#(this is not true always but rn i feel like this)
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Him singing happy birthday to her, even going off to find a cupcake and candle. Ugh! That shit had me genuinely tearing up, like no joke
Max leans forward, his expression earnest. âTry me. I want to hear all about it.â
Max listens intently, asking questions and showing genuine curiosity.
- He truly wants to know everything
Without really noticing, you both shift positions throughout the night. Max leans back against the headboard, and you mirror him. Your shoulders are pressed together, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.
-Kicking my feet rn
You sigh, reaching out to touch one of the velvety petals. âItâs just ... Iâve told Charles a hundred times that I donât like roses. Theyâre not my favorite flower. But every time he needs to apologize or wants to do something nice, itâs always roses.â
-Oh gosh Charles. Fr?!
Max shakes his head firmly. âNo. You donât have to forgive them right away just because they made a grand gesture. Itâs okay to make them work for your forgiveness.â
âThen donât,â Max says simply. âTake the time you need. They can wait.â
âItâs not selfish to prioritize your own feelings and well-being. You matter, Y/N. Your feelings matter.â
-
THIS THIS THIS
Maxâs expression softens, a tender smile playing at his lips. âYou donât have to thank me for that. I ... I care about you, Y/N. A lot.â
Your heart skips a beat at his words. âI care about you too,â you admit.
-EHHHHHHH
âMaybe because he was there when we werenât,â he says softly.
-YUP YUPPPPO
âNo,â you confirm. âI mean, donât get me wrong, I appreciate nice things. But thatâs not what this is about. Itâs about him actually listening to me, actually seeing me as a person and not just ... his kid sister who can be bought off.â
-Charles..
You nod, his words resonating with you. âYouâre right. Iâll keep the bracelet ... but everything else goes back.â
-YUP AS U SHPULD
just maybe, youâve found someone who sees you for exactly who you are.
-YESSSSSS
When itâs time to leave, Charles stands up, hesitating for a moment before opening his arms. âCan I ...â
You nod, stepping into his embrace. Charles holds you tight, realizing how long itâs been since heâs really hugged you like this.
-Sooo glad they could make up! So glad she stood her ground and he finally listened
Charles jumps to his feet, letting out a whoop that echoes through the auditorium. âThatâs my sister!â He shouts, drawing startled looks from nearby attendees.
Lorenzo and Arthur quickly join in, their cheers mixing with Charlesâ. Max and Pascale stand too, clapping enthusiastically.
-OMG THEY ALL WERE THERE AND CHEERED HER ON
You glance around the car â at Charles and Arthur bickering good-naturedly in the back seat, at your mother chatting happily with Lorenzo whoâs driving, and finally at Max beside you, his hand warm in yours. Your family, in all its chaotic, loving glory.
And as the car winds its way through the streets of Monaco, towards a future bright with possibility, you know that itâs true. Youâre exactly where youâre meant to be, surrounded by love, with the stars stretching out endlessly before you.
-Bout to cry again.
THIS WAS A MASTERPIECE AS ALWAYS. THANK YOU BEAUTIFUL AUTHOR FOR YOUR BEAUTIFUL WORK!!!!!!!!
Little Star
Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader
Summary: youâve grown used to being overshadowed by your older brother, merely a distant star that seems dull in comparison to the sun of Maranello ⌠and then Max happens
Based on this request
The sun dips low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the paddock of the Autodromo Nazionale Monza. The air still buzzes with excitement from the dayâs race, but behind the Ferrari hospitality unit, a different energy permeates the air.
You lean against the cool metal wall, sliding down until youâre sitting on the concrete, knees pulled to your chest. Tears stream silently down your face as you struggle to catch your breath between sobs. The sounds of celebration echo in the distance, a stark contrast to your solitude.
Footsteps approach, and you hastily wipe at your eyes, hoping to erase any evidence of your breakdown. A familiar figure rounds the corner, stopping short when he spots you.
âHey,â Max Verstappen says, his brow furrowing with concern. âAre you alright?â
You force a smile, but it doesnât reach your eyes. âIâm fine,â you insist, your voice wavering slightly. âJust ... needed some air.â
Max doesnât buy it for a second. He crouches down beside you, his blue eyes searching your face. âYou donât look fine,â he says gently. âWhatâs going on?â
You bite your lip, debating whether to confide in him. After a moment, you sigh. âItâs stupid,â you mumble.
âIf itâs making you cry, itâs not stupid,â Max counters. He settles down next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. âCome on, talk to me.â
You take a shaky breath. âItâs my birthday,â you admit quietly.
Maxâs eyebrows shoot up. âToday? Why arenât you celebrating?â
A bitter laugh escapes your lips. âBecause everyone forgot,â you explain, fresh tears welling up. âCharles won the race, and ... Iâm happy for him, I really am. But itâs like I donât even exist when heâs around, you know?â
Max nods slowly, understanding dawning on his face. âThat must be really tough,â he says softly.
You nod, sniffling. âIâve always felt like I was in his shadow, but today ... it just hit me harder, I guess. Even my mom forgot.â
âThatâs not okay,â Max says firmly. âYour birthday should be special, no matter what else is happening.â
You shrug, picking at a loose thread on your jeans. âItâs fine. Iâm used to it.â
âNo, itâs not fine,â Max insists. He stands up suddenly, determination etched on his face. âWait here. Iâll be right back.â
Before you can protest, heâs gone, jogging away towards the paddock. Youâre left alone again, wondering what heâs up to.
True to his word, Max returns a few minutes later, slightly out of breath and holding something behind his back. âClose your eyes,â he instructs with a grin.
Curious, you comply. Thereâs a rustling sound, and then Maxâs voice rings out, clear and slightly off-key: âHappy birthday to you ...â
Your eyes fly open in surprise. Max stands before you, holding a small cupcake with a single candle stuck in the frosting. His face is illuminated by the flickering flame as he continues to sing.
âHappy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Y/N, happy birthday to you!â
Emotion wells up in your chest, a lump forming in your throat. âMax,â you whisper, overwhelmed. âYou didnât have to do this.â
He crouches down, carefully balancing the cupcake. âOf course I did,â he says softly. âEveryone deserves to feel special on their birthday. Now make a wish and blow out your candle.â
You close your eyes, thinking for a moment before leaning forward to extinguish the tiny flame. When you open them again, Max is beaming at you.
âWhat did you wish for?â He asks, settling back down beside you and offering you the cupcake.
You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. âCanât tell you, or it wonât come true.â
Max laughs, nudging your shoulder playfully. âFair enough. So, twenty-two, huh? How does it feel to be so old?â
You roll your eyes, but canât help chuckling. âSays the guy whoâs practically ancient at twenty-six.â
âHey!â Max protests, feigning offense. âIâll have you know Iâm in my prime.â
The banter feels natural, and you find yourself relaxing for the first time all day. You take a bite of the cupcake, savoring the sweetness. âThis is really good,â you mumble around a mouthful of frosting. âWhere did you even find it?â
Max grins mischievously. âI have my sources. Canât reveal all my secrets, can I?â
You laugh, shaking your head. âThank you, Max. Really. This ... it means a lot.â
His expression softens. âYouâre welcome. Iâm sorry the rest of your family forgot. Thatâs not fair to you.â
You sigh, your momentary happiness fading slightly. âItâs not their fault. Charles had a big win today, and-â
âStop,â Max interrupts gently. âYou donât have to make excuses for them. Your feelings are valid.â
You blink, surprised by his directness. âI ... I guess Iâm just used to it,â you admit. âItâs always been about Charles. Even before he got into F1, he was the golden child. I love him, donât get me wrong, but sometimes ...â
âSometimes you want to be seen too,â Max finishes for you. You nod, grateful that he understands.
âExactly. And itâs not just Charles. Arthurâs always been following in his footsteps, and Lorenzo ... well, heâs the oldest. Iâm just ... there.â
Max frowns. âThatâs not true. Youâre your own person, with your own talents and dreams. Have you talked to them about how you feel?â
You shake your head. âI donât want to make them feel bad. Especially Charles. He works so hard, and he deserves his success.â
âHis success doesnât diminish your worth,â Max says firmly. âYou deserve to be celebrated too.â
Tears prick at your eyes again, but for a different reason this time. âThank you,â you whisper. âI donât think anyoneâs ever put it quite like that before.â
Max smiles softly. âWell, itâs true. And for what itâs worth, I think youâre pretty amazing.â
A blush creeps up your cheeks. âYou barely know me,â you point out.
âI know enough,â Max counters. âI know youâre kind enough to put your familyâs happiness before your own. I know youâre strong enough to handle being overlooked without becoming bitter. And I know youâve got a great taste in cupcakes.â
You laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep in your chest. âWell, when you put it like that ...â
Max grins, clearly pleased to have made you smile. âSo, birthday girl, what do you want to do now? The night is young, and I happen to know where they keep the good champagne around here.â
You hesitate, glancing towards the paddock where you can still hear the sounds of celebration. âI donât know ... I should probably go find my family.â
Max raises an eyebrow. âOn your birthday? Come on, live a little. They can wait.â
A spark of rebellion ignites in your chest. âYou know what? Youâre right. Letâs do it.â
Max jumps to his feet, offering you his hand. âThatâs the spirit! First stop, champagne. Then, who knows? Maybe weâll steal a golf cart and go joyriding around the track.â
You take his hand, allowing him to pull you up. âIs that even allowed?â
Maxâs eyes twinkle with mischief. âProbably not. But itâs your birthday, so I think we can bend the rules a little.â
As you follow Max towards the paddock, a warmth spreads through your chest that has nothing to do with the lingering summer heat. For the first time in years, you feel seen. Appreciated. Special.
âHey, Max?â You say, causing him to pause and look back at you.
âYeah?â
You smile, genuine and bright. âThank you. For everything.â
Maxâs expression softens. âAnytime,â he says softly. âNow come on, birthday girl. Letâs make this a night to remember.â
As you walk side by side into the fading light, you canât help but feel that this birthday might just be the start of something new. Something exciting. Something uniquely yours.
And for once, youâre not thinking about Charles, or Arthur, or anyone else. Youâre just thinking about you, and the possibilities that stretch out before you like an open road.
Happy birthday indeed.
***
The Ferrari hospitality suite thrums with energy, laughter and music spilling out into the warm Italian night. Charles Leclerc stands at the center of it all, a wide grin plastered across his face as he basks in the glow of his hard-fought victory. Champagne flows freely, and the air is thick with the scent of celebration.
âTo Charles!â Someone shouts, raising a glass. The room erupts in cheers, and Charles feels a swell of pride in his chest.
âSpeech! Speech!â The crowd chants, and Charles laughs, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
âAlright, alright,â he concedes, clearing his throat. âI just want to say thank you to everyone here. This win ... itâs not just mine. Itâs ours. The team, the mechanics, the engineers, the strategists ... we did this together.â
More cheers erupt, and Charles feels a hand clap him on the back. He turns to see his teammate grinning broadly.
âWell said, amigo,â Carlos says, slinging an arm around Charlesâ shoulders. âYou drove like a champion today.â
Charles beams, the praise from his teammate adding to the euphoria of the moment. âThanks, Carlos. Couldnât have done it without you pushing me.â
Carlos laughs, taking a swig of his drink. âAlways happy to provide motivation. Oh, hey, before I forget â can you pass on my birthday wishes to Y/N? I meant to find her earlier, but things got a bit crazy.â
The words hit Charles like a bucket of ice water. His smile freezes, his eyes widening in horror. âW-what?â He stammers, hoping heâs misheard.
Carlos frowns, noticing the sudden change in Charlesâ demeanor. âYour sister? Itâs her birthday today, right? Her 22nd?â
Charles feels the room spin around him. How could he have forgotten? His little sisterâs birthday, on the same day as his big win. The realization crashes over him in waves of guilt and shame.
âCharles?â Carlos prompts, concern evident in his voice. âYou okay, mate?â
Charles shakes his head, trying to clear the fog of shock. âI ... I forgot,â he whispers, more to himself than to Carlos. âHow could I forget?â
Carlosâ eyes widen in understanding. âOh, shit,â he mutters. âYou didnât remember?â
Charles runs a hand through his hair, panic rising in his chest. âI was so focused on the race, and then the win ... God, Iâm such an idiot.â
He scans the room frantically, hoping against hope that heâll spot you among the partygoers. But of course, youâre not there. Why would you be, when your own family forgot your birthday?
âI need to find her,â Charles says, already moving towards the exit. âI need to apologize.â
Carlos nods, squeezing Charlesâ shoulder supportively. âGo. Iâll cover for you here if anyone asks.â
Charles barely hears him, his mind racing as he pushes through the crowd. He bursts out of the hospitality suite, the cool night air a stark contrast to the stuffy interior.
âY/N!â He calls out, his voice echoing in the near-empty paddock. But thereâs no response.
Panic rising, Charles pulls out his phone, fumbling with the screen as he opens his contacts. He hits your name, holding the phone to his ear as it rings.
Once. Twice. Three times. Then, your voicemail.
âHey, this is Y/N. Leave a message!â
Charles swears under his breath, ending the call. He tries again, and again, but each time it goes straight to voicemail.
âCome on, come on,â he mutters, pacing back and forth. Where could you be? Who would you have gone to when your family let you down?
A thought strikes him, and he quickly dials another number.
âHello?â Arthurâs sleepy voice answers.
âArthur!â Charles practically shouts. âIs Y/N with you?â
Thereâs a pause, then confusion in Arthurâs tone. âNo? Why would she be? Arenât you guys celebrating?â
Charles feels his heart sink even further. âArthur, itâs her birthday. We forgot.â
âShit,â Arthur breathes. âHow did we ... God, weâre terrible brothers.â
âI know, I know,â Charles says, the guilt eating away at him. âIâm trying to find her now. Can you call Maman and Lorenzo, see if theyâve heard from her?â
âYeah, of course,â Arthur agrees quickly. âIâll call you back if I hear anything.â
Charles ends the call, his mind whirling. Where else could you be? He tries to think back to earlier in the day, wondering if heâd seen you at all after the race. But everything is a blur of champagne and celebration, and he realizes with a sickening jolt that he canât remember the last time he actually spoke to you.
Heâs about to start knocking on motorhome doors when another idea strikes him. Quickly, he opens the Life360 app on his phone. The family had started using it a few years back, mainly to keep track of each other during race weekends.
Charles waits impatiently for the app to load, praying that it will show your location. But when the map finally appears, his heart sinks. Your icon is greyed out, with a message underneath: âLocation permissions turned off.â
âNo, no, no,â Charles mutters, refreshing the app desperately. But the result is the same. Youâve deliberately turned off your location tracking.
The realization hits him like a punch to the gut. You didnât just disappear â you chose to be unfindable. And itâs all his fault.
Charles slumps against the nearest wall, sliding down until heâs sitting on the ground. He puts his head in his hands, overwhelmed by the magnitude of his mistake.
âIâm so sorry, Y/N,â he whispers into the night. âIâm so, so sorry.â
As he sits there, memories flood his mind. Your proud smile when he won his first karting race. The way youâd curl up next to him during thunderstorms, seeking comfort. Your unwavering support through every step of his career, even when it meant less attention for you.
And how had he repaid that loyalty? By forgetting the one day that was supposed to be about you.
Charlesâ phone buzzes, and he snatches it up eagerly. But itâs just a text from his mother:
Havenât heard from Y/N. Is everything okay?
He stares at the message, unsure how to respond. How can he explain that heâs lost his little sister on her birthday?
Another text comes through, this time from Lorenzo:
No luck here either. Whatâs going on?
Charles takes a deep breath, steeling himself. He has to tell them the truth, no matter how much it hurts.
He creates a group chat with his mom, Lorenzo, and Arthur, his fingers shaking slightly as he types:
We forgot Y/Nâs birthday. All of us. Sheâs not answering her phone and her location is turned off. I canât find her anywhere.
The responses come in rapid succession:
Maman: Oh no. How could we forget?
Lorenzo: Shit. Have you checked with her friends?
Arthur: Iâm on my way to the track now. Weâll find her.
Charles feels a mix of relief and shame. At least now everyone knows, and they can all work together to make things right. But the fact remains that they let you down in the first place.
Heâs about to reply when he spots a familiar figure walking across the paddock. Max Verstappen, looking slightly disheveled and ... was that a touch of glitter on his cheek?
Without thinking, Charles jumps to his feet and runs over to his rival.
âMax!â He calls out, slightly out of breath. âHave you seen Y/N?â
Max turns, surprise evident on his face. Then, something else flickers in his eyes. Anger? Disappointment? Itâs gone too quickly for Charles to be sure.
âWhy?â Max asks, his tone cooler than usual. âSuddenly remembered she exists?â
The words sting, but Charles knows he deserves them. âPlease, Max. I know I messed up. We all did. But I need to find her, to apologize.â
Max studies him for a long moment, as if weighing his options. Finally, he sighs. âSheâs safe. Thatâs all you need to know right now.â
Relief washes over Charles, quickly followed by confusion. âYouâve seen her? Where is she?â
âIâm not telling you that,â Max says firmly. âShe needed space, and after what happened, I donât blame her.â
Charles feels a flare of frustration. âSheâs my sister. I have a right to know where she is.â
âNo,â Max counters, his blue eyes flashing. âYou had a responsibility to remember her birthday. You didnât. So now, you donât get to demand anything.â
The words hit Charles like a slap. He opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again. Max is right, as much as it pains him to admit it.
âIs she ... is she okay?â Charles asks quietly, all fight leaving him.
Maxâs expression softens slightly. âShe will be. Eventually. But Charles, you really hurt her. All of you did.â
Charles nods, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. âI know. God, I know. I just want to make it right.â
âThen give her time,â Max advises. âAnd when sheâs ready to talk, really listen to her. Donât make excuses. Donât try to justify it. Just listen.â
Charles nods again, feeling utterly defeated. âWill you ... will you tell her Iâm sorry? That weâre all sorry?â
Max hesitates, then nods. âI will. But Charles? You need to do better. She deserves better.â
With that, Max turns and walks away, leaving Charles alone with his thoughts and regrets.
Charles pulls out his phone again, looking at the group chat with his family. He types out a message, his heart heavy:
Y/N is safe. A friend is looking out for her. We need to give her space, but when sheâs ready to talk, we all need to be there. Really be there. Weâve got a lot to make up for.
As he hits send, Charles makes a silent promise to himself and to you. Heâll do better. Heâll be the brother you deserve. And somehow, someway, heâll make this right.
But for now, all he can do is wait, and hope that youâll find it in your heart to forgive them all.
***
The city lights twinkle below as Max leads you into his penthouse suite, the door clicking shut behind you. The space is modern and sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of Milanâs skyline.
âMake yourself at home,â Max says, gesturing around the room. âAre you hungry? I can order some room service if you want.â
You shake your head, still feeling slightly overwhelmed by the events of the day. âNo, thanks. Iâm okay.â
Max nods, studying your face with concern. âYou sure? Itâs been a long day.â
A small smile tugs at your lips. âYeah, you could say that again.â
Thereâs a moment of awkward silence before Max clears his throat. âSo, um, you can take the bed. Iâll crash on the couch.â
âOh, no,â you protest immediately. âI canât kick you out of your own bed. Iâll take the couch.â
Max shakes his head firmly. âAbsolutely not. Itâs your birthday. You get the bed.â
You bite your lip, an idea forming. âWe could ... share? I mean, if thatâs okay with you. The bed looks plenty big enough.â
Maxâs eyes widen slightly, a faint blush creeping up his neck. âAre you sure? I donât want to make you uncomfortable.â
âIâm sure,â you say, surprising yourself with your boldness. âUnless it makes you uncomfortable?â
âNo, no,â Max says quickly. âIâm fine with it if you are.â
You nod, and another silence falls. Max runs a hand through his hair, looking suddenly unsure of himself.
âDo you want to watch a movie or something?â he suggests. âOr we could just talk, if you prefer.â
âTalking sounds nice,â you admit. âIâm not really in the mood for a movie.â
Max nods, gesturing towards the bed. âShall we?â
You both settle onto the massive king-size bed, sitting cross-legged and facing each other. Itâs oddly intimate, and you feel a flutter of nerves in your stomach.
âSo,â Max begins, his blue eyes fixed on you. âTell me something about yourself that isnât related to racing or your family.â
You pause, caught off guard by the question. Itâs been so long since someone asked about you, just you.
âWell,â you start hesitantly, âIâm actually studying to become an astrophysicist.â
Maxâs eyebrows shoot up. âSeriously? Thatâs incredible! Why astrophysics?â
The enthusiasm in his voice makes you smile. âIâve always been fascinated by space, you know? The idea that thereâs so much out there we donât understand ... itâs exciting.â
âThatâs amazing,â Max says, genuinely impressed. âWhat kind of stuff are you studying right now?â
You laugh softly. âAre you sure you want to know? I might bore you with all the technical details.â
Max leans forward, his expression earnest. âTry me. I want to hear all about it.â
Encouraged by his interest, you begin to explain your current research project. As you talk, your hands move animatedly, your eyes lighting up with passion. Max listens intently, asking questions and showing genuine curiosity.
â... and thatâs why understanding dark matter is so crucial,â you finish, slightly out of breath. âSorry, I kind of went off on a tangent there.â
Max shakes his head, smiling warmly. âDonât apologize. Itâs fascinating. I had no idea you were into all this. Why havenât I heard about it before?â
Your smile falters slightly. âOh, well ... it doesnât really come up much. Everyoneâs usually more interested in talking about racing.â
Max frowns. âBut this is incredible. Youâre studying to unravel the mysteries of the universe. Thatâs way cooler than driving in circles.â
You laugh, but thereâs a hint of sadness in it. âTry telling that to my family. I think they see it as more of a hobby than a career path.â
âWhat?â Max looks genuinely shocked. âHow can they not be incredibly proud? This is huge!â
You shrug, picking at a loose thread on the comforter. âI guess itâs just not as exciting as F1? Itâs okay, though. Iâm used to it.â
Max shakes his head firmly. âNo, itâs not okay. Y/N, youâre brilliant. Your family should be shouting it from the rooftops.â
Tears prick at your eyes, and you blink them back hastily. âThanks, Max. That ... that means a lot.â
He reaches out, hesitating for a moment before placing his hand over yours. âI mean it. And for what itâs worth, I think what youâre doing is incredible.â
You look up, meeting his gaze. Thereâs a warmth there, an understanding that makes your heart skip a beat. Without really thinking about it, you shift closer to him.
