#(lulu is holding heartbreak so close in their mind

[sunsetno4]

Ooo, Judgement In Reverse for Ven and Lulu?

Thank you so much! <33 And ha, what a question for those two. :') Questions are from here too~.

Judgment in Reverse: When has your character found it difficult to forgive themselves?

Vendetta: Ne finds it difficult to honestly forgive themselves for most things. It's just easier to think of nem as irredeemable most days. Buuuuuuut? Tthe on-mission fuck-ups that end up with other people getting hurt or injured are the ones that constantly roll around in Vendetta's mind for days and weeks and months after the fact, like a mosquito bite that Vendetta can't help but itch until it's broken open and scabbing endlessly. Ne has never been able to shake the need to be Perfect while on a mission, and ne has never figured out how to not be consumed by nir failures.

Like. Every person that died during the Nanosurge because Vendetta didn't act fast enough, died because the Castrofiend because Ven was too scared, all that died because of the Void.

Every time ne said the wrong thing, fucked up a conversation, made people uncomfortable because ne went with nir gut and it was wrong? Oh, ne will externally pretend ne doesn't care, who cares, but ne is ripping nemself apart on the inside.

Every time Ortega ended up in the hospital, guts opened by the Castrofiend, arm mangled by the Nanovores, gods-knows what damage done to her spine during the Void raid because Ven got caught (caught! nem!), everything that happened during Heartbreak, god. Especially Heartbreak.

Oh, not taking control of Anathema to stop nem is something Vendetta will never forgive nemself for. Themmy wasn't immune like Ortega. Vendetta could've done something, should've. There's no excuse there, no forgiveness.

Lulu: On the flip side, Lulu rarely actually gives a shit. :')! There's no difficulty needed when you just accept the awful things you do as 'unfortunate but required' in the drollest manner possible. People will always die at the end of day, and even if Lulu had a hand in it, well? People always will die. It's nothing they're gonna dwell on. It's just a fact of life, that's all.

That being said, getting closer to Herald was kind-of a mistake. Because it's very easy to brush aside your actions as getting revenge (and getting revenge for everyone, not just yourself) when you don't have some hyper-positive sunbeam trying to resurrect your past self, reminding you of all the good you did in your past, and making you actually remember the warmth and joy you felt back in the day. Because Lulu sincerely and deeply loved being Sidestep. They loved being able to help people and being apart of a team and just being something Good. Or, just something better than the Farm.

I think if/when Lulu finally buries the final nail into Sidestep's coffin, destroying that legacy and those memories of Sidestep, the one thing was theirs and firmly good and firmly untouched by the Farm, that's the thing they'll find it hard to forgive themselves for.

It will be …unfortunate, but required. Sidestep isn't worth more than Lulu's goals, even if Lulu kind-of wishes they were.

[inblazes]

As Kaeya left Zhongli behind beneath the shadows of the windmill, he tried very, very hard to not suddenly break into a sprint. He has dignity, damn it, and Zhongli will see him walk away from him with grace! He doesn’t need him, and he was very adamant in showing that. Or at least, trying to, if he didn’t trip over his feet from his inebriation.

At least he didn’t fall.

Still, once he knew he was no longer in the older man’s line of view, Kaeya booked it.

He ran, climbing over Mondstadt’s walls (somehow without falling and cracking his skull open) so he doesn’t risk running into Zhongli heading out of the city from the front gates at the same time. It’s crazy what pride and heartbreak can do to someone, even in their drunken stupor.

The wind brushed past him as his feet carried him to the one place he needed to be right now: home. Not his cold and empty apartment where he’d drown in his sorrows alone. No, he needs home.

He needs his big brother.

Admittedly, when Kaeya made it to the doors and began knocking on them incessantly, desperately, he was already a bawling mess. Miss Adelinde and Elzer were completely panicked from these wails as though a banshee came to haunt them and rattle the very foundations of the manor. However, what they found outside was no apparition, but Kaeya. A sad, broken, pitiful Kaeya who’s not once ever cried as hard as he was now since he first arrived at the Winery at the tender age of eight.

He was a blubbering mess as he threw himself into their arms when they began to hover around him fretfully, wondering if he had somehow gotten hurt. If something terrible happened to him. However, he couldn’t tell them anything at all, and just kept crying out for Lulu while slumping and growing heavier and heavier in their hold from sheer exhaustion.

Sleep was something that often evaded the Winery's young master, and tonight was hardly any different. For some reason, he'd been unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong, agitated and restless as he tossed and turned in his bed, desperately grasping for just a few mere hours of rest. In the end, he had to compromise with reading a book, hoping that distracting his thoughts might allow his mind to settle.

Eventually, pure exhaustion did the job for him, as it often had to, and he passed out with reading book in hand--

Only to be awoken by the sensation of falling, and the book clatters to the ground, leaving an unsightly dent in its leather-bound spine. Diluc mutters a curse under his breath, swinging his legs out from the covers to retrieve it, and as he reaches down he becomes aware of the front doors of the winery slamming open and shut.

A great, almighty wailing echoes up through the walls of the manor to reach him, and he freezes, chilled by the sound. Was he still dreaming -- having a nightmare? He tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes and stands in favor of picking up the book, taking slow and careful steps through the dimly-lit space to lurk in the doorway.

He peers out into the hall, red eyes straining to adjust to the brightness of the light, and realizes that the racket belonged to...

"...Kaeya?"

He stands at the very top of the staircase, fiery locks spilling loose across his shoulders in a cascade of curls that lay in sharp contrast to the long, pristine white nightgown that swallowed him up.

His body looked comparatively dainty, completely lost among the swathes of fabric and hair -- but it made him no less quick 'pon bare feet as he seemed to glide down the stairs in an instant. It made him no less strong when he plucked his brother up from being half-way off of the ground, hoisting him up in an embrace that was equal parts crushing, yet as certain and as tangible as the ground upon which they stood.

It signified a promise: to be present, always. He wasn't ever about to leave him. Not again.

He didn't ask what was wrong. Didn't need to. Kaeya needed him more than any of that, first and foremost. It was only then, holding him so closely, that he picked up on the smell of alcohol -- and shot a look at both Adelinde and Elzer.

"Addie, Elzer... Could you fetch something to eat and drink for the both of us? Water, preferably."

May as well get himself something to eat, too. He has a feeling that he's going to be awake for a very, very long time.

"I'm here, Kaeya. I'm here."

[hopelesshawks]

Ash and Dust Part 7- Opportunities

18+ Dabi x fem!reader

Summary: You first meet Dabi on the worst night of your life after unwittingly walking into the very bar the League of Villains made infamous. That should probably be the end of the story. You stumble on the remnants of one of the most infamous terrorist groups in the history of Japan, get viciously murdered or call the cops and get them arrested, the end. Except that’s not the end of the story. It’s only the beginning.

Masterlist Help Lulu (Kofi)

Waking up the morning after reclaiming your bedroom (at least in part) is jarring for two reasons.

The first is that you’re waking up next to Dabi.

For some reason you thought he might wake up before you, even though he’s pretty routinely demonstrated that he’s not an early riser. Perhaps you expected the knowledge that he was sleeping in the same bed as you to perturb him enough to get him up early. Instead your eyelashes had fluttered open to find him still deeply asleep with his face only a few inches from yours.

You fully intended on simply rolling over to either fall back asleep or get on with your day but you’d found yourself enthralled with his sleeping face instead. You know Dabi’s smirks, sneers, and scowls like the back of your hand after a little over a month of living with him. His resting face, however, is entirely foreign to you. You’ve never had a moment alone with him where he wasn’t antagonizing you and it’s odd to see him so peaceful. Your eyes trace over his face, taking in the extent of the scarring on his jaw and beneath his eyes, but also appreciating the unmarred expanses of skin as well. It strikes you that Dabi is pretty. It shouldn’t be surprising considering what you’ve seen of the youngest Todoroki in the press but even still. In another world where he’d never become the wanted criminal he is today, you wonder if he’d be a heartbreaker or a sweet, gentle type. Would he be as quiet and polite as his brother seems to be or would he still get a thrill from bantering with someone who isn’t afraid to banter right back? Would he be in the tabloids with a different girl every week or settle down early with his high school sweetheart? You’re fascinated by the idea of what the scarred man before you would be without the tragedy and the trauma. You might’ve sat there just taking him in until he woke up if not for the second reason waking up that morning was so jarring.

Your phone has been pinging literally non-stop.

You’ve never resented your notification sound more as its shrill tone continues to echo in your room, putting the fragile peace at risk. Even before you found yourself as alone as you are now your phone was never this busy. As much as you try to ignore it and wait for the tidal wave of what you assume are spam notifications to end, the sound finally drives you to turn over and grab it. Your eyes widen as you take in the sheer amount of Twitter notifications you have. As you unlock your phone and navigate over to the app your mentions are literally flooded with Deku fans screaming about your talent and how lucky you are. It’s a confusing litany of fangirling that you try to weed through until you get to one mention in particular that makes your breath catch in your throat.

You got a mention from the rising hero himself.

Holy shit.

You’ve never clicked a tweet so quickly in your entire life. Not only are you stunned to find he’s seen and loved your work but he also mentions wanting to talk if you’re interested. Sure enough, when you navigate over to the messages section of the app, a feature you’ve never bothered to use, you notice a message request from Midoriya ‘Deku’ Izuku waiting for you. It takes everything in you not to scream as you read the message there over and over before finally hopping out of bed and moving to the kitchen to call the number he’d left you. It’s a little endearing that he’d been so quick to hand out his number to a complete stranger on the internet but you also can’t help but wonder how someone so naive could be the same man drawing headlines over his heroics and combat skill. You’re not exactly a Deku fangirl but it’s still wild to be dialing a celebrity’s number as you punch in the numbers and then wait for it to ring.

On literally the second ring the phone is answered. “Pro Hero Deku at your service! Who’s calling?” the young man answers chirpily. “Uhh, this is (y/l/n)? You messaged me on twitter?” “Oh! Right! Yes! Hello! One second!”

You can hear Deku excusing himself from whatever room he’s in, a disgruntled voice mumbling something you can’t hear, causing Deku to reply with a hushed “Sorry Kacchan! I’ll be right back!” before there’s more shuffling and finally the sound of a heavy door closing.

“Ok I’m back! Thanks for reaching out to me so quickly!” he finally says now that he’s, apparently, in a better place to talk.

“Yea, of course I guess I’m just shocked you liked my art so much and really appreciate you drawing so much attention to it,” you explain, feeling short of breath at how surreal the situation is.

“Of course! You’re really talented! Your work deserves to get attention!”

“Thank you but, uh, why exactly did you want me to call you?”

“Right! It’s about your artwork.”

“Ok?”

“I want to sell it!”

“What?”

“Wait well no not sell it. Or not sell that particular piece although it is a nice piece and if you wanted to theoretically you could probably sell it although I guess it’s available for free online already so maybe people wouldn’t want to pay for it. Although it’s a painting right? And people buy or pay to go see paintings you can see online all the time so maybe it wouldn’t be too bad but if it’s for your own enjoyment you may not want to give it up which would be totally understandable and also how would that work logistically? If the painting is rather large it may be unwieldy to try and ship it to whoever purchases it, in which case would you have to meet up to try and give it to them by hand? But then that necessitates meeting up with a complete stranger on the internet and what if the person who buys it doesn’t live near you or, since it is the internet, doesn’t even live in Japan? Then you have to contend with international shipping and-”

“Uhh, Deku?” you ask cautiously, barely able to process the mumbling of the young man on the phone.

“Ah! Sorry! I can kinda end up on tangents sometimes... What I mean to say is that I’m not trying to sell the painting you posted or anything but I think you’re really talented as an artist and one of my friends is looking for someone to design a new merch collection.”

One of his friends? Your mind instantly starts running through his impressive list of ex classmates. Your first thought is Dynamight and immediately you shudder at the idea. He may be years younger than you but the aggressive pro hero still scares the shit out of you. Uravity could be an interesting hero to work with although you’re not quite sure you vibe with her aesthetic. Or maybe he’s talking about the new Ingenium?

