#smsn.writes

"I mean this late," you say pointedly, something about the set of his shoulders and the scowl on his face making your head hurt.

"I was at work late," he tells you stiffly. It's odd, you think, to have him look at you like that - weary and betrayed in a way you're not sure you really deserve. It makes you press your lips together, looking down at the space between you both.

"Ok," you say slowly. "Well, I'll let you… go, then."

"Just like that?" he murmurs - like he was expecting it, like he was waiting for you to let him down.

"I'll call you," you say pointedly.

"Well, I won't hold my breath," he retorts, but whatever sharp edges he's intended to put into it crumble a bit under the heartache that slips through, instead.

"Sirius," you murmur, hurt and surprise mixing and muddying together. It makes him flinch, just the slightest bit - gives him that waver of self-hatred that makes your stomach roll.

"I will call," you insist gently - because, really, you'd always meant to. 

"You can do what you want, babe," he responds tiredly, anger making way for something wearier. "You always do."

"I don't think that's fair," you respond quickly, something sharp digging into your voice. "This is what you - this is what we all agreed on."

"We agreed to give one another space. Not… not -" Sirius clenches his jaw, the muscles straining slightly. He looks older now, you think with a panicked sort of unfamiliarity, stubble scratching against his jaw and hair growing longer. He looks like he's grown up a bit - away from you, outside of you. 

"You look good," you blurt out, and it's really not what you meant to say. He reels back, just a bit.

"You're not flirting with me right now," he retorts - like he's begging you.

"No, I'm… just saying," you try. "I haven't… we haven't seen each other in - a while."

"I don't think that's my fault," Sirius insists as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his heavy leather jacket.

"I don't think it's mine, either," you counter, and you wonder sort of painfully when this became a fight. 

"So you think it was inevitable?" he tries, and your heart cracks a bit.

"I didn't -" you falter. "I didn't mean that. Just that, maybe, you know… our own decisions brought us here."

"Here?" Sirius echoes, and the night sort of deadens around you, the street quiet and lonely. Shadows begin to crawl across the cobblestones and you feel panic pool in your mouth as you force the next words out.

"Have we broken up?"

That seems to stop Sirius in his tracks - seems to make something crack in him as he stares at you, anguish flashing across his face. Of course not, he wants to say. I love you, he almost spits out. Please don't leave me again, he nearly begs.

"Well," he ends up saying eventually, the anger having left him in a big wave. "I certainly wouldn't call this being together."

A group of friends walks down the street opposite the two of you, laughing and jostling one another about, clearly on their way home from a night out. The ground beneath you, you find, opens up enough to swallow you whole.

"Are you in a rush to get home?" you ask waveringly, something unsteady in your demeanour.

"I'm…" he trails off.

"Let me buy you a drink?" you ask - and it's sort of desperate. He knows it is, can hear it in your voice, but Sirius finds that he's a bit desperate, too.

"Just one," he agrees, and he's as good at lying now, you think, as he always was.

"What are you thinking about?" Sirius asks once you're settled in a nearby pub, two pints on the table between you. The distance, you find as you sip absently, seems to stretch with the silence.

"This, I guess," you offer vaguely.

"What about it?" he asks, and you watch the way he twists the silver rings on his fingers. You remember, a bit achingly, the first time the two of you had gone out alone - the way you'd fiddled and twisted the rings on your fingers and the way that he's tangled his own hands with yours so that you had something else to hold onto.

You wonder, now, sitting in a pub at a table tucked so far into the corner that the warmth of the fireplace can't reach you, how many other bad habits he's picked up from you.

"I've never seen you angry at me like that before," you say. "Until tonight."

"I wasn't really angry with you," he responds quickly - and you recognize an apology from Sirius when he tries to offer one.

"You were a little," you remind him, but you're not so angry anymore, either.

"Yea, but not really," Sirius insists, and then he stops fidgeting to place his hands palm down on the table. "I miss you," he admits - a bit exposed, a bit cracked open. "We all do."

"I don't know how this happened," you murmur, a whispered sort of thing as you stare down at his hands.

"I do," he offers gently. "We grew up."

"We were supposed to grow together," you insist, desperation painting your voice a frightened colour. "Why didn't we? Why did we… why would anyone choose to do this alone?"

Sirius looks at you, then, a bit like you've split his heart down the middle - like he wasn't prepared to be faced with such a thing. When your hands clench so tightly into fists that your nails bite into your palms, though, it's nearly instinct for him to reach across the table and intertwine his fingers with yours, instead.

"I don't think we're alone," he says firmly, and your vision blurs slightly as he squeezes your hands in his. "We just… took some time apart. That was - that was our plan, remember? It was temporary - it is temporary, love."

"It doesn't feel temporary, does it?" you murmur in response, and it has Sirius's grip slackening just a bit. Looking down at his hands on yours, you try to remember the last time he'd touched you - even like this. 

"Do you think we made a mistake?" you ask quietly, and he huffs out a breath.

"Let's all go our separate ways after graduation?" he echoes, a sad little rendition of a hopeful, bittersweet memory. "We'll find ourselves and then come back to one another."

You press your lips together, letting his words hang in the air as your question rolls around in the space between the two of you, over and over and over.

"I don't know," Sirius eventually murmurs. "Maybe it was worth it. Did you get everything you wanted?"

"I…" you falter, and when his eyes meet yours across the table, you find that you almost recognize him again. Older, yes - more sure, more stable, more honest. But still him - still yours.

"Almost," you admit at last, a small word for something much bigger.

"Almost?" he echoes.

"I feel like I'm missing something very important," you press forward, sure that he can feel the tremble of your hands - the way you grip onto him like he'll disappear.

"Well," he responds, and you're sure his voice is supposed to sound cool and unwavering, but he grips your hand back so hard that it steadies you, and there's an earnest tilt to him that he just can't hide. "I think we can help each other find that again."

"And… James? Remus?" you ask, hesitant where you shouldn't be. The smile that Sirius sends you is real - honest and relieved.

