#-i felt really self-conscious about that for some reason? Maybe I still felt like a kid. or maybe it feels weird to use anything but-

[donuts4evry1]

This is kind of silly to be bragging about online but today I just ordered traditional vietnamese banh mi at a banh mi store.... mostly in Viet :). The guy even said my viet was really good :))). Here's a replay so that way I don't forget how to order banh mi in viet again (no accents because we don't bother with em online lmao):

Me: "Cho con banh mi thit nuong va.... banh mi dac biet? And bo rau rien, lam on" (Can I have grilled meat sandwich and special sandwich? And put the vegetables on the side, please)

Him: Wow your Viet is so good :D, is that all today?

Me: :D :D :D :D :D Yeah, thank you.

[girlgenius1111]

mami v mama

getting your daughter to sleep through the night proves difficult... mostly for alexia. little mila blurb :) brief mention of anxiety, no other warnings!

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It wasn’t even the baby crying that woke you up. It was the quiet sniffles and whimpers from next to you in bed that really woke up. You were expecting Mila to cry; sleep training her was going… rather roughly. It was difficult, because sometimes there would be long stretches where she would sleep through the night, and other times there would be weeks on end that she’d wake up throughout the night. The baby was going through a sleep regression at the moment, though, which restarted the conversation about sleep training. She was already 8 months, and well past ready for it, but you’d been met with resistance. Not just from Mila, but also from Alexia. 

You knew it went against every single one of your wife’s instincts to let Mila cry it out. It felt that way for you, too, but you were a much heavier sleeper, and for some reason, much more convinced that sleep training was the way to go. Alexia had many hesitations. The biggest of which was that if her baby cried for her, she was going to comfort her. 

So, waking up to crying wasn’t new. Waking up to Alexia crying, though? That was new. 

“Love?” You asked groggily, rolling over to face your wife, who was staring up at the ceiling with tears streaming down her face. You didn’t really process the crying coming from the baby monitor, much too concerned with why your stoic wife was in pieces next to you, in the middle of the night. Alexia only let out a soft cry in response, one not unlike the sound your daughter made. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” you cooed, allowing Alexia to roll into you and sob roughly into your chest. She shook her head, not giving you an answer. “Tell me, what is it?” You pressed. 

“She sounds so sad,” Alexia cried. Realization washed over you, and you shut your eyes tightly for a minute, not proud of the annoyance that washed over you. This process could have been done already if it hadn’t been for Alexia’s insistence to bring Mila to sleep in your bed any time she cried.

“I know, Ale. She’s okay, though. She’ll fall back asleep soon.” You soothed, carding your fingers through her hair in a manor you hoped was comforting.  

“No, she needs me.” Alexia complained, looking up at you with a pout that, again, really resembled your daughter’s. You fought back a smile at the sight, stroking her cheek delicately. 

“She’s fine. She’s old enough for this, Alexia. She has to learn how to self-soothe.” 

Alexia frowned at you. “She doesn’t. It’s unnecessary, I will always be there to soothe my baby.” Alexia knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn’t help it. All the little cries radiating from the baby monitor were making her feel like she was being stabbed repeatedly. 

“Alexia,” you sighed. Maybe it was the hour of the night, or maybe it was the emotions your wife was feeling, but your words sounded condescending to her. She didn’t appreciate that. Being so emotional was new to her, and she was still self conscious about it, and this felt like you were making fun of her for it. She rolled off of you, refusing to meet your gaze. 

“I do not understand how this is so easy for you.” Alexia said accusingly. 

And maybe because you were exhausted, you took that in a worse way than Alexia intended. “Yes, Alexia, it is SO easy for me to hear my baby cry for me, and not go to her. Don’t be ridiculous.” You bit back.

“Well, it seems easier.” Alexia scoffed. 

“It seems easier because one of us has to put their foot down about this, and it’s clearly not going to be you. I’m doing what’s best for Mila.” 

“And I am not. You are the perfect mother, with all the right opinions, and I am wrong about everything.” Alexia exaggerated, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest. It was a low blow; Alexia knew that you felt like far from the perfect mother, and it felt like she was throwing that in your face. 

A few tears stung your eyes, and you shook your head, moving to slide out of the bed. “I’m going to sleep on the couch.” You mumbled startling slightly when a large arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you back. 

“No, no please stay. I am sorry, so sorry. I am just upset, I did not mean any of that. Please, please stay.” Alexia pleaded, and something in her tone, something more than sincerity, had you turning around and looking carefully at your wife. You should have seen it before, that she wasn’t just upset about this. In your defense, she had promised to be better about telling you. 

“What’s going on?” You asked, although you knew, placing a gentle hand on Ale’s cheek. 

She breathed deeply for a few seconds before she spoke. “I am anxious.” She admitted, voice barely audible. “I cannot fall asleep, and it just gets worse and worse every time she wakes up and cries, I feel like I am going to throw up.”

“Ale,” you sighed, seeing for the first time how pale your wife looked, how unsteady. “Are you going to be sick?” It wouldn’t be the first time. Alexia hadn't ever experienced anxiety like this in her life, and was horrified the first time it happened. The first time Mila got a little cold, and Alexia worked herself up so much that she made herself sick. She was so embarrassed, even as you reassured her that it was a completely normal symptom of anxiety. It had only happened a few times since, but Alexia always got so teary and emotional when it happened. 

She shook her head though, taking another deep breath. “¿Puedo tener un abrazo, por favor?”

“Of course you can.” You told her, sliding off the bed and standing with your arms open on the side of it, knowing it was Alexia’s favorite way to hug you. It made her feel smaller than you, made her feel protected and safe. Alexia scooted over right away, wrapping her arms tightly around you, her head pressed against your chest. “Mila is okay, baby. She’s fine, she’s getting quieter, sí?” 

That didn’t seem to make Alexia feel better, though, her breathing picking up again as she tilted her head up, and rested her chin on your chest. 

“Can I please go check on her?” Alexia asked shakily. You didn’t want it to be like this; good cop bad cop. Alexia asking you permission to do things. She was just as much her mother as you were, and if Alexia needed to check on her, that was always going to be okay. You knew your wife wouldn’t relax until she saw that the baby was okay. 

“Go get her, bring her back here.” You said, smiling to yourself when Alexia practically ran from the room. You heard her over the monitor entering the room, and you melted a little at how soft she sounded. 

“Hola mi princesa, estás bien, estás bien. Te tengo mi bebe, te tengo.” Alexia cooed. You could hear the moment she picked Mila up, the baby’s cries instantly quieting as she snuggled close to her mami. “Te amo, te amo, te amo, te amo,” Alexia repeated, her voice fading from the monitor as she walked back towards the bedroom. 

Mila was practically already asleep when Alexia walked back into the room with her, and you resisted the urge to point out that she was probably only a few minutes away from falling asleep herself. Alexia didn't need that right now. 

Your wife slid back onto the bed, laying Mila on her chest, fixing you with a sheepish smile as she did so. 

“Do you feel better?” You asked. Alexia nodded, though she avoided your eyes and her face burned red. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have been so harsh earlier. I know this is hard for you, I should have been more understanding. I’m sorry this makes you so nervous.”

“I am sorry too. I was not kind to you, I was just very upset.” Alexia explained, absentmindedly rubbing one large hand over Mila’s back. The baby was wearing a onesie with footballs all over it, and she looked so snuggly and adorable laid on your wife, it was hard to focus on Alexia’s words. “I do not want to be a… helicopter parent. Sometimes I get so scared, though, I just need to know she is okay.” 

“That makes sense, Ale, that’s okay. I just need to know when you’re anxious and you need to see her, and when you’re just upset that she’s upset.” 

“I can do that.” Alexia said. “I just… I love her so much. Look at her, amor. She is so perfect.” 

You both looked down at the baby, who was sitting up under the gaze of you both. She slid off Alexia, plopping down in between the two of you, a gummy smile on her face. 

“Hi my baby,” you cooed, completely and utterly distracted from the conversation you’d been having with your wife. Mila sighed, flopping down until her head was resting on your pillow, though her face was turned towards Alexia. “You see your Mami?” You asked, not really expecting any kind of response.

Alexia turned on her side, grinning at her daughter. “Hola Milabear,” she whispered, booping the baby on her nose. Mila giggled, a sound that made you both melt into a puddle. Alexia reached out and grabbed her, easily lifting the baby up into the air and flying her around, making airplane sounds. 

“Alexia, it is supposed to be bedtime.” You admonished, though you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face as Mila continued to giggle, and your wife continued to look so light and happy. 

“We are having Mila and Mami time, amor, I cannot interrupt.” Alexia said, bringing the baby down to kiss her nose every few seconds. “Mila and Mami.” She whispered again, finally laying Mila back down on her chest. Her hand stroked over the back of the baby’s head, trying to calm the now very awake child down. 

“Mmmm,” Mila hummed, squirming around in Alexia's grasp until she was sat up on top of your wife, staring down at her.  “Mmmm. Mami.” She babbled, catching one of Alexia’s fingers and trying to drag it into her mouth. 

“What?” Alexia said, her face completely stricken with surprise. 

“Maaaami,” Mila sang again, giggling at the silly look on her Mami’s face. 

“Amor!” Alexia shouted, glancing ecstatically at you while sitting up suddenly and holding Mila up so the baby was at eye level with her. Evidently, the abrupt action startled Mila, and she immediately burst into tears. “No, no no no. I am sorry mi niña, I did not mean to scare you.” Alexia soothed, pulling Mila in and rocking her back and forth soothingly. 

“Mami,” Mila whimpered sadly, hiding her face in your wife’s shirt. Alexia was in tears, too, but had the biggest smile you’d ever seen on her face, staring at you in wonder. 

“She said my name.” She murmured, almost looking confirmation that she wasn’t having some kind of auditory hallucination. 

“She did.” You smiled, reaching out to run your fingers through Mila’s short curls. 

“I can’t believe she said my name first.” Alexia continued, holding the baby to her in a way that made you doubt whether she would ever let go. 

“Me neither. I carry her for 9 months, get my body cut open so she can be born, and this is how she repays me?” You joked, not really caring at all that Mila had chosen Alexia’s name to be her first word. 

“I’m sorry, amor. We’ve been practicing, but we practice your name too, I promise.” Alexia said worriedly, her eyes scanning your face for any hint that you were being serious. 

You laughed at how concerned she was, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I’m kidding, Ale. You are a great Mami, and Mila is very lucky to have you. Which I think she knows.” You nodded your head to where the baby had fisted Alexia’s sleep shirts in her tiny hands, her eyes sliding shut as she nuzzled in close to Ale’s chest 

Alexia blushed hard, her face turning bright red. “I am more lucky to have her and you both.” She mumbled, somehow allergic to taking compliments when it came to being a good mother. You shook your head, laying back down on the bed and pulling Alexia to join you. Only when you were both resting against your pillows, Mila passed out in between you, did you reply.

Pressing your forehead to your wifes, you poured all your love and admiration into your words. “We are the most lucky to have you, Alexia. You are the best wife, and the best Mami, and I love you very much.” 

If possible, Alexia blushed even harder, nudging her face into the crook of your neck. “I love you.” Her words were muffled, but you could feel her sincerity. 

You sighed happily, thinking that you’d be content to stay right here, with both your girls, forever. 

------

this won the poll after like an hour and i was too impatient to wait any longer so i hope this doesn't disappoint :)

[luvhughes43]

instagram follows | jamie drysdale

[luvhughes43 masterlist🌷]

request: reader and jamie have been in a relationship for maybe 5 or 6 months and reader hasn’t said anything but the girls Jamie follows on instagram really bother her. she doesn’t want to seem controlling because of her past relationships but she is trying to find a way to bring it up to him. so one day she is feeling a little more insecure and Jamie is trying to figure out what’s wrong and she finally snaps and tells him. like she would say “you haven’t unfollowed any girls on the gram since we started dating and it makes me feel horrible about myself”

word count: 1.1k

you knew it was an awful idea even before you decided to scroll through your boyfriends instagram following. it was a bad idea for multiple reasons actually - mainly your own body image issues. however, you had seen what seemed like all the tiktoks in existence about men and their instagram usage pre and post relationship. also, it didn’t help that you kept getting recommended videos of girls' devastating reactions to scrolling through their favourite hockey players following. 

when you first clicked on jamies following list, you thought it wouldn't have been so bad. 

Blondes. 

Boobs. 

Brunettes. 

Canadian University Girls? 

you went into a completely unwarranted deep dive because really, jamie had never given you any reasons to doubt his faithfulness and yet… you were a half-tub deep into your litre of mint chocolate ice cream with grey’s anatomy playing distractedly in the background. 

with jamie gone on a roadie, you had time to push all of your feelings of distrust and discomfort to the back of your mind. you had been in this position before, and with yours and jamies relationship so fresh you didn’t want to say anything. last time you had brought your insecurities up with your ex boyfriend, you had been yelled at and called controlling - which you would rather not relive. even though jamie was much nicer than your ex, you were still having trouble trying to find a way to safely bring the topic up, so you dropped it. 

a week later and jamie had gotten back from his trip, completely exhausted but wanting to spend time with you nonetheless, you had tried your best to forget all about his following list. 

“how’s my girl been?” jamie smiles at you sweetly before wrapping you into a hug. the two of you rock back and forth for a moment. 

“oh you know… the usual,” you shrug, silently loving the glint in jamie’s eyes. he was so pretty. 

jamie brings you back into another hug and presses a soft kiss to your temple. “oh i forgot, trevor wants to know if we’ll go out with him tonight,”

“go out where?”

“some new restaurant downtown,” jamie shrugs carelessly as all men do. “do you wanna go?”

you think about it for a moment, did you really want to go out with trevor? ultimately though, you decide that going out would be the perfect distraction you needed. plus, the extra time with your boyfriend might help reassure yourself about your relationship. 

wrong. three hours later you were dressed, ready, and sat uncomfortably between your boyfriend and his best friend. their friends sat across from you, all of whom were single and making comments on all the girls that walked past your table. their comments weren’t out of the ordinary, but you couldn’t help but wonder if jamie felt the same way as his friends. if like his following suggested - he liked appreciating other girls more than he let on. 

“now she’s hot” 

“you should go ask her for her number! look at her ass,”

“i think i just saw a goddess…” 

“i’d let her dog walk me,”

with each comment you shrunk into yourself, suddenly feeling very self-conscious of your body and your outfit choice. jamie was quick to notice of course, leaning into you and whispering, “are you okay?”

when you nodded your head in response, jamie only frowned.

when everyone’s food arrives and you were still acting off, jamie questions you again, “no seriously… what’s wrong?”

you smooth the sleeves of your top, “i don’t want to get into it here,” 

“what?” 

“jamie, please just drop it” 

things were tense between the two of you for the rest of the night and instead of trying to work through things, you simply order another drink at the restaurant. by the time jamie drops you off at your apartment you were tipsy. 

“can you tell me what’s wrong now?” were the first words out of jamie’s mouth when you locked the door behind him. 

“no,” you respond quickly. 

jamie was rightfully confused. “yn…” 

you pretend you don’t hear him. “do you want something to drink?”

“no! I want you to tell me what's wrong with you!” jamie was clearly frustrated and tired of your refusal to talk. 

you whip around towards him - still tipsy and upset. “you want to know what's bothering me?” you start, to which jamie nods enthusiastically. “you’re bothering me!”

“what did i do…?”

he was so oblivious sometimes. “i know i shouldn't have looked through your instagram followings but i can't unsee what i saw! all the girls…. i feel sick about myself,” 

jamie tries to speak but you interrupt him, “and i don’t want to be controlling and force you to unfollow them but… i just feel so awful and ugly and like… you have so many options out there that you’re probably interested in and-”

“okay wait,” jamie finally interjects. he inches closer to you, his mind still reeling from how fast you were speaking. “first of all, i don’t look at other girls,” you scoff but jamie keeps talking. “and if my following was upsetting you, you could've just told me instead of bottling up your feelings and getting upset with me” 

“i use instagram like, once a year and i honestly don't look at my following list it’s from so long ago. so, if you want me to unfollow the people that make you uncomfortable than i one hundred percent will” jamie continues, stepping closer to you and grabbing ahold of your hands. 

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, sad and confused all at once. you hadn’t meant to blow up all at once, but your past relationships would have never been this kind to you and so you were unsure of how to react. you were almost positive that you were being controlling and you suddenly felt sick. “i didn’t mean it-”

“yes you did,” jamie’s voice is soft now, his hands comfortingly trailing patterns up and down your arms. “and by the way, i think you're the most beautiful girl that i’ve ever laid eyes on. i’m sorry for making you feel bad. i don’t want anybody else,”

“i don’t want anybody else either,” you breathe a sigh of relief and wrap your arms around your boyfriend. 

the next time you check instagram is when you get a notification that your boyfriend had posted a picture “for the first time in awhile”. the pictures are sweet shots of the two of you, taken by trevor whose presence you can never evade. you get curious again though, clicking on your boyfriends profile only to see that his following had significantly decreased. 

[subskz]

ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 03

note: this is part 3 of a series (part 1, part 2, part 4, part 5)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, themes of soulmates, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, slight jealousy, brief mentions of alcohol, sickness, academic stress, angst, hurt/comfort, crying, chan has a bit of a breakdown, bathing scene, nsfw scenes

18+ content: sub chan, dom reader, praise, possessiveness, biting/marking, the slightest hint of exhibitionism, chan is very needy, stopping in the middle of a scene, oral (reader receiving), lots of begging, crying during and after sex, nursing, handjob, aftercare

word count: 22.6k

There were parts of Chan in everything you did now.

It took a while, but eventually, it dawned on you with a strange sort of delight that you’d subconsciously taken on his habit of pressing his lips together into a thin line—when giving a quick smile, when lost in thought, and, most importantly, when silently dissatisfied. For such a subtle movement, you found that, at times, it expressed your frustration better than voicing it ever could. A Chan-like quality, through and through.

Likewise, he’d adopted your habit of reaching up to brush the tip of your nose whenever you felt self-conscious. Of all the quirks he could’ve picked up on, naturally, it had to be one he could make ample use of. Now, any time your gaze lingered on him for a bit longer than necessary (which admittedly, was often) his thumb would swipe over the adorable apex of his nose, a shy half-smile following the action like clockwork. It took some audacity, really, for him to steal a mannerism of yours and make it infinitely more endearing.

Even less obvious details were fair game for the two of you to snatch up, from mirroring each other’s walks, to parroting certain words and phrases. You’d melded into one another, so much that, in some cases, you weren’t quite sure which traits he’d gotten from you, and which traits you’d gotten from him.

You wondered if the marks you’d left on each other were what had landed you in the situation you found yourself in now.

“Betrayal! That’s what this is! A Sanrio pencil stabbed straight through my giant, loving heart!”

It had been a good five minutes of this. Changbin was back from summer break—skin tanned, hair fluffy, muscles somehow more defined than ever—and with the way his voice echoed shamelessly throughout the cafe, he was making sure everyone knew it. You hadn’t even gotten a chance to greet him properly before the one-man show (which you’d prepared for, but clearly not enough) began; starring none other than Seo Changbin himself, of course.

“Please calm down before you get us kicked out.”

“Calm down, she says!” he cried. “You’re a real scary person, y’know that? Hiding this from me, your good friend, Changbin—your best friend, Changbin—all this time!”

You felt a tinge of guilt for what wasn’t the first time. Despite the melodrama of it all, you knew that he had a point. There was no reason for you to have kept something like this from him for so long, especially when it involved not only one, but two of his closest friends.

“I’m sorry, Bin,” you sighed. “I really did wanna tell you. I was just worried it’d make everything so awkward.”

“Well, of course it’s awkward,” he agreed. “But I still want to know! At least that way, we can feel awkward together!”

Something about his reasoning made you soften. It was just like him, to be more concerned that he’d missed out on the chance of being a supportive friend rather than the potential mess that could stem from your involvement with Chan. You would probably do well to have a little more faith in people—a message the universe seemed to have been hammering into your brain a great deal lately.

“Maybe I would’ve told you if you’d talked to me more than once over your entire vacation,” you teased.

Changbin’s mouth fell open in protest, suddenly finding himself playing defense. “Twice!” he corrected indignantly. “And don't try to spin this on me! What about when you called me, huh? That was the perfect opportunity!”

“The perfect opportunity?” you echoed in disbelief. “In that case, I’ll be sure to follow up your birthday wishes next year with news that I’m dating your best friend.”

“Scary, scary person,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m almost afraid to ask for a hug—you’re not gonna put a knife in my back are you?”

You rolled your eyes. “What’s in the air back home that makes you act like this?”

Still, you felt nothing but fondness as you leaned fully into him, letting it sink in for the first time just how happy you were to see him again. With the way his big arms squeezed around you, you knew he wasn’t truly upset either—even if, quite frankly, he had a right to be.

“I missed you, though,” you patted his back. “You and all your drama.”

“Well, I missed you too,” he huffed. Just when you thought he might be ready to drop the theatrics and move on, he pulled away from the hug, a horrified look forming on his face.

“Oh my God…have I been third wheeling this entire time?”

“Get in line, Seo Changbin.”

His nagging and whining eventually died down, morphing into more playful jabs as the two of you ordered your drinks and found a table to sit at. Exactly as you’d predicted, once he’d recovered from the initial shock, he was all proud grins and smug righteousness, preaching on and on about how he’d told you so from day one and how you should never doubt him or his genius intuition ever again.

“I was mostly joking when I said all that stuff about you falling in love with him, y’know,” he clicked his tongue. “Didn’t think you’d actually go and do it.”

“I’m not in love with him,” you tried to retort, but much to your dismay, your voice cracked right as you uttered the dreaded word.

“No way,” Changbin broke out into cackles of pure glee. “Don’t tell me you went and had a secret wedding without me, too?”

You shoved your straw into your iced coffee with a bit too much force, face heating up. “The more you laugh, the more you sound like someone who isn’t getting his belated birthday present.”

At that, he clamped his jaws shut, giggles halting with a speed that was almost impressive. “Sorry, sorry,” he gave you a sheepish grin. “Behaving, now.”

“How’d you find out, anyway? Did Chan tell you?”

“Nah. Though, I should’ve guessed just from the way he gets whenever you’re brought up. All shy and smiley, it’s honestly kinda nauseating.”

He scrunched his nose up in distaste, but the words had no real edge to them. In fact, there was nothing but affection there. It made your heart skip a beat, embarrassingly enough, to know that just the mention of you was all it took to have that kind of effect on Chan. Every time you thought you couldn’t possibly be more taken by him, he proved you wrong.

“If not Chan, then who?” you hesitated before asking. “Minho?”

“Hey,” the whine was back in his voice. “Why’s it so hard for you to believe I figured it out myself?”

You said nothing, smiling around your straw and sipping contently away at your coffee.

“Yes, it was Minho,” he grumbled.

Though you’d been expecting it, the confirmation still made your skin crawl, overtaking Chan’s warmth with a cold discomfort. You hadn’t seen or heard from Minho since your encounter in the convenience store a few weeks ago, and each time you thought back to him, the pit of unease in your stomach grew stronger. You wondered just how much he’d told Changbin. Judging by his behavior that day, he seemed to be aware of everything—whether he was the type to mince his words, or to expose it all without a care in the world, you weren’t quite sure. Even if you’d spent more time around the guy before he’d decided to switch up on you, you got the feeling that you still wouldn’t have any clearer insight into how his mind worked.

“Speaking of Minho,” you began slowly. “Has he…said anything lately?”

Changbin snorted. “He’s said a lot of things.”

“Sorry. I mean, like, about me.”

“I don’t think so,” he squinted, eyeing you up and down. “Why? Are you planning on picking off my friends one by one?”

It was lighthearted, just a joke, but it nearly made you grimace. You’d be glad to never even cross paths with Minho again if it meant avoiding that harsh, accusatory glare that had yet to fade from your mind. Experiencing it once was more than enough.

“C’mon, Bin. It’s nothing like that.”

“Uh-huh, that’s what you said last time.”

You gave a half-hearted chuckle in response, only noticing a moment too late how unconvincing it’d come out. It caught his attention, and he glanced up from his drink to give you a curious look.

“Everything alright?”

You were reluctant to confide in Changbin about the matter, both to avoid burdening him with something so silly, and because of the very unavoidable fact that Minho was just as dear a friend to him as Chan. He’d only just found out about your relationship; immediately piling its potential problems on him was the last thing you wanted to do. At the same time, however, you figured it was better to ask someone who knew Minho well before you jumped to conclusions. Not to mention, Changbin might genuinely believe you were interested in rounding up all his friends if you didn’t clarify why you’d brought up the subject of Minho in the first place.

“I saw him a few weeks ago, and he was being kinda weird.”

“No issues there.”

“Not in his usual way, though—at least, I don’t think so?” you tried to be careful with your words, acutely aware of how sensitive you may come off if you chose the wrong ones. “I just got the feeling that he doesn’t really like me all that much. So, I was wondering if he’s brought it up with you.”

Changbin frowned, taking a moment to mull over what you’d said.

“You think Minho doesn’t like you?” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair. “What’d he say to you?”

“Just some weird things about me and Chan,” you shrugged. “It almost felt like he was trying to intimidate me, or something. Like, he thinks I have bad intentions.”

A troubled look crossed his face—brief, but just long enough to foster your unease. He went quiet for a few moments, nibbling thoughtfully on his bottom lip, then, at last, gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Nah, that can’t be it.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“Minho knows you’re not like that,” he said simply. “And he wouldn’t just hate you for no reason, either. Definitely not it.”

You made a small noise of acknowledgement, pretending to understand what he meant, but Changbin still seemed to sense that he hadn’t gotten through to you.

“You’ve seen the way he acts around us, right? He’s probably just messing with you now that he feels more comfortable,” his voice mellowed. “He might seem difficult, but he’s not a bad guy. He’s a pretty great guy, actually. Soft at heart.”

“I believe you,” you murmured. You didn’t doubt for a second that he was a good friend to Changbin and Chan; you’d witnessed it firsthand in the time you’d spent around them. The problem was, you seemed to have done something to land yourself as the target of his inexplicable wrath, and you weren’t sure how to get yourself out of the line of aim before his eyes pierced an arrow straight through you.

“Maybe you’re right. I must’ve just misunderstood him.”

