#I was so excited to go to this dome thing that immersed you in a journey of space

[thegodovereverything]

When I was younger (2nd grade to around 12yrs old), I wanted to be an astronomer. I wanted to study the secrets of the universe. I even had a plan:

Go to university of Hawaii

Be awesome cool professional astronomer

Every year I would get a telescope, but where I lived the sky was always so thick with clouds that it was hard to see the stars peeking through. I was ok with that, looking up at the star had never been what drew me in. What drew me in were the facts. I had a little thing of cards, that held information about dwarves, planets, dark matter, stars. I would peruse NASA’s website, just for fun (that’s where I memorized how long a day actually is, although I am barely holding on to that and it might be a bit altered in my mind). I would beg my mom to have me write essay about the space, the planets, anything like that. I would dream of learning

But then, one day, my interest stopped. I don’t remember if it was a slow decline, or a sudden stop, but I no longer wanted an annual telescope. Perusing NASAs website was not how I wanted to spend my time. At the time, I said it was because I realized how math centric the field was, but now I don’t really know why.

I’ve had other interests afterwards, but none as intense as my one in space. Sometimes I miss that feeling, other times I’m happy to have felt it at all.

[moonbeammist]

The Peasant's Secret (Part 2)

From the god's, perhaps?

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dune characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them. taglist from Part 1: @aoi-targaryen

I don't give permission for any of my fanfiction to be posted, this is also cross posted on my account w/ Archive of our own :)

PAIRINGS: Feyd Rautha x Fem!Fighter!Reader

AUTHORS NOTE: Hey! l'm excited that I continued this. Honestly, couldn't get it out of my head until I did. I really hope you enjoy it, feedback is most welcome. New readers, read Part 1 for context and character, if not, this can be read as a solo fic too 💖

WARNINGS: (Adults only 18+) DARK! profanity, extreme violence, torture, gore, sadism, masochism, dubious consent, erotic undertones, heavy petting, reader is a fighter who get's extremly hurt, bigotry against the poor, very immersive, intimacy, touching, feyd-rautha is his sick self, public humiliation, light smut

Feyd is at his most sadistic - please mind the warnings. I really wanted to explore that in writing because I feel it's such a big part of his character. Honestly Dune Part Two inspired the hell out of me, and looks like I'm not the only one judging by some of the brilliant writers on this site. Thank you for inspiring me too.. I poured everything into this.

SUMMARY: As a rice-harvester hailing from Planet Caladan, you knew these things to be true. You and your people were "peasant scum". And as far as you can tell, peasant scum deserved a shot at the vast unknown as much as any noble folk did. Even if the only thing protecting you is a flawed battle-tactic and the falsehoods that you tell yourself. Even if it has you riding a wave into the wicked evils that lie.

WORD COUNT: 10.3k words (yes it's long, but enjoy the ride, take breaks, ect.) ❤️

PART 1 PART 2

It’s scalding, the black ebb of the sun in Giedi Prime. But you are well hydrated and fed.

Previously, when you were aboard the ship with Count Fenring in the depths of space, he made sure you and the small group of rice labourers that stayed behind were treated. Various platters of eclectic fruits, aged cheeses, proteins, and beverages were presented before you on a wooden table, the Count encouraging the hesitant Caladan rice cultivators with a wave of his hand. Almost in unison, they dived for the food at his proclamation, knives and forks clashing. You couldn’t tell what animal you were gnawing on as you slobbered it down, only fixated on filling the hole of anxiety that grew, every so slowly, deep in your belly. You volunteered to be here on the basis of... being Harkonnen entertainment, mixed with a blind, selfish jump into the illogical.

And for what?

So you don’t deserve to feel this uncertainty. You did it to your damn self. Wanting to prove... something, anything. What that was exactly you couldn’t pinpoint, except a growing need to see yourself capable of a different path than the comfortable life you grew to know. Your mother’s words came to you again, flying through the vastness of the galaxy.

“You should go.” A pause. “Live for us.”

Her words spread through you like a viper, a sliver of hope returning to you.

You’re covered by the dark canopy of the nestled burrow underneath the stands of the large dome-like arena, filled to the brim with Harkonnen porcelain heads. You can see a partial view from here—a small peek, but enough for multiple stark heads to pop through. The hard, black metal doors were closed all the way, save for that small crack. Their starving, needy chants are ear splitting to you; you can hear them all around you in these walls beside your fellow fighters. Here you are, like a feast for them—ripe, hot-blooded, and ready for the taking. 

You keep your hair cropped short just under your cheekbones for battle, falling messily over your face in a choppy cut. The length made sense under these circumstances.

Last night, after filling yourself with food and beverage and thanking the Count on the ship, you pushed your way past the other passengers to the ship’s restrooms with slight impatience, a mulled over idea that has been eating at you finally coming to the forefront. Seeing your hollow, adrenalized eyes in the mirror, your hand reached to your thigh, brandishing the emerald handle of the small blade you were given as a courtesy. Unlatching it from its leather harness with a click, your arm juts out to swipe your tresses away, the ends falling like a blanket on the floor. You did not need to make yourself a target on the hairless planet, that is for certain. Not like this, not so obviously. 

They can already see what you are, you know.

Your conscious crows at you, and your teeth come out to play with your bottom lip, chewing it. That’s not why. When you were shoving food down at the table with your fellow people during mealtime, you received a more in-depth, private discussion about Giedi Prime and House Harkonnen’s culture and traditions, along with a long spiel on the opponent you and your fellow peasant fighters would be privy to facing. 

The Count’s voice was almost a warning to all, and you could’ve sworn his eyes rested on you too many times for it to be a coincidence. Obviously, being the opposite sex in the Harkonnen arena is going to come with a target on your back. In Giedi Prime, usually, they had a target on your back no matter what, but they usually fell into four prime categories: pleasure slave, handmaiden, visiting Bene Gesserit, or noblewoman. And obviously, they’re going to make out by your form, that you’re not a big, burly slave-gladiator. But some type of amateur, dodging, slave-gladiator nonetheless.

The issue is that you don’t want the nephew, that psychopathic nephew of the Baron—Feyd-fucking-Rautha grabbing a long mop of hair and whipping it around the arena like a toy, a rag doll. And you don’t want something as silly as hair being used as fodder against you, like a joke. You had gathered the length of hair in the disposable bin, cleaning up the mess on the marbled floor in finality.

You glance up to catch yourself in the mirror, and your pulse quickens. You run your fingers through your short locks, the pieces framing your face. You feel renewed, refreshed.

You feel more like yourself than ever before.

The guttural melody seemed to increase in speed across the walls underneath the arena, bouncing off the ground. You could feel the voices, deep in the earth, the soles of your feet vibrating against your boot. You peered into the backs of the heads of your crew. You knew that your time was getting closer. Uneasiness, but also a slight giddiness that shouldn’t belong, bubbled up within you. 

Why?

The small group of men that you came with from Caladan were also branding themselves as inexperienced rice labourers. As men, it was common for them to get in spats or tussles about gods-knows-what. They had experience in that sense. For the fairer sex, all you had was your mother’s encouragement to take an interest in the art of dodging, the defensive battle strategy known as "The Peasant’s Secret." There weren't many ladies, as far as you could tell, who were following suit. They had more important things to register, like feeding their children, you mused. The peasant men were taught it too, as they weren’t permitted weapons, armour, and the like. But it didn’t seem like they held it in high regard as often as you did. They practiced being on the offensive with their knuckles for light fun, with a masculated zeal. You questioned why they were here, as it would seem they dared not want anything else than an honest day’s work, being able to daze upon the fields with a wife warming their bed. But you wondered if the few that came grew bored of their mundane life and little free time, and were willing to put themselves on the line of fire today like you. 

Stupid, silly peasants you all were. Couldn’t just be happy with what was given to you. Couldn’t just lay your head down on rice grain forever. 

Just wanted a small hit of dopamine to the psyche, it would seem.

Without notice, a speaker made himself known above you—and it must have been from the very top, the very perch of the arena. The Baron of House Harkonnen’s rough voice pummelling into the pits below. “Citizens of Giedi Prime, and most welcome visitors,” he began. “We have quite the show for you today, most definitely... Count Hasimir Fenring has brought with him mere-" he pauses to chuckle as it reverberates through your mind, and you make a note of his happiness. It already confirmed what you knew to be true.

He continues. “Rice harvesters from Caladan who would like to join in on today’s festivities. Mind you, they volunteered their time here as well, so we shall see what they have to offer.”

A more ominous-sounding laugh is heard.

“How exciting, dear nephew, for you to enjoy this treat. Some low-born entertainment as a warm-up. We shall commence shortly.”

The audience chanted their sick appreciation at this news, their cheers echoing across the skies.

You gulped your saliva down. A warm-up, yes, of course. That makes sense.

It’s here. You’re here. Pacing, jumping up and down, in your murky, brown cloth. Amping yourself up.

Tight, tattered dark brown shorts adorned your knees, with strings tying the garment in place at your hips. To counter that, a long, light brown quarter-sleeve tunic swamps your form, belted at the waist with a large buckle securing it. Under the belt, the bottom of it is cut into two sections, split right down the middle, revealing your shorts in a fashion with athleticism and movement in mind. It’s lightweight and loose, allowing your bindings and skin to breathe in the hot weather.

In just a moment, the doors to the arena pits would open, and you would face the deviant that awaits. But you would not be alone. At least in the beginning. 

You turn to glance beside you at the men accompanying you. The men stood beside, in front, and behind you, their large frames slightly swarming you. You briefly imagined them emerging into the arena like some low-born three-course meal for the Na-Baron. You wordlessly prayed that you would not be considered a part of the appetizer.

“Come,” a man you knew by the name of Rexen, threw his arms around your shoulders and jostled you out of your ponderings. His hair was a deep black, matching his unkempt brows and scraggly beard. His face was warm and friendly, and his stare was earnest. “Join us for a moment.”

You walk with him a mere two steps before he gently pushes your body forward, and your eyes take in the slight change of everyone’s chest now visible to you. Your home planet’s men’s faces rapt with attention on each other. They are now huddled in the formation of a small circle. Rexen leans forward, and you follow suit, huddling even closer into the group, shoulders touching.

A glow of comfort envelops you, a piece of home.

“We are not a skilled people,” Rexen graciously offers, his head dipping low as he mutters this. His eyebrows raise as he anchors his head against yours and the men surrounding. “Most of our people did not want to be here. But for those that remain, we need not concern ourselves with why we are here. Just that we’re here to put on a show, for the holier than thou fucks.” He grins at his quip, his teeth slightly yellow in colour, stained from poor hygiene. Laughter emits from his chest, and the men barrel with much-too-energetic laughter for the situation.

You feel bizarre. You definitely came with the... what would you call those with no regard for their own self-preservation? 

Lunatics? 

But chillingly, you find yourself chuckling along with them, joining them in their message. Joining their showmanship. You’re here after all. That makes you one of them. You grin ear-to-ear as you laugh along with the men.

Something breaks you out of your glorified stupor. You hear a muffled chant just outside the doors. A pause. They were speaking in syllables. 

“Feyd-Rauth-Ah!” Again. “Feyd-Rauth-Ah!” And again. “Feyd-Rauth-Ah!”

Before any of you have a chance to compose yourself, the doors behind you slowly split open, and you eye the entrance to the arena with a spike of endorphins settling like butterflies in your stomach.

It unfolds, unlatches, and stretches out.

Until you’re cast in a perfect halo of light, the bleak colour seemingly burns your eyes for a moment.

There. It’s adjusting.

Your eyes adjust to the toxic atmosphere once again. You now have a more personalized viewpoint of what is to come; your perspective now shows a closer point of view of the arena as you break away from your fellow fighters and shakily take one step forward to the substantial crowd. The energy in the crowd shifted considerably to a higher plane, and you can literally feel the noise cover you in a blanket of sound, and you’re vibrating. You don’t turn to pay attention to your peers as they slowly spill out of the doorway.

The guttural native tongue of the Harkonnen boomed through the air, the announcer’s voice telling a story with his words. It all became white noise next to your thrumming heart.

At the opposite end of the arena, it’s... him.

His bleached, ghostly white silhouette sauntered several yards away with a slow swagger. The distance dwarfs his form slightly. Black on black. Everything he’s wearing is black, jutting out from his body to clearly signify a plate of armour atop his chest, ribs, shoulders, and legs. A combat suit absolutely made for battle.

The good news was that his skull and neck, seemingly attached by his bulging shoulder plates, was exposed. The sight of his hands clutching two considerably large Crysknives on either side of him made you pause. His wrists jumbled up and down, playing with blades.

Moving in an angular motion, you make a beeline for a darker area along the arena wall. You now notice your companions are already scattered all over the arena, the restlessness in their scurried steps now known to the sole Harkonnen. You’re sure he can smell them from where he is, and you want to perhaps blend in with the wall for a bit while you plan your next move.

He hasn’t noticed you yet as he charges forward, the speed in his steps like lightning.

You quicken your pace to the side of him, against the wall, out of sight as he spots a single peasant man squaring up to challenge him.

Your gaze is transfixed on them as you continue to walk backwards to the wall.

Feyd-Rautha is closer now, towards the centre of the Arena. The way he moves is like a freight train, all at once, and not a single part of him is apologetic for it. Your friend, your... companion, who had his head pressed to you moments earlier, had you clenching your teeth in anticipation at his first swivel around Feyd-Rautha’s Crysknife. The man ducked, barely grazing Feyd-Rautha’s blade as it sliced through the air. You hear a deep, grovelling chuckle, the sound making you freeze. It’s alien.. It’s so, so deep.

He doesn’t even sound real.

You glance at him while side-stepping, grateful his attentions are on the burly man’s arms flying at him like a circular typhoon. The man was already so tired; he was slowing down.

Feyd-Rautha exhales, curving the Crysknife in an upward motion, pushing it to the hilt, the squish of the male being impaled hauntingly audible. “That’s the spot.”

Like a caricature of doom, the voice of the man had a guttural, raspy quality to it. So low but with an unusual lilt at the end of his words.

Feyd-Rautha grabs the man by his shoulders and flings his heaving body to the ground, removing his painted red Crysknife from the man’s gut.

He barrels onward, heading further away from you, his eyes lit aflame.

You cannot deny that you’re in shock at the raw energy, but you take several breaths to calm yourself down, reminding yourself you just haven't ever been in an arena before. This is how it goes. Randomly, your back collides with something warm as you're breathing in and out. 

Jostled, your breath hitches as you whip around at the feeling. 

A clicking sound speeds up at your collision, erupting from a black, horned... genetically modified something.

God knows what that is, but you knew by its circling movements it was there to service the arena as its handler, keeping a watchful eye. There seemed to be another one roaming where Feyd-Rautha was, to your far left.

You raise your hands up, hearing the clicking intensify in warning. “Apologies.” You nervously laugh, wondering if it even cared for your apologies at a time like this.

You hear yet another man falling to the ground behind you, your gaze darting to the sight of him rolling, trying to swerve the absolute onslaught of the animal standing above him.

All your planning and all your battle-tactic calculations were lost in the wind, it seemed. It didn’t matter anymore because you were so fucking nervous.

No, it’s okay.

A small voice inside you encouraged.

You need to utilize “The Peasant’s Secret” in front of this crowd of evil eggheads, even if it’s not perfect.

You feel cracked mentally to even be joking to yourself at a time like this, but the fleeting sentiment is all you need to feel better. It was time to give yourself some grace.

You glanced at the horned handler once more as it retreated, before facing the savagery you knew you needed to keep your eyes locked on... Rexen, the man who pulled you aside earlier, was moaning in agony, his eyes bloodshot. You felt a fluttering sensation in your stomach. Alone and gushing, flowing, a stream of blood spilled out from his sopping open wound into the arena pit.

You remember his joyous remark that he was going to put on a show as you watched the life drain from his face.

You feel a prickling sensation at the back of your neck, like something in the air has shifted.

A BANG snaps you out of your reverie.

Isolating the noise, you lock in on it. There, now dangerously close, a looming presence carefully studying you. Feyd-Rautha’s hard, deep stare. He was standing a few feet away from you on the right side of the arena wall, his leg kicking at the wall animatedly. 

BANG

He hit it again, and as he finished, his armour-clad legs seemed to click together. His pale face was plastered with a delighted expression that met the depths of depravity. As your gaze flickered over him, you noticed an open mouth, a row of black teeth, the shade of the darkest midnight, smiling in glee, seeming to be proud of his announcement.

“Just a few more of the rodents,” he sneered, his eyes gleaming with giddiness.

You hold your breath in fear, stopping all at once. You know making a move right now would be foolish at his proximity.

“Did you perceive yourself to be out of harm's way?” His rasp quipped. 

You consider him, swallowing a jump in your belly. Unnerved by his misplaced enthusiasm. 

You brace yourself, standing at attention, before lowering yourself into a bent stance. The choppy pieces of your short hair fall into your line of vision as your head dips to the ground, trying not to let his overbearing nature shake you.

He doesn’t seem to move from his place as his gaze flickers over your movements.

Those black teeth. You were strangely fascinated by the ghoulish sight of them.

You’ve heard rumours of it being akin to a status symbol, perhaps even a fashion statement in Harkonnen culture. A custom of extreme wealth, beauty, and high influence.

Aristocratic customs are among this absolute cruel and humiliating gore fest. The irony of that was enough to make you thankful for being low-born and poor, minding your business. For all that you represent, at least you weren’t delusional in your value.

“Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha,” You greet, nodding solemnly, bowing your head from your battle-ready stance. “A pleasure to meet you, my lord.” Perhaps paying your respects to him before the battle would lessen his aggressiveness, if only a little. If you didn’t mindlessly yell and charge at him without thought, like the others.

He cocks his ghostly bald head, black mouth agape, seemingly taking you in. You briefly wondered if he was flashing that blackened mouth at you like some sort of superiority complex.

“How curious,” he murmurs. “The peasant wishes to exchange kind words before I run them through my blade?” His eyes glitter with something primal.

His sick jab makes you scoff inwardly, but you ignore it.

“On the contrary,” you begin. “I’m merely doing the honourable thing. Are we not battlemates, despite where I come from?” You pause, letting the words settle. “Like those of higher status you have fought before?”

You taste the words on your tongue, knowing full well the act may be futile.

Feyd-Rautha’s black teeth open wide with jest. “Mmm, that is what it would seem...” He nods at you. “The honour suits you.” 

You pause, realizing that he was paying a compliment.

His eyes darken like decay at once. “But you are a plaything, peasant. A pathetic thing for me to slice open and drain.” He tuts and slowly strolls towards you. 

You can’t help the shock that appears in your face at his grotesque words.

“But don’t worry, maybe I'll go a little longer with you.” He emphasizes the last word, a dark promise. His voice was laced with subtle mockery.

He’s put some sort of magnetic spell on you as you stand there, dumbfounded. His face no longer looks friendly as he advances on you, a demonic expression gracing his features. 

Fuck.

You jump back, reeling. You’re already failing, and you’ve got to get away, away, away fast. 

You shake your head at yourself for letting more than a few moments of speaking pass between you two. That was indeed useless. If anything, it seemed to make him crazier.

He charges at you with ferocity and a face devoid of emotion. 

This time I will move.

You let your secret instinct envelop you naturally, closing your eyes.

Dodge. Bob. Weave.

Just in time, and he’s snarling. “Rah!”

His black teeth lurch towards you.

You suddenly swirl your body slightly to evade the attack, his Crysknife missing you by mere inches. You jump backwards, not by a lot.

“Run first.. If they are fast enough, begin your dance.”

Your mother's words about the steps of your teachings sneak into your senses. That’s going to come off cowardly to someone like him. Weak. You don’t care. He didn’t know the hidden ways of the ‘lesser’ people of Planet Caladan.

You bolt, legs pumping with renewed investment in your life. The sand seems to give your shoes just the right amount of grip to propel you. You don’t bear to look behind you, afraid of what you may see, but know he’s at least giving chase.

You zip by yet another man, his neck whipping to watch you run. He feels like another stranger among the men who died, like he’s already sealed his fate.

But you presumed. You did not give the man grace. Like you now give yourself.

The man is living now, unchained. In his most honest form.

You crank your head back momentarily as your feet are hitting the sand. You instantly regret it, your breath catching in your throat. Feyd-Rautha is hot on your heels; his snow-white face is terrifying. His nostrils are flared, and his deep blue irises are lit with enthusiastic vigour. Your eyes widened as his blackened mouth was clenched in malice.

There is still a sizeable gap between the two of you. In a sudden move, you see the flash of the man before, in a blur—he’s purposely throwing his body towards Feyd-Rautha—and Feyd is so intently fixated on you he can’t stop the audible grunt that escapes him when your fellow peasant barrels into him with the strength of a bull.

The movement is so out of place that you falter slightly, side-stepping mid-run, your eyes glued to the man who decided to make use of his body as an obstacle. They hit the ground with a hard slam, the sound cracking through the thick atmosphere of the planet.

What is seen before you resembles a dogpile—the man’s large body attempting to restrain Feyd-Rautha’s snarling form, the man’s back gyrating like a hunter holding down a rabid howling elk.

You softly gasp at the mere seconds that went by before Feyd’s blade ground upward deep into the man’s guts—you could hear the sound of insides sloshing, emitting a horrifying, piercing scream from the man. The lack of care was evident as the man was thrown to the side like common trash.

Feyd-Rautha sits up, crimson staining his face like a splatter of paint, his face contorting, mood soured.

You silently thank the man for his sacrifice. It dawned on you that he didn’t do that for himself, but for you. A way to slow down your enemy’s predatory chase. 

Thank you. Your deed today will not go unnoticed, my good man. I shall make a shrine in your honour when I’m through with this animal.

Your eyebrows draw together, and trepidation rings through you as you put a bandage on your reality, cushioning your frantic thoughts with comfort.

You make quick work to paddle your legs from side to side, transfixed on the Na-Baron’s body, using the horrific situation as leverage. You started to do slow, measured side-skips around the man, smart to not use all of your well-preserved energy right away. You couldn’t risk disabling yourself to be slow, but you could be at a good, neutral pace right now.

While he was down. Which wouldn’t be for long.

Feyd-Rautha exhaled hastily as his neck craned towards you. Something akin to a cool, unfazed demeanour washed over his previous frantic behaviour as he allowed himself to engage in a moment's respite. 

“Let’s see you now, you pompous little rodent. Your street-gutter ally was desperate to save you... Caladanians, hm?”

The message was clear now.

You bit your tongue, not lowering yourself enough to respond brashly to his mean-spirited words. Oh, the man was loathsome. But you will engage him. It will allow you to learn more about him.

You already know enough. He’s a deviant, a sadist. What else do you need?

You need to concentrate. You won’t respond brashly, but you will plant seeds of doubt in his mind, if you can.

“Caladan has brought me many things, Harkonnen.” You begin, slightly slowing your skips around the arena as you speak. “It is a vessel of life that your planet seems to be drained of, quite frankly.”

His pupils expand at that.

“Harkonnen?” He stands then, rolling his neck, and you hear a pop as he adjusts his broad torso, his blackened mouth suddenly upturned in amusement as he studies you. “What happened to Na-Baron? Is it not to your taste anymore? Is it because I hurt your heart?” 

He motions towards the crowd of bodies littering the ground. “Did I hurt your gutter tribe?” His rough voice taunts like a menace, as his eyes sparkle with a sort of dark mischief as he laughs at that.

You swallow, biting back enragement.

“You did, Harkonnen.” You agree solemnly. “But what does it matter? Don’t you treat every untrained, unprecedented fighter the same here?” You pause, seeing his deep blue eyes flicker with interest. “Unskilled fodder to fuel your own ego?”

The air was tense, and his calculating eyes seemed to consume you during the silence. He cuts it then, with a breathy, deep cackle.

“Oh, so she has a mouth,” he sneers. He shocks you by darting towards you, his black armoured frame like a thick smog, coming to ingest you. 

He inches closer and closer, and you make the decision to roll out of the way, your body tumbling to the side of him.

“Smart, for street filth. It will be quite a shame when you’re crying under me as I bloody you that you’ll be fodder for my ego.” He mocks chillingly, his cruel words eliciting a spike of nerves within you, but you’re too focused on evading him to let it show. You see him use his Crysknives in short, brutal swifts as you roll quickly.

His Crysknife whips down, but it stabs the ground, Feyd-Rautha not accounting for your multiple movements of barrel-rolling.

He barks a laugh at that, and you hate the sound of it. He pulls out the Crysknife with a rough grunt, and you stumble to your feet.

You’re fast, and you can see that his eyes are trained on you, and he’s smiling. Oh god, that mouth of blackened tar is smiling.

Running away from him again felt more freeing this time, like you were in control. You knew that you could actually keep up with his antics. You were prepared this time around; you two were alone now. Your fellow peasants' bodies are disrespectfully littered at your feet, and it makes you angry.

“Why is she running?” He called, his guttural voice reaching you as you reached the end of the arena. He was talking to you in a strange way, like you were somewhere else, not present in front of him, like a mere object.

You ignored him, and you briefly remember your small blade, strapped under your brown shorts, the strappy harness hidden. You needed to tire him out. That’s your first mission. Tire him out to the point of exhaustion.

Although hesitantly, you knew he was fit and athletic. A powerful, driven force. How exactly you were going to do this remains a sight to be seen.

He growls and chases you like a huntsman, around and around and around. Every time he managed to get in proximity with those two sharp, deadly blades—

Your body moved, just out of reach—like a python. 

You feel pride flow through you when, half-way through another lap around the arena, Feyd-Rautha stops, catching his breath. You’ve managed to get the Harkonnen to audibly pant, and what’s more, he’s crouched over, hands on his knees.

So you decide to waste even more of his energy.

As you begin to run backwards, facing him, you cup your hands around your mouth, sucking in air as you prepare to yell. You call to him, drawing his attention to you.

“Tired, Feyd?” You drop the second half of his name, and it feels more personal.

He huffed, springing up in an instant at the sound of his name spoken so comfortably from your lips.

You couldn't bear to look at his mocking, ghoulish face transfixed on you from several feet away. It sent a deep wave of uncertainty and thrill through your very being.

His ebony mouth gaped at you. “Such gall, from someone who’s been fleeing this entire time. Is that what you came here to do?” 

You swallow hard. Mind reeling.

“I came here to—” you began.

Feyd-Rautha cut you off, an outpouring of snideness laced in his voice. “It matters not. How long do you think this is going to last you, peasant?” 

Your confidence is slightly faltered, but you speak without thought. “It lasted me this long...” and your voice trailed off.

He chuckled darkly. From this proximity, you can see his eyes swirling with a foreign emotion you couldn’t place.

Yes. Your body moved like a python until it didn’t.

He lunged at you, jumping with a prowess that was so quick you barely managed to get out of the way. But you did, feeling his blade slice through your tunic, your abdomen. You let out a hiss, and you’re jumping backwards, regaining your momentum, away from him, and you’re flying mid-air.

But he somehow matches your stride, leaping forward. He snatches the fabric of your shorts, using that to grip you as you are smashed into the battlegrounds by your leg.

The wind is knocked out of you as you land on your stomach, and a sound emits from you that you’ve never heard. Adrenaline flowing through you, you attempt to get up but the heel of his boot digs into your back, pushing you back down, your form collapsing and you sputter, breathing hard - You hear his body drop into the pits behind you, the dust flying into the air in front of you.

Feyd-Rautha pins his entire chest on the small of your back. The weight of the man has your mouth tasting the bitter, dry pallet of the sand. Your face prickles as the sharp grains sting your eyes, crushing your nose and mouth; the pain is excruciating. 

Fuck, if he doesn't get off me, he's going to break my nose.

You let out a feral cry as you tried to move underneath him. His arms hold you deeply into his chest, the plates of his armour digging into the ebbs of your spine.

In defence, you attempt to curl your body into a turtle stance, protecting your front, which is where you are most covered in bruises from your fall. You can feel him all around you, his chest heaving up and down. His breaths are deep and disgruntled; sometimes they don't sound human.

His heavy arms start to slowly pry your arms open from cocooning yourself. He could do anything he wants at this moment if you don’t get him off.

It's no doubt he's much bigger than you, and although you were countering him in speed a while ago, his masculine strength keeps a steady hold on you. 

You start to shake as you flex every bit of muscle you have, your body vibrating in tremors as he continues to pry your arms away from your body. You continue to try holding onto the fabrics of your tunic, still convusling as you fight his hands, trying to pry away your self-made cocoon.

In patience and in your countering movements. You find your strength in your resilience. You remind yourself that you feel powerful in that, at least.

I still have my grit.

"Tough," He jeers, and you’re aware of his chin now digging into the little nook of your left shoulder; you don't even have to look back to know he's grinning from ear to ear. His thick armoured legs tighten around your smaller frame.

In one quick movement, he wrenches your struggling arms, your nails digging into the wartorn fabric that covers your body. You are still holding on, but barely.

Your voice comes out in a passionate screech, ripping from your throat when he shoves your arms behind you so that your elbows are touching, his pale fingers clasped around them.

His muscled, battle-born thighs tighten around your hips.

You thrash against him. "No! NO!" Your scream falls out of you in a high hilt. The pain is searing, like your arms are going to pop out of their sockets. You didn’t want to protest this loudly to him of all people, but he’s forced you to. You’re at his mercy if he manages to dislocate them.

"Yes," he grunts, and you don’t know if he’s responding to you or himself. "Who knew these little arms could hold such force?" The questioning lilt in his rasp went up several levels.

Since your elbows are in his grasp, he has your torso tilted towards the sky of the arena, the black sun baking into your tanned Caladanian skin. 

You hear the deep chanting of the crowd, pulsing through you like a hymn. A smear of colourless shapes moving up and down. All you see is white spreading into your eyelids—your vision is pure, crystal white. Your head lulls back as it rolls back onto his wide shoulder.

And what he utters next is truly alien.

"Let me see those eyes, Caladanian." Feyd-Rautha croaked. It was a gruff, choked sentence, like it slipped out of him by accident.

What?

A weird feeling settles in the pit of your stomach, flip-flopping at his words.

For fuck sakes, the sick fuck is getting turned on by this. Harkonnens..

A silent weight hangs in the air. And for a moment you both don't move.

A flood of emotions wells in you, like an electric charge.

Albeit in pain, you take advantage of the changed atmosphere.

Your knees are trapped, stuck together like a sweaty mass between his thighs. Your head that was stagnantly leaning on Feyd-Rautha's shoulder now aggressively dips down and slams up into his face, head-butting him and taking him slightly off guard.

Feyd makes an animalistic noise, and something changes in his face.

He smashes your skull into the sand, and you desperately claw at the air, gyrating your body like a sandworm. The impact stuns you, and your vision runs fuzzy. Your brain feels like it's splitting. You see green, blue and pink hues. Strong hands are felt touching you, shaking you out of your reverie.

With feverish disgust, you realize that the Na-Baron is kneeling at your back, hovering over your form.

You feel his palm pat. Once. Twice. Thrice. On your mid-back. He rubs your heaving back in a mock-soothing gesture as you gasp inwardly, sucking in the polluted Geidi Prime air like it was your last time breathing, feeling the air barely satisfy you, feeling like you didn't have enough.

"That has to hurt," he purrs. His hand is warm on your back, rubbing. Your eyes widen with horror.

You cough, hacking now. Taking long, deep breaths. If you could just...

He continues rubbing, and you're glued to the ground.

Your chest betrays you and continues to huff and puff audibly, he must hear everything. It’s screechy, your lungs are burning. His hand movements somehow relax you, which may be considerably fucked up. He hums, satisfied, deep in his chest, the sound making you stare at the ground in confusion.

He stills his caring hand on your heaving back and glides it to the base of your neck, plunging your head into the sand, again and again, not giving you any leniency now.

Well, that didn’t last long.

Your head is concussed, sending short, stabbing pains like a tidal wave to your brain.

You flail wildly, kicking back and upwards, your shoes colliding with his body.

He scoops your short locks in one fluid motion, your scalp searing at the sensation. He removes the grip on your hair to fully cradle your face, whipping you around to face him. Your body is limp, nearly falling to the ground, save for your face firmly held in place by Feyd-Rautha.

"Up we go, no sleeping now." he remarks darkly as his gaze settles on you.

Your throat is bone dry, your lips so swollen and puffy from the gushing blood flowing out of your nose. It's definitely broken this time. But you're numbing out now, slowly, and every so often you see those beautiful, vibrant colours again, shimmering despite the bleached atmosphere. It's such a miraculous sight that it makes you smile dumbly... you're finally happy.

A stinging SMACK knocks your face to the side, and you falter in his grip, eyes widening.

Your shock quickly transforms to frustration as hot, angry tears spill from your eyes.

"Fuck you!" And you violently shove your thumbs into his eye sockets, filled with rage. You dig in with all your might.

Your intrusion makes him stumble, and you both messily fall over. Your body falls into his broad chest, the armour knocking against your worn clothes. By now, the rags have slits all along it, from your near misses with Feyd's blade.

You knock him over onto his back so that you're straddling him, your hands sinking into his eye sockets.

His eyes are fucking gleaming now with delight.

"Yes. Take my vision. End me now." He heartily begs, and his mocking face is seemingly drinking you in, in admiration, despite your thumbs digging into eyes. It’s like he can see past them, and you shiver involuntarily.

His hands and Crysknives lay at his sides, in a strange display of submission. You can see the black teeth behind his lips, widened with glee.

His enthusiasm under these circumstances made you pay far too much attention to his face and miss his ulterior motives.

As you’re about to increase the pressure even more, a Crysknife appears in your vision, like a figment of your imagination—before it’s buried to the hilt in your upper thigh.

You cry out, shrieking, throwing your head back in agony.

The sudden onslaught makes you fall backwards in pain. His blade is still buried to the hilt, tendons throbbing. Only the handle is sticking out, like a thorn in your tendons.

Pulling the blade out right now would be a risk to cause further damage to your blood vessels and nerves. This would lead to rapid blood loss. You couldn’t do that right now.

Immediately, you move. You start to drag yourself—by instinct, fight-or-flight, you don’t know. 

You grit your teeth as you manage to find the strength to reach inside your thigh for your hidden blade, letting your hand grasp on the emerald green handle, pretending to cradle your injured thigh.

You keep it there as you continue to drag yourself.

"You've impressed me a great deal," Feyd-Rautha rasps. The unusual deep raspy tone reverberates through your eardrums somewhere above you.

Something inside you quivers at the revelation.

You know it’s best not to believe any of the drivel that spews from his mouth.

Curiously, he’s standing there, the white of his eyes veiny and visibly red from the press of your thumbs a moment ago.

Playing with his now singular Crysknife, tapping his fingers along the stretch of the blade—making no move to attack you. 

Then a thought occurs to you. Feyd-Rautha wanted you to survive. Butchered and bloody, still barely hanging on. He wanted to see you at your emotional breaking point. Writhing and begging for his mercy, begging for your life. The sick fuck derives pleasure from it.

So you say the complete opposite of what he's expecting.

"I want to die," the level of your drawl is barely heard over the crowds chants and shouts booming through the stadium. And you wonder if he can hear you at all.

You drag your aching body towards him, the hidden knife in your hand still clenched thoroughly, stapled to your inner thigh. Your eyes feel raw, chaffed with sand, burning. They flutter as they try to remain open. But you use your eye muscles to slowly turn your face upwards from the ground, eyes searching for his.

"I want you to hurt like I hurt," you carefully fabricate your trembling voice, peering up at him behind your full lashes. Testing him, you spit vehemently on his black boots, emphasizing your point.

The sheen of it glistened in the black and white atmosphere, slightly outlined in a pinkish hue. You're determined to feast your eyes on him, to look as enticing as ever. You use your tongue to push the blood out from inside your mouth, in efforts to trigger his bloodlust. Blood dribbles down your chin onto the murky pits, stained from you.

The world shifts as you take your chance.

His black mouth opens wide in a gleaming smile. His interest is piqued.

His pale hand suddenly darts out to grasp your dribbling face. "What a magnificent sight."

His thumbs trace along your bloodied chin. The fresh blood stains his fingertips, and you couldn't place the emotion that was there. Wide, perplexed eyes settle on you. His mouth was not upturned, but in a hard line. His orbs were staring right through you. 

The seriousness of his mouth with the stimulated look in his eyes unsettled you. "Look at the blood of this fighter." He croons.

You pretend to struggle with rapid head movements to dislodge your head from his grasp. He only holds it there tighter. Now you show off your crimson stained lips, pouting in dismay.

Guard down.

He leans down, looming over you as he studies you. As you initially remembered, his ebony armour suit covered his body in an efficient way, everywhere except his ever-exposed face and neck.

His thumb moves from your chin to your full, battered lips.

You make your eyes as pathetic as possible, pleading. He tilts his head in fascination, and you beg.

“Please..”

You feel his thumb stutter on your bloodied lips at the sound, and his eyes blacken at once.

Bingo.

His enraptured pale face is the closest thing to you, and you don’t waste a minute before plunging the blade into the skin of his cheek, tearing through the flesh.

He roars, and you think the blade nicked his teeth as you hear a click.

There it is again: the change. His smirking, bemused face is wiped clean and replaced with a demonic, empty expression. 

You’re suddenly gathered in his arms, and he slams you against the nearest arena wall. You struggle against him, shouting your protests. His forehead presses to yours—your heartbeat pounds. His magnetic probing eyes are otherworldly as they obliterate the world around you, and it’s claustrophobic. 

You writhe and shake in fear, doing everything in your power to throw him off you. You punch him in the nose with a crunch. You punch him again in the face, sending it reeling. Your other hand chops aggressively at his cheek, downward, your palm bruised by the handle of the blade, wanting it to rupture. But all he does is laugh cruelly at you, his eyes glinting.

He withdraws the blade out of his cheek, tensing as he does it. You hear it hit the ground with a clang. He then grasps the handle jutting out of your thigh, wrenching it out.

Your muscles scream. But your voice doesn’t, in shock. He whips the blade away, throwing it to the side.

His tar-like mouth is drooling saliva and blood, panting into your shell-shocked face. Drool hits your chin as devious gaze envelops you, forehead digging into yours.

Your eyes glaze over and your belly flutters at that, mind completely wiped.

Blood begins to trickle—no, outpour from your wound.

You struggle to hold your balance, barely propping up your form.

He falls to his knees then, using his hands to steady you, snaking his arms down your calf. He stops on your ankle, wrapping his pale fingers around it, his other hand clutching the heel of your shoe.

Your blood runs ice cold. You whimper.

“Hush," he coos. "This is what happens when you volunteer to get slaughtered, rodent." 

He grasps your ankle, and turns it sharply, the movement emitting a sickening snap, the pain is ice hot, the guttural scream ripping through your chest emits such a frequency...

That the crowd goes silent.

His bulbous eyes are wide as saucers, his evil coming off in waves as he mockingly consoles you, tutting. “Such a delectable sound, so beautiful.”

The colour is drained from your face.

“Not much longer, I swear...”  he moans, about to grab your ankle again.

And now it's your hands that are on his face, clasping his jaw in desperation as you tilt his chin upwards.

"You don't get to fucking do this." You hold his head in your hands as you stumble with your words.