“You’re real fucking loud in the mornings, you know that Doll?” Dabi asks with a groan as he comes walking into the room with a stretch.

You hurry to shush him, not wanting to lose the opportunity being presented to you, which earns you a curious look. Before you can react Dabi is snatching your phone out of your hand and putting it on speaker. You don’t dare protest verbally and risk alerting Deku of the situation so you have to settle for glaring at Dabi as he smirks at you.

“Yea so, anyway, Shouto really needs new merch but wanted something a little more sophisticated on the designs and I feel like you’d be perfect for that you know? Making all his stuff mini works of art. So what do you say?” Deku asks, his voice still brimming with that same enthusiasm while your blood runs cold. You’re genuinely scared to look up at Dabi’s face to see what he thinks about the idea of you working with his little brother. You hold your breath, Deku’s chipper voice going nervous as he asks “Hello? You still there?”

To your immense surprise, when you finally have the courage to bring your eyes up to meet Dabi’s, he’s got an almost feral grin. “You better take the fucking job,” he hisses delightedly, sending a chill down your spine as you stutter out a response to Deku, your eyes never leaving Dabi’s.

“Yea, sorry just processing. I’d, uh, I’d be happy to help out.”

“Great! I’ll pass your number on to Shouto and you two can meet up and figure out details!”

“Ok.”

“Cool, thanks (y/l/n)! Hopefully I’ll see you around!”

You hum noncommittally before hanging up the phone, still waiting for the other shoe to drop as you practically watch the gears turning in Dabi’s head.

“You’re…. Not mad I’m going to be working with your brother?” you ask cautiously.

“Oh no, I’m fucking delighted Doll. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re gonna help me have a little fun.”

A/N: We are finally starting to get to the meat of the story omg. I’m sorry this fic has been so slow going, especially compared to my others, but if you stick with I’m pretty sure it’ll be worth it. I appreciate each and every one of y’all that’s been reading this fic because main motivation to write it has been hard

Taglist: @thechroniclesofawriter @simpsfortodoroki @ahtsuwu @oliviasslut @larkspyrr @oikawaandkuroostan @tina-98 @vibesdontlie @clubfairy

[choupichoups]

Eliott falls helplessly infatuated with his best friend’s little brother— he knows he’s writing up his own death wish going after this boy, but fuck if Lucas isn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

Or: Eliott’s under the impression that his best friend’s new step brother, ‘Lulu’, is a literal baby. Nobody tells him the guy’s actually a fucking babe-y.

Hushed voices and soft footfalls are all he can hear when Eliott pads his way out to the bathroom closest to Adrien’s room. The smell of something baking in the oven is mouthwatering and Eliott almost fails to stop his zombified self from heading down right away.  It’s still early in the morning— Adrien’s dead to the world and those noises from downstairs are probably his parents getting ready to leave for the airport. 

He has half a mind to offer some assistance, maybe carry their luggage into the car trunk in apology for making so much noise last night. Maybe even offer to drive them to the airport so that they won’t have to deal with an atrocious secured parking bill in apology for having indecent thoughts about their younger son. 

But when he exits the bathroom after freshening up, Mrs. Delacroix is already halfway out the door, dropping a kiss over a sleepy Lucas’ cheek with a final reminder to, “Take care of yourself and Adrien, okay? Love you, darling.” 

Eliott almost snorts. Of course it falls on Lucas to take care of everything, Adrien has the mind of a new born child. 

Lucas rolls his eyes, responding with a laughing, “Yeah, you know it. Have fun in Australia! Love you.” 

He waits until the front door shuts before descending the stairs soundlessly. Lucas heads towards the kitchen where Eliott sees an explosion of ingredients sit, but Lucas doesn’t immediately continue with breakfast, maneuvering instead to the counter where he hoists himself up as he taps away on his phone. 

The sight is oddly reminiscent of their first meeting and the memory brings a pool of warmth in his stomach. It’s way too early in the morning to make any drastic moves, though, and there’s a butter knife conveniently placed beside Lucas’ thigh. Sure it’s plastic, but Eliott doesn’t doubt that Lucas could make it hurt if he wants to. 

He clears his throat as he nears the counter, visibly startling Lucas when he comes into sight— it makes Eliott laugh, low and breathy as he rubs a towel over his damp hair. “Good morning.”

There’s no immediate response. Lucas is gaping at him, looking back and forth between his phone and Eliott as if he’d magically summoned Eliott up through their Instagram messages. 

He waits for Lucas to ask, even starts rooting around in his mind for a smart answer to the inevitable what are you doing here? Except Lucas doesn’t ask. The latter slides down from the counter instead, wiping the dumbfounded look on his face to replace it with something resembling amusement. “Hi. Pancakes?” 

Eliott beams, a little weirded out by the lack of questions, of course, but he’s having a good start so he doesn’t prod. It reminds him of that strange English saying— something about gifts and horses and mouths. “Sure, need help?”

“No, thank you.” Lucas’ back is facing him, busy with whisking the pancake batter already waiting in a bowl near the stove. Actually, now that he’s paying attention, he notices that there are multiple bowls of batter littering the space. All looking different from each other. 

“You, uh, preparing for a feast here or?” Eliott asks jokingly, poking at a lime green container hosting what looks to be some leftover cookie batter. 

Lucas snorts. “Adri needs a ton of food after getting wasted or—”

“Or he’ll be grumpy and whiny the whole day,” Eliott finishes off, laughing fondly at the memory of his best friend refusing to talk to him for an entire eight hours when Eliott had neglected to buy them breakfast after a particularly wild party in high school. 

“Yeah.” Lucas clears his throat. “Are Idriss and Sofiane up?”

“They’re not here.” 

“Oh.” 

Lucas stops whisking and the two of them are swallowed by silence as Lucas waits for the pan to heat up. Eliott lets it be, enjoying the way Lucas taps on the counter and grabs around for something to occupy his hands with. Eliott chuckles, draping his towel over the closest stool. “If I didn’t know better,” he says, pushing away from the kitchen island to step closer, his chest to Lucas’ back, as he reaches up to open the cupboard above Lucas’ head. “I’d think you’re a little nervous right now.”

He feels the huff of breath Lucas lets out and the adorable fidgeting stops just like that. Lucas is relaxed inside the loose cage of Eliott’s arms, the warmth of him intoxicating as it gets closer and closer and closer— but Eliott isn’t moving, and fuck that’s all Lucas. 

Lucas who is melting into his arms, head thrown back to lean his head atop Eliott's shoulder, the solid press of his body is inviting and the brush of his hair against Eliott's neck is doing funny things to his brain. The brain which scrambles for a way to put a stop to this without actually putting a stop to this. Don’t get him wrong, Eliott is very much enjoying their closeness, but he's quickly learning that control is a challenge to grasp for whenever he’s dealing with the paradox that is Lucas. 

"But you know better," Lucas whispers, lips simultaneously too close and too far, the skin below Eliott's ear tingling with every soft exhale from the devil incarnate in front of him. He makes the mistake of looking down, then. Down at Lucas' innocent little smile and pretty eyes, made all the more frustrating from the fact that his actions are the farthest thing from innocent.

Eliott doesn’t move, caught in a trap of his own making. 

"You okay, Romeo? I've got some water here." Lucas' warmth disappears suddenly and Eliott's hands release their death grip on the cupboard handles, lowering down to hover uselessly in the ensuing confusion. He doesn’t even remember what he wanted from the cupboard in the first place. "You're looking a little thirsty over there," Lucas continues, reaching around a tray of cooling muffins for the case of water bottles behind it.

"Oh fuck off," Eliott snorts, lips dipping into a frown once he fully registers Lucas' words. The nickname is cute, sure, but Eliott prefers to hear something else. "Say my name."

Lucas peeks at him from over one shoulder. "No, I'm fucking off apparently."

Eliott pinches the bridge of his nose, biting back a smile when he hears Lucas stifling a giggle of his own. Quickly, before Lucas snarks his way out of proximity once again, Eliott reaches out and spreads both hands around his waist, spinning him around so that they're standing face to face. It's easier this way, for Eliott to tilt his head and work his charm. He smiles, small and close lipped, eyes lowering into an effortless smoulder he's perfected overtime. It's foolproof. Works every time.

Or at least it would work if Lucas would just look at him instead of that stupid water bottle in his hands. 

"Say it." It comes out a little more whiny than intended so Eliott drops his irresistible smoulder act (it is still a winning move and a gift to mankind, fuck you, Lucas) and settles for ducking down to try and catch Lucas' eyes.

“No,” Lucas says, huffing out a small laugh as he squirms to avoid Eliott’s persistent attempts to connect their eyes. 

“You just love refusing me everything, huh?”

“It’s therapeutic.”

“Come on, did you forget my name again? Is that it?”

Lucas hums, only maintaining the coveted eye contact for a few seconds before lowering his gaze to a random point somewhere around Eliott’s chest. He leans his chin on top of the water bottle, lips pursed in a thoughtful pout that every cell making up Eliott’s being is dying to kiss off. “Mm,” is the vague response he gets. 

“Say it.”

“Or what?” 

“Or I’ll kiss you,” Eliott mumbles, knowing it’s bullshit the moment it’s out in the open— it’s his turn to pout, not even thinking of what his face is doing, dramatic in the fact that he doesn’t have a good comeback to that question. Call him a heartbreaker, a player, or any other worse names you can think of but he’d never touch anyone like that without express permission. 

Lucas seems to know it too, because even when his eyes snap up, there’s a level of incredulity in the slow raise of his eyebrows that’s bordering on comical. His mouth opens, presumably to call Eliott out, shove him verbally off kilter as he’s always done, but not a sound comes out in the end. Eliott watches those pink lips quiver, pressed tight together in a poor attempt to mask the budding smile behind it. 

But then Lucas relinquishes his hold on the grin, and deep, deep down, lower than the darkest waters of the ocean, in the blackest depths where no mermaid can even reach, Eliott knows he’s well and truly fucked. 

Lucas��� smile is big and childlike and though Eliott’s been a fortunate witness to one of these angelic expressions the first time they met, this one is somehow larger in magnitude. There’s no other word to describe it other than megawatt. It brightens Lucas’ lovely features to a whole new tier— he’s so fucking cute about it too, shoulders swaying as he keeps looking at Eliott with that stunning smile and a look that one would usually reserve for a particularly dumb puppy. 

Eliott doesn’t even mind that he’s the dumb puppy in this scenario. Anything to keep Lucas smiling like that. 

And whoa, that thought is a dangerous threat to the image Eliott’s carefully sculpted. 

He backpedals, schooling his features into the casually bored expression he usually sports, shaking his head slightly before getting all up in Lucas’ space. “You don’t think I’m serious?”

Lucas’ smile drops, abrupt like a switch has been flipped and Eliott gets a mini whiplash from it. He doesn’t get enough time to scrutinize the sudden change, though, when a yelp echoes in the kitchen and Eliott jumps back, offended.

Offended at the fact that the yelp had come from himself because Lucas, brat extraordinaire, had pressed the ice cold water bottle against Eliott’s cheek with no warning. 

“Sorry!” Lucas is laughing, evidently not one bit sorry. 

“Oh you’re sorry?” Eliott places the water bottle down on the counter, having instinctively snatched it from Lucas’ grip the moment it touched his face earlier. 

“Very.” Lucas pushes off from where he’s been propped against the sink, dropping a glob of pancake batter into the pan that’s probably way too hot by now. It sizzles right away.

He waits until Lucas has safely put the bowl down and then Eliott turns him around again, holding Lucas close enough to catch the hitch in his breath as he crowds into his space once more. Eliott thinks he’s one strike away from getting stabbed by that plastic knife he’s been worried about earlier so he acts quick, dipping a finger into one of the muffin batters and wiping it obnoxiously slow over Lucas’ nose. “Oh.” He pulls away, faking surprise. “Sorry, how did that happen?”

Lucas opens his mouth, recovers fast, and, using a wooden spoon, deftly splashes some of the gooey pancake batter towards Eliott’s direction. “Oh no,” Lucas gasps, fake surprise equally as bad as Eliott’s. “You’ve got a little something there.”

Okay, he should have seen that coming. 

