#after flunking my chinese final

[neurotic-sinkhole]

i just left my local comic shop. i just finished my last exam so i'm looking for the death in the family books as a little treat. there were none in this shop, so i go up to the register to pay for the couple others i picked up. when i tell the owner (he knows me a little, i'm a regular there) what i just said he just kinda smiled and nodded. i told him that i was really shocked that the whole thing with death in the family was that they let readers vote if robin should die. he laughed again, and NO JOKE said "my bad".

i asked him what he meant. he told me that he not only voted for jason robin to die, but that he campaigned in his little neighboorhood knocking door to door asking people to call in and vote. apparently it was like 50 cents per call back then so he was literally soliciting to kill robin.

when i was, might i say reasonably, surprised by this revelation, he then explained that there weren't really deaths in comic books like that yet. maybe some b or c list characters, but never someone so intergral to the story. so when he voted, he did it more to see what the writers could handle. how would they navigate the death of jason todd? how would the writers continue on writing the batman series, a heavily family infused series.

so the 72 vote margin that actually killed jason might because of my local comic book shop owner. he might have effectively been the reason jason died.

[silverzoomies]

Angels

peter maximoff x reader

warnings: peter being a goober, he watches porn for like half a second, it's highkey a stranger things crossover, my dialogue is goofy as hell

word count: 5,240

a/n: had a lot of fun with this one !! a while back, my buddy @quickandsilvers (now deactivated, and i can't find their new acc) requested a fic where he works in a video store and makes a fool of himself. i think i strayed from their prompt a lot, but i hope they don't mind. sorry about the stranger things crossover !! it happened naturally while writing it, and i couldn't stop thinking about steve and peter interacting. lol

Like a responsible adult, Peter spent the span of an entire month “studying” for his GED final. His rapid fire attention span made focusing a tough feat, even past his years of high school age hyperactivity. Which was the very reason he had to study so friggin hard for his GED in the first place. Peter never graduated high school. And because he never graduated high school, he didn’t really know what real studying was. “Studying” for him mostly entailed speed reading, once or twice over. Before he called it quits and bolted away to do…Peter stuff.

He was honestly really proud of himself for sticking it out, though. Much to his mother’s most pleasant surprise. Peter carried a perfect attendance streak through all his classes. A wildly stark contrast to his self proclaimed, unmatched ditch streak back in high school. In hindsight, that wasn’t something worth boasting about.

But all his hard work and bonafide effort proved supremely disappointing…when he flunked the final anyway.

Peter’s chest ached, as though someone tore his heart out, stomped on it, then double tapped for good measure. In a fit of unbridled frustration, Peter raced across the entire planet to burn out his rage. His blood boiled hot in his veins. After circling the globe about a gajillion times, he finally skidded to a stop. Somewhere in Indiana.

His clothes were all tattered and covered in holes. Burned from supersonic force. The soles of his favorite shoes turned to ash, crying smoke like a bonfire. Painful blisters littered his feet. But in his defeated haze, he couldn’t find the energy to care. Barefoot and blistered, Peter walked to the nearest payphone, his head tipped back in shame.

He could only imagine how devastated his mom would be.

It broke Peter’s heart, knowing he’d have to call her and ruin her day. After she promised to take him and his sisters out for a celebratory dinner. All you can eat Chinese! - she said. Being on the receiving end of bad news was one thing. But delivering said news to one’s mother - after an entire lifetime spent letting her down? That sucked unimaginably more.

At the payphone - after tossing his desecrated shoes in the trash - Peter hesitantly brought the handset to his ear. Deep breath in. Now, breathe out. He leaned against the glass of the phone booth. Over the line, his mother’s voice lost all liveliness. And a moment later, Wanda took over instead, sounding majorly peeved off. She threw all kinds of accusations at him - Did you even try, Piet? I thought you were taking this seriously! You said you studied! You totally dashed mom’s hopes!

Peter rolled his finger through one of the holes in his Queen shirt. Mannnn. Friggin sucks. He got that one from the totally sick Hot Space Tour. He even took Wanda with him, and they had the most righteous time. With her so disappointed on the phone like this, it hurt to recall any fond memories. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. He tried cracking a half-assed joke to lighten the mood.

“Soooooo…no Chinese tonight then?”

Yeah, nah. Sis didn’t take to that one too well. Peter hated arguing with her, but the two spat back and forth for about five minutes. Peter bumped his head against the glass as his stress ran up to mach ten. Gathering whatever patience he had left - a microscopic amount, at this point - he apologized, told his sister he loved her, and hung up. Once he stepped outside of the phone booth, he heaved a long groan.

Peter’s fingers twitched at his sides. Taking a quick glance upward, he noticed a nearby video store. A Family Video, nestled in a strip mall next to an arcade. Narrowing his eyes, Peter chewed his lip in contemplation.

And he made a supremely stupid move.

A millenia passed since Peter gave into his klepto compulsions. Maybe old habits die hard, as they say.

At the Hawkins PD, the chief lingered nearby in a rickety, metal chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The night seemed to drag for eons, as Peter paced barefoot in restless circles…within the confines of a lonesome jail cell. Since Hawkins was such a small town, hardly any of the feds were familiar with the X-Men. Mutants were a rare commodity. They sooner thought Peter was a hobo the chief picked up off the street.

Come next morning, Peter got an earful from Chuck. Thankfully, the generous prof forgave Peter for his colossal fuck-ups. He even paid Peter’s bail. And while the speedster felt even more sick with guilt because of it; he was grateful he wouldn’t have to spend another second in nowhere town Indiana.

Tormentous boredom aside; for some reason, the place gave Peter the creeps.

Falling victim to his own compulsions proved a major setback on all fronts. After Chuck chewed Peter out over the phone, he broke even more bad news. Apparently, the Family Video manager made a major stink about Peter’s thievery. Even called in a complaint to Xavier’s school. The guy went so far as to blame mutants for their “dishonesty.” A completely baseless generalization. All because of some dumb knucklehead’s reckless behavior.

Chuck convinced the asshole to let Peter off the hook. Only if the speedster made up for it by working a summer’s job at Family Video. A short-term punishment. At least until Autumn, when Peter got another shot at his GED. The professor basically grounded Peter from X-Men stuff. Awesome. Heck, technically, he grounded him from the mansion altogether. Cool beans. Thumbs up. Hunky dory.

Hell no. Peter was an adult. Not a teenager who needed to be disciplined after disobeying papa’s orders. He didn’t even really have a papa. In fact, papa disappeared off the face of the planet just a few years back.

Peter digressed. Whatever, right? Grown men messed up all the time. So what if he made a few minor missteps on the road to personal development?

And he would’ve argued these points, had something in Chuck’s honest voice not guilted him into silence.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to wear a stupid vest or anything.

The sweltering hot month of June.

Quicksilver should be out kicking ass, causing trouble, stealing hearts (playing video games, tampering with tech, being a total nerd).

Instead, he found himself leaning on the counter of a Family Video register in Indiana.

Peter had never worked an everyman’s retail job in his life. And holy smokes, was it slow. The days ran slower than a sloth in cement shoes. At any given moment, Peter swore he was nanoseconds away from dying of boredom. Literally. Call him melodramatic, but the monotony of day-to-day living sucked the speedy soul out of him. Only a few weeks passed since he “joined the Family Video team.” But all he ever did was idle behind the counter like a chud, gorging on snacks and watching MTV.

Whenever the news reported another X-Men victory, achieved without the help of the team’s one and only speedster; Peter felt the urge to run around the globe again. All he wanted was to shake off his temperament until his legs gave out. But alas. His feet stayed planted on freshly mopped linoleum, in the confines of VHS rental hell.

On the flip side, at least his new shoes were still intact.

Peter spent his days doing mind-numbing activities like reorganizing shelves, sorting movies by genre, and mopping floors. Playing with the label maker was kinda fun. Totally not even a little boring. Nope. Peter never daydreamed some psycho might rob the place, just so he’d have an excuse to be Quicksilver again.

Why would he? When he could play with that sweet label maker.

Yawn.

Thankfully, he wasn’t completely alone. Not that he minded much either way. Solitude and Peter went together like Han Solo and Chewy. But another guy worked the same shift as Peter. Some dude named Steve, with great hair and a metric fuckton of pins all over his vest. He swore up and down, his friend Robin insisted he cover himself head to toe in them. Because something something “chicks totally dig a guy with accessories.”

Peter never met Robin, since her hours were all jacked up. But judging by the Rainbow Brite, Care Bear, and Garbage Pail Kids pins all over Steve’s vest; Peter knew she had to be pulling her pal’s leg.

Which…alright. Cool. He could respect that.

Steve was a decent enough guy and super chill to talk to. He got along great with the group of hellions who always came in, looking for nerdy flicks like Clash of the Titans. Peter once spent a whole afternoon debating Star Wars logistics with them; arguing whether or not Ewoks had any justifiable place in Return of the Jedi. But, come on, those fuzzballs were kinda cool.

And Peter refused to admit he had a few Ewok figures in his collection back in Westchester.

Neither Steve, nor his munchkins seemed to have any qualms about mutants. The only thing he ever bitched about was Peter’s effortless ability to stay in tip-top shape.

“It’s so bullshit, man.” He blatantly complained, “You can pig out on Twinkies all day and still look like that. What does your metabolism run on? Jet fuel?”

Peter’s beady eyes darted swiftly back and forth, across the pages of Lord of the Rings. One of Steve’s little minions gave the speedster a used copy. Worn at the edges. Barely held together by the spine. Peter hadn’t read a real book by choice since middle school. As he skimmed through it at a remarkable pace, he spoke through a creamy bite of Twinkie.

“Flux Capacitor.”

Shame. Sucks for Steve. The dude was obviously good looking. But he somehow fumbled his attempts at flirting with cute chicks. Not to mention, his opportunities came so few and far in between, with Peter there to steal the show. And while some small-town ladies had a tendency to scrunch their noses and sneer at the presence of a mutant - others recognized him as a hero. One of the X-Men. On the rare chance a cutie walked in with her besties following along; they sometimes whispered amongst each other.

"Isn’t he with the X-Men?” “Oh my god, he is!” “Which one is he?” “I think he’s the fast one.” “How fast is he though?” “Oh, he’s, like, so mega fast. Like a speeding bullet on legs.” “Whoa. He’s kinda cute.” “What do you think his calves look like?” “I like his hair.” “What’s he doing here in Hawkins?” “Do you think he’s undercover?” “He looks so ripped.”

Chewing his gum and secretly listening in, Peter cheesed a grin from ear to ear like a doofus. And he soon fell into a shameless habit, letting awestruck girls cop a feel of real, superhero muscles and speedster calves. Hard as vibranium, vascular like Commodore 64 wiring.

What?? Give him a break! Back in Westchester, girls never gave him a second glance.

The endless quiet and steady pace of everyday living drove Peter up a freaking wall after a while. A month in, he felt himself going stir crazy. Peter continuously thought about zipping out for a quick run. One whole second tops. Just to make a break for a slushie at the gas station down the street. Steve even swore he wouldn’t rat Peter out if he bailed and came back. Cuz, like, seriously…who would notice?

But in the back of his mind somewhere, Peter heard Chuck’s voice. A guilty reminder to slow his roll. Stop and smell the roses. The speedster had his impulses, sure. But he wasn’t so weak willed. Peter knew, deep in his heart, he could do better. Hell, he was better. A true master of self control. No problem-o.

Except…he totally wasn’t.

Hand to god, Peter was, and would always be a colossal jackass.

He affirmed this brutally honest fact with himself the first time he met you.

That night, the store seemed like a barren ghost town. Not a customer in sight. Most of the town’s locals were out having fun at a traveling carnival. Steve even took the day off to chaperone his hobbit posse. He stopped by just to give Peter his pin-covered vest, and left his esteemed colleague to stew in his own boredom. Wasting away behind the counter, restless as ever; Peter dreamed of carnival funnel cake.

And why not sneak away for a quick sec? Just to grab himself something sweet. He liked to think he earned it.

Peter zipped to the carnival, paid for some funnel cake, tied Steve’s shoelaces together, and returned to the store in a flash. Leaning comfortably back on a metal stool; he stuffed his gullet with fried delights. Sweet, doughy goodness. Powdered sugar coated his fingers and dusted the corners of his mouth. Peter kept his legs hiked up, dirty sneakers crossed on the countertop. Whatevs. He’d wipe ‘em down before he closed up shop in two hours.

His lidded eyes gaped lazily at one of theTVs hanging from the ceiling. Peter shamelessly watched a wildly inappropriate porno. A filthy flick he snatched from the restricted section and popped in. Partly out of boredom. Mostly out of morbid curiosity. Angels of Passion. Peter sat through an hour of hilariously raunchy scenes - all featuring steamy, angel hanky panky. Talk about divine intervention. He snickered to himself as heat pooled in his cheeks.

A blonde bombshell gyrated her hips in some dude’s lap, rolling her bush, bouncing to the beat of a catchy, unidentifiable song. Her explicit moans echoed lewdly over that earworm of a tune. Jesus, she was really going for it. Looked like she, uh…liked it, actually. Blood in Peter’s cheeks rushed south at warp speed. He felt a familiar tightening in his groin. With funnel cake crammed between his powdery lips, he adjusted himself in his jeans. Smearing powdered sugar carelessly over his crotch.

And he nearly choked to death when a voice he didn’t recognize called his name.

“Wow. Quicksilver? Is that you? Whatcha watchin?”

Oh. Oh, it wasn’t just his name name. But his hero name. Peter whipped his head around, his dark eyes widening as he met yours. Brows raised. Gazing humorously at him as though he were a bozo. Just his luck. A random customer - a very cute customer - picked the most optimal time to walk in. And there he was, the X-Men’s famous speedster; covered in powdered sugar, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk, Care Bear and Rainbow Brite pins all over his vest, a stiffy in his jeans, a nasty porno playing in the background.

What a huge lamebrain, you probably thought.

Peter blinked, and so did you. Time seemed to stretch in a long, awkward moment. Someone should honestly just shoot him and be done with it. From his perspective, an hour passed before he got his shit together. But from your perspective, he was there in a second. Leaning casually over the counter on his elbow, his other hand on his hip. The TV blared reruns of MTV music videos, with Madonna singin’ loud. The very same TV you caught him watching dirty movies on - just for the hell of it. Purely for entertainment’s sake, mind you.

And bizarrely enough, your expression held no judgment.

Furrowing his mercury brows, Peter wiped the last trace of powdered sugar from his lips. He cleared his throat and gave you a careless nod of his head. Stay cool. Stay collected. It wasn’t like his mom caught him with his pants down or something. He put on his best customer service smile. A grin so fake, his dimples vanished into hiding. Time to get the ball rolling before he lost whatever dignity he had left.

Peter hated Indiana. Like, really hated it.

He spoke fast, the words tumbling past his lips at the speed of light.

“That?Thatwasnothing.” Peter blurted out, his mouth running a hundred miles an hour. His fingers tapped anxiously on the countertop. Your curious gaze flicked down to them, before looking into his coke-brown eyes again. His face erupted in flames as he kept rambling, punctuating each sentence with an uneasy laugh, “I wasn’t watching anything. Just some lame religious documentary. Y’know. A real snore fest. I swear, I was this close to takin’ a nap.”

You laughed.

No lie, he wasn’t expecting you to laugh like that. The sound sliced through the tension in the air, catching him off guard. Peter’s breath caught in his throat. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His forced smile curled up involuntarily, revealing his dimples for real this time.

“Yeah? Huh. For some lame documentary, you looked pretty into it. I’m surprised you heard me at all.”

“Eh, you’re not wrong. Puts a whole new meaning to goin’ heels to Jesus, doesn’t it?”

You let out another laugh, and your voice cracked. Blush creeped over your face from the neck up. A surge of shyness overtook Peter. Running a hand up through his hair, he searched for any words to say. And then he remembered he had a job to do.

“Anyway. Sorry. Can I help you with something?” Peter smoothed out his (Steve’s) vest, brushing powdered sugar from it like pesky snow.

“No biggie, dude. Just wondering where your horror section is.”

Peter arched his brow, “Horror, huh?”

With a cheeky smirk, he disappeared, leaving a swift gust of wind in his wake. You gasped a small peep. Pressing your hands to the counter, you leaned forward as though you were looking for him. He took the opportunity to admire your ass from where he stood between the aisles. Politely, of course.

“They’re over here.” The speedster called from his spot, keeping himself nonchalantly propped against a stand of horror mags. Your gaze flitted down to the Walkman hanging at his hip. His easy going stance made you laugh yet again - man, you made him feel like the king of comedy. You made your way to the horror section. Peter kept his eyes on you while you glanced over the tapes, “You lookin’ for anything in particular, orrrrr…”

“Nope, just looking.”

“Just looking. Got it.” Peter clicked his tongue, nodding, “Cool. Well, if you need any recs…I mean, I’m kind of a movie aficionado, so…”

“Oh, you are, are you?”

Aw, you actually humored him.

“Pfffbbt. Yeah. My twin sis is, like, super into sitcoms and stuff. But I’m the movie guy of the family.”

“And what kinda movies do you like?”

Peter didn’t miss a beat, “Star Wars, definitely. But I like Bladerunner too. ET. Robocop. Alien. Oh! Rocky’s awesome too. Scarface. I can do a crazy good Tony Montana impression. Clint Eastwood movies are cool. Conan the Barbarian. Can’t get enough of Arnold. And I’m not sayin’ Flash Gordon’s my favorite, but-”

You gaped at Peter like you saw him get hit by a car or something. He stopped himself short, pausing as he named off movies on his fingers.

“What? Not a fan?”

“Not a fan of wh-”

“Flash Gordon?”

“Is that what you said? I didn’t understand a single word of that, dude!”

Oh. Guess he got a little too amped up. The apples of Peter’s cheeks turned pink. Scratching the back of his neck, he sheepishly laughed.

“Sorry, uh…lemme start over…I like Star Wars.”

“So do I! I love Star Wa-”

Peter raised his head, fixing you with a squinty eyed, analytical look - mostly playful. He quickly cut you off again.

“What about Ewoks?”

“They’re like little teddy bears! What’s not to love?”

Points for you, cute, mystery babe.

“Oh, bitchin’. Yeah, uh-”

And like a huge doofus, Peter leaned a little too hard against the magazine stand. It tumbled to the floor as he knocked it over unintentionally. Catching himself, he flashed his teeth in a humiliated smile.

“Uh…I totally meant for that to happen.” He clarified.

Even though you laughed yet again - and sounded so, unfairly cute too - Peter vanished to the restroom to smack himself in the face a few times. Returning only to clean up the fallen magazines. Another microsecond later, he appeared behind the counter. At the register again. His summer hellscape. Purgatory.

And for now, after making such an ass of himself, he’d leave you be. Let you come to him.

You eventually did.

“Just these.” You muttered bashfully, sliding a few tapes across the counter.

Peter glanced up to look at you every few beats. Tapping away at the keypad, his agile fingers danced across the keys with finesse. And despite the speed at which he normally worked, there was an unmistakable lag in his movements. Almost deliberate. He took special care as he typed your information and logged your rentals. It was as if he prolonged the interaction on purpose, drawing out everything at a leisurely pace.

Very unlike Quicksilver.

You eyed the pins all over his (Steve's) vest.

"Nice pins." You said.

"Thanks. Care Bears are the shit."

You held back another giggle, covering your mouth to conceal it.

“Say, uhm…forgive me if I’m being too nosy. But what are you doing all the way out here in Indiana, Quicksil-” You paused, tilting your head innocently to the side. Your eyes squinted into thin slits as you read his nametag, “Peeeter? Peter, yeah.”

Peter flashed a lazy, cat-like grin, snapping his fingers and throwing a finger gun your way.

“Bingo, you got it. But, yeah, everyone else calls me Quicksilver. Except for the oldies who have no clue who I am. It’s insane being recognized sometimes. Cuz I’m just a glorified track-and-field star who ended up a wage monkey, I guess. The job sucks ass, honestly.” He chuckled, leaning against the counter, resting his weight on an elbow, “As for what I’m doin’ here? It’s top secret X-Men business.”

“Ooooh! What, like…some kinda covert op-”

“Covert operation? Yeeeeeaaaaaahhh…nah, I’m totally messin’. Let’s just say I got into some trouble and this is my punishment.” Peter chuckled softly, glancing at the films you picked out. His eyes widened as he scanned the titles, letting out a low whistle, “H’oooh. Some pretty gritty stuff here. These are brutal. Blood, guts, limbs flyin’ all over the place. You tryin’ to give yourself nightmares?”

“Eh, it’s all fake anyway. Just cheesy, dumb fun.” You giggled, taking the horror flicks from him. A jolt of electricity shot through him as your fingers brushed his own. The contact was brief, but it left a flutter in his stomach he couldn’t shake. Parting your pretty lips, you teased, “They’re way more interesting than any lame, religious documentaries.”

Peter raised a brow and gave you a bemused look, your playful comment catching him by surprise. He crossed his strong arms, restlessly tapping his finger against his bicep.

“Mhm. But that “documentary” had some pretty hot angels, not gonna lie.” He joked. Peter smirked, his eyes flickering up and down, giving you a quick once-over. He snapped his fingers again, keeping his tone casual, “Hey, speaking of, are you gonna be wingin’ it back to the pearly gates anytime soon? Or are you stickin’ around for a while?”

Aha! So, you weren’t immune to his natural charm. Your eyes shot open, your blush sending a righteous wave of satisfaction buzzing through him. Peter pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and wiggled his brows. His confidence soared beyond the stars. Shrugging off any remnants of awkwardness, he eased himself back into a state of carelessness. You broke into another cute giggle fit.

You scratched the back of your neck, looking bashfully down at your shoes.

“Nice save. I think that one actually made me blush.”

Peter blinked laxly, drawing out a satisfied hum. 

“Oh, yeah, it did for sure. Looks cute on you. What can I say? I aim to please.”

A warm smile graced his face as he slid you the last tape.

“Flash Gordon?” He asked.

If you blushed any more, you’d probably explode.

“I couldn’t keep up with the way you were talking…but you mentioned that one. You said it was one of your favorites, right?”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat.

The banter between the two of you seemed to flow so naturally. Time lost all meaning. And as the minutes passed and you said your goodbyes, moving towards the doors; Peter’s foot tapped at a frenzied pace. A powerful urge to chase after you swarmed him like a pack of angry bees. He knew he wouldn’t be staying in Indiana for much longer. Only a month more, at the most. But, man…there was something about you.

Ah, screw it. Act now, face the consequences later.

A fwip, and Peter materialized before you at the doors. You stumbled back and erupted in another surprised squeal. His hands instinctively reached out, grabbing your shoulders to steady you before you fell.

