#THE COFFEE WAS ALWAYS SIGNIFICANT MOTHER FUCKERS

[slocumjoe]

I thoroughly enjoy your takes on the relationship between Danse and Hancock post-BB, with Hancock being the local cat and laying on Danse every chance he gets because He Gets Him. It's very, very sweet and it really seems like the kind of reaction I'd expect out of Johnny given his personality.

YOU FOOL, YOU GAVE ME AN EXCUSE TO TALK AT LENGTH ABOUT MY ENEMIES-TO-FRIENDS FANFIC ARC

Trigger warnings for suicide, self-harm, drug use, alcoholism, sexual assault/groping, and a mental breakdown. This is not fun.

Also this is insanely long. It's so long. This took me 4 hours to type with a single 2-Taco break. Is if fanfic if there's only, like, 5 bits of dialog? Is this fanfic? Oh my God what is wrong with me

Hancock's (and the others') opinion of Danse starts shifting sometime during the Minuteman arc, when Augustijn starts really greasing the wheels to get the Minutemen up and at 'em.

So, they've all had some time to get to know Danse on a basic level. Hancock, in particular, knows him enough to know he fucking hates him. Everything about him. The way he talks, the tones he takes, his goody-two-shoes speel when he's an asshole. Everything. Hancock cannot fucking stand him and is constantly going at Danse's throat, sometimes just because he's bored and it's so easy to piss him off, sometimes he's genuinely hoping Danse starts a fight that Hancock can and will finish.

But then they go through one of the settlements, one day. Hancock kind of wanders off. Not too far, but away from the gang. A few people see a ghoul on his own and try it. He gets swarmed, they're trying to make him throw the first hit thinking he won't but there's a lot more of them, and Gus and the others have moved on. So, Hancock's in a bad fucking way—

—until a big, metal hand blocks a bat aimed at his dome.

Danse gives the assholes one hard look, and very few wastelanders will look up at a T50 helmet and think they stand much chance. But Danse gets in front of Hancock anyway, arm still out and over him. His would-be attackers slink off quick.

Danse makes sure Hancock isn't injured, then asks he not wander off like that again, for that very reason. Not even angry, or annoyed, or derisive. Just genuinely worried about his safety. And walks him back to the others.

Hancock has no fucking idea what to think of that exchange.

Danse sees Hancock wander off, he follows him, he sees he was in danger, he helps him.

Hancock would not have done the same for Danse. And it fucking bothers him that, despite everything, Danse still went out of his way, looking out for him. Next time they camp for the night, he has Isadora go ask the big guy about it. Fuck no, he's not asking himself.

Isa reports back that Danse just...thinks he has to. It's his job to make sure all of these civilians are safe. He does it for everything else, why wouldn't he then? Hancock was in danger. Danse is the guy who gets in front and takes the danger himself. It's that simple to him.

See, Danse is the dude in Power Armor. Danse takes the hits in a fight, because they bounce right off. Deathclaws? Danse gets in front. Mutants? Danse gets in front. And, apparently...bigots? ...Danse gets in front of those...too...despite...what the fuck?

If Hancock didn't hate Danse before, he certainly does now, because now Danse has gone and made shit complicated. He likes his jackasses nice and simple with nothing deeper than the skin, and...whatever that was, that was layered. And Hancock doesn't like thinking too much about people he can't stand. Especially not when he might just think they're not that bad.

The same thing happens with Nick, somewhere in Diamond City. Someone scared and mistrustful and thinking old Valentine went and turned coat, they attack Nick in broad daylight, take a shovel at him. Danse is there before they get a hit in. Nick. He goes out of his way to keep Nick safe. And where Hancock loathes him for it, Nick gets something of a respect for the guy.

Hancock talks to others, when its private. Preston isn't sure what to think of him, but Preston keeps his cards close to his chest, so who knows. Bobby thinks he's fine when he isn't talking. Piper gets irritated when he fusses over her, her recklessness. No one really knows what to make of this one fucking guy, beyond finding him pretensious and self-righteous.

So it's just Hancock, who's really turning Danse over in his head. But Nick, he's clearly got an opinion, got a read on crew-cut. He just doesn't share with the class. But Hancock thinks Nick sees something in him, because he takes utmost care to make coffee the way Danse seems to like it. Hancock confronts him on this, and the old bag of bolts just shrugs, says, "Well, he deals with things we don't want to deal with. We owe him that much, don't we?"

On Danse's side, Hancock isn't notable. Hancock is one of many in this motley group that dislikes him and wants him gone. Danse keeps to himself anyway, and is used to being the odd one out. To him, it doesn't matter. His job is to protect them and join Knight Reinier on his mission. What he thinks of Reinier's group is irrelevant. He does his job even if they don't want him to. What, is he supposed to let them die? Just because they don't like him? Abhorrent. Even if Hancock seemingly wants to gut him and is a nightmare to deal with, he is under his protection. Regardless how either of them feel about it.

Hancock notices this about Danse and fumes. He doesn't want to be taken care of by someone he fucking loathes. He hates debts. He hates morality and shit not making sense. He hates feeling like he doesn't have all the answers already.

This confusion...continues? Worsens? When Danse's nature is revealed.

Augustijn is off in the Institute, tentatively trying to broker peace, get Isadora the title of Director, when the gang gets the word. They're waiting at the Boston Airport at the teleporter. Danse was left at the Sentinel Site. Maxson storms down from his blimp, asks if any of them knew about Danse.

The Brotherhood is hunting Danse, now.

Haylen catches them as they leave to find him. Tells them where to go. Hancock can't stop making jokes and laughing. It's funny. It's ironic. It's a great joke to play on someone. It's perfect. It's the best punishment ever. It might just mean Danse finally—

Danse might—

The others, some of them saw it coming. Hancock didn't. If he did, he'd have rubbed it in Danse's face, stuck it in place of his name, spat it out at him with a grin.

They get to that bunker, Nick, Dogmeat, and Curie take the elevator down. X6-88, a courser who should really be trying to capture Danse, is off to the Institute to get Gus and Isa.

They wait outside. Nick and Curie don't come up the elevator. Cait wonders if Danse really did kill himself. She turns the thought over in her head, and says it seems fitting even if she hadn't thought of it before. Preston turns green where he stares at the setting sun and agrees. Says he always thought about it. Danse almost always took nightshift. So did Preston. They'd argue over it, insist the other one needed sleep more. "Most people want to sleep," Preston says, and by his face alone, Hancock really does think Danse is fucking dead down there.

He takes the elevator. He has to know.

Maybe he's—maybe it's because of himself. Maybe Hancock remembers sitting in an old ruin, huffing poison, so desperate he actually prayed that it'd kill him. He hates Danse. Hates him. Does he hate him that much? Maybe its principle. I want to kill you myself, so you can't—

He gets down there. Hears Nick. Hears Curie. Doesn't hear Danse. But Nick is talking, addressing him, the situation, so he must be alive. Curie promises Augustijn should be there soon, please take a moment to breathe. Danse laughs and Hancock about shits himself because that isn't a noise Paladin Fucking Danse makes, and he never wants to hear that fucking noise again.

It takes so long. Nick talks and talks and talks, and so does Curie, and Danse barely says anything. Danse rarely talked, anyway. It's normal for him. He's a quiet guy. Keeps to himself. He never joined in conversation. Hancock liked that about him, he knew when he wasn't wanted. Hancock wonders if he would have ever spoken to them if they didn't try and fuck with him. Deacon would move his tools in garages. MacCready pestered him with inane questions to see how deep he'd scowl. Cait and Hancock both loudly discussed if he was a virgin.

It sets in, there.

Hancock tried to, too. Hancock went through with it and it didn't take. Danse was still going. He was letting Nick talk. Letting Dogmeat whine at his legs. Letting Curie check his arms, take his weaponry.

Danse had every reason to do it. Every reason, and no reason not to. No one would miss him, pity him. It was his job, anyway. He could have done it and Hancock would have thrown a party celebrating that the fuckhead was dead. But he didn't. He didn't. He wasn't going to. He fucking wanted to, God knows that, Nick never stopped talking him down, but Danse didn't do shit and Hancock didn't know if that made him a coward or—or—

Gus and Isa showed up. Augustijn threw himself at Danse. Isa told Hancock the old man, his baby? Shaun. Gone. Gone for good. They were at his bedside. Saw him off.

Hancock hears Augustijn sob, turns to peek into the window. Danse holds Augustijn like he himself has no problems in the world, like he's already forgotten he's a synth. Hancock leaves and Isa follows him out. Everything after that is a blur, save for Maxson showing up. Then things are a blur again. Danse tries to stay the bunker. Preston, shaky in the legs after his General tried to fistfight the Elder of the Brotherhood, says fuck no.

Curie and X6 took Danse back to Sanctuary. The rest of them got to watch Maxson and Desdemona agree, for once, as Isadora insisted they not blow up the Institute. Hancock remembers jackshit else.

The Minutemen take over the Institute with the Brotherhood and Railroad's help, and Isa gets her very own group to boss around. Synths get taken care off, the Institute stops being shitheads, the Brotherhood sticks around to make sure Isa keeps her promises.

Hancock pretends it didn't happen. He still torments Danse. He still pesters him. Danse reacts...better. He lets Hancock do it, doesn't defend himself. Hancock brings it up, teases him, regrets it immediately even if Danse doesn't react. He doesn't do that again.

They go back to Sanctuary. Augustijn is a wreck. Isadora is below ground, hard at work. Hancock finds Danse. It's like nothing happened. He acts the same. Seems the same. Augustijn frets over him before duty calls him away. Gus and Isadora are gone, trying to figure out the new political sphere of the Commonwealth. The rest of them take a well-earned break.

Danse kind of vanishes.

They know he's there, he's around. Just working. Always on guard duty, always performing maintenance. They don't see him. That's usually how it is, so Hancock thinks it's fine. He goes to buy more chems. Lady there says hey, that guy you always bitched about? I think he's loosening up, finally. Been buying grape mentats.

He knows he should say something and he doesn't. He likes chems. Its good that Danse is doing them, now. Its good. And grape mentats! Maybe he'll finally make friends, be tolerable. Maybe he'll even get laid. Next time Hancock sees him, Danse has dropped too many pounds. He tells himself its fine.

The wasteland gets its peace. The Institute is going to actually help, now. The RR and BOS won't go to war with anyone. To celebrate, they all go drinking. Preston and Curie drag Danse along but they all lose him in a corner pretty quickly. Hancock sends some shots his way but doesn't pay attention. No one does. They party and forget that Danse is there at all. Hancock turns around and Danse is gone. He asks the bartender if he noticed where he went. Out the door, he says. Got himself a friend for the night, looks like. Danse doesn't do that. Hancock trips and breaks his stool, he's out of that bar so fast. Finds Danse barely standing in the alley and his 'friend' is far too handsy. Cait deals with her. He didn't realize Cait was behind him but he focuses on getting Danse...somewhere. Fucker is pretty light. He shouldn't be.

Hancock ends up dropping him anyway. Sees his face and almost pukes because he knows that fucking look and this is his fault. He kept sending him shots. He didn't look at him once, or invite him over to the bar. He left him to chug alone in a corner when all of them were partying. Danse was in trouble and just like he thought he would, Hancock didn't do shit.

He tries to pick him up again. Danse takes one heaving breath and drops his face in the dirt and cries. Hancock looks at Cait and she's off to find Nick, or Curie, or anyone who doesn't hate Danse.

He doesn't know what to do. He just pats his back awkwardly. Danse, whenever one of them was upset, always offered a hug. They usually took it. MacCready took it. Isadora took it. He even hugged Curie, the first time she couldn't save someone. Danse admitted, once, that he just never knew what else to do.

So Hancock pulls him up and hugs him. Tries to. Danse is heavy even if he's dropped a third of his weight and Hancock goes stumbling down against the wall, with a drunk, hurt Danse in his lap. He thinks its working, having his arms around him, until Danse starts babbling.

It's exactly what you would expect and yet Hancock isn't ready for it. You hear it from yourself, its normal. You hear it from someone else and its the worst thing you've ever heard. But the worst part is that Danse keeps saying sorry. Sorry for crying, for being drunk, for being heavy, for being awful, for being alive. He's sorry, a million times he's sorry.

Hancock never once wanted it. Not before, when he really did hate him, and not now, not like this. He tries to quiet him down, tell him its fine, but then Danse starts begging him to kill him. Thats when his heart starts beating so loud he can't hear anything else, when everything gets blurry again.

Nick shows up. Helps drag him to a hotel room. Shushes him when he begs for death because he can't kill himself, he promised Augustijn he wouldn't, and just flops him on the bed. Hancock throws up in the bathroom.

Nick says he'll stay and keep an eye on Danse. Hancock digs through Danse's coat, finds the key to his apartment somewhere in the Concord district.

It's not as bad as he was expecting, but worse in a different way. There's a present for Piper's birthday half-wrapped, a box of her favorite lemon candy that's so expensive, she doesn't even look at it when they find it. A photo album of his time in the Brotherhood. Booze everywhere. No decor. It's lonely and small, like Listening Post Bravo. What worries Hancock is that there's weaponry. He finds an empty box and shoves all of Danse's kitchen knives in, his forks and spoons too so he can't stab himself or scoop out his eyes. He even debates taking his coffee machine. They're like toasters, right? Could he kill himself with one? But then Hancock says fuck it. He isn't letting Danse stay here period. Not like this. The knives and forks and spoons can stay. He takes the coffee pot anyway, because it made a truly rancid noise when he unplugged it and it stinks of burnt circuitry. Danse deserves better.

He finds Nick the next morning and tells him everything. The mentats, the weightloss, Danse's shitty apartment, everything that Hancock's been worried about and then some. Nick tells Hancock that he already knew about the mentats. Danse woke up in the night and puked and it was purple. Neon purple.

Hancock laughs at it, tells Nick he kept sending Danse shots when he was on chems and wonders when he'll stop being a shitty friend. Nick claps him on the shoulder and tells him shitty friends don't care about coffee pots.

He goes to see Danse, first thing when the sun is up. Big guy's face down on his pillow, face pickle-green and scrunched up as Curie lists off various coping mechanisms in place of alcohol and drugs. Hancock shoos her away. Danse asks Hancock if he's willing to tell him what the fuck happened. Nick won't. Curie doesn't know. Cait only said she 'dealt with it' and 'it won't be happening again' and 'they'll never find her' and 'she had pineapple gum on her, do you want some?'

Hancock tells him, and over the retelling of the shitshow from last night, comes to appreciate just how expressive Danse can be. His scowls were always incredible to watch, like his very skull was scrunching up. The thought is all he has to get through it without...puking again? Crying? Grabbing him by the shoulders and screaming at him for the love of fuck, we don't hate you?

Danse blinks owlishly. Clicks his tongue. Shrugs, slaps his knees, and stands to leave. Says it was unfortunate and he won't be doing it again, he's so sorry for the inconvenience—wait, why do you have my coffee pot?

Hancock looks at the fucking coffee pot under his arm, and looks at Danse, and gives it to him straight. He's too exhausted for anything else. He has it because it's shitty. Its a shitty coffee pot from a shitty apartment in a shitty part of Sanctuary. Danse is a fucking tech genius, or whatever, if he wanted a good coffee pot he could make one. He could spend money on one, and not lemon candy for Piper. He could borrow one, or get coffee at the little Cafe down his street that gives it free. Its a shitty machine and its shitty that he puts up with it, just like he puts up with all of them being shitty, even long after he arguably deserved it. He doesn't deserve shitty coffee. Nick got that before anyone else did. Danse doesn't deserve half of what he's ended up with. Hancock hates him but he hates himself more, so that just means he fucking hates that Danse is ending up the same way Hancock did. Burying everything in chems and booze and acting like nothing is wrong, or if it is, it doesn't bother him. He hates that he got what he wanted, Danse miserable and hating himself as much as Hancock does and one bad day away from killing himself. Most of all, he hates how little he could blame him if he did, and he hates how Danse really did end up being the better, bigger man who had to decency to feel bad about it all.

They stare at each other for a minute.

Hancock throws the stupid fucking coffee maker across the room and stands and screams we never fucking hated you either! They just didn't know him! He never let them! They never let him let them! It was an endless cycle of Danse being stand-offish, so they'd keep away, and then he'd take the hint and stand even farther away, so they'd keep fucking doing it, and look where it's led, you're so far away, we don't even know where the fuck you are to reach out and fucking help you!

Danse asks why Hancock should feel bad. He looks at Danse and asks how the fuck he ever got that T50 helmet on, having a skull that fucking thick. Danse was a shithead but so were all of them, so was Hancock. And then the big idiot shakes his head, looks like a kicked puppy, says he never hated them, did they all think that? He was hard on them but he never meant to—

You'd think he'd spoken in tongues, or grown his nose back. Danse looks a mix of hurt, confused, and guilty. Hancock doesn't want him to be any of that, he wants him to fucking understand. He wants him to see that it isn't just Augustijn who's scared for him. And he doesn't know how to make him see that, if Danse could ever see that.

Danse just...looks at the corpse of his coffee machine.

And again, apologizes for the heinous fucking crime of not doing a good enough job at powering through the worst time of his life for all of their comfort. How dare he bother them. Hancock wonders if this is how people feel looking at him, listening to his bullshit. But at least Hancock can look people in the eye while he does it. Danse stares at that broken, thrown away piece of garbage with a lump in his throat and looks like he wants to crumple into a ball and die on the floor.

"I know you're weird about the ghoul thing, but seriously, man, do you need a hug?"

"...pardon?"

"Do you want a fucking hug?"

His eyes water and widen and he flinches like he's been shot, and Hancock decides fuck it, if he doesn't like it, he can chuck me across the room.

Danse...probably likes it? He does—well, he doesn't do a lot of crying, he cried everything out last night. But there's crying. Buries his big stupid head in Hancock's shoulder and clings to him like a kid does a teddy bear after a nightmare. Hancock has always been a hands-on, touchy guy. He doesn't mind cuddling this asshole if that means he won't hop off a bridge come lunch. But his spine doesn't like the weight of Danse nor being bent to accommodate his height. Tall asshole. Hancock just kinda...shoves him at the bed. Makes to sit down. Sitting down becomes laying down. Hancock accepts his fate. He didn't sleep last night anyway.

Later, Curie re-enters and finds Hancock underneath a cried-to-sleep brick shithouse of a man. She only barely manages to not smile.

Once Danse wakes up, Hancock has made note of three things: Danse is very cuddly and honestly, is a top-tier cuddle-buddy, warm as hell; Danse is very pliable when he's just woken up; he's accepted that maybe he and Danse aren't so different, and if Danse is as stubborn as Hancock, getting him to knock off the destructive shit will take bartering.

Danse is not an easy man to barter with, Hancock knows. And he'll catch on if Hancock starts at 50, and if 50 doesn't cut it. Hancock goes right to 100 and tells Danse he'll cut way back on chems if Danse starts taking care of himself again, or at least lets himself be taken care of.

If there's anything that can get Hancock to do something, it's vindication. Danse has always been iffy on Hancock's liberal chem use. Of course the idea of getting his way, of winning that little battle, would be too tempting. Danse takes the bait. Hancock resigns himself to chem use only on weekends and holidays, and takes some pride in having convinced the prickliest cactus to let himself be vulnerable.

Augustijn comes back a week later. No one sees either of them. But the next time Hancock does see Danse, he's put some pounds back on. The chemist says he's stopped coming in. Hancock siccs Piper and Codsworth on Danse's apartment to decorate it. Piper finds her birthday present. Danse spends two hours scrubbing her red lipstick off his face, complaining about the surprise being ruined the whole time.

Shit gets weird when the little synth kid shows up. Given everything with Shaun, and who Augustijn is, just as a person, that kid was always gonna be weird and messed up. Danse takes to him immediately. If the kid isn't with his dad (adopted dad?), he's with Danse, in the garage, at the river, down at the farms, walking Dogmeat. Hancock thinks its a good look on him, a kid on his shoulders, in his arms, holding his hand. Even more so when Danse gets back to his old weight. And then a little more. Then quite a bit more, especially in the chest and thighs. And then Danse starts smiling, gets laugh lines. Cait and Deacon make a drinking game out of swatting away the 'honeyflies' whenever they start surrounding. Something about a big, bulky man being fatherly to a skittish kid just drives people fucking wild. Danse develops a taste for ugly ass button ups, and not even his fashion sense scares them off.

Hancock takes him for beer, occasionally, through it all. Buys him dinner just to be sure he's eating. Watches how Danse changes bit by bit. He puts fat on in the legs before anything else, then the stomach, then the arms. His cheeks fill out quickly, too. He makes a lot more jokes than Hancock thought. They're just delivered so straight, you don't notice if you don't know to look for them. Once Hancock starts looking, they're everywhere. He wonders how many he's made that Hancock took as an earnest remark, and gave him crap for. He asks. Danse just grins, all shit-eating.

They go out for drinks. It starts as Hancock just wanting to check up on him. It turns into Hancock's favorite part of the week. He finds him fascinating. Danse is a history nerd, of course he is. He's wistful for simple pleasures, like live music, or fishing, or sports, if only for the fact that they're symbolic of peace. He has strong opinions on mirelurks. He actually isn't a virgin and admits that his first and only time was so his at-the-time squadmates would stop giving him shit for not having sex. He has reoccurring nightmares about his best friend, and he still misses the guy so much, he doesn't want the nightmares to stop because they're all he has left of him. He has it bad for Gus but he loves Theo so fucking much, he feels like the kid's Pops whether he gets with his dad or not. He's better with the synth thing, what really bothers him is how he acted and treated others, and how it took being one of them for him to see it was wrong.

Hancock finds him sweet, dorky, heartbreakingly sentimental, underneath all those scowls and grumbles.

He has to admit that he likes this guy.

What really sells him on Danse is how much he'll let you do, if you're close enough.

Hancock is touchy. Hancock is always cold. Danse is very warm and, having gained a lot more weight than he lost, very soft and comfy. Danse is touch-starved.

Danse becomes his travel mattress, portable chair, teddy bear, space heater, pillow, et cetera. Giant soft thing filled with fluff and warm. And Danse lets him. Danse lets Hancock play with his surprisingly soft hair, rub his shoulders, tuck under his chin, lay across his shoulders like a scarf...

It's a cosmic joke.

It's more of a cosmic joke than Danse being a synth. Hancock could have been using this fucker as a bed the whole goddamn time. He'd seen Danse be cool with ghouls before. Wiseman at the slog. That ghoul kid near Quincy. Kent. Even fucking Daisy, hell, Daisy liked Danse. The whole time, the whole fucking time, Hancock could have had a giant, warm, soft teddy bear. But no. But no. The teddy bear had to go through the the fucking wringer first.

He tells Danse as much. Danse laughs, loud and rosy-cheeked, in a flamingo print shirt, and says it fluffed him up.

[1oserjk]

— full stop | 03

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a series.

a messy divorce, unrequited feelings, and a five year old. 

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02 ⇋ 04

x full stop masterlist | x masterlist

shit is 16k .. sry 

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full stop | 03: unhappy birthday

Hyejin has always been a ball of fury when you poked at the wrong buttons on her. But something about Jungkook and the aftermath of the divorce has made her even more apprehensive of the man, and you can only do so much to shift her opinions elsewhere.

“Fuck him over. Somehow, someway — just do it.”

You choke.

Eyes widening, sputtering out, “H-Hyejin..” 

“I’m not kidding,” she deadpans, already rolling up her sleeves, “How many times do I have to tell you that fucker will never learn?” 

A hand comes up, “Okay wait.” You pause. “Are we going to collectively forget Jungkook is my daughter’s father?” 

Her head shakes. “Not relevant—and also hard for me to care when it comes to him.” 

You exhale, eyes fluttering closed and palms resting flat on her kitchen table. “Look, I know he’s not the most liked between everybody right now. But, I can’t just tell him no.. That’s not fair.” 

“But there’s boundaries,” she points and argues, then prompts, “What kind of outcome does he expect when he goes out with the one person who caused most of the mess two years ago.”

Your eyes roll back. “She took a micro-portion of it.” 

“Her presence was still there and highly significant if I'm judging from most of the nights you came to me for!” 

“Hyejin.” You glare. 

“And don’t even try to do That Thing where you deduce your own valid feelings and assume everybody else’s choices and actions are reasonable when it’s clearly not!” You glare and she blatantly ignores it, waving you off, “And I know you’re keeping everything within yourself for the sake of being a better co-parent, or whatever fucking advice you read in the facebook group you’ve recently planted yourself in, but god. I’m mad, anyone would be mad, so let me be mad for you.” 

“No one is going to be mad about this,” you finally decide. “There’s nothing to be mad about. He is his own person and he can make his own decisions.” She pins her stare at your nails that you pick at. You feel it. “Even if it means going out with someone younger, more exciting, who prances around with a pen in her hand as if she’s really doing something useful all the fucking time for whatever goddamn reason. I could care less,” you can’t help but mutter under your breath shortly after. 

“Ha!” One of her acrylics poke at you and you flinch. “You are mad.” 

You groan out loudly. “I’m not mad,” you exasperate. “All I’m saying is for him to have at least decent taste if he’s going to date. Not someone so expectant after a divorce.” 

Her eyes narrow. 

