#a doctor of science and that is so wrong on my part i need to stop judging people like that’ and it was so nice to hear actually

[acebytaemin]

i met up w my mom at the mall a couple days ago and we ran into a work colleague of hers and they met up yesterday and just now she’s telling me abt how both her and her friend’s husband thought i was a model and not my mom’s scientist daughter JDKSJDK

[chimcess]

Bittersweet || myg (1)

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Other Tags: Grad Student!Yoongi, Undergrad!Reader, Grad Student!Hoseok, Uncle!Namjoon, Doctor!Namjoon, Grad Student!Jimin, Fuckboy!Jungkook, GradStudent!Jungkook, Boss!Seokjin, Yoongi POV Genre: College!AU, Strangers to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, kinda Student/Teacher but not really, Older!Yoongi, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut Word Count: 19.9k+ Summary: When a cynical graduate student meets an overly enthusiastic undergraduate, the air crackles with tension—though not all of it is good. Warnings: Mean!Yoongi, he's extremely rude, like extremely so, prank gone wrong, bitter grad student to the max, strong language, Jimin is a snitch, possible wrong science information (i'm sorry i'm not perfect), sexual tension, reader faints at the sight of blood, unfunny pranks, Yoongi is jaded, he's a softie once you get to know him, hospital visit, non-descriptive male masterbation, reader has a stutter when nervous, Yoongi just being in denial for almost 20k words, kissing at work, almost caught, Jealous!Yoongi, i'm sorry but this JK is kind of a slime ball, Reader knows what she's doing, they're adorable, lots of bickering, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: Another old draft I found buried in my Google Docs! I didn't need to change too much, and it's very loosely edited, so please forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes. This was rather long (and I don't know why I never posted it), so it had to be split into two parts because of Tumblr's new rules. Thanks for reading!

Next

Subject: Undergrad Mentoring From: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org   Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 6:18 AM   To: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu  

Yoongi,  

I’m forwarding an email from a brilliant undergraduate. Have you thought about mentoring a student? I really think you should.  

— Jin  

---

From: ynyln(at)u(.)washington(.)edu   Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 2:08 AM   To: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org   Subject: Undergraduate Research  

Dear Professor Kim,  

My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m a junior in the School of Arts and Sciences, majoring in microbiology. I’m incredibly interested in undergraduate research, particularly in your fascinating work on Helicobacter pylori and its connection to stomach cancer.  

Although I don’t have prior research experience, I’m hardworking and responsible, and I would appreciate the chance to join your team. Please let me know if you have space available in your lab.  

Attached are my CV and transcript.  

Thank you!  

Y/N Y/L/N  

---

Dr. Seokjin Kim Member, Division of Basic Sciences   Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center   1100 Fairview Avenue North   Seattle, WA 98109-1024  

I stared at Jin's email, the words bouncing around in my head. No previous research experience? Oh great! Just fucking great!

As the clock hit noon, I trudged into the break room, where the fluorescent lights buzzed like a swarm of angry bees. It was my little escape, my sanctuary from the suffocating hallways of academia. Hoseok, the only graduate student I considered a friend, was already inhaling his lunch.

I plopped my Tupperware into the microwave, the day’s weight pressing down on me like a thick fog. “Jin wants me to take on an undergrad,” I grumbled, feeling the words stick in my throat.

“Seriously?” Hoseok asked, mouth half-full. He didn’t even bother to swallow before adding, “Have them do the dishes.”

“Oh man, this is going to suck,” I muttered, stirring my mac and cheese with the enthusiasm of a person headed to their execution. “I have to train her, and she has zero lab experience. I don’t have time for this crap.”

The microwave beeped, its harsh sound grating against my nerves. I pulled out my steaming food, the steam rising ominously. “I tried to get out of it, but Jin insisted it’s ‘all part of the training.’” I mimicked his voice, nasal and overdramatic. Hoseok chuckled, nearly choking on his food.

I dug into my lunch, my mind racing. “She’s probably some pre-med trying to pad her CV. Calling our research ‘fascinating’ like she even knows what we do here—just another cookie-cutter student firing off a hundred emails.” 

“Maybe she’s cute?” Hoseok waggled his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes, ignoring him. My single status was a constant source of irritation for him. He meant well, but his attempts at matchmaking were like trying to fix a flat tire with a spoon.

“I already did my required TA-ing last year, and it nearly gave me an ulcer. I thought I was done with whiny undergrads! This really sucks!” The words burst out, hot and angry. The idea of babysitting a clueless student gnawed at me like a persistent itch.

I focused on my research, hoping it would be my ticket out of this academic purgatory. Mentoring an undergrad was the last thing I needed—a distraction threatening to derail my meticulously planned escape.

After lunch, I headed to the incubator to check on my cultures, the familiar hum a small comfort amidst the chaos. Then I settled at my desk, drafting a reluctant email to the undergrad, my words dripping with begrudging obligation.

From: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu   Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 1:05 PM   To: ynyln(at)u(.)washington(.)edu  

Come to the lab on Monday between 8 AM and 7 PM. Bring your schedule.  

Yoongi Min PhD Candidate   Kim Lab   Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center   1100 Fairview Avenue North   Seattle, WA 98109-1024  

This was going to suck.

“Hi, I’m looking for Yoongi Min?” A stranger’s voice cut through the quiet of the lab, and I felt my focus waver. I was knee-deep in DNA sequencing data, desperately searching for a start codon when the interruption struck like nails on a chalkboard.

“That’s him over there,” Jimin, my lab mate, replied. I didn’t need to look up; I knew he was pointing at me.

“CTT ATC GTG ACT…” I murmured; eyes glued to the screen. The code demanded my attention.

A shadow crept closer, invading my peripheral vision. I ignored it, hyper-fixated on the screen.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” the shadow solidified into the undergrad I’d been dreading. I continued to stare at the screen, unwilling to break my concentration.

“Did you bring your schedule?” My voice was clipped, an attempt to maintain my rhythm.

CGC CTC CGT ATG… There it was! I highlighted the start codon, feeling a small sense of victory amidst the irritation. Finally, I turned to face her. She held a crumpled piece of paper in trembling hands.

The crackling noise of the paper grated on my nerves, and I snatched it from her. A quick scan revealed she had a limited availability. Tuesdays and Thursdays it was.

“Do you want one or two credits?” I asked, filling out her form with practiced efficiency.

“Oh… um… t-two,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Oh great, a stammerer. I disliked her already. My frustration bubbled beneath the surface.

“That’s ten hours a week,” I said, scribbling on the form. “Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, maybe some Wednesday mornings.” I thrust the completed form back at her and turned back to my computer.

“See you tomorrow,” I dismissed her with a wave, eager to end the interaction. Her stammering was already wearing on my patience.

When I returned from lunch, she was perched at my bench. A laugh escaped me at the sight of her attire.

“What the hell is that?” I pointed at her lab coat, which was covered in hand-drawn bacteria.

She jumped, eyes wide. “My la-la-lab coat?” she stuttered.

Oh great, she’s a fucking idiot.

I took a deep breath, scanning her outfit for safety violations. At least she wore closed shoes and jeans, but her long hair hung loose.

“You should tie your hair up. You’ll be working near the flame.”

She pulled a hairband from her wrist and started tying her hair back. As I walked past, I noticed the back of her lab coat had “Bacteria Rule” scrawled in huge letters.

Bacteria Rule? Is she serious? I wanted to stab my eyes out with the pen in my hand. Who wastes time drawing on a lab coat? Nobody in their right mind, that’s for sure.

Something was off about her—I was certain of it. Concerned about her competence, I decided she couldn’t be trusted with any real work. Instead, I assigned her mundane chores, the kind even a high schooler could handle. It might not have been what Jin envisioned, but it was the only way.

God, I’m already dreading this. Can it be Friday already?

Hoseok and I lounged in the break room, our feet propped up on the coffee table, Tupperwares in our laps. The lack of a proper dining table didn’t bother us; it still beat eating at our desks.

“How’s it going with the undergrad?” Hoseok asked, mouth full.

“I’m pretty sure there’s something wrong with her,” I said, dead serious.

Hoseok laughed, even though I wasn’t joking.

“All she does is nod at what I say,” I elaborated. “Like one of those bobblehead dolls.” I stretched my neck and bobbed my head for effect. “Except she has bangs flopping all over her face when she nods frantically at everything I say.”

Hoseok snorted but kept eating.

“And she stutters! Well, when she speaks, that is. She doesn’t speak much. I kind of like that about her.”

Hoseok chuckled. “Sounds like you’re in love, bro.”

“Fuck you, Hoseok,” I shot back, uninterested. I already knew where this was heading.

“Is she cute?” Hoseok asked, glancing at me with a smirk.

“She’s a baby.”

“Is she a cute baby?”

“Hoseok, she’s… she’s a zygote.”

“Well, maybe with this zygote, you’ll learn how to be human again.” He turned his attention back to his food.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Come on. You’re not exactly social, bro. All you do is lab stuff and occasionally hang out with me and Serena.”

“What are you talking about? I am social.” My tone came out whiny, betraying my disbelief.

“Oh, really?” Hoseok raised an eyebrow, gesturing to my Tupperware. “So social that you prefer to eat alone in the lab over joining us in the break room?”

“Do you even hear yourself? You’re such a dork. I eat in here because the lab is a mess, not because I’m antisocial.” I shrugged, trying to hide the embarrassment creeping into my cheeks.

“Whatever you say, Yoongi,” he laughed, clearly unconvinced.  

I shook my head. I didn’t want to think about this right now. Instead, I grabbed my backpack, bracing myself for the next round of research duties.

After a few weeks of working together, I had to admit—albeit grudgingly—that the undergrad was following instructions better than I’d expected. If I could just ignore her ridiculous lab coat and the way those bangs flopped annoyingly over her forehead, she wouldn’t be half bad. The real annoyance, though, was her constant presence invading my space. But honestly, it could be worse; at least she wasn’t stammering nonstop. Most of the time, she barely spoke, and mercifully, she didn’t ask a ton of questions.

As I walked back from lunch with Hoseok, I was surprised to realize I didn’t dread the thought of the undergrad being in the lab when I arrived. Maybe having her shadow me wouldn’t be the end of the world after all.

Of course, the moment that thought crossed my mind, I jinxed myself. Stepping into the lab, I found her cleaning my bench, and a wave of irritation crashed over me. 

“What the heck are you doing?” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.

She flinched, turning slowly to face me, her gloved hands still gripping an ethanol squeeze bottle. “I-I just thought I’d clean up a bit,” she stammered.

“Did you touch my samples?” I shot back, a surge of panic coursing through me.

“Which samples?” 

“Those!” I pointed at the upside-down tubes that had been perfectly positioned when I left, now carelessly shoved to the side. 

“I-I just mov—”

“Did you touch my RNA samples?” Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air—an annoyingly stupid fish. “Do you know how labile RNA is?”

“L-la-labile?” 

“Yes! Unstable—easily degradable. The main point here: you don’t touch my RNA samples!” 

“I-I used gloves… I’m sorry,” she mumbled, tears shimmering in her eyes. 

If she started crying, I was really going to lose it. 

I took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose to calm the storm brewing inside me. Slipping on my own gloves, I gently set my samples back in their rightful place, praying I hadn’t lost a week’s worth of work. 

I could hear her sniffling next to me, and I groaned out loud. “Why don’t you and your la-la-lab coat coat go find something useful to do?” 

I listened as she shuffled away, clearly eager to escape my sight. I should have known better than to think this arrangement would work out.

From: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org   Sent: Monday, February 14, 2024, 6:27 AM To: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu

Yoongi,  

Part of the undergrad training involves more than just doing chores. Cleaning dishes, stacking pipette tips, and capping tubes do not count as experiments.  

I expect your undergrad to have enough experimental data to give a presentation at the end of the semester.  

Jin  

What the hell? Did she tell him I’m only having her do chores? 

Shit, shit, shit, shit. 

Jin was right, though. All she’d done these past few weeks were chores. Aside from that little incident with my RNA samples, she hadn’t completely messed up yet. Maybe I should cut her some slack and give her a real project. She might learn something—or at the very least, realize how frustrating science could be and decide to give up on it sooner rather than later. 

Oh God, how was she going to give a presentation if she couldn’t even say one coherent sentence without stuttering? 

This would be an embarrassment, not just for her but for me too. If she messed up, she’d make me look bad. 

Decision made. I needed to lighten up a bit and actually try to teach her something.

On Thursday, the undergrad was busy with her chores when I approached her, project sheet in hand. 

She looked at it, her eyebrows raised. “What is this?” 

“Your project for the next few weeks.” 

Her face lit up with excitement. 

“You didn’t have to go crying to Jin. I was going to give you a project anyway.” 

Her smile faltered into a frown. “W-What are you talking about?” She gazed up at me, bewildered, but I waved her off, unwilling to explain further. 

“Enough chattering. Those tubes aren’t going to wash themselves.” 

Gotcha, undergrad. Your puppy dog eyes don’t work on me.

It was the first week of real work for the undergrad, and I felt a knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach. My palms were clammy, and my heart raced uncomfortably. 

Am I excited about this? Nah… I’m probably just hungry.

“Do you know what PCR is?” 

She nodded eagerly, pulling out her notepad, ready to take notes. 

I explained how I wanted her to amplify two toxin genes from a set of H. pylori samples that had just arrived that morning from the hospital. Naturally, I only gave her a small subset of the total samples. It was a manageable number—enough for her to play around with, but not so many that I’d be ready to murder her if she messed up.

As usual, the undergrad took notes on everything I said, jotting down even where I pointed out the locations of various equipment. For all I knew, she was sketching a detailed map of the lab in that notepad of hers.

The undergrad sat at the bench, PCR tubes lined up in front of her, the protocol to her left, pipettes to her right, and a rack of reagents looming in the back. I watched her as she stared at everything, nervously picking at the edges of her gloves. 

She was going to drive me insane. 

“Do you know how to use the pipettes?” 

She looked up at me, shaking her head timidly. 

“Why didn’t you say so?” My voice came out louder than intended, and she flinched. 

We were never going to get anywhere like this. 

I took a deep breath and tried again, grabbing one of the micropipettes. “You set the volume here.” I pointed to the rings. “Clockwise to increase, counterclockwise to decrease.” 

I demonstrated, twisting the rings as I explained the display window and where to discard the disposable tips when she was done. 

After a few trials, the undergrad carefully pipetted into the PCR tubes, preparing the reaction with surprising precision. 

She was focused, making sure not to contaminate anything. It was clear she was paying close attention to every detail. 

Skilled hands, I noted, feeling a flicker of satisfaction. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as I thought.

I led the undergrad into the darkroom, where shadows clung to the walls like forgotten secrets, ready to ensnare us. The air was thick with a sharp, chemical tang, buzzing with anticipation as we approached the agarose gel. The PCR products shimmered faintly under the dim light, a hidden treasure waiting to be revealed. Surprisingly, a flicker of excitement sparked within me, a rare departure from my usual brooding.

“The ethidium bromide binds to the DNA,” I explained, my voice echoing softly in the sterile silence. “When we expose it to UV light, it fluoresces an orange color. You’ll see the PCR products light up on the gel.”

She walked beside me, clutching the gel like a sacred relic, her wide eyes absorbing every word. I could almost see the gears turning in her mind, likely wishing she had her notepad to document my brilliance, as if capturing my words would somehow validate her existence.

As we stepped into the darkroom, she hesitated, like a deer caught in headlights, before gingerly placing the gel inside the UV box. She moved carefully, avoiding the pitfalls of air bubbles that could ruin everything. Either she’d done this before, or she had the sense to read up on it. 

Good. I liked a prepared undergrad.

Once she’d set the gel, I instructed her to turn off the lights. The room plunged into darkness, and I leaned in, my heart racing a little faster. Peering into the UV box, I couldn’t help but grin. “Well, look at that. All your reactions worked.”

“Really?” Her voice trembled from the back, laced with a quiver of hope.

“Yeah,” I called back, though the shadows played tricks on me. “Come closer so you can see.”

I waited, but she lingered in the gloom, frozen as if afraid to approach the light. “Come here, I don’t bite,” I coaxed, trying to keep my tone lighthearted.

Finally, she moved, her profile illuminated under the eerie purple glow. Her eyes widened, and a smile broke across her face like dawn piercing through a dark night. I snorted softly, amused by how easily undergrads were impressed.

After she soaked in the spectacle, I showed her how to take a photo of her gel, and we returned to the lab. She began dutifully filling in her lab notebook, and a glimmer of pride swelled within me. That was until I checked her progress later. The notebook was pristine—a meticulous record of her every move since day one. Hope flickered in my chest, only to sputter out when I turned to the last page. There it was, taped prominently: a picture of the gel with “All worked!” scrawled underneath, accompanied by a crude smiley face.

A fucking smiley face.

This undergrad, I thought, definitely had a screw loose.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” 

“What’s wrong with it?” I glanced down at my sweater, a worn piece of fabric riddled with holes—just like my soul. It was what I had been wearing all day, and it sufficed. 

“It has holes in it.”

“And?” I shot back, genuinely baffled. It was just clothing—a shield against the chill of the world.

“Are you making a fashion statement? You do know grunge was over twenty years ago? I know you live in Seattle and all, but I’m not digging the Kurt Cobain look… at all.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I muttered, irritation bubbling beneath my skin. “I’m starting to regret bringing you to this.”

“Relax, it’s just beers with Hobi and Serena,” she said, rolling her eyes like I was some petulant child.

I raked a hand through my hair, but it sprang back defiantly, so I slapped on a beanie to cover the chaos.

“You know, Yoongi, it wouldn’t hurt to wash your hair once in a while. How are you going to meet any cute girls?”

Here we go again.

“Yoonji, would you get off my case? I don’t want to meet anybody.” 

Yoonji dropped in at least once a month, a whirlwind of concern and relentless nagging. She never believed me when I claimed to be fine over the phone. 

It was endearing, in a way, but mostly a burden I didn’t need. My family was my anchor, yet their relentless need to take care of me felt like shackles.

“Okay, okay... let’s go then.” 

“It’s just beers, for crying out loud.” 

“I’m telling you to relax.” 

In the car, I felt her eyes boring into me. “It’s just... I worry about you.” She brushed her hand along my arm, and I sighed.

“I’m fine,” I insisted, but I could see the disbelief flickering across her face. “Really. I’m just tired of school. I want to start real life already. I’ll be twenty-six this summer, and I’m still stuck in this academic limbo.”

“Hell, I’m twenty-seven!” Hoseok said when we arrived at the bar, lifting his pint in a mock salute. “And look at all the fuck I give!” He downed it with a flourish.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I shot back.

“Hey,” Serena interjected, her tone warning.

“It’s okay…” Hoseok waved dismissively. “He’s just got a bad case of graduate bitterness.”

Graduate bitterness... yes, that was exactly it. A malaise that settled in my bones like a persistent chill. I glanced around, my throat tightening as if the weight of my uncertainty was squeezing the life out of me.

I led the undergrad through the winding corridors of the building, our footsteps echoing like whispers in the shadows. She walked beside me in near silence, her gaze occasionally darting down to her notepad, scribbling furiously as if the ink might escape her. If only she spent as much time observing her surroundings as she did with her frantic notes, she wouldn’t need them to find her way back to the sequencing facility.

There was something peculiar about her. She avoided meeting my eyes, her demeanor skirting the edges of unease, a deep-seated shyness that pricked at my irritation. And Hoseok thinks I’m the antisocial one!

As we turned a corner, I pondered the unspoken rules of social behavior in the lab when we suddenly bumped into Jungkook Wand, another graduate student known for his knack for lurking around.

“Min,” he greeted, his gaze fixated on my undergrad, likely eyeing her in that ridiculous lab coat that looked like it had seen better days. Why she insisted on wearing that tattered garment was beyond me.

“We missed you at happy hour,” he added, his eyes still glued to her, ignoring me completely.

Every Friday, the department hosted a gathering that, while lame, at least offered beer. Last week, Yoonji was visiting, and I wouldn’t have dreamed of dragging her into that debacle.

“Yeah, my cousin was in town,” I managed, trying to shake off the feeling of being an afterthought.

Jungkook’s smile widened as he turned his attention to her. I should probably introduce them, but for the life of me, her name eluded me. Panic set in like a cold sweat.

“Hi,” Jungkook said, flashing a grin that felt a bit too eager.

Shit. What was her name again?

The girl glanced up at me, and a flash of annoyance crossed her features, as if she could read my mind. “I’m Y/N,” she said, her voice laced with indignation as she extended her hand. The scowl she shot me could peel paint off the walls.

Y/N. The name landed in my mind like a lead weight. How had I forgotten it?

Before I could muster an excuse, Jungkook was launching into conversation, his gaze lingering on her with a familiarity that irked me. I didn’t like Jungkook, nor the way he looked at my undergrad, so I steered her away from him, back toward the safety of the lab.

Now, what was her name again? Damn it.

The following week, I was knee-deep in sequence alignments at my cluttered desk when the fire alarm shrieked, slicing through the stillness like a knife. I turned to find my undergrad, her wide eyes betraying sheer panic. 

She thought it was real. In that moment, a mischievous idea sparked in my mind. 

“Run, Becca! Run!” I shouted, leaping from my chair.

“What?” 

The color drained from her face, and I couldn't help but laugh as confusion and fear played out across her features— priceless. I doubled over, laughter bubbling out like soda from a shaken can. 

The alarm blared on, drowning out her startled gasp as she clutched a rack of tubes, trembling. “It’s just a fire drill! Relax!” I finally managed to gasp.

She set the tubes down, took a deep breath, and shot me a glare, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “That was not funny,” she huffed, her voice laced with indignation. “And my name is Y/N!”

With that, she stormed off, leaving me with echoes of my laughter still ringing in my ears. 

Oh, being social was unexpectedly entertaining!

The fire alarms continued to test my patience, ringing again and again. Each time, I chuckled at the memory of her startled expression. Now, standing outside for what felt like the fifth time, I glanced sideways at Y/N, who was shifting her weight from foot to foot, hands shoved into her pockets. 

“Want to grab some coffee?” I asked, feeling an odd urge to make amends.

She blinked at me, surprise flickering across her face as if she couldn’t believe I was actually talking to her.

The cafeteria at the library was our destination, and we walked in silence, the clouds parting for a moment to let in the faintest hint of sunshine. 

As we stood in line, I noticed her tense shoulders. Suddenly, she muttered a string of curses under her breath. Before I could react, her arm was around mine, grinning at me like a Cheshire cat.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, bewildered.

She maintained her smile but released me, stepping in front. “Say something funny,” she ordered, her voice low and urgent.

“What?”

Then she erupted in laughter, leaving me standing there in utter confusion.

She pressed a hand against my chest, and I wasn’t sure whether to be amused or alarmed. Was this how lab partners acted in her world?

But just as quickly as the laughter came, it faded, and she stepped back, looking sheepish, as if the moment had been a strange dream.

I moved up in line to get my coffee. “Do you want anything?”

“No, thanks,” she replied, shaking her head. I decided to drop the subject entirely.

As we started heading back, she caught up to me, her expression suddenly earnest. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “There’s this guy, Jonah. He won’t take a hint. I thought if he saw me with someone…”

I tuned out her words, her rhythm a blur as I realized just how bizarre everything was.

Could undergrads get any weirder?

Sitting alone on a bench Wednesday afternoon, I savored the solitude when Jungkook appeared, looming over me like a vulture. 

“Min,” he said, his tone dripping with false familiarity.

I glared at him, not in the mood for whatever nonsense he was about to spill. 

“Where’s that cute little thing you were with?” 

“Who?”

“You know, the one in the colorful lab coat.”

Colorful? I snorted, recalling the eyesore she wore.

“She’s not here,” I replied curtly.

“Got her number?”

“Why would I have her number? And why do you want it?”

He raised his eyebrows, a smirk spreading across his face. “You know… you and her…”

I cut him off, anger flaring in my chest. “Me and her what?”

“Is she up for grabs?”

I couldn’t believe he’d come to my lab just to ask about her.

“Jungkook, she’s an undergrad.”

He laughed, completely oblivious. “Dude, have you looked at her? She’s fine.”

“Yeah, and she’s crazy.”

“Even better!” His expression made my stomach churn.

“I don’t have her number, and if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

With that, I shoved my earbuds in, blocking him out as he stormed off, his words echoing in my mind.

Fucking creep.

Even though it was Friday—one of those days Y/N usually avoided—the lab felt off-kilter, like an old, rickety house holding its breath. She hovered at my desk while I pulled up the sequencing results on my laptop. Last night, I’d sent her a simple email, expecting a casual response. But her reply had come back faster than a ghost in the night. She wanted to see the data today.

As we sat there, the silence between us thickened, almost palpable. Her face was a mask of concentration, but her expressions kept faltering, crumpling like old paper. Not that I cared too much; she had to learn that research was 90% disappointment wrapped in frustration.

“Why didn’t it work?” she asked, her voice tinged with sadness, as if she were mourning a lost hope.

“Maybe you made a mistake?” I suggested, trying to sound casual.

“I was very careful,” she shot back, defensive, her eyes narrowing like a predator ready to pounce.

How typical. Pre-med students always thought they were immune to failure, that the universe owed them success on a silver platter.

“It happens,” I shrugged, trying to dismiss the tension.

“I don’t understand,” she said, her brows knitting together.

“There's a reason it’s called research. If you only had to do it once, it would be called a search.”

“So, what do I do now?”

“You start over.”

“From the beginning?” Her voice trembled, disbelief flickering in her eyes.

“Yeah.”

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she gazed at her notebook, defeated. Her eyes flitted to the calendar on the wall, and her pencil scratched furiously on the pad. “Can I come tomorrow? I want to have cells growing by Monday.”

Her eagerness surprised me. I added “overachiever” to the growing list of quirks that made Y/N so peculiar.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

“I know that.”

“Don’t you have a frat party to attend?” I quipped, but her glare silenced me, a reprimand that cut through the lab's sterile air. “Fine, come tomorrow,” I relented, knowing I’d be here anyway. Weekends in the lab were the best; no distractions, just the hum of machinery and the click of keys.

“Awesomesauce!” she chirped, her smile lighting up the dim room. I rolled my eyes, annoyed yet impressed by her determination. Maybe, just maybe, she had what it took for grad school after all.

Saturdays were sacred—my little slice of peace amid the storm of classes and lab reports. After a killer morning workout, I made my way back to the lab, my damp hair fluttering in the cool breeze. Just as I settled into my zone, my phone buzzed with a message that snapped me back to reality. 

“Mr. Graduate Student, I’m at the front of the building. Y/N.”

I chuckled, shaking my head at her cheesy attempt at humor. By the time I reached the entrance, I found her wrestling with her hair, tying it up into a high ponytail that looked like it could give anyone a headache just by looking at it. But when she caught sight of me, her face lit up with a grin that could brighten the cloudiest day.

“Very funny,” I replied dryly as I held the door open for her. “It’s Yoongi, remember?”

As we stepped inside, the silence stretched between us, thick and awkward. I considered tossing out a quip about her hairstyle or her lab coat, but then a mischievous prank began to brew in my mind—dark and delightful, like a noxious weed spreading through my thoughts.

“Start your experiment from scratch,” I said, forcing a serious tone. “Could be that my reagents were contaminated.”

Her eyes widened, and I could barely suppress a smirk. It was a complete lie, of course; the old autoclave in the corner was already wheezing like an ancient beast. But picturing her panic was too tempting. 

Settling at my bench, I could barely contain my excitement. But instead of the expected rush of alarm, there was a loud crash—glass shattering like a million tiny dreams—and then silence. 

What the hell was that?

I found her on the floor, surrounded by shards of glass that sparkled like lost hopes. The autoclave hissed and wheezed, steam curling around us like a ghost. I rushed to her side, trying to stem the leak with my hands. 

“What happened?” I asked, crouching beside her. She looked like a wilted flower, her head buried in her knees, eyes squeezed shut.

“Are you okay?” I tried again, dread pooling in my stomach as I saw her trembling hands. Her breath came in quick bursts, and my heart raced. 

She mumbled something I couldn’t catch, her palm pressed hard against her leg. “Let me see,” I urged, only to be hit with a wave of horror: a deep gash across her palm, crimson pooling onto the cold tiles.

Oh, no...