"Hey, birdie," your voice pulls him out of his slow, lazy headspace as you finally close the door behind you, moving to sit down next to his bed and look at him a bit imploringly. "How're you doing?"

"Oh, I'm feeling great," he responds easily, his voice low and scratchy and wholly unbelievable. But you're talking to him in that gentle little coo that you only bring out when you're really worried, and you have a little notch between your brows that he'd smooth away if he had enough energy in his hands.

"Yea, I'm sure you are," you say softly, and he thinks that it really must be serious if you're not even calling him out on his obvious pretending. 

"Come on, chickadee," he says gently. "It's all fine, hm?"

"Well," you sigh, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. "I dunno, um… call me sentimental, but I don't like seeing you get your ass kicked like that."

"Thank god I had you there to save me, then," he murmurs - and really, he's only half joking. 

"Hm, yea - there are going to be some very flattering headlines about you tomorrow," you say flatly, and Keigo huffs out a laugh.

"Well, I can take that hit for you," he drawls. "Take your props, baby - you don't let yourself be the hero often enough."

"It's literally my job," you point out, but he rolls his eyes affectionately.

"You know what I mean," he responds. "You don't exactly revel in it."

"Well, I will if the press has anything to say about that," you sigh, and Keigo reaches slowly to drag his knuckles across your cheek gently. 

"I'm sorry you had to deal with all that alone," he says honestly, and you look at him with an odd mix of bemusement and affection.

"While you were being airlifted to the hospital? Yea, it was awful," you say dryly, and he laughs again as his hand drops back to the bed. 

"Somehow, I think you'd rather be in my position," he says easily, and you hum in agreement.

"And you'd rather be in mine."

"Probably," he admits. You look at him rather fondly, soft and syrupy as your fingers trail over his arm and towards his hand.

"Hey," he squeezes your fingers in his. "Come here."

"Into your hospital bed?" you laugh, but he just tugs you closer. It's a weak bit of strength, tired and wrung out, but you love him, so you go easily, tucking yourself into the bed next to him so that your head is on his shoulder.

He sighs, a contented sort of thing as he presses a slow kiss to your forehead and keeps one of your hands held firmly in his.

"You know, I hope you never do something like that again," you whisper, like you're confessing something that you shouldn't.

"What, hero work?" he quips.

"Yea," you joke. "You should retire. You'd be great as a house husband."

Keigo huffs out a laugh, his lips pressed to the top of your head as he murmurs out an, I'll see what I can do.

And you let it sit, just for a moment, before you speak again.

"I meant nearly dying."

"I was still pretty far off from dying," he says gently, and you exhale deeply as you curl further against him. "And, besides, you got to me in time."

"What if I don't, next time?" you ask quietly, and he squeezes your hand in his.

"You will."

"How do you know?"

"You always do," he says easily - like he's never once doubted you, like he'd put his heart in your hands if you asked.

"Think of this the other way around, Keigo," you try. "Wouldn't you be worried?"

"Of course I would," he says immediately. "But I always come to you."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I always have."

"You…" you trail off, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. "You have a lot of faith in our abilities."

"I have a lot of faith in us," he says gently. Somewhere outside, the sun crests over the clouds and sends endless little beams of light through the hospital blinds and towards the two of you. You trace, with gentle, slow fingers, the patterns that it leaves across his chest.

"Don't you?" he murmurs, and you stop to press your palm to his skin and feel his heart beat under your hand.

"We're only human, at the end of it all," you say softly, and he hums his agreement.

"And what's more human than to hope?" Keigo counters, and it strikes you so shockingly that you sit up to look at him. He thumbs at a splash of light that's settled across your cheek as you stare at him, murmuring something about how pretty you look with the light like this.

"Do you really believe that?" you ask haltingly, the word hope sticking in your chest and scraping at your lungs.

"I do now," he says easily. "I didn't always, but I… I do now."

"I used to," you say softly, and he nods.

"I remember."

"I don't anymore."

"You can, if you want to," Keigo offers. "What's the harm in it?"

"I guess I just saw enough of the world to stop hoping," you shrug, and his thumb smooths over your cheek again and again and again.

"I think I saw enough of you that I started to," he murmurs, and you huff out a breath.

"You're concussed," you insist. "Go - take a nap. Go to sleep."

"If you insist," he says easily, his hand falling back to the bed as he closes his eyes - always letting you run away, always letting you hide when you need to. "But when I'm out of here and you're not freaked out anymore, you'll remember that I'm right."

"Maybe," you murmur, brushing some of the hair out of his face and smoothing it down gently.

The way the light wafts in, it sort of hazes around him like a golden halo. And his face, with his eyes closed and his head tilted back, looks soft in that way that it only does when he's relaxed and caught unawares. 

"You're so easy," you taunt back, and he smiles lazily.

"You're pretty when you're mean to me, too."

"You always say that," you sigh wistfully, pressing a couple of kisses to his jaw as he tilts his head to give you better access.

"It's always true," he insists, hands squeezing your thighs gently and trailing further up.

"I hope you're not getting lost down there," you murmur against the skin of his jaw, nipping a bit with your teeth, and his hands slide further under the towel.

"No, I know my way around," he responds easily - and you think, not for the first time, that maybe someone should take his ego down a notch or two.

But then his fingers are pressing against your inner thigh, higher and higher, and you just sigh and let your forehead rest against his shoulder.

"Thought I was the easy one?" he taunts - and maybe you'd normally have a quip to shoot back, but his fingertips find your cunt, sliding along your folds and coaxing a contented little sigh from your mouth, instead.

"You are easy," you insist breathily, and he hums, his thumb pressing against your clit and rubbing tight little circles that have you squirming on the bathroom counter. 

"I'm ok with that," is all he offers, his other hand tugging at your towel until it pools on the counter, pulling it away from you.

Your breath hitches, your thighs twitching as you grab his wrist to stop his thumb on your clit.

"What, baby?" he asks gently, his movements halting now. And his eyes - big, Bambi-like eyes look down at you like you hung the moon in the sky.

"You know, you've already worn me out," you say coyly, teasing enough that he relaxes again. "I really don't have much left in me."