“But that’s not the point,” you make sure to add right after. Fingers run through your hair and you sigh. “Look,” you ease gently. “I’m trying to be alright in this, okay? The last thing I want to do is stomp in like a madwoman and refuse a relationship that would’ve happened sooner or later.” 

Of course, she disagrees. “God,” she stands, grabbing both of your mugs and heading to the sink. “You’re turning into one of those Milf’s that stand by to live, laugh, and love—it’s grossing me out.” 

Your ears perk at attention and you smile smugly. “You think I’m a Milf?” 

“Shut up. You’re flattered.” She turns it on to soak both of your cups before the coffee sticks. “I only dropped by to tell you that it’s okay to freak out once in a while.” 

The only reason she’s been keening on you to go apeshit in front of your ex-husband, was the frantic phone call you left on the night of ditching Jungkook in your own kitchen. Being that she was here now, claiming that Kiumin ached for a playdate with Yeona, when in reality, her only goal was to scold you for not swinging at the doll Jungkook pranced around with as of late. 

She puts a hand on her hip and leans towards the counter. “Turning to corny coping mechanisms like following a Bob Ross tutorial isn’t going to fix your rage you’ve been pushing down.” 

“Okay, but that’s only because Jungkook still has some of his supplies laying around and the only thing I could come up with was painting a fucking sunset. Sue me,” you defend, throwing your arms up. “Besides, you weren’t there to see him, Hyejin. He was getting out of his office for once, smiling even, a-and it was different. A good different, and..” You’re completely at a loss, mouth opening, then shutting back closed, because what was even the point. 

“..You don’t want to take that away from him,” she finishes, a tilt to her head and a consoling expression gracing her features. 

“Exactly,” you exhale. “I can’t even be mad that she’s actually getting him out there, taking him to things that didn’t involve work. Something I couldn’t even do-“ 

“Hey, no,” she stops you, head firmly shaking. “No, you don’t get to do that. You were there and present, even on the days you were close to giving up before you actually did — you were there, trying your absolute hardest, clinging onto what he barely gave you. You were never the problem, okay?” 

You meekly nod, tired eyes on her when she takes a firm hold of both of your hands. 

She makes it clear, saying, “As a wife and a mother, you were always there and that is something nobody can take away from you.”

“I know,” you confess. “I’m just in a weird position right now, and I’m stressed out from it. Not mad—stressed.” 

“And you don’t have to be, alright?” She shakes on your shoulder. “I know I insisted on breaking some plates and screaming, but hearing you out, I’m sure you would rather stray from the subject as a whole.” 

“Please.” 

“Alright. I’ll get out of your hair for now, and if I come up with something to do for us that doesn’t involve egging someone’s car—“

“Hyejin!”

“—then I’ll let you know.” 

You huff out a breath and finally stand, entering into her arms she spans out. “I’ll always be worried about you, babe.” 

“I know,” you mumble, “And I’ll keep telling you I’m fine every single time you ask.” She pinches your side that earns a loud yelp from you and a hiss of pain a second later. 

“Love you.” 

“Always,” you promise and then remind, “Please save some space for Yeona’s birthday that’s coming up, and be prepared for any phone-calls beforehand of me crying because my baby’s growing up and I have no control to slow down time for it.” 

“Ah, that’s right,” she says. “Tell me if you need any help planning, alright?”

“Of course.” 

“Kiumin, baby,” she calls out, heading towards the living space, “Buddy, let’s go. We gotta get home before dinnertime.” 

Both of your children are on the floor, several toys in front of them and a television with brightly lit characters and colors that did not have to be at a high-volume as it was right now. 

“Aw,” the little boy pouts, “Okay.” He turns to your daughter and waves hesitantly. 

“Bye Kiumin,” Yeona yells out, clambering across the floor to get a hug. Short arms wrap around tiny figures and it’s absolutely adorable. Your eyes can sense a hint of red on Kiumin’s cheeks when your daughter’s hands tug tightly onto his. “See you soon, maybe.” She shrugs. 

“Don’t worry, Yeonie,” Hyejin promises. “We’ll meet up again soon.” 

At that, Yeona nods enthusiastically and shuffles herself forward for another hug directed towards your best friend. “Bye, aunt Hyejin.” She receives a soft pat to her head. 

“Be safe on the way home,” you order. 

They make their leave swiftly, and it finally gives you time to properly breathe—and think for a long while. 

-

Tiny fingers pinch the paper in between them, a determination set in her eyes as she excitedly jumps around in her seat. “It’s done,” she announces. 

Your eyes resemble a wink when you squint at her, sun shining way too brightly for it to be this early in the morning. It practically reflects Yeona’s attitude in starting the day like this, while you sit pathetically in an oversized shirt and coffee in hand. 

Taking the time in the morning for yourself was barely a thing, especially when it came to your daughter and her way too early sleep schedule her school had willed her on. 

Instead of sleeping in, you’re dealt with Yeona already being wide-eyed in her bed, making grabby hands at the toys in her bedroom you’ve put the time in cleaning up on the floor from the night before. 

Even staying home in her matching sweats her father had gifted her, she would still request her hair up and out of her face for the rest of the day. So, you’d be taking fifteen minutes to slick her hair up in her choice of a ponytail or pigtails instead of preciously sleeping in. Even right after, she’d become hungry, wanting breakfast to go along with her cartoons she had downloaded on her tablet. 

Which was perfectly fine, you’d be up soon anyway, so it would be better overall to just start the day off a bit earlier. It would only just leave you a bit off-looking and disoriented in the things you’d do for yourself. 

Years back, when Yeona was younger and you were still married, the routine was easier and much steadier when you would tag-team in getting ready for the day, passing off your daughter after one task would be done for the other and it would be your own turn for yours. 

At first, it left you frazzled when you were alone most days, but now, since the separation has settled in, it’d been okay for the most part. It just meant that some of the things and time you put aside for yourself were sacrificed, and that you would have to save your self care routine for later in the night when Yeona would flutter her eyelashes closed for slumber. 

You excitedly clap a few times and reach eagerly. “Can I see?” 

Yeona’s birthday was reaching close and for most of them, you would be able to know exactly what she’d want for that particular year. Normally, it would be a themed party of whatever she had been obsessed with at that time, and obviously the gifts you would drown her in. Last year went with a breeze. You were glad at that time when most of the conflict between you and Jungkook had faded when the time came, solely focusing on your daughter and that was it. But now, with the way things had left between the two of you recently, you were worried it wouldn’t be the same as this year. 

Yeona had declared she wanted something different this year and decided that she’d write it all out in a list. Still unsure and a bit confused, you complied and set out her supplies for her to take over on the paper. It was only fifteen minutes after she claimed that she was finished. 

Leaning towards her paper, you expected it to be drowned in color and design, taking the same artistic habits as her father. But to no avail, it was left blank. 

Your brows furrow. “I thought you were done?”

She nods. “I am!” 

“So.. Where—“ You awkwardly left off, wondering if she was hiding it beneath the table or behind her back. She giggles when you curiously dip your head under the tabletop. 

“In here,” she points. A single finger pokes at her head and she proudly smiles before explaining, “The list is in my head! If you read all of it at once, then it wouldn’t be fun, so I’ll tell Mommy the first thing now and the rest for later.” 

Your mouth opens in a sound of realization, and your eyes glint at how clever she became. “So,” you excitedly lean towards her more, landing a soft peck on her forehead. “What does my baby want for her birthday?” 

“No party,” she firstly says with a firm shake to her head. 

Your eyes widened. “No party?” Since the beginning, it’s always been one. 

“Nope.” Her lips purse out with a crinkle to her nose. “Mommy,” she says, eyes twinkling. “I’m growing, so big girls don’t have parties.” 

You hum, “Is that so?” 

She nods dramatically. 

“So what would you want this year?” 

“I would like to ask if we could have my birthday at Uncle Jin and Joonie’s beach house.” 

Your brows shoot up. “That’s all the way in Jeju..” 

She nods. “We could all take the ferry!” Then, she pouts. “We never go on the ferry.” 

Her idea runs through your mind for a few seconds before theorizing with her, mindlessly murmuring to yourself, “We could take the one in Busan and visit Grandma and Grandpa on the way..” You were sure they would want to see Yeona on the day of her birthday. 

Her eyes brighten when she picks up on your mumbles, grappling your wrist and shaking it, “Yes, Mommy! We’ll take everybody, like, Daddy’s co-workers and Kiumin!” 

It seems that you were already confirming the idea instead of considering it, though it all seemed like a perfect idea that wouldn’t take a lot of effort or stress. You can already imagine the small gathering for the weekend getaway, already knowing how much the others would like some time off, especially the guys that would always be cooped up in the suffocated shop filled with needles and ink. It would be a nice way of switching a few things up and catching up with the rest of the inner circle you’ve accumulated from the time of being with Jungkook. 

“Well,” you start, “Let me have a conversation with your Daddy and then maybe,” you halt when she begins to turn giddy, “Maybe it will happen. But he’s going to have to ask Uncle Jin and Joon if it’s alright, so it's honestly up to them to decide..” 

“Okay,” she quickly obliges, confidence set in her tone and smile, telling you that she was completely sure of her idea and their compliance to it.

-

“Of course!” 

Jungkook’s head drops down in embarrassment while you sit across from him, mouth almost gaping. 

“S-Seokjin,” you sputter. “You barely even gave it a few seconds to think about.” 

He shakes a hand back and forth, “Why would I need to?”

“You can’t just..“ You lead off hopelessly. Turning to the lanky man next to him, you raise a brow. “Namjoon?”

“Fine by me,” he says over a mouthful of noodles, “We barely even use the house, anyway.” 

“O-Okay, but-“ 

“We should go a week before the date to check up on it,” Seokjin suggests to Namjoon. 

“You’re right, just in case anything is out of place,” he replies. 

“The fireplace should be okay, right? I heard it rained last weekend.” 

And then they fall into their own conversation, leaving you and Jungkook, the real parents in this situation — silent. 

“I guess.. It’s happening?” You squeak out. The expensive couch sits uncomfortably on your bum, and you grow sweaty from being left to bask in the tension between the man across from you. It’s awkward, almost dragging on since you’ve entered the flat and sat down with Jungkook.

You were thankful at first, when Seokjin had butted in the conversation, boyfriend in tow. 

The last time you’ve encountered your ex-husband, were only the past few weeks of dropping off Yeona on his days off, stoically handing her to him and running off until you would have to pick her up again. 

It was childish, you knew that. You knew it exactly when you turned your back to him and completely shut him out three weeks ago. But at this point, it was the only way you were able to cope with however you were feeling about him, and simmering down most of your anger. But seeing that you would have to deal with him sooner rather than later, being that Yeona’s birthday was coming up, you were reluctantly willing to face him. 

“Yeah, I don’t think we have a choice,” he chuckles, palms nervously rubbing against his knees. A small part of you is definitely basking in the way he squirms under your scrutiny. 

“It’s fine,” you say, “This was the biggest part of Yeona’s list, anyway. She really wanted this.” 

He offers a quirk to his lips, and your heart immediately seizes, having to force yourself to stop looking at him so obnoxiously. It’s gross, really, how you’ve managed to be so affected by him - good or bad, since the very start. 

A throat clears, and it’s Namjoon, one hand stuffed in his pocket while the other on Seokjin’s lower back. You grow curious if he noticed. “Tell Yeona we can have her birthday at our house in Jeju.” 

“Thank you, really—to you both. She really wanted this, and for you guys to be there too.” 

“Of course, we’ll send a message to the rest that they’re invited.” 

With a smile, you stand and wrap your arms around both of them on your way out. “Thank you, again,” you can’t help but repeat. They only chuckle in your tight grasp that clearly proved how grateful you were to them.

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Jungkook offers when he stands. 

You shake your head, “It’s alright. I took a bus here.” 

“Then, I’ll drive you back.” 

“Jungkook, no, it’s okay-“ 

Already disappearing into his room, he makes a grab for his jacket and shoes to head out. 

Seokjin chuckles when you whip around to face back the both of them, “Stubborn.” 

You’re breathless when you repeat in stress, “Yeah.” 

“Have a good night, _____.” Namjoon and Seokjin simultaneously wave, sending you both out the door. You embarrassingly let out a light laugh, waving back and wishing the same for them. 

You rush to the side of Jungkook when they disappear. 

Nobody talks, even until you’ve reached his car, unlocking the doors and allowing you to slip in the passenger side. 

He got the vehicle shortly after finalizing his move out of the house, offering the one you previously shared and owned. You didn’t have much of a choice when he slipped the keys in your hand and left shortly after without any argument. You were more nervous that if you pushed more for him to take it, he’d go out and buy you a new one the next day. 

For Jungkook driving the sleek black car everyday, it practically seems unused, leather seats still having that particular smell and everything still being tidy around it. Then again, Yeona is now older and less messy than before. 

Everything in the car is so exactly him, and you weren’t quite sure how to feel about it. 

After buckling up and properly settling in, he slides the keys in the slot, leaving you to stare at the hanging car accessory up at the rearview mirror. 

It’s a picture of you and Yeona, laid out on the floor. You remember the memory clearly, Yeona declaring a tickle fight and sprawling out on the floor for a fair match. Even with Yeona sat on top of you, it seemed that you were winning in the game with how her head was thrown back and a wide grin on her face, you could practically hear the squeal she was letting out in the picture. 

He still had it. 

For a second, you smile back at it. 

You barely even notice the car already moving and him asking the question, “Why didn’t you drive?” 

Your head flicks to him, and your eyes stay right at his jaw when he makes a smooth turn. You shrug, “It was nearby, I didn’t mind.” 

“You should’ve told me,” he says, “I would have come home instead of you travelling all this way for me.” 

Home. He still called it home, like it’d be any day now for him to return to it, that this was all a temporary fix until everything would get less foggy. 

“It’s fine,” you pass off. “I didn’t think you would see the offer as worthy since Yeona is at my mom’s place right now.” 

His head shakes, turning away from the road to catch your eyes for a split second. “I don’t need any reason to see you, _____. Just tell me, and I’ll be there.” It’s with vigour and promise, you almost turn flustered. 

You let out a small scoff before looking down at your hands. “If you said that a long time ago, we would’ve still been married,” you joke, though it comes out bitter. “Thanks for the offer, though,” you sarcastically add. 

The car suddenly halts and you look up, the red traffic light flashes in front of you. 

Jungkook shuts his eyes before tiredly letting out a sigh. 

You grow anxious, looking out the window from the side. Some of the restaurants and shops are surprisingly still open and you focus on the windows with bright lighting inside of the buildings. Friends and couples are eating out, some are laughing, and you wonder what some of their conversation consisted of. You surmise it’s something foolish when one of them throws their head back in a fit of laughter. 

Your hands grip each other when a pair from the opposite side of your vision pucker up and kiss. It turns personal way too quickly and you immediately feel like you're intruding, grateful that the light turns green and you finally move away from the intimate image, wondering if you would ever get close to that phase of your life again.

The silent minute brings you to announce abruptly, “We’re going to take the ferry in Busan instead of here, so that she would be able to see your parents before leaving.” 

“Sounds fine,” he replies. “My mother would like that.”

You nod. 

“What about yours?” He suggests.

You sigh, head hitting the headrest of the seat softly. “Another detox trip. They said they would send her a birthday card before they would leave. Probably why they’re spending as much time with her as they can before they leave.” 

Even with eyes on the road, he still seems to be listening intently. He hesitates a few seconds before asking, “How’s your dad?” 

You send him a smile, the least you could do before answering, “Still hates you.” 

He snorts. “Yeah,” he says, “I figured.” 

You swallow tightly and decide to ask, “How’s settling with Seokjin?” It’s been a couple of years, but still, it all still feels new and something you haven’t gotten around to asking ever since. 

He hums, “It’s quiet most of the time since he’s at Namjoon’s nearly everyday..” 

“The place is practically yours then,” you attempt to joke again, but it comes out as hardly, not exactly comfortable to throw that specific tone around.

He shrugs. “Wish he would let me pay more than half of the rent, but it’s tolerable.” 

“Are you ever planning to get your own place soon?” 

“Huh,” he thinks. “Haven’t put much thought into it.” 

“Well, if you ever do, I can always help out,” you quietly suggest and he takes a quick glimpse at you to see if you were actually being serious. 

“Really?”

You nod. “Yeah. I actually think it would be cool for Yeona to have a second room at your place. So it’s home over there for her as it is with me.” 

Another red light, and his eyes blink close for a moment. The conversation is going too fast and all of a sudden, it starts to hurt. 

Jungkook doesn’t want another home, a place that reads that he is officially separated from you and out of his reach, not when it doesn’t include you in it. 

It would hurt him even more if you would egg it on, support him and the move away from you, like you would want him to, and maybe you really did. He would understand why. Still, it hurts when you talk so freely like this, seemingly eager to get rid of him.

Jungkook doesn’t voice his disagreement, avoiding talking at all and keeping his mouth closed instead. 

The conversation falls off after that, and he most likely figured that would be the most he got out of you for the rest of the car ride. 

That was until you spoke up again. 

It was quiet, almost barely heard, and it’s said quickly. “You can invite her, you know?” 

His fingers unknowingly grip on the steering wheel. 

You look back down. “I don’t mind and I don’t want you to think that I’ll hold you back from doing so.” 

They want to reach out, grasp for your hands you keep fiddling with, scold you for biting on your lip too harshly, everything he used to do, he wanted to fall back and do it all at once. 

They keep clinging to the wheel. 

“I was mad back then,” you guiltily admit and he immediately shakes his head. 

“You had every right to be.” 

“I probably looked silly for being so mad on something I have no control over.” You move your eyes back over the window and the blurry images that pass by solemnly. “Especially when everything’s been said and done with, right?” You turn to him and he gulps. His heart drops at how quick and firm you said, as if it was that easy. 

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. 

“Maybe this is a learning curve for us,” you nod to yourself. “So, I’m open to having her with us this year.” 

He had no idea why you were so sure that everything between Seol and himself were solid enough to introduce her as his girlfriend, fuck, even he wasn’t sure he could spit the word out himself. 

Everything was going by way too fast, too much to process. 

He only nods, clinging onto actions rather than words to speak for him. 

His throat clears and the car slows down to a clear stop. You peak over his head and find your house already being presented as the car decreases in speed. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah,” is all he says.

“Well,” your buckle releases and you slide out onto the edge of the seat, already gripping onto the handle. You offer him a smile. “Thanks, Jungkook.” 

The door opens and he stiffly nods and doesn’t pull out of his spot until his own two eyes have watched your figure disappear into the entrance of the house. 

-

“Did you double-check that you have everything?” 

She nods. 

“Okay, then I think we’re ready.” You clap, zipping up the rest of your bags. 

She can’t even stand still with her excitement, having to run around at times when it got too much. 

Ever since the beginning of planning this weekend trip, you surprisingly had a lot of time on your hands from the immense help of everybody else who volunteered to plan. You were glad that they reached out, but you also became antsy at the fact you had no control over the outcome of this gathering. In anything that Yeona wanted, you strived to make sure it would happen with reasonability. Being away from most of the planning had left you anxious on most days, wondering what Seokjin would be pulling under his sleeve on Yeona’s celebration. 

“Here.” You hand her backpack to her, silently ushering her to turn around so you could slip it through her arms. “Sit on the couch and watch your show for now. Your father will be here soon to pick us up.” 

She complies easily, shuffling towards the cushioned chair. 

Before she becomes too absorbed in the cartoon, you ask a mindless theory for her to answer, “If Daddy shows up with a friend—that is a girl.. You’ll be nice, right?” 

Her head tilts and her brows crease. “Girl—friend?” 

Your fingers tighten against the hem of your sundress. “M-Maybe? I’m not sure, he hasn’t told me a lot about her..”

“That’s not right,” she notes. “Daddy should tell Mommy so she knows..” 

You send her a softened smile that holds a sad shift in it. “Not this time, baby.” You look down at your hands. “Just be nice to her, okay?” 

She only nods. 

You brush off your knees when you stand back up, moving back towards your room to grab whatever else you might’ve forgotten and rush through most of your makeup bag to fix yourself up a bit. 

You debated a few times in your head to switch up your dress for another one in your bag. Usually, you never cared, but this time, oddly, you wanted to satisfy more than yourself with the way you currently looked and dressed as - for whatever reason you cannot decipher as. But having to change, you would also have to switch out Yeona’s dress since you both decided to match today. 

You decided not to bother since it would take too much time, especially since you hear the buttons being pressed at your front door, buzzing when the code punches in and indicating that Jungkook was finally here. 

You quickly pull and clip on a necklace that was mindlessly set on your bedside table, and rush out the room with your bags. 

When both of them come into view, you already see Yeona attached to Jungkook’s hip. No one else. 

“Hey,” you breathlessly greet with a nod, trying not to seem blunt by focusing on the front door to see if a certain person tagged alone. “I hope this isn’t too much—? I cut down most of it last night..” 

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it,” then looks down at the bags, “But—uh, are you sure you need all of this? It’s only a couple of days.” 

“Yeah, but,” you hesitate, pushing some strands of your hair away, “It’s clothes, swimsuits, sunscreen, shower products, presents—“ 

“Presents?” Yeona brightens. 

“No,” You and Jungkook rush. 

“Mommy meant something else..” 

“Oh.” Her expression flattens. “Then what did she mean?” She presses. 

Jungkook’s mouth gapes and he attempts to spit out an answer before you boisterly interrupt, “Oh no! We’re running late.” 

He nods comically when he meets eyes with you. “Y-You’re right! Let me take your bags,” he offers. 

You practically shove them into his hands when you switch positions, taking Yeona into your own and softly letting her down. 

When you stand up straight, he eyes the both of you in awe when he notices. 

“You’re both matching.” 

You grow heated under his gaze and shyly nod, straightening out the flimsy skirt of your dress. “She’s been hounding me to get a mini size for her when I wear mine, so this was her first gift from me.” 

Her tiny hands cling onto your fingers and squeezes them, “Yup! We wanted to look pretty for Daddy.” 

You practically choke out a small cough at her statement as he arches a brow towards you, your cheeks dusting a shade of embarrassment immediately. 

“T-There was no set intent for doing this exactly,” you defend with a growing pout before you childishly point at Yeona and sputter, “It was her idea and I just went with it.” 

He chuckles, encouraging the dusty rose to spread to your ears and neck. “Well,” he starts and confirms, “You both look beautiful.” He’s already turning away and moving towards the door before you can react. “I’ll compliment you more when we get in the car, but we should hurry.” 

You both scurry in front of him, and a firm hand lands on the small of your back to lead you out. Whipping around slightly, you turn surprised from the mere gesture. 

A certain feeling washes over you — it’s nostalgic, almost drowning you from the blunt force when his fingers land on only the thin material that separates your skin from his. For a second, it feels like what it has always been. 

Even as false pretense or even reassurance, you bask in the feeling you can only assume is melancholy and warmth, all at the same time. It’s bittersweet, but it’s something and it’s clearly there.

He offers a smile, and it’s not a polite one you usually send each other when you would interact, it’s not a forced one either. It was genuine, and it was towards you. 

A smile that read this weekend would be a memorable one, like all of the other birthdays you celebrated each year. 

For a split second, you feel like a family again. 

The door clicks shut and you finally all head out to fulfill Yeona’s birthday journey. 

-

“God,” he rubs at his shoulder that aches. “What did you pack in here to make me feel like this four floors down?” 

Rolling your eyes, your daughter’s leg brushes against you when it kicks up for the minute of buckling her up. You don’t bother asking her to stop, silently allowing her to start playing with your hair when you lean over the other side of her carseat. You adjust her sandals while you’re at it. “We took the elevator, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” 

“You weren’t the one carrying it,” he argues, shutting the trunk closed. 

Finally finished with making sure Yeona would ride safely in the backseat, you recover your crouched form and rise. “You offered.” 

He sighs, hands on his hips, and a smile creeping on his face he managed to halt before your eyes would land on them. “You never answered my question.” 

Both of you make it to the front of the car and slip in, shutting the car doors simultaneously in coincidence. 

You wave a hand in dismissal before reaching up for the seatbelt. “It’s a few gifts for your mother. She really liked the scent of the apartment when she last visited, so I packed a few candles of the ones I’ve been using.” 

“A few?” He scoffs, pinning you a look. The car begins to run when he slides the key in the slot. He has a hard time believing in your estimate of the amount you were bringing when he picks up weights on a regular basis at the gym, not boasting when he clearly can’t help mentioning it every now and then. There were way more than a few.

You hesitate, observing him shift the gear and backing the car up and out of the parking space. “Fine, I slipped in a few more for Seokjin,” you confess and it’s clear that he has a smug smirk carrying his expression. “Only because he asked,” you huff.

A light chuckle slips out and his fingers on the center console almost twitch when he hears you let one out also. 

You abruptly turn towards the backseat. “Yeonie? Please turn down your tablet.” It Had been ringing in both of your ears since you got in the car. You wanted to have a proper conversation without having to scream out your words over the rhymes and overplayed sound-effects. 

When she does, you finally sigh and lean back in pure exhaustion from the lack of sleep the night before. 

Jungkook notices. 

“You okay?” He asks. 

Your eyes flutter open slowly and you nod. “Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, so I’m dealing with the repercussions of it.” Your gaze on the road soon turns blank. 

