#academic gibberish

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

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This might be funny if it wasn't pipelining pure toxic excrement into the waters of our knowledge-making institutions.

It's all fake. But now it's cited and treated as legitimate when it still isn't and never was. This is a form of corruption and fraud.

[studentbyday]

So. I downloaded a bunch of journal articles that were linked to a news article i read aaaand i really really wish they named their pdfs with the title of the article instead of whatever this is:

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

no doubt ── s. jy

↳ summary ── struggling to balance a world tour, endless responsibilities, and...well, the sting of getting dumped by his girlfriend, jake finds peace & comfort confiding in you—one of his closest friends. what begins as lighthearted late-night phone calls while he's away on tour deepens into something more, quickly pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. as your connection with jake intensifies, so does your inner turmoil—torn between the comfort of your easy relationship with him and the terrifying possibility of falling for someone you're not even sure you can have in the first place. but jake? jake has absolutely no doubt of what he wants—and spoiler alert? it's you.

↳ pairing ── jake x f!reader, [ft. childhoodbestfriend!jungwon, bestfriends!enha]

↳ genre ── idol!jake, friends to lovers!au || angstttt, fluff, crack

↳ ✎ᝰ. 23.7k [never beating the allegations of getting too attached to my works and having too much fun writing i fear...]

↳ contains ── angst! very angsty but only after a lot of fluff...the cheesy cringe type but then it goes downhill real quick...but happy ending i swear!, mentions of insecurities, maybe one or two curse words, fic starts with jake dating og character named jenn, the use of pet names, jungwon practically plays therapist, jake is absolutely whipped for reader but is terrible at communication and a certified idiot . also jungwon is reader's best friend so the beginning sets up the context for that lolz

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── she's DONEEE [do u hear me crying in the background]...so some backstory lore abt this fic—basically two years ago i had a dream about the ~angsty scene~ of this fic and ever since then, i've had this itch of putting it into words. and when i finally decided to do it, no doubt came out and i thought it was literal fate since the lyrics match the vibe so well...don't tell me it isn't fate guys :') anyways..this is a little different than my typical writing style even though of course i had to include summm crack..but i am still nervous abt how it came out so i really really hope you guys like it :') thank u for all the support and love always <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

You and Yang Jungwon were literally born to be best friends.  

Like, there was no other option.  

Your mom? Their high school's poster child for academic perfection—top of her class, president of every club imaginable, a certified teacher's pet.  

Jungwon's mom? Their high school's unofficial social chair—life of the party, karaoke queen, probably responsible for half the faculty's headaches. 

Nothing alike. 

So naturally, of course, they were inseparable. By their junior year, they'd already started planning their futures together, including one very specific and totally realistic goal that all teenage girl best friends make when they're young:  

"We should have our first kids around the same time and force them to be best friends!"  

"Oh my gosh, yes," Jungwon's mom agreed enthusiastically. "Like, we'll make them share everything! Matching outfits, playdates, joint birthday parties!"  

But what your moms didn't realize as they were giggling over the playful promise that probably didn't hold any meaning to them at the age of 17? 

The universe was taking notes.  

So fast forward a couple decades later, and there you were, baby best friends from birth, fulfilling the shared dream of your mothers—the true puppeteers in this scenario.  

All your moms had to do was execute their promise as planned, but the rest of it? The rest of it was easy.  

You and Jungwon clicked before you even knew what words were, communicating in a series of shared giggles and unintelligible baby noises. By the time you turned two, you were finishing each other's sentences in your made-up gibberish language, and by preschool, the bond was unshakable. 

You two—just like your moms—were inseparable.  

By high school, everyone knew you were a package deal—where you went, Jungwon followed, and vice versa. So, when he announced your sophomore year that he was leaving to compete on a televised idol survival show, you were, understandably, skeptical.  

"Are you sure it's not a scam?" You had asked, rolling lazily around on his bed while he scrambled around his room, packing his bags.  

"It's not a scam," Jungwon laughed, carefully folding his clothes. 

"Did they ask for your social security number?"  

"Y/N."  

"Exactly. I'm just saying—if you end up on one of those exposé documentaries about fake talent shows, don't say I didn't warn you."  

Despite your teasing, you knew how much this meant to him. Jungwon had been dreaming about being in the music spotlight since he figured out how to work a karaoke machine at the age of six.  

So when he eventually did make his debut with his group, you weren't surprised at all—it was inevitable, written in the stars, just like how your friendship with him was.

What did surprise you, though, was how seamlessly you got roped into his new world.  

Sure, Jungwon's life got infinitely busier overnight, but there is no universe that exists in which he'd forget about you—his non-conjoined twin, ride-or-die, and ultimate life-long nuisance (his words, not yours).  

And so naturally, you became an honorary member of this new life of his. The boys' practice studio might as well be your new home—the endless days camping out on the floor of their dance studio with your head in your textbooks while they drilled their choreography for the hundredth time proved that. Or maybe how you crash on their dorm couch so often that Sunoo coined you your new nickname: their unofficial eighth member.  

Which brings you to now: a marketing major by day, unofficial idol by night, and, as always, a certified magnet to chaos.

Case in point? Whatever madness was happening around you at this exact moment.  

"Okay, but hear me out," Heeseung says, gesturing dramatically with his pizza slice—one of many scattered across the coffee table everyone was sitting around. "Pineapple is the perfect combination of sweet and savory—"�� 

"It's a crime against humanity," Sunghoon cuts in. 

Tomorrow? The boys leave for their five-month tour.  

Tonight? Tonight is tradition: the pre-tour pizza bash.  

Naturally, it's chaos, as no one has bothered with the last-minute packing they're supposed to be doing.  

Not a single bag is packed.  

"It's fruit on bread," you scrunch your nose, taking a bite of your own normal pepperoni pizza. "This isn't dessert, Hee."  

"Thank you!" Sunghoon reaches across the table to high-five you. 

From the couch behind you, Jake chuckles and nudges your back with his knee, "Big talk coming from someone who claims pickles belong on everything."  

"Uh, because they do," you whip your head around to glare at him. "Pickles are versatile."  

"Versatile my ass," Jungwon mumbles from his spot beside you. "I love you, but you're deranged."  

"Look who's talking, Mr. 'I-put-hot-sauce-on-everything'," you shoot back, eyes narrowing at your best friend. Everyone chuckles from around the table at your dramatic, yet endearing, overreaction. 

"Hot sauce is different," Jay chimes in without even looking up from his phone. "It's an enhancer."  

"Pickles enhance flavor too!"  

"By making everything taste like vinegar," Sunoo deadpans from your other side. "Gross."  

"Whatever," you roll your eyes. "You're all uncultured."  

"And you're a menace," Jake quips from behind you, his voice dripping with amusement. You don't even have to turn around to see the smirk on his face—you can hear it loud and clear. 

"Careful, Sim," you say with a sly glance over your shoulder. "Keep talking, and I'll start adding pickle juice to your coffee."  

The room fills with laughter, but before Jake can fire back, his phone buzzes aggressively against the couch. You watch him glance down at his screen before his playful smile instantly fades.  

"I'll be right back," Jake mutters, getting up and heading towards the kitchen without another word.  

You frown as you watch him disappear around the corner, the sudden shift in his mood gnawing at you, and you can't help but wonder what's gotten under his skin. 

After a few more minutes of heated debates over pizza toppings—and yet another round of everyone ganging up on your weird pickle obsession—you decide it was time for a drink refill.  

Excusing yourself, you step into the kitchen, only to find Jake leaning against the counter, his arms crossed and gaze fixed on the empty wall in front of him. His phone sits abandoned on the counter, screen dark.  

"Jake?" You call out softly, approaching slowly. 

Your voice breaks through his haze, his expression flickering as he registers you standing in the doorway, your brows furrowed in concern.  

"What's going on?" You ask, moving closer to stand in front of him.   

"Nothing," Jake says too quickly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

You give him a look and he knows that you know he's lying, "Jake.."  

He exhales, his expression crumbling as he runs a hand through his hair, "Just...Jenn called."  

Ah. Of course. Jenn.  

You almost flinch at the sound of the name, the weight it carries instantly souring your stomach. Jake's on-again, off-again girlfriend of two years was a constant source of heartbreak—not just for the poor boy, but for the entire group who helped pick up the pieces of his broken heart after every messy break-up…and even messier make-up.  

"She broke up with me," Jake admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "For real this time. Something about me leaving for tour and how it wasn't going to work out."  

Your heart hurts at the sight of him in front of you—shoulders slumped, hands nervously twisting the hem of his shirt, as if trying to distract himself from the conversation.  

"Oh, Jake...," you murmur, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as you lean against the counter next to him.  

"I'm fine," he insists, waving it off, but the expression on his face clearly betrays him.  

"No, you're not," you say, trying to catch his eyes. "And that's okay."  

Jake lets out a shaky breath, finally looking up from the ground to look at you, before shrugging, "I don't even know why I’m surprised. We've been...really off for a while now. Like, more than usual. But still, it sucks."  

“Of course, it sucks," you nod, agreeing softly. "You guys were together for a long time. You cared about her."  

For a moment, the two of you sit in a heavy silence with an unspoken understanding, the only sounds coming from the muffled chatter and laughter in the other room. You stay close, letting him process without pushing further.  

Still, you can't entirely suppress the annoying flare of emotions bubbling in your chest—a tangled knot of sympathy and…something else. Relief, maybe? Not that you would ever wish any sort of pain on Jake—but you hate the way Jenn always leaves him like this: drained, doubting himself, and trying to piece together what went wrong, where he went wrong. 

"Come back to the living room," you say finally, nudging his side gently. "Ni-ki is freaking out over which hoodies to pack. And I swear, they're all the same black hoodie."  

Jake lets out a small, tired laugh, "You don't need me for that. He's gonna end up packing all of them, just watch."  

"You don't know that," you tease. "Besides, I need someone's back up to help me convince him he's not actually going through an emo phase."  

His eyes carry a faint smile as he looks at you, the corners of his lips lifting just enough to remind you of the warmth he usually carries.  

"Okay," he says in a whisper, pushing himself off the counter.  

You start towards the doorway, forgetting about your drink refill entirely, but his voice stops you.  

"Y/N?"  

You turn to find him still standing there, his eyes filled with warmth and appreciation.  

"Thanks," he adds, a small smile on his face. It's such a simple statement, but the way he says it—soft, sincere, and maybe just a little desperate—makes something twist in your stomach. "For just...always being here."  

You smile back up at the boy, "Of course, Jake. I'll always be here for you. You know that."  

For a moment, he holds your gaze, as if taking a mental note of something. Then he nods, his shoulders relaxing.

"Okay," he says, exhaling as he gestures toward the doorway. "Let's go.”

You follow behind the boy back to the living room, silently hoping he knows just how much you mean your promise to him.  

Jake's body is on autopilot at this point.  

Another city, another show, another string of flashing lights and deafening cheers. It's a month into tour, and the endless loop of responsibilities has left him no room to just breathe.  

And he loves this life—he really does. But tonight, for reasons he can't explain, the adrenaline that usually keeps him afloat isn't enough. Pure exhaustion lingers in his bones, heavier than the applause and screams echoing in his memory, and he just can’t seem to shake it. 

When his head finally hits the stiff hotel pillow, Jake exhales with a heavy sigh. The city around him is alive, the neon lights brightly dancing against his windowpane, but he feels none of it. 

Instead? He just feels the weight of homesickness and the ache of being alone. 

Normally, he would push through, shove these thoughts into the back of his mind, call it a night. But tonight, the ache feels different—sharper, louder—and before he knows it, his phone is in his hand before he can talk himself out of it, his thumb hovering over your name on his screen. 

A familiar battle wages in his mind, one he’s been battling more recently ever since tour became a little heavier on him. Slowly, the quiet yearning has been creeping in, and he’s been missing home more and more, craving the feeling of familiarity. But it isn’t just the physical places or the comfort of his regular routine that he craves. 

It’s something else, something harder to name. 

And for some other reason he can’t seem to explain, he thinks it’s you. 

Jake doesn’t know when it started. Maybe it was hearing the sound of your voice through the phone whenever the guys called you to check in every now and then. Or maybe it was the way you would text in their shared group chat, your messages always tinged with humor or a sense of calm that somehow made everything feel a little less overwhelming. 

Whatever it was, it stuck with him. He finds himself craving that unexplainable comfort only you seem to bring. He tells himself it’s nothing special, just the natural pull of familiarity. You’re back at home, the place he misses the most, so obviously, through association, it makes sense. 

It’s logical. Nothing more. 

That’s what he tells himself as his thumb hovers over your name. It’s not about you specifically—it couldn’t be. It’s just the connection to home. The grounding warmth of your voice. The way you somehow make the distance feel a little less suffocating. 

Obviously. Nothing more. 

He presses call.  

Two rings. That's all it takes before your voice cuts through all the static in his head. Groggy, soft, and achingly familiar. Like home.  

"Jake? It's late, is everything okay?"  

Jake glances at the clock. 10:13PM where he is. Much later for you, he imagines. Guilt stirs, but...  

He doesn't want to hang up. 

Hearing your voice feels like the first breath of air after surfacing from deep water. He instantly feels more comfortable despite the heaviness in his chest.

"Hey," he mumbles, his voice quiet. "I'm okay. Just...needed to hear a friendly voice, I guess."  

"Wow, are the boys that bad that you need to call me?" You tease warmly, despite the sleepiness lingering in your words.  

Jake chuckles, the sound low and tired, "Nothing against them, really. It's just...sometimes you need someone who reminds you of home, you know?"  

The other end of the line goes quiet for a moment. He can hear you shuffle, and he braces himself for a teasing comment about him being sappy and sentimental. But instead, your voice softens.  

"Well, I'm glad I could be that for you," your voice telling him you're smiling brightly on the other side of the screen. "Though if I had a private jet, I'd send it right now. Bring you back instantly."  

"A private jet, huh?" Jake's eyes flutter close as he's engulfed into the usual, playful rhythm that's always there between the two of you. "You'd do that for me?"  

"Only if you bring back goodies, preferably snacks," you quip back, and the warmth in his chest grows.  

There's another pause, the kind that feels comfortable rather than awkward. Jake shifts in his spot and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “How do you do that?”  

“Do what?” 

“Make everything feel...lighter. Like, I can’t explain it, but just hearing you makes me feel like I’m not carrying all this stuff by myself.” 

Your voice softens at his sudden vulnerability. 

“Because you don't have to carry it all on your own, Jake. You know that, right? That’s what friends are for."  

Jake hums in response, a low sound of acknowledgement as he keeps his phone pressed close, your voice instantly soothing the heavy emotions he's been carrying. 

"You sound exhausted," you say after a beat, your tone cautious but filled with genuine care. "How are you holding up? With everything—the tour, the...break-up, just...you?"  

Jake lets out a low groan, his fingers brushing through his hair. "You sound like my mom."  

"Well, someone has to," you tease lightly, a relieved laugh slipping into your voice, as if you'd been afraid you overstepped. "Seriously, Jake. Are you doing okay?"  

Jake hesitates, the question catching him off guard. He hadn't let himself think too much about Jenn or the breakup since leaving for tour a month ago. The boys knew better than to bring it up, and Jake had been grateful for that—for the distraction.  

But now, with you, it feels different. 

Safer, easier. Natural.  

“Honestly? I don’t know,” he sighs, the sound heavy through the phone. “Some days it feels like I’m fine, like I’ve moved on, and other days...it’s like I’m stuck in this loop of ‘what ifs.’ Like, what if I did something different? Or..."  

He trails off to a pause, his throat tight, before he finally admits to you, and himself, "...what if I just wasn't enough?"  

“Jake,” you say gentle but firm, cutting through his spiraling thoughts. “You are enough. You've always been enough. Jenn...she just wasn’t the right person for you. That doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.” 

He swallows hard, your words settling into the cracks he didn't even realize were there. 

"Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. It's just...hard, you know? Haven't really talked about it since it happened. But talking to you helps—a lot."  

“I’m glad." He can hear the quiet sincerity in your words. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing an amazing job. With tour, with...everything. You've got this, Jake. I’m really proud of you.”

Jake lets out a breathy laugh, the warmth in your words settling something in his chest—a knot he didn't even realize was there. 

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” 

“It’s a gift,” you easily reply, and he can hear the grin in your voice, the easy banter making him feel lighter.  

"I missed this," the words tumble out before he can stop himself. Then he quickly adds, as if to explain himself, "It's weird not having you around. The boys are great and all, but you give the best advice. Don't tell them that."  

You giggle on your end, the sound making Jake's lips curve into a small smile and his heart twists.  

In both a comforting and terrifying way. 

"I miss it too," your voice quieter now. "But I'm here. You know that, right? Even if you're on the other side of the world, or if you call me at four in the morning like you're doing right now."  

Jake lets out a chuckle followed by a sleepy groan, "Sorry about that. But...thank you, Y/N. For picking up."  

"Always," you reply, and he hopes you mean it.  

A beat passes. Jake knows he should hang up, that he should let you sleep. He tries to convince himself that you need the sleep more than he needs this call.  

But he can't help himself.  

"You'll yell at me if I don't sleep, won't you?"  

"Absolutely. Go to bed, Jake. Or at least try. Zombie mode doesn't suit you."  

"Fine," he sighs dramatically, but his eyes feel heavier and he knows he's falling asleep, the tension in his body from before easing away. "But only because you scare me sometimes."  

You laugh. "Good. Now get some rest. And call me whenever you need to, okay?"  

"Okay," he mumbles into his phone quietly, his mind already slipping into a deep sleep. 

"Goodnight, Y/N."  

"Goodnight, Jake."  

"Don't you have a bedtime, Sim Jaeyun?" You tease, answering the call. The clock reads 1:27AM, and you should be asleep—you really should—but you smile anyways when Jake's name appears on your screen.  

"Bedtime? I don't know her," his voice slightly groggy, but as usual, still warm. "Besides I knew you'd be awake. You don't sleep like a normal person either."  

You roll your eyes, knowing fully well he can't see it, "Yeah, well, I don't have to dance around a stage for two hours tomorrow."  

"True, but you do have to deal with my constant calls and keep me entertained. That's way harder."  

"Oh yeah, obviously," you say with mock seriousness. "Being your emotional support human is a full-time job." 

“Emotional support human,” Jake repeats, chuckling softly. “You’re right. I guess I really owe you, huh?”

“Oh, 100%,” you shoot back, a grin in your voice. “I want one of those tour hoodies you guys keep posting with.” 

“Done. What size?” 

"The oversized one."  

Jake pauses. “Let me guess—so you can sleep in it?"  

You hesitate, suddenly sheepish at how he knows you too well, “Hey, it's only cozy if it's oversized!"  

You hear his soft laugh on the other end of the line. 

“Cute. I’ll make sure to steal one for you.” 

You try not to overanalyze the way your stomach flips at the word cute, and the easy way he says it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.  

You shake the thought off immediately. This wasn't new, after all, Jake's always warm and easy to talk to. But lately—over the past month of phone calls—the way he says certain things, the tone he says them in, and the way they make you feel? It carried a weight you weren't sure how to hold.  

In both a comforting and terrifying way.  

“So, how was your day?” you suddenly bring up, trying to redirect your thoughts. 

"Tiring," Jake sighs, his voice muffled as he shifts around in bed. "And Jungwon keeps beating me at Mario Kart during our break time. My pride is in shambles, Y/N."  

"Let me guess," you smirk, repeating his words from earlier. "He picks Yoshi, and you keep picking Toad because you think he's underrated."  

"Excuse me," Jake scoffs. "Toad is underrated. But, for your information, I choose Toad because your go-to character is Toadette."  

Your heart does that stupid flip again. His words are light—I mean, you guys are talking about Mario Kart for god's sake—but it's stuff like that that keeps you questioning the true meaning behind his words.

You ignore the feeling, instead, a laugh bubbles up in response, an attempt to sound unaffected.

"You're so weird."  

“But you like it,” he quips, voice dipping just slightly, like he’s testing the waters. 

You're caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone, but you recover just as quickly. 

"Debatable."  

“Liar.”

His tone is teasing, but there's something softer behind it, “You wouldn’t still be on the phone with me if you didn’t like me at least a little.” 

“Maybe I’m just bored,” you shoot back, though your cheeks are burning at his sudden forwardness, questioning if he’s serious or just messing with you. 

You hear him hum in response, "Then I guess I'll have to work harder to keep you interested."  

“Oh yeah? How are you planning to do that?” You try to match his teasing tone, but internally, you feel unsteady under the implication of his words. 

“By being my usual charming self, duh,” he says, his voice dropping into a smooth tone. “And, you know, calling you every night so you don’t forget about me.” 

Your heart squeezes. "You already do that, stupid. You think I'd forget about you?"  

“Never,” Jake's reply is immediate, almost instinctive, leaving no room for doubt. “But just in case…I like hearing your voice. Makes me feel like I’m not a million miles away.” 

His words linger in the space between you, heavier than the playful banter from earlier. You swallow hard, trying your best to keep your voice steady. 

“You’re not a million miles away, Jake.” 

“Feels like it,” he murmurs. You hear a pause in his voice, as if he's thinking hard about his next words. “I miss home. I miss...you." 

Your chest tightens, and your hands grip the sheets beneath you, as if the fabric could somehow ground you. Your heart is doing that thing again—the erratic, terrifying thing that makes you want to believe in something you're not sure is even real.  

And at the same time, your thoughts are scrambling to say something lighthearted before the conversation steers into that dangerous, dangerous territory you were sure you weren't ready for.  

Not yet.  

"Well, you better win at least one round of Mario Kart for me while you're out there," you force a laugh, trying to mask the tremor in your voice.  

Jake laughs, the sound genuine, "I'll try. But if I lose, just know I'm dedicating every race to you."  

"Wow, I'm so honored," you try to deadpan, but he can sense the grin in your voice.  

"You should be," his voice softens again. "Thanks for picking up tonight, by the way. I know it's late."  

He never fails to thank you every night, as if you haven't been picking up every day for the past month and won't be picking up tomorrow, and the next day...and the day after that.  

And, somehow, the same, genuine appreciation makes it so hard for you to ignore that weird, warm, fluttering sensation growing inside you every time you talk to him.  

But, regardless, you always give him the same reply: 

"Always," your voice matching his softness. "Call me whenever, okay?"  

"Don’t say that," Jake warns, the teasing edge creeping back into his tone. "I'll actually do it."  

"Fine," you giggle. "But if you call me at four in the morning again, I'm putting my phone on Do Not Disturb." 

"Deal." He pauses, then adds, "Goodnight, Y/N."  

"Goodnight, Jake."  

As you hang up, you stare at your phone for a moment longer than you should have, your room feeling oddly quiet and too empty without his voice.  

It's just another call, Y/N. Just another call between two friends.  

But deep down, a part of you tells you it isn’t that simple anymore.  

And maybe—just maybe—he knows it too.  

“Are you busy?” Jake’s voice sounds more tired than usual, heavy with an overwhelming amount of tension. 

“Never too busy for our calls,” you easily reply without hesitation as you lay back in your bed, phone close to your ear. Your voice is light, a stark contrast to the weariness laced in his, and when he doesn’t respond with his typical chuckle, you immediately sense his mood. “Hard day?” 

He exhales slowly, the weary sound answering your question. Today was a lot. Hours of rehearsal followed by a concert, the adrenaline rush of performing, followed by the chaos of having the guys’ hotel information leaked. Crowds of paparazzi and fans swarmed the entrance, the relentless flashes of cameras breaking through whatever little pieces of calm he had left within him. The noise, the pressure, the endless cycle—all spiraled into a mental mess he doesn’t seem to shake. 

The second he settled into his hotel room, all Jake knew was that he needed to talk to you—the one person who could steady his racing thoughts. 

"I just...I didn't think this would get to me, you know? The cameras, the people, the flashes in my face—I'm just—it's like I'm never alone."  

Your heart twists at the vulnerability and rawness in his voice, as if he’s admitting something for the first time—not just to anyone else, but to himself. 

"I—I don't know. Sometimes I wish I could just disappear, just for a little while. Just to breathe, you know?"  

You close your eyes, your grip on the phone unconsciously tightening as if it could anchor him somehow.  

"I know it's not the same," your voice steady, even as you internally ached for him, "but...you can disappear with me, Jake. Even if it's just through the call. No cameras. No noise. Just...you and me."  

He lets out an exhale—shaky, but relieved.  

"You're really good at this. Making me feel like it's all gonna be okay."  

"Because it is going to be okay, Jake," you reply softly. "You're not alone, Jake. Not with me."  

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, and he wishes more than anything else in this moment that he actually was with you. “I know.” 

"Jake," you groan, sitting cross-legged on your bed, staring at the flustered boy through your laptop screen. "I'm begging you—just wear the black jacket. It's literally impossible to mess up black."  

"But what about the beanie?" He whines as he pops back into view, his face scrunched up in genuine distress. "Do you think I can pull it off, or will I look like I'm trying too hard? Be honest, Y/N."  

What started as a simple fashion-advice-question over the phone turned into a two-hour wardrobe emergency—all because Jake couldn’t figure out what to wear to the airport the next day (because, apparently, airport fits matter—his words, not yours).

"Jake, you could wear a literal trash bag to the airport and fans would still lose their minds," you tease, biting back a laugh. 

He rolls his eyes at you, but the smile tugging at his lips says otherwise.  

"Okay, but seriously, you’re trying too hard. Just go with the jacket, no beanie," you add on, just to end this two-hour long madness.  

"Hmm," Jake plops on his bed and turns towards his phone camera, and you swear you can see the pout forming on his lips. "But I already posted a preview of the jacket last week. Isn't that, like, repetitive?"  

"Jake,” you blink at him, "it's an airport. Not a fashion show."  

