your parents every day as a full-time working adult felt like a joke, but it was worse when they called you asking to hear your voice, to know how your day was. What were you supposed to say? That you couldn’t stand it? That their love and care was a bother? Especially when every single coin they toiled away to obtain was poured into your well-being. Just like how every single drop of your blood, sweat, and tears was spilled into fulfilling every single wish they had. Student debt amounted next to nothing of the life debt you owe your parents. You could never escape them. 

There was a familiar burn in the back of your throat, the beginnings of a breakdown you couldn’t afford. With another sigh, you swiped your access key to enter your gated community. It was quite late in the evening, and people were beginning to wind down, most of the home lights were turned down or switched off. Though it was still early for your return home. 

Though it wasn’t even a home. It was only on paper. Your bed wasn’t even set up, it was merely a mattress on the floor for now. The mere idea of walking into your new house and coming home to the image of multiple unopened moving boxes made you want to turn around right now. But then, where would you go? 

Rolling your neck, your left palm came to massage your right shoulder as you waited for the elevator. The action was soothing enough that you could ignore the pain of your ring chafing into your skin through your jacket.

There was a mirror on the back of the elevator, you made sure to keep your head down. You didn’t have it in you to look at yourself right now. 

Though, your somberness was quickly thwarted. 

“Good evening!” a cheery tone said and stepped out of the elevator. 

Your head didn’t have to move much to find the owner of the voice. She was a young girl, no older than eight or nine years. Her stark black hair was in a braid that fell to the right of her face, tied with a purple scrunchie, matching the frock she wore. The young girl was holding a dinosaur-patterned purse in her left hand while the other was holding the elevator doors for you. The light in her eyes shining like stars do in the darkness, bright and unwavering. And her smile was just as radiant, it held a naive gentleness only a child could bear. It almost brought a smile to your face. Almost.

Dumbfounded by her manners, you mumbled your gratitude as you entered the elevator. 

“No problem,” she said, before bowing and turning to leave. 

You couldn’t help it. 

Slamming your left hand on the elevator doors before it could close, you asked. “Where are you headed this late?” 

“Just to the supermarket,” the girl turned around, showing the purse in her hands. 

The reason you decided to buy an apartment in this gated community was because of its security. Hence, gated. Every building all the way from the basement parking lot was accessed through keycards only available to residents. Cameras were abundant and covered every crevice of the compound while security staff roamed the compound around the clock. Besides, since the compound was so isolated, it held its own supermarket, restaurants, clinic, and support services. It was almost like a small town. 

You had no doubt this girl would be safe leaving and returning… right? She looked old enough to be responsible about this. And if her manners were any indication, she was clever enough to handle herself. 

But you couldn’t dispel your hesitancy to return home—no, to keep her safe. Tiredness from a long day seemed to vanish, almost as if you were doused with coffee. Should you accompany her to the supermarket? Or would that be weird? You were concerned for her safety, but also you were a complete stranger. In fact, if you did follow her to the store, you would look more like the danger you were trying to protect her from. 

Doubt caused you to halt, clueless about your next move. Fortunately for you, the young girl seemed to understand. 

“My father already ordered, I’m just going to pay and collect them,” she smiled, it was her attempt to assure you. But you remained frozen, hand still preventing the doors from closing, any moment now it would start beeping from being open too long. “You don’t have to worry, I’ll be quick. But you don’t have to wait for me though!” 

“Alright,” you mumbled, and her smile widened. “But be careful, okay? Look both sides before crossing the streets. And make sure all the things are there from your father’s grocery list. And make sure to get the receipt so you can check your change!” 

What the fuck are you doing?

The girl just nodded, her lips wobbling as she tried to suppress a smile. Great, this was ridiculous to the middle schooler as well and she was just indulging your pathetic antics. 

“I will, I promise! Thank you for worrying,” oh, she was so definitely trying to get rid of you. Perhaps, you should have just ignored her like you ignore most children. “Have a good night!” 

“You too, kid,” you mumbled, “get home safe.” 

The young girl skipped away after nodding, no doubt itching to flee from the weird, tired stranger who randomly stopped her from her chore and lectured her. Only after she disappeared from your sight do you let the doors close, and only after they close do you throw your head back with a groan. 

“Fuck! What is wrong with you?” you mutter to yourself, pressing the button for the eighth floor after swiping your keycard. “What is wrong with you? Why would you freak a kid out like that? What the fuck? What the fuck?”

Another groan escaped as you moved to wedge yourself into a corner, allowing the coldness of the metal sheet to soothe your burning forehead. You shut your eyes as you asked yourself the question again and again. Whoever was manning the security cameras must have one entertaining show. 

When the elevator announced your floor, you quickly straightened yourself. This complex was huge. The buildings housed almost twenty apartments per floor, and there were fifteen floors. The chance of coming across her again is quite small. You were hoping she forgets your existence altogether, but you plan on avoiding the public areas as much as possible to prevent seeing her just in case. You exited as normally as you could muster, not before chancing a glance at the security camera. 

The walk from the lift to your apartment was a small one, a turn and a few steps, and you were there. But it was enough time for your adrenaline from the interaction to settle and be replaced with exhaustion again. Every single emotion you felt in the last few minutes dissipated as quickly as sand in the wind, while a heavy weight pressed you further into the ground. Once again, your whole body sagged with a sigh, your height decreased as you held your keycard away from the door, just far enough that it didn’t scan. 

You could hear shuffling from somewhere, but the direction of the sound didn’t register. You knew the apartment opposite you was occupied—there was a black sedan in their designated parking spot—but it had been weeks since you moved, and you still hadn’t met your neighbour. Honestly, you were kind of grateful for that. 

You were in no mood to exchange niceties with some random person, at least not until an unfortunate incident forced you to meet. The neighbour seemed to share the sentiment, because if they knew you moved in, they didn’t seem to care, otherwise, you would’ve met them. You wouldn’t want to meet any of your neighbours either, in fact, you haven’t met any of them. Well, except just now with that little girl, who probably was a resident in one of the apartments in your block. 

The moment the door unlocked, your ears focused on the sound of shuffling. It was from your home. Every sense that had been switched off suddenly kickstarted again. Even when you reminded yourself again of the countless security measures in place and that there was no way someone could break in and enter this compound, you couldn’t shake the sense of danger. Your mind drifted back to the safety of the little girl, maybe you should have gone with her. 

You left the main door slightly open, a hint of light from the hallway coloured your dark apartment, showing the boxes stacked everywhere. Setting down your bag by the door, you grabbed the boxcutter on top of one of the boxes as you made it to the master bedroom at the far end of the hall. 

Then you heard his voice. 

And then, you heard someone else’s. 

A snort escaped you before your mind could even process what it was you were hearing. 

Perhaps, you would have preferred being stabbed to death by a robber instead. 

Too tired to care, you dropped the boxcutter to the floor and walked to your bedroom door to push it open. The sight should have shocked you, traumatized you, maybe, but you genuinely didn’t have it in you to be concerned. Instead, you folded your arms and cleared your throat. 

The woman underneath your fiancé was the first to shriek. 

In a panic, she shoved him right off the bed and he toppled over, a generous thud to cement his fall. You couldn’t even laugh at it since your mattress was literally on the floor because your bed frame was still in an IKEA box, sitting untouched in the corner. 

The woman was the first to cover herself up, pulling the bed sheet close to herself while your fiancé of three years—well, ex-fiancé, now—regained his bearings.  

The woman was also the first to apologise. 

“I’m so sorry—” her blubbering shocked you more than the fact that you caught the person, whom you thought would be your husband, cheating on your anniversary. When you turned to her, she opened her mouth again, trying to apologize, cover herself, and collect her clothes from the floor all at the same time. Though she never got the chance to speak.

“Babe, I can explain,” your eyes trained back on your ex, a pillow the only thing saving his modesty. “Let’s not make any hasty decisions, alright?” 

He cannot be serious. 

“Get out.” 

Silence engulfed the master bedroom. 

For an outsider, this tableau must look something like a Baroque painting. 

The stark difference in lighting, blackness only smudged by the dimmed bedroom amber, while the figures were dramatic and expressive—exaggerated to display the sheer absurdity of the scene. Mussed drapes, detailed wrinkles, dripping sweat and… unadulterated fear in widened eyes. 

Then the scene broke. 

“Let me explain,” he said, as you snorted again. “This is not what it looks like—”

“Get the fuck out. Now.” 

He opened his mouth but you shook your head, moving to the side to show him the door. 

“Out.” 

He followed the order, but much to your dislike, he was still attempting to speak. Though, his words fell on deaf ears. 

“You too. Get your clothes and leave, please,” you turned to the woman and she just nodded, rushing to get her clothes, broken out of her stupor. 

“What about my clothes? Let me just—”

Perhaps, if you gave a shit, you would have given him a verbal lashing. Maybe a smart comment asking exactly why he finally needed his clothes. But no, instead you kicked at the back of his knee and watched him stumble to the ground. 

He sent you a scathing glare as he picked himself up, still clinging onto his pillow, and made for the door. The moment he was out of the threshold, you slammed the door behind him, hard enough for the frame to rattle. He was banging on your door, asking to be heard, but you just made your way to the bedroom to see where the woman was. 

“I’m sorry!” She was tucking her dress shirt into her pencil skirt. Work. She’s from his firm. When she turned to look at you, it was surprising to find tears in her eyes. She was the last person who should be affected by the whole debacle, but she seemed to be the only one thinking normally. Or well, reacting. “I’m not—I’m not like that—wait, I mean, I wouldn’t have if he was—”

You shook your head, confused as to why she was rambling so much. She didn’t owe you anything. 

“No, no, you have to believe me, please,” she said, shoving her phone and earrings into her purse before grabbing her shoes. She continued when she passed you out of your bedroom. “I genuinely didn’t know he was married or engaged or whatever. He wasn’t wearing his ring, if I had known—” her whole body jerked as a sob escaped her. “I would never—I didn’t, I could never do that to someone. Please believe me.” 

“Hey, hey, calm down,” you said, much like how you’d coax a kitten out of its hiding spot. You walked her to the door and stopped when she did. “It doesn’t matter, okay? You don’t have to apologise for him—”

Hold on, what the fuck are you doing? She wasn’t your problem. 

“It really doesn’t matter,” you sighed, a hand on the door handle. “Please just leave.” 

She stared at you, a gulp passing down her throat. Her eyes were bloodshot and her make-up in ruins. She was taking you in as much as you were taking her in. And then she glimpsed at the ring on your left hand. 

“I’m so sorry, I really am,” you only nodded, unable to look at her as you opened the door. 

A hand gripped the door to push it open, startling both you and the woman. 

Unable to help yourself, your eyes shot to hand, and just as she said, it was bare, much like its owner. A derisive snort escaped you, before you banged the door close. Unfortunately, he reacted quickly and removed his hand. Opening the door just enough for the woman to leave, you shut it close again as soon as she left. In your hurry, you missed the feeling of someone watching you. 

After waiting for the beep to signal that the door was locked, you turned your back to it and slid to the ground. From your pocket, your phone cluttered to the floor, though you just ignored it and stretched out your legs in front of you. 

There was padding on the floor, you assumed it was the woman walking away. Your cheater of an ex was still muttering and mumbling, not that you cared for it. A few minutes passed, and then there was that padding of feet again. He left as well. Good. 

You only hoped that young girl made it home before she could see this mess of a man stumble out of the compound, completely naked.

The sigh you let out was deep. With it you let your body stretch upward until you were facing the ceiling, finding all the cricks on your neck on the way. For the first time, in a long time, your head was silent. Empty, just like your home. Here, you were on the floor, in the darkness, and surrounded by moving boxes—there should have been a strong sense of uncertainty, but you felt none of it. You didn’t know what you were feeling. 

You looked around, searching in the darkness for any answer. But there was none. No magnets on the fridge, no photos in frames, no ornaments on the table—and even if you unpacked, would there be anything? Anything at all, to make this feel like the home you actually wanted to return to. 

Today was less than ideal.

That instance had been the last nail in the coffin to really cement the thought. 

And yet, the sentiment felt different now. 