You don't miss the amused expression on his blackened teeth, and, ever so slowly, his hands come to rest on your hands that are cradling his face. His eyes are on fire. Your hands are on fire at his touch.

He tilts his head curiously. "My, my..."

He keeps your grip there. And the eye contact is too much.

He slowly takes your hands down, trying to pin them to your sides, but you aren't going without a fight again. Your worn muscle strains to keep them planted on his jaw, and you’re the one who’s grinning like a maniac now, thumbs digging into the corner of his mouth, stretching that god awful black mouth open.

He chuckles knowingly, his stretched smile guttural, sounding as if Satan himself had spawned. 

"You are special, aren't you?" He pauses to consider your gushing, bloody mess of a face. The deep baritone husk of his voice is sickly sweet. "Even with everything beaten out of you,"

You can't believe how vile and how utterly deranged and twisted this man was to be toying with your anguish and consuming it like a life force. Like it makes him stronger, all the better off to treat your broken soul as a means to an end. 

You tell him this. You tell him exactly now you feel, past the point of caring. You are out-of-body; you are not even attached anymore, shattered beyond repair. 

“Fucking piece of shit," Your voice is hoarse from your screaming, dryer than the desert wastes. You want to see his face as it contorts, need to see him receive your insult as harsh as it was intended. 

His face doesn't seem to register what you said. His pale head merely drops out of your hands to be level with your ankle again as it twitches in his scratchy and cut-up, war-torn palms, your soft skin supple in comparison.

Your ankle is yanked in one swift, fluid motion, and you know he heard you. The pain is making you see starry, glittery speckles as your eyelids flutter close. 

Death is near.

The crowd says it. That's them. That must be them. All of their voices sound like a chorus—a church choir—as you float in and out of consciousness. 

You don't know how long you've been yanked forward; you swear you've been to the end of the arena, doing laps around Feyd-Rautha. 

Running in a diagonal line, weaving through him. Mother would be proud.

But no, something is heavy, rooting you to the ground and sitting on your chest, weighing you down like a cinder block.

The flaps on his black armoured legs are covering your face in the struggle; his knees are pressed into your cheeks as he gathers your arms, both of them against his chest, holding them to him like floppy string beans.

You push against him, “Fucking Harkonnen scum!" Your anger rips out of your throat; your hatred is not reserved anymore; it’s open, bearing witness for the crowd to see.

“You forget yourself,” Feyd-Rautha sneers down at you as he collects your flailing limbs in his palms. “Your beauty is the only thing saving you at this point.” 

His words strike right at your heart, your chest tightening in dread.

Beauty?

But there’s something else there, amongst the terror. Something you don’t want to acknowledge, and in the desecration of your soul, you feel yourself, your whole body, flush. 

You panic at your sickened thoughts, and you dip your head up to see your jello-like arms captured by Feyd-Rautha. Your broken ankle lies horribly twisted. Your anguished, throbbing limbs and fresh wounds are seeping with agony. And your bones—your bones ought to be mush by now. 

Exhaustion has caught up to you. You've ignored it for so long... so long.

Trying to prove yourself.

Your eyes flutter close.

“Closing your eyes isn’t going to make this go away,” the rough, taunting voice of Feyd-Rautha sends a jolt through your body.

You tighten your eyes harder. 

Let me rest. Let me take a rest from you.

“I said-” His voice was malevolent, husky. “I need to see those eyes again.”

Your eyes fly open, just in time to see his blackened mouth now hovering over yours, his proximity making your body go rigid. His chest is weighing you down, his body caging you.

His dark, gleeful expression seems to ruin you as your nose grazes his. Your heart sings. 

No. This is wrong.

“What are you doing?” You don’t believe your own protest as it spills out of you. Your heart is hammering out of your chest.

The palm of his hand slid over your tattered shorts, over the skin of your hip bone. Goosebumps rise at his touch, and he smiles at that, his wet tongue swiping over his black teeth in perverse fascination.

“How utterly brave,” he whispers, his eyes lit aflame as they locked on yours. He drags a finger down your temple, cheek, and finally lets it rest on your jaw, his touch burning like a brand. “A hero amongst them. One that isn’t afraid to be broken. One that welcomes it.”

“Harkonnen-” your protest dies in your throat when you suddenly feel his tongue dart out to lick the blood gathering at the corner of your mouth. 

You freeze. Your eyes widen as he licks it clean. The black pit of his mouth draws closer, and you’re sinking. Your stomach flips upside down. His tongue slithers into your mouth, an overflow of warmth flowing in your belly. You can’t think... You can’t feel. His lips are surprisingly soft as they obliterate you.

He tastes metallic, with a hint of black liquorice. 

Your body shakes like a leaf in his arms—the nerves overflowing. He deeply chuckles, the sound reverberating in your mouth, as his tongue punches yours, darting around and around. Your thoughts are so muddied you sigh and you’re kissing him back with feverish passion. He groans at that.

His hand is splayed over your abdomen, and you feel the cool sensation of his rings. Something snaps inside you. You break the kiss.

No, what am I doing, what am I doing, what the fuck am I-

"Wait-”

His hand trails lower and lower, settling on your pubic bone.

“I-” 

You're stuttering, scarlet red and flushed with humiliation.

“Shhhh..” His shushes are guttural, and a shiver runs up your spine.

Someone has to stop this, right? Th-They'll stop the battle right, once they realize this isn't a battle anymore.

You watch as his arms slide up and underneath your tunic, deep shame swirling in your belly as excitement and thrill courses through your veins from his attention.

They'll stop it, They can stop, I won't be made a fool of- no I won't-

His other hand's rings caress your ribcage, your skin pin-pricking with want. He traces carefully over every rib bone before pressing. Hard.

You yelp as you snap out of your reverie and dig your nails into his wrist, bucking wildly against him in an effort to get him off of you.

Why would they stop it? You're in the arena with a treasured and respected sociopath—their precious Na-Baron.

His hand slides down your shoulder, down the apex of your arm, goosebumps continuing to rise despite your flailing frame.

Your eyes encapsulated your undoing under Feyd-Rautha’s hard stare. He didn’t believe you for a second as he watched you flail about. His sickly eyes were large and expanding at your blatant but silent need.

"N-Na-Baron, you don't need to trouble yourself. I'm a peasant, worthless all around. Surely you wouldn't dishonour yourself...disrespect yourself..." Your ramble came in short gasps.

It sounded pitiful and sad to even your own ears.

Something flashes over his eyes in amusement as he considers you.

“Oh,” his rough voice muses. “But I do respect you, pet.” 

And at that, his ringed fingers cupped you, sliding over your nub.

Your face came alive, then. Like he had never seen. Your eyes swirl, cheeks flushed, pink mouth open—tormented by your enjoyment.

“So lovely,” he encouraged. You shuddered inwardly, your insides like a million shards of glass as his ink-stained teeth smiled down at you.

You’re unable to keep up with his ministrations. A sob wracks through you, the pleasure travelling the whole length of your skeleton down to your toes.

His hot mouth is moving over your collarbone as you struggle to punch him.

He hovers over you, brushing your resisting face with his fingers. He covers your angry fist and snatches it to his chest, holding it steadfast.

"Give in now, you poor thing."

Instantly, your eyes are sucked into his deep blue ones, as he quickens his pace. Flicking back and forth.

You cry out, arching into his chest.

His mouth opens in a mocking, seductive gleam, clearly loving your reactions.

“Can’t-” you think you go to another dimension, a cosmic shift as you try to make sense of what is happening to you.

“Can’t what?” He grovels, low and heavy. His hunger is apparent. His tongue makes a home in your ear, as your eyes roll back into your head.

Faster and faster, he demolishes your entire being, breaking you from the inside out.

You think you go to Caladan for a moment, maybe to Arrakis—your body flying as the pressure builds.

Somehow, in the midst of adrenaline, your battle instinct takes over, and you're able to roll on top of him, bringing his forearm that has disappeared in your trousers with you. 

You sit up straight—on top of him, shakily wrapping your hands around his throat.

A sinister laugh erupts from under you. Feyd-Rautha angles his flicking wrist so that it never leaves you, his free hand seizing the cleft of your hip completely still. Your body sputters in shock.

Your glassy orbs flicker over his angular, pale face like a hawk, stuttering with vulnerability, and he senses it.

He hoarsely speaks below you, his desire thick. “I need it, give it to me, I want it, I need you,”

His words hit you like dynamite as the pleasure amounted within you, tears in your eyes at the intensity of the moment. His bulbous eyes never left you, his black mouth opening at the sight of you in utter devotion. Your hands release from his throat.

Your defeated eyes are engulfed by his as you collapse onto his chest. You felt the throes of submission envelop you - needing, wanting to be under his scrutiny, his gaze. His armoured arms fastened you in his grip, anchoring your shaking form in his arms, holding you close.

His pale head went rest on your shoulder blade for a moment, then pulled you back to leer at you. 

This intimacy with.. him.

It could not be replicated through space and time.

Feyd-Rautha hauls your crumpled form to him, his white hand digging into your hip as he tosses one of your arms around his shoulders. He's doing most of the heavy lifting as you lean against him, depleted and brutalized. He’s walking you towards the stands.

Your face was caked with dirt and blood, swollen. You were numb - to his violence earlier, to his.. attention.   

A bellow is heard above. 

"Exquisite, nephew." The Baron nodded at the both of you, his enormous form like a boulder in the stands. “You lest come across a treat among the gutter like that in your lifetime.”

You turn away, your brow furrowing in disdain.

You feel a harsh slap to your cheek, the bite of it temporarily distracting you from your seething anger, but fuelling it nonetheless. “Look at my uncle when he’s addressing you.”

“Just kill me,” you gritted your teeth as you whisper at him, feeling debased, undignified.

His eye contact was immobilizing.

"Oh now you beg, treasure?" Feyd-Rautha says deeply, in awe. "When you've stopped fighting?"

You barely process the term of endearment as it shuts you up.

Feyd-Rautha holds your upper torso, forcing you to stand against him, squeezing your cheeks together as he inclines your face to his uncle.

Plump lips encase the shell of your ear, his hot saliva sending waves of.. something down your spine.

“You should be proud." Feyd grunted out. "I don't service those in the arena often, but when I do...”

He plays with your ribs, his fingers cold underneath your tatted and holey shirt.

“I make sure they are worthy of it, to add to the display,”

You know exactly what he means by serviced, and you feel mortified of the memory, knowing - The Baron, noble ladies and the noble men all have seen it. They must know that nothing is off limits for a sadist - you could imagine he tortured and serviced men and women alike - you doubt it mattered to him.

It was the Harkonnen Arena, everything for the ease of entertainment. 

Your protest was instant. “Go fuck yours-”

"Shut your mouth, pet, before I send you away to be a slave, the only worth you'll ever live." He threatened. "If you're to behave, you'll be here, training with me, for battle regularly.”

“I don’t blame you, nephew,” The Baron jeered from the stands. “How did you learn to move like that, girl?”

Feyd-Rautha’s mouth was open again—a tunnel of black tar. “Answer him.”

“A peasant never reveals their secret, my lord.” you bluntly say, not caring for the repercussions.

You hear Feyd growl in a warning before the Baron interrupts him, erupting in jolly, sick laughter. “Oh, what fun you’ll have with this one, nephew.”

“Indeed, uncle.” Feyd’s deep blue irises drink you in as he snatches you roughly.

Feyd-Rautha steps around the arena, presenting you to the people like a spectacle. He allows you your respect, holding you with your arms stretched like a splayed out starfish. The flat of his palm is pushing the centre of your spine.

You do feel like you’ve gone through hell as you hear the crowd roar in applause. You do feel like you’ve earned something. But you didn’t. You failed. Tears roll down your face.

Did I mother? Did I do it?

A flash of your mother’s caring eyes envelopes you. She nods, her angelic presence swarming around you.

“You did well, daughter.” A whisper. “I couldn’t have asked for better.”

She cradles your head in your hands, tilting your head to meet her warmth.

You grin, happiness enveloping you, grasping at her shoulders. You want to hold her, but you can’t. “Really, mother?”

“Yes, Caladanian." Her warm smile is pitch black. Her praise is false, a lie.

With a sick feeling, it’s his voice now whispering in your ears again, breaking you from your dreamy experience. 

Feyd-Rautha's chest is pressing into your bruised back as he holds you to him.. Can he.. let you keep speaking with your mother, just for a moment? Would he, if you followed orders, if you made no trouble?

“The honour you deserve, pet..” His thumbs wipe at your tears as they dribble down your sunken cheeks, but his face is devious. “I shall wash and clean you myself, and then you’re going to rest in my arms tonight,” His whispers aren’t of comfort, like hers—his voice is too brazen, too guttural.

His eyes are a bottomless pit as his hand travels to the base of your neck.

“I think you might be my favourite..” He squeezes, briefly cutting off your air supply and you sputter and cough.

You feel faint. A stream of water is forced down your lips, and you drink it, still coughing.

Your vision is hazy, and you decide it’s time to sleep. It’s like he’s rocking you back and forth, the length of your body dragging along the sand, back and forth and back and forth and-

Shushing you, soothing you, like a baby. 

Still hearing the crowd congratulate you, the deafening cries of the Harkonnen people clear in your eardrum, still feeling him grip you -

In your weakened state, a surge of lightning flows through your veins. From the gods, perhaps?

They’ve seen what you did; they’ve seen what you’ve endured.

There’s colour now in this bleak, desolate oasis. You’re the colour.

The black sun seemingly speaks as it encases your entirety. 

You have won, dear one. You have survived.

PART 1 PART 2

[andivmg]

recommendations for “local” spots in PR? im going over springbreak and im so excited!!! (anything fun do/ explore besides el yunque and san juan?)

omg i love this questionnnn!!!!

so if you get the chance: RENT. A. CAR. There are so many amazing spots in PR but because the public transportation system here might as well be nonexistent, you need a car to get to most of them. so here is the list of my personal fave spots that you need a car for: (dw i will include another list of things that are more local to san juan and also one more thing)

- Playa Sucia, Cabo Rojo: gorgeous beach, i spent a lot of time there in college. you have to walk a bit to get to the actual beach but it’s so worth it. you can also hike up the cliffs surrounding the beach which is so fun and beautiful. and you can go up to the lighthouse which has the most amazing view.

- Crash Boat beach, Aguadilla: another beach, another college me spot. it’s just really cool, people are always playing music, there’s a big ol pier. just very awesome.

- Toro Verde Adventure Park: ZIPLINE. VERY BIG ZIPLINE THAT TAKES YOU 95 MPH. I believe it’s the longest in the US and the third longest in the entire world. the view while you’re on it is unlike anything i have ever seen before 10/10, taking my bf there this weekend.

- Surfing: my fave surf spots are Domes Beach in Rincon. Jobos Beach in Isabela. and La Punta in San Juan. You can search up surf lessons in these beaches and you’ll get a bunch of instructors.

-La Parguera: Bioluminescent bay. It’s so gorgeous and so worth it

- Piñones: Long strip of road with different spots you can get out in and go to the beach in. It’s littered with a bunch of typical puertorican food stands like fried shit that we love. if you want the real PR experience, go on a weekend

Now for some more local San Juan area things to do:

- Again, Surfing: literally just google surf lessons in san juan and a bunch will pop up

- Distrito T-Mobile: Has a bunch of restaurants and live music, definitely a good spot to just kinda hang out in. There’s a huge arcade there as well as one of my fav restaurants: La Central by Mario Pagan (get the truffle butter on the steak)

-La Placita: Drinks. Legal age is 18 here so if you want to PARTY, go here.

-Calle Loiza: same as la placita but more locals go here methinks

-The Place: my fav burger place ever, it’s in Condado. Build your own burger w really good ingredients 10/10

-Pirilo: amazing pizza place. it’s in old san juan so this might be a bit of a cop out but it’s really good regardless.

-Casa Bacardi: Rum factory, you can take a tour and it’s pretty cool

-Paddle Boarding: you can go paddle boarding in Condado Lagoon, if you’re lucky you might even get to see manatees or turtles!!!

- Metropol: my favorite restaurant. they have a bunch of locations but you can’t go wrong with any of them. typical puertorican and cuban food. fucking delicious i can never get enough. (get the sorullitos you won’t regret it.)

Now for the something extra:

-Culebra and Vieques: You can either take a plane or a ferry to either of these islands. They are the most beautiful islands i have ever seen. Very remote so little to no cell service but genuinely so so so worth it because the stars look so amazing at night it’s like nothing i have ever seen before. also Vieques has a bioluminescent beach as well :)

ik some of these are kind of touristy things and not necessarily local but they are genuinely some of my favorite things to do and i will always always always recommend to do at least one of them.

If you google Discover Puerto Rico, that website is amazing and gives you like a million things to do 10/10

here’s a link to my fav youtuber’s vlog where she went to PR and imo she did an amazing job of immersing herself in the culture i adore her: https://youtu.be/KPzqRP0T3ew?si=_sFNg_5kg6N5SGQg

[lune-de-miel-au-paradis]

The old villa, rain of shooting stars and the old legend

Summary: A little backstory about Nina's secret special place in Naboo. A sweet little memory from her childhood.

Pairing: Darth Maul x OC Nina Cerasus

Warnings: Mention of abandonment, illness, anxiety

AN: This fic means a lot to me and I worked on it a lot. If you have any advice or comments, please share them with me kindly. I'm posting for the first time in years and I don't want nasty comments to discourage me from posting again. If you don't like it, please go to another blog. I did my best to translate it, so pls forgive me, English is not my first language. Please enjoy reading!

previous chapter

Everyone has places in their lives, usually not too far from home, where they find the much requisite peace and comfort when it becomes necessary to recharge a little, or when the waves are crashing over our heads, right? Well, there were a few such places in Nina's life as well, regarding appropriate situations that fit both the occasion and the mood. Such was, for example, the glass-domed upper floor of the observatory wing of the university library, if she wanted to immerse herself in the endless world of stars and the galaxy, or the library itself, where she could easily slip away from reality with the help of endless stories, and legends. 

Then there was the roof that belonged to her apartment in the almost completely empty building. All she had to do was climb out of the window and there was the park and the university, decorated with arcades and columns shrouded in darkness at night, the best sight for rethinking existential thoughts.

She could take advantage of the little light pollution and stare at the sky and the planet's moons, which looked much bigger and brighter from here than anywhere else in the city. Perhaps that is why the observatory was built nearby.

Usually, when she didn't have much time, she found the peace she needed here. 

But there was a place, special and secret. At least that's what she liked to believe. A small empire of her own that her mother gave her many, many moons ago on a sleepless summer night, during an exciting adventure together. She might have been seven years old at the time. There were only three people living in that small house, but at least they tried to push out the bitter, medicine-scented air of sadness with an act of love and the warmness of a truncated family. 

Grandma Eve-Lynn was already fast asleep, but Nina could not dream, she tossed and turned until the bed finally threw her out. Her mother was sitting in the kitchen. Nina remembers her sitting there, one leg pulled up on the chair, a mug resting on her knee, in it  the remnants of mint tea, which had cooled down a long time ago, painted the rim of the ceramic mug in a dark green shade. The holopad was on the table, Nina's mother was directing the touch screen with one hand, the other was supporting her sleepy head. Her hair was short, and the colorful scarf she had put on in the morning was now slightly to one side with a loose bow. She hummed a melody of some old song with amusement and the air smelled of cherry and jasmine. An expensive perfume from a far away place. Gift from a traitor person, to cover up a lie, or maybe it was a kind gesture? Who knows? That person no longer lived in Nina's memories. Perhaps, if such a thing exists, it would have remained in another timeline. The same man who taught her to play the piano, who opened her interest to the sky full of stars and wonders, or who built the best bunker during storms by making a huge mess of quilts and pillows.

In Nina's memory, the man already lived differently. Every single memory was rewritten retroactively, tainted with some kind of strange poison that gave them a darker filter and a bittersweet taste. Just like the memories, the poison of betrayal took its toll on Nina herself. Like her father Felix, the old Nina no longer existed, at least not in this timeline. Since then, it's as if every passing day has brought more and more darkness into her life, as if the universe decided that it would be a fun game to kick the little girl, in as many ways as possible. A kind of transformation began in her personality. She already saw the world differently. She saw adults as liars, doctors as frauds and hope as a children's fairy tale.

And about Felix: his name no longer meant 'father' or certainly not for her, it was shortened to many other adjectives that the girl had heard so far only from holofilms, such as 'liar', 'cheat', 'coward'. The first man in her life she loved was the person who represented to her the true meaning of these adjectives.

Nina didn't like to think about him, but she liked to see her mother like this, peaceful, absorbed in something and not tied to a sick bed.

"Why aren't you sleeping, little star?" the woman asked softly when she noticed the little girl peeking from behind the door frame.

"I can’t sleep. I'm not tired. And the super-duper sleeping count spell is wrong. It’s broken. It doesn't work, even though I tried to count all the loth wolves who howl to the stars like Grandma suggested."

"Looks like none of us are sleepy. It's time for a little adventure then!"

Nina loved it when her mom felt better, everything was happier and more colorful, almost magical. The evening stories were longer, making dinner together was also good fun, accompanied by music to which they sang together. At such times, her mother's eyes were filled with life and sparkled like the constellation Canis Minor on clear nights. Just like tonight.

They didn't change clothes, they just put on their shoes, the jacket over the pajamas and the portable telescope.

Nina looked up at her mother a little confused as they walked towards the lake. It wasn't far, it was a well-known path for a while, then it became unknown and exciting. Nina hasn't been out at the lake at night yet. It was completely different to see the landscape and the creatures at night. Millions of luminous insects fluttered their wings in flight, and even blue-glow fish glistened under the lake's water dark coloured mirror surface as they bathed in the moon. The white flowers bloomed at night, filling the air with an intoxicatingly sweet scent. It occurred to Nina that they are no longer on Naboo, but in an exotic, distant landscape, one of those places that are used to be told as evening fairy tales, or the stories told by the vendors in the market.

"Where are we going?" he asked as she held her mother's arm tighter.

She didn't like the fact that the leaves of the lush forest vegetation were caressing her arms, hair and face from everywhere. Seeing this, Nina's mother Holly put her on her back so that Nina was like a little human backpack. They went on laughing.

"You'll see, little star. Tonight we'll watch the shooting stars from a very special place."

They followed the unknown path, but soon, behind two huge rocks, a secret lake appeared in front of them. It was surrounded by forest and opposite the domed roof of the distant Theed’s Royal Palace and the three moons shone high on the mountaintops. And a small waterfall also filled the silence of nature with a gurgling sound, mixed with the soft sounds of nocturnal animals.

And there stood the house. It was big and -we should rather call it a villa-. It is two-storey, built of stone and carved brick. With tall split windows, some of them patterned with colored glass. The years had worn it down a lot, the glass was missing in several places, or it was just cracked and broken. The walls were covered with various creepers, with bright pink papery petals and white fluffy stamens with a sweet scent. The tower roof had holes in several places, and the tiles were mostly dislodged, so thin mold disfigured the corners of the rooms. The bottom of the upper terrace, decorated with arcades, rose above the columned circular terrace outside.

Statues and worn carvings decorated the house, most of them depicting a species of monster with a terrifying face. Nina was a little surprised, but her mother walked in through the old black wooden door, which was cracked and the paint had almost completely worn off.

But the best part was the glass domed roof, of course it was also holed, broken and dirty, but a wonderful light filtered through it and illuminated the space. Nina has always dreamed of a bedroom with such a roof view.

Inside, on the walls were paintings and pieces of mosaics, carved fireplaces, and old ornate furniture. Among the scraps of red and black patterned carpet and sofa fabric, golden threads glistened in the sunlight. Even the lamps were made of ornate wrought iron, with the remains of tiny candle stubs. The living room, which was oval, surrounded by windows, in the center of which stood an old piano covered, and on the wall a huge mirror, the rim of which was gray with dirt, but still nobly grandiose in its bronze frame.

"What is this place, mother?" Nina asked in amazement, running her tiny fingers over the stars painted on the wall. There was a layer of gray dust on her fingers from the movement, which she wiped on her pajamas, with a little frown.

"This is our perfect stargazing spot. And our secret little palace, my little star."

"I feel like a princess here." the little girl whispered to herself, and dreamily turned around a few times. Her mother took her by the hand and led her and started telling stories. "Officially, the place is not ours, at least according to local legends it belonged to a rich married couple. The husband was a warrior who came from a far away planet and had a huge business. He met the woman, and he fell in love with her at the light festival. From here, the maiden watched the lanterns flying into the sky, gracefully reaching for them and saving several from falling into the lake.

 The best view of the stars was from here and on the lanterns flying towards them.  They looked into each other's eyes and fell in love.

The men decided to build the villa as a wedding present for his beloved fiancee. The carvings tell the story of the culture of a distant planet. They are said to contain protective charms so that the house will always be blessed and hidden from those with bad intentions.

To protect the family while the husband is away." “Woow, he must have really loved his wife. But what happened to them, mother?

" Well, it's not known exactly, they didn't have a child. They were sad because of that, and tried everything. There are several stories floating around about what happened to them. Some people think that someone took revenge on them."

"But who? And why?"

Nina asked in  a high pitched voice, she felt some curiosity mixed with fear and a hint of excitement. She loved to listen to legends.

"There are those who believe that Magic itself came, because sorcery has a price. There are those who believe that the husband's old master attacked them because he wanted his warrior back. The legend says he loved his wife so much that he used all his power to save her. "

“ But how? And did he save her? What happened to him?”

Holly set up the telescope in the garden of the old house while telling the story. The leaves of the trees formed a frame around the sky, on the dark surface of which the stars just shone. She adjusted the right angle and called her little girl over. Standing on her toes, Nina looked into the telescope with one eye. "See that cluster of stars? Are there two bigger and brighter ones close together?"

"Yes. There they are!" Nina pointed her little finger to the sky.

"The myth says that the warrior placed his love in the sky and that's how one part of the constellation was made. All his magic went into this spell. But he knew that his beloved would be safe and he would see her every night. But this made his evil master so angry that he ended the life of the warrior. Then the old gods, the Maker, or the Force itself took pity on the lovers and placed the energy of the dying warrior next to his beloved up in the sky. This is how the constellation of lovers was formed, how we can see it now. This is the only place you can see it this brightly from the planet.

The two were together in the sky and adopted dozens of smaller stars, which pass by them every year and visit them in the form of a meteor shower. You can see this ... right, now!"

Nina's eyes widened, dozens of tiny plumes of light floated across the sky in front of the constellation. The swarm consisted of many tiny dust particles. Her father had taught her many moons ago that these meteors heat up and burn due to their high speed in the planet's atmosphere, they do not reach the surface. He said that the best time to observe them is from midnight to dawn, when they can be seen in the greatest numbers. Her father promised that they would watch together this year, but according to him, this was just another lie. But Nina didn't want to think about that, instead she embraced her mother with joy, who, unaware of the promise, still surprised her with this experience and the legend along with it. They came at the perfect moment. The comets left behind colorful plumes, green, pale blue, purple, even pink.

After that, she went out a lot with her mom for picnics and night stargazing at the lake and the old villa, until Holly became so weak that she was bedridden again.

When her mom's illness got worse and passed away months later, Nina hid here to sob and mourn. This was their common place, every time she came here it was like a warm hug, she relived the lovely moments and warm memories over and over again. This became the place of her secret study place, and she went there whenever something that pressed hard on her soul, or simply to feel something. She talked secretly to the stars, as if her mother could hear her, waiting for an answer, but she never got one. After a terrible day, she was filled with peace and strength here, which helped her to continue her life and pretend to be strong in front of her grandmother, and all the doctors. 

This was one of those days, so she decided it was time to look for the secret villa by the lake deep in the forest and seek out some peace. 

If not for peace, but for something else - more precisely, someone else - she certainly found it.

Mood board made by me, pictures are from Pinterest.

next chapter

Taglist: @stardustbee @hellhound5925 @cloneloverrrrr @the-chains-are-the-easy-part

Let me know if you want to be added 💖

[ctlightner]

Book Review: Snowglobe by Soyoung Park, translated by Joungmin Lee Comfort

SUMMARY:

Snowglobe is a post-apocalyptic dystopian YA novel where climate change has resulted in the Earth being frozen almost all the time. Temperatures average about 5F on a good day, but can regularly get down to -50F. However, there is one place in the world where the temperatures are mild and regulated: the city of Snowglobe, which exists under a dome. Theoretically, anyone can go live in Snowglobe. The catch is, you must submit to having your entire life filmed and recorded and edited into the TV shows the rest of the outside world watches.

The story follows Jeon Chobahm, who is a dead ringer for the most famous actor in Snowglobe, Goh Haeri: the girl next door, whose life has been broadcasted since her birth. However, Haeri's director, Cha Seol, shows up one day looking for Chobahm, and tells her that she needs to take over Haeri's life because the TV star has committed suicide. Chobahm agrees, and then discovers all of the secrets and twists that the haven has to offer.

REVIEW:

I was actually surprised at how much I loved this book. These days, YA and I usualy don't vibe, but I'm beginning to suspect that it may have less to do with books for teens, and more to do with how what people now picture as YA is more along the lines of what people want to call "New Adult." Snowglobe would probably not go over well for that 17-25 crowd, but I think it is perfect for "Lower YA," aka, "Teens," aka people age 12-16.

It's an extremely fast-paced, plot-forward story with casual, modern language and subject matter that a lot of middle schoolers and early high schoolers can relate to. I can only imagine how terrifying school can be nowadays for kids who adamantly do not want to film or be filmed, but sometimes have no choice due to a lot of social medias encouraging a panopticonic approach to life.

I will admit, it's not a particularly deep book. It's doesn't pick apart its world like The Hunger Games does, but it does offer an avatar for readers to immerse themselves in. I don't know how that is affected by it being a book in translation, but I suspect it has more to do with the intended age range of readers. The plot itself goes at a very fast pace, with high-stakes plot twists happening one right after the other.

To be brutally honest, one of the reasons I find this book so charming is because it reads like a self-insert fanfic. I mean this VERY complimentary. I've read more than a few fics that center OCs, Y/Ns, and 2nd-person Reader Inserts, and they all have a certain pace and voice to them that injects a wonderful confidence into the narrative. A confidence that, to the lay person, may seem amateurish and confusing, but to a connoisseur of these stories is familiar, nostalgic, and exactly what's needed. It is imperative that this book is approached with a want to be pulled along on a wild, exciting, fantastical roller coaster. I think many in the 12-16 range naturally approach things like that, which is why I think that's the ideal demographic.

But, if you or someone you know want a little brain candy, pick it up. And for a chaser, I'd recommend two video essays ([1], [2]) by Moon Channel about an ongoing gender war (his words) in South Korea, and why the country has come to blows like this. I think these videos offer an introduction for Westerners into some of the nuances of Korean life, and bring another layer of context to the premise of this book.

If you know a child in middle school who loves to read dystopian fiction, consider pointing them in the direction of this book, especially if the have read and enjoyed Divergent.

[inkofyoonkoo]

I gasp once, and in that breath, I accept you in | 1

🏵️ Wordcount: 30k 🏵️ Genre: Fluff/angst/smut | From strangers to lovers!AU • FWB!AU 🏵️ Jungkook x Reader 🏵️ Description: In which Jungkook arrives to your small town to spend the holidays, and you slowly let go of all the ghosts of your past 🏵️ Warnings: age difference (10 years gap, both characters are adults); mention of panic attack; characters death (not the main protagonists); 🏵️  [EDIT] I should’ve added it since the beginning but I totally forgot because I’m dumb.  The little poems that open every scene aren’t mine (I’d give a finger to write that beautifully 💔): they’re Japanese poems I’ve found randomly, or belong to well-known writers -so to them goes all the credit.  🏵️ A/N: since I’ve almost finished the ending of this story, I start posting here the first part too! In all honesty, I don’t know if someone will ever give it a chance (due to the thematics and the length) but if you do, thank you from the bottom of my heart! Please consider hmu if you arrived till the end and like it because this story drenched me of every energy and it’d be nice to hear your opinion 🐰  

You don’t love Jungkook.

You love when he comes, when he makes you come. 

You're just this. You're barely whispered orgasms in the darkness of his bedroom; lazy kisses stolen in the backyard of his house; airy laughters over a glass of wine; tears hidden on a shoulder; little sips of breath in the crook of each other's neck when you hug tight, on your sofa; early morning strolls, your hands so close for your fingers to intertwine in the slightest; tales of a carefree childhood that taste of watermelon and beer; whispered words on a pillow -too much intimate for the pair of you to forget them when the night is over.

It's a palliative that makes you forget about the past you’ve lost.

Something that is bound to end when the warmth of summer will start to fade.

Something that… is close to happiness.

Something…

"The magic fades too fast The scent of summer never lasts The nights turn hollow and vast But nothing remains … Nothing lasts"

If someone would’ve told you that you'd end up spending your days far away from the blinding lights of a big city, you'd have surely laughed at the top of your lungs. 

Born and raised in a large town for most of your young age, moved to Seoul to study at KNU and make your dream come true -drinking every ounce of a bittersweet nocturnal life made of discos and cocktails and rides in taxis and sudden 3:00 AM snacks bathed in the neon lights of nightclubs, it was only natural for you to believe that your existence would grow in a chaotic metropolis.

You could only picture yourself there, immersed in a perpetual, fast, ever-changing chaos that would leave you breathless… and yet, at the age of thirty three, the only place that feels like home is a village nestled amidst the mountains -so small you can easily pinpoint every single person and associate them to a specific name, a specific quirk (and even know their genealogical tree by heart)... 

Living in a small area with a very few inhabitants who know each other as if they belonged to the same family has its pro and cons: if someone gets a flue, there’s the high chance that the sickness will spread like wildfire; if a problem occurs, there’s always a kind neighbour ready to help you -on the other hand, though, there’s a risk that your secret will become the new (embellished) gossip. The trust that ties people with one another is so lasting you rarely experience episodes of backstabbing or dreads -but when it happens, oh God, you should pack your things at the speed of light and migrate to the most distant planet.

Life isn’t hectic, but the silence and peacefulness that embraces the town borders like a dome is so homey you can’t get enough. Sure, your mind sometimes echoes back to all those times you were wrapped in a sort of feverish excitement for abrupt plot-twists, filling your heart to the brim of gushing nostalgia -especially because the only memorable, upcoming event here is the annual harvest festival that is held around the end of June. However, something noteworthy happens once in a while: like the time Mr Park cheated on his wife with the young flower girl; or when Kwon’s son got arrested for dealing… or, like, when a new person comes to town.

Especially when a new person comes to town…

The motionless quietness of the village shattered on a chill morning of April, when the pebbly street that passes through your residential area welcomed a rickety little van with three guys in it. Now, considering the horde of tourists that invade the village only to reach the mountain when the good season or winter is approaching, this shouldn’t be a remarkable episode; but the fact that the vehicle stopped right in front of the long-inhabited Kim’s house, and someone started living there, well… that’s for sure extraordinary.

Even more extraordinary is the fact that a month has already flown by, and everyone's still talking about the: “handsome young man” (or “odd young man”, it depends on the recounts) who came and never left...

“Mrs Choi told me he probably broke out of jail. I told her we should call the police, but she said it’s just a rumor and has no evidence to prove it.” Ms Kim flickers her hand right up above the plate of rice cakes to shoo away a fly, a little frown appearing between her well-finished eyebrows. “In my opinion, he’s associated with some weird gang. I mean, did you see his right arm? All those tattoos must mean something!”

You nibble at the small rice cake, running the tip of your tongue on your bottom lip to get rid of crumbs -and to refrain yourself from bursting out laughing (if she knew that her beloved, gentle Seokjinnie has got a nice flower tattoed on top of his left buttcheek, she’d surely have a heart attack).

“It seems so impossible to me. He’s been here for a month and hasn’t caused any trouble yet. And he’s so polite. The old Mrs Kwon told me he helped her carry the groceries, a few days ago. And he also cleaned Mr Lee’s garden.” Ms Min closes the fridge with her foot, the glasses full of orange-juice on the tray she’s holding swing for the sudden motion.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Ms Kim retorts, mouth twitching (just like Seokjin would do). “Appearance can be deceiving! Being polite doesn’t change the fact that he can be a delinquent, or hangs out with bad companies.” She gives the landlady a warm smile when she hands her out a glass, nodding a little. “Do you remember Choi's youngest son? Such a good boy, him and my Seokjinnie practically grew up together… and then he robbed poor Wooshik’s shop.” She turns to you, searching for some support in her statement. “(Y/N), you know who I’m talking about, mh? He was one of Namjoon’s students, wasn’t he?”

There’s a pang of poignant pain in your chest when his name tumbless of her tongue with so much ease, like he was out on errands, ready to come back home when the last rays of sunshine will stop seeping through the fronds, and it spreads to the liquid sparks now trembling in your eyes. 

You take a sip of orange-juice, trying to shove back down the lump in your throat. “Yes, he felt so bad when he came to know about it. He says Donghae was such a smart guy, he could’ve done great things…”

Namjoon spent the whole night sitting on the veranda overlooking the luxuriant garden in the backyard, eyes fixed on the trees stretching up to the starry sky of October, a closed book laying on his lap; his hand was lazily stroking Moonie’s head, peacefully sleeping next to him, and your requests to come back inside were always welcomed with a vague: “Mhm” fading in the chilly breeze. The news shocked him so much that he couldn’t close his eyes without picturing the gentle smile Donghae used to deliver him every time he asked for advice, during the breaks at school. Namjoon never stopped wondering who led him down a bad road; what pushed him to commit such an awful crime; how he couldn’t notice the twist his life was taking…

Ms Min spares you a quick, sympathetic look before focusing on her drink, lips morphed in a gentle smile that reminds you of her son. Ms Kim, instead, seems on the cusp of telling you something, only to close her mouth and shake her head shortly after.

She curls a lock of black hair between her fingers, the sparkling red painting her nails shines in the sunlight coming from the opened window. “Anyway, I was trying to say—”

“Oh, c’mon, cut that poor guy some slack.” Ms Min interrupts, resting her cheek on her palm, poking the tip of her tongue on her cheek (just like Yoongi would do). “Ok, he’s got many tattoos and piercings. And his mint hair is pretty odd… but let’s not forget that my Yoongi-chi has the habit of dying his hair pretty often, too.” She rests her elbow on the coffee table, the shoulder strap of her worn-out vest slides down along her arm. “Do you remember when he went through his purple phase? People kept telling me that he put himself into trouble and this was his own way to communicate, when the truth was that he liked the purple color a lot.”

Yoongi liked a girl who loved the purple color a lot, actually. He thought this could be a brilliant way to catch her attention. She broke his heart the last year of high school, after a couple of blowjobs and a very few kisses secretly shared in the sports equipment storeroom while their classmates were having gym class outside. He says he barely remembers her if you touch upon the topic, but it never gets unnoticed the glint of annoyance streaming in his thin eyes if he only hears her name.

“And yet, my son is such a good man… or not?” her eyes become two threatening half-moons (just like Yoongi would do) now pinned to her friend’s face, tinged with a ruby shade that spreads down to her neck.

Ms Kim nods. “Yoongi-chi is a gentleman. The exception that proves the rule, I’d say.” 

Ms Min huffs. “I don’t know. The new boy has got sweet eyes. A boy with such gentle eyes can’t hurt any living thing, I’d stake my son.”