Max seems to take this as an invitation, because he moves closer too. Soon, youâre sitting side by side, your shoulders touching.
âSo,â you say, trying to lighten the mood. âWhat about you? Any secret passions outside of racing?â
Max chuckles. âNothing as impressive as astrophysics, Iâm afraid. But I do enjoy sim racing in my spare time.â
You raise an eyebrow. âIsnât that just more racing?â
âHey, itâs completely different,â Max protests with a grin. âIn sim racing, I can drive any car on any track. Even ones that donât exist in real life.â
âOkay, okay,â you concede, laughing. âTell me more about it.â
As Max launches into an explanation of his favorite sim racing setups, you find yourself relaxing more and more. The conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter and playful debates.
Without really noticing, you both shift positions throughout the night. Max leans back against the headboard, and you mirror him. Your shoulders are pressed together, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.
â... and thatâs why I think pineapple absolutely belongs on pizza,â Max finishes, looking at you expectantly.
You shake your head, grinning. âI canât believe Iâm hearing this from a world champion. Your taste buds clearly canât be trusted.â
âOh, come on,â Max laughs, nudging your shoulder with his. âDonât knock it till youâve tried it.â
âI have tried it,â you insist. âItâs an abomination.â
Max clutches his chest in mock offense. âYou wound me, Y/N. And here I thought we were becoming friends.â
The word âfriendsâ sends an odd pang through your chest. Is that what this is? It feels like more, somehow.
As if reading your thoughts, Maxâs expression softens. He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is so gentle, so intimate, that it takes your breath away.
âY/N,â he says softly. âIâm really glad youâre here.â
You swallow hard, your heart racing. âMe too,â you whisper.
Thereâs a moment of charged silence, and then Max is leaning in. You meet him halfway, your lips meeting in a soft, tentative kiss.
Itâs brief, just a fleeting press of lips, but it sends sparks shooting through your entire body. When you pull back, Max is looking at you with a mixture of wonder and uncertainty.
âWas that okay?â He asks, his voice husky.
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Instead, you lean in again, capturing his lips in another kiss. This one is deeper, more assured. Maxâs hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you melt into his touch.
When you finally break apart, youâre both slightly breathless. Max rests his forehead against yours, a smile playing at his lips.
âIâve wanted to do that all night,â he admits.
You laugh softly. âEven when I was insulting your pizza preferences?â
âEspecially then,â Max grins. âYouâre cute when youâre indignant.â
You swat at his arm playfully, but you canât keep the smile off your face. For the first time all day, you feel truly happy.
As the night wears on, you and Max continue to talk, trading stories and stealing kisses. Gradually, your positions shift again. Max lies down, and you curl up against his side, your head resting on his chest. His arm wraps around you, holding you close.
âY/N?â Max says softly, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm.
âHmm?â you mumble, feeling drowsy and content.
âHappy birthday,â he says. âI know it didnât start out great, but I hope it got better.â
You tilt your head up to look at him, a warm smile spreading across your face. âIt did,â you assure him. âThanks to you.â
Max kisses your forehead gently. âGet some sleep,â he murmurs. âWe can figure everything else out in the morning.â
As you drift off to sleep, wrapped in Maxâs arms, you canât help but think that maybe, just maybe, this birthday wasnât so bad after all. In fact, it might just be the start of something wonderful.
***
The early morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You stir slowly, awareness creeping in as you feel a strong arm wrapped around your waist. For a moment, confusion sets in before the events of the previous night come rushing back.
Youâre in Max Verstappenâs bed. And Max Verstappen is currently spooning you.
A smile tugs at your lips as you nestle back into his warmth, not quite ready to face the day. But fate, it seems, has other plans.
A sharp knock at the door jolts both of you awake. Max groans, burying his face in your hair.
âRoom service?â You mumble, still half-asleep.
Max shakes his head, his voice gravelly with sleep. âDidnât order any.â
The knock comes again, more insistent this time. With a sigh, Max untangles himself from you and slides out of bed.
âIâll get it,â he says, running a hand through his disheveled hair. âYou stay here.â
You nod, pulling the covers up to your chin and watching as Max pads to the door in his t-shirt and sweatpants. He opens it a crack, peering out.
âCan I help you?â He asks, confusion evident in his tone.
Thereâs a muffled response, and then Max is stepping back, opening the door wider. A hotel staff member enters, carrying an enormous bouquet of red roses.
âDelivery for Y/N Leclerc,â the staff member announces, looking around the room.
You sit up in bed, eyes wide. âThatâs ... thatâs me.â
The staff member nods, moving to set the bouquet on a nearby table. âSign here, please,â he says, holding out a clipboard.
Still bewildered, you climb out of bed and make your way over, scrawling your signature on the form. The staff member thanks you and exits, leaving you and Max staring at the ostentatious display of flowers.
âWell,â Max says after a moment, âI guess your brother remembered after all.â
You let out a rueful laugh, shaking your head. âYeah, I guess he did.â
Max frowns, noting the lack of enthusiasm in your voice. âArenât you happy about it?â
You sigh, reaching out to touch one of the velvety petals. âItâs just ... Iâve told Charles a hundred times that I donât like roses. Theyâre not my favorite flower. But every time he needs to apologize or wants to do something nice, itâs always roses.â
âOh,â Max says softly, understanding dawning on his face. âSo itâs less about you and more about what he thinks you should like.â
You nod, a lump forming in your throat. âExactly. Itâs like he doesnât really listen, you know? He just does what he thinks is right without considering what I actually want.â
Max moves closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against his side. âThat must be frustrating,â he says gently.
You lean into him, grateful for the support. âIt is. And I know I should be grateful. Itâs a beautiful bouquet, and heâs trying. But ...â
âBut itâs not what you want,â Max finishes for you. âAnd that matters.â
You look up at him, surprised by how well he understands. âYeah, exactly.â
Max turns to face you fully, his blue eyes serious. âY/N, listen to me. Itâs okay to be upset about this. Itâs okay to want your family to actually listen to you and consider your feelings.â
You bite your lip, tears threatening to spill over. âBut theyâre trying now. Shouldnât I just forgive them and move on?â
Max shakes his head firmly. âNo. You donât have to forgive them right away just because they made a grand gesture. Itâs okay to make them work for your forgiveness.â
âReally?â You ask, your voice small.
âReally,â Max assures you. âThey hurt you, Y/N. They forgot your birthday and made you feel invisible. One bouquet of flowers â flowers you donât even like â doesnât erase that.â
You nod slowly, processing his words. âSo what do I do?â
Max runs a hand through his hair, thinking. âWell, what do you want to do? How do you feel?â
You take a deep breath, considering. âHonestly? Iâm not ready to see them yet. I know Iâll have to face them eventually, but right now ... I just canât.â
âThen donât,â Max says simply. âTake the time you need. They can wait.â
A weight lifts off your shoulders at his words. âYou donât think thatâs selfish?â
Max cups your face in his hands, his gaze intense. âItâs not selfish to prioritize your own feelings and well-being. You matter, Y/N. Your feelings matter.â
Tears spill over then, and Max pulls you into a tight embrace. You bury your face in his chest, letting out all the hurt and frustration youâve been holding in.
âShh,â Max soothes, rubbing your back. âItâs okay. Let it out.â
After a few minutes, your sobs subside. You pull back slightly, wiping at your eyes. âSorry,â you mumble. âI got your shirt all wet.â
Max chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. âI think Iâll survive. Feel better?â
You nod, offering him a watery smile. âYeah, actually. Thanks.â
âAnytime,â Max says softly. Then, a mischievous glint enters his eye. âSo, what should we do with the roses? I vote we throw them off the balcony and watch them scatter in the wind.â
You laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep in your chest. âAs tempting as that is, I donât think hotel management would appreciate it.â
Max shrugs, grinning. âTheir loss. We could always donate them to a hospital or something. Brighten someone elseâs day.â
âThatâs ... actually a really good idea,â you say, impressed. âWe could do that.â
Max beams, clearly pleased with himself. âSee? Iâm not just a pretty face and fast driver.â
You roll your eyes fondly, but canât suppress your smile. âCareful, Verstappen. Your egoâs showing.â
âYou love it,â he teases, pulling you close again.
As you stand there in his arms, surrounded by the cloying scent of roses you donât even like, youâre struck by how safe you feel. How understood.
âMax?â You say softly.
âHmm?â
You pull back slightly to meet his gaze. âThank you. For everything. For making my birthday special, for listening to me, for ... just being here.â
Maxâs expression softens, a tender smile playing at his lips. âYou donât have to thank me for that. I ... I care about you, Y/N. A lot.â
Your heart skips a beat at his words. âI care about you too,â you admit.
For a moment, you just stare at each other, the air charged with unspoken emotions. Then, slowly, Max leans in. His lips meet yours in a soft, sweet kiss that makes your toes curl.
When you break apart, youâre both slightly breathless. Max rests his forehead against yours, his thumb tracing circles on your cheek.
âSo,â he says, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. âWhat happens now?â
You take a deep breath, considering. âHonestly? Iâm not sure. This is all happening so fast, and with everything going on with my family ...â
Max nods, understanding in his eyes. âWe can take it slow,â he assures you. âThereâs no rush.â
Relief washes over you. âThank you,â you say softly. âI do want this â us. I just need some time to figure everything out.â
âWeâve got all the time in the world,â Max says, pressing a gentle kiss to your nose. âFor now, how about we get some breakfast? Iâm starving.â
You laugh, grateful for the shift in mood. âBreakfast sounds perfect. But maybe we should change first? Iâm not sure I want to face the paparazzi in yesterdayâs clothes.â
Max grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. âI donât know, I think you look pretty good in my t-shirt.â
You glance down, realizing for the first time that youâre indeed wearing one of Maxâs shirts. A blush creeps up your cheeks. âWhen did that happen?â
âYou got cold in the middle of the night,â Max explains, looking far too pleased with himself. âI offered you my shirt. You were very insistent that it was the most comfortable thing youâd ever worn.â
You groan, burying your face in your hands. âOh god. Please tell me I didnât say anything else embarrassing.â
Max laughs, gently prying your hands away from your face. âNothing too bad. Though you did mention something about my waist being âunfairly perfectâ. Your words, not mine.â
âKill me now,â you mutter, but you canât help the smile tugging at your lips.
Max pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your temple. âNever. Iâm rather fond of you, embarrassing sleep talk and all.â
As you stand there in Maxâs arms, the morning sun warming your skin and the scent of roses filling the air, you canât help but feel a sense of hope. Yes, thereâs still a lot to figure out â with your family, with Max, with your future. But for the first time in a long time, you feel like youâre exactly where youâre supposed to be.
And that, you think, is the best birthday gift of all.
***
The private terminal of Milan Malpensa Airport buzzes with activity as the Leclerc family waits to board their chartered jet. Charles paces back and forth, his phone clutched tightly in his hand, eyes darting to the entrance every few seconds.
âCharles, honey, please sit down,â his mother, Pascale, says gently. âYouâre making me nervous.â
Charles shakes his head, running a hand through his hair for what must be the hundredth time. âI canât, Maman. Where is she? She should be here by now.â
Lorenzo exchanges a worried glance with Arthur. âMaybe she got held up in traffic?â He suggests, though his tone lacks conviction.
âFor three hours?â Charles snaps, immediately regretting his harsh tone. âSorry, I just ... Iâm worried.â
Arthur stands up, placing a comforting hand on Charlesâ shoulder. âWe all are. But Y/Nâs an adult. She can take care of herself.â
Charles lets out a frustrated sigh. âI know that. But after yesterday ... we really messed up.â
âWe did,â Pascale agrees softly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. âBut weâll make it right. We just need to talk to her.â
âIf she ever shows up,â Charles mutters, resuming his pacing.
The minutes tick by agonizingly slow. Charles alternates between checking his phone and staring out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of you arriving. But the parking lot remains stubbornly devoid of your presence.
Finally, a staff member approaches the family. âMr. Leclerc? The jet is ready for boarding. We need to depart soon to maintain our flight slot.â
Charles feels panic rising in his chest. âNo, we canât leave yet. My sister isnât here.â
The staff member looks uncomfortable. âI understand, sir, but we have a schedule to keep. Perhaps your sister could take a commercial flight?â
âAbsolutely not,â Charles says firmly. âWeâre not leaving without her.â
Lorenzo steps in, ever the diplomat. âIs there any way we could delay for just a bit longer? Itâs really important that we wait for our sister.â
The staff member hesitates, then nods. âIâll see what I can do. But please understand, we canât hold the slot indefinitely.â
As the employee walks away, Charles resumes his pacing with renewed vigor.
âThis isnât like her,â he mutters. âShe wouldnât just disappear without telling us.â
Arthur bites his lip, looking guilty. âMaybe ... maybe sheâs still upset about yesterday?â
Charles stops in his tracks, turning to face his younger brother. âWhat do you mean?â
Arthur shifts uncomfortably. âWell, we did forget her birthday. And then when we remembered, we didnât exactly handle it well. Those roses you sent? Y/N hates roses.â
Charles feels like heâs been punched in the gut. âShe ... what? No, she loves roses. I always get her roses.â
âBecause you always get her roses,â Lorenzo chimes in, realization dawning on his face. âNot because she actually likes them.â
Charles slumps into a nearby chair, head in his hands. âHow did I not know that? What kind of brother am I?â
Pascale moves to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. âWeâve all made mistakes. But we can fix this. We just need to talk to her.â
âIf sheâll even talk to us,â Charles mumbles.
Just then, his phone buzzes. Charles nearly drops it in his haste to check the notification, hope flaring in his chest. But itâs not from you.
âItâs Max,â he says, frowning in confusion.
âVerstappen?â Arthur asks, leaning over to peek at the screen. âWhat does he want?â
Charles opens the message, his eyes widening as he reads it aloud:
âY/N is with me. Sheâs safe and weâre flying back to Monaco together. She needs some space right now. Give her time.â
The silence that follows is deafening. Charles reads and rereads the message, trying to process what it means.
âSheâs with Max?â Lorenzo finally says, breaking the silence. âSince when are they even friends?â
Charles shakes his head, still staring at his phone. âI donât know. I ... I saw him last night. He knew where she was, but I thought it was just a spontaneous thing.â
âWell, at least we know sheâs safe,â Pascale says, always trying to find the silver lining. âThatâs the most important thing.â
But Charles canât shake the feeling of unease settling in his stomach. âWhy didnât she come to us? Why Max, of all people?â
Arthur places a hand on Charlesâ shoulder. âMaybe because he was there when we werenât,â he says softly.
The words hit Charles like a physical blow. He knows Arthur is right, but it doesnât make it any easier to hear.
âSo what do we do now?â Lorenzo asks, looking around at his family.
Charles takes a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him. âWe do what Max said. We give her time.â
âBut for how long?â Pascale asks, worry evident in her voice. âSheâs our little girl. We canât just leave her alone.â
âSheâs not alone, Maman,â Charles says, surprised by the steadiness in his voice. âSheâs with Max. And as much as it pains me to admit it, I think ... I think she might be better off with him right now.â
The family falls silent again, each lost in their own thoughts. The weight of their collective mistake hangs heavy in the air.
Finally, Charles stands up, squaring his shoulders. âWe should board the jet. Thereâs nothing more we can do here.â
As they gather their belongings and make their way to the plane, Charles canât help but replay Maxâs message in his head. Youâre with Max. Youâre safe. You need space.
He tries to imagine you and Max together, and finds that he canât. What could have happened in the span of one day to bring you two together? And more importantly, what had driven you away from your own family?
As he settles into his seat on the jet, Charles makes a silent promise to himself and to you. Heâll give you the space you need, but he wonât give up. Heâll find a way to make things right, to be the brother you deserve.
The jet takes off, carrying the Leclerc family back to Monaco. But for Charles, it feels like theyâre leaving a piece of themselves behind in Milan. A piece that, he fears, might be harder to reclaim than he ever imagined.
Meanwhile, across the airport, you and Max are boarding his private jet. The contrast between the two scenes couldnât be more stark.
âYou okay?â Max asks softly as you settle into your seat.
You nod, offering him a small smile. âYeah, I think so. Thanks for ... well, everything.â
Max reaches over, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. âAnytime. You know that.â
As the jet prepares for takeoff, you canât help but think about your family. Are they worried? Angry? Do they even care?
âMax?â You say, your voice barely above a whisper.
âHmm?â
You turn to look at him, vulnerability shining in your eyes. âDid I do the right thing? Leaving without talking to them?â
Max considers your question carefully before answering. âI think you did what you needed to do for yourself. And thatâs never wrong.â
His words settle over you like a warm blanket, easing some of the tension in your shoulders.
âThank you,â you murmur. âFor understanding. For not pushing me to do what everyone else thinks I should do.â
Max smiles, a soft, genuine expression that makes your heart flutter. âThatâs what ... friends are for, right?â
Thereâs a hesitation in his voice, a question in his eyes that makes you wonder if âfriendsâ is really the right word for whatâs developing between you.
As the jet takes off, carrying you away from Milan and the chaos of the past day, you find yourself feeling something you havenât felt in a long time: hope. Hope for a future where youâre seen, heard, and valued for who you are.
And as you glance at Max, his profile illuminated by the setting sun streaming through the window, you canât help but wonder if he might be a bigger part of that future than you ever imagined.
The jet climbs higher, leaving the ground and all its complications behind. For now, at least, youâre free. Free to breathe, to think, to feel without the weight of expectations pressing down on you.
You close your eyes, letting out a long breath. Whatever comes next, you know one thing for certain: things will never be the same again. And maybe, just maybe, thatâs exactly what you need.
***
The sun is setting over Monaco, shining warmly through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Maxâs penthouse apartment. Youâre curled up on the plush sofa, a book in your lap, trying to lose yourself in the pages. But your mind keeps wandering, replaying the events of the past couple of days.
Max emerges from the kitchen, two steaming mugs in hand. âThought you might need this,â he says, offering you one.
You smile gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma of hot chocolate. âThanks. You didnât have to.â
He shrugs, settling down beside you. âI wanted to. Howâre you holding up?â
Youâre about to answer when the doorbell rings. Max frowns, glancing at his watch. âIâm not expecting anyone. Are you?â
You shake your head, a knot of anxiety forming in your stomach. Could it be your family? Are they here to confront you?
Max squeezes your hand reassuringly before getting up to answer the door. You hear muffled voices, then the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor.
âUm, Y/N?â Max calls. âI think you might want to see this.â
Curiosity overcoming your apprehension, you make your way to the foyer. Your jaw drops at the sight that greets you.
The entire space is filled with bags. Not just any bags, but the kind that comes from the most exclusive boutiques in Monaco. Gucci, Prada, Louis Vuitton, Chanel â the logos stare back at you from every direction.
âWhat ... what is all this?â You stammer, looking to Max for explanation.
He hands you a small envelope. âThis came with it. Itâs addressed to you.â
With trembling fingers, you open the envelope and unfold the note inside. Youâd recognize that handwriting anywhere.
Y/N,
I know I messed up. We all did. Iâm so sorry for forgetting your birthday and for not being the brother you deserve. I hope these gifts can begin to make up for it. Please come home. We miss you.
Love,
Charles
You read the note twice, then a third time, disbelief turning to anger with each pass.
âHeâs got to be kidding,â you mutter, crumpling the paper in your fist.
Max steps closer, concern etched on his face. âWhat is it? Whatâs wrong?â
You let out a bitter laugh. âThis,â you say, gesturing at the sea of designer bags, âis my brotherâs idea of an apology. He thinks he can just ... buy me back with expensive gifts.â
Understanding dawns on Maxâs face. âAh. And Iâm guessing thatâs not going to work?â
âNot even close,â you say, shaking your head. âGod, itâs like he doesnât know me at all. Iâm not one of his girlfriends who can be placated with a shopping spree.â
Max winces. âOuch. Has he done this before?â
You nod, sinking down onto the nearest clear spot on the floor. âEvery time he messes up with a girl, itâs the same routine. Flowers, jewelry, designer clothes. And it usually works, because the girls he dates ... well, they tend to be into that kind of thing.â
Max sits down beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. âBut youâre not.â
âNo,â you confirm. âI mean, donât get me wrong, I appreciate nice things. But thatâs not what this is about. Itâs about him actually listening to me, actually seeing me as a person and not just ... his kid sister who can be bought off.â
Max is quiet for a moment, then says softly, âYou know, itâs okay to be angry about this. You donât have to pretend it doesnât hurt.â
His words break something open inside you. Tears well up in your eyes, spilling over before you can stop them. âI just ... I thought he knew me better than this. I thought they all did.â
Max wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You lean into him, letting the tears fall freely now.
âItâs like they donât even see me,â you choke out between sobs. âThey see this idea of who they think I should be, but not ... not who I actually am.â
Max rubs soothing circles on your back, letting you cry it out. When your sobs finally subside, he hands you a tissue.
âFeel better?â He asks gently.
You nod, wiping your eyes. âA little. Sorry for breaking down on you like that.â
Max shakes his head firmly. âDonât apologize. Thatâs what Iâm here for.â
You offer him a watery smile, then turn back to survey the mountain of bags. âSo ... what do I do with all this?â
Max considers for a moment. âWell, what do you want to do?â
You bite your lip, thinking. âHonestly? I want to send it all back. Show him that he canât just throw money at the problem and expect it to go away.â
Max nods approvingly. âI think thatâs a great idea. It sends a clear message.â
âYou donât think itâs too harsh?â You ask, a hint of uncertainty creeping into your voice.