A small chuckle bubbled out of you, and then it was followed by another, and then another, and before you knew it you were laughing uncontrollably while your eyes were drier than sand. You were beginning to close in on yourself, your left hand coming up to soothe your right shoulder, to relieve you of any and all feeling when that ring pressed into your skin. Even through the clothes, it seemed to burn. 

In an instant, you were tugging the ugly ring from your finger. Stupid fucking thing wasn’t even the right size! With much effort, you were able to remove it and without another thought, you threw it into the darkness. The sound of metal hitting the ground was the only hint it landed. 

You waited for anger to spill out, instead, it was as if a huge weight was lifted from your shoulders. 

Finally, there were tears forming in your eyes. But then, your phone began vibrating. 

Light blinded your face but once it subsided, you read the caller that flashed across your phone. 

And suddenly, it was as if someone had dropped an anvil on your chest. A weight, tenfold of any negative emotion you’ve ever faced in your life, buried you whole and alive into the ground. 

How the fuck do you mention this to your parents?

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: does everyone collectively sigh when i write another fic with angst and a reader who is going through hell HFKSDJHFKDJS i'm sorry ;-;

masterlist | chapter 2

“What?” Tzuyu looked at you like you’d grown a second head. 

“Teach me Transfiguration!” you said, grinning as the idea formed in your mind. It wasn’t too bad, you didn't think so at least. “Be my tutor.” 

When Tzuyu just stared at you in silence, you tacked on. “Please,” you offered your best smile. 

Tzuyu stilled. Her mouth opened, a vague sound escaped, and then she closed it again. She was speechless. Did you say something wrong? You don’t think you did. Maybe she wasn’t interested… but she had offered. 

In your head that request made the most sense. You wanted to get better at Transfiguration. You wanted to study with her in the library again. You wanted to spend more time with her. And she’s offered before, not this explicitly, but her offer to help was always open, at least for you. So you were taking it—taking the chance. 

Trying your hardest not to frown, you prepared yourself for rejection. Of course, just because she’d offered at a previous point in time, doesn’t mean she’d still offer now. 

You hugged the Transfiguration textbook closer when you asked again. “I want you to help me get better at Transfiguration,” you said, confident but a bit more somber. You wanted to express that you were being genuine. And then added again, “Please.” 

Tzuyu blinked once, owlishly. Then again. 

“Okay,” she bit her lower lip, eyes shifting to the textbook in your hands before glancing up at you. “I’ll do it.” 

“Yeah?” you asked, trying to bite down the grin. Tzuyu only hummed in response. 

For a moment the pair of you just observed the other. The light glimmering in her eyes was so obvious, and if you were brave, you’d like to imagine it was because of you. The corner of her lips twitched up and down, and you wanted to call her out. Tell her she didn’t have to hold back her smile just like you were trying to, but instead you opted to just watch her. Deciding it was better to jump around in your mind, than stupidly in front of her. 

Abruptly, Tzuyu cleared her throat. She looked down for a moment, and when she looked back up again, her usual mask was on. Though not that it helped your own grin. Because you knew behind that mask, she was feeling somewhat giddy as you did. 

“Class?” Tzuyu pointed to the entrance, her hand still gripping the strap of her bag. It was a gift how well she was able to control her expressions. “We’re late.”

“Oh, right, of course,” you shook away the smirk that was itching to spread on your face. Stepping to the side in a bow, you extended your hand in an exaggerated manner. “Prefects first.” 

Tzuyu hummed, rolling her eyes at your act. But you didn’t miss the smile on her lips when you looked up at her. 

When the pair of you walked in, the class fell silent. You didn’t see what Tzuyu was doing in front of you, but you did catch Yeosang throwing her a thumbs-up. Unlike her, you didn’t want to reconvene with your friends, they’ve probably guessed how detention went from the expression on your face. And you’d like to avoid the teasing as long as you could. You did, however, glance at Lee, but she didn’t really let any expression past her. Though, there was a small twitch of her lips in greeting. Lastly, you looked at Yeosang, just before taking your seat next to him. He gave you a little wave, before showing the textbook page you needed to be on. 

Once Lee noticed you and Tzuyu had settled, she resumed her class and turned her back to you to write something on the board. That instant, something struck the back of your head. You lurched forward, patting the back of your head, before noting the crumpled piece of parchment by your feet. 

Fortunately, for you, you quickly picked up the parchment and flattened the paper while Lee was still focused ahead. Unfortunately, for your friends, both Yeosang and Tzuyu turned to face them. The scorn of Yeosang’s face was scathing, it was truly fascinating how such a pretty face could contort into such an ugly sneer. Coughing into your sleeve, you hid your snort. 

But holding back your laughter proved to be more difficult when you turned to the back of the class. Wooyoung was waving his hand as wildly as one could and then gestured as if writing a note. San was trying to pull him to his seat, afraid Lee would turn at any second. 

How did detention go? was written in Wooyoung’s hurried scrawl. 

You turned to him and he was signing with two thumbs-up followed right by two thumbs-down. Seeing as you’d be getting more notes to your head until you answered him, you offered a smile with a singular thumbs-up. 

Excited about the detention, you missed how San stiffened next to Wooyoung. 

“L/N, care to explain what you are doing?” 

You couldn’t be serious.

“Detention, really? Come on, Professor,” you groaned, remaining back with Lee. 

“You were passing notes—”

“I was getting notes—”

“You were disrupting my class—”

“Oh, come on,” you said again, throwing up your arms. 

“That will be detention, again,” she continued before you could interrupt her again. “Library duty, same time next week.” 

“Oh. I…” you straightened, contemplating the detention. It was more time with Tzuyu. You nodded. “Yeah, I can do library duty—”

“I was not asking,” you give her a deadpan look to match her own. “Also,” she pulled out a piece of parchment from her drawers. “I have your next assignment.” 

You raised your eyebrows and took the parchment from her. Quickly skimming over the assignment, you furrowed your eyebrows together. You recognized the question.

“Yes, that is the same question you left blank in your O.W.Ls. I’m glad you remember it.” 

Frowning, you caught her gaze again. When Lee met your stare with a steely look, you don’t doubt you have something akin to a glare on your face. Though, if Lee was irritated by the disrespect she didn’t care to show it. 

“Why—”

“Because I know you’ve improved—”

“Why did you take me into your class?” 

You ask the question again. The one you’ve been thinking of since you received the letter that you got into N.E.W.T level Transfiguration. 

As if Lee knew you had more to say, she stayed quiet.

“I know I didn’t meet your requirements, so why would you make an exception?” you ask, with a sigh. “And don’t say something stupid and vague like potential, Professor.” 

If anyone knew how to disrespect a teacher, it was you. 

But if anyone knew how to take your insolence without being perturbed, it was Lee. 

Her eyes only shifted slightly, a deadly glint over her glasses as she steepled her fingers in front of her face. 

“I didn’t make an exception—”

“Bullshit,” you rolled your eyes. Lee looked neither appalled nor admonished you for your language. She kept watching you, like you were an explosion she was waiting to go off soon. 

Then, she turned to her left, looking at the empty space in her desk and uttered a conjuring spell. Within seconds, a spotted frog appeared out of thin air. Lee jutted her chin at the frog, the animal blinking at you like you were its owner. 

“Cast a vanishing spell.” It was an order. 

Unnerved, but still obedient, you pulled out your wand and pointed at the frog. With one simple move of your hand, you said, “Evanesco.”

Just like the frog had appeared, it had vanished.

Raising your brows, you nodded to yourself. It was a clean spell. You looked at your wand, appraising it, surprised that it cast the spell so well. Perhaps, you’re not so hopeless. You turned to Lee, expectant and confused all the same. Will she be grading this or something? 

“Now, tell me the theory behind that spell.” 

Your mind went blank. 

Lee raised a single eyebrow, waiting for your answer, but you had none. 

“Vanishing is one of four branches of Transfiguration… ?” you trailed off when you heard yourself. Even to your own ears, you didn’t seem confident in the statement. Lee fixed you with an unimpressed glare but she sighed. 

“Do you remember how you learnt it?” Lee asked but you just shrugged. 

“You taught it to us last year,” you said, unceremonious but Lee just shook her head. “You taught it to us in fourth year?”

You weren’t sure what exactly she was fishing for until she pursed her lips, clearly unhappy with your answers. But it was clear, you weren’t leaving anytime soon. 

Thinking back to a year even further back, it finally clicked. Third year had been very strange for you. With somewhat of a rebellious streak, running in and out of detentions and with the threat of being pulled out from Hogwarts altogether, it had been a blur of a year. 

The only thing that was clear as day was that Lee did not let you out of her sight. To you, at the time, it was her way of controlling you. Admonishing you. Your parents were on your back. Lee was on your back. Everyone, all at the same time, looked at you as if you were a ticking bomb. 

Lee found any and all reason to have you benched in her office, detention after detention. If Slytherin weren’t so good at Quidditch, you wouldn’t be surprised if your detentions alone lost your house the House Cup. Not that it did, of course. 

While those detentions had mostly been a waste of your time, if you were to look further, there were also Lee’s students. The prodigies and the favourites and the ambitious, at her office between classes to improve their learning in Transfiguration. And in those detentions, you’d see older students attempt a varying range of spells, again, and again, and again. 

Vanishing spell, being one of them. Purely out of boredom, you often attempted to copy older students, granted you were never successful, and you’d land another detention from Lee if she caught you. But you’d seen so many spells, so many attempts, that by the time you’d officially been introduced to the spell during the next year, the basics of casting it had been ingrained into your brain. 

Maybe you had an inkling of what Lee was trying to say…

“I got lucky—”

“Try again.” Lee said, and you frowned. 

“I practiced.” You admitted, finally. “I watched your fifth-years fail again and again, and learnt from their mistakes.”

In fact, looking back that’s how you’d gained many of your spells. Vicariously. 

You’d always assumed casting spells, especially with a wand, came a little naturally to you because of your parents. You are a pureblood after all. But it was never the case. You’d learnt it like you learnt Quidditch. Watching others cast and watching others play. You never understood why it works or how it works, you just know that it works exactly this way. And then you practice, mimicking every move with an almost clinical precision until it worked, until it was second nature.

When Lee had chosen you to attempt that specific spell in front of the class, you’d cursed her in your mind. Thinking she was doing it to spite you, embarrass you in front of your betters, prove that you could not do well in Transfiguration. Just like your parents had told you. Just like you believed it to be. 

Such foolish, childish thoughts, but you thought them to be true. Of course, your own doubts had blown up in your face. The frog you were asked to vanish, sputtered and floundered when you miscast. Lee only frowned and asked you to take your seat again. You glared through the rest of the class, deciding not to pick up your wand again for that lesson.

“You were one of the few handful of students who successfully cast the vanishing spell during your O.W.Ls,” Lee said, taking off her glasses to wipe them. Her words cut off your memory of your failure. But you could barely remember the exam where you cast the spell correctly. “It was that practical that gave you the marks to enter my N.E.W.Ts class.” 

You shrug, about to counter her. 

“Maybe when you stop labelling yourself as stupid or a failure, you will actually see the potential everyone else sees in you,” Lee sighed, pushing back her glasses. “Again, I don’t take charity cases. I’m not that kind.”

You knew that much. 

“I know you’re trying harder than ever this year, and I commend that… but the journey will be easier if you just let yourself breathe a little,” the urge to bite back, to be defensive was difficult to swallow down, but you managed to keep your mouth shut. “It is not easy—it won’t be easy, but you are not the hopeless case as you believe yourself to be.”

Professor Lee paused, a brief flicker of hesitation caught on her usually confident mask. Then, she sighed out. 

“Like your parents believe you to be.”

It was as if someone had pulled you taut by puppet strings attached to your spine, forcing you to stand upright. Your muscles were so tense that you couldn’t even curl your fingers into fists. Lee frowned at your reaction, minute as it was, at the mention of your parents. 

 “It would do you good to remember that,” Lee offered in a kinder tone than you’ve ever heard her speak. “Please,” she emphasised the word, “remember that.” 

After a few moments of silence to let her words sink in, Lee sighed once more. 