“Well, you’ve got more than a little something,” Eliott says, scooping up an atrocious amount of cupcake batter before walking forward, menacing with his chocolate covered palms. 

Panic flashes in Lucas’ eyes only for a second before he’s smiling again and it’s not the same as the one from earlier but he’s looking adorable either way. So obviously Eliott has to swipe his entire palm over the side of Lucas’ face, leaving a large hand print of dripping chocolate behind. 

Lucas plops a handful of flour over Eliott’s head before he can pull away. 

Unfortunately, there’s no real adult currently present to stop the mess that follows. 

“Don’t— not the fucking— ugh.” That’s Lucas, trying in vain to save his precious cookie batter from Eliott’s dirty, crumbly hands. “This is my own secret recipe you will not ruin it.” He throws a sprinkling of cocoa in Eliott’s face and the latter promptly sneezes.

“I just took a shower!” Eliott takes stock of his appearance in their pause, catches Lucas snickering, and dunks his hand in a container for a handful of sugar.

“You wouldn’t,” Lucas mutters, narrowing his eyes as Eliott draws closer.

Eliott holds out both arms. “I want a hug.”

“Go away!” Lucas tries to run around him but Eliott catches him easily, one arm curling around his waist and the other dropping the sugar down the back of Lucas’ shirt. “You hooligan!”

It’s really hard to breathe around the laughter that gets a hold of him. He only slows down when he feels both of Lucas’ hands on his face and the smell of melted chocolate is overwhelming as Lucas drags sticky fingers down Eliott’s jaw, finishing up by wiping his hands clean on the neck of Eliott’s shirt. He’s a fucking nightmare, really. Eliott can’t stop smiling. 

A weird beeping sound buzzes from the stove and Lucas gasps, scurrying over to the pan where his sad excuse of a pancake now lies hopelessly burnt. “Eliott!” he screeches, shutting the heat off before turning to face Eliott with a playful glare.

Eliott laughs again, like there’s nothing else for him to do. “Finally!” 

“Finally, what?”

“You said it! My name.” 

“Oh my g— you’re so— no breakfast for you,” Lucas finally decides on, after fumbling with his words. 

“What, no!” Eliott wipes his hands on a wad of paper towels, ruffling his hair a bit and seeing a clump of flour drop to the floor. Yeah, he’s going to need another shower after this. 

“Make your own stupid pancake,” Lucas mutters under his breath, peeking into each bowl that played victim during their little game. All of them are missing chunks from the sides but Eliott thinks there’s still enough for them to make more than just a decent breakfast. 

He’s about to respond, ready to sweet talk his way into a second chance at a pancake when Adrien’s voice filters through the rose coloured scene they’ve created. 

“Eliott?” 

Dropping from a high is a shit feeling. But somehow, this particular high is especially brutal. Eliott feels Lucas’ eyes on him as his head swings sideways. But Adrien’s only halfway out his bedroom door, eyes still closed and lips curled into a miserable frown.

“Down here,” Eliott calls back, watching Adrien stumble the few steps towards the stairs. 

Eliott turns back to Lucas then, aiming to make a joke at his best friend’s expense. But Lucas is absently licking the chocolate off his fingers, eyes on the floor as he flicks his tongue around his thumb until it’s clean. 

“What are you doing?” Adrien sits heavily on the top stair, not even bothering to hide how useless he must feel at the moment. “It’s too early.”

“I’m—“ Eliott clears his throat, choking on his own spit when Lucas notices him staring. “Making breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” The word sounds muffled coming from Adrien but Eliott can’t check on him, can’t look away from Lucas’ knowing smirk. Lucas has squished himself against the side of the fridge, making it impossible for Adrien to see him from where he’s perched. “Man, no, stay away from breakfast.”

Eliott doesn’t respond, has trouble registering anything else other than the way Lucas sucks on the tip of his fingers before opening his mouth and placing his entire middle finger on his tongue, lips slowly closing around it. It’s fucking obscene and Eliott can’t breathe. 

“Eliott!” Adrien whines, sliding down the stairs one slow drag of his butt at a time. 

He jumps, glaring petulantly when Lucas snorts in laughter, removing those slim, torturous fingers from his lips as he steps out into his brother’s view. “Hey, Adri.” 

“Lulu!” Adrien exclaims, sounding like everything is suddenly right in the world. “I see you’ve met my baby bro— why are you guys all messy?” 

“Ask your friend, he started it.” Lucas runs up the stairs, pausing obediently when Adrien staggers into an upright position just to kiss Lucas on the forehead. Eliott watches the interaction, guilt churning at the pit of his stomach. “Right, Eliott?” 

Of course Lucas would use his name right now. Eliott gives him the middle finger in lieu of a response, which makes Lucas laugh in delight. 

“I’m gonna wash up and then continue with breakfast, okay?” Lucas says, ruffling Adrien’s hair before continuing to dash away. 

Eliott watches him go, half tempted to take the quickest shower of his life and flee back to the safety of his apartment. He can practically feel himself starting to go haywire and he hates it— hates that the control he’s painstakingly crafted has spiderweb cracks creeping about, hates the fact that he’s so painfully aware that he only hates it whenever Lucas isn’t around. 

In the end, he doesn’t have to worry about fleeing anywhere. Lucas is gone by the time Eliott’s dressed up again, leaving a plethora of food on the table for him and Adrien to deal with. The kitchen has been cleaned as well, no evidence of the mess he and Lucas had left behind. 

“Where’s your brother?” 

“Friend’s house,” Adrien answers around a mouthful of food. 

srodulv Leaving without saying goodbye? That hurts

lucallemant Sorry did you want me to knock on the bathroom door?

srodulv Maybe 

lucallemant Oh well next time 

srodulv Looking forward to it

“So how do you feel about Lucas?” 

Eliott accidentally inhales the apple juice instead of drinking it, coughing and sputtering as Adrien watches on, cackling at his suffering. “What?” he manages to squeak out as he pounds at his chest to soothe the burn. 

“What do you think of him? I can’t have my best bro and my real bro not getting along now, can I?” Adrien elaborates, handing Eliott his glass of juice back. Still triggered by the sight of it, Eliott reaches for a water bottle instead. 

“He’s cool.” Understatement of the century. 

“Good, great.” Adrien nods, poking at his last pancake. He yawns into his hand, obviously still not fully recovered from last night’s dumb decisions. 

lucallemant My friend’s hosting a party next friday, wanna come with?

Eliott perks up, fork clattering on his plate as he hurries to reply. Adrien groans at the sound of it and Eliott mumbles an instinctive apology. 

srodulv Wow inviting me to a party? Who are you and what have you done to my Lucas?

lucallemant I can take it back 

srodulv No no I wanna come 

“Who are you talking to this early on a Saturday?” Adrien asks, nosy even in his miserable state. 

“It’s noon.”

“Like I said, early.” 

Eliott snorts, staring down at the read sign below his message and sighing when Lucas doesn’t pick up the conversation. Of course. 

“Are you already working on your next person?” His tone sounds breezy enough but Eliott’s spent too much time with Adrien to not notice whenever he’s in one of his moods. His annoying sleuthing mood, to be specific. 

“No,” Eliott denies, placing his phone face down on the table. 

“Okay.” Adrien shrugs. “Just wondering, cause you were glaring pretty hard at your phone.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Okay…”

“Stop saying that.”

“Saying what?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Stop!” Eliott’s laughing now, reaching over to knock Adrien upside the head. 

“Just saying, if you find someone, like, for serious.” Adrien finishes off his food, swiping a finger over his plate to scoop up some leftover syrup. “I’m all ears. God knows you’ve forgotten how real romance works.”

“Right. Serious.” Eliott rolls his eyes, throwing a stray chocolate chip at him. “I’m plenty romantic, thank you very much.”

“Your romance is so fake it makes me gag.” Adrien throws the chocolate chip back at him, half eaten. Gross. 

“Fuck you.”

“In your dreams, fuck boy.”

“Fuck off.”

On Monday, Eliott’s standing outside of his building with two of his classmates when Lucas passes by and smiles at him. 

Eliott looks away. 

He immediately feels like a dick afterwards but in his defence, Alena is the biggest gossip monger this side of Europe has ever seen and he doesn’t need rumours about the two of them to start up. Granted it’s a bit paranoid, he can be friends with Adrien’s brother without Alena thinking anything of it— especially since it’s a widely known fact that Eliott and Adrien are attached at the hip.

But Eliott can’t help it, so he continues being an asshole on campus, relieved when Lucas responds like normal over their chat. It’s a convenient thing they’ve got here— flirting in private and strangers in public. Maybe he’s been overreacting about the whole control issue around Lucas. Maybe this can work out as a casual thing, eventually, whenever Lucas decides to stop swerving him. Maybe they can get this tension out of their system all without Adrien getting involved. 

srodulv I think there’s still some cookie dough behind my ear

lucallemant Lol you deserve it  I still have sugar everywhere 

srodulv I can help you clean up

lucallemant Nooo thank you

srodulv Alright, suit yourself Just trying to free you from your sugar induced suffering

lucallemant And whose fault is that?

srodulv I take full responsibility So really I don’t mind helping 

lucallemant Haha shut up Pay attention in class

srodulv How do you know I have class? You know my schedule? You care?? 

lucallemant Lol you are so annoying  Adri’s got it in his head that we should be best friends from now on

srodulv Oh shit  He friendzoned me for you :(

lucallemant Yeahhh, what are you gonna do about that Romeo?

srodulv Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day :( 

lucallemant That’s so sad

srodulv For never was a story of more woe than the friendzoning of Juliet to his Romeo :(( 

lucallemant So tragic 

srodulv Did I make you cry 

lucallemant :’(

srodulv :’)

Tuesday and Wednesday go by swimmingly, with Eliott ensuring to stick close by his classes to prevent an accidental run in with Lucas. Despite the latter acting like it doesn’t bother him whenever they don’t acknowledge each other in public, it does stick around in the back of Eliott’s head. 

But he’s back on his bullshit by Thursday, barely even thinking about it as he walks in the hallways with an arm around Eleanor’s shoulders. Sofiane had mentioned once that she’s hot and smart and that they’d look good together, sprinkling in the little tidbit where Sofiane hints that she might be the one, you know, since they share so many common interests and all. Sometimes, Eliott wishes they’d just leave it well enough alone. 

Either way, he’d taken the bait, going after her if only to prove his friends wrong. He should have known it’s a rotten call the moment he’d acted on it. 

“What time are you picking me up tomorrow?” she asks before they separate for their respective classes. Eliott blinks, forgetting that he’d used Lucas’ friend’s party to chat her up initially. He’d honestly thought he’d be done and over with his game with her before Friday arrives. Clearly, he’s miscalculated.

An uncomfortable lump makes a home out of his airways but Eliott stubbornly swallows it down. “Uh, not sure, I’ll text you.” He can’t shake the feeling that what he’s doing is so incredibly shitty and his shoulders slump at the weight of it. 

Eleanor raises an eyebrow. “And you won’t conveniently forget to text me at the last minute?” she responds, all attitude beneath the need for reassurance. It makes him smile, though her face isn’t the one at the back of his mind.

“It’d be awful of me to forget my date.” Eliott twines their fingers together and drops a kiss on the back of her hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow, promise.” 

There’s a metal trash can by the exit doors. 

This information is only relevant to his interests because there comes a deafening clatter right at that moment, as if someone had dumped an entire drum set inside the bin from right off the ceiling. 

Lucas is behind him when Eliott turns around and he hadn’t thought this possible, but the guilt swirling in his chest intensifies, his legs almost buckling under the immediate, desperate need to fix something. He knows what it is but the problem is that he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. His steps falter halfway through reaching Lucas, awkward and uncomfortable and what the fuck. This is who Eliott is. This is what he does. There’s no reason for him to crumble under Lucas’ disappointed eyes. 

Looking down, there’s some sort of shiny contraption squashed inside the trash. It looks like some kind of science experiment, but obviously it’s nothing too important if Lucas is going around throwing the entire thing out. 

“Are you al—”

“Don’t.” Lucas cuts him off with a harsh whisper.

