#I am SO curious to see how they translate this

[chaehwa-archives]

friendly rivalry deep dive part 19

I’m now at the halfway point in this Friendly Rivalry rewatch project, and what a journey it’s been. To be honest, at the outset, I wasn’t sure how well FR would hold up, or how much this kind of in-depth analysis would pay off. I should have trusted my gut, though. This series is a gem. It’s rare for any piece of media to be made with this level of intention and complexity, and for a GL drama? Depends on how far you stretch the definition, but you can probably count them on one hand...with a missing finger or two.

I’ve been a little worried, though. I remember loving the first half of FR, and I remember loving Episodes 14-16, when the relationship between Jae-yi and Seul-gi takes center stage again. The episodes in between I mostly remember...being confused. Of course that was partly due to pre-Netflix era bad subtitle translation. We all know FR is complicated enough without having to decode every single line of dialogue.

Still I’m curious how I’ll feel about the second half this second time around. Is it as messy as I originally thought, or will the rewatch help things click into place?

So far I’m optimistic. Episode 9 is a gut punch after the whirlwind romance of Episode 8, but it might be one of my favorite episodes yet. In this post I’ll just cover the prologue concerning Je-na, and in Part 20 I’ll cover the rest.

Hopefully everyone reading this has seen the show and knows what you’re getting into with Je-na’s backstory. Just a heads up that we’ll be discussing a sexual relationship between a teacher and student, among other kinds of abuse, so brace yourself.

We’ve seen four prologues so far, one for each main character. All of them were hard to watch in their own way: Seul-gi faces bullying and addiction; Jae-yi loses the will to live under the weight of her father’s curse; Gyeong is cringe and needs to go to horny jail; Ye-ri is starved and neglected by her mother. But I’m calling it: Je-na’s backstory is the most brutal of them all. This poor girl. I am so upset.

Like the other prologues, Je-na’s is a kind of keyhole we can peek through to glimpse her private inner world. But it’s also a key. Je-na’s story illuminates the lives of the other cast members, and reveals a dark truth at the heart of Friendly Rivalry: as fucked up as Seul-gi, Jae-yi, Gyeong, and Ye-ri are, these girls are actually the lucky ones. 

The first scene revisits the violin bow incident we first witnessed in Episode 3, when Tae-joon forced Jae-yi to hit Je-na as punishment for failing to answer a math problem. Later in that episode, he found Jae-yi crying in bed and told his version of the Cain and Abel story, casting Je-na as Cain, the older sibling driven by murderous jealousy.

The very first thing we learn about Je-na in Episode 9 is that she is absolutely nothing like Cain. She doesn’t have a vengeful bone in her body. Je-na cares so little about being surpassed by her sister that she answers a question wrong *on purpose* just to protect her.

Je-na is a refutation of Tae-joon’s parable—her big heart doesn’t fit into his brutal world. But, as we’ll see, that heart isn’t enough to save her. In a loveless family where any sign of vulnerability is exploited, and in a society built by Tae-joons for other Tae-joons, her heart is a liability. 

There’s one interesting detail in this scene that’s easy to overlook. Seul-gi tells us in her narration that Je-na erases the correct answer because she chooses to get hit rather than hit her sister. But...wait. Je-na erases her answer *before* Tae-joon explains that one of the sisters will have to hit the other. How does she know?

The way the scene is shot, we can’t see the violin bow at first, but the whole time the girls are answering math problems, it’s sitting on the kitchen counter in front of Tae-joon. Je-na can see the violin bow and probably guesses that some kind of punishment is coming. And she knows her dad punishes failure. So she acts on a hunch, and her intuition is right.

This tiny scene communicates so much. Je-na is just as clever and observant as her father and sister, but her choices follow a different emotional logic. Tae-joon expects his daughters to act out of fear and self-preservation. Je-na acts out of love and self-sacrifice. Although he’s oblivious to it, Je-na understands her father here better than he understands her. She’s one step ahead of him, subverting the rules of his game before he even has a chance to explain them. In her own way, she’s a genius. But emotional intelligence means nothing to Tae-joon, who only senses weakness.

In the next scene, Tae-joon has already given up on Je-na. She isn’t ruthless enough to be molded into his perfect creation. He argues with his wife (they seem on the brink of a divorce, which is probably why we never see the mom around in the present day) and insists that if they split, he’s keeping Jae-yi. She’s the future of the hospital.

(Of course, if they do end up splitting—I think it’s implied later that they are living separately?—he keeps both kids. He needs both for his divide-and-conquer tactics to work.) Je-na overhears her parents arguing. Then, when Jae-yi wakes up and follows her into the hallway, Je-na covers her ears and hugs her. Jae-yi’s hand tightens on a table cover, and one of Tae-joon’s many awards—a trophy for surgical excellence—falls and strikes Je-na on the foot. She starts bleeding but doesn’t cry. Instead she helps her sister get ready for kindergarten.

My gawd this scene. Absolutely heartbreaking. And there’s just...so much to unpack.

Like the previous scene, Je-na is again doing her best to protect her little sister. And, once again, she gets hurt for it. This time, not only is she physically injured, but she also has to listen to her father tell her mother that he doesn’t want her. Despite the favoritism Tae-joon is showing Jae-yi, though, Je-na refuses to lash out at her sister. She doesn’t seek revenge for the physical or emotional wounds Jae-yi inflicts, either.

Because the award falling on her foot is clearly a metaphor for a different kind of injury. Je-na’s unending sacrifice for Jae-yi’s sake goes unrewarded. Jae-yi never returns her sister’s care or affection. It’s not malicious—she isn’t trying to hurt Je-na’s feelings. She’s a child and doesn’t know any better. But still...it hurts. It hurts when you hug your sister and she won’t even put her arms around you.

(In society, sacrifice like Je-na’s usually goes unacknowledged, too. We have awards for “excellence,” but there’s no trophy for taking care of your sibling in an abusive household, even though Je-na is more of a hero than her father will ever be.)

The trophy is a symbol for the true source of the wound, the wedge that will continue to drive them apart. It’s not one of Jae-yi’s awards that causes the bleeding—it’s one of Tae-joon’s. And it’s his influence that gets to Jae-yi and pulls her away from Je-na’s love. You can see the first signs of that influence on Jae-yi when she coldly observes, “Your foot is bleeding.” This is the same girl who was devastated by hurting her sister not long ago!

Je-na and Tae-joon represent the two conflicting sides of Jae-yi’s personality. On one hand you have the compassionate and selfless Jae-yi, full of affection for and fiercely protective of the people she loves. We can see all of these traits embodied in Je-na. And on the other hand is the cold, distant manipulator embodied in Tae-joon.

As if this scene weren’t already gut-wrenching enough, go back and listen closely to the parents’ argument in the background. When the trophy falls, yeah, that’s their mom screaming. Tae-joon likes his sick little mind games, but he doesn’t hesitate to use physical violence if he thinks he can get away with it. Under his veneer of respectability, he’s just a bully, no more sophisticated than the girls who terrorized Seul-gi in school.

Speaking of Seul-gi, two things. First, there’s the obvious parallel to the closet scene in Episode 3, when Jae-yi covers Seul-gi’s ears to protect her. Now we know where she learned that from, and now we know that Je-na’s caregiving and protection is probably (apart from her relationship with Je-yun) the only form of unconditional love that Jae-yi has ever received. Whether it’s conscious or subconscious, when Jae-yi protects Seul-gi, there’s something genuine there.

Consider also the scene where Je-na dresses Jae-yi for school, and how often Jae-yi has expressed affection for Seul-gi by dressing her—whether it’s the gift of the new uniform in Episode 3, or the gift of the scarf in Episode 7...or the gift she’ll give at the end of the series.

We’re also starting to see parallels between Je-na and Seul-gi. Like Seul-gi, Je-na fears abandonment, and is desperate to be loved. As a defense mechanism, she tries to be independent, taking on the adult responsibility of caring for her sister without expecting any help. She sacrifices herself day after day, denying her own needs, in an effort to hold her family together, while Seul-gi denies her humanity, setting herself apart from everyone.

The difference is that Seul-gi is forced by her isolation and by her circumstances to grow a thick skin. She stops expecting anything more than neglect and mistreatment from people, and learns to survive on her own.

Je-na’s self-worth is tied up in her family from the beginning. And because her family is controlled by Tae-joon, that means tragically seeking validation from a system that will only demand sacrifice while continuing to abuse and degrade her.

On some level, Tae-joon must know that Je-na’s love for her sister is a threat to his power over them both, which is why he isolates them. Under his influence, Jae-yi distances herself, and Je-na is left utterly alone. Her sacrifice is not only not repaid—it’s punished.

When Jae-yi and Je-na are leaving for school, there’s a shot of Je-na glancing up at Tae-joon, who’s watching them from the balcony. Like the violin bow scene, this shows us that, whatever Tae-joon thinks of their abilities, Je-na is more advanced than her sister in some ways. While Jae-yi remains emotionally stunted by fear, Je-na is carefully attuned to the power dynamics within their family. But she’s also powerless to change them.

Powerlessness makes her desperate, and in the next scene she prays to be stricken with an illness so that her family will pity her.

Wait. She’s so desperate to be noticed...that she prays for a disease that will make her stand out and be recognized? Does this remind you of anyone?

It’s little Seul-gi with the princess dress!

As her family is leaving church, Je-na suddenly collapses, and she’s diagnosed with narcolepsy. It’s never made clear exactly how “real” her narcolepsy is, but unless you accept divine intervention as an explanation, the odds that she would coincidentally develop a very noticeable neurological disorder moments after wishing to develop such a disorder seem…low. At the same time, even if it’s staged, this isn’t the kind of emotional manipulation that Tae-joon and Jae-yi excel at—it’s no galaxy-brain chess maneuver. It’s an impulsive attempt to meet an emotional need. And like Seul-gi’s impulsive choice to wear the princess dress to the beach, Je-na’s desperate attempt to be seen will have fateful consequences.

At this point, Je-na’s story doesn’t just echo Seul-gi’s—she’s also a counterpoint to Gyeong and Ye-ri. Like Ye-ri, Je-na is neglected by her parents, and seeks attention through a fantasy—in this case, the fantasy of her invented health condition. And, like Gyeong, Je-na grows up in Jae-yi’s shadow, constantly overlooked because of her. The difference is that Je-na never grows bitter, never resents her sister for receiving all the attention, or her father for ignoring her.

Je-na clearly wants to repair her relationship with Jae-yi, and when Jae-yi comes to visit her at the hospital, she allows herself to hope. Maybe this is her chance. In spite of all the pain Jae-yi has caused her, she still takes the risk of reaching out.

Jae-yi meanwhile is torn between her father and her sister again, between opening her heart and guarding it. She clearly does care, or she wouldn’t have come in the first place. But she doesn’t dare show her true feelings. That would be a sign of weakness, something Je-na might be able to exploit. Instead Jae-yi sulks, and when Je-na comes on a little too strong, she runs away, taking Je-yun with her.

Jae-yi is a lot like Seul-gi here, prickly and suspicious of affection. Which is probably why, when Seul-gi gives her the same standoffish treatment, it reopens all of these old wounds. Seul-gi reminds her a little bit of herself, and also reminds her of all the ways she’s hurt her sister over the years. Part of what draws her to Seul-gi in the early episodes might be the simple fact that Seul-gi makes her feel things again, when she’s been numb for so long.

It’s also easy to see why Jae-yi is so attached to Je-yun. Je-yun is safe and uncomplicated to love. She can project all her affection for her sister onto the dog and not have to worry about her guilt or her regrets or the ugliness of human relationships.

Jae-yi’s rejection of Je-na in this scene is heartbreaking enough, but what comes next is worse. For a moment, Je-na’s prayer seems to be answered when Tae-joon comes to her and apologizes for his failures as a father. It...worked? Someone in her family is finally giving her the attention she’s wanted for so long?

But just as Seul-gi in her princess dress ends up abandoned on the beach, Je-na’s plea for attention backfires in a cruelly ironic twist. She’s been neglected by her father for so long, she’s forgotten what his “support” means. It doesn’t mean love—it means more pressure, more surveillance, more expectations and conditions.

Interestingly, in the same way that Tae-joon failed to notice Je-na’s self-sacrifice as a child, he seems oblivious here to what’s actually going on in her brain. I don’t think he suspects that her narcolepsy could be fake, and he doesn’t seem to realize what’s motivating her, either. Je-na couldn’t care less about her grades or class rank. What encourages her to try harder in school is his moment of apparent remorse—his acting like a caring father for once in his goddamn life.

But Tae-joon can’t fathom how anyone could be motivated by love. He only understands fear, power, and control. And his use of these tactics against Je-na, who lacks her sister’s emotional armor, nearly destroys her.

Je-na and Jae-yi have essentially opposite reactions to the pressure of their father’s gaze. Jae-yi buries her emotions deeper and deeper to become the ruthless studying machine he apparently wants. Je-na becomes more impulsive, more reckless, less rational. Eager to earn Tae-joon’s approval, she turns to good luck charms, then to drugs, and finally to cheating.

Which brings us to the most uncomfortable part of an already unpleasant tale: the relationship that develops between Je-na and her math teacher, Woo Do-hyeok. The first time I watched Friendly Rivalry, I wasn’t sure how we were meant to read this relationship, and that uncertainty made me anxious. It seemed possible that we were being encouraged to view Do-hyeok as the victim, and I didn’t enjoy that implication. Now that I’ve had more time to sit with it, though, I actually appreciate the nuanced way FR depicts sexual abuse.

Do-hyeok isn’t overtly sinister. He’s not obviously villain-coded the way Tae-joon is. His concern for Je-na seems genuine at first, and it probably is. Putting ourselves in her shoes, it’s easy to see how she would view him as a lifeline. He’s…fatherly. And he’s the only adult in her life who seems to notice or care about the stress she’s under.

Which makes the way he takes advantage of her insecurities and emotional distress extra upsetting. This girl needs help. She needs there to be just *one* decent adult in her life. Do-hyeok is so good at playing the part of that figure, he almost convinces us as viewers that he could be an okay guy. He might have even convinced himself that he has Je-na’s best interests at heart.

But his conversation with Je-na, when he catches her trying to steal exam answers at night, is full of subtle manipulation. Hiding behind his mask of fatherly concern, he uses veiled threats and flattery to poke and prod at her vulnerabilities until she is totally at his mercy. When she throws herself at him, he’s surprised, but he doesn’t stop her. He’s had plenty of opportunity to set boundaries before now. He not only let her cross them all, he’s been nudging her across himself.

It’s also emphasized again and again that Je-na is not in a position of power or control. She’s so terrified that at one point she is literally on her knees begging for her life. She’s not a puppet master, and this is no careful scheme—the video that will be used later on to blackmail Do-hyeok isn’t part of a set-up. It only exists because Je-na sets her phone down on a shelf to light the room, and because Do-hyeok happens to brush her smartwatch by accident.

Honestly...this scene is just so upsetting. There’s nothing nice or neat or easy about it. It’s a sad pathetic man betraying a desperate girl so hungry for validation she immediately places all her trust in the first person to say a kind word to her. It’s the one authority figure in Je-na’s life who might be able to help her, who might even want to help her, choosing to exploit her instead. It’s fucked up, but I’m glad Friendly Rivalry resists the urge to give us a simplified or sanitized version. So much abuse in the real world is messy this way.

I still have questions about this prologue: Why does Do-hyeok show up at the school at night, anyway? Why was he keeping an extra Hankuk University keychain in his drawer? Why is Je-na’s pencil purple? Feel free to drop any questions you might have in the comments. I love trying to solve these mysteries together.

But the next entry will definitely loop back around to this prologue, since Episode 9 is full of references to Je-na’s backstory. So I will save other thoughts and ramblings till then. Sorry for the long wait this time, hopefully the next post will come sooner!

[timeslipcamp]

alright thanks to danie's post i saw we've got some info about the next episode! unfortunately i am a nerd for folklore so i did a deep dive into the festival of tanabata! here's a post about it if you, like me, are american and had never heard of this before

disclaimer: i'm usa born and raised and all information compiled below is just from me researching, so i could be missing different cultural variations/area specific nuances. my studies were unfortunately focused on western folklore. if you have anything to add based on your own stories you've heard, i'd love to hear it!

alright so the episode in english is called lost stars, and the japanese title calls it "the lost child of tanbata." honestly the wikipedia page for the festival is pretty thorough so if you want more in depth info i suggest giving that a read. i also looked into a couple cultural sites just because i was curious about other ways it was celebrated

the star festival ("tanabata") takes place in july. it originally came from a similar festival celebrated in china, and the date moves around based on the region.

spoilers for episode 17: moby says "next month" in reference to the festival, meaning it'll be celebrated in july, since this last episode took place in june. the wikipedia says the dates it was celebrated in 2024 was in august. if they go with july, mc still has a lil more time before her curse. or, if it's in august, she has days. inchresting 👀

the festival that is celebrated in china is similar, and is most likely based on a similar tale. we'll be focusing on the japanese celebration since our story takes place in tokyo

in the original tale, orihime and hikoboshi (also mentioned in one of towa's home screen lines) were two mythological characters who ended up having celestial bodies named after them. in the story, orihime is a weaver who makes many beautiful clothes by the banks of the heavenly river. unfortunately, she's working so hard day and night that she has not had time to meet anyone to marry. her father arranges for her to meet hikoboshi, a cowherd who works on the other side of the river. they fell in love immediately and were married, but due to them now spending time with each other, no weaving nor herding was done. because of this, they were forbidden from seeing each other. orihime pleaded with her father, and he granted her wish that as long as their work was done by the seventh day of the seventh month, they could meet for one day. it was said that magpies use their wings to form a bridge for her to cross to meet him.

according to some sources, there's a few other tales that share similar stories with this one, with a task needing to be met in order to see someone on the celestial side. most of the stories require a feat or a test and travel across a river/lake in order to reach the heavenly area the other person is in.

because of the story, the festival is celebrated based on the seventh month of the lunar calendar, and that can translate to different times. according to wikipedia, in 2024 it was celebrated on august 10th, but this year it will be celebrated on august 29th. the seventh month of the gregorian calendar is july, which is why some places who adhered to the switch will celebrate it then. this website has a nice explanation for how the chinese festival traditions came over back in the 8th century and mixed with the already existing japanese festivals and tradition.

the ways it's celebrated also seem to vary across region, but the main theme is wishes. people write their wishes on paper and hang them on bamboo, creating a wish tree. (one kids celebration site said a good thing to wish for is better handwriting lmao this is so cute) at the end of the festival, the wishes are either burned or set adrift on a river. one website i was reading said that in osaka, people throw lights in a river to make their own milky way

what i think this means for the next episode:

given that moby brought it up, i'm almost wondering if he was implying that we could wish our curse away. however! one site mentioned that there used to be a shinto purification ceremony around the same time as tanabata where a large special cloth was woven (a tanabata) to pray for protection for the crops and a good harvest. big chance for haku to step up if he's there. (the haku girlies seem really sure, and especially after this i think i'm leaning towards a hotarubi + towa episode) towa mentions the tale in his home screen lines and many of the stories involve proving your love, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ very towa episode. either we can make a wish or we could be purified or both!

also theres a traditional tanabata song i hope we hear zenji sing it

"the lost child of tanabata" and "lost stars" kinda makes me think there's going to be some ghost kid or spirit that we need to lay to rest by helping them get back home. one of the versions of the story spoke of a wife that escaped back to the heavens and took her kids with her. perhaps one of them fell (a falling star) and we have to get them back home?

also hey speaking of wishes, where's that god that haru was helping to rehab? how's he doing? is he better yet?

[the-himawari]

A3! Sumeragi Tenma - Translation [SSR] MANKAI Shot (3/3)

*Please read disclaimer on blog

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Kumon: WE’RE HEREEE!

Yuki: Nice. We’re deep in the mountains, but the shrine is prettier than I imagined.

Muku: We weren’t even sure if the road leading here was really a road.

Kumon: We saw some deer!

Tenma: There were some pretty narrow roads, but Misumi drove well.

Kazunari: Yep, we got to prove again how safe Sumi’s driving is!

Misumi: Hehe. Thanks!

Tenma: Anyways, should we start by offering a prayer?

*rings bell*

Summer troupe: …

Kumon: Alright!

Yuki: …Isn’t it a bit somber to visit a shrine on your birthday?

Tenma: Shush. It’s fine, isn’t it?

Kazunari: Why here though? If you’re looking for a shrine related to the entertainment industry, then there’s plenty of options near and far.

Muku: Honestly, I’ve been curious about that too.

Misumi: Is there a reason~?

Tenma: …My father came this place before. When they mentioned this shrine as a possible filming location, I saw a headline saying Sumeragi Issei had also visited it to make a wish. That's why I wanted to come here.

Kazunari: That Sumeragi Issei-san! Hold up, doesn't that mean this place is legit legit then!?

Kumon: Ehh! Should we pray one more time!?

Yuki: This is the greed they talk about in the bible.

Muku: Let’s come again another time then.

Tenma: Geez, you guys said we’re here to celebrate my birthday… But it looks like you’re having more fun than I am.

Misumi: …

*click*

Tenma: Woah. Warn a guy, will you?

Misumi: Hehe~. Tenma was smiling though!

Tenma: Oh, right. You’re in charge of taking my candid shots for the bromide, huh? Have you been taking the candid pics properly?

Misumi: Of course I have~. Here. Have a look-see!

Muku: These are…

Yuki: There’s more pictures of triangles than Tenma.

Tenma: …This is for the birthday merch project. Sakyo is sooo going to get mad at us.

Kumon: It’s okay! Let’s take lots of pics starting now!

Kazunari: Big brain, Kumon! Let’s hurry up and give this to him then!

Tenma: Hm? What do you mean?

Misumi: Tenma.

Troupe members: Happy birthday!

Tenma: H-Hey! I appreciate it… But we’re going to make a scene at the shrine.

Kumon: We were seriously thinking for sooo long what to get for you, Tenma-san!

Yuki: I told them anything was fine though.

Muku: We asked a lot of different people and decided on this.

Misumi: Here you go! Open it, Tenma~!

Tenma: I can open it here!?

Kazunari: We’ll move over here so we don’t get in anyone’s way! C’mon, do it for the candid pics!

Tenma: I guess I can’t say no… Is this… an e-book reader?

Kazunari: YES! You got it!

Tenma: … I’m surprised. I never would’ve imagined this.

Misumi: Tenma, you’re trying everything from stages to film, right?

Muku: From that, we thought about what do give you… And we wondered if something that could be helpful you would be best.

Kumon: So then Muku said how about an e-book reader!

Kazunari: We know you’ve been doing lots of stages and dramas based off manga and novels recently! But reading the paper copies might be hard for you since you do a lot of work on the road, isn't that right?

Yuki: And so, we came up with the idea that an e-reader fit the bill.

Tenma: I see… you guys put a lot of thought into it. Thanks, everyone.

Yuki: Well, don’t let it sit and collect dust, alright?

Tenma: I-I won’t!

Muku: Fufu. I’m glad if you like it!

Misumi: Use it lots, Tenma~!

Kumon: Ooh hey, why doesn’t he go ahead and pick his first book!?

Tenma: I’m doing that here too!?

Kazunari: Why not! It’ll be your commemorative first book~!

Tenma: Sure. I’ll turn it on first… Hm? Is there already a story loaded in it? Why don’t we call this the first one then?

Kazunari: Wait no, that’s a sample!

Tenma: Okay then… What should I choose… Ah.

Misumi: What’s wrong~?

Tenma: …There’s no signal here.

Muku: Huh!? Ah, you’re right. My phone won’t connect either.

Tenma: I can’t choose anything…

Misumi: Oopsies.

Kumon: Well, stuff like that happens sometimes!

Kazunari: Don’t worry about it, Tenten!

Yuki: Are you sure it’s not the god of comedy rather than the god of entertainment that's on your side?

Tenma: Urk…

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previous |

[neversetyoufree]

OH MY GOD????

Fucking 大好き!!

They said 大好き?????

[batri-jopa]

Quite recently I realised that whenever I hear or see a word "always" it sounds in my brain more like polish "za każdym razem" (that is "every single time") instead of what I've been taught ("zawsze" is more like "now and forever"). Would you please tell me what it really means?

[plethorawrites]

Here I request a damian x sunshine! fem! reader where reader is extremely passionate about art and everything magical. She loves translating whimsical visions into paint and flowery scenes too!!! Despite her extremely bubbly personality, her precious smile falters when people complement her works and she ends up stiff and avoiding eye-contact. Pair that with a tsundere Damian and I see sm fluff and cuteness><!!!! If u have the time ofc:D!!!... Otherwise, have a lovely day!! or night... x3!

I can absolutely make time. (I'll admit, I did have to look up tsundere because I'm not heavy into anime aside from a few shows, but I know now!)

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Damian Wayne would HATE a sunshine reader at first. The over the top, bubbly, smiling appearance annoyed him to no end.

School was beneath him and had been since he was in middle school. He thought he had grown to at least be able to tolerate it by the time he was a senior in highschool, so close to escaping it. Maybe his father would finally accept that he didn't need futile lessons when he already had an IQ higher than Einstein.

But then, in his very last year, he was thrown one last curve ball. A perky, energetic, irritatingly happy girl who somehow managed to be in every single one of his classes.

How anyone could be sitting with her done and her clothes pressed, thrilled to be alive at 7 am for Political Science, he didn't know. He certainly had no interest in it.

She always raised her hand to answer questions and always got them right, too. His only real interest was the art program he had right after lunch.

It was just his luck she was there too, sitting right next to him, humming while she spread her paints on the palette, mixing colors. It took at his willpower not to tell her to shut up. He figured she'd stop at some point.