“On top of your extra assignments, I want you in my classes with the lower years any time you are free. At the minimum of twice a week, teaching others will help you relearn the basics. You clearly have no talent for note-taking and completing your readings,” it's a skill how she lifts you and puts you down within a minute, one she has mastered. “But on top of relearning the basics, teaching your juniors will show you what you know, even when you think you don’t know anything.” 

Lee finished and looked at you, pointed.

“Is that understood?” 

You nodded wordlessly. 

“Alright, let the first-years in, and don’t take up anymore of their time,” Lee said with finality and got up to write something on the board. 

Dismissed, you turned and left. 

Like Lee had asked, you left her classroom without holding back her class. But of course not without a quick fist bump to both Minwoo and Jooyeon. Some other first-years just stared strangely at you, and for the fun of it, you extended your hand to them too. You couldn’t help but chuckle when some reciprocated. 

The rest of your day went better than expected. 

Attending classes felt lighter now that you’ve sorted out everything with Tzuyu. If you weren’t seated with your friends, then you were tailing Yeosang and Tzuyu. You were reintroduced to some of their other friends, technically you should know their names. However, you didn’t, but you were making an effort this time around.

During the lunch break, you updated your friends on the full story of the detention, not sparing as single detail. Not even how you’d asked Tzuyu to tutor you. While teasing was your friends’ way of showing affection, you appreciated the way they listened until you finished. San and Yeonjun sung you praises, the latter slowly leaning into teasing with every new sentence. Though you weren't too fussed, not when Yeri only shared a proud smile. Words didn’t need to be shared between the pair of you.

“Practice tonight?” she asked as she got up to get to her class. 

“Lake side?” you asked, finishing up your lunch. Yeri just nodded. “Yeah, let's try the new play?”

Yeri nodded again as she ruffled Yeonjun’s perfectly slicked-back hair before leaving the hall. 

Classes after lunch went without much fanfare, for most of them you shadowed your friends. Every so often glancing at Tzuyu in hopes she was glancing back. And when you did catch her, she’d be wearing that suppressed smile of hers before she looked down to hide it altogether to look focused in class. The interaction feels something like sharing a secret. 

When your last lesson finished, you caught her just as she left the classroom. 

“So, Professor Chou, when is our first lesson?” you asked, tone lighter than usual as you fell in step with her.

“Eager?” she asked with a brow raised, while her lips did that thing again to suppress her smile.

“Sure, yeah,” you shrugged in answer, doing something of your own to not display just how eager you were. “Let’s keep the lessons consistent. How about our free period in the morning, every week? Does that work?” 

“I have detention that time for next week,” she said, with a slight downturn of her lips. 

“Oh, I’ll be joining you,” you said with a grin accompanied by a one-shoulder shrug. “Library duty again. Can’t wait.” 

“What did you do now?” Tzuyu asked with a deadpan stare and you didn’t have the energy to feign hurt. 

“Does it matter?” you chuckle, slightly shuffling to the side as a student hurried past you. “Let’s start from the week after, how about it?” 

For some reason, you wanted verbal confirmation from her. Wanted to hear that she was as eager to teach you as you were to learn from her. Even if it was only a fraction of what you felt. That feeling being the yearning for academic prowess, of course. Nothing to it more than teaching and learning.

“Yeah, that works for me,” Tzuyu nodded with a small smile as the pair of you made a turn. “Same place in the library?” 

Your grin widened in answer. The noise of students chattering increased as the both of you neared the great hall. Tzuyu mirrored your smile as you entered the hall but came to a stop at the entrance. While it was merely optional, the pair of you would separate here to head to your own house tables. Unfortunately, the tables were separated by Ravenclaw. 

“Perfect,” she fully turned to face you, her smile morphing into something a little more serious. Taking the hint, you turned to face her, with a semi-serious nod. “We should focus on casting non-verbally first. So let's start with simple spells.”

You blinked, momentarily pausing as Tzuyu continued to plot her lesson plan. Your own smile, slowly but surely, tilting downwards.

She was taking this far too seriously… or perhaps, you should be taking it more seriously.

“Brush up on second-year and third-year spells,” Tzuyu paused for a moment, contemplating her own instruction but then nodded anyway. “Yes, brush up on those spells and we can start from there. We can work our way up. You’re an intuitive caster, but practice cleans you up. I don’t doubt you’ll master non-verbal casting.” 

Homework and a character analysis from the get-go. 

What did you just sign yourself up for?

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: mind you 3k of this had already been written... it was just sitting there untouched IM SORRY ;-; hope you all have a good day/night <3

taglist: @someone-who-likes-broccoli @tatliegilim @nanabongos @pandafuriosa60 @eternallyghosting

“You wanted to see my powers, right?” Jihyo yelled, her voice having to carry over the dozen skeletal soldiers emerging from the ground, clawing and crawling, as the crowd dispersed in a panic. 

You didn’t have time to wonder what the others saw, you know they didn’t see the animated bones like you did. But you were far too captivated with Jihyo. The smugness in her voice, the confidence you’d come to loathe as you spend the rare few months when you went to school, and coming to miss her endless energy when she leaves for some camp over the summer. 

“You’ll believe me now!” She laughed, her head tilting back at the sky, the same previously cloudless sky that slowly darkened—and you swear, Jihyo was floating. 

“I do believe you, you asshole—!”

A palm, with a grip too firm, clamped above your elbow. With a harsh tug, you were pulled, almost stumbling back. “Come on, mortal. You don’t want to be here—”

“Shouldn’t you help her?” you asked, placing your own hand over her wrist in hopes your captor, or saviour according to her, would let you go. You open your mouth again, wanting to say some colourful insults but Soyeon’s strength was not something you could overpower. 

“Trust me, she doesn’t need my help,” you could hear the disdain in her voice. Biting, but even still, you knew she respected Jihyo… at least enough to protect you. “You’re in danger, mortal, you can see.”

It was hard not to roll your eyes at that statement. Having known Jihyo for two years, you’ve heard that exact sentence just enough. Jihyo often regaled her quests and missions, but never had any monsters she speaks of attacked you. As long as you can remember, you’ve seen strange things with imaginary friends turning quickly to creatures under your bed, you figured it was all in your head. Ignorance is bliss, after all. And then Jihyo appeared in your life, for better or worse, confirming that everything you’d seen was real… of course, she couldn’t make sense of your very strange dreams that would occur from time to time. 

Regardless, the point is, you’ve never been attacked. And you certainly didn’t need protection from Soyeon. 

You looked over your shoulder and your eyes widened at the sheer amount of skeletal soldiers, all grotesque and malformed as they rose from the cracks of the earth. Struggling again to pull yourself free, your mouth open, Jihyo’s name on the tip of your tongue…

But you never said her name. Well, you couldn’t hear it, if you did say it. Nor could you see, really. 

Not over the blinding lightning bolt that struck the ground, followed closely by thunder. 

You were certain your heart stopped. Nothing else could explain how your whole chest seized at the sensation. 

Blinking away the white and blurry spots in your tear-brimmed eyes, the first of your senses to return. Soyeon was saying something to you, she’d stopped dragging you away to check on you, though her voice was barely audible over the ringing in your ears, like a never-ending dial tone. The burning smell was the next sensation, a sharp and dizzying odor, like chlorine. Electricity… that was the scent. Even if you couldn’t quite place the exact smell, you felt it. The way your hair stood on your arms and your tongue felt like lead. The static in the air around you, charged and dangerous. 

A tear trailed down your cheek, as your vision lost its bluriness and Jihyo came into focus. 

Hovering almost two meters above you, hands raised while lightning crackled around her. The ground wasn’t dissimilar with the cracked pattern where the lightning had struck, skeletal soldiers charred beyond recognition. Jihyo, she—

Soyeon gripped your jaw to turn you to her. You’ve never seen her so worried, not over you. Though you still couldn’t hear her, she was realizing what had happened. You found yourself turning back to look at Jihyo. Seeing her. 

And almost as if she knew you were watching her, Jihyo looked over her shoulder. Her eyes a striking white-gold in glow with a striking bared grin to match. Smugness. Confidence. Power. 

Another lightning strike shook the ground, but this time the image was clear in your eyes. 

One you’ve dreamt so many times over. Seen so many times over!

Like a vision.

Another tear dripped down your cheek, but you raised your hand to wipe it away. 

Crimson smudged across your fingers.  

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: percy jackson aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa !! yeah that's all. hope you have a good day/night :]

the sound of the train chugging down meadows and green fields. the feeling of the wind in her hair during midnight flights. the warm aroma of freshly baked bread and stolen stash of sweets as you cram for your exams. these are the sensations kim yerim associates with you. 

there was the wordless exchanges; a shared smirk on the field when you knew exactly how you’d take down an opposing player, the resolute nod when you decide that you were stepping in to fight and she’d follow no questions asked, the sniggering and jostling when you both share when you are asked to leave the classroom. 

but there was also the silent looks that the both of you hated but needed; the anger etched deep into the lines of your forehead when you argued with her even when yeri was right, her unrelentling grip on your shoulder to hold you back which did not let you go even when you almost drag her with you, the calculating darting of her eyes as she formulates a plan on the field, in your conversation, for your action… knowing every step you’d take and preparing ahead. 

in a short few years, yeri had become your sun. you, an orbiting planet, maybe some shapless piece of rock, ready to burst into tiny flecks of dust just to protect her even when she burns brighter than you could ever fathom. 

friendship born of stubbornness. of fight. of loyalty. 

and neither of you are really sure how to show it without a simple glare. 

yeri was no san to afford you kisses, you were no yeonjun to pummel with hugs. no, neither of you were the more affectionate types of your friends, yet the pair of you had learned. she’d allowed herself to relax, you’d allow yourself to extend a hand. she’d begun to lean on you, you’d begun to make space for her. 

it was the first box of jelly beans you’d given her that led to her eventual obsession no matter how many times the flavours made her scrunch her nose in disgust. it was your collection of magical cards of witches that encouraged her habit of stealing chocolate frogs. the first time you’d thrown a punch in her honour even when she’d tackled you to stop. it was your injury that had earned her own title of a fighter, battering your enemy without a second thought. the first time you’d begged your parents and did as they said, giving up your own pride to keep her protected. the first time she’d genuinely scrounged up money to buy you your broom. 

like tipping scales only balanced by the other. 

and neither of you could admit it. 

not to each other. 

but it was without a doubt that no one knew you better.

any feedback is much appreciated.

taglist: @someone-who-likes-broccoli @tatliegilim @nanabongos @pandafuriosa60 @eternallyghosting

Shoving away the meek satyr and watching as he crumpled to the ground should have made you feel remorseful.

But you were bleeding. But also bloodied. And exhausted. And worst of all, angry. 

“I told you to stop following me around,” you said over your shoulder, stopping at the end of the alley, careful not to step onto the pavement. Hiding in the shadows and peering onto the street. 

You only stopped because something wasn't right. Cornered in this alley with a ginormous butchered boar and a nervous satyr behind you wasn’t your idea of a typical day. Although you could argue you don’t have or know such a thing as a typical day.

Your typical days had stopped as soon as you ran away from home. Maybe even before then. Maybe you had no idea what a typical day was even like. 

This was the life of a demigod.

No, what bothered you was the sense of being watched. And to make matters worse, you were unable to pinpoint from where or what it was that watched you. You didn’t like it… though you could argue again that you didn’t like many things. 

The streets tonight were quiet. You couldn’t really call it night anymore as the first tendrils of light had begun to brighten the sky. Despite the early hours, the sun was nowhere in sight, only the full moon casting a picturesque glow over the lonely street. Somewhere far down the alley, you found a drunkard stumbling his way back home. But apart from him and the rare taxi that zoomed past, you were completely alone, save for the dead boar and feebly bleating satyr. So, who was watching you?

You knew you weren’t just imagining things. In your life, gut feelings were almost ninety-nine percent correct. Especially yours. So you weren’t in the habit of ignoring them when they’ve always guided you down the right path. 

