#AND THERE'S STILL MORE!!! BOOK 8 GOT CONFIRMED????

[unwinding-dreams]

I worked at a book factory and can confirm.

One time I was assigned to take stacks of collated papers (for a Mo Willems elephant and pig book of all things) that were coming out of a port in one of our oldest machines, flip them upside down, and slide them down a metal table for someone to stack on a wooden pallet.

I did that for like 8 hours a day, for a few days straight. I wore gloves so I wouldn’t get a paper cut.

Those stacks of paper RUBBED AWAY AT THE GLOVE in the webbing between my thumb and index finger.

And I still got paper cuts. IN THE WEBBING BETWEEN MY THUMB AND INDEX FINGER.

I’ve never felt more personally attacked in my life.

it's funny because my job involves a lot of using a box cutter, so you'd think that's the thing I'd accidentally hurt myself with the most

but nooo no no no. the box cutter is my colleague, my ally, my friend. you know what is truly bloodthirsty in a print & signage shop? literally Anything Else that's able to cut but not supposed to. cardboard, sheets of plastic, the humble paper of course, corrugated polypropylene, aluminum composite sheets - i nicked myself on a sheet of magnetic material today?? it bled. kinda profusely.

basically:

box cutter: a trusty companion, might hurt you if you handle it wrong, but that's understandable

stuff you use the box cutter on: they know you as their enemy. they know the rules of this life: kill, or be killed. they know what they have to do.

[sintheyokai]

Oh the Twisted Wonderland fandom is fucking Going THROUGH IT rn

[ragnars-tooth]

i completely and absolutely hallucinated the last time i read firestar apparently bc i was ten thousand percent sure russ shot beargstrom at the end. i thought that man was so dead. so imagine my surprise rereading tfe properly rn.

(i was already too confused by whos who irt the bears last time anyway so if anything its making me feel LESS stupid that i just misread a paragraph and fucked up the entire plotline for myself <- it will happen again)

consider this a public acknowledgment that it turns out idk what the hell is happening in these books, soz <3 i will continue to lie by accident and make shit up 🥰

[rasb7rry]

hey assholes it's your girl himi and im gonna prove to you that the new leaks are FAKE (credits to Sammy and fawx on twt for alot of evidence) some evidence (mostly in the end) is just my own speculation!

1) FIRST OF ALL THE CHANGE IN ARTSTYLE like sure horis artstyle has evolved and improved but the artstyle is easily distinguishable, the leaks just don't look right

2) the missing scars -- in the new leaks both izuku and shoto are missing their new scars

3) ochako holding things with her pinky is odd because everywhere else she doesn't use her pinky to make sure she doesn't make them float HORI CAN'T FORGET A DETAIL LIKE THAT

4) the official leaks are supposed to come out on the 4th of december

5) theres too many pages – every other time there were 3-4 pages max, why the hell would the leaks have these many times this time ONLY

6) the english translations took time, why did they come out this early this time..

7) we have no clue where leakers are finding these leaks

8) none of the leaks picture a book and theyre all digitized unlike every other time..

9) a japanese speaker went on the official website and the extra chapter is NOT official

10) in the previous leaks other credits are tagged

11) izuocha being canon would be forced and rushed – like it doesn’t add up to me, ochako putting away her feelings about izuku is the start of her character development.. It doesn’t make sense if she goes back to those feelings she put aside BEFORE THE WAR this late into adulthood

12) the fact that there’s barely any mention of the suit in general is throwing me off too – like in the last chapter there isnt enough info about it either so id expect the extra chapter to have atleast A LITTLE MORE INFO

13) himiko and katsuki just being izuochas wingmen makes zero sense to me like this feels like fanfiction its OUT OF CHARACTER FOR THEM ALL

14) hori HINTS romance rather than stating it – like bkdk his hinted in the japanese manga and togachako isnt as subtle but its HINTED so him randomly deciding to make izuocha obviously canon just feels wrong

15) NO MENTION OF HAWKS?? A MAIN PRO HERO?? OR ENDEVOUR?? ANOTHER IMPORTANT CHARACTER??

16) WHERE THE FUCK IS THE LEAGUE..? LIKE HIMIKO AND DABI ARE THE ONLY ONES MENTIONED. WHERE IS SHIGARAKI. THE MAIN VILLAIN. IZUKU COULDNT SAVE HIM PROPERLY SO THAT MUSTVE SCARRED HIM SOMEWHAT..?

17) okay so its said that izuku joins KATSUKI’S AGENCY first of all its wonder DUO, ITS SUPPOSED TO BE THEIR AGENCY – putting that aside no way in hell would katsuki open an agency that fast.. like since izukus still a teacher here, we know he went to get a teachers degree after highschool so its confirmed that hes in his early 20s, and katsukis the same age, its unlikely that he could open an agency that quickly

18) adding to my last point, in the last chapter, katsuki kept his hero ranks low on purpose until izukus suit is over so its way more likely that he probably working for an agency and also the fact that he probably started working after most of his classmates because of his heart issues SO NO WAY DID HE SET UP AN AGENCY ON HIS OWN WITHOUT IZUKU THAT FAST

19) THE PAGES AREN’T RELEASED DIGITALIZED UNTIL THE OFFICIAL RELEASE

20) text bubbles from the leaks look like theyre from some shoujo more than horikoshis

21) if a handhold is soooooooo romantic then what the hell was bkdks handholds…. handholds plural btw BKDKS HANDHOLDS ARE ALSO WAY MORE INTIMATE.. LIKE?

22) how are you still dreaming about toga after like a decade and then u decide u want some guy who u liked for like half a year and who you GOT OVER

23) ochakos character revolves around izuku in these leaks which makes NO SENSE BECAUSE CANONICALLY SHES MORE THAN THAT. THAT CRUSH IS OVER. ITS BEEN ESTABLISHED. HER DREAM WAS TO SAVE PEOPLE AND SEE THEM SMILE, NOT WIN OVER IZUKU,, HER CHARACTER IS SO MISUNDERSTOOD BY FANS SO ITS VERYYYYYYYY LIKELEY THAT A FAN LIKE THAT DREW THESE LEAKS

anyways in the actual last chapter bakudeku kiss and himiko comes back to life for ochako and everybody lives happily ever after ❤️

[buckets-and-trees]

Huffily Ever After: A CindereLloyd Story [7/8]

Chapter Seven - Conversations on the Final Night

Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 6.9k Summary: Can you say anything to Helen that can possibly salvage your situation? There's also one more person who still wants to talk to you, and he won't be denied.

SERIES Content/Warnings: modern Cinderella adaptation, unknown identities, enemies to lovers, toxic coworkers, eventual THE SMUT IS HERE CHAPTER SPECIFIC: breaking and entering; explicit smut: kissing, grinding, nipple play, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal penetration, creampie; praise; use of endearments: princess, Cinderella; coarse language

Previous Chapter | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Your eyes scanned the lobby, searching for Helen's familiar face. She was seated in one of the plush armchairs, her tablet in hand, looking every bit the powerful executive you remembered. When she saw you, she stood, and you straightened up a little taller as you approached the Nexus VP of Strategy and Innovation.

"Hello," she said, her voice calm and measured. "I think we need to talk somewhere private. Shall we?"

She gestured towards the hotel bar, which was relatively quiet at this hour. You nodded, following Helen to a secluded corner of the bar. As you settled into the plush leather seats, a waiter appeared. Helen ordered a sparkling water, and you did the same, your mouth suddenly dry.

Helen folded her hands on the table, her piercing gaze fixed on you. "I've heard some very concerning things in the last twenty-four hours," she began, her tone neutral. "I'd like to hear your side of the story."

There was nothing else for it.

You launched into a detailed account of the events leading up to your firing, careful to stick to the facts as you knew them. You explained your interactions with people from Hansen Global, emphasizing that they were all above board and at no point involved discussing substantive current business.

Helen's expression remained impassive as she listened. You continued into recounting the events of today, explaining how you had learned about Zhongxin’s departure over social media, and then how Amilla had ambushed you with the firing. You were about to launch into sharing what you'd learned from Claude about the disastrous meeting that apparently took place between Zhongxin and Amilla, but at that point, Helen raised her hand to stop you.

“I’ve heard more than enough,” she huffed.

Your heart sank.

“You know I wasn’t slated to come to Paris since I was in Amsterdam meeting with one of our potential new clients.”

You nodded, but didn’t say anything, her point clearly rhetorical.

“But I got a call last night that had me booking the first flight to get here to clean up a catastrophe.”

Helen's expression remained unreadable as she continued, her fingers idly tracing the condensation on her water glass. The soft clink of glasses and murmur of hushed conversations in the bar seemed to fade away, leaving you hyper-focused on her every word and gesture.

"When I got that call," Helen said, her voice low and measured, "I was told that we had lost our biggest international client." She paused, her eyes boring into yours. "You can imagine my shock and disappointment."

Your heart sank further, a cold dread settling in your stomach. The weight of Helen's words seemed to press down on you, making it hard to breathe.

It seemed Helen was about to confirm your worst fears - that your career at Nexus was truly over, that Amilla's version of events had prevailed. You braced yourself for the final blow, your fingers nervously tracing the condensation on your water glass.

"I've known Amilla for years. We started at Nexus around the same time, climbed the ranks together. We weren’t close friends, but close colleagues, and I thought I knew her character, her capabilities." Helen paused, her gaze drifting to the bustling hotel lobby beyond the bar's entrance. "I was wrong."

Helen's eyes returned to you, a mix of emotions flickering across her face. "What I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this table, understood?"

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest.

"My call last night was from Min Ho Song himself," Helen said.

Your eyes widened in surprise. Min Ho, the charismatic head of Zhongxin's marketing division, had always been your primary contact at the company. You remembered countless video calls, his infectious enthusiasm, and the way he'd championed your ideas to his superiors.

"Min Ho felt compelled to reach out to me directly, out of respect for the business relationship we've cultivated over the last year. He wanted to explain why Zhongxin was terminating their contract with Nexus." Helen's fingers tightened around her water glass, her knuckles turning white. "What he told me was... shocking, to say the least."

Your heart raced. You could only hope Claude’s story aligned with what Min Ho had told Helen.

Helen took a sip of water before continuing. "Min Ho recounted a disastrous meeting with Amilla in Shanghai. Her behavior was unprofessional, dismissive, and frankly, insulting. He said it was clear she had no real interest in maintaining the relationship with Zhongxin."

You felt a mix of reassurance and vindication wash over you. Claude's account had been accurate. You hadn’t thought to doubt Claude, but after so much of the ground had shifted out from under you since last night, the fact that you had confirmation here that you could trust your new friend sent warmth into the cracked and fractured parts of you.

"But that wasn't all," Helen said, her voice dropping even lower. "Min Ho also expressed deep concern about some of the changes Amilla was proposing to their marketing strategy. Changes that would have undone much of the innovative work you and the rest of your team had implemented."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "But why would she do that? Those strategies were working well."

Helen's expression hardened. "Because they weren't her ideas. From what I've gathered, Amilla has been feeling threatened by your talent, your potential, and your success since I first assigned you to her team. I was optimistic that she’d change her attitude, but I’m afraid I was wrong, and it only ever got worse.”

You were speechless. You had packed away or deflected so many of your doubts or the moments when you felt discouraged or undervalued by Amilla, Anya, or Holly, determined to muscle through it, immersing yourself in the other parts of your job that were still good - working with the clients, strategizing, building and executing campaigns.

Helen let out a heavy sigh. "I should have seen it sooner. I knew Amilla could be difficult, but she should have been leading her team, not resenting any of them, and I never imagined she'd let her insecurities jeopardize a major client relationship like this."

You sat in stunned silence, trying to process everything Helen was telling you. The vindication you felt was overshadowed by a deep sense of betrayal and hurt. All those times you'd doubted yourself, pushed harder, stayed later - had it all been for nothing?

Helen reached across the table, her hand covering yours. "I owe you an apology. I should have been paying closer attention, should have stepped in sooner. I doubted my instincts, worried that I was just being overprotective and biased because of your history working on my team before I took this new position."

Your eyes widened, and you bit the inside of your lower lip, overcome with emotion, but still on edge, processing information. "So what happens now?" you asked hesitantly.

Helen's expression softened slightly. "Amilla has been terminated, effective immediately. Her actions were inexcusable and a clear violation of company policy and ethics."

Relief washed over you, but it didn’t take away all the anxieties - not yet.

"And what about me?" you asked. “Can I have my job back?”

Helen raised an eyebrow. "No. Your firing was completely baseless, but there’s no way I can bring you back only to put you in your former role.”

Helen's words hung in the air for a moment, and you felt your heart sink. But then, a mischievous glint appeared in her eyes, and she reached into her sleek leather briefcase. "I have a better offer."

With a flourish, she pulled out a thick black folder. The soft glow of the bar's ambient lighting caught the embossed Nexus logo on its cover, making it shimmer like a beacon of hope. Helen slid the folder across the polished mahogany table, its smooth surface allowing it to glide effortlessly towards you.

"This," Helen said, tapping the folder with a perfectly manicured nail, "is overdue. I had HR working on this before the conference, but with everything that's happened, I'm even more certain it's the right move."

Your heart pounded as you reached for the folder, your fingers trembling slightly. You opened it, your eyes scanning the contents. The first page was a formal letter, addressed to you on Nexus letterhead. As you read, your eyes widened in disbelief.

"Team Director and Regional Lead for International Strategy and Innovation?" you breathed, looking up at Helen in shock.

Helen nodded, a proud smile spreading across her face. "It's a new position, one that I've been advocating for since I took on my current role. You’ll direct a team - like I did, like Amilla did - but we’re expanding, and I need a point person for each region who will report directly to me and help shape the strategy and provide leadership for all the teams working with clients in their region."

You continued reading, taking in the details of the job description, the generous salary offer - doubling what you made before, and the expanded responsibilities.

“I knew you had the talent and potential, but now you have more years of experience and have proven at this conference from everything I’ve seen and heard that you can make valuable new connections and expand conversations about what we do and how we do it.”

You felt a rush of emotions - pride, excitement, and a touch of apprehension. This was a massive step up, a role with significantly more responsibility and visibility within the company.

"Are you sure?”

Helen leaned forward, her eyes intense. "I am. You've earned it and no one can question anymore that you would only be promoted because of our history working together.”

The enormity of the opportunity before you was overwhelming. Your mind raced, trying to process all the implications of this new role.

You opened your mouth to speak, but found yourself at a loss for words. How could you possibly articulate the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings swirling inside you? Just hours ago, you had been fired, your world turned upside down. And now, here you were, being offered a position beyond your wildest dreams with two other job prospects waiting with Claude and Maggie.

“Don’t accept my offer now. I always tell people to sleep on a job offer before accepting,” Helen remarked. “And when you contact me in the morning, ask for ten thousand more. I won’t be able to give it to you, but I’ll be able to counter offer with five and your choice of the regions because your my first appointee to the regional leadership team.”

You stared at Helen, stunned by her candid advice. A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you processed her words. It was so quintessentially Helen - always pushing you to advocate for yourself, to aim higher.

"I... thank you, Helen," you finally managed, your voice thick with emotion. "This is beyond anything I could have imagined."

Helen's eyes softened, a hint of pride in her gaze. "You've earned it. Your work speaks for itself, and your handling of this situation has only confirmed what I already knew about your character and professionalism."

You nodded, still feeling slightly overwhelmed. "I appreciate your advice about sleeping on it. There's a lot to consider."

Helen leaned back in her chair, a knowing smile playing at her lips. "I imagine there is. The news about your firing has spread like wildfire,” you grimaced at this, “but so have the rampant but credible rumors of offers coming your way.”

You reached for your drink to take a sip.

Helen laughed. “Offers you’ve already received, I take it. Let’s get you something stronger to drink to celebrate then!” And she signaled for the garçon.

you go to dinner with maggie

then you head back to your room

As you approached your hotel room, the events of the day swirled in your mind like a kaleidoscope of emotions. The shock of being fired, the rollercoaster of revelations, and now the promise of an exciting new future - it was almost too much to process. The dinner with Maggie had been a delightful reprieve, filled with laughter and animated discussions about her vision for the think tank. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself drawn to the idea of being part of something new and innovative.

You fumbled with your key card, your fingers still a bit clumsy from the celebratory glasses of wine you'd shared with Maggie. As the door swung open, you were surprised to see a warm, golden glow spilling out into the hallway. Hadn't you turned off all the lights before leaving this morning?

Stepping into the room, you froze, your breath catching in your throat. The soft, warm glow was emanating from the bedside lamp, casting long shadows across the plush carpet. As your eyes adjusted to the dimness, they landed on a figure lounging casually in the armchair by the window.

Lloyd Hansen sat there, one leg crossed over the other, a leather-bound book open in his hands. He looked completely at ease, as if he belonged in your private space. The golden light caught the sharp angles of his face, softening them slightly, and for a moment, you were struck by how different he looked outside of the conference halls - more relaxed, almost approachable.

But that fleeting thought was quickly overwhelmed by a surge of shock and anger. Your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins. “What are you doing here, and how did you get in my room?” you demanded.

His piercing gaze met yours, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. "There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you'd lost your way."

He closed the book with a soft thud, setting it aside as he rose to his feet. In the dim light, his tall frame seemed to fill the room, and you found yourself taking an involuntary step back.

"You didn't answer my question," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "How did you get in here?"

Lloyd chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Come on. You're far too clever to think I'd reveal all my secrets so easily. Let's just say I have my ways."

You felt a shiver run down your spine, unsure if it was from fear or something else entirely. Lloyd's presence was overwhelming, filling the room with an energy that was both thrilling and almost dangerous.

"That's not an answer," you said, forcing steel into your voice. "You have no right to be here. Get out before I call security."

Because that’s what you should do, right? Call security.

Lloyd took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "Now, now. Is that any way to treat someone who's come to offer you congratulations?"

You blinked, confusion momentarily overriding your anger. "Congratulations? For what?"

A slow smile spread across Lloyd's face. "For your new position, of course. Team Director and Regional Lead for International Strategy and Innovation. Quite the impressive title."

Your blood ran cold. How could he possibly know about that? You'd only just received the offer hours ago.

"How did you…?”

“Or are you considering one of the other two offers you already know about? Bennington Corporate Consulting is going to try and catch you in the morning as well.”

Your jaw dropped. “Bennington?” You’d hardly spoken to anyone from their delegation.

He nodded. “You’ve certainly been the bell of the ball this week.”

Your mind flashed back to his comments the day before - “enjoy your flash in the pan conference fame, pumpkin, because it takes more than a couple of clever questions and answers to make it longterm in this business.”

Had that really only been a day and a half ago?

So much had happened since then.

Even between you and Lloyd - a softening last night at the gala, but then fire between you two as things had come crashing down around you this morning.

"Just enjoying my 'conference fame'," you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "That’s what you said, right? But I guess other people saw more than ‘a couple of clever questions’."

Lloyd's smile widened, a glint of something like admiration in his eyes. "Ah, you remember. I'm flattered."

"Get out," you said, your voice low and firm. "Now."

You were done playing games and you didn’t want Lloyd ruining the last hours of your final night, especially not now that you had so much to be excited about again.

But instead of leaving, Lloyd took another step closer, closing the distance between you. You could smell his cologne now, notes of sandalwood and something spicy that smelled familiar and made your head spin slightly. Or maybe that was just the wine from dinner.

"You misunderstand me," Lloyd said. "I'm not here to patronize you.”

You looked up into his face and sighed. “Look, I don’t know or even really care what you’re doing here at this point. Today has been the best of times and worst of times, and I just need you to leave.”

“Today did not go the way I wanted it to,” he replied, unmoving.

Your laugh was bitter. “Your day?” you scoffed. “Your day. Sure.”

“Fuck, I know your day was worse, but it wasn’t supposed to be a shit show. I didn’t want that for you.”

Your chest constricted. What did he mean by that? He hadn’t had anything to do with today, and maybe he would have been able to share some of what Claude had told you about Zhongxin, but…

"Please, Lloyd. I'm tired. I just want to be alone."

He studied you for a moment, his piercing blue gaze seeming to see right through you. Then, to your surprise, he nodded. "Very well. I'll go. But before I do, I have something for you."

Lloyd reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. He held it out to you, his eyes never leaving yours.

You hesitated, eyeing the box warily. "What is it?"

"Open it," he insisted.

You frowned, but hesitantly took the box. Your eyes flicked back up to his once more before you tilted the top open.

You gasped.

And then in the next instant, you launched yourself at Lloyd, wrapping your arms around his chest without a second thought, because sitting pristinely in the modest jewelry box in your hand was your mother’s necklace.

Lloyd stiffened for a moment as you collided with him, clearly taken aback by your sudden embrace. His arms hung awkwardly at his sides, and you could feel the tension in his body. But then, slowly, almost hesitantly, his arms came up to encircle you.

His body was warm and solid against yours, the crisp fabric of his shirt brushing against your cheek. For another heartbeat, you both stood frozen, the air between you charged with an unexpected intimacy.

Then you suddenly remembered yourself and that this was Lloyd Hansen, and you let go and stepped back, hastily wiping at tears that had sprung from your eyes at the relief of the return of your most prized possession. “Thank you,” you breathed.

"I found it on the terrace last night after I told Chen off - which, by the way, was thoroughly satisfying. It was lying there in the moonlight, the chain broken," Lloyd explained, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I almost missed it, but it caught my eye as I was heading back inside."

You listened, transfixed, as he continued. The warm light of the lamp softening his usually sharp features.

"I recognized it immediately, of course. I'd noticed it earlier in the evening - it's quite striking, and I know how meaningful it is to you."

Your hand instinctively went to your throat where the necklace usually rested.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the open box still in your hand.

You nodded and handed it to him before turning around, grateful for a moment to have your back to him after the overwhelming surge of gratitude and then the unexpected moment of tenderness between you in that hug.

You felt Lloyd's presence behind you, the warmth of his body radiating through the space between you. His fingers brushed against your neck as he carefully fastened the clasp of the necklace, sending a shiver down your spine. The familiar weight of the pendant settled against your skin, and you let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding.

"There," Lloyd said softly, his breath warm against your ear. "Where it belongs."

You turned to face him, your hand reaching up to feel the necklace hanging in its right place. "Thank you," you said again, your voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

Lloyd's eyes softened, a hint of vulnerability flickering across his face. "I think I might have some idea," he said quietly.

You stared at Lloyd, your mind racing. The way he was looking at you now, the softness in his eyes, the gentleness of his touch as he fastened the necklace - it all felt achingly familiar. And suddenly, like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, you realized why.

The man from the masquerade. The one who had swept you off your feet, who had made you feel seen and understood in a way so few people in your life ever had before in the few hours you’d shared together. The one whose kiss had left you breathless and yearning for more. It was Lloyd.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the realization washed over you. The height, the broad shoulders, the way he moved with such grace and confidence - how had you not seen it before? Even his scent, that intoxicating blend of sandalwood and spice, was the same.

"It was you," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "At the masquerade. I told you the necklace belonged to my mother."

“And that she said it would bring you good luck,” he added softly.

Anger flared within you, hot and sudden. "I thought it was you! Last night when we were dancing, I thought…” you took a step back. “But you just deflected me. Was this all some kind of game to you?"

The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thick with tension. You took another step back, putting more distance between yourself and Lloyd.

"Did you think it was funny?" you demanded, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. "Watching me stumble through our interactions, never quite sure why I felt so drawn to you despite your infuriating behavior? Was it amusing to see me struggle with these conflicting emotions?"

“No!” Lloyd took a step towards you, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "No, I didn’t know until last night at the dinner - it was the first time your necklace was openly on display. But do you think it was a picnic for me this week? Overhearing two people I don’t even know gossip over me at a cafe the first morning of the conference? Literally bumping into that woman only hours later, having her appear in the circle of people I’m supposed to interact with, and - as my father so kindly informed you - take the spot I might have had at the panel yesterday?”

Your mind raced back through every encounter you'd had with Lloyd during the conference. The heated debates, the sharp exchanges, the moments of unexpected vulnerability - they all took on a new light with this revelation.

"So what was all of that then?" you asked, your voice quieter now but still tinged with hurt and confusion. "The antagonism, the competition - was any of it real?"

Lloyd ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that seemed uncharacteristically nervous for him. "All of it was real," he said. "My frustration, the admiration that grew for your intellect, my attraction to you - it was all real.”

You opened your mouth to push against him more, but before you could form the words, Lloyd surged forward. His hands cupped your face as his lips crashed against yours, hard and insistent. The sudden intensity of the kiss stole your breath away, igniting a fire that spread through your entire body.

For a moment, you were too stunned to react. But then instinct took over, and you found yourself responding with equal fervor. Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as you melted into the kiss. The familiar scent of his cologne enveloped you, bringing back flashes of that magical night at the masquerade.

Lloyd's lips moved against yours with a desperate hunger, as if he'd been holding back for far too long. Your hands slid up Lloyd's arms, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, before coming to rest on his broad shoulders. His body pressed against you, warm and solid, as he backed you up against the wall. The cool surface against your back contrasted sharply with the heat radiating from Lloyd's chest, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers tangled in Lloyd's hair as the kiss deepened, your bodies pressed tightly together against the wall. The heat between you was intoxicating, clouding your mind and making it hard to think of anything but the feel of his lips on yours, his hands roaming your body.

With a low groan, Lloyd broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as you both caught your breath. His blue eyes were dark with desire as he looked at you, searching your face.

"I've wanted to do that all week," he murmured, his voice husky.

You let out a shaky laugh, your head spinning. "Even when you were being an absolute jerk to me?"

A wry smile tugged at Lloyd's lips. "Especially then. You're magnificent when you're fired up."

His words sent a thrill through you, and you found yourself pulling him in for another kiss. The world around you faded away, leaving only the electric current passing between your bodies. Lloyd's hands roamed down your sides, settling on your hips and grinding into you.

A soft moan escaped your lips and Lloyd's mouth moved to your neck, trailing hot kisses along your jawline. His teeth grazed your pulse point, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you. You arched into him, craving more of his touch.

"Lloyd," you breathed, your voice husky with desire.

He pulled back slightly, his blue eyes dark with passion as they met yours. For a moment, you both stood there, chests heaving, the air between you charged with unspoken longing.

"Tell me to stop," Lloyd murmured, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "One word from you, and I will.”

“No words, just this,” you demanded, pulling him back in for another searing kiss.

Lloyd groaned against your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs. In one smooth motion, he lifted you up, pinning you against the wall as you wrapped your legs around his waist. The new angle allowed you to grind against him, eliciting a low moan from Lloyd that sent shivers down your spine.

His lips blazed another trail of hot kisses along your jawline and down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You tilted your head back, giving him better access as your fingers tangled in his hair. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the heady aroma of desire, intoxicating you further.

"Bed," you managed to gasp out between kisses. "Now."

Lloyd didn't need to be told twice. His clothing hadn’t done much to conceal his muscles all week, and you experienced now the strength of them as carried you effortlessly across the room before throwing you down on the bed.

You landed on the plush hotel bed with a soft thud, your heart racing as you looked up at Lloyd. He stood for a moment at the foot of the bed, his eyes raking over your body with undisguised hunger. He crawled up to join you, his movements predatory.

Lloyd hovered over you, his intense gaze locked on yours. The weight of his body pressed you into the mattress as he captured your lips in another hungry, searing kiss. Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders and down his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt.

With deft fingers, you began unbuttoning the shirt, desperate to feel his bare skin against yours. He shrugged out of it impatiently, tossing it aside before turning his attention to your own clothing. His hands slid under your blouse, leaving trails of fire in their wake as they skimmed up your sides.

"Off," Lloyd growled, tugging at the hem of your top. You arched your back, allowing him to pull it over your head. His eyes darkened as they raked over your newly exposed skin.

Lloyd's lips descended on your collarbone, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. His hands roamed over your body, caressing and exploring as if memorizing every curve. You arched into his touch, craving more.

With deft fingers, Lloyd unclasped your bra, tossing it aside. His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses down the valley between your breasts before capturing a nipple between his lips. You gasped at the sensation, your fingers tangling in his hair to hold him closer.

As Lloyd lavished attention on your breasts, his hand slid down your stomach to the waistband of your pants. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire but seeking permission. You nodded eagerly, lifting your hips to help as he tugged your pants and underwear down in one swift motion.

