#BUT JUST LIKE THEIR MUSIC IS??? INSANE??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nevernonline · 1 day ago

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✧.* tired boy; kmg

synopsis: two strangers are navigating a complicated, unspoken connection. after struggling with their emotions and pushing each other away, a late-night confrontation forces them to finally face what they've been avoiding. as they open up and confront their fears, they discover that sometimes, just being together is enough.

paring: mingyu x fem! reader.

genre:strangers2whatever

warning/s:mentions of substances (alcohol), some swearing, sexy stuff, minors dni!

word count: 8.9k

content: . non-idol idolings, mingyu is going thru life, plays bass ykyk.

note: based on one of my fav songs at the moment!! tired boy by sunday (1994) LISTEN!! not rlly edited prob weird typos, xo. also i never really write smut so it's prob insane, pls lol.

Y/n’s favorite coffee shop was humming with quiet energy. The soft clinking of cups, students clicking their pens studying for their exams, and a faint noise of acoustic music playing overhead. Outside, the city was flickering just as softly as the energy inside, cars slowly passing by the window.

Y/n was sitting in her usual seat next to the window, her sketchbook propped open in front of her on the stainless table, her lukewarm coffee sitting basically finished under her smudged fingers. She was always drawn to capturing moments, the glances between strangers, the way the steam hits off of coffee cups, the rain droplets on the window catching the light of the passing cars. But, tonight not just something but someone caught her eye. A boy sitting alone across the room.

She doesn’t know his name, just that he was always here at this hour, sitting in the same corner, looking obviously exhausted. His hoodie pulled over his head just so his eyes can see enough to grab the cup of black coffee swirling in front of him, He flicks the space bar on his laptop every so often almost like he’s trying to make sure his eyes stay open.

Her pencil was moving almost on instinct. She began sketching the slope of his shoulders, his head dipped under his hood. He was fighting off sleep like he was in an action movie.

Y/n bit her cheek between her teeth, slightly hesitating. She never really focused on one person this much, but something about him had her curiosity piqued. She started asking herself questions like who is he? Why is he constantly tired?

She shook her head, pushing all her thoughts away as she packed up her things neatly. Just as she was about to push the door open, she glanced back. The boy was completely passed out, cheeks resting on his hand, the way it sat pushed out was almost childlike.

The staff was cleaning up around him, and the barista gave y/n a glance like she was unsure what to do this close to closing time.

Without hesitating, Y/n pulled the scarf from her neck. A soft, chunky knit, the color fading over the years since her grandmother first gave it to her. She looked at him for a fleeting second before draping it over his shoulders, which made him stir, but not wake completely.

She lingered for a moment longer, before heading to the door, the cold air cutting though her skin as she walked through the quiet streets.

The night after, Y/n returned to her regular spot, her sketchbook tucked under her arm, expecting it to be the same as always. She was someone who craved consistency. But just as she settled into her seat, someone was standing at the corner of her table.

When she turned her chin up– and there he was.

He was standing in front of her, scarf in hand, his eyes scanning her face like he was trying to figure out if he knew her or not.

“This is yours, yeah?” His voice was deep, a little scratchy like he had just been out all night.

Y/n just blinked at him, almost dumbfounded. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. You just looked a little cold.”

For a split second, he just stared at her as if he didn’t know how to react to people perceiving him. A smile crept onto his face that didn't reach his tired eyes.

“Thanks.” he said, rubbing his fingers over the fabric. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Y/n just shrugged. “It was no big deal.”

His gaze shot down to her sketchbook open on the table. Which is when he sees it. Well, sees himself.

Sketched over and over in different types of poses. Head dropped forward, fingers wrapped around his paper cup, his eyes always half closed out of exhaustion.

Y/n caught her breath in her throat once she realized what he was looking at. She slammed the book shut, her face turning red.

Mingyu tilts his head, amusement in his expression. “Do I always look that dead, or was that just a bad night?”

Y/N sighed deeply, covering her face with her hands. “That’s embarrassing. Sorry. You just have an interesting face.”

Mingyu let out a quiet laugh, plopping into the seat across from her without invitation. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She peeks at him through her fingers. He’s still smiling, but now that she’s looking closer, she notices the way his hands shook slightly as he picks up his coffee. The way he rolls his shoulders like he’s trying to shake off exhaustion that clings too tightly.

“So. Wait. Do you ever sleep?” she blurts out before she can stop herself.

Mingyu chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Apparently not as much as I should.”

Y/N tilts her head. “Why not?”

He exhales, running a hand through his messy hair. “Not sure. I just have too much going on. School. Work.. Life.” He shrugs. “I guess I just got used to always being tired.”

Something about the way he says it makes Y/N’s chest hurt. Like he’s led himself to exhaustion and just got so comfortable being there.

She studied him for a moment before grabbing her pencil. “Maybe you just need to start slowing down,” she murmurs, sketching the way the shadows play across his face.

Mingyu watches her, intrigued. “You’re telling me that, but I get the feeling you need to hear that advice too. Tell me honestly, do you ever slow down?”

Y/N pauses, her pencil hovering over the page. “Ha. No. Not really,” she admits softly.

For a second, they just sit there, the world around them fading into the background. Two strangers, both caught in their own kind of exhaustion, both drawn to each other’s quiet presence.

The next few weeks slip by in an unspoken rhythm. Y/N and Mingyu never make official plans to meet, but somehow, they always find themselves in the same places—at the café, at the library, on quiet walks through the city.

At first, their conversations are light, drifting between small talk and teasing remarks. But something about the way they talk feels different. There’s no rush, no need to fill the silence with empty words.

Y/N keeps sketching him, sometimes without realizing it. Her pages filled up with small details. Things like his fingers against his coffee cup, the way his eyes soften when he laughs, the exhaustion that never fully leaves his expression.

And Mingyu keeps showing up. Always tired, always carrying too much on his shoulders, but somehow lighter when he’s with her, not letting the need for sleep keep him away from being engaged in their conversations.

One night, they find themselves outside after the café closed, standing under the glow of a streetlamp. The cities noise softly around them. Somehow it feels like the world has slowed down just for them.

“You should get some more sleep.” Y/N says, arms crossed against the cold.

Mingyu huffs out a laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“It’s not,” she admits. “But neither is running on empty.”

Mingyu looks at her then, something unreadable in his tired eyes. She wonders if he’ll brush her off, if he’ll crack another joke and pretend it doesn’t matter.

Instead, he sighs, tilting his head back to stare at the stars. “I know.”

They don’t say anything else after that. The silence between them is enough.

Despite their growing bond, Y/N still doesn’t know much about Mingyu’s life outside these quiet moments they share. She just knows he’s always busy. between school and his part-time job.he barely has time to breathe. But she doesn’t know the full weight of it. Until one night.

It’s nearly past midnight, and she was walking home when she heard it. The deep strum of a bass guitar, the muffled sound of laughter and conversation spilling from a tiny bar on the corner of the street.

Curious, she peeks inside. And there, on a dimly lit stage, is Mingyu.

He looks different here. More alive, somehow. His fingers move effortlessly over the strings, his head nodding slightly to the beat. She can tell he’s still tired, but it was like he was feeding off the music, letting it carry him.

When the set ends, Mingyu steps off the stage, wiping sweat from his brow and freezes when he sees her.

“No way you’re here,” he says, his voice laced with surprise.

Y/N shrugs, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets. “I was just walking by. I didn’t know you played.”

Mingyu chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. It’s kind of my thing to destress or whatever I guess.”

Y/N tilts her head. “You look really happy up there.”

For a second, he doesn’t answer. Then, with a small, tired smile, he says, “I think it’s the only time I forget how exhausted I am.”

She doesn’t say it out loud, but she wonders why he has to be this tired in the first place? Why does he have to work himself to the bone just to chase something that makes him happy?

Mingyu just looks into her eyes, setting the jacket he has in his hands down on the bar stool next to him. “Too tired for a beer?”

Y/n took his cue, pulling the zipper down on her own coat, “Never.”

Mingyu smiled brightly, waving over the bartender with a familiar ease. The place is cozy, buzzing with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clatter of glass against wood. A stark contrast to the stage, where only moments ago, he seemed weightless, like the world had loosened its grip on him, even if just for a song or two.

Y/N slides onto the barstool next to him, resting her elbows on the counter. “So, how long have you been doing this?” she asks as he hands her a beer.

He takes a sip from his own glass, the color of the beer catching the light. “A while. I started in college, mostly to blow off steam. Then, I guess, it just stuck.”

She watches him, the way his fingers tap idly against the pint, a rhythm still flowing through him. “You’re actually really good, you know.”

Mingyu chuckles, shaking his head. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Y/N.”

She smirks, raising her bottle in mock surrender. “Shut up. I’m serious. You looked different up there. I don’t know, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for you.”

His smile falters for just a second, something passing through his eyes before he looks away. “Yeah, well. Maybe that’s the problem.”

Y/N’s eyebrows moved together. “What do you mean?”

Mingyu exhales through his nose, setting his drink down with a soft clink. “I don’t know? If something makes you feel that alive, shouldn’t it be something that you do all the time? Instead of just sneaking it in between everything else?”

She studies him, the way his shoulders slump slightly, the weight he carries settling back into place now.

“You could,” she says carefully. “Do it all the time, I mean.”

He laughs, but there’s no real humor in it. “That’s not how life works, Y/N.”

She wants to argue. Wants to tell him that he deserves more than exhaustion disguised as success. That he should get to chase something that makes his heart race for the right reasons. But she knows he’s right.

Instead, she clicks her bottle against his, offering a small smile. “Well, at least for tonight, you gotta do what you love.”

Mingyu looks at her, really looks at her, and for a moment, he seems lighter.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, taking another sip.

After a while of quiet togetherness and another drink Mingyu stretches, groaning. “We should probably head out before I pass out on the floor and your forced to take me out of here”

Y/N nodded. Then, before she can overthink it she blurts out, “Do you want to walk with me?”

Mingyu grins. “Yeah, of course.”

Mingyu isn’t sure when he started looking forward to seeing Y/N.

Maybe it’s the way she sketches absentmindedly while talking, her fingers always smudged with charcoal or covered in ink pen. Or the way she watches him like she actually sees him, past the exhaustion, past the half-hearted jokes, past the front he’s so used to putting up.

She notices things about him that no one else does, like how he taps his fingers against the table when he’s thinking. How he always checks his phone, not because he’s expecting a text, but because he’s used to managing his time down to the last second.Y/N notices all of it. And that terrifies him a little, Because nobody else ever has.

The exhaustion isn't just from sleepless nights. It's deeper than that.

Mingyu grew up in a house where love was quiet but responsibilities were loud. His parents worked long hours, and as the eldest, he learned to carry burdens without being asked. His younger siblings needed him, and he never wanted to let them down.

So he learned how to balance everything, school, work, family, and now, his music.

His band’s gigs pay little, but it’s the only thing that makes him feel alive. And school? It’s a constant pressure, an expectation he can’t afford to fail.

He doesn’t remember the last time he did something just for himself. And yet, with Y/N, things feel different. She doesn’t ask him for anything. She doesn’t expect him to be strong or put together. She just exists beside him, and somehow, that’s enough.

The night air is crisp, biting at their skin as they stand on the empty sidewalk. The street lights flickering above them, casting long shadows that stretch ahead.

They don’t talk at first, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. It’s the kind of quiet that feels safe.

Mingyu walks beside Y/N with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his breaths coming out in soft puffs of air. She notices the way his steps fall into rhythm with hers.

Somewhere down the street, a cat darts between parked cars. A neon sign hums from a convenience store, buzzing against the stillness. The city feels different at this hour like it’s softer, slower, like time has stretched just for them.

Mingyu lets out a heavy sigh, tilting his head up to the night sky. “Do you ever feel like the world only stops when no one else is awake?”

Y/N glances at him. “Yeah, totally,” she admits. “I think that’s why I like walking at night.”

Mingyu looked at her nodding. “Me too. It’s the only time I don’t feel like I have to be somewhere. Like I finally have no responsibilities”

She doesn’t ask where he always has to be, he’s never really told her, not in words, but she’s pieced together the parts of him he doesn’t say out loud. The late nights, the constant exhaustion, the weight he carries like he doesn’t know how to put it down.

They reach a small bridge overlooking the river, the water below reflecting the dim city lights. Mingyu stops, leaning against the railing, and Y/N follows, their elbows brushing.

“Have you ever thought about leaving?” he asks suddenly, his voice softer now.

Y/N tilts her head. “Leaving where?”

He shrugs. “Here. The city. Everything.”

She studies him for a moment, noting the way his jaw tenses, the way his fingers tap absentmindedly against the railing.

“I haven’t thought about it much I guess. Do you?” she asks instead.

Mingyu exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Sometimes. But it’s not that easy.”

“Why not?”

His lips pressed together, and for a second, Y/N assumed he wouldn't answer. But then he sighs, running a hand through his dark hair.

“My family needs me. My job fucking sucks other than it pays good. My band is really the only thing that makes me feel like I’m not just running in place.” He pauses, then huffs out another laugh, this one almost bitter. “And even if I wanted to leave, I wouldn’t know where to go.”

Y/N watches him carefully, taking in the exhaustion that’s always just beneath the surface, the way he speaks like he’s already decided that this is all there is for him and she hates it, because he doesn’t think he deserves more.

She looks down at her hands, her fingers curling around the strap of her bag. “If you could go anywhere, where would it be?”

Mingyu doesn’t answer right away. Finally, he says, “Somewhere quiet. Somewhere I can just rest without feeling guilty about it.”

She doesn’t know how to tell him that he deserves that. That he deserves more than just stolen moments of peace in the dead of night.

So instead, she says, “You should rest more.”

Mingyu snorts, turning to her with a tired grin. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“It’s fucking not,” she admits, echoing their conversation from nights ago. “But neither is running on empty forever.”

Mingyu studies her, his eyes searching, like he’s trying to find something in her words that he’s too afraid to believe.

Before she can stop herself, she reaches out, fingers brushing against his sleeve. It’s barely a touch, barely anything at all. But it’s enough because Mingyu doesn’t pull away.

He just looks at her, really looks at her, and something shifts in the air between them.

Something quiet. Something fragile. Something that feels like a question neither of them are ready to ask.

The wind blows, cold against her skin, but Y/N doesn’t feel it because her lingering touch turned into Mingyu pulling her in for a tight hug, unprovoked, just needing to feel someone else's weight against him so he doesn’t feel like he’s alone.

All she feels is the warmth of him, standing against her, and the weight of something unspoken settling between them.

Mingyu is the first to pull away, but only slightly. His hands still rest against her waist, his fingers twitching slightly like he doesn’t quite want to let go.

Y/N swallows. She should say something. She should.

But all she does is look up at him, taking in the way his face looks softer in the dim glow of the streetlights.

His eyes flicker between hers. There’s something unreadable in them. Something vulnerable, heavy, something like I don’t know what to do with you.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

Y/N looks at him, momentarily thrown. “For what?”

Mingyu exhales a breathy laugh, barely there. “Hell, I don’t know. For being like this, I guess.”

A flicker of something sharp twists in her chest. She doesn’t like the way he says that. Like it’s something to apologize for. Like he’s too much.

She shakes her head. “What? Don’t be.”

Mingyu watches her, hesitant.

She tightens her grip on his sleeves before she can second-guess it. “Really. I mean it.”

For a moment, it looks like he’s about to argue. But then—something shifts.

His shoulders relax. His hands finally drop away, but not before one of his fingers brushes against hers, so subtle she almost misses it. Almost.

Neither of them mention the hug as they start walking again.

The silence isn’t heavy, but it’s charged, sparkling with something unspoken. Mingyu’s hands stay shoved in his pockets, and Y/N swears she catches him sneaking glances at her when he thinks she isn’t looking. But, she doesn’t call him out on it. Because if she does then she’ll have to acknowledge the way she’s doing the exact same thing.

The way she already knows that this—whatever this is—is going to ruin her. Because they’re standing at the edge of something, balancing on the line between just friends and something else entirely And at some point, one of them is going to have to make a choice.

They don’t talk about the hug, not that night, not the next day, not even the week after.

It lingers. It lingers in the way Mingyu lets their shoulders brush when they walk, just barely but intentionally. In the way Y/N catches him watching her, his gaze lingering a second too long before he looks away. In this way their conversations feel a little quieter, but way heavier, like they’re both waiting for something to be said and neither of them is willing to say it first. Yet, nothing changes.

They still meet up at the café, still slip into their usual seats, still act like they aren’t circling around something bigger than themselves.

Until one night, Mingyu says something that makes the ground shift all over again.

It’s past midnight when they leave the café, the air crisp and filled with the promise of snow.

Mingyu stretches his arms above his head, groaning dramatically. “I swear, if I sit in one place for too long, I will turn into stone.”

Y/N snorts, adjusting her bag strap. “That’s the consequence you’re paying for living on four hours of sleep.”

Mingyu smiles, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Walk me home?”

It’s the first time he’s asked. Usually, it’s the other way around.

Y/N blinks, caught off guard. “Yeah,” she says, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Of fucking course.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything, he just smiles, small and easy. But something in the way he looks at her makes her stomach twist.

It’s different from before. The silence between them isn’t awkward, but it’s different, like it’s more aware. Y/N notices the way the streetlights cast shadows across Mingyu’s face, making his features look softer. She notices the way he occasionally glances over at her, like he’s making sure she’s still there. She notices everything.

They turn a corner, the city stretching out in front of them, and then—

“Have you ever thought about moving in with someone?” Mingyu asks suddenly.

Y/N stops walking. “What?”

Mingyu keeps walking a few more steps before realizing she isn’t beside him anymore. He turns back, expression unreadable. “Like, a roommate. Just so life isn’t so shitty. So I don’t feel like I’m talking to my walls all the time.”

Y/N blinks, something uneasy curling in her chest. “Are you thinking about moving?”

Mingyu shrugs, but it’s too casual. “Maybe. Just a thought.”

And maybe she’s imagining it, but there’s something about the way he says it. Something careful, something hesitant that makes it feel like a test. Like he’s waiting to see how she’ll react.

Y/N tries to play it cool, even as her stomach twists itself into knots. “Well, you do talk to your walls way too much.”

Mingyu snorts, shaking his head. “Not the point, but thanks.”

She hesitates, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. “Who would you move in with?”

Mingyu tilts his head, looking at her in a way that makes her heart stutter.

“I don’t know,” he says. “You?”

The world feels like it tilts.

Y/N’s brain short-circuits, words catching in her throat.

Mingyu, to his credit, doesn’t look away. He just watches her, waiting, like he’s finally pushing them toward the edge of whatever the hell this is.

Like he’s daring her to say something.

Her mouth goes dry. “Mingyu—”

He holds up his hands before she can finish. “Relax, it was just a question.”

But it wasn’t.

They both know that.

It wasn’t just a question. It was a shift. A crack in the careful distance they’ve been keeping.

And Y/N hates how much she wants to say yes.

Because it wouldn’t just be moving in together. It would be stepping into something irreversible. It would be waking up to him down the hall. It would be seeing him at his most unfiltered. Groggy and messy-haired in the morning, frustrated when his songs don’t come out right, exhausted when the world is too much.

It would be too much.

She wants it more than she should.

Mingyu is still watching her, still waiting. But then he exhales a laugh, shakes his head like he’s brushing it off. “Never mind,” he says, smiling like it’s nothing. “Forget I said anything.”

And before she can stop him, before she can even think—

He turns, shoving his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets, and starts walking again.

Y/N stays frozen in place, watching his back, her heart hammering in her chest.

And suddenly, she realizes they’re not just standing at the edge of something anymore. They’re already falling off of it.

Y/n couldn’t sleep that night. She lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying Mingyu’s words over and over.

"You?"

Like it was just a passing thought. Like it didn’t matter. But it did.

Because Mingyu doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean never like that. Not with that look in his eyes, like he was testing the waters, waiting to see if she would reach for his outstretched hand or step away completely.

And she had frozen.

She hadn’t said no. But she also hadn’t said yes. And now, in the absence of a real answer, the tension between them has become something unbearable.

The next time they see each other, it’s like walking on cracked ice. Mingyu is still Mingyu. Still teasing, still dramatic, still slouched in their usual café booth like he owns the place. But Y/N notices the small things.

He hesitates before speaking. He never used to do that. But now, there’s a split second where he seems to be thinking a lot before he says something, like he’s making sure he doesn’t push too hard. He doesn’t meet her eyes as much. Normally, he looks at her like she’s the most interesting thing in the room. Now, his gaze flickers, like he’s afraid of what he might find if he holds it for too long. He doesn’t touch her. No casual elbows nudging against hers. No fingers brushing when he hands her a drink. No leaning into her space just to get a reaction.

And it’s driving Y/N insane. Because she didn’t ask for this shift. She didn’t ask for things to change.

But on the other hand maybe she did. Maybe she’s the one who started this. Letting him in too close, letting herself want. Maybe this is the consequence.

They were sitting in the café, both pretending everything was fine. Y/N is sketching not because she’s focused, but because it gives her something to do with her hands. Mingyu is nursing his drink, stirring it absently with his straw, eyes distant.

It’s so fucking weird. So weird that Y/N can’t take it anymore.

She sighs, setting down her pencil. “Okay, seriously. Are we gonna talk about it, or are we just gonna sit here acting like a bunch of fucking idiots forever?”

Mingyu blinks. “Talk about what?”

Y/N levels him with a look. “You know what.”

He looks at her for a second, then huffs a short laugh. “You mean the thing where I made a dumb joke, and now you’re acting like I proposed or something?”

Y/N’s stomach clenches. So that’s how he wants to play it.

She exhales sharply, leaning back. “Right. A joke. Got it.”

Mingyu’s lips pressed together. He shifts in his seat, looking away, tapping his fingers against the side of his cup. He’s annoyed.

Which is so frustrating, because he’s the one who dropped that on her. He’s the one who changed things.

She shakes her head, staring down at her sketchbook, suddenly not in the mood to draw anything at all. “Forget I said anything.”

Mingyu lets out a quiet breath, then mutters, “You’re really good at that.”

Y/N frowns. “What?”

Mingyu shakes his head, his jaw tight. “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. It was everything.

And just like that, the tension is worse than before.

“No, tell me what you mean. I’m curious. What am I good at?”

“Acting like everything is perfectly fine, when you know it’s not just to save someone’s feelings.

Because the thing is Mingyu has always been a little dramatic. A little loud. A little too much in the best way. But now? Now, he holds things back. And most of all, she catches the silences.

Not the comfortable ones they used to have, when they could sit together without saying anything.

These silences are different.

These are the kind that stretch too long, that make the air feel too heavy, that make Y/N feel like they’re both waiting for something. But she doesn’t know what. Or maybe she does.Maybe she’s just scared to admit it.

And Y/N isn’t sure she’s ready to acknowledge what he’s saying. But she’s also not sure she can keep pretending. Not when every second with him feels like teetering on the edge of something bigger than both of them. Not when she’s starting to realize she doesn’t want to go back to normal.

She just wants him.

Mingyu snapped her out of her thoughts as he cleared his throat. “What are you drawing?”

It’s a simple question. Easy. Casual. Safe.

But Y/N hesitates for a second too long. “Nothing,” she finally says, flipping the page before he can see.

She doesn’t know why she does it.

Mingyu blinks. “Did you just hide it from me?”

She shrugs, feigning indifference. “Maybe.”

“Wow.” He leans back, crossing his arms. “I see how it is. Keeping secrets now.”

He’s teasing. He’s joking. But there’s something underneath his voice, something too close to real, that makes her stomach twist.

Y/N forces a smirk. “I keep lots of secrets, Mingyu. You should know that by now.”

Mingyu’s expression flickers, just for a second. Like he knows she’s not just talking about her sketchbook.

And just like that, the air between them shifts.

It’s ridiculous, really. How hard they’re trying. How much effort they’re putting into not talking about the thing sitting between them like a third person at the table.

Y/N picks up her drink. Mingyu taps his fingers against the table. Neither of them says anything.

It’s unbearable.

Finally, Mingyu exhales sharply, shaking his head. “This is fucking stupid.”

Y/N frowns. “What is?”

“This.” He gestures between them, frustration creeping into his voice. “We’re acting like strangers. Or worse like we’re scared of each other.”

She swallows. “I’m not scared of you.”

Mingyu stares at her for a long moment.

“Then why do you keep pulling away?”

The words knock the breath out of her. Because he noticed. Of course he did.

Y/N opens her mouth, ready to say something but nothing comes out.

Because what the fuck is she supposed to say?

That she is scared? That she doesn’t know how to deal with the fact that every second with him feels like standing at the edge of something huge?

That she wants to reach for him but she’s afraid of what happens next?

Mingyu watches her struggle for an answer. Then, like he can’t stand it anymore, he shakes his head and grabs his cup.

“I gotta go.”

Y/N’s stomach sinks. “Mingyu—”

But he’s already pushing back his chair, already standing, already looking at her with this unreadable expression that makes her chest ache.

He doesn’t wait for her to finish.

He just walks away.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N watches him leave without knowing if he’s going to come back.

Y/N doesn’t think. She just moves.

By the time she registers that she’s already out the café doors, Mingyu is halfway down the street, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets, his long strides carrying him away too fast.

But she’s not letting him go. Not like this.

“Mingyu!”

He doesn’t stop. She quickens her pace, her heart pounding for reasons that have nothing to do with running.

“Mingyu, wait!”

This time, he hesitates. Slows just a little. But he doesn’t turn around.

Y/N reaches him, grabbing his sleeve. Not hard, just enough to make him stop. And he does.

But when he finally looks at her, she almost wishes he hadn’t. Because his face, his eyes, they’re filled with something that looks a lot like exhaustion. Like she’s just making things worse.

“What do you want, Y/N?” His voice isn’t sharp, but it isn’t soft either. It’s just annoying, a little tired, like he was on the brink of crying.

Y/N lets go of his sleeve. She suddenly feels too small. Too uncertain.

“I don’t know,” she admits, breathless. “I just didn’t want to leave things like that.”

Mingyu exhales through his nose, glancing away like he’s trying to keep himself from saying something he’ll regret.

But Y/N can’t stop now. Not when she can feel the weight of everything about to slip through her fingers.

“I wasn’t pulling away because I wanted to,” she says quickly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to—” She stops, swallowing hard.

Mingyu’s jaw clenches. “How to what, Y/N?”

How to let herself want him. How to cross the line they’ve been balancing on for so long.

How to be brave when she’s spent so much time being scared.

She doesn’t say any of that.

She just stands there, staring at him, hoping he’ll understand anyway.

But Mingyu laughs, shaking his head. And it’s not a happy laugh.

“See, this is the fucking problem,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t know what you want, but you don’t want me to leave either. You keep acting like I’m the only one making this complicated.”

Y/N’s stomach twists. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Mingyu huffs out a breath, looking at her with something so close to frustration it makes her chest ache. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like I’m the only one willing to be honest about what this is.”

Y/N’s throat tightens. “Mingyu… Please, come on.”

But he just sighs, looking away like he’s already done with the conversation.

“I just need some space,” he says finally, voice quieter. “Okay?”

Y/N doesn’t know what to say.

Because no, it’s not okay. It feels awful. It feels like she’s drowning in something she doesn’t know how to fix.

But she nods anyway.

Because what else can she do?

Mingyu gives her one last unreadable look. Then he turns and walks away.

And this time, Y/N doesn’t chase him.

She just stands there, watching him disappear into the cold.

And for the first time, she wonders if she’s already lost him.

She tells herself she’s fine.

That it’s better this way.

That space is what he wanted, so space is what she’ll give him.

But the thing is space doesn’t feel like space.

It doesn't just feeling like silence. It feels like an absence. It feels like she lost something before she even had the chance to enjoy it.

Mingyu doesn’t text her.

She tells herself she won’t text him first.

But then she catches herself opening their messages, staring at the last thing he sent days ago, rereading his words like they might suddenly change if she looks at them long enough.

She still goes to the café. At first, she tells herself it’s just a habit. But every time the door opens, she looks up, heart stuttering with something stupid and desperate.

But Mingyu doesn’t come.