“He’s easy to misunderstand,” Changbin reassured you. An unpleasant thought appeared to cross his mind, twisting the small smile tugging at his lips right back into a frown. “Just…don’t tell him I said any of that. He didn’t put you up to this, did he?”

“Of course not,” you grinned. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Though you weren’t entirely sold on Changbin’s reasoning, it was at least worth a shot to reconcile with Minho before completely giving up on a positive relationship with him. It wasn’t even so much that you were hurt by his unexpected hostility, you just wanted to know what had caused it. You wanted to fix it.

In fact, you were determined to fix it. For both your sakes, and—most importantly—for Chan’s, you were going to make it right.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

College parties, as it turned out, were still very plainly, very aggressively, not your scene. Even with Chan and Changbin there, even with some of the most talented students on campus putting on performances that were, unsurprisingly, really, really good, even with the three-month long promise of getting to see 3RACHA live finally coming to fruition, you were having a hard time enjoying yourself.

You didn’t think it was possible to be experiencing this many different emotions at once. Every one of your senses was suffocated with something. The stinging smell of alcohol, the uncomfortable sheen of sweat on your skin, the perpetual ringing in your ears, the swarming mass of people, and the residual taste of artificial strawberry—the only refreshment you’d managed to take a few sips of before being swept away into the crowd over an hour ago. You were overwhelmed, you were exhilarated, you were anxious, you were impatient. You appeared completely calm amidst the chaos ensuing all around you, yet somehow, were more of a mess internally than even the most intoxicated of attendees.

You’d spent a majority of your time scattered, tossed amongst your friends at random intervals throughout the night. Fifteen minutes with Changbin before he and Jisung had retreated to the bathroom to practice their lyrics, twenty minutes with Iseul before she and her boyfriend had gotten into a heated argument about him not matching the energy of her dancing (something you were sure to get earful of later), thirty minutes with various friends from class before realizing in dismay that they consisted almost exclusively of touchy and crybaby drunks, and a mere five minutes with Chan.

Shortly after the party had begun, you’d arrived to find him already looking cheerfully exhausted. He’d been there for hours already, having offered to help the committee with all the setup and decorations for the event. Even once the festivities were in full swing, he was still dashing around the venue left and right, assisting with soundchecks and the transfer of equipment with hardly any time to prepare for his own performance, let alone to socialize. It warmed your heart as much as it tugged at it. Even on a night where he should be his own top priority, he was still bending over backwards to help everyone else but himself.  

It lasted until he was all but forced to stop, dragged away by Changbin and Jisung to set up for 3RACHA’s showcase. The moment you’d been anticipating all night—all summer, really—the sole reason you were even putting up with an environment so out of your wheelhouse to begin with, came at last. The three men shuffled on to the makeshift stage with an awkward sort of swagger that you only ever saw in them when they were together. It was like each one of them needed the other two with him to lock properly into place, to align their energies and bring out the best in each other like a finely-tuned machine. In a way, that in itself was a testament to the song they’d be performing.

The familiar sirens you’d heard countless times before, pumping through your phone speakers in a personal concert, now blared through the hall for everyone to hear. Chan’s eyes fell from the screen of his laptop where he’d been getting things situated, landing directly on you without even having to search the crowd. He gave you a grin, dimples flashing, and that was the last you saw of it for the next three minutes and thirty seconds.

You’d already had an idea of what Jisung was capable of based on the handful of 3RACHA songs you’d heard, but to see it unfold in person was something entirely different. The goofy, scatterbrained junior that always looked a bit on-edge every time you spotted him, now rapping at the speed of light with each word flowing like torrents in a stream. Something about the way he read the lyrics directly off his phone, even for a performance like this, made it all the more mesmerizing to watch. He was the kind of person you could tell was a hidden genius.

Changbin became every bit as fierce and intimidating as you’d initially believed him to be the first day you’d met. Voice raspy and eyes dark, looking straight into the crowd almost like he was challenging them with each effortless line he spit out. It served as a reminder that all his drama and flair wasn't just something you could tease him for; it was something he could own the stage with, as well. His pride radiated off of him in waves; not only in himself, but in them as a unit, and every ounce of it was justified in your eyes.

Undoubtedly the most drastic transformation, however, was Chan. From the moment Zone began, the boy you’d come to know seemed to go dormant for a while, replaced with something you’d never quite seen in him before—something approaching confidence. You thought back to that day in the library, where you’d tried to imagine in amusement how someone like him, who could hardly look you in the eye while playing snippets of his Placebo instrumental, could be the one behind such powerful lines. You didn’t have to imagine it now. He had the least parts out of the trio—you were certain he’d chosen Zone as a way to give Jisung and Changbin more time to shine—but he made just as great of an impact. You could feel the effects of it, on you and everyone else around you. There was no question about it; he belonged there.

By the time the performance was over, you could add a few new emotions to the ones swirling inside you: happiness, pride, and something else you couldn’t quite place. You found Changbin amidst the sea of people first, weaving and dodging through the crowd until you reached him, or, rather, crashed directly into him. His face broke out into a wide smile as soon as he realized it was you, barely getting the chance to say anything before you pulled him into a hug.

“So?” you could hear the giddiness in his voice as he gave you a tight squeeze.

“You killed it, Bin! That’s gotta be the best you've ever sounded,” you hoped he could hear your praises over the pandemonium. “You gonna remember me when you’re famous?”

He pulled away with a laugh, lifting his chin in—mostly—feigned bravado. “I’ll consider it,” his eyes sparkled. “Did you notice the new move I did?”

“Obviously,” you imitated his stylish salute with two fingers, and his smile grew even wider. “And what’s with that sound you made at the start of your verse?”

“It’s my new signature!” he declared.

“So cool! You’re so cool, Seo Changbin!” You threw a hand over your heart with a giggle, and he bumped his shoulder against yours, suddenly embarrassed.

If he said something in response, you didn’t quite catch it, effectively losing all focus the instant your eyes caught sight of a group of people gathered nearby. Chan was at its center, grinning from ear to ear as he tried to keep up with everyone’s chattering all at once. A visual of him you’d pictured so many times before, now right before your eyes—a charming, social butterfly who made befriending others look as simple as breathing. It truly sank in at that moment, that the boy who’d come to mean so much to you in so little time, had a whole other side to his world that you didn’t even know of. The view of his thousand-watt smile wasn’t for your eyes alone, the pieces of himself that he put into his music weren’t solely for your ears.

It made your heart sing; he should be adored. But at the same time, that sensation from earlier made its presence known once again. The girl next to him, the head organizer for the event, if you remembered correctly, reached out to touch his arm as she laughed. Her hand lingered for a moment too long, a look you knew all too well swimming in her eyes.

Oh. Suddenly, the mystery feeling wasn’t so much of a mystery anymore.

Something ignited deep within you, completely different from the familiar heat Chan set off in your skin. It was immediately followed by a wave of embarrassment. You weren’t the type to bristle over something so small—at least, you’d never thought you were. You wanted to blame it on something; the fact that you hadn’t seen Chan for most of the night, the fact that it felt a bit too reminiscent of what he used to do whenever you’d dared to take your attention off of him for even a moment. But Chan would never even think to pull anything like that, it went against his nature. His nature just so happened to entail being adored wherever he went.

You knew it was nothing more than that same selfishness that had reared its head the night you’d first slept together. Not quite insecurity, and not quite jealousy. It was rooted in something much simpler: a matter of what felt right, and what didn’t. You’d wanted to be done with the troublesome feeling from the moment you’d first encountered it—to nip it in the bud before it sprouted into something uglier—but just like everything about your relationship with Chan, it was out of your hands. It was inevitable. With the wholeness that came with his presence, an emptiness was left in his absence.

“Oh my God,” Changbin’s exasperated voice cut through the music, and, in turn, the thoughts swarming your head. “Stare any harder and he might just burst into flames.”

You blinked, embarrassment increasing tenfold. “Sorry, Binnie,” you muttered. “What were you saying?”

He gave you a knowing nudge. “Just go talk to him so I don’t have to look at your lovesick face anymore.”

“Not lovesick,” you protested, but the way your eyes darted right back to Chan did nothing to help your case. You found him staring at you this time, his overwhelmed beam shifting into something softer, sweeter—a look of relief. He dismissed himself from the group just as your feet were preparing, almost reflexively, to pull you in his direction. You turned to give Changbin another apologetic glance, only for him to roll his eyes and gesture for you to leave.

“I need to find Jisung, anyway,” he told you. “Talking to more than one stranger at a time probably has him looking for an escape route.”

Promising to meet up with him again later, you parted ways, a strange sense of calm washing over you as you came face to face with Chan at last. The pungent smell in the air was replaced with his fresh citrus, the clamoring sounds around you suddenly much quieter in your ears, as if waiting with bated breath to hear what he had to say.

“Hey, you,” he grinned.

“Hi, Channie,” you held out your hands, skin tingling when he rested his palms against yours. Slightly clammy from the adrenaline rush of the performance, but soft to the touch. Warm as ever.

“So, were you ever planning on telling me that you’re a shapeshifter?”

“A shapeshifter?” he giggled, more melodic than any of the music you’d heard that night.

“Those moves? The growling?” you marveled. “Even the way you carried yourself; you really know how to put on a show.”

Chan’s fingers—topped off with black nail polish, you noticed for the first time—twitched in your hands, resisting the urge to reach up and adjust his cap, tug at his ear, swipe over his nose, do something to try and alleviate his embarrassment.

“Did you like it? Or was it too much? I know this one’s your favorite, so…”

…I hope I didn’t mess it up. You could hear the words on the tip of his tongue without him even finishing. They were clear in every nervous flicker in his expression, every awkward shift in his feet.

“Are you kidding?” you rubbed your thumb along the back of his hand. “You were made for this.”

The flashing lights around you illuminated his face just in time for you to see his eyes widen. It almost made you sad—the genuine shock etched into his features.

“Ah…” he ducked his head, speechless. Suddenly, you completely understood why he’d been reluctant to ask you to attend the showcase. You should’ve known by now; Chan didn’t have to play coy to endear you, he accomplished that just fine by simply being himself.

“You really think so?” He kept his stare glued to the floor.

“Of course. Everyone else can see it, too,” you added. “I’m really proud of you, Channie.”

His cap hid his expression from your view, but you were certain that his brilliant smile was there—the one you loved so much, the one so wide that it couldn’t be contained, swelling his cheeks and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Thank you,” it was meek, barely audible above the roar of the crowd. “That means a lot.”

You wanted to dip your head under the brim of his hat and meet his gaze, to let him know just how much you meant it. You wanted to kiss him, unconcerned with the people around you who might see—in fact, it only strengthened the desire, the chance to witness his cute, flustered reaction to a public display like that.

Your hesitation lasted a split second too long, however, as you spotted a fresh group of people approaching the two of you; some faces recognizable, some entirely new. You kept your smile as they made their way over with shouts and cheers, but your hand gripped Chan’s just a bit tighter.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Tonight was full of firsts for you, it seemed.

Attending a university party without leaving within the first hour, mingling with more people than you’d ever thought existed on campus, and now, as you currently were, lacking so much in self-control that you were pressed up against Chan in the venue bathroom.

You weren’t quite sure how you’d ended up there, the only thing you were sure of was the slew of emotions leading into it. Chan could tell that you were antsy, and, maybe, he was feeling antsy too. The number of times you’d been separated throughout the night only to drift right back to each other was too many to count. It got to the point where the final time it happened, you’d opted for linking arms to avoid getting lost again.

You wanted to go home—you’d been more than ready to from the moment 3RACHA had finished performing—and you would’ve gladly left Chan to enjoy the rest of the event with his endless rotation of friends if it weren’t for the fact that every time you were apart for too long, he’d go looking for you. At first, you’d tried to tell him not to worry himself over whether or not you were having fun, but eventually, you realized with a flutter in your chest that it wasn’t just his usual attentiveness at play; he wanted you next to him.

When he’d asked if you wanted to retreat somewhere quieter for a bit, it had been innocent enough. You didn’t think he’d expected things to head in this direction—you certainly hadn’t. With your vigilance and his shyness, neither of you were exactly the type.

“This okay?”

“Mhm,” he breathed against your lips. The faint pounding of the bass outside could still be heard through the bathroom door, but you were much more fixated on Chan’s racing heartbeat.

“You look—mmph—so pretty tonight,” he slurred. “Been wanting to kiss you.”

His voice still had the faintest rasp to it after the strain of performing, exciting you more than it probably should’ve. “You’re so sweet,” you cooed, pressing a peck to the corner of his mouth. “How do you think I felt seeing you up on that stage?”

He made a soft noise, unable to protest when you took his bottom lip into your mouth, sucking delicately and making him melt into you. His mouth fell open for you to devour freely. His hands, which had been hovering uncertainly over your hips, rested on them at last. From the way his fingers constricted around your clothes, you knew he was itching to bring you closer; he always was. 

“You don’t believe me?” You pulled back just slightly, tugging at his plush skin between your teeth as you did.  He tasted sweet, even sweeter than usual. The same artificial strawberry you’d tried earlier in the night. Gently, you used your hold on his cheeks to turn his head in the direction of the mirror.

Chan’s eyes fell instantly, avoiding his reflection like second nature.

“Look at yourself, Channie,” you encouraged. “I want you to see what I see.”

A quiet whine built in his throat, but he complied nonetheless, meeting his own, timid gaze in the mirror. You let your hands slip from his cheeks to give him a clear view of his face, shifting your position so that you stood behind him, admiring the view together.

“Pretty boy,” you drawled, running your hands along his shoulders. “For someone who’s so good at reading people, you’re clueless about how bad they really want you.”

He tensed up, a breathy chuckle escaping him. “What?”

“You didn’t notice?” You tilted your head. “That's okay. It’s cute, actually.”

Your lips found his neck, breath fanning over his warm skin in a way that made goosebumps rise to the surface. Keeping your eyes locked on his reflection, you pressed a trail of kisses down his throat, doing little to hide how high your emotions were running.

“D-did something bother you?” he stuttered out, and if you hadn’t known him any better, you might’ve thought he was trying to tease you. Hearing him say it out loud nearly made you cringe at yourself. It was so trivial, so ridiculous. You didn’t want him to see that side of you—a side you’d hardly even known you had before tonight. Still, the burning sensation had grown too strong for you to ignore anymore, with each suggestive touch or longing glance thrown Chan's way serving as fuel to the fire.

“Why would I be bothered?” you said at last. “They don’t get to see you like this.” His breath hitched as you grazed your teeth along his skin. “Or hear you like this. Do they?”

“N-no,” he agreed. “Just you.”

Just you. You wondered if he’d said it knowing full well the kind of effect it would have on you.

“Do you like all the attention?”

He pressed his lips together, averting his eyes from the mirror again. It was subtle, but you could’ve sworn his hips jutted forward just a bit.

“I like your attention,” he said softly.

Another perfect answer from a perfect boy. Your hands fell from his shoulders, sliding down his body to give his waist a squeeze through the thin material of his shirt. “You deserve it,” you licked a stripe up his neck. “All of it. Who wouldn’t go crazy over you when you look like this?”

“I…” He bit his lip, no doubt to hold back what he really wanted to say. “Please, ‘m getting shy.”

You were almost tempted to grab hold of his chin and tilt his head up, giving him no choice other than to take in the breathtaking sight of himself. But judging by his bright red ears and restless squirming under your palms, he was flustered enough already—so much that you worried it may actually mortify him to face his appearance on top of your praises reverberating in his mind. Instead, you pressed more wet kisses to his neck, hands roaming further down his body and feeling up the expanse of his stomach, right above the waistband of his pants. He whimpered, pushing his hips forward much more noticeably this time.

“It’ll be bad if we get caught,” you hummed. “Keep quiet, Channie.”

Chan sucked in a sharp breath as you ran your tongue along his ear. You took his hoop piercing between your teeth, tugging at it in a gentle, but deliberate taunt.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “You know I can't.”

You smiled deviously around the silver. “I know.”

The sound of your voice was nothing short of intoxicating, smooth and sultry and pooling heat in his abdomen at an alarmingly quick rate. Your fingers traced over the buttons of his jeans, playing with them in a tortuous dance, but not quite popping them open. The material was already starting to feel tight around him, and when you fully cupped the area without warning, his mouth fell open to spill out a shaky moan.

Your heart jumped; he was so sensitive, reduced to the flushed, noisy mess you saw before you with just a few touches and kisses. You thought back to what he’d said that night—about how it’d been a while—a small part of you wondering if that was the real reason, or if he was just always this reactive. It thrilled you like nothing else, the prospect of him being so vocal, so vulnerable to every bit of stimulation no matter how many times he’d felt it before.

“Maybe that’s what you want? For everyone to hear all these pretty sounds you make for me.”

You dragged your tongue up from his lobe, swirling it around the shell of his ear and practically tasting the heat radiating off the reddened skin. Frantically, Chan tried to mask another moan, hands gripping the sink for support.

“No—ah—just you. Only for you.”

“Only me?” You gave him a squeeze, curling your fingers around his growing bulge and making him shudder against you. “Should I make sure they know that?”

He peeked up at last from under the brim of his cap, eyes already so foggy, lips already puffed. Your mouth traveled down from his ear, pressing a kiss right to the junction of his shoulder and neck. A light hiccup escaped him when your front teeth tickled the flesh, threatening to bite down in full.

“Can I?” you checked.

Chan leaned in further so that nearly all his weight was resting against the sink, knees weakening at the mere thought of what you were going to do. “Yeah,” he gasped. “Please.”

“It’ll show,” you warned, basking in the feel of his pulse beneath your lips.

“Please,” he repeated. “I want it to.”

Any composure you had left was no match for the desperation in his voice. He always knew exactly what to say—or, rather, anything he said was exactly what you wanted to hear, solely because it came from him. Without wasting another moment, you sank your teeth into his neck, wrapping your lips around the patch of skin to create a hot, delicious suction that nearly made Chan fold in half.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a sharp cry escaping him despite his best efforts. You tightened your grasp on him in an attempt to keep him steady, but the added pressure to his length only seemed to make things worse. He whimpered something incoherent, hips rolling forward to grind into your palm—uncharacteristically shameless of him.

You sucked to your heart’s content, nibbling and running your tongue along the sensitive area until you were certain a mark would be left behind for days to come. When you finally released his flesh from between your teeth, Chan was all but panting, face scrunched up with pleasure and bulge twitching in your hand. You gave the mark a delicate lick, soothing the flared skin while he caught his breath.

“Mine.”

It sent a shiver down his spine. Just as you were preparing to sully a new spot on his neck, a sudden knock on the bathroom door made you both freeze in place. His body stiffened against yours, head shooting up in a panic.

“Is anyone in here?” a girl’s voice came muffled through the distant rumble of the music.

The doorknob wobbled, and you steeled yourself to respond, knowing that Chan was in absolutely no state to.

“Yeah, just a minute!” you called, throwing out the first excuse you could conjure. “My friend’s feeling a bit sick.”

Carefully, to avoid drawing out any more questionable noises from the boy, you pulled your hand away from his crotch and peeled yourself off of him. He straightened up as best he could, blinking rapidly to clear the haze from his eyes. Guilt pricked at you, among other things, for allowing the situation to get to this point, but even as Chan urgently tried to adjust himself so the hardness in his pants would be less obvious, he didn’t look upset—not in the slightest. He gave you a sheepish half-smile when he met your gaze, eyes gleaming with pure, unfettered adoration.

You smoothed out your clothes, trying to ignore the very prominent ache between your legs.

“Sorry, Channie,” you murmured. “I guess I got carried away.”

His fingers brushed tentatively over the mark you’d left, cheeks matching the shade of his ears. “S’alright,” he licked his lips. “I like it.”

He had to stop saying that—for the sake of your sanity, if nothing else. You cleared your throat, reminding yourself that there was, in fact, some poor soul out there waiting impatiently for the restroom.

“And all the…possessive stuff I—” you paused. “I hope it wasn’t too much.”

“Too much?” he cocked his head to the side. “You didn’t notice?”

A repeat of your question from earlier. You went quiet for a moment, trying to decode the meaning behind it. Everything that had transpired throughout the course of the evening flooded your thoughts at once: the fixed stares from across the room, the hand-holding, the arm-linking, the search for you every time you strayed too far. Butterflies fluttered to life your stomach the instant you wrapped your head around it.

“Oh.”

His giggles mixed with yours, light and timid. How very like him, to admit so openly to the exact feeling you’d been hoping to hide. Hiding with him was a fruitless endeavor, anyway.  

You rested your hand on his lower back, reaching for the handle with your other. “Look sick,” you whispered.

Chan leaned over slightly, masking both the lingering flush on his cheeks and the blossoming lovebite on his neck. On the opposite side of the door, you found none other than the event organizer standing there, watching the two of you inquisitively as you shuffled out of the bathroom. You gave her a polite dip of your head, and Chan offered a quick greeting as you ushered him along. You weren’t proud of it, but any self-consciousness you’d felt before was instantly overtaken by that selfish satisfaction.

As the two of you re-entered the fray, your hand slid down from Chan’s back, allowing him to walk normally again—or, as normally as he could when he was still very much trying to ebb the arousal you’d set off in him. He flexed his fingers as they brushed against yours, lacing them together before you could even think to pull away.

By some miracle, you managed to locate the other two thirds of 3RACHA with just a bit of sifting through the crowd. The relief was short-lived, however, alarm gripping you in its place when you noticed who was standing with them. Lee Minho.

It was no surprise that he was there, but you’d somehow managed to go the entire night without catching so much as a single glimpse of him. A part of you had been grateful for it, but the other part was also itching to see him. Ever since your conversation with Changbin, you’d become more and more ashamed about the way you’d acted with Minho in the convenience store. He’d rubbed you the wrong way, sure, but you were certain that your reaction had only made the situation worse. This was your chance to fix it, to dodge the arrow before he could finish drawing back his string.

“It’s completely different,” you heard him insist as you and Chan approached the group. He was engaged in what appeared to be a very serious debate with a very confused Jisung. “It’s like iced coffee versus hot coffee that’s been out for too long; they’re both cold, but one’s supposed to be, the other isn’t.”

Jisung blinked, lips parting and closing several times over the next few seconds. You’d never quite witnessed someone’s thought process unfolding in real time like that before. Even if you’d caught the full discussion between the two, the look on his face told you that you still wouldn’t have the slightest clue as to what was going on.

“I’ll be honest, man, you lost me three analogies ago.”

Minho clicked his tongue, looking ready to drop another equally convoluted explanation. Instead, he fell silent when he spotted you, the delighted smirk of someone who knew he was being difficult transforming into something much harsher, much less natural. It nearly made you wince. You’d never been particularly close with the guy, but you’d thought you were at least reaching a point where he’d grown comfortable enough to approach you with the same casualness he did with the rest of his friends. It bothered you more than you wanted to admit, that the first sign of friendship sprouting between you had been trampled on for reasons that you didn’t even know, nor comprehend.

His stare flickered between you and Chan, and you prayed desperately that the dim lighting of the hall would be enough for the fresh mark you’d left on Chan’s neck to escape Minho’s scrutiny. He narrowed his eyes, and your heartbeat picked up. So far, not off to a great start.

Still, you swallowed—your misgivings, and your pride—and flashed him a quick smile.

“Hi, Minho.”

No response, just a nod. Something told you that you were lucky to get even that out of him. He turned his head, planning to continue his debate with Jisung without addressing you any further, but the other boy had already been sucked into a high-energy conversation with Chan and Changbin about ways they could improve future performances.

“Can we talk?” you tried to keep your volume low, just enough for him to hear without catching the attention of the others.

He studied you with an impressive lack of interest, and for a moment, you thought he might really go the rest of the night without uttering a word around you.

“Why?”

“I just want to clear the air. I feel like we kinda had a misunderstanding the other day.”

“Maybe on your end,” he said curtly. “I understand what’s going on just fine.”

You took a breath, forcing yourself to remain open-minded. “Maybe,” you agreed. “So, could you tell me what I’m missing about all this?”

Wordlessly, he brought his cup to his lips, fixing you with unblinking eyes the entire time he drank, like you might lash out and attack him if he let his guard down for even a second. You managed to hold his gaze, but that same chill from before began to creep up your spine. It was so intense—and for what? Anyone who saw the way he was looking at you might think the two of you were involved in some kind of centuries-long blood feud between your families.

Even after he’d swallowed, he said nothing, and you felt your patience slip just a bit.

“If I’ve done something wrong, or if I’ve upset you somehow, please let me know,” you added.

“Upset me?” he hummed. “Yeah, actually, you did.”

You tensed.

“When you said I wasn’t funny, it really hurt my feelings,” he announced. “Apologize with flowers and tears, and maybe I’ll forgive you.”

It almost sounded like his usual manner of joking around, but your glimmer of hope was put out by that same, cold expression. You tried not to lose sight of your goal, clinging to what Changbin had told you in the cafe. He’s easy to misunderstand.

“Minho,” you began lightly. “I’m being serious here.”

His eyes glinted under the flashing lights. “So am I.”

You allowed your face to drop at last, realizing right then and there that he had no intention of even telling you what you’d done wrong—let alone giving you the chance to make amends with him.

“What, you don’t like that idea?” he feigned hurt. “Maybe you’d rather get on your hands and knees and ask for forgiveness?”

You bristled. “That’s enough.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. A look almost akin to gratification crossed his features, like a crack in your demeanor was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

“Hm. Guess you’re not really sorry, after all.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, okay? Even as a joke.”

“I’d be glad not to talk to you at all,” he shot back. “But it seems you have nothing better to do than pick fights with me.”

Unbelievable. You had to stop yourself from clenching your fists, solely because of the fact your hand was still loosely clasped with Chan’s.

“Pick fights?” you repeated. “I’m trying to fix things between us!”

“There’s nothing between us to fix.”

The way he said it was strange, pointed. You were positive there was a deeper meaning to it, almost like he was implying that there was something for you to fix, just not with him. It planted an unpleasant thought in your mind—or, rather, watered the seed of an idea that was already rooted deep within it.

You’d managed to keep your voice hushed thus far to avoid causing a scene, but the building tension finally seemed to reach a tipping point, enough to catch Chan’s attention. He put his chatter with Jisung and Changbin on hold to give you a curious glance, and, as irritated as you were with Minho’s provocation, you smiled back at him.