Panic surged as I scooped her up, her fragile body slumping against mine. “You’re okay,” I whispered, the words feeling hollow. “It’s okay.” 

I hurried her to the sink, the cool water a sharp contrast to the rising heat in the lab. She buried her face in my chest, her panic palpable against my shirt. 

“Is there still blood?” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Mostly gone. But we need to get to the ER,” I insisted, urgency tightening my tone.

She groaned, eyes still shut tight, her composure slipping away. 

“Please, open your eyes,” I pleaded, gently lifting her chin. I rubbed my thumb along her cheek, trying to anchor her to reality.

“Can you walk?” 

She nodded weakly, but when she tried to stand, her legs buckled. I swept her back up, panic clawing at my throat. 

What have I done? The air felt thick with dread, and I knew I had to get her out of there. 

I carried her to my car, the world outside fading into a blur, as if the universe was holding its breath. Carefully, I placed her in the passenger seat, her eyes still shut like she was blocking out the horrors around us. I fastened her seatbelt, feeling the weight of the moment. "Please say something," I urged, glancing at her, desperate for any sign of life.

"I hate blood," she mumbled, voice fragile.

Relief washed over me—she was talking. It struck me as strange that a pre-med student would detest blood. "Are you still dizzy?" 

She nodded, and my heart sank at her admission. The crease in her forehead deepened, and I wanted nothing more than to smooth it away.

"We’ll be at the hospital in ten minutes," I promised, focusing on the road ahead.

"Would you distract me, so I don’t think about the blood?" 

"I don’t know how," I admitted sheepishly.

"Say something funny." 

"Funny? Okay. It’s pretty funny that you want to go to med school and you faint at the sight of blood." 

"Who says I'm pre-med?" she shot back, and I blinked in surprise.

"You're not?" 

"No, and that really wasn’t funny. Talking about blood isn’t going to help me forget about it." 

Frustration clawed at me as I struggled for something to say. 

"What do you want me to say?" 

"Don’t you know any jokes?" There was an edge of frustration in her voice.

"No." 

"Everyone knows at least one joke, Yoongi." The way she said my name sent a jolt through me, tightening my stomach with something close to admiration.

Before I knew it, I blurted out the lamest joke I could remember from college. "Two hydrogen atoms walk into a bar," I began, watching her lips twitch upward. "One says, ‘I think I've lost an electron.’ The other asks, ‘Are you sure?’ The first replies, ‘Yes. I'm positive.’"

I cringed at how cheesy it was, but when her smile finally broke through, it felt like winning the lottery.

"That was lame," she said, but the glimmer of her smile gave me hope.

At a red light, I risked a glance at her. Her eyes were still closed, but the pale green tint to her skin had faded, replaced by a healthy glow. My heart swelled with relief.

The driver behind me honked impatiently, snapping me back to reality.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, noticing her fingers curling around her injured wrist. 

She nodded, a pout forming on her lips that made my heart ache. I nearly missed a stop sign, cursing under my breath.

"God, I’m such a jerk," I muttered, guilt gnawing at me. I had messed up, all in the name of a stupid joke. I racked my brain for something else to say but came up empty.

"I don’t know any more jokes, but I was good at geeky pickup lines back in college," I offered, desperate to lift her spirits. Her smile returned, lighting up the car.

"This better be good," she warned teasingly.

"If I were an enzyme, I’d be DNA helicase, so I could unzip your genes." 

"Oh my God," she snorted, and I laughed, relieved to see her react. "Did you use that on anybody?" 

"Maybe," I hinted, my chest tightening with excitement.

"Did it work?" 

"No," I admitted, but I was laughing now, and she was grinning, even with her eyes still closed. I was determined to keep her smiling. 

"Oh! Do you like The Police?" 

"The police?" She frowned, confusion crossing her features.

"Yeah…" 

"As in the profession?" 

"No, you dork. The band. Sting's band?" 

"Oh, yeah. I guess." She shrugged.

And against my better judgment, I cleared my throat and began singing. "Every bond you break… Every electron you take…"

Finally, her eyes fluttered open, surprise and delight dancing across her face. I couldn’t help but wiggle my eyebrows, and her smile broadened, banishing the shadows of panic. "Oh, can’t you see, you’re covalently bonded to me…" I sang, pouring my energy into the ridiculousness of it. Nothing felt more beautiful than the light in her eyes. 

How had I never noticed how amazing her smile was before?

We pulled into the University’s Medical Center in under ten minutes, just like I expected. I parked quickly and rushed around to help her out, but she stumbled out on her own, nearly losing her balance. I caught her just before she could face plant onto the pavement—or worse, land hard on her injured hand.

I could feel irritation bubbling up inside me. Did she really think I wouldn’t help? Sure, I was an idiot sometimes, but I still had a decent sense of gentlemanly instincts. 

“Can you walk?” I asked, keeping my hand around her elbow as we approached the entrance.

“I think so,” she replied softly, but I kept my grip steady, guiding her into the emergency room. 

Inside, a flicker of relief hit me—the place was nearly empty, and we should get seen fairly quickly. “Hello,” I said to the front desk lady, who was glued to her computer screen. She glanced up, her expression completely bored, and didn’t reply. Instant dislike. 

“She cut her hand, and it looks deep,” I said, gesturing toward Y/N beside me.

“Name?” The front desk lady’s question hung in the air like a sword about to drop, and suddenly, I froze.

Goddammit…

She didn’t mean my name. My stomach twisted as I desperately searched my memory. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten her name again.

It starts with a B, doesn’t it? I racked my brain, stalling as the front desk lady’s eyebrows shot up impatiently.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” came the shaky voice next to me, cutting through my fog of embarrassment.

God, I was such an idiot! I wanted to punch myself for being so careless.

I looked at her—Y/N—and even though she shook her head, a grin crept onto the corner of her mouth. Maybe, just maybe, I was forgiven. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N… I repeated silently, determined that this time I would remember.

I was convinced that the “doctor” tending to Y/N wasn’t a real doctor—not yet, anyway. He claimed the cut wasn’t deep and that it hadn’t damaged any tendons or nerves. He even said it was clean enough to glue shut, which apparently was a thing now. But my gut twisted with doubt; something about him set off alarms in my head.

Y/N had her eyes squeezed shut, clutching my hand like it was a lifeline while this wannabe physician—Doogie Howser, I mentally dubbed him—cleaned her wound. She perched on the examination table, her injured hand resting on a tray beside her, as I stood behind her, anxiety tightening my chest. In the chaos of her injury and my desperate attempts to care for her, her ponytail had loosened, hanging low at the nape of her neck. A sudden curiosity gripped me: What would her hair look like, cascading down like a waterfall?

“Y/N,” I whispered, leaning closer, needing to say her name again, to engrain it into my memory. “Breathe through your mouth. It’ll help.”

I lingered near her neck, unable to pull away, drawn by something I couldn’t quite name. I tried to find the words to describe her scent—something fresh, like the morning air spilling through an open window—but words failed me. I’d caught a hint of it earlier when I held her close at the sink, but now, in the confined space of the ER, it enveloped me, bringing back echoes of happier times.

Y/N smelled good—no, different. Refreshing, like the world waking up after a long sleep. And I was trapped in this moment, lost in the intoxicating blend of her presence and the sterile smell of antiseptic.

Every time she flinched, my instinct was to lash out at Doogie. I wanted to punch him for every wince that slipped from her lips, but I knew that wouldn’t help; it might just make things worse. I fought against the urge to ask the nurse for someone else to help her, terrified to leave her side. So I stayed, fingers entwined with hers, trying to offer some measure of comfort in the storm of uncertainty.

When Doogie finished and began to bandage her hand, I felt a wave of relief wash over me as she released her grip. I stepped back, taking a breath that felt heavy in my chest. Tension still coiled inside me; I hated that she’d gotten hurt, but a part of me marveled at her resilience. Despite her aversion to blood, she had held herself together with a strength I hadn’t given her credit for. There was more to Y/N than I realized, and that realization struck me hard.

“Listen, I’m really sorry,” I said once we were back in the car, the weight of guilt pressing down on me.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault I’m such a klutz.” She offered a radiant smile that twisted my insides with guilt all over again.

“So, what happened?” I asked tentatively, hoping against hope that this wasn’t really my fault.

“I was carrying a rack of test tubes when that thing started shooting vapor out. I freaked out. I thought it was going to explode! So I dropped the tubes and cut my hand trying to pick them up,” she admitted, embarrassment creeping into her voice as she stared down at her hands.

I should have known...

“Shit…” I thumped my head against the steering wheel, frustration bubbling up inside me.

“Hey, stop.” Her hand reached up to my shoulder, a gentle gesture that only deepened my self-loathing. “You couldn’t possibly have known that thing was going to start leaking, right?” I peeked at her, guilt etched on my face. She scrutinized me, her brow furrowing as realization dawned. “You did know, didn’t you?” Her hand dropped from my shoulder, and I felt the accusation hanging between us like a thick fog.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” I said earnestly, trying to convey the depth of my regret, how much I hated myself for her injury.

“You’re unbelievably cruel!” she shot back, eyebrows knitting together as she glared at me.

She was right, but I felt compelled to explain. “There wasn’t any risk of you getting hurt. The door just leaks a little vapor. I was going to close it after you got scared. It was a stupid joke, Y/N. You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”

“Well, excuse me for ruining your prank,” she snapped, rolling her eyes and turning away from me.

Sarcasm. Just lovely.

“I am truly sorry. Can you forgive me?” I asked, keeping my gaze on her even though she pointedly avoided me.

“Whatever, Yoongi.” She shrugged, irritation radiating from her as she stared out the window.

I wanted to tell her she was acting like a child, but I held my tongue, knowing that teasing her wouldn’t help my case. Instead, I focused on driving, ruminating on how to make this right again.

How the hell do I fix this?

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” I said to Y/N, trying to sound calm even though a knot twisted in my stomach as I parked in front of the research building.

“This is really not necessary, Yoongi. I’m fine,” she replied, brushing off my concern.

“Y/N, can you please, just for once, not contradict me?” I shot back, frustration bubbling under the surface.

“I never contradict you!” she protested, eyes wide in disbelief.

I fixed her with a glare until the tension between us shifted, and a small smile broke through her pout as I climbed out of the car. Maybe I was getting through to her, even just a little.

I dashed into the lab to grab her bag, but was abruptly halted when I spotted Jimin hunched over her bench. An urge to warn Y/N about the mess brewing in the autoclave room hit me hard. 

“Jimin?” I called, feeling an unusual tension in the air as he turned to me, eyes wide like I’d just spoken an alien dialect. We rarely exchanged more than necessary pleasantries. “There’s a big mess in the autoclave room. I’ll be right back to clean it up.”

“And you’re telling me this why?” he shot back, still looking as confused as a cat in a dog park.

“There’s a bunch of glass… I don’t know. My undergrad—she dropped the tubes. I—” The words tumbled out in a jumbled mess, and Jimin continued to stare at me like I’d just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. “Never mind,” I muttered, eager to escape the awkwardness.

“How’s that for a change? First, you have her doing your chores, and now you’re cleaning up after her,” he called after me.

I spun around to glare at him, irritation sparking. Sure, he was right, but I had bigger problems than petty lab gossip. I left him behind, shaking off the encounter.

When I climbed back into the car, Y/N was waiting for me, eyebrow raised, holding a CD case. My stomach dropped as I recognized it—my mom’s treasured Carpenters album.

“Really, Yoongi?” she asked, her smile widening. “The Carpenters? Okay, cool.” She casually tucked the CD case back into the glove box.

She was teasing me—smiling at me. That had to be a good sign, right? Maybe she had forgiven me after all.

I couldn’t help but let my gaze linger on her face, how her smile lit up the whole car. It was stunning; how had I never noticed it before? A pang of regret hit me for all the moments I had let slip by.

“Are you okay?” Y/N’s voice broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to reality.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just—uh, how’s your living situation?” I mumbled as I started the car and drove off, reminding myself to keep it together. She’s just an undergrad, I thought, shaking off the flutter in my stomach.

As I parked in front of her building, my chest tightened again. I was still angry—mostly at myself—for letting her get hurt. I wouldn’t feel at ease until she was safely tucked inside her apartment.

“Are you still dizzy?” I asked, unable to hide the concern in my voice.

“I think I’m all right now,” she replied, a small grin dancing on her lips.

Would it be weird if I walked her to her door? Did guys still do that? It had been ages since I’d been on a date. What was the protocol these days?

What the hell am I thinking? This isn’t a date.

But she didn’t look a hundred percent. Maybe carrying her bag would help. I climbed out of the car, and she shot me a bewildered look as I opened her door.

“I’ll feel better once I know you’re safe inside,” I insisted, my voice firm.

“I’m fine. You don’t hav—”

“Please, humor me,” I interrupted.

Y/N hesitated, then took my hand as she stumbled out of the car. I grabbed her backpack, and we walked inside together, a strange sense of connection warming the air between us.

At her door, she paused, her hand hovering over the doorknob. When she turned to look at me, her brown eyes sparkled with something I couldn’t quite pin down.

“I’ll see you Tuesday then,” I said, handing her the bag.

“Yes. Tuesday.” Her gaze flickered up through her long lashes, and I was momentarily mesmerized. “Not Monday.” A playful grin crept across her face, and I felt my breath catch at the sight of her eyes crinkling with delight. “You know why not Monday?”

I was still entranced by her smile and completely missed the point she was trying to make. “Because rainy days and Mondays always get me down,” she said, and heat rushed to my cheeks.

Great… she’s making fun of me.

I took a deep breath and snorted, forcing myself to look away from her lips. “You’re such a dork, Y/N. How long have you been waiting to say that?”

“Too long.” Her giggle sent my heart racing, a rhythm I couldn't ignore.

“Good night, Y/N,” I replied, managing a smile despite my racing heart.

As I walked back to my car, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window and was horrified to find myself grinning like a fool. I frowned and climbed inside, but before I could drive away, I pulled my mom’s CD from the glove box, popped it in, and began to hum along.

Why do birds suddenly appear… every time… you are near?

I slammed on the brakes and hit the eject button.

Holy shit, what the hell is wrong with me?

Thankfully, when I returned to the lab, Jimin was gone. I started cleaning up the autoclave room, picking up shards of glass and mopping away the blood from the floor. As I worked, I spotted Y/N’s lab coat next to the sink, and my heart sank. It didn’t look festive anymore; it resembled a tattered Halloween costume.

Shit… She loved that ridiculous thing, and now it was ruined.

Before I knew it, I found myself washing the lab coat. I tried everything, even bleach. When I was done, the blood stains had vanished, but so had the whimsical bacteria drawings she’d painstakingly decorated it with.

Fuck my life...

When Hoseok called, I told him the chances of me making it to Serena’s party were slim. “I’m stuck in the lab and still have a long way to go,” I said, leaving out the details of my time spent doodling on a lab coat that now looked like a toddler’s art project. I also didn’t mention that I was starting Y/N’s experiment along with my own.

After inspecting the now-ruined lab coat, I realized I couldn’t give it back to her. Tossing it felt wrong, though—I’d just spent hours on the damn thing. So, I wrapped it in a plastic bag and tucked it under my desk, trying to forget it existed.

I left the lab after two in the morning, exhausted but restless. My mind buzzed with thoughts, not about experiments this time, but about Y/N—how she had gotten hurt because of me, and yet she hadn’t unleashed her fury. Somehow, she felt bigger than this. Bigger than me.

God, I’ve been such an asshole.

Images of her haunted me throughout the night. The way she smiled at my lame jokes, how she laughed at my terrible rendition of “Every Breath You Take.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sung to someone, not since my mom had forced me to sing The Carpenters with her. I turned over in bed, a smile creeping onto my face at the memory.

I didn’t have to be a jerk to Y/N anymore. I didn’t want to be. It wasn’t her fault grad school was a pain. If anything, having her around made it bearable. Maybe I could lighten up a bit… or maybe we could both learn something from this. No, I wanted to be nicer to her. I wanted to see her smile.

I want to make her smile?

First The Carpenters, now this?

When did I turn into such a marshmallow?

Monday night in the dingy gym felt like a scene straight out of a bad movie. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a harsh, sterile glow that did nothing to uplift the atmosphere. Hoseok and I were at the bench press, trading off sets like two battered soldiers in a war that would never be chronicled. I stood behind him, bracing for the weight, but my gaze was pulled away, caught in the orbit of something infinitely more captivating.

There she was—Y/N—effortlessly gliding on the treadmill like she was born to run. Her ponytail swung rhythmically with each stride, a pendulum marking the time as she jogged. My breath hitched, a tightening in my chest as I let my eyes wander down her back, tracing the delicate curve of her spine. And then—oh God—those shorts. Tiny and black, they hugged her body in a way that made my heart race uncontrollably.

The fabric didn’t just cling; it cradled her curves, indenting just enough in the middle to draw the eye downwards. I could almost feel the heat radiating off her skin, my mind spiraling into places I really didn’t want it to go.

“Dude! Hold the bar, would ya?” Hoseok’s voice jolted me from my daze. I blinked hard, shaking off the spell as I refocused on the weights pressing down on him.

“Right, sorry,” I mumbled, fumbling with the bar as I lifted it off him.

Hoseok wiped the sweat from his brow, the glistening drops catching the unforgiving light. I tried desperately to keep my thoughts in check, to suppress the smirk that threatened to creep onto my face, but my eyes betrayed me, fixating once more on Y/N’s ass as it bounced with every determined step on the treadmill.

“What is it?” Hoseok shot me a sideways glance, amusement dancing in his eyes. He knew. Damn him. “You look like a kid in a candy store.”

“Nothing,” I shot back, the word cracking like ice beneath my weight. I raked a hand through my hair, feeling more like a deer caught in headlights than a man. “That’s... um... that’s my undergrad.”

“Your undergrad?” He nearly shouted, and I winced at the volume.

“Shut up!” I hissed, heat creeping up my neck.

“She’s your undergrad?” He lowered his voice, his tone conspiratorial, as if we were discussing some top-secret mission.

“Yes,” I said, willing myself to tear my gaze from Y/N and muster some semblance of composure. “I don’t know why she’s here. This is the first time I’ve seen her in this gym.”

“Are you kidding?” Hoseok replied, incredulous. “She’s here all the time! You’ve just never noticed because you’re practically blind.”

My eyes darted back to her. She was still running, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing behind me. Could Hoseok really be right? Had I been so wrapped up in my own world that I hadn’t seen her before?

But then again, I didn’t recognize anyone else in this place. I came here every day—every damn day—and not one face looked familiar. Blind. I was completely blind.

And yet, here I was, rooted to the spot, entranced by the hypnotic sway of her hips, the way her legs flexed with each determined stride. It was as if she had cast a spell over me, one I didn’t want to break. But I had to; I was standing there like a moron, the weight of Hoseok’s gaze a smirk stretched across his face as he shifted to take his place on the bench.

“Yoongi!” he called, pulling me from my daydream. “It’s your turn.”

I shook my head as if waking up from a fog and stepped to the bench, but my mind remained tangled in thoughts of what I’d just seen. Y/N’s form, bouncing like it was teasing me, was too much. Too distracting. My body was responding in ways I hadn’t felt in years, and it took every ounce of willpower to focus on lifting weights instead of ogling her.

Then, as if she sensed my eyes on her, Y/N turned her head slightly, her gaze locking with mine. For a brief moment, the world melted away—the gym, the weight, the noise—all faded into the background as our eyes met. She faltered on the treadmill, her grip tightening on the bars like a lifeline before she recovered just in time.

What was I doing? I didn’t realize I was moving until I stood beside her, the tension thick enough to slice through the air.

“Hi,” I managed, the word slipping out like a confession.

“Hi?” Her smile lit up the stale space between us, brightening everything. “Who are you and what did you do to my bitter grad student?”

“What?” I stammered, disbelief knotting my stomach. “You’ve seen me here before?”

*Her eyes rolled in a way that was both exasperating and endearing. “Yes.”

“Well, I’m saying hi now. So, hi.”

“Hi…” she giggled, and I felt a low groan bubble up from my chest. What was happening? I hated how she made me feel, how she toppled everything I thought I had under control.

“How’s your hand?” I asked, grasping for something to anchor myself in this whirlwind of emotions.

“It’s fine,” she said, lifting her bandaged hand like it was a trophy. But I was lost, mesmerized by the way her lips moved, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, and how the sweat glistened on her skin.

I needed to leave before my body betrayed me further. “Um, I should go,” I interrupted, offering a shaky goodbye as I fled, a whirlwind of confusion and unwanted desire crashing over me.

What the hell was happening to me?

I ran home, my legs pumping, heart racing, trying to outrun the chaotic thoughts swirling in my mind. It had been four years since Estelle, and the memory felt as distant as a long-forgotten dream. But Y/N was everywhere now, invading my thoughts—her freckles, her laugh, those bangs that had once annoyed me but now framed her face like a masterpiece.

I stormed through my apartment, shedding my sweat-soaked clothes, bewildered by this tempest of feelings. I couldn’t fathom why it had taken me so long to notice her, why she had pierced through the fog of my indifference and settled in my mind like an unwelcome guest.

In the shower, the warm water cascaded over me, soothing yet insufficient to wash away the turmoil. She was a kid, for Christ’s sake! Nineteen? Twenty? Too young, too innocent for someone like me. I banged my head against the tiled wall, cursing my own weakness.

And yet, even as I stood there, I could feel her presence lingering, like a ghost clinging to the edges of my consciousness—a haunting I couldn’t shake. Was I becoming one of those men who pursued young girls, crossing lines drawn in the sand, sliding down that slippery slope of desire? The universe had a wicked sense of humor.

God, I hoped I wouldn’t see her again at the gym. The very thought sent a chill down my spine—a mix of longing and guilt. But there I was, fantasizing about her hands instead of my own.

When did I become such a creep?

I’m in a foul mood. Not a glimmer of sunshine inside me, just the dense fog of irritability that seems to thicken the air around me. Maybe it’s the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders, or maybe it’s just Tuesday. Either way, I know I’ll probably regret having lunch with Hoseok today, but deep down, I’m still holding onto the hope that, by some miracle, he didn’t notice my bizarre behavior at the gym last night.

As I step into the lunchroom, Hoseok’s voice slices through the stillness. “What the heck happened to you yesterday?”

Well, so much for miracles.

“Nothing. Why?” I try to sound casual as I toss my food into the microwave, but my heart races in protest.

“Nothing? You nearly killed me, bolted off to talk to Y/N, and then stormed out. That seems normal to you?” He raises an eyebrow, a mischievous grin stretching across his face.

I shrug, feigning indifference, but my stomach twists.

“We were supposed to have drinks with Serena and her friend with the—” he gestures dramatically, “the big personality.”

“Listen, you and Serena need to stop setting me up with her friends.”

“Why? Did you take a vow of celibacy or something?”

“I’m just not in the mood for this today, Hoseok.” I plop down in a chair, my food forgotten.

“Is it because of Y/N?” he asks, cheeks bulging with half-chewed food.

“No,” I reply, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “And her name is Y/N, by the way.”

“OH. MY. GOSH. It is! You’re totally crushing on her!” Hoseok leaps from his chair, fork aimed at me like a weapon. His eyes widen as if he’s just uncovered a major conspiracy.

“What? NO!”

“Dude, you remembered her name!” He plops back down beside me, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Hoseok, what does that—”

“Oh man. This is too good... like, really, really good.” His grin is the kind that makes me want to punch him—or maybe just smack some sense into him.

“Hoseok, please. Just for one day…” I rub my forehead, trying to ease the confusion tightening my temples. The last thing I need is Hoseok’s theories swirling around my mind like a chaotic storm.

“Okay, okay…” He continues to chew, stealing glances at me every few seconds. “So, when’s Yoonji coming?” he asks, smirking, and I shoot him a glare that could curdle milk.

So what if I remembered her name? It hardly means anything. I’ve been working with her for weeks now. I’m not some clueless idiot; I can remember a name. I don’t care what Hoseok or Yoonji think. This is nothing. This doesn’t mean anything.

Except it does. Because Y/N, not “the girl” or “the undergrad,” is going to be in the lab when I return. And I’m not just aware of it—I’m looking forward to it. I want to see her smile, to hear her laugh.

I want to hear her giggle? Jesus, I need to get a grip on myself.

My bad mood evaporates the moment I spot Y/N at my bench, scribbling away in her notepad. Her hair cascades over her shoulder, wild and free. It should bother me—should send alarm bells ringing—but it doesn’t. It looks soft and inviting, and suddenly, all I want is to run my fingers through it.

Okay… I’ve really lost it now.

And just like that, my bad mood crashes back in.

“I can’t find my lab coat,” she says, tying her hair up with an intensity that almost makes me envious.

I feel a spark of irritation at the safety rules that dictate her hair must be tied back. I find myself imagining the kinds of experiments that would allow her to leave it down, just so I could watch it flow freely.

“Do you know where it could be?” she asks, glancing up at me.

I’ve completely lost track of her words, staring at her blankly.

“My lab coat?” she repeats, tilting her head.

Right… the lab coat.

“Let me get you a new one. That one was all covered in blood.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll wash it.”

“We have lab coats here, Y/N—new ones. I’ll get you one,” I say, moving past her, determination pushing me forward.

She stops me, grabbing my elbow. “Please, can I have my old one back?” Her eyes are wide and earnest, as if I hold the key to some sacred treasure.

A flush of embarrassment rises in me, and instead of confessing, I lie. “I threw it away.”

“What? Why?” Her gaze pierces through my flimsy excuse.

“It was covered in blood!” I bark, frustration bubbling over.

“I could have washed it!” she snaps, defiance igniting her eyes.

“I’m getting you a new one.”

“I don’t want a new one. Is this some cruel joke? Because if it is, I’d really, really like my lab coat back. It means a lot to me.” The shift in her expression from anger to sadness tugs at something deep within me. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, like I’ve just crushed her puppy.

Realization washes over me like a cold wave: I’m making her cry. With a deep sigh, I relent. “Okay, I didn’t get rid of it.”

“Oh thank God,” she breathes, closing her eyes in relief.

“But… I tried to wash it, and the bloodstains wouldn’t come out. I thought it would be a good idea to use bleach. And it was. I mean, it got rid of the bloodstains, but it also erased your drawings.”

“Oh no…” Her eyes fly open, panic etching her features.

“I’m sorry. Can I please get you a new one?” I plead, hoping to smooth over this disaster before it spirals further.

“I would really prefer to have my old one back,” she insists, crossing her arms defiantly, her gaze unwavering.

Jesus! Why does she have to be so difficult?

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” I groan. She’s staring at me like she’s just won the lottery, and I can’t bring myself to back down. “Fine…” I reach under my desk for the bag containing her lab coat and hand it over, feeling like I’m offering her a corpse.

I should have burned the damn thing.

Her gasp as she pulls the coat from the bag makes my stomach drop.

“Oh my gosh!” She turns it around, inspecting the shapes I drew in a moment of misguided creativity. When she spots my pathetic attempt at rewriting “Bacteria Rule” on the back, she giggles, and I swear my heart stumbles.

How do I keep up with her?

One minute, she’s annoyed; the next, she’s crying; now, she’s laughing. It’s like watching a storm change directions on a whim.

“You… did you do this?” She glances up at me, her eyelashes still damp, and my chest tightens painfully.

“Yeah, it looks even more ridiculous now. Didn’t think that was possible. Would you please let me get you a new one?”

“Oh no. I’m wearing this one,” she chirps, slipping her arms into the sleeves like she’s donning a crown.

“Please say you’re kidding.”

“What? It’s perfect!” she beams, buttoning the coat closed, that radiant smile piercing through my irritation.

Even as she parades around in that god-awful coat, all I can think about is pulling her close and kissing her senseless. It’s ridiculous and utterly baffling, but I can’t shake it.

I really must have lost it now.

The morning air felt heavy, thick with a strange malaise that weighed on me like a thick blanket. "So, what's on the agenda for today, Boss?" Y/N chirped, her pen clicking in a cheerful rhythm as she flipped open her notebook, the sound almost irritatingly upbeat.

"Don’t call me Boss," I grumbled, trying to shake off the oppressive darkness that seemed to cling to me like damp fog.

"Okay, Grumpy. What are we doing today?" Her smile was a bright spark against the backdrop of my brooding mood.

I could tell she was trying to be funny, deliberately poking at my irritation. With an exasperated huff, I shoved the list of activities at her. "Try not to mess up this time, Becca."