You let out a chuckle. You’re dying to confess to Yoongi that his mother would sell him only to save the reputation of a stranger with a pair of Bambi eyes.

You don't participate much in their conversation, mostly because you don't know what to say about the new boy in town: you don't know his name, you don't know how old he is; you don't know what he's doing here, if he's going to stay permanently or if he's just another fleeting soul that will graze the harmony of this place for a couple of months before disappearing again. You suppose he's a relative of the Kim's, considering he lives in their house -but you don't have the certainty. You only know that he's got an ocean of tattoos scattered on his right arm; so many piercings you lost count after the first three; mint hair styled in an undercut; and he always spends his days with an energetic dog who barks every time he pinpoints your peaceful Moonie, napping at the entrance.

But that's it. Nothing more, nothing special. You're really not interested in him -you aren't really interested in anything anymore, actually.

The new boy in town is just a blurry silhouette in your grey world, perfectly blended with all the other shadows that gravitate in your atmosphere… and you're pretty sure he'll be just that for all the time he'll stay here—!

"If I were you, I'd pay attention, (Y/N)." Ms Kim's voice breaks through your consciousness, there's a note of worry that has you blinking in confusion. "I caught him staring at your house every time he walks his dog out," she comments, lowering her voice -like she feared to be heard by prying ears. 

A line appears between your knitted brows as you try to recall all the moments you might have seen him look at you in a suspicious way, but your mind is vacant like a typhoon just passed by (in your defense, you stopped taking notice of whatever happens around you; there's a high chance your mind hasn't registered anything in particular…)

You rotate your shoulders to get rid of the cold chills spreading from your skull. "He was probably staring at Moonie. He's got a dog too, after all." You stretch out to look at the various rice cakes, undecided on which one to eat first. 

Ms Min grins. "Darling, I noticed too how he looks at you when he comes to the restaurant." Her left brow wobbles up. "So, unless Moonie started walking on two legs and serving customers: no, I don't think he's interested in your dog." She spares a glance to her friend, who seems unable to see the joking side of this whole situation. "He gets all shy when you serve him, he starts stuttering… adorable."

“Shady," Ms Kim mutters, going back to listing all the reasons why they should establish a security service and patrol the area to prevent any horrible crime. 

You let out a chuckle, observing the women discussing. For a very brief moment, it feels like witnessing their respective sons in the middle of an argument -Yoongi, unbothered and ready to spit harsh comments to cut the conversation short; and Seokjin, talking in a rush, neck and cheekbones scarlett for the passion exuding in his words. 

The fact that someone noticed you amidst many should make you all giddy inside, and excited to meet them again -hopeful that something might happen between the pair of you, just like in those rom-com movies you loved to watch on Sunday afternoons; and yet, you don't really care about it.

Namjoon would describe the phase you're going through like a long, everlasting, painful winter.

You thought you'd get used to it, over time… 

You didn't. 

"Godlike the man who sits at her side, who watches and catches that laughter which (softly) tears me to tatters: nothing is left of me, each time I see her…"

When you walk out the backyard of Ms Min's restaurant, Yoongi is already there, enjoying his break. 

He keeps his eyes fixed on the screen of his phone, the filter cigarette tightened between his thumb and index finger already half consumed. 

There's a little frown between his knitted brows, the tip of his tongue pokes on his cheek. He's visibly irritated and, despite your vain attempt to contain yourself, you can't help but sneer -because in these few years you've learned to know him like the back of your hand, and you perfectly know what's whirling in his mind. 

"They aren't together," you announce your presence with this comment, opening the can of Coke you took from the kitchen. 

Wide-eyed, Yoongi shifts his stare to you. The tip of his ears is flushed with a delicious crimson shade that has your fingers twitching for pinching them. 

He blinks twice, stare flickering from you to his phone. "I wasn't-I'm not—shit." He curses under his breath, pulling his phone inside the pocket of his apron with a nervous gesture. "How do you know it?" He takes in some smoke, avoiding the curve of playfulness on your lips. 

"That you were peering on Minji's Instagram, or that they aren't together?" Your eyes crinkle in the corner when he starts mumbling incomprehensible things (some insults, probably). "You don't see it, but your eyes shine when you look at her pictures, or we talk about her." You notice his shoulders stiffening, but apart from a muscle twitching in his jaw there's no trace of annoyance across his face "Anyway, I questioned her. They're just colleagues." You hesitate, scrutinizing the sparks in his eyes. "She likes Seoul a lot."

He shrugs. "Good for her."

"But she misses living here even more," you continue, ignoring his harsh statement. Tenderness crackles in your chest for Yoongi's incapacity to sort out his emotions and act like a mature grown-up. "She keeps asking me about you: how's Yoongi-chi doing? Is he eating? Is he getting enough sleep?" You sink in his shaky eyes for a second, before he lowers his head to hide a delicate smile from you. You drum your fingers on the can. "I think you should write to her. You're wasting a good occasion for—"

"You're one to talk about wasting good occasions? Don't make me laugh.." Yoongi gasps for air the moment he gazes at you, wide-eyed, then he curses under his breath. "Sorry, (Y/N), I didn't mean to—"

He meant it. But you accept his words with a nod, aware that your friend isn't entirely wrong: considering how you've been living your life these past years, all the stories you cut in the bud at the first hint of affection, you are the last person who could judge others or give advice. 

"No, you're right. I should mind my own business." You take a sip of Coke, feeling the area around your eyes swell up. "It's just… it hurts to see you like this."

"It hurts to see you like this, too." He scans the expression of vagueness dancing across your features. "You know how it feels, after all." He takes in some smoke and lets it out, breaths escaping in grey curls slowly fading in the air. 

You hold the can tighter, knuckles white for the grip. "It's different," you retort, feeling a thousand needles piercing through your heart. "Minji is still here. You're still on time to save things between you two. You - you can't compare her to Joonie, you can't." Words trail off mid-sentence, liquefying in a thick silence that has your muscles flexing all at once. 

Yoongi scratches his nape, munching the corner of his mouth. "Listen, can we just change the topic?" He grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer. 

“And what do you want to talk about? The new boy?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, enough! Jin's mother and mine do nothing but blather about him every single day. It’s getting boring.” He rests against the wall, spreading his legs. “What’s so interesting, anyway? He’s just a boy.”

“A boy with lots of tattoos and piercings, with mint hair, who looks like a member of a gang or a drummer… not really interesting, aha.” You let out a chuckle, fixing your apron. “Jin’s mom thinks he’s some kind of delinquent.”

“Whoever has got a piercing or two is a delinquent, to her. I still remember when I got my first earring. She told Seokjin that—"

"That he should reconsider your friendship, I know," you conclude at his place, tenderly. 

"Yeah, well… It was my first year of high school. It was pretty traumatic." He snaps his tongue, twiddling with the couple of hood earrings adorning his right ear. "And, anyway, I don't think he's a bad guy. He's too polite, it seems like he never cursed in his whole life." The left corner of his mouth quirks up. "Mom said he stares at you. And that he blushes if you talk to him."

You huff, shaking your head. "I know, she warned me. Jin's mom wanted me to install a burglar alarm."

He arches a brow. "You should stop hanging out with our mothers."

"Why? They're funny! And Ms Kim makes some delicious rice cakes." You let out a dreamy sigh, feeling your mouth run dry only by thinking of her cookies. 

Yoongi parts his lips, he's got the expression of someone who's ready to insult you; however, he manages to exhale a feeble muttering, rubbing his finger on his temple. "But my mom's right, he keeps staring at you." He brings back the previous topic, ignoring your grunt. "I noticed it too. He looks at you like you were a piece of meat. And that guy loves meat." He smirks. "Do you want me to test the water?"

You squelch a chuckle. "No. Let's be honest, Yoongi-chi, you'd only be able to make him run away from this town." You spare him an amused glance before going back to sipping your beverage. "And I'm not interested."

Yoongi breathes out the smoke one last time, putting the cigarette out under his sole. "Are you sure? He's pretty cool. And I'm pretty sure he hides some toned muscles under those baggy clothes. Ugh, don't look at me like this… the other day I served a group of girls full of hormones, I still remember their conversation. It's a nightmare." His brows wobble up in an ominous sign that has chill travelling down your spine. "Don't you miss being held by someone?"

"Don't you?" You retort, less playful than your friend. "I'm not interested," you repeat, feeling a cold sensation settling in your lungs. It gets hard to breathe.  

He shrugs. "You should try, having a bit of fun would do you good. You know, let yourself go, and not push people away as soon as they show a bit of interest. You deserve happiness." He gazes up to you, stare and features softening each passing second. "You really do, (Y/N)."

"You do, too," you mumble, seeing him clean his apron and jeans before heading toward the door. Yoongi's words cuddle your heart in turmoil, but it doesn't last much. "You know? You should put a like on her posts. I bet she'd write to you immediately."

"She won't. She hates me and doesn't want to see me anymore, remember?" He says, after a brief moment of hesitation. From that position, you can only see the tip of his ears -it's bright red. You'd like to hug him from behind and tell him that everything will work out.

You shrug. "There's no harm in trying." You deliver him an encouraging smile. "Tell your mom that I'll finish my Coke and I'll be right there." You shake your drink a little, resting your head against the wall to get some rest before going back to working. 

You relax, hearing the clack of the door. A sudden thud, though, makes your eyelids flutter up in a rush. 

"The new boy likes banana Milk and rice cakes. It's the only thing he buys when he comes to the supermarket." Yoongi peers at you, sticking his head out of the doorframe. "You should give him a little welcoming present. Bet you'd make him happy." A smirk etches itself on his face before your arched brows. "There's no harm in trying."

“You’ve to look closely to see its loveliness You have to look for a long time to realize that it’s lovable You too, are also like that”

In a village so small, there's not much to do to fill your time if you didn't plan anything in advance: days look all the same, a dull redundancy of details and faces and names you know like the back of your hand that don't spark any excitement anymore. Everything is so predictable that diverting your usual path to visit the local pastry shop is comparable to an unexpected plot twist. 

Or, maybe, everything seems colored in grey because Namjoon isn't here to keep you company…

Sat on the seesaw in the small park close to your neighbour, you stare at some children trying to catch the attention of Moonie, comfortably resting under a bench (the usual bench Namjoon used to sit on to read his books, situated under a tree big enough to provide some shadow and coolness). 

You go back to watching in front of you, contemplating the black contours of the mountains rising up in the horizon, wrapped in hues of orange and red as the sun sets down just behind their peaks. 

Your eyelids flicker down, heavy, and your head gently lays against the chains sustaining your seat. You squelch a yawn, rubbing the puffy area under your left eye. Another sleepless night, another day spent dragging yourself through the day.

You should leave. 

You know this is the only way to take charge of your own life again and stop feeling like you're drowning even if you're above water… but you can't. This simple thought bugged you so many times lately to the point you found yourself cracking your eyes open in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling cloaked in dark; but nausea starts brewing in your stomach if you only picture yourself grabbing your belongings and putting them in a luggage, ready to leave this place once and for all.

From your home… the home Joonie chose for the pair of you to spend the rest of your days, together… That's why you can't go. The awareness that you'd let him down, if you'd ever decide to leave; and, anyway, too many memories connect you to this place, you don't feel ready to toss them behind your back.

You take in a deep breath, relishing the warmth of June kissing your skin in a gentle touch, eyes closed and head slightly tilted to the back. The tip of your toes presses against the ground, you apply a little pressure to swing back and forth, slowly. 

Joonie loves this part of the village. You're pretty sure this is his favorite place. If you only concentrate a bit, you can picture him chilling here, after school, before coming home for dinner… and you're there, by his side, cuddling Moonie (your head on his shoulder; his low voice as he reads his favorite paragraph; his fingers intertwined with yours; his soft kisses on your temple).

You used to love this park with every fiber of your being; but now that Joonie has been gone, all this green and peacefulness don't make any sense anymore...

A dog barking in the distance breaks through your consciousness, suddenly, scattering all around your whirling thoughts. Your eyelids flutter up in a rush, a glint of sunshine strokes your eyes, obliging you to close them to accustom yourself to the light. You cover them with a hand and turn to the left, searching for the source of the noise that scattered away all your thoughts. 

Brows snapping together, your attention is drawn by a short-haired dog stretching toward Moonie to sniff him, before going back to barking. It takes you a couple of seconds to get your thoughts in order, finally realizing that he is the new boy's pet -he must belong to him, no one else owns a Doberman here. He barks again when your dog doesn't seem intent to interact. 

Curiously, you take a look around, expecting to see his owner nearby -but aside from you and a couple of grannies chatting in front of the hair salon on the other side of the street, there's no one else around. 

You munch the corner of your mouth, indecisive about what to do: you could wait here for the boy to show up (even if you'd prefer having anything do with him, especially after all the things your friends' mothers told you); or you could take the dog to him on your way home… But what if the boy is desperately searching for him? I mean… Joonie lost sight of Moonie for five minutes once and he almost bought a whole distillery to get rid of sadness, thinking that his beloved pet could be gone forever. 

Letting out a sigh, you stand up, fixing the bleached jeans. You slowly approach the two pets, paying attention to not annoy the Doberman, considering that you don't know how he may react to a stranger's presence. You crouch down, Moonie immediately turns to you, stretching toward you for some cuddles. 

"Moonie, hey…" you stroke the top of his head, the corners of your mouth quirking up. "Why are you ignoring him? He just wants to play—oh!" The other dog suddenly rests his paws on your lap, making you lose balance. You fall on the ground, his legs wrapping around your own while sniffing you. "Ouch… you really are having fun, mh?" You caress his ear, trying to calm him down. 

"Bam! No!"

The dog, probably hearing his own name, completely forgets about you. You follow the trajectory of his stare, eyes widening when you take notice of the person dashing toward you -a plastic bag brushing against his leg. 

The new boy in town…

He halts his own run at a few steps from you, bowing. "I'm - I'm deeply sorry!" He bows again when you stare at him, the tip of his ears tinged with a vibrant ruby shade. "I had to buy some - some things and I lost sight of him for a second and he—Bam, no…" he bends on his knees, resting his hands on his sides to drag him back and help you to free yourself. "Did - did he hurt you?!"

"Don't worry, he didn't, I'm fine." You deliver him a small smile before focusing again on his dog, still using you as a perch but attention fixed to his owner. "So, you're Bam. Such a cute name," you comment, cupping his muzzles with both hands. "He's pretty energetic."

The boy stares at you intensely -as if he just zoned out. His eyes grow bigger when your brows arch for his sudden mutism. "Ah, he is. He's still a puppy." He pats his back. "I instructed him, but he gets pretty excited when he's interested in someone new." He swallows when his shaky stare, hidden behind some orange sunglasses, engulfs into your own, amused. 

"Don't think he was interested in me—" your words melt into a chuckle when Bam taps his nose on your cheek (Jungkook's lips curve in a beaming smile). "He was trying to make friends with Moonie. But, well… he prefers being on his own." You give a little nod toward your pet, still peacefully resting under the bench, mouth ajar and tongue sticking out. 

"Oh, it's true… you've a dog too." He places the plastic bag on the bench, crouching down. "You - you live across from me. He usually spends his days outside, resting on the steps." He shakes his head before your stretched lips. "I - I'm not spying on you or anything. It's - it's just that your house is close to mine, so it's easy to notice - notice things." Words tumble off in a messy rush, fingers curling around the hem of his harem pants. 

A burst of tenderness gushes out of your heart. You suddenly feel guilty for the anxiety that wrapped you a few minutes earlier, overwhelmed by the rumours circulating about him; actually… you feel bad for the fact that some rumours started in the first place. 

A small, reassuring smile blooms on your lips. "It's ok, don't worry." 

A muscle twitches in jaw, but your comment is helpful enough to make him relax. He catches a breath before resting his arms on his thighs, curling his lips and snapping his tongue to catch your dog's attention. High-pitched words fly out his mouth, followed by a giggle when Moonie finally crawls out his hiding spot, sniffing his hand. 

Now that you think of it, despite the many occasions your paths intertwined, you never stopped to seriously talk to each other -you probably shared a comment or two about the weather when you served him at the restaurant, but that's that. And yet, this boy exudes so much quietness he makes you feel at ease, like he's always lived here. 

Taking advantage of his sudden distraction and the stillness of this very moment, without clients calling you back and forth for you to take their orders, without the loud laughters and chattering plaguing the atmosphere, you take your time to finally look at him: the baseball cap he's wearing, worn backwards, permits you to take a glimpse only of his dark undercut, but the bits of mint hair that don't fit fall over his forehead in thin waves; his ears are adorned with piercings that run all along the shell -three dangling earrings on the only visible portion you can get from your position, one on the upper part; his infamous doe eyes are hidden behind orange sunglasses that match with the loose-fitting, bright yellow t-shirt he's wearing. Tattoos of various shapes and dimensions decorate his right arm, black ink branching on his honey-like skin and intertwining with the bluish veins arousing from the back of his hand, covered with gothic letters with no meaning to you… 

He's arguably a bit flamboyant, but rumours aren't generous with him: he's the typical city boy who shows up here for the holidays, flaunting a stylish look that gets considered eccentric by the majority of inhabitants who never stuck their noses out of the borders of the village. But to you, it feels like being thrown back to your halcyon, hectic days in Seoul -surrounded by so many variegated people you couldn't tell what was extravagant and what's not anymore. 

This boy...  He pinches the nostalgia you tend to cocoon you when you feel smothering, making it hard to forget about a past you decided to forget. 

You realize you're intensely gawking at him only when he gazes toward you, lips curled in a way that emphasizes the small hoop running along the right corner of his mouth. 

"Oh—" he takes off his sunglasses and cap in a rush, raking his fingers through the flat hair sticking to the roots to fix it. "S-sorry, I should've taken them off earlier." 

"Ah, I don't mind what you're wearing." You rub a hand on your face, snorting a laugh. "Sorry, it sounded so bad. I just wanted to say—"

He chuckles (a nice chuckle, actually). "I got it, it's ok… thanks." He moistens his lips, teeth torturing the bottom in a rhythmic pace. “I'm J-Jeon Jungkook, anyway.” 

The corners of your mouth quiver a little before quirking up, shaping your mouth in a type of soft smile that wasn't blooming on your face for a while. “I'm (Y/N)...” you're about to apologize for staring at him earlier like he was an alien, but his next comment makes words wither in the back of your throat. 

"I know," he scratches his crimson nape. "You - you work at Min's restaurant. Ahm, people often call you by your name, so I - I sort of learned it."

You swallow, mentally listing once more all the warnings that Seokjin's mother desperately tried to instill in your brain. “Oh, you remember about me…"

He nods, voice escaping in a soft blow. “How could I not?” His eyes grow bigger before your arched brows, like he just realized what he said. “I – I mean, I noticed you because you ignore me.” A small pout tugs at his lips, brows snapping together. He reminds you of your little ones when they try to speak English but words just don't come out. Then, frustration melts in a small giggle. "The other day, you offered me a cookie shaped like a bunny. I felt so bad eating it because it was so - so cute but then I was starving and I didn't feel like cooking and so—" his recount, mumbled in a sheepish rush, fades in the effervescent sound of your airy chuckle. 

You are aware you're going to look pretty rude for interrupting in this way, but you couldn't refrain yourself. The way his fingers flicker in the air; the way his words bounce upon the embarrassment; his red cheekbones… he was hilarious, in a good way that tickled your heart and made a burst of laughter bubble in your throat. 

And it's so… weird, that piping hot warmth expanding in your chest like a balloon. It's weird and nice, you weren't feeling it for a while. 

The muscles around your mouth and the jaw hurt as if they never knew how to do such a simple and natural act. 

It takes you a few seconds to turn to him, aware that your demeanor might have offended him. You're expecting a frown of disappointment, a childish pout, a scrunch in his nose; and yet, when you turn, there's no trace of annoyance dancing across his features. Actually, his lips are morphed in a smile and you notice a proud set in his straightened shoulders, as if he was satisfied with making you laugh.

"Sorry, it's just that you—" you stop (telling him you find him adorable would only embarrass him more). "Ahm, we keep apologizing, apparently… but, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

“You didn't." He hooks his fingers under Moonie's chin, scratching it. "Min's restaurant is a nice place, though. Probably my favorite restaurant—well, it's not like there's not many choices. But they make some great meat, and Min Noona is very sweet. She doesn't - doesn't look at me like I'm some kind of criminal."

“She is…” you lower your stare, guilt washes you from head to toes for all the times you laughed when people referred to him as 'odd' or whatever other epithet. "I'm sorry they’re giving you a hard time. People here are usually very nice but, you know, nothing happens around here. A new person in town is an extraordinary event."

He scrunches his nose. "It's been a month already."

You move your leg backward when Bam finally loosens the grip around it. He rotates on his spot before bowing a little, inviting you to play with him. You hesitate, but Jungkook isn't paying any attention to the pair of you, too busy focusing on your dog. You chew on your bottom lip, grabbing a small rock before tossing it toward the seesaw. Bam runs after it, barking. 

"Also… there are so many tourists who look like me," he points out, irritated.

"Yeah, well… but they usually come and go. They don't stay…" your eyes crinkle in the corner when he turns to you, skeptic. "You see you'll get used to it."

He shrugs. "I don't care. I'll leave at the end of August anyway." Jungkook turns to Moonie, whistling. 

You swallow, taking notice of Bam dashing toward you two with the corner of your eye. He bows again, back wiggling mid-air. "You'll leave a big void in their lives when you'll go away, you know?" You can't explain why, but there's a warm sense of solace by knowing that he won't stay here too long. 

Jungkook laughs, front teeth now exposed (Yoongi told you he looks like a cute bunny when he chuckles at the utmost of his happiness. He was right. And, yes, Yoongi used the word 'cute' to describe him -your friend is a softie in disguise, after all). 

You press your palm on the bench to help yourself stand up. You bend your knees a little to stretch before plopping down on the wooden seat, recollecting a stone. You swing it in the air to catch Bam's attention before throwing it behind his back. You move closer to the corner when Jungkook imitates you, sitting on the other side. He rests his elbows on his thighs and hunches his back over, giggling when Moonie tries to nudge his face.

In this position, his arms seem more toned (of course, you don't stare long enough to ascertain that he's beefy as your brain claims it to be).

"Ahm, about earlier… I didn't mean to stare. But you've got some nice tattoos… they're pretty." 

Jungkook lifts his right arm up, rotates it a little to reveal other drawings. "Thanks! I always dreamed about getting one… and when I finally turned twenty, I got my first." He stares at them, fondly. "I didn't plan to get so many but, well… almost three years have passed and I'm still thinking of getting some more."

Almost three years… you do a little calculation and—oh God, you hope Yoongi and Seokjin will NEVER get to know that Jungkook is twenty three years old. They'd start telling you that a toyboy is a gift of destiny for you to escape from the winter of your existence… 

Jungkook tilts his head to the side, curious about your sudden mutism -and the round eyes. And the stretched lips. "What?" 

You snap back down to reality, shaking your head. "No, it's just… I wonder what a young boy like you is doing here." You fondly observe Bam resting his muzzle on his left thigh, while Moonie is using the opposite one like a pillow. 

"Discovering the true meaning of life?" Or, more simply: holiday." Jungkook stares at you through his lashes, waiting. It feels like he's waiting for you to submerge him with dozens of questions; and, although you're pretty tempted to question him about his life, the fact that he seems to like your lack of interest in him is enough to smother every curiosity. So, Jungkook darts you a glance brimmed with gratitude before going back to focusing on your pets. 

For the past minutes, you keep talking about your dogs and other small talks you'd usually have with random tourists. It's just when Bam rests his paws on his forearms that Jungkook calls it a night. 

"Ok, ok, you wanna go, mh?" He says, in a high-pitched voice that has your heart squealing for the cuteness. He lifts his legs up a bit for the dogs to inch away, then he stands up, cleaning his harem pants. "It's better if I go." 

You nod, patting a hand on your side to catch Moonie's attention. He approaches you, sitting down close to you, and your hand immediately runs to caress his head. 

“Ahm…” Jungkook's fingers grip at the piercing on his eyebrow, his teeth clamp to the bottom lip. "It's been nice - nice to talk to you, (Y/N)." He wears his cap backwards and his sunglasses, bowing a little

"Yeah, me too, Jungkook-ssi.”

Jungkook smiles, a dimple appears on his right cheek…

Namjoon had two dimples on both sides...

You really think so. You really think that it's been nice to talk to him. 

“My soul has travelled long and far to find yours”

Showing up a month late to your neighbour's house to welcome him in town isn't very polite. Actually, showing up only two days after a random conversation you shared in the park speaks volume about the fact that you're just trying to clear your conscience -and it also makes you feel pretty stupid, considering the ten years gap between the pair of you (even though he still doesn't know about this tiny detail, mh).

However, Jungkook's sheepish words kept you company throughout these days (seeping through all those thoughts that usually fill your mind from the very first second you crack your eyes open to the last time you flicker your eyelids down) and you thought… you thought that there's nothing wrong in giving some rice cakes to someone.

You thought that Namjoon would have been delighted to meet the newcomer. He'd offer him some tea; he'd passionately described the numerous sightseeings that make this place a small diamond cuddled by the mountains.

You thought… that this is the first time that you think about a man (a boy?) who isn't Namjoon...

Chewing on your bottom lip, you travel those few steps that separate you from the entrance. You tighten the paper bag against your breast while climbing up the couple of worn-out steps, heart getting stuck in your ribcage when you're finally across the wooden door. Your trembling hand flickers toward the doorbell but some pop music flowing from the windows left ajar makes an alarm bell ring in your head: you're going to bother him. 

Jungkook said he's here on holiday, clearly emphasizing that he appreciated the fact that you paid him little attention… His friendly conversation was just an act of courtesy, not an invitation to step inside his routine. 

You sigh, shaking your head. This is ridiculous! You aren't doing anything bad! You're just going to give him these damn rice cakes, wish him goodnight, and forget about him! 

A line appears between your knitted brows as you push the doorbell, hand running to curl around the hem of your frayed sweater. Calm down, relax… You're just going to give him this welcoming gift and go back to your usual, eventless days made of the same, redundant things and faces and names—!

A sudden bark sound coming from the inside snaps you back down to reality, and your muscles tense all at once. Anxiety tugs at your stomach when you hear Jungkook's muffled voice floating back to you, trying to hush his dog. You swallow, trying to ignore the mild queasiness brewing in your stomach.

You tuck some hair behind your ear (the holes closed up, you stopped wearing earrings. You loved wearing earrings…), trying to fix the messy tail sloping on a side. You rub a knuckle to the corner of your eye, paying attention to not smear the makeup -only to remember that it's been a long while since you've brushed some eyeshadow on your eyelids. 

It dawns on you the realization that you're a breathing disaster. I mean… you planned to come here to give him a gift, and you didn't even make an effort to look presentable. On the other hand, though, he already saw you a billion times at your worst when you work at Min's restaurant or you simply wander through the town, so he should be used by now to the feeble dark circles and the unstyled hair. Also, why do you care so much about your physical appearance? You aren't here to flaunt your pretty facade. You're just here to give him some cookies and—!

"Hello?" The door opens all of a sudden to reveal Jungkook, a little frown between his brows and a veil of annoyance in his somber stare. As soon as he takes in the sight of you, though, surprise fills his big eyes, and pulls up the corners of his mouth. "(Y/N), hi—oh!" He clings to the door when Bam runs between his legs to approach you, resting his paws against your lap. "Bam, no! Aish…" he sighs, scratching his hair. 

"Don't scold him, it's ok." You hold the bag with your arm, using your free hand to pat the top of his muzzle. You gaze up at Jungkook, noticing some stains of cream paint on his right cheek and his baggy t-shirt. "Sorry for intruding. Maybe you were busy…"

He shakes his head vigorously, fingers curling tightly around the doorframe. "No, no... You aren't. I'm just - just painting and—" he spares a quick glance to his own outfit, toes curling in a pair of worn-out sandals. "Did - did you need anything?"

You scrutinize his face to search for any trace of frustration for showing up here so abruptly, but only a muscle twitches in his clenched jaw. He seems… embarrassed, as if you interrupted him in a private moment. You give a quick glance to his grey bermuda shorts (ignore the long stretch of his legs, ignore it) , reminding yourself that he's a 23-year-old and you're butting into his free time, after dinner, without any warning. 

You swallow, wishing for a hole to open beneath your feet and suck you into the center of the world. "I… I went to the pastry shop and I thought I could buy you something. Ahm, you know, give you some sort of belated welcoming present." Your attempt of a smile quivers when you hand him out the paper bag. Your arms fall along your sides, numb. 

After a brief moment of surprise, he opens it in a rush (he resembles one of your little students when they open a birthday present, all excited and forgetful about the surroundings). 

You caress Bam behind his ear, amused by the stretch of Jungkook's lips as he glimpses inside the bag. "Yoongi-chi told me you always buy them—ahm, you know, the cashier at the supermarket during the morning shift. The man with small eyes who always seems on the verge of setting fire to the town," you explain before the crack of confusion crossing his face, nervously chuckling. 

He seems to zone out for a second, nodding soon after. "Oh, yeah… the guy who works at Min's restaurant." 

"Mhm, him! Ms Min is his mother. He gives her a hand every night."

Jungkook rests against the doorframe. "He's kind. He always give me some meat more." He lets out a giggle, tiny wrinkles appear close to the tip of his scrunched nose. 

"Yeah, he's very kind… just, don't tell him, ok? He's pretty affectionate to his tough facade." You let out a sigh when Jungkook's laugh floats in the air, melting away your apprehension. "Anyway… he said that you like rice cakes and—we didn't want to intrude, of course, it's just… you know, the town is small and everyone knows everything." Then, as if this could save face, you add, "These ones are more tasty. Our pastry shop is pretty renowned here… sure, it's also the only pastry shop we have, but you got what I meant."

He munches the corner of his mouth, amused. "It's ok. I like - like them a lot. Thanks." His eyes crinkled in the corners are two half-moons that don't match with the dim smile he's now giving you. 

You can't interpret it, but something in the way his feet are angled toward the side tells you that it's probably for the best to close curtains on this awkward bracket you opened by force and finally leave. 

You catch a breath. "Well, I leave you alone." You gently guide Bam's paws to the ground, stroking his head one last time. "Good night—"

"Stay…" Jungkook's voice wafts over you like a breeze that has the thin hair on your nape rising up. He seems to register what's just tumbled off his tongue -the way he said it; the deepness of his voice; his hand stretches toward you as if he had to grab you. He scratches his cheekbone. "I - I mean, you don't have to go away. I can - can offer you a tea or a beer—no, mom says I shouldn't offer beer, it's not nice," he mumbles, blushing. "We… can eat the rice cakes."

You smile. You prefer going back home. "No need to follow the rule of good neighbourliness, Jungkook-ssi."

He pauses, pats his hand on his own toned thigh to catch Bam's attention (for the record, you didn't look at his thigh long enough to actually realize that it's toned). "I'm not…" the left corner of his mouth quirks up. "I really want to eat rice cakes with you, (Y/N)." He gives you a little nod, like he wanted to emphasize his proposal more. 

Somewhere, deep down in the abyss of your chest, panic starts to brew. 

You can't stay. 

You've got so many things to do. You've to… to clean the kitchen. You've a basket full of clothes to fold and iron. And you've to… your thumb brushes over your wedding ring. You've to finish reading the myryad of books that Namjoon bought and didn't read. You twirl your ring around your finger. You've to sit on the veranda in the backyard and stargaze alongside Moonie.  You've to fix the bookshelf because it's so full of Namjoon's books that it practically curved down for the weight. You're about to pull out the ring, you push it back. 

You've to go back to your home, to your solitude...

But Jungkook opens the door wide and steps backward to let you walk in, waiting. And he's got this sheepish smile. He's got these bright eyes full of expectation...

You feel weak in your knees as you take the first step inside, heart plummeting in your stomach when the door closes behind your back. You take in a breath, a good scent of softener caresses your nostrils.

Ok. Now that you're here, you can't go back. Sure, you can come up with a random excuse about the oven left on; or that you can't leave Moonie all alone for too long; or that you're tired and you'd prefer going back home to rest… but you'd just end up humiliating him. You breathe in, ignoring the silly fluttering thing your heart is doing in your chest. You can stay for a very few minutes, accept a glass of water and then go away-!

"Oh…" Bam nuzzles the back of your knee before moving in front of you, standing up to rest his paws on your stomach, barking for some cuddles. "You really are affectionate, mh." You cup his muzzle, grazing it with your thumbs. "You said he's still a puppy?"

He nods. "He was so small when I brought it with me at home, a few months ago." He moves his hands to describe his size, the paper bag dangerously swings mid-air. "But Dobermans tend to grow up fast." He blinks twice, like a sudden thought just crossed his mind. "Did you leave Moonie at home?"

You avert his stare. "Yeah, he didn't want to go out." Moonie is laying down on the floor, right in front of the locked door of Joonie's studio. Waiting. 

You rotate your shoulders to get rid of shivers, taking a look around to distract yourself. The inside of old Kim's house is... different from the mental pictures you cherish in a corner of your mind, and this new scent of softener and paint clenches with the poignant stuffy smell you associate with this place. 

"We were pretty surprised when someone came to live here," you start, feeling his stare boring through your skin. "Are you related to the old Kim's, by chance?" 

He shakes his head, glancing around. "My best friend, Taehyung… he is their grandson." He proceeds toward the small coffee table, placing the paper bag on it. "I was going through a hard time lately and he told me to spend some time here to, like, clear my mind? He said the peacefulness here might be helpful."

"Is it helping you?"

He chuckles, his shoulder blades adhere to the shirt as he flexes his spine. "No, actually it isn't." He scratches the back of his nape, tip of his ears tinged with a reddish hue. 

You swallow back in your throat the knot of questions you'd like to ask him about his life; about the various twists and turns that lead him here; about that ounce of sadness that seems to tugs at the corner of his eyes if he mentions about his past… but you quieten down the feverish excitement in your head, convincing yourself that it's useless to get to know better someone who's going to leave soon and that you won't see anymore. 

"Did you furnish it?" You inquiry, taking off your shoes. 

Jungkook's eyes widen a little, a glint of gratitude floats into them for the sudden change of topic. "A bit, yeah. Taehyung told me to do what I want, but… you know, this isn't my home. I fear I might ruin it." He inhales sharply through his nose. "But I sent him some pictures and he likes how I painted the walls! He also mentioned about paying me but I don't think it's nice to take advantage of him." He flashes you a smile that reveals his front, bunny-like teeth.

You stare at the cream walls, at the paint cans tidily piled up on a cloth. "Last time we came here, there was a terrible wallpaper—ahm, don't tell your friend about the terrible wallpaper."

He sneers, placing his hand upon his chest. "I promise. This will be our little secret." He flickers two fingers in the air, a silent way to tell you to follow him to the living room. "Did you know Tae's grandparents?"

You're right behind me, paying attention to not bump into Bam, who scampers between the pair of you. "No. It was already inhabited when we moved here, three years ago." You wait for him to grab some magazines and comics scattered on the sofa to make some room for you. 

"We?" He puts them on a couch, up to some wrinkled hoodies. 

You lower your head to hide the curve of tenderness etching itself on your face. The mess in the room reminds you that Jungkook is a 23-year-old who wasn't waiting for any visitor (but it also reminds you Yoongi, dozens of shoes gathered at the entrance; it reminds you of Joonie's studio, all the notes randomly piled up on his desk; paintings he had to hang on the walls abandoned in the corner. Artistic people apparently love chaos). 

Your fingers run to caress your wedding ring. "Me and my husband." 

Jungkook gazes over you, stiffening. "Ah, yeah...  I noticed the ring." A thick silence follows his comment, and you expect him to come up with an excuse to make you leave. Instead, he turns toward you in a rush, goggle-eyed. "Wait… how old are you?!" 

"Thirtythree." This little number tumbles off your tongue with hesitation, leaves a bitter taste in the back of your throat -even though you can't explain why. You've never cared much about your age. It's just a number, it doesn't identify you. But being all alone with Jungkook, ten years younger than you… well, you start to care about it. 

"Thirtythree…" he mumbles. He doesn't seem… uncomfortable. Actually, there's a spark of excitement in his wide eyes that has your stomach twirling. "You look younger. I always - always thought we were around the same age." 

"Disappointed?" You ask, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

You expect a grin; a chuckle; something that would make you understand that he isn't taking this conversation with too much seriousness. But, despite every gloomy prediction, he delivers you this gentle smile that punches the breath out of you. "No. I've always liked older - older women." He chews on his bottom lip, sizing you up.

You swallow, avoiding his stare. Is he... flirting? Nah, he isn't. He can't. Imagine if he'd ever flirt with you -especially tonight, when you dressed up in the dark. And, anyway, you don't care about it!

"Ahm, anyway… Once, Moonie ran here to chase after a cat so we came here to pick him up. It was pretty… crumbling." You observe Bam nuzzling against Jungkook's side, searching for some attention. The boy shifts his hand behind his ear, stroking it. "You did a great job, really. It's more… cozy."

He inhales sharply through his nose, a proud set in his shoulders (you don't notice the line of his pecs adhering against the shirt, you don't). He pats Bam's head one last time before reaching the small kitchen, visible from your position. "You can sit. I'll be back in a minute."

As you contemplate his retracting figure, your mind drifts back home. You really have to go. You've so many things to take care of. It doesn't seem right to stay here, chatting with a boy ten years younger than you that you don't even know. But Jungkook opens the fridge to take a drink and from your position, you're able to notice all the packages of banana milk or chocolate milk disposed on the higher shelf, amidst bottles of water and beer. 

A burst of tenderness rips your chest apart. Jungkook looks like a rebel, an aloof and unapproachable guy who could mess up the quietness of the town; but it's just surface. You're sure there's so much more in him, if people would give him a chance...

"You must really love it…" you nod toward the packages of milk, smiley. 

The tip of his ears is red. "I do, since I was little. Mom was desperate, it was the only thing I drank." He giggles, glancing at you. "What would you like to drink? I'd offer you a beer, but it sounds bad?" He ruffles his mint hair, showing it back a couple of times with both hands. 

Namjoon offered you blueberry tea, the first time he invited you to his place. He broke a mug, taking them out from the cupboard. He gave you one chipped on the edge, apologizing for his clumsiness. You fell in love a little more with him. . 

"I… can't stay much. I've got, ahm, things to do…" you mumble, sinking in his eyes veiled with… disillusion. You catch a small breath, lips unfurling in a dim smile. "But a beer is ok."

The beer becomes two. 

You're still holding back, the alcohol isn't helping you to loosen up; but you're more chatty, and way more open to make a joke (still, you aren't tipsy enough to emulate one of Jin's awful puns yer -thank God). Jungkook, too, isn't giving in to drunkenness; his face is flushed, red spots are scattered along his neck, words fly out his mouth accompanied with giggles, but he's careful to not delve into conversations that could lead the pair of you to something more intimate. 

Both of you float on the surface making small talks, chatting about your dogs, how you educated them when they were two small puppies. He recounts about the nice people he met while wandering through the village, or the weird tourists he encountered while hiking on the mountain; you tell him about the hiking trails you used to cross, and other places he should visit while being here.