Meanwhile, Mingyu is drowning in his own thoughts. He knows he’s being unfair.Knows that walking away like that probably hurt her. Knows that if he just let himself talk to her. Like really talk to her, maybe they wouldn’t be here.

But the truth is, he’s exhausted. Not just physically, but in a way that sits deep in his bones.He’s tired of waiting for her to figure things out. Because he knows how he feels.Has known for months, maybe even years. And he’s tried to be patient. He’s tried to let her set the pace.

But he’s not sure how much longer he can stand being stuck in this limbo, where he feels like he’s reaching for her but she’s too afraid to reach back.

So he throws himself into other things. He buries himself in school, in work, in distractions that don’t really work.

And yet, no matter what he does he still thinks about her. About how she looked at him that night, eyes wide with something he wanted to believe was more than guilt .About how she reached for him, even when she was scared.About how, for a second, he thought she might actually say what he’s been waiting to hear.

But she hadn’t and Mingyu was so tired of waiting.

Y/N finally stopped going to the cafe.

It’s stupid, really. But she can’t take it anymore. Sitting at what became their table, staring at the empty seat across from her, waiting for someone who isn’t coming.

Mingyu stops checking his phone.

He tells himself it’s better not to hope. That if she really wanted to fix things, she would have come after him again.

Neither of them realizes how stubborn they’re being.

Neither of them realizes that the only thing keeping them apart is themselves.

Eventually, something has to break. The only question is who will break first?

It happens late at night.

The kind of late where the world feels softer, quieter. Where the only thing keeping Y/N company is the dull glow of her phone screen and the restless thoughts she’s been trying to ignore.

She’s not sure what finally pushes her over the edge.

Maybe it’s the silence stretching too long. Maybe it’s the fact that no matter how much space they’ve given each other, the distance still feels unbearable.Or maybe she’s just done pretending like this doesn’t hurt.

Her fingers hover over the screen.

She types. Deletes. Types again. And Again.

Y/N doesn’t think too much about it. She doesn’t send the text, instead grabs her jacket, leaves her apartment without a second thought, and heads straight to Mingyu’s place.

She hasn’t seen him in a long time, and the silence between them has stretched long enough to suffocate. She can’t keep waiting for him to make the first move. But, she’s too tired of wondering if he’s waiting for her to fix everything.

When she reaches his door, she hesitates. Her heart is pounding in her chest, her breath shallow, but she doesn't let herself second-guess it.

Without knocking, she checks his door handle and it opens just enough to step inside.

“Mingyu?” Her voice echoes in the quiet of his apartment.

He appears from the hallway, looking surprised, and a little relieved?

“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice a little too calm for how his eyes betray him.

“I couldn’t wait anymore,” she says, her words tumbling out without her thinking. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to keep pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not. Also, please fucking lock your doors.”

He steps back, letting her inside, but the distance between them feels like it’s growing instead of shrinking. She’s not sure what to do with the way he’s looking at her like he’s still holding something back, like he’s afraid to give her all of himself.

“Mingyu…”

But before she can say anything else, he speaks first, his voice rough.

“You don’t get it, Y/N,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I’m tired of waiting, of hoping that you will be ready. I’ve been patient. But you keep pushing me away.”

Y/N takes a step toward him, heart racing in her chest. “I know. I know I’ve been scared. I’ve been terrified of how much you mean to me.”

Mingyu looks at her, his brow furrowed, clearly conflicted. “Then why didn’t you tell me that sooner?”

She takes a breath, gathering the courage she’s been holding back for so long. “Because I don’t know how to let myself feel like this. I don’t know how to trust myself when it comes to you. But I can’t keep pretending that I’m fine without you.”

There’s a long pause. Then, Mingyu sighs, his voice quieter. “I don’t want to be something you’re scared of. But I can’t keep being afraid of how much you mean to me either.”

Y/N steps closer, slowly, almost like she’s testing the waters. She reaches out to him, her fingers brushing lightly against his chest, and for the first time in days, she feels like she’s not alone in this anymore.

He doesn’t pull away. In fact, he pulls her in closer, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She presses her face into his chest, feeling the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels right

Without thinking, Y/N reaches up, her other hand finding its place against the back of his head, her fingers curling into his slightly wet head of hair.

And before she can second-guess herself, she leans in.

It’s not graceful. It’s not perfect. But it’s real. Just like them.

Her lips find him with a desperation that surprises even her, like she’s finally letting go of everything she’s been holding back. Like she’s giving him everything she’s been too afraid to say.

And for a moment, Mingyu is still unsure. But he kisses her back.

It’s slow at first, tentative, as if both of them are trying to figure out if this is real. If it’s okay to feel this much. But soon, the kiss deepens, the tension that’s been building between them exploding like a spark igniting a fire.

When they finally pull away, their breaths are uneven, their foreheads pressed together.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N says, barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry it took me this long to get here.”

Mingyu doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at her, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

And then, quietly, his lips curl into a smile.

“It’s okay,” he says, his voice a whisper too. “I think we both needed to get here.”

And just like that, the distance between them is gone.

Mingyu leaned down and kissed her again, this time less shy and more excited.

Y/n let her hands run down the nape of his neck to his shoulders, she dug her nails into them slowly as their kiss got deeper.

Mingyu led her inside further, not letting their bodies part for even a moment, they stumbled along onto his couch, he sat with perfect posture to let her body be able to climb perfectly onto his lap, straddling both of his thighs.

His lips moved further down her body now lingering under her chin and down to her neck, nipping at her skin. Making her quiet voice much louder now.

He pulled at the bottom seam of her hoodie and slipped it over her head, revealing her small white tank top under, no bra straps in sight which made him even more excited at this moment.

Neither of them asked for permission, but they knew they didn’t have to, they both waited for this moment, both waited to feel the warmth of their connection through actual skin to skin contact.

The connection of their lips stopping for only a moment for heavy breaths and seconds to take Mingyu to her level and pulled off his freshly cleaned t-shirt off his body, revealing his golden physique underneath.

The soft glow of hit candles and city lights coming through the window like stars was just enough to see his eyes, look deeply into them before Y/n curled her legs onto the floor to face him on her knees.

She rested the palms of her hands on his inner thighs and slowly cascaded them closer and closer to the busting waistband of his sweats, lucky she had caught him after his shower. No underwear were underneath so his penis was easily accessible under the soft grey material.

As her face leaned in closer and closer to the tip of his penis sticking out over his waistband, she blew a small bit of air onto him, making him quiver under her touch.

Mingyu moaned loudly, almost begging her to come closer, as close as they have ever been.

She wanted to continue teasing him, wanted to see him beg for her to touch him, but he was impatient, he took her tied up hair into his hands and pulled her face directly onto him, rubbing it over the still slightly clothed erection he had.

Her head still in his grasp made it hard for her to move, but luckily her hands had full range of motion, in the time he went back to rub her against him one more time she had managed to release his throbbing erection from inside its prison. Once she got his pants down just enough, she stuck her tongue out licking from the bottom all the way to the tip that had already been slightly wet from all the excitement he was feeling.

Mingyu still gripped her hair bucked up into her mouth as she placed her lips around him tightly and finally, unable to stop the motion of his body from doing so. Y/n wanted to take this slower at first, but knowing how excited he was made her change speed, letting him thrust into her mouth, her knees digging into his soft white carpet, letting her hands glide along him in the moments her throat was clear from the penetration.

Mingyu pulled at her top from above her, still licking and sucking on his dick, indicating her to pull it off which she happily took a moment of breath and pulled it over her head, her hair tie coming out at the same time letting her long hair cascaded down her back, more for him to grip onto.

As she went back to go down on him, he wagged his finger no and held her hand, pulling her up to stand from the floor, still seated on the couch taking in her body as she stood between his legs, his throbbing erection in between them.

Mingyu slipped his fingers into the sides of her waistband and gently pulled her pants down, leaving her light blue panties on, touching at the crotch of them slightly, feeling how warm she was beneath them, he let his hands run traces around her body before pulling her back onto his lap, his dick rubbing against her still clothed center.

Y/n now back straddling him, dick behind her butt, vagina pressed up against his stomach, rolled against him as he sucked at her skin, cascading kisses all the way down to her sternum before taking one of her breasts in his mouth.

She couldn’t wait anymore, couldn’t hold on to the storm brewing inside of her.

Not being able to get over how good it felt to have him exploring places he’s never been before, she let out deep heavy breaths on his skin, her head tipping back to let out what sounded like a few swear words, Mingyu stopped, pulling her head down to kiss her again, he spit in her mouth, mixing it with hers.

One of Y/ns hands reached down to her clit, rubbing it slightly through her underwear, not being able to take not being touched by him any further.

Mingyu caught her hand, “Not yet. That’s for me.”

Y/n out of breath just nodded, letting him pick her up, hands under her underwear touching her bare ass and carrying her into his room.

Mingyu placed her on the edge of his perfectly made bed, white covers and all, telling her to lay back as his hands made their way to her panties.

He rubbed two of his fingers over them, never touching her skin underneath, driving her further to the edge.

His hands came to the top of them at her hips, he slid them down carefully, hoping to make her shiver underneath his touch.

Y/n’s legs quivered, she held them so tightly together, hoping to keep herself in check and not blow this moment their having right here, before they even reach the point of penetration. Mingyu grazed the head of his penis from her clit straight down to her entrance point.

Y/n tried her hardest to push herself onto him, she needed more, she needed it deeper, she needed him inside and was too desperate for it.

Mingyu stopped teasing her, holding her hips down with a menacing look on his face.

“I was going to be nice, but you’re not being a good girl.”

Y/n whimpered not sure what to expect, but all she knew is she needed it to happen right now.

Mingyu didn’t prepare her, he was one of his words, with no warning he thrusted into her fully and all at once, filling her up with the length of him, letting it sit there slightly to see what she would do.

Y/n just clenched her pussy around him, no words needed.

His thrusting started off fast, rapid, almost like rabbits, he put his full potential into penetrating her, needing to pump as hard and fast as he could, watching the person he fell in love with squirm under him.

When he was finally reaching his point of release. He laid his body down onto her further, pressing his chest up as he slowly pumped into her, feeling her hard nipples grace over his body with every movement.

“Mingyu.. I-” Y/n was out of breath she could barely speak, her voice raspy from whining and moaning.

Mingyu just brushed her hair out of her face, giving her a knowing look and letting a small kiss fall onto her lips. “Let yourself go, y/n.”

And she did, nearly at the same time he ejaculated, their bodily fluids mixing, spilling out between her thighs.

Mingyu grabbed a towel, bringing it over to her. Warm water now wiping away the cum sitting between her legs.

/N’s eyes widened, and she let out a small laugh, her chest vibrating from it. She shifted beside him, clearly amused by the shift in tone. “Wow. Words do come back to haunt you.”

He smirked, teasing. “No. Just some good advice, from a very, very good friend.”

“Friend?” Y/N shot him a playful glare, slapping his thigh lightly. “Do friends fuck like that?”

Mingyu laughed, genuinely amused. “Just me and my friends.”

“Since when did you get to be a smart ass?”

“Since dealing with you.” He grinned, eyes glinting with something soft yet teasing. “I had to put up some sort of facade. I never thought you actually liked me, so—”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, turning her head to look at him fully. “What? You didn’t?”

Mingyu shrugged, looking away for a second, like he was gathering his thoughts. “Look, at first, the day we were at the bar, I had a feeling. But I didn’t know for sure. Then after the day in the cafe when we got into that argument, I was so certain you didn’t like me back. I left the ball in your court, and then I went back to the shop about a week later, but I didn’t see you. I thought maybe I had read it wrong. Maybe I'll never see you again.”

Y/N’s heart squeezed at his words. He’d really been unsure, thinking she hadn’t felt the same way. And here she was, unable to deny how much she’d felt for him all along.

She turned toward him more fully now, sitting up a little in the bed, her voice gentle but serious. “Mingyu, I never meant to make you feel like that. I’ve just been scared, too, okay? Scared of what it all meant, scared of losing what we had.”

Mingyu’s expression softened. He sat up slightly, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You never had to be scared, Y/N. But I get it. I was too.”

Y/N let herself lean into his touch, eyes closing briefly as she felt that familiar warmth spread through her chest.

Then, after a beat, she whispered, “But I’m here now. And I don’t want to go anywhere. I just didn't know how to ask for this.”

Mingyu chuckled softly, pulling her gently into his chest. “You didn’t have to. You never did. I just needed you to show up. You always did, even when you thought you didn’t.”

They fell silent again, but this time, the quiet wasn’t filled with hesitation. It was peaceful. The weight between them had shifted; there were no more walls, no more missteps, just the understanding that they didn’t have to figure everything out.

They were finally here. Finally at peace. Together.

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lottienathive · 3 days ago

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Top 10 lottienat scenes in the show?

1) their doomcoming confrontation is my number one for a very specific reason. it was my oh moment. when i first watched season 1 (before s2 started airing) this was the exact moment when lottienat hooked me. specifically this shot because it instantly reminded me of hannigram:

2) the blood drinking ritual

everything about this scene was crazy. the eye contact. the tension. the way travis kept fading into the background because lottie and nat were just so focused on staring at each other. nat drinking lottie's blood. the face lottie made after nat drank her blood. insane. i love it.

you can divorce me but you can't undrink my blood

3) the bathtub scene. need i say more? it's iconic we all love it and for good reason. it's intimate, it goes back to their roots pre-crash. for a moment they forget about their circumstances and the roles they have to play in the wilderness. for a moment there's no "prophet" no "hunter" it's just lottie and nat. just like old times.

4) the reunion. absolutely insane how this entire scene was framed... the build up with the music as nat was getting closer. lottie looking like she was coming down from an orgasm just when nat screamed her name and the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes is nat. "she's my friend." "is that what we are?" i was gagged.

5) i could wax poetic about this scene all day long. nat allowing herself to feel vulnerable. laying her head in lottie's lap. lottie stroking her hand. the intimacy and familiarity in the way it plays out. this entire scene from start to finish is very "folie à deux". a madness shared by two. the darkness within them that binds them. the antlers. i'm obsessed.

6) something something you construct intricate rituals which allow you to kiss the hand of your beloved ("you were always its favorite")

7) lottie inviting nat to dance and nat folding so easily when lottie asks

8) god i had to pause this scene like three times when i first watched it because i felt like i was intruding. it had me blushing. i think if you show someone this out of context they'll guess it's from the L Word

9) "i love you" ★ "i just want you to be safe" ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

10) the way lottie immediately ditched the conversation to run after nat lives rent free in my head. take an x-ray of my brain and you see those pixels <3

#💌#lottienat #lottie matthews #natalie scatorccio #yellowjackets

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xylatox · 3 days ago

Text

the one where the stranger you fake date turns out to be your childhood friend, a title that absolutely reminds me of 2000s emo music titles from groups like; our lawyer made us change the name of this song so we wouldnt get sued. Unto my thoughts!

About myself. I am a 30yo, 5’10 male with six figure job trying to relate to my colleagues by appearing as though I have a Significant Other. Your required duties will only be your punctual company to public events. Serious inquires only. Thank you.— this is so unironically serious its actually so funny and suits Seungcheol's whole office manager vibe.

I love thst Cheol's black cat-like personality at the office created something akin to mob boss rumours around the office, like it's so funny how someone's lack to converse with others comes off so insane to this colleagues/coworkers.

Yet, he was never taught that being lonely was something that came along with it. That climbing ranks, that gaining power and authority could make him feel so empty inside. Just like climbing the top of Mount Everest alone, it was just as cold and lonesome if no one was there to see it. — I think the comparison between climbing ranks and mount everest combined with the feeling of loneliness being like the weather of the mount itself so interesting oh my god and well done.

It's so crazy to me how dead serious Cheol is to get an interview out of this fake date too, like thats dedication. Seungcheol was beginning to think he wasted his time, his energy, and his effort. Is that what it felt like? To put heart into something and be burned after. He hadn’t felt anything like this since— I know it was absolutely cut off for plot purposes but I'm so invested ugh

Their first interaction is so hilarious, I love how sassy reader is, like it's so cute and endearing. It's so cute when he realizes it's his childhood friend omg, I could throw up. I love how well it blends into their first interaction as kids and how even then Cheol has this whole black cat energy going for him. It's also amazing how reader loses her shit at how hot he got after he left

He's so serious, he kind of reminds me if Jumin Han from Mystic Messanger (minus the whole cat obsession). I love that despite being childhood friends to some degree Cheol is still very much closed off and his personality remains the same even when he's in the work dinner settings, like good on him honestly. I'm so happy that wall falls when he gets drunk after they do the Love Shot, it's so cute.

It's sad to see reader care about how she's portrayed by her friends but the moment Cheol voices how they met and everything is super sweet. BEOMGYU CAMEO!!! hehe exciting. I do love the moment that they share after they get away as well.

Part 1! This was so good and I'm so excited to read part 2!!

the one where the stranger you fake date turns out to be your childhood friend (m) [1]

A Valentine collaboration hosted by @camandemstudios and their masterlist

Pairing: office manager!seungcheol x childhood friend!fem!reader Genre: romcom, smut, fluff, slight angst Word count: current 12.5k (total w.c. 34.4k) rating: R Summary: In a world where relationships mattered just as much as money or status did, Seungcheol found himself wrapped up with a person from twenty years ago. He didn't know how you remembered him, and frankly he didn't know how he remembered you, but the way you've reentered his life, like a gust of wind, he didn't think he'll ever forget you now. tags: MDNI, Childhood rivals to Best friends to Ex-best Friends to Strangers to Fake Dating to Lovers (try to keep up), childhood trauma, mentions of neglectful parents, random idol features, reader and seungcheol in their 30s, grump x sunshine, fake dating au, office au, taekwondo buddies, virgin!seungcheol, experienced!reader, food & alcohol scenes, yearning, smut tags to be provided in part 2

author note: Thank you to @tusswrites @gyuswhore @lovetaroandtaemin the title is so fucking long because this is the longest fucking thing i've written in my entire life. A little inspired by those ridiculously long ass anime titles that don’t need to be that length like they don’t need to be this fucking long, but they just are and it’s dumb, but I cackle every time I look at it. I'm dedicating this to @haologram who does this on the regular somehow and has been supporting me throughout the whole process bc this drove me nuts.

“Looking for fake girlfriend for hire aged 25-35, preferably with job, neat, and single. Negotiable compensation. About myself. I am a 30yo, 5’10 male with six figure job trying to relate to my colleagues by appearing as though I have a Significant Other. Your required duties will only be your punctual company to public events. Serious inquires only. Thank you.”

You stared long and hard at the Craigslist listing before quickly shooting a message, not giving yourself a moment to hesitate and regret your choices and quickly clicked off the window to avert your attention elsewhere.

Craigslist was not a website you browsed every day, but today was not like every day. Today commemorated your last and final friend who celebrated her relationship hitting their two year milestone, reminding you that you’re the final single on the lonely island that was your life.

For as long as you could remember, everyone—including you—had been in some kind of relationship. And for some convoluted reason, having a girlfriend/wife/mother status mattered in the circles you ran, especially now when your dating history has been stretched and chewed like bubble gum. At this point, you weren’t closed off to anything, not even fake relationships.

You were sick and tired of putting in the effort of meeting these guys with nothing to come out of it; it was dud after dud, shitty date after shitty date. At the end of the day, you knew you were just meeting other people to satisfy the expectations of others, succumbing to the pressure of being coupled up with anyone to have your happy ending.

This was your chance to say fuck it. If they were all so insistent on seeing you date someone, you were going to give them just that. It didn’t matter who it was.

The Craigslist guy seemed to be in the same boat. Albeit, his situation sounded more unique compared to yours, he was also just trying to survive in this inherently judgemental world. You could imagine a compromise that would benefit you both correspondingly. It was just a matter of convincing your new potential faux beau that you were in desperate need of his assistance.

Then again, how bad was his situation that he needed a fake girlfriend to make himself remotely likable?

You didn’t know it yet, but in Choi Seungcheol’s case, it was dire.

The effect he had by walking through the sixty-story VENTE Co. building already brought locals to shivers, but the air of the department he led was frigid whenever he passed through. Each heavy footstep of his grew louder as he made his way to his private office, and always with that empty soulless stare that never ceases to miss a day at work. No subordinate would dare even think of locking eyes, nor breathe the oxygen lingering on him, until the door closed behind him with no air to escape.

Before Seungcheol came to power as office manager, the rumors circulating about how he got into his position of power before transferring over to his current branch were the kind you’d hear about in fiction. Word got around about the possible blood he spilled, the secrets he told, or even the secret withheld for exploitation to get where he is now. This wasn’t any lowly position, after all, he was ten to twenty years younger than his colleagues holding the same position, earlier on track than anyone else in the company for someone who wasn’t an heir or a product of nepotism. Everyone assumed the gossip must’ve had some truth to them.

Even Chan, the poor new intern fresh out of college, had fallen victim to the water cooler talk and seamlessly fell into the office dynamics. He cowered in his cubicle after seeing Manager Choi pass through the hall, clutching the toner cartridge he was asked to change out that now stained his fingers. And a breath of relief escaped him to hear the sound of a closing door.

Seungcheol didn’t do anything aggressive or violent with the way he ran the office, but he was a man of a few words. He neither confirmed nor denied these rumors, he just never addressed them, thinking maybe that’s how it should stay. Instead, he let the stone-cold glare that made the hairs on people’s necks stand upright speak for him. He didn’t go to company events, or plan them for that matter, he would just work his hours (often more hours than less), send out his orders, and leave work without saying so much as a goodbye.

And why would he have to? He was the boss. He didn’t need to do more than what was necessary.

Yet, there was something he craved that couldn’t be achieved in the current workplace climate. Something he didn’t realize until it was already too late to turn things around unless the world was flipped on its head.

From a young age, he was taught being feared was a good thing. It’s why his parents would put him in hard-hitting hobbies like taekwondo, hapkido, and boxing. He was groomed to be a leader who was strong, demanded his power, and strived to be the apex.

One weekend, curiosity got the best of him, and he wondered on the search engines if this feeling was normal, if others had this problem, or if it was a side effect of his ambition. Research and being a net explorer was a hobby that he fell victim to on occasion, this being an extreme case where he could not seem to grasp. One trending word led to another and then the web sucked him into a spiral of Google snippets from Reddit stories to self-help guides.

What had felt like minutes had actually been hours since he started his search and he was beginning to get impatient until articles about How to be Likeable popped on his screen. Like many of the others, it sounded like nonsense or gimmicky, but one title stood out to him amongst others.

He scoffed as he moved his mouse to scroll through the pages, thinking it couldn’t have been that easy or perfect, but it just was. Unlike everyone else’s advice that told him to ‘smile more’ or ‘show positive body language’ (whatever the hell that meant), if he had a significant other defending him and complimenting him all the time, he wouldn’t have to do the work. They would do all the talking for him. He just had to compensate them enough to make it happen. It was idiot proof.

And that’s how he found himself on Craigslist, the site that seemed to have it all with no exceptions. His post was decent, vague enough to not make his status or identity known, yet enticing enough to possibly arouse a candidate. He just had to be sure they were someone he could work with.

After scouring through about twenty to thirty scammy and near-illegal offers, one piqued his interest, the single sensible response amongst a hoard of crazies. Maybe he found his girl. His fake girl that is.

“Hello, Are you still looking for a girlfriend? I seem to suit all your criteria.”

Things were looking up for Seungcheol, all that was next was the meeting. Being the workaholic he was, Seungcheol only managed to squeeze you in for a 45-minute interview during lunch, but it had to be by the office, giving you both the smallest time window imaginable. His lunch was the only time he would be able to do transactions such as this, and any weekend of his was solely for his leisure. Talking business–such as a fake dating proposition–on his well deserved weekend was not something he wanted to pencil in his calendar.

The coffee shop was perfect, only a ten-minute walk from the VENTE Co. building if Seungcheol speed-walked, and if he was early enough, he could get a freshly made deli sliced sandwich they were known for to have on his way back. However, he didn’t want to prolong this interaction more than he needed to. He knew that others from the office would occasionally visit or pass by this same cafe, but it was the most viable option. He just needed everything to go according to plan and at his pace. So far, it seemed as if it was; all that was left was your punctual arrival–but that moment had passed ten minutes ago.

He looked at his watch impatiently, tapping his foot in the incessant way he would, sighing as everyone that came through the passing door didn't even spare him a glance, maybe even some actively avoiding his eyes. He started to wonder if his description of himself was specific enough: male in his 30s with dark hair in a tailored gray suit. It wasn’t rocket science. Yet, not one who arrived looked like his potential match.

Seungcheol was beginning to think he wasted his time, his energy, and his effort. Is that what it felt like? To put heart into something and be burned after. He hadn’t felt anything like this since—

He groaned, scanning the perimeter self consciously and never feeling more humiliated in his life. As if he was actually stood up from a date. Running his tongue against his molars, Seungcheol scoffed, plucking himself off his seat as he bowed his head to avoid eyes. He was filled with silent rage, seething with resentment for someone who did not even bother to show up and reject him in person. This was one of the reasons why he didn’t date.

As if on cue, the automatic glass doors opened, and a hoard of familiar voices were boisterously laughing as they entered the cafe, joking and jabbing at each other, as if ready to cue the sitcom music any time now. However, as Seungcheol barely lifted his gaze, they stopped in their tracks, flight or fight responses taking over and the instinct to survive this encounter held precedence above anything else. They straighten their postures like soldiers in a line up, changing their light atmosphere in the flip of a switch.

“Mr. Choi! Good to see you,” Seokmin greeted, his smile quivering.

“D-do you like their coffee too! How good to know,” Soonyoung followed, eyes shifting.

“Did you just have lunch, sir?” Chan managed to say while staring at his own feet, hiding behind Hansol, who respectfully nodded and kept eye contact to a minimum.

The office manager nodded, scheming an escape route to retain some ounce of the dignity he had left, if any. The exit was a mere couple of feet away. He could just walk out, and his subordinates wouldn’t have a say against it. The plan was ready to be set in motion until he felt something–rather someone, coiling their arm around his bicep. Their warmth jolted him erect, making him stand pin-straight, much like his employees when they came across him.

His head snapped at the unheralded intruder, locking eyes with a pair unexpectedly warm and wide, staring back at him with an unspoken fondness, and glint of humor. He couldn’t help but feel as if he’d seen them before, along with that smile that broke out so wide the cheekbones reached their eyes, but somehow still effortless.

“Forgot something?” You asked, beaming at him with anticipation, clinging to him for companionship.

Seungcheol narrowed his eyes at you, his intrigue now replaced with puzzlement and his head was filled with noise, none of which making any sense, starting with the person in front of him. “You–”

The crowd of Seungcheol’s colleagues all started harmoniously greeting you, their eyes lighting up and genuine smiles forming for the first time since encountering their superior outside the office. You were quick to entertain them, never leaving Seungcheol’s side as his arm essentially became a leash, lugging the thirty-year-old man around like a purse dog, and being at the receiving end, he was too stunned to object.

“Hi, you must work with this guy right here,” you grinned, nudging into Seungcheol with the crown of your head.

“How do you know Mr. Choi, Miss…” Jihoon began to ask, curiosity radiating off of him as much as it did everyone else.

“Well,” you took Seungcheol’s hand out of his pocket, interlocking your fingers together, earning a bigger reaction than a simple thousand-yard stare from the office manager. “I’m Seungcheol’s girlfriend.”

Everyone involved in the conversation stared at you as if you had grown a second head and Seungcheol looked at you as if you had grown a third.

“You and Mr.Choi?”

“This is news to us!”

“You both look so good together!”

You quietly laughed as they all prodded you with questions, while your supposed boyfriend did what only what his motor skills would allow him; that was to observe, watching how your expression turned just naturally light and jovial as you blatantly lie in front of the strangers before you. It’s when he realized for once in his life he feared someone, and it was this smiley little creature that lied through their teeth as easily as they breathed.

“Well, I’ve got to walk him back to the office,” you rolled your eyes playfully, “otherwise he will not go back, and he’ll lose track of time. It was nice meeting everyone. Maybe I can do it officially in better circumstances!”

“Of course! We’ll see you in the office, Mr. Choi!”

“Yeah, see you! Pleasure meeting you Miss!”