She took the list with a theatrical pout, and I stifled a real smile beneath my carefully crafted mask of indifference—a skill I'd perfected over the years. 

Her brow furrowed as she scanned the list. "I thought I was starting from scratch."

"You are," I replied, trying to keep my tone as casual as possible.

"But you did all these steps already." She pointed to the initial tasks, her voice laced with disbelief.

"I was bored Saturday," I said, as if boredom were an acceptable excuse for taking the initiative.

Her eyes darted between the list and mine, a spark of awe lighting up her face. "You started my experiment for me?"

The way she looked at me made my skin crawl—a mixture of discomfort and something warmer I didn’t want to acknowledge. I clamped down on my tongue, suppressing the urge to explain myself. 

"You better get cracking, Y/L/N. There's a seminar at four I want to attend."

Her gaze lingered on me a moment longer before she shook it off, returning to her notebook. A sense of relief washed over me. 

We worked in silence, but I could feel her stealing glances at me like a kid peeking into a haunted house. I knew—I just knew—I had crossed some invisible line. What I felt was tangled, a confusion I was desperate to untangle.

"What’s the seminar about?" she asked, her voice light with curiosity as we carried bottles of growth media to the incubators.

"I don’t know," I said, holding the door for her as we entered the incubator room.

"Then why are you going?" She squatted to stow the bottles inside, her dark hair falling around her face like a curtain.

"Free food." I shrugged, trying to sound indifferent.

"Seriously?" She looked up at me, disbelief written all over her features.

"Y/N… if you go to grad school, you’ll learn to appreciate the majesty of free food."

When she stood up, she released my hand with a huff, her pride surfacing. "When I go to grad school, I’ll enjoy the seminars, even without the free food."

"Right…" I turned away, shaking my head.

"So, can I come?" she asked shyly, her voice nearly drowned out by the hum of the incubators.

"You want to come to the seminar?" I shot her a skeptical glance.

"Hells to the yeah!" 

I suppressed a snort, the surprise of her enthusiasm bubbling up inside me. "Why?"

"I might learn something."

"Okay, you can come, but the la-la-lab coat stays." 

The thought of her actually being excited about attending a seminar with me sent a strange thrill through my chest, one that both excited and unnerved me.

As we made our way to the seminar, Y/N rattled on about her dreams for grad school, her voice bubbling over with energy. I struggled to interject, her words flowing like a vibrant stream, full of life.

When we reached the seminar room, she shook her head at my heaping plate of food. I settled into my seat, grateful for the chance to hide from the annoyed glances of the people behind us. Y/N plopped down beside me, her nervous energy radiating from her.

"That one with the sweater vest is Prof. Waylon," I said, nodding toward him. "He has a serious case of narcolepsy. Snores through the entire talk but wakes up right on cue to ask the hardest questions."

She giggled, and the sound pierced through the fog that had settled around me.

"And over there, with the red bow tie, is Dr. Amun-Kebi. Brilliant but completely bonkers—he discovered Quorum Sensing, yet can’t make eye contact because he’s too busy staring at the ceiling."

She snorted, laughter bubbling up as she covered her mouth, her joy infectious.

"Then there’s Jin," I continued, "who dresses like he’s going to a board meeting every day. Knows more adjectives than a thesaurus, but his favorite is definitely 'fascinating.'"

I mimicked Jin’s exaggerated tone, and Y/N laughed again, drawing some disapproving throat-clearing from the folks behind us.

"Main point is, Y/N," I said, "science makes you lose your mind. You’ve been warned."

"Oh, I think I can handle it," she replied, winking at me, and my heart twisted painfully in my chest.

As the speaker began, I couldn't help but chuckle when I noticed her furiously scribbling notes as if her life depended on it.

Once the seminar ended, we returned to the lab. Y/N still had work to catch up on after being away for an hour. I’d finished my tasks long ago, but I lingered, a shadow in the corner, unwilling to leave her alone in this sterile, fluorescent-lit space.

She closed her notebook with a satisfying smack and turned to me, her eyes bright. "This is so exciting! I can’t wait to see if it works this time."

"Yeah, you’ll get over it," I said, trying to keep my tone light.

"Have you always been such a grump? Or was there a time when you actually liked what you do?"

Her question hit me like a punch to the gut, catching me off guard. I could feel her gaze piercing through my defenses.

"I like what I do."

"Do you love it?"

Her question hung in the air like a dark cloud, and I found myself lost in a maze of memories, the joy of discovery overshadowed by the weight of expectations. Had there ever been a time when I shared her enthusiasm?

"I don’t really remember," I mumbled, avoiding the truth. "It’s getting late, Y/N. How are you getting home?"

"I’m walking."

"I’m walking too. Let’s go."

Did I used to love what I did? The memory felt elusive, slipping through my fingers like water.

As we walked, Y/N asked, "Why did you decide to go to grad school?"

"Why does anyone?" I shot back, a cryptic smirk teasing my lips.

"To make a difference? To revolutionize the field?"

"Very cute, Y/N."

"It’s not cute. It’s true."

"Is that why you want to go to grad school?"

"Yes. I’ve always wanted to help people. Since medical school is out of the question for me—"

"You’ll get over the smell of blood, Y/N."

"It’s not just that. I get too attached. I’d rather contribute silently from the lab." She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Plus, where would medicine be without science? They’d still be pouring hot oil into wounds!"

I chuckled, a genuine laugh bubbling up like warmth breaking through winter’s chill. "You’re funny." The words slipped out before I could think better of it, and before I could process my thoughts, my fingers brushed against her arm, lingering over the fabric of her hoodie.

She halted, her cheeks tinged pink, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

I froze, my hand dropping to my side, panic racing through me. That had to be inappropriate.

"I’ve been called worse," she joked, her smile radiating a warmth that sent shivers down my spine.

We walked on in silence until we reached her building.

"Do you live on campus too?" she asked, fishing for her keys from her bag.

"No. I live in Portage Bay."

"Oh… we passed that already."

"I know."

Suspicion flared in her gaze as she pieced things together, and I felt the weight of my own guilt creeping up on me. She would realize I was that gross old grad student trying to woo the sweet, naive undergrad—the very person I had mocked in others. The thought made my stomach churn.

"I know what you’re doing," she accused, crossing her arms defensively.

Here it comes…

"You feel guilty because I got hurt," she said, her voice steady. "You feel responsible. But you don’t have to do this."

Is that really what she thought?

"You think I’m walking you home out of guilt?" My voice was harsher than I intended, anger bubbling up inside me.

"I know you are."

"You don’t know anything," I spat, turning away, desperate to escape the rising tide of emotions threatening to drown me.

"Yoongi, wait!" she called after me, dread washing over me.

Keep walking… don’t look back.

I couldn’t believe she thought I was being nice out of guilt. I had done nothing but act like a jerk for too long, and now I was about to lose the only flicker of light stupid, lonely world.

God, she had no clue.

Wednesday morning felt heavy with an unsettling quiet when Y/N arrived at the lab a little earlier than usual. I was already there, lurking like a shadow in the corner, unable to shake off the ghosts of a sleepless night. I busied myself with the equipment, clinging to the hope that keeping my distance would somehow quell the anger simmering beneath my skin.

It was confusing, really. I was furious with her—not just because of the injury that haunted my thoughts like a ghost, but because she had twisted my kindness into something it wasn’t. Sure, I felt like a hollow shell, the guilt gnawing at my insides like a rat in a rotting wall, but that didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy walking her home. Yesterday’s seminar had been a strange kind of fun—the first I’d experienced in what felt like ages.

As I returned to the lab, pretending to check something in my desk drawer, I caught her gaze from across the bench. The way her eyes followed me stirred something deep inside, a mix of frustration and longing I couldn’t quite place. I tried to slip away, but as I turned to leave, her fingers brushed against my elbow.

“Hey, I’m sorry about yesterday,” she said, her voice soft and sincere, those puppy-dog eyes piercing through my defenses. Warmth rushed through me, a strange blend of emotions swirling inside. “It was really nice of you to walk with me. Thank you.”

With a timid smile, she released my arm, leaving me reeling, torn between the urge to pull her back and the need to retreat. Just then, I caught sight of Jimin, his piercing blue eyes wide with suspicion from the shadows of the lab. What the hell?

“You’re welcome,” I muttered dryly to Y/N, my voice almost a growl, before storming away, seeking refuge from the chaos in my head.

In the media preparation room, I paced like a caged animal, cracking my knuckles repeatedly to chase away the madness. This was absurd. I was losing it over a girl—an undergrad—who seemed blissfully unaware of the tempest she stirred within me. Deep breaths. Focus. But I knew this strange obsession wasn’t going anywhere.

When I returned to the lab, I found Jungkook leaning casually against my bench, chatting with Y/N. She wore that timid smile again, twisting something inside me. My hands curled into fists, rage and jealousy flaring up like a wildfire.

“I’ll see you Friday,” Jungkook said, flashing a grin as he sauntered past me. Did he just ask her out? The urge to grab him by the ponytail and shove him to the floor was overwhelming. “What did he want?” I spat, unable to contain the fury boiling within.

“Nothing,” she replied innocently, her attention flitting back to her notebook as if she hadn’t just tossed gasoline on my fire.

“Y/N,” I hissed, slicing through the air with my words, demanding her attention. “What did he want?”

“Nothing important,” she clarified, but her eyes locked onto mine, searching. My resolve wavered. What the hell was wrong with me? The desire to pummel Jungkook quickly transformed into an intense longing to press my lips against that bottom lip she kept biting. The confusion swirled around us, thick and suffocating, and I felt trapped.

Just then, Jimin reentered the lab, breaking the spell that had ensnared us. I stepped back, the tension snapping like a brittle twig, and Y/N sighed, disappointment heavy in the air.

“Are you done?” I asked, my voice cold, each word laced with the weight of my internal turmoil. “I need to use the bench.”

Hurt flickered in her eyes before she masked it, and guilt settled in my stomach like a stone. I tried to focus on my work, but her presence lingered, a distraction gnawing at my concentration until she finally left for the day. This is ridiculous! Why did she affect me so much? I couldn’t keep living like this.

Thursday afternoon arrived, and I maneuvered around Y/N like a ghost. I didn’t want to be a jerk, but the thought of her and Jungkook had me seething. It felt like every nerve in my body was on fire, irritation coiling tighter with every passing second. I tried to stick to succinct answers and instructions, but the tension thickened around us like fog.

As we received her sequencing results, I could no longer pretend she didn’t exist. She pulled a chair next to me at my desk, her presence suffocatingly close. My fingers twitched on the mouse, nerves sparking as I avoided glancing her way. She tapped her pen rhythmically; each tap a countdown to my sanity.

“Please, stop that,” I groaned, frustration spilling over.

She halted instantly, a sigh escaping her lips, and my heart sank. I hated feeling this way—trapped between annoyance and an attraction that sent shivers down my spine. How was that even possible?

Finally, the software loaded, and I opened her file. Y/N gasped, and I held my breath as she leaned closer, the tension between us palpable.

“Sample 1. Ran well. Sample 2. Ran well… ran well, ran well, ran well…” All fifty samples had run flawlessly. Impressive. I couldn’t recall a time when every single sequencing reaction had succeeded; there was always a failure or two. Y/N was undeniably skilled.

As I turned to her, a smile crept onto my lips despite myself. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and before I could process it, she squeaked, throwing her arms around my neck. Her warmth enveloped me, her hair brushing against my face, and the world narrowed to just her, the scent of her shampoo intoxicating. My body responded in ways I couldn’t understand.

I shot up from my chair, breaking the spell. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her cheeks a deep crimson, laughter spilling from her lips. “I’m just so happy! They all worked!”

My heart raced, shock coursing through me as I struggled to regain composure. The pull I felt toward her was almost unbearable, thrumming like an electric wire, demanding release.

“Good job,” I managed, forcing my voice to remain steady. But as she smiled at me, her joy tearing through my carefully constructed barriers, I knew I was in deep trouble. I wanted to hold her again, to kiss her until the world faded away. God, I needed help.

As I turned to her, a smile crept onto my lips despite myself. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and before I could process it, she squeaked, throwing her arms around my neck, her warmth enveloping me, her hair brushing against my face. The world narrowed to just her, the scent of her shampoo intoxicating, my body responding in ways I couldn’t understand. 

God, I needed help.

You know those days when nothing seems to go right? When you drag yourself out of bed, and it feels like the universe is playing tricks on you, pushing you back with every step forward? Yeah, today is one of those days. A downright miserable Friday, and I can’t help but feel that the promise of the weekend is just a hollow consolation.

This morning was a disaster. I tossed and turned all night, haunted by thoughts of Y/N. Her smile flickered in my mind like a candle caught in the wind—warm and inviting one moment, then snuffed out the next. The irony is, while I’m relieved I won’t have to face her today, the gnawing uncertainty of whether she’s out with Jungkook weighs heavily in my stomach. Anger simmers beneath my skin, bubbling over in waves I can’t seem to control.

As I step into the lunchroom, the emptiness greets me, broken only by the taunting hum of the microwave. I slam my fist against its cold metal side, frustrated when it refuses to cooperate. It beeps at me, a cruel mockery in the sterile silence. I slam the door shut again, and my temper flares.

“What did the microwave do to you?” A familiar voice cuts through my frustration. It’s Hoseok, ever the jester, his amusement practically radiating off him.

“It’s broken,” I mutter, fingers still mashing buttons like a madman.

“Step away from the microwave,” he orders, a playful yet firm tone in his voice. In two quick moves, he’s heating up my food. “What’s up your ass?”

“Nothing,” I groan, flopping down in a chair with a defeated sigh. “Just one of those days.”

“Why?” 

“It’s just one of those days…” I can’t muster the energy to say more.

“Like, ‘Everything’s messed up and everyone sucks’?” He turns his baseball cap backward, bobbing his head as if ready to launch into a nu-metal anthem.

“Great, Hoseok. Quote Limp Bizkit. That’s really going to help.” I cut him off before he can get into full swing.

“Dude, you’re in a mood. What happened?” His eyes reflect genuine concern as he rummages through the fridge.

“Nothing,” I insist, rising to retrieve my Tupperware.

“Bullshit. I’ve known you for four years. This isn’t just a failed PCR kind of mood.” He crosses his arms, blocking my path.

Part of me wants to spill my guts, but the words feel lodged in my throat. Still, they tumble out. “If I tell you, can you at least try to be mature about it?”

“Mature is my middle name,” he grins, but I can’t help but scowl.

“Fine. It’s Y/N.”

“I knew it! I fucking knew it!” 

I bury my face in my hands, feeling the weight of his excitement pressing down on me. “What happened?” he whispers, leaning in, all ears.

“She’s... I don’t know.”

“Come on, man. I’m serious.”

“Yeah, she’s out with Jungkook.”

“Jungkook?” Hoseok’s voice rises as if he’s just spotted a raccoon in the hall.

“Jesus, Hoseok!” I hiss. “Keep it down!”

“Sorry.” His whisper is tinged with amusement. “Jungkook fucking Jeon?”

“Yes.” I take a deep breath, frustration bubbling over. “And she’s my undergrad.”

“Puh-lease. Who cares?” 

“I’m at least five years older than her,” I retort.

“The younger, the better.” He waggles his eyebrows, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“Disgusting.”

“Stop brooding, dude. Jeon’s got nothing on you. Go get your girl. She’s fine, and she was always checking you out at the gym—like I told you a thousand times.”

Y/N checking me out? No way. Hoseok’s just being delusional. I shake my head, dismissing his words. This fixation has to end. She’s just my undergrad. That’s all she’ll ever be—at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Happy Hour. The name is ironic, a pathetic excuse for mingling—if you can even call it that. It never lasts an hour, and “happy” is a stretch, but hey, there’s free beer, so here I am. Alone in the corner, I down red cups like they might wash away the grime of the day. By the time Hoseok and Serena finally stroll in, I’ve polished off four.

“You’re here before us. That’s weird,” Serena quips as they approach.

“Thanks for the observation, Captain Obvious.” 

“What’s his problem?” Serena glares at Hoseok, arms crossed.

“He’s in a mood,” Hoseok replies, handing me another red cup that I chug.

“Why?” Her tone is whiny, as if I owe her an explanation.

“Lady problems,” Hoseok shoots back before I can stop him.

“Yoongi has lady problems?” Serena sounds incredulous, as if she’s just discovered a new planet.

“I’m standing right here!” My voice is louder than I intended, laced with irritation.

“So you like a girl, Yoongi. Not the end of the world. I mean, this self-imposed celibacy was bound to end someday. I just wish I knew who she is.” She twists the conversation back to herself, as always.

“It’s not just a girl. It’s his undergrad,” Hoseok interjects, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

“You old perv!” Serena playfully smacks my chest, and I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks.

“I’m going to get fired,” I murmur, tipping my cup back for the last drops of liquid courage.

“No, you won’t, drama queen.” She dismisses me with a wave, annoyance radiating off her.

“It happens all the time! PIs hit on post-docs, post-docs on grad students, grads on undergrads. What world do you live in?”

“It’s like a jungle,” Hoseok chuckles.

“Shut up, Hoseok,” Serena snaps. “Good news is, now that there’s this girl, you can stop with the emo bitterness. It’s getting old.”

“Fuck you, Serena.”

“Hey, hey now,” Hoseok says, grabbing my arm. “Let’s go get another round.”

When we return, my anger toward Serena simmers just beneath the surface, but I’m too tipsy to think straight. “For your information, Serena, this girl has a name. Her name is Becca. No, wait... it’s Y/N! Dammit!” My palm meets my forehead in a facepalm of pure embarrassment.

“Wow. She must be something special, Yoongi. You don’t even know her name.”

“Baby, stop. He’s drunk, and he’s having a shitty day.”

“Why?” 

“Y/N is out with Jungkook,” Hoseok explains.

“Jeon?” Serena’s expression shifts to one of shock, and they dive into speculation, completely oblivious to my presence.

I shut them out, groaning into my cup as I gulp it down. It’s true. I know it. Jungkook is with Y/N tonight, probably taking her to dinner and drinks, sharing laughs while I’m stuck here. My mind spirals into a dark abyss—what if he kisses her? What if she invites him in? God, I’m sick just thinking about it.

Of all the undergrads in this department, Jungkook Jeon had to go after mine. I hope Y/N gets drunk and spills her drink all over him.

Worst. Hangover. Ever.

Well, maybe not the worst, but it’s definitely up there. My head pounds like a jackhammer, and my stomach feels like a chaotic whirlpool of regret as I stumble into the shower. The hot water cascades over me, a fleeting relief, but all I can think about is how tempting sleep sounds right now. But I have things to do in the lab. Don’t I always?

The apartment is a total disaster zone—a messy tribute to last night’s antics. Red cups are scattered across the coffee table like the remnants of a forgotten battle, and chip crumbs litter the floor like confetti from a party that had long overstayed its welcome. Hoseok and Serena wouldn’t leave me alone last night, terrified I’d do something reckless, so we ended up bringing Happy Hour back to my place. I was just the third wheel, watching them get lost in their own world of laughter and flirting. By the time I woke up on the couch, blanketed by a pile of crumpled chips, they were long gone.

I shuffle into the library, desperate for my usual caffeine fix on the way to the lab, but my stomach is rebelling. Still, I know I’ll need that coffee to survive the day.

Inside, the library feels like a claustrophobic hive of undergrads buzzing around like over-caffeinated bees. It’s overwhelming.

What a nightmare!

I hurry to the coffee line, pouring sugar into my mug like it’s a lifeline. Just as I catch my breath, I spot her—Y/N—sitting at a table surrounded by a fortress of books. Her hair falls like a curtain, hiding her face from view. I can’t help myself; I’m drawn to her, like a moth to a flame.

“Hello, Y/N,” I say, sliding into the chair across from her.

She looks up, surprise flickering across her features, and for a moment, my heart races. 

“Oh, so I’m back to being Y/N?” There’s no hint of humor in her voice, only seriousness, and it feels like a punch to the gut.

What’s going on? Where’s the smile that usually lights up her face?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light as I settle in.

“What are you doing here?” she replies, her gaze cool and collected.

“Y/N, please go easy on me today. I’m not feeling great,” I admit, running a hand down my face, feeling every ache from the night before.

“Oh... what’s wrong?” Her stoic facade starts to crumble, replaced by genuine concern, and it warms me a bit.

“Too much beer,” I confess, and the word makes my stomach churn at the memory of my poor choices.

“I see... does that explain this?” She pulls out her phone and turns it toward me.

Grumpy: Becca, you’ve just revealed yourself to have absolutely no taste.

“Who the hell is Grumpy, and why does he call you Becca?” I blurt out, anger bubbling up before I can stop it.

Her eyes widen in disbelief. “You’re the only Grumpy I know.”

“Are you saying I sent you that text?” 

“Yes,” she says, sighing as her eyes drift away like leaves in the wind.

I pull my phone from my pocket, my heart sinking as I check my sent texts.

Well, great…

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, rubbing my eyes, wishing I could take back last night’s mistakes.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean either. No taste in what? Music? Food? Men?” 

“Men?” I let out a dry laugh. “Jungkook is not a man. He’s a tool.”

“So this is about Jungkook?” she says, gesturing to her phone.

“Yes.” My brain feels sluggish, like I’m moving through molasses.

“Why do you care?” 

“I’m uncomfortable with you dating my classmate,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to appear nonchalant.

“He’s not your classmate, and we’re not dating.”

“We both started our PhDs at the same time in the same program. That makes him my classmate… Wait… you’re not dating?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. We went out for coffee, talked, he asked me out again, and I kindly declined. I’m focused on my studies right now, Yoongi, and I really don’t have room for anything more.”

“Oh…” Relief floods through me, even as my hangover rages on. I might even be smiling.

“Yes, oh indeed. Which brings me back to why you’re sitting here distracting me from my study session.”

“What are you studying?” I ask softly, a smile creeping onto my face, hoping to steer the conversation away from Jungkook.

“I have an organic chemistry exam on Monday.”

“Oh, I see…” I hesitate, but the temptation of spending time with her outweighs my growing pile of work in the lab. “Well, it might just be your lucky day, Y/L/N, because I happen to be an expert in all things organic chemistry.”

“You are?” Her lips curl into a small grin, and I feel a surge of relief wash over me. She’s back.

“I am…” I smile at her. “So, do you want some help?”

“I could use some help.”

Help… yeah… that’s what I’m here for… help.

For the next two hours, I guide Y/N through her organic reaction problem sets, all while ignoring my cooling coffee. She’s a quick study, soaking up the information, and I’m confident she’ll ace her test on Monday.

I keep my hands clasped between my knees—except when I need to draw reactions for her—wanting to hide how my fingers twitch every time she brushes her hair behind her ear.

Y/N is focused on her notebook, but the third time I yawn, she looks up at me.

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, just tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Tell me about it… On average, I get about four hours a night.”

“Four hours? If I don’t get at least six, I get grumpy.”

“Grumpier than this?” she says, waving a hand at me, a smile teasing at her lips.

“This,” I gesture to my chest, “this is the five-hours-of-sleep me.” I stretch, feeling my muscles pull, and I notice her eyes trace down my torso before I quickly pull my shirt down.

Was Y/N checking me out?

“Anyway…” I scramble for a distraction. “It’s healthy to sleep eight hours. I’m all about being healthy.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re an old man.”

“Hey… I’m only twenty-five!”

She laughs, and before I can ask how old she is, her gaze shifts behind me, and I can sense her tension.

“Shit…” she whispers.

“What?”

“Remember that guy I told you about, Jonah Rodgers, the stalker?” Her voice drops to a near whisper, laced with panic.

I wrack my brain, trying to recall. Y/N had a stalker? She looks at me, and it’s clear she knows I’m lost.

“Just play along, please,” she whispers, scooting her chair closer to me. Her hand brushes my knee, and I’m startled by the tentative touch.

A vague memory flickers in my mind—her acting strange around me one day, but it’s obscured by the haze of regret and longing.

Y/N’s gaze is intense, making it hard to focus on anything else. She smiles shyly, then looks down before peeking at me through her thick lashes.

God, what is she doing to me?

I know she’s faking it, pretending for someone else—but I can’t help how my body reacts, how hyper-aware I am of her presence. My hand moves to her cheek, my thumb tracing her soft skin. She blushes, biting her lip, and it sends a jolt through me, a deep ache to pull her closer—bring her lips to mine.

Her hand slides from my knee, brushing my thigh, and I can feel a warmth stirring inside me.

This isn’t real… it can’t be.

She’s still staring at me, and I’m lost in her gaze, wondering what she’s thinking, if she feels it too.

But then, all too soon, her attention darts behind me again.

“He’s gone,” she breathes, relief washing over her. Her hand rubs my thigh one last time before she withdraws. “Thank you.”

I know I should let go, but I can’t. My hand remains on her face, my thumb tracing her cheek while my fingers tangle in the nape of her neck. Her expression shifts, confusion knitting her brow. She reaches for my hand, her fingers enveloping my wrist—her thumb brushing the top of my hand, once, twice—and then she smiles.

But she’s not looking at me seductively anymore. She’s looking at me like she doesn’t understand why I haven’t let go. And honestly? Neither do I.

I drop my hand from her face and stand abruptly.

“I better get to the lab,” I say, running a hand through my disheveled hair. “Good luck on your test.” Her eyes linger on me, confusion clouding her expression as I turn to leave.

I guess the show is over…

I spent the rest of the weekend in the lab, mostly because I had nothing better to do. It felt easier to throw myself into my work than to face the nagging thoughts of Y/N swirling around in my head. Pining after her felt wrong—she was just a kid, my intern, and whatever was brewing inside me needed to stop. I had to keep my distance.

When Y/N walked in on Tuesday, she looked a bit worn out. I wanted to ask her about the test, but I bit my tongue, forcing myself to act indifferent.

As the day wound down, she asked for my help, and I followed her into the dark room. She needed to cut different bands from an agarose gel to purify the DNA. Even though she knew how to use the UV light box, I guided her through the excising process.

Once inside the dimly lit room, Y/N flipped on the UV box and switched off the lights. I stood behind her, watching as her shaky hand hovered nervously over the gel, clutching the blade. 

"I think it’s safe to say that not going to medical school was the right choice for you," I teased, trying to keep the mood light despite the tension. "With those shaky hands, I wouldn't want you holding a scalpel near me."

"I had too much coffee today," she shot back, her tone sharp but playful.

"Right," I snorted, a grin breaking free.

"Shut up. You're making me nervous." I could almost hear her smile through her words.

"Here," I said, inching closer. I covered her hand with mine, steadying her fingers over the blade. "Relax," I suggested, hoping it would ease both our nerves.

Her proximity felt electric, as if the air around us vibrated with tension. The scent of her hair—fresh and unplaceable—danced under my nose, making my heart race. Y/N's hand trembled beneath mine as she turned to glance up at me. In the faint blue glow of the UV light, her features looked even more striking. 

"This is making it worse," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

I felt her warm breath against my neck, and everything inside me screamed that we were too close. I should step back. I needed to step back. But God, I wanted to kiss her. Nothing else mattered in that moment.

Her bewildered expression shifted as her eyes drifted from my gaze to my lips. My heart thundered in my chest as I watched her tongue trace the edge of her bottom lip before she began to nibble on it nervously.

Then, without thinking, I closed the distance and pressed my lips against hers.

I inhaled deeply through my nose, intoxicated by her sweet scent as my mouth enveloped her bottom lip. Y/N whimpered softly against me, turning her body to face mine. My hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

What was I doing?

I felt lost, unsure of how to proceed or how to stop. Reluctantly, I released her neck and gripped the bench for support, struggling against the rising tide of desire. All I wanted was to wrap my arms around her and pull her onto the counter, to lose myself in her warmth.

No, stop! This is wrong!

I broke the kiss, panting heavily. "Y/N…" I gasped. "Shit, I'm so sorry." I stepped back, needing space. She was breathing hard too. "I-I didn’t mean to do that. I shouldn’t have… Shit." My hands raked through my hair, searching for words that eluded me.

Then, with a single determined step, Y/N closed the distance. She grabbed my t-shirt and pulled me down to her level. Her lips collided with mine once more, and I felt her inhale sharply.

I was too tall, or she was too short; either way, I hunched over her as her legs wrapped around my hips, lifting her onto the countertop beside the UV box.