Eliott doesn’t dare to go after him. 

srodulv Hey are you ok? Lucas  Can you please answer me Adrien said your assignments are stressing you out? Was that what you threw out What’s it supposed to do?

lucallemant Stop

srodulv Stop what

lucallemant Stop pretending you care

That’s the last he hears from Lucas. The rest of his messages go unanswered and Eliott would think that Lucas has blocked him if it weren’t for the fact that he can still view his profile in full. 

Eliott sips at his beer, not feeling like getting drunk at all. The party is boring. Surprise, surprise. Adrien forgoes this one, claiming that he’s turned over a new leaf and he that he would never attend a party or get wasted ever again. Eliott would believe him if he hasn’t said the exact same thing every time he experiences a particularly gruelling hangover. 

Idriss is somewhere out in the crowd having a dance off with Imane and Sofiane is way too busy with school work to even think about partying so long story short, there’s no one to act as a buffer between Eliott and Eleanor, who is plenty gorgeous and plenty interesting but. 

But. 

Taking a long swig from his drink, Eliott takes Eleanor’s hand and shouts above the booming speakers, “Come on, let’s go dance.”

He stops himself from grabbing another bottle to drink on their way to the crowded ‘dance floor’. That would be rude, he thinks. Eleanor doesn’t deserve to feel inferior just because Eliott can’t get his shit together. 

Two songs in and Eliott almost calls it quits. He’s so severely distracted that he isn’t sure he’s listening to the same beat as everyone else. Eleanor can walk away without Eliott getting anything out of it— it’s not like it’s the first time he’s let someone go like that. In fact, those are his most amicable separations. 

Eliott sighs, tilting sideways when she goes in for a kiss so that it lands on his cheek instead. And there, with his eyes directed near the hallway, he sees Lucas with his friends, barely swaying to the music while the other boys compensate by going wild around him. As if feeling his gaze, Lucas looks up, directly finding Eliott’s eyes in the crowd despite the poor lighting. 

An ugly surge of spite rushes through him and he knows he has no right, absolutely no right to be angry at Lucas for dropping him with barely an explanation. Eliott knows what he did but he also doesn’t understand Lucas’ reaction to it. He and Eliott are tentatively friends, not enough of a thing to warrant Lucas being angered by Eliott going out with other people. 

Or so he convinces himself. 

Eliott brushes a hand through Eleanor’s hair, tilting her head up without breaking away from Lucas’ stare. He leans down, presses their lips together, and almost regrets it when Lucas drops his eyes to the floor. Forcing himself to push through, he closes his eyes, grasping for that giddy feeling that kissing someone you like, even just someone attractive, usually invokes. But as always, he feels nothing but the warm lips of another person. He could be kissing his film history professor right now and he wouldn’t feel any different. 

The next time his eyes open, Lucas is still there, swaying weakly to the upbeat song blasting from the speakers, but his eyes are on Eliott again. This time with a fire that both thrills and terrifies him. 

Lucas backs up right into a stranger’s arms. Eliott hadn’t even noticed the guy’s existence until then and he swallows, breaking off from Eleanor to watch, with painful realization, what’s about to happen. Eleanor nuzzles into the crook of his neck, mouths something into his skin, but Eliott only hears the too loud thrum of the bass, sees nothing else from the moment Lucas spins around, winds his arms around the other boy’s shoulders, and pulls him down into a kiss he so avidly denies Eliott. 

The beat drops and Eliott’s heart goes along with it. 

It’s jarring— the sensation he feels equating to that of falling from the peak of a rollercoaster ride. He’s fucking terrified of heights yet he still does it to save face whenever he gets dragged into those cursed theme parks. Pride always wins the game. 

This time, however, he gets pride to take the backseat and lets something else win. 

Gently, he detangles himself from Eleanor with a mumbled excuse that he doesn’t even register. His focus is on Lucas, who doesn’t open his eyes to glance at him even once, who lets himself get wrapped up in the stranger’s arms, covered by broadness that honestly kind of pisses Eliott off. He doesn’t take his eyes off of them, though. Follows every agonizing second until they’re stumbling into the hallways blindly, lips still locked. 

He rushes forward when Lucas’ hand shoots out to hold onto the edge of the entryway, finding leverage to stop from getting hurled straight into one of the host’s bedrooms. 

They’re speaking in hushed voices when Eliott reaches them, the stranger laughing and Lucas smiling and Eliott just about ready to punch himself through the nearest wall. 

“We need to talk,” he says into Lucas’ ear, holding his hand to take them somewhere quiet. 

“Hey,” the stranger interrupts and his voice irritates Eliott for no other reason than the fact that he’d had his lips on Lucas just a few minutes prior. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Back off,” Eliott retorts, barely glancing at the guy. He’s already poised to leave, eyes solely on Lucas— there’s a blankness to his expression that Eliott hasn’t seen before. He’s used to his boy’s lively eyes, his lovely smiles and he doesn’t quite know what to do with what he’s currently presented with. 

“How about you back off, Demaury.” He can see movement from the corner of his vision and Eliott turns on his heel, irritated beyond belief. 

“Who the fuck do you—”

“Stop.” Lucas’ voice is quiet but both of them do stop at the sound of it. He pats the guy’s chest wordlessly before dragging Eliott out of the apartment and keeps going until they reach the stairwells of the back exit. “What.” 

Now that they’re alone, Eliott’s at a loss for words. 

“What, Eliott,” Lucas repeats, impatient. 

Eliott shakes his head, words jumbling in his brain as they all attempt to rush out at once. He tries to keep a chain on them, to filter out the ones that are relevant, to keep a cool head above the noise from inside his brain. His emotions burst in a concoction of colours and he fumbles to keep them hidden — the red of rage, the green of envy — but his fingers slip through their haze and the words spiral and spiral, until what comes out is a heavy loaded, “What the fuck is your problem?”

He doesn’t mean it. He wants to drop down on his knees and ask Lucas for a second chance. 

But pride takes hold of the reigns once anger and hurt come into play. 

“My problem?” Lucas chuckles, hoarse and devoid of joy. “What’s my problem? I’ll tell you what the fuck my problem is!”

Eliott looks at him, waiting, pressing his lips together to prevent the demon in his mind from speaking. 

“My problem is that everyone tried to warn me about you,” Lucas says, fists clenched by his sides. “My problem is that I didn’t listen! I had… I hoped…” His voice breaks at the end and Eliott’s hand twitches, but there are no tears for him to catch. Lucas stares on, livid. “My problem is that you want me to be yours but you’ve never even planned on being mine.” 

Oh. 

He opens his mouth, lets himself be cruel. “So you reject me and when I see someone else, you throw a tantrum.” 

“Fuck you, Eliott. You’d know if I was rejecting you.”

“So you want me to wait around for you, exclusively, until you deem me good enough to be in a relationship with, is that it?” 

Lucas shakes his head. “I’m not sure if you’re purposely being obtuse or if you’re just fucking with me right now.” 

“No really, what do you want here?” Eliott says, “A week ago, you couldn’t even remember my name and now you want us to jump into… what? A serious relationship?” 

“Yeah,” Lucas bites back. “Yeah, that’s it. I want something serious, Eliott. So you either get your shit together or you leave me the fuck alone.” 

Eliott shrugs, wrapping himself in multiple layers of persona persona persona until he pushes out a convincing, “Fine. Goodbye.” 

When he walks away, he makes sure not to turn back. 

[myhahnestopinion]

THE AARONS 2019 - Best Film

Once again setting a personal record and winning a friendly competition, I watched 105 films from the year 2019. That’s more films than there are seconds of screen-time for Rose Tico in The Rise of Skywalker! That one won’t be found here, but after ranking all 105 movies, here are the ones that did rise to the top of my list. Here are the Aarons for Best Film:

#10. Marriage Story

Marriage Story twists a knife we never even saw go in; its tragedy is a fully formed snowball of once seemingly-insignificant bad decisions that the viewer is powerless to reverse, only observe. Director Noah Baumbach, however, makes only great decisions in his tale of the difficulties and distractions of divorce (in the context of the film, that is. The infusion of Baumbach’s informed personal experiences is unmissable here). The film splits its focus between the perspectives of the two former spouses, but not evenly. Through both, we understand the effects of unintentional harm of other being; in the unbalance, we empathize with people reaching that realization at different times. Marriage is a story about learning that, no matter the effort to relate to another, there will always be unknowns, but in trust, there is peace.

#9. Little Women

The best adaptations play to the strengths of the screen. The kinetic timeline shifting of director Greta Gerwig’s new version of Little Women is a feat only manageable in cinematic form. The shake-up to the traditional script enlivens the familiar story; the bits of happiness and heartbreak all feel a little bit bigger. Backed by an exceptional cast, Gerwig illustrates that the importance of retelling stories is the same as the importance in telling them to begin with. The movie is undoubtedly the superior cinematic version of the story; if it’s not too blasphemous to say, it’s the best version on the big-screen or off. 

#8. The Farewell

Secret secrets are no fun, but can shared secrets spare someone? It’s the question at the heart of director Lulu Wang’s The Farewell, in which a family decides not to tell their grandmother she only has a short while to live, and stage a wedding as an excuse to gather the family together before she dies. Such a heavy burden seems unbearable alone; the cycle of shame and fear when trying to find the best way to love someone is inexorable. Sharing has never been a strong suit of the Western world; the culture clash of the understated film ends up a surprising source of comfort. Yet there will always come a point where one must face such uncertainty alone, and choose whether to say goodbye to the guilt or not. The Farewell is a comfort there as well.

#7. Parasite

It’s not what you know, it’s who you know; survival depends on sticking together. Like The Farewell, Parasite’s premise unearths questions of solidarity; unlike The Farewell, its execution is not understated. Director Bong Joon-ho’s lampooning of late-stage capitalism is as unmissable as a big dumb rock, and he lampshades it as such. Parasite is the most unexpected of heist films, but one that cuts to the heart of the genre: the world as-is is a mad scrabble for a good job, and morality need not apply. The insidious ploy of the film is an insightful exploration of class conflict. The two families at its center may not have a single person between them who’s not hungry for more, but only one is deciding how many seats are at the table. It’s not our world, we’re just living in it. 

#6. Knives Out

After the dregs of the internet came for him with knives out, director Rian Johnson decided to kill them with kindness… and gift everyone with another masterful work of cinema. There’s no foul play made in Johnson’s new murder mystery; the cast is stacked with talent and the screenplay stacked with twists. The story subverts genre expectations in revolutionary ways, keeping viewers guessing and engrossed. The additional emotional undercurrent is similarly revelatory; even when killers are caught and loose ends are tied up, questions of justice remain. Pointed, poignant, and uproarious, Johnson has carved up an excellent mystery. Considering his debut feature Brick, it’s no surprise the director’s dunnit again. 

#5. Shazam!

After shifting its focus from an overambitious shared universe to its lesser known characters, DC Comics has captured lightning in a bottle once again. The selling-point of Shazam! is, in a word, magical: a young boy given the power to transform into a full-grown superhero (play with infectious charm by Zachary Levi) boils down the appeal of the genre to its base wish-fulfillment elements. With superpowers dominating the cinemas right now, Shazam!’s recentering of their collective narrative is more powerful than Zeus. Zack Snyder sought to bring maturity to the Superman story by questioning the burden of possessing power. Made for kids but holding the wisdom of Solomon, Shazam! combats Snyder’s misguided notions: with great power comes great responsibility, but responsibility is sharing power. 

#4. One Cut of the Dead

While there are many films shot in one-take, including one vying for Best Picture at the Oscars this year, One Cut of the Dead’s pure commitment to its craft makes it a cut above the rest. In the film, things go haywire for a small filmmaking crew on the set of a zombie movie when real zombies attack; what happens next is best left unspoken (to preserve its wonderful surprises). The tightly-crafted horror-comedy is a bloody beast; its multi-limbed nature reaches every mark its aiming for, tearing at one’s heart, brain, and stomach in equal measure. It deconstructs its own movie magic only to build up an even more fantastic monument to cinema and the cooperation demanded by its creation. Within One Cut of the Dead’s endless inventiveness, the art-form’s rarely felt so alive.