You made your way out of the cafe and onto the sidewalk and gunned for it as soon as you were out of their sight, all while he was still holding your hand, having not spoken a single word the entire altercation and not knowing a single word to speak thereafter. You sighed when you found an alleyway away from prying eyes, hands on your knees as you panted, reminding yourself you really needed to take advantage of that at home gym equipment you bought for yourself. “Finally. Wow, they’re really nosy, aren’t they?”

“Who the hell are you?” he finally asked.

You lifted your eyes to meet his eyes, seeing the pits of black that glared down at you. If you were phased by it, you didn’t let it show, only dusting yourself off as you stuck out your hand. The unwavering grin on your face. “Didn’t you hear? I’m your girlfriend.”

“You’re late,” he pointed out plainly.

“Yeah, you try to catch three buses and a subway to get here.”

“You could've gotten a cab.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “And waste my money? No, thank you.”

“You’re getting compensated anyway. Why would that matter?”

You gave him a teeth baring grin, ulterior motives written all over your face. “Well, actually, I had a deal in mind.”

Seungcheol scoffed, scanning his eyes over you as judgment fogged his vision. He trusted you as far as he could throw you–which frankly, could be really far, but there was something frightening about you. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “I’m not a gigolo and never plan on being one. You had one job and it was to be punctual and you’d get paid. How is that so hard?”

“But I did a good job, didn’t I? Pretending to be your girlfriend?”

He didn’t want to admit it, but you made a good point, and knowing you’ve already made an impression back at the cafe, the younger guys in the office had probably spread the news throughout the floor by now, if not then throughout the whole building. Just like those vicious rumors had spread. Except maybe for once the word ‘conniving’ or ‘intimidating’ wasn’t being used in the context.

He sighed, growing weary, checking his watch for the time, since he was in desperate need for this encounter to be wrapped up as soon as possible. “What is it you want?”

You grinned. “Well, to be honest. I need a fake boyfriend–”

“No.”

“But–”

“That’s not how things are going to work. I pay you to work for me. You do a job. And that’s that. There’s no deals to be made here.”

You chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. “Wow, sorry, but this is actually crazy to me.”

“How the real world works? I do apologize that no one’s ever taught you that.”

You shook your head, smiling. “No, it’s just…Choi Seungcheol. You’ve really grown up, haven’t you?”

“Excuse me?” He asked, hearing his full name as if he was being told a slur. “However, you found my name, my status, you have a lot of nerve–”

“Eight years old. You had just won champions for competitors under ten and you felt like you were on top of the world. You wanted to scream but not because you had won, but because no one was there to watch you win, not anyone you cared about anyway. Except for one person, the person competing against you. So you screamed together at a nearby cliff in the mountains. You were still sad, bawling your eyes out, but at least you weren't alone.”

He couldn’t breathe. In his chest, something grabbed at his lungs, and it squeezed, cutting off his airways. His gut tightened and jaw clenched. He had never planned on being reminded of that time of his life again. “How…”

“Hi, Cheol. It’s good to see you too, bud.”

Seungcheol had a particular youth, and as a kid, he was forced to do more than enough to prove himself. Achievements were not only required but expected of him. If he won something, it was the standard. He had to learn quickly that everything was meant to be earned, not given, both fear and attention.

You were weird. You had a lot going on, and he didn’t like that. Yet, you took the same classes he did, performed as high as he did, were recommended to the same competitions, and commended for simply existing. It was blasphemy. His young little heart couldn’t fathom such anarchy.

He couldn’t understand it before, but he was jealous. Jealous of you, your family, your dynamics, and everything you represented. You were ignorantly happy, and he hated that you still were just as good of a student as him, even if it was just at taekwondo.

Things started to make sense when he decided to place focus on himself, the gold, the medals, and everything he’s worked hard to achieve. Why did it matter that you were barely great at taekwondo, he excelled. Not only that, he was getting straight As, a model student, and someone respected and feared amongst his peers.

Well, those kinds of kids don't cry when their parents don’t come to their taekwondo championships, do they? No matter how many times he’s reminded them of the day to ensure they make it. He felt so pathetic. So utterly alone. He was a fucking winner, yet he was whining and crying about mommy and daddy like a loser.

“Hi, are you okay?” the snot-covered young Seungcheol turned his head, seeing you, a silver medal winner asking if he was okay. Pathetic.

He was going to brush you off. Quite literally shove you away for wasting his time and invading his personal space, but you sounded so concerned, voice light and warm like sun rays, and before he knew it, your arms came around him, pulling him into a tight hug. His tears soaked someone else's uniform that day and that frustrated him like hell.

It had to be you of all people to see him cry. His rival. The bane of his existence. Well, the bane of his existence had nice hugs and smelled like strawberry smackers and sweat. He didn’t know how he knew what those were but remembering it all now, it’s exactly what they were.

It was then you convinced him to scream from that cliff with you. You both screamed so loud that it made the birds nearby fly away out of fear, and it made you both belly laugh so hard you fell on your backs. The tears had dried against his flushed cheeks by now, but he still felt them coming, every passing second just reminded him that his parents didn't find him all that important to celebrate. And when you noticed, you made him scream some more. Screamed until your throats hurt.

And you were right, he wasn’t alone anymore.

He had something to look forward to at every taekwondo class now other than the sense of accomplishment. He had a friend to spend time with. And for the next few years, you’d continue to be that person for him. His person. The only person who would know how to break him out of the mental prison he was forced into since birth.

The times waiting around to be picked up, he’d spend time with you, getting ice cream or eating the convenience store snack that he’s been told would rot his brain and eat away at his skin. Other days when they felt like it, they’d ditch class entirely, pretending they were sick just to go watch a movie or find somewhere far away to be themselves, alone together.

Then you both turned eleven. Eleven was when things changed almost drastically. New insecurities formed at that delicate age. Taekwondo classes were harder, kids were getting bigger and stronger, meanwhile you were getting taller. Taller than Seungcheol even, and that shook him.

Maybe that’s when your dynamic started to change. Then came a ripple of bad events, tumbling forward like a domino effect that led to the demise of your friendship. A series of events that Seungcheol forced himself to repress as it gnawed at him like a bad infection.

But not like the way your presence did at this very moment.

“Out of all of the people that answered…”

“Kind of like fate, huh?”

Seungcheol shook his head. “Or Divine punishment.”

You furrowed your brows. “Hey.”

"Okay, so, what? You think because we were peers in a Taekwondo class together it meant something?”

“Well, not really, but, you don’t think it’s nice to see a friendly face?”

“Someone I haven’t seen in twenty years is something I would hardly call friendly.”

Your smile fell a little for the first time, only to pick right back up as if it never happened. “Ouch, hurtful. But, I'm still very down to help you play your girlfriend; if you’ll help me, that is.”

Seungcheol looked over at you cautiously, wondering why you, someone who once threw caution to the wind, would take matters into your hands and fake-date for any reason. “Why do you need the help?”

You shrugged. “Bragging rights.”

His eyes could not roll further back into his head. “Can’t do that with a real boyfriend?”

“And you can’t get a real girlfriend to get your employees to like you?”

He stared back at you unamused, but with nothing to come back with.

You shrugged, knowing you had him backed into a corner. “Like it or not, we are alike, you and I. And, we kind of know each other, so it works out.”

“...How much do you actually need this?”

“Just as much as you do.”

He found himself contemplating, crazy enough to think that he could make a situation like this work. “Fine, we’ll draw up a contract at our next meeting during my next lunch hour.”

He started taking his leave quickly in the direction of his office building, not looking back. Still, you called out to him, with more to ask. “Our next date. Why not this weekend?”

“I’m not wasting my weekend for this.” he shouted back, his back shrinking away out of view.

“You’re not going to waste your weekend on your girlfriend?” you shouted louder, only for it to be no use; now you were just a woman screaming by yourself in an alleyway.

You didn’t have too many expectations for this appointment, you were just blessed that you were a freelancer and could make time for it at all. Otherwise, you would’ve never made that lunch. You managed to sneak past his line of vision, eyes darting at him immediately and processing his features before slowly backing away into a corner and taking up a booth. You wanted to observe him before you eventually met him face-to-face, ensuring he wasn’t some weirdo until you realized the face you were looking at was the spitting image of someone you once knew 20 years ago.

You had to be sure, pulling up your phone immediately to stalk any possible social media pages. You found a perfect match and the exact name. Hand over your mouth, you were beyond shocked, You hadn’t thought about this boy in ages and here he was before you, a grown man. A hot, brooding man.

What the actual fuck.

He started getting up, frustration and impatience written all over his face as he let out a big huff, and you couldn’t help but break out in a smile seeing him sulk until the panic sunk in that he was trying to leave. As he began to head to the door, the exits were blocked, the people passing through all smiles until they laid their eyes on him, and immediately you see their bodies tense up in his presence.

You were beginning to understand the severity and unease that settled in the room when he was present. It was as if their lighthearted comedy turned into a thriller in a matter of seconds. At that moment, you saw your window, so quickly you jumped through it.

You chuckled as you remembered his expression when he first caught sight of you, the pure confusion and bewilderment on his face when you introduced yourself to his coworkers. You were surprised yourself when he did absolutely nothing, but perhaps he showed it as a sign of faith, or maybe he was just that out of it.

Nonetheless, things seemed to work in your favor, and the fake boyfriend you’ve come across was none other than the Choi Seungcheol. A mixed bag of emotions, but something you could work with, way better than any internet creep. It just looked like there was a lot of catching up that needed to be done.

And soon enough, you were about to catch up to the fact that Seungcheol meant business and was anal about his terms and conditions.

“You have to be punctual, that was your only requirement in the ad alone. There cannot be a repeat of yesterday.”

You nodded, watching as he entered it in the shared document you both had displayed on both your laptops. “Okay, fine, but are you sure about discussing this here? What if you have a run-in with your coworkers again?”

“We’re in the corner, so we’re less likely to be spotted, and if we are it’ll look like another lunch…date.”

You raised an eyebrow, stopping at mid-sip of your Americano. “What was that?”

“What?”

“Why did you say it like that?”

He sighed, eyes visibly dull. “Like what?”

You moved your head animatedly, trying to prove a point. “Like you were choking on it. Like you were revolted by the idea of a date. A date with me?”

“Nothing personal. Don’t get defensive. This stuff is just arbitrary to me.”

“What’s arbitrary about it? People go on dates with people they like and sometimes fall in love. It happens every day.”

“Not me,” he retorted, typing in an important detail.

“So you don’t go on dates?”

“I work. Like everyone should be doing.”

“I work.”

He glanced up from the screen. “What do you do?”

“I freelance.”

“Hmm.” His eyes averted back to the screen. “Vague.”

“I make a good wage,” you emphasized. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

However, he didn’t seem to look convinced. “Are you sure you don't want to be financially compensated?”

“Shut up. I’m doing fine. Let’s get back to the contract please.”

“Finally.”

Things were officially being drawn up electronically before being sent over for you to sign, giving you a sense of relief and a weight off your shoulders. You craned your neck, feeling the strain of peering down at a laptop have its effect on you. “Okay looks like it's all good. Looks like we can finally be in business. What will be our first move, considering you are the first to have proposed the idea?”

“Yes, well, that will be the office party the company is hosting. Usually, everyone is required to attend, and I've skipped many events like it–”

“And you want me to come with you to make you look good for your team?”

“No, I want to make you an excuse so I don’t have to go.”

You furrowed your brows. “That’s counterproductive. Literally the opposite of what I’m here for.”

“But neither of us would have to go.”

Your fingers curled up into your palms, forming halfhearted fists before you unfurled them, trying to cherry-pick the right words to get through this tinman’s head. “You have to realize that simply having a girlfriend is not enough for people to like you. It’s about talking you up, showing off your redeeming qualities. Getting people to understand Seungcheol the person, not Seungcheol the boss.”

“Are you proposing I have no redeeming qualities?”

“You were trying to use me as an excuse to avoid going to a company party. What were you going to do with that time on your own?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“This is exactly why you need my help, Cheol,” you reminded, feeling like you’re lecturing a cat about not scratching up the couch.

He gave a light grimace, “You don’t need to call me that childish abbreviation. I have a whole name.”

You leaned over from your seat, staring over at him wide eyes, fluttering your lashes and feigning a lovestruck grin. “I need to give you a nickname if we’re dating. What about Babe? Baby? Honey? Lover?”

“Seungcheol is just fine,” he answered, unaffected, not bothering to look past his laptop.

Your smile dropped in an exaggerated scowl as you pulled yourself back down, crossing your arms. “How have your other girlfriends dealt with you?”

Seungcheol suddenly had nothing else to say, his eyes started darting everywhere but you, leaning back against the booth and preoccupying his mouth with his scalding hot vanilla latte.

Your eyes narrowed at him suspiciously as the silence persisted and the click-clacking of his keyboard, “Seungcheol, you have dated before, right?”

His eyes flitted back to you like a flickering flame before it went out, directing themselves back to his laptop, typing away at something at a more urgent pace, or looking as if he did.

“Oh my god. You haven’t.”

“Silence,” he finally said.

“You…You haven’t been on a date with anyone? With a woman? Or even a man?”

He rolled his eyes, groaning under his breath. “Don’t make a scene.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” you reassured, “of course, I'm just very surprised…and confused. For 30 years of your life?”

“It was never something I prioritized.”

“Middle school. High school. College,” you began listing off.

“I went to an all boys school, and college does not leave much time for dating when you’re getting your Bachelor’s and Master’s.”

You waved your hands bizarrely. “So what? You worked your entire life?”

“Yes.”

“…Hmm.”

“What?”

Curiosity killed the cat, so the cat never came to know Seungcheol and apparently he never came to know the cat. “So if you’ve never been on a date, your intimate life…?”

He raised his brow, and sighed, realizing he was doing that a lot today. He closed his laptop, placing his hands neatly in his lap. “That goes without saying, but yes. I haven’t been intimate with anyone.”

“Right,” you responded, processing the information in real time.

“Are we done here? Is this game of 101 questions over with?”

“Just one more.”

“What?”

“What are you so big for then?” You asked earnestly.

His brows furrowed, before a subtle cocky smile crept against his face. “A healthy body in its top form is crucial for the average working man. It keeps my physical and mental health from deteriorating, and it’s the only way I can keep up with work, from carrying heavy work loads to travel. Aesthetics weren’t the goal, but thank you for noticing.”

“I didn’t compliment you for being big now, did I?”

Time running out on the clock, your meeting came to a close. You walked out together, keeping up appearances, and despite your protests, he started to hail you a taxi. You frowned as it arrived, seeing him open the door all gentleman like, but the stoic expression tattooed always on his face said otherwise.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I’m not walking you to a bus stop, so take the cab. I’ll pay if you’re in dire need of financial assistance.” You had choice words to say on the tip of your tongue before he ushered you in the back seat, ducking his head in and tapping his card on the machine to pay. “Wherever she wants to go.”

Looking up behind the back of his head, you caught the sight of a few familiar faces, the same ones that you ran into yesterday with and quickly you suddenly found yourself wrapping your arms around his torso. He stiffed under your touch, his arms stuck up hovering above you inside the car. “What are you doing?” he questioned, tone cold.

“Don’t look,” you whispered, “but I see some of your coworkers. Just roll with it until they’re gone.”

Your chin settled into the crook of his neck, fastening yourself and determined to hold on until they were out of sight. Meanwhile, he stared down the slope of your spine, watching your hips shift to comfortably align with his, fitting yourself around his frame, and he helplessly took in your perfume wafting in his nose, noting its clean and pleasant scent. Before he realized, his arms rose, hovering around over your back and moving to close in to claim your warmth.

”Okay, it looks like they left.”

Instead, you released him with a light shove out of the car and patted him on the back before waving him off. He watched as it drove off, your hand waving back at him frantically before the car turned left at an intersection and disappeared on the road. From then, Seungcheol quietly returned to the office to organize his thoughts. Down the street, past the front desk, up the elevator, down the hallway, and entering his office. In all that time, he still could not make sense of what just happened.

But then again, he was learning that he didn’t make sense of a lot of things. Like company dinners, why did they matter?

In fact, Seungcheol had his gripes about company dinners. They were loud, rambunctious, and were centered around drinking until one needed their stomach to get pumped. Don't get him wrong, he enjoyed the occasional glass of whiskey and a fine wine, but that’s not what this was.

Tonight, he was surrounded by blue and green bottles, then silver and green cans, all mixed to create a revolting concoction that the team seemed to thrive on to make the night a tolerable one, but what would have made it tolerable for a certain office manager was his fake girlfriend. His eyes shifted from one side of the restaurant to the other, seeing each member of his department slowly loosening their reins as alcohol poured into their system, pinking their cheeks and slurring their words. He did not look forward to the kind of conversations spoken out of turn under the influence.

The manager had been offered a drink five minutes after his arrival, surprised at the minimal spillage with how much Chan’s hands were shaking as he held it with both hands. Nevertheless, he accepted with a wordless nod as the cup was set in front of him, another working man comfortably escaping the clutches of Manager Choi.

Seungcheol was beginning to get annoyed at your tardiness. First it was the initial meeting—the one he still hadn’t gotten over—but now this was the first official public outing. You never cease to amaze him with careless conduct, as if life didn’t have consequences. It was almost as if you never grew up. This was starting to feel like a mistake.

“There you are!” Warmth snaked around his neck and tucked around his chin as someone’s cheek flattened against his.

He didn’t have to look to know it was you; only you were brave enough to commit this far, but he had just as much of a reason to be convincing as you did. He slightly turned his head, a vision of you in his peripheral before you faced him with a grin. “I’m sorry I’m late, don’t be mad,” you lightly pleaded, jutting your lips in a pout.

“Where have you been?” he bluntly asked, hoping it sounded concerned. It did not.

Your pout sunk deeper and you took the empty seat beside him, tugging on his arm. “I told you not to get mad!”

“She’s real?”

“You owe me 50 bucks! Cough up!”

The voices were growing louder, more banter rising at your sudden appearance, and Seungcheol was starting to wonder why he ever wanted this attention in the first place.

“Is this for me?” you asked pointing at the horrid cocktail Chan placed in front of your fake boyfriend before he then covered the top with the back of his hand.

“You evaded my question.”

“I was getting ready and lost track of time. God forbid, I try to look nice for my boyfriend and the people he works with.”

He lightly scoffed, almost impressed with the girlfriend's act.

“So you’re really Mr. Choi’s girlfriend?” An employee you’ve yet to meet sitting across from you asked.

“Yes! Why is that so hard to believe,” you chuckled.

Soonyoung, well off his rocker and having already taken down a bottle or two of soju, was quick to intrude. “Well, because he’s terrifying.”

And not even a second after, his coworker–Seungkwan, if you recall correctly–clasped a hand over his mouth, his eyes growing wide as saucers before immediately clarifying. “He’s exaggerating! Mr. Choi just seems very…reserved and independent. Maybe too involved with his work?” The man trod lightly, lowering his gaze as Seungcheol shot his eyes back at him when he might as well shoot laser beams. Seungkwan felt them burn through his skull as he internally scolded himself, repeatedly tapping his mouth, for possibly speaking out of turn.

You nodded, pouring yourself a shot and following with a slice of beef off the grill. “It’s true. He’s a lunatic.”

The room went silent, all eyes falling on you as your words sunk in. The second hand fear was palpable, even Soonyoung began to sober up. Seungcheol scoffed, turning to the side as you enjoyed your free meal, not giving a second thought to your insult.

“I tell him he’s always in the office. Always, always! When is he gonna make time for anything else? He might die in that office one day,” you egged, taking another piece of meat followed by another shot.

The young man who introduced himself as Joshua tried his best to come to your rescue, “Miss, that might be–”

“It’s why I started visiting him during lunch. If I didn’t he would live off chicken, rice, and those disgusting whey shakes, wouldn’t he?”

Team member Jihoon chortled before immediately piping down when he saw Seungcheol’s quick side eye before the manager directed his attention back to you, who had a lot to say. The entire team stood, thinking their superior was seconds away from blowing up his shit in your face, they braced for impact. Instead, he rested his elbow on the dining table, rubbing his fingers to his temple, simply responding with, “You’re so loud.”

You pointed childishly, taunting him as if it was recess at a playground. “See, he doesn’t even have a comeback! He isn’t human.”

“Why did I invite you again?”

“Because I’m pretty and delightful?”

“No, seriously.”

Relief fanned out amongst the crew, and held breaths were released as chuckles and smiles took their place. They could breathe knowing that they had you to distract him, settling the nerves they had. Finally, most of them could find themselves enjoying the rest of the night and drinking all the soju and beer their hearts desired.

Throughout the evening, you and Seungcheol would bicker, picking each other apart like an old married couple as the rest watched, occasionally joining in when a common interest was brought up. You would usually engage as Seungcheol just quietly sat back listening, sometimes silently agreeing, learning more things about his employees this one night than the entire year he’s been manager. Seungcheol hadn’t experienced anything like this, or if he had, he didn’t remember.

“You’re enjoying this,” Seungcheol said under his breath, watching you finish a third lettuce wrap.

“I am,” you whispered, chuckling.

“This is the strangest combination I’ve ever seen, but it strangely works,” Jeonghan, one of the more honest members of the department, confidently stated.

Joshua joined in, agreeing. “They really compliment each other for some reason.”

“How did you two meet anyway,” Jihoon politely asked, “If you’re comfortable telling that story.”

You turned to Seungcheol, “You want to tell them or should I?”

He gave you a look, one that said, it’s your job, and you quickly got the hint.

He was prepared for some cliche, something dumb like out of a romance movie. What he didn’t expect was the next words to come out of your mouth.

“We actually are childhood friends.”

“You’re the same age?!”

That set them off. Suddenly flurries of grown adults gather around you to hear your story with their starry eyes, eating out of the palm of your hand with every word. It was a talent how you could lie, sprinkling in bits of the truth for authenticity, making every word that came out of your mouth sound like scripture. All while you tossed back soju shots and Seungcheol nursed a single beer in his hand.

“You’re like a movie, childhood rivals to estranged friends to lovers, wow. Lifetime would pay millions,” Chan gushed with red cheeks, covering his face with his palms.

Jeonghan suddenly pounced at an exciting idea. “Love Shot. Love Shot. Love Shot. Love Shot.”

They rest followed after him, chanting louder and louder. “Love Shot! Love Shot! Love Shot! Love Shot! Love Shot! Love Shot!”

Seungcheol shook his head. “No, no. We’re not doing that.”

The chants immediately faded out, only a whisper of its remains left in the form of a lost Soonyoung.

“Don’t take it personal, guys. He’s a lightweight. He’s had that beer since he came in and still hasn’t finished because we both know he’d be out like a light if he drank even half of it,” You taunted.

Seungcheol felt challenge brew within him, narrowing his eyes back at you. “Oh, yeah?”

“It’s okay, Honey, being a weak drinker doesn’t mean it's the end of the world.”

The office manager huffed, standing up slamming the metal dining table and startling everyone around him. “One of you, any of you, bring us some soju and two of the biggest glasses you have.”

Their feet scrambled, and demands were met. Your fake boyfriend smirked back at you as he started filling up your glass, pushing it toward you before he started filling up his.

“Lun-a-tic,” you sounded, claiming the glass.

You scooted closer holding the cups in the air before locking elbows and gazes. The glass pressed to your lips, the bitter liquid making it past your mouth and feeling it burn down your throat and then brewing something sinister in your gut, having you struggle to finish it. Meanwhile, your opponent drank his as if it was water, his eyes staring back at you in mockingly, grinning apparently despite his lips being preoccupied.

This little shit.

You both ended with a clean finish, slamming the cups on the metal surface, and you’re swarmed with cheers, reminding you that you had an audience. The heat was instantaneous, spreading all over you like fire, as your eyes grew heavy, the rush of cheeks becoming less coherent and just noise at this point of the night.

“Yeah, they definitely did taekwondo together.”

“I have never seen Mr. Choi that competitive before. He’s so cool!”

That last bit made Seungcheol snicker as he wiped the remaining alcohol off his lips, observing you as you uncharacteristically remained quietly seated with nothing else to say. “And I’m the lightweight? Can you even stand up right now?”

You gave him a mocking look, pulling yourself up from your seat and began doing all the sobriety tests you could possibly think of. From talking in a straight line to touching your toes, you made sure to do all the nine yards. After feeling like you succeeded (you didn’t), you then blew raspberries in his face until finally doing your perfect impression of a big buzzer. “Try again!”

Seungcheol fell off his chair laughing, face bright red in the matter of seconds, belly laughing and stunning everyone that was lucky enough to witness before he crawled up to get back in his chair. He pointed at you, still laughing, “You look so stupid!”

“Oh,” Minghao pointed at his superior’s face, “He has a dimple.”

“Nevermind that, he’s laughing.”

“Take a picture! Take hundreds of them!”

The rest of the night became a blur, a chaotic blur Seungcheol was probably better off not remembering, but all of the things he did remember made him feel warm. Or perhaps that was the alcohol lodged into his system. Company dinners can be alright. He probably won’t go to all of them, but one here and there wouldn’t hurt.

The next time Seungcheol felt awake was when he was in his bedroom, the sun peeking through the curtain as it beamed down on him. It was rare for him to wake up after the sun came up. “What the…”

He had no idea how he got home, pulling the covers off himself and immediately looking for his phone and found it conveniently plugged, and said that it was– “9:34. Fuck.”

"Rise and shine, sunshine,” you said bursting through the room, and Seungcheol immediately threw the covers back on, hiding his body as soon as he realized he looked the shittiest he’s ever looked. “How the fuck–why the hell are you in my apartment? How the hell are you in my apartment?”

“I took you home yesterday.”

“There’s a keypad!”

You giggled. “You put in the code for me. Drunk you is very nice.”

“You were drunk too!”

You clamped your hands over your ears. “Stop yelling, god. I sobered up hours before you did. Hangover still sucks though.”

“Still doesn’t explain how you found out where I fucking live.”

“The ID in your wallet, of course, which you should really be more careful about giving it to people when you’re drunk because, holy shit, I would've scammed you. What if it got into the wrong hands?”

“I’M LOOKING RIGHT AT THEM!”

“OW! Chill out. How are you not hungover right now?”

“I am, but–shit, none of this is making sense.”

“Well, while you have your mid-life crisis, I left a hangover cure and breakfast on your coffee table. Eat it, you’re going to want it. I’ve got to go.”

“Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you sleep here?”

You shrugged, “Oh the couch. It was like 2am and I was still tipsy, I wasn’t gonna go out there and become a statistic.”

“You just slept in a man’s apartment like nothing.”

“It’s your apartment. I’m fine.”

“Am I not a man?”

You rolled your eyes, waving him off. “You are hardly a human, iRobot. Now go eat. Oh, and remember next Sunday is my day, Carts and Tarts. Golfing and brunch with some of my college friends, I’m sure you’ll like it.”

“What did I tell you about weekends?”

“Make an exception, yesterday went extremely well. I think everyone is warming up to you a bit more, and all you have to do is stand next to me. And maybe smile, but that's it!”

He groaned, throwing a pillow in his face, the migraines kicking in hard. “I feel like shit.”

“Which means it was a success! We’ll go over what you’ll be wearing and a bit of characterization over the week.”

“Characterization?” Seungcheol mumbled, the word foreign on his tongue.

“Enjoy your Saturday!”

Carefully, you walked out, closing the door behind you and hearing the automatic lock click in pace. You passed through his front lawn, making your way past his gates, and you took sight of his neighborhood–admittedly prettier in daylight– before heading down the sidewalk to hail a cab. Waiting for one to arrive, you marinated in what transpired the night before and the images played in your mind in full color, as if it happened just moments ago.

“Fuck, you’re huge.”

“You tol’ me ta’ already.” Seungcheol murmured as he buried himself into your shoulder, letting you drag him to the entrance of his residence.

“What’s your code?”

“Secret,” he giggled.

To which, you rolled your eyes. “You put it in then.”

You pushed him closer to the keypad, holding his wrist up to the screen and lifting up his head so he could see the numbers. His eyelids almost sunk to the bottom, but it was barely visible enough to make out what was in front of him. “Oh, I know this game, I’m good at games…”

“I’m sure you are, try this one out.”

His finger limply hovered over the keypad, giggling up a storm.“ 0…5…2…6.”

“You said it was a secret and said it out loud anyway, are you that drunk?”