Her hands tangled in my hair, tugging in a way that made me groan into her mouth, while my own hands hovered uncertainly over her body, torn between desire and restraint.

Loud, insistent knocking on the door shattered the moment.

Y/N gasped, and her legs slipped from my sides. 

"I need to look at a gel, Yoongi. What’s taking so long?" Jimin's voice rang out.

Jimin… shit…

I groaned against Y/N's shoulder, gripping her thighs to steady myself. Her fingers remained tangled in my hair, and I felt dangerously close to losing it.

"We're cutting a gel, Jimin," I called out, taking a reluctant step away from Y/N. "Give me a fucking break," I muttered under my breath.

I heard Jimin huff through the door, and Y/N’s voice came low and tense. "What do we do?"

I didn't know about her, but I needed to get out of there. I was uncomfortable and desperately needed to regain control. I moved to the UV box, which was still glowing. Y/N jumped down from the bench as I grabbed the blade, cutting around the bands on the gel. I found it ironic that my hands were now shaking, yet I managed to do a decent job.

Once finished, I shut off the UV light and flicked the room lights back on. Y/N jumped a little, and though I was sure she was staring at me, I couldn’t meet her gaze—I wouldn’t.

I ran a hand through my hair and took a deep breath. "Take each piece of gel and put it in a single epi tube," I instructed, forcing myself to focus on anything but her. "You can follow the rest of the protocol at the bench."

"Yoongi," she whispered, urgency lacing her voice.

"I’ll be back in a bit," I said, my hand on the doorknob. I didn’t risk a glance at her, fearing that a single look would draw me back in. I opened the door and stormed out, nearly colliding with Jimin, who stood there with his arms crossed.

What the hell just happened?

A few moments later, I was outside the building. Rain hammered down, but I didn’t care. I wished I smoked, drank, or had any vice to help me calm down. I tried deep breaths to steady myself, but the rain only added to the chaos swirling inside me. I made it to the tree line behind the parking lot, leaning against a trunk with one hand while the other pressed against my chest, where my heart threatened to pound its way out. I was panting, sweating, and completely unraveling.

What the hell had I been thinking?

Well, clearly, I hadn’t been thinking at all.

God, I could still taste her on my lips.

I swallowed hard.

Y/N had the sweetest lips I’d ever kissed.

I was doomed.

This could ruin everything. I couldn’t let myself be distracted by Y/N like this. I had lost all control, and I didn’t know what would have happened if Jimin hadn’t knocked. Or worse, what if Y/N had opened the door without knocking? Thank God the light was off, and the “IN USE” sign was outside.

No one could know about this, especially not Jimin—he was Jin’s puppy! If Jin ever found out…

God, this was all so messed up!

I had to make it clear to Y/N—this had to stay between us. We had to pretend it never happened.

It would never happen again.

I could never have my lips on hers again—just the thought of it made my chest ache.

I had known kissing her would be good. She had the most beautiful lips I’d ever seen. They didn’t disappoint. Her kiss exceeded any expectation I had dared to dream. How could I endure not kissing her again, knowing how sweet she tasted?

If I thought it was torture to be around her before, now it was going to be hell.

And she had kissed me back. She had. It wasn’t just me. She wanted this too. Didn’t she know it was wrong? I needed to talk to her, to explain that this couldn’t happen again. We had to keep things professional, to work together without awkwardness. We had to manage that. I needed to manage that.

I wouldn’t look at her lips, or her smile, if that’s what it took. Maybe I could lie and say we needed to wear mouth masks for the rest of the project…

With a groan, I stepped away from the tree. I fisted my hair, realizing I was getting drenched, and walked back into the building. I shook my head to rid myself of some of the water, but I was still soaked when I climbed the stairs.

When I entered the lab, Y/N pretended not to see me, but I knew better. Her posture shifted, her back straightened, and the foot she had been tapping on the floor stilled.

I noticed Jimin was in the lab, standing at his bench across from Y/N, staring at her. It became clear to me that Y/N was putting on a show for him.

I sighed, feeling a little relief wash over me.

Y/N wouldn’t tell anyone—at least that much was clear.

But I still needed to talk to her. What happened was wrong and completely inappropriate. I couldn’t let her get the wrong idea.

I buried myself in my computer for a while, pretending to work by aimlessly scrolling and clicking, but my attention was entirely on Y/N. She seemed to move through the purification protocol without a hitch. What was going through her head?

Y/N strolled into the lab on Thursday, her smile cutting through the sterile, fluorescent gloom like a ray of sunlight. I gave her a nod—polite, detached—but that didn’t stop my heart from racing at the flicker of warmth in her gaze. As I turned back to my work, she let out a sigh that lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her glancing at Jimin's empty bench, and the reminder of his absence hung like a storm cloud between us. 

"Okay," she began, hands planted defiantly on her hips. "Should we talk about this?"

I forced myself to meet her gaze, focusing on those deep, captivating eyes while battling the temptation to let my gaze wander to her lips, which seemed to whisper promises that drove me mad with longing. 

"There’s nothing to talk about, Y/N."

"Well, are you going to go back to being mean to me?" 

"I was never mean to you."

Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and heat crept into my cheeks as I remembered all the stunts I’d pulled—the pranks that had hurt her, the lab coat I’d ruined...

"I won't be mean to you again," I muttered, letting out a heavy sigh and looking at the floor.

"Yoongi..." Her voice was soft, almost melodic, and it tugged at my heart. 

When I met her gaze again, it was a mistake—her lip caught between her teeth was a distraction I didn’t need. My hands clenched into fists, seeking refuge in my pockets as her eyes searched mine, wary but hopeful, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"It won't be awkward, all right? I promise."

That smile of hers struck me like a bolt of lightning, forcing a groan deep within my chest. I could see the words dancing on her lips, ready to spill out, but they vanished like smoke when Jimin walked back into the lab. Taking advantage of the reprieve, I buried myself in my work, fighting to act normal.

But normalcy felt like a distant memory whenever Y/N was near. She moved through the lab with quiet grace, while I stood like a rock in a river of uncertainty, drowning in my thoughts.

As the day wore on and shadows lengthened, I noticed her gathering her things. Instinct kicked in—I pretended to be engrossed in my computer, watching her shuffle and fidget until she finally took a step toward me.

"Hey, Yoongi?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes?" I turned to face her, masking the turmoil inside.

"Um, I was wondering... I know I’m just an undergrad here, and there’s really no room for me to... I-I mean, I know it’s really not my place to ask, but..." Her words faltered, and the crimson blush creeping up her cheeks sent my heart racing.

"Y/N, would you get on with it? I don’t have all day." My frustration boiled over, the energy it took to be normal around her fraying my patience.

Her frown was instant, a storm brewing in those beautiful eyes. 

Shit, that was uncalled for...

"Never mind…" she sighed, disappointment echoing in the air.

"Wait." I took a breath, willing myself to soften. "I’m sorry. Please, Y/N, tell me."

She sighed again, a deep, resigned breath. "I know there’s that recruitment party this Saturday. It’s for prospective students to meet the current students in the department. And I know, I’m just the undergrad, but I think it would be great if I could meet them. You know? Hopefully, in a year, I’ll be going through recruitment myself." Her fingers twisted anxiously in front of her, a sight that both amused and strained my patience.

"Is there a question you wanted to ask?" I barked, the irritation bubbling to the surface.

"Yes…" she snapped back, indignation rising. "My question is: do you mind if I’m there?" She crossed her arms, defiance written all over her.

Why would I care if she came? I hadn’t even planned on attending that stupid party. But suddenly, the thought twisted in my gut, a knot tightening as a realization hit me.

I shot up from my chair, startling her. "Who told you about the party?"

Her eyes dropped, a sigh escaping her lips, and just like that, the truth hit me like a freight train. I fucking knew it.

"You’re going with Jungkook, aren’t you?" I took a step closer, looming over her.

"No, I’m not going with Jungkook." Her voice was steady, but her gaze flickered to meet mine. "But I’m going."

"Well, I guess I’ll see you there, then."

"Okay," she said with a nonchalant shrug, but the smile that graced her lips made my stomach twist. She turned to leave, and I felt something unravel within me—my hands instinctively reached out, fingers curling into frustrated fists. I didn’t know if I wanted to strangle her or pull her into a desperate embrace. All I knew was that I was left staring helplessly as she walked away.

I didn’t need her to say it; I knew Jungkook was behind this. She might not be going with him, but the thought of him lurking at that party made my blood boil. For the first time in a long while, I felt the gnawing sensation of jealousy eat away at my insides.

Fucking Jungkook Jeon.

I couldn’t believe I was even considering this.

Why did it matter if Y/N went to the recruitment party? It shouldn’t. Yet here I was, battling an angry tide rising in my chest, all because of that idiot Jungkook. If she were going with someone more acceptable—someone who didn’t make my skin crawl—I’d be okay with it. I should be okay with it. The rational part of my brain knew that, but the irritation overshadowed everything else.

What did she even see in Jungkook? The guy barely scraped by on his Qual after taking it twice and hadn’t published a single paper. He was working with fruit flies for crying out loud! And his personality? A brick wall. I couldn’t trust him. I didn’t like him. I couldn’t stand him.

I had to go to this party.

At lunch, against my better judgment, I decided to bring it up with Hoseok. 

"Hey, where’s the recruitment party this year?" I asked, trying to sound casual as I stabbed my fork into the mac and cheese.

"You’re going to the recruitment party?" Hoseok dropped his fork, suspicion etched across his face like a roadmap to his thoughts.

"Yes," I groaned, already regretting bringing it up. Of course, he’d make a fuss.

"To our department’s recruitment party?" He pressed a finger to his chest as if I’d committed a heinous crime.

"Why is that so hard to believe?" I shrugged, pushing the macaroni around in my bowl.

"Let me think… maybe because I’ve organized every single one since I got here, and you’ve never attended."

"Will you just answer my question?" I snapped, frustration boiling over.

"It’s at the South Campus Center, bro." Even though he finally answered, his gaze lingered, scrutinizing me like I was a specimen under his microscope.

"Great, thanks." I tried to keep my tone light, rolling my eyes at his obvious scrutiny.

"I can’t believe you’re going." A knowing smile danced at the corners of his lips, and I loathed it.

I pretended not to care, shrugging off the comment as he took a seat next to me. 

"If only I had known all it would take was an undergrad to get through you."

"This has nothing to do with Y/N," I spat, defensiveness creeping in, my irritation sharpening with each word. Her name was Y/N, not ‘the undergrad.’

"Right, so it’s just a coincidence… this is just the year you happen to decide to attend this thing."

"Yes."

"Is she going?" His eyebrow arched, mischief glinting in his eyes.

I groaned and turned away, pretending to be absorbed in my food.

"Dude, I can see it. How she’s affected you. It’s kind of obvious. You can talk to me, you know? It might help."

The breath I took was deep and shaky, every nerve ending igniting with frustration. But before I could stop myself, the words came pouring out. "She drives me crazy, Hoseok. I can’t stand it. I lose all control when I’m around her. I kissed her… I kissed her, and she said she doesn’t want to jeopardize her work in the lab. And it makes sense for her to think that. But the worst part is now I can’t stop seeing her everywhere. She’s in the lab, at the gym, at the freaking library where I get my coffee—she’s everywhere! I need to go back to not seeing her, because I can’t handle this." I stared down at my lunch, the food suddenly unappetizing, a lifeless pile of carbs.

"So you don’t want to see her?" Hoseok asked, surprisingly calm, like he was dissecting a specimen on his lab bench.

"Exactly."

"You don’t want to kiss her again?" He pushed, an amused grin creeping across his face.

"I don’t know what I want!" I barked, irritation flaring.

"Sounds to me like you want to go to the party, see her, and kiss her again. The question is, how are you going to deal with Jungkook?"

My shoulders tightened at the mention of his name, a cold shiver running down my spine. "I don’t care about him."

"I don’t know, man. It’s weird. The vibes are strange. You’re talking about her with a lot of… emotion."

"Emotion?" I snapped, but deep down, I felt the truth behind his words. I was at the mercy of my own feelings, a trembling wreck in the face of Y/N’s smile. I hated it. I wanted to turn it off. I couldn’t afford to feel anything.

"Fine," I muttered, sinking back into my chair, wishing to be swallowed by it.

"You’re going to have to confront those feelings eventually, Yoongi."

I grunted in response, refusing to admit he was right. I didn’t want to think about Y/N, and I definitely didn’t want to deal with Jungkook. All I wanted was to escape this mess, but deep down, I knew I was already trapped.

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[theoryofthemultiverse]

Hoyo‘s Doctors as Dads🧸

Synopsis: Do they want children? How would they be as dads? What hobbies would they have with their children?

Characters: Baizhu, Dr.Ratio, Il Dottore

A.N: Oh yes!!! Beware though I made this pretty realistically what I thought their decisions would be based on a few presented factors. Also very sorry I didn’t post anything, I feel like my writing is getting worse :.)

C.w: Reader is implied to carry the baby, also Dr. Ratio‘s part is a lot longer than Baizhu‘s and Dottore‘s (sorry I can’t do all men justice equally ):

-🧸<🍼> 🧸-🧸<🍼> 🧸🧸<🍼> 🧸🧸<🍼> 🧸🧸<

Baizhu🐍

He definitely wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. He would love to raise a child with you and teach it all about the world and make it into a lovely human being.

So his parenting style would support that! He would want to be there for his child no matter if there are emotional troubles that it can’t cope with or experiences to be made in reality. He would in general be very patient with his child and have a good mixture of strictness with gentleness.

He also detest shouting at it, as well as scolding too harshly so he really tries to not do this to make sure he doesn’t damage the relationship with his child. Nonetheless, the child knows when his tone gets stern that it did something wrong and better listens to what its father has to tell them.

As for what he would do together with them, there are a lot of things. Surely he would like to teach the kid a little bit about medicine even if it ends up not wanting to do that for their profession. He thinks it’s good to have some basic medicinal knowledge. He would also take them for some walks and hikes in nature when going out for herbs.

Dr. Ratio🎓

Getting Children is admittedly not really on his radar. He is so focused on work that he tries his best to be there often enough for let alone you, so if you two were to get a child he would have a lot more time to invest into it and sacrifice work time to be here for you and the baby. Especially since he wouldn’t want you to be the only one to need to invest their time into it.

And while that might not be the end of the world, it would bother him to have his pretty good work-life balance smashed together by a little human. Since he is also pretty content with the relationship only being between the two of you.

Yet if you were to listen to his reasons and be able to make a few sacrifices on your side, he would maybe be willing to give you a child. In your pregnancy he would then be there for you to the best of his abilities and care for the little human inside you, yet you can see there is a bit of distance.

But that distance also gets less after the baby is born and has features of him and you. He would fall in love.

He then would be more of a stricter dad. He has read a lot about parenting in books prior yet still wouldn’t fuss to scold the child occasionally if it did something really wrong.

What he would do with the child largely depends on the child’s personality. If he notices the child likes learning and asks him questions about every kind of science then he would be over the moon. If the child turns out to be hating school and academics however.. be prepared to watch him try to cope with that.

If the child would be willing, he would indulge in every childlike imagination with them, explaining the physics of a flying ship, floating water in zero gravity, you name it. If the child is completely disinterested though. He will have a hard time to bond with it, since there is only an emotional component left which is very important and which he could fulfill just fine, but there is no shared passion between them then.

So all in all, he would probably be against getting a child. The chances of him and it not connecting are too big to him to want to try it out because even if you try it and it doesn’t work, he doesn’t want a child to need to suffer under it. He also simply isn’t interested in the major life changes that come with it and admits that he is not cut out to be a parent which is fine too isn’t it?

Il Dottore🧪

You want a child? He would give it to you, what’s the harm in it after all? Most that it would have in store for him is another human he could teach some things about lab work.

But other than concerning himself with it when it comes to work be prepared to raise it on your own. Dottore may be willing to give you a child and help you with giving birth and be there for all the pregnancy related things, but he would more do the minimum rather than the maximum.

But if you agree that you are okay with the minimum and occasional bonding moments he‘d have with the child then there you go!

Maybe he would also deploy one of his clones from time to time to entertain the baby (but please make sure it doesn’t end up in an experiment then :).

If you ever really have all hands full nonetheless and all the clones are with him in an experiment you will get the lucky chance to see Dottore strapped with your little one to the chest walking around the lab with the clones. Which surely is questionable but boy does it look kinda cute.

They all would probably get so distracted by the baby after some point tho that everything is about it and work is forgotten.

[korya-elana]

Your doctor isn't always right.

This'll be a long one. No tl;dr

I see a lot of rhetoric about "doctor shopping" and "your doctor is obviously right, quit trying to claim an illness that isn't yours" and other such nonsense. So I'm here to tell you why these guys suck and why they're wrong.

I'd like everyone to keep in mind that I am studying brain science, I readily admit that, due to my health issues, I could have died without my doctors. I am firmly pro-science and pro-medicine. However.

I was actually going to type up this post a few weeks back and then the universe smacked me with a relevant situation. For some context, I recently moved back to Ohio. I had lived in NY for the past few years due to traumatic circumstances and had not received any care for my disabilities at the time. Considering one of my issues is Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (my joints and connective tissue are loosey-goosey and don't work right) and EDS causes me severe pain from constant rib dislocations/subluxations, I went to go get pain management from a specialist as soon as I was back.

This "specialist" (literally the head of the relevant department) told me there was no way that I had EDS despite my relevant testing and family history, started testing me for the WRONG illness (Marfan's, which you can tell by looking at me I do not have) and then, despite his admittance he doesn't know much about EDS, proclaimed I don't have it and it wasn't worth seeking any help. And he obviously did shit for my pain. He also said this about my proven autoimmunity.

Fast forward to two weeks ago. At the ripe old age of 30 and relatively good health despite my disabilities, I had a real stroke. Not only is this highly unusual for my age and health, it was a very, very specific type of stroke that is highly indicative of a much more dangerous type of EDS than my previous specialists had ever thought. And now I need extremely expensive and hard-to-get approved genetic testing. I have therapies several times a week and in a month I see a neurologist. Specifically, a stroke specialist where I will likely be the youngest person in the waiting room by at least 20 years.

This doctor could have killed me. He could have permanently crippled me beyond repair due to his advice. I legitimately thought I was dying. I have lost parts of my life and activities vital to my sense of self that I will never get back and I am very early on a very long road to recovery. Because my doctor was wrong. And I'll sure as shit be suing him.

So if you think your doctor is wrong, I want you to ignore every single asshole tumblerite telling you that your doctor knows best and knows better than you do. Seek that second opinion. Or your third! Or your fourth! I went through five doctors before I found one that actually knew what he was talking about and could help my dysautonomia symptoms for real. There is merit to talking about diagnosis hunting and being more sure than you should be. But doctors are not perfect. Malpractice kills people. Follow your gut feeling and find someone who knows how to talk about it. Shutting up and ignoring that feeling could get you hurt.

[twilightkitkat]

I'm so sorry if i'm annoying you. But like do you think in the movies he had some prepping before the bonding? We see him getting drawn on with sharpie by Dr. Hines and a shot of him getting injected with contrast agent for the X-rays. But i like to think they also coated his teeth in a clear liquid to strengthen them so he wouldn't break them biting down on his mouth guard during the adamantium bonding. That's why he avoids dentists now. Also he probably was injected with prepping fluid as these pictures show. And now he is afraid of needles and when Wade wants to take him to the doctor for check up routine he is nervous like a dog going to the vet. Thoughts on this?

You aren't annoying me at all, I really enjoy answering your questions because I love talking about science. If I don't get to it immediately, it's just because I'm thinking of an answer or I need to find time where I can go through and respond to my asks.

I actually used this same image as a basis for my knowledge about Logan's procedure. He definitely had prepping before the bonding. We see clearly how adamantium slices straight through regular bone, drills would cause his bones to break under pressure at the wrong angle.

I also think that they probably messed with his mouth some, whether it was a protecting or superpowered numbing gel. Logan has sharper teeth than the average person and a higher bone density, so they also would want to make sure they didn't break through his mouth guard.

Logan would have trauma around all doctors, honestly. It doesn't matter if it's a dentist or surgeon or just a check-up, he's immediately on guard.

Every part of him was violated in that procedure. His trust, his mind, his body, and his memories. He can still feel the uncomfortable itch as fluid was injected into him and the searing pain when the adamantium was bonded to his bones.

Being in any kind of medical situation reminds him of that pain and headspace and the panic he felt. He was screaming and thrashing and nobody fucking helped him. They tried to turn him into a weapon against his will. His body and mind will never recover from that.

I think that the best Wade is gonna get is an agreement for an at-home family doctor checkup. The thought of going into a doctor's office makes Logan anxious as hell, and he'd rather do it on his own terms where he feels more comfortable and in control. And Wade has to be there the entire time or he won't do it. Wade would lightly tease him if he wasn't touched by the thought that Logan trusted him enough to want him there for something tied to his trauma.

[reasaph]

"I don't believe in God, but I believe that your my savior."

Soshiro Hoshina x Suicidal Fem Reader!

Summary: (name) a person with no beliefs, no reason and will to live gets hospitalized after another attempt. There, she meets hoshina soshiro and she's been looking forward to waking another morning since.

TW:mention of death, reader got hospitalized for attempting, mention of bedrotting.

Title is from the song "sailor song" by Gigi Perez!

Part 2!

You and Soshiro talked for hours, the cans of the coffee he's got you both long forgotten and moist. To say they were the most comfortable hours of your life wouldn't be an exaggeration. Your sure hes got you hooked. Humbly, you ask anyone; be it fate or any god. You wish, you beg, you 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺 to whoever in charge to extend the hours with him. One minute more to bask in his presence, thats it. You've never desired something so much that you decided to pray. That was something you never thought you'd do. You didnt dwell your whole personality on just a mere belief. But he's got you on your knees, hands claspped with eyes screwed shut, asking for another more minute.

"So so, what d'ya do you think the doctors here do on their free time?" A silly and deranged question. From the short time you'd spend with him, not even a day Long, you had keeped count of those incoherent questions of his. You dont know if he was doing it On purpose, but those questions are the ones That sat you here on this bench fo hours.

"well, This is a tiring job. So they'd probably want as much rest, right?"

"Probably, Your right. I like to think they gossip about patients."

"Thats completely unprofessional."

He laughs. You laugh to, and you dont evem realize it. The vibrating echo of Your laughter didnt sound forced this time, it didn't need to be ripped and snatched out of your throat. It was sincere, you could say it would only be with him. This is new, clutching your stomach in futile attempt to control the laughs that keep escaping, incredibly new. You dont even know what your laughing at anymore, you just are. Hoshina had stopped making noise the moment you did. It was his first time hearing someone laugh like that, so raw and free. He could tell your unfamiliar with the sound of your own happiness, it wasnt rocket science. He feels like he'd just unveiled an artifact, so precious even when kept and hidden for centuries. It would mean the world to him if he could keep making you laugh like this. He didn't say anything, he'd be so guilty if he interupped you at your highest.

But all good things must come to an end. You know that the most. Your familliar with the bitterness that comes after everything worth hanging on to. It all seemed to short, even now. The moment Hoshina checked the time, you knew what was coming next, you could smell it a mile away. Yet you still hopped you were wrong, you dont want this conversation to end just yet. You dont want to face everything head on again. That face he made told everything, it screamed 'i have to go' and it wrathed over your chest. You dont want him to go, you dont want to leave the comfortable atmosphere with him. And above all, you dont wanna feel like an empty walking corpse once more. Hoshina turned to face you, a mourning look adorned his features. That was a new expression of his you've witnessed, you've only seen him giddy and silly until now. Now, he looks upset. You know your time with him is over for today.

"Hey, (name), really sorry but I hafta go now. That smug of a doc said I have prescriptions to take." Thats odd, why is he apologizing? Could he perhaps feel the same agony as you? You believe its impossible, but not because you think he doesn't care. Because he cant possibly match the ache in your chest. He cant, for its to much to even put into words. He hasn't even moved from his seat yet you already long to be in his presence again. Hoshina is sad, yes, but you are 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥.

"Its fine, I really uh— enjoyed talking to you."

"Hey now, dont say it like we wont see each other again. Yer still treating me tomorrow, dont forget about that now. "

"Right."

You guys parted ways after waving goodbye and mumbling 'see you'. The walk back to your hospital room, you felt even more empty and hollow each step your feeble legs took you. Because each step signicates a meter added to the distance between you and him. You dont know where Hoshina is right now, you cant pinpoint his exact location in this big of a hospital and If you could strap a beacon on him, you would. Your chest boils once again, you could feel your lungs close to giving in. It was hell all over again, yet this time, the pain your experiencing is caused by longing. Not because of something so unpleasant, but because of something beautiful. Beautiful, despite being so painful. You pass by many people on the way back, patient and worker alike. You wished you'd pass by a man with a purple bowlcut instead.

You arrived to your own quarters and just collapsit, headfirst on the hospital bed, burrying rour face onto the pillow. It smelled alcholic, to much chemicals used to cleanse it. You inhaled a breath full despite it, the smell left a blazing path in your nostrils, on their way to Polute your lungs. You laid back up right, now met with the pristine material of the crystal white ceiling. Why does every hospital have to be white? Its always so blinding. Not to mention your now having a staring contest with the very source of light in the room, that antagonizing light bulb. It'll turn off automatically at a certain time, but you want it to close now. The darkness was always your comfort, there you were able to lay yourself bare without anyone having to see you.

Your mind wanders back to Hoshina, it seems he put a leash on you as to why you keep thinking about him for more than a normal amount for just a day. You dont wanna be where you cant see him, you wanna hear his sickenly joyous voice and his flashing smile that outshines even the farthest of stars, you wanna talk nonsense with him again, his nonsense never failed to Lift the corners of your mouth to a smile. And you will, tomorrow.

Tomorrow, 8 am. Thats the time you've both agreed upon. Usually, you wouldn't get up until late in the afternoon, just rotting on your bed, the walls would always cave in and the atmosphere was suffocating. You never got up. There was no good reason to, you almost convinced yourself to throw all common sense and self hygiene out the window and just get buried rotting on your bed. Because every time you'd get up, it feels like every misfortune of the whole globe are dumped on your shoulders. It weighs you down, it weighs you back on that sickenly sweet mattress and there you stay there until the next blue moon.

But now, you want to drift to sleep faster and when you wake, your ready to meet Hoshina again. Your so eager to see him, it cant be controlled. His face is the only thing you'd never get tired of. You think its hilarious, you've only met him but you were sure he could mean more. This isn't just some high school crush, your confident about your feelings towards him for you've never felt something this intense your whole uears of living. Not even your longing of death can overrun this feeling. You sew your eyes tight, seeing only pitch black, all this so you could finally sleep and who knows? Maybe even see him in the phantasms of your unconscious state of mind. Thats how low you've stooped. You'll sleep so you can see him faster, you dont like waiting long.

Eventually, you do fall asleep. But not Hoshina. Yes, he's still awake, in his own room, fresh bandages wrapped around his injuries he got from fighting. And yes, if your wondering, hes thinking about you to. He yearns to be in your presence as well, almost as much as you. He doesn't know why. He talks with everyone like that, but he's enjoyed his time with you exceedengly more. Hoshina has been put aside his whole life, all because of his talent and preference for blades over guns. Just because of one measly difference, he was treated differently and looked down upon. But with you, he felt cherished. Its a first for Hoshina to not get judged by first meeting. He doesn't have to train hard or change anything to impress you, it'll come naturally. Hoshina turns around on the matress, facing the window so the ripe rays of the moonlight slapped on his face in result. 'I wants to see her again' was the last thing he talked about before falling asleep.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Its 6 in the morning and your half awake. You woke up to early, just how excited are you? But its not a good thing that theres still alot of time before the agreed upon time. You just know that the next 2 hours will double tenfold when waiting to see Hoshina again. Your not a morning person, not at all. Your regular routine is not for the faint of heart. If some woke up at 6am, you'd be turning off Your phone and tucking yourself to bed. So your shocked by your eagerness to see him, to the point where you'll try to get better. Your convinced Hoshina has hit you with a pan, because your aacting absolutelyInsane.

