#And I couldn't get myself up out of the water

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

Batfam x Neglected Mortal

Kombat reader

Notes: this is part ten to lucid dreams.

Warnings ⚠️: not proofread. Mentions of death, killing, and child abuse.

The room felt as if it was the perfect temperature. The bed was the softest you've ever slept on. And you were tired as hell.

But sadly, you couldn't fall asleep.

But you weren't quite awake either. You were somewhere in between reality and a sweet relief.

Yet your mind couldn't choose which to go with.

Your body on the other hand was begging for sleep ,but your mind just wouldn't listen.

Your ears strain on instinct as you hear steps walking towards your room. They're not loud steps but not quite steps either.

They want you to hear them coming.

You sit up lazily still tired from your restless night. Your door opens and you straighten up ready for whoever walks in.

Three maids walk in dressed in black attire. They look kinda like nuns but their way more stealthy then anyother nun.

They bow as the see you and shoot you a stern glare as they see you still in bed.

"Long time no see loyce." You say to the head maid.

These women practically raised you.

As harsh as they might have been they never left you without proper care.

Loyce was the oldest of the three. And the other two you didn't know if they were mute or just weren't allowed to talk. But they never spoke. So you referred to them as Emine and Kira.

They circle around your sitting form like cats watching their pray. Their studying you. Every little detail. They have to see what need improving..

"Get in the bath." Loyce says quickly. And you groan.

"I can bath myself. " You protest as you make your way into the bathroom.

They give you a stern glare and you shake your head not amused. This was their job. They needed you to be perfect.

Undressing and stepping into the big tile tub you sit down In the warm water they've prepared. The grab brushes and shampoos of all sorts. They rub hard against your body and you groan and try and push them away.

Which does nothing but earn you a slap on the wrist with the wood handle of the brush.

"Why does your hair look this color?" Loyce speaks up.

"I dyed it once. It's been like this ever since."

You can practically hear them shaking their heads in disappointment.

Once their finished giving you a bath you smell absolutely delicious. And your skin hasn't been this hydrated in years and your muscles aren't so sore.

Their quick to dry you off not sparring a second.

And looking out the window the sun hasn't risen.

Their hands work quickly to get you dressed. And into some comfortable under garments.

Looking into the big mirror the have you sitting infront of you can see they've washed all the remaining bit of dye you had once had.

They begin straightening your hair with a devilishly hot straightener. Leaving no trace of your typical normal hair.

Your hair perfectly straight leaving not one hair out of place. They do your hair into a simple half up half down hair do.

As the begin with your make up. Simple but elegant.

Pretty enough for a princess.

Finally finishing up with your make up they lather your skin with lotion and oils giving you glowy skin.

Finally putting on your big elegent kimono. Your ready.

"What's the rush?" You say as they hurriedly slip on your shoes.

"Your father wants to see you immediately. " Loyce says speaking for the three of them.

You hum and nod knowing your father is impatient man.

"All this just to see my father..." You say looking at your reflection as the spray perfume on you.

You truly did look like a princess.

"The king," Loyce corrects you. " he's not only your father but the king...keep that in mind princess. " loyce says sternly like a mother teaching her child manners.

As they finally slip on your other shoe they take a moment to look at you. Making sure your absolutely perfect.

"You've grown beautifully....just like your mother." Loyce says and the other two nod agreeing with her. You mentally flinch at her words.

'Just like your mother.' She just had to add. You shake your head clearing these thoughts as they lead you outside room and into the big hallway.

The sun is casting over the horizon and you can't help but watch through the windows as you continue walking.

This place might have been cruel but it was beautiful nevertheless.

You walk through the big stone walls straight to father office. Just like you did many years ago.

You feel more anxious with each step. And your maids can tell. The give you a light sqeez on the arm as if trying to comfort you with their actions.

The other maids and servants bow as you pass and admire your beauty.

Finally arriving at your father office your maids bow and you dismiss them.

They each give a kiss to your cheek just like they've done ever since you were a baby.

Their kiss is not something their forced to do.

It's highly looked down apon to show any sorts of affection in the castle.

But they do it to show love. To show they care despite their cold demeanor.

Opening and stepping through your father's office doors you see him. Or more like his back.

His office looks the same dimly lit with candle and a small window. The red tiles clean ,and shiny as it always is and the pale color of the room adds to the beauty and aura.

Your father stands with his back facing you. And his long hair is tied into a bun. You can see the little gray hair peeking from his bun showing change. His growth.

Though you've grown he still looks as tall as ever. Still taller then you.

You can remember all the time you've been called to his office before. None of them were good. Hopefully now that'd be different.

But you'd be a fool to hope for something so soon. So you keep quiet, reading the room and atmosphere.

He begins talking and his voice is loud and confident just like you remember it. And you almost flinch at the sudden sound but you stand your ground. Your gaze never wavering from his back as he lights another candle.

"My girl......it's been so long...to long."

He says the last part with venom most as if he's angry at the time you've been away.

"Tell me....did you miss me?" He questions and he still doesn't turn around as he lights another candle and you wants scoff but you don't.

"Miss what? Your cruelty?" You say and you wish you could stop the words that flow out of your mouth but it's too late you've said them.

He doesn't filnch and his confidence doesn't waver at your words almost like he was expecting them.

"Ah... so you've devolved my tongue I see.... A great quality to have but it can get you into alot of trouble."

He says and you can tell he's smirking he likes that you've developed something of his.

He like your boldness. Because you undeniably got that from him.

He turns around before you can come back with a witty remark. And for a moment you have nothing to say. Your mind goes blank as your eyes meet his.

It's almost like he hasn't changed. Like not a day had gone by. But it has...his eyes widen but not in fear...no his eyes widen but only for a moment because he's proud.

"You've grown so much..." He says his voice barely louder then a whisper.

"And you not at all." You say and you don't bite your tongue like you would've before.

He smiles and you'd remember that smile anywhere. He's proud.

Not of what you've said but of you in general.

He steps forward and you take a step back hesitatently. You want to stand your ground to show no fear but your mind acts on instinct.

He takes notice of your fear and a frown appears on his face not liking your fear one bit.

"I won't hurt my dear...Im not that man...not anymore. " He says and his voice is surprising gentle.

You've never heard him talk like that before. Not even when you were a baby.

"Only a fool steps in a trap twice." You say quoting one of his lessons.

He raises his eye brows as a response and nods agreeing to your words and wisdom.

He sighs and you can see it. His chest is heavy.

He's nervous.

He's cations with his words careful not to over step.

"And you are no fool ,my girl....." He says his voice defeated.

"But I am your father....or I was. And I'd like to be agian...if you'd allow me?" His words are small and humble.

Which is so unlike him.

So unlike a king.

It was almost pathetic...he was asking to be your father.

If it was anyone else you'd probably roll your eyes for the dramatic words....

But nothing about this moment was dramatic. It was.....kind.

Something that you had never seen your father be.

Watching the man infront of you saw him. Not just a king or his cruelty...but your father.

You snap back into reality. You won't fall into a trap twice... you are no fool. You remind yourself. 'Don't attach yourself to false hope.' 'Always watch for traps.' Is what you've always been taught.

But seeing it father so honest...so desperate was doing something to you...it was breaking you.

His hazel dark eyes search yours looking for any sign of forgiveness. But you can't trust so easily. Not after everything. Your smarter then that.

"After everything's you've done...I can't just forgive you.." You say and you see how much your words impact you father but his kindness doesn't fade at the sight of denial. In fact it increases.

"I'm not asking for forgiveness...just a second chance.." He says his voice is soft and everything's in you is begging you to forgive him. But you can't.

Your hurt. He's hurt you.

"You killed my grandmother.. you took her life. That is not something I can forget." There it is something you've been dying to say to him. The final bridge that he must cross before you let him in.

You want him to explain. And he's been waiting for you to bring that up.

"That wasn't me. That was my men." He says defensively but his kindness is still there.

"Exactly your men. You might as well have killed her." You say and your venom is fierce and he feels it.

He feels your strength. He feels your emotions how you channel it into power. And he fucking loves it

If it wasn't such a bad moment he'd probably smile.

"They didn't do that by my command.....their orders were to scare you. Not to hurt you or your grandmother. "He says and you can hear his words are genuine.

"To scare me?" You say confused. They were just supposed to scare you...not bring you back?

"You still don't understand.....I let you go. " He says and he takes a small step forward and this time you don't step back.

You scoff at his words. He let you go? Impossible. He would've never let you go....atleast Not without a reason.

It's you who steps forward this time.

"Why?."

You ask commanding an answer.

"I had to let you go..." He says and his words are hollow and lack pride like his words usually have.

You look at him and tilt your head motioning for him to continue.

"Whether you believe what I say or not...I knew I was cruel. I knew I was hurting you." He says and his voice sincere. His tone so soft that you almost believe that this is a dream...

"And I didn't want to....but it was more about your strength. About what you were supposed to be.... there were things I couldn't teach you. I was to young. I lacked so much."

His voice is calm and he's trying to go around the truth but you already put the pieces together. You truly understand now.

"You lacked skills..but my grandfather didn't. So you let them take me. You let him train me. Teach me things that you never knew." You say and watch as he nods.

He sees that you've caught on. You've read him before he began speaking. Some only your grandfather would've been able to teach you.

"Your grandfather...he would've never taught me the things he's taught you." He says calmly.

He steps away from you and sits on a small chair and motions for you to sit across from him.

You hesitate sit and he pours you tea. Just like he used to do after your training had went well.

"So you expect me to teach you?" You ask as you take a sip of your tea.

"Teach me? No. I've learned plenty from other masters." He states and you look at him baffled.

"Teach Kion then?" You asks.

"No. I want to teach you all that I know." He says and he watches for your reaction.

"With what you already know and what I can teach you...you will be great." He says.

"All I am to you is some trophy..." You say feeling angry at his words how dare he want you to be nothing but a tool in game. In his war.