The humming persisted until her brush actually hit the canvas, then, it was dead silent. He glanced over, confused by how she had miraculously shut up for basically the first time since 7 am. Her eyes were focused on the canvas, watching the paint smoothly spread over it. He looked over again and again throughout the class, noticing the way her forehead crinkled and her teeth sink into her bottom lip while concentrating.

He scowled, though, when the teacher complimented her painting, claiming it was "Bright, but had a hidden depth to be explored." Unlike his, which was. "Very dark and telling of his thoughts."

That annoyed him a bit, but not for long because it was replaced by confusion when she just shrugged meekly, avoiding the teacher's eyes. She did that a lot, he soon found after watching her a bit more instead of making a conscious decision to stop ignoring her entirely.

He saw her cheeks redden when the teachers said her answers were right or congratulated her on a text. He noticed her looking down at her desk when a classmate said something along the lines of asking for her help because she was doing really well in the subject. He saw her bury her head in her locker, pretending not to hear when guys asked her out.

Eventually, he was just too damn curious and after yet another football player got shot down, she took a breath, lifting her head out of her locker right before Damian slammed it shut with his hand.

He leaned against the locker beside it, his arms crossed, asking what was wrong with the guy for her to reject him. "Aside from the obvious lack of brain cells and the fact that he's on a one way track for steroid addiction and early balding, of course."

She snorted a laugh, covering her face as it reddened, before clearing her throat and replying. "Just wasn't interested."

"Who are you interested in, then?" He couldn't help but ask. "You've turned down the jocks, the nerds, the supposed bad boy who is a Mama's boy in disguise, and the suave poet who left notes in your locker. Not many cliques left. So, you're clearly not finding anyone who's your type. What js your type, anyway?"

Her lips quirks. "Are you stalking me, or something?"

No. Of course not. He had way better things to do. But...it wasn't like he wasn't bored out of his mind during school hours since he already knew everything in every class. So, maybe in a way, he was watching. Slightly.

"You're not interesting enough for me to bother," he retorted with no real bite. "You are a bit of an enigma though. I don't like those."

"Sorry. Not trying to be," she promised just shrugging. "But if you ever want to try to figure it out, go for it."

So, he does. He could easily run a background search, but that wasn't how he wanted to do it. No, he'd rather figure her out by himself.

During class, he paid special attention to her notes, taken with a pink pen, mostly covered in doodles of flowers and mountains, or a forest of some kind with a creek.

She, he admitted to himself, was quite good. Even better with paints during art class. He started asking questions, starting off easily.

"Why those colors?"

"Is there a memory attached?"

"Did you have a sketch to go off?"

Then, he started catching up with her at lunch, because it was the best time to really grill her.

"Why did you move to Gotham?" "

Where are you from?"

"No siblings, I'm sure, because you don't ever text or talk about one."

"You look allergic to carrots, since you keep picking them out of the salad during lunch. That or you just hate them. Which is it?"

He'd occasionally slip up though, without realizing, by starting a question with a compliment.—"Since you're good at art, I assume you've practiced since you were a child." The tips of her ears burned red and he frowned. "Why can you never take a compliment?" He asked.

"I can, I do," she defended.

"Yeah, but not well. You get all...weird about it." His voice was a bit less accusatory and more gentle.

She shrugged. "Just don't like them."

He couldn't understand that. Everyone liked compliments. It was the reason the world was polluted by attention seekers looking for praise.

"How come?" He pushed.

"Just don't," she insisted.

"Don't really feel like they're accurate." He hummed. "So, you have low self esteem despite your annoyingly perky attitude, then," he surmised.

Her eyes widened. "I do not!"

She definitely did, he knew then and there by her reaction. Her cheeks got redder, flushing to the point it looked like heavy blush and she stormed off, leaving her salad.

He ate the carrots, nodding to myself. He had finally figured her out.

But, for some reason, that wasn't enough.

He thought he'd be satisfied, but he wasn't. If anything, he felt a bit bad for pushing so hard when she clearly didn't like attention despite always being the center of it, just by being herself.

The next time they had art class, he complimented her painting, just to see her blush. It was really quite cute. So was she. Not that he could admit it.

He did it again and again until she was frustrated and he was amused, asking her to just admit it, which she finally did when they were alone in the classroom after it was let out.

"Fine!" She exclaimed. "Yes, I have low self esteem. I don't like compliments, they make me feel weird."

"That's called validation. You get it because you're good at things," he told her, his voice completely sincere despite trying to be sarcastic.

She held her arms, avoiding his eyes like she always did when she got a compliment. "Great, I'm competent. Doesn't mean people have to say."

Damian frowned a bit. "Humans are hardwired to say what we see. Just like we're designed to see what we say. But you don't do that part. You never see the reason behind all those compliments," he explained.

She scoffed lightly and it was perhaps the first time he'd ever seen so much attitude from her. "I see plenty. Students who want to walk all over me like a door mat because I'm nice and every guy just want to date me to say they've done me—" "

That is an incredibly crude thing to say about yourself," he interrupted. "Not to mention entirely untrue."

She rolled her eyes. Again with the attitude. It seemed she really was capable of it when she was fed up with something or he supposed someone. Him.

"Oh, please, spare me," she muttered sarcastically.

"I'm serious," he repeated. "That's untrue. Some guys, yeah, maybe even most. Definitely the dumbass football guy who is failing homemaking somehow. But plenty of men, who actually know how to be respectful, would appreciate you. And for more than your looks, as well."

"Oh, the sparkling personality, you mean? The one you think is a facade."

He had thought that. At first.

He sighed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. "It's not a facade, but you have more layers than that." Her head tilted so he elaborated. "There's more than just the pink pens and highlighters, like the study method you use to scribble and write simultaneously for better retention rates. You're naturally bright, probably a B average if you didn't study, but you do."

"So?" She wondered.

"So," he parroted. "You make A's because you have a strong work ethic. Because you come from a family who prioritized it, maybe even to the point you were almost neglected from how often they were gone because you always seem fine going last, or getting whatever scraps you're handed inside of fighting for anything else."

She frowned, not at all liking to hear that. Not only because it was slightly true. Alright, definitely true. But also because it was something she worked to keep hidden.

"I thought you said I don't put up a facade?" She countered.

"You don't. You're happy, and bubbly, always looking on the bright side and that's not a ruse. It's who you are," he clarified. "But you can still get angry, frustrated, annoyed, especially when your character is called into question. Clearly."

She didn't know how to feel about the tone in his voice during that last part. "You can stop, now."

But he didn't. He didn't want to. He'd spent so long trying to figure her out and he was so sure he had done that he was his work to pay off, for her to admit he was right or at the very least hear what he had to say, even if she didn't want to say it was true.

"You're not vain about your looks, even though you could be without effort because you're easily the prettiest girl in this entire school."

Those words came out of nowhere, especially the last few. But he had said them and there was no taking them back, even if he wanted to.

It was silent for a while.

"You really are a stalker," she quipped quietly, looking to the floor.

He huffed in annoyance. "Take the damn compliment," he insisted, stepping closer to her, lifting her chin. "Look in my eyes, not away and just accept it."

He waited, to see if she'd push him away or let him compliment her. He swallowed, suddenly feeling the urge to go red as well, but refusing to allow himself to.

"Fine," she agreed in a whisper, locking eyes with him. That alone was clearly already hard, but she was trying. "You're not just the most beautiful girl at this stupid school," he muttered. "I think you could quite possibly be the most beautiful I've ever seen at all. Especially with that blush you seem to hate and hide."

Her cheeks got redder, her lips twitching to avoid any sign of emotion and it was clearly hard for her to look away, hating the level of attention. "It's not cute, it's utterly embarrass—"

"Don't try to refute it either," he interrupted, shaking his head calmly. "Just...just accept it. Please."

He said please. God, he hated doing that.

But it seemed to work and she gave a small nod, finally listening.

He nodded back, letting go of her jaw, stepping back and clearing his throat.

She stared for a bit, before grabbing the rest of her things and leaving him alone to blow out a long sigh, mentally cursing himself for that entire exchange. Perhaps even getting curious about her in the first place.

But then, a second later, she walked back in, the flush less prominent on her cheeks and ears. It was replaced by the look in her eyes, which seemed rather determined despite a bit of apprehension.

"You asked me, like six weeks ago, what my type was," she reminded him.

His eyes narrowed, recalling the conversation. The first time they ever actually had one. He meant it mostly as a quip or some dig. "Yeah, considering you've turned down like 3/4 of the boys in this school. Plus a few girls, for that matter."

She huffed a laugh, gripping the books in her arms closer to her chest and nodding. "Yeah, well, they weren't my type, you were right," she confirmed causing a bit of a smug expression to cross his face. "I didn't even really know I had one, but uh- I think I might."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah?" He questioned, adding another quip. "Let me guess, older guys. You've been giving the math teacher eyes all week."

She shook her head firmly. "No, definitely not," she told him. "I'm pretty sure my type is the weird, stalker boys who are actually really sweet."

[leehsngs]

prompt: you intentionally rile him up to get him to be a little rougher with you.

pairing: park jongseong x f!reader

genre: oneshot

warnings: smut [mdni!!], unprotected sex (put a rubber on it!!), degredation, praise, p in v, pet names, provoked mean dom!jay, slight bratty!reader.

disc. lowercase intended. not proofread. @choisanswife this is for you shawty 🫵🏻😼

now it’s not like your sex life with jay wasn’t absolute heaven on earth, but some nights you wish he would be just a little rougher with you. so tonight of all nights, you decided it’d be a good idea to poke and prod at his nerves just to see how far you could take his patience.

“y/n, not now.” he uttered while batting your hand away gently. that only caused you to groan.

“oh, come on, jay. it’s not like i’m asking for much. it’s just.. you took so long getting me to cum that i felt like i was dying.” it was a dramatic statement on your part, but you could tell it was getting under his skin and that’s exactly what you wanted.

his brow darted up as he slowly turned to you, a slight mumble leaving him, “oh really?”

and the next thing you know? you’re bent over the back of the couch with nothing but your panties around your ankles and his cock buried deep inside you. there was nothing but the sound of skin slapping against skin and your pathetic whines of pleasure.

“this is what you wanted, right? to be my little fuck toy? hm?”, he grabbed you by your throat and pulled you up off the back of the couch, hovering his lips by your ear so you could hear every grunt that left him.

you nodded because that was all you could do. he was finally being rough with you and you loved every second of it.

your hand reached behind you to grip onto his waist because you wanted to feel him, wanted to let him now just how well he was doing. he knew that though. if it wasn’t for the way you clenched around him and the whimpers that left you then maybe he’d be a little curious, but he knew.

“f- fuck.. baby, i’m cumming-!” and that was all jay needed to relentlessly pound into you even harder than he was before, tightening his grip on your throat and wrapping a hand around to circle your sensitive bud at the same speed he was thrusting.

“go on, pretty slut, cum for me. make a mess on my cock.”

that was enough to push your over the edge, your body trembling as the coil in your stomach snapped and you came all over his cock just the way he wanted.

he looked at your slumped over figure with a chuckle, pulling out of you right as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, “let’s get you cleaned up, angel. you were so good for me.”

“i love you.”

“i love you more, darling.”

despite how bratty you could be, he never left you unsatisfied. never once and that was something you absolutely loved about him.

© leehsngs. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, or translate my works.

author’s note. i literally thought of this idea at 4 am due to personal experiences rip. this is also my first time writing something like this so feedback is very much wanted and appreciated! hope you all enjoyed!

[hopelesshaidys]

i cannot physically stop thinking abt american transfer student! reader x bkg

like i’m american and compared to japanese culture americans are so fucking messy 😭 that being said if you went to public school (and wasn’t apart of the “popular” group) you’ve witnessed crazy shit-ESPECIALLY in the south like these schools are not for the weak

you never back down from his insults or threats, bc you’ve dealt with dickheads like him all the time in america! public school was insane so this doesn’t phase you at all. when he notices that you don’t even flinch at his crazy antics he feels…different. especially when you insult him right back like it’s nothing. you always have a come back for him and you have physically fought him (and won) on multiple occasions. it makes him start to admire and respect you (and obviously fall in loooooove)

he slowly drifts closer to you, mentally and physically. i am a stern believer in physical touch bkg like fucking fight me. he would want to always be near you so that yall will accidentally brush hands or bump shoulders, every touch sending a shock down his spine

tbh i think the only way to be able to date bkg is to also be mean and i just cannot stop thinking about FUNNY their pre!relationship would be

*bkg saying some bullshit*

you, mumbling in english “big back bitch”

bkg: HAH⁉️WHATD YOU SAY⁉️

we know that shoto can speak english (at least like decently) and tbh i head cannon denki speaking english as well bc idk it suits him. with that being said, whenever you say something crazy in english shoto is always like 😮 and denki is HOWLING meanwhile bkg is CRAZY jealous bc he can’t understand english

like u don’t understand bkg is soooo jealous bc u and denki bond over music, tv shows, and movies and he keeps kicking himself on passing up his parents offer to teach him english. not to mention yall whisper shit in english a LOT and you guys are not slick with how much yall be giggling. bkg is always glaring at yall whenever that happens, and there have been a couple of times where you felt bad so u told him what yall were saying and you get so happy when you see his mouth turn up into a smile while he chuckles.

this is so random but it also pisses him off when u have t shirts on with english words. so it’ll be like dinner time and he’s huffing and puffing and ur like “???” and he keeps glaring at ur shirt like “what does he have against the tv show friends like he’s never heard abt it until now???” and it wasn’t until denki was like “yooo you watch friends? that show is so stupid i love it” that he settles down. from there on out you always find a way to translate your shirts for him

AND MUSIC don’t even get me started on music. you’re singing along so passionately and he’s like. “what are they singing abt i HAVE to know” so he’ll try to be sneaky and use his phone to translate stuff. if it’s a song abt a shitty ex he’ll have the most violent urge to fly to your home state and kill the ex who made you feel like this-but if it’s like megan thee stallion? my dude is sweating and blushing but pissed bc he’s sweating and blushing and basically long story short kirishima goes up to talk to him and gets blasted in the face.

he watches all your favorite movies and tv shows (subtitles on) and he will never admit it but he loves when you whisper the translations in his ear.

another thing that peaks his curiosity is you’re friends from home! america is 14 hours behind tokyo…so talking to ur friends from home can cause difficulties. when it’s late at night the class will see you furiously texting your friends bc it’s morning time for them. sometimes on weekends you guys are able to call, so if you’re ever on call walking into the kitchen for a snack bkg is so curious as to what you and your friends would be talking abt. he always sneaks a peek and you best believe he learns all of your friends names and faces.

friend: “who was that hot guy that you were talking to?”

you: “huh? oh that’s katsuki, i told you abt him”

friend: “dude…you were totally giving him fuck me eyes”

you: “AYO DO NOT EVEN START WITH THAT SH-“

(he was looking at you with such passion and love in his eyes but ur just too dumb to see it)

you tend to crave a lot of american snacks and food, and sometimes bkg will go out to a special shop that has american shit and bring it to you.

“you wouldn’t fucking stop saying how much you wanted it so here take it nerd”

*you’re all teary bc like “omg he went out of his away to go across town to get me some stupid snacks omg im falling for him”*

you love cooking american foods/foods you grew up with for the class and you specifically yearn for bkg’s approval. you eventually learn about his love for cooking and he teaches you japanese dishes while you teach him the dishes you know. the two of you bonded so much while cooking together.

(this part is me venting so just bare with me okay) and god forbid you have a toxic ex in america that’s some fucking loser white boy bc bkg will rip that man to SHREADS. he has you cry laughing over all the insults he comes up with when you finally crack and show him a picture.

“he literally looks like a block of feta cheese yn, he looks like the type to trip on his own shoelaces. he definitely doesn’t read any higher than a ten year olds level-“

it actually ends with a sweet moment of him watching you laugh and when you two lock eyes he tells you that you deserve better, that you deserve someone who will actually treat you well. he scurries off after that bc he realizes he was too soft in that moment and you never stop thinking abt that.

eventually you get him to confess and start dating, obviously having to take it slow bc there’s no way bkg dated anyone before you. slowly figuring out everything that works for the both of you, the relationship is very loving and accepting.

bkg slowly learns all of your favorite songs and knows what they translate to. when you sing love songs to him not thinking he knows what they mean, he just smiles and says smth cheesy like “oh you must really like me huh?”

you of course teach him words in english and you try to tutor him in the language but he’s not the easiest person to teach to, especially a whole new language. but the couple of phrases you teach him are just for your sake so you can talk shit and include him in it, and he loves it so much.

(dw bc by the time he’s an adult he can speak english and his accent is SO cute and you love it so much bc everything he does is so amazing)

when the two of you get older you are able to bring him home! he meets all of your friends and family, even tho he’s literally the most nervous you’ve ever seen him. he knows english by this time but he keeps overthinking it so much, and once he’s surrounded by a bunch of people who’s first language is english he messes up a couple of times and sometimes messes up translations. he gets so mad at himself but you are able to talk him down and tell him not to be so hard on himself.

you bring him to all of your favorite restaurants and areas, shopping included. he wants to know everything about where you grew up, hoping it will somehow grow the two of you even closer to each other. once you’re in public and at restaurants you still insist on speaking japanese since that was the language the two of you used when you fell in love, and even tho you guys get weird stares you refuse to switch. bkg also enjoys it bc when it’s the two of you speaking japanese it’s like you two are in your own little world, like you two really do belong together.

but also you guys shit talk in japanese so. much. like it’s not even funny. if you have family members that you dislike, you better believe you’re whispering in his ear all about it catching him up on family lore when he meets all of your family.

that’s all i can think of rn, but god. i’m obsessed.

[meanbossart]

Ask compilation: Art & advice! Reference use, light, facial expressions and sketching.

Replying to a few miscellaneous comments & questions about my process, with a giggle thrown between every other question for good measure!

Hey! Sorry, I just post them as they are 😅 Can't say I've ever had any issues regardless of size.

That is HYSTERICAL and honestly with the amount of "I don't play bg3 but I follow you anyway" messages that I get, I hope I'm not accidentally giving people the wrong idea 😂

Thank you so much for the kind message!

Anything, really! I use Virtamate whenever I'm really struggling with perspective or an angle, or sometimes something as simple as stock images from google (especially for furniture and interiors) I do also use myself as reference a lot, particularly for hands. Admittedly you do get to a point where you need reference less and less, and can pull poses and anatomy out of imagination pretty easily but you never completely cut it out of art. Reference is a tool just like paper and brushes are, not a crutch.

For angles/perspective and poses (to a degree), yes! Absolutely. It is a wonderful tool that has paid its cost over a million times for me, personally.

I do NOT suggest referencing off its anatomy, however! If you already have a good grasp of how real bodies move, sure, you can use it without issue and just "fix" the anatomy as you draw, but virtamate's models, while more malleable than most 3d figures, still suffer from the usual limitations of it's medium. Musculature and fat in particular do not operate very well alongside said model's movements and don't look very accurate to life.

I will not rest until I have normalized toes.

Thank you so much!

Unfortunately, that is something I genuinely don't use reference for - well, kind of! I pretty much walk through the world making a mental note of how things look and how I would translate that visual onto (digital) paper if I had to. And I think I do that the most with light and shadow.

Light application largely comes from from understanding 3 things:

-Dimensions/planes. -How different materials reflect/absorb said light. -✨DRAMA✨

I suggest studying art from monochrome artists and comic illustrators and seeing how they manage to create the illusion of multidimensionality with a very limited palette. Drawing a lot of figures with only black and white also helps - that was pretty much my entire comic career prior and probably what I am to thank for my current understanding of light placement.

Watching and studying movies and shows that make use of colorful, dramatic lighting also helps a lot - Nicolas Winding Refn has honestly taught me so much just by watching his flicks!

Thank you! I have indeed been trying a couple of different things and I'm glad that you noticed it and that you enjoy it!

Thank you! I'm happy to say I plan on drawing much more of her as well 😇 at least as soon as I recover from the last comic!

Hello, happy to have inspired you even a little bit to get back on the horse!

I think referencing from yourself/real pictures of people's faces is always best, even if your style is pretty cartoony or simplified. That way you can actually take note of how facial muscles work and apply that understanding to your art when you create expressions from memory. Start detailed and then work your way down, removing elements until you are happy with the results!

Paying attention to moving faces when you see/interact with people is also useful. I often say this, but just looking at the world through the lens of an artist can be immensely helpful - taking mental notes of small details and later applying them to what you do, that sort of thing!

I first type them down in (usually) Times Roman and then trace it for that pencil-ed in look!

Hello, hope you are well yourself!

I have this post here that might help you a little visually, but I guess you are more curious about the inbetween stages of that first draft and the final art. I think a lot of it is muscle memory! I can move onto lineart pretty reliably after 1 or 2 sketches for most things, occasionally I will need 3 (not counting when I just change something entirely - that obviously requires the process to start over again for that element) but that hasn't always been the case!

However many sketches you want to do is however many you need, and depending on your art style and process that can vary wildly. Just try not to boggle yourself down with perfectionism - I'm sure you've noticed by now that, sometimes, when you draw something over and over again trying to get it "right" you end up sucking the life out of it. It can actually good to turn your brain off a little bit and TRY to line in the details on the fly, not only will you build confidence over-time but you may arrive at some really fluid shapes and movements as a result!

[spr1ngpvrinbunny]

Hey 👋 :D mild request here, just wondering kinda. How would Harley go about you moving in together? And what were the first few day or even first week like? Was it hard for him to adjust? Because you've mentioned that he'll do things only when y'all alone at home, which implies that they live together. Would he just say "Move in with me" or something? I'm also curious as to how he'd adjust to having someone in his presence at essentially all times. It'd be cool to see some headcanons of yours as to how he sleeps the first night or just little habits he has :)

Moving in together would be a huge shift for Harley, considering his need for control, personal space, and routine. Here’s how I think it would go down:

Moving in Together: How Would He Approach It?

Harley wouldn’t make a big deal about it. There would be no romantic speech or nervous anticipation. If he decided that cohabitation was necessary or beneficial, he would simply state it in a matter-of-fact way.

Scenario 1: It could be as blunt as, “It would be more efficient if you lived here.” No flowery reasoning, just straight logic—less time wasted traveling back and forth, easier to keep an eye on you, and more control over variables.

Scenario 2: If you spent more and more time at his place, he might just… stop acknowledging your old residence. One day, you’d realize he’s cleared out an entire section of his home for you, your things are already moved, and when you bring it up, he just says, “You practically live here already. I see no point in maintaining two spaces.”

Harley doesn’t do things without thinking several steps ahead, so if he proposes living together, he has already considered every angle, including risks and benefits.

The First Few Days: Adjustments & Challenges

Harley is methodical, structured, and values order. He’s used to being alone, which means the first few days (or even weeks) of cohabitation would be a challenge for him, even if he wanted you there.

Things He Struggles With:

Lack of Complete Control: Even if he trusts you, having another person exist in his space disrupts his normal patterns. He’ll notice every tiny thing you do that deviates from his expectations.

Noise & Movement Awareness: Harley is hyper-aware of his surroundings. Even small noises—like you shifting in bed, opening cabinets, or even breathing differently—might irritate him at first. Not because he’s angry, but because he’s not used to it.

Unspoken Expectations: He expects you to pick up on his silent routines without explicitly explaining them. If you put something in the ‘wrong’ place, he won’t say anything… but he will move it back, and you might get a lingering stare that translates to, "That is incorrect. Try again.”

Things He Does to Adjust:

He mentally maps out your habits, schedules, and behaviors. If you always make tea at 7 AM, he’ll register it and start factoring it into his mornings.

He might initially disappear into his own activities more than usual, retreating into work or routines as a coping mechanism.

If he truly values you, he will make an effort—not through words, but through accommodations. A small adjustment in his rigid schedule to allow room for yours. Tiny, barely noticeable shifts in behavior that indicate he's adapting.

First Night Sleeping Together in the Same Space

Harley is a light sleeper. The first night will be awkward, even if you two have shared a bed before, because this time, it’s permanent—this is his home, his sanctuary, and now it includes you.

Possible Reactions the First Night:

He Doesn’t Sleep Well at First: He’s too aware of another person in his bed, analyzing every breath, shift, and movement. He lies awake longer than usual, adjusting to the new presence.

He Stays Rigid for a While: He keeps to his side of the bed at first, almost like he’s waiting to see if you move first. It takes a few nights before he naturally shifts closer.

He Still Wakes Up at His Usual Time: No matter how restless he is, his internal clock doesn’t change. Even if you’re still asleep, he’s already up, already moving.

Small Habits He Develops Over Time

Tracking Your Presence: If he wakes up and you’re not beside him, his brain immediately registers it. He won’t panic, but he’ll quietly scan the space to confirm where you are.

Adjusting the Environment Subtly: If he notices you struggle with cold mornings, the thermostat will be adjusted. If you always leave your book in a certain spot, a small table might appear next to your side of the bed.

Sleep Positions Change Over Time: At first, he keeps distance. Eventually, he might casually let a hand rest on your arm or back while sleeping—nothing clingy, just contact.

So moving in with Harley wouldn’t be romantic in a conventional sense. There’s no big sentimental moment, but there’s intentionality in everything he does. He struggles with change, but once he fully adjusts, his actions will reflect a deep (though unspoken) attachment.

Living with him would feel like slowly becoming integrated into a complex system—he won’t say “I need you here”, but every small adaptation he makes proves it.

[nicolesainz]

Grab me a mate, but don't call me mate, please? (FC47)

Summary: Franco is making his F1 debut after substituting Logan. The paddock's eyes are on him, like hers. She is the younger sister of Alex Albon, who with a simple 'hello' fell for the Argentinian. She feels uncomfortable with Franco having a flirtatious persona, but little does she know, his eyes only look at her direction.