“Sorry! Sorry. Uh, any chance you’d wanna stick around for a while longer? It’s just so dead here tonight. We could kick it back, chill, and hang. And fingers crossed, I promise I won’t make you watch any weird, religious docs or nothin’.”

Miraculously, you agreed. Peter couldn’t believe his luck. And he spent the remaining few minutes of his shift, along with the rest of that night, hanging out with some cutie he met on a whim.

Maybe Robin was right. It was the vest, wasn't it? Chicks were totally into guys with accessories.

The impossibly hotter month of July.

Some might call Peter a little irresponsible. And true to form, he was. But you were legit the most fun thing to happen to him in months. Up there with the bitchin’ funnel cake he swiped from the carnival, the same night he met you. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. Both you, and the funnel cake.

Carpe diem or whatever.

In the cramped shadows of a video store supply closet, Peter pulled you oh-so-close against his body. Hot as hellfire. His heartbeat ran on bubbly fumes of anticipation. Peter’s chapped lips confidently claimed yours, a moment after you gave him a bashful peck and confessed the cutest thing ever-

“Pleaaaase don’t go back to Westchester!! I really really like you. I think you totally rock. I’m gonna miss you too much if you leave.”

D’awww. You were all soft on him. Your pouty lips and innocent eyes made his chest warm and tingly. Peter never imagined someone could win him over so easily. But after the front doors chimed, and you walked into the store wearing a Grace Under Pressure shirt - of which you told him you wore only because he got you into Rush; Peter thought he heard wedding bells. But, oh…wait. No. The doors chimed again.

Peter felt his resolve instantly weaken around you. Whatever aloof front of speedster confidence he held onto seemed to melt away. Mostly. Partially.

In the closet, he grinned into the kiss, tasting your giggles on his tongue as he coaxed you into something deeper. You were such an undeniable sweetheart. A ray of sunshine, casting light on the most boring summer of his life. Clinging bashfully to his intense kisses, you followed the motion of his tongue. Your own tongue raveled delicate threads with his. Overzealous, he tangled those threads in frantic knots. Peter breathed the softest groan, running strong hands down your back and just above-

Passionate rock songs rang out love ballad riffs in his head, and the music halted to a disappointing stop when - all at once, a veil of blinding light washed over you both. Moment ruined. What asshole would even dare? You pulled away from his kiss, but an eager Peter chased your lips. He only stopped himself once he noticed a figure looming in the closet doorway. Steve looked unamused, holding a broom and dustpan in hand.

“Can I help you?” Peter sarcastically quipped.

“Really, man? Really?” Steve scoffed, cheeks pinkening. Clearing his throat, his dark eyes shifted. Away from the couple getting a little too cozy. He stated in a matter-of-fact way, “FYI, you’re still on the clock, yanno? Jesus.”

“Jesus? I’m flattered, Harrington, but you can just call me Peter.”

A soft snicker erupted from your swollen lips. Your small hands curled shamefully into Peter’s work vest, narrowly avoiding the band pins stuck in the fabric. Ultimately, you failed to keep your giggles at bay. Peter always had a way of making you laugh til you cried. His own hands rested just above your booty, a centimeter away from some spicy grab action. Damn you, Steve. Damn you. Teasing an indignant sigh, Peter reached out to lazily snag the door handle.

“Ever heard of knocking?” He joked before easing the door closed, sealing your cute chuckles inside.

The icy cold, freeze-your-balls-off month of January. Post New Years.

Bundled up in a warm, turtleneck sweater and matching, black jeans; Peter cozied up next to you on the sofa. At his mom’s place, Wanda was perched comfortably on the floor. She kept her back against the foot of the couch close to Peter. In one of the loveseats, Lorna sat with her legs tucked under her. A blanket draped over her small frame. The faint hum of infomercials in the background went ignored, as Peter fell into a long winded info dump about the Lord of the Rings.

Peter’s mother padded into the room from the kitchen. A hand-made shawl covered her shoulders, knitted by Wanda and given to Magda as a gift. Carrying several glass bottle sodas, she passed one out to each of her kids before delivering the last one to you. Magda breathed a chuckle. She noticed the way you narrowed your eyes, as you struggled to follow Peter’s speedy rambling. His family seemed to have no problem keeping up. They understood every word, without asking him to stop and reiterate.

Lorna rolled her eyes affectionately. Wanda gazed up at her brother like he held all the secrets of the universe - and she wanted the details on every single one.

When Peter’s rambling eventually ceased, his mother asked him if he had any plans for the future. He poked inside his empty box of chow mein with a pair of chopsticks. A bit embarrassed, Peter grinned. Now that he finally scored his GED - he knew exactly what he wanted to do. He just hadn’t told anyone aside from Wanda yet. She patted Peter on the knee. A gesture of encouragement, pushing him to open up. With a timid sigh, he confessed - he wanted to teach at Xavier’s.

He got a big ol’ hug from mom for that one.

When she left for work, Peter snuggled up on the couch with you and his sisters. You were all crammed in like warm penguins on a chilly night. Until Peter randomly pushed himself out of the pile. He stumbled forward, checking his watch. Waving his soda in your face, he winked.

“Babe, hold this for me? I almost forgot I wanted to do something.”

Before you could ask, he zipped away and returned in a nanosecond. Peter threw himself into the cuddle puddle.

“Where’d you even go?” You asked, scooting aside to give him more room.

Peter snatched his soda and shrugged, lazily smirking.

“Dropped by Family Video. Tied Steve’s shoelaces together.”

[youhaveforgottenmealready]

Fic Excerpt -- We'll Find a Way to Offer Up the Night, Chapter 15

"Hi," he says to Bruce when he opens the door. Bruce is in expensive black again from head to toe. Handsome as sin. His eyes shift over Clark's face with something in their depths Clark can't name.

"Hi," Bruce says. 

"Hi," Clark says back, then winces when he remembers he'd already said that. He should really calm down. It's just Bruce. His weird, spooky friend, Bruce. Who drives him a little crazy.

"I half expected you to bring Chinese food," Clark says, looking at the floor by Bruce's feet, then feeling disappointment that there really is no bag of food there. "No Frying Dragon? That's okay, though. The fridge is stocked. I can throw together something if you're hungry. 

"I can't write about you in a memoir or anything," Bruce says, apropos of nothing.

"Uh. What?" Clark says after a confused pause. 

Bruce shrugs. "Romance isn't my thing. I can't, I don't know, fly you around the earth for a date or something like that."

Clark frowns as he tries to parse the meaning of that sentence. That had been his first date with Lois, flying through the sky to show her what the world looked like to him. Why would Bruce ever need to do something like that? 

"Uh. I can fly," he finally says. "Or did you mean in your jet?"

Bruce scowls at him and it's an absolutely menacing expression. "Try to keep up."

"Right, okay," Clark says. He feels lost. "Romance. You're talking about romance."

"Yes. Romance is difficult. We both lead dangerous lives. I'll always put Gotham first. You'll always put Metropolis first." He says this with one finger high, like a college professor explaining why everybody is flunking. 

Clark pulls a face. "I don't think that's true," he says. 

"And I snore," Bruce adds. 

"Well, that much is true."

Read the whole story here:

We'll Find a Way to Offer Up the Night

[chuluoyi]

Chu!! Noo it's fine I enjoy talking to youuuu

HAHHA well what can I say? I just love Lukey! Aww hope you'll get a good break soon! When are you taking your 1 week off?

FR Unholy blood is unbeatable 💪🏻💪🏻

OMG SAME but for me it's either I end up liking the guy or hating him... Like for Gojo and Callisto I was like "Omg they're so hot but why are they so full of themselves?!" at first. Then after some time I ended up liking them HAHA- And omg ikr his hair >>>>> It's the side-swept hair that adds on to his looks. AHAAH LIKE Vinter is actually nice and all but he has so little screen time!

Thanks Chu!! Hehe I love beaches! And I have this childish obsession with picking seashells oops- Aww... You don't have to know how to swim to enjoy the beach tho! I don't like beaches cause I want to get tanned or play beach volleyball, it's more of the scenery that draws me in! Plus the sea creatures!

YEAH the leaks broke me... 2 Panels but I miss him sm now...

Yepp! But I'm unsure if I chose the right path... Like my interests are more arty like I love reading, writing, drawing, music, etc. But I chose a business course hahaha. There's no turning back for me too.... LOL A WALKING STICK 😭😭 AHAHH your teacher tho! My secondary school made it mandatory to have skirts at knee-level too... But I didn't change my skirt for the 4 years I was in school so as I grew taller over the years my skirt just naturally went above my knees... My teacher did scold me for that tho, I just didn't care...

FR like bros why don't you guys try putting on makeup bruh. Like y'all judge us girls as if you guys are hot asf... If you guys WERE that hot I wouldn't even complain about you talking shit about us girls... But you aren't so f off.

RIGHT My mum and I couldn't stop laughing omg It's easily one of the best comedy K-drama I've watched! Yeah omg "See you in my 19th life" Webtoon was great but after ep 1 of the drama I stopped cause it was honestly disappointing... "Good day to be a dog" is good tho! Not Shin Hyesun but this and "See you in my 19th life" are by the same webtoon artist!

Oh damn Gojo figurines never fail to impress... Did you see the new one with the skeletons and all? It's the one where he's been sealed and the skeletons just all around him. He's super hot there like I almost wanted to start being a Gojo simp...

I somehow want to go back to school... I've been swamped with housework and miscellaneous stuff that I'm so close to losing my mind... Thinking about New year's makes me want to pull my hair out... And Chinese New year is in Feb too... I'm so doomed for the next few months...

30 isn't that bad! Hahaha I feel you mate... I flunked my end semester test and it pulled my A all the way to C+ AHAHAH my GPA really suffered from that... Eh that 'interesting' doesn't sound too convincing 🥲🥲 How did you survive that class omg Chu ...

Hmmm that makes sense! I'll keep your words in mind. 😭😭It's always the luck.... Our gacha luck sucks too... I think we should avoid taking risks yeah?

HAAHAHAH I just enjoy solving the qns! I prefer math to the rest of the weird stuff I used to take... I had English, Chinese, elementary math, Additional math, Chem, Bio, History, Social studies, Accounting, Literature. It's real disgusting I tell you. Algebra really made my life slightly better in Secondary school... Omg 😭Fr Bio is really not easy I don't get how people get A+ in that like your memory must be crazy good. SO TRUE Chem is complicated at times but if you compare that to bio... sigh...

YAAA Omg I have a soft spot for sea animals (Not snails and worms tho) Especially baby ones like ahhhh they're so cute 😭😭

Nahh it's not my room walls I'm painting... It's my whole living room... Like 4 walls.... I didn't want to do it but my mum forced me to soooo I didn't really have a choice hahah!

Also Merry Christmas!!! I know I'm slightly late but 😭😭 Hope you had a good rest!

-🪩

discoo anoon!!🫶🏻 finally i can sit in front of my laptop!!🥹

i'm taking my break in mid january!! i just have to bc if not then i'll surely go mad with how little i'm taking my leave🤧 like i still have so many leave balance too! lately i've been thinking "why am i so tired"😵‍💫 and when i look at the whopping number of my leave balance, i realize "this is why i'm so miserable i barely take any leave!"🤡

HAHAHAHA same same i didn't use to love gojo the way i do now if you can believe it. but he's so charismatic in the way he presents himself that's why... and HAIR it's so true the hair makes the looks, especially for men🤭

omg me tooo!!! i love finding seashells too! but i hate the way the sand would submerge my feet🤧 it's stupid but i'm afraid of a crab or something will bite my feet off ugh and yeah, so true the scenery is one of the points that make us want to go to the beach too!!

ah... i don't mean to presume but i once felt like that too. i chose engineering as my major, and yet i'm neither that good or bad at it, and neither do i like it (i hate it occasionally)😔 my interests are more in reading and writing too! and obviously i can't go back to restart my major bc my mom would hang me🤧 i once had 0 thoughts as to where and how i should get a job, and yet now i found the best job there is for me, unexpectedly, that's (thank god) not related to engineering at all! i don't think it's easy at first, we'll get lost and even doubt ourselves often, but i believe that by doing the best at what you do, we'll find a way somehow, and it's always the unexpected that's the best <3 <- this is my words of encouragement!! i don't mean to preach or anything bc when i was in that position, i wished someone would say those exact words to me :')

BUT FR I FELT LIKE A WALKING SUSHI ROLL😭😭 thank the gods the teacher don't realize it. but omg that's nice that you're tall! :') i'm short so yeah, i'm still a walking sushi roll

HAHAHAHAHAAH i wish i could say all of that to their faces! i did say some of it to them though, about "you don't get to say that when you're that lousy yourself"🙃 but yeah, in the end, to each their own. it's irritating but we have to protect our peace first🤧

my mom loves her too!🥹 ahahahha oh really?! i put off watching a good day to be a dog bc i heard the ratings aren't that good... maybe i'll watch it then! now i'm watching gyeongseong creature! it's a good watch, kinda like sweet home, a bit dark and sinister but it's park seojoon!👀 and his dramas never fail ehehehe do you watch it too??

I SAW THAT FIGURINE omg that can be preordered now but will be released in 2025? i was like whaaat that long? but yeah, i want to be the skeletons—

OMG SOOO TRUE🤧 new years and our traditions :') now my mom is fussing over stocking food and getting new sheets and tomorrow i'm accompanying her to... stock up more food. and so true about the chinese new year! ahahahha i celebrate it too and it's a bit of a hassle esp with the family questions, but don't worry! we just have to keep our eyes on the prize... the 红包 :3 more pocket money!!😈

i know the feeling! like one mistake and the A... dissolved🤧 it's so disheartening. how did i pass?😦 by sending my prayers and confessing my sins daily basically🤧😵‍💫

yes yes!!

omg you're so smart for that!! and i do agree those are weird stuff HAHAHA literature got me like questioning my phrasing sometimes i was like 🤯 am i dumb bc i’m lazy or am i lazy bc i’m dumb— okay nevermind🫢

SNAILS AND WORMS😭 yes baby seals are like aaaaaa so precious🥲🫶🏻

AHAHAHHA it must have been a good exercise though!!🥹

and ofc merry christmas too disco anon!!🫶🏻✨ and happy holidays too!! wishing you only the best for the upcoming year also! pls keep healthy and don’t forget to take breaks and drink water🫶🏻✨

[aprilyroseee]

Caste Heaven - chapter 30 ✨ (spoilers and summary)

Hey! 🌝  Chapter 30 came out on saturday. This time I couldn't buy the magazine because it's not available for purchasing. The photos are not mine but belong to a chinese girl who posts them on Weibo, a chinese website (here her account).

The chapter has 32 pages, but these images only cover part of it. While waiting for the whole chapter, I tried to sum up what happened. Let me first say that it's not accurate but reworked, so it's not meant to be the official translation.

Incipit: According to the forecast, it looks like this winter will be particularly harsh. "Help". The message Azusa sent to Karino thinking he could rely on him. Azusa's broken heart, who trusted him but was betrayed.

The chapter starts with Atsumu and Kuze walking to school. Atsumu clears his throat so Kuze asks him if he's caught a cold. Atsumu: "No, it's just a slight sore throat". Kuze gives him a cough drop and after thanking him, Atsumu tells him to go ahead.

The scene shifts to school. It seems that class 2-1 won first place at the cultural festival for the event they organized, the photo shotting in cosplay. However, the tension in the classroom between the higher and lower ranks hasn't changed. Azusa enters the classroom and some basketballs bounce at him (the work of his silly classmates). He grabs a ball and strongly throws it at Karino. Azusa: "You all are a bunch of fucking maggots swarming on dead meat". Mizobata shouts "Bastard!" but Karino stops him. Atsumu thinks something happened between Azusa and Karino. [If you notice, Azusa has a bandage on the left side of his forehead.😔 ]

Later on, the final grades of the second semester are published outside of the classroom: while Tatsumi is still at the top of the 3rd year, Karino doesn't seem to be in the list of the 2nd year, which means his grades dropped. Karino is called by the teacher, who tries to understand why his grades have fallen. Karino replies he hasn't been very well during this time but he'll work hard to make up for it.

After that, it's Azusa’s turn. The teacher asks him why he failed the test (as he didn't score any points) and at this rate he's in danger of flunking out. Azusa nonchalantly replies that he's not interested in graduating from college. The teacher: “Society is not a piece of cake as you think” and Azusa: “I'd rather die than become an empty person who depends on a title. I won't rely on anyone. I'll live only on my own." Azusa has no longer hope of relying on anyone, not even on something like a degree because he has completely withdrawn, he doesn't want anyone's help to move forward. The teacher tells him to choose at least one of the supplementary classes, for the sake of his parents.

Azusa leaves the room and sees Karino sitting outside. They look at each other for a second but then Azusa looks away.

Karino grabs him by the hair and asks “Are you ignoring me or what? Don't you understand unless I tell you?”. Azusa: “If you wanna do it so badly then go ask Eno!! After all, you're well-matched.”. Karino surprised “Hah? What's that dude got to do with it?". Azusa replies "If you get hit by maggots, you're gonna rot, you know. I'm saying that maggots always end up mating together……like at the cultural festival”. Karino doesn't understand and says “Are you still thinking about that cultural festival stuff? Something worthless". Azusa lowers his head. "I knew it. It's just a way to kill time for you. I shouldn't have believed in you from the start."

TW: rape

Karino gets pissed off and pushes him, making Azusa bang his head. Karino says not to blather at random because a feckless like him doesn't know anything. "Damn, stop it!!". Azusa slaps him and Karino says "I'll make you remember your place".

He brutally rapes him. Azusa thinks “It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts!!!!". It's so painful that he's about to cry and he bites his lips.

He trembles and then collapses. Karino looks down on him.

Clenching his fist, Azusa replies: "I'll never forgive you. Just you". His expression is full of hatred. 💔 Karino leaves the room and throws a punch at the wall. "Oh, Karino?"...

It's Eno who asks what he was doing and in the meantime tucks the shirt inside Karino's pants. "Azusa-kun again?" and Karino replies "Why I was with him?". "That's right!! Your social caste is too different!”. Eno places his hands around Karino's neck and says: "I understand. A person who stands above others is alone. Nobody knows/understands it. If it were up to me, I would understand that loneliness."

The scene moves to Tatsumi and Komagome Kagura, the "Brain" of 3-5, Eno's class. Tatsumi and Komagome leave the Student Council classroom together. Tatsumi says that Komagome seems to be the only person in his class who hasn't a relationship, or something going on, with Eno. We discover that Kagura and Eno were in the same primary school. That's why Eno was upset by Kagura's behavior in chapter 29. He says Eno was an ordinary child at the time, but then they drifted apart. Tatsumi asks what happened and Kagura replies that Eno has changed over time. People change and are influenced by the environment, it's inevitable. But Tatsumi says he knows a guy who doesn't let himself be swayed, no matter what. (not really like that but I don't understand a kanji because it's blurry). Komagome: “Ohh? I want to meet him” and Tatsumi: “Shall I introduce him to you next time? But he's extremely cheeky”. The two of them stop at the sight of Eno. Komagome says "It's Eno, troublesome". Eno walks with his arm on Karino, saying "You with me, Kohei?". Tatsumi stares at them stunned.

Last scene of the chapter: Atsumu is walking in the hallway after the meeting with the teacher and notices Azusa crouching with his face down. Atsumu looks at the blood on his shirt, but when he tries to get close, Azusa yells at him “Don't fucking touch me!!! Don't you dare touch me at all, I'll kill you!!". 💔 💔 💔

Shortly after, Kuze reaches him. Atsumu hugs him and says “I am weak. Despite everything, I'm still tied to this caste. I'm not able to do anything even if a person I care about is hurt”. “I wish I was stronger”. "Atsumu..."

End of chapter. So sad and hearbreaking, even if it’s nothing that I didn't expect. (ಥ﹏ಥ) I would like to make a post about my impressions and my own analysis of it later! 🤯

[sooibian]

Flambé - I

poster and edits/collage credits to @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt​ ! 

chapter two | moodboard by the lovely @pororodks​

🍜 pairing: kyungsoo x fem!reader ft. baekhyun, mark lee

🍜 description: pull up a chair. take a taste. come join us. life is so endlessly delicious. - ruth reichl

🍜 themes: fluff, crack (ish), slight angst, a lil bit of spice (in the future), rivals to lovers au

🍜 word count: ~ 9.7k

🍜 a/n: writing this makes me feel lonely and hungry and that, my friends, is a deadly concoction of emotions so while i wallow in my misery, i dearly hope you’ll enjoy this creation. i'd love to hear from you <3<br>

🍜 reference notes: yt channels: maangchi, one meal a day, bore.d; netflix shows: midnight diner, street food: asia, chef’s table

🍜 tag list: @changshapatrol​ @j-pping​ @kyungseokie​ @exosmuttytalk​ @his-mochi-cheeks​  @littleflowercrown13​ pls lmk if you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list!

Water bobs in frenetic bubbles in a massive ancient stone pot perched atop a fort of raging wood. Amidst brutal peals of thunder, a gushing stream rises from a nearby hill, obscuring the shrill cries of the sacrificial crab.

Chanting a spell, you lift the enormous crustacean by its pincers and lower it into the growling, pitch black utensil. Blubbering helplessly, it lodges its claws at the rim of the pot in desperation, seeking escape. The sound of your maniacal laughter reverberates through the cave as you thrust it back into the violent undulation with a heavy-handed flick of the bladed-spatula. 

All of a sudden, you’re swept over with a wave of unconsciousness, your skin tingles, and boiling water begins to fill up your lungs. 

You are alone at the bottom of the very same utensil.

“Help!” frantic, you stagger up, gasping for air. But the bladed-spatula wielding crab, now untied and hovering over you, roars jubilantly at your defenseless form.

Maybe the spell didn’t land, you think. 

“Please, Chef!” you whimper as a last ditch attempt. 

In one swift motion, it swooshes down to your eye level. 

Bushy black brows sprout on its forehead, just a little over a pair of big brown circles for eyes. Then comes the nose, followed by a bloody red mouth that snarls at you.

zzzz… 

“Late again?” 

zzzz…

zzzz…

zzzz…

4:00 a.m., your phone blinks.

In a sleep befuddled state, you reach out for the wailing device. ‘Late again?’ Chef’s cold, deep voice sounds in your consciousness as you wipe the droplets of sweat off of your forehead.

Chef. 

Doh Kyungsoo had insisted on the title and you’d boldly refused to call him that. What business does a man working at a Kalguksu stand in Gwangjang Market have, being called Chef. You’d seeked redressal with the higher ups. The owner. 

Your aunt.

“Aegiya, he has something that you don’t.”

“A dick?”

“YAH! A degree in culinary arts.”

“Imo, haven’t you watched Parasite? Anyone can forge documents these days and if so then why is he here? He could very well land a job at Four Seasons like Hyunjin. Think, Imo. Think!” 

“Exactly! With forged documents, he could be anywhere. But he’s here, no?”

