#There was this whole paragraph of me trying to say

[miorirenkova]

"dream about me" CHAPTER 04

park sunghoon x fem!reader

“park that car, drop that phone

sleep on the floor, dream about me.”

CHAPTER 01, CHAPTER 02, CHAPTER 03, CHAPTER 04, CHAPTER 05

synopsis: you weren’t a good person—everyone knew that. cruel, sharp-tongued, and ruthless in high school. but you weren’t a killer. at least, that’s what you told yourself.

just as you were trying to change, news breaks: your high school enemy, park hana, has taken her own life before university.

and her brother?

he’s convinced it’s your fault. determined to make you pay. but the deeper he digs, the more you both realize—hana’s death isn’t as simple as it seems.

warnings: heavy mentions of suicide, self harm and bullying, violence, abuse, terrible parenting, heavy topics like death (mentions of a character’s death), gaslighting, manipulation, corruption, blackmail, guilt, trauma, revenge, LOTS of angst, fixation, smut (smut warnings will be given in the smut chapter!!), forgive me if i miss any/more might be added

note: sorry about not doing my requests yet, just a lil busy pand trying to focus on this. will get to them soon trust

song for this chapter: scott street by phoebe bridgers

word count: 15.6k words

whole paragraphs in italic are flashbacks of past events and color text without quotations are lyrics ! if they have quotations too, they are lyrics + dialogue in story.

playlist link: click here !

mdni . hate comments will be deleted.

the kitchen is dimly lit, the only light coming from the glow of the refrigerator left slightly ajar. the clock above the sink ticks softly, the silence between each second pressing in like a weight. sunghoon pauses in the hallway, his eyes adjusting to the low light, and sees her—hana—sitting at the counter in some oversized sweater, legs pulled up onto the stool, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of her.

she doesn’t notice him at first. she’s staring into the bowl like she’s waiting for it to speak, spoon limp in her hand. her hair is tied up messily, and her face looks washed out, almost too pale against the navy of the sweater. the kind of tired that seeps into your bones, not the kind a good night’s sleep can fix.

he steps inside, careful not to startle her. "you’re up late."

her head jerks slightly in surprise anyways, but when she turns to him, she just nods. it doesn’t reach her eyes. "couldn’t sleep."

he moves to the sink, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. "me neither. too much going on in my head, i suppose."

hana hums in agreement, but it’s a quiet sound. barely there. she takes another bite of cereal and chews slowly, like it takes too much energy to do even that. there’s something off about her—more than usual. it’s not just exhaustion. it’s like she’s not really here.

"you’ve been quiet since dinner," sunghoon says, trying to sound casual.

she shrugs. "just tired. school’s a lot."

he leans against the counter, watching her. "you’re usually better at faking it."

hana lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. "guess i’m slipping."

for a moment, he sees it—just a flicker—when her sleeve shifts as she lifts the spoon. a faint mark on her wrist, thin and almost healed, but unmistakable. his chest tightens. he wants to say something, ask why, ask if it was because of what happened, what she’s been going through, why she’s so… gone.

but he doesn’t. maybe it’s fear. maybe it’s denial. maybe it’s because if he asks, he has to hear the answer. maybe he knows. maybe he doesn't.

maybe he's willing to accept the wrong answer that he has in his mind. as long as it filled the blank. helped him avoid the truth.

avoid the truth, that's what sunghoon's always done.

so instead, he says, "mom and dad are just on edge. it’s not you. you know how they are."

hana looks down at her cereal again. "it’s always me."

her voice is so quiet he almost doesn’t catch it.

"what?"

she shakes her head. "nothing."

a beat passes.

"but maybe that’s fair, they don't expect much of you." she adds, even quieter this time before looking towards him, still avoiding his eyes and scoffing.

sunghoon straightens a little. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

she meets his eyes for the first time, and for a second, he sees something heavy there—something dark and too complex for words. but then it’s gone. she blinks, and her smile is back, paper-thin.

"don’t worry about it. just me being dramatic."

he doesn’t push. maybe he should. but he doesn’t.

hana stands up, rinses her bowl in the sink, and walks past him with a soft "goodnight." he watches her disappear down the hallway, the sleeves of the sweater that were previously rolled up now falling down, her steps silent.

he stays in the kitchen for a while after that, staring at the empty stool she left behind. the refrigerator hums quietly beside him. there’s something in his throat he can’t swallow down.

he tells himself everything's fine. their parents have always been like this. what's another day?

that she’s just tired. that she’s stressed, like everyone else.

but deep down, a part of him knows he missed something. that maybe she wanted him to miss it.

and still, he let her walk away.

the car ride to the police station is quiet, except for the dull hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the radio that no one bothers to fix. you sit in the back seat, hands in your lap.

you don’t ask questions. you don’t speak unless spoken to. the officer in the passenger seat glances back at you now and then, but he doesn’t say much either. his partner drives like the road is made of glass. slow. deliberate. quiet tension hangs in the air like fog.

you keep your gaze out the window the whole time, watching the city blur past. familiar roads, cafés you’ve been to. the ride was pretty uneventful.

all you could do was watch the world blur past through the window. the city is bustling. early morning, students getting to university or school and others getting to their jobs. it feels like you’re slipping into a different version of the world—one where time is slower and things feel heavier.

no matter what might be going on with someone else, the rest of the world remains unaffected, everyone going on with their daily routine. it's a reminder, in a way, that the world will always go on. time and life don't stop even when you feel like the world is crashing down on you.

when the car finally pulls up to the station, your stomach knots. the building isn’t as intimidating as it should be—just gray brick and glass, with a flickering security light over the entrance. but still, every step toward the door feels heavier than the last. like something is pulling you backward, whispering that you shouldn’t be here.

well, no shit, you know that. you know you shouldn't be here.

the air in the police station is sterile and too cold. it smells like paper, burnt coffee, and something metallic that clings to your tongue. fluorescent lights buzz overhead. the walls are washed in off-white, lined with framed badges and safety posters. it smells like cleaning chemicals and old paper.

the station isn’t as intimidating as movies make it out to be. a few officers nod to the officer who brought you here as he passes by, but no one really looks at you. it’s quiet. oddly calm.

he leads you down a hallway to a small room—not an interrogation chamber, not exactly. just a plain room with a table and two chairs. a clock ticks somewhere nearby. the AC hums faintly overhead.

you sit stiffly in the narrow chair across from the officer, fingers locked tightly together in your lap. the fluorescent light overhead buzzes faintly, just enough to be annoying. it feels like you’re being watched from every corner of the room, even though you aren't.

or maybe you are, who knows.

the officer who walks you in—detective mark, his badge reads—offers you water, which you decline. your mouth’s too dry to drink anyway.

"just need to ask a few questions," he says as he takes a seat across from you, opening a navy colored folder. "you’re not under arrest. this is just to help us clarify a few things. we’re just reopening some things regarding the hana park case. we’re reaching out to people who were close to her back then."

you look up at the detective, scoffing. "you don't have to lie to get me to stay calm, officer. i already know why i was called here."

the detective raises his eyebrows before leaning back in his seat, smirking amusingly. "then, that makes my job easier."

he flips the folder open slowly, almost theatrically, like he wants to draw out the tension in the room. your stomach twists at the sound of paper shifting. you can't see what he's looking at, but you catch your name typed in bold near the top of a document.

"let’s start simple," he says. "tell me about your relationship with hana park."

you exhale through your nose, sharp. "we weren’t friends, if that’s what you’re asking. we went to the same school. that’s about it."

he hums, pen tapping lightly against the folder. "did you ever fight?"

"define fight."

"any verbal altercations? disagreements? tension?"

you tilt your head, resisting the urge to laugh. "we were teenage girls in high school. what do you think?"

he writes something down, the scratch of his pen somehow louder than anything else in the room. "so there was tension?"

"if you’re trying to build a case off of high school drama, i think you're reaching."

"so, you're saying you didn't have any tension between her?"

you furrow your brow, shaking your head. "now when did i ever say that, detective mark?" you pause, before continuing. "i'm sure your witness told you all about that, though. why waste time in getting me to say it too?"

detective mark doesn’t respond right away. instead, he turns to a different page in the folder and slides it toward himself. "so you agree." he says casually. "you agree to having bullied her in high school?"

you stare at the folder, then at him. the word bullied feels like a punch to the gut, even though you’ve had years to prepare for it. even though it’s not the first time someone’s thrown that word at you. and even though… maybe, on some level, they’re not entirely wrong.

you swallow. "yeah," you say quietly. "i did."

detective mark doesn’t look surprised. he just nods, as if ticking a mental box. "care to elaborate?"

you run your fingers over your thumb, tracing over the nail like it might distract you from the lump forming in your throat.

"i was cruel," you admit, voice low. "not all the time. but when it counted. i said things i shouldn’t have. made her feel small. laughed when others did too. there were moments when i could’ve stopped it and i didn’t. moments when i made it worse."

you don’t look at him when you speak. you’re not sure you could.

"so why?" he asks.

you pause. "because she got under my skin. because she wasn’t as sweet as people like to pretend she was. and maybe because, deep down i envied her. the fact people cared for her no matter what. her parents did too."

that gets his attention. he sits forward a little. "meaning?"

"meaning," you sigh, eyes flicking toward the corner of the room, "she knew exactly what she was doing, too. hana wasn’t some defenseless, helpless victim. she had claws, she just knew how to hide them better. she played the part of the perfect girl when adults were watching, but she—she had her own way of hurting people. quiet, subtle. calculated."

you lean back in your chair, your gaze hardening slightly.

"she’d spread rumors and make sure they couldn’t be traced back to her. she’d isolate people, whisper things that made you question your friends. it wasn’t loud or obvious, but it was there. and if you ever tried to call her out, she'd act like you were insane. and people believed her. they always did."

detective mark raises a brow but doesn’t interrupt.

"so yeah," you continue, "i fought back. immaturely, harshly. i wasn't as good as her in controlling my emotions. in ways i regret. but i wasn’t the only one who did damage. i didn’t push her into a cliff. and, god, i’m tired of being painted as the sole villain just because i didn’t pretend to be nice."

a tense silence stretches between you.

shit.

you didn’t mean to say all of that. not like that. but now that it’s out, you don’t take it back. you can't.

"but, don't worry. i know how bad of a person i was too. hell, i'm reminded of it every day. i wasn't some saint. like i said, i was cruel and you don't have to tell me twice. i'm not trying to sugarcoat my actions."

detective mark nods slowly, flipping to another page. “and was anyone else aware of this? her… two-sided behavior?”

"i don't know, how am i supposed to know.." you paused before continuing. "she was sweet to everyone, i guess. she only behaved like that with me. don't ask me why, i'm just as clueless as you so i don't fucking know."

the detective nods before flipping through the pages, taking his attention off you.

he turns to a different page in the folder and slides it toward himself. "we asked the witness about the last notable interaction you and hana park had at school." he says casually. "he mentioned an incident a few months before graduation. something involving a confrontation between the two of you in the school courtyard."

you freeze.

your heart skips a beat, but your face stays neutral.

you remember that day. how hana had cornered you near the garden benches, how her voice had been loud enough to draw attention. how she'd twisted the truth until her version sounded cleaner, more sympathetic. and how sunghoon had seen it. how he’d believed her without a second thought.

you lick your lips, trying to find your voice. "what about it?"

"you tell me," the detective replies smoothly. "i want to hear your version."

you smile flatly. "my version won’t match the statement you have in that file."

"doesn’t matter. tell me anyway."

you pause, staring at the table, the cold metal edge pressing against your arms. then: "we argued, what else?"

you purposely leave out the painful part of that interaction. the part that solidified your doubts that day.

detective mark raises his eyebrows. you can’t tell if he believes you or if he’s just letting you speak.

"that's not the full truth, is it?"

you stay quiet. your mind is scattered, you don't know what to say.

"you know what i think?" he says, closing the folder. "i think there’s more to this story. and i don’t think you’re telling me everything. not yet."

"maybe i’m not," you reply, leaning forward slightly. "but that goes both ways, doesn’t it, detective? and plus, i told you everything that you asked for. i admitted i was a bad person. even told you about what i think of hana. not that you believe it."

his smirk fades, just slightly. "we have reason to believe hana’s death wasn’t as straightforward as it seemed. and based on what we’ve been given, you're a name we can't ignore."