It's easy, it isn't demanding. 

Until Jungkook digs more into your acquaintance...

"So, you weren't born here." He's on the sofa with an arm resting on the backrest, one leg folded on the cushion, the other stretched over the edge. He keeps the bottle of beer on his thigh, there's a ring of water on the fabric. 

You mention your hometown, how you spent your days with your family there. Briefly, of course, omitting the embarrassing moments that still catch you off guard when your mental shields are down. Then...

"Then I came to Seoul to study, and I worked there for a few years after graduating. We moved here… three years ago." You stare at Bam, peacefully napping on a cushion at Jungkook's feet. "Joonie, ahm, my husband, he wanted to live in a quiet place. It's always been his dream…" you take a sip of beer, in a poor attempt to swipe away the bitter taste this brief anecdote leaves on the back of your throat. "He used to teach in a high school, and requested a transfer up here as soon as there was an available place. He teaches literature in the local high school." You bite your tongue, feeling like you've spilled way too much information. 

His stare widens, mouth hanging open like he couldn't keep at bay his surprise. "And you followed him?" 

You chuckle brightly after a moment of astonishment, you feel Jungkook's eyes slowly caressing the gentle stretch of your neck through his lashes (it's the beer, for sure). "Of course, I did! I couldn't leave my husband here alone while staying in Seoul."

He vigorously shakes his head, munching the corner of his mouth. "No - no, well—of course you couldn't. But, I mean…" he moves his hand in the air, hands flickering in the air as he is trying to collect his thoughts. "I mean, you had a job and… well, dreams? Did… did you really want to come here?" 

Your eyes shake a little before the curiosity dancing across his features. "We talked about it." You talked about it a lot. For days. For nights. Joonie never imposed his decision. He just touched upon his desire to move far away from the city… and you thought it might be a nice idea. 

He scrunches his nose and mouths a curse before lowering his head, brushing his tattooed hand on his forehead. "Sorry, it's not my business." He stretches to put the bottle on the coffee table. His hand lays on Bam's head to stroke it a couple of times before laying it on his lap. 

"I… had some dreams that made me decide to move to Seoul. But, as I grew, things started to change," you analyze, taking a closer look to those areas of yourself you stopped listening to many years ago. "I don't know, having a quiet life and a nice job seemed enough while I was growing up. They still are, actually." You sink in his somber stare for a brief moment, delivering him a dim smile. "Boring adult stuff, you know."

A little frown of disappointment cracks between his knitted brows. "I know what you're talking about." Judging by the firmness in his voice, he seems offended for being treated like a young boy who can't grasp your feelings and reasonings; and yet, that small pout does nothing but accentuate his juvenile attitude -which is a good thing, because it keeps you grounded. You think he'd come up with an excuse for you to go home, but instead he adds, "Don't you miss the city?"

"A bit… actually, I miss the friends I left there more." Hoseok is the only one you still talk to. Not as assiduously as you used to do before Joonie left you. The other people are just sporadic texts full of emoji sitting in your inbox, or seldom wishes during the holidays. Words bubble up in your throat when you meet his glance, feeling this urge to justify your presence here despite your young age. "I love staying here, anyway." 

He nods, thumb brushing over the gothic letterings scattered on his fingers. "This town is beautiful. And everything seems so… relaxed? Like time flew slowly…" he points his finger toward the window, the garden immersed in the dark tells you that you should go home. You don't move. "Every morning, I go running down to the mountains. Once I arrived at the beginning of a hiking trail and the scenery was so… breathtaking." Gentleness tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I get why you love living here."

You divert your stare, eyes crinkling in the corner. "Where do you live, instead?" You change the subject, hoping that he won't ask you further about the true reasons that keep you here. 

Jungkook stiffens, like he wasn't expecting you to question him about himself. "Busan," he says, vaguely, stare fixed to his toes. "Then I went to Seoul to study at Yonsei University."

"Oh, that's cool! And what are you studying?"

"I studied filmography." His voice gets weaker. "I dropped halfway through the year, though." He scratches his crimson ear, paying attention to not look at you straight at your face. There's a note of shame that tugs at your heart in a painful grip, like he already faced this conversation and feared you might judge his decision. 

You're surprised, indeed -but you always are when it comes to students abandoning their choices in the middle of their path -after all, you've spent many years side by side with Joonie, who was surrounded by talented students who broke his heart with their decision to give up. 

A million questions cross your mind. Why did he drop off? Was it too hard? Didn't he like it? Did he understand this wasn't what he wanted to do in his life? You extirpate them, though. Jungkook looks so small, squashed by the weight of the silence settled upon you.

"Will you go back to Busan, when you'll leave? Like, dunno, did you have a job there?"

Jungkook gazes back at you with shaky eyes filled with gratitude, corners of his mouth pulled up. "I had a few jobs here and there, after leaving college. You know, I don't like staying in the same place for too long. But before coming here, I was working in a supermarket close to home. You know, my parents hated to see me doing nothing all day. I - I mean, it's not like I was lazy or - or anything, but it's hard to be hired as an employee when you only finished high school and you have zero experience." He rubs the piercing on his brow. "I'll probably go back and search for a job. Or maybe I'll go back to studying. I'm still confused… Right now, I'm planning to go to Jeju with my best friends at the end of August. Then, we'll see…" he catches a breath. "What about you? Oh, that's so dumb, you work at Min's restaurant." He slaps a hand on his forehead, giggling. 

"That. But I'm an elementary school teacher, actually." Tenderness shapes your lips, as all the memories shared with your littles ones echo back to mind. 

He frowns. "I thought… so, the job at the restaurant is a front?" He asks, amused. And confused. 

"It's a… diversion? Sort of…" you avoid his stare brimmed with confusion, staring at your wedding ring. "I… I've been through a rough time lately, and Ms Min suggested I could work for her. You know… to keep my mind busy." You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling the area around your eyes swell up. "She can't afford to pay me, but I don't mind. They've been all so nice to me, I like helping them…"

Jungkook looks at you, intensely, as if he'd like to open your skull to understand why you're working for free. Then, his stare lays on Bam, who perked his ears up for some dogs barking in the distance. "It must be nice, knowing anyone, being here for one another…" he slowly glances at the Marvel clock that reads 11:00 PM, then his attention drifts to your ring. "Won't your husband be worried about you being out till late?"

There's no judgement in his voice, nor he seems bored by your presence here. Actually, there's a light vibration that you can't catch -but it makes you want to run back home. 

"He… doesn't live here anymore, don't worry." Your muscles tense all at once, pain squeezes your heart. 

"How—" his eyes grow bigger. "Ah, I'm sorry. I'm deeply sorry, I—" his hand runs to squeeze the tattooed arm. "I know how it feels when you divorce—I mean, not - not personally. Jimin's parents did, ahm, my childhood friend. It was… awful. And sad." He scratches his red cheekbone. "I'm sorry, Noona…"

Divorce...

It's quite convenient that Jungkook interpreted things in his own way. You should tell him the truth, though. You don't. 

"We… didn't exactly divorce. It's complicated." You deliver him a smile that doesnt the reach your eyes. "I'm fine, though. It's been half a year now, I'm getting used to it."

You aren't...

You suddenly feel the urge to leave this place -Jungkook. You already shared too much with a stranger; and what's worse, a weak voice begs you to talk to him a little more. You can't give to the vulnerable part of you. You can't. "But it's quite late, anyway. It's better if I go—"

Jungkook shifts on his spot, stretches forward as if he'd like to stop you. "(Y/N), I'm sorry, I—I didn't want to—"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Jungkook-ssi, it's ok." You stand up, putting the beer on the small coffee table. "It's just… it's late, and Moonid isn't used to staying alone for so long." You brush your hands along your sides, noticing Bam staring at you. "Hey, you… we woke you up?" You crouch down to caress him under his ears, smiling for his eyes shining bright.

Jungkook stays still, you notice the muscles in his legs flexing for your proximity. But still, he doesn't move. You refrain yourself from looking up, aware that the first thing you'd see would be his crotch, considering his position. 

You exhale a chuckle when the dog nuzzles your palm. "Ok, now I really have to go." You stand up, feeling uncomfortable for Jungkook's stare -for suddenly remembering that there's a ten years gap between the pair of you. "Thanks for the beer. Ahm, good night." You approach the door and put back on your shoes before Jungkook could actually stand up and accompany you to the entrance. 

"Thank you for coming here!" His voice wafts over you in a gentle hum, it makes you stay on the doorframe with a foot already outside. "We… should do it again, Noona. It was a lot of fun." There's a soft smile dancing across his features when you gaze over your shoulder and Jungkook seems so manly… and so young. 

He's over there, standing, broad shoulders and thick thighs and toned legs and strong arms… and fingers clenching around the hem of his shirt; and sadness pulling down his brows; and expectation floating in his doe eyes…

The urge to tell him that you don't want this to grow into something deeper that could plant roots in your routine swells on your tongue… but Jungkook is delicate and his eyes shine brighter than the stars covering the nocturnal sky.

You nod. And smile. And say, "See you soon, Jungkook-ssi." 

You don't want to shatter that small beauty that is Jungkook's peacefulness. 

"But I love your feet only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind, and upon the waters, until they found me"

Mornings are the hardest part of the day.

The second you crack your eyes open, reality cascades upon you like a bucket of icy water. It drenches your muscles and bones, until they calcify. Weighs upon your chest so hard it's difficult to get up, to breathe (to live). Some mornings, you just want to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. Some mornings, you wonder why certain people go, and why certain people stay. Some mornings just don't make sense at all.

Some mornings, it feels like Namjoon is still here, beside you. With his tired smiles; his eyes shaped with love; his whole soul shining and making your life a bit brighter… and those times, days make much more sense -to the point that you fear that just one wrong movement could make you forget about him. 

If it wasn't for Moonie, who reminds you that you still have to take care of another being and not just yourself, you'd give in to your sad, penetrating thoughts. 

However, there are times in which you feel the urge to get off your bed and gulp all the fresh air your lungs can take. 

Today, it's one of those days. 

  You slowly open your eyes, feeling the warmth of the sunlight kissing your skin. Before you, a pristine lawn unfurls itself in an ocean of green that meets the light blue of the sky, surrounded by a blanket of mountains that touch the clouds. 

You often used to spend your free time in this wide valley, resting against the giant tree that naturally signs the vicinity of the first expert hiking itineraries. It's a thirty minutes walk from the beginning of the path, but the beautiful view is worth the foot-ache. You're glad to see that in all those months of absence, nothing changed. 

You gaze down when Moonie stretches toward you, mouth open and tongue sticking out. You pat a hand on your thigh, inviting him to use you like a cushion. He rests his head upon your lap, big round eyes fixed on the thick layer of trees in the distance. 

"You missed coming here too, mh?" You graze the top of his head, resting comfortably against the tree. 

You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath of air, stretching your arms. Talking with Jungkook about all the wonderful sightseeings he's discovering every day, and that made you fall in love with this town, reminded you how much you enjoyed waking up at 6:00 AM to take a stroll around on your own, letting Namjoon sleep. 

It was one of the rare moments in which you could finally be yourself -just (Y/N), not Kim Namjoon's wife or the "school teacher".

Also… and this is really hard to metabolize, but you felt too excited to lay in your bed. Since the night of small-talks you shared with Jungkook a couple of days ago, adrenaline has been brewing in your veins, preventing you from focusing on your routine as you used to do. 

You inhale sharply through your nose, the air is so fresh you feel your chest swelling up. Moonie wiggles out of your feeble embrace, perking his head up as he pins his round eyes to the horizon across from him. You pay little attention to his behaviour, certain that a wild animal or a tourist caught his attention. Your eyelids flutter up when he starts barking, though, mostly to make sure that he doesn't start dashing toward whatever disturbed your quietness. 

Scrunching your nose, you follow the trajectory of his stare, espying a figure standing still at a few meters from you. From that position, it's hard to pinpoint who that person might be -a tourist? One of your neighbors? A maniac? For sure, he's gazing back at you, and anxiety rings in your head like an alarm bell. 

You're about to stand up and walk away when the stranger starts swinging an arm in the air like a flag. "Hello, Noona!" The person shouts. 

And with just one greeting, you understand that he isn't a random tourist (or a creep). 

"Jungkook…" his name flies out your mouth in a soft whisper, brought to surface by a stab in your ribcage. It's impossible for him to hear your feeble voice from that distance and in fact, he doesn't dare to approach you. He's… respectful, somehow. Respectful of the natural distance between two strangers. Respectful of the years of void that float in between like a silent ghost. 

Now… a greeting doesn't mean anything. If you pay him back in kindness, it's not like Jungkook will step into your life like a hurricane; and yet, a sense of discomfort sets in your lungs, while a faint voice tells you to not give in to the curiosity that inevitably drags you toward him. 

Maybe you should listen to this thin voice and ignore him. You could pretend you didn't see him and wait for him to go away. If you act like you don't care about his existence, Jungkook would surely stop gravitating toward you.

However, a cold sensation cripples up your heart at the mere thought of treating him so… harshly. 

So, you raise up your arm, waving at him -way more mildly than his own gesture. 

It's probably the sign Jungkook needed to come closer because soon after, he starts running toward you. You try to stay calm, but when he finally steps in a clear field of view, you can admire his body wrapped in shorts and a tight t-shirt that emphasize way too perfectly the well-defined lines and muscles hidden under various layers of fabric (oh God, may your quivering heart survive). 

He slows down, halting himself at a few steps from you, bending on his knees to catch some big gulps of air (his thighs flex for the effort to sustain him, your fingers hitch for tracing every groove). His hair, pulled back by a hairband, falls over in damp waves, framing his face red for the run. He straightens himself, tilts the head back to catch another deep breath, ruby spots tinge his neck and you… really, you try all your best to not gawk at the contour of his pronounced pecs, or at the soft bow of his crotch. But he's standing there, with his hands on his hips, the lower part of his body stretched in your direction, and you can only contemplate him in all his glorious beauty… 

(This is all Yoongi's fault! Ms Min told him that Jin's mother told her that she saw you getting out of Jungkook's house the other night… which can only be translated as: the beginning of the end of your peacefulness. From that revelation, your friend never stopped to butter your conversations with random questions about the size of his dick; if he's good at using it; if you're going to treat your relationship seriously or you're going to let it drop before emotions could grow; or lavishing wise speeches like: "Remember, (Y/N), size isn't important. It's important how you use it". You hate him.)

"Good… morning… Noona," he greets between long sips of breath, tapping the back of his hand on his face to wash away the sweat. 

Thankfully, the suffix tumbling off his tongue reminds you that you're older than him, a ten-year gap that makes guilt tarnish every fiber of your being for indulging in a shameless contemplation of a boy and his young body. 

"Jungkook-ssi, hey. Are you out for your morning run?" You avert his stare, hoping he didn't catch you staring. "You should take advantage of your holiday and sleep a bit more." You graze Moonie under his chin. 

He takes off the hairbend, racks his fingers through his hair to separate it from the roots. "I mainly do it out of habit. I used to run every early morning back in college. I used to do boxing." He shoves the mint locks back with both hands, sweat keeps them glued to the top of his head. "And I - I tried to come late in the afternoon once, but it's packed with - with tourists. I prefer not meeting people." He scrutinizes the hairband with a little scrunch in his nose before putting it back on, the bits of hair that don't fit fall over his forehead. 

You giggle. "Ops, I ruined your peace, then."

His eyes grow wider at your playful comment, head shaking vigorously and hands fluttering in the air. "No, no, no! I wasn't talking about you! It's always nice - nice to meet you, Noona." He swallows thickly, twiddling with his eyebrow piercing. It feels like he's fighting against himself toward something you can't grasp. Then, he seems to give in, eyes shaking when they meet your own. "I… I wanted to visit you. You know, to thank you for treating me so nicely, but… but I don't think it's appropriate." His stare lays upon your wedding ring, a muscle twitches in his jaw. "You know, people here don't look kindly on me. I don't want to put - put you into trouble with them or, ahm, your husband."

The gentleness in his voice and actions makes an earthquake of tenderness explode in your guts. His respect toward you and your needs as a person (not just as someone older than him) is a force that pulls you toward him. Inevitably, like the sun surely will rise to the East. 

You swallow, thumb brushing on your ring. "Don't worry. I don't care about what others think." You avoid his stare, unable to camouflage the discomfort dancing across his features. "You can come when you want, Jungkook-ssi." You reassure him, aware that this is the usual, casual thing you say out of education -not with the real intent for it to happen. 

It's like… you know, when you meet an old acquaintance and you exchange the usual small talk and then you say: "Hey, we should meet up for a drink" aware that none of you will actually call to plan a meeting. And, pff… a twenty-three-year-old boy would never knock at your door for a coffee or a drink. Jungkook will probably prefer hanging out with people his age...

Your words seem to hearten him a little. A smile blooms on his rosy lips, his posture straightens. He lets out a long breath that he was holding up to now, darting you this look full of gratitude that makes goosebump dance along your skin.

"Hi, Moonie!" Jungkook crouches down, hands immediately cupping his muzzle, lips curling to click his tongue. 

You briefly stare at his thick thighs, muscles flexing as he adjusts his position while resting on his calves (you wonder how it'd feel to seat on them. Of course, it's just a thought, not something you'd like to do, mh). "Is Bam at home?" You ask, mainly to distract yourself from the (dangerous) exposed areas of his body.  

He nods, looking attentively at your dog. "Yeah, I prefer running without him. I - I mean, geez, I sound so awful." He giggles, slapping a hand on his face. "Ahm, the fact is… he usually chases after animals and I fear he might - might get lost. Like, I run pretty fast, but he runs faster." He scratches the back of his ear, twiddling with a dangling piercing. "I already got lost twice, when I went hiking. I wouldn't survive if something happened to him." He sits down on the grass, legs spread for Moonie to stretch out and use his lap as a cushion. Your dog lays on his legs, mouth open and tongue sticking out.  

"It happened to us too, at the beginning. You know, when you're bold and you believe you can remember the path." You stare at his tattooed hand, caressing Moonie's back. "You shouldn't go by yourself. It's dangerous."

He tilts his head to boths sides, bones cracking in the process. "I still haven't found a worthy hiking buddy." He grins, his amused stare engulfing into yours. "Do you come here often?"

"Not much." You twiddle with the folds of your long skirt. "I used to come here pretty often, actually. Then, I stopped…" 

Jungkook looks at you like someone who'd like to submerge you with a tons of questions. Thankfully, he doesn't give in to his curiosity. "And what do you like to do here?"

You pause. Then, "Nothing."

His brows snap together. "Nothing…"

You chuckle. "Yes, nothing. I just stay here napping, or reading. I sometimes play with Moonie." You tuck some hair behind your ear. "As you can see, I'm not very interesting." Feeling his skeptic stare boring through your skin, you suddenly feel the anxiety drooling away from your bones: showing this facet of yourself (the boring one; that side of you that only a very few people accept without judgements) might be the right way to keep him at a distance. 

You've this uncontrollable urge to push him away from you..

But Jungkook doesn't seem to care. He scrutinizes you, hard and long. "You're... calm." A soft smile etches itself on his face, like a flower gently opening to the first rays of sun. "You're matching with this beautiful place." He waits for a follow-up that doesn't come, shoulders crossed by shivers. 

You part your lips but not a sound escapes from them. Your brain is in total black-out. His gentle boldness catches you off guard and you don't know how to react. Is he serious? Is he playing? Is he flirting? 

His eyes crinkle in the corner before your muteness. A glint of sadness streams in his shaky eyes before he drifts his attention to Moonie, almost asleep due to his soft touch. "Well, I really need to go now. Bam doesn't like staying alone for too - too long." He carefully pulls your dog away, paying attention to not hurt him. He strokes the top of his head one last time before standing up, cleaning the back of his shorts. "It was nice to talk to you again, Noona." He bows a little, a vibrant flush spreads to the tip of his ears. "See you."

You greet him with a gesture of your hand, speechless.

You ignore the rhythmic tum tum tum produced by your heart; the goosebumps dancing along your skin. 

It's the morning cold fault. It must be. 

“You shatter my sleep All milk-need and petal lips. You smile, and I melt”

You don't expect to see Jungkook again anytime soon. 

Of course, you expect to run into him from time to time -during a walk; as you take Moonie out; while grocery shopping; at Min's restaurant; while you're taking care of your garden. There's nothing to be surprised about: the town is small, the chances to meet randomly are too high to pretend you won't meet him anymore. 

What is certain is that you don't expect him to actively cross the street and knock at your door, on a chill Tuesday night, a few minutes after dinner. 

Like a figment of your imagination that could vanish with a blink of an eye, Jungkook stands on your doormat -with a sheepish smile adorning his face, and a box in his free hand (the other holds Bam by the collar, preventing him to jump at you the moment you opened).

A mild queasiness brews in your stomach when you meet his shiny eyes -the same type of nausea that bubbles up in your throat when you step out of your home lately, hit by the realization that your lives might intertwine again. 

This thick anxiety that cripples up your heart catapults you back to the first time you took a plane to fly to Seoul, all alone, scared to death about the idea of not surviving; to the first time Joonie looked different in your eyes and you understood that your heart would beat differently only for him; to your wedding day and the gloomy conviction that you were too young to take that step; to the day you moved here, abandoning your comfort zone, jumping into an the unknown future ahead of you...

You thought you wouldn't feel like this anymore… at the mercy of your own emotions.

(At the mercy of a boy who looks at you like you were an aurora borealis made of flesh and bones…)

Your first reaction is to close the door on his nose and fly away from this place. Or you can pretend to be sick (and, like, fake your death, too). A weak voice inside of you suggests you to be direct and tell him to stop with all of this, pushing him away. 

But then, his voice wafts over you, and your heartbeat throbs in every inch of you, squelching every other sound.

"Good afternoon, Noona. Sorry for - for the late hour. I don't want to bother you." He bows a little, a single curl of mint hair falls over his forehead. "I went to buy some things this morning and I thought to bring you something. To thank you for your kindness." His features soften, cheekbones tinged with a light pink shade. "You've always been so - so gentle to me…"

You swallow. His gesture warms you. The awareness that he doesn't feel welcomed here hits you like a bucket of icy water.

"You… you didn't have to." Your fingers accidentally graze the back of his hand when he hands you out the box (goosebump kisses your skin, glides up to the back of your nape, you shiver like winter just exploded all around you.) "Thank you, really."

Jungkook hesitates, brushes his hands along his harem pants. He sometimes gazes over your shoulders, almost anticipating the appearance of someone else wandering throughout your house that could explain your docility, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. 

"Well…" he snorts a nervous chuckle, probably hit by the silence you're giving him back. "Ahm, just this. A little present, mh." His smile quivers a little, shoulders hunching over. "I leave you to your things, then. Good night—"

"Wait!"

Your heart thumps in your throat when you register your own voice lingering in the air, a high pitched request that makes him stiffen on his spot. 

"Jungkook-ssi, you can stay." You swallow, giving him a poor attempt of an encouraging smile. Noticing his hesitation, you shuffle backward, opening the door wide to let him walk in. "Stay, really. It's ok. I wasn't doing anything special." You spare a quick glance to your shabby outfit, feeling pretty embarrassed for your appearance. 

But Jungkook doesn't seem to mind what you're wearing -probably because you never judged him for the way he takes care of his own body. 

He catches a small breath before nodding. "Thanks…" he brushes past you, the good scent of softener makes you weak in your knees. You move aside as he takes off his sandals, disposing them neatly next to your gym shoes. 

"I - I hope you don't mind, but I asked for advice from Yoongi hyung since I don't - don't know your taste." He scratches the back of his red ear. "Sorry, I should've minded my own business. But he saw me pretty indecisive and—"

You chuckle. "Don't worry, Yoongi pretends to not care but he's the first to stick his nose into our affairs. In a good way, of course." You grin, picturing him sitting behind the counter all grumpy and mopey. "I wouldn't be surprised if he told you, dunno, my favorite type of condoms." You try a poor attempt of a joke to make him feel at ease, which makes you feel pretty stupid -especially for the sudden awkwardness that embraced him. Until your brain starts to get in motion, making you realize the real reason behind his embarrassment. "Oh, no… he didn't—"

"I - I didn't take him seriously!" He interrupts, shaking his hands. "I was buying them and-I mean, it's not like I have someone or anything. It's just a precaution, you know, in case I meet someone I like and—" words fade in a squelched grunt, he pokes the tip of his tongue on his cheek. "There's no - no one…"

Breath sticks in your throat. You don't know why he felt the urge to clarify it. After all, despite the brief encounters you shared, you're two strangers, and Jungkook can do whatever he wants with whoever he wants without making you part of his experiences.

"I don't care, Jungkook-ssi." You shrug, noticing the clench in his jaw. "It's your life, you don't have to tell me anything. And don't mind Yoongi-chi, he was just teasing you." You curl your fingers around the box, the light scrunch sound reminds you why he decided to show up here in the first place. "Ahm, what can I offer you? Is wine ok?" 

He nods, following you in the living room -well, Bam drags him into the living room as soon as he glimpses at Moonie, peacefully resting in front of the door of Namjoon's studio. "Bam, aish… let him alone."

"Don't worry, I think he likes his company," you comment, watching his dog rotates on his own spot before resting close to your pet, barking for attention. "You can sit there." You nod toward the small coffee table before grabbing a pair of glasses from the cupboard.

Jungkook follows your guidelines, plopping down on the seat that permits him to keep an eye on Bam. "Are you an expert of wine?" He asks, catching sight of the various bottles disposed on a shelf. 

"Not much. I just like drinking it." The tip of your ears reddens when Jungkook exhales a giggle (it gets prettier each passing day). "Seokjin does, though. He always brings some wine when he comes here—ahm, he's a friend. You already saw him, the younger cook at Min's restaurant," you specify, noticing the expression of confusion dawning on his face. 

He twiddles with his eyebrow piercing, eyes growing big. "Oh, yes. The most beautiful man in town."

You roll your eyes. "Yes, people tend to exaggerate when they talk about him."

"Actually, he introduced himself by saying this."

You let out a bright chuckle, imagining your friend introducing himself in this silly manner -there's a proud set in his shoulders when you turn to him. "Jin too tends to exaggerate when he talks about himself." You approach the table, placing the glasses in the center. You pour some wine into them, burgundy drops fall on the table already stained. 

Jungkook grabs his glass, giving you a little nod to thank you. He takes a sip, nose scrunching and tongue clicking for the bitter taste. 

You sit across from him, eyes pinned to the two dogs peacefully resting at a few steps from you, fingers twiddling with a lock of air escaping from the sloppy tail you wore before cleaning the dishes. 

You open the box he bought you, admiring the Bungeoppang perfectly aligned in it. "Mh, I adore them! Thank you!" You grab one, taking a bite. 

Jungkook giggles. "Thanks to Yoongi hyung, actually." 

A thick silence settles itself between the pair of you, preventing you from starting a conversation. You deliver a sheepish smile to each other before taking a sip of wine to keep yourselves busy. You'd like to submerge him with a lot of questions about the life he left behind in Busan or Seoul; about the many small things that crafted him into the boy he is today. But you don't know how much you can delve into his past, nor do you know which buttons you can push without making him feel uneasy.

Thankfully, while taking a look around the room, his attention drifts to a couple of photographs placed on the table between the couch and the sofa (one portraying you along with Yoongi and Seokjin, not posing, just laughing for something that Namjoon did, before he took this shot; the other picturing you and your little ones, in your classroom during the celebration of Children's day). 

He stretches a little to give it a closer look. "Are they your students?" 

You swallow the last chop of pastry, nodding. "I'll miss them a lot. They're going to start middle school after the holiday." Nostalgia tugs at the corners of your lips as you remember the last day you spent together. "But I'm excited to meet new kids. It's nice to teach them English, seeing them learn day by day…"

"Oh, English…" he mumbles, gazing at you. "I'd have learned it much more willingly if you had been my teacher." He runs the tip of his tongue on his lip piercing, his intense stare sets your guts on fire. "They look… happy. I'll bet they'll have a good memory of you. I still cherish my old elementary teacher. He was - was kind even when I made silly mistakes."

"I don't know. I hope so?" You chuckle, gazing at their bright faces. "Nobody complained until now. And they're always so nice when I meet them. To think that I didn't particularly like children when I was younger." You feel his stare boring through your skin, as if he'd like to question you about yourself a little more -like, why you don’t have any photograph of your husband; or why you don't have children; if you actually planned to have one. 

But Jungkook doesn't press you further. He stays quiet, eyes crinkling in the corner and a delicate smile that has your heart liquefying, and you don't know how to keep alive the conversation (you thought you two would never meet anymore and now he is here, drinking wine, plaguing your house with his good softener scent that makes you want to hide your face in the crook of his neck -titillating some fantasies that make you want to bury yourself in a hole). 

You gulp down some wine, fumbling for words. "So… are you excited to go to Jeju?"

Jungkook blinks twice. He probably didn't expect you to talk about him (or to remember something about him). "Ah, yes. I only went there once with my brother, a few years ago. So I'm pretty excited. Taehyung is already mapping out an itinerary, I won't have a minute to breathe." He gulps down the drink to the last drop (you notice his habit to clench the free hand into a fists. Adorable). "But Jeju means that I've to go back to Busan, too."

You study his small pout. "You don't sound very happy." 

"I am. I've my friends there, after all. It's just, my parents... I - I get along with them, but..." he hesitates, his hand runs to stroke the tattooed arm. "I think... I disappointed them. You know, for dropping out of college, for many of my choices…" he glimpses at the ink branching along his skin, the left corner of his mouth shaped with bitterness. "I, you know… I feel like they were expecting great things from me, and I'm not doing anything good." He lets out a chuckle, scratching his undercut.

Your heart crumbles for his genuine confession. You weren't expecting him to reveal this vulnerable aspect of his life -to actually show you his discomfort; and you don't know how to react. If he were Jin, you'd hug him tight; if he were Yoongi, you'd grab his hand; if he were Joonie, you'd hug him from behind.

But Jungkook is a stranger… How do you warm the heart of a person you know little about?

"I… I'm sorry they are making you feel like this," you manage to say, aware that your comment is completely useless. "Do you regret giving up?"

He tilts his head to the side. "Sometimes… other times, though, I think that I made the best decision for myself." He rests his hands on his chest. "I never told this to not make them worry, but I woke up in the middle of the night in a panic, in the last months. I kept wondering: what am I doing? Am I wasting time? What if this isn't the best thing for me?" He ruffles his hair, eyes shining wetly. "Now, instead, I wake up in the middle of the night because I feel like I'm wasting time, too. Like… all my friends are building something, they know what they want for their lives… while I'm still searching for my place in the world." He presses the thumb and pointer on the bridge of his nose. "Forgive me, I look like a lost child. You're probably used to talking about more mature topics."

You snort a laugh. "Are you joking? Me and my friends might be in our thirties, but we still don't know what to do with our lives either." 

Jin isn't ready for love and does nothing to move away from this place; Yoongi is too scared about love and does nothing to make his dream to become a producer come true; you keep all your ghosts close to you and do nothing to move on… she doesn't mean anything. Age is just a number. You can grow up physically, but certain things rooted into you don't change overtime. 

You give him a reassuring smile. "Namjoon had your same problem. He wanted to give up, and went through a huge crisis for a few months." You stare at Moonie, who's letting Bam use his back as a cushion. "It's far more common than you think."

"Then?"

"Then, he understood what he wanted to do, and he went back to studying. Many of his students went through the same phase and his advice was to stop and take their time. Just this." You deliver him a reassuring smile. "You'll see you'll understand what's best for you, sooner or later. Just… don't pressure yourself. Or you'll risk doing something that will make you unhappy."

"I hope so… people think I'm too lazy." His bottom lip juts out in a pout. "Your husband seems such a nice person."

"He is…" you mumble, drinking some wine to replace the bitter taste of your words. You vaguely stare at a spot magically appeared on the table, spacing out. 

Jungkook stares at you, delicately. "I... don't know if you broke up on bad terms or not, but I hope you and your husband can clear things up. It feels like… you've some kind of unsolved matter." He curses under his breath when you gaze up at him, clenched jaw and shaky eyes. "Sorry, it's not my business."

You shrug. "It's ok. It's just that everyone knows everything here, so I'm not used to talking about him anymore." 

You avoid talking about him, actually. Yoongi and Seokjin and Hoseok repeat to you that disclosing your thoughts about Namjoon would help you to move on with your life. That venting out would make you feel lighter. And you don't know, you don't know it will actually work… there's just a weight upon your chest whenever your mind echoes back to him, and you're pretty sure it will never go away. 

You're sure that nobody will be able to move it (him) aside...

Jungkook casts a glance upon your ring. "I didn't - didn't ask anything around. Mom says it's not nice." He moistens his lips. "I prefer to hear things from you."

You swallow. "You can ask me all that you want."

The boy hesitates, searching for any trace of doubt across your face -something that could tell him that you don't mean what you've just said. 

He inhales sharply through his nose, voice low. "How long have you been married?" 

Your thumb brushes upon your ring. "Seven years."

Surprise floats in his big eyes. "Oh… that's a very long - long time…" he chokes on his wine. "Wait! You - you were my age!"

"Almost. I got married as soon as I finished college. He was already teaching in a middle school, he is two years older than me." 

His eyelids flicker fast, lips curled. "I… I'd never see myself married. Fuck…"

You burst out laughing (Jungkook stiffens. An intense ruby hue colors his cheekbones). "No, sorry… it's just—" you rest a hand on your stomach, crossed by painful spasms. "You don't look like someone who curses." 

He puffs his cheeks, mumbling behind the edge of the glass. "I curse. Sometimes."

You moisten your lips, cleaning the tears shining at the corner of your eyes. "You seem so… rude. But you're very gentle, actually." You didn't use a coquettish voice, nor did you make any malicious gestures.

And yet, Jungkook reacts like you've just flirted with him. He runs the tip of his tongue on his bottom lip, chewing on the piercing in the corner. "Would you prefer me to be ruder?" He inhales sharply through his nose, straightening his posture. 

You swallow. The alcohol in your system makes you see things you usually wouldn't notice with so much care -like, the well-defined lines of his pecs; the imperceptible softness of his nipples against the cotton fabric of the shirt. 

Jungkook has the breah punching out of you…

"No…" you mumble, sinking in his eyes full of galaxies. "You're great as you are."

  After two glasses of wine, Jungkook gets closer. He moves from his spot to the side across from the sofa to use it as a backrest. 

Third glass, you move closer. With the excuse to watch some pictures laying on his phone, you sat beside him -but still distant enough to not touch him.

Fourth glass, Jungkook angles his torso in your direction, the arms folded on the sofa to use them as a pillow -the tip of his shoe nits the leg of the table, adorable (slurry) apologies drool from his lips bouncing upon giggles. 

Fifth glass, you imitate his position, your knee accidentally hits his own (and he apologizes for you. Still, he doesn't inch away). You look at him through your lashes, drinking whatever his soft voice says...

He recounts about his friends; the hectic life in Busan, in Seoul. You tell him tales of your hometown, the little students you saw grow up in the past years. He talks about Taehyung, how they met in college due to a series of odd events; he talks about Jimin, how they used to play through the streets of Busan when they were little kids. You talk about Hoseok, the first person who treated you kindly when you arrived in Seoul; about Jin and Yoongi and how you became inseparable since you've moved here (you don't about Namjoon). 

Nothing too intimate, anecdotes that make your throat vibrate for the laughter that scrunch your face up and make your jaw hurt for the effort. 

Jungkook's eyes are tired and shiny; and yet, he keeps looking at you as if the things you're saying were worth the time spent together. 

These ten years between you two blend into something vague, almost… forgettable. 

"I'm so used to living here by now, I don't know if I could go back to the chaos of the city." You brush some hair away from your face (you notice Jungkook's fingers twitch, like he was on the cusp of doing it). "If I look back, I can't believe how much I changed. You know? I was always partying. Beer busts, discos, high heels, dresses, lots of boys…"

"Oh… It's a pity, being born a few years too late." Jungkook smirks, red cheek pressing on his arm. "Probably, when you were dancing to The Rhythm of the Night?, I was playing Minecraft. Or sleeping."

You laugh, too tipsy to care about the malicious curve of his lips, about his stare lingering upon the bow of your chest. 

"Did you meet your husband there? During a party?"

The area around your eyes swell up, your smile flips off your face -Jungkook stares intensely at your change of reaction, as if he wanted to open your skull to catch your train of thoughts. 

"No… he's never been a party boy. He loves calm activities… visiting museums, or new cities." The corners of your mouth pull up, imperceptibly. "I fell for him first and I was so scared because we were so different, so…" you swallow the wobble in your voice. "Namjoon is the quietness I tended to reject." You lost contact with Jungkook's eyes, you're probably boring him. "Anyway, Hoseok invited us to his birthday party. We met there…"

Namjoon's figure flashes in the back of your mind. His smile in the dim-lit room; his eyes crinkling in the corner; his round glasses gliding on the bridge of his nose; his polite way to help you searching for the right words when you couldn't talk in Korean properly; his stuttered apologies when he clumsily spilled his drink on your new dress… 

You shudder. You suddenly feel the urge to stay alone. 

"What about you?" You change the topic, unable to bear the memories of Namjoon cascading in your mind. "Did you leave a special one back at home?"

Jungkook hesitates, opens his mouth but closes it shortly after. He shifts his attention to Bam curled up against Moonie, peacefully napping. "Many girls. No one in particular."

"Uh, so it's true when they say you're dangerous." You take his confession lightheartedly, noticing his discomfort. "A heartbreaker came to town. Better not tell it to anyone, or they'll come to your house with pitchforks and torches." 

He lets out a bright chuckle, hides his face in the crook of his arms. "No, I mean… I had a few stories, but nothing worth mentioning. You know, classmates, friends of friends, girls I met during the parties after my boxing matches, blind dates… but I get bored easily, I just wanna have fun. And girls my age are so… dreary." He chews on his bottom lip, the euphoria replaced by a somber expression. "Great… I just ruined my only chance to demonstrate that I'm a serious guy."

"Don't worry, it's ok."

"No, it's not. I sounded like I'm an asshole, but I'm not. I'm not..." he turns to you, slowly, like he feared you might judge him for his hectic sexual life." 

You rest your head better on your arms, smiling softly. "You're young." Then you think that Jin is thirty-six and he lives on flings and is absolutely against serious relationships (he never said it out loud, but you can see the relief on his face for being single when your affection for Namjoon smothers you). "You probably didn't find the right one." Your eyelids flicker down in the slightest, you're quite tired. "Maybe when you go to Busan. Or Jeju."

"Maybe she's in a small town." His voice drops two notches deeper, it makes shivers travel down your spine. Jungkook curls his fingers around the fabric of the cushion, swallowing thickly. "What are you doing tomorrow morning?"

You've to fight against your sadness in order to get out of bed. You've to find the strength to put up the usual mask of peacefulness to not worry your friends. You've to water Joonie's bonsais. You've to read one of the books Namjoon bought and never started. You've to take Moonie out... 

"Things..." You mumble, in a barely whispered hush. 

The sparks in Jungkook's eyes tremble a little. "Things…"

"Yes, ahm... I've got some things to do. You know, the chaotic mountain life." You snort a chuckle, panic gnaws at your throat. You want him to go back home. You want to stay alone. "Why?"

