#This class is important for graduation / taking my boards

[evvlogetarian]

I'm just going to complain in tags sorry 😔 I should be better but...alas...

[xxkissesforchanniexx]

Oh, How I Hate Him

Pairing: bad boy!Minho x student council prez!fem!reader (college au) Genre: angst, fluff Word count: 8k >.> Warnings: college idiots, mention of drinking, drugs, smoking O_O DONT DO ANY OF THAT, cringe romance, enemies to lovers, dick exboyfriend. protective Minho >.> <.< thats it i think????

a/n: did I intend for this to be smut? Yes. is it? no. do i mind tho? absolutely not someone help me come up with a better title...

You inhaled deeply and smiled contentedly as you entered the student council office.

"Good morning Ms. President." Your friend and vice president, Jia, said.

You gave her a side eye. "I said don't call me that."

"I'm sorry." She giggled, "Yuna, schedule today?"

"We have to collect signatures for lowering student parking costs and start the campaign for the cafeteria to be expanded and renovated this summer, you also have to meet with the principal to discuss how the high schoolers are going to tour the campus, " Yuna, the student council secretary and planner named off things from the list.

You nodded, "Not too much." You checked your watch, "I have a class at 8:30 and I haven't gotten my coffee yet, any of you want to come with me?"

Jia and Yuna looked at you, with are you for real right now man? faces before getting up and grabbing their bags to go with you.

You went to the cafeteria and as you were getting your iced americano, a student came up to you.

"Y/n, can you sign here to help keep our debate program alive? The district is trying to cut off our funding to have our formal debate team dissolved." The boy handed you a clip board and a pen.

You signed your name before picking up your coffee, "I'm running a little late, Yuna, can you take the papers on my desk to the principal's office?"

"Sure." Yuna picked up her own coffee and ran off.

You briskly made your way across campus and checked your watch, 8:25 AM, right on time. You entered the history classroom and smiled, "Good morning." You greeted your professor before going to sit, not too close to the front, not too far back, and not perfectly situated in the middle.

As the classroom filled, your friend, Seungmin, leader of the science olympiad team sat beside you.

"You're a bit late don't you think?" You teased, taking out your notes.

"Not everyone i always going to be as punctual as you, Madam President."

You rolled your eyes.

The chatter in the classroom died as the teacher stepped to the front of the class, "Good morning class, as you know this is the only history class you have to take to meet the graduation requirements. So, if you intend to slack in my class just know your future depends on your performance in this cl-" She was cut off.

The door opened and you looked away from the teacher seeing a man with redish brown hair and a leather jacket at the door, he had pretty eyes and small but plump lips. His eyes raked over the class for a moment before he looked at the teacher, "Sorry, I'm late."

"You are?" She raised a brow.

"Minho. Lee Minho." He said, walking into the class and going up the steps to the back of the classroom, he passed you and your eyes met. He smirked slightly and you made a face, not bothering to watch where he sat.

"I hope you won't be late again, Mr. Lee." The teacher said.

"No promises." He said.

She pursed her lips before continuing her speech about the importance of the class, where to find the resources, the books you'd need, the minimum grade you'd need to pass the final and so on. A snicker made Seungmin look over his shoulder.

Minho was sitting beside a guy with chubby cheeks and big eyes. Han Jisung, who, raised a brow at you and Seungmin as if to ask what.

The teacher kept talking and Minho and Jisung's distractions persisted before finally the teacher, who you now knew as Mrs. Jung snapped. "Gentlemen, is there something that's important enough to interrupt my lesson?"

Minho looked a bit surprised and Jisung blinked a few times.

"No.. ma'am." Minho said tentatively.

"Mr. KIm," Mrs Jung said.

Seungmin looked up a bit confused. "Ma'am?"

"Swap seats with Mr. Lee."

Your mouth fell open, SAY SOMETHING! SAY NO! ASK HER POLITELY TO RETHINK HER DECISION. "Ma'am I really think-" You started.

"As the student body president and one of the three candidates for valedictorian of your graduating class, Y/n, I think you'd be a good influence on Mr. Lee." She reasoned.

Seungmin put his notes in his bag and sighed deeply. "It's fine Y/n, we'll talk later anyway." He went up the steps and waited on Minho to collect his things before sitting next to Jisung.

You looked at Minho as he sat beside you. This was going to be a rough semester.

You went to the student council office after class to handle what Yuna had told you about in the morning and as you set your bag down you bristled, staring at the stack of papers on your desk. The same stack of papers you told Yuna to take to the principal that morning. You sighed and grabbed the papers and left the office, walking briskly down the hall and to the administration office, greeting the schools secretary before setting down the papers in the principal's office.

You went to return to the student council office, pulling out your phone to check over things when you passed the entrance to the arts department. You froze as you saw something in the corner of your eye, looking up to see Hyunjin and a guy in a hoodie.

You raised your hand and opened your mouth to wave but stopped yourself. Who was that guy anyway... You shrugged and went back to the office to handle your things.

You started counting the signatures the other members of the council left on the table, you let out a soft sigh of frustration, for people who complained about it being too much to park on campus, they really, REALLY, did not seem to mind that much.

You went back to your apartment and greeted your roommate, Doyeon, who, was sitting on the couch eating your snacks.

"HEY! Those are mine!" You huffed.

"Are they??!" She looked genuinely shocked.

You rolled your eyes and went to go change before sitting beside her and munching on the snack too.

"Oh, Yeongs-" she started.

"Save it." You said, looking at your phone.

"But he-"

"DODO!" You looked at her. "No. You told me not to be persuaded by him, you shouldn't be either."

"But he seemed genuinely sorry." She muttered.

"He always seems someway." You rolled your eyes and looked back at your phone. You got a notification from instagram suddenly.

You looked at Doyeon. "Does EVERYONE on campus have my instagram?"

She looked away from the TV, "Why are you asking so suddenly?"

"No reason." You muttered, looking back at your phone before following Minho back. He and his stupid self.

The following day Minho was late, much to your delight, you took notes and listened to the teacher for about the Egyptians and the Romans. Twenty minutes late, Minho strolled into class and sat beside you, not bothering to take out his books or anything.

"Good morning Madam President." He whispered.

"You could at least try to get here on time." You said, quickly scrawling down something Mrs. Jung had said.

"You could at least try to relax sometimes." He shot back rolling his eyes.

"If you're going to be late," You slid the first part of the notes to his side of the desk, "Play catch up."

Minho pursed his lips before sighing and taking the notes, he wrote them down faster than you expected, sliding them back to you after about five minutes and peeking at the sheet you were working on. You didn't say anything until as you were writing, he kicked you under the desk. You looked at him.

He was following along with the teacher as if he hadn't done anything. You rolled your eyes and went back to working. Minho's antics persisted until the and of class and as you were packing up your stuff you turned in a bit of frustration back to your desk to see more papers.

Minho was talking to the girl across the isle, she giggled at something he said and you grabbed the papers and pulled out a folder, arranged it neatly then put it carefully into your bag.

You were about to go when you realized your water bottle wasn't in your bag. You looked around your area for a moment before you clenched your fists at the sight of your bottle in MInho's lap.

You grabbed it and were about to leave when he held up your phone.

"LEE MINHO!" You fumed, grabbing your phone and storming out.

"You seem mad-" Jia said, steering clear of your volcanic rage as you threw your things onto the table.

Some of the members of the council squeaked and took off running.

"I hate Lee Minho." You practically growled as you sat in your chair.

A few days later you had worn a pair of heels for a meeting and they had been hurting your feet. You grimaced slightly while getting your coffee and Hyunjin sighed.

"You don't have to wear those shoes y'know." He sighed.

"I have to build habit." You huffed.

Yet when you got to class you really wished you didn't have to "build habit". But you wouldn't admit Hyunjin was right either. So you suffered through the entirety of class and somehow made it to the student council office. The moment you sat down and sulked over your feet you got a text.

You looked at your phone and rolled your eyes at the sight of Minho's contact. You ignored the "You look like you stepped on a lego" text and tried to turn to your work when another text came to your phone.

"Don't ignore my texts." followed by a "Call down your guard dog."

You stared in confusion for a moment before opening your phone and responding finally.

You opened the door to see Seungmin glaring at Minho.

"Y/n tell this hooliga-" He started.

"What do you wa-" You interrupted Seungmin only to be cut off by a pair of slippers being thrusted into your face.

"Wear comfier shoes. You look like you've been in pain all day. Idiot." Minho turned on his heel and walked away.

You blinked in shock for a moment. "Did he just.."

"You give her the slippers?" Hyunjin asked as Minho blitzed into the dance studio.

"Yeah..." He relaxed as he realized he was safe. He must've looked like an idiot. But when you were leaving the campus that evening Minho saw you and Seungmin walking to thee latter's car. A small smile came to his face as he saw you were wearing the slippers.

The next few months were packed for you, your teachers piled work on you like there was no tomorrow, and you wrote essay after essay. Business with the student council wasn't much better as Jia got sick with something and the campus tour date was coming closer and closer.

And Minho? Oh how you hated him. You hated the way he walked and talked and how he seemed to understand things without reading too much. You hated how he smirked at you in the hall way and how he got under your skin.

"I'm going to assign you your first project of the semester," Mrs Jung said from the front of the class.

You sucked in a breath and looked at your already stuffed bag, full of books and papers for your other classes.

"You will work in pairs." She said, "The rubric and criteria needed are online, if you have any issues feel free to ask me. I will assign partners now."

You exhaled shakily, Please don't be Minho. Please don't be Minho Please don't be Minho-

"Kim Seungmin and Baek Soojin," She said, "Han Jisung and Park Junho,"

Please don't be Minho!

"Soo Dokyung and Jin Sungwoon."

GOD IM BEGGING PL-

"L/n Y/n and Lee Minho."

You wanted to die on the spot.

"Woulda look at that prez, we're a team." Minho whispered, smirking at you.

You bit your lip. This wasn't so bad, he seemed pretty good at turning in his stuff on time and was mostly accurate. You had everything under control. You took a deep breath and looked at him. "If this is going to work we need to distribute the work fairly. So, I'll research the fall of the roman empire and you research the rise, we'll have a document to collect references and-" You head throbbed for a moment and you grabbed your forehead.

"Are you okay?" Minho tilted his head, brows furrowing.

You nodded, "I'm fine."

Only you weren't because after class you went to the student council office and sat at your desk.

"Y/N are you okay?" Yuna asked as you held your head, sucking a deep breath before continuing with your work.

"Yeah I'm good." You said taking out your computer and getting ready to work.

"You look a little pale.." She muttered.

You still got to work on your research though, Yuna left after a while, telling you to take care of yourself and relax. Earlier than usual you finally decided to head out, calling a cab and-

"What's the president doing here so late?"

You looked at Minho, who was carrying a duffel bag and his keys. "Work," You said, looking at the road waiting for your cab.

He stared at you for a moment. "Are you okay?"

You turned to him, "Why are you so concerned if I'm alright today? I'm fine, thanks." You said a bit harshly.

He made a face, "You just look really burnt out. It's late, let me give you a ride."

"I already have a ride on the way, Minho," You shut him down fast and he pursed his lips.

"Whatever you say, Madam President." He walked away to the parking lot and you couldn't help but feel a pang in your chest, like you'd gone too far.

Your cab came and you made it back to your apartment, Doyeon was the third person to point out your sickly appearance but the only one who actually made it to feeling your head and gasping at how hot you were.

"What the hell Y/N?! Are you trying to kill yourself?!! Come on!" She dragged you to your bed and made you put your stuff down and change before getting you into bed. "You aren't going anywhere ma'am." She said, "You sit here and get better, Nurse Doyeon will take care of you."

"I'd rather die." You teased.

She pouted, "Meanie."

You rolled your eyes and smiled at your friend, "Thank you Dodo."

"Of course y/nnie."

If you felt like shit at school, that was only the beginning, you whined in pain at your sore throat and Doyeon had to convince you to eat even though it hurt to swallow. After you finally finished the noodles and all the soup Doyeon made you, she made you take medicine for your throat and to reduce your fever before letting you sleep finally.

Only as you were drifting of you thought about history and mentally berated yourself for not studying ahead for the lessons. You were about to grab your laptop when your phone buzzed. A message from Minho.

Minho stared at his phone for a moment, he thought about how you seemed a but more irritable and pale and how your usual upright, perfect posture was slackened. So he did do his research that night, and looked at his cat Dori, "She's so uptight. It's not fair.."

The cat mewed softly.

"You're right, I'll give her something tomorrow." Minho muttered, "Maybe she's overworking herself. You think she likes pasta? Or maybe I should make her strawberry cake..."

In the morning, Minho was getting ready for class when his phone rang, he pulled his shirt over his head and grabbed it, answering the call.

"Hyunjin?" He said, putting the phone on speaker.

"You coming today? Changbin might come too." Hyunjin said on the other end.

"Y'know I have a project to work on." Minho said fixing his hair in the mirror.

"Man, just a few hours."

"Yeah, nah." Minho said.

"Alright, your loss." He went quiet for a moment, "Did you see Y/n yesterday?"

Minho thought about how you looked so tired the day before. "Yeah."

"I'm a little worried y'know." Hyunjin sighed. "She never says anything when she doesn't feel well. But oh well, we'll see later."

Minho thought about what Hyunjin had said the entire way to class and for once, he was on time, sitting in his seat waiting for you. The classroom filled, the teacher entered, and you... never came.

He fidgeted slightly. Where were you? For the first time since he walked into that history class—much to Mrs. Jung and Seungmin's shock—Minho took notes. He jotted down things that were important and little details on the side, he underlined and highlighted did his best to seperate definitions and dates from key material as he'd seen you do.

After class he went to the student council office. This was abnormal. Where were you? You would never miss class even if you didnt have a ride and had to walk the entire way... in flip flops (as if you ever would) YOU WOULD BE AT SCHO-

"If you're looking for the president she's not here today." The secretary said.

"Why? Is she ok-" Minho started only to stop himself, "No problem."

He went to the arts department to see Hyunjin.

"Thought you weren't coming today?" The long haired man said, taking a hair band between his teeth so he could gather his hair.

"Came to say hi, I've got work to do." Minho shrugged.

"OH, 'cause Y/n isn't here?" Hyunjin giggled as he tied his hair.

Minho made a face. "Really wanna go that way?"

"No sir.." Hyunjin laughed nervously as Jisung and Changbin walked in.

"Minho! You came! Man we c-" Jisung said only to be cut off by Minho patting his head and moving him, hands at his waist.

"I came to say hi," Minho smiled, "I'm going now, I have work to do."

Jisung pouted. "It's cus Y/n is sick isn't it?"

Minho took a deep breath. "I'll see you guys tomorrow?"

When he left he made another copy of his notes in color, hole punched them, and put them in a nice folder before he went to his apartment. He stared at his phone.

"You should text her." Chan said over his shoulder.

"Why would I?" Minho looked at his friend. "Nah." He tossed his phone onto the couch and went to the kitchen and got to work making soup.

Jeongin appeared at his side. "Whatcha making?"

"It's not for you guys." Minho said, rolling his eyes.

"Then who is it for?" Chan said, looking over his shoulder.

"Yeah." Jeongin huffed.

Minho's mouth opened and he closed it again, deciding it was better to not say anything. Somehow he managed to get the food out of the apartment without either man getting it. He drove to your apartment and went up to your floor before raising his hand to knock on the door, he stopped himself.

Stop being an idiot... he thought before knocking on the door and waiting for a moment.

A girl with long hair and big eyes stared at him for a moment. "You are?" She said, leaning against the door frame.

Minho looked at her, "Lee Minho, Y/n's friend."

"Oh?" the woman got in his face. "What exactly makes you think you're Y/n's friend?"

"I- Well-" Minho stuttered.

"Doyeon."

Minho looked past the woman at you and sucked in a breath, you stood there wearing a pair of pajama pants and a baggy shirt.

"You know this guy?" the woman, Doyeon, questioned, pointing at Minho.

"He's the guy I'm doing the project with." You said, before clearing your throat and coughing in your elbow.

"Eesh, back to bed." Your roommate started ushering you back to your room and motioning for Minho to enter.

He closed the door behind him and put the food down in your kitchen but you pulled away from Doyeon and sat on the couch, arms out towards the man.

Doyeon looked between you for a moment. "I'll uh- Leave y'all to it-"

"Minho give me the damn food." Your eyes narrowed.

He smiled slightly and looked around your kitchen before finding a bowl and spoon with Doyeon's help. He got you some soup and carefully brought it to you.

You took it from him and took a cautious sip, eyes lighting up at the taste of it. "AH! Minho! You saved me! Doyeon's food was going to kill me!"

"HEY!" Your roommate huffed.

Minho laughed. "I'm glad you like it. You could've told me you were sick. We're par- friends no?"

You looked at him for a moment. "Yeah. My fault.."

He shook his head and handed you the folder. "Catch up Madam President."

You looked at the folder for a moment before looking at him, "I- thank you."

Minho somehow managed to suppress the smile that wanted to come to his face. "Yeah, whatever, just make sure you get better, taking notes is hard." He muttered.

You rolled your eyes.

After Doyeon went to bed, Minho persuaded you to also go to sleep, he made you take more medicine for your cough.

"You'll be back tomorrow or the day after?" he asked.

"The day after probably, in case I'm still contagious." You said softly.

He hummed. "I'll take good notes then."

You laughed lightly. "Thank you really.."

"The president can't fall behind because of an illness."

You smiled. "Idiot.."

He smiled gently. "Go to sleep, I'm going to leave before your friend jumps to conclusions."

You huffed a laugh. "Okay."

"Alright... Sleep well Y/nnie." He said as he left your room.

"Good night Min..."

Minho closed your bedroom door and made his way out of your apartment, making sure to lock the door before leaving. He leaned against your door as he closed it. "Dummy..." He muttered. "Relax it's good for you.." He said softly before walking down the hall to the elevator.

You did manage to come in to class the day after and you were immediately greeted by the student council in a bit of disarray because of the upcoming campus tour.

"Excuse me!" You clapped your hands to get the people's attention.

They all looked at you before Yuna jumped on you.

"OH Y/N I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE BACK!" She squealed.

"Schedule." You smiled at her.

"Yes ma'am!" She jumped into her her chair and spun for a moment before slamming her hands on her desk. "The high schoolers will be touring our campus the day after tomorrow, on Monday you have your speech in front of the administration and you have a scheduled meeting with a student later.

You nodded.

The people in the room stared at you for a brief moment.

"WELL?!" Jia shouted all of a sudden. "GET TO WORK WE CAN'T HAVE CHAOS WITH HIGH SCHOOLERS ON CAMPUS!"

The students started scrambling to get things done and you stood and went to history, greeting your teacher and apologizing for your absence before going to sit beside Minho.

"You're late." He smirked.

You checked your watch, you were three minutes later than usual. "You're suspiciously early."

"It's becoming a habit. You're rubbing off on me." He shuddered slightly.

You pushed him gently and he turned to look at you, as if asking you seriously just shoved him like that.

"I hope you don't rub off on me." You smiled.

Minho rolled his eyes.

Mrs. Jung started class and you kicked off quickly, you had to admit, Minho was a decent note taker.

After class you went to your office and fixed yourself a bit, waiting for the student who wanted to meet you. You opened your lip gloss and were in the middle of applying it to your lips when you heard a voice you dreaded to hear..

"Dolling up for me?"

You froze, looking at your mirror.

"Y/n?" Yeongsu said in a sing-song voice, you felt icky with how he drew your name out slowly, taunting you... "You haven't answered my calls, thought I'd pay you a visit." he grabbed the tiny cat figure you had on your desk.

You closed the mirror and looked at him. "Why are you here?"

"I got worried when I heard you were sick." He sighed, walking around your desk and kneeling, he tried to take your hand in his, "After all, you're my girl.."

You pulled your hand back roughly and glared down at him. "I am not yours. If you have nothing to talk about please leave."

Yeongsu cocked a brow. "I'm not one of your little student council members you can order around, Y/n." He stood.

"Leave." You said more firmly.

He reached his hand out to caress your cheek and you grabbed his wrist.

"Don't touch me," You said through grit teeth, "Leave now."

He stared at you for a long moment and you held your breath. Yeongsu pulled away and rolled his eyes, "You're still so uptight." he muttered, reaching into his pocket and taking out a cigarette. "That's fine," He looked at you. "I like it when you fight back."

You bristled.

He lit the cigarette and took a long drag, exhaling slowly. "If only they knew their perfect president ended up in my be-"

"Get out!" You shouted, springing from your seat so fast it hit the wall with a loud bang.

Jia opened the door to the office at that sound and stared in shock at Yeongsu.

He smirked taking another drag in the silence, exhaling and then whispering, "You're not all that amazing, Madam President."

You stared at your desk, trembling with rage as he walked out of the room.

"Y/n.." Seungmin ran in and stared at Yeongsu as he left before running to you. "Y/n-"

"Open the windows.." You muttered, the smoke choking you, no, the thought of that bastard choking you.

"Wh-" Jia started.

"Open a damn window!" You shouted before falling into your seat, burying you face in your hands. "Please..."

Seungmin ran to the side of the room and began opening the windows.

You took a few deep breaths, "Let's get ready for the tour..."

While finalizing the plans for the tour, Jia and Yuna left before you as most of the council did, you sent emails to the schools that would be coming and arranged for food for the students. You were so engrossed in your work you didn't notice the sky darkening and were only pulled out of your grind by the rumble of thunder.

You looked out the window as rain droplets started pelting against the window. "Crap." You looked around your desk for an umbrella and cursed as you found nothing in its usual spot.

You grabbed your stuff and shoved it into your bag before heading to the front of the school, you opened your phone about to call a cab.

"Y/nnie never has a ride does she?"

You turned and stared at Minho.

He smiled, holding up his keys.

In the car the only sounds there were was the sound of the window wipers and the quiet music on the radio.

"Let's go to my place, it's closer." He reasoned.

You looked at him. "Yeah, okay."

When you got to Minho's apartment he got out with the umbrella before going to your side and shielding you from the rain as you walked in. The elevator ride was quiet. Too quiet so you said, "We're going to keep researching."

"Yeah." He said, "Uh- My friends hang around here often. Don't mind them too much, they're a little um.. rowdy."

You nodded, "I don't mind."

Only when you got to the apartment you were surprised to see not one or two friends but three men and three cats.

One of the men looked up from something he was eating, "Minho, who's the girl?"

"Minho brought a girl home!?" A man with very chubby cheeks who you recognized immediately as Jisung poked his head out of a room, he froze when he saw you before laughing lightly and going back into the room.

"He did?!" A familiar voice said in shock.

You looked at Chan one of the fraternity presidents.

He looked at you, then Minho and back at you, "How did this happen?"

"RIGHT!?" Jisung called.

"We're here to work on a project!" Minho huffed, "Please.

"OHH!" The muscular man at the table looked a bit shocked for a moment. "We'll leave then, yea?"

"Yeah.." Minho rolled his eyes as Jisung and Chan came out of wherever they were and gathered their stuff.

As they were leaving the muscular man shouted, "USE PROTECTION!"

Your face got hot and you turned to the door.

"CHANGBIN!" Minho shouted.

"SORRY! Leaving now!" He called back before he finally left.

You looked at him. "Let's get to work shall we?"

He laughed slightly and motioned to the sitting area.

"Your cats are cute." You said as a dark colored striped cat came up to you.

"That's Dori." he said as you pet the cat. "Soonie." He motioned to a white and orange cat laying on the floor, "Doongie." He pointed at the last cat which was walking over to Minho.

"The names are cute." You hum as you let Dori run off.

"Someone called them old fashioned..." Minho rolled his eyes.

"Who?"

"No one important. Let's get to work."

For the most part you and Minho worked very diligently and then your phone buzzed, you gave it a glance before it buzzed again and you frowned turning it on its face to ignore it. It buzzed again and you huffed, grabbing the device.

You saw the instagram messages and rolled your eyes.

You hum and put your phone down.

"What?" Minho asks.

"Nothing." You shrug.

Parties with Hae-joo were... a lot... especially since Hae-joo was such good friends with Yeongsu.. 'For old times sake' worried you. Did Yeongsu put her up to it?

You jumped as Minho flicked your cheek. "HEY!"

"Pay attention." He rolled his eyes.

You hummed and looked back at your work.

"Is there any particular place you like?" Minho looked up from his computer.

"Not really no." You shrugged. "Maybe my bed."

He rolled his eyes. "The beach?"

"Never been." You said looking at your computer.

"HUH!?" he blinked in shock. "It's like an hour away!"

"I never have time I'm always working or sleeping. or both." You laughed lightly. "I didn't live too close to a beach when I was a kid either."

