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push-the-heartbrake · 1 month ago

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𝙃𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙔𝙤𝙪 (𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙄𝙣 𝙈𝙮 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩) // 𝙎.𝙍

𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳. 𝘙𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘳. 𝘕𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦. 𝘏𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

Summary: “I’m not supposed to do this, but you’re the only person still here, so I made us tea.” — or the one where Spencer really likes the library for its books, the chess, and the girl working the night shift.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader (she/her)

Word count: 14.9k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI ♡ Cm typical violence, Spencer gets injured but nothing major. Mention of bullying, sick parents, and addiction. Takes place sometime after he got clean, so S4 perhaps? No smut, but talk of sex. Spencer being an insecure virgin and reader having used sex as a coping mechanism in the past.

A/N: Hello!! New blog, new fic. I'm too dumb to write for Spencer, but I tried my best. Reader probably has too much personality and backstory but I stopped caring midway through. No physical descriptors used though, except for some wacky clothing. Tell me what you think? Please? Love ya, bye.

You wouldn’t think it was possible, given how most Americans viewed paying taxes, but for some reason, in some way, a very persistent person at some board meeting somewhere had managed to get through the idea that at least one library in D.C. should be open all hours of the day.

Spencer, for one, couldn’t be more pleased with that decision.

He had fond memories of spending long nights in quiet libraries when he was working toward one of his many degrees. Now, his longing for the silence and solitude stemmed from insomnia. He guessed most people his age spent sleepless nights out at nightclubs or in the never-ending search for love or just a one-night stand to suffice some sort of primal need. Spencer wasn’t like that. Never had, nor ever would be.

The library was a better place in every sense. He grew bored out of his mind by being alone in his apartment for too long, but he also got tired of having people around him. His job was social enough. The library was a perfect mixture of the two, requiring silence but still had people in motion so that he didn’t feel entirely isolated.

He’d browse the shelves, searching for things he hadn’t read. Quickly getting through many books in an evening with his way of processing words. It got to the point where there weren’t enough books about his usual interests, so he would pick up books about old cars that Rossi mentioned and learn about their engineering or read some wacky poetry that Emily had recommended that she loved as a teenager.

Sometimes he’d bring whatever knitting project he was working on and join some old ladies who met up at the library to knit and discuss romance novels. Spencer didn’t bring much to the conversation, but he liked hearing them talk. He wasn’t much for gossip, but made-up drama between fictional characters was surprisingly entertaining.

He would also borrow one of the computers and play online chess for hours until his eyes had grown tired from the bright light and he finally thought he might be able to go home and force himself to sleep. Eric, one of the chess players that he frequently met in a local park, showed up sometimes, when he wasn’t swamped with homework or had a curfew to keep. Maybe he should make some friends his own age that weren’t his colleagues, but Eric, at age fifteen, was also the best chess player that Spencer had ever met.

So, the quietness, the books, the knitting, and the chess were all perks of spending time at the library. The cute girl sitting at the front desk, working almost every night shift alone, was also somewhat of a perk.

Spencer wasn’t entirely sure how it came about or why he was so enamored by even just the idea of you, but he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger for a little bit too long whenever he walked past the front desk or saw you organizing books at some shelf in the library.

That was a lie. Spencer knew exactly how it happened and why.

It started with simple people-watching. He liked to imagine wild backstories for people he only saw in passing. Probably a result of being a profiler.

With students he would wonder about what project they were researching late at night in the library and what their majors were and if he could notice patterns in their appearances and behaviors.

He’d connect the dots with the old women knitting and their opinions about the romance novels to actual experiences in their own lives. One had been cheated on in her youth and found any sort of love triangle to be awful, while another couldn’t understand certain writers fascination with sneaking in unplanned pregnancies because she had never wanted kids herself.

And while Eric and he played chess in silence most of the time, he still picked up on how Eric didn’t like how strict his mother was on him and how his sisters got treated differently, more easygoing, than him.

And then there was you, the only other person who would frequent—well, you worked there—the library so often that Spencer could start to piece together your backstory.

His first impression was that you were cute, in like an objective way. The same way people would look at Garcia with some sort of childlike awe of how uniquely herself she was. You had that same thing about you, with colorful cardigans and ribbons tied in your hair.

The second thing he noticed was that you probably didn’t work that much. You were sat at that front desk all night, organizing what needed to be organized and helping those who needed help, but then you were left to yourself for the rest of your shift. You read a lot, but Spencer never got close enough to see what exactly. You also had the news playing really quietly on a little radio, perhaps to not go completely insane from the silent nature of the library.

At first he thought you weren’t too talkative, but then he observed an interaction you had with a student. A young mother who came to the library to study while her child peacefully slept in their stroller. Spencer wasn’t one to judge. If the child got to sleep and the mother got to study, it was a win-win situation, although unconventional.

When he saw the mother and baby leave, going up to you to check out some books, he saw just how talkative you were, practically spewing out words about the subjects she was researching and cooing at the baby who was then awake, calling it adorable and quickly playing peekaboo.

Now, as Spencer sat in a chair, not too far from the entrance and the front desk, acting like he was reading a book he had already read through, he observed you inconspicuously.

You were fronting books on a display shelf that was the first thing you saw when you entered the library. Usually seasonal books, or that followed a current event or a theme. It was Halloween this time around, and you fought with the mess that was fake cobwebs. A garland of little black bats hung over the shelf and plastic jack-o-lanterns acted as bookstands. He could spot certain covers of books he recognized. Goosebumps, for the children. Stephen King, for the horror fanatics. Edgar Allan Poe, for the poetry lovers.

You quietly cursed under your breath as your fingers got stuck in the cobwebs, and Spencer had to cover his laugh with an unnatural cough. That was when he saw that your nails were painted a pumpkin-like orange and your black cardigan had a little skeleton pattern. You were going all out with the theme, even if you barely saw any people during the night shift, telling Spencer that you were doing it all for your own enjoyment.

As you stretched to place books on the highest shelf, he noticed your trousers, and Spencer was only a man—granted a little peculiar and different—but still a man, with working eyes and needs. You wore slacks so well-fitting he wondered what tailor you went to or if you could sew yourself. And Converse, always dark red Converse. You dressed like him, but in a more colorful, feminine way.

He saw you pick up a book and judge it by its cover, then instead of placing it on display, you put it in a tote bag placed on the cart you had to pick books from. He’d seen you use the same tote bag before, when you were organizing the shelves, placing books back or collecting ones loaned online. The album cover for Kate Bush’s The Kick Inside was on it, not because Spencer knew of the album but because the text was printed on it.

You used it to pick out books for yourself, Spencer noticed in the moment. While rolling the cart around with books for others, if you saw one that you wanted to read during your shift, you’d place it in the tote bag to not lose it in the masses.

You were filled and covered in idiosyncrasies, making you nothing but enchanting to watch. And cute, in both the aforementioned objective Garcia-esque way and also a subjective Spencer-esque way. Not in the sense that Spencer found himself subjectively cute, but that you were subjectively cute in a way that felt catered to him and his attractions.

Spencer thought all of this about you, while he had never even spoken a singular word to you. He would fantasize about what your initial interaction would be like, but he never had the courage to actually do something about it. He wouldn’t say that he was shy, and he normally didn’t find it that difficult to speak to someone, but something about your subjective cuteness made you terrifying.

And it didn’t come naturally. He had a library card; he didn’t need to talk to you to check out a book. And asking for directions to a certain book seemed pointless when he had the shelves memorized.

Spencer stood up from his chair to place the book he’d pretend to read back on the right shelf, passing by his favorite section of classics translated into their original languages. He was grateful that D.C. was multicultural enough and filled with diplomats and embassies so that the library found it necessary to take in books that weren’t in English.

He stopped to browse the Russian selection, his finger grazing the spine of Война и мир.

Wait… Certain rare books had to be checked out at the front desk.

And while he already had this book at home, annotated and analyzed, you didn’t know that. He could totally loan this to compare to the version he had at home. This was an earlier copy than his own, and maybe certain parts of the Russian language were different.

Yes. That could work. He was going to talk to you.

With the book in hand, he willed himself to approach the front desk you were now sitting at after finally winning the wrestle match against the cobwebs.

You looked up from the computer as you noticed him, the soft glow of overhead lights casting shadows over the high points of your face. A welcoming smile, although well-rehearsed in a customer service-like manner, stunned him as he placed the book and his library card on the counter.

“War and Peace… in Russian?” you asked, raising a brow as you grabbed the book to scan it. The way you viewed it showed that you recognized the book from the cover, but not the Russian language. And then you looked right up at him, not afraid of keeping eye contact.

Spencer cleared his throat, suddenly hyperaware of how intently you were looking at him. “I’m rereading it to compare to the English version.”

“Are you by any chance from Russia?”

“No,” he said with an honest smile. “I’m from Nevada. But I know enough Russian to get by.”

You let out a low hum of appreciation, your fingers quickly typing something down on the keyboard after having scanned his card. Your nails weren’t only pumpkin-colored, but on them were also minuscule little pumpkin faces.

“To each their own. Don’t get me wrong, it’s impressive.”

“Have you read it?” Spencer asked, his curiosity slipping through.

“No,” you admitted with a laugh. “I picked Infinite Jest as my designated brick of a book that I’ll never finish but still spew opinions about.”

The honesty of your response caught him off guard, and a small chuckle escaped before he could stop it.

“Which is embarrassing to admit to someone who actually can read said bricks,” you added.

“Even worse as a librarian,” he teased, the words leaving his mouth before he had a chance to second-guess them.

“Hey,” you said, your tone mock defensive. “I mostly recommend things to kids anyway. I know all about Daisy Meadows and Captain Underpants.”

That Spencer was twelve years old when he discovered Tolstoy was something he kept to himself. He understood that most kids wanted something funny or imaginative to read, like underpants or fairies—not Russian realism.

“How long until you gave up on Infinite Jest?” he asked instead, leaning slightly on the counter in a way that felt more natural than he anticipated.

“I am seated in an office, surrounded by heads and bodies.” The quote escaped you easily, like you actually had it memorized, but the way your smile cracked through revealed that you were painfully aware of the ironic implication of it.

“That’s the opening sentence,” Spencer pointed out, fighting the urge to laugh outright.

“Captivating, right?” you quipped.

Spencer kept his smile tight as he enjoyed your sarcastic humor. He would’ve never assumed that Infinite Jest was the beast that broke you. Stereotypically, he thought it was stoners and annoying philosophy majors thinking the world was doomed who enjoyed that book.

You didn’t look like either.

But there was also the huge amount of guys who kept it in their bookshelves and had it on display when they had girls over, as a conversation piece, although they hadn’t read a word from it. Maybe you had fallen victim to one of those guys and decided to give it a try on your own, at least getting further than they ever had.

“So you’re more into modern literature?” he was quick to ask, keeping the conversation going.

He wasn’t even sure if David Foster Wallace was considered modern. Contemporary was probably a better word. In comparison to the Russian mellow kind of realism, Wallace was hysterical. Spencer had read it for the sake of saying that he’d read it. After all, it didn’t take him that long. While he was comfortable being the guy who read Tolstoy in Russian, he wasn’t sure he’d be comfortable being the guy who had Infinite Jest as his holy scripture. It made some interesting points about substance abuse and addiction, but that was about it for Spencer, if he was going to give a literary review.

“Not really, I adore some classics,” you admitted, before pointing to a small stack of books behind the counter. The ones you’d snuck into your tote bag. “Now I mostly read poetry, though. All kinds, as long as it’s short and impactful.”

“Oh, you’d hate this then,” he said, like a realization, meaning War and Peace.

You scrunched your nose, nodding softly. “Mhm, and Infinite Jest too.”

There was a beat of silence, not uncomfortable but charged with the kind of potential Spencer wasn’t quite sure what to do with.

“Alright, Tolstoy,” you said, sliding the book over the counter in his direction. “Enjoy your comparative studies.”

“Thanks,” he replied shortly.

As he walked away, book in hand, he couldn’t help but glance back once, catching you fiddling with the edges of your cardigan as you returned your focus to the computer screen. If you wanted to hide your smile from him, you weren’t doing that good of a job.

–––––––––––––––––––––––

Spencer wasn’t sure if he had overthought it, read too much into it, to the point where nothing was making sense. A conversation with a person loaning a book at a library that you worked at probably wasn’t that noteworthy to you, even if it left you dumbly smiling after he’d left.

So, he didn’t dare walk up to you again. He couldn’t justify it in his head. Maybe when his War and Peace loan expired, he’d find an excuse to check it out again, but until then, Spencer didn’t know how to talk to you.

On one afternoon, when the unit had just finished up a case in rural Virginia, Spencer had taken the train back home to D.C. and gone to the library earlier than usual. It was more crowded, with students cramming in some last-minute studying for their finals and parents taking their kids for a little after-school adventure.

He sought refuge in a quiet corner—a cluster of armchairs nestled between the history books and autobiographies—where he could read in peace even though it was busy. But on his way, he was stopped in his tracks. Walking past the kids section, a voice he had begun to recognize caught his attention.

You sat cross-legged on a colorful mat, a worn picture book spread wide in your hands. Your voice carried the story with a mix of humor and animation as you brought the story to life, reading aloud to an audience of tiny faces. Children leaned forward eagerly, their eyes wide with fascination, while a few younger ones had already succumbed to the comforting cadence of your voice, their tiny bodies sprawled across cushions in peaceful slumber. You held the book up for the kids to see the illustrations, pausing occasionally to add exaggerated voices that sent giggles rippling through the group.

Spencer lingered, a faint smile tugging at his lips, before he walked away to not get noticed.

As time passed, the library emptied out. He saw people leave, tired from a long day. For him it was the opposite. Now was when his favorite time of day began, if he wasn’t stuck in the limbo of trying to get himself to sleep. But he had the day off tomorrow and could spend all of it sleeping if he wanted to, so tonight he wouldn’t be anxious about the lack of sleep he was getting, and instead fully indulge in the quiet sanctuary that was the library.

Spencer sat in one of the armchairs, a book open on his lap, though he hadn’t turned a page in over fifteen minutes. Something heavy about the history of Nobel Prize winners in chemistry. He was lost in thought, the events of the day fading into memory.

Footsteps broke the silence, rubber soles squeaking against the linoleum floor, growing louder until they stopped just beside him. He looked up to see you standing there, two steaming paper mugs in your hands.

“I’m not supposed to do this,” you began, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “but you’re the only person still here, so I made us tea.”

You placed both mugs on the table in front of Spencer before flopping down into an armchair of your own. You had dungarees on and a soft maroon sweater underneath, matching your Converse. Spencer blinked, unable to form a sentence as he watched you get comfortable, picking up a book from the tote bag you always seemed to carry. He didn’t necessarily recognize the cover, but he knew of the author’s name.

“John Cooper Clarke? You’re into punk?” he heard himself ask before he could think twice about it. You didn’t even get the chance to start reading.

You tilted your head. “You know who he is?”

“I have a colleague who used to be goth in high school. Full on Siouxsie Sioux. And she has told me about JCC,” Spencer explained.

Emily. She was the reason he knew about the “punk poet”. He still couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw her yearbook photos from high school. Even less so when she would quote the same poem every single time they had to wait for something—the jet to get ready, blood samples and lab reports, Rossi to catch up when they had to run somewhere. Whatever it was, she would quote Evidently Chickentown.

“Makes sense,” you replied. “He performed on the same bill as a lot of those early post-punk and goth bands.”

Spencer smiled, quietly reciting, “The fucking train is fucking late. You fucking wait, you fucking wait.”

“You’re fucking lost and fucking found. Stuck in fucking Chickentown.” You chuckled, picking up the line seamlessly. Spencer sounded like cursing was something alien to him, as if the crude words didn’t belong to his vocabulary. You found it sweet, yet unusual. “That poem is in this book! Along with the weird one about being someone’s vacuum cleaner, do you know that too?”

“Uhm, no. I don’t think I know that one,” Spencer admitted, silently begging for you to read it to him. He would be just as excited as the children hearing you read aloud earlier.

“If I’m annoying or distracting,” you said after a moment, “you can tell me to leave. I just sort of go insane spending all night here alone in silence.”

He’d been sitting by himself, looking like he was reading a book about chemistry breakthroughs, and maybe that didn’t come across as someone who wanted to be talked to. Spencer at least assumed that was your thought process when shyly admitting that you were seeking company.

“No, uhm, it’s okay. Thank you for the tea,” Spencer was quick to say before grabbing one of the mugs and taking a small sip. He didn’t want you to leave. If you were voluntarily talking to him, that was better than any made-up War and Peace-related plan he could come up with.

“I’m Spencer, by the way,” he added.

You told him your name in return, pointing to your name tag—a little yellow one with Winnie-the-Pooh on it—before reaching out your hand to him. He hadn’t noticed the tag before, and maybe that was because he didn’t want to get caught staring at your chest.

He looked at your hand, the germaphobe in him coming to life as he observed your dainty fingers. At least in comparison to his own. The orange nail polish was gone and replaced by a simple black coat. Even your hands were cute to him, yet covered in bacteria.

“Oh, I don’t do handshakes,” he said and took in your reaction, your smile fading as you retracted your hand and hid it in your pocket.

“The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to kiss,” he felt the need to explain. It was a simple fact, yet he didn’t think of the implications. Spencer’s eyes widened at the sound of his own voice, and he stammered, feeling heat rise to his cheeks, “Uh… not that you and I—I mean, you know what I mean.”

You acted like you didn’t mind, keeping the conversation going without noticing the huge bump in the road that Spencer thought he had created.

“But doesn’t the other person’s bacteria stay in you forever after you’ve kissed them?” you wondered, a crease forming between your brows as you thought about it. “Don’t quote me on it, but I’ve read that somewhere. It’s like eighty million bacteria exchanged on average in a french kiss, and that some of them stay and colonize, becoming part of your own… what’s it called?” Your voice trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Microbiome?” he supplied. “The community of microorganisms found living together in one habitat?”

“That’s the one!” You lit up with realization. “It’s horrifying and poetic that, after you’ve kissed someone, they become part of you forever.”

He thought of the bacteria, while you thought of the internal battle of someone you’ve kissed staying with you forever. He blamed his background in STEM and his lack of experience with kissing for not seeing the big deal.

“I’m sure it’s not in any way that’s noticeable to us. It’s modest at worst,” he tried to reassure.

He wasn’t sure exactly what research you were referencing when mentioning the eighty million bacteria, or if it even was scientific research. Knowing a little bit about you, it could possibly be poetry about clinging to something or someone for too long. But he knew enough about microbiomes and their complexity that one exchange of saliva wouldn’t alter them majorly. Maybe in a constant way, but never majorly.

“In the sense of bacteria colonizing?” you wondered, seeing Spencer nod. “Well, it’s still psychologically fucked up.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows at your frankness, urging you to keep talking.

“I would like to forget the fact that I made out with Cody Parker in ninth grade, but no, he’s stuck in my microbiome. That’s fucked up,” you laughed, gesturing with your hands in frustration.

“Now, what was so bad about Cody?”

You huffed before answering. “Captain of the football team. Is that enough of a reason to hate him?”

Spencer could’ve guessed it from his name. Cody. He could imagine what he looked like and why you would’ve kissed him. Hell, Spencer would’ve probably kissed a guy like him too if given the chance at that delicate age of self-discovery. Just to have it done early, and as a bragging right for the future. His first kiss had been at a college party that he was too young to attend really, with some girl who probably saw him more as a little brother to care for rather than someone she was actually attracted to.

“Do you also have a deep hatred for anyone that ever played high school football?” Spencer asked with a small, curious smile.

“You could say that,” you admitted, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. “I lost my virginity to Cody the same night, and then he stole my underwear and stuck them to my locker with a note that said I was up for grabs.”

You laughed after you said it, but Spencer couldn’t help but wince. He understood why you laughed, a response to make something uncomfortable feel less serious, but he couldn’t believe that someone had done that to you.

He was an annoying, know-it-all, little boy when he was in high school and had internally justified the bullying he had gone through by telling himself that football players and cheerleaders were just jealous and stupid, probably still stuck in their cliques, in Vegas working dead-end jobs. But you, you shone like light itself, and someone had still found a reason to humiliate you. It didn’t make sense.

“The football team at my school tied me to a goalpost and stripped me naked in front of a girl I had a crush on,” Spencer shared softly. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt like the right thing. Not to make it seem like he’d had it worse, but to show that you had similarities.

Your head turned sharply to look at him, eyes wide with disbelief. “Not that we’re competing, but I think you win the bully-off we just had.” You straightened up in your seat, lifting your legs to sit criss-cross. “But you’re cute, though. Was the girl at least nice to you?”

Spencer looked down at his hands, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. You’d called him cute.He thought you were cute. It shouldn’t be the other way around.

You stared at him like you were questioning his sanity while he reacted to the compliment. It wasn’t him you were questioning, but the eyesight of all the people Spencer had around him, because why wasn’t he used to being complimented? It didn’t even necessarily need to be about their eyesight. They had to be deaf too, because just from hearing him talk, you were fascinated by the way his brain worked.

“I graduated high school at the age of twelve, and she was like sixteen, so no, she didn’t care much,” he answered slowly, keeping his cool. He knew now that he never had a chance with the girl anyway, but twelve-year-old Spencer had been heartbroken, and, of course, humiliated.

Your eyes turned even wider as he spoke. “Huh? Is that legal? Are you some kind of genius?”

“I don’t believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory,” Spencer admitted matter-of-factly. He didn’t know why it felt like a secret to tell people just how smart he was. In an academic sense, that is.

“Certified genius,” you declared with a grin.

“And I do introduce myself as Dr. Spencer Reid when I’m at work,” he added, emphasizing his name.

“You’ve got a PhD?” you asked. The crease between your brows seemed permanent at this point.

“A few.”

“More than one?”

“Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering. BAs in psychology and sociology,” Spencer rattled off, glancing at you cautiously to gauge your reaction.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, throwing your head back dramatically. “I would’ve hated you just as much as those football players.”

“Not in the sense that I would’ve tied you to a goalpost,” you added quickly, “but more so that I would’ve been insanely jealous. I might still be jealous; the jury is out on that until you explain further.”

Spencer gave a soft laugh, believing that you wouldn’t have been a mean girl. “Do you want to get into the reasons why certain people are smarter than others?”

“No, I just…” Your voice trailed off, and you paused to take a sip of your tea. “Do you ever get freaked out over how people’s lives are vastly different even though they’ve spent the same amount of time on earth?”

He tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “How do you mean?”

“Like, we look similar in age but probably have very few shared experiences because you were born a genius and I was born…” you gestured vaguely, searching for the right words, coming up with nothing in the end.

You were born… how exactly? Spencer tried to fill in the blank, but his guesses seemed almost offensive. “You don’t appear to be dumb,” Spencer countered gently. “You seem to be socially smarter than I am.”

“Because I’m sat here oversharing high school stories with virtually a stranger?” you teased, almost self-deprecatingly, like your easy way of talking was a fault.

And maybe that was true. Spencer knew what it was like to say too much at the wrong time, or have people turn uninterested mid-sentence when he was speaking. But he thought that stemmed from how bad he actually was at talking with people. And you were good at it, with a fluidity and humor to your speech that not many people had.

“I’m not good with words, and you obviously are,” he settled on saying, earnestly.

“No, not really. I was never good at anything. Always a straight B-student. It’s a damn mystery how I managed to get this job without a master’s degree,” you said with a shrug. “When I realized my own mediocrity in high school, I stopped trying. I thought it was much more fun to do drugs and get railed in the back of some college boy’s car. Spoiler alert, it’s not.”

“R-railed?” Spencer stammered, nearly choking on his tea.

“Too crude of a word for you?”

“No, I just would’ve never assumed—”

“That I was a slut in my youth?” you retorted, staring him down. “I’m only messing with you, Spencer. Now I’m sober, and boring, and in on a three-year-long dry spell.”

“We’re more similar than you think, so you don’t have to be freaked out about our lack of shared experiences,” Spencer said softly as realization struck him.

“You also got railed by college boys?” you quipped, and Spencer let out an unexpected laugh, his cheeks reddening.

“No, uhm, I meant being sober from drugs, and the dry spell too,” he clarified quickly.

As the conversation stilled, Spencer noticed he still had the book on Nobel Prize winners opened in his lap. He shut it quietly and placed it on the table, carefully looking at you as you sipped your tea. Your own book was long forgotten too, sliding down the side of your seat. You ran your fingers over your knees, still sitting cross-legged, nails rasping against your denim dungarees. You weren’t scared to look right back at him, not scared to be with him in silence for a moment. He watched as your eyes drifted to his book, struggling to read the title upside down.

“What does an actual genius do for a living? And why can he spend so much time at a library in the middle of the night?” you asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity, turning the book to see.

“Do you want to guess?” he asked, not because he didn’t want to tell you, but because he sensed you were about to guess anyway.

“You’re probably some sort of professor, teaching and researching something I couldn’t even begin to fathom,” you speculated, resting your chin on your hand, flipping through the pages. “You’re also away for like a week at a time and then back here for a week, so you must travel. Maybe you go to conventions and guest lectures. Have you ever done a TED talk?”

You noticed his patterns. That he had noticed yours was no surprise. He noticed everyone’s. But you had noticed his, meaning that you cared enough to mind when he was at the library multiple nights a week and when he wasn’t. What did that tell Spencer? Absolutely nothing he could make sense of.

“No, I haven’t. And I’m not a professor, though I have done a couple guest lectures,” he explained, waiting for you to continue guessing.

“Do you work for some tech company then? Are you secretly a billionaire?”

“Nope, I make a humble living compared to the work I put in.”

“So, the public sector then,” you deduced at the same time as a bell could be heard.

You quickly whipped your head around, straining to see the front desk, where an awfully stressed-out student could be found, holding some heavy book on human anatomy that Spencer knew had to be checked out manually.

“Oh, fuck—” you muttered, quickly standing up, momentarily lost. “I should probably get back to work.”

“Don’t forget your bag,” Spencer hurried to say before you could leave without it. The Kick Inside. Was that a reference to pregnancy? Maybe Spencer should look into Kate Bush to have another thing to talk to you about.

You picked up your book and paper mug, slinging the bag over your shoulder, and gave him one last smile. “Do you know you have the face of a genius?”

“W-what?” he questioned, unsure of why you’d said that.

“It’s a lyric from a song on this album. It made me think of you,” you said, pointing to the bag, before walking away to the front desk to do what you were paid to do.

–––––––––––––––––––––––

The next time Spencer talked to you was exactly two weeks and one day later. They’d been on a case in California, which naturally led to him not seeing you. But then when he was back, you weren’t working. He spent three days filling out reports at the office, waiting for time to go so that he could take the train home and go to the library, and when he showed up, you weren’t even there.

Two weeks he planned what to say to you. The last three days of those felt like torture, not knowing where you were. On the fourth day, you were finally back. And Spencer wasn’t shy. And he could justify his reason for talking to you. Two weeks and one day ago, you had talked to him first.

It was early December, and the first snow fell softly outside as he walked into the warmth of the library. He knew immediately that you were back working because you were the first thing he saw. Perched on a small stool near the front desk and the display shelf of seasonal books, you were stacking books into a makeshift Christmas tree. Carefully selected covers in colors of red and green were stacked into circles, narrowing as you built upward, creating somewhat of a tree shape.

You hummed softly as you worked, occasionally glancing down at the growing stack with concentration. As you reached for another book, you were stopped in your tracks by the telltale sound of footsteps against the library’s linoleum floor. Footsteps that could only be made by a pair of Converse.

“I listened to The Kick Inside.”

Looking over your shoulder, you found him standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, a small smile on his face. Your hands paused mid-placement as you looked down at him, brows lifting in surprise. “You did?”

“Creative use of resources, by the way,” Spencer mentioned, picking up a book from the pile and handing it to you, his long fingers brushing yours briefly in the exchange. “Did a song about incest really make you think of me?”

“Oh, no. Just that singular lyric.” You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s inspired by some old English folklore, I think.” Balancing on the stool, you placed the book carefully onto the stack, leaning back to eye the structure.

“A murder ballad called Lizie Wan. Her brother got her pregnant, and then he killed her.” Spencer supplied, his tone instinctively slipping into lecture mode. He stepped closer and shed his coat to drape it over a nearby chair as he continued to hand you books.

You made a face. “Well, did you like it? The album, I mean. Not the incest.”

“I understand why youlike it. It’s very… you,” Spencer explained, hoping it made sense. It was theatrical and wacky. Feminine too, in a brutal way, only archivable in lyrics written by an adolescent girl. Spencer wasn’t a music lover by any means, but even he could hear that it was undeniably good, just not his taste. “Is Wuthering Heights perhaps your favorite classic novel?”

“No, not at all. I think it’s a stupid book and a stupid song,” you said.

Spencer handed you another book, his eyes darting between the growing tree and your face. The grin you put on betrayed your monotone voice.

“Okay, no. I adore it,” you admitted. “It’s a nightmare to read, and I fully believe Emily was clinically insane, but I can’t help but love dark and twisted women. One review at the time when it was first published questioned how she could’ve finished writing it without committing suicide. That’s badass.”

“Do you know that Kate hadn’t even read the book when she wrote the song? She just watched some TV adaptation, which is why the names are all messed up,” you continued as you perfectly balanced the book he gave you onto the others. You’d soon be done at this pace.

“I did notice that she sang Cathy instead of Catherine, and Cathy is the daughter, right?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “So if you know the book, the song totally reads like a love song between Heathcliff and his dead lover’s daughter.”

“That’s disturbing,” Spencer concluded. “I can’t help but think that Brontë would’ve loved it.”

Your lips twitched into a smile, but you didn’t comment further, too focused on your Christmas tree. He handed you another book in silence and saw how your nails were now painted red with little white snowflakes on some of them. He wondered if you painted them yourself. You were back to wearing your usual slacks and cardigan. This time a white one that looked terribly comfortable and wintery. In your hair you had a red ribbon tied into a bow, matching, as always, your red Converse.

After a moment, you spoke. “You were gone for a while, again. Who in the public sector travels that much? I hope you’re not a politician.”

“No, I’m not,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “I’m with the FBI. Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

You blinked, looking down at him in mild shock. “You’re a profiler?”

He nodded.

“That actually makes a lot of sense. And it’s scary as hell. No wonder you’ve got insomnia, probably messed up from all the murders you’ve solved.”

“I’m not making fun of you,” you added quickly. “I’ve obviously got it too; I wouldn’t be working the night shift voluntarily otherwise.”

Spencer handed you the final book for the top tier, his gaze steady on you. “You weren’t here for a couple of days either. I had to talk to Omar, and he’s not as good of a conversationalist.”

You snorted. “Period cramps from hell,” you said casually, knowing it was the fastest way to end questions.

Spencer also knew that it was a common lie told by women to men. And he wasn’t the kind of person to be grossed out by basic biology. He might have issues with pathogens and handshakes, but he had no issues talking about the human body.

“Bold move to lie to a profiler,” he remarked, tilting his head slightly.

“I didn’t necessarily lie—”

“But you didn’t tell me the whole truth.”

He waited, silent and expectant.

You sighed, and for once your gaze was scared to meet his. “I’m kind of…depressed. Probably just seasonal, I fucking hate the winter. Spent three days on my living room floor, in some sort of verbal shutdown, just staring at the ceiling, wondering if I’m even human.”

Spencer’s brows knit together, concern flickering across his face. “Do you feel better now?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” you said, forcing a small smile.

Before Spencer could respond, the precarious stack of books wobbled. You tried to steady it, but the entire top layer you’d just finished collapsed in a cascade of covers and pages, books tumbling to the floor in a loud crash. You stepped down from the stool quickly, and Spencer instinctively grabbed you by the hand so that you wouldn’t fall. He didn’t even have time to think about germs.

“You’re legally allowed to shoot me in the head,” you said with a disbelieving sigh.

“You can’t consent to murder,” Spencer replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

“But you can consent to bodily harm, right? So maybe you can shoot me in the foot at least?”

“That’s more reserved for sports and medical procedures. Shooting you would still be a crime even if you coerced me,” he explained.

“Sadomasochism too, right? You can consent to sexually inflicted pain?”

“Ehm—” Spencer mouth got dry, and his cheeks flushed red. “Well yes, technically.”

“So you really can’t figure out a way for me to not have to work another day this year?” you asked, leaning down to pick up one of the fallen books.

Now, if Spencer was as socially smart as you were, he’d notice you were flirting. Maybe even insinuating that you’d be okay with a sexual injury that resulted in you staying home from work the rest of December. But Spencer was surprisingly dumb for having such a high IQ. And his ears sort of started ringing as soon as you mentioned sex, so he wasn’t sure he’d even heard you correctly.

“Not if you need the money, no,” he replied, a small, apologetic smile playing on his lips.

“Some kind of genius you are, Spence,” you teased, shoving the book in his hands before crouching to start rebuilding the tree.

–––––––––––––––––––––––

After that conversation, Spencer helped you rebuild the Christmas tree. He’d handed you book after book with a quiet determination, his brow furrowing slightly as if the arrangement were a problem he needed to solve. Occasionally, he would pause to ask you a question about your favorite winter-themed books or share an anecdote about an obscure author. All throughout December, Spencer became a constant presence during your night shifts.

You found him fascinating to listen to, even if he seemed to doubt himself midway through every tangent. His voice would falter, and he’d look up at you with a quick, “Is this boring?” or “Am I rambling?” as if he needed reassurance that you were still interested.

You always were. At this point, he could probably recite the yellow pages, and you’d still find it captivating. Knowing him and his eidetic memory, he most likely could do it on the spot if you asked him.

December always moved slowly for you. Students crammed into every corner, poring over their textbooks and laptops as they prepared for finals. The library was busy, but there was a strange liminal quality to your evenings, the dark winter nights stretching endlessly as you walked the halls, organizing books and straightening shelves.

You wouldn’t admit it to yourself just yet, but because of this heavy feeling, you found yourself sat at the front desk, waiting for Spencer to walk through those doors. You now knew that he was a busy man—a brilliant, busy man with a job more important than yours, so you stopped expecting him to show up, getting positively surprised every time he did instead.

On the 23rd of December, Spencer walked through the entrance at exactly 9:32 p.m. You knew the time because you’d been watching the seconds tick by on the digital clock of the computer’s screensaver.

You straightened your back, softly smiling as he made his way up to you. Sometimes, you had to go on little treasure hunts to find him in the library, but today, he didn’t appear to be shy to approach you first.

With a soft thud he placed a heavy book on the counter, one you immediately recognized as War and Peace, in Russian. Your heart lifted slightly. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been waiting for the day the loan would expire, so that he either had to return it or extend it.

“Have you finished comparing them now?” you asked, eyeing the book.