"by sunghoon?" you ask flatly. you don't even try to hide the bitterness in your voice. you were avoiding mentioning his name till now, even though you already knew.

mark doesn't answer.

instead, he stands. "that’ll be all for now. you’re not being charged. but stay available in case we need to talk again."

before he walks out, you call him. "by the way, what exactly did your witness say about me?"

mark turns around. "confidential."

"seriously.. don't i have the right to at least know what i'm being accused of.."

he shrugs before walking out, the door closing behind him.

you remain seated for a second longer, fingers digging into your knees.

you don't know why you did that. why you barely said anything. you had a chance to talk about why it's not you. yet you didn't. you went quiet.

maybe you just don't care anymore. it's driving you insane and you just want this to end.

maybe you're sick of no one actually listening to your side of the story. never really believing you.

you tell yourself you're not guilty every time. that you aren't the reason. yet, when you're put on spot, you can barely say anything.

it feels painful to talk about anything negative related to hana because god, you aren't any better.

but you're happy with what you did say.

you rise out of your seat, following mark out, head spinning with more questions than answers.

you sit on the hard, plastic chair just outside the interrogation room, your arms wrapped around yourself even though the room isn't cold. it’s quiet, the kind of quiet that buzzes in your ears. same fluorescent lights hum overhead, and the faint sound of phones ringing and keyboards clacking drifts in from deeper inside the station.

you check your phone—low battery, two missed calls from emi, and a message from your family’s driver saying he’s stuck in traffic and will take at least twenty more minutes to get to you.

great.

you rub your eyes, leaning back and staring at the scuffed ceiling tiles. it’s funny how sterile everything feels here. emotionless. like the building itself doesn't care who walks in and out of it, or what they leave behind.

a soft click of a door opening draws your attention. two officers walk out of a hallway just off to your left, not noticing you sitting there as they continue their quiet conversation.

"—didn't think a family member would reopen the case himself." one of them says, flipping through a file.

"the brother, sunghoon park?" the other asks, voice curious.

"yeah. gave a written statement early morning. said he suspects someone and even gave text messages as proof."

your blood goes cold.

you don’t mean to eavesdrop, but your body goes still, ears straining.

"did you read it?" the second one asks.

"part of it," the first replies. "he said his sister had told him that the suspect—" there’s a pause, "—that she'd tried to push hana down the stairs, purposely. like a physical confrontation. apparently hana came home crying and suspect almost got suspended because of it."

your stomach drops. you know exactly what they’re talking about. the rumor. the lie.

"the department's treating it like crucial evidence now. it can't even be overlooked since it's coming from a family member of the victim."

you almost got suspended because she accused you of physically hurting her. you fucking didn't. you had never gone that far. you never tried to push her down the stairs! but of course, no one believed the bully. you can't even be mad about it. you had that reputation.

but honestly, maybe you should thank her. that day, the principal called your parents and for once, they actually came.

they scolded you pretty bad at home but hey, at least they noticed you.

no, wait ..what the fuck are you saying?! that doesn't make it any better. the police is actually basing the case off a false allegation?!

you clench your fists.

you remember every detail of it—how no one believed you even when you tried to explain. how hana wouldn’t meet your eyes after it spread. how sunghoon’s glare followed you down every hallway, convinced you were even worse than what he thought.

the whole thing damaged you mentally pretty fucking well.

the chair scrapes harshly against the tiled floor as you stand up abruptly. the sound earns a glance from the receptionist, but you’re already walking — storming — down the hallway where detective mark disappeared not long ago. your chest feels tight, heart pounding loud in your ears.

you make it halfway down the corridor before spotting him through a cracked office door, casually sipping from a paper cup while skimming through a file.

"detective mark,” you say, voice sharp.

he looks up, surprised. "miss—"

"you’re seriously basing this case off of that?" you step into the room, not waiting to be invited. "a story she made up years ago? something that never even happened?"

his expression doesn’t change much — he just lowers the cup and leans back slightly. "careful, miss. i can’t have you barging in here—"

"no, you don’t get to sit there and pretend this is procedure," you snap, anger bubbling past the point of reason. "she lied, it's a fucking lie! no one believed me then, and now you’re dragging it out like it’s proof i—"

you stop yourself, breathing hard.

his gaze narrows, calm but unyielding. "you’re saying it was an accusation she made back then?"

"yes!" you bite out. "she told people i pushed her down the stairs. that i was violent. everyone looked at me like i was a monster after that."

his silence is maddening.

"you think i don’t feel guilty about the way i treated her?" you go on, voice lower now, bitter. "i do. i think about it all the time. but i never stooped as low as physically hurting her."

detective mark says nothing for a long moment.

then he closes the file slowly, fingers tapping on the top of the folder. "we’ll follow the truth wherever it leads," he says finally. "if it turns out what you’re saying is right… that’ll come to light, too."

but you don’t feel reassured. not when the damage is already being done all over again.

you swallow back the rest of your frustration and leave before you say something you’ll regret.

your phone buzzes—driver’s outside.

you walk slowly, your legs stiff, heart heavier than when you walked in. outside the station doors, the sun is starting to dip beneath the skyline, casting long shadows across the pavement. you didn't realize it was that late.

you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and walk toward the car, the echo of their voices still lodged in your head.

the front door clicks shut behind you, the sound unusually loud in the quiet house.

your shoes are off before you even realize it, and your bag drops to the floor with a dull thud. the hallway is dim, just like always—your parents never remember to leave the lights on, or maybe they just don’t care to. the silence is so thick it presses against your skin.

there's soft noise from the cluttering of utensils, probably from one of the housekeepers.

you don’t turn on any lights. you know the way.

the living room feels colder, like the air hasn’t been disturbed in hours. you greet the housekeeper, with as much politeness as you could possibly foster up. you were exhausted, obviously.

you groan and fall onto the couch.

your phone buzzes. a message from emi.

emi: u good? call me back when you're free.

you stare at it for a few seconds before locking the screen and tossing the phone face-down onto the blankets sprawled out on the couch.

your gaze drifts to the coffee table, to the old yearbook shoved halfway under a stack of papers. you’d meant to throw it out years ago but never did. maybe part of you was waiting for someone else to throw it out for you.

just yesterday, it felt like you were so sure about your role in this whole thing.

and now—you’re not even sure what part you play in it anymore.

the fabric of the couch is cool against your skin. the house feels like it’s breathing with you, the quiet heavy and suffocating. the only light comes from the dim lamp in the corner, casting long shadows across the room. your legs are pulled up under you, knees to your chest, arms wrapped around them like you’re trying to hold yourself together.

everything feels... still. like nothing’s really moving, but at the same time, everything’s swirling around inside you. emotions you can’t quite name, thoughts you can’t untangle. it's too much. it's too quiet.

you think about emi's message. about hana. about everything that happened and everything you didn’t say. everything you didn’t do. maybe you were supposed to be something else. maybe you were supposed to be stronger, better. maybe things would’ve been different if you had known what to do when it mattered.

but you didn’t.

you exhale slowly, trying to breathe through it, but it’s hard to escape the weight that’s settled on your chest. the silence gets louder the longer you sit, like it’s filling up the space around you, inching closer, pressing in. you can't even hear the clatter of the utensils anymore. you look around, at the empty room, at the things that were supposed to make it feel like home. but it doesn’t. not anymore.

and you're not sure what’s left for you to do.

you glance at your university bag, still slumped by the front door where you left it yesterday. the edge of a notebook sticks out from the half-open zipper, a corner bent, like even it gave up halfway.

you sigh, the sound thin in the silence. maybe if you just did something—anything—it’d be easier to breathe. even if it’s meaningless. even if it’s just pretending like university matters right now. pretending like you're still a person who can still piece things together. even if it’s just noise to fill the space, to drown out the parts of your brain that won’t shut up.

you sit for a few more seconds, just long enough to debate not moving at all. but eventually, gravity gives in and so do you. you push yourself up, legs stiff, joints creaking like you’ve aged decades in a single day. your steps toward the bag are slow, reluctant. like each one costs something.

the zipper’s stuck for a moment—snagged on something you can’t see—and you almost leave it there. but then it gives way with a sharp tug. your fingers brush over textbooks, loose papers, the corner of a crumpled receipt, a pen you don’t remember packing. finally, your hand finds your laptop. it’s cold.

you settle back onto the couch, the cushions dipping beneath your weight. the screen lights up your face in a dull, pale glow. your reflection stares back at you for a second too long before the desktop loads. empty folders. deadlines you want to ignore. unread emails with subject lines that suddenly feel like they're written in another language.

still, you click open a blank document. type a title. backspace it. retype it again, slower this time. open a reading you’ve already skimmed three times and highlight the same sentence twice without realizing. you stare at it like it might give you some kind of answer if you just look long enough.

it feels ridiculous. like going through the motions of someone you wish you could be, stress free.

but it’s something.

and right now, that’s all you’ve got.

well shit. you tried to study, refocus all your attention from everything else in your life to your university life. you tried to complete some of your assignments, study for your upcoming tests.

you tried hard to distract yourself but it seemed futile. you couldn't pay attention at all.

you stared at the same paragraph for what felt like hours. the words blurred, reshaped themselves, stopped meaning anything halfway through the first sentence. it wasn’t even complicated material. you'd read tougher things with half a brain and no sleep before. but now? you couldn’t even make it to the end of a line without your mind wandering somewhere else—somewhere you didn’t want it to go.

hana’s name kept surfacing, uninvited, like a splinter your brain kept picking at. like an itch beneath your skin. everything else around you faded into static, muffled by the sharp, insistent memory of things you didn’t say. things you did. things you never understood.

you blink down at the document open in front of you—blank except for a single header, blinking cursor beneath it like it’s mocking you.

you rub at your eyes. they’re tired, even though you haven't done anything. maybe that’s what exhaustion looks like now. not physical, not from long nights or too many lectures, but from everything else. the kind of tired that settles in your bones and just stays there. you could sleep for a week and still wake up hollow.

you pull your knees back up to your chest. press your forehead against them. breathe in, out, like you’re trying to manually remind your lungs how to work.

minimizing the tab, you are met with the black screen of your laptop home screen, forcing you to look at yourself in the reflection. your reflection stares back at you in the black screen. and you hate how tired you look. like someone you wouldn’t recognize in a crowd.

it felt like life was forcing you to acknowledge just how much everything had changed.

damn it!

you can't focus on studying. at least not right now. you had to do something to get this off your mind.

you could talk to sunghoon, tell him that whole incident was an accusation and that you didn't even do anything like that but.. you know how well that went last time. that's probably out of question.

they already made up their minds.

you swallow hard. the anger sits in your chest like a stone. how did everything spiral like this?

your knuckles tighten against the laptop edge. the screen reflects you again, faint and ghostlike—and it hits you all at once: if no one’s going to believe you, then you’ll prove it yourself.

fine.

if they want to think you’re the one responsible, let them. let them whisper. let them look.

but you’re not going to let this be the end of your story.

you're going to have to prove it yourself that you changed.

and the first step for that would be having to prove that you had never gone as far as making someone commit suicide.

and that weird, eerie feeling you have deep down that there's something else that led up to this? something that you're missing that's always been right in front of you?

you're going to start by figuring that out.

your heart pounds as you yank your bag closer, pulling out old notes, your phone, even the journal you swore you’d stop using. you don’t know what exactly you’re looking for yet—maybe a timeline, a detail someone missed, a message someone forgot they sent.

but you’ll find it.

you’ll find something. anything.

because if clearing your name means doing it on your own—then so be it.

the cafe is nearly empty, save for the soft hum of music and the occasional clink of ceramic mugs being cleared behind the counter. sunghoon sits in the far corner, hoodie pulled up, hands wrapped tightly around a lukewarm drink he hasn’t touched. jay walks in with his phone still in hand, eyes scanning the room before spotting him.

jay slides into the seat across from him, shrugging off his jacket. "you could’ve picked somewhere less depressing." sunghoon doesn’t look up. "you came, didn’t you?"

jay leans back, watching him for a moment before furrowing his brow. something’s off. more than usual.

"what’s going on with you? you've been acting weird since friday."

sunghoon hesitates. his knuckles tighten around the mug. "i went to the police station yesterday."

jay frowns, sitting straight before motioning for the waiter to come back in a bit. "why?"