âNot at all,â Max assures you. âYouâre standing up for yourself, setting boundaries. Thatâs important.â
Emboldened by his support, you start rifling through the bags, curiosity getting the better of you. âI wonder what he even bought ... oh.â
You pull out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate tennis bracelet. The diamonds catch the light, sparkling brilliantly.
âWow,â Max breathes, leaning in for a closer look. âThatâs ... thatâs something.â
You nod, mesmerized by the way the bracelet shimmers. âItâs beautiful,â you admit softly.
Max watches you carefully. âYou like it,â he observes.
You sigh, closing the box with a snap. âIt doesnât matter. Itâs going back with everything else.â
âWhy?â Max asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. âIf you like it, why not keep it?â
You look at him, surprised. âBut ... I thought you said sending it all back was a good idea?â
Max shrugs. âIt is. But that doesnât mean you canât keep one thing if it genuinely makes you happy. Youâre allowed to like nice things, Y/N. That doesnât invalidate your feelings about the situation.â
You turn the box over in your hands, considering. âI donât know ... wouldnât keeping anything send the wrong message?â
âI think,â Max says slowly, âthat the message you send depends more on what you say than what you keep or donât keep. If you like the bracelet, keep it. But make sure Charles understands that a pretty piece of jewelry doesnât fix the underlying issues.â
You nod, his words resonating with you. âYouâre right. Iâll keep the bracelet ... but everything else goes back.â
As you start sorting through the bags, separating out what will be returned, you canât help but laugh.
âWhatâs so funny?â Max asks, a smile tugging at his lips.
You hold up the bracelet box. âI was just thinking ... it would be a shame to let something this pretty go to waste, right?â
Max chuckles, shaking his head. âAbsolutely. Itâs practically your duty to keep it. For the sake of the bracelet, of course.â
âOf course,â you agree, giggling. âIâm being completely selfless here.â
As you continue to sort through the gifts, occasionally showing Max particularly outrageous items (âA fur coat? In Monaco?â), you feel a weight lifting from your shoulders. For the first time since this whole ordeal began, you feel like youâre taking control of the situation.
âYou know,â you say, folding a designer dress back into its bag, âI think I need to have a real conversation with Charles. With all of them, really.â
Max nods encouragingly. âI think thatâs a great idea. What do you want to say?â
You take a deep breath, organizing your thoughts. âI want them to understand that Iâm my own person, with my own dreams and desires. That I need them to see me, really see me, not just as Charles Leclercâs little sister or as an extension of the family name.â
âThat sounds perfect,â Max says softly. âYou deserve to be seen for who you are.â
You smile at him, a rush of warmth flooding your chest. âThank you. For everything. I donât know how I would have gotten through this without you.â
Max reaches out, taking your hand in his. âYouâre stronger than you give yourself credit for. But Iâm glad I could help.â
As you sit there, surrounded by discarded luxury goods, your hand in Maxâs, you feel a sense of peace settling over you. You know the road ahead wonât be easy â confronting your family, establishing new boundaries, figuring out exactly where you stand with Max â but for the first time in a long time, you feel ready to face it all.
You slip on the tennis bracelet, admiring the way it catches the light. Itâs beautiful, yes, but itâs also a reminder. A reminder that youâre worth more than grand gestures and expensive gifts. Youâre worth being truly seen, truly heard, truly understood.
And as you look at Max, his blue eyes warm with understanding and something that might be more, you think that maybe, just maybe, youâve found someone who sees you for exactly who you are.
***
The afternoon sun beats down on the streets of Monaco as Charles leans against his Ferrari, fidgeting nervously. Heâs parked across from the International University of Monaco, his eyes fixed on the entrance. Students stream in and out, but none of them are the one heâs looking for.
He checks his watch for what must be the hundredth time. Your last class should be ending any minute now. Charles takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. Heâs rehearsed what he wants to say a thousand times, but now that the moment is approaching, all his carefully prepared words seem to evaporate.
A group of students emerges from the building, laughing and chatting. Charles straightens up, his eyes scanning the crowd. And then he sees you.
Youâre walking with a couple of friends, your bag slung over your shoulder, a smile on your face. For a moment, Charles is struck by how ... normal you look. How at ease. Itâs a stark contrast to the tense family dinners and stilted conversations of recent months.
Before he can second-guess himself, Charles pushes off from his car and starts walking towards you. He sees the exact moment you spot him â your smile falters, your steps slow.
âY/N!â He calls out, waving awkwardly.
Your friends notice him too, their eyes widening in recognition. You say something to them that Charles canât hear, and they nod, casting curious glances between you and your brother as they walk away.
Charles reaches you, stopping a few feet away, suddenly unsure of himself. âHey,â he says softly.
âCharles,â you reply, your voice carefully neutral. âWhat are you doing here?â
He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit heâs never been able to shake. âI ... I wanted to talk to you. In person. You havenât been answering my calls or texts, and I just ... I needed to see you.â
You sigh, adjusting the strap of your bag. âIâve been busy with classes. And I needed some space.â
âI know,â Charles says quickly. âI know, and Iâm sorry for ambushing you like this. I just ... can we talk? Please?â
You glance around, noticing the curious stares from passing students. âNot here,â you say finally. âThereâs a cafĂŠ around the corner. We can talk there.â
Charles nods eagerly, relief washing over him. âYes, of course. Whatever you want.â
You lead the way to the cafĂŠ, a small, cozy place tucked away from the main streets. As you settle into a booth in the back, Charles canât help but wonder how often you come here, how many parts of your life he knows nothing about.
A waitress approaches, and you order your usual â an iced latte with an extra shot. Charles fumbles with the menu before ordering a simple espresso.
An awkward silence falls over the table as you wait for your drinks. Charles fidgets with a napkin, trying to find the right words to begin.
âSo,â you say finally, your tone clipped. âYou wanted to talk. Talk.â
Charles takes a deep breath. âIâm sorry,â he blurts out. âIâm so, so sorry, Y/N. For forgetting your birthday, for not being there for you, for ... for everything.â
You raise an eyebrow, your expression unreadable. âIs that it?â
Charles blinks, thrown off balance. âI ... what do you mean?â
âI mean,â you say, leaning forward slightly, âis that all you have to say? Youâre sorry?â
Charles feels a flash of frustration. âWhat else do you want me to say? I messed up, I know that. Iâm trying to make it right.â
The waitress returns with your drinks, and you take a long sip of your latte before responding. âCharles, this isnât just about my birthday. This is about years of feeling invisible, of being overshadowed, of not being seen for who I am.â
Charles feels like heâs been punched in the gut. âWhat? Y/N, I ... I had no idea you felt that way.â
You let out a bitter laugh. âThatâs kind of the point, Charles. You didnât know because you never asked. None of you did.â
Charles sits back, his mind reeling. âI ... I donât understand. Weâve always been close. At least, I thought we were.â
âWe were,â you agree softly. âWhen we were kids. But as you got more and more successful, it was like ... like I faded into the background. Everything became about you, about your career.â
Charles feels tears pricking at his eyes. âY/N, I never meant for that to happen. I love you. Youâre my little sister.â
âI know you love me,â you say, your voice gentler now. âBut loving someone and seeing them are two different things.â
Charles nods slowly, realization dawning. âThe gifts,â he says. âThatâs why you sent them back. Because I was trying to fix things without actually understanding what was wrong.â
âExactly,â you confirm. âCharles, I donât need expensive clothes or jewelry. I need my brother. The one who used to listen to me ramble about constellations for hours, whoâd sneak me extra dessert when Maman wasnât looking.â
Charles reaches across the table, hesitating for a moment before taking your hand. To his relief, you donât pull away. âI want to be that brother again,â he says earnestly. âTell me how. Please.â
You take a deep breath, considering. âWell, for starters, you could ask me about my life. My studies, my friends, my dreams. And actually listen to the answers.â
Charles nods eagerly. âYes, of course. Tell me everything. What are you studying? How are your classes going?â
A small smile tugs at your lips. âIâm majoring in Astrophysics, remember? This semester Iâm taking a course on Stellar Evolution thatâs absolutely fascinating. Weâre learning about the life cycles of stars, from their formation to their eventual death.â
As you continue talking, passion lighting up your eyes, Charles feels a mix of pride and shame wash over him. Pride in your intelligence and enthusiasm, shame that heâs missed out on so much of your life.
âThat sounds incredible,â he says when you pause for breath. âI had no idea you were studying something so complex. You must be really good at it.â
You shrug, a hint of your old shyness creeping in. âI do okay. Itâs challenging, but I love it.â
âIâm sure you do more than okay,â Charles insists. âYouâve always been the smartest one in the family.â
You laugh softly. âI donât know about that. But ... thanks, Charles. It means a lot to hear you say that.â
Charles squeezes your hand. âI mean it. And I want to hear more. About your classes, your friends, everything. Iâve missed so much, and I want to make up for it.â
You nod, a cautious hope in your eyes. âIâd like that. But Charles, it canât just be today. This has to be a continuous thing. I need to know that youâre genuinely interested in my life, not just when youâre trying to make amends.â
âAbsolutely,â Charles agrees immediately. âWhat if we set up a regular call? Once a week, we can catch up properly. No distractions, no racing talk unless you want to. Just us.â
A genuine smile spreads across your face. âIâd really like that.â
Charles feels a weight lifting from his shoulders. Itâs not fixed, not completely, but itâs a start. âThereâs something else,â he says, suddenly remembering. âMax ... are you and Max ...â
You blush slightly, looking down at your latte. âWeâre ... figuring things out. Heâs been really supportive through all of this.â
Charles nods, pushing down the instinctive surge of protectiveness. âHeâs a good guy. If he makes you happy, then Iâm happy for you.â
You look up, surprise evident in your eyes. âReally? Youâre not going to go all overprotective big brother on me?â
Charles chuckles. âOh, Iâm sure Iâll have my moments. But Y/N, youâre an adult. You can make your own choices. I trust you.â
Tears well up in your eyes. âThank you. That ... that means more than you know.â
As you both finish your drinks, the conversation flows more easily. Charles asks about your friends, your hobbies outside of studying. You tell him about the astronomy club youâve joined, the research project youâre hoping to get involved with next semester.
When itâs time to leave, Charles stands up, hesitating for a moment before opening his arms. âCan I ...â
You nod, stepping into his embrace. Charles holds you tight, realizing how long itâs been since heâs really hugged you like this.
âI love you, little sister,â he murmurs into your hair. âAnd I promise, Iâm going to do better.â
You squeeze him back. âI love you too, big brother. And ... Iâm willing to give you the chance to prove it.â
As you part ways outside the cafĂŠ, Charles heading back to his car and you towards your apartment, thereâs a lightness in the air that wasnât there before. Itâs not perfect, not yet. There are still conversations to be had, bridges to be rebuilt. But for the first time in a long time, thereâs hope.
Charles watches you walk away, a mix of emotions swirling in his chest. Pride in the amazing person youâve become, regret for the time heâs missed, determination to be the brother you deserve.
He pulls out his phone, creating a new reminder: Call Y/N â every Sunday, 7 PM.
Itâs a small step, but itâs a start. And as he drives home, Charles finds himself looking forward to getting to know his little sister all over again.
***
The auditorium of the International University of Monaco buzzes with excitement as proud families and friends gather to celebrate the graduating class. In the front row, an unusually high-profile group draws curious glances and whispered conversations.
Charles fidgets in his seat, craning his neck to scan the sea of graduates. âDo you see her?â He asks, nudging his older brother.
Lorenzo chuckles, placing a calming hand on Charlesâ shoulder. âRelax. Sheâll be here. Alphabetical order, remember?â
On Charlesâ other side, Arthur rolls his eyes fondly. âYouâd think he was the one graduating, the way heâs acting.â
âCan you blame him?â Max chimes in from the end of the row, a warm smile on his face. âItâs a big day.â
Pascale, seated between Lorenzo and Arthur, dabs at her eyes with a tissue. âMy baby girl, graduating university. I can hardly believe it.â
Max reaches across to pat her hand. âSheâs amazing, Pascale. You should be very proud.â
Charles turns to Max, a mischievous glint in his eye. âLook at you, all calm and collected. I remember when you were a nervous wreck asking her out for the first time.â
Max blushes slightly, but grins. âHey, your sister is intimidating. All that brainpower.â
âShh!â Arthur hisses suddenly. âI think itâs starting!â
The auditorium falls silent as the ceremony begins. The family watches with rapt attention as the graduates file in, searching for that familiar face among the sea of caps and gowns.
And then, there you are. Your eyes scan the crowd until they land on your family, a bright smile spreading across your face as you wave discreetly.
âThere she is!â Charles whisper-shouts, practically bouncing in his seat.
Lorenzo chuckles. âWe see her. Try to contain yourself, yeah?â
The ceremony progresses, with speeches from the valedictorian and various dignitaries. Charles fidgets impatiently, earning amused glances from his family and Max.
Finally, the moment arrives. âY/N Leclerc,â the announcer calls.
Charles jumps to his feet, letting out a whoop that echoes through the auditorium. âThatâs my sister!â He shouts, drawing startled looks from nearby attendees.
Lorenzo and Arthur quickly join in, their cheers mixing with Charlesâ. Max and Pascale stand too, clapping enthusiastically.
You walk across the stage, accepting your diploma with a graceful nod. As you turn to face the audience, your eyes lock with your familyâs, and your composed expression breaks into a radiant smile.
Charles, caught up in the moment, continues cheering even after youâve left the stage. âThatâs right! Astrophysicist in the house! Watch out, universe!â
Max, noticing the irritated glances from other families, reaches over and claps a hand over Charlesâ mouth. âOkay, Charlie, I think she heard you,â he says, laughter in his voice.
Max feels something wet against his palm and jerks his hand away.
âUgh, gross!â Max yelps, wiping it on his pants. âWhat are you, five?â
Charles grins unrepentantly. âYou started it.â
Pascale sighs, shaking her head. âBoys, please. This is Y/Nâs big day. Try to act like adults.â
âSorry, Maman,â Charles mumbles, properly chastised.
As the ceremony concludes, the family makes their way outside, eagerly scanning the crowd for you.
âThere!â Arthur calls out, pointing.
Youâre making your way towards them, diploma in hand, your face glowing with happiness. Max reaches you first, sweeping you into a tight hug.
âCongratulations, liefje,â he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. âIâm so proud of you.â
You beam up at him, about to respond when Charles practically tackles you both.
âMy sister, the genius!â He crows, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. âI always knew youâd take over the world someday.â
You laugh, hugging him back just as fiercely. âPut me down, you goof! Youâre making a scene.â
âLet him have his moment,â Lorenzo says, stepping in for his own hug once Charles releases you. âItâs not every day your little sister graduates top of her class in Astrophysics.â
Arthurâs turn comes next, his hug gentler but no less heartfelt. âCongrats. Youâve officially made the rest of us look like underachievers.â
Finally, you turn to your mother, whoâs openly crying now. âOh, my darling,â she says, cupping your face in her hands. âIâm so, so proud of you.â
You feel tears welling up in your own eyes as you embrace her. âThanks, Maman. For everything.â
As you pull back, wiping at your eyes, Charles slings an arm around your shoulders. âSo, whatâs next? Going to discover a new planet? Name a star after your favorite man?â
You roll your eyes fondly. âFirst of all, I still have to get through graduate school. And second, bold of you to assume youâre my favorite.â
âOuch,â Charles clutches his chest in mock pain. âAfter all weâve been through?â
Max chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist. âFace it, Leclerc. Iâve got you beat in the favorite department.â
Charles narrows his eyes playfully. âIs that a challenge, Verstappen?â
âBoys, boys,â you interject, laughing. âThereâs plenty of me to go around. Now, how about we get out of here? Iâm starving, and I believe someone promised me a celebration dinner.â
âAh, yes!â Pascale says, clapping her hands together. âIâve made reservations at La Maree. Your favorite, chĂŠrie.â
As the family starts to move towards the parking lot, Max hangs back, tugging gently on your hand. âHold on a sec,â he says softly. âI want to give you something.â
Curious, you turn to face him. Max reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box.
Your eyes widen. âMax ...â
He opens the box, revealing a delicate necklace. A small white gold star pendant hangs from the chain, a tiny diamond twinkling at its center.
âI know itâs not much compared to your usual study subjects,â Max says, a hint of nervousness in his voice. âBut I thought ... well, youâre my star, Y/N. My brilliant, beautiful star.â
Tears well up in your eyes again as Max fastens the necklace around your neck. âItâs perfect,â you whisper. âI love it. I love you.â
Maxâs face breaks into a radiant smile. âI love you too,â he says, before leaning in to capture your lips in a tender kiss.
You melt into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands settle on your waist. For a moment, the world fades away, and itâs just the two of you.
The spell is broken by an exaggerated gagging sound. You break apart to see Charles pretending to retch, while Lorenzo and Arthur laugh.
You break apart, laughing. âReal mature, Charles,â you call back.
Charles grins, unrepentant. âHey, someoneâs got to keep an eye on you crazy kids.â
Max rolls his eyes good-naturedly. âYour brother, the chaperone,â he mutters.
You giggle, taking Maxâs hand as you rejoin your family. âDonât worry,â you whisper conspiratorially. âWeâll ditch him at the restaurant.â
As you all pile into the waiting cars, the air buzzing with excitement and plans for the evening, you canât help but feel overwhelmed with happiness. A year ago, you never would have imagined this scene â your family truly seeing and celebrating you, a wonderful man by your side who loves and supports you, and a bright future ahead in a field youâre passionate about.
The cars pull away from the university, carrying you towards your celebration dinner. As you watch the familiar streets of Monaco roll by, you find yourself filled with an incredible sense of anticipation. This isnât just the end of your university journey â itâs the beginning of something new and exciting.
You glance around the car â at Charles and Arthur bickering good-naturedly in the back seat, at your mother chatting happily with Lorenzo whoâs driving, and finally at Max beside you, his hand warm in yours. Your family, in all its chaotic, loving glory.
âHey,â Max says softly, noticing your pensive expression. âYou okay?â
You smile, squeezing his hand. âMore than okay. Iâm perfect.â
And as the car winds its way through the streets of Monaco, towards a future bright with possibility, you know that itâs true. Youâre exactly where youâre meant to be, surrounded by love, with the stars stretching out endlessly before you.
#f1 imagine#f1 fic#f1 x reader#f1 x you#max verstappen#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#leclerc!reader#max verstappen x leclerc!reader#charles leclerc#bun rec
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back at it on r/antiship. for the hell of it, let's go thru why these are strawman arguments at best, stupid at worst, or why what they're saying is objectively true!
TL;DR, half of the things they say are correct, but are framed as being bad things, and the other half is just misinterpreting what proshippers actually say. also they don't know what "normalization" or "romanticization" mean.
hiding under the cut so y'all don't gotta scroll for years
-first pic- that isn't the reason conservatives think lgbt ppl are pedos. they'd think that regardless of what fiction they like, because no matter what, they'd see us as predators/pedos/whatever bad thing. q art will always be inherently problematic to conservatives.
the reason WHY people equate "problematic" fanfic/art to q art is because they both deserve to be protected, they both are often called "degenerate", and that if they censor one, they'll censor both, because to the people that want to censor it, they're both one and the same. it's always "too sexual", or "what if kids see it", or "it promotes the Bad Thing", and just because they're pointing the gun at "problematic" fiction rn, doesn't mean they won't turn the gun on YOU.
-second pic- 1. fiction doesn't affect reality! at least not on a 1:1 basis! correct! 2. that is also correct! i can be interested in violent, gory movies, but i don't like OR condone violence or gore irl! correct! 3. if it walks, talks, and acts like a puritan, it's probably a puritan. stop advocating for censorship and puritanism and we won't call you that. 4. correct again! it isn't mine or anyone else's job to monitor what other people's kids do on the internet. the internet is not for children. 5. hate to say it, because i don't wanna say ANYONE protects predators, but antis do tend to create spaces where preds can sneak around undetected as long as they say The Right Thingâ˘. 6. if you're allowing your 6 yr old to watch videos that say "fluttershy supports MAPs!", then you need to take away the ipad, not start banning shit. 7. gonna keep it real, idk what this means. stop using these words, i guarantee you they don't mean what you think they mean. 8. same as above 9. what 10. okay great, good for you that you only know ONE predator that's an anti. what about the hundreds of others that lurk in the shadows because they say the right thing, and pretend not to like problematic stuff? what about Kyle Carrozza, ya know, the anti that was arrested not too long ago? feel like we're ignoring some stuff here for the sake of pretending your side's good, and ours is bad.
-third pic- 1. well, antis are, aren't they? if you think csem should be criminalized (and it should), and you equate fanart to actual csem, then yes, you ARE trying to criminalize fantasy. 2. two things. for one, it's not always a sexual thing. hell, half the time it isn't. and two, fetishes DON'T hurt anyone (unless the whole point is to hurt someone, but there's always consent!) 3. correct! fictional characters don't have rights. are you advocating for them to? 4. you can't act like porn abolition isn't a cornerstone argument for A LOT of antis. if you agree that fictional smut is bad, chances are you think porn's bad, too. (which also overlaps with radfem beliefs too!) 5. they're not blood related because they're NOT REAL. it doesn't matter if they say they're blood related, because they're fictional. 6. are you insinuating you need to get consent from these fictional characters before you ship them? 7. why should i care? does it hurt anyone? no. does it do any damage? no. is there any downside whatsoever? no? then what does it matter. let people do what they want forever.
#i'm not gonna say the q word i'm sorry. just makes me personally uncomfy. but y'all know what the q-word is#proship#profic#proshippers please interact#anti anti#đđ¸
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Loki Variant! R just spinning around in circles in my head rnđ
The first time Hobie had seen you in your ice giant form, it had been on accident. And, it wasn't an entirely pleasant discovery.