“No, uhm,” Spencer hesitated, adjusting the strap of his satchel. “Is it possible to extend it?”

“I’ll have to check,” you replied, tapping at the keyboard. “It’s quite a popular book. A lot of Russian diplomats in D.C.”

You pretended to eye the screen, searching for whatever you were searching for, when you already knew that it wouldn’t be an issue to extend the loan. He didn’t have to know that, though.

“Are you doing anything special for the holidays, Spencer?” you asked, to make it appear like small talk while you were tapping away at the keyboard, mindlessly clicking between pages of the software you used.

“I might make it to Las Vegas to see my mom. I don’t know if I’ll have the time, though.” Spencer’s lips quirked in a small smile. “What about you? How will you celebrate Christmas?”

You knew by now that it was a dumb question to ask if he had a lot of work to do. He didn’t have a normal schedule, sometimes getting called in the middle of the night to fly across the country.

“I’ll probably be here,” you admitted. “We’re closed for two days, and then over New Year’s, but otherwise I’ll be working. Might go see my dad if I have the time and he’s feeling up for it. Nothing major. Do you have plans for New Year’s, Spence?”

He opened his mouth to respond but paused, tilting his head slightly. “I, uh— Sorry, what’s that on the radio?”

You cocked your head, listening to the faint news broadcast filtering in from the staff break room that had caught his attention. You always had it on to not go insane from the silence. All afternoon it had been occupied with the same emergency broadcast. “Oh, you haven’t heard about it? I honestly thought you’d be working the case.”

“What case?” Spencer asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Some senator was kidnapped, and another one was shot. Apparently no one heard or saw a thing, but they can’t figure out how since the neighborhood has, like, crazy good security.”

“Kidnapped in his own home?”

“Mhm. I think they used the helipad, but Janice and Charlotte didn’t believe me.” You gestured toward the corner where the two older women usually sat knitting and reading romance novels. “Y’know, the regulars?”

“You think the kidnappers used a helicopter, without being heard or seen?” Spencer asked, a note of skepticism in his voice. “How would they even get access to a helicopter?”

“If you know how to find and operate one, certain helicopters are easier to steal than cars. No locks in the way or keys needed,” you explained as if it were common knowledge.

Usually, this was the point in a conversation where you would shut up, thinking that you’d crossed into boring territory. But by the look on Spencer’s face, he just wanted to hear more about it.

“And if the security guards are all at the entrance to the gated community, I think you could go unnoticed. It’s close to the air force base, there are probably aircraft flying there on the daily.” You shrugged, a little self-conscious. “This job gives me a lot of free time to overthink things.”

Spencer smiled in slight disbelief. “How do you know how to steal a helicopter?”

“My dad was in the air force,” you explained. “From Fork Union to Master Sergeant. With today’s standards he’d probably be diagnosed with autism, but back when he was working, he was mostly just known as the guy who knew everything about every type of aircraft.”

You scrunched your face at the thought of your dad. You adored him, you really did, but he hadn’t given you the easiest of childhoods. That meaning being stuck with your mother because he was away a lot for work.

“What was that look for?” Spencer asked, because of course he realized stuff like that.

“I have tried so hard all my life to not be like my mother that I unconsciously picked up my father’s personality instead,” you said with a self-deprecating laugh.

Spencer’s expression softened. “I despise my father, so I’m doing the opposite. Turning into my schizophrenic mother.”

“My dad got sick too,” you said quietly. “That’s why he stopped working. And why my mother divorced him. He lives at a care facility by the coast now.”

Before Spencer could respond, a buzzing noise came from his pocket. He pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen.

“Duty calling?” you asked.

Spencer hesitated before nodding.

“I don’t think I can extend this, by the way,” you said, picking up the copy of War and Peace, placing it behind you on a shelf with other returned books.

“That’s fine—” he began, but you cut him off.

“I do, however, have another solution,” you said, standing up from your chair to go into the staff room. With quick steps, you grabbed your tote bag, the one with the Kate Bush album on it, and walked back out. Spencer stared at you in confusion as you pulled out a book, not wrapped in paper or anything special, but there was a dark red ribbon tied into a bow around it.

Spencer recognized it immediately as the same type of fabric you often wore in your hair.

“I have no one else to buy gifts for, so I thought I might as well. You won’t have to keep loaning it over and over again,” you said with a shy smile, handing it to him.

Spencer stared at it, his hands hesitating before taking it. A Russian copy of War and Peace. A nice one too. Hardcover with gold leaf embossment. “Thank you…” he said softly. “I feel bad now. I don’t have anything to give to you.”

“You’ve made my night shifts a lot less depressing these last months,” you replied. “That’s enough of a gift to me, Spencer.”

He opened his mouth as if to argue but closed it again, nodding instead. “You know I’m not good with words,” he said after a pause, “or sometimes I think I might be too good with them. I say too much too quickly—”

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?” you interrupted, your voice steady but your heart pounding.

Spencer’s eyes widened. “A d-date?”

“Y’know, we go somewhere, maybe get some food, and then we talk. And if it leads somewhere, it leads somewhere.” You hesitated, your confidence wavering. “If I misread this entirely, that’s fine. You don’t have to say yes. But I’d like to keep your company during my night shifts, if I haven’t ruined that completely now by admitting that I find you attractive.”

“No, no, uhm—” Spencer stammered, his cheeks now fully pink. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been asked out this directly before.”

You held your breath as he gathered himself.

“I’d love to go on a date with you.”

A grin broke across your face. “Good, so how about those New Year’s Eve plans?”

–––––––––––––––––––––––

The D.C. police office buzzed with activity despite the late hour. Phones rang, officers rushed past with files in hand, and the muted hum of fluorescent lights filled the air. Spencer stepped into the building, his scarf still loosely draped around his neck and his cheeks slightly pink from the cold December air. From the side of his messenger bag, a red ribbon could be seen peeking out.

“Spencer, where the hell have you been?” Morgan’s voice rang out from across the room. He strode toward Spencer, his brow furrowed with equal parts concern and frustration.

“At the library,” Spencer replied, unwinding his scarf as he spoke. His tone was calm, almost as if the answer were obvious. “I came as soon as I heard.”

Morgan crossed his arms. “At ten at night?”

Spencer hesitated for a fraction of a second, his gaze darting briefly to the floor before meeting Morgan’s eyes again. “There’s one open all hours of the day.”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed slightly, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Why are you smiling like that?”

Spencer’s lips twitched as if suppressing the grin threatening to break through. “It’s nothing,” he said quickly, clearing his throat in an effort to sound composed.

Morgan tilted his head, his smirk growing wider. “Uh-huh. Sure it is. Library must’ve gotten a whole lot more interesting since the last time I was there.”

Spencer ignored the comment, shifting the conversation back to the matter at hand. “We should look into stolen helicopters in the area. I think that’s how they got in.”

Morgan’s smirk faded as his professional demeanor returned. “Helicopters? That’s a hell of a theory. What makes you think that?”

Spencer adjusted the strap of his bag, his fingers fidgeting slightly. “The location of the kidnapping is close to an air force base. Certain small helicopters are relatively easy to steal—no locks or keys required. If the neighborhood security was focused on the main entrance, a helicopter could bypass them entirely. Given the proximity to the base, it’s plausible they used the airspace to their advantage.”

Morgan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Alright, genius, I’ll get Garcia to pull up any reports of stolen aircraft in the area. Nice ribbon, by the way, really pulls your outfit together.”

–––––––––––––––––––––––

If December in general was slow for you, the holidays were fucking dreadful. Your dad had a cold and could not receive visitors, so you ended up spending Christmas Eve at a party—two hours sober between drunk friends, and then you had enough. Christmas Day was spent on your couch, watching all five hours of Bergman’s Fanny and Alexander, eating your body weight in Chinese takeout.

You did get a postcard from your dad, a pretty coastal view on it that was of the beach he lived by. He also sent a pair of hand-knitted socks, a hobby you knew had been forced upon him by the older ladies he lived with at the care facility. His squiggly writing was harder and harder to decipher with every year that passed, but it still filled you with immense joy that his mind seemed to be bright even if his body wasn’t.

From your mother you also got a postcard. A pretty coastal view was on it too, from Bali, where she was spending Christmas with her new partner. Hers wasn’t handwritten, instead only printed with a generic Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. No thought put behind it.

You placed your father’s on the fridge, hung with a magnet you knew he’d gotten you when he was abroad for work in England. Your mother’s ended up being a perfect makeshift and temporary coaster on your living room table. Within days you had to throw it out because the paper had been ruined by tea stains.

When you were back at work, the library was even quieter than normal, which honestly was to be expected. Janice came by to borrow some new romance novels to have over New Years. Some poor students had deadlines due first thing in January. But still, so calm you might even call it boring. And you loved this job.

You sat at the front desk, flipping through a worn-out copy of a poetry collection by Patti Smith. You’d fallen down a hole of punk literature ever since you talked about JCC with Spencer. He didn’t seem like the kind to like said literature, but he had talked with you about it anyway. It was a tradeoff maybe, quid pro quo; he got to geek out about Tolstoy and Nobel Prize winners, and you got to talk about British bands and Vivienne Westwood. He’d actually really seemed to enjoy the irony of her bringing French 18th-century aristocracy into clothing worn by the most alternative and radical people in punk-era London.

Deep down in thought, you barely heard when the entrance door opened. It was a gust of freezing cold wind that made you look up from your slouched position. In walked a man, obviously bothered by the weather, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room as he walked forward. He was followed by…

“Spencer?” you wondered, standing. “You should be in Vegas.”

Spencer didn’t even have time to answer before his companion did. “Serial killers don’t care about the holidays, miss,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “SSA Derek Morgan.”

“You’re working the senator case, aren’t you?” you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly. “It’s turned into a serial case?” you rambled before shaking your head. “You probably can’t tell me the details anyway.”

Morgan gave a tight smile. “Not exactly.” He gestured toward Spencer. “We need your help with a quote. Spencer said you were the only person he could think of who might know it.”

“I didn’t say that—” Spencer tried to explain.

“Don’t you have search engines and databases for things like that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We do, but nothing came up,” Spencer replied. “And I don’t recognize it for the life of me.”

“Must suck to be a genius, Spence,” you chuckled. “What’s the quote?”

Morgan pulled a photograph from his pocket and placed it on the counter. Written in bold, smeared letters that looked disturbingly like blood were the words: Whoever is strong must also be good.

“Jeez, give a girl a warning,” you muttered, grimacing slightly as you studied the photo.

It answered your question about whether or not it had turned into a serial case, because this was a place where someone had been murdered, and it wasn’t some fancy senator mansion this time, but more what looked like an abandoned warehouse.

“Ehm… I honestly don’t know. I mean, it’s a very simple quote. I could come up with that.” You tilted your head thoughtfully. You weren’t sure why Spencer had thought of coming to you when faced with this problem. You knew of a bunch of books and quotes, sure, but you were honestly mostly known around your workplace as the one who knew all about children’s bo—

“Oh, oh! It’s sort of similar to a quote from a children’s book, but very badly paraphrased in that case.”

Morgan straightened. “Can you show us?”

You were already walking out from behind your desk when he asked, making your way to the children’s section with quick steps. The two taller men following. “Ever heard of Pippi Longstocking?” you questioned over your shoulder as you walked.

Morgan looked skeptical and Spencer for once, too, like he didn’t recognize the name at all.

“I would assume that you had a more refined taste in literature as a child and did not waste your time with translated Swedish fairytales about the strongest girl in the world,” you added, finally reaching the right shelf, filled with thin books with bright yellow covers.

As you ducked down, you practically disappeared out of view for the two of them, squatting on the floor while picking out the right book.

Spencer perked up, smiling gently. “My mother is a professor in 15th-century literature. She used to read to me a lot.”

“That’ll do it,” you concluded, flipping through the pages. “We use it sometimes for kids’ reading hours, that’s why I recognize it. Popular with bilingual and immigrant children too since it’s been translated to over 70 languages.”

Spencer knelt down beside you, reading over your shoulder. You knew he was a quick reader, but when you knew what you were looking for, you were quicker.

“Here!” you pointed out on a page, disturbed by the look of your chipped red nail polish. “The quote in English is ’If you are very strong, you must also be very kind’.”

“That’s oddly similar,” Spencer agreed.

“It might be translated. I can look into our non-English books.”

You didn’t even wait for an answer before you started walking again, forcing Spencer and Morgan to follow suit. Down a corridor of shelves with children’s books, around a corner, to a new shelf, and then you ducked down on the floor, quickly scanning the spines. It was all children’s books divided into different languages. You picked whatever yellow spine you could see, collecting them in your arms before you sat down right on the floor. You knew the cleaning lady, she was great at her job.

“The story is from the 1940s but still relevant. Pippi is an orphan living in a big yellow house with her horse and monkey, and has to fight with adults and authorities, saying that she can’t survive on her own. Honestly quite progressive,” you explained as you gave Spencer a copy in Russian, trying to hand a different one to Morgan before realizing that not all agents had the skills of Dr. Spencer Reid.

“How’d she get the house?” Morgan asked, crossing his arms.

“Her dad is a sea captain and a king over some fictive island. She’s rich,” you replied matter-of-factly.

As you sat there on the floor, books spread around you, searching and comparing to the English version, talking about the pure feminism and boldness of a female author creating such a character during that time period, Spencer found you fascinating. Like a dancer, you had moved through the rows of shelves, with a grace and a crazy smile, firing you up.

He had sensed it as soon as the unit stumbled upon the issue with finding the quote, that if someone was going to know this simple, moral-of-the-story quote to feed down the throats of children, it’d be you.

“I don’t think it’s Russian,” Spencer said after finding the right page. ‘Kind’ didn’t turn into ‘good’ like it had in whatever way the unsub had paraphrased it.

Morgan gave Spencer a sidelong glance. “Do you even need me here for this conversation?”

You ignored the comment, pulling out a book and flipping through its pages. “The missing senator has a German surname, right?”

Both Spencer and Morgan turned to you with confused faces.

You shrugged. “I watch the news, okay? I’m alone here all night!”

With the German version in your hand, you scanned the pages for the quote. “Oh, look! My high school German might finally be paying off.” You read aloud, “‘Wer stark ist, muss auch gut sein.’”

You stood up and showed the book to Spencer, pointing to the quote. “‘Kind’ turns into ‘gut’, which can translate back to ‘good’,” you explained, even if you felt like he probably didn’t need it. Morgan might’ve found it useful at least. “Whoever is strong must also be good, right? That make sense?”

Morgan leaned against the shelf, rubbing his chin. “So, the quote is from a Swedish children’s book, translated into German, and then badly paraphrased into English? What do we do with that?”

You shrugged, closing the book. “I just know what it says. I don’t know what it means.”

Spencer paced as he thought out loud. “The unsub has to be a woman.”

“Who speaks German?” Morgan added, mostly out of confusion.

“And she most likely identifies with the abandonment issues of the girl in the book, and having to be independent at a young age,” Spencer added, a light in his eyes shone like the stereotypical picture of a lightbulb turning on when an idea was formed.

Morgan glanced at Spencer. “Reid, didn’t the senator have a daughter?”

You watched them as they spoke, unsure if this was even new information to them or something they were reciting to jog their own memories of the case.

“So, wait, was I helpful?” you asked a little self-consciously, looking around, seeing the mess of bright yellow children's books on the floor.

Spencer nodded, his excitement bubbling over. “Yes, yes, your brain is unbelievable! Thank you so much.” Without thinking, he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you in a brief but firm hug. You felt him stiffen slightly, his germaphobe instincts clearly battling his enthusiasm, but he didn’t pull away immediately. You knew he didn’t do handshakes, so the thought of him hugging you felt even more abnormal. His voice was soft as he added, “I mean it.”

Before you could respond, Morgan cleared his throat, a teasing grin on his face. “Alright, Romeo, we’ve got to get moving.”

Spencer stepped back quickly, fumbling with his feet. “Right, of course.”

You hesitated, looking up at Spencer’s flushed face, before softly hurrying to ask, “Are our plans for New Year’s Eve still on?”

He grinned, walking away. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

–––––––––––––––––––––––

Spencer did miss it. Or in thirty-two minutes he would. He watched the clock on the wall in his hospital room with an anxious feeling. The fragments from a bullet had just been removed from his arm, and yet his biggest worry wasn’t the lingering ache in his arm—it was you.

“Your first date with her was supposed to be in a park at midnight? Do you realize how creepy that sounds?” Prentiss’s voice broke through his thoughts as Morgan had just explained why the first word they heard from Spencer as they had been allowed to enter his hospital room was your name.

“Could you stop yelling at me while I’m literally in a hospital bed?” Spencer shot back. He wasn’t one to complain, and he could hear the humor in her voice, but if he were to complain, now wouldn’t be an awful time.

Morgan leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, an amused smile playing on his lips. “They’re both insomniacs and were going to watch the fireworks. It’s sort of sweet.”

They hadn’t been able to just get the unsub when they figured out who it was. It had taken them days to plan their attack, knowing that the daughter would kill her father if they ambushed the place. A senator being killed because they had rushed their strategy wasn’t a defense that would hold up in any internal investigation.

So they waited and waited, mapping out the place where he had been taken, trying to get the daughter to leave. But she persisted, and an ambush was in the end the best choice anyway. Spencer hadn’t been shot directly. The daughter’s boyfriend had fired a shot, landing in the wall behind him, which left fragments flying all over. Some grazing his right arm, leaving it now fully bandaged. He’d also managed to hit his head on a beam while being lead out of the building afterwards, so he had three stitches on his forehead and blood in his hair.

It wasn’t as dramatic as it sounded. He’d been through worse. Which was why he now felt restless in the hospital bed, just waiting to be discharged. He wouldn’t make it in time to see you anyway, but maybe he could at least call you and tell you what had happened so that you didn’t wait outside in the cold for him.

He didn’t even have his phone on him, now that he thought of it. Or your number.

Restless and impossible, the situation was.

He had Prentiss, Morgan, Rossi, and Garcia all in his room. Just restlessly waiting too. Hotch was somewhere talking to a nurse about getting him out of here. Garcia was anxiously knitting. Rossi was half asleep while standing. Prentiss and Morgan were bickering about whether or not his date plans were cute or creepy. There was a radio in his room playing some sort of New Year’s program, almost taunting him by mentioning how time was closing up on the clock striking midnight. Some sort of reverse Cinderella, that was what he felt like.

With a slow knock on the doorframe, Hotch announced that he was back. “They don’t know when they can release you, and, uhm…” he began, poised as usual, though he was fighting a smile. “Look who I stumbled upon in the reception,” he continued, stepping aside as you appeared in the doorway.

It was probably all over the news that the senator case had been solved and that officers and agents had been harmed in the process. And you listened to the news, like religiously.

“You got shot…” you whispered, your voice trailing off as you took in the sight of him, pale but upright in the hospital bed.

“Oh, oh, is this her?” Prentiss asked as the entire unit watched as you entered the room.

They already knew your name. Now they knew what you looked like too.

You were all done up. Date ready. For Spencer. You had on a black coat, covered in little snowflakes from being outside, but underneath he could spot a dress that sparkled like diamonds. You had red ribbons in your hair like usual and your Converse, squeaking from being wet against the hospital floors. No tights, and while Spencer worried you might be cold, he also knew from Garcia that you just couldn’t wear tights with certain dresses.

“You’re gorgeous,” Garcia said, practically swooning. She nudged Spencer playfully. “Spencer, she’s gorgeous.”

Rossi stepped forward, clapping a hand on Garcia’s shoulder. “Maybe we should give them some time alone.”

Hotch, ever the professional and hopeless romantic, nodded. “We’ll be down the hall if you need anything, Reid.”

“Or pressed up against the door to eavesdrop,” Garcia added, earning a pointed look from Hotch as they all filed out, leaving you and Spencer alone.

The door shut with a click behind you as you stood flat on your feet in the middle of the room. You looked almost scared to move.

“We were supposed to go on a date, and you got shot, Spencer.”

The words left your mouth in nothing but shock. You didn’t even have time to be embarrassed over his colleagues being there and almost making fun of the situation because all you had in your head was the ringing sound of a gun firing and Spencer being the target.

“I’m okay, I promise,” he reassured gently, reaching out his unharmed arm to you.

You tentatively moved forward, almost in an inspective manner, seeing where he was hurt and not. With his hand reached out in your direction, you assumed he was fine with you touching it. You grabbed it gently, and Spencer spotted that your nails were just as sparkly as your dress.

“You. Got. Shot.” You emphasized every word, scooting to sit on the side of his bed. “Like a bullet penetrating your skin kind of shot. That’s insane.”

“It didn’t actually penetrate the skin, more like grazed me with fragments after it hit the wall behind me,” Spencer tried to explain. The bandage looked dramatic but all that was under it were scratches, basically.

“But still—” you began, but he cut you off.

“You look very pretty.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Don’t change the subject.”

“But you do. I like you in red,” he insisted, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“I always wear red,” you pointed out.

“And I guess I always like you then,” he replied simply.

You tilted your head, a teasing grin forming. “Did they give you something strong for the pain? What kind of smooth talking is this?”

“I, uh— I got nothing for the pain, y’know—” He gestured vaguely.

“Drugs and that?” you filled in.

“Yeah.”

You didn’t press further. He figured you understood. Not that you had talked about it more than briefly. But you were sober, and he was sober, and breaking a sober streak even in a hospital setting was nothing easy. The pain from the fragments being removed was only temporary. The aftermath of any sort of prescription painkiller was a long-term thing for people like him. And maybe you.

In silence, Spencer moved to the side of the bed, a way of notifying you that you could come sit higher up beside him. He hadn’t let go of your hand since you grabbed his, and when you scooted to sit so that your right arm touched his left one, he felt himself tense up at the closeness. While you still had your coat on, it was like a fire spread through it to his hospital gown and in turn his skin.

You toed off your shoes, kicking them on the floor, as you lifted your legs to place them alongside his. “So, was it the daughter? Did she shoot you?” you asked, turning to look at him with wonder in your eyes.

“Her boyfriend did. Helicopter pilot, by the way,” Spencer answered, gaze stuck on how your hand held his, perched in his lap over a thin blanket.

Your eyebrows shot up. “No fucking way. I was right?”

“You’re smarter than you realize,” he replied, his tone earnest.

You looked like a child on Christmas with the way happiness spread across your face. A happiness of being right, not over the situation. That was a given.

“It was the same old tale about a rich man abandoning his child and them later seeking financial compensation for it, thinking they’re entitled to their parents wealth after they’ve practically been left to live on the streets,” Spencer explained. Journalists would’ve figured out the motive as soon as it was public that is was the daughter, so he didn’t think he was breaking any protocol by telling you.

“And those are the good kind of senators,” you quipped, earning a small laugh from Spencer. You could see that his tired body didn’t react particularly well to the sudden vibration in his chest.

Your hand dropped his, only momentarily to soothingly caress his chest. He moved to hold yours again, keeping his held against his ticking heartbeat. You were so close.

The second he could think that, you whipped your head around at the sound of a thud. It was outside, a flashing light coming through the window.

“Oh my god, you can see the fireworks from here too,” you whispered, jaw dropped.

Spencer turned his head, following your gaze. Bright colors lit up the night sky, faint booms audible even through the thick hospital walls. Both hands on the clock were on twelve.

“It’s also a lot warmer in here than the park would’ve been,” Spencer mused, squeezing your hand in his.

He could almost feel you relax as you watched the colorful explosions go off in the night sky. You leaned into his side, the side of your face carefully placed on his shoulder. In this cold, sterile hospital room, you filled him with tepidity. He glanced down at your face; cute was the only word that came to mind. The subjective Spencer-esque way of defining it. You had silver glitter on your eyelids that twinkled whenever you blinked. Your lips had been glossy but were now mostly bitten raw from being anxious.

Spencer could only think of one thing as he took you in.

“Would you mind me becoming part of your microbiome?” he whispered.

You blinked, startled by the question, looking right up at him. He hadn’t even wanted to shake your hand when he introduced himself that first time. But kissing was, according to him, more sanitary anyway. You hadn’t been nervous for a kiss since you were in high school, yet this paralyzed you. It was terrifying, looking at him, feeling an invisible force pulling you towards him, towards his face, towards his lips.

“W-what if some bacteria from Cody Parker becomes a part of you now?” you joked, buying time to collect yourself.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he replied easily, his face now dangerously close to yours.

Your breath caught as he closed the distance, his lips meeting yours. You were both tentative at first, his hand still holding yours clasped over his chest. With your other hand, you pushed his hair from the side of his face, cradling his cheek as you deepened the kiss, touch by touch.

Spencer had never had a New Year’s kiss before. He wasn’t sure this was considered one either. The clock was probably 12:07 if he were to estimate.

From the hallway, Garcia’s voice could be heard through the door. “Oh my god, he kissed her.”

“Shut up, Garcia, I’m trying to see,” Prentiss whispered harshly.

You pulled back, laughter bubbling up as Spencer’s cheeks flushed deep red. Despite his embarrassment, a shy smile lingered on his face. The fireworks outside continued, unnoticed by the two of you, as you leaned in to kiss him again.

–––––––––––––––––––––––

The apartment was quiet as you stepped inside, the muffled hum of the city beyond the windows the only sound accompanying your footsteps. Spencer moved carefully, his movements stiff and hesitant from the pain radiating from his arm. Two pairs of Converse stood on his doormat. One pair of simple black ones. Another pair of smaller, red ones.

“You need to shower, Spencer. There’s coagulated blood in your hair,” you said, setting his bag down on the floor before reaching up to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear, it all sticking together in a knot.

He groaned softly, glancing toward the bathroom, then at the inviting sight of his bed just a little bit further down the hallway. “When I, for once, feel like I could fall asleep just looking at a bed?”

You crossed your arms, giving him a pointed look.

“No, you’re right. I just—” He hesitated. “How am I going to do it with this on my arm?”

“I’ll help you,” you offered immediately, then Spencer could see the realization hit you. “O-or maybe we can call Morgan, or someone else that you trust—”

His face twisted in mock horror. “I’d rather die than have Morgan wash my hair.”

“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, firmer than intended.

“You don’t have to pretend around me.” Your expression softened. “When was the last time you were naked in front of someone?”

His eyes widened, and he stammered. “Ehm, I—”

“Never?” you asked, far from in the teasing manner he was used to.

“Do doctors count?” he muttered, his face flushed.

“Okay,” you said, putting your hands together, stepping back slightly. “We’ll work around this to make you comfortable. Do you have swim shorts?”

“Yeah, that could work.”

Spencer retreated into his bedroom while he saw you go into the bathroom. It wasn’t easy for him to get out of his clothes and into the shorts, but he managed in the end. He spotted himself in his full-length mirror just as he was about to exit the bedroom. Tall and scrawny. Bandaged all over his right arm. Dressed in light blue shorts with flamingoes on them that Garcia had gotten him, as a joke he thought or she could have been completely serious. You never knew.

This was about to be the closest he’d been to another person while wearing so little clothing. And that was terrifying. No other word for it. It didn’t matter that you had kissed. Twice at the hospital. Once in the taxi home. Another small one as you helped him unlock his front door. Still terrifying.

It wouldn’t get easier the longer he waited, so he stepped out of his bedroom, too self-conscious to look at you, already rambling before you even noticed him.

“Don’t laugh, Garcia bought them for me when we had a case in Florida—”

“They’re cute,” you simply said, sat on the edge of his bathtub.

When he lifted his gaze to see you, you’d also changed. Or maybe undressed was a better word. Your dress was gone, and left were a pair of spandex shorts he imagined you had on under for comfort and warmth, maybe? And your bra. A simple black bra.

“You—” Spencer couldn’t form a sentence.

“I thought I’d make it even,” you shrugged, standing up. “Can you get in the tub without hurting yourself further?”

Spencer pressed his lips together to keep his posture. He nodded, as he at least though he’d be able to sit down on his own. But no. His balance betrayed him as he had both feet down on the porcelain, trying to lower himself down into a cross-legged position.

You were there within seconds, your hands trying to help him from falling. With an ungracious thud, he was sat down.

You sat halfway on the edge of the tub, turning the water on, waiting for it to get warm. As you did, you reached to comb through his hair with your fingers, but he stopped you before you got the chance.

“Just wait,” he said quickly, putting his hands up so that you couldn’t touch him. “For a second, will you?”

“Cause you’ll pop a boner if I touch you now?” you teased, shockingly how easy dirty words fell from your mouth.

A baffled laugh escaped him. “You’re so…”

“Rude?”

“Honest,” he replied. “I’ve been having a hard time keeping it together since you kissed me.”

“Nuh-uh, you kissed me,” you shot back with a grin. “You’re a good kisser, by the way.”

Spencer didn’t say another word as you started to wash his hair. Feeling slightly pathetic, he sat there in the bathtub, water falling from his head like a wet dog. He didn’t know how to make the situation less awkward, so he just accepted the way it was.

At least it was comfortable, having your fingers untangle his hair and massage his scalp with shampoo. When you were done, you helped him stand up, handing him a towel, but not before quite obviously eyeing his body up and down.

“You’ve turned pink all the way to your stomach,” you pointed out, and before Spencer could react, you added, “Don’t worry, it’s hot,” like that would make it any easier for him to process.

Later, Spencer was sitting on the edge of his bed, his damp curls sticking to his forehead as you helped him dry his hair. You moved gently, careful not to jostle his injured arm.

He’d been able to change into a t-shirt and pajama pants on his own, with you trying to hold in your laughter from the other side of his bedroom door when he would stumble and hit his shin on his bed frame due to the lack of balance he had with only one working arm.

“I can sleep here, right?” you said, tossing the towel into his hamper of dirty laundry. “It’s like 3 a.m. and I totally get if you wanna throw me out—”

“I want you to sleep here,” he said softly, looking up at you. “With me.”

No words left your mouth, but the smile that cracked through was unmistakable. He gave you a t-shirt to sleep in, something with an old college logo on it, and then he watched as you swiftly removed your bra from underneath it, like magic.

He settled under the covers, making room for you on the side where he didn’t have his injured arm. Spencer hadn’t shared a bed like this with anyone before, so to say he was surprised when you laid beside him, snuggling into his side like you’d done it a million times before, would be an understatement.

“Am I hurting you?” you mumbled, your head resting in the crook of his neck.

“No, not at all,” Spencer squeaked out, trying to find a natural spot for his hand under your body.

As you took in his room, your gaze landed on his nightstand, and your breath caught. Sitting neatly on the surface were three copies of War and Peace. One was pristine, the Russian copy you’d gifted him. Beside it was a well-worn English version, its pages annotated and creased. And then there was… another Russian copy, similarly worn and filled with notes.

Your hand rested lightly on his chest as you began to laugh. “You—” you started, glancing up at him with a soft smile. “You only loaned it from the library to talk to me.”

Spencer’s gaze flickered between you and the nightstand as he realized that you had realized. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered with a smile.

You chuckled a little, reaching up to kiss his cheek before relaxing back down again. He’d been so tired before, as were you. But now it was like he could feel every nerve in his body, running through him like electricity. Just because you were here with him.

“Is it—” Spencer whispered, unsure where his words would lead him. “Is it weird to sleep in the same bed as someone without having experienced the sexual aspect that is usually the reason couples share a bed for the first time?”

Shit, he’d called you a couple. Maybe not directly, but definitely indirectly—

“No, not at all,” you hummed against him. “Do you think it’s weird?”

“I haven’t exactly done this before, so everything feels new and weird.”

You looked up at him through heavy lashes, makeup-free and squeaky clean. “Most men that I’ve been with never made me feel like a woman—like a ladylike presence they cherished. I’d sleep with them too quickly and they’d get bored, or I wouldn’t put up with it, and they’d call me a prude.”

Your voice sounded fragile in a way he’d never heard before. He’d picked up on little things where he assumed you weren’t exactly inexperienced, but the fact that experience could be something bad wasn’t necessarily something he’d thought about before.

“Whatever this is, whatever weird order we are doing stuff in, feels better than anything I’ve ever felt before when it comes to love,” you continued, stuffing your face back in his neck to hide.

Shit, you’d said the word love. Not even indirectly, like fully pronounced it, no mumbles.

“It’s not a dry spell if you’ve never done it, by the way,” you joked, and he melted at the sound even though you were trying to embarrass him. “You’ve never gotten it wet for it to become dry.”

Spencer stared up at the ceiling, biting his lip. “Can you not make fun of me?”

“I’ve used sex as a coping mechanism all my life, allow me to be a little amused about someone going over 25 years without it.” You gently laughed again. “It’s sort of sweet.”

On the side of your body, you found his unarmed arm placed all limp. With a bold move, you intertwined your fingers with his, taking both of them up to place against your chest. He was now embracing you, and he couldn’t even begin to think about the soft, ample flesh that could be found under your t-shirt.

He let out a faint groan, mumbling, “You’re not making it any better.”

Your expression softened further as you tilted your head, meeting his eyes. “We’ll get to it,” you said, your voice low and steady, “when or if we both feel like it. Don’t stress about it, okay? I don’t care.”

Spencer swallowed, his eyes darting to yours before quickly flickering away. His voice came out quiet, uncertain. “That’s something—” He hesitated, his brows furrowing as he searched for the words. “Is that something you’d want to do with me?”

You smiled, kissing his cheek again. “You just indirectly called us a couple, and I mentioned the word love, so don’t act clueless. I know you’re not.”

His face turned a deeper shade of pink, and he ducked his head, letting it rest on his pillow as the ceiling yet again became very interesting. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt warm. He felt at home in your presence, no matter how foreign it was. His hand was still grasping yours, tucked against your chest. He could feel you fiddling with his fingers.

“Can’t sleep?” Spencer asked after a long moment of silence.

“I like ’em,” you murmured, lifting his hand to kiss his knuckles.

“My hands?” he wondered tiredly.

“I like everything about you,” you answered simply before closing your eyes.

Can we all pretend I posted this on New Years? Yes? Thank you. And thank you for reading. Title and beginning quote is from Purple by Wunderhorse btw <3

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #mgg #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #spencer reid imagine

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collegetennisoriginstory · 1 month ago

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Idk if this has been asked before but is CT:OS a standalone game or will there be sequels?

Haha. It absolutely depends on whether I can continue writing interactive fiction for the next 2 years, 4 years, or way more. Finances and whether I end up writing full-time somehow are a big factor, as is interest/burn out :)

If I've only got another 2 years in me, likely CT:OS is a stand-alone game.

If I've got 4 years, probably substantial DLC content using some of the ideas in PT:OS (below) but I've got so many other games/plots I want to try my hand at.

If I've got way more years in me... definitely a CT:OS sequel (or two, to be exact). TLDR above the cut, long ramble below the cut.

Pro Tennis: Origin Story

Where MC is 4 or so years out of college, has turned pro, and has risen slowly, painstakingly through the challenger tour ranks, and is now trying to break into the Top 50. At their age, it's probably a make-it or break-it period, as if they don't succeed then, they'll probably never succeed.