"i gave a witness statement. in hana's case."

there’s a beat of silence. jay blinks, confused. "what witness statement? wasn't the case closed by your parents?"

truth is, hana's suicide was going to be investigated by the police as there was suspicion of something dark going on in that high school due to the fact this was the second suicide in almost the same timeframe.

hana and sunghoon's parents shut the case down to save face, just in case something weird was discovered.

only now, when sunghoon gave a statement, was the case reopened.

sunghoon swallows, and finally looks up. his expression is unreadable. "i got it reopened. i gave a statement about her."

and suddenly, the air feels colder. heavier. "what the hell are you talking about, sunghoon?"

"i told them they should question y/n," he says, like that explains everything. "and everything i knew about those two."

jay’s eyes narrow. "you gave a witness statement against her. that could ruin her life. you realize that, right?"

sunghoon’s jaw tightens. "i didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. and for all i care, she deserves it."

"no," jay says, voice rising just slightly. "you said what you think was true. what you think happened. that’s a big difference. look, i'm not trying to defend her in any way, she was cruel but are you actually going to say she was the one responsible for hana's suicide?!"

sunghoon doesn’t respond.

jay leans forward, elbows on the table. "you didn’t even talk to her."

"didn't need to," sunghoon snaps, defensive now. "she made hana's life hell in high school! everyone knew that! any sensible person would come to this conclusion too. why would hana randomly take her life in the summer after high school ended?! you think i don’t know that? you think i don’t know how it looks? it looks exactly like how it is."

"how it looks?" jay echoes, incredulous. "you’re basing your whole version of the truth off how it looked? god, sunghoon—this isn’t just some high school drama. this is someone’s future. her name. everything."

sunghoon’s fingers twitch against the ceramic. "i'm not a kid. that's exactly what i want. my sister lost her life and you know damn well i won't stay quiet. she deserves a punishment for what she put her through. i know what this means."

"do you?" jay’s voice is sharper now, anger breaking through. "because it sounds a hell of a lot like you’re just trying to pin it all on her so you don’t have to face the real mess."

sunghoon’s eyes narrow. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

jay stares at him, voice low and deliberate. "i'm not against you wanting to get justice for your sister but what i am against is you pinning it on some high school drama. you’re avoiding the truth and you know it damn well. blaming her so you don’t have to deal with the fact that your parents—had a huge role in what happened that night."

sunghoon freezes. "you don't know shit jay. it wasn't just some high school drama. i saw how hana was at home."

"and you also know damn well it wasn’t all y/n's fault," jay continues, quieter now, but no less forceful. "you know it. but it’s easier to point fingers than admit the whole system’s screwed, that the people you both grew up trusting are the ones pulling the strings, isn't it?"

"don’t," sunghoon warns, his voice cracking just slightly. "don’t bring them into this."

"why not? because it makes things harder?" jay’s words are a slap."“because then you’d have to accept that this isn’t just about her? that this is about you too—and how you let it get this far?"

sunghoon’s silence is answer enough.

jay shakes his head, bitter. "you’re smarter than this. you’re better than this."

"it’s not that simple. jay, you don't fucking know my parents and you don't have the right to comment on them either." sunghoon says quietly.

"right. of course. it's not like i grew up with you sunghoon. spent all my childhood in your house because i lost my parents early. it's not like i saw how your parents acted with you and hana. of course." jay paused, exhaling before continuing.

"but still, no, i'm not saying i know everything about your family sunghoon but i know enough to tell that your parents are fucked up. and most of all, i know you sunghoon. you've been my bestfriend ever since nursery for god's sake!"

the silence fills the atmosphere again, making the whole mood all the more unbearable.

sunghoon begins, "but what she did wasn't right."

"no," jay agrees. "it never was. but that doesn’t mean you get to throw her under the bus just to make yourself feel better."

sunghoon finally looks up, really looks at him—and there’s guilt in his eyes. fear. regret.

but also something else. a flicker of uncertainty. like he’s only just starting to question everything.

"fuck." he whispers under his breath.

jay’s voice softens, just a little. "fix it."

the sky’s dark by the time sunghoon pulls out of the lot. jay’s words still echo in his ears, louder than the music playing low through the speakers.

you’re just avoiding the truth. you’re putting the full blame on her because you can’t accept that your parents had a part in it too. and you know damn well.

he grips the steering wheel tighter, knuckles pale. the city glows outside his window in patches—streetlights casting halos onto the pavement, shop signs flickering neon. everything feels distant, like he’s driving through a world half-asleep.

the car’s too quiet. even with the music. which is ironic, since he had kept it on max volume.

he rolls the windows down a little, just enough for the cold air to bite his skin. it helps. not much, but a little.

he doesn’t know why it pissed him off so much—what jay said. maybe because it was true. maybe because it wasn’t. maybe because it was easier to believe that none of this would’ve happened if she hadn’t been the way she was back then. cruel. sharp. calculating. that’s how he remembers her, at least.

but memory’s slippery. especially when guilt’s involved.

he stops at a red light. drums his fingers against the steering wheel, creating some sort of rhythm he couldn't recognise. exhales.

it’s not like he doesn’t feel.. weird about it. he does. god, he does. but regret doesn’t equal innocence. she did things too. they all did. none of them walked away clean from high school. honestly? maybe not even him.

the light turns green.

his phone buzzes in the passenger seat. he doesn’t look. probably someone from uni. or maybe his mom, asking when he’ll be home, always so strict about knowing where he is. he doesn’t answer.

the streets start to empty as he nears his neighborhood. the city bleeding into suburbs, lights getting dimmer, the hum of traffic thinning out. the same route he always takes, but tonight, everything looks different. like he’s not really here. like he’s watching someone else drive his car, live his life.

he pulls into the driveway. parks, but doesn’t get out.

his hands stay on the wheel.

maybe jay was right. maybe he was just scared of what it would mean if he admitted he was wrong. or maybe he was wrong. he couldn't figure it out.

and if he looked at her—not the version of her in his memory, not the girl he’s been blaming—but her, now.

he leans back in his seat. stares up at the ceiling of the car.

what then?

the guards open the gate. his house looks the same as always. neat. cold. silent.

he stays in the car.

just a few minutes more.

you missed the first call.

it rang while you were organizing your bathroom shelves, too muffled through the bathroom door to catch your attention. the second one came less than two minutes later—this time, vibrating loudly on the counter like it had something urgent to say.

you didn’t expect to see yunchae’s name on your screen again so soon. not after she moved abroad last year. not after everything went to hell.

yunchae was your bestfriend in high school. in a way, she still is. but you both grew out of contact after everything.

"hey," her voice was bright, a little breathless. "surprise. i’m back."

you blinked, still half-distracted. "what?"

"can you pick me up from the airport? i landed early. flight was hell. i’ll owe you forever."

you processed what you heard for a second before sighing and reaching for your keys. "text me the terminal."

the drive there was a blur of traffic lights and soft music humming through the speakers, your mind running faster than the car. she hadn’t said anything else on the phone—no explanation, no warning, just hey, i’m back. like it was that simple.

it was like that before too. she just left suddenly after everything happened. and now she's back, just as suddenly.

you spotted her by the arrivals gate, dragging a worn brown suitcase behind her and waving with a grin that somehow made you feel seventeen again. hair a bit longer now, outfit still impeccable despite the 13-hour flight. same old yunchae.

you rolled down the window and she slid in, tossing her bag into the back seat.

"god, i missed you," she said immediately, pulling you into a quick side-hug before settling in.

"care to explain why you keep disappearing and appearing out of nowhere?" you glare at her before starting the car, placing your hands back on the steering wheel.

"man, i'm really sorry. shit came up. i want to meet you before i left but i couldn't." yunchae says as she leans against the window.

"could've at least texted me. be glad i didn't make you take a cab."

she rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. "still dramatic, huh?"

"pot, meet kettle."

the car fills with easy silence, the kind that only comes from old familiarity. there’s music playing low on the radio—some mellow pop song neither of you know. streetlights start to flicker on as the city shifts into midnight.

"so, how's university?" she asks, taking out her phone, responding to texts, at least that's what it looked like from the corner of your eye.

you shrug, eyes on the road. "fine. same old, i guess. assignments piling up, annoying professors…"

she snorts. "yep. sounds about right."

the road curves gently, streetlights casting long shadows across the dash. you pass a late-night convenience store glowing pale in the dark, a couple walking a dog, an old man locking up his storefront. everything looks peaceful in that surreal, 11 p.m. kind of way.

"how was switzerland?" you ask, glancing at her briefly. "did you fall in love with a ski instructor or something?"

"god, no," she groans dramatically, stretching her arms over her head. "you have no idea how boring that whole thing ended up being. not only was it sudden, my cousin flaked on me half the time, and the other half i was stuck in some crusty museum trying not to freeze my ass off."

you smile. "damn, that's rough. still sounds better than being stuck here."

"okay, fair," she laughs. "but i did miss this. all of it. even your shitty driving."

"watch it. i'm technically in charge of your life right now." you say, joking.

she grins, but there’s warmth behind it. "i mean it, though. missed you."

you glance at her again, this time a bit longer. "yeah..i missed you too. felt weird having no one to talk to. felt foreign in a city i grew up in."

another lull falls between you—comfortable again. the kind that doesn't feel like silence at all, just space.

you turn into a quieter street, trees lining both sides. yunchae tucks her legs up on the seat, head tilted toward the window.

"hey…" she starts, after a while. "i know you’ve probably had to talk about this a lot lately, but—i heard about hana. and… the investigation."

your grip on the steering wheel tightens for just a second. you keep your eyes forward. "yeah. figured you would."

"i didn’t want to bring it up right away. i just... i’ve been reading stuff online, and people keep saying you were called in for questioning?"

you nod once. "they think i had something to do with it."

she’s quiet for a beat. the car hums softly as it glides down the road.

"do you?"

you let out a humorless laugh. "you think i'm the one who drove her to this point too?"

"no," she says quickly. "no, i didn’t mean it like that. i just—fuck. you know i don’t think you’d ever do something like that."

you don’t say anything.

"i mean, we were bitches back then," she continues, softer. "like, really awful sometimes. i know that. but you wouldn’t—"

"it doesn’t matter what i would or wouldn’t do," you say, cutting her off gently. "people already made up their minds."

yunchae leans forward, finally putting her phone down completely. "then screw them. you don’t owe anyone shit. do you think you're guilty?"

you glance at her. "..no. no fucking way. sure, i fucking regret shit too but this?!"

"then that's all that matters. as long as you know you're right. but.. we still have to prove to the investigation team you aren't involved in her suicide."

you nod, your mind scattered with other thoughts. "'we'?"

"i mean it," she says. "we used to be a team, remember? i’m not just gonna sit here while you get blamed for something you didn’t do."

your chest tightens—not in a painful way, but in that strange, foreign way that happens when you realize someone is still in your corner.

"…thanks but you don't have to do that," you say, quieter than before, avoiding her eyes.

"i don't remember asking you. pretty sure i was informing you." yunchae says, grinning.

you raise your eyebrows before grinning back, nodding.

she leans her head against the seat, eyes closed, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "besides, i’ve been out of the drama loop for way too long. might as well catch up."

you laugh softly, turning into your street. the headlights cast brief golden glows across parked cars, windows, the quiet world you’ve been trying to keep steady.

"you sure you’re ready to dive into all this again?" you ask.