"Trophy?" He says confused and offended. You had taken his words the completely wrong way.

"My girl... you are all that I am. You are my daughter, my protégé, my heir."

What the hell did he just say? Heir?

You were no heir.

No bastard could be heir to the throne. You look at him confused and stunned.

"Kion is heir. Not me." You say as you take another sip of your tea.

"Says who? I have the final say." He say firmly.

"I will not take the throne from my brother." You say. You know how much blood can be shed from a siblings fighting of the throne.

"It's your birth right not his. He's known from the day he was born that you would be my heir. Not him." Your father states in a matter-of-factly tone.

"You can not take something that is already yours..." He continues.

Your silence is like a silence agreement to him as he continues speaking again.

"I assume Kion has told you what sub-zero did." He says and you can tell the memory still haunts him.

You nod.

"Do you know how he killed her?" He asks and his softness is long gone now.

You shake your head wanting him to continue.

"We were asleep. She was sleeping right next to me....and he slit her throat....I didn't even hear his steps. I woke up...and she was dead. He says and you can tell it hurts for him to admit that he was weak.

Now that was deep shit. You think to yourself.

All this time you had thought that sub-zero had killed her to start a war and take the throne ,but hearing how he killed...something much deeper had happened.

"Why not kill you? " You say and his eyes snap to yours.

"That's the question I ask every night....in chess when you take the king what happens?" He ask and you answer quickly.

"You win."

"Exactly....killing me... the throne would've been his. He wants something more... but I don't know what." His words are almost true...but he's hiding something. But you don't know what.....

You don't press any farther knowing he won't tell.. atleast not yet...

So you continue drinking your tea.

His words are kind and humble once agian as he begins speaking. And you can see the desperation in his eyes as he reaches for your hand.

"A war is coming ,and I need you...So I'll ask you agian. Will you allow me to be your father?"

As soon as the batfamilys feet touch the ground they take in the snowy atmosphere.

"Where the hell are we?" Your mother says confused. They weren't anywhere near the palace. They weren't anywhere near you.

"The portal was supposed to take us to her." Bruce says as he looks at the small device that controls the portal.

"She's about 10 thousand kilometers away." Tim says and dick groans.

"It'll take us forever to get there...." dick says annoyed.

Jason looks around the snowy grounds as if searching for you behind every tree. You mother walks up to him noticing his distressed state.

"You okay jay? Is medicine that we gave you still working? " She says her voice soft.

"Yeah.... I'm fine." He says dismissively. It was clear that jason was angry at pretty much everyone for you leaving.

He blames them. Because it is their fault.

"I have friends that can help that aren't to far from here..." Your grandfather says as he takes in the familiar surroundings.

"How long will it take us to her?" Your mother questions.

"A week at minimum. We better hurry." Your grandfather says as he begins walking knowing exactly where he's headed.

Damian stays silent for the most part. He knows he should've been a better brother...he regrets everything...ever incounter ever word...

He finally feels the weight of his actions getting back to him...but it's to late isn't it?

Thanks for reading!!

Comments and likes are highly appreciated! 💗

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[jedisupernova]

reuniting with seong gihun

notes minors dni contains fem aged up reader (same age is gihun), always written with plus size reader in mind as i am myself but truly anyone can read, takes place in the midst of his pursuit of finding the salesman, ANGST (self deprecation, selfishness, mentions of hardships, death, failed relationships, suppressed emotions, mentions of infertility, includes arguments; this does not have a happy ending), dynamic between reader and gihun is childhood friends who reconnect in later adulthood, some made up lore to build said dynamic, mentions of nightmares, violence, smoking, sickness, slow burn maybe? i'm trying something new, and smut (mutual masturbation) after trusting someone for the first time in a long time mends part of his soul, but for how long, and at what cost?

requested? no, this is an original idea! i can't be normal about anything and how underrated he is in his own show is diabolical. anyway this one is long. please request something if you'd like or stop by the ask box or dms to say hello! i love a man with big brown eyes whose real good at looking sad. enjoy!

you always looked forward to every other saturday because it meant you had the day off. you took this time to sleep in before heading to nearby markets for your weekly grocery run. it was right after lunch time that you were perusing coriander so fresh you could still see water droplets on its leaves. just before you were to ask the older woman who ran the stand for the price, a familiar face swept past your peripheral vision.

you looked over your shoulder, seeing a man dressed in an unzipped jacket and talking rather quickly into his phone. he looked around the street corner like he was lost, a passing car letting you hear only fragments of what he was saying: "—station? which one?" you were about to return to your business when he faced in the direction of your gaze entirely. you hadn't seen that face in years . . .

he hung up the call, now typing with fervour. without thinking, you started walking: "gihun? seong gihun?" your voice was soft, approaching him with an air of caution you couldn't explain. he looked up, face tense with something beyond stress. "yes?" "it's me." you said your name. "we—we went to grade school together? my ... my parents owned a shop just down the street from your mother's." why did every syllable feel more embarrassing than the last, and why did your voice get quieter with every word? you were certain that you were looking at the gihun you grew up with—who could forget those distinctly emotive brown eyes, or those ears that stuck out and were made fodder for incessant teasing from your classmates? but gihun's expression didn't move an inch, his eyebrows knitted together in the slightest of confusion. but it was merely momentary, because when you were uttering apologies, his eyes widened with belated realization. "yes," he thought aloud, his tone was still oddly serious. "i taught you how to tie your shoes."

your expression blossomed into utter elation, lips separated in shock. he so casually swept the dust off of a shelf of memories you forgot even existed, making you mentally regress to that afternoon during p.e. who knows how many years ago. "y-yes!" you nodded. "i wore velcro shoes until i was eleven!" another memory came to the forefront: "we used to trade cassettes during lunch! we argued so much over the british ones. who was it again? david bowie and—" "—duran duran." said gihun. "duran duran!" you repeated, beaming. "oh my ... when was the last time i listened to them." you pondered aloud.

warmth crept onto your cheeks, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth: "i remember you and sangwoo styling your hair like theirs." a breath left his lips, chest tightening, his eyes betraying him as they quivered in abrupt grief. "you wore so much hair gel it blinded me in study hall. i wonder where sangwoo is now. i haven't heard much since he graduated from snu. are you still friends today?"

your question was objectively harmless. there was absolutely no way for you to have the faintest clue of the atrocities gihun's been forced to witness; the painful guilt he carries; the nightmares that carve the abysses underneath his eyes; the debilitating anxiety that fills his head with endless noise even in the eerie quiet of his deserted motel. he nods, forcing a tight, small grin. "we did stay friends." he says bravely, his eyes looking more familiar than ever.

the genuine smile you give in return was added to his self-anointed list of reasons why, at the end of his life, he would not die a peaceful death. it was another thing he would laboriously mewl over in the afterlife, looking up at the rest of the world, shackled to the deepest, darkest pits of eternal regret.

"that's good to hear." you say. "how're you doing, hm? you've cleaned up well from when we were in our twenties." you quipped playfully. through the scattered shells of his soul littered throughout his body, his innocent self was still somewhere in there, because he subconsciously looked for an out to ease his internal tension, letting out a chuckle at your remark. those vibrations in his chest felt foreign after these past two years, but that murky remnant of his past self welcomed the change, no matter how minute it was. "i've been better." he responded.

"yeah?" you asked. "if it makes you feel better, i'm glad i ran late today. because i got to see an old friend after a long time." gihun glanced at either of your hands—no ring. "have you met anyone?" he asked. you nodded, understanding what he meant. "i did." you say. "he left me when the doctor told us i couldn't carry." your eyes widened, unsure of why you were suddenly so honest. "i don't know why i just—" "i'm so sorry." gihun cut you off. his hardened expression turned shocked, even appalled. you recouped, wanting to look past this: "it's okay." you shake your head, metaphorically dodging the memories of your marriage counselor telling you to not 'to deny your own personal wounds as it'll seep into the companionship.' "it was a long time ago, gihun. how about you? did you meet someone?" he nodded, sympathy glistening across his retinas. "we separated shortly after our daughter was born."

"seong gihun, a father?" you grinned. "anything's possible." the ringing of his phone diverted both his and yours attention away. "i'm sorry for keeping you. you looked like you were in the middle of something—" "no, no. it's fine," gihun shook his head. "here, give me your number. i'll call you." he didn't know why he did it. he failed to stop himself declining the phone call from the loan shark he hired to head the search for the salesman, let alone handing you his phone to type your number in. was the impulsiveness of his past self also crystallized, emerging at this very moment? his discreet vow to blend into the shadows seemed to have crumbled in these past five minutes, giving in to his complex feelings: your sweet demeanor made him feel like a normal human being, and he wanted more of it. for the first time in a long time, seeing someone from his past didn't end in complete anguish. or perhaps it was the gleam of sadness that washed over your eyes as you spoke of your ex-husband, inflating his subconscious savior complex. even so, after you exchanged polite goodbyes, walking off in different directions, he mentally kicked himself for compromising your safety concurrent with unabashed intention of calling you that very evening. through any stage of his life, through the gambling and the scheming, it seemed selfishness remained his kryptonite.

for you, it was a hell of a lot to take in. at some point, it felt as if a prank was being played on you. it was one thing to offer sincere condolences for his late mother, or be sorry that his daughter lived so far away. but ... children's games that ended in murder? masked guards with triangles, circles, and squares hiding their faces? a handsome, well-groomed man that tenderized his face over a game of ddakji, in the middle of a train station? sure, you would miss a lot of someone's life after not seeing them for nearly three decades. but ... but this? it was properly outlandish. crazy, even. but over that hushed dinner, sat in a corner booth, the scent of sizzling samgyeopsal on the grill increasingly nauseating, it was too detailed to be a lie. he pleaded nonverbally for you to believe him—through the desperate glossiness of his eyes. you affirmed your belief in the same wordless manner, visibly nodding. you almost threw up when he handed you a business card, the three aforementioned shapes on one side, a random assortment of numbers on the back.