While CT:OS is about found family and coming of age and pursuing one's dreams, which I love, I'd want PT:OS to be about losing faith in one's dreams or one's talent, wondering if their sacrifices are worth it, wondering if one's actually good enough (or crazy enough), building a family of people who are firmly in your player's box (who has faith in you even when you don't have faith in yourself.)

More about PT:OS

Choose what happened to their relationships after college and after the first couple of years on tour (I love writing exes: e.g. broke up in college or breaking up fresh out of college cause the tennis road-life/ambition etc. killed the relationship)

Additional stats to balance like money/sponsorships/media presence/fame, and just... normal adult struggles like cooking for yourself, doing your own laundry, booking your hotel rooms, making ends meet (see elaboration below)

I want to write a story about being in a long dark tunnel, wondering if one should keep pushing, keep grinding, keep sacrificing their life and youth and sanity and relationships for this insane dream of being a tennis player

I'd probably keep the original cast of ROs, but introduce maybe 2 more? Perhaps a celebrity e.g. actor/musician (we all know how those love to flock around tennis players, but only famous ones), and maybe one's coach for spiciness?

As someone whose favourite part of Challengers was not, in fact, Zendaya's hotness (gasp, blasphemy) and instead, the scene where Patrick Zweig's character is struggling to find a hotel room for the night & starving & desperate for calories, I really want to make a game where the player not only has to deal with playing tennis, but also all the other practical life bits that need to align in order for a Top 200 or Top 100 player to become a Top 50 player.

Like yes, there's the Nadals and the Williams sisters and even the Nishikoris (who never quite lived up to their potential) but what of the players whose names you've never even heard of?

I'm interested in class (how only rich people get to tough it out / stick it out for years without significant sponsorships) and also race/gender/sexuality and how that coalesces with finances and media presence etc.. and also how mediocre players scrounge together a team to support them, plus of course the emotional toll of always being on the road (and always being exhausted) without ever seeing much of a pay-off until they crack some invisible threshold of 'greatness'.

Finally, the trilogy would probably be rounded out with a final game.

Third game (no idea what the name would be)

MC is older, maybe 30? And has suffered some career-ending event (injury, horrific tailspin drop-off) after winning a grand slam, perhaps seeking one final shot at proving to the world that they do have what it takes to be a champion, a legend to be remembered as someone who isn't just a one-slam pony.

Themes explored would be:

Age (when is it too late to hang up one's boots?) and still feeling like you've got what it takes even though the world's telling you you're past your prime, the limits of physicality

Trying to rebuild something that has been broken, when everyone's telling you that it'll never be fixed

Leaving a legacy, fame, self-worth (figuring out what to do when one is stripped of something that has been a guiding star)

Maybe even addiction?

If you read all of that, wow, I'm impressed, and yep, that's what I'd foresee for CT:OS. A trilogy, if I've got it in me.

RO speculations:

Tobin could even become one's physical trainer or nutritionist/physiotherapist, though maybe that's a bit of a stretch.

Sam could become world's most biased sports podcaster/journalist

Rayyan continues as MC's rival/(possible lover)

G is ... still adamantly Not Part of the Tennis World even though they attend every game?

What do you guys think?

#ct:os #college tennis: origin story #if #interactive fiction #asks #sequel #CT:OS sequel

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2hightocare · 1 year ago

Text

LOVE WAGER! 01

Synopsis: Meeting a crazy stranger who cuts in line, tries to tell you love like the books doesn’t exist—it’s whatever. You won’t ever see him again… right?

Pairings: jungkook x fem!reader

Genre: college au. strangers to friends to lovers. forced proximity.

Warnings: mentions of divorce parents, Jungkook lowkey being insufferable, banter, cussing, a little bit of them being enemies, nicknames, oc being a hopeless romantic at heart, Jungkook being lowkey a cynic… them meeting each other so many times, choking!

a/n: first chapter out!! Woohoo, I’ve been keeping them close to my heart for quite some time. Ever since I listened to “in between” by Gracie Abrams.. I was inspired to write them—the song is so them coded.💌

★ masterlist!

3 years ago…

You were a hopeless romantic.

Most people called it being delusional— by people, you mean the random stranger in front of you.

The first time you met Jungkook, not only did he cut in front of you in line, but he also started shit-talking about how delusional you had to be to think romance books were even remotely comparable to real life.

The line at the cupcake shop was long. You had been wanting to try the new chocolate-covered strawberry flavor from your favorite cupcake shop in the city. The shop was always full, but today it was packed to the bone— the line almost reached outside the door. The people sitting at the cute pastel-colored tables were even leaving because the space was getting so crowded.

It was a Friday, and you had just left school. Your black backpack hung loosely over one shoulder as you stared down at your phone, trying not to die playing Subway Surfers. When your phone died, you internally groaned.

You mentally rolled your eyes before looking forward, where the line was starting to move faster. You were probably the fourth person in line, which was good since you'd only been there for around twenty minutes. You slipped your phone into the back pocket of your jeans before reaching for the zipper of your backpack—pulling out the latest book you hadn’t finished reading amidst all the assignments teachers had been bombarding you with. You thought it was dumb, considering it was your senior year in high school—why not just let you off easy?

You zipped up your backpack before slipping it on, tucking in the small hair that fell into your face when you opened your book. You moved forward as the line advanced, not bothered by the conversations from everyone around you—it was like your own brown noise, which you usually looked up on YouTube whenever you wanted to act like the main character in a movie.

Romance books were your thing. The same went for movies; you loved a good romantic story with the most cliché plot in the world—it did it for you every single time.

Your dad had tried getting you into self-help books, fiction books, or even those thriller books where you had to guess who kills who. He would back this up with actually learning something from reading a book, and you tried all those genres, you really did. You were the most specific girl there could be; if the book didn't impress you within one chapter, you closed it and moved on.

You were basically in love with the idea of love, imagining someone doing all those things you had seen in movies and read about, which filled you with hope that someone could care and love you that way. Yes, you believed in soulmates; you believed that someone, somewhere in this world, was destined to be with you, no matter the circumstances. You believed that if two people were destined for each other, they would find a way to each other, one way or another.

“Hi, baby, you still haven’t ordered? The line is so fucking long.” A strange boy, who looked around your age or maybe slightly older due to his eyebrow piercing, spoke up. He had a navy blue cap with the Yankees logo on the front, and you could see small pieces of his hair. It looked like a dark brown, but at some angles, it looked black, so you thought maybe he dyed it. He was cute, with a sharp jaw and dimples, which you immediately noticed when they showed on his left cheek as he bit his lip, waiting for you to reply.

“I’m sorry—“ you started, only to be cut off by him. “I've been meaning to show you this, babe.” He cut you off before basically shoving his phone into your face. His phone showed his notes app open with a text that read, ‘Please act like you know me so I can cut in line; it’s so long, and I have somewhere to be.’

Your brows furrowed at the pleading guy. You had no clue what his name was, but he looked like he was seriously about to lose his mind if he had to wait another minute in line. You shook your head before nodding— a smile burst on his face.

“Thank you,” he mouthed to you, to which you only shrugged before closing your book. “What flavor are you getting, lovebug?” He said, his nose scrunching in disgust at what he just said. A small laugh escaped your lips since that was the cringiest shit you had heard all day, maybe even all week if you didn’t count your dad trying to write you a poem about his love for your cat.

“I want to get the new chocolate-covered strawberry flavor. What about you?” You said, your fingers fidgeting with the pages of your closed book. His eyes dropped to your hands as you moved up in line, now second in line.

“Is that your book?” He said instead of replying to your question. “Yeah, do you read?” A spike of excitement was clear in your face and voice, only to be squashed when he opened his mouth.

“Do you actually believe anything in there is remotely realistic?” He said nonchalantly before removing his cap, letting his fluffy hair fall in his face before almost immediately collecting it back, placing his cap backward this time.

“I—“ you stutter, your mouth slightly agape, not knowing how to reply without sounding dumb. Because, yeah, you strongly believed romance books were able to happen in real life if someone loved you enough. “Well.. I mean, love happens anywhere,” you shrug, but he only nods his head in a condescending way. Not only were you helping him skip in line—he was basically criticizing your view on love.

“Well, duh, love happens, but all that cringey shit is the dumbest thing our generation normalized. Like, nobody is going to confess their love with a microphone in the middle of a dance-off,” he scoffs. You didn’t understand why he actually looked like he seriously hated the idea of making gestures for someone you loved or cared about.

“Well, obviously, I find that stupid as well, but there are other gestures to show your appreciation and love for someone.” You turn your whole body to face him. He’s not much taller than you, maybe two inches if you really wanted to know, and the cap maybe added another inch, but that didn’t matter since your eyesight was eye level with his.

“Love is embarrassing,” he says, crossing his arms in front of him. You felt the lady behind you both, her eyes bore into you both, trying to figure out why the supposed couple were fighting about love.

“How is love embarrassing?” You scoff before turning around to look in front of you, at the back of the head of the man who was ordering.

“Because love makes you do embarrassing shit all the time; that’s the easiest way I can put it for you, ribbons,” he replies with a duh tone, raising his eyebrows at you, which you see from your peripheral vision.

“Ribbons?” You turn to him, your arms crossed over your book as you glare at him. “Pink ribbon. Don’t you think you look a little too old to be wearing bows?” A grin appears on his face as he casually points to the pink ribbon tied into a bow in your hair.

“The fuck? Not only did I let you skip the line, but you’re a) talking shit about my favorite genre, and b) making fun of me wearing bows.” You turn your full body to him, which he only raises his hands in defense, as if you had a gun pointed at him.

“Damn, my bad. I thought this was a free country; you know your amendments, right?” He raises an eyebrow at you. “Yes, I fucking know my amendments,” you reply, absolutely annoyed at him bringing history into this.

“Freedom of speech,” he says before walking in front of you to the cashier. You were annoyed, maybe even angry. How dare he talk shit and say freedom of speech when you just did him a favor.

“He cut in front of me,” you point to him as you tell on him to the cashier, his jaw dropping to the floor. “Did you just tell on me? What the fuck,” he side-eyes you as you just shrugged.

“I respectfully need to ask you to go to the back of the line,” the cashier says, shooting you an apologetic look. You bite on the inside of your cheek to contain the smile that is threatening to slip out, as he sends you a mocking face, which you return, because apparently, you both were literal children. He rolled his eyes before he walked off.

2 years ago..

The second time you met Jungkook, you almost died due to choking on your coke.

You and your best-friend, Amelia, sat in a booth, munching on pizza, while you hear her ramble about the latest drama on campus.

“I can’t believe he cheated on her. I was so shocked, like I couldn’t believe he would do that after he literally gave her a promise ring—I heard it was expensive as well, bro,” Amelia said, stuffing a French fry in her mouth.

Amelia and you had been best friends since your freshman year at Preston University. She ended up in your dorm room by mistake, until security escorted her to her corresponding room. You both even had your calculus class together, which ended in both of you ripping your hair out because you truly had no clue what the professor was talking about.

“Oh my god, you’re lying!” you gasped, taking a bite of your folded pizza. “Alexandra said she didn’t care, but apparently, she was crying at the frat party we were supposed to go to yesterday,” Amelia said, pressing her lips together with wide eyes. As you were about to reply, she gasped.

“Holy shit, babes, don’t turn around, but there’s this fine-ass guy behind you,” she said. Without thinking you turned your whole body to look at the guy she was talking about.

“Or just turn your whole body, I don't care,” she added, rolling her eyes.

“Wait, who?” you asked, staring at the group of boys in front of you. They were all cute, just not your type whatsoever. “He just turned around, so you can’t see his face, but the one with the black beanie,” Amelia whispered to you as she took a sip of her Dr Pepper.

As you stared at the back of the boy who was engrossed in a conversation with his friend, a loud laugh escaped his lips before he threw his head back, letting you catch a glimpse of his face.

“Oh, fuck, his laugh is hot as fuck as well,” Amelia said behind you, chewing on her crispy fries. “Do you think he has a girlfrien—“ The words melted from your mouth as the beanie boy turned around. “Yeah, he definitely has a girlfriend,” Amelia said nonchalantly, clearly not catching how your eyes widened, as you both stare at the boy who had cut in front of you in line three years ago.

He was taller, much taller, and he was built—you could tell even from his oversized long-sleeve shirt. As much as you wanted to disagree, he was undeniably attractive. The eyebrow piercing was still there, but it somehow looked better than when you first saw it.

“Ribbons?” he said, pointing at you with a chuckle, making you flinch for absolutely no reason. Amelia looked between both of you, trying to read the room.

“Mr. anti-romantic?” You fired back, a huge smile breaking out on his face before he excused himself from his friend group and made his way to your booth. “I see you got a nickname for me... I feel honored,” he said, pressing a palm to his heart dramatically before shooting a nod at Amelia, who waved with a small smile on her face.

You just rolled your eyes. He was the most childish person you had ever met, and that says a lot since this was only the second time you'd ever spoken to him. “I wouldn’t be so honored,” you mumbled, shooting him a tight-lipped smile as he shook his head with a low chuckle.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Amelia said out of nowhere, both you and the unknown boy's heads snap to the side as a smirk makes it’s way to his mouth, while you throw daggers at Amelia with your eyes for her blunt question. “I doubt he would ever hav—“ you start, only to be rudely interrupted by none other than Mr. anti-romantic himself.

“I actually do, and I was just about to meet her here, but I saw your friend and just had to come and say hello,” he said to your best friend, all while wearing a condescending smile.

“Oof, I feel bad for her,” you shrugged, before placing the straw of your clear cup in your mouth and sipping on your coke.

“Eh, she says I’m a pretty good boyfriend, not a hopeless romantic like someone I know,” he said, watching your eyes meet his before you tilted your head in a mocking way, which he picked up immediately.

“I wonder how you even got her to say yes to you,” you bit back, your eyes maintaining contact with his, not wanting to be the first to break it. But he was too good at it; you almost felt like crumbling into a ball from how intense his stare was.

“I guess you could say there are more ways to please a woman without love letters,” he said nonchalantly. You choked on your coke as the liquid went down the wrong pipe, making you start having a coughing attack.

His and Amelia’s eyes widened as Amelia immediately swatted the man who was right beside you. His hand made contact with your arm, raising it up in the air.

“The fuck are you doing?” Amelia said aggressively, side-eyeing him, as you basically died in front of their wondering eyes. You really didn’t expect him to just talk about his sexual life so openly without a care. You would want to crawl into a hole if your boyfriend ever talked about your private moments like that to anyone.

“My mom said if you put someone’s hand up, it makes your cough go away. I don’t fucking know! I’m not a doctor,” he shot back at your best friend as he raised your arm in the air. Your cough slightly disappeared as you tapped on your chest as if that would do anything to stop it.

“Are you good?” Amelia said as she basically hovered over the table. You felt the whole dinner's eyes on you as you tried to recover from the insane coughing fit you just had. “Y-yeah, fuck,” you coughed, your arms still up in the air from his hold. “I almost for real thought you were about to die. I already imagined myself behind bars,” he said, rubbing his unoccupied hand through his face with a sigh.

“Now I’m hoping I actually died,” you said, yanking your arm away from his grasp.

“We’re leaving, Amelia. Let’s go,” you said, standing up, collecting your jacket and bag, and pushing him out of the way, standing up beside him.

He hovered over you; you almost wanted to jump up to reach his height, but you were already embarrassed enough. So instead, you fixed your denim skirt before looking up at him.

“Well, it was so not nice to see you again, and hopefully we don’t get to meet again, Mr. anti-romantic. Goodbye,” you said as you sent him a fake smile his way.

You pulled on Amelia’s hand before she could say anything and walked out of the dining room without looking back at the boy who was standing in the same place, watching the girl he almost witnessed pass away by choking on coke from him even remotely bringing up sex.

A small chuckle left past his lips as he made his way to the table where his friends were seated.

“Dude, what the fuck happened? Why was that pretty girl coughing like crazy?” Taehyung said, eyeing the door through which you had just left.

Jungkook didn’t know why his heart picked up when his best friend called you pretty. He wasn’t blind; you were beautiful. When he first met you, you both were obviously much younger. If it wasn’t for how much you had grown into your face and the braces you once had were long gone, it would’ve been your aura that gave it away. You were more outspoken, which kinda took him back but sent a sense of excitement through his body.

“No clue. Just some girl I met in my senior year... kinda taken aback I ran into her again,” Jungkook said before picking up the menu from the table, looking for what food he should order. “Maybe it’s fate, bro,” Namjoon teased, which made Jungkook drop his menu on the table.

“You guys know all that shit is bullshit, right? It was just a coincidence. I’ll probably never see her again after this,” Jungkook rolled his eyes, leaning backward onto the booth and crossing his arms in front of him defensively.

“Whatever you say, champion,” Hoseok whistled as he called the waitress.

Jungkook's brain immediately canceled out the noise as he started running through all the possible scenarios that would leave you both at the same place at the same time. His body shook from the possibility of it being fate; he hated the idea of the answer being anything besides actual proven fact. He didn’t care how cynical he might sound; he had trusted so many people in his life, including his parents, who always preached about love and honesty. But flash forward to him having to skip around each house of his parents every weekday and weekend. He hated how he believed them when they said love can get through everything. Absolutely not—divorce.

He just imagined your perfect household, two parents at the same home who still say ‘I love you’ to each other every chance they get. You get to read your books in your living room without a fight breaking out out of nowhere just because someone forgot to throw the trash out.

Love didn’t exist in his eyes. He believed in mutual respect. He doesn’t believe in the whole crazy in love charade. His girlfriend Haneul didn’t really want the whole whispering cute things in each other's ears or dancing under the moon either, and that’s why he chose her.

Plus, he wasn’t an asshole when it came to love when it came to other people. Did he want to ruin their moment and tell them they wouldn’t last? Yes—but he never does.

He saw how broken his mom was after the divorce. He thought about the idea of love and if someone came to love you, you would do anything in your power to not hurt them. It had been five years since his parents’ divorce, and everyone seemed to have moved on perfectly, while Jungkook watched how his perspective of love changed drastically over time.

He was glad that you didn’t have to go through what he had to go through, given your obvious naivety. That was entirely the only reason he shit-talked about love when he first met you, which was the most jackass move he could’ve done, especially after you let him skip the line. But after you told on him to the cashier like a little child, he was thinking of actually tackling you.

Either way, it didn’t matter for him to be worrying or thinking about you in the first place, when he didn’t even know your name. Plus, he would never see you again, that’s for sure.

Present day..

Psychology class was your number one nemesis. You literally begged the counselor to let you have another class that wasn’t psychology. Not only did he laugh, but he said it would do you good. In your mind, he basically called you crazy—maybe you did need the class after all.

As you huffed and puffed to your last class of the day, you fixed your glasses on your face and tightened the high ponytail with the white ribbon that matched the outfit Amelia helped you pick out. You pushed open the door to the class and were greeted by half-empty seats and no professor, giving you the option to choose where you sat.

You were a middle-seat row girl, unable to see far away without your glasses. You also avoided sitting too close to the front, fearing teachers would call on you.

As you took a seat in the chair, a body sat beside you without a word. You didn’t even care to look as you took out your laptop from your backpack, worrying about how this year’s professor might be. You had heard from last year’s students that the teacher might have been the devil’s spawn.

While you were finally seated, you moved your head to your left to see the body next to you engrossed in their phone. Your jaw dropped as you were met with none other than Mr. Anti-Romantic.

“What the actual fuck, are you stalking me or something?” you said, absolutely baffled by how many times you had run into him and from all the empty seats, he decided to sit next to you.

He immediately raised his head from his phone, his eyes widening as he stared at your obviously angry face. “Ribbons? What the actual fuck, I didn’t realize that was you,” he said, throwing his head back in shock.

“You had to know it was me, why else would you sit beside me?” you scoffed, crossing your arms in front of you. He looked the same as the last time you saw him, except now he had a full sleeve of tattoos on his right arm, and the eyebrow piercing was long gone.

Now that he was closer to you, you could see the small mole he had under his lip and the scar on his cheek. His hair was shorter and black, but classroom lights deceived, so maybe it was fully brown, but you didn’t dare to ask.

“Don’t think you’re special, Ribbons. I just can’t see from the back, and in the front, teachers always pick on you to talk in front of the class, and I’m trying to avoid that,” he explained, having the same process as you, but unfortunately, the other half of his brain didn’t process the idea of love.

“Are you sure you have the right class?” you bit out, hoping he had walked into the wrong class and would have to leave immediately. You seriously couldn’t even wrap your head around the fact that he was here and that he went to the same university as you—this being the first time he had seen you around campus.

“Psychology class A65,” he side-eyed you as you rolled your eyes and faced the board, trying your best to ignore his presence.

“You know you can just move to another seat, right?” he said, pointing to all the empty seats beside you. Your head slowly turned to the side to face his face as he gave you a tight-lipped smile.

“Why would I move when I was here first?” you scoffed his way as he shrugged, indicating that he couldn’t care less. “’Cause I truly don’t care, but you obviously seem affected by my presence, so Ribbons, pick your seat,” he pointed to the available seats.

You imagined the easiest way you could kill someone, but tackling him to the ground at this exact moment might bring attention to you both, so you just breathed out of your nose before giving him a fake smile and rolling your eyes.

“I’m not leaving, and for your information, I’m perfectly fine and not bothered by your presence whatsoever,” you said, trying your best to seem as calm and collected as possible.

“For your information…” he mocked beside you, trying to imitate your voice before chuckling. “I swear, Ribbons, I can see smoke coming out of your ears and nose,” he laughed.

“Stop calling me Ribbons,” you gritted your teeth, already at your limit.

“What else do you want me to call you? I don’t know your name, and you’re still wearing ribbons, I can see,” Mr. Anti-Romantic pointed to the white ribbon in your hair. You rolled your eyes before sending his calm, collected figure a scanty smile.

“Y/n,” you said, tilting your head to the side, as if asking him to tell you his name. “I like Mr. Anti-Romantic, not gonna lie,” he bit his lip, trying to contain his laughter as you were about to lose your composure at any moment.

“You aggravate me, and I don’t know why,” you mumbled, hoping he didn’t hear—but he did, loud and clear. “Jeon Jungkook,” he said, and before you could reply, the professor strode in, wearing the weirdest clothes you could imagine.

“She looks like that one crazy Victorious teacher,” he whispered softly, only for you to hear, smugly bending downward so you could hear better. A small laugh left your lips. “Sikowitz?” you whispered back as both of you stared forward at the professor, who was talking about the syllabus. “Yeah, spot the difference: hard level,” he whispered.

You looked down at your hands, trying to hide the amusement on your face.

For the rest of the class, you guys didn’t talk whatsoever, and honestly, you wouldn’t know if he tried, since you were absorbed in whatever Mrs. Calderon was saying.

“So, here’s where you start hating me, I’m giving you guys a project,” she said, leaning on her desk, making the desk creak. You could hear small groans from students around you, but not loud enough for her to hear.

“It will be a partner project, which I chose randomly, and no, I’m not changing them. I want you guys to be able to work with whomever, no matter what,” she said, a sense of dread passing through you.

“I would email each and every one of you what the project is about. It is due at the end of the quarter, so I better not hear, ‘I didn’t have time, Miss,’” Mrs. Calderon said before picking up a sheet of paper.

"Here are the partners, so after class, come and check who your partner is so you can start talking about what you both will do." With that the bell ringing, everyone stood up and rushed to the paper, including yourself. You held tightly onto your backpack strap as you waited for people to move out of the way—half of the people bitched about who they got, they couldn’t possibly be that bad.

Your heart dropped to your ass as you read your name—Jungkook squished beside you, looking for his name, only to find it where your finger was already on.

You got paired up with Jungkook. What kind of fuckery was this?

As Jungkook read "Y/n Y/ln & Jeon Jungkook," he couldn’t believe his eyes. He almost lost his mind when he realized it was you when he sat next to you, but he tried his best to act unaffected. However, this was too much of a "fuck you" sign from the universe—Jungkook didn’t think he did something so horribly to be rewarded like this.

What the fuck were the odds, and how could he scientifically prove that it’s not the universe trying to mess with him?

Taglist💌— @httpjeonlicious @thekookiedealer @somehowukook @taiwan0618 @gwsjungkookie @seokout @sealuv79 @junecat18 @joonsanswer @letjungcoook7 @skzthinker @ahgasegotarmy116recs @ivygguk (I couldn’t add some idk why😓)

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zykamiliah · 11 months ago

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the many ways shen qingqiu loves luo binghe

this was more or less inspired by this post, but because this is gonna be a personal opinion and i don't want to make a thread of it and inadvertently contest with the other two's points, I'm going to make my own post.

so i wanna start saying that "the moment one falls in love" is a trope that's waaaay too overstated. in my opinion. specially because falling in love tends to be something that has to do with romantic love most of the time, and it pretends to establish a sort of timeline, a point of no return, for ships and fictional relationships.

when the stories surrounding the characters are more straightforward, i don't really mind, since it makes sense for there to be an "Oh" moment when the character realizes they are in love. like, we know the moment lbh started to see sqq in a sexual light, and we can roughly add to this that the events of the demon invasion and the nightmare scenario are what sealed the deal for lbh. it helps that he's more honest about his feelings and the sexual awakening had already happened, and we can easily assume that from that point on lbh's feelings have a romantic-sexual side.

it still has other sides... because lbh loves sqq as a shizun, as a parent, and this side of their relationship, the master-disciple and parent-child side, is intrinsic to their dynamic; it's a conflicting element during their prolonged conflict for most of the novel, but at the same time, it's their default when they want to approach each other, it's the "safe zone".

but when it comes to sqq I think it's a much more difficult thing to ask: when does sqq falls in love? when is his Oh moment? Is there one, a conscious realization that he's in love? Can his relationship with lbh be described as "being in love"?

he loved Luo Binghe The Character

—the way a reader loves a favorite character, and fanboyed about him plenty before and after transmigrating. the shadow of what the little sheep he was raising would became was ever-present throughout those first 6 years before their meeting in Jinlan City.

but he loved lbh the character in a fanatical way that wasn't actually real... it was meaningful to him because he liked this fictional character a lot, but it's a safe love from the side of a screen.

he was compelled by lbh the character, by his tragic backstory full of angst, and by the ways lbh the character did things: he "rightfully" took his anger out in the people who'd hurt him and paid back for it tenfold. in a way, sy as a reader was also projecting himself in lbh the character.

in short, he loved the Idea of luo binghe, but not luo binghe as a real person.

he loved Luo Binghe the White Lotus Disciple

—and he loved him like a parent loves a child. yet, as I mentioned, he always kept in mind that this boy would grew up to be a very attractive and sexual man, and thus sqq expected him to have romantic encounters with girls around his age.

i know some people shy away from talking about this because everyone is paranoid about your favorite character being called a pedophile etc etc, but really, sy could be nothing farther from that, and whoever who says that has a very, hmm, wide definition of the word and it's probably just using the buzzword to hate on the character.

the important thing is that, despite sqq being aware that lbh is a potential sexual being and will become very sexually active in the future, he does not in any way sexualize his and lbh's relationship. Like I said, sqq would never abuse his power in that way, and he'd never get it on with someone he sees as a child, his disciple. that lbh is very much viewing their relationship with romantic and sexual lenses is a complete shock for him because of this, along with other reasons and assumptions (that lbh was straight)

the problem here is, precisely, that he treated lbh like a child once, and would go on treating him as a child later, post-holy mausoleum: disregarding lbh's agency, making decisions for him and without asking what lbh wants, since as the parent he obviously Knows Better, and taking responsibility for lbh's "bad behavior". the endless abyss was a decision he made without consulting lbh. he self-detonated because he thought that would be best for everyone, and he intended for his death to (among other things like saving the city and escaping prison) "make up" for his mistakes. in maigu ridge, he almost kills himself again because he thought that would be better for lbh.

he's self-sacrificing, protective, caring, and overall parental/maternal towards lbh, which has it's good and bad sides. for a long time, he loves lbh like a parent loves a child, and though this side of his love for lbh is not lost in the extras, it's lesser in the sense that the power imbalance is nullified, and the parent-child, shizun-disciple side of their relationship turns more into a comforting, safe roleplay that allows them to access intimacy and express their feelings (that infamous "if i was your mother" speech) than the entirety of their relationship.

and the thing is, he always loved and will always love lbh as a parent loves a child. and i think people uncomfortable with this fact have to get around to accepting that lol

he is subconsciously attracted to luo binghe (bingmei) the Man

we all know this part. sqq's descriptions of lbh's beauty are numerous and far too difficult to quote them all, but one that really stands out to me, because it proves the point, is this one:

[Shen Qingqiu] asked, “The important person you’re talking about, was it…a good-looking young man?” When he thought about it, he decided against suppressing his conscience and clarified. “Not just good-looking, he’s very good-looking, especially good-looking. Fair skin, pretty face, tall. He doesn’t smile often, but when he does, it’s exceptionally dark.” chapter 9: borderlands

if he was unaffected by lbh's attractiveness, he wouldn't need to "suppress his conscience" about it. also this description is just... describing lbh's smile from his own pov? a personal feeling? to a stranger? he has it bad.

he's repressing his own feelings, so it's difficult to point to a specific moment as the moment he realizes he's attracted to lbh... because he never has a conscious realization, and he's in constant denial about it. all the way through to the last bingqiu extra, the wedding extra, he'll continue using the same narrative: the Protagonist is Beautiful and Irresistible, so what can sqq do but surrender to him? It's inevitable, really. (hahahaha he can't help but love and be attracted to lbh. it says more about him that he could ever verbalize)

so yeah, sqq really has the hots for lbh the man. but he'll NEVER admit it, he'll never had an Oh moment. Not even when he unconsciously called lbh "husband".

i want to make a clarification: for a character like sqq, who care about his pride and dignity way too much and has internalized homophobia and sexism to the detriment of his own peace of mind and fulfillment, admitting that he enjoys sex is way too shameful. he's never doing it. he mentions being "drunk with lust" in the showdown extra; in the deep dream extra he gets enthusiastic and proactive, initiating sex with lbh himself very smoothly; in the RoC,SoBQ extra he initially asks to do it doggy style and then changes his tune and wants to see lbh's face, DESPITE being embarrassed about it, and his desire is described as wanting the spot inside him to be rammed. all of this are subtle hints of how he really feels about sex, despite his inner struggles with his pride as a man.

another clarification: the way smut is written in western space is not the same as the way is written in chinese novels. for example, some chinese slang put the the top as the one "attacking", as if sex is a sort of fight. there's always this implication that the shou surrenders to the gong. there's a clear distinction of who tops and who bottoms and the roles of husband and wife made by this distinction; pleasure is described differently: phrases like "scalp going numb", "getting goosebumps" are not particular to svsss alone; the way the bodies engaged in the sex act are described, etc. (it IS a different language with a different culture) so it's normal that most of us come out of the extras thinking the smut is not enjoyable for readers or the characters themselves. what is the difference between the mdzs extras and the svsss extras? that wwx, being characterized as a "shameless" person, is very vocal about how he feels during sex. he has no shame around sex, unlike sqq, who is in the opposite side of the shame spectrum.

sqq is still struggling with that part of himself, and personally I think it's very understandable that even until the end of volume 4 he still has a difficult time with it; it's not easy shedding the believes one grows up with.

which bring me to,

he loves luo binghe the Man, "romantically"

—and it's a love that conflates his parental love, his attraction, too, but that starts to develop mostly post-holy mausoleum: it's when the hand-holding starts, somehow, though it develops fulling throughout the extras, when they finally become romantic partners and explore sex together. mxtx traces an arc that starts with the showdown extra, goes through the deep dream extra that has sqq telling lbh that "Tonight I feel like... I live you a great deal" and ends in the wedding extra with sqq calling lbh "husband" unprompted; despite previously agonizing about his loss of face and dignity and the humiliation of it, his actions speak louder than his words and inner thoughts. because of this, functionally, sqq can be read as a tsundere.

but aside from the sex, sqq enjoys domesticity and spending time with lbh; he likes teasing him, conversing with him and going out with him to see the world. post-main novel they're equals in their relationship and treat each other with respect and consideration, even if their shizun-disciple roleplay prevails. by romance definitions, I believe they mostly fit them, even if their relationship is unconventional.

as for when sqq fell in love with lbh? i still don't have a clear answer. he's always loved him; this love evolves through time, bringing him and lbh closer together. personally, i don't think it's not important. sqq loves lbh, and that's what matters.

#svsss #zykamiliah-svsss #bingqiu #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #had this post in my drafts. feel like now is a good time to post it lol

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roobiedo · 2 months ago

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or as the locals call it, the Bug Bus. (pills is bugs?)

squeezing in one last concept sketch for the week hehe

a note on the 'legs' on this guy: technically an isopod has seven pairs of segmented legs, which would've looked really cool and mecha-like in this design too! but i've been spinning the idea of a microbe-inspired vehicle in my head for a while now, and wanted to see what it'd be like if these two concepts were combined. it... kinda works?

the inspiration struck when i was playing a wonderful ttrpg called Wanderhome with a friend, wherein our characters came across a herd of giant isopod 'cows', just chilling, grazing, and rolling around in a wide open field. we could ride on them too! which got me thinking...

in my fictional solarpunk world, i envision 'herds' of these caravans gathered together on a grassy meadow, forming their own sub-communities outside the boundaries of the city. sort of like a car meet, or even a mini mobile town, since these vehicles also serve as an alternative home for those with wanderlust, or who prefer a more nomadic lifestyle. i imagine there aren't that many of these special vehicles, as each one is custom made with their own unique furnishings, aesthetics and quirks. maybe the people there swap homes every once in a while, so everyone gets a chance to experience the different themes each caravan has to offer.

i also think these guys would be great to take on wilderness expeditions! since they're built for navigating through difficult terrain, they'd be the perfect companion for a couple of scientists or rangers who want to venture into dense forests for their research (and probably stay there for months on end). maybe the 'ball mode' would then be a way to defend them from wild animals and natural hazards, or even a form of camouflage? idk, lots more to flesh out here 🤔

while this design was based on tiny terrestrial pill bugs, most isopods are actually much larger and ocean-dwelling, so i can definitely see this being reworked into some kind of submarine too! and since isopods also dig underground sometimes, perhaps another version has antennae that function as a drill, so they can act as construction machines, or even emergency rescue units. ALSO isopods are known detritivores, so maybe there's an isopod caravan clean-up crew, that collects and decomposes organic matter such as dead leaves as they drive through the city? yeahhh???

im just coming up with these as i type rn hfkjsh

OH and don't even get me started on the possibilities for their exterior colours, based on actual species variation of course! dairy cow, zebra, lava, panda, cappuccino, clown, RUBBER DUCKY...!!!! they'd all look so cute waaaaaaaagh

#A N O T H E R O N E .#art #solarpunk #solarpunk aesthetic week #artists on tumblr #concept art #isopods #roobiedoodle #i have sooo many more ideas that i couldnt get out in time 😩 but im glad i finished this!#its the simplest but it might be my fave so far hh #seriously when did i become a vehicle artist... what the unquenchable yearning for a better world does to a man i guess #vroom vroom 🐛💨💨💨

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prudentseer · 3 months ago

Note

etho down bad on his knees for joel after initially rejecting him but pride-and-prejudice-enemies-to-lovers-period-drama style

sorry i had to find someone who might(?) share the vision

Hold my hand when I say this anon but never be afraid to drop your takes into my inbox, I love to hear them regardless of whether or not I see the vision.