Lloyd sat back on his heels, his eyes roaming over your newly exposed body with undisguised reverence. The soft light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow across your skin, highlighting every lush curve and dip. You felt a momentary flicker of self-consciousness, but it was quickly extinguished by the raw desire blazing in Lloyd's eyes.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he breathed, his voice low and husky.

His gaze traveled slowly up your body, taking in every inch of you. He drank in the sight of your full, shapely legs, the soft swell of your hips, the gentle curve of your stomach. His eyes lingered on your breasts, full and heavy, before finally meeting your eyes.

What you saw there made your breath catch in your throat. There was no hesitation, no hint of disappointment or judgment. Instead, Lloyd's eyes blazed with unbridled desire and admiration as they met yours. His gaze was so intense, so full of raw need, that you felt yourself flush under his scrutiny.

"Come here," you murmured, reaching for him.

He did so immediately, but you knew instinctively it wasn’t to comply, but only because he wanted to. He lowered himself over you, his skin hot against yours as he captured your lips in a searing kiss. You reveled in the feeling of his bare chest pressed against you, your hands roaming over the planes of his back.

As you kissed, Lloyd's hand trailed down your body, skimming over your curves before dipping between your thighs. You gasped against his mouth as his fingers found your center, already slick with arousal. He stroked you slowly, teasingly, swallowing your moans with his kisses.

"Lloyd," you whined, reaching for his belt, needing him to be as naked as you.

He chuckled darkly against your neck as your fingers fumbled with his belt buckle. "Patience, Cinderella," he murmured, his breath hot on your skin. But despite his words, he pushed back and knelt on the mattress, allowing you better access.

You made quick work of his belt and zipper, pushing his pants and boxer briefs down his hips. Lloyd shifted off the bed, standing briefly to kick them off completely, and you took a moment to admire his naked form. His body was all hard muscle and sharp angles, a stark contrast to your softer curves. Your eyes traveled down his torso, following the trail of dark hair that led to his impressive erection.

Lloyd caught you staring and smirked, his usual cockiness returning. "Like what you see?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

Instead of answering, you reached out and grabbed his hand, tugging him back to join you on the bed. He crawled over you once more. Lloyd's body pressed against yours, skin to skin, as he settled between your thighs. The feeling of his hard length against your core sent a shiver of anticipation through you. His lips found yours again in a deep, passionate kiss that left you breathless.

You arched into him, craving more contact, more friction. Lloyd's hand slid down your side, gripping your thigh and hitching it higher around his waist. The new angle allowed him to grind against you more fully, and you both groaned at the sensation.

"Lloyd," you gasped against his mouth, your nails raking down his back. "I need you."

Lloyd pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire as they met yours. "I’m not fucking you with a condom," he stated, his voice strained with barely contained need.

You shivered at his bold declaration, a rush of heat coursing through you.

"IUD," you breathed and arched up to press against him. "Please, Lloyd. Fuck me already.”

A low growl rumbled in Lloyd's chest at your words and he nipped at your bottom lip. He positioned himself at your entrance and with one smooth thrust, he buried himself inside you to the hilt.

You cried out at the exquisite fullness, your body stretching to accommodate his impressive size. Lloyd stilled for a moment, his forehead pressed against yours as you both adjusted to the overwhelming sensation.

"Fuuuuck," Lloyd groaned, his voice rough with pleasure.

He began to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm that had you gasping with each thrust. Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling him closer as your hips rose to meet his.

The room filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure - gasps, moans, and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin. Your nails raked down his back as the tension coiled tighter in your core.

"Damn, you feel amazing," Lloyd breathed against your neck, his voice strained with effort. "Such a tight, perfect cunt."

His words sent a thrill through you, stoking the fire burning in your veins.The headboard knocked against the wall with each powerful movement, but you were too lost in sensation to care.

Lloyd shifted slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts. Suddenly, he was hitting that perfect spot inside you with each stroke. You groaned, your body trembling as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable point. You slipped your hand down between your bodies to rub your clit, and Lloyd grunted in approval.

"That's a good girl, touch yourself for me," Lloyd growled, his voice husky with desire. "I want to feel you come undone around my cock."

His words pushed you even closer to the edge. You circled your clit faster, matching the rhythm of Lloyd's increasingly urgent thrusts. The tension inside you built to a fever pitch, your body trembling on the precipice of release.

"Lloyd," you gasped, your free hand gripping his shoulder tightly. "I'm so close."

"Let go," he commanded, his blue eyes blazing into yours. "Come for me, now."

As if your body was obeying his command, your orgasm crashed over you in waves of intense pleasure. You cried out, your back arching off the bed as your inner walls clenched tightly around Lloyd's length. The sensation of your release made him snarl and snap his hips faster and more violently against yours. It didn’t take much longer, and then with a guttural groan, he thrust deep inside you one final time, his body shuddering as he spilled himself within you. The feeling of his hot release prolonged the high from your own orgasm, smaller waves of pleasure rolling over you feeling him fill you with his cum.

For several long moments, you both remained still, breathing heavily as the waves of pleasure slowly subsided. Lloyd's weight pressed you into the mattress, and you welcomed it, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You could feel his heart racing against your chest, matching the rapid beat of your own.

Finally, Lloyd lifted his head, his blue eyes meeting yours. The intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat. There was a vulnerability there that you hadn't seen before, a softness that contrasted sharply with his usual bravado.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow but still infused with a potentially dangerous heat, and you couldn’t help but surrender to it. Then he rolled onto his back, taking you with him, holding you against his chest, and he stared up at the ceiling.

You lay there for several long moments, your head resting on Lloyd's chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow. The room was quiet except for the sound of your mingled breathing and the distant hum of the city outside.

"Well," Lloyd finally broke the silence, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "That was..."

"Unexpected?" you offered, tilting your head to look up at him.

A smirk played at the corners of his mouth. "I was about to say something far too salacious for your delicate princess ears, but unexpected works too."

You scoffed, poked him in the side, and tried to move away from him as he flinched, but he chuckled while easily keeping you trapped with his arm still banded around your back. With his other hand, he tilted your chin up, and kissed you again until you melted against him.

Once mollified, you curled up against him again, settling into the last of the post-coital haze. As it began to clear, the landscape of the situation started to come into focus. You had just slept with Lloyd Hansen - the man who had been an enigmatic menace to you all week, who had prodding you and perplexing you in equal measure. The man who, as it turned out, had also been the mysterious and irresistible masquerade dance partner you had yearned for since that magical night together at Versailles.

You propped yourself up on an elbow, looking down at Lloyd. His blue eyes met yours, a clear level of satisfaction in their blue depths.

“What is it, Cinderella?” he asked, mustache twitching as he smirked at you.

"So you said you didn’t figure out who I was until last night, but why didn't you say something once you knew?”

Lloyd's smirk faded slightly as he considered your question.

"Honestly? I wasn't sure how to approach it," he admitted. "Our interactions had been complicated, to say the least. I didn't know how you'd react if I suddenly revealed that I was the man from the masquerade."

You nodded slowly, understanding his hesitation.

"Plus," Lloyd continued, a hint of his usual cockiness returning, "I enjoyed our verbal sparring. I didn't want it to end just yet."

You couldn't help but laugh at that. "Of course you did."

Lloyd's hand trailed lazily up and down your spine, sending pleasant shivers through your body. "And I’ll admit part of me wanted to win you over as Lloyd Hansen.”

Your chest tightened - but not in an unpleasant way - when he said that.

“Of course my plans were shut down when everything went to hell this morning with Zhongxin and Amilla," he conceded.

You nodded, remembering the chaos of the day's events, including your own unfair vitriol toward him. "So why come here tonight?"

Lloyd's lips quirked into a smirk. "Well, I couldn't very well let my Cinderella leave without her glass slipper, could I?" He nodded towards the necklace still hanging around your neck.

You rolled your eyes at his cheesy line, but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. "And the breaking and entering?"

“I like my share of villainy.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head at his audacity. "You're incorrigible."

"And you can’t resist it," Lloyd retorted, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You bit your lip, not wanting to admit how right he was. Instead, you changed the subject. "What happens now?"

Lloyd groaned and rolled you over, pinning you beneath him. “Clearly I need to fuck you until your pretty little head is empty so we can stop the inquisition.”

You grinned. “If you think I’m going to complain about a threat like that, you’re wrong,” you replied.

Lloyd's eyes darkened with desire as you spread your legs invitingly. He lowered his head to trail hot kisses along your neck, nipping gently at your pulse point.

"So eager," he murmured against your skin. "I like that."

His hand slid down your body, fingers tracing teasing patterns along your inner thigh. You arched into his touch, craving more. Lloyd chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

"Patience, princess," he admonished playfully. "We have all night."

final chapter: DEPARTURE DAY

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[rynbutt]

pierced. pt. 8 | spencer reid.

When you told Spencer you loved him, he didn't know how to react. JJ helped him see what he was missing... but what if he never got to tell you himself?

you can find the other parts on my masterlist.

cw: fem!reader, angst, guns, criminal minds shiii, mentions of murder, being shot, etc.

a/n: re-upload cus i was unhappy with the previous one >:(

You and Spencer had been together for seven months.

Seven months of impromptu late night visits to your apartment when he got back from trips, watching his favourite documentaries while he talked the whole way through them, your surprise visits to the bureau with a box of pastries, seven months of proving to Spencer that he was worth every ounce of happiness he felt. 

Spencer didn’t believe in miracles or signs, but just your pure existence was enough for him to ponder such things. You understood him, you were patient with him and his demanding work, you were kind to him and let him ramble about whatever was on his mind, even if it took him far too long to get to the point. You never got angry with him when he shut down or had a hard time verbally communicating his problems, you were just there and that was enough.

You knew you loved Spencer, it was hard not to. You knew how Spencer felt about the ‘chemical and hormonal reactions of affection’, if anything it made you love him more, how technical and literal he was about virtually everything. You loved him nonetheless and you knew you wanted to tell him, even if you would never hear it back or you would be met with an analysis of why you felt ‘love’ for him. How it was all technically just your vast attraction and affection towards him and the bond you’d created. You’d roll your eyes and tell him you loved him anyway.

“You got your keys?” You called from the bathroom as you combed your hair.

Spencer had slept over once again. He basically lived with you, many of his clothes and books were packed into your cupboards and shelves, some pairs of his shoes sitting in the bottom of the closet next to yours. He even spent time going over case files while you were still at work, making sure to feed Tofu and have dinner ready for you. You had fallen into a domestic routine and you knew how much Spencer liked routine. 

“Yeah, what time will you be home?” Spencer called back from the living room, gathering case files and books into his satchel.

“Maybe five? I have an early finish,” you replied, leaning close to the mirror to comb mascara through your lashes. You heard Spencer’s footsteps nearing as he approached you in your ensuite, pulling the door open to kiss you goodbye.

“Okay, I just have paperwork to do today, maybe we can go out for dinner tonight?” He suggested, leaning his head against the doorframe.

“Sounds perfect, Spence,” you smiled.

“Okay,” he grinned, “I’ll see you tonight. Call me before you leave?”

“Yup, I will,” you turned to look at him. Spencer leaned down to kiss your cheek.

“Okay, angel,” he smiled, turning to leave your bedroom. “Bye!”

“I love you!” you called out, grinning at yourself in the mirror when you heard his footsteps come to an abrupt stop. You knew he hesitated for a moment before the footsteps continued and your apartment door latched closed.

Spencer wasn’t one for proclamations of love, cringing at the scenes in rom coms before over analysing every detail. You would always remind him that it was just a movie, and that it’s nice to tell people you love them. Spencer always dismissed the idea, but you weren’t going to sway on telling him you loved him, you felt like he needed to know that someone loved him and that in a room full of people, he’s the only one you would look for.

You weren’t offended when he didn’t say it back or come running back into the bathroom to confirm what you said. If anything, you expected it. You just wanted him to know how you felt.

Spencer drove in silence, both hands gripping the wheel as he replayed your confession in his head. Sure, his parents had told him they loved him when he was a young kid, but Spencer knew it was because of maternal and paternal instincts. But you. You loved him because you knew him, because you understood him, learned his flaws and loved him anyway. 

He walked into the bullpen in his own little bubble, barely registering that other people had greeted him as he made a beeline for his JJ’s office. Spencer shoved the door open, startling JJ who was on the phone to Will.

“Spencer? What- Hold on,” JJ said.

“Y/N told me she loved me,” Spencer almost yelled, his hands gripping the strap of his satchel.

JJ stared at him for a moment before bringing the phone back to her ear, “Hey, Will. I’ll call you back, okay?” She hung up the phone, turning her attention to Spencer, “...what’s wrong with that?”

“I don’t know! I just- I didn’t expect it, and I’m not sure how I feel or if she’s mad because I didn’t even say it back and I don’t even know if I should say it back-” he rambled, pulling a chair out to sit at JJ’s desk. 

“Do you love her?” JJ asked, eyes narrowing at Spencer who seemed entirely too worked up.

“What?” Spencer asked.

“Do you love her?” JJ repeated. Spencer opened his mouth and JJ held up her hand, knowing he was going to ask an overly analytical question, “When I ask if you love her, I mean do you miss her when she’s not around? Or do you get excited when you see her? Do you look forward to seeing her at the end of the day?”

Spencer stared at her a moment, thinking about it, “I do… But feeling affection toward someone you care about is entirely normal-”

“What you feel is love, Spence,” JJ replied. “It’s probably something new to you but you don’t have to fight it.” “I’m not fighting it,” Spencer retorted, “I’m thinking about it factually-”

“You’re fighting it,” JJ said blankly. “You’re probably afraid to lose her, afraid that it’ll all go wrong somehow just because you say you love her… In my opinion, it’s important to remind the people you hold close that you do love them, before it’s too late to tell them at all.”

Spencer didn’t say anything as he thought about it, his lips forming a tight line.

“Loving her looks like it comes naturally to you,” JJ said honestly.

Spencer spent the rest of the morning thinking about it, thinking about you and how irrational he felt when it came to you. He wanted to make you happy, wanted you to be proud of him. He wouldn’t care if he had no one else as long as he had you. 

The case they were working on was local to the area. Spencer didn’t anticipate working on a case at all, no one did, but after Hotch called them in, they realised they had little time to act. Three women had been abducted over a week, all turning up dead within 24 hours. The most recent victim they were looking for had maybe 12 hours before she would be found the same way.

They worked the case all day, Spencer and Rossi stayed behind to set up a geographical profile while Emily, Hotch and Morgan visited the morgue to establish victimology. It helped Spencer take his mind off the guilt of not returning your confession. He knew he was definitely thinking about it more than you were, it’s the type of person you were. You were honest and you were never ashamed of your feelings, he always wished he could be like that.

By the four hour mark, Spencer and Rossi were sure they had established the UnSub’s comfort zone and with help from Garcia, they had found where he was keeping the last victim.

It all moved so fast from there.

The house was secluded, a large shed in the back and surrounded by mostly forest. Hotch sent JJ, Morgan and Spencer to cover the shed while he stayed back with Rossi and Emily to cover the house. Spencer held his gun close as he rounded the shed, searching for a way in. He suddenly thought of you and he didn’t know why. 

Spencer heard the victim before he saw her. He called for JJ the moment he saw her hunched in the corner, duct tape over her mouth and her wrists and ankles bound. Spencer put his gun away, gently peeling the duct tape from her mouth.

“You’re okay,” Spencer said, peeling the tape from her ankles.

The girl began crying, “thank you,” she hiccuped, tears streaming down her bruised face, “thank you.”

“We found her,” JJ said into her mic, putting her gun away as she helped the girl to her feet. “Where’s the UnSub?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer muttered, wracking his brain.

They walked outside, Spencer helping hold the girl up as she stumbled on her weak legs. Morgan jogged over to them, “Where the hell is he?”

“Help Hotch and Rossi,” JJ suggested.

Spencer frowned as he looked around, “he could very well be watching us-”

Spencer felt the pang against his abdomen before he heard the gunshot. Before he knew it, he was on the ground, a splitting pain surging through his body from his right side. He heard the victim scream, JJ diving to the ground with her. 

His chest felt heavy, like a weight had been dropped on him. He blindly reached his left hand down, feeling the warmth oozing from his abdomen, not the best place to be shot. He lifted his hand, crimson blood covering his skin. His ears were ringing, he couldn’t hear, could barely see. All he could think about was you. You, you, you.

“Spencer!” JJ yelled, crawling to his side, “oh my god.”

“We need an ambulance!” Morgan exclaimed. Two of the local officers escorted the UnSub out of the house in handcuffs. 

Spencer looked up at JJ, her hair hanging down in front of his face, blocking the bright sun, “Can-Can you do me a favour?” His voice was weak, every word hurting his chest as he spoke.

“Just- shit! Hang on a minute!” JJ pressed her hands against the wound, Morgan falling to her side to press his over shirt against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. 

“Can you tell- Can you please tell Y/N I love her,” Spencer muttered out, breathing heavily.

“You can tell her yourself, kid,” Morgan replied, his hands covered in Spencer’s blood. After that, Spencer felt himself growing more and more tired, his eyes falling closed as JJ and Morgan yelled for him to stay awake. He couldn’t do it, he was so tired, he just needed to shut his eyes. Just for a minute.

You felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders when you told Spencer how you felt. It was always important to you that the people you cared for knew how much you appreciate them, Spencer was no exception. But you knew Spencer probably wouldn’t say it back, at least not right away, and you were okay with that. You were sure he would come around eventually. Eventually was good enough for you.

You sat at your desk for most of the day, only getting up to refill your mug or get on the ass of one of your coworkers who hadn’t submitted their project yet. You hadn’t heard from Spencer all day, which upset you a little given that Spencer was always calling or texting you about something. You understood it probably had something to do with your love confession.

By the time five o’clock had rolled around, you still hadn’t heard from Spencer. So you decided to call him. Your phone rang for a short while before you heard his voicemail, you assumed he was probably still busy with work.

“Hey, Spence. I’m on my way home now… Call me when you can,” you said before hanging up. You leaned against the elevator wall, wondering if maybe you frightened him a little too much.

As if on cue, Penelope’s name blinked across your screen, you answered the call, “Hey Pen-”

She sounded frantic, “Y/N, thank god! Y/N, Spencer’s in the hospital-”

“What?!” You stood bolt upright, your hand death gripping your phone.

“He was shot! We-We were working a case and he was just-”

“Where is he?” You ran as soon as the elevator dinged open, fumbling for your keys in your purse as you ran to the car garage.

“We’re at the hospital, he’s in surgery and I-”

“Send me the address, I’m coming now.”

You weren’t sure how you didn’t get pulled over with how fast you were driving. You couldn’t think straight, all you had on your mind was Spencer. You pulled into the closest car park outside the ER, not even bothering to check if you were supposed to pay or not. 

You bolted inside, your heart in your throat the moment you saw everyone sitting in the waiting room. Hotch was pacing back and forth and Penelope looked like she had been crying. You didn’t even realise it but you had been crying too, hot tears streaming down your face. Penelope saw you first, darting up from her seat to meet you halfway.

“You’re here,” she muttered into your hair, holding you tight.

“W-What happened?” Was all you managed to get out.

“We were tracking an UnSub and we found one of the victims on his property and he just- he shot him. I don’t even-” Penelope let out a deep breath.

“Fuck,” you breathed, feeling as more tears began streaming down your face, ruining your makeup.

“Y/N…” JJ came to hug you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders. You held JJ for a moment as you cried, sniffling into your hand. 

“Where is he?” You asked as JJ pulled away.

“He’s in surgery,” JJ replied, guiding you over to sit down with the rest of the team. You felt numb as you sat down next to Emily, your hands held tight in your lap. JJ was talking to you but you couldn’t hear her, you couldn’t hear anything. Emily rubbed your back, letting you cry softly as she comforted you.

It was hours before you heard anything. You had cried so much that it made you exhausted, falling asleep against Emily. Rossi draped his coat over you, letting you rest until the surgeon came out to the waiting room. Emily gently shook your shoulder and you shot up once you noticed the surgeon.

“He’s okay.”

You felt like the weight of the world lifted off you.

“Can I see him?” You asked. “He’s on a lot of pain medication-”

“Please,” you sounded pained.

“Of course,” the surgeon said, “he might be out of it for a few days, but for now he’s stable.”

One of the nurses guided you to his room as the surgeon briefed the rest of the team on Spencer’s condition. You would ask JJ to give you the details later, all you wanted right now was to see Spencer, hold his hand, just be with him. 

Your heart squeezed when you saw him, cords hanging around him everywhere, an IV in his arm and his eyes closed. He would have looked like he was peacefully asleep if it weren’t for the beeping, the needle in his arm, the sterile smell of the hospital ward and the thin tube under his nose. 

You pulled a chair next to him, sitting down by his bedside and reaching for his hand. His hand was still warm despite the coldness around him. You let out a sigh of relief, bringing his hand to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckle.

No one could get you to move after that. Penelope and Morgan tried to get you to come get food with them, Hotch and Rossi both offered to drive you home so you could get some sleep. You refused. You couldn’t leave him, not now. Not when he needed you.

a/n: i'm a degenerate when it comes to mgg

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[bugsbenefit]

who's getting books and who isn't?

tells you a lot actually

in lieu of us getting a Dustin companion book soon i'm doubling down on my point about how insanely telling these books are about where the story is going. especially if you look as who is getting books. and i'm saying this both about El and Will (where it's already kind of obvious why s5 is important for them) as well as Mike (where it's also kind of obvious why s5 is important for his character but it hasn't reached mainstream awareness yet apparently lmao)

as of now Lucas, Max, and Dustin (about to come out), as well as Robin and Eddie, and even Hopper and Terry have one. and they all explore things outside of the main canon by doubling down on what filmed canon already established and adding a bit more layers since they have the time to focus on a single character (like exploring racism and how Lucas deals with it in his book, something the show doesn't dwell on, or exploring Robin's queerness, taking place before the events of s3)

and the focus these books have makes sense since they're mostly written by commissioned writers. so obviously they want to skirt any topics that delve too much into plot heavy areas where the writers a) wouldn't know where the story is going or b) even if they got notes, you don't want important lore drops that impact the later story dropped in companion books

in short we're getting extra story's about no spoilery topics the main story doesn't have time to/want to explore

which makes it all the more interesting we're already getting books about someone like Robin when you know if you asked fans what povs they'd like to see someone like El would rank significantly higher if you trust favourite character rankings. but for some reason El, Mike, and Will have never gotten one

and some of these reasons are just really obvious, especially when it comes to El and Will

1) they obviously can't just drop a book on El yet. on one hand, because her backstory with the lab is a major plot point of the show and they can't spoil it in a book (even if they tried excluding it, writing 200ish pages for a character who can't remember what happened before they turned like 8 is one of those things that would be kind of hard to avoid coming up). even post s4 there's still so many questions about her past and time at the lab, they just shouldn't give unlimited access to her inner monologue about it yet. and on the other hand, El finding her place in the world is quite literally one of her characters main recurring motives, even a companion book as innocuous as "El tries out hobbies" would be exploring something we'd kind of want to see on screen since it'd be a resolution to her character growth and not a fun side quest

2) they also just can't drop a book on Will. the fact that we never found out what actually happened to Will in the UD is already reason enough, the show clearly wants to explore it on screen later on. (now even more obvious since there's already confirmed s1 UD Will in the s5 official teasers). you really can't write a book from someone's pov who's main trauma and life changing moment is something you don't want to get into yet. just doesn't work

there's plot points the show obviously saved for later so both Will and El are pretty unfit as book topics

but with Mike that doesn't actually apply in the same obvious way. Mike not getting a book despite being the leader of the party, having the most on screen defined dynamics with the other kids, and being part of the shows "main" ship would be really odd. like. Really odd. on paper he'd probably be one of the first choices for an easy book protagonist for a fun party side quest. of course unless one of the two book deal breaker reasons applies also:

they can't give his pov because giving his unfiltered inner monologue would spoil s5

they want to explore something relevant to his character themselves on screen and it's not fit for a companion book

but again, in comparison to Will and El where the why is really obvious Mike sticks out because we don't officially know what he's got going on yet. he has no mysterious absence where we don't know what happened to him like with Will and no open ended origin story like with El

it just makes it a bit funnier to me how many people are still fundamentally unconvinced Mike has something going on that's important for the outcome of s5. post s2 the show tries to get some distance from Mike's head and he's joined the club of main characters who don't get books alongside major canon event magnets El and Will. and yeah, obviously you wouldn't want a book from the characters pov who's feelings and sexuality you're actively hiding. it's also a bit of a no brainer you don't want a companion work going into how he's not been doing so great over the past few years because the reasons for that are kind of relevant to the main story. Mike feeling guilty for El dying all the way in s1 is something that might be more fit to bring up in show when their relationship is being addressed instead of in side material

but all in all? the fact that out of all the kids El, Mike, and Will are the only ones who don't get secondary material yet is probably the biggest give away that the three of them are who s5 is planning to give the most insight on even all the in show build up aside. they're being skipped as book povs despite existing public interest and seeming like conventionally easy picks for book side stories

in the current economy around shows franchises, going against what'd be a good marketing decision is always a dead giveaway something is going on

[klonoadreams]

Book 7 finale murdered me, but hey I WAS RIGHT!! I WAS FUCKING RIGHT ABOUT THE SENATE CREATING THIS MONSTER BUT HOLY SHIT

I did not expect it to be this bad, literally granting a child SO MUCH POWER, THAT HE CAN’T EVEN LAUGH OR SAY OUCH WITHOUT HURTING SOMEONE.

But more than that, Lilia apologized to Malleus!! THIS IS ALL I EVER WANTED, HIM FINALLY CLOSING THE DISTANCE TOO, AND ACTUALLY REVISITING THAT LESSON IN BOOK 6 WITH A BETTER UNDERSTANDING

Imma sob, Malleus ready to enjoy the precious memories even with the pain, that's what it should've been in Book 6. It took a while, but Lilia finally acting like the dad he actually is to Malleus.

And lmaoo it was Idia who dealt the final blow, I'm losing it, dude was like aw fuck, they're too weak to love for this and just does it himself.

Also congrats to everyone officially aging, AND TO THE CONFIRMATION THAT RIDDLE IS ONLY A MONTH OLDER THAN ACE LET'S FUCKING GO FOR ACKNOWLEDGEMENT!!! WEWWWW

Anyways since Malleus was nerfed, his magic is still there, just harder to use as he finally gets a full catharsis of his emotions after so long. While great, my first thought was also "oh we're fucked for book 8"

I like to think personally, he could fix his horn, but nah, he wants it that way also out of spite to the senate cuz fuck them. Get rid of them, bunch of dead ass bastards.

Praise be to the Sorcerer's Apprentice, no fucking wonder Rollo got a slap on the wrist by the NRC gang, they want this fucker to learn from his mistakes while also being selfish too. Jfc, thank you Mickey and Yensid for your hard work of making messes and cleaning up from it.

I'm so obsessed with this, because I was always wondering why it was called Sage's Island and the platinum cards with the Fantasia scenery, BUT IT FINALLY ALL CAME TOGETHER LMAO.

I'm full of emotions also say hello to my son

I will never recover emotionally from this, but I lovemy dumbass cat and tsunotaro.

(Also yes, he's still losing the horn in Counting Sheep cuz I want Lilia to live and get his magic back and also want that family moment with Silver, it was Malleus returning what Lilia gave him in the egg so mamy years ago, I'm emotional wehhhh)

(Don't touch me, I'm not over Yuu (ewe) being the only person who was always closing the distance betweenher and Malleus and always inviting him over into her activities like im so fuckinv emoooooo fkdlxlkcnc)

(Flooooofff i can't believe I added this fucking meaning to your interactions with Malleus, Floof you beautiful beast tamer you)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Miss Raven, Is it just me or is it weird how they didn't bring up Ace's UM later again in book 7?

[You can read more about Ace's UM here!]

Ace's UM is actually brought up again in the book 7 chapter 13 part 1 update (7-313)! Right before the Heartslabyul Battle Map begins, Riddle praises his first years, Deuce and Ace, for finally gaining their UMs.

"Ace. You really always surprise me. That unique magic allows the exchange of one's own magic and the other's magic. Before I knew it, the magic I should have held onto tightly had become something else (a card). It was like a magic trick! It's frustrating, but for a moment I didn't know what had happened."