Toying with the growing splinters on the handle of your double-bitted axe, you watched the street with a steely gaze. Not minding the blood threatening to soak deep into the very wood of your axe. Not minding the slight ache from where your arm locks into your shoulder. Not minding that your axe needed a new handle on top of needing to be sharpened. It was still a lethal weapon, especially in your hands. 

“Reveal yourself,” you said. More of a whisper into the night but it was still a command nonetheless. 

“I don’t think that is smart—”

“Come on!” you said, anger seeping into your skin readily like the blood did into your pores. 

That’s when you noticed the scent. Acrid, pungent, sharp. Like acid. 

You had to breathe through your mouth to avoid the burning sensation down your nose, though that only made your throat itch and your eyes tear up. The grip on your axe tightened until the wood hurt your palm, you were ready to swing… but unfortunately, you knew you shouldn’t. 

“Don’t—”

“I know, satyr,” you grit out, before asking once again, “Show yourself!” 

A blinding light appeared, akin to the headlights of a car. Yet, it was directly opposite you, perpendicular to the street. Then you supposed it was another monster, perhaps with glowing eyes. However, when the lights only grew in size, covering your vision in white, you knew who it was. 

“Look away,” the satyr behind you said. Almost pleading, if you could call its weak bleating that. “Please.”

With your free hand coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose, you relented. Merely hiding your eyes would do nothing. So you turned your whole head behind, your torso and most of your body moving along, but with your feet rooted in the same position. Ready to swing… even if it was a god. 

“Easy, child,” a young voice called out. Of course, her appearance was just that… an appearance. A veil the gods used to hide, from you, and from themselves. The voice matched. “Look at me.” 

Blinking away the blind spots in your eyes, you slowly turned to come face-to-face with the Goddess of the Hunt herself. Artemis.

“You’re following me too?” was the first thing you asked. 

“Watch it, kid,” a new voice spoke from behind the goddess. 

For the first time, you saw a hunter of Artemis. Like you’d heard from the satyr that followed you, she wore a silver jacket and a circlet… something to assign her as the goddess’ right hand or the like. She was beautiful, all regal-like. Maybe she was a princess before she swore to hunt with Artemis, yet whoever she was, you knew her looks deceived her true age. While she looked not that much older than you, there was no guessing her real age. The same way Artemis took the appearance of a young child, looking even younger than yourself, when she was in fact not mortal at all. 

However, what you should have been really focused on was the silver arrowhead, nocked and pointed at your head. Despite all your prowess in battle, even you knew you’d be dead before you could even decide to swing your axe. While it made you hesitant to fight, it didn’t really scare you. 

The satyr let out a scared bleat while Artemis only chuckled, her hand raising to tell her lap dog to lower her bow. “It is fine, they are always like this.” 

You glared in equal measure at the hunter, who huffed out a bit before lowering her bow. Though her arrow was still nocked, all she needed to was raise it again and let it soar. 

“You sent the boar?” you jutted your head over your shoulder and Artemis leaned to your left to peer at it. 

“It was our hunt,” the goddess chuckled again before returning to look at you. “But it would seem someone butchered it.” 

“You sent it on purpose—”

“Watch it!” the hunter said again, almost hissing at the same time the satyr bleated out your name and hurried to the Artemis’ side. He began bowing over and over again, muttering apologies on your behalf. 

You only rolled your eyes, it was an honest question. Nothing of this sort was a coincidence in your life. 

“Not this time, child,” the goddess smiled, “but you’ve proven yourself once again. It is no simple task, slaying my boar. That too, alone.”   

You only stared at her, already predicting the question before she could ask it. 

“My offer still stands,” Artemis said. “Swear to me and join my hunters. I will bless you. I will protect you.” 

“And my answer still stands,” you reply, “I do not want to be your lackey.”

“M’lady, give me the chance and I will—” Artemis only raised her hand again to stop her lieutenant from shooting straight through your eye like you were the game they hunted. 

“Your father—”

“Where is he?” you asked and Artemis frowned, no doubt noting your contempt. 

“I am not here on his behalf,” she quickly corrected herself. “But he has aided you more than he is allowed to—”

“He’s pulling a lot of strings only to not show up?” you spat out, unable to resist the contempt souring your tongue. “All of these tricks, blessings, and gifts… offers of protection… for what? Afraid to speak to me?”

For that last question, you looked up at the sky. You knew no god appreciated that. 

The satyr beside Artemis only covered his face with both hands, almost crying. The hunter looked appalled. But Artemis only chuckled, again.

“You are lucky to still be standing here, child,” she said with a smile, it was almost warm. 

“I don’t know about luck,” you say dryly, raising your free hand to gesture from your head to your knee. Almost every part was coated in crimson that was drying up. 

“No, then, not luck. It is your father. He protects you, like many gods and goddesses are willing to do so—”

“If I listen to them, right?” you ask and Artemis’ smile drops. “Help them? Swear to them?” 

When you use her own words, she sighs. “Get to the camp, child. It is not far. If you will not accept direct protection, then at least do not be foolish and decide not to be amongst others like yourself.”

You wanted to defy her. Again. Like you have the gods. And your own father over the last year or so. But you were also exhausted. You cannot escape this. That is what your mother had said. This is your life. This is who you are. A demigod.

And that won’t change no matter how much you denied it. 

“Nothing will change.” It was a statement, because it was true. 

Artemis gave you a look, an expression almost foreign on the goddess’ face. Something like concern or pity, but whatever it was supposed to be, you knew it was genuine. 

“This is your life, child,” she said. “Your fate… it cannot be changed.”

“Right,” you let out a sigh.

Pursing your lips into a thin line, you turned to the satyr. He looked up at you, his hands just slightly lowering from his face. You didn’t have to say the words for him to understand. His whole face seemed to light up… no doubt, because of the rising sun, nothing else. He straightened himself and then bowed to the goddess in gratitude. He also pulled out a little sapling from his shoulder bag. Why he would carry such a thing was beyond you, but he presented it to the goddess and she accepted with a nod. 

“Am I supposed to give you something too?” you asked, half-mocking but half-genuine. 

“You could begin with giving respect, kid,” the hunter said, scornfully. 

“Watch it,” you said with a scorn of your own. Her face morphed into a deeper sneer but Artemis lightly pushed the hunter behind her. 

“Control your emotions,” Artemis said calmly. “You are not acting yourself.” 

The hunter looked at her goddess, a little taken aback for a moment. Almost insulted at the scolding before realizing it wasn’t a scolding, but a warning. Then the hunter looked at you. As if looking at you in a new light. 

“I understand, m’lady,” the hunter bowed and Artemis chuckled. 

“Can’t help it, can you?” you shrugged, not necessarily to mock them. 

You were being honest. There was no controlling the subconscious power, at least you hadn’t figured out how to control it just yet. But it was like a mist around you, provoking people into frustration and anger just by being in your mere presence. Though you doubted you needed such power from your father, something told you would have managed to do that even without being a child of Ares. 

Taking a step back, the tension leaving the hunter’s body was visible. Even more so when she didn’t respond to your question. 

“I would heal you, but I fear you would not accept it,” Artemis said with something like another warm smile, this time more genuine than the last. 

“I’ll live.”

“And you have,” she nods. 

There was a silence between the four of you as the sun finally rose. Artemis watched the sky lighten and the world awaken with that kind smile of hers. 

“The gods watch you,” she was still smiling as she said it, but you knew what it was. A warning.

You nodded, reverent for the first time as you bowed. “I know, m’lady.” 

You are not without respect. Or without order. Or manners. 

There just haven’t been reasons for you to give that to anyone. It was all unearned. And you’re sure the gods knew you thought so. But they have yet to smite you down. Like she said, it was your fate. You were still… needed. 

With another bow, you turn to the mutilated boar. “I offer my kill to you, Lady Artemis. Please accept my hunt.” 

It was no sacrifice or offering. But merely a challenge you intercepted. 

Artemis chuckled and when you looked at her eyes, they were glowing silver faintly, and for a moment it looked like the sky darkened. She’d accepted. 

“Your journey to camp will be successful, child,” you nod at her call. There was a faint tingling in your fingertips. That acrid smell again, sharper than earlier. “But not easy.” 

It was finally your turn to chuckle. 

Artemis had been right. 

The trip to Camp Half-Blood was far from easy. Having survived alone for a year, fending off monsters, you thought it would be smoother… but it was as if the universe decided you weren’t supposed to make it to the camp. 

Every street, every turn, every corner had something waiting for you. This went further than a challenge or test. If it was testing anything, it was testing your patience. Your satyr—protector, he called himself ironically—was a nervous wreck. Though you surmised it was you who he was nervous of and not the monsters you faced. 

On the way, he offered his meals to you—of course, the very rare actual foods and not soda cans or plastic bags—but you told him he could save it for himself. You preferred to steal wallets from non-assuming tourists and get yourself some proper meals… snacks from vending machines. 

Restaurants always took too long and the wait made you antsy. Your protector didn’t approve of the method, and never had in the past year, but he had become tolerant of your behaviour and you of his. 

Of course, he was not completely useless… that sounded harsh. But you couldn’t help but feel somewhat protective, even if you hated the feeling. He was always shaking, jumpy, a well of anxiety trotting on goat legs. 

In the rare times that neither of you could sleep or bear the silence of the woods you trekked through, you would let him prattle on about the camp. Not only had you deprived yourself of a sanctuary for the past year, but also him of a home as he chased after you. Raving about the strawberry fields and the woods around his home where some council was held, all of that seemed to calm his trembling. So you let him talk, not necessarily listening but not necessarily ignoring him either. It was no trouble. Besides, you don’t think he cared if you listened or not… he’d learned you’re not a conversationalist. 

But despite his disposition, it was clear why he was chosen to guide you to this camp. Scared as he was, he stood his ground. Pulling out his flute? Pipes? Whatever it was to cast magic and spells. Not your preferred weaponry, but it did help in battle most times. His keen sense of smell did steer you clear of monsters on the main roads and also guided you through the woods. Without him, you would be running circles around these trees. He also found a clearing with running water for you to get yourself at least slightly cleaned up before heading to camp. 

While it was appreciated, it was useless. Most of your injuries were surface level, closing up on their own or scabbing over. You were able to clean the dirt and grime from underneath your nails and the dried blood from your skin. In the process, you found more bruises and scars scattered across your body. Your reflection looked foreign to your own eyes, you’d aged so much in a year. Eyes darker, sunken into your cheeks, sharper and narrowed permanently. Lines across your forehead and between your eyebrows, etched into your skin in a way that no amount of rubbing seemed to erase. Skin a bit marred from the sun, lips chapped and dry, though those were less important. It still made you frown. Shaking your head you looked away, a hand coming down to splash away the reflection. 

Then it was the matter of your clothes. The true uselessness of water on fabric drenched and soaked in blood. Your jacket was your test trial… no amount of scrubbing could erase the splatters. So instead you just decided to wash it in the water for the sake of freshness rather than spotlessness. Your protector nearly bleated himself into an early grave and excused himself when he saw you cleaning your clothes. He was so strange. What else did he think you were going to do? 

After the clearing, it was the worst of it all. 

The satyr had mentioned earlier that the camp was protected and being surrounded by woods it was more likely to have many hidden monsters. It was only a matter of when you’d come across one. 

There were three of them. Spindly and coiling, snake-like. Perhaps reptilian but not exactly. Midnight coloured, a rotund head with what you assumed was tendrils of who knows what. Instead of a tail, however, they had legs like a forked tongue, unsure whether they wanted to slither across the ground or walk with their disjointed bones. 

Your protector said something. The name of the monsters perhaps. Not that it registered in your ears. You were already charging towards them. 

For the most part, you were impervious to attacks, though it was a power that seemed to be selective. You still hadn’t figured that power out either. But you took your chances, you always did. And while injuries were bad, you figured they would eventually heal on their own. 

So you threw up your free hand to block one of the monsters while swinging at the other. The third chased after the satyr, but he just ran around playing his instrument, surprisingly fast given the terrain. You supposed the goat legs helped. 