He was humming as he roamed through the many halls of your palace, searching for you since it was about time that your meeting with your council should have ended. The orphans running throughout the halls made him smile, and he had to duck before a ball hit him in the face. As he was nearing your meeting room, he could hear something faint just outside the door. Was someone... crying?
Frowning, Hobie opens the door before freezing up at your shout of alarm.
"What are you doing? Leave!" You yell harshly as you point a shaky (blue?) hand towards the opened door, body turned away from whoever had come in. Now concerned, Hobie softly closes the door behind him and approaches you with all the quietness of a mouse. Just when he reaches out a hand to touch you, to take your hand in his, you flinch alway. Like you could feel him behind you, like his very touch would sear you.
"Sweetheart, what's wrong...? Look at me..." He mumbles softly as he tries to get you to face him, his head following yours every time you turn your face away. Your voice is shaky as you speak, as if you're terrified.
"No... You can't see me like this." See you like what? What could be so horrible that you wouldn't allow him to look at you? Clicking his tongue, he moves too fast for you to react, side stepping his way to finally face you properly. Hobie's eyes widen slightly in surprise at the dark blue of your skin and the piercing crimson hue of your eyes. However, he's more concerned about the tears dripping down your face and the unmistakable shame gleaming in your eyes. When he reaches out to touch you again, you back away, shaking your head and letting out an unamused laugh.
"You can't touch me. Not when I'm like this... I could hurt you."
"How could you hurt me?" You scoff at his question and scrub the tears off your face, shame and hatred seeping into your every word. You tell him of your true heritage, a frost giant who was left to die as a baby when Odin killed everyone on Jotunheim. Told any who questioned his taking of you that he was "saving" you from a "dangerous" realm of war. Odin only really took you in as a trophy, what you had learned from the man when you finally dethroned him. If anyone were to touch your skin when in your ice giant form, they could freeze to death. That this form only takes over every once in a while when the stress is truly too much for you.
"I'm hideous..." You say with a choked sob, clenching your eyes shut. Hobie's heart just about breaks at the sight. Because, how on earth could you see yourself as anything but breathtaking? You were gorgeous, exquisite. Even now, in this beautiful form you seem to hate so much.
"Come now, love. You're beautiful-"
"Beautiful...? I'm a monster, Hobie!" You snap with gritted teeth and red eyes flaring. There's a chill in the air as your voice grows louder and louder, and Hobie can't stand it. He wants to hold you close and never let you go as the words keep pouring from your lips. But each time he inches closer to you, you step further back. The air grows colder, and he can start to see his breath crystallize in the air.
"I'm the monster that parents tell their children at night, the demon that haunts every Asgardian's nightmares! I was never supposed to sit on that throne! I-I shouldn't even be here... Thor should be here. He was the one who everyone looked up to! He was supposed to be the savior! He was supposed to live! He should've lived, not me-"
Hobie had heard enough, grabbing your cloak from off of the nearby chair and wrapping it around your body before pulling you into his embrace. You were shivering and trying hard to step back, away from his arms. But it was okay. You weren't hurting him. You could never hurt him
"No more", Hobie mumbles as he pulls you both down to the ground with you sitting in his lap, your head wrapped in the cloak and laying on his shoulder. He could feel your tears soak through the cloak and his shirt. Or, perhaps they were his.
"No more of that. Everythin' that asshole ever said 'bout you, 'bout where you came from... It's all bullcrap. Your brother loved you, knew you'd take good care of everyone, yeah? Would he really entrust everythin' you both love to someone he thought was a monster? You're not a demon, lovie. You're a freakin' Rockstar with a heart so damn big and full of love for everythin'."
He grips you tighter, rubs your arms and back through the layer of clothing between you two. Your heart aches at his words, at the sincerity behind them. The chill in the room slowly subsides, and the blue of your skin slowly fades back to your normal skintone. Your thundering heartbeat slows in your ears and the tears soon cease.
"You fought too damn hard to free your people. You deserve to sit on that throne, and you deserve to live. And anyone who thinks otherwise can fuck right off. I'll bash their heads in..."
The last few words spoken make you chuckle, your hands moving to pull down the cloak from over your head as you look up to peer at him. There are dried tear streaks on his face as he looks down at you, chocolate brown eyes warm and glittering with such soft care just for you. Hobie lifts a hand to gently brush away the lingering tears in the corner of your eye with a gentle finger, touch as soft as silk. Then he leans down to press a tender kiss to your forehead. Then to your nose. Then another on your cheek. Hobie rains little kisses all over your face, adorning you with his love and affection. He doesn't stop until you giggle and try to wriggle from his grasp, until he thoroughly makes those bad thoughts flit from your mind. And, although he knows he can't make those thoughts of guilt and unworthiness leave you completely, he'll do his damn hardest to make sure it takes a long while for you to feel this low about yourself ever again.
YESSSS MORE LOKI VARIANT! R
Bestie you're feeding all of us with all these marvel aus đ¤
Omg i was wondering when r would turn into their frost giant form! This did not disappoint đđđ the hurt/comfort is hurt comforting me đ
I love the fact that Hobie is practically living in asgard!
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finding the harry and otto to my peter will actually solve all my problems
#ultimate spider man#harry osborn#otto octavius#peter parker#i feel like theyre too good to be true#one or more of these guys are gonna end up being evil#or die#but rn im living for their friendship#theyre literally THE trio#also that sandwich looks really good#has anyone notices that peter always eats the most delicious looking sandwiches#where does he even get them from#are sandwich shops really that good in nyc#that might possibly be the only good thing about nyc if its true
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Iâm sorry, I have to push against this. This is a lovely reading into what the series has *become*, but the original game did not commit to the queerness of it, nor was it at the focus of the story. The original creators at DONTNOD specifically stated *publicly, in interviews* that a romantic relationship between any of the main women was not directly intended nor was it the point. Their point was that it was about the strength of their friendship, per their own words. They have stated, as tactfully as artists refusing to take hard stances do, that if you saw that in them then it was true for you.
We had to fight for years for acknowledgement of Pricefield by the studio, getting piecemeal crumbs along the way. Koch may be publicly in favor now, but he was awful shy about it for quite some time after release. Moreover, this game did also go through periods where that relationship was considered queerbait AND an example of burying your gays. Considering the only ending in which you could show romantic affection to Chloe was one where she dies, itâs not hard to see why that was the discussion.
Moreover, picking Bae wasnât a choice about happiness - it was a choice about which atrocity you could live with - thatâs the moral background of the trolley dilemma to begin with. You arenât inherently more moral for picking one over the other - itâs for you to find the answer about what wouldnât destroy you. Every Bae ending exists in the shadow of the death of so many people, and there are just as many justifiable endings in which Max and Chloeâs story goes this way than there are not.
And as Iâve said in other posts - I fail to see how this somehow ruins their relationship. Thereâs an after to this story, one in which the trauma Max deals with for her trolley dilemma is finally embraced and accepted, *the very thing that was interfering in her relationship with Chloe.* This game told us the story of a girl finally putting her demons to rest, and you think that means the designers hate Pricefield? This setup now gives any opportunity to see them back together, whether theyâre able to do it (because game devo is a landmine industry rn) or not, even if we donât see Chloe again, Pricefield can actually still have a happily ever after *and now Max doesnât have the guilt crushing her anymore*.
I love the original game, and I love that the queerness that I saw in my first playthrough finally not only got acknowledged but became the mainstream opinion. But it is fundamentally incorrect to suggest that it was always the intention and that D9 somehow trod on that, when they actually canonized Max as a queer girl AND canonized a Max and Chloe romantic relationship beyond, any doubt.
Itâs fine to not like Chloeâs absence - I have my own feelings on that. But memory holing the battle we had to go through to get here feels pretty terrible, like youâve invented a history that moralizes your dislike that just leaves out the inconvenient reality.
"but it's realistic that they would breakup"
Not the point.
"But they had a lot of trauma the re-"
Also not the point.
"But at least she's a-"
Absolutely not the point.
Y'all trying to justify a narrative choice from within the narrative constraints.
That's a mistake.
Just like how many people never understood why so many would pick Bae ending, so many people just don't seem to get what the pairing meant overall.
Y'all realise what this pairing meant to people when it came out?
Despite the issues with the ending, the adoration and love the pairing has to this day has been earned by the game - it's inseparable from the franchise and it's reception.
It wasn't just another pairing. It wasn't just something that existed as bait or something within fanon or something developers never committed to.
Through the years plenty of ships get baited disingenuously while throwing the audience nothing but breadcrumbs - for example the disaster of Sherlock fandom, the mess with Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Voltron and so on. Or the way Blake/Yang in RWBY were the most blatant baiting that got no on-screen development(despite all the setup that show ignored for years) till the moment the show literally was getting axed and they wanted to milk LGBTQ+ community for money one last chance, skipping all the development to characterization characters deserve and attempting to bribe LGBTQ+ community with breadcrumbs at the last possible second.
And some shows would stumble into something important but fail to realise it and thus end up squashing it - ask Buffy fans about Tara and Willow or The 100 fans about clexa.
There were LGBTQ+ pairings in video games too but rarely they would be so front and center and very often would be playersexual.
This wasn't what Life is Strange ended up being.
Life Is Strange, at the very core is about queer experience - about fitting in, about making connections in the world that rejects you, about finding beauty in the life that hates and hurts you - Max and Chloe's relationship is the key to the entire game.
For some that meant letting go but for others? It gave the chance to fight a trope no matter what and to get an ending, albeit flawed, where a WLW pairing they liked can be happy and face the future together.
People lived through those two characters and their experiences finding something genuine to relate to.
Max and Chloe were that generation's Korra/Asami, Willow/Tara, etc.
Even DONTNOD recognised that in the end and treated it with respect.
Double Exposure might not pull a BYG outright but it sure does everything to kill the happy memories a fandom made about the pairing - to go back through every single ray of sunshine one ending got and subvert it, taint it, reject it.
Picking the Bae choice when playing Double Exposure is the Narrative constantly telling you how wrong you were to expect happiness when you picked the ending where the pairing is intact and how acshually it isn't intact!
It doesn't kill the characters but it sure goes an extra mile to kill what those characters MEAN to the audience.
Realism, plausibility and so on come after - it's what a writer does when they decide on a path. A writer doesn't just do something because it makes sense and is out of their control - they decide to do it and then make it make sense. Whether they succeed or not depends on how good a writer is.
Double Exposure isn't the story about a breakup. It isn't the story about two women dealing with their trauma.
Double Exposure treats an iconic pairing people cared about as a backstory element - nothing more.
Deck Nine expects the audience to accept what happened and move on to shiny new cast and possible new LIs.
The writers of Double Exposure are telling you - "look, this doesn't matter. Now here's a new mystery you can solve and new cast and look Max is back and you liked using her powers right? Use powers to do stuff."
To this developer team the core element of what made the franchise so important to its audience is nothing more than a leftover plot thread to "write around".
Because to these writers queer experience apparently starts and stops with searching for a relationship - someone being in a relationship that's not part of the story or someone being comfortable NOT being in a relationship at all just don't exist.
What Deck Nine writers seem to be doing is treating it as disposable or interchangeable/replaceable, while also inadvertently tainting whatever comes after with fandom rage.
The worst thing that can happen to a new character is being "the next love interest" - because people channel their frustrations towards the character (or in some worst cases, please don't do this, the actor).
Where there was an iconic part of the franchise Double Exposure, intentionally or not, sets up a toxic battle ground.
That's the point - treating LGBTQ+ audience as sales numbers, manipulating us, treating something that has been a formative experience to so many lives as disposable, or worse yet - malleable.
(And yes there's also a wider issue with Deck Nine and the working conditions there, misogyny, the nazi imagery and the rest but I don't think this is that disconnected from that? How they treat their audience and subject matter is a reflection of culture inside.)
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#hi im j here 2 talk . saw this cow yday so i drew her and now u get 2 say hi#but omffgg my gd i dont know if any of u relate but i feel like my ability to socialize w others#specifically online and speciifically in interest-circles has gotten so much harder for no reason whatsoever#like im just becoming more self conscious ab how i portray myself and its so weird bc like . LIKEE I DONT KNOW like . ok#people r super njce . always super nice and reach out to me and talk w me or i reach out first and they respond and r soo sweet#and something happens in my brain where like . i feel like im suddenly like . inserting myself where i dont belong (not true) but why am i#the bus driver all of a sudden . in all of these situations . me when i just show up like hey#i think i j feel annoying >__< . and i dont want to bother other people but said people r literally never bothered ykwim like Will Reach Out#and im the one that pulls back but 4 no reason . i cant even think ab why i do that .why am i doing this đ§¨#so many ppl i want to genuinely befriend in all of these spaces but im self sabotaging soo frwaking bad#literally rn thinking of some dms i left on read bc i panicked or mutuals ive talked w before who im nervous 2 be familiar w . hrmm#anyways . i kind of wish i had the ability 2 just talk to new people and not actually gaf ab the outcome#HELPP .. early tmblr or wcf or devart where u have thirty million friends 2 now where u r too scared 2 say hi to an almost friend .#me problem though . if not alr clear HEJAHHAAHA i think part of my reluctance also stems from the fact that i know i get this way#and so i dont want 2 rope someone else into that insecurity so i try to keep it at an arms length until i fix it#but i think i also know its a longer & more introspective thing to work on so i do need to just try anyways
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hi my beloveds <3 i just wanted to say, i feel so bad lately for not being a better friend and mutual, and i'm so incredibly sorry for that :( i haven't been in a great place mentally these past few months, and i feel so guilty for the fact that i struggle to be active and positive on here. i've been really horrible about keeping up with people and messages and fics etc, and even though i know this is just a hobby and just for fun, i do consider many of you my friends <3 i care about you all so very much and i feel so selfish for being so neglectful of everyone. it's just been very hard for me to balance things in my personal life and on here, and i am truly truly sorry i can't be better about it. i love you always, and i hope everyone knows that <3
#i posted something along these lines on my personal but#i know not everyone saw it or doesn't follow that blog so#i just wanted to say something again#bc even though i know this isn't true i've just been feeling a lot like everyone hates me :( or that i don't care about them#when that could not be farther from the truth#i'm planning on archiving or going inactive at the end of the month if i'm not feeling better by then bc#i just feel like i'm very much stuck in a bad cycle rn and i can't keep doing it to myself anymore.#until then i'll pop on and off here as i have been.#but please know i'm thankful for each and every one of you <3#i'm always thinking of you and wishing the best for you
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will they ever make a How Its Made episode on fursuits
#the grips of creativeprojects have their hold on me and im seriously debating whether i can pull it off#i wanna... i wanna make a cardboard magikarp costume for halloween..... i think i remember someone did smth similar#they made a ghastly costume and wore fishnets. sexy ghastly.. maybe its bc im fond of yuru kyara costume designs#i think i have the right equipment but ive never done smth like making a mask other than using a cardboard box.. so the sculpting#feels a little daunting#in the throes of fursona design hell rn so i should probably do that first. its probably a tiny dog with a 'true form' which is a really#big dog. like kerberos from ccs yk?? i always imagine myself as this tiny little thing but i always liked the idea of something bigger#hiding inside like a cicada skin. like some sort of angel in disguise.... except its this big terrifying creature (affectionate)#im also designing my brothers quackuza stickers rn though im so behind ive been working on this thing for months#yapping
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i am so fucking upset I AM SO FUCKING UPSET . i cannot convey how absolutely devastated i am like im sitting here in the dark unable to fully convey KANFKDNFKFJFJFNFN AHHHSHFJRJGKKGKGKFKFKFKFKGKFK
okok im sorry i do have some things to say as general statements abt my experience and ur skills before we get into some of the nitty gritty đ but first off, moni, i am ashamed to say i somehow missed that u dedicated this to me. i am so so sorry for not seeing it for some awful reason, but pls know that i am so honoredâlike beyond honored and appreciative. u r crazy good at ur craft and i am so happy ur posting ur fiction for us to read :'))
also, i def mentioned it in my notes below, but i loooove the film quality of your writing. like the i could see the color shifts. OH MY GOD I ALSO DIDNT TALK ABT THE RELATION OF WINTER TO THE SENEFNKRNFJT TO THE END IM UPSET AGAIN i literally cannot. u have a talent for coaxing me to hand over my heart and then watching u squeeze it :')))) im upset :')))) ur really too good and i... im biting my knuckles and struggling to type bc i wanna cry
thank u for this. i know u say this fic is something ur most proud of, and that is incredibly well merited. like oh my god. i can't right now i kind of just want to cry
also, before i put my notes below, i wanted to include the songs i listened to during this and i think i def picked an appropriate playlist skfnekfn: they see me dream (tbz), future me (hailey knox), dream launch (wayv), wings (tbz), smiling thru. (slchld), square one (tbz), someday faraway (labit), empty box (atz), same dream, same mind, same night (svt), 111 (thuy), the race (chris james), heaven - acoustic (onerepublic), raise y_our glass (huh yunjin)
omg i do have to comment on the presence of two of my like,, "older brother" figure idols uji and namjoon ekfnkrnf i always imagine them in that kind of way so the vibe just feels all the more warm haha (despite the hazy sleep-deprived solidarity going on dkgnjrnf)
WAIT.... THE CONVENIENCE STORE FROM THE TEASER... OH NO.
IT RESEMBLES UR BED AFTER A LONG DAY OF WORK BUT IT DOESNT LIVE UP TO HIM?? im devastated in two sentences
the picking your fingers until blood spills is such a great humanizing detail
still, the lilacs have yet to bloom.
omg im such a sucker for flower symbolism,, this feels like a low-key reference to feelings between u and changmin? OH I SEE THEY DINT EVEN KNOW EACH OTHER YET SKFNDKFN THIS CHANGES THINGS
PLS THE "im sure they wouldn't mind working w u" ASSIGNED PAIRINGS IS SOOOOOO im getting ptsd from middle school đđ that feeling of everyone knowing someone and ur just kind of alone, knowing no one will likely come to u themselves,,, but changmin... tsk tsk i have a feeling abt you....... IM ONTO U SIR
you look back at changmin; heâs still looking at you. ; (youâre still thinking about the dips in his cheeks.)
IM ONTO U JI CHANGMIN (also so real tho... his dimples are like... meant to be the centerpiece of an art gallery)
KUMON. (i mercifully never had to face that, but maybe that's why i fkn suck at math today đ)
oh no....
i swear this is related, but im listening to wayv's dream launch and reading this part in particular w the song is so... i feel so emo rn like its okay yn-bear... you'll be okay i swear, i know it sucks now but one day ur dreams will come true even if its hard to detach ourselves from our parents' expectations and influences
also the imagery here is so visceral and vivid... like i can see it in my mind, the way you're so used to the feeling, but u still shake them off anyway bc u dont want them to linger; u can't breathe w them there, so /present/
donât you think that some of the stories that we read hold fragments of someone?
i love this line and totally agree w this
also wanted to add that changmin trying to coax this info out of them is so :(( i love him
AWH WAIT PAPERCUT ART AND FORMING IMAGES OUT OF THEM SUCH A COOL IDEA its like the deletion(?) poetry where u take a piece of text and blot out all words except for certain ones to form poetry?
the idol comment,,, the fourth wall is shaking
OMG THE PIC???? SO GOOD WHAT I LOVE THIS AND AS A VISUAL AID/SUPPLEMENT TOO?? omg and ending this section w the single lilac having bloomed TT ugh i love callbacks to symbols
your tastebuds long for cheongju.
baaaaaanger line
jongseobs characterization >>> I LOOOVE IMPISH YOUNGER SIBLING CODED CHARACTERS
still, you stand in the middle of the mart and your heart longs for home.
and this one too ^ i feel this. the exhaustion and yearning that settles in your bones until ur convinced emotion really does carry tangible weight i love longing-for-homeisms
you and changmin were once painted with the hues of the sun. this reunion is tainted with blue.
I CHOKED. also i would like to comment on the delicious pacing of this past scene from when u realize who's standing right next to u and how the world seems to rush back toward the present from the past and ur frantic and slapping money into jongseobs palms and thenâ"yn?"âworld stop. IIIIINHALES .. SCREAMS SO GOOD
love the blue stain over my view btw
idk how to feel abt the grape flavor being yns favorite đ§đťââď¸ u do u tho
THIS???????? THIS!!!!!!! what did u deserve to know just feels so right in this situation,, when you've fallen out of touch who used to be ur worldâwhen u r no longer their world or in their world, how much should you reveal? do they still care? where is the line drawn now?
if you miss home, why is your first instinct to run away from it?
im tearing at the walls. i am unfortunately devastated by this question. home is such a... its a complicated thing for so many people.
the black limbs slowly ate away at your heart; the void was born.
THEYRE BACK but now, instead of simply curling arounf ur heart, they're digging their nails into it and ripping chunks of it away
the lingering feelings of envy and resentment of changmins home life versus yns is so... like i think it adds such an important layer of nuance to their relationship
because you still wanted more for him than you did for yourself.