gihun brought you to his motel that same night, barren and lifeless besides white noise of the warm-toned, aged ambient lighting on the first floor and the tinkering of various ceiling fans with rusted hinges. you took in the six monitors mounted on the wall in front of his bed, equipped with live block-to-block security camera footage of his immediate surroundings, the metro transit map tabbed meticulously, and the calendar with past dates crossed out in thick red marker, pages of months previous mixed with takeout containers lodged in the corner trash bin. you quietly followed him upstairs, seeing his hidden stash of weaponry as he explained his recruitment of underground crime groups he's known since his gambling days. you didn't utter a word, not even when you lastly saw the mountain of cash stacked on a random bed in a random room. it stared at you as you did it—blankly.

he broke the silence. "this is where i've been these last three years." he said. he turned to look at you. "i ... i understand that it's a lot." his voice grew quieter. he swallowed, feeling shame brewing in his chest. "i just—i just felt like telling you. i don't know why. i understand if you don't want to know me—" "—i want to help." you said. his eyes widened. "what?" "i want to help you, gihun." you looked at him. he was bewildered. he shook his head, dumbfounded. "no, i think you misunderstood—" "—i did?" you cut him off. "you brought me here because i believe your story, didn't you? what did you expect then, exactly? for me to take my conviction away, like you say those masked soldiers did to those people who didn't stand still enough, or broke their dalgona? you tell me all of these crazy stories, your pain is so visceral that it makes me nauseous with guilt, and you want me to walk away? huh? what is it, then? what did you want!?" you hadn't anticipated your voice to rise, but were yelling by the end, your irritation stuffing the room.

he took your verbal berating silently, avoiding eye contact and shoulders lowering. "i don't ..." his voice trailed. "i don't want you to get hurt." "you gave up the right to protect me when you gave the impression sangwoo was still alive." you spoke firmly, voice now leveled. a breath of defeat slipped through his teeth. "you should've never called me." you said. "you should've done what everyone does: offer to get lunch to be polite, but never actually do anything. you shouldn't've called. i shouldn't've answered. i shouldn't've have shown up tonight, and i should've walked away the moment you started talking. you've given me no choice but to stay."

the silence was deafening. he looked up upon hearing the skid of your shoes against the floor, coming face to face with your softened expression. it was strangely disarming, feeling goosebumps travel up his spine."you were rid of me for thirty years. it's only right we make up for lost time." you said. his gaze didn't falter. it was his turn to affirm his belief of your wordless plea. he nodded, "okay."

you stopped by the motel in the early morning before work, listening to him comb through whatever new strategy he was going to run by his men that day ("what do you think? does this sound efficient?") and in exchange for making you miss your train, he drove you to work before parking at his usual spot. his guilt of bringing you into all of this felt stronger some days than others, showing in your not hearing from him for a couple days at a time. until you squashed that like a bug, dialing him in the middle of your lunch break: "... hello?" "why haven't you called me?" "i ... i've been busy." "you don't have time for a one minute phone call? thirty seconds?" "no, no. that's not what i meant—" "—i'm coming to the motel tonight."

and like clockwork, at nine pm, you showed up on the security camera. his phone vibrated: I am outside. when he unlocked the door, you walked past him without uttering a word, b-lining to his room. he did not immediately follow, purposefully hovering at the entrance after locking it back up securely. he walked with a lowered head, peering into the doorway some moments later. he was taken aback by the sight of you unloading your tote bag, nose tickled with the scent of freshly brewed stew, steaming rice, and side dishes. "i've brought tupperware. you're not eating takeout anymore." you don't look at him, hanging your bag on the back of a chair after fishing out utensils, sitting down with a small huff.

you looked at him. "are you not joining me?" gihun walked into the room, but fell short of sitting down at the table. "how long ... how long have you been cooking?" he felt stupid for asking the question, but the gesture left his mind blank. he felt atomically undeserving. "i got off work early." you responded curtly, plating your food. gihun didn't say anything, making you look up at him again. "it's going to get cold, gihun." your softened tone gave you what you wanted, watching him sit down across from you with muted satisfaction. you ate together in silence, nothing but the gentle clattering of plates and a quiet "thank you" when passing dishes rivaling the white noise of the air conditioning.

"from now on," you started, bringing your bowl to your lips, finishing off the last of your serving of stew. "you will update me everyday. i will bring food for us. if you forget about me, i will haunt you in the afterlife." "understood." he muttered, avoiding eye contact, pretending to look for a piece of meat in his stew, ignoring the one showing itself plainly on the left side of his bowl. his bottom lip quivered; he tightened his mouth. his arms started feeling weak; he inhaled sharply through his nose, tapping his foot under the table. but then a ragged breath rattled out of his diaphragm, his shoulders shuddered, and his vision went blurry; he was a goner. he sobbed into his hand. it sounded a lot like a coughing fit, so you initially thought the food hadn't gone down smoothly. but his defeated, muffled mewls into his palm and sunken shoulders said otherwise, sending you to your feet.

gihun instinctually turned towards the feeling of your hand on his shoulder, crying into your stomach. his hands pulled at your jacket, making you stumble, but you caught yourself. "f-forgive me, please. i won't be able to live with myself. i haven't been able live with myself for a long time." you looked down at the top of his head, unsure of what to do. you brushed his hair back with your fingers—not sure if it was crossing a boundary, but it felt wrong to just stand there—he only cried harder, arms wrapping around your waist, holding you so tightly as if you were a lifeline. "you—you make me feel normal." he said, breathing in short gasps. "after all the sins i've committed, you've—you've shown me atonement is possible." he lifts his head, eyes reddened, cheeks wet. the imagery of the moment was almost religious; if you listened closely, a distant artist began hammering at a marble slab. "b-but i'm not deserving of mercy." he shook his head, his hands coming together, visibly pleading. "leave me. i've hurt too many people. i can't hurt you next."

you wiped his tears. "you already hurt me when you didn't call." you said. "you already hurt me when you pretended sangwoo was alive and well." you reminded gihun, his head sinking in shame. your hand traced his jaw, lifting his head to look up at you. "you don't get to hurt me again by acting like you're alone in this." your voice faltered to a whisper. gihun's fingers ghosted over your wrist. "listen to me—" "—no, you listen to me." you cleared your throat. "we met that saturday for a reason. you let me in tonight for a reason. we're sharing a meal for a reason. stop lying to yourself." you said. "i can handle myself. i've been through a lot. i don't know how many sins you've committed, but even the devil gets a second chance. you should know, you've looked down the barrel of his gun."

gihun tsked. "save your prayers, gihun. just let me have the peace of knowing i'm helping a friend." he sucked in a shaky breath, sinking his face into his hands. "what have i done?" he whispered. "no one deserves to be alone as long as we both have." you retort. silence fills the room, making way for the words to settle into his psyche. goosebumps arise along his spine at the return of your fingers brushing his hair back. you take a step forward, his forehead brushing against the same place he wept on seconds before. "the least i could do is stay," you spoke quietly as if someone would overhear, even if you two were alone. "even if it's for a little while." as embarrassing and hypocritical as it felt to him, gihun gradually wrapped his arms around your waist. his touch hovered, however, only for you to pull him in, letting him know it was okay.

he got the message. his eyes closed, a long breath escaping his lips. you would've missed what he said if you weren't listening closely: "please do." he said, voice low, tone weakened. "please stay the night. there's—there's a room close to mine. down the hall." "i will." you assure without hesitation."what're friends for, hm?" you grinned. gihun let go. "i'll go—" he cleared his throat, voice gravely. "i'll go wash my face." he gestured to the bathroom behind you, rising from his seat. you returned to yours, "when you come back, have more food. you look sunken in." "i will." he muttered.

gihun closed the sliding door, inhaling through his nostrils, wiping a rogue tear with his knuckles. before he turned on the water, he looked over his shoulder, peering through the translucent palm tree imprint adorning the bathroom door. he caught a glimpse of you re-plating his food, leaned over the table, carefully pouring more stew; a hefty pile of rice on his plate; the side dishes pushed towards his seat. his bottom lip quivered, quickly looking away and tugging the right knob, the faucet pouring. the water ran and ran, but his eyes were stuck on his reflection in the mirror. he felt nauseated by the sight of his glossy eyes, deepened frown lines, and pathetic expression: worthless, contradictory, complacent.

seeing himself felt revolting. not even a mother could love this face after all i've done. he thought to himself. how would he know? he found his mother lifeless on the floor when he came home, eternally impairing her with the gripping chokehold of disappointment routinely tightened by her deadbeat son throughout the last years of her life. what would she think of her son now, a secluded loner who lives off of blood money, whom watched his best friend die right before his eyes, hired criminals to do his bidding to further involve himself in a fight that feels too big, and on top of all that has looped in an innocent woman into all of this? and for what, comfort? a semblance of peace? gihun splashed his face haphazardly, drying off with a towel hastily. he turned the faucet off, staring at himself again: "own the consequence." he whispered to himself. "it's all your fault."

you stayed at the motel even if it was against your better judgment, such as having work earlier than usual. gihun stirred awake at the rustling outside of his closed and locked door, reaching over and squinting at his phone screen: 5:37 AM. his senses clouded by exhaustion, he didn't realize just how quickly he recognized your footsteps, climbing out of bed without a second thought. his voice startled you, even if it was quiet: "what're you doing up so early?" he asked. "you don't have work for almost three hours." "i go in earlier today," you weren't sure why you were whispering anymore. "and i forgot something at home. i'm sorry for waking you up, gihun. go back to bed." he left the doorway, coming back with his jacket and shoes on, keys in his pocket. "let's go. i'll take you home, then to work." "no!" you protested, shaking your head and waving your hand. "i've caused enough trouble waking you up." "i'm already here," he said, taking your purse and carrying it in his right hand, his left gently ushering you alongside him. "let's go. you'll be late."

you shared cigarettes after dinner, the emptied tupperware long forgotten on the small table some feet away. you blew the smoke out the window, watching it disappear into the night. the click of gihun's lighter caught your attention, gaze lingering whilst he inhaled. you smirked to yourself: "i kicked this habit right before i started trying for a family." you said, bringing the cigarette between your lips. "i guess you're as bad an influence you say to be." you quipped, exhaling. "high school gihun would ask if he looked cool doing it." he muttered, holding his between his lips, putting the lighter back in his pocket. "he would. and i'd tell him he does." you affirmed with a nod, flicking ash into the tray lining the windowsill. "he would also ask for you to not tell his mom, even though he stole those cigarettes from her shop. then, two days later, he'd ask you for one." you chuckled, leaning towards the window and blowing. gihun shook his head, "what an annoying kid." "funny." you corrected him. "you were funny. aware, but also clueless. caring, too."