Jungkook hides a yawn in the crook of his arm, hesitates. "I thought a lot about what you said the other day, that I shouldn't go hiking all alone. So, I was thinking… why don't you join me?" He diverts his stare, staring at Bam. "Or we can take our dogs out for a walk. Bam likes Moonie. And he likes you. And I do too, I mean—" he brushes his face against his arm, chuckling. "You know what I mean." 

You should say no. Because you've many things to do. Because you aren't interested in his proposal. Because you want to stay on the surface of your acquaintance, but if you start going out together, you risk things will grow. Because—

"I'm… out of shape. I stopped hiking." 

Namjoon loves hiking. He laughs because you get tired easily and have to stop halfway. His hand holding yours. His soft smile when you use his lap like a pillow, laying under a tree. You don't go hiking anymore. 

"We can take an easy path. I'm no expert either." Jungkook's hand moves closer to yours, beyond the sparks in your eyes his smile shines bright. "It'd be nice… to spend some time together."

No, it wouldn't. It wouldn't. It's a bad idea. It wouldn't—

"Ok…" your voice flies out above a whisper. "Yeah, ok."

Jungkook lifts his head up, hair falling over his forehead. "Ok, yeah, great!" He lets out a giggle, scratching his nape. "It's better - better if I go, then, or I'll risk not waking up." He stretches his arms, the shirt lifts up a bit to reveal his belly (you notice the thin hair disappearing under the elastic of the harem pants. Your face heats up). "Bam, let's go." He whistles to call his attention. 

Bam looks at him for a while before standing up, stretching and yawning. You stare at Moonie, ears perked up for the sudden movements in the room. 

Your heart feverishly throbs in your throat. Maybe this hiking thing comes at the perfect timing: it could be a good occasion for him to realize that you're boring -so this thing between you two will end before it even starts. 

You press your palm on the cushion of the sofa to stand up, but the numbness in your legs mixed with the wine makes you trip on your own feet. To sustain yourself, you rest a hand on the sofa while the other lays upon… something tough. Toned, precisely. 

You let out a giggle. "I drank a bit…" It takes you quite a few seconds to register that you're using Jungkook's bicep like a perch -and your smile flips off your face. It takes you even more to process that he's holding your waist -and your heart plummets in your chest. You flicker your stare from his hands to his face, so so close, and for the first time in a long while you grasp all the details that, if put together, give shape to that beautiful being that is Jeon Jungkook.

His big doe eyes, dark and deep and shiny -like the Milky Way were floating in them. The tiny moles, on the bridge of his nose, under his lip, on the left portion of his neck. The upper lip, thinner than the bottom's, its plumpness emphasized by the hoop ring circling the corner. The piercing on his eyebrow, covered by a few mint curls. The barely noticeable scar on his left cheekbone. 

Handsome...

You merely think it, after months spent hearing other people talk about his beauty (amidst the eccentricity).

Jungkook must catch something in the glint of your eyes because he delivers you a sheepish smile, before lowering his head. 

It's a sign you should pull away. You're making him uncomfortable. A thirty-three-year old who looks at a twenty-three-year old like he was a breathing work of art (or like you'd love to bite off his clothes). But Jungkook gazes back at you, and his eyes shining wet are so mesmerizing you can't inch away. 

"You ok?" He mumbles, quietly. His thumbs brush against the fabric of your shirt. 

"Yeah... Too much wine." You chuckle. "But I'm fine." 

"Good." 

Jungkook runs the tip of his tongue on his bottom lip, chews on it. Like a force was pulling you, your trembling fingers reach for the little scar -a soft groove immersed in a hue of bright red. He stiffens when you barely graze it, and your first reaction is to move away (and migrate on another planet); but his hand reaches out for yours, after a brief moment of astonishment, permitting you to rest the pads on his cheekbone. You press the tips a little, enjoying the smooth sensation of the cut on his skin.

Namjoon had one on his hip… 

"I fell when I was little," Jungkook starts, eyelids fluttering down. He tilts his head to the side, your palm adheres to his cheek. "I was fighting with my brother. I stole one of his toys and he was - was chasing after me and I bumped the corner of the table." He lets out a giggle. 

Namjoon fell from the bicycle when he was hanging out with some friends. You love grazing it while hugging him from behind, in bed. A small moonlight cut on his amber skin...

"You've a brother."

He nods. "He's older than me. Now we get along, but we used to fight a lot when we were little." His lips stretch in a beaming smile, eyes opening like leaves in the sun. "I can't wait to see him again, when I'll be back to Busan."

His words full of joy are enough to shatter the bubble of intimacy you were floating into (what the hell has gotten into you?). 

You pull your hand away in a rush, brushing the palm on your side like it was stained with some dirty substance. You remind yourself that Jungkook is a young stranger who will leave soon: he'll go back to his life, his friends, the people he loves, the girls he left behind. He'll go back to enjoy his twenty-three years with people his age.

Jungkook is a stranger...

You stand up, observing the expression of confusion that dawns on his face, bottom lip jutting out in an imperceptible sign of disappointment. 

"It's nice that you two get along." You fold your own arms around your waist, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Busan is nice. I went there twice, when Joonie participated in some conferences." You tuck some hair behind your ear. Mentioning Namjoon will help you to stay grounded. "You'll have a lot of fun."

Jungkook pauses. Then, "I'm having fun here, too." 

His low voice liquefies into the thick tension now settled upon you, seeps through the cracks and slaps you in your stomach. You feel like… you've just crossed a line you should've never reached in the first place, and now you don't know what to do to beat a retreat. 

Jungkook clenches his hands into fists, unfolds them again, brushes the tips against one another as if the consistency of your body was still laying upon them (your guts twists at that sight. He drank too much, too). Delivering you a dim smile, he stands up, stroking Bam's head when the puppy approaches him. 

Trying to contain the trembling in your shoulders, you near Moonie, who woofs toward Bam, seeking for attention. "Hey, you… you surely slept a lot, mh?" you mumble, crouching down to caress his relaxed muzzle. You can feel Jungkook's stare boring through your skin, like he was trying to understand what's whirling in your mind. However, when you gaze over him, there's no trace of annoyance across his features -just a pair of soft eyes that has your heart beating in every inch of you. 

Jungkook parts his lips but whatever was about to tell you rolls back down his throat when a pair of knocks at your door breaks your stillness. Your dogs start barking toward the entrance, Yoongi's voice wafts over you in a muffled sound:

"(Y/N), it's me. Are you there?"

You snap back down to reality, sparing a quick glance to the boy on the other side of the room. He doesn't seem particularly fazed for your friend showing up here so late. You, instead, are a bundle of nerves: you know that Yoongi will torment you forever for Jungkook being here with you at night, all alone. 

"(Y/N), don't pretend you're dead as usual. I know you're awake!" 

Jungkook softly chuckles at Yoongi's comment (you won't punch your friend only because Jungkook’s laugh is the prettiest sound). "Coming! Wait, geez, don't kick the door down..." When you open, Yoongi darts at you a frustrated look, fist still resting mid-air. 

He starts talking before you even have the time to greet him. "It's all your fault!" He crosses his arms, resembling one of your little students when you scold them. "I followed your bad advice to put a like on her photos, because she posted a picture of the mixtape I made in college. My mixtape, you get it? The one I made for her. I had to put a like, because that mixtape was a masterpiece—but, anyway, I wasn't expecting shit and within five minutes she sent me a message: 'hi, Yoongi-chi, how are you doing?' Do you get it?! Yoongi-chi, after all these years, holy fucking shit—oh." His flood of words fades in a silence brimmed with surprise as soon as he takes notice of Jungkook, standing still on his spot, stroking Bam's ear. He blinks twice when the boy bows a little, greeting him with a polite: 'Hello, hyung' "Did... Did I interrupt something?"

You gaze over your shoulder. Jungkook is shaking his head. "Don't worry, hyung. I was about to go. Bam, c'mon…" he taps his hand on his thigh to catch his dog's attention, guiding him toward the entrance. Yoongi moves to the side to let him walk out. "So, it's ok then? Tomorrow morning at 8:00 AM?" Jungkook asks, a little wobble in his voice makes you weak in your knees.

You swallow thickly. You're trapped. You can't tell him 'no' after agreeing to his request. You'd act like a total bitch; you'd embarrass him in front of Yoongi, judging by the expectation floating in his eyes, you'd break his heart…)

"Yeah… yes, it's ok, sure," you manage to say, tongue-twisted. 

Jungkook's whole face scrunches up. "Great!" He exclaims, with the same high-pitched voice he usually uses when talking to Bam. "Ahm, see you tomorrow. Good night, Noona. Yoongi hyung." He bows again, before toddling away. 

You observe his retracting figure with your heart fluttering in your throat. You close the door when he crosses the street, all muscles tensed up and mind empty like a typhoon just passed by.

Yoongi coughs, dragging you back down to earth. "Noona…" He sneers. "Tomorrow morning? Tomorrow morning, what?"

"Something that a woman my age shouldn't do." You shake your head before his arched brow. "He… invited me to hike."

Your friend pokes the tip of his tongue on his cheek, jamming his hands inside his pockets. "What's wrong? You love hiking."

"I do. Just, not so much as I used to..." you shrug when a line of annoyance crafts itself between his knitted brows. You're too tipsy and tired to face this topic. "And I'm out of shape. Don't think he'll invite me ever again after tomorrow." You shuffle toward the couch, plopping down on it. Moonie is immediately beside you, leaning his chin on your knees. 

"Nah, don't worry. I bet he can't wait to give you a piggy-back ride. Or hold you in bridal style." Yoongi glances at the empty bottle of wine and the two glasses, grinning. "Ready to give him a blowjob surrounded by the sounds of the forest?"

You snap your tongue. "Oh, Yoongi-chi, we both know you're the one who looks forward to receiving a good blowjob by you-know-who." You smirk, staring at his red cheekbones. You inhale sharply through your nose, watching him mutter under his breath. "So… Minji wrote to you."

He nods.

"And you?"

He frowns, sitting on the sofa. "I didn't reply, of course." He stretches his hand out, Moonie jumps on the empty cushion and cuddles next to him. 

"Why?"

He scratches the back of his nape. "I don't know what to tell her." He tilts his head back, huffing. "What the fuck do you say to a friend-with-benefits who wanted something more and you treated her like shit? That I didn't fuck with anyone else since she's been gone? That I regret everyday rejecting her? That if I could turn back time, I'd become his boyfriend?"

A shadow of tenderness draws a smile on your lips. "Yes… if that is useful to move on."

Yoongi opens his mouth, closes it shortly after. You know he's refraining himself from telling you something awful. "I won't do shit. I… it's better if we stay like this. It wouldn't work. The fact she went away is a sign that it won’t work. Shit, I need a drink…" he comments, standing up. He goes to the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge before you could tell him to treat himself. "Regarding the new boy—"

"Whatever it is, I don't care."

"The other day, he bought condoms. Size large." He leans against the sink, smirking. "He is well-hung."

Your stomach twirls. You want to throw up (and a part of you wants to take Jungkook’s dick in your mouth). "Oh, shut up.."

“I hate and I love. And if you ask me how, I do not know: I only feel it, and I’m torn in two”

  Jungkook posted a new video on his Instagram page, in the afternoon. 

He's sitting on the black pouf across from the large window that overlooks the backyard garden of his house -the rays of sun filtering through the fronds kisses his face in lights-and-shadows patterns that has your fingers itching for tracing each one of them. His mouth is curled in a way that fully displays the tiny mole laying underneath of his bottom lip, tongue clicking in a rhythmic beat akin to hands of a clock marking the time in the silence. The caption reads: “I’m bored”. 

(Yoongi informed you that “the new boy” made an appearance on his social media, sending you the link that redirected you to his page. He added that it obviously was a cry for help because you abandoned him for the whole day; he also suggested asking Jungkook to pick you up at the station when you'll be back in town and give him a thank-you blowjob. You hate Yoongi.

Jin only put a like on the video, instead. Then, he commented with a playful: "You should come by to Min’s restaurant. The daily menu offers Bulgogi for only 5 dollars. An unmissable offer!" Jungkook replied with three laughing emoji. You love Jin). 

You pause the video, the clicking sound now is just a ghost faded in the horn sounding coming from the street and some rap playlist seeping through a latest model stereo. 

You wonder how he spent the day…

When you told him you'd spend this Friday out of town to meet up with a friend, his eyebrows collapsed on his doe eyes in a nuance of sadness that striked your throbbing heart. On a feeble smile that graced his face, he told you that it was ok, to have fun; he told you to text him if you were bored -you haven't (you never send each other messages; actually, it's better if you don't start). Maybe, this brief break from your assiduous encounters could be a chance for Jungkook to meet someone new, setting you aside in the process…

Your liquid stare flickers from the replies cascading in the comment section (a very few male friends; a tons of girls) to the video. You scrutinize the well-defined shape of his thick eyebrows, the metal bar piercing adorning the right one; the length of his eyes, the deepness of his dark irises; the plumpness of his bottom lip, rosy and shiny presumably for lip balm; the smoothness of his hair, parted to the side—!

You go back to his page when the picture of your fingers racking through those mint and black threads suddenly appears in the back of your mind. His personal Instagram is full of his selcas at the gym; videos of his boxing training; toothy smiles that punch the breath out of you; nightlife and trips brackets with his best friends, Taehyung and Jimin; pictures of his Marvel action figures collection neatly disposed on shelves in his bedroom; shootings of Bam when he was a small bean curled up in his arms… it's the typical page of a young boy revealing a miniscule part of his life. 

It reminds you that ten years keep you apart, making you live into two different sides of the world with little to nothing in common. 

It reminds you that Jungkook has nothing to do with Namjoon... 

Hoseok plops down on the chair all of a sudden, his grunt of disappointment breaks through your consciousness. You were so caught up in your own thoughts to not process that he walked out of his bedroom to come back to the living room. 

"Sorry, business call." He huffs, shoving back his brownish hair parted to the side. “They moved up the mv shooting and I've to be there at 9:00 AM. Goodbye to my plans of sleeping till 12:00 PM." He joins his hands in front of his apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). I asked you to meet up because I was free and instead, I spent half of my time on the phone." 

Yesterday morning, Hoseok texted you out of the blue to tell you that he'd like to spend his day of break with you -because the last time you saw each other had been almost half a year ago (his white shirt stuck to his torso due to the hot weather and humidity; the loosened black tie; the eyes puffy and red and cheeks crossed by the ghost of tears shed in the past days). He asked you to meet up in Seoul, because he'd love to show you around his new apartment that overlooks the Han River.

After half a year made of excuses and 'no', you accepted his invitation lightheartedly.

You close the app on your phone and rest it on the corner of the counter resting against the window, before turning to your friend, a small smile hanging on your lips. 

Time has been generous with Hoseok. It seems like years stopped elapsing upon him. Years are a very few wrinkles at the corner of his eyes when he smiles; wrinkles around his mouth when he exhales his bright laughter; grooves a bit deeper on the back of his hands. But aside from this, he's still the same, jovial Hoseok you cherish in all your memories bonded to Seoul. 

The only jar notching him is the note of melancholy that pierces through his peacefulness -the same you see floating in your own eyes when you stare at your own reflection in the mirror. 

That's why you avoided Hoseok for so long. Having him at a few inches from you reminds you that you're the sides of the same coin: both dealing with a lacerating wound in your heart, expressed in two different ways. 

You let out a soft chuckle before his mouth shaped in a 'V' cut, shaking your head. “Don't worry. Being one of the most wanted choreographers of South Korea comes with a lot of responsibilities. Well, it has its perks, too…" you cast a glance upon the window across from you. Seoul stretches before your glistening eyes with its high buildings and light poles chords running through the city surrounding the Han River; your attention drifts to the bridge, yellow and red car lights all lined up and scratching the dark veil of the night.

There's something magical in this scenario. 

An invisible force that calls you back to the chaos of the city, inviting you to pack all your belongings and come back here -were one of the most important chapters of your personal book began. 

But you can't. You left too many important things in your town. 

You left someone locked in a studio brimmed with books and clothes and letters and diaries; you left a man with a pair of  droopy eyes who always waits for you to walk you home even if his shift ended a hour earlier; you left a man with plump lips who invites you to play videogames in his two-rooms home flat while he cooks your favorite dish, recounting you about the last woman he met on Tinder; you left a boy with a pair of doe eyes who softly knocks at your door every morning at the same hour, ready to walk your dogs out together -a boy who posted a video on Instagram because he was bored.

(The fact that Jungkook is included into the list is a little unsettling).

You suddenly feel the urge to go back home…

You look at the moonlight cloaking the waters like a second skin, your pointer gliding along the edge of the glass of wine. "I didn't think you'd be back in town so soon, anyway." You take a sip of your drink. "Last time I checked, you were in Daegu for Sansuyu’s concert. I heard it was great."

"It was. I love working with her, she's so… down to earth, despite the success." He flaps his finger in the air, lips curled in a sign of offense. "But the tour finished two weeks ago. Which means that you aren't stalking my Instagram profile. That's soooo bad, (Y/N). Friendship ruined. Enough." He dramatically rests his hands on his chest, opening just one eye to see your amused reaction. "But I don't expect much from someone who used to post a picture once every two years."

"Quality over quantity." You comment, "You know I've never been a social media girl." The corners of your mouth quiver, curve a bit. "Joonie was way more active than me." His page was full of sculptures and paintings and books and museums he visited and selfies with Moonie and nature… it was calm but with a profound meaning, just like him. You stopped visiting his profile.

"Well… I took a look, and it seems like someone is pretty active, lately." Hoseok grins, you swallow thickly. "Two photos in just a week. The end of the world is near."

Since Namjoon’s been gone, you stopped updating your page. Nothing seems worth enough to be portrayed in a photograph. But a week ago, Jungkook took a picture of you while you were relaxing on the river -Bam and Moonie playing next to you; and three days ago, Jungkook took a picture of you while you were reading under the old tree, a small smile on your lips, soft eyes, and peacefulness cocooning you. 

He told you that you looked pretty. You believed him, and you posted them (he put a like after a couple of seconds).  

Hoseok folds his arms on the table. "So... who is the lucky one?" 

You almost choke on your drink as you look at him, goggle-eyed. You recognise that expression too well: it's the same that crossed his face many years ago, when he questioned you about you and Joonie and your green love-story. "What do you mean?" you moisten your lips, that light wobble in your voice is enough to show your discomfort. 

He sneers, a malicious glint streams in his eyes veiled with exhaustion. "You seem... Happier. More calm, mh." He shrugs. "And you usually rejected all my invitations. I admit I'm surprised you accepted, this time." Hoseok rests his back against the wall, eyes pinned on the window. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy you're here. But the fact you agreed to see me again means that: 1) you needed to run away from your town; 2) you're finally getting better." He lets out a sigh. "What's his name?"

"Jungkook..." You pronounce it before your brain could actually register Hobi's analysis. It's just when you sink in his amused eyes that you get a grip of yourself. "But - but it's not about him, I really wanted to see you. It's been so long, after all. I missed you so much." And it's true, you missed Hoseok to the core. . 

“I missed you too." He chuckles. "Jungkook… does he live there?" He goes back to the previous topic. You're trapped. 

"No… he's there on holiday." There's a stabbing pain in your ribcage when you say it. "But nothing happened. We just hang out, that's all."

“C’mon… tell me something about that man.”

Man… that word crafts a lump in your throat. Hoseok probably expects that you met a man around your age, or older. Maybe a middle-age man; an employee escaped from a smothering job to indulge in a few days of recreation. One of those men who spend their weeks wearing an elegant suit and a tie and who's a fleecer when it comes to business. Instead, you spend your days with a boy who ran to your village because he can't put together the pieces of his life  and it’s torn in two between going back to college or searching for a stable job or travelling around the world and stopping somewhere -paying attention to not plant roots. One of those city-boys full of tattoos and piercings who's raising a dog like a son and is gentle and delicate. A boy who—

“He’s twenty three…” his age tumble off your tongue cautiously, like you’ve just spilled a secret that could cost your entire life. You stiffen, unprepared about the expression of sheer dismay that is surely crossing his face. But when you turn, Hoseok doesn't seem surprised. Or, well… he is, but not in a negative way. "He lives in the house across from mine, but we didn't talk at first. Like, we ignored each other. We got close thanks to our dogs… now, we hang out almost every day to walk them out, or we go hiking. Or we have dinner or lunch at our places. Nothing special," you briefly explain, heart all warm for the memories cascading in the back of your mind. "And he's going to leave at the end of August." Saying it out loud will remind you to keep your distance. 

"Oh… it seems serious."

"It isn't. Nothing happened." You take a gulp of wine. "Did I say that he's going to leave at the end of August?"

He chuckles, nodding. "And… do you like him?”

Oh… this is new. This question is simple, but to you it is pretty hard because you never stopped to analyze your feelings for Jungkook. You like hanging out with him; you like watching movies with him; you like exchanging a joke or two when he comes to Min's restaurant. But you never texted each other; and you never went grocery shopping together; and you never relied upon each other when doubts overwhelmed you. 

The fact is… despite mocking you, Seokjin and Yoongi never actively asked you what's happening between you two, or what you feel for him. And you didn't shake things up to prevent yourself from labeling your acquaintance and give a name to the emotions bubbling up in the abyss of your chest. 

"I don't know… I just, you know, I sometimes would like to…" words trail off mid-sentence, a vibrant flush spreads to the tip of your ears. "He's got a body that's a work of art. Like… God." You rub a hand on your face, giggling. "I drank too much wine."

He squeezes your shoulder, flashing you a beaming smile. "Don't worry, attraction is a normal thing. Don't feel ashamed of it." He reassures you, fondly. "This Jungkook… he must be special. After all that happened you pushed away everyone, and I get it… but you're letting him stay. It's a nice thing." Hoseok's voice is soft, it melts away the icy cold that was surrounding your heart. "And whatever might happen between you two… you don't have to tell anyone. Just go for it!"

The left corner of your mouth pulls up for his suggestion, eyes fixed on the burgundy liquid in the glass. You take a sip of it, swiping away the bitterness in the back of your throat. 

"You, instead?" You change topic, feeling tears pricking at the corner of your liquid eyes. 

Hoseok pauses, serious. Then, his lips unfurl in a sweet smile. "I met a girl." He lowers his head, awkward. "We go out from time to time. Ahm, she… she works as a make-up artist in my company and we got closer during the tour." He chews on his bottom lip, hands trembling on his lap. "When we sleep together, she whispers my name. It's… nice. I never felt like this." Hoseok's stare, shining wet, engulfs into yours. "I've never understood Namjoon, when he told me that you were the right one. That you were, you know, the human made for him. But now I get it…" he lets out a sigh, like this confession was weighing on his chest for all this time. "I… fear it might end."

You open your mouth to express your joy, but not a sound escapes. Words are withered flowers resting in the back of your throat. You set your eyes on a picture of Namjoon situated on a shelf, feeling your heart plummeting in your chest (beats skip on his smile, on his dimples, on his young features -on this half a year of absence). 

The area around your eyes swell up, tears shine bright in your eyes.

Hoseok reaches for your hand, snapping you back down to reality. His thumb brushes on your wedding ring, he pulls you closer to wrap you in a soft embrace (the same he used to give you when homesickness hit you, back in college; the same he gave you amidst all those people wearing a balck suit and grief). "I should come to visit him," he says, displaying for the first time the very first emotion of sorrow in his trembling voice. "I haven't come since that day."

Teeth clamp the bottom lip to keep tears at bay. "You should. You'd make him happy."

The nocturnal landscape outside the window train unfolds in a flash of blinding lights immersed in the darkness, you take in the sight of every bit of it, aware that you won't see this magical view for a very long time. 

In your inbox, your Kakao-chat with Seokjin closes with a pair of angry emoji because you rejected his request to come to pick you up at the station ("It's late, it's dangerous. Unless you already asked for it to the new boy, then it's ok 😡😡"). In your Instagram chat, Jungkook sent you a text a few hours ago -the first message since you've started hanging out ("Hello, Noona. Are you having fun?" You said yes, and asked him if he had fun. "I did. But not like the other days. Something was missing").

Your phone vibrates, Yoongi just sent you a selfie of him and Moonie, both sprawled on the sofa: 

[Yoongi-chi - 11:03 PM] Btw, he was mopey all day A lost, sad puppy

[You - 11:03 PM] I know :( It's the first time I leave Moonie alone for so long I feel awful 

[Yoongi-chi - 11:05 PM] Moonie is fine I was talking about the new boy :)

[Yoongi-chi 11:05 PM] Guess a good blowjob will make him happy again :D 

 Anxiety wraps around every fiber of your being like ivy, muscles tensing. Just your heart lays untouched in its cage of bones. It thumps feverishly, calling Jungkook's name in a series of beats out of tune. 

It hasn't happened in a while.

You're scared.

“When we held hands it felt different. The warmth washed away all my worries”

  You’ve always looked forward to the harvest festival like a little child waiting for Christmas day, hands itching to grab a present and unpack it at the speed of light. 

However, Namjoon's absence took a toll on your excitement, dissipating the summer magic that was wrapping this event: it's just a celebration like the many you've witnessed during your past trips in other cities or countries; there's nothing special in those stands, in the laughter and loud chattering plaguing the atmosphere; in the music seeping through the noise; in the screams of children; in the feeble, reddish lights of lanterns bathing the streets. 

It's like… It feels like Namjoon took all the beauty of your world with himself, when he left. 

And yet…

You turn to your right, captured by Jungkook’s chuckle (dealing with the shivers spreading from your skull to your toes). Standing beside you, he's busy watching the puppet show that you know like the back of your hand by now, resembling one of the many children sitting on the ground, carefully following the development of the plot. He's holding a cotton candy stick, from time to time his free hand runs to grab a small piece of thin, pink fluffy filament and pulls it in his mouth with a couple of fingers, sucking them in the process to get rid of the sticky substance.  

You study the way his lips curl around his thumb; the way his brows snap together when he really enjoys his food; the shiny sparkle of his lip piercing when the light hits it just right. 

You shouldn’t be here with him…

You shouldn't be here...

A sensation of discomfort sets itself in your lungs, making it hard to breathe. You shouldn't be here, having fun. It's… wrong. But a part of you (the smallest, but the most tired one) begs you to cut yourself some slack and stop overthinking for the slightest second. It begs you to listen to Hoseok reassuring words, which accompanied you throughout these days, and to just enjoy the moment, and take notice of all the beauty you'd lose if you had decided to spend your night at home -on your own. 

To take notice of Jungkook and how handsome he is when happiness cocoons him. 

When Jungkook laughs, you feel like the word beauty takes a brand-new meaning: his nose scrunches up on the tip and the bridge of his nose lifts itself up imperceptibly; his mouth opens wide to reveal his front teeth that make him look like a little bunny; his eyes crinkle in the corner, and the puffy area under them swell up into two soft pads that has your fingertips itching to prod them. 

All of a sudden, Jungkook turns to you, probably feeling your stare boring through his skin. His bottom lip, jutting out, is shining wet for the saliva and sugary cotton; he runs the tip of his tongue on it to clean his mouth, and a small smile unfurls, slowly swiping away the confusion that was dancing across his features up to now.

(It's the same smile he delivered you after proposing you to accompany him to the festival with him, a couple of days ago. His face shone bright in the sunlight above your heads, the sound of the river filled your silence. And the surprising fact is that… you didn’t hesitate to accept. He asked you to go together, and a genuine: "Yes, sure" immediately tumbled off your tongue, pumped up by your throbbing heart). 

“Do you want some?” he questions, shaking the stick to the sides. 

Snapping back down to reality, you shake your head, feeling a vibrant flush spreading from your neck to your cheekbones for being caught staring. Still with his eyes caressing your side-profile, you go back to watching the puppet show, without really taking notice of what's happening on the small stage. You focus your attention on the two gold-fishes peacefully swimming in the plastic bag you're holding tight (Jungkook won them for you. He called them (Y/N) and Kookoo. You should be scared he called them after your names, but your just heart made an annoying fluttering thing in your chest before his toothy smile), then you stare at the various children sitting on the ground, recognising some of your (ex) little students, who make sure to wave at you enthusiastically whenever you meet their bright eyes.

Nostalgia tugs at corners of your mouth and cascades down to your chest when you think that you won't hear their jokes and laughters and voices anymore, when the new school year will begin. 

Jungkook chuckles again, tilting his head back to swallow down a big chunk of cotton candy. 

You wonder if nostalgia will hit you with such an electric intensity when he won't be here anymore, too… 

“It’s nice…” Jungkook suddenly comments, sucking on his thumb. He prods the tip of his tongue on his side teeth, taking a look around. "It's been a really long time since I've been to a village fete."

You watch the curtains of the small stage close down, probably to get ready for the next show. "There were a lot of them where you live?" You raise your voice a bit for the loud applause lingering in the air. 

"Not many, no. But I used to go to all of them with my friends." He rubs his hand on his side before laying it gently on your small back, guiding you out of the crowd as you brush past the people gathered behind the children. "At first, I just wanted to play in all the stalls. You know, my favorite is the throwing-hoops. I won - won so many plushies. As I grew up, it became a good way to pick up girls—I mean, it's not like I played that game for that. But it was a good way to get noticed and they were so cute and smelled so nicely and - and—God, it sounds so terrible? It's just that they had this nice smell and I—hey!" Jungkook’s bottom lip juts out when you burst out laughing in the middle of his recount, interrupting him. However, the expression of disappointment across his features liquefies into something more serious as he observes the scale of your neck while you tilt your head back, hand running to cover your mouth.

You turn to him, ready to apologize, but the way he’s contemplating you, like you were some sort of work of art with a beating heart and blood… it sets your guts fully alight.

You moisten your lips, noticing his stare is now enraptured by the area around your mouth. “What?” you manage to ask, unable to erase the wobble in your voice. 

You’re scared about his reaction, about the eventual answer he might give you, because Jungkook is just like a child, sometimes: he's brutally honest, in a way that makes you feel self-conscious about yourself. 

His eyes crinkle in the corner (and your heart skips a couple of beats). “You’re beautiful when you laugh like this,” he says, delicate, as if you were a flower at the mercy of the hail. A light pink shade colors his cheeks, but his smile doesn't flip off his face. “It’s a pity you don’t often laugh,” he then comments, with a low voice, studying the expression of surprise dawning on your face.

You avert his stare for a brief moment, exhaling a giggle. "Oh, c'mon, that's not true. I laugh a lot.” You move to the side to not smash against a group of guys, you accidentally bump into Jungkook's side (he doesn't inch away). 

“No, you don’t," he replies, peacefully. "And when you do, dunno, something is… off. But when you laugh like this, like you feel it… it's a nice view." He swallows thickly, scratching his temple while casually staring at a stand full of typical products and jams of the area. 

You part your lips but not a single sound escapes from them. There's a scorching earthquake that shakes you from the inside, impending you to fully focus on a proper answer. You feel… naked. It feels like Jungkook carefully observed you for all this time, mentally listing every tiny detail or gesture that crafts you in the person you are. His capacity to see past all the shields you've put around you frightens you because, to you, Jungkook is still a stranger. Sure, he spilled some tales and recounts about himself, but it's still not enough to label him as a "friend" or to assure you that you've stepped over the "acquaintance" line… 

You know that he's waiting for a follow-up that doesn't come -you can read it in the expectation floating in his eyes. But the only thing you can give him in return is a small smile, which will never compare to the heartwarming words he shared with you.

The pair of you go back to wander through the streets adorned with lanterns, paying attention to not bump into the people coming from the opposite direction. None of you seems intentioned to start a conversation, attention drifted to the stalls at your sides. You wonder if Jungkook is annoyed for the moment you shared a few minutes ago, considering you voluntarily made your bubble of intimacy explode -just like you always do when you smell the first sprout of emotion. 

"You… ahm, did you want to come - come here with your friends, by chance?" His voice quivers a little, like he feared you might agree to this option. His wide eyes shake before your frown. "I told you to come with me, but I didn't think you probably had plans with them already."

Your only plan was to spend your night at home, on your own. Seokjin is probably fucking with his girlfriend (the second in four months), Yoongi is probably writing songs that no ear will ever listen to (because the only ears he cares about are too far away).

He nibs at the cotton candy, munching slowly. "I don't want to cause you troubles, (Y/N)." Your name wafts over you like a distant melody, waking you up from your numbness (you like the way your name sounds on his lips). 

 You liked the way your name sounded on Namjoon's lips...

"You… you aren't," you say, vaguely. "Why would you think that?" 

He scrunches his nose. "People keep looking at us like we were some weird aliens.” 

Oh, that… 

“Oh, that… yes… I mean, no! No, no, you aren’t a problem!” Your stomach twirls for his big eyes now veiled with disappointment, teeth clamping at his bottom lip in a nervous gesture. You rack your brain frantically to search for a good way to reassure him. "You know, they’re still curious about you. And I believe they think you’re probably trying to swindle me, or you're trying to kidnap me due to your gang." You let out a chuckle, amused by the myriads of stories still circulating around him. "But… it's probably me, the problem." 

Because you're wearing a nice, short summer dress -after years of hoodies and tracksuits and old sweaters and worn-out jeans (the dress that Joonie bought you just because you said how much you liked it).  Because you've put some make-up on -after years spent without even trying to hide your exhaustion or sadness. Because you're spending your time with a new guy -after spending all your time only with Yoongi and Seokjin, the only people who fully comprehend the weight of the sorrow you're carrying with you. Because you got your ears pierced again, a few days ago, and now a pair of gold hoops are shining on your earlobes. Because—

"Because I stopped coming to the festival since my husband has been gone." You give him a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. "That's why they're curious. Don't mind them…"

He frowns. “Why?”

Because Namjoon loves it. Because Namjoon is here, in every corner. Namjoon floats in the laughter plaguing the atmosphere. Namjoon is the music that lingers in the air. Namjoon is in the bookstalls, in the typical smell of paper that he adores to the core. Namjoon is in the lanterns lighting up the city. Namjoon is in every second of this event, and you feel smothering. 

That's why you stopped coming here. Because you're still here, enjoying this moment. But Namjoon isn't...

"I thought you liked it," he adds, overwhelmed by your sudden mutism. "You talked so much about this festival, I was looking forward to it." 

"I do, it's just…" your fingers twiddle with your wedding ring. You catch a breath, tears pricking at the corners of your shiny eyes. “It’s complicated…”

Jungkook pauses. Then, “I know… you always tell me." There's no trace of annoyance in his delicate voice, but still you can catch a veil of sadness that tugs at your heart. 

Oh, God… how much you'd love to confess to him all the things running through your head and chest; how much you crave to show every facet of your true self, without any fear to crumble like sand slipping through his fingers; how much you'd love to be able to include Jeon Jungkook in your life (but you can't).

Your fingers flicker in the air even if your brain didn't send any impulse to your limbs, like a force was pulling them. They scrape the thin veil of air between you two and rest on his bicep (you try to ignore the flex of his muscle, but you know your brain is registering this detail for later) in a feather-like grip -firm enough to make him stiffen, though. You sink in his wide eyes full of astonishment, aware that you've never indulged too much into physical contact, and you expect him to rotate his arm to shove you away… instead, he stays still, relaxing in your touch each passing second. 

His stare lingers on your hand, only to flicker up to your face, softly.

You don't know why you did it. You used to do it with Joonie when he felt down and-and Jungkook isn't your husband, though. You can act like this, in a blind belief that he'll accept your demeanor just because Namjoom accepts it. You can't, it's not right, it's—!

Your heart lurches in your chest. You observe Jungkook's fingers laying on your own -they're a bit sticky for the cotton candy. He presses them on his bicep more instead of pulling you away. And then, he darts you this… comforting stare, silently telling you that everything is fine. 

And you feel lighter…

Like Jungkook's happiness and quietness were a good reason to go back to breathing… 

You notice his lips parting, like he was on the cusp of telling you something; but whatever he was about to say rolls back down in his throat when he takes notice of a stall, behind your back: it's the throwing-hoops stand, adorned by a myriad of plushies of various dimensions hung all around it. 

You give him a tender stare, contemplating the thousands of sparks shining bright in his eyes. They remind you of the starry sky above your heads when you stargaze in the backyard of your house, Bam and Moonie napping close to you. "Want to try?"

He sinks back down to earth, observing the long queue across the stand. "N-no, don't worry. Too many people, don't want you to waste time waiting." 

You shrug, clamping your hands behind your back. "It's ok. There's a bookstall I'd like to see, I can wait for you there." You grin before his skeptic glance. "You said you were good at it. Or should I think it was just a way to impress me?"

“Well… sort of—no! N-no, no, I'm good at it, but I - I'm out of shape, mh." He swallows, shoves back his mint hairs with both hands. "Is - is there something you like?"

You look at the toys, unfazed. "Not particularly. Anything is ok as long as you win it." You didn't mean to sound so flirty, you were just trying to keep a light-hearted conversation to spare him the embarrassment. But Jungkook suddenly straightens his postures, inhales sharply through his nose while his chest swells up. "It's ok even if you come back empty-handed, of course."

He snorts a laugh, smirking. "I'll win for you the biggest plush they have." He tilts his head to both sides to crack his bones before raising his thumb up. He nears the people gathered around the stand, waiting in line. 

You stare at him, unbothered by the quick glances people throw at him for the arabesque of tattoos coloring his right arm. 

You go in the opposite direction, approaching the bookstall you noticed a while ago. You start studying the various titles and covers piled up a bit messily, searching for all those novels that Namjoon often mentioned in his recounts. You want to try them, seeing if they're as interesting as he used to say. 

Caught up in your own thoughts, while moving a bit to the side to pick up a book, you accidentally bump against the person situated beside you. 

"Ah, so sorry," you apologize, hand running to your opposite arm to scratch it a little. You're about to go back to minding your own business when your brain suddenly registers who the girl next to you actually is. "Oh, you—" your eyes grow a little, corners of your mouth pulling up a little. "Hajoon, hello."

She was an old student of Namjoon. You don't remember much about her, aside from her name and that she moved out of town last year to study at university. 

“Ms (Y/N), hi.” Hajoon bows a little. She delivers you the usual stare that the majority of people here dart to you -as if you were only Namjoon's wife, and not (Y/N).

You're about to question her about her life, the usual small talks you usually have whenever you bump into Namjoon's old students only to not deal with uncomfortable questions they could ask you. However, words falter and die in the back of your throat when you take notice of the swelling womb under her t-shirt. 

Oh…

Shee must've read something in your wide stare lingering on her belly, because she exhales a light giggle. "It's already four months," she states, lovingly, casting a glance down below. She doesn't seem mad about you gawking at her, she must be used to the curious glances people inevitably throw to pregnant women. "I still don't know the sex, we prefer keeping it as a surprise."

"Oh, that's…"

That's great. It's really great. Why can't you vocalize it? It's great… That's great. It's—

"Great," you manage to say, feeling a stabbing pain in your chest, close to where your heart rests. You shake your head, trying to recollect your thoughts. "Ahm, I didn't want to stare, it's just—"

She's young. She's younger than you when you met Namjoon. She's around the age you were when you left your hometown.  And she's already pregnant. While you and Namjoon… it's just—

"You're so young. I remember when you used to greet Namjoon outside school."