"Do you have one more?" he coaxes, pressing his thumb a little firmer, and you arch against him a bit. His other hand comes up to palm your tits, gripping and tugging at your nipples gently until your thighs close around his hand.

"Maybe just - one," you allow.

"I can take one," he insists - and you think that it might be what kills you one day, his laser-sharp focus and determination.

"Yea, but -" you start, holding his wrist again. "Don't you want it to be on your cock?"

That, admittedly, makes him freeze. He looks down at you a bit desperately, eyes dark and hooded - and then he's pulling away completely.

The sound of protest, though, is only halfway out of your mouth when he yanks you off the counter and spins you around, pinning your back to his chest with a firm grip on you - one hand on your hip, and the other loosely on your throat.

"You're so good to me," he says, his voice low as he presses a kiss to your temple. You'd answer him if you could, but his hand drops from your hip down to press two fingers into you, and the pace he sets is hard enough that all you can do is let out little gasps and moans. 

At some point, he'd clearly pulled off his own towel, as well, and you can feel his length against your lower back as he presses closer to you, purring sweet little bits of praise into your ear as his fingers stretch you out, an embarrassingly wet sound filling the bathroom.

You can't take your eyes off it, you find - his arm, endless tattoos trailing down it all the way to where his fingers disappear into your cunt. You moan at the sight, closing your eyes and turning your head towards him, knowing that you really will cum too soon if you keep watching.

Thankfully, he gets the message, pulling his fingers out and very gently slapping your clit a couple times just to see you jump - laughing at the sight.

That ego again, you think distractedly.

But then he's crowding against you more, pushing you down so that your chest is against the counter and kicking your legs apart gently with his foot.

The marble's cold against your skin, your nipples pressing against it and distracting you just enough as Jeongguk taps the head of his cock against your clit - sensitive already.

When you keen, rocking up onto your toes to try to get away from it, he just braces a hand on your lower back to keep you still.

"Poor thing," he says mockingly. "You worn out yet, baby?"

"Not quite," you respond in a big, shaky exhale, and the head of his cock prods against you as a reward, pressing into you just enough for you to feel the size of it before pulling away.

"I'm already stretched out from earlier, you know," you taunt, hoping he can't see the way you bite your lip to hold in a moan - hoping he's too distracted by the sight of your cunt dripping onto his cock to look in the mirror. "I don't know how big you think your dick is, but -"

Frustrating at times, yes, but your boyfriend's always had something to prove - always needs to show that he's good enough, taking care of you well enough, attending to your every need.

It's the same tick in his jaw he gets now when he grabs your waist hard, pushing into you in one firm thrust until his hips press against your ass and you choke on a moan.

"Stretched out, huh?" he says breathlessly as he sets a hard pace, both hands on your hips now pulling you back into his cock as he hammers into you. Your hands grab at the counter, cold marble against heated skin as you take it. "Nah. You're still squeezing me so fucking tight."

He hauls you up, then, one of his hands tight on your hip as the other locks around your neck in a mean chokehold, keeping you arched against him as he fucks you hard enough that your legs shake.

The angle that he has you in now has the head of his cock hammering against the spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back, and your hands desperately grab onto his arm for something to hold onto.

"Look at yourself, baby," he says breathlessly, his lips right by your ear, and you see it in the mirror - his arm locked around your neck, your hands on his bicep and forearm as his tattoos press against you. You can feel the strain of his muscles as he tightens his hold, and the way that it makes you clench around him has him speeding up.

He's drilling into you now, bruising thrusts as his other hand finds your clit and his fingers rub a quick back and forth - an action that has you keening and gasping, endless sounds pouring from you. 

"You feel so good," he groans, his thrusts faltering only slightly as you clench around his length, and then he doubles his efforts until your legs nearly give out and you're held up only by his arms around you. "So good for me. Watch yourself, baby - look how pretty you are."

You're not sure how much listening you're really doing, though, when all you can feel is his arm against your throat, and all you can see is the way he surrounds you, his inky, decorated bicep wide and flexed under your grip as you paw at him.

"Jeongguk, I'm - I -" you start, unable to really get anything sensible out. He just moans in your ear, his fingers firm and unrelenting on your clit as he feels your cunt flutter and squeeze around him.

"Yea, I know," he pants. "Come on, baby - cum all over me. Let me feel it."

You think, very briefly and distantly, that cumming on his command can't be good for that untouchable ego of his - but your orgasm rips through you, and you just moan, grabbing onto any part of him that you can as he continues hammering into you, babbling out endless praise for you.

"You're so good," he gasps, kissing along your neck between muffled words. "So pretty when you - fuck - cum for me. You want it, baby? Tell me you want it."

"Please, I -" you try to speak, the overstimulation thrumming through you as his grip on you tightens, holding you against him so that he can rut desperately into your dripping cunt. "Please, cum in me - please -"

He bites down on your shoulder when he cums, muffling his own moans as he slams into you one last time and slows to a grind, hot spurts of his cum filling you as you whimper and clench around him.

As you try to catch your breath, trembling and panting, his arm finally loosens around your neck and moves to your waist, holding you up.

"Ok - ok," he coaxes sweetly. "Come here, babe, I've got you."

You're pliant in his arms as he pulls out of you, a whine leaving your lips at the tender feeling, but then he's spinning you around and picking you up, lifting you back onto the counter so that you can lean your back against the mirror and catch your breath. 

Some of his cum has begun to drip out of you, pooling between your thighs in a sticky mess, and Jeongguk makes quick work of getting a warm, damp towel to begin wiping everything away. 

"We need another shower," you mumble, eyes hooded - thoroughly rung out by him.

"Hm," he hums as he drags the towel gently across your skin, as tender as he can be where you're sensitive. "Sure thing, babe. I just gotta make a quick appointment first."

"What?" you ask in confusion, trying to blink away some of your tired fogginess. "That's what you were thinking about while we had sex?"

"Nah," he grins, throwing the used towel somewhere on the floor and crowding against you. "I was just thinking… maybe it's time to add to the sleeve."