"i was shameless." he murmured lowly, blowing his smoke. you tsked un-approvingly, "stop being so brooding. now that's annoying." he looked at you as if you detested his entire family lineage, eyes widened in an expression fit for schoolyard bickering. "i'm not being annoying, i'm being real! hey—" he said, pointing his cigarette at you. "you're the one being annoying, just going against whatever i say! you've been doing this so much lately! on wednesday, when i offered to buy dinner because you've been working so late these days, and you said to me 'hey gihun, i have fifteen more years until i'm eligible for elderly welfare. i can cook just fine.' you could've just said either yes or no!" he waved his hand to accentuate his point, continuing: "and last week when you told me five times to stop wearing the same three shirts on rotation, and i told you i have more than that but there's no need because i sit in a car all day, and you said 'you're more dedicated to an outfit than the president is to the oath of office.' where do you even get this stuff?" he questioned, bewildered, pointing his cig to his temple. you nearly drew blood from your lip from attempting to contain your laughter. "and i wasn't stealing from my mom when i was that young! at least be honest about that." hearing him accentuate his vowels in the midst of his frustrated rant—a habit he's seemingly had his entire life—made your face feel warmer than before, a wide smile appearing whilst laughter finally rang out of you; you'd unpack the former later.

"okay, okay." you nodded, your free hand coming to rest on his arm as a way of both giving in and telling him to calm down. "was it my mom you stole from, then?" you joked, unable to hold your laughter at the look on his face. "you can tell me, gihun. i'm sure the statute of limitations is up by now for theft." "you're impossible." he muttered, shaking his head, bringing his cigarette to his lips. "hey. hey," you said, arm traveling up to his bicep, "i'm just kidding. i know you didn't steal." he stayed silent until he couldn't. "jungbae used to take his father's cigarettes. that's what i smoked." "okay, okay. i believe you, no need to be emotional." you said that on purpose, an upside down grin molding your face at his expression, suppressed laughter clouding your lungs. "how am i emotional for just telling the truth! hey, you can't just lay the bait and expect me not to take it!" "are you really this unable to take a joke?" you questioned. "wow, gihun. you take our role as elders more seriously than anyone our age." you remarked with faux indignity, hiding your grin behind your hand, inhaling. "impossible." he muttered to himself, turning away from you to face the window. your hand fell to your side, glancing at his cigarette between his lips before gazing out the window yourself.

silence washed over the room. after a few minutes, you put out your cigarette in the ash tray. you cleared your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. "i know it's hard, but lighten up." you began. "we just had a good meal. our shit will pass smoothly in the morning." gihun turned his head, looking at you with those routinely emotive brown eyes, too capacious for his own good, gaping at you. you thought you knew what he was going to say, but he scoffed, looking back out the window, a hint of a chuckle leaving his diaphragm, a ghost of a smile on his face. "poop jokes? at our age?" he shook his head, inhaling. upon his exhale, he struck gold: "you're so full of shit." both of you turned to each other with widened eyes, an open smile of surprise on your face: "a pun!" you called out, pointing at his chest. "you just said a pun!" "i'm not inept." he said. "of course not." you agreed. "just stubborn." you grinned, hearing him scoff.

"you may not be the seong gihun i remember entirely," you said, watching him extinguish his cigarette. "but you're certainly a seong gihun that'll be hard to forget." your words weigh unexpectedly heavily, suddenly bringing up the inevitable next step when gihun confronts the salesman. it's long been established as you two have talked about it before, albeit more hesitantly these days, even if it didn't start that way. in the beginning, it was treated with zero sugarcoating; basic fact; common sense—he's going back in there and no one can stop him. however, over these last few months, it's not as if the end goal has changed, but its honest, unforgiving nature has become increasingly visceral. it lingers in the air like an unwanted draft, but you're scared shitless to get up to close the window, fearing something bad might happen if you leave your bed. it was overtly irrational, a perfect concoction of contradiction and avoidance; even at your big age. it made you feel sixteen again, narrowly evading your crush in the busy school corridor, but stealing every possible glance during your shared class. wait . . . hold on . . . did you just use the word . . .

"i don't plan on forgetting you." gihun cut your inner monologue off. you were taken aback. his gaze is unrelenting, even if his eyes give away his own surprise at his words. your mouth moved, but no sound followed. your mind was completely and utterly blank. gihun felt it too, considering you always had something to say at any given time. that's how you made your way back into his life; upended his routine; granted him a better sleeping schedule; made a technicolor life seem possible again; filled his aura with something other than regret and disdain. his life felt—even if it was only momentary—not like it was unfolding to the beat of a ticking metronome, but in peaceful silence, like now. there was no room for hurtful memories, intrusively incessant conflicting feelings born out of his festering trauma, or the hefty responsibility to avenge those lost that he attributes to his own faults. there was room for only you. you.

gihun turned away, flustered. he suddenly wished he never put his cigarette out, yearning for the scent of nicotine to distract him from the discomfort he felt now—a feeling he was sure you shared, too. "i'm sorry." he muttered, so quiet it nearly blended in with the noise of the air conditioning kicking in. you stepped forward, locking your arm with his. he turned his head, glancing at you when you laid your temple against his bicep. he feels one of your hands gingerly rub his arm, saying something neither of you had the guts to verbally. his posture was stiff, unsure of what to do, but he didn't think for an iota of a second to step away or nudge you off. he felt something inside him begin to thaw, or maybe it slowly had been this entire time. "tonight is the first time i've heard you laugh since we met again." you spoke. your tone was so hushed it made gihun feel as if you were the last two people on all of earth. you two stood in silence, looking out the same window; listening to the distant cares drive by; the meow of a stray cat; the air conditioning shutting off. too afraid to move his gaze—and frightened by how hot his face felt—gihun slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket, slipping it into yours. it took him a moment to mount the courage to intertwine your fingers, and another to lay his temple against the top of your head.

something shifted after that night. how could it not? your apartment collected dust with how you practically lived at the motel, other than to cook. gihun awoke before you did on days you had work earlier, intentionally setting this alarm no matter the time he fell asleep the night before. you stayed in his car a little longer than usual when he dropped you off, really pushing that five minute grace period you have to clock in on time, even if those extra few minutes were spent in flustered silence or repeatedly glancing at how close your hands were on the center console. every time you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, you hoped it was him; elated if it was indeed his name in your messages, and an eye roll if it was an email or the news. gihun found himself sitting up in his seat when your text came through midday (Going on lunch in 15 min), uncomfortably tugging at the collar of his shirt. he cleared his throat when you sent your usual follow up (Free now), staring at the call button next to your contact name. what am i going to say? he thought to himself, only to realize how ridiculous he sounded. gihun pressed the button hastily, bringing the phone to his ear with an irritated huff. since when did i become sixteen again?

on the evenings where you're running late for dinner, gihun is in your room at the motel, tidying it. he didn't want to face the fact that he lingered in your space because it was precisely that: yours—or in more truthful words, he just really missed you. it was where your energy remained a constant, even through the poorly-lit space and stuffy air. it felt irrational to miss someone he would see in a matter of hours, but he could not help it. he distracted himself with fixing the folded corner of the thin duvet; smoothening a stubborn wrinkle on a pillow case; replacing a faulty lightbulb; cracking the window open just enough if it was particularly humid that day. if you still hadn't arrived afterward, gihun sat on the edge of your finely made bed, waiting idly. he sped down the hall upon reading I'm outside, hushing your flurry of apologies with a gentle "it's okay. i only just came home, too."

gihun was no stranger to nightmares. he had them often, tossing and turning in bed, waking up in a cold sweat or with a prolonged headache that followed him into the day. over time, he got better at lulling himself back to sleep, harnessing the mantra of it's not real as best he could. but one night . . . it was too tangible, tactile, even. filled with villains of his past, ghosts of mistakes, ominous reminders of the uncertain future. he knew he was in a dream, but his subconscious was at war with his conscious efforts to wake up—throwing him in a very frightening limbo. he awoke with a sharp gasp, his body riddled with sweat and coughing abhorrently, throat heinously dry. this was the most severe dream he's had in a while. gihun tried to ground himself by whatever means his mangled mind could think of: steadying his breath, feeling the fraying blanket with his fingertips, trying to remember that mantra ... but his senses felt electrified, the visceral fear of the nightmare still fresh.

his eyes shot open when he heard a knock at his door. he stilled, unsure whether he'd imagined it. some of his rationale had returned, but not entirely, because when there was another knock, he quickly got out of bed, grabbing the gun on his nightside table. that dream really must have done a number on him, because he didn't look at his monitors and moved based on assumption—halting upon hearing "gihun?" your voice laced with concern yet gentle, ear pressed against the door. you knocked again. "gihun? are you awake?" you asked. "is everything okay in there?" his shoulders sunk in relief. have i lost my mind? he thought to himself. he put the gun back, momentarily deferring his disgust over his rash actions, cracking open the door.