A/n: I LOVE Franco! It was necessary to write about him since he is the lovechild of Lando and Carlos. Also, in the title I am talking about mate (the drink), which Franco loves and Alex gave him a hard time about it.

Warnings: none, simply fruitful and sweet, bad Spanish translations

"Just lost a fan, Alex." James Vowels says giggling at Alex, who rolls his eyes with the state of his sister being wowed from the newcomer Franco.

"At least now she will wear our gear. It hurt my eyes seeing her in orange." Alex responds as he tries to poke his sibling, but she does not respond.

"Do you maybe have an available work position at Franco's garage Mr. Vowels?" y/n softly says and both her brother and his boss laugh hysterically.

"Unfortunately no, although you are more than welcome to give out data pointer to both our drivers." James says before he goes back to his seat in the pitwall.

"Why don't you ask him out?" Lily appeared on Alex's side, curious as to what is happening.

"You can tell it's not in the Albon gene to be brave in matters of the heart." Y/n fires back and Lily erupts in giggles.

"I am telling you tho, you probably should go and talk to him. You have nothing to lose." She tries to encourage a very shy Albon sibling.

"Hey man, what's up?" Alex shouts with our warning and shakes hands with Franco who paid a visit at his teammates garage.

"All well, but Jesus Christ, the heat is horrible." Franco says as his arm goes around Y/n's shoulder. Her face instantly turns into a deep red shade, darker than the one of Ferrari's car.

"Singapore is worse. This is nothing. Once we get there, you will wish to be back in Baku."

"You are coming to Singapore as well, y/n? No?" Franco turns his head to face Alex's sister and her eyes soften at how calmly and sweetly he looks at her.

"I will be there. It's one of my favourite tracks." she quickly responds, trying not to flinch at the sensation of Franco's body leaning onto hers.

"Increíble! That's what I wanted to hear." Franco winks at Y/n and suddenly her knees go weak. Lily notices how she is one breath away from fainting onto his arms. The couple knew how smitten she was with Franco, but hadn't expected such reactions from her.

"Oh god, you really like Franco don't you?" Alexandra exclaims when Lily narrates the story to her and Rebecca.

"I would say so yeah. But I really don't think he is into me. He is just being flirty just like with everyone else in the paddock."

"It's friendly flirting. He even did it with Oscar on the fanzone presentation and Lily somehow got offended." Rebecca pointed out.

"Really, you have to approach him. Go and ask him to make you a matcha or mate however that drink he likes is called. I always see him with such a drink in his hand." Alex suggested and Lily thanked her for saying what she had also advised Y/n to do.

"Take our word for it. We wouldn't tell you to go for it, if it wasn't for a reason." Rebecca squeezed y/n's hand softly, reassuring her that everything will be alright.

"Okay, okay. I will go talk to him." Y/n raised her hands in a moment of surrender and the three fellow girls clapped at her finally making up her mind and finding the courage to talk to Franco.

When she started strolling around the paddock, she noticed that a bunch of photographers were surrounding Franco, asking for his input in him replacing Logan in the middle of the season and how Williams will move forward with Carlos already occupying the second seat in 2025.

As always, Franco was calm and composed, responding to each interviewer's question in full detail, without being nervous or angry. For a man who has no PR training, he handles the media part like a PR assistant himself.

The questions slowly started eating Franco alive and he was looking left and right to find an excuse to avoid them without seeming rude. When his eyes locked with Y/n's he politely walked out of the circle of interviewers, by saying there is an emergency he has to take care of back at his garage and grabbed her once more from the shoulder and moved their bodies as far away as possible from the hungry eyes of the public.

"You are an angel heaven sent, gracias!" he leaned a kiss on Y/n's cheek and if her heart could talk at that very moment, it would certainly scream.

"No worries. Say, uh, I have been wanting to try Mate for a while. Could you help me with making it?" the words come out of her mouth with major struggle.

"This is great. Of course I will help you mi hermosa dama" his hands quickly left her shoulder and grabbed her hand firmly, guiding her to his garage, where he had all the necessary equipment.

Alex, Lily and Carlos who were chatting outside of the William's pitstop turned their heads towards the direction of Franco smiling at them, whilst holding Alex's sister close to his body.

"That was quick" Alex exclaimed in surprise.

"Oh come on. Franco blurted to me by accident that he wants to take out your sister and so me and the girls tried to persuade her to talk to him." Lily explains not wanting to keep this secret anymore from her boyfriend.

"She will voodoo me outside of a seat, so Franco can keep the Williams one." Carlos joked with the couple laughing along.

Franco was shy but smart enough to not simply tell Y/n on how to make her Mate. He would guide her through it by moving her arms along with his, using as an excuse the fact that 'there are specific measurements and only I know how to show you best.'

"Do I put some sugar in it?" Y/n' turned her head around, only to be met with Franco's warm hazel eyes and puffy lips. Torture would depict her state perfectly.

"You are sweet enough, no need for more sugar." he didn't even comprehend how easily that slipped off his mouth, but it surely had the desiring effect he wished.

Y/n's smile had reached the tip of her ears, whilst her breathing had gone very rapid.

"You are good to go. Give it a taste." Franco hands her his cup of Mate and she takes a sip out of the metallic straw.

At first she grinned with how sour it was, but its aftertaste, was more sweet and cold than expected. Very refreshing and enjoyable.

"Can I have a taste as well?" he suggested and as Y/n nodded, his lips captured hers softly, taking away the cup from her hand and wrapping each other in their respective embraces.

Franco was nibbling Y/n's lower lips as soon as she started whimpering quietly with how much she was into their kiss. "Simplemente encantador" (simply lovely), moaned Franco before breaking their kiss. Both refused to let the other go away from their grasp.

Y/n's eyes were shimmering and even smiling along with her flustered lips at Franco's sudden surprise.

"I think it was high time this happened."

"If you wanted to do that, you could have said so." y/n' jokingly punched Franco's arm and he giggled loudly from his heart.

"At least now I have an even better excuse to take you out." Franco winked and leaned in once more to kiss Y/n and show her what she is about to get into when dating him.

[chocosvt]

HER | part two.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.7k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that! 

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

updates: in terms of a posting schedule, i'm pre sure i'm just gonna post every saturday night ~12am EST (so technically sunday lol). taglist is included in the comment section since tumblr now has limit as to how many peeps are mentioned per post :p

thanks againnnn! 🌟

⇢ part one | part three | part four | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

—MAY 12TH.

Wonwoo was sat on his couch with your laptop glowing in front of him, one hand holding up his chin while the other scrolled slowly through your writing. Finally, you’d let him actually glean your work, and he was quite impressed with your natural skill. He supposed the biggest issue was the choppiness—your sentence structures were much like your racing tangents, and in some areas the writing lacked flow and a smooth continuality. But that sort of ability would just develop on its own as long as you were practicing.

For the most part, Wonwoo was leaving behind small notes and highlighting areas that you could revisit at a later time.

“Okay, I’m going to do a handstand.”

However, as Wonwoo had been combing through your work for the past half-hour, that left you with an apparent boredness which somehow translated into an acrobatics session in his living room.

“I’d really prefer you didn’t,” he answered through the fingers covering his mouth, his eyes trained with focus on the document.

“No, no. I used to be so good at them. Watch.”

Wonwoo was in the midst of typing a note when a small, circular embroidered pillow had suddenly struck the laptop, nearly forcing it shut. It was then that Wonwoo looked up with a long sigh, acknowledging the devious, shining smile that sprung to your face.

“Now that I have your attention—”

Wonwoo titled his head, folded his arms, and propped one foot onto the coffee table, somewhat like an exhausted parent who was being heckled by their child to watch the “special trick” they’d just learned. He was internally praying you actually were good at handstands, because that fragile pottery vase and the antique gold clock sitting on the fire mantel had never looked so breakable until now. A cool breeze slivered in through the open window as your arms began raising above your head, and he heard you inhale steadily.

“Go!” You then shouted, either in motivation or impatience aimed at yourself, loud enough to make Wonwoo flinch.

The next moment, you were basically flipped upside down, your socked feet sticking pointedly in the air while your hands stumbled about on the brown rug for a few seconds, attempting to find their place rooted in the fuzz. Wonwoo pursed his lip, impressed.

“See! Told you!”

“I mean, I never said you couldn’t.”

“Are you amazed?”

He watched with a slight bit of nervousness as you walked a few paces forward with your hands, though he kept his calm composure from the couch and dealt you about three dull claps.

“Cirque de Soleil is asking for you, actually.”

To Wonwoo’s utter relief, you collapsed back onto your feet, probably because the blood was gushing to your head and he’d rather not have you faint squarely on the face in his living room. You then sat on your knees for a moment, rubbing slowly at your scalp.

“I’m almost done,” Wonwoo reaffirmed, moving aside the stitched pillow you’d chucked at him earlier and reopening the laptop.

“Don’t let me rush you.”

He chuckled instantly. “You mean to tell me you’re not bored out of your mind? Why else would you be doing cartwheels.”

Finally, you got up from the rug.

“Um, it was a handstand,” you were hasty to correct him, now sinking into the seat beside Wonwoo on the couch with the circle pillow pulled onto your lap. “I could do a cartwheel, though.”

“Yeah, not in this house you’re not.”

“Not in this house you’re not.”

He merely smirked at your attempt to mimic him by employing a cartoonishly deep tone that you found very amusing, made evident by your prideful giggles close to his ear. Just as Wonwoo scrolled to the end of the document to type his last note, you were piqued with curiosity and leaned over his lap, grabbing at the screen to examine how far he’d come during your hour together.

“So, where are you at anyway?”

Wonwoo pressed himself back into the couch, immediately removing his hands from the keyboard. It felt like at the most random, unpredictable times you would swoop in so close to him, and he never quite knew how to react. Most times he would freeze, become stiff and hardly breathing, run his eyes in all different directions around the room because everything seemed easier when he pretended you didn’t exist.

He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.

“I’m basically done.”

“You are? Okay. Hm… it seems like you made a lotta notes.”

Wonwoo squirmed in his seat as though it were scratching him. You eventually pulled away, but your knee was now resting on the side of his thigh and you were sitting much closer than before—close enough that your shoulder was digging into his and he could sense your full, bright eyes burning a stare at his pink cheek.

“They’re mostly easy fixes…” he mumbled, refusing to look at you, instead scrolling impetuously through the document with jerks of his pointer and middle finger.  

“Well, what do you think of it?”

He paused, still staring at the laptop.

“Of what?”

“Wonwoo, my writing, obviously,” you said with a warm laugh and a soft breath that rushed over his neck in such a pleasurable, lightheaded way. “And look at me,” he heard you ask in a lower, more sincere voice, your fingers then ghosting along his tense jaw in a fleeting, sensitive touch as you guided his head gently in your direction, “I just want to know you’re telling the truth.”

He was accustomed to your eyes being filled with sparks and the readiness to pit the most sharp-tongued comment in history, and so Wonwoo was able to relax ever so slightly upon realizing how your gaze had become increasingly mellow, welcoming even.

“Well, you’re obviously good at it,” he managed to answer the question without his voice trembling, “just some pacing issues, mostly. You’ve got a bit of an issue with run-on sentences and closing up a scene. But you plan a lot, which is nice. I mean, you can only get better.”

An earnest smile picked its way across your face, framing your polished teeth and pushing up the apples of your cheeks. Wonwoo had to look away—sometimes it was too much—you were too much, and he refused to let himself drown beneath your intensity that he found purely terrifying. Your knee proceeded to pull from his thigh and you were now dragging your body off the couch, which meant that Wonwoo could safely exhale the breath he was holding. He wondered if you just wanted to hear the compliment, or if you were legitimately pleased with his praise.

You walked up to his fireplace mantel, examining the items left along the white, sparkling trim he’d spritzed clean of all dust.

“Did you make this?” Came your inquiry, a curious finger pointing toward the round-bottomed, thin-necked red vase.

Wonwoo shook his head.

“No, it was a welcome gift from the landlord.”

“She made it?”

“Yeah,” he hummed. “Didn’t I tell you? She owns the pottery business downstairs. Saskia. She immigrated here like, eighteen years ago, now. From Poland. I thought you might’ve run into her.”

Shaking your head, you turned back to the vase.

“I didn’t see her at all.”

“She was probably in her office.”

“How did she make all these little emblem thingies? Around the base? Like, this one’s got an elephant. This one is a fruit tree.”

Wonwoo squinted at the vase from his place on the couch. He hadn’t really examined it much, apart from when his landlord had thrust it into his hands while she welcomed him to the building. It never held any flowers, either—not even the brilliant ruby coloured poinsettias his ex-girlfriend's mother was supposed to send.

The relationship has disintegrated before it could ever happen.

“Fuck, don’t know. She has a bunch of little tools down there for more detailed work. Maybe a stamp. You’d have to ask her.”

“It’s really pretty.”

His brows furrowed. “Yeah? You like ceramics or something?”

You turned back to him, shrugging.

“I don’t know. I was just saying, it’s pretty.”

“It is. It’s very pretty.”

With a sigh, you climbed back onto the couch.

“Do you think you’re done editing?”

He picked up the laptop and set it down on the coffee table.

“I think so. For the day.”

“Perfect.” You smiled. “I’ll make time to read your notes tomorrow morning, if I can. Seems like there’s about eight-hundred.”

Wonwoo chuckled, “not eight-hundred. Try twenty.”

“Twenty?!” Your eyes bulged in shock as you gripped onto the embroidered pillow hugged back into your lap. “That’s so many!”

“What—twenty is somehow more than eight-hundred? What fucking planet are you living on where numeracy works like that?”

“Wonwoo, I have so much to do tomorrow!” You winced, tossing your head against the couch and slipping down the cushions.

“Okay, like what?”

“… Gosh… no, no. Fuck it. It doesn’t matter.”

“No, tell me. What have you got to do tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to tell.”

“Why not?” He murmured.

“If I talk about, then I’ll want to do it even less.” There was an empty sigh he heard from your chest as your arms curled tight around the pillow. “Besides, it’s squished all into my colour-coded block on the schedule. The pink one. I just—I don’t want to think about it.”

“Fair. I get that.”

“It’s complicated family stuff.”

Wonwoo huffed sympathetically. “I get that even more.”

“… So, we’re still good for Spring Street on Sunday?” You asked, staring up at Wonwoo from your sunken, defeated slump.

He nodded.

“I’ll be there if you are.”

—MAY 14TH.

The Spring Street Fair. It happened every single May, for three days straight, usually Friday to Sunday. In the daytime it was cheerier and more watered down for the children that came hand in hand with their parents, looking to feed the alpacas and ride those nauseating teacups and sob until exhaustion because they accidentally let go of their kitten-shaped balloon. However, at night, the fair had become a beacon for the older, rowdier university crowd.

Wonwoo never went despite all his recent years living in the city, but Vernon had, usually on accounts of “business” which really meant selling drugs for idiotic prices behind the Whirler or the Starship. You wanted to go, but hadn’t told Wonwoo the reason. He opted to assume it was another part of your story—maybe you ran into Mingyu at a similar fair when you were younger, and it was therefore very integral you go Spring Street tonight. It was the exact opposite of what Wonwoo typically appreciated doing on Sundays, and he knew for a fact he’d loathe it, every single part.

“No fuckin’ way!” Vernon’s voice exploded through the crackly static on Wonwoo’s phone as he stood in line for the fair, gazing over top everyone’s heads to gauge the ticket booth. “I can’t believe your loser ass actually crawled outta bed for that.”

Wonwoo scoffed, “yeah, it wasn’t my choice.”

“Then what for?”

“Her. She wanted to go. It’s for the book.”

He was supposed to meet you inside the fair. It was almost ten o’clock at night. The sky was beautifully clear, illuminated with pinpricks of starlight, and the air had once been crisp. Now, Wonwoo was beginning to smell sparked cannabis, and he assumed a likewise scent would follow him all damn night. The horrid, anxious process of standing in the mile long line was made palatable through his conversation with Vernon, who—shockingly—wasn’t even there.

“Ohh, the book, the book. Wait—she’s gonna write her book at the fuckin’ Spring Street Fair? How the fuck does that work?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Wonwoo chuckled. “It’s stuff about the settings, the environment; she uses it to help with her writing.”

“Hm, doesn’t make much sense to me, probably ‘cause I don’t like readin' or writin' or anything with books. But, damn, I’m jealous of you, Glasses. Do y’know how hard I tried to smooth talk my way into that girl’s pants? N’somehow, you can write good—”

“Write well, not good.”

“Oh, fuck you—write well—so she takes you everywhere like a little purse dog. When does that happen to me, yeah?”

The line started slowly pouring forward, and Wonwoo felt himself get dragged along. Probably another five minutes and he would be at the ticket booth, getting one of those neon bracelets circled around his wrist that were nearly impossible to rip off.

“Why didn’t you come?” Wonwoo asked.

Vernon groaned, “got into some bullshit with this guy who’s not payin’ up. I’m handlin’ it, though. If I can manage to get it all sorted, I’ll come later. It’s too fuckin’ easy selling those gummies to the first years, dude. Shit, it could be some Flintstone vitamins and they’re actin’ like Chicken Little. Cracks me the fuck up.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat, smiling. “You’re such a cunt.”

“Hey, hey, you are what you eat, okay? And, when you get inside or whatever, text me where you’re hangin’ so if I do come, I can see you for a bit. Dunno if your girlfriend will approve.”

The air began mottling with a thin, chalky smoke that drifted from somewhere down the crowded string of university students. Again, the line shuffled, and the congestion gradually broke up as more people were allowed into the fair. Wonwoo switched the phone to his other ear, getting his wallet ready.

“Don’t even start.”

“Start what? I said nothin’.” Vernon’s laughter was raspy and obviously laced with a smirk that Wonwoo could hear.

“Don’t be such a prick. She’s not my—”

Suddenly, Wonwoo’s phone began vibrating against his palm, and when he pulled it down an immediate lump conjured in his throat upon reading your name. His heart jolted, and it wasn’t until someone pushed hard on his back to urge him forward that he realized the line was once again ambling closer to the ticket booth.

Vernon sighed, “so, again, tell me where you’ll—”

“Shit—uh, gotta go. Talk to you later.”

A few remnants of Vernon’s miffed, guttural cursing managed to leak through the phone before Wonwoo could press to accept your call. In an instant, his friend was blipped away, and he heard your voice instead. He held back a cough from the astringent, cottonish air.

“Wonwoo, hello. I’m glad you picked up. So, where the hell are you? It’s nearly ten! Did you not get in line early?”

Wonwoo kept the phone secured between his shoulder and ear while he shimmied the coins out from his wallet.

“No, I did, promise. Just about to pay. Where are you?”

“When you get in, just follow the arrows. They're lit up with those blue lightbulbs. They go to the tavern. I’m having some drinks with my friends. Don’t worry. You won’t have to do much socializing.”

“Uh, okay,” Wonwoo answered, internally counting up the money in his hand until he was certain of the amount. “Mingyu’s there?”

“No. He always plays poker with his friends on Sunday.”

An unbeknownst pressure escaped his chest.

“Okay. I’m close to the front. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Sure. Don’t be late!”

“I know. Bye.”

Hanging up the phone, Wonwoo had just enough time to wriggle the device into his back pocket before handing the ticket booth clerk his coins. She dropped the cold change into his hand, then asked to see his wrist, where she proceeded to attach the bracelet with the words Spring Street Fair etched into the orange, plasticky-feeling paper.

Finally, he was let inside.

Blue arrows, blue arrows—that was all Wonwoo kept reiterating in his head like some religious hymn as he followed the glow throughout the fairgrounds, weaving his way between large groups of people that he gleefully didn’t recognize. Eventually, he saw the tavern you were referring to—an outdoor bar with picnic tables set up everywhere, beneath cheap little strings of warm, lambent lights.

Even with his glasses on, Wonwoo was still squinting as he walked between each table, attempting to discern your dolled-up face somewhere amongst the strangers sipping on their large mugs of alcohol, that was until he heard his name being called over the music rumbling from the bar’s horrible speakers. When he looked straight ahead, he saw you cutely waving him over. With each step he took, Wonwoo reminded himself to breathe, to loosen up, to stop clenching his fists so painfully tight as though he were going to split someone’s eyebrow. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Just breathe.

You stood up from the table to welcome him, and he felt your hand settle softly on his lower back. The touch was grounding.

“So, everyone, girls, if I could get your attention for just a moment despite the general impairment going on here—this is the mystery guy whose been helping me write. Wonwoo.”

God—he wanted to puke, all those big, curious, unabashed eyes soaking him in like freshly dipped watercolour to a cloth canvas. There was a cluster of high-pitched voices that repeated his name in a shrill, unison greeting. However, Wonwoo was unable to meet a single girl’s gaze, and so he opted to stare down at a paper plate on the table aligned with cinnamon-sprinkled churros.

Again, he wanted to throw up.

“So, of course, Wonwoo’s been the biggest help with everything,” you said, to which he could sense your nails subtly digging at him through his clothes, most likely a silent urge to say something so he didn’t seem so unprecedentedly stiff and metallic.

He cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah. I’m just proofreading, really.” Wonwoo had to swallow. “Some tips here and there. But, she’s pretty good as is.”

“Is that your actual voice?”

His eyes darted to find who asked the question. She was toward the end of the picnic table, tucking a lock of short, coffee brown hair behind her ear. Before the girl was a gigantic and fluorescent pink drink, the glass resembling the shape of a fish bowl.

“… What do you mean?” Wonwoo replied.

She sat up on her knee, continuing to ogle him with those fixated but glazed chestnut eyes. Her mouth seemed to drag as though it was thawing when she spoke. Wonwoo could tell she was already well inebriated. There was no way that was her first drink.

“Your voice,” she repeated, “it’s so… deep.”

“Well… I don’t know. Puberty.”

His comment elicited some giggles from around the table, to which he could feel the cartilage in his ears burning.

“Wonwoo—” another girl then leaned forward with her head tilted up and a coy, drunk smile flittering on her mouth, “—I think it’s so, so great you’re helping Her write. I actually think it’s the sweetest, ever.” Her lashes were coated in smooth mascara and her eyelids were remarkably glimmery, drenched in an electric shade of blue that he couldn’t stop staring at. “Also, sorry, but you’re like, super gorge.”

“Super what?” He repeated, confused at her wording.

But she didn't seem interested in repeating herself, instead scooping the long and impressively silky black hair off her shoulder to spill down her pale back.

“Okay, okay, okay. We’ve all shared some impetuous conversation and we’ve all swooned over him now. Yippee. Unfortunately, we’ve gotta get going, friends.”

Wonwoo felt your hand land on his shoulder and gently tug him backward, away from the table. You then proceeded to grab the glass left at your seat, chugging the remaining alcohol until there was nothing but a melting block of ice cubes clicking at the bottom. While you wiped your mouth, you began aiming a finger at each girl.

“To make a long story short, that’s Princess, Clara, and Bells. Do you have any comments for them before we go?” The impatience in your tone was bleeding through with sheer apathy.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Uh, nice to meet everyone? I guess.”

“Short and efficient. How perfect. Okay, I’ll see you guys later, I think. Actually—probably not. So can someone eat my churros?”

Your arm curled around Wonwoo’s bicep as though to whisk him away as hurriedly as possible. Everyone left at the table began waving, and Wonwoo couldn’t even bring himself to force a fake, pleasant smile because he was still attempting to understand what all those comments even meant. You walked briskly until the poetic, firefly lights of the tavern were lost long behind in the distance, and when you finally paused, he had not a clue where he was standing—a busy centre with people mingling all around him, the wild whirring of carnival rides and chaotic, blinking hues strobing above his head.

When he looked down at you, he was surprised to see you were already staring back, and he could only hold the eye contact for no more than a few seconds or else his heart would skip a beat.

“Sorry about all that,” you said, rolling your shoulders, “I tried to be somewhat reasonable with my drinking for once. I can’t say the same for Clara and Bells. They guzzle cocktails like apple juice.”

“Bells is… the one with all that sparkly blue eyeshadow?”

“Oh—yeah. She loves sparkles. Glitter. Anything glimmery. She’s been like that ever since I’ve known her. Clara was the one who asked about your voice. She has a thing for guys with deep voices and you unfortunately fit the bill. And I’m sorry that Princess didn’t say anything. She kind of just looks and observes. Also I’m like ninety-eight percent sure she popped something in a porta-potty before we met up so she’s probably in a mental state of star-surfing. Anyway. You don’t have to worry about them, alright? It’s just us for tonight.”

 “Well, that’s… easy enough.”

“I’m not sure if we should stand here.”

“Hm?”

You then pointed to something behind Wonwoo, and when he turned his head, he felt a gust of wind from the gigantic, spinning ride that resembled a flying saucer in the nighttime sky. It was always beyond him why anyone would choose to strap themselves into a machine that terrifying. It made him sick just watching.

“If I get throw up on my head, I’m killing myself.”

“Okay, so let’s find somewhere else.”

As he began walking away in search of a quieter area, you grabbed onto the back of his clothes. Wonwoo raised his eyebrow.

“We have to hold hands, or have arms linked,” you said.

For some reason, Wonwoo presumed you were joking, and so he tilted his head at you with a questioning smile. But when your serious expression didn’t crack, he realized it wasn’t a joke at all.

“Oh… why?”

“Because—” you then took a step toward him and spoke matter-of-factly, like you were reading a rule book, “—it’s the buddy system. Always have someone at your side, and make sure you’re linked in some way. It’s too easy to get separated in places like this, otherwise. Have you never heard of that before?”

“I have,” Wonwoo answered, adjusting his glasses. “My—um, my hands are a little cold. I don’t have the best circulation.”