"for you? always."

monday morning hits like a slow punch to the ribs.

campus feels... well.. the same.

that's what pisses you off the most.

the sky’s overcast, but the sun pushes through in hazy streaks, casting long shadows on the concrete as you walk across the quad. your hoodie is a bit too warm for the weather, but it was what you found in your closet first thing in the morning. comfortable and more than enough.

your steps are steady, practiced—you just keep moving, wanting to get the day over with as fast as you could, hoping that you somehow walking faster would make everything else faster.

but that's the problem.

it doesn't really matter what you do in this world.

because it was already starting.

two girls at the bike rack near the literature building, whispering between sips of iced coffee. "…did you hear? they’re reopening that case. the one with that girl, hana something—" "from eles high, right? the suicide?" "yeah. police called someone in last week. crazy."

well, that's just insane. sure, you knew your high school was famous since it was a prestigious one. and on top of that, this was the second suicide case from your high school. you knew it had a lot of media coverage but,

hearing it right in your university?

damn, life kicks you when you're down, huh?

you keep walking. you don’t look over, you can't. all you can do is just push your hands deeper into your sleeves and pretend the words don’t land.

they do.

a group sitting outside the cafe, half-laughing, half-hushed. "isn’t it wild how no one really talked about it after graduation?" "someone I know said she was in the same friend group as hana. apparently there was drama—like, serious shit." "do you think it was, like… foul play? or just guilt-trippy rumor stuff?"

you pass by them like a ghost.

walking scott street, feeling like a stranger.

a guy in your psych lecture, nudging his friend as they scroll through a forum post on his phone. "swear to god, someone said she was bullied. like, seriously messed up shit back then." "who even gets questioned after so many years? they must’ve found something new."

you slip into your regular seat, jaw tight. no one’s looking at you. obviously. they don't know. maybe that's worse.

the room smells like old paper and burnt coffee from a travel mug someone left open. the air conditioning hums unevenly overhead. your professor is late. the chatter doesn’t die down, it just shifts—murmurs beneath the surface, soft but constant, like static in your ears.

you pull out your notebook, draw aimless lines in the margins. pretend to reread last week’s notes. you try your best to not listen, but your ears catch every fragment. "can’t believe she jumped—" "—they say it wasn’t that simple—" "—heard she was one of those rich girls, y’know?"

you feel your throat tighten.

because it’s not about you. not explicitly. not yet. but it’s getting closer. every word feels like it’s orbiting your name, spiraling in, just waiting to land.

you shift in your seat, trying to ignore the prickle on the back of your neck. the tension in your shoulders is beginning to ache. everything feels just a little too loud, a little too sharp, like the world is breathing down your spine.

and the worst part?

part of you wonders if you deserve it. if your silence back then makes you guilty now. if the rumors, the whispers, the unease—they’re just karma working its way toward you.

you stare at the blank space between your notes, heart thudding quietly. not enough to panic, not enough to break. just enough to remind you it’s there.

you don’t say anything. you don’t turn around. you just sit there, breathing through the noise, the tension curling in your stomach like smoke.

trying to remind yourself that you know the truth. trying to believe that’s enough. trying to believe it still matters.

you reach into your bag, pulling out a pen that clicks too loud in the quiet. someone glances your way. you look away immediately. not weird at all.

the door opens and your professor finally walks in, shuffling papers. the noise dies down slowly.

but the air doesn’t clear.

because even as the lecture begins, even as words fill the space and the lights hum above you, you can still hear it.

the not-knowing. the suspicion. the story that’s rewriting itself without you.

and you wonder how long until it stops being whispers.

and starts being your name.

you almost don’t hear her at first.

you’re halfway down the hallway outside your lecture room, still trying to blink the heaviness out of your eyes, when a voice cuts through the noise.

"y/n! where the fuck were you?"

you freeze.

the tone hits first—urgent, sharp around the edges—but not angry. not really. more like worried frustration, the kind that comes from someone who’s been spiraling quietly on the other end of a phone you haven’t picked up in days.

you turn, slowly.

emi stands just a few steps away, one hand clenched around her phone, the other stuffed in her jacket pocket. her hair’s slightly messy, like she rushed across campus to find you. there's a crease between her brows, and her chest rises and falls a little too fast.

you don’t say anything right away. you hadn’t meant to ignore her. not really. you just… couldn’t. not when every message felt like it needed an explanation you didn’t have the words for.

"emi—" your voice comes out hoarse. you clear your throat, try again. "sorry. i was busy."

"don’t do that," she says immediately, stepping closer. "don’t give me some half-assed answer like that. i’ve been calling you all weekend. you know how worried i was because you weren't picking my calls up? it was normal once but then i felt weird when you didn't call back."

you shift your weight from one foot to the other, eyes flicking away. the hallway is mostly empty now. the crowd that spilled out from class has thinned. only a few scattered footsteps echo behind you.

"yeah, i know, i should've called you back," you admit. "emi.. i messed up."

"messed up?" she tilts her head. her expression softens, the crease in her brow loosening, just slightly. "what happened?"

you open your mouth but the words don't fall out. you still don't have the courage, do you?

what an idiot.

you don’t realize your zoning out until emi reaches out and gently grabs your wrist, grounding you.

"y/n?" she asks, quieter now. "you seem.. off."

you swallow hard, jaw clenched.

"emi, do you trust me?"

emi stares at you for a moment. "uh.. as much as i can trust someone i met around two weeks ago?"

you huff out a weak laugh. "well, that works too. then, just give me time. i'll tell you everything."

"..what?" her voice is firm. "stop acting like some protagonist in a sulk movie. what are you talking about?"

now that she mentions it, you kind of are.. doing that.

you cough out awkwardly, smiling before pushing her forward, urging her to lead the way to your next class.

something inside your chest gives a little, like pressure easing from a valve. you blink hard, biting the inside of your cheek. you won’t cry—not here, not now—but god, do you feel the ache.

"i’m sorry," you murmur.

you don't know to who. or to how many people.

you let her tug you along the hallway, her hand still loosely around your wrist.

act like a normal functioning citizen for once, y/n. goddamn it.

the next morning comes too fast.

you wake up late. the kind of late that makes your stomach twist the second you check the time on your phone. some random message notifications, and other usless notifications. and a lecture that started fifteen minutes ago.

"shit," you mumble, dragging yourself out of bed.

your limbs feel like lead as you move. sleep didn't come too fast. you’d spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, your thoughts stuck on an endless loop—but eventually you did fall asleep. it was good but now it feels too short. despite waking up around thirty minutes late.

your bag’s already half-packed from yesterday. you throw on whatever you could find first, tying your hair up quickly, and barely remembering to grab your ID before rushing out the door.

campus is already alive by the time you get there—students scattered across the green, clusters of voices rising and fading as you pass. the sky is overcast, soft and gray, a gentle wind curling around your sleeves. it smells faintly like rain, despite it not raining. you hope it does, the weather is terribly hot.

you jog across the quad toward your building gate, praying you can make it on time. this is definitely not the first time you've barely made it and it's still the first month of university.

you're so fucked.

your lungs are practically burning, your breath coming out in uneven gasps as you slow down near the entrance, clutching the strap of your bag as if it was on the brink of falling off. you were though.

you lean down slightly, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. the cool morning air stings your throat.

oh.

oh.

you blink.

as if the universe hadn’t already done enough to mess with your week by making you late, you spot that familiar head of black hair just a few steps ahead—neatly styled, effortlessly careless in the kind of way that’s probably unintentional.

how is it even possible to look attractive from the bac-

wait, no, that's not the point! why does sunghoon have to be running late on the same day as you?! damn it!

you groan under your breath.

seriously?

he’s heading in the same direction as you. which means—unless you want to risk being even more late—you’ll have to walk behind him, or worse, catch up.

you slow your pace automatically, trying to create distance without making it too obvious. you consider ducking behind a group of students near the vending machine. or maybe pretending you forgot something and doubling back?

you curse internally.

alright, y/n, think. how do you avoid him without looking like a total weirdo?

wait, no.

why do you even need to avoid him, huh? it’s not like you did anything wrong. it’s not like you’re the one who jumped to conclusions and went ahead and gave a damn witness statement some random saturday morning.

yeah. exactly.

your spine straightens a little as the thought lands. annoyance starts bubbling beneath the nerves. who’s hiding? not you. definitely not today.

in fact… you could even be a little petty.

you smirk to yourself—barely, but it’s there. subtle, bitter. a defense mechanism, maybe. or maybe just a reminder to yourself that you do still have some control, even if it’s just this.

that's when you get an idea.

perfect.

with a subtle shift of pace, you time it just right—cutting ahead of him at the last second and "accidentally" fumbling with your bag right in front of the path.

you bend down, slowly, dragging the moment out as you pretend to fix your strap. rummaging just enough to take a little longer than needed. just enough to make him stop behind you.

"seriously?" you hear under his breath. that's when you both look towards the building gate as it closes.

perfect. sure, you're late too but honestly, you were willing to sacrifice your record (as if it wasn't already bad) if that meant sunghoon would too, end up being late.

you blink innocently over your shoulder. "oh—sorry," you say, all airy sweetness and false concern. "my bag strap’s been acting up all morning."

his jaw ticks.

he doesn’t respond. just shifts his weight from one foot to the other, clearly annoyed. and maybe, just maybe, the tips of his ears are a little red.

you don't know what the hell you're doing but what you do know, is that you're definitely enjoying it.

you stand upright again, adjusting your strap with a fake little tug for dramatic effect. "you can go ahead now," you say, finally stepping aside with a polite, practiced smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching your eyes.

you’re not proud of it. okay—maybe a little proud. damn, it's been a while since you let yourself be petty. well.. if you don't count the paper incident from last week.

"go ahead?" you hear him scoff, "the gate closed."

"oops, guess you'll have to take the longer route. don't worry, you're already late sunghoon, another ten minutes won't make a difference, will it?" you smile, looking right up at him.

told you i'd get you back for that water incident.

"you, are late too." sunghoon replies, shooting you a glare, narrowing his eyes at you.

"uh-huh. and whose fault is that?" you say, leaning back a little.

you see sunghoon furrow his brows, shocked as if you'd just told him that the laws or gravity were a political lie. you were barely controlling your laughter.

"are you actually saying i'm the one who made you late?!"

"yeah! you're the one who started talking about nonsense with me! now look, because of you i have to not only miss my lecture but also face consequences later."

you'd easily turned it around to make it look like he was the one who made you late causing you to argue with him. you grin but quickly cover it up, putting on an annoyed expression.

sunghoon stares at you like he’s trying to calculate the trajectory of your logic and where it all went so horribly wrong. "you literally blocked the gate," he says, gesturing dramatically toward the now-shut entrance behind you. "with your body."

you cross your arms, feigning offense. "wow. body shaming now? really, sunghoon?"

his jaw drops. "what—no! that’s not even what I meant."

"mmhm," you hum, looking away, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning again.

he runs a hand through his hair, clearly on the verge of losing his mind. "you are so—"

"brilliant? intelligent? witty? correct?"

"insufferable," he finishes, deadpan.

you cough out, hand flying to your chest in mock betrayal. "wow. let's not go that far, now. that's harsh, isn't it?"

sunghoon takes a slow breath, clearly counting to ten in his head. "you are not blaming this on me. and i don't even want to talk to someone like you."

you look away before looking back at him. "but i do, and am blaming you 'cause you are at fault."

he steps closer, arms crossed now, mirroring you. "is that so?"

you swallow before nodding, looking back at him.

he huffs a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. "you are unbelievable."

"and you," you point at him, poking his shoulder, "are late. because you distracted me. don’t deny it."

"you distracted me!"

you raise an eyebrow. "is that your way of admitting you were looking at me?"

sunghoon’s mouth opens, closes, then opens again like his brain had to reboot mid-thought. "i— that’s not—" he groans, turning around as he mutters, "i can’t do this with you. fuck off."

"yeah, well say that to my face park su-"

professor sen's voice interrupts the very polite interaction you and sunghoon were having.

"well, well, well. if it isn’t my two most punctual students."

you and sunghoon freeze like you’ve just been caught committing a federal crime. slowly, both your heads turn in unison to see your elective professor standing a few feet away, arms crossed, one brow arched in classic judgmental fashion.

shit.

"not only do you both skip my class," professor sen continues, pacing a little in front of you, "but you also have the audacity to stand here and argue? loudly? in front of the closed gate? during class hours?"

sunghoon clears his throat. "technically, the gate closed while we were talking—"

"mr. park, would you like me to round your grade down to the nearest zero?" the professor snaps without missing a beat.

sunghoon instantly straightens. "no, sir."

"good. and ms. y/l/n? this isn't a high school for you two to be arguing like kids."

you give your most apologetic, wide-eyed look. "we weren’t arguing arguing. it was more like… academic debating. elective bonding, if you will."

professor sen blinks. "elective bonding?"

sunghoon side eyes you, about to complain about you when you plead to him with your eyes, as best as you could.

sunghoon, i swear to god, my grades are like the one thing i have-

you don't really expect him to listen, not like that's ever worked before but you try anyways.

thankfully, he does end up listening. ironic, really, someone who gave a witness statement against you and thinks you're a terrible person and is accusing you of shit you didn't do actually ended up saving you.

well, maybe not for your sake. technically, he had to save himself too.