Using your bare hand was a terrible mistake. The tendrils weren’t tendrils. They were jaws, with tiny rows of teeth, latching onto your skin like leeches. And just like leeches, they tore at your skin when you pried them off. A blood-curdling scream left your throat grating and burning, sending the nearby birds scattering from the woods in a flock. 

Tendon… you saw the tendons of your forearm. Skin peeling like a wrapper from where it should have been covering your muscles. It wasn’t the pain that had rendered your arm useless, it was the shock. In fact, the pain barely registered at this moment. It fell next to your side, like a rock in the water. Immobile and shredded. 

Panic was beginning to creep in… it was something you couldn’t afford at the moment. You had to eviscerate these monsters before they did you. 

Blinking away the tears and the faint growing sensation of immobility from your injured arm, you swung your axe with a grunt. Blade cutting clean through the neck of the monster, disintegrating into dust right in front of you. 

Your head spun and your ankle rolled on uneven ground. But you turned to the monster that had sunken its maw in you. Tearing it off from you seemed to hurt it as much as you. Its screeching was unbearable, its head gnawing at the ground. You had to kill it. 

The blood loss made your steps falter and your vision blur, but your aim was good enough. Raising the axe above your head, you brought it down to its neck. Your knees buckled when your axe hit the ground, disintegrating the monster. One more, there was one more. 

Blinking away the tears, you looked up. Your heart stopped. 

There it was. The entrance to the camp. If the arch with the name wasn’t a dead giveaway, it was the growing crowd of orange humanoid blurs. Scrunching your eyes again, you turned to find your satyr. 

He was still running around, heading near you. Swinging the axe to a tree, you pulled yourself up, releasing a sound that was between a grunt and a whine. Your strength was depleting, that much was clear when you tried to keep tugging at your axe to pull it free from the bark. It wouldn’t budge. 

Your voice said something. You were sure. But you doubt it was comprehensible because your protector, even with his keen senses, only looked confused. Frustrated, you yelled what could be your last word. 

“Move!” 

And just as he turned at the last minute, you pulled out the axe, the weight of the swing guiding your attack more than your strength. Your axe unevenly lodged itself into the body of the monster, its head still writhing trying to get at you, but you stumbled onto the monster, driving your axe in. The monster disintegrated. 

Done. You were done. 

Your protector was crying himself. His red and blotchy face came in and out of your vision as he tried to pick you up. A huge mistake on his part, another scream left your throat and you shoved him aside with your axe hand. It was the only limb in your control. 

Holding the axe to the ground, you stood up on shaky legs and dragged yourself to the camp entrance. Your satyr arrived by your side, more than wise enough now to not touch you, despite wanting to help. The injuries on you made him sick. But he held it all in to the best of his ability. 

The satyr was right. Artemis was right. The gods… they were right.

The camp was a sanctuary. 

The moment you crossed the threshold, it was as if you were given a shot of adrenaline. For a moment, your vision cleared, the pain subdued. Just enough to keep you from taking your last breath. 

Plunging your axe to the ground, you kneeled, heaving while your vision turned red for a moment. 

It was the gasps that made you blink away the blurriness. Gulping, you looked up at the crowd, much larger than before. They didn't look at you. No, they were looking at something above you. There was a faint idea of what it could have been. It explained the shot of adrenaline. 

You tilted your head up to see the remnants of the glowing red symbol; Ares had claimed you as his progeny. 

Happy, you should be happy. Instead, you spat out blood to the ground with a groan.

Your injured arm tingled, attempting to heal itself. Attempting being the key word. Besides, not that it could replace the dizziness in your head. You looked up again, hoping to see a face. Someone to ground you. To bring you a sense of normalcy. To remind you that you were part mortal too. Anything human, anything normal, anything typical before you pass away. 

Almost as if drawn to her, your eyes found a young girl arriving at the front by weaving through the crowd. Her shoulder shrugging away the hand that tried to stop her as she approached the very front. She had to be your age, or at least, looked it… but looks can be deceiving. She was… 

Not human.

Your eyes narrowed, a sneer forming… or an attempt at it with how you bared your teeth. 

She was not human. Couldn’t be.

She tried to move closer but someone tugged her back harshly. Before you could guess their next move, before you could tighten your grip around your axe again… darkness consumed your vision. 

The ground soared up to you and you were gone. 

Not that you knew it at the time, but your last image was of the young girl who would come to be very important to you. 

Minatozaki Sana.

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: happy new year, i don't think i said it, so yeah !! have a good day/night !!

It was supposed to be a peaceful day. 

A nice lunch after your morning classes. A short drive to the new restaurant for a filling meal (albeit overpriced). Maybe a quick nap in your car with the windows rolled down. And all with your girlfriend by your side, of course. 

A momentary break from the perils of university… before your evening classes begin. 

Peacefulness. 

That’s all you’ve asked for all your life. 

“It has to be them,” Jeongyeon turned to look at you, where you still sipped on your iced tea even though the last of the melted ice had finished. A mere habit to process what you were seeing. “Right?”

It was the three blaring orange shirts that gave it away. 

Oh, and also the blinding Colchis Bulls made of celestial bronze. 

“Do you think it's a sign?” Jeongyeon asked with a frown as a young girl tackled a young boy to the side, one of the bulls storming through exactly where he had stood. “We have to intervene, right?”

“Does it matter?” You frown with her, pushing your empty glass in distaste. 

Jeongyeon grabbed her messenger bag, packing her things in, as you searched through your own bag. At the very bottom was a corroded silver hairclip. You pocketed it. When your girlfriend caught sight of it, she chuckled.

“You bring it with you?” She said as she got up with you, while you pulled out a few notes as a tip and placed them under the plate. 

“Don’t know when we might need it,” you shake your head before looking at the fight across the street. “Like now.” 

“They won’t like this, you know?” Jeongyeon manoeuvred through the crowd, hoping to reach the crossing before the light changed. 

You couldn’t help but glare up at the sky. “You think they would’ve placed them here without considering that—”

“Still not our quest—”

A car horn interrupted your conversation, Jeongyeon only raised her hand in apology as the pair of you sprinted across the street, shoving people aside and holding up traffic. Soon enough, you were on their side of the street, heading towards the open park where the three kids fought the bulls. You can’t imagine what the mist fabricated to protect the humans’ sanity. Worse, you and Jeongyeon probably looked strange running head-first into an active fight or whatever it was that the mistprojected. 

Jeongyeon was ahead of you, her body leaned forward as her speed increased. She tossed her bag to her back, positioned somehow right at the centre, something like thread weaved and intertwined over her spine until you realized what it was—armour. Celestial bronze armour.  

The audacity to ask why you still carried your hairclip when she’d crafted her favourite but ratty messenger bag into a chest plate. You had to smirk at her craftsmanship. 

Coming to a stop a few metres away from the fight, you brought out your hairclip from your pocket. With a click, it expanded in your hands into a bow with its quiver. You swore when you found only two arrows in your arsenal. You’llhave to make do. 

Just as you nocked an arrow, Jeongyeon barreled straight for a bull. All of her body weight and strength against its body. The bull tipped to the side and skidded across the ground. One of the kids who had scrambled out of the way, before running to help her, held the bull down. 

The other two kids had the second bull distracted, one young girl hacking at its side with a double-edged axe while the other had managed to hold onto its horns, the bull’s snout forced into the dirt. The latter was struggling, clearly, but she was holding her ground. 

It will do. 

Muttering a sleep spell, the magic was imbued into the tip of the arrow. Aiming, you shot straight for the left eye of the captured bull. 

The kid holding the horns momentarily startled back before grabbing for the horns again. Not that it was needed. Within seconds, you had a second arrow nocked with the same spell, flying straight by Jeongyeon’s hand and into the eye of the bull. Unlike the child, she knew your work. With her hands around the horns, she pried the metal bull head clean of its body. Looking at Jeongyeon, the little girl followed through, with the help of her friend. 

With both bulls decapitated, you brought down your bow and finally walked over to where they were. You neared the two girls, panting on the ground as they stared at the beheaded bull. 

“Well done,” you said softly, but having never heard you speak nor know who you are the pair of them startled. 

The girl who’d held down the bull springing up with her hands raised, her eyes weary and aggressive, despite how sweaty and tired she was. Protective, she must be older than the other two. 

“Your eyes,” Jeongyeon mentioned with a sigh, while her hands were already messing with the circuitry of her beheaded bull. The boy that was beside her, watching her in a daze. 

“Right,” you sigh, and you blinked a bit furiously. However, the cloudy glow that you often get when you cast spells usually only vanishes with time. “We’re here to help, we’re demigods too,” you say instead to convince them, from underneath your shirt you show them your beaded necklace, similar to theirs. 

The girl with raised fists dropped them to her side, but her eyes were still weary. 

“Not dad’s,” Jeongyeon said, patting her chest twice and her armour unthreaded back into her messenger bag. The small pile of wires and metal she’d rummaged from the bull was shoved into her bag. “They’ve been tampered with.” 

“Of course,” you shake your head. “Do you have ambrosia or nectar with you?” you ask, looking around to see if kids bags are nearby. They were nowhere to be found. “It’s alright, come here.” 

“Be careful with them! They’re children,” Jeongyeon said, though not caring enough to turn back. She did however send the boy over to you as well. 

“I can control the potency, calm down,” you kneel to their height, trying not to roll your eyes at Jeongyeon’s warning.“It's a somnambulism spell,” you extend a hand, but all three children only look at you with blank stares. “Right, which means nothing to you. It is a sleepwalking spell—sleep-state spell!” You corrected yourself quickly. 

Shaking your head, you tried again. 

“I can’t heal your injuries,” you pointed at the cuts and gashes along their arms. “But I can reduce the pain for a moment until we can find you a sanctuary.” 

Jeongyeon nodded, finally getting up with a grunt and walked over to rummage through the circuitry of the second bull.“Dad’s got sanctuary down the main road,” she plopped down to the ground, harshly ripping out wires and setting them aside for herself. “Hephaestus,” was all she said to let the children know who her father was. 

You pressed a hand to your chest. “Hypnos.” 

The girl, who previously wielded the axe, nodded before speaking up. “Nike.” 

You turned to the two other children. 

“Demeter,” the boy said with his own hand to his chest. 

You finally looked at the girl who’d been ready to sock you in the face, she was still weary. That was admirable. 

“Hephaestus,” she said and you nodded. It made sense how she didn’t fear the bulls and held them down. 

Sighing, you gave her a soft smile before looking at all three of them. “You don’t have to take the spell, it is just a temporary solution. And we will drive you to the sanctuary. I think that’s all we can help with your quest,” you frown, you do wish you can do more. 

Once more, you extend your hand. With a frown, the daughter of Hephaestus takes a step back. You only give her a placating smile, as the other two reach out their hands. Once again, under your breath, you utter a spell imbuing the pair with magic. Blinking, you look at them, there was a mild cloudiness to their eyes. 

Just to make sure, you ask. “How are you feeling?” 

“Sleepy,” the daughter of Nike states, you nod. 

“That makes sense, and your pain?” 

“Not there,” the son of Demeter gently brushes the skin where his bruise was forming. 

Chuckling, you took his hand from his bruise. “Your pain is still there, I’ve just convinced you think it’s not. It will hurt worse when you come to if you keep playing with them.” 

After a few minutes, well, after Jeongyeon and her newfound sister had fully rummaged through the bulls. The children were ready to travel. Seating them in the back of your car and making sure they had their seatbelts, you drove them to the sanctuary. It took longer than expected to get to the traffic with afternoon traffic, though, the children seemed to use this reprieve to get some sleep—without your help, of course. 

Jeongyeon looked at them through the rearview mirror and then let out a soft sigh. “They can’t be older than twelve,” she said, her hands fidgeting with a wire. Doing and undoing knots as she spoke. “Colchis bulls? Really?” she looked up at the ceiling of the car as if she were speaking to the sky instead. 

“Must’ve been strays they came across,” you sigh as well. “They don’t have their bags on them, they must’ve come across by accident after running away from something worse.” 

“Whatever,” was all Jeongyeon said. The rest of the ride was in silence. 