"I'll take you one day."

You stopped typing. "You serious? I don't need to go-"

"Its really pretty there. At the beach I mean.. especially at night."

You noticed the way he smiled slightly.

"Friend of mine took me and" He sat up and started typing. "It's just really nice."

"I'll consider visiting." You laughed.

That night Minho was scrolling on instagram when he got a message from Jisung.

The first thing Minho thought about was how the heck YOU of all people would actually go to a party like that.

The tour began early, the moment the high schoolers arrived you made sure everyone was on their best behavior. As you showed the students around the classrooms and lecture hall, you noticed him watching you from his seat in his accounting class.

Yeongsu was watching you as you told the high schoolers about the class before motioning for them to follow you out. You came to your history class and greeted Mrs. Jung, explaining the touring high schoolers and then you explained the class and it content and why it was a mandatory class.

"We'll continue now," You said about to leave, as you ushered the students out, Minho came down from his seat and grabbed your arm gently.

"Are you coming over later?" He asked.

You blinked a bit stunned, "No, I have to get ready for my meeti-"

He made a face, "We need to finish the project,"

"We have a few more days. It's fine." You smiled and pulled away.

"Is he your boyfriend?" One of the high schoolers asked.

Your mouth fell open, "I-"

Minho looked at you and smirked, "She's a very close friend, we're not dating."

"Oh," the student said.

You cringed as one of the girls gave Minho her number on a slip of paper. "Let's continue."

Minho looked at you and laughed lightly.

After classes you were in the student council office and you decided to visit Hyunjin in the dance studio. You opened the door and blinked a few times in confusion at someone fixing Hyunjin's stance.

"It's ugly." The person said. That voice was familiar...

"AGH! HOW!" Hyunjin fumed.

"Stand like this!" The person stood the supposed proper way.

"THATS HOW I W-" Hyunjin's mouth froze as he saw you.

"What?" Minho stared at you in shock for a moment.

"You like dancing?" You smiled slightly.

Hyunjin grinned devilishly behind Minho and tried to run away but the older man grabbed him and dragged him back.

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Is that a problem prez?"

You made a face. "No. Not at all. You should teach me sometime." You walked around a bit. "I just came to say hi... I'll go. Leave you guys to fix that."

Hyunjin tried to pull away from Minho who held him tightly by the forearm. "SAVE ME!" He mouthed.

You rolled your eyes and left.

At the party, it wasn't surprising that majority of the students were acting like it was a club, you squeezed through the crowd and looked around a bit.

"Ain't no way the president herself came to a party like this."

You turned and rolled your eyes at your friend Hongjoong, "Long time no see."

"How could you ever see any of us if you're always cooped up in that student council office?" A tall dark-haired man threw an arm around Hongjoong.

"You act like I'm there 24/7 Hwa." You laughed.

"We never see you anymore." He shrugged, "You don't want to associate with the riffraff of your past huh?"

"You aren't riffraff," You sighed, grabbing a soda from a table as you continued walking, "I just decided to grow up a bit."

The loud music shook the whole house and you felt it vibrating through you as you walked. You opened the soda can and took a quick sip.

"Y/N!"

You turned to the voice and smiled at Hae-joo, "Hey."

She hugged you, "Didn't think you'd actually come..."

"I didn't either, looking for a fr-" You stopped half way through your sentence and stared at Yeongsu, who was smoking in the corner with his guys, staring at you.

Hae-Joo's eyes followed yours. "He won't bother you, I made him promi-"

"Since when has he kept a promise." You took another sip of your soda.

"Come on, everyone's waiting for you." Hae-joo dragged you to the kitchen, all your old friends were there, laughing and smiing and drinking.

San was the first to notice you. "Y/N" He put down his drink and hugged you tightly.

"Hey! Hey-" You squeaked as everyone else piled on you.

"Give the girl a break. You'll crush her." Yunho rolled his eyes and smiled, "Good to see you."

You and your friends caught up when you noticed him as he walked in with Jisung and Chan. You left your friends for a moment and started walking over to him. His dark eyes met yours through the crowd and your heart skipped a beat.

He walked over to you and laughed slightly as he looked you over, "First time I've seen you dressed in something other than business casual or pajamas."

You made a face, "I'm not always dressed business casual."

"You always look uptight." He motioned to the crop top. "It's a good look on you."

Your face got hot and he looked at someone talking to him for a moment. You left Minho there and went back to your friends, you huffed as you noticed they were no longer in the kitchen.

You picked up your soda and took a sip after you finished the can you noticed that your head felt a little foggy like you were drunk. You stumbled slightly, it was a fucking soda. Unless.. you cursed under your breath, why had you left it unattended.

You stumbled and almost fell over, someone caught you and you were about to apologize when you saw the tattoo on his wrist and pulled away.

"Y/n, are you alright?" Yeongsu reached for you and you shook your head. You needed to leave, you needed to find Minho.

You pushed past the sweaty, dancing bodies and found tipsy Hyunjin and Chan.

"Y/n?" Chan stood, completely alert suddenly, "You drank?"

You shook your head, "Where's Minho?"

"I haven't seen him, do you need to lea-"

You pulled away and ran looking around you went up the steps and looked around at the drunk students, then as you entered a room you saw them. Minho, Jisung, and several other people you didn't recognize, you're heart stopped as you took in the position Minho was in.

A girl sat on his lap, taking turns with him at a cigarette. You watched as the smoke clouded up as Minho exhaled. The girl giggled and was practically rubbing herself all over him. Your breath picked up and you felt tears clouding your vision.

Minho looked at the door and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of you. Your eyes met and you shook your head before you took off running.

Minho came out of the room looking around the party. Where had you run off to.. You weren't the type to drink. At least he didn't think you were. You looked scared.

"Y/N!" He pushed past some people in the party then he heard someone.

"Y/N JUST RAN OFF!" a guy groaned.

Minho turned slowly.

"YEONGSU!" Hyunjin...?

Minho stared at his friend who had another guy by the collar.

"What did you do?" Hyunjin said lowly.

"My friend put something in her drink nothing bad-"

Minho saw red. "WHAT!?"

Hyunjin released Yeongsu and backed up as Minho stalked towards them.

Yeongsu stared at Minho, "What? You want to fight me? I didn't think she'd run out like th-"

Minho punched him hard.

You lay in bed staring at your ceiling as your phone rang for what felt like the hundredth time, maybe it was, you weren't counting.

"Girl.." Doyeon whispered as she walked into your room with (fav flavor) ice cream. "What happened?"

"Maybe I'm stupid, Doyeon..." You muttered.

Doyeon looked at your phone as it rang again, Minho's contact flashing across the screen. "Did he-"

"Him and Yeongsu aren't that different." You rolled away from her.

"Y/n.." Doyeon hugged you, "You don't need a guy, you've got me and Jia and Yuna... Hell even your guy friends."

You stared blankly at the wall.

"Y'know what, we're going to cheer you up, right now." She dragged you into a sitting position and opened the tub of ice cream, "The student council president is the strongest most independent woman I know, and she is the last person to beat herself up over a boy."

You stared at your friend. "Y-Yeah."

"Come on." She held up two spoons, "We can watch that show you wanted to try."

You walked into the student council office the following Monday and sat in your chair. "Yuna, schedule."

"We have a general meeting today and that's it." She said.

"Uh huh."

Jia's computer dinged. "You have a student meeting today."

"Schedule it for after lunch." You said, you walked into history class and turned in your paper on the Roman empire, you felt a twist in your gut, Minho wrote this with you.

You went to your seat and pulled out your computer, as class began you took notice of how Minho wasn't late... he never came.

You pushed down the worry in your gut and dragged yourself to lunch then the student council office. On your way you saw Jisung in the hall, he looked at you for a moment before turning back to the person he spoke to. You got into your office and stared at your phone, the notifications from Minho had piled up,you scrolled through the message notifications of "I'm sorry", "Answer", and "We need to talk".

You put your phone down as the door opened and you stared at Yeongsu. He smirked as he closed the door, "Heard your little boyfriend had a bit of trouble." You noticed the black eye he had.

Trouble... what trouble could Minho be in? "He's not my boyfriend," You said. "What can I do for you, Yeongsu?"

"Come on Y/n. Let's think logically here, you like when I do that." He walked around the desk and behind your chair. "Minho is in the same boat I am, maybe he's got a little heart. Maybe he's tryna crawl out of the pit we're in. But the same way you went to that party after you said you were done with us, he's fucking around with other girls because it's in his mind. You can take the person away from their habit. But you can't take the habit away from a person, Y/n..."

You stared at your desk. "What do you know..." You muttered as you looked at your phone on the desk. A notification from Jisung came on the screen.

"Huh?" he turned your chair to face him. "Think about it Y/n, you came back, you haven't changed deep down and neither has he."

"What do you know?" You looked up at him speaking a bit louder.

"Y/n."

"I'm asking 'What do you know?' what do you know about change that I don't? For you to educate me?" You stood and glared at him. "I'm different, I'm uptight, I'm reserved, I don't trust anyone! But I trust him. I've seen him change, I know he's not perfect, he's tempted all the time, he makes mistakes! He's human. He's more human than you will ever be." You pointed a finger in Yeongsu's face and said lowly. "So don't tell me he'll never be better. Leave." You pointed to the door.

Yeongsu stared down at you. "You think he's that good for you huh.."

Your eyes narrowed.

He didn't say anything more and left the room. You stood there and shakily exhaled before grabbing your phone and looking at the messages from Jisung.

You ran as fast as you could to the front of the school and called a cab, when it arrived the guy looked at you in the rearview mirror. "Where to?"

"Beach please.." You said frantically.

"Lady the beach is like an hour from here-"

You threw a wad of twenties to the front of the car. "Is that enough?"

The guy opened his mouth then closed it before turning on the engine again and looking at you, "Buckle up."

You gave him another twenty, "Make it fast."

When you got to the parking you waved the driver off and looked around, you ran to the sand and searched. You ran a bit and stumbled looking around you moved to get your phone and called Minho. It went straight to voicemail and you screamed running further into the beach looking for him, anything, his car, his jacket, anything..

You fell and gasped as you noticed that your heels were digging into the back of your ankle. You sat down and stared at your phone, the last message from Minho was from the morning. You took off your shoes and winced. Remembering how Minho had given you those slippers and told you to wear more comfortable shoes.

Your eyes filled with tears as you called him again, it went straight to voicemail. You were about to throw your phone into the sand when you heard the soft sound of sound shifting beneath someone's feet.

"Didn't I tell you to wear comfier shoes.." Minho said softly, he kneeled in front of you, taking your feet gently in his hands.

You stared at him, tears starting to fall from you eyes, "I was rushing.."

He looked up at your face and smiled softly. "You crying prez?"

You wiped your face and punched him. "I WAS WORRIED!"

"I thought you didn't want to see me anymore, I messed up, you wer-"

You kissed him hard.

He blinked in shock for a moment as you pulled away.

"Don't scare me like that!" You punched his chest again.

"I'm sorry.." He whispered. "For everything."

You stared at him for a moment before hugging him tightly. "I hate you."

He smiled and hugged you back. "I love you, too.."

Minho picked you up on his back and carried you back to where he parked his car. He got you in and drove to a small convenience store, buying you bandages for your feet and some slippers. He sat you on a bench outside and carefully put the bandages on the blisters on your feet.

You watched him for a while. "Who was that girl..."

"Which girl?" He looked up for a moment.

"The one who was on your lap." You muttered.

He looked up at you. "Y/n," he looked apologetic. "I don't even know her..."

You smiled slightly, "So she isn't important?"

He smiled. "Were you jealous?"

"NO!" You looked away, cheeks burning.

"I like someone a lot more than a random hoe.." He put the slippers on your feet.

You spun to look at him. "Who?"

He rolled his eyes and stood, bending to be eye level with you. "You, Madam President." He kissed your forehead gently.

You stared at him.

"It's late, let's go back, hm?" he helped you to your feet and led you back to the car.

You finally checked your phone after it buzzed for what felt like the millionth time.

"Do you want to go back?" Minho looked at you, before looking back at the road, "We have class tomorrow."

"I already turned in the paper." You said, putting your phone down. "We can go back tomorrow.."

Minho looked at your hands on the console, "Yeah..." He reached over and took your hand in his, giving it a soft squeeze.

You walked into the student council office to see Jia and Yuna talking to Yeongsu.

He noticed your presence first and quickly got up. "Y/N!" He walked over to you, reaching for you.

You took a step back. "Explain." You looked at the girls.

"We thought he'd know where you were." Jia said.

"Where were y-" Yuna started.

"With me." Minho walked in and smiled at Yeongsu.

Yuna and Jia stared at you.

Yeongsu opened his mouth to say something but stopped as Minho put an arm around you.

"You are?" He stared at Yeongsu.

Yeongsu closed his mouth and walked out.

Seungmin looked at Yeongsu walking out as he walked in, took in the sight in front of him and rounded on his heel. "Good luck with that."

"I KNEW IT!" Yuna pointed at you two.

You rolled your eyes.

"Coffee?" Minho whispered in your ear, "You don't want to be late."

"Why so uptight?" You raised a brow at him.

He rolled his eyes and smiled as he dragged you out.

© 2024 xxkissesforchanniexx. DO NOT COPY OR TRANSLATE MY WORK

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The Law of Attraction (Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader) [Part 6]

Story Synopsis: Throughout his life, Jung Kook has only ever loved one girl. Despite her being out of his league and of an elite class that he wasn't born into, he fell hard, keeping his feelings a closely guarded secret. When they parted ways, and Jung Kook pursued his law career, he did so with the intent of moving on. But when she unexpectedly arrives back into his life, Jung Kook finds himself once again face to face with his own insecurities, and the girl of his dreams.

Story Rating: M (18+) [Language, sex, depression, alcoholism]

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Characters/Pairings: Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader (feat. Jimin x Reader)

Chapter Word Count: 3.1k

Authors Note: New chapter!! I hoped y'all enjoyed the little interlude between this part and the last, I really enjoyed writing it. And I hope you enjoy this update, as well!

Taglist: @cassies-cookies @crisle19 @jk-190811 @khadeeeeej @kooklovee @lalataegi @lallataegi @rispwr @taetaecatboy @whoa-jo @11thenightwemet11

Interlude | Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

The bed that you woke up on was soft, despite being a bit smaller than you were used to. There was a soft hum coming from a spinning fan, creating a comfortable white noise in the otherwise quiet apartment. Your weekender bag was tossed on the floor, and you slowly pieced together where you were. You knew you must’ve fallen asleep shortly after coming to Jung Kook’s place, exhausted by the situation you’ve found yourself in. You checked your phone by your bed, and realized that you had slept all day. 

As you stretched out, you began to smell a pleasant fragrance coming from outside the room. You rose from the bed and opened the door, walking down the hall as you followed the scent of freshly cut vegetables. You found your way towards the living room, which sat adjacent to the kitchen, where Jung Kook stood, not yet noticing you were close by. His dark hair looked incredibly fluffy, with strands falling perfectly out of place. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants and a t-shirt, showing off an arm of tattoos that usually stayed hidden behind the sleeve of a professional suit. But he still managed to look softer than you’ve ever seen, as he combined ingredients together in a large, red bowl.  

“Hi.” You called out softly, earning his attention. 

“Hi.” He repeated, continuing to stir. “How’d you sleep?” 

“Very good… Thanks.” You said quietly, walking to the kitchen island to sit on the bar stool across from Jung Kook. 

“I, uh… I figured you would be hungry.” Jung Kook explained. “I hope you like japchae.” 

“I love japchae.” You smiled. “Oh my God, I haven’t had that since coming to the city.” 

“Great.” He smiled back. “This is a family recipe, so tell me what you think, ok? It’s almost finished.” 

“Thank you.” You responded. 

You looked around his small but nice kitchen, taking in Jung Kook’s little corner of New York. His white board calendar was pressed to the refrigerator with blue marker ink-scribbled reminders on a few important dates. The happy law school graduation photo of himself, and what you assume to be his mother, was hung up with a magnet cutely made to look like a Doberman puppy. A small collection of cookbooks stacked on top of each other, largest to smallest, creating a neat pyramid shape on the counter, and a collection of soju and whiskey that seemed to be carefully selected. It all felt so… him. Nothing too fancy or expensive, but it didn’t need to be. It was cozy, and for the first time in several days, you genuinely felt calm. This space, his space, felt safe. 

Then, you noticed a freshly cut bouquet of red and pink flowers in a vase of water, sitting right by you on the kitchen island. 

“Those are pretty flowers.” You commented, reaching over to gently touch one of the pink petals. 

“Oh! Yeah, they’re um…. T-They’re for you, actually.” Jung Kook stuttered. “I wanted to take them to the guest room, but uh, I didn’t want to wake you.” 

“You got me flowers?” You asked, your eyes wide in surprise. 

“Yeah. I saw them on my way back from the office.” Jung Kook explained nervously, watching your expression closely. “There’s um, there’s this flower street cart thing, down the block, on the corner. I pass by it all the time, but uh, I thought m-maybe it would… make you feel better? After, y’know… everything this morning.” 

“You got me flowers.” You repeated to yourself quietly, staring at the bouquet of red and pink. “Jung Kook, that’s really, really nice of you.”

“Y/N-” 

“Nobody’s ever gotten me flowers before.” You said softly, tears blurring your vision. “Thank you.” 

Jung Kook stood there stunned, not expecting this reaction. How could a woman who had everything in the world, be so moved by a three dollar bouquet? 

“Nobody has gotten you flowers before?” Jung Kook asked, but internally burning to ask why Jimin has never done that for you, being as its something so simple. 

“No.” You shook your head. “Never.” 

You didn’t offer more of an explanation, and the timer on the kitchen stove buzzed, stealing Jung Kook’s attention away to plate the noodles before he could ask you anything else. 

“Here,” He said, filling your bowl. “Let me know what you think.” 

You nodded a quick ‘thank you’ when he handed you the bowl and utensils, and your cheeks blushed when his dark yet sparkling eyes watched you take the first bite. You never noticed how his eyes sparkled like that, like stars contrasted against a clear, black night sky. 

If someone had told Jung Kook years ago that one day, you would be alone with him in his apartment, eating his father’s famous japchae recipe with a smile on your face, he would’ve thought they were messing with him. It sounded too much like a daydream, like one of those pretend, domestic scenarios he used to fantasize about over and over again while sitting next to you in class. But here you were, as beautiful as you’ve ever been, barefoot in a pink nightgown, smiling that sweet smile, in his kitchen.  

“It’s delicious!” You praised, lighting up excitedly at the flavor. “I think you could’ve been a chef!” 

“Thanks.” He blushed, shaking his head. “Eat well, ok? Have as much as you’d like.” 

The two of you ate in casual silence for a few moments, except for the occasional slurping. You sat at the kitchen island, and Jung Kook leaning against the kitchen counter, still facing you, with a bowl of his own. It was a small moment, and it felt delicate and new, chocked full of potential, like a seed planted in the cold ground. It was something Jung Kook wanted to water and nurture, to see if it would bloom when the weather turned warmer. 

“So…” He said, breaking the silence. “What do you want to do tonight?” 

“Hm?” You asked with a mouth full of noodles. 

“Well, I’ve got some games. Board games, or the Switch,” He explained. “Or, we can watch something. Netflix, Hulu, HBO… Whatever you want.”  

“Any of that sounds so nice.” You said with a smile. “Seriously, I’m happy with anything.” 

“Ok.” Jung Kook said, before glancing down to notice your bowl was empty. “Do you want any more? I made plenty.” 

“I’m so full now, but thank you.” You answered with a small laugh. 

“Any time.” Jung Kook responded, taking your dish. “I’ll clean up, don’t worry about it. I’ll meet you in the living room in a few minutes, ok?” 

“Are you sure you don’t want help?” You asked, watching him already load the dishwasher. 

“No, please, don’t worry about it.” Jung Kook said. “I’ve got it, it’ll just take a second.” 

“Ok.” You said, walking towards the dimly lit living room, only illuminated by the soft glow of the floor lamp sitting in the corner of the room. 

His Apple TV and Switch sat side by side on top of a small bookshelf, underneath the wall-mounted tv. The shelf was lined with comics, horror and romance books, which took you by surprise, be it a nice one. The curtains were opened, revealing a beautiful view of Manhattan at night, with glittering skyscrapers. You stood by one of the windows, looking out and taking it in. From so high up, the world below looked so small and far away, completely separated from where you stood, unable to reach you. Once again, a new sense of calm and safety flooded your system, allowing words you never meant to say to spill out.

“Jimin’s never gotten me flowers.” You thought out loud, speaking softly to yourself. Jung Kook heard you, and paused putting the last dish in the washer, turning to look at you from the other room. The distance between the two of you palpable; so close, yet still so far away. 

“Jimin’s never gotten you flowers?” He asked gently, and you turned to face him with a tinge of pink to your cheeks. 

“No.” You repeated, shaking your head. “Never.” 

“I’m sorry.” He responded, unsure as to what else he could say. 

“It’s ok.” 

But it wasn’t. Jung Kook knew that, and you knew that, but it went unsaid. Jimin gave you everything you should want; expensive gifts, trips to beautiful locations, and dining at the best restaurants in the world. But beneath all of that, the things you needed were absent. Peace. Protection. Stability. When those things don’t exist, you end up with a mess, exemplified ironically by a trashed luxury hotel suite. 

“Let’s watch a movie.” Jung Kook said, coming to the living room, and breaking you out of your thoughts. “Have you seen Wonka yet?” 

“Wonka? As in, the Timothée Chalamet musical Wonka?” You giggled at the suggestion. “No, I haven’t. I’ve heard that movie is so silly.” 

“I think silly may be perfect right now.” Jung Kook smiled at your description, revealing his boyish dimples, before sitting on the couch. “C’mon, I’ll put it on.” 

The movie glowed on the screen, and you settled into the couch, quickly getting comfortable. Jung Kook tried to focus, which proved to be a challenge as he sat so close to you. He hoped you couldn’t hear his heart race, or his abnormally deep breaths, or sense just how badly he wanted to hold your hand, or throw his arm around your shoulders so you could lean into him, or kiss your lips. He appeared calm on the outside, but inside, he was more desperate than he’d ever been. You were so close, but still so painfully far away from where he knew you could be... or maybe, even should be. But for the night, he accepted what he had; the girl of his dreams, comfortably in his apartment, but not quite close enough to touch. For now, that would have to be enough. 

——————————————————————————————————

Jimin’s father spent much of his life teaching his son what he could. Negotiating business deals, looking over contracts, and how to find a good lawyer, leading to his meeting with the family attorney, Mr. Kim Namjoon. But the underlying message of all of these things, was the most important lesson that Jimin had ever learned; Parks get what they want. It didn’t matter how, or at what cost; this is a family that got what they wanted. 

Jimin, for much of his life, had experienced this. A play room of toys at 5. A puppy and a horse at 10. A weekly allowance at 13, with deposits being much more than most people would see in a month. It was his father’s way of showing love. A poor man turned rich man through hard work, his father wanted his son to have the life he never had as a child. This only became more true with the early passing of Jimin’s mother. In his grief, Jimin’s father continued to spoil him monetarily, while setting high expectations in the areas of academics and sports that Jimin, despite being an overachiever by every metric, could never seem to hit. This is when Jimin began secretly drinking, as a way to cope. Love in the Park family wasn’t expressed in three words, or in sentimentality. It was expressed through the swipe of a Black Card, and tinted by the ever-present need to have control. 

This would come to a head on an early morning in Mr. Kim’s office, when Jimin, still hung over and tempers boiling just under the surface, was told exactly that. 

“What do you mean no?” Jimin asked, his tone angry. 

“I mean no.” Namjoon said nonchalantly. “She’s not coming back to the hotel. She’s staying where she is.” 

“I thought I told you that if your colleague is left alone with my fiancé again, I’ll pull my business from the firm and find representation elsewhere.” Jimin gritted his teeth. “I find this to be completely unacceptable.” 

“Mr. Park, with all due respect, let me tell you what I find to be unacceptable.” Namjoon responded, growing frustrated with the client. “What’s unacceptable, is having my high-profile client trash a five-star Manhattan suite, and leave Ms. Y/L/N so desperate for relief that she calls me at the crack of dawn, only for me to find you passed out in your underwear on the bed from a night of heavy drinking. You’re lucky the other guests didn’t call an employee when they heard the noise, and that it was only Mr. Jeon and I, because I guarantee your little ‘lover’s quarrel' or whatever would’ve been plastered all over the Korean press by now. It would’ve been embarrassing for everyone involved.” 