He flexes his tattooed bicep in front of you playfully, and you close your eyes, leaning your head back against the mirror and fighting a smile.

"Feels the same?" you ask him idly as you step further into his space, leaning against the console with your arms crossed as you consider him.

"Close enough," Din offers in response. "Where's the kid?"

"Still asleep," you assure him. "He will be for a while, I bet."

Din just nods in agreement.

"Messy job," he says bluntly. You shrug.

"That's what makes it fun, isn't it?"

"You don't really think that," he says easily, and you tilt your head to look out into the vast nothingness of space, the stars little pinpricks of light swirling around you.

"Not as much as I used to," you admit. "But still somewhat."

"Still," he continues. "Might be worth it to take a break."

"Just a little one," you allow, trailing a finger across the console as you lean against it. He's watching you, you know, always staring silently under that helmet of his. But it doesn't bother you the way it used to - not anymore, not after all this time.

"Why so far away?" he asks eventually, and you shoot him a bemused sort of look, because you're standing close enough that his knee brushes against you when he shifts in the pilot's seat.

But then he pats his thigh in response to your cocked brow, and you huff out a little breath.

"You're incorrigible," you chastise, even as you step forward and let him pull you into his lap, straddling him easily.

"I've earned it," Din responds - and, really, you can't deny such a thing. It's so rare that he indulges - more so these days, but the moments are still few and far between.

"I suppose so," you say softly as you relax against him, firm hands coming up to grip your waist as your palms meet solid beskar. 

"What'll you do when we get home?" you ask him, the word home fumbled in an unfamiliar sort of way even now. His grip tightens on your waist, gloved fingers pressing into your skin just a bit, and his head tilts to the side thoughtfully. 

"…A couple things," he says vaguely, and you flick his helmet right over his forehead.

"I meant with the ship," you say pointedly. 

"Hm," he muses. "A couple other things."

"Yea, I figured," you agree, tracing the contours of his helmet absently. The ship idles around you, a low thrumming sort of sound that keeps it alive as you sink further into space. 

Outside, the stars blink in and out endlessly, each one more unrecognizable than the last. 

It wasn't always like this, you realize with a start. You used to know how to get from here to there - you used to know your own way home.

"What are you thinking about?" Din asks, a tether in an endless sea of stars.

"Going home," you reply softly, and he shifts where he sits, settling further and reclining back so he can look at you better. 

"Yea?" he coaxes - because he won't demand you tell him anything, but he'll always make sure you know that he's aware of when you're not saying something.

"Yea," you say vaguely, looking at him instead of out into the unknown. "And, I don't know… maybe I don't like being out here as much as I used to."

Din pauses then, his hands still firm on your waist as he weighs your words.

"Is that true?" he asks eventually.

"No," you admit easily, never too intent on lying to him. It just happens to be, you consider, a bitter by-product of lying to yourself. 

"No," you say again. "I think I just like being home a little bit more."

"Ah," Din slides one hand up to grip the back of your neck gently, a tilting sort of tone in his voice that makes you think that maybe he knew that all along. "Well, that's good. It means home's working."

"Home's working too much," you disagree, letting him pull you closer gently until your forehead rests against his helmet, your eyes closing. "I've become a homebody."

"Not quite," he says kindly, his thumb rubbing a soothing sort of motion on your neck. "I think you probably always were. You just didn't have the home to go with it."

"Ouch," you say dryly.

"I'm sorry, my love," he responds quickly, and he's too kind to be mad at. You sigh, straightening in his lap to really look at him, letting his hand fall back down to your waist.

"Have I changed?" you ask him, and he cocks his head to the side as he studies you. It used to bother you, you think distantly - used to make you twitch and shift on your feet when you had his blank stare trained on you.

But you don't have to see his face to know him, these days. You wonder if he knows you, too.

"Not so much," he says easily. "Although you are a bit more yourself these days."

"How do you know what's myself and what's not?" you counter, and he squeezes your waist gently in his hands.

"Because I know you."

"How?" you demand.

"Because I love you."

That has your mouth snapping shut, admittedly. You're not sure what defence you have against his affections, and you're suddenly not sure why you wanted any at all.

"Oh, you do, huh?" you respond softly, coy even in the face of an argument lost. Not that you mind losing to him like this. 

"Mhm. Very much," Din agrees, and your fingers walk up his chest plate slowly.

"Well, maybe home doesn't sound too bad," you agree - finally. 

"Yea?" he teases - a rare joy in itself. "Something you have in mind?"

"A couple things," you admit, your fingers trailing up to the bottom of his helmet. "Seeing you again, for one."

"You can see me now if you ask nicely enough," he coaxes, and you lean back in pleasant surprise.

"I don't beg."

"You do sometimes," he reminds you, and you let out a startled little laugh. But then you lean down again, your forehead pressing against his helmet.

"Please?" you ask sweetly - and it's funny, really, because he crumbles so easily. You've barely got the whole word out before he's letting go of you to pull his helmet off, letting it thump onto the console next to you.

"Yea, but he's our teacher."

"Was I rude?" he asks you as you stand, a little frown tugging at his lips that makes you huff out a laugh.

"No, no," you assure him, coaxing him along and away from your seats. "You're always very polite when you call out people's ignorance."

"Then it's not so bad, is it?" Seokjin's voice has you slowing, and you watch as he leans against the doorway of the lecture hall. Something nervous flutters inside you as you smile at him - because, really, you don't feel like you've gotten your feet under you with them yet. 

But Seokjin ruffles Namjoon's hair when he gets close enough, shooting you a beaming sort of smile, and you can't help but worry a little less.

Must be biological, you think. Soulmate connection. Fate. Divine intervention.

"I have something for you?" Seokjin says kindly when you're close enough, and you hum in question as he nods to where your cello is propped up in its case against the nearby wall.

"Oh," you say quickly, feeling a bit of heat creep into your cheeks at the memory - of the shock of meeting them leading you to flee without it.

"Yoongi fixed it for you," Namjoon adds as you step out of the doorway, letting students come and go in their normal rushed, scattered way.

Like ants in a colony, you think mildly as you watch them, shoes squeaking against the polished, white floors.