She chuckles, hands rubbing the womb. "Yeah… I admit we didn't search for it. But it happened, and we're so happy." Her eyes crinkle in the corner, she reads something in curiosity crossing your face. "It's Sungho. I thought it'd end after graduating, but we were able to work things out. He's still in Daegu, he couldn't take a few days off from his job, unfortunately." Hajoon nods. "We'd like to get married, someday."

You recognize that stare, the same you had when Namjoon was just a friend and you were too much of a coward to confess your feelings. When seeing him from afar was safe, and picturing your life together was a source of comfort during the hard times. When talking about marriage was as easy as breathing. When you were talking about children, wondering what kind of parents you two might have been. It's the same you had when Namjoon looked at you, catching you staring, and you couldn't help but think that everything made sense just because he existed and he was yours. 

The same you had when you were living with the man you loved and despite the imperfections and obstacles, life was perfect…

Hajoon speaks and you try to focus on the conversation, barging in with a comment or two to not appear rude. Hajoon speaks, but your mind is a million miles away from her and her joy. 

What are you doing here…

You should be at home. You should be taking care of Moonie. You… shouldn't be here… wearing a summer dress, putting your make-up on… 

What are you doing here?

"Well, it was nice to see you again, Ms (Y/N). And, well…" she delivers you that smile -to silently let you know that she feels sorry for you, but it's now too late to say it out loud. Because it's in the past, it's gone, everyone moved on… 

You try an attempt at a smile, glad that your conversation has come to an end, but as soon as she steps away, your features stiffen. You feel wrapped into a bubble. Sounds are muffled outside, confused…

"The weather is nice today. Guess I'll go for a bike ride. Are you in?" Namjoon searches for a clean shirt. Sun shines on his tanned skin like diamonds...

You fold yourself into a warm embrace, feeling the shivers running down your spine. You're cold. You squeeze your eyes shut. You see the sun filtering through the windows, bathing your bed. Namjoon's side is empty, wrinkles on his portion...

"No, I prefer staying here."

"Thought you'd love to come with me. It's been a while since we've been together…" Namjoon cleans his glasses. Namjoon takes off his sweatpants. Namjoon throws them on the chair, they fall on the ground...

You try to catch a breath, but air sticks in your throat. You can't pull it down. You feel smothering. You shake your head, but Namjoon is still there. He's taking off his tank top, his muscles flexing for the motion.  

"Ngh, I thought I could spend some time at home. And I've to run some errands. Can't we go another day?"

"Or you can do them another day." Namjoon chuckles...

Your heart is pounding, uncontrollably. You feel like the ground beneath your feet is crumbling, sucking in you in. You squeeze your eyes. Tears prickle at the corners. Namjoon is still here. Namjoon chuckles at something you said. Namjoon rests a knee on the mattress and stretches toward you. Namjoon places a kiss on your forehead...

"You sure you don't want to come with me?

Namjoon delivers you one last smile, eyes two sweet half moons. His hands are tight around the handlebars. His: "I love you" wafts over you softly. You wave at him. You'll tell him you love him when he'll be back... 

"(Y/N)!"

Someone calls you. There's a sigh on the other side of the phone. Jin's voice is quivering. You don't understand anything he's saying. Words blend with tears and sighs and gulps…

"(Y/N)! Look? I won! Well, I know the plush is small and - and, well, I actually won a bigger one. But a child was crying and I - I gave it to her..."

There's blood in the air. And the sickening smell of brakes on the asphalt. You try to catch a breath, but you can't. You feel smothering.

"But this one is cute, too. And I thought—(Y/N), you ok?"

You feel like fainting. You rest your hands on your bent knees. Cold shivers run to your toes. Sweat sticks on your forehead, a drop glides down on your temple…

"(Y/N)... You ok?" Jungkook gently touches you on the shoulder and you flinch, gazing back at him. His shape is blurry beyond the liquid sparks in your eyes. You try to call him but your voice doesn't come out. "What—don't you feel well?"

"I—" you gasp for air. You can't breathe. "Want to—" you exhale some air but it sticks in your throat. You cough. "Away…"

You don't know what you've just blurted out. Your voice is slurry, a mess between stuttered breaths. 

Jungkook spares you one last glance before grabbing your hand into his own, gently guiding you far away from the crowd (were they staring at you? You don't know. You don't care. You can't register what's happening around you). He speeds up the pace, looking around to search for a quiet place. It takes him a couple of minutes to find a little frequented area, distant from the frenzy of the festival. 

"Keep breathing…" Jungkook says, soothing voice. He maneuvers you to sit down on a bench. He crouches down, guiding you to follow his instructions. "Here… keep breathing, like this." He takes a deep breath in, letting it out to help you in this simple task that feels insurmountable. "You're safe here, (Y/N), keep breathing… like this, you're doing great..."

You hunch over, resting your forehead on your lap. Heat wraps your face, cold sweat drops glide down your temples. You keep breathing, following Jungkook's calm voice. It slowly pulls you out from the abyss you were sinking into. 

"Do you need anything? Some water?" He asks, you shake your head. "Do you want something sweet?" You shake your head. "Do you want to stay alone?" You shake your head, again. 

You hear him move, and in a brief moment of mental quietness you wonder if he's going to leave you here. But, imperceptibly, his fingers lay upon the back of your hands. "Is it ok?" You nod, breathing in. He pauses. "This is the moment I should take off my - my jacket and put it around your shoulders. But - but I don't have it." A note of playfulness makes a little giggle sprout in your throat, you exhale some air, then breathe in again. "I can take off my shirt, if you want." 

You snort a chuckle. You lift your head up a little, Jungkook delivers you a wary glance. "I think… that if you'd show your pecs, maybe people would stop badmouthing you." You try an attempt at a joke, aware that you aren't crossing a brilliant moment, right now. 

But Jungkook doesn't care. Jungkook bursts out laughing, whole face scrunching up. He moistens his lip, eyes crinkling in the corner. His thumb brushes on the back of your hand. He doesn't let you go even if you stopped trembling a few minutes ago.

"What do you want to do, (Y/N)?"

Jungkook is here. 

(Namjoon isn't.)

His thumb caresses your palm. You want to go home. 

"I want to go home."

  The cheerfulness of the festival plaguing the atmosphere lingers in your neighborhood, despite the city center being a ten minutes walk from your house. 

Sat on the veranda on the backyard of your place, you gaze at the myriad of stars scattered on the veil of darkness cloaking the town. You let out a sigh and close your eyelids, resting your heavy head against the wall.

God… you feel so embarrassed…

Having a mental breakdown in the middle of a festival, amidst all those people (people who know you)... It's true that you can't control your reactions, but you always feel so stupid and tired, in the aftermath.

"Hey, fish..." 

You crack your eyes open, head turning toward Jungkook. He is still here. You thought he'd go back to the festival, after accompanying you at home; you thought he'd greet you… and he wouldn't show up anymore. I mean… you must have embarrassed him. This is the first time you're crumbling in front of him -in front of people who aren't Jin or Yoongi. You thought Jungkook would leave you for good…

Instead, he stayed…

He guided you to the sofa, helping you to lay down. He fixed the cushion under your head, gently washed away the sweat on your forehead with a napkin. He made you a warm tea. He stayed when you took a ten minutes nap. 

"I… I'm sorry," you start, weakly. Jungkook doesn't turn to you. You moisten your lips, exhaling a sigh to control the tears shining in your eyes. "Thanks, though. For helping me, earlier."

Jungkook nods, putting himself into a stretched position. He tilts his head to both sides to crack the bones in his neck, casting a glance upon the bowl containing the two gold-fishes. "How long have you been suffering from panic attacks?" He asks, cautiously.

For a while. Since Namjoon's been gone...

"Half a year…" You stiffen. You don't like to talk about it. "How did you—"

"Jimin." He interrupts, softly. "They started when he was little, in middle school. I learned to recognise the symptoms." He smiles, bending over the bowl. "He's doing a lot better now, though." He now gazes at you, hesitant. "You… you feel better, mh?"

You nod, catching a trembling glint in his eyes. "I ruined the night, I'm sorry..." 

In the past weeks, you learned a little about Jungkook, so you expect him to reassure you. You expect him to give you a beaming smile to make you feel less bad about yourself. You expect him to do… something. Because he is gentle, ready to help others…

But the corners of his mouth pull up imperceptibly before going back to concentrating on the fishes, a gesture that punches the breath out of your body.

You ruined everything. Not only this night. Everything (whatever this everything might be). 

You know it. The acquaintance the pair of you are nurturing day by day shattered somewhere, in a place so distant you can't easily reach to patch it up with a stitch of two. 

After all, Jungkook is just a boy. 

He doesn't know what it means to love someone with deep passion and end up on your own, carrying on your shoulders a tons of projects you'll never be able to fulfill because they seem perfect only with the person who left you behind. Maybe… Jungkook is getting tired to spend-waste his time with a woman who has more sad days than happy ones -actually, he's probably regretting the day he decided to let your lives intertwine. 

You hope he is...

"I'm sorry," you start, feebly. Jungkook doesn't look at you. "I really am. You should… you should be having fun at the festival. You could meet many guys your age." You bend your legs close to your chest, circling them with your arms. "You'd have much more fun there," you mumble, resting your chin on your knees.

Jungkook taps a finger on the bowl, the fishes dash away. "It's ok. I'm having fun here, too."

You turn to him, cheek adhering to your knees. Through your lashes, Jungkook looks like a disappointed kid who can't catch the attention of the two gold fishes swimming in a circle; deep inside your heart, you're aware that it's you, the main cause of his disappointment.

"Fireworks are about to start," you continue, ignoring his previous statement. Jungkook inhales sharply through his nose. "If you go now, you're still on time—"

"I said it's ok," he interrupts, pouty, "It's ok. I want to stay here, with you." Words fly out in a whispered hush, graze your spine in shivers. "I'm having fun with you, (Y/N). It's just…" he straightens himself, his hands flickering in the air. "I'd like to do more. You don't seem happy… never." His stare now trails to you, but there's no trace of boredom or annoyance in his doe eyes; the only visible crack is sadness, and it pinches your sense of guilt. "Are you happy, (Y/N)?"

You don't know if he's referring to the moments you've shared up to now, or in general. Whatever it is, you don't reply.

In all honesty, you aren't. For a very long time now. But… you sometimes are. There are little, quick-whispered moments in which your brain forgets about Namjoon and life seems a wonderful journey to discover again: when Jin spills one of his awful jokes, exhaling his windshield laugh; when he bumps into your house without warning, bringing a dish he personally cooked for you. When Yoongi delivers you his gummy smile; when his face heats up because his mother called him "Yoongi-chi" in front of you. When Hoseok calls you only to make sure that you're doing fine; when he sends you souvenirs from all the places he's visiting. When Yoongi and Jin's mothers invite you to have some tea with them. When Jungkook… is here. 

Jungkook, waiting for you on the other side of the street, throwing rocks to entertain Bam. Jungkook, inviting you to have a walk together. Jungkook, showing up at your place with cans of beer and the proposal of a movie night made of trashy Z-movie. Jungkook, sitting on your sofa while watching cartoons and commenting out loud, Bam and Moon resting their muzzles on his thighs. Jungkook, letting out his airy laughter. Jungkook, bending down while drawing random sketches in his notebook. 

Jungkook… just him.

"I am. Sometimes…" you manage to say, still affected by your own thoughts revolving around the boy. 

"But you were more with your husband." It's not a question, the next comment tumbling off his mouth. You stiffen. It's like Jungkook immediately caught the reason behind the perpetual winter that's conditioning your life. "Would you be happier if he came back?" He hesitates, almost scared about the consequences his words might trigger. "If you miss him so much, you should tell him. Maybe you can solve things and he'll be back." A light grimace crosses his face, but he goes back to scrutinizing the fishes before you could actually notice it. 

"It's complicated." You brush your thumb on your wedding ring. "I feel like I'm suffocating when I miss him."

"What do you miss the most?"

The question is easy; the answer should be even more. His smile accompanied by two adorable dimples; his low voice; his chuckle; his hand resting upon your forehead when you used to use his lap as a pillow while he was reading; the passion dancing along his voice when he explained to you topics he loved; his: "I love you" blurted out when you least expected it, breathed out like they never weighed upon his heart...

"Small things. Things I only knew," you say, instead. Your heart quivers, he's the first you're revealing this. "Like… he couldn't dance well. But he always used to pull me into an awkward dance party while we were cooking. He was so clumsy. I lost count of how many things he broke because he accidentally hit them." You let out a chuckle, Jungkook gives you a little smile. "Or when he used to talk to his bonsai every morning. He treated them with so much care, like they were his little children." You swallow, the way his fingers used to caress the tiny leaves appear in the back of your mind. "Or… ahm, he used… since we've started dating, he used to dedicate small poems to me every day. He wrote it on napkins, ripped pieces of paper, sticky notes… I stored them all in a diary." Flush spreads to the tip of your ears, sweetness is dripping in your chest, washing away your sadness. "I haven't read them since he's been gone, but I remember each one of them by heart." Your shaky stare engulfs into his own, dark and intense. "I know that anyone can do these things—"

"But they're special because he was the one doing them," he completes the sentence for you, corners of his mouth quirking up. "I know what you mean." His eyes crinkle in the corners, then he turns toward the fishes. 

You stare at him. You'd love to open his skull and catch his train of thoughts -because it really feels like he knows what he's talking about. "Have you ever loved someone like this?"

Jungkook scratches his nape. "Don't know if it's love. But… lately, I think about all the things I love doing alone, and… dunno, it would be nice to do them with her." The moonlight kisses half of his face, you'd like to caress the visible portion and swipe away the sadness sprinkled on it. "Is it love, to you?"

"I don't know. Love is different for everyone. And I'm sure, you'll understand it on your own if it's love or not." You go back to watching in front of you. "Like… There were some things I loved to do on my own, and Namjoon too. But my whole life… I could only picture it beside him." 

"And I still do" is left unsaid, but judging from the heavy breath Jungkook just exhaled, he perfectly captured your meaning. It takes him quite a few seconds to stand up, hands brushing on the jeans to clean them. He's about to go away. You aren't surprised at all. He's probably tired of staying here, listening to the words of a woman who can't let go of her husband's memory. 

You stare at the garden, the moonlight kissing the plants and flowers. It's interesting this evolution, considering that Jungkook claimed more than once about his incapacity to let his past relationships grow in something deeper; you'd like to tell him that he's just to give himself time and be patient, that someday he'll meet a person and all the pieces will go to their right places on their own. That he's an incredible boy, and you're sure that the person he'll love with a passion of a thousand suns will be the luckiest soul on Earth—!

The screeching sound of footsocks pressing on the wood sends shivers down your spine, all your whirling thoughts sinking into oblivion. Cold wraps around your bones. You're used to people coming and going. Jungkook isn't different from all the men who came after Namjoon. Jungkook is…

Jungkook stays. He's standing there, across from you, hands curling around the hem of his t-shirt. He sits down, using his crossed feet like a cushion, fists laying on his lap.

"I envy your husband," he blows out, with an honesty that makes your muscles tense all at once. "You've got such beautiful eyes when you talk about him. Or when you… think of him." He scratches his head. "I wonder if I'll ever find someone who will look at me like this."

"You will."

He hesitates, nose scrunching a little. "And… What if the only person I want to look at me like this will never do it?" His question lingers between the pair of you like a broken melody out of tune, drenched with an awareness that rips your heart apart. 

You shift your stare on his face, scrutinizing the sombre expression dancing across his features. You're about to tell him that he should go. Panic cripples up your heart and you want to tell him to go. To go back to when he was a stranger and you were the only person treating him like he was invisible. To go back to the big city and live his life at his fullest and—!

A sudden whistle pierces through the silence, capturing your attention. You set your eyes up to the sky, watching a thin sparkling line crossing the dark veil before opening in an ocean of reddish sparks with a blow. 

"They started…" you feel guilty. He could've been witnessing them side by side with the other spectators, breathing in the excitement plaguing the atmosphere if you only didn't have a breakdown. "Namjoon loves them so much…"

"I love them too." A small pout tugs at his lips.

"You should turn, then. You're missing a wonderful sight."

"No. I'm not…"

You swallow. Jungkook stretches and you tilt your head back in the slightest, dizzy for his warm breath fanning against your mouth. "I… I'll go away this weekend. I promise a friend I'll spend it with him," he starts, voice dropping two notches deeper and reverberating through your chest. "But I'll be back on Sunday night. So… Monday morning? Same hour?"

Your heart thumps wildly. 

You nod, tears threatening to roll down. The way he's treating your encounters like a promise between you two… it's a supernova explosion of tenderness that makes you all warm inside. You tell yourself that Jungkook is acting like this because you're the only one he knows. You try to keep in mind that he's doing it because it's summer, he wants to have fun. You remind yourself that all of this will be over within two months.

Two months…

Jungkook turns to the side, his cheek brushes for a second against yours. He rests his head on your shoulder, wrapping you in a feeble embrace. His breath is a nice sound amidst the explosions of the fireworks, the screaming and laughter of kids playing in the street. 

You're touching... happiness. 

You can't get used to this.

[omniscientwreck]

With Every Single Thing I Have

Beginning note: ***MAJOR SPOILERS FOR C2 E141***

CW: Character Death, Talk of Death

This is my interpretation of the canon description of Essek and Caleb’s days with some good angst thrown right in there. I have no knowledge of what is or isn’t cannon about the afterlife in Critical Role so this may be canon divergent but I needed it to cope. I hope you enjoy! Title Is Taken From The Song Two by Sleeping At Last

Caleb Widogast is dying.

He’s old, nearly 90 years of age. His body aches with every rain, stairs become more difficult, but his casting never fades. His mind is sharp and he reads, learns, and teaches until the end comes for him. Up in his tower, exhausted and bed-ridden he hears shuffling outside the door before it opens without so much as a touch and a tray of food is brought in. Essek Thelyss glides gently into the room, “Oh good, you’re awake. I prepared a light lunch for you, would you eat?”

Nodding back at the drow, the bittersweet smile that’s become a companion to him in Essek’s presence settling again into his wrinkled features. Essek sits on the bed beside him, book in hand as he often does and the memories written all over Caleb’s face come flooding back.

They had gone back to Aeor after the business in Rexxentrum concluded. Jester had helped Caleb locate Essek and when he found out he wasn’t too late, he was still at the outpost, he’d gone almost immediately. The winter clothes they’d bought all those months ago to chase their lost friend still fit and they carried many memories in them with the promise of more to come.

Their time together in Aeor was long. They took many months scouring the ruins for every book they could find. Between his Vault of Amber and Essek’s Wristpocket as well as a borrowed bag of holding they were able to collect the knowledge of Aeor. They found every device, every tiny dunamantic stone. They went back to the machine, the one that promised Caleb his dreams, closure, a chance to atone. The one that could change Essek’s past, that would give him his freedom.

Essek gazed upon the machine and he decided to remain in hiding. He looked directly at Caleb, made the decision to live forever with the consequences of his actions, because without them they wouldn’t have this. This moment, this trip, these memories.

It is Caleb’s turn now to gaze upon his destiny. He looks into the lavender eyes boring into him with the question Will you do it? His plan is perfect, the only thing that changes is that his parents are not dead and one day maybe he can reunite with them. He can see them grown old, he can tell them everything he’s done. They can be proud of him.

His mind shifts to the Nein, to Veth, Jester. To Astrid and Eodwulf. Back to Essek. It’s impossible to know what would happen if he did this. If he’d be able to come back. Is it really worth giving up everything he knows? Potentially giving up the Mighty Nein not only for himself but for them too?

He reaches into his components bag, smears dust across his forearm and with a green ray he carves away the experiment. He destroys, permanently, any hope of ever going back, in favour of hope for the future. Essek helps him burn everything and when they’re done he can only stare at the drow. The man who’s come so far, allowed himself to be so changed by the love of friends (Caleb’s love) that he went from enemy to beloved companion. He stares and divergent futures flash before his eyes as if he’s staring deep into the Luxon. They all end the same, he dies and Essek lives on without him for many years. The change is in the times in between now and then.

He knows which one he want and if the last two months were any indication Essek had his own hopes.

A week or so later, they ate in the tower. When the Nein first separated the tower had felt empty, he usually elected to sleep in a hotel room or in the dome under the stars. With Essek it’s easier to be there. They’ve fallen into a comfortable routine while researching that involves them spending the day immersed in ancient secrets forgotten to time. They would spend hours in complete silence, reading in tandem or copying runes and arcane patterns and then one of them would find something truly tantalizing and the silence would be broken as they began theorizing. When Essek gets excited his lavender eyes brighten and his whole face lifts and it’s no secret to Caleb that his heart races and his face melts into a soft, tender expression that Essek catches and matches.

After, they’ll go into the tower and eat, served warm soups and breads by little fey cats and then they read in the study in companionable silence until they retire to separate rooms. This night, a week before their time was up, Caleb’s keen mind caught up with him. Suddenly he became very aware of the passage of time, the potential futures slipping away and he rests his spoon on the table, overwhelmed by the shrinking timeline ahead.

They talk that night, instead of reading. They sit in two armchairs in a quiet carpeted room lit by purple globules of light, gently bobbing around their heads and they talk. They talk for hours. Essek tells Caleb his sins and Caleb elaborates on his own. They talk plainly and it’s hard to do, but at some point the chairs moved closer, and then their hands touched, eventually Essek’s hands were folded into Caleb’s.

He felt closer to Essek after that. For the rest of the week it was easier to reach out and grasp his hand, to pull him into a hug. Two weeks later, they talked again and after that they kissed. Their kisses weren’t frequent but they were familiar, a warm comfort over those last weeks in Aeor.

Theirs was not a whirlwind romance. It was something more precious and much more difficult to describe. It burned slow and and steadily rose until something had to be done. They kept in close contact after Aeor, it is those letters that begin the new collection that fills Caleb’s left holster.

They visit occasionally until the burn of the eyes of the Dynasty on Essek’s back became too hot. Caleb has taken to staying in Nicodranas when he and Beauregard are taking a break from dismantling centuries old systems to weed out the rot so he asks Essek to come stay with him. Quietly, out of the eyes of the empire and most of their friends, they begin to build a life. They construct with care, laying a sturdy foundation because though they both know this arrangement is temporary they promise to always be together in one way or another; because though gravity can be altered, it always rights itself and the pull Caleb feels towards Essek, has felt for some time, is a law of his nature.

They allow themselves as long as the other will have them and they spend years together. The kisses become more frequent as they gradually abandon inhibitions. Caleb’s life is a blink compared to Essek and he becomes more aware each year of the limited time he has. He and Essek stay together in varying locations for as long as he can bear it, he realizes now that they have earned this happiness, however fleeting. It will always be a larger portion of his life than it will be of Essek’s so he holds out as long as he can. He begins to teach in this time and though Essek cannot really be free he still has his work studying their findings and occasionally he travels.

Caleb watches him advance so much in their decade together and he gets bleary eyed imagining all Essek will do when he’s gone. They learn together, share every meal, he learns Undercommon and teaches Zemnian, and they spend every possible night together in every possible way. They share a sweet and intense passion and Caleb’s love sinks deeper and deeper into his heart.

When his forehead wrinkles and his hair is greying he realizes his time is up. He has goals, he needs to teach, he needs to fully commit to being in the Empire and his short life must be spent doing as he promised all those years ago, making each place better than he found it. That is the hardest conversation he’s ever had. “I wish it were not this way. That it didn’t have to be, but I do not have as much time as you so I must burn brightly to make my impact. I will always love you Essek Thelyss.”

“And I you Caleb Widogast. When you stumbled into my life all those years ago, Empire infiltrator holding my greatest crime in your hand I had no idea what would happen. You were a variable I did not account for, could never have foreseen. Of all the possible futures in store for me this one, where I am here with you, where I have been here with you for ten years and where I will continue to be by your side thought it is not the same is the best one I could have never predicted.”

They give themselves one last year. They don’t travel, Caleb takes the year off and they spend 328 days exactly together, in bliss. They do their best not to allow the apprehension of good-bye to creep in. Caleb knows it’s not good-bye, not truly and not forever. But when the day comes though he tries to hold it back he cries bitter tears and holds Essek tight and the smaller man shakes with his own sobs. But they loved each other for eleven years, and they manage to continue loving each other for another fourty or so.

Essek leaves and travels for a while to do his own work. This is frequent in the latter half of Caleb’s life but every time he comes back and his friend brings him stories and listens to all of his own. They help each other research, Caleb still tells him everything and relishes every moment they spend together. They no longer kiss but they are still partners.

Caleb’s life has been better, more fulfilling than he could ever have hoped stumbling out of that wretched prison at the beginning of his second life. He learned peace through the Nein and later through Essek and now that he’s at the end of his time he knows he could not have lived a better life.

Caleb Widogast is old, older than he ever thought he’d be and while his bones and muscles give out and he goes to the Blooming Grove where Caduceus has always said he will end up, to spend his final months, Essek follows.

He cooks the soups the cats used to, they remember everything together, Caleb’s mind keen but Essek has kept up well. At just the right time, Caleb knows. Essek is sat beside him in the bed, the wizards reading in tandem as they’ve done before and fallen into again in this late stage. They have been kissing again, Caleb allowing this last indulgence, one last selfish act. Essek needs it too.

“Essek Thelyss, thank you for everything you’ve done for me. My constant companion, the center of my gravity. You who bent time and space for me and taught me so many things from magic to forgiveness. I have loved you all my life from the moment I could and I would never dream to change a single thing.”

“Caleb Widogast. I have treasured every moment we have spent together, you changed my life, saved a man who knew not that he was dying. I have been happy because I know you and I will continue to be happy because you will never be far from my heart.”

“Please promise to me that you will take care of the others. Allow them to care for you. Find new people and care for them and allow yourself to be cared for in return, live your life as fully as you are able, and when you are done I will see you again just as I am about to see my family.”

“I will. You have loved me all of your life and I will love you for all of mine. I will never know someone like you again. Thank you for allowing me the privilege of your companionship. It is an honor to love you and it always will be.”

The quiet conversation fades and they share one final kiss and Essek sits as Caleb drifts to sleep, gently running his fingers through his hair. Then he goes to get Caduceus. Caleb Widogast is dead.

---------------------------------

Essek Thelyss is dying.

He is nearly 740 years old and he is in decline. He, like his friends before him, retires to the Blooming Grove to live out his remaining days, however many they might be. Caduceus’ kin are caring and when he shows up on their doorstep they expect him. “He told us you would arrive one day. Welcome home and thank you for being here.”

Essek’s life has been a thing of remarkable chance, nearly improbable. He has learned to manipulate as much as he can but even he could not have foreseen the path he ended up taking. He has lived so long, and his life has been full but he is tired.

Fjord had been the first of the Nein to pass. After him Caleb. After Caleb the group coalesced around him. They had never shared many details, but they seemed to know. Keeping his promise to Caleb he allowed them to care for him. To bring him food, to message him to make sure he was okay. They invited him on adventures when they needed and he never turned them down.

They continued asking him to teleport them and every single time he did. Kingsley goes next and then Beauregard. Those years are full of so much loss condensed into such a tiny portion of his existence. He isn’t used to things happening so quickly and he begins to reach out. New connections. He finds people to care for, to mentor and to bolster. He dedicates his life to using aliases to research and study and publish materials to help the mages after him and Caleb. He finds himself beseeched by parties of assholes for assistance and while he never fights alongside another group he makes himself useful in any other way in his ability.

He always imparts the lesson to leave the world better than they found it, and if they listen, if they are the same as his friends, the best people he’s ever known, the world will survive yet. There is a pause between good-byes for a number of years. Then he loses Yasha and Jester. Jester is one of the hardest, the friendly little blue tiefling with a heart for adventure who hugged him when touch had still burned. After her goes Veth and after Veth, finally Caduceus goes back to the earth.

He promised Caleb to live a full life, but every year, the anniversary of the day they met several lifetimes ago, he visits the Blooming Grove. He walks the grounds, he sits with Caleb and he tells him of his research, he reminisces and he whispers love to the flowers that grow. They are fiery orange and yellow with some deep purple and blue spattered among them. Caduceus says on his first visit that the blue ones are called forget-me-nots. Essek picks one every year and presses it into a book, like Yasha showed him once upon a time.

Caduceus and Essek drink the tea from the flowers Caleb gave them. For centuries they sat together, telling stories, having extended conversation year after year. Some years Caduceus travelled so Essek made his vigil alone, but he never forgot Caleb and he never forgot the Mighty Nein. They lived as long as he did for they were in his heart always.

The last time he visits Caleb they talk for hours. “Every good thing I have done, every positive emotion and happiness I have known in these centuries has been because of you. You allowed me to feel again and the best decision I could have ever made was letting my plan go to allow myself to grow close to you.”

He is lying beside the grave twirling a delicate blue flower between wrinkled, aching fingers. “Caleb Widowgast you have lived with me for a long while and I thank you again for the gifts you gave me while you were here. I hope you are proud of me. I love you to the end of my days my friend.”

He falls asleep then, in the night of the Blooming Grove, fireflies and an infinite expanse of stars casting gentle light across his stilling form.

As Essek Thelyss fades he finds himself again in a garden. It is brightly coloured and lush, well cared for. There is a small cottage there and as he glides to the door, drawn to it as if by gravity, it opens and he sees copper hair, vibrant blue eyes, and the widest smile he’s missed the most, “I told you my friend, we would meet again.”

“I never doubted you Caleb Widogast.”

[oyubaat-tapcaf]

Take Me To the Planetarium Chapter 3 - Shawarma

AO3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2

warnings: none

summary: Din has to pinch himself a few times during this chapter.

When Din arrived at Boba’s place he was ten minutes early. Of course, he was. He either gets somewhere too late or way too early, there was no in-between. He didn’t want to rush Boba, he probably wasn’t even ready to go yet, so Din drove round the block. When he arrived again he was only five minutes early. That was okay, he could do that.

He parked his bike on the sidewalk and set back. Din knew the street where Boba lived, it was near the centre of the city. Boba lived in an older apartment block with beautiful architecture. Din took off his helmet and looked at the trees that were framing the sidewalk. He liked being here already. Though, his gut was twisting inside of him like a snake. He was so excited to see Boba, but on the other hand, he was scared. Scared that Boba realised that Din maybe wasn’t how Boba thought he was. That Boba was disappointed by the show, that Din fucked up at keeping a conversation. That Din infodumped all the shit he knew about space and that Boba wouldn’t like that. That Din got too excited and wouldn’t stop talking...

Din got off his motorcycle and took off his gloves. It was pretty cold outside so he had to wear them, at least for the ride. He went over to Boba’s front door and raised his hand to ring the doorbell. Before he could actually press the button the door swung open and he was greeted with Boba’s always so welcoming smile.

“Hi, Din!”

Din didn’t even have time to be surprised because he immediately felt better. Boba had waited, he had been ready a long time ago. Also, he didn’t even try to hide it, because he didn’t need to. Boba didn’t try to act cool and uninterested. He showed Din that he was excited and had been looking forward to this whole...date (?). Because somehow, he knew that Din kept overthinking and he knew how to deal with that.

Din released the air in his lungs that he had been holding and smiled back at his date.

“Hi.”

He realised that Boba looked pretty good. He had put the effort into his outfit, just like Din had. He wore black jeans, that was ripped at the knees, together with a button-up that was also black. Though it had a white and grey print all over. Din couldn’t see what it was, the light wasn’t bright enough at the front door. Boba also wore a silver necklace and his hair looked like it had been styled at least a bit. The longer parts of his mullet were long enough to lightly brush his shoulders.

He held a leather jacket in his hand that was lined with a fluffy and warm looking fabric on the inside. It had a few patches sewn on it.

“Your knees will be freezing,” said Din awkwardly. Wow, what a great way to start a conversation.

Boba laughed and ran his gloved hand through his curls.

“You can keep me warm. Anything for the look.”

Din joined the laugher.

“Okay, I can do that,” he replied and gestured to the jacket. “ Also, I bet this is warm enough. Though, the ride isn’t that long.”

“That sounds good,” Boba nodded and stepped through the door and closed it behind him.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been in a planetarium. I’m pretty excited!”

Din watched Boba fumble with his keys and noticed the badass leather gloves he wore. Fingerless. Oh boy, this did something to him.

“I’m happy to help,” answered Din and walked over to his bike. Boba followed him and eyed up the vehicle.

“That looks cool. I wanted to get one too but I need money for that,” he laughed awkwardly, “My car costs so much since it’s pretty old.”

“It didn’t seem original to me. Is it tuned?”

Boba nodded and put on the huge leather jacket.

“Yeah, a friend of mine offered me to change a few things.”

“It suits you,” Din replied and watched Boba close the zipper of the leather jacket. “Ready to go?”

They both put on their helmets and Din sat down on his bike. He prepared for Boba to sit behind him. He felt the weight shift and Boba’s smaller body sitting down behind him. Boba made sure not to get all up behind Din immediately, which found Din very polite, though, he would’ve loved to feel the man pressing up behind him. He registered that Boba was already lightly resting his hands at Din’s waist. A shiver ran through his muscles which he luckily hid very well.

“Please don’t fall during turns,” said Din, his voice a bit muffled by his helmet.

“I know how to ride a bike you dingus,” Boba slapped Din’s waist and snickered.

“Well then, off we go.”

The bike started rolling, the engine started roaring and they both started to feel the wind on their bodies. The street lights began to blur and everything seemed far distant. While Din still watched the traffic, he realised how they undocked from the world and entered the wormhole where just the two of them existed. It was dangerous to start daydreaming while going 50km per hour through the city, so Din stopped hyper-focusing on Boba and concentrated on his bike.

As much as he’d love to enjoy the man’s presence behind him, there was no way he could do that for now without getting them both in trouble. Maybe, when he got used to Boba a bit more, then he’d be able to do both things all at once. But for now, he had to stay in reality.

As Din had mentioned before, the ride wasn’t long. Boba lived near downtown, which means they arrived after fifteen minutes. Din was already able to see that planetariums dome from the last traffic light. He already felt safer and way more grounded. The engine beneath him was rumbling like a sea monster in a horror movie, but the leather-clad hands on his waist felt angelic. He realised how happy he was to experience this whole situation. Planetarium in sight, on his bike, with the man he was crushing on. He made sure to remember to pinch himself when they arrive so he could make sure this wasn’t a dream.

The Moons of Iego was already greeting them with its bright lights that were nearly illuminating the whole street. The trees were touched by blue and purple, the dome of the building was brightly lit with yellow and orange. It looked like the sun.

The light show never failed to amaze Din.

The bike slowly rolled into the parking lot and through that neon sign that stated the name of the location. The sign gave Din the weird vibe of a romantic gothic style that went to a cyberpunk world. It had crooked metal bars that held the neon lights up, giving the whole entry a roughed up feeling. He was so in love with it.

There were already a few people entering the building, though, they still had plenty of time before the show started. Din liked to be early, the planetarium had an amazing interior with many cool pieces of art and items on display to learn about. Also, he wanted to buy Boba a drink.

They parked the bike and slowly got down from the seat.

After lifting his helmet Din turned to Boba and had to take a calming breath. The man was immersed in the purple light, threading through his curls and over his cheeks. A few spots of blue were on his lips and run down his neck, catching in his leather jacket. Din made sure to keep at least his mouth closed.

“What an amazing place,” he heard Boba whisper.

Din swallowed the rose that had just grown in his throat and tried to give Boba a good answer.

“I agree,” he got out and distracted himself by fumbling his keys into the pocket of his heavy biker jacket. It dreaded him a little bit to think of all the times he will have to make sure today not to let his true inner feelings show to not appear too creepy. Even if Boba was very relaxed and open-minded, Din still had to make sure. He had to go slow.

“You ready to go inside?” Din gestured to the entrance of the building that was decorated with beautiful ornaments and statues of angels and aliens.

Boba said yes to that and they both made their way to the entrance.

Din hadn’t told Boba, but he had reserved two tickets for them. he just had to be sure to get the best seats. When they entered the first big hall of the planetarium he heard Boba gasp beside him. He related to that, the first hall never failed to amaze.

It seemed like it had no ceiling because of the light show, together with the way they decorated the whole room. Din didn’t quite get how they made the effect of the endless hall but somehow they did. In the corner’s of the room were bar’s made out of silver metal and plastic to appear like space stations. The menus were hung up high up in the air, also made out of neon signs. About four meters above Din’s head were moons and space shuttles hung from the ceiling. Soft ethereal music was playing and somehow, the voices of the other visitors were muffled by the architecture of the room. It was strangely quiet in here, all the time. Just like outer space.

“This is unreal,” he heard Boba beside him and turned to look at him.

“I know what you mean.”

They both just quietly stood next to each other for a while, soaking up the relaxing energy that the room was flooded with. After a while, Din turned back to Boba.

“Do you want a drink?”

Boba met Din’s eyes and gave him a smirk.

“Sure.”

They walked over to one of the bar’s and leaned against it.

“What do you want? I’m getting a ginger ale for myself.”

Boba scanned the menu and his eyes fell on the wine.

“I love drinking alone. I’m going to take that red wine.”

“You sound like a single mom on pinterest.”

Boba started to laugh and threw his head back.

“That’s my duty. I am a single mom on pinterest. Live laugh love”!”

Din joined Boba’s cackling and realised that they were probably the loudest people in the room. He didn’t mind….and that was strange for him. With Boba, all his urge to hide from society just fell from his shoulders and out of his pockets. Boba was so confident, he took Din with him.

“Make sure that you’re still able to get on my bike after the show.”

Boba raised his eyebrows.

“I think I’ll be fine. Also, you can help me get up there. And then I’ll just hold onto you.” he leaned a bit forward and took the wine glass that Din handed him.

Din got flustered at first, his instincts were telling him to run. And then...he realised that there was no need to hide or run. He was able to play along with Boba’s flirting. He was capable of actually leading this date somewhere. He was sick of letting things happen to him. He was going to make things happen.

“Is that so? Then maybe I should buy you more drinks, huh?” Din leaned a bit closer and watched Boba take a sip from the glass. It had been a while since Din had taken control in a situation like this.

“Yes you should, because that wine tastes amazing,” replied Boba with gleaming eyes. It felt like the whole room around them had gone into a blur.

“Only the best for you.”

Boba raised his chin a little and a smug smile spread on his lips.

“What’s your goal here, biker boy? Getting me into your bed?”

Din’s inner self huffed. It was hard to keep up with Boba’s confidence and fearless flirting. He wanted to scream “Yes, kinda! Let’s go home and let me throw you on my Star Trek sheets!”

But of course, he couldn’t do that. Also, he was still very happy to be here.

“Well first, you’re going to watch that show with me and you better pay attention because there will be a test tomorrow!” Din raised his index finger as a teacher would.

Boba picked up his joke and laughed after taking another sip of wine.

“Okay, I’ll try my best, sir.”

For a few seconds, it took all of Din’s self-control to keep himself from throwing Boba over that damn bar stool next to them. He looked away for two seconds, a soft smile on his lips. Then he remembered what he actually wanted to talk about this night.

“Boba, tell me about your band. I completely fucked up asking last time.”

Boba looked surprised at that question. He then looked a little flustered, Din liked that.