“How do we know it won’t be in the press?” Jimin tsked. “How will it look to send me into treatment, with my wife-to-be staying with another man? You think people won’t ask questions about that? You think that’s not embarrassing for me?” 

“I think it makes you look responsible.” Namjoon argued. “We can tell any curious press, and the judge, that you’re getting your life back on track, and you’ve left your fiancé in the care of a close friend, who also happens to be a colleague of your lawyer, so that she has support. It makes you look selfless, and secure. You know what doesn’t? Throwing your fiancé’s clothes around like a spoiled brat when she tries to leave you. That, Mr. Park, I can’t spin in a way that makes you look good.” 

“She was only trying to leave for the night.” Jimin said quietly, clearly ashamed to admit to Namjoon the damage he had done. “She wasn’t leaving me… She loves me.” 

“She does.” Namjoon agreed. “Which is why she wants you to get help, and why you shouldn’t worry about Mr. Jeon. And I know that you love her, too, which is why you need to focus on keeping her. This is the way you can do that.” 

“Fine.” Jimin agreed through tight, gritted teeth. “So then, what’s the plan?” 

“Today, we’re getting documentation from the treatment center, and Ms. Y/L/N’s letter.” Namjoon explained. “We’ll meet Ms. Y/L/N and Mr. Jeon at the rehabilitation center, and we’ll make sure everything’s in order to show the judge tomorrow morning. Then, we’ll argue that you’ve responsibly checked yourself in, and that you need time before you’re able to conduct yourself in a courtroom again. Ms. Y/L/N will write a letter about your character that I’ll submit to the court, and knowing this judge, I believe he’ll find it admirable that you and your fiancé are committed to your treatment, and he’ll defer your date.” 

“Ok.” Jimin nodded. “I think that can work… I’m going to miss her while I’m gone, Mr. Kim.” 

“I know.” Namjoon said, his voice empathetic. “But you know she’ll visit you as often as she’s allowed to by the center, and she’ll miss you just as much, if not more so. That’s why you need to do this, for her. Now come on, we need to get going.” 

Jimin’s personal driver was waiting outside of the firm for the pair, ready to take them to the address that Namjoon had texted him earlier that morning. The car ride was silent, with Jimin watching people from his tinted window go about their day. He was nervous to see you, unsure of how upset you’ll be with him. His leg bounced uncomfortably as the car turned right several blocks from the office, taking them closer to where Jimin would be spending the next three months. 

He saw you, standing outside of the building with Jung Kook. You wore a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, and a Chanel bag across your body. Jimin quickly unbuckled and got out the car, anxious to see you. 

“H-Honey…” He said, dashing over to you, like nothing else in the world existed. You wrapped your arms around him, soothing his worries, and Jimin pulled you in close to kiss your lips. Jung Kook immediately looked away, choosing instead to meet Namjoon’s attention and nod his hello. 

“Hi, baby.” You said, holding back tears. 

“Honey, I’m sorry. I’m so, so fucking sorry.” Jimin rambled, his hands cupping your cheeks so that you’ll look at his face, as he wiped any tears that rolled down. “Anything mean that I did, and anything mean that I said, I didn’t mean it. You know that, right, Y/N? I’m so sorry, you must’ve been so scared. Fuck, I never want to hurt you, or upset you. I love you, and I’ll never be angry like that with you again. I’m gonna get better, ok, honey? Gonna get better for us.” 

Jung Kook wanted to scoff, but he bit his tongue. He wondered how many times you’ve heard the same promises, hashed out the same fights, cried the same tears. He wondered how many times you’ve had to piece your heart back together, only for it to shatter again. 

He wondered how many times you can spin in the same circle, until growing too dizzy to do so any more. He wondered if that day would come, and if he could be the one standing there, ready to steady you until your world stopped spinning. 

“I love you.” You said softly, keeping your arms around Jimin. “I just want you to be happy… I was so scared, and I missed my Jimin.”

“I’m right here.” He said, pressing another kiss to your head as his heart broke. “I’m right here, honey. I’ll always be happy, because of you, ok? Nothing is ever going to change that. I’m your Jimin, forever. I love you.” 

“I hate to break up a sweet moment, Ms. Y/L/N,” Namjoon said, stepping towards the couple. “But we need to wrap up some loose ends, so that we can get Mr. Park set up for tomorrow.” 

“Ok.” You said, pulling away from Jimin. He grabbed your hand and smiled softly, pulling your hand up to his lips for a kiss. 

The four of you walked into the treatment center, with Namjoon, Jimin and yourself signing Jimin in and going over what will take place over the next ninety days. Jung Kook just stood behind and out of the way, watching the way Jimin kept your hand in his, or softly brushed  pieces of hair from your face, or snuck a quick kiss to your lips and cheek when he thought nobody saw. Jung Kook watched the way you folded so quickly under his touch, his kiss or a sweet look in his eye. 

In that moment, Jung Kook felt as though he were a college student again, watching you with another man, while he blended seamlessly into the background walls. 

[heartseungs-archive]

written in ink | n.jm

genre ➳  historical au (early 19th century), fluff, angst, strangers to lovers

pairings ➳ professor!jaemin x fem!reader (ningning and karina are mentioned)

word count ➳ 15.3k 

warnings ➳ mentions of alcohol, mental illnesses and disorders

info ➳  second installment of batc! surprisingly, this was the one i started writing first, but it took a while to figure out how i wanted to end it. click here to read the other works :)

The oak doors of the Provost’s office are no less intimidating than they were five years ago, towering over any students who find themselves bold enough to meet him.

Even now, Jaemin finds himself swallowing nervously before knocking, even if he is the university equivalent of a teacher’s pet. This meeting would determine everything for his future classes and his research funding. Psychology already had little backing compared to the other departments - Jaemin refused to let it languish away under him.

“Ah. Professor Na. Sit down, please.” The leather armchair is comfortable, and costs much more than the one he has in his office - the benefits of being the Provost reach far and wide, Jaemin supposes, even to the furniture.

“I called you today for something important. As you know, our university has a limited number of scholarships available for the faculty each year.”

Jaemin feels eagerness rise up at the thought of being one of the few professors selected to receive the scholarship in mention, which would provide money - plenty of it. He’s young, though, and the odds are not in his favour when measured up against the eminent figures who have been here for decades.

Still, Jaemin hopes that graduating with first-class honours and being the youngest professor in the history of the university counts for something.

“I do have good news. And bad.” Jaemin doesn’t like the sound of that. He knows the alteration of language is meant to soften a certain blow or some demand that will be required of him. The drumming of Mr Lee’s fingers indicates nervousness, and so does the number of times he’s cleared his throat.

After all, Jaemin is no stranger to the study of human behaviour. He waits, because there is nothing that Jaemin can do now other than listening.

“The admission board looks favourably upon you and wishes to give you the scholarship.” Jaemin waits a little longer.

“However, -” There it is.

“Due to your age, we understand that you have not yet had a full-length research project completed. However, it is a provision under the scholarship.”

Jaemin looks at Mr Lee questioningly. Both men in this room know that full-length research projects take at least half a decade, and Jaemin has barely been teaching for two years. He finds the irony of it amusing: without the scholarship, Jaemin does not have the funds to complete his research. Yet, he cannot get the scholarship in mention without his sixty-page paper.

“You’re doing well in your career, Professor Na, and there’s always the next cycle of scholarships. A little bit more waiting, I’m afraid, but waiting comes with an academic career.”

Jaemin knows that he has time. More of it than others, in fact. But the ambition in him refuses to die down, to keep sailing on this high in his career and see how far he can reach before he falls. Modern Icarus, he presumes, the sun replaced by his name in publications and award ceremonies.

“When’s the deadline for the research paper?” Mr Lee evidently does not expect Jaemin to actually take interest in the offer, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Counting today, a little over a year. But-”

“I’ll do it. I would appreciate it if you submitted my name for confirmation, Mr Lee.”

Despite the doubt on his face, Mr Lee nods, showing his agreement. Before Jaemin can regret his statement, he stands up from the comfortable armchair and leaves the room.

“Na Jaemin, you’re insane. Absolutely, utterly insane. Studying psychology has turned you mad.”

“Shut up, Lee Donghyuck.” The boy in question is stretched out on a chaise, leather shoes dangling off the end. In his waistcoat and rumpled dress shirt, Haechan is exactly who he looks to be: a debauched bachelor of high society, indulging in weekends of endless alcohol and dancing.

“He’s right.” Renjun speaks from the corner of the room, where he’s curled up in a chair near the fireplace. Jaemin looks to Jeno for support, but the man simply shrugs from where he’s standing at the doorway.

“You may be the brightest among the few of us, but even I know a year won’t be enough to complete it. Most definitely not by your standards.” Despite Jeno’s lack of support, he still knows him the best.

Jaemin could definitely half-ass a project for the scholarship-it would cut his work by a third, maybe even half. Yet, he would never be able to live with it.

“The line between genius and insanity is so fine. Sometimes I think Jaemin teeters so very close to the latter.”

“That’s your last warning, Donghyuck, before I take the red wine in your hands and pour it over your mother’s favourite carpet,” Jaemin snaps, levelling a sharp gaze at him.

Haechan sits up, a look of faux horror in his face. The jester may fear few things, but his mother’s wrath is one of them. The other being the occasional obsessive daughters of businessmen from the trail of women he leaves jilted.

Nevertheless, this is what makes up Jaemin’s days. If not busy in his office or teaching students, he spends his time with these three other men, who provide sufficient socialization to keep Jaemin from being deemed a social pariah by his overbearing mother. Childhood friends who he met from dinner parties, when their parents had sent them off in favour of gossip and hors d’oeuvres.

The scholarship money is paltry compared to the wealth of their four families combined, and the inheritance that Jaemin will receive eventually. His father would likely not hesitate to fund the project either, but the idea of using money that is not yet his leaves a sour taste in Jaemin’s mouth.

Maybe that’s why Jaemin still uses that broken armchair and forces himself to sleep in the cramped dorm room given to tenured professors - he’s always wanted to prove something. Whether to himself or to the superiors at university, he’s not entirely sure.

The clock strikes two, and the party outside shows no signs of ceasing. After all, it is the weekend, and everyone outside has too much time and money to spend.

”Well, I suppose it’s time for me to leave. I’ll see all of you next week.” The boys nod their farewells, and Jaemin takes his coat from the butler.

He narrowly avoids crashing into someone right as he turns the corner.

Jaemin pauses briefly to take in the appearance of the person before him. Your hair is tied in a chignon and decorated with a studded headband. In your hand, there is a glass of sparkling wine.

If anything, Jaemin thinks you look like the female version of Renjun. But Renjun’s sister is much, much younger.

Evidently, Jaemin’s silence has caused you to grow impatient, and you stride past quickly. Jaemin watches the agitation of your gait as you walk towards the room he had just left. Perhaps he was wrong about the sister part. You definitely fit the bill of a revengeful ex-lover.

“Lee Donghyuck, you owe me money. Hand it over, you cheat,” is the last thing Jaemin hears that night when he leaves the hallway.

Jaemin discovers exactly who you are two weeks later when you arrive in the form of three sharp knocks on his door.

“Come in.” It’s likely to be a student, he thinks, and Jaemin sighs because he’s told them countless times of the ever-present consultation schedule that they can fill in at the administrative office. Yet, every evening, there’s that one anxious student pacing outside his office, hoping for some morsel of knowledge before the final exams come around.

His friends aren’t known to be the type to knock either, unless for some sort of prank. The long day is wearing on him much more than expected, and he silently hopes the session will be brief.

However, Jaemin’s pretty sure you’re not a student. One, because he’s a good professor who makes an effort to know all his students. Second, he’s pretty sure none of the female students go around campus in cocktail dresses.

“You’re Jaemin, aren’t you? Donghyuck’s friend.”

“That would be me. Any reason you’re in my office at eight on a Friday evening?” Jaemin tries not to show surprise at your knowledge of Haechan’s real name, the one he uses for close friends.

Whether Haechan’s prospective creditor or jilted lover, however, Jaemin has little interest to find out why you’ve extended his working hours.

“You need money. I have it, and I need you to do something for me in return.” Definitely a creditor, then. Perhaps this was your job. Lending money to noblemen, and charging exorbitantly high-interest rates. In your defence, it was a smart way to go about things.

But something caused Jaemin to pause. A creditor wouldn’t be the worst way to go, especially if he could pay you after the scholarship funding had come in.

“What’s the interest rate?” This time, it’s your turn to look confused, before realization settles in. Compared to your imperious demeanour from the previous time, you look almost sheepish.

“I’m not a moneylender. Haechan just needed funds to buy something for a friend. Honestly, this deal is more for me than it is for you.”

Jaemin continues looking at you, motivating you to explain.

“I’ll fund the research, and help you with it. In return, I want to be able to attend on-campus lectures. And I want my name as an assistant author on the publication.”

“So this is a bribe?”

“Not a bribe. Think of me as an investor. I contribute, and in return, I get a stake in the research.”

“You’d be better off in the Business faculty then. The applications for enrolment open in December this year. ”

“You know every woman the officers admit to this university is done only to the bare minimum to fill those statistics. I’ve been trying for the past three years. I can show you my applications.” The desperation in your voice fills Jaemin with a sense of shame somehow - he, star student and youngest professor. Would his life have been different if he was you?

Jaemin’s well-aware of the discriminatory policies employed by the admissions department - it doesn’t help that most of them are elderly men who remain rooted in the old traditions.

Jaemin hasn’t seen a female Psychology student before, because the only degrees truly open to them are in education and nursing. Essentially, you’re contracting him as a tutor, besides the partnership on the research.

He looks at your attire, and it makes sense to him now - you must be a weekly attendee of Donghyuck’s raucous parties. He grabs his coat, and you move, as if almost to physically stop him from leaving until he agrees to your demands.

“I’m willing to allow you to attend lectures for free. However, I’m unaware of your qualifications, even if you’re Donghyuck’s friend. Send me your applications, and I’ll think about it.” You look surprised at his agreement, and even Jaemin is - he’s not one to entertain many demands, and he works better alone on research. He shouldn’t even be considering it, and yet.

You smile gratefully at him, just as the clock ticks half past eight. “Oh, I’m running late. Here are the applications, and other information. I do have to leave now, but my mail address is in the file. Thank you so much, Jae- Professor Na.” You stumble over his name, but before Jaemin can react, your purse is in your hand and your coat over your arm.  The door closes with a final resounding thud, leaving the room silent once again. The quiet now feels empty, and Jaemin glances towards the coffee table you had just been at a few seconds ago.

You came prepared, obvious in the way the bundle of papers are neatly arranged in a file and labelled. Jaemin picks it up, only to be greeted by a picture of your profile. You look much younger in the photo, still starry-eyed with excitement. L/N Y/N, twenty-one years of age.

He wonders whether the repeated rejections from the university admissions dulled it, instead replacing the excitement with steely conviction. He must have been a last resort of sorts, a lucky strike in the dark at pursuing your aspirations before they fizzled out completely. Jaemin can imagine the officers receiving your file and pushing it back to the return address unopened, explaining the pristine condition.

Maybe he doesn’t owe it to you to look through, but Jaemin feels like he does. A glance at the clock, and Jaemin rubs his eyes tiredly. It seems his working hours will be extended, after all.

You’ve never been very good at billiards.

You’re not sure why Renjun requested it instead of cards, considering the both of you make a good team against Donghyuck and Jeno. Now, however, you are losing terribly, and the debt Donghyuck owes you is slowly dwindling.

With him, however, it’s always one person owing the other. You’ll simply have to beat him in bridge later. Renjun makes eye contact with you, and you shrug. The victor is obvious, and it can be seen with every teasing lilt of Donghyuck’s voice.

Jeno can only smile silently as he scores, but you think that might be worse. The black ball rolls to the corner of the table and drops in, with Donghyuck letting out a cheer.

Just then, Donghyuck glances at his wrist. Decorated with a flashy Patek Philippe, it’s both annoyingly ostentatious and eye-catching. A perfect fit for the owner, you suppose.

”Well then, I suppose it’s time for me to leave. Y/N, you owe me six thousand now. I also accept payment in the form of wine, though six thousand won’t be nearly enough for a good bottle.”

Your brows lower in a frown. “Aren’t you staying for bridge?”

“And lose ten thousand dollars to you? No thank you. Jeno can do it if he wants.” Donghyuck smiles sweetly before exiting the room, and you’re half tempted to chase after him.

“Don’t bother. He’s off to find the love of his life.” Renjun says offhandedly.

“You mean the love of the week, Renjun.”

Jeno shakes his head, and you look at him curiously. “They’re not in a relationship. It’s his best friend. Every week, at twelve, he’s off.”

For someone like Donghyuck, who chooses when time moves and when it doesn’t, the punctuality is pleasantly surprising. You think back to the way he started to get slightly more jumpy and nervous as the clock ticked nearer, and a fond smile finds its way onto your face.

He must really be happy. You briefly wonder what it’s like, to look forward to the sight of someone so earnestly.

Then, your mind gets drawn back to the present. “We need four people for bridge. I can try calling Jisung, but he might be busy.” Renjun says.

“I’ll go get some more champagne. Anything else you guys want?” Renjun and Jeno shake their heads, and you prepare yourself to confront the din of the ballroom. From a corner, the string instruments of the band carry across the high ceilings, and couples dance in circles. There are at least a hundred, maybe even more. You suppose that’s why there are parties every weekend. Renjun’s huge estate would feel much too empty with just him and the occasional visitor.

You’re too busy admiring the lacquered walls and mahogany detailing, that it’s too late when you realise you’ve bumped into someone. You gasp, mainly because you’re shocked, but also because the champagne in your hands has ended up on the floor.

And on Jaemin’s clothes, unfortunately.

“I am so sorry,” you stutter out, but you’re at a loss even as the servants rush over and clean up the mess you’ve made. However good a partnership you’ve offered him, you’re quite sure it’s all gone now. You definitely wouldn’t offer someone the same mercies, especially if they spilt champagne all over you out of their own idiocy.

Yet, Jaemin breaks into a radiant smile. “It’s alright.” He says, and you’re not sure what to believe. Perhaps he’s maintaining politeness, especially in a room with so many eyes.

“No, wait. Please let me pay for the suit. It must be expensive.” Judging by the look of the fabric and the way it’s tailored to Jaemin’s figure, it will cost a pretty penny to compensate. Jaemin shakes his head, shrugging off the now-damp jacket and passing it to a butler who immediately heads down the hallway. This is Renjun’s house, after all, and Jaemin is a familiar face to the staff.  The jacket will be laundered promptly and delivered to his house before the week is over.

“It’s genuinely alright, Miss L/N. I came to find you, so this is just as well.” A sense of resignation overtakes you. No wonder Jaemin’s being so kindly. He must be here to reject your offer of a partnership. You’re glad he agreed to the lectures, but the thought of having to see him afterwards during lessons feels mortifying.

The short conversation with Jaemin in his office was much more revealing than you had hoped. You must have looked desperate, and maybe that’s why he took pity on you.

However, you refuse for that to be the only impression he has of you, and instead paste a smile on your face.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter, then.”

The chilly night air is welcoming, and you’re glad you wore a longer dress tonight. On this balcony, you can see the entire expanse of Renjun’s family estate. He’s always been the proudest of the gardens, and rightfully so- an endless expanse of green stretches out, decorated by carefully maintained flora. In the far distance lies his personal arboretum and workroom, where he does most of his painting.

“Mr Na, if you’re here to tell me bad news, now seems like a poor time. Monday would be much more fitting.” A low laugh cuts through the hushed atmosphere, and you almost feel proud.

“Then I am glad that this is good news.” Your sharp intake of breath can be heard on the silent balcony, and you peer at him, willing him to continue.

“I read your applications. And your essays. It was surprising. The quality…the insights made…you’re leagues ahead of my best students and most of the peers I had. And…”

The compliment settles down into you, a kernel of warmth despite the low temperature. You incline your head in thanks. “And?”

Jaemin looks hesitant of his actions, and you can tell he’s thinking very hard about how to word something. One second passes, and then two.

“I think I could benefit from having your contributions to the research.”

There is complete silence for a moment, and then you huff out a laugh. However, it comes out more as a relieved sigh.

He agreed. Na Jaemin, the top student on the honor roll and the youngest Psychology professor in the history of the university, has agreed to take you on as a partner in his research.

For some strange reason, his approval means so much more than anything the interview officers could have said to you. Even if they had accepted your application, it would be nothing compared to what Jaemin has just told you.

The corners of Jaemin’s mouth rise up slightly, and you’re sure he can see the happiness on your face.

“Looking forward to working with you, Miss Y/N L/N.” Jaemin’s palm is warm against yours as he shakes your hand, and you can’t help the sense of hope that fills you.

“Just Y/N is fine.” You’re determined not to disappoint him, to show that you were worth the chance.

“Please address me as Jaemin as well, then. The first lecture is at nine on Monday. It’s quite late, so I’ll leave you to enjoy the party. We can discuss the specifics after.”

Just as he is about to leave, however, a thought comes into your head, and a grin inevitably makes its way onto your face.

“Jaemin!” You call, and he turns around. The name flows nicely, and it’s easy for you to say, almost familiar. Under the chandelier, his eyes sparkle brightly, even as hints of fatigue creep at the sides.

“How good of a hand are you at bridge?”

“Metempsychosis. Can anyone tell me what that means?” Immediately, multiple hands are raised, and Jaemin looks at the students appraisingly.

He tries not to let his gaze drift to the corner of the room where a woman is seated, fountain pen in hand. Your entrance into the room had drawn plenty of eyes in the morning - the Psychology department had never seen a female student before, and the confident uptilt of your head only served to further emphasise that.

Fortunately enough, university students were one of the most self-contained populations to be found. They asked few questions about others and more about themselves, which meant there wasn’t the danger of news of your presence getting around to the admission officers. Not that they would have cared much - after all, security wasn’t particularly strict on the campus.

Jaemin points to a boy with curled black hair, signalling him to reply.

“The transmigration of the soul. Reincarnation after death, essentially.” Jaemin nods. “Very good. I know the majority of us here likely don’t believe in reincarnation, but Plato did, and that’s why we’re here now.” This draws a few laughs from his audience, and Jaemin smiles.

“However, we aren’t here to discuss life after death. I want you to think about the soul. What is it, in relation to the body? Where does its importance lie?” The hall falls silent, and Jaemin sees students flipping through their notes, as if hoping an answer will descend from the sky.

This time, his gaze falls on you and your raised hand. “Y/N. Would you like to contribute?” Jaemin’s equal parts torn between diminishing your presence to prevent unnecessary attention, and the desire to hear your opinion.

To you, Jaemin’s piercing gaze is unnerving, even from far away. It almost makes you doubt your answers. Pull yourself together, Y/N.

“The soul is the source of our life and mind. Our body is nothing more than a physical vessel of flesh. Our soul makes us human.“ You had done an essay analysing Phaedo the previous season, and its core arguments remained clear in your head.

“A classic argument by Socrates. What makes up a soul, then?” Jaemin smiles slightly, and you recall. He’s read your essay, and he knows your exact thoughts. Does he wish for you to share it with the class?

The students are staring at you now, slightly more intrigued.

“The tripartite soul theory. Our physical desires, intangible passions, and our need for truth. More simply put, what we want, what we love, and what we think,” you state, eyes fixed on Jaemin’s expression. His barely-there grin turns much more obvious, and it makes you feel pleased with yourself.

“Very well said. The link between psychology and philosophy is much closer than many of us think, despite one being a science and the other an art. That brings me to the assigned readings for this week, which will delve more into the tripartite soul theory that Y/N mentioned, among others. I’ll see everyone next week.”

The students shuffle out of the lecture hall, nodding at Jaemin in greeting as they leave. Many of them look at him with barely-concealed admiration, despite only being a few years younger. It almost makes you envious.

“That was…a good lecture. I enjoyed it.” Your compliment comes out hesitantly, but you mean it sincerely. Jaemin’s a much better presenter than you imagined, and you found yourself laughing at his well-placed quips more often than you didn’t. The students are lucky to have a lecturer like him, compared to the grumpy, stone-faced ones the university is so well-known for.

“Thank you. I would offer for you to be my teaching assistant, but it would be better not to push our luck for now. I trust my students, but not too much. Shall we head to my office?”

You follow Jaemin down the winding halls of the faculty building, the sunlight streaming in through the arched windows. When you reach his office, your face is slightly red, and Jaemin notices it.

“Sorry. My office is a little far from the lecture hall. Also, I tend to walk a bit faster when I’m alone,” Jaemin apologises, and you shake your head. It’s not entirely his fault that he’s almost a head taller than you, and one step of his is twice of yours.