"yeah," sunghoon chimes in. "we were discussing, uh, social dynamics. and how personal interaction can impact stress levels and time management skills in—"

"in young adults!" you finish quickly, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. "like us!"

the professor stares at the two of you. long. hard. like he’s trying to determine whether you’re completely full of shit or just mildly delusional.

"you know what," he says finally, voice way too calm to be comforting. "you want to study social dynamics? perfect."

uh-oh.

"you’re both going to write a paper on it. together."

sunghoon audibly chokes. "wait—together?"

professor sen grins like this is the best part of his day. "yes. a joint essay. i want a five-page analysis on the impact of interpersonal conflict on productivity—due by the end of the day.”

"end of the—sir, that’s—" you look at your phone. "it’s already almost noon.."

"then i suggest you get started," he says, clearly enjoying this a little too much. "maybe next time, you’ll consider attending class instead of engaging in whatever this was." he says, accentuating the 'whatever this was' with his finger, pointing at you two.

he walks off without another word, leaving you and sunghoon standing there like you just got hit by a truck.

you both slowly turn to each other, only to turn away and groan. what the fuck did you just get into?

damn your pettiness. you felt very proud of yourself earlier but now you're damning your actions.

you both ended up being pushed to some room in the corner of the campus to work on this essay with a stupid deadline.

"so.. uh.. how's it going? sorry for all this, by the way.." you ask, wincing at the awkwardness but trying to start a conversation with him anyway. maybe you can even gradually bring up the topic of the case.

..or maybe not.

sunghoon looks up at you, glaring. "weren't you just shouting at me ten minutes ago?"

you cough out, muttering out another awkward apology. how do you always fuck up this bad, y/n..

"you should be sorry. you're the last person i want to be stuck here with." sunghoon replies, going back to writing something on his laptop.

you sigh, groaning in your seat at sunghoon's response before leaning back.

"but now we’re writing an essay about it. poetic, don’t you think?" you say, giving another shot at starting a conversation with him.

...only for sunghoon to side eye you again before going back to his work, not responding.

...when did you become this awkward and bad at conversing with people? last you remembered, you were amazing at this. you sigh once again, exasperated.

sigh, then again, it's not like he would talk to his sister's "tormentor" or something.

..wait, no. it's not even you! he's gaslighting you too now. goddamn it.

you groan again, looking over at sunghoon who was completely ignoring you and concentrating on his work.

..honestly, if you think about it, he's kinda cute when he's being cold and focusing on someth-

no! what the fuck is wrong with you, y/n?! get ahold of yourself, seriously..

you straighten up before grabbing your bag to take out your laptop. enough of whatever you're doing right now, you need to help out in this essay too. especially since you might be kind of at fault for this. aha. and it's your responsibility too.

finally, you both do manage to finish everything before noon and submit it, taking a sigh of relief at finally being done.

"not bad. you both make a good team." says professor sen as he goes over the essay you both submitted.

yeah, good team my ass.

professor sen hadn’t even made it five feet to the door when he suddenly turned back around, clapping his hands once like a man who just remembered he had more to ruin. great.

"oh, and before i forget—there was also a group project assigned in class today. partners were chosen during the first half of the lecture."

you and sunghoon immediately stiffen.

"and since you two weren’t there to draw names from the list," he says, "you’ll be working together. you seem to make a great team anyways." professor sen completes, exaggerating the 'great'.

you gape at him. "what?!"

sunghoon groans, already half-turning away. "thanks, professor, but i’d rather die."

what the hell?! is this man stuck in highschool?! he's so childish!

..okay, maybe you aren't one to talk.

"great. then you can write your own eulogy as an appendix to the essay," professor sen says with a sweet smile, then points a finger at the both of you. "i expect genuine teamwork. the topic and rubric are already uploaded. due in two weeks. now, unless you’d like another assignment on top of that, i suggest you both start walking toward the library." he finishes before glaring, giving no space for further argument.

you and sunghoon stand there in stunned silence as the professor finally leaves for real this time, humming to himself like he hadn’t just handed you a joint death sentence.

sunghoon mutters something under his breath as he runs a hand through his hair. "i swear to god, i am going to lose my mind."

you don’t reply.

you’re too busy watching the way his jaw tightens. the way he exhales like the air around him’s not enough. the way he starts to turn to leave like he can’t get away from you fast enough.

like being seen with you is somehow beneath him now.

and something inside you—somewhere between the exhaustion, the tension, the bitter twist of everything that’s happened—just snaps.

"you know what?" your voice cuts through the space between you, sharp and loud enough to make him freeze mid-step.

he doesn’t turn around.

so you keep going.

"just so you know—your whole fucking witness statement is based on a lie."

that makes him turn.

his eyes are dark now, not in that amused, teasing way they sometimes are. this time it’s different. heavier.

you breathe out shakily, the words rushing out before you can stop them. "hana fed you a story and you ate it up without a second thought. and now, what? i’m the villain? i’m the one everyone whispers about in hallways like i planned it all from the start?"

sunghoon doesn’t say anything, jaw clenched.

silence again. thick and heavy, like the sky’s about to break open.

you blink, suddenly aware of the heat behind your eyes, the weight in your chest pressing harder than before. this wasn’t how you wanted to tell him. hell, you didn’t even know if you wanted to tell him. you were still unsure if you wanted to bring this up at all but now you did.

you did. and it’s out there now. floating in the open air between you.

you get that he would be angry. that's his sister for god's sake but it hurt that he was blaming you for something you didn't do.

but then again, maybe his anger is warranted for. god, you have no idea.

sunghoon’s eyes flicker, something unreadable shifting behind them. but before he can say anything—

you turn away.

"forget it," you mumble, already walking ahead. "i'll complete the project myself and add your name in it. i am responsible for this mess anyways and you don't want to work with me."

and maybe, just maybe, this is what rock bottom looks like. arguing in front of a locked gate. group projects with the guy who wants you behind bars. your truth spilling out like it’s been waiting for months.

but if nothing else—at least now it’s out.

and he heard you. for once, he heard you.

you walk out before he can, your steps abrupt and your thoughts scattered.

you take out your car keys, walking toward your car when you hear the sharp buzz of a notification from your phone.

you don’t check it at first. your hand tightens around the steering wheel before you even get inside, the conversation from moments ago still echoing in your head. your voice, louder than usual. his expression—blank, then angry, then something else you couldn’t read even if you tried.

you finally glance at the screen.

you finally glance at the screen.

???: how do you sleep at night, i wonder ???: maybe you'll sleep better behind bars.

your stomach drops.

for a second, all the air seems to leave the car. the world outside feels muffled, like someone stuffed cotton in your ears. the soft thrum of the city—the distant horns, the footsteps, the rustle of leaves—fades into nothing.

you reread the messages. once. twice. and then again, as if the words might change.

they don’t.

you don’t recognize the number. it’s not saved, and it doesn’t ring any bells. but the weight of the message—it’s personal. specific. targeted. this isn’t a spam text or some twisted joke.

whoever it is… they know. they know everything in detail.

your hands are suddenly clammy against the leather of the steering wheel. the conversation with sunghoon might’ve left you rattled, but this—this is different. this is fear. this is the feeling of being watched.

you look out the windshield, half-expecting to see someone standing there. watching you.

no one’s there.

you lock the doors anyway. your thumb hovers over the screen, debating whether to block the number. report it. reply.

you don’t do any of those things.

instead, you just stare.

because deep down, even if you don’t know who sent it, you think you know why.

and that might be worse.

it can't be sunghoon, you think. it just feels weird for him to do this. he isn't scared to tell you that to your face. he has, told you that to your face. why would he suddenly resort to mysterious threat messages?

only someone has has a need to conceal their identity would do this.

..but who?

the message doesn’t leave your head.

it’s burned into the inside of your eyelids—every time you blink, it’s there, etched like a warning carved in stone.

"how do you sleep at night, i wonder."

you never replied. never blocked it either. just let it sit there in your phone like a ticking bomb you’re too afraid to dismantle. it was dumb but you could barely think when you got that message.

by the time you get home, your hands are shaking. not violently. just enough to make the key miss the lock once, twice before it finally clicks. the hallway is dim, quiet. you don’t even bother flicking the lights on anymore—you know the way. you always know the way.

but the silence tonight feels heavier. like the walls are listening. well.. it always does feel heavy, who are you kidding?

you toss your bag on the couch and sit down next to it, only intending to catch your breath. but your body doesn’t move again. it just stays there, curled in on itself, a hand pressed to your mouth as if that might stop the nausea rising in your throat.

guilt is a strange thing. it doesn’t always come like thunder. sometimes it drips—slowly, steadily, like water from a cracked ceiling.

and tonight, it’s pouring. it's pouring hard.

there's helicopters over my head,

hana’s name wasn’t in that message. but you felt her in it. every syllable. every sharp edge.

and it felt like there was something else. something you were missing. you couldn't figure it out even if you wanted to. your mind was far too scattered.

her face flashes behind your eyes. not the real one, not the one you remember in hallways and classrooms—but the one from the yearbook. the one frozen in time. forced smile. hair curled just right. the version of her that people posted when the news broke, as if that was all she ever was.

a picture. a tragedy. a headline.

you close your eyes and wish you hadn’t.

every night when i go to bed.

because you see her.

and you don't know what's real and what's not anymore. your mind was doing everything to make you forget what you thought you knew. it felt like she was standing in the hallway. behind your reflection in the mirror. curled at the edge of your bed. silent. watching. never speaking. but always there.

you sit up abruptly, heart pounding, chest tight. you try to tell yourself you’re just tired. just stressed. just paranoid.

probably.

you rub your arms, suddenly cold. your laptop is still on the coffee table, screen black, reflecting your face back at you. you stare at it and you can’t help but think of that conversation with sunghoon. the way his expression shifted. the way your voice cracked even though you told yourself it wouldn’t.

and now—what?

now you’re getting cryptic messages from strangers. now it feels like you’re seeing ghosts in every corner. now hana’s name tastes like blood in your mouth.

maybe this is what she wanted. no—no, she wouldn’t want this. right?

hell, who are you kidding? no one but yourself, you suppose.

except… who knows anymore.

you weren’t kind to her. not really. and while you weren’t the only one—you were one of them. and the only one who people really saw.

they didn't see her. they saw you.

you deserved it, anyways.

and that truth sticks to your skin no matter how hard you try to scrub it off.

you cover your face with your hands and exhale, the sound trembling and thin.

the guilt doesn’t just sit in your chest anymore. it moves. it creeps up your throat and into your bones. it’s rewriting your memory in real-time, coloring every laugh you shared with your old friend group, every sharp whisper behind someone’s back. twisting it. warping it.

and worst of all?

you can’t even tell what’s real anymore.

was it as bad as it feels now? or are you just haunted by the version of events you think you remember?

either way—hana is everywhere. in your mind, your dreams, your silence.

you reach for your phone again. not to call anyone. just to check if the message is still there.

it isn't.

you blink, double checking, checking again, as if it would bring the message back.

it's not there anymore.

fuck. you should've saved it. then again, it's not like you were thinking straight. and so what if you save it? so what if you manage to track the person?

then again..

you might have actually lost it. are you seriously imagining threats now?

no, it was definitely there! there's no way you imagined all that..

but honestly, you don't know what's real and what you're making up anymore.

you should just go sleep.

the cemetery is quiet. the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel peaceful—just still. still, and cold.

sunghoon walks slowly, hands buried deep in his coat pockets. he hadn’t meant to come here. not really. it wasn’t planned. he was just driving. at least, that’s what he told himself. but somehow, the turns felt familiar. somehow, the wheels knew where to go even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud.

it’s not even that far from the city. just a short drive away, tucked between hills and behind wrought-iron gates. hana’s resting place. marked by a polished stone that felt too heavy.

his footsteps crunch softly against the gravel. there’s no one else here. of course there isn’t. it’s too early for weekend visitors, too late for the caretakers to be around. the sun is barely hanging above the trees, a washed-out gold behind thin clouds. shadows stretch long and spindly across the earth.

then—he sees it.

the grave is simple. her name carved cleanly into the stone, with the dates beneath. the flowers someone placed there have wilted around the edges, petals dry and curled inward. he doesn’t know who still comes here. probably not their parents.

he scoffs at the thought.

sunghoon stands still for a long while. just looks. as if he expects her to rise up from beneath the ground and tell him what he’s supposed to do now.