If you were being honest, it’s been a long time in dealing with enough sleep. If you were in bed, you were most likely staying up, keeping yourself busy, not deeming it as a good enough reason to sleep just yet. Before, you slept easily, paying no mind to what was happening around you, you actually slept. Something changed to the point where you weren’t granted that access anymore, having to question the exact reason on why you should even sleep. You weren’t sure if you would find it, sticking with just coaxing yourself into slumber through most nights. 

“You can take a nap if you want,” he suggests. “It’s going to take a while before we get there, so you might as well.” 

You hum absentmindedly, barely registering any of his words if you were being honest. 

Yeona yawns. He shifts his attention to the back, watching Yeona squirm for a comfortable spot - as comfortable as she can get - in her carseat. “Are you sleepy too, baby?” 

She mewls out a tired noise in confirmation and leans her head to the padded side of hers. “Daddy, sing to me,” she requests, blinking, lagging until they fully close.

Jungkook’s soft hums fill up the noise of the car other than the white noise surrounding you when he drove. 

Your eyes go back to closing when it hits you, a metaphorical blanket that deems where you were, what you were doing, and who you were with — as safe. Your brows furrow unconsciously at the thought that you’ve been dealing with this specific problem about your sleep for God knows how long, but Jungkook suddenly fixes it and now it’s all gone. 

You finally sleep. 

-

An hour  into the drive and you suddenly ask, “Is she.. Driving on her way too?” 

His eyebrows furrow and he turns to stare at you, disoriented by the question. “Who?” 

You eye him wearily and tip your head forward, like it was obvious. 

He’s still confused. 

“Seol?” You finally spit out. 

“Oh.” 

That’s all he says and you grow impatient. “So?” 

“She’s not coming,” he finally answers. “I didn’t invite her. Why would you think I would?” 

“She wasn’t in the car when you picked us up, or at the house, so I just assumed..” 

“No,” he quickly denies, looking you in the eye this time. “She’s not coming.” 

“Oh—okay.” You wonder why. 

It’s silent except for when his throat clears and he turns the car. 

“Um,” you drag unsurely. “Are you.. Still—seeing each other?” It’s personal, and you regret asking, but for the sake of your bouncing leg and bated breath, you wait. 

“I—I don’t know? I mean we’re going out, but it’s not anything official.” He looks nervous, eyes shifting back and forth from one side of a street to another. 

“So.. You haven’t asked her to be your girlfriend yet?” 

This is weird. Too fucking weird and now Jungkook’s acutely uneasy because there is absolutely no malice in your voice. Just curiousness being unravelled.

“No, not really,” he nervously stammers, and he tries his best to gauge your reaction but you hold absolutely nothing to read on. “I want to decide carefully.” You suddenly stare back at him and he has no choice but to continue, “Like you said. I want to make sure it’s right. No fuck-ups anymore. Not with you or Yeona.” 

Your head shakes. “Jungkook, you don’t have to-“

“It’s my decision,” he firmly states, “and it’s on my terms.”

-

Jungkook’s mother was always a bright soul who greeted and welcomed you with open arms. 

The first time you were off to meet her, you were twenty-three years old and absolutely terrified, and you made sure to tell Jungkook that before you even stepped foot in the house he grew up in. 

You informed him how much bad luck you came with when it involved meeting your partner’s parents. More specifically — your past boyfriends and their overly clingy mothers who did not like you no matter what you did, as long as you were dating their son. 

“My mom loves everyone,” Jungkook explained previously the night before the anticipated meeting. 

You shook your head vigorously, eyes wide and anxious, shivering from having the thought of reliving something you always dreaded. “That’s what they all say before we end up arriving and then all of a sudden I’m being pounced on by an overbearing mother who obviously can’t stand the thought of having another woman in her son’s life.” 

He laughed. “Your exes were probably an only child,” and then continued to inform as if it would ease your nerves, “I have an older brother.” 

You shrieked. “Holy shit, that makes it even worse because you’re her youngest. The baby of the family—her baby.” He cackled and you landed a solid strike at his arm with a whine, “Jungkook, Take me serious.” 

“Alright, okay,” he shushed you and tugged at your hips before closing in on you. “I can assure you that my mother isn’t some type of villain you’ve painted out in your head.” 

You winced and patted his chest with a pout, “Sorry. Past minor trauma.” 

“I get it,” he reassured. “But she’s different than the rest, I promise.”

And she definitely was. 

The house fills with a scent of something cooking on the stove top and it immediately engulfs you in warmth when you hear the television going off in the spacious area of the living room, assuming it was Jungkook’s father planted on his signature chair he was always found in. 

When Yeona finally kicks off her shoes, she immediately runs through the house to find her grandmother. 

“Careful,” Jungkook calls from next to you. 

He notices your dazed state and takes a step closer. “How are you feeling? Still tired?”

Your mouth falls open and you shake your head with a smile, brushing it off, “My head is aching a bit from the long car ride, but I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll sit down for a few.” 

He shows concern in his expression and leans forward to inspect you carefully. “Come here.” 

“I told you I’d be okay, Gguk. I’m fine.” Still, your feet take you closer towards him until calloused fingers land at your temples before applying pressure. “Mm,” you let out in surprise, lips pressed when he goes in circular motions against your skin, grappling onto one of his wrists for support. Your eyes flutter shut when the pain starts to subside. Four fingers each from both hands are firmly planted while his two thumbs continue to ease the throbbing that’s been planted in your head since you’ve gotten out of the car. 

“Starting to feel better?” He murmurs softly. 

 You nod with the space he provided for it. “I still think I should just take some medicine.” 

He doesn't stop his ministrations, only humming. “In a minute. Want to avoid my mom a bit longer before she starts to ask why I haven’t been visiting lately.” 

A smile quickly settles on your lips and you squeeze at the wrist you’ve been gripping on. 

It’s up close when he sees you softly giggle and his heart surges forward. Your eyes open back up and you’re suddenly staring at such a close proximity. 

“She worries about you.” 

“I know,” he promises. “Just not sure what to say when she starts interrogating me.” 

Before your mouth can slip in an answer, a throat clears and you tense immediately. 

You both stiffly turn towards the new figure in the room who raises an amused brow. 

“Uh, hi Mom. Where’s Yeona?” 

“With your father.” 

You remember suddenly before coughing and tugging at Jungkook’s hands that stay planted against your head. 

“We were just..” Jungkook attempts, wiping off his palms that have gotten significantly clammy in the span of a minute or two. 

“Headache,” you finish and state for him. 

“Yeah.” 

“Did we go back in time before medicine was a thing?” She jokes then tilts her head towards the direction of one of the bathrooms. “There’s painkillers in the medicine cabinet.” 

“Uh I’m going to.. Yeah.” Jungkook scratches at the back of his neck and seems unsure before seeing himself out to grab for the bottle of pills. 

“Please, don’t give me that look,” you beg once the embarrassment settles in and your cheeks start to warm up. 

“No, I’m just happy is all.” She smiles in satisfaction. “Last time I checked, you were divorced to my son.” 

You groan. “And I still am.” 

“Then what was that?” She refers back to the scene she had unfortunately walked in on. 

“A ploy to drag out time before hearing your questions about why he hasn’t been visiting as often as he should be,” you easily tattle. 

She gasps. 

Jungkook walks back in with two bottles in hand, eyes bouncing back and forth to each one. “It doesn’t matter which brand right? I brought out two just in case-“ 

“Jeon Jungkook,” his mother scowls. 

He freezes and looks up to his infuriated mother, then pointedly looks at you before the gears turn in his head. 

“You told her?” 

You simply shrug and snatch both bottles away before his mother would start shifting her target towards him. “Thank you.” 

You don’t bother to hear the scolding, instead, walking through the house to find where your daughter had drifted off to. 

Mrs. Jeon takes some time to catch up with her son and gives you enough to rest from the prolonged car ride. 

Small feet tap on the wooden floor and you try to search for the doe eyes and pouty lips that come with them. 

“Yeona, where have you been?” 

“With grandpa!” Then, she enthusiastically stomps. “He said my gifts are hiding from me.” 

You chuckle. “Is that so?” 

A bigger pair of feet walk in and Mr. Jeon looks flustered, as if he had done something he wasn’t supposed to do. His head angles down to Yeona and he explains, “I messed up! I was supposed to wait for Grandma to feed you guys before I said anything about birthday presents.” 

Your mouth opens to reply that he was perfectly fine before large hands settle firmly on your shoulders. You squeak and jump, registering that it was only Jungkook when you whip around to face the culprit. “Seriously?” 

“It’s payback,” he simply says. “I got scolded for fifteen minutes all because you decided to be a snitch.” 

“Sorry.” You softly nudge. “She was assuming too much when she saw us.” 

“Ah,” he realizes, and he suddenly seems okay with the thought of going down just for you. “I’ll have to talk to her again about doing that. Sorry.” 

You dismiss it with a smile. “Just more worried about you. Poor baby,” you tease. “What? Did she make you face the wall for five minutes?” He scowls. “Jungkook, she misses you,” you reason. 

“I know,” he mumbles. “I promised her I would be here more often.” 

He has that look in his eye you are way too familiar with — when the gears start turning and he begins to overthink his whole entire schedule for the month, figuring out the time-slots—if he even has any free space for it. 

“Hey,” you call, and he snaps out of it. “Don’t try to fill your family in your schedule as if they’re appointments. You’ll visit when you want to, okay? Not because you have to.” 

He exhales and nods. “Right. I will.” 

He then notices your features significantly brighter than the last time he’s taken them in, no more fatigued, so he asks, “Did you take the medicine?” 

You nod. “I just took it, but moving around a bit is helping a lot already. 

“That’s good.” 

His brows furrow when he catches the expression on his dad. “Is he okay?” 

You turn and observe him tailing your hyper daughter who has been checking every crevice of the house for any mere glimpse of eye-catching wrapping paper.

“Like father, like son,” is all you say and he stares on with no clue. “He’s literally a second away from hearing his own scolding.” 

Mrs. Jeon walks in and shrieks. “You told her already—?!” 

The man beside you sighs and questions out loud what on earth his father had done. 

So, you explain, “They put on a scavenger hunt for Yeona’s gifts. Except, it was supposed to be after lunch.” 

“Oh no.” 

“Yeah.” 

“You were supposed to wait so that I could take pictures for it!” 

The older man’s hands get thrown up in defense. “She hasn’t found them yet, it’s fine.” 

“What if she actually does?” She tests with a brow raised. 

“Mom,” Jungkook calls and both of his parents finally turn to give him attention. “It’s alright. We can do the scavenger hunt now since we’ll be leaving soon.” 

“You aren’t going to stay and eat?” 

“Please don’t worry,” you kindly decline. “I’d feel bad if you were to cook something, just for us.”

She waves a hand carelessly in the air. “Nonsense! I want to do this for you. It’s been way too long since the last time I cooked for more than two people.”

Your elbow prods at Jungkook who lacks his own attention. You quickly send him a look, a silent message to stop her from whipping anything up when you wouldn’t have much time to properly eat it, given from your strict itinerary. 

“We only have half an hour to be here before the next Ferry arrives,” he finally speaks up. 

“Oh,” his mother dejects with a pout. “Well, that’s a shame.” 

“Yeah, sorry mom.” 

Your hip pushes against his side, and your throat clears. “We’ll come back and stay for dinner,” you promise. 

“Please do,” she nods. “My son doesn’t even visit anymore.” 

She plainly ignores Jungkook, whose mouth has dropped significantly. “Mom—! I told you I would visit more often.” 

“Can’t even make a simple phone call,” she tsks. “Your ex-wife interacts with me at least three times a week—more than you ever did within a month.”

“Mom!” 

Your hand lands on top of his shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze and sending his mother a smile of understanding. “We’ll be there. Promise.” 

She sighs, hands smacking against her fruity apron and then clapping enthusiastically. “Alright, fine! Let me get my camera first.” 

Her son groans. “Just use your phone.” 

Her head shakes, already bending down and shuffling through the drawers, “But you got me that nice camera for Christmas! I haven’t used it yet.” 

“Alright, fine,” he reluctantly obliges. “Dad, will you please give my daughter a hint? She’s going crazy here.” He points and your daughter is exactly there, crawling through the coffee table and easing herself to the next tiny space she can fit in. 

“Baby, you’re going to hurt yourself,” you warn when she breezes through a few expensive-looking structures around the house, “Or break something.. Jungkook—!”  You tug on his sleeve and push him to grab her before any mishaps could happen. 

When Jungkook finally gets a hold of a squirmy Yeona, his father finally ushers everybody outside towards the direction of the backyard where the scavenger hunt is officially located.

-

“They just texted me that they’re already at the house,” Jungkook suddenly announces by the time Yeona finds her fourth present. 

You double-check the time on your phone and worriedly ask, “Do you think we’re running late?” 

His head shakes. “I doubt it. If anything, we’re probably on time. We left really early in the morning.” 

You sigh out with both shoulders deflating and he notices. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you ease. “Just worried, you know? This is the first year we aren’t doing a birthday party and she’s only turning six.” 

“Hey,” he chuckles. “It’s not like these aren’t going to be a forever thing.” 

“I know,” you groan and rub harshly at your temples. “I think I’m just so used to big gatherings, the amount of unnecessary attention, and the cake nobody eats because it’s all it really was for me growing up.” As much as the parties were for good intentions, it was never in a good way. 

The only reason your mother was set on giving you a birthday party every year was for the pictures and some way into measly bragging about how well her life was going and not everybody else’s. 

“And in no way I’m saying it as a way for Yeona to live through whatever I went through, but every year I try my best to plan something she wants.” You rub at your elbow unsurely with lips turned downwards. “For some reason, her not asking for one this year makes me think how much she didn’t like the others and how shitty I am for not seeing it much earlier.” 

Yeona giggles when she picks out another that happens to be sneakily hidden snug between a few branches of a tree. 

He shakes his head and calls for you softly. “Are you kidding? I’ve never seen her happier with every passing birthday you manage to outdo every year. Our daughter also has incredible confrontational skills - If she doesn’t like something, she’ll tell us regardless.” 

You snort. “Right.” You grow nervous how serious he becomes when you catch onto his eyes and his front faces you so suddenly. 

“She loves what you do every year,” he assures. He then reasons, “And maybe next year it’ll be different — she’s growing up.” 

You slowly nod, handing him a laugh of disbelief. “Yeah. God, you’re right. Sorry.” 

“Even standing here with a headache, you’re still worrying for nothing,” he scolds. 

“I told you I already feel better,” you argue in return. “The medicine helped a bunch. I’m okay.” And for the next ten minutes, you ignore the side-eye full of concern overpowering on his side when he shoots you a glance. He’s known you since the start of his twenties, of course he would be able to pick out if you were lying or not. 

“What’s the count?” Jungkook asks, eyes squinting from the bright sun casting down at the colorful yard. 

His mother points the camera at him and raises a hand, “Number Five!”

“And how much in total?” 

She pouts. “It wouldn’t be as much fun if I told you.” 

“Mom.” 

You shush him. “Leave her alone.” 

“Six! Six! Six!” Yeona yells near the fence. 

“You found the sixth one, sweetheart!” Jungkook’s father exclaims. 

His mother curses and whips the camera back around. “I missed it!” 

It’s comical when you watch it from afar, and a large smile blooms across your face at the three. “God,” you snort, quite endeared by the sight, “This is a mess. It’s cute.” 

Jungkook stays behind alongside you to simply observe you and them, and he’s already memorizing every part and aspect of this moment to set aside for later. 

Everything fell into place so perfectly, everybody belonging exactly where they were supposed to be. 

“You really do look pretty today, _____.” 

Eyes widening, you whip around to his figure with a questioned gaze. 

He’s willing to repeat the words, let you know over and over until you grow tired of the repetitiveness, drown you in all of the compliments he’s thinking of right now. 

But, you curtly nod and turn away. “T-Thanks.” 

His hand reaches out, exactly to where yours is and his sight subconsciously falls on your fourth finger that was blank of a specific jewelry he put on you two years ago. It’s already been two fucking years and he still grows somber when his eyes catch onto where the diamond used to be.

No matter how many times he can confront it with his own eyes, stare at it for however long you would allow him to look, seek it every time it would raise or show itself — It still hurts nonetheless. 

It’s exactly what makes him pull back and grip onto the chain tucked into his shirt, away from your eyes to see the charm that glints exactly like the first day you put it on him. 

-

Finally having it be the middle of the day, you get to leave and head towards the station to get from Busan to Jeju. 

The station is way more quiet than what you initially anticipated, it being the weekend and all, but the line barely lasts a minute, and you’re already boarding the ferry, right behind Yeona who holds her father’s hand tightly across the dock that transitions to the ship. 

“Snacks?” Is the first thing Jungkook asks for when you all sit down and you quickly reach into Yeona’s backpack. 

“All I have our a few baggies of rice-puffs and juice-boxes.” 

“I want one!” Yeona intercepts, and greedy hands suddenly wave in front of your face. 

“Alright, baby, hold on a minute.” You request and stare back up at Jungkook to propose the idea of sharing a muffin his mother offered last-minute when you slipped through the door to part ways. “There’s only two juice-boxes.”

Jungkook’s head shakes, going to decline the kind offer and allow you to have it before Yeona perks sweetly, “Daddy can share with me!” 

His thumb and pointer softly caresses the supple cheek beneath it before landing a kiss on it and murmuring, “Always so sweet.” 

Sitting back down, Yeona on Jungkook’s lap while you sit side-to-side, plastic cover of the muffin opened and lips pursed out to your own straw. 

With Jungkook’s hands full, squirming daughter all over his lap, you make it easier for him by popping small pieces of the muffin in his open mouth. 

You let out a laugh when you miss and watch a few chocolate crumbs dribble down his chin. “Sorry,” you murmur with a smile, fingers rubbing off some of where the chocolate smeared against his skin. 

“Do you need a tissue?” 

Turning to the nimble voice, you notice an elderly lady with a soft smile she carries so sweetly. “I’m sorry,” she laughs off. “I just noticed how much of a mess you’ve made on your husband.” 

You both don’t flinch at the assumption, smiling back at her. 

“Oh,” your voice brightens with a laugh of your own and bowing in your seat slightly, “Thank you so much for offering.” 

She brings out a few from her own bag and reaches out over the seats, “Here.” 

“Thank you again,” Jungkook says and she looks at you expectantly, practically requesting you to wipe off his mouth yourself. You jump at the realization and clear your throat with whatever protest that bubbled from within, and start with stiff fingers. You’ve already stuffed pieces of muffin in his mouth, what harm would it be to clean up the mess you’ve made? Except it’s completely different, not very easy doing the simple action with a bright-eyed old woman who seems very entertained by the aspect of it, all life returning to them when the tissue rubs at his bottom lip. 

“Daddy,” Yeona taps. “Want off.” 

His gentle grip on her tummy loosens and allows her to slide off of his legs to approach the woman. Your daughter gently waves and let’s her smile speak for itself, so easy to sway the woman when she was so used to doing this to every other person she meets daily. 

“Hi there.” The woman waves back and bends her back more forward to reach Yeona’s level. “Where are you off to today?” 

“Jeju!” She exclaims, and then boasts proudly, “It’s my birthday.” 

The woman eggs her giddiness on by clapping gently, “Oh wow. What a wonderful place to celebrate your birthday!” 

“Yes ma’am,” she agrees sweetly, hands clasped behind her back. “I told my Mommy and Daddy to bring me there and they said yes! We even rode all together here!” 

The woman spares you an odd look at the figures Yeona points at, and you both refrain meeting her eyes that read about obviously riding together, you were married with a kid after all.

At least, to her eyes you were. 

Unfortunately, the both of you lacked the guts to tell her the truth, and that this was just another day to simply tolerate each other more than you already do during the week. 

Nothing more, nothing less. 

The woman hums. “Your parents must love you a lot then. They look good together, too.” 

It all seems too much, as if she was mocking you, and you immediately grow antsy at her nosy stare. 

Luckily, after Yeona had her fair share in her frankly short conversation with the older woman, she left all of you alone for the rest of the ride. 

“That was—” Jungkook starts. 

“—Definitely new,” you finish. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be used to the assumptions of us still being together. It’s hard not to just blatantly say no so that they could get off of our backs for once.” 

Your voice lowers a bit, just to make sure she can’t hear you from her corner-seat. “But we also have to understand their point,” you reason, “When people see both of us with a daughter, it’s easier to assume that we’re together.” 

His head leans on the metal rod behind him, still listening with his eyes closed. 

“Besides, I don’t really mind.” 

His head shoots back into position and he stares with widened eyes. “Y-You don’t?”

Shrugging, your head shakes. “It’s better this way. I’d rather just go along with it than explain exactly why we’re separated, let them into something they have no business in being in.” 

“Right,” he drags it. “Exactly,” and he says it more for himself to grip on, because fucking obviously. Not for any other reason but for convenience. Always for the best, and he was fine with it. Perfectly keen. 

His head turns towards the water, and he squints, legs bouncing obnoxiously, Yeona whines. It’s only then you realize he’s decked out in all black, as usual, with beads of sweat running off his temple and onto his neck. It’s only worse when he’s seated exactly right under the sun, where the roof fails to give him any shade. 

“You idiot,” you suddenly call and his brows furrow, whipping around to find you in a state of absolute worry, searching through your bag. “Out of all days, when we’d be outside, you’re wearing everything you’re not supposed to.” 

His eyes widen and he stares down at his attire, sizzling back down into realization when he finally realizes the problem. “I’m fine,” he passes off cooly. “Yeona wanted the seat nearest to the water, and I figured you wouldn’t want to be under the sun this long.” 

Before he can even come out with an argument, you’re already moving forward and grabbing Yeona off of his lap. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Come on,” you pat on his thigh, silently coaxing him to scoot. “We’ll trade spots. You can’t be under the sun like this.” 

“_____..” 

Your lips purse and stray down into a pout, and his heart falters, his argument pushed down his throat until he swallows it away. “Jungkook, I’m worried. I don’t even think you put on sunscreen today either.” 

He’s fully aware how irked you get when he doesn’t follow the skincare regimen you set up for him. It’s especially the distress you hold in your eyes and lips when he forgoes the most important step of it all: suncare. 

“Shit doesn’t even work,” he exasperates, and your eyes roll back.

“Say that to me when you’re fifty and covered with sun spots you’ll never be able to erase because you never wanted to listen to me.”

His bite comes without even a second thought, falling back into the banter he secretly misses, when it was comfortable to joke around you, tease you to no end, and drive you up the wall. “You’ll still like me that way, right?” He’s teasing now, and it’s clear when he raises his brows in expectancy, lighthearted and jokeful. 

To your embarrassment, your cheeks tint pink and you don’t have enough pride to return his stare. The only thing you can really do is stammer severely and point at your purse. “J-Just put some on and leave me alone.” 

He hands you a hearty and genuine laugh and you only try your best to ignore it, lips curving the same until you force them to stop from going any higher. 

-

“Holy shit,” you gape. “It’s huge.” 

“They’re loaded.” 

“I-I can’t go in this, Jungkook.” 

“You couldn’t have told me this before we went on a whole road trip and had me prepay tickets for a ferry ride here?” 

You hit his arm. “Jungkook, I’m serious.” 

He laughs. “Why exactly can’t you? It’s just a beach house.” 

“This is too big for a six year old! A few candles from the fucking mall is never going to pay off the fact they are letting us have it for the weekend.”

“With their advision,” he reminds. Yeona stirs in her sleep from the backseat and Jungkook pins you a look. “Can we get out now?” 

You hesitate. “How are you okay without thinking about being possibly indebted to Seokjin and Namjoon? First, they put out a car for us to drive here when we arrived, and now we’re staying in this? We’re being pampered.” 

“Because I’ve been leeching off of Seokjin since I was a teenager, _____,” he states, nimbly remembering when he would depend on a few meals paid from him and even to now - being roommates with the older man. “He’s fine with it. He offered first, after all. We’re just following orders,” he defends so easily. 

Reluctantly, you climb out of the car, crossed arms from your chest, heading towards the back to take out your daughter from her carseat. With a soft nudge and a kiss to her cheek, her eyes shot back open with the realization that this was the last stop, that she was finally here. “M-Mommy, look!” 

“I know,” you coo, “I was just as shocked as you are now.” 

She moves quickly, already releasing the buckle and sliding down to the car floor. She still requests to be picked up like a princess when her arms span out for you, and of course, you oblige. 

“Jungkook,” you call. “Are you getting the bags?” 

The trunk shuts, keys jingling in his hand, “Already on it.” 

When you reach the porch, Yeona eagerly leans towards the right of the door to ring the bell. 

It only takes three seconds for Kim Seokjin to open it with a wide smile. “Welcome!” 

Yeona squeals, legs kicking all over the place and you finally set her down for her to enter first. Not before giving her uncle’s leg a big squeeze of her own, “Thank you, Uncle Jinnie! Love it so much!” 

He chuckles, smoothing down her hair, “Anything for the birthday girl! You haven’t even taken a look around yet, sweetheart. Go find Uncle Joon and he’ll show you everything.” 

“Okay!” Her form is only a blur when she rushes out. 

He smiles. “You guys are on time,” and he says it like it’s a complete surprise. 

A brow arches. “When are we not?” 

“New years,” he recalls. “You both made it five minutes late after the countdown.” 