Once you reach the sanctuary, the pair of Hephaestus daughters offer a sacrifice to their father for his guidance while you and the other two children watch from the side. After a while, the children had been able to find ambrosia to heal themselves, and a temporary kit with enough drachma, food and mortal money to keep them afloat for a bit.  

Kneeling to them again, you speak. “If you come back this way, anytime, come to this sanctuary and call us,” at that moment Jeongyeon bent down to hand her sister a little button-looking machine. 

“It is not perfect,” she said warmly, “but I’m sure you could make it better with time. It’s a beacon of sorts,” Jeongyeon pulled out her own button-looking machine, though it was marginally smaller. “It will call me.” 

“We can drive you back to camp, or help you out again,” you look at Jeongyeon, unsure how far your so-called help can actually extend. It seemed the young daughter of Hephaestus understood what you were thinking. “Just keep it in mind, there are others like you looking out for you.”

You offered a small smile. 

You only said what you wished someone had said to you when you’d been on your quests at their age. 

The trio nodded before bidding their goodbyes. You and Jeongyeon watched them board a bus further north. Then, you turned to Jeongyeon. Her expression was much more tired than she had projected in front of the children. No doubt memories of her own quests returning to her. 

“They’ll make it back safe,” you slowly reach for her hand, intertwining your fingers with her own callused ones. “They will.”

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: this was supposed to be like 0.5k, lol what a joke. also, sidenote, i do have a christmas fic as usual... as in i have a plan... nothing written yet RIP but anygays hope you have a good day/night :]

The world lacks nuance, a thought that can't help but be held when it confronts you like a sledgehammer. It’s a sudden pang of grief unannounced like a Google memory of a long distant lover. 

Except the pain would be more bearable if it was digital. Still, at least you can nurse yourself with a cold drink from the bar. 

Cheers echo and ring through soft sapphire light as you signal the bartender. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says, pouring a vessel of your chosen poison. 

You sigh and there's a faint look of recognition from him. “Something like that, she’s been haunting me for months.”

He offers a small sympathetic smile, there’s a slight twinge at the corner of his eye, a grimace of familiar pain. 

He waves your card away before you can offer it before he slides your drink over. “It’s on the house, you’re gonna need it.”

His eyes gesture to the stage as it begins to bubble and froth with excitement as cheers and scream sail through the air. 

That's when you see her, caught adrift among a sea of adulation as she takes to the stage, a fervent blonde with a beaming smile. 

The hair colour was new, or perhaps old by this point, you’d done your best to keep some distance away from her. 

From her and her cult of personality. 

As if she could ever be a bad person. 

Regardless, the moment is bitter, more than any liquor you could muster. 

If life was a simulation, you had words for whatever algorithm created this moment. 

“Now before we get this show on the road, we have some general housekeeping to stick to…” Her eyes linger on the crowd and you’re thankful you’re not in the thick of it. “But before that, there's a small announcement I have to make.”

Your heart drops as the world threatens to spin around. Cheers erupt with excitement but you can't but linger on thoughts better left un-had… Did she spot you? Did she think you were stalking her hoping for another go around? Worse yet, what if she had good news? What if she just got engaged? Or found someone new?

You desperately try to cover yourself up, finding recluse in a nearby booth by the fire exit, an eager escape once you settle down. 

“Our ever so talented drummer Shin Ryujin will be performing her very own song next week.” The crowd erupts once again and despite her standoffish nature you can see a light pink dusting over the drummer's cheeks. “The rest of us will be there helping her out, so I expect to see you guys there. I’m personally looking forward to resting my voice though.”

She smiles that charming soft smile you’d just barely forgotten, and you can't help the soft pang in your chest. 

She slowly waits for the cheering to subside, “now announcement aside, we're here for a good time right?” 

She offers the mic to the crowd as they cheer once again. 

“Alright, now this is your reminder to stay hydrated, water is always free at the bar, don’t want you guys missing out right?”

It seems despite the new look, punk rock and all, things haven’t changed much. At least when it comes to her earnest core, still the whole rock life itself seems a far cry from the girl you knew. 

Still you catch the slight click of her tongue as if she’s trying to shake something once forgotten. 

“Now, in case of an emergency like a fire, please use the appropriate exit,” you quickly sink into your chair as she points to the fire exit. 

She pauses for a moment before taking a deep breath. If she notices you, she doesn't say anything. 

“With that out of the way,” she turns to her bandmates, “we’re Infamous, so let’s fucking rock!”

-

You had intended to leave, really you did. 

But there was something soul enamouring about watching her, seeing her live her dreams. Like the desperate pull of a dead star you can't help but wait for your death in the beauty of it all, you can only hope it stretches out infinitesimally before your end. 

But it doesn't end in agonising beauty, it instead ends with a drink sliding across your table as death sits down opposite you. 

Her hair a muddy black and her makeup mostly washed off as she straightens out an old familiar apron. She picks at it, as if your gaze could make her nervous. 

“Is that still your favourite or?” 

Your eyes return to the drink, frankly forgotten in the wake of the ephemeral. 

Your poison of choice… Or at the very least it's what you ordered earlier. 

You bite back whatever bile threatens to come up, swallow whatever venom that dares to lie. 

You take a swig, anything to dull the thumping of your heart. You can't help the smile that comes with a familiar taste. 

That's when she finally looks at you, fingers no longer picking, and she smiles, a softer smaller smile but beautiful nonetheless. 

Somehow, despite it all, your heart relaxes. 

“Did they finally give you the morning shift at the bakery?” The question surprises even you. 

She laughs, a bold hearty laugh as if caught off guard by your suddenness. She crumples into herself as her head threatens to hit the table. 

Yet your hand slots in just in time, softening the blow. 

You swear you catch the briefest hitch of her breath as she continues to laugh. 

It’s a small, inconsequential moment, perhaps a taste of what could've been. 

Finally her laughter subsides, replaced with the slightest pout. 

“No, they still don’t trust me by myself after I burnt the bread.”

It’s your turn to laugh as a memory flashes through your skull, you can still taste the burnt edges as you tried to scarf it all down, anything to impress the pretty girl at the bakery. 

Still you don’t dare to share the moment, even as a smile trails your lips. 

At least the owner's face will always make you laugh. 

Her eyes linger on you and you swear you catch the edge of a smile, hooked on the cusp of something forlorn. 

She yawns, eyes hazy and heavy, only then do you realize how late it is. She keeps herself propped up with one arm, barely so. 

Questions prod the edge of your teeth, but you can already guess the answers to most except one. 

You offer a hand, “Take a nap at mine?”

-

She nuzzles into you as you both collapse into your coach, the heavy weight of slumber teetering you close to the edge. 

Still even in your tired haze, you pull a familiar blanket from the side of the coach, draping her in the warmest fineries you can manage.

You catch the hot edge of her breath as she tries to muster whatever energy she can, placing a kiss on the edge of your jaw. 

Her voice borders on I coherence as she slumps back against you, grip tightening as if you were sand caught against a wave. 

A soft curse escaped your lips as you observed the meticulously decorated building in front of you.  

Granite statues of goblins guarded the front steps, which seemed like they were a second away from falling apart. Along with their pointed ears and wrinkled foreheads, they had a grotesque grin etched across their face, more to showcase their rows of sharp teeth instead of a welcoming smile. The worst part was their eyes, hidden away from the rain by protruding eyebrows, they were caved in and greasy, making them twinkle in the night. 

The stairs were also of the same stone, splattered with what you hoped was dirt and grime, leading up to the entrance of the mansion. Beside them, led a staircase to the right side of the house all the way up to the upper floor. It was a beautiful house, truly, with its high roofs and many windows. Maybe in its prime, you would have been able to appreciate its beauty, maybe even dreamed of staying in such a place. 

However, in the darkness of the night, the pastel pink walls turned into an ugly shade of grey similar to a trodden sidewalk. It didn’t help that the paint was cracked and peeling to show the large splotches of mould. Then there were the overgrown vines spewing over the railing beside the entrance and crawling up the walls, reaching the open windows which creaked eerily with wind, barely hanging on. 

It was the type of house the protagonist of a horror movie would have to move into at the start of the film. Even with cleardistaste for the house and the knowledge of its past from the neighbours or rumours, they’d choose to stay there. The mere sight of it had you wrapping your arms around your stomach and pulling at your overcoat. 

For a random haunted house at an amusement park, they had spent quite the money to make it look…convincing. 

Beside you, Jihyo’s torso heaved as she inhaled and exhaled deeply, allowing a misty cloud to escape her lips. When she was done collecting herself, she spun on the balls of her feet as she proclaimed. “We’ll do the dishes, Jeongyeon! And vacuuming! For a week!” 

Normally, you would’ve nudged Jihyo, gesturing that you wanted nothing to do with cleaning duties. What with Jeongyeon breathing down your neck for every second of it? Absolutely not, you did not have a death wish. However, considering your current predicament, between cleaning with Jeongyeon badgering you every second or entering this haunted house of horrors, you would easily pick the former.  

Nayeon scoffed at Jihyo’s pathetic attempt at bargaining which caused you to turn as well. Next to the oldest, stood Jeongyeon with her hands in her pockets, completely relaxed at the knowledge of her friend’s imminent suffering. Beside the pair, stood Sana and Momo, who clung to each other for any sort of warmth during this late October night. However, there was no warmth in their mischievous eyes.

When Jeongyeon’s face stayed as expressive as the stone behind you, Jihyo continued with hands clasped in front of her chest. “Seriously! For two weeks, then?” 

But, of course, Jeongyeon was not easily convinced. 

“No,” Jeongyeon said with a composed smile as her eyes moved from the begging girl to you, who remained as stiff as a board. “Neither of you can properly clean. It’s just more work for me.” 

Nayeon folded her arms as her eyes flitted to the ground to suppress the cackle that would surely burst out. Jihyo’s clasped hands parted, shaking as they dropped. The corner of her lip twitched as she straightened herself, the facade of a begging innocent transformed into a character dead set on spilling blood.  

Before that could happen, finally coming to your senses, you offered. “I’ll pay for dinner.” 

Jeongyeon tilted her chin up to consider. Even Jihyo turned, waiting for you to continue. 

“I’ll pay for tonight,” you nod, resolving yourself. You need to sound confident. “Dinner at the new restaurant that opened down the street. Tzuyu wanted to go there, I’ll pay!”

Sana and Momo started giggling like schoolchildren at the thought of free food, while Nayeon nodded her head with satisfaction, convinced. However, Jeongyeon only raised an eyebrow at the offer, clearly mulling it over. The only thing that could distract the group of demons you call friends is food, they were primitive that way. You turned to meet Jihyo’s stare, which was oddly inexpressive, but all of you knew better than that. It was all just a mask, to cover the rage simmering right underneath, waiting to be unleashed. 

“No,” Jeongyeon said with a clenched half-smile, one that would accompany an apology, but she looked anything but apologetic. 

Right next to you, a shrill yowl erupted that nearly shattered your eardrum. Instinctively, you shifted and threw your arms around Jihyo’s waist. Fortunately, you’d caught Jihyo just before she could pounce and tear out Jeonyeon’s bleached hair strand by strand. Although, with the way she thrashed in your arms she was only a second away from escaping and doing just that, maybe you’d even join in. Nayeon let out that cackle while Sana and Momo continued to giggle, all at the sight of their friend going absolutely feral. What must’ve irritated Jihyo even more though was that Jeongyeon stood in the middle, completely unaffected. 

“You set us up!” Jihyo shrieked, but the ringing in your ear didn’t deter you from your task. “Jeongyeon, you set us up!”

Joining Jihyo, but also tightening your hold on her, you agree. “She’s right! You purposely put Chaeyoung as the police and Dahyun as the doctor, while Jihyo and I were the mafia. Obviously, we’d lose!”

“Lies and defamation,” Jeonyeon shook her head before placing her hand over her heart, “I did no such thing. I would never, ever, do that.”

“Or maybe you’re just bad at playing mafia!” Sana said, sticking her tongue out. Momo let loose more giggles while Nayeon let out another hearty cackle, this time, smacking Jeongyeon’s shoulder in the process.