“Maybe you’re just easier to manipulate.”

Finally, she said in her no-nonsense, stern voice. "Chef. You’re calling him Chef.”

Every time the egotistical madman opens that darned mouth of his, it makes you want to knock him down with a roundhouse and beat the living daylights out of him. 

But, counting to five, you always resist the temptation. 

Because one day, one glorious day, you’d take over your aunt’s business and the very first item on your agenda would be….well, the obvious. With a glimmer of hope, you flounder out of your comforter, muttering every cuss word you’d learnt…and crafted in the course of working with the devil himself.

.

.

.

“Ah 3000 is a bit too much for cucumbers", he says to the middle aged vendor, flashing a boyish grin. 

The face of sourcing has drastically changed in the last six months since Kyungsoo’s arrival. Prior to his dictatorship, Imo had tie-ups with vendors who’d hand deliver the produce every single day, without fail. Guess Kyungsoo didn’t fully comprehend the benefits of customer loyalty. ‘There could be better quality ingredients out there, Sajangnim…economically priced, I might add’, he’d convinced your aunt using his military corporal voice. No matter if it meant awkward break-ups with the vegetables ahjumma or the prawns ahjussi: you were left to do the dirty work.

And required to tag along for the routine 5 a.m sourcing runs. Every morning, he’d greet you with an accusatory ‘you killed my cat’ expression.

Groaning, you shift your weight from side to side. If only he’d quit flirting with every woman in the market and hurry up! The purchases have long exceeded the capacity of your humble cart. Flailing your numb arms awake, you urge him to speed up with a nudge of the knee but he glares at you like you’d asked him for a kidney. 

Kyungsoo has a tendency to overbuy but never does he help with a single bag. ‘I don’t like to sweat’ is his excuse. Which is pretty ridiculous considering he spends over ten hours a day overseeing a scorching frying pan at the stall. 

But you know better than to argue. 

Because as much as you loathe every fibre of his existence, he terrifies you a little. The man possesses the duality of a psychopath. As fierce as he is in the Market, ruthlessly competitive even, he’s quite the sweet talker. Incredibly charming. And you can bet your life on the fact that every ahjumma - whether or not a rival - would take a bullet for him.

“Ahdeul-ah”, the woman coos at him, making your insides violently contort, “you know how tight the market is these days. But I’ll throw in some more only for you.” 

The additional weight of three kilos on your right arm ends your sourcing run for the day.

***

“Chef”, huffing, you say to him on your way out, “I had a late night last night.”

“And I need to be privy to this little nugget of unwarranted information because?” He paces ahead of you at his usual lightning speed.

“No, I meant, could we stop”, panting you continue, “could we stop for a quick cup of coffee.”

Halting abruptly, he turns around to look you square in the eyes, “No.”

“Asshole!” You murmur under your breath.

“I heard that.”

.

.

.

Monday at Choi Yoonsun’s Kalguksu stall was busier than usual. 

It went by in a daze amidst the cacophony of a sizzling girdle, clanging of pots and pans and Imo’s relentless vocalization inviting guests to the stall. Having served thousands of bowls of Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu, you rely heavily on muscle memory to get you through a workday’s demands.

Despite its massive chaos and commotion, you quite enjoyed working in the Market. 

Not being particularly skilled at much and having nearly flunked out of high school, cooking was the one thing that defined you. It was your safe harbour. You’d lost your father in an accident at the tender age of ten and your mother was forced to work long hours to put food on the table. So you honed your culinary skills, little by little, because you thought it vital for your own well-being as well as your mother’s. 

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

At the end of yet another rewarding day, you leave a wet towel soaking in vinegar for Kyungsoo to clean the iron girdle and proceed to tend to the dirty dishes yourself. 

“Yahh!” Imo calls out for Kyungsoo and you, thumping her hand on the table, gesturing for you to join her.

“Ahh! Imo, there’s a huge pile of dirty dishes!” You cry out in response, only to turn around to find that ass-kisser already at the table, schmoozing with your aunt. Hastily taking off your grubby apron, you wash your hands and wipe them clean with a rag cloth. Straightening your black shirt, flattening unruly flyaways, you rush toward the table but she’s already up and ready to leave, “We’ll have dinner together tonight. I want to have a word with both of you.”

“But -”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts, wagging a finger in your direction, face scrunched up in mock concern, “this one’s had a late night last night -”

“Chef! So I guess I’ll be seeing you tonight. As if seeing you every day of every week wasn’t enough already!” 

An overtly saccharine smile spreads across your face and his jaw hardens in response.

“Aish….you two…I’m leaving now”, shaking her head, she sighs, “see you both in two hours.”

.

.

.

Kimchi jjigae, Pajeon, Tteokbokki, Jajangmyeon, some leftover Bibimbap with sides galore from Hong Lim Banchan Stall. Imo clearly has something important on her mind.

But the vibe at the dinner table just doesn’t sit right with you. 

The reason for that could be the bespectacled black hole of negativity that’s seated besides you in all black clothing but there’s something off about Imo. 

She’s being a little too nice.

Fear gradually starts to settle in your bones. Is she finally closing down? Is this delectable fare an attempt at softening the blow? After all, she’d settled her husband’s debts over five years ago and her sons were doing well for themselves. Quite well, in fact. The elder one, Hyunwoo, is an investment banker and the younger one Hyunjin went to culinary school and is working as a chef at Four Seasons’ Chinese restaurant. It only makes sense for her to trade the Market’s gruelling ways for some much deserved peace and quiet.

“We’re closing down the stall”, she says coolly.

It’s like a punch in the gut.

“Imo -”

“Aegiya”, she rests her chin on her hand, face clouded over with serenity, “the Market’s given me everything. It’s given me a sense of independence…a sense of pride. It put my family back together. I used to think that I’m nothing without my husband and my sons…but the Market gave me an identity. I continued to work even after my husband’s passing not because I needed the money but because this is something that I’ve created and I’m mighty proud of what’s become of it today. My name is a brand in itself. And a decade ago I couldn’t have imagined this even in the wildest of my dreams.”

A million scenarios cascading through your head drown out Imo’s voice.

Would you now have to go back to Bucheon? Or invest in a stall of your own at the traditional Gwangjang that would never accept your big and bold ways with cooking? And to start from scratch? With a new recipe? Kalguksu with a twist, perhaps? But you had no insight into your aunt’s special broth. She’d never let you or even Kyungsoo for that matter whip up the hand-cut noodles. The two of you only ever helped with the ancillary tasks.

You soon come to the realization of not being the only one caught in the eye of the storm. Kyungsoo’s unwavering gaze is scarily fixated on the bowl of jajangmyeon before him. His miserable state gives you a fleeting sense of relief and it’s in that exact moment that he chooses to say something unpalatable.

“Sajangnim, you’ve worked too hard. It’s time for you to reap the fruits of your labour. We’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry about us.”

Of course he’ll be fine. 

Nearly all food stall owners in Gwangjang have been vying for him ever since the day he set foot into Choi Yoonsun’s with his phlegmatic personality. Whereas you had nowhere to go. The world conveniently assumes Imo hired you only because you were her poor sister’s daughter who she sought to help financially. Not because you had what it took to be there and survive.

“Did I say I was ready to retire?” She laughs, eyeing Kyungsoo quizzically. 

“Here’s the thing..I met up with a friend last month. She was looking for a buyer for her little family run restaurant in Gangnam. So I took out a loan, made her an offer”, balling her hands into fists she sighs, “put in the deposit…and the place is pretty much mine now!”

“IMO”, you yell, “you didn’t have to scare me with that long winded speech! God, you’re so dramatic!”

“Well, it is a big move. I’m not sure either of you are ready to take the leap. It requires a tonne of work and I may not be able to pay half of what you earned at the Market for at least two months until we open. It’ll take the restaurant two years or so to break even and only then will I be able to afford scaling your salaries. On the other hand, what I can do is, help you secure a job at the banchan stall since you love seasoned spinach so much and Kyungsoo even stands a chance at managing one of the Pakgane stalls!”

Pakgane is the mung bean pancake stall that had gotten so popular that the owner managed to branch out of Gwangjang. So even your beloved Imo believes that you’d make for a better “help” and Kyungsoo, a Manager. 

Ugh!

“I’m coming with you”, you say firmly, “I’ve saved up a little and Eomma will gladly pitch in, if need be…”

At this point, you’d expected Kyungsoo to be ready with his luggage considering the little sycophant he is but his expression is stoic, eyes still glued to the jajangmyeon bowl, filling you with insane hope. 

He was going to jump ship…finally!

“Chef…”, you couldn’t resist, “you don’t have to worry about us…I’m more than enough for Imo. You may…”

He shoots you an angry glare making you chew on your unsaid words. But wanting to rile him just a little more, you excuse yourself and bring out a bottle of ketchup. Squeezing it generously atop the stack of pajeon, you snicker maliciously. 

Ketchup. 

The tangy, unassuming condiment is the sole reason Kyungsoo abhors your very existence. But as this dinner marks the end of his torturous regime, you celebrate with ketchup - lots of it - right in front of his nasty eyes.

.

.

.

Steam swirls in different directions and at every twenty metres a contrastive redolence tickles your olfactory senses. Experiencing Gwangjang as a guest is clearly a far richer experience compared to the donkeywork involved in life as a vendor. 

A proper send-off is essential lest Kyungsoo decides to stay, even if it means creating a huge dent in your pocket. You plan on giving him a final tour of the Market where you could both say your goodbyes while receiving a premium fuel of vitamins, minerals and carbs. 

Lots of carbs.

“Let’s start with Pakgane”, says Kyungsoo, with a skewered sausage in one hand.

Wanting to start with nothing less than the best in order to create a lasting impression, you shake your head in response. This was supposed to be a farewell he’d never forget.

With every step, the aroma of scallops drizzled with butter and cheese grows stronger. You start your tour by ordering two portions of the delectable street food which sets you back considerably but you’re far too elated to care, even refusing Kyungsoo’s offer to pay as the woman sets the scallops ablaze with a blow torch.

“Do you know what this technique is called?” Kyungsoo gives a little nod in the direction of the flaming food.

A teachable moment. How does his own personality not wear him off?

You’d made a firm resolve to not let any of his condescension bog you down so with a sweet smile, you reply, “No, Chef. I do not.”

“Flambé, minus the alcohol. Do you know how they manage that?”

The ahjumma calls out for you and you nearly jump to collect the order, the slight upward curl of his lips coming into your peripheral vision.

***

The Market supposedly looks the same as it did fifty years ago and you quite enjoy eating your way through it. The tour makes your heart grapple with nostalgia even though your partner’s vibe is akin to a mug of insipid coffee.

Although you’d spent only a little over a year at Choi Yoonsun’s, the goodbyes were long and hard. Some of the vendors squeeze you and Kyungsoo in heart wrenching hugs, the others give you a little cash to help you through the transition and for some of the food, you pay only with smiles and thank yous.

After a gastronomic fiesta entailing tteokbokki, pajeon (minus the ketchup - you did it Kyungsoo’s way), sashimi, kimbap, different types of banchan, a thousand more teachable moments, the both of you end the day on a sweet note with hotteok. 

The ahjussi wishes you both luck, making you choke back tears. 

Your moist eyes don’t escape Kyungsoo’s attention.

“Are you…. Is the hotteok spicy? No, I mean it’s obviously not…erm”

The dam of your tears explodes. 

You were going to miss this place. Even the less appealing aspects of it. You were going to miss the kimbap unnie who greeted you with a hug everyday, also the snooty mandu ahjumma who could hardly stand the sight of Choi Yoonsun’s crew. You were going to miss washing dishes in the winters with water that was supposed to be ice and the sweltering summers that had you sweating through every layer of clothing. 

Hell, you were even going to miss Kyungsoo.

“No”, you sniffle, “No, no Chef, it’s nothing. Take care of yourself. As much as I’m glad that our fateful working relationship has met its rightful end, I truly, genuinely, wish you luck. And learn to smile a little more, yeah?”

“Are you dying?” Eyes glinting, mouth agape, he chuckles.

“What? NO! What? You’re leaving. What is wrong with you?”

“Who says I’m leaving?”

“You! You’re not coming with us to Gangnam!”

“Says who?”

“Your stupid face that looked like it was hit by a freight train when Imo broke the news last week!”

“I’m not leaving?” He draws his words out in a question.

“This is no time to joke, Chef. You are leaving!”

“Says who!”

“Your stu-”

“Stupid face? I wasn’t planning on leaving at all. I’ve even found myself a place close to the restaurant. Oh yeah, sorry for having misled you. It was really just - my stupid face.”

.

.

.

A month from Grand Opening

It’s not just about food.

Food only makes for a fifth of a restaurant’s success equation. Management and promotional skills are essential because a restaurant is, first and foremost, a business. 

Mark Lee, the young consultant from PCY Associates had imparted this crucial business knowledge to your compact team of three aspiring restaurateurs in exchange for an egg sandwich and watermelon juice. The enthu-cutlet has been overseeing the legal set-up of your humble restaurant for a month now. 

However, according to Mark, the crème de la crème of the success equation is customer service. 

Customer service. 

Here’s where the crusty Chef was supposed to take a backseat and you - a real people person, a socially adept charmer - were to sashay in and shine. 

These ideas were a bit too much for that thick, globular skull of his so you tried to educate him with a practical example. 

He’d added a rule to the first draft of the menu - a shared document for brainstorming purposes. It read ‘No ketchup for you.’ This rule (or insolence as you called it) went against your belief system as the restaurant’s to-be-anointed Manager (a girl can always hope). ‘Never say no to a customer’ being the foundation of customer service, you slashed the rule with a strikethrough. 

But the next time you tried to log in, you found yourself locked out of the document. 

“Chef, why can’t I find the draft menu anymore?”

He’s aggressively julienning leeks, pretending to not have heard you. 

“CHEF!”

“What?” Finally, he looks up. The skin between his eyebrows pinched and his arm raised to level his brand new 1-piece chef’s knife (initials etched into the blade) with his profile.

“Why-why did you lock me out of the draft menu?”, you stammer, gaze trained on the cutting edge glistening with tears of The Leeks.

Kyungsoo’s been visibly getting jittery by the day as opening day approaches.

He deliberately places the knife to the side of the board and you take a gutsy step forward. He uses a cold, serial-killer voice to ask, “What makes you think that I locked you out?”

You lean over from the other side of the granite counter, face barely an inch from his, “Who else could’ve? Imo is technologically challenged.”

“Fine”, he sighs, “I locked you out.” His lips curl up in a menacing smirk, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Grinning, you stare right into his dark eyes and let out a shrill, high-pitched scream, “IMO!”

This throws him back a few steps and he’s rubbing and pulling at his right ear when Imo walks into the kitchen. 

“Yah! Am I your babysitter? Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear about it. I am asking you”, she looks at you before spinning her head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “and you, to sort this amongst yourselves. For once!”

“But-but Imo!”, you protest.

“Aegiya, I really don’t want to ship you back to Bucheon.” 

***

“Here’s your tax ID, liquor license… okay so this was a touch-and-go because the officer is transferring to another Department and the one that’s supposed to be coming in is a real piece of work….” 

Mark Lee is here with the final set of documents. 

Imo’s eyes are gleaming with excitement and sheer joy but she’s held a businesswoman-like composure. On the other hand, Kyungsoo looks very much like himself - like someone’s sucked the life out of him. 

You bring Mark his usual egg sandwich and watermelon juice because there’s only so much your restaurant can offer at this point in time, feeling brutally overwhelmed with the volume of pending tasks until opening.

After practically inhaling his mini-meal, Mark dabs his mouth clean and says, “My work here is done. If you need anything you know where to find me. And good luck. Trust me, you’ll need it.”

Imo looks worriedly at Kyungsoo and then at Mark and at Kyungsoo again which prompts him to ask rather uncomfortably, “What do you mean ‘you’ll need it’?”

Mark’s dramatically long sigh is an indication of a sermon to follow. As he leans back into his chair, Imo and Kyungsoo instinctively cower like an invisible weight has been plopped onto their shoulders. The sight is beyond pathetic: they are like peasants before a feudal lord. It makes you want to smash the know-it-all smirk off of Mark’s face.

What comes after, though, isn’t a sermon but a sentence and a half that leaves the three of you shaken.

“The dining business here in Gangnam is hyper-competitive and most restaurants fold in six months. And if that sandwich is any indication…”

Kyungsoo valiantly advances to rescue your team out of the dark bubble of Mark Lee’s words with, “What’s wrong with the sandwich? She makes a perfectly good sandwich!”

What was supposed to be a compliment somehow sounds very wrong in your head, but before you could give him the death stare he leaps to damage control, “What I mean is, we all ate the very same sandwich for breakfast. I don’t usually dissect food for novices but the egg was perfectly cooked, mayonnaise was just the right amount and the seasoning was balanced, too. So I’m not sure what you’re trying to say. We’re serving perfectly good food here.”

“The thing is, this is something even my mother could make and dude, believe me, she’s terri…her culinary abilities are highly questionable. Also, do you think your friend would’ve sold you this place if it were thriving, Mrs. Choi? She’d inherited it from her grandfather and she sold it to you at a dirt cheap price because she was neck deep in debt. I’m sure you know, real estate here is three and a half times the country’s average. So not only do you have significant funds locked into a possibly deadweight property but also your plan clearly lacks vision. Gwangjang’s Choi Yoonsun can keep you afloat for four…maybe six months but Gangnam’s Choi Yoonsun has to create an identity for herself. Look around you, everyone’s serving good food”, Mark tilts his head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “Here, people eat with their eyes first. Now, I’m not saying family-run restaurants serving traditional cuisines don’t do well. A lot of them have been passed down for generations. What I’m saying is…..find your USP.” 

Mark squints, looks into the distance, and pinches the air a lot during this damp squib speech of his.

So the menu isn’t very different from what Choi Yoonsun served in Gwangjang. Her USP has always been homestyle cooking with a twist. But that was the demand of a Market that upheld traditionalism and Gangnam, being precipitously everchanging, would be quite something to keep up with. 

The weight of Mark’s words manifests on Kyungsoo’s shoulders. He lets out a sharp exhale and starts to clear the table, giving him plenty non-verbal cues to leave. You rush to help him out and meet his defeated form (crouched over the sink) in the kitchen.

The shuffling sound of your footsteps reaches his ears and he pivots to face you.

“We’ll be okay”, your voice is but a calm whisper prompting his creased forehead to slowly smoothen.

“We’ll be okay”, he forcefully echoes.

.

.

.

Grand Opening Day

A frisson of fear laced with excitement descends your spine.

Choi Yoonsun’s is enveloped in a pin drop silence save for the sound of Kyungsoo’s pacing. It’s grating on your nerves but Kyungsoo pacing is far better than Kyungsoo “going over the plan” for the umpteenth time. 

The kitchen’s prepped for battle so you’re seated at the cash counter, cuddled close with Imo, placated by her soothing, motherly presence. The three of you are like ticking time bombs, ready to go off at any minute.

This, right here, is the perfect example of a pinch-me-it-doesn’t-feel-real moment. You allow yourself to feel the forces at play as your eyes take in every nook and cranny of the restaurant. The place is agreeably well lit and the ventilation hoods aren’t an eyesore either. The decor’s minimalistic with a sand and stone colour scheme and the floor’s been scrubbed spotless. Eight sturdy wooden tables, tactically placed, allow for movement and privacy yet the area has been optimally utilized. 

Fifteen minutes for the ‘Open’ sign to light up. 

Kyungsoo and you proceed to help each other out with crisp bright yellow aprons affixed with red name tags (handpicked by Imo, the aprons made you both look like dumpy chicks) and clear plastic masks and wish each other luck with curt nods.

***

Imo’s sons are the first to arrive with some friends in tow. They are served with Kyungsoo’s Yachae Twigim and Budae Jjigae, your Gyeran-mari and Kimchi Bokkeum-bap and of course, Imo’s famous Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu. Makes you wonder if they’ve had enough of it but they seem to be greatly enjoying themselves. Some of Hyunjin’s friends from Four Seasons are here too, their mighty presence driving Kyungsoo to the edge.

But a few compliments from them are enough to soothe his nerves.

Among the flurry of patrons through the day were vendors and stall owners from Gwangjang along with their family and friends, Kyungsoo’s acquaintances who you knew nothing about and neither did you care enough to ask, Mark Lee with his very handsome boss Park Chanyeol also dropped by sometime around noon. 

Your mother couldn’t make it to the opening. It stung a little but as usual, you sucked it up and went on with the highly stimulating day that anyway left you with very little time to mull over any unpleasantness.

***

By the end of it, you were pretty sure you’d wake up with blistered feet the next morning. 

It’d been a splendid opening with sales tallying up to KRW 2500,000: nearly two and a half times the estimate. Imo breaks into a dance at the figure, even Kyungsoo lips stretch into a reluctant grin.

You intensely wish Mark Lee were here to witness this euphoric win.

.

.

.

Six months later

Mark Lee had been right. 

Choi Yoonsun was miles from creating an identity in Gangnam. Regulars from Gwangjang could make it to the restaurant only twice or thrice a week, support from acquaintances had been gradually trickling, and some negative reviews floating around the internet about poor table turnover had also been driving potential guests away.

You tried to mitigate this by hiring part timers at minimum wage but for several reasons, none of them managed to stay: anti-social hours and Kyungsoo’s hostility being two of the key causes.

On your best days, the sales would total up to KRW 1500,000 and the weekday numbers had been dismal.

***

“Dooly-dooly!”

Your eyes light up at the familiarity of that voice. Mirroring its excitement, you run into the arms of its owner.

“Baekhyunnie!” 

Kyungsoo peers over his glasses while scrubbing the iron girdle, studying the floppy haired, cheerful man with a wide grin plastered across his face that’s pranced into the kitchen at closing time. 

Byun Baekhyun has been your best friend since time immemorial. Growing up in Bucheon, he’d been the only family you’d known besides your parents and Imo’s family. You weren’t even as close with Hyunwon and Hyunjin as you were with Baekhyun. Since work always kept your mother busy, his parents had practically been the ones to raise you and not once did they make you feel like an outsider.

“Yah! Quit calling me Dooly we’re not kids anymore! Have you eaten? Let me whip you up something real quick. Look at youuuu, when did you get this skinny! How long are -”

“Not to interrupt, but you’ve left the water running”, Kyungsoo drones, lazily pointing in the direction of the sink. 

You clearly remember turning it off before darting to greet Baekhyun.

‘Sonofa-’ exasperated, you mouth to Baekhyun, whose eyebrows have shot up to his hairline out of vicarious embarrassment, before turning around to face Kyungsoo who seems to be scrubbing the iron girdle to gold. “Chef, you’re closer to the sink.”

“Reiterating. You’ve left the water running. If you wanna go on tittle-tattling, by all means….this wastage is on you.”