However, you’re grateful for the cold glass of water that he passes to you. Jaemin clears his throat, causing you to glance at him.

“Here’s what I have so far. Take a look, and tell me what you think.” The file is heavy in your hands, and Jaemin’s signature scrawl can be seen on the first page.

The title causes you to let out an incredulous laugh. Jaemin arches an eyebrow, almost concerned, and you realise he may have taken the laughter the wrong way. “Is it very surprising?”

“No, not at all,” you rush to clarify. “I just…can’t believe that someone would actually want to research into the exact same field.”

It’s bizarre, really, considering how much you thought your ideas would be scorned. The idea of cognitive function being a scientific field of study isn’t yet accepted by many, and would be unlikely to gain any sponsorship.

You had expected Jaemin to propose studies into behavioural psychology. Pavlov’s dogs and conditioning. It was soaring in popularity within academic circles, and seemed to be the only research done these days. Yet, each of the experiments conducted seemed to become crueller in nature, aimed at publications to shock the public. That was where the money was, after all.

Jaemin feels a sense of relief at your words. His nervousness was unnecessary, after all. When he had first compiled the file, he wasn’t sure how you would respond. After all, cognitive psychology had barely been recognized as a legitimate field of study. Perhaps you would think he was dragging you down with him.

“Memory and perception. They differ from person to person, and I want to find out why,” Jaemin states, and you nod, barely able to contain your excitement.

‘We’ll have to plan out the methodology, of course. There was a report published about long and short-term memory by an American doctor. Of course, it’s not entirely verified, but I think it’ll be of great help.”

Jaemin watches as you stride across the room, throwing ideas out whenever they come to mind, with a faint smile lingering on his face. Each one of them is written down carefully in his notebook to ponder over later, once you leave.

“And I was thinking, maybe if we- oh, I got carried away.” Your rapid footsteps pause and you feel your face turning red. Jaemin, polite as ever, had been listening to your rambling without interruption.

“It’s quite alright, Y/N. I genuinely enjoy listening to your ideas. Please don’t hesitate to share them.” You can tell Jaemin is being earnest from the way he looks at you, pen in his hand. The feeling of having someone listen to you and value your contributions feels slightly foreign, but the feeling it brings is definitely one of happiness.

By the time the both of you are done with a tentative outline, the sun is close to approaching the horizon, and you rub your eyes blearily.

“I think we’re done for today,” you barely hold back a yawn as you say it, and Jaemin tries not to laugh at your appearance.

“We’re running on quite a tight timeline, but I think we’ll make it. Would meeting four times a week be alright with you?” Jaemin asks, and he allows you a few seconds to consider.

“That works. I’ll see you on Thursday, then. Have a good evening, Jaemin.” As you leave, you wonder what time Jaemin will finish his work. The last time, he had come to the party after midnight.

Na Jaemin intrigues you at every turn, and you wonder what you will discover about him next.

“Where were you today?”

The tune you’re humming under your breath quickly stills to a halt, and you almost trip over the marble floor of your hallway. Looking at the ceiling, you curse your luck. Of all the days that your father had to be home early, it had to be today.

“I was with a friend,” your voice comes out shaky, and you hate yourself for it. Turning around, you steel your nerves for his interrogatory glare.

“Are you messing around with that stupid boy again? Donghyuck?” Your father’s tone is accusatory, and his disapproval of Donghyuck is evident. Donghyuck’s parties are the talk of the neighbourhood, often for bad reasons among the older generation, and good among your peers. it definitely doesn’t help that you can often hear the commotion, considering his estate is less than two miles down.

“I wasn’t with Donghyuck today, for a matter of fact. And he isn’t stupid,” you defend. Donghyuck may be brash, and playful, but he is your friend.

“That boy is a good-for-nothing and will drink himself to death one day. You’re a proper lady and should act like it. Stop going to his parties, and stay at home.”

“And what? Stare at the pretty wallpaper until I’m driven to insanity out of boredom?” You bite back, glaring at your father. He’s never been particularly supportive of your attempt to obtain a degree and proper employment, still stuck in the yesteryears of his childhood.

“You foolish girl. You’ll realise it when your reputation is ruined.” Your father’s voice is full of venom, and you try not to flinch at his harsh words. Instead, you stride resolutely down the hallway and close your bedroom door with a harsh bang.

Fatigue overtakes you properly now, combined with emotional exhaustion. When you’re sure you’re alone, you allow your shoulders to droop slightly, shrugging off your coat. The quiet night air provides a source of comfort as you settle onto the ottoman at the foot of your bed. You’re not sure when it became like this. When your home became an unfamiliar place and your family turned hostile. Your mother is sweet to you, but she is also docile to your father, which you supposed has worsened it so much more.

That night, you lie down in your bed, turning Jaemin’s words over and over in your head, almost as if you’ll discover a new meaning behind them. They soften the harsh blow of your father,  acting as a balm against the invisible bruises of his words.

Teaching assistant.

The idea seems almost impossible to you, and yet. A job doing what you loved, and having the time to do your own research, undisturbed. An official position that would make sure no one could question what you were doing at the university.

And Jaemin. Having him as a colleague would be enjoyable, to say the least. He made a good partner. Maybe if you were patient enough, you could even become an associate professor.

You didn’t dare to verbalize that thought, for it felt a bit too out of reach. For now, at least.

“We’ll have the salmon filet and the beef rib as well, thank you. And three glasses of Chardonnay.” The waiter nods, taking the menus off the table.

“Wait, Renjun, Jeno, look,” Donghyuck points across the street, outside the window of the restaurant.

Across the street is you, in a light pink dress, and what looks to be a stack of books. Next to you is a man whose back looks awfully familiar to Donghyuck, and he can’t place it exactly. Until he gasps dramatically.

“That traitor. He said he wasn’t available for dinner today. But he’s out with Y/N. What the hell are they doing together?” Donghyuck’s pretty sure the both of you aren’t acquainted, and he’s not sure what exactly to make of it. There aren’t many explanations for the both of you to be seen alone with each other, unless…

“Oh, they met a while ago. Jeno and I played bridge against the both of them,” Renjun casually drops this piece of information, and Donghyuck stares at him. This must have happened after he had left.

The wine is served, but Donghyuck doesn’t take a single sip. Instead, he watches very carefully. The moment he sees you leave the store, Jaemin quickly takes over half the books from your hands. You walk on the inside of the pavement, Jaemin at your side.

A knowing smile appears on Donghyuck’s face as he watches the both of you approach the exact same restaurant where he is seated in.

“You look a little creepy, Donghyuck. Stop it,” Jeno mutters, as he sees Haechan’s face.

“I have a very good idea. But I need the both of you to help.”

Renjun looks over at Donghyuck suspiciously, and with valid reason. He’s not entirely sure what Haechan has planned, and whether it’ll turn out well or an absolute disaster. “What is it?” Renjun asks.

“I’ll tell you guys later. Jaemin! Y/N! Over here!” Haechan shouts as the both of you near his table. The familiar baritone of Donghyuck’s voice rings out across the restaurant, and you turn to him, immediately making your way over.

While you’re engrossed in talking to Renjun, Haechan meets Jaemin’s eyes. Liar, he mouths across the table, and Jaemin simply rolls his eyes.

“What are those books for?” Jeno does the task of asking the question on Donghyuck’s mind.

“Oh. Well…” You cast a glance at Jaemin, not entirely sure what to say. You’re not sure how much he wants to divulge to the three of them about the project, considering it isn’t exactly the most conventional arrangement.

“Y/N’s working with me as an assistant researcher and author. It’ll be a joint publication.”

Renjun hums quietly under his breath, taking in the information. “Y/N, are you sure you want to work with this guy? He doesn’t understand the concept of working hours.”

“Jaemin’s a great colleague, actually. I almost feel bad for not working as hard as him, considering he still has to teach.” You’re quick to speak for Jaemin, and it makes him light up visibly.

Jeno watches as Donghyuck’s grin gets inevitably wider the more he watches the both of you interact, and he realises that the boy has found a new occupation of interest: matchmaking.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Y/N,” Jaemin mutters under his breath, soft enough for you to hear but not the other three men at the table. He knows that he’ll definitely be the subject of Donghyuck’s incessant questions and meddling, but he rather it be later than sooner.

For now, he is content with watching as you crack jokes with Renjun and make Donghyuck the subject of said mockery. While your confidence in front of his students is admirable, you become witty and lively in the comfort of people familiar to you, and Jaemin finds himself enjoying the sight more than expected.

The street is still busy despite the late hour when the five of you finally finish dinner. Your feet are starting to ache from the stiff satin heels that you’ve been walking in all day, and the heavy, leather-bound books only serve to make it worse. Donghyuck hails two cabs, one for the three of them and another for you and Jaemin.

“Night out?” The driver asks once both of you are settled in, flashing a friendly smile. There is white hair creeping at the edges of his beard, and two sun-weathered hands gripping the steering wheel.

Both Jaemin and you nod, and you decide to look out the window, watching as the scenery outside changes from the city centre to the suburbs.

“You know, you really didn’t have to come with me today to get the manuals. I could have saved you the hassle,” Jaemin says, and you turn to him. In the dim glow of the streetlights, his profile is shrouded by shadows, his features somehow softened.

“It really wasn’t an issue. Besides, you spoke so fondly of that bookstore, and I can see why now.”

“They have one of the biggest collections on psychology, and the most frequently updated too. Though the medicine and history shelves are also very extensive.”

“It’s a pity we were short of time today, then. Maybe next time you can show me around,” you suggest, and Jaemin nods his assent. It almost feels like a promise.

Somewhere along the way, the jam-packed buildings turn into carefully manicured garden hedges, and the driver goes up the familiar winding path leading to your home.

Jaemin alights from the taxi and is at your side much quicker than you can comprehend, opening the door for you. “I guess this is it. Good night, Jaemin,” you say, smiling up at him. He inclines his head slightly, passing you the books. You’ll have to finish reading most of them by next week, but instead of dread, you find yourself looking forward to the days you spend in Jaemin’s office working on the project.

Once back in the taxi, Jaemin watches as you disappear into the foyer of your house, books in hand. He only turns his head back once the lights of your family’s estate fade away.

“Your sweetheart?” The driver’s voice jolts Jaemin out of his reverie. It is a perfectly innocent question, and yet catches him off guard. Jaemin vehemently shakes his head. “Just a colleague.” He sees the driver smile in the rearview, and Jaemin thinks it reminds him awfully of Haechan’s grin.

“The both of you would make a handsome couple,” he comments, and Jaemin chooses to remain silent. Objectively, Jaemin does find you beautiful. Any person with two working eyes could likely deduce that. But he’s barely known you for two months, and worked with you for even less. The idea of developing feelings for you, or anyone for that matter, seems like a rather bizarre idea.

More than that, he admires you for your talent and the ideas you contribute during the many discussions. You’re not just a colleague and an assistant, but a friend whose presence Jaemin feels rather comfortable in, no less than the trio he so often sees. He can’t help but think that the project would have been unlikely to come to fruition without your help and that perhaps you, Y/N L/N, came at the exact right time.

“Now, what has been keeping our Y/N so occupied that she can barely meet us once a week?” Karina levels her gaze at you from above her cup, expecting an answer. You do feel slightly guilty to have cancelled on both her and Ningning repeatedly over the past few weeks, simply due to the fact that you had chosen to sleep in after burning the midnight oil.

“Employment. I’m not sure if the both of you have ever heard of it,” you remark drily, though you know it’s untrue. Despite what may seem to be lives of leisure, Karina and Ningning are two of the hardest-working people you know. One is a famous actress, the other running a leading fashion house.

“Did you finally get a job at the university?” Ningning asks, overjoyed on your behalf.

“Sorry to let you down, but it’s not yet permanent. I’m working as a research assistant for this one professor and attending lectures on campus.”

“Who’s the professor?” Karina is curious, and you’re sure she plans to do some poking around. After all, several of the elders in her family are long-standing alumnae of the university, and she knows most, if not all of the prominent faculty members. Except for your colleague, however.

“He’s quite young. Na Jaemin,” you mutter, already expecting her surprised gasp.

“You’re working with Na Jaemin? First-class honours student Na Jaemin? My grand-uncle kept waxing lyrical about him a few years ago. He’s rising so quickly through the ranks, they think he might just become Provost before the decade is over,” Karrina informs, and you can’t help but feel a sense of pride for the way she speaks about Jaemin. He would make a good Provost, you think. At least he wouldn't stop female students from being admitted, and definitely would not have been suspected of embezzling funds for personal use.

“Is he scary? Academics can get that way. I suspect most of them have a screw loose, actually.” Ningning interjects, and you look at her, amused. The previous winter, Ningning had been involved with a famous Arts professor from a rival university. Needless to say, the both of them had not ended on the best of terms.

“He’s very sweet, actually. Leagues ahead of the other stuffy old men at the university. He’s a great teacher too.”

“Is he good-looking?” Karina’s sly smile from behind her teacup causes you to narrow your eyes at her.

“Haven’t you met him before?” Karina’s a regular guest at many of the university's forums and seminars. Being the great-granddaughter of the university’s founder exempts her from the open disdain of the Provost towards members of the opposite sex, especially when she’s the one forking out his salary.

Karina had offered you an easy way in: one word from her, and you would be enrolled immediately. Still, it felt like admitting defeat in some way. You wanted to make a career in some way based on your own merit, and Jaemin provided a semblance of that.

“I’ve only seen him briefly. I don’t think he’s attended a single function this year. Maybe he’s antisocial?”

“Or just introverted,” Ningning mumbles, and you smile at her. Karina and yourself have always been the more outgoing ones of your trio, finding it easier to make conversation with total strangers. In fact, the both of you had been the ones to meet Ningning, before realising she had been a mutual acquaintance and solidifying the trio.

Still, you can’t say you’re surprised at the knowledge that Jaemin rarely attends any of the university’s gatherings for the faculty. After all, many of the men there are twice his age, and the atmosphere likely isn’t the most enjoyable. Which makes it even more impressive that his superiors hold in in such high regard, considering how everyone makes it their mission to make powerful connections in circles such as theirs.

“Answer my question, Y/N,” Karina says insistently, and you shrug. “He’s decent, I suppose. Most people would find him attractive.”

“So do you find him attractive?” Ningning is curious now too, almost leaning all the way forward. You make a face at both of them. “What’s up with the strange questions today?”

Karina grins, leaning back, and makes a pointed glance at Ningning. “Please don’t try to play matchmaker. We’re only colleagues. Besides, I doubt a relationship would be something Jaemin is remotely interested in, considering his hectic work,” you warn.

“She even took into account his work schedule. Not bad,” Ningning mutters, trying not to let out a laugh. You roll your eyes, deciding to indulge the both of them temporarily. Despite their teasing and love for meddling, you are sure that Karina and Ningning will not do anything without your knowledge.

Compared to both of them, there hasn’t been much space for romance in your life. Karina’s image was always plastered in the newspapers with whichever actor she was working with, while Ningning had her fair share of encounters with fellow designers and models. After all, you spent much of your time attempting to pursue your career, albeit rather unsuccessfully. While you enjoyed parties and balls, the men you met there were often uptight in the way that members of the gentry were. The ones that you found tolerable remained purely platonic. You think you would rather shoot yourself in the foot than ever be involved with Renjun, Jeno or Donghyuck.

Jaemin was…well, Jaemin. Professor extraordinaire, a brilliant student of psychology, and a friend whose presence you found more enjoyable each and every day. Karina and Ningning see your gradual drift into your own thoughts and remain silent, attempting to hide their grins behind their food.

They wonder if maybe, just maybe, you might have spoken too soon.

Another season passes, and winter is heralded by the bone-white landscape and empty, ghostly trees that make up the campus. Still, you find a strange sort of beauty in it, even if it lacks the warm tones of autumn.

It’s also much easier to appreciate the landscape when you are curled up in an armchair in Jaemin’s office, the fireplace burning brightly and a cup of hot chocolate in hand. Although small, his office is cosy and homely, with dark oak furnishings dotting the room and a plush white carpet in the middle of the room. Over the past half a year or so, his office has grown to be like a second home, considering how much time you spend in it. He’s even given you a space of your own, where your books and stationery are arranged neatly on a shelf.

You’ve grown accustomed to the sight of Jaemin sitting at his desk, fountain pen in hand. He’s often busy marking scripts, occasionally muttering to himself when the paper is exceptionally good, or disappointing. He lets out a noise of disgruntlement, and you glance up.

“Rough essay?” You ask, and Jaemin rubs his forehead, extending the papers in your direction.

“Take a look, and tell me what you think. I know this student is good, but I think they rushed this project. However, I don’t want to completely derail their academic grade and destroy a chance of a scholarship.”

Jaemin waits patiently while you read through the essay, watching as you furrow your eyebrows at certain parts, almost identical to him.

“So?” He asks once you pass the manuscript back to him, humming in thought.

“There’s definitely some obvious glaring flaws. But I don’t think you should discount their entire thought process.”

“But I asked for an essay that looked at the ethical issues concerning psychological research on humans. He stated that there weren’t any,” Jaemin says, now looking entirely confused.

You shrug. “But morality is subjective, isn’t it? Sure, there are common principles that people tend to follow, but what’s ethical in the eyes of a government may be different from the individual person. Is it alright to sacrifice a single person for the common good? Maybe not. But he can argue for it.”

Jaemin pauses then, his expression still frozen as he mulls over your words. Gradually, a grin makes its way onto his face, and you watch as he grabs the pen and scribbles on the manuscript before placing it on the stack that’s already done.

“Thank you, Y/N. I’m not sure what I would do without you.”

“I’m sure you could do plenty. But two minds are better than one, I suppose,” you say, smiling back. Jaemin leans back in his chair, resting his head on his hands. Compared to his usual stiff posture, it’s much more relaxed, and you find your shoulders not tensing as much anymore.

“Out of curiosity, what made you start Psychology?” Jaemin asks, and his eyes are genuine when he looks at you. You’re not entirely sure how to reply, considering no one’s ever asked you the question. Not the university admission officers, not your parents, not even your friends.

Only Jaemin.

“I’ll tell you a story, But you have to promise not to laugh,” you warn, and Jaemin nods.

“I had a very bad argument with a man in a bookstore over a certain literary text. Quite stupid, I know. Seventeen-year-old me was quite hot-headed. Out of the blue, he started arguing that I was wrong because the brain volume of a man was larger than that of a woman.”

Jaemin knows what you made him promise, but the corners of his lips are tugged up anyways. You glare at him. “You promised not to laugh!” He holds his hands up, shaking his head. “I swear, with full honesty, that you’re not the one I’m laughing at. It’s just an amusing story. So you took Psychology to prove him wrong?”

“Sort of. That was my motivation at first. But I think along the way, I just fell in love with the subject itself.” There’s a light in your eyes when you speak about it, and Jaemin can’t help but be drawn to you. You’re so passionate about what you do, and it reminds Jaemin of the starry-eyed first-year student that he was.

Along the way, he doubted whether he had even chosen the right thing to study. Had he been so caught up in chasing success that he lost his passion somewhere along the way?

But collaborating with you seems to light a new spark in Jaemin’s heart, where he finally has someone to share his ideas with. He’s never been able to learn so much from someone in so little time, and you’re capable. Even more than him, perhaps. Jaemin wonders if you know that.

“What about you, Jaemin?” Your question jolts him out of his thoughts, and Jaemin’s breath hitches. You take his slight hesitation for alarm, and wonder if you asked the wrong question. “If it’s too personal, you really don’t have to,” you blurt out in panic, eyes wide.

However, Jaemin shakes his head. “I don’t mind telling you at all. It’s just that it’s not as fun a story as yours. More sad, actually.” He looks rather forlorn, and you’re not sure how to reach out to him. Instead, you sit in silence, waiting for him to continue.

“My grandmother suffered from memory loss. It was very bad, but doctors refused to diagnose her. They tried sending her to an institution to be confined, but my parents decided to keep her at home instead. She passed away a few months later.” he mutters, and you realise that this must be something that he doesn’t tell many people, from the way the words come out stilted. Alzheimer’s had just been properly diagnosed for the first time less than five years ago, and the cases were often few and far in between.

You suppose this must have happened when he was much younger, when the number of experienced psychologists in the city was horrendously low. The fact that he’s willing to divulge this information to you tugs at your heartstrings, and Jaemin suddenly looks terribly alone from the way he’s hunched over at the desk.

Despite all the praise heaped on him and the many accolades, Jaemin’s still young, no older than you.

Suddenly, his motivation for choosing cognitive function as a research area makes so much sense. Jaemin wants to know how people have memories because he knows someone who lost them.

You’re not one in the way of comforting people, but you walk closer to Jaemin’s desk and grab his hands. It’s sudden, judging from the way Jaemin immediately looks up at you, but he doesn’t pull his hands away from yours. You think that’s a pretty good start.

“She would be proud of you if she knew what you were doing now. You’ll be able to help even more people with your research. And besides, we’re partners now. We’ll figure it out together,” you promise, and the dark clouds in Jaemin’s expression seem to clear up. There’s a shine to his eyes as he looks at you, and the atmosphere is strangely peaceful.

“Thank you, Y/N. It means a lot. More than you know.” His voice is level now, and you can tell that whatever thoughts were plaguing his mind have cleared up temporarily. You allow a grin to make its way onto your face.

“It’s getting rather late. If you want to thank me, let’s go out for dinner.”

Jaemin’s eyes immediately dart to the clock, and he stands up abruptly, moving towards the coat rack and passing you yours before shrugging one on.

“My treat, then,” he replies as he holds the door open for you.

“I haven’t seen the both of you in weeks. It’s like you’ve disappeared off the face of the earth,” Donghyuck mutters as he looks at you and Jaemin, a blank expression on his face. You smile sheepishly at him.

“Sorry. We’re really busy with the project. It’s in its final stages now,” you confess, and Donghyuck hums, nodding.

“Speaking of which, Donghyuck, I have something to ask.” Jaemin’s words spark your curiosity, but you continue flipping through the book that you have in your hands.

“How would you like to be one of our test subjects?”

You turn your head to look up sharply at him. Jaemin’s voice is sweet when he says it, and there’s obvious alarm in your eyes. Jaemin catches your gaze, but he doesn’t retract the offer. Instead, he just smiles, and you realise what he’s doing.

Donghyuck ponders over the offer, casting a glance at Jaemin suspiciously, who keeps his expression perfectly blank and innocent.

“Sure. It sounds fun,” Donghyuck replies, and Jaemin breaks out into the widest smile you’ve ever seen. You try not to burst out laughing, using your book to cover your mouth. Jaemin has a concealed sense of mischief that only seems to reveal itself at odd moments, most often in situations involving Donghyuck.

This will be fun, you think.

Two hours later, the test subject in mention is glaring at the both of you from where he sits, pen in hand and sheet in the other.

“You didn’t say I would have to memorise sixteen pages of notes. In the smallest possible font on the typewriter, no less,” Donghyuck states angrily, realising he’s been tricked by the both of you.

“What did you think cognitive function was?” You question, a bemused smile on your face as you hear Donghyuck groan before ruffling his hair in frustration.

“I thought it would be like an interview, you know? Where you get asked different questions and they analyze your answers,” he replies, and you hear a huff of a laugh from behind you. “This isn’t like the ridiculous questionnaires you tick off on the newspaper, Donghyuck,” Jaemin interjects, and Donghyuck eyes widen in offence.

“I will have you know, Na Jaemin, that those questionnaires are extremely accurate. And besides, how would I know? I’m not the Psychology professor here.”

“I’m not a professor either,” you remind him, and Donghyuck smiles slightly. “All three of us in this room know that you are perfectly capable of being one.” Jaemin makes a noise of assent, and your heart soars just a little at the praise.

“Either way, I’m done with your test,” Donghyuck says as he stands up, passing you his papers. You look them over quickly, realising that for all his antics, Donghyuck is actually a lot smarter than he seems.

“You did well,” you mumble absentmindedly, and Donghyuck smirks. “Thanks, I know. I’ll leave now,” he says before leaning close next to your ear. “And have fun with Jaemin,” he whispers almost conspiratorially, and before you can ask him what it means, Donghyuck’s out of the room.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Jaemin’s voice immediately snaps you back to attention, and you nod quickly. “Oh yes, of course.” Your neck feels awfully warm, and you rub at it, unsure why.

“We know you didn’t need an additional test subject. Did you just want to mess with Donghyuck?”

“Well, I suppose so. It was amusing to see his face when we gave him the list,” Jaemin confesses, and you chuckle under your breath. “On another note, I think we’re done with the first draft.” Your posture immediately stiffens at his words, and you rush over to Jaemin’s desk.