Jungkook slips behind you to set the bags down. “That’s not fair.” 

You agree. “Yeona was two years old that year. She had a hard time handling the fireworks. I had to coax her to sleep through the phone that night.” 

His head tilts in reason, “Fair.” 

Jungkook nudges you. “Where do you want these?” 

You shrug, turning to Seokjin. “Depends where you want us, Jin.” 

“It’s up to you guys. Taehyung and Jimin already took two of the guest rooms. There’s only three more.” 

“Kiumin is sleeping over, so they can have one room,” you calculate. “And Hyejin’s coming with Kiumin, so we can split.” 

The older man stares wide-eyed at his roommate. Jungkook stares back with the same expression, so Seokjin asks for him, “Split?”

You’re too busy with some of the messages on your phone regarding birthday wishes to your daughter, vaguely returning them with typed out thank you’s and kissy faces. “Yeah.” 

“Does that mean you and—“

You send him an odd stare before turning around and grabbing onto your own bags, disregarding Jungkook’s. “Of course not—? I’m rooming with Hyejin and Jungkook can have the extra room to himself.”

“.. Right.” 

“Is it this way?” You ask without a clue to the men behind you. 

“Uh, yeah! Let me help you,” Seokjin rushes. 

Jungkook is left at the doorway, all alone and with his own bags and a fuming heart that drags as if the slim possibility of what would have happened was anything more to go by.

-

It’s nighttime now. 

You’ve directed Hyejin to your room and have let her unpack while you watched over Yeona and her little boy. 

Your knees bend into a crouch, the familiar smell of chlorine filling your senses when you near the water. 

Jungkook's hair flicks back when his fingers push through them and the blue rays of the water reflect against his chest. His collarbones glisten against the minimal light the night provides, making it harder to strictly set your eyes forward and stray away from anything that wasn’t his own. 

“You couldn’t have waited a second for everyone to settle in before dipping into the pool?” 

He pouts. “Why?”

Head tilting, you pin him a stare and direct your eyesight towards the pink floatie in the corner, swaying calmly. “Because Yeona’s been eyeing that giant flamingo and now she’s asking to hop in with you.” 

“Let her in, then. Namjoon’s already here.”

Your head turns to the outdoor bar and they pin the figure reading a book with amusement when he sends off a small wave. 

“But then Kiumin..” 

Hyejin walks in with a relaxed sigh at the sight in front of her when she passes through the widened double-doors. “Too bad it’s nighttime. I could’ve been tanning.” 

“Hyejin!” You gawk at her bikini. “You’re going in too?” 

She nods in an obvious answer. “Kiumin’s been begging me to let him jump in since we’ve gotten here, and with a view like this — how could I say no?” 

Jungkook points. “See? Our friend is obviously taking the advantage of being here.” 

“We are way far from friends, Jeon,” she practically snarls back. “It’s almost insulting when you say it like that.” 

“Hyejin,” you warn, and turn back to the man standing in the waist-deep side of the pool now. 

Ignoring your friend’s hatred fueled statements, he coaxes. “Come on,” he lulls. “Taehyung and Jimin are already planning to jump in too.” 

Your head shakes in decline, “I can’t. I didn’t even pack a swimsuit, only Yeona’s.” 

“I have one laying out for you in the room,” Hyejin pitches and your eyes widen significantly. “It’s the one I’ve been meaning to give you.” 

“Perfect!” Seokjin claps by the doors, tray full of glasses and the two children following right behind him. “We can start having a pool party!” They immediately cheer and your mind starts to reel in defeat. 

You rub your arms shyly, “I-I’m fine. I don’t really feel like swimming right now..” 

Hyejin snorts. “Don’t even lie. We used to be obsessed with the pool when we were kids. We can do it again for old times’ sake! Show our kids where they got it from.” 

“Literally, what does that have to do with anything in wanting to swim? Aren’t kids naturally drawn to the pool, because it’s a pool?” You grit. 

“I’m just saying to take the chance and relax,” she stresses and her arms extend, waving around carelessly. “We’re here!” 

“You’re going to miss out if you don’t get in,” Jungkook bets, and he knows how much you despise being the outsider while everyone had their share of fun. You loathed the plain idea of it. “Just put the bikini on and stop being a pussy.”

“J-Jungkook!” 

Childish. Absolutely childish.

You hear footsteps approaching right behind you, the vow reaching your ears. “I’ll only jump in if we do it together.” 

Taehyung’s head shakes side to side, eyes narrowing at the shorter man with apprehension. “You pull back every fucking time we do it. I won’t fall for it again.”

Jungkook’s throat clears at the two and he orders his friends, “Tell _____ to get in the pool.” 

Taehyung’s brow furrows, “She doesn’t want to? It’s the pool—and we’re in Jeju!” 

You stubbornly shake your head. “Don’t care.” 

Jimin has a teasing glint in his eye, something you dislike a lot when it’s crystal clear he has something stirring up in his sick head of his, especially since Taehyung had turned down the proposal of his playful and expectant joke.

“We can—grab her and push her in?” He suggests. 

“That’s elementary school shit, Jimin,” you warn. “Get away from me.” 

He’s inching closer and you’re nervously sputtering for Jungkook, helplessly calling for him to get his friend from throwing you in the water so carelessly. 

Luckily, a small hand grapples onto you and it’s Yeona with eager feet who stops Jimin in his tracks. “Mommy, t-the pink birdie!” 

You have a staring contest with it, the one side of the floating flamingo’s eye stares back at you and you exhale a puff before finally standing back up. “Alright, come on. Let’s get dressed.” 

-

The white bikini on you terrifies you enough to cross your arms over yourself and skirt around the edge of the pool until you reach the chairs where Hyejin sits. 

No one’s noticed yet. Not when Jungkook and the rest were already in the pool, putting on the floaties for the children who sat on the pathed ledges made of stone. At some point, you can see both of Jungkook’s eyes completely wiped out and squeezed shut when Yeona excitedly flaps her arms around the water, hyper to get in. 

“Hyejin,” you hiss out, finally reaching your friend. 

She hums with furrowed brows, too distracted in trying to connect her phone to the bluetooth speaker. 

“Why in the world would you give me something like this. I-It’s too much,” you whimper out weakly. 

Her eyes roll back. “It’s a bikini, _____. Remember those? I bet you look great—“ She screeches, chin dropping, hands hovering over her mouth. You flinch, just as shocked as she was, shushing her to shut up before anyone even has the chance in blinking your way. 

“Holy shit.” 

Eyes squeezing shut, you shy in on yourself, carefully taking the wooden pool-chair beside her. “Please, shut up.” 

Her arms raise, “I haven’t said anything—yet.” 

You scowl. “You seriously couldn’t have given me any other fucking set? Like a wetsuit? This is too weird for me.” 

She cackles. “Relax,” she attempts to ease. “Why are you so freaked out? It’s just a swimsuit.” 

Your head knocks back against the wood and you sigh tiredly. “It’s been way too long since I’ve worn something like this. Something not.. Mom-ish.” 

“And why not? This literally proves how much of a Milf you really are!” She stresses. 

You shrug shyly. “I haven’t had much of a reason to.” 

“Well, I’m begging you to. Seriously, _____,” she reassures. 

You quietly break into a laugh, smacking at her arm harshly. 

“Where’s mommy?” You hear Jungkook suddenly ask, and you think you’re a hundred percent fucked. 

Yeona’s voice is muffled against your ex-husband’s chest, incoherently explaining, “Mommy was already running away when we got outside.” 

“Running away?” 

“Yeah! Kind’ve like a ninja. She was there and then—poof!” 

You don’t even announce your bathroom break to Hyejin, standing up and rushing over towards the doors that were close yet so far away.

It would only be a second before you would reach it, and straight into changing back to the sundress that was always deemed as safe. 

Part of you wishes that you could parade around with no care, being so long since you’ve gone out in something like this. But another part that tears you completely, thinks about Kim Seol and how different she is compared to you. 

With stark personalities and looks, you most likely would have never even thought about comparing you from her. But now that Jungkook was going out with her, everything’s changed, and your mind reels into thinking how in the world he had the chance of going to someone else completely different from you, and if he even liked you in the first place, relationship and marriage long forgotten, not even being considered in this context. 

You weren’t exactly sure how long this feeling would last, and maybe it wouldn’t, sticking to all of the new relationships he would continue to open up now that he was available. 

Sure, he’s seen you plenty of times in bed and in the shower from the past years of being together. But this is now and before he had anything younger, more vibrant. 

This was possibly the only thing you could take away from him. Seeing anything physical to compare you with another was the only thing you truly, absolutely wished for. 

You accidentally collide against something. Hard and wide. 

And when you eventually look up, you’re relieved to only find Namjoon with a bag of chips in hand. 

“Shit, are you okay?” 

“I-I’m fine, Joon. Sorry for—running?” 

He chuckles, pointing back to his boyfriend back inside of the house. “Save it for the lifeguard, but he’s off-duty right now mixing margaritas for everyone.”

You attempt to let out the same energy of a laugh as his, but it all turns dry and brittle, making him halt and inspect. “You okay, _____?” 

“O-Of course I am.” 

A few murmurs are made at the back of your figure until a small voice calls out, “Mommy! Over here!” 

Letting out a small gasp, you reluctantly turn around, weakly mustering a smile and avoiding the eyes that officially lay on you when he notices. 

“Hi, baby.” 

“Mommy!” She splashes. “Swim with me and daddy!” 

“U-Uh..”

“Looks like your daughter wants you to get in the pool.”

Turning back to Namjoon, you stiffly nod, “Yeah.” 

“If you’re worried about the temperature, don’t worry. It’s heated.” 

Far from your true concern, you manage to give him a thumbs-up and head back to the very place you’ve been trying to escape. 

“I’ll be there in a minute, okay? Let me go get Aunt Hyejin first.” It’s truly for your sake more than for hers, a cry for help in a situation you could have easily avoided if you had just never put the bikini on. “I hate this,” you managed to mutter against your breath when you finally reached her. “I’m never listening to you ever again.” 

She yelps when you rip the towel away from her, tugging tightly at her arm, urging her to get up. “Hey!” She pouts. 

“Come on,” you order. “Yeona wants to swim and I am not doing this alone.” 

She sits up and observes, quietly biting on a sly chuckle when she notices. 

“What now?” 

“Nothing,” she waves off. “It’s just—your ex is making googly eyes right now.” 

You groan, stomping impatiently. “Hyejin, stop lying and get up.” 

“I’m not lying,” she pleads. “I swear — I’m looking at him right now!” 

“I don’t care,” you deadpan. 

When she finally stands, you put a death-grip on her arm and timidly walk towards the pool. 

“Ouch.”

“Sorry,” you sheepishly say, releasing a bit. 

It’s a pleasant feeling when the warm water wets the bottom surface of your feet, and your shoulders subconsciously relax when your waist-deep. 

Hyejin coos at her little boy, proud of her son when she watches Jimin help, something more in her eyes that go starry at the man who leads him through the water. 

“Thanks, Hyejin,” you whisper.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” she pats softly at your arm. “I know how nervous you are and all. Just don’t, okay? You’ll be fine.” 

You weakly smile at her again before finally sending her off. 

When she moves out of your view and directly towards Jimin and her son, you find Yeona eagerly waiting for you. 

Taehyung has his eyes blown at the sight of you, whistling with your name trapped between his lips, which exactly makes you wrap your arms tighter around yourself. Of course, he’s teasing, the natural flirt in him most likely powering over him. 

Fortunately, you’re saved when he gets whacked with a strong push of water, Jungkook’s doing. You don’t notice it when your daughter cutely dog-paddles towards you. 

All is forgotten, smile setting on your lips.

“Mommy! Stay right there, okay? I’ll swim to you.” 

“Oh,” you perk, arms already rising beneath the water. With the long distance, you subtly move forward when her legs kick to make it easier on her, and within a few seconds, she’s splashing against your arms with a squeal. 

You giggle. “Are you having fun?” 

“So much, mommy!” She exclaims. “Daddy threw me up high when I wanted a splash.” 

You gasp with a smile, nerves diminishing. “Really? I wish I was there to see it.” 

“Are you too cold?” A voice asks from behind her and you hesitantly face Jungkook, always polite and concerned for your well-being, except there was definitely something else in his eyes you weren’t able to pinpoint and didn’t bother to anyway, now that you were in the water. 

You stiffly smile and shake your head. “I’m fine. The water feels really nice.” 

He nods. “T-That’s good.” 

God, he feels like it’s high school all over again, having no utter idea in starting a conversation with a girl, wanting to, but not even knowing exactly how.

Still, he can’t stop the burning stare, even when your attention zeroes back in on Yeona. 

The nice music sets a comforting nuance around the place, hearing splashes coming from everywhere, specifically when Seokjin’s yelling resonates from the chairs when Taehyung targets him with a cheeky grin. 

“The slices of watermelon are here, you dick!” He scowls. 

Jimin butts in with a scold to the older man, telling him to censor his words around the children. 

Jungkook doesn’t have time to hear the continued argument when he’s hit with an expectant splash of water of his own. 

He doesn’t even need to ask a second later when he hears the both of you giggling. Wiping away the drops on his face and in his eyes, he brushes strands of hair back to get a good look at the satisfied looks on both of your faces. He approaches slowly. 

Your head shakes, already aware of what Jungkook was doing — getting his revenge. 

“I-It was Yeonie’s idea!” 

She only giggles louder, knowing fully well she would easily be the untouched one out of this. 

“Jungkook, I swear to god if you do anything to me-“ 

Your warning goes straight out when strong arms turn you around to face your daughter. Fully wrapping them around your form for a slim chance of being able to escape, you hear a soft chuckle against your ear. 

“I think it’d be fun to splash mommy, huh?” He teases and you tense. 

“Jungkook—!” 

“Yeah, let’s do it!” She pumps a tiny fist from out of the water.

“Sweetheart, no! Listen to me-“

Your nose scrunches, hair whipping with you to cover your face when she splashes. Jungkook helps along the way by releasing an arm and moving some of the water forward against you to hit you square in the face. His wave comes stronger and does an excellent  job at soaking you completely.

You gasp, wiping some of the water away from your face. “Okay, please, I’m sorry,” you whine, gripping his wrists softly, eyes squeezed shut.

He falters at the frail sight of you, easily making you his biggest weakness. 

“It’s okay, mommy,” Yeona speaks up first. “I forgive you.” 

“Hey!” You scoff with a pout. “It wasn’t even my idea.” 

Her eyes crease and she giggles loudly. 

“_____!” Hyejin suddenly calls, and your chin tilts up to find your best friend. “Kiumin wants to play with the birthday girl.” 

Yeona eagerly looks up at you and you simply nod with a smile, letting her small legs kick and float over to her best friend. 

“Ah,” you realize, now being all alone. “I think I should go now.” 

Still, with his arms wrapped around you, he leans closer, “What, why?” And it’s needy, wanting to pull you closer than what he already has. “Can’t you stay?”

“Yeona’s all the way over there and we’re..” Exes with barely anything to talk about or to get along in general. It wasn’t in the book you’ve written out for yourself and probably never will be. “I-I have to get her cake ready. Your mom worked really hard on it.”

“I’ll help you put the candles on it,” he quickly offers. “Just.. Just stay here with me for a while.” 

A brow raises and you turn in his arms. “And do what?” 

He feigns in thinking about it, sharp jaw tilting for you to settle your eyes on. 

Seokjin interrupts with a call of his name and a raised brow at the sight. 

You clear your tight throat and gulp when he hands Jungkook a towel. “Your phone is ringing,” and then carefully gives it to him over the water. 

You observe him as he answers. “Hello?” 

A female voice is heard on the other end and you sense the way he pulls back a bit, that it was Seol. Her muffled voice is enough to push you back into reality and to what exactly you were doing before the call. 

“Ah, hey..” He awkwardly greets, nodding to whatever she was saying. Your head turns away when his eyes land on yours and you feign interest at the potted plant set right next to the door that led inside. “I’m at the house now with.. Everyone else.” 

He chokes up a bit when she says another thing, and you don’t understand until he returns the words. 

“I—I miss you too.” 

Swallowing harshly, your expression hardens, and you begin to pull back. 

“I’ll call you later tonight, alright?” He assures, almost in a rush. Your ears catch some of her words, not really interested in any of the conversation anyway, wanting to create a distance between you and Jungkook before anything else would happen, before you would hear something else you wouldn’t want to be hearing at all. 

Finally hanging up, he takes a slow breath in and sets the phone at the side of the pool. 

You finally pull away from him completely. 

“_____.”

You give a curt smile. “Yeah?” 

His head shakes. “Nothing. It’s just.. Are you okay?” 

You nod, slightly with bewildering eyes, asking, “Why wouldn’t I be?” Then, you laugh softly. “We’re not married anymore, Jungkook.” He stiffens, jaw ticking and eyes shifting to catch your flat expression. “And from what I clearly remember — you’re seeing someone else.” You point towards the phone laying carelessly on top of the stone. 

For once, you feel bad for the poor girl who’s probably wondering when his goodnight text from him would be. 

You keep your eyes on his hands that sink and submerge into the water, and back to his sides. 

“Just because it’s our daughter's birthday does not entail us playing family again,” you mumble. “You took that all away from me two years ago, Jungkook.” 

He doesn’t say anything, shamefully looking down at the waves in the pool caused by Yeona a few feet away. A reminder that was given way too late. 

You nod again, turning slowly around. “I’m going to go get the cake ready. I’ll ask Hyejin to help.” 

With the distance you’ve given him, he finally looks up and finds a disapproving look being given by his own roommate, who had seen and observed every single second of the two of you together since being in the pool. 

He understood exactly why. 

-

Everybody eventually makes their way out of the pool and back into the house to hang out at. 

The same subtle music speakers through the house, the kids being fully entertained by the large television in the living room, and the inside of the house being overall in a mood and feeling that definitely differs from your own thoughts that constantly circle around your head. 

Whatever Jungkook was getting at in the pool, definitely wasn’t sitting with you right. And frankly, everything leading up to it too. 

The process of the divorce was already stripping and tiring enough, finalizing the documents and who would get exactly what was already overwhelming enough, but to throw all of that away and not even consider it when you’re wrapped in the arms you were so accustomed to was entirely stressful. 

It didn’t make sense. It never did when it came to him. 

“Yeonie, are you getting sleepy already?” You ask across the room from the kitchen as you watch your little girl yawn and squirm on top of the fluffy carpet she lays on. 

Her head stubbornly shakes with a pout set on her lips. 

Glancing at the clock sat beside her, it was only eight, but judging from the exertion taken place at the pool, Yeona must have been exhausted. 

Your feet move to where she lays lazily, crouching down and moving her towards your lap, you murmur, “Stay awake for me, baby. You haven’t even blown the candles or opened your presents yet.”

She yawns in protest and nuzzles her nose further into your neck. “Not even a nap?” 

Chuckling softly, probably making it worse for her when your fingers trace against her back, you repeat, “Not even a nap.” Saying it exactly knowing what that would entail, Yeona misinterpreting what a nap and sleep was more often than not. 

Jungkook comes back with damp hair and sweats, black socks shuffling through the floor until they reach you. 

“Hey,” you greet, looking down at the sleepy-head in your arms. “She’s tired.” 

He hums, crouching down with an endeared smile. “I can see.” 

“I swear,” you promise to Yeona, patting her back. “Dinner is almost done and then you can go to sleep, alright?” Your eyes search for Jungkook’s and you request, “Keep her awake while I get everything ready?” 

His arms stretch and extend out, and you pass off the small body in your arms. 

His lips instinctively purse to a gentle shush and rocks her gently when he feels her squirm. 

You glare. “I said keep her awake, not encourage her to count the sheep.” 

He winces. “This is new! Usually I’m doing the exact opposite.” He lifts her head, and begins his futile attempts in keeping her eyes open. “Alright, sweetheart. What mommy says, it always goes, so you’re going to have to help me out here, okay?” 

She mumbles incoherently. 

“Come on,” he nudges, “Up.” 

“Play that dancing game she likes,” you suggest. 

Taehyung from the couch, perks at that. “God, I love that game,” inputting himself in the conversation and inviting himself a second later, “Please count me in.”

“You think they have any games like that for kids?” He specifies with a swift look at his friend and Taehyung sends a throw pillow his way. 

Seokjin quickly dissipates it with a scold of how much the pillows cost and which country they were exactly from.

You eye the bar full of wires and game controllers, easily making the assumption quickly, “With the eight different consoles I’m staring at, they must.” 

His head dips down. “How does that sound, baby? You want to dance?” 

Yeona’s completely untouchable when she’s grumpy, so it doesn’t come to a surprise when her arms reels back to try to smack her father away from talking to her anymore. 

Luckily, he dodges it. 

But as her eyes open wider and catches an eyeful of Jungkook dancing along with Kiumin and Taehyung twenty minutes later, she ends up joining them in the end, the same jittery moves she first walked in with. 

You pull Hyejin out of her light conversation with Jimin, opting to question her tinted cheeks for later when it would be time to head to bed. 

Of course, Hyejin will want to pry whenever and wherever, deeming it acceptable when it’s noisy enough with the conversations and laughs airing through it. “Want to talk about it?” Hyejin, located beside you who unwraps the carefully decorated box, asks carefully. 

You feign cluelessness to the subject. “Not sure about what.” 

She pins you a stare. “Come on. I saw what happened. Everybody did.”

Shrugging, you grab the candles, sticking them carefully, three on top and three at the bottom. You would’ve gotten the actual number six, but Jungkook had argued that it would be more fun for your daughter to blow as many candles as she can, the singular candle not being enough for a kid’s satisfaction. 

“I don’t know,” you start unsurely. “It’s just weird, is all. It’s always hot and cold when I’m with him — having weird moments happen every so often and reminding him where the line starts and ends, and then acting perfectly poised when Yeona’s there.” 

Her back hits the counter as she leans, arms crossed and head shaking. “This needs to stop, _____,” she says honestly. “He can’t keep going back and forth like this, completely forgetting everything else that happened — you’re broken up for a reason.” 

“Forget it,” you dismiss with a bite to your lip. “It’s not like I stopped him on time. For a second, I forgot about everything too.” 

She’s visibly stumped, stern expression faltering and letting the silence bloom, other than the outdated pop music and stomping in the background. 

“_____..”

“I’m not going to sit here and blame him for every little thing that I could have controlled myself if I just stayed in my own lane,” distressed hands and fingers pull against your hair and you sigh out, eyes closing shut and feet swaying a little. The throbbing in your head continues and pulls at you venomously, like it couldn’t get enough from the first time. 

Hyejin’s eyes widen and she rushes over to you in full concern. “Babe, are you okay?” 

You nod, even if your furrowed brows clearly show the opposite. “Of course,” you pass off, eyes darting to the same place they’ve been at all night. 

He’s still dancing and smiling.

“He’s not my husband anymore.”

And you say it again, wanting it to stick inside of your head until it fully processes, that it’s your fault just as much as his, for playing against the papers and agreements you’ve spent so many nights and days over. A constant reminder for the rest of your life, and not the other. Not the one that consists of vows and promises. Never that one anymore. 

You muster a quick smile, turning to her gaping mouth who yearns to reach out, but you refuse it when you turn the corner, beginning to set everything up at the main table. 

“Is the birthday girl ready?” Your voice drags, upbeat lilt feigning the pounding in your head. 

High pitched squeals resound from the main room and their small feet bounce against the hardwood. 

Jungkook follows suit. 

“Me!” Yeona calls excitedly, “It’s me, Mommy!” 

“Woah,” Kiumin gapes. “You’re cake is awesome, Yeonie!” 

She giggles and hops on her tippy-toes to get a peek, “Thanks! My grandma made it.” 

“Oh,” Kiumin nods. “She’s awesome.” 

You chuckle softly at the kids, smiling down at the cute cake. You go to pull out your phone for pictures and videos to make sure she would see her work being fully appreciated. 

Jungkook hoists Yeona up on the chair, her lifted cheeks and glittering eyes proving her excitement when she sees the candles already lit. 

“Has it already been six years, already?” Seokjin asks in disbelief, plates and forks already in his hand to set down on the table. 

You nod, pouting and squishing one of her cheeks, “Already a big girl.” 

Yeona hums, “Basically a grown-up now!” 

Hyejin bursts in laughter, everybody following right behind. 

“Alright,” Jungkook sighs, arms circling around her softly, placing a kiss on the top of her head. Fondly staring down at his rapidly growing little girl, the same feeling you hold to your chest. “Don’t need to rub it into our faces, miss.” 

Your camera clicks on its own, a fond smile subconsciously forming. 

“Are we ready to sing?” Namjoon timidly asks. You turn to find him weary at the sight on the wax that begins to drip rapidly. “It’s just—the candles are starting to melt.” 

You laugh, nodding. “Alright, let’s sing.” 

It starts off normal, a little bit muted, until Kiumin bursts into a full performance for his best friend. Until Seokjin follows along and throws in an impromptu dance routine. Her father and the others join in right after, impressed at how eerily good it actually looked, almost looking rehearsed. But then you familiarize yourself with the sharp moves, the hands and arms showcasing that it was the corny traffic dance Seokjin taught them all a few years back on one drunk night.

Until eventually everybody does their best in throwing Yeona in a fit of giggles. 