So I guess we got formal confirmation that Ace's UM isn't "stealing" someone else's UM, but rather trading his magic and the target's, which is what Sebek initially suggested. We also get confirmation that an indicator of this swap being successful is a playing card appearing in his target's hand. However, we're still missing many details. For example, does the magic swap encompass ALL of a target's arsenal of spells and not just UM? We also still don't know the limitations of Joker Snatch. For example, is there a time limit before it expires? Can Ace swap magic with literally anyone? How does this impact his own blot accumulation? Lots of stuff has yet to be elaborated on.

I think it's fine that we didn't cover much more of Ace's UM at the end of book 7; it's not the Ace Trappola Show after all. The ending really should have focused on Diasomnia (with some backup from Ignihyde), and I'm glad that it did. Book 8 and onwards is fine for exploring more of Ace's UM. (And it's not like bringing up UM one book but then exploring it in the next is anything new; similar things happened with other characters, like poor Cater who had his UM revealed book 1 but didn't expand on some limitations of it until book 7, like how each clone is weaker individually than the original Cater.)

[twomiddlefingersforthehaters]

Kishi shows us that everyone in the Narutoverse somehow understands the feelings between Naruto and Sasuke, that the two of them are somehow connected, and that the two have some influence on each other and If something happens to one of them, the other will react in an extreme way. Kishi used his other characters to point this out and make us pay more attention to Naruto & Sasuke.

A scene where Sakura and the others are doubting of Naruto and Sasuke's feelings for each other is something Kishi can't do directly. Otherwise, it would cause a lot of trouble, and it would confirm that there really is something going on between the two. readers are already confused and complaining about it without even those scene. But at least some readers finally see the gay and understand the narrative.

1. HAKU

Sasuke exposed his weakness (Naruto) in front of a enemy. Observing every move to avoid serious injury and forced to awaken his Sharingan to protect Naruto, of course Haku was watching him and absolutely found his weakness and used it against him. Haku knows if Naruto is used the fight will be over because Sasuke would jump in front of Naruto to save him.

2. OROCHIMARU

• Orochimaru recognizes the impact Naruto has on Sasuke's says a lot! He wanted to separate them immediately....if Sasuke ran away from his goal of becoming strong and risked his life for 'Naruto'....it would have hindered his plan.

• Also, when Orochimaru deliberately emphasized, “MySasuke-kun”… With this comment, Naruto's anger finally reached its peak and got insane to the point of sprouting 4 tails.

Some Native speakers reactions to Naruto's “ Don't say Sasuke's name in front of me like he's yours”

1. “You snap(get angry) there? Well, How should I say it?...Isn't that a little off? ”

2. “It was around the Sai arc that people started calling Naruto homosexual”

3. “ I think it would be much better without this -> "In front of me" ”

4. “He had been angry for a long time, but I got the impression that he lost his temper over this comment ”

5. “This line from Naruto is incomprehensible and scary, but I don't think it would be so strange if Itachi (or even Fugaku) said something similar and got angry at Orochimaru”

6. “Regardless of whether Naruto's anger and how he expressed it were justified or not, if you consider that Naruto is gay and in love with Sasuke, then it's an understandable emotion”

7.“ Even if the subject is a love interest, I'm still saying it's a strange line.”

@reply: “I don't agree with it, but I think there are ex-boyfriends who are so possessive in real life too.”

8. “That's weird for a shounen manga protagonist”

9. “Does that mean Kishimoto-sama knowingly making Naruto sick? Or was it that he wanted to emphasize, both inside and outside the work, that Sasuke is special to Naruto and that it is difficult for others to understand or interfere in their relationship?”

The word used by the said person was 病ませていた｡ Its dictionary form is 「病む (やむ)」 which means "to suffer from some disease/ illness/sickness". 「病ま」 is the imperfect form and 「せる」 is a causative auxiliary verb. So 「病ませる」 means "to make someone sick". 「病ませた」 is its past form. 「病ませてい た」 is its past progressive form.

10. “The Nine Tails' tail is gross, the lines are terrible, he has too many tantrums, he says Sasuke too much, etc.”

11. “If he was gay, would that explain it...? Doesn't that mean he has romantic feelings for Sasuke after all?”

12. “Even though you took the trouble to change the lines between the magazine and the book, you didn't delete "in front of me," Kishimoto-sama, You're particular about that”

[when publishing a book, changes may be made to the version published in the magazine (Weekly Shōnen Jump).]

@reply: “The fact that he sometimes fix things and sometimes doesn't it shows that Kishimoto-sama is aware of his abnormality is quietly frightening”

13.“At first glance, he's a bright, friendly Jump protagonist, but as soon as Sasuke gets involved, things get weird. That's what makes him unique and interesting.”

• Sensing Naruto's chakra, Sasuke quickly ordered to lead the way. As usual Orochimaru does not failed to notice the sudden mood changes in Sasuke.

• Sasuke was watching Naruto when Obito taunting and provoking him and he was crying when Obito sucked everyones's chakra. And of course Orochimaru noticed that Sasuke seems to be in a bad mood.

3. PAKKUN

Pakkun emphasizes Sasuke's attempt to protect Naruto despite in his bad condition.

4. KABUTO

5. KAKASHI

It's conon Sasuke is Naruto's Driving force and he's the one making Naruto stronger and stronger...

This panel shows that even other people, like Kakashi, can see that Naruto is really working so hard for Sasuke. Because Naruto, personally, believes in Sasuke and wants to save him.

6. ITACHI

When Itachi visited the village to kidnap Naruto after Hiruzen's death...Sasuke came between them. And Itachi noticed the way Naruto was so furious to draw Kyuubi chakra to protect Sasuke. Maybe that's why he came to this conclusion and asked Naruto “can you choose between Sasuke and Konoha? ”

7. SAI, PAIN & RAIKAGE

• Sai questioning “Why does that naruto still care/concerned about sasuke or why does he feel strongly about Sasuke despite he betrayed and hurted him?”

• Sasuke stated in their first fight that Naruto would never be able to understand him because he never had anyone in the first place no family no siblings, he was always alone. Now, Pain fixed that problem by nuked the village and pretty much murdered everyone. After the fight, Naruto recollects what Sasuke said in Vote 1 and what pain told him. Naruto realizes that he was wrong to think he knew what Sasuke was going through without having experienced something similar to what Sasuke did. After the death of jiraiya he understand a bit about wanting to avenge your important ones' death and how much it devour you. He now realized that it wasn't realistic that he thought he could get through to Sasuke without understanding his feelings and pain. That's why he says he understands Sasuke in this arc.

• this not considered friendship in the Shinobi world

(he's begging on his knees to spare sasuke's life but he's threatening cloud its so funny)

8. TOBIRAMA

In the Land of Waves arc, when they were only 12 years old, they could team up together without any direct communication. We know that the last time they fought together was 4 years ago, even then they could team up together without any direct communication.

9. KURAMA

• Sasuke couldn't even handle Naruto losing his arms despite he himself had lost one. How would he react when he sees Naruto dead in front of his eyes???? Those expression and his lines before proves that Sasuke may have had his mind set on killing Naruto. But the reality is that if that happens, his heart could not handle it. Kishi used Kurama to foreshadow this.

• Naruto gives kurama an extreme Glare when kurama lectures him about how he's never been able to do anything for Sasuke. And later in the war arc Naruto flashbacked about Sasuke and showed everyone that he regrets not reaching out to Sasuke back then when they were kids, even though he wanted to reach out to him.

• It's such an unnecessary scene, but Kishi brings up the kiss again lol. As usual, Naruto reacted very dramatically.

He had the same reaction when he accidentally kissed Sasuke in chapter 3, after which he quickly went to Sakura to verify his feelings and it didn't take him long to realize that he loves Sasuke. Kishi's deliberate thoughts and plans in that chapter screams “Naruto might be a Gay boy who wants to deny it really hard ”

Otherwise, Kishimoto literally didn't have to do any of this!!

10. EBISU

It's from the Pain arc, where Ebisu Sensei remembers Naruto's growth. From everyone calling him a 狐のガキ = kitsune no gaki = fox brat Or a "Kyuubi kid" to actually calling him by his real name “Naruto”.

[ガキ: in a rough way to say, which has negative nuance. This word comes from Buddhism monsters "餓鬼(がき)= gaki" born in the hell, which devour foods. There are people who call their children "gaki," but I don't think they mean it in a bad way. However, as a listener, it leaves a bad impression. The word "gaki" can also be used in a negative sense to describe a childish or immature person. ]

The memories begin with the people of Konoha hating him, and later the people of Konoha praise Naruto for stopping Gaara from attacking Konoha, and for bringing Tsunade in as the 5th Hokage.

When Jiraiya died the villagers says, “Is Naruto okay? He will not lose his heart, he will keep looking forward". Before that this panel appears when it comes to Sasuke. Even the people of Konoha felt that Naruto would be depressed if Sasuke wasn't in Konoha with Naruto.

The word used here is 落ちこんで which means to be depressed; to feel down; to feel sad; to be in low spirits.

落ちこんで is the conjunctive form of 落ち込む and the particle で is added to express the state in which the action of ``depression'' is in progress.

e. g:

- 彼は失恋して、しばらく落ちこんでい た。

- kare wa shitsuren shite , shibaraku ochikondeita .

-He was heartbroken and depressed for a while.

- 仕事のストレスで、彼は毎日落ちこんで過ごしている。 - shigoto no sutoresu de , kare wa mainichi ochikonde sugoshiteiru.

-He feels depressed every day due to the stress of work.

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Of Cupcakes and Skulls | Part 5

(A/N) Getting this ready one minutes before it's going up. xD Hope you enjoy a little bit of domestic downtime between the trio. Don't know for how long it will last. ;)

Pairing: single dad! Mafia! Simon x baker! Reader

Warning: kissies, fluff, angst, comfort, Simon is fucking smitten

Synopsis: Based on this post by @lunamoonbby

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Finding Millie’s room was easier than you anticipated, the penthouse was ginormous after all, but once you saw a door, covered in soft pinks, blues, yellows, and oranges, creating a beautiful sunset, you knew you had reached your destination. You softly knocked and waited for a response from inside, before entering and smiling at the little girl. Once Millie saw you in the reflection of the mirror she sat in front of, a big, toothy grin took over her face. You approached, taking in the room. It looked like something straight out of childhood dreams.

The walls were painted in a beautiful shade of pink, one was even painted to depict a field of gorgeous wildflowers. Her bed was in one of the corners, surrounded by thick, heavy curtains, creating a cozy nook that offered privacy. One wall was covered in bookshelves, offering every children’s book you could think of, and was completed with a small, comfortable reading chair. The rest of the room was covered in soft rugs and a multitude of toys. And then there was the little vanity Millie was sitting at. The table was covered in hair ties and bows as if she was trying to decide which one to wear. You joined her there, smiling at her through the mirror.

“Want some help getting ready?”

Millie nodded vigorously, and after she explained what kind of hairstyle she wanted, you got started, brushing her soft hair, before splitting it off into two sections, carefully creating space buns, which you decorated with small, light blue bows. Once you carefully arranged a few strands to frame her face, and she confirmed that she was happy, you noticed that you couldn’t see a wardrobe anywhere in the room.

“Where are your clothes?”

Millie, who was still inspecting her reflection with a gleeful smile, glanced up and pointed to a set of double doors, on the far side of the room. You immediately got a hunch of what was awaiting you, but were still surprised when you pulled the doors open. The best way you could describe the room you just walked into, was the walk-in closet from ‘Princess Diaries 2’. For a few moments, you just stood in the doorway and gawked at the massive collection of clothes, shoes, and accessories.

“Are you okay?”

You turned to look at Millie, who had walked up to stand beside you, quickly closing your mouth, though your eyes stayed wide.

“Uh…yeah. That’s a lot of clothes. How do you decide on what to wear?”

Millie shrugged and walked in, gently grasping your hand on the way and pulling you along with her.

“Sometimes I know. Sometimes I close my eyes and…and point.”

As if to demonstrate, she slapped her tiny hand over her eyes and spun a few times before stopping and pointing at a random dress. You chuckled as you watched her, your head cocked to the side as you watched her, lowering her hand and giggling as she walked and grabbed the dress. It was made of a heavy and thick material, the pattern reminding you of a kilt.

“I like this one. J-Johnny gave it to me.”

You wanted to ask who Johnny was, but before you could, you heard a soft knock on the door to Millie’s room.

“Are you almost done? Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.”

Simon peeked inside, smiling when he saw you and his daughter.

“Almost, we’ll be down in a second, okay?”

His eyes flickered from you to his little girl, who by then was head first in a drawer full of tights before they returned to you. They were filled with adoration, and you couldn’t help but smile, as he nodded, glancing once more at his daughter before he left the room and walked back to the kitchen.

As soon as he was gone, you turned back to Millie, who was by then holding a pair of thick, grey tights.

“That what you want to wear?”

She nodded with a smile, so you quickly helped her get changed, before you switched the light blue bows, to red ones, that fitted the dress better. Once both you and her were satisfied, you took her hand and together you walked to the kitchen and through to the dining room, where a buffet of breakfast awaited you. Simon was already sitting at the table, a cup of tea and a glass of orange juice in front of him, with that day’s newspaper open, on his lap. But as soon as you entered, he glanced up and closed it with a grin, putting it away for the time being. He patted the seat next to him, and you watched as Millie bounced up to him, before he got to his feet and picked her up, whirling her around once, before carefully setting her down on her high chair.

He then glanced at you, beckoning you to the other side of him, with a smile. You followed and sat down next to him, not protesting when his hand found your thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Breakfast was chaos. Millie insisted on playing multiple different games while she ate her pancakes. Additionally, she had been given free rein with the syrup, you were just glad that you had put a napkin over her dress at some point, so you didn’t have to change her clothes. Once everyone was done, you helped Millie put on her shoes and coat, before Simon sent you back to his bedroom.

“There should be some clothes on the bed, we’ll wait here.”

You looked at him surprised but did as you were told and walked to the room, where you did find a pair of really expensive-looking jeans and a T-shirt in your size, as well as a well-worn and oversized sweater. And once you pulled that sweater on, you immediately knew that it belonged to Simon. A smile spread on your lips as you wrapped your arms around yourself and enjoyed the feeling for a second, before making your way downstairs. By then Simon had also gotten dressed, wearing the same coat he was wearing when he came to visit you the day after you met him and Millie, but instead of the black suit, he was wearing a pair of black dress pants and an expensive-looking, dark grey sweater. He grinned when you came into view, pulling you in by your waist once you were close enough, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Looks good on you. Even better than I thought it would.”

You smiled and rose onto the tip of your toes to press a quick kiss to his lips, before lowering back down.

“Do I want to know how you got clothes in my size that quickly?”

He smirked, moving closer again until his lips ghosted over yours.

“I work in mysterious ways.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle as he pressed his lips to yours in a quick peck. Both of you were so lost in the moment that you didn’t even notice Millie tugging on your sweater until she spoke up.

“Can we leave? We’re late.”

Simon and you, both glanced down at Millie, who while still looking at the pair of you with happiness in her eyes, now also showed signs of nervousness. Simon quickly nodded.

“Of course, munchkin.”

While Millie waited, Simon quickly helped you into your coat as you simultaneously pulled on your boots. Within a minute, you were done and Simon opened the door for the two of you. Once outside the penthouse, you used the elevator to get to the garage, where a black limousine was already waiting for you, a man dressed in a black suit in front of it.

“Johnny!”

Millie let go of her father’s hand and bounced to the man, who quickly kneeled down and enveloped her in a hug, chuckling as her tiny arms wrapped around his neck.

“Millie!”

You glanced up at Simon, but he just shook his head, glancing at you in a way that simply said ‘later’. You nodded, turning back to watch as the man, Johnny, carefully strapped Millie into her car seat, before he turned to Simon.

“Boss?”

“Ride in the back with Mills. We’ll take the front.”

Johnny nodded, winking at you before he rounded the car and got into the back seat. You could hear Simon mumble something under his breath, as he watched the other man win at you, making you giggle. You grab his arm, smiling up at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m only interested in you.”

He smirked before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Good.”

Still smirking, he led you to the passenger door and opened it for you, waiting until you were all buckled in before he closed it and rounded the car to get to the driver’s side. Once inside and buckled in, he turned the key, and the car purred to life, much smoother than you were used to with your old and mostly broken car. And then you were off.

Simon easily pulled out of the garage and onto the street, moving through the city traffic without issue, his hand on your thigh. After a few minutes, he glanced into the rearview mirror, nodding. You quickly turned and watched, as Johnny pulled out a pair of headphones and placed it over Millie’s ears. She glanced up for a second, before turning and looking out the window.

“You’ll stay with her today. I want eyes on her at all times. Kyle will be on the perimeter. If anything happens, get her out of there and contact me, okay?”

Johnny nodded.

“Yes, boss.”

Your eyes returned to Simon and watched as he swallowed thickly, obviously nervous. Frowning, you covered his hand on your thigh with your own, giving it a gentle squeeze. He glanced at you, a soft smile on his lips, as he let out a nervous sigh.

After a few more minutes, you pulled up in front of a daycare center and watched as Johnny got out of the car, before getting Millie out as well and setting her down on the ground.

“Have a great, munchkin. Johnny will stay with you today, but we’ll pick you up later. I love you.”

Millie waved through the open door, a wide smile on her face.

“Love you too, Daddy!”

You waved at the little girl through the window and watched as she waved back, continuing to do so until you rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. A smile stayed on your lips as Simon continued to drive through the streets. You didn’t pay any attention as your mind instead went through the events of the last few days and weeks, the smile getting replaced by a frown whenever König entered your thoughts.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

You glanced at Simon, who was already glancing at you from time to time, while still keeping his attention on the road. When you didn’t respond, he spoke up again.

“You look worried.”

You shook your head, before glancing at your intertwined hands, still resting on your thigh.

“Just…just worried about König. I know you won’t let anything happen to me, but…I can’t shake the fear.”

A frown settled on Simon’s face before he squeezed your hand and quickly pulled into a parking spot. Once he killed off the engine and unbuckled himself, he turned to you and gently grabbed your face, turning it so that you were looking at him.

“I know you are scared, and you have every right to be, but I swear, on my life, that I will do whatever I have to, to keep you safe. If anyone harms as much as a hair on your head, I will rain down hell on them, I will drag them before Hades myself and make sure they receive a punishment fit for their crimes.”

You didn’t even notice the tears slowly drifting down your face as his words registered. His thumbs carefully wiped away the tears, pulling you closer until he could press a kiss to your forehead, before undoing your seatbelt and pulling you over and into his lap, holding you close against himself.

“I won’t let him get to you. I promise.”

You nodded against his chest, cuddling into his embrace and letting the feeling of safety wash over you. After a few moments of staying in his embrace, you slowly pull back, careful not to press on the horn, and look around. Familiarity washed over you as you took in your surroundings and your head quickly swiveled to the left, where you saw the front of your bakery. But…it didn’t look like your bakery. At least not like how you imagined it after what happened the day before.

“What…what happened?”

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Call of Duty - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

Tags: @lunamoonbby @distinguishedprincesstrash @xanvasy

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[thatnonameuser]

I like how Winston is rightfully pissed at MC. Her horrible naivety, the dumb hopeful behavior really fucking both their lives up, sad. MC still believes that she can change things to morph her perspective and ideals (ie. Save lives and escape or talk things through) which makes everything much more easier for the others to twist and manipulate. She's still playing by her own rules;; That's why I believe she's losing. That and major disadvantage when facing all these magically equipped yandere, 100% the worse place to be a darling ngl. If Riddle can fix your injuries with a swoosh of a hand, who's to say he's not afraid of you getting hurt so you can learn your lesson? If Chenya can hold you and follow you any time with his UM, who can say whether or not he's always there.

I can't wait for her to succumb to the world and realize, she's going to have to rewire herself if she doesn't want to be "just a darling". The only people hellbent on helping her are those in her dreams.. which gives me an idea. How will we escape? The key to escaping seems to have been broken but.. Winston's wedding ring seems to still have remnants of it. Will the other darlings have one too? Will we need those to escape? Are they hidden somewhere in the school? Just what ifs scenarios

He has every reason to be angry with her. If she never appeared his last strand of sanity wouldn’t have snapped and the only real, working exit he had would still be usable.

Winston sees her as a hallucination, a cruel voice promising him freedom that made his life worse (sort of like the Cheshire Cat in Winston’s recollection) while she ‘tried’ to help him, her decisions tore what was left of him to shreds. Winston’s madness isn’t just directed at her for putting him in this situation, it’s also at himself for perpetuating his suffering by rebelling against his wife. His mind was already in tatters, MC and Alice were just the final straw. 

You can’t completely fault her for being naive, she’s still not completely used to this world yet. A few days isn’t enough to completely rewire herself to adapt to her new, crappy and extremely disadvantaged situation, and she needs to learn and experience things to adapt to them. In later chapters, she’ll go very far to protect herself, stumble a few times and screw up even more, and maybe threaten her own life in the process, but she’s going to learn. Besides, she made one smart decision, learning how far they’re willing to go and willing to lie, is a decent first base for her on her path to fighting back.

For MC, Winston is a lesson in not being naive. He was naive, look where that got him once he opened his eyes. Should she try to bury her doubts with the idea of, ‘I just have to talk my way out of this, be cautious and I'll be fine.’ she’ll end up the same way he did. Miserable and terrified. Later on, she’ll grow to be less empathic and more distrusting, and how to manipulate her situation to her advantage. (She’s still going to suffer though)

Now for the part of her, finding a way back….. I’m waiting for TWST to tell me how the hell that’s going to work. I don’t want to write a way out yet because TWST still needs to confirm some things for me, but since there is one more Earthling Darling she’s yet to meet, maybe I’ll figure it out. Mostly since I have my own idea of how Book 8 is going to go, I want to see what happens first before I make the story’s way out.

Huge downside about the ring though, unfortunately, is that what remains of it is locked away in the Queendom of Roses, where only the royal family can access it. So unless MC goes heisting she’s not going to be able to get it. 

One little thing though, MC's presence won't have as big of an affect on all the OG stories. For this one she's a participant, for a few others she's mostly an observer with the ability to communicate with the other darlings.

[iceclew]

Did I accidently write more than just a few lines of dialogue for this scene?... *shyly fumbling with fingers* 🥹👉👈 maybe...

Sorry, I suck at words and this isn't betaread nor properly proofread and I am not native english, I'm very sorry in advance...

full story down below

(Chappel Roan - Love me Anyway)

(Benson Boone - Slow it Down)

"VICE-CAPTAIN!!!!"

The tiny moving plush-like thing in his hand apparently started screaming as well now.

"WHY ALWAYS MEEE!?!?"

What looked like the chibi mini-version of the Defence Force's biggest trump card, struggled to hold on his thumb, kicking around those little feet of his.

"Well, now I'm quite curious abut THAT story..."

"I CAN'T TURN BACK AND I AM T I N Y !!! (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )"

"I see that... How'd you even get in here?"

Tiny #8 stopped fidgeting a bit. Instead two unproportionally big round dark eyes goggled at him. It was undeniably adorable to look at. "Well after THIS happened, I couldn't grab my phone on the table anymore, so I ran around to find someone, but I figured Narumi and Kikoru would very likely take advantage of my situation and do something stupid with me."

"Oh yeah, they definitely would and I get why, honestly."

"So I ran around to find you, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW BIG THE 1st DIVISION IS, WHEN YOU'RE LIKE THIS, OK?! And then I saw the slightly opened window and just crawled in... ༼☯﹏☯༽"

"Wait... you know where my temporary place in the 1st Division is located? Why?"

"....Coincidence? (*ﾟｰﾟ) "

He sighed. "Well just when you think you saw everything...Kafka Hibino enters the stage..."

"SIR, WHAT SHOULD I DO?? WHY ARE THESE THINGS ALWAYS HAPPENING TO ME??"

"you really want me to answer that, bud?", he barely tried to hide the undertone of his voice, which left the small creature on the palm of his hand baffled for a second.

"Wha-? HEY, MEAN!! What are you on about!?"（＞д＜）

"Yeah, maybe, I don't know STOP CHANGING in general, like I told you f.ex.. or maybe stick to your training routine without going OVERBOARD on a regular basis? How 'bout that?"

The big dark round eyes got even bigger with every word spoken.

"Yeah, don't look at me like that, I might coincidently got wind of stuff, you know?"

His unexpectedly open and emotional response threw Kafka off. For a second he forgot about his *tiny* main problem, his mind jumped between confused and worried and he couldn't comprehend with his reaction for now. After some awkward seconds in silence, Hoshina's tone grew significantly calmer, but still sort of off to his usual self-assured expression. "Well at least this time you're actually telling me about stuff that bothers you, huh?"

Silence again. While hanging from the palm of his Vice-Captain's hand Kafka realized something (besides his size) was different. His senses grew more aware of his surroundings to find answers.

"Are... are you drunk, sir?"

Besides the slight scent of alcohol in the air, and the - well quite obvious - bottle of sake on the table, the startled twitch on his face confirmed Kafka's guess was right. Other than the sake the only other thing on the table were some snacks. Another odd thing to Kafka, who was used to see Hoshina's surroundings stuffed with documents, loose papers, books and other work related things.

The silence lingered around them uncomfortably. To Kafka's suprise Hoshina was seemingly struggling with words. A look on his face Kafka couldn't remember seeing before. Now his mind definitely jumped to 'worried'.

Hoshina tried to mimic an insulted face and looked away. "A little tippsy at most... I'm off-duty for tonight.." Besides the slightly blushed nose and cheeks, Kafka now noticed some dark circles under red eyes. "..and despite my gut telling me better, I assumed I probably won't be needed anymore today, and that I could hang loose a little. It's not my Division after all, there's another Captain and Vice-Captain in charge here. So I might as well make use of that chance... Should have known, it would end up that way or another.. " He smiled a bit and Kafkas felt like his heart clenching from the sight. "Although I definitely should have placed my bet on YOU to be the reason for that." He chuckled lightly, while his expressions grew somewhat softer.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"Nah, it's fine. As if I didn't get used to your-"

"I never put much thought to it, but ever since the Defence Force started preparing for the big counter attack on #9 your workload must've at least doubled in the 3rd and 1st Division.. and here I am still taking over the rest of your time as well..."

"Don't like where this is going, officer... You're not starting pitying me, are ya?"

"No I-...I just feel like.. I didn't realize, and there for not appreciated your work enough.." Silence. "And also.." The tiny kaiju had his look glued to the floor in front of him for a while now. "I know you told me to brush it off earlier but,... I truly regret ... not telling you about... #8 n'stuff.. I'm sorry... I'd change that if I could.."

A small plushy-sized Kaiju was gently put back on the ground again. Hoshina scratched his nose for a second, before bending far back to the other side of the room. He grabbed for his smartphone that was burried in piles of carelessly pushed aside documents.

"As I said. You're here now, aren't ya?" When he got his phone he chose to stay laid down on the floor and started typing something on the lightened screen.

A tiny transformed Kafka carefully made his way around and walked up on eye-level with Hoshina's face again. Once again overwhelmed by his current state of being, he let himself fall back on the floor and sat on the ground. "So... what should I do?"

"The first thing WE do is trying to make some calls. But since you seem to be in no life-threatening condition, we might have to wait 'till tomorrow for a first medical examination. If that's the case you'll stay, and I get you down to the lab first thing in the morning."

"Wait!" The tiny Kaiju made a suprisingly far jump right up to Hoshina's chest and pressed the (for him very big) red hang-up button on the screen with both paws. "You're right about that, I won't die this second from being tiny, so we might as well wait for tomorrow."

The questioning look on the opposite's face made a tiny Kafka look away and scratch his neck shyly. "Well, since you're ... I dunno,... I feel like, I can't have you be seen d-dru- .. like this by other officials of the 1st Division, b-because of me..."

A finger poked his forehead, which caused a tiny being like him to fall right back landing on warm soft fabric of Hoshina's shirt.

"Idiot. But you might be right about that."

[writerscall]

you’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.

author’s note/s: 2k+ words. trigger warning for some internalized homophobia. butterflies with girls hit different, hit better, but why was embracing it so difficult?

You liked Hazel Callahan.

Her friends knew it, your friends knew it, everybody who saw the way you two acted around each other knew it. You assumed even Hazel knew, since she’s stopped being shy about her own very likely similar feelings a while back.

But coming off from a break up with your longtime boyfriend and moving on to a girl right after just felt so strangely cliche, if that was even the right word for it. No, it definitely wasn’t, but you couldn’t be bothered to wrack your brain for a more appropriate one with the current situation at hand.