You brush your teeth and hair, and thoroughly clean your bruises as to the doctors said. You wonder when you gonna get discharged but thats for later, dear reader. You dread the fact that you have to wear that awful hospital gown again, but alas, it is required. You try to look as presentable as you can. You usually wouldnt bother putting effort in your physical appearance, but you figured it would be nice for once. You were sat on a chair, waiting impatiently like a child waiting for they're treat. You were milimeters close to just turning the Whole building upside down just so you can see Hoshina.

So imagine how excited you were when the clock had acutely hit the digit 8. The minute it did, you were busting out of the room, with your injured leg by the way. The pain had seemingly went away and healed, or it was Just overpowered by your giddyness that your nerves didn't have the space to make up for physical pain. So here you were, dragging yourself across these hallways once again. You passed by that same old lady on a wheel chair that you did yesterday. She gave you a judging face back then, which a wasn't such rare occurrence, you were used to having such glares dumped upon the entirety of your shameful being. But now you wondered if she found any difference, between the walking dead body you were yesterday and the eestatic, hungry, affection driven limp you are now.

Whilst you were rushing like you were catching up to a work deadline, he was enjoying his walk through these glossy, hauntingly white hallways. Taking each step according to the comfort of his legs, hands crossed on the broadness of his chest as he struts the hallway. Soshiro Hoshina has always been scary great at maintaining his composure. Those under his wing back at the third division are well aware of it, they have front row seats to how he switches from acting all goofy to having a stoic face in a matter of miliseconds, they even kidded around about how his control over his expressions is the work of witchcraft. However, don't be fooled by his calm demeanor, he's excited to see you as well. But as Vice-captain, it wouldn't be very ideal to him if he just jogged as fast as he can in patient filled hhallway. Hoshina disciplined himself to the bone, he wont let up now.

After what seemed like an eternity of turning corners and navigating his way through these hallways, Hoshina finally sees sight of the cafeteria. He steps in, and the homogenous smell of the food slaps him in the face. If he was weird enough to concentrate and differentiate the aroma, he probably can guess whats on the menu for today. Hoshina wastes no time in trying to find your presence, your presence in which he couldn't get enough of yesterday. His head startes whipping around, turning left to right, right to left in search of a peek of your appearance. He was baffled to say the least, shocked at the population of the people present here this morning. He wants to see you, asap. He started walking to those with even with the slightest resemblance of what your physical appearance looks like, in hopes that it would be you. He saw someone with the same hair color as yours, kinda fooled him there for a brief second. He just kept circling around the vastful room, so distracted in finding you. He doesn't wanna merely sit down and wait, conclude that your not here yet and he should just sit tight. Scarlet eyes scanned the whole cafeteria, but eyes always had blindspots where they provided no visuals, thats why he didn't notice your presence coming up from his south.

You tapped his shoulder from behind.

He doesn't think hes ever whipped his head back that fast his whole life. Hoshina turned his head so urgently he swears he heard a subtle pop in his neck. Upon seeing the sight of your face, he was 'joyous', actually thats underwhelming what Hoshina was feeling at the moment, he was euphoric. His skin feels like its being roasted and his lungs are short of gas. He feels weird, he doesn't know what to do or what to say so hoshina just stood there agape. You didn't move a muscle either, mouth zipped shut with no intention of letting put any sort of noise in fear that he'd back away. You didn't dare try to make a distance, everything else caved in, nothing else mattered, just the one in front of you. He looked so right, and by that you dont mean he's handsome (although he surely is very attractive). By 'right' you mean you'd never get tired of his appearance.

Hoshina Soshiro, to you, is the finest work of art exhibited in museum of life, the most astounding creation of matter you've laid your eyes upon.

Oh shit, you like him, the Hoshina Soshiro.

[angelyuji]

professor miguel o'hara headcanons :)

miguel o'hara x gender neutral reader

+ yandere headcanons!!!!

professor miguel o’hara would be so OFUAN:EOAFIDNWFBOWE”NJP sorry im just feral for him

professor o’hara would actually be the worst professor to get tbh like he’s a strict grader, he’s super anal about late turn-ins, all that jazz. like he’s got a shit ratemyprofessor rating… he’s the worst. he’s not the type to insult you or make you feel like shit for getting questions wrong or failing an exam HOWEVER he does say that if you fail an exam, just drop out cuz you’re not passing yeahhh he sucks lol

also he has a p.h.d in genetics and genomic sciences (totally didn’t just search up what the major is called and pasted it on here… definitely not) so he’s a huge stickler on being called doctor o’hara

however, when you mess up and say professor, he doesn’t seem to mind it all that much

professor o’hara who obviously has favorites (based on who participates more/does the best on exams)

Miguel would send students that come to him for help to students that do really well in the class (he does not care to reteach or help with essays) “you should’ve paid attention when i was explaining. im sure one of your classmates like (y/n) can help.”

motorcycle professor, office hours are always open for questions or concerns, he’s honestly chill just super strict and mean-looking

however no matter what, every single bitch has a crush on him… have you SEEEEEN him. yall know that scene in criminal minds when spencer reid is teaching a class and basically the entire class was auditing the class becuz he’s hot… yeah that except miguel o’hara is a lot meaner about chasing those people out.

yandere :0

:IBFP(I)IU*Y&^&TFRTCVGBHIK\

sorry

lemme set the scene, ur one of the smartest of your class, you’re his favorite student like ur pretty, smart, and kind to your classmate and honestly…. he was downright obsessed like mf knows ur entire class schedule, he knows ur address ur number ur email. e v e r y t h i n g

ur kindness to your classmates is gonna be ur downfall, someone (who is known to be a cheater) is gonna go to him asking for help on a project. miguel is gonna be like “lol im not helping u but yk who will? (y/n).” miguel knows that your classmate is gonna cheat, but that’s a part of the plan

they go up to you, ask to see ur project and when ur not looking, take pictures of ur research and everything. you won’t know a thing becuz ur a nice friend :)

you’ll just turn in ur stuff and chill. the next class after the due date, professor o’hara asks you to stay after class.

“(y/n), it looks like you and another classmate have almost exact project.” miguel turns his screen towards you, showing your project and your classmates

“what? dr. o’hara, i don’t know what’s going on, but i promise you, i didn’t cheat off of anyone.” you beg.

“i’m sure that we can get to the bottom of this, (y/n)…” miguel pretends to think for a second. “how about this, come to my office around 6. i think i’ll be done with classes for the day. we’ll have a chat.” he stands, rearranging his papers.

“of course. i’ll be there!” you thank him and rush out to meet your friends, holding back tears.

i mean, of course you’ll go to see your professor. you’ve been accused of plagiarism and that shit can get you expelled.

you knock on the door. “dr. o’hara?”

“come in.” you walk in, anxious to get the situation resolved. you see your professor sitting at his desk, but you don’t see your classmate.

“i thought the other person would here too…” you feel a weird sense of dread fill in your stomach.

“ms. (l/n), i don’t think we need them here for this discussion.” he motions for you to sit down at the chair. “plagiarism is a very serious offence.”

“professor, you can’t seriously believe that i copied off of them!” you’ve got the best grades in the class, you feel flabbergasted.

“ms. (l/n)!” he frowns.

you lower your head, ashamed, “i’m sorry, it’s just. they came up to me, asking for help…”

“i understand, (y/n), but do you have any physical proof of that?” you stay silent. “i can… find a way to help you, but… you’re gonna have to do something for me, (y/n).” miguel leans in and you feel that dread in your stomach worsen, but you have no other choice.

“of course, professor! anything!”

eDTRUTYGYH*(J)(_)_JIHUUGYFR^%&T*Y(UOIJL

he’s gonna take advantage of your situation. at first, it’ll be like secret dates, small (expensive) gifts at your door, then it moves up.

soon, he’s making you come to his home, making you stay overnight….

it was raining when you had went over and the rain was getting worse. his house was in the middle of a neighborhood in the woods, everything about this situation was grossing you out. “dr. o’hara, i don’t-” you, hesitantly, walk through the doors into his home.

“miguel. i’ve told you, (y/n). you should call me miguel when we’re alone.” he smiles at you and locks the door behind you.

“right… miguel, i don’t think that this is appropriate.” you look around his home. it was quaint, clean… almost like it wasn’t even lived in. you would’ve thought it was a random rental if it wasn’t for his diplomas framed on the wall.

“(y/n), do i need to remind you of our deal?” he looks at you, and for the first time since this situation started, you felt afraid. miguel disappears into the kitchen and you decide to step back closer to the front door, itching to run. “(y/n),” he pops his head out and smiles, “take a seat at the dining table.” you see fangs in his mouth and your fear grows.

dinner goes by uneventfully, but you feel uneasy as miguel chats it up with you. he had been too… nonchalant about the arrangement, but this was a new development. he wouldn’t ask you questions about yourself, but he somehow knew everything about you. it creeped you out. “if dinner is over, i should go home.” you stand, pushing back your chair.

he grabs your hand, “there’s no need to rush, (y/n)… unless,” he lets go and leans back in his chair, thinking. you freeze. “if you want to leave, i can always go to the board and tell them about your essay.” miguel shrugs and gets up.

“no! no… i’m sorry, doctor- sorry, miguel, i’m not leaving.” you sit back down.

miguel laughs, straightening, “you’re so cute, sweetheart. i’ll go get dessert.” he steps back into the kitchen. you grab your phone and text your roommate asking for help, but they don’t respond. miguel walks out with two plates of cheesecake. he continues to talk to you, asking about your classes for next semester. you gingerly answer his questions and eat, eager to finish and go home. you look behind miguel’s head and notice that the rain had gotten worse. if you didn’t leave now, you’d get stuck here.

“i should get going then.” you carefully place the fork down. “the rain is getting pretty bad.” miguel turns to look and you check your phone. still no response. miguel hums as the rain pelts the ground. he looks back at you.

“any minute now.” he doesn’t say anything else.

“ha, yeah. it’ll get worse any minute now.” you repeat and stand up. all of a sudden, your head spins. you stumble and grab your chair. immediately miguel is at your side, helping you steady. your head won’t stop spinning and you hear your words slurring, “fuck, i don’t feel good.” miguel picks you up with ease, holding you bridal-style. “put me down, please, miguel. i need to go home.” you feel yourself lose consciousness and lay your head against miguel’s chest, too tired and dizzy to fight.

“everything is okay, (y/n). all you need is me.”  the last thing you feel as miguel whispers in your ear, is a kiss against your forehead.

[randomfoggytiger]

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XXI): Faith, Fear, and Scully Symbiosis, Part I

The concluding scene between Scully and her mother is enlightening: not only of their past, present, and future dynamics, but also of the heretical hierarchy she unconsciously erects with her loved ones. There are "other fathers"; but there are also interceding mothers, blind believers, and advocating consciences.

ALL HOPE IS LOST

Scully is lying in bed, wrestling for composure-- swallowing, raising her signature eyebrow-- as the camera pans in, narrowing further and further in on her lost, hopeless, terrified expression. Here, she is aware that the chip has “failed”; and finally believes that death is approaching. 

When the door opens and Maggie whispers, “Dana?”, Scully turns abruptly away from the wall, a tear spilling from the corner of one eye. 

“Dr. Zuckerman called. He, uh…” her mother rambles, worried and anxious. Catching herself, she affects unaffectedness, approaching with a spring in her step and false smile on her face-- “He said that you wanted to see me?”-- which drops, quickly, when her daughter sits up without a word, visibly troubled. “What is it?”

Scully lunges towards her mother, clinging in shaking horror.

“I’m so sorry,” she wobbles, voice stained with repentance and guilt as she struggles against her fear. “I fight… and I fight and I fight, but I’ve been so stupid." Grieved and shaken, she sniffles back tears clogging her throat. 

Lost but relieved at her daughter’s openness, Maggie asks, “What is it?” with a maternal lilt to her voice. (One she might have used to unscramble a weepy confession over some minor infraction, or to unwind the logic behind a particularly challenging math problem.)  

Scully pulls back, haunted. “I’ve come so far in my life on simple faith. And now when I need it the most, I just push it away.”

While her admittance explicitly refers to her Catholic beliefs, it also explicitly applies to her partnership and her cancer journey. Scully, despite vowing she would find the answers “for her own reasons�� has clung to the hope that, against all the universal laws of science, she would survive terminal brain cancer. Her journey since Memento Mori has been to embrace the fight, to refuse to give up, to insist that she can save herself with her science; or, if push comes to shove, with Mulder’s truth. She likely gave up chemo after Scanlon-- there were no chemo treatments that would cure her, as stated-- and tried immunotherapy treatments instead so she could continue to work, to find answers; and pretended nothing was wrong because everything would be made right, soon. In Elegy, her report came up clean; but she still saw Harold Spuller, which shook her conviction that science was stalling the cancer (post here.) In Gethsemane, she was given a death sentence but refused to accept it; and still did not want her brothers (or Father McCue) to be told-- because deep down, despite her grand stances and "last wishes", she didn't believe she would die (post here.) In Redux I, she escaped a sense of helplessness by working, by trying to prove Mulder right while he plundered the DOJ: she believed he, if anyone, could save her. In Redux II, she panicked when her partner asked if conventional treatment needed to be halted (post here); and was shaken when her doctor admitted the only hope she had left would have to be “unconventional.”

Mulder became her faith: while she was languishing in Scanlon’s facility, she clung to his conviction, drawing upon it to record her defeated thoughts. She used it to rise from Betsy’s deathbed, to move forward with strength, to believe, deep down, that his truth and her faith would cure her. Mulder had doubts in his abilities-- gifting her a keychain in Tempus Fugit, pointing a gun at his head (at his failures) in Demons-- but Scully never did… until Elegy, until he ripped that conviction out from under both their feet. (“The doctor said I’m fine,” she’d said, clinging to shaky ground. “I hope that’s the truth,” he’d replied, showing her there was no ground to cling to.) Scully thought she gave up in Gethsemane, but Bill exposed her to herself (post here)-- “What are you doing at work, getting knocked down? What are you trying to prove? …To this guy, Mulder?” She was trying to prove something: that she hadn’t failed, that she’d done her best. And she felt those efforts had been rewarded by his last-ditch effort to get her a cure… and it had failed. She had failed.

Here, Scully can no longer dodge, run from, or escape the reality of her death: it is before her, again, after being banished in Memento Mori; and it has defeated her (and her partner’s, and her family’s) last hope. With this in mind, she called Maggie first to admit defeat so her mother relay to Mulder, a reversal of Memento Mori’s order of operations. She would rather disappoint her mother than her partner, not after everything they'd been through that year.

Maggie listens, sympathetically and without comment, assuming her daughter will close up if she misplaces a word. 

Scully continues, becoming more fervent in her ravaging self-doubt while ripping out the cross from under her hospital gown. “I mean, why… why do I wear this?”

Her mother doesn’t respond, face softly grimacing at the brandished necklace-- possibly over its Ascension connections. At her daughter’s repeated, “Why do I wear this, Mom?”, she wisely keeps silent: the answer that contents her-- a strong belief in God-- wouldn’t, and hasn't, helped her daughter. It’s best to let emotion ride its course, and help Dana settle down afterwards. 

“I put something that I don’t even know,” Scully asserts, “or understand under the skin of my neck. I will subject myself to these crazy treatments-- and I keep telling myself that I am doing everything I can. But it’s a lie!” She stops, eyes down, sitting in torment-- a grotesque mask's mockery of happiness-- waiting for her mother to say something, anything. 

Maggie doesn’t doubt her daughter: “You have not lost your faith, Dana.”

And Scully hasn’t; but her self doubt is overwhelming her, is providing proof of her inadequacies with each new medical report-- with the final medical report-- and laughing her to scorn.

“I have,” Scully insists, before correcting herself, “in a way. When you, when you asked Father McCue to dinner to minister to my faith, I just closed off to him.” 

I’ve discussed before that Melissa Scully acted as the voice of Scully’s conscience (posts here, here, here), and literally as her voice in One Breath. However, this scene in Redux II illustrates the importance of her dynamic with Maggie Scully: her mother acts as Scully’s confessor, just as her father acted as her god. Although Scully took the life of a snake as a little girl, it was Maggie who recalled the story-- in detail so specific that she only could have gotten it directly from Scully. It was Maggie who helped absolve her guilt in The Blessing Way and Wetwired. And most importantly, it was Maggie who patched together Captain Scully and their daughter's relationship; and Maggie who Scully turned to for guidance and reassurance at his funeral (Beyond the Sea) and on her deathbed (Redux II.) 

But why? Bill Scully and Melissa didn’t have that relationship with Maggie; and we can assume Charlie falls in the same lines. Yet for Scully, the sun seems to rise and fall on the opinion of her parents. Maggie herself is constantly trying to point Dana to her own path, aware she has no answers that would truly satisfy her daughter: “he was your father” and “you haven’t lost your faith” are truths that she believes are the key to these complicated questions; but knows are not enough, yet. 

We see this near deification stems back to Scully’s relationship with her father and extends outward to “other fathers.” But that’s not the whole truth: for every god there is an intermediary; for every Captain there is a wife who gives him “the look” after their daughter’s Christmas dinner (post here.) And for every god and intermediary there is a true believer. And even further, for every true believer there is a conscience that puts into words the deep mysteries of the heart. 

And while Scully pedestalized her loved ones-- asking for their opinion on her FBI recruitment, asking for their forgiveness-- then duplicated these structures into other areas of her life-- be it as a disciple of Daniel Waterston's or as an intermediary confessor to (and true believer in) her partner-- her own pedestalized idols pushed back against or regretted their daises. Her father was a man who loved but forgot to translate that love into words, her mother is a woman reliant on her daughter’s strength, her sister was a woman who loved loudly and often overstepped, and her partner is a man who believes deeply in everyone but himself. These people are aware of their faults and voice them constantly to Scully; but she can’t-- or won’t-- see them because she is too afraid to accept their humanity and strike out completely on her own… not until all things, that is. 

(Another interesting note: Redux II will later subtly hammer home the “other fathers” connection to Mulder via this convoluted dynamic Scully keeps perpetuating.)

Maggie tightens her mouth, battling relief and bittersweet hope at this confession. Faith in God has lent her strength, and she believes it will give her daughter strength, too. Further, she believes her daughter has been suppressing and choking on denial since the cancer diagnosis; and, while happy Dana is sharing this burden, that joy is marred by the circumstances. 

To soothe her own emotions, she begins to put her daughter 'back together'-- a habit Scully seems to have adopted, in adulthood, with her partner. Maggie schools her emotions as best she can while patting her daughter’s hair, delicately combing loose strands back into shape, and smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on her shoulder. “What’s important now,” she mothers, gently but firmly, “is that you save your energy.”

Scully’s face loses its frenetic spark, sinking into hopeless depression. Her mouth is slick with saliva, and her eyes are filling with unshed tears. 

This is the real reason she called her mother: “I’m not getting any better, Mom.”

Instantly, the true nature of Maggie’s feelings bubble to the surface: “You don’t know that yet,” she pleads, trying to bargain away her daughter’s finality with a smile and exaggerated head tilt-- a gesture she used, perhaps, when little Dana was distraught or hopeless. Still, her smile fades as Scully's tears continue to well up. 

“The PET scan showed no improvement,” Scully confirms, looking up and down to hide from her own and her mother’s pain. 

Maggie is crushed, her mouth beginning to warble uncontrollably-- so uncontrollably that Scully's own chin begins to pebble.  

Seeing her daughter's distress, Maggie surges forward to hug them together, knowing her child well enough to intuit that emotions are better relieved in privacy. 

CONCLUSION

More Scully symbiosis thoughts to come.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[johannestevans]

there's a plotline in grey's anatomy where they're setting up one char as having a potentially manic bipolar episode and one doctor shows concern and says he needs to be made to rest

and another doctor goes. oh no, i'm USING this episode he's having. we need it to save a patient

and i actually really like this bc like… that thing of workplaces, and especially workplaces with high levels of burnout and exploitation of its workers whilst using the importance of their work as an excuse, absolutely exploit these neurodivergent traits

i think a lot about the ways in which obsessive traits are wanted and even demanded by workplaces in order to filter an unreasonable or unmanageable workload through one or two people, and because they're "capable" it can be dismissed as acceptable

that person isn't eating or sleeping? well, they're still getting the work done! they're handling it! they're a genius! and who else is going to do the work? how else is it going to get done? they'd need to hire half a dozen people to get this finished otherwise!

and then, you know. that person has other symptoms and indicators of obsession. people start noticing compulsive behaviours. they seem out of touch with reality. their emotions become dysregulated, or they act unpredictably

and god, that's no appropriate way to act in a workplace! that's scary and weird and embarrassing! that's not an alright way to act! don't they know they're not the only person here? if they need help, they should ask for it - if they're going to act like this, they need to go

so they're exploited for the most valuable or useful trait of their mental illness or neurodivergence, that exploitation puts them under further external stress, so that trait - both its negative and positive aspects - are exacerbated… and then they need to be disposed of

the hard work has been done, so they're not losing anything by getting rid of that person, so who cares how much that person's long term health is ruined or impacted? who cares if they can't get another job or need long term treatment? not my problem! the work got done!

and the thing about how these exploitative actions occur within systems and organisations is that like. multiple people can be involved in this process, without sufficient enough oversight or connection with the exploited person, to check in with them before it escalates

or if people DO notice and check in with them, the system is otherwise overworked or fast-paced or badly organised or anything else, they won't be able to do anything to intervene or help that person because that person can't or won't ask for help themselves

and even if they DO ask for help, that request is going to be dismissed because, hey, they're getting it done and they NEED this worker's full concentration right now! the workplace NEEDS it.

the individual worker is meant to make sacrifices

and don't get me wrong, this is a problem of all workplaces which in our current society are inherently exploitative, but for people with certain traits that make them more vulnerable to this sort of manipulation and/or who struggle to set limits or boundaries for their own sake

and higher-ups within that system might recognise that person's vulnerability or they might not - they might know it's there but still exploit it out of "necessity", out of their own reliance on that person

but the end result is so long term and potentially unrecoverable

and obvs grey's is a medical show, and this sort of exploitation is common in healthcare professions (including veterinary sciences), certain research positions, law, but my experience of it is mostly in fucking hospitality, where high employee turnover is seen as part and parcel

[shalscumbunny]

Dear Doctor | Chapter 2: Depravity

Summary: Shalnark suffered a small injury while investigating some things for the Gen'ei Ryodan, his intention was that a doctor would cure him and nothing else, unfortunately that doctor was you and what you least expected is that one of the most wanted criminals in the world would end up becoming obsessed with you.

Pairing: Shalnark X F.Reader

Warnings: Stalking, theft of clothes, male masturbation, cum shot, cum tribute, Shalnark being a degenerate pervert as always

Author’s note: I always mention it in all my writings in English, but better safe than sorry, English is not my native language so it is very likely to find many mistakes and also that I know practically nothing about writing “X character and Y/N”

I am not a doctor so I will say my life excuse for everything, “I am a social science student”, so if something is wrong I apologize

Sites: AO3

From one day to the next you became a very important part of Shalnark's life, he loved to follow you everywhere and see you without you noticing, that only made it more exciting for him.

Soon his computer began to fill up with various photos of you being distracted, working or simply doing nothing, but the most valuable photo for him was the one he took with you, that photo was his wallpaper, just the two of us, together, smiling, your cute, beautiful and perfect smile.

However, Shalnark is not the type of man who settles so little, the times that he stalked you, the idea of taking something of yours as a souvenir began to haunt his head.

One day when you were coming out of your guard at the hospital, you dropped a package, obviously it was Shalnark who picked it up and took it to his house at a cheerful pace.

When he arrived, he saw that they were clothes that you had worn on guard duty, a smile adorned his face, all of that smelled of you, there was no better smell than that, however, there was a garment that caught his attention above all.

A perverted smile formed on Shalnark's face when he took your underwear in his hand, he instinctively brought it closer to his nose, beginning to sniff it shamelessly.

"Oh... my doctor smells so good" he gasped as he kept sniffing, sticking the garment to his nose and seeing your cute smiling face on his computer.

That delicious aroma of yours was driving him crazy, he was getting addicted, trying to memorize it as the arousal began to pump through his body.

It was a matter of minutes before Shalnark started patting his pants and soon after he started stroking his cock, he was so hard just from smelling so intimate from you.

His mind began to wander as he closed his eyes, Shalnark imagining his beloved doctor so inappropriately lewd now, speeding up in his hand.

"Y/N... You're so perfect... It feels so good... So good" Shalnark moaned, feeling his pleasure rise.

You looked so good in Shalnark's mind, you were so perfect in his dirty imagination of him about you, you were his cute, pretty doctor, it made him moan more desperately.

He was enjoying it, he was having fun smelling your underwear, caressing himself and undressing you in his mind, he could only smell that underwear like a needy madman.

He didn't take long to spill out, reaching ecstasy and dirtying his hand, but that depraved act was dedicated to you and only you.

"Y/N! Y/N! Y/N! I need you!” He moaned out loud feeling his heart rate quicken.

He was breathing heavily, on the edge, but he didn't care, he just went back to caressing himself and rubbing your underwear on his nose, moaning your name over and over again.

Your scent had him like an animal, panting and growling, imagining his dirtiest fantasies in that work of art that he held in his hands and that he would probably treasure forever.

Shalnark only became more and more degenerate when he thought of you and how much he loved and needed you, he ended up depriving himself of his climax and raised his hand starting to print your picture.

When the photo was ready, he put it on the desk and stood up starting to caress himself again with more vigor and sniff your underwear while looking at your pretty face in the photo, totally unable to blink.

“Doctor… How can you be so beautiful? Oh... you're beautiful... so perfect...” Shalnark praised you like a deity, dedicating this act so sick and impure to you “Soon I'll make you mine, don't worry... Soon you'll be mine alone, okay?”

Shalnark was panting with excitement looking at your photo until he finally climaxed again, watching with pride as your pretty face in the photo began to get smeared with his thick milky cum.

"Doctor... my semen looks so good on your beautiful face..." Shalnark moaned in your underwear

Shalnark had to sit down after that, the last climax was too intense, the best part where he let all his semen stain your pretty face, now he just smelled your underwear to calm down.

"God... that felt so good" he said, still sniffing and taking the photo with his other hand "I don't know how long I can take it, doctor... I need to see you in real life with my semen decorating your face...

Shalnark was freaking out about you… it was amazing how just a small act of kindness from you was enough to make him go crazy for you, but surely the best thing was that you didn't suspect anything at all.

Thank you so much for reading my shit 🖤

Chapter 1 <- Chapter 2 -> Chapter 3

[theetherealbloom]

UNEVEN ODDS - CH. 8

Chapter Eight: Darkness Exists To Make Light Truly Count

Summary: The Reader is dragged into the Last of Us universe and has no choice but to watch the events unfold or will she be able to change what was already written?

Paring: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Age-gap Romance, Violence, ANGST, LOTS OF ANGST IM SORRY AGAIN, Swearing, Suicide, FLUFF, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, the pandemic, character death, INFECTED, MY SCIENCE IS WONKY, probable plot holes, rusty writing, TLOU is dark please read at your own risk!

Word Count: 9.6k

A/N: Did I drag myself through hell and back writing this last chapter? YEP. Was I anxious writing this meaning that this would be the end of this series? YEAH. Did life get in the way and forcibly had to make me catch up with my schoolwork? UNFORTUNATELY YEP PLS– 

Song: Someone To Stay by Vancouver Sleep Clinic

Previous Chapter -> Epilogue | Series Masterlist

TLOU WORLD 2023

SILVER LAKE, COLORADO TO SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH – ONE WEEK LATER…

The bitterness of winter as time month moves on, you are greeted with the sweetness of spring. When did your life become a series of countdowns? Was it all just a grain of sand in an hourglass? One moment you were stumbling through the snow, away from Silver Lake. Next, you’re on the outskirts of Salt Lake City, Utah. Roughly 3,534 miles and you’re counting down the hours of today, vaguely knowing about what happens in Saint Mary's Hospital, the operation on Ellie, and the death of a surgeon triggering a chain reaction to stir violence with the former fireflies to kill Joel.

Each step into the city meant the possibility of losing them both to the future you seem to believe is set in stone, their stories already written and their fates chosen long before you had even stepped foot in the reality you couldn’t have possibly imagined existing. So you are standing and listening to him in that glistening emptiness, scavenging the remaining vehicles that contained any items to use. You hear your childhood sympathies banging against each other in a giant communal eardrum circle, trying to drown out melodies you can’t help but hum to. It feels like a part of your past follows you everywhere you go, a ghost you can’t shake, someone familiar but every time it places its hand in your hand, neither one of you could feel it.