"Fixed it?" you echo, though, looking back to Namjoon and Seokjin in a bit of alarm.

"One of the end pins got knocked out," Seokjin explains, grabbing onto the handle and pulling your cello in its wheeled case, letting you aimlessly walk between him and Namjoon. "When, you know…"

"Hm," is all you say in response, remembering the clang as you'd dropped it and taken off.

"Nothing that can't be fixed," Namjoon reminds you, bumping your shoulder with his, and you shoot him a little smile.

"I suppose that's always true," you muse. Your shoe scuffs against the floor, loud and discordant in the busy hallway as you look down and see your own polished reflection in the surface.

"I have a meeting with my advisor soon," you say a bit sullenly as the three of you continue down the winding, endless hallways. "But I can catch you guys later?" 

"Again?" Namjoon asks, that little frown back on his face as he glances to you. You just shrug, the sole of your shoe leaving a black scuff mark on the pristine floor as you turn a corner, the sound of laughter and music echoing through the rigid halls.

"He's trying to change my mind. He's, I don't know - worried about my career or my future or something," you say vaguely.

"He's worried about being able to take credit for it," Seokjin offers, a sharp, irritated tilt to his voice.

"Or not being able to," Namjoon agrees. 

"Well," you start, halting outside the practice room door, listening to the others inside as they giggle and shout at one another - definitely not working, definitely not doing anything for school. "Either way. He's going to keep dragging me back until I agree with him."

"Blow him off," Namjoon says easily, and you shoot him a look of mock surprise.

"Just because you have no problem mouthing off to professors -"

"Is that what he was doing?" Seokjin asks mildly, not the least bit surprised.

"He could like… I don't know. Maybe my grades will get worse," you insist, leaning against the wall near the practice room door, white paint covering the plaster and giving the whole place a sterile, empty feeling. 

"Does that matter? You won't fail," Seokjin says, but you shrug.

"I don't know," you say quietly. "I… I don't know."

Namjoon says your name softly, then, ducking his head down a bit to look at you while Seokjin leans your cello against the wall gently.

"Well, I just keep thinking…" you continue. "If I don't do this, then… what? What else?"

"Anything else," Namjoon says easily.

"It's not that simple," you insist.

"Anything that makes you happy," he amends, and you can feel the downturn of your own lips.

"What makes you happy?" Seokjin asks gently, looking at you like he already knows, and you think it might be the worst thing any of them has asked you, yet.

You yearn, just for a moment, for the scratchy, uncomfortable chair in your advisor's office - for the hum of the AC and the ticking of the ceiling fan and the sterile vacuum that it all exists in.

"I don't know," you say flatly, eyes turned down to the shiny, pale white floor again. "I keep thinking of it either way, and I don't care. So what if I spend my life making music that I can't hear? Who cares? So what if I don't? Who cares? No matter how much I think about it, I can't make myself give a shit about my life."

Maybe, you think as the two of them stare at you, you shouldn't have said that quite yet. This is still new, you remind yourself - a group of almost strangers who know that one day, they'll be in love. Or so the music says. 

Maybe you shouldn't have been so jarring. Maybe you should've kept your mouth shut. Maybe you should've just kept your head down and played a bunch of empty music that you couldn't hear for people that you didn't care about, to… what end? 

"You can hear it now," Seokjin says gently, and your gaze snaps to his. The music in the practice room seems louder now, rattling the door next to you and reverberating through the walls.

"Yea," you say dumbly - like you'd forgotten, like you hadn't thought it was real. "But -"

"Oh, there you are," Hoseok's voice has your mouth snapping shut as he yanks open the practice room door and sees the three of you. "Thought you got held up in class or something."

"Or something," you respond dryly, ducking into the room and seeing the others. Someone's playing music, Jeongguk and Jimin laughing and shoving each other as they try to dance to it. Taehyung and Yoongi sit with their backs against the mirror, watching in that sticky fond way that makes your chest ache.

"Anyway," you continue as Namjoon and Seokjin pile in after you. "I can't stay long. I have a -"

"Meeting with your advisor?" Yoongi finishes for you, and you shoot him a sheepish sort of look.

"I told them to blow it off," Namjoon chimes in as you pull yourself up onto the windowsill to lean against the glass. It's always hard to open the windows here - stiff and unrelenting as you work the lock with your fingers and try to shove it outward.

"Don't be long, at least," Jeongguk says as he pries your fingers off the window gently so that he can push it open for you, and you let him with a little sigh. "We're supposed to take you out after."

"I don't know if you have to wine and dine someone who's biologically predestined to stick with you," you point out, but Jimin shakes his head.

"We don't take one another for granted," he says firmly.

"Right, but -"

"That includes you."

"Ok," you hold up your hands in surrender. You feel a bit like you're walking a tightrope still, not knowing them nearly as much as they know one another. But Jimin is firm and unrelenting when he feels he's right - especially, you've realized, when it comes to the people he cares about.

Odd to think of yourself as part of that group, but you decide it's best to bury that for now.

"I'll make sure it's quick," you agree.

"Just don't go," Yoongi counters easily.

"I don't know how you all manage to stay in school when you act like this," you say honestly - because you've seen it. They're quick and outspoken, even to the point of their own detriment. If it had been one of them, they never would've let their advisor drag them through all this, droning on about the so-called purpose of their life.

But you're not them, you think as you lean against the window, the heat of the sun startling against the cold, white interior of the practice room.

"They don't actually want to kick anyone out," Hoseok insists, sitting down near you and leaning against the wall. "They'd rather we stay here so they can make something of us, even if it costs them."

"Sounds like a bad deal," you say softly.

"Yea," he laughs. "It usually is."

They keep talking after that, going on about what their teachers have said, what their parents have said, what articles online have said. Something about neat little boxes to fit into and the god-awful white of the school's interior. 

You tilt your head to catch the little breeze that comes in the window, sunlight slipping in to bathe your face in its golden glow. Like a sliver of fresh air - something new, something different. 

You can't see the little church that you'd run off to from here, but you can hear the bell chime in its echoing, booming way. You think, if you listen very closely, you can hear the organ and the church choir practicing.