“I’m just saying, it’s fine. People know you’re into both teams — all teams now,” Isabel says. “Maybe just the one team? Anyway, there’s no right waiting time for you to start dating a girl after dating a guy. Mine was like, less than two weeks honestly.”

You snort, glancing at your friend lounging on your bed. If anyone understood what it felt like, it would be Isabel. “Well, unlike you, I only just realized that it’s not just guys for me. You said you always knew.”

Isabel considers your words, her head tilting to the side in thought. “True, but my point still stands. Plus people are gonna be a lot less judgy now that it’s college and not high school, everyone is discovering things about themselves and getting into new things. I really don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

If only assumptions could be confirmed right away. It was sweet of her to be so encouraging, and you did appreciate it, but your issue wasn’t really with everyone else. It was with yourself and feeling more… comfortable with all these new feelings. People often said you’d feel freer once you came out but they never talked about the process of fully coming to terms with it after, like it was an everyday type of thing. It still felt like a new pair of shoes that needed breaking in.

“Look, it’s no rush. But… don’t push Hazel out throughout all of this, okay? She likes you, and I know that you—”

“I know, I know.” You sigh. “She’s pretty hard to ignore, as we’re both well aware.”

Isabel smiles at you knowingly. “She just really likes being around you.”

It was funny how different things could feel inside while everything else around you stayed the same. Your earliest class was still at 8:30 and your latest at 3:00 in the afternoon, your roommate still ate an apple with her cereal every breakfast, your grandma still texted every night. And Hazel still waited by the bench outside your last class’ building, that giddy smile lighting up her face once she spotted you.

Your stomach flipped. You weren’t sure if it was nerves or excitement.

“Hey,” she says, jogging up to you with a grin. “I got us some scones from Popeyes. I think they made them a little bigger than usual today for some reason, so if you’re hungry, you’re in luck.”

“Oh, thanks, Haze. That’s really nice of you.” 

Hazel shrugs, shifting the Popeyes bag to her left hand. “Well, anything for you, you know.”

God, how was she making it harder and easier at the same time?

“Would you mind if we ate it in the dorms? Yours or mine, I’m fine with whatever. I just really wanna relax after such a long day.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course! Um, could I uh…” She fiddles with the hem of her shirt for a second, and you think she might ask if she could carry your books or your bag for you in that silent conversation she appeared to be having with herself. Cute. 

What came out next wasn’t either suggestion but it made your stomach flip again, in greater intensity now, and you were positive your heart actually skipped a beat too. If that was even biologically possible.

“Could I hold your hand on the way there? If that’s okay with you?”

Oh you could kiss her— you really could, and you would eventually. But time and place and all that.

You reach for her free hand in reply, smiling shyly as you lace your fingers together. The way Hazel’s eyes soften at the edges and her face literally brightens almost makes you forget about coming across anybody who might give the two of you curious glances. Hazel’s propensity for rambling about the happenings of her own day definitely helped, too.

Hard emphasis on almost, though. You knew you probably wouldn’t be bumping into your ex so soon since he did study elsewhere, but the fact that his brother went to your university totally slipped your mind.

You freeze when you hear that familiar voice call your name, the momentary panic overriding the guilt you felt at swiftly taking your hand away from Hazel’s when you turned in its direction. Breaking up with someone didn’t necessarily mean you were breaking up with all the other people that connected the two of you, and considering how you were being treated like always, his brother didn’t seem to be bitter or angry on his behalf. And thank god, cause you did not wanna deal with that with Hazel or anyone else around.

The conversation’s over quickly and soon you’re back on your way to the dormitories, but you keep your hand swaying alongside hers this time. It felt weird to just go back to holding her hand and you were also trying really hard not to overthink the dampened expression on Hazel’s face.

She only really speaks again once the two of you are in the comforts of her dorm room. “I’m just gonna be blunt here and say it… you know that I like you, right? Like in that kind of way?”

You did know, but the question takes you by surprise that all you can do is nod at her slowly.

“And I… I’m not trying to rush anything, I know you just broke up with your boyfriend about a month ago— and I’m totally not assuming your feelings are the same as mine, god I… sorry—”

“Hazel,” you say, walking towards her with an understanding look on your face. “I know what you’re trying to say. Thank you. And you don’t have to worry about anything in the feelings department, I promise.”

You take both of her hands in your own, holding on to them tightly. She gives them a squeeze in response. “One step at a time though, yeah?”

Hazel smiles at you, and maybe it was because of how intently she was staring at you, but there might’ve been a shine of tears in her eyes. “Yeah. I’ll be there every step of the way.”

The rest of the afternoon to early evening goes by just fine, but there’s this weird feeling in the air that you just can’t shake.

“Why are you doing the one thing I told you not to do?”

Your gaze shoots up from your laptop and then around the library, checking if anyone might’ve been looking. Isabel could cause a scene if she wanted to but thankfully, she was only whisper-shouting. Though if the conversation was going where you thought it was, it might not be whispers for too long.

After that day in her dorm room, you have been avoiding Hazel a bit. You did it little by little to avoid suspicion but you knew she was more perceptive and observant than she let on. It was just that damn encounter with your ex’s brother that made you realize further how much things would change, and as much as you liked Hazel— and you really, really did, there was an embarrassing part of you that wished things didn’t have to change.

It was so much easier with boys, that was true. But it felt so much better with girls.

“Look, Bel, the two of us agreed that we weren’t going to just jump into a relationship.” You tell her, although you know it wouldn’t sway her. “It just… it needs time.”

“And Hazel’s giving you that. Willingly. But she’s trying to be there for you and you’re just pushing her away.”

“Isabel,” you start, but she’s determined to have the final word.

“Take it from someone who knows: it’s a lot easier to accept that you like girls than it is to accept that you like them a lot more than you like guys.” She lets a moment pass, and then, “If you still even like guys at all.”

Now that definitely struck a chord. She’s right and you know it, and she knows you know it.

“I’ll talk to Hazel,” you say quietly. “I will. Today. I promise.”

The walk to Hazel’s dorm room has always made your insides tingle but this time, you knew you wouldn’t be soothed by the easy smile on her face that would greet you once she opened the door. At least it was likely that you wouldn’t with how you’ve been treating her.

You knock twice. “Haze? It’s me.”

You hear some shuffling behind the door and a breath taken exhaled before it opens, revealing the woman of the hour. Of every hour to you lately, in spite of everything.

“Hey.” She offers you a tired, half-hearted smile. You hate that she wasn’t beaming at the sight of you like usual. “Got your text. You sure you’re not too busy with something at the moment?”

You shake your head. “No. I really do wanna talk to you, Hazel.”

Hazel stares at you for a moment before opening the door wider and stepping to the side so that you can go in. When the door closes with a click behind you, you know there’s no running away this time.

You take a deep breath, wringing your hands together as you say, “I’m not gonna make any excuses. The way I’ve been shutting you out has been shitty and it has everything to do with me and all these new… feelings that I can’t seem to deal with. Or I guess, that I haven’t wanted to deal with.” You mutter the last part and steal a glance at her. Hazel is looking at you thoughtfully as she sits on the edge of her bed, her eyes silently urging you to continue.

“This is all pretty new to me. I’m not like you or Isabel— you’re both so secure in your sexualities, just knowing them from the get-go. And I’m not saying I’m ashamed of mine because I really am sure that I like girls. That I like you. I just…”

“You don’t want things to change?”

Hazel is looking at you so sympathetically that you want to cry. You almost do when she tugs you closer and on to the bed, right beside her spot on it.

You take another deep breath. “I can deal with change. I just wish it didn’t feel so… difficult.”

“I meant what I said that day. That I’d be there every step of the way.” She pulls you even closer and you let her, just wanting to get lost in the feeling of her and the intimacy of the moment. “But you have to let me be there for you. I want this to work out.”

“I want that, too. I want everything with you.”

And maybe that was a little too much to say so soon, but it doesn’t matter anymore when Hazel moves to kiss you on the forehead, then on your cheek, and finally on your lips. It’s so gentle and loving that you almost do cry this time; trust Hazel Callahan to always know how to make you feel better.

You cup the side of her jaw and kiss her back, letting the moment last for another second before pulling away. “I am really sorry too. I was getting to that part.”

Hazel chuckles softly. “I’ll forgive every tiny heartbreak this past week as long as you’ll be my girlfriend after this.”

“Just like that?” You lean back a little, studying her face for any sign that she might be joking. She looked very amused and pleased with herself, but dead serious all the same. 

“I want everything with you, too.” Hazel leans forward again to press a lingering kiss on your cheek. “So… yes?”

You close the gap and smile into the kiss you give her, knowing she’d understand that as the resounding yes she was hoping for.

[keen-li]

Ring-0-Ring | jjk

Story type: series.

Squid Game AU.

Chapter 1: Trash to Trash

Synopsis: Buried in the deepest pits of life, by their own actions and lifestyle. Jungkook and Yn leaving two different lives in two different sides of town have to find a way to stay alive. Yn for her family and Jungkook for...well. No one. And they have to do it all in the cruel city of Jangsu.

Unfortunately the way of going about it is not as quick or as they thought. So they turn to other measures.

Measures they don't realize the extreme of.

The game forces Jungkook and Yn to survive and go against themselves. But as they go on, they cover who they really are. And who they really want to be.

Chapter glossary.

Warnings: violence, strong language, use of Yn, Pov change, gambling, implied self-exit, blood and injury, emotion distress, use of Korean Won as currency. Readers discretion is advised.

Genre: survival thriller.

Jungkook x fem reader

WC: 28k

Story Masterlist

if there are any errors, sorry.

A/n: This is a work of fiction and imagination. it does not represent any real society, government, location, or person. any similarities are just a coincidence.

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Reader’s Pov

Thursday, 7th march, 8: 10am

Some people say they get dizzy or tired. But to those people, you’d say they haven’t been doing it long enough. Or they don’t have the will to push through until the symptoms burrow into an untouched part of yourself. So much that you don’t think they exists. You no longer get dizzy. Or tired.

That’s what you have to do to keep going. To make it around the circumference one more time. And soon it’ll be one more time all over again until there’s no more time. You don’t know when it’ll come, but it will. It always does. For now, you’ll keep spinning. Even though it brings no pleasure or peace. You knew peace was never an option when you made the choices you did.

Your hand moves autonomously, grabbing your books and placing them into your bag one after the other. Like a game of Tetris—though you’ve never played the game. You’ve just heard about it from friends who had in middle school. Even though you could indulge in the childhood desire, it doesn’t seem as interesting. Not when you’re already living it.

Block after block, paying close attention to try and clear a line. Your lines being the 24-hour cycles.

Your hand pauses midair, about to grab the next book. Moments like this are rare—it’s where you actually stop to question what you’re doing. And the answer always leads back to the heaviness in your chest.

No one places themselves in their own misery unless out of desperation or fear. Two traits easy to exploit, easy to prey on. And the demon ‘bad choices’ never sleeps. You aren’t plagued like others, but it still wraps its slender and hungry fingers around you.

If you let it control you any longer, you’ll have to fake your own graduation. Which is impossible. Well...unless you were rich. Then you could book a venue, pay people to act like it’s their graduation too. But you’re light years from that kind of grace. Your brain is better spent conjuring more useful thoughts. Right now, you’re privileged to be breathing.

 Especially while living in Jangsu. You wonder what would kill you first: the bad air, the crimes, or simply your hatred for it. Right now, none have you surrendering. But even if they were, around these parks, you have to keep moving. One falter in your steps and you’re gone. Your steps faltered long ago, and you got to experience the feeling. Only because you didn’t give in to its societal setup. One that has you in thought after your fall.

You also have to think of how you’ll keep this up for another day. Which isn’t really much of a chore for you now, but you like to be ready. Words just slip past your lips, confirming to you that the longer you live here, the more you blend into the frame it has for everyone.

“Are you going to carry your notebook?” You tense. Your mother’s voice rings like church bells. Only when you exhale do you realize how soft it actually was.

Your fingers twitch, grasping the book with newfound determination. “How long have you been standing there?”

She hums, pretending to think. “Not long.”

She could’ve been there for a while, and by the look on your face, you wouldn’t have noticed.

Her gaze lingers. She’s smiling now, slow and gentle. You can’t return it. “Carry on,” she shoos when you stare at her longer. She steps forward into your room, and you do carry on, back straightened from her being a part of your routine all of a sudden. She sinks into it completely.

You stare at your tiny desk, choosing which pen will be the unlucky one to spend a day with you. When chosen, you can hear it scream “nooooo,” but it’s silenced when it falls to the bottom of the bag. For some, hell is in a bag.

Your tote bag might give in on you if you add further weight, even by the slightest amount, so you stop.

Your mother chuckles—softly at first, then louder. A full-blown grin spreads across her face.

“In high school, I hated carrying books,” she reminisces. “I don’t know how you manage at that big college.”

Your throat dries and so do your lips, even though you had glossed them with what's left in the tube. The grip on your self-repaired handle tightens.

The school is not that big; if it were any bigger, it wouldn't fit in Jangsu.

She moves around your room, used but still new to the floor plan. Her fingers curl around the edge of your laundry basket. You squint, watching her. You understand your room does sometimes become a storage space. It was before your mother decided you needed privacy. You knew it'd be a hustle to brush it off, but she was adamant. It's not like you minded sleeping on a bed with your family.

So, it’s understandable if she's here looking to get something from one of the boxes. But why does she reach for your clothes? You do your own laundry, even though she’s stubborn about it.

She starts to sort the clothes. “How do you walk around school grounds with all those books?” she says when you don't reply to her other query.

You should’ve left already, the clock in your brain tells you. You always get out on time and at the same moment every day, but you do give yourself some grace time here and there. And you've exceeded that grace.

This room is too small to contain two people. For you, it's tense, but your mother looks like she’s having a blast.

“Just fine,” you mutter, staring out the open window. The fresh air was supposed to clear your mind. Instead, it carries in cigarette smoke from your neighbour’s morning session. A session you have to experience often, and you can’t run from because of the position of your room. The compound is bound by a rundown concrete wall, dressed in what you like to call 'war wounds.' The moss and vines are determined to bother the divider and climb up it. Even though it keeps you from seeing what's outside, the holes and cracked surface allow a glimpse of what's beyond.

Its closed-off nature would make it hard to stay out of other people's business. But everyone is too burdened.

Her lips press together at your answer. She doesn’t pry. “You don’t need all those books. I can get you a laptop. Don’t university students need those?”

They do. Not you. It’d be a waste of money. “I should’ve gotten you one sooner,” she talks on as your heart rate spikes. “But it’s never too late, right?”

The air feels heavier. The cigarette smoke thickens. You place your bag down, hurriedly moving to shut the window. But the pressure in your chest remains still.

“I don’t need a laptop. I’m fine with my books.” You pick your bag back up. Was it always this heavy?

“Don’t you need it for online classes?” She doesn’t understand how college works, but her intent is clear.

“I’ll get you one,” she insists. “They’re not that expensive anyway.” You scoff. You both know that’s a lie. And the way she chokes on the word ‘expensive’ tells you she knows it too.

The determination in her voice would make others happy. It makes you irritated. Annoyed. She’d have to take out a loan just to get even a bad second-hand one. And the thought terrifies you.

You’ve seen what loan sharks do to people when they can’t repay in time. How they show up, bats in hand, looking for payment. How they leave behind destruction and bruises as warnings.

Even if you were in the hospital, you wouldn’t want her to go that far just for you. You'd seen it before.

There was a family...three blocks away from your compound. A man, his wife, their little girl. The man borrowed just enough to “get by,” just enough to “fix things.” It wasn’t enough. The first time they came, they took his furniture. The second time, they took his car. The third time… he was gone. You never saw him again. His wife stopped looking people in the eye. His daughter stopped playing outside. Everyone knew, but no one said anything.

That’s what loans did around here. But even your own experience renders the hatred for them.

You still remembered the knocking. Too loud. Too sharp. Too angry. You were twelve, and your mother was pregnant. You hid under the bed, knees pressed to your chest, the shadows making you a member. You could see your mother’s feet—bare, trembling—standing by the door.

“Just a little more time,” your mother had begged.

“Time?” A laugh. Low. Cruel. One that you had known, one which was half of the reason you're even on this earth. “Time isn’t free.” He spoke with a voice you couldn't believe read you stories before going to bed. It was sick; he was sick. But you didn't understand it then. Your mother had taken out a loan from your father, which is ridiculous to you. She shouldn't have had to take out a loan just to do the things he was meant to do by virtue of being a sperm donor. You don't even call him your father.

Then came the sound...the sickening crunch of a boot against something fragile. You never found out what he broke. But you remembered your mother’s sharp inhale. The silence after.

You remembered hating him and the men he brought to wreck the home your mother built without him. You remembered fearing them even more.

Your mother paid all the money back, and promised to divorce him. You never understood why she made the promise to you.

“Mom, I don’t need a stupid laptop,” you snap.

She pauses, her hands stilling over your colours and whites. She doesn’t yell at your tone. Just looks at you. Softly. Like she knows. Like she’s known for a long time.

“Go have breakfast before it gets cold.” She turns her eyes from you. With slumped shoulders, you walk out and into the kitchen, choosing to leave the conversation.

You don’t always have breakfast, but today’s already out of your routine, so you might as well have it.

After you’re done, you decide it’s time to take this day by the neck. So, you walk to the door. But before you walk out, the door only inches away, your mother calls out your name.

“I need you to give this to your teachers.” You blink at the large food container she’s holding. “For how hard you’ve all been working. It seems like you have no holidays.”

You frown. “It’s university. We’re not that close to our tea-professors.” You remember she used to do the same when you were in high school and middle school. So, you guess that’s where the confusion’s coming in. University is its own thing.

“They can’t receive gifts?”

You rub your ear, stalling. “It’s just...not necessary.”

She holds the box out further, expectant. “Dear, the food will go to waste.”

Your fingers fidget. “We can just have it for dinner.”

As if on cue, your sister’s voice whines from the living area. “Chicken again? My friends eat steak every day. I want to eat steak every day too.” Your mother smiles at her, but you stare at her with an unpleasant glare. It silences her. You roll your eyes.

“Maybe tonight we’ll have something different.”

Different. Unnecessary. With forced patience, you take the box and set it in the fridge. “Let’s just eat this for dinner, okay? It’s not like its bad food.” You fake a comforting smile.

Your sister pouts. “Eating boring food every day is bad though.” She mumbles, but it reaches your ears. With great impact at that.

She’s 12. She should know better now. You did way earlier than her. She should understand that this is just how things are. That life isn’t a fairytale.

“Yn, dear, go before the morning bus leaves.”

Your mother could see it in your face. The irritation you feel from the topic is a reminder of how she should’ve chosen better in life for her children. And not drag you into drama not meant for your little minds.

You forgot about your day for a moment. You stare at your sister and then at your mother. The look on her face tells you to leave it. So, taking a deep breath and relaxing your jaw, you leave it. It’s not something that won’t pop up again. But every time, you just have to ignore it.

You grip the strap of your bag, and soon you’re swinging the door open. One step into uncertainty, like every day.

Wisps of air brush past your skin, not cooling you down but causing you frustration. The bus you were supposed to get on to go to the university passes by, filled with people on the way to it or work.

At first, you’d get on the bus, pretend to go to school, just in case someone was watching. Some nosy people, a family friend, or someone who’d know you enough to ask why you weren’t going in the Uni direction. But now? Now you don’t pretend. It was a waste of money.

You’ve learned anyway that people don’t care. The people on these streets move like clockwork, fixed on their own survival, consumed by their own routines. Even your neighbours, the ones who always seemed to have something to say no matter what, don’t spare you a glance. They’re all too busy living in misery or chasing a pay check that never stretches far enough. Forced into jobs they despise just to cling to stability set up by society, like it’s the only thing that matters.

You crave stability too. Not because you want to, but because you have to. Stability is the rule of the world, and you’re no exception.

Finish high school, get a degree in something that ‘matters,’ and land a job. And boom, stability. Dressed in white and gold you can’t touch. It’s a formula. One that your mother hoped for in her heart to save your family. One drilled into your mind for so long. But you know better now. It was never about the formula.

Stability isn’t handed to those who work hard or do the right thing. It belongs to the ruthless, the ones willing to play the game, to cheat, to step on others to climb higher. It turns its back on people like you—people who still want to believe they can make it without losing themselves.

And yet, you’ve already compromised. Already lied. Already started playing the role you never wanted. You don’t like to call yourself a victim; you were, but you won’t call yourself that. You made choices, and they got you where you are. So, who can you blame?

Maybe, if you had chosen to be honest from the beginning, you wouldn’t be here now. Exhausted from the weight of your own lies. Maybe if you had told your mother the truth back then, you wouldn’t be trapped in this performance. This cycle of dodging questions, hiding, and keeping up appearances with a mask. One that gets hard to breathe in.

You hate that you had to do it. You hate even more that it worked. The only time stability looked you in the face was when you chose to abandon your morals.

A scoff slips past your lips as you step in rhythm with the others around. You weren’t always this way.

“Excuse me, miss.”

You blink, gaze sharpening at the man who approaches you too eager to have anything sensible to say. You pause slightly and tilt your head in acknowledgment, pulling your headphones out. You’d think someone’s chasing from the way he pants, but it’s only because he was in a rush to talk to the only person who’s given him attention.

You watch him expectantly—not that you expect anything.

“I sell a course on rental investment—” Your body tenses. Is he being serious?

He’s dressed from head to toe in loungewear, hair like he just woke up and came here, or even worse, he slept on the streets. Some people are forced to. He looks nothing like someone trustworthy enough to be selling anything, let alone an investment course. He looks like he doesn't even have his own money to invest. That's why they do this—to pull in people with even a minuscule of a dime and trap them. You shake your head, offering a small polite bow. “I’m sorry, I’m not interested.”

You keep walking. He follows; you can feel it. “Just a few minutes of your time—”

“I said I’m not interested.”

The UV rays beam down on your skin, the tank top you're wearing allowing it to. One thing about this city is that no matter what time of the year it is, the weather will be whatever it feels like being. Your shoulder aches. People with places to go shove past you, irritated by the obstacle you’ve become. But your mind is persistent on the man beside you.

He doesn’t take the hint. “Here, just take a flyer—”

Annoyance flares up. You smack the paper out of your face, voice firmer. “I said I’m not interested. Keep your scams to yourself.”

His expression flickers—surprise, maybe guilt—and then he steps back, disappearing back into the crowd, back to where he was. You’re not proud of snapping, but you’ve had enough of people like him. They’re all the same, preying on any desperation or interest, and are just puppets to someone else’s greed. You’ve met too many of them. Some more memorable than others. One specifically.

In persistence, you’re not so different from him.

You’ve been searching for work for months now. Three months.

Ever since your depression faded into the background, never truly going away, just tucked away behind frustration and fear. You’ve been trying to find a job. Something to grasp at, something that won’t make you feel useless. Or at least a little less useless and more responsible. So, when your mother finally finds out, maybe she won’t be so angry. Maybe she’ll see that at least you tried.

But the world doesn’t work like you think. Everywhere you go, you hear the same repeating statement. “We’re not hiring.”

It upsets you; no matter how much you try, nothing works out. You forget how many people in the same or similar situation to you do the same, them being faster. Or maybe just on better timing. You won't be able to find a job at this rate. You’re running out of places to try. Running out of excuses for why you still don’t have something to show for yourself.

Soon time is bleeding into afternoon, and you’re finding solace on a park bench. Your thoughts still spiral, dragging you down into them as you stare off at something in the distance. Your thoughts don’t bother you too much when you’re here, though.

The park in Jangsu is the only peaceful place. Its green and bright grass serves as a foundation for families spending time together or students studying. You can’t forget the people that find income by preaching or the people who advertise. You should try to do some magic tricks for some money; you're good at fooling people, it seems. The people of Jangsu haven’t seen that yet, and you’d definitely give them a show. More like something to laugh at.

The breezy nature of the place causes natural bristling of bright green leaves on trees. Nothing hits harder than spring in Jangsu. It's not spring, but you're just thinking about it. You're not sure yet if Jangsu is not a simulation. How can a city be so disobedient to Mother Nature and force her to give it everything good in landscape? It's like a holiday destination; it's like a lie. They call it the town of longevity, but you laugh at that. They need to be clear: longevity in suffering. Yes. In life? Yes. Rest? Never.

This city and all its leaders strive to keep you living long enough to serve them and make you suffer. It has pretty trees, though.

You chuckle. The air is clean, except for the occasional rebels who smoke. You normally don't like to look their way, but they occasionally catch you staring. You don’t look longer after.

The birds are another aspect you like to watch; they glide across the sky, while some chirp in trees. Probably complaining about how the only good air is in the park. At least they can live in trees. You sit listening to their songs until it turns into the ringing of your phone instead.

Your mother’s contact flashes across the screen. She rarely calls at this time, or at all sometimes. You answer. “Mom?”

“Yn, dear, I hope I’m not interrupting your classes.” She sounds rushed and breathy and skips over her usual greeting. You internally laugh. Shaking your head and staring at your surroundings to make sure the benches hadn’t turned into desks. Or the billboard into a whiteboard. She’s definitely not interrupting your classes.

“You’re not,” you say, your heart already uneasy to know why she’s calling. “What’s wrong?”

She sighs. “I just got a call from Lynn’s teacher. She got into some trouble and needs a guardian to pick her up. I’m at work—I can’t leave. Can you do it for me?” You’re old enough to be her guardian, 12 years older. And you’ve nothing on your schedule, so you don’t mind. You’re even more curious to know what she did.

“Yeah, I can go,” you say, certain and finally feeling like you've got a purpose. Your mother works at the edge of town, so you know even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t make it on time.

“Okay then,” she speaks. “Let me know if you need anything.” The call ends. As you're walking out of the park toward the bus station, a man in a tailored suit steps into your path. Sharp stance, polished shoes—the kind of presence that makes people stop without thinking.

Not this again.

"I work at an investment company, and we’re looking for some employees—" You freeze. Employees. Not clients.

"Employees for?" The words leave you before you can stop them. You shouldn’t have stopped at all, but your feet betray you, halting as if the suit alone is proof enough.

"Various things." He hands you a flyer. You take it. Gently. Carefully. Like it might vanish if you grab too hard. The flyer is crisp, sleek, professional. Not the usual cheap ink on flimsy paper. This isn’t something you find crumpled in a gutter. This was printed with money. And since when do opportunities come walking to you in a suit?

"Do I need some kind of degree or skill?"

"The requirements are listed there." They are. And as your eyes scan the list, you realize—there are none. No experience. No education. No specific abilities. This is where you’d normally walk away. You know better. You always know better. But the weight in your chest tightens. What if this time is different? What if this time, it’s real?

You look at the man again. His suit fits too well. His shoes don’t have a single scuff. People trust men who look like this. If he were wearing a cheap hoodie, you’d have ignored him. If the flyer were ugly, you’d have thrown it out. But here you are, holding it like a lifeline.

"Visit our website to apply." He smiles. Too polished. Too rehearsed. Too much like a mask. But before you can process it, he’s already walking away, disappearing into the city like he was never there. You look at the flyer again. And despite everything—despite what you know—you don’t throw it away. You clutch it tighter and keep walking.

--

You both didn’t speak much on the bus home. She kept her head on the window, and you kept yours ahead. Maybe you didn’t know what to say. Maybe you didn’t want to bother her the way you didn’t want anyone bothering you. But perhaps if someone did bother you, you wouldn’t have had to lie for this long.

So, as you walk down the dark alley to the apartment, the late afternoon sun still glowing, you decide to press in like you wish someone did for you. “What happened?” It’s soft, no emotion to suggest anger. But enough tone to show that you care to know.

She doesn’t respond for a few seconds, and you keep the silence. Soon she’s speaking with a pout that hasn’t left her face. “During lunch, my friend was rubbing her steak in my face,” she begins.

“And what did you do?” you ease in. The way she speaks sharply proves how she still holds onto the anger. “I threw it to the ground!”

“Lynn!” you say, mouth agape. You know she can be a bit short-tempered and careless, but you never thought it’d reach school grounds.

“She was making fun of me for eating cafeteria food...” She starts to tear up, defending herself to you, which you don’t want her feeling like she has to. “...said only the children with poor parents eat from there.” She folds her arms.

You sigh. “She’s not your friend, you know that, right? You can’t have friends like that.”

“I know.” You question if she really does, but after today, she’ll come to the full conclusion. “I don’t even want to go back to that school,” she says as she walks into the house.