“You alright?” he gave your hand a squeeze.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, eyes darting momentarily in Minho’s direction. He’d turned away from you as soon as the opportunity had presented itself, going right back to talking with Jisung as if your conversation had never even happened. At least one part of what he’d said had been straightforward—he clearly wanted nothing to do with you.

“You’re friends with some pretty weird people, y’know that?”

Chan grinned. “Birds of a feather.”

Your spirits lifted a bit, taking comfort in the fact that he at least seemed oblivious to the altercation that had just taken place. Still, it was a shallow relief. You knew now, with complete certainty, that Minho wasn’t going to make things easy for you.

Of course he wouldn’t. Nothing was ever that easy.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

One month into the fall semester of your senior year, the academic distractions that you’d been longing for all summer were now upon you. Perhaps, even, a bit more intensely than you’d have liked.

Your classes were manageable enough—a significant improvement over the hellscape that was Thermodynamics and Statistical Mechanics—but the amount of time and effort your research lab demanded more than made up for what might’ve been an easy final term. When you weren’t attending your lectures or completing assignments, you were practically living in the astrophysics lab; analyzing spectroscopic measurements, reconstructing images from interferometric data, observing optical maps of the interstellar medium, and, on top of all that, sitting through countless meetings with your team.

It was as fulfilling as it was exhausting, and though you were more than happy to finally get some hands-on experience in your field of study, you couldn’t help but feel a bit wistful about this new routine as well. Your Experimental Physics II section with Changbin only took place once a week as opposed to the biweekly Thermodynamics lectures, and that, coupled with the lack of study sessions and your limited free time meant you were seeing him much less often than before. It was even worse in the cases of Chan and Iseul, both of which you rarely saw on campus to begin with. Even with Iseul more or less still treating your apartment as her second home, and Chan being his usual, relentlessly considerate self—never going too long without checking in on you—they were both busy with their respective capstone projects as well, leaving your interactions fewer and further between in comparison to the spring.

You knew it wasn’t rational, but it almost frightened you how such minor shifts in your daily life could feel so jarring, especially when graduation, the greatest shift of all, was looming on the horizon. The sands of time were trickling along without a care in the world, changing things little by little until they were unrecognizable. Some for the better, some for worse.

You’d thought you were handling the gaps in your time spent with Chan fairly well; that was, until it dawned on you halfway through September just how often your mind would drift to him while working on your research. Every new set of spectral line data or roAp star photometric variations had you visualizing what his reactions might be—his gleaming eyes that captivated you more than any of the stars you were observing, his voice growing shaky with excitement as he tried to discuss your observations without pausing every few seconds just to gush about how cool it all was.

You weren’t pleased with the number of instances your lab partners had caught you grinning to yourself in the middle of running tests and collecting data, giddy over the mere thought of his presence. As it turned out, Changbin hadn’t been too far off when he’d labeled you as lovesick.

Summoned by your thoughts, your phone vibrated against your desk to signal a text from none other than Changbin. You placed down your pencil in defeat, accepting the fact that you weren’t going to be getting any work done at this rate—daydreaming about how often you were daydreaming about Chan should’ve been indication enough.

bin 😑 (2:03 p.m.) number 5???

You blinked at your screen, dumbfounded.

bin 😑 (2:04 p.m.) number 5 pls pretty pls

you (2:04 p.m.) i sent you number 5 yesterday?

bin 😑 (2:06 p.m.) oh ;;; number 6 pls~~~

you (2:06 p.m.) i think i deserve an honorable mention on ur diploma

bin 😑 (2:07 p.m.) get me thru this hmwk and i’ll make it happen one for you and one for chan ><

The thought of it nearly made you laugh out loud: Changbin, trying to charm his way through the dean’s office to make a proposal as ridiculous as that. You didn’t doubt that he might try it, or that he might actually succeed in doing so.

Shuffling through your papers, you snapped a picture of your assignment, barely managing to fit the entirety of the required work in one shot.

bin 😑 (2:10 p.m.) thank uuu oh speaking of chan lol u know he’s sick?

you (2:10 p.m.) what???

bin 😑 (2:10 p.m.) i knew it he didn’t tell you -_-

You felt a pang of worry, countless questions filling your head at once. It’d been a day or two since you’d contacted Chan, even longer since you’d seen him in person—definitely over a week by now. The last time you’d talked hadn’t been over a phone call like usual; you’d texted him just to see how he was doing, and after a short chat he’d promised to meet up with you sometime the next week. It had been unusual, but not unusual enough for you to overthink it, especially considering how swamped the both of you were.

you (2:12 p.m.) how long has he been sick for?

bin 😑 (2:13 p.m.) couple days? actually more like a week now

Worry twisted into a sense of dread. Why hadn’t he told you?

You didn’t have to question it for long. You knew why—anyone who knew Chan well enough could piece it together with ease.

bin 😑 (2:14 p.m.) he hasn’t gone to class for a few days ㅜ you should visit him if you can

you (2:14 p.m.) yeah, i definitely will thanks for letting me know binnie

If your homework had been an afterthought before, it was long forgotten now. You didn’t bother to clean up your workspace before rising from your chair, leaving the scattered notes and eraser shavings for you to deal with later.

You weren’t sure what you were experiencing as you made your way over to your kitchen, digging around for ginger and garlic and praying that you’d have enough. It was an overreaction, probably, but you berated yourself regardless; for not noticing that something was wrong, for not pressing harder when asking how he’d been, for not questioning the longer periods of time you’d gone without talking. You’d wanted to give him his space, but for it to go as far as him thinking he shouldn’t tell you that he was sick—sick to the point where he couldn’t attend class, stirred something awful in you.

The pot nearly slipped from your hands in all your haste to prepare your materials, and you took a breath, forcing yourself to relax before you set fire to your apartment. Still, the concern, the guilt, didn’t die down. You were so accustomed to being in-tune with every aspect of your relationships, be it friends, family, or romantic partners, making note of every little detail, every subtle shift; sometimes before they themselves could even realize it. But for what was neither the first nor the last time, you had to remind yourself that this was Chan you were dealing with. Of course he wouldn’t tell you—he wouldn’t tell you anything that he believed might cause you even the slightest inconvenience. He would do whatever it took, go to any lengths imaginable, just to avoid committing the unforgivable sin of letting you care about him. It was the complete opposite of everything you'd come to understand about the world, the people around you, and it put you in a position that you weren’t sure you wanted to be in.

You weren’t going to stand idly by, watching him board his openings shut before anyone could catch a glimpse of what was inside, watching him burden himself with the fear of burdening others. Whatever had happened in the past for him to reach that point, you wanted to suck it out like poison until there wasn’t a single drop left in his system. You were going to be there for him, whether he liked it or not.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

His face was the last thing you’d expected to see when the door to unit 8-325 swung open.

Realistically, it shouldn’t have been. He did live there, after all. Like the annoying troll under the bridge that wouldn’t let you pass unless you answered his riddles three. It took everything in you not to make a face as you were met with Minho standing in the doorframe. He, of course, didn’t extend that same courtesy to you, eyes narrowing into an unmistakable grimace when he laid them on you.

“What do you want?”

“Hi to you, too,” you muttered.

His expression didn’t change, and, much to your disdain, you once again found yourself mesmerized by that gaze of his. You hated how effective it was; unreadable, yet communicating a thousand things all at once. Even if he really was as harmless as Changbin claimed, even if his cold glares and cutting comments were the extent of what he could do to you, your skin crawled all the same.

When you saw that he wasn’t planning on dignifying you with a response, you inched forward, expecting to be let inside. That would simply be too easy, though. Minho shifted so that his body blocked your path, pulling the door closer to him for good measure.

“Chan’s sick,” he deadpanned.

You paused, blown away for a moment by his audacity. “I know he’s sick,” you gritted your teeth. “I’m here to check on him.”

You might’ve sworn you saw the corner of his lips start to twitch, but you tore your eyes away too quickly to be certain. The last thing this man needed was whatever kind of ego boost he’d get from you paying a little too much attention to his features.

“Not much you can do,” he dismissed, voice light and airy as ever. “Unless you think gracing him with your presence is gonna make him all better.”

It was your turn to shoot Minho a glare, foot darting out just in time to prevent him from shutting the door in your face. Wordlessly, you lifted the container of galbitang into his view.

He raised an eyebrow, the closest thing to a genuine reaction you could get from him. “Changed your major to the medical route?”

“I don’t see you doing anything to help him,” you snapped.

Your patience was already minimal when it came to this guy, but ever since you’d confronted him at the event in August, it seemed like he’d made it his personal mission to run it as thin as possible every time you interacted with him. It was kind of impressive, really, the way he knew exactly how to push every last one of your buttons with ease.

Fresh out of half-assed excuses, Minho shrugged, as if he’d never even cared in the first place. He let go of the door handle, and you took that as a sign to push past him and slip inside.

You removed your shoes as quickly as you could, not wanting to spend another second around him if you could help it. Knowing that Changbin wasn’t home, you stalked past the kitchen and through the living room, the soothing scent of freshly-brewed yuja tea flooding your nostrils as you did. It almost made you feel bad about what you’d said to Minho, but you knew better than to apologize for it now—if you’d come to learn anything, it was that your peace offerings would be met with even more hostility than your provocation. Instead, you padded down the hallway, heading straight for Chan’s room.

Careful not to lose your grip on the container in your hands, you managed to give his door a light knock. A few seconds passed before you heard a faint “come in”, muffled by the sound of what was sure to be a pile of blankets. You braced yourself, recovering from your Minho-induced rise in blood pressure, then slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind you.

Chan blinked his eyes open just in time to see you approaching his bed. They were foggy, even more exhausted than usual, and they widened slightly when he registered who was standing before him.

“Hi, Channie,” you whispered. “Were you sleeping?”

“N-no, I—” his voice came strained and hoarse, so different from his pleasant, melodic lilt that you had trouble believing it was really him speaking for a second. “I was already awake.”

You rolled his desk chair over to the side of the bed, placing your container of galbitang on his nightstand next to the half-finished cup of tea and army of empty water bottles. He watched, stunned, as you sat down next to him, still trying to process what was going on.

“Um…how did you—?”

“Seo Changbin,” you hummed.

A weak smile formed on his face. “Bin…”

“How are you feeling?”

“Alright,” he croaked, not sounding alright at all. “Guess when you told me to look sick I took it a little too seriously, yeah?”

You let out a light giggle, and he tried to join you, only to spiral right into a violent coughing fit instead. It made your heart twist with sympathy, and you reached out to brush back his messy curls, resting your palm on his forehead. His skin was burning, and not in its normal way—if you could even call the amount of body heat he carried with him normal. It was heavy and sticky and pulsing, like you could physically feel the ache plaguing his head.

“Ah, wait,” he warned. “You shouldn’t touch me, you’ll catch it.”

I don’t care. You almost wanted to say it without restraint, but you settled for something more tactful, something less pointlessly dramatic. “You wouldn’t get me sick, would you?”

He flashed you another feeble smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry you have to see me like this,” he rasped, shrinking into the covers so that his face was only half visible.

“Please don’t apologize, Channie,” you ran your fingers gently through his hair. “I just wish you’d told me. How long have you been sick?”

The feeling seemed to relax him, weary eyes drooping just a bit as your nails grazed his scalp. “It’s only been like this for a few days,” he hesitated. “But I first started feeling it last week. Minho thinks it’s the flu.”

You stopped combing through his hair, letting your hand simply rest atop his head. He seemed to sense your disapproval, eyes peeking up at you from beneath the comforter to meet your frowning face.

“It’s not that bad, though,” he tried to assure you. “Just a cough and some headaches.”

“Bin said you haven’t been able to go to class.”

Chan sucked in through his teeth; caught. You sent out a silent apology to Changbin, realizing a split second too late that you’d probably set him up for a scolding as soon as Chan could speak without sounding like he had gravel in his throat.

“I just didn’t want you to worry,” he explained sheepishly. “Especially when you’ve been so busy.”

“I’m always thinking of you, anyway,” you countered, only half-joking. “So, please don’t hide stuff like this from me, okay? That’ll only make me worry more.”

For a moment, he stayed silent, and you got the feeling that your words hadn’t quite gotten through to him. Regardless, he eventually gave you a tiny nod.

“Promise?” you pressed.

“Promise.”

He didn’t hold out his pinky this time to seal the deal, but you chose not to dwell on it considering the fact that his hands were buried under layers upon layers of blankets. Instead, you gave his head one last pat and reached for the thermos on the nightstand.

“Can you eat?”

His face lit up at the sight of the galbitang. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I haven’t eaten yet today, actually.”

You frowned, biting back an exasperated comment. Even if his horribly skewed priorities frustrated you more than anything else—touching a part of you buried so deep within that you yourself couldn’t fully grasp it—you’d visited Chan with the intent of helping him, not lecturing him. There was no changing the outcome now, anyway. All you could do was try and make things a little easier for him, to balance out his determination to create new obstacles for himself as quickly as you could break them down.

“It should still be warm, but I can go heat it up if you’d like?” you were reluctant to ask, not keen on the possibility of seeing Minho again.

“No, no, s’alright,” he shuffled around in the sheets, trying to sit himself upright against the pillows. “I’ll eat it like this.”

As soon as his protective pile of covers slipped down his torso, he was shuddering. Even with the hoodie he was wearing, chills passed through his entire body, so strong that you could visibly see how his shoulders shook.

“Oh my God, Channie,” your voice softened to a tone that he’d only ever heard you use with him, one that soothed his pounding head. “You’re really sick, aren’t you?”

He attempted to say something in response—to deny it despite every cell in his body screaming otherwise—but between his sniffles and chattering teeth, it was hard to make out. You reached out with your free hand and pulled the covers back up his chest, draping them over his shoulders so that just his head and neck were exposed. Chan blinked at you, the confusion on his face morphing into subtle panic when he understood what you were planning.

“Ah…you don’t,” he coughed. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.” You unscrewed the lid and unlatched the spoon from its side. “I want to, actually. If it’s okay with you.”

It shouldn’t have surprised you—the flush that crept up on his cheeks, even more visible than usual with how little color there was to his sickly complexion.

“Okay,” he averted his eyes. “Yeah, thank you.”

You scooped up a portion of the soup, making sure to gather a good mix of ingredients for him, then brought it up to his lips. He blew out puffs of air a few times before taking the spoon into his mouth, still refusing to meet your gaze.

Despite his awkwardness, a cute hum followed. “This is really good.”

“That’s how I know you’re sick.”

He giggled gently, careful not to set off another coughing fit. “No, I mean it,” he licked his lips. “I can taste the flavor, even though my nose is all stuffy.”

“I’m glad you like it,” you smiled, dipping the spoon back into the container. “I kinda made it in a rush, so I hoped it’d at least be edible.”

Chan finally looked up, fixing you with a guilt-ridden gaze. “I’m really sorry,” he mumbled, just as you brought another portion up to his lips.

“The only person you should be apologizing to is yourself,” you said firmly.

A comfortable silence filled the room, with nothing but the sound of Chan’s slurping and wheezy breaths breaking it. Though the bashfulness was still there—it always was—he gradually came to relax the more you fed him, slumping his shoulders and letting out those content, satisfied noises that you’d come to love so much after each hot spoonful. The sight of him, disheveled as he was, made your heart feel strangely full, the ripples of worry fading out until it was calm and clear. He was being cared for, looked after; even if for just a moment. You decided right then and there that it was the only thing you’d ever ask of him—to dare to let you treat him with an ounce of the kindness he showed everyone but himself.

The steam, garlic, and ginger seemed to do their job in clearing up his sinuses a bit, as his sniffling grew more and more frequent until it was obvious he was having a hard time containing it. He had to refrain from ducking his head, a fresh wave of embarrassment washing over him as you plucked a tissue from the nightstand and wiped his nose clean. Still, he thanked you quietly, sinking further into the pillows.

“Is there anything else I can do?” you sealed the now-empty container shut. “I can pick up any missing work for you tomorrow, if that helps.”

Chan’s eyes were half-lidded now, his weariness finally starting to catch up to him. “Nah, don’t trouble yourself. Most of my stuff is on my laptop, anyway.”

For the first time, you noticed the device amidst the blankets and sheets, teetering on the edge of his mattress in a way that made your adrenaline spike considering it was the precious amalgamation of all his blood, sweat, and tears since he’d entered university.

“Have you been working, even now?”

“I wanted to,” he admitted. “But I think staring at a screen just made my head feel worse. Gonna try again later.”

Before you could say anything else, he changed the subject, like he knew you’d advise against it the instant the words left his mouth.

“But how’s your work? Is the lab going okay?”

Despite yourself, a smile tugged at your lips. You might not have let him get away with it if he hadn’t asked about the exact thing you’d been dying to share with him since the last time you’d met up. Maybe that was what he needed, anyway—something to cheer him up and take his mind off the perpetual ache consuming his body.

“I’m observing a pair of binary stars right now.”

He perked up against the pillows, lifting his head so quickly that it actually earned a light hiss of pain. Still, his face broke out into a smile, exactly the way you’d dreamed of when you’d first analyzed the spectral lines.

“What kind?”

“Spectroscopic.”

His dimples appeared for the first time that day. “The closest pair!” he chirped. “That’s amazing, I wish I could see it.”

“I can show you their Doppler shifts as the next best thing,” you offered. “They’re so close even the telescopes can’t separate them. Isn’t that romantic?”

“Super romantic,” he beamed, eyes twinkling through the glaze of illness. That familiar warmth spread through your skin—just by looking at him, you could tell he was thinking the same thing as you. “Orbiting so close and so fast…you think they’ll change each other’s evolution?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I do.”

Like in the case of most binary pairs, one star burned brighter than the other—just the slightest bit. Even if the difference in them was miniscule, you had no doubt in your mind which of the two was Chan.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Space talk could only mitigate the effects of the flu for so long. Chan’s half-lidded eyes eventually drooped all the way shut, his raspy but enthusiastic chatter dying down into barely-responsive mumbles, then, finally, soft, steady snores. It took everything in you not to lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, already accumulating beads of sweat as his fever began to break. Even after all your recklessness in getting so close to him while he was sick, you figured that would be pushing your luck a bit too far. Instead, you ensured he had enough water for when he’d inevitably wake up parched, adjusted his pillows so that his head was properly elevated, and tidied up the mess on his nightstand as best you could.

Carefully, you tiptoed out of his room, taking one last look at his sleeping face before shutting the door.

As you entered the living room from the hall, you found Minho seated on the couch; presumably hard at work, judging by the way he was hunched over his laptop, typing up a storm with computer glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He didn’t even spare you a glance when you passed him to toss the empty bottles in the recycling bin. You’d long learned to keep quiet around him to avoid setting off yet another tirade of petty insults and icy scowls, and you would’ve gladly gone without a word if the memory of your earlier accusation wasn’t nagging away at you. That, and, maybe the affection that had bubbled up inside you upon seeing Chan had let down your guard a bit.

Against your better judgment, you mustered up the will to say it. “Thanks for looking after him.”

Minho’s eyes stayed glued to his screen. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“Obviously,” you replied evenly. “I just mean I’m glad he has you.”

You were prepared to leave it at that, both to let him resume his work, and avoid the claws that were sure to come out if you kept pressing the matter. To your surprise, however, he piped up again just as you began making your way over to the door.

“If you’re expecting me to say the same about you, don’t hold your breath.”

You told yourself to ignore it, but with just a few words, he’d effectively frosted over all the warmth that Chan had kindled in your chest. Something snapped in you, making you spin on your heels before you could stop yourself.

“What the hell is your problem?”

Minho’s eyes flickered up at last, widening for only a split second before they narrowed again.

“That’s no way to talk to someone in their home,” he clicked his tongue. “If I wasn’t such a gentleman, I’d kick you out.”

You held your ground, refusing to feel embarrassed about your outburst no matter how much he provoked you.

“Answer me.”

Minho rose from the couch with a sigh, making it no secret what an inconvenience he found you to be, what an utter waste of his time it was to even address you.

“What makes you think I have a problem?”

You let out a bitter laugh. The absolute gall of this man.

“Don’t play dumb with me, okay? Changbin told me this is just what you’re like, but I haven't seen you treat anyone else the way you treat me.”

Minho was closer now, still a few feet away, but near enough to put you on high alert. He looked so unrecognizable these days, you’d forgotten what it’d ever felt like to be comfortable around him, to be in the same room without that unease spreading through your skin.

“You think you’re special?” he sneered. “Do your ego a favor and listen to Changbin.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he carried on, still managing to sound so carefree despite the venom in his words.

“Unless, of course, you’re the only one allowed to give orders here.”

You froze.

“What?”

“Hit a nerve?”

“What are you talking about?” You had to contain yourself, solely for the meager hope that maybe, just maybe, you might get a clear answer from him for once.

“I’ve seen your type before, too many times,” he spat. “Chan just can’t seem to break that ugly habit—falling for people who only know how to take advantage of him.”

You bristled, so enraged that you couldn’t even think to answer. All that filled your head was red, hot anger, defiance, and, buried beneath all that, fear.

Anger that he had the audacity to speak to you that way. That he’d passed such a cruel and absurd judgment without so much as bothering to get to know you first. Defiance that he thought he had you all figured out when he didn’t even know the half of it—of what Chan meant to you, of what you’d been through, of the people who had chewed you up and spit you out just like he was implying you liked to do.

Fear that he was right. Fear that someone else was capable of having those thoughts about you, that they weren’t just your own baseless inhibitions. The lingering effects of what he had planted in your mind, never quite uprooted.

“My type,” you tried to keep your voice steady. “Is just as capable of being taken advantage of.”

Minho crossed his arms, stare unbreaking as if inviting you to continue—to prove yourself to him. The thought alone made your stomach churn.

“You’re not as smart as you think,” you hissed. “You don’t know the first thing about me, and whatever happens between Chan and I is none of your business.”

He sniffed, unimpressed. “When you hurt him, it will be.”

He said it with so much certainty, so much confidence, you nearly believed it yourself. You clenched your fists, mustering all your strength to control the irrational amounts of rage bubbling up inside you. You thought of Chan, asleep in the other room amidst his nest of sweaty blankets and tissues, fighting off the flu on top of everything else he had resting on his shoulders. You thought of his exhausted face, paler than usual, and his cracked voice, still trying to reassure you even when he was in such a miserable state.

You took a deep breath, and you softened.

“I’m not going to hurt him.”

Minho said nothing. Maybe he thought it was too easy to counter, maybe he thought it wasn’t even worth acknowledging. Either way, you were done trying to make sense of him—done trying to defend yourself in front of someone who had long decided you were guilty.

So, he hated you. You could probably live with that. You didn’t exactly have a glowing opinion of him either.

You turned around, making a beeline for the door and slipping your shoes back on as calmly as you could. But, of course, it wasn’t over quite yet. Ending things on your terms, where you got the last say, wasn’t an option when it came to Minho.

“Running away from the fight you started again?” he called lazily. “This is getting boring.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Iseul’s sigh rang out through your apartment, so loud and so exaggerated this time that you couldn’t in good conscience brush it off. Half-amused by her transparency, you paused the show on your television, turning to give her a questioning look.

“Something wrong?”

“Look at that!” She gestured aggressively at the screen, where the male lead, soaked and forlorn with a bouquet of flowers in hand, was waiting in the pouring rain outside of his love interest’s home. “Where do I find someone like that, huh?”

You giggled, only to realize with a start that she was being dead serious. She pouted at you, and you cleared your throat, rushing to correct yourself.

“Are you still having problems wi—?”

“Yes,” she interjected, as if exasperated that it’d taken you this long to notice. “We had an argument earlier today. He called me needy, can you fucking believe that?”

You let out a hum of disapproval; you’d never really gotten a good vibe from this guy from the start, especially as Iseul’s boyfriend. He was far too emotionally unavailable for someone as expressive and sensitive as her.

“Why would he say that?”

“He’s just a dick. All I did was ask him to help me practice my marketing presentation—y’know, since you didn’t have the time to,” she added. You guessed it was probably just her frustration speaking, but something about the way she said it seemed off, like you were partially at fault for not being there to help her in the first place. “Then, after like two tries, he gets all annoyed with me saying I’m being way too nitpicky and wasting his time.”

You knew better than anyone how high-strung Iseul could be when it came to academics; it was the trait in her that had initially sparked your friendship, after all. She could be demanding, sure, but it was only because she cared so much about performing well. Being there for her any chance you got wasn’t even a matter of debate for you—it was the bare minimum, whether for a friend, or a significant other.

“Anyway, I’m still waiting on him to apologize,” she huffed. “I’m not the crazy one here, right? Like, do you think he has a point?”

“You’re not crazy.” You pressed your lips together, trying to approach the matter with caution. “I think you just have high expectations for people.”

“But that’s not a bad thing!”

“Of course not,” you agreed. “As long as you treat them with the same consideration.”

“Exactly!” she exclaimed. “I could literally be the best girlfriend ever if he’d just let me. He literally never appreciates the things I do for him.”

“Maybe you just have different ways of showing your care for each other?” you suggested. “You can try bringing it up next time you talk.”

Iseul groaned, dragging her hands down her face, as if the thought of urging him to have a mature, emotionally open conversation with her caused physical pain. “I guess. If he ever even bothers to text me again.”

“How long has it been?”

She looked away, uncharacteristically meek. “A few hours.”

“He usually takes that long anyway, right?” you reasoned. “He’ll definitely come around, try not to stress too much about it.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled. “I’m sick of thinking about it. How are things with Chan?”

It was the only detail of your life she ever really asked you about lately. You didn’t mind most of the time—you were more than happy to talk about him over other, significantly less pleasant things, but in this case, you felt a twinge of discomfort. You hated that the first thing that came to mind wasn’t Chan’s crinkled eye smile, but rather, Minho’s relentless death glare. The thought was unnerving enough for you to consider bringing it up with Iseul, just as a way to get an outside opinion from someone who wasn’t Changbin or Chan. Unlike them, Iseul didn’t know Minho at all, and you liked to think she was blunt enough to tell you objectively if you were in the wrong.  

“Pretty good,” you hesitated. “Well, there is something—”

“I’m sure they’re more than just good,” she interrupted again. “All you ever do is hang out with him these days.”