Your weight is resting on the counter of the dilapidated kitchenette in an old RV, Joel tries to call your name, but you are now too deep into the thought that you don’t hear his rich and rough voice telling you about the broken guitar he found. Every part of you is somewhere else, a distant and dazed look in your eyes as you feel your vision blur. Joel approaches you cautiously, not wanting to startle you as he gently places his large palm on the side of your arm, rubbing it gently as he spoke softly, “Birdie… what’s wrong?” You blink up at him, your expression weepy and choked up, “Joel… there’s something you need to know.” He’s quick to ask, “What is it? What’s wrong, Darlin’?”

You feel your body melt at the nickname, but you gently place your hand on his, squeezing it as you said, “Joel… I know how all of this ends. I know how you die.” You watch as his shoulders rise, his breathing becomes still, and his expression was mixed with realization, curiosity, and despair. He swallows as he asks, “How… I thought you didn’t know everythin’?” You nodded, “Yes, I swear to you, there were parts I didn’t know or couldn’t remember. Everything except how all of this ends.” He frowns and grimaces, but never lets go of your hand, gruffly he says, “Tell me.” You move a little closer to his warmth, wanting to be close to him as you spoke, “Everything that will happen at Saint Mary's… the decisions and choices you make in the next few hours will be the cause of your death in the next few years or so. The Doctor you kill and um… You and Ellie… I don’t know if there’s a chance of a happy ending in this world or any way out of this besides going back to Jackson and convincing Ellie that she doesn’t have to go through with this or… fighting our way through the upcoming obstacles in our way.”

Joel shifts his weight from one leg to the other, bringing his eyes to yours, and at that moment you knew, the heat that radiates in his stare as he looks at you, every inch of skin comes alive as he drags his hand along your arm to your waist, sliding it and carefully securing you closer to him. Now, you are inches away from your lips to his, his nose touching the tip of your own with your foreheads pressed together, you breathe him in, close your eyes, and sigh in comfort. He cradles the side of your face and you lean into him, he gently asks, “What would you like me to do, Sweetheart?” You place your hand on top of his, leaving a soft kiss on his wrist and then replying, “I need you to stay alive. Ellie needs you… I need you to be here with us. Next, when the opportunity presents itself, please, I beg you, spare the surgeon.” He whispers his inquiry, “Why?” You sniff and feel your eyes well up, “Because his daughter will be the reason for your death. Look, I don’t care who else you decide to kill, just if you can… leave him alive.” 

He holds you closer as he shakily asks, “Why are you tellin’ me this now, Hon’?” You lick your lips nervously, placing your head on his shoulder as he fully embraces your figure, slowly speaking, “I… I’m scared, Joel. I’m honestly terrified of what’s going to happen next. I don’t want to lose you… I can’t lose you.” You shudder at the thought, the mere idea of it brings you to clutch him tighter, and he cradles your figure closer as he soothes you, “You won’t lose me. I’m persistent, remember?” You weakly laugh at that, and he wipes away the tears from your cheeks while saying, “Let’s go show Ellie what we found.” You open your mouth to speak but he has already read your mind, “We’ll figure it out and cross that bridge when we get there. Okay, Birdie?” He has changed all of your circuitry, the red and gold, writing all over your being. How he looks at you, his eyes say everything without a single word. You nod and whisper, “Okay.” He presses his lips to yours with passion and promises, “I’ll keep us safe, I swear.”

You step out and leave the abandoned RV, grabbing an old board game, and canned food. Joel yells out, “Ellie! Ellie.” Still, no response from the teenager sitting at the back of an old blue truck, and her mind seems to be somewhere else. “Ellie!” Joel yells a bit louder, which causes her to turn around to look at him, preoccupied, remote, distracted perhaps by the magnitude of what their arrival in Salt Lake City could mean.

“D’ya hear me?”Joel asks through the loud wind blowing through everyone’s hair, Ellie shakes her head, “No. What?” Ellie asks, and Joel excitedly shows Ellie that he found a can, “Well, we found this in there. Beefaroni. Chef Boyardee.” Calling back to their campfire meal, to which Ellie tries to sound enthusiastic, but ending up sounding flat, “Oh, cool.” Joel approaches Ellie, shaking the old cardboard box game, “And have you ever played this? Boggle? It’s a word game.” She politely and quietly shakes her head, seemingly uninterested but still trying to please Joel, she hands him back the box and he says, “Well if you wanna beat me at somethin’, it would be this.”

Ellie manages to nod her head, and you frown at her lackadaisical nature, noting that this isn’t like her at all. You walk to Joel’s side as he calmly spoke again, “Well, all right then. We’re gettin’ close. Hospital that way. May be the one we’re lookin’ for.” Ellie pushes herself off the back of the truck, the sound of dirt crunching beneath her boots as she replied, “Got it.” She grabs her pack while Joel shoves the canned food and board game into his backpack. Ellie approaches you both and Joel rolls his shoulder, showing her the rifle, “Take this for me?” Ellie grabs so he can throw the strap of the backpack across his shoulder, “Thanks.” He grabs the rifle once more, carrying it while Ellie nods in acknowledgment.

As the three of you walked along the ruined highway, Joel begins to talk, “They had a guitar in that RV. It was all smashed up but got me thinkin’ maybe I should find one. I haven’t played in forever. In fact, I was thinkin’ maybe I could teach you. I bet you’d be great at it.” Ellie merely hums and Joel asks her with a sort of hopeful tone, “Do you wanna learn how to play guitar?” There is no response from Ellie, your eyes shift from her to Joel, and you see him frown in concern, “Ellie?” She looks up, blinking at him as she hums in response, “Oh, yeah. That’d be great.”

Surprisingly, the entire walk into the city was quiet, there was no chatter from Ellie or Joel, no melody leaving your lips as you pass by abandoned cars. After what seemed like thirty minutes, Joel finally broke the silence once more, “Okay, so this is what I’m thinkin’...” Ellie already knew what he was talking about, “Cut through that building to get around that stuff, find the skyscraper, go up and look around.” You look at her impressed, while Joel says, “Actually, this time I was thinkin’ we blast our way through that rubble. I found some dynamite in that RV back there.” This catches Ellie off guard, “Really?” While you give him a suspicious look, “The fuck has gotten into you?”

Joel confirms he was joking around as he replied to you both, “No, so we’re gonna cut through that building, find a skyscraper, go up, and look around. But I had you both goin’, didn’t I?” You playfully rolled your eyes while Ellie nods once more. The group decides to cut through the building on the way to the hospital, and decide to climb an abandoned skyscraper to get a better vantage point and lay off the land. The red tarpaulins hanging over the scaffolding, “Look at this place,” Joel says as you all take a good look around your environment, “Talk about bad luck. Military drops bombs, not one of them hits the building you’re trying to demolish.” You peek through the rubble to see the sunlight streaming through, Joel cranes his neck to look up, “No way up.”

He approaches the fence gate inside the construction, the steel rattling loudly as he does, and walks through with you and Ellie trailing behind him. Joel spots a ladder peaking from above as you stand next to him, “I get Ellie up there, you can drop down that ladder down, maybe we go through that way. Come one I’ll give you a boost.” You both turn to look for her to find her looking through abandoned blueprints, you watch as Joel is more attentive to her as he asks, “You okay?” Ellie brings her head up to look at him, “Yeah, I’m fine.” Joel doesn’t buy it, “It’s just you seem extra quiet today, so.” Ellie feels the guilt bubble in her, “Oh… I’m sorry.” While you and Joel shake your heads, “No, it’s fine. Did you hear what I…” Ellie is quick to nod, “Yeah, boost. Got it.”

Joel steps on top of the wooden scaffolding, and Ellie grabs his outstretched hand, readying his stance while saying, “One, two, up.” You watch as Ellie pushes her body weight up while Joel asks, “Ya got it?” Ellie responds, “Yeah. Okay.” She’s just about to put down the ladder, however, the usually attentive Ellie is caught off guard by something and instead ends up just dropping the ladder and running off to look at something. Joel barked out, “God dammit, Ellie! Shit.” You also call for her, but there is no indication she hears you. You and Joel lift the ladder while he yells out to the teen, “You stay there!” To which Ellie yells back, “You gotta see this!” You climb the ladder first while Joel follows behind you, your voice echoes as you spoke, “Ellie? Where are you?”

“Up here!” Ellie says while you and Joel pursue her, perhaps worried at first that she’s in danger. Grumbling, Joel says her name but Ellie is quick to run, “Come on!” You and Joel wonder what the fuss is about, he calls her again, trying to get her to stop running so damn fast, “Ellie.” Again, she doesn’t relent, pushing faster to chase whatever caught her attention. Joel is breathing heavily as he mumbles, “Just wait. God damn it.”

After another flight of stairs, you pass by a ruined wall, as you sidestepped it, what you both find is Ellie, standing awestruck by the sight of a giraffe, peacefully munching on some leaves growing on the building. The feeling of enchantment rushes through your body, the familiarity of the scene that you had a glimpse of during your time back in your other universe. How important this meant to both of them.

Joel quietly approaches and stands next to Ellie, while you are to the left of her. Though time is ruthless, it showed you kindness despite the effects the Infected have wrought on the hope and innocence of the world in the end. But showing and by slowing down enough, a second chance to make amends. Ellie pointedly looks at Joel, “Don’t scare it.” To he replies, “I won’t.” He sets down his rifle, draws his weapons, and gives himself and Ellie a welcome reprieve from the darkness so that the balance may be restored. When the world welcomes you in, you’re closer to Heaven than you’ll ever know. They say this place has changed, but strip away all of the technology and you will see that you all are hunters, hunting for something that will make us okay.

Joel grabs a couple of leaves from the side of the tree and Ellie’s voice is in alarm as she asks, “What are you doing?” He reassures her, “It’s all right. Come here, hurry up. Come on.” Ellie walks towards him, a little closer to the giraffe, while you stand there nervously rubbing your arm. Joel spots your discomfort but quickly reassures you, “You too Hummin’ bird.” You exhaled deeply, trusting Joel and walking closer to the giraffe.

He passes leaves to you both, and there is a form of uncertainty between you and the giraffe, but eventually, you stretch out your hand and the giraffe approaches you, grazing on the leaves you have presented to the creature. When you were out of leaves, it then went to Ellie, happily munching on the leaves she had with her. There is something so precious about Ellie’s laugh. The whole is so much greater than the sum of these parts. You've heard the truth before, for in beauty there echoes a speck of our source. There's a voice inside your soul, that resonates through your skin and bone. Crooked mouth, quiet down, you let your fists come undone. The understanding that miscarried love will be reborn. There is hope in our eyes when we truly see each other.

Joel smiles lovingly at her joy, the honoring of every shadow, and gratitude for all that follows. Overwhelmed, wave after wave, you are more afraid to lose what you have found, even after all this evolving, it still feels unnatural, still pulls tight the muscles, and strains the arms and spine. Ellie’s laughs are melodious as she states, “So fucking cool.” There are no more leaves left for the giraffe to munch on, seemingly done, she begins to trot away. Ellie whines, “Aw, where is she going?” She begins to race after her, yelling out to her two guardians, “Come on, come on, come on, come on!”

As Joel was about to turn and call after her, you grab his wrist, causing him to look at you with concern, “What is it, Hon’?” Your heart melts at the nickname, you give him a soft smile as you took in a breath before speaking your heart out, “I have to tell you something.” He frowns in concern, “Now? Ellie might–” You cut him off while nodding, “Yes, now.” Joel leans a little closer, “What is it? Tell me what’s wrong.” You weakly laugh at his statement, knowing him too well to know that whatever is wrong he’d immediately want to fix it for you because that’s how he cares. 

A beat passes between you two, the sound of the wind rustling the leaves, the huffs of the giraffes from outside, and even a few birds chirping, seemed like everything was right where it should be. Joel opens his mouth, and at first, no sound comes out, but he gathers his courage and says, “Not that I wouldn’t say it first, ‘cause I would.” You smile at him knowing what he was implying, and you shake your head, “It’s no big deal,” You try to finish your statement but he cuts you off, his southern accent is more prominent as his voice goes lower, “I’ll tell you soon.” You hold the side of his face, as he looks at you while holding his breath ‘cause you both could, in a voice so soft and sweet, you say, “Until then, I love you.”

The darkness that hangs over him at first tries to reject it as his lips parts in astonishment and bewilderment. He would drag you through the muck while telling you that you belonged to a cleaner lifestyle. He thinks you'd be crushed underfoot by him, that you'd be able to see right through him, that he's just spewing hot air, that you'd be always racing after him as he chases after more svelte models, and that it would be a never-ending cycle. His mouth quivers and his beautiful southern accent is accentuated as he asks, “Are you sure? After everything I’ve done? After all the people I’ve killed?” 

You held your breath while you thought about it for a long, quiet moment. “I am willing to fit into any spaces you give me since I am aware of your sharp edges and have seen your beautiful curves. Bring on the muck if loving you takes becoming filthy,” you said. “And right now, I’m pretty in love with you, if that’s okay.”

He leans it to place his lips to yours, kissing you with such fiery passion you had only ever dreamed or seen in moves and read about in romance novels. His lips were warm and soft. They parted slightly, allowing my tongue to slip inside. Your bodies pressed together heatedly, breathing heavily as our lips pressed together. You could taste your shared breath, and feel the thud of your combined heartbeats. And just like that, he did not crave the language he always thought he needed. The warmth and softness of his lips, the taste and scent of his breath, and the subtle movements of both of your tongues. But even though he couldn't say it out loud, it was undeniable that both of their love for each other was palpable. It was in the way you laughed together, the way you touched each other's hands, and the way you looked at each other. Pulling away, to cup your face, and just like that a hand reached backward into a faraway dream and said, “Come on then, we better catch up to Ellie.”

Moving to the rooftop of the building, Joel pulls the door open and you see Ellie happily observing the herd of giraffes. The rusty door squeaks as it shuts behind you, looking over the towers of giraffes walking around the greenery that has taken over the ruined city. You walk over to Ellie’s side, making her the center between you and Joel. The weight of family and the pull of gravity. It seems like growing up didn't take long, you were a family pulled from the flood, you tore the floorboards up and let the river rush in, not wash away.

You recognize the parallel to the first time you stood on a rooftop with Ellie and Joel, looking over the view of a ruined city to find some absolute answer to a world that seemed so hopeless. Joel places his hands on the ledge of the rooftop, and he gruffly asks, “Is it everything ya hope for?” You look at Ellie, her lips forming a little smile, “It’s got its ups and downs, but you can’t deny that view.” It set your hearts ablaze, and every city was a gift, every skyline was like a kiss upon the lips. Joel looks at Ellie concerned mixed with uncertainty, “Look, I don’t know exactly where this hospital is…” The teen’s determination is unwavering as she swiftly said, “Yeah, we’ll find it.” 

He releases a shaky breath, he feels his parental nature returning, “Sure. It’s just… Maybe there’s nothin’ bad out there, but so far there’s always been somethin’ bad out there.” Ellie shrugs, “We’re still here, though.” Joel nods, “I know. I’m only saying there’s risk.” Ellie looks away but Joel shifts his weight to lean closer, insisting, feeling a presentiment of losing her, “We don’t have to do this. I want you to know that.” Ellie turns to look at him with furrowed brows and a frown, “What do you mean? What else are we supposed to do?” To which Joel responds, “Nothin’. We just go back to Tommy’s. We forget the whole damn thing.”

“After all we’ve been through? Everything I’ve done? It can’t be for nothing,” Ellie replies evenly. “I know you mean well. I know you want to protect me. You have. And when we’re done, we’ll go wherever you want. Tommy’s, sheep ranch, the moon. I’ll follow you anywhere you go. But there’s no halfway with this. We finish what we started.” She finishes giving her a touching speech with clear-eyed dignity. After a beat passes, Joel reluctantly nods in agreement. It becomes clearer now, if you listen just right, you can almost hear it. The symphony of secrecy, life, the search for love, but finding fear. We could hold our breath forever, or maybe for a while. The best will surely come, until then you’ll feel nothing at all.

You three proceed to cut through an abandoned emergency medical center left over from the outbreak. You see the ruins of triage tents outside, and a brief moment of déjà vu creeps over you, remembering the makeshift facilities and tents from your universe during the outbreak. Some vines overgrow the poles of the tents, there are rotting medical supplies and vehicles. Taking it all in, Ellie wonders, “Was it a FEDRA thing?” Joel shakes his head, “No. Army. They put these places up all around, the first few days after the outbreak. Emergency medical camps. Obviously didn’t last. They had me in one just like this.” Ellie quickly assumes he had his daughter with him, “With Sarah?” 

You look at him concerned and afraid that he would begin to lash out in anger as a defense, but he doesn’t. Instead, he shakes his head in disagreement, “No, she was gone already. So what was wrong with you?” Joel points to his scar, “It was for this.” Ellie nods in realization, “The guy who shot and missed. I figured that would’ve happened later.” There’s a shift in his voice that you catch, “No.” He slows his pace to a stop, “Second day.” You stop to look at him but Ellie continues to talk, “I’ve gotta hand it to the Army people and Birdie. They are way better at stitchin’ you up than I was.” 

“It was me.” This causes Ellie to freeze and turn around to see the rise and fall of her chest falter. Your eyes begin to gloss over and sting and the thoughts seep into her head with a terrifying blankness. It was nauseating. Joel baldly confesses, “It was me,” he says. “I was the guy who shot and missed.” He then moves to sit atop a concrete barrier, while you and Ellie also move to sit beside him, “There’s no story. Sarah died. And I couldn’t see the point anymore. Simple as that. And I wasn’t scared, either. I was ready. I couldn’t have been more ready. When I… When I went to pull the trigger, I flinched. Still don’t know why.” The raw admission, of him opening up himself to you and Ellie shows how far you three have come. A great tremor took over your body, a tightening of your throat and a short intake of breath, you try and will yourself to not cry. “Anyway, the reason I’m telling you all this is…” Ellie cuts him off, “I know why you’re telling the both of us this.”

He nods, “Yeah, I reckon you do.” And you hold his hand to stop his thumb from fidgeting with his pointer finger, unsure if you were comforting him or yourself. To remind yourself he’s still here. After a moment of silence and uncomfortable realization, Ellie says, “So time heals all wounds, I guess.” Joel ponders for a moment, before deciding to openly admit how much he truly cares for Ellie and you, “It wasn’t time that did it.” He unwaveringly, and lovingly looks at Ellie and you, squeezing your hand as he does. For Joel, everything you’ve been through, all the pain and death, it’s worth it because he has a daughter again and now you. It brings everything together for Joel. He’s succeeded here. He cares less about Ellie’s potential for a cure and more about not losing a person he loves again. He, is once again, whole.

Ellie quietly lets go of the breath she was holding, “Well, I’m glad that… that didn’t work out.” Joel nods in agreement, “Me, too.” He wipes away the tears with his other hand and then moves to wipe away the tears that you didn’t even realize had streamed down your face. The teen awkwardly shifts to move off the concrete barrier you three were sitting on, “We should probably get going.” Joel automatically agrees, “Yeah.”

There's something about sadness that leaves you wanting more. A sickness that breathes… from holding on to letting go, like the feeling of change is almost like dying. You know from time to time that hope seems but a foreign land. A distance that you cannot reach and a language you cannot speak. In his words, the movement of his eyes, the expressions on his face, the rush of your walking. And through all the things you'll find out and will hold on tighter to the surface of life. Like a moth to the flame, we become helpless to the beautiful ghost that true love sheds.

You continue your journey to the hospital, Joel hasn’t let go of your hand as you walk side by side with Ellie, he then asks aloud, “You know what I’m in the mood for?” Ellie quizically wonders, “What?” Joel smiles as he responds, “Shitty puns.” She laughs and you smile at her delight, rummaging her pack to find her pun book, flipping through the pages she finds one and says, “‘People are making apocalypse jokes like there’s no tomorrow.’” Joel clicks his tongue, making a face in mock offense, Ellie smiles, “Too soon?” Joel shakes his head and smiles, “No, it’s topical.” Ellie lets out a giggle, “Oh, I love this one! ‘Moon rocks taste better than Earth rocks. Why?” The man next to you scratches his forehead before shrugging, then Ellie answer, “‘Cause they’re meteor.’” You smile in amusement while Joel shakes his head, “Oh, that’s terrible.” Ellie throws back, “Fuck you. That was actually good.” He disagrees entirely, “That’s a zero out of ten.” You laugh, “Oh, we’re giving grades now?” His southern accent is prominent as he replied, “Damn right darlin’.” Ellie laughs, “All right, all right. ‘What did the green grape say to the purple grape? Breathe, you idiot.’” Joel rates, “That’s a three outta ten.” But Ellie tries to bargain, “Seven, minimum.” He shakes his head but tries to meet her in the middle, “I’ll give it a five. Five outta ten.”

In the moments that you feel that you three are closer than ever before, the world drops out from under your feet. The sharp sound of metal from something behind you causes you three to turn your heads in alarm, spotting the stun grenade, Joel moves to shield you and Ellie, bringing you three crashing to the ground. There is smoke that hazes your vision, and the ringing in your ears is sharp and painful, the world around you is a blur. You make the muffled sounds of Ellie yelling for you and Joel, tall figures with firearms taking her and you away from him. There is always something there, to take your hearts like thieves, there is always something there. A painful strike to the head and it all goes white, to close your eyes, to end this chase while unraveling the most essential thread.

ST. MARY’S HOSPITAL, SALT LAKE CITY — DAY

You slowly blink your eyes open, you hear the steady beat of your own heart with the help of the monitor near the side of your bed, and you feel the plush pillow beneath your head, you feel the cotton of a hospital sticking onto your skin while you are trying to get an understanding of where you are. Next, the smell of familiar antiseptic and bleach fills your nostrils, you first spot that you’re hooked into an IV drip, moving your head to the door frame, you feel your eyes widen and they dart across the room to see Marlene. 

You can’t bring yourself to move, as you observe Marlene studying you, finally she says, “You’re finally awake.” You blink once, then again, before swallowing your fears, “Where’s Joel?” Marlene pushes herself off of the wall and uncrosses her arms, “He’s in another room, unconscious but fine. Patrol didn’t know who you were.” Your breathing hitches, “Okay, where’s Ellie?” Marlene replies steadily, as if practiced, “She’s fine. She’s not hurt, mostly worried about you two though.” You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, “You’re going to operate on her.” Marlene sighs, defeatedly she nods, “Yes.” You lick your lips as a nervous tick, “You also know that I’m also immune.” The leader of the rebellion nods again, and you close your eyes to shake your head, “She’s just a kid. She’s everything to Joel… to me. Don’t do the operation on her, take me instead.” Marlene shakes her head in disagreement, “I can’t do that.” You tilt your head to the side, “Why not?”

She heavily sighs, “Your immunity is different from hers.” You scoff, “The cordyceps that she had since birth, grow in her brain, sending a chemical messenger to tell other cordyceps that she is cordyceps. You’re going to have to kill her just to get that damn vaccine. So, just take the plasma from me, it might contain the antibodies that you need to fight the virus.” Marlene places both of her hands on her waist “I can’t let you do that.” Exhausted you frustratingly growl, “Why? This has been the center of debate for years. The fuckin’ goddamn Trolley Problem! Plow into a group of people or turn and hit one person. Forcing you to choose to let other people die, but the solution was so simple.” Marlene takes the bait and asks, “And what is the answer?”

“Sacrificing yourself. And right now, Marlene, I have that choice. Either to let you kill an innocent girl, someone who didn’t ask to be brought into this fractured world to save what little we have left, or save her and all of humanity… with me, someone who never should have been here in the first place.” Marlene hums, “Well, you’re right about one thing… you aren’t from here.” You look at her confused and someone familiar steps into your room, the dark hair, black eyes, his stature lanky and tall, you shakingly exhale, “Adam. How are you even… What?” Another Firefly soldier comes in to retrieve Marlene, whispering that Joel is waking up. She walks away with the Firefly soldier and leaves you and Adam to talk.

He clears his throat, “I’ve been looking for you, and it's been weeks since your apartment burned down with you going missing. Do you remember anything that happened before the fire?” You shake your head, “I remember going to sleep after watching… yeah.” He nods, “You had brought home your research without any of the lab researchers or staff knowing. Your apartment burned down along with the research. I thought it was a little weird since… they didn’t find your body or any indication of you being abducted so I did a little bit of snooping around your desk, found the flash drive of your existing equations and theories before they took it away for evidence, had a hunch you were successful with your research and that you were out there somewhere.”

You manage to let out a chuckle, “Thanks for looking for me… I thought no one would notice if I was gone. It’s nice to have a friend.” He gives an awkward smile, “Did you have to bring yourself into this specific universe?” You rolled your eyes with humor, “It wasn’t intentional, I swear.” He gives you a knowing look but doesn’t tease you any further. Your mind begins to linger on the question you had since you woke up, “Why won’t Marlene just operate on me? It would be the best solution to avoid the upcoming massacre.”

Adam frowns and sighs, “When I first came here to look for you, Marlene had found me and then recruited me to join the Fireflies, but I had told her I wasn’t fit to fight and that I’m a scientist looking for a lost friend in their universe. You could imagine her skepticism but she eventually believed me,” You have a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as he continued, “After we made it to Salt Lake City, I had said that if things were to change, if you were to sacrifice yourself, to take Ellie’s place, it would completely cause the boundary between two universes to erode, and collide, destroying one or both entirely.” You look up at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights hanging from above, “Let me guess, our universe is next to this one.” Adam nods, “I’m sorry. I tested the simulation before I got here… There are certain points that you can change but most of it stays the same.”

“Do you know how this ends?” You asked, he raises his eyebrows, “Which part?” You think to yourself before speaking again, “All of it.” He nods then loudly exhales, “Yes. It ends… in a selfish choice. A lie. But you already knew that why do you need to ask?” Unwaveringly, you stare him down, your voice stern and steady as you say, “Because I’m going to make my selfish choice too.” 

It was quiet for a moment, the epiphany kicking in and settling between you and your friend. Adam shifts his weight on the other leg before reaching into his pocket, showing you a small rectangular device, “I managed to figure out the wiring and transmission issue, as well as the power issue with crystalized radium, and stabilized it with other elements. So, I managed to create a portable version of the machine you had. We can go home.”

That is what you were looking for all this time, right? A way back home. Now it’s right here in your grasp, just in reach but you feel no joy. No overwhelming sense of comfort or excitement. Nothing. You swallowed and shake your head, “No.” Adam is taken aback by your answer, “What? But you… your life back home.” You shake your head disagreeing, “That was never my home. You and I both know that. I was already researching a way out of that place, somewhere far away, and now… I’m here, free, and loved.” He shakes his head, “You can’t change what was already written.” You give him a sad smile, “The future is always changing. And I’ll make sure of it.” Adam insists, “And if you can’t?”

You leave all logic aside as you breathlessly say, “Then… At least they don’t have to go through any of the next steps alone.” Adam sighs and waves the device, “What do you want me to do with this.” You raise your eyebrows, “Go home, Adam. Ali needs you there, and as for my research… burn it. All of it, destroy everything.” He disagrees with you, “What?! That’s your life’s work?” You blankly stare into his eyes,  “We aren’t ready for this kind of this discovery just yet. The world is moving so fast over there, if we don’t slow down, we’ll crash and burn.” He tries again to convince you to come home, to go back to the simple life you had before, “But…” You cut him off, “Remember what you told me? All disasters start with a scientist being ignored.” Defeatedly he tilts his head down, then nods agreeing, “Okay.”

You glance out the glass window of your room, there are Fireflies running down the hall, and from a distance the sound of loud pops and gunshots can be heard echoing, followed by yelling and thumping footsteps of Firefly soldiers. You turn back to look at Adam, “Listen to me, you need to leave right now. Burn all of my research. I want everything wiped out from the Cloud and every hard drive to be destroyed, all of it. But seriously, you need to go. Joel figured out what the hell was going on and will kill anyone who gets in his way. I don’t think he’s himself right now… so please just go… and take care of yourself and Ali for me?” Adam achingly smiles with tears in his eyes, “Goodbye and good luck.” With a push of a couple of buttons, followed by a flash of bright light, your only chance, a way back to your original universe was gone.