“Make yourself comfortable”, too exhausted to pick a fight, you whisper to Baekhyun, gesturing towards the closest table, “I’ll be with you soon.”

***

“It’s bad”, Imo sighs, burying her face in her hands. 

11 P.M., two hours past closing time. 

The sparse lighting in the restaurant is causing you an eyestrain to look at the scribblings on the register. Your neck and shoulder muscles are tense from all the chopping, stirring, and scrubbing: a slow day does not translate to an easy day. You notice that Kyungsoo is growing weary, too. 

Or maybe discouraged.

You communicate with each other in evasive glances as if the restaurant not doing well is, somehow, on the two of you. 

“Imo”, Baekhyun speaks first so as to allay the looming dread, “I’ve been reading the online reviews and those who’ve visited here have been raving about the food - especially the Kalguksu. They say you’ve brought the flavours of Gwangjang to Gangnam. There’s this one thing, though - ”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts a zealous Baekhyun’s pitch, “I don’t think this is any of his business. We’ve been keeping track of reviews and such - ”

“Let the boy speak. He’s family.” She says softly, pressing her fingers to her temples, clearly clutching at straws now.

Kyungsoo clenches his jaw and nods in Baekhyun’s direction, indicating him to continue.

“There-there”, Baekhyun stutters, eyes fixed on Kyungsoo who’s vaguely fascinated with his cuticles, “are some complaints about slow service. Particularly between starters and mains.”

After an uncomfortably rich pause, Imo gently rests her hand atop Baekhyun’s “Baekhyunah, how long are you here for?”

“For as long as you need”, the apples of his cheeks rise as his eyes crinkle into a gleeful smile.

***

“Somebody is early. Also, the cart looks different…it’s..?” 

Dressed in his usual black athleisure, round eyes framed with chunky glasses, Kyungsoo jogs lightly to match your out-of-character sprightly pace into the market. 

“Bigger. I bought a new one.” You chirp, shooting him an out-of-character smile.

Even the dreary weather isn’t a buzzkill because today is supposed to be Baekhyun’s first day at work.

“How did you get Sajangnim to agree? She can be -” 

“Miserly? Stingy? Close-fisted? Also, when will you stop calling her Sajangnim?”

“Just so that you can stop addressing me appropriately? Dream on. And I meant economical. Sajangnim is economical.”

“Chef, do you even listen? I bought it. With my own money. I figured since we’d need more ingredients now, we could use a bigger one.”

“And how did you come to that conclusion?” Impervious to his smug tone, you step away to pick up a one kg bulk pack of dried shiitake mushrooms while he’s examining a small batch of zucchini. 

“Because Baekhyun’s gonna be working with us now.”

“Temporarily. And we’re suddenly going to start doing better because of an inexperienced, unemployed -”

The wheels of the cart hit his ankle when you swivel it, making him wince in pain. 

“Oops! Sorry.”

“You did that on purpose!” He chides.

Half-shrugging, you say nonchalantly, “Serves you right. Baekhyun may be inexperienced but he isn’t unemployed. If anything, he’s doing us a favour. He’s whimsical like that.”

“I know”, he states, forcefully taking control of the cart, “I know he isn’t unemployed. He owns a Hapkido training academy for elementary school children and is on a break these days. I looked him up. I, personally, wouldn’t have hired him if it were my restaurant but I’m sure Sajangnim -”

“Chef?” You stop dead in your tracks.

“What?”

“You’re on…” you wanted to say ‘social media’ but the words sounded almost blasphemous to be used in front of a very uptight Doh Kyungsoo: a man with absolutely no online presence. 

“What is it?” His eyebrows knit together in annoyance.

“Nothing, let’s go.”

“You know what else is different today?” He says on your way out, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

“Hmm?”

“You. You’ve showered.” He chortles, thinking he’s being funny.

But with a hardened expression, you let him know that he’s crossed a line.

“Too far?”

“A tad.”

“Let’s get you some coffee.” 

“No.” You smile inwardly, relishing his apologetic tone.

“No?”

“We have to pick up Baekhyun’s apron and nametag.”

.

.

.

At first you thought you were imagining this. 

A group of high school girls frequenting Choi Yoonsun’s must obviously be because they want to get healthy, homely meals instead of the trash served at fast food chains or the uneconomical subsistence of instagrammable cafes. They’re obviously not here for the charming server with an athlete’s body and a boyish grin.

“He should wear respectable clothing”, says Kyungsoo, indicating at Baekhyun’s skinny jeans and fitted black tee, hiss sharper than the sizzle of minced garlic in butter.

“Why, I don’t think his cleavage is showing”, you retort, scooping out a serving of rice from the cooker.

“You have absolutely no shame”, he states matter-of-factly, stirring the soup pot.

“What? Is my cleavage showing, too?” You ask in mock-surprise, fixing your apron theatrically.

“Forget I said anything.” 

The aroma of Kimchi Jjigae had you salivating and you couldn’t wait to taste it for seasoning. Kyungsoo’s cooking amply made up for his drab, lacklustre personality. 

“Chef, lighten up. Any publicity is good publicity.”

“You sound like a tabloid journalist”, leaving the soup to simmer, he turns around to face you, “What’s wrong with your hair?”

“I got a haircut”, scrunching your face you respond suspiciously, the fact that he noticed it despite the hair cover makes your heart palpitate.

Taking the unwarranted attention away from your hair, you ask hastily, “You think they’re here for Baekhyun and not your food, right?” 

“Ye-yes”, he stutters, looking away.

“These people wouldn’t be here time and again if it weren’t for the food, Chef. You should know that.” 

Moving closer to him, you lightly dust flour off of his shoulders. 

“How did you get flour on your shoulders?”

His ears go scarlet. 

.

.

.

Imo comes into the kitchen while Kyungsoo and you are preparing for the day ahead. Baekhyun has gone down to Bucheon to oversee the affairs of his training academy. 

“There’s this new officer who’s reviewing all liquor permits issued this year. Be careful and make sure to check all IDs twice. I’m taking the day off. Will you two be okay by yourselves?” She swooshes out of the kitchen, not bothering with your incoherent replies.

“Can’t believe they’ve ditched us on a Friday.” You grumble, soaking clams in fresh water.

“We’ll be fine.” Kyungsoo reassures you.

***

It had been quite the day and nearing closing time, your feet were going sore. Baekhyun taking on the toughest role in the restaurant made you greatly appreciate his efforts. While most guests are civil, he’s experienced his fair share of rowdy ones firsthand and his ability to deal with them is unparalleled. He’s never, ever let any matter escalate to a point of embarrassment and has demonstrated the maturity to overcome every crisis situation with a smile on his face. 

The fact that he’s only temporarily here suddenly starts to wear you out. 

Kyungsoo sticks a handwritten note on the steel holder which reads - Yangnyeom - 2. It’s only been a little over eight months since the restaurant’s been fully functional yet the holder’s worn out more because of use and less because of time. 

“About time we advanced to kitchen order tickets, right? Saves Baekhyun…or either of us unnecessary excursions to the kitchen. Also, billing will be simpler that way.” You offer while straightening your apron and getting ingredients ready for Kyungsoo to prepare the sauce.

“Yeah, it does”, he seems really out of it as he’s getting chunks of juicy chicken ready for the fryer. He’s moving around the kitchen rather clumsily, nearly tipping over the bottle of corn syrup.

“Wah, Chef, are you alright? Would you like me to do this?” 

Resting his back against the wall, he slowly sinks to the floor, face buried in hands. “Yes, please.”

While you’re preparing a sauce the recipe for which you know like the back of your hand, his instructions don’t cease. The only thing you’ve ever liked about working with this man is that contrary to Imo, he does not believe in micromanaging. But right now it feels like you’re in the kitchen with her and not with Kyungsoo.

The tension causes you to lower the chicken into the fryer hastily resulting in specks of flaming oil to splatter onto your arm. 

He’s quick to rush to your aid with a cold towel.

“Yah, Chef, you’re making me nervous, what’s with all this nitpicking?” You almost yell at him as he’s gingerly dabbing the towel on the affected area.

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry. It’s just”, he pauses briefly, worrying at his lower lip, questioning eyes peering into yours, before helping you with the chicken - slightly more confident in his movements now, “whatever you do, don’t get out of the kitchen. Table number four, those guys there, are weird.”

“Weird, how?”

“Rowdy, mannerless and drunk. Really, really drunk. Steamrolled by the ‘Friday happy’.”

“Ah, Baekhyun’s well-versed with their kind. Don’t worry, just be polite. Are you sure you don’t want me to intervene?”

“Positive and whatever happens?”

“Stay put. Chef?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s only thirty minutes to closing. We can get through this, okay? And don’t accept further orders!”

***

Twenty minutes after, you’re aimlessly scrolling through your phone to take your mind off the stabbing pain in your lower abdomen. Simultaneously playing a little game of inventing the kind of content Kyungsoo would upload if he were a user on these sites only to be jolted with the realization as to how little you know about the man.

As the restaurant’s occupied with boisterous conversations and raucous laughter, you’re counting seconds to closing. Multiplying three hundred with every bracket of five on the clock.

The din comes to an abrupt halt when you hear a middle aged man bellow, “Yah, punk, do you have a death wish?!”

Gradually moving closer to the door, you try to get a view of the scene outside.

You see a polite but firm Kyungsoo bow before the man, “We can’t serve you any more alcohol, sorry, we’ll be closing now.”

The other two men along with the nasty vermin have long passed out. You quickly call for a cab, subconsciously grabbing a hold of Kyungsoo’s knife in the process.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO YOU’RE TALKING TO RIGHT NOW?” He thunders.

Kyungsoo recoils as the man grows louder by the second. “We cannot serve you anymore alcohol, sir.”

It happens in a flash. 

So fast you almost feel like you’re astral projecting.

One moment, the man raises a hand to strike Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo swerves. You dash out of the kitchen with the knife in your hand. Face to face with the man, you scream until your lungs hurt, “GET OUT! I SAID GET OUT OF MY RESTAURANT!”

The vermin’s companions stir at the sound. 

With frightened eyes they take in the scene as their drowsy brain is still trying to assess the situation for action. They soon pull the man by his shoulders while Kyungsoo’s tugging at your knife bearing arm that’s still raised in combat mode, simultaneously apologising to the rowdy guest.

Wagging his sausage like finger at the both of you he warns menacingly, “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Slapping the tab on their table, you proceed to threaten him, “Settle this and get - the fuck - out of my restaurant before I call the cops.”

Throwing a couple of bills on the table, he staggers out, grumbling, “You just wait”, still wagging his finger and reeking of stale alcohol. 

It was only then that your grip on the knife eases as Kyungsoo carefully draws it out of your hand and you see, just like you, he’s shaking too.

“What just happened?” He’s the first to speak as you sit across the table from him, dark orbs glinting in the dim light, forehead beaded with sweat. His hands are tightly wound together as he places them on the table. One day without Baekhyun and Imo and Kyungsoo and you had messed up real bad. By the looks of it, neither of you were ready to accept this fact.

“We did exactly what we were supposed to do. Stop worrying!” You say more to yourself.

He’s not convinced.

“Chef, that man’s reaction wasn’t something that you could’ve preempted or….controlled in any way.” Finding yourself getting mildly annoyed, you try your best to lay the edge off of your voice. All you wanted was for him to be alright because, technically, none of this was his fault. 

“Would you have allowed him to take a swing at you?”

“He was far too drunk for that”, he exhales heavily and you notice his stance relax before clamping up again, “but you-you came out with a knife!”

His tone isn’t accusatory. He’s simply baffled.

“Fight or flight…”

“It’s my knife.”

“I’ll be sure to hide the murder weapon.”

He nods slowly.

“Do you need some water? Tea? A hug?”

You half expect him to scowl or groan or whatever it is that he usually does but he seems to be actually evaluating his options.

“A beer?”

“Down for Chimaek?”

Stood up to go into the kitchen, you awkwardly, and very, very slowly put an arm around his shoulders and give him a tight squeeze.

***

This was your first time having fried chicken and beer in complete silence - a few minutes felt like hours with the incident still hovering over both of you.

“Chef, you know we haven’t murdered anyone right?”

“The restaurant feels like a scene of crime to me. Also, what did he mean by ‘you just wait’?”

“Eh. Empty threats. Testosterone poisoning. Do you think they’ll throw me into prison for threatening him with a knife?”

“You should be sent in for pilfering stock”, he says gesturing at the tray between you, taking a chunky bite of the chicken, “you were going to take this home, weren’t you? It’s good, by the way.”

“Ah, this makes me happy”, you lean back into your chair, smiling discreetly at Kyungsoo’s messy fingers and mouth.

“A compliment from me makes you happy?” His eyebrows shoot up as he takes a swig of beer.

“Testosterone poisoning”, you say pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I couldn’t care less what you think. I’m pretty confident in my skills.”

“As you should be. Then what ‘makes you happy’? The thought of going to prison?”

“Yes”, you lie, “you think I’ll have a prison bitch?”

“I think you’ll be the prison bitch.”

You open your mouth to protest but what escapes is a mortifying burp.

Uncomfortable silence.

Meeting his eyes, you purse your lips, feeling your face flame. He smiles at you and says, ‘wait for it’, before belching. Loudly. Sending you both into fits of laughter.

.

.

.

“What happened here last week?”

Kyungsoo and you are seated opposite Imo like criminals before a cop in an interrogation room. Baekhyun is holed up in the kitchen, cleaning. For the most part, he avoids conflicts like these where Imo’s red hot beam of anger could be misdirected at him. 

She’s glaring at the responsible child, Kyungsoo, to break first but since it was your idea to keep the incident from her you start to explain. By the time you’re done she seems angrier, but not at the two of you. Only after a tiny lecture on how you should learn to be more tactful in such situations does she spell out her real concern.

Turns out the man the both of you had a scuffle with last week is the new officer’s brother-in-law. Now, the restaurant’s received a notice from the liquor permit’s office for an “inspection” in the coming week. Although aware that this situation isn’t either of your fault, Imo is far from pleased with this development.

“Fix this”, she orders and disappears into the kitchen.

There’s only one person who can help you out of this mess, but neither Kyungsoo nor you possess the emotional capacity to deal with him. 

“He’s our only option”, you deadpan.

With a heavy sigh, Kyungsoo dials Mark Lee.

***

Mouth stuffed with egg sandwich, Mark Lee garbles, “What do you want from me? It’s an inspection so let them come and - inspect.”

Imo’s taken off for the day and it’s just you and Kyungsoo trying to sort out the mess you weren’t entirely responsible for. 

“You said we could call you if we needed help with anything”, Kyungsoo reasons with Mark who’s now ogling at him as if he just got spoken to in an alien language.

“Yes, but I don’t see how I can be of help here?”

“Tell us anything you know about this new officer. Don’t leave anything out.” You’re nearly begging at this point and Mark Lee, as always, is reveling in your misery.

He relaxes in his seat, swirling the glass of watermelon juice, “You know you can’t buy your way out of this right? He’s an uptight bugger and you screwed up! Big time! All you had to do was give his brother-in-law a bottle of beer.”

“Oh, we’re sorry we didn’t have his family tree handy”, Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, “Besides, were just trying to abide by the rules - ”

The helplessness in Kyungsoo’s voice causes you to lose your cool at Mark. “Yah! Quit being cocky and just tell us everything you know!”

“Oh-oh feisty”, his mouth spreads into an annoying grin, “okay so he loves his wife, obviously, it’s why he’s doing this. Has an eleven year old daughter who is the apple of his eye. Erm, let’s see, he’s spent his teenage years in Japan and the country is all he’ll ever talk about. Piss him off and this inspection turns into a review and if things continue to spiral you’ll have your permit revoked. So be careful.” His eyes lock with yours making you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“What are you planning to do with this information, anyway?”

“We don’t know just yet”, Kyungsoo starts clearing up the table, as usual, and Mark knows that his time is up.

“Dude”, he leans towards you, whisper-chortling, as Kyungsoo retires into the kitchen, “did you drive him out with a knife?”

Nodding, you grin gleefully.

“Fiery! You’re totally my boss’ type.” 

***

“So what are we going to do?” Rubbing your eyes and stifling a yawn, you ask Kyungsoo.

While the world sleeps, the market is awake. Buzzing with a contagious energy. Although you hate having to wake up this early, the moment you step into this space, you’re completely taken by its vigour and gusto for life. 

It’s nothing short of a celebration.

Chefs, big and small, passionately scour every nook and corner for the perfect herbs, veggies, and meats. You may not know each other closely or even by name but you feel part of a community - part of a family. True to character, you won’t ever stop whining about this routine with friends and family and occasionally with Kyungsoo, Baekhyun, and Imo but you know it in your heart of hearts, you wouldn’t skip sourcing for the world.

“So he’s spent his teenage years in Japan right?” Kyungsoo muses, lowering a crate of mudfish in the cart for today’s special, Chueotang.

“Let’s recreate his teenage years for him. Japanese dorm meals?” 

Kyungsoo stops abruptly, “That’s a thought!”

“We can set the menu today after closing.”

“How about a coffee now?” He asks, averting your gaze as a slight smile forms on his lips.

.

.

.

On the morning of the inspection, Kyungsoo sneezed. Once. Twice. And on the third strike he was sent home by Imo because “this is not a good look”. Or forced out of the restaurant - depends on who you ask. He whined a little, even shed a few tears but Imo steeled herself and drew him out, anyway.

Although the menu is simple, the concept is layered and robust. The exercise is, after all, being undertaken merely to impress the officer in question. Well equipped for the inspection, the restaurant’s closed for the day. 

This is nothing Baekhyun and you can’t manage but, obviously, Kyungsoo feels otherwise. He’s been calling to check in in intervals of five but seems like the medication’s finally kicked in and put him in a state of deep slumber. Good for him. And for you. 

Two hours until showtime.

Under your close supervision, Baekhyun is labouring over the fairly straightforward stuff: tako sausages, potato and macaroni salad and egg sandwiches while you’ve kicked off the recipe for rolled omelettes.

Egg mixture aside, you start the rice cooker, leave green tea to boil for salmon ochazuke while the frying pan’s heating up for yaki udon.

***

Once you’d gotten all the dishes down, done exactly the way instructed by Kyungsoo: rolled omelettes, yaki udon, tako sausage, potato and macaroni salad, egg sandwiches and salmon ochazuke, it was time for you to take on the simplest but the most provoking dish on the menu.

Neko Manma. Or, cat rice. 

“Ah, Dooly, shall I bring out the jar of bonito flakes?” Baekhyun prompts.

“The one Chef brought us this morning?”

He hums in response.

“I think we should use the store bought one instead.”

“But he’s worked on this recipe all week. You sure you wanna do that?”

“Positive.”

“He’ll flip out.”

“I’ll deal with it. We’re altering the recipe for Neko Manma, this ones too pretentious. Doesn’t sit right with me.”

“So, what do you want to do with it?” Baekhyun’s tone is wary and questioning. 

“Rice, soy sauce, store bought bonito flakes and just a faint drizzle of butter. Nice and clean.” You respond confidently. 

“Are you really sure?”

***

“Why are you here?” You hiss at Kyungsoo while Imo is outside, busy greeting the motley of high-headed officials, giving them a brief of the restaurant, herself, her team, and going over the licenses and documentation. 

Face flushed, Kyungsoo’s lips are swollen and his eyes are runny, puffy, and bloodshot. He’s clearly in the need for some rest.

“To see if everything’s in order.” His voice is hoarse.

He starts to closely examine the entrees laid out, a smile of approval gracing his lips until he stops short of cat rice.

“These bonito flakes -”

“I didn’t use the fresh ones. I thought -”

“There’s no miso soup?” 

“No, Chef, I reckoned -”

“No grilled fish? Are you being lazy?”

“Chef, no, I am not being lazy. The original recipe just didn’t feel right. So i changed it up a little -”

“Changed it up? That decision was not yours to make!”

“It’s just a side, it’s not going to matter so much!”

Absolutely livid, he runs a hand through his hair and laments. “If we weren’t this close to serving i would’ve dumped this into the bin because that’s where it belongs.”

“Chef, please”, your voice quivers, “let me explain! This was supposed to be the lightest dish on the menu. We ended up styling it with… overwhelming ingredients, so I -”

“I’m utterly confused! What on earth led you to believe you’re qualified enough to teach me? I’ve trained at a diner in Tokyo for two whole years. I know exactly what I’m doing here!”

Eyes brimming with tears, you glance over and Baekhyun who has ‘I told you so’ written all over his face. 

"Kyungsooyah? When did you come in? What’s going on here?”

Imo’s bewilderment cuts through the tension. 

“Sajangnim, I was feeling slightly better so I thought of dropping by to wish you luck." 

Courtesying, he quickly dashes out through the back door. 

***

The inspection has been revoked. Unofficially, atleast. The restaurant is to receive a written order in a week’s time. 

The officer was impressed to the extent of apologising for his brother-in-law’s behaviour. He even lauded Imo on teaching her staff to stick to the establishment’s principles which made you wonder if he was fully aware of the facts of the case: knife and all. 

He also mentioned how, as a student, he’d eat a bowl of Neko Manma before every exam because at the time, to him, anything else was unpalatable. 

And that, this was what he considered to be the perfect recipe. 

You go through the rest of the day as if sleepwalking. How stupid could you have been believe you were “on good terms” with Kyungsoo or that this was an equal and productive partnership. The fact remained that he still thought of you as someone frivolous: some air-headed moron who has no idea what she’s doing. 

Someone beneath him. 

You made an effort to appreciate this victory but the day had only left you with a bitter taste. Your mother had been right. You’ve always been too soft. Too trusting. Letting people in too easily and allowing them to walk all over you. 

Now, Kyungsoo’s always been like this: controlling, stubborn, absolutely thorough. He never deviates from his well laid out plans. But today was different. Today, you expected something out of him. You expected him to trust you. You expected him to understand your reasoning, to give you a chance. To comprehend the fact that you could have a mind of your own and that not everything has to be exactly by the book. 

You loathe yourself for expecting this out of him. 

Sailing rough seas together doesn’t bloom friendships. You were stupid to think of him as a friend while, in all these months, his opinion of you had remained the same. 

Contrary to the Gwangjang days, you’d long stopped wishing him gone. In some farthest corner of your heart you were even grateful that he chose to say. 

You’ve been so stupid.

.

.

.

Two months later

The kitchen has been fervent but hushed. 

After all this time, Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and you seem to have found a rhythm. You don’t need to verbally communicate to get through a workday. 

But, you used to. 

Sometimes unnecessarily even. Kyungsoo and you hardly saw eye to eye on most things but there would be some semblance of friendly workplace banter. He’d say a little something about a perfectly done piece of meat or a well seasoned soup. Baekhyun would take wickedly funny pot shots at some of the customers (to the utmost horror of Imo). Imo would sporadically push morsels of whatever was being prepared into your mouths. 