“I win!”

“Oh, my god.” You rushed him inside, hoping none of the neighbors showed up or were nearby to have heard that, and scanned the perimeter for his bedroom. His instinct kicked in the second he entered inside, and he pulled away from you, taking himself upstairs.

“He’s gonna fucking kill himself.” You trailed behind him, on every step behind him, ready to catch him behind every tumble, and ensuring that Seungcheol in no way hurt himself as he made it up those steps.

As he finally reached the top floor, he turned the corner, entered a very obvious bedroom, and collapsed on the king-sized bed in the center. He laid sprawl, limbs spread wide like a starfish, and the biggest grin on his face that showcased his dimple gracefully embedded in his cheek.

You chuckled before dragging his body up the bed, urging him off the covers to usher him under. “Okay. I’m leaving now.”

You then turned away, about to leave when felt something wrap around your wrist pulling you near the bed.

“Don’t go.”

Your head back to see Seungcheol at the brink of tears, his features softening at the sight of you as he curled up into bed, sniffling. You dipped a little closer. “You don’t want me to leave?”

He shook his head, whining childishly, “Stay…”

He pulled you closer, now ushering you on the bed, and suddenly you were there together, him ready to sleep all tucked in, and you firmly sat because a grown man with the most heart wrenching puppy dog eyes asked you not to go.

So you stayed, just as he asked, and slept in the living room once he was sound asleep.

You smiled to yourself, regretful you didn’t take a picture or record a video of the incident. Although, if you did and he found out, he would’ve killed you. Or, you would’ve had some delicious blackmail material. The world may never know. You were just happy to know he still had that side to him. It was refreshing, and honestly, it made you a little hopeful.

Now you had to see if you could drag it out of him sober.

“Now to be the perfect boyfriend, my friend group has always said that the guy had to check at least five of these boxes.”

He looked back at you, not showing any interest in the matter while absentmindedly drinking his Americano that he used to hate, but he’s been enjoying a lot more lately thanks to you. “Is this all really necessary?”

You nodded determinedly. “You’re unlikable, and you need lessons. Yes, this is very important.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve received two good mornings today, and only five people decided to hide from me.”

“No one should be hiding from you,” you rubbed your chin in thought, “Sounds like you still need work. I might have to phase in a new method.”

“Excuse me, what new method would that be?”

“Never mind that. For now, Carts and Tarts. The girls have always said a guy needs five things: eyes, ears, mouth, heart, and…” Your gaze lowered to his nether regions, and Seungcheol did a double take, covering his privates with a pained expression.

“Those are just body parts, and have some decorum, would you?”

You pointed to the first box you needed checked. “Eyes: they need to be able to pay attention to you, notice things about you that you or other people wouldn’t otherwise see. To be loved is to be seen.”

Seungcheol listening to your reasoning and then mentally noting it for later. “Ah, and ears.”

“Listening to what you have to say. Being heard is just as important, but it doesn’t stop at hearing the words, it’s understanding the meaning behind them, which brings me to…”

“Mouth. To speak?” he easily guessed.

You nodded, passing him a cookie. “Ask questions. Learn why they’re happy, sad, angry, or anxious. Or even, include them in your conversations, sometimes they want to hear what you’re interested in. I think you’re getting where I’m going next.”

He took apart the cookie, breaking it in half, and passed it back to you. “Heart. Have a passion for something.”

“Ding. Ding. Ding. Sometimes it's a job, or a family, or a passion projection, but there needs to be ambition and drive, but most importantly and above all, they love you. If they love you enough, they can balance both. They should have something in their life besides you, but still love you, you know?”

Seungcheol was buffering a bit on that last one but he decided not to question it. “I’m assuming that last one has to do with coitus?”

Mid-chew of your snack, appalled enough to speak with it still in your mouth while spewing out its crumbs, “Why would you use that word?”

“I knew I would invoke an interesting reaction, but not cause an avalanche.”

You rolled your eyes, tapping your mouth with a napkin. “Everyone wants to have orgasms in their relationships, it’s at the top of their Christmas list. I’ve seen so many relationships get broken up because the sex sucked or someone has a weird kink–and I’m not kink shaming! Being weird can be cool.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he said plainly.

“I’m just saying.”

“Never in my life did I expect this to be the topic of today’s meeting.”

You flatten your hands against the table, a satisfied smile on your face. “Well, now you understand. Try to pretend you're at least any one of these, and play up the boyfriend bit. You already know a little about me, just put it to good use.”

He observed you, studying your intent under the humor and lighthearted candor. “You really care a lot about this.”

“It’s just annoying how much they care about how much I'm getting laid. They’re a very large and very involved bunch.”

Seungcheol shut his eyes in disdain. “Why do they care?”

“Everyone is just either dating, married, or engaged. I'm the last person left, and I haven’t had a relationship that’s lasted more than three months. I just want them to lay off, make them think I'm dating someone with marriage in mind.”

“And when we don’t get married?”

You grinned, as if you have been waiting for this question to be asked. “I’ve curated a long 2-year plan to make us look like a committed couple. We fall in love passionately, so in love that we summer together and backpack over Europe, Asia, seeing all the great seas, seeing the world together…but then, I come back home, sad and single because even though you proposed and are desperately in love with me–”

“I think there are some plot holes–”

“You fall ill bitten by a radioactive spider exploring a jungle and pass away,” You concluded, exaggeratedly gasping into your hands.

“...isn’t that the plot to Madame Web?”

“You actually watched that?”

“You don’t know what I do on my weekends.”

“Watching awful movies is what it sounds like.”

He looked up to the ceiling, trying to visual all this together, as if any of this was remotely feasible. “We live in the same city, has it ever occurred to you that I could bump into any one of them?”

You shrugged, “Easy. You turn around and run in the other direction.”

“Your plan is horrendously flawed.”

“You wanna get married then?”

“Where’s the spider? I can get a headstart.”

“Just be a good little boyfriend.”

Seungcheol tsked.

“What?”

He looked off at the window, noticing that it was going to rain soon. Things needed to pick up if he wanted to get back to the office dry. “I just wouldn’t have thought that you of all people would cater to a society that cared about something superficial like having a boyfriend.”

Your smile faltered. “Well, a lot has happened in 20 years. And who says I’m catering to anyone? Ever consider maybe…forget it.”

He narrowed his eyes, challenge burning through them, “What? Finish your thought.”

“We’re done here. Just come on Sunday, follow the dress code, and don’t be yourself,” and with that you threw your tote over your shoulder and walked out, not bothering to wait for him to trail after you, hailing a cab on your own accord.

The rest of the week you would make your lunch ‘dates,’ but it would be mainly for show, having you only swirling your straw in your drink as you moped, halfheartedly being present for most of the time. Usually, Seungcheol would appreciate silence, but from you, it was deafening, even with the background noise of the cafe.

He pretended not to notice, sitting in silence with you, but he’d occasionally look up, seeing you glued to your phone, only interacting with him when it came to what they were contractually obligated to do for one another. He should’ve been pleased, yet, he was dying to talk to you.

Sunday finally came around and unfortunately, your bad mood had traveled with you, even in your cute little tennis skirt get-up you had been looking for the opportunity to wear. At least, Seungcheol had made the effort to look the part for the day. That morning you met, and he surprised you with his cooperation by looking like every country club asshole you've ever met, down to the pristine khakis and golf shoes with matching socks. You wondered if he bought that before the plans were set in motion, or if he already had it lying around. Either way, he looked convincing enough to persuade a few friends.

“Good job,” you whispered halfheartedly.

“How long do we have to be here?” He mumbled under his breath, cutting into his spinach omelet after forgoing all the possible carb options, just like you expected him to.

“Two hours, tops. Just watch them get a couple swings in and we can excuse ourselves after, say we have another thing we gotta go to.”

You were then greeted by a familiar voice, beckoning you from the other end of the table. Her eyes were bright and perfectly cat eyed, lips pink and glossy, but her voice was mature and curious, dying to pull the information she could out of you. “So, how did you two come to know each other?”

Chaeyoung had always been an instigator, asking the pressing questions and demanding answers. It was natural for her as a news investigator, and she was the one who insisted your new boyfriend come to initiate him into their pack. This happened to be the first time you accepted her challenge, earning her intrigue, and like she did with all your boyfriends she’s had the pleasure–or more often displeasure than not–of meeting, she had to get the rundown. And she would do whatever she could to get it.

You cleared your throat, wiping your lips with a tablecloth. “Well—“

“Not you, darling, let’s hear it from Seungcheol.”

He hadn’t prepared for this, snapping his head at you a glint of panic was in his eyes. You grinned over at Chaeyoung, holding onto Seungcheol’s hand that rested on the table. “Don’t go interrogating my boyfriend, he just got here.”

“Well, it’s only fair to tell his version while he's here. There’s never been a gathering as big as this with your other boyfriends. He has to be special if you brought him here today.”

“Chaeyoung—“

“I can tell the story,” Seungcheol finally reassured.

You looked at him confused then bewilderment, fearing the words that come out of his next could be the end all be all of this entire charade.

You had to stop him before he ruined this. “Cheol—“

“She came crashing into my life, and I haven’t known peace since.”

If your eyes bulged any bigger, they would be falling out of your head. “I—“

“Really?” Chaeyoung’s interest got piqued, leaning in closer as the everyone else at the table lowered their voice, hoping to listen in. “How so?”

“We had met before. A long, long time ago, and I couldn’t fathom her existence in the slightest. She was a mind bending whirlwind, like no one else I’ve ever met before, and I couldn’t get her out of my head. That period of our lives we spent almost every waking moment with each other, telling each other things that we promised not to tell anybody else. Like an oath. And then all of a sudden, one day, we lost contact. No calls, no letters, no voicemails. We didn’t speak to each other for years until…,” he turned to you, a subtle softness in his eyes that only you could barely recognize under that cold, stiff exterior. “We passed by each other at a cafe near my office. I didn’t know what to think of it first…but she called it fate.”

He turned back to everyone, and they all just stared, peering at the newcomer as if he was a saint dropped from the sky, while the women at the table swooned after listening to his story, clinging onto his every word.

“Men like him do exist…” Yeri said dreamily, ignoring her longtime boyfriend, who at the moment was scarfing down his fifth quiche.

You were shell shocked, jaw actually dropped slack until Seungcheol stuffed an egg tart in it, occupying your mouth to avoid suspicion.

“And he’s feeding her. Why don’t you feed me?!”

“Dammit, they’re adorable.”

You weren’t sure who you were sitting with anymore. The fake boyfriend you hired was a calculating, condescending, arrogant prick that relied on you to make him look good. How was he doing a better job than you?

“Do you golf, Seungcheol?” Baekho inquired, warming up to him after hearing the sweet fable. “If so, we have to see your swing.”

He replied back with a shrug, “I’ve dabbled, although I was going to take it easy today.”

He rested a hand on your shoulder. “This one isn’t sure how long we can stay.”

You glared at him, how dare he push the blame on you. You looked back at Baekho apologetically. “We had a prior engagement. I’m sorry. I mixed the dates up and couldn’t cancel on either one of you.”

“Oh, well, that doesn’t mean you can’t play. Just a round, what do you both say?”

Seungcheol looked at you, an unreadable expression on his face, and you truly do not know how to approach it in the slightest.

“Okay, I guess a round can’t hurt.”

Baekho along with many other guests lit up in excitement. “Well, what are we waiting for? On the field, we go!”

Several members of the brunch got a head start on the field, taking their clubs and carts as they started heading off the first hole. Meanwhile, Seungcheol pulled you aside, seeing that you were both alone with no one else to eavesdrop. “Do you know what you’ve just done?”

“What? It’s one round.” You shrugged. “A game can’t be that long.”

A pained expression struck his face, wrinkles forming on his forehead as he tightly shut his eyes. “Have you ever played golf?”

“No, I was never interested in it.”

“Jesus—do you see how big this field is? An average game of golf is four hours, sometimes more.”

Your eyes were about to shoot out of their sockets like any of the golf balls on the field. “Four hours?!”

“Yes, and you just,” he sighed, “Come on.”

He took you by your hands, noticing them covered in a pair of gloves before dragging you to your designated cart. “Why the hell do you own golf gloves if you don’t golf?

“I thought today was the day I’d start,” you cried, nearing the verge of tears as you came to the realization of the eternal hell you’ve subjected yourself to.

And Seungcheol did not lie, it felt as if it would go on forever. As everyone was putting, the sun was beaming down on you, slowly but surely killing your will to live. At this point, you welcomed it. You already started to envy the ice in your lemonade that melted, seeing it was given the mercy of peace from this endless boredom. You weren’t used to being outside for this long. During these brunches, you would be inside in the spa by now with mud baths, not getting ready to be spattered in mud puddles when a ball hits water.

“Fore!”

“Just let the ball hit me right at the temple, right here,” you quietly mumbled from your golf cart, watching Baekho in front of you take a swing as a couple of other members of the brunch spectated from behind.

Seungcheol reunited beside you, taking a swig of his water bottle and sweating after swinging a few times around the field. “I guess this counts as my workout for the day.”

“Congratu-fucking-lations,” you responded sarcastically, numb to all feelings.

He leaned over the golf cart, arms over the cart roof. “You had every opportunity to say no.”

“And I didn’t, okay? You gonna rub it in my face?”

He grinned, that dimple you once found cute growing increasingly irritating. “Potentially.”

“You’re actually having fun, aren’t you?”

He shrugged, not denying it. “Golf is entertaining on occasion, and it’s true I didn’t plan on playing, but it’s kind of nice to be playing with a group this big. It used to be just me and father.”

“He taught you how to play?”

“He thought it was good to teach about control. It forced me to utilize the amount of strength and helped me understand optimal angles. Once you master that, you can get closer to reaching your optimal target. He said that’s just about all you need to be the person you want to be in life.” Although he sounded as if he spoke fondly, a storm brewed in his gaze, one that it seemed like it would persist if you pressed on any further.

“Wow…somehow you made golf even more boring.” You stepped off the cart, stretching your legs and bending your knees to make sure they don’t give out on you in pins and needles. “I might go back to the club house. Get something more to eat, catch the news, learn about some new propaganda, anything but this really.”

His gaze pulled up behind, staring past your head at coming towards you both, eyes widening in fear. “Look out!”

His arms wrapped around you, clutching your body before he tore you away from the ground beneath you, and shielded you from the incoming impact. Your face buried in his chest, hearing the deafening screech of wheels scraping the grass as it dug into a puddle conveniently in front of you both and just in the way of the vehicle gone rogue, splashing mud water onto whoever was nearby.

“Oh shit, my bad!” Beomgyu, the cart boy and designated driver of the vehicle, said quickly before driving off.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, pounding against his as it raced at the same erratic pace. Your bodies intertwined with one another, his caging yours like a momentary safe haven. He pulled back you to level with him, feeling his firm grip hold you steady. “You okay?” Seungcheol asked, scanning you over.

You panted softly, your breath caught in your throat, since you were still in shock from the near collision that had just happened before calmly nodding. He looked you over, dusting any dirt and debris off of you, and he finally let you free once he was sure for himself you were fine. “You should’ve just stayed on the cart. That could’ve gotten really bad,” he scolded, pushing your golf cap over your eyes.

“Hey! Oh my god! What happened?”

Your friends rushed over after seeing the scene, prodding you with concerning questions to which you answered with ‘I’m fine’s and ‘okay’s. However, amongst the noise, you finally took notice of Seungcheol, specifically, the aftermath of the incident and his clothes stained in murky brown specks and splotches.

“Your clothes…” you pointed out with a guilt ridden face.

He shook his head reassuringly, “I’ll change once I get home.”

“Nonsense,” Minhyun retorted, “Grab something from the merch shop. Complimentary of course.”

“I appreciate it,” Seungcheol nodded, “I do think I’ll have to take her back home. I don’t know if I can keep playing after that just happened.”

“Of course! We understand,” Junhui agreed, looking toward you empathetically. “Make sure she’s okay, and take care, kid.”

“Thank you,” Seungcheol said, finally getting on the cart and driving off the field. It wasn’t until you were halfway across the field that you realized what he had managed to do in the matter of seconds you had. You pivoted your head to him, seeing that the concern that was once on his face melt into his default expression, phlegmatic with a hint of arrogance.

“You evil genius.”

Seungcheol smirked, looking at you through his peripheral vision. “‘Strike the iron, while it’s hot,’ I believe the saying is called.”

You made a visit to the merch shop as Minhyun suggested and met with the shopkeeper about getting their signature embroidered shirt with the country club's logo on the breast. He welcomed you, saying he was expecting you both after getting a call, but apologizing for the limited sizes. It was out of both your hands at that point, so you accepted it, handing Seungcheol off the medium and hoping for the best.

“I think this room is good.” You looked for an empty multipurpose for him to change into after seeing all the bathrooms nearby were closed for maintenance. The efforts to go further across the club for other bathrooms wasn’t worth the trouble, so this seemed to be the next best thing.

He followed after you, holding the shirt and walking in nonchalantly as you tried to quietly close the heavy door shut. He peered over at you, watching you behave strangely suspicious. “What are you doing?”

“Closing the door!” you shout-whispered. “What if people see us sneaking around and think we’re doing something indecent?”

“You think shutting the door quietly and whispering makes us look any better?” he asked in a normal volume.

“Well, when you put it like that,” you respond in your normal volume.

He rolled his eyes before pulling the bottom of his shirt up and over his head, seeing every inch of his abdomen: every muscle, every curve, and every vein.

“Woah,” you quickly turned around. “Just couldn’t wait to get your clothes off in front of me, could you?”

He scoffed, putting his dirty shirt aside before picking up the new one. “Why’d you turn around? Nothing you’ve never seen before, I’m sure.”

“Did you just slut shame me while you’re the one taking your clothes off? The gall!”

He pulled his newly acquired shirt over his head, feeling it hug his body as he stretched out the fabric. “You can look now.”

You spun back, seeing that the shirt they’ve got might have been a tad smaller than they anticipated, compressing against him to the point that his muscles bulged at the seams, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. He might as well not have worn a shirt at all. “That might be a bit small on you,” you stiffly pointed out.

“Well, it’s all we have.” He looked in the reflection in the mirror placed on the wall, unfortunately agreeing with you, checking himself in the mirror and already feeling it start to chafe.

“I’m surprised you did that today,” you brought up. “The speech, then the crazy save, wow.”

He scoffed, “Yeah, so was I. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. How did you improv all that so quickly?”

He shrugged, attempting to stretch the fabric even a little bit, hoping it wouldn't tear. “I didn’t really. I just said how I felt.”

“Wait, really?”

He slightly turned his head. “Yes. Like how I couldn’t fathom how someone as insane and careless as you existed.”

You clenched your teeth, knitting your eyebrows together, “You fu-“

“Or when I couldn’t get you out of my head. It’s true, I made it my life’s mission then to beat you at every taekwondo match possible.”

“I hate you so—”

“And you said it was fate, not me, so technically I didn’t even lie.” He turned back, walking back to you, “Then again, omission is a form of lying on its own. You would know since lying to my employees is like an Olympic sport to you.”

Your nose scrunched, displeased. “Your welcome, whatever. We fooled them. Good work. That will keep them off my back for a couple weeks.”

He clapped his hands. “Good, sounds like my work is done.”

“Ha. For now. Your end though, still requires a lot of work. Look forward to that overtime.”

That’s where phasing the new method came in. It was a risky move that you had your doubts about, but considering the trauma bonding that fine Sunday, you were sure Seungcheol could warm up to the idea. However, it couldn’t work if he knew it was happening, that’s why he had to go in blind.

[part 2 immediately found here]

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone @stagefrjghts @pantumin @aaniag @mochisdayone @gyuguys @idubiluranghae @flwrshwa @itsmarieposa @palmsugr @apriyada @skittlez-area512 @choco-scoups @actuallynarii @tournesol155 @vvvlog @nerdycheol @christinewithluv @alyssa19123456 @kwonhs96 @scheolrriess @ch-rrycloud @fancypeacepersona @obsessionreads09 @userelv @minahaeyo @cookiearmy @wonwooz1 @carefully325

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luvfae · 1 day ago

Note

i love ur thanos stories, you wrote him so in character !! could you do a fanfic where he meets reader in the games and she’s kind of weird ? like she’s very calm and unfazed by everything and people avoid her because she asks strange questions and just seems to be in her own world completely ? i think the contrast of thanos being loud and himself with a reader with this personality would be cute :)

UNFAZED

parings: thanos/choi su-bong x f!reader

warnings: typical squid game stuff, death, blood, swearing, dark humor.

The first time Thanos noticed you, he thought you were beautiful.

The second time, he thought you were insane.

It was during Red Light, Green Light. People were screaming, blood splattering the ground, bodies dropping like flies—and there you were, standing still, watching it all like it was mildly interesting.

He was running past you when he heard you mumble, “I wonder how many people have died in the exact spot we’re standing in.”

What the fuck?

He nearly tripped.

Who the hell thought about that in a situation like this? Most people were crying, praying, or pissing themselves. But you? You tilted your head, staring at the bloodied ground like you were considering something deeply philosophical.

Then the music played, and you walked forward, completely unbothered, hands in your pockets.

Thanos couldn’t stop looking at you.

When he finally made it to the finish line, panting and cursing, he turned his head—and there you were, still strolling like you had all the time in the world, like people weren’t being gunned down behind you.

When the last gunshot rang out, signaling the game was over, Thanos exhaled, shaking his head. But his eyes found you again, and for a brief moment, you locked eyes.

Then you smiled.

And Thanos—who never shut up, who always had something to say—just stood there, stunned, watching as you turned and walked away like none of this meant a damn thing to you.

Yeah.

He had to talk to you.

After Red Light, Green Light

People were avoiding you.

Not just steering clear, but actively avoiding you—whispering, sneaking glances, looking at you like you were something unnatural.

Which, honestly, wasn’t surprising.

Not after what you said.

Some guy had been crying over his dead friend, shaking his body, begging him to wake up. And you? You just crouched beside him, tilted your head, and said:

“It’s kind of poetic, don’t you think? He died reaching for the finish line but never made it. It’s like a metaphor for his whole life.”

The guy had turned white.

People started moving away from you immediately after that, muttering about how you were crazy or fucking cursed.

You didn’t mind. It gave you more space.

Ever intrigued, Thanos sauntered over and dropped down beside you, settling in like he’d known you forever. You barely acknowledged him, offering only a slow, dreamy smile—like you hadn’t just survived a massacre, like you weren’t trapped in a death game. Like none of this even phased you.

“So,” he said, smirking. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a fucked-up place like this?”

You blinked at him.

Then, completely serious, you said, “Did you know you can tell how long a body has been dead based on the color of the blood pooling in their limbs?”

Thanos stared.

What. The. Fuck.

You continued, tilting your head. “I was watching earlier. Some of them turned pale faster than others. Which means they probably had worse circulation before they died. It makes you wonder about their medical history.”

Thanos opened his mouth. Then closed it.

He had flirted with a lot of women in his life. And every single one of them—without fail—either blushed, giggled, or played along.

But you?

You were talking about corpse discoloration.

He had no idea how to respond to that.

“…Right.” He cleared his throat, regrouping. “Anyway, you’re cute. You should stick with me—I’ll keep you safe.”

You hummed. “You’re on drugs, aren’t you?”

Thanos choked.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“I—I mean—” He coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “No.”

“I doubt that,” you said easily, stuffing your hands into your pockets. “Your pupils are kind of weirdly dilated. And you’re talking fast. Stimulants, probably.”

Thanos didn’t know whether to be impressed or offended.

“I like you,” he decided. “You’re fun.”

You didn’t reply.

Thanos let out a laugh—sharp and amused, because he wasn’t used to being ignored, much less dismissed so easily.

“I’m Thanos,” he said, leaning in slightly, his usual confidence slipping back into place. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you replied, tilting your head. “And you?”

He blinked.

“Thanos. I just told you that.”

“Oh.” You shrugged, entirely unbothered. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Thanos stared at you, torn between laughing and being personally offended. Most people hung on his every word, eager for his attention, desperate to impress him. But you? You couldn’t even be bothered to remember his name.

He grinned.

“I think I love you,” he said, half-joking.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you replied easily, pulling your knees to your chest. “We’re in a life-or-death situation. Your emotions are probably just heightened due to adrenaline.”

Thanos let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “You’re really something, you know that?”

You just blinked at him, as if the thought had never crossed your mind.

He studied you for a long moment, taking in the dreamy, far-off look in your eyes, the way you seemed almost bored despite the chaos surrounding you. He had met a lot of people in his life—liars, manipulators, people who pretended to be something they weren’t. But you?

You weren’t faking it.

You were just… like this.

Untouchable.

Unshaken.

Unfazed.

And fuck, he was fascinated.

“So, Y/N,” he said, resting his chin on his hand, eyes glinting with amusement. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

You hummed, considering. “The same thing as you, I suppose.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

You turned to look at him, your gaze slow and lazy, like you were looking straight through him.

“Surviving.”

Thanos couldn’t help the way his grin widened at your response, the sharpness in your tone only making him more intrigued. You didn’t say things like that to impress, or even to challenge. It was just… matter of fact. A simple observation that had him leaning in closer, drawn to that calm, detached confidence you wore like armor.

“Surviving, huh?” He repeated, more to himself than to you. “I like that answer.”

You didn’t smile back, but there was a small flicker in your eyes—a brief moment where it almost seemed like you might’ve been amused. He could see it, hidden just beneath the surface of that indifferent expression.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” you said, voice matter-of-fact. “We’re all just waiting for our turn.”

His smile faded for a second. It wasn’t lost on him that you were right. No one in the game was truly safe. He couldn’t shake the idea that your calmness wasn’t just for show, though. You were waiting for your turn, but there was no fear in your eyes.

“Doesn’t seem like you’re too concerned about it,” he noted, crossing his arms. “Most people would be scared, running around like headless chickens. But you? You’re just… here.”

“You’re right,” you said softly, your voice still far too calm for the circumstances. “I guess I’m not scared. Not yet.”

Thanos tilted his head, studying you more closely now. “What’s your deal, huh? You’re not like everyone else in here.”

You blinked, giving him a look that could only be described as mildly curious. “Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

He shrugged, not exactly answering your question but also not denying it. “Maybe.”

You didn’t respond right away, but there was a beat of silence, a moment where the two of you were left alone in your own thoughts, the rest of the chaos going on around you completely irrelevant.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me,” you said after a while, almost absently. “I’m just aware of things… most people choose to ignore.”

“And what do you think they’re ignoring?”

“Their own mortality.” You leaned back against the cold wall, staring ahead. “Everyone acts like they’re invincible until they’re not. But me?” You looked at him then, your gaze cool but steady. “I’ve already accepted that I’m not. That’s why I don’t react. I don’t have time for it.”

Thanos blinked, the intensity of your words hitting him harder than he expected. He wasn’t sure why, but that calm, grounded air you had around you was starting to do something to him. It was like you were speaking a truth he hadn’t been ready to hear, or maybe didn’t even want to.

“You’re one strange person, Y/N,” he said with a half-smile, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or be genuinely intrigued by what you just said. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone like you before.”

You didn’t reply immediately, letting the silence hang between you two. But the corners of your mouth twitched, just for a second, like you almost wanted to laugh. Or maybe it was just another strange quirk he didn’t understand.

“You’ll figure it out soon enough, Thanos,” you finally said, using his name with that same strange casualness you used for everything. “Everyone does, eventually.”

He wasn’t sure if it was a threat or a promise, but Thanos found himself leaning forward slightly, captivated.

“Maybe,” he said, voice softening, his usual bravado slipping for just a moment. “But, uh, you’re not going to get rid of me that easily, are you?”

You glanced at him with that same blank expression, your eyes unreadable. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

Thanos felt his pulse quicken, that feeling he got when things were starting to shift. There was something about you that got under his skin, something that made him want to figure you out—whether you wanted him to or not. You were like a puzzle, one he didn’t know how to solve, but hell if he wasn’t going to try.

“Good,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re gonna need someone to keep an eye on you, Y/N.”

He wasn’t entirely sure if it was for his own safety or hers, but for the first time since the game started, he wasn’t thinking about the other players or how to win. All he cared about was you—this strange, unfazed person who didn’t blink at the carnage around her, but still somehow seemed to have a grip on what was really going on.