Your mom is sitting on the couch looking tired. “Mooom!” Lynn immediately crashes into her arms, causing her to groan.

“Baby girl, what happened?” She wraps a warm and caring arm around her.

“I never want to go to that school again,” she whines.

“Tell me what happened,” your mother coos.

You slip away into your room to drop the bag that has been on your shoulder the whole day. You change into some loungewear, and when you return, their conversation is still ongoing. It lasted longer than the one you had, so you assume she told her something that you didn’t know. It’s not something you want to get into, though.

“Well, that girl is not your friend anymore.”

Their conversation ends. You finally get to speak out on what you’ve been thinking since you walked in. “Why are you back home so early?” You fidget with the strings of your hoodie, curious.

“Thought I’d come back early to spend some time with you guys.” You nod, even though you don’t trust her answer. Your mother hasn’t missed work before. Or even taken a half day. Things are starting to go out of cycle, and you don’t like it. Will she do this every day, or will she tell you when she does? Because sometimes you like to return home a little early too.

She brushes off the look on your face with her hand and a smile. “Since I’m home early and we still have time until dinner, we can have some steak and a huge meal,” she suggests.

“Yes! We’re having steak today,” your sister grins as though the events of today never happened. You can’t help but get upset at how dismissive your mother is about serious topics. You roll your eyes.

“Yn, can you stop by the market, please?” she adds in a pleading tone, as though you wouldn’t have done it anyway.

You nod, preparing yourself as your mother reaches into her purse and hands you some money. Money you stare at for longer than normal. You feel its smooth and fresh feel. Straight from the bank. You peer at her as if asking if, she’s sure about it.

“Go. Buy yourself something from what’s left,” she smiles.

--

You walk down the road to the downtown market just close to the house. It’s the only downtown you visit. There are two, both have names, but you call them downtown 1 and downtown 2. Downtown 1 is on your side of Jangsu; it’s basically the market or event centre of the town, nothing wild about it. Very much a community vibe. Downtown 2 also has events, but it’s more of the criminal type. Gambling, gangs. You’ve heard of sex clubs too, but you’re not too sure. And you don't want to find out. You’re glad you live near downtown 1.

Your brain knows you’re there when the variety of iron and fishy smells invade your senses. You cringe. The smell of iron makes you uncomfortable, but to others, you look lost. You’re far too familiar with this place to be lost, and the people who sell are too familiar with you to think you’d need directions.

Though it’s not every stand you visit, only a few who always have what you need, you greet everybody with a smile. Today, like a lot of things, it’s a different stand you have to visit. One that sells what you rarely buy, and for good reason.

“Yn, how’s your mother?” The older woman who tends the stand greets when she comes back from the back. You stop bulging out your eyes at the prices. You do have enough money for it, but damn. You thought this town was supposed to be the cheapest to live in.

“She’s alright. How are you?” you keep with general decency. Like you said, you’re familiar with everyone, and so is your mother, but some it’s just more than others.

“You know me, I’m always doing good.” She boasts the fact. You’re not close enough to her to know if it's a fact, and honestly, you don’t care enough to know. “How can I not when my son is making me proud every day?” You knew it wouldn’t be long until she broke into her true character. You’ve always wondered if her stand was far away because of her produce or her attitude. Nobody likes to talk near her. But lucky for her (and unlucky for everyone else), she doesn’t need to be close to hear every little detail someone speaks.

“Uhh,” you nod, looking around as if for a witness.

“He works at a huge tech company, you know that? In the capital.” You never cared to know. It must be age or pride that makes her forget how many times she said this piece of information. You never understood the hype about the capital; it’s just like Jangsu but bigger with better PR.

“He works with all these huge foreign countries. Soon he’ll be leaving for the USA.” Does it take that long to pack some meat?

“Okay, that’s nice.” You’re acquainted with her son, only because he tried to flirt with you one time when he worked at the stand while his mother was sick. Most peaceful day at the market.

“What would your mother know about that, huh?” She grins like it was something she had been holding onto for a long time. And she smiles like it was funny.

You pause, reaching into your pockets. “Excuse me?” Maybe you didn’t hear her correctly. You’ve been in your head for a while now that it could affect your hearing. But nope, your ears do not deceive you.

“Oh, come on, dear, you know what I mean. It’s hard for single mothers to support their children’s education.” You’d think she knew anything about it with the way she speaks—careless and degrading. You don’t want to respond. So, you pause, trying to calm your pending anger, but unfortunately for you, she goes on, antagonizing you more. “It’s not long until you drop out of university, and your sister won't even make it to high school—”

She stretches out the plastic bag of the meat, and you snatch it with so much force it could rip off her arm. Wouldn’t that be nice?

You’ve never liked responding or defending yourself to elders, but there are times you can’t stay silent. Even though you can’t say exactly what you want to, it’s better to say something at least. “It’ll be better for you if you just minded your own business,” you inform her. Not that she'll ever change. “And I’ll have you know I will graduate university.” You spit out before walking away.

You weren’t supposed to say the last part, but of late your mouth works faster than your brain.

“Brat...” she mumbles, scoffing at your disappearing figure.

--

“Are you enjoying the food?” Your mother asks your sister, who nods with a full mouth. You, on the other hand, have not touched your food. You just use your chopsticks to imagine what it’ll be like if you picked up the piece of steak and ate it. Would it taste good? It looks like it does.

“Yn, why aren’t you eating?”

Her calling your name snaps you out of your staring contest with the plate.

Your voice comes out weaker than you planned. “I am.”

Anyone could see that you had barely touched 10% of your dinner. “No, you aren’t eating. If you don’t want it, I can have it.” Your sister stares at you with a raised brow, trying to persuade you.

You roll your eyes at your sister. She eats like she’s got four stomachs.

Your mother, on the other hand, narrows her eyes at how you bite your lower lip. “I don’t know; I’m just not used to this.” You look down at the steak with a pout. Your mother stares at you with soft eyes. This is unusual. The food, the sitting together and eating, even the coming home early and her asking you questions. It’s all so new and out of routine.

“Don’t think about that; eat, dear.” Her hand touches your arm, and you stare at it. Her touch is warm and soft, but your mind doesn't seem to distinguish levels of heat. The touch feels hot, making your skin tingle. It's a reminder of what you and your mother could've been if life had been perfect. And if both of you were not bruised by it. But still, somehow, the gesture reminds you of love—your mother's love.

You watch how out of place the steak feels on your plate. You're not sure if maybe it's just you who's out of place or your whole family. But maybe it is just you, because your mother and sister look more acquainted.

“I will,” you say, rubbing your nose. Your mother doesn’t pry further when you stuff a piece into your mouth. Your mom is an amazing cook, and you never doubted that. Your mother hovers over your plate with another piece of steak.

You shake your head, still trying to register the new texture and taste. “Take it before I chew it and shove it down your throat,” she teases.

“Mom, you should do it.” Lynn exclaims and they both laugh, and you slowly smile watching.

“Yn, please take it; my hand is tired.” When she says that, you immediately take it. You take it. But in return, you grab one and hold it out to her.

“What are you doing?” She watches as you hold it, brows raised.

“Eat.”

“I have been eating. Thank you.” She points to her plate. You don’t know why you do it because she has been eating, but you feel like you have to. Maybe as a reminder that you care. Maybe as a request for forgiveness.

“Take it as a thank you for the steak.” She just stares at you, new to this interaction as well. You place the meat on her plate.

Soon you’re done with dinner, and it’s just you and your mother in the kitchen.

“It’s okay; I’ll do it; you go rest,” she says when you reach for the sink.

“No, it’s fine; I’ll do it,” you object. But she’s stubborn.

“No, I can do it.” She playfully slaps your hands away from the tap, and you rub the area, even though it doesn’t hurt. “You’ve got class tomorrow; you should go rest.”

You’re silent and just standing there. You’ve never been one to be forgetful, but you have your moments.

“You’ve got class, don’t you?” Jaggedly, you nod. “Then go sleep,” she pats your shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”

You nod and turn to walk away. “Oh, before you go.” She walks up to you. “Thank you for today. I know you must have been tired going to pick up Lynn.”

“It’s okay, Mom; it was no problem. I didn’t have class at that time.” She smiles, her eyes telling you things she could say and apologize for.

“You make me so proud, you know?” You freeze, her words sinking and reaching places you couldn’t consciously go. “So glad I can have smart daughters like you two.” She smiles through the rim of tears.

“Mom.”

“Go to sleep.” She doesn’t let you get a word in.

As you walk to your room, your mother’s words echo in your ears. The thought that she’s "so proud" of you makes something heavy stir inside you. Regret presses against your chest; it's suffocating. Not because you haven’t done enough, but because you haven't been enough. You should have done better. Been better for the people who seem to care about you. People you should be working towards helping alleviate suffering and pain. You should have been different. You not being in school and jobless doesn't just affect you; it affects your mother and sister too. It makes it worse that you've been lying and keeping their hope up. You're the firstborn in a family where the breadwinner was never there to share his winnings. You should be that; your mother's getting older. You should step up, be the change for your family, and show them what a good life can be like—how stability can feel.

As the door clicks shut behind you, you feel a sharp burn in your throat, the kind that only comes when you've been lying to the person who loves you most. You turn to the bed, fingers trembling, and the weight of it all pushes down onto the mattress. But it’s not enough to crush. Not yet. So, it just stays there. Your fingers curl into fists, and slowly, the anger starts to rise. It fuels the determination you've fought for so long to ignore.

You take a deep breath, letting the anger wash over you, and you remind yourself that you can change things. You can find a way to make it work. You can be the person your mother believes you are. You can be the daughter she deserves.

Jungkook’s Pov

Thursday, march 7th. 4:11pm

Jungkook sloths himself off his bed, even though his head beats faster than his heart. He stands.

He’s found over time that if he spreads his feet apart to shoulder width, stretches his arms out to the side, and pulls his head back, it reduces the dizziness. Though he has no medical backing for it, it works and helps to stop the feeling. Quitting excessive intake of alcohol would guarantee no more dizziness every morning, but that’s not for him.

When the feeling subsides after a few minutes, Jungkook gets moving. It’s not long until he’s reaching his bathroom, which isn’t much of a room but more of a section. The small apartment makes it easy for lazy mornings, which is basically every day. It doesn’t take long to get to a section of the room. Some people would hate the place, whether it’s for the size or the horrible window view, but he doesn’t. He doesn't live in Jangsu for the view.

It’s isolated from the world, and that’s all he needs—until he needs to be a part of it again.

Jungkook lazily manoeuvres the showerhead over his body, hoping that the water passing his ear will tune out the buzzing of his phone. It’s never anyone of value. He has nowhere to go today, so he doesn’t rush. He enjoys the feel of cold-water cascading from his head to his toes. He stays there for as long as he needs to or until he starts to worry about the water bill.

Sitting on his bed in a towel, he’s finally conscious enough to look at his phone that had been buzzing. He stares at the cover first, plain and black. Then he stares at the object right next to it. His lips stretch into a smile as he shakes his head in disbelief. A fucking 100 million won ($68,840). Jungkook has never believed in luck. Still doesn’t. Luck has never been part of what he does. Strategy has. Well... more like being a con. But you have to have strategy to be a successful con.

People at gambling houses are normally stoned as they play the game, but not Jungkook. He never drinks until he wins. Being the only sober one has its pros. He never loses, and everyone at Fang house hates him. The con is the burning itch in his throat to have a drink.

But how couldn’t they hate him? He takes all the money they were supposed to use for household food or children’s tuition and leaves them with having to explain themselves to their wives. If he had a family of any sort, he’d never see the lights of a casino again.

Fucking fools.

They all are. Jungkook would be too if he didn’t have strategy. Honestly, he’d milk them for more money too if it wasn’t for the same. He’d definitely need it. But it would be reckless.

It’s not gambling if you never lose. It’s not an addiction if you know when to stop. And he always knows when to stop... right?

So, as he feels the paper with his tongue poking at his cheek in a cheeky smirk, all he can think about is the amount of money he’s going to earn next time. After that, he can pay those good-for-nothing loan sharks. He can’t pay them now, not with his hard-earned 100 million. It wouldn’t be enough anyway, and he needs more to gamble with. Gosh, he loves gullible people.

His phone buzzes again, and this time it feels harder than the last, as though the device’s volume increased on its own.

Jungkook grumbles and replaces the band of money in his hand with his phone. He should invest in a safe. He makes a mental note.

“Hel—”

“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN? WHY WEREN’T YOU ANSWERING MY CALLS?” is the first thing Jungkook hears in a deafening sound that makes him pull his phone back from his ear.

“I’m answering now,” Jungkook muses in a way that only pisses off the caller more.

“Piece of shit. WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, HUH?” Jungkook can only be amused by his pal, who always acts this way.

Jungkook always laughs at this question when it comes up. He never strives to be anything—rich, maybe? But nothing personality-wise. He’s just what he is in the moment. But he likes to say he’s Jeon Jungkook, which garners him some weird looks. Maybe that’s why he’s not so good at keeping relationships.

“You know I have no answer for that.”

His friend scoffs.

“This guy, tsk. You think you’re so smart, huh?” He continues to talk and yell. Jungkook can confirm his friend has been taking pills. He personally has never been a fan of them; Jungkook prefers his poison in liquid form—easier to control. Pills control you, no matter the colour; they're all the same. None better, none worse—each one fucks you up in the same way. Just like liquor, though, at least with alcohol, you know exactly how it’ll hit you. Pills? They sneak up on you, leaving you fucked before you even realize it.

Pills feel horrible for him, and he hates it.

“What’s got you in a knot so early in the morning?” Jungkook mocks, cracking his egg directly into his pan.

A snicker sounds from the speaker. He knew why Jungkook hadn't been answering his calls, but it’s always funny to confirm it. “It’s afternoon, dipshit.” Jungkook snaps, staring at the clock. It’s afternoon—four hours into the fact. Jungkook hadn’t had the time to look out the window, let alone open it. He hasn’t even noticed the dust particles collected on almost every surface.

“I knew that.” He goes back to his egg. “Just wanted to know if your brain still worked.” He pulls the pan off the one-plate gas stove, but his grip lingers on the handle longer than necessary. The burner’s tiny blue flame flickers—harmless yet unsettling. His eyes stay locked on it for a second too long, watching as it dances—alive, unpredictable. A phantom heat brushes against his skin, a whisper of something older, something buried. He exhales sharply and shuts it off with a quick flick of his wrist, as if the flame had overstayed its welcome.

He walks over to his fridge, the cold air cooling him. The fridge is a hand-me-down from his childhood home. All the stickers and pictures are still attached, though he does not recall what they look like. Have they faded? Can he even recognize the people in them? He’ll never know.

“You know very well my brain still works. That’s why I have a business, and you don’t.”

“Ouch.” Jungkook says before he’s saying "ew" and spitting out the milk into his sink. He’s only been away from the place a week. Things couldn’t go bad that fast, right?

“Come to my office ASAP.”

Still rinsing out his mouth with the metallic water, he speaks. “Maybe tomorrow—”

“NO!! NOW!” Jungkook jumps back from his friend’s hyper and rapid tone. He should be used to it, considering what he deals with at the casino. But nothing beats silence.

“Why? What makes you think I don’t have another thing to do?” So, the leftover food he got from Rose is no good too. Same with the pork cutlets. He had a plan for those. He stares closer. “Fuck...” He never thought the banana milk would be bad too, but it’s milk, so he shouldn’t be shocked to see the thick clumps of what used to be liquid spill out of the container. There’s nothing good.

Taking a breath and a step back, he stares at everything. The daffodil droops at its stem, its petals dried, and its once bright yellow hue drained of any brightness. Jungkook can fail at many things, but failing to care for something living—that is an unforgivable failure. And his habits are proving him a failure.

He shakes his head and grabs the flower. Its petals flake at the touch. Jungkook searches for any hope of reviving it, any sign of life, but there is none; it's far gone. He sighs. And just like all the others he's failed, he gently pulls off the petals and places them into an urn specifically for them. As he places the urn back on the shelf, he doesn't look at the other one that lies next to it.

“Are you talking to me like that?” He always demands some type of respect from Jungkook that he’s told him a million times he will not receive, but the message always gets lost.

“I’m not talking to myself, am I?” Jungkook is too busy running his hand through his cupboards for a noodle pack he remembers he has. He can’t eat one single egg for breakfast. Later, with his 100 million, he can maybe get a better meal.

He finds the pack, and nothing but relief fills him. “Why do you want me in your ‘office’?” he says, finally giving his friend his attention.

“Just be here quick; I need to talk to you.” Jungkook rolls his eyes at how he’s trying to be mysterious. Nothing is more irritating than going over there and finding out he needed Jungkook to help him parallel park his Porsche. Why buy a car when you don’t know how to use it, let alone an expensive one? Jungkook won’t deny his friend is all money and knows strategy.

“Don’t call me over just to waste my ti—” Before Jungkook can finish, the line goes dead. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbles to himself before returning to his breakfast—lunch

--

“Why’d you want me here?” Jungkook stands with his hands in his pockets watching his friend spin in his chair. He doesn’t even have the decency to turn his chair around to face Jungkook. But when he does, it’s childish, with a stupid grin on his face. Jungkook breathes in through his nose.

“Best friendddd...” he shouts, cheering and standing with his arms stretched with exaggerated joy. Jungkook never understood the name. How can you be the best out of one?

“Sit, sit.” He points to the chair that Jungkook had seen but avoided. He doesn’t want to spend too much time here. He ends up sitting anyway.

His friend tugs at his suit, a suit of many patterns and colors. Jungkook doesn't get how the more money you have, the worse you dress.

Jungkook sits without leaning back. “Why’d you call me here, Seojoon?”

“Calm down...” Seojoon motions for Jungkook to relax. That’s another thing he doesn’t like about pills—too many stages. Hyper, relaxed, reckless, then all of a sudden, you’re the wisest? He enjoys knowing what he’s going to feel and when. “I heard you took out another loan.”

It was never a secret, so he’s not shocked that he brings it up; those goons were going to tell. It was expected. But he hates that Seojoon brings it up. “And?”

“And I know you don’t have the money to pay me back.” He says, leaning back into his chair with a smug look.

“You don’t know anything,” Jungkook says blandly, but a smile itches.

Suddenly, the man behind the desk is laughing maniacally. He leans forward, his hands finding themselves his wavy shoulder-length hair. When his laughter dies down, he collects himself. “I’m sorry, the boys have me investing in this new pill.” He chuckles. “Wanna try?” He reaches for one to give to Jungkook, but he shakes his head.

“You’ve always been a bore; I should’ve known you’d say no.” He mumbles before he pops the pill in his mouth and chews it. Though his knowledge is insufficient, taking more than one at the same time might be a death sentence pending. But knowing his friend well, he’s been sentenced a long time ago.

“You’re a smart guy, Jungkook.” Jungkook listens. “But you’re not smart enough to realize that gambling won’t give you any stability.” He chuckles.

“A couple of wins here and there? Great. But it’s not enough when you’re taking out loans just to fit in.” Jungkook’s tongue darts across his lip. “Look at me; I’ve built an empire.” Seojoon stands to direct Jungkook’s eyes over his office with his hand. “And what do you have? Nothing.” He now moves to stand in front of the large window.

“So, being the good friend I am... because I am,” he points to clarify, “and I care about you, bro. I always have. So let me help you. Take a job with me, and your loans are...poof.”

Jungkook laughs at how simply he thinks of it. Like he said, all money, no strategy. Jungkook leans back into the couch and rests his arm on the armrest, the lopsided smirk not leaving his face, especially when he stares at the completely high man.

“Work for you?” He’s not considering it; he’s just trying to establish how silly it is. He’s told him many times that he does not like the dynamic. Does not like working with people.

“YES.” He cheers. “You’re getting it. Work for me. If not your brain, then use your muscles for something.”

Jungkook gets up from his seat hastily to stand in front of Seojoon. He doesn’t pull him by the collar like he would do to someone else, but instead, he just stares him down.

“Listen. I’m glad you’ve got a business that works for you, but I don’t want to be counted.”

Seojoon grins, not flinching from the closeness. “Jungkook, we aren’t much different, you know. I’ve heard what you do at the casino.” Jungkook narrows his eyes at him, confused. “It’s pretty smart, preying on people in their vulnerability?”

“I don’t prey on anyone; they’re stupid on their own.”

His friend nods. “Riiiight, and you’re not aware of the fact?” Jungkook doesn't answer. “Come on, bro.” He lays his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, but it doesn’t stay there long.

“I’m going now.”

“Don’t be foolish, Jeon.”. Think about it!” He yells for Jungkook as he walks out. “Don’t take out any more loans until you respond!” Jungkook is out the door. “I’LL SEND YOU THE DETAILS; KEEP YOUR PHONE ON.”

“Shithead"

Nothing is worse than having your time wasted. Jungkook knew he’d just be spitting out shit, but Jungkook never thought it would be this. Heaven knows what he’s been eating. His phone dings and he stare at the text as he walks home.

Seohoon: You and me. Loans and drugs.

Seohoon: Think it through; we’d run the industry like kings.

Seohoon: Brain and muscle.

Seohoon: You’re the muscle.

Maybe Jungkook has never gone through the right road to get money, but he’d never do it like Seohoon does. He’s reckless, and he doesn’t like that. And nothing is worse than working under Seohoon.

Plus, Jungkook enjoys fucking over those fools at the casinos, by himself. He enjoys seeing the blood drain from their faces when they realize. He wouldn’t want to give that up for his friend's offer.

He walks out, the text messages from the loan sharks flooding his inbox. As usual, he slides through them, ignoring the barrage of threats. He spots a message from Rose, though, and his curiosity piques. She mentioned sending him some tattoo designs. Just doodles, nothing serious, something to cover up scars. He’s never thought about covering them up. They’re reminders of things he doesn’t fully understand. But he keeps up the act, telling her he’s interested just to keep her creative juices flowing. In truth, he’s never really considered it. He’s got enough tattoos for now.

Jungkook pockets his phone with a smile as he turns a corner into a dark alley just a few meters from his apartment.

It was when he was about to turn the final corner into the third-floor hallway that he heard it. Banging on a door. His door. “Jeon, we know you’re in there! Get out!” Bang, bang.

“Don’t make this any harder, man.” More pounding on the door followed. Jungkook curses under his breath.

Fuck. Shit.

They stand in front of his door, not happy or in a mood for negotiation. He could fight them, but if he’s being realistic, he won’t be able to take on three guys with a bat and one built like a skyscraper.

BANG!

The leader hits the door with his bat. Jungkook is well aware that his cheap door won’t stand, and they’ll find out he’s not home, soon. Which will lead them to trash the place and come down the stairs. Though he has no valuables in his house. He stands on the stairs like an idiot. When they beat the door down and raid his house, he realizes it’s him against time.

So, he drags his feet to run down the stairs and onto the road he came. He doesn’t look back; lucky for him, the bus station's close to his home. As a bus approaches, he jumps on immediately. When he sits, he finally breathes. He’s glad he’s got the money on him. He clutches the bag closer. He’s never trusted his apartment to hold it.

He doesn’t know where the bus is going, but at this point, anywhere is better than being near his apartment.

Uroboros is what they called the side of town Jungkook lived in. The side where every crime and illegal dime was made.

But it was where Jungkook lived, where he grew up and where he was born. So, the lifestyle was all he knew.

The name stood for many things but self destruction was the major. That’s what the U-side was all about.

Everything that was created or brought to the place would self destruct one says. Jungkook can feel himself drawing closer the U-side circle of life. He was going to be the cause of his own demise. And it was inevitable by virtue of u-side blood.

He envied the people on the other side. The city of sunshine as people called it. The sun shone on all parts of jangsu, but people from the U-side don’t really care about such. The people on the other side preferred to pretend, pretend like jangsu isn’t what it was. Jungkook found pretending a waste of time and even more self destructive than the U-side.

Jungkook appreciated it cause it made flowers bloom. It’s one of the things that reminds him that he’s alive, cause living can feel so much like hell that he forgets.

Reader’s Pov

Monday 17th March. 9: 23am

On some days, instead of wasting your time searching for a job the traditional way or staring at landscapes, you get to sit across from your closest friend. Only friend, to be fair--Yunji. You don’t get to see her often because she’s got school, unlike you. But when you do, it’s a fresh change. The only change you’re prepped for.

So now, sitting inside the café you always look at from the outside, Yunji's voice fills the space between you. The café is cozy, the kind of place people come to waste time and money—two things you don’t have.

“And he was looking at me like it was my fault,” she exclaims, her manicured hands being used to express her irritation on the matter, the polish flashing under the café's warm light.

You’ve listened to her complain about similar things in the past, and by virtue of knowing her, you give your opinion. This time unbiased.

Leaning back into the café chair, you speak. “Did you at least try to tell him beforehand?” you question bluntly, a slight smirk growing on your face because you know her response.

“I did! I did try,” her voice lowers in pitch, indicating otherwise.

You chuckle. “Then you can’t blame him. If you’d told him—”

“AHHHH. Yn,” she practically wails, not caring for the glances coming your way. She doesn’t care. She never does. “You’re never on my side.” She pouts, arms crossing over the soft fabric of her designer sweater.

“I mean... you asked for my opinion.” You sip your latte, the sweetness a forgotten taste. You haven’t had one of these in a while. You forgot how much sugar was in them. too sweet with a pinch of guilt. you can't even pay for a coffee by yourself.

“Keep it. You wouldn’t get it anyway,” she speaks before her brain. You tend to wonder if she does.

Your face falls flat, not in offense, but in acceptance. “You’re right; I wouldn’t.”

Yunji bites her glossed lip. You don’t want to be offended; it’s not necessary because it is true—you wouldn’t get it. And even though Yunji doesn’t have the vocabulary to express it better, it doesn’t stop it from being true. She needs better communication skills. “I’m just joking. I don’t mean it like that.” You nod, paying more attention to the colour and fluidity of your drink. She starts to panic in your silence. “You’re making it sound mean,” she blurts out, pouting like a child.

You?

“How?” Our brows lift, and you chuckle lightly, but she groans, shifting in her seat.

She doesn’t know how to deal with these things; she’s never learned how to. “Here, have my donuts.” She pushes her plate to you, and you scrunch your face in confusion.

“I don’t want it.” You push the plate back.

She pushes the plate back again, looking offended. “I don’t want it either.” She dusts off her hands like there was any dust to begin with. “Have it. You like these more than I do anyway.” While tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, she stares outside, not wanting to see the deadpan look you give her.

Choosing not to argue, you leave the plate closer to your side. “Then why do you get them?” You stare at the donuts; you do want them.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs her shoulder. “Pictures, I guess. Plus, I'm on a diet, so...” she states plainly. “You forced me to come here,” says the person who was on the verge of pulling your hand off to get you here.

You aren’t allowed to give a reaction when your phone dings. It’s a message, and you rarely get those. It’s only your mother who texts you, and even still, she doesn’t do it often.

You read the message and sigh. Can’t schools be sensible? All this for a petty fight. Unnecessary.

“Are you still free?” You look up to ask Yunji.

She nods with a look that goes from confused to cocky. “Mhm. You want to hang out with me longer?”

“Not... quite,” you joke, and she fakes offense. You would’ve hung out longer anyway.

You start to pack up not much of what you carried and ask for the donuts to be packed. “I need to take my sister to school.”

Yunji stares, confused.

“Shouldn’t she already be in school?” That’s what she knows.

“Yeah, but she got suspended for a week.”

The news is surprising to Yunji. With all she knows about Lynn, she would never point to her being a troublemaker. “What’d she do?”

“Dropped some kid’s lunch.” You hate to even say it because it sounds stupid. Why do they have to act like she punched the kid? You’re sure other kids have done worse and are still graced with learning. You’re also sure that the kid who provoked her is sitting in class right now, unharmed and not punished.

And Yunji’s reaction tells you she feels the same way. “Only?” she scoffs. “A week seems harsh.”

You pack up the donuts when they return and walk out of the building. “Same here,” you express, the irritation hiding behind a sigh. “But now she has to go in for some evaluation to see if she’s fit to come back to school.” You shake your head bitterly. Is this a new system? Is Lynn their first lab rat? Because what you remember in high school is that after suspension, you just go straight back to class.

“Gosh... she’s not some criminal. It’s good she’s got some fight in her.” You don’t know if you’d agree wholly, but you certainly wouldn’t want your sister to be a pushover. You’d like her to be different from you in middle school. But you wouldn’t want her to grow up and become a bully, which is why you’re conflicted about how to talk to her about it. Standing up for yourself can easily become bullying someone else. “When she gets to university, she won’t have to get bullied like I am.”