#3. Midsommar

Midsommar is an honoring of tradition, but it quickly evolves into something all its own. Its most obvious influence is The Wicker Man, yet while that film’s pagan horror turned a twist of fate and a twist of faith into its punchline, Midsommar lets viewers in on the joke. Director Ari Aster lets events unfold at a meticulous pace in the closed-off community, but dread never sets in. The film is perhaps entirely miscategorized as horror; any screams crescendo into a potent catharsis. Midsommar is a banquet of visual treats that leaves viewers to chew on a shocking ending. With both, Midsommar is nothing but fulfilling.

#2. Us

Many directors can’t escape the shadow of such a successful debut, but luckily for us and for Us, Jordan Peele was no less effective at holding up a mirror to society’s sins in his sophomore feature. Like Get Out, Us rips the ineffectual bandage off this country’s festering wounds, demanding they be properly addressed lest they be allowed to kill us. The effect is once again deeply uncomfortable, gnawing at the viewer long after it’s over, as all proper horror films should. Peele, however, is entirely comfortable, further solidifying himself as an unmissable auteur through an assured handling of tone. The movie is both a crowd-pleaser and entirely uncompromising; we have met both friend and enemy, and it is Us.

AND THE BEST FILM OF 2019 IS...

#1. It: Chapter Two

It is inexplicable. The first half of the new adaption of Stephen King’s monstrous book was #8 on this same list back in 2017, yet while Chapter Two is much more uneven and unwieldly, it floated all the way to the top as my favorite film of 2019. It’s victory certainly owes a debt to its origins; the second part is a reflection on the first, as the adult version of the Loser’s Club must remember their past to battle the child-eating clown one last time. With this intent in mind, the film’s ungainly composition shifts into a new form. Chapter Two is an eerie and eerily-accurate encapsulation of the sensation of unpacking past trauma. It’s confusing, frustrating, disheartening, scary, and often unexpectedly funny trying to control such a narrative. Sometimes, all one can do is scream at the cyclical cruelty. In those moments, the greatest thing is to have someone screaming with you. Perhaps the It sequel suggests that there is no such thing as good movies or bad movies - maybe there are just movies that you need. Chapter Two is a cinematic barbaric yalp, indulgent in its runtime and its special effects because that is how it can and chooses to be heard. I needed it.

NEXT UP: THE 2019 AARONS FOR WORST FILM!

[moonm0chi]

Years (m)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut

Warnings: some explicit language, 

Word Count: 7.2K

Summary:

Sometimes the timing is never right. So you grit your teeth and swallow your feelings whole. Sometimes fate has a funny way of working out.

A/N: Just started writing this one day b/c I needed fluffy Jimin in my life and had some romantic feels. Idk where this came from, like it kinda is quite a trip and a BL I read a while back inspired some parts lol. Enjoy the fluff, the heartbreak and the angst! 

You were 10 years old when he moved in next door to you. Nothing spectacular. Until you broke your leg and missed 2 weeks of school. That’s when you found out he was in your class.

He knocked on your door the shyest smile swept across his face. That day you learned his name was Jimin and it was that day you made the decision that his smile was one of your favorite things behind your ‘She’s the Man’ DVD and your cat, Lulu. Though you wouldn’t tell him, you didn’t want to seem uncool.

He started walking with you to school, even when you told him he was stupid because he’d be late. He didn’t care, he’d just say he was protecting you from breaking your other leg as well.

Even after you could walk rather than hobble, he’d accompany you to school. You thought it was just because you guys lived next to each other but one morning when you’d left 5 minutes earlier than him you found him sprinting to catch up to you.

You’d asked, “You don’t have to keep walking with me, my leg is fine now.”

You were shocked and both of you smiled big enough for your eyes to practically close when he said “Because you’re my friend.”

It was matter of fact and you liked that. That’s how your best friend became Park Jimin.

You were 13 years old when he asked you to the junior high dance. You were just going as friends but that didn’t stop you from blushing at the casual suggestion. Nor did it stop you from wearing make-up for the first time or getting your mom to curl your hair.

He bought you a corsage and held your hand when you guys walked into the gym that was decorated with cheesy balloon arches and an ‘Under the Sea’ theme. You had your first  slow dance ever with him, the both of you grinning like idiots. Both embarrassed and confused, not knowing what the hell you were doing.

His palms were just as sweaty as yours.

It was the first time you played spin-the-bottle at a classmate’s house. You had your first kiss.

His name Lucas and his breath smelled funny. You watched Jimin kiss a girl named April, her hair bright red and freckles kissing her face.

They held hands the rest of the night. You felt sick when Lucas tried to grab yours.

Jimin decided he’d walk April home.

You cried into your pillow and your chest hurt for the first time that night. You didn’t know why.  

14 years old and you’d started to make friends as you began high school. Jimin got a girlfriend.

On the first day of high school you waited for him so you could walk to the bus stop together.

His father told you he’d already started walking to meet his girlfriend.

He walked with you on the days he was fighting with his girlfriend. You remember being the happiest on those days. 

They started to increase until it was every day.

Jimin had broken up with his girlfriend.

Things were getting back to normal. You were hopeful things would return to the way it was, to you and your best friend Jimin against the world.

You drank for the first time when you were 16. Jimin had snuck a bottle of cheap rum into the old tree house you’d built when you were 11.

You hated the bitter taste and fought the urge to gag but the feeling waned. The cold, outside air felt nice against your flushed face.

You were laying down when you whispered, “Jimin, I miss you. 

Your mismatched class schedules and shifting social circles made it harder for you to hang out as much. Plus you weren’t keen on the blushing and heart palpitations that were becoming more frequent around him.

He didn’t miss a beat, “I miss you too.”

He held your hand. It was sweaty, but so was yours.

You found yourself sitting up to hug him. It was something that was also on your ‘favorite things’ list. His warm body, fluffy hair and you complained to him, “You’re getting too muscle-y you’re gonna crush me.”

His laugh was something you cherished, and you pulled back to watch his face scrunch into the smile you adored so much. You caught his eye as his laughter settled 

Both just staring, your heart out of control and eyes sneaking glances to his lips. He moved ever so slowly towards you. You eyes fluttered closed, before a gust of wind knocked the flashlight off the makeshift window sending you both into moonlit darkness.

He pulled back, startled by the noise.

You muttered a “Good night Jimin.” His weak protests only making you flee the scene faster.

You threw up that night, and your eyes burned from tears. Not entirely sure if they were from the alcohol.

You had prom when you were 17 years old. And maybe it’s because you’d started to fill out, look less like an awkward teenager that you found yourself wishfully thinking whenever Jimin fondly brushed up against you more frequently.

You ignore the feeling of it being anything more than friendly. You’d grown. He was your best friend and that’s where he’d stay in your heart.

But when your friend sneakily reveals that maybe he wanted to ask you to prom as more than a friend your naivety when it comes to Jimin let hope flourish inside of your chest.

It was a month before prom when he approached you. His face was dusted with the prettiest blush. Your chest swelled with excitement. You couldn’t hide your smile when he hugged you nonchalantly.

He stood in front of you, and you knew his nervous tics like the back of his hand. And right now he was nervous. He avoided your gaze, twiddled his fingers and bit his lip holding back his question.

“Y/N I wanted to ask you about prom…” He started, a timid smile playing on his lips at the topic.

You nodded excitedly, expectantly.

“Well, do you have a date? 

You shook your head, “No.”

He bit his lip, reluctance consuming him.

“Chim, spit it out before I kick you.” You practically yelled, excitement oozing out of you. You were ready to spit “yes” out before he even asked.

“Do..do you think you would...go to prom with Taehyung?” He asked clasping his hands together begging for your help.

You couldn’t hide your crestfallen face fast enough before Jimin was asking you what was wrong.

You sighed. You could tell him, no reason to be nervous, he was your best friend after all.

“Well...I’d thought that maybe you and I would go together.”

His face was upset. You berated yourself at your own stupidity, but you were also mad at him, you didn’t need his pity.

“Y/N..I-I already told Sarah I’d go with her. I didn’t have a date yet, if I’d kno-”

“Chim, stop. Really it’s okay.” You choked out, plastering on a fake smile so believable it even fooled your best friend.

You went to prom with Taehyung. You drank- a lot.

Jimin took care of you when you started to puke into the hotel toilet. He held your hair, ran his hands over your back, pressed a cold compress to your forehead.

“Are you feeling better?” He whispered kneeling beside your body which was pressed to the toilet.

You hummed in response.

“Listen, I wanted to talk to you. You and I shouldn’t have-” He’s interrupted by Sarah whining that she wanted to ‘hang out with her prom date’ .

You weakly smiled at him, guilt and bile building up in your raw throat at the thought of ruining his prom night. You wave him away. He grabbed your wrist and looked at you ‘are you sure?” are the unspoken words given between the two of you.

“Thank you for taking care of me, you’re the bestest friend anyone could ever ask for Chim. Go and enjoy your night, I’m fine.” You’d replied with an exhausted smile.

He smiled but it never reached his eyes- definitely on your list of least favorite things. “Yea what are  friends are for?”

Taehyung hung out with you in the bathroom the rest of the night. Sweet guy. But, he doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

You found out that Sarah was trying to sleep with Jimin that night. Jimin let her.

This time you knew your tear stained face wasn’t from the alcohol.

You’re 18, graduation ensued and you tried hard to find fun in the last summer you’ll have before college.

You spent most of it with Jimin. Shocker.

There’s something more intimate about your friendship. There’s more skinship. You’re not complaining. He’s not seeing anyone (it didn’t last with Sarah, Jimin had already drunkenly admitted she was too obnoxious). You definitely had your hopes up. 

Every hug that lasted too long, every brush against your face to push your hair behind your ear. It all was messing with your head. His parents even made jokes that made you both go red. But it hurt, and as much as your hopes were high, your expectations were rock bottom low.

So you settled into being content with your friendship. Happy he was by your side. You wanted to enjoy your last summer together- he would be going to performing arts school while you went to the local college.

It had flown by and you were on your last week before bags would be packed and difficult goodbyes would begin. You were sitting with Jimin, the air slightly humid and passing a bottle of whiskey, that had been gifted to him as a graduation present from a friend, between the two of you.

“First kiss?” He pondered

You wretched exaggeratedly in disgust, “Lucas when we were 13, spin-the-bottle. God it was awful.”

He laughed at your dramatic portrayal of how you felt. Your mind wandered before you asked him your question, “Last kiss?”

He thought, bringing the bottle of whiskey to his lips. The remnants of his sip clung to his lips and you watched as he darted his tongue out to lick at them. You turned your attention to the bottle, which you quickly snatched from his loose grip before taking a swig to preoccupy your wandering mind.

“Sarah...at prom.” He shuddered at the memory.

You giggled, trying to hide your elation at the fact that it’d been over a year since he’d kissed anyone. 

He turned to you, “Speaking of prom, I never got to ask but did you and Tae ever…” His suggestive eyes finished where his sentence had trailed.

You practically choked on the gulp you’d just swallowed down. You blushed, thankful the setting sun hid your red face. 

You shook your head vigorously to make sure he got the point. You bit your lip and decided to disclose some details to him though, “We did make out with some heavy petting though.” You chuckled at the memory.

Tae was an old friend of Jimin’s and since he was homeschooled, your prom was the closest thing he would ever get to a real high school experience 

His eyes widened but then you watched his face settle into an expression that was almost unfamiliar to you. At least it’d never been directed towards you- annoyance. His jaw clenched, nostrils flared at the sharp inhale of breath he took. 

“Hm..” He studied you, “How was it?” Discretion thrown to the wind thanks to the liquid confidence.

You had nothing to lose so you told him the truth, “It was nice. He’s a good kisser and we cuddled afterwards. Plus, he was really sweet for staying with me while I hung around that toilet.” You laughed, the bitterness from the memory long since forgotten. 

Jimin didn’t share your same fondness over the memory.

“Would you date him?” The question caught you by surprise.

You pondered the suggestion and giggled at the thought, “I mean maybe if I found out we had more in common.”

Jimin’s patio chair screeched as he stood up. You followed, confused. He started walking away. You went to grab for his wrist but your slow reaction from the alcohol had you grabbing at the hem of his t-shirt

He swirled around and grabbed at your wrist. You flinched when you saw his face 

He looked bitter.