“Really?” You ask incredulously, even though you know Jaemin didn’t have any reason to die. He hands you the bundle of papers that is ten months of hard work and intense research, and you cradle it gently, almost like a baby. It feels oddly momentous, somehow. This is everything you’ve worked for and thought about in every waking moment since that fateful encounter with Jaemin, when the both of you first sealed the deal.

Each word is familiar to you, considering you’ve proofread it a million times, but seeing the research organized and printed out feels oddly surreal. That your work is now tangible. All of your dreams and aspirations are contained within this one little bundle, and it feels precious.

Jaemin looks at the quiet pride on your face as you look through, and he can’t contain his smile either. “I’m going to send it to the university for feedback on the draft, but it’s definitely on par with other competing projects. Once that’s done, it’ll be published,” Jaemin tells you, and you look up at him. There’s an undeniable sense of excitement that pervades you, and the idea of finally seeing it in official print provides a strange sort of thrill.

“Thank you, Jaemin,” you say sincerely, and he shakes his head.

“No, thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you, Y/N.” He’s painfully earnest when he says it, and your heart stumbles slightly as you look at Jaemin. His features seem even more delicate today, his eyes brighter than usual. You’re not sure if it's the heady rush of elation filling you from finishing the project, but you finally understand what Karina meant when she asked you if you found Jaemin attractive.

The thought that Karina might be right scares you, but it’s also exhilarating. You’ve seen Jaemin at his best and in his moments of vulnerability, and he’s been a wonderful partner. Someone who pushes your thoughts in new, unfamiliar directions, who doesn’t hesitate to question your opinions.

You suppose you have to give Karina credit for calling your bluff so early on. Still, now can’t possibly be the right time. The both of you still have some work left to do, and anything now would just be a distraction.

Your feelings will have to wait, but you don’t mind. After all, you enjoy your time with Jaemin now, even if it is occasionally punctuated by the fluttering of your pulse.

It takes three weeks for the panel to review the draft, and another week to give their feedback. The next time you’re in the university, it’s spring, and the smell of fresh flowers invades your senses the moment you step foot on the campus.

You’re poised to knock on the door that’s already half-ajar when you hear muffled conversation from inside. You decide to stay in the hallway, at least until Jaemin’s guest is done.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“She’s my co-researcher, Mr Lee. I don’t think it’s a matter of want.” You immediately jerk up to pay attention, because that’s you Jaemin’s talking about. You know you’re eavesdropping, but you can’t help it. Jaemin’s voice is uncharacteristically harsh, but so is the Provost’s.

“You know that there will be a penalty on credit for not being a solo researcher. You’re already losing out. And to do it with a girl that has no qualifications, no less…Do you know what the panel will think?”

Mr Lee’s words cause the back of your throat to close up, even as you know they are true to some extent. You had been living in a joyful denial, ignoring the realities of the university’s expectations. Still, you stand outside the office, unable to move.

“Even then-”

“Jaemin. Do you want this scholarship or not? Surely she can’t have contributed that much. Just remove her name and negotiate it with her later.”

Your heart drops to your feet at the Provost’s words. Jaemin doesn’t respond, and for some reason, that feels even worse than Mr Lee stepping all over your hopes with a single sentence. You’re scared of hearing what he might have to say, and you don’t think you can bear hearing his agreement outright. It’s painfully silent, only the sound of your ragged breathing filling your ears.

You’re suddenly filled with an overwhelming feeling of loneliness, almost as if you’re unwelcome here. Jaemin’s office is no longer familiar, instead making you feel worse and worse with each and every second you spend near it.

You need air.

There’s a few students you crash into along the way, some of which recognise you. They look at you bewildered, as you run past them towards the exit. Even then, you’re not quick enough to avoid the first tears falling. At least no one saw you, you suppose. You scoff slightly. Maybe they would use the tears as evidence of your fragile emotional state.

As much as you’re angry at the circumstances you’re in, you also feel like a fool. A fool for having pursued this project with Jaemin, for believing that for a moment, it would work out. For believing Jaemin, especially.

You had your head in the clouds, and now you were crashing back down to Earth in a rapid descent.

You’re not sure why you thought his acceptance would be enough, sufficient for you to reach your goals. It never had been. And judging from his lack of a response to the Provost, you’re about to lose that too.

You can’t even blame him, which you suppose is the worst part. For all you knew, you might have been deadweight this past year. Jaemin would be better off choosing to remove your name, and it would make his life much, much easier. It was a smart decision. You couldn’t possibly take that from him. After all, he deserved the success, the scholarship. You weren’t even a student. What did it matter, in the end?

Still, you’re not sure if you can ever look at Jaemin without being reminded of what you’ve lost. It’s not his fault, but he is a living, breathing reminder of everything you’re not, and every moment you have to live with it might just be a new type of hell. You’re not just going to lose a valuable partner, but a friend too. And perhaps, he might have been more. You don’t know, and you don’t think you want to wonder about the what ifs, because it might just break you even more.

You had promised yourself that if this didn’t work out, you would give up. Give up and do whatever your father wished for you to do. It’s painful, but you’re at the end of your rope. Pursuing another foolish daydream would just simply leave you even more empty. Even then, the bitter taste of defeat refuses to leave your mouth, even as you force your feet to take you towards the arched gates of the campus grounds.

Leaving the campus feels strange, especially since you’re not sure when you will be able to come back. The red brick walls, mulberry trees, stained glass windows - they’ve become as familiar to you as your own home.

So has the dark oak furnishings and lush carpets of Jaemin’s office, but you’ll have to forget about that now.

Jaemin waits for you that entire afternoon.

You’ve never been late, only early or punctual. He checks his schedule twice, just to make sure he’s gotten the correct day. He runs down to his mailbox twice and asks the office, just to see if you left a note for him.

Nothing. It’s like you’ve disappeared, though Jaemin knows that’s not possible. Something must have come up. But even then, as he thinks of all the possibilities, it only makes him more anxious. He quickly scribbles a quick letter and seals it with wax, and he feels a little calmer once he has your address written down and the letter mailed.

I’m sure everything’s fine. She’s likely busy, he tells himself.

He gives it two weeks and six missed lectures before he starts panicking. He’s not a particularly antsy person, or someone who overthinks. At least, that’s what he likes to think of himself, and what most people believe of him. He’s calm and reserved. Jaemin can’t help but worry a bit more when it comes to you, however.

He doesn’t give himself time to regret an impulsive decision, as he hails a cab to bring him to your address. It’s only when he’s standing on the porch, finger on the doorbell, that he hesitates slightly. What if, for whatever reason, you don’t wish to see him?

“Jaemin?”

The sudden appearance of a voice behind him causes Jaemin to jump, but the sound is gentle and familiar. He turns around to see you in a robin-blue sundress, a book in hand. Jaemin’s relief is palpable on his face as he sees you, and he immediately descends the steps, closing the distance between the both of you. However, you retract from him, as if stung, and Jaemin is at a loss.

“Y/N. I didn’t see you for the past two weeks, and I got worried. Forgive me for showing up so suddenly.”

The hesitancy on your face has shifted to an uncomfortable apprehension directed at Jaemin. “I suppose we couldn’t avoid this conversation forever. I’d prefer another place, however,” and you turn, walking away, seemingly for Jaemin to follow you.

There’s a feeling of fear that clings to Jaemin, however, at your words. You’re uncharacteristically cold, tone and expression void of your usual exuberance. Whatever you have to say to Jaemin has to be important. He just hopes it isn’t bad news.

Even then, his mind goes into overdrive, thinking of the worst possible options. Maybe you’re leaving the country. Maybe you’re sick. He doesn’t like any of those options.

Jaemin’s jerked out of his thoughts when you gesture for him to take a seat. The both of you are in a garden, assumedly your family’s. The gazebo provides a welcome respite from the midday sun, and Jaemin watches as you sit opposite him.

The distance feels too far, somehow.

“If you have anything on your mind, Y/N, you can tell me. We’re friends. You know that,” Jaemin assures as he meets your gaze. However, you quickly tear your eyes away from him, fiddling with your hands in your lap. Jaemin can tell you’re nervous, but he’s not sure why. The book is forgotten, placed on the corner of your chair.

“I don’t want to study Psychology anymore,” you mutter, and Jaemin has to wonder if he’s heard you right.

You’re someone even more passionate about the subject than Jaemin is. How-

“I’m just not interested. Not enough to pursue it further,” you say candidly, and Jaemin’s head is spinning, attempting to wrap his head around the reality of the situation. It takes a few minutes for him to collect his thoughts, and the next time he looks at you, his eyes are piercing, uncomfortably so.

“You’re lying. I know you, Y/N,” he replies, and the way you tap your foot on the ground confirms Jaemin’s doubts. He’s familiar with the habit- did you forget you told him that was the way people caught your untruths?

“No, I’m not. How dare you-”

“For God’s sake, Y/N, the book you’re holding is a manual by Carl Jung.” Your eyes quickly dart to the book, cheeks burning with shame. Even then, Jaemin’s tone isn’t accusatory, just truthful.

“If this is because of the university-”

“I heard your conversation with the Provost, Jaemin. Every single part of it,” you confess, your voice getting increasingly shaky as you lose your grip on your composure.

“You’re my co-researcher, Y/N, I told him that,” Jaemin continues, and you wipe a hand across your face absentmindedly.

“I don’t want to be a burden to your career, Jaemin. We both know you deserve the funding. Just remove my name,” you breathe out, and Jaemin immediately shakes his head. He finally realises why you’ve disappeared these two weeks.

“Y/N. Look at me.” Jaemin’s voice is insistent, and even though your eyes are still tear-stained, you listen to him.

“Do you know what I told Mr Lee?” You shake your head.

“I told him that you were indispensable to my research. That none of it would have been done without you, and I would rather abandon the entire thing than not credit you,” Jaemin says, and you exhale sharply. “I told him that you were smarter than some of my best students, that it was the university’s loss for not letting you in.”

You don’t dare to believe what Jaemin’s saying, especially after each moment of the past two weeks. Your eyes inspect his face for a hint of dishonesty. And yet, Jaemin’s expression remains completely honest, his eyes calm and trusting as they look at you. It makes you want to place your faith in him, that maybe this will be enough.

“And what-what did Mr Lee say?” You’re trembling and nervous, but it feels good, almost.

A knowing smile makes it’s way onto Jaemin’s face, and his eyes fill with something else. Fondness, you realise. And barely-concealed excitement. “He said he would review your application again, and allow me to endorse it with the admissions department.”

You realise Jaemin is talking about your application to become a student, and you’re filled with pure, unfiltered joy as you look at him and realise that what he’s saying is true. That after four years of doubt and confusion, it just might be possible.

Jaemin seems to sense the thoughts running through your mind, and his smile only gets brighter.

“So, will you come back to the office now? The edits aren’t going to revise themselves, and I need a better brain to help me with them.”

You immediately let out a small laugh. “I feel a little foolish now,” you confess. “It seems like a lot of it was overthinking.”

Jaemin’s eyes soften imperceptibly. “It wasn’t foolish at all, Y/N.” Jaemin’s presence is comforting, you realise, and the lack of his companionship has been made all the more obvious by your deliberate distancing.

Having him here, with everything worked out, makes it feel as if your life is no longer off-kilter.

When you burst into Jaemin’s office two weeks later, you’re smiling from ear to ear. He looks up at your abrupt arrival, immediately standing up when you stride over to his desk, acceptance letter in hand. “I’m a student starting next week,” you exclaim excitedly, and Jaemin has never seen you this cheerful before.

Truthfully, the admissions board had already informed him that you would be accepted- after all, he was one of the people that had to review your application. Even then, Jaemin tries to look surprised, a cheerful expression on his face. It isn’t difficult, considering how contagious your joy is.

“I have to go off now, but I just- really wanted to share it with you. For being the one to make it happen,” you say softly.

“You did this by yourself, Y/N. I helped because you deserved it.” Jaemin watches as you take in his words, as your smile softens into something more gentle, more tranquil. It’s an expression that he rarely sees on you, and it feels precious.

When you turn to leave, Jaemin’s filled with a strange emotion. It’s almost like a sense of longing as he watches you disappear out the door. Even though he’s sure that the both of you are now close friends, and he’ll see you on campus regularly, the fact that the both of you will no longer have your weekly meetings feels disappointing, somehow.

The feeling lingers with him even at dinner, until even Donghyuck notices. “You’ve been down all day. What’s on your mind?” Renjun looks up from his food expectantly, and Jaemin runs a hand through his hair. It’s made even more suspicious by the way he is unable to muster an appetite. Both Renjun and Donghyuck had cast him suspicious glances when he had only ordered a bowl of soup.

“Where’s Jeno, by the way?”

“You know he’s in the military. Don’t try to change the topic,” Renjun points out, and Jaemin sighs.

“It’s just that the research project with Y/N is over, and-”

“You want to continue seeing her, but you’re not sure how? You feel strange without having her presence around you?” Donghyuck says, and Jaemin blinks at him. Once. Twice. Donghyuck’s right on the spot. Uncomfortably so.

“Well, yes. I guess so,” Jaemin mutters, and Renjun conceals his laugh with a sip of his drink. “See, Renjun. I told you. I’m always right,” Donghyuck says snarkily, and Renjun rolls his eyes. “Want me to remind you of what happened at the party last week?”

“What happened last week?” Jaemin asks, and Donghyuck shakes his head vehemently. “Nothing. Anyways, this is about you. How do you feel about Y/N, Jaemin?” Jaemin doesn’t like the way Donghyuck’s looking at him, as if he knows something he doesn’t.

“I can’t place my finger on it, but something like admiration? She’s capable, more so than me. Intelligent, but she’s able to make the other students laugh easily with her comments. Detailed, especially when she’s checking things,” he immediately responds without a second thought, and Renjun looks at him properly now, mirth in his eyes. “You and Donghyuck are much more similar than I expected.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Renjun is just being annoying. What he’s saying is that you like her.”

“I like Y/N plenty. She’s a good colleague. If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be working together for over a year.” Donghyuck makes a noise of disbelief at Jaemin’s words, and casts an incredulous glance at Renjun, who simply shrugs. “Don’t make that face at me, Donghyuck. You’re even worse. You made her cry, remember?”

Donghyuck falls silent at that, miffed. Jaemin turns to Renjun for clarification, and the boy looks exasperated, almost as if he’s not sure why he’s the one has to manage the both of them.

“I’m not sure if you’ve realised, Jaemin, but you’ve changed a little the past year. You’ve stopped locking yourself in the office as much, and you seem happier. I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but it seems like it’s because of Y/N. And for you to have these sorts of emotions…I don’t think it’s just friendship you’re looking for,” Renjun clarifies.

Donghyuck mutters a ‘finally’ under his breath, but Jaemin barely catches it, stuck in his own thoughts. He thinks about each time you’ve dragged him out to meet the others, until he started doing it of his own volition. About how Renjun, Jeno and Haechan showed up at his office more often, and he no longer wanted to chase them out.

And then he thinks about what Renjun’s implying. That he might have feelings for you, feelings that extend beyond friendship. He finds himself not scared off by the thought, but instead, it fills him with an unfamiliar sort of hope.

The thought of a relationship was an alien concept to him. If it had been mentioned to him a year ago, he would have shrugged it off in moments. Of course, he had people express their interest, sometimes not so subtly. He was decently attractive, after all, and had a good family. But a relationship had never been in the cards for him.

However, you made him want to imagine the possibilities. That when it came to you, he wouldn’t mind being something more, beyond just colleagues and friends. Partners, in every sense of the word. It explains the strange nervousness that overtakes him each time you look at him, or ask him a question. It explains the peace that flooded him that night in the office, when he divulged secrets he had never been willing to tell anyone, all because he trusted you inexplicably.

“I wonder how you’re even a Psychology professor, when you can’t even recognize your feelings from a mile away,” Donghyuck teases, and Jaemin allows a small smile to make its way on his face.

He knows now, and that’s all that matters. The only thing left is to figure out what to do with the weight of his newfound realization, and Jaemin hopes you won’t muddle his mind even more than you already have.

There’s a frenetic energy in the lecture hall this morning, one that you can’t help but get caught up in as well. Jaemin seems to be pacing around more than usual, his words coming out at a faster pace as he scribbles on the chalkboard and everyone tries to catch up. It’s definitely not something serious enough to warrant concern, but you wonder if there’s something on his mind the past week.

His schedule has been full with meetings held by the department, and yours with the coursework required of a university student, especially since you started slightly later in the semester. It’s left you to only be able to see him during lectures, often a friendly smile as you come in and take your seat before he begins teaching.

Distracted, you press your pen nib down a little too hard, a feeling of dread coming a little too late once you hear the sound of it snapping. Ink blots out over your paper, and you curse under your breath, frantically scooping the rest of the papers away. Ruined notes aside, you won’t be able to remember the rest of the lecture in detail later. You’re worrying your lip, when a hand extends in your vision.

“Here. I have an additional one for emergencies,” the voice next to you is low enough to not be heard by the rest of the students, and you turn your head to see a man who looks slightly younger than you, round glasses perched on his face. “Thank you,” you whisper back, fingers brushing over the smooth black lacquer. It’s a much better pen than whatever you’re using, and you suppose you should consider investing in better stationery.

“The name’s Hendery, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.” His tone of voice is surprisingly casual, and it takes a while for the name to land. Hendery. You recall that he’s the student Jaemin mentioned, the one who submitted a lacklustre essay that was out-of-the-norm. He’s one of Jaemin’s favourite students, and you suppose you can understand why. His notes are in a neat script, books arranged neatly and his suit perfectly ironed.

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you,” you reply, and he grins affably, just enough to catch you off-guard. Most of the male students here choose to ignore you, or have awkward grimaces when you nod your head in greeting. It’s rather refreshing.

“Professor Na showed us one of your essays once in class. I’ve never gotten the chance to tell you how much I enjoyed it, and I referenced it in one of my assignments. You can have the pen. I wanted to return the favor,” he adds, and you pause for a while, before smiling back at him and returning to your notes.

“Hendery. What was the main research method of Structuralism?” Jaemin’s voice rings out suddenly, and you dart your head down, attempting to look occupied. It’s not the most honourable thing to do, but you rather not be on the receiving end of failing to answer Jaemin’s questions.

“Experimental studies, Professor?”

“Introspection. That’s what differs it from other schools of thought. Do take better focus next time.”

“Sorry, Professor.”

You feel bad for Hendery. The boy only wanted to extend a helping hand. Still, you know he’s in Jaemin’s good books, and from the way he waves to you, smiling, as he leaves the lecture hall, allows your shoulders to sink in relief.

You’ve made a new friend of sorts. It feels nice, even though you’re used to remaining alone while on campus. Today, however, your schedule is noticeably free, both Ningning and Karina out of the country for business trips. This leaves you to rush down the staircase, attempting to chase after Jaemin before he gets swept up by another meeting.

You call out his name, and the man in question turns around sharply, causing you to skid to a stop and narrowly avoid crashing into him. “Whoa, careful there,” he mutters, and you let out a nervous laugh.

“Did you need me for something?” There’s an unreadable expression on Jaemin’s face. One that you can’t exactly decipher, and you respond with a shaky grin. “No. I just wanted to see you.” The words escape too fast for you to process their weight, leaving your cheeks to redden slightly.

It’s oddly honest, and from his sharp inhale, you’re not sure if you’ve been too forward, despite the nature of your relationship.

“How has work been?”

“Good. Busy,” his voice is terse, reminiscent of the tone that he uses with students, and it causes you to frown slightly. “Will you be going to Haechan’s party this weekend?” Infuriatingly, Jaemin only shakes his head, and you’re left trailing after his footsteps, wondering if you’ve done something wrong.

The walk to his office feels shorter than you remember, and you wonder if it’s because you haven’t been here in too long. The man in front of you still remains frustratingly silent, causing your thoughts to swirl in worry.

“Jaemin. We’re still partners. Talk to me,” you bite out, and he looks up at you, wide eyes no different from that of a deer caught in headlights. He nibbles nervously at his lip, and your eyes inevitably drift down at the motion, before you step closer to him.

“Look, if I did something wrong-”

“You did nothing, Y/N. Believe me when I say that,” his voice is audible, even as it cuts you off abruptly. It’s the longest sentence you’ve heard from Jaemin all day, and you try not to let out a sigh. “Then what is it?”

You’re genuinely worried now, eyes never leaving Jaemin’s figure as he paces across the room, fiddling with his fingers slightly. There’s a strange look in his gaze as he refocuses on you, something like a mix of longing and hesitation. It makes your breath catch in your throat, and you’re unable to move from where you’re standing. The both of you are standing directly opposite each other now, and you would laugh if it wasn’t for the situation itself, considering how it’s almost identical to your first meeting with Jaemin.

“I would like to think that I’m a clear-headed person, Y/N, but I think I may be going a little mad.”

You furrow your eyebrows at the strangeness of Jaemin’s words, unable to decipher their meaning.

“I felt…jealous. When I saw you with Hendery. I know very well it’s ridiculous. But it seems the green-eyed monster doesn’t seem to pick targets.”

You’re bewildered at this point, understanding Jaemin’s words well enough and yet unable to grasp any coherent meaning to them. You’re not sure if you can believe what you’re hearing. If you’re hearing it right, or tunnel vision is causing you to interpret Jaemin’s words in an entirely different light.

“You were jealous of…?” Your voice trails off into silence, a question dripping with anticipation as you look at Jaemin, the room heavy with tension. You think your hands might be shaking, but you can’t be bothered to check.

“Jealous of him. I know you’re your own person, and you’re entirely free to be with and love who you want. But seeing you smile at him makes my heart seize in this terrible way like some sort of lovesick fool, and I’m not sure if I can go on like this without telling you.”

There’s a stricken expression on your face at Jaemin’s barely coherent confession, and he runs a hand roughly through his hair, truly panicking now.

“What I’m saying, Y/N, is that I think I may be in love with you. No. I know it. And it makes me a nervous wreck around you, but I understand if you don’t feel the same way-”

Jaemin barely gets the words out before you’re crossing the distance in two quick strides and standing right in front of him. It makes his breath hitch and his heart palpitate wildly, even as you lean imperceptibly closer. The way your simple actions affect him is barely understandable to Jaemin, and he’s not sure if there’s anything in his knowledge to explain it.

Yet, Renjun had put it forth so simply for him, as if the answer was plain as day.

Love. It was love that made Jaemin miss your presence, that made him think of you daily and cause a lump to form in his throat at seeing you and Hendery. It was love that made Jaemin want to hold on tightly and never let go, to follow you to parties and wherever else you asked him to.

“Are you…about to reject me?” He asks nervously, and you feel your gaze soften as you look at Jaemin. Your colleague, your equal match, your friend, your partner. In everything.

And that’s how Jaemin receives his answer. It’s you grabbing his tie and pulling him down towards your height before planting your lips on his firmly, hands eventually winding around his neck. It’s a few seconds before he seems to realize it, but when he does, Jaemin’s quick to return the favour, holding your waist securely to close the distance between the both of you as much as he can.

The way Jaemin moves his mouth against yours leaves you breathless, but craving for more. He’s passionate, so different from the usual, calm side that he presents. Even then, the way he holds you to him is gentle, as if you’re made of precious glass.

Jaemin kisses you like he’s been waiting to do so forever, and you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it, even as you finally pull away for some much-needed air. You feel faint when he leans his forehead against yours, noses bumping slightly and causing you to let out a soft chuckle. From this close, you can smell his cologne, a clean scent that reminds you of clean laundry and spun cotton.

You blink slowly before opening your eyes, and it causes him to smile, doe-brown eyes crinkling faintly.

“I suppose that was a yes?” He asks, tone successfully returned to playful, and you pull back to look at him incredulously.  “Of course it was a yes. What kind of person do you think I am?”

“A person who has my heart in the palm of her hand. It’s a dangerous position to be in.” The straightforward confession sends blood rushing up your cheeks, forcing you to look down, away from his piercing gaze.

“Jaemin. I-” you stumble over your words, unsure of what you want to say to the man before you. You’re not sure what you would do without Jaemin, but you do know there’s a lot more that you wish to do with him. “Love wasn’t in the cards for me at all. You and I both know that. But I’m glad that I have this. That I have you.”

There’s a look of quiet happiness on Jaemin’s face when he tilts your chin up to look at him, a gentle slant of his lips that lights up his features. He doesn’t need to say anything more, not when there’s so much that has passed between the both of you.

Jaemin’s scared, of course. That one day your memories or his might bleed out like quicksand, leaving the both of you strangers. But if he doesn’t take the chance, he’ll never be able to recall the feeling of having you by his side, and the idea of that is much more terrifying.

He will love you more than he will remember you, and it will be enough.