For now, though, Thanos would be your friend. But deep down, he knew it was only a matter of time before he tried to get closer.

He couldn’t stop himself.

#choi su bong #choi su bong x reader #thanos x reader #thanos #choi su bong fluff #thanos fluff #player 230 x reader #player 230 #player 230 fluff #squid game

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starredblood · 2 days ago

Text

NOWHERE GIRL

PART TWENTY

kang sae-byeok x fem!reader

synopsis: when the truth unfolds, are you ready to face it?

wc. 7.1k (DAMN)

warnings: mentions of suicide, depression, death, angst, fluff, comfort | authors note: i lowkey will not proof read this so ignore any typos TT but tysm for reading this series all the way through im super grateful and many more works will follow soon after so stay tuned!

(nowhere girl masterlist)

(One year later…)

Life has gotten more dull. At least that is what Yoon thinks when she sees you. It was ironic that after ten minutes of searching for you, she found you lying underneath a tree in the small patch of grassy fields in the middle of campus. She remembers a time way before that you hated grass—something about their sharp texture just irked you. It was like you disregarded life completely. The best way she can describe is if you were a flower, your petals were withering away. What was once a lively, bodacious flower is now fading in color and drooping.

She would’ve been concerned for your current behavior if you didn’t act like this the entire summer. All you did was coop yourself up in her guest room—it was aggravating, she thought she’d have a fun summer with you living with her at her family’s house. Her chance to get closer to you, but you preferred seclusion more.

When she calls your name, you don’t respond. Those fucking headphones. It’s like you can’t live without them ever since last winter. Seriously, sometimes Yoon just gets these urges to snatch them off your head so you can get back to reality and talk to real human beings.

You didn’t notice her stomping over to you. Not when your eyes were shut and you were about to doze off to the music blasting in your eardrums. You flutter your eyes open when you felt a soft nudge to your ribs. Yoon is towering over your lying body, her arms crossed and feeling irritated.

“Did you forget?” Yoon frowns.

Before you answer you sit up from the patchy fields and stretch your limbs out. You notice her growing impatient with you from the way she is tapping her foot. Removing your headphones, you quirk an eyebrow at her and say, “Forget what?”

Yoon rolls her eyes. “I’m in charge of managing our schools art gallery this winter and if you don’t get your ass in check it’ll blow back on me!”

“I know you’re charge of it.” you murmur, plainly. “It’s not like you mentioned it fifty thousand times the entire summer.”

Her eyebrows furrow. She wants to retort back but she’s gotten so used to your bitter antics that she just swallows it back. Deep down, she misses the old you—because you changed…she doesn’t want to admit it to herself. Frankly, no one in your small circles wants to point out to you your new brooding personality.

“How the hell are you able to lay in the cold this long? You’re actually insane.” Yoon shivers, rubbing her arms to warm herself up. You, however, seem unbothered by it.

You stand up and press your lips into a thin line, avoiding her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine just—we have to go now if we don’t want to be late. I bet everyone else is on their way and we only have till the end of the week to display everything.”

Sucking a deep breath in, you nod and pick your bag to sling it over your shoulders then follow Yoon across the other side of campus. The sharp winter air strikes your cheeks, a sensation you’ve grown fond of recently. A season that you used to disdain has started becoming your favorite. You like how eerie, dull, and quiet winter is—it’s soothing to the heart. Even if there is no sign of snow this December.

Entering the empty gallery, the place is littered with your past and present work. Sculptures, paintings, you name it. Your favorite piece, a sculpture of a person’s upper torso and head with the head hollowed out—inside the head is a small home with the only furniture being a couch and a singular painting. Or maybe it’s the long and narrow painting of two people walking in the rain, the entire painting only being in blue tones.

There are student volunteers when you and Yoon enter inside, helping arrange everything in the perfect spot. Immediately, Yoon gets to work and tells one of the freshmen to be careful when removing the bubble wrap from a small sculpture you made years ago.

You walk around the white large space with a strange bubbly feeling in your stomach that you haven’t felt in a while. It was bizarre seeing years of blood sweat and tears getting recognition. All it took was for you to lose everything—in classic tortured artist fashion.

“Woah. What is all this?”

Spinning around, you observe Mi-Cha pace over to you with her expression awestruck at every corner of the gallery.

“Didn’t you get my text?” you query. She blinks once at you. “My art. I’m going to sell it at our schools gallery—they choose me as the winner to get an exhibition for the winter.”

“Oh, fuck I must’ve missed that text. Sorry.” she says sheepishly and faceplams. You softly chuckle at her beet red face. “No way—this is so cool though. Your own gallery…This is like everything you worked for.”

“And I’m only getting started I guess.” you sigh, observing the volunteers unpack everything like it was made of thin glass. “I can’t believe this is our last year…I’m actually going to miss it.”

“We have to make the most of it which means…” she trails off you wrap her arms around your shoulders and gave it a playful squeeze.

You groan and throw your head back to look up at the porcelain ceiling. “Don’t tell me.”

“We have to go out—party, drinks, get wasted—“

“No.”

“The whole ordeal!” she beams. Her loudness startles one of the people around almost making them drop one of your works. Of course, Mi-Cha didn’t notice. “Come on, you need to enjoy your last moments of college life before we fully become adults because after that there’s no going back.”

Although she is right, you feel just fine in missing out on what it means to be a reckless young adult and drinking amidst the crisis of it all. You don’t think alcohol will benefit your case anyway. But lately, you feel like you’ve been bursting Mi-Cha’s spirit—you were a stormy cloud on her sunny day. So, that’s why you sigh in defeat.

“Fine—maybe.” you mutter.

“Good.”

You throw her a look, jaw slackening. “Anyway, how are you and your boyfriend—or is he your ex now from the last conversation we had about him?”

“Yeah, he’s my ex.” she snorts. “I guess we both can’t commit.”

“But was it you or him?”

“Eh. I’d say it’s a mutual thing. He graduated in the spring and now he has a big boy job so he has less time for me. And I don’t want to be a housewife waiting for the man to come back demanding for dinner to be ready.”

“How…inspiring?” you say, squinting your eyes.

“Thanks.” she smiles. “And what about you and that girl uh—oh god, I forgot her name…”

“Good. Because it didn’t work out.”

“Another one seriously? I thought you’d seriously commit yourself with this one.”

Feeling a flush come to your face, you clear your throat. “No.”

Mi-Cha knows exactly why but remains tight lipped and squeezes your sides. Your attempts at a love life have become a pitfall. Every single time.

The most common rebuttals your failed dates have given you were ‘Too quiet’, ‘Tend to be selfish’, ‘Inconsiderate’, and the most famous one, ‘Too closed off’. At first it felt like a sucker punch to the face but one can tell you these things so much til you don’t care anymore.

But the moments in which you are alone, which is most of the time, you think about the days where people told you the opposite. ‘Lively’, ‘Selfless’, ‘Kind’, and ‘Reckless’. You don’t know how the change began—where it came from, yes. But can’t pin point the moment you started changing—hell, you feel the same. But if everyone around you is saying otherwise then maybe you did. You just want things to be the same. Your life would’ve come with less loss if you didn’t get kicked out over a year ago. How is it possible to still be grieving over people who are still alive well and breathing?

“Oh, since you’re here could you take me to the computer lab and help me design a poster for my gallery one of these days? I really need your graphic design skills more than ever.” you say, hoping to stir the topic.

“Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”

“I think.” you hum. “I’ll let you know.”

“Hey—are you two going to help out or not?” Yoon snips behind the pair of you secluded in the corner of the building.

“Coming…” Mi-Cha grumbles and exchanges a look with you.

⊹ ✿・・───・・✦・・───・・✿

The sharp edges of the envelope slices across your pointer finger. You wince, dropping the invitation letter in the process and suck on your finger to ease the bleeding pain. Maybe this was a sign not to do it. You stare down at the fallen invitation, contemplating. But of course you give in. It might be pathetic of you trying to invite your parents to the gallery, but you just want to rub it in their faces…and possibly win them over but you deny it to yourself.

You bend down to pick up the card and try to seal it again. After losing contact with them, the only way you could reach out is to mail them a letter.

Tossing on your coat and scarf, you leave your dormitory and head to the bus stop. At some point you briskly bump into someone’s shoulders and they might’ve muttered a curse or two at you, but that’s what happens when you drown in your music. Your headphones are a part of your bodily autonomy now—it’s the only way you can block the inner and external distractions.

After thirty minutes of blankly staring out the bus window with the music obviously blasting, you take your time walking to your parent’s house. It’s been so long since you’ve been here but you made it with ease, it will permanently be a muscle memory. You stealthily slip the letter into their mail box and walk at a much faster pace out the block. Since you’re nearby your childhood market, you decide to stop by and get some needed groceries for the dorms.

You became less stingy with money ever since your tuition fees have all paid off. Till this day, you have no clue how or who paid them off yet you’re silently grateful for this fairytale miracle.

The market was partially empty due to the cold weather, however, there were still some stands present. Not even can afford to shut their markets even in these icy conditions.

“Hi, ma’am.” you greet quietly to the elder lady selling kimchi. She gives you a look for the headphones, so you slide them off and order two bags worth of kimchi. Silently, she nods and starts packing them up for you.

While you pull out your wallet to pay, something nostalgic rings through your eardrums. A voice you haven’t heard in over a year.

You dart your eyes around like a hawk, trying to find the source of that voice. When you found it, time stops. Your chest feels heavy but your hands weaken causing you to drop your wallet and spilling your cards and coins all over the ground.

“Oh dear…” gasps the lady behind the stand. You blink back to reality and panic seeing your possessions on the floor.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” you hiss and scramble to pick everything up. It was worse when your hands kept trembling profusely. You messily shoved everything in your pockets, paid the lady and snatch the kimchi off her hands. You didn’t have time to be polite—you had to make your way over to, Ji-yeong.

“Ji…” you say airily as you jog over to the girl who’s purchasing soy sauce off of a vendor.

You’re confused. It is Ji-yeong but something about her seems strange. She looks…pristine? She’s always been a pretty girl but you remember her lack of desire to dress up. You always seen her sport a graphic tee with either sweats or baggy jeans but she’s presented more cleanly now. Her new attire is a long North Face puffer jacket, a fitted black top without any signs of wrinkles, and smooth dress pants. Her hair also seems shiny and soft like she just came out of a salon.

When she hears her name, her face contorts in confusion but her jaw completely drops when she sees you stand right next to her. She blinks rapidly at you, studying you up and down, but doesn’t say anything at first. The wind was knocked out of both of your lungs. Anyone walking past might assume you two are trying to read each other’s mind with how long you silently stare at each other.

But she is the first to speak up after clearing her throat, “Fuck…Hey, It’s been a long time!”

Anger starts boiling in your blood. The cold air is no match for the heat rushing to your face. “Hey? Is that…Is that all you say after…”

“How are you?” she says, displaying a nervous toothy grin. She sways her eyes at any other direction other than your tense figure.

You don’t say anything, instead you clench your jaw till your teeth start vibrating. A kaleidoscope of emotions start flowing through your head but the fury you’re feeling outweighs the rest.

“I know, I know. Look…” she says calmly, running her hand through her hair. She lets out a laugh filled with anxiousness. “I know you have a lot of fucking questions—“

“Obviously!”

“But I promised I wouldn’t say anything.”

Narrowing your eyes, you take a step closer to her and she gulps at this. Did she not know that their disappearance killed you inside? Does she not know that even till this day the grief still lingers? What infuriates you even more is that she has the audacity to speak to you in code.

“What? Who did you promise that? Sae-byeok?” you ask, demand in your tone.

“I can’t say.” she flounders, her eyes softening.

You gape at her in disbelief. It was hard to find the words to say when all you saw was red. She notices your clear distress so she pulls something out of her pocket, a receipt. Then, out of her large leather bag she grabs a clicking pen and writes something down behind the receipt.

“Look, here’s my new number. If you seriously want to know everything text me and we’ll arrange something.” she says, extending the receipt to you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You all left and you think I’ll just accept this?” you sneer and ball the receipt up to toss it on her chest, breathing heavily.

“It’s either this or nothing.” she sighs and bends down to pick the paper up. She opens your palm which was in a form of a fist and places the paper in the middle. For a second, she holds your fisted hand longer than expected. “I’m truly deeply sorry for everything but I promise you that you will get all the answers you need soon. I missed you so much you have no idea.”

For the first time in over a year, you start to feel your eyes blur with tears when you think about Sae-byeok. Her blurry face etches in your mind and the heartbreak comes washing back. You feel disappointment, it took you so long to bury these feelings aside only for them to come back in minutes.

“…Are they okay?” you whisper, so quietly Ji-yeong almost didn’t hear you.

“You will know everything soon.” she says just as quietly.

When you blink away the tears, you see more clearly Ji-yeong slowly walking back. She is chewing on her bottom lip and is looking at you like she just ran into a wild dangerous animal.

“So, you’re just going to walk away like that!” you bellow, causing disturbance around the market.

“If I don’t I’m going to say something I’m not supposed to!” she shout back and starts whirling around to walk away with great speed in her step.

As you stare blankly ahead, with her phone number in your hand, you’re trying to figure out what just unfolded. It was her, it was actually Ji-yeong in the flesh. And she was all dolled up like meanwhile you look exactly the same. That’s when you feel all the stares around you.

Your lip twitches to form to a scowl seeing everyone throw you strange looks. Scoffing to yourself, you put on your headphones again and stuff the receipt in your pocket.

It looks like tonight is going to be another restless night.

⊹ ✿・・───・・✦・・───・・✿

All the volunteers, Mi-Cha, and Yoon, shout out your name and take shot out of small plastic cups to celebrate the opening of your art gallery. Once everyone swallows down the liquor down her throats, they whistle, hoot, and holler. You smile silently at their festive faces.

This was a life changing moment, but it didn’t feel like it. Not with what happened a week ago. You hate that they’re ruining your special day. How can the haunt you till this very moment?

Once the gallery was open to the public you were stuck in a limbo of greeting guests, explaining your art work, getting declined to purchase a piece, and thank them for their time. It was this constant repetitiveness that was the cause of your headache.

Three hours in and you only hold one singular thing. Maybe this wasn’t as life changing of an opportunity as you thought.

You excuse yourself to Hyunji, one of the volunteers in charge of any customer purchases, and frantically head to the bathroom. It was hard to get it together when things aren’t running as smoothly as you imagined. You turn on the sink to splash your face with water and control your breathing. When you shut your eyes the image of Ji-yeong pops up into your head and your heart sinks. You forgot to text her this morning.

“Shit.” you curse to yourself and whip out your phone to her text message.

Yesterday morning, she finally we texted you to set up a meeting arrangement. Originally, she was only able to come in today but this exhibition was much more important that you couldn’t miss it. So, you texted her that you’ll be busy the entire day. When she asks about your whereabouts you simply told her the gallery at your school and didn’t reply to her since. But when you check your phone, she just seen your message and didn’t text back.

Maybe she is having doubts about talking with you. Maybe you aren’t worth getting closure.

You sigh and put your phone away.

“There you are!”

When you step out the bathroom you come face to face with Mi-Cha. She jumps enthusiastically in your face and pulls you to the back room of the gallery where only workers are allowed. Your heart drops seeing a circle of people around you, grinning ear to ear.

“What? What’s going on?” you ask, nervously.

Yoon steps up and starts combing through your hair which became unruly as the day went on. You just stare around, confused.

“Someone wants to buy your art. All of it!” Chaeun beams, shaking your shoulders aggressively. All of this attention was overwhelming you.

Your eyes get wide. “A—All of it? No way…” you say in disbelief.

“Yes! And you have to go and greet yourself if you want to close the sale!” she adds.

It was finally all happening for you. You didn’t think you’ll feel so clammy and awkward about it though. “I’m scared I’m—“

“At your age you’re scared?” Yoon scoffs and starts reapplying gloss to your lips. “Come on, just shake their hand, greet yourself, and state how thankful you are. Also, lose this ugly blazer that’s so not you.”

“Thanks. I told Mi-Cha I looked ridiculous.” you snort as she helps you remove the blazer.

“Hey!” Mi-Cha pouts.

The entire group steps out all at once. You gulp nervously looking around to see if you can spot them, but how can you? Maybe you tried to see who in the sea of onlookers looks the richest.

“They’re over there. Good luck!” Chaeun points ahead at a figure facing their back.

You let Hyunji take your hand and lead the way over to the customer. With every person you pass, one of the people you least expected in the crowd is where you end up facing. A person wearing a trench coat and a beanie, their back facing you as they were engrossed in your favorite sculpture. You send Hyunji a hesitant look but she nudges you to speak up, you take a deep breath in to control your racing heart.

“Hello, I’m—“

You stumble backwards like someone took a punch to your guts. It was like your mind was playing tricks. Your body gave up on you, it commenced—fight or flight mode. You choose flight.

Spinning back around without a further thought, you march away and Hyunji scurries after you confused. You aggressively wipe the tears streaming down your cheeks and walk even faster.

“Hyunji, don’t sell a single piece to her, got it?” you snarl. Your body is on fire and your mind is dizzy.

“What?!” she gapes and reluctantly looks back at the customer. “Are you out of your mind?”

“You don’t know anything, Hyunji!” you say, you voice shaking horribly.

You slam the door open to the back room and place your hand on your knees trying to catch your short cut breath. In any second, you feel like you might collapse.

“Are you okay?” Yoon enters momentarily after and bends down to take a look at your face.

“Yoon, tell her she’s fucking crazy—“

“Hey, drop it.” she says, sternly. Hyunji is dumbfounded. “Go.” when she walks off muttering curses to herself, Yoon rubs circles around your back until you stand up straight again. “Was that…?” she trails off and you profusely nod which only made you feel more dizzy. “Step outside you need air. I’ll make sure Hyunji does what she’s told.”

You press your back firmly against the cement walls of the art gallery and stare up at the sky.

It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t have been Sae-byeok who turned around. Her face becomes more detailed in your mind again, you see it all now. Her constellation of freckles, her plump almost chapped lips, and those intense eyes.

“Hey, we need to talk.”

The moment you heard her low and handsome voice again, your stomach does somersaults. But you shut your eyes tightly, refusing to believe this is actually happening.

You felt a tall presence lean against the wall beside you. Slowly, you open your wet eyes thinking that this was all in your head. But when you peer over your shoulder, you see Sae-byeok.

She sharply gazes ahead, her lips immovable, and her hands stuffed into the pockets of her trench coat. She too looks as strange as Ji-yeong—very cleanly styled. However, Sae-byeok’s outfit was more laid back with her long pair of black jeans and her short hair mostly covered by her thick beanie.

The anger comes rushing back. She tormented your thoughts and she doesn’t appear to seem fazed in the slightest.

“Go fuck yourself there’s nothing to say.” you sneer at her and push yourself off the wall to enter back inside.

Your breath hitches when you feel her large hands wrap around your wrist, sending goosebumps to trail down your arms.

“Please I—“

“Go away, Sae-byeok. I—I can’t do this anymore!” you croak and swat your wrist out of her grasp. “I was just starting to…”

“Get over me?” she whispers weakly beside you.

“Fuck you.” you say through gritted teeth, still refusing to look up at her.

“I never got over you either. How could I?” she says, almost desperately.

“I don’t care.”

“But you do.”

“Stop.” you say much calmly. “There’s no point…It wouldn’t work out anymore.”

“It?”

She reaches you grab your shoulders with her cold hands. You let her turn you around to face her. The nostalgic warm feeling in your stomach comes back again, a year later. You wonder if she’s feeling it too when you meet her softened eyes. Her eye bags look less prominent, you hope this meant she was doing better. But your concern couldn’t overcome the feelings of betrayal.

“Whatever this was.” you explain to her. You think back to that November day, where you finally gave up in searching for her and recognition overcomes you. “I’m not the same person you left behind, Sae-byeok.” you murmur, ashamed.

You two fall silent. It was difficult for you to look up from the ground.

“…I’m sure I’d love to meet her.” she says gently. Your eyes start getting watery again. You see her shoes shuffle forward. “Let me explain everything. If you don’t want to do anything with me after it then fine—I’ll never bother you again.”

You were conflicted with her. The feelings were just the same as they were back then, but if she left you once could she do it again? Maybe this is your only chance to get closure, even if it means you have to say goodbye to Sae-byeok for the final time.

“Sure. Midnight—the cafe we first went to.” you say plainly. “And don’t come in my gallery.”

Sae-byeok’s jaw slackens as she watches you enter back into the gallery without uttering anything else.

You couldn’t trust this. You can’t trust her. What is she playing at? Why now? Was she actually planning on buying everything? How is that possible…

So, many thoughts swirled in your head trying to figure out her sudden appearance. How can you concentrate back on your exhibition after this?

⊹ ✿・・───・・✦・・───・・✿

You don’t know what was a stronger feeling towards Sae-byeok right now, love or betrayal.

You found out a long time ago that your feelings for Sae-byeok were deep and prevalent. So much so, that every failed date you had in the past only failed because they succumbed to meet the standards of your feelings towards her. And when you finally saw her beautiful face again, those feelings were euphoric even if you deny it.

But how can you both come back from this after what she’s done to you? She left you in the dark for over a year. You doubt whatever excuse she has will reprimand anything but you need to know why.

The anticipation of it all was damming. When the exhibition finally closed at eight, you knew you couldn’t sit and wait around in the dorms till midnight so you took a long walk all the way from campus to the twenty-four hour cafe to prepare yourself mentally. You hope she has a good explanation to everything—a riveting one.

You ended up arriving to the cafe an hour earlier, so you just sat in the corner of the shop drinking your iced coffee, listening to your music and your legs bouncing aggressively. The only thing you could do was blankly stare at the wooden table and think about the time you and Sae-byeok first went here—it was the day you came out to her. It’s strange…it feels like it all went down recently.

When Sae-byeok abruptly sits down beside you, you flinch back and scramble to put your you headphones. You check the time, there was still thirty minutes left till midnight. The anticipation must’ve been killing you both.

So, once you have the courage to look at her she already was. And she wasn’t ashamed to. Her eyes, which was a sharp and intense gaze earlier is now more vulnerable and soft. Your cheeks burn up.

When she breaks the eye contact, she looks down at her lap, struggling to find her words. But when she gulps, she softly says, “I lied to you.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. You’re so scared to know the truth.

She continues after a brief pause, “I didn’t have it all together…A few days after you left, a man approached me and offered me money to play a game with him. He said that…that I can make more money if I called a business card he gave me—so I did. But it wasn’t anything like I thought it would be…”

Her voice starts trembling and you had no idea where she was going with this.

So, Sae-byeok tells you about the games she joined—squid game? She tells you about the secluded island, the abduction of four hundred desperate people drowning in financial ruin, the millions of dollar prize, Deok-su and Yen-ho, and craziest of all if that’s even possible…the deaths. When she quietly tells you about how the guards in these games kill people off who lose, her voice started to shake horrendously. At first, you couldn’t believe it sounds…made up. But you take a look right into her eyes and saw them glaze over with tears and something even more horrific…torment. It was nothing you’ve ever seen in her before.

When she finishes the story about the part where she ultimately is the sole winner, you were left speechless. Speechless at the fact that what she was saying was real…people died because they were so desperate for money. It was incomprehensible that Sae-byeok and other four hundred human beings chose to risk their lives for money. But that’s the reality of the world we’re living in. What wouldn’t we do for money? A world built upon greed and feeding off the desperation of the poor.

“So,” you gulp, finally speaking after an hour of quietly listening to her story. “once you—won��what did they do?”

She sniffles and wipes away the snot with the end of her sleeve. “T—They threw me in a van…blindfolded and—and they um…tossed me in the road with uh…a card.”

“With the money.” you finish, dabbing away the tears in the corner of your eyes. Sae-byeok nods. “This all sounds so…so fucking…”

“Crazy? Made up?” she scoffs. “It is…apparently they’ve held the games before many times…And it will continue to happen.”

You two sit in silence with this. If Sae-byeok was only in the games for a week, there must be more to her story. What else did she have to endure outside of the games?

“I couldn’t face you after that.” she bluntly confesses. Your breathing stops. “I was a mess I—I still am…and I couldn’t let you go down with me…”

Without further thought, you reach over to place your hand on top of Sae-byeok’s but she quickly pulls her hand to her lap. She gazes up at you for the first time since she began talking, her eyes red.

“I’m sorry—for everything.” she says, her voice small and vulnerable. It was a short and simple apology, but you both knew this meant something more complex and deeper.

“Sae-byeok…” you say but it’s like the words to say are no longer there.

“I know…It’s a lot. I’ll give you time—as much as you need. And I will wait for as long as you want.” she whispers. “I broke your promises so…I deserve to wait now.”

⊹ ✿・・───・・✦・・───・・✿

What Sae-byeok told you two weeks ago completely changes your outlook on life. Everyone knows that this world is cruel and doesn’t slow down for anyone…but this just solidifies that reality even more. No one is safe from the harsh reality.

You’re scared to know what Sae-byeok must’ve been through—after all if she was the sole winner so that means she saw four hundred people, all with a life of their own, die in front of her own two eyes. That’s not something you can just brush off. You no longer care about the betrayal, the year of disconnection, everything…this was an another silent battle she was dealing with on her own. And you are positive that Sae-byeok hasn’t overcome with the trauma—of course she didn’t, this might keep haunting her forever.

But she told you that she wants to wait for you, but the second you left that cafe you already had a clear answer. She gave you her new contact number—it’s that easy to just dial her.

Why did you have to make everything so complicated for yourself?

Only in troubling times like these would you prefer sitting outside to be alone with your thoughts. The campus bench was icy cold and with every breath you withdrew it formed as white clouds.

“There you fucking are. Fuck that was a pain in the fucking ass.” you hear Ji-yeong’s breathless voice somewhere around you. You jump, looking around and find her tirelessly shuffling to you.

“How…?” you trail off.

“You know how many doors I had to knock until finally someone told me where you’d be?!”

“Oh…Sorry?” you frown. “I’ve been here for a while…I didn’t bring my phone with me.”

She sits down and sighs in relief. You let her catch her breath and wonder if she took this much effort to come and look for you for Sae-byeok.

“O—Okay…” she says, pressing her hand to her chest. “I think my body is calm now…Also, take these off—because we really need to talk.”

You snort and let her snatch your headphones from your head, leaving your hair all disheveled. “Is this about, Sae-byeok?”

“Obviously.” she frowns. “You two clearly want to be together and it’s frustrating watching you two keep pushing each other away. I bet she didn’t tell you everything that happened in those stupid games.”

“She told me she wants me to wait—“

“Oh please, she only said that for your sake but she doesn’t want that. Neither do you.”

You fell silent. Ji-yeong groans in exasperation. “Look,” she says and starts sounding more serious. That’s when you peer up to look at her flushed face. “I know her well enough to know that she didn’t tell you everything that she endured from the games.”

“W—What didn’t she?”

She sits in silence to gather her thoughts before starting to explain everything, “She told me that…she made a support system with a small group of people to help each other out because the games got more intense with each play…Apparently, Deok-su started killing people and he and his son’s main target was Sae-byeok. But by some miracle, she found people that could protect her. More specifically one man…she never told me his name but they began talking about each others lives and made a pact that if one of them survives but the other one dies, that they’ll protect each others family. On the last game, they were the sole two survivors—and…he killed himself to let her win.”

This just adds a whole new depth to Sae-byeok’s words two weeks ago. Now more than ever, you refuse to let your stubbornness get in the way of consoling her. Ji-yeong looks at you and smiles weakly, like she knew what you were feeling.

“And once Sae-byeok came back she tried to keep her word…but his mom was already dead by the time she found her. So, she feels guilty. I think she’ll live with that for a while.” she exhales again and her eyes are glazed with a dark look to them. “S—She was so depressed when she came back. Me and Cheol didn’t know what to do—didn’t know how to feel with all the new changes in our lives. We had money yes but…she was broken because of it. For a few months, all she did was stay locked up in her room and whenever she wasn’t, she just had this blank stare on her face the entire time. It was horrible seeing her like that…She is definitely recuperating now but she was so sacred to face you in her state. She still is. You really mean a lot to her because losing you was another big sacrifice she had to make. But she didn’t want to completely abandon you, that’s why she paid off your schools tuition.”