Baekhyun receiving feedback in the form of grunts has shut him up altogether. And the busyness of the restaurant has seemed to have blinkered Imo into not being able to perceive the tension between Kyungsoo and you.

It’s a dance to no music. 

Furtive glances. Measured smiles. Curt nods. Exceptional dishes. Decent earnings. 

That’s it.

Maybe that’s how it should’ve always been.

“Ready to go?” Baekhyun asks, dressed in a well fitted black shirt and slacks. 

You’re mopping the floor. Clearly not ready to go.

When you make this known with a sharp glare, Baekhyun giggles. 

Nothing good can come out of that impish smile of his. But before you can sink your claws into him and drag him back, he’s already chatting up Kyungsoo who’s fixing the chairs.

“Kyungsoo, you coming?” He says a little too loudly and you groan. But you know Kyungsoo all too well. He’s one to decline offers involving socialising with you (unless of course, the offer is put forth by his dearest Sajangnim). 

’You can do better than that’, you mouth to Baekhyun.

Incurious about Kyungsoo’s answer, you’re fully prepared to chomp Baekhyun’s ear off for inviting him.

“Sure”, Kyungsoo says plainly.

Sure?

Without taking the where-what-why route like normal people do? Just..sure?

“Great! We’re going out for drinks since it’s Dooly’s birthday today.”

“Oh. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. But, Chef, you can’t come. I don’t want you there. I’m sor-”

Swallowing the apology crackling at the tip of your tongue, you dash into the kitchen, your periphery catching his lowered gaze and tight smile. 

Regularising the erratic thrumming of your heart with deep breaths, you shove the mop into the storage area, take off your apron and throw it in the laundry bag (which you were to deal with the next morning), straighten your outfit, fix your hair, dab some rosy tint onto your lips, throw your tote bag over your shoulder, run back out, grab Baekhyun by purposefully lodging your nails into his arms, and take off.

[fullsunalicia]

hi can i request a lil something where wayv or the dreamies studies with their s/o for a test? having exam season rn and lacking the willpower to study so yea 🥴 thank you so much!! 🥰

hey bubs!! i feel you so much omg. i can’t wait for school to be over and finally be on summer break! i chose wayv for this, i hope that’s okay! thank you for the request! 💞 good luck with your exams!!

Qian Kun

studying with kun is so.... productive

like,,,, he doesn’t allow any joking around?? literally uses a reward system with you so you stop procastinating and doesn’t allow any private talks until you stopped studying ehdhdh you may aswell be studying with your teacher

but !! his reward system is the best. every answer u get right is one free kiss 🥺🥺 also makes sure that you stay hydrated and cooks you food while you’re studying!! where can i find a qian kun

Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul

there’s only two possible outcomes to this. you either get shit done or you’ll literally abandon all your work max 5 mins in HDHHDDBDB

promises to help you but then doesn’t know anything and suggests making out instead of studying. sir ........ i have an algebra test tomorrow . PRIORITIES.

if it goes well though, studying with him can be pretty fun, actually !! he uses little jokes that you use to memorize certain grammar rules for example !! oh yeah this is big brain time

Dong Sicheng

sicheng is as confused as you are. your page is still empty, an hour has passed, and you’re both none the wiser. congrats !!

honestly sicheng is so intelligent but i’d think he’d be the type of student who has no idea how to study with others??? because he learns by writing down and memorizing???????? relatable sicheng

will take care of you tho!!! gives u lots of kisses and encouragement, and he still tries his best to help with anything he can !!

Wong Yukhei

ma’am... sweetheart........... DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN STUDY IN A ROOM WHERE WONG YUKHEI RESIDES??? NOOOOO this mf needs to have all your attention: [all the time]

keeps crawling on your lap even though you’ve told him thousand of times now that he’s a big lanky baby and he’s going to crush you. mans just wants to be held and you know what ? Me Too.

if he’s not distracting you, this sweet and gentle giant is going to fall asleep on you. it’s finally quiet enough for you to actually study, but you’re pretty sure your legs are dying from the lack of blood circulation

Xiao Dejun

i ...... i’m gonna say something so weird and i absolutely cannot explain this but this man has ✨ i n t e l l i g e n t v i b e s ✨ I CANT TELL YOU WHY IT’S JUST A MOOD

he’s the best and worst teacher at the same time. explains everything to you very patiently and i SWEAR you will understand everything and anything if he explains it !! but: gets so easily distracted it’s INSANE

one second he’s explaining math to you and the next he throws your flashcards aside to tackle & cuddle you

Wong Kunhang

listen this man is an enigma i can’t tell you anything for sure. like,,, yes he is ten’s chinese teacher but also ? the amount of energy this man possesses ?????? does he ever ???????? stop and breathe ???????????????

you have to use the reward system on HIM !! like if he explains u how tf to calculate this, you promise you’re gonna kiss him and it helps for like half an hour until he’s bored and decides he’s in the mood for sexy times

you definitely flunked that test but atleast the wong kunghang made out with you 😔✊

Liu Yangyang

my sweet babyboy. my darling prince. love of my life. PLEASE STOP JUMPING UP AND DOWN AND START HELPING US WE’RE GONNA F A I L

needs some convincing to help you study because :////// the things he could do instead... like eat a pizza or sth.... but once he’s convinced, things turn pretty serious/productive.

explains very calmly and never once belittles you, even if you don’t understand it after even the fifth time. kisses you as encouragement 🥺🥺 this man isnt called the most intelligent for nothing, he’s gonna make you ace that test

[drowning-in-dennor]

Where We Belong

Going to high school as the new kid isn’t easy, but luckily for Harald, he manages to find someone to help him survive the experience. [Written for @hetabang, with art drawn by @pixeltalia.]

Part One: Gratitude

  For the millionth time, Harald reminds himself to thank his brother.

  When they got the news of Stellan’s promotion, Harald thanked him once for putting food on their table. When they moved, he thanked him a second time for getting them a place to live. And now, as he stares up at his new school building, Harald’s just about ready to pull out his new cell phone, text his brother and spam him with “thank you”’s until he gets blocked.

  Filios International School, the plaque reads, nailed to the iron-wrought gates of the school campus, and it doesn’t take a genius to know, with one look, that the place isn’t somewhere just anyone can get into. 

  Oh, but Harald did. He remembers passing the entrance exam, though barely so, and getting his admission letter. Stellan ruffled his hair and smiled the day they got the news, saying, “a brand new start for the two of us.”

  It’s not until somebody clears their throat behind him does Harald stop staring up at the campus and actually start walking inside, following groups of his classmates into the grand school building. 

  The interior of the school is just as extravagant as its exterior, with winding staircases that lead up to classrooms with elegantly-carved doors. On the first floor, Harald looks around him, seeing walls adorned with vibrant murals; the floor, mosaicked with hundreds upon hundreds of tiny tiles; the ceiling, made of glass and allowing sunlight to shine in and bathe the school in its golden light. 

  Everywhere Harald looks, students are milling around. Some of them shriek as they reunite with old friends, some of them walk hand-in-hand with lovers and some lean against the wall, checking their cell phones.

  As he looks at his classmates, most of them walking upstairs and disappearing down corridors, Harald realises that he has no idea what he’s supposed to be doing. Awkwardly, Harald trails behind a group of girls up the stairs. There, the two carved-glass doors that stand in front of them turn out to be common rooms - one for girls, and one for boys.

  Harald pushes the one on the left open, stepping inside to see some boys lounging around on plush-looking armchairs, some of them rummaging for books in lockers and some of them reading at desks. He approaches the left wall, filled from ceiling-to-floor with locker cubicles, and pushes his half-empty backpack into the one labelled with his name.

  After that’s done, he stares around the common room, thinking, well, the hell do I do now? He settles for leaning against the lockers, trying to look as confused as possible and hoping someone takes pity on him.

  Ten minutes later, when half the boys have left the common room for their classes, Harald’s still leaning against the wall and feeling even more baffled than before.

  The bell chimes after five minutes, and the only boy left in the room shuts off his computer. Harald watches as his last hope to figure out his school picks up his folders, gets up from his seat and prepares to leave.

  Steeling his nerves, Harald decides to clear his throat and step away from the lockers. “Uh, excuse me?”

  Luckily, the boy turns around. “Yeah?”

  He fumbles for his timetable, stammering, “I’m in class 2B, and I’m not really sure where my classroom is, so, uh, do you mind telling me where to go?”

  The boy stares at him for a moment, before heading toward the door. Harald thinks that he’s doomed, before the boy says, looking back, “follow me.”

  Without a moment of hesitation, he scurries behind the boy and follows him down sunlit corridors, passing brightly-painted doors and blank bulletin boards, before they reach a blue door with “2B” painted on it with bright-yellow paint. “Here we are.”

  “Thank you so much.” Harald pushes the door open, relieved to find out that the teacher has yet to arrive. 

  The boy, however, marches in before him, past students who murmur greetings and kicking desks out of the way, before plopping down in a seat at the back. “Hey,” he calls, “what’re you waiting for?”

  Realising that he’s still standing agape at the doorway, Harald walks into the classroom, staring at the ground until he reaches the seat next to the boy’s. When he stares up at him, Harald adds, hurriedly, “wait, if you don’t want me sitting here I can mo — “

  “Nah.” The boy pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, fiddling with the shiny screen. “I can help you out in class, or something. What’s your name?”

  Stunned into silence, Harald pulls out his student card and shows it to the boy.

  “Okay.” The boy shrugs. “My name’s Leon. Nice to meet you, Haraldur.”

  “Harald,” he corrects, “just call me that.”

  Leon shrugs again, still typing rapidly on his cell phone. “Sure.”

  They remain in awkward silence for a while, and Harald’s about to say something when the teacher walks into the classroom.

…

  “How was class?”

  Harald stares at his lunch and replies, “good.”

  “Are the teachers nice?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “You didn’t get lost, did you?”

  “Nope.”

  Stellan eyes his brother suspiciously over his cup of coffee. “You sure everything went okay?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You’re giving me one-word answers.” He pokes Harald in the forehead.“When that happens, you’re usually upset about something.”

  “Well, I’m not.” Harald takes a sip of his water. “Things actually went better than I expected. I managed to make a new friend.”

  That gets Stellan’s attention. He leans in, clearly holding back a smile. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I’m not that antisocial, y’know.” He rolls his eyes, though he’s smiling too. “He’s just some guy in my class. His name is Leon. And, uh,” he adds, “he spent most of the classes just using his phone under the desk.”

  “Really?” Stellan remarks again. “I hope he won’t be a bad influence.”

  “He won’t, he won’t,” Harald says quickly, “the teachers all seem okay with him. He let me sign up for theatre with him, too.”

  That gets his attention. “You’re already part of a club?”

  Harald almost laughs at his brother’s disbelieving expression. “Yep.”

  “You’re better than me, then. When I was in high school I spent all my time in the library.” Stellan gets out of his seat, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “My shift starts in fifteen minutes, so I have to go.” He heads towards the diner’s cashier, pulling notes out of his wallet. “Have fun in school.”

  As he watches him leave, Harald begins packing his bag, ready to follow.

Part Two: Guidance

  Harald glares at the angry red “F”.

  It seems to glare back.

  Leon slings an arm around his shoulders, waving his test paper that flaunts a bold “A”. “Failed again?”

  “Don’t rub it in, idiot.” Harald elbows his friend in the gut and stuffs the test paper at the back of his folder. “I suck at Chinese, I get it.”

  “Why did you pick it, then?”

  “I didn’t have a choice!” He scowls. “I wanted to pick Farsi, but they were full and I got tossed here.”

  “This is, like, the third time you’ve flunked a quiz,” Leon says, “don’t you think that you need to change the way you study or something?”

  The suggestion is met with a deepened scowl. “I’ve tried that.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes!” Harald snaps, though he instantly regrets the outburst. Leon pats him on the shoulder and tugs at his frown, clearly still glowing over his good grade. Harald lets him mess with his face, not in the mood to yell any more.

  “Yo.”

  “Hmm?”

  “You need help in Chinese.”

  “Clearly.”

  “I have an idea.”

  “That’s never a good thing.”

  He thumps Harald on the back. “Shut up. As I was saying, I have an idea to help you bring up your Chinese grades.”

  Harald raises an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

  “I was thinking that I could tutor you.” It’s clear from the expression on his face that he thinks it’s an excellent idea.

  “That’s a terrible idea.”

  Leon frowns. “Why, though? I’m practically at the top of the class, and I’m your friend.”

  “My only friend.”

  “I’m your friend,” he insists, “and I want to help you out. So why don’t you come over to my place after school so I can help you out?”

  He takes a moment to think of a rebuttal to that. He can’t. “Okay, okay, fine,” Harald finally says, “you can extend your goodwill to this illiterate, pitiful fool.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Leon reassures, although he’s grinning triumphantly. “You’re not pitiful, just illiterate.”

  “Wow, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Leon teeters back in his seat, lolling his head back. “I’m an amazing person, I know.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Thanks for reminding me that I have a presumptuous asshead as my best friend.”

   “Any time.” Leon’s widened grin is annoyingly bright.

…

  Two hours later, in Leon’s apartment, Harald begins to regret his decision.

  His friend is clearly having too much fun showing off, bringing out his old Chinese textbooks from primary school and loudly proclaiming, “this is the stuff I learned in my first year of primary school. Maybe they can help.”

  He glares at the textbooks, covered almost condescendingly in bright colours, bubbly fonts and cheerful characters. He flips the textbook open. The overly-large characters printed on glossy papers are barely recognisable.

  “Is that still too hard for you?”

  “Shut up, I’m already really embarrassed.”

  “Why?” Leon sits down next to him, slamming down a packet of manuscript paper. “There’s no shame in having trouble learning a language.” He shrugs. “Hell, when we first moved here I could barely speak English, and look at me now.”

  He throws his hands up in the air. “You don’t speak with an accent. I have an accent in both English and Chinese!”

  “But there’s nothing wrong with an accent! That just means that you went through the hard work of learning a new language.” Harald jumps when Leon grabs his hand, squeezing it gently. “Look, I’m sorry for being an ass about your grades. You’re stuck with this language, so you might as well be good at it. I can help you with that.”

  Harald shakes his hand off. “Right, okay, whatever. Where do we start?”

  Leon grabs the nearest textbook, which appears to be targeted toward six-year-olds. Harald does his best to not feel even more embarrassed. “This one, probably. You’re not too bad with the basics.”

  “You overestimate my skills.”

  “Come on, you’re not that bad.” Leon flips the textbook open and yanks out a piece of manuscript paper. “I’ve seen worse.”

  “Very reassuring.”

  “I’ve seen waaaaaay worse, trust me.” He points to the passage. “Now, let’s start.”

…

  “I think we made pretty good progress today.” 

  “I feel less illiterate.”

  “See?” Leon crosses his arms, that perpetually victorious expression on his face even more so. “You’re not terrible at this, you just needed a little push in the right direction.”

  Harald smiles a little, gathering his notes and stuffing them in his bag. “Thanks, Leon. Really.”

  “Hey, no problem.” He winks, stacking up the textbooks and hefting them up. “D’you want to meet up again next week?”

  “Sure.” He slings his bag over his shoulder and begins heading toward the door, raising a hand in a wave. “See you next time.”

  Leon waves. “Bye.”

…

  The next few lessons fly by, copyings and recitations making Harald even more familiar with the language. He stops getting zeros on his homework, discussions in class become less awkward and he stops being miserable while staring at his textbook. 

  After another successful tutoring session, Harald prepares to leave when he remembers something. “Oh, crap.”

  Leon looks up from tidying up his desk. “What is it?”

  “My brother’s working overtime today.” He claps his palm to his forehead, looking at the darkening sky from out the window. “He won’t get home until ten o’clock.”

  “Oh, that’s fine.” Leon shoves the pile of textbooks and exercise books into a drawer. “You can stay for dinner.”

  Harald stares at him in disbelief. “I can what?”

  “Stay for dinner,” he repeats, “Yao can cook for you, too.”

  “No, no, I can’t, I’ll just go to the diner.”

  He grabs Harald’s wrist, making him jump about a foot in the air. “Like hell you are. If you eat all that greasy diner food, you’ll get heart disease and die at age twenty-one.” Leon pauses. “Gosh, I sound like my brothers. But anyway, you’re going to stay for dinner.”

  “I — “ he sighs, sharply elbowing Leon in the ribs. “Okay. I’ll stay. Only this time, though.”

…

  More lessons, more improvement. Then one day, their teacher announces the arrival of a dreaded event — another quiz. Harald jots down the date in his planner, then the syllabus. It’s nothing that he and Leon haven’t covered, nothing that they’ve reviewed over and over again, but he can’t help feeling nervous.

  After school, he takes the familiar route to Leon’s apartment, tossing his now-enormous folder of notes and textbook onto the table. Leon flops down, puffing his bangs away from his eyes. “The quiz is going to be so easy.”

  “For you, maybe.” Harald pulls out a blank sheet of manuscript paper. “For me, it’s going to be a one-way ticket to failure.” He writes down the title with a little more force than necessary. “That is, assuming I’m not there already.”

  “Hey, you’ll be fine. As long as you study enough and remember what we went over, you won’t fail.” Very unhelpfully, Leon adds at the end, “hopefully.”

  “I just love how reassuring you are.”

  “I love me, too.” He leans over to look at Harald, who’s jotting down notes of the first few chapters of his textbook. “But really, don’t worry about it. If you take the quiz all nervous and stuff, you’ll make a ton of careless mistakes.”

  He has a point. Harald flips the page of his textbook, perhaps a little too violently, and blots out a mistake. The blue ink smudges when his hand brushes over it. Leon sits down next to him, reading a bright, garish comic book. Harald tries to ignore his whistling, at how at-ease he seems despite the upcoming assessment.

  An hour and a half later, his hand cramping and four pages of notes packed with his writing, Harald gets up and packs. When he bends down to pick up his bag, pain shoots through his back and he winces. Across the table, Leon glances at him. “Really?”

  “What do you mean, really?”

  “Your back hurts, doesn’t it?” Leon stands up, tossing his comic book onto the table and scooping up Harald’s bag for him. “And I’m pretty sure your hand’s cramping, too. You have to take breaks sometimes, or you’re going to burn up.”

  “Okay, Mom.” He stretches again, picking up his bag and walking away. “I’ll take care of myself or something. See you.”

…

  Leon tilts back in his head so his head rests on Harald’s desk. “So how do you think you did?”

  “I have no clue.” He pokes Leon’s forehead, then his nose, watching as his friend grows cross-eyed. “I just hope I passed.”

  “That’s no good, you should give yourself higher standards.”

  Harald prods him again. “I’ve never passed before, give me a break.”

  “I guess.” At the front of the classroom, the teacher calls Leon’s name. He saunters confidently toward them, taking his test paper and staring at the results nonchalantly. 

  When it’s Harald’s turn to get his test paper, he folds the corner over the red letter, waiting until he gets back to his seat to read them. Once he sits down, he unfolds the cease and looks down.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “What?” Leon turns around to look at his test paper. “How did you do?”

  “I passed!” Harald shows him his test paper and the C+ on it, fighting a smile. “I actually passed, holy crap, this is amazing.” He sets down his paper before deciding to hug Leon. “Thanks for helping me out.”

  Squeezing him back, Leon smiles.

[sousice]

          ˙✫*ﾟ  PARK  JIMIN  ,  CIS  MALE  ,  HE/HIM  :  did  you  hear  JOVI  YUEN  is  joining  the  cast  of  exposed  after  their  gossipy  reddit  threads  about  other  celebrities  was  revealed  ?  the  twenty  four  year  old  guitarist  with  950k  followers  is  trying  to  clear  their  name  .  they've  become  known  as  the  resident  philosoph  here  in  the  mansion  ,  and  it's  clear  that's  spot  on  because  they're  quite  - escapist  &  -  heedless ,  but  also  +  sentimental &  +  tenacious .  you  know  they're  heading  to  the  confession  booth  if  you  hear  don’t  you  ( forget  about  me )  by   simple  minds  blasting  ,  most  likely  talking  about  how  they're  more  than  painted  on  leather  pants  ,  smoke  rings  drifting  in  the  air  ,  beaten  up  paperbacks  and  hair  dye  for  therapy  .

heyo  !  i’m  deni  ,  she  /  her  pronouns  &  working  plant  mom  in  the  gmt+9  timezone  .  here  is  my  messy  babe  jovi  ,  a  hotshot  wannabe  .  he  has  a  tiny  wanted  connects  tag ,  so  please  check  ‘em  out  and  we  can  vibe  whatever  i’m  srsly  down  for  any  of  that  ! so  hit  like  if  you  wanna  plot    this  is  short  and  sweet  for  sanity’s  sake  . 

𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗌.

name:  jaebeom  “ jovi ”  yuen

birthday:  january  29th

hometown:  manchester  ,  u  .  k  .

astro  sign:  aquarius  

chinese  zodiac:  rat

sexual  attraction:  pansexual  

romantic  attraction:  panromantic    

occupations:  guitarist  &  unofficial  back-up  vocals   

viral for:  skateboarding  tricks  ,  ripping  his  clothes  onstage  ,  crowdsurfing  ,  #exposed  for  sleeping  literally  anywhere  on  instalive  and  tiktok  ,  skintight  leather  pants  ,  a  new  hair  color  every  month  ,  floral  tattoos

𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍.  

parents  are  normal-ish  .  a  little  goodie-goodie  ,  cookie-cutter  in  that  way  that  drives  all  the  suburban  boys  off  the  deep  end  .  pent-up  anger  snowballed  into  a  separation  around  jovi’s  middle  grade  years  ,  but  they  were  never  divorced  —  never  called  it  what  jovi  and  everyone  else  knew   it  was  .  walked  around  the  like  ghosts  in  a  house  everyone  knew  they  couldn’t   afford  .  but  whatever  .  not  like  all  that  passive  aggressive  bullshit  and  refusal  to  acknowledge  the  truth  had   any  lasting  effect  or  anything   .  .  .  and  fuck  ,  everything  in  that  upper  class  society  just  sucked   .  everyone  clawing  their  way  to  the  top  and  expectations  sucking  out  all  his  dreams  and  ugh——

thrift  store  paperbacks  .  a  guitar  slung  over  his  body  .  skate  parks  .  sharpie-covered  chucks  and  warped  tour  summers  .  jovi  ditched  the  violin  and  medschool  dreams  to  throw  himself  into  the  Vibe  and  who  would’ve  thought  he’d  get  hyped  all  over  VINE  and  insta  ?  managed  to  weasel  his  ass  into  several  hundred  thousand  followers  and  millions  of  views  all  for  an  aesthetic  .  the  board’s  always  been  his  thing  —  convenient  and  cool  —  and  when  he  started  a  band  with  some  of  his  best  mates  ?  dude  ,  his  parents  were  livid  but  he  was  on  cloud  nine  .  a  hot  excuse  to  get  the  fuck  outofthathouse  and  chase  dreams  around  the  country  .

pretty  face  ,  cool  tricks  and  wicked  fingers  on  the  stage  .   he  didn’t  want  to  admit  it  to  his  parents  ,  but  he  kept  up  with  the  school  .  online  classes  on  the  bus  ,  stage  shows  in  the  morning  .  yeah  ,  he  flunked  out  ,  but  he’ll  never  forget  the  memories  of  taking  final  exams  drugged  out  of  his  mind  .  one  day  he  blinks  awake  and  realizes  like  .  dude  .  they’ve  made  it  .  failing  at  blood  family  ,  school  ,  and  any  other  career  he’s  got  ,  this  is  the  only  life  he  knows  to  protect  .  he’s  gonna  ride this  wave  as  long  as  he  can  .  but  how  long’s  it  gonna  last  ?  music  might  not  be  his  first  love  ,  but  all  that  attention  is  .  jovi  doesn’t  know where  he’d  go  if  this  all  came  tumbling  down   ---  so  guess  he  just  has  to  keep  pushing  .

𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒.

talented  and  idealistic   .  jovi  sticks  strongly  to  his  beliefs  and  doesn’t  intentionally  set  out   to  irritate  anyone  .  he’s  rather  distant  ,  “  dignified  ”  and  thinks  of  himself  as  intelligent  .  likes  shiny  things  and  gadgets  he  can  toy  with  ,  science  fiction  and  philosophy  books  ,  modern  artwork  that  looks  weird  as  hell  but  is  colorful  enough  to  catch  the  eye  .  trustable  with  a  lock  and  key for  a  mouth  .  clever  ,  adaptable  ,  but  more  of  a  backseat  viewer  than  a  driver  .   runs  from  emotional  expression  ,  temperamental  in  a  way  that  makes  him  destructively  impulsive  ,  and  #aloof  (  NOT  )  from  drama  .  likes  #DEEPTHOUGHTS  conversations  over  beer  and  a  smoke  ,  easy  listening  and  ‘80s  music  .  brave  as  shit  on  the  stage  and  the  board  .  shy  as  shit  everywhere  else  .  eyes  seeing  everything  and  a  mouth  that’d  run  a  mile  a  minute  if  given  the  chance  .  muses  a lot  about  the  Unknown  and  doesn’t  give  two  thoughts  of  the  actual  ramifications  of  some  of  the shit  that  comes  out  his  mouth  (  whatdya  mean  people  listen  to  him  ??? )

[lovskim]

rewind | 01

pairing; jung jaehyun x reader

genre/warnings; fluff, best friends to lovers! au, swearing

word count; 2.7k

:: summary; you find an attractive man in one of your old pictures, except you have no idea who he is. you suddenly have the urge to do everything you can to find out who he is, and maybe if you're lucky, make him fall in love with you.

author's note; yay the first chapter! as i've said before, this will be a mix of some social media edits and the actual text so don't be confused if pictures randomly show up in the middle of the story!! i really hope you all enjoy!

( gif credits to owner. )

You rummage through one of your drawers, cleaning out the stacks of papers as well as some clothes and a few books.

You were – finally – moving out of your apartment shared with college student slash best friend Mark, and you were ecstatic. This was the first time you were going to own an apartment by yourself, and just the idea of you being alone without being bombarded with Math questions made you feel giddy inside.

Once you reach the bottom of the drawer, you let a sigh of relief as you wiped a bead of sweat on your forehead. Summer was going to start soon, not like it mattered for you. You graduated from college a year ago but still got excited whenever summer came. Maybe it was because Mark had more free time than usual, but you weren’t really sure.

You pull out a crumpled piece of photo paper, wincing when you see how old and dirty it was. Dust laid on the edges of the paper because of how long it stayed at the bottom of the drawer. You carefully blew the dust away before flipping the photo around.

You stare at your appearance in the photo. You looked gross, to be honest. The photo was probably taken four years ago when you were just starting college. Your bangs looked hideous and your outfit looked like a wreck. You wanted to burn the picture, hoping it never got to see the light of day again.

Just before you were able to do the deed however, another detail caught your attention.

You had no idea who he was, but damn, you had to admit, this man was practically perfect.

His hair looked styled to perfection, he looked extra hot in the basketball jersey (no one in your college was that cute that’s for sure) and he had this smile that brightened up your day immediately (accompanied with a cute pair of dimples). You were practically drooling over him, and mind you, this picture was taken five. years. ago.

If he was this hot during college, how hot is he now? You end up wondering as you stare at the photo in your hands.

You stare at the jersey again. The team name was covered, but he was definitely not from your college. But why couldn’t you remember anything about him?

The picture looks familiar, except nothing is coming to your mind. You have no clue on who this handsome man is, or what he does, but you sure wanted to find out.

Was I drunk? You shake your head. You never drank enough to get drunk, especially in college. You cared too much about your grades and reputation, even Mark was annoyed with it. But Mark is the biggest nerd you know.

You stood up and walked to the living room filled with boxes, grabbing your phone to text your friends.

“I’m home!” Mark calls out as he leaves the coat by the rack. You run out of your room and take his bag from him. You check the clock hanging above the TV in the living room. “Why are you home so late?” You scold him as you drop his bag by the couch.

“I went out with some friends.” Mark shrugs as he drags his feet towards the kitchen, looking for something to drink. You follow him, taking out a glass and pouring Mark a cup of water.

You watch as Mark gulps down the beverage, looking away once Mark raises an eyebrow at you. You’re silent, playing with your fingers as Mark practically stares you down.

“Uh..did you find..anything?” You don’t know why you're embarrassed about asking Mark. You guys were best friends, and Mark wasn’t used to you being embarrassed around him. He gulps down the last of his water before wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jean jacket.

Mark's quiet for a while, setting down his glass and just staring at you, not saying a word.

“Nope. I'm so sorry Y/N.” He mutters sadly. He gives you a sympathetic look as you look down at the floor again. “Did you try asking Doyoung and Ten?” He takes your hands in his and you sigh, nodding.

“Doyoung’s out of town with no wifi and Ten hasn’t been responding to my messages when we damn well know that little shit doesn’t do anything.” Mark laughs at your comment on Ten before giving you an encouraging smile.

“You can do it. I bet you’ll find him soon.” You shake your head, losing hope and confidence. Finding him would be nearly impossible, especially since you didn’t know anything about him except for what he looks like.

“What if I grow grey and old and I still don’t find him?” Mark nearly chokes on his second glass of water at your statement. Water spills on his shirt and on the kitchen counter and all you can do is groan. “Gross! Mark keep it together!” You take a rag from the sink and throw it at him.

“Is that seriously your only concern right now?” Mark coughs as he wipes the wet spot on the counter. "You coughing your soul out of your body? Yes." You take the rag back from him before wiping the mess yourself.

"You know what i'm talking about."

You cross your arms in annoyance. Were you being irrational? Maybe. Were you taking this search a bit too far? Definitely. That didn't stop you though.

“Yes!” You argue back and he shrugs his shoulders. "Are you that desperate for love?" Mark leans against the counter. You think for a while. "Maybe." You admit sadly. You didn't date in such a long time it was getting annoying.

Mark finally decides to give up.

“Can I at least see the picture again?” Mark asks and you nod. You come back, handing Mark the photo you protected with your entire being. Mark raises his eyebrows in approval. “I see why you’re spending your time looking for him. He’s cute.” Mark says as he stares at the photo intently.

It’s quiet for a few moments. “Yo, what if he has a girlfriend?” Mark snaps his head towards you. You didn’t think about that. You shake your head. “Well, I didn’t think about that.." You reply, sound hopeless. Mark sighs before placing the photo on the table.

It was possible. A man with such a pretty face wouldn’t be single, right?

“It’s fine! You can meet up as buddies!” Mark claps, joking around and you immediately glare at him. You take the photo back immediately.

“Shut up Mark.” You mutter. It’s silent again.

“What if you guys had a relationship?” Mark wiggles his eyebrows and you nearly choke at his behavior. A relationship? Never. Right now, Mark sounded absurd. “First, I would’ve remembered that much, and second, college me would never.” You point at him.

“True. The college you would never.” Mark snorts at the vague memory of you during college. He runs his hand through his soft black hair, and you actually felt a bit sorry for the kid. You decide to drop the topic. You pat his head. “How are your scores?” You ask, referring to his finals. He got the last of his scores today, and he was worried the entire week.

“They’re actually really good. I flunked my Math and Chem, though.” Mark sighs, running his hands through his hair once more.

“What did you get? a 93?” You joke and Mark scoffs in reply. “Nope! An 89." He clicks his tongue. He walks out to the living room. You give him a look. "Yikes! Your finals were never that bad. Should I stop letting you out of the house?" You laugh and Mark rolls his eyes playfully as he enters the kitchen once more. "It’s fine. I’ll pass the subjects at least.” He gives you a goofy smile and you laugh again.

“That’s good. I know how hard you worked for them.” You say with a soft smile. He leans in for a hug and you gladly wrap your arms around the kid. He was so cute. Although you were older than him by two years, he was like your own child. “Thanks.” Mark yawns, stretching his arms.

“Go to sleep Mark. You worked hard today.” You pat him in the back and he nods. “Okay. Goodnight Y/N.” Mark mumbles as he walks towards his room.

“Goodnight. Sleep tight!” You smile, and Mark gives you a thumbs up in reply before leaving the kitchen. You take the photo in your hands and leave the kitchen, shutting all the lights in the process.

You sigh, tapping your fingers against the hard wood while waiting for your friends.

You promised your three idiotic best friends that you would treat them out for dinner today, which ended you up at a fancy Chinese restaurant at 8:00 in the evening. Of course, these losers would offer to eat at the fanciest restaurant in the district as long as they’re not paying.

After a few minutes, Mark arrives first, panting and sweating all over. He grips on to the chair, stopping you from saying anything. “Sorry.” He pants. “I got lost.” Mark pulls the seat in front of him and sighs in relief once you hand him a glass of cold water. “Those little shits. Doyoung and Ten told me that you weren’t paying today and the last one to arrive would pay for everything.” Mark wipes the edge of his mouth with the napkin in front of him.

“Hey.” You tell him in a harsh tone. “They’re still older than you. Don’t treat them like that.” You give him a look and Mark’s angry expression washed away almost immediately. “Sorry.” He sheepishly replies. You roll your eyes. “It’s okay. I’ll scold them later.” You smile playfully and Mark lets out a breathy laugh.

The next one to arrive was Doyoung, who just came home from his out of town trip. “Thanks for treating us today.” Is the first thing he says as he sits down in front of you. Mark chokes on his water, a few droplets flying out of his mouth and landing on Doyoung.

“What the fuck, Mark? Gross!” Doyoung groans as he uses the napkin to wipe the water on his shirt. "Mark this happened yesterday! Get a hold of yourself!" You pat Mark's shirt which had a few water droplets as well. Mark ignores him as he continues to cough. “Who are you?” Mark almost yells and you pat his back. Doyoung rolls his eyes in response. “I did a lot of thinking because there was no fucking wifi and data. I was practically suffering.” Doyoung sighs dramatically.

Finally, after waiting for an agonizing and painful fifteen minutes, Ten finally decides to show up for dinner. He smiles and places his fanny pack on the table. “Fashionably late as always.” He sits down beside Doyoung, smirking at his own comment. You place your phone down beside you and give Ten a smirk of your own.

“You’re paying for your own meal.” Your face tells him that you were dead serious, and had no intention of lying.

Ten gasps. “Take that back!” You give him a challenging look before raising your hand high in the air. “Waiter!” You call out, and Ten practically leaps on you, trying to pull your hand down. Doyoung chuckles as he hides behind the menu while Mark just seems to be dead hungry. Ten continues to attack you until he sees a waiter approaching. He quickly returns to his original seat, making you smile wide.

“I’ll do whatever you want.” Ten whispers in your direction and Mark stares at you, waiting for your response. You smile sweetly at the clueless waiter in front of you. “Sorry, I called you by accident. You can go now.” The waiter rushes away at once to keep up with the other orders of the customers. You turn to Ten. “Anything?”

You can practically feel Ten’s fists clench under the table before he huffs. “Anything.” He says.

“Okay! I’ll get back to you for that.” You lean back in your seat and Ten sighs in relief. “Good! Now that we’re all here can we order? I’m starving! ” Mark complains, clutching his stomach.

Ten calls the waiter as Mark gulps down his third glass of water. Doyoung just gives Mark a weird look while the waiter writes down all your orders, wrapping it up with Doyoung’s long list of orders. You sigh once you hand the menu to the waiter and drop your head in your hands. “I’m going broke.” You mutter.

You sigh, scrolling through your notifications before Doyoung breaks the silence.

“Any luck with pretty boy?” Doyoung takes a sip of his drink. Ten shakes his head in response. “No offense, but this dude’s probably dead. None of my friends know who he is, and I have a lot of friends.” Ten says and Doyoung rolls his eyes.

“There are 7 billion people in the world. It’s going to take more than your friends to find him.” Doyoung states the obvious.

“Do you wanna try asking social media?” Mark suggests, leaning his elbows on the table. Ten claps his hands. “Watch! You’ll get invited to star on Ellen!” Ten says excitedly and Mark snorts. Doyoung just chuckles at Ten’s statement.

“It’s fine. It’s not that important.” You assure your friends and Mark’s trying so hard to hold in his laugh. “That’s not what you said yes-” You kick Mark harshly in the shin, causing him to yelp in pain. As Mark rubs his shin, you notice Doyoung’s constant staring in your direction.

“We didn’t do shit and yet you’re still treating us.” Doyoung gives you a sorry look and you place your hand on top of his. Sure, Doyoung was a shithead most of the time, but he still cared about you and supported you whenever you needed it. That’s why you loved him.

“Consider this as Mark’s congratulatory dinner for acing his finals.” You clap your hands and Mark looks down shyly, too embarrassed to respond. “Yeahhhh nice one Mark!” Ten pats Mark a bit too hard on the back, causing the younger to cough and wince in pain.

Doyoung gives Mark a high five, and he chuckles, his cheeks turning a bright red.

After dinner, you recite a quick prayer as the waiter heads your way after Doyoung asked him for the bill. You reluctantly take the booklet from him, closing your eyes as you expect the worst. Doyoung leans back in his seat, looking pleased while Mark leans over to see how much your wallet has to suffer today.

“Damn it.” You mutter as you open your eyes and stare at the bill in horror. You reach into your purse and take out your credit card. Doyoung and Ten clap as you place the card in the booklet and slam it shut. The waiter looks at the four of you amused as you hand the booklet back to him. "Doyoung, you're treating for my birthday." You say angrily.

You step outside in the freezing cold, hugging your coat tighter against your body. “See you guys tomorrow?” Ten turns around and the three of you nod.

The four of you agreed to meet up the next day to go “shopping”, which is actually Ten going shopping while the rest of you lounge around, waiting for him. Mark loops his arm in yours.

“See you.” Mark says and Doyoung waves at the three of you, walking in the direction of his car. Ten waves goodbye as well, following Doyoung who was giving him a ride home. Your Uber arrives, and the Mark and you climb in the car. It’s quiet throughout the entire ride, neither of you saying a word.

The driver drops you off and you thank him, stepping out of the car before Mark slams the door shut. You wrap your hand around Mark and he smiles gratefully before following you in the apartment complex.

“Tired?” You laugh at Mark, who was already dozing off in the elevator. Mark nods, his head on your shoulder. The elevator doors open, and you practically drag Mark towards your shared apartment.

“I think i’m just going to head to bed.” Mark mutters as you enter your home. “Okay.” You bid Mark goodnight before entering your almost empty room and shutting the door.

You flop on your bed, letting out a sigh of relief as you kick off your heels and rub your aching ankles. You’re drifting off to sleep, not really caring about your current state until a soft ding! resonates through the quiet room.

You fall off your bed, too lazy to grab your phone. You practically crawl to grab your purse all the way across the room. You quickly open your purse, retrieving your phone and flopping back on your bed.

You squint your eyes as you adjust to the bright screen to your phone. An unknown user pops up on your phone. You're confused on who the hell this person is, or what he’s talking about, but nevertheless, open up his account.

You enlarge his profile picture. He looks familiar.

Another ding! resonates, and you open up your new text message from Ten. “Y/N!!! I FOUND HIM!! I FOUND YOUR GUY! his twitter is @jung1997!!” The text reads.

You open this guy’s Twitter. His username? @jung1997.

Your eyes go wide as you click on the guy's profile picture and enlarge it once more.

You immediately run towards your drawer and pull out the picture. You compare the pretty boy’s face to the profile picture displayed on your phone, and they almost look the same.

That’s when the realization hits you.

You found him. You finally found your mystery man.

“Oh…Oh…OH SHIT!”

[kiraawrites]

2MSS #23: Quality of Life (?)

From @writingprompts post.

Day 23 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 1978

Constructive criticism welcome!

I want money, a mansion and a pretty girl. That day was Life-Switching day. The day our souls would switch in a manner so unpredictable that it was nicknamed The Great Casino. We would enter new bodies, with different genders, ages and wealth levels. This system was supposed to address inequality. But I was not sure how, as it seemed to boil down to how well-off one was. 365 days to make it big, or bust.

It was my first time in America. Over the past few years, I had a streak of Eastern European lives, followed by four years of being in China. I was a James Luther, living in a small apartment in a city full of people adjusting to their new lives. There were many smiles but twice as many sad faces. Guess I'm really not alone in this struggle. The apartment was outfitted with furniture that seemed older than the apartment itself. In the cracked bedroom mirror, I studied my new self. Last year's Luther definitely didn't make it.

Judging by the poor furniture, unemptied wastebasket and an emerging beer belly, I had a lot of things to do. To my luck, there was a gym next door. With the few dollar bills in my wallet, I got a membership card and started on the machines. Did I really deserve this life? I've never liked anything I got — except when I was an attractive Chinese guy. Well, I suppose I did flunk my college final exams last year... Sweat was dripping off me as if I had walked through a thunderstorm. My arms were shaking. Flexing my biceps turned into a fit of agonising pain. I gave up and returned home.

"I hate this new life," muttered the man behind the counter.

"I hate my new life too."

Slumped behind my wooden desk, I thought of what to do next. Eventually, I logged onto the Citizen Database to check my occupation and credentials. It took a while, scrolling through hundreds of Jameses. Most of them were my level (judging wealth-wise) and that made me smile, albeit somewhat bitterly. When clicking my name, I held my breath and wished for the best.

I worked at a MacDonald's and skimmed through high school.

God forbid. I failed one test and now they're giving me someone who has failed a hundred. I groaned and pummelled the table with my fists. Y'know what? I'll give this guy one good year. No matter how far down I am on the social ladder, at least I can have an office job next year.

---------------------

The switch is all about your quality of life. What is that? I was manning the counter, taking orders in the high-speed lunch hour.  The faces before me were dulled down with drowsiness, their lips forming a flat line. Monotone voices said orders. Echoes of their souls. No one was living in the moment. Our thoughts were occupied by the next year; its blessings and damnations tantalising as always.

I'm stuck in this trap. Just like everyone else. Well, time to break out of it. I attempted a smile on the next customer. Her face remained grim, preoccupied with something else.

Another one at the counter. The same unchanged expression. Stiff hands enclosing credit cards. As the crowds thinned, my heart sank. People were taking their last bites of their Big Macs. The restaurant was silent except for the footsteps in the kitchen. We were all unhappy. Dissatisfied. It's a hopeless vicious cycle, ain't it?

An old woman pulled the door open. Eyes landed on her as she hobbled over to the counter, her walking stick dragging across the floor. Her eyes were downturned and watery. Every step she took looked as if it hurt.

"Good afternoon, madam. What can I get you?" I asked in my most cheerful tone. It was the best I could do for a stranger having a bad day.

"Dear lord, you are the first person I've seen with a smile today!" she croaked. "People like you give me hope for this world."

In her eyes was the warmth of genuine fondness. The corners of her lips crept upwards as she looked over me. Something in my head prompted me to grin, and she did too. It was a fragment of joy in the often-upsetting world. From then on, I greeted every customer with the same geniality.

---------------------

Stacked books glinted under my desk lamp. My hand tightened and loosened around a ballpoint pen as my eyes scanned over the question a few more times. It was nearing midnight and I was only on the second problem sum. Everything was tedious, much slower than it had been in any other year. The gears would not click.

The business course was carried out every weekday evening, just thirty minutes after my shift at a nearby community college. It was a small class with a subpar teacher that was barely warming up to his new profession. As I stumbled through lesson material, I kept a goal in my mind. I wanted a better job, something that would elevate me to a much higher position. An office job. Yes, that's what I want.

Ten minutes had passed. I threw down the pen, heaved a sigh of pent-up frustration and flung myself onto the creaking bed.

---------------------

Back at the gym. My arms felt like falling off. But I'm not as weak as before. I held my breath and pushed for the fifteenth rep on the machine. My chin reached the top of the bar and I dropped down; a dead stone.

"Good to see you, James. How long have you been coming here?" asked another man. "I remember when you couldn't even do five reps on that thing."

"Ten and a half months. Ever since the switch. Every other day, I'm here."

I clenched my fists and looked from one arm to another. I definitely had more muscle — they bulged as my arms tensed up. But that's not the main thing. Not at all. I felt so much better. It was the small things; being able to walk from A to B without exhausting myself or lifting a box without ever wanting to collapse.

With my towel, I wiped sweat from my forehead and waved the man goodbye. My thoughts flickered back to home. When are those interview results coming back? I need that job for next year, goddamnit.

---------------------

I flicked the lights on and surveyed the living room. The furniture was still the same: a second-hand sofa, a tiny table barely fitting two. An absolutely ugly home. But I love it, I thought as I sunk onto the sofa.

Most years were filled with a sense of impermanence. Time passing by, nothing mattering in the end. This year was different. I had changed my life; I had gripped it like a steering wheel and turned it around. I felt reborn. But it won’t matter in the end. This world is all about the money, and I need that job for it.

Rows upon rows of emails illuminated my face in the dark. They were all titled “Job Application for [Position Name]”. They didn’t even tell me whether I got in. Is that a bad sign? I shivered —  felt like puking. Rumbling deep in my stomach reminded me of the dinner I had yet to eat. I should get on with opening all five of them.

Number one. Rejected. Alright, not my favourite of them all anyway. Kinda underpaid too. I forced a smile. I’ll be alright.

Number two. Not my favourite, but the pay is good. That’s what matters. I opened it with trembling hands. Rejected. Biting my lips, I groaned. Guess I was a tiny bit unqualified.

Number three. If all these attempts have failed, is there even any time to settle into a new job? Rejected. I suck. My eyes were watering as breathing became difficult. The back of my throat was salty with suppressed tears.