OH MY GOD
oh my god
AND THE DISTANCE FEELS GREATER NOW.. oh my god... the silence and the negative space r so loud... oh my god.....
the contrast to the next segment in summer is so staggering dkgndjnfnf also congrats to them for levelling up in friendship to calling each other fuckers!! LMFAO i adore their little back n forth here haha their arguing over the phone, to arguing over popsicle flavors
LOVEBIRDS SKCNDKFNKFNXKDKKDKD
astrophysics is cool when someone on yt is explaining it in layman's terms or ur in the space.com website, but not when ur looking at all those nightmarish equations... *shudders violently*
from that day on, youâve learned to keep his name out of conversations. youâll enjoy what you have with changmin, even if it has to be kept under the wraps.
in a way, this is like a form of protection, not only protecting ur own freedom and agency but akso protecting the person who has wormed his way into ur life and is determined to stay,, someone who seems to be the one good thing happening to u at that moment
im so... i wish i could sit yn down and give them a hug and a pep talk. they do know how to persevere. they're literally pushing thru right now
FINGER TRAP FINGER TRAP TITLE MENTIONED THIS IS NOT A DRILL
omg THE PROFILES SJCBDJFN THEYRE GONNA BE INTERVIEWING OUR BOYZ DJFBKDNCKDNF i am Howling at the moon
THIS??? IS FUCKING EVERYTHING???????? the different colors of cheongju seep thru gaaaaaaawd the careful wall you've built to rpetend ur past is behind u has now returned to remind u that it does, in fact, still exist. it will not hesitate to break ur bubble of present reality
i have a violent urge to throttle a couple who are poor excuses for parents
also just bringing in the murky waters rising and drowning u and filling ur lungs is just as compelling and visceral through this section. like u described it perfectly well, how when ur starting to lose oxygen, your chest burns and its slow but throbbing
are you nothing but an array of achievements and failures?
aren't we all though? :(
NOW UR HOME IS CHANGMIN.
i love just imagining ur writing like a movie, like this part in particular u can just kind of envision these things flicking across the screen chuchuchuchuâback to the present. finger traps.... clinging onto those fragments of the past... when u try to rip your fingers out of a finger trap, it grips onto u tighter; a slow withdrawal is the only way to escape... oh god
WHY DOES IT FEEL LIKE ONE OF DESTINY x2 I SEE U MONI I SEE YOU.
HE WAS THE ONE OUTSIDE THE BATHROOM IM GONNA GNAW MY FINGERS OFF
im very slow today but the incorporation of all four szns into the sections of this fic is like mwah MWAHMWAHMWAH and hE CANT WAIT TO SHARE THIS SZN W U?? IM YELLING??? ugh i think im too single.
dude my heart dropped into my ass . what r these fuckass parents doing
WHAT NINONOENFOFNFJFJ NO WHAT MONI STOP NO U CANT JUST LET THE CAR GO NO HE'S RIGHT THERE NO NONONOSNFJDNFJFJ im having a crisis no WHAT
. oh my god
Oh my god that hurts. Oh my god i cant im so
im
oh im so upset they never got closure they never got to say goodbye ur right the only way to get out of a finger trap is thru a slow withdrawalâunless the connections is severed so forcefully, it just breaks .
oh my god
i dont wanna read this interview im so upset
im so fucking upset.
finger trapped (ripped to its seams) âľ ji changmin
ji changmin x reader
with an unexpected reunion, you and changmin relive the memories of cheongjuâand confront what couldâve been between you two.
general genre/warnings ⾠friends to almost lovers, angst, fluff, gender neutral reader, some depressive and insecure thoughts, hurt/comfort, the last five years story-telling method (aka present will be told going backwards while past will be told moving forward... i hope that makes sense), brief mention of blood from picking on your skin, tiger parents so... parental issues, unexpected reunion, keeping secrets & lying, jealousy remains but love triumphs, journalist reader (u kno i had to do it), reader is a nerd and changmin is a student-athlete, kms jokes from jongseob (all /lh), finger traps arenât efficient after all
word count âľ 15.7k words
playlist âľ end of beginning by djo // high school in jakarta by niki // i know it won't work by gracie abrams // no big deal (i love you) by dodie // keeping tabs by niki // no one knows by stephen sanchez & laufey // so what now by reneĂŠ rapp // i wish i hated you by ariana grande // the 1 by taylor swift // seasons by wave to earth
a/n ⾠it's finally out! this is my submission for @deoboyznet's the love letter collective event! this work is so so personal to me on so many levels so i hope you all love and treat this fic with care :')) for the bitches who struggle with parents and dreams.... this one's for you (i am in the same boat) i appreciate everyone who's been so patient and looking forward to this fic's release. i'd like to thank @hcuyk for being a betareader for this fic! i also want to dedicate this one to @sungbeam and @wavesmp3 <3 your works inspire me so much and i think this fic is a product of how much they've influence me. hanbin's version is now available! please don't forget to reblog and leave feedback!!
want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist
present -> three weeks after the interview, 2024
the newsroom never sleeps. the rings of landlines and clacks of keyboards bounce off the four walls. through light bulbs or sunshine, light continues to remain. and at every corner, a journalist standsâready to enter the depths of slumber but remain on their toes as they await for an update on their unraveling story.
but the newsroom is rarely busy unless thereâs a major nationwide event, election season or the super bowl to name a few, for most journalists are out to discover what the world has to offer.
knowledge doesnât only come from the chitchat of your coworkers. itâs only on the field that youâll hear of hearsay and testimonies. after all, the choice to probe rests on your shoulders.
âthereâs a typo over there.â
âhuh? where?â
âover here,â you mumble as your finger darts to point at a section on the screen. âitâs supposed to say âin their climactic performance on road to kingdom,â not climatic.â
âah, i see it now. sorry about that,â lee jihoon of digital development says as he corrects the error. his hair is disheveled from the hood that once perched on his head during the night he spent in the newsroom. you wouldâve scolded the guyâgo home and take a shower before you stink up the placeâbut you are no better, grouped with the other journalists who stayed up in the office.
âthere we go. should be all good. now, are you ready to go through the profiles?â
an exhausted chuckle departs from your lips. âyeah, letâs goââ
âwhatâs the update?â life and arts editor kim namjoonâyour editorâcomes to you with a smile.
the grey hoodie he wears paired with comfortable jeans shows that heâs a little relaxed. for once, you donât see him on his phone, battling the deadlines or getting pitched stories by the other editors. itâs a nice sight but one that wonât last for long. Â
âwe just finished going through the article about the group, so we still have yet to go through the profiles.â jihoon then looks at you. âi canât believe you basically wrote 12 articles. like, 11 profiles and one main article is a lot. you didnât want to work on it with anyone else?â
once namjoon stands beside you, you bump your shoulder against his figure. âi didnât have a choice, did i?â itâs a rhetorical question but one your editor still chooses to answer.
âunfortunately, weâre understaffed, but it seemed like you got the hang of it. i wouldnât have trusted anyone else to do it.â namjoon shoots you a smile before redirecting his attention back to jihoon. âand as much as iâd love to tell y/n more, we have to pick up the pace.â without any further questions, the three of you resume with work.Â
thereâs no time to waste in the journalism industry. still, his praise doesnât go unnoticed.Â
one article turned into eight done in a matter of 30 minutes, all with the help of three pairs of eyes to go through them. (namjoon seemed to carry the heavy lifting. after all, the guy was trained to be quick in reading and spotting errors.)
it shouldâve been easy to keep up with your editor for all the other articles; you know each profile like the back of your hand.
then, the face of a boy who you once knew sits on the screen.
his gaze seems to pierce through your soul, almost in the same way you last talked to him. the loose ends of composure slip through your fingers; your breathâs stuck in your throat as the hammering of your heart fills your ears. yet, he stands still on the monitor.
as your eyes drift through the passages youâve written, every sound is drowned out. the voice of your editor fades like the everchanging seasons and the clicks of the keyboard resemble the sobs you let out in the comfort of your childhood room.
and suddenly, the hands of the clock have turned all the way back to 2014. the cubicles transformed into aisles of chips and instant ramen, and you hear mr. kimâs voice in the distanceâi have some hotteok! fresh from the pan! but amidst it all, you hear the giggles of the boy, your best friend, as he rushes towards youâiâll go audition and make you proud. as your arm is wrapped with the heat of his fingers, you almost believe that your life as a journalist is nothing but a dreamâ
âi knew him.â the illusion disappears within a blink of an eye. namjoonâs eyes snap towards you and jihoon stops scrolling through the website. âwe went to the same high school.â
you arenât sure why you revealed that to your coworkers, let alone your boss. itâs an old memoryâyour weight to carry. before you can apologize for disrupting their work, namjoonâs hand rests on your shoulder, his thumb drawing shapes into it. when you look over at him, youâre greeted by his smile. it resembles your bed after a long day of work or a slow day at the newsroom.
but it never lives up to him, whose giggles resemble natureâs symphonies. the two shots of espresso you need at the start of the day once came in the form of his warm embrace. most of all, his smile is enough to illuminate the world even through the strongest storms and times when power went out.
for the remaining articles, not a single word leaves you. before you know it, all 12 articles were ready to go up on the web.
âthatâs all of it. should i still schedule them to go up around 12 p.m.?â jihoon notes as he saves the drafts.
âyeah, 12 p.m. still sounds good. thanks a lot.â namjoon nudges his shoulder before looking over to you. âletâs talk in my office.â
you donât question his orders. once namjoon takes off, you follow him all the way to his office. as he swings the door open, you are met with the familiar sight of his workspace. hues of green and brown mix, where nature and art meet within the space of corporate.
once namjoon takes a seat on his chair, you find your spot across from him. his eyes stare off to the window. for a moment, youâre not sure what to expect from this impromptu meeting.
seconds pass and not a single word has been saidâ
âthis placeâs always alive,â your editor breaks the silence. âdonât you think so?â
you follow his line of sight. busy seoul never changes; the skyscrapers pollute the sky and the people never sleep, off to work or off to party.
âwhereâd you grow up again?â
you look back at namjoon whose eyes still remain locked on the city. âcheongju.â
he hums. âi havenât been there. nice place?â
âyeah, but i havenât gone back in a while.â
âwhen was the last time?â his eyes finally meet yours.
your teeth grasp the inside of your cheek. â2014, since i first left,â you admit.Â
âdo you miss it?â
youâre not sure how to answer. the pavements youâve scraped your knees against and the walls your laughs bounced off ofâdo you miss them all? or is the reason behind your laughter and scabs the one you long for?
âis that why you were hesitant about interviewing them?â namjoonâs thumbs fiddle with each other. âbecause of your history with him?â
now, you stare at your linked hands. maybe the silence from you is enough to answer his question but you know namjoon would never settle for a soundless answer.
âiâiâm not a good person. and even if i didnât make the choice to leave, iââ you hold yourself back. your fingers start to pick on the skin around your thumbs, peeling it so blood can spill.Â
âitâs okay, i understand. you donât have to share it with me.â your eyes drift back to namjoon, spotting a small smile that rests on his face. âit mustâve been hard to relive it all.â
the bond you have with namjoon is one that you hold close to your heart. through his mentorship, you got to learn about what it means to be a writer. the fears of being a journalist would loom over you, where questions of salary and demanding work hours would occupy your mind, but namjoon became someone who would absolve them all. he became a pillar in your life, one that provides you hope and comfort within the industry.
âso, donât feel pressured to talk about it. but if you ever want to open up about it, then iâll be here.â
namjoonâs giving you an exit. are you willing to take it?
you cross your arms as you lean back into the chair. âyou know how i was a science major then?â
âyeah, i remember looking over your resume. and then i saw that you were part of your universityâs publication.â
your tongue pushes against the inside of your cheek. âi wouldâve gotten some job in that field, like, i had it lined up for me.â
âreally? like lab coat and all?â
as namjoon attempts to hold back his laugh over the image, you chuckle along. âyeah, lab coat and all! itâs crazy how my life was all set for that field, but iâm here now.â you look down at your arms. âi think just facing him in a completely different field that i once used to imagine with him was just strange. but i think hearing his answers really did it for me.â
namjoon nods at your words. âcare to have lunch with me?â your eyes snap back to your editor. âiâm guessing you want to talk about it, after all.â
all you do is smile before getting off your seat.
spring of 2014
the season of spring has graced cheongju; the sun gleams in the expanse of blue and birds perched on tree branches sing their songs. itâs the perfect season to embrace the wonders of the town.
while it would be a delight to bask under the returning warmth, youâre stuck within the walls of the classroom, head resting on crossed arms.Â
still, the lilacs have yet to bloom.
ây/n.â you quickly sit up before your eyes settle on your adviser, ms. jeon, who stands in front of the classroom. âletâs take attendance.â
with that, youâre beside her as you call out each name on the class list. itâs a quick process of saying your classmatesâ names for them to respond in variations of âpresent,â until you reach the section of last names that start with a âjâ.
âji changmin.â no response.
you rip your eyes off the piece of paper, only met with your classmates who either look at each other in confusion or spaced out in their own worlds.
âji changmin?â when youâre met with the same reaction, youâre ready to mark the student absentâ
âsorry!â the doors slam open. a boy clad in a white polo and jogging pants is panting by the entrance, covered in sweat as he rests on the edge of it. âsorry, iâm late.â
âoh, itâs okay! you arrived just in time.â ms. jeon smiles at the tardy student. as you watch him take a seat, his eyes lock with yours, but your adviser nudges you before saying, ây/n, proceed.â Â
ji changmin made his name a few years back at a competition. the applause and roars from the crowd marked his spot in the school. others describe his movement as of cranes, standing in the middle of a pond as they do their best to minimize forming any ripples, or of elephants, swaying their trunks with control like no other.
but heâs a versatile dancer; nothing can truly capture him.
once youâve finished marking the attendance, you go back to your seat. youâre ready to start the day with no bother but you canât shake the feeling of being watched.
��now, you can see in these,â your art teacher, ms. park, points to the screen showcasing works from her favorite contemporary artists like kwon yongju and fĂŠlix gonzĂĄlez-torres, âthat there are no borders to what constitutes art. and thatâs not wrong because we have to recognize that art comes in different forms as we progress, from traditional painting and sculptures to digital ones.â
this field isn't your strong suit. with a greater understanding of the sciences, you struggle to create anything that could be on par with the works of any artist. yet, you enjoyed learning about every piece that your teacher shared, like unfolding and admiring something you know you can never replicate or create. still, the universe decides that they have other plans for you.
âas i mentioned before, iâll be giving you time to work on your final assessment, which is to create an artwork for the class exhibit. for this deliverable, iâm asking that your work will be a collaborative one, meaning you arenât working alone.â in a sea of chatter, some groans exit your classmates. âremember, inspiration doesnât come from your own bubble! take this as your opportunity to create something that youâve never imagined.â
within a split second, students are off their seats as they attempt to find a partner to work with. you, however, were struggling to think of who you could team up with. admittedly, you have a very different work style compared to othersâeven cheng xiao, aspiring valedictorian, didnât enjoy working with you. she turned every activity into a competition against you. (you didnât enjoy her, either.) while youâre considering shamefully going up to your classmates like a stray dog looking for anyone willing to care for themâ
âhi!â in front of you stands the tardy student of today, all smiles as his hands find comfort in the pockets of his jogging pants. âdo you have a partner already?â
with furrowed eyebrows, you canât help but look him up and down. âno, why?â
âwell,â changmin looks around the classroom, âeveryone seems to have paired up except for us.â as his eyes drift back to you, he flashes you a smile, one that shows the dips engraved into his cheeks. âwhich leaves me to ask if you would like to work with me for this.â
you donât have a choice. ms. park would never bend the rules for you. if anything, she would find a way to pair you with another student who would dread the idea of working with you. (âiâm sure they wonât mind being partners with you, right?â is what she would ask the poor student, only to be met with their retreat.)
âunless we accept a failing mark, which iâm sure we both donât want.â itâs not like changmin had a choice as well.
âokay.â with one word, light fills his eyes, enough to resemble the starlight that grazes your skin every night. âwe can meet and discuss our schedules, especially because iâve got ap stat, and you have, uhm,â a cough leaves you, âtraining, iâm assuming, or rehearsals. i donât really know what you call them.â
his eyebrows shoot up as his mouth parts open. âoâoh, yeah. i usually have training after class until 8 p.m. on tuesdays, thursdays, and saturdays.â
âsame. my classes are until 7 p.m. on tuesdays and thursdays, so maybe we can use the other days to work together?â
with one nod from him, his dimples reappear. âgreat! iâll see you tomorrow.â
before you know it, everyone finds their way back to their seats for ms. parkâs final reminders. you do your best to pay attention to every announcement, jotting down every word on your planner and planning out your agenda for the upcoming weeks. yet, your eyes seem to have a mind of their own as they drift back to the boy who discreetly passes notes to kim donghan, another dancer on the team, all while listening to the teacher.
you donât notice how long you spend staring at changmin until he turns to meet your gaze. in that split second, you look at each otherâthen, embarrassment washes over you. you shift your attention back to ms. park. as you drum your fingers against the desk, mentally kicking yourself over the interaction, you still canât shake the feeling of being watched.
you look back at changmin; heâs still looking at you.
his dimples make their reappearance before he looks back at ms. park. you do the same as you attempt to listen to her ramble about banksyâs works.Â
(youâre still thinking about the dips in his cheeks.)
the first time you get to meet with changmin for the project happens the following week. you two had different commitments to attend to, whether it be other projects or training. and while you would usually settle to meet in the school library or a cafe nearby, you find yourself inside the empty gymnasium, sitting on bleachers while your partner stands in front of mirrors.
âdonât you think it would be nice to combine our hobbies together?â
your pencil taps against the notebook. âlike, your dancing? with what?â
âwhatever you like to do!â once he makes his way to you, he leans on the row in front of you with crossed arms. âi mean, do you have anything you like to do during your free time?â
a scoff leaves you. âfunny of you to assume that i have free time.â
âwhatâs your schedule like?â
âwell, i have our classes and ap ones, then kumon at night.â
changmin reels at the thought of your schedule. âthatâs brutal. the last time i had kumon was back in grade 4.â
âyeah, but iâm sure yours is busy as well. the amount of time that you put into training isâŚâ his eyes are wide, hanging on your words. itâs the hope they hold that has you say, âadmirable.â
a shy smile takes over his features. âyeah, but itâs only because my family is supportive of what i do.â
then, limbs whose color resembles the void slither their way to your heart, wrapping around it while the organ struggles to beat; itâs a slow process but an unending hole that will birth from it. yet, you do your best to fight off these limbs, unraveling them one by one in hopes it will give upâuntil you settle for shaking them off.
you only muster out a hum.
âdo you have anything you like to do during those short breaks?â
your lips trill. âi donât know. watch something on youtube?â
his cheeks puff up, stuck in his thoughts as he tries to navigate this projectâand youâuntil his eyes glint. âwhat do you do when you want to vent?â
âyou sure have a lot of questions,â you comment, trying to hold back a chuckle at his curiosity. âi can just adjust to you. maybe attempt to draw, picture, or even film you.â
his eyebrows furrow. âbut that wouldnât make it collaborative. i want us to work on something that aligns with what we do.â
a beat passes.
he holds your gaze. âi want us to create something that shows us.â
inside you, a gong is struck; its sound reverberates throughout your body, from the crown of your forehead to the tips of your toes. then, silence seeps inâa moment only for you and him.
âi, uh, write,â you whisper as your eyes shift to the notebook resting on your lap.
âreally? like, stories and poetry?â
you nod. âi like writing peopleâs stories more, but i do like making ones.â when you look back at changmin, his eyes are still filled with curiosity. âi would, like, find interviews online and try to make my own, sort of, uhmâgod this is embarrassing. forget about it.â
âhuh? no, it isnât!â he attempts to reassure your shrunken figure. âi mean, you donât have to share more if you really donât want to, but iâd like to hear more about it.â and when his dimples appear, you almost canât help but feel your face warm up.
âiâd make articles, i guess?â he nods along with your words. âi donât know, itâs just interesting to hear about peopleâs lives and kind of create something out of it, and i like thinking about all the possibilities of who would love to hear them. like, donât you think that some of the stories that we read hold fragments of someone?â
âthatâs an interesting way to look at it.â
as you doodle on your notebook, you say, âyeah, itâs just fun to hear these stories and maybe create something out of it. or even think of stories that i could never live out, you know?â you expect yourself to be met with the bored face of changmin but his eyes remain on you.
âwhat if you interview me?â
your eyebrows shoot up. âyou?â
âyeah,â he stands up before walking up to your row, finding a spot beside you. âthink of me as your first interviewee if you want.â
the sudden suggestion has you stumbling over your words. âhuh? bâbut, i donât have questions prepared. and how does this help our project?âÂ
when his arms brush against yours, you start to become aware of the distance between your shouldersâand his face from yours. warmth spreads throughout your body, almost like youâre about to have a fever. once his open hand rests near yours, you donât know what heâs asking.
âlet me draw it out for you.â you hand him your pencil and notebook, allowing him to see your doodles. (you donât miss his grin.) âyou know, with that article you make, we can cut it up and create something out of it.â a roughly drawn sketch of a boy posed in the middle of a dance move now rests on the page. âi donât know if a collage would be okay.â
as you think about what can be done, you perch your chin on your palm. âwe can do papercut art? basically, itâs cutting up the article in a way to form an image.â
âoh, that sounds cool!â
âyeah, but the only challenge is that we can only use one piece of paper.â a sigh leaves you. âit would be impossible for me to even do that.â
âthatâs why you have me.â his small smile causes wind chimes to ring. (youâre positive you heard them, even if there were no such things in the gymnasium.)
he continues to sketch out the layout of your joint artwork. âhow do we feel about this?â on the paper, there are two boxes beside the figure, where one is labeled as âphoto of meâ while the other is labeled âan article by y/n.â your head tilts. âitâll be a three-set piece. so, itâll be a photo of me and your article, and in between is the papercut art that weâll make.â
you hum. âyou know, youâre very creative.â you look at him only to see that heâs been staring at you. âlike, youâre inclined to the arts. i wouldnât have been able to think of something like this.â
âyouâre just as creative,â he argues back as he writes down something.
you shake your head before retorting, âchangmin, youâre very talented. iâve seen the way you dance,â his movements halt, âand youâre like no other dancer iâve seen. if you ever try out to be an idol, iâm sure youâd do great, maybe end up on the list of the best dancers in the industry.â
but he shakes his head, going back to writing on your notebook and shutting down your compliments. you decide to not push.
âi can get the photo sometime during my training,â he says as he hands you your notebook.
âthen i can have the questions sometime this week. for the article, i can have it done maybe four days after the interview. how does wednesday, after school, sound for the interview?â
he shoots you a smile before standing up from his seat. âthatâs perfect! iâm looking forward to meeting journalist y/n.â you canât help but scoff at what he calls you. âwhatâs wrong?â
ânothing,â you shake your head. âitâs just a silly name.â because the reality is that you had your future planned outâand it definitely didnât involve that field.
he shrugs. âi donât know, i think it would fit you.â
âbut you havenât read any of my works.â
âbut i want to root for you in the same way you do for me. i donât want you to feel ashamed of your works.â a fire ignites in your heart; itâs a fireplace.
youâre baffled that changmin, out of all people, now holds your secret, but youâre even astounded over the idea of him supporting you. you almost canât remember the last time you heard such words of support. is it genuine or nothing but a facade?