He stares at you for a beat, then lets out a dramatic sigh, "Fine! Jacket, no beanie. But if I see even one criticizing comment calling me basic, I'm blaming you."  

You laugh, shaking your head at his ridiculousness, "Deal. Now go to sleep, Sim Jaeyun."  

His grin softens as he adjusts the camera to fully look at you, pout gone, eyes glistening.

"Only because you said so."  

"Hey," you say softly, answering the call as you snuggle deeper into your blanket, letting it engulf you completely.

The familiar sound of Jake's quiet breathing fills the space between you, and before he even says a word, you already know.  

"Rough day?" You ask gently when he doesn’t say anything after a few seconds. 

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice quieter than usual, almost drowned out by the low hum of background noise. "I just...I don't really feel like talking right now, if that's okay."  

"Of course," you reply without hesitation, your tone gentle, no questions asked.

On the other end, Jake presses the phone closer to this ear in an attempt to feel closer to you, instantly feeling better from your pure understanding of how he’s feeling, and he thinks—not for the first time—that you might be his favorite person in the world.  

The warm silence engulfs the both of you like a shared blanket, unspoken yet understood. You can hear the faint echoes of his surroundings: the muffled laughter of the boys somewhere nearby, the distant honk of traffic outside his hotel, and then the quiet shuffle of Jake shifting positions in his hotel bed. You catch his breath catching slightly, like he's finally allowing himself to relax—to just be.  

You don't try to fill the silence. You know that he needs this—a moment of peace in the chaos. Instead, you similarly press the phone closer to your ear, as if doing so can somehow bridge the miles between you, hoping he can sense your presence reaching out for him. 

Minutes pass like this, and for a moment, it’s so quiet you begin to wonder if he's falling asleep. But then, a deep exhale breaks the stillness.

"Thank you, Y/N," he says finally, his voice low but steady, carrying a weight of sincerity that makes your heart clench.  

"You don't have to thank me, Jake," your voice matches his softness. "You know that."  

"Still," his voice is low, so quiet, it feels like a secret meant only for you. "I appreciate you. More than you probably know."  

You smile to yourself, your heart aching in the best way possible, and you desperately try your best to ignore it, no matter how much excitement it brought you. 

"Always, Jake." 

“Tell me something about you that I don’t already know,” you challenge him, your voice carrying that light and endearing tone over the phone that Jake’s come to crave. 

“Hmm,” Jake hums thoughtfully as he lies in his bed, eyes closed, just simply treasuring the small moments, like this one, with you. 

Even though it’s definitely 3AM where he is right now. And he definitely has to be up in a few hours for rehearsal. 

Oh well, completely irrelevant. Talking about everything and anything with you just felt so right. 

“I don’t know,” he eventually exhales, his brain too foggy to think of anything logical right now. “I feel like you know me better than I know myself at this point, Y/N.” 

“You’re so corny it physically hurts, Jake,” you scoff, and Jake swears he can feel your exaggerated eye roll from thousands of miles away. 

“Oh—wait, wait! I have one,” he perks up, his eyes shooting open as he turns towards the phone in excitement. 

“Hit me,” you say, unconsciously smiling at how cute he sounds. 

“I’m allergic to flowers.” 

The line falls silent for a beat before you erupt into a storm of giggles so wild it makes Jake feel sick from how fast the butterflies in his stomach start fluttering. 

“That’s your fun fact? That’s so tragic, Jake,” you gasp through your giggles. “Like, depressingly tragic.” 

“Hey! It’s not that sad, it could be worse,” Jake hopes you can hear his pout over the phone (you can). 

“So you’re telling me you’ve never bought a girl flowers before?” You tease, smiling to yourself as you stare at your ceiling. 

“Guess not,” Jake lets out a laugh, which surprises himself. “Jenn used to always get mad at me for never getting her any, but what am I supposed to do? Show up with a bouquet and an epi-pen? I literally start tearing up whenever I’m around any kind.” 

You lose it all over again, your laughter spilling through Jake’s phone like sunshine, and Jake doesn’t even realize he’s smiling so widely until his cheeks start to ache. 

But what Jake does realize is something unexpected: for the first time in forever, he can talk about Jenn without a single pang of…anything. No weird tension, no lingering sadness—just a casual mention and then…nothing. 

It’s freeing, this feeling of lightness, like an invisible weight he didn’t know he was even carrying has suddenly lifted. He wonders if this is what moving on really feels like, if he’s found his emotional freedom. He wonders when it changed. 

He wonders maybe it’s not when—maybe it’s who.  

And he wonders if it’s you. 

Today was supposed to be Jake’s day off. The golden ticket to rest, recharge, and not think about anything.

Key term: supposed to be.

Instead, Jake found himself knee-deep in the trenches of emotional warfare—and losing spectacularly.

The morning started innocently enough. No alarm, no schedule, just the soft promise of freedom that was so close within his reach. But by noon, Jake came to a harsh realization.

Freedom was a lie.

Because every step, every sight, every breath, was haunted by one inescapable thought: You.

It started with a boutique. Him and the boys had wandered down a cobblestone street in a city that Jake had already forgotten the name of—city number ten or eleven of tour? He barely knew anymore. But then his gaze caught on a mannequin in the window.

Big mistake.

The outfit on display—similar to his mind—had you written all over it. Immediately, his brain spiraled.

Y/N would love that. She'd probably drag me and all the guys in and force me to hold her bag while she tried it on.

He had to physically stop himself from dragging the group inside to purchase it on the spot.

Next? A coffee shop. And there it was: a poster featuring some limited-edition iced peach latte. Jake froze, staring at it like it held the answers to life itself.

You’d love it. You would order it, (well, you'd make Jake order it, because you hate talking to cashiers), sip it, smile, and probably rant about how overpriced it was—even though Jake would pay for it—yet you’d still finish the entire thing.

And then, you'd steal half of his drink, too. 

Because you always did. 

And Jake always lets you.

The final straw? A cat. Just a random stray, peacefully lounging on a sunny part of sidewalk, looking like it had zero interest in the world around it. And even that didn't escape Jake's you-obsessed filter. Without even thinking, Jake whipped out his phone. 

It was instinctual at this point.

Jake [1:06PM]: (attached - one image) Jake [1:06PM]: thought you'd like this one :)

Because obviously, you needed to see that cat. Immediately.

By the time Jake collapses onto his hotel bed that evening, he feels like he’d run a mental marathon—except instead of a finish line, every road led back to you.

He flops onto his bed, hoping sleep would save him from the storm raging in his brain.

Spoiler alert: it doesn't.

Instead, it leads him to the complete opposite. He stares at your name on his phone, your contact picture, your last messages to him. 

You texted him two hours ago—a sweet goodnight message that ended with your usual, 'Don't hesitate to call if you need me.' 

Casual. Normal.

But it probably didn't mean, 'Hey, please interrupt my sleep from the other side of the world so we can discuss your ongoing emotional crisis over me.'

Don't do it, Jake. The remaining rational brain cells within him beg him to stop. You're being dramatic. She's not the air you need to breathe.

But at the same time, deep down, Jake really thinks you are.

The worst part? You two already had talked on the phone earlier—when Jake had another fashion crisis and couldn't decide what to wear for his day off exploring with the guys. Of course, you laughed at him, teased him, but then helped him pick something out anyways. Typical.

Personally, if it was up to him, he'd spent his whole day off on the phone with you. Talking about everything. Or nothing. Whatever you wanted, Jake would've done it, no hesitation.

Don't do it, Jake, his brain warns him again. What kind of obsessed-lunatic calls the same person twice in one day?

Answer: Jake.

But as Jake lies in his hotel bed, thoughts heavily clouded with the image of you and the sound of your voice, he realizes...this wasn't just a phone call thing. No, this was deeper, worse. And somewhere between staring at the same patch of ceiling and replaying every memory of you on a mental loop, Jake tries to rationalize it.

She’s just a good friend, Jake. A best friend, even! You think about her a lot because she’s cool and funny and…and she has the laugh of a Disney princess...But it’s normal to think about your friends, right? Right??

But the more he tries to downplay it, the clearer it becomes. This was something else.

And then it hits.

Like, really hits.

Oh my god. I like her.

Jake shoots upright, widened eyes filled with horror, as if the realization itself just physically smacked him across the face.

No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.

Jake buries his face in his hands, groaning. But the groan quickly turns into a muffled scream, because the more he thinks about it, the worse it gets.

Because he thinks you're going to be the death of him. He really, really likes you. Not in the vague, 'Oh, she’s cute' way, but in the write-her-name-in-a-heart-and-doodle-little-stars-around-it kind of way. The stare-at-her-texts-like-they’re-poetry kind of way. The imagine-her-laughing-at-your-dad’s-jokes-and-enjoying-your-mom’s-meals-forever kind of way.

And this feeling? It's new. It's terrifying. 

It's exhilarating.

Jake realizes in this very moment that he's never experienced this heart-pounding, face-flushing, breath-taking kind of feeling towards anyone. Sure, his past relationship had been meaningful in its own way, but now Jake is realizing that the foundation of his past relationship was tangled up in obligations and unspoken expectations. A tightrope act of Jake having to be the perfect boyfriend, the perfect idol, the perfect...everything. He never realized how suffocating it was until now—until you. Because this feeling with you?

This was pure. Simple, clear, and undeniable.

Your sheer existence proved that it's possible for someone to understand him better than he understands himself. Your laugh had a way of making everything feel lighter, like the weight of the world had been momentarily suspended. Just one look from you alone somehow always manages to make him feel like he was still worthy even on his worst days.

With you, Jake felt...himself, for once. Not Jake Sim, global popstar. Not Jake Sim, the boyfriend of so-and-so. Just...Jake.

Jake's heart pounds as the realization sinks in. He's now transitioned from screaming into his hands to his poor hotel pillow.

Because as clear and strong as this feeling is, the doubt is just as overwhelming. What if you don't feel the same? What if this ruins everything?

But at the same time...what if you do feel the same way?

What if this is his chance? The butterfly effect that changes everything? What if you're it? You have to be.

And so, like an idiot possessed, Jake's finger is one millimeter away from pressing call on your name again.

Because, obviously, the best way to deal with overwhelming feelings is to confess them from a hotel room five countries away.

Obviously. 

Because what if he didn't call? What if he spent the rest of his night spiraling into an endless pit of unspoken feelings and overthinking, arms flailing as he knows the only way out of the pit is with your help?

What if his brain explodes with the sheer amount of feelings he has for you and he never has the chance to tell you ever again?

He presses call.

The line rings twice before you answer.

"Jake?" Your voice is soft, laced with surprise and just the faintest trace of sleep. "It's late for you, is everything okay?"

Jake's brain short-circuits. What time even is it for him? He has no idea, and frankly, he doesn't care.

"Yeah," he blurts, far too quickly that he winces at himself. He clears his throat before trying again, "I mean, yeah. Everything's fine. I just...couldn't sleep."

"Oh," you hum softly and Jake swears the sound alone could single-handedly resolve global wars.

Yeah, he definitely likes you.

"Is something stressing you out?" The genuine concern in your voice makes his chest tighten.

"No—well, nothing like that," Jake rushes to assure you, sitting up straighter in bed now, as if you could see him. His voice lowers, almost shy, "I just...I was thinking about you."

Silence. Jake's heart pounds so loudly, he's sure you can hear it through the phone.

"About me?" You finally tease, light and playful, but there's something softer underneath. "What did I do to deserve such an honor?"

Jake lets out a nervous, breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair, “You exist. That’s what.”

Another pause. He hears you exhale softly, and the sound alone sends his heart into overdrive.

"That was smooth," your voice is quiet, soft, as if teetering on the line of teasing and nervousness at the same time. "Ten out of ten, Jake."

"I'm serious," Jake tries his best to keep his voice from cracking, the weight of his feelings pressing down on him. "I was lying here, thinking about everything, and I realized something."

"And what's that?"

Jake's throat goes dry. His heart is screaming at him to say it, but his brain begs him to reconsider.

But Jake's sure he's lost all his rational brain cells for sure at this point, so he swallows hard, and braces himself for impact.

"I like you, Y/N."

The words spill out, raw and unpolished, but so utterly true.

“I mean, I really like you," Jake continues, his voice barely above a whisper now. "More than a friend, more than anything.”

The line goes silent, and for a split second, a lifetime of pure awkwardness and torture of not having you in his life anymore flashes in his vision, and he rushes to fill the void.

"I know this is probably the worst timing ever, and probably really scary...and it's okay if you don't feel the same way," his voice definitely cracks this time, laying everything bare, but he doesn't care anymore. "But I had to tell you. I can't pretend around you, not when being around you feels like the only time I'm really me."

Then, you let out a soft exhale—a disbelieving, breathless sound that makes Jake's heart skip a beat.

"Jake..."

"You're...you're everything, Y/N. You make life better just by being in it. And I haven't even seen you in four months, but you're all I think about," Jake lets out a small laugh, swallowing the remainder of all his pride and dignity. "I promise, when I'm back...I'll prove it to you. I'll show you how much you mean to me. Anything it takes. "

For once in his life, Jake feels completely vulnerable—and yet, strangely, it feels right.

Because he means it, every word.

He's never meant anything more.

The line had gone quiet after Jake’s confession, his words echoing in your ears. 

“I like you, Y/N.” 

No, not like. Really, really like. 

You spent the last few days replaying his words over and over, dissecting every syllable, every tiny inflection in this voice. At first, it didn't even seem real.  

A part of you still thinks it isn't—that this is all a cruel dream and you're going to wake up any second now back in the real world. The one where Jake Sim, the boy who turns heads and steals hearts without even trying, didn't just confess his deepest, most vulnerable feelings for you in a single phone call. 

But no. He said it, alright. Clear as day.  

First, all you felt was pure happiness. Maybe it was hearing his voice everyday, or maybe it was seeing how his face lit up through the screen when you picked up his video calls—but somewhere along the way, you knew it was something deeper. 

Something that made your heart skip when his name lit up your phone, something that left you craving his voice to make your day feel complete. And now? Now the boy who’d effortlessly become your favorite part of every day was telling you you’d done the same for him. 

But then, came the fear. 

Because what if this was just a rebound? What if you were just a soft landing for him, a way to patch up the holes left behind by his past? Here you were, standing at the edge of something terrifyingly real, wondering if you were just a step in his recovery process—a way to fill the cracks, but not the kind of permanence you were beginning to crave. 

You weren’t naive enough to see Jake’s past relationship didn’t still linger in the corners of his mind. You’d seen him struggle with it before, how hard he’d tried to convince himself he was fine. What if you were just the next step in his healing, rather than something real—a Band-Aid for a wound that wasn’t even yours to heal? 

And worse—what if you let it happen? What if you let yourself fall, only to hit the ground at an alarming speed, and...splat. Not just a regular, embarrassing tumble, no. But the kind that leaves you flattened on the pavement like a cartoon character who ignored every warning sign. 

Because that’s exactly what it would feel like, wouldn’t it? Giving it, letting yourself hope—only to crash and burn spectacularly. 

Deep down, you knew you weren’t just risking a little heartache. Because Jake? Jake had quietly claimed a permanent spot in your heart at this point. 

You were risking everything. 

And the worst part? 

You were already halfway there. 

That was the reason why you told him you needed time. The reason why all you could manage to respond was a meek, 'I just...I need to think about this.' And to his credit, Jake hadn't pushed. Of course, not.  

But now, three days later, you were no closer to an answer. If anything, the time apart had made everything worse. 

Because as the days stretched on, with every passing hour, every text you didn’t send and every call you didn’t make, one thing became gut-wrenchingly, undeniably clear: 

You were already his. 

You miss Jake’s voice, his laugh, the way he rambles about the most random things late at night. You miss how, somehow, he made you fall asleep with a smile on your face from the other side of the world. You miss him, that even in his absence, he was still your first thought in your mind when you woke up and the last before you drifted to sleep. 

And no amount of overthinking or second-guessing could change the truth that finally settled in your chest like a secret you weren’t ready to admit to yourself:

You were his. Completely. 

The only question now was whether you’d let yourself believe he was yours too. 

"Y/N?"  

"Jungwon," you groan helplessly into your phone. "Help me."  

A pause. Then, "Are you sure you meant to call me? It's Jungwon, not Jake," he teases lightly. "I can go get Jake if you meant—" 

"Jungwon!" You cut him off, panicked. "I'm being serious. It's about Jake, dummy."  

"Oh," his tone shifts instantly as he senses the seriousness in your voice. "Did something happen? Because I swear, for the past three days, Jake's been moping around like a kicked puppy, and I was gonna ask you about it because I know you guys have been talking a lot more, but I didn't want to push, and—" 

"That's exactly it, Jungwon!" You wail into your pillow, your voice muffled. Great, now you feel even worse, knowing Jake is moping around, waiting for you.   

"What's exactly it?" Your best friend presses, voice curious. "I need specifics, Y/N."  

You hesitate, the words clinging to the back of your throat like they're too heavy to admit. Finally, you take a deep breath and force them out.  

"Jake told me he likes me, Jungwon. Like really, really likes me. He gave this whole monologue about how I'm all he can think about, and it was so cute, and it made me want to explode from joy and fear all at once, and I don't know what to do!"  

A beat of silence. 

Jungwon sucks in a dramatic breath and then, "Wait, wait, wait. Back up. First of all, this is not news to me."  

You blink, as if he can see your look of shock over the phone, "What?"  

"This was obvious, Y/N. The guy's been smitten with you for months. You guys literally have been talking every day since we left."  

Your jaw drops, "So what? You and I talk every day! How is this any different?"  

Jungwon snorts, "Y/N, we text every day. About minuscule things. Like me reminding you not to forget your keys and you ghosting my last text. But you and Jake? You guys talk for hours—into the illegal hours of the night, mind you. Trust me, I know. Hotel walls are thin."  

You feel your cheeks flushing, "That doesn't mean anything."  

"Doesn't it?" Jungwon's voice is laced with amusement. "When's the last time you called me just to hear my voice?"  

"Jungwon."  

"Exactly."  

You groan again, "But Jungwon, what if…what if he's not over Jenn? What if I'm just a rebound?"  

Jungwon goes quiet for a moment, his tone softening when he finally speaks, “Jake’s not like that, Y/N. You know that. He wouldn’t tell you he likes you unless he meant it.” 

“Yeah, but—” 

“Look," he interrupts. "Jake’s a lot of things—annoyingly loud, for one—but he’s not the kind of guy who’d use someone, especially you, as a rebound. If he said he likes you, he likes you.” 

You bite your lip, his words settling over you like a warm blanket—because you know they're true.  

“And for what it’s worth,” Jungwon continues, “I think you like him too.” 

“I..,” you falter, your heart hammering in your chest. “I do.” 

“Then what are you waiting for?” 

You sigh, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the nerves coiled in your stomach, “I don’t know. I guess I’m scared.” 

“That’s okay,” Jungwon says gently. “But don’t let fear stop you from something that could make you happy. You deserve that, Y/N. And so does Jake.” 

You close your eyes, letting Jungwon's words sink in. Deep down, you know he's right, he always is.  

"Thanks, Jungwon," you say, your voice softer now, tinged with gratitude.  

"Anytime," he replies, and then, with a teasing lilt, "But seriously—you should probably tell him soon. I can't stand watching him mope around like a sad, abandoned puppy. It's seriously tragic, like, to the point where I’m gonna have to start letting him win at Mario Kart."  

A small giggle escapes you, light and genuine for the first time in three days, "I know, I know. Eventually."  

"Y/N," his voice turns playfully stern, like a parent lecturing their toddler. "Eventually isn't a time. Just call him. You've been thinking about him nonstop, haven't you?" 

Unfortunately, Jungwon knows you too well. Your silent response betrays you, and Jungwon lets out a triumphant hum.  

"Thought so. Well, you should go. You have a call to make."  

You sigh, a mix of nerves and a new determination bubbling, "Okay, okay. But if this goes horribly wrong, I'm blaming you."  

"It won't. But deal," his tone is reassuring, confident, like he already knows how this story ends. "You got this, Y/N."  

The call ends, and the quiet still of your room taunts you. For a moment, you sit there, staring at your phone, the little icon of Jake's contact picture—a selfie the two of you took together many years ago—staring back at you like a challenge.  

Your fingers hover. Your heart races, your palms feel clammy, and your stomach twists.  

But then you remember Jungwon's words.  

You deserve this.  

And so does Jake.  

You take a deep breath, then you press down on his name.  

The phone doesn't even reach the second ring before he picks up.  

"Y/N," Jake’s voice is rushed, a little breathless.  

"Hey," you say softly, suddenly unsure where to start. "Um, were you busy?"  

"No, no," he quickly responds. "Not at all. You could call me at 3AM, and I still would’ve picked up."  

"That's unhealthy, you know," your lips twitch as you lay back in your bed, taking a deep inhale. You missed this—you missed him.  

"For you? Worth it," you can hear the smile in his voice, but along with the slight tension just beneath it—the faintest tremor that tells you he's been waiting for this call, maybe agonizing over it just as much as you have.  

You swallow hard, gripping the phone tight, "Jake, about...our last call..."  

"Take your time," he says gently, though you don't miss the way his voice wavers ever so slightly. "I mean it, Y/N. There's no pressure."  

You exhale shakily, closing your eyes, “I’ve been thinking a lot, too. About you. About…us.” 

Jake stays silent, but you could hear the faint sound of him shifting, like he was bracing himself. 

You squeeze your eyes hard, as you let the words finally come out, "I like you too, Jake. A lot. So much, honestly. It's just..."  

"It's just...?" Jake's voice repeats softly, as if that's all he can manage to let out in the midst of his nervousness.  

You hold your breath, scared of what you're about to admit—to Jake and to yourself. 

"It's just...I'm scared," your voice comes out barely above a whisper, "I'm scared that this is too good to be true. That you're saying all of this because...I don't know—you're trying to move on...from the past, or because you're lonely on tour, or—" 

"Y/N,” Jake's voice cuts through firm, but gentle.  

"You're not…a rebound, or a distraction, or anything like that," he starts quietly, each word deliberate. "And this isn't about...Jenn, or me being lonely, or whatever else you think. This is about you."  

Your breath hitches as you take in his words and open your eyes, hoping that staring at the ceiling above you could somehow ground you.  

“You’re the one who makes me laugh when I’ve had the worst day,” Jake continues. “You’re the one I want to talk to, even when I’m running on zero sleep. You’re the one I think about when I’m on stage and wish I could just look into the crowd and see you there. It’s you, Y/N."  

His words are overwhelming, too much, and you're unsure how to even process them. Your throat tightens, and you can feel the subconscious tears prickling at the corners of your eyes without even realizing they were forming.  

"Are you sure, Jake?"  

"More than anything else, Y/N," he says immediately, like the words have been waiting on the tip of his tongue. "And I want to do this right, Y/N. No rushing, no expectations. Just...tell me what you need from me, and I'll do it. Whatever it takes, I'll do it."  

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You can picture him on the other side of the line, sitting in some unfamiliar hotel room, his brows probably furrowed in that adorable way they always do whenever he tries to find the right words.  

You bite your lip, a small laugh escaping despite the tears sliding down your cheeks, “You’re so cheesy, you know that?” 

Jake lets out a small laugh, immediately easing from the tension that hung in the air.  

"Only for you," he mumbles, his voice soft but steady.  

You sigh, the sound reaching Jake on the other side. There's a pause, a moment of mutual understanding in silence, just listening to the quiet, peaceful hum of each other's breathing.  

“Jake?” You say finally, your voice trembling. 

“Yeah?” 

“I think…” You take a deep breath, and you think your heart is about to break out of your chest. “I think I want to try too.” 

The silence on the other end was electric, and for a moment, you think maybe the call dropped. Then, you hear the unmistakable sound of Jake’s laugh—soft, relieved, and filled with so much warmth that it instantly makes your own heart feel lighter. 

“You're driving me crazy, Y/N,” he says, his voice almost breathless, but tinged with humor.  

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he says, a smile clear in his tone.  

“I hope I am,” you quip, and it makes him chuckle, the sound warm and full of relief. “Guess I’m stuck with your cheesy lines now huh?” 

“Stuck with me?” Jake repeats, pretending to sound offended. “No way. I’m stuck with you, Y/N. And trust me, I’m not going anywhere.” 

His words are so simple, yet so full of promise, and it leaves you feeling a little breathless. 

“Good,” you whisper, your cheeks warm. “Because I don’t want you to.” 

“Hi Jake,” your voice bright as you immediately pick up his call and see his face appear on the screen, his expression softening when he sees you. 

“Hey pretty,” he replies, without missing a beat, his voice laced with a soft fondness that never fails to make your stomach flip. 

You roll your eyes, failing miserably to hide the blush rising to your cheeks, “Oh, so now I’m pretty, huh?”

Jake smirks at your words, leaning closer to his phone, “Nah, you’ve always been pretty. Just didn’t have the guts to say it to your face before.”  

You groan, dramatically planting your face into your pillow as an attempt to bury the smile on your face, your voice muffled, “You’re gonna be the death of me, Jake.”

“Stop that, don’t hide. Let me see your face,” his tone dips somewhere between playful and pleading, and you give in, lifting your head just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your red cheeks. 

“Cute,” he says with a knowing grin, leaning back against the headboard of his bed. 

“Whatever,” you murmur, but the smile on your face remains. “How was your day today?” 

“Mmm, it was good,” Jake says, running a hand through his messy hair. “Busy, but good. I forget how loud the fans get each time. But it’s nice. Makes it feel worth it, you know?” 

“I’m glad,” your smile grows as you watch him speak, feeling nothing but proud of him. “You deserve all of it, Jake.” 

“Stop,” now he’s groaning, throwing a hand over his face to cover his shy expression. “You’re going to make me blush.” 

“Mm, looks like you already are, Jakey,” you shake your head, laughing softly. 