He scanned the floor, face softening to reveal the hurt he was feeling.

“-me?” He whispered.

“What did you say?” You leaned in closer. You didn’t want your mind playing tricks on you. This time he looked straight at you. 

“I said…. ‘Why not me?’” 

You just stared, eyes wide in shock.

His hand was sticky with sweat when he pressed it against your cheek. He couldn’t tell but so were yours.

He kissed you.

His lips were the softest, softer than your cat Lulu, softer than than your sheets after an exhausting day, and they tasted like cheap whiskey and something inherently sweet.

You kissed back.

You’d thought that it was the best night of your life. Once you retreated to the dingy treehouse, every so often you’d steal kisses, giggling at the feeling- the freedom of doing so as you pleased.

He was the best kiss you've ever had.

You fell asleep on his chest to the lull of his beating heart. You thought things were finally going right. It was your turn. Finally, the right place at the right time.

That following day was a blur, you just wanted to get home from your summer job so you could be with him. You wanted to be with him before he left. You ached to give him an answer to his question.

You had decided you’d tell him that you loved him. 

Except no one was home.

No one told you he was leaving earlier because he’d been accepted into the 2 week summer dance program the school offered before the start of the semester.

No one heard you cry that night, an ache in your chest. You knew why.

You were 19 when you realized that Taehyung went to school with you after he bumped into you on your way to the library.

He asked how Jimin was since he knew you two were close. You told him you hadn’t spoken in over a year. The sad smile on your face was enough for Tae to leave the topic alone.

4 months later you began dating Taehyung. He was a breath of fresh air. He made you laugh and although he was a constant reminder of Jimin, you swallowed your sadness, and instead basked in the boxy grin Taehyung would always give you when he flung his door open to you.

It was 2 months after that you slept with him. He worshipped your body. He was like waves in an ocean, that smell after it stormed, a warm blanket. But he was also lightening, as sly as a fox, that buzz in your chest after right before you dip over the edge of a roller coaster.

You could say that he helped build your confidence up after years of self-doubt. Years of wishing you were in somebody else’s shoes.

He’d hold and rock you, no questions asked when you’d cry. When sobbing wracked your body so violently you could barely breathe. 

He soothed you, and finally the crying subsided. Your heart feeling like seeds of, dare you say love, may one day be planted there again. 

It was spring break when he brought you to a recital, commenting on how a friend of his was in it. You didn’t even blink twice. You were dumb.

It wasn’t until the second half of the recital that you realized. He’d filled out, baby fat having melted to reveal solid thighs, a chiseled face, and abs that could be rivaled.

You swallowed thickly at his beauty, the fluidity of his dancing. It had been almost 2 years since you’d seen him. Since you’d spoken to him.

Taehyung thought he was being a good boyfriend when he thought about the surprise reconciliation.

You breathed a sigh of relief when the theatre lights in the performance center brightened. The tightness is your chest relaxing as you realized you’d soon be home.

Again, you were dumb.

Taehyung was most certainly not dragging you toward the exit but rather toward a small mob of people. They were waiting for the cast and crew and once you realized as they started to pour out of the door you held tighter to Tae’s hand.

He smiled down at you.

You didn’t notice, your eyes were darting over every face until everything was a blur.

You stopped.

His hair was a beautiful grey, the costume from his last performance still hugged him.

You let out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding.

You were almost angry at how beautiful he’d gotten. It was unfair. 

He cracked into your favorite smile when he saw Tae. Sending the old friend a wave.

He saw you. His smile fell.

Your throat felt tight when he flickered his eyes down to your hand, firmly locked in Taehyung’s. You had to resist the urge to pull it from his grip.

He walked over. He was good at faking smiles now. But it still didn’t reach his eyes.

It was nothing but small talk when he reached you. It made you sick at how this is what your friendship had come to.

You let Tae do most of the talking, giving a nod every once in awhile to still show you were engaged in the conversation.

You didn’t trust your voice.

Tae decided he’d get the coats that you’d both checked. You were left alone with the Jimin.

“When did you dye your hair?” You asked, the awkward silence unbearable.

“Maybe two months ago, the school always has me changing colors because of different showcases.” He replied letting out an uncomfortable laughter. 

Rather than forcing yourself to endure such unfortunate circumstances you smiled curtly and mumbled and ‘excuse me’ to go and find Tae.

He lurched out and grabbed your wrist. You spun around to face him and pulled your hand out of his hold so fast you you almost stumbled backward 

He flinched at your reaction, looking like a kicked puppy.

“Don’t...” You said half frustrated, half begging.

“When did you start dating Taehyung?”

“About 6 months ago.” You whispered

You looked at him and your eyes slid down his neck, patches of uneven concealer noticeable in the corridor lighting. They were covering hickeys. Your anger flared.

“Y/N listen I wanted to talk, to apologize...” He said.

You scoffed, “After 2 years? What exactly are you apologizing for? Whatever it is-” 

You sighed, disheartened, “ I..I’m happy now Jimin. Tae is making me so happy and I...love him.” You choked out the last part. 

It wasn’t true but you wanted to hurt Jimin as deeply as he had hurt you. They were words you only desired to say to one person ever in your entire life and they were trying to apologize to you right now. The words had been choked down for so many years you weren’t even sure they’d come out if the opportunity ever came. 

You succeeded and almost felt guilty. 

You spun on your heal. He grabbed your waist this time and whispered in your ear. His voice, low and silky, hints of pleading in his voice, washed over your ear. You shivered under his touch.

“I want you.” He stated.

You rolled your eyes and played it off even though you were sure your heart could’ve been medically proven to have stopped. Reluctantly pried his hands from your waist. Turning around to face him again you pointed at the hickeys, “Clearly you have someone else who wants you. Wouldn’t want to ruin a good thing.”

“Y/N it’s not an-”

You cut him off.

“Could’ve never been me.” You spat viciously. Only reveling in the hurt look on his face for a moment before you walked away.

He didn’t chase after you this time.

When you were 20 he weaseled his way back into your life through the form of Taehyung. Tae couldn’t ignore his long term friend. So he’d often invite him places.

You often felt like the third wheel. You refused to give Jimin anything but curt replies. As little syllables as possible.

He was eventually successful in weaseling his way back into your heart. ‘You an I against the world, like old times’ he’d say while wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You hated it. Especially the way your pulse would jump.

At 21 you’d broken up with Taehyung. It was on amicable terms after you’d both decided that this wasn’t going to end in marriage.

He moved out.

It took you until you were 22 to find a new roommate. Or rather, it took you until 22 for Jimin to convince you to let him be your new roommate.

You hated it.

But you agreed. Because you’re fucking stupid.

You gave yourself a pep talk every morning that you could endure living in the house with him.

You were successful in quenching your feelings through exercise, work and your self-deprecating sense of humor.

You slipped up.

By accident, you’d gotten yourself into a mess.

He’d dragged himself onto the couch after practicing with his dance troupe all day, “With my schedule I’m never going to get a girlfriend...or get laid. I’m always too tired to go out.” He whined and groaned about his “unfortunate circumstances”.

You’d had enough, “Why don’t you find someone to be like ‘friends with benefits’ with? It’s like someone you can booty call whenever you need.”

It was silent. You went back to watching the variety show that was blaring on the TV.

“What about you?”

You hadn’t caught on to the context of the question, “What about me?"

Another pause. 

“Would you be my ‘friend’?”

“Jimin, I don’t really get wh-” it clicked.

Your eyes widened, practically popped right out of your head.

You chewed the inside of your cheek anxiously. Didn’t know if you wanted this. Everything that’d finally come together- the friendship that had finally been mended- could crumble if you said ‘yes’.

“Jimin...I’m not sure it’s a good idea.” You said

“Please Y/N, plus you haven’t gotten laid since Taehyung I’m assuming with the amount of time you spend in here, on this couch, and that was like 4 months ago. We’ll both benefit from this.” His puppy dog eyes were working hard to convince you.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips and that alone was enough to make you say ‘yes’.

You played it off, rolled your eyes and accepted, “Fine.”

You pulled him in for a kiss, reveling in the sweet taste you’d missed so much. The taste that had haunted your mind whenever you kissed another boy and expected it.

You slept with him on a Tuesday night for the first time. You laid next to him after. His naked body pressed to your back. You watched the snow outside begin to fall.

You didn’t fall asleep for another few hours. Terrified that if you closed your eyes he’d be gone. His skin was finally on yours, something you’d wanted for so long.

It wasn’t how you wanted, but you’d settle.

This would have to be good enough.

It was good enough until evidently, it wasn’t.

His troupe was relaxing, giving the dancers some much needed time off. You wanted to spend time with him. He wanted to spend time out. 

Like poison seeping into your bloodstream agonizingly slow, he stopped touching you.

The distance separating you slowly, was tangible- like quicksand- the more you tried to fix things, the harder you struggled, the farther you sunk- farther away from him. 

You came home one night and regretted it. You actually regretted coming back to your own house. Imagine that. 

The moans had you nauseous. Hers more than his.

You sat on the couch, a book in your hand to try and preoccupy your shaking hands.

You weren’t quite sure how long you were on the couch before the door creaked open and a girl you could care less about sauntered from Jimin’s room. She jumped slightly at your dark figure on the couch.

She fixed her rumpled dress, disheveled hair and blooming hickeys enough to share the story of what happened in the bedroom. She moved towards the door before turning to you with a sweet smile, “Do you think I could have a glass of water.”

You looked at her, not a flicker one emotion behind your eyes.

“No. Bye.” You stood up and opened the door, clutching the doorknob with a vise grip.Your smile was thin and tight. She needed to leave and you needed to be alone to wallow in your self pity.

She nodded, but continued to study your appearance while she slipped her shoes on and teetered toward the door in her platforms. Her eyes were warm. She looked older than you and she had this warm and wise smile on her face. You’re still unsure if the remark she she made while she slipped past you was supposed to be heard.

“Well...now I understand where he gets his taste from.”

You eyes grew big and you were speechless from the off-hand comment. You closed the door, back pressed firmly it before you slumped to the floor. You clutched your shirt- you never knew a heart could hurt this much. You felt your nails dig into the soft flesh around your chest, wishing you could rip your heart out because that’d be less painful than the ache in it right now.

You pinched your lips together, unsure if Jimin had fallen asleep yet, determined to not wake him up with your crying. You were shaking, hunched over, head falling in your hands and tears rolling down your cheeks silently. . 

But then you inhaled deeply and it was like a tsunami once you opened your mouth. You couldn't hold back the sobs that wracked your body, making you double over. You were heartbroken and so angry at how pathetic you felt. 

You had done so well, you’d been fine with just being friends and then his hands touched you and nothing else mattered. And you were always in the wrong place at the wrong time, your chance always obliterated. And it’s like the taste wasn’t enough anymore, but you were so angry at yourself for expecting more.

You didn’t know how long you were crying before you felt someone embrace your shuddering body. They picked you up bridal style and the cologne you’d started to associate all the good thing sin the world with flooded your senses. You miserably fought back but you knew your efforts wouldn’t stop them.

You were placed on your bed and soothing hands were gently smoothing your hair. But they only made you cry harder. Because as much as you hated this dumb boy you would give anything so he wouldn’t stop. 

He broke the silence, “Y/N what’s wrong.”

His voice was gentle and it made your heart ache even more. You couldn’t answer. You’d locked away your feelings for so long that it’d be a miracle if you could locate the key.

“It’s okay you don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to.” He soothed, slowly lying down beside you.

You couldn’t bear to look at him. But you felt yourself calm at his body warmth, the familiar breathing pattern, and heart beat.

“Ssh, it’s okay. Whatever..or whoever did this to you….they’re a fucking idiot.” He tried to sound make you laugh.

But a fresh batch of silent tears began to roll down your face at his remark. You nuzzled your head into his chest. Breathing in his scent, breathing in everything that reminded you of happiness, laughter, sunlight, and held onto it for as long as your lungs could. You gripped his shirt tightly, positive you were leaving ugly tear stains on it.