âanyway, iâve got to go. i need to catch up on some homework.â while you shoot him a nod, his dimples make their appearance once more. âiâll see you tomorrow!â as he takes off, youâre left in the gymnasium with your opened notebook and unlocked heart. you look back down at his sketch surrounded by your doodles, but you donât miss his little noteâcute doodles btw <3
the season of spring has unfolded in cheongju; a single lilac has bloomed.
present -> a day before the interview, 2024
itâs a late night on a tuesday, about to be a midnight wednesday, and youâre in a convenience store as you scout for your dinner. all hauled up in the newsroom, the idea of ordering food during a time where restaurants would still be open slipped your mind. now, youâre left to scan through the same options youâve eaten for the past years since you started living in seoul.
the convenience clerks are familiar with you, both kim jongseob and kim jiwoo. with your constant late-night meals at the store, youâd talk to whichever one had a shift. jongseob is saving up to upgrade his setup at home to record more music. with all the stories he shares about his time in underground rap battles along with the short verses heâs performed for you, youâre positive that heâll get signed to a label soon. as for jiwoo, this is one of the many jobs she has in order to save enough money for fashion school. youâve seen her sketches and outfits sheâs put together and youâre hoping that sheâll get accepted.
a sigh leaves you. you didnât have a problem with eating the food here but you were craving for something new in your life in seoul. the perpetual cycle of eating takeout food and unconsciously skipping meals for work needed to be disrupted just for a moment. but you werenât seeking michelin-star foodâall you wanted was something home cooked. something from home.
the spice of tteokbokki, the burn of freshly fried hotteok, and the sweetness of homemade peach iced teaâmr. kimâs convenience store had it all.
your tastebuds long for cheongju.
âplanning to beat your record of spending 23 minutes on deciding what to get?â
you roll your eyes before looking to your right, seeing jongseob stock up the drinks in the fridge. âi hate you.â
âwhat? iâm just saying, youâre taking a lot longer to decide today.â he chuckles before placing the last bottle of sweetened probiotic milk in the fridge. ânone of the options look good to you?â
âsort of,â you hum before you scan through the aisle of packaged meals. âi think iâm craving for something different.â
âi get it. the food here can get boring, which is why iâm planning to order pizza if you want to split the costs.â
your eyebrows shoot up at jongseobâs suggestion. âreally? youâd share pizza with me?â
âyeah, as long as you pay for your share.â he shoots you a smile before grabbing on a trolley carrying empty boxes. âunless⌠you want to pay for the whole thing.â
you bite back a smile as you shake your head. you shouldâve known the guy would ask you to buy him food, but you knew that he needed the money and you at least had a stable income to keep you comfortable. âfine,â jongseobâs smile grows as you fish out your wallet from your pocket and pull out a couple of bills. âjust order enough for us two.âÂ
âof course,â he says as soon as you hand him some money. âiâll make sure to order the most expensive thing on the menu.â
you scoff at his joke. âjust make sure to treat me to something.â
the bell by the door chimes. âsorry, canât hear you over that! need to attend to a customer!â jongseob dashes away from you while dragging the trolley. that little shit just knew how to press your buttons, but you love the kid, anyway.
still, you stand in the middle of the mart and your heart longs for home.
then, you shut your eyes, and youâre transported back in front of the familiar aisle filled with bags of potato chips and sweet corn. the noisy fan along with the soft sounds of mr. kimâs korean drama fills your ears. a mix of yellow and orange hues paint every corner of the mart, including youâand youâre not alone.
your best friend stands on your right, wearing the unbuttoned school uniform polo over a tank top along with jogging pants. heâs lost in thought as he scans through the options of snacks you two can have for todayâs afternoon. he starts to giggle to himself, probably from a silly thought heâll share with you in the next second or a memory involving you, and the dips in his cheeks appearâyour heart thumps in your ears.
and just like how quickly you were transported back to cheongju, your surroundings transformed into the cool-lit convenience store found in seoul. all you have left is the image of him bathed in the sunlight.
but he fades away like the ink on old receipts, never gone, because the glowing image of him warps into a different version who stands next to you in the cold mart. heâs grown a few inches taller and his hair doesnât get in the way of his line of sight. while he wears a green sweater, you notice that heâs gained some muscles. his eyes scan through the aisle behind you filled with different brands of instant ramen.
but he bites the inside of his cheek and his dimples appear.
itâs a tornado that brews within you, enough to uproot trees and displace buildings, all because of an unexpected reunion with changmin. why did the universe decide to bring two ex-best friends on a random tuesday night? what brings him to the convenience store at the same time youâre there? and why did it have to happen a day before the interview?
you werenât going to commit the same mistake; keep your eyes off of him and make your way out of the store. it didnât matter if you had an empty, growling stomach, or gave free money to jongseob. you need to leave without the distant, familiar face noticing.
your feet act fast, and you're almost certain that mightâve caught his attention, but it didnât matter as you see jongseob standing behind the cashier with his phone out. âi just ordered the pizza. it should arrive in about⌠20 to 30 minutes.â
âyeah, about thatâŚâ
âdonât tell me youâre taking your money back.â
at the sight of jongseobâs pout, you roll your eyes. âno, keep it. i justâi need to go.â
âwhat? why?â
you peek behind you. it seems like he didnât recognize you, after all. âiâve got⌠work!â
âbut donât you only have your interview with the boââ
âhey!â your fingers snap at him. âyou cannotâi mean, you just⌠just take the goddamn money.â
âbut weâre supposed to share the pizza. you havenât eaten.â
an exasperated sigh leaves you. âjongseob, just treat me next time. i can eat at home.â
and youâre ready to leave the convenience store, bid farewell to jongseob and a delicious pizza made for two, and never greet or say goodbye to the living fragment of what you last know of cheongjuâ
ây/n?â
and the plan failed.
when you meet his gaze, youâre able to take in the different version of him. heâs grown so muchâitâs such a pain that you werenât there to witness it. his eyes are a pool of emotions; you canât identify them.
all it takes is one breath from you. âchangmin.â
a beat passes.
âiâm just gonna⌠go through the storage,â jongseob points his thumb at the back of the mart, âand maybe kill myself afterwards. i donât know.â before you can protest, heâs already gone. (and he still has your money. that fucker.)
you and changmin were once painted with the hues of the sun. this reunion is tainted with blue.
changminâs fingers tense up, almost as if he was hesitatingâdebatingâon how to approach you. his body would waver, but he never took a step towards you. âi⌠i wasnât expecting to meet you here.âÂ
âsame here.â you lean your back against the checkout counter. âdâdo you stay around this part of the city?â
he shakes his head. âi live around 15, maybe 20, minutes away from here. iâm only here becauseâŚâ your breath gets caught in your throat. âi donât know.â
fate. thatâs what brought us here.
âdo you live here?â
you nod. âyeah, ever sinceââ the sentence never gets completed; you and him already know.
for a moment, sorrow flashes in his eyes, but a smile shows up. the dimples donât appear. âi, uh, i was going to get something from here but it seems like your friend is busy.â
âsorry about jongseob.â you whip out your phone and scold him through text. âhe should be with us in a bit.â
changmin hums before walking to the freezer filled with different ice cream. as he looks through the selection, he asks, âdo you still like twin bar?â
âyâyeah.â
âstill the grape flavor?â you donât know what to say, but when his gaze meets yours, you settle for a nod. with your favorite ice cream in one hand and a sandwich in the other, he finally walks towards you. you donât miss the slight stagger in his steps.
changmin finds his spot beside you. thereâs still distance between you twoâtwo tiles worth, enough space for one personâbut itâs enough for your muscles to freeze. thankfully, jongseob comes just in time to manage the cashier (with an awkward smile plastered on).
he scans changminâs item first before grabbing onto your ice cream.
âoh, iâm payingââ
âno, let me,â changmin insists. âyou can always treat me another time.â
you bite the inside of your cheek, thinking over the second half of his sentence. jongseob holds back from scanning the item, until you shoot him a nod. changmin pays for the food before jongseob hands them to you.
âiâll just let you know when the pizza gets here.â his small smile is enough for your shoulders to ease and a quiet exhale to leave. a small nod is all you give him.
you follow changmin outside to the tables in front of the mart. once heâs settled on a spot, you sit across from him. he tears away the plastic wrapping of his food while you play with the ends of yours.Â
while he swallows what you assume to be his dinner of the day, youâre left to swallow your own pride.
âiâve seen your performances.â his chews halt. âyouâreââ captivating. âyouâve improved a lot.â Â
with one gulp, a shy smile takes over his face. âi still have a long way to go.â
âyou always say that, even back then.â a half bitten sandwich now rests on the wrapper. âbut i admire your drive.â always have.
while a different version of changmin sits across you, the one you knew back in cheongju still lives. in the busy, unfamiliar expanse of seoul, meeting 10 years later, heâll never be stranger. you could never treat him as such, even if you wanted to.
âthereâs always room for improvement,â he says.
you hum along with his sentiment. âdid you stick with early childhood education?â youâre met with his orbs that hold a thousand of emotions, some you can name as shock, confusion. a question hangs in the airâwhat did you deserve to know?
âsorry, iâm assuming you still went to college, which is totally fine if you did or didnât, by the way. and itâs also okay if you didnât stick to your major. i mean, you always talked about pursuing a performing arts degree beforeââ
ây/n,â he giggles, âyouâre okay. i still went to college but i took media & communication.â your eyebrows shoot up at the revelation. âi thought it made sense to study something related to what i do, just the more technical and theoretical side of it, i guess. and the online classes were easy to squeeze into my schedule.â he lifts up the sandwich. âwhat about you?â
âuh, i ended up in the same course as well.â a hum of shock leaves changmin. âyeah,â you chuckle, âi managed to shift courses.â
âthatâs amazing! iâm happy for you.â
you smile at him. âthanks. now, iâm justââ you should tell him what you do. what would be a better time to reveal that you ended up in the path he dreamed for you to be than now? ââfiguring things out.â
with your vagueness, changmin only nods before munching away. if thereâs anything about you that still remains, itâs that you shouldnât be pushed to share something you didnât want to talk about. he still knew that.
as he finishes his sandwich, you tear off the plastic wrapping of your ice cream. with the twin bar in your hands, you snap it into two before you hand him a piece. confusion paints his features, wide eyes glossing over the popsicle in your hand, but he takes it before you can say anything.
âthanks.â
you shake your head. âdonât even worry about it. itâs only tradition.â
silence settles between you two. as you eat away on your share of the twin bar, you look up to the sky. from where you sit, you canât see a single star; the lights of seoul seemed to outshine them. and during those moments, you almost canât help but miss the view of the starry night from your childhood room.
you glance at changmin who looks up to the sky as well. yet, one hand remains in his pocket, almost as if heâs fiddling with something.Â
as if he feels your eyes on him, he asks, âdid you ever think about coming back?â
you halt your movements. if thereâs one thing you were expecting your old friend to ask, it would be related to your sudden departure. but youâre hit with an entirely different question, one you didnât get to rehearse the answer to in case you ever cross paths with him.Â
because after all this talk about your yearning for cheongju, why didnât you choose to visit? despite how much you long mr. kimâs home cooked meals, skies filled with stars, or the presence of your best friend, why didnât you ever come back?
if you miss home, why is your first instinct to run away from it?
and the reality is that you do think about it all the time. since you left cheongju, you drafted out how many plans to go back. you were homesick, missing the familiar landscape you spent your entire childhood growing up in. but most of all, you missed changmin. as long as you had him, you would survive anywhere, whether in seoul or cheongju.
despite how much you yearned for him during your years away, you learned that your relationship wasnât always filled with the warmth that would grace you two every afternoon. for so long, youâve sat with jealousy. while his family was his pillar of strength, you were met with a home that offered nothing but criticism.
the black limbs slowly ate away at your heart; the void was born.
it became easier to remain resentful. with the distance, you werenât faced with changminâs genuineness. yet, with time, you discovered that you still cared for himâregardless of your jealousyâbecause you still wanted more for him than you did for yourself.
for a long time, you resented. now, itâs only guilt that held you back from going back to him.
so when you remain silent, changmin takes it as your answer.
and for the first time, the distance feels greater since you first left cheongju.
summer of 2014
itâs the peak of summer. amidst the expanse of verdant fields, bees seek solace in the fully-bloomed sunflowers and kaleidoscope wings illuminate as they soar.
but summer is where mouths go dry and clothes cling to skin. as days blend with each other, the comfort of your bed is all you have until the season passes.
the fan rumbles against the wooden floor, doing its best to cool you, but the heat prickles against the back of your neck. the wind has turned into nothing but hot waves. with your elbows perched on the desk, a sigh leaves you as you attempt to make sense of the worksheet filled with math equations.
your room is your favorite place in cheongju. within these four walls are scattered fragments of you, from your favorite books and mangas that rest on the bookshelf to the stuffed toys that rest on your bed. book tabs stick out of your workbooks lined up on your desk and your cork board is filled with crossed out to-do lists.
and every once in a while, you would look out through your window, admiring the neighboring houses and all their greenery. as people walk on pavements, you cannot help but think about where theyâre off toâare they on their way to work? did they leave an important document back home? or are they coming back to a meal and home filled with warmth?
despite the halo soundtrack filling your ears, the cogs in your brain seem to drown them out. the numbers on your paper have jumbled up. it shouldâve been easy. after all, youâve become friends with the letters whoâve squeezed their way into math. once youâve wrapped up on this assignment, you know youâll wake up to another set of work to do. it didnât help that youâre stuck watching kids your age enjoy their break.
with a tired mind, you consider making yourself another cup of iced coffee. maybe another dose of caffeine will make sense of the numbersâ
your phone buzzes against your table. as your eyes rip from the unfinished worksheet, you spot the familiar name flashing on the screen. with one glance at your door, you bring your headphones to rest around your neck. it takes three rings for you to answer.
âwhat do you want?â
âthe fuck? whatâs wrong with you?â
you roll your eyes as you fiddle with your pen. âiâm studying, you fucker.â
âon a sunday?â changminâs question has you only groan. âwhat happened to resting?â
âi wish,â you murmur as you scratch the back of your head. âiâve been stuck on this stupid worksheet for the past hours. itâs annoying too. i mean, i already know this topic, so i donât know why itâs so hard.â
âawe, is my best friend suffering over kumon?â
your forehead rests on crossed arms. âyes. i think iâm going to die.â
âokay, then. iâll take that as my sign.â
âsign to what?â
he chuckles as if it were obvious. âto save you! letâs go to mr. kimâs.â
a groan leaves you as your back meets the chair. âno, i canât. do you know what would happen if i donât finish my kumon?â
âuh⌠no?â
âme, neither. iâm not taking my chances.â
âbut, youâre not even doing anything!â changmin pointing out the obvious has you rolling your eyes. âwouldnât it be better to take a break with your best friend? i can even help out.â
as you bite the inside of your cheek, you glance once more at your closed door. you weigh it out; would you rather take a break with your best friend or would you save yourself from the consequences brought by home?
but the answer was already clear. âgive me 10 minutes.â
changmin laughs before you drop the call.
itâs the smell of fresh hotteok that greets you. the quiet buzzing of the fan accompanied by mr. kimâs favorite trot music fills your ears. while the owner seems to be away from the cashier, a white, stray cat takes over, body flopped on the counter as it snores away the heat. as the sun pours through windows, coating every corner of the mart with a glow of fireflies, you know this will be a place of its own.
ây/n, over here!â a familiar voice calls out. as you whip your head to the source, you see your best friend by the chest freezer, eyes crinkled and all dimples.
now, youâre certain that nothing could ever replicate this.
you walk towards changmin, finding your spot beside him as you two look through the collection of frozen treats. âso, what do you want from here?â you ask.
âuh⌠iâll be honest, i just realized iâm short on money.â
you glance through the price tags, only for a groan to leave you. âiâm short too. when did mr. kim raise the prices?â
âno clue. i thought iâd have enough to get a summer crush,â changmin complains as his eyes are glued to the coffee sorbet. âi hate inflation.â
âcome on.â you fish out for the coins in your pocket. âletâs see how much we have together.â changmin does the same. with palms out, you two count through your shared funds.
âwe can get a summer crush!â
âyou can get one. iâll be left with barely anything.â you look through the selection once more. âman, i really want samanco. the red bean sounds so good right now.â
defeat casts over changminâs features. for a moment, you almost consider giving up on having a frozen treat and settling for a glass bottle of orange soda, until you spot a familiar popsicle brand.
âholy shit, itâs right there.â
âwhat?â
âthere!â your finger points at the stack of twin bars. âwe can probably get that and split it.â
changminâs expression morphs into realization. âokay, letâs getââ
âdibs on grape.â
âdibs?â he furrows his eyebrows at you. âyou canât just call dibs. youâre doing it wrong. clearly, we should discussââ
ânope,â you retort. a chuckle laced with disbelief leaves your best friend. to him, it seemed like you were joking around. âi made the suggestion and contributed a lot more to our shared funds.â
âokay, butââ
âdonât tell me you want the peach flavor more than the grape.â as you continue to shut him down, he knows thereâs no way around you.
(plus, he wasnât a fan of peach-flavored things, anyway. how unfortunate that mr. kim only has those two flavors right now.)
ânext time, weâre choosing a flavor that i want,â he gives in. you let out a cheer before grabbing the frozen treat.
you two make your way back to the cashier and spot mr. kim slouched in front of the television, hand stroking the sleepy feline. heâs still wearing an old, red plaid apron on top of a pair of basketball shorts and a loose graphic tee which had the name of a band youâre unfamiliar with. with how he sits, youâre afraid that his back problems will get even worse. (still, you donât say anything. heâll only play it off and say heâs still one of the âyounginsâ... whatever that means.)
once his eyes land on you two, a grin takes over. âah, my favorite kids! itâs nice to see you both.â
âyeah, itâs been a while,â changmin starts off. ây/nâs always busy with kumon.â
you narrow your eyes at the boy. âhey! youâre busy, too! youâve been practicing at the studio almost every day!â the wrapped popsicle now rests on the counter. âevery time iâm free, youâre not.â
âhey! whenever youâre free, iâm tired from training!â
âokay, letâs settle down,â mr. kim breaks up the banter. he then takes note of the ice cream on the cashier, the price showing up on the cashier. âisnât the heat hard enough for you two to be studying or practicing?â
âyes, very much.â you count the coins once more before dropping the exact amount on the counter. âbut,â you glance at changmin and his disheartened expression is enough for mountains to move, âi donât think we have a choice.â
in reality, these were the circumstances you two had to work and live with. during the days changmin ended practice early, you were drowning in summer school assessments. whenever you managed to finish your homework, it would be during the hours your best friend was off at the studio or passed out at home from exhaustion.
âchoice, no choice, people always say that.â mr. kim counts your payment before putting it into the cashier. as he takes note of what youâve bought, he says, âeveryone has a choice. iâm sure you two can figure it out.â
the only difference is that one chose this path; the other had to suffer from the decision forced onto them.
âdonât worry, mr. kim,â changmin nudges your shoulder. âiâm sure weâll figure it out.â and when the dips in his cheeks appear, you find yourself smiling back.
maybe you were okay with the life you had to live, just maybe.
âanyway, weâll go ahead,â changmin bids farewell to mr. kim.
you giggle. âhe means weâre just going to eat our ice cream at the front.â
as you two slowly make your way out of the mart, mr. kim shakes his head. âyou lovebirds go ahead. iâll see you next time!â
âmr. kim!â you and changmin shout in unison before glancing at each other.
âwhat?!â
your best friend groans. âyou know we arenât together.â
âyeah! like, i canât imagine it,â you join in.
still, the owner laughs at your reactions. âyou two are so funny. just go and enjoy your ice cream.â
you roll your eyes at his words. âbye, mr. kim!â
with that, you and changmin were out of the mart and took a seat on the benches. you hand your best friend the wrapped frozen treat before letting out a sigh. âi still canât believe this is one of the few times we got to meet up during the break.â
âi know.â he tears the plastic wrapping off. âyou would think that summer break would mean we get to hang out nonstop, but iâm starting to think we saw each other more whenever we had school.â
you hum. âi know. and i had ap stat while you had training.â your eyes dart at changmin who grips onto the popsicle sticks, struggling to split it into two. âoh my god, donât tell me you canât split it.â
âhey! itâs hard.â
as you giggle, you reach your hand out. âlet me do it.â once changmin hands you the twin bar, you attempt to split the two. for a moment, you almost think about agreeing with him. yet, the frozen treat splits into two perfectly, and a satisfied smile rests on your lips.
you hand him one popsicle, only to be met with his glare. âi know, iâm just better.â
âjust shut up.â to that, another laugh leaves you.
under the sun, you enjoy the coolness of the twin bar. while you wouldâve stared off to nowhere, you and changmin were here at the right time to catch civilians bustling away. some were on dates, where one would go on about their interest while the other would smile at their rambling. there were kids whose chatter could be heard all the way from the end of the block, and blue-collar men who were off to enjoy their break.
you canât help but imagine what people sawâthoughtâof you and changmin. did they think of you as unexpected friends? has it ever crossed their minds that you two were only classmates who seemed to always be paired together? or did they ever think the same as mr. kim?