You join her side and guide her into making a wish, clamping her hands shut and scrunching her eyes closed, until the commotion quiets and she opens her eyes with hopefulness written all over it. 

Kiumin is the first to question through the silence. “What’d you wish for, Yeonie?” 

She simply smiles, glancing at you from her side, and then moving her gaze straight to Jungkook. 

She subtly shakes her head, voice so soft, almost completely blurred into a whisper, “If I tell you, it’ll never come true.”

* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*. * .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.

hi, i’m back omg. i had to take some time away bc midway of finishing this up, literally a few paragraphs away, i ended up having my mental health spiral down. but now, i’m better and managed to finish this part.

also please tell me ur thoughts! i crave validation n use ur feedback as my fuel towards anything i write. :]

* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*. * .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.

[imaginingsoftly]

Wedding Date Pt. 2 - Tyler Seguin

Type: strangers-enemies-lovers, series

Requested: no

Warnings: swearing, asshole exes

A/N: Hey guys! I know I said these installments were going to come out on Thursdays, but I feel like my fellow Americans currently losing their shit could use a distraction. Remember that it’s out of our hands at the moment, and you deserve to take a break from the news coverage. Breathe. We’ll get through this. I love you all.

Tyler hadn’t asked any questions about Melissa’s sudden disappearance from the brunch after she woke up grumpy and disoriented before the rehearsal dinner, and she appreciated the hell out of him for it. Instead, he’d brewed her some coffee and talked about his dogs and life in Dallas. Somehow he could tell that she needed some time to not think about anything significant, and he’d given that time to her like it was nothing. 

Attending the rehearsal on his arm was almost fun, and he helped get her back to the suite early. Most of the group probably thought they were breaking off to go hook up, but that was fine as long as Melissa could get into her bed faster. He’d walked her all the way to her bedroom, despite her laughter that she could walk across the living space by herself, and she’d smiled that night as she fell back to sleep. 

Now they were getting ready for their respective roles in the wedding, Tyler as a guest/ wrangler of the middle-aged relatives, Melissa as the Maid-of-Honor. Tyler grinned appreciatively as Melissa handed him a cup of freshly-brewed coffee, and she turned back to the french press to make herself a cup when her phone began to ring. It was probably Kirsten freaking out about something, even though the wedding was a good 8 hours away. “Tyler, could you get that for me?” He could handle his cousin just as well as she would have, and hearing Tyler answer Melissa’s phone might put Kirsten in a good mood. 

“Hello?” Tyler’s voice, gravelly from sleep, sent a shiver up Melissa’s spine. Hearing that first thing in the morning was something she would be interested in getting used to. She snuck a glance over at Tyler to see him already looking at her, smirking like he knew what was going through her head. 

“Who the fuck are you?” The familiar voice, dripping in attitude and disgust, sent another sort of shiver down Melissa’s spine. Her ex, and not the hipster beer guy. 

“What the hell do you want, Liam?” Tyler looked at Melissa confusedly as she spoke, and she shook her head. Later, she tried to tell him with her eyes. He understood, and Melissa took the outstretched phone. “I told you to leave me the fuck alone.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, and for a second Melissa thought that maybe Liam had hung up. “I can’t believe you’re hooking up with someone else. This won’t look good to my parents, Melissa. It’s time to come home. Stop throwing fits.” Tyler threw a sharp look at her, like he actually believed what Liam was saying, and Melissa had enough. 

“I am not your goddamn girlfriend, Liam, so stop acting like I am.” He tried to interrupt her, like he always did, but she cut him off. “No. I’m not fucking finished. I love my job, I love my friends, and I love my freedom. I’m not interested in being some rich fucker’s trophy wife and I’m definitely not interested in being yours. Leave me the fuck alone before I get a restraining order.” She hung up before he could get another word in, throwing her phone on the counter in anger. “Motherfucker!” 

The timer for the french press went off, and Melissa prepped her coffee with jerky, angry movements. She could sense Tyler staring at her from his seat on the counter, but she ignored him as she continued to mutter curses under her breath. She should have blocked his number a long time ago, but she didn’t trust him not to just get a new one in order to reach out to her. At least this way she had proof of his continued calls and texts in one spot. 

Tyler’s voice broke through Melissa’s cloud of anger, and she actually jumped a little bit at the sound of his voice. “Bad breakup?” Melissa scoffed. He had no idea. “Well,” Tyler said with a bit of a laugh in his voice, “I can tell you one thing.” He waited until she turned to face him, an eyebrow raised, before he continued. “I’d be honored to have you as my trophy wife.” No he did not. Melissa gaped at him, more shocked he had made a joke about the conversation than about the actual comment. 

She didn’t really think, she just reacted. Tyler laughed as Melissa’s coffee spoon came flying in his direction, and he caught the utensil with ease. Her heart felt light, lighter than it usually did after phone calls from Liam, and Melissa found herself smiling back. “Hipster beer guy wasn’t my most recent ex. He was actually a guy from college, so a while ago.” Tyler nodded, and she noticed that he leaned forward like he was interested in the story she was about to tell. “I dated Liam for about 6 months last year. We met at a dinner for the university that I work at, some charity thing where the donors get to come and make sure we know that they pay our salaries.” Tyler cringed, and Melissa was sure he at least kind of understood where she was coming from. 

“Liam didn’t seem like the other donors. He’d gone to the dinner in place of his parents, and we talked for a couple of hours. He seemed sweet.” She didn’t see the red flags that she normally would have, mostly because he looked so friendly. Apparently being raised by rich and heartless parents taught you some pretty impressive false empathy skills. She wasn’t wholly convinced he actually felt empathy at all, actually. “We started dating, and it just felt easy. We were both so busy that we hardly saw each other, and I told myself I liked that. I realized later that I didn’t like the distance from a partner, I just liked the distance from him.”

“One night like a week before we hit the 6 month mark Liam invited me to dinner with his parents. I hadn’t met them yet, because apparently they were super busy running their empire, so I was pretty nervous. Liam is a pretty driven guy, and I had assumed he got it from his parents. The dinner went wrong from the beginning.” Melissa paused as Tyler patted the space on the counter next to him. She hopped up gratefully, and he squeezed the shoulder closest to him. 

“Just wanted you to be comfy. I have a feeling this next part is going to be a doozy.” 

Melissa laughed at Tyler’s choice of phrasing, though she nodded because he was correct. It was a doozy for sure. “You have no idea. So we get there, and I’m immediately othered when everyone shows up in cocktail dresses and suits and I’m over there in my teaching pants and a blazer. His mother looked like she had just sucked on a lemon when I walked into the room, and she glared down at my hand when I introduced myself like I was going to give her some kind of disease.” That wasn’t even half of it. She’d also made some snide comments under her breath about where the clothing had come from, though Tyler didn’t really need to hear that detail. 

“We finally sat down for dinner after some of the most uncomfortable cocktail conversation I’ve ever had, and then I make a giant mistake. I mention my job.” Tyler reacts perfectly, throwing a hand over his heart and fake gasping. Melissa chuckled a bit. “Yeah, exactly. So his mom gets this horrified look on her face, and turns to Liam and says, ‘she will not be working once you’re engaged, correct?’ I tried to respectfully state that I love my job, and I planned on working for the foreseeable future, but she wouldn’t take that for an answer. She kept insisting that I couldn’t work if we were going to be together, and Liam wouldn’t back me up. At one point he turned to me and said, ‘you know, I make more in a day than you do in an entire month. I can take care of you.’”

Tyler’s face looked disgusted for her, and Melissa felt a twinge of satisfaction that at least he was on her side. “I lost my damn mind. I stood up from the table and said that if the expectation was that I would be a brainless trophy wife with no ambition or intelligence then I was uninterested in continuing our relationship, and I stormed out. I’ve been trying to get Liam to realize that no means no ever since.” Melissa downed the rest of her coffee, suddenly in need of at least three more cups. 

She was halfway through making a second cup when Tyler responded again. “Isn’t one of your areas of expertise gender and stuff?” Melissa whipped around, surprised he had remembered. She nodded, and Tyler let out a scoff. “So they were pushing some idea from the 50s on you when your area of study is literally everything against that?” Melissa laughed. At least someone else understood the irony there. 

A knock sounded on the door to the suite before Melissa could respond. Tyler jumped off the counter before she could move to the door, and she admired the view from behind as he walked away from her. “Morning, cousin!” Kirsten flew through the door, sliding across the room and into Melissa’s arms with a laugh. “I’m getting married today!” The pair laughed, and Melissa hugged her friend close as she felt some tears prick her eyes. They’d been through a lot together since their days as college roommates, and today felt almost surreal. 

Kirsten pulled back with a slight frown. “Why do you look like you want to punch something?” Melissa tried to school her face into one of confusion, but her friend knew her too well for that. “Don’t bullshit me. Why the hell do you look so pissed?” 

She didn’t get a chance to make something up. “Liam called her.” Melissa turned to glare at Tyler from where he was sitting on the counter again. “He was an ass, but she handled him really well. It was kinda hot actually.” He winked at Melissa, and she flushed bright red. He had that effect on her, and it was kind of aggravating. 

“He still seems to think we’re still dating. I told him a restraining order was in the cards if he didn’t kindly fuck off.” Kirsten held up a hand for a high five, and Melissa slapped it gratefully. She had stayed in Kirsten’s guest bedroom for almost a month after that breakup because Liam kept showing up at her apartment. He stayed away from the house because John was a hell of a lot bigger than him, and John and Kirsten had been lifesavers as she tried to get over their relationship ending. 

Kirsten looped an arm through Melissa’s and began pulling her out the door, despite the fact that the latter girl was barefoot. Melissa managed to snag a pair of flip flops on their way out, though she couldn’t get them on her feet. “Ty I’m stealing your girl for a bestie breakfast, try not to miss her too much!” Melissa stiffened at her words. Maybe they’d been acting too well. She looked over her shoulder to mouth an apology at Tyler, her face bright red, only to find him smirking in her direction already. They were still staring each other down when the door slammed shut behind her. “You have a lot of explaining to do, Lissy.” 

She couldn’t keep pretending like this. “Kirs, it’s not like that.” If she wasn’t careful, Kirsten would be planning her and Tyler’s wedding by the time the night was over. Kirsten meant well, she really did, but sometimes she really just needed to chill out. “We get along really well. We’ve had a lot of time to talk, and it’s been fun. That’s all.” It was obvious that Kirsten disagreed, but she relented as they reached the patio where the brunch had been held the day prior. 

The tables were no longer set up to make one giant table, like they had been the night before. Instead it was an open area where several groups were eating, none part of the wedding party. Kirsten pulled Melissa over to a table set up for two in one corner of the patio. It was next to the vine and flower-covered wall she’d noticed the day before, and she leaned in slightly to sniff at the flowers brightening the space. 

“So,” Kirsten said with an air of mischief, “you and my cousin.” Melissa opened her mouth to protest again, but her friend cut her off. “Uh-uh. Nope. I saw the looks he was giving you, and you turned bright red every time you two made eye contact.” She was right, and they both knew it. Kirsten looked smug when Melissa didn’t try to disagree. “Listen. You’re moving to Dallas in a month. Why not hook up with him? See if he’s worth keeping around, and then have some fun. You don’t have to do the whole relationship thing babe, and you deserve to have someone appreciate your body.” 

A server came to take their order, and Melissa gratefully ordered another cup of coffee and some pancakes. “I think you’re reading it all wrong, Kirs. He’s just being nice.” The looks that he kept giving her, full of heat and interest, said otherwise, but there was no way he was really interested in her outside of a hookup. Although, would that really be so bad? Kirsten scoffed at her statement, and Melissa jumped in before she could say anything. “I don’t know if I really want to hook up with anyone this weekend, Kirs. If it happens it happens, but I’m not going to push it.” 

Her friend shrugged, though her face said she completely disagreed. “Well if you aren’t going to let me find someone to match you with, at least tell me you found a place in Dallas.” Their food arrived, and Melissa took a happy bite of her pancakes. They smelled heavenly, and tasted even better. “You were going to buy a house, right?”

Melissa nodded. “Originally I had planned on a house, maybe just outside the city, but I fell in love with this townhouse right off of Main Street. It has three bedrooms, so right around the size I wanted, and there’s so much natural light. Plus, there’s a rooftop deck with a beautiful view of the city.” This place was going to be her new investment. She was fortunate enough to have gotten a lot of scholarships and grants to do her schooling with, and professorial pay allowed her to pay off those loans rather quickly. That meant that she could start saving for a down payment on her own place and a new start in Dallas. 

She took another bite of her pancakes while Kirsten contemplated what she was saying. “I’m really happy for you, Lissy. You deserve this.” They grinned at each other, and then Kristen broke down into giggles. “Look at us! You’re a badass in your field that got job offers from like half the universities in the country, and I’m marrying my soulmate. We’re killing this whole life thing.” Melissa chuckled as she nodded at her friend’s words. 

“It wasn’t half of the universities in the country, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.” Kirsten waved a hand in a ‘whatever’ kind of way, and conversation moved to people-watching and bets over who would leave with whom tonight or how long it would take for John to tear up.

[yeontanismypresident]

Our One and Only | 04

Word count: 2,516

Genre: Fluff, angst, possible future smut

Summary:  The members didn’t think they could be any more content than they were at the moment. They were getting to become known worldwide and have inspired a significant amount of other hybrids to follow their aspirations. However, when Y/n strolled into the room, they realized they could turn out to be quite a lot more satisfied.

A/N: Okay wow it’s been 832 years since I’ve updated this story and I apologize for that. I just haven’t been the most motivated person, but I think I’m back! I don’t know how I feel about this chapter, so let me know what you think. Let me know in the comments if you’d like to be tagged 💕

01, 02, 03, 04 (Links will be added shortly)

Chapter Four

When you woke up the next morning, you weren't expecting to be smothered to death. Okay, maybe that was an over exaggeration, but in your defense, it's not always the ideal way to be woken up by your niece shoving a pillow in your face and giggling. All the while your boyfriend was recording it and laughing in the background.

"What are you two doing?" your voice cracked slightly, and you rubbed the sleep out from your eyes. Yuna jumped up and down on your bed, while screaming, "It's time to wake up aunt y/n! It's already 10am!!" The next time she was about to jump, you grabbed a hold of her and brought her close to you. She giggled and got out of your arms, jumping off the bed, and walking over to where Hyuk was sitting. She climbed into his lap and cuddled into his chest. Usually when you saw her interacting with him, you would smile and be elated that she liked him. Though for some reason, all you could think about was how cute it would be if Hyuk was one of the other boys. You frowned and furrowed your eyebrows as soon the thought left.

"Why couldn't you have given me, I don't know, maybe another hour of sleep," you groaned while you got up and headed into the bathroom. "Because, I'm leaving tonight and I want to spend lots of time with you!" You slightly frowned at that, forgetting she was leaving already. it does make sense, since she has to go back to school tomorrow, but you wished she got to stay for more than one night.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you smiled at her as you finished brushing your teeth, “Well then, let’s get a start on today then. Shall we?” Yuna nodded her head rapidly and gave you a huge grin. Both Hyuk and Yuna followed you out of your bedroom and into the kitchen. Yuna brought over her coloring books and asked you to read to her in English while she colored. As you were reading to her, Hyuk got started on making breakfast.

“Uncle Hyuk? What are we having for breakfast?” Yuna asked him as she continued to listen to you and color a picture of a dog and cat. The picture started to remind you of Jimin and Hoseok, so you quickly looked away and continued reading.

Giving you a smile when he caught your eyes, he answered the child’s question,” I’m making some pancakes, eggs, and bacon.” She squealed and both you and Hyuk laughed at her antics. As soon as the food was done, you set the table and helped your boyfriend with bringing the meal to the table.

It was quiet as everyone ate, though the silence was broken five minutes later by Hyuk’s voice, “I’ll be leaving around noon for work and won’t be back for two days.” When you gave him puppy dog eyes, he tightly closed his eyes and joked around, “Yah! That’s not fair! You know my weakness is your puppy dog eyes and cute pout!” You threw your head back and laughed loudly, as Yuna just watched the two of you tease each other.

On the other side of the city, the boys were in their living room thinking over everything that had happened the night before. They were all extremely tired and wondering where they had gone wrong. Namjoon and Seokjin had stayed up talking about why you had sent the message. Hoseok had stayed up wondering why you didn't want to talk to them anymore, while Yoongi had stayed up with thoughts of it all being his fault for being rude to you during the fan meet. The maknae line had all fallen asleep in the same bed, cuddled up and their tails intertwined, with dried tears on their cheeks. It was Namjoon that broke the silence that had settled over them; "Think back to last night. Did anyone say something or text her something that she would take the wrong way?" his voice was scratchy and low as he talked. A chorus of 'no' rang through the room. he groaned, running his hand through his messy hair. It was silent for a few more minutes before Jungkook timidly spoke up, "Do you think her boyfriend has something to do with it?" Low growls rumbled through everyone's chest, their tails swishing in anger. They were all thinking the same thing: If that Hyuk guy so much as laid a hand on you then he was dead. "I'll kill that mother fucker if he touches her," Hoseok growled loudly, causing the others anger to increase. Before it could get too out of control, Jin calms everyone down. "Okay, okay, no one is killing anyone. No matter how much we hate the guy, we can't kill him," Jin's voice was stern as he told the others this. Jimin then decided to challenge Jin, "Can we at least scuff him up a little bit? He deserves it after he tried to hit her last night. He's lucky a child was there or else I would ha-" "Jimin, stop. Now," Jin cut him off with a heated stare. Once again growls and snarls were leaving the other members, and all Jimin could do was glare down at the floor.

Jin rolled his eyes at the group of tense hybrids, “You guys need to calm down. We have to figure out why she texted us about leaving her alone. Has she answered anyone’s texts?”

“No, she hasn’t even opened any of them. I’m worried about her Jin Hyung,” Taehyung’s voice held pain, just wanting their mate to talk to them. At least let them know she was okay and not hurt.

Hoseok put his arm around Taehyung’s shoulder, his tailing wrapping around his middle in the process, “We all are TaeTae. We just have to give her some space. Maybe she’s just confused on why she’s feeling this way.” Hoseok could tell they were still doubtful, so he tried again to cheer them up, “I mean, you guys saw she was sticking up for us and taking our side. She’s already feeling the bond.”

That seemed to be the right thing to say, since as soon as the words left his mouth, he could see his brothers’ faces light up and their shoulders untensing.

As soon as Hyuk had left for work, you went and grabbed your phone off of your nightstand. You know you said you wouldn't contact them anymore, but you were curious as to what they had replied to your text with. While you waited for it to turn on, you walked back into the living room to see Yuna watching TV.   "Yuna, what do you want for lunch? We can order in takeout or go to that diner down the street," you said and sat next to her. She looked to be thinking hard on what she wanted to do, so while she thought it over, you looked at your phone as it had finally turned on. Your eyes widened as soon as you saw the number of notifications you had. There was at least 100 unread messages. At least 90 of them were from the BTS members. The rest of them were from your brother, parents, and uni friends. Yuna waved a hand in front of your face, "Auntie, I decided what I want to do!" "Which one did you decide on?" you said as you tickled her tummy. She giggled and wiggled away from you, "I wanna go to the diner!" You hummed, pretending to think, and when she giggled and pushed you, you finally agreed. She cheered and went back to watching the TV intently. You looked as well and saw it was actually switch to YouTube. Seeing the boys on the screen dancing and singing made your heart skip a beat.

You set an alarm for 2:30pm and then sat back and watched as your niece danced cutely along with the video. It took her half an hour to tire out and resign to sitting and watching them. After she sat down, you got up and headed to clean the mess in the kitchen. If you had time, then you would tackle the mountain of homework. You had finished your math homework five minutes before your alarm went off, signaling it was time for lunch. Walking back into the living room, you saw Yuna asleep on the couch, with the music still playing on the TV. You gently shook her arm, waking her up so you two could head out to a late lunch. 

Instead of taking a taxi, you grabbed Yuna's hand and started walking in the direction of the diner. It would only be a 10 minute walk, and exercise was always good for you. The walk was filled with laughter and talking about BTS. Even though you really didn't want to talk about them, you hadn't even answered their messages and you didn’t know if you ever were, you knew they were some of Yuna's favorite people. Besides, she was leaving later this afternoon and you would never have to talk or think about them again. Well, at least until you see Yuna again.

When you got to the diner, you walked in and sat in the booth closest to the counter. That way it would be easy to pay and you can get out fast. The waiter came over and took your drink orders, before leaving and allowing you and your niece to talk. The same waiter came back a few minutes later with your coffee and Yuna’s banana milk and took your orders. As soon as he left, the bell above the door rang throughout the room, signaling some customers had entered. Naturally your head turned to see who it was, and you almost choked on your drink when you saw who it was. Standing right there were the seven men who were taking over your thoughts and making you question your relationship of three years.

It seemed as though Yuna hadn’t seen who came in or the reaction you had, for she asked you, quite loudly as well, “Aunt Y/n, who’s your favorite BTS member?” Your eyes widened and your cheeks reddened to a dark red as you saw her question had gained their attention. Your already widened eyes widened even more when you saw the maknae line running towards your table with their tails wagging behind them.

“Y/N!!!” Taehyung screamed as soon they got to where you sat. Both him and Jungkook sat by you, while Jimin took the seat next to Yuna. The rest of the boys slowly walked over, and even though you could tell they were trying to appear calm, their tails, bright eyes, and bright smiles told you they were just as excited as the younger ones. Hoseok sat next to Jimin, and the other three sat behind them in the next booth, but turned towards you all.

Seokjin gave you an apologetic smile when his eyes connected with yours, “Sorry about them, they just missed you is all. You don’t mind us sitting with you, do you?” It was clear they were hopeful you would agree. Their eyes told you all you needed to know.

“Of course you guys can!” Yuna spoke up before you could get a word out, causing your eyes to widen and mouth to drop at the little girl. They all giggled at your face and you closed your mouth quickly.

It was silent for a few minutes, enough time for the waiter to put down the food you ordered as well as the guys’ food. Yoongi broke the silence with the question that was on all of the guys’ minds, “So, who’s your favorite member?”

All you could do was stutter for a few seconds, before you finally found the right words, “Yah! You can’t just ask me that Yoongi!” They all laughed and you couldn’t help but to join in on their fun.

“Bye Yuna! I’ll see you later!” you kissed her forehead and got up from your crouch. Turning towards your brother, you hugged him, “It was good seeing you, though I wish we could have had more time to hang out.”

Jay chuckled, squeezing you tightly before he let you go, “Thanks for watching her this weekend and taking her to the concert.” You told him it was no problem and watched as he and Yuna got into the taxi, driving them to the airport.

You watched their taxi drive away, lost in your thoughts once more. This time, you were wondering what you were going to do for the rest of the night. It was only 5pm and you had finished all of your homework. Someone cleared their throat and you turned around to see the seven hybrids still standing there. If you were being honest, you had forgotten they were there while you were saying your goodbyes. There was an awkward silence and you knew you should break it and speak, but for some reason you didn’t know what to say. Although there was one thought that kept repeating and was starting to get annoying.

You knew you shouldn't, but you couldn't help but to invite them over to your apartment. Hyuk wasn't going to be able to visit for another 2 days, seeing as he has some work thing in Incheon, so there shouldn't be any fighting. And you just couldn't explain it, but you were drawn to them and couldn't stay away. Jungkook's voice broke you from your thoughts, "Y/n-ah, are you okay?" Looking up from your feet, you took in your surroundings, trying to figure out what to say. You were stood outside the diner with the seven of them around you in a semicircle. All around you, people were walking past. "Jagi?" it was Yoongi who brought you back to reality this time. "Huh? Oh yeah I'm fine. I was just thinking..." you trailed off, suddenly afraid of making them uncomfortable. That was the last thing you wanted to do. Namjoon gently put his hand on your arm, and softly asked you, "Are you sure you're okay?" "Yeah! I was, uh, just wondering if you guys would like to come back to my apartment.." you asked, your voice shy and nearly a whisper. It was quiet as they all just stared at you with wide eyes. Not being able to take the silence any longer, you tried to take it all back, "I mean you guys don't have to! I just thought we could all hang out some more..." All of a sudden, they all broke out into huge grins, their tails either wagging or swaying in excitement. You tried to stop the giggle that came out of your mouth, but had no luck. Judging by their reaction, it was a good thing you let the sound escape.

It was Namjoon that nodded his head and gave you a verbal response, "We'd love to come over."

@child-ofthe-moon-and-leaves, @chari-a, @cjisluckycharm, @huhuehuey, @childfmoonn, @goldenkookss, @jiminsreina, @i-am-canada-13, @eilowyneleyne, @2seokkyo, @lokathefemale, @raja-in-demigodishness, @shelley-hennig14, @theshiningmoonsblog, @agoddesswithablade, @the-argus-eyed, @btsstan4life, @jinniepeachxo, @purpleheartsfortae, @nari2220, @k00kjals, @yasbts705, @moxxie84, @breadcaaat, @kpopgirlbtssvt, @kamibyul, @minyoongi-infiresme, @shaelin444, @acadevintage, @theashofwkm, @row-row-row-your-fandoms, @peachesandcreamsthings, @dinorahrodriguez, @morgsstudies-blog, @feed-my-geek-soul, @elazarofir, @lsuzi, @xsmilebitesx, @miraisnotavailable, @vannilacake, @omgsuperstarg, @danithearmy, @galaxy-gamer-girl, @vincent-stargogh, @im-emo-motherfuckers, @aijoukook, @stargazingmoonchild, @tzuyyyuuu, @heart-of-shadows-and-starlight, @starrliter, @livelifewondering, @valiantcollectorofsandwiches

[sweetheart-minnie]

Lilian “Lily” Rose Turner: NPC Aesthetic && Character Sheet 

One shot for yesterday, Two shots for misery, Three shots for them hating me.