“We’re an alt rock band. I play bass. Uhm...we have an EP released but the quality sucks because we don’t have the money for a good record studio.” he took a sip of the red wine and Din could see a small blush forming on Boba’s cheeks. He wasn’t sure if it’s the wine or the conversation.

“And how many people are in that band? What’s the name of the band?”

“We’re four people, the name is Spying Neighbors. We have a guitar, drums, bass keys and vocals, our guitarist also does the vocals.”

Din chuckled at that name.

“Spying Neighbors? That’s a sick name. How did that happen?”

Boba chuckled too and emptied his wine glass.

“We started rehearsing years ago at our guitarist’s parents’ house and the neighbours kept watching us and sometimes they even called the police.”

“Let me know when there’s a show! I wanna come.” Din also emptied his ginger ale.

Boba looked surprised. Probably because Din didn’t seem like a person who would go to rock shows. Which was kinda right, but he loved music and for Boba, he would go to a fully crowded club, just to see the man on stage.

“I definitely will!”

A signal from the speakers let them know that the show will start soon, only ten minutes left.

“Should we go inside?” Din placed his clas on the bar and gestured to the theatre’s entrance.

Boba nodded and picked up the jacket he had placed on that barstool next to him.

They walked over to the entrance. As they stepped through it everything turned dark. The theatre was still dark on the inside and the way to the seats was only shown by small lights on the floor. They found their seats pretty fast because Din knew the way. He had been here many times. When they sat down, Din realised that the seats weren’t even that far from each other that he remembered. Maybe he had never paid attention to it because he had never been here with another person.

“Remember the test tomorrow,” whispered Din in Boba’s direction and got a small giggle as an answer. He wasn’t able to really see Boa’s features because it was so dark in the room. But that gave him the opportunity to really listen to his voice as he talked.

“I am always amazed by all that technical stuff going on here. Like...how does this even work? Amazing!”

His voice wasn’t super deep but it wasn’t high either. It wasn’t rough, it had a smooth undertone that Din had never heard anywhere before. Also, the way he spoke gave Din butterflies in his stomach. Boba said everything with so much meaning and honesty like it was just permanently edged in his voice. It made Din happy just listening to it.

“I know what you mean. Even if someone would explain it to me, I’d still have no clue how they make it so realistic.”

“Nah, you’re smart. You’d get it.”

Din snickered at that and shook his head.

“I’m not smart Boba, I’m just interested in certain things. If I’d be that smart, I’d be working at NASA, not as a web designer.”

“What about as a web designer for NASA?” replied Boba smugly and giggled. “No for real,” he continued, "I'm kinda glad you work at Smith's, if not I'd have never met you."

Din felt his chest tickle as he heard Boba's words. At first, he didn't know what to say, and when he finally wanted to answer, the dome-like ceiling above them lit up in bright colours and music started to play. The show began.

Din already knew the show, they changed a few things from time to time but overall it was still the same. But it still didn't fail to amaze him every time. He kept his eyes glued to the projected sky above them and followed the star signs with his eyes. He wanted to look over to Boba, but he was too afraid that Boba might notice him staring.

So he kept looking at the show and leaned back in his seat, taking some time to relax and think about his next moves. The show wasn't very long, maybe about 60 minutes. He didn't want to say goodbye to Boba so soon, so he decided to ask him what he wanted to do after that. He would offer him to go to his place. He even had cleaned it up, so he kinda had to invite Boba. He was sure Boba was up for it.

He realised that being around this man made him relaxed and so confident. He felt like interacting with Boba was easy. He didn't know if it was the way Boba made sure to listen to every word Din said. Maybe it was the confidence that Boba held that washed over Din too. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, it was a strange connection he had never felt before. Din had to make sure to hold onto that.

The show had been playing for a while now and the screen showed a gigantic nebula that formed right above Din and Boba. The seats were reflecting the yellow and pink lights and Din saw that it was really bright. Before he realised he looked over to his date. Boba was leaned back in his seat, hands clasped in his lap, eyes up to the fake sky.

The colours shone beautifully in his eyes and Din couldn't stop watching him. The way his tanned skin interacted with the yellow of the nebula, the way his eyes looked more precious than diamonds. The way his lips were parted was only slightly in awe.

Din had to pinch himself, for a few seconds he was sure he was dreaming. This whole situation felt off. As if he, Din Djarin, ever had the chance to buy this human being a drink. But he wasn't dreaming. Boba was real. Real, and he was locking eyes with him.

It should've felt unnatural or weird but no, it felt like it was meant to be. Boba looked at Din, obviously liked that Din was staring at him. He smiled kindly, head slightly cocked to the side. Din felt like the gravity of the room went out and he rose up from his seat. They were floating through space, long gone from the theatre and the other guests. It was quiet, though a soft humming sound was vibrating through the void, embracing them in its fluid waves, dancing on their bodies. A look around themselves showed that they were somewhere floating in our solar system, though the earth was not in sight. Din could see Saturn and Uranus from afar. The planets were easy to recognize due to their special characteristics. He looked back at the man across from him who was holding out his hand for Din to take.

They grabbed each other's hands softly, Boba's hand the same size as Din's, fitting between his fingers so perfectly. No words were spoken, there was no need for that. It was just floating, enjoying. Looking at each other and feeling each other's skin. The colours of the Nebula were dancing on their bodies just like the humming sounds did. Din had never felt so good in his life. He could stay here forever. But he had to go.

He was brought back to reality by the voice-over of the show saying something about flying back to earth and going home. Although he didn't want to, he let go of his imagination and found himself in his seat again. He and Boba were still looking at each other as if Boba had experienced the same. Din was sure that he didn't but it still felt amazing to keep that connection.

It took them a while to realize that the show had ended and the first few guests had stood up and run to the toilet. Din had to snicker at that.

Boba was still recovering from that weird Out-of-body experience he just had. For a short moment, that world around him had been gone and there was just Din. He kinda knew that Din had experienced something similar. Something had clicked between them.

Boba looked over to Din who sat in his seat back hunched over a little, watching the people exit the room one by one. He needed to thank him for that experience.

"Should we leave too?" Din looked at Boba calmly and stretched his back a little.

Boba nodded and stretched out his legs. He hoped that this date wasn't over yet. He had to make sure it wasn’t. Din probably wanted to do something else too.

They both got up slowly and walked next to each other to the exit.

They entered the big hall again, greeted by the spaceships that hung from the ceiling. Boba looked around and watched mothers and fathers fumble with their kids' jackets. They were in a rush, the kids needed to go to sleep.

Boba was sure that Din didn't want this night to end but he also knew that, perhaps, Din had problems communicating that. He prepared himself for asking. But he was surprised when Din just looked at him, completely relaxed and…

"Do you wanna go to my place? I even have wine at home."

Boba was taken aback at first at how simply Din stated the offer. Then he smiled and nodded. Of course, he wanted to.

"I'd love to do that," he responded with as much honesty he could find, which was probably a lot because Din gave him a big smile and ushered him to the exit.

They walked over to the exit, faster than they had when they entered and stepped through the door into the cold November night.

"Don't worry I'll make sure to stay sober to drive you home." Din zipped up his thick jacket that was layered with protection. Boba had to admit that he liked the way Din looked in that jacket. It made him look pretty broad and tall.

"A true gentleman, aren't ya?"

Din shrugged and fingered the keys out of his pocket then he put on his gloves.

"Only if I want to."

Boba shook his head in amusement.

"Are you hungry? We can get Shawarma on the way," added Din.

Boba loved Shawarma so he instantly said yes. He knew which store Din was talking about, he had been there a few times.

They reached Din's bike and both put on their helmets. After they both climbed up the vehicle Din started the engine and it roared through the whole parking lot. Boba felt really comfortable behind Din and he loved to be this close to him. He leaned in a bit, wrapping his arms around Din a little tighter than he should. Din seemed to notice but he didn't say anything. There wasn't much to say about it anyway.

They rode down the road and passed many bars and clubs. Loud music was playing everywhere and the people were laughing. The streets were alive, even if it was cold as hell outside. It was a magical experience, Boba could see so much more than when he drove with his car. It felt more real.

He was still warm due to his jacket but he realised that Din had been right, his knees were freezing a bit. Maybe he should've worn pants that weren't ripped. But this one looked so good on him.

They kept driving down the streets downtown and watched drunk people partying, Then they stopped at the Shawarma place. It wasn't crowded yet so it didn't take long to order. Din paid for Boba, again. Although Boba could pay for himself, he felt good getting spoiled, it made him feel special.

Din turned way more confident than Boba had expected before and he loved it. He kind of knew that Din wasn't a very shy person, in particular, he just needed time to adjust. Boba didn't think that Din was introverted either, he just waited for the right person to talk to. He had chosen Boba. The way Din drove the two of them through the traffic safely, still with a few extra turns. He wasn’t driving wild in particular you could just sense that he had fun.

He stopped the bike in a smaller street that was filled with small bushes and trees. There was nearly no space left for car’s only a few spots were for parking. Din turned off the engine and they both got off his bike. Boba could hear the leaves rustling in the cold November winds, and as romantic as this may sound, he started shivering. His breath was fogging the air in front of him and his knees nearly fell off.

“Let me put my bike in the garage, then we can go inside. You’re freezing,” said Din immediately and opened a big dark garage door next to a (probably his) front door.

“Yeah, okay,” responded Boba and wrapped his arms around himself. He couldn’t wait to eat his Shawarma wrap and talk to Din.

Din rolled the motorcycle in his garage.

After doing that he closed the garage’s door and hurried up to open the front door. They stepped inside and Boba found himself in a small hallway with stairs leading upstairs.

Din lead the way upstairs to the second floor, where he had his apartment. He opened the door while Boba stood behind him holding the small bag with their food.

“I can hear your teeth chatter, do you want a hot chocolate or tea, coffee, a blanket?”

Boba smiled at Din’s offer and took a moment to think about it as they stepped inside.

“Tea sounds good,” he replied and looked around the living room they had just entered. It wasn’t very big and looked quite comfy. A dark blue couch, big enough for maybe three people was placed in the centre of the room with a rather big TV across from it. A few shelves filled with DVDs and books and records were nearly everywhere. Though the shelves weren’t very big, it was just a lot of them.

What Boba liked, in particular, was, that there were also things just randomly placed on the coffee table, the TV stand and the floor. He saw small and big stacks of books and random stacks of paper, drawings, in the corners of the room. A record player that was rested on a vintage-looking stool, attached to a pretty high end looking hi-fi system.

There were also posters on the wall, Boba recognised movies like Mad Max and The Matrix and a few horror movies. He also saw a painting of an artist he didn’t know. He slowly got rid of his jacket and Din took it from his hands and place it over an armchair that seemed to function as some kind of wardrobe. The same with their helmets.

Din walked across the room to switch on some lights. He didn’t switch on the big overhead light, only the smaller ones that were placed around the room. They were shining in different colours like yellow, green and a lot of red tones.

“I can’t stand bright lights, I prefer those dimmed ones,” explained Din.

Boba nodded, he understood that.

“So tea?” Din gestured to a door arch that probably led to the kitchen.

“Yeah.” Boba started walking over to Din and realised that the warmth of the room was already seeping into his body.

“I see a lot of books,” said Boba.

“Yeah, I read a lot. That’s probably no surprise. Gimme the food real quick, I’ll put in on some plates,” said and placed and turned on an electric kettle. He turned to Boba and took the bag from his outstretched hand.

Boba watched Din place the still-hot food on two plates while the water got heated up.

“So, did you like the show?” asked Din.

“It was amazing. Thank you for that experience. I really enjoyed it. The nebula was probably the best part.” Boba thought back to the moment they had when they both met their eyes during that part of the show.

Din smiled as he listened to Boba’s answer.

“That’s great to hear. I am amazed every time I go there. It’s never the same. What tea do you like? I have apple or black tea.”

“Apple.” said Boba and leaned against the door frame.

“Are your knees still working or should we replace them with robotic ones?” joked Din and brewed the tea for Boba.

“Yes, probably. I can’t feel them anymore…” said Boba. Well, that might be a bit too dramatic.

“You can sit on the couch and I’ll give you a blanket. C’mon, the tea needs to brew for a while.”

Din walked over into the living room again and took a fluffy looking, mustard yellow blanket. Boba followed him and sat down on the velvet couch after Din ushered him to do so. Without a warning, he threw the blanket over Boba.

Boba wrapped it around himself, touched by the kind gesture. He looked at the pillows that lay on the couch next to him. They were brightly coloured a few had stars printed on them. It felt like Din bought them at many different stores and didn’t like to follow a consistent aesthetic. Also, the count of the pillows revealed that he probably spent a lot of time on this couch. The coffee table in front of him was made out of glass, it was shaped like a kidney. An Ipad was laying on top of it, together with a few magazines about robotics and design. Next to them stood a Funko Pop of Loki Laufeyson.

Din had picked a record he wanted to listen to together with Boba. He turned to Boba who was curled up on his couch scanning the coffee table.

“Do you know this record?” he asked and held it up in Boba’s direction “It’s Visions, by Grimes.” It was one of Din’s favourite albums.

Boba shook his head no.

“Then I will enlighten you now.” Din put the vinyl in his record player and the music started playing softly.

[ressyfaerie]

I would love love love to see something along the lines of a Tyka mer au?? Especially if Kai is the merman!! I do love them ever so. Any age rating/idea I am so down for, pretty please!! 🥺🙏❤

Keep up with the great Tyka content it makes my day!

I know who you are and you always give me the best fic inspiration! I read your Tyka mer comics and I am INSPIRED. This might be longer than expected! But here I gooooo

So now that I finished it, I’ll be putting it in a readmore since it’s VERY LONG!!

It’s very rare that I write in first person! But this story definitely called for it, and I AM COMPLETELY IN LOVE. You’re going to want to ask for more, I can already tell.

So here it is:

When I was young, I was saved by a merman.

I remember how the cold seeped into my veins. My head was pounding from the force of hitting the water.

I was too young to know how to swim.

I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.

My body was numb, I descended into the dark blue sea, I saw the light glimmer from the surface, and felt water invade my lungs.

That’s when I saw him.

A flash of blue and milky skin. I felt the smooth scales wrap around my body. I saw his face, clear as day. His purple eyes, silver hair, and blue face markings. His face looked panicked, bubbles erupted from his mouth forming inaudible words. His face turned blurry, and my vision grew dark.

I woke up on the beach. No one believed me when I told them. Just a child’s fantasy gone overboard.

I always wondered how I made it back to shore without knowing how to swim, or how I missed all the rocks.

Someone must have saved me.

The more I visited the beach and saw no sign of a blue finned merman my belief started to dwindle.

Growing up I drew pictures, I even based my imaginary friend off my hero.

In my teens, my best friend Max reminded me of him.

“Tyson! I was just telling my friend about that mer-boy that saved you when you were a kid!”

I laughed it off, “it was a fairytale, Max. Nothing more.”

Years before, Kenny and Hilary sat with me on the beach one day after training.

“Could he still be out there?”

I cleaned my surfboard, looking off into the mysterious ocean.

Hilary passed me a bottle of wax for my board, “you know, I read at least eighty percent of the ocean remains undiscovered.”

Kenny looked up from his laptop, “every mermaid sighting has been proved fake. I still think what you saw was due to a lack of oxygen.”

I gave him an angry look, I didn’t mean to.

“Uh… but miracles have happened.” Kenny tried to reassure me.

I knew the truth.

Mermaids and mermen weren’t real.

After my Mom died, and my Dad left with my brother to explore the world, I had two things, my Grandpa, and my imagination.

Thinking of that boy was my playground. I’d bring sandwiches to the beach, and pretend to talk to him.

I made friends. And became a surfing champion. With my success my imagination drifted away.

I guess I really wasn’t ready for what came next huh?

“Tyson!”

Hilary and Kenny made their way towards my desk, I slammed my textbook closed, I was done with studying anyways.

“There’s a carnival in town! It’s close to your house, you want to come with us tonight?” Her eyes were bright.

I felt a pat on my shoulder, I looked to my right, Max’s blonde hair caught my eye.

“Carnival? Count me in!”

“I’m going too…” Kenny mentioned awkwardly, “Tyson?”

I rolled my eyes, carnivals were for kids. Besides I was planning on catching some waves tonight, but the weather was supposed to be really calm. I guess I could spare the time.

“Alright, sounds like a plan.”

I was right. Carnivals were for kids.

Doesn’t mean it wasn’t fun though.

We rode ride after ride. Kenny had to sit on a bench after he got sick, Hilary rubbed his back.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, partner!” Max slapped my back, “let's get some more snacks!”

Max pulled me towards another booth. I love food, but after a dozen different snacks, and a dozen different rides, I had to admit, I wasn’t feeling too well.

Max handed me a candy apple, I took a bite and felt my stomach turn.

“Bluh,” my lip turned in disgust.

“Wanna take a break from the rides?”

I nodded.

We lost Kenny and Hilary ages ago. Walking through the parts of the carnival with fewer people, we came across a mirror maze.

“Tyson, let’s go in!”

“Sounds fun!”

It was no surprise when I lost Max right away.

I could hear his excited giggles and him shouting my name, I tried to go in his direction, but eventually his voice faded out, and I found my way to the exit.

“Max!” I shouted into the maze, but there was no reply back.

He might have gotten out already…

I walked through the carnival looking for my blonde haired friend. No luck. There was a fortune teller, I made a mental note, Hilary would have liked to go back there.

Then something caught my eye.

ANASTASIA’S HOUSE OF WONDERS

It looked like a cardboard standee, with dark tents behind it. It couldn’t have been that big. I saw some people leave out the exit. There was someone in front of it. They were dressed in a creepy joker costume.

“Hey man,” I got his attention.

“Do you dare enter the house of wonders!”

“Uh, maybe? Is it cool? Like… what’s in there?”

“Things that will make your blood boil—”

“Things?”

“And creatures unknown to this world!—”

“Creatures!?”

“And above all—”

“Oooo what else!?”

“Look kid.” The grey haired joker lowered his arms and sighed, “can you just let me finish my speech?”

“Oh, yeah sorry.”

“I’m Bryan the sharpshooting joker! For only a few bucks—find yourself immersed in a new world!—”

“Okay,” I raised my hand, “that’s enough.”

“Oh thank god” Bryan’s voice dropped a few octaves.

The guy seemed kinda chill, so I leveled with him.

“So dude, is it actually worth my time in there?”

Bryan nodded, “yeah, it’s actually really cool.”

“Alright, sign me up.” I handed him a couple bills.

“Enjoy.” He counted the money.

Before I left I looked under his costume hat, “wait, don’t I know you?”

“Maybe?” He grumbled, accidentally revealing his true persona.

“Yeah! You were in the last surfing championship! You’re that crazy intense guy Bryan! What the heck are you doing here?”

“Uh, sidegig.” He lowered his mask, “have fun in there, kid.”

“Okay…”

I brushed off the awkward encounter and turned to the entrance. It was covered in two extravagant curtains. I pushed the fabric to the side and walked into the darkness.

Wait, is this a haunted house? Damn I shouldn’t have gone without Max!

The first thing I noticed was there was a lack of… people. Tesla coils and odd gimmicks littered the floor of the first hallway. I rolled my eyes, remembering carnivals were for kids.

The next room was bigger than expected, it was a dome with a button in the middle. I pressed it, who could resist a big red button after all?

Suddenly a snow storm picked up. I covered my face, “ah!”

It stopped before I could figure it out, I stared at the sleeve of my red jacket, where snowflakes started melting.

“Alright, that was definitely real snow! I’ll admit I have no idea how you did that one!”

I shouted to no one, but it still helped my nerves.

I—couldn’t figure out where the exit was.

I walked to the edge of the dome, it looked like a carnival tent, I tapped the edge, it rang back with a metallic sound.

“Uh.” I grew worried, “an exit would be nice?!”

I heard a sound from the other side of the room, and some fabric fell from nowhere, revealing another dark room, “thank you!”

Cautiously I made my way to the dark room.

I wish I hadn’t.

Inside were weird animals in green jars.

“Oof, these can’t be real.”

I tapped one, the baby bird inside moved.

“I assure you, they are all real.”

I turned to the corner. A.. man? He had a raven masquerade mask, and when Tyson locked eyes with him, he screamed and revealed massive black wings from his back.

“What the!?—”

I fell backwards, falling on my rear.

The bird boy made his way towards me.

“What are you?!”

“I’m Ian, the birdman.” He sounded tired.

“And in there,” he pointed to the next room with a black talon, “you’ll find my wolf friend.”

“You’re what!?”

I sat up, “naw, I’m done with this place. Your costumes are a bit too real for me.”

He shrugged, “that’s what they all say.” he sat on a crate with a loud thud, “enjoy the rest of the tour.”

I went to the next room because that guy was freaking me out. I really wanted to head back the way I came, but I couldn’t seem to find it.

Also, that guy seemed kind of familiar.

The next room felt colder than the rest. My heart raced when I saw a cage.

“Uh, hello? This haunted house is getting a little weird…”

I heard the clanking of chains, and a flash of red. On the floor of the cage was a boy, a bit older than myself.

“Are you okay?” I asked knowing it was an actor.

I heard a deep growl, and he lifted himself off the floor. I gasped when I saw his face.

A white wolf with a red mane bared his teeth at me.

I took a step back.

I felt the room grow cold, as the wolf tensed and growled.

It lunged forward and snapped it’s jaw, it hit the bars of the cage with a strength that boy shouldn’t possess, I turned and ran.

I ran through a wall tearing down fabric sprinting through tents.

It was dark, I couldn't see anything and didn’t know where I was going.

“Ah!” My foot got caught on a stone and I fell forward.

“How is this place so big! It did not look like this from the outside!”

In front of me was a curtain, it just barely touched the floor, I could see light shining from under it.

If I can’t find my way out… I might as well head for the light.

I lifted the curtain up and shielded my eyes from the bright white light.

In front of me I could just make out the wheels of a traveling train car. The front of it wasn’t metal, it was glass. Bright fluorescent lights hung over it. There was a sign next to me, I rubbed my eyes and could just make out the writing.

Newest exhibit! A rarity of its kind! Stay back, he splashes.

“What?”

Then I saw it.

The flash of blue, silver, and purple.

A merman threw himself against the glass repeatedly, tossing his fists against it. His wrists were in chains, and his constant assault against the glass only amounted to hollow thumps echoing through the tent.

I felt my body freeze.

It was the merman from my childhood.

Is this real?

I slowly made my way to the sealed aquarium.

The boy must have seen me enter the ring of light, because he stopped, he started floating, and stared at me.

“Hello?”

The merman didn’t move, he simply floated in place, I could see his chest move up and down.

“Do you recognize me?”

I made my way to the glass, getting a good look at the boy for the first time.

I placed my hand on the glass. I saw how red his wrists were from the chains.

He put his hand against the glass, only a thin separation between us. I smiled, and looked into his purple eyes.

I think he smiled at me. He opened his mouth slightly and a few bubbles popped out. I chuckled, and he looked back at me.

I stared up at the top of the tank, the lid was thick glass. A massive padlock kept it down. He saw me look at it, and he shook his head frantically.

I nodded, and placed my head against the glass, “you’re not supposed to be here.”

I jumped and hit the lock with my hand gauging how tough it was.

The merman waved his hand and mouthed words shaking his head.

“I’m gonna get you out of here!”

I looked around the room for a tool to use to break the lock. The only thing I could find was the sign I had seen previously.

I grabbed it, and tossed it to the ground, ripping it off its base.

The merman kept throwing his fist against the tank to get my attention, I ignored him knowing I had to help him.

I climbed the edge of the train cart so I was standing on top of the glass looking down at the silver haired boy. He floated on his back and kept banging on the glass with both hands.

It seemed like he was mouthing the words ‘get out get out!’

I used the stick tool I had made and bashed the lock, making loud sounds through the room. I kept doing it, but it didn’t budge.

The merman was banging on the glass mouthing the same words.

“I’m trying!”

I jumped down, knowing I would have to find a different tool, but I bashed it again in frustration.

The merman was frantically pointing now.

“What? What is it?” I watched his lips.

‘Behind you!’

I felt someone grab my shoulder, before I could scream they grasped my shirt and yanked me to the floor, dragging me away.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to touch people in a haunted house!”

I kicked and screamed while watching my merman frantically swim in circles and hit the glass with his tail. He was trying to get to me, but I knew it wasn’t going to work.

The man threw me into another room. I couldn’t see anything in the dark, I was tossed on a chair and sat up. He turned on a light with a click, and an old fluorescent bulb hung from the ceiling. I blinked a few times trying to find my way in the new surroundings.

A silhouette of a man sat on the opposite end of a table.

“You think you can try to take one of my treasures?”

“He is not yours!”

“Months ago I captured him. He’s rightfully mine.”

“Who do you think you are?!” I screamed at him, knowing full well this full grown man could cause me serious harm.

“He’s a rarity, I won’t let him fall into the hands of some snot nosed teenager with a superiority complex.”

I spat, “do you own this crazy place?”

“I do.”

“Don’t think I didn’t recognize your workers. I surfed with most of them in last year's competition.”

The man simply laughed, I finally got to make out some of his facial features. He was an older man.

“And why does the world champion desire my merman?”

“I don’t desire him, he needs to be free!”

“Ha!” The man’s voice bellowed.

I frantically searched for answers, for a way out—for the both of us.

“I’ll buy him from you!”

“Like you could afford him.”

“If I win the next competition—”

“You won’t.”

I grinned smugly, “you don’t know that.”

“You won by luck, my team is far superior.”

“Your team of monsters? Isn’t that cheating?”

“And you think being a descendant of a storm dragon is fair?”

“I’m a—what?”

The man shook his head.

“I know who you are, Tyson.”

“You gonna tell me who you are?”

The man chuckled in response to my anger, making me even more furious.

“The name is Boris. I take care of these boys—”

“By imprisoning them? Leave my merman alone!”

“Excuse me? Yours? Did you not just meet this creature?”

“Let’s say I’m feeling friendly.” I crossed my arms.

“He seemed to react to your presence, what did you do?”

I panicked, “how long were you watching for!?”

“Long enough. I’ve had him here for a few months, yet I can’t seem to break him.”

“Break him?” I was in disbelief, my childhood hero was not some horse at a stable!

“Yes, perhaps you could help—”

“No.” I grimaced.

Boris tapped his fist on the table, “well, it seems we are at an impasse.”

“You’ll never have my help.”

“I think I can live without it.” He stood up, he was much taller than me. “Please leave my circus, and don’t come back.”

“I’m not leaving without the merman.” I stood my ground.

“That’s a shame.”

I felt something heavy hit my temple—

I woke up on a grassy hill. I rubbed my head.

When I managed to sit up I overlooked the carnival from across a field. The lights were all out. It had to have been late for it to be completely closed.

Boris…

Now that I knew my merman was real, and that he was captured by such an evil man I had to find a way to get him back.

I’ll steal him. I’ll figure something out…

You better watch your back Boris.

I stared in the direction I thought my blue finned saviour would be in.

Hold on, I’m coming for you.

[daisyannewinchester]

A Pleasant Interruption

This was just a little thing I wrote for @teddylacroix​ based off the one she wrote for me about our witchy selves. Inspiration struck.

Laurel waltz into the room without knocking, gooseflesh rising on her arms as the protective sigils carved into the door frame do their magic. The paper bag in her arms gets shifted to her hip as she frees a hand to flick away the ivy that slithers out to pluck at her hair. She gives it a gentle nudge and it coils away. A scan of the room does not reveal her friend like she hoped, the lounge seats where they do most of their studying and reading are abandoned. Their hat appears to have been tossed rather haphazardly onto one of the chairs, which was unusual for her friend to be so careless and untidy.

She peers around floating hanging baskets and flowering trees, wandering deeper into the sunlit room. The sun bares down, brilliant and warm through the magnificent paned dome that towers above her, reds and blues and yellows cast to the floor from the stained-glass astrological chart embedded in the dome. She follows the stone foot path towards their office.

“Sorrel?” she calls. She receives no response but doesn’t let that deter her. “I brought sushi?”

Turning the corner around a rather large oak, she stops and sighs fondly at the sight of her friend. The witch is hunched over a large volume on their desk, quill a fast flurry on the parchment scroll next to their book. Their lips move as they pour over the leather-bound text, gloved fingers light as they scan the aging yellow pages. They look harried and tired, their hair longer than normal and unkempt, strands frizzing and falling out of the clip at the back of their head. Dark bags have made home under their blue eyes, their skin pale from lack of sunlight. If Laurel can guess by the number of teacups, they’ve been awake for going on two days, hyper focused on whatever has been asked of them. Laurel doubts they have eaten or slept in quite a while. She knows how her sister can get when presented with a challenge. They won’t stop until it is just the way they want it, perfect in presentation and preciseness, their own wellbeing forgotten along the way.

Laurel steps around the desk to peer over their shoulder, making a face at the grotesque drawing of the extracted lion heart. Sorrel still doesn’t acknowledge her, too immersed in whatever they are reading to register her presence. Laurel sets her bag down on the heavy mahogany desk and pulls out the containers of sushi and dumplings she brought, cracking the lids open to let their wonderful aroma into the room. The herbs she brought from her own garden come out next. She gives Sorrel a few more minutes as she hangs the bundles of rosemary and dried hibiscus sabdariffa in the window next to their other drying herbs.

She hears a rumble and chuckles softly. Standing behind her friend, she gently cards her fingers though Sorrel’s hair, removing the clip to let all the waves fall into their face. They give a soft grunt of annoyance and with a twitch of their chin, try to flick the hair out of their eyes to no avail. Laurel combs and tames the brown locks, letting her fingers scratch over their neck soothingly. Slowly Sorrel’s shoulders sag, some of the stress slipping away.

Another growl of Sorrel’s stomach and Laurel speaks, knowing she has their attention. “You need to eat.”

“In a minute. Almost done.”

“That was what you said two days ago in the raven you sent me when you told me you had to skip our lunch date.”

“Hmm.” Sorrel hums dismissively, quill still scratching down notes.

Laurel makes her decision and reaches over their shoulder, lifting the ancient tome from the desk and closing it with a resounding snap. Sorrel makes a sound of protest that trails off at the sight of the open container of sushi and warm dumplings. They look up at Laurel with begrudging appreciation, removing the gloves from their hands and reaching for the sushi. They take a bite and sigh, leaning back in the chair and grinning at Laurel with a small smirk.

“That’s human skin, you know.”

Laurel squeals in disgust and quickly tosses the book away from her. A flick of Sorrel’s wrist and it lands safely on the cushion of the unoccupied chair across the desk. Meanwhile, Laurel is gagging and retching dramatically, wiping her hands on her chemise in revulsion.

“That’s disgusting! You are foul!” She points an accusing finger at Sorrel, the latter who smiles and huffs a small laugh, pleased with themself. Laurel huffs and throws herself theatrically into the chair opposite their desk before leaping up with a yelp at having sat on the same thick volume. A sweep of her hand and it is sent magically to the top of the stack of books along the wall, knocking another off carelessly. She waves her hand hurriedly before it hits the floor and it stops midair to float back up and land with a thump much more tamely on top of all the other books. Sorrel watches all of this with an eyebrow raised in amusement, offering the container of dumplings to the witch as she finally situates herself cross legged in the chair.

They enjoy their lunch in each other’s comfort, Sorrel explaining the complex spells the high baroness requested to cure some cursed ailment or another, stating how it was time sensitive and how they were the only one in Penity’s Leap willing to put in the time and studying to help the baroness. The other Sisters of the Blue in Penity’s Court would not help, believing it a natural ailment and not a curse.

As Sorrel packs the containers back into Laurel’s bag, they pause, head cocked in curiosity. They pull out a tiny pouch smelling strongly of frankincense masking something horrid. They can’t for the life of them, figure out the sigil weaved into the pouch. Despite all their studies it is foreign to them.

Laurel beams and plucks the back from their fingers, “Ah, yes the next little part of our lunch date. You my friend need to get out. You have been cooped in here for far to long and you’re going to drive yourself mad.” She raises her hand to halt Sorrels protests, “Your work will still be here when we get back, don’t fret.”

As she struggles with the knot she explains, “I’ve been experimenting with different plants and hoof powders and—” she makes a sound of triumph as the stubborn knot comes unraveled and she takes out a pinch of the powder inside, “—all you need is a bit of sunlight and sturdy ground and you just say where you want to go and— Sommerall Sands—” She tosses her powder into the patch of sunlight by Sorrel’s desk and a portal springs into existence, opaque and smelling strongly of salt and grass, “—ta da! Long distance portal!”

Sorrel’s eyebrows crawl into their hairline, eyeing the flickering portal with great reluctance. Laurel sees their hesitance and waves a dismissive hand, “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. I already tested it!”

With that she steps through and disappears with a pop and whiff of salt. Sorrel shakes their head and binds their hair back with their clip before stepping through as well.

 They both portal onto the sandy beaches of the western coast, sunlight beaming down and a cool breeze kicking up their cloaks. It’s sand and ocean for as far as the eye can see in either direction, a giant hill of sand and rock at their back. Massive boulders in the water make the waves crash and spray, loud to join the howling winds. Sorrel takes a deep breath and exhales, letting all the stress fall from their shoulders. They tilt their face up to the sun and close their eyes, soaking in the much-needed rays.

Laurel privately beams to herself, pleased to see her sister-in-bond finally relaxing. She nudges Sorrel, “You can finally collect those algae and urchin samples you’ve been wanting.” She holds out empty vials to them.

Sorrel’s heart warms and it’s not the sunlight. They peck a kiss on Laurel’s deep red hair and grabs her hand, hauling her towards the water with childlike excitement.

They play and splash and collect until Laurel’s skin turns as pink as the sunset they sit to watch with their feet in the water. Miles and miles of emptiness means freedom from the life and expectations of the Sisters of the Blue, allowing them to dirty themselves and slouch and swear without care. Not a critical eye around. And as Laurel tries and fails with her experimental portal, cursing wildly in hopes that will somehow fix everything, Sorrel laughs and laughs, deep in their belly that leaves them doubled over gasping for breath and tears in their eyes.  

Laurel, after much frustration and trying of different locations, crows with triumph as a portal stands in front of her, weak and popping like sparks. Sorrel snorts and with a whisper creates their own portal to step through, chuckling at Laurel’s shocked indignant spluttering before she too leaps through her own portal, landing right on the ancient skin bound tome, sending all the books cascading to the floor, the massive textbook landing with a smack right over her face.

[writingdotcoffee]

#81: What Inspires Me

The dictionary on my computer defines inspiration as the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something. A surprisingly good definition, if you ask me, but vague nevertheless. We all know how it feels to be inspired. But where does it come from? How can you get it?

Inspiration always strikes when you least expect it. Here’s a collection of things that made me feel inspired recently.

Browsing Youtube late one night, I found this old video of the Red Hot Chili Peppers jamming live in front of an audience (as they often used to do). I’m a huge fan of John Frusciante who makes up an incredible 7-minute solo on the spot. How much relentless practice and hard work and dedication did it take for him to become that good?

The reading rooms of British Library are huge spaces that span several floors with miles of shelving and rows of spacious workspaces. Talking isn’t allowed, so the sitting areas are filled with the soft pattering of keyboards and rustling of pages. The readers are immersed in whatever they’re working on, and every time I come in, I find it impossible to procrastinate. It’s a hugely inspiring place.

At the end of a long day in the library, I often go for a long walk. I thread my way through the busy streets of Saint Pancras and past the fancy townhouses of Bloomsbury. I pass The British Museum and the Old Bailey. I can see the grand dome of St Paul’s from behind the sterile concrete and glass London Stock Exchange at the edge of the financial district. I am fortunate enough to live in London which is brimming with stories, old and new, if you know where to look.

I recall a random conversation between a mother and a four-year-old son at Starbucks years ago. It went something like this:

’Look, it’s Oscar’s birthday today,’ the mother said. She showed the kid a photo of a dog on her phone.

‘Yay!’ the kiddo chirped, excited.

‘We need to get him something,’ she said.

The kid ran around the table. ‘We’ll get him an iPhone!’

The mother gave him an indignant look. ‘No, he’s a dog.’

I almost burst out laughing there and then. Years later, I still remember the conviction with which the kid said it and the offence in his mother’s voice. There are many stories behind this short snippet about middle-class parenting and how incredible little kids can be. It made me feel inspired.

My favourite author to follow on social media is V.E. Schwab. Apart from being an incredibly prolific author, she’s very good at sharing her process with her fans. You can see how hard she works and how dedicated she is. I find that hugely inspiring.

The Greek-revival palace of National Gallery often becomes an unwilling participant of protests and all sorts of public discontent at Trafalgar Square. If you’re lucky, and there aren’t any riotous crowds around, you can walk around to the back where you’ll find the rather unassuming entrance to the National Portrait Gallery which is a treasure-trove of inspiration. Not only there’s a huge amount of craftsmanship and hard work behind each of painting, but there's a story behind every face. From the sheer vanity of the aristocrats in opulent dresses to people like Shakespeare and Churchill and Darwin whose works shaped the world.

A few weeks ago, I found Play—a short film that shows a 23-minute long instrumental track composed and performed entirely by Dave Grohl. In the beginning, he narrates a short introduction that’s worth a listen even if you aren’t into rock music. I find Grohl’s dedication to music incredibly inspiring.

One of my favourite reads of 2019 so far was Autonomous by Annalee Newitz. I was seriously taken aback by the scope of the world building and how well balanced the plot was. Then I read an article by the author which only deepened my awe at just how much research she did. I hope that one day, I’ll be good enough to write a book as good as this one.

Ernest Hemingway’s memoir A Moveable Feast was another book that afected me very much. The author recounts his early days in Paris as an unknown writer in a series of short vignettes. I found the grace and apparent ease with which he tells those stories of financial hardship and struggle to write very inspiring.

I guess that I find the most inspiration in great people doing great things. Those always make for good stories. What inspires you?

What I Am Reading

I finished James Clear’s Atomic Habits this week. It’s difficult to overstate how good this book is. I’m failing to find the words to avoid a pun here, but this was the best book on habits that I’ve ever read. It exploded last year and rightly so. The book gives plenty of examples and practical tips as well as the context needed to understand the principles of forming new habits and breaking old ones. Give it a read if you can.

Next week, I’ll be reading Hyperfocus by Chris Bailey.

Short Stories

I still read one short story every day. This week, I read these:

Birth Of The Ant Rights Movement by Annalee Newitz

Drones Don’t Kill People by Annalee Newitz

Twilight of the Eco-terrorist by Annalee Newitz

The Gravity Fetishist by Annalee Newitz

Rocket by Laurence Radford

Diamonds from Tequila by Walter Jon Williams

The Caravan to Nowhere by Phyllis Eisenstein

Want More?