"...hey," he mutters after a while, voice low and awkward. "it’s been a while."

the wind answers him. dry, indifferent.

he wasn't used to this. it's not like he visits graves on a daily basis but also because hana and sunghoon weren't close at all.

he sits down in the grass, elbows on his knees, clasped hands in front of his mouth. he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. there’s nothing poetic or profound about this. he just didn’t know where else to go. he just.. ended up here.

"you’d probably think i’m stupid for being here," he says. "i think i'm pretty stupid too, for coming here."

he lets out a humorless breath, something caught between a chuckle and a sigh. his gaze falls to the dirt, to the small cracks in the stone’s base.

"i thought i was doing the right thing," he says finally. "when i gave that report. when i told them what i remembered."

his voice wavers. just slightly.

"but now i don’t even know what the hell i remember. i mean.. i do.. i do want to do this.. but now, i'm not too sure. i was so sure just a few days ago. i don't know what happened."

he picks at the cuff of his sleeve, jaw tightening.

"y/n… she said i only saw what you wanted me to see. and maybe she’s right. maybe you… twisted things. maybe we all did. god, maybe jay is right. maybe i am only seeing things the way i want to. but that.. doesn't make her any better. but that's still.. fuck, i'm lost."

there’s bitterness in his voice now. confusion wrapped in the kind of guilt that doesn’t leave no matter how many times you try to shove it down.

"i keep going over it. what happened. what we all were back then. and i just—" he stops himself. his throat feels tight. "i don’t know what’s real anymore."

the wind shifts again. a crow caws distantly in the trees.

he looks at the stone. the name. her name.

"you’re not here to answer me," he whispers. "and that’s the worst part. you left, and now all we’re left with is versions of you that none of us can agree on. hana, you've always done this, huh?"

he runs a hand through his hair. looks away, swallowing hard.

"maybe i'm the stupid one. maybe i was the one who sad our parents through those stupid rose tinted glasses too much. maybe i didn't see things the right way. maybe i saw you wrong too."

he pauses.

"...or maybe i just didn’t want to."

the silence grows again. deeper. he doesn’t cry. he doesn’t move. just sits with it. with her. with the weight of what can’t be undone.

after a while, he rises to his feet.

"i don’t know who to believe anymore, hana," he says quietly. "but i’m starting to think i should’ve listened more. to everyone. to myself."

his eyes flicker back to the name carved in stone.

"whatever happens… i’m sorry. it feels like i'm the one whose actually at fault, hana. don't worry, i didn't come here for empathy."

there’s nothing else to say. not really.

he turns and walks away slowly, footsteps lighter than when he came. but the air still presses down on him like the ghost of a weight he’s only beginning to understand.

the phone buzzes once, twice, before you finally reach out to answer it, thumb sluggish against the screen.

"y/n?" yunchae’s voice comes through, bright, a little breathless, like she’s walking somewhere.

you don’t respond right away. your gaze is fixed on the ceiling, lying on your bed with your hair splayed out and limbs heavy. the phone is on speaker, propped up beside you, the light dim and the outside world a soft gray blur beyond the curtains.

"hey," you say finally, voice low. "what's up?"

"you sound like you haven’t slept."

"haven’t."

she clicks her tongue before you hear her sigh. "couldn't?"

"mm. i have some projects to do and i already skipped university. i’ll sleep later. or after this life. whichever comes first."

she sighs. "morbid."

"kidding."

a pause settles over the call, static and silence humming between you like a shared thought neither of you wants to say out loud. yunchae clears her throat.

"anyway… i was thinking about what we talked about yesterday. about the whole thing about finding evidence that's in your favour."

you blink, eyes drifting toward the mess on your desk. papers. post-its. the faint glow of your laptop screen still open to a document you haven’t touched in hours.

"yeah?"

"so… i remembered that girl who always used to hang around her. rina, i think? i didn’t know her super well, but she and hana were pretty close in second year. i might still have her number from back then. or at least her socials."

you nod slowly, even though she can’t see it. "what about her?"

"well, i'm not too sure but," yunchae admits. "we could try talking to her. if we find out if there was anything else that was bothering hana, it would automatically prove you innocent."

you close your eyes, inhaling deeply through your nose. your chest feels tight. like everything’s being held together by fraying thread.

"as if she would talk," you murmur. "for me."

yunchae’s voice softens, a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. "it's worth a try. do you have a better idea, ms sherlock?"

"i don’t know yunchae. maybe this isn't a good idea. why do we have to play detective.." your voice cracks just a little. "maybe we should just forget about this. let what happens just.. happen. i don't know if i can do this."

"well, if you want, you can drop out." her voice is quiet. "but i'm not backing out, thanks. whatever this sunghoon dude is trying to do, i'm not letting him do it. accusing you of something so insane."

"it's not like what he's doing is unaccounted for.."

"shut up. no more words."

you stare at the ceiling again, smiling a little, letting her words sink in. you don’t have the energy to say thank you. you hope she hears it anyway.

"okay okay ms world peace. send me her number if you find it or something else." you say after a beat, voice steadier than it feels. "i’ll try to reach out. or you could."

"will do," she says, already typing. "and y/n?"

"yeah?"

"whatever happens next… i’ve got your back. i mean it."

your throat tightens.

"i know. thanks."

the line goes quiet again. this time, it doesn’t feel as heavy. not completely.

but still, you don't know quite what to feel. you thought maybe her words would be that little push to give you hope but it seems like that's not it.

you'll just have to wait and see.

sunghoon closes the front door behind him, the soft click of the latch sounding louder than it should in the sprawling, immaculate hallway. the marble floor reflects his silhouette as he slips off his shoes, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. he can feel the weight of the cold from the cemetery still clinging to him, in his fingers, in the ache in his chest as he walks into his house.

he doesn’t bother announcing his arrival. someone always knows. someone always sees.

he’s halfway to the stairs when the sharp voice cuts through the stillness.

"where were you?"

his mother stands at the threshold of the sitting room, arms crossed over her designer blouse, lips painted and perfect like always. his father looks up from the newspaper, seated on the pristine white couch that’s only ever been used for guests.

sunghoon doesn’t answer at first. he drops his bag on the floor by the stairs. his shoulders are tense.

"i asked you a question."

"i visited hana," he says flatly, not looking at her. "the cemetery."

there’s a beat of silence. then the familiar scoff. clipped, disapproving.

"and for what purpose?" she says. "to wallow in sentiment? she’s been gone for almost half a year now, sunghoon. it’s time to move forward."

"she was your daughter," he says, more bitterly than he meant to. "you could at least pretend to give a shit."

his father lowers the newspaper, eyes cool. "watch your tone."

"why? because i’m embarrassing you? ruining your perfect little image of the ideal son?"

his mother’s expression hardens. "this has nothing to do with image—"

"everything is about image with you!" he snaps suddenly, voice cracking under the pressure that’s been building all day, all year. "you only see your kids as trophies! a list of achievements to parade around your dinner parties and club meetings!"

do you feel ashamed,

"that’s not true," his father says sharply, standing now. "we’ve given you everything. the best education, the best opportunities—"

"and what was the cost for that? to lack us of any kind of love?" sunghoon cuts in, eyes burning. " to give us nothing but pressure. expectations. judgment. and hana? all you ever cared about was how she reflected on you. and when things got bad, when she started falling apart—she became a liability, didn’t she?"

his mother’s face goes pale. "enough."

"no. say it. she was a taint on your reputation, wasn’t she? that’s what she was to you. not a daughter. not someone who needed help. just a stain on the perfect little family portrait you like to shove in everyone’s faces."

when you hear my name?

the silence after that is thick. heavy.

his father doesn’t say a word. his mother looks like she’s about to explode — or cry. but she does neither. just stands there. frozen.

sunghoon breathes hard, jaw clenched. his hands shake slightly at his sides.

"i’m not going to be your puppet," he mutters. "so quit fucking asking me where i was like some spy. you find out anyways through all of those agents of yours, why bother asking me?"

he turns on his heel and storms upstairs before either of them can say anything else, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

behind him, the house stays still. suffocating. fake.

just like it’s always been.

he was halfway to his room when he stopped in front of the door.

hana’s door.

it looked exactly the same — untouched, neat and fitting of someone who never left her bed without making it. the soft cream paint, the little chipped edge at the bottom, the old sticker from a concert they went to years ago still peeling at the corner.

he should’ve kept walking.

but his hand reached out before his brain caught up, fingers curling around the doorknob and twisting it open.

the air inside smelled faintly like her perfume. floral, quiet and old. her room was still frozen in time — the books on her shelf, her throw blanket draped over the chair, half-finished project stacked neatly on her desk.

he stepped inside slowly.

his heart twisted at the sight. a rush of guilt, grief, and confusion all at once. he didn’t come in here often. their parents were working on emptying this soon. probably to erase every trace of her. every trace of her from their family. maybe it could ease their guilt. if they even had any. after all, it was just another set piece in the house of perfection they lived in.

sunghoon walked toward the desk, running a hand across the wooden surface. he glanced at the scattered books, the dried-up pens. and then, something caught his eye in the little drawer under the desk.

he opened it before he could stop himself. it's like his hands moved on their own volition.

notebooks. old polaroids. a few folded papers.

and one envelope. his name wasn’t on it, but he recognized the handwriting immediately.

your handwriting.

he was able to recognize it due to the project you both had to do and submit together. he had seen your handwriting there.

..totally not because he was paying a bit more attention to you then he should have. for whatever reason he couldn't wrap his head around.

his chest tightened as he slowly pulled it out, the date on the corner unmistakable — mid-summer, the summer after high school ended. right around when you'd said you sent an apology.

his brows furrowed. carefully, he opened the letter, his eyes scanning each line.

it was an apology. genuine. messy. emotional. you admitted to everything — the way you’d followed along with the group, how you let things go too far, how you didn’t know how to fix what was broken but you wanted to try. how you had some sort of insecurity. there was no defensiveness. no excuses. just remorse. regret. sincerity.

his stomach turned.

hana told him you never reached out.

she told him you kept bullying her even after high school. she cried about how you still laughed at her online, how she couldn’t escape you, even in the holidays. and he believed her. because she was his little sister and you were the easy villain.

but this letter — this existed.

i asked you "how is your sister?",

and it made no sense. why would you send something like this if you were still tormenting her?

his hands trembled slightly as he folded the paper back up, thoughts spinning too fast to catch.

why would hana lie?

he sat down on the edge of her bed, the letter in his lap, replaying everything in his head. your voice from earlier in the day echoed louder now.

"just so you know, your whole witness statement is based off a lie hana fed you."

back then, he was too angry to understand what you meant. too loyal, maybe. too convinced of his own version of the truth. too blinded by his own version. the one he wanted.

"heard she got her degree."

but now… he couldn’t ignore the doubt creeping in. if you were telling the truth about this, what else were you telling the truth about?

what did hana hide?

what did she want him to believe?

sunghoon’s gaze drifted across her room again, looking at her posters, her old notes stuck to the wall — all the little pieces that once made up a girl he used to call his sister. a girl he used to care for deeply, even if he did not show it. a girl he thought he knew better than anyone else.

but now, for the first time, he wasn’t so sure.

maybe he didn’t know her at all.

maybe he only knew what she wanted him to see.

and what about you? did he truly know you?

it wasn't a lie that you were cruel. everyone knew it. but what he knew, was that a lie?

his fingers tightened around the letter as the silence in the room thickened.

it used to comfort him, this silence. now it felt like it was watching him.

accusing him. he deserves it, maybe.

and once again, since the investigation started, sunghoon wasn’t sure what he believed anymore. or who.

maybe the truth wasn’t as simple as he thought. maybe it never was.

he might be on the right track but maybe not in the right way.

he stood up slowly, folding the letter with care and sliding it into the pocket of his jacket like something fragile. something dangerous.

and as he stepped out of hana’s room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him, a single thought pressed itself into his mind, quiet but undeniable—

what if i was wrong? what should he do now? should he really drop this so easily because of this?

he didn’t have the answer.

end note: petition for both reader and sunghoon to go therapy!!!!! anyways this was really long wtf but i hope u all enjoyedd <3333 tysm for the support

taglist: @arcvillie @mochi13 @chocminteu @outroherrr @gyurilla @supershy3 @woibeb @saraabbas @nithxhoon @dajeong-cats @rairaiblog @beebopisjustwatching @rikidaze @renlikecookies @graythecoffeebean @ginjey19 @semi-wife @valesunae

(sorry if i missed anyone, please lmk if i missed u) mdni, feedback and reblogs, comments and likes appreciated. hate comments will be deleted. please let me know either in the comments or inbox if you want to be added to the taglist <33 also im opening a permanent taglist so do lmk if u wanna be added to that too <3

[pokemon-ash-aus]

so when do people start connecting the dots that Ash and UpcomingPokemonChampion are the same person lol

I like to think that it happens during his stream, And he's just lamenting over his writing.