“Maybe a little,” he admits as he peeks at you through his fingers, his grin boyish and infectious, and you can’t help but laugh again. 

The call falls quiet for a moment, but it’s not awkward—just comfortable, like a shared breath. Jake shifts, turning on his stomach and propping his phone up against some pillows to make sure you can still see him. 

“I miss you,” he says suddenly, and there’s something raw in his tone, something unguarded that catches you off guard. 

Your heart stutters.

“Jake, I literally called you this morning,” you tease, your tone light and sweet. But still, you can’t resist, “I miss you too.”  

“You don’t sound convincing enough,” his eyes narrow at you, the pout forming on his lips quickly turning into a small smirk. “Say it like you mean it.” 

“Fine,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “I miss you so, so much Sim Jaeyun, that it’s physically painful and I might conbust on the spot if I don’t see you soon. Happy?” 

“Very,” he grins into the camera, making your heart beat faster. Ugh. "But please don't combust for me. Who else am I supposed to call every day?"  

"Oh, please, you'd survive," you shoot back, smirking. "I'm sure anyone else would be more than happy to fill the spot."  

Jake clicks his tongue, shaking his head dramatically. "Nope, no one could keep with you, Y/N. You're a handful."  

"Excuse me?" You scoff, mock offense all over your face. "You're calling me a handful? Jake, who's the one that texts me random song lyrics at 3AM and expects me to interpret their deep meaning like it's poetry?"  

"Okay, first of all, they are deep," he argues, his grin widening into something boyish and utterly unfair. "And second of all, I know you secretly love it."  

You let out a laugh as you roll onto your side, propping your phone against the pillow next to you.  

"Maybe I do," you admit with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant despite the smile on your face. "Or maybe I don't. That's up to you to find out."  

Jake shakes his head, laughing softly, his eyes twinkling as they linger on your face. 

"You really are a handful, Y/N," his voice teases while his eyes remain on you through the screen, as if studying you, and it makes your stomach flip.  

You glance away, suddenly feeling shy again under his unwavering gaze, "Stop looking at me like that."  

"Like what?" His voice is innocent, his eyebrows lifting in feign obliviousness.  

"I don't know—like you're trying to memorize my face or something," you mutter, your cheeks burning.  

"Maybe I am," his voice dips, low and soft. "Honestly wouldn't complain if that's the last thing I ever got to remember."  

His words hit you square in the chest, and despite how ridiculously corny they are, they manage to take your breath away. You don't know if you'll ever get used to this newly discovered side of Jake—the one that speaks so candidly, so sweetly—like you're the only person in his universe.  

But honestly? You love it. You love how he makes you feel, how his words wrap around you perfectly like they were tailor made just for you. But as much as you love it, you fear it too.  

Because the more you fall into this feeling, the more you wonder if there's anything solid beneath it. Despite all the soft words shared and sweet nothings exchanged, at the end of the day, deep down inside you can't help but ask yourself if his words, if he, is even yours to begin with. 

"Jake..."  

"Hmm?" His voice is gentle now, the teasing edge in his voice fading.  

"You really mean it, don't you?" You ask, your voice quieter now, the question laced with your vulnerability. "You're serious about...this? About us?"  

"Of course I am," he answers without hesitation. His soft eyes stay trained on you as he sits up in his spot in bed, as if to show just how serious he is. He lets out an exhale, as if mentally encouraging himself to continue, "I know we're not...whatever this is, officially yet. But I do know that I like what we have."  

He brings his phone closer, a small smile on his face, his expression earnest, "And that I like you. A lot."  

You swallow hard, his words settling in your chest in the best way possible. Because despite everything—the doubts, the undefined boundaries—you can't deny the truth of how you feel.  

"Me too," you admit, your voice steady and honest. "I like what we have too. And I like you."  

You pause, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you feel the remainders of your walls crumbling down, "You make me happy, Jake. Like annoyingly happy."  

"Good. Because you make me happy too," His smile spreads wide, the kind that is contagious and could light up an entire room. "Annoyingly happy, if we're being specific."  

You roll your eyes again, though you're smiling just as much, "We really are insufferable, aren't we?"  

"Oh, completely," Jake nods, his tone playful. He's more relaxed, back to leaning against his headboard as he looks at you with a softened gaze. "We'll figure it out, Y/N. I promise. Whatever this is, or whatever it becomes, I'm not going anywhere. And honestly? I just can't wait to see you. Finally."  

"Me too," you perk up, your eyes sparkling with excitement as you bring your phone closer, "It feels like it's been forever. This tour feels so much longer than the other ones for some reason."  

"It does," Jake hums in agreement, his eyes thoughtful. "But you know what? I think It's because, this time...I actually have something waiting for me. Something—or someone—I want to come home to. And that makes every day feel so much longer."  

You think, at this point, you should check yourself into the emergency department for the sheer amount of times you thought your heart was going to pound out of your body from Jake's words alone.  

“You're ridiculous," you laugh, the sound bubbling out so naturally you couldn't hold it back even if you tried. "It's getting kind of out of hand how cheesy you are, Jake."  

"And yet," he fires back with a smirk, "you love it. Admit it. I've cracked the code."  

"Maybe I do," you tease, repeating your words from earlier as the corners of your mouth tug up into a smile you can't suppress. "But don't let it get to your head."  

"Too late," he grins. "It's already there."  

Jake [2:15AM] : can I call you?   Y/N [2:16AM]: jake isnt it like 2AM for you?   Jake [2:16AM]: well…yea but I was thinking about you so… 

Your feet are kicking before you even realize, and before you can type up a response, your phone lights up with Jake's name and contact picture. 

“Hi,” you answer softly, trying not to let the giddy smile growing on your face take over. 

“Hey pretty,” he greets, voice warm and easy as he brings a hand through his messy hair. The lights in his room are off, and the dim glow of his phone screen casts a soft light over his features, making him look unfairly good for someone who should be fast asleep.  

“You have two seconds to give me a good reason why you’re here talking to me instead of getting a good night’s rest before your concert tomorrow,” your eyes narrow in mock disapproval as you give him a knowing look.  

Jake laughs lightly, “Hey! Okay, hear me out. I couldn’t sleep, so I did something.”  

You raise an eyebrow, “You did something? That sounds ominous, I’m scared.”  

“Yeah. For you,” he states plainly, leaving you even more confused for a second more before he continues. “I made you a playlist.”  

Your brain stalls at how simple he says it—so casual, as if not packed with so much meaning.  

“A playlist? You—wait, why?”  

Jake shrugs, “I don’t know—I guess I just wanted you to hear what I hear when I think about you. Which, by the way, is a lot. So..”  

You blink at the screen, your mouth slightly agape at the boy who's watching you with that lopsided grin that makes it practically impossible to function. You scramble to collect yourself, but the more you try, the worse it gets, and by now, you think he definitely took some secret class on how-to-make-Y/N-completely-flustered.  

And aced it.  

And of course, he notices—because Jake always notices.  

“You okay there?” His voice breaks you out of your overwhelming thoughts, his teasing tone laced with curiosity.  

“Define okay,” you mutter, rubbing a hand over your face in an attempt to cool down the warmth spreading like wildfire across your cheeks. “Because if it means not feeling like a complete fool over a guy who’s halfway across the world, then no, I’m absolutely not okay.”  

Jake lets out a low laugh, the sound affectionate as he leans closer to the camera, the light reflecting off his shining eyes, “If it helps, you’re not the only one losing your mind here.”  

“Oh yeah?” you arch an eyebrow, “What’s your excuse, Sim?”  

“My excuse?” He tilts his head with a small, exaggerated frown, pretending to think. “Hmm…let’s see…I’m hopelessly into this girl who somehow makes being teased fun, who makes me smile just by hearing my name come out her mouth, and who—“  

“Okay! Stop, stop, enough,” your voice strangled as you try to talk through the fit of giggles you couldn’t hold down. “You’re gonna kill me, Jake. Like, actually. I’m not strong enough for this.”  

Jake laughs at your flustered reaction, holding up a hand of surrender, ��Fine, fine. But seriously, look.”  

You hear the sound of faint typing in the background before your phone buzzes with a text containing a link.  

“It’s called Songs That Remind Me of Y/N. Creative, right?”  

You open the link, and your thoughts are dazed at the sight of the endless playlist of songs. Some new to you, some you recognize—all of them feeling like little pieces of Jake's heart he's handing to you.  

"I think it's perfect," you murmur softly, scrolling through the titles, the warmth and appreciation for him now feeling almost too overwhelming.  

"Yeah?" Jake's eyes shine with a mixture of pride and hope as he watches your reaction.  

"Yeah," you repeat, switching your phone screen back to his face and giving him a genuine smile. "I love it. Thank you, Jake."  

Jake hums in response, the look on his eyes gentle as a beat of comfortable silence falls between you two.  

"Well, I should probably sleep for real now, but...listen to it when you miss me, okay? Because chances are, I'm probably doing the same."  

You pause, letting the weight of his words settle over you—vulnerable, yet undoubtedly honest. "Deal. I'll listen to it right now, then."  

"Good," his smile grows, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Because I am too. I miss you, too."  

You both linger for a moment, neither wanting to end the call just yet, simply enjoying each other's pure, raw presence.  

"Sweet dreams, Jake," you finally say, your voice gentle as you slowly let sleep take over. 

"Only if they’re about you," he quips, grinning.  

You roll your eyes, your chest feeling lighter, "Go to bed, Sim."  

"Yes, ma'am," he winks, and with one last fond look, he ends the call, leaving you smiling at your screen like the absolute fool he's turned you into.  

"I can't believe you're finally coming back tomorrow," you murmur into the phone, your voice soft but buzzing with excitement as you take in the sight of Jake sprawled out on his bed. The dim glow of his phone highlights just enough of his face to remind you how impossibly cute he is—even with the pillow creases on his cheek.  

"I know," Jake sighs dramatically, flopping onto his side. His head sinks into the pillow, and you hear a soft fwump as he shifts to find a comfortable spot. "I just wish I wasn't landing so late. If I could, I'd come see you the second I land. Like, bags in hand, running to your door."  

"You'd probably trip and knock yourself out with your carry-on, Jake," you snort but then smile, the imagine of Jake rushing to get to you playing in your head.  

"First of all, I'm very athletic," Jake raises an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. "Second, that's exactly what would happen, but at least I'd be unconscious on your doorstep, which is still closer to you than I've been in months."  

Your heart does a little flip at the sound of the sincerity in his voice as you try to keep your tone casual, "It's okay, Jake. I'm not going anywhere. We'll see each other the next day? If you're free, maybe."  

Jake's face softens in that stupidly adorable way he always does when he knows you're just trying to play it cool. "Free or not, I'll find a way. Nothing's stopping me from seeing you, Y/N. Not jet lag, not my schedule, not even my manager if he tries to barricade me in the building."  

A giggle escapes you, partly at his sheer determination and partly to cover up the butterflies constantly causing the havoc in your stomach when it comes to him. And Jake, of course, looks all smug, like he knows exactly what he's doing to you. Typical Jake—sweet, determined, and impossibly endearing.  

But as much as his words make your cheeks warm, there's another reason why you're holding back your smile.  

Because, despite what Jake thinks, you're going to see him much sooner than he expects. All thanks to a message you got earlier from the group's manager:  

Y/N! Hope you’re doing well! We all miss you and can’t wait to see you soon! As you know, the boys are returning tomorrow late at night, but the staff and I want to plan a little surprise party at their apartment, they have no idea. The team’s already prepping everything. We’d love for you to come—it wouldn’t be the same without you. 10 PM! See you! 

You're practically vibrating with excitement, each passing minute on the call with Jake making it harder and harder to not just blurt it out and tell him you'll be seeing him in less than 24 hours. And, somehow, hearing his sleepy voice on the other side of the call, completely oblivious, just makes it even harder to contain yourself.  

Jake's brows furrow as he watches you try (and fail) to suppress your grin, "What's up with you? You're smiling so much, and I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything that funny."  

"Me?" You blink innocently, even though your heart skips a beat. But you shrug casually, masking your smile with a feigned yawn. "Nothing's up, you've just been acting too cute tonight. That's all."  

"You're lucky you're cute," Jake narrows his eyes at you, but even you can see through the dim lighting the red creeping across his face, "And that I'm tired. Or else I'd call you out for how you're gaslighting me right now."  

"Gaslighting?!" You sputter out, breaking out into laughter. "How am I gaslighting you for calling you cute?"  

"Because I know you're hiding something—" Jake replies, his pout audible in the way his voice drags. He yawns mid-sentence, the soft sound and the image of his eyes fluttering closed making your heart melt. "—and you're using my sleep-deprived state against me. It's not fair."  

"I'm not hiding anything!" You protest, your face one second away from cracking into a guilty smile. "Go to sleep—you're barely holding it together over there."  

"Like I'd ever fall asleep on you," he mutters, his voice heavy with drowsiness. "You're way too important for that."  

His words hit you like a train, and you have to physically restrain yourself from squealing, burying your face in your pillow before you let out a strangled, "Okay, enough sap for one night, Romeo. Go to bed."  

"Mmhm, fine, fine," Jake hums before he yawns again. "Goodnight, pretty. Dream sweet dreams, okay?"  

You let out a breath, losing the last remaining bits of your composure at this point—but in the best way possible, of course.  

"Goodnight, Jakey. I'll see you soon."  

The day flies by in a whirlwind of anticipation and sheer chaos, the emotional hurricane brewing up inside you rooting from one source and one source only.  

Because ever since you woke up this morning, every step, every sight, every breath was haunted by one inescapable thought: 

Jake.  

The morning was a blur of pacing around your room like a Sims character who was glitching after being told to "Go Here", overthinking every possible scenario for how tonight—when you finally see Jake in person—could go down.  

Because, really—how exactly do you approach the boy you've been friends with for years, who you've fallen for, in a room filled with people, including yours and his closest friends, all while pretending your heart is trying its hardest to not control, alt, delete itself?  

Not exactly something you can Google.  

Like, do you hug him? Does he hug you? What if he doesn't hug you? (Unacceptable, you decide, before pacing faster.)  

By the time afternoon rolls around, you're about 78% sure you've developed three-and-a-half migraines from the sheer pressure of it all. Not to mention, the borderline illegal amount of caffeine coursing through your veins isn't helping—why did you think drinking four cups of coffee was a good idea? (You didn't. Your brain has officially gone rogue.)  

And now, here you are. The buzzing apartment of the boys is alive with the sounds of laughter, the crinkle of party streamers being hung up, and two staff members arguing about where to put the over-dramatically large "WELCOME HOME" banner. You, along with everyone else, await for the signal, passing time by keeping up small conversation with the friends and staff you've gotten to know over the years—all the while you desperately try to keep your nerves from causing a mental crash out right here and now.  

Eventually, one of the staff gets the alert that the group has landed and is minutes away, the energy immediately shifting, both in the apartment and mentally. You settle in place in the back of the crowd, near the door but not too near the door—because 1) you're 99.99% sure you're not emotionally stable enough to be front and center, and 2) the staff and camera crew are already hogging the entrance as if this was the world's greatest comeback (and spoiler alert—to you, it really is.)  

The lights dim, the chatter fades, and the room hums with anticipation. And meanwhile? Your heart won't. Stop. Pounding.  

Any second now.  

Your nerves bubble up even more than you thought is humanly healthy, and you're not sure if you're about to a) pass out, b) puke, c) or both.

Simultaneously.  

The sound of multiple footsteps echoes faintly in the hallway, followed with muffled voices—one of them the unmistakable sound of Jake's laughter. Your breath catches.  

And then the door swings open.  

"SURPRISE!"  

The boys freeze in the doorway, their suitcases still in hand, the looks of genuine, yet pleasant, confusion plastered on all their faces. Sunghoon's eyes dart to the snacks table, Jay looks like he's deciding whether to laugh or roll his eyes, Sunoo is on the verge of tears, and Jake—Jake looks beautifully, stupidly confused.  

Your eyes immediately find Jake's face, like some natural gravitational pull you can't fight, and suddenly it hits you: he's here. In front of you. No blurry video calls, no glitchy Wi-Fi interruptions—just Jake.  

It feels surreal, like you're living in a sugar-induced dream that you aren't sure of is real yet or not. Last time you saw him in person, he was merely just Jake, one of your best friends, your go-to guy for bad jokes and late-night rants about life. But now? Now he's Jake—the boy who's somehow become the main character of your life (and brain capacity) over the past five months.  

Every memory of your late-night calls, every teasing smile, every time his sweet, groggy voice promised he'd prove himself to you—it all comes rushing back. Like those cheesy montage scenes in a rom-com, except instead of a whimsical romantic song playing in the background, it's the sound of your brain, and heart, screaming WHAT NOW Y/N?! 

But then, finally, his eyes land on you.  

The moment your eyes meet, you think your lungs give up on life. Breathing? Never heard of it. It's like someone hit the pause button on the entire universe, and you're convinced that the only thing to ever exist is Jake looking at you with that soft, unreadable expression.  

But you manage half a second of calm—half a second—before that softness on his face disappears. Just as quickly as it appeared, it's replaced by...something else. Something you can't quite put your finger on. Something you've never thought could exist on his face. A flicker of...conflict? Hesitation? Like he's staring straight at you…but also from miles away at the same time.  

His jaw tightens slightly—so slightly only you would notice with how intently you're looking at him—and for a split second, his hands fidgets at his side before he quickly clasps it over the handle of his suitcase. And right as you process it, right as you're about to convince yourself it's just the million grams of caffeine rushing through your blood that's making you hallucinate and see things— 

He looks away.  

He looks away.  

He looks away. As if you're not even standing there, as if he didn't just short-circuit your entire brain. His attention shifts to the nearest staff member, greeting them with a quick nod, and suddenly he's smiling and laughing at something they're saying like nothing just happened.  

And just like that, the universe hits the play button again, and you're left standing there—staring, blinking, wondering if the last thirty seconds of your life was, indeed, a caffeine-induced hallucination after all. Surely. Right?  

Because Jake definitely didn't avoid you on purpose. Nope. Because that would be insane. Insane, you think to yourself, as the invisible angel on your shoulder continues to whisper into your ear the same sweet words Jake's been telling you the past five months about how much he cares for you, how much he likes you—remember all those times he said it?  

Right. Right. Of course, he does. But still, you stand there frozen, trying to ground yourself, even though your hands start fidgeting at your sides anyway. Great. Fantastic. Cool, cool, cool. This is fine. 

You mentally curse yourself for not being closer to the door after all, and then, you mentally curse every single person in this room for not magically gaining telepathic powers and knowing that you, personally, were trying to have a moment.  

It's fine. You'll find him again. He's just too preoccupied with all the staff members and people to greet. Busy Jake. Social Jake. You're just imagining things. Definitely.  

Trying to distract yourself, you glance around the apartment, everything suddenly feeling suffocating. Maybe a snack. Maybe a drink. Maybe a portal to another dimension. 

Shaking your head out of your spiraling thoughts, you bite the inside of your cheek to ground yourself and turn away from the crowd, quickly settling yourself near the beverage table, pouring yourself a cup of...whatever this is—your mind too cloudy to even bother looking at the sign on the table.

You don't know how much time passes, and frankly, you don't even know if you're fully conscious. Your mind is still living in the past, lingering in that moment where you locked eyes with Jake for the first time in five months, and despite all the overthinking you did this morning of all the possible scenarios that could happen—this was not one of them.  

You're about to pour yourself a second drink just to keep your thoughts busy when you feel a tap on your shoulder.  

"Y/N!"  

Before you can fully turn around, you're engulfed in a warm hug, the familiar scent of Jungwon's cologne immediately grounding you, "Oh god, I missed you. Took me forever to find you with all these people."  

"Jungwon!" You exclaim, a genuine smile lighting up your face despite the emotional tug-of-war in your chest, because, of course, leave it to your best friend to immediately ease your inner panic. You squeeze him back, playfully ruffling his hair as you pull away, "I can't believe they made you grow out your hair. Now you actually look older than me for once."  

He stares at you, blinking. "Y/N. I am older than you."  

"Literally by a week. We all know I'm mentally older," you deadpan, crossing your arms.  

"Okay, I take it back. I didn't miss you after all," he scoffs as you laugh, pulling him into another hug for good measure just to annoy him.  

"I'm so glad you guys are back," you say as Jungwon grabs the drink in your hand and takes a sip himself as he listens to you. "I was dying of boredom without you guys."  

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, "Uh-huh. Definitely didn't sound like boredom all those nights you called Jake at 2AM."  

You freeze. Oh. Great. The one topic you were trying to avoid (how you were going to avoid it—given you're at his literal apartment, with his literal group members, and literal staff members that all work for him—you're not sure. Avoidance was a doomed plan from the start, I fear).  

But before you could answer, Jungwon continues, "So...are you guys, like, a thing now? I know you guys were just talking this whole time, but now that we're back, are you guys gonna be in a relationship and all that stuff? Because if so, I need a heads-up. As much I love you both, I don't know if I can stand you two being all couple-y right in front of me—oh, and also—"  

"Jungwon." 

"—if he hurts you in any way, I swear to god I will not hesitate to—"  

"Jungwon!"  

He stops, wide-eyed, before flashing you a sheepish smile. "Sorry. But seriously, what's happening? You haven't given me any updates!"   

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get caught in your throat. Because if he had asked you yesterday—or even an hour ago—you would've been able to answer confidently. But now? After Jake's apparent Olympic-level avoidance of you? You're not so sure anymore.  

"I...I don't know," you mumble, the words barely audible. Jungwon tilts his head, leaning closer to catch them.  

"What do you mean, you don't know? You guys haven't talked about it?" His brows furrowing as he studies your face, clearly picking up on your hesitation in true best friend fashion.  

"I, uh, I haven't...seen him yet," you admit, hoping the crack in your voice doesn't reveal the real reason you haven't approached the boy in question. "Everyone's busy, and I didn't want to get in the way."  

Jungwon gives you a look like you just said the earth is flat.  

"Get in the way? Y/N, you're insane. This is the guy who's been counting down the days to see you. If anything, everyone else is in his way."  

You give him a helpless shrug, but Jungwon isn't having it. He grabs your shoulders and spins you around, pointing across the room to one of the other snack tables past the crowds of people.

"Look. He's right there. Alone. Perfectly free to talk to you. Go."  

Your eyes land on Jake, back facing you and Jungwon, casually scooping chips into a bowl. You hesitate, scanning his relaxed posture, and the knot in your stomach tightens. Because that's exactly the problem. He's perfectly free. And if he's so excited to see you, how come he hasn't spoken to you yet?  

But before you can voice your doubts, Jungwon gives you a not-so-gentle nudge forward, "Go talk to him before I carry you over there myself."  

And next thing you know, Jake's right there. In front of you. His back is to you still, his eyes scanning the various snacks lined on the table, completely unaware of the full-on mental breakdown occurring just behind him.  

This is your moment, you tell yourself, despite the endless alarms going off in your brain. Every single nerve in your body is on high alert, screaming at you to abort mission, abort! But before you can give in to your panic, your hand is already reaching out, lightly tapping his shoulder.  

"Jake!"  

Jake turns around, and for a moment—a fleeting, fragile moment—you catch it. The way his eyes widen slightly at the sight of you. The way his lips part as if they're about to break into that familiar smile you've missed for months. But just as quickly, similar to earlier, it vanishes, replaced by that flicker of hesitation, and it's enough to make your breath catch.  

"Y/N."  

Your name on his lips used to sound like a warm promise. Now?

Now it feels like an afterthought. 

His voice is calm, steady—too steady, stripped of every ounce of emotion, and not at all like someone who's been counting down the days to see you. He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze flickering to the crowd behind you before reluctantly meeting yours, "It's been so long."  

Your stomach sinks. That's all he had to say? You were completely wrong. You spent precisely 23 minutes of your morning debating if he was even going to give you a hug—but now? Screw the hug, he won't even give you a full sentence. Something's off, and your mind races to figure out what happened, as if you missed a major chapter of your own life.  

Trying to ignore the sharp pang of something lodging itself in your chest, you offer a small smile, hoping to break the tension.  

"Are you...okay? I thought...I don't know, I thought you'd be more excited to see me," the words spill out before you can stop them, and you want to crawl into a self-dug hole from how raw and vulnerable you feel.  

Jake shifts uncomfortably, glancing at the floor, then at you, "No, yeah, of course I am. I'm just...really tired. The flight, you know. And all this," he pauses to gesture at the environment around you two, "it's a lot."  

You stare at him in disbelief, waiting for him to crack—silently begging for some sign of the Jake you thought you knew. But all you get is a shrug.  

A shrug.  

Suddenly, his words feel like a punch to the gut, let alone the way he can't even fully look you in the eyes. In just those few seconds, the invisible angel on your shoulder—whose voice sounded just like Jake's—whispering those promises into your ears suddenly disappeared with no trace in sight, as if it was never there—as if it was never yours—in the first place. Every late-night call, every whispered promise, every shared laugh. 

As if they never belonged to you.  

You swallow hard, trying to keep the growing lump in your throat from choking you, hoping your emotional turmoil isn't blatantly obvious to the boy in front of you.  

"Right," you murmur, nodding as if his excuse makes perfect sense. But it doesn't. "That's...understandable."  

The silence that follows is suffocating. Not the comfortable kind of warm silence you two used to share, but the awkward, unbearable kind that makes you claw at your own skin and makes you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole right then and there.  

Jake shifts again, and for a moment, his eyes meet yours. There's something there—but before you can grasp it, a voice from the crowd calls his name.  

"I—I should go," he mutters quickly, stepping back. His voice is quiet, his tone almost apologetic, but his words feel like he's hammering the nails to your coffin. "I'll...see you later though, yeah?"  

He doesn't wait for an answer. He's gone before you can say anything, before you can process his words, and for the second time that night, he leaves you standing there with your heart in pieces and your thoughts in chaos.  