Number four. Rejected. As expected. How stupid was I to think they would accept me? I rank so low compared to everyone else. I’ll never, never be able to escape this trap. The underside of my jaw was wet and cold. I gasped for air as I choked on my tears.

Number five. I was shaking head to toe. All my effort... Doesn’t it mean something? Rejected. My voice sounded throughout the whole house as I cried out in my confusion and pain, a knot forming in my chest.

Clenching my fists, I punched the wall. The plaster gave way beneath my fist, falling to the floor. I staggered back in shock. My foot caught on the legs of the nearby mirror. As it fell, I stretched my arms out. It slipped from my grasp and crashed on the floor. Small shards of glass were scattered across the floor like crystalline tears.

As I vacuumed the floor, I steadied my breathing and calmed down. There is a chance still. But I’m happier now than I was before, no matter what. No matter what.

---------------------

It was the night before Life-Switching day. I was rolling around in my bed, counting the seconds till midnight. The city was lively. Conversations droned on in bars and restaurants as people paid their last goodbyes to friends and fantasised about the future. Billboards were ready to switch to their “New Year, New Me” displays, attracting the few people fortunate enough to enter a life of wealth.

I still had no new job. At the back of my mind, it worried me. Yet, I had this sense that it was alright. A sense of contentedness passed over me for the first time in a while. Maybe it’s the finality of it all.

23:50. Ten minutes remaining. I found myself wishing to stay in this run-down apartment; remain as a man with a job at MacDonald’s. It was the newness of the drive to improve that made me want to stay, I knew. There was a potential to grow as James Luther, as I had witnessed.

23:59. One minute left. I gripped the edges of my bed and shut my eyes for the switch. It was coming, whether I liked it or not. I counted the seconds in my head. The last minute passed too fast. I snapped my eyes open, ready for the worst. However, I was there in that bed, staring at the plain white ceiling.

00:01, the bedside clock displayed. My phone showed the same as well. I peeked out of the window to see that the billboards had begun their campaigns. Something’s probably wrong. I’m so tired — might as well sleep.

09:00. Rubbing my eyes open, I looked around and expected a brand new apartment. But there it was: the mirror without glass and the desk beside it. The roof was pale white, as always. I must be dreaming. I pinched myself too hard and yowled.

At the front door, I grabbed the morning’s papers and scanned them for any anomalies. No. None! People were walking about as usual in the city. I pressed a palm against my forehead and thought hard. In the editor’s column was the yearly cheer up/congratulations nonsense. Having nothing else to calm my mind, I read it.

A few sentences caught my eye. “It’s all about the quality of life, they say. Nowhere does it mention material wealth or possessions. Does that mean a common man can break the trend?”

Nowhere. I spun around and gaped in realisation. I’ve been searching for the wrong thing this whole time! I found the key out of the trap! Someone was knocking my door. I opened it with a smile to find two black men in suits, their shoulders broad and imposing.

“We’d like your presence for an important government study.”

Taglist

@galaxy-charm @rhyseoshaughnessy @icedcoffeewriting @jiynix

[sidneyellwoods]

Spin the Dawn by Elizabeth Lim

July 9, 2019, from Knopf Books for Young Readers Young adult fantasy Goodreads | Amazon | Book Depository

Project Runway meets Mulan in this sweeping YA fantasy about a young girl who poses as a boy to compete for the role of imperial tailor and embarks on an impossible journey to sew three magic dresses, from the sun, the moon, and the stars.

Maia Tamarin dreams of becoming the greatest tailor in the land, but as a girl, the best she can hope for is to marry well. When a royal messenger summons her ailing father, once a tailor of renown, to court, Maia poses as a boy and takes his place. She knows her life is forfeit if her secret is discovered, but she’ll take that risk to achieve her dream and save her family from ruin. There’s just one catch: Maia is one of twelve tailors vying for the job.

Backstabbing and lies run rampant as the tailors compete in challenges to prove their artistry and skill. Maia’s task is further complicated when she draws the attention of the court magician, Edan, whose piercing eyes seem to see straight through her disguise.

And nothing could have prepared her for the final challenge: to sew three magic gowns for the emperor’s reluctant bride-to-be, from the laughter of the sun, the tears of the moon, and the blood of stars. With this impossible task before her, she embarks on a journey to the far reaches of the kingdom, seeking the sun, the moon, and the stars, and finding more than she ever could have imagined.

Steeped in Chinese culture, sizzling with forbidden romance, and shimmering with magic, this young adult fantasy is pitch-perfect for fans of Sarah J. Maas or Renée Ahdieh.

Hi folks! I’m so grateful to be able to be a part of the blog tour for Elizabeth’s Spin the Dawn, an incredibly creative and vivid Asian-inspired fantasy. Thank you so much to Shealea and Caffiene Book Tours for giving me this opportunity! I’m very excited to share my review and some aesthetics and quotes today.

There’s an aspect in high fantasy worldbuilding that doesn’t, in my opinion, get due credit, and that’s the fashion and clothing of the world. I love historical fashion, but most books tend to skim over the clothes that bring life to the world and characters. Spin the Dawn turns it into an epic story filled with action, romance, and amazing worldbuilding.

Our heroine is Maia Tamarin, a skilled tailor who takes her brother’s place in a competition to become the new imperial tailor. I very much adored Maia’s character and love that we don’t see your typical fantasy protagonist here. Maia is not a fighter; she can get by when she needs to, but she’s not good at it. Rather, her talent lies in tailoring: knitting, sewing, embroidering, and it’s exactly what she needs to excel in the world she lives in. Maia is headstrong, determined, and incredibly dedicated to her craft, and it’s clear that she’s a true expert–magical scissors or not. Maia has also been through a lot in her lifetime: she’s lost her mother and two of her brothers while the rest of her family is also shattered from the lost, and even though she’s learned to heal from it to some extent, her experience is something that colours her narrative and character arc. It gives her the drive she needs to take care of her family and pour all her energy into succeeding.

Of all the other characters, Edan really stands out: he was so sweet all the time, with a lot of mystery and a great sense of humour. Honestly, a standup guy all around and an absolutely loveable love interest. Unlike a lot of relationships between immortals and teenagers, this one only weirded me out a bit (the Darkling who? I only know Edan). I also loved the slow burn component to the romance; their romance subplot didn’t feel too dragged out or too quick. And one character who we didn’t learn a whole lot about but who absolutely intrigues me is Emperor Khanujin, who despite being relatively young for an emperor has put his kingdom through a war. It certainly looks like there’s a lot more to him than the surface shows, and I hope Maia (and us!) get to find out more about him in the next book.

The land of A’landi was also fascinating and in many ways timeless, taking inspiration from all parts of China and other Asian cultures to create A’landi. I’m not sure if A’landi is meant to be a counterpart of China or not, but it definitely reads more like a cultural fusion of Asian cultures than only China–from the descriptions of the food, to names, people, and fashions. Nevertheless, I did enjoy it: the world of Spin the Dawn is one of the most vivid and realized fantasy worlds I’ve read in a while, and I loved seeing all of the different environments and places of A’landi.

Elizabeth Lim’s writing is so lyrical and gorgeous and truly a pleasure to read. In terms of pacing, I felt as if it was mostly done right��there are two different sections to the book that have two very different tones and plots. However, I don’t think either would have been able to constitute a book on its own. I also feel as if the final part of the book was a bit rushed–but hopefully, this is something that I’ll feel better about after I read the sequel (which I am very excited for).

I very much enjoyed reading Spin the Dawn: it’s a rare bit of fantasy that doesn’t focus on physical trials and protagonists who know how to fight, but it’s still packed with action and adventure. The loveable characters and wonderfully crafted world will certainly leave readers wanting more.

aesthetics + giveaway!!

  We also have a giveaway going on! You can enter to win a copy of Spin the Dawn at this link, and good news, it’s INTERNATIONAL!!

(Ya girl loves international giveaways.)

We also have a Twitter chat happening at 9pm Phillipines time–which is 9am EST and 6am PST. There will be a giveaway for US-based participants, so if you’re in the US, set your alarms.

You can also check out the rest of the tour schedule here!

about the author

Elizabeth Lim grew up on a hearty staple of fairy tales, myths, and songs. Her passion for storytelling began around age 10, when she started writing fanfics for Sailor Moon, Sweet Valley, and Star Wars, and posted them online to discover, “Wow, people actually read my stuff. And that’s kinda cool!” But after one of her teachers told her she had “too much voice” in her essays, Elizabeth took a break from creative writing to focus on not flunking English.

Over the years, Elizabeth became a film and video game composer, and even went so far as to get a doctorate in music composition. But she always missed writing, and turned to penning stories when she needed a breather from grad school. One day, she decided to write and finish a novel — for kicks, at first, then things became serious — and she hasn’t looked back since.

Elizabeth loves classic film scores, books with a good romance, food (she currently has a soft spot for arepas and Ethiopian food), the color turquoise, overcast skies, English muffins, cycling, and baking. She lives in New York City with her husband.

Website | Goodreads | Instagram | Facebook | Twitter

what are your favourite mulan retellings, or favourite asian fantasies?? will you be reading spin the dawn when it comes out??

hi folks i am SO grateful to be able to be a part of the blog tour for SPIN THE DAWN by @lizlim! thank you to @caffienetours @shutupshealea for hosting, this was a wonderful experience & book!! #SpinTheDawnTour Spin the Dawn by Elizabeth Lim July 9, 2019, from Knopf Books for Young Readers Young adult fantasy…

[java-induced-daymares]

I feel like you get a different perspective when you were the 'mistake'. The 'oh my God she's only fifteen', baby. My mom was the preacher's daughter, and very eighties. I'm the preacher's granddaughter, and extremely nineties. My mom is more like my sister-friend, while my five year junior sister tells everyone I practically raised her. I just feel responsible for everyone. For everything. I was the tester baby. The starter grandchild. Everything I did wrong, it was the worst, most unexpected thing. I paved the way for all the shrugs and acceptance every sibling and other grandkid had doled out practically for free. And got slammed with all the guilt and the shunning.

To be fair I was quite rebellious. I smoked, drank, experimented with drugs. Skipped class, and barely passed high school despite aceing every test and final they threw at me. Scored a solid 29 on the ACT, didn't even study. In fact, I left half the math portion blank. I hate math. I frustrated my parents to wits end. I had all the potential, none of the ambition. I wanted to smoke pot, write whatever popped in my head and just make enough money to get by. So in idealistic youth I flipped the bird to college tuition debt in favor of entering the work force.

Somehow along the line I ended up thirty years old as a entry level temp at a factory. The disappointing burnout my parents painted me to be. My mom once threatened to paint that word on my bedroom wall, to call me out so to speak. She wasn't impressed when I encouraged her to. Between mom and me, it's all emotions. I know her as well as best friends do. Like...all of it. Sex life. Financial strife. The works. It's sort of like you don't realize your mom discussing your dad's porn addiction with you when your thirteen is out of line until you grow up. And meet her meth head boyfriend at age twenty four.

He threatens to rape and kill you both but good old mom won't kick him out because she loves him. Not when he starts stealing everything in sight to sell for drugs. Not when he kidnaps her for a few days over Thanksgiving and meths out in a paranoid freakout keeping her in the hotel and not letting her leave. Or when he choked her until she was unconscious. Or raped her so loud you could hear her scream but she denied it and her screams are so frequent that you're learning to tune them out and that disturbs you on every level. Not even when he hits you, right in front of her, the first time and she yells at you for fighting back. Or when she chases your little sister into another state to live with a internet boyfriend who no one but she has met because Ducky fears living in that house more than living with strangers.

My sister was only nineteen. The week before she left my mom called her a selfish bitch for not supporting her relationship. I stood between them, outraged, explaining to my mother that she shouldn't call her child a bitch for being scared. When the meth head finally leaves, having drained a cool 20k from my mom's retirement fund in meth and tools and a Harley ect... my mom claims all these memories are a blur. In her world she is the ultimate victim, and she even blames me for standing by and letting it all happen. My brother, who showed up two months before I finally convinced my mother to get the eviction notice she needed to get the meth head out, gets all the credit for his absence.

He showed up, did meth and herione with the boyfriend and ignored my mom. She still ran to my room, daily, begging and pleading for me and my fiances protection. Some days we would wake up to her huddled by our bed, crying silently, because my fiance was the only thing this asshole feared. Because Heinzy certainly didn't stand by when she or I was threatened or hit. But he wasn't always there. And his probation kept him from throwing a first punch.

Still, my brother, who dodged all the previous months of abuse by disowning her for cheating on her husband with this guy. My brother was living in South Dakota, and calling her a bitch and a whore until he needed a bail out and suddenly he's Mama's little boy again. He gets the title of hero. Savior. Showing up last second and fucking everything up, and being loved for it. That's my brothers modis operandi. And he can't even spell those words.

People flinch when I call my mom a crazy bitch. Glad for them, in their Hallmark homes. Judging me. I still love the woman to death. Would kill for her. Suffered untold horrors just to keep her safe. Yet I can't help but feel this loyalty is a bit one sided. All things considered. And besides. Bitches be crazy.

My dad is her polar opposite. I get my cynical, mean sense of humor from him. I call him a passive aggressive teddy bear. And I feel two sides of my dad. First there's the guy that worked twenty two hours a day to support his family. No, that's not a exaggeration. And shit jobs too. Barely making it, piss on you, fast food, menial shit. It's hard not to respect that. Plus he's never touched or condoned so much as a cigarette or more than two beers that I've ever seen. Getting the shit beat out of you by a druggie alcoholic does that to you. Once, Grandpa "Buddy" even used a horse whip to beat him. Him and grandma talked about the two years they did speed at a Chili's dinner.

But they're rich as hell. Or they were. So it didn't matter. Still doesn't, as far as their putrid minds are concerned. Buy I'm off topic. His evil as fuck adoptive parents aside... My dad's not too bad. He taught me to write DOS code when I was six. How to write a household budget in Microsoft Excel when I was twelve. How to set up a wireless network for a entire office when I was sixteen. Basically he prepared me for the real world. And all it's shitty points. And probably saved me some pain for the effort.

For example, dad tip 101: Don't lend out money and expect or need it back. Only lend what you can afford and be surprised if it's ever repaid. Good tip. Seriously. When I flunked classes and needed summer school, he made me get a job and pay it back. I hated him for it. But after I worked off over a grand in summer school debt at a Chinese hole in the wall restaurant with no working AC, I understood what a dollar was worth. Hence no slavery bond. I mean, as you call them, student loans. Been there. Done that.

But then there's the other side of him. The side that never really wanted kids. The side that accused me of knowing my mom cheated when I actually didn't. My next door neighbor, a herione addict who tagged along on my mom's Easter visit to my brother did. He was there as she stopped, both on the way to and the way from, to fuck the meth head. He didn't tell me. I woke up to my sister alone in the living room crying. Because she had never seen my dad cry before. Neither have I. The only time in known history and I missed it. Poor Ducky, she saw it all.

Sometimes I wish I could erase it all. The Divorce. It happened when I was twenty four, and I thought my parents had fallen into the age old 'i hate you but I'll be with you forever trap'. The fact that they both remarried a year after divorce proves I was either naively hopeful or utterly delusional. Considering the fact that I knew they made each other utterly miserable I have to side with the latter. I just wanted to believe they loved each other in secret. Hell, thanks to my mom I knew they fucked three times a week. I thought that meant something.

Maybe that's why I think sex is pretty meaningless and too important all at once. First off. I won't fuck anyone unless I really want to. Second off. I've only fucked one guy. It wasn't intentional, the one guy thing, it's just the first guy who earned my trust was the first guy I let have me and I fell in love and ten years later he's still never betrayed me. Ever. And he makes me feel like a kid. And we fight. And I hate him sometimes but we never go to bed angry. And I have no kids. I won't be my mother. I don't want her mistakes. I'm creating my own whole new ones. It's both my privledge and my goal to defy everyone's expectations of me, even to my own detriment.

Everyone thinks I aimed low. He even says stupid stuff like how he thinks I'll leave him for someone else. Sometimes. And maybe my mom helped that paranoia along. You see, pre meth head boyfriend divorce, I was pretty found of telling people my mom and I were best friends and so alike. Post fallout, those words came back to haunt me in a big way. I supported her when EVERYONE turned away. Her father. My siblings. They all said she deserved the meth head. They didn't get it. If I left her alone he was going to kill her. Literally. And they turned on me for 'supporting her behavior'.

Go fuck yourselves. I couldn't speak to you all in the moment, and afterward everyone wanted to brush this shit under the rug. But damn it. It fucking scared me. Excuse the fuck out of me for panicking. I was twenty four, sure, a adult by all measures and standards. People don't pity adults. My dad taught me that. Figure shit out and handle it. So I did. And I took zero credit. Letting my mom crown my brother king of all the land, her savior. So in the end I was nothing.

And I didn't say shit. Let my extended family think what they liked. Not in that exact intention. In my head I was like, this.famiky situation is so fucked and so nasty I couldn't bear to tell them. And that left me awkwardly over formal in responses. I should have guessed no one else in my family was that shy. They told all...of their bullshit. And I know that sounds so one sided.

If I were you, I wouldn't trust my perspective on the matter either. After all, perception is defined by experience, and my experience is sure to lead me to be self serving and exploitative. I don't pretend otherwise. This is simply how it felt to me. As I received notices from my pastor grandfather telling me I was living in sin because I hadn't married or gone to church regularly. First off. YOUR only daughter had three kids out of wedlock by three different men. Totally beating the odds here. Thanks. Secondly, and yes I said this, bet your ass I did, I have only had sex with one guy and I promised God he was the one. Law is not religion. All a wedding is, technically, is a profession of exclusivity with your partner before God. I did that. Proved it for ten years. Living in sin? How so? By what biblical standard? Handfasting was a accepted marriage ceremony, Heinzy and I have declared devotion before each other and all else hands held before. It counts. So what is I don't have the legal document? Judge not least ye be judged and all that.

As for church. Ah the constructrial artifice of faith devoid of all passion. Going to church with my grandparents is different. There's something about my grandpa being a pastor, people instantly recognize it and respond to it. I have never, not once, stood in church with my grandpa and not had ten people know someone he knew from congregation or teaching job (he was a private school teacher and even principal too). He doesn't get what it's like, poor as fuck, to show up for service and be mocked by so called Christians. How I disdain their fake pandering. I love God. His houses are often beautiful, the scent of fresh wood and the art of stained glass. But the people inside are ugly and don't reflect Him at all. They just want to puff up their own self worth and indulgence and I hate them for it. But maybe that's just Illinois Lutherans for you.

They ruined church for me. Haven't been since I was in my twenties and I turned thirty two whole weeks ago.

[rem-is-best-almond]

[Review] Dance with Devils PS Vita

Ritsuka Tachibana is a second year at Shikou Academy who lives with her mother and older brother in Shikou Town. She seemingly lives an ordinary life until the day she was summoned by her school’s mysterious student council for going against school rules and comes back home to find her mother kidnapped by strange men who are searching for the forbidden grimoire. Help comes in the form of the school’s student council, who all turn out to be devils who are searching for the Grimoire themselves. Following her brother’s return from England, Ritsuka soon discovers that she’s the forbidden grimoire that could grant anyone the power to take over the world and now Devils, Vampires and Exorcists are after her.

Honestly, I bought this a year ago and was only able to Complete it now WTF me.

P/S: This Post only contains my final thoughts on the game. The summaries and reviews for the individual routes are in the links provided. It also contains some spoilers and Screenshots from the game. 

Left Door routes:     Rem   Lindo  Roen

Right Door Routes:  Mage  Urie   Shiki 

Final thoughts :

This game has a grudge against blondes with Green eyes (You know which two I’m talking about).

Heroine: I really loved Ritsuka. It’s true that she doesn’t entirely break away from the “Sweet Girl” stereotype we see in most reverse harem heroines but this girl legit has guts of steel which is why I have to admit I was pretty disappointed in some of the endings where they gave her an inactive role.  She also doesn’t let the boys push her around with their bullshit so it was really great to see that. She definitely had the best development in Roen’s route as her backstory was more fleshed out in there. Would really love to see a family reunion with Maksis, Maria, Roen and her if there’s going to be a fandisc ;w;

Plot: As much as I loved the series, I have to admit that the plot needed improvement as it wasn’t as consistent as I had hoped for. Granted that the story is rather character specific so that’s probably why some things don’t really add up well with the other. I was hoping to see more worldbuilding in the game since I felt like the anime needed more of that but sadly, it didn’t really do much on that aspect either. I wished they hadn’t split the common routes into two cause that was probably the cause of the inconsistencies I find in the plot :/ Overall, I think the plot was decent but had potential to be great if they had only put the effort into keeping the rules of their universe consistent and expanding upon it in more detail.

Characters: The villains weren’t the most unique in particular but still decent enough to be antagonists of the story. The development for all the bachelors was a 50/50 for me as I felt like half of the cast had a great development while the other half the writer sort of flunked it in their route *stares at Rem, Lindo and Urie’s route*. I don’t know if Shiki’s route was a flunk or a good one cause to me his human route made up for his shitty devil route (at least for those who hate gore) lolololol.  Also, Azuna deserves a route of her own and I kinda wished she was also an option for a heroine TBH.  

Art and Sprites: Since Brain’s Base was in charge of the CGs, the art is pretty much the same as the anime. Some characters had better CGs overall while some had more average ones. I’m still really salty about Rem’s wedding CG given how they didn’t even bother to let him wear a tux so I was pretty meh with the wedding end :/  The fact that background characters had sprites while two of our main sub characters, Maksis and Glax didn’t kinda bugged me a lot as it made some of the fight scenes, particularly in Mage and Rem’s devil route, rather anti-climatic. I wished the producers had thought of making the game a little more unique with a little bit of animation given how they hired an animation studio to draw the art for the game but they probably did that because they had a tight budget and couldn’t afford a proper illustrator. And from some of the CGs, you could probably figure out that they didn’t have enough time to finish them much less animate some of the action scenes. Though CGs and Sprites aside, the background art for the scenarios are aesthetically pleasing and that’s enough for me lolol.  

Just look at them askjbkauhkll:

System/ Game Play: I have mixed feelings with the Devil vs Human system tbh, though I’m well aware they exist as a treat for your ears as it’s dummy head mic ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). Some of the scenarios translated well into a current situation while others came out of nowhere so lolol. The Jump option helped me a lot and I don’t know how I’m going get use to not having such an option in games like Amnesia on my PC ;w; ( Does TaiAli / C:R have one? I’m not sure) . The card system is a piece of shit but I’m not really eager for platinum so eh.

Music / OST : As expected of Element Garden,  the background music was something that I enjoyed in the game , especially that one track that was often played in the devil ends,if only I could record it :”) . The music was definitely one of the stronger points of the game.