STATS:

Birthday:  October 30th 1992  Hogwarts House (Primary): Slytherin Hogwarts House (Secondary): Slytherin Myers-Briggs: ESTP Zodiac: Scorpio Weight: 120 lb Height: 5’4

BACKGROUND OVERVIEW:

Mother: Molly Turner (deceased) Father: Derek Turner (deceased) Mother’s Occupation: High school teacher taught Science, specifically Biology Father’s Occupation: Architect.  Family Finances: Middle class when her parents were alive Birth Order: She’s a twinn, but she’s the baby twin. They are identical twinss!!!  Siblings: Leanne Riley Turner Other Close Family: None, biologically anyways. She did get adopted though and so does Leanne by a couple when they were sixteen. She’s close to her adoptive parents Robert and Amanda Johnson Best Friend: Minnie!! Other Friends: She’s great friends with her co-workers: Aria, and Kristi Enemies: She’s not much of a girl that collect enemies although she has a fighting spirit and will easily get up in someone’s face  Pets: None but she does love Figaro!!  Home Life During Childhood: It was happy in the begining, but then her parents died and she and her twin sister ended up in foster care. That was how Minnie originally met the twins. They were in foster care together.  Town or City Name(s): Swynlake, England. London, England What Did Her Bedroom Look Like: Sort of an organized chaos. She wasn’t the neat twin, that was always Leanne, but she isn’t horrible either. She doesn’t leave clothes hanging around, other things, yes.  Any Sports or Clubs: In high school she was definitely into sports. She played basket ball, but wasn’t that much of a club girl.  Schooling: High school and college graduate. Graduated from Pride U.  Favorite Subject: Science and Math Popular or Loner: She was actually pretty popular, not the most popular girl in school, but popular enough Important Experiences or Events: Parents died when she was twelve and her and her sister where sent of to foster care after that. Eventually was adopted with her twin sister. Made it to Swynlake when she got accepted to Pride U and there she met Minnie again!!  Health Problems: None for now Culture: English Religion and beliefs: Grew up Presbyterian doesn’t follow a lick of it

PERSONALITY:

Bad Habits: Blunt, sarcastic, crass, avid night partier  Good Habits: Funny, loyal, caring, honest, hard-working,  Best Characteristic: Confident Worst Characteristic: Loud Worst Memory: The death of her parents  Best Memory: Back in foster care when her and Minnie were in the orphanage during that waiting period, they had snuck into the kitchen when it was dark and everyone was asleep. She had to convince Minnie to do this excursion because she was the best at picking locks. They got in successfully and ate ice-cream all night. Best part? They got away with everything scant free!! Proud of: Getting through schooling and even becoming a nurse after everything that was against her Embarrassed by: Her sister and Minnie too hahaha bc Minnie always keeps her in line... for the most part Driving Style: Pretty decent can suffer from road rage from time to time especially if stuck behind a slow ass car Strong Points: Confident, bold, honest, care-free, loyal, good true-real friend!!! Temperament: Sanguine Attitude: Assertive Weakness: Anyone back-stabbing her. It takes a lot for Lily to trust people because of her back story. Anyone hurting the people she cares for because she’ll fight for those she loves.  Fears: Losing those she loves.  Phobias: Centipedes. They scare the fuck out of her.  Secrets: She doesn’t really have any she’s pretty much an open book. She does hold the secret of Minnie’s birthday, Minnie doesn’t share her birthday.  Regrets: The day of her parents death, Lily had an argument with them. She still wishes till this day that she had told them she loved them.  Feels Vulnerable When: Talking about her feelings Pet Peeves: People in general haha. They annoy the shit out of her and yet she wanted to be a nurse. She does love her job though.  Conflicts: Welp. There is the fact that people annoy her and she’s a nurse lmao.  Motivation: Her parents, wanting to be at least a decent daughter they would have been proud of. Her sister too. Leanne was the goodie two shoes twin. Lily always was the one that got into all sorts of trouble. Short Term Goals and Hopes: Move out of Castle Suites probably into somewhere better in Swynlake or like the Next Town Over.  Long Term Goals and Hopes: She kind of did her long term goal already, becoming a nurse.  Sexuality: Pansexual she doesn’t discriminate  Exercise Routine: Occasional gym goer with Minnie, not the best at it tbh Day or Night Person — Night. Introvert or Extrovert — Extrovert Optimist or Pessimist — Pessimist

LIKES AND STYLES:

Music: 80′s trash. Huge Bon Jovi and Pat Benatar fan. Does love Def Leppard too.   Books: Not much of an avid reader, but she likes thrillers and action packed books because they help in keeping her interest. Magazines: Not much of a magazine person at all, except for like a casual read while waiting for an appointment.   Foods: Huge fruits and veggie girl, but isn’t a vegetarian at all. She loves herself a huge greasy cheese burger from time to time and she isn’t ready to give that up anytime soon.   Drinks: Energy drinks. She knows there are bad for you, is very aware. Coffee, especially espresso. Never says no to an alcoholic drink, vodka is her choice of preference.  Animals: Rottweilers. When she gets a pet it’s going to be a Rotty Sports: Use to play basketball back in high school and Uni. She’ll still follow basketball on tv too and she does like watching football as well.  Social Issues: She’s an advocate for animals!! She likes them ten times more than she likes people.  Favorite Saying: “Fuck it.” Color: Red!!! Clothing: Very carefree with her clothing style. Huge t-shirt and skinny jeans type of gal, prefers converse and for her jeans to have rips in them. Not much of a sandals person, but would easily rock a pair of heels. She’s a little edgier when it comes to color choices, likes darker hues over lighter. Will never catch her wearing pastels. She’ll where a dress if it’s hot, tight, and highlights her assets. Most of the times though, she’s in scrubs because of her job. Jewelry: Simple, very simple. Silver over gold, wears like one chain necklace and maybe from time to time she’ll wear earrings, none hooped though. Not a fan of rings or bracelets.  Games: Does love board games and card games and is highly competitive when she plays. Favorite card game is Spades and she has trained Minnie into being the perfect partner for the game. She doesn’t have a favorite board game because she’ll literally play any one.  Websites: Ehh not really that much of a website girl. She does have an Insta though but that’s about it.  TV Shows: Crime shows—NCIS including all branches of it, Criminal Minds, Law Order as well as all of it’s branches, CSI, you get the point. She does like hospital shows mainly so she can crack on all the unrealistic things and errors Movies: Action packed films and horror movies. She is a fan of the Saw movies, but she mostly likes scary movies to laugh at them.  Greatest Want: Wishes her parents were still alive

CURRENTLY:

Home: Flat in the Castle Suites in Swynlake Favorite Possession: Her stethoscope lmao look a nurse can’t survive without a really good one!! Most Cherished Possession: No one knows this aside from Leanne and Minnie but she has a red stuffed bear that was given to her by her mother on her 8th birthday.  Married Before: Nope, and will probably never be so, she’s not the marriage type. Significant Other Before: None. Children: Nope.  Relationship with Family: Close to her twin sister, Leanne. They text and call often. Leanne is currently married and lives somewhere else in England and so Lily often takes her vacation time to go and see her sister. If she doesn’t see her sister then she goes to London to see her adoptive parents she’s close to them too and always makes sure she knows how they are doing. They all always worry for Lily seeing as she can be a hot mess and her personality is very feisty, but Lily just finds that all hilarious.   Car: n/a Career: Registered Nurse works in the Emergency Room in Swynlake General Hospital Dream Career: Currently doing it and in the unit she has always wanted too Dream Life: She kind of loves her life as it is right now the only other thing that would make it perfect would be if her parents were still in the picture Love Life: Casual, no strings attached, lover of one-night stands (she does use protection!!)  Guilty Pleasure : Wine. She loves a good bottle of wine especially when used to unwind. Prefers red wine over white.    Talents or Skills : Great dancer, she loovvess to dance. Of course all her nursing skills, she’s as good as a nurse as Minnie (although Minnie always says that she’s better than Lily xD), can actually bartend real good haha Intelligence Level : Very smart, but that’s often hidden behind her loudness and personality  Finances: Self-sufficient. Independent mother fucker. She also has an inheritance both her Leanne do from the death of her parents. 

[justamomentaryfuckup]

Lady Madonna

Chapter 1

There are some days where there isn’t enough coffee in the world to make the morning better, and today was absolutely one of those days. I hadn’t slept well. Reaching out to the opposite side of the bed and finding cold sheets, when, while still dreaming, I would reach out and expect to touch him. Nine months later I still kept waking up confused and cold. Today I was more than cold, I was brittle. As though I would shatter at the lightest touch. Rory and I had managed to survive our first holidays alone, but I hadn’t recovered from them yet. My mother in law had desperately tried to have us come stay with them, but I had just as desperately shied away from going home. I had finally rebuilt my foundations to where I wouldn’t shatter. I could feel like I was going to, but I wouldn’t allow myself. I didn’t have time. Especially this morning. Rory had slept in and we were behind schedule.

I was still scrambling to get his lunch together and keep my coffee from spilling all over the paperwork I was also trying to finish, when Rory barreled into the kitchen and into the back of my legs.

“Mama, I don’t want to go to school today.” he whined into my pant leg, still in his pajamas.

“I know buddy, but it’s a school day and you have to go. You have to get dressed. We’re late!”

I was shoving things into his lunchbox, PB&J sandwich, strawberries, goldfish crackers, yogurt, and applesauce. Things I knew he would actually eat, and would save me from the nasty looks from the room mom of the day, who, somehow managed to get their Pre-K kid to eat vegan. After the fall session I was a scarred veteran of the P.S. 11 mommy wars.

“You know Wills, I can take him.” Jonathan said from the kitchen doorway. Leaning against the doorjamb, he scratched his chest, and addressed Rory directly, “You wanna walk with Uncle Johnny t’school? Huh, kiddo?”

“No.”

I choked on a laugh. I’d managed to avoid my in-laws, but not my own siblings. I considered myself lucky that it was only Johnny and not him and Jack, his twin. He had flown out before the new year to find inspiration in the icy cityscape and then drive cross country with a buddy to become the next Jack Kerouac. Until then, he was crashing on my couch. Johnny grabbed the pile of Rory’s clothes off the counter and knelt down to where Rory still clung to my leg.

“Come on, we’ll get you ready and then we’ll play. Ok?”

Rory detached himself from my leg, “Play trains with me?” he asked.

“Sure, but you have to get dressed first.”

“Ok.” With that decided, Rory grabbed Johnny’s pant leg and pulled him into my tiny office to collect the basket of wooden train tracks.

In the 10 minutes that it took Johnny to wrangle Rory into his clothes and play trains, I managed to finish Rory’s lunch and my case work. Downing the last of my cold coffee, I herded the boys out the door of my second floor walk up and down the hall to pick up Allie. She and her parents, Marija and Petar, were our first friends in the city and Marija and I would trade babysitting from time to time.

We ran the two blocks to the school. January in the city can be unforgiving, and it was bitterly cold and bright. I managed to get both kids to their programs on time, and I even made my correct train, Johnny running along right behind. I stuck my headphones in my ears and watched the people around me. Everyone wrapped in their own worlds and not even acknowledging mine. It was exactly how I preferred it. I could put my head down and keep moving forward. Johnny settled further into the seat next to me, head back, dozing, as we rattled along.

~~~

“Thanks mate.” Harry shook the driver’s hand and hung his leather duffle over his shoulder. Back in New York. This time last year he was putting the finishing touches on his album, and doing reshoots for the movie in LA. Now he’s on the other side of the country to begin to lay the ground work for his next album and do some promo for the arena tour that started in the spring. Thankfully promo was minor and he could focus on the album.

The car door across from him slammed shut and Mitch, with his own bag in hand, angled his head toward the building behind Harry. Mitch flew out early to help with some more complicated melodies that Harry’s admittedly improving guitar skills could handle. Otherwise, Harry wouldn’t have seen him until right before tour rehearsals started back up. The album wasn’t set to actually begin recording until after the tour was over. Dragging his fingers through his hair, Harry led the way into his building. They walked through the warm lobby, and slumped against the walls of the elevator, rode up to the 4th floor to Harry’s flat. Purchased last year, so aside from a few weekends here and there, Harry hadn’t spent any significant time here. It still had the slightly sterile smell of new construction, overlaid with the candles scattered throughout the space.

Harry dropped his bag on the floor, kicking it with his foot until it lay enough out of the way so he wouldn’t trip. Mitch shuffled past him, dropping his bag in front of the couch and settling down in the cushions, feet propped on the luggage.

“Oi! Takeaway?” Harry called over, moving to the kitchen to rummage through his drawers for the menus that where here from before. He’d do a proper grocery shop later. Specifically after he slept off the jet lag. Mitch waved a hand at him in acknowledgement, preoccupied with his phone. Harry rolled his eyes. Typical. Mitch was never one to talk when silence would do. It made for a nice change from the excitement of the holidays and the severe extroversion of some of his London friends.

Pulling out the only menu he could find, a restaurant from around the corner, Harry tossed it into Mitch’s lap so he could make his choices.

“Chinese, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Despite the lack of choices, the food order decided and called in, Harry threw himself in the opposite corner of the couch from Mitch and settled in, journal in hand. While he hadn’t written anything yet for the new album, per se, he was always working on bits and pieces that floated around in his head. Someday, they might turn out to not be complete shit. Lately though, they all have been shit. Sighing, Harry flipped open the book and set the photo strip that he used as a place marker on the cushion next to him. He’d had this phrase he’d over heard in London stuck in his head for over a week and couldn’t make it do anything. At this point the words had been scribbled repeatedly on the page surrounded by doodles in different colored pen. Useless. Harry stared at the page until the doorbell rang.

After the food was divvied up and subsequently inhaled, Mitch and Harry retreated to their respective corners. Mitch on his phone, texting, reading, and Harry scribbling and cursing occasionally under his breath. Every so often, Harry’s eye would fall on the photo strip, a welcome distraction from the frustration on the page in front of him.

“How’s the missus?”

Startled, Harry looked up. Mitch had dropped his phone and was watching him fiddle with the pictures. It had started out as a joke on tour last year. Adam had noticed the pictures sticking out of Harry’s journal and had asked about them. Leaving Harry to explain that he didn’t actually know who the woman and little boy were, but that there was something about the pictures that made him smile. It just seemed cool to him. She looked interesting and the little boy, happy. It earned him some ribbing, carrying around the pictures of people he didn’t know, like the lipstick on his jacket, but it had also turned into a game. Any time they were bored, or Harry became too withdrawn, frustrated with himself for whatever reason, Adam or Clare would ask how she was and Harry would make up a story. Sometimes she was upset that the caterer had screwed up the menu, and another time she was thrilled because she was pregnant again, but every time by the end of the story she was always happy. That was important to him. That she be happy. It seemed like Mitch had decided that he was sick of listening to him.

“Let’s see” Harry drummed his fingers against his lips and hummed a little, “She is currently working on baking two dozen chocolate chip cookies…”

~~~

That’s it. I was going to quit. Rather, I was going to get arrested. I finally cracked and was seconds away from chucking my desk phone at Paul’s head. My morning did not improve on my willingness to put up with idiots. He was the second most loathsome individual I’d ever had the misfortune of working with. As the senior paralegals, I was stuck dealing with him. It wasn’t that he was bad at his job, it was that he couldn’t multi task to save his life and that he was the most inefficient person in the firm. There were only 20 of us, not including the partners, but he stood out and not in a good way. I never wanted my work associated with him.

I glared up at him from my seat, while he loomed over the front of my desk, ugly tie dangling. “I am not redoing the Lipnitski files. I already found more than enough precedent that Jacobs could close in his sleep.”

“William, I don’t think you understand,” Paul jabbed his finger into the file he’d placed on my desk, “This contract needs to get over to the Columbia offices by end of day. I will finish the motions for Lipnitski, Cox wants to you complete the amendments and get it over to them.” The fact that he used my full name, William, didn’t help his case any, in general or right now. Running through my options, I decided I could manage both tasks. I really didn't want Paul's hands on my work.

“I will finish Lipnitski’s motions and I will get the amendments completed. Can you please let Jessica know?” I snatched the folder out from under Paul’s hand and stuck it under my keyboard. Paul raised his hands in surrender and stalked away. I’m sure the people in the Doctor’s office below us could hear him clomping steps.

“Thanks fucker,” I muttered under my breath. No lunch for me today. I rummaged around in my desk drawer for my phone, shooting off a quick text to Monica that I wouldn’t be meeting her at The Wooly Daily for lunch. She texted back a sad smiley, but I’m sure she understood. It’s not going to be the first time or the last that I’ve bailed on lunch for extra work. I kicked my shoes off underneath my desk and dug into my work.

By the time 4 o’clock rolled around I’d gotten all my daily stuff done, and both projects. I was running off the break room coffee and spite. Lipnitski’s motions had been dropped off at Jessica’s desk and the amendments for Columbia were ready to be taken up to their office, several floors above the Law Firm of Cox & Jacobs.

I closed down my computer, pulled my hair out of the messy knot that I had resorted to, to save it when I had begun yanking on it in frustration a few hours earlier. Standing there, I smoothed my hands down the front of my skirt and took a few deep breaths. I may be a lowly paralegal, but I still represented the firm and needed to put forward a good impression. Columbia Records made me nervous. They'd been in the Woolworth's Building since the 30's and while they weren't a frequent client of ours, they still were a huge account for us. Files in hand, I headed out the doors and over to the bank of elevators.

~~~

Harry waved to the front desk as he trotted down the steps of his building. Pulling his shearling jacket closed around his neck, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. It was bitterly cold, but the diffused light through the city would make the short walk worth it. He was headed to the Columbia offices to ok some changes to the contract for the second album. Normally, it would be couriered over to him, but there were meetings scheduled for the following day and this needed to be completed prior to the morning. So he left Mitch still ensconced in the corner of the couch, this time with one of his guitars, while Harry headed out.  

New York in the cold was all bright, reflected light and sharp edges. Harry’s breath fogged out in front of him, as hat, sunglasses, and coat, rendered him unrecognizable to the other people walking through Tribeca. He'd opted against headphones as he walked, preferring to listen to the horns and traffic. It was only a short 10 block walk from Harry's building to the Columbia offices. His fingers and toes had begun to lose feeling by the time it came into sight.

Harry hurried up the steps of the building and into the warm lobby. Eager to regain the feeling in his extremities before heading up, he slowed down taking in the faces of the people around him. Walking  toward the circular welcome desk, his feet tangled over themselves and he stumbled, as he caught a glimpse of a familiar face rushing past him to the doors he had just walked though.

"Fuck." Harry breathed, earning the glare of an older lady sitting behind the desk, "Sorry."

Harry turned and watched as she disappeared through the doors of the building, black coat floating out behind her. Her smile from the dogeared photos burning into his thoughts.

[jamesnovakwinchester]

Passive-Aggressive Undertaking

Title: Passive-Aggressive Undertaking Link Pairings: Dean/Ketch/Meg (poly v), Dean/Ketch, Dean/Meg Square Filled: Enemies to Lovers Tags: Prank Wars, Business Rivals, Enemies to Lovers, Hate Sex, Rough Sex, Frottage, Polyamory, Poly V, Open Relationships, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Aromantic Dean Winchester, Aromantic Meg Masters, Pansexual Arthur Ketch, Biting, Hair-pulling, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, funeral homes, Morticians, Fist Fights Summary: Dean hates Arthur Ketch. It's bad enough that the asshole keeps stealing his clients, but once they get caught up in a prank war the bastard has the audacity to actually be good at that, too. Meg thinks they should just fuck it out, but Dean's determined that he's going to win this one. 

“That motherfucker,” Dean hissed, jerking away from the blinds. He turned away from the window, crossing his arms over his chest, huffing.

“What’d Arty do now?” Meg asked. She was across the room, polishing the dark wood of the china cabinet across the room.

“The Adlers,” Dean said, “he sniped the Adlers.”

“Ouch,” Meg said, pulling a butterscotch candy out of her pocket and plopping it in her mouth.

“I’ve been waiting five years for that bastard Zachariah to die and what happens? Fucking Ketch swipes him right from under my nose. I was this close!” Dean held up two fingers, less than a centimeter of space between them.

“Yeah, well, you don’t have exclusive rights to dead folks, Dean,” Meg said around her candy.

“They picked out a casket!”

“Yeah, but they didn’t start paying for it,” Meg said.

Dean sighed. For years, he and Meg had been the premier funeral providers for Salina and the surrounding small Kansas towns. Most people didn’t want to drive all the way to Wichita to handle the care of their dead relatives, and Dean had found himself dealing with entire lines of families, arranging for caskets and funeral plots for entire generations of families, like his grandfather before him. It was a morbid business, but it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. For the most part, all he had to do was provide a solid and sympathetic presence, guiding grieving family members through the final decisions they’d ever make for their loved ones. He didn’t do the embalming; that he left to Meg and Ash, who always made sure to make the departed look as life like and peaceful as possible.

It was a good business, and one he didn’t have to worry too much about competition in – that was until Arthur Ketch moved in across the street. Ketch decided to open up his own funeral home about a year prior, and he’d been steadily creeping on Dean’s business the entire time. It wasn’t even like he had better services or lower prices or anything like that because Dean had checked. If anything, he was gouging the hell out of people with the price of cremations and transportation. It was probably that fucking accent. Stupid British dude and his charming accent and his charismatic “I’m so good at this and you should trust me because I’m posh and shit” attitude. Fuck him.

Dean turned around, parting the blinds again and glaring out the window. There was Mrs. Adler, all dressed in black and walking into her car, trailed by her many children. The Herse was already waiting at the end of the parking lot, ready to drive out into traffic and take Adler to the graveyard. Damn. That man had wanted a massive headstone, too.

“That’s at least $20,000 driving away from us right now,” Dean said.

Meg scoffed. “You know, the way you talk people would think you’re some kind of dirtbag mooching off grieving old ladies.”

“You know it’s not like that,” Dean said.

“I know,” Meg said, coming up behind him, setting her hand on his shoulder, “still. It’s not that important. This is what? One account this month? We’re still in the green. It’s just one client.”

Dean shook his head. “Yeah, I know, but it’s the principal of the thing.”

“Dean, hon, we make stupid money off grieving people who only need a few minor prods and pokes to buy ‘hermetically sealed caskets’” she used freaking finger quotes and everything, “that just blow up anyway. We’re not the most squeaky clean in terms of truth and fairness. So this dickhead snapped up one of your clients, it’s not the end of the world.”

“You have a knack for making everything sound way worse than it actually is, you know that?”

“One of my many talents.”

Dean rolled his eyes, leaning over to kiss the top of her hand.

“Ugh,” she snorted, batting Dean’s head away playfully.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have a stiff to look after?”

Meg snorted. “Fine, fine. Be that way. I’ll be in the back if you wanna bitch about your boyfriend some more,” she said, letting her hand slip down Dean’s back. She sauntered off towards the back room.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Dean hollered back.

~~~~~

“Goddammit!” Dean shouted, throwing the morning paper down on the kitchen table.

“What now?” Meg asked. Though he didn’t sigh or scoff at him (this time) Dean could tell by the flat tone of her voice that she was absolutely exasperated by him.

“Ketch did it again.”

“Did what?” She pushed the pedal down on the toaster, leaning back against the counter and sipping her coffee.

“You remember Naomi Milton?”

“Not especially.”

“She was a state senator for a while. Not important. Anyway, her memorial service is going to be at Ketch’s.”  

“Ouch.”

“I buried her mother!” Dean put his coffee cup to his lips, but it was empty. He glared down at it like it was somehow the cause of his distress.

Meg shrugged, grabbing her pop tarts as the toaster shot them out.

Dean pulled a face, mocking her shrug. “Is that really all you have to say about it?”

She sighed, plopping down in the chair across from him. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’ve commiserated. I’ve offered advice. I gave you a blowie. I don’t know what else you want me to do. Ketch is a dick. A weirdly hot dick, but a dick. You’re gonna lose business to him and that’s just the way it is.”

Dean scowled at her. “He’s not hot.”

“You don’t think so? I figured he’d be right up your alley. Dark hair, strong jaw, looks like he could throw your subby ass around…”

“Okay! Not the point! The point is: I need to figure out what to do about this.”

“You mean other than spending more on advertising and moving on like a grown up?”

“Yes, other than spending money on ads. I’ve got to do something to keep him from stealing business.”

“Like?”

“I dunno yet.”

“Just don’t get arrested,” Meg said, biting into her pop tart, “I’m not bailing you out of jail. Again.”

“That was one time.”

Meg shook her head, brushing the crumbs away from her lips. “So, what are you thinking?”

“Yelp reviews.”

Meg snorted.

“What?”