Fortunately for you however. I SEE THE VISION, I UNDERSTAND YOU.

The "fell first--fell harder" dynamic for boat boys fits SO WELL in my mind because of double life. Etho being wary of Joel, kinda sad that he's teamed with him and by the end he's right there with Joel in chanting "The ship burns everything burns". Also their dynamic in limited life where they were "exes"...they are enemies your honour. I call that character development.

In fact, I see the vision so much that I actually wrote something in a more arranged marriage, period drama-esc style a long while back. It's unfinished (and a bit out of order for context purposes) because historical fiction is not my specialty and I know it's not exactly what you asked for, but it's what I had and I thought I'd share a snippet (it's 1.2k words I don't think I can exactly call it that anymore) of it.

It was odd, really, how much love could feel like an obsession.

He expressed it as quietly as he possibly could in forehead kisses and small gifts; just so it didn't collect in his chest to claw at the confines and suffocate him. And it was probably dramatic to say but with the lack of air he felt around Joel it truly did feel as though if he didn't let some of it out of his heart, he'd explode.

Or even worse, he'd tell Joel how he really felt.

He'd gotten dangerously close on occasion after too many drinks by the fireplace or Joel dancing a step too close. But he didn't.

Because Joel didn't love him back.

And why would he? Etho had all but forbidden him from doing so.

This day had felt equal parts fast and agonizingly slow. But he had a feeling that a marriage he didn't agree to, with someone he barely liked, for power he couldn't have might have something to do with that.

Joel rests on the edge of the bed, one leg up and crossed on the mattress while the other dangled loosely over the edge. His tie hung loose around his neck and his shoes long kicked off but his suit still on. Etho leaned against the dresser across from him, arms folded and mouth pressed into a firm line. The grandfather clock ticking beside them. It had been three minutes and 29 seconds since they've entered their shared room and neither of them had spoken.

It was much easier to watch as time passed silently than it was to look at the person in his bed, the matching ring on his finger.

A heavy sigh startles him from his thoughts. "Listen, could you at least pretend to tolerate me?"

Etho blinks slowly. "I--"

"Don't say you have because how you've been acting like there's been a knife at your throat the entire day." Joel interrupts, running a hand through his hair. A nervous tick, something Etho noticed in the time they've spent together. "I've sent you three letters since we last saw each other; none of which you replied to, you were barely there for any of the planning process and when I see you for our actual wedding, you can't even look me in the eye."

"That's because--"

"Of what? Because I told you that I loved you?" Joel rolls his eyes. "God, excuse me for putting an effort to make it work with the man I've been betrothed to for over a year."

He remembers the day. They'd been exchanging letters weekly for several months at this point but it was only their third official time meeting in person. It was a nice day so they took a walk through Joel's garden and I instead of the flowers Etho noticed that there was this look in Joel's eye, a smile on his face and a certain tone in his voice...Joel didn't even need to tell him. He just knew. It made it extremely uncomfortable to see him again, that they both knew.

He glances down at the ring on his own finger before shaking his head.

"I'm never going to love you like you want me to."

"That's fine." Joel states, a small twitch in his face betraying his words. "I'll...I'll get over it eventually if it means you'll work with me."

Etho tilts his head. "Work with you?"

"You don't have to love me. You don't even have to like me or be friends with me..."

"But...?"

"But we're going to be a team." Joel finishes, pulling off his tie in one swift movement as he does. "This means you're going to sit next to me at gatherings, you're going to dance with me at least once when we're invited to balls, you'll eat one meal a day with me, you'll share a room with me and please for the love of God, at the very least don't look like you're going to throw up when you see me."

A compromise. A reasonable one.

"I can do that." Etho replies, as level as he can, straightening his own tie as he does. "On one condition."

"What?"

"You won't ever expect anything more."

He's being bitter and he knows it. Taking out his anger out on someone who doesn't deserve it, someone who didn't ask for this either. It's unlike him really, that he can't bring himself to care.

"You're not exactly making it difficult lad."

"Joel--"

"You have a deal."

Etho nods. "Then I'll play the part."

"You'll play the part *well*."

"I promise."

Etho didn't remember exactly when it stopped being a show to him.

"Really interesting page?"

Etho blinks himself back into reality, Joel staring at him so intently from his side of the bed that he feels his chest tighten. "What?"

Joel chuckles, rubbing his eyes sleepily before shuffling close enough that Etho can wrap an arm around his shoulder. And he does, squeezing it lightly as his arm curls around.

"You've been staring at this page blankly for the past ten minutes." Etho glances at the grandfather clock in the corner. It's been longer. "You don't have to read the book if you don't like it."

This book was Joel's recommendation and Etho had to admit that it was good, he'd just been...very distracted lately.

"No I like it's just..."

"Yeah?" He smiles, head bumping Etho's shoulder. It burns. Every touch Joel gives him feels like fire has been set to his veins. "What's wrong?"

And his eyes are staring up at him so soft and kind and warm and understanding and it feels like he can tell him anything. Almost anything. The words feel heavy on his tongue, going down like oil as he swallows them.

"Nothing, you should go back to sleep."

He won't be able to resist forever but he buys himself one more day.

Joel's nose wrinkles. "You--"

And Etho is saved by the fact Joel's interrupted by his own yawn.

"You know I'm not stupid right Etho?" Joel states, settling further into Etho's arm as he does. Etho only pulls the sheet tighter. "You've been weirder than usual and if you won't tell me, I'll figure it out myself."

Theoretically, he could tell him but what then? He wouldn't leave, he wouldn't laugh but if Joel knew what Etho felt for him, he would never let him get this close to him again.

And it'd exactly what he deserved.

Karma for being an asshole to someone who just wanted to not be treated like dirt by his husband of circumstance and all he can do is accept it. Accept that he missed his chance.

Maybe one day his heart will catch up with his brain.

"Goodnight Joel."

"I'm serious." He yawns again, head tucked into the crook of Etho neck; breath tickling his clavicle. "I know you better than you like. Just wait."

It's true and it's even scary sometimes. Etho wonders how on earth he got so lucky to have someone that understands him like Joel. Someone who was willing to stick by his side through everything.

Etho waits until Joel is settled, snoring softly again before he places his book down gently on the nightstand, blowing out the table side candle. He tilts his head and presses a soft kiss to the top of Joel's head, waiting in case he stirs.

"I love you." He whispers into his hair, taking a breath when there's no response.

And the part of his chest settles just enough that he feels like he can sleep too.

#smalletho #boat boys #hermitshipping #incoherent rambling #Writing Wipeouts #It's taken me so long to respond to this ask forgive me anon I did not forget about you

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hyunjinspark · 1 year ago

Text

star lost with you | hyunjin au | part 16

pairing: idol! hyunjin x artist! reader

genre: friends to lovers, so much angst, smut, fluff, set in the idolverse, mutual pining, unrequited love, forbidden romance, slowburn (!!!) soulmate au, star-crossed lovers

synopsis: working in a quaint little art store, you’ve had the honor of meeting all kinds of people, but you’ve never met somebody like him. there were many reasons hyunjin returned to his hometown; a getaway from the ephemeral and fast-paced life of the city, so he could fall in love with life again. he thought he was prepared for everything, to study art in the way that he’s always wanted to, but what he didn’t anticipate was meeting you. hwang hyunjin realises that sometimes, the best things in life happen unplanned.

word count: 25K

warnings: cursing, drinking, mutual pining, mostly just a lot of angst, yn is insanely in love its actually a lot, making out, jealousy, grinding, hyunjin is a little mean, sexual tension, tons of new characters, a lot of coincidences, mature content, angst

a/n: soo hyunjin dropped contradicting and somehow it's absolutely perfect for this chapter. this part does also have undertones of 'love untold' in it too, and im very excited to finally be writing the city arc! this was a long time coming and i really hope you enjoy it. theres tons of angst in this so im sorry about that. please get comfortable with snacks and a blanket to read. you can listen to my star lost playlist here!

important: all works are fiction, and do not in any way represent the real personalities or real people, they exist only as faceclaims, and are fictional characters.

masterlist

The girl next to him was pretty, in a timeless Marilyn Monroe kind of way. She had striking features, and even from this little interaction you knew her face would be burned into your memory. She was standing next to Hyunjin so simply, as if that wasn’t a place that you had been pining for all these months.

Her hand rested on the small of his back, animated eyes as she talked to him. Even now, he looked as good as the day he left. The trench coat fit his body just right, and he was so much taller than everyone else in this shop. His hair had grown longer in your absence and chocolate strands brushed his shoulders.

The last time you saw him, he kissed you until your lips were bruised, and his pants were stained with cum.

Right now… he was pretending like you didn’t even exist.

The woman looked over her shoulder, eyes meeting yours briefly as if she’d felt your burning gaze. You ought to be embarrassed that you were caught staring, yet you stood your ground. You expected a sneer, but she smiled at you — the polite kind of smile you give strangers as you pass them in the street — before turning to him again.

Monstrous curiosity clawed at your chest, gut turning in envy. She reached into her purse, an expensive-looking red bag that you couldn’t afford in any lifetime, and pulled out a black credit card. Before she could hand it into the cashier though, Hyunjin’s arm reached out, stopping her. He was touching her now, if only so briefly, but a wave of debilitating nausea overcame you. You could hear him saying, “Please, let me get this”

You were all the way across the store, but you’d be able to hear him among a million voices. The familiarity of his kindness pulled at your heartstrings.

The woman didn’t protest, probably because Hyunjin was the biggest star in this city, and he could afford anything he wanted, and everything she could ask for.

“That art building is just a few blocks down from here. I can tell you the way. It’s pretty easy” The boy you’d asked for help said. He had an employee uniform on, and a silver name tag that read “Jae”.

You’d quickly forgotten your purpose for being out and about in the streets of Seoul. You’d come here for a reason, to have a glimpse at the building you’d be studying at, the place you’d been dreaming of. Yet…you’d never longed for something as much as you did for Hyunjin.

“Yeah, um, thank you” You mumbled half-heartedly, eyes still on Hyunjin, “Can you just…give me a minute?”

It was rude of you to ask for help but not take it, only because you were distracted by a boy. “Sure, uh…take your time” The employee stepped away, not really caring about your internal drama.

Hyunjin’s back was still to you. You’d been worried about why you couldn’t contact him this entire time. A part of you was relieved; if he was here that meant he was okay, even after disappearing entirely off the grid.

He grabbed the paper bag they’d purchased, a blue cereal box peeking out, threatening to topple. It didn’t fit in the bag, but he made no effort to fix it. He didn’t seem too involved in the task. They had finished bagging their snacks, and that meant they’d leave.

There was nobody in the shop anymore, except you and them. A black car was parked just outside. It was probably his. Once he got in the car…he’d be far away from you, down a thousand identical streets and hidden between skyscrapers you’d never find him in. There were ten million people in this city. How would you ever find him again? You had no fucking way of contacting him.

He walked past where you stood in the aisle, and your pulse was pounding in your ears, tunnel vision shielding everything else.

You’d been searching for him this entire time…you couldn’t just let him walk away.

It was now or never.

He pushed the door open, and outside air swirled in.

It snapped you into action.

“Hyunjin?” Your voice wavered, and it wasn’t loud enough for this city. Your plea was drowned amongst sirens, traffic and noise.

But he stopped walking, shoulders tensing.

He heard you.

Hurriedly, you stepped towards him, navigating through the messy snacks aisle. Your hands were shaking, and you pushed them into your jacket pockets to hide that. The effect he had on you was embarrassing, even at such a time.

“Can I just talk to you for a second?” You asked, hoping you didn’t sound as desperate or nervous as you felt.

He turned around to look at you, and his knuckles were white from how tight he was gripping their bags. The grocery must be heavy, and even in a circumstance like this, you worried for him. His gaze on you was unrecognizable. It was almost like it wasn’t really him at the moment…as if he’d been replaced by a carbon copy, which was colder and meaner, and didn’t feel anything for you.

His eyes zeroed in on you, and you suddenly felt so conscious. You wish you’d dressed up better, instead of this dull, beige coat you picked off a thrift shop back home. This was the first he was seeing you after months, and you weren’t prepared. You shot him a smile. Quick and rough, and forced, but a smile nonetheless.

He had to know you were happy to see him. Inside, you were screaming.

The girl at his side looked at you again, eyebrows raised in confusion. Her earlier politeness had worn off, and now she just looked bothered. Who even was this woman?

There’d be time for questions later though, because she pulled at his arm, “Come on. We’ll be late Hyunjin” Her tone had authority to it, a kind of tone you’d never used with him.

“Can we talk?” You repeated your question. The woman wrinkled her nose, and now that you really looked at her…she was much older than you. She had expensive taste, clearly, and an aura of confidence you could never possess.

Hyunjin’s mouth parted, and then closed again, like he was having trouble speaking. There was so much to say, after all. But even if he couldn’t talk right now, you’d be happy to just know if he was okay.

You wanted to ask him for his number, but you waited, giving him the time to say whatever was on his mind. There must be a lot on it. It had to be his company pulling the strings and making him cut off all contact with you. He had to have been forced somehow, because he wasn’t that kind of person.

The longer he said nothing, the dizzier you felt. The truth was becoming obvious. Maybe it wasn’t all that far-fetched to believe that he had cut you off….on purpose.

Your chest tightened impossibly, a horrible feeling building up in your gut. There were lines in his forehead, and guilt in his eyes. Your nails dug into your palms as you tightly clenched your fists, but you were numb to that pain.

But it had to be a misunderstanding, because Hyunjin would never do that to you, would he? In fact, he’d…never do that to anyone. He was far too kind to resort to something like complete radio silence.

“I’m sorry” He spoke.

Your knees almost gave out at his voice. You’d missed it so much, and your heart was catching up to your mind, to register what he said.

Sorry for what?

He swallowed hard, steely gaze meeting your confused one, “I’m sorry… I don’t have time for this”

Before you could even process those words, he had walked out into the cold night, leaving you standing in the stupid fucking store, all by yourself. That was all there was to it.

Maybe everything that you knew about Hyunjin was wrong.

»»————-

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you…you do not have authorisation to enter the building” The security guard repeated, for the third time that night, as if you needed any more humiliation right now.

Your cheeks were burning red, and you were trembling from the cold, “Please, he knows who I am. Just ask him”

He was visibly annoyed, “If you don’t have a visitor pass, you have to stay in the lobby, until the employee buzzes you in”

You tightened your coat around yourself, trying to reason, “I can’t get through to him. Just tell him I’m here. He’ll buzz me in, I swear”

He sighed, exasperated by your desperation. You were embarrassed, and shameful, but you didn’t know what else to do. If you went home now, you might cry till you threw up. You’d cry till it was dawn, and until you heard the morning traffic outside your apartment. The only thing stopping you from bawling right now was the watchful eyes of the people around you.

You’re numb inside. You’re so, so confused.

None of it makes any sense, but your brain hurts just thinking about it.

It was so late, everybody was leaving the building, and you were the only one trying to get in. A female employee was buzzing out, pushing through the turnstiles. She looked between you and the doorman, “Something wrong?”

The guard sighed, another indication of how less of a fuck he gave about you, “She says she knows an employee in the building, but she has no visitor pass”

You looked at her, “Can you please just tell him Y/N is here? He’ll understand”

Her gaze softened at the state of you, “What’s his name? I’ll see what I can do”

You told her… and then you waited.

It was embarrassing to be standing there as hundreds of employees exited, eyeing you up, wondering why you were just standing there. The longer it took for him to come, the shakier you felt. Like you’d lose grip of yourself. It was getting chillier, and your insides hurt.

Then you heard his voice. He basically yelled your name, rushing through the crowd of employees, a beeline straight to you, “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

He was like your angel — ashy blonde hair drifting against the air conditioning of the lobby, a red scarf wrapped around his neck. “Oh my god” You stepped ahead, but a silver turnstile separated you from touching him, “I tried calling you”

He placed his card against the scanner, opening the gate so you could enter. There was no time to explain. Immediately, he wrapped his arms around your body. That was the thing you loved about Yeonjun the most. Hug first, questions later.

You buried your face in his neck, squeezing him, “I’m so sorry for just showing up, I needed to see you, Jun”

He pulled back to look at you, “I’m sorry my phone was on silent. I was working on a report, and I lost track of time”

The security guard was looking at the two of you, and he probably assumed you were a couple. He probably thought you were lovers, and if you were…everything might just have been easier. Yeonjun’s eyes narrowed in on your puffy, swollen eyes, “Wait. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. Had you overreacted by coming here? He must think it’s an emergency. You musthave overreacted. Your instinct made you apologise, “I’m sorry for coming here like this…”

He shook that thought away like it was nothing, “Come on. We’ll just grab my stuff, and then we can head home, all right?”

You let him lead you to the staff elevator, and he held on tightly to you through it all, which you appreciated. You didn’t want to be alone right now. You observed the office building that Yeonjun worked at. “Your building is…fancy” You mumbled, but your voice was hoarse, and you couldn’t muster up any enthusiasm.

“Yeah” He chuckled, glancing back at you, “Most companies are pretty serious about the security. There’s been a lot of data breaches recently so…”

“It was embarrassing to face off that guard. I thought he’d arrest me or something…by the way he was staring”

Yeonjun laughed, “He’d never do that. He was probably just caught off guard by how pretty you look”

Your chest squeezed at his sudden compliment. You leaned forward, wrapping an arm around his stomach to indulge him in a back hug. It was a strange display of affection for the elevator. But Yeonjun said nothing of it, squeezing your arm, and craning his neck to smile at you.

“We’re here” He told you, and you stepped out into a quiet office floor. After a monotonous and mundane hallway with doors that all looked the same, you arrived at his cubicle. The floors were grey, the doors were dark, and the ceiling was industrial exposed. You’re not sure if this was the best place for comfort right now, but it was all you had. It was better than your empty, soulless apartment.

Yeonjun’s desk was cleaner than you expected, arranged with knick-knacks and clutter. A polaroid of you and him was pinned to the bulletin, next to one of him and Hana. Your eyes trailed across his entire workspace. There were only pictures of Hana.

You stilled.

“Um, I’m sorry. I still need to clean up” He muttered, ripping the polaroids off the wall, as if to show you that he didn’t care. But it was clear to you by how he carefully placed them inside the drawer. He was still in love with her.There was a lump in your throat at the realisation. He hadn’t told you that, and Yeonjun shared everything with you.

He shot you a sheepish smile, “I’m just gonna finish sending an email. You can sit down”

There was a single swivel chair at his desk. “What about you?” You asked.

“I’ve been meaning to get off my feet anyway” He smiled, as you sat down.

You felt like a kid, watching him send the emails, with nothing to do but sit in your thoughts. It was still better than being at home. Alone.

“Do you always work this late?” You asked him, after a while. There was nobody else on the floor.

He shook his head, “No…there was a problem at work, I had to stay longer to figure it out”

“Oh”

He forcefully pushed a button on his keyboard, then turned to you, “So are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

You swallowed, fiddling with the clutter on his desk, rehearsing what happened in your head, and every way sounded stupid. So you mumbled, “It’s not that…important, actually. I should head home”

Yeonjun shut his laptop with a snap. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the desk to look at you, “Come on. Was it not what you expected?”

“Hmm?”

“The art building. That’s why you went out tonight. Is it not as good as you imagined?”

“Oh” You belatedly realised that and held back a bitter laugh, “I didn’t even get to it”

“What? You couldn’t find it?”

“I found him, Jun” You mumbled, staring at your sneakers.

“Found who?” He asked, before the realisation sank in, “Wait, him… as in Hyunjin? How!?”

That was your question too. How did you bump into him out of everyone in this city?

“I…he happened to be at the store that I stopped to ask for directions”

Jun’s eyebrows furrowed, and he knelt to be at eye level with you, “What happened then?”

“He was with some girl”

Without hesitation he said, “His manager?”

Your lip was quivering as you spoke, but you couldn’t be this fucking weak, “Maybe. I don’t really know…”

“It had to be. Hyunjin wouldn’t do that to you”

His faith in him was undeniable, and you felt like you’d break his heart by revealing the rest of the incident to him.

“She probably was. It’s not that, Jun…he walked right past me…I couldn’t even talk to him”

Yeonjun shook his head, “Are you sure he saw you?”

You recalled the look in Hyunjin’s eyes as he dismissed you completely, and the pain in your chest doubled at the reminder, “He saw me.”

“You’re sure?”

You looked at him, eyes filling with tears, “I’m sure.”

Yeonjun recoiled like a shotgun, standing up straight, and you weren’t expecting the immediate anger in his tone, “Why the fuck would he do that?”

You chewed on your lip, hoping it’d stop shaking, wishing you knew the answer to his question, “I don’t know”

“He didn’t even give you his new number?”

A sob built up in your throat, and your head was beginning to pain, “You’re not listening. He ignored me to my face, Jun. Maybe I did something wrong. Maybe it was something I said…all those months ago”

“You could never” He scoffed, “It was because of the woman he was with. Hyunjin’s probably not allowed to just talk to someone in public”

“You really think so?”

Yeonjun didn’t even look a little bit worried. He had his hands on his hips, “What else would it be, Y/N? He’d never ignore you. I don’t understand…”

You swallowed, trying to not cry, “Yeah. I just…had to see you. A few months ago, when his number changed, I was really hoping that when I came to the city, I could find him and fix things. There’s no way he’d do that on purpose. Of all people in the world, Hyunjin would never just cut me off without an explanation but…” You sniffled, “He wasn’t even happy to see me there. He just looked fucking disappointed. Like I made a mistake moving here, even though he all of people—” Your voice broke, “he, all of people knows how much I wanted to come here”

“Babe, please don’t cry” Yeonjun reached out, his thumb wiping away a tear. It was futile since you could already taste the salt on your lips.

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen, “He talked about how he missed me, I just don’t understand. Like, what even happened?”

“Come here” Yeonjun hugged you, and his t-shirt muffled your cries. He rubbed circles on your back, and you were thankful the floor was vacated, because you felt so stupid crying over a boy. Was Hyunjin even thinking about you right now? He had always hated seeing you cry, and now he was the entire reason for it.

You tightened your grip around him, “I’m sorry I’m ruining your tonight, Jun”

“Y/N” He frowned, pulling back to look at you, “Don’t ever say that again”

“Sorry…”

He looked upset and wiped the traces of tears off your lips, “Stop apologising too. This isn’t your fault”

You nodded, holding him still, “Can I please stay in your apartment tonight? I don’t want to go to my place right now”

He smiled, grabbing your bag off his desk, “I’ve told you before. You’ll always have a bed at my apartment, Y/N” He frowned suddenly, remembering something, “Um…I do have to warn you about something though…”

Maybe it was a mistake coming here. Right across Yeonjun’s apartment window, was a picture of Hyunjin. The billboard was huge, and he was plastered all over it. You almost didn’t recognise him at first. He looked like…a star.

His hair was perfectly in place, and sunglasses were pushed up to his head, like he was the protagonist of some action movie.

“You weren’t kidding about it being huge” You commented, watching from his bedroom.

He came to stand next to you, fiddling with the curtains, “I was hoping they’d change it soon, but Pegasus is pretty good at promoting the band. Downtown, they’re on almost every billboard”

At least now you knew you wouldn’t be going Downtown anymore. It was ironic that Hyunjin was everywhere in the city but out of reach for you. If that woman really was his manager, and he wasn’t allowed to even talk to you in public…then Hyunjin’s life was even tougher than you could have imagined.

Being famous must fucking suck, and being in love with someone famous was…soul-crushing.

“Anyway” He cleared his throat, “I ordered us some Chinese food”

You crossed your arms, you hadn’t realised you were starving, “Thank you, Jun…"

Yeonjun just smiled in return, leading you away from the bedroom window before pulling the curtains on the view. You were glad, because if he didn’t pull you away now, you’re afraid you’d stare at that picture for the rest of your life.

»»————-

The Atelier of the Arts was beautiful.

It was everything you could have imagined, and more. It’s where you’re supposed to spend the next two years of your life. The facade of the building was built almost entirely out of glass, resembling high-end universities you’d only seen in the movies. You felt minuscule in front of the scale and the grandeur of it. Being in Seoul for a few weeks now…you’d realised it was all about towering glass and steel structures, weaved in between all of the imperial history. You just wish you could appreciate it more right now.

A girl at the front desk thankfully told you where to go, and you carefully navigated the hallways until you were at the top floor.

You stared at what was meant to be your classroom. Sunlight cascaded through a transparent glass rooftop, casting a beautiful glow on the plants.

You only see green. There were plants of all kinds, flowers of every color and the air smelled sweet. It smelled citrusy, and like the drink Hyunjin made you on his last night.

The door was made of glass too, a brass knob sparkling against the sunlight.

You must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. This isn’t an art studio.

It’s a greenhouse.

Before you had time to retrace your steps, a girl interrupted you, “You’re not lost”

“I’m sorry?”

“Kim Jieong’s new student, right?” She asked, tilting her head at you.

You wonder what it is about you that gave you away. Was it the clothes? Or maybe it’s the bag you’re clutching tightly to your chest, sketchbook peeking out from within it. You’re joining in the middle of an ongoing semester, so you already stood out. “Yeah” You managed to say.

She smiled, proud to have got it correct, “You’re at the right place. The room’s just through there, after the hydrangeas. I’m going in now, if you wanna follow me”

She couldn’t be much older than you, and she’s so well put together.

Her accent was different, like she’s been born and bred in Seoul her whole life. She enunciated everything, frankly, in a way better to you. A denim skirt hung to her ankles, revealing Converse at her feet. Her hair was dirty blonde, tied up perfectly in place, and an amethyst choker sat at her collarbones.

You wonder if you’re underdressed on your first day of class. The creme cardigan you’re in is soft, and it’s comforting to your soul, but it’s not impressive. You found it in a thrift shop in Daejon; perhaps this is a sign you should go shopping here. You’re leading a new life, and you need clothes to match.

The girl was waiting for you to enter, but you’re not ready.

Kim Jieong has been your inspiration for as long as you can remember. He’s painted the most beautiful things known to you — expressing emotions you didn’t even know you had. The fact that he’s beyond those glass doors right now…you’re not ready. Yes…you’ve waited literally all your life, but you never thought it’d actually come to this. You wish you had someone to share this anticipation and excitement with, but all you have is your studio apartment, and its bare, dry walls. You’re trying to be positive, but somedays it feels impossible

A boy stepped through the elevator doors, and his eyes scrambled over your faded creme cardigan, and bag. You’re new here, and he’s clearly not. You can tell from the ease with which he carries himself, and by the way he looks like a picture-perfect rendition of an artist. If you searched “art student” on Pinterest, you’re pretty sure his picture would come up. He’s dressed in denim suspenders, expensive headphones hanging around his neck, paintbrushes tucked into his pockets.

“Hey” He smiled at you, “Are you… the student from Daejon?”

You nodded, holding your bag tighter on your shoulder, happy that he knew of your existence. You’d feared until the last minute that you getting in to the program had been another mess-up, and once you arrived…they’d tell you it was a mistake.

He tilt his head, “What’s your monogram?”

Your monogram. The initials you sign all your paintings with. You tell him your name, “Um…Y/N”

“Oh” He frowned, “I can’t remember if I’ve seen your work”

That’s because he hasn’t. You’ve never had a public exhibition, so how would he recognise you?

“Come on, you can get to know her later” The girl rolled her eyes at him, then looked at you, “Are you coming in…or are we going to chat here the rest of today?”

They didn’t tell you their names, even though you just told them yours. You should ask, but wouldn’t that come off too eager?

“Yeah. Sure” You forced a smile at her, and the girl’s face softened at that. It’s like she wasn’t expecting you to do that, like she expected you to be soulless and cold.

Tentatively, you stepped through the glass door, into the greenhouse-cum-studio. It’s like stepping in a fairytale, navigating through all the plants that jut out, magnificent fantastical flowers you haven’t seen even in the countryside. You reached out and touched a purple flower, the petals are coarse but the flower looked so soft.

You were walking on a metal walkway, a bridge over a little artificial stream. It reminded you so much of Daejon, it’s kind of funny that you’re actually thousands of miles away.

“Crazy place for a classroom, right?” The boy laughed. It’s like he read your mind.

You nodded, “I thought I was at the wrong place”

“You’ll get used to it” The girl looked over her shoulder to tell you. You’re standing between them, as they escort you to your class.

“The hydrangeas” She muttered, pointing to a set of purple flowers as you pass them.

As if stepping into Narnia, the plants suddenly cleared up, revealing a room. It’s big, and there’s an assortment of chairs, tables, easels, shelves, and paint. There’s so much to take in. You watched with wide eyes, and the boy laughed.

“It’s cool, right?” He asked you.

“Yeah” You breathed, “You could say that”

There were already a few students sitting at their easels, but they were too distracted setting up their paints to look up and notice you.

“Um, what are your names?” You ended up asking. Fuck being eager.

“I’m Minnie and that’s Jeonghan” She told you.

“No, I’m Nate. Nobody calls me Jeonghan except my mum” He rolled his eyes.

“Nate” You repeated, “Are you—”

“American? Yes he is, and feel free to call him Jeonghan…” Minnie finished your sentence, as she walked over to her easel.

He laughed, “I moved back to Korea a few years ago to study”

The room filled with people within seconds. There are not too many of you, just twenty, it’s an exclusive program after all. You looked around at the people who are supposed to be your classmates for the next few years. They all looked a little older than you and like they know their way around everything.

There’s only one unmarked empty stool in the corner, and it must be yours. After all, this internship was so exclusive, there wasn’t any space for extras. You took your place, opening up your supplies onto the little table. The stool was comfortable and had a plush back, so you wouldn’t kill your back when you were painting. It was already infinitely better than your set-up at home.

Minnie and Jeonghan took their places too, settling into a comfortable rhythm. Your other classmates greeted them with big smiles, but obviously…they didn’t look at you.

You’d never moved a day in your life, so this was unfamiliar — not knowing anyone in the room, and everything being new. But change was supposed to be good, right? You’d grown tired of stagnation, and so you’d chased this. Perhaps you could try conversing with the girls next to you, but where would you even start? They all knew each other from before. Why would they want to talk to a stranger?

A girl was giggling, settling into her chair, with two other friends, and they were teasing her about something but you don’t know the context. There was a cute boy across from you, and he was setting up his paints. He had earphones in, and was humming to the beat of an unknown song. He glanced up at you absentmindedly, but when your eyes met, your heart stung.

You were trying desperately to not think of Hyunjin.

But you’ve only been here for five minutes and you see Hyunjin in everything around you.

He would fall in love with this place — with the sunlight hitting the wooden boards, with how open it was, and he would probably know the name of every flower here. After all, he had to know to put them in pretty drinks to give to girls like you.

A student sitting opposite you had bleached hair, and she pulled it up into a bun and you thought of him again. Nothing could compare how it felt to card your fingers through his hair, and tug at it when he kissed you. You’d braided it back in his room, and it had been so soft to the touch, slipping through your fingers like sand.

“Hey” Someone tapped on your shoulder, and you pulled yourself out of the hopeless trench of daydreaming about him. You noticed her chunky platform boots first, and then you looked up at her, “Uh, hey”

“You’re the girl from the south?”

It was heartwarming that she started the conversation with you. You smiled, “Yeah. I’m from Daejon—”

“You’re in my spot”

“Sorry?”

“That’s my spot” She repeated, pointing at your seat.

“Oh” You realised. You’d already opened up your bag of supplies so you hurriedly grabbed your sketchbook, shoving it in your tote bag carelessly. Your paintbrushes dropped in the process, rolling off the table, and you wanted to die. Was it possible to be such a fucking cliche and embarrass yourself like this on the first day of class?

The girl made no move to help you, but you shouldn’t expect her to either. You stood up, holding the bag to your chest, and realised you had no place to sit anymore.

Before you could panic about the situation, someone else in the room caught your attention.

Kim Jieong was here.

He was standing in the centre, and you don’t know how the fuck you didn’t notice him until now. He must have just come in.

You stood starstruck, at the worst time possible. He was in a beanie, and a thick coat. He had black-rimmed glasses on, and a slight scruff. He looked like all the pictures you’d seen of him, but better than you even imagined – the right mix of pretention and whimsical.

He was the embodiment of art and of inspiration.

The little girl in you was screaming.

You were transported back to the first painting you ever saw by him. It was in a magazine that Felix had stolen for you off the library racks. As kids, you and Felix had sat on his bedroom floor, flipping through the glossy pages. On the last page though, there was a painting of a lighthouse, with surrealistic waves hitting the shore. There was no article or editorial. Just that picture, with a name on the bottom. Kim Jieong, 2006. You’d ripped the page out, and kept it safe with you, before returning the magazine. You’d felt no guilt then, because it was the most beautiful art you’d seen then.

Kim Jieong, your favorite artist in history, was a real fucking person. He was real, and he was looking at you.

The corner of his lip tilted up, “Hey”

Hey.

You’re going to fucking pass out.

He was talking to you. He knew you existed. “Um, hi” Your voice came out softer than it was, and you hope he couldn’t see the stars in your eyes.

“Can I help you…?”

You could feel the eyes of everyone on you, and you gripped onto your sketchbook tighter, “I’m…the new student”

His eyes widened, “You’re Y/N…?”

He knew your name?

Now he was the one who looked caught off guard, “Shit, I’m sorry I completely forgot you’re coming in today. Nate, can you please help Y/N get a spare stool and easel?”

Nate, the boy you’d met before, smiled, “Of course I can”

Your earlier embarrassment slowly eased. Professor Jieong stepped to you with a poise that only masterminds possessed, “Be honest… Did you have any trouble finding this room? Most students do”

“No, I was just confused because…it’s not really a conventional classroom”

Jieong laughed, “Well, if you liked conventional things, you wouldn’t be here”

“You’re right” You smiled.