[zepskies]

Never Say Goodbye - Part 3

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 4,500 Warnings: Language, fluff.

Part 3: Contact

As it turned out, your life started to get better after you missed that shift at the coffee shop.

Oh, you still got fired. But the experience of nearly getting splattered on the pavement by an oncoming truck gave you some unexpected clarity about your life.

Mainly, you needed to stop wasting it. You were tired of jobs that would pay your bills but not bring you closer to your career. And frivolous thoughts of coffee shop boys and…the hope of running into your soulmate.

Maybe one day, you could dare to hope, but from now on, you wouldn’t let it rule your thoughts. You wouldn’t hope too hard either.

It could save you from the disappointment of never hearing anyone’s thoughts but your own.

So you decided to check the University of South Dakota’s career board for jobs, and you discovered an opening in the history department! A research assistant for one of your favorite professors, who was writing their dissertation on the strange, superstitious, and sometimes down-right disgusting social practices of the Ancient Greeks (including bottling up the sweat of their best athletes, because they thought their musky body oils contained magical properties).

Since you were already majoring in history, you were a shoe-in for the job. And working directly with your professor gave you a great resource for future classes.

Four years later, you had earned your bachelor’s degree in History. You even decided to further your education when you were able to get a scholarship for graduate school.

Now you were just one semester away from finishing your master’s. You still worked in the history department, but you had been able to upgrade—to Executive Secretary to the Dean of Ancient Studies.

It sounded fancy, but really, you were a glorified slave. Or at least, your boss seemed to think so.

“I need you to cancel my meeting at two,” said Dr. Birch. She breezed into your tiny office without knocking, startling you from where you were hunched over your laptop.

“Good morning!” came your reflexive greeting, though it was a bit too loud and sharp. You internally winced at yourself and relaxed your posture, like a bird unruffling its feathers. “Cancel your meeting with Dr. Wells?”

Dr. Wells was a nice man, and an important one. He was the Head Dean of the entire History department. Technically, he was above Dr. Birch. It wasn’t a good look to blow him off, but you weren’t about to say so.

“Yes, I have an important lunch, and I already know it’s going to go overtime. Gary will understand,” she replied. She was looking at her phone rather than at you. For all she cared, you were just a calendar with hands.

Dr. Helen Birch was a brilliant woman. She’d published no less than five books, had won awards for her peer-reviewed articles, and she had been your academic advisor all through graduate school.

She could also rival Meryl Streep for “bitchy-ass boss” in The Devil Wears Prada.

“I also need you to grade the final exams for one of my classes,” she said. “Greek Studies this time.”

You held back a sigh. Again? I’ll never finish my own finals at this rate.

But what you said was, “Sure, I can do that. And I’ll email Dr. Wells to reschedule.”

“Yes, make sure it’s not on Thursday,” she said, brushing a finger through her thin blonde hair. “I have to leave early to get my roots touched up before I go away this weekend.”

“That’s fun,” you chatted while you revised Dr. Birch’s calendar on your computer (and sent an apology email to Dr. Wells). “Where to?”

“Oh, I have this tedious conference in Chicago. But then my boyfriend is taking me skiing in Breckenridge.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I simply can’t wait. This semester has been a drain on my psyche, and just terrible for my migraines.”

With the email sent, you took a little breath and gathered some courage as you got up from your desk and gathered a handful of papers you had stapled together. It was a rough draft of your thesis, which was only a bit worse for wear (including a suspect coffee stain that you didn’t remember accidentally putting there).

“Actually, I was going to ask you if you got my email about my thesis. I just wanted to go over some of the feedback you gave me on the draft,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Dr. Birch raised a brow. “What of it?”

“Well.” You showed her the front page, which was covered in red ink. “Mainly the part where you crossed out the first three pages and commented, ‘Missing the point.’”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid I have nothing to add about that.”

Well, that didn’t exactly help you. The first three pages was your entire introduction to your thesis, “TV & Film: The Modern-Day Mythology of the Masses.”

You must’ve had a pitiful, lost look on your face, because Dr. Birch finally took pity on you. She sighed.

“You are a creative girl. I’ll give you that, but your degree is not in cinematography. You are a historian,” she said. “And while the ‘Well of Souls’ in Raiders of the Lost Ark may be based on a real historical place in Jerusalem, that does not mean Indiana Jones can, or should be described as a ‘religious experience.’”

My ten-year-old self would bed to differ, you wanted to retort, but you kept your mouth shut and lowered your eyes. Dr. Birch nodded to herself and was about to leave your office, until she stopped short and gave you her Amex card.

“Oh. And get me a coffee, would you, dear?”      

The moment your day ended and you were able to get into your car, you let out a long sigh of relief. While you waited for your car to warm up, you massaged your hand, aching from grading papers for Dr. Birch’s class.

You rubbed your hands together, this time to warm them as the frigid air draining from the car still bit into your skin. A shudder tingled through your body, and not in a pleasant way. Honest to God, I hate the winter.

On reflex, you toyed with the silver ring on your right hand—your mom’s ring. It usually comforted you, but today, remembering her made your heart heavy. Because today was the anniversary. 

You still remembered that snowy day when you were fourteen, could picture it so clearly, like a scene painted on glass.

With one last sigh, you fished out your phone to call your dad. It rang for a few seconds (it always took him an eternity to answer his phone, and it drove you crazy).

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dad,” you said.

“Hey. Just got off work?”

“Yeah, I’m headed back to Sioux Falls. Want to meet at home and go together, or do you just want to meet me at the cemetery?”

The other line was silent for a moment. Longer than you would’ve liked.

“You’re coming, right?” you pressed.

“Look, I’m gonna have to work late tonight,” Jack said. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Really?” Your voice was terse. “It’s one day a year, Dad. You can’t even manage that?”

“I told you I’m working a case.” He sounded annoyed. You didn’t care.

You were pissed.

“Whatever,” you dismissed. But then, you realized you weren’t willing to let it go just yet. “You know, I just find it interesting. On her birthday, Christmas, today, somehow you just can’t be bothered to visit your wife.”

“Hey, drop it, all right?” your dad snapped back.

“Sure. It’s none of my business, I guess.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm either.”

You silently fumed, but you weren’t willing to hang up the phone first. You didn’t want to look petty, and apparently, neither did he. You both could be stubborn like that, sitting in a tense stretch of silence instead of just…

Instead of just, I don’t know what, you could admit, if only to yourself. Eventually, his voice reached your ears.

“I’ll go when I can,” he said.

“Fine.”

And you really did hang up this time.

What should’ve been an hour drive back into your hometown took almost two with the traffic.

Oh yeah, you still lived at home with your dad. It wasn’t ideal, especially with a long-ass commute every day. But unfortunately, being a full-time student with a part-time job didn’t give you the budget to have your own life.   

At least you had your car—a dark blue Camaro your uncle had restored and gifted you for your twenty-first birthday. You didn’t talk to your Uncle Bobby as much as you would like. Between work and school and taking care of the house for you and your dad, you didn’t have much free time on your hands. You did see Bobby around town sometimes, and occasionally shared a beer with him when your demanding schedule allowed.

Your dad had never liked it, you hanging around your uncle. So you didn’t tell him.

That seemed to work out better for both of you.

In fact…

You reached for your phone again and found your uncle’s number.

“Stop badgering me, Rufus. I’m busy.”

Your lips curved into a grin. “Uncle Bobby?”

“Oh. Hi, darlin’. Sorry, thought you were some riff raff that keeps spammin’ me.”

“What did Rufus do now?” you asked.

“He knows,” Bobby said. The surly edge to his voice made you smile in amusement.

“What’re you doing later? Up for a beer?”

“Usually I’d take you up on that, but I’ve got some people coming in pretty soon.”

You scoffed. “You have people? What people?”

“You’re not the only number in my cell, you know,” he said dryly.

“What, you mean Rufus?” you teased.

“All right, now you’re just runnin’ up my minutes,” he said. “If you really want that beer, you’re welcome to swing by, if you want. I’ve got a stocked fridge full of cold ones.”

You laughed, then you considered his offer. Did you really want to go home and deal with your dad (whenever he bothered to come home)?

“Well, I’m going to the cemetery first, but I could maybe swing by after,” you replied.

“Right, that’s today, ain’t it?” Bobby said. “Give your mom my respects.”

A more genuine smile grew on your lips. “Thanks. Will do.”

You hung up with him just as you got to the cemetery. It was hard not to feel melancholy here, especially in the winter. All the graves were lightly dusted with snow, and it felt like the world came to a quiet stillness here.

You bundled up with your scarf and gloves as you braced yourself for the cold, stepping out of the car. On your way in, you heard the rumble of a car going by. It was loud enough to make you turn your head and see a flash of black speeding away.

You shook your head. People drive like maniacs nowadays.

You were about to continue on your way towards your mom’s grave, when you finally heard it.

Say goodbyeee…never say goodbye-y-aaayy. Holdin’ on we gotta try, holdin’ on to never sayyy goodbyeee.~

Someone was warbling a Bon Jovi song in your mind, and it certainly wasn’t you.

But you did come to a dead stop in your path. Your eyes widened as shock claimed your heart and your brain. Soon enough though, your heart warmed as you became aware of something new. It was like a low hum at first, reverberating inside your chest.

You and me and my old friends, hopin’ it would neeever end. Say goodbye—

The singing continued, but all you could focus on was the thrumming in your skull, the thread of connection you could sense and feel inexplicably. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt warmth trickling down your cold cheeks. Sniffling, you wiped your tears with the back of your hand and smiled tremulously.

You were finally feeling your soulmate.

Which meant, he was close by…and with that realization came an important question:

What the hell do I do now?

They were in South Dakota again.

Dean knew coming back here was…potentially dangerous. He hadn’t heard his soulmate’s thoughts in four years, since the last time he was in this state.

Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to come here. After the last hunt though, he could use some R&R at Bobby’s for a couple of days.

This time Dean had his brother with him, albeit the circumstances weren’t…great. Their dad was missing, and Sam had lost his girlfriend in the process of trying to find him.

Sometimes, Dean really regretted going to find his brother at Stanford. Part of him thought, if he hadn’t hooked Sam into coming with him to try and find John, maybe Jessica Moore would still be alive.

A more selfish part of him (one he wouldn’t name) was glad to have Sam with him. Dean was actually having fun hunting with him. And maybe, Dean was having to get to know him again too.

“You think Bobby will have any intel on Dad?” Sam asked from the passenger seat of the Impala. They were about five minutes away from Singer Salvage, the old man’s tow business (and his house).

“Doubt it,” Dean replied, changing the radio station once Bon Jovi turned to REO Speedwagon. He could get down with some pop rock from Jovi, but REO was pushing it.

“Then why are we here?” Sam turned to him with a frown. “We just ganked a poltergeist in our old house and…we saw Mom. You think we should be wasting time right now?”

Dean’s lips pursed. Leaving their old house behind in Lawrence, Kansas was exactly why he needed a minute before jumping into the next case. As much as he wanted to find John, Dean just…he needed a minute to breathe.

Revisiting those old (painful) memories wasn’t easy for him. He wasn’t sure that Sam completely got that.

“Bobby’s got a stack of lore books to Kingdom Come. Who knows, he might have a way to help us find Dad,” he said.

Sam shot him an unimpressed look. “And if he doesn’t?”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He got why Sam was so fired up. Really. The fact that the kid was having weird…premonition dreams about the near future was concerning. And he wanted to find the thing that killed Jess, that killed their mom, but this was clearly going to be a marathon. Not a sprint.

“In the meantime, we crack open a couple beers,” Dean said, “get one or two of free nights on actual beds, and then we’re on our way to the next gig. How’s that sound?”

Sam let out a sigh through his nose and faced the road ahead. They both knew he wasn’t happy. Dean couldn’t exactly blame him.

When they finally got to Bobby’s, the old man greeted them with a casual wave, beckoning them inside. He offered them the contents of his fridge—a few beers and a frozen lasagna defrosting in the fridge. Dean scoped it out while Sam dropped off his bag in the upstairs guest room.

“That for us?” Dean pointed to the lasagna with a grin. “Didn’t know we merited the red-carpet treatment.”

“’Cause it’s not just for you,” Bobby said dryly, then he hesitated. “...My niece might be swingin’ by later.”

Dean raised his brows in curiosity. “Didn’t know you had a niece.”

Or any family, for that matter. He knew the old man had a wife, once upon a time, but he assumed she’d passed away. No kids. Bobby had never talked about having an extended family. He didn’t have pictures on the walls, and the shelves only had books and locked boxes.

Bobby took a long sip of his beer after opening a bottle each for himself and Dean. He had one ready on the counter for Sam, who came into the kitchen looking tired. The kid hadn’t been sleeping well for the past few weeks, to say the least. Dean handed him the beer.

“I don’t see her much,” Bobby conceded.

“Why’s that?” Dean asked.

It took a moment for the other man to answer. Eventually, he was honest. “Well, she's grown. Going to school, got a job. But you could say I had a fallin’ out with her dad, a while back.”

“You have a brother?” Sam said.

“Brother-in-law,” Bobby corrected. He didn’t say anything more about it though. Sam and Dean shared a look that said they agreed: There’s something off there, but I’m not gonna pry.

“You still see her though?” Dean asked.

“Every now and then,” Bobby said, sipping at his beer again. “It’s a small town.”

That kind of pissed Dean off. Bobby was a good guy. He’d watched Sam and Dean a lot when they were kids, their dad on a hunt. He’d made sure they had decent food to eat, good movies to watch, and even played catch with Dean a time or two.

So what kind of assholes did Bobby have for family, that they couldn’t be bothered to check in on the old man every now and then? They must’ve been off living their lives, in their own little world. Must be nice.

Dean brought the bottle of Heineken to his lips, only to realize it was empty. Couldn’t have that, could we?

He went to the fridge and opened the cap, only to jump as the beer fizzed and leaked over his hands.

Damn it!

Bobby sighed. “And I just mopped the damn floor.”

“All right, Martha Stewart. Keep your slippers on,” Dean teased. “Sam, get me a paper towel.”

Bobby tried to get by him to get the mop, but beer was still dripping down Dean’s arm.

“Would you move to the sink, already?”

Sam finally cracked a small grin as Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. Jesus. You’d think Miss America was comin’ into town.”

Damn it.

You heard him again. And this time, you could hear his voice, so you knew the thought belonged to a him. The voice was pleasantly deep, and annoyed. You actually felt his irritation and were able to recognize that the emotion didn’t belong to you.

Excitement bubbled in your throat, almost making it hard to breathe as you drove your car down the road. You had been too worked up to go see your mom, and technically you were supposed to head to your Uncle Bobby’s house, but this was too important.

You needed to figure out how to talk to him—your soulmate.

So you pulled over on the side of the road, and even turned the radio off. Okay, now what?

You didn’t know what you were supposed to do. They taught about this subject in school, sure, but that had been years ago! You’d spent the past six years filling your head with college and work and learning how to be an adult.

Okay, just breathe. You calmed down a bit with some deep breaths, and you closed your eyes. When you first heard your soulmate’s singing in your head, you remembered feeling warmth spread through your body, emanating from your chest. Then in your mind, you’d noticed a…a thread, of what could only be described as energy.

You felt it now. You could almost visualize it with your eyes closed. In your imagination, it was bright and beckoning. You focused on it, and it grew brighter, thrumming and soft.

You thought of what you wanted to say, and you tried it—sending your thoughts and your will through the connection.

Having a rough day?

Dean was still wiping beer off the floor in Bobby’s kitchen when he heard your voice ring through his mind.

Having a rough day?

His entire body tensed, and he paused with a ball of wet paper towel in his hand. Sam had taken the mop from Bobby and was about to finish off the floor, until he noticed Dean blanking.

“Dean?” he asked.

It shook Dean out of his shock, enough for him to look up at his brother. “Hmm?”

“What’s up? You were staring off into space.”

Dean feigned innocence. “Nothing.”

Sam’s brow rose, but he didn’t press the issue and went back to mopping. Dean took the opportunity to toss the wet paper towel in the garbage.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” he said, and made his swift exit to the bathroom upstairs, so quickly that he didn’t see Bobby watching Dean curiously from the living room.

“Don’t use up all the hot water!” Sam called after him.

Once again, Dean found himself locking the bathroom door and staring at himself in the mirror. His green eyes were conflicted as he tried to calm down. Maybe his heart was starting to beat a tick faster. Maybe a trickle of nervous sweat was making its way down his spine. Maybe he didn’t know what the hell to do.

His dad’s warning was still clear as a bell in his mind.

“Unless you’re prepared to hang up your gun, and stop hunting, don’t open that door.”

Dean knew why John had said it, and even agreed with him…at least, logically he did. His life was complicated, and insane, and bloody. How could he put someone else through what he went through? What he still went through every day? It wasn’t right.

But his chest was aching. He rubbed at it absently.

He could feel your worry again, he realized. You were anxious, probably waiting for him to respond. Dean could feel you. Having a rough day? you’d asked him.

So as usual, he made an impulsive choice.

You could say that, he carefully replied. He remembered the way your voice sounded, smooth and pleasant in his mind, and he couldn’t help smiling a little. But not for long, I’m thinkin’.

Your relief hit him in a slow, but powerful wave. It almost made him feel guilty for taking so long to answer.

Well, it’s not every day you hear someone else in your head. Maybe you’re going crazy.

She was teasing him. You were teasing him.

It brought an incredulous smile to Dean’s face. You’re one to talk. Maybe you’re just talkin’ to yourself right now.

Hmm. I don’t usually warble to Bon Jovi, but maybe you’re right.  

A beat of surprise, another to remember what he and Sam had been listening to in the car earlier, and then embarrassment prickled at the back of his neck.

You heard that, huh? he asked wryly.

Maybe, you giggled. It was a cute sound, and it cut through some of his embarrassment. He wasn’t used to being put back a step by women. He was good at reading people’s body language, and usually it didn’t take him more than one look to figure out what a woman thought about him, and what they wanted to do with him.

So the fact that he couldn’t see you was a challenge. With that realization, a slow smile spread across his face. He was game for a challenge.

Well, I’m likin’ your voice so far, he said. Think I could get you to sing for me?

He felt you pause, a flutter of warmth through a tendril of shyness. I’ll leave the performing to you, Romeo.   

Come on, it’s only fair.

Who said life is fair?

Dean sobered a bit at that. Ain’t that the truth.

Hmm, so you were having a rough day.

Make it a week, he said.

Yeah, I know the feeling…I wasn’t having a good day today either.

Dean sensed your melancholy and didn’t like the feeling. Well, now you’re talkin’ to me. So it should be smooth sailin’ from now on.

He could feel you brighten at that. It made warmth bloom once again inside his chest, especially because he sensed you were smiling—a bit shy, but genuine.  

…What’s your name? he asked.

It took you a beat, but eventually you gave him your name. It wasn’t what he expected, but he liked it. Your name rolled through his thoughts, and he tested on his tongue.

What’s yours? you asked predictably. Somehow, Dean didn’t anticipate the follow-up.

Suddenly he realized exactly what he was doing: he was talking to you. (Something he’d told himself he wasn’t going to do.) Not to mention, he’d been locked in the bathroom for about ten minutes and hadn’t even showered yet. Pretty soon either Sam or Bobby was going to come knocking to see what the hell he was doing, so he might as well shower for real.

He answered you as he turned on the showerhead and started undressing. I’ll make a deal with you…if you can guess what I do for a living, I’ll come by and introduce myself in person.

Dean felt your shock, so he let you think as he stepped into the shower. Eventually you came back, annoyance coloring your emotions and your voice.

That’s stupid.

Dean smiled. Aw, come on. It’ll be fun.

For you!

Don’t you know, sometimes the best things in life come after some delayed gratification.

You paused for a moment, in which Dean didn’t know if you were in shock again, or just pissed. Maybe a combination of both.

Great, I got a comedian, you deadpanned. …You’re not a comedian, are you?

Sweetheart, I’m hilarious, Dean replied. But no. Good guess, though.

He sensed the equivalent of you rolling your eyes.

Just then, Sam knocked on the bathroom door.

“Hey, you better not use up all the hot water!”

“Twenty minutes of peace, Sammy. That’s all I ask,” Dean shot back. Sam made a sound of annoyance, but he went away, leaving Dean almost alone with his thoughts.

Look, I gotta go, he said regretfully. But I expect you to have some guesses cooked up by the time I get back from work.

You were still annoyed, but you begrudgingly agreed to his terms.

Fine. Just…don’t wander too far off. I can’t win the game if I can’t hear you.

Dean sensed your underlying worry, and your fear. You were afraid he was going to leave.

His heart softened. As a result, he ended up promising things he didn’t know if he meant.

Don’t worry. I’m not leaving town until you win, he said.

He felt your warm smile, along with your excitement.

Goodnight, sweetheart. We’ll talk soon.

Okay…goodnight.

He hung onto the feeling of your presence for a few seconds longer, before he let go of the connection. For now.

Dean caught himself smiling, but it quickly turned to a frown.

“Nobody should be waiting on men like us to come home bloody.”

When he once again remembered his dad’s warnings, that new warmth in his heart chilled, and it sunk like a stone. He leaned against the cool bathroom wall and pressed his forehead against the tile, while lukewarm water beat the side of his face and body.

Shit.

AN: Oh, Dean. What're we gonna do with you? lol

I hope you enjoyed Part 3! I promise they'll finally meet soon lol. What did you think of their first conversation?

To keep reading: Part 4

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[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 10}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Time doesn't heal all wounds, but it does make the heart grow fonder. You find yourself missing Joel, too stubborn to reach out but Ellie is tired of seeing you both pinning as she navigates classes with you and her homelife with Joel now that she's back in the city.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: canon typical language, reader is a dumb dumb, reader is stubborn and heartbroken, mentions of reader's past, trauma, complicated family dynamics, stressful family dynamics, reader mourns her past relationship with father, verbal abuse (past tense), ellie being a scheming lil shit, language, sexual content, references to sexual relations (past tense), smoking, cigarettes, nicotine, drinking, consumption of alcohol, melancholia, manic depressive internal monologue

A/N: WE DID IT, we made it to the end!! i've never finished a fic before so this is all so exciting and a little terrifying, to be honest. i hope hope hope that i've done this lil au justice, with it growing a mind and story line of its own i never even planned for somewhere around chapter five. but we did it and i am proud of this lil one and maybe self-indulged a lot with my own birthday on the 17th! please tell me your thoughts!! a HUGE thank you to everyone that interacted with this. y'all made this possible by engaging with me and inspiring me to continue on even when my own brain was working against me ♡

i would love to take prompts for these two dummies to expand their universe and story in the future if anyone is interested? but i'm still getting used to having what little attention my fics are getting and i dunno if that would be something people are interested in ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“Well, you certainly have the enthusiasm, Ellie.” A smile passed over the desk, fingers curled over her application and subsequent documentation. She had already graduated from her Boston school at the end of the previous spring semester, already set up to TA for a favorite professor of hers in the new year after a successful first year of doing so for another. But she had a pending application for a secondary degree. One here in Austin. 

Her life laid out in front of you once she had begun school, having applied and gotten into an art program in England right out of high school, something she had gushed about excitedly for a few moments when you asked her about it. Sure, you had talked about it in passing over shared meals both in the comforting environment of father’s home and while out getting coffee that had developed as a regular occurrence any time she was in town.

She was only four years younger than you, both her and Sarah. So driven and excited about this time in their lives. Sarah having relocated to work for a company that fought for her attention and hire after a phenomenal performance in communications and social work out in California. Both supported and shown love in a way that used to make anger and jealousy flair up in you, but that you now saw as a blessing for those who had that kind of nurturing environment to flourish in.

“I just…the perspective of art and language of art you’re trying to explore is really fuckin’ interesting. I know it doesn’t necessarily fall in line with my focus of studies, but-“

“Classes that interest you are just as important as those that help along your degree.”

“And dad said that I could go for it, said if it’s what I want, he’ll help me in any way he can.”

“Ellie, it would be a pleasure to have you take part in the program. There is a two semester commitment, I will remind you. And the application you submitted for Austin is still pending. But if you’re on board, I can sign my approval and walk it over to the admissions office when we’re done here.”

“I was…actually going to see if you could give me a ride back to the house…dad was in a hurry when my car wouldn’t start, and I left my keys with him so he could take a look at it.”

“Oh,” Your bottom lip was between your teeth, nervousness taking ahold of you. “Um, well-“

“I totally understand not wanting to, but I would feel better going with you than taking a bus or somethin’.”

“It’s okay, I can. But let’s walk this over to admissions and see what we can get in the way of aid first, yeah?”

“Fuck yeah, thank you so much!”