You began to regain a regular breathing pattern, and the small circles that Jimin repeated against your back relax your tense body into his. The emotional exhaustion hit you like a ton of bricks and you tried to keep your droopy eyes open. Wanted to remember this feeling forever. 

“Go to sleep, it’s okay.” He whispered

“Jimin..” You said, exhaustion laced into every syllable.

“Hmmm”

You breathed in a lung full of him again, eyes fluttering shut and your last words fell out of your mouth as a sigh.

“Why not me?” He stopped his circling motion on your back and tensed under you but you were more unconscious than conscious to realize and react.

You stirred. You kept your eyes closed though, realizing someone was in your room. Someone was shuffling back and forth.

Rather, Jimin was pacing back and forth. 

Your blood ran cold and your stomach dropped. Maybe, if you laid still long enough he would leave and let you rot in your bedroom for eternity. 

Curiosity got the best of you and you cracked your eye open, making sure he didn’t see. He was running his hands anxiously through his freshly dyed black hair. 

You didn’t realize that the longer you stared at him anxiously pace, biting the inside of his cheek, the more your eyes slipped fully open. You didn’t realize until he was staring right back at you.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

You kept quiet, and your face heated up. You couldn’t even fathom how you’d let yourself cry like that in front of him. He was probably waiting for you to wake up so that he could break the news that’d he’d be moving out immediately.

You lifted yourself up and just kept watching as he started to pace again. Seeming even more nervous. His brow furrowed and then he abruptly turned to you.

“Okay so….” He started.

Your stomach immediately dropped, you probably wouldn’t be able to live through whatever he was about to tell you.

“Jimin you really don’t ha-”

“No, please be quiet and just listen before I lose my nerve. Heh….it wouldn’t be the first time.” He chuckled at the inside joke you weren’t in on.

He started to pace again and then he spoke.

“When I was 10, I moved in next door to you.” He glanced at you to make sure you were paying attention and continued, “I… I was so excited to move into the house beside one of my classmates. And even more excited when we finally started walking to school and back home together.”

He swallowed and shyly glanced at you again, “You were my first best friend. I moved a lot and didn’t really see the point in making new friends. But you looked so cool with your green cast on your leg and I was so nervous you didn’t want to be friends with me.”

He was still pacing, glancing at you every so often. He sighed and carded his hands through his hair again.

“Junior high dance- we were 13. I shouldn’t have asked you as a friend,” He quickly scrambled to finish his sentence when he heard how bad it sounded coming out of his mouth, “Uh what- what I mean is... I wanted to ask you as a date. But I was a fucking chicken so I used the excuse of going as friends.”

“And, I should have never let you switch seats with April….I was so angry when you kissed that idiot Lucas. So my dumbass 13 year old self ignored my feelings, decided to kiss a girl I had no interest in and pretend you didn’t exist for the rest of the night.”

You were flabbergasted. Your eyes were wide as he recalled monumental moments in your life. Your chest felt tight and you gripped the bed sheets as he continued his monologue.

“Should’ve never walked without you to school...EVER!” He stated like it was the most obvious thing.

He seemed to be getting frustrated with himself.

“I wanted to kiss you when we were 16. And I always regret having agreed to let Tae take you to prom. And I should’ve stayed with you in that bathroom at after-prom. God, I’m such a fucking idiot. That whole night I just kept waiting for you to be alone so I could get one slow dance in with you. You looked beyond beautiful by the way...man you were all I could think about even when I was with Sarah.” He smiled sheepishly.

Pausing to catch a breath he stared at you. He stopped pacing and started again, gaining confidence in his words and looking you straight in the eye. 

“The day I kissed you for the first time...it’s still one of the best memories of my life. God I could keep kissing you forever. I was terrified of how I felt and jealous of Taehyung and a dumb 18 year old drunk kid. And the day I left without saying goodbye, I cried for 2 whole weeks. I really don’t think I ever hated myself more. And then I knew you were too fucking good for me...I couldn’t-”, He swallowed, “I was still too weak, too self conscious, like I said, really fucking dumb.”

You could feel the lump in your throat growing, making it harder for you to breath easily.

“Then I saw you at the recital and I knew that would be my only chance. You were holding hands with Tae and I swore the whole theatre could hear my heart shatter.” His breath was shaky now but nevertheless kept his gaze on you.

“When you said you loved him…” He didn’t finish the sentence the agony in his eyes from even thinking about it was enough. “Actually, that night I was sent to the ER after I punched a wall and my roommate thought I broke my hand. I was so angry at myself. So angry that I’d lost every chance to speak to you the way you deserved. I didn’t break my hand but boy did it feel worse than whatever was going on in my chest; it was the only pain that even came close to what my heart was feeling.”

You blinked back tears, surprised you still had some to spare.

“I was never the religious type but I prayed..I prayed every day that you’d somehow...someway, find your way to me because I’m selfish and I wanted my own happiness more than my two closest friends. And for once I thought there was a God in the world when you split up as awful as that sounds.” His eyes were glassy by this point, his adam’s apple bobbed and his jaw clenched as he fought to continue.

“But then….but then I- I did the most awful thing and somehow thought it was okay. I wanted you so bad, anyway I could get you would be better than no way at all. And I was messed up for using you like that. And so I slept with other girls, girls that looked like you and...- but, it wasn’t enough.”

You hastily wiped at the tears that began to slide down your face. His own were threatening to spill.

“I remember how you felt, your bare skin pressed to mine. I swear I have dreams so real about that night that they should be considered nightmares because I wake up and you’re not there and I’m alone and I guess that it was my punishment.” He cleared his throat.

“But what I’m trying to say...what I want to tell you is- it’s always been you.” His tears were rolling down his face and he walked closer to you, reaching out to cup your face gently and swipe at your tears.

You opened your mouth. You knew what you wanted to say but the words wouldn’t come out, buried so long you’d forgotten how to speak of them.

Frustrated you only cried more. Jimin laughed, his eyes squished closed- your favorite.

“Y/N…” He whispered, his forehead resting on yours.

You looked at him and he broke into the biggest grin.

“I love you.”

You were sure your head was about to explode like a bottle rocket that’s how red it was.

He kissed you. It was different. It was sweet. But it wasn’t just lust that fueled this one. It wasn’t alcohol. It was love, god damn love and practically 10 years worth of it.

You could taste the salt of his dried up tears. And you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around his neck and whimper. He smiled, making your teeth bump together.

You kept kissing and kissing, until your lips were swollen and tingled. Until he laid you on your back.

“This time, I want to see your face.” He said with a warm smile.

You blushed and hid your face behind your hands.

Times in the past, you hid your face in the mattress as he took you from behind, hiding your flustered face pretty well. This time, you could feel the intimacy, the desperate urgency for intimate contact in every touch that branded your skin.

He kissed his way from your lips, to your jaw, neck, collarbones.

You moaned, gasping for air as his plush lips didn’t miss a single patch of skin on its path of assault. 

“Jimin I-” The words were stuck again.

“It’s okay.” He said understanding.

He brought his face back up and you searched his eyes, still in shock that this was happening.  That he was real.

You couldn’t help the small smile that seemed to sneak onto your face whenever he looked at you. He smiled back, biting his lip.

You pulled him down for another kiss. This time both moaning when he slipped his tongue into your mouth and gently grinded his growing erection into your core.

His scent, god his scent had your head swimming. It encase you, and made you feel safe in his arms. Cologne and something that smelled like bottled warmth. You buried your head into the crook of his neck while his hands traveled up your shirt.

You kissed his warm, smooth skin and felt the vibrations of his moan pass from his rib cage to yours. A second later he had your shirt over your head and soon his was off too.

He worshipped your body, every valley, dip, dimple, scar, like it was his religion. He hadn’t even taken your pants off yet and you were already panting.

His hands twitched and fiddled with your waistband but your hands quickly stopped them, determined to tell him what you needed this time before things went any farther, “JiminI..I.l-” You furrowed your brow. You were trying so hard but his thumbs burning circles into your hips was not helping.

You huffed in frustration, tears welling in your eyes.

Jimin deserved to hear this. He’d said it so easily and here you were, like a floundering fish. 

“It’s okay.” He reassured you again and peppered kisses all over your face. He made haste in pulling his own pants and boxers off. And then slowly began on yours. You didn’t resist this time, far too worked up to wait any longer.  

He gentled spread your legs apart and his eyes held a dreamy gaze. You felt shy and tried to close your legs, embarrassed under his searing gaze.

He held your knees tighter to make sure you didn’t do just that and kissed the inside of them reassuringly. He looked up at you, then let his eyes travel the rest of your naked body. His breathing was labored, clearly feeling just as aroused as you were. 

“I can’t believe this. I’m in love with the most beautiful girl in the galaxy, I’m sure of it. I’ve only ever wanted you, please….please, never, ever forget that.”

His eyes shone with sincerity when he looked at you and leaned over to kiss you again. This one was hard and held all the emotions, all the mess ups and missed opportunities. You held him in the kiss longer, a whine escaping your lips as he began to slide in.

The warmth and familiarity of him pulsing inside of you had you clenching around him in ecstasy and anticipation.

You broke the kiss and he rested his face in the crook of your neck. He grunted, “God I love you so much.”

You bit your lips anxiously, “Wait.”

You locked your legs tightly around his waist so he couldn’t begin to rock his hips.

You had to do this. You would not, no...could not let him do this without expressing how you’ve felt even once. 

You grabbed his face and made him look at you. The look on your face- determination, frustration and pleading for him to understand- told him you were serious.

He gently kissed your nose, “It’s okay, you can do it. You don’t need to say it right now if you don’t want to.” He cooed lovingly.

“No, I...I won’t.” You felt the heat rise to your cheekbones as he stared on, expectantly. You clenched around him again, a shiver running up your spine at the feeling of being so full.

He groaned, the feeling of not moving inside your tight walls was a feat. But he complied, knowing how important this was.

You inhaled sharply, “Jimin..I lo-lo..”

“Come on you’re almost there...don’t think about it so much.” He said.

You opened your mouth to try again and a moan flew out instead. He had brushed up against your sweet spot. 

“Oh did I do that?” He asked feigning innocence. 

“Jimin.” You tried to sound stern but it came out as more of a moan. 

“Please don’t worry about it, I can love you enough for the both of us until you’re ready.” He whispered in your ear.

You only furrowed your brows deeper at this. He saw your frustration and proceeded to kiss the tension from your brows, inching his way until he kissed you deeply. His tongue snaking against yours in such a way that it had your clit throbbing.

“...you.” You managed to gasp against his lips.

 He smiled but continued to kiss you, he mumbled between kisses, “Say it one more time?” 

“I.” He kissed you again, “ever since...” you tasted salt on your tongue, “...you Jimin.” You pulled back to see both of you crying.

You cried, out of deep pleasure and an odd sense of relief, “Jimin...ahmm...since forever, I’ve loved you.” His eyes shone with tears and reciprocated love.

He hugged you tightly, you could feel his warm tears pool and slide down your skin, “You finally said it.” He praised you quietly. You felt him twitch inside you as you repeated it like a mantra over and over. The words that were inside you for so long finally spilling freely from you like an overflowing sink.

He pulled his weight off of you and disentangled your legs from around his waist, holding your knees tightly. He released his grip on your right knee to lean forward and cup your face before kissing you tenderly.

But it wasn’t long before you’re abruptly breaking from the kiss and snapping your head back. He grunted into your ear, “I’m sorry I can’t hold back any longer...you feel so good clenching around me like that.”

He pulled all the way out before he was snapping his hips back into you hard enough to arch your back into his impossibly close chest.

He blindly sought out your hand and upon finding it, interlocked your sweaty palm with his.

He pounded into you mercilessly, his other hand releasing the knee he was still holding to begin rubbing small circles over your swollen clit. Your eyes began to roll into the back of your head and your parted lips spilled broken and breathy shrieks. Jimin’s moans only goaded you farther, clenching like clockwork around his cock every time he pressed especially hard against your clit.   

“I can't believe I missed out on this face every time I did you from behind.” He grunted, words barely comprehensible with his ragged panting. His hot breath filled your ear as he growled, “You look so beautiful taking me, I want to be able to fill you up forever.”