You flashed her a grin. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Someone to entertain myself with once you’ve settled down?”

You were met with another huff. She crossed her arms, eyebrows furrowing in a way that immediately told you she wasn’t in the mood to joke.

“Doesn’t mean you have to ditch me now that you’ve got yourself a boytoy.”

“C’mon, Iseul,” you tried to keep your tone light. “You practically live here.”

She picked at her fingernails in silence, and you felt yourself start to panic a bit, suddenly taking the implication that you’d been neglecting your friendship much more seriously. You hadn’t noticed a difference, save for how much busier your schedules were this semester—but that was inevitable given how hectic senior year was for everyone. As much as Chan consumed your thoughts (something Iseul was better off not knowing) you barely saw him more often than her; in fact, given everything he was constantly juggling at once, you probably saw him less.

“What are you always so busy with, then?” she questioned at last, the slightest bit accusatory.

“The same as you. Classes and my senior research.”

You couldn’t decipher why she looked so unconvinced by the explanation, like the idea of you being preoccupied with your own personal matters was somehow incomprehensible to her. She shifted around in her spot, clearly set on the idea that there had to be more to it than that.

“Fine,” she turned her head back to the television, still frozen on that same, pitiful frame from the drama. “I still need someone to help me practice though, and I’m definitely not asking him again. So, it’s gotta be you.”

“Sure,” you replied. “I can definitely find time.”

You wanted to believe that she was just in a foul mood because of the fight with her boyfriend—and maybe that really was the whole of it. Surely, she wouldn’t dismiss the past two years you’d spent helping and supporting her the very instant you had to focus on yourself for a bit.

Even as you told yourself that, you couldn’t help but wonder for the first time if the scale between you and her was more out of balance than you thought.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

October had arrived at last, bringing with it a pleasant chill in the air, early tints of orange on the trees, and a fresh wave of midterm exams. Most importantly, it brought Chan’s birthday. He’d recovered from the flu a mere few days before the third of the month, and you’d never been more grateful for the sight of his radiant smile and rosy cheeks, full of so much life that he energized not just himself, but everyone around him as well.

His birthday fell on a Tuesday, not exactly the most ideal time for a celebration between Experimental Physics II and The Life and Death of Stars, but you’d been determined to make it work. You would’ve made anything work if it meant getting to spend even an hour with him on the day where he was, for once, the center of the universe. A small get-together had been planned later in the evening at his apartment—actually a small get-together this time, as promised so seriously by Changbin—but you’d come up with an excuse to skip out on it. No matter how hard you wished it didn’t bother you, the idea of being under the same roof as Minho again had been all the reason you needed to keep away. You had no doubt in your mind that he’d do everything in his power to make you feel unwelcome, and you didn’t trust yourself to remain collected around the guy after he’d proven time and time again how talented he was when it came to riling you up.

The last thing you’d wanted was to cause a scene on Chan’s birthday; it wasn’t even worth risking. If you put a damper on his happiness simply because you couldn’t stop yourself from fighting with his best friend like two feral street cats each time you crossed paths, you’d never forgive yourself. Instead, you’d met up with him for lunch and pastries earlier in the day, with the perfect excuse to cover all the expenses for it—much to your delight, and much to his dismay. Even if you were a bit wistful about missing out on the real celebration later, Chan’s beaming face when he’d opened your gift, the best external hard drive you could afford, had more than made up for it.

It’d been a week since then, another week where you and Chan barely found the chance to lift your heads from the sea of work to check in on each other. You knew that he was especially overwhelmed. His sickness couldn’t have come at a worse time, leaving him playing catch up with all his missed assignments and lectures on top of the stress of midterms.

Your thumbs hovered over your phone screen, tapping against each other as you debated whether or not to send him a message. As if on cue, it lit up with a notification that made your breath catch.

channie 🐺 (1:03 a.m.) you awake?

you (1:03 a.m.) yeah hi channie

There was a delay before he texted again, three little dots appearing and disappearing below your chat bubble more than once, like he was repeatedly typing and deleting what he wanted to say.

channie 🐺 (1:07 a.m.) can i call you?

The question felt strange, unlike him. You’d grown accustomed to expecting his calls the very instant he’d find out you were available—more often than not, without any warning at all.

you (1:07 a.m.) do you even have to ask?

channie 🐺 (1:09 a.m.) i should probably start haha sorry

You frowned. Something was definitely off.

you (1:09 a.m.) nooo that’s not what i meant  ur calls are the best surprise

Another minute passed without a response, and you began to worry that you’d actually upset him. Then, your screen lit up again, this time to signal his incoming call.

He didn’t greet you immediately after you picked up like he typically did. You registered the subtle sound of whirring on the other end of the line, like a breeze was billowing through his phone speaker.

“Chan?”

“Hi,” he sounded out of breath. “What’s up?”

“I was about to check on you, actually,” you confessed. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just wanted to hear your voice.”

Your heart fluttered, but it didn’t fully ebb the worry piling up inside you. “I missed you,” you murmured. “Starting to think dropping out isn’t such a bad idea.”

He chuckled—light, barely there. It was gone as soon as it came, as if not to overstay its welcome. The distant sound of a car engine met your ears, distracting you from what you’d planned to say next.

“Are you on your balcony?”

“Taking a walk,” he replied.

You blinked. “At this hour?”

“Yeah, couldn’t really sleep.”

For some reason, you felt a pang in your chest. You’d never heard him sound like this before. Blunt, sullen, defeated. A part of you, the hypervigilant part, wondered if he simply wasn’t in the mood to talk—but then, why would he have even asked to call you?

“Oh no,” you made a soft noise of sympathy. There was a pause as you mulled over how to approach it; whether to nag him not to get his adrenaline rushing so late, to offer words of comfort for whatever seemed to be bothering him, or to pretend like everything was okay, just to take his mind off of it. You didn’t want to keep pressing after you’d already asked once, but something was very clearly wrong; so wrong that Chan himself was making little effort to hide it.

“Do you want to look at the moon?”

A deep inhale. “Yeah.”

Wedging your phone between your ear and shoulder, you pulled up the blinds of your bedroom window and pushed it open, allowing the cool, October air to waft through your senses and drift over your skin. The moon was in its Waning Crescent phase, a thin, delicate slice of light illuminating the clear sky. You tried to picture Chan on the other end, the wonder in his tired eyes, the slope of his nose tilted upwards as he admired it like it was the first time it’d ever graced the night.

“Are you looking?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “It’ll be a new moon soon.”

“Yeah,” he said again.

A silence stretched across the call, not quite uncomfortable, but not quite serene, either. Even from afar, you could feel the thoughts buzzing in his head like they were your own, disturbing any peace the view might usually wash over him. His breathing, at least, steadied, and you guessed he’d stopped walking to get a proper look at the sky.

The two of you stayed that way for some time, long enough for you to start filling the gaps with his absentminded humming and sweet vocalizations. There was none of that today; just silence.

Then, you heard it. Faint, muffled, like he’d turned away from his phone to avoid letting you catch it: a sniffle.

“Channie,” you whispered. “Are you really okay?”

“Just my leftover cold, don’t worry.”

You kept quiet. You both knew he’d fully recovered well over a week ago.

“Sorry,” he said weakly. “Can I come over?”

“Right now?” You glanced at the time. It was already nearing 2:00 a.m., you didn’t want him to make such a long walk this late, especially not in his current condition. “Why don’t I come meet you?”

“No, no, ‘s alright.”

“Well, of course you can come. I’ll be here.”

“Thank you.”

The call ended. It left you feeling heavy with unease, an emotion you’d never once associated with Chan. As foreign as it was, it made you all the more determined to be there for him, to take on some of the weight he carried everywhere he went before his knees completely buckled underneath him. In your eyes, he was just like the moon he loved so much—always shining down on you with the brightest side of him, and never allowing you to see the other. You wanted to break the tidal lock and see the dark side of the moon. To uncover all the hidden craters and basins and accept them as a part of him.

Not even ten minutes had passed before you heard a knock at your door, far too soon for him to have arrived by foot. It made you realize, with another tug at your heart, that he must’ve already been on his way to your apartment when he’d first called.

When you swung open the door, there was a short lapse before his smile came, strained, but relieved. His hair was tousled from the wind, eyes outlined with dark circles, and black jacket unzipped. It hung loosely off his shoulder, and when you pulled him into a hug, you could feel the chill from the outside air lingering on his skin. Even so, his persistent warmth still seeped through; it always did.

Neither of you said anything as you took his hand in yours, guiding him to the other room. You settled down next to him on the edge of your bed, facing the window where the moon was still watching over you. Chan kept his eyes firmly locked on it, but his fingers brushed tentatively against yours, tracing the lines of your fingerprints and palms as if to commit them to memory.

“Sorry for bothering you so late.”

“You could never bother me,” you said simply.

It was so immediate, so natural, it had him taken aback for a moment. He sucked in through his teeth, well aware of your gaze studying his side profile with growing concern.

“At the showcase,” he mumbled. “Did you really mean what you said?”

The question could’ve been in reference to anything, but somehow, that was all he needed to ask for you to know exactly what he was talking about.

“Of course.”

Memories of him up on that stage flooded your mind. His charisma, his passion, his belief in Changbin and Jisung and, for a fleeting moment, himself. Just thinking about it was enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin.

“When I saw you performing, all I could think about was how much you belonged up there.”

Chan’s breath hitched. At last, he turned his head to face you, that same look from the night of the party—the one that troubled you for reasons you couldn’t explain—crossing his features again. Hopeful eyes searched for any hint of insincerity, any shadow of a doubt, only to find nothing but raw affection.

He leaned in suddenly, brushing his nose against yours in a wordless plea, and you closed the space between you. His lips were the slightest bit chapped from the crisp autumn air, but their plushness was never lost, consuming your senses with that soft, irresistible quality you could never get enough of. He melded seamlessly into you, filling every gap and crevice, pulling you further in like waves lapping at a shore.

Chan turned slightly on the bed, angling his body to bring himself closer to you and pressing his thigh against yours. For such a simple touch, it made him sigh sweetly into you, lips parting to add a new degree of heat to it all. His fingers flexed in your hand, and you used the other to cup his face, holding him steady as he moved his mouth with increasing urgency. Cute, tiny sounds built up in his throat each time your tongue slid against his, growing louder and louder until he was all but whimpering into your mouth.

His desire, normally thinly-veiled by a layer of timidity, was on full display tonight—not quite pushy, rather, begging with every pucker of his lips and graze of his teeth for you to take things a step further, to let him fall completely into you. It was a lack of restraint you often had to build into, to guide him there yourself. You kept telling yourself to get a grip, to break the kiss and check on the boy who, just minutes ago, appeared to be on the verge of falling apart; but it was fruitless to even think about ridding yourself of a sensation so addictive. His free hand reached for your waist, hesitant as ever to grab on as tight as he needed to. Instead, he took your shirt between his fingers, playing with the fabric in a way that, strangely enough, was even more exhilarating.

The sounds spilling out of Chan became muddled together, and it took you a few seconds to realize that he was trying to say something to you.

“Please,” he whined. “Please, please.”

You ran your thumb along his cheek, unlocking your lips from his at last. “What is it, baby?”

“Need you,” his breath was shaky, lungs aching from the intensity of the kiss. “Can I make you feel good? Please, let me this time.”

You paused, pulling away to get a proper look at him. “Are you sure?” you frowned. “You don’t look well, Channie. Why don’t we talk?”

“N-no, ‘m okay. Just really need you right now.”

His gaze flickered down to the spot between your thighs, and he swallowed. It affected you more than you wanted to admit—the pure want in his eyes for something so selfless.

“I’ll be good,” he promised. “However you want it, I’ll do it. Please.”

You scanned his face a few moments longer, trying to put aside the arousal spreading through you at an alarming rate, just long enough to get a read on him. Your concerns were still very much there, but the look on his face told you that he wanted—needed this even more than you did.

Gently, you squeezed his hand one last time before unlacing your fingers. “Alright...if that’s what you want.”

Chan watched, mesmerized, as you repositioned yourself on the bed, resting your back against your pillows and slipping your fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts to tug them off.

“Th-thank you,” he breathed. “I’ll do well. Promise.”

It nearly made you coo out loud. All this just to please you, just to satisfy desires that, unbeknownst to him, were already fulfilled just by being with him. Still, you knew Chan well enough to understand that it wouldn’t sit right in his mind until he gave you everything he had to offer. He’d give you his all if only you would let him.

Even as you slipped off your underwear, he stayed put, unmoving until you gestured for him to come over. He licked his lips, eyes shining in the low light when you spread your legs at last. Your heartbeat picked up as he settled between them, suddenly so close that you could feel each shaky breath of his tickling your sensitive skin. Tentatively, he placed his hands on your thighs, glancing up at you to ensure that it was really okay. You gave him an encouraging nod, not quite trusting yourself to speak when the only thing you could focus on was how dangerously close his mouth—his perfect mouth—was to your most intimate spot.

With your permission granted, he began pressing kisses to your inner thigh. They started off with that same shyness you knew, careful and reserved, but quickly became less and less controlled the more his mouth roamed. His lips were smoother now, wet and glossy, and they sent tiny jolts through your senses each time they came in contact with your skin. If you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought he was purposely trying to tease you, giving hints of what he could make you feel without diving in fully just yet. But the way he kneaded your flesh with the pads of his fingers, a low, desperate noise bubbling up inside him, said otherwise. He was appreciating every bit of you, basking in the moment, as if he may never get the chance to have his head between your legs again.

His sloppy kisses drew closer and closer to your heat, and when his lips came to hover over it at last, you had to stop yourself from pushing against his face right then and there. Delicately, his tongue slid out to glide from your entrance right up to your clit, ending it with a gentle flick that sent a shiver down your spine. He repeated the action almost immediately, a sweet hum escaping him as your arousal flooded his tastebuds.

Your hand fell down to his head, gripping his curls in a way that made his own pleasure spike, if the sudden whine he let out was any indication. He continued licking away, each intoxicating lap of his tongue growing more confident and making you ask yourself just why on earth you’d ever deprived yourself of such a feeling. It satiated a need that you hadn’t even known was there to begin with, twisted the muscles in your core with both tension and relief. If it’d been a while since he’d used his mouth like this, it certainly didn’t show.

“Am I…” he slurred. “Am I doing okay?”

“You’re doing so well, Channie,” you assured him. “My sweet boy, using that pretty mouth for me. Making me feel so good.”

Your praises earned a moan from him, so loud you’d think he was the one experiencing the hot, delicious rhythm of his tongue. The sound vibrated against your folds, making your toes curl and your nails dig further into his scalp.

“You really like this, don’t you?” you giggled breathlessly.

“Mm. Just wanna—mmph—please you,” he managed between licks. “Wanna be a good boy for you.”

Before you could respond, heart-shaped lips wrapped unexpectedly around your clit, engulfing it with his plush, wet warmth and sending shockwaves all throughout your body. Despite your best efforts, you gasped, barely able to stop yourself from squeezing your thighs around his head. He sucked eagerly, adding just the right amount of pressure that, if kept up, was sure to draw you to a climax faster than you’d ever experienced before.

“Just like that.” You let your eyes flutter shut. “Good boy. You were made for this.”

Chan dragged his upper lip along the sensitive bud, the tip of his nose brushing against it in a way that threatened to snap the tightening coil in your abdomen all at once.

“Made f-for you,” he stuttered out. “Please, tell me I’m good for you. Tell me ‘m okay.”

You weren’t sure if it was his own arousal becoming too much for him to bear, but his voice had become near-frantic, as did the strokes of his tongue. His movements grew sloppier and sloppier, drool mixing with your essence and nose dragging along your folds almost obsessively.

You ran your fingers through his curls, hoping to keep him grounded. “More than okay. You’re perfect for me, baby boy.” 

A broken whimper met your ears, driving you closer to the edge. “Yeah? ‘M doing well? Please, tell me I’m good,” he begged. “P-please, wanna be good enough.”

Amidst all his pleading and babbling, the words caught you off guard, pulling you out of your blissful haze all at once. Something wet dripped against your skin, warmer and thinner than any of the other fluids pooling at your core, and it made your eyes snap open in alarm.

“Channie?”

“I’ll do it right.” He didn’t look up, still working his mouth despite the choked noises building up in his throat. His hands pawed at your thighs, gripping and squeezing with so much urgency that you’d think he was terrified you might disappear. Another hot droplet ran down your skin, and as you blinked to refocus your vision, you finally noticed it—the trembling of his shoulders. “Just please, l-let me show you ‘m worth something.”

“Chan.” Panic gripped you, and you used your clutch on his hair to catch his attention. “Chan, stop for me, baby.”

Every one of your nerve-endings screamed out in protest as he obediently unlatched himself from you, releasing the mind-numbing suction of his lips. But your worry quickly overtook any of the remaining lust in your body. Chan sucked in a sharp breath, refusing to lift his head, and you slid your hand down to his dripping chin, tilting it up into view.

He was crying; tears trickling down his cheeks with fresh ones brimming in his clouded eyes. He squeezed them shut, unable to meet your stare, and your heart may as well have snapped in two.

“Oh, Channie,” you whispered. “Why are you crying?”

“I…” his voice failed him, anything he’d been planning to say fading out into a sob. “S-sorry, ‘m sorry.”

A lump rose in your throat, guilt flooding your chest. You’d known he was off from the beginning—you should’ve done something, you shouldn't have let things get to this point. This was Chan, after all. Of course he’d pretend that he was fine for you, of course he’d try to make himself useful to you instead. You should’ve known better.

Still, you kept calm, even if it was surface-level, you steadied your volume and relaxed your expression; something to ground him amidst it all. “Don’t be sorry. Come see.”

He blinked the tears out of his eyes, only for them to immediately glaze over again. The skin around them had turned red and puffy, and coupled with the exhaustion written all over his face, he looked positively broken. “Sorry, ‘m okay, really,” he tried to insist. “I just…”

One look at your outstretched arms was all it took for him to lose his last shred of composure. He surged forward with a hiccup, falling into you and burying his face in your neck. You wrapped your arms securely around him, the tear in your heart growing as you felt him shake against you with each gasp and sob that racked his body. His flow of tears didn’t stop, in fact, it only seemed to come stronger in your hold, warm droplets streaming freely and seeping through the fabric of your shirt. You stayed quiet for a bit, just allowing him to release as you ran your hand up and down his back in an attempt to soothe him.

“Why are you crying, baby?” you murmured again. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I c-can’t fail,” he managed at last, barely coherent through the slur of his speech. “N-not again. I can’t.”

“Fail? Why would you fail?”

He didn’t answer right away—or, rather, he couldn’t, another feeble gasp effectively cutting off any response he’d mustered up. Despite the slew of questions his words unleashed in you, you remained patient, cradling his head with your free hand while the other continued to rub his back. For all its strength and broadness, it was more fragile than ever shuddering under your palm.

“It’s my last chance. C-can’t mess it up.”

“You’re not going to mess anything up,” you said firmly. Even without any idea as to what he was talking about, you knew that much was true. “What makes you think that?”

Another minute or so passed of him trying to gain control over his hiccups, just long enough to get a proper sentence out. “My mentor,” he took a deep breath. “My mentor rejected my project. S-said it needs a complete rework.”

Your stomach flipped. “What? Why?”

You winced at how loud it’d come out, but the utter disbelief in your tone at least seemed to encourage Chan to keep going. He sniffled, still refusing to lift his head from the comfort of your shoulder.

“Just wasn’t good enough.”

“Don’t say that.” The possibility wasn’t even worth considering to you. There had to be more to it; you refused to accept otherwise, not when you’d witnessed firsthand how earnestly Chan poured his heart and soul into every piece of music he’d ever created. “I know that can’t be it.”

A thought flickered to life in your head, one so obvious that you scolded yourself for not realizing it sooner. “Did you have enough time to work on it?”

“I…” he began weakly. “I t-tried.”

“You were sick for over two weeks, Channie. Does your mentor know that?”

His breath caught in his throat, telling you all that you needed to know. “Don’t...wanna make excuses.”

“But it’s not an excuse, is it? It’s just the truth,” you reasoned. “You couldn’t even get out of bed. There’s no way you could do your best under those conditions.”

“I...I sh-should’ve—”

“You should’ve been getting enough rest. You should’ve told him what was going on.”

Your words seemed to reach him at last, cutting carefully through the thick fog of self-deprecation and sabotage consuming his mind just enough for him to really mull it over. He inhaled again, slower and deeper this time, but still not free of that painful tremor.

“M-maybe,” he rasped. “Maybe I did need more time.”

“There we go.” You combed through his hair. “Your best is more than good enough, Channie. Your mentor wouldn’t have done this study with you otherwise.”

You wanted, more than anything, to see his face as you spoke, to look directly into his red, watery eyes and let him know exactly how much you meant it. But you knew how vulnerable he must be feeling for you to even see him like this, so you let him be, hoping the message would get through to him nonetheless. “I’m sure if you explain it to him, he’ll understand. He knows what you’re capable of, and so do I. So please, don’t be so hard on yourself, okay?”

Chan’s shoulders relaxed just barely in your arms. He nuzzled further into you, and little by little, the trembling under your palms came to a stop. Given how hard he’d been crying—even now, with new ripples of tears still trickling onto your clothes—you were certain there was something else brewing deep within him. This was only the tip of the iceberg, the breaking point. Even so, you didn��t press the matter just yet, instead choosing to nurture the hint of calm that had begun to creep up on him.

“Do you really think I can do this?”

Your hand slid down to the nape of his neck, playing gently with the wisps of curls that swooped out. “I know you can,” you murmured. “And even if I didn’t, you’d do it anyway. You were made for this.”

A sweet sound, something between a sigh and whine, spilled out of him. Under any other circumstances, you knew he wouldn’t accept it without a protest or two, but in that moment, he absorbed it wholly—clung to it, even. His head finally lifted from the mess of tears and sweat that had formed in the crook of your neck, only to fall right into your chest instead, not quite ready to face you.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and he scooted impossibly closer to you, his thigh brushing between your legs in a way that you willed yourself to ignore. “Why don’t we go wash up?”

He tightened his grip on you, another soft noise gracing your ears. “Can we stay like this, please? Just a little longer.”

You softened. “Of course. Anything you want.”

He slumped fully against you as you rested your hand on the small of his back, the last of his reservations effectively washing away. You played loosely with the hem of his hoodie, listening to the sound of his breathing and taking comfort in the fact that it was finally beginning to even out.

The two of you stayed peacefully like that for several minutes, that was, until something warm and damp spread through your shirt, immediately catching your attention. Not tears this time, rather, the feeling of Chan’s mouth pressing against your chest.

Your heart skipped a beat. His lips puckered faintly, forming a moist ring over the material, right around your nipple. Just as you were about to pass it off as an accident, it happened again.

“Is there something you need, Channie?”

“You,” it came muffled. He parted his lips, wider this time, nibbling delicately on the fabric. “Can I? Please?”

It didn’t take much thought for you to understand what he was implying. An uncharacteristically self-indulgent request, one that filled you with affection and pooled heat in your stomach all over again.

“You’re so cute.” You couldn’t help yourself, his transparency made you melt like nothing else—you only wished that it would extend to other aspects of his life, ones that you were equally as hungry for.

Careful not to disturb him too much, you slipped your hands under your shirt and wiggled out of it. Chan lifted his head, albeit briefly, to make it easier for you to unclasp your bra. The instant your skin was bared to him, he nestled right back into your chest, wrapping his lips around your nipple and sending a spark of electricity through your body. He sucked gently at the bud, taking in your scent through his nose and exhaling contently. His hand, covered by the sleeve of his jacket, reached up for your other breast, pawing at it with timid fingertips before squeezing the soft flesh at last.

“My sweet boy,” you cooed. “My baby boy who works so hard he forgets to care for himself.”

He whimpered, puckering and unpuckering his plump lips in a way that would’ve made you rub your thighs together had he not been settled between them. You cupped the back of his head, and his eyes fluttered shut, a look of pure bliss crossing his face. The red, hot flush from all his crying was replaced with something softer now, a rosy shade dusting his puffed cheeks.

“You’re doing so well, Channie,” you continued. “I hope you’ll see it one day. I’m so proud of you.”

Chan’s eyebrows furrowed, an especially high-pitched whine escaping him. For a moment, you worried that he may begin to cry again, then, you felt it—his bulge brushing against your leg. His hips rocked forward so subtly, you weren’t even sure if he himself was aware of it, but once you’d noticed, it became hard to ignore the spike in your adrenaline.

Driven on by the feeling of his tongue swirling hungrily around your nipple, you let your hand drift down to the waistband of his pants. His mouth fell open as you traced over his bulge, all but jolting against you. “A-ah, yes. Touch me,” he pleaded.

“My baby’s so needy today,” you teased, dipping your fingers into his underwear and wrapping them around his half-hard length. He tightened his hold on your chest, his low, drawn-out moan sending a delicious vibration through your skin. “But good boys like you get whatever they want.”

Chan unlatched his lips from your nipple, only for any attempt at a reply to be cut off as you began pumping your hand along his dick. The cool night air drifting through your window was no match for the heat building between your bodies; that same, inexplicable heat that always drew you back to him. His fingers flexed around the softness of your breast, and you realized with a soft giggle that he was subconsciously mirroring the pace of your strokes.

You stopped to roll your palm over the head of his cock, smearing the droplets of precum around to add a layer of slickness to your movements. The cry it earned was nothing short of heavenly, ringing out shamelessly through your bedroom and making your core clench. Chan’s hip shot up into your grasp, so overtaken by the pleasure that he forgot to keep sucking for a moment, instead letting his mouth hang as drool began to dribble from its corner.

“Does that feel good?” you asked sweetly.

“Mmph, yes,” he slurred. “Please, don’t stop.”

“You deserve it,” you guided his head closer to your chest, allowing him to take your nipple between his swollen lips again. “You deserve to feel so good, angel.”

A wet, sticky sound, mixing with Chan’s pleas, began building as you glided your hand up and down his cock more steadily. Despite everything, it flustered him the moment he registered it, legs squeezing together with a broken whine.

“You hear that? Even the sounds your body makes are cute,” you hummed. His eyes, already shut tight, scrunched up even further to form an adorable look of embarrassment. “My pretty boy. You don’t even know how perfect you are for me.”

