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Where Is My Mind? | Bo Ra ft. Rosé

Where Is My Mind? | Bo Ra (Sistar) ft. Rosé (BLACKPINK)

word count: 2.9k
warnings: a lot of angst, like excessive amounts of angst, mentions of depression (not directly)
A/N: this took me so long to write. I’m sorry, anon! there’s also not as much Rosé as originally planned.

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you say that you regretted all the chances you don't take (makes no sense that you're the one who makes me feel like this)



You’re standing in your kitchen making a cup of coffee, and water is dripping off the tips of your hair. You wipe your hands on the sweatpants you had pulled on after you had gotten out of the shower. Your coffee pot dings and you pour a cup (cream, no sugar). You really shouldn’t be having coffee, it’s eight pm, but hey, you’re wide awake anyway so fuck it. You sit on your couch, sipping on your coffee and you have to readjust your hoodie because you sat down and it choked you.

You just put your feet up on your coffee table when you hear a knock at your apartment door. You sigh, toss your head back, and sit there for a while. You really don’t want to get up. You hear a knock again, and it sounds impatient, so you groan while getting up. You open the door and see her standing there.


She looks tired but her eyes are hard, and you stand aside, a silent request for her to come in. She walks past you and sits on your couch while you get her a cup of water. She gulps it down as you sit next to her. You don’t say anything (you don’t know why she’s here and you want her to make the first move) and she looks like she’s tightly wound. You reach over and place you hand on the small of her back. It’s been so long since you last touched her (was it when you carried her back to Laura?) and she softens her posture slightly.

You end up falling asleep with Carmilla next to you, your hand smashed between her skin and the couch.


You wake up to the soft sounds of the television playing. It’s dark outside and the clock reads 3:15 am. The only lights are coming from the T.V and a lamp on the other end of the couch. You slowly move your head in her direction.

She’s still sitting next to you, drinking from a cup filled with blood (she must’ve brought some with her). She looks like shit; her eyes are sunken in and her skin looks sickly, she’s bonier than you remember, her fingers are small and her elbows are sharp. Her cheekbones and collarbones look like they’re only covered by a thin layer of skin. Even her nose looks sharper. She turns her head and looks at you and goddamn, she looks, well, dead. Like something that has lived for 300 plus years and is done living.

“It’s good to see you’re alive, Xena.” You hum and start rubbing her back again. She turns her attention back to the T.V. You fall back asleep after 4 am.


She was gone when you woke up. You know she’ll be back; there’s four packets of blood in your fridge. You have a lot to talk about, anyway.




You’re sitting on your couch again and she’s been gone for days and you weren’t worried about her (you were, she looks like shit and she disappeared). She grabs the cup of blood you left sitting out and she drinks a bit after she sits down next to you.

“Where have you been these last three years?”

“Kyoto. I visited Vaadhoo Island, in the Maldives. Saw the Sea of Stars. It was badass.” You nod and take a sip of tea from your mug. “Laura?”.

“Doing well. Last I heard, she was moving to London after she got a major deal with some newspaper, or something.”

“Ah.” Carmilla takes a drink from her cup and you notice she is shaking a little. You know that Carmilla let Laura go. She’s centuries old and immortal, Laura will die (it pains you to think that). You guess it was honorable for her to do; Carmilla’s lost everything now, and if you were her, you wouldn’t have let Laura go. Laura is the sun, warm and giddy, easy to make you forget the monster inside, and you guess Carmilla thought she didn’t deserve her.

She doesn’t deserve her.

You don’t either.


You’re walking down the main street of the town you now live in and Carmilla walks beside you. You walk past the little coffee shop and the library (you see Carmilla stare into the windows while she’s walking past it). You walk for a while and lead her into a parking lot behind an old, abandoned shop. There’s still a few cars littering the lot, so you climb on top of one and sit on the roof. Carmilla does the same on a car next to you. It’s a little cloudy out tonight, and when the moon hides behind a cloud, you’re drenched in darkness. After three clouds pass over the moon, Carmilla sighs.

“What do you want to talk about, Beanpole?” You look over at her; she’s laying down on the roof of her car.

“How did you find me?”

“You texted me your address when you first moved in. I made sure to write it down.”

“I told you that you could crash at my place in case of an emergency.”

“I was in an emergency.”

“What was it?” She doesn’t answer, so you sigh and lay down on the roof (you legs rest on the hood). “How was the Sea of Stars?” You ask her because the stars aren’t very bright tonight, and this is the most she’s spoken to you in years and you missed her voice.

“Beautiful,” she breathes. You think that’s all you’re going to get out of her. She’s not very talkative and you don’t know what happened in Kyoto, or anywhere else she went and didn’t tell you. You feel your eyelids getting heavy, and you shift your legs a bit.

You’re laying there, debating with yourself on whether or not you should fall asleep on Carmilla when you hear her whisper, “The waters were blue. It reminded me of your eyes.”

Well, you’re not going to sleep now. You move your head so you can look at her, and she’s curled up in the fetal position on the roof, and she’s staring at you. God, she looks so tired. You don’t think she’s slept in a long, long time.

“Carmilla, it’s alright if you fall asleep on me.” You whisper to her and she blinks, then nods, and over time, her eyelids begin droop. You look back to the sky and watch a little cloud trail across the dark canvas.

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” You barely hear her, and when you look over to question what she was talking about, she’s sleeping. You let her sleep while you think back on your conversation. Oh. That was her emergency. You sigh eternally and quietly step off the car.

You carry her back to your apartment.

This isn’t the first time you’ve carried her limp body home.


She gets pissed at you. Which isn’t surprising, really, you know she has a bad temper. You don’t really give a shit because she’s eating and sleeping now. You achieved this by standing by her while she eats and letting her sleep in your bed.