But it's probably just your imagination. Desperation after not having a thing for so long. A headache still digs at your temples as Jeongguk turns the music up and Hoseok laughs. 

It's just unusual, you reason with yourself. You're just not used to hearing it. You'll get over it, you'll get used to it.

"Taehyung?" you say hesitantly as you blink and see him standing next to you, staring out the window intently. "Tae?"

"Hm?" His gaze snaps to yours for a moment, then glances back out the window. "I thought I… I thought I heard something. Never mind."

"Dove -" Remus starts, but you're already ushering him into your apartment, leaving him to close the door behind himself as you disappear back into your room.

"Love, wait -" he tries again as he follows you, and his eyes catch sight of your unmade bed, the sheets thrown back like you'd stumbled out of it upon hearing his knocks on the door. 

He thinks, as you scrub a hand down your face, that you likely did.

"Ok," he says firmly as you start digging through your closet, grabbing you gently by the wrists. "Come here, please."

"I really don't want to be late," you insist, your hands firmly bunched on the clothes that you're holding. "Please, I just need ten minutes - I'm sorry."

"I don't think you need to apologize," he says gently, and when that does nothing, he shakes your wrists a bit in his hands. "Just come here for a minute."

You let his actions loosen your grip on the clothes, dropping them in a heap on the floor and stepping over them as he tugs you gently towards the bed.

"Remus -" you start as he sits down, tugging you down with him and keeping you pressed against his side. 

"You know the boys won't be on their way yet," he says kindly. "Sirius takes more time to get ready than the rest of us put together - James is probably still waiting for him. We've got some time, my love."

"But we're supposed to go out," you remind him. "I didn't forget."

Your assurance, you think, might be a bit misplaced, because Remus's brows come together in a worried sort of look as he smoothes a hand through your hair.

"I know you didn't, lovely, it's ok," he murmurs. 

"It's not," you insist. "I didn't -"

"Did you fall asleep?" he asks gently, and the look you give him is so guilty that he pulls you closer, one big hand coming down to pull both of your legs up over his lap.

"I'm so sorry," you say quietly. "I really didn't mean to sleep that long, but I didn't hear my alarm, and I - honestly, I shouldn't have laid down at all."

Remus listens quietly, his hand coming up to your cheek, his thumb smoothing across the dark circles under your eyes with a gentleness that makes you feel a bit queasy. 

"I'm going to call Sirius," he murmurs, and the way he pulls away from you has something squeezing your lungs tight. 

"You don't want to go out anymore?" you ask quietly, and something in your voice must clue him in, because Remus ducks back down to press a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips. 

"I think, maybe," he says gently, "we should have a night in, yea?" 

"I don't want to cancel our plans because of me," you insist, but he just presses another quick kiss to your cheek before straightening up. 

"We're not cancelling anything," he says kindly. "Just altering a bit. I'm going to go call quick before Sirius goes through the effort of putting on those jeans that he can't sit down in. James should be there to pick him up by now, too."

"Remus -" you say tiredly, and he smooths his hand over the back of your head gently. 

"Go settle in on the couch, ok?" he adds before disappearing, and you hear the telltale sounds of the phone in your kitchen as he calls the other two.

You wonder, sort of achingly, if he's mad at you. Remus is angry more often than he lets on - but very rarely at the three of you, and you like to think that he'd tell you if he was.

But still, you often think that his patience with you must come to an end someday, and maybe this is finally it. Maybe this -

"That is not the couch, my love." His voice in your doorway has you straightening, but he looks at you with only a mix of fondness and worry. "The boys are on their way over in a minute, but James wants to check in with you. He's still on the phone."

You get up wordlessly, and the lingering brush of Remus's hand against your waist, you think, is supposed to be a comfort. 

Sure enough, the phone is still off the hook and laying on the kitchen counter, and you can hear the distant, muffled sounds of James and Sirius sniping at each other on the other side of the call.

"Jamie?" you say as you pick up the phone and press it to your ear, and he changes direction quickly.

"Hi lovie," he says kindly. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm fine, really," you sigh, twisting the phone cord between your fingers. "I'm so sorry about tonight."

"I'm not," James says easily, and you crane your head around to try to look into the living room where you can hear Remus readjusting and arranging things. "I quite fancy a night in with you all. Should we pick up dinner on the way?"

"No," you insist. "Just get over here. We can order in later."

Sirius shouts some sort of goodbye into the phone, jumbling up with James's see you soon until you're rolling your eyes fondly and hanging up the phone. 

"Should I help you in there?" you call out as you make your way into the living room, rubbing a hand over the back of your neck to alleviate some of the tension.

"With what?" Remus asks mildly.

"With whatever you're doing," you respond pointedly as you watch him fluff a couple pillows, a blanket from your bed folded neatly on the couch. 

"No," he says kindly, dropping the pillow and holding his hand out for you. "It's all done."

"I didn't mean for you all to wait on me like this," you sigh as you take his hand, letting him usher you down onto the couch. 

"You're all dressed up," you continue on a guilty sort of murmur. "And now it's just to sit on my couch with me." 

"I'm hardly dressed up," he says kindly. "And, anyway, I'm going to change. Do you still have those sweatpants I left here?"

"Yea, of course," you nod, eyes narrowing slightly at the way he dodges your guilt. "In my room."

"Alright," he presses a quick kiss to the crown of your head. "Find something good on the TV to watch, dove, I'll be quick."

He's not that quick, you think, as James and Sirius pile into your entry way just as Remus is coming back out of the bedroom. 

Either that, or the other two had sped to get here. You're not sure which is worse. 

"Hello, lovely," Sirius says, grappling you into a tight hug as soon as he sees you, pressing his cold nose to your cheek. "You don't look quite as dire as I thought."

"Did you tell them I look bad?" You ask Remus over Sirius's shoulder, and he tugs down the hoodie that he's borrowed from your closet until it meets the waistline of his low slung sweatpants.

"You don't look bad, you look as perfect as ever," he insists. "Just a bit wrung out, that's all."