For a moment, you swear you're paralyzed. You can't move. Can't breathe. Your vision blurs as every doubt you'd buried for months comes rushing back, screaming in your face louder and crueler than ever. You've never felt smaller, more foolish.  

Your heart beats erratically now, fighting against the realization of the truth settling in your chest—a  heaviness so suffocating it threatens to take you under. The Jake who stood in front of you just now—guarded, distant, a stranger—was so unlike the boy who had made you laugh until your sides ached, who'd stayed up with you on countless late nights, sharing secrets no one else knew.  

The Jake who made promises.  

Your mind spirals. Maybe...maybe those promises were never meant to be kept. Maybe they were just words to fill the time.  

Maybe you were just someone to fill the time.  

Your breath starts to pick up and you're frantically scanning the room, desperate for an escape from your thoughts through any familiar face. Your eyes finally land on Ni-ki and Heeseung casually sitting on one of the couches, their carefree laughter a stark contrast to your inner implosion. You beeline to them, forcing a smile on your face as you plop down beside them.  

"Y/N!" Ni-ki grins the moment he spots you, scooting over to make room. "Where've you been hiding? Thought you ditched us for good."  

"I've been here,“ you give the boys a small smile, praying they don't notice the way your hands tremble as you sit down, “just...mingling."  

Heeseung raises an eyebrow at the faint crack in your voice, but doesn't push further, "Well, we all missed you. Pizza pig-out sesh and games tomorrow? You can tell us everything we've been missing out on."  

You laugh, trying to keep the conversation light, but it comes out shaky, your voice tight under the weight of your hidden emotions, "I think it's you guys who need to catch me up."  

Ni-ki tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at you, "Are you okay? You look...off. What—did someone spill punch on you? Lemme guess, was it Jake?"  

At his name, the knife in your stomach twists even deeper, and you look away, hoping they don't notice the way your face falls.  

But Heeseung notices. Of course. His gaze sharpens, the playful teasing in his expression replaced with a softened concern, "Y/N...what's going on?"  

"I'm fine," you reply a little too quickly, your voice a little too high. You plaster a smile on your face, turning back towards the two boys, concern written all over their faces. "Just tired. Long day."  

Neither of them look convinced, but before Heeseung can say anything else, Ni-ki nudges him and gestures towards something across the room.  

"Hey...isn't that—"  

You follow Ni-ki's gaze, and you immediately wish you didn't. 

Because just like that, your world crumbles.  

There she is—Jenn.  

You're not even wondering when she got here, how she got here, or even why she's here in the first place. No, not even.  

Because all that's occupying your mind right now is the way she's there, perched comfortably on Jake's lap on one of the couches in the distance, her arm draped casually over his shoulder.  

The way she's laughing freely at something he says, her hand lightly brushing against his as if it's second nature, her fingers briefly pushing a strand of hair away from his face.  

The way Jake doesn't even flinch, the way he doesn't pull away.  

The way he smiles at her.  

That same smile—the one you've spent weeks convincing yourself was yours—now feels like a cruel joke.  

And that does it. For the first time that night, despite all you endured, you shatter.  

You force yourself to look away, but it's too late. Your chest hollows out deeper and deeper with every passing second, until all you're left with is a final realization:  

Maybe you never really had him at all. He was never yours in the first place.  

Ni-ki and Heeseung exchange glances before looking at the expression on your face—all the color drained, as if you were merely just a body, paralyzed. Both of them open their mouths, but nothing comes out, clearly unsure of what to say, but you don't give them the chance. You're already standing, grabbing your bag at your side with trembling hands.  

"Y/N, wait—" Heeseung starts as both him and Ni-ki stand up with you, but you shake your head, his voice distant and muffled as if he's speaking to you underwater.  

"I need some air," you mumble, but you're sure neither of them hear you, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Before they can stop you, you're already weaving through the crowd, your vision blurring as you fight the overwhelming urge to break down. You stop at the door, your eyes quickly scanning the cluttered floor for your shoes. For a moment, you think you've made it—escaped the suffocating air and heartbreak clawing at your throat—but a mistake you didn't mean to make stills you.  

You glance over your shoulder, and there he is.  

Jake's eyes meet yours, and the world comes to a stop. His easy smile slips from his face and is immediately replaced by a flicker of panic, his brows drawing together as if he's just realized something, but you don't stick around to analyze it.  

Not when your heart is already in pieces on the floor.  

You quickly look the opposite way, fighting the sting of burning tears threatening to spill over as your fingers fumble desperately with the zipper of your coat when you hear a concerned voice from behind you.  

"Y/N?" Jungwon's familiar voice cuts through your haze, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "What—where are you going?"  

"Home," you whisper, avoiding his gaze as you finally manage to get your coat on, turning towards the door.  

Suddenly, Jungwon steps in front of you, a firm frown on his face, "Hey, hey, what's wrong? Talk to me—"  

"Jungwon, I need to go," you look up at him as your voice cracks for the nth time that night, feeling Jake's set of eyes on you still, "Please, Won."  

He hesitates, clearly confused but more worried over anything else, "Okay, but I'm driving you."  

You sigh, shaking your head, "No, it's fine—"  

"I'm driving you," Jungwon repeats, leaving no room for argument as he's already grabbing his coat and walking out the door.  

Not bothering to look behind you to see if Jake's still watching, you follow Jungwon out to the hallway, the chill of the air feeling like a fresh wave of emotions crashing over you all at once: embarrassment, anger, heartbreak.  

You're too caught up in your spinning thoughts to even notice the sound of frantic footsteps behind you until a voice cuts through the silence.  

"Y/N."  

His voice is quiet, almost drowned out by the muffled hum of music and laughter seeping from the party you should've escaped from a long time ago.  

But still, you hear it anyway—because of course you do. Because it's him. And no matter how much you wish you didn't, you'd silence the entire world just to hear that voice.  

And you hate it.  

You hate how your entire body freezes mid-step, you hate how every nerve within you comes alive at the sound of his voice, you hate how your heart stumbles, as if trying to root itself in the pain you've been trying so hard to outrun.  

You turn around slowly, against every ounce of logic telling you to keep walking. And when your eyes land on him—on the raw, desperate, almost broken look on his face—you hate yourself even more.  

Because even now, even after everything, your heart still sinks at the sight. And you hate how you give him the power to break you with just one look.  

“Can we talk?” Jake asks, his voice low and unsteady as he takes a small step towards you.  

From beside you, Jungwon hesitates, his gaze flickering between you and Jake. After a beat, he nods, "I'll get the car. Wait here."  

He spares Jake a final look of warning before nudging you for comfort and stepping into the elevator.  

The elevator doors close, leaving you and Jake alone in the hallway, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions.  

You swallow hard, your throat tight, but you steel yourself, "What do you want, Jake?"  

You shift your weight and instinctively cross your arms, a defensive barrier between you and the boy you spent too long letting into your heart. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the vulnerability in them makes your resolve falter. 

He takes a hesitant step towards you before exhaling shakily, running a hand through his hair.  

“I—I messed up tonight. I didn’t mean to...," he trails off, his words fumbling, his eyes searching yours in desperation, his heart breaking at the way your tears are a second away from falling over. 

"...to completely ignore me all night? Make me feel like nothing?" You finish for him, your quiet voice breaking despite your attempt to stay composed.  

"No. God, no. You're not nothing," he says quickly, his voice faltering on the last word. "Y/N, you matter so much to me."  

“Well it definitely didn't feel that way,” your voice is barely audible, but you finally look up at him, the hurt finally bubbling to the surface. “After everything you said—promised, everything we talked about…” 

"I know, I just—" he hesitates, his voice barely above a whisper. He takes a tentative step closer, his movements slow and careful, like he's afraid you'll break if he gets too close. "I was nervous." 

"It’s been so long, and I didn’t know what to say, how to act. I wanted to get it right—to make it perfect—but instead, I just—" he stops, dragging another frustrated hand through his hair. His eyebrows knit together in that familiar way that once made your heart flutter, but now only adds to the ache in your chest. 

You let out a hollow laugh, the bitter sound foreign even to your own ears, “Well, congratulations, Jake. You managed to mess it up anyway.” 

“Please,” he looks devastated, his hands trembling at his sides. “Y/N, please don’t think I don’t care about you. I do. More than you know. I just—I don't know how to do this. I panicked and I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear."  

"Then why was...," you look at him, your eyes still stinging from all the unshed tears as you take a shaky breath, “...why was she all over you tonight? Why didn’t you stop her?” 

He falters, his shoulders slumping under the weight of your question, “It wasn’t what it looked like. I didn’t—I couldn’t—” 

“You couldn’t,” you echo, the words spilling out in a rush now, each one cutting him deeper. “I should've known. Let me guess, she wants to get back together, right?"  

Jake's silence is deafening, and it immediately answers your question. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. The way he looks at you—eyes wide and filled with regret, lips trembling as if searching for the right words—confirms everything you were afraid of. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, a shaky breath escaping your lips—a sound caught somewhere between a scoff and a choked sob. No matter how hard you try, the wall holding back your emotions cracks under the weight of it all. The doubts you’ve tried so hard to bury suddenly resurface, crashing over you like waves, each one carrying the sting of every insecurity, every fear you’ve ever had about this moment. Your chest feels tight, your heart splintering under the realization that everything you were afraid of might be true. 

"Jake, I can't do this," you whisper, shaking your head. "I can't be the person you lean on while you try to figure out what you want."  

"No, no—Y/N, I do know what I want," he pleads, his voice cracking as he tries to step closer. "And it’s you. Always been you, Y/N. Everything I said—I meant it."  

His words hang heavy in the air, the faint echo of the party music filtering through the cracks in the door and into the quiet hallway. You look away, refusing to let him see the way your tears finally spill over.  

"You promised," you let out softly and slowly, through your sniffles. “You promised you wouldn't hurt me. You said you'd prove that I could trust you, that I didn't have to be scared. You knew I was worried, Jake. And you...you hurt me anyways."  

"And I swear I meant every word I said. I still do," Jake says, his voice desperate as he shakes his head. He steps even closer, his hand reaching out and brushing against yours, but you pull back before he can close the distance. "You have to believe me. Please, Y/N. You're the only one."  

You shake your head again, the tears now freely rushing down your cheeks despite your best efforts, "I—I don't know if I can believe that anymore, Jake. I want to, I really, really do. But tonight..."  

Jake’s face falls, the weight of your pain crashing into him all at once. His lips tremble as he struggles to hold himself together, his eyes turning glassy themselves. The sight of you—broken, because of him—cuts deeper than he thought was humanly ever possible. His voice is barely above a whisper, raw and pleading, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I—God, please. Please give me a chance.” 

You look at him—at the boy who became your safe space these past few months—and all you feel is the ache in your heart.  

"I can't do this right now, Jake," you finally let out through your broken voice as you take a step back. "I think I just need space."  

The words hang in the air like a death sentence. His breath hitches as if your words physically hit him in the face, "Y/N..." 

Your phone suddenly buzzes, a text from Jungwon letting you know he's outside. You glance down at it, then back at Jake. For a moment, you hesitate, your heart screaming at you to stay—to give him the chance he's yearning for. But your brain knows better. 

"I have to go," you murmur softly, as you take a final step back, turning away before more tears threaten to spill all over again. You force yourself to keep walking, fighting the overwhelming urge to look back—to let him pull you into his arms, where you wished so desperately you belonged.  

Frozen, Jake watches helplessly as you walk away, his chest tightening with every step you take. Everything feels like it's caving in, regret clawing at him the more he lets you walk further away. He opens his mouth to say something—anything—but the words fail him, silenced by the weight of his own mistakes.  

To Jake, the sounds of the party are now far in the distance, drowned out by the pounding in this ears. Instead, the hallway falls into a haunting silence, broken only by the faint echo of your retreating steps—a cruel reminder of what he's just let slip away.  

The car ride starts in complete silence, the only sound between you and Jungwon the soft hum of his engine and the faint sound of whatever playlist he was playing in the background. You stare out the window, watching the city lights blur together, your coat clutched tightly under your grasp as if it's the only thing keeping you sane.  

Jungwon glances at you out the corner of his eye, his hands steady on the steering wheel. He doesn't say anything at first, but you know him well enough to sense the storm brewing in his head.  

"Okay," he finally says, as if on cue, breaking the silence. "Spill."  

You don't respond, your eyes still fixed on the surrounding city breezing by you, as if the passing view could somehow erase the memory of him. Your fingers dig further into the fabric of your coat, your knuckles going numb.  

Jungwon gives you a few more moments of silence, but when you don't make any sign of responding, he speaks up again. 

"Y/N," his voice softens, but the edge of his concern cuts through. "Don't do that thing where you shut people out. Especially me, you know I hate that."  

"I'm not—" you start, but your voice wavers, and the lie dies on the tip of your tongue.  

“You are," he exhales sharply from beside you, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Look, you don't have to tell me everything, but don't pretend you're fine when you're clearly not."  

The words sit heavy in the air as you swallow hard, your throat burning as you finally whisper, "It's stupid, Jungwon."  

He doesn't take his eyes off the road, but his tone is firm, "I'm sure if it's got you looking like this, it's not stupid."  

You want to argue, to tell him to just let it go, but the hurt pressing down on your chest is too much. The ache in your body threatens to take over again, and you hate it. You hate how the tears form again, how you can still see Jake looking at you like that, like you were breaking right in front of him and he didn't know how to stop it.  

Jungwon waits. He doesn't push, because he knows you. He knows you're just hurting, struggling to grasp your overwhelming emotions, so he gives you the time you need. But his quiet patience is unbearable, like he's peeling back every layer of your resolve just by being there, and eventually, you give in.  

"It's Jake," you finally choke out, the name tumbling from your lips like a curse.  

Jungwon doesn't respond immediately, but you can feel the shift in his demeanor. His jaw tightens, and his fingers flex against the wheel, "I figured as much honestly, after what I saw in the hallway, but what exactly happened, Y/N?"  

You shake your head, your voice shaky, "It doesn't matter. I—I just feel so stupid, Won. Like, how could I think..." 

You trail off, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood. Jungwon gives you a softened glance, signaling you to continue whenever you're ready to.  

You take a deep breath before you speak up again, "How could I ever think I was good enough for him, you know?"  

There's a silence that follows after your words and you hear Jungwon take in a deep inhale.  

"This isn't on you, Y/N. This has nothing to do with whether you're enough or not," Jungwon's voice is steady, but there's a firm edge to it now. "Look, I don't want to overstep or anything...and I definitely don't want to vouch for him—especially right now but...are you sure he's not just freaking out?"  

You tilt your head over at the boy next to you, "Freaking out about what?"  

"You," Jungwon says simply like it's the most obvious thing in the world.  

"That doesn't make any sense," you start shaking your head. "Why would he—"  

"Because you're you," Jungwon interrupts, his tone matter-of-fact as he keeps his eyes trained on the road in front of him. "And Jake's a complete idiot, but even idiots get scared when they care about someone as much as he clearly cares about you."  

You blink, Jungwon's words sinking into all the cracks formed within you, "You really think he cares about me that much?"  

“Are you kidding?” Jungwon scoffs, his expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “Y/N, the guy looks at you like you hung his moon and stars. Trust me, I’ve seen it.” 

And you don't know what comes over you, but Jungwon's words hit you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, the tears you've been holding back come rushing forward, hot and relentless. You cover your face with your hands, your body shaking as the sobs you've been swallowing all night finally make their way out.  

Jungwon quickly looks over at you and, without hesitation, glances over his shoulder to pull over to the side of the road, the soft clicking of the hazard lights mixing in with your cries. When he finally puts the car in park, he doesn't say anything and just leans back in his seat, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder—close enough to remind you he's there, but not too much to smother you.  

"I'm sorry," you manage to gasp out between sobs, your hands going up to wipe your face as all the overwhelming emotions finally take over you.  

"Don't," Jungwon says firmly, "Don't apologize for feeling like this."  

You take a shaky breath, trying to pull yourself together as your sobs eventually start to slow down, "I just don't understand. If he cares so much, why does this hurt so bad?"  

"I don't think it's about how much he cares," Jungwon sighs, as if carrying your pain alongside you. "Sometimes...sometimes people care so much that they don't know what to do with it. They panic. They overthink. And they mess up in the worst ways because they don't know how to handle what they're feeling."  

You look up at him, your face still wet with tears, "So you're saying it's an excuse."  

"No," Jungwon replies, quickly shaking his head fervently. "Definitely not an excuse. Jake screwed up, Y/N. Big time. And it's 100% on him to fix that, not you. But—"  

He pauses and thinks for a second, his words deliberate, "—it doesn't mean his feelings aren't real. Or that he doesn't care about you."  

You look away, glancing down at your hands in your lap, fiddling with the hem of your coat as you take in Jungwon's words.  

"It's just feels like...like I'm the only one who got hurt here, Won. Like I'm the only one who..," you trail off, unable to form your thoughts into a coherent sentence, but leave it up to Jungwon to always fully understand you.  

"You're not the only one," he says softly. "He's hurting too, Y/N. Maybe not in the same way, and maybe he doesn't deserve any sympathy, but I can see it. I've seen it. Jake...Jake isn't Jake without you. And honestly? That idiot is probably tearing himself apart right now."  

Your lips part, but the words don't find you. Instead, you let the weight of Jungwon's words sink in, unsure what to do with how true they may be.  

"You don't have to forgive him right now," Jungwon adds after a moment. "Hell, you don't even have to forgive him at all. Honestly, that might satisfy me just a bit. But maybe...maybe you owe it to yourself to hear him out. Not for him, but for you."  

You turn to Jungwon, your lips forming into the smallest pout, "But what if it just makes everything worse?"  

He gives you a faint, grounding smile, equal parts reassuring and honest.  

"Then you walk away knowing you did everything you could—for yourself. And if it does come to that," he shrugs lightly, "we'll figure it out together."  

You're quiet for a long moment, the thought of walking away from Jake and everything he means to you terrifying you…but you know Jungwon's right. You owe yourself the chance to try—even if the unknown outcome fails you.  

With a shaky breath, you nod, brushing away the last of your tears, "Thanks, Jungwon."  

"You're welcome," Jungwon hums in acknowledgement before his lips curve into a small grin, the atmosphere lightening slightly, "but, uh, could you at least use the tissues in the glove compartment before my seats turn into a snot rag?"  

You manage to let out a small scoff of disbelief as you roll your watery eyes, "You're the worst."  

"Nah," Jungwon replies with a cheeky grin as he shifts the car back into drive, but not before he reaches over to ruffle your hair playfully. "C'mon. Let's get you home."  

The knocking at Jungwon’s door comes at the worst possible moment. 

He’s halfway through organizing his desk—something he only attempts when he’s too frustrated to sit still—and the last thing he expects to see when he swings the door open is Jake, standing there looking like he hasn’t slept a millisecond all night. 

Jungwon makes no sign of saying anything or making a move, just staring at the older boy in question. Jakes shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his messy hair, not used to seeing Jungwon in this sour, expressionless mood.  

"Hey," Jake finally says, his voice hesitant.  

“What do you want?” Jungwon deadpans, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He knows he sounds harsh, but, frankly, he doesn’t care.  

Jake falters for a moment, his gaze dropping to the ground, "I...I need your help."  

Jungwon's eyes narrow, "With what, exactly?"  

He knows what, but he's not letting Jake off that easily. Not after last night.  

"With Y/N," your name hangs in the air between them as Jake's voice cracks, and Jungwon clenches his jaw before he lets out a frustrated sigh.  

"I don't think you're in any position to be asking me for help right now."  

"I know," Jake says quickly, his hands raising in surrender. "I know, okay? I screwed up big time. I—God, I don't even know where to start, Jungwon. I just...I don't want to make things worse."  

Jungwon lets out a bitter, humorless laugh, stepping back and motioning his head to let Jake enter his room, "You've already got a good head start on that, I see."  

Jake steps inside, awkwardly hovering near the door as Jungwon moves to sit on the edge of his own bed. He doesn't offer Jake a seat, and Jake doesn't ask for one.  

"She cried, you know," Jungwon says after a few moments of silence, his voice stone cold. "I had to pull over because she couldn't even hold it together long enough for me to get her home. I've known her my entire life, and I don't think I've ever seen her cry that hard, Jake."  

Jake flinches, the words physically hurting him, "I didn't mean to—"  

"Yeah, I know," the younger boy cuts him off, his voice sharp, his anger rising on behalf of you. "You didn't mean to hurt her. But you did. And now you're asking me to help you fix it like it's that easy."  

"It's not easy," Jake mutters quietly, his hands fumbling with the edge of his hoodie. "Nothing about this...none of it is easy. But I know I messed up, and I—I can't just leave things like this, I can't lose her, Jungwon. I care about her too much."  

Jungwon deadpans at his friend, fighting back the urge to scoff in his face, "If you cared about her, you wouldn't have let her walk out of that party looking like her entire world was falling apart."  

Jake looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with something Jungwon can't quite name...desperation, maybe. Or guilt. Or both.  

"I didn't know what to do," Jake finally admits, his voice still barely above a whisper, as if admitting to himself for the first time, too. "I saw her, and she looked so...broken. And I—I panicked, I didn't know what to do, and by the time I realized, she was gone."  

Jungwon leans back, groaning as he runs a hand over his face. The anger bubbling within him hasn't fully faded, but he knows there's something else now—something softer, something that makes it harder to keep his protective guard for you up.  

Because he knows Jake isn't lying.  

"You don't get to half-ass this, Jake," Jungwon finally says after he thinks to himself. "She's not some random girl you're trying to impress, she isn't Jenn. This is Y/N. If you want to fix things, you have to be ready to own up to everything. No excuses, no backing out. She deserves that much."  

Jake nods quickly, his eyes wide and hopeful at Jungwon's slight change in demeanor, “I will. I swear, I will.” 

"And don't think she's going to forgive you right away," Jungwon adds. "She's hurt. You have to give her time. This isn't about what you want—it's about what she needs."  

Jake swallows hard, nodding again, “I just want to talk to her. To explain. To tell her I’m sorry and—”  

His voice cracks, and he looks down, his hands trembling slightly. Jungwon lets out a sigh, his mixed feelings turning more into something closer to pity. Because as much as he wants to stay mad for your sake, he's known Jake long enough to know that he's a good guy—and that his heart is in the right place.  

But even more than that, he knows you. And he knows how much Jake means to you, even if you won't admit it, especially not now more than ever.  

"You're actually an idiot," Jungwon says after a few beats, his voice carrying a lighter tone now. "But for some godforsaken reason, knowing her, I think she might actually miss you."  

Jake looks up from his hands, his eyes searching Jungwon's face for any flicker of doubt, "You really think so?"  

Jungwon shrugs, standing up and moving towards his door, "I think you've got a lot of work to do if you want to earn her trust back. But...I think you still have a chance."  

Jake doesn't say anything as he follows Jungwon to the door, but the look on his face says enough—there's a new slight look of hope. It's small, but he's clutching onto it like it’s his lifeline.  

“You know," Jungwon says when he reaches the doorway. "Y/N’s not the type to let people in easily. She puts up walls—but with you…she let them down. You’re special to her, Jake, even if she doesn’t say it. Don’t throw that away. For her sake, and yours.” 

“I won’t,” Jake promises, his voice steady now. “Thank you, Jungwon.” 

Jungwon nods at the older boy before giving him a faint smile, "And just so you know, I defended you yesterday. So don't prove me wrong or I'm actually going to deck you."  

Jake lets out a weak laugh as he hangs outside Jungwon's door, "Noted. I promise I won't let her down again."  

Jungwon doesn’t respond, just closes the door with a soft click, and hopes—for all their sakes—that Jake means it.  

Jake [5:12PM]: hi Y/N   Jake [5:12PM]: i know I'm the last person you want to hear from right now. and i don’t blame you at all   Jake [5:13PM]: but i cant just stay silent and let this sit between us, and i value you too much to not respect you needing space and just show up at your door  Jake [5:14PM]: even though it’s killing me to stay away  Jake [5:14PM]: after you left the party last night, i went back inside. i told jenn that whatever we had in the past is exactly that, the past. and i swear to you, Y/N, there’s nothing between us. there hasn’t been for a long time. and it’s my fault for making it seem otherwise.   Jake [5:15PM]: and as for how i acted…i don’t even know where to start. i fucked up extremely. nothing will excuse my actions and i don’t expect you to forgive me. but i need to apologize properly, you deserve that much.   Jake [5:17PM]: please let me see you, Y/N. i don’t deserve it, and i don’t deserve you. but you mean everything to me, and i hate that i hurt you. and i promise, if you let me, i’ll do everything to make it up to you.  

You stare at the phone in your hand, the messages feeling like salt to an open wound. The words on the screen begin to blur together as tears prick your eyes, spilling over before you even realize it. You don't bother wiping them away—the sting in your chest too raw, too heavy. Each word feels like Jake is standing right there in front of you, his voice soft and broken, tangled with regret.  

You tell yourself to stop reading. You've already gone through the same messages at least a hundred times in the past ten minutes, overanalyzing each syllable as if they hold the answers to all of your questions.  

And yet, you can't stop.  

You want to be angry. You are angry. Or, at least, you think. Because beneath the flame of your anger that's already threatening to die out? There's an ache you can't ignore—a small, stubborn part of you that refuses to let go to the sincerity in his words, clinging onto the hope that he's telling you the truth.  

You mean everything to me, and I hate that I hurt you. I promise, if you let me, I'll do everything to make it up to you.  

The ache twists harder, curling into doubt. What if he means it? What if he's telling the truth?  

But of course, the fear rises just as quickly. Because what if he's not? What if you let him back in, and it all falls apart again? What if you let yourself believe in him, giving him the second chance he's asking for, only to have your heart shattered worse than before?  