"I'm stuck on this one part and it's driving me NUTS, How am I supposed to know what it's like to work in a Coffee Shop. This is supposed to be a GAG!"

WaterPokemonAretheCoolest: I didn't even know you write, fucking nerd.

"Misty, that sentence was atrocious, go away!"

RockDoc: Have you tried turning it on and off again?

"Last time i tried that, you yelled at me for two hours for "Trying to kill yourself" and "Im too young for gray hairs." Go away Brock.

Actress: Maybe you should try working on another scene andnthen come back to this one? Or rewrite the previous paragraph for a better flow!

"Now you're invading my stream?? I will ban you Actress, but thank you for the advice, im hoping that helps some."

--

It defo doesn't take long after that, coffee shop AU from UpcomingPokemonChampion, a commenter named Actress that seems to be disdained by Ash? Like oof

Comments 524

CoffeeCocaine: COFFEE SHOP AU, SHELL IS SO BEAUTIFULLY USELESS IM FJBDJDJS

UpcomingPokemonChampion: Kalos has utterly destroyed me, we need coffee to cope u.u

CoffeeCocaine: 100% Coffee to cope after that whole scary fiasco. Hopefully now you can unwind!

[COMMENT HAS BEEN DELETED]

UpcomingPokemonChampion: For the sake of my privacy, i am going to delete that comment. But yeah, that's me XD Shiiiiit, i gotta be more careful

CoffeeCocaine: OMG THAT'S SO COOL! Won't say any more to respect, but between everything you do, no wonder you need coffee!

[crushedsweets]

Hi panda has a weird question 2 part lol. I know you said that no ships are canon in creeped, but I was wondering if one of the ships involving Nina DID happen, how would Jeff feel about it? Even if they were unhealthy, they’d been (I’m assuming?) a thing for a while @killerlittlerejects

Ok imma split this into a short paragraph on Nina and Jeff’s relationship, and then his reaction to diff ships

Nina and Jeff’s relationship is more like a toxic codependency that they read as romance cuz it’s what they think makes sense but they would be better off as friends (or apart entirely)…

so warning for general toxic behavior and confusing descriptions of their feelings

90% of the reason they were “dating” is cuz Jeff catfished her online into an e-relationship and planned on meeting and killing her at a shady motel, only for her outpouring of admiration to stop him in his tracks (her crying saying how he changed her life for the better, inspired her to be strong, is the reason she got out of a toxic home life, etc). So once he was like ok fine you’re kinda goated lol we can hang out, Nina just awkwardly assumed “well if I was kinda dating you when you were catfishing me then we’re like basically dating now” and that spiraled into a whole new issue that Jeff never bothered to correct. Nina didn’t even want Jeff, she just didn’t know how else to proceed. Jeff didn’t even want Nina, she was supposed to be a victim and till he realized she’s interesting + gave him an ego boost. They never even made anything official

SO AS A RESULT, he would be pretty pissed - not cuz he holds her dear to his heart and cannot imagine losing her love, but because that’s a shot at his ego and he KNOWS she’s the type to do to purposely agitate him. If he believed she was finding genuine love with no intent to bother him, he wouldn’t care as much - but he doesn’t believe that.

If it were someone like Toby, he’s mad. Cannot stand that idea. Jeff and Toby are quite similar in my AU, and that’s why they got along so well at first before eventually hating eachother - their self hatred ending up overcoming their pride. He’d try to provoke Toby and demean Nina’s “shitty taste in men”

If it were someone like clocky or Jack, he’s kinda like “brah. Ok. Fuck all of you. Whatever.” He’s more upset that everyone involved is disrespecting him in some way. “You’re dating my fucking ex bro I thought we were friends” “why are you hitting on my friends can you hop off” etc etc.

If it were Kate. I think he’d be a bit irritated cuz Kate is so close to Toby, but he was never friends with Kate so it doesn’t feel like a betrayal or like Nina’s just trying to make him jealous. Ik we joke that Kate and Jeff look alike but that’s only the hoodie and black hair - their faces and statures are very different LOL , so that wouldn’t really come into play. He’d be irked but deal with it easily

Liu is gay and Jane is married in my AU so LOL.

Again, it just depends on how he reads her intentions - if he thinks she’s purposefully pissing him off/disrespecting him, he hates it. If he thinks she’s genuinely just moving on, it’s uncomfortable but he gets over it

[walnutcookie]

I'm not gonna lie, I can't see delilah as someone whos like, pure evil or something. I've always just seen her as morally grey and. yeah. I don't really know what else to say here. I know theres still a lot of lore that we haven't uncovered yet so not all of it is clear, but I truly cant see delilah as anything other than that

also its silly to think that delilah would be like a mother figure to the toons sometimes. as a break from whatever is happening in canon

FRRRR. NO LITERALLY. MORALLY GREY DELILAH MY BELOVED I HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE JUST CALL HER EVIL AUGHHH shes so much more interesting as a nuanced character . Ive taklked abt this witjbmy good friend phantom a lot (shoutout to them delilah fan extraordinaire) but imo delilah is far from evil,,, her actions have good intentions, but her Methods of doing things are often questionable and have consequences. she tends to weigh pros and cons differently, yk. she lacks empathy and doesnt express much emotion but that doesnt make someone evil. and while we're on this topic i think that arthur is much more interesting when hes morally gray too!! even though hes warmer, kinder and more expressive than delilah (and yknow . wasnt the one creating the toons) its more interesting to interpret him as somewhat selfish and ignorant. pure good/evil characters are BORING give me some nuance ‼️ (and to be clear im not trying to defend delilah or villainize arthur. please reread this paragraph if you think thats what im doing)

Im a little iffy on the mother thing, idk i just dont think that delilah has that kind of relationship with the toons. More of a distant creator/creation relationship.

and, lighthearedly its a slippery slope to go down. im not trying to say that youre being straight up misogynistic (because it CAN be interesting to explore, really depends on how you treat female characters as a whole) but it can be harmful to put the Motherly label on every female character, especially if it doesnt fit their personality ^^"

[qoldenskies]

YOOOO QOLDEN! IM SUPER HAPPY TO SEE YOU CAUSE YOU ALWAYS HAVE SOME OF THE BEST MOST JOYFUL ART IN THE WORLD AND YOUR WRITING IS ALWAYS FIRE!!

Anyways, you disappeared off my feed for a minute and I was thinking about you

Any tips of all the turtles characterisation? I'm struggling with Raph and Leo, and recently realised how hard it is to write Mikey and make him an actual person. With Donnie, it's a bit easier because he's Donnie- he has got clear character in the show and every one of his actions can be linked to his family, etc.

Also, will there be any Brains and Brawn- centric fics that you'll work on? I feel like you'd write a really good BnB fic that'd make me sob

i just write leo making decisions that make the situation 3000% worse, before immediately locking the fuck in and doing the most emotionally intelligent, competent thing that he possibly can. it actually really aligns with how he operates in the show. he bitches and he fights and he goes down kicking and screaming and then he fixes it perfectly fine. you have to drag him by the ankles into making responsible decisions. usually through the mud. and even then he'll WHINE ABOUT IT the whole time. leo hates being honest and he loves lying. i think it's funny how much he loves lying. this is probably why literally every single time i write him i make someone mad at him. like there's always people yelling about leo being stupid in my comment sections. being clever just does not make him free from his own stupid biases i guess lmao.

when it comes to raph... ive written up a paragraph and deleted it like 5 times i genuinely dont even know how to describe it. but all i can really say is that dont let the maternal figure gentle puppydog endlessly patient raph characterization in the fandom drag you down because i think there's a lot more fun to be had with how testy and impatient he is. he always feels like he's running after them all and he's exhausted with it, especially because he's not good at making decisions on the fly. arguing and shouting is how he handles his stress. i put him in a lot of situations where fear can kind of cancel that out but those are also usually ones where he's not the one taking the lead. i feel like he just clashes so hard with leo because they dont like to listen to each other, and both of them hated being called out for shit they actually do. LIKE WHO TOLD YOU. raph will come to important conclusions on his own but usually if you try to argue with him he'll just double down lmfao. also take your drafts and make raph at least 10% sillier trust me it always helps

as for bnb things.... i have some stuff in the bthb! its actually wild how little content i have planned for their duo dynamic in particular because they're quite obviously one of my favorites. is caged lungs technically my only brains and brawn fic????? ummmmmm

[rjalker]

Plain text with paragraph breaks for accessability:

Maybe it's just me being autistic but that's exactly what I fucking said!! That's the same sentence!!! I just worded it differently and you don't like how I worded it!! It's still exactly the same message I've been saying this whole time, you just only see in black and white and you insist I'm the villian for saying there's more nuance to this! Policing language never works! It shuts people down. Peepaw needs a gentle hand. Your post in question was talking about language that other trans people are using!! Including me!! If you don't want us using certain language for you, you gotta give us an alternative!! We have no idea what you'd prefer, you're just demonizing the language without allowing for people to learn and grow. Just everyone is evil for not reading my mind and not knowing automatically how I want them to refer to me. Tell us the alternative and don't try to publicly assassinate people who are doing their best!!!!! It's quite simple.

@crowteeth also said in another reblog:

hi I said the exact same thing in 15 different ways, you just refuse to see nuance :)

you just keep on lying like we can't all read your original post, don't you? Why do you think that's going to work online?

This is not "you just being autistic" this is you being an exorsexist victim blaming bigot and now trying to say it's just because you're autistic.

And instead of just apologizing for literal victim blaming, you just keep doubling down and pulling out every Marginalized Identity Card you can think of to pretend you've not done a single thing wrong or bigoted here at all.

Literally just apologize for victim blaming nonbinary people for asking to be included in conversations that involve us.

Literally just apologize for all the ableism you've spewed in defence of your exorsexism.

Literally just apologize for acting like "killing the cop in your head" is about minorities asking you not to keep erasing them.

It's not public assasination to show people the bigotry you're going out of your way to say on purpose.

You don't want to be called a bigot? Then apologize and delete your bigoted posts and do shit differently in the future, like instead of immediately leaping for textbook victim blaming and gaslighting, just ask "what should we say to include nonbinary people like you?"

which would have taken you 5 seconds to type out and would have saved you 22 characters.

Literally just apologize and delete your bigoted posts and actually make your first reaction to minorities asking to be included be "how can I help?" instead of literally saying "you’re the reason grandpa can’t keep up with all the different term changes."

you literally do not get to keep doubling down on bigotry and pretending every single way you're oppressed somehow makes your bigotry okay.

Apologize. Delete your bigoted posts. Do better in the future. That's literally all you have to do.

"no one hates nonbinary people!" hey just you wait and see what tumblr user @crowteeth has to say about nonbinary people asking for the literal bare minimum of inclusion in conversations about transmisia :)

Yes, I am just going to keep letting this exorsexist, ableist, and racist bigot keep digging this hole deeper and deeper. Archiving it all for posterity lol.