You laugh. “You’re not getting bullied,” you say, referencing your previous conversation.

“Is that how you speak to a victim?”

“Just answer what they have to ask.” You look down at your sister, who wants anything but to be there. You feel the same. Being back in the school environment feels haunting. “Don’t let them intimidate you,” you add when you notice her looking at the students who pass by and stare like its history in the making.

Yunji takes care of them by popping her eyes out as they pass. They don't dare stare longer at the scene. “Just kick their butts again if they do.” Yunji demonstrates the kick, and you and your sister chuckle.

“Don’t kick them,” you tell her. “Just tell me, and I’ll deal with it. I’m always here for you, okay?” You are. You’ve never had anyone be there for you, and you know how that feels. And your sister has you, so she should never feel that. You have a responsibility to your family's well-being. You haven’t been the best at that, but now you’re going to do all you can.

Lynn nods. “Lynn, you can come this way,” a teacher says. You’ve seen the woman before but can’t recall her name.

She suddenly hugs you, her arms tight around your waist. You freeze. “Thank you,” she mumbles into your hoodie.

“For what?” Your voice is stiff, unsure how to react.

“For not being mad.” If you were more responsible, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But you’re here now, and you’ll keep being there.

You just nod, avoiding words that might bring on tears. You're not great with emotions like that.

As you and Yunji start to leave, someone calls your name. You turn, half-expecting Lynn, but it’s the teacher—dark hair pinned up, that billboard smile they all give on show. You don’t trust anyone who keeps any form of smile on for that long.

“I’m Mrs. Choi, Lynn’s teacher.”

“Oh, okay,” you acknowledge.

The woman, thin and dressed in a typical black pencil skirt and blouse, continues to speak. You still don’t know what she’s stopped you for. Is she about to tell you that Lynn is getting expelled? You wouldn’t be shocked if they decided to react that way.

“I wasn’t there when this whole thing happened,” she gestures vaguely. “If I was, I’d have handled it differently.”

You don’t have anything to add because the conversation is still vague, and you don’t understand the relevance. So, you let her carry on talking. “She’s a good student. Very smart.”

“Thank you.” You squint your eyes, still not knowing where the conversation is going. Doesn’t she have something to be doing? Is she about to ask you for money to make sure Lynn doesn’t get further discipline? That would make sense.

“I wanted to introduce myself formally.” She smiles.

You don’t plan on coming here again, hopefully. So, you don’t get the introduction, but you take it. You don’t blame her for not knowing your distaste for the place. The town only has a handful of schools, and this one was the closest to home and the safest for travel, even though it's closer to downtown 2. But you don’t like to think about that.

It’s good to know your sister’s teachers anyway. “I’ll keep an eye on her, make sure the other kids don’t bother her.”

Normally, these things are followed up with her stretching out her hand for an envelope. But she doesn’t. She must be one of those teachers who treat students like their own children, which you don’t mind if you know how she treats her children.

“Thank you, I appreciate it, but you don’t have to—”

“No, no. I don’t mind. I think of her as my own daughter.”

The words hit you strangely. Then she adds, “Since I’m so close to your mother.”

Your stomach twists. “Oh… right.”

Just as you turn to leave, she lowers her voice. “By the way, let your mother know she doesn’t have to rush with the loan repayment.”

Your breath catches. You glance at Yunji. Her face is unreadable, but she knows. She knows how much you hate debt. She told you back then to take out a loan to pay your tuition fee, but you were bitterly against it.

So, when you think about the possibility of your mother taking out a loan, fear creeps in. You can’t be sure because you don’t know this lady, but why would she bring it up if it wasn’t true?

“Sure, thank you for letting me know.” Letting you know that she’d probably come banging on your door one day, harassing you for her money.

Now, all you want to know is how much she owes if her words are true. But you don’t ask; it would make your family look dysfunctional.

Mrs. Choi smiles like she’s done you a favor. “Travel safely.”

The bell rings. You flinch at the sound. Yunji watches you closely as you step outside.

“You, okay?” she asks.

You blink.

“Yeah,” you say, even though all you can think about is returning home to ruin.

“It’s okay for people to take out loans; don’t be so upset,” Yunji says casually. She wouldn’t get it.

“Would you know anything about taking out a loan?” Your voice comes out sharper than intended, but you never intended on saying anything at all.

“It’s just a loan,” she says, waving it off like it’s nothing. Like debt doesn’t eat people alive.

“Never mind,” is all you say before heading in the opposite direction from what Yunji was expecting.

“Fine, we’ll talk later then.” She finally catches on to a minuscule of your mood. She never got why you were so worked up about taking out a loan. Yeah, your ex fucked you over; nothing to be bitter about.

“Sure.”

You stare up at the sky that’s usually blue and clear for some hope. But you find none. She’s grown grey and nimbus clouds obscure your view, which is weird because it never rains in Jangsu.

--

Jungkook’s Pov

Monday, March 17th. 9:45pm

Jungkook’s done this countless times. He’s been running circles around them for so long. It's second nature. Every one at Fang house hates to see him coming.

It's a talent worth studying. And it’s what keeps him coming back. After winning yet another round, his mind still clear, he can't help but grin smugly.

“You bastard, how do you win every damn time?” one of the regulars, a middle-aged man, with a family at home and as mistress that pouts at his side, whines. He could whine forever and Jungkook wouldn't care.

Jungkook chuckles and shrugs his shoulder. He smiles, pulling the poker chips closer to him, and 2 billion won ( $1,377,800) couldn’t be any closer. He’s got all he needs. This money is enough to get a few loan sharks off his back and fix whatever damage is on his apartment. Jungkook has never thought or envisioned himself in a whole mansion or a better house. He’s satisfied with what he has. It’s easy to manage.

They are irritated by guys like him, young and thinking they're so smart. But they don’t know Jungkook. Nobody does. When they see him, because of his tattoos and piercings, they assume he’s in some type of gang, which Jungkook is far from. But that’s what they think. He’s got the appearance and aura for it.

Jungkook could’ve been in a gang, but his detest for working for others prevents that.

“Look at him, so smug.” The other middle-aged man with badly bleached hair says from across the table. “I should wipe that look off your face.” The man curses at Jungkook, but he’s unfazed.

"Maybe next time.” Jungkook stands ready to checkout for the night.

“Jeon.” Gunhyo, another regular like Jungkook, calls for him. Amongst all those on the table, he’s the only one with no family and ruining his own life. But he’s not smarter; honestly, he’s even worse. “One more game," he says drunk out of his mind, not able to comprehend one card from the other. It's almost as though he's pleading.

Jungkook chuckles.

“He’s not gonna play one more game. Not with all he’s earned.” It’s true Jungkook shouldn’t play another game with what he’s earned.

“Plus, if he plays again, he’ll run out of luck.” They all laugh and the sound grinds at Jungkook ear drum. Drunk people are so annoying.

“Huh? Are you afraid of running out of luck?”

Hands in his pants pocket, Jungkook scoffs. He’s said it before, he doesn’t use luck, never guaranteed him anything. Strategy always has though. Always been his side to win every damn round.

“Fine, just one game.” Jungkook sits down, eyes locked on the table. He doesn't know why he does it, but today feels like a night of change. Show these men strategy. “Pour me a drink please.” The words that he never utters before a game leave his mouth, confusing the bar girl. But he needs something to ease him. Just one glass.

"Are you sure.” The bartender asks, knowing him very well.

She looks down at him concerned and he looks up at her with a smirk. It's her job, and she should be all in with serving alcohol. But something just doesn’t sit right. “I’ve never been more sure baby.”

She still gives him the drink. He takes it and cringes; his brain isn’t used to drinking at this time. “I’m going all in.” He exclaims.

“Ahh this guy. Who does he think he is?" Not this question again.

“don’t put all your eggs in basket, Joen."

They all count their chips and push forward.

"Too late now.” It is instead he’s already shown his face, can’t go back on his pride now.

“Ahh, looks like the bastard has run out of luck.”

“You’re gonna regret going all in, son.”

“Show your cards.”

They all reveal their hands, and Jungkook does the same.

“Shibal, you unlucky bastard.” Gunhyo laughs, raking the chips toward him.

Jungkook stares at the cards longer than necessary. Not because he’s bargaining, things happen, and he’s used to that. But because he knows he’s fucked himself. He’s made a mistake. Gambling, drinking, those flaws were obvious. But pride? That was the one that always destroyed him, the one he never acknowledged.

Gunhyo leans back, smug. “Told you not to—”

Jungkook clenches his jaw. His ego is bruised, and he knows it.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Gunhyo scoffs. “That how you talk to your elders, boy?”

“You’re nothing to me.” The words come out cold, detached. They’ve always been nothing, but he’s never said it out loud. Always danced around it.

“A fucking junkie wasting his life while his family suffers. Do you know how stupid you are?”

Jungkook chuckles, a humourless sound. He looks at the man in front of him, so sure of himself, so oblivious to his own rot.

He just-he just doesn’t get it. Like he hasn't lost too.

What did he miss? He played everything right. He never played twice, no matter how much they begged, because that was a death sentence. But tonight, he let his guard down. Fuck.

“Watch how you talk to me—”

Jungkook barely hears him. His vision blurred by rage just beneath his skin. He should walk away now.

But he’s already lost everything. Staying won’t do any more harm.

“Please, shut up. Shut the fuck up.” Jungkook drags a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. He’s in disbelief—at himself, at them, at everything. “You should be focusing on your kids. Do you even know your daughter is a fucking whore?” It’s unnecessary. Low. But his mouth is a wild horse, and he’s given up trying to tame it in.

“She’s running around fucking thugs and junkies just for money. You know why? Because her father won’t give her any.” The look on the man’s face tells Jungkook that he didn’t know. And that? That satisfaction—watching the blood drain from his face—feels like the only win he’s had all night.

“Watch your mouth.”

A hand grips his shirt, pulling him forward. Jungkook doesn’t move. If he fights now, he won’t stop. He’ll kill.

“Yah, Jeon, have you been fucking his daughter? ‘Cause how else would you know?”

Jungkook scoffs. “No. But you have.” Jungkook blurts out looking at Gunhyo

The blond man's grip falters for a second. Jungkook pushes him off easily.

“You’re fighting the wrong person.” His voice is eerily calm.

The man turns, eyes snapping to Gunhyo. “Seriously?”

The man shrugs. “Someone’s gotta take care of me.”

It’d be stupid to think you found genuine friendship with an alcoholic gamblers, let along both of you being cut from the same cloth.

He lunges at him. “You stupid bastard. She only just turned 18.” He punches.

Jungkook feeling satisfied about something turns to leave, as he walks, he hears the bartender speak. “Jungkook...” she calls his name delicately. He doesn’t care for sympathy or pity. Not when he doesn’t feel it himself.

“I’m fine. Have a good night.”

The night air feels colder. From his head to his toes and even in his lungs. The only thing keeping them warm is the smoke he inhales.

He’s got a few blocks till he walks and gets home. Though he's not even sure home is safe anymore. They’re probably out looking for him. His place doesn’t even have a proper door, and with only 100,000 won in his pocket, he’s an easy target. He’s never hated himself more. So close—so fucking close—only to lose it all over what? Pride? He curses under his breath, kicking at the pavement, cursing the cold wind whipping against his face, cursing the cramped sidewalks that force him to brush against strangers. He even curses the dark alley he’s never minded before—tonight, it feels like a goddamn trap.

“Jeon. Good to finally see you.”

That cocky, finally got you tone makes Jungkook slow down, eyes scanning the shadows. He flicks away his cigarette—it’s useless to him now. A man steps forward, bat in hand, and hungry for something only a swing to Jungkook’s skull can satisfy.

Fuck.

He turns on instinct, ready to bolt—but slams into a wall of muscle behind him. A skyscraper of a man, grinning down at him with rotting teeth, lets out a low, gut chuckle. Jungkook grimaces, turning back just as the leader steps in closer.

“Listen, I have your money...” Jungkook keeps his voice calm, controlled. But nothing he says softens the scowl on the man’s face.

How many times has he said that line, knowing damn well it wasn’t true? “Cut the bullshit, man. We heard what happened to you at the casino.”

How the hell did word travel that fast? This town isn’t that small. But Jungkook doesn’t have time to wonder who’s been spilling his business. “You don’t have shit,” the leader taunts, teasing mock sympathy.

They move in, and Jungkook takes a step back—only to feel the giant’s chest press against his spine. He's cornered. “Okay, so I don’t have your money,” he admits, voice dry. “Then what do you want from me?”

They keep closing in. He’s a good fighter, but four against one? He’s not walking away fine. he won't even be able to walk away. Well...five.

His gaze flickers to the one figure hanging back in the shadows. Even in the dim alley, Jungkook recognizes that face. And judging by how quickly the kid looks away, shoulders hunched, he recognizes Jungkook too. He doesn’t want to be here. And that’s what shocks Jungkook the most—why is he here?

A tap at his stomach snaps his attention back. The leader pointing the bat at his abdomen. Jungkook curses his body’s awful timing—now is not the time to be thinking about how fucking hungry he is. “We’re here to teach you a lesson,” the man says, smirking.

Jungkook lets out a dry chuckle. “If you wanna teach, maybe start a class. Ganging up on me in an alley? Not very educational.” No one laughs.

“Listen to him.” The bat slams into Jungkook’s stomach. The impact steals his breath, doubling him over as pain sears through him.

“You thought you were so smart, huh?” The leader sneers. “Jeon, you’re nothing now.” They can hit him all they want. But no one—no one—touches his ego.

Jungkook grits his teeth, then drives his fist straight into the bastard’s face. “Grab him.” And the large man does. Jungkook struggles, and with one lucky hit, he is free. Once he’s free, he runs back into the street. “Yah! Kid, grab him!” they shout when Jungkook passes by him. The kid, not knowing what else to do and afraid, runs down the road after Jungkook. People on the street yell and scream at them, but still make room for them to run.

Jungkook barely knows where he’s going. He knows the streets well, but he forgets how busy they are. The road is filled with cars and the pavement—Bang. In a millisecond, he’s smashed into a trash bin in an alley by a vehicle that he hadn’t realized was chasing him down with the kid. The hit and the landing throw him back into the alley. It could’ve knocked him unconscious, which Jungkook wishes, but instead, it keeps him alive to feel every dull and sharp ache in his back and body. Every breath he takes brings him a new kind of pain. When he holds his breath, he stops, but he can’t hold it for long. He groans from the pain. What the fuck just happened? But before he can collect his thoughts...

“Grab him, kid.” The guys push him, but he’s reluctant. They don’t know why he’s behaving this way because with others he’s at least better.

“Practice your punches on him,” the leader says, walking up to a laid-out Jungkook and stomping on his stomach. Jungkook can’t move, honestly, or maybe he could if he was willing to fight for his life. “He won’t do anything to you; he’s useless.” He tries to stomp on him again, but Jungkook grabs his foot and pulls it toward himself to make him fall backward.

“Fuck my back,” he says, touching his arm and moving up a little. He’s running, but he doesn’t feel his legs. If he can or will ever feel his legs, he’s not sure. It’s better if they kill him.

“I’ll give you guys your money; just give me some time,” Jungkook speaks through the ringing in his ears.

“Time has already passed for you, Jeon. It did long ago, and you can’t run now.” He says, swinging his bat onto Jungkook’s knee. Nope, he can definitely feel his legs. The pain jolts up like lightning through his leg and all over his body.

The groans and look on Jungkook’s face bring the man joy, all except one. He looks sick.

“Here, boy, hit him.” The bat is uncaringly pushed into the kid’s hands.

He fumbles with the object. “I-I-I,” he stutters.

“Don’t act like you’re dumb; hit him!” he yells, and it rings, only serving to confuse the boy.

The men, getting irritated, press on. “The boss won’t be happy to hear that you were just watching.” The kid shakes with the bat as he watches Jungkook in pain. Jungkook stares at the kid, blood seeping out of his nose.

“Please don’t; I’ll have your money soon.” At this point, he’s just talking, hoping he’ll say something right and they’ll leave him alone. Maybe he can deal with his pain on his own and in silence. Though silence is never certain, not when the open street is just meters away and people still roam the streets. Jungkook lightly chuckles through the pain; he can see people turn their heads, curious, but they never actually do anything. Why should they care? He’s nothing, isn’t he?

“He says he’ll have the money.” The kid looks at the older man yelling at him, eyes bargaining for Jungkook.

“Don’t listen to this broke piece of shit.” He spits in Jungkook’s direction. “Hit him.” The words are sharp and hard, but not enough to make him move faster.

He just needs a minute, is what he tells himself. “Sir, do we really have to waste our time waiting for him? We can just do it ourselves.” One of the men who have been silently shit-talking speaks up. “Me personally, I’ve been waiting to get my hands on him.” Jungkook coughs up blood.

“Please, just—” he spits.

“Relax. Boss wants him to do it,” he jeers at them, hands in his pockets. “To make sure he’s not some coward.” He knows that he is a coward, and his boss knows that, so he’s confused about why he allows him and forces him in their way.

He smacks his teeth, getting irritated watching him just stand over Jungkook. “Come on, kid, hit the motherfucker.” He gets impatient. “Or we’ll hit you.” It’s not a threat but a promise, and the kid knows that.

“Or even better, we’ll kill you,” the skyscraper adds, and they all laugh. “You’re a nobody anyway, so no one will care if you die—” their laughter is cut off by a frustrated Jungkook. It’s enraging to hear them taunt over his weak body.

“Taeho,” Jungkook manages to say. The kid pauses. He still remembers his name.

“Just do it.” He accepts his fate. He was meant for this, but Taeho isn’t. So he encourages the kid. “I’ll be fine.” He’s not even sure of that; it’s probably a lie. He won’t be okay.

“Listen to this idiot,” he mocks, bending to look at Jungkook’s face. Jungkook stares back at him, gaze not faltering. “Who do you think you are, Jesus?” he mocks with a laugh. “If he hits you, you’re gonna die.” Jungkook is very much aware of that. Too aware, but right now he can’t feel anything but the pain in his body. So maybe he’s not the most stable person to make sensible decisions. But looking at his life, has he ever made sensible decisions? He hates his life. And even if he won’t die right here at the hands of these people, if he’s ever graced with a full life again, could he ever change? And if this is how he’s supposed to leave his life, what will he do then?

They all laugh. “I can’t do it?”

“You can’t?” he says sarcastically, pulling a knife to his throat. “Then we’re just going to have to kill you instead.”

“Taeho, just do it.” Jungkook repeats.

“LISTEN TO THE MAN AND DO IT!”

Feeling frustrated and fearful, Taeho slaps the man’s knife away from his throat. He grips the bat handle and pulls it back, picking up momentum.

This is not fair; this is not right.

Bang!

With closed eyes, he takes a blow at Jungkook’s head. They all, for a moment, stay silent. “Fuck! Did you just kill him?” he asks, kicking Jungkook’s limp foot, which does not react. “You’re a psychopath, kid; I think you killed him.”

Taeho stares at Jungkook’s body; he can’t determine if he’s alive or not. And he’s too scared to check and confirm. If he did end up being the reason for his death, he wouldn’t want to know, because he’d never live it down. He’s never killed anyone, and he’s never planned on doing so. Let alone the only person who’s helped him, and that he betrayed before, now twice.

“Don’t worry; you won’t go to jail. It’s just Jungkook. He was gonna die somehow anyway.” Taeho is disgusted by his language. How could he say that? He should be calling an ambulance, calling the police, and handing himself in for killing a man. He should; he deserves it. At least he could do right by Jungkook one last time.

“Come on, guys, job is done.”

Taeho stands there for a moment longer, staring at Jungkook’s body, his head resting on a trash bag, resting like it was the softest pillow in the world.

They get into the car. “Come on.” They honk for him, and the bright flash of the lights brings him to reality, and he runs down for the car.

The lights fade out, and Jungkook’s body lies there limp, as his blood drains from his wounds. If he were conscious, he’d be thinking this was a perfect way for him to die. Not from dust to dust, but from trash to trash. Like he was meant to die here.

Reader’s Pov

Same day, 10:32pm

“Mom, pick up,” you mumble to yourself as you try to call your mother. You’re just trying to understand what Lynn’s teacher meant. It’s been bugging you.

When you arrived home, you were relieved to find everything intact, but as you called your mother and her phone kept ringing, you grew anxious.

After many tries, the phone the phone keeps ringing. It’s getting late, and she should be back from work, so you grow even more anxious.

“Tsk,” you grumble, and the call just rings and rings.

You give up for a moment.

Sitting down on the uncomfortable couch, you find solace in your hands. Why the hell is she not answering? Does she even realize how worried you are?

Ring, ring.

You don’t waste time swiping at the green button.

“Mom, where are you? Why weren’t you picking up my calls?” you immediately speak, rushed, not caring to pay attention to who picked up. For a second, you feel relieved. She’s picked up, so she’s fine, and your mind was just playing tricks on you.

“Are you Y/L/N Yn?” You freeze, the unrecognized voice causing you to raise a brow and check if you saw the contact correctly. It is your mother’s contact, but you don’t recognize the voice speaking to you.

Your mother wouldn’t give anyone her phone. Wait, unless...

The voice is too soft—gentle and professional to be a loan shark. Their language is very vulgar and aggressive.

“Yes, this is her,” you rush out, slowly feeling like you’re getting sick from not knowing. “Who’s this? Can I talk to the owner of the phone?”

The man on the other side of the phone does not react to your rushed or pressuring tone. The silence is unbearable. your voice sharpens.

Who is this? Why do they have her phone? Your pulse pounds in your ears as you grip the device tighter.

“I’m a doctor from Jangsu General Hospital.” Doctor? Your chest caves in, the weight crushing. No fear compares to this one—the fear of losing someone before you even understand what’s happening. “Your mother was admitted a few minutes ago.”

“W-why? How—what’s the problem?”

“It’d be better if you just came here so we can discuss it.”

--

27th march, 9:45am

10 days.

Jungkook had been unconscious for 10 days. And that was enough time to worry the only person who cared about his well-being. The doctor had reassured her he’d be fine, that he’d wake up soon.

And now that he was awake, he was already being stubborn.

“Jungkook, you need to lay down.” Rose hovered at the edge of her seat, ready to push him back onto the bed if necessary.

“I’m fine.” He ignored her, trying to sit up despite the sharp ache in his body. His face cringed, weakness dragging him down.

Fed up, she reached over and adjusted the hospital bed so he can sit up without straining himself. "You're not."

“Who says I’m not fine?” He looked up at her, face still lightly bruised, but somehow still managing to be annoyingly cute.

“The doctor, idiot.” She rolls her eyes before reaching into her bag, pulling out a lunchbox. “See? You can’t even think straight.”

Jungkook leaned back against the bed, eyes slipping shut for a moment. Hospitals felt exactly like they looked—plain, boring, and too quiet. But oddly enough, the silence didn’t bother him. It felt peaceful. When Rose was too quiet, though, he cracked an eye open, just to make sure he hadn’t somehow slipped past the pearly gates.

He watched as she arranged the table over his lap, placing down the food she’d made for him that morning. She always brought something when she visited, just in case he woke up. The hospital provided food, but she didn’t trust its flavor or nutritional value. Jungkook didn't either.

He was so focused on the food, almost drooling, that he didn’t notice her inspecting his face. “What’s your name?” she asked suddenly.

He chuckled, confused but playing along. “Jeon Jungkook.”

“And mine?” He smirked, thinking it over. He knew it, it was right there on the tip of his tongue. He’d never forget it.

“Rose.” She shook her head, brushing off the warmth creeping up her face. He shouldn’t call her that anymore.

“No, my real name. That’ll really test your memory.”

His smile faltered for a second. He hesitated, playfully pressing a hand to his temple. “S-Si—so—fuck.” He winced dramatically. “I can’t remember it.” She rolls her eyes, unimpressed.

“Oh, wait…” He lifted a finger as if struck by revelation. “Sohi, right?” She nods.

“I’d never forget your name.”

“Whatever.”

“Eat.” She gestured toward the food, and he didn’t argue. His body fought against him, hungry beyond belief.

Jungkook couldn’t even remember the last time he ate—or even how long he’d been asleep. He always imagined being in a coma was some kind of out-of-body experience, a spiritual revelation, or something deeply personal. But there was none of that. Just his body giving up on him. If no one told him, he’d think he’d only been out for a few hours, not ten whole days.

But yet, something felt…off. He didn’t feel like the same person, even if he couldn’t quite pinpoint why. His thoughts were scattered, disorderly. Images of flames flickered through his mind, burning into his memory. But he said nothing. Probably just a side effect of the blow to the head.

“You’re gonna have to stop calling me that soon enough,” Sohi said, rolling up her sleeves. Her tattoos peeked through, one of them a rose, fresh and vibrant, one he hadn’t noticed before.

“Why? Because your boyfriend doesn’t like it?” he muttered between bites, savoring the warmth of the food. It was grounding. A reminder he was still alive.

“Fiancé.”

He barely reacted. “Whatever.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” He didn’t look at her, eyes instead fixed on the details of his meal, as if he could see the atoms themselves.

“No, it’s not that.” She hesitated. “I just… It feels too intimate.”

Jungkook scoffed. “Come on, Rose. It’s just a nickname.”

“I don’t know. You used to call me that when we were together, and you still do.”

“I got used to it, I guess.” He shrugged. “Hard to change old habits.”

She looked away, lips pressed into a thin line. Seeing her expression, he paused eating. “I can stop.”

She shook her head. “No… I don’t mind.”

Jungkook smirked. “You literally just said—”

“I know what I said, don’t quote me.”

He raised his hands in surrender. Well, one. The other one hurt too much.

Even though she was as pretty as a rose, he always forgot about the thorns. “Just do whatever you want, you always do it anyways.” And no matter what, he always seemed to prick himself on them.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

“Look at you!” she snapped, frustration boiling over. “I don’t know how many times I’ve told you to stop this gambling thing.”

“I didn’t get this from gambling.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Her voice wavered, thick with concern. she knows he's lying. the kid who called her snitched. “I don’t like the things that get you hurt.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t.”

“The—”

“It’s okay, Rose.”

“No, it’s not, Jungkook. You don’t get it.” She took a shaky breath. “The doctors said you were inches away from death.”

“But I’m not dead.”

“Who knows if you won’t be next time?”

Jungkook pauses. Next time? she thinks there's gonna be a next time. He over estimated his luck. “There won’t be a next time.”

“How can I believe that?”

Jungkook sighed. “Come here.” He says wanting to hold her hand. She refuses.

“I’ve quit gambling, okay?” She just stares at him, sceptical.

“I’m never stepping foot in that place again,” he added. “Does that make you feel better?”

“It’s not about making me feel better, it’s about you being better.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “We’re just friends, but I really care about you. And I hate seeing things like this happen to you.” Her voice softened. “I care about you like no one else does.” It's true. no one has ever been there for him like her, so her worry and anxiety motivates me.

“Rose…”

A tear slides down her cheek but she's quick to wiping it. “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“It’s okay.” A silence settled between them.

“Who attacked you?” she asked after a moment.

“What are you gonna do? Fight them?” He smirked, returning to his food.

“I might.” He laughs.

“It was some loan sharks,” he admitted. They probably think his dead right now, which ,maybe will give him some time to do what he doesn't know is next. “I haven’t paid them back in a while.”

“Did you give it to them?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t have it.” he says and the bitterness threatens to creep past his throat.

“What about the 100 million you told me about?”

Jungkook froze.

“I lost it.”

“Oh my God, Jungkook.”

She buried her face in her hands. “What are you gonna do now? You’re not getting loans and gambling again, right?”

“I’m done with that.” He shakes his head, scoffing.

She studies him, searching for deception.

“I promise.” he whispers.

“I hope so.”

Silence.

“How’d you know where I was?”

“Some panicked kid called my phone. I have no idea how he even got my number.”

Jungkook chuckled, shaking his head. “Kids these days.” He smiles to himself knowing exactly who did it. The kid should've used his skills for better things.

2weeks later

Reader’s Pov

You’ve been on ‘E,’ reading through emails of people constantly rejecting your application for a job.

“Still nothing?” Yunji hovers over your shoulder. She’d come over on the weekend when she could, after you told her mother you were in the hospital. You spent the night in the hospital but soon had to go home to pack some things for your mother. While at home, you thought you might as well go through your emails, seeing that you need it now.