He pointed to a corner, “There’s your seat. I’m putting you next to Nate. He can help you out the first week. Even though it’s your first day, don’t worry I’m not going to make you talk about yourself in front of the class or anything like that. I know how much people your age hate that”

You smiled at that, relieved, and finally sat down at what was to be your place for the future. The view from here was so pretty, through the parted indoor trees, you could look out into the city. There were floor-to-ceiling windows sprawled out, and the sun was in your eyes, but you didn’t mind. It must get really hot in the summer, but right now it’s the cusp of winter, and so it was perfect.

“So, how are you liking Seoul, Y/N?” Jieong asked you, stepping in the way, shielding your gaze from the light. It was so early in the morning, but he was full of so much of vigour. You wish you could have energy to match him right now, but lately you just feel drained.

You smiled up at him, observing how the rays formed a halo around his head, “It’s all right…I, uh, I really love the food here.”

Jieong paced across the room, making sure to look at each student, and there was so much comfort in his stance, as he talked to you, “I know you’re joining in the middle of this semester Y/N, and everything is going to feel very jarring. Usually, people get an intro class and some icebreakers so… don’t be afraid to ask me stuff, okay? There’s no stupid questions in here, right?”

“Debatable” Nate mumbled loudly next to you.

“That’s not what you said when I asked about the color combos last week” The girl with bleached hair chimed in.

Jieong grinned, putting his hands on his hips as he came to a stop in the centre, “Haha. Don’t try so hard to make me look bad in front of the new girl”’

You laughed, “Don’t worry about it”

Jieong grinned at you, and you were still reeling from his attention as he talked, “We’re going to start on a new project for the next couple of weeks. I have a couple of field trips planned but today we are just going to explore some basic anatomy, okay?”

There was nothing more to be said. Everybody fell into a rhythm, and Jieong wasn’t even speaking anymore, but he filled the room with his presence. He had such a strong personality and clearly had a good rapport with all his students. You were looking forward to get to know him.

This was such a beautiful room, and you had only been here a few minutes, but you were endlessly inspired. It reminded you of Aera’s, filling you with so much creative energy, you were bursting at the seams. You hoped that this emotion wouldn’t be lost on you. This was the first genuine excitement you’d felt since….since what happened in the shop.

It’s been a few days, or a few weeks, you can’t really tell. Yet you play it in your head over and over again, trying to connect the dots. You give up every time, because nothing justifies what happened that night, and you don’t realise that most of your sleepless nights in this city pass by…just like that.

»»————-

There were good days, and bad days.

There was a separation between the art studio, and the rest of your life. In the studio, you were content, because you were distracted. At home…was another story.

Your apartment was a blank canvas, and as the weeks passed, you breathed life into each corner. The walls filled up slowly with the new artwork you created, with your works in progress from the apprenticeship. There were a few plants in your room to remind you of Daejon’s lushness.

You immersed yourself in the whirlwind of city life. Seoul sucked you in deep. You found a bakery you like, a grocery store you frequent, an art shop that fed your supplies.

It’s strange, to have good days, but nobody to share it with. It feels pointless to be excited about something but having to keep it to yourself.

You were still teetering on the edge, you hadn’t visited nightclubs or bars — you found no time between the classes. The people at the apprenticeship were talented, in a way that made you doubt yourself but push harder. You tried to talk to the people around you, but you only saw them in classes, and your friendships didn’t exist beyond those canvases.

It was hard to make friends in the city. You hadn’t predicted the isolation that would come with moving here. Jeongin and you would occasionally bump into you at the stairwell, and that would be the most of your social interaction. You made time to meet Yeonjun each weekend, and he helped you buy some basic furniture for your apartment; a coffee table, a dresser, a mirror. They even helped you carry your new mattress up the stairs, and you invited them in that night for some wine, as a thank you.

You liked to think that you’ve settled into a routine as you washed the dishes in your new home, listening to the hum of the city traffic. In the quiet evenings that you spend with yourself, you drifted into daydreams and thought about him, but you stopped yourself before the longing gets too bad.

Your apartment is so small. There’s no space in your life to be sad.

You’re supposed to be living your dream after all.

»»————-

The sun in the art studio never bothered you. Instead, felt warm on your skin, energizing you.You attempted to channel the beauty of the room into each pencil stroke. It was hard to focus on your art, sketching out a few basics as your professor talked over a few prompts. This was only the beginning, so you were taking it slow. It felt like it had been ages since you drew, and your skills were getting rustic.

When everyone was busy and distracted, Jieong came to you. “Doing okay, Y/N?” His voice was low to not disturb the other students, and you nodded.

“I’m good…just trying to get the hang of things”

“I understand” He smiled, and he was bent over to speak to you, “You’ll soon figure out the pattern. We experiment every class and you’re free to work on whatever medium you want. Don’t think of this as an art lesson, okay? It’s…refining your existing skills”

You smiled, “Yeah. I know I missed a few but I’m excited for the rest of the classes. I feel like I’ve hit a roadblock…with my own work, I end up only making the same kind of paintings every time”

Jieong nodded, like he’d heard this a million times, “But that’s exactly what I’m here for, okay? You can talk to me about anything you want. There’s also going to be a couple of field trips this semester, and you can meet some other mentors. In case you realise you hate my methods”

You laughed, continuing to sketch away, “I doubt that’s possible. I…I’m looking forward to those though”

“And not to sound too forward but…you look like you haven’t slept in a week, kid” He commented, with a chuckle, but there was no malice in his tone. Just a genuine observation.

“I haven’t” You admitted.

“Nervous?”

If nervous and heartbroken were the same emotion. Then yes, you were more nervous than anything. You settled and said, “This just means a lot to me”

“What brought you to Seoul, if you don’t mind me…asking? Did your parents move here, or a boyfriend or somebody?”

“Just looking for a change…” You said. It would be too much to tell him that you’d looked up to him half your life, and had worked your ass off the entire summer to get here….That you’d been willing to lose your friendships for this and that there was nothing in Seoul for you except this….It would be crazy to tell him that in the end, a boy had convinced you to be selfish and come here.

His lips curled up, oblivious to your internal worries, “A change? You’re in the right place then, sweetheart”

Sweetheart. You looked up at him, with obvious adoration in your gaze. Kim Jieong just called you sweetheart.

He reached out, to pat your back, “It can’t be easy moving, but I hope you know you made the right decision. If you’re looking for change…this is the place to be, and I’m really looking forward to know you and your art better. I can promise you that you’re going to be very happy here, Y/N”

You’re smiling, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Maybe you needed the reassurance that coming here and uprooting your entire life wasn’t a mistake. It had felt all too much like that after Hyunjin’s disappointed encounter – making you feel that you should’ve just stayed where you were.

You’d pined for this place for so long, yet you already missed your little hometown and your life there, because things with him were better back home.

It will take time to get better. It’s only the first day.

The weight of his words sank in, and you suddenly felt teary-eyed. There’s been a void in your heart for the longest time. You thought coming here would fill it up, but even as you’re painting in your dream class with your favourite artist, your heart feels dead.

You ought to be insane to not be grateful. Seoul was the only thing you ever wanted, but maybe it’s time for you to admit that…wishes change. Dreams change.

A lump builds up in your throat at the horrible realisation that maybe, the only thing that can fill the void in your being was Hyunjin.

»»————-

Today, you were drawing from life.

There was a model in front of you, and amongst all the plants, she looked like a siren plucked from the pages of an ancient Greek legend. She was sat on a barstool, dressed in a tight lace outfit. You focused on the detailing of her lingerie as you paint it into your canvas. Surprisingly, you’d never drawn anatomy from life before, you’d never ventured into that skill much.

Her set was made entirely of lace — thin flowers covering the chest, overlapping with vines and the model blends into the room's atmosphere. She looked beautiful in muted pastel colours, and you wish you could own a piece like that. You’ve found some time to revamp your wardrobe, and when you wear prettier clothes, you feel like you’re reinventing yourself.

Daejon was usually always humid, so you never experimented with patterns, layers, and textures. It was the same skirts, the same tank tops, and sweatpants that you circulated through, and it was okay because your life was the same there everyday. Here…you’re trying to be different.

Nate brought you out of your train of thought. He was poking a pencil in your leg, to get your attention, and you looked up at him. He was grinning, hair swept back. He’s handsome, in a conventional sense anyway, but you don’t let yourself think further than that. There’s no point.

You glanced at his canvas and he’s halfway through his portrait already. Somehow, he’s made the model look even more ethereal in person.

“Could I borrow the green swatch?” He asked, eyeing the watercolours you have in front of you. You’ve bought a lot of new art supplies, and it was quite frankly, a humbling experience. Everything is so much more expensive here, but the apprenticeship gives you some money for supplies, and you’re already halfway through it. The watercolour palette though, is your favourite. It’s Winsor & Netwon. In fact, it’s the same one you used the night of the Paint and Wine event at the Chateau.

“Of course” You told Nate, and handed him the palette. He dipped his brush right into it, taking away some green paint. Everybody around you was quiet, in a deep concentration as they worked on their pieces. Kim Jieong was circulating the classroom, hands on his hips as he observed every student. He stopped every few minutes, to help out, or give advice.

It’s been some time, but you still felt starstruck around him. Some charms never fade.

You’ve had little time to observe yet but it was obvious from day one - He’s insanely cool, and he teaches art in a way that makes you so grateful to be his student. He sees the world differently than you, and you’re in desperate need for that perspective. You’re tired of only seeing things your way.

So, you obviously immediately stop painting as he soon as he comes near you. You’re embarrassed as his eyes catch progress of your painting. You’re far behind the others.

“How’s that going?” He asked, in a hushed whisper to not divert attention off the class.

You dipped your paintbrush in water, letting it soak through, “I think…it’s okay”

Jieong frowned, just slightly, looking over your canvas. He had a pair of glasses pushed over his head and he slipped them back on, leaning in to look at your strokes. You’re self-conscious, rightfully, and you held your breath as he analyses the painting.

“Your strokes are very…careful” He looked back at you, “Like you’re afraid of making a mark on the paper”

You gulped, “I…sorry”

His eyebrows shot up, and he removed the glasses, keeping them on your desk. “Mind if I sit next to you, Y/N?”

You nodded, and you’re ready to hear the end of it. He pulled up an abandoned stool, scooting close to you. You pulled your hands into your lap, and faced him.

He gets right to it, “All the work that I’ve seen of yours in the portfolio you submitted. You were usually more confident. Is something bothering you these days?”

So much is bothering you, yet none of it is an excuse.

You haven’t come this far, just to slack off. You haven’t paid so much just to be average. You haven’t dreamt so long just to be careful. You’re holding back.

“No…nothing’s bothering me” You lied, manifesting that it will soon be the truth.

Jieong frowned at your blatant lie, because he’s obviously older and wiser and therefore he knows everything. “You’ve been getting enough sleep now?”

There’s no point in hiding the truth. It’s more embarrassing to be caught in a lie, “Actually, not really…my place is still new to me. I’m still getting used to the bed, my room…the traffic. Where I’m from, it’s always quieter at night. I…also miss my friends”

Jieong smiled at your words, “Is that all? Because if so, then I’m not worried. You’ll settle in soon, and the loud traffic will soon fall on deaf ears”

“I know” You nod, you’re trying to be positive, “It’s just taking some time”

He nodded, and you think he’ll leave but says, “Have you visited any museums yet? Or been around the city?”

You’re conscious again, because everybody else is painting the model, yet you feel like a kid being reprimanded by their teacher.

“I haven’t had much time. I’ve tried to improve my skills at home”

“You’re in a metro city, Y/N. You should let yourself be inspired. I’m not asking you to go out and get drunk—” He laughed, “But maybe the trick is to tire yourself out so much during the day, you fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow”

You forced a smile, but it’s hard when he’s looking right at you, “You’re right. I should do that”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your painting” He apologised, “You can continue”

You nodded, picking up the paintbrush but you’re shaking. He’s still sitting beside you, and his observant gaze terrifies you. You feel like you’re ten years old again, trying to be perfect in art class.

His hand landed on your shoulder, “Don’t be nervous”

The fact that he’s caught on to you being nervous is embarrassing, and you decide to say, “It’s hard not to be. I’ve looked up to your art my whole life”

He smiled, in your peripheral vision, “Is that so?” He looked proud, the smile reaches his eyes, and you nodded to confirm.

You and him haven’t had too many personal conversations yet. He’s close to everyone else in class but you‘re still getting to know each other. So, he still has no idea what he means to you. He had kind eyes, and the way he carries himself makes him seem much younger than he is. He’s trying to put you at ease, and you feel slightly grateful. He didn’t need to do this, or come here.

“I went to your exhibition in Jeju” You told him.

His eyes lit up, “Is that how you heard about this program? I remember my team was handing out flyers for this program there”

“Yup, I went with my best friend. Well, I sort of dragged him there, but I’m glad I did because I saw the flyers. I never thought I’d actually get in here though”

“Yet here you are” He hummed, “At the fear of not sounding narcissistic, can I ask you what your favourite piece was?”

You smiled, “You’re one of the greatest living artists. I think you’re allowed to be a little narcissistic”

At your words, he laughed. It’s so loud that it catches the attention of the students next to you. Though they’re used to his magnanimous personality, they turn away soon enough.

“You’re too sweet” He told you.

“My favourite piece…” You trailed off, and you’re replaying the exhibition in your head. You had dragged Felix around every hallway, and he’d complained throughout. Your thoughts are overtaken by something else though. At the pool all those weeks away… you’d talked about this in detail with Hyunjin, the night you told him about your rejection. The night you sat with your feet dipped in the water, the night he touched you and told you how he’d tangibly changed you. He couldn’t have known in that moment, how right he was. You can feel the ghost of his touch on your fingers, on your lips, your thighs.

Jieong must have noticed the fall in your expression because he tilt his head, “Everything all right?”

“I’m sorry. I was…just trying to remember” You can’t let thoughts of Hyunjin paralyse you.

“That’s okay” He said, simply.

“My favourite was Celestial Fatality” You said, “How…did you even come up with it?” You’d theorised this with Hyunjin…but now you could actually get some answers.

Jieong seemed surprised, “That’s a pretty morbid painting to love, Y/N”

“It’s beautiful though. It reminds me of the legend of Icarus”

“What do you like about it?” He leaned forward, and your heart jumped. He actually cares, and wants to know your opinion. The thought of it is crazy and makes you a little dizzy.

“It’s a cautionary tale…the pair of lovers drowning in moonlight, swallowed up in their own…hubris. They were probably told to stay away from each other, yet at the risk of their mortality, they still met”

Jieong seemed almost impressed, “You seem like a romantic person”

It’s a strange thing for him to say to you, in the middle of a Wednesday class. But he’s your favourite artist, and he’s absolutely right. For a romantic person, you’ve surely never had any good relationships to account for it though.

You shook your head, “I’m really not. I just like that painting. Something about it feels close to home. It’s almost like I can feel the pain of their mistake…of choosing each other over anything else in the world, even if that ends in their perishing…”

His lip curled up into a smile, “Fascinating”

Your chest felt heavy, but it feels so good to talk about this with him, “I hope one day I can create something with as much impact as that. I want to tell stories that linger, I think there’s a long time till that though…I mean I’m struggling with basic anatomy,. I guess I just need to get better….”

“I’ve only known you a few weeks, Y/N, but can I tell you something?”

“Hmm?”

He reached out, smiling warmly, “You’re way too hard on yourself. You’re in one of the greatest cities in the world. Live a little, kid”

»»————-

It had been just two weeks, but you’ve developed a habit. Every evening after class, you find yourself organising the canisters on the shelves.

“Should we be paying you for this?” Nate asked, stepping over to you. You don’t talk much in class, and when you do, it’s always in passing, like this. Right now, he had a bag slung over his shoulder, while he bit into an apple, the juice dripping down his chin. You wish you had more energy to put into your friendships right now but making new connections has felt so draining. You’d been too dependent on Yeonjun, but he can’t always be there.

He looked silly, eating fruit here, but you laughed, “I hope you’re joking”

“No, because why are you putting all of them in that order?” He asked, another crunch reverberated through the studio as he bit into it again.

“I actually worked in an art shop my whole life. Old habits…” You shrugged, looking at him.

“You’re kidding me” Minnie said, stepping up, “That explains it”

“Explains what?” You turned to them.

“Your desk is always so…strangely clean” She said. You don’t know her well too, but you love how she dresses. You love how she pours herself into her clothes, and expresses through them. She’s always wearing chunky jewellery, flowing skirts, corsets. Her art style is similar to it. It’s loud but dainty at the same time.

“I’m gonna presume that’s a compliment” You laughed, picking up your sketchbook. “Can we get going, Nate, please?” Minnie asked him.

“See you Monday” You smiled at them, turning to finish packing your things.

Nate looked at you over his shoulder, “Actually�� You got any plans after class?”

You looked between them, “Not really, I was planning on brushing up on my anatomy. Why?”

Nate rolled his eyes, and he almost reminds you of Minho in this moment, “Even though that sounds like the bestFriday night ever…We’re going to this new bar that opened up. You wanna come with?”

Minnie jumped forward, eyes lighting up, “Shit, yeah! I think you might really like it. The whole place is themed like a post-apocalyptic nuclear bunker. Very cool”

“What?” You laughed, walking over to them with your bag, “That sounds really unique, but I don’t really want to intrude on your plan”

Nate stepped forward, offering his hand to you, “Your anatomy can wait till Monday morning. You’ve been in Seoul a few weeks, don’t you want to explore the cool shit already?”

“Are you sure?”

“We have an extra ticket anyway” Minnie suggested. They’ve never asked you to hang out with them before like this. You wonder what it was about today that made them try.

You stared at his hand, outstretched to you. No inspiration was going to strike from you just sitting in your studio apartment every night. They were right, and you slipped your fingers in his. He smiled brightly…and that just happened to be the night you made your first friends in the city.

And…Nate had a lot of friends.

You realised as much when you’re sitting at the booth, squished between Minnie and him, staring at a bunch of young adults you don’t know.

They’re fun, and they’re on their fifth tequila shot of the night. In another life, this might have been your teenage years too. Attending Seoul University, having friends from affluent neighbourhoods, weekend nights out at the bar. Alas, everyone at this table is worth more than the average person’s income in Daejon, and the only cheap bar in your small town was run by an old creep.

Minnie handed you another tequila shot, her hand resting on your thigh. She’s very handsy and you don’t mind.

There’s been a few rounds of getting to know each other. You’re the new one, so you kind of feel like the baby of the group, even though they’re all older than you. Most of them came from America, but their Korean is so good you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Nate has attractive friends. Ha-ru, Renjun, Lily, Jamie. But none of them hold a candle to the boy you’re desperately trying not to think about.

You came straight to this bar after class, so you had no time to change out of your paint-tattered clothes. Thankfully, you’re wearing the leather jacket Yeonjun bought you, and it does a great job of keeping you warm. Admittedly, his friends aren’t too dressed up either. They all came from work too, and you once again realise that life here is so different from Daejon. There’s no time for frolicking, or lounging around in diners and swimming in Creeks. Everybody’s working their ass off, to afford the lifestyle that Seoul asks for, the lifestyle you always killed for.

“So, what brought you to this city, Y/N?” One of his friends asked you. It’s the only question you get asked these days. The most interesting thing about you is your newness, but they’re outgoing, so you’re not surprised at them making all these attempts to get to know you.

“Where do I start?” You joked, reaching for your drink, “I moved here from a little town near the mountains”

Your glass was tinted red, to match the theming of the bar. It’s a fancy place, and all the decor makes you feel like you’re underground. Even the bouncers are dressed up in what look like radioactive suits, for the whole nuclear bunker vibe.

Everything around you is neon. The tables, the lights, the dance floor. Each one of Nate’s friends has a neon necklace around their neck, and glow sticks as bracelets. You’ve seen those accessories in the movies, but you’ve never been to a party with them. Minnie made you a purple and blue glow-stick bracelet, and slipped it on your wrist a while ago. You’re fiddling with it as you talk to their friends.

“Ah, a small town girl” One of his friends, Renjun, laughed, but you’re not offended. It’s true, after all.

“Why would you willingly choose the life path of a struggling artist?” Jamie asked. She’s cute. Her hair is dyed bright red, so you already like her.

You laughed, “A silly dream”

“What’s your dream?” Nate asked, squeezing your shoulder. You realised his arm is around you, and has been for a while. He smells nice, and so you let it linger. Even now, his huge headphones hang off his neck. He never goes anywhere without them, and you’re proud of yourself for picking up little habits and quirks in such less time already.

Everybody has different reasons to be an artist, so you tell them yours, “I don’t know…I’ve been painting since I was a kid, but I think I’m ready to finally share my art with the world? That’s assuming other people would want to see it, but I guess I want to reach a point in my life where I’m proud of what I created, and hopefully I can inspire others. Also…because if I don’t become an artist, I have no idea what the hell I’ll do. It feels like the only thing I really enjoy doing”

It’s far too intense, and serious an answer for this bar, but Nate’s friends listened kindly. They smiled as you talked. It felt a little lame, sure. It also feels unachievable, but Minnie grinned, and pat your thigh, “I mean….wow, you’re halfway there! You made it to Jieong’s studio”

She’s right. You’ve been sad and moping this whole time, and you decide that tonight needs to be the night you want things to change. After what Jieong told you earlier today, you deserve a little fun, enough fun for the sirens and the traffic to become your lullaby as you fall asleep.

“But why Seoul? You have enough talent to make it to Paris” Jamie asked. She has piercings too, and you get distracted by how well they complimented her.

“I’d have to live on the streets” You bite your cheek. Maybe they can’t relate because they’re so much more well-off, but Nate laughed, and said, “Isn’t that an artist’s rite of passage?”

You smiled, and downed the last of your drink.

“Well, since you’re one of us now. Here’s your honorary tiara!” Jamie said, handing you a neon golden tiara across the table. You grabbed it, placing it atop your head and Minnie clicked a picture of you, joking about you being a princess from humble beginnings. Her words slur a bit, and you’ve been here more than an hour, so it explains why everybody’s already tipsy.

The dance floor was absolutely full, and there’s couples grinding on each other. There are so many pretty girls, and attractive guys surrounding them. Girls in tight dresses with no care in the world, and boys trying to flirt to catch their attention. There’s probably someone falling in love right this second, in this very bar, and you’re people-watching for a while. Everybody’s neon accessories are glowing in the blacklights, and it’s a beautiful scene, straight out of a movie.

When you tune back into the conversation, Jamie’s telling the group about some jerk at her workplace today, and you try to follow her story, except you’ve already lost the context. It’s probably the lack of sleep and all the alcohol in your veins.

You don’t have to try for long though since Renjun interrupted it, “Shit, is that Baekhyun?”

The name is familiar, and you all craned your heads to see who he’s pointing out.

There’s a well-dressed man at the far end of the bar, and he’s indulging in tequila shots, with two girls by his side. He’s beautiful, and he has silver hair.

“Who he is?” You asked, but you already know. Hyunjin has mentioned a Baekhyun before…and you’ve grown up hearing about him on television too, but this can’t possibly be him.

“A singer” Jamie said.

“Oh. He’s…the Baekhyun?” You dropped your voice. It felt weird talking about him when he’s right there, “Isn’t he like… a superstar?”

Nate nodded, “He’s one of the top, yeah. Even my mum’s obsessed with him. Why are you so surprised? Never seen an idol in the wild?”

If only he knew…

You craned your neck to see Baekhyun making out with the girl at the bar, tongue and all. “I didn’t know they can be so open…” You frowned, unable to comprehend the scene before you.

“Why wouldn’t they? He’s like twenty five. I know you’re not from the city but you’re not that old fashioned, are you?” Nate laughed.

You shook your head, but the little movement hurts you because you’re tipsy too, “No, it’s not that. I just thought…aren’t they prohibited from all of that? The drinking and everything…in public”

Minnie laughed, “Come on, you don’t seriously believe that Y/N”

It wasn’t just your belief. It’s what Hyunjin had told you, time and time again. His reputation was more important than anything, and his company would never let it be tarnished. Indulging in things like this…would definitely alter public perception of him.

“Well…they’re like super controlled by their companies” You told them. This was one thing you knew more than them. You’d heard first-hand accounts of it.

“Yeah, but none of them follow those rules” Nate laughed, and he’s drawing circles on your shoulder as he speaks, “Every single idol I know is like a sex freak”

“To put it kindly: they fuck like bunnies” Jamie clarified, “All that pent up frustration. Plus they’re all hot, and spend all their time together. It’s only natural”

“But…they’re not allowed to date publicly” You spoke, yet it came out more as a question.

Nate shrugged, “Still. They’re a bunch of horny twenty year olds, Y/N. You can’t be that naive”

“I’m not” You defended, “I just thought…Someone told me that… it’s really looked down upon, that they could get kicked out of the company”

Renjun leaned forward, jutting his head towards Baekhyun, “Does that look like the face of a man worried about being fired?”

Surely not. He was now making out with the other girl on his arm, while the previous one kissed his neck, at the bar for everyone to see. You’re sure people were taking pictures of them too, whoever wasn’t drunk enough to comprehend this.

“My friend’s worked with a couple of them. They’ve literally all fucked each other. And honestly, if I led a lifestyle as stressful as that? I would too” Renjun laughed.

“Most of them are dating too” Jamie said.

It felt like a dark cloud washed over you. Were you wrong about everything you assumed about Hyunjin’s life?

“Who told you that anyway, Y/N?” Minnie asked.

“Just some guy who works at Pegasus” You mumbled, twirling your glass on the table. Pegasus was the label Hyunjin’s group is under, but there’s enough artists in that company to not arouse any suspicion.

“Why are you so curious about this anyway? You’re in the mood to fuck a famous guy?” Nate asked.

You shook your head, “No, it’s just interesting to think about…”

If you could still talk to Hyunjin, you’d call him right now and ask him all about this, and why nobody seemed to care that Baekhyun was feeling up two girls in this very public place. It was like looking into an alternate reality, where nobody cared about what they were up to. A better reality than yours surely, yet you couldn’t process it. You hadn’t been interested in idols before Hyunjin, and after Hyunjin, all you’d known was their endless restrictions.

Minnie finished the tequila in your glass, “I could never be famous. I’d get cancelled on day one”

You smiled at her joke, but your mood had already dampened. Nate was right. You were naïve to think that none of them broke the rules, just because Hyunjin didn’t want to. You stared at the condensation ring your glass left.

Minnie nudged you in your stomach, as if noticing the lull in your emotions, “Wanna get another drink with me at the bar?”

You desperately wanted a drink, so you could finally let go and enjoy the rest of tonight, “Aren’t we going to be hungover for class tomorrow?”

She rolled her eyes, “Class isn’t till eleven. We’ll be fine. Plus, Jieong knows we drink every Wednesday”

So you followed her to the bar. Baekhyun wasn’t there anymore, and he must have left with the girls. “This place is really cool” You told her, hiking up on a bar stool as she ordered you two Tequila Sunrises.

“Isn’t it? We try to go out every week, it keeps us sane. I mean, there’s so many places to explore too, you know what I mean?”

You nodded, even though you’re all about routine and less about spontaneity, “I get it”

Your drinks arrived, decorated with two cherries on top, and a slice of orange.

“So, you have a boyfriend yet?” She asked you, chewing on her straw. You knew the question was coming, so you’re not surprised and you don’t flinch.

“No” You shook your head, “I haven’t had one for a while”

She hummed, “Why? It’d be fun to get one, while you’re here”

You laughed, sipping on your drink, “Get one? You say that as if I can just go shopping for a new boyfriend”

The drink was citrusy — a blend of tequila and orange juice. Yet your favourite drink is still the one Hyunjin made you, complete with the flower from his home garden.

She rolled her eyes, “No, I mean, you’re pretty. Look around us and just pick a cute boy. Boys in Seoul are so desperate they’ll be very easy to get”

You laughed, “You’re not serious, are you?”

“I am!” She seemed offended, “Then we could even go on double dates”

“You have a boyfriend?”

She smiled, “A girlfriend. But we’re on the down low”

You’re surprised, “Really? What’s her name?”

She laughed, pointing at your booth, “You met her. It’s Jamie. She’s at the table”

Your eyes widened, “Shit. You’re dating Jamie?”

“I know, we don’t seem like a couple, right?”

They hadn’t been all over each other so you hadn’t presumed they were together, but perhaps their love was stable, so they didn’t need to be. You took a long sip of your drink, “No, I just…I just didn’t know”

She shrugged, “We don’t really tell anyone. Not everybody gets it”

“Thank you for telling me. I know we haven’t talked much in class, and you don’t even know me that well, but—”

She interrupted you, keeping her hand on your thigh, “Stop, Y/N. I’ve seen your art, and honestly that speaks to me so much more than knowing someone for years. It’s like reading a personal diary, don’t you think? Art reveals so much of who we are”

You smiled, her words stroking a growing flame in your heart, “What does it reveal about me?”

She chewed on her straw further, smile tugging at her lips, “All I need to know. And since we’re all in Jieong’s class now, I hope you know we’ll basically be family by the end of the year”

“You’re really sweet…I was kind of nervous joining in the middle of a semester, but I’m so glad I’m here. Thank you for taking me out tonight too”

“Of course. You’re the newest addition to the group, we had to”

It feels so sudden, and fast, but you’re thankful they consider you a part.

“So” She leaned forward, “Pick a boy to kiss tonight”

You shook your head, laughing, “No, I can’t” You’re tipsy, but you’re not that drunk, and the idea of kissing someone who’s not him, hurts you far too much. You also can’t imagine enjoying it.

“Why?” She pouted.

You wonder what’s the best way to say it. You forced a smile, “I’m…in love with somebody else”

Minnie’s eyes widened, as if you’d been keeping a secret from her for years, “What? Who?”

You played with the orange slice in your drink, “Just a boy from my town”

“Can I ask what happened?”

You swallowed, gaze wavering from hers, “Uh…it’s complicated, Minnie”

“Did he break your heart?”

You looked up at her, “We…lost touch”

It sounds stupid to say in the 21st century. Those kind of things don’t happen anymore. It’s not like you are ancient lovers who separated due to circumstances. Yet it feels more like that every day. You wish you just knew what happened. There must be a reasonable explanation for why he acted this way.

Minnie frowned, “I see…”

You know she’s curious, but nobody could ever understand the complexity of what happened between you and him this summer anyway. You don’t think you understand it yourself.

“Let’s just not talk about him” You mumbled, finishing the rest of your drink. You’d been drinking so fast tonight, you didn’t realise how much you’d had.

“Hey…” A voice interrupts you, and you turned to see Jamie, “I was looking everywhere for you”

Minnie rolled her eyes, “The only place you should look is the bar”

“You’re right” Jamie slung an arm around her, pulling her close, “Can we go dance, baby?”

Minnie grinned, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, “Y/N, do you wanna come with?”

You looked between them, and they look so cute together. Jamie was leaving little pecks on Minnie’s shoulder as they talked. They complement each other so well — Minnie with her light hair, and Jamie with her fiery red. You haven’t known Jamie before tonight, but their personalities seem so contrasting too.

You jumped off the barstool, “I’m actually gonna go to the bathroom, okay?”

“Cool. We’ll be here” She smiled, walking off to the dance floor with her girlfriend.

There’s a line at the bathroom so you stand in it, hugging yourself. The music isn’t as loud here, so it’s nice to get some time to your thoughts. A couple is making out in front of you, and the guy is grabbing her ass, pushing her to the wall. The club walls aren’t the most sanitary for this, but the music playing is sexy, and the atmosphere is so hot. There’s nothing wrong with daydreaming…so you let yourself drift into it. If he were here…you don’t think that would have stopped you either. In a dress that’s too short for you, the two of you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off each other the whole night.

Except… he would have definitely stopped you. You can never imagine a day where he’d kiss you in the middle of a crowded bar.

Once you’re finally in, you splashed some water on your face. Some of it gets on your top. Pushing your hair back, you stared at yourself in the mirror. The image looking back at you is blurry, and out of focus. Pink neon strips surround the mirror, but the light hurts your eyes. The alcohol has got to your head, and your reflection is already spinning. You take in a breath, gripping the counter tightly. You suddenly feel sick. It’s not the drinks. It’s the image burned into your head of Baekhyun at the bar. How is he living his life with so much ease, when all you had with Hyunjin are stolen moments? You’re happy that perhaps the rules aren’t the same for everyone…but it feels unfair.

You wonder if you’re destined to always feel this way, this loss, like a hole in your heart where he belonged. Tears threatened to spill but you hold them back. You can’t be the girl crying in the bathroom, on her first night out. That would be so fucking pathetic, you’d pity yourself.

“Fucking asshole!” A voice interrupted your breakdown, and through the neon mirror, your eyes fall on a girl as she runs into the bathroom, aggression plastered on her features. She’s in a tight top, and it’s soaking wet. It looks like someone spilled a drink on it. She looked rightfully annoyed, coming to stand next to you at the sink. You wonder who she got into a fight with, or how the drink ended up on her clothes.

She’s furiously wiping away at her top, but it’s completely wet, purple liquid seeped in. Tearing off tissues one after the other, she seemed frustrated when the dispenser is out.

You’re still zoned out, and you don’t realise you’re holding out a toilet paper roll to her. Your limbs seemed to move on their own accord.

She glanced up at your reflection, with wide eyes. Bangs fall to the front of her eyes, and thick eyeliner darkened her gaze. A nose piercing catches the neon light. Despite the mess on her shirt, she easily looks like the coolestgirl you’ve ever seen.

“Thank you” She frowned, but her shoulders visibly relaxed at your gesture. She grabbed the paper roll from you, and you turned to leave.

“Some dude threw a drunk at me when I said I didn’t wanna dance with him” She said. It takes you a second to register that she’s talking to you.

So you turned around, crossing your arms to hold yourself, “Oh…ouch. Some people just can’t take a no, I guess”

She laughed, looking at herself in the mirror, “Right? I looked in his direction for a second, and he took that as an invitation”

Her clothes …are completely ruined, and you can see her bra. It’s way past the point of saving. It would have been a cute outfit, if it wasn’t for the huge stain at the front.

“Who was he? Maybe I can get my friends to talk with him” You told her, and you don’t know why you’re offering up Nate and Minnie to fight a random stranger, just for this girl.

Still, she laughed, “Your friend would beat up a stranger for me?”

You smiled, and said without hesitation, “If I ask him nicely enough. Actually… I think me and him just became friends today, so I can’t promise you”

She laughed, “A night of firsts for you too then”

“For me too?” You questioned, and you’re still looking at her through the bathroom mirror.

“It’s my first night out on the city after a long time. I honestly just needed to get out. I thought I’d go insane in my apartment” She told you, and then looked down, “What am I gonna do with this?”

You don’t think, “You can have my jacket”

Her eyebrows shoot up, and she whipped around to look at you. You realise up close, she’s even prettier than in her reflection, if that’s possible.

“You’re serious?” She tilt her head, and looked over you, gaze drifting to the leather jacket that clings to your body, “That looks new”

“You can return it to me” You offered.

