𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 ( 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 )

INTRODUCING   :   𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄  ,  𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝟷𝟶𝟷  !

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name:   hera jung. age:   twenty - three. gender & pronouns:   cis woman & she/her. year & major:   third year undergraduate / ancient history.

born in gangnam, seoul, hera is the youngest of two children and the most accomplished. her parents constantly compared her achievements to her brother and encouraged her to live according to their wishes.

moved to san francisco at 11 and was the outcast of her school due to her competitive and ‘bossy’ behavior. the public comparisons changed: instead of people fawning over her and dismissing her brother, it was the other way around. to cope, she threw herself into studying in order to achieve something over him.

of course, this meant she had no interest in making friends, and lived her teenage years as incredibly lonely and unexperienced in anything that wasn’t what her parents wanted.

she spent her entire life following their dreams of an ideal child before finally finding an escape in harcourt.

the kind of person to roll her eyes at dumb ideas, tell people they’re dumb before following along so no one dies because she does not want that on her hands (but also because she feels a sense of ~responsibility~)

it’s not until a moment after she’s taken the french fry that he realizes how this looks. them, alone at 3am, sharing food and secret smiles like they’re the only people that exist in the world. and maybe, right here and now, they are. he wouldn’t be surprised if he turned his head and found that the workers had disappeared but it’s the turning of the head that’s difficult for if he does, he misses out on a smile hera throws his way, a gaze she steals of him. he refuses to miss any of that especially when they’re so limited. he drops his hand on the table, fingers flexing almost without him even realizing. had they wanted something more? farrow can’t say. 

his eyes absolutely light up at her near approval, smile turning wide and bright and positively giddy. farrow doesn’t know why but something that feels so nice blooms in his chest yet he has no word for it. he has no word for anything she makes him feel. “well, you’re not jumping with joy over it but i’ll take it,” he teases, wide grin still perched on his face. “ we know a thing or two, us new yorkers. despite what everyone else thinks.”

his laughter fades into something softer and then eventually, much like his heart in this moment, it stops. hera looks at him, really looks at him for the first time that night and farrow feels as if he’s translucent and she can see all the parts of him that he’s hiding from the world inside his ribcage. but she sees all of that, the bad and the ugly too, and still she calls him nice. “that’s—it’s really kind of you to say that.” farrow has been many things all his life but never once has he been described as nice. when the word falls from her lips, soft and quiet, he finds he likes it more than anything. “well that’s just because i—,” he pauses. because he what? the words get stuck on his throat. “i like your company. it’s nice.” 

is this what waits for them after the dead of night? this push and pull that feels less like clumsy exchanges of letters and more like a late night dance between two people who have been partners for years, and then more? hera can’t imagine that there was ever a time she wanted to look away, to put a bridge between them long since burned. she catches the brief flex of his fingers and wonders, wonders, wonders whether she had caused that. she finds herself hoping she did, if only to give herself another reason to look for him after the sun has set. 

and he becomes so positively blinding, propelled by her barely-there approval. so bright that she can begin to understand how icarus felt, weighed heavy with something bigger than adoration for apollo himself. she knows the feeling of free-falling towards the ocean, chased by wax-wings and the warm, warm imprint of a god. “as if i’d be jumping for joy over something from the east coast,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder in a dramatized display of arrogance. “let me try another one, to really solidify my opinion.” and not for his hands being so close again? a part of her asks, the one that was always as bold as her brother.

farrow’s head dips down, focusing rather on the ice cream in front of him because were he to focus on hera, surely his chest would split open and spill all the secrets he holds tight there all over the table. and he doesn’t know if either of them can handle that. “if i’m ever planning a crazy scheme i’ll let you know beforehand,” he jokes but things feel all too soft now. his voice is quieter and it holds a fondness he’s never been able to show before with anyone else. is he different with hera or is this perhaps who he’s always been, just hasn’t had a chance to speak this gently to anyone before? 

he swears he catches something akin to a blush on her cheeks but maybe it’s just hot in here. still, his eyes linger for a second longer. “now that’s just being cruel,” farrow mumbles, bottom  lip jutting out into what can easily be considered a pout. “come on, try it now. i can’t take the wait any longer.” and he picks up a fry, dips it into the ice cream and holds it out for hera. in hindsight, he probably should have just let her do this herself but his hand is outstretched towards her now, the fry inches from her mouth so clearly it’s too late. 