“Nothing,” you respond. Not even from that one investment company. So that guy was fooling you. Or maybe you weren’t even good enough for a job with no requirements.

“Oh my gosh, Yn, I’m so sorry.”

You force a smile after a long sigh. “It’s not like you’re the one who got me here.” You drop your hands into your palms. You don’t usually cry, especially in front of people, but she’s seen you cry before, so you don’t mind.

“I know, but I don’t know what to say.” She holds onto your shoulder as you sniffle.

“Nothing.” You wipe away tears. “Just say nothing.”

“Nothing.” She repeats. You laugh; she's so unserious.

After both your laughter dies down, her face grows serious. “But I actually want to help you.” Her voice is low. Then she gasps, like the higher-ups of Jangsu just blessed her with an idea. “You know what? I can get you a job at my dad’s office. You can do some secretary or cleaning job; I don’t know.” She continues to talk. “Anything is fine right now, right?”

You chuckle. “I know I seem desperate right now, but I’m not desperate for just anything,” you say, picking yourself up and fully wiping your tears.

“That’s true. If you were, you’d become a prostitute,” she thinks. But you stare, causing her to retreat. You forgot just how random she was too. “Sorry. They make good money, though.”

“How would you know?” You move to check if everything you’ve packed is there. The only time you want to be packing your bags is when you’re leaving this damn town.

“I watch movies,” she says defensively, but you don’t catch the tone or see her bite her lower lip with slumped shoulders. You’re too focused on making sure everything is intact.

Sound falls flat.

“Anyway, I have to go for some extra class now. I’ll visit later,” she promises, picking up her purse. You stand up to look at her.

“You don’t have to bother yourself; focus on your studies.”

Yunji frowns. “Yn, don’t say that. You’re my friend, and you’re going through a hard time. I want to be there for you.” She moves in to unexpectedly hug you. “Please let me be there for you. You’re not a bother at all.” She continues to hug you, and you’re forced to take in her flowery perfume that contrasts with the environment outside.

You sink into her warmth and hug her back. It’s comforting; you won’t lie. “Okay?” she asks.

“Okay.”

“Good.” She pulls away. “I’m leaving now. I’ll see you later today.” She gives you a big smile.

“Alright.” She pauses at the door.

“Aren’t you going to wish me a good lesson?”

You roll your eyes. “Have a great lesson, Yunji.”

“Thank you.”

Immediately she leaves, the room feels like it’s closing in, and you’re in that void again. You stay in silence, and in the silence, your phone chirps. Expecting some text from your mother, you’re quick to grab your phone. You stare at your screen.

Unknown: You secretary position?

You pause to read it over again. It feels like a prank. The text is not formal, which makes you think it is. But you still want to pry on. Who the heck is this person, and why are they texting?

You: Yes, who’s this?

You applied for a lot of things at a lot of places, so you can't even tell who this person is. If they sent you an email, maybe you could tell. But it looks like their company doesn’t do that.

Unknown: I’m the boss of the company you applied to.

Again, you wouldn’t know. But you stand straight at the realization.

You: I’m sorry; I just was not expecting a text.

Unknown: Just come to the Jangsu office building on the fifth floor on Monday. You’ll have your interview there.

Okay... your breath catches. This is everything you've wanted, and it couldn't have come at a better time. But you feel off about it. You're sure it's because of how informal the text is. It's not an issue; maybe that's why they need a secretary.

You: Thank you. What time should I be there?

[Read]

That’s odd, you think. But you’re excited about the opportunity. You’re in your head about it, questioning what just happened.

He said secretary, so you have to wear something office-style. You don’t have any clothes in that style, but your mother shouldn’t mind letting you borrow.

Jungkook’s Pov.

Monday, April 14th.

Rose: “You’ll do great.” Jungkook hopes the opposite. He would beg if he could—working in a place that got him to this point is the last thing he wants. The air around him feels colder, overwhelming. He's doing this for her, only because of her.

“Jungkook…” The familiar voice of the bar girl cuts through his thoughts, and his ears perk up. “Never thought I’d see you again.” “Same.” He says, looking around. Not much has changed—maybe the faces, but not the layout. When his gaze lands on the table where it all went wrong, he can’t help but chuckle bitterly. Not tonight.

She hesitates, unsure of how to phrase her question. “How—what are you doing here?” She fears getting personal, but she’s heard the rumors. People whispered excitedly about what happened. Some even celebrated it with toasts. But she won’t say that to him. She has no personal stake in his past, but she remembers the kindness he once showed her. He was the only one who ever treated her like more than a worker, despite the inappropriate comments she endured from the others.

To see him here, looking different—his face healed from a bruise she never saw—there’s a warmth inside her. If he’s back, maybe he can protect her from the creeps in this place. But unfortunately for her, he’s not here to be that person anymore.

He sighs. “Came for a job.” His words are almost drowned out by the daytime music, but she reads his lips. She squints, asking if he’s sure. Sadly, he is.

“Here?” He nods. She’s still confused. “You know Ros—I mean, Sohi.” It’s random, but it might jog her memory. “Oh, Sohi. Yeah, I know her. She gave me my first tattoo.”

“She said she’d talk to someone here—” He stops, seeing the amused look on her face. He doesn’t like it. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.” “I’m not.” She laughs, teasing him.

“Do you know or not?” “I know.” She speaks reluctantly, and Jungkook senses where this is going. He won’t like it. “Did she tell you what the job is?” “No. She just said she figured it out already.”

She bites her lip, hesitant. “Well… uh…”

“What is it, cleaning up dead bodies or something?” He jokes, but his voice carries a touch of bitterness. “I think you’d prefer that.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow. “What is it?”

She sighs before answering, still biting her lip. “Cleaning the toilets.”

Reader’s Pov

You’d never entered or been within a hundred-meter radius of this building, but you knew of it. It was a normal office complex; many people rented out rooms or floors. You were familiar with the concept, though it doesn’t ease you.

Its tall, imposing figure reminds you of everything Jangsu is to you: power. Not to the people, but to the VIPs. And you're foolish enough to enter their territory—one you're not well-equipped to roam, in search of a means to an end.

You wish you could be by your mother’s side all the time. But now that she’s bedridden in the hospital and won’t be able to work, it’s up to you to step into her role. You are familiar with the things you have to do, but gosh, it is exhausting trying to explain to Lynn what’s going on. Explain that she still has to go to school. You say it like your mother would, instead of the way you would. It’s new neural patterns for your brain to make.

Like the rest of the city, this part is fast. Everyone walks with purpose and conviction, so you can’t afford to stand out—not when it garners unwanted looks. So, you too walk with purpose, faux purpose.

Exiting the elevator, you look for your way around. He told you the fifth floor, and that’s where you are. But you can’t help but feel like you’re in the wrong place. It does have the format of an office, but it doesn’t have the feel of one. You don’t see computers or people working—just one computer in the centre of the room and, across from there, a pile of files. You’ve got no clue what you’re here to do, but you’ve got to know what work this is.

The place lacks the smell of paper and ink or the clicking of computer keys or the thumping of feet on the floor.

Maybe you just got here on a bad day or at a bad time. You ignore it. Looking around, you spot the secluded office room. That’s normally where the boss is, right? Maybe for other offices, but this one is competing to show you how different it is.

So slowly and cautiously, you walk to the door and knock on it. As you do, you try to peep through the closed blinds, just to make sure there actually is someone in there. But why would he tell you to come on this day if there would be no one around?

He seems like he needs the employees.

When a low voice, sounding uninterested in your existence, tells you to open the door, you walk in.

The man behind the desk is young, maybe in his thirties, but something about him feels older. The air around him is cold, indifferent. His long, wavy hair falls messily over his brow, the kind of hair that doesn’t fit the typical image of a corporate boss. But maybe that’s what makes him more unsettling—he doesn’t look like he should be in charge, yet you feel the power radiating off him.

“Sit,” he says without looking up, his tone casual as if he’s ordering coffee, not a person. You sit, though you don’t lean back. The couch is too far back; you know it would make you look relaxed, too comfortable. You don’t belong here, and by the feel of the place, you don't want to be here longer.

He doesn't seem to care about that, though.

Well, this is an interesting interior design choice for an office. A bar decorates the wall, with all types of alcohol; you can only imagine the price.

“Have you ever worked with a computer before?” he asks without missing a beat.

You blink, caught off guard by the abrupt question. “No, but I’m familiar with how they operate.”

He nods, as if your answer is good enough. “Good enough.”

The words half-register as your mind races. There’s something wrong here—something about the space, the way the man speaks, the cold, ironic feel of everything. No boss does the interviews themselves, right? It feels like a trap, but your stomach twists in a different way. You try to shake it off, but it lingers.

“You’ve seen those files out there,” he points out, and you remember the sight. “They all need to become digital, but none of my idiot men know how to do it.” You chuckle awkwardly because you see no men. Is this how he speaks about his employees, if they exist?

“That’s where you come in.” He describes to you how he wants his company to move with the times and become digital, which is common nowadays, but you wonder how long he’s had this company. If he started recently, he should’ve had his files already digital. But you don’t think about it further. Some people still prefer paper and pen. He also adds that if he wants you to, you could type out contracts for him.

You don’t mind typing.

You mention something about the number of files and that you’re the only one here, which causes him to chuckle, his array of unnaturally white teeth on show for you, blinding you.

“You’re the only one who applied, so I guess you’ll be doing it by yourself.” You hear this sink in. You don’t know what’s in them yet, but you can feel the anxiety of the work creeping over you. But this isn’t about you; it’s about supporting your family, so you’ll want to do it. You’ll want to do it.

But still. Alone? The realization of the words crushes you. “Don’t pout; I’m not a stingy boss, so your pay will be good.”

You didn’t realize you had been pouting, but he can see your face better than you.

“I’m sure you want to know how much.” He thinks you’re too quiet for his liking, but you’re here to work, so it’s better. It’s just that he can’t place a finger on where your mind could be at. “20,000 per hour?” he says like it's no big deal. But in your brain, you calculate how much you'd earn if you worked 9 hours the whole week. You still imagine it, even though in reality, it's unrealistic for you.

Your fingers tap against your knee.

He can't be real. You don’t remember applying for this job, but it just feels like it’s fallen right into your lap. Like someone up there is looking out for you. You don’t know if you can find anything better than this. This is all or nothing for you.

“Does that sound good?” Too good to be true. But your heart wants to believe. He's not a man to bullshit, right? He doesn't look it.

“Y-yes. Thank you,” you say a little too quickly.

He laughs.

“You start tomorrow.” His eyes linger on you for a moment, as if sizing you up. “You’re an interesting girl.”

Before you leave, there’s something you just want to get off your mind, and you’ll have to slither around it.

Before you leave, a question rises in your throat. You can’t stop yourself.

“Umm, sir, what exactly is in the files?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper, but enough to have his attention.

The man chuckles, suddenly finding it hard to speak. He’s not sure where you stand morally, but he’ll have to find out. The money is good, so he doubts you’ll let that go by. You look like you're itching for it.

“Did I not mention what the work is about?” he stalls. You shake your head. He mumbles something about you not knowing being the reason why you’re here. There are different types of money lenders—those who genuinely loan out money to people and collect when needed, and that’s it. But his business is more than that. He wants it to be more than that. He dabbles in the money lending business, but he does it with a kick—a kick in the contract, that is. Some would basically call it scamming or conning desperate people. But he calls it his job.

And you'd be the one handling the paperwork and accounts while he enjoyed the money and the collection.

“We’re loan sharks,” he chuckles, “just to put it nicely.”

Your face runs cold. Just to put it nicely? What could be worse than that? The higher-ups were actually playing you. That explains a lot. Damn. The realization sinks in like a cold knife. Can you ever have anything good? They call themselves loan sharks, but they’re just scammers. The realization sinks in like a cold knife to your stomach. Loan sharks. Scammers. The kind of people who ruined your life.

“Is that a problem?” His voice drips with something unreadable. It’s a challenge, as if he knows you won’t walk away. You can’t afford to. Not now. Not with your family’s future hanging by a thread. Yes, he did a little digging. He needs to know how to deal with you, and it couldn't have been easier for him.

Your mind races. You want to say no, to walk out and never look back. But the weight of your mother’s hospital bills, the looming rent, the thought of being left with nothing, nothing but a life that spirals out of control, catches you.

It’s not just a job. It’s your only chance. You can’t say no. You can’t afford to.

All you have to do is remind yourself that you are not one of these people. You’re just here to work and make money for yourself. People take out loans because they are in bad times; you're doing it for the same reason too.

“I’ll take it,” you say reluctantly, feeling like stability is winning all over again.

“Good,” he says, and you stand. He doesn’t make you sign any employment contract, either because he can’t, or he’ll make you type it. And if not, he could use violence and threats to keep you in check.

You’re just going to be in the office, not dirty or violent work. Never that. That you could never do.

You hate yourself right now.

As you’re walking out, someone else walks in. They don’t appear to be here for a job. He’s tall, with dark hair and a sequence of tattoos dancing up his sleeve. He looks interesting. Dangerous. His appearance and healing bruise make you wonder if he’s part of this or maybe in another gang. Whatever it is, you're sure he's seen a lot, things you can't imagine. he looked like all the things you didn't want to be involved in. Yet he still looks fascinating. Had you curious if he came here often. would you spot him as you worked.

You don’t know what’s worse: the job or the world you’re stepping into. Either way, you can’t go back now.

Jungkook walks too fast for you to focus on anything else. He doesn’t even spare you a glance, only wonders which poor soul was about to get trapped here next.

You look at the pile again before leaving and sigh. This is what you wanted. This is what you wanted.

“Seohoon.”

“Jungkook! Have you finally come to your senses?” Seohoon smirks. He barely spares Jungkook a glance before adding, “I heard what happened. How are you even still alive?”

“You can’t even ask how I’m doing?” Jungkook scoffs.

“I know you’re not fine, so why would I need to ask?”

Jungkook exhales sharply. “I need you to lend me one million.”

Seohoon bursts into laughter. “Have you lost your damn mind? I’m not lending you anything—especially when I know you’ll just gamble it away instead of fixing your broken door.”

Jungkook clenches his jaw. “Huh, Jeon? You gonna keep living like this forever? I hate seeing you like this.” He studies Jungkook’s face before adding, “Do you want to stay like this forever?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer, but Seohoon already knows. He leans forward.

“I told you—work for me, and all your troubles are over.” His voice is smooth, tempting. “You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Forget it. I don’t even know why I came to you.”

“It’s because you need me. You’ll always need me.” Seohoon smirks, tilting his head. “But you need to put your pride aside to realize that.”

“Forget it.”

Jungkook storms out. Seohoon leans back, amused.

“He’ll be back.”

Reader’s Pov.

You knew the work was going to be tedious, but you never thought you’d have to work around nitwits as well.

For sure, the files you stared at when you first walked in were the ones you were going to work on.

“So, what made you take a job 'round 'ere?” Your coming to work was easier because you were sure of where you were going. You were sure of the steps you'd have to make, and this time, sure of the floor. But what you weren’t expecting was a group of men, obviously the field men of the office, lingering around and, unfortunately, bothering you.

“Cause you were hiring?” you say, your eyes having been glued to the screen for about an hour straight. Everything was proving to be a task and a half.

“AH! She’s funny, this one.”

They keep talking about things that you tune out—something about you not looking like the type of person to work here or whether you know what they do for work.

“Leave her be; she’ll bite your head off,” one jokes. And you would.

“She’s not so easy, are you, dear?” you ignore. He takes your silence as a no. “It’s a shame; I would’ve benefitted from that.”

“Not every girl’s a Yunji, I guess.” Idiot number one with the small physique ‘jokes.’ The thought creeps past your mind for a second. Yunji? But to be fair, there are quite a number of them in Jangsu. It's a joke between you and Yunji, one she rolls her eyes at. She hates having such a common name. You’ve seen a number of them as you worked the files, so you don’t let those thoughts linger. Your Yunji is at school.

“Don’t say her name; she might appear,” the larger of the two, idiot number two, exclaims with a laugh.

At this point, they’re just talking to themselves. “Good. Then I can show her who’s stronger.”

Gross, you think to yourself. Gosh, if it wasn’t for the money or the lack of other opportunities, you wouldn’t be here.

“Boss would kill you.”

“Only because he wants to do it himself.”

“Yah!” someone else calls out at them, and even if you don’t like anyone in this room, you thank them. “Are you two idiots sat here doing nothing?”

“N-no, we were working. Right, YN?” They look to you, but you don’t respond. You’ve got too much to do.

You’re working on the files from the recent loans taken out. You basically have to create a spreadsheet of who the loan receiver is, when they took it out, and when they have to pay. The guys work in order of time, and right now the office is silent because you gave them a list of people who needed to repay their loans. Every hour is working hour. And you hated doing it; you know some of the people on it were desperate and were not in a position to pay back. So, if their house gets burned down, things broken, or they are beaten, you feel it’s your fault. You're making the work of evil people easier. It makes you sick. You recognize some of the names. One that broke your heart was the lady from whom you bought chicken. Such a lovely woman and always kind, but she expressed to you how her son had taken out a loan and used her stand as collateral. The son is a bum, so all you can think about is what’s going to happen to her when they show up at her door.

You really hate what this life is making you do.

And then, as you continue sorting the names, one stands out—a name that stops everything. A name that, when read, sends a slow-burning rage curling through your chest like poison through your veins. You wonder what you'd do if you ever saw him again, what you'd feel.

Park Daehyun.

Your breathing stops for a moment. Your hands clench, fingers gripping the edge of the desk.

You haven’t seen him since it happened. But the bitterness, the anger, it never left. You swore, if you ever got the chance, you’d make him pay.

Your mother had saved money for your college tuition, and at 23, she trusted you enough to keep it safe. Daehyun knew about it. You had told him everything, back when you still thought he cared, back when his words were soaked with warmth and false promises. He said he was proud of you, that he believed in you. He said he wanted to spend his life with you. Lies.

Every last word was a lie, and at the time, you believed it. They made you happy and hopeful for love. But now you resent any 'sweet' words a man might utter to you. All of them were lies.

One day, he came to you with an investment plan—an opportunity to triple your money in six months. You knew nothing about investing, and now that you think about it, you should have trusted the nagging voice in your gut that told you it was too good to be true. But his sweet words drowned out the doubt. He spoke of financial security, of extra semesters, of a future where money wouldn’t be an issue. And you wanted that; you needed it. So you handed over everything.

And then he vanished. Calls unanswered. No explanation. No trace of him left behind. The people who once knew him suddenly knew nothing. His house, empty. His name, erased. And your world ripped of everything. You weren't the same after that, and honestly, you'd never be the same again.

You were devastated. Sick. You fell into a darkness so deep that your mother thought you were just ill. She never knew the truth. She never knew that you had stood on that bridge, looking over the water, wishing things had been different. You weren’t going to do it, but you thought about it.

And as you stood there, you made a vow: If you ever got the chance, you would make him suffer. His repayment was due in two months, but the thing about numbers in a document is that you can manipulate them. And no one, no one in this office would question the validity. Because they don’t know. They just work on what you give.

So, if Daehyun is still in town, seeing the date of his loan, he should still be in town to repay it. You know he won't have the money. With steady hands, you edit the document, moving his name up for loan collection—today, well, tonight. He deserves it as far as you’re concerned.

Maybe this is what you needed. And if you could, you’d make sure you had a front-row seat. This is what he deserves.

You knew this was going to happen. You knew you'd have to come here, but still, you hoped for more time—time to figure out something else, time to save, to get your check, just anything but end up here.

But the hospital wasn't going to wait for you. They weren't going to wait until you settled down in your job and earned even a quarter of the bill to pay later.

No.

They wanted the money. And they wanted it now.

You felt sick when you saw the message they sent you. Every word you read sank your anxiety further in. Your mother was nowhere near healed or feeling better, even though she tried to make you think she was fine. But the discomfort when she moved and the weak smile she gave you told you otherwise.

She was not okay. And you couldn't have her anywhere else but the hospital. The hospital messaged you while you were at work, so instead of going home, you found yourself here.

Downtown 2 never sleeps. Its larger sidewalks than Downtown 1's make room for all types of people who walk there. The walls of buildings are used as resting spots to collect one's drunk self, and the alleyways hold secret illicit conversations and actions. You scoff. The bright, blinding neon lights range from all colours of the rainbow; they irritate your senses. But there's no use looking away because everywhere you look, the lights are there.

Even though it's night, the gloomy sky is obvious. Light rain and grey skies have been warning Jangsu that a storm is brewing, but nobody seems concerned; instead, they hold their arms to themselves, not used to the sudden temperature change.

You said you’d never been to Downtown 2 and that you never liked it. Only one of those is true. You have been here before—and you hated it then, just as much as you do now. And yet, here you are again.

If you hadn't been here before, you would have missed your destination. The casino is so secretive and pretentious that it doesn't bother to advertise its existence. But people are aware of where it is.

Its outside is plain and simple; no one would think it was what it is. But its inside is bright with large lights, the walls and carpets a mix of deep blood red and deep royal purple. All the gold accents are made obvious by the light that reflects off them.

The open space feels intimidating. People don't pay you any mind, too busy worrying about wins and losses. The women stare, their red lips curving at you as their tiny dresses ride up with every step. Your clothes don't fit the environment at all; you're still in your office clothes.

You promised yourself you'd never be back here. The last time you were here was to see the same man you've come to see today. And he waits for you by a table.

He looks expensive in the tailored suit he’s wearing. The gold watch around his wrist tells you the executive position is treating him well. If you never knew him, you'd never guess he had a family.

The casino made a lot of money. It was one of its kind in the whole of Jangsu. And one thing the people and politicians of Jangsu loved to do was gamble and drink. Playing casino games was what they lived for on this side of town, while on the other side stayed their families, who had to work for what they lost.

You don't sit. “Is this really appropriate to meet?” you ask. You cringe at the smell of smoke and alcohol.

“Do you want to meet with me or not?” he retorts, that degrading and cocky voice echoing in your mind. You never understood how a father like him existed. Your family is scraping by while he’s living lavishly. All because of what? Divorce? Arguments? Pride. It doesn't matter. What you know for sure is that he has pure hatred for you and your family. Why? You have no clue, but it’s obvious in the way he lives such a great life just across town but still lets you suffer.

And for that, you don't have any warmth in you for him. “Whatever. Can we just go somewhere quiet?” It’s not a conversation to be had carelessly in such a loud and open place.

He stands to walk to his office, and you follow. The music fades as you get to the hallways that lead to his office. Your feet drag as you force yourself to walk in that direction.

Once you're in, the heavy door closes behind you. He moves to stand behind his large and heavy rosewood table. You stare around the place; the red velvet texture and gold details stand out in here too. You don't sit again.

“What did you want to say to me after so many years?” he snaps, pouring himself a glass of whisky.

“Mom is sick...” You waste no time.

“She’ll heal.” He takes a sip of the liquid.

You expected that. “She’s in the hospital right now. It’s serious.”

“What is she sick with?”

“High blood pressure.” You hate that you even have to explain this to him; he should care automatically, no matter what.

He laughs. “She’ll be fine, dear.” The term of endearment only serves to make your mouth run bitter. “My mother had it, and she was fine.”

“Your mother is dead,” you jeer. You respect her; she was a very nice lady, but gosh, her son... “Have you even been to visit her?” Her memorial was just months earlier, and you know he didn’t even remember. Not when he’s got better things to care about, right? Tsk.

He scoffs. “That tongue is the same thing that has you and your family suffering.”

You scoff. “You’re so ridiculous.”

“Watch it, or you’re going to end up like that forever.” He walks around his desk to lean against it, his face mimicking deep thought. “You know, YN, I don’t even know why you bother with that university thing,” he starts mocking. “You have your mother’s genes; you won’t make it.”

You don’t say anything. You promised yourself that if someone mentioned anything about you going to school, you wouldn’t say anything because, in the end, you feel they are right.

He laughs. “So how much is it you want?”

This is what you’re here for, so it’s better to get to the point. “100 million.”

“Wow, that’s a bold starting point. Most people would start lower.” He sips again. He’s got the money; he’s just trying to taunt you.

“That’s exactly how much we need.”

“It’s a lot,” he mumbles, looking at you to determine if you know that it’s a lot. To him, it’s not a lot, but to people like you, it must be heaven to touch. “You know I’ve given you people a lot of money over the years.”

“Which money? Lynn’s school fees?” you address. “That’s the bare minimum.”

“And I don’t want to. But yet I do it.” You said you hated yourself and evil people, but that can't be compared to how much you hate your father. “If you were smart, you’d drop that airhead out of school and use the money for daily living.”

“Don’t talk about my sister like that.” You yell, and he raises his hand in faux surrender. He finds it amusing.

“Just suggesting.”

You’re growing tired of this. You had to put your pride and anger aside for this, just so you can get your mother the treatment she needs. Your mother wouldn’t be happy to know you came here. But what matters most is her health; she can yell at you when she’s healthy. “You know what? Never mind.”

You are about to walk to the door, but his voice booms.

“YN, how old are you? 20?” He tilts his chin up and narrows his eyes at you.

You haven't turned to look at him. Why is he still talking? Doesn't he want you gone? “24.”

“So, you think you’re grown?”

You turn. “Yes.”

“Then why not get a job and pay the bill?”

“I have a job.” You start, not going into detail because you're not proud of it.

You can hear him make a bingo sound, and he goes further to show how much he doesn't care. “Then why do you need my help?”

You clench your fist. “Because you’re a father, and it’s the least you could do for the woman you fucked over for many years.” Ouch, that one hit his heart.

“You don’t know anything about me and your mother. Don’t involve yourself, kid.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head in disbelief. “I was young, but I know enough.” You don't want to get into that; the time to do that is long gone. And he's pissing you off, so all you want is what you came for. “Are you going to help with the money or not?”

“I will.” He nods, but it’s not trusting. “Though I’m not that kind of man anymore—not to you guys anyway.”

“What do you mean?” you fold your arms.

He places the cup down and rounds the table to where he was when he poured the drink. He really loves this table. “You'll always need me. Do you realize that?” He grins as he counts and grabs the money out of a safe you’ve been staring at.

You don't respond. You'll never need him. You never want to.

“I’ll give you the money.” He throws it on the table in an envelope, and you’re about to grab it. “But as a loan.” Your hand hovers over the paper and soon pulls it back.

“Are you serious?”

He smirks and looks right at you. “I’m a businessman.”

“Screw that. Can’t you act like a father for once?” You lift your index finger in rage. “Just this once, huh?”

“Everybody who comes to me takes out loans. How special are you?”

You scoff. “I’m not taking that; you can keep it.”

You want to walk away. Taking that as a loan would make you a slave to him. If he felt like it, he’d bother you for the money even though he knows you don’t have it. Who knows what else he’s grown capable of doing?

“I guess you’re truly like me.” That stops you. “You don’t love your mother that much.” He speaks with so much ease and comfort that it makes you uneasy. “She’s going to get worse, and the doctors won’t care to treat her because you’re not paying.”

“Money is life, and you need to realize that, dear. I know you have some of my reasoning genes, so you should know.” His voice taunts you. “She’s gonna die, and it will be your fault. Why? Just because you don’t want to take out a loan.”

“You should put that on her tombstone—”

“Shut up!”

He does, not because you told him to, but to let his words sink into the silence. You use it to think. Thoughts you don't need to dwell on. Some fears are greater than others, and you shiver at the thought of losing your mother.

“You’re a horrible person, and I hope it kills you,” you spit out before grabbing the money.

“You’re not that good of a person; your half me, remember?”

Fuck him. You stomp out and walk down the way you came. You’re nothing like him.

Even though you don’t want to stay any longer and the streets are getting dark, you really need to pee.

You walk into the casino toilets. You were prepped to see anything, but you were not prepared to spot a man mopping the floor. You are in the women’s bathroom, right?

He turns to look at you when you stand there staring. And when he does, you’re graced with the same face you saw at the office. You don’t know if he recognizes you. He doesn’t look like he does. What the hell is he doing here? Does he not work in a gang or something? Is this some humiliation ritual that needs to be done? Because he definitely looks humiliated, though he tries to keep his pride.

He does look like a guy with pride. This type of job does not suit him much.

You’ve seen plenty of men in Jangsu, but somehow, all the handsome ones seem to end up in Downtown 2, probably all caught up in that kind of life.