“Yelp? Seriously? I don’t think anyone looks at Yelp when they’re looking to bury grandma.”

“Maybe I should send him a glitter bomb.”

Meg cackled at that. “You’re gonna send glitter to a funeral home?”

“Yeah! Why not? That’s a good idea right! No one gets hurt. Well, maybe his stupid fucking suit gets hurt. Plus no one is gonna want to deal with a dude covered in glitter when he’s not supposed to be.”

Meg shook her head, licking cherry pop tart filling off her fingers. “Whatever trips your trigger.”

Two short weeks later, Dean was pleased to see, while he was chatting with the landscaper in the parking lot, Ketch walking out of his funeral home, suit jacket off and tucked under his arm, the faintest glimmer of pink reflecting light in his hair. Dean waved, smirking.

~~~~

“Sonofabitch!” Dean yelled. He really should have known.

Meg rushed in, mask and gloves still on when she pushed through the door of his office. “What the fuck happened?”

Dean sighed, picking up the small cardboard tube on his desk, spring hanging out of the open end. “The fucker got me back,” he said.

Meg sighed, leaning over the desk and picking up one of the shiny purple cut outs. “He sent you dicks.” She chortled.

“Yup.”

“He sent you glittery purple dicks.”

“Yes, thank you, I’ve seen then,” Dean said gesturing to his front. There were glittery little dicks clinging to the front of his pants and his suit jacket. Thankfully they were better than the usual, microscopic craft herpes he’d sent Ketch, but this was almost worse. Greeting customers with glitter all over you made you look like an idiot, but greeting customers with glitter dicks all over you made you look like an immature idiot.

“You think you could stop by the house and get me some pants when you go for lunch?” Dean asked.

“No way, dude. You got yourself into this mess, you get your own pants,” Meg said.

“But you’re getting lunch in like,” Dean glanced at his watch, “fifteen minutes.”

“So you want me to waste my lunch hour getting both of us food, then go out of my way to get you pants when you could just go do it yourself?”

“I can’t go out in public like this.”

“You won’t be in public. All you have to do is walk to the parking lot.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Not gonna happen,” Meg sang, walking out the office door.

“You’re the worst, Meg,” Dean called out.

“Eat me!”

Dean sighed, looking down at his lap. He could probably get out of and into the car relatively easily, but then he’d track glitter dicks into the car, too.

When he got to the door of the Impala, he noticed Ketch, standing in his own parking lot next to his bike, smirking but not looking directly at Dean.

“That’s it,” Dean said once he closed the Impala door, “I’m sending him a dick.”

~~~

Dean was kind of an asshole. He could have chosen to send Ketch a dick from one of those internet sex shops, the ones that only shipped things in discrete packages, but there wasn’t any fun in that. How would he know that Ketch even got it if he didn’t get to see the aftermath? Plus he doubted it would cause the significant embarrassment he’d hoped it would. So, instead, Dean went to his usual place and bought a whole ten inches of realistic rubber cock complete with suction cup. It set him back about forty bucks, which was probably a little too much to pay for a little passive-aggressive revenge, but fuck it.

Shortly after the funeral home opened at seven in the morning and all the employees were in their places, Dean sprinted across the parking lot, licked the suction cup, and stuck it to the leather seat of Ketch’s bike.

Yeah, Dean was an asshole.

~~~~

It had been a long ass day. Dean had spent the day dealing with a couple of new clients, of them a young couple with a child who was way too interested in the caskets for a normal four-year-old, an old woman and her daughter who was more interested in keeping costs down than she was what her mom wanted, and a family that wanted to bury their son who’d recently died in a car accident. Needless to say, it was not a great day.

Dean was ready to just go home and pass out on the couch for a week. When he pulled onto the highway, however, that all changed. There was a strange, humming noise coming from inside the car. Dean immediately turned off the radio and shushed Meg, even though she wasn’t saying anything.

“Do you hear that?” He said, leaning into the dash as much as he could without taking his eyes off the road.

“Is that… humming?” Meg asked.

“That’s what it sounds like,” Dean said. Fuck. That’s just what he needed today. “I’m gonna pull over,” Dean said.

Meg didn’t have a chance to object before Dean was pulling off to the shoulder and flicking on the hazards. The humming stopped before Dean shut off the car, but Dean stepped out anyway, peeling his suit jacket off and rolling up his sleeves. He lifted the hood, peering down at the engine. Nothing seemed amiss. The fan and fan belt were fine, the engine block seemed okay, and all the hoses were fine. There wasn’t anything wrong with anything, as far as Dean could tell.

Dean got down in the dirt, looking under the car, just on the off chance that something had gotten lodged under the car. Nothing. Dean shook his head, sighing and getting back into the car and starting it up again. It didn’t take more than a few minutes for the humming to return.

“Fuck,” Dean hissed, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. “You’re hearing this right?”

Meg nodded, and Dean pulled off to the shoulder yet again. This time, Meg go out of the car with him.

“What do you think it is?” Meg asked.

“I don’t fucking know,” Dean grumbled. Still, nothing seemed off. “What time is it?”

“Six,” Meg said, glancing down at her phone.

“Fuck,” Dean grumbled. “Bobby’s garage isn’t gonna be open.”

“It’s not gonna blow up on us if we just drive it home, is it?” Meg asked.

“I don’t know. Probably not. I have a toolbox in the trunk. I wanna check the tire pressure real quick.”

Meg stepped back, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest. “Tires? Really?”

“I just wanna check,” Dean said, leaning into the open car door and pulling the keys out of the ignition. “I wanna make sure it’s not something stupid before I start looking at other shit.”

He had the trunk open when Meg spoke again. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Dean asked.

“This thing, here in the grill right here.”

Dean set the small toolbox down in the dirt. “What thing in the grill?”

“This thing,” Meg reached down at the grill, pulling at something. “I think it’s taped.”

“The fuck?” Dean walked over, leaving the trunk open as Meg pulled up whatever was stuck there. She laughed, holding it out to Dean.

“What?” He took in the little lump of tape and flimsy white plastic. It had several rectangular holes along the front. Dean scowled. “It’s a fucking harmonica.”

Meg burst into laughter as Dean took the harmonica, doubling over on herself.

“A fucking harmonica! You’ve got to be kidding me! That dick!” He chucked the tape covered toy towards the open field on the side of the road.

“Okay,” Meg said, catching her breath, “but you’ve got to admit, that was really fucking clever.”

“It was fucking cruel is what it was.”

“Oh come on. It’s not like he really fucked with your car. That’s funny.”

Dean huffed, pouted as he slammed the hood closed a little topo hard. “Get in the car, Meg.”

Meg giggled the whole way home while Dean sulked, coming up with his next plan.

~~~

Two months later the feud between Dean and Ketch was still in full swing with no real signs of stopping. Things had steadily increased as well, though they were thankfully just short of need to get authorities involved, even if writing “Honk if you’re Horny” on the windows of the hearses in paint marker was technically vandalism. Also, thankfully, their vehicles had remained off limits after Dean retaliated for Ketch’s cling wrap around the Impala trick by putting Ketch’s bike in the bed of someone else’s truck. Dean sure was glad that he caught the intercepted floral arrangement one, though. It would have been beyond mortifying to show up to a funeral with a wreath that read “Congratulations on your Engagement”.

Dean also had a suspicion that Ketch had figured out a way into his business, in fact, he was positive of it, if for no other reason than that he had done the same damn thing. Granted, his was just to plant whoopee cushions in the best strategic places (under couch cushions in the lobby, wedged in the hinges of a few of the caskets of sale, and, of course on Ketch’s desk chair). When Dean walked into his office and slammed his knee directly into his deck, he’d known without a doubt that he’d been infiltrated as well. (Okay, so that was technically breaking and entering, too, but Dean wasn’t going to call the cops on Ketch for moving his freaking furniture.)

It had been three days without any sort of retaliation from Ketch when Dean found him in the casket showroom.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing in here?” Dean asked.

Ketch turned around, leaning up against one of the solid walnut caskets, bottle of scotch in hand.

“I wasn’t aware there was a rule against being in here during business hours,” Ketch said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Ketch?”

“I propose a truce,” Ketch said, raising his right hand and the bottle of scotch therein.

“You givin’ up that easy?” Dean asked, “Didn’t think you were the type.”

“I suppose you haven’t found the tarantula yet, then.”

“What tarantula?”

“Never mind. The point is this has gone on long enough wouldn’t you say?”

Dean snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sounds like something someone would say when he’s all out of ideas.”

Ketch huffed. “Right. I could easily drag this out until kingdom come if that’s what you really want. But as it is we both had to deal with each other. We see each other every day and unless you want to continue to drive us both insane with pranks and retaliations and potential clients turned away I’d say it’s in both of our interests to act like adults and sort this out.”

“So this is you being the bigger man then?”

“Naturally.” Ketch’s eyes skimmed up and down Dean’s form and Dean couldn’t help scoffing.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Art. Sounds to me like you’re just certain you’re gonna lose but whatever. You wanna call and end to this, fine, we call and end to it, but you need to quit sniping my business.”

“Your business?”

“Yeah. The Alders, the Milton’s, the Richardson’s. They were practically done deals until you showed up and grabbed them right from under my nose.”

“Perhaps you’ve just grown complacent. You were the only funeral home in the area for quite some time. Maybe your former customers enjoy having an option.”

“Please. You’re not special. If anything you’re more expensive than I am.”

“Perhaps. But I’m charming.”

“You’re somethin’ alright.”

“As I was saying – “

“Nope. I’m not dropping this. You stop swiping my customers or I’m going to continue sticking cellophane dicks to your windows and whatever else I can think of.”

“That’s mature of you,” Ketch said, smiling.

“Oh, fuck you. You started it with the dick glitter.”

“Only because you send me glitter first.”

“Because you swiped my clients!”

Ketch rolled his eyes, setting the bottle of scotch down on the closed lid of the coffin he’d been leaning on. He strode over and walked right into Dean’s space. “What do you expect from me? Should I ask your permission before I can take on any new clients? Perhaps you just can’t handle the fact that I’m better at this than you are.”

Dean squared his shoulders, staring Ketch in the face. “Maybe you’re just an asshole.”

A small smirk lifted the corner of Ketch’s lips. “I might be an asshole but at least I can keep my clients.”

Dean shoved Ketch’s shoulders. He swayed on his feet but kept standing. “Is that the way it’s going to be then?”

Dean didn’t say anything, he just sneered and stepped right into Ketch’s way as he tried to slip past Dean.

Dean wasn’t sure what he was expecting or why he felt the need to get physical. He wasn’t even sure who technically threw the first punch, all he knew was that he’d thrown his jacket on the floor and unbuttoned his wrist cuffs and Ketch had done the same. They were mostly dancing around each other, ducking and swinging until Dean overextended and lost his footing. Before he knew it he was thrown against the back of a casket, his face flat against the polished wood.

“Really, Dean? A fist fight in your place of business. I thought you’d be better than that,” Ketch said.

Dean thrust his hips backward, his ass brushing against Ketch’s groin.  He hooked his ankle around Ketch’s and pushed backward, harder. Ketch lost his balance, falling to the floor with Dean in his lap. Dean swung his legs around, knees on either side of Ketch’s waist before grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the floor. They were both a little flushed, their chests rising and falling with each deep breath.

“You give yet?” Dean asked, panting.

Ketch scowled up at him, planting his feet on the ground before thrusting upwards and jostling Dean enough to make him lose his balance and fall forward so their chests pressed together.

“At least buy me dinner first,” Dean laughed. His laughter dissipated, however, when he could feel the hard line of Ketch’s erection against his hip.

“Oh, sorry,” Dean said, letting go of Ketch’s wrists and rising up. Of course, Ketch took the opportunity to flip them so that he was looming over Dean, the two still connected at the hip.

“Really, dude?” Dean asked.

Ketch raised an eyebrow, self-satisfied smirk on his lips. “I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

“You’re an asshole,” Dean said rolling his hips. Ketch’s smirk fell and a soft groan fell from his lips.

“You don’t exactly play fair either. Though, if you didn’t have a girlfriend…”

“Meg’s not my girlfriend.”

Ketch perked up a bit, still looming over Dean. “No? You live together, don’t you? Sleep in the same bed?”

“Yeah well, she’s not… It’s a platonic life partner thing but we also have sex.”

“So a girlfriend?”

“Well, I guess if you wanna call it that but we’re not exclusive. We’ve both had other partners.”

“So she wouldn’t mind if I did this?” Ketch’s lips were on Dean’s in an instant, hot and demanding, his tongue flicking against Dean’s lips. He ground down into Dean’s crotch, brushing against his growing erection, causing Dean to gasps. Ketch then slide his tongue inside, licking at the inside of Dean’s mouth but never giving Dean the chance to reciprocate. He pulled back, hovering just out of Dean’s reach.

“Yeah… she’d uh, she’d be okay with that.”

Ketch smirked, leaning down to bite at Dean’s bottom lip.  Dean squirmed, groaning. Ketch chuckled, thick and heavy against Dean’s skin.

“Dude, let me up!” Dean said.

“Why? I’m enjoying you like this.”

“Yeah, but if you don’t let me up this ain’t gonna get very far.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ketch said, grinding his hips down and making Dean gasp, “I’m enjoying myself.”

“Asshole,” Dean huffed. “I’m not ruining these pants.”

Ketch rolled his eyes but released Dean’s wrists, his hands then pulling at the buttons on Dean’s shirt collar. Dean attempted to roll them over, but Ketch wasn’t budging, and Dean gave up in favor of tearing at Ketch’s belt and pants buttons.

Ketch wasted no time sucking on Dean’s neck and collar bones as soon as the skin was bare, biting down a little too hard and making Dean groan. He pulled Ketch’s hair, jerking him off, only for the man to stare down at him with wide eyes after his eyelids stopped fluttering. They kissed again, fighting each other the whole way.

There was more biting, most of which Dean was certain was going to bruise but he didn’t especially care. He liked the fight. Meg was good at being rough when he wanted it, but it was always an illusion of power when he was with her. Neither of them forgot the fact that Dean could easily throw her off him whenever he wanted, but Ketch was different. He was firmer, more solid. He really could pin Dean to the floor and make him fight for it.

Ketch let out a loud moan as Dean bit into his shoulder. He pushed Ketch’s shirt up and out of the way as he scraped his nails across his ribs. Dean unbuttoned his own pants before slipping them and his boxers halfway down his thighs. Ketch sat up, following suit before pouncing on Dean once again and rolling his hips. Their cocks ground together, and Dean threw his head back against the hard carpet, moaning.

He bucked up to match the rough pace. It was almost too fast and too hard, but it was what he needed. He could do much more than scratch and claw the skin of Ketch’s back digging in and hopefully leaving marks.

“Fuck!” Dean barked, digging his nails into the meat of Ketch’s ass.

Ketch groaned then chuckled, his breath hot and warm against Dean’s ear. “That all you got, Winchester?”

His words came out more as a series of pants than as a sentence, but Dean took it as a challenge nonetheless. He grabbed on to the globes of Ketch’s ass, pulling him hard into his own hips. Ketch hissed as Dean bit down on his neck, not hard enough to mark but hard enough to warn and pulled him in as he thrust upward. Ketch’s balls slid up and down against Dean’s cock and Ketch shuddered.

Dean then flipped them, this time successfully, planting his hands on either side of Ketch’s head. Dean rolled his hips hard and fast and Ketch clutched at his arms before whimpering pitifully. The buttons on Dean’s open shirt kept smacking against his stomach, hard enough to sting up not nearly hard enough for Dean to stop.

“This good enough for you?” Dean taunted, gasping when the heads of their cocks rubbed together.

Ketch groaned through gritted teeth.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“F-fuck you.” Ketch hissed. His grip on Dean’s arms tightened, and his hips jerked in an uncoordinated pattern as much as Dean would allow.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.” Dean leaned his weight on one hand, using the other to take both of their cocks and once and jerk them together. It only took half a dozen strokes of his hand and a few halfhearted jerks before Ketch was coming with a strangled moan. Dean jerked himself as fast as he could before he was coming, too, all over Ketch’s bare stomach. Luckily, he had the forethought to fall to his side and land on the floor.

It took a few minutes of gasping and deep breathing for Dean to register the slow clapping coming from the doorway of the showroom.

“Nice job, boys,” Meg said, leaning against the doorframe.

“Aw, fuck,” Dean groaned.

Ketch sat up but didn’t move to cover himself. “Oh. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah, well, you’re damn lucky I was because someone had to make sure the closed sign was up. Not that that wasn’t worthy of an audience.”

Fuck. Dean didn’t even think about it. As bad as the stupid shit was there was probably no way to lose business faster than to get caught fucking on the showroom floor. “Thanks, Meg.”

“Yeah, yeah. You want a towel or something?”

“That would be appreciated.”

“Oh, but first,” Meg said, smirking, “there is something I need to hear.”

“Please?”

“Nu-uh.”

Dean rolled his eyes and threw his arm over his face. “This changes nothing, Meg. Hate sex does not negate business rivalry nor does it put a halt on the prank war.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ketch piped up, “I was willing to call the pranks to an end before all this. And perhaps the rivalry could be dealt with by more… productive means.”

Meg snorted. “Oh come on, that clinches it.”

Dean sighed. “Fine. You were right, Meg.”

“And?” There was an obnoxious lilt in her voice and Dean just knew she was smiling.

“I was wrong.”

“Thank you,” Meg said. “I’ll get you a towel and you two can put your dicks away. And you better let me know the next time you feel like fucking it out. I might just hate both of you enough to tie you to some furniture.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ketch said.

“Now that’s what I liked to hear,” Meg said. Her footsteps grew distant as she left the room and Dean groaned. He was likely never going to hear the end of this.

“What was she right about?” Ketch asked.

“Fuck. Don’t even ask.”  

Tag list: @maliciouslycreative, @samanddeaninpanties, @jerksarehot @spnpolybingo

[nishisoyabean]

sugar (gimme some)

this is dedicated to @taes-taes , for the rare pair fic exchange! i hope you like it! prompt: Sugar Daddy!AU. Person A is trying to get themselves through college, but their family has always been poor and minimum-wage jobs only pay so much. On an errand run for one of their jobs, Person A gets into a car accident with Person B. Instead of making Person A pay for the damages, Person B decides to let them pay off their debt by keeping them company and essentially acting as Person B's significant other. ~ "Iwa-chan, did you take my BB cream?!" Oikawa leans out of the bathroom door, voice echoing through their tiny apartment. "No Shittykawa, it's in your drawer in the back. Where it always is." Hajime calls from the couch, not even looking up from his phone. Frowning, he shoves his hand all the way into the back of the drawer. "Was I right?" "Shut up." - "Sugawara, will you be okay by yourself if I clock out a bit early? The traffic is bad today and I don't want to be late for work." Oikawa prompted as he finished sweeping the mostly empty cafe. "Yeah of course! Just be careful okay? Try to eat something before your next shift. You are thinning out." He flashes a cancer-curing smile, elbowing Oikawa softly in the ribcage. "I'll buy a sandwich at the corner store next to the bar. Happy?" Oikawa sasses, tugging on his worn out peacoat and backpack. He rubs tiredly at his eyes, the lack of sleep finally catching up to him. "And get some sleep, your makeup can't hide everything!" Suga calls to him as he walks into the bitter cold February, fumbling in his bag for his keys. Tossing bag and shedding his peacoat into the passenger seat, he starts up the car. (and the heat!) After switching gears, he starts to back out. Oikawa hears a screech of metal, and is lurched forward, slamming his head hard into the overhead mirror. "Mother fucker!" He yelps, instinctively nursing his throbbing head. After a minute, he opens the car door with his free hand and pulls himself from the piece of junk he calls a car. Another car door slams, and the click of heeled shoes move towards him. Oikawa looks over, a tall figure faced away from him looking at his car. The man clicks his tongue in annoyance, and whirls around to face him. "You should have looked where you were going when you pulled out. Are you okay?" He grumbles, face almost as hard as stone. "Uh- yeah. Sorry, I think I hit my head. I wasn't wearing my seat belt." "I hit your taillight and license plate, so you should probably call your insurance company." The man pulls out his phone, typing quickly with one hand. Oikawa gets a good look at him for the first time, looking him up and down. The taller of the two is dressed in business formal, and from the type of car he drives Oikawa guesses he must be some big CEO. "Wait, what about your car? Did you have any damage?" A slow panic rises in his chest as he snaps back to the real world. He won't have enough to pay for the damages on his car, and the other car. "My hood is scratched, the front bumper has come off, and my light is cracked." He speaks blandly, as is if he was ordering a coffee. "I-I don't have insurance.. How much do you think the repairs will be?" Oikawa gnaws at his lip, hands fidgeting at his sides. "For yours I would say $300 and for mine, probably $700." His breath hitches in his throat. $1000?! That's a whole two month's rent and gas money! Iwa-chan is gonna end me.. The stranger raises an eyebrow at his frozen state, then returns to his car. "Wait, where are you going?" Oikawa anxiously tugs at his hair, watching the man reach into his car, then walk back over. "Here is my card. I'll have both of our cars towed. We can discuss money arrangements over dinner tonight." Oikawa takes the card, reading it over. Ushijima Wakatoshi. "Is seven alright? At the Sky Lounge?" Ushijima says, as if they were going to the local ramen shop around the corner. "The Sky Lounge?! Uh, I don't think I own a suit.." Oikawa squeaks, overwhelmed by the expensive suggestion. Slaving his way through college and to support his family left little money for himself. "It's fine. I'll rent a private table. You should grab your things from your car, since it's being towed." Oikawa whips around to see his car being hooked up to a tow truck, unbeknown to him. "Excuse me! Could you wait a minute, so I can pull my stuff out of my car?" The driver gives him the go ahead, so he pulls his bag and peacoat out of the front seat. "That's all you have?" Ushijima asks, which makes Oikawa go scarlet in the cheeks. "Uh, yeah. Most of my money goes to my college fees, rent, or family." After putting on his jacket, he pulls out his phone to check the time. "Sorry Mr. Wakatoshi, sir! I have to run or I'll be late for work! I'll see you at eight!" He bows, then dashes down the sidewalk out of sight. Ushijima lets out a deep breath, a pink tint flushing his cheeks. He pulls his Blackberry from his pocket, shooting a text to his secretary. Ushijima: Book me a private dinner @ the Sky Lounge. Reservation for two at eight. Tendou: Sir yes sir! He re-pockets his cellphone, and walks over to greet the tow trucker. - "Tooruuuuuuu~! Give me another drinkkkk~!” Kuroo Tetsurou, one of his classmates, slurs from his seat. His glass of whisky reduced to melting ice cubes. Drying some shot glasses fresh from the dishwasher, Oikawa laughs at his friend, who is moping over a fight with roommate. "Nope, you need to go back to your apartment and apologize to Kenma." A low guttural whine comes from Kuroo, his head buried into his arms. The air conditioning blows his bedhead hair softly, almost without notice. "I didn't know there was only one fruit pop left! I wasn't paying attentionnnnn!" He sobs into his arms, catching the looks of a few customers. "Alright, I'm calling Bo. You are bothering the customers." Oikawa flicks Kuroo in the head, an annoyed sigh parting from his lips. "Don't need to do that, I'm already here!" A loud hoot comes from the front door, belonging to the one and only Bokuto Koutarou. "Thank my lucky stars you showed up. I need him off my hands, I have somewhere to be tonight." Oikawa winks, refilling a customer's drink. "Ohohoho? You got a date?" Bokuto wiggles his eyebrows, slinging an arm around their moping friend. "I crashed my car into some wealthy guy's Mercedes Benz, and he wants to talk about the repairs over dinner at some fancy smancy bar. So kinda?" He shrugs, wiping the bar down. The clock ticks slowly, and Oikawa's anxiety rises with each passing minute. "Well good luck! We are gonna go buy some fruit pops for Kenma!" Bokuto waves, dragging Kuroo off. "Byeee Tooru!!” Kuroo calls, hiccuping loudly. - "Iwa-chan, do you like the white button up, or the black one?" Holding up two shirts, Oikawa turns to his best friend, who looks like he would rather be anywhere else. "You've asked me this like, twenty times. Just wear the black one with your boots, you know the girly ones." Iwazumi puts his earbud back in his ear, trying to watch the newest Godzilla movie for the third time. Realizing he doesn't have much time, Oikawa sticks with that option. After refreshing his makeup, and adding a bit of glitter, he heads outside. A small crowd is formed at the exit of their apartment complex, which is odd for their part of town. "Momma look! It's a limo!" A little boy on the second floor squeals excitedly, face pressed against the cool glass. Oikawa slips between the crowd, making his way out the front exit. The anxiety starts to get worse. "Oikawa Tooru?" A messy red haired man calls him from over by the limo, which is what Oikawa hoped to avoid. "Uh yeah?" Making his way over to the limo, the audience in the lobby starts chittering louder. "Mr. Wakatoshi sent me to come pick you up, since your car is in the shop." The redhead smiles, his name tag that flashes 'Satori Tendou' brightly at him moves loosely as he talks. He opens the door, ushering Oikawa in. Sliding to the far corner, he is met with an empty car, the back being longer and wider than his own bathroom. "The ride is about 10 minutes. Relax and have a drink, if you like!" Tendou smiles again through the open privacy window, then turns to bicker with the chauffeur. "Shut up Tendou, you are gonna scare him. I'm Tsutomu Goshiki, but you can just call me Goshiki." A man younger than Tendou introduces himself, pushing said man out of the privacy windows view. "Stupid bowl cut.." The window shuts, but Oikawa can still hear them bicker. The ride is short, and a bit of a blur. The anxiety starts to gnaw at his insides, making him shift uncomfortably. The car stops, and the door he came in quickly opens. A large, familiar hand sticks it's way in to help him out. Taking it, he is pulled onto the concrete. "I'm glad you made it." Ushijima smiles at him, bringing the hand he is holding to his lips. "Y-Yeah, me too?" Oikawa blushes, his chocolate eyes locked with Ushijima's olive eyes. Lowering Oikawa's hand, but not letting go, Ushijima guides him to their private table at the lounge. After they get their drinks ordered, they get straight to business. “So… I know I don’t have any money to pay you back with-” “You don’t need to worry about that. I actually brought you here to propose an offer.” Ushijima cuts him off, leaving him a bit speechless. “After explaining your financial problems to me, I realized that you might be the one I’m looking for. I I need someone to be my significant other for the public, so they can get off my back. I’ll pay you weekly, just name your price.” Oikawa looks up from his drink, worry written across his face. Would he be safe? Would his family be safe? Is the money worth it? Could he do this? His answer? “I’ll do it.” - They eventually settled on 500 a week, (though Ushijima tried to start with a minimum of 1000) and their meetings were all public for the time being. Business dinners, promotion speeches for the tech company he worked for, the list went on. When he and Ushijima discussed their deal, he said their deal for the public eye. So why was he on the elder’s comfy but expensive couch, a small corgi sound asleep in his lap? Oikawa asked himself the same thing often, but would usually get distracted from answering the question by work or thinking about Ushijima. Over a small matter of a few months, the CEO had him wound tightly around his finger. Iwa-chan scolded him at first for taking the job, but as his mood changed and things got better, Iwazumi came to realize things even before he did. “Cut the crap Oinkawa and just ask him to be your boyfriend. We both know this isn’t pretend anymore.” He didn’t want to admit it, but he did have a teeny crush on the other. The tink of two mugs on the nearby table pulled Oikawa out of his thoughts. Ushijima smiled at the small pup passed out in his lap, taking a very close seat next to him. “I made the tea you like, the ginger one.” He says softly, careful not to wake the dog. After Iwazumi made his comment, Oikawa started to notice small gestures that weren’t just friendly. Glancing up the Ushijima, he chuckles to himself when noticing a small drop of toothpaste on the corner of his lip. He had come to learn that even a stoic man as himself, the man had his (adorable) flaws. This included being a bit ditzy. “Hold still..” Oikawa reaches out, hand curling delicately around the base of his jaw. His thumb brushes against the bridge between his lip and his nose. He doesn’t even notice Ushijima leaning forward until he can feel the warm breathe on his cheek. Glancing up to his eyes, and back down to his lips, Ushijima leans a bit more forward, connecting their lips. Hooking an arm behind his neck, they kiss for what seems like awhile, but probably isn’t. Oikawa would have loved to make up for lost time, but Sammy had other ideas. The now wide awake corgi springs from his lap, and in between their lips. “Sammy! Gross!” Oikawa squeals loudly, worming his way backwards, and falling off the couch. Ushijima scrambles to help him up, but ends up finding a way to sneak another kiss before the dog intrudes again. Oikawa just laughs, thinking he could get use to this.