(She flipped her lid when you told her that you were going to make sure she was going to get better.

“What? I’m not a baby who needs monitoring, Gingersnap!”

“I’m making sure you’re getting better, you idiot!”

She’d shut up after that.)

She looks so much better though. Her skin color has returned (not really, she’s still pale but she looks more like the color you’re accustomed to seeing) and she isn’t all sharp joints and knuckles anymore. She spoken a bit more about her time away from Styria; she went to Kyoto for the beauty, but she ended up destroying herself (she told you that she had jumped off a building again and you felt like throwing up).

She doesn’t really mention Laura and neither do you, but you tell her that letting go of Laura was good for her and Laura (she just took another shot of whiskey). A few days ago, you were swinging at a park and you didn’t have the best landing when you jumped (you almost got tangled in the chains and fell on your back) and Carmilla laughed, and that was the first time you ever heard her laugh. It sounded low and throaty, like a faraway thunder clap.

You love it.


You’re tired and Carmilla is still sleeping in your bed, and you’ll be damned if you sleep on the couch in your apartment. You open the door and shut it quietly, and Carmilla is spread out across the bed. You see her skin reflecting the moon’s light and she’s practically glowing. You walk over to her and grab the covers. She groans, raises her head, and cracks open an eye. She sees you but doesn’t move. You shake the sheet in you hand and she moves over to one side of the bed. You slide in next to her. She’s grinning and that’s never a good thing.

“Well, Big Red, if you want some of this, you could just ask.”

“Carmilla, shut the fuck up and go back to sleep.” She huffs out a laugh and you kick her lightly. The light is reflecting off her fleshed out cheekbones and her hair is everywhere, and one of her curls is sitting on her cheek. You reach over and gently brush off the piece of hair, which lands on her neck. You brush the pads of your fingertips down her jawline, and you feel her hand touch your elbow. You place your hand on her forearm and start to doze off.

You don’t think she ever fell asleep that night.


You get a call from Laura. It doesn’t take you off guard, you’re still friends and talk as often as you can.

Carmilla wasn’t expecting it, though.

Laura wasn’t expecting you to say that Carmilla has been staying at your place.

You ask her if she wants to talk to Carm and you don’t even finish that sentence before Laura says yes. You practically have to chase Carmilla around your apartment to get her to take your phone. She looks pissed and slightly nervous and when you give her a thumbs up, she says hello to Laura. Carmilla’s face softens and you touch her shoulder. Laura isn’t yours, or Carmilla’s, but she’s still here, and you’re both lucky to have her in your lives.


She sleeps in your bed with you now. You’re not really sure when this became a trend but it’s better than sleeping alone. She used to hog the blankets but she quit after you engulfed her with your body. It doesn’t bother you really, cuddling with Carmilla, she’s soft now and you think she always. She reminds you of a hedgehog, really. Sharp thorns but squishy underneath. Yeah, that sounds like her.

Laura had told you that she was happy that you had someone with you. She’s been worried about you ever since you had confessed that you had been feeling down lately. At first, she had been surprised that Carmilla was the one you felt comfortable with, simply because it was Carmilla, and you hadn’t liked each other before. You’re not sure why you like her now, she’s different. She’s gentler, less prickly. You think she’s just tired of not having anyone. That and what happened in Kyoto. She’s kept her sarcasm of course, but it’s more toned down and while you sometimes miss it, it’s nice to not feel insulted so much. Now it’s more like…gentle teasing. Much like Laura when she teased you over the phone.

(“Oh my god, you so did!”

“No, Laura, we didn’t.”


“Laura, oh my god, no, we didn’t have hate sex!”

“…But you have had sex?”

“Why are you so interested?”

“Ah, you have!”

“Laura, stop.”

“Hey, at least it’s not hate sex.”

“If you weren’t so far away and cute I’d punch you.”

“Violence doesn’t look good on you, Dan.”

“My violence saved your ass a few times, remember?”

“Yeah yeah. Hey, I’m happy for you guys.”




You wake up and instantly feel cold. You stretch out your hand and Carmilla’s not in your bed. You crack open your eyes and you see her silhouette sitting on the window sill. You can tell she’s drinking a cup of blood. She’s still and looking into the sky, and she is so beautiful, you don’t really know what to do with yourself.

“Carm?” She turns to look at you. “What happened?” When she shakes her head you ask, “Did you have another nightmare.” She nods and you know it was about the coffin (she only looks at the stars after the coffin nightmare) (it still pisses you off when she has a nightmare and you don’t wake up). You pull the blankets up and wait for her to set down the blood and glide under them. You pull her to your chest and she sighs against your shoulder. “You alright?” You feel her nod. You fiddle with the end of her t-shirt sleeve. “Carmilla, are you sleeping in my shirt?”




“It’s my favorite sleep shirt.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You push back from her a bit so you can see her face. She looks grumpy and you chuckle. You shake your head and she elbows your ribs. You smack her arm and she laughs lightly. You place your forehead on hers and put a hand on her neck. She wraps her arms around your waist and slips a hand under your shirt, running her hand up and down your spine. You lean in for a kiss and she pulls back. You frown at her. “I just had blood.”

“I don’t care, you idiot.” She huffs and kisses you. This isn’t the first time you’ve kissed and it won’t be the last. She tastes like metal and ghosts and broken bones. She tastes like beauty and wit and gardens of blue waters.

You’re not really sure what you feel for her but when she tangles a hand in your fire red hair and squeezes your waist, it feels a lot like passion.

When she lays her head on your chest, and absentmindedly plays with your fingers or twirls your hair, it feels a lot like love.

And that doesn’t scare you so much anymore.