Overall, I’m really glad I got to play DwD in it’s original language as doing so has helped me improved My Japanese immensely considering how I was so eager to translate some of my favourite scenes XDD  If any of you would like to play an Otoge but are worried that you won’t be able to understand it because it’s in Japanese, I say just do it. Read Reviews to get a gist of it if you have to . I bought DwD BEFORE I even knew how to read Katakana and Hiragana (The two basic scriptures of Japanese)  and because of that, it also became sort of like My Japanese Textbook XD  So if you hate boring textbooks, this is more of an entertaining way to get exposed to the language. Granted, I have a headstart when it comes to learning Japanese because of my proficiency in Chinese (it’s my second language) but I promise you that once you’ve mastered your Hiragana and Katakana , learning Kanji would be a lot easier . Also, DO NOT ever think that you could Learn every Kanji character to ever exist in the Japanese dictionary, Kanji is something you’ll pick up as you learn the language and there is NO limit to how many Kanji you’ll have to learn because it’s an endless list. Try learning the more basic ones first before moving on to something more advanced. Ok , this ended up being a Japanese 101 LOLOL

Back on track, in Rejet terms , DwD is more on the fluffy spectrum but also has its equal share of dark moments so if you’re sensitive to abuse, mild gore and violence then this game isn’t really for you. Or at least, it’s best to avoid Lindo’s bad ends/ Devil route and Shiki’s devil route completely unless you want blood to be splattered all over your screen along with some HD sound effects :))))))))) 

Picture for reference

I would’ve said Rem’s bad end too cause that shit’s fucked up but it doesn’t have a gory CG so . But if you don’t mind all that blood and insanity than proceed on full speed ahead cause there’s fluff in the midst of despair lmao. Keep Roen’s route for last (at least, in the left door common route) as it contains spoilers.  My play order : Rem > Lindo > Roen > Mage > Urie > Shiki . Recommended play order: Urie > Lindo > Shiki > Mage > Rem > Roen .

Left Door routes:     Rem  Lindo  Roen

Right Door Routes:  Mage  Urie   Shiki

[plaintofu]

the way i was raised

Something is happening.

(I have so much to say, but I can’t think of how to say it)

I wrote on a post-it, a few weeks ago, a reminder: Did you conduct yourself with the confidence of a white man today?

This is stuck above my desk in my room where I am always reminded of the confidence I aspire to, yet maybe will never reach. 

It’s unfortunate, but I was not raised to be a white man. Maybe it’s old-fashioned, maybe it’s scientifically proven, but in my heart of hearts, I believe that how you are raised impacts who you are irrevocably. 

For a long time, I have, for the most part respectfully resented how I was raised. Where I come from. The memories I have, the thoughts that won’t leave me alone. The disposition I can’t shed. I love my Chinese culture as much as I hate it. It’s because of my grandmother that I think twice before asserting myself, my opinion, my intrusiveness. She taught me to take pride in being obedient, considerate—reserved. 

They tell me to take space. But I just want to let others go first. I just want to make as little of a disruption as possible. They tell me to be confident, to put my opinions out there even if they may be wrong. I just want to think twice. And again. And again. And make sure I’m sure of my words. That my words are adding something meaningful to the conversation. 

Words are not frivolous. I learned growing up that what you say—and don’t say—have repercussions. Most of the time, things were not said. It’s safer to speak only when spoken to. 

They tell me to celebrate my individualism, but I am not an individual. I am an amalgam. I cannot make decisions for myself, I never have. I was born with a pre-written narrative. I was born into a family fragmented by the disposition of history. My father is the original Chinese salesman that has now become a cliché. Starved by Communism, they were all so greedy in the face of the economic reforms, greedy for all the kitsch material things. Corrupt without style. My mother is the richness of ancient Chinese culture filtered through the restraints of the Cultural Revolution. She is bits and pieces of poetry and mythology, scraped together from smuggled books and curiosity. She is the idealism of the Revolution, quotations from Mao, optimism of youth and the clarity of disillusionment. She is the compassion of the boddhitsatva of mercy. She woke up one morning, took the cheap statue of Mao that rests on my bookshelf and, after decades and decades, had weighed his good and evil and found him to be evil. Unforgivable. I said to throw it away, but still she couldn’t bear to do so. Understandable. 

When I think of where I come from, I think of China and betrayal. Families betrayed by the state. Marriages embroiled in cold war. Death without closure. A culture eaten alive by materialism and kitsch. I am so disappointed. 

Why did you raise me this way? Why was I chosen as the time capsule for all the truths we don’t like to remember. I wonder if those in my generation feel this way; my sister, my cousins. I hope not. 

I feel like I was stripped of my youth. (I wonder if that sentence is too melodramatic) I remember lying on my back as a child thinking of death, thinking of selfishness. Thinking of the sacrifices that are made to keep people alive. I remember not being able to articulate my sadness as a teenager; why was I so depressed? Why me? What had I done to deserve this? Why do I need to grapple with the unnecessary, the shameful, the unspeakable. Why did I deserve to be silenced? Why did I have to re-craft myself from scratch? 

I don’t often like the things my peers like. I am not pre-dispositioned to like the things that are popular. Why would I? Sometimes I fall into inexplicable reveries like now. How do I explain that I’m busy because I need to grieve the lives I did not even live. It seriously cuts into my mission of trying to make lifelong friends.

I’ve tried, for a very long time, to change who I am. To conduct myself with the confidence of a white man. But of course, not to be perceived as arrogant. I’ve sought to adopt the interests, turns of phrases, timbre of the popular girls I admired. To keep tabs on the zeitgeist, technology and what matters and is relevant. To be likable but not too conciliatory. To be interesting but not to have too many interests. To be competitive and eager but not aggressive. To be smart but to know my limits. To fight the power but not so much that you get kicked out of law school—or, even worse, flunk out. To dream big, but make decisions realistically, pragmatically, practically. (It has to make sense on a resume)

It occurred to me recently how impossible it would be for me to embody the latter half of 20th century Chinese history and be an all-American girl (of color)(but sometimes color-blind when it’s to my advantage)(also are asians even considered POC? Like, in practice.)(It’s complicated). And, I guess, more recently, an officer of the court. A steward of the Constitution. Wielder of the tools of law. Champion of civil rights but also important commercial transactions, and of course, global human rights and international law. General purveyor of social welfare (though sometimes parasite of wealth and power?). Winner of meritocracy and networking.

It’s all just a game isn’t it?

When I look back on it, the fact that I’ve tried to play for so long and ended up now in the sub-levels of a law library is fairly impressive. I have clung onto the edges of society despite having been seriously confused, spatially, temporally, existentially, individually. I’ve somehow been given access to these restricted spaces of privileged knowledge and the hallowed classrooms where the secrets of legal doctrine are passed on from sage to pupils. I sound facetious, but I’m not trying to be dismissive. The part of me that doesn’t play the game really loves going to class. It’s comforting, in a way. I haven’t figured out why. 

When I stop playing the game, I am left with the person I was raised to be. There are some things, I’ve learned in my exhausting attempts to conduct myself with the confidence of a white male among other endeavors, that I just cannot change. Those things, I’ve finally realized, must be the foundations of capital-“I” Identity. I am resentful (see: above) of where I come from—of my grandmother, my family, my inherited emotional traumas from modern Chinese history, all the death I faced that made me a morose kid, the ordinary suburban shell masking all these things. But, if I was being truthful, I would also have to admit that I cherish these things. It’s like a collection of broken relics. A burden, if you will, worthless. But it’s my collection, it’s what came with me when I was born, and for some reason I can’t stop staring at them.

I don’t think I’m well equipped to succeed in society. I don’t know how to speak with confidence and I don’t like to take up space. I don’t always ask for the things I want and half the time I don’t know what I want. I’m probably not seizing my destiny. I don’t have particularly strong convictions or a dedicated attention span. I’m not particularly brilliant or creative. I have ideas but not enough follow through. I’m charming but not enough to navigate a great number of social situations. I don’t really make friends easily and I’m a world away from forming a “power couple.” My resume is just ok. My grades will probably be just ok.

I’ve sought to package all that I am into something other people would consider extraordinary but, I realize that is an impossible task. The things I came with—the way I was raised—it may not be extraordinary, but it’s interesting. I can’t stop ruminating over it and I am perhaps morbidly curious to see where being this person can take me.

[sooibian]

Flambé (Preview)

poster and edits/collage credits to @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt !

🍜 pairing: kyungsoo x fem!reader

🍜 description: pull up a chair. take a taste. come join us. life is so endlessly delicious. - ruth reichl

🍜 themes: fluff, crack (ish), slight angst, a lil bit of spice (in the future), rivals to lovers au

🍜 word count: ~ 2.8k

🍜 a/n: a little preview of a chef kyungsoo story that i've been working on. while i have the plot fleshed out it'll honestly be a while before the long one/two-shot comes out since a lot of research goes into the details. and....i write at a snail's pace. thank you for your patience and lmk if you'd like a tag in the updates!

this story is inspired by a lot of random yt videos and netflix's shows - street food and chef's table.

tagging *deep breath* @j-pping and @changshapatrol (the real rotten banana is here!)

___________________________________________

Water bobbed in frenetic bubbles in a massive ancient stone pot that was perched atop a fort of raging wood. Amidst brutal peals of thunder, a gushing stream rose from a nearby hill, obscuring the shrill cries of the sacrificial crab.

Chanting a spell, you lifted the enormous crustacean by its pincers and lowered it into the growling, pitch black utensil. Blubbering helplessly, it lodged its claws at the rim of the pot in desperation - seeking escape. The sound of your maniacal laughter reverberated through the cave as you thrust it back into the violent undulation with the flick of a bladed-spatula. 

All of a sudden, a wave of unconsciousness swept over you. You felt your skin singe as boiling water started to fill up your lungs. 

You were alone - at the bottom of the very same utensil.

“Help!” frantic, you staggered up, gasping for air. But the bladed-spatula wielding crab, who was now free and hovering over you, roared at your defenseless form.

Maybe your spell didn't land, you thought. 

“Please, Chef!” you whimpered. 

In one swift motion, it swooshed down to your eye level. 

Bushy black brows sprouted on its forehead, just a little over a pair of big brown circles for eyes. Then came the nose, followed by a bloody red mouth that snarled at you.

zzzz... 

“Late again?” It drawled in a jarring tenor.

zzzz...

zzzz...

zzzz…

4:00 a.m., your phone blinked.

In a sleep befuddled state, your hand reached out for the wailing device. ‘Late again’, Chef’s cold, deep voice sounded in your consciousness as you wiped the droplets of sweat off your forehead.

Chef. 

Doh Kyungsoo had insisted on the title and you'd defiantly refused to call him that. What business does a man working at a Kalguksu stand in Gwangjang Market have, being called a chef. You'd seeked redressal with the higher ups. The owner. Your aunt.

"Aegiya, he has something that you don't."

"A dick?"

"YAH! He has a degree in culinary arts. It's only befitting that we give him the respect his degree deserves!"

"Imo, haven't you watched Parasite? Anyone can forge documents these days and if so then why is he here? He could very well get a job at Four Seasons like Hyun Jin. Think, Imo. Think!” 

“Exactly! With forged documents, he could be anywhere. But he’s here, no?”

“Maybe you’re just easier to manipulate.”

"Chef. You're calling him Chef."

Every time the egotistical madman opened that darned mouth of his, it made you want to knock him down with a roundhouse and beat the living daylights out of him. 

But, with a deep breath, you always resisted the temptation. 

Because one day, one glorious day, you’d take over your aunt’s business and the very first item on your agenda would be….well, the obvious. With a glimmer of hope, you floundered out of your comforter, muttering every cuss word you’d learnt...and crafted in the course of working with the devil himself.

.

.

.

“Ahh 3000 is a bit too much for cucumbers", he said to the middle aged vendor, flashing a boyish grin. 

The face of sourcing had drastically changed in the last six months since Kyungsoo’s arrival. Prior to his dictatorship, your aunt had a tie up with some of the local vendors who’d hand deliver the produce every single day, without fail. Guess Kyungsoo didn’t fully comprehend the benefits of customer loyalty. ‘There could be better quality ingredients out there, Sajangnim...economically priced, I might add’, he’d convinced your aunt using his military corporal voice. No matter if it meant awkward break-ups with the vegetables ahjumma or the prawns ahjussi. You had to do the dirty work.

And tag along for the routine 5 a.m sourcing runs. Every morning, he greeted you with an accusatory ‘you’ve killed my cat’ expression.

You groaned, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. If only he’d quit flirting with every woman in the market and hurry up! The purchases had long exceeded the capacity of your humble cart. Flailing your numb arms awake, you urged him to speed up with a nudge of the knee but he glared at you like you’d asked him for a kidney. 

Kyungsoo had a tendency to overbuy but never would he help with a single bag. ‘I don’t like to sweat’ was his excuse. Which was pretty ridiculous considering he spent over ten hours a day overseeing a scorching frying pan. But you knew better than to argue. Because as much as you loathed every fibre of his existence, he terrified you a little. The man possessed the duality of a psychopath. As fierce as he was in the Market, ruthlessly competitive even, he was quite the sweet talker. And you could bet your life on the fact that every woman - whether or not a rival - would take a bullet for him.

“Ahdeul-ah”, the woman cooed at him, making your insides violently contort, “you know how tight the market is these days. But I’ll throw in some more only for you.” 

The additional weight of three kilos on your right arm ended your sourcing run for the day.

***

“Chef”, huffing, you said to him on your way out, “I had a late night last night.”

“And I need to be privy to this little nugget of unwarranted information because?” He paced ahead of you at his usual lightning speed.

“No, I meant, could we stop”, panting you continued, “could we stop for a quick cup of coffee.”

Halting abruptly, he turned around to look you in the eyes, “No.”

“Asshole!”

“I heard that.”

.

.

.

Monday at Choi Yoonsun’s was busier than usual. 

It went by in a daze amidst a cacophony of a sizzling girdle, clanging of pots and pans and your aunt’s relentless vocalization inviting customers to the stall. Having served thousands of bowls of Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu, you heavily relied on muscle memory to get you through a workday’s demands.

Despite its chaos and commotion, you quite enjoyed working in the Market. 

Not being particularly skilled at much and having nearly flunked out of high school, cooking was the one thing that defined you. It was your safe harbour. You’d lost your father in an accident at the tender age of ten and your mother was forced to work long hours to put food on the table. So you honed your culinary skills, little by little, because you thought it vital for your own well being as well as your mother’s. 

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

At the end of yet another gratifying day, you left a wet towel soaking in vinegar for Kyungsoo to clean the iron girdle and proceeded to tend to the dirty dishes. 

“Yahh!” Imo called out for Kyungsoo and you, thumping her hand on the table, gesturing for you to join her.

“Ahh! Imo, there’s a huge pile of dirty dishes!” You cried, only to turn around to find that ass-kisser already at the table, schmoozing with your aunt. Hastily taking off your grubby apron, you washed your hands and wiped them clean with a rag cloth. Straightening your black shirt and flattening unruly flyaways, you rushed toward the table but she was already up and ready to leave, “We’ll have dinner together tonight. I want to have a chat with the both of you.”

“But -”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupted, wagging a finger in your direction, “this one’s had a late night last night -”

“Chef! So I guess I’ll be seeing you tonight. As if seeing you every day of every week wasn’t enough already!” 

An overtly saccharine smile spread across your face and his jaw tightened in response.

“Aish….you two...I’m leaving now”, she sighed, shaking her head, “see you both in two hours.”

.

.

.

Kimchi jjigae, pajeon, tteokbokki, jajangmyeon, some leftover bibimbap with sides galore from Hong Lim Banchan Stall. She clearly had something important to talk about. 

But the vibe at the dinner table just didn’t sit right with you. 

The reason could be the bespectacled black hole of negativity that was seated besides you in all black clothing but there was something off about Imo. 

She was being a little too...nice.

Fear gradually started to settle in your bones. Was she finally closing down? Was this delectable fare an attempt at softening the blow? After all, she’d settled her husband’s debts and her sons were doing well for themselves. Quite well, in fact. One of them was a banker and the other even went to culinary school and was working as a chef at Four Seasons’ Chinese restaurant. It only made sense for her to trade the Market’s gruelling ways for some much deserved peace and quiet.

“We’re closing down the stall”, she said coolly.

It was like a punch in the gut.

“Imo -”

“Aga”, she said resting her chin on her hand, “the Market’s given me everything. It’s given me a sense of pride...a sense of independence. It put my family back together. I used to think that I’m nothing without my husband and my sons...but the Market gave me an identity.”

A million scenarios cascading through your head drowned out your aunt’s voice. Would you now have to go back to Bucheon? Or invest in a stall of your own at the traditional Gwangjang that’d never accept your big and bold ways with cooking? And to start from scratch? With a new recipe? Kalguksu with a twist, perhaps? But you had no insight into your aunt’s special broth. She’d barely even let you whip up the hand-cut noodles.

You realized that you weren’t the only one caught in the eye of the storm. Kyungsoo’s eyes were scarily fixated on the bowl of jajangmyeon before him. His seemingly miserable state gave you a fleeting sense of relief and it was right in that moment that he chose to say something unpalatable.

“Sajangnim, you’ve worked too hard. It’s time for you to reap the fruits of your labour. We’ll be fine you don’t have to worry about us.”

Of course he’ll be fine. 

All the stall-owners in the Market have been vying for him ever since the day he set foot into Choi Yoonsun’s. Whereas, you had nowhere to go. The world conveniently assumes your aunt hired you only because you were her poor sister’s daughter who she sought to help financially. Not because you had what it took to be there and survive.

"Did I say I was ready to retire?” She laughed, eyeing Kyungsoo quizzically, leaving you dumbfounded. 

“Here’s the thing..I met up with a friend last month. She was looking for a buyer for her little family run marinated crabs restaurant in Gangnam. So I took out a loan, made her an offer”, balling her hands into fists she sighed, “put in the deposit...and the place is pretty much mine now!”

“IMO!”, you yelled, “why did you scare me like that! I thought I was laid off!”

“Well, it’s a big move, I’m not sure the two of you are ready to make...requires a tonne of work and I may not be able to pay half of what you earned at the Market for at least two months until we open! It’ll take us two years or so to break even and only then will I be able to afford you a pay raise. I could help you get a job at the banchan stall since you love seasoned spinach so much and Kyungsoo stands a chance at even managing one of the Pakgane stalls!”

Pakgane was the mung bean pancake stall that had gotten so popular that the owner had managed to branch out of Gwangjang. So even your beloved aunt believed that you’d make for a better “help” and Kyungsoo, a Manager. 

Ugh!

“I’m coming with you”, you said firmly, “I’ve saved up a little and Mom will gladly pitch in, if need be...”

At this point, you’d expected Kyungsoo to be ready with his luggage considering the little sycophant he was but his expression was stoic, eyes still glued to the jajangmyeon bowl. It filled you with insane hope. 

He was going to jump the ship...finally!

“Chef...”, you couldn’t resist, “you don’t have to worry about us...I’m more than enough for Imo. You may...”

He shot you an angry glare making you chew on your unsaid words. But you wanted to rile him just a little more. So you excused yourself to bring a bottle of ketchup and squeezed it generously atop the stack of pajeon while eyeing him maliciously. 

Ketchup. 

The tangy, unassuming condiment was the sole reason Kyungsoo despised you. As this dinner marked the end of his torturous regime, you celebrated with ketchup - lots of it - right in front of his nasty eyes.

.

.

.

Steam swirled in different directions and at every twenty metres a contrastive redolence tickled your olfactory senses. Experiencing Gwangjang as a customer was a far richer experience compared to the donkeywork involved in a life as a vendor. 

A proper send-off was essential lest Kyungsoo decided to stay, even if it burned a hole in your pocket. You planned on giving him a final tour of the Market where he (and you) could say his goodbyes while receiving a premium fuel of vitamins, minerals and carbs. 

A whole lot of carbs.

“Let’s start with Pakgane”, said Kyungsoo, with a skewered sausage in his hand.

You shook your head in response. You wanted to start with the best and mung bean pancakes weren’t it. This was going to be a farewell he’d never forget.

With every step you took, the aroma of scallops drizzled with butter and cheese grew stronger. You started your tour by ordering two portions of the delectable street food which set you back considerably. But you were too elated to care. You refused Kyungsoo’s offer to pay as the woman set the scallops on fire with a blow torch.

“Do you know what that technique’s called?” Kyungsoo gave a little nod in the direction of the aflame food.

Another teachable moment.

You’d made a firm resolve to not let any of his condescension bog you down so with a sweet smile, you replied, “No, Chef. I do not.”

“Flambé. But minus the alcohol. Do you know how they manage that?”

The ahjumma came to your rescue and you jumped to collect the order. You could’ve sworn that you caught the corner of his mouth twitch slightly.

***

The Market supposedly looked the same as it did fifty years ago and you quite enjoyed eating your way through it. The tour made your heart grapple with nostalgia even though your partner’s personality was akin to a mug of insipid coffee.

Although you’d spent only a little over a year with Choi Yoonsun, the goodbyes were long and hard. Some of the vendors squeezed you and Kyungsoo in heart wrenching hugs, the others gave you a little cash to help you through the transition and for some of the food, you paid in smiles and love.

After a gastronomic fiesta that entailed tteokbokki, pajeon (minus the ketchup - you did it Kyungsoo’s way), sashimi, kimbap, different types of banchan, a thousand more teachable moments, the both of you ended the day on a sweet note with hotteok. 

The ahjussi wished you both luck, making you choke back tears. 

Kyungsoo noticed.

“Are you…. Is the hotteok spicy? No, I mean it’s obviously not...erm”

The dam of your tears burst. 

You were going to miss this place. Even the less appealing aspects of it. You were going to miss the kimbap unnie who greeted you with a hug everyday, also the snooty mandu ahjumma who could hardly stand the sight of you. You were even going to miss washing dishes in the winters with water that was supposed to be ice and the sweltering summers which had you sweating through every layer of clothing. 

Hell, you were even going to miss Kyungsoo.

“No”, you sniffled, “No, no Chef, it’s nothing. Take care of yourself. As much as I’m glad that our fateful working relationship has met its rightful end, I truly, genuinely, wish you luck. And learn to smile more often, yeah?”

“Are you dying?” He gleamed.

“What? NO! What? You’re leaving. What is wrong with you?”

“Who says I’m leaving?”

“You! You’re not coming with us to Gangnam!”

“Says who?”

“Your stupid face that looked like it was hit by a freight train when Imo broke the news last week!”

“I’m not leaving?” He mused.

“This is no time to joke, Chef. You are leaving!”

“Says who!”

“Your stu-”

“Stupid face? I wasn’t planning on leaving at all. I’ve even found myself a place close to the restaurant. Oh yeah, sorry for having misled you. It was really just - my stupid face.”