he swallowed, hiding his grimace at his still aching throat with a quick swipe of his forehead. "good evening." he said rather monotone, trying to mask as light-spirited but executing it meekly. "i'm okay. i had a bad dream." "i heard you—" you gestured down the hall. "i heard you from my room, gihun. you sounded like you were in pain. i was worried that, that—" "—i'm fine." he nodded, trying to assure you. before you rebutted, he asked "what time is it?" whilst rubbing his eyes. "two in the morning." you answered hurriedly. "look, gihun. you're drenched in sweat and you're breathing so hard. i know this wasn't some ordinary dream." you say. "was it ... was it about them? the men in masks, the games?" gihun's hesitant pause was your answer. "i'm okay." he said again. "i'm sorry for waking you up. go back to bed." you tsked. "still so stubborn, even when he's sleepy." you eyed him, seeing his glistening face. "okay," you gave in. "i'm down the hall if you need me." a pause. "you're not alone in this." you reminded him, walking away and returning to your room. his gaze lingered in your general direction for a moment before closing his door.

he tried to fall asleep, but found himself stuck, only able to stare at the ceiling. gihun's mind ran a million miles an hour, feeling short of breath if he focused on that for more than ten seconds. he looked at his phone for the fifth time in three minutes: 2:47 AM. sleep felt nowhere in sight. his sweat had mostly subsided, heartbeat leveled, but his mind remained riddled. if he closed his eyes, they would open right back up. your proposition played in his head like a broken record, but like anyone his age, his pride stood in the way. it's not only that he didn't want to seem weak or have an insecure grip on self-sufficiency, but also seeking comfort still felt foreign to him. it was another symptom of circumstance, both of the past three years and the last four months. gihun felt undeserving, foolish for pursuing such a thing when he's so close to throwing himself back into a world running on nothing but adrenaline and fear.

gihun laid on his left side with a stern huff, closing his eyes, trying so desperately to feel that lilting tug of sleep, even if he had to pretend. he did all of this to protect you and himself. to protect the inevitable, to crystallize his oath of taking down those bastards once and for all. but when he looked at his phone, seeing it was now 3:16 AM, he suddenly felt thirty-five again: coming home horrendously late after another taxing day at the factory, muscles weak and his will even more so. his wife wasn't home, having been at her relative's house the past few days after an argument they had. he laid atop the bed the best his sore muscles allowed; he hadn't enough strength to shower or even feed himself. he got up less than four hours later, freshening up as best he could in an eerily silent house, ignoring the grumble of his stomach as he boarded the public bus.

it was one of his loneliest moments. he didn't know why he thought of that specifically, considering the divorce, custody battle, and moving back in with his mother was a different low point entirely. his eyes opened to the darkness. the silence felt similar, the shame even more so . . . gihun got up, taking his pillow and blanket with him. he knocked twice, pressing his ear against the door, only for it to creak open. it must have been left open. he stepped inside, closing and locking it behind him. the layout of your room was the same as his, so he had no problem navigating the dark room. he quickly laid his pillow on the floor next to your bed, closing his eyes after unfolding his blanket. you were awake, overhearing his shuffling into the room. "gihun?" he gasped: "you scared me." he whispered back, hand on his chest. "why are you on the floor?" you asked. silence lingered. "i wasn't—i wasn't sure if it would be okay." "get on the bed, gihun." unbeknownst to him, you were awake for the past hour and some change waiting; having moved purposefully to lay on one side of the bed.

your face felt warm, eyes squeezing shut and nestling into your pillow when you felt the weight of the bed dip behind you. even though your backs faced each other, you thanked the universe that no lights were on in the room. gihun laid as far on his side of the bed as he could; not enough to warrant worry that he would fall off, but enough to thwart his fastening heartbeat he felt come increasingly close to his throat. or so he thought, because he stuttered with his next words: "you—you left your door open. don't ... don't do that. someone might come in." a beat. "you did." was all you said. barely ten minutes later, both of you succumbed to the white nose of the air vent, gihun's quiet snores and your steady breaths filling the room.

a week later, you walked into your apartment, setting bags of fresh groceries down on the kitchen counter. you heard your text tone go off in the midst of searching your cabinets for the usual pots and pans you used to cook—a piercing rattle reverberating through the immediate space when you dropped a small pot onto the stove, reading the text from gihun: 1 do not come. you stared at the text in horror, inner monologue clustered and borderline indecipherable—did he find him? how? when—yesterday it was another dead end—and lunch was smooth, too—how could have things changed so quickly? where is he—do not come? is he at there, at the motel? he sent this seven minutes—did he confront him there? how did he even find him there? how did he even— how did he even get inside? your eyes flickered back to the 1—a code you two established the night you took your wordless oath to help him in his endeavor ("it's quick to type. the 'one' we're looking for, the 'one' chance we have.") gihun sent the other three words to deter your stubbornness under the glimmer of the neon pink motel sign he didn't turn on himself, further punctuating the sentiment of imminent danger.

"how ... how long do i wait for?" you whispered to yourself. you paced back and forth, gnawing at whatever skin was left on your lips, moving to your nails after they felt raw. you didn't process your stomach rumbling more time went by; another hour passing on the clock, nor did you pay mind to how your loafers continuously pinched the back of your ankles, too occupied to remember to take them off. your phone rang close to midnight. gihun hadn't realized how quickly you picked up his call: "gihun!? what happened? is everything okay? are you okay?" "i'm safe." he said. "i am okay." he let out a breath, hearing yours on your side of the line. he began to explain: "we found him an hour after lunch. we tailed and tried to corner him, but he was too quick. one of my men are dead, and he used to other to find me at the motel." "n-no." you said weakly, shaking your head, horrified. "he was in my room." gihun continued. "he challenged me to a game of russian roulette. i won. he's dead."

you hadn't the faintest clue what that game was. but that did not matter. "d-dead? just—just like that?" your voice was quiet, eyes glossy. "after searching for these three years, he's gone just like that?" these people were so fucking odd. no matter how many times you reeled over the details, anecdotes, of whatever you learned, their ominous nature left you with an uneasy stomach; an urge to look over your shoulder at any given moment. it was consuming you these last six months. you couldn't imagine how it's been for him for the past few years. gihun nodded, despite you not being able to see. "yes." he affirmed. "he gave me what i needed. there's a card with a date and address for a halloween party, i think, since i searched it up and saw its a club. that's where the leader of the games will be. we've started planning what we're going to do—" "—that's—that's two weeks from now." you thought aloud. "yes." said gihun, nodding again. here came the part of the conversation he'd been avoiding: "i need you to ... i need you to stay at your apartment. just for tonight." you were deeply offended. "what? are you crazy?" you retorted, furrowing your eyebrows. "absolutely not. you listen to me, i'm coming—" "—no, listen to me." he cut you off. "it's a mess at the motel. i can't—" he huffed, shoulders sinking a little. "i can't do that to you."

you understood what he meant. "okay." you sounded hurt, but agreeable. you leaned on the kitchen counter, elbow rustling against the grocery bags. "okay." you repeated, running your hand over your face, clearing your throat afterward. you realized this wasn't gihun acting as if he was alone in his endeavor, but asking nonverbally for your belief in him. "i'll stay here. i trust you." "thank you." he responded in a whisper, overcome by a hefty wave of relief. "just for tonight. i promise." he specified once again. "i know." you said. a moment of silence washes over before gihun speaks. "i'll take you to work tomorrow." he said gently. "do you go in at nine?" "seven." you correct. you look over your shoulder, seeing it was nearing one in the morning on the oven clock. "i didn't realize how late it was. i haven't even showered yet." "me neither." he responded, glancing at the time on his car's dashboard. "i'll be at your building at half six. is that okay?" you nodded, despite his not being able to see. "yes, that's okay."

silence washed over the call. "thank you for trusting me." he said. "thank you for trusting me too. goodnight, gihun." "goodnight." he quickly hung up the call, tossing his phone onto the empty passenger's seat. a shaky breath left his lips as his eyes watered, fingers harshly rubbing his closed eyelids. "fuck." he muttered under his breath. when his vision cleared, he turned his head, looking out his car window to your apartment building. he stared and stared, eyes flittering up and down the various floors, trying to spot yours with any hint; a lamp turned off, a curtain closed, anything. some part of him wanted to stay in his spot until he was to pick you up, and another irrationally hoped you'd walk out of the building, like a lovesick teenager who's lost all reason. but eventually, gihun's hand reached for the gear, putting the car in drive, gradually pushing down on the peddle.

those two weeks were a stilled, prolonged goodbye. your face and muscles felt heavy as if you were already in mourning, but your brain remained defiant. he's too stubborn to let those people kill him. you told yourself, pouring creamer into your coffee at work. he's not stupid enough to die. the later half of october rolled out. with each passing day, you slowly lost the strength to cross out the dates on the calendar in his room. gihun would be a fool to not see the growing cynicism that deepened your eye bags, the perpetual frown on your face during dinner, or the avoidance of eye contact. you woke up too easily these days, gihun often hearing your shower head long before your alarm went off. he wasn't sure if you even set an alarm anymore, but it was enough to deduce you weren't getting much sleep. what was once a witty back-and-forth when reviewing the day's plans for his recruits, became a subdued, one-sided conversation where you looked at the whiteboard with an unreadable expression, offering a monotone "sounds good" in the end. as halloween drew closer, your midday texts lessened. gihun reached out—Are you going on lunch soon?—only to come to terms with his hurt upon reading your response: Busy day. I'll see you at dinner. your eyes watered, bottom lip quivering when he texted back: Okay. No problem. you clicked your phone off, turning it face down. you pushed away your half-eaten lunch, losing your appetite. a ragged breath left your diaphragm, tears threatening to leave your waterline. no one else was in the break room, so the consequences of suppressing your emotions thankfully beared no audience. but you felt exposed nonetheless, confronted by the fact that you couldn't bear to lose gihun, but you had no choice.

the motel was eerily silent the night before halloween. the plan was concrete, reviewed ad nauseam over the last couple of weeks. dinner had wrapped a few hours prior, the tupperware packed away in your tote bag hanging on the back of a lounge chair in your room. you didn't dare look at gihun. in fact, your eyes stayed down the entire time, speaking minimally other than to ask to pass a side dish, or offer him more rice. your quivering lips were hidden well behind your utensils, or taking a drink of water. gihun was just as quiet. not passive, but quiet. he didn't muster the courage to say anything. he might not be the most gifted in expressing his emotions, but he was aware enough to read the room and know it wasn't the best time to bring up the inevitable. he knew he couldn't leave you alone. he couldn't, not without saying something.

so there he was, some time past eleven pm, knocking on your door frame. "are you awake?" he asked gently, even if your nightside lamps were on, apparent that you weren't asleep. you peeked over your shoulder. "yes." you answered, returning your temple to your pillow. gihun walked into the room, back facing you as he sat on the edge of your bed. he had enough gall to keep you in his peripheral vision, but fell short of looking at you directly. "what did i tell you about leaving your door open, hm?" he asked, trying to sound sharp, but succumbing to tenderness. "anyone can walk in." "you aren't just anyone, gihun." you said oh so delicately, enough to have him turn his head completely, eyebrows turned up sympathetically. you saw his eyes on you in your periphery, but avoided his gaze, keeping yours on your palm running back and forth along a small spot of the thin duvet.