“i was thinking more like the guy playing the piano but i wouldn’t mind being a tree either. not doing anything but getting a great view of everything else sounds ideal to me.” his mouth opens to say something else but then hera speaks again and it becomes increasingly difficult to even think. surely he’s heard her wrong. “i’m—i’m not nice,” it has been years since farrow has stuttered through his words like this but the beat of what he says matches that of his heart in this moment. his eyes lift to heras face, chancing a look to find her eyes downturned. his hands are shaking for reasons he can neither understand or accept. 

and her lips tilt up in another smile, secret and quiet as she says, “good. i’ll be sure to be prepared.” and her eyes are looking elsewhere, too attuned to the way this little mcdonald’s is running electric; live-wires under every tile and snaked between every table. or maybe it’s just them, and she’s somehow expanded this feeling to encompass the chain so it would feel easier to know it’s just her, and farrow, and farrow and hera. that this gentleness they’re so carefully holding has a place.

she looks up after a moment, catches his eyes in a gaze that makes her wonder how long he was looking, and how much she missed. it’s a question that doesn’t linger, however, not when he’s pouting, and not when he’s offering her a fry, hand so close she could touch it if she wanted to. she wants to say something here, something to make him laugh if only to break the spider-spun tension between them but comes up empty. she always seems to come up empty if it’s farrow. “fine,” she huffs, and leans further forward to easily bite the fry, careful of the ice cream it was dipped in, careful not to brush her lips against his fingers in a way that would be too intimate for what they were. “it’s ... honestly not that bad,” she says after a moment, leaning back in her seat. “and i definitely don’t hate it enough to pass down some kind of punishment, so i guess you new yorkers were onto something, huh?”

it’s a joke, of course, because surely the idea of her doing anything for him is preposterous. after all, they’re barely friends. but that’s not really true, is it, an unhelpful part of him supplies. because they’re not really friends but they’re something else. not really friends but they know each other like they’ve spent years, even decades studying the curve of each other’s mouth when they’re sad and happy and everything in between. so no, they’re not really friends but what do you call someone you know can easily make a home in between the grooves of your ribcage? “sounds pretty fair to me,” he settles on saying, a soft chuckle, barely a breath parting his lips for a quick second. 

he picks up a fry, making a show of dipping it into the ice cream and popping it in his mouth, groaning in delight at the taste. “delicious. anyone who says otherwise is wrong.” farrow forgets for a moment where they are, eyes drawn to the way her face looks when she’s throwing teasing words back at him, how her features seem untroubled by anything. how beautiful this looks on her. “i’ve always thought of myself as more of a behind the scenes guy, not the hero of the story,” he pops another fry into his mouth. “ha ha,” he deadpans but his smile betrays him. “very clever comparison.” 

“but don’t actually get into any trouble. at least without giving me a heads up to prepare,” she says, tone several degrees softer than she’s ever used it in, and leaves it at that. lets it hang between them like a meteor waiting to be plucked, like there isn’t something hidden in the cracks of the phrase waiting to be discovered. it’s funny, she thinks, that in the span of conversations she could count on one hand, all of them have felt familiar and unfamiliar. like they were still learning about each other, except everything spilled forth on the table was something they’ve already known. 

♦︎

there are some things that are deeply engraved into farrow’s memory that he thinks he can live a thousand lifetimes and never forget. how his mother’s hair looked one spring day, shining under the sun. the smell of his grandfather’s mint tea, reminding him of home. and the way hera looks when she laughs, how she sounds when laughter bubbles out of her like champagne from a bottle. he’ll hear the soft sound of it in his best dreams and worst nightmares. it’ll haunt him in ways he will welcome. 