The sound of people screaming and dying was getting closer, the unmistakable sound of gunshots fill your ears and you feel a sense of dread creep through your bones. It is never safe enough to fall in love in this world. How easy it is to give the thing you want the most and punish you for it. But you’re smart enough to know, you can’t escape the truth of what you want. Every move we make will trigger another, and every small mistake will be a messenger. Your lives are weaving like a thread within each other, faithfully sharing in our joys and miseries and all that the world can give.

A firefly soldier tries to take cover in your room, essentially holding you hostage. You stay frozen in your bed as you observe Joel as he stalks over with an eerie calm expression, easily aiming at him, spraying him with bullets to take him down, and you don’t move as you watch him flick the switchblade open, the silver glimmering in his hand, brutally stabbing the soldier, he screams in agony before his eyes roll back, dead. He picks up the assault rifle from the corpse before standing and making his way to your bedside, a sharp contrast to what you had just seen, he leans in to kiss your forehead, “Hey, Sweetheart. They were tryin’ to take you away from me. Sorry I didn’t come sooner.” You take in the grime on his face, blood, and dust, lovingly gaze into his eyes and wrap your arms around his waist, “It’s okay. I knew you’d come lookin’ for me.” He breathes you in, and for a moment, he can ground himself with you hugging him tightly, close to him, but a dose of reality kicks in when he hears footsteps of oncoming Fireflies, he says to you, “Can you walk?” You nod, “The drugs that they gave me might kick in soon, but for now, yes.” He nods and helps you up while saying, “Let’s go get our baby girl.”

You feel the cold tiles of the hospital floor, wincing now and then over the debris and rocks, you accidentally step on. Joel shoots his way through, cold-heartedly executing anyone who dares and tries and gets in the way of Ellie. You know deep down he’s disassociated, disconnected from himself and the world around him. There is no sign of remorse in his eyes, only clear-cut focus and calmness you can’t quite place.

Eventually, you make it to pediatrics with Joel holding a handgun instead of the assault rifle. A sign points to where the surgery room is, as you walk through the hallway, you notice the different cartoon jungle animals painted on the walls, spotting another giraffe, the gentle giant that represented a holy moment of peace with Ellie. You press forward, slightly limping with the wounds on your feet as you two make it to the end of the hallway and into the operating room.

Joel quietly pushes the door open, spotting Ellie on the table, ready to be cut open and dissected. He then pushes the second door open to stand by the door, and calmly he says, “Unhook her.” The nurses gasp and the lead surgeon steps forward, “How did you get in here?” Joel doesn’t care to reply to his question, pointing his gun at him, “I said unhook her.” Before you knew what you were doing you loudly spoke, “Dr. Anderson. Listen to me, I know what you’re about to do next, the moment you fuckin’ pick up that scalpel blade, he will shoot you with no hesitation. He’s not himself right now. So, for your own daughter’s sake… don’t fucking move and let the nurses unhook Ellie.” He freezes, not expecting what you had just said, he looks between you two and Ellie, “We need to do this. It could work, we could have a vaccine. A chance to win.”

You shake your head, “Vaccines only work if there’s the proper distribution. A collective effort to try and solve this problem together. You have no resources to distribute it, even if you did it would take years to form collective immunity and then we’d have to figure out how to get rid of the infected. We have to share each other's work openly and efficiently. So that together we might achieve what we cannot achieve alone, collective immunity.”

Dr. Anderson takes in the information, the true meaning of your words but eventually settles on a decision, one that would have major implications in the future. He grabs the scalpel from the tray, and points it at you both, “I won’t let you take her.” There is no hesitation as Joel puts a bullet through his head, the loud gunshot causes both of the nurses to flinch and scream in horror. There is a flat tone in Joel’s voice as he says, “Unhook her.” The nurses have their arms up, shakingly cowering as his voice booms, “Move!” They do as they’re told, unhooking Ellie from the IV, blood drips down her arm, “Cover her arm.” Joel said and one of the nurses places a cotton patch on top of it. He then tells them to turn around, which all of them do with no question. As Joel carries Ellie out of the operating room, you quietly say, “I’m sorry. Tell Abby that I tried. But the moment she comes after him, I won’t hesitate to kill her.”

You leave and catch up with Joel who is carrying Ellie’s limp body in his arms, the elevator doors open, and you both step inside. You made mistakes and did a few things right. It will take what it will take, baby that's life, you cannot change what you do not own, everybody knows. But if you live deep and love strong you get pretty damn close. The elevator doors open to the basement of the hospital, and you both quickly spot a car ready to climb into to leave. As you quickly walk towards it, you begin to fade in and out, your energy spent and feeling the effects of the drugs they had given you prior.

“You can’t keep them safe forever.” Marlene walks out of the shadows with a gun pointed at you both, and you feel yourself slip further into darkness, you hazily hear the words from Marlene, “No matter how hard you try, no matter how many people you kill, she’s gonna grow up, Joel. And then you’ll die. She’ll leave. Then what? How long till she’s torn apart by Infected or murdered by raiders? Because she lives in a broken world that you could have saved.” Joel nods, “Maybe. But it isn’t for you to decide.” Marlene throws back at him, “Or you. So what would she decide? ‘Cause I think she’d wanna do what’s right because your girl over there was about to sacrifice herself to spare you both and save the world. And you know it. It’s not too late. Even now,” She tucks the gun away back into her holster, “Even after what you’ve done. We can still find a way.”

That’s when you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, your eyes roll back to your head, you feel your knees give out and your body comes crashing down to the floor. In this sea of change, understanding is our shore, you disappear with no control. The current is strong, your arms are weak. But you are the branch within his reach, though you cannot catch your breath. Joel isn’t able to catch you in time, and it’s as if the world had slowed down to watch your lifeless body crumple and shut down right in front of him and he’s never felt so powerless. He gazes down at you and then at Ellie, considering the rebel leader’s points, then he brings his eyes to Marlene.

ON THE ROAD, TO JACKSON — DAY

With his closed fists, he will feel like he’s succeeded. Outside of the walls of Jackson is an awful place as far as he can tell. You were victims of a constant loss, you three were not the enemy. He is afraid that his plans will lose their place. Maybe you all could hold your breath forever, or maybe for a while, knowing that the best will surely come like sunshine streaming down or the falling of rain. 

Through your sleepy eyes, contagiously bright, as you stir awake, you are now in the front passenger seat of a truck you do not recognize, stretches of tall trees whiz past your periphery as you slowly crane your neck to look at Joel, who is gazing at you with relief and a little bit of remorse. Slowly, you see it in his eyes. The landscape of being are endlessly competing, back and forth for an answer to existence that you can understand. Perhaps you’re looking far too closely, you can't see all the evidence in its entirety. The air in your lungs and the complexity of both of your love for each other and Ellie. But love travels like a rumor here, losing form with every ear, just a skeleton of something more.

Ellie stirs and starts to wake up confused in the back seat, “What?” Joel is quick to reassure her and says, “It’s all right. You’re with us. Take it slow. The drugs are still wearin’ off.” Ellie mumbles, “I was with the Fireflies, and then… what drugs?” Joel swallows down his guilt before steadily saying, “They were runnin’ some test on you and some others. Turns out there’s a whole lot more like you. People that are immune. Dozens of ‘em. And the doctors, they couldn’t make any of it work. They’ve actually…” There’s a small pause, a wavier in his voice as the flashbacks come back to him in a blur, “They’ve stopped looking for a cure,” he lies, and Ellie then asks him suspiciously, “Where are my clothes?” He fabricates another lie, “Raiders attacked the hospital. Barely got ya both outta there. We’ll find you two some new clothes on the way.” Ellie senses the bullshit, “Were people hurt?” Joel clenches his jaw before deciding, “Yes.” To which she asks, “Is Marlene okay?” His eyes get misty again as he drives, he can’t bring himself to admit the truth to her or spew out more lies, so he settles on something true, “I’m takin’ us home.” She turns over so he can’t see her face in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You sit there stunned at Joel’s lies and see the strength of his resolve. You turn your head to look at him to find him gazing at you as if asking, begging through his whiskey-doe eyes, imploring you to not tell her the truth right now. You have to trust him, he knows where he’s going. The unbearable weight of a hidden question between exchanging looks, “Will you follow me, still?” You close your eyes for a moment, and Joel nearly falters, readying himself for the fallout, but instead, you take his right hand, with your own, squeezing it with reassurance. Some truths, over time, can learn to play nice and some truths are sharper than knives. No matter what category you fit into, truth's got its sight set on you. The light that we hold must be buried to bloom. And in spite of the uneven odds, beauty lifts from the earth. You’re the deal that everyone breaks when you’re without him. Only love proves to be the truth.

3 DAYS LATER…

THE OUTSKIRTS OF JACKSON — DAY

After a couple of stops, grabbing clothes and shoes from abandoned houses and stores. The car that he stole from the Fireflies had broken down, Ellie sat in the driver's seat as she traced her arms of the bitemark of the first Infected she ever faced. You were leaning on the other car door, right beside her, before quietly showing your arm the bite mark of the Infected a few weeks prior. She looks up at you in surprise, “You’re also… Immune?” You nod, explaining to her the possibility of now having the antibodies to fight the cordyceps infection along with the speculation of the radiation you had. She dwells on that information for a moment before asking, “Did the Fireflies try and test you too?” You look directly at her, “Yes. I’m not sure it worked though.” The lie that falls off your tongue tastes sour, but she doesn’t pick up on it, sensing that there was enough truth in what you said. Joel loudly shuts the hood of the car, “Well, she got us close enough.” He looks behind him before walking towards you and Ellie, “We gotta walk the rest of the way. Probably a five-hour hike but we can manage that. Remember?” Ellie smiles at the memory of the good times of the journey, “Yeah.” 

You hike through the woods, taking in the earthly smell of pine trees and dirt. The forest resets in hope, with every crunch beneath your feet, and the two people you hold most dear to your heart. Joel brings himself to talk about Sarah, “You know, Sarah and I used to hike like this all the time. I wouldn’t say it was her favorite thing. She wasn’t a fan of the mosquitos and such. But she was a big climber, or scampering. That’s probably the right word. That girl, she’d see a big rock, and just…” He makes a noise with his mouth indicating that she would bolt right through the trees to climb it, “She woulda liked you and Birdie. Not to say you and Sarah are the same. Definitely different kids.”

Ellie asks, “How so?” Joel glances at her and says, “Well, she was a lot more, I wanna say girly. And I’m not sayin’ you’re not girly.” She shakes her head, “I’m not.” Joel agrees, “Yeah, you’re not. So that. She was taller. She had a killer smile. Again, not sayin’ that you don’t. But you know why I’d think she’d like you?” Ellie indulges him, “Why?” The answer was so simple, quick, and witty, Joel says, “‘Cause you’re funny. I think you would’ve made her laugh. Anyway, I bet you would’ve liked her back.” The teen next to you agrees, “Yeah, bet I would’ve.”

Eventually, you make it to the edge of the mountain top, looking over the view of the community of Jackson, and it is absolutely breathtaking. The breeze causes your skin to form goosebumps, and feel the tickle of the wind behind your neck. Joel takes a breath and says, “There ya go. Not much further now.” He continues walking and you start to follow but notice Ellie standing back, she calls out to him, “Hey, wait.” He stops and turns to face her, she curses, “Fuck.” Then takes a few steps closer to him, “Back in Kansas City, you asked me about the first time I killed someone. When I got bit in the mall, I wasn’t on my own. My best friend was there and she got bit, too.” Her admission causes her to falter a little bit before she says, “We don’t know what to do, and she says, ‘We can just wait it out, be all poetic and just lose our mind together. And then she did. And I had to… Her name was Riley and she was the first to die. And then it was Tess. And then Sam.”

You and Joel shook your heads, “That’s not on you,” he said and she tries to argue, “I know…” He cuts her off, “Look, sometimes things don’t work out the way we hope. You can feel like you’ve come to an end and you don’t know what to do next. But if you just keep goin’ you find somethin’ new to fight for. And maybe that’s not what…” Abruptly, Ellie speaks up, “Swear to me. Swear to me that everything you said about the Fireflies is true.” Joel doesn’t hesitate as he lies, unblinking as he replies, “I swear.” ​​She doesn’t believe him. She knows he’s not telling the truth. But she nods, and says “Okay.”

You hold his hand in support, and then it's just too much, to know that the streets still run with blood. So he tries to push it down, but it comes back faster and harder, tides are changing on a dime. And he’s just trying to keep his head above the water. Surrender's just a word, till you try it out and see how hard it is to hurt with someone else around, you. He’s the worst he’s ever been afraid of almost everything. The skies are clear but storms are always coming. Your gift to him is just to be bracing for the winds he always summons. His home, his heart, thank God you are someone who loves him.

End Notes:

Holy shit this took WAY LONGER THAN EXPECTED THATS ON MEEEE IM SO SORRYYYYY!

ARE YOU OKAY?? GIRLIE YOU GOOD? THIS NEEDS EDITING LATER BUT I HOPE YOU ARE ALL WELL AND YOU ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER! DRINK WATER! BREATHE!

Its was an ACCIDENT! I established in Chapter 1 that it was all vague and a mystery woOOoo bcs uhhh I don’t think I was supposed to already give that question an answer in the beginning of the series cuz why the heck would u still read this T^T Alsoooo cause you did trYYYyyy to but couldn’t (I.e Tess, Sam and Henry, you voicing out your protests to Kathleen, etc.) And as if you had any other option but to go with Joel, Ellie, and Tess to survive yk the Infected :,))

CONGRATS U MADE IT AND OMG YOU LITERALLY HAD THE CHOICE TO GO BACK TO YOUR OLD UNIVERSE BUT YOU STAYEDDD FOR LOVEEEEE HEHEHEHEH

The Birdie had bits and pieces of what happens in the game, and sHE TRIED TO SAVE THE DAMN SURGEON, but obviously, homie got shot in the head :)) So now she has to figure out a way to stop Abby without having the whole story OR INFOOOOO YAYYYYY

Even though you tried to tell him not to kill Marlene or the Doctor, that it would be the cause of his death. But he still did anyway, a choice that was already made the moment you both were ripped away from him. He was disassociating :,) which I relate to Joel bb

OKAY I MIGHT WRITE AN EPILOGUE BUT LOWKEY LET ME TAKE A NAP CUZ I’VE BEEN WRITING FOR ALMOST TWO DAYS STRAIGHT WITH NO COFFEE O_O

Anyways… AHEM… I LOVE ALL OF YOU SOSOSOSOSOSOSOSO MUCH! LIKE YOU HAVE NO IDEA. I give you hugs and kisses, and cookies for being so incredibly patient and sticking with me for my first-ever multi-chapter fic. CRAZYYYY.

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@memento-mora @elijahssuit @tartiflvtte @lillylilly2 @kyuupidwrites @amethystwonder11 @syd-vixious @kidkrow666 @soulofapatrick @ponyboys-sunsets @superflymaterial @chaotic-imposter @vainbimbo @eva-stark @loki-an-idiot @littleshadow17 @undermoonlightwalk @afternoon-evening @notmysunnydale  @slurmp69 @gyllord @aerangi @mac5323 @friskynotebook @earth-to-lottie @chaotic-imposter @kodzuvk @hawkins-2000 @reallysparklychaos @trust-dreamcatcher @darkened-writer @memeorydotcom @welcomebackfelicia @rainbowpitofdoom @omg-its-typical-aesthetics-fan @marvelsimpcz @dorck26 @evienorville @munsons-queen @little-miss-bi @mxltifxnd0m @ohjoelmiller @coalix @taestrwbrry @avengersheart @gyllord @valentine-babe@missdragon-1 @ponyboys-sunsets @ipadkidsworld @otternanamilolo @issybee0611 @technicallysassyfox @cupcakemachete @manuchyy @darkened-writer @andyrazzledazzle @glossythor @virtueassassin @witchy-jadda @imonmykneessir @norr1e @mando-bix @thicficbich1 @adoringanakin @lalla-04p @reallysparklychaos @hollywoodmariposa @mando-bix @lunatic1012 @davosmymaster

[arya-skywalker]

An Unexpected Alliance (Arcane fanfic)

Summary: Viktor has an unexpected visitor and helps her with a prosthetic. They bond over shared experiences and form an alliance.

Notes: A late entry to @arcanefandomweek ‘s Arcane Visions Week 1: Alliances. I need Viktor and Jinx to interact in season 2. Maybe they’d be friends. Maybe they’d just clash and collide. This is an exploration of how it might go. Inspired by a few trailers and promo posters, as well as some league lore; so beware potential spoilers!

Timeline wise… who knows? Just having fun with possibilities here.

TW: loss of limb, fictional drug (shimmer), cults, human experimentation

AO3 link

~*~

Viktor glanced up as a flash of blue burst into his workshop. Long blue hair. Jinx. Of course it was only a matter of time before she found him, whether he wanted her to or not. He set aside his tools and braced for the whirlwind.

She darted around the room, inspecting various prosthetics and chattering on about… something. He failed to see any train of logic, but she didn’t seem to be talking to him so he didn’t bother trying to decipher it.

“Please be careful not to break anything, some of these items are very fragile,” Viktor warned, before she could do anything too drastic.

Jinx turned to face him, eyes glowing purple. Shimmer. “Oh, there you are! Mr. Machine Herald! Almost didn’t see ya with all…” She gestured to the various parts and half-made prototypes surrounding him. He supposed his metal parts did blend in, but he rarely wanted to be found in the first place.

His gaze flicked to her left hand. Her middle finger was missing, the wound still leaking a mixture of blood and shimmer despite a crude bandage. “You’re hurt,” he blurted. “Let me help.”

She grinned. “I was hoping you’d offer! Can I get a cool upgrade? Like a giant middle finger with a laser or a blaster!”

“Let us start with the basics, hm? May I see?” he asked, holding out a hand.

She skipped over and slapped her injured hand into his. He winced in sympathy, then looked closer, taking a clean damp cloth in his free hand.

“How did this happen?” Viktor asked as he carefully removed the soaked bandage and cleaned the wound. He’d seen worse, it would likely be a simple fix.

“Stupid Piltie shot it off with stupid fancy gun. I could make a waaay better one!”

“A fancy gun, hm? What kind of fancy?”

“Oh something Hextech-y; it was glowing blue. But it didn’t explode, which is boring.”

Hextech. Jayce was making more weapons. It shouldn’t be a surprise, but still it stung. They both had failed to carry through on their promises. At least Viktor was trying to do good, but Jayce seemed to have fallen even further. Traitor.

“Hey, hey, easy on the grip!”

Viktor glanced back at her hand and loosened his grip. Something had to be wrong with the wiring of his hand to cause it to tighten so. “Apologies.” Then he cleared what remained of his throat and asked, “When did you last take shimmer? I am not judging— I have taken it myself— but it will affect how we continue, so please be truthful.”

“Hm? Oh! I don’t take it! Not like that, pfft no. The doctor did some funky experiment to save my life a while ago and I’ve been purple ever since!”

Viktor stiffened. “The doctor did this to you? Singed?”

“Yep!” Jinx nodded emphatically.

Another experiment. A human experiment. His gut twisted. Viktor knew Singed had done terrible things in the name of science. Shimmer was one of them, a double-edged sword. But this seemed a step further. Shimmer created within a human body. Had she become the new Rio? Gods, he hoped not.

Viktor shook his head. “Eh, anyway, would you prefer the prosthetic to be fused to your flesh or easily replaceable?”

Jinx tapped her chin. “Hmm… replaceable. That way I can make my own upgrades!”

“Understandable.” Viktor wrapped the wound with a clean bandage. The shimmer still in her system would likely help it heal faster regardless. He used the Hexclaw as an extra hand to make a few measurements and jot them down, then moved to find the necessary parts.

“Are you really all robot?” Jinx asked.

“Eh… not entirely.” He shrugged. “Perhaps eventually I will be.”

“That’s what your cult wants, right? The ‘Glorious Evolution’ or whatever?”

He scoffed. “They are not my cult. I do not ask for it, I do not want them following me.”

“I didn’t ask for mine either!” Jinx laughed. “Funny how that works. Just wake up one day and boom! Everyone dying their hair blue and begging for prosthetics!”

“Mm. These things are out of our control.”

“Don’t they listen to you?”

Viktor shrugged again. Mostly he avoided them and pretended they didn’t exist. “I have tried occasionally, but they find a way to twist my words to suit their purposes.”

“Mine would set Piltover ablaze for me if I asked,” Jinx said. “No one wanted anything to do with me before. My inventions never worked, or they exploded. I messed everything up.” Her voice cracked.

Viktor looked back at her, some small part of him softening. Another misfit, shunned by society. “No one really wanted me around either. I was a cripple and a foreigner. I spent much of my time away from my peers, but I preferred it that way. Someone I once knew told me that loneliness is the byproduct of a gifted mind, one of the few things he may have been right about. And sometimes we learn better from our failures than our successes, however painful it may be.”

Jinx’s eyes widened, staring at him. “Really?”

“It’s true.” Viktor hesitated a moment, trying to think of something else to reassure her. “I have seen your bombs. The design was very impressive, unique and effective. It was a challenge to defuse. You are very intelligent, Jinx. If you ever wish to put your mind to less destructive purposes, I would be glad to work with you.”

Jinx shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Here, watch.” Viktor pieced together a prosthetic finger, trimmed a bit to fit to her measurements. He attached it to a partial glove and held it out to her. Every step he explained, just in case she was interested. Perhaps it would help. “Try this on. It should fit underneath your other glove, if you wish.”

Jinx snatched it from his hand, looking at it curiously. “That’s it?”

“For a basic prosthetic, yes. As you said, you can make upgrades as you see fit. For now, try it on, see if it works.”

Jinx put on the prosthetic, and he guided her through a few tests to ensure it was functioning properly. Once she passed the tests, Jinx flipped him off with the prosthetic. “It’s perfect!”

“Good, I’m glad you like it. Is there anything else?”

Jinx was quiet for a few seconds, fiddling with the prosthetic. “Sevika said I could unite the whole of Zaun if I tried.” She looked back at him. “Hey, we should unite our cults!”

Viktor squinted at her. “Unite our cults?”

“Yeah! Make an alliance!” Jinx grinned at him.

“I have no interest in attacking Piltover.”

Jinx blew a raspberry like a child. “Boring! Why not?” She narrowed her eyes. “Because of your fucking Piltie? Your Hextech partner? The Golden Boy of Progress? Are you still on his side?”

Viktor exhaled slowly, the fans of his ventilator whirring. He had to be careful. Antagonizing Jinx and her cult would be a terrible idea. “This isn’t about him. I do not wish to fight anyone, on either side. I am a scientist, not a soldier. My creations are to improve lives, not take them. I am only wary of what such an attack would mean for the common people, on both sides. Wars rarely end well.”

He took a breath, continuing before she could interrupt, “Perhaps we could simply have a truce between us? You tell your cult not to antagonize mine, and I do the same. If any of your cult require prosthetics, I would be happy to supply.” He would help anyone who stumbled into his workshop or requested his assistance, but still it was an olive branch. Whether his cult would listen was another matter, but he hoped they would.

Jinx tilted her head to the side, seeming to stare straight through him. “That’s all you want? Nothing about your Piltie?”

“Jayce is mine to deal with. I would greatly prefer if you leave him alive.”

“I can kidnap him for you and bring him here!”

“That is not necessary.”

“But you’d rather he be kidnapped than killed, right?”

That was undoubtably a threat. Fine. Jayce would be safer with him than any chem-barons. Viktor inclined his head. “Very well. If the opportunity arises to capture Jayce without severely harming him, you may bring him to me.”

“Great! It’s a deal!” Jinx bounced to her feet. “I’ve got something of yours. You gotta have something of mine now! Can I paint on you?”

Viktor hesitated. “What would you like to paint?”

“Just some blue clouds and stuff. You know, the more hopeful version of my symbol.” Jinx brandished a blue paint pen. “You can’t wash it off!”

It could be worse. “If you must. Just.. nothing too extreme.”

Jinx grinned and climbed on top of his chair to get closer, drawing on his metal chest plate and over his shoulder. Viktor remained perfectly still, watching her work. Blue swirls and clouds and sparkles. He could pretend it represented Hextech if asked. Or perhaps it would be better to admit their strange alliance.

Jayce would hate it.

Viktor craned his neck as she moved towards his back, careful not to jostle her. “How much are you drawing?”

“What, change your mind? Gotta make sure everyone can see it!”

“I did not change my mind. I am only curious.”

“Hold onto your horses, I’ll almost done!”

Viktor went still and silent once more. It was only paint. Jinx’s graffiti was everywhere in Zaun, hardly anything drastic.

“Ta-da!” Jinx hopped to her feet with a flourish. “What do you think?”

Viktor looked over the drawings, trying to think of something complimentary. It wasn’t his style, but he had no intention of insulting her. “You certainly have an artistic flair.”

“Thanks!” Suddenly she was hugging him.

Viktor froze for a moment, processing whether it was an attack or harmless. If she meant harm, he would certainly be dead already. He awkwardly wrapped his arms around her. When was the last time anyone had showed him such affection?

“Careful, you might smudge your drawings,” he said, half a joke.

“Don’t worry, it dries fast.” A moment later, she pulled away. “Well, see you around!” With a playful salute, she was gone.

Viktor watched her go. Emotions were strange illogical things, but perhaps it was not all terrible.

[oh1thehorror]

Wrote a silly little fic about my best girl Ito and the trans experience :P I also wanted to explore the friendship between Jekyll and Ito, and Rachel and Ito.

This thing is filled with scientific and historical inaccuracy; it’s not a source of information, it’s a story. But I hope you enjoy because I enjoyed writing it ^^ ♥️

Category: Gen

Fandom: The Glass Scientists (Webcomic)

Relationships: Dr. Henry Jekyll & Virginia Ito, Rachel Pidgley & Virginia Ito

Characters: Virginia Ito, Rachel Pidgley, Dr. Henry Jekyll

Language: English

Word count:3,184

Summary: This won’t do, at all. She needs to investigate a solution to this feeling, naturally. Maybe if she can pinpoint the exact source of perplexity and worry, she can go about systematically and logically eradicating it? Yes, logic always works to help her calm down, just solving the problem like it is a maths equation or a chemical reaction can work wonders.

Wait. A chemical reaction?

//

OR Virginia Ito does some research- with the help of her two friends, Henry and Rachel. She also learns about acceptance along the way.

Can I prick your finger for science? (For self discovery?)

Ito doesn’t know what’s wrong.

She feels it; with every fibre of her being, brutal and cold, hugging at her shoulders and arms and stomach and legs, but she doesn’t know what it is. She’s been scrutinising it in the mirror for at least 10 minutes now- she’s wasting precious time when she should be studying- and she still can’t quite place her finger on it.

After all, there is no way it can be that same feeling of dread she’s been feeling for years, every time she looks in the mirror. No, it can’t, because she’s got long hair now, and everyone calls her Virginia, and ‘she’, and her life’s amazing because she can go out in amazing dresses.

But when she strips it all away, and stands with only soft linen covering her body, she feels something wrong. It makes her shameful, and a hint helpless, and she can’t stop looking at all the things wrong with her body.

Oh. It’s back. It’s stalking her. It’s not going away.

Which is honestly so rude of this feeling, curling itself dully in her stomach, trying to make her feel horrible about her body. How dare her mind play tricks on her and tell her she isn’t a woman? when she’s so clearly standing in front of the mirror, with shoulder length hair and a soft smile and a closet of warm colours that skirt her ankles.

This won’t do, at all. She needs to investigate a solution to this feeling, naturally. Maybe if she can pinpoint the exact source of perplexity and worry, she can go about systematically and logically eradicating it? Yes, logic always works to help her calm down, just solving the problem like it is a maths equation or a chemical reaction can work wonders.

Wait. A chemical reaction?

Of course, if the source the feeling stems from is this uncomfortableness in her own skin, is the doubt that she is really a girl because she looks like a boy beneath the layers of cotton and padding, then the solution would be to modify some part of her to change that, would it not? And is the human body not just a cluster of chemical reactions? Surely there was something organic that meant she was born this way, with spindly arms and a disappointingly flat chest, and differentiated her biologically from, say, Rachel? Right, and in such a case, all she would have to do is understand this compound to manufacture it artificially, and, in theory, once she’d prevented the compound in her body right now that made her look this way, and replaced it with said compound, it would work?