The truth was, Wonwoo didn’t want to hold your hand. He didn’t want to link arms with you. He didn’t want you pressed into his side all night. He didn’t want to have the scent of your hair under his nose or feel your ticklish breath against his neck each time you spoke.

But he didn’t have a good enough excuse to fight it.

“Oh my god, who cares,” you retorted. “And I have super sweaty hands. Like, uncomfortably warm. We'll balance out.”

 “Actually?”

“Yes! Is that a problem for you, sweetheart?”

Wonwoo quickly shook his head in response to your condescending tone. You then reached for his hand, which he offered up for your required holding, and chose to ignore the butterflies in the deep pit of his stomach when he realized how perfectly your fingers slotted with his. He followed your lead through the fair until you came outside a small lemonade booth. Wonwoo thought you would drop his hand, but you didn’t, and his knees felt like gelatine.

“I want another drink,” you told him.

He squinted at their options, which didn’t really consist of much. The prices were obviously insane—it was another reason he hated going to fairs. His wallet always got cleaned out.

“You’re going to have to use the washroom a lot.”

“Ugh,” you gritted in response, brushing some hair from your face, “I hate public washrooms. They’re so gross. Completely unsanitary. Awful maintenance. One time I was here and I walked into the washroom by the Mirror Hall and I swear, a freaking rat ran across the floor! I screamed bloody murder. I’d rather squat in the bush and risk getting, like, poison ivy. But the washrooms have mirrors obviously, and I like checking my makeup and stuff. I wish I could check now.”

“Right now? I mean, your makeup looks fine.”

Wonwoo saw your entire face freeze, and then begin to warp, as though he’d just said the most dreadful thing he could think of.

“Fine?” You glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He started stumbling over his words, feeling his chest tighten.

“So, what you’re saying is that I look ugly? That my makeup looks bad? Because if you really thought it was ‘fine’ then you wouldn’t have said it looks ‘fine’ because everyone knows that word is a substitute for passable and passable is just a substitute for ugly!”

He opened his mouth, then instantly closed it.

“So what’s wrong with it? Are my under eyes creasing? Is my contour too dark? Is my lipstick smudged? Did it get on my teeth? Ugh, I knew I should have brought my compact!”

“No, no, no.” Wonwoo squeezed your hand, hoping that he could somehow undo the damage he had no intention of even inflicting in the first place. “Uh—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. You look—” he wasn’t sure he could say the compliment without shivering, but Wonwoo didn’t care in the moment, “—your makeup is beautifully done. There’s no creasing or smudging, there’s none of that."

You kept touching worrisomely at your face. “Are you sure?”           

“I promise.” Wonwoo confirmed, giving your hand another tight, reassuring squeeze that seemed to calm you down.

He had never seen someone switch gears that quickly. You could be perfectly amicable one second, and then break down into near hysteria the next, a slew of anxious thoughts running straight from your brain to your mouth like clockwork.

Wonwoo wondered how Mingyu dealt with such tangents all the time. The trait almost didn’t seem to fit your image.

The line moved forward another step.

“Are you going to drink anything?” You asked after a moment of silence, in a quieter voice. “I want to get the strawberry refresher.”

“Maybe.”

“What will you get?”

“I… don’t know. A regular lemonade?”

“No,” you shook your head, pointing toward the corner of the booth’s menu, “get the pina colada thing. I want to try it, too.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo agreed with a shrug as he retrieved his wallet, not really caring about what he drank. “I’ll pay for it. No worries.”

The longer Wonwoo was at the fair, the less he actually thought about why he was there, until the question leapt into his mind at random while he stood beside you, waiting for a seat on the dauntingly large Farris wheel. He removed the straw from his mouth, swallowing a gulp of his pina colada flavoured drink, and peered down at you. His hand was still interlinked with yours. You had finished the strawberry refresher in about five minutes.

Now, you were texting someone. He didn’t know if it was a friend from earlier or perhaps your boyfriend, but Wonwoo wasn’t a serious sleuth, so he opted to look away despite the natural urge that was pricking him. When you finally tucked the phone back into the small bag slung around your shoulder, Wonwoo lowered the plastic cup from his mouth, making sure to clear his throat.

“So, uh, why are we here, exactly?”

You sniffled. “What do y’mean?”

“Does the fair have anything to do with your writing? Is that why we’re riding the Farris wheel? Oh—speaking of which, I didn’t think to bring the camcorder, in case you wanted any footage.”

“Oh, no,” you said, waving a dismissive hand, “this has nothing to do with my book. We’re palate cleansing.”

“Palate cleansing?” He echoed.

“Yeah. It’s like, doing something different in between a routine, to keep yourself fresh. You always eat breakfast at home but today you skip it and go out for brunch. Y’know, shit like that.”

Wonwoo huffed in amusement. “You could have told me beforehand.”

“Uh, no—” your face scrunched up in clear disagreement, “—I couldn’t, because then you wouldn’t have gone. No offence, but you’re a hermit, Wonwoo. You don’t really like going anywhere or doing anything and you’re definitely one of those people who bores themselves into hating their own life because your stimuli is so limited. That’s why I didn’t tell. Again, no offence.”

“Oh.”

That was all he could string together in response—not even string together, because it was just one boring, monotone sound that basically got carried away in the chilly wind, tinted with the smell of buttery popcorn and weed. It sounded like something that was supposed to sting, but it didn’t really. Maybe he was growing more accustomed to your unprompted judgements on his personal life.

Suddenly Wonwoo had blinked and you two were next in line for the empty cart. The clerk pointed at Wonwoo’s drink.

“You can’t bring that with you,” he said.

Before Wonwoo could think to respond, you had already grabbed the cup from his hand, chucking it straight into the garbage.

“We’re not.”

Pulling on his hand, you guided him into the shaky cart, both of you squishing onto the cold, metal bench. It was quite literally the tamest ride in the entire fair, and yet Wonwoo was still feeling nervous about it—though, that was possibly the fact he was going to be sailed one-hundred feet into the satin black sky, left amongst the stars and the bright, shimmering halo of the moon with you and you alone. He was actually relieved you had tossed his drink, otherwise he might have dropped it due to the trembling in his fingers. It was easier to fiddle with them in order to disguise their shakiness.

“I guess I should have asked if you’re afraid of heights,” you said.

The cart jerked abruptly as the ride began to move and lift you two ever so gradually from the ground. Wonwoo peered over the edge for a brief moment to watch his distance grow from the people below, their jumbled mess of conversations fading in place of quiet.

“Uh, no. I’m okay with heights,” he finally answered.

He saw you glancing down as well, smiling to yourself.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure if he should attempt at conversation or just maintain the stillness between you. Usually, he couldn’t stand it, and the pressure to talk and fill the silence always tended to fail or squander something potentially enjoyable. But he supposed it was typically like that in a situation where two people weren’t the best acquainted—that’s why Wonwoo always quite liked Vernon, despite his rough, nonconformed edges and often vulgar way of speaking.

He was able to carry a conversation so naturally that the quieter moments never felt suffocating, instead falling exactly where they should, like puzzle pieces. But that was harder with you.

Maybe it was because you could be intimidating, unpredictable—Wonwoo was never truly relaxed around you because there was this intangible, looming worry that he needed to have the perfect responses and be the most perfect person. He found that perfect people only hung out with other perfect people and Wonwoo was certainly not that—perfect. You must have seen it by now. He was just as rough as Vernon no doubt, but in a different, hidden way that had to be dug into like an archeologist looking for broken bones.

The Ferris wheel slowed down, coming to a stop. You weren’t at the very top, though the air was notably cooler and much fresher. When he inhaled a long breath, it smelled purely of night and not overpriced, buttery fair food and burning weed. He noted that you stared straight ahead, at the crescent-shaped moon, which mirrored a backward stare with how squarely it sat in front of the ride. For once, Wonwoo wasn’t squirming, wriggling, stressing at the silence. When he spoke, he did it because he genuinely wanted to.

“How was your Saturday?”

“My Saturday?”

“Yeah. I saw the schedule. You had to run a bunch of errands with your mom. Looked like you were pretty keyed up.”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I want to say I was overreacting the day before about how much I was dreading it. But then it fucking happened. And… I, uh… I realized I was exactly right. It was awful. I did get to your notes, though… yeah—I just—I squeezed them in between brunch with my mom’s friend who could talk herself to death and the excruciating car ride to the publisher’s office.”

“Mmhm.” Wonwoo smiled tenderly. “Did they help at all?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “a lot, actually… thank you.”

“I’m sorry your Saturday went so terribly.”

Huffing in response, you nibbled on your inner check.

“Yeah, well, it is what it is… I already knew it was gonna be a shit show. So, what is it that you write about, anyway? Because you seem like you know a whole lot. Seokmin says you let him read some of your poetry, but it was only like, two excerpts.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Wonwoo recalled the memory of Seokmin picking up his leather notebook when it fell out from his bag one day. He’d pestered him about the contents until Wonwoo succumbed and presented him with some lifeless, impatiently scribbled prose that he’d most likely jerked out on the bus or in between his lectures. Seokmin seemed to treat it like fine, prestigious gold, though Wonwoo knew it was the least personal of his work that he would never let another living soul on the planet breathe—not one scent of the ink or even the paper.

“So, you write poetry?”

“I started writing poetry, haikus and all that easy stuff. I developed the interest a lot more through high school. But I never sat down and tried writing anything like a novel until I... I started uni.”

“Yeah. Deciding to be a math major. I still don’t get it,” you sighed, fidgeting with some rings on your fingers. “But what do you even write about? Like, what’s your inspiration?”

Wonwoo paused, looking down at his knees.

“… Life.”

“Life?” You defeatedly slumped into the seat. “That’s the million dollar answer your intelligent brain chose to erect? It’s just that when I think about it, I’m letting you help me with my writing, but I’ve never even read a little smidgen of yours. How’s that fair?”

The higher the Farris Wheel climbed, the stronger the breeze blew, and Wonwoo could feel its tendrils lashing across his cheeks and parting through his hair. You huddled further into your jacket.

“Well, you took Seokmin’s word for it,” Wonwoo laughed.

Your eyes rolled, but you smiled gently. “I know.”

Suddenly, your hand had reached out, and you were pushing the floppy, black tresses off his forehead. Wonwoo’s fingers dug bluntly into his arms. You then angled yourself in the small cart, looking back at him, sculpting your gaze to each crest in his face.

“Why don’t you ever push your hair back?”

The question hit the dark, cold atmosphere like a sizzling ember and Wonwoo was afraid to even open his mouth because he was certain a dying squeak would come out. You continued to play around with the locks, earthing your fingers deep into its texture and attempting to style it despite the persistent, fluttering breeze.

“Um…”

“If you styled it like this—” you moved in closer, staring with so much focus at your nimble movements, “—yeah, like that. It shows off your forehead, gives you a bit of class. I mean, the wind’s messing it up. You don’t tend to do anything with your hair.”

“No.” Wonwoo swallowed, hard.

“Well, you should. Not all the time, obviously. And I’m not saying you look bad with it down—not at all. But you’ve got nice, smouldering features and they’re so much more… framed… when you show your forehead.” You collapsed back into the seat, and that tingly feeling he experienced when your fingers had been tugging and pulling was disseminating throughout his entire body. “I mean, look at how my friends reacted to you. I should apologize for that again, by the way. O-M-F-G, they see one hot guy, and they lose their grip.”

He nearly choked. “Hot?”

It didn’t sound right. Not at all.

“Well, what the fuck, Wonwoo? You’re not ugly.”

“Did you think that when you first saw me?”

You had folded your leg again as the Farris wheel came to another stop. This time, at the very top, at the centre of the night.

“Did I think what? That you’re not ugly?”

“Never mind,” Wonwoo grimaced, hearing the cart creek as you better positioned yourself to face him. “It’s pathetic like that.”

“No. I didn’t think you were ugly. Did you think I was ugly?”

Wonwoo wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of the question, but he smothered it down because he knew one little laugh might hit your ear the wrong way, and it would be flames, sputtering and spewing. Obviously, he didn’t think you were ugly—he never had, even before he ever spoke to you. But he wasn’t so shallow as to only regard someone’s physical appearance. You were still terrifying.

“I wouldn’t consider anyone ugly... and I wouldn’t ever use it to describe some aesthetically. But—I mean, I think people can become ugly through their personality, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, like, if they’re rotten inside.”

“Mmhm.”

“I agree.”

“What was that word your friend Bells said?”

You shrugged, “which word?”

“She said something like, you’re super… I don’t know… super something.”

“Oh—” you sat up more in the cart, your back pressed against the uncomfortable corner, “—Bells said you were super gorge.”

“Meaning…”

“Meaning super gorgeous.” You made a big show of the rehashed compliment, parroting your friend's tone and swaying your shoulders.

“Oh… really?” Wonwoo shook his head. “I thought she was referring to gorge as in when you gorge yourself, from eating.”

“No,” you giggled at him, “it’s a short form, dumb-dumb.”

“Why make a short form out of that? Is it really that strenuous to say the word gorgeous? It’s only an extra syllable.”

“Okay, well, this isn’t the nineteen-twenties. We don’t all cross our T’s and dot our I’s. It reminds me of how you text.”

He furrowed his brow. “How do I text?”

Your eyes rolled frivolously. “I dunno. Like you’re typing to a business colleague or something. You’re so formal. When I think of you texting, I imagine it’s like someone using a typewriter. And that funny little ding sound it makes whenever you start a new line.”

“Oh.”

“What—no one’s ever told you that before? No way.”

“That I text like I’m using a fucking typewriter? No, actually. I can’t say I’ve heard that.”

“Well, it’s not a big deal. You’re just not very plugged into the internet, I suppose. Which is a good thing. It gives you prestige.”

At that, Wonwoo chuckled. “Does it?”

“Yes,” you smiled, eyes full of starlight, “and—just ignore Bells, okay? She was being kind of weird but that can be fully attributed to those three shots I told her not to take.”

“Hm.”

You continued to stare at him with a plotting smile.

“Hm what? What’s the matter?” The metal of the cart squeaked as you leaned forward, your voice suddenly lathered in mischief. “Did you think she was cute?” He heard your tone drop, and your low, smooth voice breathing hot against his ear. “Did you think about fucking her, Wonwoo?”

“No—what the fuck—not at all.” Quickly, he’d pushed you away and off his shoulder, to which you retreated into the corner with a giggle that should have made his skin crawl, but didn’t.

“Well, how would I know?” You answered, tilting your head and stretching out your arms high into the blackness, as though you were trying to reach for a star. “I never know, because you never look at me. It makes me think you just lied and you do think I’m ugly.”

Wonwoo glanced over the edge of the cart, at the almost nauseating distance between himself and the fairgrounds, covered with miniature, bustling people that seemed like breadcrumbs by comparison to their place in the sky. He didn’t want to sink into this conversation. Besides, how was he supposed to look at you when your fingers were just gliding through his hair and your lips were whispering close enough to brush up against his ear? How was he supposed to act composed? Normal?

“Hey, Wonwoo?” Your fingers snapped.

But he just kept thinking. Like he was cut from a separate cloth than you—the fabric of his universe wasn’t woven with yours and he could ruminate as much as he wanted to and it was impossible to hear your intrusions. Why couldn’t he look at you?

You intimidated him, yes. You scared him, double yes.

He already knew that. It couldn’t just be that.

“Wonwoo? God… you shut down over the simplest things.”

“I don’t know.”

You paused, staring him up and down, perplexed.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know why I can’t look at you.”

There was a lasting silence between you. Wonwoo felt like he might throw up for acknowledging the fact out loud, and his fist tightened in his lap as though to ground himself—to remember where he was and to breathe slowly, because having a panic attack on top of a stupid Ferris Wheel was the last place it should happen. He hadn’t even realized that you’d shifted closer, one leg curled beneath you while you spoke at the side of his head. But he didn’t hear you, couldn’t see you—there was a harsh void inside him that sounded like suctioning air and static. His fingernail was pressing so deeply into the flesh of his pale skin that it was beginning to faintly bleed.

And—all of a sudden—there were these hands cautiously gripping onto his face, pulling him toward you. He kept staring at the movement of your soft lips, focusing on their pronunciation until everything flooded back in one overwhelming whirl and it felt like being slammed by a freight train.

Wonwoo then grabbed onto your bare knee as a crutch. He didn’t mean to. But you didn’t seem to care.

“—everything okay? Wonwoo? Do I need to like, call someone? Because you look like you’re going to be sick.”

He heaved in a gaping breath, feeling how cold the midnight air was in the thinning atmosphere that encompassed him. It was soothing, akin to a hand massaging along his back.

“Wonwoo?” You repeated his name, sounding awfully scared.

Pulling off his glasses, he rubbed at his eyes. He blurrily saw you touch the spot on your knee where his hand had buried into.

“Sorry,” he then coughed through the heartbeat raspy in his throat, bringing the glasses back to his face, “I spaced out.”

“Spaced out?” You echoed. “That wasn’t spacing out.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He thought you fight might it.

“Well…” you sighed, glancing around uncertainly, “are you okay? Is there someone you want to call? I don’t know.”

But you didn’t. Thank God.

“No, I’m—” he stopped, gulping back the words.

“… Yeah?” There was a softer intrigue in your cadence.

Wonwoo looked at you. Fully this time. He looked straight into your eyes that were like a glossy, moonlit ocean, detailed with swirling riptides of surprise and apprehensiveness, but also immense depth that seemed genuinely appreciative of his gesture.

“I’m fine.”

And then he watched you nod, smile, and in return study his cavern eyes with the same intensity and wonder. It was such a peculiar experience, staring at you, understanding a little more of your truth, your gentleness.

He didn’t feel as scared.

—MAY 16TH.

Wonwoo had been standing before the mirror in his washroom for the past half-hour or so, primarily just staring, examining, and pulling at the long, limp fronds of his hair. There was a point in his life when he legitimately put effort into styling it, and all his old hair products were still sitting in the cabinet. Though, his ex-girlfriend had tended to help him with it most days, because he found the strands were just too thick and stubborn to work with.

However, since the Spring Street Fair, Wonwoo hadn’t been able to shake those comments you made—about how nicely his face could be framed and the smouldering nature of his features. He would never think to describe himself that way as it seemed particularly pompous and kind of foolish, but hearing you say it was different. The thing was, Wonwoo had no idea where to start, and attempting to rummage his fingers through his hair just didn’t feel as stimulating or electric compared to your meticulous, sweet touch.

In the midst of opening his cabinet for a comb, Wonwoo heard his phone vibrate. He looked down at the sink, seeing the screen brighten with a text notification from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: hey Glasses

[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: Solar Pop at 2?

Wonwoo thought about it for a moment, running his thumb down the spine of the comb to hear the little thwip. And then he sighed in decision, texting back a thumbs up. It’s not like he was working later, and as much as Wonwoo would love to believe that today might be the day he made actual progress on his own story, he knew it was just wishful thinking. In reality he’d waste ample time staring into the document, pondering all the scenes and emotions and nuances he could write rather than moving to write anything at all.

Besides, he hadn’t eaten yet today. The thought of a juicy, sauce-slathered, bun-toasted burger being his first meal prompted the boy’s face to sallow greenly with sickness, but the longer he stood in the washroom, combing and slicking and running styling balm through the black bird’s nest on his head, Wonwoo felt the hunger start to bite like an emaciated, starved dog. He left his apartment knowing he would be somewhat late, but Vernon was always later.

And while Wonwoo sat in one of the booths at Solar Pop, flicking the laminated menu back and forth despite knowing the exact order he was going to place, he thought about sending Vernon another text to ask where the hell he even was. Wonwoo could only sip his slippery glass of coke for so long until the waitress decided he was crazy and had been one-hundred percent stood up.

“Hey, fuck, I’m here.”

2:24 pm—that’s when Vernon finally arrived, sliding himself into the leather bench opposite to Wonwoo while tossing his big, metallic clump of keys onto the table. The boy then proceeded to shimmy off his black jacket, propping his elbows onto the table.

If Vernon ever pulled a tardy stunt like that with you, Wonwoo imagined his friend would probably get stuffed into one of those boxes for sawing people in half. Except it wouldn’t be magic.

“Did you get pulled over or something? Police raid? Traffic stop?” Wonwoo asked, now resting his menu down flat.

Vernon laughed, shaking his head. “Uh, no. Couldn’t find my fuckin’ car keys,” he spoke in a breathless voice. “Sorry ‘bout it.”

“Couldn’t find them?” Wonwoo almost scoffed at the excuse while his friend began scouring his way through the menu. “Dude, they’re the fucking size of a bowling ball. How could you lose them?”

“Okay, okay. Fuckin’ skin me alive, why don’t you?”

“You didn’t come from your place, I’m guessing.”

At that, Vernon began to grin, the metal on his pierced lip glinting underneath a ray of sunlight through the blinds. He was still occupied with choosing which burger he wanted. Wonwoo picked the same choice every time. Vernon always tried something different.

“No, I didn’t,” he rasped, flashing his sharp teeth and flipping the menu over, “but when Maleeha Rabia sends you a text at goddamn one in the morning of her tits, you don’t roll over n’ go to bed like some loser. Besides, my ecstasy was just sittin’ around and I had to use it one way or another. Anyway, doesn’t fuckin’ matter. I think I’ll get the Double Bacon Crunch Burger. Sounds good as hell.”

Finally, Vernon threw the menu down with conviction.

“Jesus Christ—” his copper-burnt eyes then flared open as he looked across the table at his friend, “—who the fuck are you?”

Wonwoo itched his nose. “Um, what?”

Vernon leaned forward, seeming captivated. “Uh, your fuckin’ hair? How’d you get it like that? It’s all brushed over and soft lookin’ and shit. I feel like I shouldn’t be sittin’ with you, Prince Charmin’.”

“I just put some balm in it, combed it around,” he answered, reaching for his drink. “Took me a humiliating amount of time.”

“Well, consider me starstruck. What’s made you do all that?”

Before Wonwoo could answer, the waitress returned to the table with her small notepad and shiny pen. Vernon pitched his order first, and Wonwoo followed, asking for the regular quarter-pounder with a side of hot crinkle-cut fries. Once she whisked the menus away and promised to grab Vernon’s root beer float, Wonwoo realized he still had to answer his friend’s question. He didn’t exactly want to tell the truth, because he knew Vernon would never let him hear the end of it, but Wonwoo also didn’t want to be too dishonest.

“Your face is doin’ that thing.”

“What thing?” Wonwoo answered, swallowing his sip of soda.

Vernon crossed his arms on the table, accenting the canvas of darkly-inked tattoos needled into his skin. He shook his head.

“It’s ‘cause of your little girlyfriend, isn’t it?”

Fuck. Wonwoo should have just opened his mouth straight away and spieled out some quick-witted lie. Now he would be painfully subject to Vernon’s unfiltered teasing. Leaning back in his seat, Wonwoo unearthed a miserable sigh at Vernon’s smirk.

“You’ve gotta drop that bullshit.”

“It’s true,” Vernon pressured.

“No, it’s not.”

As though to interpret Wonwoo’s steadfastness as a challenge, Vernon leaned further over the table, dropping his voice but still smiling devilishly through every word he mimicked between his teeth.

“Oh, Wonwoo, your hair looks so fucking sexy like that. It makes you look so perfect. You’re from my dreams. Please, just fuck me right here, right now so I can push my fingers through it ‘cause it’s so soft and silky and I’m basically in love with you.”

“Shut the fuck up. Please.”

“That was a good impression, though, wasn’t it?”

In the loud space of Wonwoo’s disgusted silence, the waitress placed Vernon’s drink onto the table and ensured the food would be coming soon. Vernon watched her walk away, back into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he then grinned in capitulating fashion, “take a stupid joke, alright? I know she’s not in love with you and she doesn’t wanna suck your dick—she’s got a fuckin’ boyfriend. If it makes you feel any better, I’m just projectin’ ‘cause you know I’m jealous.”

Wonwoo sucked in a sip from his coke, shaking his head.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vernon dismissed, poking his spoon at the near perfect scoop of vanilla ice cream afloat in the frosty mug, “but just so y’know, your mopey ass left me out to dry on Sunday night. Shoved me off the phone, didn’t respond to one of my texts. You’re lucky I even asked you t’hang today. Did she take your phone or something’?”

Shit. When Vernon said it like that, Wonwoo seemed like a terrible friend. Maybe he did deserve a deal of teasing. But at the same time, Wonwoo knew how easy it was for your attitude to flip and he hadn’t been at all interested in starting the night with hostility.

“Okay, fair.” He admitted, rolling up his sleeves.

“And?” Vernon raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“I’m sorry.”

“There you fuckin’ go. That’s all I wanted t’hear, Glasses.”

The truth was, Wonwoo actually quite enjoyed his time with you that night—despite the transient, bickering hiccups and his nearly faltering panic attack, he had fun. Actual fun. Of course, as soon as your ride ended on the Ferris wheel, you’d clutched onto his hand like a snake sinking in its fangs and dragged him throughout the entirety of the fair to find a washroom. Nonetheless, he really loved playing some carnival games with you, like skee ball and the water pistol. He was even able to win you a pink stuffed bear that you had carried close to the chest for the remainder of your time at the fair.

Wonwoo thought he could spend another night like that with you again. Just to get out of his apartment, to feel exhilaration in the pit of his stomach, to laugh until his lungs dried out, to hold your warm, comforting hand in his even when it became too clammy or inconvenient because otherwise you would scold him for letting go.

“Food’s on the way,” Vernon perked up like a child about to be served a slice of birthday cake as the waitress walked over with two full plates, “if you can’t finish yours, I’ll take it.”

“Yeah—how about you focus on chewing and not choking to death first,” Wonwoo sighed, watching his friend’s metaphorical tail wag.