And then, there's Jungwon's voice, soft but steady, cutting through the chaos brewing in your mind: "Even idiots get scared when they care about someone as much as he clearly cares about you."  

Your breath catches.  

Because that's the worst part. Knowing that maybe—just maybe—Jake really does care. Knowing that maybe he's telling the truth—and you're the one too afraid to take the risk, ready to build up the walls Jake's managed to get through.  

Your phone screen suddenly dims, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into the moment. You blink rapidly, wiping at your face, your mind a mess of emotions you can't untangle or describe.  

Fear. Hope. Doubt. 

And something else—something you're afraid to admit, but you know is unmistakably real.  

And it's stronger than the fear churning in your chest—it's something that's pulling you forward.  

Your heart pounds almost out of your rib cage as you let out a shaky breath, the weight on your shoulders pressing harder and harder with every second you hesitate. The ache doesn't let up, but neither does your hope.  

So you stop thinking altogether, letting your heart take control instead.  

You shut your eyes, as if bracing yourself for a crash, take a deep breath, unlock your phone, and let your fingers fly across the screen, each word feeling like a leap off a cliff.  

You hit send.  

Y/N [5:30PM]: hi jake  Y/N [5:30PM]: you can come over 

The soft knock at your door startles you, even though you know it’s coming.  

“Y/N?” 

His voice. Jake’s voice.  

Your heart clenches painfully, a conflicting mix of longing and hurt washing over you all at once. It hasn't even been a full day since the party, but the weight of his absence has already hollowed you out, leaving a hole you can't ignore. You know he's the one who caused it—that the cracks in your heart are his doing—but at the same time, the stubborn part of you whispers that he's also the only one who can mend them.  

You make your way to the door, your movements hesitant as you crack it open, peek out, and...there he is.  

"Hi," Jake says softly.  

He's a mess. A beautiful, saddened mess—his hair messy, like he's been running his hands through it all day, his eyes rimmed with the kind of exhaustion that isn't just physical. One hand is buried deep in his jacket, and in the other— 

"Flowers?" You ask, raising a brow in surprise.  

Jake's ears turn red. "Yeah. Uh, I didn't know if you had a favorite, so I got—"  

You open the door wider, revealing the full bouquet—daisies, tulips, roses, all wrapped together in crinkled tissue paper.  

"—a little bit of everything," he finishes awkwardly, his voice trailing off, pausing for a second before holding them out to you with a sheepish smile.  

Your lips twitch subconsciously, despite everything.  

"Jake, you're literally allergic."  

His mouth opens, then closes, the redness from his ears now spreading to his cheeks.  

"Well, yeah, but—," Jake mumbles, shifting on his feet. "—not, like, deadly or anything dramatic like that."  

He pauses, his voice dropping into something softer, more vulnerable, "I just wanted you to have them. That's all."  

You feel your insides tighten, the sincerity in his voice getting to you. For a moment, all you can manage to do is stare at him—at the way his eyes are silently pleading, wide and unsure.  

You hesitate for a second, then step back and open the door wider.  

"Thank you," you say quietly, your fingers brushing against his as you take the bouquet, sending a flicker of warmth through you. "Come in."  

Jake hesitates, his eyes searching yours like he's not sure if he's actually allowed to. When you turn away and walk towards your kitchen, he finally steps inside, kicking off his shoes quickly and hovering by the door like he doesn't know what to expect next.  

You set the flowers down on the counter, adjusting them carefully before turning back to him. He's still standing there, stiff and uncertain, the distance between you feeling larger than ever before.  

"So..." You say, crossing your arms tightly across yourself, shifting your weight as a way to ground yourself—though the lump in your throat makes it feel impossible.  

Jake exhales shakily, his hands fidgeting by his sides and gaze darting to the floor before finally landing on you, "I came to apologize. Properly."  

You blink at him, expression unreadable, "You already said sorry."  

Your voice comes out sharper than intended, surprising even yourself, but the words leave before you can stop them. Jake flinches, just slightly, but he nods, knowing he deserved that. 

"Not like I should have," he says, stepping closer, his voice low and careful, like he's afraid you'll run out of your own apartment. "I know I messed up. I hurt you, and I hate that I did. I hate that I made you feel like you weren't enough or that someone else could ever compare to you, Y/N."  

Your arms tighten around yourself as if the words might knock the breath out of you as look away, unsure if you can meet the rawness in his eyes.  

"Last night," Jake continues, his eyes filling with guilt, "I didn't handle last night right. And not just how I handled Jenn, but I let my own insecurities and stupid fears of being perfect for you get in the way. I let it happen and mess everything up. I let you think that you didn't matter to me, and I will never forgive myself, Y/N."  

His words hang in the air, heavy yet sincere, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him as you process his words slowly.  

"And I don't expect you to forgive me either, Y/N," Jake's voice wavers before he continues, "but I need you to know that I'm so, so sorry. No excuses. For all of it—for making you feel like anything less than everything, for making you feel like you weren't my first choice. Because you are. You're my only, Y/N." 

His words hit you with a force that crashes over the walls you tried so desperately to build. They're overwhelming yet tender, like rediscovering a piece of yourself you hadn't even realized you lost. And you want to let them comfort you, you do. But the pain from last night lingers deep down, reminding you of why you built those walls in the first place.  

For a moment, the silence stretches on longer than you intend, the weight of his words settling in the air between you. Jake doesn't look away though—his gaze unwavering, vulnerable, and raw.  

As though he's laid himself bare before you, giving you the power to either accept or shatter him completely.  

When you finally find your voice, it trembles despite your best efforts, "Jake...I don't know if I can just forget what happened."  

"I'm not asking you to forget," he says quickly, taking another step closer until there's only a few feet left between you. "I just want the chance to fix us. I can't lose you like this, Y/N."  

Your breath catches at the proximity, his presence pulling you in like gravity. The pain from last night tries to claw its way back into your heart—sharp and bitter—but his warmth reminds you of something else that refuses to be ignored.  

That flicker of hope that's demanding your attention, screaming at you to just let him in—not just for his sake, but for you. 

You take a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. "Jake, I don't need you to...to be this perfect person. I don't need you to prove anything to me."  

You pause, pushing past the lump in your throat, "Because since the beginning, I always believed you. And...I think I still do. Even after last night, I still believe you, Jake. No matter how hard I try to."  

Jake lets out a breath he thinks he's been holding in for hours, "Really?"  

"Yeah," you nod slowly, as if reassuring yourself as much as him. "But I don't need any of your promises or proof or any of that. I just...I just need you as you."  

His eyes soften at you as he nods so quickly it's almost desperate.   

"And I need you to be honest with me, Jake," you continue before he can speak. "If we do this, I need to know I can trust you. Because I don't know if I can do this...this waiting game anymore."  

"You can," he says immediately, closing the distance between you two, making your breath hitch. You can see the way his hands are trembling, the slight quiver in his lips. "You can trust me. No more hesitation. I'm all in, Y/N. This is it for me, you're it."   

You search his face for any sign of doubt, any speck of hesitation. But all you find is his sincerity—so hopeful and so real—the kind that makes you want to let him in fully and let your walls crumble all over again.  

So you do.  

"Okay," you say softly, almost as if you're testing the word.  

Jake's eyes widen, the relief and hope flooding his features. Slowly, as if asking for permission, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours tentatively.  

"Okay?" He whispers, his voice barely audible to you as his eyes flicker between your hands and your face.  

You nod, your own hand turning over so your fingers curl around his in an instinctive gesture that feels so natural it makes you want to scream. The warmth of his touch feels like the first real comfort you've felt in forever, and it's enough to make your resolve slip.  

"But," you add softly, your eyes not leaving the way his hand wraps around yours so perfectly, "this doesn't mean everything's fine. We need to talk. We need to figure out where we stand, and where we go from there."  

Jake nods again, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, "We will. Whatever it takes, Y/N, I'll do it. I need you to know how much you mean to me and I'll never stop trying to show you that."  

You let out a shaky breath as you take in his words, finally looking up from your intertwined hands to meet his eyes, your own slowly filling with the tears you've been holding back. 

"You really hurt me, Jake," you say quietly, your voice breaking from the sheer weight of your vulnerability being laid bare.  

Jake's face crumbles instantly, guilt etched into every line of his expression. Without hesitation, his free hand comes up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb light brushing away the tears that fall, as if he's afraid you might pull away.  

Your eyes flutter closed at the warmth of his hand, and despite the emotions raging inside you, you let yourself lean into him. It feels both reckless, yet inevitable, like free-falling and trusting—knowing—he'll catch you.  

"I know," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion he can't swallow down. "And I'll spend as long as it takes to deserve you, Y/N. I'll never make you feel like that again."  

You nod weakly, and before you can think too much, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into the safety of his chest, his chin moving to rest on top of your head as his warmth envelops you completely.  

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself break, burying your face into his chest as the tears flow freely, the weight of everything finally breaking free as you let yourself melt into his tight embrace.  

It's not perfect. It's not a fix-all.  

But as Jake holds you close, whispering quiet reassurances into your hair, you know it's a start.  

And a start is all you need.  

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

epilogue:

“Hi, pretty.”  

“Hi, Jake.”

On the other end of the call, Jake lets out a playful scoff. Even with the slight lag, you can see his lips twitch into that familiar pout—the one that still gives you butterflies, no matter how many times you've see it now, even a year later.

“After all we’ve been through, you still won’t give me a cute pet name?” 

You roll your eyes, biting back a grin, “What do you want me to say? Hi, my handsome, perfect, kindest, funniest, boyfriend in the whole wide world?”  

Jake leans closer to the camera, his expression completely serious as if you should already know his answer, "...Yes." 

Giggles burst out of you, shaking your head at his antics. “You’re too cute to be doing all that, Jake. Pick a struggle.” 

He clutches his chest dramatically, “You know, what? You’re my struggle—I fly across time zones, run on three hours of sleep, and you still won’t give me a crumb of your affection?” 

“You’re exhausting.” 

“And yet…,” Jake trails off with a teasing smirk, his voice dropping into that playful, yet low lilt that still makes your stomach flip to this day. "Here you are, calling me at 1AM in the morning.”  

Your cheeks flush as you glance away from the screen, trying to ignore the way his teasing gaze makes you feel, "Don’t' get confused, it's not like I wanted to or anything. I just figured someone should remind you to go to bed or else you'll look like a zombie tomorrow at the fanmeet."  

Jake laughs softly, the sound grounding you in a certain way only he ever can. "You're so thoughtful, babe. My number-one hater and number-one fan, all at once. I'm so lucky."  

You send him an air kiss, the teasing grin on your face mirrored by the fond one tugging at his lips. He looks at you like he did in that first-ever call way back then—like you're his whole world, and he can't believe you're real.  

"How's the jet lag this time?" You ask, steering the conversation to safer ground.  

"It's not so bad," he shrugs, despite the clear exhaustion in his voice. "At least this trip is only for a few days. Then I can come back to the comfort of our bed."  

You raise an eyebrow, "My bed."  

Jake's eyes narrow, "Our bed. Just admit it—you miss me."  

You pause. "Maybe. Just a little."  

His grin widens, and for a moment, neither of you say anything, the conversation lulling into an easy silence—the kind of warmth that only comes with knowing someone so well.  

Finally, you shift under your blanket, getting comfortable as Jake watches you through this screen, his gaze tender, as though memorizing the curve of your smile, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear.  

"You should sleep," you murmur, holding your phone closer to your face. The glow of your phone reflecting off your soft features sends palpations to Jake's chest so loud he almost doesn't hear your words. 

"Mm, I really should," Jake sighs, though he doesn't move an inch. "I'll talk to you soon, yeah?" 

"Mmhm," you hum, your eyes closing at the softness of his voice.  

“Sleep tight. I love you,” his says, voice soft and deliberate, making sure you feel every word. 

“Goodnight, Jakey,” you tease, letting the smirk creep into your voice, peeking an eye open just to catch his reaction. 

Jake groans dramatically, running a hand down his face, “Y/N…not this again.”  

You giggle, the fondness within you growing tenfold as you take in his face—the slight pout of his lips, his messy hair, his eyes shining with unwavering adoration for you. 

“I said I love youuu,” he whines, dragging out the last word, his lips tugging into the tiniest of smiles, his entire universe reflecting from his eyes.  

Finally, you give in, smiling sweetly.  

“I love you, too, Jake. You already know.”  

And you’ve never meant anything more.  

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

Songs that Remind me of Y/N:

From the first call to forever—you've always been my favorite melody.   Yours, Jake <3

"As I Am" – Justin Bieber (ft. Khalid)  

"Daylight" – Taylor Swift 

"DIE 4 YOU" - Dean 

"Psycho, Pt. 2" – Russ 

"Heaven" – Bazzi 

"Every Kind of Way" – H.E.R. 

"Off My Face" – Justin Bieber 

"Before You" – Benson Boone 

"Sunflower" – Post Malone & Swae Lee 

"Pink + White" – Frank Ocean

"No Doubt" – Enhypen <3 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the end! if you made it all the way, this is for you:

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡♡♡♡♡♡

p.s. i wanted to leave the ending kinda up to interpretation—hence the time skip to a year later..but lowkey what if i wrote short drabbles/scenes of things jake does to gain Y/N's trust again, from small to big gestures etc etc..lmk if that's something anyone would wanna see !!

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list (love you all <3):

(i hope it let me tag everyone!)

@thesassy-mia @ikeulove @renaishun @xylatox @puma-riki @blackberryrains @dreamiestay @junislqve @lamin143 @dreamy-carat @etherealhan @vvenusoncasual @belovedsthings @somuchdard @sumzysworld @mirouie @almondtofu006 @fancypeacepersona @vivimura @hollxe1 @missthang600 @sugarikiz @sanasour @enhamonsterghoul @etherealriki

[moonstruckme]

I’ve been binge reading your emt polymarauders. And I gotta tell you ! It’s like sipping a nice lemonade on a summer day. Oh my…

I’m a medical student so I loooooove this prompt so much. I couldn’t sleep tonight because biochemistry has been rotting my brain. Ugh

Anyways,

I had an idea, could you maybe make a reader who’s in her first year of med school and she’s so stressed. The boys try to ease her a little but she doesn’t listen and itch closer to burnout. Until she starts to feel unwell and comes out of her study to drink water. But before she can react she passes out and the boys rush to help.

(Totally not happened to me once in front of almost 30 3rd years. Nooooo.)

Hope you like the idea ❤️

Thanks babe, I'm glad you enjoy them! And thank you for requesting <3

cw: academic stress, fainting

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

“What nerve supplies the posterior arm and forearm?” Remus asks you. 

The words are beginning to sound like gibberish. “The, um…the radial nerve.” 

“Well done.” Remus sets your flash card atop a stack. There are three of them, ones you know well, ones you’re still shaky on, and ones you’ve not got a clue about. This card goes in the first stack. It’s small enough that every addition feels like a victory. 

Your boyfriends have been kind enough to bring you lunch at the library. It was quickly revealed as a plot to try and coax you into taking a break, but when that clearly wasn’t working they decided to stay awhile and keep you company. You have a reading room all to yourself today, so James has made himself comfortable on the couch and Sirius has laid his head down in his lap, content to have his hair played with while James watches you and Remus study.

“And which carpals communicate with the radius?” Remus asks. 

“Um…”

“Think carefully,” Sirius says in his TV host voice. “This one’s for full points.” 

You blink. You feel suddenly odd. Off-kilter. “There’s two,” you say slowly. “Lunate and…um…” 

“Can we do hints?” James asks. 

You’d rather not, but you feel like you need it. “Sure.” 

“Alright.” Remus glances down at your card. “It starts with an s.” 

“I know it.” You squeeze your eyes shut. “I had this one yesterday. It’s like sca…sca something. Sorry, I feel like I can’t concentrate.” 

“Do you want me to tell you?” Remus asks gently. 

You sigh. “Yeah, okay.” 

“It’s lunate and scaphoid.” 

You groan, pushing your fingers into your forehead. “I knew that.” 

“It’s alright.” Remus sets the card in the middle stack. He’s watching you carefully. “Do you think it’s time for a break?” 

“Yeah.” You take a deep breath. “I feel weird, I think…” You pick up your water bottle, but it’s light, empty. “I’m going to go get some water.” 

Remus’ eyes are sympathetic. “Good idea, dove.” 

The feeling worsens when you stand, like the change in altitude is making you light-headed. You take two steps. The first wobbles, the second sinks. 

You don’t remember passing out. There’s no darkening of your vision or panicky realization, just one second your knee is bending unbidden and the next the trampled fibers of the library carpet are smushed against your face. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.” It takes you a second to recognize the feel of hands under your head and ribcage, but that’s James’ voice. The knees of Remus’ trousers are in front of your face. “What’d you do that for?” 

“I didn’t mean to,” you mumble. 

“Let’s get you on your back,” says Remus. 

He and James work together to rotate you gently, and then you have a better view of the room. Remus and James kneeling above you, Sirius standing behind them with a look of wide-eyed horror. It appears each of your boyfriends has jumped up in a fright. 

“Do you feel warm?” Remus brushes some hair away from your face while James picks up your wrist to get your pulse and Sirius launches into action, kneeling by your feet. 

“Not really…” You startle as your legs pick up off the floor. “Sirius, my skirt!”

“It’s just us here, doll,” Sirius reminds you. “I promise to protect your modesty if anyone comes in, whatever the cost.” 

You frown at what he could mean by that, but Remus thumbs over your cheek placatingly. “Is there anywhere around here that might have sports drinks?” 

“Um, there’s a vending machine downstairs.” 

“Perfect. I’ll be back shortly.” He gives your cheek a quick hold before leaving. 

James kisses your palm once he’s done with your pulse, and then his fingers find the collar of your shirt, popping open the first two buttons with practiced ease. 

Your hand flies up to prevent him going further. “Why does everyone keep trying to undress me?” 

James laughs, and Sirius replies smoothly, “Why, is this not a good time for you?” 

“Take it easy, lovie.” James takes your hand, holding it in his own. “We’re just making sure all the blood that wants to go to your brain can get there.” 

“Oh.” You knew that. Or you should’ve, if your brain was working properly.

“If it’s somewhat risque in practice, I certainly don’t mind as much with you as I do with the old blokes we sometimes get.” Sirius winks at you. 

You offer up a weak smile in return, and he pouts. 

“How’re you feeling, sweetness?” 

“I’m alright.” You take a breath. “Can I sit up now?”

“Let’s give it a bit.” James rubs your shoulder. “How do you really feel?” 

“Just…weird. Shaky. But not too bad.” 

“That’s good,” he says, though he looks like he doesn’t quite believe you. 

“I think I’ll be fine once I get something to drink.” 

“Mm, I think there’s probably a bit more to it than that,” Remus says as he comes back in. He crouches beside you, twisting the top off a bottle of orange juice. “That is a very well-stocked vending machine. Do you feel ready to sit up, dove?” 

“I have been,” you say. “They won’t let me.” 

“Such ingratitude,” Sirius teases as he sets your feet back down. “We were only waiting for your juice.” 

James helps you up with a hand on your back, and it takes a second of wordless wrestling with Remus to get him to let you bring the bottle to your own lips. 

“You could be dehydrated,” he says as you drink, “or you could just be exhausted, or both. And you can faint from too much stress too, you know.” 

“I know,” you grumble, wiping your mouth. 

Remus takes your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him. You find your indignance shrinking under his steady gaze. “You hurt yourself when you push yourself this hard, sweet girl.” 

“I know,” you say, softer now. “I thought I could handle it.” 

“You need to take more breaks.” 

You nod slightly. 

“And work on putting less pressure on yourself.” 

“Alright, Rem, lay off her.” Sirius rubs your knee. It breaks you from Remus’ trance, and your dark-haired boyfriend flashes you a smile when you look his way. “She’s got enough going through her head without having to remember all you want her to do. Let’s go home, yeah?” 

James insists on supporting you while you walk out of the library. Sirius and Remus debate what film you should put on once you get back to your flat. 

“Shouldn’t I get to choose?” you ask. 

“Well, look who’s feeling up to asking questions.” Sirius gives your cheek a condescending little pat. “Unfortunately, I don’t think you’re really ready to be picking out films, my love. Your decision making is probably still impacted from that fainting spell.” 

“Really.” You narrow your eyes at him. “I’ve never heard of that side effect.” 

“Well, you’re only a first year, doll. There’s lots you don’t know.”

[constant-internal-screamin]

Hi friends! I made a quiz that tells you which wizard you are! (no H*rry P*tter)

[43501]

The Relight movies aren't considered canon, really, since their events diverge so much from the anime/manga in full, but they have some interesting Mello/Near tidbits I want to revisit. (Skipping over L's "Monster" speech because plenty of ink has already been spilled on that.)

In the original story, Light finds out about Mello and Near when members of the task force dig into L's past and visit Wammy's House in person. They talk with Roger and are given Linda's sketches. In the Relight, nobody goes to England.

Light instead reads an article online praising Wammy's unique educational concepts and how this institution is producing child geniuses (most of the text is gibberish, but some fragments are legible). Mello and Near's academic accomplishments are acknowledged, but they're only depicted in illustration. Of course there's no mention of anything to do with L, but information about Wammy's House generally and some of its residents is freely available.

The scene of Mello meeting Near is so… amicable, compared to the original. Since Mikami/Takada are the ones who kill the SPK in the rewrite and not Mello, they all relent pretty much straight away when Near tells them to put down their guns. Mello has his scar, even though the whole mafia plot is cut and we don't see how he acquired it. Near mentions Mello bringing his attention to the fake rules. Mello never points his gun at Near. He just takes his photo back and tells Near "(he'll) be watching". Everything hanging over the interaction heavily implies that although they haven't exactly been working together, they have been exchanging information.

Close-up of Mello's face shows maybe his left eye is damaged (I went to lengths to see whether this was just supposed to be a glow from all the screens in the room - if so there would be other stills with a similar effect - but no, this shot is unique). I'm sure that's a subject that's come up in fanworks and discussion before, but I think this is the only time it's depicted in something canon. It's not the same frame as the original when he's looking at the back of the photograph Near returned to him, it's a new very similar one (similar shot from anime for comparison below).

[hatsukeii]

"WE ARE THE BLOOD IN OUR...WAS IT VEINS OR ARTERIES AGAIN?" / T. KUROO

#4. READY PLAYER...15? | M.LIST | PREV. | NEXT. |

warning(s): biology, horrible reliance on academic validation

wc: ~1.4k

It is in the fifth week of biology tutoring that Kuroo Tetsuro finally gets somewhere with his pep talk. Just after the walls of text pertaining to cells with alphabetical names, disgustingly high definition photos of pus and wounds, and flowcharts that look more like gibberish than anything, is a segment filled to the brim with neurological complications and diseases. When Kuroo mistakenly discovered his magnum opus the night before, he was convinced that this might just be the light at the end of the tutoring tunnel.

"Hemorrhage...so blood needs to flow properly...that's it...!" He's mumbling to himself now, fully immersed in his personal thought bubble, and you stare blankly. His brow is furrowed, fingers picking at his lips in focus, as if he has just made some scientific breakthrough. For the first time in the past five weeks, he actually looks smart. Concentrated. Deserving of his valedictorian position. You'd hate for him to realise that his discovery is supposed to be common sense for biology students, so you bite your lip and shoot a hand towards his squinted eyes, snapping and waving to break him from his unimpressive epiphany.

“Why are you looking through the brain? We have an exam on immunity in two days?”

Kuroo freezes, his head lifting agonisingly slow to meet your eyes, and the stapled papers in your other hand. Truth be told, he has been unaware of any biology exam until this moment, the past week spent tormenting himself over the upcoming chemistry exam, conveniently scheduled for the day before- tomorrow. His mind wanders to two days prior, recalling your reminder to focus on understanding immunity, and his blatant dismissal of it at his newfound discovery of the brain's pep talk potential. Eyeing the papers in your hand, and making out the familiar A, B, C, and Ds on the first page, he tries to estimate the total combinations of answers he can possibly provide on a twenty question multiple choice test. He comes to the conclusion that it's a lot.

"I made you a mock exam, get it done and we'll spend tomorrow going through it."

You watch Kuroo spend five minutes on the first question alone, sigh beneath your breath (something you know he notices by how he mimicks it half-heartedly), then turn away to face your open laptop. As he goes through the five stages of grief on the paper, your keyboard clicks obnoxiously in front of him. He looks up to see you gnaw on your bottom lip fist pump, and scoffs dryly at a recognisable 8-bit tune sounding from your laptop's speakers. You're playing Tetris.

"Shouldn't you be working?"

"On what? The exam I made for you?" Your eyes don't leave the screen. A piece falls into the wrong spot, to which you click your tongue and grumble, pressing even more furiously at your keyboard.

Kuroo spends the next twenty minutes making some attempt at the paper, before handing it over to you, half-folded and face down. Scanning his work against your answer sheet, the pages become maps of red against black ink, and you stare at the glaring 2/10 that graces the top of his paper, just beside the sorry:( scribbled carelessly in the corner. You're not sure how it's even possible to achieve that after weeks of tutoring. Maybe you should be impressed, but all that consumes you is the visceral urge to crumple up the test and throw it at him.

"You ever thought about dropping biology?" Oh, if only you knew.

Kuroo's shoulders tense up now, and he thinks he'll turn away when you reveal to him the fruits of his twenty-minute labour. You slap the paper in front of him, watching the gears in his head turn as he soaks in the dismay of a new academic low. The gears in your head, on the other hand, are in desperate need of oil, jammed in place by sheer confusion as to how somebody so utterly incompetent at a subject has managed to worm his way into the position of to-be valedictorian.

"I don't know, it never occurred to me."