“As if you’re any better!” Jihyo growled, panting but still caged in your arms. “As if you–”

“What’s going on?” Mina’s small voice asked as she came over, holding two ginormous sticks of cotton candy. Behind her, the three youngest members of your circle followed like little ducklings after their mother. 

Dahyun was busy counting leftover change and checking bills to see if everything was accounted for. Chaeyoung and Tzuyu, on the other hand, lugged in more carnival food—enough snacks to skip dinner. Of course, they’d never actually skip dinner. They’ve bought buckets of popcorn as if they’re out to watch a movie, which was true in a way, your misery will be their entertainment. 

Sighing at the image, you accepted your fate. 

Momo eagerly took a stick of cotton candy from Mina, while Nayeon answered. “Jihyo and Y/N are trying to weasel their way out of their punishment, you know, like a bunch of weasels.” 

Nayeon shook her head with two fingers pinching the bridge of her nose in feigned disappointment. Mina flashed her gummy smile just as a carnival worker came out to call you. Jihyo turned to offer a small bow, as your friends began to holler. The woman arrived with two selfie sticks in her hand attached to cameras and handed them to the two of you. She offered a kind smile, completely missing the dread swirling in your eyes.

“Welcome to Mysterious Mansion! Your objective is to find the four keys necessary to escape the mansion in under thirty minutes. That’s it!” She said with a small shrug and you narrowed your eyes at that obvious lie. “Once you enter, there will be a map of the mansion to your right as well as a few rules outlining the gameplay, please read them before proceeding. When the two of you are ready, just raise your hands above your head and you’ll hear a buzzer which will be the start of your time. 

“As for the rest of the group,” the woman leaned to Jihyo’s right to offer a kind smile to your already snacking friends, “please follow me to the back where you can watch them play the game.” 

When the girls hollered, you slowly turned to Jihyo’s stare. There was a mismatch of emotions passing through them, none of which you could make any sense of, apart from the fact that neither of you wanted to do this.

One last attempt at a saving grace, your eyes landed on the cost for one run of thirty minutes. It was quite pricey. “Damn guys, this punishment looks like it will be really expensive, instead I’ll just buy dinner—”

“Just go already,” Tzuyu deadpanned to your offer, her voice muddled as she munched on popcorn. 

“Plus, we paid in advance. All of us!” Dahyun added in her chirpy manner. 

“Right, of course, you did,” you muttered to yourself. “Why did I even bother?”

What were the five stages of grief? Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance? Yeah, well it was about time you accepted your demise. Jihyo must’ve come to the same conclusion after having gone from being scared to offering to clean to going absolutely mad, completely skipping the depression stage as an odd light filled her eyes. 

“Thirty minutes, right?” You snapped to your right at Jihyo’s words. “What’s the record time?” 

“Eight minutes!” The worker said in an unnecessarily chirpy tone. “Three guys made it out in a flash, best run we’ve seen!”

Jihyo mumbled something and nodded to herself while Nayeon began to snigger, completely aware that Jihyo’s competitive spirit would be a thousand times worse than whatever was waiting for you inside. 

Jihyo offered her empty hand and you sighed dejectedly as you took it, your fingers quickly entangling. Your so-called friends giggled and howled like the irritating children they were, offering encouragement that was mostly empty. You were sure Jeongyeon had a wicked grin plastered on her face, you didn’t have to turn around to know that. 

With a camera stick in your left hand and your right in Jihyo’s, the two of you approached the steps. You tried to drown yourself in the giddy laughter of little children visiting the carnival, the same overplayed pop music blaring from speakers, and the vibrant flashing lights adorned on various rides to remind yourself that the horror house you were entering was just another ride. None of it was real, and you were not going to get hurt. As the worker put it; just find the keys and escape, that’s it. Simple. 

With a final few rowdy howls from the young college girls, the entrance to the mansion closed behind you. To say the place was dark would be an understatement. You could just barely make out the grand stairs leading to the upper floor, and by baseless deduction, you assumed there were rooms on either side of the staircase because right now all you could see was black. Jihyo squeezed your hand and you stopped staring blindly into the abyss to stare at something you could see. 

As the worker had mentioned, there was a map to your right. It was lit up by flickering yellow light and detailed both floors. There were a total of six rooms aside from the three bathrooms, the kitchen, the dining room, and the main hall. Basically, the place was ginormous—again, quite the budget for an amusement ride. The exit was marked with a large red ‘X’ on the upper floor. 

Jihyo quickly read aloud the rules as you let out another dejected sigh, bringing up the camera to glare at it, you mumbled. “You know this is all your fault?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Jihyo scoffed, turning to you before yanking her hand out of your clasp. “My fault? If anything, this is your fault?” 

“Oh, please enlighten me.” You replied, throwing your arms up, sending a scathing glare her way, though she probably couldn’t see it well. 

“If you didn’t look so suspicious, then—”

A loud buzzer sounded and the two of you froze—both of your hands had been raised, even if it was only for a second!—as the dim yellow lights changed instantly to hues of crimson. 

Jihyo’s hand grabbed yours and brought it down before interlocking fingers again. She then hissed as she took the first step. “If you didn’t look so damn suspicious, then you would’ve lasted more than two rounds and we would’ve won.”

“That’s just my face! If I smile too much I’m suspicious, if I don't smile at all I’m still suspicious! What am I supposed to do?” You hissed back, squeezing her hand tightly. Clearly, both of you have regressed back from acceptance to anger. “And what about—let’s go left—what about you?”

Jihyo turned left, dragging you along, and entered a grand dining room. In the centre of the room stood a large mahogany table, large enough to feed eight people and was neatly adorned with plates. If you squinted, you could make out the beautiful patterns on the plates and the intricate engraved details on the ends of the cutlery.

Letting Jihyo lead you around the table, you continued. “What about you, huh? The second Nayeon mentioned your name, you blew up. It was clearly a trap, and you walked right into it!” 

Jihyo sighed, leering over the table to check for a key among the silverware, and admitted. “I should’ve killed Dahyun after you were voted out.” 

Dahyun was too good of a doctor and managed to save everyone you tried to kill. If Jihyo had taken her out, that would’ve given the mafias an easy win. You grumbled your agreement while eyeing the strange baroque painting at the end of the dinner table. 

The painting was of a woman in a silk gown, glancing to her left, wholly uninterested in the elaborate platter she held. Strange since the platter held a severed head. The man was bearded, his mouth frozen agape in shock as his sockets had been carved out, devoid of eyes. He was adorned with pomegranates, grapefruits, and plums—the juice of the fruit and the blood from his neck pooled and dripped down the woman’s hands, soaking into her sleeves. What a terribly morbid painting, it disgusted you but for some reason, you couldn’t look away. Deciding to search the table along with Jihyo, you opted for one last glance. 

Probably the worst decision you’ve ever made, as your heart nearly burst through your ribcage. 

The woman’s eyes in the painting looked straight at you. 

If Jihyo sensed you crushing her hand in a panic, then she ignored it. Instead, she shuffled around, tugging you, and aggressively prodded the table with the camera stick, prioritizing finding a key over a broken hand or the camera. Not trusting your voice, you nudged Jihyo to warn her, unable to break your gaze from the painting. Of course, completelyused to your irritating behaviour, she overlooked it. Jihyo only offered low grunts, much like a caveman, when you nudged her more frantically, panicking after you caught sight of the blood dripping from the painting and onto the floor. 

Jihyo was about to reach her limit from all your nudging, especially when she was the only one trying to find the keys. You knew she was preparing to give you a verbal lashing when suddenly she went taut under your grasp. Jihyo let out a guttural scream, loud enough to break the sound barrier, and jumped a meter into the air. In response to that, a horrid screech escaped from you and as you were still very much stuck to Jihyo, you were yanked harshly out of the dinner hall. 

“There was something under—something grabbed my leg!” Jihyo repeated frantically, shivers passing through her body as she ran back to the entrance. Jihyo let go of your hand, though with a lot of difficulty, to try opening the door. No such luck because the door was locked shut.

You swore profusely, before obsessively jangling the door handle with your now free hand. Rage had quickly enveloped your fear and this was the only way to let out your frustration—bullying an inanimate object. You sent a kick to the handle after trying to slam the door open with your shoulder. When these failed, you finally acknowledged what had already been proven. “Damn it, we have to find those stupid keys!”

“Should we split up?” Jihyo asked, already studying the map, while you glimpsed at the dining room. It was difficult in the dark, but you were sure you saw a shadow moving. “How about you take the ground floor, and I’ll take the other?” 

Jihyo glanced at you as if she was offering you the better option as if she was being generous. Yeah, the ground floor had fewer rooms, but that was only because the rooms were larger. Plus, the dining room, kitchen, and the main hall were all open spaces. Your only proper refuge would be the smallest bathroom, which was at the very far end to the right. 

You were just about to decline and suggest you stay together when something—well someone—came growling from the kitchen. The two of you screamed as much as your lungs would allow you. Without a second of hesitation, Jihyo bolted up the stairs still yelling, successfully leaving you for dead.

Well, guess you would be taking the ground floor then. 

Personifying the fight in the fight or flight response, you wielded your camera stick like a bat and stood your ground. You jumped side to side on the balls of your feet, swinging the makeshift bat as the monster came to a slow stop in front of you. It was too dark for you to make out the costume and makeup, but with the tufts of fur and leaves hanging from the torso, you’d assume this was some sort of swamp monster. Perhaps you would have criticised how a swamp monster took away from the immersive experience considering you were in an elaborately decorated mansion, but at the time, you were too busy screaming to think of such things. 

“I swear I will hit you—don’t come closer!” You shrieked, with only the stick in between you and your murderer. 

Whoever this poor actor was, was probably not paid enough to do this every night, especially with the makeup and heavy costume, but right now, that wasn’t your biggest worry. If this person were to make any sudden move, you were more than ready to whack the life out of them. You could live with that. Covering their medical bills and assault charges will be a problem for you in the future. 

The two of you circled each other until your back was to the dining room entrance and you let yourself be backed into the room. However, the second your back hit a chair, you grabbed whatever silverware you could find and hurled it in your attacker’s direction. Lucky for you, the cutlery was not attached to the table, or worse, made out of porcelain. The spoons, knives, and forks clattered to the ground while you dashed to your left, moving to the kitchen. 

There was a strange bubbling noise but you decided to return to this place when you’re not so close to being killed. You exited the kitchen through its proper entrance and opened the door on the left. It was a small storage room, littered with nothing but a few discarded canvases on the floor—you don’t remember this room on the map. 

Oh, also, there was a crying woman in white, huddled in the corner. 

Greeting her with a quick bow, you immediately shut the door before you could register what you’d seen. Ignoring the violent shudder that passed through your spine, you ran back towards the main entrance, just about to cross the staircase to follow through with the plan you never agreed to when a blood-curdling scream came from the first floor. 

Your self-sacrificing instincts kicked in and you climbed two steps at a time while cursing your feet which carried your body towards Jihyo’s screams. Crashing into the first door on your right, you burst into the room screaming all the while swinging your camera stick strong enough to make baseball stars weep… only to find Jihyo backing her assailant to a corner. 

You paused, chest heaving violently, as you witnessed Jihyo in her warpath. Her hands were clenched in tight fists as she stomped forward, making the poor actor back up. She let loose those guttural gnarls that would have one’s throat grating as if someone were pulling it taut. Surely, by the end of your punishment, Jihyo would end up with a sore throat that no amount of honey could cure. Her attempt at asserting dominance slowed down to snarls and hissing before she came to a stop at the sight of surrender. You would have been impressed had she not looked completely mad. 

Jihyo heaved and moved back to the enormous bed in the room, with her eyes still trained on the poor zombie, who tried to become one with the wall. When she sat down, huge plumes of dust wafted into the air and she began coughing violently but had no energy to move away. 

Catching yourself on the door frame seeing that Jihyo had saved herself, you whimpered out. “Got all your anger out now?” 

Both the actor and Jihyo stiffened at your voice before Jihyo said. “I’m going to kill Jeongyeon.” 

You cringed at Jihyo’s hoarse voice, which was nothing but air, she seemed to speak every word as if it pained her. You close your eyes to collect yourself before asking. “Did you find a key?” 