“Please,” he mewled, almost unintelligible through the skin and drool occupying his mouth. “Please, ‘m getting close.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me, baby?”

He could only whimper in response, cock twitching in your hand as you added a delicious pressure to your strokes. He kneaded your chest with more vigor, leaning in to suck on your other nipple and sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. His mouth was like wet, warm velvet encasing the sensitive bud; you found it hard to believe that those same lips had been between your legs earlier, drawing you to a climax with a purpose that you could only describe as raw devotion.

“Gonna—!” Chan’s hips bucked up, his whole body tensing. “A-ah, please, can I?”

You swiped your thumb playfully over his slit, and he practically keened. It was cruel, probably, but his unrelenting need to please you, even amidst all the desperation clouding his judgment, only made you want to toy with him more. Still, you knew that given the state he was in, teasing was out of the question. He needed comfort, pleasure, relief—and all of it rested in the palm of your hands.

“Let me see you cum like a good boy.” You gave one final jerk of your wrist, sending him over the edge at last. His thighs clenched, voice catching in his throat for a moment before breaking out into a gasp. Even so, he kept sucking to the best of his ability, babbles of your name dying down into soft mewls as the last few spurts of his seed coated your palm. You held still to avoid overstimulating him, curling his hair absentmindedly around your index finger until his cock finished throbbing in your grasp. Chan blinked his eyes open, still hazy and puffy, just in time to see you remove your hand from his pants and spread your fingers, connected by thick strings of his release.

“Look at all that,” you marveled. “You really needed this, huh?”

A low whine built in his throat. He pressed his cheek into your chest, shying away from the messy view.

“Are you embarrassed?”

“Mhm,” he managed a chuckle—quiet, still missing the jovial, melodic quality of his laughter, but even a trace of it was all it took to lift your spirits. Other than that, he said nothing, and you guessed he wasn’t entirely grounded just yet. You reached for a tissue from your nightstand, making a light grunt of effort with Chan’s full weight resting against you, and wiped down your hand to the best of your ability. As you leaned back against the pillows, your stare flickered down to the boy in your arms. He was an absolute wreck now; a sweaty, flushed, beautiful wreck of dried tears and drool gazing back up at you like he would do anything you so much as suggested in that moment.

“You did so well for me, Channie,” you praised. “Such a good boy.”

Pressing a quick kiss to his ruffled curls, you shifted beneath him, wordlessly urging him to let you wiggle off the bed. His reaction was immediate, sweater paws gripping your waist with an unexpected intensity.

“W-wait,” it was tinged with panic. “Don’t go, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” you assured him, tapping the tip of his nose. “But we need to get you cleaned up, don’t we?”

He blinked a few times before the words seemed to get through to him. Then, with a slow nod, he hoisted himself off of you. It came as a surprise—though it shouldn’t have—how your body instantly longed for his warmth again. You took both of his hands into yours, almost tempted to push his sleeves back to properly lace your fingers together. But he seemed content with his palms covered like that, safe and secure in a way you didn’t dare to disrupt. With care, you tugged him up by his arms, letting him lean against you as you guided him to the bathroom. He didn’t let go of either of your hands the entire time, and, as awkward as the intimate gesture made it to walk, your heart fluttered.

You set the water to a warm temperature, watching Chan sway back and forth on his feet as you filled up the tub. His eyes were a bit more alert now, breaking the glaze that had encased them all throughout the night, like the reality of what had taken place was beginning to set in his mind.

“Wanna get undressed for me, Channie?”

There was a delay before he responded, long enough for you to give his hand a squeeze.

“Oh…yeah.”

Reluctantly, he released his hold on you, clumsy fingers fiddling with his hoodie in an attempt to shrug it off. With a fond smile, you reached out to help slide it down his shoulder. His arms fell limply to his sides, and you took it as a sign to keep going, slipping your fingers under the hem of his shirt and tugging it off, his pants and underwear following soon after. Even now, he ducked his head, unable to look you in the eye as you shut off the stream of water and ushered him into the tub.

As he sank into the warm pool, a sigh escaped him, so soft and relieved that you could practically feel the bliss rippling through his body. You sat yourself down on the edge of the tub, taking a moment to soak your washcloth before drizzling it with body wash—vanilla and cherry blossom, a blend of scents you’d quickly come to learn was Chan’s favorite. He loosened up the instant you came in contact with his skin, leaning into your touch. Gently, you began to scrub, lathering his broad back and shoulders with the sweet, flowery smell and admiring every curve and muscle in the process.

The rhythmic drag of the loofah and the gentle lap of the water had him reduced to putty in your hands in no time. He didn’t bother to resist the way his eyes drooped shut, each tranquil rock earning a small hum from him.

“Does that feel nice?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Channie. Your muscles are so tense,” you added. “I hope this helps a bit.”

He hummed again, tilting his head to the side as you moved up to the junction of his shoulder and neck, the comforting scent of your soap fully flooding his nostrils. Knowing how sensitive his neck was, you were careful not to press too hard around the area. It was horribly timed, but your skin tingled as you passed over the spot where you’d previously marked him—long faded by now, but you remembered the visual clear as day.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “About all of this.”

“Don’t apologize,” you ran the cloth along the slope of his shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I don’t want you to hide stuff like this from me—isn’t that what we promised?”

He hesitated. “I…yeah.”

“Even big, strong shoulders like yours can’t carry everything by themselves,” you scolded lightly. It earned a puff of laughter, and even with his eyes still closed tight, he lowered his head sheepishly.

The question that had been lingering in the back of your mind all night—the question that had been eating away at you since you’d first met him, really, made its presence known once again. The missing piece of the puzzle, the hidden crater yet to be illuminated. You knew by now that Chan wouldn’t reveal it without a strong enough nudge, no matter how badly he wanted to. Even if it was threatening to burst out of his chest, just aching for a pin to come along, he’d use all his strength to keep in until you punctured it yourself.

“Chan,” you pressed your lips together. “When you said ‘not again’…can I ask what you meant by that?”

He stiffened under your palms, features darkening to form that same expression as all those months ago, when you’d first asked why he’d changed majors. You repressed the urge to take it back this time—you needed to hear it as much as he needed to say it.

“Spring semester of my senior year,” he mumbled. “I failed most of my classes.”

Something awful gripped you, so intensely that you stopped scrubbing for a moment. Failed. It felt so wrong coming out of his mouth, a word you couldn’t comprehend ever applying to him.

“I…I decided to change from astrophysics and try music. It was something I always kinda wanted to do, anyway.” He sounded so nervous—terrified, even—shrinking into himself as he spoke as if each sentence made him more and more vulnerable to some hidden assailant waiting to attack. You continued your ministrations with the hopes of easing his fears a bit, wringing out the washcloth before adding more soap and running it along his chest. Even through the rough material, you could feel how fast his heart was beating.

“My parents, they…I've never really disappointed them like that before,” his voice cracked on the word “disappointed”, like it physically pained him to say. “I still don’t think they’ve really accepted it. They still look at me like…like I'm…”

He trailed off. He didn’t have to say it for your gut to wrench.

“Maybe once I graduate, they’ll think I'm worth something again.”

“Please, don’t talk like that,” you couldn’t hide your own distress. “You’re worth something as you are. It’s your future, Chan, not theirs.”

“But what if I can’t do it?” he whispered. “What if I just fail again? I’m so…so scared that I’m making the wrong decision.”

“It must be scary,” you agreed, gliding the washcloth along the tense curves of his arms. “Really hard, too. But that’s because you’re carving out your own path. No one else has walked it before you to clear out the way.”

He went quiet, and you took it as a sign to continue, a chance to keep swinging at the seemingly indestructible wall of self-doubt he’d so carefully crafted for years.

“You’re not alone, either,” you encouraged. “Think of Bin and Jisung and all that faith you have in them. Think of how much faith they must have in you to follow you down that path without question.”

If only he knew—if only he saw the admiration for him written all over their faces, oozing from every word they spoke. If only he knew the admiration you’d felt for him as early as when Changbin had first told you about him choosing music composition. Daring to take a route that, in many ways, was more challenging than even the most horrific of astrophysics courses. Not only that, but daring to flourish, leaving room for flowers to grow along the way wherever he roamed.

When Chan replied, you could've sworn you heard the faintest glimmer of hope in it. “I guess I never really thought of it that way.”

“Well, start thinking of it that way,” you chided softly. “I know you can do it. Just because others want you to do something, doesn’t mean it’s right. What’s right is what makes you happy.”

He loosened up further, welcoming your cleansing touch and your words of compassion more and more openly. You washed him in silence for another few minutes, debating in your head whether or not to keep pursuing the matter, to peel back another layer of him and get to his core.

“Were you…unhappy doing astrophysics?”

“Not exactly.” You got the feeling he could tell what you were really attempting to ask him. “I meant it when I said I liked it. That’s…not why I failed.”

You made a noise of understanding that masked the countless other things you wanted to say. He jolted just barely as you ventured down to clean his stomach, approaching his most sensitive area with a touch as gentle as it was deliberate. Care with a purpose.

“The…the person I was with, at the time,” he paused—whether to gather his thoughts, or to gauge your reaction, you weren’t entirely sure. Your eyes widened just a bit, but you kept your hand stubbornly occupied, scrubbing over his sore thighs. Like clockwork, they nearly closed in on each other. “She had a lot going on. Her mother was really sick; in and out of the hospital a lot.”

Even as dread stirred within you, like you knew exactly where this story was going, you left him space to continue.

“She just needed some help with everything she was dealing with in her life, y’know? I wanted to help.”

“I know you did,” you murmured. It was a given, one of the few certainties in life. Chan would always help, for no reason other than the fact that he could.

“I t-tried to be there for her. Took her wherever she needed to go, helped with her classes, visited her mother, looked after her little sister when she couldn’t,” he swallowed. “Then, around May, things got really bad. Her mom needed treatment for a few weeks, so I spent most of my time at the hospital or taking care of her sister.”

Something about the way he phrased it made you feel compelled to ask, “Where was she during that time?”

“Dunno,” he chuckled, humorless. “But I can probably guess.”

You stole a glance at his face. His eyes were open now, locked on the bubbly water and refusing to meet yours, like he might break all over again if he did. “In the end, I guess I didn't prepare well enough for my finals. Didn’t pass most of them. So I figured, if I was gonna be taking more semesters, anyway…i-if it wasn’t going to be perfect, I might as well start from scratch, y’know? Do it right this time.”

“Oh, Channie,” you rested your hand on his head. “That’s too much. That’s way too much.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t h—”

“No, no,” you didn’t even want to give him the chance to second-guess himself. “Please, don’t hold back. I’m listening.”

He was sugarcoating it, you knew he was. Even now, two years into the aftermath and still suffering the effects of it, he was trying to dismiss it all as something casual.

“What about her? What happened?”

Chan shrugged, reaching up for his ear. You didn’t push him as he fiddled with the silver hoop, instead taking the opportunity to grab your bottle of shampoo and squeeze some of the substance into your palm while he found the will to answer.

“When she found out I wasn’t graduating, she ended it,” he said at last. “Think it was already over, anyway. She was with someone else a few weeks later.”

“Oh my God.”

Through the haze that had been filling his head the entire night, your emotions still reached him with ease. “I brought it on myself, though,” he added quickly, as if the excuse—had it been even remotely correct—would’ve made it any better. “It was all just my own stupid choices. I can’t really say it’s her fault.”

Yes, you can. It took every ounce of self-control to stop yourself from pressing your nails into his head, just to avoid hurting him. You weren’t sure what drove the urge most: sympathy, protectiveness, fury. You couldn’t even begin to fathom it—you didn’t want to fathom it. To be presented with a heart as pure and honest as Chan’s, a love so selfless and sincere, only to trample all over it like it was worthless.

Despite the whirlwind that had spiraled to life inside you, you settled for something softer, a tenderness that, clearly, had been missing from his life thus far. You rubbed the shampoo delicately into his hair, swirling the dark curls around in a way that sent pleasurable ripples down his spine.

“It’s not your fault,” your tone left no room for debate. “Someone took advantage of your kindness. But showing that kindness? How could that possibly be your fault, Channie?”

He sucked in a sharp breath. You wondered if it was the first time he’d been told anything like that—whether by himself, or anyone else.

“I never do things for people to gain anything from it,” Chan began, and you knew, more than anything, that he meant it. “But…”

He hesitated, giving a quick shake of his head, as if to compose himself.

“But it hurts to be used.”

“Yeah. I understand.” You understood more than he could know, more than you could say in that moment. Tears had begun to well up in his eyes again, and for his own sake, you scooped up a portion of water in your hands and began to cleanse his head of the shampoo, letting the streams mask any fresh droplets that may trickle out.

“She never really did anything like this,” he said softly. “Most of the time, she’d just leave.”

Everything clicked into place. All the missing pieces of the puzzle, all at once, with each realization serving as another pang in your chest.

“Chan. I need you to know, right now, that this is what you deserve. All of this, and more.”

Faint sniffles and dripping water echoed throughout the bathroom. In this case, you welcomed it over his usual protests.

“I see everything you do, for me, and everyone else. You never give up on people, even with more than enough reason to,” you ran your hand through his hair, watching the wet ringlets slip through your fingers. “I admire that so much about you, but you still need to think of yourself once in a while. It’s not worth it—it’s never worth it to give your all to someone who will only see the empty husk left behind.”

Vaguely, you saw it, the slow nod of his head. It filled you with hope, the possibility that he might start to see himself the way you saw him, even if just a glimpse. Just a glimpse of him was bright enough to pierce through any darkness.

“One day, all that kindness you put out into the world is gonna find you again. I promise.”

He turned his head to look up at you for the first time, eyes gleaming with something other than tears.

“I think it already has.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Neither of you said much as you continued bathing him, a quiet spell—comfortable, once more—passing between you and allowing everything that had been said to settle in your minds. You took your time conditioning Chan’s hair, giving each lush, beautiful curl the proper attention it deserved until you were fully satisfied. By the time you had finished rinsing him off, your legs were aching from sitting in the same, uncomfortable position for so long, and you were certain his were too. You helped him rise from the tub to the best of your ability, taking a moment to admire the streams of water traveling down his body before you passed him a towel.

As you re-entered your bedroom together, you immediately went to shut your window, not keen on creating even the slightest opportunity for Chan to catch another sickness. He was rocking on his heels again, looking seconds away from collapsing into your bed; he likely already would have if it weren’t for the fact that he was clad with nothing but a damp towel.

You dug around for a bit before locating a fresh pair of sweatpants he’d previously left at your place. When you presented them to him, he grinned for the first time that night.

“Been looking for these,” he commented. “They’re my favorite.”

“Well, they’re mine, now,” you teased. “But I can let you borrow them, I guess.”

To your surprise, he brought the garment up to his nose, and it took you a moment to register that he was breathing in the scent of your laundry detergent. It was almost ridiculous, how such a small action made you feel like your heart was going to erupt out of your chest.

The two of you settled into bed once he’d changed, and the exhaustion that had been gradually seeping down into Chan’s bones throughout the entire course of the night—even before that, probably—took over at last. You pulled the covers over your bodies, and he nestled into you before your head had even hit the pillow, his misgivings from your first night together nowhere to be found.

You prayed that he’d be able to sleep soundly tonight. His warmth washed over you, lulling you into dreams of your own. As you opened your mouth to wish him goodnight before your consciousness escaped you, you heard it. A mumble, just audible enough for you not to pass off as your own imagination.

“Think I love you.”

He was so drowsy that he may not have even noticed if you chose not to respond—you weren’t even sure if he noticed that he’d said it in the first place.

You rested your hand on the back of his head, pulling him closer.

“I love you, too.”

Something twisted deep within you as you returned his words. Not because you didn’t mean them, but because you did.

[faith369]

I just love your dbf!sugardaddy!Price fics it’s living in my head rent free rn🤭🤭

Any I was wondering if you can make one where the reader is having a showers and price accidentally walks in.

It can be smut or fluff, your choice really

Take your time and have a fun time writing❤️

A/N: glad that you like my stuff, was in the mood for some fluff with this one

Normally, showering helped you wash off any remains of stressful days, but not today for some reason. Maybe it was because Price wasn't here, you knew that his job protected people, but you selfishly hated the fact that it made him have to leave you for longer periods of time. You were tired - too tired to grab the shower gel he bought you. You were awake enough however to stand unmoving under the water. Being all tangled up in your feelings and thoughts, you didn't hear Price opening the front door downstairs, nor did you hear him stepping up the stairs to open the bathroom door. You turned at the familiar sound of the bathroom door creaking, worried for a second that someone had broken in. "Price,“ a high-pitched squeak, left you in surprise and somewhat embarrassment he had seen you naked before, yet you still felt self-conscious at times for no reason this man adores every inch of you. "Fuck didn't mean to interrupt you, love.“ But instead of leaving, he just quietly stripped himself of his clothes and stepped in the shower. He holds in when he sees the drained look on your face “You okay love?“ You contemplated lying to him, he just came home,and was probably exhausted, you didnt want bother him with your silly problems but you knew he‘d notice “Just a bit tired and stressed.“ His eyes softened almost immediately at your words, he knew you were immediatly it wasn't just a bit. “Turn around,“ you did as he said, and suddenly felt his rough hands on your body spreading the strawberry gel over it with soothing movements that eased your muscles, the stress you had washing down the drain alongside the water. When everything was washed off your body, he turned off the shower. "John, what about y-“ "shhh wanna make you feel good.” As he grabbed a towel, you felt the tiredness settle even deeper in your body, sinking into the depths of your brain. John, deciding you'd probably hit your head if he let you walk into the bedrooms, lifted you up from the floor bridal style to lay you asleep. His presence lulled you to into dreams, giving him the chance to admire you before he himself finally found rest alongside you.

-Requests are open <333

[scarletwritesshit]

🐉 Jiyan x F!Rover 🐉 Dragon's Faith

Rover stood by Jiyan’s side, her body tense and nervous. She wasn’t nervous due to simply being in close proximity to him, as they were both well adjusted to each other’s presence. This time around, however, things were far more properly structured than a battle on the fly or a casual hangout. She tried her best to look imposing and refined, as a Resonator of her caliber theoretically would be, but she couldn’t free herself of the nerves still bothering her.

Just how does he do it? she thought, looking at Jiyan. He’s so noble and imposing, yet it all came to him naturally. I don’t even know who I am, let alone the minute details of how I’m supposed to present myself.

Imposing glare. Straight posture. As still as a rock. Jiyan made it look easy. Whenever Rover took a deep breath to try and steady herself, she only succeeded in making herself look like a paranoid chicken. She could not figure out why she all of a sudden felt so on edge.

Jiyan, though focused on supervising the soldiers as they practiced, noticed Rover’s poorly hidden anxiety out of the corner of his eye. He put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to gently get her attention, but she jolted out of her skin.

"I apologize, but I did not mean to startle you," Jiyan said. "You seem awfully tense, is something the matter?"

"No. I’m perfectly fine. I think," Rover said, taking a deep, shaky breath.

She was not fine. Rover felt as if Jiyan was silently judging her down to each individual breath. She even felt as if she was incorrectly using her own two feet to stand.

"Are you a little nervous?" he asked.

"Me? Nervous? I’m absolutely fine," she spat out.

"There’s no reason to lie. I can see you practically trembling in your boots."

"...Okay, maybe I am a little nervous. But can you blame me? I’ve never had to stand in front of a well-respected army before. I think."

Jiyan gave Rover a reassuring rub on her shoulder.

"Relax. You hardly need not worry about supervision as I call most of the shots here."

"But what if I’m, oh I don’t know, standing improperly?"

"…Standing improperly? I don’t believe there is such a thing as that. Your posture is fine and you are acting respectfully, if that is what you are concerned about.”

"Er…not exactly. You make everything look effortless, and it makes me wonder if I should even be standing on the same level as you."

"Of course you are. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have been able to fend off the onslaught. Cut yourself some slack, my love."

"It’s one thing for us to unwind together in private, but you’re a completely different person while in command of your troops. I can’t help but feel intimidated."

Jiyan glanced to his side and gave her a reassuring smile. Although he had to keep an eye on his troops as they trained, he could spare a few brief seconds for Rover. She was just as important to him as any individual force. Perhaps Jiyan would consider her to be even more important, but he was in no position to be playing favorites.

"I don’t even feel worthy enough to be with you,” she continued.

"This theoretical concept of worth you speak of is of no concern to me. I’ve been rather fond of you since the time we first met."

Rover tilted her head. "Really?"

"Indeed so. Even if you were not as incredible as you have proven yourself to be, I still would love you dearly regardless. Besides, we’ve endured literal hell side by side together. I have more than enough of a reason to have complete faith in you."

Rover took a deep breath and once more attempted to steady herself. Jiyan was rather insistent that she was fine, and that she had no reason to be so self-conscious. Still, she could not shake the nagging feeling that she was out of place standing next to the general.

Jiyan pulled Rover in close and rubbed her side in an attempt to soothe her further.

“Relax,” Jiyan said, softly looking at Rover. “Unnecessary stress is detrimental to your health."

Rover looked over at him and nodded her head in acknowledgement. She knew that she would have to relax, but that was far easier said than done. Jiyan lifted his hand away from her shoulder and kept it still as Rover noticed a green Loong manifesting from behind him and coiling down his outstretched arm. He held out his hand as it slithered past his palm and gazed at Rover, tail still wrapped around his lower arm. She could feel her anxiety increasing once again, as now she had the general’s Loong watching her every move.

"It’s not just my trust you have," Jiyan said.

The Loong nudged Rover’s shoulder, like a cat headbutting its beloved owner. Her arms remained tense, despite how gentle each nudge was. It was kind of adorable, and Rover did want to pet it, but she held still and stared at it nervously out of fear of accidentally disturbing it.

"Go on," he said, "I know you want to."

Rover held out the palm of her hand, reluctantly inviting the Loong to slither into it. It looped around her arm once, still remaining somewhat wrapped around Jiyan, then rested its head in her hand. She scratched the underside of it gently, and it quickly melted into her hold.

"See? Nothing to worry about, love."

The Loong slithered in the air around her, and Rover kept her hand held out. It coiled completely around her arm and nudged its head into Rover’s open palm. Despite her ever-present nerves, it strangely seemed to be soothed by her presence. In fact, it almost seemed fully trusting of her.

"It… seems friendly," Rover noted, still wary.

"Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?"

"I guess if you’re truthfully fond of me, then I’m not sure, actually."

Jiyan’s companion continued nuzzling against her hand, making a sound as close to a purr as a small beast could manage. If even his Loong trusted her, then she ultimately had no reason to be so tense around him, even if it did take a little bit for her to force herself to calm down. After a few headbutts to her palm, the Loong dissipated, and Jiyan smiled and nodded with approval.

"You’re overthinking. Deep breaths, and soon you’ll be leading the troops right by my side."

"Y-yes sir," she said.

Jiyan squinted his eyes at her.

"I mean, yes, Jiyan."

"Much better."

[suhkusa]

The cool air is the first thing that greets you as you walk outside. Everyone decides to hangout outside before the 11PM curfew. 

There are so many familiar faces, but at this moment you still feel alone. Some of the other managers greet you as you make your way to a lawn chair that’s set by a tree. 

Your manager friends were already mid conversation with some volleyball players when you walked outside, so you felt uncomfortable just joining in. Atsumu is also surrounded by players you’ve never met before. Plus, it was you who decided to come on this trip. He’s not responsible for you. Everyone else you just don’t know that well.

You’re shocked out of your thoughts as you become self conscious of how really alone you were, how alone you looked. On instinct, you take out your phone and begin scrolling through each app, attempting to make yourself look busy.

Asu? No, honestly things have felt a bit tense, and you don’t want to keep bothering your online friend with your troubles. Your friends? Also no, for the same reason. 

Plus, the way you were feeling was stupid, was it not? You feel so alone, yet no one is stopping you from interacting with any of these people. You have only yourself to blame. 

“What’re you doing over here?” Yet, he seems to always be there when you needed it the most. Scarily enough. 

You look up from your phone, letting a smile make its way onto your face, “Nothing, I’m just tired. Didn’t want to get FOMO though,” 

Sakusa puts another lawn chair down beside you. “I suppose,”

“They snuck in some drinks if you wanted to take shots with them,” he adds.

You let out a breathy laugh, “I’m not an alcoholic, y’know? Thanks for letting me know, though,” you finally turn off your phone and slip it into your back pocket. “To be honest, I have a headache,”

A concern looks washed over his face, “Was it because of the energy drink?”

“Oh, so that was you?” your words catch him off guard, he hesitates to say something and you laugh again, “Don’t worry, I don’t think it was that. I think it helped me stay awake this long,”

Sakusa sighs with relief, “That’s good,”

“I don’t think you’ll miss out on much if you go sleep now,” he adds, “You should catch up on the rest you didn’t get last night,”

“Ah, maybe,” your hands are fidgeting, picking at the skins near your nail bed.

“Are you alright?”

You freeze, not sure what to say. But the words unexpectedly find you and you spill.

“To be honest, I'm just overwhelmed. My anxiety has been through the roof, but I stopped my meds a long time ago. There’s been so much on my mind,”

Sakusa says nothing but nods at your words. The silence freaks you out a bit, so you keep talking.

“I feel like I have to always be happy, it’s what everyone expects of me. And I am, but sometimes I get tired. And I don’t want people to see that I’m tired,” you know you’re oversharing, and it’s random, but you can’t stop yourself, “I hate when people worry about me so it’s always easier for me to push it all down. I don’t know why recently it’s gotten harder,”

“I suppose I relate in some sense. But either way, don’t be scared to reach out, you have a lot of friends don’t you? They all care for you– from what I see, at least,” he fumbles his words a bit before continuing, “I know we’re not friends, but I’m also here if you ever need to talk,”

A small smile teases the side of your mouth, “Whaat? We’re not friends? I thought I said we were though,” you tease.

“Oh, well I mean, yeah, then,” 

You didn’t expect him to play along, to be honest. His words fluster you, and you can feel your cheeks warm. 

The cold air clashes with the warmth of your skin, it feels nice. 

“Did talking to me help at all?” Sakusa asks, and you realize this is the first time you’ve met eyes with him this whole night. 