You made your decision right then and there. No more waiting, no more beating around the bush, you want to be with Sae-byeok. You want to be her support system—let her lean on your shoulders on the toughest points. If it takes her a lifetime to overcome her past, you want to be there for her now.

Ji-yeong presses her fingers on the corner of your eyes. You didn’t even notice the tears.

“T—Tell me, Ji.” you breathe. “Where is, Sae-byeok?”

Ji-yeong gives you a sly smile.

From what Ji-yeong told you, Sae-byeok’s favorite ‘rich person hobby’ was jogging. Specifically in Yongsang Family Park. It was a farther commute than you expected but you couldn’t care less. You had to see her now.

However, finding her in the actual park was more of a difficult task than you thought. So, you pace around almost practically running. The lake was frosted over with a thin sheet of ice and the trees around were nothing but different size branches that formed lines of constellations like the night sky above. You trust you and walk along the path next to the lake, but after ten minutes went by you start growing worried that Ji-yeong might be wrong about this.

But you kept walking, keeping that small bit of hope in your heart that you’ll find her. And after another five minutes, you see her tall slender figure. Even though she was running ahead of you, you just knew it. That’s her.

She’s wearing dark gray sweats and a matching hoodie, her short hair tied up in a small ponytail. The clouds of cold air whenever she breathed danced around in the sky—a lot.

For once, the stars perfectly aligned for her to stop jogging to catch her breath the moment you spotted her. You get a boost of courage as you head to her.

Sae-byeok’s hands were on her knees, her chest puffing up and down due to her unsteady breathing, and her eyes were glued shut.

“Sae-byeok.”

She snaps her head back and her eyes grow enlarged when she sees it’s you. Now you can see her face more clearly, her cheeks were dusted rosy pink and her lips pale in comparison.

“How—How did you find me?” she stammers, still trying to catch her breath.

You take hesitant steps closer. “Isn’t it obvious?” you say with a short chuckle.

“Ji-yeong.” she says, stoically.

You wish you had some water to give her, she appears so dehydrated. However, she straightens herself up, places her hands on her hips and starts staring at the ground—like she was bracing herself to hear the worst.

“So, you made up your mind?” she mutters.

“Yes. But before I give you my answer,” you say, choking up on your words. “I just want you to know that I know about the guy, his mom, and…how you dealt with all this—“

“Fucking, Ji-yeong.” she winces and shuts her eyes.

“Sae-byeok, listen to me.” you say softly but there was a bit of demand in your tone. She looks at you with a hardened expression. “It…It really broke my heart when you left. I—I wanted to feel bitter about what you’ve done but…I don’t want to run away from this anymore—from what I feel you for because it never left. No matter how hard I wanted to push it away. And after everything that’s happened to you after those games, you still didn’t lose yourself…your good heart. I want to be there for you—no more fucking waiting. You don’t have to deal with those feelings alone anymore. And I know I’m not all there, but I know I’m still that reckless wonderful person you told me I am.”

Sae-byeok’s body is quivering profusely, using her entire body to stop herself from bursting into tears. But the pools in her eyes were blurring with every second that went by.

But you don’t wait. You throw your arms over her shoulders and securely wrap your arms around her. Even a year later, she smells just the same. You pull her tighter, wanting to feel her heartbeat as your chests touch. Sae-byeok sighs in relief and snakes her arms around your waist, her grip strengthening when she begins to cry. You give her as much time as she needs to cry on your shoulders. It didn’t matter how long it would take, as long as you had her in your arms you’ll remain like this until she’s ready.

“I don’t—I don’t deserve you.” she hiccups, slowly uncoiling her arms from you.

You look into her wet eyes and cup her cheeks. “Stop. We deserve to be with each other. What did I tell you? No more waiting.” you whisper due to the proximity of her face. She stares at you, awestruck. “I want you, Sae-byeok. Please, tell me if you do too?”

For a moment, she stays frozen which ultimately makes your heart drop. Her answer was starting to frighten you.

“I love you.” she whispers, avoiding your gaze.

You smile softly at her shy nature. “I love you too.“

She finally looks at you, like she was surprised to hear you say it. Before you open your mouth to speak, you are cut off by her lips on yours. Sae-byeok holds your waist firmly with one hand while the other is caressing the back of your head. The kiss felt like it lasted a lifetime, both of you wanting to savor this feeling after years of disconnection.

Once you two break apart the kiss, she presses her forehead against yours, her unsteady breath mixing with yours. She continues to stare at your lips that were just as swollen as hers and hesitantly kisses you one last time with much less intensity as the first. This one was a short sweet peck but you loved it just the same.

“You’re so wonderful.” she shyly confesses beside your lips. You both lightly chuckle at this. “After all this time, don’t forget it.”

It hurts to know that you have, you truly forgot. But you will grow to remember it again with Sae-byeok.

“I—I know it’s late but, do you want to spend the rest of the night together and maybe see my new place?” she asks tentatively. “I can show you around town and my favorite spots…Only if you want to—I know you still have school.”

“I just got you back, of course I do.” you smile.

Her cheeks glow a brighter pink. “Okay.”

“I’m curious to know where you live now.” you hum. “Do you live in a penthouse?”

She snorts and starts leading the way, her smile only growing wider. “Cheol is going to be so happy to see you.”

“I’m excited.” you say, bashfully. “And…Your mom?”

“She’s on her way to Thailand.” she says. “She’ll be here before summer starts.”

“That’s amazing.” you gape. “I’m so happy for you, Sae-byeok…this is everything you ever wanted.”

Sae-byeok doesn’t say it out loud but her life is actually starting to turn around for the better. All she’s ever known was cruelties and to never trust anyone. But she took the risk more than she was comfortable with and it just gave her more reasons to stay afloat. Although the past will come and haunt her from time to time, she finally will have all of her loved ones by her side. And that’s enough to keep her going.

🏷️: @monroesturnns @knfthxv @jumpedthenfell-13 @peelover25 @karli6 @kissedberries @bitchybananaflower @laurenkenss @saebyeokbliss @everly-summers-solace @we1rdth0ughts @wlvlurvsfimmia

#kang sae byeok #kang sae byeok x reader #squid game #squid game fanfic #fanfic #kang sae byeok squid game #kang sae byeok x fem!reader #wlw #wlw fanfic #kang saebyeok #kang saebyeok x reader #sae byeok #saebyeok #squid game x reader

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bradleysass · 2 days ago

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Feb 12 - Despise - @rosekillermicrofic - wc: 400

Evan sat hunched over his laptop, half an earbud in, the other dangling as he absentmindedly hummed along to the heavy metal track playing. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the keyboard, pausing occasionally as he squinted at the screen, adjusting the phrasing of whatever dull academic nonsense he was forced to endure.

Across the room, sprawled on their ratty couch, Barty flicked his lighter open and shut, the tiny flame flaring and snuffing out in quick succession. Click. Whoosh. Click. Whoosh.

Evan ignored it for the first few minutes, having learned long ago to tune Barty’s restless fidgeting out. But the longer it went on, the more it gnawed at his concentration.

Click. Whoosh. Click. Whoosh.

Evan exhaled sharply, pausing his music. "Could you—"

“I despise this boredom,” Barty announced dramatically, throwing his head back like he was about to perish from the sheer weight of his suffering.

Evan rolled his eyes, rubbing at his temple. "Then go find something to do that isn’t actively driving me insane.”

Barty gasped, all faux-offense. “You wound me, Rosier. Am I supposed to just entertain myself like some kind of peasant?”

“Yes,” Evan deadpanned, refocusing on his laptop.

Barty groaned and dragged himself off the couch, padding over to Evan and peering at his screen. “What’s this garbage, anyway?”

“A paper.”

“About?”

Evan sighed, knowing he wouldn't be left alone until Barty got whatever chaos he was craving. “Criminal psychology.”

Barty perked up immediately. “Oh. That’s fun. You should interview me.”

Evan huffed a laugh. “You’re not a criminal.”

Barty leaned in, voice low and teasing. “Not that you know of.”

Evan gave him a long, unimpressed look before shoving his face away. “Fine, tell me—what compels you to be the most annoying person alive?”

Barty grinned, flopping onto the desk dramatically. “Sheer talent.”

Evan sighed, hitting save on his document before finally turning to face him fully. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” Barty singsonged.

Evan pressed his lips together to hide a smirk. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Barty brightened at that, his hand shooting out to snatch one of Evan’s earbuds. “Since you’re clearly done working, what the hell are you listening to?”

Evan swatted at him, but Barty had already shoved it into his ear. His nose scrunched in the first two seconds.

“Jesus. This is filthy,” Barty said, eyes glinting. “I love it.”

Evan just smirked. “I know.”

#rosekillermicrofic #rosekiller microfic #rosekiller #marauders #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #microfic

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havocandcchaos · 1 day ago

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THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS

Glinda is insanely flawed and insanely human, and she is us in the story. And so many people ignore that because it's uncomfortable. it's easier to say she's wholly good or wholly evil because then you can condemn her or praise her instead of stopping and looking in a mirror. The wizard was right when he said very few people are ok with moral ambiguities, and most of the audience doesn't fall into that category, and that's why so much of the musical is being diminished to simpler and easier terms. Which DEFEATS THE WHOLE POINT.

Glinda is easier to accept when she's evil. Elphaba is easier to accept when she's perfect. Fiyeros is easier to accept when he's madly in love. They're all easier to accept when they're not human.

Except the whole point is that they are.

Glinda is terrified the whole show, and that's what drives her. She's scared of being alone. She's scared of loving Elphie. She's scared of the world around her. She is scared of death. She's scared of losing Elphie. Ultimately, it's that last one that wins out because she loses Fiyero, and in her mind, she basically already lost Elphie, but she won't let her die, too. Not if she can help it. And then she can't help it. Elphaba Thropp is dead. And every single one of her fears came true. She was right the whole time. They were never gonna win. They were in a tragedy, and she knew it, and she was right about it. But by god, she's got nothing left to lose but her life, and frankly, she doesn't want it that much anymore anyway, so she takes up Elphaba's cause and she fights, and if it kills her then let it.

Elphaba makes mistake after mistake after mistake, but she's on the "right" side, so she's clearly perfect. Elphaba fails. Life for the Animals in Oz only gets worse, and sure, she saves a few people and changes a few minds, but at the end of the day, she isn't able to do much more than make things worse. She made things easier for Morrible and the Wizard. But she is the protagonist, so she is perfect instead of learning from her mistakes and realizing that revolutions don't work if you're only fighting for one small group without finding a way to loop in more people and make more people care.

(I believe humans are naturally empathetic. I also believe we have that beat out of us before we can walk. Most people aren't going to fight to change a system that isn't actively killing them. It can be hurting them or killing them slowly, but if they're not actively full of bullets, they're not going to exert the energy to change. And even if they are full of bullets, by then, they'll feel it's too late.)

And Fiyero, god bless him, is so dumb. That boy wants to die from the moment we meet him, and Elphaba gives him a way to do it. Yes, he loves her, but god, he's just tired, and he mostly just wants out, and if he can have that for a good cause, then all the better. There is a lot to learn from Fiyero, but when he's whittled down to a perfect man in love, he is no longer any different from every basic love interest and everything he brings is lost (just like he wanted it to be)

I cannot stress enough how much I love the movie and how much I love that it's becoming more mainstream because that means more content for me to consume about it, but oh my god, if I see one worse take about these characters, especially from people how HAVEN'T EVEN SEEN PART 2, I will start throwing hands.

If you simplify the characters, then you lose the whole point of their story, to begin with, and this story is too important for that. Especially right now. Especially when we're living Act 2. were not all Elphaba. Most of us are Glinda. And that's ok, so long as you use this story to learn from all of them and try to do better.

We can't lose them. Not right now.

This is all @polyarmy and @fiyeroba ‘s fault for making me sad about Glinda again so now I’m posting my whole Glinda Meta here (originally an obnoxiously long dm sent to @gamorahww who is a patient saint)

You’ve asked for it, and now you get……The Glinda Meta™

First: I have been obsessed w/ Glinda's character for like 15 years. She is my roman empire. But I also really LIKE her as a flawed character - something that the fandom has always seemed to be a little uncomfortable with.

She is, to me, what Jane Austen once wrote about Emma:

“I am going to write a heroine whom no one but myself will much like.”

Full meta character analysis under the cut. Uh. Strap in.

(This gets a lil long sorry, but PLEASE HEAR ME OUT -)

To me, the interesting thing is what actually - ACTUALLY - motivates Glinda to act the way she does is so much greater and deeper than a simple desire for success/fame/popularity.

Like obviously in literature/critique of narrative, we have this idea of protagonists vs supporting characters. Supporting characters might have philosophies or goals that drive them (think Nessa and Boq) but those philosophies and goals are usually not developed into self-contradictory nuance the way a protagonist's motivations are. They’re just facts about the character.

And in my option, a big problem in the wicked fandom is that everybody seems to treat Glinda as a supporting character whose motivations are easy to digest. To most fans, she's either the girlfriend who is there to support Elphaba's story by being "loving but conflicted." Or to critics she's entirely selfish and cruel (even as she's fun and interesting), and therefore a semi-antagonist

But if you step back and treat Glinda as a true antihero protagonist of Wicked (for the sake of the mental character study), you see that she's not actually motivated by love or popularity or even success....what drives her is desperation.

Glinda sees her world as a place that cannot be changed and will only work to destroy those who cannot correctly operate in it. And she is SO DESPERATE to avoid that. Elphaba's fate is actually her worst fear - she cannot break away from society and leap to a new fate, because she is the ultimate cynic who thinks there is no way that could possibly work. In fact, it's an enormous testament to her love (however you want to intepret that) of Elphaba that she's even willing to consider leaving during Defying Gravity. For a brief moment, her immense, incredible faith in Elphaba is almost enough to overcome her complete desperation to survive the horrible world she thinks she's in.

And that obviously means that she's not as noble as Elphaba or as brave as Fiyero as a character - she cannot make the choice to leave when both of them do at different points - but that's because she's the most "human" character in the story. Most people are not brave enough to become international terrorists, even in the face of great evil. We might join in a developed cause, but to knowingly walk towards what is likely one's death to change a system you know you’ll actually have very little effect on...that takes a very special kind of person. And while Glinda is a GOOD person, she is too much a cynic and too desperate to survive her crazy world to become that impossible standard of the Rebel or the Hero. She's just a flawed, scared girl, in circumstances she never dreamed she’d be in.

And then the craziest thing happens:

Rather than showing Glinda that she should have been brave and done what E and F did, the narrative instead goes and basically confirms all her darkest fears: Elphaba rebels...and her revolution fails, and Glinda loses her best friend to bitter hatred and insanity for most of Act 2. Fiyero decides to leave and do the right thing by going with Elphaba....and he is almost immediately murdered in a horrible, violent way as punishment for it. This can only reinforce for Glinda that the State/the System/the World is all-powerful, and she must bow to it.

But that's the most fascinating moment for her character, because the very moment she realizes the absolute overwhelming power of the system (March of the Witch Hunters) is also the very moment that chooses to die rather than perpetuating it. She leaves the City to approach Elphaba - whom Glinda thinks POSSIBLY WANTS TO KILL HER - and BEGS Elphaba to not die. Begs Elphaba to stop her self-sacrificial madness. Begs Elphaba to allow Glinda to sacrifice herself instead ("Then I'll go, I'll tell everybody the truth!" "No! They'll just turn against you!" "I DON'T CARE!" - this girl who is entirely motivated by survival is straight up throwing it all on the line ready to walk to her death at the hands of a mob with wide open, unblinking eyes)

And obviously, in doing so, she is making the same choice that Fiyero did earlier in the story, But the huge difference is that Fiyero is a classic case of a "dead from the beginning" character, and he does not have the same motivations as her. He starts as a nhilist already embracing death in Dancing Through Life and his character is not somebody who is desprate to survive - his character is driven by a desperation for a faith. And Elphaba (and her cause) is his faith that he happily martyrs himself for.

By contrast, Glinda is terrified of the system that is trying to kill her, and she is desperate to survive it. She sees the way it takes everything form her, again and again, destroying everything she loves - Elphaba, Fiyero, her own sense of goodness…

(And she is extremely genre-aware that she is in a tragedy: her world isn't fair, and she knows that Elphaba will fail. She knows this will all go wrong.)

But Glinda still has such strength of character that she - in the end - overcomes all of her fear, all of her weaknesses, and humbles herself at the pyre to join the people she loves so much in their fate. She both offers to die for Elphaba and she takes up Elphaba's work and dedicates her entire life to it, consequences be damned. And that comes from a place of ultimate love and goodness, despite all of her flaws and all the temptations dissuading her.

Because Glinda is not Elphaba or Fiyero - she isn't a starry-eyed optimistic rebel or a man with a obsessive, loving faith. She is just a girl. Just Emma. And she is extremely flawed, and has so many fears that push and pull at her in a way the other main characters do not experience. But despite being so painfully, humanly defective, her goodness allows her to do the right thing in the end.

tl;dr - the greatest thing about Glinda’s character is that she is flawed, and she is weak and makes all the wrong choices. But in the end, she humbles herself completely - to the point of offering her own life for Elphaba and taking the whole weight of the world on her shoulders despite all her fear - because she is ultimately good.

And thus in the end, she becomes the person that Elphaba so clearly sees her as throughout the story: good, caring, and able to make real change in the world. She will now try desperately to fully live up to Elphaba's incredible faith in her. And it's so heartbreaking and tragic, but also one of the best character arcs ever.

So I guess it's less "wants to stay safe in her bubble" and more "she sees no option other than to stay safe. The State/System is all-powerful and there is nothing she thinks she can do to change that. But the beauty of the character lies in her decision to step out of that bubble anyways."

—

BONUS: Glinda’s flaws in relation to her relationship with Elphaba

(Or why Gelphie is a devastating ship (romantically or not) but not in the way you think)

This section dedicated to the SJB/AA performance that just BREAKS ME.

Elphaba basically sees Glinda through some WILDLY rose-tinted glasses (which is just. such a fascinating insight into elphaba’s character). Which is why a good chunk of the fandom accepts it as fact that Glinda is ~not actually all that flawed~ or is somehow being forced to make the decisions she is (she is not. the narrative point of Fiyero’s character is to prove that lol)

Glinda is very much complicated and does make some truly terrible decisions. Elphaba just sees and believes the good in her, despite everything she does (because it’s also a fact of the story that - either platonically or romantically - she’s clearly a little in love with Glinda. (The passes she gives that girl…)). I don’t think her weird thing about Glinda is particularly rational, but it is undeniably all-consuming.

And that makes their relationship feel VERY human. Their flaws don't make them unworthy of each other’s love and respect and friendship. Elphaba's love of Glinda is pretty crazy in light of how much Glinda’s morals and choices differ from her own, but that’s the kind of love that real, sometimes illogical people have. Anybody trying to prove the logic or compatibility of the characters is kinda missing the point - it doesn’t make sense, and THAT’S how you know it’s love.

(Brief aside: similar to Elphaba’s obsession with Glinda, Fiyero is also irrationally obsessed with Elphaba. I mean, she kinda sucks at the whole revolution thing (she's trying!!) and he's clearly starry-eyed ignoring a LOT of her flaws lol. In contrast - for better or worse, Glinda does see Elphaba's flaws and calls them out, just as Elphaba sees Fiyero's flaws and calls him out. It’s a nice little circular relationship)

But…but….is it gay???

Sure. I think so - but I’m a lesbian who has shipped it since I was a preteen lol. But that’s also NOT THE POINT, and focusing on only the romantic angle of their relationship REALLY ignores just how layered and complex it is.

Taking off my squee shipping glasses for a minute: they’re fundamentally just two people in some version of an EXTREMELY intense relationship. I honestly think Glinda reads as a little terrified of how insanely intense her relationship is with Elphaba. She fears walking down that road and fully falling into that intense, all-consuming love. (And we literally learn why later through Fiyero’s ‘death’ and Elphaba’s insanity - love makes you do some crazy things, and Glinda can’t afford that in this world.)

Regardless of whether you interpret them romantically or not - it’s clear they’re very intense about each other and Glinda is very afraid that Elphaba is her weakness. Unfortunately, Elphaba is also her soulmate and the love of her life, and she’ll always come back again. That fact will ruin Glinda’s life in the end, but it will have been worth it for all the love that was there

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lonelyroommp3 · 2 days ago

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not to "and another thing" some bitching i was doing literal days ago but i'm still thinking about my beef with found family fic (which usually, in practice, just means a really corny big friend group where everyone is so so nice to each other and gives each other therapist approved advice and is so so accepting and inclusive even when that doesn't really make sense for the canon characters in question and they all just hang out in a big happy group all the time and any conflict either comes from external sources OR is immediately calmly talked down by the designated mediator of the group). and i think there is a certain level on which you have to think - and i'm saying this as a certified #lonelygirl - that a lot of it is the very clear wish fulfilment of lonely (usually queer) teens and young adults who wish they had a huge healthy friend group of other queer teens & young adults who they could hang around with all the time sitcom style and who always supported each other and never got into any drama that couldn't be easily resolved. like i think that is the driving impulses behind things like les amis modern aus, marauders fics, those teen musical crossovers from like 2018-19 where all the be more chill and heathers and dear evan hansen kids were all besties, etc, and i do always feel the need to check myself on that front when i'm getting really really mad about that trope. BUT on the other hand i do feel like wish fulfilment need not automatically preclude like. writing things that are actually fun and interesting. every tween girl writing insanely melodramatic mary sue fics in the 2000s understood that

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lilianne-tarot · 6 hours ago

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PICK-A-CARD: What's your lowkey powerful move? ˚୨୧⋆.˚

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I. II. III.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

Hey there! Welcome to another PAC reading on my blog page—I hope you all enjoy it! Comment down what you felt about the reading and if it resonated with you and show some love, Your support means everything to me!<3 How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images below. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you—go ahead and read both!

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˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

⋆˙⟡Pile I

Ohhh, bestie, this spread is JUICY. I can already feel the energy radiating off these cards. So, the Ace of Pentacles is giving “I walk in, and the room shifts” vibes, maybe some of yall even feel that thing. people see you as someone who knows how to manifest real, concrete results. You give off that effortless “I make things happen” energy, and the wild part? Half the time, you don’t even have to announce it. You just move in silence, and suddenly, things start aligning in your favor. It’s like you have a golden touch, and people feel that. Now, here’s where it gets interesting—because the Magician reversed is shaking things up. Normally, the Magician is that “I have all the tools, I can do anything” card, but reversed? This is the art of the illusion. You have this insane ability to make things look effortless when, in reality, there’s a whole strategy behind it. nobody ever fully understands how you do it. Are you lucky? Are you secretly a mastermind? Do you have some divine favor that keeps you ahead? (👀 Spoiler alert: it’s all of the above.) this spread overall screams natural-born leader—you don’t even have to try to command attention, you just do, some of yall have held some major leader position in their lives, maybe in school or in now in your work space. What keeps people thinking about you? It’s the way you exude confidence in a way that’s not cocky, but magnetic. You have presence. You don’t need to brag, you don’t need to prove yourself, and you definitely don’t need outside validation. yall seem to be really secure in yourselves. but I would def say, Some people may even wonder if you’re manipulative, or if you’ve got some sort of secret advantage. People admire you, but they also lowkey fear you—because not everyone can handle someone who just moves differently.

This is the kind of energy that leaves ex-friends and past situationships wondering if they fumbled the bag . So keep doing what you’re doing, because this is powerful energy. Now tell me, does this reading not scream “you”? Because I feel like I just exposed your entire aura rn. 😂🔥

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˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

⋆˙⟡Pile II

first of all i was so shocked when I saw all cards of this deck was cups. we’re not just talking about leaving a cute impression on people. This is some straight-up, ‘I met them once, and now they live rent-free in my head’ type of impact. Let’s break it down. Your Vibe? Ethereal, Emotionally Addictive, Unforgettable. Look, not everyone has the ability to make people feel something so intensely that they’re out here journaling about it six months later, you're that airport crush of people 😭.You are that person. The Knight of Cups, Queen of Cups, and Six of Cups together? Ohhh, this is emotional witchcraft. You have this almost cinematic energy—people don’t just remember you, they replay you like their favourite movie scene. It’s like you’re the embodiment of a nostalgic song that makes them stare out of the window like they’re in a music video. You’re not trying to be unforgettable—you just are. People feel safe with you, seen by you, and understood by you. And that?? That’s rare as hell in a world full of surface-level interactions(cmon we all what a pile 2 person in our life) . This also tells me your impact isn’t just strong—it’s lasting. People don’t move on from you quickly. Even if they don’t see you for years, something will trigger a memory of you (a song, a scent, a random moment), and suddenly, boom—there you are, sitting pretty in their mind like you never left.

people always remember you anyway. It’s not about being the loudest in the room—it’s about how deeply you made them feel something. And let’s be real: people forget words, but they never forget emotions. You might not even realize the weight of your presence until years later, when someone confesses, “You changed my life and didn’t even know it.”

So yeah, your power move? You leave emotional fingerprints on people’s souls. And the gag is? You don’t even have to try. 🤷‍♀️

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˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

⋆˙⟡Pile III

They’re screaming depth, and an almost frustratingly intriguing energy. Like, people think they know you, but then you do or say something that makes them go, “Wait… who are you, actually?” And that question? That is why people cannot get you out of their heads.

Let’s talk about The Hanged Man sitting right in the middle—because that’s the core of your vibe. You don’t operate on the same wavelength as everyone else. Your energy is like when you’re watching a thriller, and the main character does something weird, and you just know there's a deeper reason, but you won’t find out until the end. You have this eerie, compelling stillness that makes people want to decode you. Then we have The Moon along with the hanged man, which? Chef’s kiss—because now we’re getting into that dreamy, slightly chaotic, almost unreal quality about you. You give people just enough to feel like they’re getting closer to understanding you… only for them to realize they have no idea what’s real and what’s projection. People get lost in their own assumptions about you. They see what they want to see, not necessarily who you actually are. (💀 Tell me why this feels like exactly the kind of energy that makes exes spiral at 3 AM, trying to figure out why they still don’t understand you.)You don’t need to flex your growth because by the time people catch on, you’re already five steps ahead. There’s something almost intimidating about how quietly powerful you are. Like, you might not even realize how often people compare themselves to you. You make people feel like they need to level up—but they’ll never admit you were their motivation.

Listen, you’re not just memorable—you’re the unresolved mystery in someone’s story. The “what if,” the “I never quite figured them out,” the “damn, I wish I could talk to them one more time.” People replay their interactions with you because they feel like they missed something. You don’t just linger in their mind—you haunt it. And the best part? You don’t even try. You don’t have to force an impact, you don’t need attention—you just exist in a way that makes people feel like they almost got close to understanding you… but never fully did. And that? That’s the kind of unforgettable energy that lives rent-free in people's minds forever.

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─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog—it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! ♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

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tillysketch · 3 days ago

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Songbird in a Cage

Spawn Astarion x Female! Reader Oneshot (4k)

Summary: You've been thrown in jail, and its there that you meet a dear old friend of yours. This first part can stand alone, but the second will be 18+ fair warning.

@clericblood and I have been going insane in our dm's over writing ideas, and this one we just went nuts over. Here is their fic! :) Hope you enjoy both!

Part Two

Things are only getting worse each day in Baldur’s Gate. People are disappearing. Murders in broad daylight. Enver Gortash suspiciously rising to power, and his Steel Watch becoming a menace to society. You’ve even heard rumors of a mind flayer or two being seen in the sewers, and in the old windmill outside of town. People are becoming restless, and even trying to flee the city, but most choose to ignore it all.

Not you.

You’ve always had a knack for music. You’ve been playing songs in the winding streets of the Gate for years. You even still perform at the Elfsong Tavern some nights. You decide to turn to the peoples’ ear with sweet unsuspecting melodies about the corruption and dangers happening beneath their noses. At first, it seemed to be working. The right people are noticing, and word is spreading about the odd goings on. And, you’ve been able to make a bit of coin in doing so. The Elfsong and its patrons have always been good to you.