“that is a good defense,” he says after some considering, watching as the worker places their orders on a tray and sets it on the counter. “you should be a lawyer. you could win all the cases like this.” somehow, this time around he finds it easier to joke and tease hera, his lips seemingly permanently tipped at the corners. maybe he’s just happy to be away from his textbooks for the night. maybe it’s just her. the scrunch of her nose takes a second to register but when it does, something tightens in his chest and he has an intense desire to…to—he doesn’t even know what. he just feels so much in the moment, endearment being the only thing he can make out amongst the muddled emotions. “you may choose the punishment for me then. i trust you to be fair,” he says, picking up the tray and moving towards the seating area, settling down on a table tucked away in the corner. 

*

they have this rapport that feels incredibly natural, like they’ve known each other this entire lifetime and about a hundred lifetimes before this one. the feeling settles in the cavity of her chest like it’s coming home again, like it is a softer reminder of what waits if she says something, if she breaks the bubble that they’ve tentatively put themselves into. but she doesn’t, and whether it is because she is afraid or because she refuses to be the one to say something first is unknown, and hera settles for following his steps to their table, stepping on each tile he’s already touched.

♦︎

the concept of being stuck with hera is a funny one to farrow. without realizing he’s started almost cherishing these stolen moments they get to spend together and if she calls that being stuck with each other then he finds he doesn’t mind it. a conversation on a boat, walking together in the middle of winter wearing not enough layers but unable to feel the cold despite it, he minds none of that even if he knows he should. he’d spend so long denying himself but with a simple conversation the walls had begin crumbling. “oh, how will i make it through the night,” he sighs, purposely dramatic before he cracks a smile at her. 

“you caught me. i just didn’t want to seem like a weirdo for my 3am mcdonalds order,” he sighs once more, holding his hands up in surrender. “although, the fact that i am here at mcdonalds at 3am is weird enough. but then again, so are you.” a teasing smile lifts the corners of his lips again. he would never allowed himself this had it been the middle of the day and had they met anywhere other than here but somehow, things always feel different after the sun has gone down. “don’t worry. i’m subjecting you to my mcflurry and fries combination; the least i can do is pay for your food.” 

*

hera feels like it’s something she should be asking herself. how will she make it through the night, not when every interaction and (dare she remember) brief moments of physical touch they’ve had so far comes neatly wrapped in a pouch of fireworks and difficult questions to answer about farrow, herself, and then whatever exists in the space between the two of them. she bites her lip to hold back another laugh, before all pretenses drop and it bursts forth anyways, muted in the winter, loud enough for them. “i’m sure you’ll figure something out,” she says.

she rolls her eyes, lips tilted up in a way that fondly says, ‘you’re really something else.’ except what comes out is: “well in our shared defense, we’re college students with nothing else to do other than ransack our local mcdonald’s when studying becomes a pain.” and then she makes a face, a scrunch of her nose that clearly spells out her dislike of what’s coming next, and it’s almost out of character for her––hera jung, to be making faces and laughing at 3am when everyone has known her as something uncrackable. except farrow, she muses. farrow has always known her as something else, when the sun has long since dipped behind buildings and hills and their only witness is the night sky. “and if i hate it, what then? how will you pay for your crimes against me?”

♦︎

if he’s watching her from the corner of his eye it’s only because he’s waiting for her reaction to his order, of course. it has nothing to do with the way that despite the harsh lighting of the room she still looks gorgeous bathed in this light. and that in turn has nothing to do with the knot that forms in his throat, choking him and preventing a single word from escaping until he snaps out of this trance he’s fallen under when she speaks again. 

“i should’ve made you promise to not make any comments about it instead,” he jokes because really, his order is ridiculous. and the worst part of it is that he’ll be dipping those fries in the ice cream later on, something she surely will laugh at him for. he’s anticipating it. “i was raised in new york city. mcflurries at 3am in the winter are basically a staple.” it’s a lie, of course. no such thing is true but anything to make himself look less ridiculous in front of hera. “i got it,” he says, turning to the cashier to pay. once they’re done ordering, farrow steps to the side to wait, eyes drawn to her in a way he can’t help. 

*

“it’s too late for that now, isn’t it? unfortunately, you’re stuck with me and my comments for tonight,” she replies, pokes this teasing tone back towards him in a way that is much too easy for what they were supposed to be, for what they were supposed to never be. she curls her hand in her own, watches the way the harsh fluorescent light softens as it reaches this beautiful boy that knows her like she knows herself, and laughs again.