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Past Editions

#80: A Day In the Life of a Writer, March 2019

#79: Not Feeling Like It, February 2019

#78: Becoming Polynovelous, February 2019

#77: In Praise of Bad Fiction, February 2019

#76: The Negative Review Paradox, February 2019

[wallace-cup]

the sun has long since set, and the contestants have long since been ushered into the sootopolis city gym. the audience whispers amongst themselves about who will win, some of them trying to tally what they remember in their head; at least one of them has written down the actual scores. a fifteen-minute hiatus ensues between the end of the appeals and the beginning of the score announcements. isn’t that a bit long to tally scores? some say. ah, but there is a reason.

wallace gathers the six remaining contestants--dionysus (@sangmer), fabien (@imbicilite), daisy (@deerlingrps), acerola (@eevee-sohma), murasaki (@portaltrainer) and ann (@liberatingknight)--and beckons them into the underwater elevator. he hasn’t given any hint of what to expect, but he’s planned something spectacular. smiling, he leads them to a platform and tells them their cumulative scores and placements. he also explains to them why he’s telling them now and not waiting for them to hear it later: he’s planned a massive surprise, and it will only work if he does what he’s doing. he knows they might still be confused, but there’s no more time to explain.

      ❝i have instructions for each of you,❞ he says. ❝come here, and listen closely…❞

more than fifteen minutes have passed. the audience has no idea what’s going on. the surface of the water is still, and the bite of the night air is starting to nip at their faces. some say perhaps there’s been a mishap backstage. are they experiencing technical difficulties? is he telling off an unruly coordinator? there are a few snickers in the crowd as they imagine the drama that the papers will sing of next morning, but more of the audience is concerned. many of them, however, just want to hear the scores and go home. two days of fifteenth anniversary excitement is more than enough.

the lights go down. the crowd quiets. some think they’re going to be treated to another show. then, a gasp--the moon is gone, the stars are gone--it seems as though all of sootopolis is plunged into a blackness deeper than night. they seem to be in a space where light itself cannot penetrate; the audience cannot see, do not dare to move. 

and then--the music.

the opening four seconds of wallace’s theme--the one he composed himself--spirals out into the inky sky. the sound seems to come not from a speaker but from the darkness itself, all-immersive, all-encompassing. [0:05] then the song picks up, two triumphant notes announcing the change in speed--and there is STARMIE, not a creature, but an incarnation of the sun itself, shining with the yellow aura of a combined thunderbolt and dazzling gleam. LUVDISC hovers there as well with starmie’s psychic, it and all of its double team copies forming a ring of black silhouetted hearts around the pulsating star. bolts of lightning radiate upward and down into the water as starmie hovers there with psychic as well; from the golden halo of light surrounding them pour stars upon stars, little beads of light swarming out in a galactic swift. 

the illusion of the vanishing sky is now as clear as the light that replaced it. no other star can shine when the great wallace kasai makes his show.

[0:15] THERE HE STANDS, master of masters, atop the head of his milotic who had soared from the waves. the thunder claps behind them, illuminating their silhouettes as the serpent spirals into the air and he does a corresponding twirl on her head. [0:18] sheets of rain dance pour down, a heavenly waterfall illuminated by rainbows from a hidden VAPOREON’S signal beam as GYARADOS, the one who brought the torrent, spirals into a dance around milotic. he gives a roar; milotic gives her sonorous call; the water storms with ten whirlpools, ten doorways to the deep. wallace extends his hands, and his voice booms from the clip-on microphone--

      ❝Now RISE!❞

[0:23] there! spinning their way through the depths, illuminated by starmie’s light alone, ALL OF WALLACE’S REMAINING POKÉMON! WHISCASH, the fish that shakes the bedrock of the world. SWAMPERT, the wise ground-type who has lived for longer than any human alive. LUDICOLO, the dancer of many blooms and many weathers. VAPOREON, the embodiment of feline grace and feline power. GOREBYSS, one of his lesser-known--but still one of his oldest friends. TENTACRUEL, the hex master, the closest thing to a ghost that any living being could be. PRIMARINA, bold and shining, a shiny received over wonder trade whose talent is as rare as her color. LAPRAS, sweet and gentle as her breed can be, always looking to repay the kindness wallace showed her from the egg. and LURANTIS, the only non-water type, but a dear award-winner and a precious friend. 

the whirlpools were not whirlpools, but columns of spinning water that stretch to the sootopolis sea bed; the pokémon, positioned in precisely those locations, now rocket to the surface contained in bubbles of gorebyss’s aqua ring. this is his way of thanking them, letting them all rise so that their greatness can be honored and acknowledged. 

they hover in the air below starmie, filling the space behind them in their bubbles with color--starting from a darker blue on the edges to white in the middle--the official color gradient of the wallace cup. then, silhouetted against their colors, they sink back into the water. the rest of the ceremony may now proceed.

[0:32] milotic bends down her head. wallace steps onto the very water itself--the water has been hexed by tentacruel to behave like a walkway. he speaks before the cheering crowd, barely able to be heard above the din.

      ❝beloved guests, you have been extraordinarily patient; well, you shall WAIT NO MORE. of our six remaining contestants, all will walk home with a prize-and all prizes have most certainly been earned. now--LET THE PLACEMENTS BE REVEALED!❞

[0:41] the water begins to pulsate to the rhythm of a beating heart, intricate geometric patterns forming on its surface thanks to the control of whiscash’s water pulse. these patterns glow bright white like a lost message from an alien civilization, but they seem to stop at three circles drawn in the center of the stage. in the middle of the circles are the outlines of three peoples’ faces: sixth place on the left facing right, fifth place in the middle staring straight ahead, fourth place on the right facing left. three outcroppings of white rock emerge from the sea, all of them the creation of swampert’s earth power, with one each labeled 6, 5, 4--sixth, fifth and fourth place. all of them had people standing on them surrounded by protective aqua ring air bubbles--the honorable mentions!

[0:52] then the stars themselves begin to form words above the contestants’ heads. the entire universe before the crowd clear space and reshaping itself to spell out the names and point totals.

ANN PETERS 276 POINTS

MURASAKI 278 POINTS

ACEROLA 287 POINTS

the crowd cheers as wallace gestures to the three outcroppings; starmie’s light pulses to the beat of the music, glowing even brighter with the swelling energy of the crowd. [1:17] but it’s not long before the next display goes forward. in front of the honorable mentions, vaporeon and gorebyss leap out of the water like dolphins from opposite sides of the water, and primarina leaps over them from the center; each leaps much higher than the height of a man. they draw rainbows of ice across the scene: behind them trail iridescent ice beams that arc above and between where third and second place are supposed to appear. an ethereal voice harmonizes with the music--primarina’s sparkling aria forms moving half-dome backgrounds on the overhang. both contain details from two of the appeals: the left background has a samurott with a missing leg swiping his sword at an invisible opponent, whereas the right one features a thorny cage whose boundaries swell and eventually burst into a swirl of abstract colors.

[1:30] she’s not done there. the song lifts two giant, glowing lotus flower buds out of the water, each in front of the honorable mentions’ podiums, each one placed in the spaces between the podiums to form the base of a triangle. each were formed by a combination of ludicolo and lurantis’ synthesis and grass knot. the one on the left shines a solid, bioluminescent bright blue with the number 3. the one on the right sparkles with a similarly bioluminescent blue-and-white that light up in different patterns, alternating to the beat of the music--this one bears the number 2. standing atop these lotuses are lurantis on the left, ludicolo on the right; ludicolo poses his arms in ballet’s third position, whereas lurantis does the same thing but in mirror image. [1:37] the stars begin to form into the names of third and second place as the petals unfold, revealing the silhouettes of the contestants; lurantis and ludicolo each kick a leg outward to opposite sides. [1:46] as the petals lower, each grass-type springs off their single standing leg to do a front flip into the water. then, just as the petals unfold to their lowest and the stars finish forming their message, starmie’s dazzling gleam makes spotlights revealing the faces of third and second place.

DAISY SKETCHIT 293 POINTS

FABIEN LAFAYETTE 306 POINTS

some of the audience knows who is in first by now, but they don’t know the display that will follow.

[2:02] much of the light dims to nothing. starmie disappears from the sky, and some of its swift stars fall into the water, fading as they sink into the depths. the only thing left illuminated now by dazzling gleam is the podiums, the lotuses and the contestants; whereas they glowed in many colors before, they now glow a dim reddish-orange—the color of hellfire. a tentacruel’s glowing dome appears in front of and in the space between the third and second place lotuses, the ruby domes on its head flickering in anticipation of something bigger. the music bass rumbles, and so does the stadium; gyarados’ earthquake causes a shuddering throughout the ground while its flamethrowers lace out underwater. the blaze beneath the waves speaks of volcanic ire—the fire burns through paths of oxygen laid out by milotic’s aqua ring. the audience can see the shadows of milotic and gyarados swimming around seemingly inside the conflagration beneath, great dragons of water and fire coming together to create.

[end at 2:11, skip to 6:43] gyarados gives a roar, the sound of stone creaking in the cauldron of the earth. pillars of ground erupt from both sides of the scene: glistening columns of obsidian raised by earthquake and studded by starmie’s power gem containing swirls of water and fire. the glow of the podiums and contestants switch from hellish red to purest gold. sharpedo aqua jets down the middle of the existing podiums starting from the honorable mentions row, sending up a spray of waves right between the columns before he disappears into the water again. also starting from the honorable mentions row, the columns outline the triangle of podiums that wallace was attempting to make—[6:47] and there, in the middle where his tentacruel once was, rises the back of his lapras. she soars above the other contestants, positioned atop what looks like a miniature mountain base; she is the top of the hill that has been created. but lapras looks different. for one thing, her head and flippers have been tucked into her shell, like a turtle. for another, tentacruel’s hex has turned her back from grey to a shining white, and power gem has given the appearance that night-lit buildings stud her back as well as the white stone beneath her. but it’s not just any shade of white—wallace was very specific about how he wanted it to look. her back looks like volcanic rock; the number 1 on her seems to have been grown from the rock itself. 

she is sootopolis.

this is how he chooses to honor the greatness of the one in first: with the creation of the island on which they compete.

[6:52] a combined flamethrower and threads of water gun shoot from the middle of lapras’ back—the moves have been hexed to phase through her stomach and shell as well as the flesh of the invisible person standing on top of her, so that the effect can be achieved without any harm. then, as the column of flame dies down there appears the winner of first place, his very self illuminated by a sun-starmie now hovering above him, his name spelled out by all the remaining stars in the sky:

DIONYSUS 308 POINTS

[7:01] the audience erupts into seismic applause. the pillars shift thanks to swampert’s earth power. instead of showing abstract patterns, the water and fire within them swirl via starmie’s psychic into shapes of siebold’s pokémon: empoleon, bruxish, gourgeist, aegislash, aurorus. wallace pays tribute to not just trainer but also his companions.

[7:12] tentacruel sends out a row of thick black toxic to create a walkway. gyarados lights it via flamethrower underneath, taking advantage of the poison to make the illusion that the ocean itself is on fire. wallace is teleported into place by his starmie at the beginning of the passage, then steps into the hexed flames unharmed, walking on both water and fire thanks to psychic with something clutched in his hand. smiling, he steps onto lapras’ back and presents the AQUA RIBBON to the contest’s winner. he lifts siebold’s hand into the air, and the audience once again cheers.

[7:46] then the music changes. no longer does it play on an endless loop; it segues into an ending. the notes of this end at first sound like some of the notes of the beginning, but the audience can tell that it is the end.

      ❝to my talented performers, thank you for your will to illuminate the soul of magnificence. and to my dear audience, thank you for your patronage of the wallace cup. it is truly your efforts that make this event what it is,❞ he says.

      ❝Until next year, my friends. May the spirit of greatness go with you!❞

the music stops as soon as wallace says the last word. the whole scene goes dark for the final time, obscuring pokémon, contestants, wallace himself. unseen by the crowd, starmie teleports the humans onstage back into the sootopolis gym’s underwater room, then nullifies the poison in the water with psychic; the pokémon that were just performing swim their way back to the gym as well.

slowly, the moon and stars reappear as reality fades back in. they have been permitted to shine again, as though by arceus himself.

[frozenmikan]

BLT Graph vol. 35 (Sept 2018) - Interview with Inami Anju

The voice of Takami Chika, protagonist of the hit anime Love Live! Sunshine!!, with a theatrical release early next year. As a member of the school idol group Aqours from said series, she’ll perform a two-day long live at Tokyo Dome in November. Moreover, she stars as an actress in multiple stage plays. Aside from performing in her first recitation drama in August, she also stars as the protagonist of another play in December. With her multiple roles across many fields, she tells us about her thoughts about acting, as well as her deep and emotional connection with “water”.

This summer, you challenged yourself by performing in a recitation drama, right?

Yup, fear was the only emotion within me at first, and I was constantly worried about whether I’d mess it up. But, when I put on my costume and faced my script, without me even realizing it, I just faded from existence. As a result of that, I completely immersed myself in that world, and I once again realized just how much I love acting. Even during the actual performance, I managed to have fun in that world as well.

This was your first time performing in a recitation drama. Do you enjoy trying new things?

Yup! I love trying new things!

Does that desire carry over to your private life as well?

Yup! Even now, I can list out three new things that I’d like to try.

Could you tell us what those three things are?

The first one is still a secret (laughs). The second is scuba diving! I went diving at Osezaki in October last year for work, and I was praised for being a natural! So I definitely want to get a license for that. The last one is to get a license for a jet ski! You actually need to go through a nationally-administrated exam to get a jet ski license, and it also serves as a photo ID, so getting one is killing two birds with one stone for me, since I don’t have a driver’s license yet.

Both things you told us about have something to do with marine sports.

I love swimming, the sea, and visiting aquariums by myself. Up till now, I’ve been swimming at rivers or pools, and haven’t really had the opportunity to come into contact with the “ocean”. This might sound like an impulsive decision, but now I feel like I should conquer all kinds of marine sports. I want to try surfing too! Apparently there’s places where you can try it out even in the city, so I’d like to give that a try first.

So, I guess you’ve been spending quite a bit of your time researching marine sports on your days off?

I do that, but I also think about my work, watch plays, play games… I also play my favorite songs and sing to my heart’s content in my room. Sometimes, without me noticing, four hours just fly by like that (laughs).

Any songs you’re particularly hooked on recently?

There’s this song called “Warae yo, otome” (Smile, Young Maiden) by this singer and songwriter called Koresawa. It’s a song that fits my current state of mind perfectly, and it really motivates me. There’s times when I end up crying without realizing it too, when listening to this song (laughs).

Could you give an example of when you find yourself crying without noticing?

There’s quite a few, but one occasion is when I’m not acting, and all kinds of emotions well up within me. Of course, “being myself” is important, but when acting, I’m the type of person who needs to create “time during which I’m not myself”. That’s why, if I’m not in another world with the character I’m playing, I’ll become really frustrated.

Are there any genres that you’d like to challenge yourself to do in the future?

I’ve always wanted to do a musical. I get unusually excited when watching Broadway musicals, and they really motivate me, but they also make me realize that even giving my 120%, it’s still not enough. That makes me disappointed with myself, but it also gives me the drive to move forward. Musicals are one thing that really motivate me.

How would you introduce yourself to someone who’s hearing about you for the first time?

“I love singing and acting, and being able to live in all kinds of worlds as the characters I play is what I live for!”

TL: xIceArcher

[inkofyoonkoo]

I gasp once, and in that breath, I accept you in | Epilogue

🏵️ Wordcount: 3k

🏵️ Genre: Fluff/angst/smut | From strangers to lovers!AU • FWB!AU

🏵️ Jungkook x Reader

🏵️ Description: In which Jungkook arrives to your small town to spend the holidays, and you slowly let go of all the ghosts of your past

🏵️ Warnings: age difference (10 years gap, both characters are adults); mention of panic attack; characters death (not the main protagonists); 

🏵️ [EDIT] I should’ve added it since the beginning but I totally forgot because I’m dumb. The little poems that open every scene aren’t mine (I’d give a finger to write that beautifully 💔): they’re Japanese poems I’ve found randomly, or belong to well-known writers -so to them goes all the credit.

🏵️ A/N: if you follow me for a little while, you know I’m having a hard time with writing and sharing my works since I’ve posted this story -especially on Tumblr. I didn’t feel like sitting down and complete the epilogue -but I pushed myself hard to finish it, so here it is. This goes to all the lovely people who read the first two parts and let me know their opinion; and to the lovely people who always had/have a kind word toward me and my stories. Consider it my present for you, because you deserve a nice ending. Probably gonna take a small break from writing because I don’t have the right mind to dedicate so many hours to it, see you around 🐰

If someone would’ve told you that you'd end up spending your days far away from the blinding lights of a big city, you'd have surely laughed at the top of your lungs. 

Born and raised in a large town for most of your young age, moved to Seoul to study at KNU and make your dream come true -drinking every ounce of a bittersweet nocturnal life made of discos and cocktails and rides in taxis and sudden 3:00 AM snacks bathed in the neon lights of nightclubs, it was only natural for you to believe that your existence would grow in a chaotic metropolis. 

You could only picture yourself there, immersed in a perpetual, fast, ever-changing chaos that would leave you breathless… and yet, at the age of thirty three, the only place that feels like home is a village nestled amidst the mountains -so small you can easily pinpoint every single person and associate them to a specific name, a specific quirk (and even know their genealogical tree by heart).

Living in a small area with a very few inhabitants who know each other as if they belonged to the same family has its pro and cons: if someone gets a flue, there’s the high chance that the sickness will spread like wildfire; if a problem occurs, there’s always a kind neighbor ready to help you -on the other hand, though, there’s a risk that your secret will become the new (embellished) gossip. The trust that ties people with one another is so lasting you rarely experience episodes of backstabbing or dreads -but when it happens, oh God, you should pack your things at the speed of light and migrate to the most distant planet.

Life isn’t hectic, but the silence and peacefulness that embraces the town borders like a dome is so homey you can’t get enough. Sure, your mind sometimes echoes back to all those times you were wrapped in a sort of feverish excitement for abrupt plot-twists, filling your heart to the brim of gushing nostalgia -especially because the only memorable, upcoming event here is the annual harvest festival that is held around the end of June. However, something noteworthy happens once in a while: like the time a couple of young couple of newlyweds gave up to the thousands of opportunities that Seoul could offer them only to move in a quiet village; or that time Kim Seokjin finally grabbed his once-in-a-lifetime-chance and flew away to Incheon; or when a young woman in her thirties took a walk hand-in-hand with a young boy with big gentle doe eyes and a luminescent smile, uncaring about the curious glances of people… or, like, when a new person comes to town.

Especially when a new person comes to town…

  "Bam, no! Aish…"

The little screeching sound coming from your backyard garden breaks through your consciousness, snapping you back down to earth. Your heart awakens into your chest in a rhythmic tum tum tum thumping -a bit for the scare; a bit for that voice that has engraved between the folds of your brain in a melodious print, like a breath before the chorus of your favorite song. 

Standing still in your living room, slowly regaining control of yourself and the surroundings, your attention drifts to the window, contemplating the reality unfolding before your eyes: in your garden cloaked in white, under the snow that copiously falls down from the gray sky a few days from Christmas, wrapped in a one-size bigger coat, Jungkook is building a snowman. 

Or, at least, he's trying…

From time to time, Bam runs toward him and smashes against the poor creation, caught up in the excitement that the first snowflakes made erupt inside of him. He sometimes tries to bother Moonie in a playful request to play along with him, but your dog prefers laying upon the deck (on that same spot that he used to occupy whenever Namjoon read one his books outside). 

Amusement tugs at the corners of your mouth when Bam shakes his body to get rid of some snowy drops condensated on his fur, hitting Jungkook in the process. There's a small pout hanging on his bottom lip, rosier for the cold weather, and a little scrunch in his nose as he cleans his face with the back of his hands; however, his annoyance vanishes in a light giggle when his dog rests his paws on his shoulders, making him lose balance.

Reluctantly, you rip your eyes off that sweet sight and set them back on the photographs you've arranged on a shelf throughout the past months. The area around your eyes swells up as you study the disposition, fluttering from a shot to another as if you were retracing all the most important moments that accompanied you up to today: you and Namjoon back in your college days at some sport event; your graduation day, flowers in your arms and a shimmering smile on your lips; your wedding day; Namjoon's smiley face and closed eyes crinkled in the corner in his studio; you, Yoongi, Seokjin caged in a group-hug the night before your friend left for Incheon; you and Hoseok making cool faces in the dim-lights of a stylish nightclub of Itaewon; Jungkook's round eyes as he sits under the old tree with Bam; Jungkook and you, the fondness dancing across his features, his arms twirled around your waist and the eyes pinned on your face as you let out a laughter for a joke Yoongi made. 

Jungkook and you, happy, and… into something. 

You gasp once, hand running to caress your empty finger. An irrepressible gush of warmth springs from your heart and climbs up to your face, cocooning you in a soothing sensation of bliss that still catches you off guard whenever you think that Jungkook's presence isn't just a figment of your imagination. 

He's here, in flesh and bones, with you… 

Despite your gloomy predictions and the doubts that accompanied for the whole duration of his trip, Jungkook kept his promise: he came back to this remote village with the primary intent to not let thing green thing between you two wither -with his skin a bit more tanned; with his hair a bit longer; with a bunch of flowers in his arms (fifteen, precisely. One for each day he spent away from here) and a barely whispered " I'm back" layd on the top of your head while caging you in a tight hug that liquefied your bones in a flock of butterflies. 

Like a force pulling you from the inside, your stare desperately lands upon the window to make sure that the boy is still there, plaguing the atmosphere with his chuckle (blessing your little microcosmo with his existence). 

You let out a breath that was weighing on your chest for all this time and approach the window door that leads to the garden, sparing one last glance at Namjoon's photograph. You curl on yourself when a gust of wind welcomes you outside, obliging you to embrace yourself to search for some warmth. The icy cold seeps through your clothes and sticks to your skin, making you shiver from head to toes -not as much as a simple glance from Jungkook does the moment he notices your presence. 

"Should that be a snowman?" You nod toward the pile of snow, letting out a chuckle when Jungkook grunts. 

"It was… Bam destroyed it." He pouts, fixing his beanie like a little child who's just been scolded. The little grimace of frustration melts in a toothy smile as he cups the muzzle of his puppy, exhaling high-pitched mouth sounds in his direction. 

You sit on the deck beside Moonie, gently caressing his head. You watch Jungkook focusing on the long-gone snowman, spaced out, taking in the sight of the carefree expression gracing his face. Unruly curls of hair sneak from under the hem of the beanie and stick to his forehead, or gently frame his features. 

He shakes his head a little, pulling himself out of his own trance. He brushes his gloved hands with one another and then slams them on the heap of snow across from him, trying to give it a round shape. 

"The chief called me - me earlier. He moved my shift to the afternoon." Curls of breath dance in the air whenever he talks, his lips tremble a little as he sets his eyes on you. "I can stay till Monday morning." 

This news that positively shakes your plans up catches you off guard. The idea to spend some hours more with him should skyrocket you to the moon for the joy; and yet, your muscles seem only able to pull the corners of your mouth up in a faint smile. 

Jungkook found a job in a combini in Seoul as a shop assistant, a few weeks after his trip to Jeju. He's saving money to go back to studying, because he loves filmography and wants his passion to turn into a job someday; during the week, texts are sporadic; but he calls you at every break and before going to sleep every night, telling you about his day, questioning about yours...  

"Is it good with you?" His question is hesitant, as if your restrained reaction could lead to something bigger that will break his heart. "I - I'm sorry. I planned everything without - without you and--"

"It's all good," you interrupt, softly, trying to reassure him with a warm glance. "It's just you should--"

"I should spend my free time with my friends, too. I know." He cast a glance upon Bam, sitting under a tree. 

When his adult-week in Seoul is over, Jungkook packs his few belongings and spends all his weekends here. You lost count of all the times you told him to do as he really pleases, to participate in his young life with his friends, to use his free time to take care of his own passions and needs; and yet, every single Friday night he knocks at your door with a dufflebag hanging on his shoulder. And he hugs you. And he tells you that he missed you between kisses…

"You risk making them angry if you neglect them."

Jungkook chews on the corner of his mouth, where the piercing runs along the flesh. "I see them almost every night after dinner. And… they're happy I'm spending some time with you." He delivers you a small smile that reaches his glistening eyes. "They say I'm doing the right thing. You know… stay, try…"

And every Friday night, like it was the first, you accept him into your house with a breath of relief squelched into your lungs and your heart flickering in your chest and a barely whispered: " welcome back " that has your affection growing fuller and thicker the more you pronounce it upon his lips. 

Taking advantage of the silence now settled upon you two, Jungkook comes closer. He strokes Moonie's head before resting his palms on your lap, somber stare engulfing into your own. 

"You sure you want to spend Christmas here?" He mumbles, his face gravitates toward you, an inch. 

You nod, your fingers run to his face. "I promised Ms Min to stay with them." You brush your knuckles on his cheekbone, tinged with a ruby hue -he tilts his head, following the direction of your strike. "And Seokjin is coming back. And Minji, too. It'd be like… you know, be young again."

"Guess my presence made you feel young." His voice is playful, but low enough to set your groin area on fire. He chews on his bottom lip when your fingers glide up to his forehead to twiddle with the locks, eyelids flickering down. 

"Nah, you don't. I like being the cougar of the village, it's not that bad." You tease him, basking in the beautiful sound of his chuckle. 

His eyes are wet and shiny when he finally opens them, staring at you. There's a glint of hesitation that cracks his quiet expression, as if he was going to say or do something that could break the bubble of intimacy you're floating into. 

"Ahm, (Y/N)..." He starts, swallowing. You curl a lock of his hair between your fingers, giving him a reassuring smile for him to go ahead. “Soon - soon it’ll be Taehyung’s birthday. Would - would you like to come with me?” he casts a glance upon his own hands, still on your lap. "We - we can book a hotel room and I can show you around Seoul a bit and - and introduce you to my friends.” His lips unfurl in a smile that reveals his front teeth, forgetful of the fear that notched his speech. “They can’t wait to meet my girlfriend ."

Oh…

"Oh…"

This is the first time he calls you " his girlfriend ". You've never stopped to ask each other what's the status of your relationship -you don't feel the need to label your bond; but the fact that Jungkook says it with such a genuine quietness shakes you upside-down deep in your guts. In a nice way. In a very nice nice way.

"I…" your fingers run to caress your wedding ring, now hanging on a chain around your neck. 

(Yoongi helped you to choose the model, when you told him that you were ready to move on. It's a good way to remind yourself that a part of you will always belong to Namjoon. It's a good way to remind yourself that life still goes on, and it's full of gentle people who deserve your affection). 

Jungkook notices your fingers twiddling with the ring, he shakes his head. "Only if you - you want to. Ahm… like, don't feel obliged to--"

"I want to…" you breathe out, your face gravitates toward his own, an inch. "It'd be nice, it's ok." 

After a brief moment of surprise, his face brightens up. Flashing you a smile, he places a small kiss on your mouth. And another. And another… he moistens his lips when he pulls away, looking at you through his lashes. He gently grabs your hands, a bit rough on the back for the cold, and drags them close to his mouth. His lips brush on the knuckles in a soft caress, he blows on them to warm you a bit, places pecks upon pecks upon pecks…

You feel like drowning in his sweetness, too captured by his gesture to do or say something logical. And in fact, when you part your lips, a light pink shade colors your cheekbones. "We should go back inside. We risk turning into snowmen." 

Jungkook squeezes your hands, don't move away. "Snowmen are cute," he comments above a whisper, pulling you forward applying a gentle pressure. Your shoes sink into the thick layer of snow, footprints trace your path all around as Jungkook guides you into the garden, walking backward. You observe your feet close to one another, the way your prints blend with his own in a messy pattern that fills a piece of that void that Namjoon's death created. 

Seconds elapse upon you like the snow that slowly cascades on your figure, now intertwined in a warm embrace. You can't remember the last time you sort of danced in the snow with Namjoon -probably because you didn't do it. In this situation, he would have probably admired you from the deck, making you feel alluring like the whiteness all around you. 

It's nice, to build a new memory that belongs to you and Jungkook only…

"(Y/N)..." The way your name tumbless off his tongue makes you shiver. "The other day I - I read a thing somewhere and it made me think of you - you and I thought you might - might like it--" he gasps once, lets out a breath. He swallows thickly before your curious expression, then he rests his mouth on your ear…

  "Your fingers on mine --

I gasp once, and in that breath,

I accept you in."

  Your muscles tense all at once for his voice drooling like honey, whispering a poem that punches the breath out of you. Your heart trembles. In a nice way. In a very nice nice way. 

"You didn't - didn't like it, did you?" His eyes grow bigger due to your silence. "I feel so stupid, I--" his sheepish words fade upon your lips, now pressed against his own in a long kiss.

You pull away in the slightest, still close enough to feel the brush of his mouth on top of yours. Jungkook lets out a small giggle that swipes away his embarrassment before breaking the few millimeters between you two again, his gloved hands finding home on your waist. 

Your heart thumps wildly. 

Jungkook whispers that he loves you, at a certain point (in the same, tender way he said it when you met again after his trip, reminding you that he left this place with this untold truth locked inside of him); and the only thing you can do right now is smiling to him at the top of your heart, accepting him. Between kisses. Under the snow. In a winter that wasn't this warm for a very long, long, excruciating time.

Then, he turns to the side, his cheek brushes for a second against yours. He rests his head on your shoulder, wrapping you in a tight embrace. His breath is a nice sound amidst the silence of the snow and laughter of kids playing in the street and your dogs barking at each other and your hearts throbbing so loud and close to one another it’s hard to distinguish them. 

You're touching… happiness . 

You can't get used to-no. No, you can…

Definitively… you can get used to this.

[starryshelf]

A BOOK SET ON A DIFFERENT PLANET - THE ROBOTS OF DAWN, ISAAC ASIMOV

If you happen to follow my main blog, you might have caught me going on and on whilst I was reading this book. I must admit, it was a bit of a shock to the system. I’d been gradually reading Asimov’s robot series, enjoying the gay subtext between Robot Daneel Olivaw and his human partner Elijah Bailey (I don’t know if the subtext comes from the language of the time or what, but it reads like Kirk/Spock slash in many places). Anyway, in the first couple of books it’s fairly sedate - if you’ve been immersed in fandom like me, you’re probably picking up on the subtext and also thinking ‘hey, this robot is humanoid, that means humans probably can and do have sex with it’, but you don’t ever think it’s going to happen. And then it does.

Asimov goes from not acknowledging the obvious issue in the first two novels to making it a major plot point of the third. Oh, it’s not Daneel and Elijah, but another humanoid robot and Elijah’s heterosexual love interest, Gladia, who later gives a long speech about how she’d been totally isolated from any sort of sexual life etc etc etc. (I’m trying to keep this review PG-13 but it’s hard). And then it turns out that Aurora, the planet where they’re all hanging out, has sexual norms that a) seem totally weird and taboo to 21st century society, and b) is totally fine with robot-sex. My jaw was hanging open at this point, because it wasn’t that I thought Asimov was a prude, but I’ve been working my way through my dad’s collection of his works and the most I’d seen up to this point was some fairly crude and stereotypical romance. So... yeah. Couldn’t really avoid addressing that, but I will move on and talk about the rest of the book now.

The first three robot novels are essentially self-contained mysteries, featuring the talents of Plainclothesman Elijah Bailey, of Earth (now considered a disease-ridden backwater planet, where humans have short lifespans and poor population control compared to the paradise-like Spacer worlds), and R. Daneel Olivaw (the R stands for Robot), a remarkably humanoid robot who is one of only two created by a genius roboticist. In the first book they solved the murder of Daneel’s creator whilst on Earth, in the second they visited the strange world of Solaria to solve another murder. This time, it’s a robot’s murder they’ve been called to solve. The other humanoid robot, Jander, has been completely deactivated, an act that could only be committed by someone who was an expert in robotics. Elijah and Daneel are charged with finding out who it could have been, other than their friend and Daneel’s owner. 

This is complicated by Elijah’s agoraphobia - the result of his upbringing on Earth inside great domes - and political concerns about whether Earth should be allowed to expand and settle other worlds. Also, the case on Solaria from the previous book has been made into a drama and everyone they meet wants to talk about it, which makes things a bit more difficult. They are also frequently dealing with Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics, the rules that state the most important parts of a robot’s programming (I’m not gonna list them here. If you don’t know them, google it.) Elijah and Daneel’s relationship grows deeper, from Elijah considering his partner a potential enemy in the first book to openly admitting that they love each other here. Sadly, this is the last book where they are both together, but it certainly goes all out on the relationship content. 

The ultimate solution to the case was not as exciting as I would like - all Elijah needs to prove is that it could have been someone else, and in the end that’s all he can prove - and the relationship between him and Gladia seems a tad forced, but again, understandable considering the time, and by this point I was definitely viewing everything through my slash goggles so I was a bit biased. Still, Daneel in particular is a great character, and the introduction of his friend Giskard starts the gradual links between this series and the Foundation series, which I’m still working my way through. The Robots of Dawn is definitely my favourite Asimov so far, but I’ve still got quite a few books to go!

[richsretroreviews]

Spider-Man PS1 Review

Release Date: 15th September 2000 EU, 30th August NA

Developer: Neversoft

Publisher: Activision

This game is 18 years old already holy shit snacks.

Plus, given the release of Spider-Man on PS4 this seems appropriate to review now to see how far Spidey has come.

I remember the first time I played this was in my first year of having my PS1. I was 7 and I got my first demo disc and this game was one of the first games I played on it. I remember too there was Walt Disney World Quest: Magical Racing Tour, but Spider-Man is what I spent the most time on. He was one of the first superheroes I was ever exposed to as a kid next to Superman, Batman, Hulk, Iron Man and the X-Men. And I remember spending so much time watching the 90’s animated Spidey series.

 The demo I played had only the first level and no music. Don’t even think it had Black Cat in it either yet. But the first time I swung on my first web it caught me. And then I stuck to the wall on the side of the next building and it filled me with such excitement. I was Spider-Man! Then beating the first thug and so on. I played that level so much as a kid. But it wasn’t until around May 2017 I first got to play the full game for myself. In fact the first Spider-Man game I had was this game’s sequel; Spider-Man 2 Enter Electro.

But the game!

The plot of this game revolves around a supposed reformed Otto Octavious. He’s hosting a convention when Spider-Man comes and ruins the show by stealing Ock’s tech. Though it’s later revealed to be Mysterio posing as Spidey, and obvious it wasn’t Spidey because Parker was in the audience at the time, Eddie Brock also present at the convention is angered at Spider-Man’s thievery. He turns into Venom and goes off on a vengeful quest to kill Spidey once and for all. But, after a boss battle or two with Venom and saving Mary Jane from his grasp, you end up working along side him to stop any further symbiotes getting out and about.

Meanwhile, the lie of Spidey stealing Ock’s tech was all a ruse so that Ock can enact his next big attack; filling New York with a smog (so your levels set outside are forced to be on the rooftops, which is a clever work around the level designs and the popular fog technique used in PS1 games) and from this, with some help from Carnage, he plans to use symbiotes to gain control of the world.

Along the way you get help from Black Cat, have a brief encounter with Daredevil, Punisher and even Lizard if you navigate the sewer levels correctly, Human Torch and even Captain America at the end!

For bosses you to beat you get Scorpion (who you have to save JJJ from), Rhino, Mysterio, and the two big bads of the game Carnage and of course Doctor Octopus. And, especially made for this game, Monster-Ock! Doc Ock wears Carnage’s symbiote and you have to run like fuck away from him which made for one intense gaming moment.

The gameplay is simple but very fun. You get to shoot webs, punch, kick, jump high, web swing a limited distance and wall crawl. You can also pick up and throw objects and on certain levels get special web upgrades like lacing your webs with fire when fighting against the symbiotes.

You can be creative with your webs too; you can shoot web balls, make web gloves for added punching damage, web yank your foes towards you or to your left and right (which makes for fun times tossing bad guys off of buildings) and a web dome where you encase yourself in web, use it as a shield and explode out for an area attack. You have to be careful though because you do get a limited amount of webbing to use. At most you get 10 cartridges. You can collect more to refill your webs along the way of course but the more you use your webs and your web dome especially the more they’ll get used up. So use them sparingly.

For enemies you get thugs with guns, thugs with scales and thugs made of goop.

The boss fights are interesting. Scorpion is a simple punch and dodge affair. Rhino you get him to ram into guff and punch. Venom you have to catch from him disappearing and you punch. Ok there’s a little bit of a pattern here.

But Mysterio you have to attack on 3 different plains on his giant self. That does make for a clever boss fight I think but there have been criticisms on how it’s laid out with the electrified floor and not enough time to get out of the way of attacks and attack back with web balls, if you can get them to work.

Carnage you have to catch in sonic waves and then you can pummel and Dock Ock you avoid his arms, get him trapped, lower his shield and pummel away. Monster Ock, yeah you just run.

But the one thing they got right is playing as Spider-Man. For his first 3D outing you feel like Spider-Man and it’s so much fun to jump and punch and swing around as him. It’s not the same as modern Spidey games of course where you get open worlds to swing around in, but this was classic action adventure gameplay in closed in levels.

The levels are laid out like comic books which is appropriate. There’s 6 different sections of levels each with their own comic book cover but 34 levels overall. That’s a lot but really, they’re all quite short. Which isn’t a bad thing at all honestly. Given the game’s technical limitations each level makes the most of Spidey’s abilities, introducing new enemies, environments and boss battles.

You get levels set on rooftops, in offices, at the Daily Bugle, and down in the sewers, so you really get about New York.

You could probably get through this game in 2 hours on your first go through but there is plenty to go back and play through.

There’s 3 different difficulties to play through each given you different rewards such as new costumes. And each costume has (or hasn’t with some) got in game abilities so this adds for more replay value to go through the game again in a different costume of Spidey’s. There’s comic book covers to collect and not to mention lots of easter eggs to go on the hunt for.

Oh, and there’s even cheats. Remember when games did cheats to add more fun into the game? You get big head mode, unlock everything if you’re lazy and just want to dive in with everything readily available to play (If that were today you’d have to pay to unlock everything fast), debug mode, invincibility, unlimited webbing, and all game covers.

 This game I always felt closely tied in with 90’s animated series at the time. It used the same voice actor for Ock for one thing, but also just the design of the game and especially the logo used for Spider-Man’s name for the game. And given I was a huge fan of the cartoon at the same time I loved the similarities between the two. I could watch the series and then go play Enter Electro and live out my childhood fantasies of being Spider-Man.

And today this game is still a lot of fun to play. It’s lasted this well 18 years on. The gameplay is as sharp as it has ever been, it sounds good still-- I mean the soundtrack is catchy, dialogue is great and effects! The story is strong for its simplicity. It’s hard to find any faults within this game.

Maybe you could argue with some technical difficulties like how moving about can be a bit stiff at times especially on the wall crawling and there isn’t much in the way of dodging enemies attacks apart from jumping at the time of your spider sense going off. But there’s a reason this game got such high praise 18 years ago and still to this day it’s a solid game.

 Comparing it to how Spider-Man looks on the PS4, Spidey’s come a long, long way. And it’s nice to see the leaps and bounds that have happened between now and then from this game, to see how far the games have developed into becoming a fully realised and immersive Spider-Man game and experience. It’s spectacular, it’s amazing! Sorry, I had to…

 But, yeah. Damn good game. Solid. Go get.

They really should use Monster Ock in the comics...

Where to purchase: Ebay; £11.84 - £25, $12-25 (16/09/18)

Amazon; £23.88, $15- 126 (16/09/18)