Once she set the food down, inquiring about any refills, and left while flashing her perfected customer service smile, Vernon grabbed the burger with both his hands, taking a gigantic, succulent bite that somehow didn’t singe the roof of his mouth. Wonwoo winced, instead going for his crisped, golden fries.  

“Damn. You’re really that hungry?”

“I’m ravenous,” Vernon mumbled, picking up a few caramelized onions that fell onto his plate. “Dude, I woke up at noon in Maleeha’s bed. She was out cold. Nothin’ in her pantry but some stale fuckin’ Fruit Loops that I may have tried. I’m a grown ass man. I need a meal.”

“I’m glad you’re so proactive," Wonwoo answered, sinking his burning hot fry into the small side-bowl of ketchup.

It took them less than half an hour to clean their plates. Wonwoo tended to eat at a slower pace, with smaller, more savoury bites, while Vernon sloppily devoured his entire burger and gobbled down his fries with the occasional dipping into the root beer float’s ice cream. They scarcely talked in between, too focused on eating and drinking. Wonwoo pushed away his plate when he’d finished and proceeded to wipe off his salty, crumb-speckled fingers with a napkin, meanwhile Vernon took a moment to sink backward into the leather seat, placing a hand over his full, satiated stomach.

“Hey, do y’think they have any Life Savers?” He eventually piped up while sticking a toothpick into his mouth. “I want grape.”

Wonwoo scoffed, tossing the napkin onto his plate and taking out his phone. “Who the fuck likes grape?”

“Me, you smartass,” Vernon answered, turning backward in his seat and scanning the restaurant for any colourful candy bowls.

He couldn’t deny that he was hoping to see a text from you, but there was nothing, and his chest dropped. Wonwoo decided to open the schedule you had made, curious as to what you were even doing today—work until five o’clock, and then you were going out for supper with some friends at Terra Cotta.

He thought about texting you. His thumbs kept hovering above the keyboard in contemplation, even though he knew for certain he wouldn’t text anything. He would just stare and hope.

“Holy shit. Uh, oh my God. Wonwoo. I-I see—”

Vernon had suddenly reached a hand onto the table, slapping the lacquered wood a few times to garner his attention.

“What?” He mumbled in agitation, keeping his focus glued to the phone. “If you see the Life Savers just go up and take some. I swear, they’re not gonna fucking care you’re not twelve years old.”

“No, no, no, dumbass,” Vernon hissed, turning back around in the booth, his honey eyes glistering in oils of dread and panic. “Look, actually look. That’s Mingyu, isn’t it?”

Immediately, Wonwoo clicked off his phone, instead squinting into the distant corner of the restaurant where a notably tall, black-haired boy with tanned, amber skin had emerged from a doorway, standing in a somehow casual but imposing way that only be Mingyu.

It must be Mingyu, and that fact became glaringly obvious when Wonwoo made the unintentional, floundering mistake of staring straight into the boy’s wandering and earthen brown eyes.

“Oh my fuckin’ God, oh my fuckin’ God,” Vernon kept reiterating under his breath, bouncing his knee like an anxious student waiting for their test. “He definitely saw us. Or—he definitely saw you. This is so bad, man. I think he’s gonna rock me.”

“What?” Wonwoo whispered back harshly, attempting to float his gaze away from Mingyu in a casual manner. “For what reason?”

It seemed like Vernon almost wanted to gag at him. “Um—because of what fuckin’ happened between me n’ his girl! At that party? I told you about that shit, didn’t I?” He rasped from across the table, his bottom lip worried between biting teeth. “Dude, what if he tries to pull a fast one? You’re what—like six foot something? You have to help back me up. I can throw a pretty solid punch—even better when I’m shit-faced—but that might not be enough. Lady Liberty’s built like a brick.”

“Okay, you’re acting crazy,” Wonwoo uttered in disbelief. “I doubt he’s going to be anything but physical, especially in a public place. And, you said you didn’t know Her was in a relationship.”

“How the fuck do I know he knows that? Can’t exactly use my infectious charm on someone whose girlfriend I tried to rail.”

Vernon somehow dared to spare another rapid glance over his shoulder, only to shed an entire mould of colour from his complexion.

“He’s coming, he’s—”

“Shut up and relax,” Wonwoo mumbled. “I’m sure it’s nothing big—he’ll say a thing or two and be on his way. God, I’ll handle it.”

For some reason, Wonwoo thought he should be sinking into consternation a lot more than he actually was, but it’s not that his chest wasn’t thumping or his mind wasn’t spinning amuck with worry. It was more so that he was managing the whirlwind, as best he could, as much as he could manage. Mingyu wasn’t a complete stranger, and all their past interactions had been boringly cordial or even forgettable. Nonetheless, Wonwoo would still prefer to avoid the boy because that made his life simpler in the grand scheme of anxiety.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” Mingyu approached the table with a confident, leisurely stride, extending his large hand for Wonwoo to grab, exchanging a dap. “I almost didn’t recognize you for a sec.”

“All good,” Wonwoo answered, attempting a polite grin that felt much more sweltering on the inside than out. “How’ve you been?”

Mingyu shrugged, burying his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants while he gazed at the slitted curtains for a moment, pondering his reply. “Decent. Playing a lot of basketball. I don’t think I’ve seen you since I came to the pharmacy. You still there?”

“Still there.”

“Well, at least I haven’t had to come in for a fuckin’ pregnancy test yet. That’s good I suppose, yeah?” The boy chuckled, then tilting his head a certain way to crack a stiff spot in his neck.

“Aisle five if you ever need it.”

Mingyu responded with a smirk that perhaps lasted a second too long, and these slimming, analyzing eyes—a gaze that Wonwoo felt ripple in his gut. He chose to believe it was nothing dire, or else he would spiral right there on the spot and lose all fine-tuned control.

Meanwhile Vernon had been sitting quietly the entire time, most likely hoping he would remain in the dark, skulking shadows outside Wonwoo’s spotlight. But he must not have been hoping hard enough, because Mingyu proceeded to smile at him, again extending his hand for another dap, which Vernon yielded apprehensively.

“You’re a pretty recognizable guy, unfortunately,” Mingyu acknowledged with a husky laugh—a clear reference to the boy’s identifying tattoos and numerous facial piercings, “I think you deal to at least a third of my friends. It’s Vernon, right?”

“Mmhm. Yes sir.” To Vernon’s luck, he had a well-polished and gleaming smile that made it impossible for him to seem disingenuous, though Wonwoo knew he was wilting inside.

“I’m sorry about Dots.”

“Oh, uh. All good. It is what it is, y’know?”

Mingyu nodded.

“Hey—those tattoos are crazy good. Where’d you get them?”

Vernon looked across his arm. “Thanks. Mostly Liquid Impact—dude there that I call Funfetti ‘cause he eats Funfetti box cake all the time. Uh, but his actual name’s like, Axel or some white-boy shit like that. He’s done a majority of it. The others—man, I don’t know. Half the time I’m off my fuckin’ face and wake up with shit I never remember.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mingyu sniffed, running a hand through his long, shiny onyx locks of hair. “Guess you also don’t remember promising my girlfriend the best sex of her life, right?”

At that, Vernon looked straight to Wonwoo, and Wonwoo returned the enlarged, incinerating stare straight back, reading the split-second terror that swam like flopping fish in Vernon’s eyes. The atmosphere hit the ground with a palpable and ugly shatter.

“Yeah, um—about that—”

Mingyu then balanced backward on his foot for a moment, beginning to chuckle, sway his head, as though to dismiss the entire accusation in the same intense breadth it was mentioned.

“Nah, nah. I’m playing around,” the boy chuckled, rubbing at his nose. “You didn’t know she was taken. No hard feelings, yeah?”

Vernon immediately nodded his agreement, and the tension nailed into his broad shoulder line seemed to melt. “For sure. No hard feelings. I mean, she’s beautiful. Can’t even imagine what it’s like bein’ her boyfriend when you’ve got sluts like me around.”

Mingyu grinned, “no, you’re good. I know she gave you some attitude about it. Bit of a troublemaker herself. But, yeah. Water under the bridge.” The boy’s attention then turned back to Wonwoo, who was more than eager to somehow extinguish the conversation from you as a topic. “I know she’s hangs out with you right now.”

“Oh, yeah,” Wonwoo hummed, “the book thing.”

“She doesn’t like talking to me about it.”

“Well, don’t stress,” he answered, catching the sunlight that blitzed through the curtains and dipped like a gold paintbrush into the boy’s eyes, turning them to warm molasses, “she’ll show you the whole damn thing when it’s over and done with.”

Mingyu huffed, “I thought she’d have dropped it by now.”

“I don’t think she will. She’s pretty committed.”

“Hm.” He nodded simply in response, kissing his teeth.

Vernon folded his arms, leaning back into the leather seat with the toothpick again sitting in his mouth. “You got any plans for the summer, then? Doesn’t your pal always throw a huge party?”

“Yeah, actually. Doing it this year if we can manage. Seungcheol’s parents pretty much spend their entire summer bouncing around all the Great Lakes. We’re gonna do a co-hosting type deal and—shit, since you’re here, this is really good timing.” Mingyu then looked down at Vernon and lowered his gravelly voice. “I know what your main gig is. What about blow? You sell it?”

A slow but gradual, catlike grin trudged the edges of Vernon’s mouth, to which he pulled out his toothpick and set his elbows onto the table. “Look, can’t chop it up here, man. Ask one of your friends for my burner. I can get you to the ski slope, but it costs, obviously.”

“Nah, that’s fine. It’s just—my last plug fell through.”

“Tough.”

“Yeah. Okay, well, I should get going. I’ll follow up with you later. Do you care if Seungcheol knows the number, too?”

“No,” Vernon shrugged, planting the toothpick into the corner of his mouth and flicking it with his tongue, “just don’t go throwin’ it around. I could only get enough for a couple people, anyway.”

“All good. Okay—later, guys.”

Mingyu stepped away from the table with a wave and a flash of his pearled, charming smile, nothing but the mild scent of his fresh and expensive-smelling cologne to swirl through the now vacant space. In true espionage fashion, Wonwoo and Vernon both picked open the slots between the restaurant curtains, cautiously observing the boy’s stride into the parking lot and onto the sidewalk, where he at last disappeared into the warm, sunny afternoon.

Heaving a gigantic exhausted breath, Wonwoo took off his glasses and set them in his lap, massaging deep into his eye sockets.

“Y’know, he’s not that fuckin’ bad,” Vernon commented, “I mean, he scares the shit outta me, but that could have gone worse.”

"Jesus Christ—I can’t believe what I just watched.”

His friend laughed, banging his fist excitedly enough on the table to engender the silverware clattering on their plates. “Ha! I know, right? Dude—Seungcheol and Mingyu are the kingpins of that fuckin’ university you go to. They can cough up the big bucks for that shit. Just imagine the distribution pay I'm gonna get with them on my roster—actually, that couldn’t have gone better.”

“And where are you gonna get it?” Wonwoo pressured, at last settling his glasses back on, clarifying Vernon’s smudged, blurry face.

“Well, let me fuck around and work my magic.”

“I don’t want him to use you.”

“Pfft. I don’t give no fucks about being used,” Vernon cackled, wearing a self-indulgent, luminous smile and continuing to play around with the toothpick while he readied his wallet to pay. “You know what you should worry about, Glasses? Sweet talkin’ the fuck outta that dude’s girl and securin' yourself an invite. You probably don’t even need to try sweet talkin’—she obviously likes you.”

“No,” Wonwoo grumbled, “no way.”

“You don’t want to go?”

“Why would I want to go, dumbass? The last time I went to a party, I ran into you. They’re loud and suffocating. I’ll pass.” Wonwoo also pulled out his wallet, taking his card. “Besides, I get the sense Mingyu doesn’t trust me a whole lot. I’m not gonna stir the pot.”

Vernon shook his head. “You stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street. N’yeah, exactly. You met me. I don’t get the fuss.”

“It’s nothing like that," Wonwoo answered in frustration.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a Patron Saint. I just want my Life Saver.”

—MAY 19TH.

Wonwoo was going to your apartment today for the first time, and it had nearly killed him in the process.

His abhorrent sleep schedule hung over his head every single instance he woke up at lunchtime, the entirety of his mornings wasted to weathered heartbreak and its lasting, stained consequences. Needing to be at your apartment for ten had Wonwoo buckling his face into anguished hands the night before, wondering how he was going to pull off such a triumph without wishing for death.  

He did know one thing for certain—the sound of his alarm erupting into its timely, strident beeping made him instantly sick. In fact, the first thing Wonwoo did was half-stumble in complete bleariness out from his bed, dragging a white sheet along by his ankle as he burst into the washroom and hung his head over the toilet like he was sweating through a wicked hangover. But it wasn’t alcohol. It was months of bad, soul-stitched habit festered up in stomach bile and perhaps, a hatred for himself. It was his own fault, in a way.

And yet, when you texted him a half-hour later to reconfirm your address, Wonwoo replied with not the slightest hint that he was feeling pretty fucking terrible. The headache and shudders followed him down the street, onto the bus, and into the lobby of your notably opulent apartment complex. He felt rather incongruous amongst all the marble—the white trim, the clean, untainted air, even the breakfast table with dispensable lemon water and small, fruit-topped pastries that somehow made Wonwoo want to kill himself.

He looked down at his phone.

[ Her | 9:10 am ]: 717 thorton street, unit 61

[ Her | 9:45 am ]: are you almost here? :)

Wonwoo pressed the button to the elevator.

[ Wonwoo | 9:50 am ]: Yes. In the building.

His phone vibrated immediately with a text.

[ Her | 9:50 am ]: I’m so excited

The doors pulled apart. Wonwoo stepped aside for a couple who were leaving the elevator before he entered. Quickly, he clicked the button to close the doors, not wanting to share the space with anyone but himself and the headache throbbing at the forefront of his cranium. He sighed, glancing at his texts again to reply.

[ Wonwoo | 9:51 am ]: Do you have any Tylenol?

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: most def

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: what’s wrong?

[ Wonwoo | 9:52 am ]: Nothing much. Just a headache.

When he didn’t receive an immediate answer, he assumed you had put the phone down to search your medicine cabinet. Getting off the elevator, Wonwoo proceeded to find the correct apartment. He put his fist up to the door, and then, at the last second, stopped.

There it was again—the same melting pot of anxiety and butterflies that had bubbled up when you first visited his place.

He supposed the feelings never truly disappeared each time he would see you, and he was beginning to detest it. Why couldn’t his body just adapt? Get over it? What purpose did it serve to constantly remind him of his unkempt emotions? It was like the idea of you terrified him more than you as an actual person, because in person, he felt comfort, as crazy as it sounded. So why couldn’t his anxiety and security just complete that stupid sliver of a synapse for once?

Knock knock.

After a moment, the handle clicked, and the door to sumptuous unit 61 was pulled open. For the first time, Wonwoo saw your face without any makeup, and it sort of made him stutter in his words—not that he was shocked in abhorrence at the contrast, more so the vulnerability behind it, the fact you felt comfortable enough to shed your compulsion with always presenting a perfect, glamoured face. He was pleased to see you were in a fuzzy pair of pink shorts and a white, thin long-sleeve that were basically pyjamas.

Maybe it was weird to think, but you seemed more human.

“You made good timing. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” Wonwoo answered while stepping inside, toeing off his sneakers next to your plethora of shoes at the doormat.

“I would obviously say tour first, but I have your Tylenol sitting on the counter over here, for your headache. Can you dry swallow or do you need water?”

“Dry swallow?” Wonwoo laughed, following you toward the kitchen area. “Who the fuck dry swallows any sort of pill?”

“I don’t know! Personally, I don’t. But there are some freaks out there who do. I was actually testing you. And you passed.”

“Lucky me,” he sighed.

Taking a seat at one of stools displayed around the large, granite-surface island, Wonwoo waited for you to pour him some water. Obviously, the apartment was spacious, gorgeous—the large, white-fluffed rug in the centre of the living room was definitely suited to you, though he was surprised by the tall, lush potted plants aligned by the window panelling. He didn’t know you had a green thumb.

While placing down the water, you shifted closely into the seat beside him, and Wonwoo could smell the scent of strawberries on your skin. You let your chin press into the hammock made with your hands, watching as he set the pill on his tongue and gulped it down.

“So, is it really bad?”

Wonwoo turned the glass back and forth atop its coaster, deciding on whether or not he should tell the truth. It always tended to sting him when he lied, and so he turned to you, shrugging.

“I felt it when I woke up. But it’s manageable.”

“Oh, I get that sometimes.”

“It’s because of my repulsive sleep schedule, no doubt.”

You smiled at him, adjusting your leg under the island.

“Is that why you prefer afternoons all the time?”

“Pretty much. It’s a horrible habit. I’ll break it somehow, I’m sure. Just a stupid hump to get over. Anyway—” Wonwoo slung the laptop bag off his shoulder and onto the counter, “—your place looks pretty sweet. How are you? What’s the plan for today?”

“Well,” you hummed, slapping an arm down onto the reflective granite, “I’ve wrote some more this week. I’d love for you to proofread it. Maybe we can go out for lunch later, but you’d need to give me time to get ready. I mean, I did shower this morning…”

He watched you pause, and then swallow. "You don’t care, do you?”

“About what?” Wonwoo answered.

“Oh, well—never mind, then.”

“No, what is it? What don’t I care about?”

You started to grin, hiding half your face with a hand that slowly scraped across your cheek, as though to rub off any remaining lethargy from the morning light. Wonwoo waited for you to answer.

“… I look like a mole.”

He at last realized what you meant.

“No, you don’t.”

“I was just feeling lazy. I know, gasp, what an insane word to come from my mouth. But I’m glad you don’t care. I didn’t think you would, but I still wasn’t sure. At least your reaction wasn’t obvious. My chin is breaking out so please don’t stare at it, if you can help it.”

“Oh, well, you know, you look—” that one banished word almost slipped, but Wonwoo smoothly mended the break, “you—you have nothing to worry about. I get breakouts, too. It sucks, but it’s life.”

Your bare, soft face turned cheerful in a fawning smile.

“I know. I guess I'm just not very used to the feeling of people seeing me like this. Did you want to do lunch later?”

Wonwoo leaned back in the small seat, running his hands up his knees, knowing damn well he hadn’t eaten breakfast.

“Uh, I should probably start with like, cereal or something.”

“You didn’t eat?”

“No appetite.”

“I’ll fix you something. Unfortunately, no cereal. But I'll get some the next time Mingyu and I do groceries. So, what do you like best? Toast? Oatmeal? Scrambled eggs and toast? Orange juice? Bagel?”

At the mere mention of orange juice, his fist clenched. Attempting not to dwell so obviously, Wonwoo straightened up and smiled.

“I like toast.”

“That’s good. It’ll be easy on your stomach.”

Wonwoo watched you squeeze off the stool and open the fridge to pull out a plastic bag of bread. He watched you stand on your tiptoes to reach into the highest cupboard and grab a plate. He watched you pop open a jar of fresh raspberry jam and slot the bread into the toaster. He could watch you do anything, it seemed.

Anything at all.

It took Wonwoo about half an hour to eat his raspberry toast and skim through the newest additions to your document. You were getting more into the thick of your relationship with Mingyu—just as you’d warned—but Wonwoo was able to gloss most cloying paragraphs without too much bitterness or personal weight clouding his possible critiques. Wonwoo was still seated at the island, meanwhile you were lying face down on the plump-cushioned couch, an arm dangling off the side. In a morbid way, you looked very much dead if not for the shallow rising and dipping of your back.

“Done, for the most part.”

Your head perked up, and he was relieved to see you hadn’t fallen asleep or suffocated. “When will you add your notes?”

“After lunch. Is that okay?”

“Mmhm.”

“So…” Wonwoo slid down in the chair, reaching out his arms with a gigantic yawn, “you actually snuck into his basketball game?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, letting your chin snuggle into the blanket strewn underneath you, “I was obsessed with him. I couldn’t help it.”

“I wouldn’t expect your first date to be at the nature museum. The way you wrote about the butterfly exhibit was nice, though.”

“It was fun. Mingyu wasn’t the biggest fan, but I had always wanted to go. There was this huge skeleton of a blue whale, and sometimes the museum would play the whale’s ballad—” you flopped onto your back, staring up at the ceiling with a tender, ardent laugh as your fingers twirled the fluffy knots of the throw, “—it used to scare Mingyu so bad. He kept telling me he was gonna leave our date unless we went to another exhibit.”

“The sound can be pretty jarring if you’ve never heard it before, to be fair,” Wonwoo reasoned, now massaging down his legs.

Shoving your body to sit upright on the couch, you poked out your tongue at him, grinning, “don’t defend his loserness.”

He huffed in response, “my bad.”

“Should we do a tour now? I really want to show you my room. And if I keep lying on the couch, I’ll fall asleep.”

“Uh, sure. Do you want me to wash my plate?”

“No, no, it’s fine. Just leave it in the sink.”

After Wonwoo cleaned off the granite island, he came to join you in the living room, the white rug resembling what he imagined a cloud to feel like underneath his socked feet.

A thought had suddenly popped into his head.

“There’s a nature museum here, too.”

You grabbed the blanket, wearing it like a shawl around your shoulders. Wonwoo had never seen you so sleepy before.

“I know.”

“Have you ever gone?”

“No. Not at all. I did ask Mingyu once when we first came here for university. But I think he was still mortified from the whale thing. I dunno. Anyway, is that your round-about way of asking if I ever want to go? Because I would, to help with the story.”

Wonwoo scratched along his collarbone, heated with the itch of being blatantly exposed for his plotting. However, he hadn’t suggested the museum with the intention of employing it as a visual to sharpen up your scene-work. He was hoping to go just for the sake of it—like a palate cleanser, as you had previously mentioned.

But he obviously wasn’t going to articulate that.

“We can plan it more later,” he said.

The tour started in the living room, which Wonwoo had become well acquainted with throughout his half hour of sitting at the kitchen island, occasionally flicking his eyes toward the couch to ensure you were still alive. You explained that the pristine white rug was a housewarming gift from Mingyu’s parents when you first moved into the apartment, and he felt guilty for even stepping on it.

He decided to ask about the plants by the windows.

“Oh, I don’t actually look after those,” you answered, touching at one of the heavy and balmy-looking green leaves from a plant nearly as tall as you, “Seokmin comes over to water them and stuff, gives them special nutrient food—even sprays their leaves with this misty bottle thing. I tried giving them all to him, but he says he’s got no space at his apartment—which is total bull by the way.”

“Maybe he just wants an excuse to see you.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes, “doesn’t everyone?”

Wonwoo bit back a stupid little smile as he followed you into your bedroom—the place you seemed most enthralled for him to finally see. You twirled into the open space and threw the blanket off your shoulders, then whipping your hands into the air akin to a magician who’d just performed the most grandiose magic trick.

“Tada! Bedroom reveal!”

He pushed up his glasses, taking a good, solid look around at everything he could: the prestigious makeup vanity with the drawers left half-open, your dresser, lined with photographs of what he assumed to be friends, family, and Mingyu, the beaded, dangling chandelier, the ajar closet doors that revealed your unsurprising magnitude of outfits—skirts and dresses and professional blazers and lascivious things from threads of lace and silk. He finally looked to your beautiful bed, which you proceeded to flop onto.

“This is my favourite part,” you hummed.

Taking some further steps into the bedroom, Wonwoo began recognizing smaller details, though he couldn’t explain what he was feeling. He always thought a bedroom was such a personal, intimate space, like a treasure chest stuffed with memories and pieces of person’s essence that couldn’t be captured using words alone. To sit on someone’s bed, or sift through their drawers for a pen, or even grab a shirt from their closet—he felt it was all so… sacred. It was the reason he had such a hard time having others in his bedroom.

“The bed is your favourite?” He wondered.

“Yes,” you giggled, a glimmer flashing into your eyes like diamonds in the sun as you climbed onto your knees.

Before Wonwoo knew what was happening, you had clutched a hand into his shirt and jerked him toward the covers. He landed beside you, and his heart thrust with electricity.

“You could have just asked me to sit,” he chuckled, wiping some wrinkles off his shirt and adjusting his glasses.

“Nope.”

“Bed’s comfy.”

“Duh,” you sunk backward, smirking at him, “it’s a bed.”

“Hey, you should have seen the bed I had growing up in Changwon. My older brother and I, we hated it. Shit was like sleeping on a piece of cardboard. It didn’t get better for years.”

Propping your head onto a pillow, you continued to smile prettily at him with those entrancing eyes, and for a second, this piercing fear struck in the core of Wonwoo’s chest that he had just spoke about himself—actually spoke about himself—in a manner that screamed of vulnerability. He felt terror. Why did he do that?

“Hm. I guess I’m just spoiled, with my memory foam and all.”

At least you didn’t push into the topic. You were getting better at that, almost like you could interpret the subtle tweaks in his face or the stiffening of his bones. Wonwoo rested his elbows on his knees.

“Your room’s nice. It smells like you.”

He heard you giggle, “what? Like strawberries?”

Wonwoo pursed his lip, looked down at his fingers. “Yeah…”

For a moment, his eyes lingered unfaithfully on your exposed midriff, down to the fluffy hem of those pink lounge shorts. He squeezed his wrist tight, practically stopping his own blood flow, willing himself not to think anything unhinged that would simmer up to fuel his self-hatred later. The longer your head spent sinking into that plump pillow, the more your lids fluttered with sleep. As he continued to gaze about the room, he spotted the pink stuffed bear that he’d won you at the Spring Street Fair, sitting atop your bedside table.

“You’ve still got that?”

“Hm?” You pushed up onto your elbows, yawning. “Oh, yeah! ‘Course I still have her. It’s a perfect little memento from that night.”

“Well, I did go through a lot of effort to win it.”

“Oh, I’m aware... wanna know what I named her?”

“What?”