You offer a small smile before nodding.

“I’m glad,” and for a split second you can make out a small smile on his face in the dark night. 

“I’m going to head in now, want to come with?”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you quickly nod and join him in folding the chairs. The two of you make your way into the dimly lit hallway before bidding each other soft goodnight. 

It was safe to say that you would be getting a good night’s rest. 

SECRET ALLIANCE — SPOILER WARNING

PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

NOTES.

y/n laid in bed for another 30 minutes as the caffeine ran it's course

last day of camp next :3

© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.

[1nthedarknessofthenight]

﴾ i drink your blood and i eat your skin, part three.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x f!reader

genre: vampire au

word count: 4,2k

warnings: body insecurities ⋆ alcohol ⋆ smoking ⋆ mention of weed and that’s it?

masterlist

playlist

──────────────────────

The thing was you never truly felt beautiful. You always felt like there was nothing really unique about you. Though you think that everyone had their own unique feature, something that made them stand out from others but for yourself? You felt and looked average. Having a slightly chubbier figure made you feel sometimes insecure. There were days when you liked how you looked then there were days you just wanted to rip your skin off. Seeing that even after multiple types of diets, you still end up looking the same, you gave up. You tried so hard to expect the truth. And in some way you expect that you just were bigger a long time ago but sometimes looking into a mirror made you feel like you should’ve not expect your body.

Buying clothes was horrible. Everything was too small and when you went to pick a bigger size, it was suddenly too big for you. The funny part was that you actually loved shopping and fashion, it was your quilty pleasure since childhood. Watching America’s Next Top Model, not knowing how much problematic the show was at your young age, made probably 90% of your personality back then. It was quite laughable how much your younger self dreamed about having that model figure. Still being small, you didn’t understand that it would be impossible to achieve it because of your body proportion but a girl can dream.

These thoughts only came to you when you were looking into a full length mirror or when you were trying on some purposeful thighter clothes. And right now? You were doing both of those things.

Your hands smoothen the soft fabric on your stomach, looking at yourself in the mirror carefully so there wasn’t any angle that can be missed. You were wearing thight black dress with long sleeves and a V-neck line. Actually the first reason why you pick this dress was for its long sleeves and decent length. The dress was a bit thighter than you remember but it’s also a long time since you pick it up from your closet.

Grimacing at the view, you then glanced at the thick piece of the ribbon on your neck. It hide your scratches perfectly. ‘At least something was good about this outfit’ you thought playing with the decorative rose on the side of your neck.

“Can I look now?”

Turning to the closed door a defated sigh lefts your lips. “Yes.” Watching your blonde friend come in to your room, you quickly admired how the blue dress complimented her figure and skin tone nicely, making you a little bit more self conscious about your own outfit. You didn’t want to compare yourself to her, there wasn’t any jealousy in your friendship but still…

As Mia scanned you from head to toe, her green eyes stopped trailing your figure to meet yours, seeing the emotions you tried so desperately to hide. “What’s wrong?”

For a moment you went quiet, turning back to look at yourself. Even wearing shape wear underneath, it really didn’t do anything to thighten your figure. You hated how jiggly it was, like a loose skin. “I don’t feel good.” Was your answer, you actually wanted to say much more than that.

“And why’s that?”

The lack of emotion in Mia’s voice made you feel stupid about this whole situation. Christ you were a grown woman and this is the biggest of your worries…

“It doesn’t look good on me…I don’t look good in it.”

The blonde shakes her head, sending you a small glare. “Why would you say that? You look amazing, girl.”

Pursing your lips, you watched yourself and your friend through the mirror. “I feel like a ugly girl trying to dress as a pretty one. I just don’t like this on me but I can’t do anything about it, this is only party dress I have! Maybe if I didn’t have hip dips…” Saying that you place her hands on your hips to fill them up, imagining.

“You know I think hip dips look cute.” Shrugs Mia coming to stand directly behind you. “They are like perfect holders for your hands.” Smiling, she than pressed her own hands over yours. “Even Bella Hadid has them!”

“Yeah.” You say, not sure in your answer before looking at your friend though the mirror. “But my name…my name’s not Bella Hadid.”

Mia laughed at your words, watching as you turn around to pose a little for her. “Do I at least look okay? If you would see me out on the streets, like would you think-“

The blonde shushed you softly, making you stop your rambling to look into her green eyes. “You look pretty Y/N, you always do. Yes, you’re bigger and what? Being bigger doesn’t make you any less beautiful, it’s just a stupid beauty standard. I know I’m not the most right person to say this when I’m literally as thin as a spaghetti but even I have insecurities. Everyone does! In the end it doesn’t mater as long as you realize that the only person standing in your way it’s you. Don’t make your insecurities make you.”

Pursing your lips to stop yourself from crying from how much you appreciated her. Seeing and hearing someone say this to you, means a lot when knowing they really meant it. Still there was this feeling that you will ever hear this from her only. God, you can’t even let yourself rest for a moment.

“Trust me when we will do your make-up, it’s gonna fall all together, we’re still not fully done~”

Both smiling softly at each other, you sat down on the bed together where all your makeup was spread out. You watched your friend pick up her sponge and your own foundation which she firstly swatches onto her hand. “Thank you, Mia…” You didn’t even know for what exactly – maybe for everything.

“I know I can’t change your mind~” Dabbing the make up sponge on your face, you pull your curled hair away to give her a better access. “Just remember it, okay?” Whispers the blonde know slightly too caught up in perfecting yours foundation.

You only hummed in a small agreement looking through the lipsticks. You won’t. “I think we should do a red lip.” You think out loud holding a tube of dark red lipstick, rolling it out to see the color in the light.

The blonde gasps in delight. “Oh, yes just the pop of color you need.”

You smiled at her softly. “Love you, Mia.”

“Love you too Y/N.” Laughs softly your friend before looking into your eyes. “This is gonna be our night.”

────

A shiver runs down your spine, making you press your crossed arms closer to your chest. You grumble under your breath as your friend also shivers slightly. Mia just wouldn’t let you wear a jacket and you wished, you were more demanding for yourself and even her. The only reason you weren’t wearing one was just because it would ‘ruin’ your outfit. Maybe? But it definitely would made you feel warmer and safer. The last time you were wearing a dress didn’t end up well for you. Atleast you were on a busy street where all the clubs were located. Creeps would definitely be a better choice right now rather than some undead creature but right now you don’t want to think about that. You want to make yourself believe you weren’t actually in any danger that what happened that night will never happen again…well that’s what you hope for.

As you two turn around the left corner, you were meet with a long line of people that almost seemed unreal but after all it was the most popular club in this small city. “I already feel overstimulated and we’re just standing outside. You say to Mia as you make your way through the line, making people’s heads turn. It made you shrink into yourself.

Laughing before smirking, your friend turn to glance back at you. “Overstimulated you say?”

You roll your eyes at her words. “God…”

As the blonde laughed, you finally made it to the end of the line, well more like the beginning. At the main doors stood two bodyguards which one of them was arguing with some man that was probably trying to get inside while the other turned his attention to you. Mia smiled at the man before showing her ID as you pulled out your own, showing it to him. You tried to ignored the angry shouting of the man while the bodyguard moved to let you both in.

“You sure come here often.”

“I don’t actually but I always leave a good impression.” Smirking, the girl follows the sound of music.

Immediately after coming inside, your nose was hit with the smell of alcohol and the sudden warm, humid air made you take a deep breath. The loud bass of Just a Little Bit by 50 cent made your whole body vibrate and you for a moment admired the choice of a song and also that it wasn’t any garbage remix. Some clubs really didn’t know a way around music but you should’ve known better because your friend picked this place. You as for your friend watched how the dim place lightened up in hues of red. This place from where you stood looked huge. On the left side there was a bar and all around the room were tables with quite comfortable-looking sofas and the big dance floor in the middle couldn’t be overlooked. You were impressed.

Turning to Mia, you leaned your head closer to hers. “And who got a taste of that good impression?” Raising an eyebrow the blonde laughed, quickly scanning the crowd.

“That guy over there!” Mia pointed to the bar right where a middle aged man popped up.

You gasp in shock, watching as your friend now went to the same direction she just pointed. “Nooo Mia!”

“He’s actually a sweetheart.” Says your friend, looking over her shoulder at you. “I knew you wouldn’t get it, you always had a thing for pretty boys.” Rolling you eyes, you stayed silent after her remark, knowing that there was no way to talk yourself out of this nonsense or perhaps you agreed with her.

It’s really been a while since you had fun like this. Your constant worrying about the future almost made you forget about the present. There really was more to life than love and you knew that actually better than anyone, your constant chasing after the thing you have always wanted made you blind to see the other joyful things you can have in life. What more could you possibly want when having a friend like Mia. Sometimes you wondered if by having more friends would make you feel less lonely but then you remember that no one could possibly top your one true friend. But you were only human after all and there was nothing to do about the feeling of being unlovable.

Yes, there were people like Mia and her parents than maybe the Johnson’s family you grew to love but would there ever be a person that would be absolutely devoted to you?

Maybe?

You won’t quit fighting for this but maybe it was time for a small break. To be quite frank you don’t know if you even want someone to love you. It became a such fantasy to you that you wouldn’t know what to do if it ever happens. You don’t know if there will ever be person to love you how you wished to be loved. Your whole life was about feeling this unbearable loneliness and it became such a part of you that you were afraid to loose it and even more if it was for the wrong person.

You maybe had too much of red wine, already forgetting how many glasses you actually had. If there was red wine that’s all you would be drinking, completely opposite of your friend who know swallows down another shot of tequila and at that winning another round in the drinking contest she was playing. That girl for sure has livers made of steel. The man at the other side of the table surely didn’t expect this type of stamina from her and you from those ten shots surely would be laying on the floor by now.

Drinking down the last bit of your wine a sudden crave for some nicotine came over you. Stumbling slightly, you lean to whisper into Mia’s ear, well more like shout.

“Hey, I’m going out to get some fresh air, you coming with me?”

“Not know, I’m winning another glass of wine for you that okay?” The blonde didn’t even look up, watching the man on the opposite side of the table now having trouble swallowing his last shot. This calls for alcohol poisoning.

Humming loudly so your friend could hear, you smirked slightly. “Be right back.” Sometimes it surprised you how well you knew her friend. It was a bit hectic and difficult to get through the crowd of people but as you began pushing yourself out rather than asking for permission to make a room for to go through, it was quite easy.

Finally making it outside, you take a big breath of the cold, fresh air. It was more soothing than uncomfortable by the sudden change in temperature but you knew if you would spend enough time outside, you would definitely catch a cold.

Pulling out a cigarette and lighter from between your breasts, you maneuver your way around the few people standing there to stop at the corner of the building. When you took the fist hit from the cigarette, every muscle in your body loosens up. ‘Shit, maybe I’m an addicted little’, you laughed to yourself, leaning onto the brick wall. Maybe it was the alcohol but you actually started to feel that you looked quite good in this dress. Still no one came up to you or anything but that wasn’t really not that important because you are here with your best friend after all. The one person who made you feel good and the one person who actually loved the way you are.

You ran a hand through your hair, cringing when you felt how much your hair was stuck to your neck, the sweat damping and loosening those curls you had put so much time and effort in.

“I’m not gonna let him do that!”

The sudden loudness made you jump. Yes, people around you weren’t really quiet, laughing and chatting loudly and you could still hear the beat of the music from the inside but it was almost like someone had shouted right into your ear. It came right from behind the corner where you were standing. In annoyance from being spooked so easily, you lean over to look and maybe give them a quick nasty look back but as you do that every expression on your face immediately melts away, the smoke from your cigarette getting stuck in your throat.

You were in shock…It couldn’t be…you really must be drunk. But your vision was barely even blurry, so you didn’t have any choice but to believe what you were now seeing.

Your eyes were fixed on two figures standing under the street lamp that give them a spot light, making them perfectly be seen in the darkness. There, right there, just a few feet away from you, stood the sandy haired man, the same man that ripped someone’s heart out from their chest like it was nothing. The one of many reasons, you couldn’t get any good sleep and the man who wanted you dead. Even by seeing him once before now and in almost complete darkness, you knew that it was him and not just a fragment of your imagination. By being so in shock, your almost didn’t see the other man who was talking to him.

That man also had this – alluring aura around him that was luring you to come closer and take a closer look at his perfect pale skin, pink pouty lips and puffy cheeks. If you didn’t know better that he was most definitely also a vampire, you would’ve find him cute. The effect this creatures had over you were frightening but already having a taste of their true nature, you would like to say that it truly wasn’t effecting you that much as it seem to be.

You realized after moments of watching what this meant for you. He was here. ‘God, he must be here somewhere’. You had mixed feelings about this but you most definitely would say that you were scared. How unlucky can you be to get yourself in the situation, you so desperately prayed about not to come true? You shook off those thoughts just as you heard the men’s conversation get louder. You hope that the curiosity won’t kill the cat.

You leaned just a little back behind the brick wall, realizing how much you could be seen from your spot. Frown appeared on your face, watching the blonde man whisper something angrily to the other who seemed to try to keep a calm and collected expression. You got curious even more, thinking why this man was so angry…From the night it seemed that this emotion wasn’t quite uncommon from him but from the other man’s features, you could see that the thing they were talking about was something urgent and even important but you still weren’t close enough to them to hear.

Almost hissing in pain out loud, you felt your forgotten cigarette starting to burn your fingers, seeing that it was at it’s end, you without a second thought, throw it away but just as quickly as it lefts your hand, you wanted to scream at yourself for your idiocy. You threw it right next to you rather than the opposite direction you meant to.

Their conversation stopped the moment the cigarette hit the pavement, the sound like a gunshot because of their better hearing. Without thinking twice you quickly pressed yourself back onto the brick wall, hoping it would swallow you whole. At the exact same moment someone jumps at you.

Gasping out, you wrapped yourself in your arms in a way to protect yourself for what’s probably about to come. Looking up, you expect the worst but you were only met with the face of your best friend and you didn’t know if you should be thankful for her or punch her for her horrible timing. “Y/N, there you are!” Mia said loudly, shaking your shoulders, making you look around, scanning your surroundings. Your friend didn’t seem to catch your uneasiness and you didn’t wonder much why because you could smell the alcohol on her words miles away. ‘How is she even standing?’ “I have surprise for you!”

You frown slightly at her words. “What surprise?”

The blonde rolled her eyes at your unimpressed tone, grabbing your hand to drag you back inside. You felt little bit unsure about this, now knowing who was here with you but you didn’t know how or even what to say to your friend. Maybe you are just exaggerating, looking around yourself as you stepped back inside, the humid air hits you right across your face. There were so many people and also it was getting quite late. Your friend was basically a party animal till the clock hit a certain hour and it was now way past that. Only few more drinks and you will go back home…

Mia stopped suddenly at the middle of the dance floor, getting you both squished between the crowd of people in the process. You glance at her in confusion when you were suddenly released from her tight grip. “Wait….” Your friend said, pointing a finger at you while looking around. “Wait here!” The blonde said, giving you a small look before running away from you through the crowd before you could even think to say anything.

You stood there awkwardly around the moving bodies, little anxious from the situation you were put in. Sometimes you forgot how much you hated big crowds, the bodies squishing you and making you want to curl up into a ball. Also you didn’t want to be left alone right now and your prayers must have been heard because you could see Mia finally getting back to you. Thanks to the high heels and her light hair she shined in the darkness of the room, almost like an angel coming to your rescue.

Just as your friend stops right in front of you, you wanted to ask her what the surprise was but than you hear it…

You laughed in disbelief. “Are you for real?” You said over the music. In answer the blonde grabbed your hand, swinging it side to side as if to make you finally move in the sea of dancing people. You weren’t the only one happy as almost everyone around you started to sing the lyrics of one of your favorite songs. “What, you know the DJ too?” You asked, slowly starting to move into the beat of the music.

“He’s my cousin!”

“What?!” You spit out, laughing.

….That boy is a monster (Mo-mo-mo-monster)

The two of you twirled around each other, laughing in joy. “That boy is a monster~” You sung and finnally you seemed to get the taste of peacefulness you searched for.

“Mo-mo-mo-monster!” Shouted the blonde a little bit unnecessarily as it was almost as loud as the music but it only made you laugh more.

────

A smile danced across your lips, the smudged lipstick at the corners of your mouth made your smile even more pronounced, watching your light haired friend skipping just few feet before you. It still was dark, even in the early hours and looking upon the sky, you were a little saddened that the stars weren’t visible. ‘It was probably because of the city’s lights’ It was also a little colder than before and it made your warmer hands pressed more onto your exposed chest. You could feel the sore throat coming.

You and Mia decided to go home after few more drinks, seeing it was enough alcohol and social interactions for the week on. Your fingers spread out across your chest, trying to cover up as much skin as possible, slightly grazing over the ribbon of your necklace. The other reason to go so ‘early’ was because of this uneasy feeling you got after the occurrence on your short smoke break. You really wanted to cry in frustration, feeling yourself thinking about that again. You just can’t be left alone or you would just overthink…

‘Or was this even overthinking?’ You were scared for your literal life and that seems like a good enough excuse. You were so close to him and he…, if you weren’t fast enough he would’ve seen you. The blonde man would look at you with his dark colored eyes and only just by a small glimpse, he would know the truth. Maybe he did see you…and if it wasn’t for your friend, maybe something would’ve happened. You weren’t so sure about being seen inside the club. You are certain that you haven’t seen even one of them inside because they would surely stand out in the crowd, they were too beautiful to not to be seen. As your fingers grazed over your small scars underneath your necklace, you wondered if he was there with them but you quickly tried to shake off that thought.

Maybe your mind was only playing tricks on you. If he really wasn’t there then why are getting this feeling of being followed right now, it was like two pairs of eyes were drilling holes into your head. It was just paranoia or maybe the alcohol but you really started to hate how your friend was getting quite far from you…

“Mia?” You called out, not seeing the need to be any louder than the soft breeze as you two were the only ones on the streets. Well…you hope so.

Your friend stops at the sound of your voice, looking over her shoulder. “Yeah?” The sudden movement made her stumble on her heels and it made you realize how much your own feet were hurting.

“Can I stay the night?” You asked slowly, looking at her from beneath your eyelashes, finally catching up with her.

That question made Mia laugh out loud, slapping you softly over your shoulder. “Girl, I thought we already agreed on that!” Relief washed over you, before chuckling softly at your own words. “You almost gave me a heart attack from the face you made!” Exclaimed the blonde.

“What face?” You said in confusion, trying to reminisce the exact same expression before your friend look at you with a grin.

“Like you you have seen a ghost-“ She imitates Ghostface before laughing loudly like a maniac.

“Oh, my god, I haven’t seen that in sooo long!” You gasped in a sudden burst of excitement.

The blonde shrugged, looking down at you. “Then let’s watch the first three movies together…the night is still young!”

That statement makes you shake your head. ”I don’t think-“ You started before hiccuping suddenly, covering your mouth with your hand. “I don’t know how you want to make that work…”

The blonde raised an eyebrow, looking at you like you said the stupidest thing ever. “I think this will help?” Mia trailed off, pursing her lips before showing three blunts that were hidden in her bra. You laughed again in disbelief. Your friend for sure will never cease to amaze you.

Grabbing one from your friend, you punched her arm, making her squeal dramatically from the force. “Ok, miss ‘smoking is bad for your health’…” The only answer you got back was an eyeroll.

Yeah, the night is still young…

[radioactive-earthshine]

Hi. I really enjoy your analysis and I was wondering if you could explain why Wally is so mean to Bart? Maybe mean is too strong but as you read Impulse it gets hard to read sometimes because it comes off as just bullying and not just 90s sitcom teasing.

Hello!

The most direct answer for why Wally is the way he is with Bart is simultaneously simple and complex with nuance that any reader of Wally's run should have been able to catch onto pretty easily.

And no, the answer isn't just "he's a jerk" even though yes, he is a jerk (Bart is too) but there's more to it.

1.) He was a little incredibly jealous of Don and Dawn for existing and he felt like their existence threatened his status with his Uncle Barry. We all know blood =/= family in this circle, but to Wally it meant MORE to him.

It's also important to note that Wally and Barry's relationship is unique in the greater examples of DC as Wally refers to Barry thoroughly as his uncle, and their tether together was through marriage (Iris). Even so, Wally was as close to Barry as a son, and the feelings they had were mutual. Wally was not just assigning himself a position within Barry's life erroneously, he is family. Period.

The Flash (1987) #109

Wally knows that Barry had kids (Iris told him and Bart had to come from somewhere) but when Jenni shows up we finally see his true introspection and rumbling thoughts about the situation of them - that he is jealous of them even though he's learned that Barry dies when they are young and didn't even get to have a relationship with him.

The Flash (1987) #114

Later, Wally finally gets to meet Don and Dawn in the future and things are tense between all of them at first. Wally is self conscious of his thoughts concerning them, that he is jealous, and there is some mutual jealousy between all three because the Tornado Twins, while Barry's children, grew up without him when Wally did.

Wally got to have a father/child relationship with Barry and they didn't.

The Flash (1987) #114

The Twins let this go and Wally does partially but there are other instances where Wally persists there is a rivalry between them later. For Wally the biodetermination is very much a part of his insecurities in this situation.

(also this is a side note they are not the catalyst or inspiration to the Legion of Super-Heroes but they do need to die to make way for a future to have it, Wally doesn't know this and probably just assumes they were)

The Flash (1987) #148

Wally continues to be jealous but he's emotionally intelligent enough to know it's not appropriate. It never was, now or otherwise.

So Wally's jealously and deep desire to be as close to Barry as possible manifested in some redirected tension onto Bart who is blood related to Barry.

2.) Bart reminds him of himself when he was kid, and he is ashamed of how he was.

This point is something Wally admits directly as a reason why he is so short with him.

The Flash (1987) #92

It's also extremely necessary to remember that Wally grew up with Rudy West as a father who was verbally, emotionally and physically abusive. This is where we get meta about Wally and this is more speculation because we don't have Wally on panel saying this but; Bart reminding him of himself as a kid very easily could remind Wally of that house, that relationship, that abuse and it sets him on edge. This is something that is common among trauma survivors.

3.) Wally is young, insecure, traumatized, stressed, and Bart is a lot.

Wally here is in his early 20s, and while he was shown to be in therapy in a previous issue, he still has years of trauma built up to deal with - and not all of it is due to being raised in an incredibly abusive household with Rudy West.

When Wally gets stressed, he lashes out and gets short, Bart in particular in his introductory comics stressed him out on top of the stress he was already experiencing with Kobra.

Bart in his earlier comics was utterly feral - his own high energy and inability to distinguish between fantasy and reality led to some stressful situations between him and Wally. Wally is just not equipped with the tools to deal with Bart, mostly PATIENCE, so it led to mutual aggravation.

Bart pushes, Wally pushes, Bart pushes back and it's a pretty solid circle between them.

4.) He is in fact a jerk, and it's the result of the sum of his trauma and personality. Regardless of his status as a hero, regardless that Bart and him do have good moments.

The later issues of Impulse show this very clearly.

Impulse (1995) #82

Some people prefer to interpret Wally and Bart's relationship as sibling-like where the older sibling teases the younger one - and if you do prefer this relationship between them there is nothing stopping you from doing so, but there is more nuance behind Wally's shortness with Bart and it makes him 1000% more interesting of a character.

Impulse (1995) #84

Bart calls Wally out on his behavior in one of the last few issues of his series where it ties everything together with their relationship - Bart identifies that Wally's past is what drives him to behave the ways he does with him, and it is bringing up the past and reminding Wally that he is being a scroach that he finally talks to Bart.

It was a major step in their relationship, but unfortunately, as any Bart reader knows, it did not stay this good because of the next point.

5.) Conflicting personalities add more depth to stories and generally make a story better. Bart having a grating personality and a tough relationship with the current Flash of the time was the story the writers WANTED to tell and keep intact well into Teen Titans.

Wally doesn't KNOW Bart, not really, and he never really learns enough about him due to his chronic absences in his life - so he never got to SEE him in any real depth other than during the brief moments their comics intersected. He only sees him the way he thinks he is, not the way he ACTUALLY is.

Teen Titans (2003) #1

stfu wally

Having a beloved hero figure in a story simply not believe in one of the protagonists offers a growth subplot for the writer to focus on. Unfortunately, for Bart and Wally, it was a subplot that lasted a very very long time. This conflict between them could have ended with Impulse #84 but Geoff didn't want it to, so it didn't.

So that's the general reason why Wally is the way he is. He's not a villain to Bart and they DO get along plenty of times - but at the end of the day he was also a jerk to him (Max was too but we're not getting into that right now).

[tinkerbelle05]

Maybe We’ll Get Through This Part 1

Characters:Jaime Reyes x Pregnant!reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: You find out that you pregnant while Jaime is at college and, you have yet to tell him.

Warnings: alludes to past sexual experiences, talks of pregnancy, adoption, and abortion, talks about financial insecurity, arguing, lying

Special thanks to @scryarchives for their help!!🫶🏿

-

You’ve been counting down the dreaded day since you found out about your pregnancy, the day you told Jaime about it. And about the house. And about the garage closing. And about his father’s heart attack. There was a lot you and his family were keeping from him.

For good reason, of course. Knowing how Jaime is, he’d drop out of college and catchthe next plane to come back home, no matter what anyone said.

And he worked too hard for that to happen or to have unnecessary stress cause him to fail his courses.

At least that's what you said to convince yourself that this was a good idea. But the doubt that laid heavy in your stomach was really convincing you that you were wrong in this decision.

You decided to wear an oversized hoodie even in the sweltering Texas heat. Your bump was growing, and you didn’t want to tell Jaime like this. You wanted to ease him into the news.

You would just have to bring a mini fan, ice cold water, and hope that most places have a working AC unit in them.

All of you huddled into Rudy’s car, and you braced yourself for the long ride. It was at least an hour or so. Maybe you could listen to music to calm yourself down.

Or you could obsessing over how you would break the news to Jaime. It was already nerve wracking telling someone your gonna be a father.

Especially when they are a new grad, especially when you were withholding this information for months, especially when you we’re struggling financially.

God, you should’ve aborted the baby the moment you found out. There was still time to do it, all you had to do was take one little pill. Why did you think this was a good idea? That this was doable?