"Great," you murmur sarcastically, and Sirius pinches your side for it.

"You're terrible at sharing, Pads," James insists as he tries to worm his way in. "Go put the bags away."

"I told you not to buy anything," you sigh long-sufferingly as Sirius trades you for the grocery bags, James's arms quick to lock you in.

"And I didn't listen," he says, his face smushes against your neck as he leans down into you. "Honestly, my love, I'm not sure why that's so surprising."

"I really didn't -" James chases you just a bit as you pull away from him. "I didn't mean to derail our night like this. Honestly, I'm so sorry."

"I don't think you have anything to be sorry for, dove," Remus says gently. "Other than overworking yourself so much."

"Will you all get in here so we can talk about this without shouting?" Sirius calls from the living room, a grocery bag rustling as he speaks.

"I think only one of us is doing the shouting," James calls back as he steers you through your own apartment. You shoot Remus a look over your shoulder as realization buries itself into your gut.

He didn't want to talk to you because he wanted them all to talk to you. It's a family meeting, you think weakly as James sits you down on the couch.

You wonder how much you've upset them all, as he sits down on the coffee table in front of you, Sirius making a home right next to you on the couch and Remus settling in the armchair on your other side.

You wonder how much you've hurt them - you think of how hurt you'd be if one of them forgot a date, and you suddenly feel a bit nauseous about it all.

"You really don't look well, babe," Sirius murmurs, knuckles brushing across your cheek. 

"I'm -" you falter. "I really am sorry. I'd never do anything like that on purpose, you know? It was a mistake - a stupid mistake and it shouldn't have happened and -"

"Have a biscuit," James interrupts you, and you look between the biscuit in his hand and the open grocery bag at his side. 

"Why are you giving this to me?" you ask wearily as you take it from him.

"Because you're being terribly hard on yourself," he explains, nudging your arm up by the elbow when you hold the biscuit limply. "And I'm really not sure why."

"I missed our date," you supply hollowly.

"No, you didn't," Remus insists. "We changed our date plans for the evening. That's different."

"Because of me," you counter.

"You're not the only one who likes a quiet night in, you know," Sirius supplies, but you bristle just a bit.

"I don't need a quiet night in - I'm fine," you say pointedly. 

"I know you are, love," Remus says gently. "You just also might be extending yourself a bit much."

"I'm not."

"If you're accidentally falling asleep in the middle of the day and missing plans, that's not -"

"I'm fine -"

"Baby," James says imploringly, and you snap your mouth shut. 

"Baby," he murmurs again, his hands on your thighs as he softens you with the pet name, something in you cracking. "It's ok. You're not - everything's ok. It's just that if you're tired - if any of us were tired, we'd all probably agree that it'd be a better idea to spend the night in. And it'd still be just as much fun as going out."

Sirius makes an alarmed little sound as you duck your head down to hide your face and a traitorous tear drips down your nose onto the back of James's hand.

"I really don't want -" you start haltingly, "any of you to think I'm a bad person."

"Why would any of us think that?" Sirius asks, the question a disbelieving exhale.

"I stood you up - basically," you say, letting James tilt your head back up to look at him, both of his hands coming up to cup your cheeks and wipe away your tears as they fall.

"You really didn't," Remus said firmly.

"I almost did," you correct yourself with a sniff. 

"You made a mistake," Sirius says quietly, and there's something sort of uneasy in his expression now, a looming sort of knowing that makes him feel a bit unsteady. "None of us are going to hold that against you."

"I don't want any of you to think I'm - I don't know. I'm not a bad person," you say earnestly, but it only serves to make James coo and swipe his thumbs over your cheeks again.

"Of course you're not," he says, astonishment colouring his tone. "My love, of course you're not."

"Why would you be?" Remus murmurs. "For a thing like this?"

"I don't want any of you to think…"" you begin carefully. "That I'm - that I'm lying. That I'm only pretending to be… I don't know. Honest or kind or -"

Sirius says your name, then - firm in a way that he is so rarely, his voice sober and even. "You don't…" he says slowly, watching you carefully. "You don't have to convince us that you're a good person. Ever."

"I know," you murmur, ducking your head down and knocking James's hands off your face with the motion.

"Do you?" Remus asks gently, moving from the armchair to perch on the armrest next to you, instead.

"I… I do," you say again - admittedly weaker this time. "I know."

"You know," Sirius says gently, shifting in his seat. His hands clench and unclench on his lap as he looks down, distinctly uncomfortable with what he's cracking open for you. "Back when… before we got together. When we were all just friends, I thought - I had a hard time believing it all."

Remus reaches over behind you to brush his hand over the back of Sirius's head, and you shift your knee to bump against his kindly.

"Sometimes," Sirius begins carefully. "There are people in our lives who make us think we're bad people. It doesn't mean it's true."

"I have this weird fear," you say quietly, and it all just sort of starts tumbling out of you now that Sirius has started it. "That you'll - I don't know. Like maybe I'm tricking you all somehow. Like maybe one day you'll realize that I'm actually awful, and I've just gotten very good at pretending to be good."

"What would you get out of that?" James asks gently, resting his hand on your knee and looking at you kindly.

"What?"

"What good would you get out of that? Really?" he presses. You shrug.

"I don't - I don't know."

"It seems to be making you feel terrible," he points out.

"I don't - I didn't mean -" you begin.

"It just doesn't make sense," Remus agrees. "There's no reason for a thing like that to be true, dove."

"Baby," Sirius murmurs, a gentle hand on your cheek coaxing you to look at him. "It's not true. It's never been true. There's no punishment for making a mistake here."

"Is it ok if I don't believe you fully right now?" you ask quietly, and the smile that he sends you is so soft, you worry that you might cry.

"Of course it is," Sirius insists. "As long as it's ok for us to remind you."

"Of course it is," you agree readily, and Remus squeezes a hand on the back of your neck gently. James twists around to riffle through the bags on the coffee table while his other hand smooths up and down your thigh.

"Have another biscuit," he says. "We'll order in some food."

"You're endorsing dessert before dinner," you counter, but you take the biscuit regardless.