“Miss Priss.”

Honestly, Wonwoo was surprised you hadn’t stuffed it into your closet or abandoned the toy in some innocuous corner of your apartment. Instead the bear’s vibrant pink face and slightly lopsided eyes were staring him down, making him rerun Vernon’s words in his head: ‘you stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street.’

Wonwoo immediately shoved the memory aside, letting the implications sizzle up and burn on the hot coals of his brain.

“Hm. Funny.”

You rolled your eyes.

Wonwoo tapped his wrist, thinking.

“So, uh, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but why don’t you live with Mingyu? I know he stays over some nights.”

Lifting yourself up with one arm, you shrugged, opting to stroke a hand along the blanket to smooth out some crinkles. “I don’t want to move in with anyone unless I’m engaged.”

“Actually?”

“Yeah. I mean, that's what I told my parents, at least. They used to really push for us to have an apartment together. Which makes sense. They freaking love him. I swear, more than me," you laughed, picking at your shirt. "I get it, too. Mingyu and I have pretty much been tied at the hip all these years. But we agreed that we wouldn't live together until things went to the next level. He does keep a lot of his stuff here for when he does stay over, and vice versa. He’s got an extra key and everything, his own nightstand, bathroom stuff.”

“And that’s for certain?”

You tilted your head. “What’s for certain?”

“The engagement thing. Or was it just to shake off your parents?”

“Well… I guess I mean it. Is that weird to you?”

“No,” Wonwoo said. “I personally haven't heard it plenty.”

“Yeah, most people are surprised to learn we don’t live together. I guess we really give off the impression that we're together in most things, if not everything. It's good to get a little space, though."

“Well, I understand it—wanting to have your own space. I mean, I think everyone should try living alone, just once if they have to. You learn more about yourself, I suppose.”

You cracked a smile at him. “What have you learned?”

Wonwoo chuckled, knowing all the things he could never say were tingling right on the tip of his tongue. “Well, I meant in a general sense. I wasn't exactly talking about myself.”

“Ha—you learned how to be a hermit.”

“I'm pretty sure I was always like that.”

“Yeah, but probably not that bad.”

“That bad?” He furrowed his dark brows at you, staring straight into your eyes that twinkled with challenge. “Meaning what?”

“Please, you would not leave that apartment if it wasn’t for your commitment to the book. Maybe for work, some groceries every now and then. Otherwise, your ass is not leaving.”

“Damn. Just call me a loser.”

“Fine,” you huffed, pushing up onto your knees, “loser.”

Wonwoo managed to hold the penetrating, spirited strength of your gaze, and he was proud of himself for doing so, even if his heart felt like it was going to leap into his throat. It was still difficult for him to be routinely engaged in eye contact, but he knew how much you appreciated it—the feeling of being listened to and experiencing someone’s dedication to presenting their full attention.

Since it was getting close to lunch time, Wonwoo figured you might want to start thinking of where to eat. He was getting notably hungry, and having to function off some toast coated thinly in raspberry jam wouldn’t be enough to power him throughout his proofreading. He pulled out his phone, wanting to check the time, and began sliding off your comfortable, warm bed.

“Did you want to—”

“Hey, wait, wait, wait—” Wonwoo felt your hand curl around his bicep in a firm grip and begin to pull him back down, “—before we get up and everything, I want to talk to you about something.”

Oh no.

His stomach writhed.

Wonwoo started praying it wasn’t about his and Vernon’s encounter with Mingyu at Solar Pop—not that anything particularly terrible or concerning had happened—but maybe Mingyu had mentioned something to you. Maybe he didn’t like Wonwoo and thought it was best you stop writing together, stop seeing each other.

His mind started quivering with a steadfast hurricane of awful thought and Wonwoo knew the flushed colour had most likely drained from his face as quickly as a popped balloon.

Your hand remained on his bicep, squeezing it.

“Why do you look so worried, already?” You chuckled in a quiet voice, rubbing his arm until Wonwoo visibly relaxed. “I haven’t even said anything yet. Unless, you think I should be worried, too.”

“No.” Wonwoo shook his head. “Just—never mind.”

“Hm, well, that’s kind of what I want to talk about.”

As your hand drifted off his arm, Wonwoo sat crossed-legged, narrowing his eyes at you in question. “What do you mean?”

The conversation began with a clunk of silence, to which you glanced down at the bed for a moment, clearly biting on your inner cheek in contemplation. Wonwoo desperately wanted you to spit it out. He hated when empty words hung so burdensomely in the air.

“Well… there’s no easy way to bring it up. And I’m not sure you’ll even want to talk about it with me, but I keep noticing it, again and again. I think it’s at least worth it to put it on the table. And, if it’s not my business, you can freely tell me to screw off.”

“Oh… okay.”

And then you were looking at him, not with any sort of accusation or anger or even disappointment. Somehow, Wonwoo knew what you were going to say, and he braced himself for it.

“Do you… do you have anxiety?”

Wonwoo said nothing. He wasn’t sure if it was an issue of not wanting to speak or being unable to.

You breathed out heavily in response.

“Okay, silence, I definitely saw that coming—but, um, I’m not stupid, you know? Your face just gets so pale, and I feel like I can see the heartbeat in your chest… and you always do that thing with your fist. Clenching it. It always looks so painful but you never seem to care and—anyway—I just… I can tell when it happens and it kind of bothers me that you try to like, shrug it off or call it ‘spacing out’ when it’s really clearly not. And, maybe that’s my fault.”

His gaze had shifted to lock with yours.

Again, you weren’t staring at him with any malice or dejection—he’d come to learn that your eyes were actually quite soft most of the time, soft but always glittering, like a handful of silk. Still, Wonwoo couldn’t yet find his words, which must have come across as remarkably shocking for someone who spent their whole life grabbing all the shiny bits of possible vernacular.

You sat up straighter, touching his knee.

“Is it my fault you don’t want to talk about it? Can I at least know that much?” There was an imploring desperation in your face.

Wonwoo at last cleared his throat.

“I don’t talk about it with anyone.”

“Okay, I get that. But, did I make you feel like you couldn’t bring it up? At all?” Your fingers dug a little harder into his knee, though Wonwoo knew you probably hadn’t realized it. “I just—I do want to know, actually. Because sometimes I let myself get in the way of being present for other people. But I care. I honestly do.”

He nodded, cracking his knuckles.

“I mean… I definitely wouldn’t have thought to bring it up with you. I guess I felt like, if I did, what would it accomplish? You might think I’m incapable or… I don’t know.” He shoved his hands underneath his glasses, rubbing at the indents on his nose. “As you can see, I’m not the best at talking about it. I don’t talk about it.”

You folded your legs in similar fashion to Wonwoo.

“Well… um… do you… is there anyone that could, like… I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess, are you coping alright, is what I’m asking. I really don’t mean to overstep. I swear.”

At that, he chuckled quite loudly. Your face twitched in surprise at his reaction, and the hand slipped off his knee.

“It really doesn’t matter. I just deal with it.”

No. He took nothing. He did nothing. Wonwoo just sat and suffered and felt no initiative to help himself. At that point, he really didn’t want to dissect the topic any further. He could sense the slithering under his skin, the way his body physically bristled like a perturbed cat at the thought of having to be any more open than what he'd already shared. The choices he made in his life weren’t important if he was going to end up back in the same slippery trench.

“Oh. Well, I hope you take care of yourself,” you said with a smile, giving his bicep another gentle squeeze. “That’s all.”

—JUNE 2ND.

About two weeks had passed since Wonwoo visited your apartment. Afterward, you had met up four times to continue writing and making small ventures to places that you deemed vital for developing your story. Wonwoo found himself enjoying most trips.

He remembered the ice cream shop. Apparently, it was the date where Mingyu had officially asked you to be his girlfriend. You had gotten their most popular strawberry cheesecake flavour while Wonwoo ordered mint chocolate chip, which was a rather boring but favourite classic of his. No doubt, you sat across from him on their outside patio the entire time, pitting remarks about how awful his choice was in lieu of writing anything down in your document. With every spoonful he ate, Wonwoo had to keep reminding you to stay focused, and eventually, his repetitious ordering worked.

"Did you actually come here to get any writing done or did you just want the ice cream? We're not palate-cleansing are we?"

"Why can't two things be true at once?"

“Can I see your laptop?”

“No—hey! Don’t try to grab it!”

“Why? Because you’ve written fuck all?”

"For your information, I have a bullet-point list going."

"Oh, yeah. A bullet-point list, hm?"

"Yes. It has all my major writing points. Point number one: Mingyu seats me down at the table. He's clearly nervous. We've only been in the shop for a minute or two and he won't stop brushing his hair behind his ears. Point number two: Mingyu grabs our ice cream from the counter. He gives me his flavour, rocky road, by accident, and then we awkwardly laugh and switch. Point number three: I remember thinking his nerves were endearing, and—"

"Okay, okay. I get it."

"Exactly. Let this be a lesson in poor assumption. Don't try to assume anything about me, Wonwoo. It's probably wrong."

And then there had been the journey to Mooney’s Bay, one of the most well-known beaches outside the city—probably because the lake actually looked a clean, salty blue and the soft sand wasn’t littered with drifting pieces of plastic. It had been the first place Wonwoo took his brother when he came to visit from his office in Korea, and the picture they had taken together with their pant legs cuffed up, standing knee deep in the water, was still pinned to the corkboard in Wonwoo’s bedroom. However, Wonwoo hadn’t been back to the beach since, until you dragged him there in an hour-long car ride. He had mostly looked out the window, thinking, as always.

You said that Mooney’s Bay reminded you of a cove from your hometown, a more clandestine one, where you and Mingyu used to splash around in the isolated, iridescent waters at night, laughing into the chilled breeze and coughing up all the liquid splatted into the other’s face. Wonwoo had used the video camera to record some footage of the beach per your request. By evening, most people had packed up their coolers and umbrellas and sun towels, granting him more freedom to film wider, panned shots. He remembered standing at the foam shoreline, feeling the sand squelch wetly under his bare feet, recording you wading further and deeper into the water that reflected like a bleeding, scarlet portrait of stained glass.

“It feels amazing! You should come in!”

“I can’t. It’ll ruin the camcorder.”

“So put it down! In the bag! There’s enough footage.”

“But the sun is setting behind you. It makes for a good shot.”

"So just hurry up! The water is the perfect temperature."

"But—"

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”

"Well, I don't know... I, uh—I can't swim."

"This isn't swimming, this is wading. Just go up to your knees. It's been a hot, long day. I think this will help get the scowl off your face."

“… Fine. At least give me a second to fix my pants.”

The third location, while not his favourite, had been an open bar that was conveniently placed a few streets over from his job at the pharmacy. Wonwoo had went there a number of times with Vernon in the past, usually after he finished a midterm or handed in some grating assignment, though Vernon tended to drink more than his body could sufficiently handle. By the end of the night, Wonwoo would most often find himself being a mediator between his tattooed, foul-mouthed friend and whatever blundering, equally drunk idiot he happened to be arguing with.

It was too much for his anxiety.

Nonetheless, he’d met you there after work despite the churning cauldron of memories that he harboured, unsurprised to find you seated at a small table swarmed with dewy drinks and shots that interested observers had sent over. Wonwoo felt each digging, plying stare that sculpted against his back as he sat beside you—he even choked down one of your retched tequila shots (while not the best idea), hoping it would mellow him out.

You never really explained why the bar was pertinent to your history with Mingyu—or, maybe you had, and Wonwoo was simply one flaming shot past coherent of properly digesting your words. He did, however, remember your entire, almost scientific explanation of why you liked wearing low-cut or heavily revealing tops at the bar, and Wonwoo had listened along as best he could manage, even when that floating sensation started hazing through his mind. At one point, this girl who Wonwoo had never encountered once in his life came up to him with a polite tap on his shoulder and an inquiring smile.

“Hey—sorry to intrude—and this may be a super dumb question, but you are guys together?”

“No, no. Not at all. I’ve got a boyfriend. He’s single.”

“Oh, perfect. I was just—I was sitting over there, in the corner with my friends, if you can see. Anyways—I said something dumb about how you were really good looking, and now I’ve been dared to come up and ask for your number. So, um, yeah…”

“No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“O-Oh. Wait… are you… being serious?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Sorry. This is really fucking embarrassing… uh, I guess I won’t linger then. Bye.”

“… Jeez… had a bit much to drink or something?”

“No—just don’t like giving out my number to strangers.”

“She was cute, though. Probably a fun one-night stand.”

“Then you have sex with her, yeah?”

“Ha! You’re so funny. When’s the last time you even had sex? I mean, you obviously pull. At least, I think you do…”

“I don’t remember. Months and months ago, I guess.”

“Wow! Zero play. I kind of respect it. I could never, though. So… actually, let me guess: you’re the type of person that can’t have sex without attachment? You need to be in love?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just asking.”

“I don’t know.”

“God. You’re so fucking boring, Wonwoo.”

“Because I don’t go out of my way to find some pretty girl to have sex with every week, I’m boring? How does that make sense?”

“No, not that. I mean the fact you never really want to discuss anything about yourself. Honestly, sometimes talking to you is like pulling teeth, y’know? Anyway, move back a little. Backwards cap with the earrings has been staring on and off for the last ten minutes and I want one more free shot before I call it a night.”

The most recent place you had been together was the popular drive-in at Richmond’s Farm. Wonwoo knew that in the autumn months leading up to Halloween, the venue was turned into a haunted carnival with all the typical attractions: pumpkin patches, horror movie screenings, corn mazes, and masked, fake blood-spattered psychopaths chasing people around with a roaring chainsaw.

Seokmin, despite being quite weak-stomached and completely disastrous when it came to anything horror-related, had actually implored Wonwoo to go the year before after hearing the raves about their newest House of Nightmares, although Wonwoo declined in order to study for a test.

Really, there was no test.

Wonwoo just hadn’t been in the mood for losing all his hair and being crammed into pitch black, narrow corridors with a murderer promptly waiting around the corner. He hoped Seokmin wouldn’t ask him again this year—then his excuse would be obvious.

In the spring and summer, however, the farm mostly broadcast screenings at their drive-in theatre behind the maize field, and you had leaped at the opportunity to go because it was the perfect chance to relive one of your favourite dates with Mingyu. By your explanation, he’d taken you to see Crazy, Stupid, Love before you two had departed your hometown for university. But the drive-in obviously wasn’t playing that movie, and so you two had to settle for watching their only available screening, 500 Days of Summer.

Wonwoo hated that movie.

Of course, he hadn’t told you that.

Before the movie had started, Wonwoo helped you throw down a blanket into your trunk alongside some couch pillows that you grabbed from your apartment, creating a makeshift lounge in the rear of the car. Since the screening was late at night—and way past your typical good girl bedtime—you were worried about falling asleep halfway into the movie, though Wonwoo promised he would keep an eye on you to ensure you wouldn’t miss anything important.

Since it was too dark to film anything of quality on the camcorder, Wonwoo left you alone in the blanket-pillow trunk to scribble down any nostalgic, limerent sentiments while he grabbed some snacks. You had told him to get gummy bears, because you hated the way broken pieces of popcorn kernel shells would sliver between your teeth and dig into your gums, neither did you want a soft drink since it would be an abundance of sugar before bed, and it always resulted in a breakout the next morning. He was able to make it back to the car just before the screening started.

He remembered how strange it all seemed, sitting so close to you underneath the blanket, occasionally feeling your elbow dig into his arm or your knee bump his thigh, and the sharp blip it would cause in his pulse. Wonwoo remembered how often you complained about the temperature throughout the movie—first, it’s too hot, now, it’s too cold, you’re too close to me, you’re too far away and I’m cold again, I need the blanket, I don’t want the blanket—Wonwoo hadn’t realized a person’s body temperature could fluctuate that drastically. 

However, the worst part of that night happened about half an hour before the movie ended, just when Wonwoo was beginning to feel relieved about going home. You were getting sleepier by the minute, and Wonwoo could tell from the yawning every now and then, wanting desperately to rub at your eyes but refusing because it would smother the mascara into somewhat concerning, black whorls.

You had nudged his arm, and when he glanced over at your face, exhausted and half-illuminated under the watery, bright cast of light from the screen, you asked him in a quiet, dulcet voice: “is it okay if I rest my head on your shoulder for a few minutes?”

Wonwoo had wanted to say no—of course you can’t, because if you do, I will sit here stiff, and hardly breathing, and listening only to my own heartbeat. It will be the sole thing I’ll think about for the next three days no matter what I do to mask the memory. I’ll keep thinking about it until you burn out in my mind like a star.

But then Wonwoo had agreed instead.

He proceeded to clench his fist upon feeling the weight of your head sink softly to his shoulder. Your legs had been curled up underneath you, and your knees were then pressing flush against his leg. Every breath he inhaled was faintly tainted with the scent of your sweet, fragrant shampoo and it was fucking killing him.

“You’re so tense,” you had whispered in a giggle, “if it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t have to. It’s just because I’m tired.”

“No—” it had come out somewhat like a blurt, and Wonwoo just knew the tips of his ears were tingling red, “—it’s okay. I promise.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure… what?”

“Just wanted to look in your eyes when you said it.”

“Fuck, not that again.”

“I have to know!”

“Okay, that’s fine. Movie’s almost over, anyway. Just don’t fall asleep because then I really won’t know what to do.”

That had been four days ago.

Now, it was almost midnight. Wonwoo was sitting on the roof of his apartment with a messily rolled up blunt in his fingers—the second one he prepared, mostly out of impatience—drawing in a slow and deep breath that ghosted from his lips like wispy fog flowing down a shallow hill. He then coughed twice by his elbow, attempting to clear the stinging prickle that caught against his throat.

“You’re so fucking full of it,” Wonwoo laughed.

“No! I’m not.”

“You did not write thirty pages in a day.”

“Uh—actually, I did! And the fact you don’t believe me is a testament to your own wilted motivation. I am very motivated.”

He smiled at the sound of your voice crackling through his phone, which he’d been holding with the latter hand. Breathing in another hit, Wonwoo pulled at the sides of his black beanie, grinning through the thin cloud that was exhaled in a quick, neat puff.

“Okay, you wrote thirty pages. Didn’t have to fucking drag my career through the mud in doing so. I mean, I guess it’s a hobby.”

“For all I know, you’re the biggest poser that ever posed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I still don’t know what you write about.”

“I told you.”

“No—you fucking didn’t. You said something vague and ambiguous that could have meant literally anything. All I had to go off were some sing-songy praises from Seokmin.”

“I give you pretty good notes, though.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“So I must be decent.”

“I don’t even know why I bothered calling you. I was supposed to be in bed, like, an hour ago. You’re such a distraction.”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo laughed, tapping the warm blunt to knock off a clump of papery ash, “it’s been an hour already?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t know why you called either.”

“To complain about that lady whose makeup I had to do today! She was horrible. God, were you not listening?!”

“No, no, I was. She told you the makeup she wanted, you said it wouldn’t suit her too well, and then she got all pissed off when it looked exactly how you said it would. That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh. Well… I just thought you should know about it.”

“Mmhm.”

Silence followed his velvet, almost teasing hum, but Wonwoo didn’t mind it, and he assumed you didn’t either. Your phone call had been completely out of the blue, only a few minutes after he’d climbed onto the roof and started sparking his lighter. An hour had already passed—Wonwoo couldn’t believe it. Time had never seemed so blurred and insignificant before, like tomorrow didn’t exist at all.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

Wonwoo repositioned the phone in his hand.

“From time to time, yeah.”

“What strain?”

“Northern Lights.”

“I’ve never had that one. I mean, I’m not much of a stoner, and neither is Mingyu. I don’t like the way it feels in my throat—that dry, burning feeling. And I hate the cotton mouth afterward.”

“Shouldn’t be that bad if you’re inhaling it right.”

“Well, maybe you can teach me one day.”

He let the blunt hang from the corner of his mouth for a moment, a very fluttery-feeling smile taking shape. Not wanting you to hear that slight bit of giddiness in his tone, Wonwoo took another hit, holding the smoke in for longer than usual before exhaling.

“Do you, uh… do you still want to go to that museum?”

“Oh—the nature museum?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll have to do some poking around in my schedule. I have this stupid leadership council meeting for SSA that I have to go to.”

“That’s fine. Text me when you figure it out.”

“Okay… gosh, it’s really fucking late.”

“Yeah, you should get some sleep.”

“Are you pushing me off the phone? If anything, I should be the one pushing. You’re not doing anything to fix your terrible sleep schedule. And I certainly don’t want you to ruin mine.”

“That’s what I’m saying—you need to get some sleep.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“How did I say it?”

“Like you were pushing me off the phone!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. How ‘bout this: I know how important structure is to you, and I am deeply concerned that this late night conversation we’re having may somewhat affect your sleep. And while I’ve thoroughly enjoyed talking to you and hearing your pretty voice through my shitty phone speaker, I think we should both go to bed.”

“That seems fair.”

“Great. So, goodnight then.”

“No! I want to be the first one to say goodnight.”

“Why?”

“Because, I say goodnight, then you say goodnight back, and then I get to be the one who hangs up first. It’s a courtesy thing.”

“Uh, okay then... I’m listening.”

“Goodnight!”

Wonwoo smiled. He smiled so fucking widely and brightly that he could feel the muscles in his face aching.

“Goodnight.”

—JUNE 7TH.

Since the quickest route to the nature museum was about half an hour from Wonwoo’s apartment, he suggested that you stop by around lunch time so that you two could make the walk together. It wasn’t too warm outside—the large smattering of clouds dotted in the sky and the typical city breeze helped to keep the temperature down.

“We’re not allowed to film in the museum,” you said from your seat at his small dinner table, “so don’t bother taking the camcorder, I guess. I’ll just try to soak up everything as best I can.”

Wonwoo was sat across from you, waiting for you to finish the heated-up carton box of creamy mushroom pasta that you’d raided out his freezer. He’d tried his best to eat beforehand as well, but the most he could stomach was some milk and cereal in addition a handful of blueberries. It was still better than his usual routine, which involved skipping any sort of meal post lunchtime.

“If you really needed to, I’m sure you could take a couple pictures,” Wonwoo answered, brushing a hand through his styled, pristine black hair that you had earlier littered with a flustering spiel of compliments. “I doubt the exhibits will be exactly the same, but if it's more so to capture the feeling, then it won’t matter much.”

You patted the corner of your mouth upon finishing the last few noodles left in the box, nodding your head in agreement.

“My journal’s in my bag. It should be fine.”

Wonwoo flipped over his phone to check the time.

“How was the SSA meeting yesterday?”

“Oh—I didn’t go.”

“Really?” Wonwoo asked while settling back in his chair, watching you toss the fork into the carton. “How come?”

“Because, it’s mostly pointless. We always sit there, in front of all those old, crusty men, trying to explain to them how we can improve the campus, the student experience, blah blah. And they act like they’re legitimately consuming our input, using phrases like: ‘oh, we hear you, we understand, we’re gonna try our hardest’—just for them to put, what? Another fucking seating area in the dining hall that no one asked for or cares about? It’s totally ridiculous.”

“Hm, yeah.”

“Anyways, I hate being on it. I hate going. I understand it looks good and whatnot, but it’s a huge waste of my time.”

Wonwoo picked up the pasta box, continuing to hum his agreement while taking it into the kitchen. He dropped the fork into the sink and folded up the cardboard to stuff into his recycling.

“It’s one meeting. A skip won’t kill you, or them.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Mingyu thinks I went, though. So, if you run into him or something and the topic fucking miraculously pops up—just don’t give anything away. It’s a little white lie.”

Coming back to the dining table, Wonwoo snatched up his wallet and shoved it into his back pocket, raising an eyebrow.

“Why wouldn’t you tell him?”

You pushed back in the chair, sighing heavily.

“He really thinks I should stick with it.”

Wonwoo didn’t say anything in response. He simply nodded, not wanting to hover on Mingyu as a conversation piece for too long, and waited for you to shoulder on your purse.

“Okay,” you then smiled, “let’s go look at some nature.”

Despite their boring, lacklustre reputation, Wonwoo had always enjoyed going to museums—art, history, science—he’d even been to a museum that delved into ancient coin minting and the development of currency. He supposed it was his appreciation for learning new information of his own free will, unlike the fast-paced, passion-draining, wringer system that was university. Furthermore, he was surprised that you would share his interest in the matter.

“Why wouldn’t I like museums?” You had stopped just before the acclaimed beetle species wall, aglow behind a glass sheet. “I wrote in my draft that Mingyu and I went to a nature museum, remember?”

“I know. I’m just surprised you have that much of an interest in them. Your life seems so upbeat. I didn’t think you would be into something that most people find fairly dry and anticlimactic.”

“Right.” Twirling back around, you continued walking down the corridor, your eyes tracing the organized arrangement of lustre-shelled beetles. “Because everyone else is too stupid and you’re the true upper echelon who actually possesses the mental capability required to appreciate something as seemingly trivial but totally enriching as…” you then paused at the glass, squinting to read the embossed label below an oblong-shaped beetle with an iridescent green shell, “… as the Chrysochroa Fulgidissima? I don’t know, something like that—also known as the Jewel Beetle. Its species is native to Japan and Korea. It’s a… woodboring beetle?”

“Why would I know?” Wonwoo laughed, coming to stand beside you and look at the plaque settled to the white background behind the display glass. “You’re the one reading it.”

“Ugh—doesn’t matter. I was going somewhere with my speech and now I forget… oh, yeah! So, you think you’re smarter than me?”

Placing a gentle hand on your lower back, Wonwoo urged you to keep walking forward in order to let the people faintly mumbling behind you examine the wall, who seemed much more interested.

“I never said that,” he answered softly.

“Okay—but, do you think you’re smarter?”

“In what sense?”