“You trust me enough to do that?” She smiled, and dimples appear in her cheeks.

“You… seem nice enough”

She looked at your jacket yet again, thinking it over in head, “No, I couldn’t. Won’t you be cold?”

“I’ll be fine, and you definitely can’t wear that” You said, pointing to her blouse that sticks to her body.

She sighed, looking down at herself, and then gives in. You wonder why you’re convincing her to take your jacket. Maybe because she’s the only thing that stopped you from having an actual breakdown in the bar bathroom. She peeled off her blouse, cursing again at how it sticks to her body as she did so, and it leaves her in just her bra. She squeezed the blouse over the sink, wringing it, and purple liquid dripped out.

“That’s gross” You remarked, and she laughed. You handed your jacket to her. Inside, you’re thankfully wearing a tank top so you’ll be fine. She zipped it up, and it’s a little tight on her, but it does the job. It obviously doesn’t match with the denim skirt she’s wearing, but still you smiled, “Cute outfit”

“I look insane” She laughed.

“Well, hey, at least that’ll keep the creepy guy off you” You told her. You then realise you’ve been here far too long, “Um, I should probably head out. My friends would be worried”

She giggled loudly, turning to you, “Wait, but thank you. You’re…really nice. It’s not often you meet people with the likes of you here”

“I’m not from here but…I’m sure anybody else would have done the same thing” You suggested, standing at the door to leave.

“Well, I asked like six girls for help but all of them said no” She mumbled.

Your heart clenched. Perhaps it’s true that people in the city really are so consumed in their own lives. Maybe that’s why everyone in your town hated them.

“Where are you from then?” She asked you.

“You won’t really know it”

Her eyebrows shoot up, as if you challenged her, “Come on, try me. I was a pro in geography in high school!”

“It’s a town called Daejon”

Her eyes widened, “Daejon? Yeah, I do know where that is!”

“Oh” You smiled, and you don’t know why you’re telling everybody about yourself tonight, but it feels nice.

“I actually knew somebody from there” She said, and that’s what really catches your attention.

“You do?”

“Yeah” She smiled, but says nothing more.

Someone suddenly tugs at your sleeve. It’s Minnie, and she hooked her arm around yours, pulling you out, “You’ve been in here for like, an hour. We’re going to another bar. Nate and the others are waiting for us”

You glanced back at the girl, and said, “Sorry! I, um, gotta go”

You’ve made it all of two steps out of the bathroom and back into the bar, before she tapped on your shoulder. She yelled to be heard over the music, it’s so much louder out here, “Wait! How should I get this jacket back to you?”

You’re clearly drunker than you thought since you just handed her your shit and were walking away without any plan of how to get it back, “Um yeah, I can give you my number. I’m Y/N, by the way”

“Y/N” She repeated, pulling her phone out to save your number, “My saviour”

You enter hers, and you’re in a hurry because Minnie is pulling at your sleeve, whining about how the others will be annoyed, “What should I save yours as?”

“You can just put in Kairi!”

“Sorry?” You looked up at her, freezing. The pounding music overtakes your senses. You must have misheard her…

“Kairi. My name!” She smiled, and you’re staring at her stupidly for a second just as Minnie tugs at your arm, and before you can ask her any further questions, she dragged you back into the bar.

»»————-

At 6:46 a.m., there was a text on your phone.

heyy its the drunk girl you gave your jacket to last night :) im very grateful for it and would like to give it back. where do you work, yn?

You’re surprised she remembered your name.

Last night flooded through your brain. You’d gone out drinking with your friends, and then to another bar, and you’d come home without your jacket… dead in the night. Jeongin had seen you struggling with your keys, and he’d let you in. You’d been so fucking drunk, but nothing can erase the memory of that girl.

She said her name was Kairi. Chan’s ex-girlfriend was a girl named Kairi. The girl he was in love with for years, the girl he was going to ask to marry, before something happened…and they broke up. That had also been around the time Hyunjin had stopped talking to you…

How many Kairis could possibly live here? It’s probably just…a random Kairi, and not the one Hyunjin had told you all about. Although knowing your luck, Chan’s ex-girlfriend was possibly texting you, and this was all kind of insane. You can’t even go a single day without being reminded of Hyunjin, and it feels like life is playing a cruel trick on you by introducing you to Kairi. It’s too big a coincidence. It’s so crazy and convoluted that you should just block the number and never think about this again. She had no idea who you are, and it feels like you’re tricking her by knowing her identity.

But Yeonjun gave you that jacket so you can’t just let it go, and so you text her back. Just so you can get it back. Nothing more to it.

hey, im actually a student but i can come to where you work, and pick it up

a student? that explains why you’re so sweet and i work near the outskirts, it’ll be too far for you. why don’t we meet up at the paris baguette near hannam? is that all right for you for tonight?

i actually have class at eleven

ah how about now then?

You sat up immediately. You’re still in your pyjamas and hungover as fuck. Now?

»»————-

Kairi was standing outside the Paris Baguette when you arrive, tote bag slung over her shoulder. She looked absolutely stunning in the morning, miles more so than the club bathroom, and your heart shakes a little. Sober, she’s prettier, and even more confident.

“Hey” You walked up to her, trying not to think about how weird this all was. You’re just here for the jacket, and then you’re going to leave, “Morning”

“Hey, stranger” She smiled bright, dimples returning.

“I’m sorry if I was late” You apologised.

“No, don’t mind me, I just like to show up way too early. Here’s your jacket!” She reached into her bag, handing it to you, “I had it dry-cleaned in the morning. Didn’t wanna return it with the alcohol smell over it”

“Oh. Thank you” You smiled, “You didn’t need to do that”

“Of course I did. I’m buying you breakfast, by the way”

“You’re what?”

“In fact, I got here early to beat the rush. Got you some pain au chocolat before it sells out!”

Fuck. No wonder Chan was in love with her.

This feels far too weird though, and you can’t be hanging out with her, “I should…get going, Kairi”

“You remember my name, Y/N” She grinned, unfazed by you constantly wanting to just get the fuck out of here.

“Of course…you, uh remembered mine, but I should really go”

“Well, I’m not letting you go that easily. I already bought us food”

You watched, helpless, as she reached into her bag to bring out a little box, “Do you want to walk with me? There’s a place in the park we could grab coffee from”

You really shouldn’t. Every bit of you is screaming at you at how you shouldn’t do this. But she looks far too happy for this early in the morning, and you don’t want to be to the ruin her entire day so you gave in, “I…can’t ever say no to coffee”

Kairi grinned, triumphant as she led you to the park, and when you bite into the chocolate croissant that she bought you, this doesn’t feel like such a big mistake.

You’re walking, and her elbow brushed against yours as she asked you, “You said you’re a student”

“Mmh” You nodded, through a mouthful of croissant. The chocolate sticks to your lips and you wipe it off, conscious of how you look around her.

“So, tell me more, Y/N. What are you a student of?”

You’re feeling the nerves in your tummy, and you need to act normal because this is just a girl. It doesn’t matter if Chan is her ex-boyfriend, or if she’s friends with Hyunjin. You can’t make it weirder than it already is. “I study art” You told her, “At the Atelier”

“Art?” Her eyes lit up, “I swear I always attract the creative people”

“Yeah?” You glanced at her, swallowing another bite of the croissant.

She shook her head, as if to dismiss the thought, “Mmh. So what kind of art do you learn?”

It’s a chilly morning in the park, but it’s beautiful. People are walking their dogs, and old couples are sitting on benches, and you’re with a kind stranger who was buying you coffee.

“All kinds, but mostly painting” You told her, leaning against a little fence as you two come to a stop. There’s a little stall set up in the popular trail of the park, and a sweet woman is selling coffee and cakes. Kairi paid for your drinks, and you watched her from where you stand.

“I have a friend who likes to paint” She told you, smiling as she walked back over to you, “Personally, it’s not for me”

“What do you do?”

“Be careful, it’s hot” Kairi warned, handing the steaming cup of mocha to you. You wrapped your hands around it, and lift it to your cheek, letting the warmth travel to your face.

She giggled, “Who needs heat packs when we have caffeine?”

You nodded, taking a sip of it as you looked at her. She can’t seem to stay still, and she’s walking across a circle of pebbles, as she chats away and sips at her coffee. She’s so endearing, and she reminds you of a mix of Felix and Minho. Today, her hair is pulled up into a bun, strands falling around her face. Her makeup is lighter than it was yesterday too, but she’s prettier in the daylight.

“Oh and…I work in corporate. It’s…a boring job, but I think I’ve had enough of an exciting life” She hummed. You let yourself get comfortable, crossing your ankles across the dirt, enjoying the warm coffee, as she told you about her job, and the kind of clients she’s had. You tell her about your apartment, and about how you’d be locked out so frequently, if it weren’t for Jeongin. You tell her about Yeonjun too.

You’re trying really hard to not bring up anything that can give you away. You’re so curious, you need to know if this is the same Kairi that you’ve heard of this whole while. Kairi is a common enough name, even if you asked, what would you say? The boy I love is in a band with your ex-boyfriend. It’s insane to bring up, so you settle for something simpler, “Um…can I ask why you’re buying me coffee on a Friday morning?”

She looked up at you, smiling, “Would you judge me if I said I’m going through a really shitty time? I kind of want to remind myself that there’s still good stuff in the world”

“Oh. I’m sorry” You apologised, staring at your feet. That was inappropriate to ask.

“Don’t be sorry. We all have our own baggage to deal with”

“Yeah. I get you” You said, taking another sip of the mocha, “Um, so don’t you have work today?”

“No” She laughed, “I’m taking a mental health day, as cringe as that may sound”

Your chest squeezed. It sucked to see her go through this, whatever it was, and you barely know her. “We all need that sometimes” You shot her a smile, “It’s not…cringe at all. Don’t worry. In fact, the world would be a better place if everyone took a mental health day once in a while”

She stepped up to you, eyes lost in thought, “You know…you remind me of someone”

“I do?”

“Mmh” She nodded, “My boyfriend, he—Sorry, ex-boyfriend, he was just like you”

Now you’re definitely crossing a line, but you’re self-destructive so you ask anyway, “Can I…ask what happened?”

She tilt her head, pausing between sipping her mocha, “It’s not really morning coffee worth news. I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details but we’re…taking a break…indefinitely”

You swallowed, “I’m sorry to hear that”

She shrugged, wiping some foam off her lips, “Don’t be. I know that…things are going to be okay”

You can’t resist asking, “How can you be so sure?”

“Well. He’s the only person I think of, when I’m sad…and also when I’m fucking happy. I know that he feels the same, and if two people can’t stay away from each other, it just means…they aren’t supposed to be apart” She laughed.

Your stomach clenches at that. You should believe that, except it’s impossible.

“I wish that I could be as positive as you are” You end up saying.

“You said you’re from Daejon, right?” It comes out of nowhere. Why is she bringing it up now?

You felt a rush in your chest at her question, “Yeah. I am.”

She pokes her tongue in her cheek, and you don’t know where she’s headed with this, “One of my friends was born there”

“Oh…” You try hard not to react, but you’re so easy to read, you give everything away. Anybody would be able to see you’re hurting.

“He’s a painter too. Well…not professionally, but…he wishes he was. He’s so talented. in another life, I’m sure he’s much more successful than even Da Vinci”

You know exactly who she’s talking about, and you can’t hear this. You’ll end up crying or something, so you finally do the right thing and say, “Um. I think I should leave, Kairi”

Her eyes widened, and she seemed confused, stepping towards you, “What? Did I say something wrong?”

You’re pressed up to the fence, facing her, “No. I’m just going to be late for class if I stay and—”

“I said something wrong” She interrupted you, face hardened.

You look at your feet, and you shouldn’t have come here with her. You’re far too sensitive for this, “No, you didn’t”

“Wait…You know who I’m talking about, right?” She continued, and you wish she’d stop.

“I don’t” You said, and your jaw is clenched from the lie.

Kairi’s gaze is unrecognisable, and her voice feels far away, “You’re…the Y/N…aren’t you?”

You’re squeezing the cup in your hand, “What?”

“I wasn’t sure…I had a doubt but the more time I spend with you, the more obvious it gets who you are”

Your voice fell to a whisper, “You know me?”

“All he did was talk about you.”

A burning flame consumes your heart, and you can’t breathe, and you asked even though you know the answer, “Who…?”

“Hyunijn… He would be making up excuses just to keep bringing you up, in each conversation. He talked about you every second he could.”

You think you’re going to have a panic attack in the middle of the park.

“He did…?”

“Until… a few months ago he completely stopped. He…hasn’t said your name since”

You swallowed, and there’s tears in your eyes, “I’m sorry I…need to go, Kairi. Thank you…for the coffee”

She doesn’t say anything.

This time, she lets you leave.

»»————-

You’re a mess.

It’s been a few days since you saw Kairi in the park, and you’re a fucking mess. You can’t stop thinking about her, about what happened with Chan, and about Hyunjin.

You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, and your vision is all blurry as you try to paint. There’s an assignment due in a few hours, and you’re not even halfway done. Unproductivity has plagued you. Why do you get so fucking emotional? You wish you at least had some closure. It’s not fair that Hyunjin decided to just move on, and not tell you what was up.

Your phone buzzed, and it’s only Nate.

you coming to class? the field trip is planned for today so you better not skip it yn

You don’t even want to get out of bed, but you can’t skip it. Kim Jieong has been talking about this trip for weeks. He’s had to move a lot of schedules around to make it happen. You’re supposed to be visiting an artist friend of his— someone who owns art galleries and does frequent viewing exhibitions. The thought of meeting another real artist like that used to excite you. You had never got this chance back home, and this is just the beginning of the opportunities you get. You can’t be wasting away your time in sadness. That’s what gets you out of bed. That, and the thought of disappointing your professor potentially. These days, it feels like you’re just hanging on by a very thin thread.

When you arrive to the Atelier, everybody’s already gathered in the parking lot, ready to depart. You hate being late, but you spot your friends by the corner and you find comfort in walking over to them. Professor Jieong was in the middle of briefing everyone, and handing out access cards.

“You decided to show up” He said to you, smiling, “We were getting worried”

“I’m sorry. I ran into traffic” You apologised.

“Don’t worry” He laughed, handing you your card, “This will get you in and out of the building, but try not to use it too much. Karina would get into a shit load of trouble if my students are found wandering on the other floors”

Karina is the artist you’re supposed to meet today, apparently she’s big in the art world here in Seoul. You hope one day…you can be too.

Nate’s holding a plastic bag to his chest, and he looks cute today in a pastel sweater, “I packed some extra snacks for you, Y/N”

“You didn’t need to” Your heart warmed at his consideration.

“Come on, we’re on a tight schedule, so…let’s hurry up, okay?” Jieong announced.

“Since you’re late, you have the honor of riding with the prof” Nate smirked, jutting his head towards Kim Jieong.

“Are you serious?” Your eyes widened, “Just me alone?”

“You’ll be fine, Y/N” Minnie laughed, “He has a bias towards you”

“That’s only because I’m the new one here!”

“No, it’s because it’s impossible to not like you” Nate rolled his eyes.

Jieong approached your group, hands on his hip, “So…which one of you is coming with me?”

“She is” Minnie chirped, pushing you in his direction.

Nate hummed as he walked away, “If I remember correctly, he is your favourite artist, isn’t he?”

You’re embarrassed, and also pissed at your friends. Jieong lead you to his car in the parking lot. You watched Nate get in his jeep and he laughed at your predicament.

Jieong smiled at you as you got into his car, “Oh, don’t be shy, Y/N. This will give us a chance to know each other better, won’t it?”

You sank into his seat, flushing, “Right”

»»————-

The skyscrapers of Seoul passed you, as you drove through crowded streets and glitzy buildings, “Should I be nervous?”

He looked over at you, “Karina is one of my favourite students. She used to intern with me a few years ago. She couldn’t get off her meetings, so we’re gonna visit her at work. That’s all it is. Nothing to be nervous about”

You’re sitting in the passenger seat and it’s been mostly quiet as you fiddled with the access card in your lap, “What kind of work does she do?”

“She’s a curator. I asked her to be a sort of…mentor for you kids throughout the semester. She’s had her fair share of exhibitions”

It feels strange to ride in his car, next to him. You’re his student after all, “Do I get credit for this, Mr. Jieong?”

He glanced at you, “Of course you do. I’m not doing this on my dime, Y/N. We’re here, by the way”

At his words, you leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the building you’re arriving at. He pulled straight into the garage, and you briefly caught the glamorous exterior.

“This is where she works?” You gaped, “She must be one hell of an artist”

Jieong laughed as he pulled the car into a guest parking spot, grabbing a ticket, “Obviously the entire building doesn’t belong to her.”

You told him about Yeonjun’s workplace, as you waited in the car for all of your classmates to show up, “One of my friends…he works in a building like this, but it’s so…monotonous. I kind of hated it”

He laughed, “Well, I think you’ll love this one. It’s brimming with creativity. They have beautiful art hung in every corridor too. Karina’s workspace is on one of the upper floors”

“I’d kill to have an office like that. The view must be so good”

Jieong smiled at you, “You continue working as passionately as you do, and you will have whatever the hell you dream of, Y/N. You name it, and it’ll be yours”

He unclipped his seatbelt, and your stomach felt uneasy from anticipation as you got out of the car. Even the parking garage looks expensive, and glamorous. Way, way more than Yeonjun’s building.

“Am I underdressed? Will they let me in?” You blurted, even though it’s hardly appropriate to ask him that. You’re in a peach tube top and wish you’d grabbed a blazer or something. If the place has a dress code…you probably won’t be let in. Thankfully, the skirt falls to your ankles and isn’t too short. He looked back at you, eyes raking over your outfit, and you felt embarrassed. You shouldn’t have asked him.

His lips curled up into a smile, “You look fine, Y/N. Don’t worry”

Fine. That would have to do.

You waited near the elevators, as your classmates also made their way to you. Nate was smirking as he saw you with your professor. You rolled your eyes at him, and he stood next to you, “How was the private ride?”

“Clearly better than ours, Jeonghan, seeing as she rode with someone who actually knows how to drive. I’m surprised we made it here alive” Minnie mumbled to him.

“Stop calling me Jeonghan! It’s Nate to you” He rolled his eyes, shoving her.

“I like your Hangul name better” You told him. Nate was nice, but Jeonghan…had a ring to it.

He smiled at you, eyes crinkling, “Hmm. You’re allowed to call me whatever you want”

You laughed, and he came and swung an around you, holding you next to him. The rest of the class gathered up at the foyer, and your professor spoke, “We’ll be going straight to Karina, she’s gonna talk to each of you about her work, and we’ll spend some time looking at her portfolio. The Atelier has a reputation to withhold, and I trust you all to not mess with it. And yes by that, I mean you Jeonghan”

Jeonghan gasped dramatically, and you laughed.

The inside of the elevator was as big as your bedroom. The buttons were gold-plated, each label marking names of different managements. It seemed like a big office building, and each floor belonged to a different company. You stepped behind Jieong, letting him take the lead. He pushed a keycard, and the elevator came to life.

Familiar music started playing, and Jieong informed you, “Nobody can enter without authorisation”

“The real estate of this place…must be insane” You commented, looking around you at the gold fittings in the walls. It’s the fanciest place in the city you’ve been to, which is saying a lot, since The Art Atelier is pretty exclusive too.

Jieong leaned against the side, crossing his arms, “Well, all the floors belong to different companies. Most of them belong to Pegasus though. They’re paying for half of it”

Your head snaps to his, and surely this is all a fucking joke and somebody is messing with you big time, “Pegasus? Like…the entertainment company?”

There was no fucking way he was being serious…

He nodded, “Their headquarters are on the eighth floor. I’m sure you know most buildings downtown share offices”

Somebody has to be fucking with you.

“Hey, maybe we’ll see Baekhyun or someone again” Jeonghan laughed.

“Everything okay, Y/N?” Minnie asked, “It looks like the life drained out of you, or something”

Jeonghan grinned, pulling you into his side, “She’ll be fine. I’m sure famous people just make her nervous”

»»————-

A freak accident. That’s what this was.

Pegasus. That is where Hyunjin works.

You’re sitting in an office on the tenth floor, but you’re losing your mind. There’s art on the walls. You recognise the paintings, and they cost more than million won and you should be taking notes and appreciating them. You can’t focus on them though, not when Hyunjin is in this building somewhere.

You feel like a stalker. First Kairi, and then this. Your life is playing a cruel trick on you. You just need to get through this. It’s possible he’s not even here today — he’s a busy man. There’s a huge chance you are in and out of here, without ever encountering him. Yet you’re dying to see him.

“Make yourself comfortable. Karina will be with us soon” Professor Jieong told you all, sitting at the table. You felt like you’re going to pass out.

“Y/N. Are you okay?” Someone asked.

“I’m fine. I just…need some water” You mumbled. Your head was spinning with the revelation of where you are.

“There’s a soda machine down the hall” Your professor told you.

So, you get up and go out without a word. There’s so much life here. Jieong was right, there’s a hum of creativity in the air and the vibe is far different from Yeonjun’s office. People are walking around, clad in pantsuits and pinstripe skirts, with clipboards in hands. A woman strolled past you holding a costume rack, with the fanciest gowns you’ve seen.

You’ve never seen so much activity in one place, everybody’s in a rush. You avoided making eye contact with anyone. You felt weird, and out of place. You’re on the tenth floor. Hyunjin worked on the eighth. It’s too much distance, and it’s not enough distance.

As your eyes raked over everyone, your stomach turned with a bit of hope. You want to see him. No, you need to see him. But why would he be on a floor that isn’t his? And what would he even say if you bumped into him right now? The last time he saw you…you can’t survive a repeat of that.

The vending machine was easy enough to locate. It was fully stocked, and huge, unlike the one at your apartment building, which hardly ever worked. You reached into your purse, hoping you have enough change for a Coca-Cola.

You feel on edge in the hallway, vulnerable and out in the open. Every second feels like you’re in the wild, as you rifle through your wallet for coins. In fact, you should just fuck the soda and go back to Kim Jieong, and your apparent mentor Karina, because being out here is too dangerous for your heart.

You’re about to push the coins in, and then you’re suddenly caught off balance as somebody barrels into you.

They were running in the hallway and clearly, somebody from your class wasn’t listening to Jieong about maintain fucking decorum in the building. Coins from your hand clink to the floor, scattering in every direction, and you can’t even be bothered to care.

“Shit, I’m so fucking sorry!” A deep voice apologised. It’s a voice you don’t recognise, and you’re grateful for the unfamiliarity. You’re really not in the mood for conversation, and you feel sick to your stomach.

The stupid fucking stranger bent down, retrieving the coins you’ve left everywhere.

“I’m so sorry. I was running and I…I didn’t see you” He grimaced.

“It doesn’t matter” You mumbled, moving to step away, not really making an attempt to talk because you are not in the mood for this. You don’t care enough about this soda.

“Wait, no, what were you going to get? I can buy you a Cola” He interrupted.

You looked back at him, into the eyes of the culprit, and you froze.

Chocolate brown eyes. Dark blue hair falling to his jaw.

You don’t know him, not personally, but you recognised him. You’ve seen him splashed across gossip websites, and news articles, and in all of the pictures Hyunjin sent you.

Of all the people in the entire building, it had to be him.

He’s holding a few coins in the fist and held his palm out to you. “Sorry, the soda machine on our floor is broken again” He told you, “I came up here to get some for myself but…”

“It’s…fine”

His eyes narrowed, “I’ve never seen you on this floor before”

You faltered, “I don’t work here”

For the briefest moments, something flashed through his gaze, recognition settling into his features, “Oh…okay”

“Have a nice day” You force a smile.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands up straight with all your coins in his palm, staring after you as you walk away.

»»————-

You need to leave. Everybody was gathered around a woman in the office, and she must be the mentor you’re supposed to meet today. Most of your classmates were looking through the various portfolio pieces laid out on all the conference tables. Minnie was deeply immersed in a painting and taking notes on her phone. Jeonghan was flipping through a brochure for an art gallery and his eyes widened when he saw you walk back in.

“You’re back” He grinned.

“I’m leaving” You mumbled, grabbing your bag. You feel so childish and immature for acting out like this, but perhaps it’s time for you to take a mental health day too. Hyunjin saw you in the city, and ran from you, so it’s only fair that you run from him too. It’s not like he even knows you’re here... it’s best to just remove yourself from the situation entirely, and fuck off.

“You’re what?” Jeonghan followed you outside the room.

“I’m not feeling too well”

“But what about Karina? What am I supposed to tell Jieong?” He asked frantically, and he’s chasing after you as you make your way to the elevators. You’re surprised he cares this much.

You turned, to look at him, “It doesn’t matter. I…I really don’t want to be here.”

He frowned, “But what’s wrong? You’ve been acting really weird ever since we came here. Or…actually, you’ve been weird the past week. What happened?”

“I’m fine, Jeonghan. I’m just sick” You told him, pushing the button to make the elevator come faster, and you were too impatient to wait for it, “I’m just going to take the stairs”

He tugged at your arm, turning you to face him, “Are you kidding me? We’re on the tenth floor, Y/N” He sighed, “Look, I know we don’t know each other that well, but don’t bullshit me, please. We’re going to be seeing each other every day for a year. If things are fucked up, at least don’t lie about it to me”

You looked him in the eye, swallowing, “But…it’s really not important. I promise you’ll be the first to know when it is, okay? It’s just some shit from back home”

He frowned, “Okay but today is important, you…shouldn’t miss it, no matter what’s going on”

You pressed the button again, wishing the elevator would come faster so you could leave, “Jeonghan… I appreciate you caring. I really do, but trust me, nobody in that classroom is going to miss me, or even know that I’m gone”

“You’re kidding me” He sighed, as if he was personally offended by this, “Jieong used to talk about your art all the fucking time, before you even joined class. What makes you think he won’t notice?”

You’re not expecting to hear that, “Are you serious?”

He nodded, “He told us we had real competition to look forward to now. He was going on about how it’s been years since he’s seen such work. He really set the standards high for when you came in, Y/N. We all thought you’d be a bitch based off that but…it’s crazy. You’re actually the sweetest girl I’ve met in a while”

Despite your internal state of panic, it made you happier, “Oh…um, that’s a lot to live up to, Jeonghan”

“I know we’re still getting to know each other, but you’re a part of us now. I’m looking forward to know you even more” He smiled, reaching forward to pinch your cheek, “And see? You’re one of the only people who’s even allowed to call me by my real name”

You looked to the floor, then up at him, “Would he be mad if I left?”

“He wouldn’t be mad. Just disappointed…but…if you’re really feeling sick, I’m sure he’d understand. I can talk to him for you”

“Thank you, Jeonghan”

“Of course” He grinned, and caught you off guard by pulling you in for a half-hug. You stilled, not expecting that, but the physical contact felt nice, and you brought your arm up, to hug him back.

“I hope you feel better” He mumbled, as you pulled away, a small smile on your face. You’d made a genuine friend here, even when you weren’t trying to.

A ping rang through the floor lobby, and the elevator doors finally opened up.

You turned to step into it, but you stop short in your tracks when you look inside.

It’s a jolt to your dying heart.

Hyunjin is standing in front of you.

Your chest squeezes so you think you’re going to die.

Fucking hell.

Leaning against the elevator wall, arms crossed, his eyes widened as they fell on you. He instantly stood up straighter, ease disappearing from his body, surprise overtaking his features.

You’re sure your expression mirrors his. He was staring at you and Jeonghan, mouth parted.

Hyunjin is here. He’s in front of you.

You immediately stepped away from Jeonghan, but Hyunjin had already seen you embracing.

“Um…I’m sorry. It’s the wrong floor” Hyunjin spoke, but there’s shock in his voice, even if he’s trying to sound nonchalant. His voice was hoarse, like he’d just been singing, and exerting himself.

He leaned ahead, pushing the button to close the doors, but you can’t let him do that. He’s right here, and you need to go after him.

You turn to Jeonghan, rushed words, “I’ll…see you later”

He’s clearly confused. He chuckles, “What?”

He’s actually fucking here. It’s been so fucking long. You don’t have time to explain anything, and you don’t hesitate before stepping into the elevator, barely making it in.

The doors shut, and it’s just the two of you now.

Hyunjin was staring at you, and his hands are gripping the railing behind him, “Y/N…”

He was sweaty, and his hair was dripping wet, bangs sticking to his forehead. A white tank top hugged his body, over his sweatpants. He’s staring at you, and he looks so fucking good. Your brain is on overdrive, and you can’t process anything.

“Hyun…” You spoke. The floors are whizzing past you, and you don’t have any time. You both stepped forward at the same time, and you wrap your arms around him. He immediately hugs you back, pulling your body into his. His arms curl around your waist, and you’re on your toes, and everything is a blur. But you’re in his arms. You’re touching him, and you’re breathing him, and the void in your heart is already dissipating.

You could cry right now, because he feels the same to the touch, and his heartbeat is pounding so fast against his ribs, you can hear it.

“I missed you so much” You spoke into his neck, and your words are muffled by his hair, but he knows what you said.

“Y/N…” He whispered, hands tight around your body, and then he pulled away, “Jisung told me he saw you. I didn’t…I didn’t believe him. I had to see you myself”

“Is that why you were—”

“I was coming to see you” He interrupts you, and then his eyes dart to the elevator panel, to see what floor you’re on, “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

He must be baffled why you were at his workplace of all places in the world.

“I…I came with someone, Hyunjin, My professor…”

“Oh”

“Yeah…” You swallowed. You had so many questions. Why had he changed his number? Why hadn’t he talked to you in the store?

A part of you had doubted, if what you’d felt this summer truly was love, or if it was only infatuation…but seeing him right now, in front of you, it couldn’t have been anything else.

Every neural pathway in your brain was firing at total capacity, flooding your body with adrenaline, dopamine, oxytocin, every good hormone known to man. You were giddy, and nervous, and scared, and excited.

“I…don’t have much time. I was at practice and I need to get back…” He replied, and his breaths were shaky, “Somebody could see us”

“Wait—” You stepped forward, “You can’t just leave right now. I need to—”

Hyunjin lowered his voice, urgency in his tone, “I can’t talk here, not right now, Y/N”

He couldn’t walk away from you, not now, not again. You feel like crying already at the prospect, “But—”

“Meet me in the third room in this hallway, down the left. In fifteen minutes”

“What…?”

The elevator doors opened, and Hyunjin separated from you as if you’d electrified him.

There was a group of people outside waiting, and anybody could have seen you close to him right now. He stepped out hurriedly, saying nothing else. People flood into the elevator, but you’re still staring at him walking away.

Before disappearing around the corner, he turned to glance at you over his shoulder, and the surprise is still pure in his eyes. You used to hate these stolen glances, but right now… you live for it.

»»————-

The fifteen minutes dragged on at a snail’s pace. You don’t think time had ever been this slow, and your eyes strayed to your phone every few minutes, which only made time stop. You were pacing the hallway, clutching your bag in hand, eyes on all the different plaques of achievements hung on the wall. You recognised the band name, Urban Faeries, on multiple awards, and it brought pride to your soul, but you’re not really thinking straight.

You’re pacing, back and forth, and you drew a few suspicious looks but you hope they believe you’re just another stressed employee working here. The time is up before you know it. The third room, to your left, he had said. You stared at the unmarked white doors. You’d never live it down if you accidentally walked into a conference room, or an executive meeting. But you’d just have to trust your gut. You pushed open a door, stepping inside quickly.

You weren’t sure what you had expected. It was…a storage room. It's less fancy than the rest of this building. Racks and racks of clothing, and outfits were arranged on the sides. Stage costumes. They were all in plastic wrapping, like wedding dresses at a bridal boutique, and you could see the outfits underneath.

It had been ten minutes since you were here, and you’re staring at your phone, wondering if you were in the wrong room. He’s not here yet, and there’s a lump building in your throat. Minutes more pass, and you end up looking through the outfits hung on the rack. Sequinned jackets, tight bodysuits, leather pants. It was all so beautiful, and you imagined it all on him. There was a sheer top with lace sleeves. You shouldn’t, but you touched it, reading the tag on it.

Hwang, Hyunjin. KBS Gayo Daejon 2023.

So it was his. You had no idea he wore things like this, and you had a sudden overwhelming desire to see him in it. Lace covered every inch of it.

“You like that?” A familiar voice infiltrated your thoughts.

You were startled, letting go off it instantly. You felt embarrassed, like a kid caught stealing from a cookie jar, but all your feelings dissipated upon seeing him.

“Hyunjin” You realised.

He leaned against the wooden door, letting out a breath, like he’d run here. His gaze was on the bodysuit you’d just been eyeing. He continued speaking, nonchalant, “I personally think it’s a bit much. I don’t see the big deal, but the fans…they love it”

“It looks…great” You said, eyes drifting to the costume rack.

“I’m supposed to wear it, later this year”

You’re lost on what he’s saying. You just can’t believe you’re actually seeing him in front of you, flesh and blood.

There’s a singular lightbulb in the room, and it hangs from the ceiling, swaying back and forth lightly. Shelves surround you on both sides, and there’s only a narrow aisle to stand in. His back is flush to the door, and his arm reaches behind him, turning the doorknob until you hear a clicking sound.

He’d just locked you in with him.

You blurted the first thing that came to your mind, “Are you okay, Hyunjin?”

So much was on your mind, but that was the only thing that mattered. If the boy you loved was okay, then you would be okay too.

He breathed in, like every word was a struggle, and he was still catching his breath, “Yeah. Yeah. I’m okay…You?”

Now that he was here, you realised how small this room was. He took up so much space here, as he did in your heart. Twenty minutes ago, when you saw him…you were too shocked to process it, but now your eyes drifted over his figure. The white tank top fits his body in all the right places. It’s like every day away from you only made him prettier. You nodded, “I’m…okay”

Then his gaze raked over you. You suddenly feel conscious for the way you’re dressed. It’s different from how you used to in Daejon, and he realises that too. It’s more expensive than you’re used to. It’s artsy, like all the other kids in your class. You wonder if he hates it, but his gaze lingers on the strapless top and the silver pendant hanging from your neck. You recognise the look in his eyes, and it’s certainly not hate.

Your heart pounds at his gaze. The room suddenly feels even smaller now.

“Who was that?” He cleared his throat, “The…boy you were with”

“He’s another student…at The Atelier. I’m here with my class…”

“Oh…” His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and you tried to focus on his words, “So you’re here with Kim Jieong?”

You nodded. You’re so nervous. You’re fiddling with your fingers, “Yes”

In the little light of the bulb, you saw his lip curl up, “I knew that you’d get in”

He has such an effect on you, because just those words made you smile, “Yeah?”

In an instant it’s like all those months and weeks have been forgotten. It feels like there was no distance between you. Like catching up with an old friend after years, everything clicks into place like puzzle pieces that fit together.