You whined at the words meant to push to to orgasm. Which they did. You didn’t know what to do the pleasure was so blinding. All you emotions working in overdrive, tears pricking your eyes again from the overwhelmingness of it all. But through your haze you felt Jimin’s hips stutter, and the twitch and slight expansion of his dick signaling he was just as close as you had been. 

You moaned at the overstimulation but also from the pulse of him inside you and whined for him to come inside of you. Something you’d blush at later, at how aggressive and straightforward you’d been.  

He complied happily, your clenching walls and pleading words enough to push him over the edge and spill his warm seed into you. You reveled in the feeling. Eyes fluttered open just enough to write the look of euphoria on Jimin’s face into memory forever.

He went to pull out but you circled your legs around his waist and blushed, “Just a little longer.” You wanted to stay like this, loving the feeling of him inside of you before he went soft.

He groaned a blush highlighting his beautiful cheekbones at your unintentionally provocative words, “If you say stuff like that I’m just going to get hard again.”

He fell to the side of you and after some silence you felt his playful smile against your sweaty head, “So...you love me?” 

You laughed, tracing patterns onto his hand that was wrapped tightly around your waist. 

“I love you.” You wriggled around until you faced him. You grinned up at him and continued, feeling confident in your words, “I love your stupid jokes, I love your laugh, I love your teeth, I love your eyes, I love your lips, I love your nose, I especially love your smile though and I lov-”

 “Alright stop, save some for another day.” He was getting flustered, his eyes practically closed with the wide grin on his face as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck to hide his embarrassment.

You felt his eyelashes brush against your skin like feathers as his eyes fluttered closed, a small smile lingering on his face. His breath evened out and soon enough you were sure he was asleep. 

You smiled. There wasn’t really anything more you could do.

“I love you Park Jimin. Your stupid 10 year old chubby face, and that cute chip in your tooth, your hands even when you complain about how small they are. I love you if you have abs or a squishy tummy. I love you. Everything, I love everything.” You couldn’t stop saying it and it felt better each time. You let out a breathy laugh, because everything about him was your favorite.

And this time, you didn’t stay up for hours. Your body sunk into his and sleep washed over you like a pleasant dream

 The next morning sun rays from your open window danced behind your eyes, making you groan, reluctant to get up. But they slowly opened anyway, the warm body next to you making the wake up so much easier.

“Morning” You mumbled when you cracked your eyes open and saw Jimin was already awake.

Your eyes widened to tennis balls in worry when you saw Jimin looking at you with tears streaking his face. You pressed your hand to his face, “Wh-what’s wrong.”

He laughed to himself, “I just...I woke up and saw you next to me and I- I’m so happy.”

You felt him speak against your neck a muffled. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You replied back with ease, like you were born to say it to him.

10 year old you would’ve never thought breaking your leg would bring you a friend. 22 year old you would’ve never thought the boy you loved for 10 years who ever say ‘I love you’. But as fate would have it, timing had nothing to do with it.

[mrmichaelchadler]

The Best Performances of the 2019 Sundance Film Festival

You know how much you loved Elsie Fisher in “Eighth Grade,” Lakeith Stanfield in “Sorry to Bother You,” Toni Collette in “Hereditary,” and Thomasin Harcourt McKenzie in “Leave No Trace”? All of those performances and even more great 2018 acting turns premiered at Sundance in January of 2018. So who gave the performances of Sundance 2019 that you’ll be talking about all year long? These are 12 you’ll want to keep on your cinematic radar.

Awkwafina in “The Farewell”

On the heels of her breakout role in “Crazy Rich Asians,” Awkwafina shows off a new dramatic side in Lulu Wang’s deeply personal movie, “The Farewell.” Here, she plays Billi, the Chinese-American granddaughter of a woman who’s been given a fatal diagnosis but whose doctors and relatives won’t tell her. As the most westernized member of this family, Awkwafina channels the complicated tensions between the two cultures, the immigrant fear of never being able to go home again and of what it means to love someone so much that you’ll go along with the charade of pretending they’re not dying. It’s an emotional yet restrained performance from a comedienne who broke out by playing the most outrageous character in a large ensemble cast. (MC)

Adam Driver in “The Report”

The role of Daniel Jones in Scott Z. Burns’ story of the torture report that revealed the lengths the U.S. government went to under the guise of stopping terrorism could have been a thankless, blank slate of a part. So much of “The Report” is about what Jones discovers that the man himself could have been lost in the paperwork he created. But Driver never lets this happen. He maintains a confident, believable character, never stealing focus from what really matters but also not getting lost in the storytelling. It’s the kind of un-flashy performance that won’t get the credit it deserves for anchoring an entire movie. In other words, it’s what Adam Driver is increasingly good at doing. (BT)

Kelvin Harrison Jr. in “Luce”

The players in Julius Onah’s stylish drama “Luce” are pitched amid various dualities and uncertainties. The title character is no exception—Luce is a star student, a model son to his adoptive parents and a source of inspiration to his community. Then again, he might also have disturbing leanings elsewhere. For anyone who’s seen Kelvin Harrison Jr. in the unnerving “It Comes at Night” (also a film on trust, strengthened by the perspective of the audience), his spot on performance here as a teenager that carries both guilt and innocence with equal persuasiveness won’t come as a surprise. It’s a performance that’s chilling and disarming all at once, while Harrison Jr. swiftly holds his ground against veterans like Octavia Spencer, Tim Roth and Naomi Watts with both nuance and meticulous delivery. (TL)

Zora Howard in “Premature”

In Rashaad Ernesto Green’s romantic drama, “Premature,” Zora Howard plays Ayanna, a teenager who’s coming-of-age and still trying to figure out things in her life. During the summer, she falls for a music producer, Isaiah (Joshua Boone), in a swoon-worthy, whirlwind romance — the kind you think about years after it ends. But few things survive long when you’re seventeen, and Howard smoothly works her way through Ayanna’s deeply felt emotions. From recreating that warm glow in her cheeks during the couple’s honeymoon period to the stiff body language in reaction to their splitting relationship, so much of Ayanna’s story comes from Howard’s expressions and body language. Howard’s sensitive performance feels reminiscent of Kerry Washington’s role in “Our Song” and the independent spirit of Ariyan A. Johnson’s character in “Just Another Girl on the I.R.T.” It’s not a showy performance, but one that sticks with you because of its subtlety and familiarity. (MC)

Noah Jupe in “Honey Boy”

Alma Har’el’s gutsy “Honey Boy” seems like a wall-to-wall therapy session: for its writer Shia LaBeouf (who tells his own condemned life story) and for anyone who’s been raised in the hands of abusive parents. In it, the young actor Noah Jupe—among this year’s sharpest breakthroughs of Sundance—gets caught in the crossfire of it all with a rare opportunity. Playing the young, somewhat fictionalized Shia, he picks up the phone in one scene (it’s mom on the other end) and relays his parents’ fuming words back to each other with startling anger, precision and defeat, just like a grown-up. In another scene, he steps back down to being a child, and begs his father to become a better parent. Jupe steals this movie, displaying range and virtuoso well beyond his young years. (TL)

Riley Keough in “The Lodge”

Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala’s horror film was one of the most divisive flicks at this year’s Sundance, but even the film’s detractors agreed that Riley Keough does great work in it. It’s an incredibly difficult part in that Grace needs to remain something of a question mark. Not only is she the potentially evil stepmother that our two child protagonists don’t want in their lives, but she may be crazy too. Playing a character with a questionable grip on sanity is an invitation for most performers to chew the scenery but Keough grounds Grace in a way that makes her far more interesting and the final act of the film far more terrifying. It’s just another great turn from an actress who isn’t afraid to choose challenging, unpopular roles, and seems to impress more every time she does. (BT)

Kiki Layne in “Native Son”

The fascinating Ashton Sanders got a great deal of press for his leading turn in the opening night film, but the performance that lingers in my mind more is that of Kiki Layne, who announced her future-star status in “If Beale Street Could Talk” and really cements that here in just a few scenes. Bess could have easily become a two-dimensional archetype, the put-upon girlfriend who exists more as a sounding board for the leading man than a real person. But Layne imbues every choice she makes with realism, adding to the poignancy of the final act. Much as she did with her underrated work in “Beale,” she never makes the wrong choice here. I can’t wait to see what she does next. (BT)

Jonathan Majors in “The Last Black Man in San Francisco”

Joe Talbot’s “The Last Man in San Francisco” mixes symphonic filmmaking with the quiet dreams of its characters, especially for its two leads, Jimmie (Jimmie Fails) and Montgomery (Jonathan Majors). Majors fashions an impeccable earnestness out of a sidekick who could have been lost to quirkiness, and paints a vivid image of a man who clings to his red notebooks and especially the ideas inside, while monologuing to himself on a pier, as if figuring out what means most. Though Fails is the fulcrum of the story, it receives some of its most beautiful moments from Majors’ performance, like when he earnestly yells at a mirror while attempting to try on the aggressiveness of other black men—it’s a funny and tragic note on the story’s sensitive portrayal of black masculinity. Majors’ masterstroke, however, might be a performance sequence in the third act that contains all of the film’s themes, like Linus’ monologue in “A Charlie Brown Christmas Special,” while displaying all of his energy and charisma. Majors’ performance is acting as storytelling in the best ways, and one of many flourishes in Talbot’s unforgettable film. (NA)

Alia Shawkat in “Animals”

Shawkat’s brought many a playful character to the screens large and small, but few roles have allowed her to play such a classy raconteur as she does in Sophie Hyde’s “Animals” Like a poem-filled, sequence-wearing Withnail, Tyler (Shawkat) is the impish answer to Laura (Holliday Grainger), a flailing writer who’s the straight man I to this Withnail. The two best friends are comrades in drugs and parties, but just as they’re approaching their 30s and Laura begins dating a pianist, their close friendship suffers a rift. Although the movie follows Laura more closely, Tyler also experiences her own awakening, giving Shawkat room not just to play a wildcard character but also an emotionally vulnerable person who wants her close friend back in her apartment to share a drink. (MC)

Lauren 'Lolo' Spencer in “Give Me Liberty”

There are a lot of faces and voices that are crammed into “Give Me Liberty,” Kirll Mikhanovsky’s claustrophobic, heartwarming story about a group of people who are united on a van. But one of the most memorable performances belongs to Lauren 'Lolo' Spencer, who enters into the story as one of the clients that Chris Galust's medical transport van driver has to pick up. But she proves to be an excellent, scene-stealing straight-woman against the chaos of the other riders on the van (Vic’s Russian elders, it’s a long story). You get a full sense of her life before and after the times Vic pick her up, as it shows her charisma across expressions of comedy or drama. (NA)

Honor Swinton-Byrne in “The Souvenir”

With her soft, childlike facial features and expressive eyes, Honor Swinton-Byrne (Tilda’s daughter) embodies “The Souvenir’s” Julie—an ambitious film student about to lose her innocence in the hands of a toxic relationship—with a rare kind of exactness. Throughout, she moves with the grace and reluctance of someone acutely aware of both her misfortunes and privileges. As Julie falls deeper into the overwhelming rabbit hole of a young, life-defining love, Swinton-Byrne dials up her helplessness to heartbreaking effect, turning Julie into a real-life character you will both want to shake up and non-judgmentally protect. Having given perhaps the most mournful performance of Sundance, Swinton-Byrne is sure to walk in her mother’s shoes and put her unique stamp on every film she will be in. (Good news: a sequel for “The Souvenir” is already in pre-production.) (TL)

Geraldine Viswanathan in “Hala”

Geraldine Viswanathan is well on her way to being a star, and her lead role in Minhal Baig’s “Hala” should accelerate the process. Playing a Muslim teenager of first-generation immigrant parents in Chicago, this role is a marvelous display of how Viswanathan can present the process of contemplation, an excellent fit for a character who can internal as tries to navigate the world. She has a striking precision with emotion, offering a lot to be read between the lines in a way that registers as raw and compelling whether it’s in thinking about how she feels about her first major sexual encounter, or observing her parents’ marriage slowly start to fall apart. It lets the majority of “Hala” play out with more subtlety, honoring the quiet ways in which maturity finds and changes us. (NA)

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