“Everything will be fine, mija,” Mrs. Reyes attempted to reassure and handed you a tissue.

You gladly took it to wipe your tears and blow your nose, “Thank you, Mrs. Reyes.”

You had to keep your emotions in check if you wanted this to work. I mean if you showed up to the airport with puffy eyes and a snotty nose then you could tell Jaime you just really, really missed him.

Which is a case was true, you had really missed him. You missed hugging him, kissing him, and going on dates. Holding his hand, running your hands through his soft curls.

And didn’t they always say the best lie had some truth to it?

The drive to the airport came and went, everything’s a bit of a blur right now with you focused on how to tell Jaime. Your body’s basically on autopilot and before you knew it, you were in a somewhat crowed airport with good AC.

You felt the nice cool air on your flushed skin and hastily wiped some sweat from your forehead. Now you waited, and there he was. All smiles, with his graduation hat sitting playfully crooked on his head and his carry on trailing behind him.

He hugged Nana first, then Milargo, and Mr. Reyes. You couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of Jaime getting peppered with kisses by Mrs. Reyes. Watching him laugh and squirm under her hold, it was cute.

You imagined doing that with you kid one day. Hearing their laughter and whining out for you to stop because it tickled them too much.

No, no you're getting too far ahead now. Let’s just take this one step at a time.

Then it was your turn.

Even though you lived with the Reyes for a year now and were obviously pregnant, you still felt thoroughly embarrassed and self-conscious about showing too much affection in front of them.

So you gave Jaime a hug and quick kiss on the cheek. He held your hand as you made your way to the car and the taco place for lunch.

“How was the flight?” You asked him softly.

“Well, there was a crying baby for like half of the flight so that was great,” he answered sarcastically. “But yea other than that it was alright.”

Your eye twitched at the word “baby” and you felt yourself spiraling.

Does Jaime even want kids?

Does he want them but not right now?

Would he be happy? Angry, that you withheld this information or angry that your pregnant? Angry at both?

“Your sweating,” Jaime noted you. “That’s a pretty thick sweater, aren’t you burning up in that thing?”

You looked at Jaime then shared a knowing look with his sister, “Well, you know what they say Jaime, beauty’s pain.” You smiled tightly at him.

He did not look convinced in the slightest but he didn’t push it, and two continued your easy going conversation until you got to the taco place.

You all filed into the restaurant, at the table that you always sit at because it’s the only one big enough for everyone.

Your mind wandered to the future, as it always does. Would the kid sit on your lap or Jaime’s? Would they have a preference, or just who was holding them at the time? Or will you have to pull up an extra chair and all squeeze to make room?

You cleared your throat and attempted to clear your mind of those thoughts, but you wanted them to happen. You tried to convince yourself that you didn’t want kids, this kid.

But maybe you did want kids?

Or maybe it was just the hormones.

You were starving, the smell was intoxicating and tempted but the thought of food made you nauseous, and this sweater wasn’t making you feel any better.

The waiter came and everyone ordered food but you.

And of course Jaime noticed, he leaned closer into you and whispered into your ear, “Are you sure your okay?”

You brought out your mini fan just for it to blow the hot air back into your face, you winced at the feeling but you nodded your head anyway.

“Of course I am,” you responded. But you felt terrible and it was getting harder to keep the facade up.

Milagro, as observant her brother, noticed this too and huffed, “Okay, he’s had his tacos let’s tell him now.”

The announcement illicit different reactions: Jaime’s was confusion and everyone one else’s was shock. To be honest, there was really no concrete agreed upon time of when you would all tell Jaime the news. The only thing that was agreed on was that we would prolong it as much as possible.

You guessed Milagro was fed up then. You watched as Milagro unceremoniously dumped everything on Jaime; his father’s stroke, losing the garage, and potentially losing the house.

“Wait, so all of you hid this from me? For…for what? So I could focus on some dumb degree and get us more into debt?!” Jaime astonished.

“No, no, you had to focused on school. You worked too hard to give that all up,” Mr. Reyes explained.

“No, no I could’ve been working. I could’ve saved the shop, I….I could’ve been here for my family.” Jaime said. Then he looks at you, “Do you have anything you wanna tell me too?”

You realized that he was joking when he said that but it felt like a big bright light was under you. You wanted to tell him so badly but how?

You've been agonizing over how to do it for months now. What do you say? How do you say it? Do you ease it in or just blurt it out?

Either way, it was now or never.

You took a deep breath, “Jaime, I'm pregnant.”

-

Part 2

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[am-i-interrupting]

For the Camera | Vox x OATSH Reader

No prior knowledge of the series required, other than reader is mixed.

Summary: You finally relented and agreed to film as a guest star in a show for your tv host friend. You end up having more fun than anticipated.

Warnings: implied racism, could be read as self image issues also

You knew you were being followed. It’s not like he was being subtle. He was basically running to catch up with you but you’d had your fair share of times where you had to move fast in heels as well as a head start.

You almost couldn’t believe the audacity but was it really do out of line for him? Maybe you just had problems with control. Okay, you knew you did but still! You’d known each other for over a year and a half now. He should know that too. Yet still, he pestered.

He kept pushing even when you shoved back. It didn’t make any sense. You could get most men to leave any subject be with a few well timed movements and words. Why was this one so hard? Why wouldn’t he just drop it?

“You do community theater!” he said as he finally caught up with you. “What’s the difference?”

“If I mess up in a community theater it’s their word against mine. If I mess up in front of a room of qualified actors and directors and set crew, not only am I getting ridiculed on a professional level but also they have proof,” you told him.

“You’ve been live on television before, what makes this different?” he asked. “I’ve messed up plenty and my reputation is still in tact.”

“But look at you,” you said with a gesture to him. “No one cares when someone like you messes up.”

“What are you,” his voice trailed off.

“It’s different, writing a book. No one has to see me when I write a book. The only reason people even know what I look like is because is because I went on your show one time and it wasn’t an art form. It was just an interview. People didn’t come to be entertained. They came to get information. A lot of people in the world don’t like looking at people like me.”

His brow furrowed as did his lips. He looked at you, softly shaking his head.

“Forget it,” you said. “I don’t even know why I’d try to explain. It’s not like you’d understand. You don’t have to put on this act but every single day I have to get up and put on a voice that isn’t mine and clothes that frankly, I don’t like and be so conscious of how I do everything just do people will have just a little bit of respect for me. Still, most of the time it’s in vain because a lot of people will still disrespect me based purely on the fact that I’m a woman. How could you understand that?”

You met his eyes for a moment but you couldn’t bare the look of confusion and pity on his face. You brushed past him and began walking away.

You’d barely gotten two yards away from him before he called out to you, “You’re right! I don’t understand what that’s like but you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and I like looking at you. Just think about it, please.”

You bit down on your lip as you felt it begin to tremble and cursed yourself as your eyes became watery. You didn’t say anything in reply, simply kept walking.

“Are you okay?” he asked beside you as you looked at the bustling set, having just come out of the dressing room. You didn’t answer, just twisted the sleeve of your dress. His hands clasped yours. “You’re going to do great.”

You looked up at him. “I’m not sure,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

“I am.”

“Everyone in set!” the director called out.

He squeezed your hand. “You’ve got this and I’ll be right beside you the entire time.”

“I’ll track you down and kill ya if you aren’t,” you said, a bit of your southern accent slipping through before you quickly fixed it. He laughed but you didn’t find anything funny.

Then the filming process started. For the most part things went alright. Starting at the introductory scene was for the best as your nerves could come off as a character choice instead of genuine discomfort.

Of course there were some fumbles.

“Oh, you’re following me!” you said as the camera moved with you. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

You heard the man who’d brought you here try and fail to hold back a laugh. You whipped around towards him. “Don’t you laugh at me, mister. You know the only film experience I’ve had was on your show,” you said as you moved back to your original place beside him. He simply looked at you with a smile. “Shut up.”

He held his hands up. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

For some reason, despite him telling you directly he messed up all the time, you didn’t expect him to.

You were both sitting in the couch, supposed to have a heart to heart between your characters.

“I don’t think your sister likes me,” you said.

He scooted closer to you. He shook his head as he brought his hand up to brush hair behind your ear. “If only I could remember the line and then we could play this scene so beautifully.”

The next day of filming went fairly similar as did the rest of the week. That was until the last day.

You were filming the final scene, a goodbye scene.

“I hate to say goodbye so soon,” you said. “It feels like I just got here.”

“It won’t be long before we can see each other again, dear, I promise,” he said. “The holidays are coming up soon.”

“Soon? If in nearly three months is soon to you then yes, I do suppose they are soon,” you said, letting sarcasm roll off your tongue.

“Then I suppose you don’t want an early gift?” he asked, looking at the train behind you, the station being bought out several hours to film.

“You’ve got a gift for me already?”

He looked down at you with a sly smile. Then he quickly slipped his hand around your waist and to the small of your back to pull you closer to him. He cupped your jaw with his hand as he drew you in for a kiss.

Vaguely you heard the director yelling well, directions for what to do. You weren’t entirely sure if you were following them and you didn’t exactly care.

As soon as his lips met yours, the entire world faded to black. The only thing in color was him. His hands on your back and your face. His body pressed against yours. The feeling of his shoulder underneath your arm. His hair, silky smooth underneath the layer stiff with gel. The hat that brushed against your hand and then fell in the floor as you ran your fingers through it.

He pulled away and you followed him.

You let your eyes remain closed for a moment as you found yourself already reminiscing. You dropped yourself down to the flats of your feet. You met his gaze which seemed just as hazed as your own.

Finding yourself once again in reality, where he’d just kissed you in front of a room of strangers (to you at least). “You cad,” you said breathlessly. His smile didn’t help you gain anymore oxygen

“Kissed her good, didn’t he?” a crew member said not knowing he was in earshot of you as you grabbed your things to leave.

“Ah, nothing special. It’s just television.”

You felt your heart tighten at the reminder. Quickly you grabbed your things and left, not hearing the first man say, “Looked special to me.”

[unsoundedcomic]

Lots of peoples irl think an immortal soul/eternal essence/unforgettable memories is/are a defining characteristic of humans.

cont. "I mean to say that to those people it isn't so weird for humans to persist while the inhuman fade with their material being."

--

I know, I think that's most people. Humans tend to intuit some kind of extraphysical existence, the same way we intuit a flat earth and free will and a sun that moves across the sky - if we don't investigate all this and learn any different. I don't personally see how such a phenomenon is possible when we know that consciousness and indeed everything we are is produced by our brain. When the brain dies, we go black like the light on my ceiling fan when I flick the power switch off. We don't ask where the light went. It's just gone. Wolf's not still flailing around somewhere trying to avoid flung poop from an angry monkey when I end sekiro.exe.

I do understand the intuition though. When my dog died and I was carrying her out to the car to go to the doggie crematorium, her body was so shockingly pliant, heavy, and suddenly empty. It was like she'd left it and gone somewhere else. She didn't go with her body out to the car at all, she was just laying in my room behind my desk chair, still. It felt like that for weeks.

A lot of Unsounded's cosmology is the result of me wondering what the consequences would be if there really was extraphysical conscious existence. Like, there are so many versions of you. Which one would be eternal? Would your consciousness and memories at the time of death lift off you in one intact blob, or would everything break apart into all the selves you were? Your five year old self has no idea who your fifty year old self is, and vice versa, more or less. I don't see how they could stay together. If your five year old self simply doesn't get to be immortal like your death self, what about if you die with terrible dementia or a brain injury, would that just be you forever? Or does it roll back to a previous version? Where is that previous version coming from? Are there back-ups? So your child selves DO persist? What about all your trauma? Do you have to remember it all forever? Maybe you have no memories at all and are just an empty consciousness. Is there much satisfaction in being the equivalent of a disembodied houseplant for all eternity? Can you make new memories without a brain? How would you do anything without it? Or eyes or any senses?! AAAA!

Of course the simplest answer to all this is there's no reason to think it's a concern, the whole concept is just something we intuit incorrectly. Like the inak, I'm pretty cool with that. Because the alternative is really scary to think about.

Duane imagines Ssael seeing the khert and the eels and the squishes and all that, and deciding immediately that the Gods had to go.

[x-liv25-jamieswife]

YAYY!! Reqs are open again! I know you’ve already done something similar but can you do maybe some hcs of Graysons mental if that makes sense (like anxiety, depression, schizophrenia) only if you feel comfortable ofc <3

sad grayson head canons pt. 2

of course! i wont be talking about schizophrenia though bc i don't know enough about it and i don't feel comfortable talking about smth knowing i might be writing things that are completely inaccurate and that might offend/hurt some people. i apologize if these suck or if this is really short. when i made this post, i had just found out someone in my family was in the hospital and i wrote these to distract me so idk how good they'll be. not all of these will be on anxiety and depression btw. tw for suicidal thoughts. hope you still like them <3.

when he swims at night, the pool tends to be very cold bc its the one of the only things that makes him forgot about everything that is making him anxious. if he can't swim, he takes cold showers.

although it might not look like it, he gets very anxious and overwhelmed in situations where there are a lot of people. he overthinks everything he says to them, wonders if his suit looks nice enough/if he's presentable, if he's making a good impression, and has trouble focusing when there are so many people he has to talk too. he's very good at hiding it though so you would never guess (like i said, multiple people, if its just one person it doesn't matter to him)

like i said in my last hc, he gets anxious when talking to many people. i want to add that usually, its not usually himself that makes himself anxious but emily talking in his head telling him he's doing smth wrong. basically, if it weren't for emily, he wouldn't be anxious talking to so many people. idk if this one makes sense.

one of the reasons he wears suits is bc it makes him feel put together when he feels like a mess in his head. he always looks so flawless which makes people think he's fine.

he went through a period of time when he was younger where he couldn't get out of bed to go to school/do his school work which ig seems ooc, but we're talking about young grayson here, not the put together version of him we know. he hated himself so bad he didn't think it was worth living anymore and thought that there was no point in working if he wasn't going to live long enough to get a career/become an adult. also, another reason was bc he felt sm pressure to be the best that he kind of just gave up. tobias got mad at him and thought he was overreacting. he did get better thanks to his brothers, enough for him to start doing his school work again and start handling the pressure he was under.

he's very self-conscious about his appearance. by this i don't mean looking put together, i mean sometimes he'll look in the mirror and think he's gained weight which makes him workout more/swim. its not that he finds himself ugly, he just doesn't want people to notice and think something's wrong/he's going through something when he obviously is (cause in his head, if he doesn't always look the same, people will think smth's wrong/he's loosing control but thats just not true).

he used to have bad acne growing up and it really affected his confidence. he used to try to cover it up with concealer but no matter what he did it was always visible. it ended up going away but he hates looking at old pictures of himself cause he hates seeing it. it caused him really bad anxiety in public bc he thought people were judging him.

sometimes, people will try to talk to him but he won't hear them bc he can't stop stressing over all of the things he has to do and is stuck in his head. people have to repeat what they're saying and and shake him to get him out of spiraling.

grayson tried to stop taking his anti depressants when he was younger cause he was sure he didn't need them. he realized not long after that he couldn't just stop and that they were actually helping him.

after he realized they were helping him, he started to wonder why he couldn't be 'normal' like his other brothers (at the time, he didn't know his brothers were also struggling with their own issues)

to handle his anxiety when he was younger, he would punch a punching bag. this was before he learned how to handle his anger and stuff. he only allowed himself to lose control when doing this.

his room and office have to be clean at all times. if it isn't, it causes him even more anxiety. it makes him feel messy and not in control.

his grand father used to tell him that hawthornes don't have mental illnesses and that he's overreacting (stupid ass grand father). it made grayson feel like he wasn't good enough.

after avery almost died during the bombing, he considered offing himself bc he didn't think he was worth it. he let one of the people he cares most about almost die, and the guilt was nearly too much for him.

grayson used to feel like he shouldn't be struggling the way he is bc of all of the opportunities and money he has. he felt like his feelings weren't valid, and that others had it worse. he tought he had no reason to feel as crappy as he did and that made him hate himself/think there was smth wrong with him. it only made him feel more depressed.

sometimes, he'd go on the rooftop of the house to get some air, see the height and the deadly fall, and consider jumping off. he used to think everyone was better off without him and that he'd be doing everyone a favor by offing himself.

in my first sad grayson post, i said that he owns a teddy bear nash gave him. he'll never admit it, but when he feels really anxious and like his world is crumbling down, he cuddles with it. it's one of the only things that actually helps him calm down. it also helps when he has a panic attack, he grabs it and holds it against his chest to relax (it also helps him sleep). the only one who knows about all of this is nash.

his anxiety tends to get worse during the winter cause he can't swim in the outdoor pool. its one of his most effective coping mechanisms. swimming in their indoor pool isn't the same according to him.

he used to hate christmas bc people would get him gifts he didn't think he deserved. he loved the gifts he'd receive but thought that people shouldn't be spending their money on him and that others were more worthy.

he used to see a therapist on and off for a while (in secret) when he was younger but would always end up stopping after his grandfather found out and told him he was wasting the therapist's time. he finally starts seeing a therapist consistently in his mid-20s (so after tgg and stuff).

[goodolddumbbanana]

BE A MIRROR [3]

An Au when Sun is dead (by Nexus), Dark Sun pretends to be Sun while trying to find some way to revive him in secret. Nexus is having a mental breakdown, maybe get some redemption later. Everyone is not having a good time except Sun, that poor boy only when he is dead (temporarily) can get some rest.

Summary: In this AU, This is the time when Sun and Dark Sun start gradually becoming quite closer. They were still very wary of each other, but more or less, it was less tense than before.

Moon is busy planning to find the Nexus, and Dark Sun is still keeping a low profile.

Dark Sun still approaches Moon with annoying metaphorical warnings, but before that, he still hangs out with Sun. And although Moon was aware of Dark Sun's appearance, he did not know that Dark Sun and Sun were hanging out together behind his back like that.

Below is a typical day out for Sun and Dark Sun, the reason why they started this habit of going out, honestly no one remembers. Just on a sad day when Sun was drinking, Dark Sun appeared looking for Moon. They argued, mocked each other and like breaking ice, Dark Sun grabbed the bottle of wine that Sun threw at him and the rest is history.

I am really bad at writing, and maybe I will rewrite it again when I think more about it.

—----------------------------------------------------

What is the value of a life? If a human life is priceless, then how much pain and suffering does Sun have to pay for his sins so he can wash all the blood off his hands?

Technically, he has never killed anyone. It's always Moon, or Eclipse, or Bloodmoon. Sun is always an 'innocent' one in everything.

And isn't it ironic that Sun, after everything, is still at the center of all the destruction, like a curse that brings death?

The reason why he used so much detergent to clean himself and everything in daycare. Or how sometimes Sun would see a red color at the edges of his eyes that wasn't there, or feel a sickly dirt like mud stuck to his metal shell.

It feels like a sign that his subconscious is trying to say something is wrong that Sun actively ignores.

"Are you always this dazed when playing games or do I myself have a special honor to see it?"

An annoying voice rang in Sun's ear, something Sun had been trying to ignore for the past 15 minutes or so but failing miserably.

Sun never thought hearing his own voice could be so unpleasant. He always felt a little bit self conscious about his voice because his voice was quite high, but being the one to hear it directly, made him feel sorry for his listeners because he used to speak very loudly in the past.

A face identical to his, with a bland smile that never reached the bottom of their eyes and empty red eyes that seemed to have given up on the world, this annoying visitor often appeared at random times and only left when they wanted.

"Why did you keep breaking into my house here? Do you have anything to do? Moon is busy in his lab, just go and put your creepy show on him." Sun asked weakly. He didn't really expect an answer, knowing that it would only lead to a metaphorical can of worms that he never wanted to open.

After the appearance of M–Nexus… Dark Sun became Moon's lower threat enemy. The priority one is Nexus. His brother was busy in the lab with Ruin and Puppet, tracking Nexus's whereabouts.

Moon invited him to go, but honestly, he couldn't help, with all the complicated AI and quantum physics theories that both Ruin and Moon knew so well… It would be better for Sun if he just stayed home.

And for some reason, both Moon and Puppet's machines can rarely see the Dark Sun. He is like a ghost in the eyes of the “All-Seeing One” and these geniuses, and Dark Sun shows up only to signal something is troubling, again.

"Can't I come see what I'm doing?" Dark Sun hummed, he looked at Sun and up at the television screen playing "Cult of the Lamb" in what, if Sun didn't know better, he would have considered a look of disgust but nostalgia.

"Don't make me laugh, you always want something, mister 'I don't care about anything unless it benefits me somehow'.”

Sun focused on the final boss, his hoarse voice box echoing a dull rhythm. There was no response, just a slight movement that shook the soft sofa he was sitting on. A bright yellow body chose a comfortable position right in the center of the chair, blatantly, something Sun himself would never be comfortable enough to do so. Too much open space, too few grip points. There is a feeling of being exposed and naked shaking Sun’s inexistent skin, causing Sun's system to always flash an unpleasant red warning.

Why even though the Creator hates them so much, he's still so invested in a delicate area like emotions?

What does a robot need emotions for?

Just to feel dead in the feet and hope tomorrow will not be worse than today?

There was a brief moment of depression as he thought about his hated father, before hearing a solid sound with a slight accent, almost like that British Ruin loved to show off himself with.

Is it self-awareness because Dark Sun feels like he shouldn't be too similar to Sun so he behaves more like Ruin?

Sun's AI brain weaves its way through logical thoughts, morphing and dancing in the form of 1s and 0s.

The bright light on the screen was almost a hypnotic drug, making Sun reduce the stress he felt that had been present since Dark Sun arrived.

“There's still a bit of time… I've played this game before too… Too much management and responsibility, not my taste.”

Sun suppressed his bites. 'If that's the case, why don't you just leave me alone?', but he was too tired, he no longer had the strength to care or even respond.

The space sank into silence again, with bustling electronic noise, almost like white noise, lulling Sun into a feeling of sleepiness.

“Orange juice?”

"Right?" Sun nodded confusedly. On the table top of them are just a glass of orange juice, and it's always been orange juice for the past few weeks, nothing has changed. Why does Dark Sun act like it's odd?

“Hmm.” Dark Sun hummed. “No more wine?”

"I do not drink alcohol anymore." Sun replied defensively, feeling as if he was ruffling feathers. He was so tired of these jokes from Monty and Puppet or those concerns from Earth that he is drinking too much or he is an alcoholic, he didn't need any more words from that guy.

“The other day it seemed like it was a lie.”

Things start to become awkward.

No one said anything next, neither Sun nor Dark Sun wanted to rekindle the event that caused the annual stormy evenings where Dark Sun appeared unusually with lies like this, just to hang out with Sun.

Something about Dark Sun always comes on cloudy days.

It wasn't exactly raining, as it seemed stormy and the water here almost never reached the island.

No, it was the kind of weather where the stifling oppressive heat of the sun turned everything gray, of the wind being quiet and the sunset melting on the edge of sand crumbs torn apart by the tide.

Perhaps it was dramatic, as the nature of every Sun and Moon had always been inherited from their 'dear father' in every line of code. To choose to always appear in those moments when gray shards as smooth as egg whites are whipped to the edge of the sky, like a novice chef's masterpiece blend with a child trying to beat the paper with paint. Sun just hides it better than Moon, and at the same time he has too much anxiety and lacks energy to be able to continue that ‘dramatic role’ for long.

Dark Sun appears, it's almost like looking into a distorted mirror, that never allows you to see your true self form but always in some deformed variation.

Sun's stupid thought was that Dark Sun always appeared at this time because he wanted to match the name they gave him.

“I don't really care if you drink or not.” Dark Sun hummed, stood up and casually walked into the kitchen as if he owned the place, taking out two shiny bottles of wine. Dark Sun's rays of light twisted and moved with each step of Dark Sun like the way a cat wags its tail when something stimulates its curiosity.

“But isn't trying to think about other people's words very tiring?”

The reddish brown color ripples in the glass bottle, like the enticement of the snake in the Garden of Eden. Annoyed at the way he was being read so clearly, Sun grabbed the bottle from Dark Sun's hand and gulped it down.

Then another sip.

One more sip.

And one more…

One more…

The smell of alcohol spread in the air and rippled in Sun's hands. The bell clanged against the side of the jar, perhaps a few drops of wine got on the red cloth wrapped around Sun's wrist.

“Hmm… How long has it been since you drank? And I'm not talking about 'last time'.” Dark Sun took a sip.

The person in front of him was indifferent, calmly took the controller in Sun's hand and chose to sacrifice instead of killing the boss like Sun was trying to do. That fucker even killed Sun's first apostle without hesitation.

“Weeks… Months? Before that Moo–n… Nexus… They, Earth didn't like me doing this very much. So I switched to soda.”

“But soda is horrible.”

“Yeah… It tastes really bad.” The alcohol made Sun laugh.

“I don't understand why they are so worried. Aren't we all robots?”

“That's exactly what I said, and the bottle, it's just this small…”

“It's not enough to make me dizzy anymore…”

Sun's voice sounded like he was shouting, he leaned back in his chair, wondering why everything seemed so normal.

Why did he let Dark Sun in, why did he only warn Moon about Dark Sun's appearance, but never about the moments when they sat down to play games and drink together.

A song and dance Sun and Dark Sun, forcefully have played with each other so damn countless times, with Dark Sun’s words always lurking menace behind them, and his clichés about tentative plans for an uncertain future, entangled in the webs of lies like the strings of a puppeteer, that Sun cannot understand and does not want to understand.

As always, Dark Sun will appear suddenly when Sun is alone, asking random questions about someone who is not there as if hoping that Sun has the answer before they both sit down and play games or just drink together.

How did their relationship become like this? Sun really didn't know.

About how it started or why it continued, even though he knew Dark Sun had a hidden agenda and was only taking advantage of him, even though both of them know they can never be friends, when Dark Sun is still actively a threat to Sun's family.

Perhaps it was the feeling of being understood without being wanted that drew them together. Both are like two sides of the same coin, over time they have been destroyed in different ways that cannot be repaired or came back.

Like trying to pour water into a broken vase, a meaningless action that only crazy people and idiots would continue to do.