“that’s way too specific for it to be an entire state tradition,” she points out. “you’re either pulling my leg, or i have to get rid of the entirety of new york. mcflurries at 3am in the middle of winter? does every new yorker like it, or is it just you?” as if her order is any better, but she reasons it with the fact it’s somewhat acceptable for winter. hera follows him off the side, expression unreadable for a moment as she registers that he had just paid for both of them and immediately holds her hand out for the receipt, fingers wiggling, keenly aware of the way his eyes were on her. if she’s flustered by it (which she is, she always is when it’s him), she tries her best not to show it. “at least let me pay for my order. it was more than yours was, right?”

It didn’t hurt her feelings to see Hera so off put by her kindness. She was at least polite about it; there were plenty of times Nevaeh had been called some less than nice names. But for Nevaeh, Hera wasn’t a stranger or even just an acquaintance. Being a part of something as exceptional ( and newly dangerous ) as the literary society made Hera someone she wanted to be close to. She didn’t mean to come off as strong as she did, but she couldn’t help it. “We’ve all been there.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug, sitting back in her seat and leaving the tumblr where it was. She did her best not to push it forward again, still learning how to pull back when needed. “Completely understand. What are you working on that’s go you so focused? It’s a pretty impressive level of concentration and restraint.”

♦︎

“that still doesn’t sound like a promise,” he says, tone light and teasing as they approach the counter. if his gaze rests on where the corners of her lips curve up into a smile a little longer than necessary, no one has to know. he finds he does this a lot with her, notice things and pretends he doesn’t for both their sake. he wonders if she notices anything about him.

“alright, alright. but remember, you said you’d do your best not to laugh.” he turns to the worker then, who looks at farrow like he’s crazy for coming to mcdonald’s at this time of the night and perhaps they have a point. “can i get a mcflurry and an order of large fries please,” he orders with an almost shameful look on his face. so he has a sweet tooth, sue him. “and whatever the lady will be having.” 

*

is the heart a traitor for reacting the way it was meant to, or is hera the traitorous one for noticing the way her heart skips at the way his words poke lightly at her own, lilted with a teasing tone, and doing nothing about it? she tries her best to hide the thud of her heart by looking at the menu with more concentration than needed, hands pressed over her chest to still the sound. 

“and i always give nothing but my best,” she counters, before settling in next to him, offering a raise of her eyebrows to the cashier as farrow lists off his order. it’s a tame one, but the corners of her lips still turn up and a huff of tampered-down laughter manages to escape. “a mcflurry in this weather? you’re so brave,” she comments idly, before turning to the cashier. “i’ll have a fish fillet and a medium cola. are we paying separately or together?” she adds as a last question, turning towards farrow.

IN HER HAND are the crumpled pages from a book, tight in her fist while Hera spoke. The other refutes Phoebe’s theory, but she is unconvinced, with the library being a secret to everybody but society members. “It’s not like we were watching everybody come on and off the ship,” she counters, finally tossing the papers into the bag. “How would they have known about this place otherwise?” Phoebe gestures to the library. In the wild mess, it looks terrifying, as if it’d been abandoned a long time ago and just discovered by the society members helping to clean up. For Phoebe, the thought of not knowing is far more terrifying than figuring out the culprit was one of them. 

if he’s endeared by the sight of her in her pajamas and cozy looking jacket, he does his best not to show it. whatever he had allowed himself to think, to feel, at that party so many nights ago was not to happen again, farrow would make sure of it. but, and there’s always a but where hera is concerned, it’s 3am and nothing feels real at this time. nothing except for the way his heart beats against his ribcage, that is. “i know how that goes,” he sighs, thinking of his own notes, untouched and unmemorized. 