It seems too far-fetched, and Ito is a chemist, not a biologist. But then again, a society for rogue science seemed too far-fetched and yet here she was. What could she truly call impossible anymore?

//

“Doctor Jekyll?”

“Please, call me Henry.” He smiles at her, calm and practised, that same smile he’d given her the day he took her hand and led her to this palace of wonder. “Can I ask you a question?” She starts, looking up from the old notes he’d shown her, staring at him across the phials lined in metal on the table, one or two bubbling with some mediocre experiment she’d sought after to keep her excitement momentarily distracted.

“Of course you can, Ito.”

“You’re a biologist, right?” She approaches the subject cautiously, like she’d learnt to over the years, after the rejection and disgust of her own people, frowning in some places over her conduct towards the incoming topic, of the eagerness to change into something they thought her not. But they are gone now- and despite England itself being so uninviting too- something tells her, maybe, she can find peace here.

“I have studied biology and medicine, this is correct.” Henry raises a tentative eyebrow, as if contemplating her words, and what she may ask of him.

“Well…I’ve been thinking.” Pause.

“This is the perfect place for that, go ahead.” His ease relaxes her shoulders slightly, but there’s still the edge of fear about what he might do when she next asks, “This is an absurd topic,” Ito prefaces hastily, nerves getting the better of her.

“We’re rogue scientists, I’m sure it’s not too absurd.”

“But, say a..if a man wanted to appear as a woman- likewise, a woman wanted to appear as a man- and by this I mean, sound like, feel like, look like; is there, hypothetically speaking, some sort of biological chemical which differentiates the two and could potentially be…replaced?”

Henry studies her face carefully for a moment after she’s finished speaking. She cannot bring herself to meet his eyes, lest she find disgust or anger there like she had so many months ago, but she is certainly aware of his measured movements, of the stiff way he gives her his full attention and places his hands on the desk. Hot shame flushes her cheeks and regret roils inside of her, threatening to tear open her heart.

But then, respite, as he sighs softly. “Yes, I suppose.” Henry explains carefully, taking a seat opposite her. It’s all Ito can do to keep her breath from catching and her hands still. She glances up at Henry (mentor, kind of saviour, friend), and studies his eyes for a moment or two to find no hate all- surprisingly- just confusion and some concern.

“Biologically speaking, development of gendered characteristics begins when a child comes of age- when their body begins producing amounts of substances called hormones. Female hormones produce the desired effects of a woman’s body and emotion. Male hormones produce a deeper voice, more hair, a difference in emotion- anything that is different between me and you, is different because of the levels of each of these chemicals in our bodies. However, Ito, there is not much more I can tell you about them. They are a fairly new discovery, with very little knowledge surrounding the subject.”

Silence befalls them when Henry finishes talking, and Ito thinks on his words for a while. Soon, the atmosphere grows awkward, stiflingly so, and she can feel the way Henry’s gaze worries over her with healing curiosity.

“Forgive me for asking,” he clears his throat, voice stilted, weary. “What sort of research do you plan on undergoing?”

“I’m studying change.” Ito replies, somewhat uneasily.

“Change how?”

She panics, glancing away and racking her mind for the best way to explain. So far, and by his reaction, Henry has in no real way given her reason to worry at all, or let the feeling of her stomach roiling with fear latch itself to her. It infects her now, though, like growing disease, and she really dreads her downfall if she so much as opens her mouth.

“My hair wasn’t always this long.” She murmurs softly, a hand instinctively hovering near her hairdo. She meets his eyes begrudgingly, if somewhat fearful, and begs him silently to understand what she means. The last time she said it out loud, a world seemed to end.

Henry opens his mouth as if to press further, ask again because he didn’t quite understand. But then, she spies understanding dawning in his eyes like resolute kindness, and he nods gently, some semblance of a reassurance playing the smile on his lips. Something eases in Ito’s chest, like the world has lifted its fear from her shoulders.

“I see.” Is what he says next. “I won’t pry. But..” He looks like he’s contemplating something for a moment or two. Ito holds her breath, waits for ‘but I wouldn’t want you in the Society anymore’ or ‘but such conduct is improper and you’ll always be a male beneath it all.’ What she gets is; “You’re safe here. And so is your secret with me, if you want me to keep it.”

“Please do.” She answers hurriedly, anxiety still ebbing at her skin, she’s so sure her ears are deceiving her.

Again, Henry gives her a nod and that smile. “For what it is, you are a really courageous young lady, Virginia. And I’d hate for anyone to harm you so, if you find yourself ever in trouble, please don’t be afraid to speak to me.”

Ito lets out a shuddering breath at that, and the last whispers of panic fall away like snow sliding from glass. Henry’s smile is genuine, and that seeps out into his words, the way he looks at her like he means what he has said. Ito cannot seem to comprehend it, but at the same time, what is there to imagine?

“Thank you.” She feels something like tears blur her eyes and wipes them away hurriedly. ‘Lady.’ She seems to realise belatedly, as she sits there and looks at him. ‘He called me a lady.’ Her heart skips a beat, and then Henry chuckles slightly, getting up from his seat and returning to his work. “You’re very welcome, Virginia. I wish you the best of luck in your research and change. I’m sure you’ll do some marvellous things.”

Previously, Ito had convinced herself- ever since that fated day she left Japan and never looked back at the faces of the ‘family’ who hated her- that she would not rely on the validation of others for her comfort or happiness; that she was a woman no matter whatever anyone said or did or called her. She still retains that sentimentality, of course, but Henry’s words loosened something against her heart.

It felt good to be seen for who she really was.

//

Her mentor’s words had left her puzzled, she will admit. The substance she was looking for certainly existed biologically, but contemporary discovery meant that there was very little information on it, despite her searching for hours in local libraries for any type of biological papers on the topic. It made Ito somewhat distraught and her patience thin in some places, but the prior feeling of dread that had her so disgusted with herself had dulled down to manageable, so at least that was a plus.

Her excitement had been insatiable so that she sprung to work as soon as she could, grabbing her cloak and making for the libraries on foot, after she’d assessed every book on human biology available within the Society itself. The walk had served another purpose too; Henry’s reassurances had left her head reeling oh so delighted, but paranoia had followed it and some good old, polluted air was in order to clear her thoughts.

It hadn’t done much; perhaps given her space for a few epiphanies, none of which she could really claim because most of her walk was just the numb thought of hiding herself, of the way Henry had reacted with the most genuine attitude, of whether or not he meant it at all and she was truly safe.

This was proving quite difficult. Perhaps it would be safest for her to fall back on that mentality; if Jekyll did tell the other Lodgers (she doubts he would, inside, he’s too kind-), and they all gave her difficulty for it; well, it wasn’t new to her, was it? Would it hurt like her ‘family’? She doubts it, with how new this all is to her. Alas, no matter their reaction, she’d stick to her ideology through the thick and thin of it; once it came down to it, Ito didn’t need anyone to love herself.

As she traverses the hallways of the Society, back up the winding steps to her laboratory, she spots Henry midway to her room, walking somewhat briskly. For a moment, Ito is shocked (she’s not sure why; he is the leader of this place, after all- it’s only natural for the man to be working), but then she regains her composure and he waves warmly at her. “Good afternoon, Virginia. Is your research going well?”

“Well, not…I don’t have much information.” She replies, trying to avoid stuttering as her thoughts slot appropriately and calmly back into a coherent fashion. The way he treated her, his words, the distinct calmness in his voice of speaking to a friend made it impossible to think that she had worried over him betraying her like that. He did, after all, vow to her safety. (Who's to say he’ll be the only one like this? Is there good to this world?)

“Then you get your own information.” He reassures, and Ito’s mind stills, focuses solely on her project. He’s right; this is her passion and she won’t spend it worrying away about the possible perceptions of herself from others. “Is that not what rogue science is?” She finishes, not missing a single beat.

Henry smiles at her. ‘Yes.’ She thinks. ‘Acceptance is possible.’

//

Exasperated, but with newfound energy, Ito pushes open the door to her lab, fingers already coming up to frantically undo the broach holding her cloak around her shoulders.

She hisses in abrupt pain as something pinches her finger, and when she draws back, there is red beading at the very tip of her forefinger. It seems she was too frantic, because now she is bleeding lightly.

Ito rolls her eyes, sucking on the blood flow to stop it whilst she hangs her cloak up. Then, she walks over to her desk, arrayed with notes and the stray pages of copied out biology papers, a few phials nested amongst them.

Hold on. Blood.

She draws her finger back expectantly, and frowns down at it for a moment before something clicks. Of course! Blood transports every substance in the human body one way or another, and therefore must include hormones. The logical solution would be to study the reactions of human blood to distil it and gain a better understanding of the substance hidden within it.

Ito takes a clean phial and holds it under the running drip of her pricked finger, letting some of the liquid gather enough so she can test it.

Now, she wonders; will blood from other people breed the same results as her own?

//

“Rachel!” Ito calls out, hurrying down the corridor as she spots the day manager, strolling about. Rachel looks up with a confused squint of her eyes, and then smiles when she clocks Ito’s excitable figure walking towards her.

“Hello Virginia, I trust your day is going well.”

“Why yes, thank you. It quite is; it’s going fairly better because you’re just the person I need right now.”

Ito swears Rachel looks a hint nervous at her words, something red at her cheeks. It’s only faint. “I see. What would you need me for?”

“Can I prick your finger?” Ito asks, without quite thinking it through, far too excited about the breakthrough she’s looking for. If Henry’s previous words are anything to go by, to study the differences between what makes a female and a male, she’d need a sample or two of blood that wasn’t hers. And Rachel had been one of the kindest people to her since she’d arrived. And this really didn’t seem like a crazy request. Nope.

Mmhmm.

Oops.

Rachel gives her a weary look at this, eyes scrunching slightly at the corners. She seems slightly taken aback and yet not too surprised. “You want to prick my finger? For?”

“A blood sample; I’m researching something.” Ito beams, trying not to let embarrassment consume her, though she’s sure her cheeks are burning scarlet.

“Well,” Rachel blinks, and it seems to fall into place, now. Perhaps she was used to this sort of request from the other Lodgers? “I certainly prefer that wording…what are you researching?”

“Change.” Ito replies as easily and steadily as she could. She’s not wrong; it’s what she’d told Henry. But she doesn’t quite want this to escalate like that conversation had- not yet at least. Not from paranoia or anxiety but…she doesn’t know. It’s ok.

“The changes in biological structure.” She finishes, explaining away the blush on her cheeks somewhat proudly. Rachel chuckles softly. “I see. Well, yes, I suppose you can prick my finger.”

Ito gives a nod of thanks. “But Ito, please, next time just ask for a blood sample.”

Virginia blinks owlishly. “Asking someone to prick their finger is so much more fun.”

Rachel rolls her eyes in mock annoyance but there is no real hint of the emotion there.

Ito’s heart flutters at the encounter. With time, she finds that perhaps, she can tell Rachel.

//

“Henry…” Ito greets her mentor, one morning over a cup of tea, with the sweetest smile she could possibly muster because she’ll be very close to figuring this out and cannot contain her hope. Also, because she loves making Henry confused but unrelated.

Henry lifts an eyebrow in confusion. “Virginia?” He prompts cautiously, placing his teacup back on its saucer. The ceramic clinks against itself. “I have a request.”

“This early in the day?” Henry huffs lightheartedly, “What would you like?”

“Can I prick your finger? For science?” Ito doesn’t give herself time to hesitate, holds up a finger innocently in demonstration and stares Henry down.

He stares back, eyes wide in half suprise, but honestly, what was he expecting? “Pardon me, please rephrase that?”

“I would like a blood sample…for my research.” Ito elaborates, sheepishly shrugging her shoulders and lowering her hands.

“Well,” Henry sighs, his familiar smile making home on his lips. “Certainly an odd way to ask.”

“You and Rachel are no fun.” Ito informs him as he goes back to sipping his tea.

“Yes, yes. You can have a blood sample, Miss Ito.”

//

Ito is sure she’s spent more time than strictly necessary and healthy in close proximity to her desk, writing out notes and observations, so much so that it’s maybe the early hours of the morning.

Her lab, and herself, right now, are not the prettiest of things they could be; dyes staining the cuffs of her dress shirt- she’ll keep this one for experiments, she supposes; table scattered with filter parchment and observation reports; frantic notes scribbled into her book in hopes of her groundbreaking discovery.

She is right on its door- so much so that she can feel the end of her days dreading her dress, or her hair, or the mirror. It’s at her fingertips now, with distilled blood smeared over pages and dyed to identify the substances.

She’s pinned the chemical structure, the slight differences between female and male. The blurred line in between is tangible. Anything like this is tangible, truly: all she needs is the correct chemicals, varying amounts of carbon and water and phosphates, the make-up of her wants.

What she’s really missing is none of that; just to scrutinise it long enough until all her pieces fall together in the puzzle, slot into a wider picture and give her the right scope.

Bingo.

‘Well,’ She thinks, as it all lines up and the melody flourishes with the final shift in view and recipe. ‘This- change- is who I am.’

Ito smiles. It’s maybe the widest she’d ever smiled. She can’t wait to tell Henry.

[topguncortez]

A Little bit of Science | Over the Rainbow Series

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Dragon & Rooster Masterlist | Opposites Attract Masterlist

✧ synopsis: The Bradshaws decide to take the next step into becoming parents.

✧ word count: 1.2k

✧ warnings: pregnancy, IVF, medical jargon, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of stillbirth, PTSD

When Rooster and Dragon first started their journey into parenthood, they didn’t mind that it was taking longer to get pregnant. Their careers were both taking off since becoming a permanent fixture on North Island. Dragon was taking all the missions that fell into her lap, and Rooster was enjoying his time teaching future TopGun pilots. Rooster was proud that she had gotten promoted to Lieutenant Commander, and was one of the front runners for captain. He was right behind her, getting promoted about a month after. 

But now their careers were starting to settle out a bit, and their friends were focusing on having families. Dragon and Rooster decided to start on their own, but were met with harsh roadblocks that neither one thought would happen. Rooster at first, thought it was something wrong with him. But after numerous doctors appointments and tests, it had been determined to be another cause of PCOS, something Dragon had been plagued with from a young age. 

Dragon’s leg bounced relentlessly as Rooster sat in the chair beside the exam table, as calm and cool as ever. He flipped through some parenting magazine, occasionally letting out a hum of interest. Dragon hated how calm he was during these appointments. She hated his ability to just sit back and read magazines or play Candy Crush on his phone while they waited. But he wasn’t the one being shot up with needles and having to lay back and spread his legs. Dragon rolled her eyes as Rooster let out another “hmm” and flipped the page. 

“You’re too calm,” Dragon said. 

“And you’re too nervous,” Rooster said, closing the magazine and leaning over to look at his wife, “I can feel it honey, this is our time.” 

“And what if it isn’t?” She asked, looking down at the thin paper covering that hid her exposed lower half. She wore the same itchy paper gown like always. Rooster folded her clothing neatly and put it in the seat beside him. They had gotten good at this, and created a sort of system so Dragon didn’t feel too exposed while getting ready for her doctor, “What if it doesn’t take?” 

“What if they do take?” Rooster said and Dragon rolled her eyes again. 

“This is our 3rd round, Bradley,” Rooster grabbed her hand, and squeezed it. When they started their IVF journey, they were grossly misinformed on how hard it was going to be. Their very first round had ended in a failed transfer due to a cyst on Dragon’s ovary. The second transfer had been successful, but ended in a stillbirth at 24 weeks. Now, they were trying for a third time, hoping that Doctor Miracle lived up to her name. 

“I don’t have that many eggs left, and I don’t think I can stand going through all this again to get nothing,” Tears started to spring into her eyes and Rooster moved quickly to wipe them away. 

“Hey, hey,” Rooster said, “We have other options, okay.” 

Dragon looked down at their conjoined hands and let the silent tears fall down her face. Another thing that they don’t talk about with IVF, is the fear after failure. Dragon, so badly, wanted to try again, but fear had taken over her body. Rooster did his best to try and maintain optimism for her, but there was no greater enemy than one’s own mind. 

“I can’t ask that of my sister, or of our friends,” Dragon said. Phoenix and Val had both offered to be a surrogate for them if needed. Dragon felt so overwhelmed with their offer, and turned them both down. Pregnancy was no easy feat on the body, and she felt like she couldn’t risk them to carry a baby for her. 

“There’s more than just that,” Rooster said.

Dragon let out a sigh, “Sometimes I wish I was normal. Could’ve done this the. . . right way?” 

“The right way?” 

“Yeah, you know. . . natural conception,” Dragon gestured to the poster on the wall that depicted how sperm traveled through the uterus in search of an egg to fertilize. 

Rooster looked at it and scoffed, “Well then explain Jesus? Mary was a total virgin and shot a kid out of her.” 

Dragon rolled her eyes laughing at her husband, “That’s the immaculate conception. I would take that over having to do . . . all this.” She waved her hand around the exam room. 

“Hey,” Rooster kissed her hand, “Sometimes, you need a little science to make something amazing. Ain’t nothing wrong with that. You aren’t any less a mother because of it.” Dragon smiled and nodded at her husband’s words. He always made sure that Dragon understood that she was a mother. Even though their babies weren’t living on the earth with them, they were still parents to two beautiful heavenly babies. 

Rooster pressed a quick peck to Dragon’s lips as the door opened and Doctor Miller, aka Doctor Miracle walked in, a bright smile on her face. She had come highly recommended from Dragon’s usual GYN. Doctor Miller took on the tough cases, on the cases that most doctors wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. She usually specialize in geriatric pregnancies, but she had a soft spot for Dragon and Rooster. 

“Okay,” Doctor Miller said and set her laptop down on the counter beside her. She radiated with a warm vibe that Dragon sometimes hated. She reminded Rooster of his mother in some ways, “I am very, very hopeful about this. We took 14, out of the 32 we had left. We fertilized all of them, and we had 10 successfully split.” 

“That’s good,” Rooster said, and looked over at his wife, “We haven’t had that many.” 

“I know,” Doctor Miller said, “After the first 2 weeks, we currently have six, ready for transfer and insemination.” 

“Six?” Dragon said hopeful, “Th-that’s a lot,” 

“I know, it’s a lot,” Doctor Miller said, “We’ll still start with the implantation of two embryos, like we have been. Are you ready for this? There’s a possibility you could be pregnant with twins-” 

“Or none,” Dragon muttered and Doctor Miller smiled sadly. Rooster reached for his wife’s hand and squeezed it in his own. 

“I don’t like to give false hope to patients so I don’t,” Doctor Miller started but turned on her laptop, “These are your recent labs, all your hormone levels are within the normal range, and if you stay on the prenatals and hormone inducers. .  . I am very hopeful.” 

Dragon nodded and looked over at Rooster, “Okay. I’m ready.” 

The Bradshaws scheduled the transfer for a week from now, giving Dragon enough time to prepare for the next chapter in their lives. It was terrifying as she laid awake that night, a hand on her flat belly. Rooster rolled over on his side, slinging his arm around her waist and pulling her in close. A smile ghosted her lips as his hand found hers, and intertwined their fingers. Suddenly, there was a fuzzy feeling in Dragon’s chest as she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. She could see from the soft glow of the nightlight by his side of the bed, as a lazy smile rose on his face. 

“Luh you, honey,” Rooster mumbled. 

“I love you too,” Dragon whispered and turned her head back to the ceiling. She slowly drifted off the sleep and dreamed of what their future child would look like.

taglist: @princess76179 @bradleybeachbabe @yanna-banana @xoxabs88xox @milestomaverick @startrekfangirl2233 @caitsymichelle13 @peakascum @seitmai

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✧ note: I plan I posting more Opposites Attract in the next couple weeks! I have a Bob & Bea fic, A Phoenix & Cerberus Fic, and of course more Dragon & Rooster :) Send in requests if ya got 'em!

[voidmountain]

@piratedllama I can but you’re not going to like it!

Void’s guide to getting a job in conservation

My story

My educational credentials: BAs in philosophy and creative writing from a big cheap state school, and a PhD in English literature with a specialization in environmental humanities from a small private R1. Couple years as an adjunct professor.

I trained my entire life to be a literature professor. It’s all I ever wanted. By the time I was finishing my doctorate, I had a very limiting belief that I was either over- or underqualified for any job outside academia. I was wrong.

By the time I made the decision to leave academia, I had published 2.5 peer reviewed academic articles and several magazine pieces. I also had about 5ish years of part-time communications consulting under my belt from helping run the writing center at my institution. I got a part-time social media/SEO management gig, and then used a grant to fund a comms internship at a local environmental nonprofit. Then I straight up just applied to jobs at conservation orgs on LinkedIn at a rate or 5 per week for about 6 months. I was looking for jobs in communications and education. Landed a couple interviews then got a position as a comms manager. My islander heritage ended up being relevant too bc I have a cultural insight into the regions where the org works. I’ve worked here for about a year, mostly wfh desk stuff, but I like to tag along to projects so I can take pics/do interviews/help with fieldwork/coordinate community meetings & info sessions. I still have a publishing career on the side, with 2 new articles out and a book manuscript in the works.

I do not recommend doing it this way lol.

What I would do instead

Conservation orgs have room for people with all kinds of backgrounds and expertise. If your goal is to have a job similar to mine, get lots of writing and science communication experience. Be able to show that you’ve built impactful campaigns and learn your way around SEO and communications terminology. Start with internships/social media, try and get some experience working with journalists, and have a nice portfolio of campaigns (easy way to start is an awareness campaign for a particular policy or science issue). Other creative experience is a plus (photography/graphic design/web design/UI).

Fieldwork is not that hard to get into. You can get field experience as an undergrad by working in research labs or volunteering. From there, lots of conservation orgs in your area are probably looking for volunteers or part-time workers to do field monitoring. TBH you don’t really need a degree to get into fieldwork, but the ceiling is kind of low without one. With a BS you can work your way up through an org probably to a manager level position where you could lead a field team but not direct a program. Generally, without a MS or PhD, you won’t be designing programs—just carrying them out, which can be really rewarding. You can also make lateral moves towards things like project management—coordinating supplies, transportation, methods, and problem-solving stuff.

Other ways to get into the field: orgs often contract out conservation tech companies to carry out specialized operations, like aerial monitoring and bait distribution. Getting a license for like a heavy-lift drone, an ROV, or boat stuff can also get you in the thick of it.

If you want to design and direct conservation programs, unfortunately you probably need to go to grad school. I can write up a separate post about how to decide whether to pursue an advanced degree if people are interested, but my general advice is Never Enroll In A Masters Program. Either do it as a 4+1 with your undergrad or go straight for the PhD. That’s where you’ll get experience designing your own experiments and contributing to the sum of conservation knowledge.

Extremely important caveat

You do not have to do any of these things in any particular order. It’s totally cool to work in the field for a couple years before going back for the PhD. You also do not need to link your education to your job (god knows I didn’t). My side hobbies of wildlife photography and scuba diving made me a great candidate for the job I eventually got, and they didn’t have anything to do with my degree or original career path. There’s also a million other jobs that conservation orgs have that don’t involve having a science background at all—HR, finance, admin, philanthropy, consulting, & policy analysis are huge parts of this. So are other jobs that aren’t *within* conservation at all, like journalism & social organizing.

A lot of folks I meet out here in the conservation world are on their third or fourth careers. It’s very, very normal to switch it up, try many things, land somewhere, leave, and pick up somewhere else.

All this to say: the world is really, really big. Don’t feel pressured to take the shortest most linear possible path. There are a million ways to have a good life.

[avatar-anna]

Hi! I don’t know if you take requests or suggestions so I’m very sorry if this is crossing a line, but I wanted to say that I’d love to read about how Harry told his friends and family about professor. Especially after I read that one about Harry working on Matilda and Mitch not knowing what’s going on with him. Again, I’m sorry if this is crossing a line 🥹

no lines crossed at all!

I think in the aftermath of Professor and Harry falling out, his friends and family could tell something was wrong, but he wouldn’t open up to anyone.

AND THEN when a year later he’s suddenly much happier seemingly over night, everyone’s truly baffled. They notice he’s on his phone a lot and he’s suddenly taking trips to New York, and maybe Jeff catches a heart next to a contact name, but he thinks nothing of it because when could he have possibly met a professor?

There’s probably a group chat that Harry isn’t a part of where they all theorize what or who has him in such high spirits again, but they come up empty.

It isn’t until Harry’s tour in the UK starts that he finally introduces Professor to everyone. It’s the night before the Manchester show, and everyone is at Anne’s house, and Harry’s running late (because he just has to show her all the places he spent growing up), so everyone is already gathered together when the two of them walk in hand and hand. Harry is all smiley as he leads her into the house and introduces her to each person there. “This is Dr. Y/n Y/l/n, my girlfriend.”

And of course Professor is nervous and shy and worries about saying the wrong thing, but when Harry keeps calling her “doctor” she nudges his arm and tells him he doesn’t need to call her that.

“Would you let me show off, please?” is all he has to say to that.

And the whole house is quiet in absolute shock. They all knew that Harry was more than likely seeing someone, but they didn’t quite expect Professor. His friends and family know his dating history, and she doesn’t exactly fit the bill. None of them dislike her, they’re just surprised he’s holding hands with someone like her.

Gemma is the first to speak, seeing that his brother’s girlfriend is fully aware that no one is saying anything, and she can see Professor tense with each passing minute. So she just loops her arm through Professor’s and asks, “So are you a medical doctor?” And when Professor explains that she’s a professor at Columbia (she hasn’t moved back to Cambridge yet), Gemma says, “And you’re with him?”

Harry frowns, but he’s immensely grateful on the inside because his sister was easing the tense set between Professor’s shoulders.

Professor, of course, sometimes has a hard time detecting sarcasm, so she takes Gemma’s question seriously and says something like, “Yes. He’s very kind,” and to Anne she says, “You raised a remarkable person.”

The atmosphere shifts a little after that, and everyone wants to get to know the person who stole H’s heart. Harry’s there the whole time so Professor doesn’t feel ambushed, but she never does and is just as eager to get to know his family.

There are moments throughout the night where everyone is kind of just stunned by Professor. Like at one point there’s a conversation happening and someone jokes, “It’s not rocket science!” And Professor super casually just says, “You know, I’ve studied aerospace engineering and astrodynamics, and I found other fields of science much more difficult, but I suppose rocket science sounds more challenging than physics.”

Harry chuckles because he understands her humor at this point, and he finds it cute that of course rocket science comes easy to her, but the room is once again consumed by silence until someone asks, “What, exactly, do you have a doctorate in?”

She rattles off her degrees and a little about her background, but not too much because she doesn’t like diving into how she’d been practically forced to learn a lot of the stuff she knows early on.

Once again, everyone is kind of confused as to how Professor and Harry met, and possibly even what they talk about when they’re alone together. They’re so different from each other, how on earth do they work?

But Anne can see it, because a mother always knows. She notices how Professor’s hand is constantly reaching for Harry’s, or how she catches Professor gazing at Harry and blushing before looking away again. Professor is absolutely smitten, and one look at her son tells Anne that he feels the exact same.

Funnily enough, I think Professor gravitates the most toward Mitch. Professor loves to learn, and while Mitch doesn’t appear like the academic type, he’s very talented in his field, and she loves to pick people’s brains about what they’re passionate about. And she’s drawn to his quieter disposition (and possibly the fact that they’re the two Americans in a group of British people), and she probably sits and talks to him the most outside of Anne.

Professor knows she could probably deduce every detail about these people’s lives with a few glances, but she tries not to, wanting to get to know them organically, though when she mentions her field of teaching to someone, everyone is immediately like, “Like that show! Can you tell what color socks I’m wearing or some shit like that?”

Harry wants to put an end to that before it begins because he knows Professor doesn’t like feeling like a circus act or source of entertainment, but she just smiles behind her glass of wine and says, “Maybe.”

In Harry’s opinion, the night couldn’t have gone better, and as he and Professor are leaving his mother’s house, everyone tells him how much they like her and how happy they are for him. He can’t contain his grin because while he knew how incredible Professor, he’s over the moon that other people see it too. I think more than anything, Harry wants to show Professor that there are good people out there who don’t see her as a freak or only see value in her intelligence. He wants so badly for his family to become hers, if only because she deserves to be loved by more than just him. She deserves a family.

And she doesn’t tell him, but Professor thinks she found one in his.