If Sun fills that void in his chest with family, with cleaning, with giving himself a purpose to live for. Then Dark Sun just tries by himself to escape from everything. He surrounds himself with a layer of armor full of spikes, blocking anyone who wants to enter, numbing all his feelings until the days they become too hard to crack.

It was a strange thing that Sun wanted to say he understood that feeling, and sometimes, sometimes, he longed for it.

Not like M-New Old Moon, Nexus tearing down and throwing away everything, heading down a path of destruction without even caring how much it affects everyone. A liar, a liar, a liar. Words mumbling in Sun’s head like there is still someone in there. A bitter and sick to his stomach whenever Sun thinks about this... brother.

No, what Sun wants to talk about here is about just being alone and normal, where you just live and don’t have to care or need to care about anyone.

Why did Sun say that? Such ungrateful things about his family, who care deeply about him?

Maybe because that love and care that his family gave Sun sometimes felt like a burning fire, that made him burn when he touched.

Maybe because he just wants to look and care from afar, but doesn't want to touch or be close to them?

Sun loved Earth, she was the best sister he could ask for.

Sun also cherishes Lunar, his mischievous, sometimes crazy younger brother, who acts innocent and childish but actually a cold stone brat from the inside due to the trauma and manipulation that Eclipse caused, sometimes make Sun feels like looking at a twisted combination of him and Moon with sharp words and intelligence hidden in Lunar’s starry eyes.

Despite all the miserable things his brothers put him through and even now, despite the smoldering bitterness still gnawing at his heart, Sun also loves Moon with all his heart, both old and new.

But sometimes, Sun just wants to stay away. It's confusing to say, but Sun is fine with the occasional game together and these terrible jokes, but when stepping into the boundary of care and love, Sun just wants to stay away or cower like a maggot.

It is not worth it.

Sun is not worth it.

Sun doesn't deserve that love and attention.

Why are people always so close, so demanding, so caring to him?

Why does the way Moon tries to make amends, or Earth visits him more and more often, or Lunar gives him a touch or a knowing look, make him sicker than this evil version of himself sitting here? .

Dark Sun doesn't care. Dark Sun never cared. He was just using Sun as a distraction. Or a backup of a backup of a backup of some… he doesn't know, maybe some of his evil plans.

But strangely, Sun feels so comfortable. It's like breathing fresh air. A collar that has been taken out, making Sun easy to breathe. They are not even the same, with totally completely different personalities and intelligence. Heck, even Dark Sun doesn't like “Cult of the Lamb” or he is being too manipulative and indifferent to Sun's liking.

But their essence was still Sun, and even though Sun was stupid, he could still see the core features still there, behind the worn and distorted exterior of a person named Dark Sun. And isn't it disgusting, to feel more comfortable with a version so different and so similar to yourself than with your loved one?

Self-destruction is a curse. A realization lit up in Sun's head, realizing how in the way Eclipses all hated Moon but still wanted his approval, how Solar was scared of Moon but still supported him like a workaholic, how Ruin hated Moon’s guts so much but he still appreciated Moon’s intelligence.

Something about them all have things in common. They all hate, if not hate, then blatantly looking down at Sun, or consider Sun to be too dumb to consist as a threat.

Once may be a coincidence, but two or three people agree on the same opinion, then it’s not their fault, but him. Perhaps, it's just the truth that Sun hates himself so much that his code is passed on to others that are embedded in their subconscious hatred for Sun.

That's the hard truth. Sun just despises himself.

And Dark Sun even hated Sun, and his hatred and critics caused Sun more discomfort than others.

But surprisingly, it's also more comfortable…

Maybe it's because Dark Sun hates him, not because he's stupid or helpless.

Dark Sun hates him because he was once Sun, because he knows Sun can do better...

And because this hate is as familiar as an old blanket. A phantom pain, like the way his body twitched slightly and his fan ran a little too fast when he was in a closed space or he saw something red in the corner of Sun’s eyes.

Though, this hatred goes both in the same places.

Sun hates how Dark Sun can look straight in Sun’s soul to determine how much he is worth. He also hates how Dark Sun shows how bad Sun can become.

He also hated Dark Sun because actually he was just Sun, it was just circumstances that made that person change, that makes Dark Sun different. 

This is sick, disgusting even..

There must be something wrong that happened with Sun, which could cause Sun to have thoughts of sympathizing with this person's actions and thoughts, like Dark Sun deserves sympathy.

Their hate draws each other closer like a fragile chain, an unhealthy relationship, a deceitful friendship of one side covering their eyes and the other covering their ears.

“I wish if you hated me so much, you could just kill me instead of approaching me like this.”

It was dark outside. With only the buzzing sound of the game console and his cats in the basement.

“You… You guys… are all the same… Why can't I have a normal day…”

Sun didn't know if it was him talking or the bottle of wine talking. That's strange... Sun shouldn't be drunk, the bottle is really too small.

“Maybe if I close my eyes and then open them again, all this… crazy stuff will go away… I'll just be me, a regular Sun…”

“And you would die like that, right? It's so tiring, seeing every Sun just this… naive?”

A silence responded. Sun raised his eyes... Red electronic light flashed behind the milky white shell seemingly annoyed.

“Just keep chewing like that day after day. Crying and moaning like that, Sun, do you think it would solve anything?"

“I just don't know what to do…” Sun mumbled, his hand wrapped tightly around the bottle of wine, hugging it to his chest as if he wanted it to protect him.

“You will die soon in the future if you stay like this.”

The words were indifferent and cold, as if reflecting a truth, a truth that Sun had witnessed many times in different dimensions, and in the dimensions that Dark Sun showed Sun.

“Like I don't know.” Sun's shadow shines in front of the piece of glass, revealing a sad and exhausted face. The eyes, once bright blue, had turned white since the day Sun used magic to expel Eclipse from Sun's head.

A silence, nearly peaceful silence, between their two, like hands in hand in the drawing sea.

“Oh… Hmm… By the way, I accidentally killed Narinder.”

There was silence. And then the scream that followed almost alarmed the other side of the island.

“YOU SON OF B%TCH!!! WHY DID YOU KILL MY WIFE!!!”

[dallina17]

What do you think would have happened if Blitz never left Verosika?

My apologies for how long it took to answer this-

Anyways, it is difficult to say.

Like I see two possible ways it could have turned out.

The one I think would be the most probable is that eventually Verosika would have left Blitzø. If we take her words in "house of asmodeous" song literally, Blitzø didn't satisfy her in bed, which would alone have been a huge reason for Verosika to leave him, since she would have not felt comfortable with someone that wasn't reciprocate in bed.

"Yeah, but when it was my turn (my turn, my turn). He did no reciprocatin' (what a dick-bag). A selfish imp in the sheets"

But lets say that those words were a lie to hurt Blitzø even more. Because lets be honest, Verosika would have instantly leave someone that bad on the bed + plus I don't think she would date anyone without having sexual relationships at least once before dating and she would not date someone that isn't good in bed + we know that Blitzø makes a huge effort to satisfy his partners in sex.

The real reason why I think that Verosika would have left Blitzø it's because she got tired of his insecurities. The reason why Blitzø left Verosika in the first place was that he was afraid that she was eventually going to be dissapointed with him, get bored and leave him, so he left her first. This same fear would be the reason why Verosika would have eventually leave him, because such self-doubts can be tolerated until certain point and she would reach her limit eventually, prioritize her mental health and leave him. Not everyone has the patience that Stolas has had with Blitzø and even him got tired of Blitzø self-doubts (cries in Full Moon)

With this route, nothing would change much, except for Blitzø being even more self-conscious, self-doubting and with firmer convictions that he is unlovable, because he has even more proves now. Which would make him reject Stolas even more, deny Stola's feeling with more conviction and overall be confident that no-one will ever love him and that he is anything but a toy. He is already like that in canon but this time it will be thousand of times worst.

Okay but, lets talk about the route where Verosika and Blitzø manage to get ahead with their relationship and are dating when Helluva Boss starts. For this to work, I think that Blitzø should have worked a lot on his self-esteem and accept that people won't just leave him, and if they do, is not because he is the problem and makes everything worse, is just how relationships sometimes go (because I can't really see Verosika keeping with Blitzø's bullshit that long). So we would have a Blitzø more confident with himself and not self destructing that much. Still, he would still have some self-doubts that would lead to fights with Verosika, but they would manage to make their way through it.

In this route, Blitzø would have not had a necessity to use Stola's book, since Verosika could help him to get to Earth and have his bussiness. I can even see Verosika being an active part of the business and atracting clients so Blitzø and M&M could kill them. Meanwhile, Blitzø would absolutely be part of Verosika's orgies.

Sadly, this means that Stolas would still be as depressed as he was before meeting with Blitzø again, stuck in that toxic marriage with Stella and, overall, hating life. The only positive side would be that his relationship with Via would have not gotten damaged because of his infidelity, but that also means that Via would still be living in a lie where she doesn't know how miserable her father is so... yeah.

I can see Verosika getting along with Loona. Don't quite see her treating Loona like a daughter, but I definetly see her hanging out with Loona, talking her about things (sex presumably), introducing her to hellhounds and just overall being really close.

Maybe in this case Blitzø would not be that obsessed with Moxxie and Millie relationship, thou he would still observe them to time to take notes on "how not to mess my relationship with Verosika". Perhaps Verosika would join him because she thinks is fun.

The real problem is that, in this route, maybe Blitzø doesn't make amends with Fizzaroli which is a HUGE part of Blitzø path to healing, forgiving himself and be a better person imp. Is because Stolas they end up talking again and making amends. But maybe Verosika takes Blitzø to Ozzie's and convinces him to talk with Fizz and they reconciliate soooo... :D

In short, in this universe Blitzø would be in a better place that he is in canon at the beggining and have a sort-of-stable relationship with Verosika and be happy with it, while still having some struggles, doubts and guilt getting in his way to fully healing. Would Verosika help him to overcome that? I am not sure, but they would try to make the best of what they can with their relationship.

Ty for asking! I had fun writing this!

[ggukiepie]

girl in luv (boy in luv pt. 6)

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: jungkook finally tells you what you've been wanting to hear for so long...but you're still not happy

tags: bil!couple, college!au, bff!jk, two idiots in love, angst (what's new), fluff, happy ending !!!, kissing hihi

wc: 3.5k

a/n: lmaoooo hi im sorry this took so long. i didn't like what i originally wrote so i scrapped the whole thing and well here it is! i hope u guys like it. this is the last part for the series. tho i do plan to post some drabbles here and there (like their first time together maybe) but no promises anw thats its bye happy reading !!!! series masterlist / main masterlist

~*~

Your phone suddenly buzzes—someone was calling you. Though, instead of answering it, you stuff your phone between your couch cushions to block out the noise. You don’t dare look at your screen, sure you’ll get tempted to answer the call—whoever that was. You haven’t got much social interaction these days, always choosing to go straight home after each class, eating by yourself, declining invites to parties and hangouts. It’s not like anyone’s forcing you to be this way. You did this to yourself, really. You’d rather be alone than hangout with people. You didn’t have the energy to do so. You just wanted to be in your bubble a little bit longer.

Deep down, you know you’re craving to talk to someone. Anyone. But somehow you always end up alone. With your thoughts.

Self-sabotage, if you will.

The thoughts don’t help either. Your mind always drifts to Jungkook. Sometimes you think about him and his girlfriend. Most of the time, you think of your friendship. You missed what you had, even though you had to guard your heart every time, even if you got your hopes up at the simplest of actions. You missed being with Jungkook because for the time you were with him, he felt like he was…yours? There was no doubt that you were his. Had been from the start but didn’t realize it till later on. Your heart always craved for him, yearned for him when he wasn’t with you. Your heart felt lighter when you were together, be it doing the most mundane of things or sharing a special moment.

If you could just toughen up and tell him how you feel. But it was easier said than done. He already indirectly rejected you when he got together with some girl. But why would he reject you if he never knew how you felt? Maybe you were too busy protecting your heart, protecting the friendship you might lose if you would’ve confessed. You never thought he’d feel the same, even though you had moments that felt like he did.

You shake your head to rid your thoughts. You try to focus on writing the essay in front of you. Your Friday nights felt different now—stuck doing homework while your friends were partying.

You’re finally two pages deep when you hear frantic knocking on your door. You check the time on your laptop and see it’s a little past one in the morning. You suddenly rush to open your door, scared that you’d get a noise complaint all of a sudden.

You stand frozen, mouth agape at the scene in front of you.

“Huh?” you dumbly say.

It’s your three closest friends in your doorway. Jimin and Taehyung are somewhat conscious—at least they’re standing upright. But you notice the sway in their stance and you can smell the alcohol off of them. But it’s Jungkook between them that makes you freeze. He’s passed out, you’re sure of it, and the only reason why he’s sort of standing up is because Jimin and Tae have his arms around their shoulders.

“Why are you guys here?” you finally say.

It’s Taehyung who speaks up, smiling that smile he has when he wants something to go his way. When he has a plan that you might say no to (which you usually do). “Jungkook,” he points at Jungkook, as if you’d confuse him with anyone else, “is drunk.”

“I can see that,” you deadpan.

“And!” Tae rushes to say, like you’re about five seconds from shutting the door in their faces. “He kept asking for you. So we are simply complying with his request.”

“Because we are great friends,” Jimin pipes in. Taehyung nods in confirmation.

“Me?” you whisper, as if Taehyung were referring to anyone else. Your mind isn’t any better than his drunk one at this point.

“Yes!” Jimin whisper shouts. “Now let us in, he’s kinda getting heavy.”

Jungkook makes an incoherent sound from where his head is leaning on Tae’s shoulder, drool making a wet patch on the poor guy’s shirt. You take pity on your best friend and step aside to let in all of them, even though your heart’s racing because Jungkook is in your apartment.

Holy shit.

You watch them bring his unconscious body to your couch (they actually drop Jungkook and giggle all the way to your door, saying their goodbyes without looking back).

You huff at the sight in front of you. Jungkook’s cheeks are flushed red and he’s a little bit sweaty. Though, he looks so peaceful sleeping on your couch. Was he really looking for you?

You get a glass of water and two aspirins, placing it on the coffee table near him. The moment you near him, you kneel by his head and wipe the stray hairs on his forehead. You look at Jungkook, like really look at him. His eyebrows are scrunched together like something’s troubling him in his dreams. His lips are in a slight pout, lip ring glistening under your light (when did he get that, anyway?), little puffs of air coming out his mouth.

“Am I…” he mumbles. Your heart races. His eyes are still closed, but his mouth continues to move. “Am I at ____’s?”

Your heart seizes at the sound of your name. You gulp and nod slowly, then realize that he can’t hear you. “Yeah…” you trail off. “You’re in my living room.”

“Oh,” your best friend says as his eyebrows scrunch up some more. “Missed you.”

You sit back on the floor and hug your knees to yourself, preparing for whatever it is that he might say next. A drunk man’s words are his sober thoughts, right?

“Jimin and Tae said you were looking for me?”

“Mhmm,” he mumbles. “Wanted to… tell you somethin’”

You shake your head. Though your heart yearned to know, you also do know it’s not the right time. Not when he’s drunk. He might just regret his words now the next morning, which might even hurt worse than what he’s about to say. “Save it for tomorrow, Kook.” You push yourself off the floor but he stops you by holding your wrist, albeit weakly.

“Nuh uh…” he whispers. “Need to know…now. Broke up with Jiwoo.” He opens his eyes slightly and looks at you right away.

“Jungkook—”

“Like,” he continues to say, “I did it for you.”

You feel your anger rising, your body heating everywhere. “I didn’t tell you to do anything,” you firmly say.

Jungkook moves to sit up and you take a step back. “No,” he shakes his head slowly. “Jus’ didn’t feel right.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes and you finally walk to your bedroom, slamming the door and locking it shut. You block out the sounds of Jungkook weakly calling out your name. Your fists clench in anger, the words Jungkook just uttered replaying in your head over and over. He couldn’t just dump his problems, turn around the narrative and make it seem like you made him break up with Jiwoo. That you asked him to end things with her because it didn’t feel right. And he forced himself into your home, your personal space—and drunk at that! He knew all your weak spots and used it to his advantage.

You hope he’d be gone in the morning. You don’t think your heart can hurt any more.

You hear pans clinking which promptly wakes you up. You weren’t able to sleep that much, actually, knowing Jungkook was right outside your room. You guess he stayed in the morning. He’s either cooking in your kitchen, or someone’s trying to steal your pans.

Rubbing your eyes as you open your bedroom door, you spot Jungkook by the stove with his back turned to you. He seems to be making scrambled eggs—which is the only thing he can make confidently.

“Morning,” you say. You might as well clear the air as early as now. You watch his back tense for a millisecond before he turns off the stove and sets the pan on your dining table. He turns to face you and brings a hand up to brush his hair back, a nervous tick of his that you noticed a few years back.

“Good morning,” he mumbles.

“So,” you start.

It’s so awkward you might cry again. When did things get this out of place? You start to rethink your feelings. You haven’t even confessed yet it feels like you’ve lost your best friend already. What if you confessed? What would happen then? You felt your heart closing just thinking about it now. Was your friendship really that fragile? You and Jungkook hardly fought but even if you did, you always made up right away.

“___,” he says. You look up, eyes meeting his instantly. “About last night… I’m sorry I suddenly barged into your place. I guess I really forced Tae and Jimin to bring me here.”

You nod and lean on the wall behind you, preparing for a long talk with him.

“I just really missed you, I guess—”

“Do you remember what you said last night?” you ask harshly, cutting him off so quick his shoulders tense.

Jungkook swallows nervously and nods his head. “Yeah and… I don’t know if there’s a better to say it, really. But we did break up, ____. She just wasn’t it for me.”

“And you said you did it for me,” you say, pushing him to just get to the point.

“Yes, because I realized that my heart never belonged to her. It belonged to you. Still does,” he says in a rush.

You eye him sharply, staring at his features and expression to make sure he’s completely telling the truth. You want to believe him, you really do, but why would he say that then be with someone else.

“It doesn’t make sense,” you finally say. “Why did you get together with her, then?”

“I don’t know—”

“You don’t know,” you repeat, and Jungkook’s eyes widen in panic. “You think you can come running to me right after a break up? Like I’m some second option? You don’t love her enough so you run to me instead?”

Jungkook opens and closes his mouth, mind thinking quickly to say something. His hands start to tremble and he brings a hand up to push back his hair. “I didn’t mean that,” he says hoarsely. “I didn’t realize it soon… And—” he stutters to catch his breath. “I was just scared—”

You’re fuming at this point. How could he do this to you? To just play with your feelings like that? “Get out.”

“____—"

“I mean it, Jungkook,” you shakily say. “You’ve hurt me enough. Just leave, please.”

He looks at you longingly, doe eyes watering before he nods and turns to the door in silence. You watch him put his shoes on before he leaves, not sparing you a glance. You don’t realize you’ve been tearing up as well, wiping the tears on your cheeks. Walking to the kitchen counter, you realize that Jungkook made chocolate chip pancakes. Your favorite.

It’s been a week since the incident with Jungkook and you haven’t talked to him since then. You also missed your weekly brunch with your friends, too afraid to face Jungkook. Thinking about it now, were you a little bit too harsh? Maybe. You thought you’d finally be happy upon hearing his confession but instead you pushed him away, shut him out. Because you’re scared. Terrified. Things were already going so well with Jungkook when you both were just best friends and you don’t think you can lose him forever should you actually get together and then break up.

Funny since it feels like you’ve lost him already.

It’s 8 am and you’re all alone in the student council office, trying to get some studying done as you were restless staying in your apartment. Staying there just reminds you of Jungkook, so you’ve been spending your mornings here before the other people arrive.

Suddenly, the door opens which is unusual. You usually have the place to yourself for at least another three hours. Curiously, you look up and find your best friend standing by the doorway, laptop and coffee in hand.

It’s silent for a moment, the both of you drinking each other in. Jungkook looks like he hasn’t gotten much sleep, eye bags dark and skin lackluster. You suppose you don’t look any better, knowing you barely got any sleep the past few days.

“Hi,” he finally says. You’re glad you have the long table separating the two of you. You don’t think your heart can handle being physically closer.

“Are you here for something?” you ask hesitantly.

“Can I…” He trails off, looking at the printer by the corner. You’d be laughing by now under normal circumstances. You nod instead, because it’s bizarre seeing Jungkook here asking if he can print something, which is something he liked to do back when your friendship was intact. The room is silent as you see him connect his laptop to the printer, both of you avoiding each other’s eyes. It’s too silent, actually, that it’s driving you a bit insane.

“How many pages?” you ask.

“Uhm… Fifty?” he says like he’s unsure.

“Fifty?” you repeat in a gasp. The printer is free, sure, but it’s ancient. Fifty pages will take too long and you don’t know if you can stand being in the room with him for half an hour or so.

Jungkook hands you the coffee he brought with him. “I bought you coffee as thanks.” He smiles ever so slightly and watches as you take a sip. Of course, it’s your usual order at the café down the street.

He looks at you expectantly but you’re too busy looking down at the coffee in your hands, too nervous to lock eyes with him. A few seconds later you hear him exhale and it’s just the sound of the printer in the room.

Your chest feels so tight all of a sudden like it’s ready to burst out of your ribcage any minute. It feels so heavy, so constricting that it’s starting to hurt physically. Is it really worth it harboring all this anger and pain? For conjuring up these theories in your head that will make you push him further away?

You shake your head to yourself and look up expecting to lock eyes with his, but his back is turned to you.

“Did you really mean what you said last week?” you blurt out.

Jungkook jumps in surprise and whips his body to face you, doe eyes wide. He looks surprised but he also looks relieved, and your heart breaks a little more seeing the relief cross his face the moment you talk to him.

He starts playing with the hem of his shirt absentmindedly. “I did,” he mumbles. “I mean every word I said, and I’m really sorry that everything had to turn out this way when I could’ve just been brave and confessed all those years ago.”

You nod your head at his words and process what he just said. Deep down you know you believe him, but it’s hard to keep that in mind when the hurt outweighs the truth. You look up at him with a sad smile on your face. “Why now, Kook? After all these years.”

He sighs and leans on the chair in front of him. You notice his shoulders deflate and his back hunch a little. He looks tired and you feel your own tiredness in your bones as well. “I was just scared. Us being friends was so comfortable and so good… I was just scared of things changing and me losing you.”

You bite your lip to stop yourself from crying. Looking to the side of the room to avoid his stare, you whisper, “And I know—” you choke on your words and clench your hands in frustration. “And I know I’m at fault as well—for assuming and pulling away once you got together with her. I had no right because we’re just…friends.”

It’s quiet save for the printer and his feet shuffling on the floor. You turn towards him to see Jungkook slowly walking to where you’re sat. Once he’s standing in front of you, he raises his hands towards your face but stops midway. Like he’s about to hold you but he’s hesitant.

You’re tilting your head to look up at him, eyes shiny with tears but lip turned upwards in a small smile. It’s ok, you mouth, because you don’t trust yourself to speak right now. You watch Jungkook hold your face in his hands, thumbs going behind your ears to rub at your skin slowly, fingers splayed on your cheeks to wipe your tears away.

He gathers your face in his hands, thumbs gently brushing the tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers shakily. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m so, so sorry.”

You nod your head absentmindedly, heart squeezing at the affectionate way he talks to you.

“I really am sorry,” he repeats. “I… Yeah, we’re just friends but I’d like to believe that we both just know. That you felt my love the same I’ve been feeling yours ever since. Even though we’re just friends. But…I know better now.”

You look at him confusingly and he looks away from you and smiles, his cheeks turning a light shade of red. You watch in silence as he plays with his lip piercing distractedly. Finally, he turns to you still with that smile on his face. His thumb starts playing with your lower lip but he’s looking at you with so much adoration in his eyes.

You’ve seen this look on him before, every time you’re with him, and now do you only realize that it’s a look full of love, desire, yearning.

“It’s scary if we do become something more and I end up losing you,” he starts, “but I’d rather live a life of at least knowing what it feels like to love you and be loved by you, than doing nothing at all.”

Tears are streaming down your face but you’re smiling so wide and Jungkook’s doing the same as well, with his nose even scrunching up and his dimples showing.

“I think it’s normal to feel scared,” you finally reply. “But I’d also rather live a life of us loving together than loving from afar.”

It’s silent for a moment as you and Jungkook stare at each other. He’s wiping off your tears which makes him cry a little more, so you wipe his tears next. You’re both crying now but with happy smiles on your faces and it prompts you both to laugh.

“We were kinda stupid, huh?” Jungkook says in between giggles.

You nod and giggle back. “A bit silly, yeah.”

“Can I kiss you?” he suddenly asks. Your heart starts racing and your palms get clammy. You start feeling nervous but it’s the good kind, finally getting to do something you’ve been anticipating, been waiting for ever since you realized your heart belonged to your best friend.

“Please,” you whisper.

Jungkook wastes no times in leaning forward, his grip on your cheeks tightening just a bit, pulling you upwards to meet his lips. Your lips finally touch and it steals your breath away. Quite literally.

Jungkook’s lips are soft, slots perfectly right in between yours. He kisses how he holds you—gentle and careful. Your heart skips a beat when you feel his tongue, and you grant his wish by opening your lips just slightly.

There are no fireworks or sparks or anything grand like that. Your heart suddenly feels calm and at ease. Like this is what you’re meant to do. It feels like coming home for the first time where everything feels right. You feel a great weight lift off your shoulders and you know you’ve made the right decision by choosing love.

Jungkook pulls back but only slightly so he can catch his breath. He keeps his forehead pressed against yours and when he speaks, you feel his lips move.

“I love you,” he whispers, and the way he looks at you with his eyes, like it holds so much love and adoration and it’s all for you. “Wish I said it sooner but I don’t want to think about that. Don’t want to live and continue on with regrets. I’m so happy to have you like this,” he whispers shakily. “So lucky to be able to love you like this.”

You kiss him again which causes him to smile so wide that his dimples pop out. “I love you too.” You giggle again. Saying it is so freeing and it feels so normal too. Not some grand epiphany or realization. Like you’ve known ever since. Like your heart has felt this way throughout your years of friendship with Jungkook and only now are you able to verbalize it. You know you’re lucky, too, to be able to have him in this way. But you don’t want to give too much credit to luck. You believe yours and Jungkook’s love were destined ever since.