“I told you, didn’t I?” He tilt his head, hair falling into his eyes, and he looked smug.

You clasped your hands behind your back, “You did…”

He continued, a little smirk playing at his lips, “I knew that you’d get into the program. I had a feeling that they’d made a mistake”

You’re smiling now, and your cheeks already hurt from the unfamiliarity of this action. It’s been a while since you’ve felt this way, “You’re proud of me?”

His features softened and he stepped towards you, “Is that really a question? Even when you hadn’t got in… I’d still be proud, but yeah…I’m so proud of you”

“Thank you” Your voice fell, chest warm, and you feel so shy, “You… always had faith in me”

“Is it everything that you imagined?”

“The art program?”

He bit his lower lip, “Mmh, and the city. Has Seoul been nice to you? Hopefully, nicer than it has to me”

You shrugged, “It’s been nice. I…made a few friends. I have a nice apartment. It faces a busy street…It kind of sucked that I didn’t get to share any of it with you”

His expression changed, “Sorry”

Tentatively, you took a step towards him. There’s only little space left between you now, but you’re both being so careful. It’s like a magnet between you two, you’re hovering but not getting too close, not touching.

You know that if he touches you, it’ll be the end of you.

“What’s going on, Hyunjin? Why did you ask me to meet you in here?”

He sighed, gaze darting to the corners of the ceiling, “It’s the only place in the building they don’t have cameras”

“Oh…” Everything suddenly made a lot of sense.

His voice softened, “Don’t worry. Nobody’s supposed to come in here right now. I checked all the schedules”

You have so many questions, but somehow you ask him the least important one, “The woman in the store with you. Was she your girlfriend?”

You regret it as soon as you ask. It makes you sound envious, and jealous. It paint a picture of you that’s not true. Sure, you’ve wondered about her identity all these weeks, but…she hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. There’s more at stake here.

Still, Hyunjin’s eyebrows shoot up, “What?”

You feel stupid repeating, “When I saw you, you were with a girl…”

“No. No, she’s just my manager, Y/N”

“Is that why you pretended to not know me when you saw me?” It comes out harsher than you intended, but you don’t have time to ease into it. You need to know, because it’s bothered you for so long.

He swallowed, and guilt flashes over him. “Yeah. The manager I was with... She’s one of the less forgiving ones”

It eases the slight ache in your chest, but you’re not done. There’s an explanation for why he acted this way, but he’s not attempting to explain the rest.

“Why did you disappear, Hyunjin…?”

He swallowed, “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean — You changed your number all of a sudden. Do you know how hard I was trying to reach out to you?”

His fists are balled up at his side, digging into the material of his sweatpants. You feel a little bad for questioning him like this, and putting him on the stand, but you deserve to know.

“I’m sorry. I had to. I was afraid…” He trailed off, and it’s half-hearted.

So you pushed for more, “Afraid of what?”

He looked at you, straight, “I was afraid they’d find out about you. I couldn’t risk it. You know everything that’s been going on in my life, Y/N. With Chan and Jisung…I couldn’t let them get into more trouble because of me”

It hurts to hear that you’re only seen as trouble in his life. You’ve heard of many idols and celebrities who date, fall in love and marry. Why is it only an issue when you’re the one in love?

“I understand that, but…you could’ve told me. I was so fucking confused for months, and I thought I fucked up somehow. Did I do something wrong, Hyunjin?”

“What?” His voice raised a pitch, like he couldn’t believe you asked him that.

You tried not to cry, “I mean…I must have done something, for you to act this way towards me…you cut me off, with no explanation…”

You didn’t care anymore if you sounded needy, clingy, or desperate. You’d been craving an explanation all these weeks, and now that he was here…you couldn’t leave without getting one.

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong, Y/N” He stepped closer, until his chest is inches from yours, “I had no control of the situation…and I couldn’t risk contacting you”

You swallowed, “But why…didn’t you just tell me what was going on? I was…in the dark, for months”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you. I just didn’t know how”

“Tell me now…please”

“They went through Chan’s phone” He blurted, “After everything with Kairi went down. They were worried that something would leak and I…I couldn’t deal with that. So in the store…I couldn’t talk to you. Please believe that…especially not in front of her. It would’ve been hell explaining who you are”

He’s right. What good would it have done? The woman you were wondering about…she was just his manager. You knew that, of course. But still, it’s like you’re strangled by a lasso of truth as you blurted, “I was …jealous”

Hyunjin’s expression changed, and he tilt his head, “You were?”

He’s questioning you, yet there’s pride in his voice, like he’s happy that he had that effect on you, even if he didn’t intend to.

“She treats me like I’m a kid, Y/N” He tells you, with a slight chuckle, “She’s married and…way older than us”

The ache in your chest has subsided, “I don’t know. Maybe you’re into older women like her”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, and there’s a playfulness in his voice. It truly feels like all of those months had been forgotten, “That’s a nice way to get fired”

“You can get fired?”

There is amusement in his features, “It’s a job, Y/N. Of course I can get fired…and anyway, does Kim Jieong know you’re here with me?”

You looked into his eyes, “Nobody knows I’m here…”

He nodded, relief sinking into his shoulders, “That’s good because—”

Hyunjin is interrupted by a loud sound.

You’re confused…until your attention turns to the door. The knob is turning…

Somebody’s trying to get in.

Hyunjin’s eyes widen.

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you panic. “Is someone—?”

He doesn’t let you finish your sentence. He clasps a hand over your mouth before you can speak, pushing you to the wall by his body, “Don’t say anything, please”

In a daze, you nod. Over his shoulder, you can see the knob struggling to turn. It’s met with resistance — The lock seems to be holding up.

“Hello?” An unfamiliar voice of a man asks, “Is anybody in there?”

“Shit” Hyunjin drops his head against yours, whispering, “I forgot to check for maintenance”

His palm is flush against your lips, and you’re glad he’s physically stopping you because your anxious breaths could surely be heard outside. You’re so nervous. You don’t know what would happen if someone finds you two here like this. Based on everything he’s been telling you, absolutely nothing good.

Suddenly, you feel guilty. He’s in here because of you. He can get fired because of you. You would never forgive yourself if he has to deal with any consequences, because of your existence, and instantly you understand why he did what he did. All your anger and confusion dissipates, and understanding sinks into you.

The door budges as somebody tries to kick it in, and the person on the other side curses loudly, “Is this door fucking broken again?”

You’re holding your breath too hard. You need to calm down. Your hands find their way to his waist, crumpling his shirt. You’re pinching at his skin, but he doesn’t care. He can hear your heartbeat, pounding so loudly. Silently, with just his eyes, Hyunjin asks if he can drop the hand.

You nod. He pulls his hand back and his palm is wet with your saliva. He doesn’t mind. He doesn’t even wipe it. He just stays in place, eyes locked onto yours. You couldn’t move… even if you wanted to. You’re frozen to your spot and caged by his body. It towers over you.

“Don’t worry…They’ll leave soon” Hyunjin reassures you, in a whisper.

You’re lucky he remembered to lock it. It’s undoubtedly a compromising position to be seen in. In a dark corner of the storage room —your bodies are squeezed together. He is dripping with sweat; you can feel it sticking to your skin. You can feel every muscle in his stomach, pressing to yours.

Your eyes meet each other, and they stay. It’s so quiet in here, you could hear a pin drop.

It��s as if he’s looking right into your soul, no words exchanged, but his eyes say everything. Like you’re challenging each other to some staring contest, seeing who would give in first, but neither of you do. You’re burning, pierced by his strong gaze but you look back at him, sight not leaving his for even a second.

He’s breathing so heavily — running on hormones and adrenaline, and his chest is moving in sync with yours. You can hear his heart thud erratically. It’s loud and frantic in a way he can’t control it. He was near you after so long.

“What if…they get in?” Your voice is shaking, you hardly recognize it.

“They won’t” He whispers.

There’s so much need you need to ask Hyunjin. He’s been out of your life for months, but the only thing that matters right now is the feel of his body against yours.

One of his arms is against the wall. The other is flexed with how tight he’s holding you. He’s been working out. Right now, he’s drenched in sweat.

You’re dizzy with want. He’s trying, but failing at looking at how you’re pressed to him.

His gaze falls to your chest, then back into your eyes, almost shameless.

Your top hardly leaves anything to the imagination, squeezing your tits against his chest, and his gaze is fixated on it, dropping down every few seconds.

You’re not saying anything, but nothing needs to be said. A sweltering desire courses through your veins.

It’s impossibly hot — hiding in here with him.

You’re electrified by his gaze. It swirls with a thousand unspoken things.

This is fucking stupid considering the circumstances. You could be caught right now, and everything would be over then.

Slowly, your hand moves over his shoulder. You squeeze his bicep in your hand, feeling him up, and his heart beats the same but his body is different. He feels stronger to your touch, like he’s been dancing for hours on end, using up all his energy.

“You…feel different” You whisper in realisation. There’s muscle now where there wasn’t before. His breath hitches, like he’s holding everything in, and his eyes fall shut. His body has changed in your absence, and you hate it, and you love it. You hate that he’s not how you remember, but you love that there’s more of him to know. More of him to touch, and discover and feel.

He’s so close that his hair is falling into your face. He tilts his head to give you space to breathe. It only makes it worse because now his nose brushes against yours. There’s barely an inch between you.

What happened in these few months? You need to sit with him, and talk for days about it. You want to tell him everything you kept to yourself, every incident, every joke, every dream, every morning, afternoon and night. You want to kiss every part of him, so your lips remember his again. So it’s muscle memory, and so he’s never a stranger to you.

The mind forgets, but the body remembers.

Therefore, you can only blame it on your body right now that it’s horrible timing but you’re so fucking turned on.

The distance between your lips is nonexistent.

He’s breathing your air, and you’re breathing his.

You should move away now, but you don’t. Hyunjin’s breaths are shaky, and his hands on you are so tight, like he’s afraid to let go. Your breaths are shaky too, they’re desperate and no amount of air in the world can bring you calm.

You want to be even closer than you are, and you press yourself to him, but the only way to be closer than this is if he were inside you.

There’s no more sounds from the other side of the door.

And then his plush lips part to say, “I… think they’re gone”

Saying that was his first mistake, because as he speaks, his mouth brushes against yours, tenderly, so delicately.

Your heart jumps. You can’t control yourself. Slowly, you press forward, taking his lower lip between yours. Hyunjin tilts his head, so his lips fit perfectly between yours, but you’re not kissing, not yet.

You’re both not moving an inch, but you are biting down on his lower lip, and Hyunjin lets out a whine. It emerges from deep within his chest. His fingers dig into your waist, thumbs slipping under the top, to feel more of your skin. You tug at his lower lip with your teeth, pulling it. A rushed moan fills the room, and you soothe the bite with your tongue, but you’re still not kissing.

You grab his hands in your own, fingers circling around his dainty wrists. Silver bracelets clink against each other, as you move his hands up your body. You want him to touch you. He takes the invitation and raises his hands to your top, cupping your chest. Does he remember your body? You feel so much. Too much.

Hyunjin’s other hand slides into your hair, his fingers on the nape of your neck making you dizzy. Long, thin fingers with silver rings card through your hair, his nails brushing your scalp, and your heart stills. The jewellery he wears is different now, but you feel the same kind of insane.

But he still doesn’t kiss you.

He just tilts your head, so he can lean in, pressing a kiss into your neck instead. Your eyes flutter shut from the pleasure, and you can only focus on the sensation of his mouth. His mouth, that drops kisses along your neck now, a trail of spit and lust. You moan at the sensation, and it’s too loud.

“No…You have to be quiet” He whispers into your neck as he sucks on it. His voice is the same kind of sexy, but he’s never commanded you like this before. He kisses every inch of skin on your neck, moving closer and closer to your mouth.

A trail of kisses, up and over your jaw, until his lips finally meets yours. His second mistake is giving in. He closes the remaining distance, your hair bunched into his fist, and neither of you are breathing anymore because his mouth is crushed to yours.

All those months disappear into nothingness as you slip your tongue into his mouth. It’s what happens every time someone puts you and him in a room together.

You kiss him with desperation and Hyunjin kisses you in hunger. He pushes his tongue in, and you’re making out like your life depends on it. He doesn’t stop squeezing your tits, fondling them through the thin fabric of your top. The material does nothing to hide how turned on you are, but you can’t be embarrassed. Not when you can feel his crotch pressing into your leg, and he’s just as turned on.

His hands are everywhere on your body, finding their home on your waist, and he pulls you into him so your back arches off the wall. There’s no words exchanged and it’s primal in every sense. The air is filled with your breaths, and whines.

He’s burning up. You push him, until he’s pressed to the door instead. Hyunjin stumbles back from the force.

It’s like you want to be caught. The very door that separates you from the rest of the world. The only thing standing between you and total annihilation. It’s hotter this way, and you press your body to his, moulding your mouth to his, hands running through his hair. He lets out a moan that travels straight to your heart which is beating faster than it has in a long time. There’s a fire in it, and every touch of his skin against yours blazes it more.

He turns you around, until you’re pressed to the door instead. He grabs your thigh, pulling your leg up so it’s wrapped around his waist, and he’s grinding his crotch against yours. You can feel him in your core and you pull back to breathe, moaning, “Hyun…” You’re not thinking, only feeling him in every single atom of your body.

You tug at the drawstrings of his sweatpants. You need to take them off. You need him now more than ever. Hyunjin is your annihilation.

He realises what you’re doing, and he pulls away in a daze, spit-coated lips, “Wait, wait, Y/N…”

“What?” You mumble, kissing his jaw.

His eyes are squeezed shut, “Shit. Wait…stop, we can’t do this”

And you can only whine, pulling him back to you, “You say that every time”

His voice drops, a bitterness to it as if he’s just had some grand fucking epiphany, “Fuck. No, We can’t…”

He says that, but Hyunjin is a hypocrite because when you push your tongue into his mouth, he lets you. He tastes so good, and kissing him feels coming home. It feels like what you’d been missing this whole time and kissing him makes you feel alive.

He mumbles, against your mouth, “We… need to stop”

You pull back, only slightly, “But …nobody is going to know. You said it yourself, nobody’s coming in”

You lean forward to kiss him, but he moves his head away before you can. You’re too much in a daze to be hurt by this rejection. He shakes his head and steps away, as if he’s trying to wake himself out of his dream, “No, we can’t. Not like this”

“But…we’re just kissing—”

“No…this isn’t okay, Y/N. None of this is.”

You fall quiet, and his words are swirling in the room all around you. Your mind is having a hard time process them. You’re in a lust-driven daze, and you brace yourself against the door to catch your breath, “What do you mean…by that?”

He breathes in, snapping out of the lust, “We’re making out…in a fucking storage closet. Do you not see how much is wrong with that?”

His tone stings you. “I mean…I don’t Hyunjin. That’s what we’ve always done. The photobooth…the—”

“That’s exactly what I mean!” His voice raises all of a sudden, but he realises and lowers it again, “We shouldn’t have to sneak away to…to do this. I’m so sick of this…”

Your heart wakes up, but only because it’s suddenly hurting again. His lips are swollen from kissing you, but he’s speaking everything you hate.

Your chest hurts like it’s going to collapse. “You’re sick…of…me?”

He looks at you, distressed eyes, “No…of…of the guilt…”

Since when has Hyunjin felt guilty? And for what? “What are you saying, Hyun?”

“Are you not mad at me?”

“What for…?”

He let out a frustrated sigh, “I stopped talking to you…but you don’t seem angry at all”

“I thought you did that because you were forced to by your managers, by the company… Is that…not true?”

He looked right at you, a bitter chuckle, “Nobody forced me to do anything, Y/N. I wasn’t even supposed to see you today, but…after Jisung told me he met you in the hallway, I couldn’t focus on practice. The routine is usually muscle memory to me, but I forgot every fucking step, because… I realised you were here. But you need to know I didn’t come in here to kiss you. I just wanted to talk to you”

You swallow, crossing your arms against your chest, and your heart is still calming down, “Okay. Talk”

He breathes in, running a hand over his face, “I… lied to you, Y/N”

“About…what?”

“Everything that we talked about” He’s scaring you, “I told you that when you moved here that I’d take you to the studio, to watch me record my fucking music”

“Yeah?” You don’t know where he’s going with this.

“But I obviously can’t do that” He takes a breath, and it feels like he’s on the verge of a panicking, "I can’t…bring you to the recording studio. I can’t paint with you. I can’t show you my routines, or any of the things I promised you. You see that, right? I mean, even just to talk to you, I have to do it away from everyone. This is…insane. I don’t know why the hell I said all of that”

He's spiralling, and you need to calm him because he’s so fucking hard on himself, “That doesn’t mean you lied, Hyunjin. You said that because you wanted it to be true, didn’t you?”

“That’s the thing! It can never be true, Y/N. You don’t see that?” His negativity…hurts you.

“I called you in here to tell you this, but I forgot the way you make me fucking feel” He says, “I wasn’t…prepared to see you”

You hear everything he’s saying but it’s wrong. You couldn’t be a part of the life that he promised you, but you didn’t care. You don’t need to do all the things that you cannot. He’s bothered by something that you don’t even mind. All you know is that you can’t go more months without him. You can’t go a second more in your life without him.

You’d convinced yourself that you could never tell him your feelings because it would scare him away. But right now, you need to tell him. Time away from him was cruelty. It was insanity, and it’s something you never want to subject yourself to ever again.

You‘ve never loved anybody as much as him, and you never will.

He needs to know that. His lip is quivering, and he looks guilty, and scared. You have to tell him, before he says something he’ll regret. Maybe if you were more prepared, your confession of love would be in a beautiful place.

Like the top of the Chateau…That night, under the stars, he told you he found comfort in you.

Hyunjin was always the more romantic one.

So you can’t blame yourself for not thinking this through. After all, how could you have planned for everything that happened? A series of accidents, of coincidences that led you to him, over and over again. No matter how much life tried to pull you apart, you found each other.

It was fate.

“I don’t care, Hyunjin”

“What?”

You step closer to him, “I don’t care if I have to kiss you in a storage closet for the rest of my life. I would choose that any day”

His lips part. He’s surprised. But you can’t hold back your feelings anymore. That has got you nowhere.

You pull him close, “I don’t care about all that, I just…I just want you”

His eyes widen, “Why would you ever choose this?”

“That’s…up to me” You swallow. He’s staring at you. It doesn’t matter that your grand declaration of love won’t be in a place as beautiful as him. It doesn’t matter where you are right now, you need to tell him the truth.

The truth — I went insane in my life without you.

The truth — I literally cannot breathe if you’re not near me.

The truth — I love you so much that my chest hurts.

“Did he kiss you?”

His question catches you so off guard, that your eyes dart up to his, “What? Who?”

He lets go of your hand, “Yongbok”

Where the fuck did that come from?

Your eyebrows knit together, and you’re so confused.

Yongbok doesn’t matter right now. You frown, “I don’t want to talk about him”

Hyunjin nods, “So…he kissed you”

You’re lost for words. You thought you two were more mature than this, “So that’s what this is about that? You’re acting this way because you’re jealous?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, “Yeah. I am. I am jealous, Y/N. It kills me to know that he’s known you all your life, and I can’t even have you to myself for one entire summer”

“But nobody is stopping you from having me”

“Everything is stopping me!” He cries out.

You flinch.

His voice falls again, and you can feel his distress, “I’m afraid, okay? I’m fucking scared that they’ll find about you and—“

“And what?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, “You’re going to get hurt. You’re not stupid, Y/N, and you fucking know that better than anyone”

“How can you be so sure of that? You’re the one that’s making decisions that hurt me, I mean I couldn’t even tell you I got into the stupid program because you cut me out from your life, all because you’re afraid of something that hasn’t even happened? Why can’t you just tell me what’s wrong? What are you so afraid of?!”

He falls quiet, and he isn’t looking at you anymore. He stepped back, inhaling deeply, as if to anchor himself. His eyes meet yours, “You…shouldn’t have come here, Y/N”

Your voice breaks, “Why?”

“It would have made everything a hell of a lot easier”

“What would it make easier?”

He swallowed, “Having to stay apart from you”

He says things like that so easily, and his words bury deep into your skin.

Your voice broke, but you’re not done fighting for him, “I thought you missed me. I’m not afraid to admit that I did, okay? I missed you every second I was away from you—”

“I called you in here to say goodbye”

Your voice is merely a whisper, “What?”

His lip is quivering, “I wanted to see you…because this is the last time”

“You don’t mean that…”

There’s a tightness in your chest. You can’t breathe.

He swallows, “You and I both knew that what we had in Daejon…it couldn’t be anything else”

“Please don’t say that”

He looks to the floor, away from you, “I’m sorry”

You don't understand. Things were just okay, “Are you being like this… because of Chan’s break up?”

His tone changes harshly, “That has nothing to do with you”

You swallow, staring at him. Your eyes fill up with tears. You thought this stupid storage closet would be where you finally tell him you love him.

He doesn’t pull you in to comfort you, like he’s always done. He just looks at you, glistening eyes and his lip is quivering.

This can’t be it. There’s more to you and him, and this isn’t fucking it. Then his phone buzzes. Hyunjin ignores it at first.

Until it gets constant, and he sighs, “I’m sorry. I need to take this. You have to go, Y/N”

His words shake you to the core, and you can’t speak.

“Can you just please make sure nobody sees you when you leave?” He asks, strained, “I know you hate me right now…but please”

You nod. You have nothing to say. Even in this moment, you love him more than you ever have.

You’re so stupid. You thought nothing in the world could make you let go of him but just like always, Hyunjin is one step ahead.

He’s already let go of you.

»»————-

masterlist ⇒

please let me know if you liked the chapter, or any thoughts on this part! thank you :)

#hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin smut #angst #friends to lovers #skz x reader #skz imagines #hwang hyunjin x reader

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alpaca-clouds · 6 months ago

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Hayao Miyazaki & Solarpunk

Hayao Miyazaki probably never planned to become this super influential voice for Solarpunk. He did become it though. In fact a lot of his movies are considered to be Solarpunk to some degree, which in a way does make a lot of sense. After all, not only does he generally feature stories about preserving the environment, and stories that are very much anti-war and often also anti-capitalist, but - and I think this is something often ignores - he also is heavily influenced by indigenous Japanese storytelling. There are very few creatives in Japan that outright reference the indigenous cultures of Japan - but Hayao Miyazaki is one of them.

The strongest Solarpunk vibes in his movies can obviously be found with Nausicaä, and with Princess Mononoke. One a post-apocalyptic movie, the other one a historical fantasy piece, which makes this entire thing even more interesting. Laputa, too, is often seen as Solarpunk - a story that is pretty much high fantasy with some scifi elements. And I would argue that you still very much can find Solarpunk themes in both Spirited Away and My Neighbour Totoro.

Not one of those movies is SciFi. And I very much find this worthy of discussing, because I think it is one of those aspects where a lot of people who would like to write something more Solarpunk could learn from.

One point that cannot be ignored is of course that Miyazaki aside from traditional and indigenous Japanese storytelling also drew heavy influence from Ursula K. LeGuin in some of his works - who also is one of the big influences on Solarpunk. And yes, there might be some essay of mine about LeGuin coming some day in the future - but not too soon.

From the very beginning of Studio Ghibli at least, Miyazaki's movies always had a heavy emphasis on some themes. These included feminism (by showing both women who can fight, and the importance of care work done by women), anti-war and pacifism, and environmentalism.

It should be noted that very much no Miyazaki movie is set in an utopia. Instead the movies are concerned with the idea of finding solutions for the characters - and with the characters empowering themselves.

Nausicaä and Princess Mononoke might be the clearest examples here. In both movies the protagonists take the role of creating peace between nature and those, trying to destroy it. However this ending is never quite a compromise, rather than the destroyers seeing that they are doing wrong and promising to do better. Which is another core thing that is there in most of Miyazaki's movies: They show a big hope for humanity and its ability to be good. Only rarely are we shown irredeemable villains in those movies - most of the times just people blinded by their lust for money and power. Or, at times, there is simply the problem that the two different sides can literally not understand each other.

This is a theme that gets explored again and again. How so many conflicts are rooted in the different sides not communicating - or at times literally being unable to communicate. With the protagonists being the ones who will be able to listen and understand.

The other aspect is that the protagonist in Miyazaki's movies also will empower themselves, while the antagonists do try and depower them. The protagonists have their own wishes and believes and stay true to them. They will also manage to succeed by befriending other people they meet along their way, by meeting them without any prejudice in many cases. Be it Ashitaka, who meets both the gods and the people of Iron Town without hatred, or be it Chihiro, who manages to befriend almost everyone she meets along her way.

The important aspect is, that the movies here offer a hopeful outlook and also show the importance of helping each other and banding up against a greater evil. In fact they do show a heavy emphasis on Mutual Aid in some interesting ways.

Here is the thing: Yes, I really want to see more Solarpunk fiction that is set in possible, but really positive Solarpunk worlds that dare to imagine anarchist and communist worlds. But we absolutely need these kinds of stories. Stories that are about the fight for the environment, for a better word. Stories in which the characters do offer mutual aid to others, work together and find understanding. And stories in which there can be hope found.

And I think we just need to give this more of a chance - and talk more about it.

#solarpunk #studio ghibli #hayao miyazaki #princess mononoke #spirited away #ghibli #ghibli films #nausicaä of the valley of the wind #laputa #anime #anime and manga

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draculasfavoritewife · 5 months ago

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Idle Hands

Summary: Whenever Tony forgets to go to bed, it's always been up to you to bring him back to your side.

Pairing: Tony Stark x fem!Reader

Warnings: Heavy on the softness compared to most of my other stuff; I was in a very sentimental (read: sad and touch-starved) mood back when I wrote this lol. Tony Stark is a TEASE both in word and deed -- I have said it is canon therefore it is now. The feral way he makes me feel should be illegal. Also you can read the...implications of my vague wordings towards the end as tame or as smutty as you wish ;)

I feel the need to mention here that Tony Stark has been my most favorite comic book character since I was but a mere 11 years old. He holds the distinction of being my longest-running fictional crush/object of my obsessions and I love him so deeply and for so many little reasons that I could write a PhD dissertation on him. So please enjoy my little love letter to the man that has held my heart for nearly a decade and a half <3

It's that point of the night where you really can't decide if it should be counted as ungodly late or ungodly early. 4:00 am does tend to scramble the thoughts.

You've been drifting in and out of an uneasy sleep for what feels like forever, and as you roll away from the digital clock display on the wall with an annoyed sigh, you suddenly see why.

The other side of the bed is utterly untouched.

He hasn't been here with you at all.

You sit up, trying to remember if he had plans tonight. The calendar app on your phone has no record of a gala, awards ceremony, board meeting, or anything else that might have taken up his time.

Which means he's probably down in the lab again.

Briefly, you contemplate trying to call him, but you know from experience that he probably isn't taking calls right now, even if FRIDAY tried to put one through for you. He's in that zone that only designing and building can put him in, the one mindset where his too-busy brain is crystal clear and the world at last makes sense to him.

So you pull yourself out of bed, throw one of his old sweatshirts on over your cami and pajama shorts (he keeps the AC cranked all the way whenever it's warm outside) and pad out of the bedroom and on your way downstairs.

His lab is awe-inspiring as always, no matter how many times you see it. The purring thrum of the generators and the comforting pulse of dimmed lights, the heavy, electric feeling of the air itself -- he's described his workspace to you as having a life of its own before, and you can understand so well why time escapes him down here.

You just hope he's not using it to escape from other things as well.

He's deeply absorbed in his work on something at a station opposite the door, and your heart skips a beat even as you smile fondly at the familiar sight. Clad in sweatpants and a black tank through which you can just barely see the blue glow of his arc reactor, he looks all at once more human than usual and like some being from another world entirely.

It's the Stark curse, he told you once, and you recall the wry slant of his lips as he said so. To know you're a god trapped in a mortal body, an infinite mind with a finite number of years to use it. It's the reason behind all his greatest triumphs -- and all his harshest falls from grace.

And somehow, you were lucky enough to be the one he fell in love with.

It still feels like a dream sometimes.

Realizing he isn't going to look up on his own anytime soon, you stifle a yawn and knock sharply on the doorframe.

"Tony?"

He stiffens as if he's been shocked (always a possibility, when he's rewiring) and shoves the safety glasses high up on his forehead. "That would be yours truly. Everything alright?"

With a laugh, you cross the room, warmth rising in your chest as he immediately sets down his tools and steps out from behind the table to meet you. And damn, he always looks good -- he is Tony Stark, after all -- but there's always something about him when his hair gets all unruly and he has THAT look of intense concentration on his face that really drives home to you all over again just how gorgeous he is.

You cuddle up to him, and he kisses the top of your head.

"Asked you a question, Honey."

"Do you know what time it is, Tony?"

There's a prolonged moment of answering silence as he glances up at one of his nearby monitors. "Crap. Well, why are you up?"

Pulling back slightly so you can tease the protective eyewear off his head, you give him a look. "Can't sleep."

An eyebrow tilts; he's playing dumb.

"And that's my problem why?"

"Jerk." You take your time playing with his glossy dark hair, neatening it back up before raking your fingers through it to mess it up again. "Maybe because you love me...?"

"Oh, so you're down here looking for sympathy, got it." He smirks at you, a well-practiced and infuriatingly handsome look. "In that case, sorry about your insomnia, Beautiful. There's melatonin in the drug cabinet upstairs." He snares the safety glasses from your fingers once more and makes as if to return to his work. "Sympathetic enough for you?"

You wrap your arms around his waist from behind, stopping him from going any further, though the smug son of a bitch starts tinkering with his new designs again even through your persistent clinging. It mesmerizes you for a couple seconds, always has, the way his hands work with such delicate precision and dexterity, and you can't help selfishly wishing he would turn them towards other, less...mechanical endeavors at this moment.

He probably would, in all honesty, but Tony Stark is the king of making you work for it. Philanthropic he may be, but some things even you have to earn from him when he's feeling particularly devilish.

"I don't want your pity," you hum, pressing a sleepy kiss to his shoulder. "I was lonely without you."

"Perfectly understandable. I've been told by many that I'm scintillating company. You can, by all means, stay and watch me work, you know. Feeds my humble ego."

You roll your eyes and impatiently reach up under his shirt, feeling his muscles tense at the unexpected coldness of your hands.

That finally gets his attention and makes him turn around. Before you can even fully comprehend it, he's swept his work out of the way and lifted you up onto the worktable instead, restless fingers drawing intricate patterns on your inner thighs, though his eyes never leave yours, crystalline blue pinning your attention to his amused face instead of his very distracting hands.

"That," he grins, "was adorable. Sleepy version of you is so much more demanding. Maybe I should stay down here too long more often."

You try to frown at him, though his sparkling gaze and mischievous touch make that impossible. "How dare you."

"I do a lot of dumb things to see where they get me. You know that." He nods at the thick gray sweatshirt still keeping you warm. "Why don't you take that off for me, Sweetness. You make me cold, I get to return the favor."

Unable to come up with something snarky to say in return with the way his hands are making you shiver now, you do as he suggests with little resistance, the exposed skin of your arms and chest prickling at the much cooler air.

He leans in to tenderly kiss your neck, and your breath leaves in a sigh at the way his facial hair scratches at your throat. He's always been a helluva kisser and the meticulously maintained goatee is just the icing on the cake. Making out on his worktable was not the original plan when you first came down here, but even by his own admission Tony's best plans are usually improvised.

And you're certainly not complaining.

"What did you want from me again?" he murmurs, close to your ear.

The absolute audacity of him.

"Mmmmmmm," seems to be about all you can manage at the moment, and you know very well what's coming next.

He pulls you closer to him, the movements of his fingers turning agonizingly slow and prompting a slight gasp from you.

The smile that gradually spreads its way across his mouth is absolutely wicked.

"What was that, Sweetheart? I didn't quite catch it."

You try to reclaim some semblance of coherence, but his firm hold on you prevents you from escaping his delightfully systematic torture, so instead you grab on to his well-defined shoulders, your forehead resting against his chest. The mechanically-stabilized beat of his heart echoing beneath his skin a brief reminder that he's alive, despite everything he's been through, and he is yours. There's no one else on his mind, no one else he's let this far into his messy and often painful world.

The world may know him as Iron Man, the one who has saved them more times than they could ever count, but how many people really know the Tony that you know?

That same Tony who now raises one hand to tip your head back, whose sharp eyes soften with affection for the slightest of seconds before the anticipated words fall from his tongue, the words he knows will always unravel you.

"You just have to tell me what you want. Come on, Princess. Use your words."

You shudder and lean in to beg for another kiss.

"You, Tony. Always you. Please."

He kisses you back with renewed intensity, leaving you completely breathless.

"There we go...was that so hard?"

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ilynpilled · 1 year ago

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GRRM on morality, heroism, villainy, and parallax in ASOIAF:

Time magazine wrote of you, “What really distinguishes Martin and what marks him as a major force for evolution in fantasy is his refusal to embrace a vision of the world as a struggle between good and evil.” Do you agree?

I think the struggle between good and evil is central to fantasy and, indeed, in some ways, central to most fiction. It's certainly a worthy subject for fiction. But I regard the struggle between good and evil as being waged within the individual human heart. […] You know, the greatest monsters of history, as we look back on them, thought they were the heroes of the story. You know, the villain is the hero of the other side, as sometimes said. That doesn't mean that it's all morally relative. That doesn't mean that all things are equally good and evil. I think there is good and there is evil in the world. But you know, it's sometimes a struggle to tell one from the other and to make the right choices. I've always been attracted to great characters, maybe because that's what I see when I look around the real world, whether I read about it in history books or the news or just people I meet. I mean, all of us have it within ourselves to be heroes. All of us have it within ourselves to be villains. We've all done good things in our lives, and most of us have also done selfish things, cowardly things, things that we're ashamed of in later years. And to my mind, that's, I don't know, the glory of the human race. We're such wonderfully contradictory, mixed-up creatures that we're endlessly fascinating to write about and read about.

via

In your work, you have essentially captured Mikhail Bakhtin's concept of polyphonic fiction, where the characters are equal, and the reader can root for any of them. This has been impossible to convey on the TV series.

I wouldn't say all the characters are equal, but they have (hopefully) human traits, especially the viewpoint characters. I have seven viewpoint characters in the first book, and each book has a few more. So, by now, we're probably up to 12 or 13 viewpoint characters, and those are the ones where I go actually inside their skin, so you're seeing the world through their eyes. You're hearing their thoughts. You're feeling their emotions. And I try to paint over those viewpoint characters, and some of them are noble and just, and some of them are kind of selfish, and some of them are very intelligent, and some of them are less intelligent and even stupid. But they're all human, and I want to portray their humanity. […] I think the battle between good and evil is fought all over the world, every day, in the individual human heart, as we all struggle with the choices that define us and define our lives. And we have to choose what we are going to do, and sometimes the choice is not easy; it's not this absolute juxtaposition of the good guys and the bad guys. And I wanted to get to that with my characters, and show some of the difficulties that they face.

via

Another element I liked about the series was the moral relativism of many of the characters. Too many Fantasies rely on the shorthand of truly evil villains in the absolute moral sense, but your characters, while they might commit terrible acts, generally do so either from short-sighted self-interest or because they truly believe they are acting for the best. Was this a deliberate decision, or is it just more interesting to write this way?