You grip your seat, feeling the blood rush to your fingertips. Well, maybe you should consider it, the thought rings in your eardrums, and your hand comes up to press against your temples. Meanwhile, Kuroo pokes and picks at his paper, playing with the edges between the pads of his fingers. He makes no sound, opting to let you wallow in disappointment at his incredulous failure. He probably deserves your silence right now.

"I told you to look through immunity, didn't I?"

"You did." Some insuppressible sensation bubbles in your throat at his acknowledgement.

"Did you?"

"...Possibly not."

You groan, shoving your head into your hands as your nails dig into your hair. Kuroo swallows as you slam your laptop shut, and shove it into your bag. He tries to check the time on his phone discreetly, head unmoving and eyes peering ever so slightly to the screen. There is still ten minutes until the end of the session.

"Coffee shop? My treat as an apology?"

You don't think he understands, as you keep stuffing papers and pens into your bag. Seriously, how is somebody this bad at a subject doing better than you across the board? What more will it take for your name to sit somewhere close to his on the ranking announcements, instead of down at #15, buried amongst the rest? When your placement flashes through your mind for a second, you pull the zipper on your bag extra hard, and yank it all the way around. Kuroo's head dips beneath the table, trying to find your face amidst your dismissal of his proposal. He hopes to God you did not go back to your caffeine addiction to create this mock exam, all for him to forget about studying and fail completely. Your bag disappears from the ground, and he shoots up from beneath the table, his head knocking into the edge, only to see you pushing open the door to the room. He collects all his pens into a pile, and wipes them into his own bag, before snatching it off the side of his chair and tailing after you.

"Hey, are you good?"

"I'm going home, don't feel like coffee today."

Your steps quicken, shuffling further from Kuroo as you hang your head low and speed walk across campus. The worthiness of this tutoring gig suddenly falters, the nights spent compiling notes following hours of gruelling studying finally beginning to seem as insane as it sounds whenever you explain your exhaustion to your peers. Call it jealousy, envy, disdain, whatever it is that is making your eyes twitch and your teeth grind against each other with each step, but you come to the bitter realisation that Kuroo Tetsuro is a better student than you ever will be, even if he's dropped 2/20 on a tutoring mock exam. A hand shoots out to your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

"What's going on?"

"Why are you even asking for my help? You're valedictorian already, I'm not even close." Not close, inadequate, in fact. You are inadequate, and it is undeniable.

Kuroo freezes, eyes glazing over at your confrontation. He thinks about his pep talk; the brain, RNA, blood, and it all leads back to you. The bags beneath your eyes when you explain to him concepts he couldn't care less for, the times you have fallen asleep at the counter in the coffee shop the two of you frequent, your deadpan tone at his fumbles and distractions. He's been scamming you out of your time, and for what? So he can workshop a pep talk?

I'm valedictorian, but can't beat you in a single chemistry exam. I roped you into this gig for a pep talk. You can stop tutoring me, if that makes anything better. I'm sorry.

When Kuroo opens his mouth, you yank your wrist from his grip. He doesn't keep chasing you, but you almost wish he does. You imagine him telling you no, you are just as smart, if not smarter- God, being praised for your intelligence by a valedictorian sounds so good right now. You can almost hear it in your head, before your own voice butts in and shatters the fantasy.

You keep walking. He doesn't follow.

author's note:

not my best work:( i think writing think fast has rid me of the ability to do fluff/crack because that entire fic was so angsty and like nostalgia fueled... i think i just need to plan out the rest of this series and get back into the groove and we'll be all good though!! for the time being, hopefully this did the series justice anyways, and i'll hopefully update this with a better next chapter:)

tags: @staraxiaa @chuuya-brainrot @akaakeis @hiraethwa @kuroppiii @laughingfcx @she-lovesmyheartshapedsunglasses @cupidsblonde @catsoupki @bailey-reeds @wyrcan @fiannee @shoyosluver @haikyuusunsalad @kongkhoi

[catslvrr]

one too many years

kim minji x fem!reader | one shot

Synopsis: Minji comes back into your life after 3 years and asks you to take her on a drive, for old time’s sake. There’s a lot of feelings involved.

Contains: cursing

Playlist

You were fourteen when you first met Minji.

It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. You had seen her around, since you practically shared all the same classes, but never had the chance to interact one-on-one. She was merely a passing thought — that pretty girl who sat in the top ranks alongside you.

It was when the two of you had been paired up for a science project — something about a presentation on the digestive system, that you finally got to know each other. But not necessarily in a good way. You didn’t leave the best first impression after the first conversation.

You weren’t a hardworking person. But you weren’t stupid either. Growing up, you were used to being one of the smartest in the room. Teachers would always praise you for being naturally intelligent and academically gifted. You would do the bare minimum, leaving everything to the last minute, and yet always somehow end up with almost perfect scores.

You grew complacent, cruising through school with no worries in the world. So when you first started working with Minji, and she rambled on about meetups and splitting tasks and deadlines, you couldn’t help but internally scoff.

Minji pulled you out of your thoughts with a tap on the arm. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Huh?” You reflexively closed the MonkeyType tab.

“I asked what parts you wanted to cover,” she narrowed her eyes at you.

“Oh,” you waved dismissively. “Just give me what you don’t wanna do, and I’ll send you the stuff the day before it’s due.”

“What?” Minji scowled. “That’s way too late. I won’t even have time to proofread it and make the presentation pretty.”

“Two days?” You suggested with a half-smile.

She ran her fingers through her hair as she let out a sigh. “Three.”

“Okay, boss!” You grinned, opening up MonkeyType again and aggressively typing away, trying to beat your WPM record. “Done deal.”

Minji stared at you for a few seconds longer before huffing and turning to her laptop, starting her research.

(The two of you passed with flying colors, to no one’s surprise (except Minji’s), and that was when any grudges that Minji held against you flew out the window. Because if there was one thing Minji cared about, it was her grades.)

And that was how the two of you officially forged your friendship — Minji would always force you to be partners for any collaborative projects that came up, and you didn’t have anyone else to partner up with anyway. 

You slumped back in your chair and balanced yourself on its hind legs, looking around the room in boredom. Everyone else seemed to be actually doing their work. Something about researching a famous author.

“Hey,” you bumped Minji’s knee with yours under the table.

She ignored you for a few minutes until she couldn’t stand the constant nudging. She stomped her foot on yours.

“Fuck!”

“What do you want?” She hissed under her breath.

“What’re you doing?” You leaned towards her, obnoxiously peering over her shoulder to scan the document she had opened. It was a bunch of gibberish, to you anyway, but it had a nice color coding system at least.

“Researching Sylvia Plath,” she muttered. “Something that you should also be doing right now.”

“You know I’ll get it done,” you smiled cheekily, casually draping your arm on her chair.

Minji chose not to reply. You watched her type up an analysis of one of Plath’s texts, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your foot.

“…Have you ever tested your words per minute?”

She gave you a side-eye. “What’s that?”

You bit back a smile. You knew how competitive she was. “It’s just a measure of how fast you can type. Think the average is around 80 or something.”

You could practically see her ears perk up at the word ‘average’.

“Is that what you do every lesson?”

“Most of the time. Or I’m playing Octagon.”

“Am I meant to know what Octagon is?”

“I’ll introduce it to you next time.” You shifted Minji’s chair closer to yours and dragged your laptop to her. “Here, try it out. You just have to type the words on the screen for 15 seconds straight. The words are random.”

“Is that it?” She furrowed her eyebrows.

You nodded. “You can type whenever. The timer starts as soon as you type.”

You watched as she began furiously typing, almost poking holes through the keys. Your eyes flitted around the room, checking to see if anyone noticed Minji assaulting her keyboard.

“Damn,” you whistled as the final score showed up. “Not bad.”

“100 and it’s my first time,” Minji proudly beamed and cracked her knuckles. “I’m above average.”

“Alright, relax,” you laughed softly. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself, hotshot.”

“What’s your record?” She eyed you suspiciously.

You tried to hide your smirk as you shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, nothing much. Just a measly 160.”

“What?” Her face dropped. “No way.”

“Yes way,” you nodded smugly. You successfully set the bait, now all you needed to do is reel it in. “There’s actually a website where we can ‘race’ against each other.”

Minji opened a new tab and swiveled her laptop in your direction, a doubtful look on her face. You smiled victoriously as you clicked your way to TypeRacer. Caught her.

The two of you spent the rest of the lesson racing against each other, Minji grumbling every time she lost (which was every round).

It was something else — watching Minji slowly unravel and open up to you. When you were expecting her to start homework early in class, she would ask you to get on TypeRacer instead. The two of you spent time playing other games too: Lavaboy and Watergirl, Tetris, Cool Math Games, and Octagon, of course.

Unfortunately, you still had to do work. There was an unspoken compromise that you could only get her to play games after you had finished the assigned work, so you actually ended up not procrastinating and finishing everything early for once (and in record time, too).

Becoming friends with Minji was easy. Seeing each other every day, you naturally grew closer and talked about everything under the sun. And eventually the two of you became inseparable. The two of you became known to be attached to the hip, never one without the other. You were proud of this, proud to be associated with such a good person, and you hoped Minji felt the same.

(Internally, you were surprised that Minji would choose to continue being friends with you outside of classes. There were better classmates out there. Regardless, you were grateful for the opportunity.)

You grew up together. You were there when she broke down in the bathroom after her speech on climate change because she thought she bombed it (she didn’t). You were there when she discovered the Harvard Reference Generator for the first time (she had written bibliographies by hand before this, which was absolutely mind-boggling to you).

Likewise, she was there when you were panicking at 5am because you hadn’t finished your history research paper on the Indo-China war that was due in two hours. She was there when you accidentally fell asleep in the library and almost missed the next class.

There was no better person to call a best friend. So it wasn’t much of a surprise that falling in love with Minji was even easier. There was no dramatic realization, no lightbulb moment where you suddenly stopped in your tracks and felt the world flip on your head as you thought Fuck, I like Minji.

It was quieter, creeping up on you, as if it was always there. As if it had already been written in fate. You do remember the first time you consciously admitted it though, cementing it in your heart.

Both of you were 15 by then. It was a languid Tuesday afternoon, and you were doodling random shapes as the teacher droned on about erosion and longshore drift. You lazily smiled as you observed Minji — the sharp slope of her nose, the crinkle in between her eyebrows, her tongue slightly poking out as she diligently wrote down notes.

Feeling your gaze on her, Minji turned to you and quirked her eyebrow, nudging you as she wrote ‘What are you staring at?’ on the margin of her notes. You shrugged innocently and looked away with a smile and burning ears.

She’s pretty, you thought. I like her.

Young love — it was naive and innocent. You would do stupid things to get Minji’s attention, like leaving your collar messy or ruffling your hair just so she would fix it. You remember making playlists with her in mind so you could zone out and daydream about her. You cherished these moments. You weren’t one to want, but you wanted Minji.

To you, Minji was the highlight of your high school experience. From sharing Airpods in class and queuing airhorn sounds to watch her jump in her seat when it blasted out of nowhere, to inviting yourself to her Google documents so that you could change the font to be unreadable and the color to a blinding neon pink, to receiving her Airdrops of cute puppy photos, to accidentally downloading viruses from trying to watch anime on illegal streaming websites, to taking Photobooth pictures of each other sleeping. 

And this was enough for you. Habits were hard to break, and your longstanding tendency of procrastinating didn’t appear out of nowhere. It was rooted deeply in the fear of failure — you were so used to being good at everything on your first try, or without having to try at all, that you were scared that if you did try, and failed, people’s perception of you would change.

So procrastination was a way for you to control this fear; it provided a scapegoat, for if you ever failed, you could blame it on a lack of time rather than your own shortcomings.

This fear translated to your feelings for Minji too. You had never liked anyone else before, and you were terrified of failure, the unknown possibilities that came with confessing. You would rather swallow down your feelings and bury them deep within your chest than have to face rejection and lose your best friend.

(And it wasn’t like you thought you had a chance either. She had always been the smarter one, the kinder one, the more responsible one out of the two of you.)

And so you let the feelings fester in silence, all the way up to graduation. It wasn’t easy to hide your feelings, but it wasn’t hard either. You resorted to teasing Minji like you always did, and seeing her happy was enough. She stayed focused on her studies and continued to excel in all her classes. 

Your job was just to be there for her, to be the one to help her relax and find respite from studying.

You were both 18 when you graduated high school. Minji was going away for university, somewhere far away where you couldn’t follow. You weren’t shocked — you always knew Minji was greater than this place. That’s how it always was in your head: she would go on to find success while you stayed behind in the shadows, cheering her on.

You had a plethora of things to thank Minji for. She never let you fall behind. Even if her kicks on your shin left bruises, at least it got you to stop playing Minecraft on your laptop and attempt to be productive.

It was embarrassing to admit that one of your biggest motivations to study and try was to be considered worthy as Minji’s friend. Not that you would admit it to anyone. You made it to graduation, and that’s what mattered.

You never liked saying goodbye to Minji, but you knew she would do well wherever she went. This goodbye wasn’t like the others, where you knew you could go to sleep with the promise that the two of you would meet at the school gates the next day.

It was more definitive.

You let out a long exhale as you leaned against the school gate, waiting for Minji to finish speaking to teachers, friends, and family who were congratulating her.

You watched as students filed out, chatting animatedly and taking photos together. You probably weren’t going to remember any of them. You plopped a lollipop in your mouth. It was strawberry-flavored, just how Minji liked it.

You smiled as you saw Minji coming out.

“Hey, Miss Popular,” you teased. “Done greeting all your fans?”

She rolled her eyes. “Are we going to get ice cream?”

“Yeah,” you pushed yourself off the gate and started walking to your car. “I thought that ceremony was never going to end. Tell me why every speaker kept yapping on and on.”

“Right,” she groaned. “I was trying my hardest not to fall asleep.”

The two of you walked in silence for a while before Minji broke it. “How do you feel?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “The same, I guess. How about you?”

“Scared,” she admitted. “University seems like such a big change.”

“Yeah,” you said. You had been trying not to think about it. “You’ll be leaving in a few weeks, right?”

She bit her lip as she nodded. You both got in the car.

“Have you packed?”

“I’m about halfway done. It’s harder than I thought,” she complained sulkily. “I want to take everything with me.”

“Does everything include me?” You asked cheekily as you started the car, passing Minji your phone to pick a song.

“Absolutely not,” she deadpanned. “You would be the last thing I’d bring.”

“Liar. I’m way better than whoever you’re getting as a roommate.”

“Are we talking about the same person? I’ve literally seen the state of your room… it’s like a landfill in there.”

“No it’s not,” you said defensively. “It may be a little messy, but everything has its own place. It’s organized in its own way.”

“Sure,” she chuckled. “You keep telling yourself that.”

You pulled up to the place. You took a while to parallel park (Minji laughing at you while recording didn’t help), but you got it eventually. It was a quaint little store, and the two of you were regulars. You both got hooked after discovering this place when you got lost trying to find where you parked for a shopping trip.

You smiled when you heard the familiar chiming of the bell as you opened the door, the air-conditioning hitting you in the face. You chucked your lollipop stick in the bin. The store owner, a middle-aged woman from the area, looked up and waved in recognition.

She was sweet, sometimes giving you both an extra scoop or toppings if you showed her good test results (which was all the time). The only issue you had with her was that she kept trying to set Minji up with her son who was almost graduating from university.

“The usual?” She asked, already preparing your cups.

“Yes, please,” Minji answered with a polite smile.

You both sat down after collecting the ice cream with thank you’s and the payment (this one was on you). Minji would always get the cheesecake flavor (which you never understood and adamantly refused to try), while you would settle for the classic chocolate. Sometimes, if you felt adventurous, you would ask for pistachio.

“It’s hard to believe that this might be the last time I eat here for a while,” Minji said.

“I know,” you pouted. “The poor store is gonna lose so much money now that you’re gone.”

You winced as she kicked you under the table. You mentally noted to get your shin x-rayed at some point.

“You're so annoying,” she grunted. “Can’t you be sentimental for once?”

You were sentimental. Especially when it came to Minji. You just weren’t the type to show it. That was one of the differences between the two of you — Minji was straightforward and self-assured, never having trouble voicing her feelings. You, on the other hand, preferred to mask your emotions with humor and deflections, saying a lot without really saying much.

You liked that about Minji. It was definitely jarring when you were first getting to know each other, but you learned to appreciate her bluntness and honesty. It meant you didn’t have to overthink as much.

“I am sentimental!”

“You literally gave me a card that just said ‘HBD’ on it for my birthday. Actually, it wasn’t even a card! It was a post-it note.”

“That is sentimental…”

Minji glared at you.

“Okay,” you huffed, folding your arms. “Maybe it’s not. But it’s the thought that counts.”

“If you’re so thoughtful,” she tilted her head. “You wouldn’t mind helping me clean and pack, right?”

“…Fine.”

You regret not getting a parting gift for Minji when she left. Her departure was bittersweet, like all departures tend to be, with tearful promises to keep in touch. You never ended up confessing, and so you tucked away your feelings in the locked box that held all of your memories with Minji — the one you kept hidden in your closet, filled with birthday letters from her, polaroids, receipts and other miscellaneous collectibles from your time spent together.

The hardest part was watching her cry as she said goodbye, both to her family and friends. She had always been more of the crier between the two of you. You remember her pulling you in for a hug, her arms wrapped tightly around you as her tears stained your hoodie.

“I’ll miss you,” she sniffled. “Keep in touch, okay?”

“I’ll miss you too,” you mumbled, barely audible over the chatter in the crowded airport. “You’ll do great, just like you always do.”

She pulled back with a sad smile. “Thank you, Y/n. I’ll try to come back soon.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

You held back your tears on the drive home, only allowing yourself to cry when you reached the comfort of your bed.

You weren’t one to welcome change. You enjoyed the stability that routine brought. Minji leaving was a change that left a gaping hole nothing could fill. You always preferred solitude, but the loneliness that was gnawing at you because of Minji’s absence was hard to adapt to.

‘Keeping in touch’ never really works out the way you want it to. The first few months were fine, the two of you consistently Facetiming and texting as you both settled into uni life. Then as months went by, texts were less frequent, especially during exam season.

By the time you were both 20, communication was sparse between the two of you. The two of you were never avid texters anyway. You did chat from time to time, making small talk, or talking when there was something to talk about, like birthdays or a memory popping up on Snapchat.

Small talk with her wasn’t really small talk though. You savored every conversation, clinging onto past memories and what she made you feel. 

It wasn’t really the same. Both of you knew this. You never held it against Minji, though. Watching her Instagram stories with her new friends and posts of her adventures brought you happiness. You hoped she was happy too.

But on the melancholic nights when you went out on drives to ease the emptiness, coasting through the sleeping streets with nothing but the moon to guide the way, you felt Minji’s ghost in the passenger seat. And if you tried hard enough, you could almost feel her presence, imagine her soft laughter.

You would always wonder if she was also thinking of you when she lay in bed at night, when she opened up a new document, or when she went and ate ice cream with her friends.

When the ache in your chest was too much to bear, you would roll down the window, find solace in the wind blowing against your face, and turn up the volume of your playlist to drown out your own thoughts. You felt silly for yearning for someone who was miles away now, both literally and metaphorically.

You were 21 when you met Minji again. It was the end of the year, so anyone who left was finding their way back home for the Christmas break. You knew she was coming back, you saw the stories of her packing and the pre-flight pictures.

This was the first time she was coming back — she couldn’t make it the previous three years. You didn’t know why, because you didn’t ask. You didn’t know if you still had a place to ask.

She texted you and asked to hang out. It didn’t really come to fruition until one unsuspecting Friday night. You were playing a parkour map on Minecraft when you received a call notification from her. You almost dropped your phone when you saw it.

“Hello?”

“Y/n, hey.”

You wiped the sweat off your palms. It had been a while since you last heard her voice.

“Did you need something? It’s almost midnight…”

You heard her scoff over the phone. “Don’t act like you go to sleep early.”

“I’m not! It’s just, you know, pretty random for you to call out of nowhere. Especially at this time.”

There was a short pause. You set your phone on your lap as you continued to make your way through the parkour map, distinctly tasting the strawberry flavor of the lollipop more now, for some reason. You knew why.

“Are you seriously playing Minecraft right now?”

You stopped. “…Maybe. How'd you know?”

“I can hear you smashing the space button,” she laughed, sounding almost fond. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

You cleared your throat to fight the embarrassment. “Anyways. What’s up?”

“Oh, right. I know it sounds crazy, but do you wanna go on a drive?”

“Right now?”

“Yeah. For old time’s sake, you know. And I miss you.”

“Um,” you got off your bed and opened your closet. “Sure.”

“You’re driving by the way.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for letting me offer.”

You grabbed a familiar hoodie. It was Minji’s. You remembered Minji stealing your hoodie, and giving one of hers to you as a peace offering. You both agreed that the swapped hoodies were a better fit for each other. You decided to wear another one.

“I’ll pick you up in 15?”

“See you soon!”

“Wow,” Minji said as you pulled up in her driveway. “New car?”

She was still so pretty. You temporarily discarded the lollipop stick in the cup holder before popping your head out of the window. “Get in, loser.”

“I kinda miss your old one,” she clicked her seatbelt in as you started to reverse out.

“You sure about that?” You asked incredulously. “The air conditioning didn’t work half of the time. And the window on your side couldn’t fully roll down.”

Minji shrugged. “Still held a lot of memories.”

You both smiled as you reflected on the many nights spent in the old junk: belting your hearts out on highways, feasting on fast food in empty parking lots, sitting on the hood at lookouts that flaunted the city’s charms. You put on your playlist that you always had on loop whenever you thought about her.

“Speaking of memories,” she continued. “I see you still have this little guy.”

She poked the bobblehead of a monkey wearing sunglasses. It bobbled. She bought it on a whim at one of those quirky souvenir stores because the two of you were both born in the year of the monkey. Little Guy had been here for a while, since your old car. 

“New car felt pretty empty,” you said. “I couldn’t live with the guilt of throwing him out.”

What you didn’t say: I have a bad habit of hoarding anything that reminds me of you.

“That’s good to hear,” she grinned, reaching into her pocket. “Because I bought him a friend!”

You glanced at Minji in amusement while the light was still red. She carefully placed the new bobblehead next to Little Guy. It was another monkey one, slightly taller than the original, and it was posing with a peace sign.

“Where’d you find that?”

“Pure coincidence,” she explained. “I was out shopping with my friends one day and I saw it. I knew I had to get it.”

You tried to focus on the road as thoughts began racing through your head. She still thought about you. That was good to know.

“Thanks.”

You bit your lip as there was another lull in the conversation. There would always be so much to say back then.

“I can't believe it’s been three years,” is what you settled for.

“Yeah,” Minji’s eyes softened. “It has.”

You tightened your grip around the gear stick. “How are things over there?”

“Really good,” she answered. “Besides university. That’s always a pain in the ass, no matter where you are.”

“That’s good to hear,” you said. And you truly meant it.

“I get homesick a lot, though,” she confessed. “I miss the food, my room, everything. You should visit one day.”

“Maybe,” you pursed your lips. “I’m super broke after buying the new car, though.”

“Do you still do the tutoring thing?”

“Yeah. It’s relatively easy and brings the money in.”

“I still can't believe you willingly tutor math.”

“And I still can't believe you don’t tutor. You’re so much smarter than me.”

“That’s not true,” she frowned. “But, I’m glad you bought the new car. So I don’t have to drive.”

You sighed in mock frustration. “Three years and you’re still a passenger princess.”

She only laughed in response. “Enough about me. How have you been?”

“I’ve been good. Just living life.”

Heat washed over you as you felt Minji’s intent gaze on you. There was always something so compelling about her, the fact that she could disarm you easily and make you feel unguarded. 

“Uni sucks,” you continued hesitantly. “I’m still procrastinating. And playing Minecraft during my lectures.”

“I was wrong,” she said with a hint of a smile. “You’ve changed.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “I have?”

She tilted her head slightly, still studying you. “You seem more… withdrawn. And grown-up. Weary, even.”

“I’m the same as I always was,” you said, but you weren’t too sure who you were trying to convince. Maybe spending all this time alone along with the inevitability of growing up did change you.

“I’m still amazing at typing. None of my friends have beat my record yet.”

“Of course you still brag about that,” Minji rolled her eyes.

She turned to face the window again, watching the scenery that rushed past.

“But, my point still stands. You have changed. Since when was I the one to lead the conversation?” She asked playfully, but you knew there was some truth behind it.

Younger you would jump at the opportunity to hang out with Minji and talk her ears off. When the two of you started to grow apart due to the long distance, you subconsciously stopped initiating conversation. You just wanted to quell your feelings and move on as soon as possible. It worked, for the most part, you think. 

Until tonight, that is. Seeing her again after all these years fostered emotions you weren’t sure you wanted to face. You’d never tell Minji any of this, though.

“You’ve changed too,” you said. “You look older. Hag.”

“Rude,” she scoffed and pinched your hand on the gear stick.

“I’m joking,” you continued with a faint tug on your lips. “You carry yourself lighter now. But you still have that maturity about you.”

She leaned back in satisfaction at your response, humming in acknowledgement.

“By the way, did you have a destination in mind?” You blurted out. “Cause I’m just driving mindlessly, if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s fine,” she murmured, her gaze lingering on you. She could always read you like a book. You hoped that these years changed that. She could probably feel the nervousness and awkwardness radiating off you.

You welcomed the silence as you tapped on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the current song, processing what was happening. Minji was here, in the car, with you now. Just like how it used to be. A different car now, though. And a different her. A different you, too. You had missed her so much, but now that she was here, you didn’t know how to feel or what to say.

You took a last-minute turn, deciding to drive on a path that you knew all too well, one you could practically drive with your eyes closed.

(Pass by the park where you would force Minji to push you on the swing. Keep driving straight until you reach that one flickering street lamp, then turn right. Continue driving, cross three roundabouts, then turn left on the fourth, driving onto a rocky road.)