Jihyo wordlessly raised her hand, holding a whole ring of keys, glinting in what little moonlight the tattered curtains allowed. You gasped and walked forward, reaching over the bed to take them. Ignoring the dust being released when you dropped your camera stick carelessly, you counted the number of keys. There were exactly four, all seeming to be in different colours, shapes, and sizes. One of them even had the number three on it. 

Before you could ask, Jihyo pointed behind her and croaked. “Drawer.”

You repeatedly muttered okay to yourself, giddy to finally be free from this mad house. 

So giddy, that you failed to notice the traumatised actor in the corner shaking their head when you exited the bedroom. Getting a head start, you made it down the corridor and found the room where the exit was supposed to be. You opened one door and were met with four other doors. Two to your left, one to your right, and a metal one in front of you. Otherwise, the room was completely barren. 

This was not good. All of these doors were closed meaning you had no idea what monstrosity was hiding behind them. Hearing the muttered curses and stomping, you know Jihyo wasn’t far behind. Quickly, you pulled apart the ring, separated the four keys, and laid them out in the same order with key number three in its place. The door right in front of you was clearly the exit, as it had four coloured and numbered squares with keyholes in the centre.

What do you know? The colours of the keys matched the squares!

Even then, your mind in all its excitement failed to see the obvious trap, like it had failed to predict Jeongyeon’s plans to frame you and Jihyo. You hurried and put all the keys in their respective holes, some with difficulty, with you standing in front of keyhole numbers one and two while Jihyo was in front of the others. With one last glance at Jihyo, you tried the first key.

Except that it didn’t turn. 

“No,” Jihyo mumbled before harshly turning key number three which worked. She tried turning key number four but it wouldn’t budge, she pulled it out and threw it to the ground. “Damn it!” 

Right at that moment, the door on your left swung open revealing a person with the Jason Voorhees mask and a machete to match. Once again, in unison, you and Jihyo were screaming as much as your lungs would allow. However, this time, both of you bolted out the door you’d entered and Jihyo closed the door behind you just in time, so your attacker couldn’t come. Panting, you leaned on the wall by the door, hand wrapped around Jihyo’s own hand which clung to the door handle. 

“Swamp monster, crying ghost, zombie, and Jason,” you count out as you catch your breath. “Four monsters so far, you think that’s it? Four keys, four doors, four monsters?”

Jihyo, panting herself, nodded. “Has to be.” 

“We need to get those stupid keys,” you sighed. Even panicked and running high on adrenaline, you could feel your fear giving way to frustration. You were ready to get this game over with. “I didn’t find any, but I’m assuming it's two per floor.” 

Jihyo nods again, while her attention is on the door, pressing her ear to make sense of the killer behind. But it was silent. 

“Do you want to stay here, and I can find the keys on the first floor?” 

“I’d be a sitting duck,” Jihyo shook her head. “I’ll ransack the top floor, there are still the bathrooms.”

“Dining hall is a red herring with too many clues,” you said, unsure if the room was to be misleading, but it definitely was a waste of time. “I’ll recheck the kitchen and main hall.” 

You glance back at the door and frown. 

“Give me some time before running to the bathrooms, I don’t have places to hide downstairs,” you say and gently take your hand from the door handle, shaking off your nerves. 

Again, Jihyo nodded as she leaned beside the door, taking your place. 

Nodding back at her, you headed towards the stairs. Forgoing the steps, you sat on the railing and quickly slid down, landing easily at the bottom. Your first location was the kitchen. 

You knew the swamp monster had to be waiting in the dining room for you. As well as the crying ghost in the nearby storage room. You’d take your chances with the ghost any day. Taking the route from the back, you entered the kitchen. Walking to the nearest cabinet, you tugged on the handle—it was glued shut. Nodding to yourself, you squinted at the marble counters for anything, nothing seemed to stand out apart from the bubbling pot on the stove, lit up by a flame—it was a light, not real fire. 

A shuffle in the dining room, made you snap your neck to the left. Your eyes, like magnets, turned to the eyes of the morbid painting, glaring into you. Any moment, the swamp monster would return. Turning your attention to the pit, you lifted the lid to see stagnant liquid—so the bubbling was just a recorded sound—that helped break the immersiveness. Rolling up your sleeve and steeling yourself, you stuck your hand in the freezing cold water—or what felt like water. You were grateful for the low viscosity, anything else, and you would have given up finding the key. 

Speaking of, your fingers brushed against shaped metal and pulled out a handful of keys. Cringing at the metallic clangs and clinks as you dropped the wet keys on the counter, you easily found the only key that had a number on it. 

Just as you pocketed the key, the swamp monster made itself known. 

“I’m so sorry,” you muttered and tipped the pot over. They really should glue that down too. 

Water splashed onto the tiled floor, covering the space between you and the monster. Yes, there was another door leading straight to the main foyer from the dining room, but the distraction was all you needed for time. 

Taking the back entrance again, you sprinted out of the kitchen, past the main foyer, and into the room you’ve never been to before. The main hall. 

The moment you entered you had to clasp your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from shrieking.

Every corner of the room, every shelf, every breathing space from the mantle of the fireplace to the couch to the emptyspace of the majestic piano were seated with antique dolls. Dolls of all kinds, and colours, and clothes with their glassy eyes and rosy cheeks and perfectly brushed hair. Not to mention that all the oil paintings of young girls, similar to the antique dolls taking up every inch of the walls. 

Somehow this was worse than the painting that dripped blood onto the floor. 

But much like that painting, it was like all their eyes followed you. That couldn’t be. 

The dolls’ eyes were all looking in one direction, up at the paintings. And the paintings looked up at the ceiling, following them, your head tilted up. 

If you didn’t have trypophobia before, you certainly did now. 

The ceiling was filled with magnificent glass-painted lights, barring the eye-like structures all clustered to look into a direction. Letting the hairs on your neck raise, you followed down the ceiling to the back of the room, once again met with paintings on the wall as your eyes landed on something marginally worse. 

A clown. 

Gulping so loud, you stayed frozen. 

Had the actor just waited until you figured out the eyes?

Their grin widened as their head tilted in an almost robot-like manner. 

Trypophobia and clowns were not fears you expected to gain tonight, but life works in mysterious ways. 

“Come on, man,” you hoped to sound a little relaxed, but with the way your voice shook, you’re doubtful cool confidence came across well. 

When the actor’s grin only widened, you let out a pained whine, like a child throwing a tantrum.

Regressing to your throwing habits, you glanced at the dolls. If they weren’t glued to their places, and also if they weren’t porcelain, you could kick a few to the ground as a distraction. However, touching or holding any part of the dolls matched with those lifeless dead eyes, chubby rosy cheeks, and coloured pouting lips was a thousand times more revolting than facing discount Pennywise. 

“I will swing the camera stick and I know you’re not getting paid enough to take that,” you bartered instead, both hands on the camera stick, once again like a bat. 

The actor chuckled and shook his head. “It happens more often than you think, even though it's against the rules.”

“Rules?” you question, camera stick slightly lowering. 

“The ones under the map,” he offered. 

“Shit, yeah. No, we didn’t have time to read those,” you frowned, completely dropping your stick to your side. “Assuming, we’re not supposed to throw and spill stuff either?”

“Generally, not proper etiquette but it happens,” he shrugged. The casual action was so odd when he was dressed as a horrifying killer clown. 

“Really sorry about that,” you frown deeper with a sigh but he only shakes his head, dismissing your apology with a wave of his hand. 

“You’re all good,” he smiled. Now, you knew he was trying to be friendly and accommodating, but in his make-up, his grin was chilling. It was exactly the reminder you needed. 

Lifting up the stick, almost as if going into an act yourself, you steeled your nerves. The clown followed you as he lowered himself, his eyes narrowing while his grin widened. “Where’s the key?” you asked. 

You were sure he was about to recite some quote from the source material, or just something to elevate his performance. However, both of us were distracted by the ear-shattering scream that could only be Jihyo’s. Perhaps, you’d have jumped the couch and run to her, that is if she wasn’t swearing like a sailor. 

Knowing she had herself covered, you used the distraction to run. The clown followed. 

Maneuvering in a room filled with dolls was difficult, but it was difficult for the clown as well. Following the eyes and where the clown had just been was key number two, all the eyes had been pointing towards it. Such a simple find, but the dolls and clown were such huge deterrents. 

In a sprint, you made a grab for the key notcaring as you rustledsome dolls and exited the main hall. Swamp monster, much like a game character, was waiting at the entrance to the dining room, and themoment he saw you run to the stairs, he was activated. 

“Jihyo, get to the door!” You screamed climbing the stairs two at a time and ignoring the fact that swamp monster and Pennywise himself were on your trail. Jihyo’s answer was only a snarl back, no doubt fending herself from Jason Voorhees. 

Making a quick right, you entered the room and sprinted straight to the metal door. Jihyo was in some circling match with Jason Voorhees as you slotted in key number two and turned it. When you slotted key number one and turned, the swamp monster, the clown, and the zombie piled into the room. 

“Jihyo!” You shoved open the door, which to your embarrassment, while coloured like metal, was not metal, so you nearly planted head-first into the ground when it swung open with ease. 

Catching yourself on the corroded metal railing, Jihyo followed you out and slammed the door shut. Both of you panted, staring at each other as noises from the carnival once again surrounded you. The back of the mansion was… barren to put it kindly. 

None of the money that was spent at the entrance and inside was spared for the back. It looked merely like a storage container. 

You crumpled to the floor, leaning on the railing, and sighed. Your camera stick fell by your thigh with a thunk as Jihyo closed her eyes. You were done. You made it out. 

“Well done, losers!” 

You looked over your shoulder, following the taunt and the clapping. Nayeon giggled as Jeongyeon slowly clapped from the ground. 

“Come down!” Jeongyeon said with a blinding grin as you pulled yourself up to stand. By the way, Jihyo held her jaw, you knew she was seething. However, she was far too exhausted to do anything. 

The pair of you took the stairs down and headed into a smaller shed by the mansion followed by Nayeon and Jeongyeon. Inside, the rest of your friends were gathered as well as the worker who had greeted you. The room was filled with cameras inside the mansion, two screens still transmitting from your camera sticks even as you handed them over.  

“Good job!” The worker said with a forced smile, though you glanced behind her. One of the cameras caught the swamp monster pulling off his mask and taking a seat on one of the chairs while Jason Voorhees just flopped to the floor, his head tilted to the ceiling. All the while Pennywise and the zombie helped clean their respective rooms with the help of cleaners. 

“We’re sorry,” you sighed, Jihyo only nodded, her eyes were still narrowed. She looked anything but apologetic, but you knew she was. “Adrenaline just—poof, you know?”

“It’s alright,” the worker sighs, her taut smile dipping more into a genuine one. “It happens.”

“Yeah, Pennywise said that,” you gave her a small smile. “Good experience, good game. Terrified the shit out of us.”

You ignored the way your friends laughed behind you.

“Please rate us well on the website,” you nodded as the worker pointed out a QR code printed out on the wall. 

While Jeongyeon pulled out her phone to do that, Jihyo sighed and stepped forward. “What was our time?” 

There was no point in asking. The pair of you definitely did not beat the eight-minute record. 

With a frown, the worker answered. “Twenty-seven minutes and fifty-four seconds—”

“Twenty-eight minutes,” Jihyo’s entire form deflated like a burst balloon. You rolled your eyes at her while your friends laughed. 

Instead, you asked a question that bugged you most as you studied the camera screens. 

“Where is the fifth one? Ghost lady?” 

The worker frowned as your friends became silent. Both you and Jihyo looked around to meet everyone’s faces, their expressions ranging from confusion to apprehension. 

“The one in the storage room? She was crying,” you prompted again, glancing back at the cameras to see the four monsters now all in the dining room picking up the utensils you spilt. 

When the worker cleared her throat, you and Jihyo turned back. Her face ashen as she gulped. 

“There is no crying ghost.”

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: i believe the house was based off of coraline house and the painting i described was judith slaying holofernes by artemisia gentileschi :] gonna go binge gose now, good day/night everybody !