Your class sessions were at nine and lasted for two hours every Tuesday and Thursday. Not wanting to over log the students with a long block of class time on top of all the reading you did end up requiring of them in order to participate in the discussions. Only two days a week to allow for some leeway with the readings on top of the other responsibilities you were all to familiar with. You had explained to Ellie once her application had been switched over from pending to accepted.

You did miss the social aspect of working at the restaurant, the different foods and drinks you could try on a whim, the ability to get as much or as little human interaction as you wanted. But…you had made a choice to leave it behind. For good. Focusing finally on the things that you wanted to do for the rest of your life and a plethora of memories and stories of a time now past.

And Joel….you missed Joel.

But you were stubborn, sure that the man wanted to wash his hands of you after never getting a response.

Ellie was banging her head along to the tape that had been stuck in the trucks deck for years now. An old one from your childhood, one of the only things you father had intentionally gifted you. His love of music something you shared despite the rift and space created between you both. Your birthday up until you moved resulting in a gift card to the local record shop and a few tapes or CDs he wanted to share with you.

The younger girl belted out the lyrics, the loose strands of her hair whipping around from the cracked windows. You sang along with her, though not as loud, indulging her despite the ache that had settled in your bones. Having overthought yourself into a weird mood before class.

Suddenly the music faltered before the warbling completely as the ribbon inside began to loosen from the spool and hang out from the deck.

“Shit, that’s not good.” Ellie lamented as she reached forward to push the play button in to pause the music. She hit the ejection button and carefully pulled the tape from the mouth of the player. Her charcoal stained fingers spinning the spools one at a time to wind the ribbon back where it should be. A few moments later and she was reloading it and pushing play but the speakers only crackled before the tape ejected itself.

“Damn, it died.”

You didn’t say anything, thoughts a whirlwind as you panicked over loosing the last tangible connection you had with your estranged father. If she picked up on your tense silence, Ellie didn’t comment on it, leaving the tape hang half out the deck and moving to use the radio for the remainder of the ride.  

The house looked the same, Joel’s house, nestled to the side of a small cul-de-sac. The neighborhood calm and quiet in the early afternoon.

The graying curls you would recognize anywhere peaked from where Ellie’s care was being inspected by Joel laid out on a roller underneath the carriage. The hood was propped open and a giant tool storage cabinet had been wheeled closer to the opening of the garage. She bounded up to him, talking too fast for you to make anything out from the curb.

But Joel must’ve been able to decipher at least some of it because his gaze turned to you, oil staining one of his cheeks and his chest puffing up with a deep breath.

You felt your own breath catch low in your throat, a lump of air making it hard to breathe.

You drove off with your heart hammering in your chest.

It was now February, the dreaded holiday of the month approaching and your birthday right along with it. A shame, that such a day overshadowed any plans you had once made. The holiday taking precedent with prefix menus that brought in generous tips from happy couples and friends. But this year, this year you could do whatever you wanted.

Stay in, go out, order takeaway, drown yourself in fancy truffles. Whatever you wanted. But the weight in your heart didn’t have you all too keen for the day to arrive. Wondering what Joel had decided for his special menu, the drinks Millie worked with Mary on to pair alongside it. Maybe….maybe you could snag a seat at the bar and indulge?

You let the thoughts trail off and focused on grading the papers in front of you. Needing to get them done before your attention was pulled by a movie night with your friends.

You were up at exactly one minute before the clock stuck midnight. Bleary eyes watching the progression of the last sixty seconds before it was officially your birthday. Your phone buzzed with two texts immediately, all camps too much to handle in the early hour. Turning it to silent mode, you turned over and listened to the faint sounds of Sweet Pea playing with a bell down in the living room, hoping sleep would come back to you.

Waking up for a second time was a whirlwind, snooze allowing for you to sleep in until the absolute last minute before you had to get up. Shoving the tube of fabric that was a simple, off the shoulder dress over your head and fluffing up your hair with dry shampoo and you were out the door and headed to the campus.

“Alright, everyone, since I’m feelin’ a little generous today!” You clapped your hands once, noticing Ellie slink in at the last minute before you typically announced the beginning of class. “I’m gonna play a documentary for today- but!”

You interrupted the happy chuckles from the group of about thirty or so individuals you had interviewed and approved for your program. “I will need a paper on the methods used to help identify the remains and artifacts, with your general interpretation of the cultural basis hypothesized from them due next class!”

“Professor, c’mon. It’s my birthday, it’s your birthday: let’s all just take it easy.”

A chorus of, “Is it really your birthday?! Why didn’t you tell us!” rang out across the room. Certain individuals looking genuinely upset that they had missed out on a chance to let you know how much they appreciated you and liked you. It made the ache in your heart lighten just a bit, weird mood about the day waning slightly in their unabashed openness. Ellie was oddly silent, normally one to engage loudly and enthusiastically, her phone in her hand, fingers a blur as she fiddled with it.

“If you really want to do something for me, please, concentrate on the documentary!” You turned your back to the class, booting up the video on your laptop and tugging down the projector screen that was closed and stored up above the whiteboard. Turning the lights off, save for one in the back for them to take notes with, you pressed play and offered one last tidbit before the opening credits rolled, “But it doesn’t hurt to bring a gift card for any local coffee shops.”

“Need a ride today, Ellie?” You asked the lingering girl, slow to pack her bag up once the class had ended and hesitant to disembark from the campus altogether. Her car was in the shop, something needing repair that was beyond Joel’s skill set. As well as a new set of tires they were waiting on to get delivered before installing them. The ones she had for the more intense weather seasons of Boston worn down over the years and needed replacing. You didn’t mind totting the younger girl around, offering her help with proof reading papers and going over terms that didn’t easily stick. Talking about nothing in particular, though Joel had been diligently inside the house or away each time you dropped her off at home, no more awkward glances since your little display of speeding off the first time.

“Was gonna offer to get you a coffee,” She wouldn’t look directly at you, setting you on edge. You were about to ask her if everything was okay when she suddenly swung her bag on her shoulder and faced you. “I’m helping at the restaurant today, assumed you wouldn’t be cool with dropping me off there.”

An hour later, you were both loaded in the car with too expensive coffee drinks and pulling up to the front of the restaurant. You didn’t want to test if you had clearance to park in the employee lot, not sure what would hurt more. The denial of your code beeping or the approval of your code chirping and opening the gate. Sighing, you put shifted into park and let the engine idle.

Ellie seamed to be taking her sweet time once again. Moving slow to collect her things, having hesitantly showed you the project she was working on for one of her art courses. The bell above the front entrance sounded as the door opened and your head snapped up to see Joel walk through it. He paused, holding the door open beside him as he gave a small wave to Ellie and a somber nod to you.

Yous lips lifted at the corners as you noticed the stain of what had to be beets on his otherwise pristine apron, the white of it displaying the dark red in a disturbing way. His other hand was behind his back, shrouded in the shadows of the interior. He shared a hushed work with Ellie as she finally exited the truck and slinked past him with a last wave toward you.

But Joel didn’t follow her inside.

He stepped outside completely. The door closing behind him with a soft thump.

He was walking toward the truck, the passenger window down all the way as Ellie relished in the fresh air before knowing she wouldn’t leave until well past midnight after the rush of the holiday. 

Your fingers dug into the skin of your thighs, dress having ridden up during the drive to expose the tops of them. The sun warm on them as your nails made crescent shapes in their softness, making your anxiety for the world to see. You were otherwise frozen, unsure of what to say, how to talk. He looked so good. Longer hair slicked back, sliver glinting in the sunlight at his temples and in the scruff of his face. A vaguely heart shaped patch where it didn’t grow in too tempting of a sight as you recalled the way it felt to pepper kisses there.

Joel’s eyes flickered down to your mouth as your tongue swiped out to wet your suddenly dry bottom one, his hidden hand finally shifting from behind his back.

You couldn’t help the little gasp that pushed from your chest as a boquet of flowers was revealed to be in his grip.

The colors of it shades of orange, gold, and yellow. A mix of chrysanthemums, sunflowers, and peonies all wrapped in a delicate tissue paper with a white ribbon holding it all together. In the middle of the front of it, there was something shiny.

“Thought it was an emergency, when she started blowing up my phone a few hours ago.” He finally spoke, stepping off the curb and up to the passenger side of the car. He extended the bouquet to you, hiding his face from you for a moment. You were able to make out the shiny thing in the middle.

It was a copy of the tape that had died the first time you had given Ellie a ride home. The one you couldn’t find anywhere online. The one you had almost just ordered a CD or digital version of. The one you had almost reached out to your father to ask about. It was impossible to find, to replace. But it was there, in the middle of a beautiful arrangement of flowers.

A sob suddenly wracked through your body, hands coming up to cup your chin and hold any others in as fat tears fell hot from your eyes.

“Oh no, no – this – this was supposed t’make you smile, darlin’, not burst into tears.” Joel quickly lowered it, moving it out of view of the windows frame and pulling it back behind him. “I’m so sorry, I – I was just trying to do somethin’ nice for ya on your special day.”

You hiccupped as you reached out a hand in a weak wave, wiping at your cheeks with the other.

“No, Joel, it’s…it’s really sweet of you to do this. I just…I don’t deserve it.”

“Of course you do, you deserve everythin’, darlin’.” He reached through the open window and gently placed the bouquet down on the passenger seat. Molasses eyes catching yours as he offered you a weak smile and a nervous display of his fingers slinking his hair back. “Just wanted to do somethin’ for you today. I didn’t know last year and well, this year I do.”

“Joel…”

“Don’t need anything from you, really. They’re for you and that’s that.” He shuffled on his feet, watching as the breeze ruffled your loose hair and the fabric of your dress, sleeves flowing in the wind, the shine of your necklace in the sunshine.

“Thank you, really. I- I appreciate it.” You reached over to tug the cassette from its secure spot. Turning it over in your hands, taking in the scratches on the plastic of the case. The memory of looking over the massive collection he had displayed in one of the guest rooms, the small shelving unit he had made himself to store all the tapes he had previously kept in boxes in the garage. “Joel, this is from your collection, I can’t-“

“You can ‘n I wanted to. Ellie told me yours got ate and I don’t listen to the tapes much these days, just the vinyl.”

Voice gone and heart beating fast, you nodded. Feeling the urge to lean over and pull him into the truck to drive around for hours and listen to the reverent offering in your hands. But he had a holiday menu to get back to and you had a new recipe to try out. Each on their own and in different worlds.

He patted the window sill twice with a wide palm before he was turning away and disappearing back inside. You watched him go, heart urging you to call out to him while your mind told you it wouldn’t ever be that simple again.

Friends had come and gone, sharing dinner and gifts with you. Crappy movies and good liquor, laughs abundant and feelings so alive. The kind of day that reminded you that you were alive and well. The kind of day that made everything else worth it, small moments tiding you over until you could feel like full and bright again.

You stared at the flowers until the alcohol in your system blurred them, the colors running together and dimming as sleep pulled you under in the late hour. The tape playing through to the end before the machine finally shut off, blanketing you in your passed out state.

You would stare at them, as if they were pulling your attention every time you were in the kitchen or the living room. Choosing to hide away in your office or upstairs when you were home where they were out of site. When they began to wilt and dry up, you moved them to the back patio, not able to through them out but not able to reach out to the man who had gifted them to you.  

Finally removing them from the vase and cleaning it out. You bagged them up and left them on the counter to deal with after class. One that went by in the blink of an eye, almost like the day was rushing toward something. Rushing you toward something. The slow thrum of…something deep in your bones as you engaged in the discussion, leading it back to the focal point if it got too off tangent.

The routine of giving Ellie a ride one that hadn’t been prevalent lately since her car had been fixed and the end of the semester rolled around. But today it seemed to be one of the things that time was ushering you toward. Driving Ellie home with post class treat of milkshakes this time, the weather beginning to inch toward the dry heat that was prevalent most of the year.

“Thanks again! See you Thursday, professor!” Ellie hollered over her shoulder as she all but tore out your truck and ran towards the front door. By passing the scene of Joel stood in the driveway, garage open behind him once again.

“I better! You have a final!” You hollered after her, no real malice in your voice.  

She whizzed past Joel who was stood at the front of her car, hood open and engine block exposed to his perplexed expression. His hands were on his hips, a wrench in one and a screwdriver in the other. He was looking down into the exposed parts with a look you couldn’t quite read from the curb but when he spotted Ellie he called after her.

“Babygirl, I don’t see anything wrong with it. You said it was making a rattling sound, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah! A rattling sound.”

“From…where, exactly?” He turned a furrowed brow to her but she was determined to get away from his prying gaze, scurrying off without any more words. Her bag thumping against her shoulders as she rushed toward the door.

You had been so focused on watching her nearly trip over the steps leading to the front door that you didn’t notice Joel rise from his spot tinkering with something on her car and approach the side of yours.

“Hey there,” His cautious voice greeted you too close through the open window.

“Oh jesus, fuck! Joel don’t do that!” You startled so bad the seatbelt locked up and tightened around you, preventing you from taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

“Shit, sorry. Thought you saw me comin’ over.” A sheepish rub of his hand along the back of his neck, had your eyes roaming over the picture he made in the frame of the open window. Perfectly fitted, as if he should be on the inside of the truck beside you instead of standing outside of it. Close, but not close enough.

Quiet fell over the both of you, Joel looking into the cab of the truck, grease and oil marring his beautiful skin and white t-shirt and you gazing just to the right of him, not able to directly do so now that his attention was focused. The words shared between you both, all of the good, all of the bad, and all of the confusing floating in the heavy air between two people who had lived far too much in such a short amount of time. Echoes of everything passing in the charged air between you both.

Your name being uttered had your eyes glancing at his, the sun lighting them up into a bright hue and your heart fluttered in your chest. You held his gaze for a few seconds, heat creeping up your neck from the pulse of warmth that only he could cause filling your chest.

“Alright, well…thanks for bringing Ellie home.” He reached a handout to pat the side of the truck before shoving away.

“Hey, Joel, wait…” You leaned over, hoping that the words in your throat didn’t get stuck. When he turned quickly back to you, there was a hopeful pinch to his features, lips pursed as he waited with bated breath for you to continue. Taking a deep breath, you locked eyes with him again, keeping up the connection. The hope that glinted in them helped the words to flow from you in a quick push.

“Do, um, do you want to grab a coffee sometime?”

previous chapter || end

taglist: @hiddenbabynyc @jessthebaker @clevergirl74 @anavatazes @samiamproductions @76bookworm76 @tuquoquebrute @sarap-77

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics

[eretzyisrael]

by Stacy Gittleman

In the massive email letter campaign mentioned by Hubbard, parents of Jewish students expressed anger and frustration that this year was tainted by numerous examples from anti-Israel demonstrations that have endangered the physical and mental well-being of Jewish studnts, those who disagree with the protesters, or those who just want to learn and earn their degrees.

Protesters caught on video on Regent Acker’s porch.

The letter implored the U-M administration to take back control of its campus from the “pro-Palestinian and anarchistic demonstrators.”

It stated: “We continue to be disappointed in the University of Michigan’s failure to protect Jewish students and students of all faiths from the antisemitic harassment and intimidation on your campus. While many respected universities are dismantling disruptive pro-Hamas encampments, refusing to allow protestors to interfere in the learning process, and staunchly condemning antisemitic chants and slurs — you feign your commitment to the protection, well-being and freedom from discrimination of your students. Too often, you say that you are dedicated to ensuring the safety of all Michigan students, yet your inaction and fear of standing up to bullies speaks volumes.”

The email cautioned the Board of Regents not to be lulled into complacency by the quiet of summer, and to recall the months of disruption of classes and graduation ceremonies with calls of “Intifada Revolution” and “From the River to the Sea.” The email reviewed the many incidents deemed as hateful toward Jewish students throughout the year and asked when the university would clear the encampment, which rose on the Diag in April.

The email ended with a plea to the regents to enforce the university’s code of conduct and take back control of its campus from the pro-Palestinian anarchists.

It read: “Enforce your code of conduct and applicable laws and protect the rights of all students to an education free from discrimination and harassment, pursuant to Title VI. Follow the leads of prestigious schools and dismantle encampments; punish, suspend or expel students who violate your codes of conduct and campus rules; and prevent pro-Hamas protestors from taking over the university campus and spreading their hate in your classrooms.”

Regarding the “overwhelming amount” of emails the regents have received, Hubbard released the following statement to the JN in an email: “Hearing from students, parents and concerned citizens has been well received. Letters are an important (and helpful) way to communicate. No student (anywhere) should have to experience intimidation, threats or fear. I feel strongly that we must make sure that isn’t happening. We know it has happened and we are working to fix this.”

[hlficlibrary]

Hello, i hope you have a nice day!!

Do you have some more enemies to lovers? I’ve already read the one in your category list.

Thank you so much!

Hi, anon! I did have a nice day! Hope you did as well! Okay, first I do have the one in the category list that you already saw, but I also wanted to point out these in the mini fic recs...

✤ Enemies to Lovers

✤ Enemies to Lovers (Historical)

✤ Enemies to Lovers (Sexual Tension)

But also this is a trope I love and read a lot so here are some more anyway haha...

and i would search the night sky to find you by devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain

Harry Styles is a high class, well-bred Omega attending Bosworth Academy - a prestigious boarding school looking over the small town on Kinsey. He has his whole life already planned for him, learning his place as the potential mate for an important Alpha, practicing his home making skills, and be obedient above all else.

When he attends a school trip into town though, he meets Louis Tomlinson - a blacksmith and mouthy Alpha who doesn't particularly care for the standards of high society nor for the people in it. But things are not always what they seem and a past grievance may change the lives of everyone involved forever.

Spinning Out Waiting for You by amomentoflove / @daggerandrose

Harry Styles is a year and a half away from graduating with a masters in potions and he has one huge milestone to reach in his academy career: the Matching Ceremony.

From Halloween night until graduation, matched witches and familiars will have to create a talisman to be a physical representation of their bond. One for the witch and one for the familiar. Most pairings last an entire lifetime.

If only it were that simple.

an ocean in my veins (you'll be diving in) by me_her_themoon / @greeneyesfriedrice

But, since Niall is so talkative to literally anyone with a working mouth, it means that when Louis Tomlinson started to take a shine to him, Harry started to hate him.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t just Harry and Niall, and whoever else wanted to join their antics. It was Harry and Niall and Louis.

Did Harry mention that Louis is a stupid fucking prick? He wants to make sure that’s clear.

[or, harry and louis hate each other and niall just wants everyone to get along]

[eyfey]

Hello! I'm sorry to bother you, but I was wondering how long you studied Japanese for until you became good enough to do manga translations? (Or fluently read manga at all, really 😔) I want to help contribute to projects like that, but I feel I still have a long way to go until then 🤧

so first off: sorry this took so long to reply to! when I first got the message I had exactly Zero free time, and then i simply forgor (whoops lol)

I actually already have a few posts sort of about this in my #translation tips tag, but it's been a hot minute so I might as well provide some updated info~

(under the readmore 'cause it's longggggggg)

How long have I studied Japanese?

A While. I had maybe a not so typical journey with Japanese... If you break it down it looks kinda like this:

4 years of watching a TON of anime to pick up basic vocab just by ear (this was in high school- I did not take any actual classes or even make any effort to learn the language at this point, but apparently I'm pretty good at just picking up things from hearing them)

4 1/2 years of actual Japanese classes in college (actual learning with like teachers and textbooks and homework)

1/2 year of study abroad that I managed to cram in before I graduated (additional classes and also constant speaking the language)

8 1/2 years since then (god has it really been that long???) (no actual like... studying during this time, but a LOT of translating... mostly Saiki)

So.... 13-ish years? if you don't count the first 4 that were just watching anime. And technically only 5 of them were actual "studying".

-

How long did I study before doing manga translating?

I, uh….. I actually started translating manga about a month BEFORE I ever took a single Japanese language class.

(not recommended but like… here I am lol)

I had found some volumes of Pyu to Fuku Jaguar(a gag manga I really liked but only had 3 volumes translated at the time) at a used bookstore, but they were in Japanese so I just kind of bought them, downloaded an english to japanese dictionary app, printed out a hiragana/katakana chart, and then just went through the book: looking up one letter at a time, sounding out words, looking them up in the dictionary. I already knew a lot of vocab and had a vague feel for grammar exclusively from watching anime, but like also there was a loooooooot of looking stuff up. I don't remember exactly how long it took to read that first volume (at least a month lol- maybe 2 or more)

I noticed the scan group for Pyu to Fuku Jaguar was updating really slow (and/or had notices that they needed more translators? I forget it's been over a decade lol) So I figured: I can understand this well enough just reading it on my own.... maybe I can help???? it's probably better than nothing right?? So I tried my hand at doing some translations and uploaded them to the newbie board of a manga translation side to have people proofread, and then I emailed the group to ask if I could join. If I remember correctly they only ended up posting one (or none) of my translations?? before disappearing so I just kind of kept doing the translations on my own without uploading them anywhere

and then later when a new group took over they had gotten my translations from the previous group (or was it the translation site where I uploaded some?) and credited me in the release, so I sent them a message like "hey neato! I actually have like 5 more translations done, u want em?" and ended up joining THAT group to continue working on the series!

I started taking classes p soon after starting the translations, and doing translation while taking classes was actually really nice 'cause I had a place to pretty much immediately apply the things I learned in class, and the translating outside of class gave me a lot of practice for reading & a good head start for learning new vocab.

Honestly I think for translating, being good at the language you're translating into is more important than being good at the language you're translating from. Like: you should still at least SORT of know the language you're translating from (that is an important part of it too don't get me wrong) But like even if someone is perfectly fluent in Japanese, if they're translating into English but don't know how to make words sound good in English, then it kind of defeats the purpose haha.

(reading a lot and paying close attention to wording and stuff, and also reviewing and revising your translations will help with that part of the translation process- it's also a skill you pick up as you go)

-

Tips for getting better at reading Japanese?

Honestly I think translating is one of the best ways to get better at Japanese (understanding and reading at least- it won't necessarily do much to help you remember how to write or speak haha) Reading is helpful to some extent, but you will probably get to a point where you understand enough of it to get the gist of whats happening, but then your brain will just sort of skim over a lot of the parts you don't know in the interest of enjoying the story without stopping. When you translate though, you're FORCED to stop and look up every word or phrase you don't know and double check things and sort of sit on them and think what it means and how you would say it in your own language.

If you're self motivated enough you can probably get some good learning out of language apps like duolinguo or babel or whatever, or even just buying Japanese textbooks/workbooks and going through them by yourself. Otherwise, taking Japanese classes is the standard approach (even if you don't go to a school where they offer Japanese classes, there are private options- just google Japanese classes or Japanese tutors online or in your area if you prefer in person)

This old post of mine has some more detailed tips for how to look things up, and some just general translating tips that I think are still p useful, but it pretty much boils down to "google everything you don't know until you know it"

also the 10ten extension is good for highlighting/translating individual japanese words in your browser (when they're written in kanji or kana) and the google translate app is good for taking pictures of text and reading it so you know what the dang kanji says (or you can hand write the kanji in there too- though I need to find a better kanji dictionary app 'cause google's doesn't really give you enough space to write)

-

Sorry this ended up WAY longer than I thought it would but I hope it helped!

Good luck!!

[frieddiscjockey]

#FRIEDDISCJOCKEY writing blog for gregor "gonzo" vukovic, a ghost character from abc's crazy fun park. highly selective & private. minors dni. primarily runs on queue due to work schedule. loved by billie ( 32 . est. ) this blog will contain triggering content and spoilers . 21+ preferred . minors do not interact . established february 2024. followed back by coastercrushed.

 open starters./ headcanons / verses./prompts. / board.

affiliated with; @rvnawaytrain, @luminarot also found at: lennon. mapplethorpe .gareth. april. siobhan. marko.

INFO / STATS UNDERCUT.

01. first things first, i am aware that a lot of people haven’t seen crazy fun town. i highly recommend it. it’ll make you laugh, it’ll make you cry, it’ll make you feel nostalgic. i digress because this will have a lot of horror aspects. a lot of the park kids died in really horrific ways. gonzo was the dj at the park in the 90s who got electrocuted going down a water slide whilst some loose, broken cords got wrapped around his foot on his way down. a lot of depressing topics will be mentioned considering gonzo had died suddenly and he's almost decayed to nothing due to his memory nearly being forgotten.

02. drama is not my thing. i avoid it in real life and you best believe i’m going to avoid it online, being that this is my hobby. i wont reblog callouts, but will read them. i’ll only reblog if the person is incredibly dangerous to make my followers be aware. no gross behavior with minor muses, either, thanks. don’t be transphobic, genderbend, whitewash, don’t be a racist asshole, don’t support n*zi imagery, don’t be a fucking dickhead. 