"i—" gihun reached into his pocket. "i made you a key for the motel." he leaned over to his right, setting it down on your nightside table. "if you ever need anything," he glanced in your direction, the strength to look at you fleeting. "take as much as you want. you know where the room is." you didn't say a word. your palm stilled. his gaze fell to the duvet, too, his hand gliding across the wrinkles. "like i said before," his voice was low. "i don't plan on forgetting you—" "—gihun, stop." you interrupted. "i don't have the strength for this."

silence. he tries again: "i'll come back." he spoke warily. "i'm going to come back." "please." your voice fell to a whisper. "i can't take it." your chin hovered above your chest from the length you went to avoid his eyes. you felt fragile as porcelain, every single utterance of this conversation chipping away at you without remorse. gihun doesn't try again, internally frustrated with how easily he felt defeated. silence wins again, but not for long. he continues tracing the duvet's wrinkles, inching towards to your hand with every swipe. his hand comes closer and closer, until he slows. you watched his fingers gradually hold yours. gihun doesn't apply pressure, but he stays there. he keeps them in his grip when he moves to lay on his side, facing you. "at least look at me." he whispered, pleading. "i can't." you sounded so defeated. his eyes glistened, gripping your fingers properly now. "i can't regret my decision now. not when i'm so close." his eyes shined under the warm-toned light of your lamp. "don't make me regret my decision. please."

your head rose, meeting his eyes. he looked his most familiar: a deep somberness etched in the crevices of his face, his eyes perhaps the most poetic of all. they looked so soft, so gentle; as if a look of malice could never come close to tainting them. he could try his damn hardest, feel the most visceral of anger, but he could never look truly dissatisfied, forever unable to mask his true desire for comfort. for love. a small grin tugged at gihun's lips. "there you are. i missed you." he was barely audible, almost as if he mouthed the words. without thinking, he moved his head onto the pillow, not realising how close you two were until it was too late. it was like a strange instinct, the way he leaned in. he couldn't stop himself; not when the quietest of gasps escaped between your teeth, or his heart thumping so harshly his chest felt it was going to burst, or when his lips hovered admittedly awkwardly above yours. the kiss was light, almost nonexistent, until gihun leaned forward a little more. the tip of his nose brushed past yours, bringing his lips against yours wholly. his nose lightly dipped into your cheek when he kissed you again. before you could show any semblance of reciprocity, gihun abruptly pulled away.

"i'm sorry." he said. "i shouldn't have ... i shouldn't have done that. i'm sorry—" "—it's okay." you shook your head, panicking slightly. you slipped your fingers out of his grip, using them to make him look at you. "come here." you say. he follows, molding his lips with yours once again. the kiss was one of fervor; relocating misplaced frustration into that of palpable yearning; two souls who came together by chance after decades past; an atomic understanding of each other's pain, yet accepting you'll never truly know what's its like to live the other's life; a long-awaited embrace of the unknown, succumbing to the desire—no, the need to be loved.

gihun's lips felt soft, contrasting with his stubble rubbing against your chin and upper lip. it made you pull him closer, his head tilting to the side to deepen the kiss, eyebrows turning upward at the sound of your muffled whimper. your hand left his face, taking his hand and laying his palm atop your clothed breast. he took the hint, kneading it with just the right amount of firmness, but not without moaning lowly into your mouth. his pointer and middle fingers pulled the collar of your sweater down, breaking the kiss mind-numbingly slowly before trailing down to your neck, past your double chin, settling on the faint stretch marks adorning your shoulder. your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, an encouraging hand in his hair as your chest nearly collided with his, back arched in bliss.

you brought yourself back down to earth, hand reaching past his chest, undoing his belt. you scrambled to undo the button and zipper, escaping into his briefs. gihun let out a guttural moan into your warm skin, embarrassingly (to him) hard in your hand, breathing hard through your slow strokes. "h—h-ha ... h—ngh!" he tried to contain himself by peppering kisses onto your skin, but ended up bucking his hips up into your soft palm. you fastened your pace, fingers wrapped securely around his girthy cock, his precum wetting your hand. gihun shuddered, mouth agape and face burrowed into your clothed chest, fingers limp on your shoulder. you bit your bottom lip as you continued your ministrations, thighs rubbing together for any sort of friction. a whimper rattled out of his diaphragm when you began pumping only his tip. "i'm g-gonna pass out!" he whined. he gasped sharply when he felt something stir in his abdomen. "n-no, no—w-wait!" he suddenly moved, laying his head next to yours on the pillow. "w-wait! s-stop! i'm—" his body reacted before he did. gihun's nose brushed against your cheek, his mewls and grunts making your eyebrows knit together in a fit of awe and sexual drive you hadn't felt in years. hot spurts of cum coated his briefs and your inner wrist. you gradually came to a halt, overhearing his labored breathing.

you leaned in, softly reconnecting your lips. even in his clouded haze, gihun kissed back with intent. his hand found the hem of your pants, leaning closer to you, your free hand holding his cheek, deepening the kiss. you turned your head towards the ceiling with a sharp inhale, effectively breaking the kiss, however, when his fingers dipped between your folds. goosebumps arose on your arms underneath your sleeves, a soft hiss brewing between your teeth. "your hand is cold." you whispered. his nose pushed against your cheek, lips pressing chaste kisses onto your supple skin. "i'm sorry." he said. "i can ... i can stop." "no, it's okay. it's okay." you say breathily, closing your thighs around his wrist. gihun's jaw dropped at the sight."it'll warm up. just—just keep going." you tell him. "fuck!" his voice fought so hard to stay quiet, coming out hoarse.

your eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed. it was only every few swirls of his finger did a small gasp leave your slightly swollen lips, feeling him come closer to your clit than before. gihun was so fucking close to where you needed him to be, but not quite there. his unintentional teasing concocted the subtle yet apparent slosh of your wetness as your puffy lips encased his middle finger. you arched your back a little, hoping it would slip him into place, but to no avail. you reached for his head, fingers slipping into his hair. "gihun," you swallowed, mouth dry. "a little h-higher." "where? here?" his cock was hardening in your hand again, blurring his logic, trailing kisses up to your temple in his misunderstanding. "your hand, gihun. your f-finger." "right, right." he quickly realized. "i'm sorry."

the pad of his middle finger inched higher. the light of heaven was now in your sight. you opened your legs to allow just enough room for his wrist to fulfill your next request: "a l-little deeper, gihun. a little—f-fuck!" your gasp echoed off the walls. your hand left his hair, coming to cover your mouth, eyes barely open to look down at his hand in your pants. your wetness was blatant, the sticky sound making his cock stiffen and your vision blur. "g-gihun!" you whimpered, feeling him rubbing unrelentingly your sweet bundle of nerves. every swipe tightened the muscles of your inner thighs, toes curling in your socks. "k-keep going! keep going!" you pleaded helplessly, voice stuck at a whisper.

gihun pressed his forehead against your temple, eyes cast below with no intent of looking away. "f-fuck." he muttered under his breath, mouth agape at how he worked you. his mind became mush, marveling over your warmth and intoxicating softness. "please." he muttered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut at the thought of how you would feel wrapped around him. his shame made him feel juvenile, embarrassed by how his thoughts were as sexually erratic when he was 21 to his now 51, but not enough to stop him from grinding his cock into your loosened grip. "p-please," he whispered to himself. "god almighty—hngh!"

you began pumping him again, your other hand going back into his hair, turning your head and kissing his lips. it was one of newfound hunger; quick yet deep; quiet but stuttered through moans and hushed whimpers. suddenly, a knot formed in your abdomen, threatening to unravel. you broke the kiss. "i'm close." your tone was so vulnerable, like you would trust him with the world. gihun opened his eyes, taking in how beautiful you looked under the lamplight, the sheerest coat of sweat glimmering off your skin. "are—ngh!—a-are you?" you asked. he felt your breath brush against his cheeks, his forehead atop yours, nodding. "y-yes. we can finish together. c'mon." he kissed your cheek and your temple. "o-okay," you said breathily, head turning towards the ceiling, feeling his lips rest against your skin. "i trust you."