“Should you be in here?” a woman with bright red hair asks when she leaves the stall. Her friend follows out too. So you are in the women’s bathroom.

“I’m just cleaning. I can leave.” His tone is calm and distant. At the office, you didn’t hear his voice. But now that you do, you can’t help but think about how melodic it sounds.

“No, you can stay; we don’t mind,” her dark-haired friend adds. They don’t look like they mind; their smiles and ogling at him tell you that.

They giggle to themselves, and the guy goes back to mopping, gripping the mop stick a little too hard. “Never knew this place had handsome cleaners.”

“It’s still dangerous, though.”

“Who cares? He’s handsome.” When you leave the stall, feeling like you can finally leave this place forever, you make a show of yourself. The guy stares at you when the water from the bucket you bumped into touches the dry floor.

“I’m so sorry. Sorry.” You apologize profusely. You offer to mop it up, but he shrugs you off.

This job must be frustrating, and you’re sure he was eager to leave. You hate that you’re the reason he has to stay longer.

--

Jungkook’s Pov.

Not a lot, but they do ogle, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Though it does hurt his pride that women are seeing him in this vulnerability. But overall, they are much better to be around. Even though they get shocked at first to see him there, he minds his own business so he doesn’t seem like a bother.

The men’s bathroom, on the other hand, even though it has the same amount of lighting, just feels darker. Feels bluer. Smells like an actual public bathroom, no matter how many bottles of bleach Jungkook pours carelessly.

Why couldn’t he just clean the women’s side?

“I thought it was a lie, you know?” A voice speaks as it walks into the bathroom. Two of them. Jungkook just continues what he’s doing. “I had to come see it for myself. Almighty Jungkook reduced to nothing.” When he hears his name, he pauses and turns to face the voice. The face is familiar. He’s seen it around the table and taken money from it. Daehyun. Never the one to know how to take a loss, he once pulled out a gun on Jungkook. He has no clue how he got that in Jangsu, but he did. Jungkook wasn’t afraid of the metal; anyone who uses a gun to solve something is a coward, and they aren’t solving anything. That’s just him, though. Some use them just to be faster.

But that’s one thing respected about the Uroboros side of Jangsu: people were never afraid to use blunt objects to inflict pain. They liked it slow and to hear how their victim screamed and begged for mercy. Fucking heartless, but at least they weren’t cowards. If you’re gonna do something, at least don’t be a coward about it.

So he isn’t threatened by Daehyun’s entrance. The guy is a coward and will always be.

“I mean, it’s not like you were anything.” Jungkook can tell that he’s just been playing a game, and the look suggests he’s just won money. He’s not sure if it’s a big win, but for Daehyun, any win is probably a big win.

Daehyun walks to the urinals, still smirking, and unlike every normal person, decides to piss on the ground. Jungkook watches, not reacting. People should start drinking water. Daehyun turns to look at Jungkook with a mocking smile, and his friend laughs. “Oops,” he mocks. “I can’t stop myself,” he says as he finishes urinating on the ground. Zips.

“Clean it up.” He spits at Jungkook. He’s not gonna do that. “Oh, and here’s a tip.” He says, pulling out a note of money. Instead of just handing it to Jungkook (he was not gonna take it anyway), Daehyun drops the paper in his urine.

Jungkook sighs, his hands smell like bleach, so he doesn’t run it through his hair.

He slowly and silently walks over and drops the mop into the puddle to mop it... Well, “Look. He’s actually doing it.”... Not.

Jungkook slams the urine-soaked mop head into Daehyun’s face. The contents drip down his face, probably into his eyes and most definitely into his mouth.

Jungkook doesn’t like to fight. He can, but he just doesn’t like it. Unless his pride and dignity are involved. He’s the only person allowed to disrespect those aspects of himself.

“Yah, shibal...” Daehyun yells, only allowing the liquid to drip further onto his tongue. His friend just watches in fear and slowly backs up.

Daehyun goes by the tap to rinse his face. While there, Jungkook grips the back of his neck and pushes his head into the sinks. The guy struggles, but he’s not strong enough to quit the grip.

“Don’t cross me,” he whispers. Pulling him up by the neck, he tosses the guy toward the door. He stumbles. “Go on. Want me to feed you your waste?” Jungkook mocks when they still stand there.

They leave, and Jungkook is alone in the bathroom. He thought this was gonna work. Be his turning point. But he can’t with this load of pride. Jungkook throws the mop to the ground and groans. Fuck this. He’s sorry to disappoint Rose, but he just can’t do this anymore.

With only 10,000 won to his name for the work he did, he walks into the night earlier than other nights. The money is not much, barely enough. But he walks further away from Daehyun. It’s relieving, but scary. He’s always told others to get serious with their lives, but what about himself?

He takes a heavy seat at the bus stop, not really to get on a bus, but just to watch them go by.

Jungkook is sat when he hears sniffles next to him. He didn’t even realize there was someone next to him. A kid, and she was crying. Jungkook stares and looks around. It’s dark, he’s sure school ended hours ago. Even though they aren’t really in the Uroboros area, it’s still pretty close for her to just be out here alone. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be getting home?” A bus approaches, and he points at it.

She ignores him. “Okay, you’re ignoring me. Probably good.” He couldn’t even feel bad or blame her.

“What’s your name?” She doesn’t answer. “Guess I’ll go first. Jungkook, that’s my name,” he says in a fit to show her that it’s safe to share names. Shit, he hopes he’s not coming off as a creep.

It seemed to have worked because at least she has her head up now. “Lynn.”

“Oh, that’s your name?” She doesn’t answer, but Jungkook keeps calm, just waiting on her timing. “So why aren’t you going home, Lynn?” He’s not expecting a response.

“Someone took my bus card.” It feels like a precious moment to have her responding.

“At school?” She nods. “Were they some bullies?” She nods. “Oh, you can’t let those push you around, you have to beat them up.”

“I’m on a strike.”

“You already beat them up once? I’m talking to a pro.” He jokes, and it can only crack a small smile. It’s still a win, though.

“Did you tell a teacher or whatever?”

“I did. She just told me I was lying.” She grows more comfortable, talking to this strange man, which her sister would kill her for. But he doesn’t seem mean. He’s sat at the opposite side of the bench.

“I’m sorry to hear that. People must not like you.” That makes the two of you. “People don’t like me, too. I hope that helps.”

Finding a commonality, she becomes curious. Wanting to know if even in adulthood, people might not like.

“Why don’t people like you?” For the first time, she turns to look at him. He doesn’t at her. Just straight ahead at the opposite street, with people roaming it.

“I take their money.” She pauses.

“Why? Are you some kind of scammer?” Jungkook fakes offense at her words. Who isn’t a scammer nowadays?

“Yes and no.” He chuckles, looking at his still bruised knuckles. “Not in the moment, at least.”

“I had to get a job, you know? Didn’t work out,” he adds bitterly. Is he really just talking to a kid about this?

“Why?” Jungkook clears his throat at the question. It’s a simple answer.

“Hurt my pride.” He rubs his hands together. Jangsu really knew how to make a hot day feel hot and a cold day feel like a night in the Arctic, naked. When he looks over at Lynn, he’s glad to notice her in a sweater. Better than what he has, not a freaking t-shirt. The wind is strong, and even though it’s nighttime, Jungkook can feel a storm brewing. That’s new.

“Shouldn’t you have a job? That should be more important.” He looks at her, taking in her POV. It’s funny how once you find a common ground, you can talk to anyone. “My mother always says that. She says that’s why we go to school.”

Jungkook laughs. He doesn’t know what kind of family she comes from, but if she’s here, they must not be rich.

“Well, one thing I’ll tell you, kid, is there are some things more important than a job.”

“It’s a little thing called dignity.” Jungkook laughs at himself. He never realized how much of a poet he was, he jokes. He’s far from that.

“You’re too young to understand, but that’s how it is.” He reaches into his pocket to grab a cigarette but pauses. He’s gotten too comfortable. He can do it later, though. “If you know where you stand in the world, you’ll never fall. But that doesn’t mean you won’t get stepped on. That’s when you choose where to stand.” At this point, he’s talking to himself. He would be surprised if he turned, and Lynn was never there and never existed. But she does exist. And he’s talking her ear off with nonsense.

“I’m being too poetic, am I?” He chuckles. “Did you understand anything I said?” She shakes her head no. He’s not surprised.

Taking a sharp breath, he reaches into his pocket. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, if they try to bully you, step on them. Don’t let them bully you.” If she had a nickel for everyone who told her that... “Okay?” He stares at her with a smile. “If they try, you just tell them Jungkook oppa will step on all their little heads.”

She giggles. “Tell them I’m a very scary man.” He smiles at her.

She should be going home now.

“We should hurry up and get you a bus ticket before the next one arrives.” He talks about the buses that are soon going to be done for the day. “Do you mind?”

She shakes her head no. “Come on.” They walk to the closest convenience store. “Oh, and you should tell them he’s handsome too, just in case they have older sisters.”

Jungkook watches the bus wheel away, and he waves back at the little girl. He can’t believe he just spent all his money on some random kid. That could’ve been a scam for all he knows.

Did he just get scammed? He’s not sure, and he doesn’t bother himself to analyze. All he knows is now he has no money. Back to zero.

Staring into the night. He could just stay out all night. He doesn’t have to go home. He doesn’t want to be at home. When his phone rings, he’s slow to pick it up. It’s Seohoon.

“Hello.”

“Where are you?” Seohoon speaks, voice still as loud as ever.

With one hand in his pocket, he walks back to sit in the bus stop shelter. “Why?”

“I have a job for you.” Jungkook chuckles and leans back, finally getting to pull out a cigarette. It was always nonsense when he called, but Jungkook never understood why he still picked up.

“I told you I’m no—”

“Relax. I just want your help. Your muscle.” Jungkook cringes at the recurring metaphor. He’s not moved, and Seohoon can feel that in his silence. “I’ll pay you.” Jungkook slowly puffs out a string of smoke, finally feeling like he’s relaxing. He sinks into his seat.

“What’s the job?” He asks, not considering it yet.

“Most of my men are off on other jobs, and I need more.”Doesn’t answer the way he wants.

“What’s the job, Seohoon?” He asks more sternly. It all depends.

“Jungkook. What work do I do?” Seohoon chuckles. “Debt collection.” Jungkook knows that, but when it comes to Seohoon and the way he works, it’s a little more reckless than just debt collection. Anyone who worked in these ends worked recklessly. And even though Seohoon has his office in the ‘safer’ side of town, the man is still Uroboros born and bred. And it shows in the way he works.

“So what? You want me to jump some guy with you?”

“Right on the head, I knew you were smart.” Jungkook tunes out his voice. His thoughts are more important. “So are you coming or not?” Jungkook puffs out another string of smoke.

“How much are you gonna pay me?”

“100,000 ($68)” Jungkook scoffs.

“How much do you want?” Jungkook’s a money guy, and his friend is very aware of that. So it was ridiculous for him to suggest something so little.

“A million ($688)”

“Yah! you greedy bastard. 100 is me being generous. Seeing that you have nothing, you’ll need it.” It’s true. Even that amount of money would be a lot in his situation. But it wasn’t greed, it was his dignity.

“I’m not going for less than that.”

“I’m not giving 1 million for this. You think you’re Mike Tyson?” Jungkook chuckles at the hit. His friend knows his worth but yet calls him muscle, and he’s here asking him to help him.

“So what? You’re still going to be greedy?” Jungkook is quiet, and Seohoon panics. “You know what? Fuck you, I’ll give you the million.”

“Come to Fang house.”

Reader’s Pov.

The door creaks open, and you turn to see Lynn step inside, her face flushed from the cold. Her uniform is slightly disheveled, and she looks exhausted. “Why are you late?” you ask hastily, already halfway to the door before she arrived. It was getting late, and the tapping of raindrops on the roof had you worried.

Lynn hesitates, shifting on her feet. “Some kids at my school stole my bus card.”

You frown. “What? Did you tell your teacher?”

Her expression grows dull as she looks away. “She didn’t believe me.”

You knew that woman was too fake to be telling the truth. Her interaction was just a facade. But you’re just shocked she didn’t ask for money. “It’s okay,” you comfort her. “So how did you get here? Don’t tell me you walked.”

Lynn shakes her head quickly. “No, a kind man bought me a card.”

You stiffen. “Do you know him?”

She hesitates again. “N-no, but he was k-kind. He said his name’s Jungkook.” She smiles childishly at the memory.

You barely register the name. Your mind is already spiralling, thinking of what could have happened. The station is too close to Downtown 2, and at this time of night, it’s crawling with drunkards. You can’t shake the feeling that she’s not telling you everything.

Your voice drops, sharper now. "And you just took money from some random man?"

Lynn frowns. "He didn’t give me money—he just bought the card for me."

You let out a bitter laugh. "For free?"

She hesitates again, her fingers tightening around her sleeves.

You step forward, squatting in front of her. "Listen to me, Lynn. Kindness doesn’t mean anything in this world. No one just gives something for nothing. He could’ve wanted something from you. He could’ve followed you home. He could’ve—“

Lynn’s brows furrow, her voice turning stubborn. "No. But he was kind," she argues. You press your lips into a thin line. He may have helped her, but that doesn’t make him a good person.

You let out a sharp breath, frustration bubbling over. "Gosh, Lynn, don’t be so naive."

Her eyes start to fill with tears. "Stop yelling at me!"

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to calm yourself. This isn’t the time to argue. You need to go. "Get dressed. We have to go to the hospital. Just… don’t take money from him or any stranger again." You stand, massaging in between your brows.

As you watch her disappear into her room, a bitter thought settles in your mind: kindness is an illusion.

Jungkook’s Pov.

"He should be leaving the club any minute now."

A low hum of anticipation settles between them, thick in the air. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and gasoline. Clinging to the skin like a reminder of the world they live in. The kind of scent that clings to your clothes long after you’ve left. It never leaves.

"There he is."

Jungkook watches as Daehyun steps onto the sidewalk, just as expected. Jungkook can feel it—the pull in his chest, the tightness at the back of his throat, the itch under his skin. He didn't know much about who they were here to see, but Jungkook neither feels good nor bad about this. Seohoon's boys move in to grab him. They drag the man resisting into the alleyway.

The first hit is brutal. A sickening crunch echoes as Daehyun’s knee buckles, and he collapses with a strangled grunt. Jungkook watches, his body tensing and cringing at the sight. The action a familiar memory for him.

"Where’s my money, huh?"

Daehyun doesn’t answer. He can't, not when constant hits land all across his body. Daehyun's face flashes with fear, frustration, the knowledge that he’s trapped. Jungkook wonders if he looked the same. Scared and knowing there's nowhere to run. But that doesn’t matter.

They push him against the cold, unforgiving brick. The streetlight flickers overhead. It casts a weak, dying glow that barely reaches the corner, leaving most of the alley in darkness.

"You just won big, didn’t you? But you can’t pay me back?"

Another hit. This one lands in the ribs, Daehyun chokes on air, gasping as he fumbles through his pockets. "I—I have it. Look, I have your money—" Daehyun's words ring like the thunder in the sky.  Hard, cold drops of rain fall, but the men don't stop or falter. Nothing stops business in Jangsu.

His hands fumble, and then nothing. Empty pockets. "Where is it?"

Panic seeps into Daehyun’s voice. "Wait—my friend. I had him hold it for me. If you let me get it, I’ll—"

This was a common occurrence. Never trust anyone from the U-side. There's no such thing as friends on this side. You can't even trust your own blood.

A punch interrupts him, landing hard against his stomach. The air is knocked from his lungs, and his face turns red as he chokes on his breath.

"I want my money," Seohoon snaps. He knew his friend was crazy, but whatever look was in his eye right now is far from crazy. Psychotic.

Jungkook glances around, but the streets are empty of concern. Dead. No one ever comes here. No cops. No witnesses. It's a normal on this side.

"I have it," Daehyun repeats, his voice trembling. But there’s something in his eyes—fear, or maybe desperation. It makes Jungkook’s stomach twist in a way he can’t quite understand.

Seohoon sneers, his voice dripping with contempt. "No, you don’t. Do you think I’m stupid?" Another fist swings, and Daehyun’s head snaps back with a sickening crack, blood spraying against the brick wall. The sound reverberates, and for a moment, everything feels unreal.

Seohoon grins, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. His eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as he watches Daehyun wheeze. Jungkook clenches his jaw, feeling the weight of the situation pressing against his ribs. The sickening part is how easily Daehyun’s skin splits. How quickly he breaks and bruises. Jungkook would advise him to go to the hospital for those, sleep it off won't do anything. If it wasn't for Rose taking him to the hospital, he'd slept it off, and probably slept forever. but that must be better than living here. In a world with nothing for him, he's got nothing to give or take from it.

"You think I’m stupid, huh?" Seohoon’s voice is mocking, but his eyes are cold, calculating. "Do I look like a stupid man?"

Daehyun spits blood, his smirk weak but defiant. "You’re all the same," he coughs. "Just a bunch of punks. You won’t kill me."

Seohoon laughs. "Shibal, listen to him. He’s at our mercy, and he’s still running his mouth."

Jungkook doesn’t flinch. Hands glued in his pockets. He tries his best not to look to long at the scene.

"I’m not paying you to just stand there."Seohoon steps closer, his breath heavy to Jungkook. His eyes gleaming with something darker. Jungkook isn't even sure if he wants to be here. He admit it, but he is uncomfortable. This life is uncomfortable. "He needs to remember what it’s like to owe me money. Gamblers like him? They don’t remember pain. They forget. So I have to remind them." His friend adds when he sees the look on Jungkook's face.

Seohoon pauses, grinning, enjoying the scene unfolding before him. "And, well... I guess it’s for my satisfaction too."

Jungkook’s fists tighten at his sides. His chest burns. His breath comes in slow, controlled waves, but inside, something cracks. "Come on," Seohoon says, his voice dropping low. "Hit him." Jungkook stays still.

Daehyun spits again. The blood lands on the ground with a sickening plop, and then, he smirks at Jungkook, a weak, defiant thing that hits Jungkook harder than anything else. "Cleaning toilets wasn’t enough, huh?"

Jungkook won't lie; his frustration from the bathroom interaction still lingers. And now it burns and fogs his mind. Seohoon chuckles irritating Jungkook even more. "Look at him. He’s still got the nerve to talk back." Jungkook steps forward, slow, deliberate. Mind gone. Just for today, just for now, he'll live the U-side life. Maybe it will ease his pride and burning anger. Maybe it's what he needs. His heart pounds in his chest, louder than any words. His eyes don’t leave Daehyun.

It's not like he's some good guy anyway. Daehyun is a scammer; he scams innocent people, who would never be involved with him if they knew. He's heard about all his endeavours.

So, on their behalf, Jungkook will do this for them. He's no hero, but it's good he's never wanted to be one. "I told you not to cross me, didn’t I?" Jungkook recounts his words.

Daehyun scoffs, wiping his lips with a trembling hand. "Fuck you. You’re nothing. You're a coward." The words cut deeper than they should. Jungkook’s fists clench. A knot tightens in his chest. He should walk away. The old part of him—the part that isn’t this—wants to walk away. But he’s already too far gone.

He exhales slowly, almost too calmly for what he's feeling. "Never denied it." The punch lands. Hard. Daehyun’s head snaps to the side, his lip splitting open, blood dripping down his chin. Jungkook doesn’t stop. Another punch. And then another. His knuckles clash against bone, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t feel the pain. It’s like a release—sudden, brutal, and unrelenting. A fire that has been living in him. And right now, it burns, everything it touches.

"That’s enough," Seohoon’s voice cuts through the haze of adrenaline. "I still need him alive to give me my money." Money? The thought was long gone in his mind.

Jungkook steps back, breathing hard, hands shaking. His chest burns with every breath, the old wounds throbbing. He sniffles and has he goes to wipe his nose, blood smudges against his skin. He feels the weight of it all—the bruises, the blood, the damage he’s done. The damage that’s been done to him.

He shakes. What the fuck is he doing? Why-why-why. He turns abruptly on his heel.

"Jeon, where are you going?" Seohoon calls after him. "Come get your money." The rain begins to quicken and so do Jungkook’s steps

Jungkook doesn’t answer. His steps are slow, deliberate, like he’s walking away from more than just a man in an alley. Fuck this. And fuck Seohoon. Fuck Jangsu.

--

The hospital walls felt suffocating, the sterile scent of antiseptic, which you were not used to, was thick in the air. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, their cold glow doing little to warm you.

"What do you mean it’s not enough?" Your voice came out sharper than you intended, tied to barely contained panic.

The doctor exhaled, flipping through his clipboard with that detached exhaustion only doctors seemed to master. "You said you had 100 million."

Your fingers dug into your arms, nails pressing against fabric. "I do."

"Well, her condition worsened while you were away, and we had to perform emergency surgery." His voice was professional. As if he wasn’t telling you that the person you couldn’t afford to lose is condition had worsened when you weren't around.

You blinked. "Emergency surgery?"

"She was in hypertensive crisis. The stress had already taken a toll on her body, but her kidneys… They were failing. The arteries leading to them had narrowed beyond what medication could help." His gaze flickered to you, analysing. "We didn’t have a choice."

Your body locked up. You felt cold, but your skin was burning. Your throat was closing up. "Did I consent to you doing that?" The words came out low, strained, as if they barely made it past your throat.

The doctor’s expression didn’t change. "Would you have preferred she died?" You skip a breath. Died? No. No, no, no....

"We did try to call you." You swallowed, throat tight. You weren’t there.

"How much is left?" Your voice barely holds.

His answer lands heavy on you. "200 million." Everything around you blurred. The walls, the sterile air, the muted voices in the hall. Your legs felt weak. Two hundred million. That number kept bouncing around in your skull, clashing against memories, against fear. How were you supposed to get that kind of money? You can't go back to your father; he'll treat you like everyone one else and request you to repay before he gives you any more money.

And even if you earn money from work, it will be too long 'til you have enough to pay the money. And by then you assume the hospital would have been fed up. "What am I going to do?" Your throat trembles. The question came out in a whisper, but the weight behind it was unbearable. Your chest felt like it was caving in.

"Y/N?" Your sister’s voice barely registers. You turn, and there she was. Small, fragile, brows furrowed in worry. "What’s wrong?"

You forced a smile. Lie. Keep it together. Don’t break. "N-nothing." Your fingers smoothed down her hair, but they trembled. "Go be with Mom."

"She’s sleeping," she mumbled, eyes darting between you and the doctor. You swallowed past the lump in your throat, shifting your gaze.

"She’ll be unconscious for a while," the doctor confirmed. You sigh. You hadn't entered the room yet because you wanted to pay and forget the bill. But it looks like you won't be forgetting.

Lynn tugged at your sleeve. "Y/N… I’m scared." You inhaled sharply, her words ringing in your head. You try to push down the panic, the anger, the suffocating helplessness.

"It’s okay." The lie burned your tongue. But you had to say it. "Go back to the room. I’ll call Yunji. She’ll be here for you."

She didn’t move. Her fingers held at your sleeve tighter. "Where are you going?" For a moment, your mask almost slipped. Where were you going? You didn’t know. You just knew you had to get out of here before the walls collapsed on you. Before the weight crushed you completely.

You forced a reassuring nod. "I’ll be back. I promise." Lynn studied your face, searching, as if she could tell you were lying. "Stay here. I’ll call Yunji."

She waved hesitantly. You forced yourself to wave back. Then, before she could say another word, you turned away. And walked.

Walked before your legs could give out. Before the panic clawing at your throat could spill out in ugly, desperate sobs. But it was coming. You could feel it. Because you had nothing. No money. No solution. And if you didn’t find one soon....Your mother wouldn’t make it.

The moonlight twinkled across the river, but they appeared blurred through your tears. The cold wind bit at your skin, seeping through your clothes, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness twisting inside you. Your fingers curled against the cold metal railing, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping you tied.

The bridge was peaceful; only a few people roamed it, but it was basically empty. It made it easier to stand at the edge.

You stood, thinking. Thoughts were not clear, but what you catch is your brain wondering what rest would be like. You stare down at the river. No. You can't; you would never.

You step back, but as you do, a voice speaks behind you. The voice cuts through the noise in your head.

“Excuse me.”

Your body jolts. You whip around, breath catching, muscles tensed like a cornered animal. You were frightened, it's close to midnight. The man standing behind you was calm- too calm. His presence didn’t belong here, not in this moment, not in your life.

Your voice came out sharp. “No, I’m not going to kill myself.” you assume that's why he's approaching you. And you don't blame him, it's what you'd think too. The man chuckled, unshaken, like he had expected your reaction. That only made your pulse spike harder.

“Y/L/N Y/N?”

Your stomach twisted. How did he- ? Your hands clench into fists, nails digging into your palms as you straightened. “Who are you?” A pause. Then, suspicion bled into your voice. “Are you some loan shark? O-or did my father send you?”

The man tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting under the streetlights. “I’m neither, Ms. Y/L/N.” The way he said your name, smooth and deliberate, made your skin prickle. Like he had studied you. Like he knew more than he should.

You exhaled sharply, trying to steady your racing heart. “Then what do you want?”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. His expression didn’t shift, but something about him felt… off. Too composed, too in control. Like he already knew how this conversation would go. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a knowing smile.

“Would you like to play a game?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/n: Any positive, ask, comment and reblog is appreciated.

[gayofthefae]

Season 1 is Mike and El's love story because season 1 serves as a prologue:

Part of the thing with Mike and his romance with El is that he doesn't overtly seem to have a storyline outside of it. And that means that his primary character arc must be tied to and his demonstration in the final season of said character arc, which is confirmed for him is not complete yet, would be in his relationship with her.

But they got together in season 1. In the situation where he is straight and his character arc focus is to do with being with her...they started him with 0 need to grow in season. one.

If Mike were straight, the focus of his arc would be something he achieved in episode 8. of 42.

There isn't focus on them the way there is because they're the "main couple". There's focus on them because there's been nothing left for them to do as a couple since episode 8 of currently 34. (Their conflict serves a different purpose now).

In season 1, Mike would have needed to allow himself to see himself as deserving of El and be vulnerable enough to make a move. In episode 3, he worries she would judge him because of the bullying, but he overcomes that and does make a move.

If that's his arc....that's it. If that's his arc, then everything after that just repeated an already solved issue in order to solve it again. And I understand why people who think that hate it.

But when every other arc is written for 4-5 seasons...doesn't anyone find it odd that what they think Mike's was only written for 1? The others prove that they clearly planned for being renewed so....what gives?

I'll tell you what gives. Someone having an arc that completes itself that quickly with so much left is not an arc, it's a set up. It isn't an arc. Season 1 of 5? That's still just exposition in the grand scheme of things. They didn't finish a story then fall off. They simple established a fact: Mike and El are together and they got together in this way. All important information to have for later. They were not telling a love story. They were establishing a fact.

And then what they did with that fact was tell a story: a boy in a straight relationship behaves in a way that he shouldn't and didn't before being with her. - to know that we need to see him before he's with her.

Season 1 is simple: meet Mike before El. They're dating now btw.

That isn't a love story. It's just information you'll need for later. Season 1 is just "information you'll need for later when we tell you a story based on it".

That's what it is for literally everybody in the show, actually! Think Lucas Sinclair. Season 1 serves to show him before he met Max, much more tense and easily stressed a person. In season 2 his story really STARTS. Season 1 is his "before". The same is true of establishing Nancy and Steve and the way they are still together in the end of season 1. Will is also not in season 1 at all but he is a MAJOR part of the story and lore.

So if season 1 is just their "before"...what does that mean for the love story fully contained to season 1 with no further romance, payoff, or get-together outside of it?

I've said before: literally all they had to do was interrupt them two seconds earlier and save the first kiss for the Snow Ball. But season 2 is part of the story, not the prologue, and them kissing was just to have them start dating as soon as possible so by the time we hit the story, we knew it to be true.

But I understand. If all of us were given prologues thinking they were stories, our perceptions of the book would be much different. It makes complete sense why the perception from people who watched in 2016 and people who binge it now are so different. 2024 bingers perceive it as a prologue. They know the happy ending isn't left there because the drop down menu has three more numbers in it. They understand that this is just information to work off of. They expect more of those two's love story but when they aren't given it they go "huh, guess that was just in the prologue".

Mike and El's relationship isn't a story. It's lore. It's backstory. There's just no way to convey that when releasing it chronologically (and calling it a prologue would be assuming/seeming to depend on a renewal and would not have gotten picked up).

The STORY is his behavioral change.