"Other people can," he counters. You exhale deeply, looking down at your hands as they rest on your lap, the little folding chair creaking underneath your weight as you sit in his dim office.

You trace, just with your own gaze, the callouses on your fingertips from playing for so many years, foreign against your own skin from learning a skill that you're forced to be so distant from.

"Look, I know that your… condition is unique. Having a soulmate bond at all is rare enough, and the one that you have -"

"Why would I dedicate my life to something that I can't even have?" you ask finally, and he sighs again - half listening, half just waiting.

"You play beautifully," he insists. "You know you do, even if you can't hear it. Why would you deprive the world of that?"

"Do I owe it to the world?" you counter sharply, and he leans back in his chair.

"Just… think about it," he presses, and your hands clench into fists. "I mean - I don't understand what the point is of coming to a School of the Arts and mastering this if you're not going to use it."

"It's for me. Isn't that enough?" you ask stiffly. "I'm doing it for me."

"You're just… you're wasting it a bit if you don't do anything with it. Just think about it, ok?"

The way he gestures to his door, then, assumingly ends the meeting. You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to bleed as you stand abruptly and shove open the door, dragging your cello in its wheeled case after you.

Stupid, you think sullenly as you walk, winding through halls in the campus building and passing countless practice rooms, refusing to look at students practicing what you can't hear. As if I owe him that. As if I -

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," a voice snaps you out of your thoughts just as you collide with someone else, a solid chest as you stumble back.

"No, I-" you start as you rub your forehead a bit, but as you look at him, the words die in your throat.

There's a piano being played in a practice room nearby, you think - you can almost, sort of hear it, the keys pressed and the strings plucked.

It's music - kind of.

For the first time in your life.

You drop your cello, the instrument making a discordant sort of clang in its case as you push past the man in front of you and nearly slam into the door of the practice room in your effort to rip it open.

"Taehyung -" an annoyed voice starts as the sounds from the piano slow. "I told you that I'm too busy to -"

"Yoongi!" Taehyung shouts as he shoulders into the doorway next to you, having run after you once he caught up to his own dazed surprise. "It's - that's -"

But you're just staring at the keys, watching Yoongi's hands as he slowly, hesitantly presses a couple of the keys, staring at you while he does. Higher ones, first, but at the disappointed little sink of your shoulders, he switches to a lower octave.

"Can you hear those ones?" Taehyung asks, and you remember yourself, nearly jumping out of your own skin at his voice right next to you.

"No - yes, but - I," you glance between the two of them, Yoongi now sitting with his hands still as he watches you. 

And you find, suddenly, that this is more than you'd expected - and more than you're equipped for.

"I have to -" you start as you step back, out of the doorway.

"What's going on in -" You're maybe a bit more prepared this time to be stepping into people, and when your back hits someone's chest, you turn around on your heel quickly.

When you hear more, though - suddenly noise from all of the practice rooms beginning to bleed out and towards you, you realize, yet again, that you've misjudged your own adeptness.

"I have to go," you blurt out, sidestepping both of them and running down the hall as the three of them cause a bit of a commotion behind you.

"Jeongguk, you scared them," you hear one of them say sternly.

"Me? I didn't -" he starts, but you swing around a corner in the hallway, slipping on the polished floor as you run as far away from it all as you can get.

But the fresh air outside, you find, doesn't help. There are a few other students sitting in a gaggle near the door, music blaring from someone's phone, and the half-heard tone of it has you taking off again.

Not that off-campus is any different. Cafes and restaurants, cars with the bass blaring - everywhere you turn, there's music.

It's not until you reach a church down a little winding street that you finally stumble to a halt to catch your breath. It's quieter here, hushed by the surrounding trees and cut off, just a bit, from the city. Somewhere inside, you can hear the church choir practicing, you think - faint little hints of the music reaching you as you stand and try to catch your breath.

"You know," a voice from behind you starts, and you whirl around to see Jeongguk walking towards you. "You run pretty fast."

"Are you -" you falter in shock. "Are you following me?"

"No!" he insists in panic. "Well, I - yes, but not like that!"

"We just wanted to talk to you," Taehyung fills in as he jogs down the road to meet you, and you make an unhappy, shocked sort of sound in the back of your throat as you sink down onto a park bench opposite the church.

"We really didn't mean to, like, jump you or anything," Jeongguk continues sheepishly, and you slouch against the rickety back of the bench. "We were just… excited."

"No, I… It's ok," you settle on, watching as the two of them stand in front of you expectantly.

"Can you hear that?" you ask them, gesturing to the church.

"Hm? The choir? Yea," Jeongguk nods.

"How much of it?" 

"Um," he blinks. "All of it, I guess."

"How much is all of it?" you ask, and he looks at you a bit perplexed.

"There are seven of us, if that's what you mean," Taehyung supplies, and you stare at him.

"Including me?"

"Plus you," he clarifies. When you just nod silently, the two of them shift a bit, moving slowly and hesitantly until they're sitting on either side of you.

"I've never heard a hymn before," you say quietly as you stare at the church, and Taehyung hums in understanding.

"Neither had we, until we met one another."

"How did it take us so long to find you?" Jeongguk blurts out, and you toe at a rock near your feet.

"I just transferred here."

"How come?" he asks.

"I don't know," you admit as you stare at the church across the street, a song that you can almost hear playing inside. "It just seemed like the thing to do."

"Fate," Taehyung nods sagely.

"If you believe in a thing like that," you counter. Before either of them can respond, though, you clear your throat and straighten.

"I should go back," you say hastily. "I… well, I dropped my cello back there."

"That's ok," Jeongguk insists. "Yoongi's still back there, he'll hang onto it for you."

"What?"

"We take care of one another, you know," Taehying adds. "That includes you now, if you want it."

And what a weight, you think as you trace your eyes across the spires of the church in front of you. What a choice to have.

"We can sit here for a while longer," Jeongguk offers. "Listen to the music."

"I can't hear all of it," you remind him.

"Well, we can fix that, too," Taehying grins. "Do you want to meet everyone?"