Minji smiled as she recognized the destination.

You parked the car and the both of you hopped out, feet on the gravelly surface. You had walked on this ground so many times now that it was basically ingrained into your feet. The two of you sat on the hood of your car. It was a bit chilly, but the hood was still warm from the engine.

Minji breathed out deeply. “This view never gets old.”

“No,” you murmured in agreement. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Did you still come here?” She turned to look at you. “When I was gone, I mean.”

“Sometimes.”

The two of you continued to take in the view, both lost in your own thoughts.

You always wished you could capture a moment in time, especially the moments with Minji: the light fluttering in your chest, the quiet intimacy you two shared. This moment was no different.

Nostalgia was a deceiving thing. You had dreamt of this moment so many times — meeting Minji again. That it would be like the polaroids you kept at home, give you peace of mind, provide you with some sort of comfort. It was silly of you to think that, too idyllic and quixotic. Maybe it was a good thing that you’re not as optimistic anymore.

You could barely contain your shock when the next words came out of Minji’s mouth.

“I loved you, you know.”

You swallowed down the hope that started to rise in your chest like water. You didn’t want to drown in the feelings you had suppressed long ago.

“I loved you too,” you said warily, slightly confused. “You were my best friend.”

The use of past tense left a bitter taste in your mouth. But you were afraid she had moved on, found new friends and found a home in them.

Minji smiled wryly. “I meant that romantically. As in more than best friends.”

You took in a sharp breath. You wanted to cry. All those years I spent wanting, you thought, and she loved me too.

“You loved me?” You whispered in disbelief, wringing your hands together.

There was an unreadable look on her face. “You say that like it’s hard.”

Isn’t it? You wanted to say. What could you possibly have loved? The tight squeeze on your chest was persistent, uncompromising to your pain.

“I loved you too,” you said quietly. You had always thought confessing would lift the weight off your shoulders, free your heart from the burden of hiding. You never felt more hopeless than in this moment, though. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How could I?” Minji replied as she sagged her shoulders, her voice small. “I was so sure you only saw me as a friend. You were always teasing, so I didn’t know if you were seriously flirting or not. And you’re not the emotional type… I couldn’t tell how you felt about me.”

“I’m sorry,” you exhaled shakily. “You seemed so focused on your grades and your work, I thought I never stood a chance.”

“You don’t need to apologize. We were both stupid,” she shook her head with a chuckle. “I can’t believe teasing was your only way of showing affection. I think tonight’s the first time I’ve heard you say ‘I love you’.”

You never wanted to say it, because you felt guilty that it meant something else to you than it did to her (or you thought it did). You wanted to give your younger self a kick in the shin.

Minji’s eyes were glassy, shining with unhushed tears, and you wanted to reach out to her. Your hands were resting on the hood of the car, only centimeters apart. If you were brave enough, you would inch your finger closer, ever so slightly, to brush against hers.

But you were never courageous.

You felt like you were suddenly 14 again, staring at your laptop screen, staying up late to finish your Sylvia Plath research task, reading an excerpt from The Bell Jar. You had stared at the fig that held the possibility of you being Minji’s for so long, never daring to believe it, and watched it die. And the way your heart plummeted now was the fig dropping at your feet.

You tried to not let the quiver in your voice show. “Do you think things would be different now if one of us confessed back then?”

“Of course it would be,” Minji smiled ruefully. “But there’s no point in thinking about it too much. What’s done is done.”

She was right — what-ifs were a dangerous rabbit hole to find yourself in. You didn’t know which was more paralyzing: the fear of ‘what if Minji rejects me’ from back then, or the regret of ‘what if I had confessed’ now. It’s always so easy to berate yourself for making the wrong choice once you know the outcome.

Then, as an afterthought, she added, “I wonder how the younger versions of us would react to us now. I don't think they'd recognize us."

You laughed softly. “No, they wouldn't."

The two of you spent a few more minutes in silence.

“You’ll be leaving again in a few weeks, right?”

“Yeah,” she checked her phone, hopping off the hood. “We should head back. It’s almost 2am.”

There was so much left unsaid. But if you had learned one thing from tonight, it was that things were different now. This is how things were meant to end. Sometimes, things just don’t work out, and you just have to learn to live with it.

You should’ve realized how stuck you were in the past, your mind refusing to accept the fact that everything has changed. And that everything will continue to change.

There was a certain sense of freedom in the conversation on the way home, like the two of you knew that you wouldn’t get something like this again. You reminisced and laughed about the good old times, and you think that this was enough. This is what you needed. 

Letting go can be a beautiful thing as much as it is painful. And love isn’t something you ever stop doing, or feeling, it’s always present in whatever fig you choose to grab, and it transforms into what it wills. You’ve chosen yours, and Minji’s chosen hers. You’ll always love her, just not how you used to.

“Thanks for the ride,” Minji clumsily pulled you in for a hug (it was a bit cramped because you were both in the car). “Take care of Little Guy and Big Guy.”

There weren’t any promises to keep in touch this time, and that was okay. If you were to ever see each other again, then nature will take its due course.

“Enjoy your time back here, Miss Popular,” you smiled. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

You watched Minji exit the car. There was a fleeting spark of hope as she lingered at the door, but you quickly shut it down. You weren’t the kids you used to be. But maybe in another lifetime, things would end up differently.

Your eyes followed her as she walked to the front door, waving at you before entering the house and closing the door behind her. You waited until you saw her bedroom light turn on through the window.

You started the drive back home and turned up the music, deciding to take the long way.

[bakersimmer]

Sims 4 Flower Garden Legacy

This legacy is inspired by flowers and the meanings attributed to them. I used the interpretations from two books I found on my mother's bookshelf.

These are more like guidelines and thoughts on how to make your different generations more interesting, especially if you are like me, and you need goals and challenges to stay engaged.  I didn't have time to playtest all the generations, but I know it's possible to push your sims to the limit without cheating. 

First things first

TS4 is easy enough to play without cheating

Different generations are linked to different expansions

Objectives are not in chronological order

To add more excitement, try out different mods

There are no assigned traits, but some traits would make your sims life easier. Follow your gut on this

There are no assigned colors. Again, follow your gut

English is not my first language, so please ignore any grammar mistakes 🙃 unless I wrote complete gibberish and you don't understand a single word in a sentence, then let me know

G1 Azalea

Azalea symbolizes friendship, family, joy, and tradition. With the right amount of sunlight and water, this low-maintenance plant will bring an abundance of color and beauty to your life. 

You have a gentle and nurturing personality, with a talent for caring for others and creating a warm, welcoming environment. You prioritize spending time with loved ones and creating meaningful connections with others in your community. You find joy in the beauty of nature and have a passion for gardening and spending time in the kitchen. 

Aspiration: Big Happy Family

Have at least three kids

Develop the highest possible skill level in cooking, baking, gardening, flower arranging, and parenting

Have some kind of social event with family and friends every Saturday (dinner, bbq, etc.)

Grow at least 10 different types of flowers in your garden (As of May 2023, there are 24 flowers in the game) 

Use only low to mid-range furniture and appliances. Never replace anything, fix it yourself

To make money, you can only sell what you have grown or made yourself (vegetables, flower arrangements, preserves, cakes)

G2 Hollyhock

Hollyhock symbolizes ambition, abundance, resilience, and determination. With little care, this tall and sturdy flower will bring vibrance to your garden. 

You always felt like you had to compete for the attention. You are highly ambitious, striving to achieve your goals and exceed expectations. While putting a lot of emphasis on your education and career, you neglect your close relationships. You struggle to express your feelings and connect with others on an emotional level. Despite all this, you are a loyal and supportive partner who does everything to show your feelings in a more practical way. 

Aspiration: Academic -> Fabulously Wealthy

Complete the first aspiration and move to the next one

Get the best possible grades in elementary school, high school, and university

Have a career in business. You aim for the top

Marry the first sim you have a romantic relationship with

You are the breadwinner. The spouse quits their job after marriage and never works again

Don't spend much time with your child/children

Your home has medium and high price items. When something breaks, you always replace it with a new one

Pass the family money to the next heir

G3 Hydrangea

Hydrangea symbolizes vanity, arrogance, and desire. With little care, hydrangea brings elegance to your garden with its large and showy blooms. 

You are highly creative and have a refined sense of style. Being in front of the cameras feels natural to you. You are self-centred and tend to prioritize your needs and desires above those of others. Thanks to your skills and fame, you accumulate a large amount of wealth.

Aspiration: World-Famous Celebrity

Develop the highest possible skill level in charisma, comedy, and acting

Go to a club/restaurant at least twice a week

Have one Meet and Greet in every season

Use mean interactions often

Change your hair color at least 3 times in your life

Hire a butler

In old age, an unexpected wave of generosity hits you, and you donate all your wealth

G4 Yarrow

Yarrow symbolizes strength, courage, overcoming and recovery. This flower will grow even on the poorest soil and doesn't require any care to thrive. 

You grew up in luxury and wealth, but now you have nothing. Despite the obstacles, you are determined to provide for yourself because you want a stable and secure life. It is very important for you that your children are equipped with the necessary skills to be independent and successful by the time they move out.

Aspiration: Renaissance Sim -> Super Parent

Complete the first aspiration and move to the next one

Start with 0 money and a tent

In addition to work, dumpster dive to find valuables that you can sell (Don't sell collectibles or paintings/music/books for extra cash)

Attend different skill classes

Choose medicine as the last career and work in that field until retirement

Fall in love with a patient and end up marrying them

All your kids must gain a Top-Notch-Toddler trait

Always help your children with homework/school projects

All your kids must gain at least one positive character value trait

G5 Gardenia

Gardenia symbolizes sensuality, passion, and secret love. This sweet and intoxicating flower requires a little bit more attention from its grower. 

You have a magnetic personality and natural charm. You are a hopeless romantic who tends to get caught in the passion and excitement of new relationships. You avoid long-term commitment because you fear that the daily routine will kill the excitement and passion. For that one special person, you are willing to take a chance on love despite your fears. 

Aspiration: Serial Romantic -> Soulmate

Complete the first aspiration and move to the next one

Have a childhood friend who later becomes your soulmate

Work in Public Relations (Social Media career)

Get married at least 3 times

Woohoo in 10 different locations (As of May 2023, there are 23 locations/ways on the list)

No kids until adulthood

Reconnect with your childhood friend and settle down with them

G6 Protea

Protea symbolizes dreams, exploration, courage, and resilience. This plant needs a lot of space and sun to grow. It should not be planted deeper than the surface level of the soil. 

You have a strong sense of wanderlust and a need for adventures. You love new experiences and cherish old memories. For you, a job is just a means to an end. 

Complete two adventure/location-based aspirations

Develop the highest possible skill level in fitness, photography, programming, and logic

Work as a freelance programmer

Complete the postcard collection

Move repeatedly and live in at least 3 different worlds

Settle down in one of the desert/warm climate worlds (Oasis Springs, StrangerVille, Sulani, Del Sol Valley, or Tartosa)

Go on a family vacation in every season

G7 Snapdragon

Snapdragons symbolize passion, deception, denial, duality, and strength. This eye-catching, mostly warm-colored flower spices up your garden. 

You are a master of deception, leading a double life. At first glance, you appear ordinary or even mundane, but looks are deceiving. Beneath your boring surface lurks something more sinister. Your purpose in life is to make others' lives a living hell because seeing them suffer is your favorite pastime. You are very passionate about your hobbies...maybe even a little fanatical.

Aspiration: Chief of Mischief

Develop the highest possible skill level in mischief, singing, piano

Fight with 5 different Sims

Become a Triple Agent (Secret Agent Career)

All your kids have to play one musical instrument at the highest possible skill level before they become young adults

All your kids have to have one negative character value trait

G8 Daffodil

Daffodil symbolizes new beginnings, rebirth, truth, and creativity. Daffodils love sunlight and well-drained soil. Therefore, the best growing place for this flower is an open and raised flowerbed.

You are a detail-oriented individual driven by a deep desire to uncover the truth. While searching for the truth, you stumble on a secret that will profoundly challenge your worldviews. You are loved and supported by your community, who admires your dedication. 

Aspiration: StrangerVille Mystery & Friend of the World

Work as a journalist

Be a member of at least two clubs and host club meetings every week

Solve StrangerVille Mystery

Get married to a sim who helped you defeat the Mother Plant

Host at least 8 different types of social events in your lifetime (As of May 2023, game has 25 different social events)

All your kids have to complete the Social Butterfly aspiration

G9 Rudbeckia

Rudbeckia symbolizes justice, fairness, motivation, and optimism. Rudbeckia is a hardy flower that loves evenly moist soil but can also survive drought and scorching sun. 

You are a highly principled individual deeply committed to upholding justice and protecting others. You are willing to make great sacrifices to ensure that justice is served. After work, you enjoy creative pursuits which allow you to unwind from the stresses of your work. You desire balance and harmony in your home life. 

Aspiration: Painter Extraordinaire

Develop the highest possible skill level in wellness, painting, knitting, and cross-stitching

Work as a detective

Have a romantic relationship with one of the suspects but break it off eventually

Own a house with a large and luscious backyard where you spend most of your free time

Be strict with your kids, and never miss an opportunity to discipline them

All your kids have to earn the Emotional Control trait

G10 Lavender

Lavender symbolizes spirituality, intuition, devotion, and growth. Lavender needs a lot of light and warmth. Although this flower looks hardy, it's highly receptive to changes in the soil. 

You are fascinated by the concept of magical and mystical, so you spend a lot of your time exploring spiritual practices and rituals to connect with this hidden world. You are determined to connect with and become part of the supernatural world. You have a soothing energy that puts others at ease.

Aspiration: Choose a vampire, spellcaster, or a werewolf aspiration

Develop the highest level of Medium skill

Work as a paranormal investigator

Become a friend with a vampire, spellcaster, or a werewolf

Become a vampire, spellcaster, or a werewolf

[arrghigiveup]

How easy is it to fudge your scientific rank? Meet Larry, the world’s most cited cat

-Christie Wilcox

Reposting whole text cos paywall:

Larry Richardson appeared to be an early-career mathematician with potential. According to Google Scholar, he’d authored a dozen papers on topics ranging from complex algebras to the structure of mathematical objects, racking up more than 130 citations in 4 years. It would all be rather remarkable—if the studies weren’t complete gibberish. And Larry wasn’t a cat.

“It was an exercise in absurdity,” says Reese Richardson, a graduate student in metascience and computational biology at Northwestern University. Earlier this month, he and fellow research misconduct sleuth Nick Wise at the University of Cambridge cooked up Larry’s profile and engineered the feline’s scientific ascent. Their goal: to make him the world’s most highly cited cat by mimicking a tactic apparently employed by a citation-boosting service advertised on Facebook. In just 2 short weeks, the duo accomplished its mission.

The stunt will hopefully draw awareness to the growing issue of the manipulation of research metrics, says Peter Lange, a higher education consultant and emeritus professor of political science at Duke University. “I think most faculty members at the institutions I know are not even aware of such citation mills.”

As a general rule, the more a scientific paper is cited by other studies, the more important it and its authors are in a field. One shorthand is the popular “h-index”: An h-index of 10 means a person has 10 papers with at least 10 citations each, for instance.

Inflating a researcher’s citation count and h-index gives them “a tremendous advantage” in hiring and tenure decisions says Jennifer Byrne, a cancer researcher at the University of Sydney. It also drives the business model of shady organizations that promise to boost your citations in exchange for cash. “If you can just buy citations,” Byrne says, “you’re buying influence.”

Enter Larry the cat. His tale began a few weeks ago, when Wise saw a Facebook ad offering “citation & h-index boosting.” It wasn’t the first promo he and Richardson had seen for such services. (The going rate seems to be about $10 per citation.) But this one linked to screenshots of Google Scholar profiles of real scientists. That meant the duo could see just which citations were driving up the numbers.

The citations, it turned out, often belonged to papers full of nonsense text authored by long-dead mathematicians such as Pythagoras. The studies had been uploaded as PDFs to the academic social platform ResearchGate and then subsequently deleted, obscuring their nature. (Wise and Richardson had to dig into Google’s cache to read the documents.) “We were like, ‘Wow, this procedure is incredibly easy,’” Richardson recalls. “All you have to do is put some fake papers on ResearchGate.”

It’s so easy, Wise noted at the time, that a quickly written script to pump out plausible-sounding papers could make anyone highly cited—even a cat. “I don’t know if he was being serious,” Richardson says. “But I certainly took that as a challenge.” And he knew just the cat to beat: F.D.C. Willard. In 1975, theoretical physicist Jack Hetherington added his Siamese to one of his single-author papers so the references to “we” would make more sense. As of this year, “Felis Domesticus Chester Willard” has 107 citations.

To break that record, Richardson turned to his grandmother’s cat Larry. In about an hour he created 12 fake papers authored by Larry and 12 others that cited each of Larry’s works. That would amount to 12 papers with 12 citations each, for a total citation count of 144 and an h-index of 12. Richardson uploaded the manuscripts to a ResearchGate profile he created for the feline. Then, he and Wise waited for Google Scholar to automatically scrape the fake data.

On 17 July, Larry’s papers and 132 citations appeared on the site. (Google Scholar failed to catch one spurious study, Wise notes.) And, thus, Larry became the world’s most highly cited cat. “I asked Larry what his reaction was over the phone,” Richardson told Science. “I can only assume he was too stunned to speak.”

Although Larry’s profile might seem obviously fake, finding manipulated ones usually isn’t easy, says Talal Rahwan, a computer scientist at New York University Abu Dhabi. Earlier this year, he and Yasir Zaki, a computer scientist at the same institution, and their colleagues scanned more than 1 million Google Scholar profiles to look for anomalous citation counts. They found at least 114 with “highly irregular citation patterns,” according to a paper posted in February on the arXiv preprint server. “The vast majority had at least some of their dubious citations from ResearchGate,” Zaki says.

ResearchGate is “of course aware of the growing research integrity issues in the global research community,” says the company’s CEO, Ijad Madisch. “[We] are continually reviewing our policies and processes to ensure the best experience for our millions of researcher users.” In this case, he says, the company was unaware that citation mills delete content after indexing, apparently to cover their tracks—intel that may help ResearchGate develop better monitoring systems. “We appreciate Science reporting this particular situation to us and we will be using this report to review and adapt our processes as required.”

Google Scholar removed Larry’s citations about 1 week after they appeared, so he has lost his unofficial title. However, his profile still exists, and the dubious citations in the profiles that were in the advertisement remain. So, “They haven’t fixed the problem,” Wise says. Google Scholar did not respond to requests for comment.

It’s not the first time somebody has manipulated Google Scholar by posting fake papers. In 2010, Cyril Labbé, a computer scientist at Grenoble Alpes University, invented a researcher named Ike Antkare (“I can’t care”), and made him the sixth most cited computer scientist on the service by posting fake publications to Labbé institutional website. “Impersonating a fake scientist in a cat is very cute,” Labbé says. “If it can be done for a cat, it can easily be done for a real person.”

For that reason, many researchers would like to see less emphasis on h-index and other metrics that have “the undue glow of quantification,” as Lange puts it. As long as the benefits of manipulating these systems outweigh the risks and costs, Wise says, people are going to continue to try to hack them. “How can you create a metric that can’t be gamed? I’m sure the answer is: You can’t.”

[sag-dab-sar]

Mesopotamian Months

🌾 Some Notes 🌾

I cannot render these from screenshot to alt text / text ID, because the technology cannot read these texts correctly and often spouts out gibberish, my apologies.

Information on "normalizing" the languages LINK

For accuracy I maintained the notation of the book so vowels containing accent marks and the common Š which is pronounced like SH in shoe. Ĝ which is a tricky ng sound. Also some dotted consonants and Ḫ , but don't ask me how to pronounce those.

🌾My Source🌾

My two sources for this post are:

Festivals & Calendars of the Ancient Near East by Mark Cohen 2015

With some information coming from The Cultic Calendars of the Ancient Near East (LINK) by Mark Cohen 1993.

I tried to rely mainly on the 2015 book but I can't help but use some of the 1993 books since I've read it.

I'm positive there are other sources for months and such, but this is the most extensive and enjoyable— if I magically was an Assyriologist then I'd be able to use all the books references from so many other Assyriologists' assertions, papers, debatable concepts, and probably books, that I could read to further understand... alas I can't do that. So I stick to these books because calendars are generally neglected in Mesopotamian history books unless discussing specific reigns of King or Empires.

While neither have cuneiform in the book, it has extensive sign notation and references for those who know how to find cuneiform based on transliteration of signs. It is a very dense academic read, but some sections can be very useful for those who have at least some knowledge of university level reading.

🌾New Year🌾

The New Year takes place on the first crescent moon after the Spring Equinox.

The book mentions the Akiti festival Link (Akitu in Akkadian) the "New Year", often throughout the entire book, it also has an entire chapter for it on page 400, 1993. The origins of the Akiti can be found in page 125, 1993.

It seems religiously the "New Year" happened twice— the first crescent moon after the Spring Equinox & Fall equinox, to maintain prosperity for the coming 6 months. Most calendars month 1 starts in Spring. The original Akiti appears to be from Ur.

🌾City of Nippur's Calendar🌾

The amount of Mesopotamian calendars and month names is dizzying and worthy of a 400+ page book. However, it is Nippur's months that stood the test of time, continuing past the Sumerian language's death in the form of logograms/sumerograms.

Nippur served as the focal point for the religious life of the Sumerian cities and so it is understandable that its calendar would be the one to endure after the collapse of the Ur III empire. It became the official calendar under Isbi-Erra, who founded a kingdom with its capital at Isin after the collapse of Ur. Thereafter, the Sumerian writing of the Nippur month names or their abbreviation continued down to the end of the cuneiform tradition, but only as logograms for the month names of the Standard Mesopotamian calendar. (pp115, 2015)

Nippur's calendar dates all the way back to the 3rd millennium BCE while the full list of 12 names on a single tablet is known from Ur III (2112-2004 BCE) many of its months can be traced back to the Early Dynasty Period (approx 2900-2350 BCE). Its old to say the least.

🌀Months🌀

(pp116, 2015)

Bárazaggar

Ezemgusisù

Sigušubbaĝáĝar

Šunumun

Neiziĝar

Kiĝ -Inanna

Dukù

Apindua

Ganganè

Kùsu

Údduru

Šekinku

[Intercalary] Diri-šekiĝku

🌾"Southern Mesopotamian Sumerian" Calendar 🌾

This calendar arises in the 2nd millennium BCE (2000-1001 BCE) based on Nippur's

The third-millennium Sumerian calendar used at Nippur was adopted throughout much of southern Mesopotamia after the fall of Ibbi-Sin of Ur, an innovation perhaps of the first monarch of the new Isin dynasty, Išbi-Erra (2017-1985 BCE). It would remain in use until the reign of Samsuiluna of Babylon. Noting that Isin is but 18 miles south of Nippur and that, before Išbi-Erra established Isin as his capital, Isin was of relatively little political importance, it is quite conceivable that Isin utilized the prestigious Nippur calendar during the Ur IlI period. However, whether Išbi-Erra's actions were the imposition of the calendar already in use at Isin (i.e., the Nippur calendar)—thus the "victor's" calendar— or was a shrewd maneuver purposely utilizing the commonly revered Nippur calendar, the intent was the same: the economic and political unification of his new empire. The symbolism of Nippur as a unifying presence was not lost on the Isin monarchs, who made special efforts to participate in the rites at Nippur, as seen by Lipit-Istar's central role in the gusisu festival.

As merchants, scribes, and representatives of the government of the Isin Empire conducted business in the Diyala region, the official calendar may have followed, eventually being used simultaneously with (or perhaps even replacing) the local, northern calendars, so that when the First Dynasty of Babylon arose, it too was already using this Southern-Mesopotamian Sumerian calendar.

Although Amorite calendars were utilized by the Semitic centers farther to the north until about the twenty-first year of Samsuiluna of Babylon (1749-1712 BCE), the Southern-Mesopotamian calendar was used at these sites as well. Tablets from Mari dating to the first half of the eighteenth century BCE not only attest to the utilization of this Sumerian calendar, but indicate that these Sumerian month names were not merely logograms to express a Semitic month name, but were actually pronounced. (pp 233-234, 2015)

🌀Months🌀

(pp236, 2015)

Barazagĝar

Gusisá

Siga

Šunumun

Neiziĝar

Kin-Inana

Dukù

Apindua

Ganganè

Ab(a)èa

Šekinku

[Intercalary] Diri Šekinku

🌾"Standard Mesopotamian" Calendar🌾

This calendar is Akkadian— "Babylonian" is a dialect of Akkadian. Artificially evolved from the Southern Mesopotamian Calendar which itself naturally evolved from Nippur's Calendar— a legacy reaching all the way back through time to the Early Dynastic Period.