Now, there’s talk in the streets about a small band of adventurers that have caused quite a stir. Among them, a pale man with white hair who killed a clown at the circus in Rivington. Some people say it was a provoked attack, some say he lashed out after a bad joke on his own behalf… But when the fighting was over, some claim the body of the clown had transformed into a grotesque monster. You have to giggle to yourself about the whole thing.

It stirs a memory of an old friend you had years and years ago. Another man who also had white hair, and too had a hatred for clowns. You’d teased him about it mercilessly back then. Even dressed up as one, makeup and all, just to get a rise out of him one night. How he screamed and how you laughed, clutching your sides after jumping around a corner and spooking him half to death.

That was over two hundred years ago, and you couldn’t believe it had been so long since you’d last seen your friend… He’d died tragically, too young. He’d been practicing law, and was murdered, you always suspected, by a mob he’d been at trial with but there was never any final pinned cause.

He always came to the Elfsong on nights you were performing, said your voice was like a siren song luring him there. He’d drink, listen to you sing, and try to forget about the mountains of paperwork waiting for him back at his office. You were both so young, and naive; gods how you missed him, even now.

This troupe, however, is gaining attention, and you are thoroughly intrigued. You start to sing songs about the group, calling them the Heroes of The Gate, here to save the city from the rising horrors.

‘These heroes though fearless be

Must also be cunning and witty

Though their actions bring some glee

Others find them quite shitty’

“Eh… could be better. I’ll work on it later.” You tuck your small notebook away in your coat pocket, and walk home from the park. You always did your best writing there.

It’s only a few days of your little performances in the square when the Flaming Fist gets word of your little musings and performances, and you’re abruptly taken to Wyrm Rock Prison- quite a harsh punishment for someone just singing songs…

———

“What am I even in for? You can’t do this, I’ve done nothing wrong!” You demand, as your shackles are let loose, and you’re thrown into a damp stone-wall cell. The only light comes from the torches lining the edges of the cell block, but even with the small bit of glow, you can see illuminated beady eyes staring back at you from the edges of the darkness.

Oh gods, you shiver. Rats.

“That’s what they all say… ‘Let me out, I’m innocent!’ Or, ‘please I’ve got a family!’ But I know your type, troublemaker. You’re trying to cause unrest amongst our citizens.”

“I was just singing songs! You have no grounds to keep me here!” You plead through the bars, gripping them with both hands, if only you could pry them apart.

“Tell that to the Archduke Gortash- the order to put you in here came directly from him. Now, shut it! Or I’ll cut out your little tongue, see how well you sing after that.” The guard snarls and turns on his heel.

‘How the hells did my songs reach him? I must be more famous than I thought… Though, I should have made a fair bit more coin if that was the case.’

Alone, you retreat back into the far corner of your cell. Curling your knees up to your chest, you rest your head and softly hum to yourself to try and calm your racing thoughts. Surely you won’t be in here for long… right? That’s what you tell yourself anyway. You try to block out the sounds of small scurrying feet and hushed squeaking.

———

The loud clanging of metal on metal wakes you with a start. Your mind scrambling as your heart jumps in your chest, pounding painfully against your ribs.

“Meal time.” Through a small gap on the floor, one of the guards pushes a plate of bread and a cup of water towards you.

Food… Your stomach twists and you leap towards the plate, snatching the bread and chewing greedily. It’s impossible to tell how long you’ve been down here- there’s no sunlight to indicate the passing of time. They give you water every couple of hours, but measly scraps of food- once a day. Maybe… when they remember.

“Please, sir, what day is it? How long have I been down here?” You beg the guard.

“You’ve been here for five days. You have another twenty-five before you can leave,” he leans on the bars and gives you a look. “but, I could always arrange for you to be let out earlier, on account of good behavior.” He gives you a greasy sort of smile and a wink. He looks like he hasn’t seen a bath in weeks. Smells it too.

You’re not desperate enough to have any sort of ‘arrangements’ with a man that smells like he fucks mud covered pigs and likes it.

“I’ll take my twenty-five days, thanks.” You sneer.

———

At every meal, (can you even call a simple roll of bread a meal?) you ask the guard what day it is.

And on day thirteen, you hear them bringing another prisoner down into the depths. You feel your stomach drop and your neck grows hot and slick. What if they put that person in here with you? What if they’re a murderer? What if they’re a lunatic and they try to hurt you? You silently pray that they stay the hell away from you.

You busy yourself with humming a tune from your childhood, and you feed a few of the rats some crumbs you’d saved from your last ‘meal’. Though terrified of them at first, they’ve grown to be your only friends down here. One even brought you three hair pins, like it was trying to thank you in its own rat way. Sweet little thing.

Whoever is joining you down here is putting up quite the fight. Feet scraping against the stone floor, voices shouting, and a slew of curses exchanging between it all. They throw him into the cell across from yours, and you try not to be nosy by staring. But gods help you, you were never one for subtlety. Even with your elven eyes, the dark down here is unforgiving. That, and because of your lack of sleep and other basic needs, you can barely see into the other end of the cell. It’s a man, definitely. You only heard men shouting at one another when they brought him in.

When the two guards finally shove him in and lock his own gate, you turn your head and ignore them, hoping they forget you’re here and don’t bother you. At least for a while. That filthy flirtatious guard has come to you twice more since the first time, each time smelling more foul and rancid. Really, does he have something against bathing?

A few minutes after the guards have left the man to rot down here, your eyes wander across the way, just to try and sneak a look at your new ‘housemate’.

“What are you staring at?” His voice growls, making you jump a little.

“Sorry… I’ve been alone down here for nearly a fortnight. The guards and rats aren’t much for company or conversation.”

“I see.” He sighs. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long do you have to be down here?”

“A month.”

“You’re halfway, you’ll be fine.” He snorts, dismissing your agony and loneliness with a wave of his hand. You can barely see his face, but not enough to make out any distinguishable features. His eyes though, they’re almost glowing in this awful dim.

“How long do you have?” You ask softly.

“Five years, but I suspect I’ll be out much sooner, should my friends actually gather the brains to help me.”

A long moment passes by before you try to fill the awful silence permeating the air.

“There’s rats down here by the way. They’re mostly harmless but I’d be wary and sleep with your shoes on. Had one nibble my toe the first night I slept.” You offer, in the hopes of making more conversation.

“Hah! This isn’t my first time being locked up with only rats for company.” He scoffs, and you almost think you recognize something in his voice. Like a memory of a dream- foggy but still… there.

“Frequent prison cells do you?”

“In a way…”

Well that’s awfully vague.

“What are you in for anyway?” He asks.

You clear your throat before boldly telling him, “Singing…”

He barks out a short laugh. “…Singing? Come off it.”

“Well, that’s not the full extent but that’s what it comes down to.”

“A songbird in a cage…” He teases, and again there’s a flicker of something you recognize.

“What were you singing about, little bird?”

“I, uh, I was singing about the times. The unrest, the Steel Watch, Gortash- I was trying to get the truth out, without getting into trouble.”

“And that worked out very well for you, didn’t it?” His reply drips with sarcasm.

“What about you? What are you in for?” You ask.

“I threatened a few people, illegally snuck into the city with my companions, and I killed a clown.”

“I heard about that, that was you?”

“I see my fame precedes me. Yes, that was me.” He chuckles dryly. Gods, why does his laugh sound so familiar? “So, you’re a performer, then?”

“Yes. I sing at the Elfsong some nights, if you’ve ever been there. I’d recommend it, if you haven’t.”

“Mm. I know it, it’s a uh, old haunt of mine.”

The guard comes back and gives you your second ration of water for the day. A small silver cup with enough water to just wet your throat, and not a drop more, and hells- how you ached for more.

Hours pass, and boredom burrows deep into your skull. You fiddle with the laces on your boots, tying and untying different knots over, and over again. As you do so, you hum to yourself, faintly, so as not to disturb your new neighbor.

“I know that song…” His voice echoes across the way. “It’s an old elven tune from the Heartlands.”

“It is. You have quite the ear.” You remark, looking up.

“Will you sing it for me?” He asks softly. Never one to shy away from a crowd, you clear your throat and sing out loud the words.

‘For even in death will I find you,

I’ll kiss your cheek and sigh,

Had time been kinder to us,

I would have never said goodbye

You danced in the grass,

I sat under a tree,

You took my hand,

and said dance with me

How I wish to dance with you now,

And hold you close to me,

I’d never let you go,

If only, if only’

Your voice echoes off the stone walls, and only the slow drip of water is your applause.

“Sorry, my voice is a bit rusty-”

“Come into the light, please..” He urges, softly desperate.

You look across to his cell. There he stands against the bars, his face pressed between them. The man you fell in love with over two hundred years ago. The same white mop of curls, the same devastatingly beautiful face you could never forget. His eyes searching for you in the darkness.

“Astarion?” Your heart leaps to your throat.

Your legs move before you do, standing and propelling you to your own cell bars. You press against them and stare out.

It is him.

Have you gone mad? Are you dreaming?

“It’s you…” He breathes.

“H-how? You’re dead! You died!” Your eyes prick with tears and your throat closes up. How can this be happening?

“I did..” He replies sheepishly.

“But then how-?” Surely this can’t be real.. Can it?

“I… I fear that might take some explaining.”

“Well, it’s not like we’re going anywhere…”

————

He tells you everything, starting from the very beginning, when your lives were torn apart so abruptly. How he was beaten, left to die in the streets. He was on his way home after watching you perform. You had a few hours left in your set at the Elfsong, and needed the money from performing. You’d told him to hurry on ahead and you’d meet him at his townhome.

He recounts how he’d forgotten to kiss you goodbye that night, and he’d regretted it every night since. Centuries had passed, and the fact he didn’t kiss you goodbye, that has stuck around in his skull like a blood stain on a white shirt. Your heart shatters hearing him speak about how he’d met his demise. It’s like he’s died all over again…

He takes small pauses to swallow, steadying his voice; when he continues, he tells you about how he was turned, how he was kept in Cazador Szarr’s estate, locked up and beaten, and kept alive by feeding on rats of all things. It takes every ounce of courage he has to tell you about the people he lured back, but his voice reveals the pain he’s carried all this time. The shame, the guilt, the utter self loathing. The hatred he carries for himself and his master.

Stretching your arm out from between the bars, you reach for him and he immediately does the same. Your fingertips brush against one another, just enough to feel his cool touch.

He’s real. This is all real.

He lets his arm fall and you stare at one another. The silence between you two saying more than words could at the moment. Gods, how your heart aches to hold him, to kiss his face and feel his arms wrapped around you again.

“Why didn’t you ever come find me after you were turned?” Your voice quivers, and heat burns your eyes as you try to keep your own emotions in check.

“I was so afraid that I would hurt you. I… I didn’t want to find anyone from my life before. I was dead to you all, and I thought that was better than coming back as a monster.”

“You’re not a monster.” You choke, a tear spilling down your cheek. “I missed you so much…” You whisper, the tears now threatening to drown you.

“I… I missed you too. Every single day, I’ve missed you.” His own voice is soft, but still dry. “There isn’t much I remember from my mortal years, but you… I remember how I loved you.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“I’m sure you have many questions. So, yes, go ahead.” He smiles softly.

“How come we never crossed paths over the last two hundred years? I mean, I never left the city. And if you’ve been here, well, and in the Szarr estate... Surely, we would have seen each other just once?”

“I kept to the shadows, and the seedier places of the Gate. Being a spawn, I couldn’t go out in the sunlight. Though, now with my tadpole, that has changed-”

“Wait, tadpole?” You ask puzzled.

“Oh, yes. I didn’t get to that bit. You believe me with everything I’ve explained thus far, yes?” He asks with a snarky grin.

“I do. Why is this next part just utterly insane?”

“Well... Yes, actually.” He replies. “About five months ago I was captured by mind flayers and infected with an illithid parasite- a tadpole. This has interrupted the connection between myself and Cazador, and has broken some of the vampire rules for me. For the first time in so long, I am living. Truly living.”

“It's true then- the illithid invasion is real.. Hah! Wait- how have you not grown tentacles yet and become a squidface?” You ask, trying to wrap your head around it all.

“One of my friends, another person that was captured, she has a prism that has been protecting us all from changing.” He explains his entire journey here, through the Emerald Grove and the Goblin camp. Then the Underdark, going through the Shar temple, fighting against shadows and an Orthon. Shadowlands, Rethwin Town, the Harpers... All of it. Up until arriving in the Gate and being thrown in jail. It takes hours, but you don’t care in the least. Hearing him, his voice again. You could listen to him read out of one of his old law school textbooks, and you wouldn’t care about the boredom.

“We need to get you out of here then, if you really are going to save Faerun.” You smile at him, and sigh, “Any ideas of how we can do so?”

He sighs in reply, and he looks up, contemplating an escape plan. “If I had something small, I could pick the lock. But-” he looks around his small cell. “I have nothing. Anything over there, darling?”

“Would a hair pin work?” You ask, sliding the few pins from your hair, allowing your bun to fall out and drop around your shoulders. You pass them through the bars to him,his log fingers just barely able to snag it from your own.

“Yes, that’s perfect.” He takes it and puts it in his pocket. “I’ll start after the guard comes by next.”

“Makes sense... How did you learn how to pick locks anyway?”

“When you’re locked in chains as frequently as I have been, you learn by necessity.” He retorts. “I’ve been doing all of the talking. What have you been getting up to all these long years?”

“Oh, nothing exciting. I still perform at the Elfsong most nights, and in the square too. I live in my own house, I have a cat. I’ve actually had twelve cats over the last two hundred years...”

“Twelve??” He laughs. “Any other loved ones in your life, or are they all pets?”

“If what you’re asking is ‘do I have anyone else in my life’ the answer is no, not as of late.” You snark with a half smile and raised brow. Though so much has changed for both of you, it feels so good to be talking to him again; instead of talking to his headstone and pretending he could hear you.

“That truly baffles me. How has no one swept you off your feet and smuggled off with you away from all of this?”

“Oh, others tried but I never really clicked with anyone over the years.” You reply casually. It’s a half truth. You certainly have loved many other people since you and Astarion were together, and you almost married one of them. But, something inside your heart never let go of him. You could call it sentimentality or hells, even puppy love, but you truly never did find someone else that understood you and loved you the way he did.

“But, what about you? Did you ever find true love?” You ask and you hate yourself for even doing so, but you hate waiting for his answer even more.

“No.” He shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. I had many ‘lovers’ but even calling them that is too generous. Dalliance is probably more accurate.”

“I see..” You nod, a bit of relief filling your heart.

“How often do the guards come by?” He asks, trying to look down the corridor.

“Not too often, when they remember anyway. But, what do we do if we can actually escape? We can’t-”

“Done.” He pushes on his gate and it swings open, and he immediately sets to work on your side. Your heart races in your chest as you watch his nimble fingers push and fidget with the lock. Standing just on the other side of the bars, you catch the faintest hint of citrus and herbs. He still has that same smell to him, and now your heart races for different reasons entirely. Memories and old feelings come rushing back to the surface, bubbling and spilling over the sides like a pot of water left on the stovetop. When your own door finally opens with a screech, your heart drops to your stomach.

“Shit, that was too loud!” You panic. Astarion grabs you by the arms, pulling you from your cell. He twists one of the gold bands from his fingers and places it on your own index finger.

“This is an enchanted ring, it has an invisibility spell in it, it doesn’t last very long, so I need you to stay right by my side, and don’t make a noise.” He holds your hands so delicately and you nod your understanding. “That’s my girl.” He gives you that same wicked grin you had once fallen in love with, only now it’s much sharper you notice. He moves your thumb over the ring and makes you squeeze it against your finger, instantly making your hand vanish before your eyes. You look down at where your feet should be, and there’s nothing. Astarion follows suit and dissolves into the air. You feel his cold hand pull you to his side and you shuffle on tiptoe down the hall, careful as to not make a single noise. It's not a particularly wide corridor, and when the guard passes you, Astarion pushes you against the wall, and presses his own body to yours, so as to give the other man a wide berth to walk around the two of you.

This is so weird... I can feel his breath on my face, but he’s just gone.

The second the guard passes the two of you, he snakes his arm around your back and continues to usher you out of the prison. Past two snoozing guards and around the ajar front gate, softly padding up the steps, and then finally out into the warm afternoon sun. He doesn’t stop though, not till you two are hidden away in a side alley near the Flophouse. You feel him guide you to the back of the small building, and push you against the wall. You let out a sigh as the spell wears off seconds before his own does.

His face is much closer to your own than you would have expected, so much so that you’re sharing the same air as you try to catch your breath. The two of you can’t stay here though, you’re still far too close to the prison, and surely they will come after you any moment now. That doesn’t stop you from letting your eyes drink in his face. He’s still just as handsome as you remembered him to be. But there’s dark circles under his now crimson eyes, and his face no longer holds the lively pink it used to. Despite the circumstance, you can’t help thinking about his lips, and how much you want to kiss him.

“We need to keep moving.” You murmur, inches away from his face looking down at you.

“Always the sensible one.” He grins. He clears his throat and steps away from you. “Sorry, I forgot myself for a second there. But you’re right we, uh, we should keep moving.”

“We can hide out at my house for the night, and then we’ll figure out how to get you reunited with your friends.” You smile at him.

“Lead the way, darling.”

Borders by @thecutestgrotto

Thanks for reading! - Tilly <3

#astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion acunin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #spawn astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion oneshot #my writing

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beloveds-embrace · 5 hours ago

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🕸️ anon back on my shit:

(can be read a poly! 141)

the thing about the 141 is that they know how to take care of each other so well, but their individual versions of self care are not meeting any normal persons standards.

sitting with john in his office, just sharing space together, doing paperwork together, reading while he goes through files, organizing the piles he leaves on his desk. slowly making his office a bit more homey, getting a better chair that supports his back, changing out the lightbulbs bc fluorescent lighting gives the worst headaches, clearing out one of the deep drawers at the bottom of his desk, somehow fitting in a thick blanket and a fair sized pillow for his (but mostly your) use on those long nights, gifting him a pair of blue light glasses since you can see the way his brows furrow when he stares at the screen.

doing skincare with simon because that mask has to cause some hellish kind of dry skin and irritation and overall discomfort on his face and neck…and you can’t help but laugh when he’s got a sheet mask on or eye masks, his under eyes have to be suffering with all of that black liner smudged all over. slowly stocking his bathroom cabinet with moisturizers, face washes, sheet masks, eye masks, hand creams so so much more because maybe if he sees them every time he opens the cabinet to grab a something from the first aid kit, he’ll actually get to using what you’ve bought him (and — though it was originally reluctantly — he doesn’t want you to feel bad the next time you open the cabinet and see everything is the same way you left it, so he uses what you get him, and he never manages to run out of anything)

spending time with kyle and drawing together. sketching each other, the base, the rest of the 141, the trees, the sky, the sunset, all the places you want to go but never been, all the places you’ve been but never want to go again. perching in utterly insane places, spying on the rest of your team together, drawing them existing, content, sharing drawings and giggling together at the faces you capture. sharing earbuds and playing soft music, helping each other disconnect from the chaos of the day. buying a small tin set of watercolors and a paper pad to be be tucked into a pocket on his vest so that he won’t spend the trips to and from missions staring into space

lying on johnny’s floor gaming with him every once and a while, keeping your reactions sharp and timely with something that isn’t shooting a target or going for each others throats in a spar, making sure restless energy that can’t be spent running or fighting or shooting gets out somehow. yelling at the screen, screeching and shoving and smiling at one another while slamming the controller buttons unreasonably hard. buying him a game or two he mentioned so that the two of you can play after getting back from missions, keeping his games, controllers, and console organized and as clean as you can because johnny’s version of clean and yours are two very different things (and you just know he’ll end up tripping over the wires he leaves sticking out or spilling something and then he’ll pout and then have nowhere to put that restless energy and—)

cooking for all of them. buying good cookware to store in the tiny shared kitchenette, stocking the spice cabinet, getting actual plates instead of the flimsy paper dishes that have seen better days and utensils that can hold hefty bites of food and won’t snap in anyone’s grasp, making sure you note what foods they like, what snacks they reach for often, what recipes they favor the most, keeping a recipe book for all their favorites (and yours too). making three times the portion that the recipes call for because it can never hurt to have more food than less, and let’s be real, these men would be going feral for food that isn’t from the mess and also satisfies them. they don’t have to worry about eating too much bc there’s so damn much if it, all the time. actually looking forward for the later times of the day because it means a warm, fulfilling mean alongside the people they’ve come to care about, made by someone they’ve gotten so lucky to have at their side. making a pocket of home and finding peace in the job that offers neither.

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heartofbusan · 3 days ago

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Creative recreation.

Conversations that were initiated years and years ago suddenly appear tanglible and real, like out of nowhere. That imagined future version of you suddenly becomes tangible.

What does the future hold?

As their discharge date comes closer, so must the anticipation for what's next for BTS and Jikook. And, If BTS are good at anything, it's at dreaming. Even better, they are good at making choices in order to achieve those dreams, to make them a reality.

Trust me, not many people dare to dream big and then actually make choices to support them. It takes guts and daring.

They definitely have that going for them.

And, just as we ponder and parse all of the possible ways in which certain scenarios can play out, so must Jimin and Jungkook think about these things. Their late night 'shower talks' about songs and future tours, Jimin's Weverse letter hinted at 'bigger things' about the future that are waiting to be revealed. Jikook must have spent this past year talking and fantasizing about how they want certain things to play out for themselves after MS.

And, as much as I want them to be able to live as they please, freely and without scrutiny, I think the witch hunt that happened after Yoongi made (and freely admitted to) a misstep, might have put a damper on things. And let me be clear in saying that I do not blame Yoongi for any of it.

Yoongi was the one that when asked if they're worried about backlash if any of the members were to date publicly, said ARMYs are all different, and it's wrong to assume everyone would react the same. "... ARMY is a diverse group. In this hypothetical situation, some may accept it, some may not. Whether it’s dating or something else, they’re all individuals, and they will understand things differently,". That, to me, was such a clear warning to all who may oppose their choices. Yoongi a sentry willing to stand up for his members as well as himself in order to fight for a sliver of normalcy in their hectic lives. That read as a 'we'll live our lives regardless of the criticism'.

Yet, this was far from saying they will be making public announcements regarding private matters. Right?

What might exacerbate the issue is the fact that, in Jikook's case, their relationship is not only a private matter but moreover a group matter. They're both members of BTS, and that might make it more complicated. Not to mention the elephant in the closet, the whole SK is not tolerant when it comes to LGBTQI issues thing 😮‍💨. Should have mentioned that first, but we all know it's the dark cloud hovering over this issue.

Inviting the scrutiny of the public once any of them open that can of worms just seems like insanity to me. And to what benefit?

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention @hon3ymo0n had a beautiful piece about this 'benefit'.., highlighting Sir Ian McKellan's perspective on coming out while having lived under the cover of the public eye. A must-read, imho.

Yet here we are, fast forward to 2025 and celebrities are more public than ever. I can't speak on how easy or difficult it is for celebrities in SK to live private lives while in the public eye. I think the guys must have been dating somewhat privately all these years, keeping it very close to the vest, but going public is another thing altogether. And with how wildly diverse and sometimes insane BTS fans can be, I think coming out would put their biggest dream, the whole dominating the music industry while living out my dream of being an all around entertainer thing, under intense pressure.

When it comes to Jikook, are they willing to put their relationship on the line in order to be the vanguard of a community that actually does thrive in privacy?

I can't wait for them to be released, but I won't expect anything in regards to their personal lives just yet. I think going back to their core, being musicians, will take center stage. Whatever happens on the fringes of that, I'll take it as it comes. For them, I hope at least once the uncertainty of enlistment is fully behind them, once that imagined time has been lived through and is over with, that it gives them space to think about how to live as freely as possible without surrendering personal peace. Being together is what's most important, after all.

#jikook #kookmin #park jimin #jimin #jungkook #peak jikook #i miss them terribly #someone give me three more braincells #i need to finish writing about Jungkook and masculinity

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winxanity-ii · 1 day ago

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⌜Godly Things | Chapter 30 Chapter 30 | bloodstained amusement⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The remainder of the night passed in a blur of lights, laughter, and the lingering warmth of celebration.

The festival had seamlessly transitioned into the grand feast, where long tables stretched across the open-air courtyard, heavy with platters of roasted meats, steaming vegetables, fragrant loaves of bread, and golden honeyed pastries that made your mouth water. Wine flowed freely, filling goblets to the brim, and the sound of music and clinking cups blended into the hum of conversation.

Before the feast had officially begun, Penelope had caught you off guard—snatched was the more accurate term—and pulled you away before you could protest. Within moments, you found yourself ushered into one of the grand chambers, surrounded by a flurry of attendants at the queen's command.

"Absolutely not!" she had huffed, waving a dismissive hand when you weakly tried to insist that you were fine as you were. "Tonight, you are not a servant, nor are you an entertainer. You are Ithaca's Divine Liaison, and you will look the part."

And with that, you were stuffed into a breathtaking gown—a stunning fusion of both Ithaca and Bronte's colors, woven in deep ocean blues, forest greens, and streaks of rich gold. Delicate embroidery lined the sleeves and bodice, tiny patterns resembling olive branches and laurels intertwined with Brontean crests.

To complete the look, Penelope personally placed the flower crown from the tournament atop your head, adjusting it with a proud smile. "There," she said, stepping back to admire her work. "Now, one final thing."

You barely had time to blink before she gently took your lyre from your hands.

"Ah—wait, but—"

She tsked, shaking her head. "No playing tonight. I forbid it."

"Queen Penelope—"

"Ah-ah." She waggled a playful finger before handing the lyre to Eurycleia to put back in your room. "Tonight, you're going to enjoy yourself. No performances, no duties—just eat, drink, and be merry." Then, with a mischievous wink, she looped her arm through yours and led you straight to the heart of the feast.

And now, hours later, you sat comfortably at one of the large tables near the food, deep in conversation with Lysandra and Asta. The two Brontean women had been regaling you with stories of their homeland—particularly about a certain individual who, much to your surprise, Andreia hated with a passion.

"Wait, wait, wait," you gasped, eyes wide. "She couldn't touch her? And yet, her status was below Andreia's?" You leaned in, utterly intrigued.

Lysandra nodded, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Mhm. Despite the princess' rank, her family has ties with many royal elites and even a goddess; that's something even she can't challenge."

Asta grinned, swirling the wine in her cup. "Drives her insane. You should see the way she clenches her jaw whenever they're in the same room."

You couldn't help but let out a low whistle. "Gods, I almost feel bad for her."

Asta snorted. "Don't. She's got enough power as it is."

Lysandra leaned in conspiratorially. "Besides, watching her lose her cool? Hilarious."

The three of you dissolved into laughter, the rich energy of the feast wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The air smelled of spiced meats and fresh herbs, the flickering lanterns casting a golden glow over the merriment.

Laughter echoed throughout the courtyard, goblets clinked together in celebratory toasts, and the steady hum of conversation filled the space, a chorus of voices from both Ithacans and Bronteans alike.

Then, a voice rang through the courtyard.

"Lords and ladies, honored guests—"

The announcer's voice carried effortlessly over the crowd, cutting through the celebratory din. "The time has come for the final dance of the evening, a tradition that marks the close of our first Cultural Exchange Festival."

A ripple of excitement passed through the courtyard. Conversations hushed into eager murmurs, eyes glancing across tables, searching.

You barely had a moment to process the shift in atmosphere before you felt the weight of dozens—if not hundreds—of gazes settling on you.

Your pulse quickened.

From the corners of your vision, you could see nobles whispering behind their hands, servants exchanging wide-eyed looks, and a few of the younger Ithacan girls practically bouncing in their seats, giddy anticipation lighting up their faces.

The final dance.

Your heart thudded, the implications sinking in.

Instinctively, your eyes darted across the courtyard. Telemachus.

He was already moving.

The prince weaved through the gathered crowd with measured steps, his pace unhurried, yet deliberate. The candlelight reflected off his golden skin, his features cast in a mixture of warmth and shadow. He had changed into something more formal for the feast—an Ithacan blue chiton, fastened at the shoulder with a polished bronze brooch, a golden sash tied at his waist.