“Did you take the Frontiers evaluation for calculus?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you score?”

“9.8.”

“Shut the fuck up! No you didn’t.”

Wonwoo merely tapped the black-framed glasses further up his nose, smirking slightly, and began shaking his head while continuing down the exhibit. You hurried after him, remembering to lower your voice to match the collective quietness.

“Prove it,” you whispered.

“Go to prof Bradbrook’s office. My name’s on her wall.”

“I hate you.”

“Why? What did you score?”

“I’m obviously not going to say it now.”

Wonwoo still remembered the day his test score came back—he’d opened the envelope in Miss Bradbrook’s office, and while she sat across from him, practically squirming and jittering with anticipation, Wonwoo had glossed over the paper slip with the smallest, most low effort smile. He knew he was supposed to feel relieved in that moment—overjoyed probably—to realize his notable success and the upstanding conformation he was legitimately good at something. But in truth, he hadn’t really felt anything at all. He sort of just smiled. That was it. That was all he could muster.

And his life had mirrored that moment ever since. In the past, it would come and go. Yet, that day, it just stuck. The only time he ever experienced any glint or sparkle of happiness, it had come from his girlfriend—but even she couldn’t imbue much from him that day.

“Well, that’s not what I expected you to ask.”

You glanced over at him, adjusting the bag on your arm.

“Meaning?”

“There are different types of intelligence. I thought you meant, in a more general sense, am I smarter, or more knowledgeable. To be honest, I can’t say. I mean, I feel like I’ve experienced and seen a whole lot, but that’s just life’s illusion.”

“You won’t really know ‘til you’re on your death bed.”

Wonwoo returned your glance, squinching his brown eyes in a judgemental but innocuous way that gave bloom to his smile.

“Thanks.”

“I can’t help it. Museums make me think of death. I think it’s the really cold, still air. Especially in nature museums where they need to preserve things. Like, look at that fox. It’s a bit ominous.”

On the exhibit to his right, Wonwoo observed another display protected by glass. There was a fox, with a rusty, auburn coloured coat, poised atop a fake precipice of grass. Wonwoo knew what you meant—it was the eyes, like two leaf green beads, so immensely detailed but lifeless to an almost uncomfortable degree.

“I want to see the aquarium exhibit next,” you said, tugging twice at Wonwoo’s sleeve. “I heard it’s really dark in there.”

“Well, we can go take a look.”

“And we can eat afterward? There’s an atrium.”

“Sure.”

Wonwoo let your arm link with his, following the natural flow of museum-goers into the next exhibit, leaving behind the shiny, colourful wall of beetles and the auburn fox in its lonesome enclosure.

The aquarium exhibit was one of the most spacious in the entire museum, placed in a large, dome-topped room, with shadows creeping at every corner. There were some lights—deep, blue lights that rippled and wriggled across the floor, like waves patterned against ocean sand by the sun rays. He didn't know from where, but he could hear water sloshing, a very soft sound that led him to imagine the wet sand squelching under his toes.

You approached another display wall, filled with a school of lemon-yellow and azure coloured fish placed around vibrant, unique corals.

While you busied yourself with reading the informative plaque, Wonwoo spent his time taking a more in-depth inspection around the mystifying exhibit. He noted the stingrays and luminous jellyfish flocking above his head, held on near-invisible little wires that would occasionally glimmer if they twisted the perfect angle.

After a generously long venture throughout the room, reading all the plaques and pointing to different fish behind the glass just to comment, “I think that was in Finding Nemo,” you had wanted to sit down, spotting a bench positioned before an aquarium.

Wonwoo agreed, and you collapsed on the bench together.

There was a period of comfortable silence where you both watched the aquarium, meanwhile the dappling, blue pattern cast to the floor danced and flickered around at your still feet. The atmosphere seemed so vivid that Wonwoo was surprised the next breath he took wasn’t a mouthful of liquid and sea salt, or that his body wasn’t miraculously suspended and floating about in the echoey shadows.

And that’s when Wonwoo decided he liked the aquatic exhibit very much—more than all the others.

He looked down at the hands folded in his lap, specifically at the scarred, ruined cuticle belonging to his right thumb and how it had withstood years of his anxious scratching. Wonwoo then breathed out softly, feeling his heartbeat begin to pick up.

“Want to know something?” He asked.

You stared back at Wonwoo with an intrigued pique of your brow.

“Like what?”

“Well, first of all, we both took creative writing, you know.”

"Uh, okay," you sniffed, "sure."

"No, like, we took the course together. In the fall. Prof T?"

"Really?" You pinned him down in a non-believing stare. "Wait, you're talking about that basement auditorium, right? In Gildan Hall? It always smelt like old computers and dust bunnies?"

"That's the one."

Scoffing out some dry air, you leaned back.

"Woah. I don't think I ever saw you... did you go to each class?"

He nodded a few times. "Almost all. To be fair, I sat more in the back, off to the corner. I wasn't exactly thrusting myself into the limelight."

Folding one leg over your knee, you chuckled. "Sounds like you."

“I have this really specific memory from that class, when that random guy, whoever he was, sat in the seat you always took. Your so called unofficially-assigned-assigned-seat. And I remember that really tense feeling right before you walked in, because we all knew you were gonna chew him out for it. The way you marched straight up to him was already violating enough, and then you basically ruined his whole day.” Looking down at his hands again, Wonwoo smiled at recalling the memory. “You absolutely terrified me. I don’t even think you understand how much I wanted to avoid you.”

He caught your eyes, shimmering like the water-stained floor, with an emotion he couldn’t place.

“Actually?” Was all you said, hardly sounding surprised.

“Yeah.”

Your face began searching around the shadowed, sloshing exhibit for something unseen. He decided to let the silence settle like a thin sheet, instead listening to the tidal pushing and pulling. The soft sounds reminded him of being a child, wandering beaches into the late evening with his older brother during summer vacations, and picking up shells just to hear the ocean speaking inside them.

Aloud, you breathed in, shaking your foot.

“I can’t really remember what was going through my head that day. I know I’d had a fight with Mingyu before going to class, so I was feeling pretty amped up and short-fused. I knew I was going straight to another SSA meeting that I hardly cared about immediately after, and then I would work until the evening. I knew I would have to make dinner when I got home, even though I’d be downright exhausted, and the next morning, I’d have to wake up early to attend some bullshit press, social, interview breakfast thing for my mom’s new lifestyle magazine. Having that idiot sit in my favourite seat was probably just the straw that broke the camel’s back, I guess.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, suddenly experiencing a profound sympathy for you that he never imagined he would feel. “When you give it a bit more perspective, it doesn’t sound so…”

“Completely and utterly bitchy?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to use that word, but, sure.”

You grinned at him through the dusky rippling of auroras that flitted across the exhibit, seeming like you were under the sea—and he was, too, sitting side by side in the somehow peaceful depths of the chaotic whirlpool that had pulled you two together.

“I have a memory.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo returned your grin, “I want to hear it.”

“So, remember earlier how we were talking about the Frontiers evaluation for Bradbrook’s calculus class?”

“Mmhm.”

"So, after all the Frontiers scores came out, I'm not gonna lie—I really thought I had one of the better marks. It's not like I specifically trotted around, throwing out my grade to anyone passing by, but I was parading a little bit to my friends. And then, like, Clara or something, told me that there was this guy who almost got a ten. I asked her who, and she said she didn't know—just that she overheard some of the basketball guys talking about it.

I thought she was lying. I didn't say that, though. But I remember it was on my mind every night. Like, it was itching me so bad. I wanted to know who the fuck was smart enough to get a damn near perfect ten on Frontiers. Some of those problems are ridiculously hard. I started writing nonsense around A-block. They straight up give students problems that serious, esteemed mathematicians can't fucking solve. So, honestly... I was quite jealous of you... despite not even knowing who you were. I can't believe that was you, asshole."

Wonwoo cracked his knuckles, beginning to laugh at that intense but lighthearted glare you were sending his way. Of course, you mellowed everything out with a big smile he felt his heart skip a beat over. You had actually went to bed thinking about him.

Holy fuck.

Maybe not him in physicality. But in spirit.

That was close enough.

"I just did the study guide." He shrugged.

Your knee pushed into his. "Oh, yeah, the study guide. Jeez, why didn't I think of doing that? Let me go kill myself right now."

"Keep tabs on it for next time."

With a roll of the eyes, you laughed almost to scorn him.

“I hate people like you.”

And Wonwoo laughed back. “Meaning?”

“Things come to you so naturally. You don’t have to try.”

“Sure,” Wonwoo agreed, scratching his nose and proceeding to nudge up his glasses, “things like mathematics, numbers, problem solving, taking something whole apart and then looking at its pieces. I guess it does come to me naturally. I can’t complain. But there are also plenty of things that don’t. And… if I could, I’d probably trade all my stupid math and logic and puzzling for what I’m missing.”

You tilted your head, staring intently at Wonwoo through the blue sea between you, almost into his brain, it felt like.

“What are you missing?”

At first, Wonwoo didn’t respond. To answer your question meant an intimate exhumation of the flaws that he’d been willfully ignoring for the past year, if not his entire damn life. It meant at last turning over the round, flat rock that had been sitting at the foot of his wooden porch since childhood, and realizing the bottom was sculpted with the grittiest texture and wet with the thickest dirt. The rock was hiding long-legged spiders and ugly, skittering bugs and it would have probably been better to let the rock sit there, untouched, only facing the warm and comfortable glow of the sun.

Wonwoo didn’t want to turn the rock.

Not at all.

“A plethora of things, I’m sure.”

Squeezing onto your wrist, you smiled at him.

“I think I’m the opposite.”

“How so?”

He watched you inhale a long, slow breath, and then huff it all out through your nose. Wonwoo bumped his knee against yours.

“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

“No, no. It’s not like that…”

Looking up to the glowing aquarium, the dull light reflected back unto your face, and Wonwoo again saw the glisten in your eyes.

“I just feel…” for a moment, your chest stilled, “… I feel like I’m so much of everything that I just blend into nothing. You know, like when a child takes a whole bunch of paints and squirts them all together thinking it’s going to create this beautiful, never-before-seen new colour? But, instead, it’s just greyish-brownish, nothing.”

Your face turned back to him. Wonwoo watched you chew down on your bottom lip, meanwhile your eyes glazed aloof, off to the side, as though you were rummaging through so many different thoughts and experiences that it required your utmost mental focus.

“And—” you swallowed tightly, and it sounded so painfully dry with stinging emotion, “—I just don’t want people to see that I’m so much of nothing. I just find myself covering it all up.”

Were you going to cry? Wonwoo felt himself jolt inwardly with panic. He had never seen you cry and he had therefore never developed the best protocol to tackle such a situation. Some people preferred immediate comfort, others—a reassuring stroke on the back, maybe some uplifting monologue. Or, maybe, they didn’t want to be touched at all. They just desired the simple, thinking silence and all its clarity. He remembered you saying something about it—that you did like to be comforted, but only in very certain circumstances.

First, Wonwoo subtly wiped off his hand against his thigh, and then he took in the softest breath. Through the flickering, midnight blue mirage, Wonwoo reached for your hand. He settled his cold fingers inch by inch under yours, and, with a timid but gentle thumb, Wonwoo caressed in a slow path along your knuckles.

You glanced to him appreciatively, saying nothing, but squeezing his hand in return. He figured he’d done right.

Maybe more things came to him naturally than he thought.

Before leaving the nature museum, you and Wonwoo had stopped at their atrium as promised to get in a quick meal. While you poked a fork into your sad-looking salad, making small scribbles every now and then to the journal at your elbow, Wonwoo ate a grill-pressed sandwich and flicked through his phone. He was surprised to check the time and realize you had spent about three hours there—it felt so much shorter. Wonwoo hated how quickly each moment flew past when he was with you. It was always so bittersweet.

He had wanted to know what exactly you were penciling in the journal, though he never asked, knowing he would probably be proofreading it from your document later. Obviously, you were thinking about that particular date with Mingyu from years back in your life—that was the principal point in going to the museum. However, Wonwoo had chosen to regard it more as hanging out, not caring if that was a particularly delusional or untruthful choice.

After finishing your meals and tossing the plastic remnants into the recycling bins, Wonwoo looked outside the atrium’s towering glass wall to note how cloudy the sky had become. From the bright, eggshell turquoise in the afternoon, to an especially muted grey that seemed brewing and heavy with a downpour. You adjusted the bag over your shoulder and suddenly grimaced at the sight.

“Jeez, is it going to rain?”

“It could,” Wonwoo sighed. “It very possibly could.”

“I swear. I obsessively check the forecast in order to plan all my outfits around it. It never said it would rain!” You then threw the bottle of iced tea you’d been drinking into the garbage with an aggressive slam. “This shirt is a horrible choice. It will be stupidly see-through."

Wonwoo glanced around the atrium.

“There’s lots of empty tables. If we want to sit and wait it out, then I don’t think anyone would get mad. But, I mean, it’s up to you.”

“Why’s it up to me?”

“I don’t know. Just—if you don’t want to get your outfit all soaked. I’m sure if we left now, we could make good distance before it really started raining. I’m not opposed to getting a little wet. But I have no issue with staying here and letting the clouds go over.”

You folded your arms, and your head fell to the side. He’d seen that look before. It was your own patented prelude to disaster.

“I never said I was opposed to getting wet.”

He laughed. “Well, you certainly insinuated it.”

“Do you think I'm some sort of whiny little priss?”

"I think you named your bear Miss Priss."

"I think you're a smart ass. Take that smirk off your face. Now."

Wonwoo wanted to sigh, but he didn’t. He then thought about trying to tenderly explain his way out of it with his smooth words. As much as he would think he’d figured you out, there was still a part of him that was very confused by you and how to adjust to your behaviour.

This time, he decided he would do nothing.

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

He reached out his hand for you to grab.

“As if,” you scoffed, walking around him toward the exit doorway, into the museum garden, “not after you just insulted me.”

Wonwoo could do nothing but laugh in response, because he had caught that faint smile on your face as you passed him, and the sweet beading in your eyes. He simply followed you out the doors.

During the walk back to his apartment, it had yet to rain at all, not even a typical, humid summer drizzle or the smallest bit of spitting. Maybe it was just way more cloudy than usual, or it was a concerning spread of city smog tainting the sky. It’s not like he wanted it to rain, anyway, though more so for your sake than his.

About a little more than halfway through the walk, however, you came to an abrupt stop outside a flower shop, and Wonwoo watched you lift a doubtful hand to your cheek and wipe something off it. Before you could say anything, Wonwoo felt a big, cold, wet drop smack just above his eyebrow and begin leaking down. He used the sleeve of his shirt to clean it up, only to experience another fat droplet strike a second later, right onto his glasses.

“You can’t be serious…” he heard you mumble.

Making the mistake of looking up, more and more droplets fell swiftly from the daunting, dark grey blanket strewn across the entire skylight. They began painting all over the sidewalk, the roadway, shaking down into the brilliant purple and white petunia pots outside the florist shop. And Wonwoo froze for a moment, because he honestly hadn’t expected to be caught in the rain, let alone the downpour it was unfortunately shaping up to be.

“Ow!” You winced sharply. “One just fucking hit my eyeball!”

“Shit—let’s hurry.” Wonwoo hid his phone. “My apartment’s only like, ten minutes away, less if we run really fast.”

“Run?!” You gawked at him. “I don’t run!”

“No, you fucking sashay, I get it.” In a matter of seconds, those intermittent raindrops had evolved into an unrelenting, bathing barrage. Wonwoo could feel his clothes beginning to dampen, and his glasses were streaming with water. He slapped his hand onto yours, jerking you forward despite your stiltedness. “And I’m so sorry but you’re going to have to sacrifice one part of your pretty fucking princess routine for just five minutes so we can get back to my place.”

“My pretty fucking wha—!”

Once Wonwoo’s fingers were clasped tight with yours, he started to run, and whether it was voluntary or not, you ran along with him, shouting something that he couldn’t quite hear over the rain that bounced in loud splatters against the sidewalk and the adrenaline echoing in his own ears. He could hardly see through the downpour, but he’d walked that path so many times that it almost wasn’t necessary. At one point, he’d stepped onto the street prematurely, and he heard the loud, startled honk from a car.

“Jesus Christ, Wonwoo!” You half-laughed, half-coughed, clutching onto his slippery hand even tighter, “I’d ideally like to live!”

“We’re almost there!” He chuckled back.

“I think I’m going to lose my fucking shoe!”

“I’ll buy you a new pair!”

Wonwoo didn’t stop, and you didn’t either. He was soaked to his bones, with thick, drizzling fronds of hair plastered to his forehead and the glasses nearly slipping from his nose—the scent of earthy but ashen rain all around him—and still Wonwoo kept running, a very blithe smile permanent to his mouth despite all his discomfort.

Upon reaching the entryway to the pottery shop, Wonwoo almost skidded completely past it since the sidewalk was so slick and pouring like an angry river. You slammed into his back, and it was then that your hands unintentionally separated. Instead, he felt your fingers flesh into the sopping cloth covering his shoulders.

“Be careful on the steps!” He shouted overtop a reverberating crack of thunder that shook from behind the grey sleet sky.

“If I slip, I’m pulling you down with me!”

Wonwoo was pleased to hear the equally bright smile that bled into your words, meanwhile your fingertips dug even deeper into his muscle. Once inside the shop, a gust of wind proceeded to blow the door shut, and all Wonwoo heard was hard rain against the glass.

—END OF PART TWO.

[therowdymagpie]

Arcana M6: When they hear you bragging about them

A/N: We're back! In this specific scenario, you basically brag about something your partner did to a friend and they happen to be close by and overhear or walk by and don't notice them at first.

Asra:

He definitely slinks around longer just to hear everything you have to say

They love getting to hear your perspective and how you see them

That is until their reserve for being perceived runs out -they have their air of mystery for a reason MC- and they come out of their hiding spot, only to side-hug you while you are still talking

Compliments you and starts bragging about you right back to see your reaction

The moments after are just them taking the teasing to a whole other level about all the things you were talking to your friend about

But you can see the way his ears have turned pink and the fact that he can't stop smiling

They still become curious about what else you would have said if they'd let you go on while in bed and ask just before you're about to doze off.

Nadia:

Quiet acknowledgement from the sidelines with a very self-satisfied smile on her face

Doesn't tell you she overheard

But the pampering and the romantic gestures go up significantly for the next couple of days

And the traits you praised also happen to appear more frequently

Unless it's one of her sisters you are bragging about her to

Then she'll come out and firmly stand next to you as you flush with a look that says "Well…keep going dear, I for one am very interested in what you have to say"

Either way, she takes this as a chance to listen to your unfiltered feelings and the things you admire about her as a partner and she loves knowing that

Julian:

Here's the thing: He probably does the same for you at least three times a week at the Rowdy Raven or with every acquaintance he has

But he will never get used to the praise coming from you

Normally, he would immediately turn the mountain of positive comments right back at you

But right now he is at a situation where he can't brush off your remarks in a self-deprecating matter since you are sharing it with someone else

Welp…he's stuck buffering in his spot for as long as this conversation lasts

Comes back pretending he didn't hear you

But by the way his face is starting to ressemble his hair, you can tell he definitely heard (and maybe you did it intentionally too)

If you think he's not going to take this as an opportunity to compose an epic of everything he admires about you and present it to you later on in the day, you'd be wrong

Muriel:

*Becomes one with the shadows while you are talking and assumes the shade of a tomato*

This is way too much attention than he can possibly deal with and it's not even directed at him

Oh my gods, you are still going…

He can't stay for much longer or else it's a very strong possibility that he'll combust

After your friend leaves, you can't find him for a good chunk of time after you last saw him

And that is because he immediately went back in the woods to mentally recharge after the litany of praise

He wants you to feel apprieciated too though, even if verbal affirmations aren't exactly his strong suit

So he later comes home with a bouquet of different flowers and compares things he knows about each one to some of your traits

Portia:

Barely able to suppress her delighted giggles as she listens from around the corner, thinking you haven't noticed her

She has a hard time with her self-esteem and being put first, so seeing you praising her in front of someone else is such an unconditional and personal expression of love for her

Which in turn translates into an extreme case of Cuteness Agression

Squeezes you soooo tight when she comes back later, that it makes Faust's Squeezes seem light

When you bring it up with her, she simply says that she 'happened to overhear' with that signature UWU* smile of hers

Hope you are ready for this woman to spoil you for the remainder of the afternoon

Has the biggest smile the entire time and just won't stop giggling

Lucio:

Doesn't even try to listen in or wait for you to finish your sentence

When he realizes the conversation is even the littlest bit about him he's immediately coming up, hugs you and becomes part of it

"Yes exactly all of that is completely true and they are lucky" kind of smug smile the whole time.

Then proceeds to brag about YOU in turn to the poor person that has to hear you two fawning over each other

Let's be honest, he isn't all that restrained when it comes to expressing how much he loves everything about you (and himself)

Struts around proud all day while trying to find ways to compliment you more

Looks at you like lovesick puppy for a good amount of time afterwards

Unfortunately he can take a lot of things as a competition, so be prepared for him to compliment you and LOUDLY brag about you to anyone within earshot.

[jmdbjk]

Jungkook telling it like it is...

He did tell Spotify that he'd use the blanket they gave him. Just not the way they probably thought he would: Jungkook's glossy black marble floor shows his bare feet prints on it and he used his Spotify blanket to clean the floor. He says he'll have to always wear socks or slippers. I can see him leaving a pile of toe socks at the door just for him to put on when he's in that room...

He says he briefly and unseriously considered quitting the business to be a full time cook. (JK, you can't do that, you have to make enough money to pay for the utilities and property taxes on your new fortress...) But that's his introvert kicking in, the routine, the comfort zone, the way his job holds his interest enough to make him want to keep doing it. But he is aware and he knows this about himself and knows he has to return to his "spot" as he called it.

He seems to accept the fact his place of residence is going to be known by the fans just like many other aspects of his life such as details of his military service. He seems to take it in stride but he also sets boundaries by asking fans to not come to his house and do not send packages, not only to his house but to his army base. He explains why, that he cannot accept them and that packages containing food are restricted. He clearly instructs to send letters to the company.

How do people know where he lives? Here's the answer, or at least part of it:

We all know if you spend time on Youtube the algorithm will feed you videos and channels similar to what you've watched. If you are restrained enough to limit your viewing to only BangtanTV I applaud you. But if you watch anything else, youtube will serve you similar. We all know that through the anecdotes of Armys talking about being flooded with edited, slo-mo shipping videos.

Personally, I like watching youtube channels that show walking tours of Seoul. The city captured my attention and I've learned so much about it. But because of this interest I have in Seoul and Korea, more "walking tour" and Korean travel type channels are suggested to me. Some are better than others. Some are actually run by K-Army. I am very interested in K-Armys' perspective about life in Seoul so I watch. We get to see the birthday cafe events and such that I'm probably never going to experience.

Inevitably one of these channels is going to walk by the members' homes... because they are Army and can. Streets are public. And this is how other people find out where the members live. The videos show that none of the homes are accessible. They are all behind walls and gates. None of the videos show hoards of fans congregated in front of the homes. The only place you ever see that is in front of the Hybe building.

Yes, it is controversial knowing these things but it is also one of those things that is almost unavoidable. What do I do with the information I gain by watching? Nothing. I satisfy my curiosity and move on.

Jungkook knows we are curious. He knows with his position in life there are things he cannot control and he's aware of it. It's pointless for him to pretend he isn't aware of this. That's why he sets boundaries. And he's very kind about it when he does set boundaries.

Are there bad actors out there who will take advantage of the knowledge? Of course. But that's on them. Are there people who will post every detail they learn? Of course. That's how the information spreads to other social media platforms.

Anyway... the Weverse translations are sort of skimming over what he says. There's a little bit of nuance being left out sometimes.

The Weverse English subs say "We'd sing it every day while taking showers." But Jungkook more accurately said: "We always sing together while taking a shower." (begins at 1:00:00)

The Weverse English subs say "Recently, with Jimin, now during our clean up time I finished up in the kitchen and came back up we talked a lot about music and we'd always be humming (he hums) and I'd go far away and sing songs (he gestures away from him). I'll try to practice more when I have time." But more accurately he said: "So these days I'm with Jimin and now when its personal maintenance time I go upstairs after finishing kitchen work. We talk a lot about singing and we're humming along to each other all the time (he hums) like that and we go far away and sing and stuff (he gestures away from him). I'll practice more in my spare time." (begins at 36:48)

The Weverse English subs say "I've been doing well with Jimin in my military life. I've been well." More accurately he said: "I'm/we are working hard and doing well in military life together with Jiminie-hyung. I'm doing well." (at 8:18)

He showed us his entertainment room, he clearly states he can't show us the upstairs but he does not give a reason why but as he talks he explains he has not "organized" his house. Maybe he won't show it because he doesn't want to or maybe he won't show it because in his opinion, its a mess right now. Regardless, its his choice what he wants to show us and we are privileged when he does so. I'd bet that at some point, we'll see his kitchen because he's Jungkook.

He talked about his job as a cook in the Army. He said he prepares many Korean dishes and they are either boiled or braised. He mentions that they cannot grill food. He says its not easy making large amounts of food. He says he does his best to make them tasty. I've noticed on the timeline the accounts that post military menus that on most days, meals include stews and soups so he is definitely learning how to cook a wide variety of dishes.

He sang about 30 songs including several off Golden. He sounded really good singing Standing Next to You, in fact, his off the cuff live singing of all the songs from his album was pretty exquisite even if he didn't sing most of the songs to the end.

He spoke with a slight reverence regarding only singing BTS songs with the rest of the members. It gave me the impression he knows it will be a special moment for them as well as us.