When, at the close of the third millennium BCE, the Southern Mesopotamian Sumerian calendar was imposed throughout southern Mesopotamia, quite likely by Išbi-Erra of Isin, the written Sumerian month names were not simply logograms for month names. This Southern Mesopotamian Sumerian calendar was an adaptation of the Sumerian Nippur calendar. Since Sumerian calendars had been in use in Sumer during the preceding Ur III period, and since the month names found in Sumer during this subsequent period were Sumerian, it is reasonable to suggest that this use of the Nippur Sumerian month names indicates the continuance of a written and oral Sumerian calendar tradition. Farther north, Amorite calendars were in use, while at Sippar, positioned on the border of the two cultural spheres, Sumerian and Semitic calendars were used interchangeably. Later, the written Southern-Mesopotamian Sumerian calendar month names were relegated to being simply logograms for the month names of the Standard Mesopotamian calendar. Eventually just the first cuneiform sign of the Southern-Mesopotamian Sumerian calendar month name was used as the month's logogram. (pp381, 2015)

▪️

Based on these peculiarities in the assignment of month names, the Standard Mesopotamian calendar may have been an artificial creation, a means to unify a divergent empire. It may have been difficult to perpetuate the use of a Sumerian calendar outside of southern Mesopotamia. However, the economic and political advantages of a single, standard calendar were as obvious in the second millennium BCE as they had been on a smaller scale hundreds of years earlier to Išbi-Erra of Isin. So, rather than select one particular city's calendar as the new Reichskalender a policy that might have alienated those cities on whom another city's calendar would have been imposed the Babylonian administration invented a hybrid Reichskalender, culling months from various calendars throughout the realm and beyond, thereby hoping to gain international acceptance. The use of Southern-Mesopotamian Sumerian month names as logograms for this new calendar is a clear signal that there was something "unnatural" about the development and imposition of this new calendar. The retention of the Southern-Mesopotamian Sumerian month names on written documents may have been a negotiating point to gain the acceptance of the former Sumerian cities with their proud scribaltraditions. Total imposition of non-Sumerian month names (written as well as spoken) on the scribes using the Southern-Mesopotamian calendar could have been counter-productive. The continuation of a written calendrical tradition that could be traced back to venerated Nippur may havebeen important to the scribal community, which was proud of its eclectic and ancient position in society. In summary, the Standard Mesopotamian calendar may have been conceived by Samsuiluna (or possibly Hammurabi), who felt the urgency to foster a sense of nationhood among the cities of his empire, many of which were in rebellion against him. Use of this new calendar spread without the use of military conquest, probably the facilitation of international commerce was the catalyst for eventual acceptance in places not under Babylonian control, such as Alalakh and Assyria. (pp385-386, 2015)

While the month names are written in Sumerian they are read as Akkadian. A 2nd millennium bilingual text of the month names was found (pp380, 2015):

Here is a "conversion" of the Akkadian part of the bilingual text to the normalized Akkadian names found on book page 303, 1993:

🌀Months Sumerian to Akkadian🌀

First is Sumerian -> Second is Akkadian

Barazaggar -> Nisannu

Gusisá -> Ayaru

Sigga -> Simānu

Šunumunna -> Tamūzu (alt: Du'uzu)

Neizigar -> Abu

Kin-Inana -> Ulūlu / Elūlu

Dukù -> Tašritu

Apindua -> Araḫsamnu / Markašan

Ganganna -> Kissilimu

Abbaè -> Ṭebētu

Udra -> Šabāṭu

Šekinku -> Addaru

Diri Šekinku -> Addaru [Intercalary]

The Hebrew calendar is an adaptation of the Standard Mesopotamian Calendar.

At some period during or after the Judean exile in Babylonia in the sixth century BCE, the Judeans adopted the Standard Mesopotamian calendar, as had the Nabateans, the Palmyrans, and other Aramaic-speaking peoples. Judaic writings as preserved in the Bible use the Standard Mesopotamian calendar only in books dating to the post-exilic period. (pp383-384, 2015)

The book gives a table of normalized Akkadian names and their Hebrew counterparts without vowels (except U apparently). This can help you understand where the Sumerian & Akkadian months would fall on our modern Gregorian Calendar, by looking up Gregorian to Hebrew date translation.

I am giving the normalized version of the Hebrew names, from Wikipedia Link, and adding in the book's table transliteration in small parentheses.

🌀Months Akkadian to Hebrew🌀

First is Akkadian -> Second is Hebrew; (subtext transliteration)

Nisannu -> Nisan (nysn)

Ayaru -> Iyar ('yr)

Simānu -> Sivan (sywn)

Du'uzu / Tam(m)uzu -> Tammuz (tmuz)

Abu -> Av ('b)

Ulūlu / Elūlu -> Elul ('lul)

Tašritu -> Tishrei (tšry)

Markašana -> Cheshvan or Marcheshvan (mrḫšvn)

Kissilimu -> Kislev (kslv)

Ṭebētu -> Tevet (ṭbt)

Šabāṭu -> Shevat (šbṭ)

Addaru -> Adar ('dr)

During leap years with an intercalary month, the last months become Adar 1 (Adar Aleph) and Adar II (Adar Bet)

🌾 Using the Akkadian or Sumerian Months🌾

Using the Hebrew Lunisolar Calendar due to its affinity with the Standard Mesopotamian Calendar / Babylonian calendar, we can trace our steps backwards. In 2025, January 1st happens on Tevet 1 in the Hebrew Calendar. Tevet in Akkadian is Ṭebētu which in the Standard Mesopotamian calendar's Sumerian translation is Abbaè.

So January 1st 2025 is Abbaè 1.

This won't help find a year but those seem to be based on the current reigning king at the time anyways.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

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[ Link: https://doi.org/10.1111/birt.12844 ]

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==

When I say that the Humanities is rife with academic fraud, I worry that people think I'm kidding, being hyperbolic or otherwise exaggerating. On the contrary. It's not possible to undersell it.

All of this is fake. It's bogus. It's fraudulent. It does not exist.

And yet, people are being given credentials and injecting fantasy into our sense and knowledge-making processes for what is the scholarly equivalent of air guitar.

[theredofoctober]

I sometimes wonder how I miss such huge typos in my work after reading the same text like eleven times... it's so strange!

Cut because I've realised this is sooo long

I do read quickly and skim read as a bad habit left over from academia, so I'm not sure if that's part of it. Maybe?

I've never ever considered I might have dyslexia as I can read and write just fine apart from certain issues. I do have dyscalculia though, so I wonder if it's come from that

I struggle with addition and times tables, and I can't read long numbers without covering the rest of the figure and doing it in parts. I also can't 'see' how many multiple figures there are if they're the same and have to concentrate really hard

Other symptoms I experience are poor direction (yes, I know right from left but it doesn't seem to help) and that I struggle to follow maps to the point I even get turned around in video games 🤣

Also if I write on a page with no margin or even with one at times I slowly write further and further from the left. Teachers used to leave a huge angry red mark on it at school probably thinking I was being a dick and not realising it's something I struggle with

I also couldn't tell the time until I was 8/9 and still struggle with it, especially analogue clocks. It's so fucking bizarre

I've had zero support for it my entire life as I mask being neurodivergent relatively well until I don't, and was academically very talented except in maths so I think all my teachers thought I was a lazy cunt expect the last one I ever had...

God, he was a lovely man.

He died of a heart attack after I finished school which is so upsetting to me because he was the only person who noticed I was severely struggling with maths and gave me a CD with tutorials on it to take home.

After that I practised and practised because I was determined to raise my D to at least a C to get into certain college classes. So I went into Maths every day raising my hand and getting things right, which I'd never done before.

I'd straight up copy other people's work 🤣 I couldn't understand any of it. It was like gibberish. I knew I needed to know this stuff, but the After School classes went right over my head, and I felt angry I had to do this fucking class at all. I used to stare out of the window or at my watch bored as hell

Then after all this studying I got good. Don't ask me how. I think I'm good at learning through repetition and breaking things down to understand them. That's why the tutorials helped, I could replay them without someone staring or yelling at me

I could see the pride on my teacher's face when I shot up in class. He didn't judge me for messing with my calculator when I wasn't supposed to be relying on it because we both looked at each other and said I won't have it in the exams, and that's when I knew he trusted that I would be okay doing it without.

I was.

I got a high B, didn't get an A because I was in set 2 and only set 1 were doing the equations and such that would get you an A or A*. The pride on his face on results day was so amazing to me...

Like he saw that I had a disability, that I wasn't making things up or being lazy or a dick. He saw that I genuinely had a problem and he helped me in the way somehow he knew would help.

I'll never forget him. It was such a simple thing he did and so beautiful and empathetic

I'll never get the chance to thank him 😭

I've lost all my maths knowledge now so sadly I suck again, I'm only good at things when I practice heavily and memorise the knowledge and information. My brain is very strange.

Anyway, long story short haha. I do wonder if there's something there with language, if only a weak presence.

But I think about that teacher and think about how he quietly trusted I'd get there, and everything is okay ❤️ I never ended up in a career I would use any college or uni stuff but I did absorb the lessons I learned.

I'm where I need to be, starting my third book and first novel, with two novel drafts on the way!

[mar3ggiata]

professional help, c31. Four or five.

simon riley x original character.

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs, EDs and death.

song to listen to when reading this: Lo que puede, puede. Ca7riel, Paco Amoroso.

abstract: Simon here. You're following the story alright? Good, cause I'm not. Getting more and more confusing and everywhere I go, she's following. I can't get her to stop invading my space, it's getting repetitive.

'Oh yeah?' What a stupid fucking thing to say, Simon get it together. She looked at him, beautiful, tired siren eyes, beautiful long lashes, sad gaze. She nodded. She knew his family was dead, she knew cause he told her. How they died, she didn't know. Addiction? Something else? 'Yes, 'twas a…', lie Alba, '…drunk driver'. He nodded, his eyes still on her. He felt sorry. Why didn't she talk about her family more, why did she move away? Why was she so far from home? 'It's tough.' That's all he could say. I lost all my family, he could have said. But how do you explain something like that, how do you even say it out loud? How can someone like her understand what happened to him, how can someone like her comprehend. What happened to him was out of this world, his family, death, the bodies, what he had been through. It wasn't the same, sure losing a family member was awful, but it wasn't the same. They weren't the same.

He got up from the chair, taking a step away from her. He couldn't even look at her, he mumbled something about not staying at the base at night. And he was gone. She wasn't mad, she wasn't offended. She cursed herself for saying that thing about her brother, wanting him to feel like he could share parts of his past. It was probably too much, too soon. But still, if he wanted to, he would. Especially after throwing that tantrum at her place on the 24th. Don't expect me to listen to you bitching and moaning about my lifestyle and your brother and not wonder about it.

She went home soon after, she wasn't concentrating on her tasks, she was too tired. A walk with the dog, dinner, a shower. Things were only getting more complicated. She laid in bed trying to put the pieces together, the gentle snoring of the dog in the other room, the wind outside the window. How she was gonna manage to stay on top of things and stay sane, she didn't know. She had a meeting with Price on Thursday, three days after her chat with Simon. Didn't go well. She was sitting with her back straight, hair in a slick bun. She had a skirt on, a turtleneck, big chunky glasses. Her, Roman and Honey were academics in a room full of soldiers and men of war. With their stupid dictionaries and stupid papers, all written in gibberish. Price was mad. Honey, who took control over the situation, was trying to explain their findings to the captain. Behind the three, stood Scotland, Simon and Kyle, along with two other people. Scary stuff, it felt like they were being interrogated. They got new information about the mission. First of all, the Serbian group was talking about transportation. They were talking random numbers, they all suspected drugs. 160 grams per unit, 663 grams per unit. They started wondering which substance they were talking about, since the shipping was intended to reach different countries, and it was going to be pricy. One hundred thousand per unit. Cocaine, meth?

'So you have no idea what we're dealing with?' asked Price.

She was fed up with the captain verbally abusing her and her colleagues, so she spoke, 'You know, they're not talking about shipping tons of heroine like they're talking about football captain', she was raising her shoulders, 'They're discreet.'

'Okay, what are you suggesting we do then, Jude? You guys have made no progress.'

She stopped him again, 'We did, we just told you…' she pointed at Roman's notes in front of her, 'they're shipping single units in separate containers, they're using trucks to make separate shippings, we know it's something expensive…'

She was calm, collected, she was fucking hot as hell. Simon stared at the back of her head as she controlled the room, she was assertive. She was tense, he could see the muscles in the back of her neck. 'You have two days', Price had said. When she got up from the chair she was too mad to even acknowledge him. She turned towards the other two translators, he didn't know who they were. They said something in italian he thought, they all knew italian? They left together. All three.

She didn't even look his way. What, cause she was pissed at Price it meant she was pissed at him as well? What did he do? He thought they could maybe talk, she could share more of what they found... Maybe these two new friends she was working with were taking his place, she didn't need him anymore. He watched her leave the room like they didn't know each other, and he felt a strange pressure on his chest. She didn't look his way, like she didn't care that he was in the room. And she was the only thing he was concentrating on every time they were together so... What a shame.

It all happened so fast, one random Tuesday at 5pm. Honey tapped his hand on the desk three times, she immediately turned around, getting tangled in her headphones. Roman spilled some tea in the attempt of running from his desk to Honey's. 'Shit shit shit', someone whispered. Honey took off his headset, turning up the volume so that everyone could hear. It was a male voice speaking, he was speaking broken English.

'At four, пет, не знам.'

She glanced up at her colleagues. She understood what they said. They said 'four or five'.

'They want job clear and fast, да, добро'. Clear.

Honey was scribbling on a piece of paper, trying to get everything down as the man spoke.

'Read that, да, not many men. како се каже, English… code, secret. Secret.'

He went on for a minute, when he finished they all went back to their stations, at the speed of light. The reason was, if some soldiers went to different rooms to speak about the attack that was just announced they could share thoughts and information, they had to be at the top of their game for the next thirty minutes. She put on her headset, trying to calm the beating of her heart that she thought could explode out of her chest. She heard Serbian, she heard English. Someone said Видим се. See ya, that was the translation. 'Alright…' someone whispered.

'Oh, oh porca troia raga…', that was the clue for Honey and Roman to quickly turn towards her.

Her eyes luminescent, her ears burning, quick fingers typing on the Word document in front of her.

'A job at four or five, don't know the date, they're shipping something to Iran, circa 20thousand maybe more, cocaine and something else, but I'm not sure…' It was Madison, she guessed, referring that information to them. He was whispering into the recording device, speaking quickly so that he could leave that spot without being suspicious. 'Sending you a copy of the paper, gotta go, they have prisoners, poor people, they're all sitting in a room…they're killing them, they want to kill them…' He soon after stepped out of the toilet.

She finishes writing, and got up. She looked at the two other people in the room, just as surprised and shocked as her. Shocked and happy, they finally got something. Shocked at what they just heard, people, prisoners…

'Job at four or five, are they selling drugs?' Roman asked. 'To Iran?' She tried, Honey understood immediately what she was on about. 'No way! Fuck, poor people in a room?' He covered his mouth with his right hand. She had never heard him swear, or lose composure. 'Honey, they're doing something for the Iranian at four or five, they're paying them to do something.' She got up from her chair. Poor people in a room…

'Holy shit…' That was Roman.

'I thought they were gonna attack them, sell the drugs at higher price'

Poor people in a room…

'Hold on, sorry…' Roman got up as well, a piece of paper in his hand. 'What we heard on Sunday, about the shippings. They're selling stupid amounts, look…' He got closer to the others, a paper with translations and calculations in hand. 'They're shipping to loads of countries, nearly 5 pounds, 4 hundred thousand for 5 pounds of what, heroine? Why are these prices so high?'

'Cause they're not talking about drugs. It's the poor people in the room.' She got it.

Her blood went cold. It was true, they had been going on about refrigerated containers, moving trucks that could fit tons and tons of materials inside, too large to go without being checked, too risky to use for a bit of marijuana. They were dealing with larger objects. Pricier material, fewer pieces. They had people to kill… No… They had prisoners, people in a room. The Iranian paid them cause they had the people. She clicked her tongue, shook her head. This was above them, this was… too much. It was the people.

'It's organs. It's organ trafficking.'

'Oi are you even listening?' Ghost turned his head towards the voice on his right, Johnny was walking beside him heading towards the hangar. 'Wot?' He said, an annoyed tone. 'I asked how many?' He wanted his head to explode, he had a migraine, he was tired, Johnny was speaking… 'How many what?' He raised his voice. He had things to do, reports to finish, he had to pack cause he was about to leave, and he didn't even know if he was deployed, they just told him 'in case we need help' and it was fucking stupid, did I mention he was tired? 'How many units per container, why are you not listening?' He rolled his eyes, they were walking towards Kyle. 'They're late cause of a bloody sandstorm', he informed. They had to wait for all the soldiers who were still in Al-Jareena to come back, they would have a meeting with Price and apparently Shepherd was back for a while.

'Where's Thomas?' Johnny asked, Kyle shook his head. 'Couldn't make it again, he still has problems with his back.'

'Ah shit'

'Oi, did you get that email about that human rights convention and what not?' They were walking beside him, they were not shutting up. He craved his bedroom, his childhood bedroom in the UK, he craved silence, he craved warmth of a fireplace and a steak…

'Did you get it L.t.?' I didn't. I don't care. He said no.

'You never answered my question, I was trying to do the math'

'What question?'

'How many units of drugs per container did they say, heroine or cocaine, cause the weight would be different...'

'I don't know, whatever Alba said.'

The ceiling collapsed, the floor crumbled under his feet, his body falling though the abyss of Hell. Blood rushing to his ears. He watched as the two men's faces went from shock to fear. They stopped in their tracks.

'What the fuck?'

'Who the fuck is Alba, mate?'

'How do you know?'

'No way, Jude is Alba?'

'No fucking way, it's her you've been seeing?'

'What do you mean, you're going out with her?'

Before he could register the immense mistake he had made, he heard a voice. A sweet, sincere voice. He heard the voice he normally heard in his dreams, in his mind. The two men were soon forgotten, she was coming his way. 'Hey!' She shouted. She stood in the middle of the hangar, making a few men turn towards her. Her, in all her grace, her dark aura, her aura of power and knowledge. She looked pale, she looked… she was crying? She looked scared. Watching all three soldiers stop and look at her, she signalled them to follow her with a single nod of her head. Come with me, that was the signal. 'All three' She said. They followed like they were some damn dogs.

'Are you out of your mind!?' Price's voice was loud, his hands on his hips. They were inside the listening post room, him, Johnny, Gaz, the captain and the three scientists. 'What?' She raised her voice as well, he had never heard her like this before. 'Literally, what is your problem?' She spoke to the captain, crossing her arms. Price went on for a few minutes scolding the three academics. The accusations and the theories on organ trafficking were serious, and they had always talked about drugs, why were they abandoning that route? 'Because it makes the most sense, captain.' Tried Honey. He showed Price the list of all the weights and measurements they had heard about, which, as they discovered, fit quite perfectly the average weight of kidneys, lungs and hearts. 'That explains the refrigerated containers', she chirped in. 'And the prices', Soap, unexpectedly, gave her a nod of credit. 'And the poor people', finished Honey.

They explained it wasn't rare for poor people to get into situations such as organ and human trafficking. They could make a lot of money, they were easy to convince, easy to manipulate and desperate. It all started to make even more sense when they found information in Serbian news articles online about people disappearing in the latest few months. They found many individuals started reporting to be victims, or suspect family members to have had illegal surgeries for organ trafficking. 'They said they're receiving a note with a code of some sort', she was standing on Simon's right, near her desk. Her hair was messy and undone on her shoulders, she glanced at the time on her phone from time to time. Have you got somewhere to be? 'Probably containing information on when the shipment might be made, or what to do with the people they're gonna take the organs from'. The room was filled with silence. It was sad, really. They were glad they made the discovery, but overall, not good news. Price crossed his arms, looking down at his feet. It was clearly more than they were expecting. Simon would't take his eyes off Alba. He was proud, he was sad she had to deal with this tremendous job. She looked at him. He gently tilted his head foreword, as to say, you're good. He didn't know why it was so important for him to let her know that he supported her. She gave him a small smile. He felt they were feeling the same emotion somehow.

'Will you be able to translate the code?' asked Price.

'Sure, yes, we'll do everything we can.' Honey.

Price sighed.

'Good work.'

notes: massive chapter, sorry!!!

taglist:

@ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight

@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006 @my-therapist-hates-me

[fictionfixations]

this man makes me feel so dumb

(ive typed down his text in case you cant see the imgs but im not sure how it reads in a screen reader or whatever its called i cant remember. like if i should clarify 'in a text message, dr ratio states' or describe the characters appearance in the profile pic??? anyway if there are any typos or wrong words know that dr ratio has turned my brain into mush just by appearing so um)

[Dr. Ratio: The esteemed University of Veritas Prime has once again commenced its enrollment proceedings. Do you, perchance, harbor aspirations for further refinements and scholarly pursuits?]

i was so confused but also immediate 'NOOO' that it took me a few minutes to realize that this wasnt gibberish and i could actually understand what he was saying

[Dr. Ratio: Interstellar voyages necessitate a wealth of erudition, lest one may very well perish amidst perils unknown.]

and then immediately gets hit with words i dont know

[Dr. Ratio: Are you privy to the demarcation between philosophy and science?]

[Dr. Ratio: I would not recommend this discipline to neophytes.]

im just. SIR. talk to me like im a 5 year old 😭

(i think he's saying he'll basically pen a recommendation letter or whatever the fuck but im a dumbass who doesnt understand shit unless its blunt and to the point so idk maybe im wrong)

[Dr. Ratio: Do ponder upon it with due diligence before tendering your response, and should you require it, I shall gladly lend my quill to pen a commendatory missive to your benefit.]

also we really just respond with short msgs and then he just goes brr..

[Trailblazer: Understood.

Dr Ratio: You may need more time for careful consideration.

Beware of those who only extol the virtues of an academic discipline without candidly acknowledging its challenges.

I have met numerous students brimming with enthusiasm, only to witness their eventual departure, ensconced in disillusionment and despondency.

Hence, any academic decision should be approached with utmost caution.

Though it may sound harsh, not everyone is suited for the scholarly pursuit.]

(anyway CHILL its SUMMER let me pretend school doesnt exist)

[thestarryeyedadmirer]

I came into Art School thinking that it’d be a walk in the park. I mean, I’ve been making art my entire life — painting, sculpting, printmaking, and working with wood for as long as I can remember. Not to brag… but, I’ve won so many awards for my work, my parents had to buy an entire storage unit for me, just to have somewhere to store all of my accolades. I’ve even been recognized on a national level for some of my pieces. The things that many of my peers are only now learning how to do in college, I’ve been doing as mere hobbies for most of my life… and, I’d like to think that I’ve mastered them… so, it was only natural for me to come into my first year of university operating under such an ignorant assumption.

When it comes to school, I usually don’t have a hard time being successful. My academic records and transcripts speak for themselves. In all my years of education, I’ve never gotten a grade lower than a B, not even once, and I’ve been a Top Scholar since second grade. I’m good at juggling my responsibilities — making ample time for studying, doing and turning in my homework assignments earlier than I need to, acing every test, and racking up the hours of extracurricular activities — but, this semester, I’m having some trouble focusing in my Art History class… just the one class… and it’s not for any reasons that you may be thinking.

See… I have this professor — Professor Pascal — who teaches my Art History course… and when the year began, he was already about six months pregnant. I’m talking belly popping out underneath his shirt, outie navel as big as a doorknob, chest all puffy and leaky, feet so swollen that he can only wear Crocs and open-toed shoes in class, constantly moody and complaining about his body aches, binge eating in class, and too foggy-headed to maintain a straight line of thought pregnant. Like… pregnant, pregnant. Extremely pregnant. The man is at least forty-five years old… which is concerning on its own… and he’s as big as a house.

To make matters worse, he always wears clothes that he bought before he got knocked up — before he started to gain weight, and his belly began to swell — and they’re so obiously tiny and uncomfortable. Sweaters that are meant to be loose, stretched past their limits and tucked into his pants, to cover his massive stomach. Button-downs that pop open several times during lectures, exposing his hairy, bloated torso to hundreds of students at once. Suit jackets that don’t accommodate for the extra weight that he may have gained. Khakis that hug him so tight that they look like a second layer of skin. Underwear that peeks over the waistband of his bottoms, rides up his butt crack, and shows off a visible outline of his engorged genitals.

He so pregnant that it’s honestly hard to ignore. You know how, usually, when someone’s expecting, you can just acknowledge it and move on… most times, without things being weird or awkward? Well… it’s not like that with Professor Pascal. Not for me, at least. I just can’t stop staring at his belly in class… thinking about it. It takes up so much space in my mind, I think it may be making me… dumb.

No matter what the subject of his lectures are, what assignments he may have us doing for the week, or how many pages of notes that I take, I can’t stop gawking at it… curious. It’s like, I can’t see anything else, or hear anything. The huge whiteboard and padded, sound-reflective walls behind him fade into a plain, flat backdrop… and his words slowly turn to gibberish. I get tunnel vision… stop taking notes, and everything. I can’t retain any information… and then I have to cheat on my homework, my quiz grades drop… then my test scores, and then, my GPA. It’s a slippery slope.

I’ve never, not once in my life, had an overall letter grade lower than a B… but, in Professor Pascal’s Art History course, I’m going through the semester with a C+.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me… or what I can do to improve my grade. He doesn’t offer extra credit, or accept late work. He says that his class is “too easy for anyone to fall that far behind”… and yet, here I am, with a C+.

It’s just… when I’m sitting in that lecture hall — in the very first row of seats — that tunnel vision sets in, and I start to daydream. I… I fantasize about him coming down from his low-rise stage and walking up to me. He picks me, out of a crowd of nearly three hundred people, even though my hand isn’t raised, and presents me with a question regarding the curriculum… something that I’m supposed to know the answer to. Of course, I fumble the response… and, as he’s standing in front of me, waiting impatiently for me to come up with even a single sentence that makes sense, his button-down shirt bursts open, and his beautiful belly spills out, hitting my face like a fuzzy airbag. Next thing you know, I’ve lost control of my tongue, and I’m slurping at his navel as though a life-giving nectar is going to leak out of it… or something like that… in front of everyone — just making a sloppy mess of saliva on my professor’s pregnant belly.

It’s sick… I know. Maybe I’m disturbed, or there’s something wrong with me. Maybe I’m a freak… but I just can’t control it. The fantasy is too good. All I know is that, for the first time in my entire academic career, I’m falling behind… and, the worst part about it is that I can’t pin the blame on Mr.Pascal for being a shitty professor, or make the claim that he’s harboring some deep-seeded hatred for me. My poor grade is all my fault… and I have to live with that.