Even after the brutal tournament, the exhaustion that should have weighed on him was nowhere to be found; instead, he walked with a steady, quiet confidence that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your nerves should have been wild. But maybe it was the wine in your stomach, or the lingering warmth from the feast, but your usual anxiety was oddly... muted. A soft thrumming, not overwhelming—just a steady awareness of the moment unfolding before you.

The space around you seemed to shrink, everything fading into a distant blur except for the prince drawing closer.

Then, he was in front of you.

The courtyard fell into silence. A hush so absolute you could hear the gentle crackling of the torches.

Telemachus held out a hand, his movements slow, deliberate. Then, he bowed slightly, the gesture formal but not stiff. When he spoke, his voice was soft—meant only for you.

"May I have this dance?"

For a moment, you just stared.

The weight of the night—the tournament, the favor, the significance of this moment—pressed against your chest. There was something unreadable in his eyes, something both certain and hesitant at once.

A sharp nudge to your side made you jolt.

"Go," Asta whispered harshly, barely moving her lips.

Snapping out of your daze, you scrambled to your feet, almost knocking your goblet over in your haste. You barely noticed Lysandra muffling a laugh beside Asta, your entire focus zeroed in on the prince before you.

Your fingers trembled as you reached forward.

Then, warmth.

Telemachus' palm was rough with calluses, but his grip was steady—firm, but gentle—as he closed his fingers around yours.

The hush broke.

Gasps. Soft, delighted whispers. A few hushed giggles from across the tables, no doubt from the same group of girls who had been watching you two all evening.

But you didn't look at them.

You only looked at him.

Somewhere, around you, there was movement—people shifting, adjusting in their seats, the murmur of voices carrying in the warm evening air. You knew there were eyes on you, dozens upon dozens, watching as the prince of Ithaca led you forward, but you couldn't feel any of it.

Not the cool night breeze against your skin.

Not the stone beneath your feet as he guided you effortlessly toward the center of the courtyard.

Not the weight of the festival or the knowledge that this dance—this moment—was steeped in more meaning than you had time to process.

Your entire focus had narrowed to the warmth of his hand wrapped around yours, the steady presence of him beside you, leading without hesitation.

Then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

"I'm—" You let out a nervous, breathless laugh, glancing down for a moment. "I'm not really familiar with these kinds of dances. Just... fair warning in case I step on you."

Telemachus huffed, amusement flickering across his face.

"No worries," he murmured, voice low and sure. "I got you."

And then, before your stomach could settle from the way those words sent a shiver down your spine, he moved.

His hand found your waist.

The touch was careful, yet firm—an anchoring weight that pulled you closer, just enough that the space between you all but vanished. Close enough that the tips of your noses barely grazed. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek.

Your stomach flipped.

A soft intake of breath passed your lips, but before you could dwell on the sensation, the music began.

Telemachus stepped first, a guiding motion—his hand in yours shifting, leading, encouraging. His other hand remained at your waist, warm and steady, grounding you as he moved with a patience you hadn't expected.

He didn't care about matching the tempo.

He didn't care about showing off, or about precision, or about how the dance might look to those watching.

All he cared about was making sure you could follow.

And sure enough, the musicians caught on.

The rhythm softened, adjusting, slowing, the strings and lyres bending to match the careful, unhurried steps of the two of you.

Soon enough, others began to join.

At first, it was only a few couples—hesitant, watching the way you and Telemachus moved, as if seeking permission. Then, slowly, more and more pairs stepped onto the makeshift dance floor, drawn in by the softened rhythm, by the way the music curved around the two of you like a whispered invitation.

A circle of movement formed around you both, the other dancers weaving through the space with practiced ease, swirling in graceful arcs. And yet, despite being surrounded, it still felt as though you and Telemachus were the center of it all.

The world narrowed, framed only by the flickering glow of lanterns above, by the warm press of his hand in yours.

Then, after a moment, he cleared his throat.

"You look very..." He hesitated, fingers briefly tightening against your waist. His voice was quieter when he finally found the words. "Beautiful."

The compliment was simple, but something about the way he said it—the quiet sincerity of it, the weight it carried—made warmth flood your chest. You cleared your throat, trying not to stumble over your next words.

"T-Thank you," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended. "The queen thought it was best I... start looking the part."

You gestured vaguely to your dress, the way the fabric flowed around you, the colors carefully chosen to reflect your new station. It was elegant, regal even, a clear shift from the simple attire you were used to. It still felt strange, wearing something that demanded attention.

Telemachus tilted his head slightly, as if considering that. Then, with a small, crooked smile, he said, "It suits you."

Your stomach flipped.

Awkwardly, and before you could stop yourself, you tacked on, "You look very handsome, as well."

The moment the words left your lips, you felt heat creep up your own neck.

Telemachus blinked. Then, to your surprise, a slow, pleased smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His grip on your waist adjusted slightly, his posture straightening just a bit, as though your words had physically lifted him.

A faint pink dusted the tips of his ears.

Not wanting to combust on the spot, you scrambled to fill the silence. "I never knew a kingdom could be so different from Ithaca," you said, voice a little too quick, too eager to shift the focus from whatever this was. "Bronte... it's unlike anything I expected."

Telemachus exhaled, as if relieved by the topic shift. He nodded, the movement making his curls shift under the lantern light. "It is different. In ways both good and bad." His tone was thoughtful. "Their strength is something to admire, but their ambition... it's sharp."

You hummed, remembering the tournament, the sheer ferocity of Sthenelos. Even the festival, for all its grandeur, had underlying tensions beneath the surface.

Telemachus sighed, his hand subtly tightening on yours before loosening again. "Hopefully, this will placate things for a while. Or at the very least..." He hesitated, then muttered, almost to himself, "...get marriage off of Lady Andreia's mind."

Your stomach dropped.

Oh. That.

For a moment, you had forgotten about the political undercurrents of all this—the lingering expectation that the princess of Bronte was still vying for his hand.

Telemachus seemed oblivious to your internal turmoil, continuing with a quiet grumble. "I've been listening to my mother—haven't outright denied her—but I've been trying to make it obvious that I'm not interested." He let out a frustrated breath. "And yet, she still lingers."

You considered his words carefully, trying to pick the right response. Then, tentatively, you suggested, "Maybe you should just... tell her."

His gaze flickered to yours, brows furrowing slightly.

"I mean," you continued, choosing your words with care, "not outright rejecting her in a way that could insult her or Bronte—but being clear about your feelings." You hesitated. "Maybe even frame it as something that benefits both kingdoms. Like the festival. It's already proven there are other ways to strengthen the bond between Ithaca and Bronte without marriage."

Telemachus was quiet for a moment, mulling over your words. Then, slowly, his shoulders relaxed. His lips curved into something softer, more grateful. "That... might actually work."

He squeezed your hand briefly, then let out a small chuckle. "Thank you, ____."

You barely had time to react to the warmth spreading through your chest before the music began to fade, signaling the end of the dance. Around you, partners bowed and curtsied, stepping apart in smooth, practiced motions.

Telemachus dropped into a graceful bow before you.

Swallowing against the sudden tightness in your throat, you curtsied in return, mirroring the elegant ritual.

But as you rose, something shifted.

At first, it was barely noticeable—a subtle drag in the air, like the hush of a held breath.

The laughter that had once filled the space so effortlessly now felt distant, stretching unnaturally at the edges.

Your breath caught as you glanced around.

The dancers slowed—not in a natural way, but like something unseen was pressing down on them, dragging their movements into sluggish, unnatural hesitations.

The lanterns flickered, their glow dimming in uneven pulses, shadows creeping longer, stretching unnaturally across the stone.

Then, your gaze snapped to Telemachus.

His bow was incomplete, his head just beginning to lift, his curls shifting as though caught in a breeze that no longer moved; his movements no different from the others—caught in the same slowing effect, oblivious.

His eyes didn't dart around, didn't widen in realization. He didn't see it.

He didn't feel it.

Something was wrong.

You began walking, your gaze darted around, searching for an explanation; you were careful not to touch anyone, fear that you'd end up like them.

But before panic could fully take root, a figure moved—unaffected by the strange sluggishness gripping the room. They wove effortlessly between the suspended dancers, stepping lightly over the elongated shadows. Your eyes locked onto the figure as they approached, the dim torchlight glinting off polished bronze.

A woman.

No, not just a woman.

Her presence was undeniable, both regal and composed, yet carrying the weight of something beyond mortal comprehension. The steady clink of her sandals against the marble floor resonated like the beat of a war drum, controlled yet filled with purpose. Her armor gleamed in the dim light, not ostentatious but practical, its polished surface etched with intricate patterns that seemed to shift like living inscriptions. A long, pale blue chiton draped beneath it, flowing with an elegance that softened the otherwise martial presence she exuded.

And then, her eyes.

Storm-gray, sharp as the edge of a whetted blade, unwavering as they locked onto yours. They were old, impossibly so, filled with a wisdom that stretched beyond the reaches of time. And yet, they did not bear the aloofness of an indifferent deity. There was something in her gaze—something keen, measured. Evaluating.

A pulse of understanding settled in your chest, pressing down like the weight of a shield. You had never seen her before, not like this. Not in any vision, nor in any temple offering. But you knew.

Athena.

The Goddess of Wisdom and War moved toward you with the poise of a queen stepping into her court, her very presence shifting the air around her. There was no need for grand gestures, no need for ethereal glows or divine proclamations. She simply was, and that was enough to command every ounce of attention.

Time itself bowed in her presence.

As she closed the remaining distance between you, you felt your breath stutter in your chest. Not out of fear, but because this was real. The festival, the feast, the grand hall filled with nobles and warriors alike—it all seemed secondary now. Distant.

She was here.

And she had come for you.

As Athena stopped just before you, the weight of her scrutiny settled over you, and for a fleeting moment, you felt as though you were standing at the precipice of something far greater than yourself.

She regarded you thoughtfully, her expression unreadable. And then, finally, she spoke.

"You have caught the attention of many. Both in Olympus and in the mortal realm."

Her words sent a ripple down your spine, a feeling akin to the moment before a storm breaks—heavy. You swallowed hard, but she continued before you could find your voice.

"Apollo saw to it that your ode to the Olympians was displayed before all in Olympus," she revealed, tilting her head ever so slightly as if gauging your reaction. "With the help of Iris, the song echoed through the halls of the gods."

Your breath caught.

Apollo had... what?

The very idea sent a sharp wave of heat through your chest, your mind scrambling to picture it—your voice, your offering, carried beyond the mortal world, presented before the very beings you had honored. The thought was dizzying. Overwhelming.

And yet, Athena merely observed you, the edges of her expression betraying nothing.

"How are you taking all of this?" she asked then, her tone shifting slightly, a curious lilt threading through the words. "The favor of Apollo... the affections of a prince."

It took nearly all your willpower not to break into a stuttering mess because this was the second god to confirm Telemachus’ feelings for you. First Aphrodite, and now Athena herself.

Your heart lurched in your chest, thoughts racing. It was one thing to suspect, to wonder in quiet moments if Telemachus truly cared for you in that way, but it was another entirely to hear a goddess speak of it with certainty—as if it were already written into the fabric of fate itself.

You cleared your throat, willing your voice to remain steady despite the whirlwind of emotions tightening in your chest. "I... I'm taking it day by day," you admitted. "I know that rushing into something just because it makes me feel happy, or good, or wanted—" You stopped, inhaling sharply before continuing, "—it could cause more trouble than it's worth. I’m just trying to be careful. To be... wise."

There was a long silence, save for the faint, slowed echo of distant laughter and music twisting through the air like a ghostly melody. Athena studied you with something unreadable, as if weighing your words against her own knowledge of the world.

Then, she nodded once, approvingly. "Smart girl."

The praise was simple, but hearing it from her—the goddess of wisdom herself—made something warm settle in your chest, steadying your nerves just a little.

But then, her expression shifted. Her gaze turned sharp, her words weaving through the slow-motion ambiance around you, slicing through the moment like a well-honed blade.

"The threads of fate are pulling tighter around you. Have you felt the weight of their weave?"

You stiffened.

A shiver ran down your spine, unbidden. The slow-moving world around you suddenly felt heavier, as if something unseen was pressing in, coiling around you like an unseen force.

Before you could respond, a loud voice rumbled across the space, shattering the stillness like a war drum.

"Oh, c'mon, Athena—" The voice, deep and rasping like smoldering embers, carried a mocking edge, curling around each word with slow, deliberate amusement. "Boring the poor thing to death before I even get the chance to have a little fun?"

Your head whipped around just in time to see a hulking, hooded figure seated at one of the long banquet tables. He had been moving just as slowly as the rest of the world before—his arm halfway raised, a massive goblet of wine frozen inches from his lips—but now, as he gulped down the rest of his drink in one long, steady drag, time around him caught up in an instant.

The goblet slammed onto the table with a deep, reverberating thud, rattling the nearby plates and cutlery. The figure pushed up from his seat, and immediately, your stomach dropped.

Because he just kept unfurling.

Rising.

Larger.

Taller.

By the time he straightened to his full height, his massive shoulders stretched as if to shake off the sluggishness of mortal time. You caught a glimpse of heavy, scarred forearms wrapped in golden cuffs before the figure reached up, grasped the edge of his cloak, and tossed it back.

The hood fell away, revealing a mane of deep crimson hair, untamed and wild, cascading in thick waves down his broad back. His face—sharp, cut like a blade—was all brutal handsomeness, his jaw lined with the ghost of a beard, his skin kissed by battle and sunlight alike.

And then, he turned to you.

His molten-gold eyes locked onto yours, and a slow, wolfish grin curled at the edge of his mouth, flashing a set of teeth just a little too sharp. It was the kind of grin a predator wore when it knew the prey had nowhere to run.

You barely swallowed back a yelp.

He tilted his head, watching you with a dangerous sort of interest before exhaling sharply through his nose. "Well, aren't you just a pretty little thing?" His voice dropped into something lower, rougher—his amusement practically dripping from each word. "Apollo always did have an eye for beauty."

Your breath hitched at the insinuation, but before you could even form a response, Athena let out a long, measured sigh.

"Hello, Ares." Her tone was flat, unimpressed.

She tapped her spear lightly against the floor, watching him with the air of someone dealing with an unruly animal. "I thought you'd be busy throwing yourself into whatever war is currently suiting your fancy."

Ares barked a laugh, the sound rough, unrestrained. "Oh, you wound me, sister. I take one evening—one—away from the battlefield, and suddenly I'm not allowed a bit of entertainment?"

Athena rolled her eyes, adjusting the grip on her spear. "Somehow, I doubt your definition of 'entertainment' aligns with anything civilized."

"Depends on who you ask." Ares' grin widened, his gaze flickering back to you with that same sharp, predatory amusement. "Besides," he continued, his voice dripping with mock innocence, "how could I possibly pass up the sight of such a grand union between two mighty kingdoms?" He spread his arms out lazily, as if to encompass the entire frozen feast. "Ithaca and Bronte—so much history between you two." His golden eyes glinted with something darker. "Wonderful, bloody wars throughout the years. What a shame to see all that... passion go to waste."

As he spoke, the ground trembled ever so slightly beneath your feet, like the very earth itself bristled at his presence. It wasn't enough to make you stumble, but it was there—subtle, insistent, a whisper of power just beneath the surface. You fought to keep your composure as he moved closer, his every step measured yet effortless, a beast at ease in a den full of sheep.

The closer he got, the heavier the air became. Then, suddenly, Ares slouched forward slightly, bringing himself level with you, his towering frame somehow even more intimidating now that he chose to close the space between you. His gaze raked over you with the casual appraisal of a warrior sizing up a new weapon.

A large, calloused hand reached forward without hesitation, fingers flicking one of the petals woven into your crown. A single soft plnk echoed as he released it, the flower bouncing lightly back into place. His grin deepened at the sight, something rough yet almost teasing curling at the edges of his mouth.

"I heard your little ode to Olympus. Apollo's pride could be seen from the skies. Practically preening like a songbird over his favored little muse." His gaze darkened, more piercing now, scrutinizing. "But I wonder..."

Before you could blink, his smirk sharpened, and he leaned in just a fraction closer—close enough that you could see a prominent battle scar slashing across the bridge of his nose, stark against his ruggedly handsome features. The faint scent of iron and smoke clung to him like a second cloak.

"What would it take for a song to be written for me?"

The words were low, almost coaxing, dragging over your skin like the edge of a dulled blade. His large hand reached out again, this time cradling your chin—rough, yet strangely intimate. His thumb grazed the corner of your mouth in an absentminded stroke, his dark-lidded eyes locked onto yours with a fierce intensity; expectant, waiting.

Your throat went dry.

Ares was not a gentle god. His touch was not soft, nor reverent, nor pleading. It was possession before permission, like he was simply curious what it might feel like to hold you in his hands.

The intimacy of it made something in your chest lurch—not quite fear, but something deeper, something more primal, an ancient instinct that whispered of predators and prey. You willed your pulse to steady, to not betray the way your body seemed to understand something your mind refused to name.

His grin stretched lopsided, one canine tooth more pronounced than the others, giving him the look of something half-wild, barely tamed. "A kingdom fallen in bloodshed? A battlefield piled high with the glory of the slain?" His grin was all teeth, unsettling yet charismatic.

"Or perhaps," he continued, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, "it would take something a little more personal?" His eyes glinted with a wild, untamed light. "A city toppled and named in your honor, bathed in the blood of your enemies? Does the thought thrill you, little conqueror?"

Your stomach clenched so hard it nearly hurt.

Not in revulsion. Not in fear.

In something that scared you more.

You barely managed to stammer something—anything—to find a polite way out of this situation, your mind scrambling for an escape. But before you could form a coherent thought, a sharp, clipped voice cut through the space like a blade.

"I don't think Aphrodite would be too pleased with your interest." Athena stood firm, her storm-gray eyes unwavering as she regarded her brother with cool detachment.

Ares' teeth bared in an exaggerated, sarcastic grin as he let out a slow breath through his nose. "Ah, Dite won't care too much," he mused, waving a lazy hand. "She's already got her hands full with enough lovesick fools." But despite the ease in his tone, you noticed it—the barely perceptible shift in his face as he let you go, the way he suddenly seemed less in your space.

Not much, but enough.

And you—your pulse still hammering against your ribs—weren't sure if you should be relieved or even more on edge. The space between the two gods felt heavy—like a taut rope straining between them, frayed and ready to snap.

Desperate to break the rising tension, you stammered, "Why—why is everything still like this?" You cast another wary glance around, your voice wavering slightly as you took in the frozen revelry. "Is— are one of you controlling time?"

Ares let out a bark of laughter, throwing his head back. "Hades, no,"

You turned to Athena, who regarded you with mild amusement, the barest quirk of her lips betraying her enjoyment of your curiosity. "Not time," she corrected smoothly, shifting her weight onto her spear, "but perception."

Your brows furrowed. "Perception?"

Athena inclined her head. "I have slowed their minds, not time itself." She gestured around the festival with a small tilt of her chin. "Their thoughts, their reactions, their movements—they all process the world in slow motion. But you," her piercing gaze found yours again, "are untouched, thus unaffected."

A ripple of awe ran through you. You turned, watching as the world dragged itself along in eerie suspension, dancers caught mid-spin like figures in a dream, the hum of music drawn out into something hollow and otherworldly.

"That's..." You swallowed. "That's incredible."

Ares let out a sharp exhale, arms crossing over his broad chest. "If I had that trick, do you know how many wars I could fight in a day?" His golden eyes gleamed, and you could practically see the chaos brewing in his mind, already playing out what he could do with such an ability.

Athena, unimpressed, arched a brow. "Yes, well, I suppose you'd enjoy that." Her tone was dry, clipped. "But unfortunately for you, it does not belong to your domain."

Ares shrugged, unbothered. "Wouldn't want it anyway. Takes the fun out of it.” His lips stretched into a wolfish grin, something dark sparking in his molten gaze. "Half the thrill is in seeing it happen real time—the fear, the shock—watching a man know he's going to die, and still being too slow to stop it." His fingers flexed at his sides, as if recalling the feeling of a spear piercing through armor.

A shiver crawled up your spine, but you forced yourself to stay still, to hold your ground. Your heartbeat pulsed loudly in your ears, yet you refused to let him see the way his words made your stomach twist.

Athena exhaled through her nose, unimpressed. "And that is why it does not belong to you."

Ares let out a scoff, rolling his broad shoulders as if shaking off her words like dust from a battlefield. "And yet, my champion was the one standing tall until the very end," he mused, his voice a rough purr, thick with the satisfaction of battle. His molten-gold eyes gleamed as he turned back to Athena, a smirk playing at his lips. "Sthenelos fought like a true warrior—unyielding, powerful. He took the boy's best and kept coming."

Athena's expression remained unreadable, but there was a sharpness to her gaze, a subtle shift that hinted at the silent war between them. "Brute strength alone does not make a victor, Ares," she countered smoothly. "Sthenelos relied on power, but Telemachus adapted. He thought, he adjusted, he survived. That is what makes a warrior." Her voice remained calm, but there was an undeniable steel beneath it.

Ares clicked his tongue, his expression darkening. "Surviving isn't winning, owl," he shot back, stepping forward, his sheer presence causing the air between them to thrum with tension. "Surviving is scraping by. It's enduring, not conquering. Tell me—did your precious boy dominate that fight, or did he claw his way to victory by the skin of his teeth?"

Athena's grip on her spear tightened fractionally, her lips pressing into a thin line. "A true warrior knows when to strike and when to endure. A true warrior knows that persistence is often the key to victory. Telemachus may not have had the raw might of your champion, but he had something far greater—ingenuity." Her voice carried the weight of centuries of wisdom, unwavering and absolute. "And if you cannot see the worth in that, then you are still the fool you have always been."

Ares' smirk widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. There was an unspoken challenge in the way he tilted his head, the flicker of amusement not enough to hide the barely-contained storm brewing behind his gaze. "You always did like the clever ones," he murmured, voice dripping with something that felt almost like mockery. "Shame cleverness alone doesn't win wars."

Athena raised a brow. "Tell that to Odysseus."

The tension crackled like a storm about to break, and for a moment, you swore you felt the air shift, as if the very world braced itself for their clashing wills. You stood frozen between them, a mere mortal in the wake of two gods locked in an eternal contest of strategy versus might.

Ares held her gaze for a beat too long.

Then, he scoffed, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off an invisible weight. "Tch. Strategy's just the fancy word for fighting without the guts to do it yourself," he muttered, the words meant to sting—meant to convince himself more than anyone else.

His expression flickered—just for a breath, just for a second—but then the wolfish smirk returned, and whatever lay beneath was locked away once more.

"Doesn't matter," he said, voice almost too casual as he turned away. "We both know who they pray to when the real battle begins."

But he didn't leave immediately.

Instead, he let the words settle, let them sink in, his back still turned. His presence still pressed against the space he'd occupied, as if war itself refused to be dismissed so easily.

Then, with a slow exhale—one that sounded almost like a laugh but carried no real amusement—he finally strode off, each step measured, deliberate. The weight of him didn’t fade so much as it reluctantly withdrew, like a predator retreating—not out of surrender, but out of patience.

The thud of his boots echoed long after he was gone.

And the laughter he left behind—low, sharp—coiled through the air like the last crackle of a dying ember, refusing to fully extinguish.

Athena exhaled through her nose, watching him go with an air of mild exasperation before shaking her head. "Brute," she muttered, barely above a whisper, before turning her sharp gaze back to you.

Her expression softened—if only slightly. "Be mindful of your choices," she said, her voice lower now, more deliberate. There are forces at play greater than you realize, and attention from the gods is not always a gift." She studied you for a moment longer, as if weighing whether to say more, before she finally took a step back.

But this time, instead of immediately speaking, she extended a hand—not in invitation, but in quiet command.

You barely had a moment to react before a force, subtle yet undeniable, guided you. It wasn't a shove, nor a tug, but something gentler—like the shifting of the tide pulling you toward shore. Without realizing it, you were moving, your feet carrying you back toward where you'd been standing just before Telemachus had asked for your hand in the dance.

The world around you remained unchanged, the slowed-down movement of the revelers still unfolding as though wrapped in thickened air. Yet, with each step, you felt the moment slipping from the grasp of the divine, like sand trickling between your fingers.

Athena's presence was still at your side, silent, until you reached the very spot you had left. It was only then that she finally spoke.

"Consider what it means to be favored..." she said, her voice low, deliberate. "And beware, for such favor is often double-edged."

Her storm-gray eyes locked onto yours, the weight of her words settling in your chest like an anchor. The warning hung heavy in the air, far more than mere words—it felt like a thread being woven into your fate, a thread you had no choice but to carry.

She studied you a moment longer, and you had the distinct feeling that she was waiting. Waiting to see if you would ask, if you would push for more. But whether it was out of caution, reverence, or simply the sheer inability to form a coherent thought under her gaze, you said nothing.

And so, with a final look, she took a step back.

And just like that, the spell lifted.

The world around you slowly returned to its previous rhythm, as if the moment had been nothing but a fevered dream.

The music resumed its gentle cadence, the final notes of the melody rippling through the courtyard as the musicians, looking subtly shaken, finished their performance. Dancers continued their steps, though there was a slight hesitation in their movements, as if their bodies were catching up to lost time. The guests blinked, murmuring among themselves, their voices hushed with a confusion none of them could quite place.

You turned sharply, expecting to still see Athena standing before you, but she was gone.

Yet, despite her absence, the air remained thick, charged with an electric tension, as though the space she had occupied was still weighted by something divine.

You almost believed that you had been the only one to experience the strange encounter. That somehow, the gods had folded time just for you, allowing their words to pass unnoticed by the mortal realm.

But the looks on people's faces told you otherwise.

All around, guests exchanged bewildered glances, eyes darting across the space as if trying to pin down what had just transpired. Some rubbed their arms, others subtly adjusted their postures, as though shaking off an unseen force.

And then, there were those who subconsciously—perhaps even unknowingly—let their gazes drift toward you.

A prickle ran down your spine.

It was subtle—just fleeting glances, uncertainty flickering behind their eyes before they turned away—but it was enough to make your stomach knot. Whatever had happened, whatever the gods had done, their presence had left an undeniable imprint on the air, warping the atmosphere in a way that even the oblivious could feel. And now, you were the center of it.

A hand suddenly brushed against your arm. "Are you alright?"

You startled at the voice, your heart stammering in your chest. Telemachus stood beside you now, brows furrowed, concern laced in his voice. He was studying you carefully, his keen eyes flicking over your face, searching for signs of distress.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to nod. "I'm... fine."

Your voice was steady enough, but even you weren't convinced by it.

Telemachus didn't look fully reassured, but after a beat, he exhaled and nodded, offering you his arm. "Come on," he said, his voice gentler now. "Let's go eat. My mother is expecting us."

You hesitated, your thoughts still spinning, but after a moment, you let him guide you away from the dance floor, through the maze of tables and lantern-lit pathways.

The feast continued in full swing, but as you walked, you couldn’t stop the way your mind churned, replaying Athena’s words over and over in your head.

"Consider what it means to be favored... And beware, for such favor is often double-edged."

You clenched your jaw slightly, barely registering the sounds of laughter and the clinking of goblets around you. Her words were a warning, clear as day. But of what? The future? The gods? Yourself?

And then, there was Ares.

You shivered just thinking about him.

Unlike Athena, whose presence, while overwhelming, still carried a certain measured grace, Ares had been something entirely different.

He had been a storm barely leashed, a beast waiting for an excuse to bare its fangs. He was war incarnate, everything ruthless and primal, brimming with a power so untamed you could still feel it crawling beneath your skin.

And he had looked at you. Not through you, not past you. At you.

You hated to imagine what it would be like to stand on the receiving end of his ire—his full, unfiltered wrath.

Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to shake off the thought as you arrived at the royal table, greeted by Penelope's warm smile. She gestured for you to sit, immediately launching into cheerful conversation, her enthusiasm a stark contrast to the weight pressing down on your shoulders.

But even as you ate, your mind refused to quiet.

Because no matter how much you tried to ignore it, you knew that something had shifted tonight.

And whatever it was, you had no choice but to face it.

A/N: lolo don't mind me, i'm just indluging in ares (whose inspired by my sis's (k-nayee) interpertation in her book 'warrior'; something about redheads just do it for me q(≧▽≦q)

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