[starry-sophrosyne]

me realizing i havent ever posted my initial designs for tox and leo/ive stopped talked about ttos as a whole:

[xxplastic-cubexx]

what is your favorite thing about charles and your favorite thing about erik? separately, as in what you like most about their characters :]

a devious question this one is, my friend!!! it's hard enough for me to explain my thoughts cohesively, but having to pick ONE thing i particularly love is difficult. with characters like charles and erik, theres been so much done with their characters over the decades and so they have so many components to them that make them so interesting and fun to observe. BUT I TRY FOR YOU TODAY. under the cut i kinda ramble and the size of this text box makin me anxious

i think if i were to be simple and broad, what i enjoy most about charles is his determination to help others, even if he isn't really thanked and/or if people don't even like him. ofc, this isn't to say he hasn't done wrong- to be honest, the fact he does wrong/questionable things at times is another aspect of him i really enjoy, maybe because- broadly speaking- he's meant to be altruistic (intent vs outcome and all that). i don't know if that's super exciting to most people, but it is for me

as for erik, my reason for liking him is easier to explain tbh. To Be Simple And Broad, his progression from villain to antihero over the decades has been fun to observe (as much as i have so far anyhow) and analyze. i think to be a bit more specific, him using his rage and pain as justifications for his villainous actions is definitely what compels me the most: hurt people hurt and the sort, an idea i've always found interesting (something something vicious cycles and the like). yet now, he recognizes this wasn't really. A Just Thing To Do and is beginning to change that, which i enjoy

[thenyandrawsnstuff]

which slugcats would like catnip?

None because they are not cats, they are slugcats. I feel like people need to remember that slugcats are a completely fan-made name from the community so realistically they would have no reason to have any sort of relation to cats, especially since they are from a world very unlike our own. It’s quite annoying when a game is about a completely unique eco system with its own animals and then yet people do everything in their power to turn those creatures from that eco stayed into ones we find familiar, for it removes all resemblance of creativity and difference and turns it into a dull familiarity. Because humans are just adversed to seeing anything vaguely different from their everyday lives

with that said Bombyx would fw drugs

[arsenicflame]

hey does anyone wanna bounce bellhands/they all went to pirate school together ideas with me? im trying to figure out the missing pieces of my personal set up and it might be easier with someone else!

[offthewall1979]

my review of Moonwalk: hot mess. ★★★.

[squirmydonnie]

My brain is such a mixed bag. It doesnt understand anything

[igneouswyvern]

After nearly two and a half years of being completely obsessed with Zestiria after I beat it way back in July of 2021 I finally decided to go back and watch the anime, Zestiria the X and, yeah I have some thoughts

I'm gonna start with the good. Definitely the best part was getting to see Rose and Alisha interact with each other, and Dezel and Zavied interact as well, since they were never in the party at the same time in the game. The anime format also did a lot of good for both Alisha and Zavied's characters (I'm so glad Zavied is something besides "the horny guy" now). Really the story works a lot better with the full party of 8 together towards the end.

The anime also gave me the one thing Tales games never give me, which is a full proper ending, and by that I mean showing us exactly what happened to the world after the final battle was won. I've never been very good at using my imagination when it comes to a peaceful and normal world so it was nice to see that fleshed out. While unrealistic I am also glad Sorey came back within Rose and Alisha's lifetimes because that always kinda bugged me in the game

Using Berseria as a legend in Zestiria was pretty cool considering they didn't get to do that in the game since it came out first. I thought it worked really well. However I am very confused on why they decided to animate the first three hours of post-prologue Berseria smack dab in the middle of the Zestiria plotline and just...never return to it. I don't know why they decided to do that, it didn't fit at all and the whole time I was just wondering if or when they were ever gonna come back to it. And if they were gonna do it for context's sake shouldn't they have, I don't know, jumped ahead to some part where Velvet actually fights Artorius?? It just felt so strange to me.

Onto some more bad: Why the hell did they make Maltran a good guy. She worked just fine as a twist villain. They just cut that entirely for no reason??

And there's one particular huge thing that they just completely changed. One of the most interesting things to me about Zestiria's narrative was the underlying theme that "you can't save everyone." From "everyone knows you can't purify a dragon" to that first moment in Pendrago when they encounter a hellion so strong that the only way to quell its malevolence is to outright kill it, leading all the way up to the finale of the game where Sorey has to kill Heldalf because he can't be purified. They learn over and over again that malevolence has consequences, and that the Shepherd's journey isn't without sacrifice, and that sometimes taking a life is the only way to save that many more.

And Zestiria the X just throws that whole concept out the window?????

First they straight up replaced the corrupted church lady in Pendrago with something totally different and far less impactful, just a corpse that can be purified. And then they go and purify a real dragon??? You can't just do that????? And of course that means they won't kill Heldalf either. He ends up unrealistically purified as well. It just bugs me so much. It goes against everything the original game wanted to set up. Sure it gave us a happier ending but we don't always need a perfectly happy ending! Life is full of heartache and tragedy and sacrifices, and the original Zestiria showed that in a really neat way. And the anime just goes and tosses all of it out the window. It just...it makes me really upset. Tbh the Pendrago sequence is one of my favorite moments in the game, and the dramatic sequence where you kill Heldalf is another favorite, and I was really excited to see those in anime form. And instead they just got binned entirely. My disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined :(

And for that matter they also kind of completely got rid of Sorey's character arc, as meager as it may have been. One of my biggest gripes with Zestiria the game is that Sorey is just too perfect a guy, he's too pure and innocent and never really makes mistakes and the game had opportunities to allow him to do that but were too scared to actually commit to it. But despite that, Sorey still has a character arc of some sort, mainly in what I mentioned above where he has to accept that sacrifices are inevitable but in some other ways too. Meanwhile the anime just removes all of that. Sorey pretty much never struggles, except maybe in matters of strength in the beginning you know, and he always gets his way--he never has to make a sacrifice and always saves everyone. All this culminating in The X Sorey being somehow even more flawless and perfect and static than game Sorey. And it's really disappointing to see because I was really hoping to get a more fleshed out Sorey as a result of the anime format.

Something pretty insignificant that bugged me was the fact that they pretty much never got to explore ruins or old temples or whatever else. The game's gameplay loop was pretty much go to a town, deal with some political stuff/watch some cutscenes, go to a ruin or temple and fight a boss, back to the town. Which worked really well for a game setting, but I recognize doesn't work as well in an anime. However, what the anime decided to do was completely cut out any ruins exploration and focus exclusively on the political conflict in the towns. I see why they did this, don't get me wrong, but I just can't help that it doesn't really feel like Zestiria when Sorey and Mikleo aren't nerding out over random stuff in ruins, you know? All that political stuff started to get really boring after a bit. And like so much of the game's story and lore takes place in those dungeons, so it just feels so odd to have them completely removed.

Pretty minor thing but I felt like they kind of messed up Lailah's character. Her whole thing in the game is that she knows everything about the Shepherd's journey but she's not allowed to talk about it because of her oath, so she does the whole inconspicuous whistling and deflecting to other topics the whole time. And I kind of liked it because she looks totally airheaded but it isn't true, she knows a lot she just can't tell us. But in the anime it felt like Lailah didn't know all that much about the whole situation, like she seemed just as surprised as the rest of the party in a lot of scenes. And I feel like that just kind of took all the life out of her character. She was already kind of generic in the game and taking away the one thing that made her interesting just made her even worse.

Okay I'm starting to make it sound like I hate Zestiria the X, I don't. I think I am just a huge purist when it comes to the original game and the anime did a lot of things contradictory to the game that I didn't like very much. But it's okay it was still a good anime and worth watching

It didn't really help me like my favorite characters (Sorey, Mikleo, and Edna) even more, but it did help bring the characters I was lukewarm about (Alisha, Rose, Zavied) about up to par with the original three in terms of how much I liked them, so that's nice. (Lailah and Dezel were more interesting in the game anyway.) I think if you took The X Alisha, Rose, and Zavied, and put them into the game's narrative, you'd have a pretty solid experience in total.

[paris-geller-was-straightwashed]

holiday gatherings are always an ~interesting~ way to get new perspectives. like yes, please go on about how the 'young people' are refusing to take on responsibility and hardwork and all they do is stand around waiting for the government handouts that you're tired of paying taxes for - yes, this seems totally reasonable coming from people who are retired, don't talk regularly with anyone younger then 40, and spend every waking day watching The Daily News. thank you for that totally necessary perspective on my generation who've grown up in an ENTIRELY different economy and climate then you did, very helpful.

another fun holiday thing you can do is try to talk down a boomer's conservative anti-homeless (as in the people experiencing it, not the structure itself obvs) talking points by trying to say you Don't Quite Think every homeless person is a irresponsible druggie trying to swindle you, by saying that helping via giving food is still a good practice. 'last time I was in timmies an unhoused man asked if I could just get him a coffee and something to eat, didn't even ask for money, so I got him a cup and timbits because, you know, he's hungry and if you're worried about it that's at least a a safe way -" "but was he really hungry?! how do you know??" ??????¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿????? WHY. FOR WHAT OTHER PURPOSE WOULD HE ASK????????? FOR FUN?????? FOR YUKS?????? TO WATCH ME PAY $7 FOR SHITTY COFFEE AND DOUGHNUTS HE CAN'T EVEN RETURN JUST TO LAUGH MANICALLY AND NOT EAT THEM????????? WHO THE HELL DOES THAT????????????????? if you think a disheveled man who was wincing in pain the whole time reduces himself to politely begging for just a bit of food is one of those Evil Homeless Trying To Swindle You, you wouldn't last a fucking minute in a big city.

lastly, you can nearly tear your hair out wondering WHY THE FUCK IT MATTERS if people are using the government supports to help with addiction issues or parenting - and then watch them dig their heels in even harder when you propose the Radical Belief that the government should be a structure that helps us and gives aid to people, because otherwise straight up What Is The Point. 'pEoPle NEed tO tAkE rEsPoNSibiLIty & dO ThE hArDWorK!!!!!!' alright then FINE I guess tim over here will just live a miserable fucking life of working three jobs; doing a 9-5 retail shift, spending his weekends as an uber driver, and then taking nightshifts at a factory only to fucking die of a stress-induced heart-attack at 45 with less money in his account then you have now. but I guess he learned a great lesson of being a Productive Slave of the Capitalist Market!!!

in the end, all this does is remind me of the sentiment that even if I was being swindled for a couple of nickles, or even if someone took the 'easy way' out instead, I know that that's on them - and regardless, I still want to be the person who offers a helping hand up instead of being the one to kick them back down.

[inkskinned]

the tradwife movement is the same as it has always been - back in the kitchen, back to breeding - it just has better branding.

when i was younger, i hated pink. i was not like other girls. this is now something i'm embarrassed of - this was not me being a "girl's girl."

but it was expressing something many of us felt at the time: i literally wasn't what girlhood was supposed to be. this is a hard thing to explain, but you know when you're not performing girlhood correctly. it isn't as easy as "i liked x when girls liked y" - because there were other girls that liked x, too - but i never figured out exactly the correct way to like x, or to be interested in y.

now there is the divine feminine. this is the same rhetoric it has always been: women are biologically driven to like pink and ribbons and submitting to our husbands.

the problem is that the patriarchy found a better PR team. because yes, actually, i want every woman to have the choice to be a homemaker. i also want her taken seriously for her legitimate home-making labor. i want her to be recognized as also having a job, just unpaid. i want men to have this opportunity, too.

but it is no longer "i made this choice and I love it." instead it is a sixteen-paragraph rant about how selfish it is that my generation isn't having kids. instead it's long videos about how if you feed your children processed foods, you're going to kill them. instead it is "this is what womanhood is supposed to be. i feel bad for any other choices you're making."

the shame spiral is just prettier. it is large houses devoid of personality. it is the implication: if you don't have this, you aren't happy. the solid, everlasting assurance: women are actually supposed to be submitting. this is the default. this is the natural state of things. all other attempts inflict suffering.

but you can no longer say i'm not like other girls. you can no longer reject this image completely. you cannot find it revolting, even if you know that the underbelly is toxic and festering. sure, it is the same repackaged patriarchy. but the internet does not have shades of grey. you should support and reward other women! your disgust is actually internalized misogyny. not because you are seeing a vision of yourself the way they're trying to train you to be. not because you feel her ghost pass within an inch of your earlobe. not because your father will eventually ask you - why can't you be like her?

because they figured out how to make it beautiful: women will sell other women on this idea, and we will find the singular loophole in feminism. sure, she's shaming you in most of her videos. sure, she implies that a different life is obscene. but she just wants you to be happy! you'd be happier if you were listening!

and the whole time you're sitting there thinking: i'd actually just be happier if i had that kind of money.

[ishikawayukis]

maybe there is a thing as too many allegories in just one text