He picked at his lip, bit his cuticles, touched his lips, scratched his head under his beanie and yawned many times before finally telling us good night. Until we see you again soon, Kookie! Be safe and keep practicing with Jimin!

[yuurei20]

I just finished the new chapter drop on EN and may I ask why Idia freaks out about Ortho (robot) calling him by name?

Doesn't everybody except Malleus call him Idia? When Ortho (robot) shows up in the dream world he even has this line "And why are you calling me Idia...?"

He doesn't know who Ortho (robot) is, right? So why WOULDN'T he be called Idia? Or am I missing something?

Hello hello! Thank you for this question! 💀🤖

This is just a theory, but I think maybe what has happened is this! ↓

We know from Yana's interview that the story is complete and that she is not the only one who knows what is going on:

"The full main plot that I was to share with Disney seemed linear and uninteresting, so I submitted character details and sub-plots at the same time." - Toboso Yana (2023 Apple Store Interview)

But it is possible that Aniplex USA are not in the know 👀

The English-language translators can only work with what they have, and it's possible they haven't been told what points are going to be recurring, etc., so changes that they make to the localization that would be innocuous in any other situation are turning out to be important later on--and we have seen this before, also with Idia!

Idia has a line of "Leave it to your big bro (nii-chan)," which is extremely important.

We see that he used to say it to human-Ortho when they were children, and it uses the nii-chan variation of "big brother," not robot-Ortho's "nii-san"!

Every time Idia says it, he is invoking human-ortho.

But it seems Aniplex USA might not have known this about the character until the same time as the rest of us: when they got to Book 6.

As a result there are earlier instances (Book 5 and Ortho's ceremonial robes vignette) where Idia says his oft-repeated line and it was either rewritten or just removed entirely from EN.

And this is possibly what has happened with Ortho's "nii-san"!

While robot-Ortho has been programmed to refer to Idia as "nii-san" (and chooses to continue doing so for himself after Book 6), human-Ortho would use "nii-chan," in what seems like a throwaway character detail that is actually so important it was practically a plot point in Book 6.

More here:

That is what confuses Idia in Book 7! A humanoid he doesn't know has appeared calling him "nii-san," which no one has ever called him before.

But Aniplex USA possibly didn't know how important this was going to be! Ortho was localized to say "Idia" every time he says "nii-san," so that is what this scene became: Idia wondering why someone is doing what everyone does (call him "Idia"), possibly making it seem odd that it bothers him.

And unfortunately for the poor translators this just kept repeating in this chapter!

Originally Idia is confused by the three different entities all calling him "brother," but on EN he is just wondering why he is being called his name (which EN itself established as the status quo).

And that is why it seems that Idia is confused by someone referring to him in the same way that most all the characters do ^^

It is possible that the translators don't know where the story is going and are just doing the best with what they have, ending up in curious situations as new content is released that compromises changes they have made, catching them by surprise!

And we have seen this happen before, with the word "imagination:"

In a line that was retained on EN Ortho explains to Malleus himself, “Magic is powered by imagination, so you can’t manifest or defend against what you don’t know."

Silver suggests this about Malleus as well when wondering why it is that Malleus cannot interfere in Lilia’s dream, and connecting it to how Lilia’s dream is from before Malleus was born: “The source of magic is imagination. What if Malleus has trouble controlling things he doesn’t know about and can’t imagine…?”

The concept of imagination powering magic is a significant plot point throughout all of Book 7, not only due to it being one of Malleus’ rare weaknesses but because it is the basis for the construction of the dreamscapes that trap the rest of the cast.

Idia repeatedly comments on how the strength or weakness of a person’s imagination directly influences the depth of their worlds and the likelihood of awakening them, and in the original game it is a concept that was established as early as Book 1.

On EN, however, the word “imagination” was removed until Book 6, which is possibly when Aniplex USA received the scripts for Book 7 realized that it was important?

(I also wonder if that is what has happened with Ace and Epel having their dialogue changed from “Housewarden” to “Headmage.” Did Aniplex USA not know the significance of these two characters having issues with their housewardens, and decide on their own that Crowley made more sense?)

And this has just happened again with the newest chapter release on JP.

In Trey’s dorm vignette he originally explains that when Riddle’s mother discovered him at her house, she lectured Trey’s entire family for five hours, in a scene that was faithfully recreated in the Heartslabyul manga. This history with Riddle was changed on EN to Trey getting lectured by his own family, instead.

Unfortunately for EN, this experience between Trey, his family and Riddle’s mother was just confirmed in the main story.

He explains it happened when he and Chenya were 9 or 10 years old, with Cater providing the details that his mother scolded Trey’s family for five hours, as Cater was the person Trey was talking to in his vignette and he has already heard the story.

It will be interesting to see if EN attempts to change the characters’ backgrounds again to match the changes made to Trey’s vignette, or if they will be glossing over their own changes to stay accurate to the actual story.

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 27.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

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A/n: it's been so hard to get any sleep as of late and I have no idea why. I already have insomnia rip. I noticed it got worse after getting the Nexplanon birth control. Has anybody else experienced this? aNYWAY PREPARE YOURSELVES FOR A N G S T. Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

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Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. chapter 26

After a while of just enjoying the music together, a soft knock on the door had the two super soldier's becoming alert. While Bucky turned to see who was knocking, (Y/n) had just stiffened; staring straight ahead as if to be at attention.

When Bucky noticed Steve standing there, he left the music on auto-play before leaving the room. Steve was gazing at (Y/n) as she slowly relaxed, and Bucky greeted the man with a curious look on his face as he closed the lab door.

"What's going on, Steve?"

Steve glanced at Bucky, stating gently.

"We know how HYDRA was able to infiltrate Wakanda. Come on."

Bucky was reluctant, glancing at (Y/n) for a moment, and Steve tilted his head slightly before he comforted.

"Don't worry, she'll be okay."

Bucky rolled his eyes, mumbling.

"I wasn't worried. Give me the rundown."

Steve snorted, raising his blonde brow at Bucky as the two of them began to walk to the meeting room and he teased the ex-assassin lightly.

"Are you sure? Seems like you're pretty worried."

"Shut up, punk, and just tell me what's going on, would you?"

Steve chuckled while Bucky rolled his eyes, and Steve began to launch himself into an explanation of all of the evidence the Avengers had gathered thanks to Wanda and Rollins.

"King T'Challa informed us that he had sent some advisors to the US for diplomacy and discussing some tech-sharing agreements and contracts. We think Rollins intercepted the delegation, forced the advisors to sneak them in, and when the advisors came back with the equipment, HYDRA was hiding in one of the shipments."

Bucky frowned, asking as he crossed his arms, looking over the files and plans.

"How did they get in undetected?"

Steve sighed and explained, his eyes glancing at Bucky.

"We think that the three scientists were threatened, so they bypassed the system by scanning the shipments that HYDRA was hiding in directly. Then, they escaped to the Serpents Valley to hide out until Rollins gave his orders."

Bucky's brow furrowed deeply, annoyance settling deep within his body, and he asked with a low tone to his voice.

"We got them all, right?"

"Yeah. Thanks to Wanda making Rollins' talk, we were able to get the jump on them. They're being escorted to the US as we speak. Shuri and Tony are teaming up to start investigating the other locations that Rollins gave us."

Bucky nodded, staying quiet for a moment before Steve looked at Bucky, giving the man a soft yet apologetic look. Bucky became uncomfortable, looking at Steve with a confused expression.

"What is it?"

Steve sighed before he opened up gently and softly.

"I'm sorry that I doubted you, Buck. I thought that everything was starting to take its toll on you, especially with what happened with Rollins. I know that you didn't want to do this in the beginning, and I pushed that onto you."

Bucky looked surprised before he turned away, crossing his arms and shaking his head slightly as his hair hung slightly within his face.

"At first, I hated the idea. We didn't know who this woman was, didn't know what her orders were...it was an unknown and a huge risk that we took with her,"

His voice paused, a thoughtful expression flashing through his eyes as Bucky continued.

"but now that we know who she is, what they did...what I did...I feel like I owe it to her...like we have a chance. She's been making incredible progress...faster than what I was able to do. I want to help, Steve. So, when you guys go to take down HYDRA...I'm going to stay here with (Y/n)."

Steve's eyes softened, a small smile coming across his face, and Bucky became embarrassed, looking away to stare down at the plans.

"I'm proud of you, Buck."

Bucky just rolled his eyes, but the sentiment was appreciated, his chest swelling slightly. Bucky shrugged, deflecting just the slightest though Steve picked up on it immediately.

"Have to let it go at some point."

"Right."

Bucky gave Steve an exasperated look before he turned, asking Steve as he began to go back to the lab.

"Just keep me updated...and let me know if I need to help."

Steve nodded, and Bucky walked off. Rubbing the back of his neck, Bucky pursed his lips and began to think. If Bucky had to admit it, he was a bit embarrassed that he never thought of them sneaking in through shipments. If HYDRA was known for anything, it was the outlandish ways that they infiltrated places. They were creative and strategic, like cuckoos planting their eggs in another nest.

At the end of it all, Bucky was just happy and relieved that there was finally an opportunity that he, and everyone else affected by HYDRA, could finally rest.

Though, Bucky knew that it wouldn't be that easy. There would still be fallout; a stray agent here and there, but it was finally starting to seem as though the horizon was finally starting to brighten.

When Bucky got back to the lab, his steps froze; planted straight to the ground. In the lab, (Y/n) was hunched over, her arms crossed and being used a pillow as she slept. Her breathing was slow and even, her face completely relaxed, and Bucky's steps became completely undetectable.

The music was still playing, Doris Day's soft voice filtering through the speakers, and Bucky couldn't help but to observe the woman. Her face was calm; unmarred by the hell that came with HYDRA, and Bucky carefully sat down in a chair just adjacent to her. He was careful and quiet as to not disturb her peaceful slumber, and he turned the music down just the slightest.

Although he was trying not to make it seem like he was keeping watch, his body stood alert, his eyes darting around the room and exits. He didn't mean to be so on guard, but Bucky couldn't help it.

Despite the inner turmoil of whether or not Bucky had a right to help her and to be with her, Bucky couldn't help but to feel a strange sense of protectiveness coming over himself as he looked at her.

This woman whose whole life was constructed and concocted since the moment she was born...she had no idea who she could have been without HYDRA. What person she could have become, what decisions she could have made for herself, what her interests and hobbies could have been.

Fidgeting slightly, Bucky slipped his hair up into a half man-bun before resting his elbows onto the table, clasping his hands together. Pursing his lips a little, his eyes looked down at the table as Doris' voice echoed through the room.

"Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you..."

Suddenly, (Y/n) shifted a bit in her sleep, her brow furrowing slightly, and Bucky held his breath as she seemed to settle deeper into sleep. A small sigh escaped her scarred and chapped lips, and Bucky finally relaxed again. In his mind, Bucky couldn't help but to think.

'You must be so tired...when's the last time you ever had a peaceful and comfortable sleep?'

There were nights where peaceful sleep was hard to come by. Nightmares would plague him at every turn, every second that he had a moment to be by himself within his thoughts. In a childish way, Bucky couldn't help but to be jealous of the way (Y/n) was sleeping peacefully.

Then again, it was probably the first comfortable sleep that she'd had in a long time. Did she feel safe now, even if it was subconscious? Was she dreaming? Remembering? Bucky's toes curled within his boots a bit, and he became nervous.

What if she was remembering him? The man that helped do this to her? What if she never forgave him? Bucky bit his lip, and he shook his head a little bit. He couldn't think like that. He had to stay positive.

Even if it was hard.

Bucky's eyes flicked to (Y/n) when she flinched, and he immediately noticed the tell-tale signs of a nightmare. She was trembling in her sleep, her brows furrowed deeply, and she was mumbling, but nothing that was coherent. Bits and pieces, whimpers and sniffles, and Bucky wasn't sure what to do.

If he tried to wake her up, there was a possibility of her becoming hostile. While, yes, he could take her in a fight (as he had found out when they first met) but he didn't want it to end up in a fight.

Pursing his lips again, Bucky grabbed his phone and began to play The Everly Brothers again. He turned the music up a bit, and he breathed a sigh of relief when she began to calm down again.

For a moment, she slept again before her eyes began to flutter a little. Her heart rate began to quicken, and she immediately woke up, alert yet disoriented. Her gaze looked around before landing on Bucky, and he comforted her gently.

"Hey, it's okay."

(Y/n) blinked a bit, and she glanced around the lab again before looking at the speaker. She whispered softly after a moment of hesitation.

"I was...dreaming."

Bucky leaned forward, asking her softly.

"What were you dreaming about?"

Her eyes became distant for a moment before she whispered softly in a tone that was unsure.

"Rebecca."

Bucky's heart dropped into his stomach. He hadn't been expecting her to say his little sister's name, but his heart began to race anyway. Rebecca's face came through his mind, and he swallowed thickly. His eyes watered just the slightest, and it took everything in him to keep his voice steady.

"Rebecca? Who...um, who was she to you?"

(Y/n) seemed to pick up on his hesitation, and she tilted her head a little before she glanced away from him, her eyes becoming distant again.

"The woods...we met in the woods. She...smelled like ivory."

Bucky listened intently and patiently, his jaw clenching just the slightest, and she continued slowly while her brow furrowed as if she was confused.

"She was...a friend...I think. She was...pretty...in the sunlight."

Bucky didn't know why, but his heart began to palpitate. Although Bucky remembered his family, remembered Rebecca, it had been a long time since he'd seen her. Hell, Bucky wasn't even sure if she was alive anymore.

He was too afraid, and too ashamed, to find out.

So, instead, Bucky immediately began to latch onto what (Y/n) was saying; envisioning Rebecca the best that he could as the woman spoke.

"What did she look like? Do you remember?"

(Y/n)'s brows furrowed a bit, and she became unsure, rubbing her fingers as she thought.

"I...don't remember...but her voice...I remember. She spoke about the flowers...and how she missed her brother...James."

Like a gut-punch, Bucky's breath was stolen, and the tears began to come out of his eyes. Covering his mouth slightly, he tried to be quiet; tried to conceal his torment, and (Y/n) looked over at him in confusion. She wasn't sure what to do or say. Did she hurt him?

"I...I'm sorry..! I didn't...I didn't mean to hurt you."

She became afraid, closing up, and Bucky exclaimed loudly enough to make (Y/n) jolt.

"No! No...fuck, I'm sorry. I just...sorry."

He got up, the chair screeching across the floor, and Bucky left the room. The second that he was outside of the lab and away from the window, Bucky collapsed against the wall and began to cry. Holding his hands to his head, Bucky's jaw clenched as he tried to stifle his cries, but the pain was too much; the memories too much.

He should have never stayed at Camp Lenigh with Major Samson.

What had Rebecca thought for all of those years when he had been declared KIA? Granted, he was declared dead for a long time, so she must have moved on at some point...but Bucky didn't think that Rebecca would still think about him after all that time. His heart was shattered, and he couldn't help but to think about how much he missed her. How he missed his mom, his dad...home.

What did it look like now? Was the house still there up on the hill; hidden within the flourishing woods that Bucky knew all-too-well? Was his mothers favorite willow tree still in the yard by the dirt road?

Bucky hadn't tried to visit Shelbyville once. While yes, his home had been in Camp Lenigh for a while, and then Brooklyn after leaving Shelbyville, Bucky had always missed the familiarity that came with the countryside. He had difficulty adjusting to the city life when he moved, getting into fights and learning the way of the streets.

That's how he met Steve; such a scrawny, sickly little thing that had way more bark than he did bite, even if he tried. Bucky had done everything he could to protect Steve, adopting him as if he was his own brother; trying to find that sibling connection that he had lost when Rebecca was sent to boarding school and he left Virginia.

Bucky wondered if Rebecca had kept all of his letters; if she ever reread them sometimes. The soft pattering of feet made Bucky glance up, and he was surprised to see (Y/n) standing there. She looked confused, as if she didn't know why she was there in the first place, but she stayed deathly still as she looked down at him.

She observed his wet cheeks and crying eyes, and she slowly knelt down in front of him before cautiously placing her arms in front of him. Bucky was confused for a moment before he realized what she was trying to do.

She was trying to comfort him.

Slowly, Bucky's hands came to her arms, and the image became a mirror of before when she had held onto him; coming down from her panic attack from seeing Rollins.

Bucky, however, did not grip her arms as tightly as she had; understanding that he was still stronger than her by a large margin and not wanting to hurt her anymore than HYDRA, and he, had. (Y/n) tensed slightly before her voice, soft and grounding, spoke gently.

"There you go."

If Bucky hadn't been so sad, he would have chuckled at the robotic way it had come out. His heart swelled a bit, and he took a few deep breaths. When Bucky calmed down enough, his touch softened more, and he murmured shakily.

"I'm sorry."

(Y/n) looked confused for a moment before she asked him quietly.

"Почему ты плачешь?" (why are you crying?)

Bucky closed his eyes, wondering if he should tell her the truth. Granted, Bucky knew that she would know if he was lying or not. Winter Soldiers were trained to detect deception from their targets when desiring information; focusing on every micro-expression, their words, the tone of their voice...there was never any hiding from a Winter Soldier. Ever.

"I was thinking about...my little sister. That's all. Her name was Rebecca too."

"Was she pretty in the sunlight too?"

Bucky let out a breathless laugh, more tears falling down his face as he nodded extravagantly.

"Yes. Yes, she was."

His voice was broken, a regret within his tone that (Y/n) picked up on immediately, and she wasn't sure what to do. Staring down at his hands that were holding onto her arm, she pursed her lips before apologizing with a broken look within her eyes.

"Извините, я не знаю, что делать. Пожалуйста... скажите мне, как завершить мою миссию." (i'm sorry, i don't know what to do. please tell me how to complete my mission)

Bucky quieted for a moment, shaking his head as he tried to think of what to say. He asked her, a confused look settling on his face.

"Your mission?"

(Y/n) nodded, whispering softly.

"Да." (yes)

Bucky pressed further, sitting up just the slightest as (Y/n) continued to look down at his hands, her gaze seemingly distracted as she admired the warmth and cold of each limb that was upon her skin.

"What do you mean 'your mission'?"

(Y/n) then looked up at Bucky, stating seriously as she gathered the correct words to use.

"My mission...to remember...and...escape HYDRA. я готов отвечать." (i'm ready to comply/i'm ready to answer)

Give them a new face to look at.

Bucky stated gently, looking deep into her (e/c) eyes that were gazing into his so intensely that he almost couldn't handle the weight of her gaze.

"That's up for you to decide. I can't help you like that...all I can do is be here with you...to support you."

Her brows furrowed in confusion and worry, her head tilting slightly.

"Что делать, если я не выполню свою миссию удовлетворительно?" (what if i do not complete my mission satisfactorily)

Bucky carefully moved his vibranium hand to her shoulder, the woman squaring them the second he touched her as he whispered to her.

"Потом мы можем попробовать снова. Столько раз, сколько потребуется. Я не откажусь от тебя." (then we try again. as many times as it takes. i won't give up on you)

(Y/n)'s eyes widened slightly before she looked down at his dog tags that hung heavily around his neck. She'd heard the phrase before, but spoken in harsh tones and angry touches that delegated the inability to fail.

But the words gave her a new insight; a strange feeling that didn't make her scared. Instead, (Y/n)'s shoulders slowly relaxed, and she stated suddenly.

"It..it is fuzzy...but...I remember that...two little ones...were often with her."

Bucky's eyes filled with tears again as he listened closely, a feeling of happiness going through him at the realization that he actually did have family...that at some point, he had became an uncle. Despite this, there was also a feeling of despair to know that he had never been there for them. Did they know that he was alive? Did they know the things that he had done?

Would they even want to know him?

"She would tell me...about her brother...about the time...they were in the woods...and he made fun of her for being afraid of the bugs."

Bucky chuckled softly as the memories when through him, and (Y/n) took a moment to think again, trying to remember more.

"She...she left me too...one day. I...I was taken away...and I don't remember any more."

HYDRA thought it would build emotional range. Make (Y/n) more adaptable when the time came to turn her into the Winter Soldier. More believable in a way...but something went wrong.

Bucky swallowed thickly, and he murmured softly, comforting her softly.

"That's alright. We can try again later."

(Y/n) nodded slowly, and she asked quietly.

"Can I listen to the music again?"

Bucky nodded, standing up carefully, and (Y/n) stood up with him. They went back into the lab, and Bucky carefully began to play the music again. (Y/n) returned to her seat in front of the speaker, and Bucky suddenly got an idea.

"(Y/n), I'm going to make a quick trip, okay?"

(Y/n) turned and asked, her eyes confused.

"A trip?"

Bucky nodded and he stated gently.

"Yeah. Just for a little while, but I won't be gone for too long."

(Y/n) nodded before she became nervous, asking.

"Can I keep listening to the music while you complete your mission?"

Bucky handed the phone to her with a smile.

"Sure. I've got another one."

(Y/n)'s facial expression never changed, but even Bucky could see it within her eyes: she was happy.

Bucky could only hope that he, too, could feel as such after his trip.

-

STORY NOTES: After listening to more music, Steve comes to retrieve Bucky and tell him about what the team had found about the infiltrations. He reveals to Bucky about the diplomacy trip and tech-sharing agreements, and tells Bucky that the team has theorized that Rollins and HYDRA intercepted the delegations and forced them to help HYDRA get in while staying completely undetected. Steve then reveals that Wanda was able to make Rollins reveal where the rest of HYDRA is hiding. Steve then tells Bucky that he is sorry for doubting him and for pushing the rehabilitation program onto him, and Bucky admits that he hated the idea at first. However, now that Bucky knows that he had a hand in her creation, even if it was small, he feels an obligation to help her and commends her for making great progress. Bucky then tells Steve that when the Avengers begin to take down the rest of HYDRA, he will be staying in Wakanda with (Y/n) to continue helping her.

Steve tells Bucky that he is proud of him, and Bucky responds that he has to 'let it go' at some point, meaning the past. Bucky then leaves to go back to the lab, reflecting on the infiltration method that HYDRA used. He then reflects on his feeling of happiness that HYDRA was finally disappearing, and that though there would still be stray agents, hope was still arriving. When Bucky gets back to the lab, he is surprised to find (Y/n) asleep. He thinks on how peaceful (Y/n) looks, and while Bucky doesn't mean to, he begins to quietly guard the woman as she sleeps. He then begins to wonder what (Y/n) would have done and who she would have become if her life hadn't been completely created for her by HYDRA. Bucky reflects on how hard peaceful sleep can be without the presence of nightmares, and though Bucky feels a bit of jealousy for her peaceful sleep, he is happy that she is finally resting.

Suddenly, (Y/n) begins to have a nightmare. Bucky is unsure of what to do, but before he can take action, (Y/n) wakes up abruptly on her own. Bucky comforts her gently, and (Y/n) tells him that she was dreaming. When Bucky inquires about her dream, (Y/n) reveals that she was dreaming about Rebecca. Shocked from her words, Bucky then asks who Rebecca was to (Y/n), and (Y/n) reveals that her and Rebecca had met in the woods. She adds that she believes Rebecca was her friend. (Y/n) then goes on to tell Bucky that while she doesn't remember what she looked like, she remembers her voice and of Rebecca telling her about the flowers and how she missed Bucky. Bucky begins to cry, and (Y/n) is alarmed, thinking that she had somehow hurt him. Bucky leaves the room, and he reflects on his life. He begins to wonder about Rebecca and what she thought about after his supposed death. He then begins to wonder about what his childhood home in Shelbyville now looks like and if the home is still there.

Bucky then begins to reflect on his life after leaving Camp Lenigh in Virginia to move to Brooklyn, and how he met Steve. He thinks about how he tried to rekindle the feeling of sibling connection through Steve, and then wonders if Rebecca ever kept the letters that he would send to her often before his fall from the train. (Y/n) suddenly appears before him, and Bucky is shocked when (Y/n) tries to comfort him in the same way that he had comforted her. He obliges, holding onto her arms, and he becomes grounded before apologizing to (Y/n). (Y/n) then inquires on why Bucky was crying, and he reveals that he was thinking about his little sister. (Y/n) then apologizes to Bucky, telling him that she doesn't know what to do and to tell her how to 'complete her mission'. Bucky becomes confused, and when he asks her what she means, (Y/n) clarifies and says her 'mission to remember and escape HYDRA'. Bucky is floored, but tells her that it was up to her on how to complete her mission. (Y/n) becomes worried, asking him about what will happen if she fails, and Bucky just says that they can try again and he won't give up on her.

(Y/n) becomes surprised and after a moment, she begins to tell Bucky a little bit more about her memories of Rebecca. She reveals that Rebecca had two kids, which makes Bucky begin to silently cry again and happy yet regretful that he had become an uncle. (Y/n) then tells him that Rebecca had told her about the story of when her and Bucky were younger and he would tease her about her fear of bugs while in the woods. However, (Y/n) reveals that she was 'taken away' but doesn't remember anything more after that. Bucky tells her that they could try to remember more later, and (Y/n) asks if she can listen to the music again. Bucky agrees, and then makes a decision to take a trip. He tells this to (Y/n), and when she inquires about it, Bucky tells her that it would be 'for a little while'. (Y/n) asks if she can keep listening to the music while he is gone, and Bucky agrees. End scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

Почему ты плачешь - why are you crying?

Извините, я не знаю, что делать. Пожалуйста... скажите мне, как завершить мою миссию - I'm sorry, I don't know what to do. Please tell me how to complete my mission.

Да - yes

я готов отвечать - I'm ready to comply/I'm ready to answer

Что делать, если я не выполню свою миссию удовлетворительно? - What if i do not complete my mission satisfactorily?

Потом мы можем попробовать снова. Столько раз, сколько потребуется. Я не откажусь от тебя - Then we try again. As many times as it takes. I won't give up on you

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