before gihun could register it, you unraveled. your moans were so delicate, so gentle, descending into shudders rattling out of your chest; back arching, eyebrows turned upward in ecstasy. "i—i!" you whimpered, the feeling of his finger continuously circling your clit through your unimaginable orgasm making your sinuses loosen, tears prickling even in your tightly shut eyes. "yes! yes! y-yes!" you chanted like a prayer, pumping him whilst you rode out your high. gihun was an incoherent mess through his second orgasm, his sweaty forehead sticking to your cheek, spilling onto your wrist in finality. he felt depleted of all energy, dizzy for those first few moments whilst you laid beside each other in your respective post-orgasmic hazes, your joint-labored breathing outdoing the room's air conditioning unit.

his hand slowly pulled out of your pants, yours slipping from his briefs when he turned to lay on his back. gihun's eyes closed, lulling his heartbeat with every deep breath he took. even though your body had stilled—eyes closed, tongue running over your dried lips; trying to bring yourself back down—something stirred inside of you. your body had its release, but your heartbeat fastened for a reason you did not want to acknowledge. in fact, there could not have been a worse time than now. you hastily wiped the tear that had fallen during your orgasm, your face contorting into a near sob, almost giving in to the reality that you convinced yourself you've long accepted. but you loathed it so much, so viscerally that your temples vibrated with anger; resentment; vitriol, even. all those missed phone calls, lying texts, quiet dinners, avoidant conversations . . . now here you were, suffering the consequences the night before he's set to leave.

am i really going to cry after an orgasm? really? you thought to yourself. you knew it wasn't the truth, but you were internally fighting tooth and nail to not yield to the suffocating devastation consuming your lungs like smoke at the moment; breath stuttering through your nostrils, chest convulsing whilst you held back the tears. but then, you felt his hand ghost past yours when he fixed his posture in bed. all hell broke loose.

gihun's eyes widened when he heard you cry. his hand did not hesitate to ride up your arm; a firm, yet gentle tug at your shoulder in an attempt for your attention. "hey," he spoke softly. "what happened? is everything okay?" you cried even harder, bringing your hand to your mouth. gihun's knuckles wiped what he could reach, turning on his side to face you. his big brown eyes looked to you with the same devastation your body was currently expelling. "was it something i did?" he whispered tragically. he was afraid he overstepped a boundary tonight, the intensity of it all hitting you suddenly. but that couldn't be farther from the truth. if only you could stop crying to tell him.

you turned to look at him, pawing weakly at his chest to somehow ground yourself enough to speak. the attempt proved to be worthless, the warmth of your tears lulling you into a state of incoherence. gihun's hands came up, holding either side of your face. "what is it?" his voice was low, laced with concern and perpetual shame. "what happened, hm? you can tell me." he encouraged, fingers wiping your fresh tears, palm softly encasing your cheek afterward. "i can't stand to see you like this. please, tell me."

"i-i'm so sorry i've been so distant!" you exclaimed, your tears added an unintended tone of urgency. you looked into his eyes, shaking your head. "i'm so sorry i've b-been so mean!" "no—" gihun dismissed gently, pulling you into his chest. he wrapped his arms around you; one hand smoothening your hair, the other holding onto your hip. "it's okay. you have nothing to apologize for." he meant every word. gihun never once questioned why you acted the way you did. he's anticipated this from the moment he asked for your number that early afternoon several months ago. out of all the unpredictable variables that have unfairly cast themselves into the trajectory of his life, he could always count on his selfishness to rear its ugly face in the end. whether it be debt, addiction, or hurting the ones he loved—he bears the consequence. but some part of this makes it feel worth it, as murky as it is. "it's okay. it's okay." he hushed your cries. gihun kissed your temple tenderly. "there is nothing to be forgiven." he told you when your tears subsided, holding onto you even tighter. "you haven't done anything wrong."

after a while, you slowly sat up. gihun too, albeit cautiously, watching you wipe underneath your eyes with the back of your hand. you let out a long breath, lifting your head to meet his gaze. "i've always been such an ugly crier." you muttered. gihun exhaled through his nose, grinning. "i can never predict what's going to come out of your mouth next. no matter how hard i try." you grew flustered, an upside down grin tugging at your lips. "you missed thirty years of my life." you said. "of course you'd be a little lost."

gihun couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. comfortable silence washed over the room. your palm began to swipe back and forth on the duvet again, but your eyes were on him. avoidance wasn't in the realm of possibility anymore. it hurt, but you felt ready. "you can't die, gihun." you spoke, voice quiet, as if volume would shatter the sanctity of your oath. you looked at him as if you were the only two beings on the entire earth. "i have more food to make." his gaze did not waver. "i won't." he responded, equally gentle. "i have more to eat."

two days later, you unlocked the door, stepping into your apartment. you kicked your shoes off without a moment's hesitation, setting your purse down on the kitchen counter. the rustle of the plastic bag in your hand almost overshadowed the vibration in your pocket. fishing your phone out, you rolled your eyes at the work email notification. something regarding an ongoing project, or an upcoming meeting—you could have cared less. "it's nine fucking pm. are they this incompetent?" you muttered as you walked to the living room, clicking your phone off and setting it down on the coffee table.

the plastic bag, surprisingly, was not filled with fresh vegetables and your other go-to ingredients, but takeout. you untied the knot, opening the styrofoam containers filled with freshly-cooked fried chicken and tteokbokki, respectively. "shit," you said to yourself, getting up from the couch and scurrying to the fridge, bringing back a can of sprite to accompany the meal. you ignored the cabinet housing your tupperware, not even permitting your oven, which stored your pots and pans, in your peripheral vision. for now, and for your sanity, they were dead to you.

you ate your meal in silence. the crunch of the chicken, chewiness of the rice cake, and the fizzing of your soda kept you company. your phone lit up with emails, the news, reminders to pay bills, your paycheck hitting your bank account; you didn't waver. you did what you vowed to do for the next days, weeks, or maybe the next thirty years: waiting. for something. anything.

honey's taglist! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა: @gongyoosgf @infinetlyforgotten

[gffa]

Guess who is full of blood and didn't get dizzy or extremely winded when going out to get the mail? THIS GAL. Why, I even was able to go up a flight of stairs and NOT immediately want to collapse into a sweaty, panting mess! In other words, the transfusion went well, it was mostly just boring and I went in loaded for bear (I brought three separate things to entertain me, plus snacks, plus lip balm, plus lotion, plus an extra pad because I'm still on my period, plus a bunch of other stuff) and really only read like five chapters of a webtoon the entire 4+ hours I was there. Sometimes I don't feel any different, I always felt okay when I was sitting or in bed, but boyyyyy could I tell a difference in just doing regular daily chores. Suddenly it wasn't too much work to get up and close the curtains. Suddenly it wasn't too much work to actually cut the meat for a dinner instead of just microwaving something. Suddenly it wasn't too much work to haul in my new computer table box from storage and start to unpack it. But also I need you guys to understand that sometimes I am deeply, truly ridiculous--so, okay, I had pretty thoroughly convinced myself that I couldn't be anemic because my symptoms were a little off and because I ate red meat every single day, there was no way I could be anemic with that much iron in me, etc. etc. I am someone who runs hot, I'm always hot even when everyone else is cold, so I've developed a strong fondness for cold drinks. When I still drank soda, I would put them in the back of the fridge right up against the coldest spot, so they would be starting to slush over and it was the greatest thing I have ever tasted. I love ice water, it's genuinely my favorite thing to drink, the colder the better. And oh my god ice, I will straight up eat ice because I'm so hot and it cools me down like nothing else. I've been like this for years, but I'm trying to cut back because even though I only eat the softer ones, I'm wary of what it's doing to my teeth, I've even had dreams about how wary I am. But I was like a fiend with those half-melted ice cubes, I would stare at my glass in the middle of the night, intending to just take a drink of water before going back to bed, but ohhhh just a couple of crunched up ice cubes would be so good on my throat, I'm so hot, that'll cool me down, they feel so good when they're in little pieces, and I couldn't stop myself. Cut to today, me after getting two transfusion units pumped into me, staring down at my water glass, no longer tempted to eat an entire glass of ice: ..............well, fuck. I KNEW THE DESIRE TO EAT ICE WAS A SIGN OF ANEMIA, I HAVE KNOWN THAT FOR YEARS, IT'S NOT EXACTLY AN UNKNOWN THING, but I 100% rationalized it away that I just liked cold drinks and I feel like a dumbass now because the absolute NEED to eat that glass of ice even when I was afraid of the damage it would do REALLY SHOULD HAVE BEEN A SIGN. Anyway, nobody should ever think I'm not a ridiculous person, because I 100% am. 😂

[decaycontest]

I cannot sleep

[yukipri]

feelin kinda sad so eating an obscene amount of pasta

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

realized this morning while crying in bed that i've needed a break from my life for a long time now and i'm the only member of my family who can't have a proper one so that was a pretty existentially depressing moment

[front-facing-pokemon]

[punkrockisafulltimejob]

Shit morning. Very very shitty morning. The rest of the day better not suck or I swear to fuck I'm gonna riot

[I highly recommend not reading the tags, but I needed to vent]

[briefcasejuice]

i don't have a continuous/relentless internal monologue in the way people usually describe it but i am always thinking about something

[unproduciblesmackdown]

what in the. see this is why it's a good thing that multiplayer videogames especially are about having fun & being yourself like what do you mean disguised spies automatically had the speed of the disguise's class & everyone's like yea if i wasn't always going for the scout disguise i'd kill myself right now. i'd be like haha can't catch Me out supposedly the extra slow or extra fast class >:) i am a harmless engineer

[katierosefun]

i am a genuine coward when it comes to playing minecraft because i’ll start my survival world on normal mode, and then i’ll hurriedly build a house + bed to avoid the monsters, and then i’ll go mining and switch to peaceful mode because i don’t want to be jump scared by zombies, thank you very much, and then i’ll find a fuckign. sculk sensor and it’s making SOUNDS and at first i don’t even know what it is until i look it up on google and then i know for a fact that i’ve got my game on peaceful but the thing keeps making SOUNDS SO I BOLT because i am genre-aware, thank u very much, and then once i’m above ground i go back to normal mode but then in the daytime, a random enderman appears next to me and i audibly go, “NOPE” and change the settings back to peaceful

[sysig]

Come back as a flower, spring Baby

Tala took it pretty hard. Makes sense

Hopefully, anyway. Live food that has the opportunity to hide can be hard to keep track of, so it’s possible they were stressed too... But at least that would be something familiar, not a big scary shadow to run away from

Even selfish, childish thoughts deserve a place to be recognized. There’s no utility in piling shame on top of grief

It felt really strange to logically know that they were gone but still believing so hard that I could somehow undo it, that they’d start moving again if I just did the right thing. Death really does strange things to the brain

[regular-lord-reckoner]

i feel like this weekend was pretty much nonstop go, go, go so i am very happy to finally just be in bed and everything is nice and quiet and relaxed :3

[aesethewitch]

When I was a kid, we moved into a house that had a huge lilac tree out front. It was mostly rotten, and it needed to be taken down before it fell. It took a while, but eventually, it was gone.