[lifeonashelf]

CLARKSON, KELLY

Since we’ve already tackled a fairly diverse musical sampling in this tome, it may not shock you to learn that I sincerely think Kelly Clarkson is awesome-sauce. And I’m not just referring to her talent (which is obviously abundant) or her register of great songs (which is also obviously abundant), I’m referring to her essence—the authenticity she embodies, and how much more fundamentally likeable she is than any other pop star of her stature or epoch. I have not met Kelly Clarkson, yet her entire vocational ethos has been so blessedly free of pretention that I kind of feel like I know her, even though the only thing I know for a fact about Kelly Clarkson is that she is a singer named Kelly Clarkson.

I never viewed one episode of the American Idol season she won and I have never seen her interviewed as far as I can recall. The impressions I have of her character are intrinsic, based on nothing more than the calmative sound of her voice and the traits I instinctively suppose a person whose voice sounds like hers must surely possess (certain voices are just like that—I don’t think anyone on the planet assumes Morgan Freeman is a dick, for instance). By that criteria alone, I am led to believe Kelly Clarkson is a kind human being, the sort of gentle soul who gleans authentic happiness from making other people happy. I am led to believe she is a humble human being, the sort of grateful and unaffected luminary who lends her resources to numerous charitable causes without requiring any fanfare for it. I am led to believe she is a wonderful mother, although I am merely presuming she has kids since I don’t actually know anything about her personal life. And I am so innately certain of these things that if someone told me they have it on good authority that Kelly Clarkson bathes in the blood of kittens to preserve her youth, I wouldn’t believe that person for a second, even if they had pictures (conversely, if someone told me the same thing about Taylor Swift, they wouldn’t even need photos to convince me).

I have an anecdote which supports my hypotheses, even if the anecdote isn’t my own. My cousin Lauren worked at a restaurant in Hawaii for a few years, and on her last day at this café, a vacationing Kelly Clarkson happened to stop in to eat there. Since it was Lauren’s final shift, her co-workers were scribbling farewell messages on her uniform with magic markers throughout the day, inscribing it like the pages of a yearbook. My cousin’s engraved vestment drew the notice of the eatery’s eminent visitor, who amiably asked about its significance; when Lauren explained the circumstances to this world-renowned superstar in her establishment, Clarkson proceeded to gush about how delightful she thought the gesture was and asked if she could add her signature to the shirt. As a result, my cousin is now the proud owner of a decidedly unique piece of apparel which is autographed by a slew of her former hospitality industry peers… and Kelly Clarkson. When Lauren told me this story, I was acutely charmed and—yes, I admit—a little envious. But I was not a bit surprised, because that is exactly the sort of genial exchange I imagine everybody who meets Kelly Clarkson probably has with her (conversely, if Lauren told me that Taylor Swift came into her restaurant, wrote “fuck you” on her t-shirt, then defecated on the floor, she wouldn’t even need the signed garment to convince me).    

While artists like Lady Gaga and Nicki Minaj have allocated periods of their careers to embodying post-apocalyptic femme-bots or community-theater sorceresses or whatever-the-fuck, Kelly Clarkson has exclusively devoted her career to embodying a performer named Kelly Clarkson who doesn’t come across as markedly different than the self-effacing lass named Kelly Clarkson who curls up on her tour bus after her concerts to watch old episodes of Friends (granted, I have no idea if Clarkson is a fan of that particular show, but she sounds like she must be). The only way I would ever recognize Lady Gaga in the wild is if she walked up to me and said, “Hi, my name is Lady Gaga”—and after I nodded and remarked, “oh, that’s kinda neat for you,” I can’t imagine I’d have much else to say to her. Yet if I happened to be at a craft store and I spotted Clarkson browsing the yarn aisles (for some reason, I also presuppose she knits a mean sweater), I would instantly know who I was spotting because she would probably look exactly like Kelly Clarkson always does, and I’d feel duty-bound to approach her, shake her hand, and thank her for being all of the things I assume she is. And if she wanted to hang out for a little while and chat about patterns, I would totally hear her out, because listening to Kelly Clarkson extrapolate on the textile arts sounds like a perfectly pleasant way to spend an afternoon. I have a strong sense that if I were to meet up with Kelly Clarkson for coffee—actually, now that I think about it, she probably prefers tea—we would totally get along; I also have a strong sense that Kelly Clarkson is precisely the kind of celebrity who actually would meet up with a fan for tea (not me, obviously, because I clearly sound like a lunatic right now).  

“The Girl Next Door” is such a tired trope (especially in my case, since the girls who live next door to me are a Goth lesbian couple), but that is indeed the model Clarkson educes: an ingenuous small-town gal-done-good who spent her teenaged weekends canning homemade jam with her grandmother and reading YA romance novels on her porch with a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade beside her (again, I’m not sure Kelly Clarkson did any of these things; regrettably, my insights into small-town living are limited to the saccharine tableaus represented in the Lifetime Original movies I’ve watched over the years—which, consequently, I presume Clarkson also enjoys). Her comportment evokes a high-spirited yet enduringly sweet kid sister you impulsively want to protect from the leering eyes of the world, and while she is certainly a beautiful woman, my attraction to her has never ventured anywhere near the realm of the erotic (my pop chanteuse crush is Demi Lovato, whose open struggles with bi-polar disorder, depression, and substance abuse—perhaps unfortunately—make her way more my type than Clarkson is). Honestly, I can’t envision making out with Kelly Clarkson; any fantasies my brain might entertain about her would be more likely to involve tracking down whatever scoundrel inspired the fervent pathos in her performance of “Behind These Hazel Eyes” and defending her honor by punching that fucker in the face.

I guess the word I’m really looking for here is “refreshing.” While Clarkson built her renown in a realm of play-acting, her career has been defined by an absence of artifice, which is ultimately a much more substantive thing to define oneself by than prowling around in spangled booty shorts. At her peak, Clarkson’s implicit message to the young women in her fanbase seemed to be, “you don’t have to pretend to be something you’re not; just be who you are and great things will happen.” I’m certainly no prig, but if I had a music-consuming daughter who looked to pop idols for guidance, I’d much rather her absorb that philosophy than the one proffered by, say, Rihanna—whose well-publicized turbulent coupling with Chris Brown would instead tacitly edify my fictional offspring that “ride-or-die” means sticking by your man even after he beats the absolute fucking shit out of you.

Of course, Kelly Clarkson’s ascent was predominantly reliant on her faculty—I doubt millions of people bought her records solely because she’s a nice person—yet in that respect also, she handily outshined her contemporaries. While most of the circa-aughts female pop icons were essentially sonically interchangeable, Clarkson’s soaring vocals always had enough distinctive character to render them unmistakably hers—surely, no amount of Auto-Tune could have endowed the bottom-scraping likes of Fergie with enough juice to do “Because of You” justice. She was also savvy beyond her years, and it was her refusal to let her handlers dictate the course of her career that ultimately allowed her to flourish when so many of her fellow American Idol graduates floundered.

Clarkson’s sophomore album—2004’s Breakaway—turned out to be the best-selling entry in her discography, and will likely forever remain her most iconic opus. But she had to fire her manager and battle just about everyone else in her camp to make that disc happen on her terms. After riding the wave of Idol worship which lifted her safe and satisfactory debut Faithful to its logical ceiling, she was tenacious in her resolve to transcend that threshold and announce herself as an artist capable of achieving far greater heights than triumphing in a televised popularity contest. As preparations for Breakaway began, Clarkson insisted on being heavily involved in the songwriting process—disregarding the protests of her mostly-male producers, who myopically deemed that a twenty-something woman couldn’t possibly possess any insight into what the twenty-something women who comprised the largest audience for the record they were making wanted to hear. She was also adamant about integrating more diverse and dynamic elements into her sound instead of simply settling upon another cycle of tepid pop-contemporary numbers. The result was a monster of a record that offered up five chart-igniting classics and a supporting cast of remarkably strong deep cuts. As evidenced on Breakaway, Kelly Clarkson’s vision of her craft encompassed something much weightier than a series of Pez-dispenser singles and shark-costume dance numbers. She clearly wanted to make a cohesive album that never gave the listener occasion to reach for the Track-Skip button, and she succeeded brilliantly. Commencing with the anthemic title cut, the feisty “Since U Been Gone”, the masterful “Behind These Hazel Eyes”, and the show-stopping apogee “Because of You” in immediate succession, Breakaway is surely a front-loaded disc, but it’s nevertheless one that continues delivering gems long after it exhausts its radio bait: “Addicted” is as solid as anything else on the record, “Walk Away” brims with irresistible quirk, and despite being buried near the tail-end of the track listing, “You Found Me” is more indelible than most other artists’ biggest hits.

This, too, illustrates a refreshing component of Clarkson’s mien—she made an entire record worth listening to, a feat which regrettably few artists on the pop landscape ever seem to bother themselves with. None of the tunes on Breakaway resonate as throwaways; each has something to offer beyond a hummable chorus, and each is solely Clarkson’s domain, firmly entrenched in her esthetic wheelhouse and blessedly devoid of any posturized pandering or blundering Ja Rule cameos. Even at this early stage of her artistic development, she possessed a seasoned understanding of the clear difference between making a song marketable and making a song memorable, and a keen awareness that those two things are not mutually exclusive. Surely, Clarkson was just as aggressively promoted as any of her peers, but her product wasn’t aimed at the audience hungry for gyrating, hypersexual caprice—peddlers like Christina Aguilera already had that demographic covered. Kelly Clarkson wasn’t selling her navel, she was selling a much more durable commodity: fantastic songs performed by an exceptional singer. And the grandeur of her vocal acumen elevated her wares beyond the disposable and into the timeless—indeed, as of this writing, Breakaway remains a thoroughly satisfying listen; meanwhile, nobody would bother spinning an Ashlee Simpson album from start to finish today, not even Ashlee Simpson.

And unlike far too many of her colleagues, Clarkson didn’t require a force-field of studio trickery to bolster her transmission. The organic nuance and passion in her voice floated atop the reverb rather than drowning in it, and the intricate, exquisite descants she conjured revealed hours spent mining her soul for the best way to communicate the emotion each track called for instead of pondering what shoes to wear in the eventual video. Which is probably why “Since U Been Gone” still makes me pogo around my apartment every time I put it on, while every Katy Perry song sounds like it was specifically written for a lipgloss commercial.

Clarkson’s output has waned in the last decade or so—though “Stronger” is a notable high-point—but even if her most significant work is destined to remain behind her, the legacy she built for herself transcends her standing as the first and most successful American Idol victor (at press time, that is; I’m willing to entertain the possibility that Lee DeWyze or one of the seven other winners whose names nobody remembers might still create the most amazing record ever made). After weathering an era replete with shameful moments like the skinhead meltdown of Britney Spears, The Pussycat Dolls pledging the drooling males in their litterbox echelons of filthy sluttery their lowly mortal girlfriends could never aspire to, and Lindsay Lohan being Lindsay Lohan, Kelly Clarkson emerged with her class, her dignity, and her career intact. The reality-TV platform that introduced her to the world is now a footnote, but her catalog continues to stand the test of time. And even though I actually shook Randy Jackson’s hand when he ate at the restaurant where I work (take that, Lauren), Clarkson will always be the American Idol alumnus I feel most closely connected to.

Speaking of… Kelly, if you’re reading this: my last shift at Eureka is on Monday, January 28. If you happen to be in the vicinity of Claremont that night and feel like swinging by, I’d be honored to have you sign my shirt. Just don’t invite Taylor Swift, please; I heard she does some really gnarly shit to kittens.

 January 17, 2019

[lordhenry]

survey 20

What did you last eat? Lasagna and iced mocha.

How long does it take you to fall asleep? A long time. I’ve been trying out some sleeping/relaxation pills lately. Up to 5 capsules a day which sounds ridiculous, so I haven’t been following that rec.

What are you looking forward to? The end of this job.

Did you have a weird dream last night? I might’ve had one, I always do.

When you close your eyes what do you see? Black.

Do you ask enough questions or do you settle for what you know? I ask questions.

Are you more worried about doing things right, or doing the right things? Doing the right thing. I already do things right, I wouldn’t worry much about that.

In what way are you your own worst enemy? I’m a harsh critic. 

What white lies do you often tell? That I’m fine or that something’s fine, etc. Just to avoid explanations.

What activities make you lose track of time? Browsing the internet, for sure.

What bad habits do you want to break? Having a bad sleeping habit.

When do you feel most like yourself? When no one’s home and I’m in a good mood and the coffee maker’s brewing, there’s a slight rain, my cat is cuddly, the temperature’s just right, and everything is neither this nor that.

When you help someone do you ever think, “What’s in it for me?” Not if I genuinely wanted to help. Yes if I really had to.

How do you know when it’s time to continue holding on or time to let go? When I stop being happy, let go. I’m bad at keeping things.

How do you find the strength to do what you know in your heart is right? ...Yeah, how? I always do what I think is logical.

How do you deal with someone in a position of power who wants you to fail? Be better.

Who do you tell your secrets to? No one. What are secrets anyway? I don’t think I keep much. There’s certainly not very many secrets in my life to keep in the first place.

Who do you live with? At the moment, I’m by myself in this apartment, temporarily. Technically, I sort of “live” with Pamela, but not necessarily as we don’t sleep in the same house.

Do you think you were raised well? I was raised fine for a while, until my nanny died and my mother took me back and after that I pretty much raised myself (in terms of motherly/caring aspect, money-wise I had (still have) the full support of my parents obviously). With how I turned out, I’m pretty glad I had this independency? But also it’s kinda sad to think of? lol.

How do you handle stress? I do things I like. I drink a lot of coffee, maybe some alcohol, read a bit, do interesting things or maybe nothing at all. It really does not matter at this point because I sometimes cannot tell when I am stressed and when I am fine. I’m always just fine. //???? does that make sense?

If there was true love on one side of the street and a million bucks on the other which one would you pick? Money can be earned. True love, I’m not very sure. I suppose I’ll go after true love. I’m a capable person, I believe I’ll go far by myself. Plus, if true love would be able to make me a happier person, who’s to say money would matter THAT much? No idea.

Do you think you know the meaning of true love? I might not. I probably don’t. But so far, love to me is unconditionally being there and supporting somebody regardless of their shortcomings but NOT wrongdoings. If you love somebody, you wouldn’t be supporting that.

The last time you kissed someone…was it someone you see yourself with? Not anymore.

If your parents didn’t like the person you were dating, would you lose them? I don’t think my parents would do that actually, but if they were to hold me back from loving somebody.. it wouldn’t sit well with me.

Be with someone cute and a jerk or ugly and kind? Ugly and kind. You can be the cutest fucker in the world, but if you’re a dickhead, you can exit.

Kids then marriage or marriage then kids? Marriage. The end. Haha, maybe a kid or two after a while. I don’t think of that yet. I don’t even think of marriage, but it would be a nice thing to happen to me.

Do you see yourself as “good” person? I’m neutral-good, I think. I’m not 100% lawful, and I don’t go out of my way to do good things.. but likewise, I don’t do bad things on purpose as well.

Are you the type that would rather stay at other people’s houses or have them at yours?  I’d rather be the guest than have a guest over. At least I’m sure I know how to behave like a guest. I don’t feel comfortable having guests at home (except for my best friend). 

Are you excited for the future? Terrified.

Your ex shows up randomly at your house, what do you say? ......Why?

Your boyfriend/girlfriend cheats on you with your friend, who are you mad at? Both.

Who’s the last person of the opposite sex to hug you?  I don’t remember, honestly.

What’s a happy time you’ve had in the past week? Uhhh. When I started feeling okay about this new environment.

Where did you go in a car last? I took an uber from Resorts World to the mall.

When did/will you graduate? 2018.

When are you moving next? October this year or late September most probably, to Leicester. Temporarily anyway.

Why are you stressed? Mainly work and my constant lack of sleep for which my sleeping pills are not working.

Where do you keep your birth certificate? I keep official copies of my important documents such as that in my personal file box, as well as digitally.

What is the closest orange object to you? Glue (its packaging at least).

How many books are in your room? I’m not in my room and have not been in my room for 2 weeks now. But back home, I have no idea. I have lots.

Have you ever been IN a wedding? Yep.

Could you handle being in the military? Maybe as a medic or medical volunteer or something like so.

What is something you’re really good at? Thinking of ideas, especially when a topic/subject is ready. And double-checking like a paranoid maniac.

When was the last time someone told you that you were beautiful/good-looking? Do people often tell you this? Indirectly.. A few days ago.. monday? I can’t remember but definitely this week at work. A superior told me I looked like someone else from a different department (which irked me a bit ahaha) but she said not to worry cause she’s beautiful.

Is there someone who was important to you at one point, but isn’t part of your life anymore? Is there anything you’d like to say to that person? Yeah and no.

What’s your current problem? I need a minibar.

Are you wearing anything shiny? My diamond ring.

What is something you disliked about your day? The tax profiles I had to create for a superior too lazy (or maybe just slow) to have it done on time.

Will tomorrow be a good day? I think so. No work on Friday so yeah.

What are your plans for tomorrow? Work 8-5. Sleep early.

Do you have any plans for college? Yeah. Almost finished with it.

Have you had any form of exercise today? Walking lmao.

How old are you? 18.

Have you ever received a text message that made you cry? Yep. Pretty sure I shed tears when Gera was on his way to the airport or something.

Where did you go last? Uh in general today, just work. But literally only 10 minutes ago I had to stop this survey and rush to the comfort room because my nose randomly bled (like a faucet tbh) as I was typing.... freaked me out.

Have you recently broken up with a significant other or even just a friend? I guess it was pretty recent. 

What’s the weather like today? Is it nice enough to go outside? It’s warm, I think that might be why my nose just bled randomly (but the aircon was on... idk). No.

Do you know anyone who’s had a baby recently? Yeah.

Have you used a pen or pencil today? What did you write down? Not today.

What does your last text message say and who is it from? From Ian, he asked if we were all fine, and said it’s getting warmer in Dubai.

Does your skin bruise easily? Do you have any bruises right now? What from? I am not sure how easily, I rarely get scraps and bruises. But I do have one right now. I had my blood drawn, the Dr had trouble with my vein.

Do you prefer yes or no questions or more open-ended questions? Depends on who’s asking and how much I would like to converse with them/elaborate.

What brand of toilet paper do you usually buy? Whatever’s thick.

What’s your favourite scent of air freshener? Green apples or something clean and fresh.

How often do you wear make-up? I don’t bother during free days/weekends, but for work I have to wear makeup.

If you had the money, would you take taxis everywhere instead of driving? I do this a lot.

Have you ever done a juice cleanse? No, but I want to.

Do you have any friends who you can’t decide if they’re attractive or not? Yes. I also can’t decide how ugly I am.

What’s the first thing you tend to do when you have a headache? Take meds.

Tell me about your responsibilities at work. I’m interning right now, it’s a very weird responsibility.. it’s a bit all over the place. Compensation & Benefits under HR department, sometimes helpdesk - explaining loan requirements, accepting them, giving passwords, resetting passwords, fixing meal plans and RFID concerns so it’s almost IT but not really, then sometimes it’s creating tax profiles.. or encoding.. or just simply photocopying. I don’t get what I’m really supposed to do at times except help out? Random shit. It’ll only be for another 2 and a half months anyway.

What song is stuck in your head at the moment? I don’t wanna waste my time by Joji tbh.

Have you ever lost enough weight to drop a dress size? More like, gained. I went up one size. From 2 to 4. (Sometimes even 6 tbh.)

What’s your favourite kind of bread? White or wheat. Idk banana bread is good too, I like bread.

When was the last time you got pizza? What toppings did you get? Few weeks ago, plain cheese.

You have to choose one: cats or dogs? Cats. I’ve got a Siamese.

How do you travel to and from work? Bus.

What do you think is the first thing people notice about you, when they meet you? They say I’m: quiet, intimidating, scary, blank, unapproachable, etc. lol.

Do you believe in God? How about ghosts? Aliens? God, I’m not very sure, but it would be nice to find him/her/it. Ghosts.. I can’t tell, I had an experience once when I was alone at home, but I like to think that I’m not sure, that it could’ve been imagined. Aliens, sure. There’s so much we haven’t explored.

What did you have for lunch yesterday? Shrimp, I think.

What does your last text message from someone of the same sex say? "Can’t open the door, just come out.”

Have you ever told anyone you never wanted to see/speak to them again? Did you mean it? Probably.

Do you drink tap water, or do you prefer it bottled? Bottled.

Are you unhappy, for any reason at all? Yeah.

Do you regret your last relationship? To an extent, but not really.

Can you find 3 items in the room that are white? Pill bottles, nasal spray, my earphones.

How about 3 items that are red? Bottle cap, Burberry purse (technically a bit of a plum colour but close enough), jewellery box.

Who was the last person of the opposite sex to initiate a conversation with you? What was the topic of conversation? Probably Jeremy, idk something random probably. We converse frequently nowadays, but mostly random unimportant bullshit.

Have you ever been told that you’re awesome? Yeah.

What swear word do you use the most? Fuck. I try not to.

What colour is the carpet in the room you’re in? No carpet in my room, but downstairs it’s black and white.

Would you go out with the last male that Facebook messaged you? No.

Tell me about one of your most embarrassing moments. When I had my physical exam last Friday, oh my god. The doctor had to check my breasts for lumps, and etc. I had to get naked. On the outside, I was blank and just did everything the doctor asked, but inside I was dying of embarrassment lmao.

Do you consider yourself to be an attractive person, or do you feel unattractive compared to others around you? And if you feel unattractive, what do you think it is that makes you feel that way? It really depends. There are days when I feel uglier than usual. There are days when I think I look nice. I want to say I don’t care, but I do. What I think makes me feel this way is ?? I dunno? don’t we all feel like this to some degree?

Think about the first person you had a relationship with. Were you ‘in love’ with that person? Would you take him/her back? No. I thought I was, but then again when do I ever know how to feel about other people idk?