Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hey, this was originally called “Carnations have meaning you know” but I decided to completely scrap the last idea and restart this. So, I hope this new fic gets the attention of you Syntax lovers out there. :3 Also if anything about reader seems off or strange, they are inspired by an oc, so I’m sorry in advance

Chapter Text

12:27am

***

Sluggish, tired feet drag along the pavement. It's dark outside, roughly 12:30 if you were to guess. Hey, you've been out later before. Soiled wet shoes, marked from puddles of the recent weather make prints as you make your way to the door. Creaking it open, just to see those two idiots you happen to live with. Playing what seems to be an off-brand version of “Super Smash Bros”. As the door shuts behind you, the blue one turns his head.

“Oi (Y/N), we was wondering when you’d get back, huh Jin?”

The orange one responds. “Yeah, Yin ‘er was worried sick about ya, weren't you?”. Jin elbows yin in the side with a snort. Yin scoffs in response.

“Yeah? I missed ‘em, so what? Good to know they're not dead, hm?”

As the two go at each other’s throats for what seemed like the 13th time that day, you snicker to yourself. Soon dropping the sack of goodies you had slung over your shoulder onto the floor. Spiking both of their attention back to you.

“Aye! Whatcha get today?” Jin piped up, jumping off the beanbag he was in and over to the sack. Practically tearing it open as his head dives inside.

“Nothing much, just some junk I figured nobody would need anymore.” you shrug, putting your hands in your pockets watching the older one raid the bag as the other shuffles over to take a peek for himself.

“Oh yeah! There’s all sorts of cool things in ‘ere!” Jin pops his head out of the bag, pulling out a ring full of keys. “Look at all ‘em! Wonder what they’re to…” he pondered as he sifted through the various dangling keys. Only to be interrupted by your hand swiping them away from him.

“Yeah, and those are mine to figure out where they go.” You answered as the ring of keys swung around your pointer finger, threatening to fly off and to the other side of the room if you weren’t careful.

“Oi! Why do you always get the keys!”

“Cause I found them…” you smirk, “besides, I called dibs, duh.”

“Dibs?! When did you call dibs?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m going to bed. You’ve got free reign of all the other junk in that bag.” you shrug off again, taking the plaster fox mask off of your face, setting it on a counter before walking out of the main room to your designated side of the house. Or… hideout. That’s what the boys call it anyway. Claiming it sounded cooler.

The boys bid you farewell as you exit to your void of personal belongings. Wanting nothing more than to immediately fall onto the bed and wrap yourself in the comfort of your weighted blanket. Though you had to do something first. It was a routine at this point. Shuffling over to the wooden desk that sat by your bed, you make eye contact with that delicate little box that sat dead center on top of it. Skillfully carved, polished to perfection, painted with a dull, now slightly withered brown. Designed to look like a chest of sorts. All put together and sealed with a lock.

Your grip tightens around the ring of keys in your hand.

‘One of these just has to be the one… right?’

You found yourself asking that question a lot lately. Even when you knew the answer would be ‘no’. You lift the ring up and sift through the keys one by one before deciding which one to ultimately try first.

Fingers soon landing on a small silver one, covered in small scrapes and dents, most likely due to the shitty weather recently. Only the gods know how long this thing’s been outside, only to be found by some “thief”... well you’d consider yourself more of a collector if anything. One man’s trash is another’s treasure, as the saying goes.

You bring the key up to the lock, hesitating before attempting to unlock it. It fails. Not surprising.

Now the next key…

No.

Next key?

… also no.

Surely this next one will work.

Nothing.

A few keys later, one more left. This one looks decent. Maybe… just maybe…

snap

“Fuck!” your fist goes flying down onto the desk with a thud as you glare at the broken key. One part is still attached to the keyring as the other is wedged into the keyhole.

You drop the keyring into a box on the floor, filled to the brim with miscellaneous keys from god knows where. Your foot comes in contact with the faded label reading ‘Faulty Keys’ displayed on the front of it as you kick it, stubbing your toe in the process. Again allowing another curse to spill from your lips.

After calming briefly from your fit, you pull open the top drawer on the desk to peer inside. Rummaging around for a good minute or two. Pushing other objects and old photos out of the way before coming up on a small pick. One you’d probably see in a dentist office somewhere. What even is the proper name for them? Hell if you know.

Picking it up you nudge the drawer shut with your hip, twiddling the pick in your hand before leaning down to meet at eye level with the keyhole of the small box. The broken half of the key still wedged inside of it.

You pick at the keyhole for what seems like hours, when it's most definitely not even been 10 minutes. Just as you hit that sweet spot the key fragment shoots out of the keyhole and hits you square in the forehead before falling to the floor. All you can do is release a low grumble out of both annoyance and relief that it finally got free.

Putting the pick away you crouch down to pick up and inspect the key piece. It snapped almost perfectly down the middle, the bronze color looked dirty and withered in the darkness of the room, the only light being the subtle streetlights and moon from out the window. You grunt before flicking the key piece into the box with all the others you've found over the span of the year. Years? How long has it been again? Long enough if you already can’t remember.

It felt like yesterday when you showed up on the twins’ doorstep. Having nowhere else to go after what had happened. They were your closest friends. With family away in some other state, where were you supposed to go? Not that rent was an issue or anything. The apartment you used to live in just felt so different… So empty. You don’t want to imagine the bills that had racked up in the mail since you abandoned– well, took a break from the place. The thought alone makes a shiver go down your spine.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter now.

You briefly get ready for bed. Taking off your shirt and pants in order to sleep comfortably. Not caring to do any other part of your nightly routine as you fall back onto the bed, just staring at the ceiling for a while. You reach over to the small stuffed cat that lives on your bed. It’s fur matted, whiskers bent unnaturally, one missing eye from when it got put into the dryer by mistake. Another gift. Another memory. You move it to your chest and hold it tight as you find patterns engraved into the abyss that is the ceiling protecting you from the damp weather.

You hear yourself sigh. Lifting the cat up into your vision as you look up at it helplessly.

“We’ll find the right one eventually, right?” You felt dumb for talking to a stuffed animal, but you were running out of options at this point. Your eyes fall onto the cat’s collar. A bell hung from it, along with a circular name tag. All that was engraved on it was the phrase ‘press me’. Hesitantly you press it.

The cat made a small buzzing noise before static.

“I– more static –ou” is all it was able to produce. It was old. Of course the audio wouldn’t be perfect… more or less work at all.

You huff, turning onto your side, still holding the plush close to your chest.

“Yeah, I knew you were going to say that…”