03. oooooh i do love shipping! though, i do prefer a little bit of plotting beforehand. i think it’s very important to build a relationship ooc as well. i’m more comfortable to ship if we talk a little ooc.

04. i’m billie! i’ve thirty one years old and i’ve been apart of the rpc since late 2010. i’m an old lady. i’ve been around the block a few times. i work full time overnight ( twelve hour shifts ) at hospital & i have a lot of social obligations so i’m primarily mobile. most of my replies will be posted by queue due to this. my reply speed is slow and whilst i post a lot of ooc posts while at work & what not, it may sometimes take me a few days or even weeks to reply to a thread. patience is key! this is something i do whenever i want to destress and have fun.

STATS

 GENERAL.

BIRTH NAME. gregor vukovic ALIAS(ES). gonzo, dj gonzo, greg. AGE. eighteen. DATE OF BIRTH. january 23rd MARITAL STATUS. single. verse dependent.  SPECIES. the ghost with the most GENDER. cismale PREFERRED PRONOUNS. he/him ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. bisexual  SEXUAL ORIENTATION. bisexual.  OCCUPATION. was a high school graduate getting ready for college. disc jockey at crazy fun park within life and death.

                                                                                                         PHYSICALITY.

HEIGHT. 5'11" BUILD. athletic. in good shape. has a slight chub around his hips. HAIR. brunette, almost a mullet. EYES.  SCARS. a lot of scars from just doing stupid shit.  ABNORMALITIES. other than being dead? some brain damage from being electrocuted that effects his speech. TATTOOS. red, melting smiley face on his forearm that he got for his 18th birthday. PHYSICAL AILMENTS. abdnormal speech patterns due to electrocution. ex: eat your cereal with a fork. ALLERGIES. none.

                                                                                                          HEADSPACE.

ALIGNMENT. chaotic good MYERS BRIGGS.  esfp FEARS. being forgotten, something happening to his dj booth. DISORDERS. undiagnosed adhd, autism OTHERS.  n/a.

                                                                                                          BACKGROUND.

PLACE OF BIRTH.   CURRENT RESIDENCE.   RELIGION.  agnostic  FAMILY.  the fun kids. parents unknown, little sister who is a radio dj named asha. ( she's 30 now. ) STATUS.  lower-middle class

[fairfieldthinkspace]

Fairfield University Commencement Address by The Most Reverend Frank J. Caggiano, Bishop of the Diocese of Bridgeport

May 19, 2024

Good morning. President Nemec, Ms. Davidson, members of the board of trustees, deans, administrators, faculty, parents, friends, and most especially, fellow graduates of the class of 2024. I stand before you with great gratitude for receiving this honorary degree.

I’m humbled by receiving such an important recognition. I’m honored to be counted among you as a graduate of this year and quite frankly, after 43 years of completing my collegiate studies, I guess it was time for me to graduate as well.

My fellow graduates, we gather here this morning to celebrate your many accomplishments with great joy having achieved them during this four year adventure as part of the Fairfield University family. Each of you have accomplished much, and all of us here are deeply proud of you. You have unlocked your God-given gifts and talents, discovered the beautiful truths that govern our creation, and those truths that are transcendent that give meaning to human life.

Many of you have achieved distinctions in so many different areas of study and you have each and every one of you completed a rigorous course of study. You are well prepared for whatever you have chosen as the next stage of your life. We all here salute your achievements. We are proud of the young people you have become, and all of us wish you God’s blessings as you take the next step into your life. Let’s give them a big round of applause in recognition.

But you have also had the singular blessing to be in this remarkable university that is founded —animates, lives bleeds the Jesuit motto, 'Ad majorem Dei gloriam—to the greater glory of God’. For the very foundation of this place and all that it aspires in its mission and work is to give greater glory to God through you and me, for God is the author of every human life. He is the giver of every blessing. He is the one who invites us to seek a life of purpose and service to our neighbor.

You, my fellow graduates, in a few hours will be stepping off this campus and you will be begin to enter a world in a whole new way, challenged in many ways. You know those challenges as well as I. Unbridled technological change, growing political, social and communal division, a growing lack of tolerance, and the deepening gap between those who are privileged and those who live in the shadows of society. You like me, are called to be leaders in that world and to face those challenges. Accepting the burden and mantle of leadership has never been easy. It is not easy now. 

And yet my young graduates, all of you can leave this place with graced confidence that you have every tool at your disposal to embrace your own future and to lead our community and our nation to ever greater greatness.

But allow me to ask you a question. I ask it of you who are graduates. I ask it of all of us who are gathered here. What type of leader will you choose to become? What type of leadership do you aspire to embrace? It may seem like a strange question to ask, and yet even a perfunctory look at modern history shows that many have answered that question in very different ways, some with dire consequences for those around them.

Many years ago I stumbled on a description of leadership that allow me the liberty to share with you today. The author of the article described leadership in this way. Leadership is the ability to inspire willing change in others. You see, I find that intriguing, intriguing because no one can inspire others to change unless she or he is willing to change, first.

To admit, that to be a leader among men and women, to accept that as our mandate and responsibility, begins deep within the fabric of my life and yours. It begins with a commitment to recognize that you and I do not have all the answers, and that we need to aspire ever to change in greater excellence and integrity. That you and I must always remember we are projects that are unfinished. And so a truly transformational leader in whatever walk of life God has asked you to walk —is one who will continue to grow in self-knowledge and self-reflection—to never be afraid to admit my faults and you admit your faults and limitations to seek ever greater wisdom, which is a lifetime project. It is for you and I always to strive for greater courage of heart, to embrace the truth, who for those of us who are disciples of the Lord we know is a living person who is Jesus the Lord. And to stand for what we believe, and to ever know that more deeply in the journey of life it is to be more humble before God, and to accept the blessings He gives us.

Saint Ignatius speaks of setting the world on fire, but my dear friends, that fire begins deep within you and me. It’s a passion, a burning desire for each of us to seek greater excellence, more authentic integrity to challenge the accepted beliefs of modern society, for there are some who are whispering and perhaps now even no longer whispering, saying to us that the order in which we live is broken, that perhaps the best years of our country, nation community, perhaps they’re behind us, that the status quo cannot be healed, and yet we gather here to say with a clarion call to our country, to our community, to our Church, that that is not the case. That our horizon, each of our human horizons is not shackled to the status quo, but each of us, all of us have dignity, creativity, and a future that is given to us by God, our Heavenly Father. We are called to be the architects of hope and transformation, and you, my fellow graduates have all those tools at your grasp.

When I was your age in prehistoric times, I heard this challenge and I would be a liar if I said to you, I fully understood it. Now that I stand before you with a degree in one hand, and my Medicare card in the other hand, now, I can honestly say that I do.

Today is a time of great celebration and joy richly deserved by each and every one of you, my fellow graduates, but it’s also a time for you and the quiet of your heart to accept the calling God has given you. To accept the mantle of transformational leadership, and wherever God leads you, to be able to bring hope and change to the people entrusted to your care, and a world that is looking for a better way.

Allow me to conclude. Allow me to give you advice because I guess I am the oldest graduate here. A transformational leader never uses another person as a means to an end. Never considers the success of his or her life as the measure of material wealth. Is a person that never forgets that the measure of a person’s heart is always the principles by which he or she can live, and as a person that never sees a challenge as a roadblock, but as an opportunity for true and lasting change. A transformational leadership is a missionary of hope. So my fellow graduates, as you accept your diplomas today with pride and gratitude, and step into the world as our newest leaders, go out with pride, confidence, and hope, and together let us renew the face of the earth. Congratulations, my friends, and you go with my prayers each and every one of you. God bless you all.

[skwpr]

7 IMPORTANT ITEMS TO DO ON DAY 1 OF CLASSES

Whether this is your first day of college classes EVER or the first day of your last semester it is seriously never too late to make the most of your classes.

You need to use your first day to get control of the semester because falling behind leads to a stressful and unnecessarily difficult semester.

1) Read the syllabus before class

This is, of course, only an option if the syllabus is available before the class starts. At a lot of schools you can access your online school system a week or so before the classes start and professors frequently have it on there! I also had a lot of professors email the syllabus out before as well.

This is so important because you can start the first day ready to ask any questions and set yourself up for success.

Get a binder or folder to keep the printed syllabi. They were one of the only things I ever printed in college but it was so worth it to be able to write any updates and changes on!

2) Sit where you can hear

I am not going to tell you to sit in the front row (unless that’s what you like and in that case you go!!). But I am going to tell you to make sure you can see and hear on the first class. Sometimes by the end of the semester you realize that being super visible in certain classes isn’t overly helpful.. but make sure you give yourself time to figure that out. Usually the first class of semester is the most helpful because the professor goes over what the class will cover, what the exams are like, what you should study, when things are due, etc. So make sure you can hear the professor and see the board.

3) Take notes

Start taking notes right away. Professors frequently add more information and details than the syllabus has on it and sometimes will make changes to the syllabus. I try to have the syllabus printed out and with me so I can make any updates on it as well as having my laptop out to take any additional notes. Make sure to save the notes (if digital) as something you can easily identify as the first day in the class folder. Also if you don’t already have the folders set up on your laptop for each class then GO DO THAT NOW. If you are taking physical notes then the first day should be the first page of the notebook or first page of the divider.

4) Introduce yourself to classmates

Make a friend in the class before you need a friend in the class. Introduce yourself and ideally swap phone numbers so you can give each other notes if one of you miss a lecture. It’s also nice to already have one or a couple people to team up with for projects! And of course college is a great time to make new friends in general so don’t be afraid to try and strike up conversations with people.

This is especially important in your major specific classes. You will take a lot of classes with these other students and quite possibly end up working with some of them at some point after graduation so make the connections now! Also- if someone tries to introduce them self to you then be nice. Never burn a bridge just because you didn’t know it was a potential connection.

5) Leave early

Please do not show up to the first day of class late! Give yourself plenty of time to get to the building especially if you haven’t been to the specific building before. For larger schools you would be amazed at how even during your senior year it can be time consuming to try and find a new building. Also, those huge old academic buildings can have classrooms tucked in weird places so give yourself time for once you are inside the classroom too.

Walking in after the professor has started class is not only rude to the professor and your classmates but it also will make you feel rushed and hectic on a day you should be trying to set your semester up for success.

6) Ask questions

Do NOT be afraid to ask questions. The sooner you clarify an assignment or due date from the syllabus the better. Chances are if you are wondering about something then so are some of your classmates and they will be thankful that you asked. The first day of classes is largely meant to explain the class so make sure you fully understand what is being explained and what the expectations are. If you think of questions after class do not be afraid to stop into office hours or send your professor or T.A an email. Just make sure to read the syllabus regarding any guidelines- some professors like you to include certain course information in the email subject line.

7) Figure out your day routines

Getting into a routine earlier in the semester will help you stay on top of your academic work BEFORE it starts to get overwhelming. Make sure that your routine includes time for eating and studying to help you make the most of your day. I liked to use the first week to find the best library or study space in comparison to where my classes were located.

Never let it haunt you, but always let it remind you.

"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us".

Gandalf

[donnerpartyofone]

I've been doing a lot of research on a certain form of esoteric religious art, and I'm dismayed to discover that one of the most important and informative books on it is written in a voice that I find really irritating. I wouldn't say it's *badly written* by any means, but I have a hard time with a certain kind of self-righteous, aggressively worldly, hippy-dippy attitude that so often accompanies subjects and causes that are of genuine value. I'm taking this reading as a training exercise in separating values from aesthetics, something many of us find hard to do, and a lot of dysfunction comes from this problem.

I have a conservative relative who is addicted to a certain website that aggregates TikTok videos of whiny, spoiled, egotistical Gen Z'ers, many of whom just so happen to be trans; the collection is meant to prove that being insufferable is a native component of being young and trans, but of course if any of the video subjects were to stop being oversensitive exhibitionistic assholes, it wouldn't change the year they were born, or their relationship to their bodies. Actually, beyond condemning the generational and gender identities in question, the collection is really meant to condemn leftists, as if this form of insufferability has a causal (and contaminating) relationship with issues like civil rights, social welfare, and environmental protection. This is like saying that a person can become more or less republican with the addition or subtraction of country music from their cultural diet, or that enjoying NASCAR can make you more or less caucasian or American for that matter. I remember the night George W. Bush was elected, one of my more performatively lefty classmates (who was secretly really sexist and racist but we discovered that later) stomped around screaming "That fucking TEXAN! That fucking TEXAN!", as if being associated with a cowboy state were the worst thing he could think to say about W--who in fact was born in Connecticut, went to boarding school in Massachusetts, and graduated from Yale, one of the Ivy League schools that is the target of so much spite from anti-intellectual right wingers who hate on leftist elitism (and which is much more respected than the school we were in at the time, setting issues of class/money/nepotism aside). Just because certain cultural elements appear to coincide more with certain positions on the political spectrum, doesn't mean that the former is a necessary and proprietary consequence of the latter. These connections are just attractive because political orientation stirs up so much ire that it's exciting when you see a really obnoxious, embarrassing example of a person who you assume votes a certain way. It would be nice to be able to say that e.g. leftist thought is bad because of white people with dreadlocks and drum circles and poor hygiene, but those things aren't any more "left-wing values" than being a toothless illiterate yokel is a "right-wing value". These things are all just rude, generalizing distractions whose only content is emotional. The craziest version of this kind of red herring that I saw recently was a thread right here on tumblr dot com insisting that the monolithic Left is angling to legitimize pedophilia. The evidence at hand was a positive WaPo review of a play about the private agonies of pedophiles, and OP tried to further the idea that child sexual abuse is a historically leftist occupation by identifying NAMBLA as a left wing organization. Which is like, just not a really useful or lucid way to think about what NAMBLA wants and who in the fuck would ever support them, besides the fact it's not at all hard to find legions of protected pedophiles in the church and the monarchy and various other not-very-lefty places. BUT I DIGRESS. I must read this pompous-sounding religious art history book, I must absorb the information in it, even if I think the author's voice is a little too smug, a little too condescending, and a little too drum circle-y for my taste. She still has a point to make and I still need to hear it.

[mega-angry-cloud]

hey so do you like SVA??? i was just accepted for BFA comics/cartooning and i’d love to hear ur opinion b4 i officially commit!

Pros: 95% of the professors are working professionals in the industry. (For example, my applied cartooning class is taught by the executive editor of Avatar Studios, Joan Hilty.) so they have up to date insider info and they can slip your name into job conversations if they like you.

The student pool is diverse, extremely talented and passionate. There are tons of after school clubs and events where you can meet up and make friends and collaborate.

Plus there are things like Ink Magazine, where you can submit your own comics or illustrations each semester, as well as student showcases and even mini artist alley cons. It's great practice for applying the skills that you're learning in class.

There's student job boards with leads on employment opportunities, a pretty cool print lab, a wide variety of available classes (illustration and comics majors overlap alot) and the atmosphere is very creatively open in most cases, but there are a few assholes to look out for. Which brings me to...

Cons: while the school seems to be trying to address it in recent years, there have been a lot of stories about some of the department heads being dicks about art style. Honestly, this is a risk at any art school. The trick is to make sure the feedback your getting is about the techniques you can use to achieve the look YOU are going for. Take what helps, leave what doesn't.

The school is expensive. The books are expensive. NYC is EXPENSIVE. Keep your budget in mind when making your decision, because for all I've learned at this school, (and I learned a LOT) I can't confidently say that I couldn't have improved at a cheaper school. Plus, you don't actually need a degree to be any kind of artist. Art school is more about making connections and building a strong portfolio than anything else. If you think you can do that online, don't put yourself in debt to do it in a school.

The workload is KILLER, especially in the comics program. The studio classes expect you to be able to complete 1-2 pages of comics a day, and every professor treats their hw as the most important assignment on your plate. You will be forced to improve by the sheer amount of drawing youll be doing on a daily basis. And breaks are shorter than at other schools, so less time to recharge(my guess is so they can make the summer last as long as possible to save money on the professors).

I know that might sound like a fun challenge at first, but it really wears on you. Burnout is a bitch, and its a VERY difficult place to pull yourself out of while still enjoying the thing that put you there in the first place. Do what you can not to push yourself too hard, but remember to seize opportunities to show what you got.

All in all, I've had both good and bad experiences with SVA. I've made better work here than I could've ever imagined, and I've learned so much more about comics and storytelling. The professors know what you can expect after you graduate, and they want to see you succeed. People say this alot, but you get out what you put in with this place. Stay open minded, and remember what you're trying to do.

[madtomedgar]

books read in December:

The Fire This Time: A New Generation Speaks about Race, Jesmyn Ward: Great essays, really liked it, learned a lot. At the same time I am starting to feel like the issue isn’t so much needing to learn new information as much as it is consistently listening and understanding and applying what I do already know, and I do wish there was more about that, if that makes sense.

Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City, Matthew Desmond: I had been putting off reading this for years because it felt like a book I should read and I kind of assumed it would be like a long article or a series of housing white papers. It is the opposite of that. It’s rare you find writing this good in nonfiction. Everyone should read this. I did have to keep taking breaks because it was very upsetting, just the realities of this system which I knew about already from the perspective of working with voucher holders and people trying to get vouchers. But probably the best nonfiction I’ve read since the pandemic.

Chemistry, Weike Wang: I liked the stream-of-consciousness style, almost like reading someone’s diary. I found the main character’s struggle with expectations, with herself, and with coming to terms with both what her parents did to her and and did for her really compelling. It helped me better understand my friends who are or have been in graduate programs. A little hetero for me but nothing’s perfect.

False Bingo, Jac Jemc: So the stories are clever and the author builds suspense well, and the one about the board game couple was a  delightfully scathing portrait of trying to have friends in your 30s. But. They were mostly kind of boring, kind of caught up in their own cleverness, kind of suffused with a certain middle-class midwestern realism that I find dull and off-putting, and occasionally kind of tone-deaf to the point of offensive. There’s one where these women in this town keep getting attacked and the twist is that one woman lied about being attacked to get herself out of a difficult conversation with her boyfriend, and then all the others wanted to feel special and included so they faked it too, and the people honestly upset about the violence against women are chumps who should have known better. And like... sure, fiction should absolutely be able to just go “if there were two guys on the moon and one killed another with a rock would that be fucked up or what!” but. Jac Jemc isn’t Gillian Flynn, who can and does pull this type of subversion off well. And reading it during the current backlash, in the wake of the Amber Heard debacle and while Meghan Thee Stallion was being pilloried for being attacked and daring to say she was, like I said, tone-deaf to the point of offensive.

Last Night in Nuuk, Niviaq Korneliussen, trans. Anna Halagar: Mama Mia wishes its big night was half as wild as the big night in this story. Again, I found the stream of consciousness style enjoyable, though this was more like being tapped into someone’s internal monologue who is very hung over. It’s gay, it’s queer, it’s trans, it’s complicated. I... really wish authors would stop having their queer women characters declare that being with a butch woman is “just like a man without the penis.” And like. How you know they’re Real Lesbians is that they’re into women not ugly bull-dykes. I also wish the trans man’s trans-ness had felt less like it could just have easily been stone butch-ness. But I think that’s more of a me problem where like... I have had enough people treat the state where I exist comfortably as both gross and a pit-stop on the way to inevitable transition (which I don’t want for me) that stories that even unintentionally play into that aren’t enjoyable to me, even as I recognize that they’re transformative and important for others.

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

Would you mind describing the process of applying for an MFA program or what you did to qualify? Also, when you say you’re going to grad school after, is that a PhD or a Masters in English Literature or something similar?

Let me just put both your anons here so I can get em both at once :) sorry for the confusion! I do not have an MFA, I am graduating from Boston University with my bachelors in creative writing. BU has a very old and prestigious MFA program that they don't shut the fuck up about and they writing pilled me so hard. Any writing workshop you take within the department is taught by someone currently getting an MFA or part of running the program. When I said MFA professor in that ask earlier, I was referring to my professor herself, who is an MFA grad and that's why she was there. She's not a teacher by trade, she teaches because she's there for the program. Does that make sense? I shouldn't have phrased it that way and I am so sorry for the confusion. There is such thing an an English PHD, I've only talked to three people who've ever gone higher than an MFA, and all were successful novelists while doing so. We cannot all be Leslie Epstein, and let us not aspire to be.

That being said, I hope I can still help, because I am applying to MFA programs in two years and started applying this year before eventually deciding to give it some time. Every workshop you take they literary pill you and they spend a whole class answering MFA questions and walking you through the process as well. I've never felt more knowledgable about a subject I have no authority on in my life, so let me try to answer your questions and I hope it helps! I apologize for how long as fuck it's going to be.

So qualifying for an MFA is easy; be good at writing. Like, really good. They really don't give a shit about anything else you have to turn in. If it's been a while since you've been in school, you'll be delighted to learn that no MFAs take GRE scores anymore, and every single one that asks for a 3.0gpa also includes a caveat where they're like "with exceptions." It's because if your writing is that good they legit do not care what else you bring to the table.

Bad news bears though, that means you gotta be really good. Not to be like, discouraging, but the general acceptance rate is about 3-5% for all programs across the board. I only know minute details about fully funded MFAs (my google spreadsheet could end lives) because I am of the mindset that paying extra education in this economy instead of being paid for extra education is insanity of the highest degree. That being said, if you expand to non fully funded program, I think your chances get a percentage higher? If you have the means and you want to, go for it, but I highly suggest the fully funded route. Every MFA grad I've every talked to has always said that they don't suggest getting one ever unless it's fully funded. That being said, I have a lovely mutual on here who got hers and it was not fully funded, and she loved her experience. I can definitely direct you to her as well.

More specifically on writing though, MFA's are incredibly literary writing places. If your style is more eclectic then an MFA program could be quite stifling. If you are more into genre fiction, romance, speculative fiction, sci-fi; most MFA programs are not for you. There are a few new highly competitive ones that specialize in genre fiction, but again, highly competitive.

Another super important point; writing in a workshop environment, especially an MFA, requires very thick skin. Creating a story for a workshop is like birthing a child, and then giving it to a classroom of 10-15 people to beat to death in front of you while they tell you how ugly it is and how you could've done better. But then you get to do it to them too it's literally my favorite thing in the world. I called someone's story gimicky last week, that's like a writing slur. But if that sounds like no fun at all, that's what the entirety of an MFA program will be. The crotchety 84 year old man who runs BU's MFA program (it's Leslie again), while a delight and a legend, referred to one of my pieces as having a "surprisingly homoerotic moment" and then the entire class informed him it was actually, very clear the entire time. I should include a list of meanest comments I've ever gotten after this, that's so fun.

Also also; each MFA program varies wildly, but most from what I can tell from my research require you to teach a class during your time there, and your final thesis is basically a completed manuscript of a novel.

I can tell you that I think there is absolutely nothing wrong at all with applying for an MFA program in your late twenties. In fact, they prefer it. I ending up holding off based on feedback I got from people I asked for rec letters and advise, all who told me applying right out of school is hard because they take you much less seriously. They like it when you've gone out, gotten real world experience, and proved you're committed. I know older people in the MFA program who were published authors and screenwriters, and people who got in right out of school and only published afterwards. Again, it's really all down to how good you are, everything else they don't care about as long as you are good enough to make anything else not important.

As for old writing connections; don't worry about that. MFAs require 2-3 rec letters. My professor advised that if it's been a while, you email to ask and you send along what classes you took with the professor, what year it was, and a current writing sample. It makes it as easy as possible on your rec. She argued about it a bit with another MFA grad who she brought to class; he said if they don't remember you they won't be a good rec. I don't really have a huge stance, thought I'd give both viewpoints they gave. It's hard to decide, I have a rec that would swing a lot of weight in the literary world but also I had a little beef with the professor so I'm on the fence about if his would be good or not. It's such a dumb problem but now I'm just venting every MFA related thought at you.

Finally; I will tell you what my current plans are for the two years before I apply to, idk, Rocky training montage myself for MFA applications. Basically my goals are to finish one of my books (generous goal that one is FLEXIBLE), get a few short stories published, and hopefully make a website. Every serious writer has a website and they all hate it. But, it's good to have things to actually put in your blurbs when you submit for publishing.

I am happy to give advice on the publishing process as well if that would help you, anon, or anyone else. I currently am a reader for a lit journal and I have worked for a WIDE variety of publishing companies, from lil baby indie ones to bigger editing companies. There is a market for everything if you know how to market yourself and where to look, and you do not need an MFA to do that. Stephanie Meyer would sooner have turned into a vampire herself than have been accepted into an MFA, but her ass is widely successful. Get ur bag.