Both. I have always found grey characters more interesting than those who are pure black and white. I have no qualms with the way that Tolkien handled Sauron, but in some ways The Lord of the Rings set an unfortunate example for the writers who were to follow. […] Before you can fight the war between good and evil, you need to determine which is which, and that's not always as easy as some Fantasists would have you believe.

via

Do you purposely start a character as bad so you can later kill them?

No. What is bad? Bad is a label. We are human beings with heroism and self-interest and avarice in us and any human is capable of great good or great wrong. In Poland a couple of weeks ago I was reading about the history of Auschwitz - there were startling interviews with the people there. The guards had done unthinkable atrocities, but these were ordinary people. What allowed them to do this kind of evil? Then you read accounts of acts of outrageous heroism, yet the people are criminals or swindlers, one crime or another, but when forced to make a choice they make a heroic choice. This is what fascinated me about the human animal.

via

Martin's realm is not one of unambiguous heroes and villains. His characters, from royals to peasants, tend to be ethically mutable. So-called good people, like the noblemen Ned Stark, his son Robb Stark or the indomitable Daenerys Targaryen ("the Mother of Dragons"), make terrible mistakes - out of weakness, pride or an overly rigid sense of right and wrong. And horrible people, like Jaime Lannister, known as "the Kingslayer," do terrible things and then, over the course of several books, reveal themselves to be capable of heroism and sacrifice.

As we're discussing this in the theater, Martin quotes Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar" from memory: “The evil that men do lives after them ;/ The good is oft interred with their bones.” Then he adds his own version: “We shouldn't forget about the evil that good men do. But we shouldn't forget about the good either,” he says. “I do think a society needs heroes. They don't have to be flawless.”

via

Your books have a very strong storyline associated with the atonement of sins. For example, the way of Jaime Lannister, do you yourself believe in karma?

I don’t believe in karma per se, although sometimes I have my doubts because sometimes I think I see things that could be explained by karma. But no, I don’t really have any beliefs in the supernatural. I do believe in the possibility of redemption. And I believe that human beings, all human beings, are grey. And I try to remember that when I write my characters. We are all heroes, we are all villains, we all have the capacity for great good and we all have the capacity to do things that are selfish and evil and wrong. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. In your lifetime, you can be both. And it’s making choices that defines us as human beings. There’s this sensation of compartmentalism. This eagerness to judge everybody based on the worst thing they ever did, not the best thing they ever did. And you know, I think Shakespeare in "Julius Caesar" wrote “The evil that men do lives after them ;/ The good is oft interred with their bones.” And sadly that’s true. And I think it should be the reverse. We should remember the good things and the noble things that people did, and forgive them for their failures and moments of selfishness or wrongdoing because we all have them. When we forgive them, we are essentially forgiving ourselves. Redemption should be possible.

via

Are there any characters that you've kind of fallen out of love with, that you just don't, you know, get excited about any more?

I still love all the characters. Even some of them who aren't very lovable. At least the viewpoint characters. When I'm writing in the viewpoint of one of these characters, I'm really inside their skin. So, you trying to see the world through their eyes to understand why they do the things they do. And we all have, even characters who are thought of to be bad guys, who are bad guys, in some objective sense, don't think of themselves as bad guys. […] “What evil can I do today?” Real people don't think that way. We all think we're heroes, we all think we're good guys. We have our rationalizations when we do bad things. “Well, I had no choice,” or “It's the best of several bad alternatives,” or “No it was actually good because God told me so,” or “I had to do it for my family.” We all have rationalizations for why we do shitty things or selfish things or cruel things. So when I'm writing from the viewpoint of one of my characters who has done these things, I try to have that in my head. And I do, so there's an empathy there that makes me love even people like Victarion Greyjoy, who is basically a dullard and a brute. But, he feels aggrieved and sees the world a certain way. And Jaime Lannister and Theon Greyjoy, they all have their own viewpoints. I love them all. Some I love more than others, I guess.

Who do you think to be the most important characters?

They're all important. I don't favor them, or I don't think of them in terms of importance. The viewpoint characters in the first book I have are Bran, Tyrion, Catelyn, Ned, Jon Snow, the two girls Arya and Sansa. There is the core of the Stark family plus Tyrion to represent the Lannister family. Then I have Dany on the other side of the sea, Daenerys Targaryen, whose story runs parallel and some ways doesn't connect to the others, but some day I'll eventually bring those two stories together. In each subsequent volume I drop some of my viewpoint characters and add new ones. Although the same core still dominates, the cast changes somewhat, and I like to do that. In the third volume which you haven't gotten to yet (he refers to me) I have a new viewpoint character. He's been a major character, but now you see things for the first time through his eyes. Which I think changes your perception of things somewhat. I like to play that kind of game, because we all have our own way of looking at the world. Something occurs and two people witness it. They might have very different versions of what happened, and very different explanations. I like to play with parallax in my fiction, and get different versions of the same thing.

via

A Song of Ice and Fire has much of the complex texture of authentic history, both generally and in its specific echoes of actual historical episodes. What laws and principles (if any) in your view govern human history, and how has your understanding of historical processes shaped the series?

Historical processes have never much interested me, but history is full of stories, full of triumph and tragedy and battles won and lost. It is the people who speak to me, the men and women who once lived and loved and dreamed and grieved, just as we do. Though some may have had crowns on their heads or blood on their hands, in the end they were not so different from you and me, and therein lies their fascination. I suppose I am still a believer in the now unfashionable "heroic" school, which says that history is shaped by individual men and women and the choices that they make, by deeds glorious and terrible. That is certainly the approach I have taken in A Song of Ice and Fire.

A Song of Ice and Fire undergoes a very interesting progression over its first three volumes, from a relatively clear scenario of Good (the Starks) fighting Evil (the Lannisters) to a much more ambiguous one, in which the Lannisters are much better understood, and moral certainties are less easily attainable. Are you deliberately defying the conventions and assumptions of neo-Tolkienian Fantasy here?

Guilty as charged. The battle between good and evil is a legitimate theme for a Fantasy (or for any work of fiction, for that matter), but in real life that battle is fought chiefly in the individual human heart. Too many contemporary Fantasies take the easy way out by externalizing the struggle, so the heroic protagonists need only smite the evil minions of the dark power to win the day. And you can tell the evil minions, because they're inevitably ugly and they all wear black. I wanted to stand much of that on its head. In real life, the hardest aspect of the battle between good and evil is determining which is which.

via

When you are writing the different conflicts in Westeros, do you personally pick a side? Or feel that one side fights for a more just cause than the other?

Yes, certainly. I mean, I’ve often said that I believe in grey characters, I don’t believe in black and white characters. But that’s not to say that all characters are equally grey. You know, some are very dark grey, and some are mostly white but they still have occasional flaws. I’ve always been fascinated by human beings and all of their complexity— even human beings that do appalling things, you know, the question is ‘Why?’ And it’s interesting to get inside their head and see why. Some of my viewpoint characters have done some incredibly reprehensible things: Theon, for example, or Victarion Greyjoy. Why? Were they born a monster? Weren’t they born like a cute little kid wanting to be loved and all that? We all start out that way, right? But things happen to us on the way that lead to junctures in our lives where we make decisions, and those decisions and the consequences of them color everything that comes after. You look at [historical figures] and what’s the verdict on these men? Are they heroes, are they villains? Are they great people, or people we should despise? I mean, they are fascinating characters because of their complexity.

via

“I don't concern myself over whether my characters are “likeable” or “sympathetic.” (I had my fill of that in television). My interest is in trying to make them real and human. If I can create a fully-fleshed three-dimensional character, some of my readers will like him/her, or some won't, and that's fine with me. That's the way real people react to real people in the real world, after all. Look at the range of opinions we get on politicans and movie stars. If EVERYONE likes a certain character, or hates him, that probably means he's made of cardboard. So I will let my readers decide who they like, admire, hate, pity, sympathize with, etc. The fact that characters like Sansa, Catelyn, Jaime, and Theon provoke such a wide range of reactions suggests to me that I have achieved my goal in making them human.”

via

“You want the reader to care about your characters — if they don’t, then there’s no emotional involvement. But at the same time, I want my characters to be nuanced, to be gray, to be human beings. I think human beings are all nuanced. There’s this tendency to want to make people into heroes and villains. And I think there are villains in real life and there are heroes in real life. But even the greatest heroes have flaws and do bad things, and even the greatest villains are capable of love and pain and occasionally have moments where you can feel sympathetic for them. As much as I love science fiction and fantasy and imaginative stuff, you always have to go back to real life as your touchstone and say, ‘What is the truth?’”

via

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elyvorg · 11 months ago

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Kieran Part Bonus: I AM SO PROUD OF MY BOY

And now for my really actually final analysis post about Kieran, covering both the epilogue and also his scenes in the League Club room once you’ve finished that. Somehow both of these relatively short pieces of content still managed to be packed with delightful nuance showcasing both how Kieran’s still struggling with his issues and yet also how much he’s grown since his main arc. They are absolutely lovely and fill me with so many warm happy feelings about my boy.

Honestly, it’s remarkable, not just from a Pokémon-writing perspective but as a piece of fiction in general, to have this kind of satisfying follow-up for a character arc. Usually once a character’s arc reaches a resolution, their story just ends there, and we don’t get to see more of how they’re processing what they’ve been through and learning to grow further in the aftermath. So it’s a really wonderful breath of fresh air to get to see something like that for once here with Kieran! The Pokémon writers absolutely did not have to make the epilogue and postgame content focused on showcasing this, and yet they did. I am, once again, pleasantly boggled by how much they cared about doing Kieran’s story justice. Just, wowzers, man. There really is no more appropriate word for my amazement than that.

(This is an epilogue, if you will, to my previous two analysis posts discussing Kieran’s character arc in The Teal Mask and The Indigo Disk! Reading those before this is probably recommended.)

Before even getting into things that are strictly from the epilogue itself, can I just say: I really love that Kieran took a mental health break from Blueberry Academy to give him some time to process things? (Okay, the game only calls it a “break”, but let’s be real, it is for his mental health, and this is Good.) It just makes me very happy that the writing acknowledged that he’d probably need something like that after what he’s been through instead of going straight back to business as normal at school – and in an in-story sense, it’s lovely that Kieran realised he needed this and didn’t try and force himself to just keep going as if nothing had happened. He’s starting to learn to take care of himself and not push himself way too hard!

Making new friends

The first lovely sign of Kieran’s growth that we see in the epilogue is that, not only does he want to catch up with you, he also wants to meet your friends from Paldea! He must have spent some time during his break thinking about the fact that you mentioned you had friends from there.

And the thing is, with Kieran’s insecurities, it would have been so easy for him to slip into a mindset of “your friends are probably way cooler than me, why would you need me”. But instead of letting himself get caught up in that jealousy spiral again, he fought against it and did the healthy thing of asking to meet them himself. Hopefully he can become friends with them too and then he’ll have nothing to feel jealous about! He outright says when he meets them, “Any friend of [yours] is a friend of mine!” Look at him go. (Arven should take notes on how not to act insecure about one’s best friend having other friends, because damn, Kieran’s managing to be more well-adjusted than him now.)

All this is also just a sign that Kieran’s hoping to try and make more friends in general. He’s such an introvert that he must have figured that’d be easier for him to do with people for whom he has a mutual friend to get to know them through. Plus, if they’re your friends, then he already has a guarantee that they’ll be good and nice people. Way more manageable for him than trying to approach complete randos.

And really, it’s such a huge remarkable thing for Kieran that he is trying to make friends now. Friends, plural! This is the kid who used to be so lonely and shunned by others that his big dream was to one day be like the ogre who, according to him, doesn’t care that it’s all alone. And maybe then, if he managed that, he’d be able to befriend the ogre – just that one other person who is also alone and outcast. It never even crossed his mind to try and imagine that one day he could be confident and worthy enough to just… have some human friends. That wasn’t even an option in his head – it was “learn to not care that he’s alone” or nothing.

And yet look at Kieran now, actively reaching out to try and make new friends! I am so proud of him.

Learning to ask for help

Soon after you meet up with Kieran, it becomes apparent that something is Very Wrong with his sister. According to Kieran’s account, it was shortly after he sent you the letter that Carmine became possessed, so it’s not that the letter was secretly a call for help in which he couldn’t bring himself to admit the actual problem.

And even now that you’re here… Kieran wasn’t going to tell you about this problem at all until Carmine happened to wander up and start mochi-dancing in front of you. He tries to play the whole thing off like it’s totally normal and she’s definitely just… excited to see you???, even though he has to know that doesn’t make any sense at all. On some level this is just because it’s really scary to admit to himself that something is very wrong and he doesn’t have a clue how to fix it. But it’s also because… he still doesn’t feel like he has the right to ask you and your friends for help.

This is one of the ways in which Kieran’s issues and low sense of self-worth from before are still lingering and have not just been magically, instantly fixed. While he may be making a conscious effort to fight through his insecurities to try and make more friends, he hasn’t started consciously tackling everything that was holding him back just yet. It seems like he imagines that asking your friends for help, these people he’s only just met, would just make him a burden on them and maybe spoil any chance he had of actually becoming their friend himself. (Although, even if you’d come to visit him alone, I suspect he’d still struggle to ask even just you for help, simply due to his old ingrained mindset that he’s not worthy enough to deserve it.)

Happily for Kieran, your friends are all good people who instantly unthinkingly offer to help without him even needing to ask them! Kieran’s sheer surprise and gratitude when this happens is so telling about his insecurities for why he didn’t feel he could ask, but it’s also lovely to see him starting to realise that his instinctive way of thinking about this is mistaken. Welcome to having friends, Kieran, this is how it works actually! Most people are good and will be happy to help out a friend in need! It’s okay to need help sometimes!

There’s another very innocuous line that I find interestingly telling about Kieran’s mindset regarding this. When you’re all at the community centre wanting to use the TV, Kieran laments that it’s stuck playing the tourism ad because the caretaker hid the remote, so Arven immediately suggests you all look for it. And Kieran reacts, in surprise, “Why didn’t I think of that?” It reads as largely rhetorical, but… it’s a good question.

Why didn’t Kieran think of just trying to find the remote? Because he’s spent so long stuck in a mindset where, if things are bad for him, it’s just what he deserves for being weak and there’s nothing he can do about it. His response to his problems during the main storyline was to completely separately fixate on making himself Stronger so that, in theory, problems would just stop happening to him entirely. It never occurred to him to try and just face and deal with his problems directly – at least not until the climactic battle with Terapagos, which was the first time he ever found the courage to take such an approach – so the notion to do so still isn’t quite habitual in his mind just yet.

Hopefully Kieran asking why he didn’t think of that wasn’t quite so rhetorical, and he was reflecting on it himself a little when he said it. He ought to realise that actually, taking action to directly solve his problems is a good thing and something he should strive to do more! He has already begun to do so in some ways by reaching out in an attempt to make more friends, at least.

Solving the problem

Kieran sure does get a lot more practice at Directly Solving Problems thanks to the events that go on to occur that night, doesn’t he. I love that the epilogue’s plot, while ostensibly just there to give players an opportunity to catch Pecharunt, is also a narrative that exists to let Kieran get to be a hero alongside you.

It’s somewhat low key, but Kieran definitely gets pretty freaked out about everything that’s happening. Which is really perfectly reasonable – though the effects of the possession are incredibly silly, it’s still got to be genuinely frightening to see people he knows getting controlled against their will by some unknown force, especially when this includes his own family. (One detail I love is that the game uses that lack of a highlight in his eyes during certain lines to communicate the fear he's feeling and trying not-so-successfully to hide; it’s a small thing, but it works so well.)

Once you’ve fought off his possessed grandparents, Kieran starts to panic, convinced it’s only a matter of time before it gets him (even though the evidence of how exactly the possession occurs is right there if he’d just stop to think about it for a moment). On some level, he must still have this sense that, if it can get all these people he looks up to, surely it’ll get him too who’s so much weaker than them. His inferiority complex is still there and affecting him, especially in this stressful situation.

Good thing Kieran has you by his side, the strongest coolest friend ever whom he knows he can rely on! If you hadn’t been there to reassure him and snap him out of it, he really might have lost himself to his panic. Or he might have just not even tried to battle the possessed people and do something about all of this in the first place – see the earlier point about how him facing problems directly is still not instinctive to him. He’s able to do so here, but a lot of that is probably thanks to being able to follow your lead. Still, this is bound to help him get better at doing so on his own in future!

Kieran’s also still a bit too liable to feel like things are his fault even when they really aren’t. He blames himself for not warning Arven and Penny about the mochi in time, even though he was literally about to do so when Pecharunt showed up and sniped mochi directly into their mouths. That can’t be called Kieran’s fault at all! He tried! (And, hey, it’s not like you made any attempt to warn them either.) But he still feels responsible for it anyway.

And he’s also still rather defeatist when it comes to facing Strong Opponents in battle. Kieran couldn’t defeat Nemona earlier in the day, so when it comes down to facing off against her in order to get to Pecharunt, he just feels like he can’t do it, end of. Really, that’s not necessarily the case – since this is an emergency and not a friendly battle for sport, there’s no reason you have to beat Nemona in a fair 6-on-6. Anything to get past her will do; the two of you could have taken her on in a 12-on-6 double battle, perhaps! Kieran did not need to momentarily feel useless in this situation, but he did, because not being able to win against someone still equates in his mind to being No Good At All. Kieran, nooo.

Happily, the narrative provides Kieran with something else to do with himself while you fight Nemona so that he is very decidedly not useless in the slightest – fighting off the entire town’s worth of people behind you??? That is equally as necessary as taking down Nemona, something without which you’d never have managed to get to Pecharunt, and it must take some incredible battling skill to be able to hold off that many opponents at once. Like, dang, Kieran. I really hope he’s able to reflect on this in the aftermath and realise how incredibly strong and cool that was of him, because it was.

(He was holding his own one-against-many, just like he always admired Ogerpon for doing!)

Kieran’s fear and pessimism also show through just a tiny bit as you’re fighting Pecharunt at the end, when he reacts to the fact that you were able to damage it. Apparently he was afraid that this thing would be completely invulnerable and it just wouldn’t be possible for even someone as amazing as you to beat it and stop the curse. Yikes, that must have been a scary thought. But still, it all worked out in the end! Kieran’s learning that even when things are scary and feel overwhelming, by facing up to them and doing his best, it’ll usually turn out okay! Especially because he’s not alone and has friends by his side to support him now.

And, hey, one way or another, it seems like the events of the epilogue did help give Kieran that last little push he needed to decide to go back to Blueberry Academy! I imagine he was already thinking about doing so – he is actually a very stubborn and determined person at his core, so I don’t think he could ever have been considering just giving up on it – but all of this probably helped give him the confidence to make that leap. The thought of apologising to everyone for how he acted must still be incredibly daunting – but, he’s begun to realise that he can face scary things!

His old Kitakami team

During the epilogue’s battles, I was absolutely delighted to see Kieran send out Poliwrath, one of the Pokémon he used in Teal Mask but not in Indigo Disk – because this is proof that he’s been reconnecting with the Pokémon friends he left behind back then! As it turns out, the rest of his team for these multi battles is the same as his Champion team, with only the Polis switched, but even so, Poliwrath’s presence is enough to be a promising sign for all of his old Pokémon friends.

And this gets further confirmed by his dialogue with Arven in the clubroom! Arven asks Kieran which of his Pokémon he’s closest to, and he mentions his Hydrapple (which has been with him since it was an Applin), his Poliwrath and Politoed, his Yanmega, and his Furret! This accounts for all of the Pokémon Kieran had in his Teal Mask battles up to the third one, after which he started to fixate hard on getting stronger to prove himself to you, so these are likely all of the Pokémon that were friends of his from the start. And he still considers them friends now, which means he reconnected with them all and apologised as necessary for any leaving them behind/thinking they were weak/etc that he might have done! Yes good, Justice For Furret was had, I could not be happier.

(Okay, we never saw the second Poli back then, but the way he talks about both Polis together suggests they’re a pair, so I imagine they were both his friends back then, too. He also never used Applin against you before evolving it into Dipplin – which is fair, Applin is very not good in battles – so the lack of us seeing another Poliwag/whirl is probably because he felt he needed to use a diverse team that didn’t have two of the same species. He doesn’t have to battle with all of his Pokémon for them to still be his friends, after all! He still doesn’t battle with most of them now in the clubroom battles either, which use his same Champion team, but that doesn’t stop them from being his precious pals!)

(On the other hand, since there is no sign nor mention of them in the postgame, I suspect that, like Cramorant before them, his Gliscor, Shiftry and Probopass from the final Kitakami battle got released. Kieran would have only had them for like a day or two during the events of Teal Mask, since he only caught them after he fixated on getting stronger, so I doubt he’d grown very attached to them during that time. Still, that’s okay, because hey, he did make them stronger, which is probably all they ever expected from him when they joined his team.)

Nemona is Good

One extremely delightful aspect of the epilogue and beyond is Kieran’s interactions with Nemona. It turns out that her outlook on battling is exactly the kind of thing Kieran needed to help regain a healthier view on it himself!

His feelings about his own battling skills are still very all-or-nothing at the beginning of the epilogue. When Nemona excitedly declares that she’s heard he’s really good at battling, Kieran’s pretty dismissive of that idea. He couldn’t beat you, therefore that means he’s Not Good At It, right? (Kieran, no.) He also says that Nemona “destroyed” him once they’ve battled – but based on the fact that she has nothing but praise for how good he is, I very strongly suspect that he actually gave her a really tough fight, and he only framed it that negatively because losing at all still makes his inferiority complex blow things way out of proportion.

Happily, delightfully, Nemona tells Kieran exactly what he has always needed to hear this whole time, which is that it shouldn’t matter whether you win or lose, because battles are fun either way! And with a moment to reflect on that, he agrees… yeah, they are, he had a lot of fun!

We’d heard from Drayton that Kieran was always a kid who’d deeply enjoyed battling, from the very beginning. But it seems that somewhere along the way he’d stopped loving it so much, at least when he’s the one battling - probably because he’d often lose, which would trigger his inferiority complex and make him feel bad. We only saw a small glimpse of his passion for battling ourselves at the beginning of Teal Mask, mostly when he watched you battle his sister, and a little bit in his own early battles with you, but he still felt bad over losing, poor kid.

But with Nemona’s help, Kieran’s been able to remember just how much he always loved battling and can just enjoy himself with it again! In your clubroom battles with him, he has a line just before he Terastallises where he says “these feelings never change” – and though he doesn’t specify what feelings he’s talking about, the one thing about Kieran that has never changed this entire time, even if he sort of lost sight of it for a while along the way, is the thrill he gets from battling! He also says in another line that he’s “having a blast” – which is phrasing that Nemona uses that Kieran never has before, so apparently he picked that up from her? Aww. I am so glad he could meet her; she is exactly the breath of battle-loving fresh air he always needed.

Kieran’s clubroom conversation with Nemona is also very good and helps him let go of his all-or-nothing mindset a little more. Nemona praises him for how quickly he climbed the ranks of the BB League, which he insists is meaningless because he pushed himself unhealthily hard and then still couldn’t beat you in the end. But Nemona helps him reframe it and think of it as: he was incredibly dedicated, and it must mean he really loves Pokémon and battling, which is true! This has to help Kieran view his training arc in a more positive light instead of focusing on the negative aspects like his toxic obsession and lack of self-care. Hopefully if/when he starts training hard again, he’ll be able to feel better about it and not associate it with all the bad things, thanks to Nemona! (But also, Kieran, please remember to not neglect self-care again, that was bad. I imagine he has indeed got the message about that, since the way he talks about that aspect in this conversation seems tinged with regret.)

Carmine is Trying

Another thing we see in the epilogue – admittedly only a small glimpse near the end, but it’s something – is that Kieran’s relationship with his sister seems to have gotten a little bit healthier? They each make equal-opportunity Sibling Banter jabs at each other, and Kieran doesn’t slump and shrink and look so defeated when she bites back against one of his. There’s probably still some ways to go here on their dynamic becoming completely truly healthy, but it’s definitely progress from before, which is good to see.

I think Carmine really must have reflected on her role in Kieran’s breakdown and is trying in her own fumbling awkward way to do better by him now. A delightful sign of this is one of her scenes in the clubroom, in which she resolves to be less protective of Kieran, even if it’ll make her lonelier without him around as much. That’s exactly what she needs to do! After all, this whole thing started because Carmine couldn’t bear to let her brother endure even the tiniest amount of badfeels that would have come from learning he happened to miss out on meeting the ogre. Carmine has realised on some level that she needs to have more faith in Kieran and his ability to endure and get through stuff on his own, rather than trying too hard to protect him from everything ever, which just results in coddling him and stifling his possibility for growth. She still does want to look out for him from a distance and be able to help if he really does need it, but she’s trying not to overdo it any more. Yes good, I am proud of her too.

Reconciling with his schoolmates

I said already in the Indigo Disk post that it’s incredibly brave of Kieran to resolve to apologise to everyone he hurt and make amends, and this is still true. That has to have been so scary, but he went and did it anyway! It seems he even apologised to the people who cared about him, such as his sister and Amarys, for worrying them with his behaviour – which also means he has managed to comprehend the fact that people cared about him, even back then when he was at his most unlikeable.

And by the sounds of what he says in his clubroom scenes, most people took his apologies well and are talking to him like normal now, which has to have been such a relief. It means a lot that Kieran wasn’t expecting anything of the sort and apologised anyway despite expecting backlash, simply because it was the right thing to do – but hey, most people are nice and can probably tell he was decidedly Not Himself during that time and are willing to put the past behind them! Social interaction isn’t quite as scary as he’d used to think, it turns out!

Even then, some things are still a bit weird, and with how far-reaching his impact as Champion was, Kieran’s bound to keep having to deal with this for a while. There must keep being more people he was a jerk to that he still hasn’t apologised to yet, people being intimidated by him because they don’t realise he’s changed, constant reminders of some of the hurtful things he said and did back then. Making amends is going to be a pretty long-term thing, but Kieran is putting in the effort to do so all the same, because it’s the right thing to do, and he is so brave.

Someone who is making this harder than it needs to be is Drayton, because of freaking course he is. He still insists on rubbing in the “ex-Champ” thing, even though Kieran has made it clear he does not appreciate being called that (of course, he no longer minds that he’s not Champion any more, but the fact that Drayton insists on constantly reminding him of his past self has to sting). On the one hand, Drayton is still concerned about Kieran in his own way, because he does effectively ask if Kieran’s eating better meals now, but on the other hand their entire clubroom interaction features him deliberately dodging Kieran’s genuine attempts to just engage with him in an effort to make amends, and, geez. This is exactly what he wanted from Kieran all along, and yet he is somehow still not satisfied. Seriously, Drayton.

At least Drayton is the only one of the Elite Four to be like this, and the others seem to be on good terms with Kieran now! Look at Lacey insisting that the past is in the past when Kieran acts confused that she’d want to help him after he was such a jerk to her. (Someone needs to take notes there, Drayton.) And it seems like Kieran’s got another good friend in Crispin, who’s in the same class as him! Our boy is making so many new friends and it is wonderful.

Of course, his insecurities are still around, and he’s still a little too liable to assume he’s doing something Wrong in social situations, as we see in a couple of his clubroom interactions. That one with Arven about his Pokémon is an example, as Arven phrased things as if he expected Kieran to have just one single closest Pokémon buddy, and Kieran seemed to feel bad that he actually had multiple candidates and couldn’t pick – but happily, Arven reassured him that it’s cool to not be able to choose, too! And in Kieran’s interaction with Crispin, he reflexively apologises for not having watched the latest episode of a show, but Crispin calls him out on the apology, and Kieran is able to question himself as to why he apologised and conclude that he didn’t need to, because it’s not like Crispin’s going to mind.

He is learning! He does not need to feel like he has to perfectly match his conversation partner’s expectations in order to be their friend! Kieran’s approach to his own issues has become so healthy and filled with self-reflection and growth, and I am so proud of him.

Friendship with you

Kieran is also able to be a whole lot healthier about his friendship with you, now that you’re properly friends again after everything! Possibly my favourite completely innocuous line in the epilogue is when he casually mentions that you and he became friends during the school trip to Kitakami. This is actually huge, because Kieran had spent so long utterly convinced that you couldn’t possibly have meant it when you called him a friend back then, not after the lie and all of his issues about being too weak to deserve it. But now, he’s been able to reflect on that and realise… of course you meant it. Of course you always wanted to be his friend, right from the very beginning! It wasn’t on purpose of you that he got left out of meeting Ogerpon at all, because you’re a good person and you wouldn’t do something like that, and he never actually deserved that after all.

(Perhaps sometime during his break, he had a proper talk with his sister about what happened and why she lied, and Carmine finally got to fully express that you and she never meant to hurt him and shun him with that.)

Kieran is still not over his idolisation of you, mind you. He reacts to you being the one to find the TV remote of all completely mundane things with “Wowzers! ‘Course you found it first!” – which, really isn’t a wowzers or an of course? Your magical protagonist powers do not and should not extend to this, and yet they still do in Kieran’s head. But even though he still views you this way, Kieran is so much healthier about it now. He’s no longer bitter and jealous and beating himself up for not being as perfect as he thinks you are, since nobody is (not even you, not really) – instead, he’s just so incredibly thrilled that he actually gets to be friends with someone so cool!

I really love that the devs went and gave Kieran a new losing animation for his clubroom battles, too. His previous ones always had him being varying levels of upset about losing, but not any more! He just stares in wide-eyed awe at your amazingness, and then breaks into a big smile and thanks you for the battle, because he still had great fun even though he lost! And he’s able to freely admit that he looks up to you because you’re so strong, or, in an optional line in the epilogue, he admits that he’s jealous that your friends are all really good people. He still has those feelings, but he’s able to healthily express them now without letting them twist him into something harmful.

It seems like he’s still a little insecure about if he deserves to be friends with you, though, based on a few small things. When he asks you for a trade in the clubroom, he appears hesitant to ask, as if he’s not sure he has the right to, and if you say no – even though there’s every chance this is just because you want some time to decide on an appropriately special Pokémon to give him – he slumps, probably having had his sensitivity to rejection triggered. And even once you’ve traded, he can later ask if you’re absolutely sure he can really keep the Pokémon you traded him, because he can’t quite believe he could get to have such a cool gift from you of all people. Aww, Kieran. Hopefully his hypothetical future interactions with you will help squash this insecurity of his further, because he deserves to feel comfortable in his friendship with his best friend!!!

Ogerpon

Another seemingly-innocuous but extremely good line in the clubroom is that Kieran can ask you if Ogerpon’s doing well and say that he thinks she’ll be pretty happy with you. He says this in a completely casual way, with no hint of bitterness – which tells us that he’s no longer jealous that you caught Ogerpon! It makes sense that he wouldn’t be, because he doesn’t need her acknowledgement any more like he used to think he did in order to feel worth something. He’s already got acknowledgement and self-worth and happiness now for so many other reasons, after all! So he can just be selflessly happy for Ogerpon that she’s found a trainer she can feel safe and happy with too, without being irrationally preoccupied over what she thinks of him.

It is interesting to see in this dialogue that Kieran initially calls her “the ogre” before correcting himself to “Ogerpon” – apparently, he’s only quite recently made an effort to shift what he calls her in his head. It’s true that in his reaction to her in the Champion battle, he did indeed just call her “the ogre”. It’d make sense that he didn’t actually work to shift his mental idea of what to call her during his Indigo Disk arc, despite knowing her species name, because the name “Ogerpon” likely brought back too many painful reminders of everything that happened in Kitakami. It was probably easier for him to just stick with “the ogre” and try to forget anything had changed. But he’s okay with what happened now!

And maybe Kieran trying to make a habit of using her name now is a sign that he’s started to realise that Ogerpon is her own individual who’s not quite the same as the mental image he always had of what “the ogre” was like? Maybe. It’s hard to be sure. Unfortunately the epilogue/postgame can’t do much with Ogerpon because it’s always optional for her to be on your team or even in your game at all (since you could in theory have released her or traded her away). But we can at least hypothetically imagine that in Kieran’s continued interactions with you, he’ll get the chance to hang out with Ogerpon a little and come to understand her better. It certainly seems now that he’d be able to hang out with both you and her without feeling uncomfortably jealous, which is a good start! (And Terapagos is on the list of ‘people’ he owes an apology to, so let’s imagine he gets a chance to do that, too.)

Moving forward

The “climax”, such as there is one, of Kieran’s mini-arc of scenes in the clubroom is him excitedly telling you that he’s had the BB League drop him from their rankings. Although your character seems a little bewildered by it (they are still a bit of a social dumbass), this is in fact an extremely good thing for Kieran! He’s taking a step back from the competitive side of things for the sake of his mental health, so that he can untangle himself from the toxically-obsessive mindset that he was in back when he was only focused on winning! Look at Kieran doing all this good self-reflection and self-care, it is so lovely to see. He doesn’t even seem to view this as any sign of him failing, either – he’s just comfortably acknowledging that he needs to do this for now for his own sake and there’s no shame in that.

Kieran seems pretty sure that he is going to want to get back into competing once he’s cleared his head a bit, but he’s already so much more casual and healthy about it! He says he’s going to shoot for the Champion title again, and even if you respond with a friendly taunt of “You still won’t beat me!”, he takes it so well. He’s genuinely okay now with the thought that he might never quite be good enough to beat you – he just wants to have fun trying. Look at how far he’s come!

In the meantime, while he sorts his head out, he just wants to spend time with his Pokémon (who mean a lot to him as far more than just sources of battling strength!) and his human friends (whom he has so many of now???) and figure out what he really wants to do with himself from here. Good for him!

Kieran’s still just a kid, and seeing him already learn how to grow from his mistakes and face up to his lingering issues and be just so emotionally healthy about things now is such a promising sign for wherever he’s going to end up in future. I love that the epilogue and these postgame clubroom scenes put so much effort into showing us this about Kieran now, reassuring us that he really is going to be okay. I truly could not be more proud of or happy for my boy.

#pokemon #pokemon sv #pokemon scarlet and violet #the hidden treasure of area zero #mochi mayhem #pokemon kieran #kieran pokemon #trainer kieran #rival kieran #character analysis #ramble #friends

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