âyou know,â changmin starts off, causing you to look at him, âi was going through college courses the other day.â
your eyebrows shoot up. âoh?â
with your reaction, changmin giggles. âi was just curious, you know? not that iâm giving up on dance or anything, but,â he licks the popsicle, âearly childhood education sounds cool.â
you hum. âi wasnât expecting that.â
âwhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âno, itâs not a bad thing!â you reassure the boy. âitâs just,â you rip your gaze off of changmin and look at the playground, âi always thought of you as a dancer, you know? kind of like you were meant for the stage.â the laughter of the kids who passed by you two bounces all over the block and you canât help but smile. âbut i donât doubt it.â
the breeze graces your sweat-covered skin. âwhat about you?â you look back at him. âwould you ever consider journalism? maybe communication as your major?â
youâre quick to laugh at his suggestion, but when confusion paints his features, you realize itâs a serious question from him.
âno.â itâs a straightforward answer from you, but changmin could never settle with that
âwhy not?â
a sigh leaves you. âi just donât consider it. i mean, i think about it,â all the time, âbut not enough to consider it. plus, astrophysics is cool.â
âbut is it your dream?â
changminâs question is an easy one to answerânot at all. youâve had enough learning about theories and making sense of the numbers. if your future is going to only complicate that further, then maybe astrophysics isnât made for you.Â
but whoâs to say that youâll even enjoy journalism?
âweâll see.â you leave it at that and changmin didnât push for more.
because the reality is that if you ever did consider it, transform those dreams into action plans, you were terrified to be met with your parentsâ disappointmentâit wouldnât only be from your lousy desires but from changminâs role in your life.
the first time you mentioned changmin to your parents happened over dinner, letting them know you would be staying later at school to work on the final project for art class with him. they didnât bat an eye at his name as they continued to talk about what happened during work and pester you about your progress in other classes. (art class didnât matter to them, only the sciences and math were ones they seemed to track. still, they would criticize you if you didnât place first honors.)
with your parentsâ oversight, something blossomed between you and changmin. from there, there were more days you would get home later than usual. while you were still on top of your work, they took your late arrivals as a form of negligence.
all it took was one night for them to demand an explanation. the reappearance of him in the conversation had only caused them to reprimand youâchangminâs not like you. heâll only hold you back.Â
from that day on, youâve learned to keep his name out of conversations. youâll enjoy what you have with changmin, even if it has to be kept under the wraps.
âhowâs training?â you change the subject, trying to keep the attention off of your failed dreams to changminâs flourishing ones.
âwell, itâs a lot,â he chuckles as he munches a piece. âyou already know that it takes how many hours to get to the company, and the hours i spend in the practice room are unlike the trainings i have at school.â
as his eyes meet yours, you only shoot him an apologetic smile. it was never going to be easy; you two knew that before changmin entered the doors of the company. yet, he still held on.
âyou know, i never considered it before, but i like where iâm going,â he admits. âeven if iâve always had dreams to pursue dance, i want to make my family proud if i ever get to debut.âÂ
changmin knows how to persevere. regardless of all the bruises he gets from performing complex dance routines or the hours of sleep he longs for, he knows how to hold on. you wish you could say the same for yourself.
âand you will,â you reassure the boy, wrapping your arm around his shoulders. âwho wouldnât be proud of you?â
he holds your stare and your smile falters. for a moment, you donât know if you touched on a sensitive topic. would he shrug your arm off? do you think heâll shut you off, maybe cut your time together short? will changmin get mad at you for something you didnât know was wrong? would he be just like them?
âi want to make you proud.â
thatâs enough to answer it all.
you shake your head. âdonât even doubt that for a second.â your arm finds it spot back to your side, and changminâs loops his with yours.
although he knows how to persevere, he never knows when to shut his ears from the shadows.Â
âi am proud of you,â you tell him. âalways have, always will.â he canât help but smile. all you can hope is that heâll listen closely to your voice.
âi almost forgot,â he says out of nowhere.
âforgot what?â
as he tugs his arm away, his hand fishes for something in his pocket. âclose your eyes.â you furrow your eyebrows. âjust do it!â you follow his orders. âand keep them closed, okay?â you let out a hum.
before you know it, something wraps around your index finger. you wouldâve opened your eyes, confused over the foreign yet familiar material, but they remain shut.Â
âokay, open.â
your gaze rests on your finger wrapped in yellow and blue. itâs a finger trapâand the other end is connected to changmin. despite your tug, it still holds you two together.
itâs the warmth that fills your cheeks, the heartbeat in your ears, and your starstruck eyes that has him smile. âno matter what happens, weâll stick together, okay? regardless of what paths we end up pursuing. all that matters is that we have each other.â
heâs filled with hope. hope for his dreams. hope for your relationship. hope for what the future holds for you two. you canât help but hope as well.
all it takes is a nod from you to solidify the promise to the universe.
you two sit in silence, finishing up the popsicles as people continue to pass by. at one point, you heard mr. kim let out a curse over the drama heâs watching. the sun is about to set, wrapping you two in a golden blanket, and all that matters is the finger trap.
present -> two weeks before the interview, 2024
itâs no surprise to you that the newsroom is quiet. while your peers are off to gather more information, youâre with lee chaeyeon of news as she tries to meet the deadline for her articleâs first close.
âdo you think dokyeom will be late?â you ask as you watch her rephrase sentences.
she laughs. âwhen is he never? minhoâs always assigning him coverages.â
âthatâs true.â your eyes drift to the hallway. âiâm just hungry. he still owes me food, you know?â
âover another bet? or you saving his ass?â
âover helping him with an article,â you reveal, earning a shocked look from her. âfor some odd reason, he needed another writer to help out with a live coverage, and all the sports writers and sports editor were busy handling the other events.â
âholy shit.â chaeyeon continues with her work. âi didnât expect you to work on anything sports-related.â
âyeah, but it helped that it was a dance competition. at least i know something about dance.â you only know who to thank. âiâm going to make sure i get compensated for that. iâm planning to raise it to minho and namjoon, anyway. thatâs if dokyeom would fucking come and help in explaining the situation.â
with the mention of the tardy writerâs name, heâs scrambling through the halls with his backpack in one hand and a paper bag in the other. the moment he sees you, he shoots you an apologetic smile.
âspeak of the devil,â you say as you stand up straight. âwhy do you always show up late? i helped you with the article.â
dokyeom finds his spot beside you as he sets down the bag on your desk. âiâll have you know that wasnât the only article i had yesterday. i was catching up on other ones that minho assigned me.â before he can plop down on his seat, he spots chaeyeon working. âdamn, tough life at news.â
âno need to point out the obvious, doofus.â
âwow, harsh,â he replies to her insult. âjust so you know, i bought food for us.â
âthank god,â you exclaim as you open the paper bag filled with takeout containers and sealed cups. as you pull them out one by one, you spot your usual order from the vietnamese restaurant around the corner. âoh my god, thank you for getting me this.â you take a seat before you pass dokyeom his food and utensils.
âyeah, i know. iâm just the best.â his shower of compliments for himself only has you rolling your eyes. âbut thank you, by the way, for helping me out with the article. i needed an extra pair of hands and my own editor couldnât stand in to help out.â
âitâs fine. just make sure you help me get compensated for that article,â you say before you open the container. as the smell of bun bo nam bo fills your nose, you canât help but let out a quiet moan. âholy fuck, iâve been craving this.â
âi made sure to get you some vietnamese coffee also.â
âyeah, i saw. thank you.â you split the chopsticks with one hand. youâre about to mix the bowl of your favorite foodâ
âis y/n here?â your editor calls out, causing you to let out a sigh before you stand up from your seat.
âyes?â
namjoonâs gaze lands on you. âcan i talk to you for a bit?â
despite your grumbling stomach, you give him a nod and set your food down. as he retreats to his office, you glare at dokyeom who munches away on goi cuon. âi hate you.â
âhey, what did i do?!â you ignore his attempts to defend himself as you make your way to your editorâs office.
once you swing the door open, you spot namjoon whose eyes are stuck to the screen. âyou can take a seat,â he says with no attempt to look at you. you sit across from him, hands folded on your lap, while he types away on his keyboard.
the moment he hits the âenterâ key is when he finally looks at you. âsorry about that. i was just replying to minho regarding your compensation for the article you worked with dokyeom. we both appreciate what you did. next time though, make sure to loop in minho or me before you two start working on beats not within your staffs.â
âsorry about that,â you start off. âdokyeom only asked for my help and i thought it would be fine since iâm familiar with dance, anyway.â
namjoon shakes his head with a small smile plastered on his face. âit is fine, just make sure to inform us.â you only nod.
âanyway, iâm sorry to have this meeting with you right now but i have to leave work early today, and i thought that youâd appreciate that i tell this to you now instead of tomorrow,â he says. you hum, curious about what he has to say. âi have a coverage for you, a very, very, long one.â
over the sight of your wide eyes, he canât help but chuckle. âitâs 12 articles,â he says and your mouth gapes over the number. âwell, one main article and 11 profiles with very brief introductory paragraphs.â his attempt to ease your shocked state does nothing.
ânamjoon, thatâs⌠a lot.â
âyes, i know. i would love to split the workload but everyone else is handling other articles, and i trust you. i know iâm asking for a lot but iâll make sure to help you out with them. itâs just that weâre working on a time crunch and i donât know anyone else i can ask but you.â
the faith that your editor seems to have in you is like no other.
âprofiles, like, those q&a transcripts?â you ask.
he nods before saying, âyes, and just a brief introductory paragraph for each profile. iâm just expecting you to put more work into the article about the group. iâll make sure to help out with the profiles.â
namjoonâs trust should be anxiety inducing, enough to send you complaining, but you find yourself relieved. your mentor became your second-in-command; the mountain of workload transformed into a hill.
âokay.â
a relaxed smile appears on his face at your acceptance. âthank god! i was going to stress about this the whole day if you refused. iâll make sure to send you the details about this once iâm done with my appointments, and then we can see how weâll divide the work later on.â he types something. âweâre covering a k-pop group which is why thereâs one main article about the whole group and then 11 profiles.â
âyeah, i figured that out.â this isnât anything out of your usual articles. âcan i ask who weâre interviewing? maybe i can do some research on them while you attend your meetings.â you pull out your phone, ready to search up whoever your editor says.
âdonât know if youâre familiar with them but theyâre called the boyz?â you still in your seat. âwait, let me check. yes, thatâs their name.â
âthe boyz?â
namjoon looks at you, now met with your features that have transformed from wide eyes to scrunched eyebrows. âyeah. do you know them?âÂ
you shake your head without a second thought. âno, i donât think i do,â you whisper the last sentence to yourself. his narrow eyes look over you, almost dissecting you.
the walls surrounding you are painted in solid colors of pearl, almost untouched. yet, under the paint are cracks that spread like cobwebs. every burst is a testament to the earthquakes theyâve faced; no one should be able to see a single line of black amid the white sea. now, theyâre filled with paste, and it should be enough to cover them all.
but for the first time, the paint has chipped and the paste has deteriorated; the different colors of cheongju seep through the cracks.
you clear your throat as you straighten your back. âiâll be sure to research them.â you wave your phone at him, hoping to divert his attention, but his gaze remains on you.
a sigh leaves him. âokay. expect to receive the documents later in the afternoon.â
he doesnât push any further. for now, the walls remain intact. (or appear as so.)
it was never going to be easy.
âhonestly, i gave up expecting to win as we practiced,â the youngest says through tears. as they huddle, they let out silent wishes for the upcoming years. before they blow the candle, they donât forget to express their gratitude to the fandom who stuck with them through thick and thin.
a time of celebration turned into a moment to remember their struggles. these were pockets of their time that marked their spot in history.
âoh, everyone behind us is crying!â another member points out as the camera captures the teamâs bittersweet cries.
and when you catch sight of the orange-haired boy who hides his tears behind his friend, the ache in your chest starts to spread through your veins. the video cuts to his low-hanging head as his members comfort him. they knew all of his hardshipsâyou only know a fraction.
such a tender moment happened five years ago; itâs the same amount of time between this achievement and your departure. within those years, what did changmin undergo? did his trainings waver his passion or did the fire burn just as bright as it did since he first auditioned? was he confident in his skills or was he still critical about every performance he had?
but most of all, what did he face? what did he learn? to hate? to love?
what did he go through without you?
you donât forget to take note of their first win on your document filled with bullet points of information. while you were going to continue watching, a recommended video caught your attention. itâs a changmin focus. you donât hesitate to click it.
the video starts off with him checking up on the fans before the performance starts. as he mimes out eating, they answer his question with reassurance.
and there they comeâhis dimples appear.
it transitions to their group in their opening formation. as they await for the song to play out, changminâs familiar smile shifts into a dominant gaze.
in the same way the first notes draw people to listen, your eyes never leave the boy. his movements are fluid, like water droplets sliding off leaves. he commands the stage regardless of where heâs positioned.
changmin is meant to be on the stageâno, every stage is made for him. every crowd is meant to cheer his name and remain captive to his talents, and every spotlight is meant to shine on him.
you rest your chin on crossed arms. long gone was the bowl cut and loose school uniform. heâs grown. matured, even. yet, the moments where his smile appears makes you realize one thing: the 16-year-old boy you knew still lives within him.
as their performance comes to an end, you donât bother to move your cursor, letting the next recommended video play. and when his vlog plays out, you realize that a fragment of his identity is a whole of what you know.
what an honor it is to have known him for even a fraction of your lifetime.
his voice is a lullaby, the same one you used to fall asleep to, so you allow yourself to close your eyes. you let go of the responsibilities for just this moment, and allow yourself to be transported back into the warmth of his arms.
fall of 2014
out of all the seasons, autumn took its spot in being your favorite. clusters of green slowly morph into shades of oranges and browns. itâs a symphony of chirps that fills the silence. while the breeze brings you comfort after the heat of summer, it also reminds you of the looming winter.
itâs a shame that autumn does live up to its other name: a season of fall.
âyouâre always like this,â your mother comments. you stand in front of your parents, slumped shoulders and downcast eyes, as they hold a sheet of paper they believe dictates your future. âalways so sensitive. weâre just asking you what went different. why did your grades drop?â to them, a shift from a to b+ is a threat to your future.Â
while your feet stand on wooden floors, a flood starts to form. murky waves crash against your legs, but you do your best to keep your balance.
âanswer us when youâre being talked to.â your father snaps you out of your thoughts. âwhat have you been doing for your grades to drop?â you want to answer but a single sound that leaves you may only lead to blubbers that your parents will scold you for.Â
with your silence, your mother sneers. âi knew we shouldnât have let you do your own things. i told you so.â she shifts her gaze to him. âwhat did i tell you about y/n? you know theyâll only slack off!â
âi thought we could trust them. clearly, i was wrong.â your fatherâs glare raises the water levels, reaching your chest. you donât know how to swim in the foggy ocean.
âi know why.â she crosses her arms. âitâs because of that changmin boy, isnât it?â she says his name laced with disgust.
you donât think twice to defend him. âno, it isnât!â
âdonât you dare talk back at me!â
âbut iâm not! heâs done nothing.â
your father begins to raise his voice. âand thatâs whatâs wrong! that lazy boy does nothing for his studies. he clearly doesnât care about his future.â
you always knew it would be a losing battle, but youâll put up the fight to protect your best friendâs name. âthatâs not true! he does care. heâs planning to do early childhood education for college, maybe become a teacher.â
âthat job has no money. see, i can already see that youâre being influenced by him,â he argues back.
and as the murky waters rise, filling your lungs, your first instinct is to close your eyes and scream. âstop saying that about him!â
a beat passes.
âi donât want you hanging out with him.â
âbutââ
âshut up.â your motherâs words cause you to look up, meeting your parentsâ faces filled with anger. âgo to your room. now.â youâre nothing but a puppet for them.
was it even a battle if you always knew you were going to lose?
despite the safety of your room, you donât let the tears flow down. you do anything to distract yourself; maybe a book will convince you that your life is only a figment of your imagination.
waves continue to crash against your body. if you let them take your body, would they send you far away from cheongju? from your parents? from the weight you were entrusted to carry since birth?
but would you allow the waves to send you away from changmin?
your phone buzzes against the mattress. with tear-filled eyes, you see your best friend trying to reach you. you donât think twice about declining his call and shutting off your phone.
as you curl in your bed, you hope the sea will swallow you wholeâthe slow, burning pain that comes with drowning wonât compare to the burns that havenât healed. but you know that the blame rests on your shoulders. if only you had studied harder, cut off hours of rest for your work, then maybe you would be the perfect child your parents wanted.
were you wrong for allowing yourself to enjoy the small breaks between classes? was the time spent in the mart supposed to be for schoolwork? should you have found yourself a tutor? were you in the wrong for not working yourself to the bone? did you not work enough?
are you not enough?
then, a knock. your eyes snap open. like a stroke of light in the middle of the dark, changmin is by your window.
you get off your bed to open the window. as the glass barrier disappears, he enters your room. âare you okay?â he spots your glassy eyes and his hands find their spot on your shoulders. âwhat happened?â
you break eye contact. âwhat do you want, changmin?â
âyou didnât pick up your phone. and when i tried calling again, i couldnât reach you,â he starts to explain.
you shrug off his grip on you before you take a seat on your bed. âiâm fine. my phone died.â as you feel the spot beside you dip, you look at your best friend. at the sight of his furrowed eyebrows, you know he doesnât believe you. âi said iâm fine.â
âi didnât say anything.â for you are an open book to him.
he opens his arms towards youâitâs your move to make. then, a tight-lipped smile shows on his face, his dimples appear, and you allow yourself to fall. with his arms wrapped around you, you shut your eyes as you nestle your face into his neck.
breathe in. breathe out.
his hand finds its spot on your back, rubbing it in circles.
breathe in. breathe out.
âitâs okay, iâm here,â he says, and you allow yourself to crumble in front of him for the first time.
the tears hit changminâs neck like a light drizzle. your wails bring earthquakes into his world.
yet, his warmth is enough to dry up droplets, and his embrace protects you as you fall into the cracks of the earth and into the depths of the world. the flood starts to subside.
in your time knowing changmin, how much did he know about you after all? had he always known of your strained relationship with your parents? did he hear about it from others or was he able to connect the dots?
because you didnât know yourself outside of your parents anymore. did you like science because of your kumon classes? was your interest in writing birthed from a desire for validation from your parents?
are you nothing but an array of achievements and failures?
but your parents will never be satisfied; a standard too high is practically nonexistent.
changmin moves so that you two can lie down. his arms remain wrapped around you as you hide in his neck. âiâm sorry if i wasnât there for you when you needed it then.â his whispered apology causes you to shake your head.
âyou didnât do anything wrong,â you blubber out to his neck.
âand you didnât, as well.â his hand finds its spot behind your head. with every stroke, a tear streams down. âand i want you to know that iâll be here for you.â
in your house, your room was the only space you called home. solace built by you.Â
now, your home is changmin.
present -> two weeks before the interview, 2024
something about the newsroom feels odd to you. thereâs nothing out of the ordinary aside from it bustling with journalists. the familiar sounds of printers and chatter from your workmates fill your ears. itâs a typical occurrence for your peers to meet their deadlines on the day itself. the tug in your gut doesnât resemble ones formed out of your anxiety. why does it feel like one of destiny?
âwhere is dokyeom? i swear, this guy never shows up to the office.â
you snap out of your thoughts, looking over at chaeyeon who browses through her phone. as you shove a bill into the vending machine, a chuckle leaves you. âwhen is he never?â
âmaybe if he finishes his coverages on time then heâd be getting enough sleep. then, he wonât be late.â
you side-eye your friend before you click on a button. âyou know thatâs not true.â
she sighs at the same time your bottle of iced tea drops. âyeah. apparently, if you have free time, youâre not a good journalist or some shit which i find stupid.â you grab your drink before facing her. âam i not allowed to do something else thatâs not related to my job? i swear, this is why iâm single.â
âthen date another journalist.â your joke earns a scowl from her.
âiâm never dating anyone in my field. a journalist dating another journalist is like,â she looks up to the ceiling as she thinks, âa long distance relationship with how much theyâll never see or have time for each other.â
a laugh erupts from you, one that may be too loud for your liking. âtrue.â
as you walk out of the breakroom with chaeyeon, you notice something in the corner of your eye: a brunette by the restroom. while you canât see his face, you spot whatâs in his hand and you halt in your tracksâa finger trap.
âhey, is there someone there?â your eyes snap back to your friend who looks at you in confusion. when your eyes drift back to where the brunette once was, heâs already gone. you shake your head before walking back to your desk.
the same gut feeling lingers. with a frown, you open up your article only to be met with a few comments that namjoon left last night. maybe your gut knew that you werenât done with your work. thankfully, itâs nothing too major, and you can have them done within the next few minutes.
âthere you are!â chaeyeon exclaims, causing you to look up from your screen to a panting dokyeom. âwere you working on your articles again?â
âactually, i went out last night.â while you shake your head at dokyeomâs reveal, chaeyeon gasps. âyeah, i did! i actually had fun for once!â
as he nods proudly at last nightâs events, she complains, âare you serious?! how come you have time to go out? i was just talking to y/n that we never have time to ourselves.â
âiâm in sports,â he points out as he shrugs his shoulders. âyouâre in news.â at this point, youâre expecting the two to spiral into an argument, so you redirect your focus back to your article.
âhey, did you hear though? thereâs a k-pop group in the building.â you glance at chaeyeon.
your other friend leans on the cubicle. âreally? who?â
âno clue.â
dokyeom lets out a groan. âwhat type of journalist are you if you canât find out?â
âyah!â chaeyeon smacks his arm, causing him to wince in pain. âsays you who can never submit on time.â
âhey, iâll have you know that minho has been understanding!â
âwhatever.â she rolls her eyes before looking at you. âthat means youâll probably be handling them. i hope theyâre cute so that you can finally have something going on with your life outside of work.â
a chuckle leaves you as you get back to work. âiâm never dating an idol. iâd get hunted down by their fans.âÂ
âyeah, but canât you dream a little? do you ever imagine what it would be like?â
the past plays in your mind. after school performances and interviews. broken-up popsicles. finger traps. a life you shared with changmin thenâone you still cling onto.
yet, you shake your head as you edit your article. ânot even.â
itâs a life youâll keep to yourself.