Mostly. A couple years later, little lilac babies popped out of the ground in its place. My mom was determined to get rid of them, because she'd planted a beautiful flower garden there, and the lilac trees would overshadow and kill the whole garden. I insisted on saving at least a few saplings. She said fine, but I had to dig them out and put them in pots myself.

So, I did. I spent days digging little lilac bushes out of the ground and putting them into pots. Some couldn't be saved, but some could. When all was said and done, I had five brand-new lilac saplings. Seven or eight years old, and it was my absolute pride and joy.

Three died due to sun scorching, severe drought that no amount of watering could save, and perhaps just being moved from their place in the ground. But two survived, and I was awfully proud of them! I'd go out and talk to them every single day. I watered them by hand and made sure they were fertilized properly. I learned all about their favored environments, and I was determined to make sure they lived.

One of my mom's friends saw what I was doing with the lilacs. She asked if she could have one to put in her backyard, and I agreed on the condition that she take very, very good care of it.

It's now fucking enormous. I'm talking ten feet tall and bursting with beautiful purple flowers every spring. My mom still gets updates each year as they start to bloom, which she forwards to me. And all I can think is, "That's my friend! Thriving some twenty years on, there it is."

The other tree nearly died, too. It lived in a pot for far, far too long. I wanted to plant it somewhere in my parents' yard, but my mom was reluctant. Eventually, we agreed to put it in the far back garden. It grew okay for many years, despite the shade, but in all these years, it's never bloomed.

Last year, the massive tree casting massive shadows over the lilac and the garden cracked in half and fell. It tumbled into the garden, crushing part of the nearby shed and destroying a few plants beneath it.

It missed my lilac by inches.

The clean-up is long done. The rest of the tree has been cut down, and my lilac has full sunlight for the first time in fifteen years. It won't bloom this year, I know. But it's got new shoots up. It's taller than ever. I spent half an hour a few weeks ago praising it for surviving all this time, dreaming about its future and telling it how I believe it'll become the tall beauty it's always been meant to be.

I think next year, I'll see flowers.

[bluesey-182]

having a history of hallucinations sucks bc that fear you get after reading/watching a horror book/movie late at night that the Evil from the story is somehow hiding in your dark house has the potential of actually being real in the form of my brain going "hey check this out *casts "hallucination"* haha, you little bitch"

[gallusrostromegalus]

Might I inquire as to what, precisely, a Mustain't is? (Aside from a string of letters I hesitate to Google in that order.)

In October 2014 I went on a road-trip to the Driest Place In America.

I was having a rough year, very depressed from having dropped out of college for the third time. I decided a road trip was in order to re-set my brain and get a little distance. Being that it was October, and therefore all the campgrounds in the American Southwest were filled with people who have the good sense to camp in reasonable temperatures, I elected to take my parent's minivan so I could car-camp anywhere suitably isolated, and looked up some of the southwest's geographic extremes- the highest place I could drive to (Pikes Peak), the lowest place (Badwater Basin), and for fun, the Dryest Place in the continental US, which turned out to be the Pinacate Volcanic field just west of Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. It gets rain maybe twice a century and has no standing water, despite being less than 100 miles from the gulf of California.

It's a startlingly beautiful and alien place. The ground is a deep chocolate brown to black volcanic sand, and in mid October, the rabbit brush is turning bright yellow as it shifts to autumn, the organ pipe cacti are a dark green and stand, partially concealed in the brush at exactly human height. The air is alive with birds and insects and bats at night. The stargazing is like looking into the eyes of God.

You get there by driving down a little dirt road called "El Camino Del Diablo", or "The Devil's Road".

I drove out about three hours from Glendale, AZ to get there, arriving at sunset, and felt a profound sense of peace. I stargazed, listening to the bats hunt and sing, and slept peacefully for the first time in months.

I stayed out there for three days, sketching and painting the landscape, taking strolls through this almost alien landscape, and enjoying the light and sound and total absence of human intrusion besides myself.

On the fourth night, it was a new moon, and I awoke in the middle of the night. Something was amiss, and it took me a while to realize it was because I could NOT hear the bats. I was sleeping inside the van with the rear windows rolled halfway down rather than trying to set up the tent, so I when I sat up, I looked out of the van's reflective windows to discover what at first appeared to be A Horse.

It was something between pale gray and bright white in the starlight, standing maybe a dozen feet from the van, sniffing curiously. It made sense- I was in the middle of mustang country and there was quite a bit of foliage in the area for it and it did look like a truly wild horse- lumpy where the bones were jutting out, dusty about the hooves and face.

I was instantly seized by the sort of paralytic fear Sleep paralysis is made of. I couldn't move. It wasn't quite looking at me because it couldn't quite see through the windshield into the shadowy into the shadowy interior, but I had the distinct impression that if I looked away, it would know, and get me.

I already had problems with horses. My beloved Aunt Helen's Prize mare tried to kill me on two separate occasions, and the year before I had to carry my sister-in-law backwards out of a slot canyon whilst reciting the Saint Crispin's Day Speech as loudly as possible to keep a mustang from trampling us to death.

This is approximately what it should have looked like:

Instead, it was... off. like trying to draw a horse from memory.

The waist tapered in.

The legs were slightly too long or the torso slightly too short, probably both.

The ears were Triangular.

The head wasn't quite right- Too narrow and the jaw wasn't heavy enough.

The tail was too long and arced unnaturally away from the body.

The neck arched.

The nostrils were too high and close

The mouth too long.

Whatever this is, a Mustang it Ain't.

I watched it from the back seat as it sniffed around the front of the van, curious with about the side mirrors. It moved around the van, nibbling experimentally on the front door handle. It came up to the side windows, sniffing like a dog, and it's breath didn't fog up the glass.

Finally, it came up to the rear window, which was rolled halfway down to let the fall night air in. Not even half a pane of glass and two feet of air between us, and I could clearly see it's bright blue eyes.

Horses have Elongated pupils to give them a wide field of vision, and eyes that rotate sideways in their sockets so the pupil remains parallel to the ground. Rather creepy to watch, especially the ones with blue eyes.

A real horse that was curious about the interior of the van would have come up to the window more or less sideways, and looked at me with something like this:

Instead, the damn thing walked up and faced the back window head on, staring back at me with this:

I'm not sure how long we watched each other like that, eyes locked. My eyes burned. I couldn't blink. My mouth was dry. I couldn't swallow. My throat began to ache. I couldn't make a sound. My skin began to twitch, like I was severely dehydrated. I couldn't move. My lungs burned. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move.

Something was touching the side of my hand on the seat next to me. It's my water bottle.

The realization must have broken the terrible paralysis in the lower parts of my brain first, because by the time I consciously realized I could move again, I was already flinging my water bottle out the window at it.

The top was open, and splashed out the window at the Mustain't.

I've never heard such a scream out of an animal. Something halfway between the sound of unquenchable rage vibrating in someone's chest and the way rabbits cry out to God when the dogs catch them.

It jumped back, pivoting away from the van, snarling at the water bottle. I don't think you're supposed to be able to see All of a horse's teeth at once, no matter how angry it is.

I watched it run into the night for some distance, it's pale body visible against the black sand and the dark gray shadow of the ancient volcanic cone it was headed for.

When the blood stopped pounding in my ears, I could hear the bats again.

I debated leaving right then, but I didn't want to get out of the van with that thing in the area, nor litter by leaving the water bottle out there. I also had the awful idea that if I left now, it might somehow be able to follow me home. I ended up staying up three hours to watch the sunrise, shaking and trying to figure out if I'd woken up from a vivid dream, if my meds had stopped working, or if that had really happened. I didn't dare move until I actually felt the temperature rise, before stepping out of the van to grab the bottle. I had my camera ready- I was still using a DSLR back then- to take pictures of the hoofprints, to show how close it had gotten to the van.

No hoofprints.

Beetle tracks in the soft sand around the van, and the clear foot-and-wing prints of a bird that had hopped around then taken off. But no hoofprints.

I went over the entire campsite with the tent broom, to make sure I removed every scrap of evidence I had ever been there, including my footprints, grabbed my water bottle, and drove the three hours back back to Glendale, then decided to do seven more hours of driving to Moab, Utah just to put more than 500 miles, the state line and at least nine things that could be considered "running water" between me and the Mustain't.

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I still have that water bottle. It has a dent in the bottom from hitting something, but that could have happened at any time. Strange thing though. I can't drink that bottle dry. I'll have it on me, drink whatever I've put in there- water, juice, iced coffee- and eventually feel like I've drunk the whole think and that it's empty. But I open it up and it's still at least a quarter full. I drink that. I get thirsty. I open it up again. ...and there's always a mouthful left.

Not sure what the side effects of drinking from a bottle cursed by a Mustain't to always have some left are, but it lives in the Emergency Breakdown Kit in my car now, just in case I meet another one.

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(I'm a disabled artist and make my living telling stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi or Pre-order the Family Lore book on Patreon)