“no, no, please,” he reaches out to open the door and holds a hand out so that she may enter  first. his grandfather taught him better after all. he follows her in, searching the place for any familiar faces and sighing in relief when he sees none. in fact, the place is empty save for two workers. as they near the counter, farrow looks at hera again. “promise me you won’t laugh when you hear my order.” 

and so she allows this moment of theirs a small smile, warm in the winter. he always managed to pull a side of her that was nicer than most, a side she kept hidden. she wonders what he would think of that. “well, it’s not like i have anything important coming up so ... i can relax for a little bit.”

she laughs at the gentle attitude, nodding her head towards the open door as she steps in with a soft murmur of thanks. the inside is significantly warmer, and hera feels herself slowly warming up as they approach the counter. she meets his gaze, eyes lighting up with curiosity. “i’ll do my best not to laugh,” she says, as serious as possible, another smile playing on her lips. “i won’t even judge if you pull something off the kids’ menu.” a hand mimics his actions from earlier, gesturing towards the counter. “after you.”

on some nights farrow finds himself unable to sleep, tossing and turning to no avail. on those nights he likes to slowly tip-toe out of his room, out of the dorm building and wander around for an hour or two. tonight, that restlessness comes with hunger and knowing very well there is only one establishment open at this time he quickly makes his way over to it, hood drawn up over his head to hide from the chill of december. 

it’s just as he’s about to enter the building that the exact reason for his sleeplessness manifests before him. farrow steps back immediately, eyes wide as he looks at hera. “couldn’t sleep,” he settles on, unsure if he even says it or simply thinks it. “this is the only thing that’s open at this time. and you? why are you out so late?” 

the cold settles easily over hera’s skin, though part of her wonders whether the reason it settles is because she’s far too preoccupied with something else. “oh,” she says in response to his answer. she glances down to her shoes, to the pajama pants she hadn’t changed out of and the winter jacket she had just thrown over a sweater she’s been wearing for two days. of all times to run into farrow, she thinks. “i was––i was reviewing my notes. or trying to, at least.”

hera couldn’t stand another night in the dorm staring at her paper-riddled wall, train after train of thoughts spinning around in her head (that all conveniently had nothing to do with studying and everything to do with a person) and figures a walk would be good for her. therapeutic, even. so she braves the cold outside for the short trek to mcdonald’s, where the warm light beckons her inside.

Nevaeh was able to settled comfortably into her seat once hera acknowledged her. More importantly, when the other hadn’t shooed her away. She was certain she needed a break, and nevaeh definitely wouldn’t mind the company. In her mind it was a win for both of them. “No need to apologize, I understand. Once you’re in it it’s the only place your mind can be.” She assured. Nevaeh also had the tendency to hyper focus on her work once she started. Though she could easily be pulled and persuaded to focus on something else. She wondered how difficult that was for hera to do. “I did, yeah. I noticed you earlier when i was in here, figured if you were still here it would be because you hadn’t left.” she offered with a light laugh. “You should keep it anyway.” Nevaeh pushed the snack a little closer to her. “Just in case you get hungry some time later…— and don’t worry about the tumbler. You can keep it. Y’know, actually if you’d like we could just go get lunch now? My treat.”

❀

frankly, lye had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. the society had sounded too good to be true if history was any indicator. nothing ever remained a secret, and he had no doubt the group made enemies over the years. yet, he couldn’t help but wonder who was responsible for the destruction of the library. things had been too quiet for his liking. “keep your head up,” he assured her, carrying his own bags of ruined books. “maybe, we’ll finally start getting answers now,” he added.

*

✴

“Here you go,” she hands the post-it back to Hera with a loose smile, eyes looking just a bit dazed. She had since changed before heading to the bar, but it was the buzz that was keeping her warm over the short dress. Odette playfully scoffs, a teasing grin on her lips spreading at Hera’s insistence. “One shot, fine. But come on, you’re the smartest person I know. I’m sure you’ve done enough studying and revising.” She pours out the two shots, handing Hera’s her glass. “You can go back to studying tomorrow. It’s past midnight, you need a break.” She beams at Hera as she nods. “Yeah, of course. Look, I’m feeding you too and giving you a much needed break, you can call me your fairy godmother.”

*

LOWERING HERSELF TO menial labor is hardly Phoebe’s favorite task, but even she has to admit, keeping her hands busy ensures that her mind is not ruminating on what exactly happened in the library. She lowers down, gingerly picking up a few sheets of paper, tossing them in the bag with her nose scrunched up. “I can’t imagine who would’ve done something so awful. Do you think it was… one of us?”