âwhatâs the update?â
the three of you look away from each other, spotting namjoon who comes to you with a smile. long gone were the sweaters that failed to drown out his figure and the boxy glasses that would rest on the bridge of his nose. now, he wears a dress shirt and trousers with hair slicked to the side. there were no frames for him to hide behind.
âah, namjoon! youâre dressed so nice today.â
with dokyeomâs compliment, he canât hold back on his smile. âthank you. are you guys done with your articles?â
as your friends nod, you add the finishing touches to the document. âand done! i just finished addressing your comments.â
âgreat. thanks, y/n.â
âdo you have something?â chaeyeon asks your editor, causing you to roll your eyes. one thing about journalists is that they love to know everything.
namjoon nods before saying, âi just had a meeting with some possible interviewees.â
âis this the one with the k-pop group?â as dokyeom asks the question, you canât help but laugh as chaeyeon looks at him in disbelief for spilling confidential information.
your editor chuckles. âyes.â
âcan we knowââ
âno, you canât know.â
chaeyeon pouts at namjoon. ânot even a hint?â
namjoon ignores her question and begins to walk off. âgood work, y/n!â he calls out before leaving you three alone.
âman, namjoon never tells us shit,â chaeyeon complains as she leans on the table.
âto you guys, at least,â you argue with a small shrug.
still, the gut feeling remains.
something about the newsroom feels odd to changmin. while heâs had his fair share of paranormal experiences, his gut tells him that thereâs something in the office. yet, the tug isnât one that speaks of danger. why does it feel like one of destiny?
âshould we have a short break before we discuss the schedules for the photoshoots and interviews?â changmin is snapped out of his thoughts by namjoonâs suggestion.
his manager looks at the group. âdo you guys need a break?â
sangyeon shoots namjoon a smile before looking at his members. âyou guys can use the washroom if you need to.â
although everyone seemed fine with proceeding, changmin couldnât shake off the feeling. maybe the leftover curry he had this morning went bad. âiâll go,â he says as he gets off his seat.
namjoon slowly stands up. âokay, i can bring you thereââ
âitâs okay! i saw the washroom on the way here,â changmin says before walking to the door. âyou can discuss the details without me. iâm sure you guys will manage.â
with sangyeonâs and his managerâs nods, namjoon settles back into his seat. âokay then, here are some of the dates i have in mind...â
changmin exits the room. he bites on the inside of the cheek as he thinks of what his gut could be telling him. is it the nerves for the upcoming tour? is he worried about the next comeback theyâve been preparing? or is he scared about what the future has in store for his group?
with his mind on these questions, he doesnât realize that he arrives in front of the bathroom door. a sigh of frustration leaves him. the worst thing about gut feelings is never knowing what theyâre trying to say.
he grips the handle, ready to swing the door open, until a familiar laugh hits his ears. one of the past. one he hasnât heard in years. his muscles freeze.
when was the last time he heard that chortle? when was the last time he became the cause of it?
his eyes dart around the area for the source but no one else is here. he canât help but shake his head in disbelief.
it should be stupid for him to think you two would ever reunite. in what world would you be in the same place as he is? itâs been 10 years. you could be anywhere around the world. yet, he fishes for something out of his pocket; the same finger trap he linked you to him rests on the palm of his hand.
he sighs before entering the washroom and shoving it back into his pocket.
maybe heâll hold out a little longer.
winter of 2014
out of all the seasons, changminâs favorite is winter. snowflakes fall, filling the sky with stars that people can touch, and snow piles on sidewalks, letting him throw snowballs at his friends. despite the freezing temperatures, changmin prefers this over nearly-boiling ones.
he canât wait to share this season with you.
yet, the familiar, chilly breeze of the season transforms into whispers, and word gets around like thrown snowballs.Â
âis y/n really not going to school anymore?â changmin looks up from his desk to see cheng xiao standing in front of him. he tilts his head in confusion, causing her to roll her eyes. âare they not going here anymore?â
he frowns. âhuh? what kind of rumor is that?â
âi donât know. itâs what people have been saying,â she says as she crosses her arms. âi asked because i wanted to know if my competitionâs gone, you know? and youâre the only one here who has an idea about their whereabouts.â
changmin laughs in disbelief. âno, i was with them last week.â
when changmin last saw you, you asked for space. with whatâs been happening with your family, you needed time to process and cope with your issues, and he respected that. after all, he only knew a fraction of your relationship with your parents, and he didnât want to intrude in anything you didnât want him to be a part of. still, changmin reminded you that heâll be there if you need him.
âdamn, that sucks,â cheng xiao groans as her shoulders slump. âthese stupid rumors.â as soon as she leaves changmin alone, he shakes his head.
the bell rings. students start rushing into classrooms and teachers scold those who arenât on their seats. ms. jeon enters the room, walking to the desk in front and setting her things down. âcheng xiao, youâll be in charge of attendance today.â
as changminâs classmate gets off her seat, he canât help but look at your desk that still remains empty.
âyou have to message us when you land,â your mother says as she fixes the collar of your coat. despite your nod, she clicks her tongue. âanswer me properly.â
âyes, i will.â
once your father finishes placing the last luggage in the trunk of the taxi, he stands beside your mother. âdonât forget why weâre sending you there. we expect you to do better with no distractions.â
your phone buzzes in your hand. as you look down, you see a message from changmin. as he asks about your whereabouts, the weight gets heavierâwill you stand or crumble under it?
âwhoâs that?â
you stash your phone away as you look back at your parents. ânothing. itâs just an email from the school. they sent over the date for the orientation.â at the sight of their satisfied smile, you let out a small sigh of relief.
âwell, go on.â your nod at your mother before getting in the car. with the windows still down, she adds, âdonât forget to get endorsement letters from the professors i sent over to you or else you wonât get to study abroad like we planned.â her choice of pronouns is funny; a plan that they crafted which never considered your input.
âokay.â
as your father commands the driver to go, your gaze remains on the two. it should be okay with you to leave cheongju; youâd be far away from your parents and experience an entirely different landscape to explore. itâs time you break away from the chains of this town. learn a life outside of what your parents forced you into.
yet, as the car takes its leave, the figure of your parents slowly shrinks. the distance from them shouldâve given you the space to breathe, a relief youâve longed for, but it only reminds you of your strained relationship. to them, it would be better that youâre out of their sightâand with your farewell, you never heard the three-word phrase.
the window rolls up. you try to hold back the tears, but the scenery of cheongju that you pass by births a storm within you. you didnât want to say goodbye to home, regardless of how much you say you didnât have a home in this town. every corner holds a piece of you in the same way you hold a piece of them.
the car approaches a safe haven you share. despite the snow that piles at the front, mr. kimâs convenience store is still open. youâll never get to have his hotteok again or hear his favorite dramas play in the background. worst of all, you never got to say goodbye.
then, the familiar figure of your best friend exits the mart, and the storm transforms into a typhoon. the plastic bag he holds is filled with your favorite snacks, from the grape-flavored twin bar to a bottle of mr. kimâs homemade peach iced tea.
and in that moment that your car passes him, he pulls out his phone from his pocket, and you spot the familiar trap wrapped around his fingerâthe other end holds no one.
as quickly as you came into changminâs life, he disappears from your view.
finger traps were fascinating. if you tug hard, the contraption wonât let your fingers go. yet, if you allow the two fingers to meet, allowing the toy to loosen, itâll let you go with no harm.
but your finger trap with changmin was different. maybe it was already ripped to its seams.
interview
q: what made you decide on becoming an idol?
a: iâve always loved dancing. growing up in cheongju, i always made time [for dance] whether it be [for] school competitions, talent shows, or even [choreographies] i wanted to try out. but i never considered becoming [an idol] until high school. a lot of my friends and family thought i was capable, and iâm glad they trusted me. it feels good to give back to them with every performance.
q: as the first trainee meant to debut in the boyz, youâve spent more time training compared to your other members. what kept you going throughout your years of training?
a: my familyâs support was one big thing that helped me [during my training.] every trip from my house to the company would last hours, and it drained me physically. so as the years went by, i started to question if all the time, money, [and] effort i was putting into an unpromised debut would be worth it, but my parents and sisters were always there to support and [take] care of me. but iâd also like to think my best friend was a major support in training years. i think they were the first one to [tell me that they saw me as an idol,] and at the time i brushed off the idea. but, look where i am now? so i think i owe a lot to them.
q: is there anything youâd like to say to those whoâve supported you as the boyzâs q?
a: mom and dad, thank you for believing in me. i know it wasnât easy to wait until midnight for me to come home or take care of me whenever i got sick from training. thank you for always supporting me in every performance. to my sisters, thank you for helping mom and dad out at home. every day, i remind myself that you gave up so much just so i can pursue my dreams, and i want you know that iâm forever grateful for your sacrifices. to the rest of [the boyz], thank you for always allowing me to rely on you. iâm glad i can say i have brothers who i get to achieve my dreams with. deobi, thank you for your love and support over the years. i wouldnât be the boyzâs q or ji changmin if it werenât for you. and lastly, thank you to my best friend. i hope youâll always be proud of me the same way iâll forever be proud of you.
tag list: @deoboyznet @kflixnet @blankjournal @winterchimez @miusgirl @jenoscafe @sweet-unicorn-world @mosviqu @vernyangel @stealanity @deobi0412 @blue-rainydays @maessseongs @dearly-somber
#ji changmin x reader#the boyz fic recs#im jumping off a cliff in t-minus two hours whoever wants to join may do so#pls read if u want something so heart wrenchingly beautiful
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also I guess this is just an observation
but what is it with some pixel art games being so low contrast... I was finally going to give in and try out a farming sim lots of ppl enjoy despite the portrait art being not entirely to my tastes and then the pixels and environment are sooooo low contrast it made me change my mind again....like you do not have to be scared of dark colors and borders. Outlines. Smile.
#it reminds me of how i can never use any stardew furniture/clothing/hair mods bc theyre always so low contrast#to match the equally low contrast pastel environment recolors that the modders assume youre also using#FoM is full of pastel furniture (for example) and they werent scared to add um Outlines and Borders. thank god.#but this is my point again like this wouldnt be an issue if we had moreeee of these games#well wait not true#i keep saying that bc more of them = theres gotta be some among them that turn out good#but everyone says the genre is oversaturated rn and it is true and we only have like 2 good games in the past 10 yrs lmfao#nvm. my ''we just need more of these games so it doesnt matter if some are bad if we have many good ones'' argument doesnt work#bc like where are the good ones....#ok evilposting over. i love pixel art game i prefer it to Non pixel where the art style can#be very polarizing i feel pixel has a more universal potential....but im still very picky with pixel art style.#talkys#i guess this rant was more abt farming games.....i just want more escapism games for cheye PLEASE
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can never really stop thinking about the core difference between zoro's sacrifice at thriller bark vs the other major crew sacrifices (robin and sanji) but i can never really articulate it either like. idk. despite all three coming from a place of 'you mean so much to me that im willing to die in exchange for your safety', robin and sanji are both clearly acting under the influence of decades of self-worth issues and being told the world would be better off without them in it, and wanting to be useful in their final act, whereas zoro is...something else entirely.
it's in the way zoro's is an act of defiance right until the end, vs robin and sanji's capitulation. and thats not to say that their sacrifices were lesser or that they just 'gave up' or whatever. robin and sanji were both in awful situations where they were undoubtedly boxed in and had to make snap decisions, but there is something to be said for how they both feel like they have no choice but to shoulder the burden alone and in silence, without giving the crew even a chance to have a say. conversely, zoro makes the offer to kuma when every other avenue has been exhausted and the crew is totally out of commission (though they all made it explicitly clear theyd rather die themselves than hand over luffy).
there's something about luffy (and the crew)'s life being as important to zoro as his ambition, vs luffy (and the crew) being more important than robin/sanji's own lives. as in, the most important thing in zoros life has always been his goal, and he raises the crew to that same level (and luffy even higher) of value, which speaks volumes given his character, as opposed to the others who have never really learnt how to value themselves, thinking of themselves as the outsider that can be easily cast off for the greater good. like...bringing someone up to stand where you are vs pushing someone up above yourself yknow...
#i think i was going somewhere w these thoughts but well. i wasnt<3#idk i feel like i still cant fully get into the zoro of it all#its so easy to understand the other two but i always feel like im just missing a big obvious piece of zoro in this ykwim#i think it does hinge on value though like you can see it in the way zoro and sanji speak to kuma in that scene i just cant. articulate it#though there is also smth to be said about how much of the world theyve all seen#zoros world is just smaller than robin or sanjis who have suffered immensely in ways that highlight how little individuals can do#like they have a better understanding of how those things work from having been through the exact same thing before right#vs zoro who is just like. idk a guy who never learnt what fear is kind of. he was just never taught fear or self-hate and it shows#which im not being disparaging when i say zoros world is smaller its just true in this context his interactions w the world overall are les#anyway this spiralled out into smth much less about thriller bark. im writing abt robin and sanji in a fic rn and they make me crazy#and then its like. yeah idk zoro is also there. knowing he doesnt get it#roronoa zoro
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(Context: im thinking abt my post canon au, i explained on my ao3, u dont even have to read it just know its there)
Mizu revealing her being a woman to taigen AFTER he confesses his feelings to mizu AFTER being bested during their duel once again is literally so fucking personal to me. Jesus fuck... FUCK. Like. How overwhelmingly loved she must feel. How SEEN. Truly for once n not just but loved and wanted!!! Its so personal to me. Just. Taigen, losing, n then immediately leaning in for a kiss. Mizu is lost cuz what?? Why?? N taigen just. Confesses, but hes holding back cuz mizus reaction was not great and he doesn't wanna ruin the friendship they've formed these past months, they've grown so close so fast n its scary but so exciting n so right but if mizu doesnt want this then nothing is happening n its ok he has a CHOICE. Like. FUCK!! N then mizu telling taigen to wait and that night she reveals it. And its just sooo fucking intimate. Its so soft. And maybe taigen is confused but one look at how small mizu is making herself, like shielding herself from him. Like he gets it. The danger of it all. And its his promise to protect her if she ever needs to that does her in cuz. SHE HAS A CHOICE. TO BE PROTECTED OR NOT. THATS SO IMPORTANT TO HER. Yes, she can protect herself. Yes, it feels good to be protected. Yknow??
Mizu revealing her being a woman to akemi totally by accident AFTER they just had an argument abt women's choices in society AFTER mizu accidentally took one (1) big sip of sake, n then deciding fuck it im gonna win this argument, guess what akemi. And that's how akemi finds out. N Mizu thinks akemi is going to hate her, n she does for a bit in silence, but mostly shes just hurt? For herself AND for Mizu. Cause she understands, so suddenly, so intimately, how hard being a woman is and how mizu has had to hide as a man to survive (not even for plot reasons that we know, mizu being mixed AND a woman? Death sentence). And she just hurts. And they thought they'd always have this weird rift between them but they cry and they let it out (for Mizu, for the first time in YEARS) and its just. Its so emotional n so important and so personal and intimate. Its maybe winter all over again, a year has passed since theyd seen each other in kyoto, so much has changed and yet not rly and. They've grown but in different ways. Akemi, in taking life by the reins n being assertive and strong and so dangerously intelligent like shes always been but now, now its crucial to be that. And Mizu in realizing that she truly, truly wants to be loved so badly but to be loved is to be vulnerable and thats what scares her the most, to be weak; but ure only strong if u can be weak too, and thats what she learns. And i think this is where they really get deep into their feelings. Before it was a crush, an annoying one. Now? Oh bby theyre down bad. Yes they are.
#blue eye samurai#mizu blue eye samurai#akemi blue eye samurai#taigen blue eye samurai#akemi x mizu#taigen x mizu#hey look i posted a thing#come get yall headcanons#love how once they become actual friends i feel like mizu n taigen would fall for each other so fast itd scare then#but akemi n mizu have more of a slowburn cuz they're both denying the possibility of being with the other person so its just daydreaming now#n then akemi n taigen actually just stay friends cuz i think its hilarious#they can unlock their true potential as chaotic besties now#ringo is just living his life btw. hes kinda lost rn my poor darling#itohs just like âi love my wife. wait is she fucking the onryoâ proceeds to be confused and lost n âconfrontingâ her with teary eyes#(he saw them smile at each other)#akemi just inviting him to the polycule like âcan u be cool abt a lot of things real quickâ#and it takes time to process but he eventually is just like. this. kind of rules. dont tell my mom i said that tho#always scared his mom is gonna find out abt thier shenanigans as if she isnt the mother of the shogun now shes got shit to do#(being the second choice always oof. oof oof. best bet im playing with thattt)
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mahmood allergic to not crafting songs that donât sound like the epitome of ethereal and pluck at the strings of your soul.
#heâs a true artist.#his voice is actually heavenly like i always feel like iâm floating when i listen#listening to NLDA rn#itâs always like waves washing over me#and now we have nel tuo mare.#mahmood#personal
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also just for the record. no matter how much utterly stupid shit i say or draw about him, frank actually makes me so deeply sad. this old man should be picking up his grandkids but he cant. i think about him too much and im so sad
#marvel#frank castle#the punisher#this is true for like most of these guys [gestures vaguely to comicbook men] but frank is the one that makes me want to chew on rocks rn. s#like yeah i selfship with him for fun and i like to think about cutesy or funny stuff involving him but the reality is he makes me so sad#ig thats part of why i do it. you make me so sad old man. but youre not real so in some version of not real you can be a little better#not happy but yk better#but like. just. fuck man hes so deeply damaged and hurt it drives me up the wall. my hurt person hurting people#as always i struggle to string words together this isnt news if you know anything about him you know exactly what im getting at#he would have been a wonderful father and husband. the way hes so devoted to them still. always. its killing me#sometimes i see canon moments of him where how just fundamentally deeply broken as a person he is and augh#nothing can help you nothing can make things any better but my god you cannot be left alone in this state#eh maybe thats it. i cant help him i cant make him feel better. but i cant let him be alone like this#i dont think he should have to be alone like this#bleh sorry word vomit. im tired and sleepy. i wrote 4 essays this week. need to write 2 more. going a little bonkers#brain is fried.
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Honestly, having good days like this is good for me mentally. Because not only does it put my usual struggles into perspective, forcing me to accept that I have a tendency to severely downplay just how much they impede me... but it also gives me perspective about my self perceived laziness.
Like, the fact that I become almost abnormally productive and energetic compared even to abled people the very instant that my pain and all of the other issues are all gone? I'm not lazy! And I know logically that teachers telling me that over and over growing up was wrong, but it still shocks me in new ways to this day just how deeply ingrained this perception of myself is.
Like, is it laziness? Or am I just averse to doing things that will physically punish me? Today reminded me that it's very much the latter.
#and its not even an overcompensation thing#i am genuinely ambitious and energetic by nature! in fact i think thats part of why i still manage to do some things#im also optimistic at heart because im always excited to try new things and dont really fear failure or being bad at it#i guess persistent is another fitting word#ALL THAT TO SAY today is most likely what i would be like all the time if i wasnt ill!#and so i once more ask myself: in what world could 'lazy' ever be remotely true#its strange how vindicated i feel rn but its so like#idk ive been so down this whole year but recently theres been a major turnaround mentally#i cant explain it but i feel like theres a new level of self acceptance after today#that its not all in my head and that im not making a bigger deal out of my issues than is valid#because if i were anywhere near healthy i would live like today EVERY day without even thinking about it#silvi talks
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đâď¸đâď¸okay okay okay so so far within the og divisions we have:
â¤ď¸: they strive for a world where words solve conflict. they pointedly did not use mics to express this. at the end of the track, theyâre dynamic as brothers has shifted to a more equal dynamic, where ichiro doesnât feel so compelled to raise them
đ: they strive for a world without violence and used their mics to resolve the conflict. at the end of the track, they reject their status quo and aim to find a new one to change the world without the use of violence
đ: wanted to be real with each other and used their mics to get that across. at the end of the track tho, they say that truth doesnât really matter anyway and stay true to the selves they formed their bond with
đŠś: a battle of wills using the mics. jakuraiâs love for yotsutsuji manifested in the form of sacrificing himself and dohifu trying to stop him using their love for their bond as mtr. at the end of the track itâs that love thatâs saved jakurai, healed hifumi and elevated doppoâs status at work
and things have changed for all theyâve stayed the same so iâm genuinely curious where nagosaka fits in this lol
#vee queued to fill the void#as iâm typing this i havenât really processed the scope of mtrâs story lmao#like it may be bc iâm still a matenhoe forever and always but holy shit their love literally changed their lives#and seeing those threads come to a head like that literally made me want to projectile vomit LOL CAN NEVER FEEL NORMAL ABOUT AN MTR DT EVER#i want to draw!!!!!! the scene where sensei as calm and as at peace as heâs ever been!!!!!!!!#tell dohifu they may think him using the true hypnosis mic to save yotsutsuji is stupidity but to him!!!!!!#itâs literally the most important thing!!!!!!!! god!!!!!!!!! itâs the utter peace in his voice that literally kills me listening it!!!!!#doppo: with all due respect this boils down to your ego#sensei: my ego? well that certainly may be the case. it is i who will be saved by doing this#me: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGHHHGG#*sniffs* god hypmic has been insane for these tracks on god pls tell me iâm not the only one who sees how insane hypmic rn#and like??????????? wtf can dh and bat deal with??????? i wish i was big brained to see where nagosaka has been going towards lol#dh has to be setting the tone tho since lowkey???? tdd are paralleling with their 1st drb match ups lol bbmtc want basically the same thing#and fpmtr reaffirmed their bonds and identities in theirs#and like âthe trioâ makes me think rosasa are finally going to punch rei in the face for ditching them lol#but it might be time for dh to enter in the plot frfr trying to get rei from doing stuff on his own#so does bat parallel that??? trying to stop kuukou from doing things on his own???? something else?????#bc hitoya is deadass the only who has interacted with the plot in any way lmao (kuukou too as a victim of the true hypnosis mic)#this is me processing things out loud gomen thanks for attending the ted tag vomit lmao
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